I'm glad the story is bigger than that, because, come on, that's a little boring.
My friend ES decided he wanted to do this race - a couple of years ago. This fall he decided that this was the year, and he trained. Watching him put in the work, and answering questions (should I ride my mountain bike? -No. Are there bathrooms on the course? -Yes) made the whole event more exciting. His first timer jitters gave ME first timers jitters! As the day got closer, he was more and more confident about finishing, and he was surprising himself with how fit he had gotten in a few months.
I was nervous. I put out a time goal, and I wasn't sure I had it in me. I didn't get to the Sandia Ski hill more than 4 times. I only got on my bike to do the Tramway and La Luz hills twice. TWICE! I had been running, thankfully, but still there were weeks that didn't have a whole lot of that either. I arrived in Grants on Friday, uncertain if I would be able to go 5:45 - my stated goal, or even if I would break 6 hours. But, I was resolved to try to race, and see where it got me.
The weather, being the one thing that we racers can't control, was the one item on everyone's lips. Windy. Rainy. No, REALLY WINDY. One thing that is a constant in this race is the headwind on the bike downhill; this year promised to set a new benchmark for nastiness. And another thing that is not so good for me - it was warm. Give me frigid any day, and I'm a happy camper. But, wind, rain, or warmth - didn't matter. I was resolved. Off we go.
The start of the bike is always fun. Most in this crowd have never biked in a crowd. The roadway has many potholes, seams, and cracks. Everyone is a little squirrely, most heading out faster than they should. In years past, there's been someone I know who is near my speed on the bike, but not this year. So I rolled along, and pretty quickly became aware of a nice little headwind. Dang - I thought we might at least get a tailwind on the way up to make me feel better about the headwind on the way down. I caught on to a group and we rotated leading for much of the way, until the last few miles I pulled ahead. I saw a yellow jersey in front of me. It looked like it could be ES! Really? I hadn't biked with him before. I decide to try and catch him, so I started working a little harder. The glimpses I'd get around each bend showed me I was gaining ground, but as I got within 50 yards, I realized it wasn't ES after all. Too bad, but I was happy with how the bike had gone, the only downside was that I had only eaten one cliffblock for 30 cal. And had drunk maybe 6 oz water. I worked hard, but was still ready to run. (and ski, and snowshoe...) I resolved to do a little better on the food front.
I got into transition having reviewed it in my mind several times, and with the help of the volunteer I felt like I managed to go pretty fast through it. I started slurping from my water bottle right away. After the first 1/2 mile, my legs settled in. I was moving right along. I passed a couple of people, had to retie my shoe, got passed by a few people. I started to notice something a bit different. Normally in this race, whether passing or being passed, we racers are encouraging each other. This year, though, at a faster pace, none of the women I passed or that passed me reciprocated or even acknowledged my encouragement. Really? So focused that they didn't hear me, I bet. That's my theory, and I'm sticking to it. I did find some success on two other issues - I ate a gel, and I ran until the second cattle guard before taking a short walk break. Wahoo! On to the run-ski transition, still working hard, and still feeling pretty good.
I had a father and son help me through T2, and besides getting the right and left ski boot mixed up, they were a big help. I made sure to leave with my snowshoe backpack, and off I went. And.... promptly felt like I was going to have a very very sloooow ski ahead of me. Wow. My legs did not want to go up anymore. My muscles were ready to go AWOL. I backed off a bit. Really as much as I could without stopping, practically, just hoping that I'd find another groove. I got to the short flat spot and finally my effort and pace seemed to come back into alignment. My slow progress let me lose focus a little, but I don't feel like I lost too much time, even so. Soon, I was moving up heartbreak hill, trying to stay on the white patches in the midst of the bare grassy field. The sun was out, and the snow was slushy. I wondered how the downhill was going to be. No telling until I get there! And into the Ski-Snowshoe transition, T3.
I focused and tried to be efficient, removing my skins, getting into my snowshoes. I grabbed some water on the way out - I was thirsty and a bit hungry. While I was worried about this, I did what I could and kept moving. I ran all the way to the edge of the world for the first time ever. Brief glances at my watch along the race so far had me ahead of even my 5:45 predictions, but I could tell I was slowing down. The showshoe hike to the top is the hardest on tired legs. I was proud of myself, though, I didn't stop for rest breaks. I just kept moving, even though it was hard, and I couldn't see the top. The wind, always strong on the exposed S face seemed particularly strong today. I wondered about the downhill bike, but, No telling until I get there! And, finally, the top. I was ready to enjoy the downhill shoe through the trees in the soft snow - most of the time you can get a really nice glide going, and I can really move. It was not to be this time. The route was a mix of hardpack and soft, with huge divots that you could never be sure if you should avoid, or use to your advantage. They might be hard, and trip you up, or they might be soft and let you glide. Oh, and there were briars exposed this year that would grab onto your snowshoe cleats and not let go. Amidst all of that, the toe-box of my snowshoe got caught under the plastic of the snowshoe platform. So, between falling into divots and NOT RUNNING, I sat down and wrestled with my snowshoe for a minute. Not my best downhill shoe by a long shot. Ok, well, I had been ahead of my estimates, so hoped I had the time to spare and I kept my chin up. I ran along the packed section back to T3, and quickly changed back into my skis.
I look up, ready to move... and couldn't tell how to get out of transition. I mean, I knew where the course headed, but they routed us with poles and tape a bit differently. After a small wrong turn, I get out, and .... am surprised by how slushy the snow is. This might be better for me, not so fast and out of control. But I am poling a lot here, my arms are getting very tired. I get to the steeper sections, and still can't seem to pick up much speed. I'm actually looking for speed, that's how slow it felt. I still managed to fall, once, inconsequentially. I got up quickly and actually WAS mad at falling like my sis-in-law had told me to be, and pushed myself to go faster. I wasn't sure I could afford a super slow ski on top of the slow snowshoe. I was poling as hard as I could for the last section, and finally, finally got to the road with very tired, quivering arms, quads and hips. A few minutes later, I was in to the ski-run transition. I didn't dare look at my watch. I had set an alarm for 4h17m into the race. if I could get out of the ski-run transition before 4h17m, I thought I'd be able to finish in 5:45. Though the wind on the downhill bike might make that tough. I hurried through transition, thanking the volunteers the whole time, and got onto the downhill run.
YES! I love this section. It's steep, and the legs get set free. It's relaxing to just be able to run after the ski. I get about 4 minutes into the run, and my alarm goes off. Wahoo! I just need to keep pushing - I'm pretty tired, and it's hard - but I CAN still make 5:45. Doggedly I run the uphills, shortening my stride and accepting the pain. I take another gel - the first food I've had except two orange slices in ~2.5 hours, and drink all the water left in my bottle. I take an extra salt tab. I'm still thirsty. Gotta keep working. DD passes me 1/3 mile before the run/bike transition. We exchange encouragement. I think about sprinting into transition, but as I crest the hill overlooking the bikes, the wind pushes hard against me. I tuck my head and keep my steady pace, and try not to think about how tired I am.
My bike is near the exit of the transition. The guy helping me was again, fantastic, holding things, and encouraging. He says the wind had come up stronger maybe 1/2 hour ago, although it had been blowing all day. I strap on my helmet, and face the last section. A glance at my watch shows that I have 47 minutes to get to the finish to make 5:45. I've done it faster than that, but without the wind. And I've done it slower than that, without the wind. Time to see what's left.
The first 2.5 miles are steep and winding. Typically I have to touch the brakes a few times to go around curves. This year, I am locked in my aerobars, only thinking once or twice about braking. The wind gusts push me around, and I ride at an angle to the road even when not going around a curve. At the bottom of the big climb, a wicked gust comes from the side and then from the front and robs me of all my speed. I ratchet down into an easier gear, and keep moving. The uphill protects us a bit from the headwind, and I find a groove that isn't too uncomfortable. But I know what's coming. About 30 ft from the crest, the wind comes howling over the top, fiercely whipping over my helmet and jersey. Just get over, just a little further... these little lies you tell yourself are really something, don't you think? It wasn't just a little further, I still had ~8 miles of the bike to go in the stiffest headwind I had ever been in. Anyway. I pick my speed back up from the dusty road. I shift back into my big chainring. I can't take it easy. I have to push. I can see that I'm only occasionally above 20 as I work past the jail, and I'm working hard, where normally I'm cruising at 27. Gusts accompanying the steady headwind slap me around, and pelt me with grit. I can see dust devils coming for me down the road. At first I try to hold my breath and close my eyes against the dirt. But the oxygen debt is just more than I can take, and I relent. I spit out grit after each devil whips over me. I'm working, focusing on making myself small in the face of the wind, and finding a gear that I can manage, but isn't slacking. I pass a couple of people, and I wonder - do I look that miserable? I spot the turn by the Smiths, and put my head down, and focus on the line. I work for several minutes, then look up, sure the turn must be right ..... dang, still 1/2 mile ahead. After the turn comes the first slight break - now the wind is cross, and not a headwind. I motor, feeling like I have to push now that I can - until I make the next turn, right back into the teeth of the wind. I do believe I groaned, although no-one could possibly have heard me. Ok, come on, head down, stay aero, WORK. I watch my speedometer drop - 12, 11, 10 mph. I stop looking and just work. I feel myself slow down and take another glance at my speed - 8!?! I must be starting up the little rise... that must be it. But when I glance up, that rise is still two blocks away. It's ok, almost there, doing great, geez this hurts. I get over the rise, and make the last turn. Without the wind in my face, I can't crawl across the line at 10 miles an hour! I kicked it in for the last few blocks, cranking hard and picking up speed.
The reward: as I got close to the line I see the time 5:45:5X.
Ok, it was worth it. Unbelievable. Racing is fun. I coasted jerkily over to the aid table at the finish, and grabbed water and an orange. I was tired, thirsty, and hungry. I look up to see DD laying on the covered bed of his truck, neatly tucked out of the wind. KC comes over too, and all the commiseration talk about the wind on the bike begins. I duck inside quickly, needing to see in print, in black and white my finishing time. There it is, 5:45:54 - and, it says I'm first in my age group, too. Something that means more to me, though, I'm the 8th woman across the line. Wow, not bad. I did it. I did that.
ES finishes with a smile, and can't stop talking over the race. I am so glad he had fun, and had a good day. I heard him say something about next year already!
And so, to end, Analysis Girl is going to poke her head out and take a look around.
2008
2009
2010
Goal:
2011
Actual 2011
Bike up + T1
1:18:25
1:06:25
1:16:54
1:08
1:08:49
Run + T2
1:10:47
1:09:04
1:07:53
1:05
1:00:47
Ski
54:26
51:34
50:11
0:49
45:19
Snowshoe +T3
35:51
35:23
37:44
0:33
30:21
Snowshoe down
15:01
12:58
13:27
0:12
13:55
Ski down + T3'
33:56
32:51
31:47
0:30
29:17
Run down + T2'
53:58
51:31
48:08
0:48
45:22
Bike down + T1'
XXX
46:40
38:13
0:40
52.07
Finish Time
6:06:34
6:04:14
5:45
5:45:54
So on the way up, I was ahead of my time goal by 10 minutes. That's huge! the shoe down was 1 minute slow, which I can account for by the sitting down to fix the snowshoe, and the not great conditions. The ski down was my fastest yet, and I think with more practice I could even get to like this. The run down was also my fastest yet, so by the time I got on my bike, I was still more than 11 minutes ahead of my goal. Good thing I had the buffer to deal with the brutal conditions!
Female overall placings:
Bike up: 10th
Run up: 7th
Ski up: 13th
Shoe up: 9th
Shoe down: 6th
Ski down: 16th
Run down: 6th
Bike down: 6th
Where are easy improvements to be made?
-> biking and skiing. CLEARLY. To be on the same level as my good events, I'd need to:
Bike up in 1:06
Ski up in 42 min
Ski down in 22 min
Which would save me 12 minutes. Ok, so next year? goal time 5:25.
Better start working!
I'm not giving up on my 5:45 Mt. Taylor Quadrathlon race goal.
But I have made it harder on myself:
If only it was necessary to be able to fire an Ashe arrow across the board to hit an opponent in order to make my Quadrathlon goal, I'd be set. THAT I have been practicing until the wee hours of the morning. Very very wee hours.
I have however, given up some sleep in order to go to the ski hill and practice. Sunday's downhill adventure with KC was fantastic, enjoyable, beautiful. My confidence was at an all time high. There was no falling, only one slightly out-of-control, this-might-be-a-trainwreck moment that resolved itself. the whole experience was so good, that I thought a couple more runs would really set me up for a better than terrible race ski.
So, this morning, I head back to the ski area. It's closed Tues, so no worry about crowds, which, that's a good thing, right?
Except, then they don't groom the trails early either.
Because of the warm sunny weather, the runs were a slick, crusty, bumpy mess. But did I leave with my tail between my legs? NO. I went up. I came down. It was not a boost to my confidence. I fell.
Better go back tomorrow to see if I can find any sang-froid.
The perennial winter race is almost here - the Mount Taylor Quadrathlon. I always write out time goals for this race, but I've never gone public. Time to buck that trend. Some historical perspective is necessary.
2008
2009
2010
Goal:
2011
Bike up + T1
1:18:25
1:06:25
1:16:54
1:08
Run + T2
1:10:47
1:09:04
1:07:53
1:05
Ski
54:26
51:34
50:11
0:49
Snowshoe +T3
35:51
35:23
37:44
0:33
Snowshoe down
15:01
12:58
13:27
0:12
Ski down + T3'
33:56
32:51
31:47
0:30
Run down + T2'
53:58
51:31
48:08
0:48
Bike down + T1'
XXX
46:40
38:13
0:40
Finish Time
6:06:34
6:04:14
5:45
The bike up in 2009 had a nice stiff tailwind, which was missing in 2010 and replaced by my own rubbing brakepad. This year, we'll double check that wheel-cassette-brakepad triad before starting. hm, I guess that means a bike tune-up is necessary!
Run up in 1:05 should be do-able, I just need to focus. I'm a better runner than last year, but I also know that it's hard for me to push at this early stage in the race. It's a good goal.
Ski-up: this is just a keep-on keepin' on kinda thing, as is the snowshoe up. I'm hoping that the time difference will actually come from the ski-snowshoe transition which I historically dawdle through.
Shoe down - just a little faster than last year - no shot this year is in the plans.
Ski-down. The hard part. From talking with my sis-in-law, a former ski racer, I'm going to try to get mad. We'll see how it works for me.
The run down and bike down numbers are a little squishy. On purpose. If other sections haven't gone well, I'll have to make up time on these last two parts. The number to look for - Leaving the ski-run transition in 4:17. Slower than that, and I will be working hard to make it up.
I was in better bike shape last year, and had more ski-time on my legs. I'm going to be spending the next 3 weeks getting more of those things. That, and practicing the transitions, which sounds silly, but is really helpful.
The sandia snowshoe went well last weekend - 1st in my ag, 2nd overall, and ~6 min faster than previously (final time 41:36). The course was really hard packed and fast though, so it isn't a fair comparison. The volunteers out on the race course kept telling me I was 1st woman OA, but they missed the slight, short haired woman who came in a couple of minutes in front of me in her winter gear. I doubt it would have made a difference to my time in any case.
ES is doing the race for the first time - I'm having a blast talking it over with him. Bring it on, Quad!
The whole point of entering this race for me was to get me back on track. Back into running. Back to running weight. Back into the easy form I had in mid summer, where nothing hurt. Motivation, inspiration, raison d’etre, this race was to be all of those things for me.
On these fronts, it was a total failure before it even started..
But, as JH said about one of her first races after Leadville 100, the race did bring out in stark relief the undeniable fact that I hadn’t been running.
After Leadville, I decided I deserved 3 weeks off from running. I still did run a little here and there, but my totals for those weeks were around 15 miles. But this was my first wrong turn – not taking the time off, but my attitude about it. I saw it as some kind of entitlement, a gift I had earned, or maybe something I was getting away with, and to hell with anything trying to stop me.
Where did that attitude come from? Since when was a break from running outside (during one of the most beautiful fall seasons in ABQ ever) a good thing?
But once the attitude gained a toe-hold, I refused to let it go. And the 3 week break stretched to 3 months. “It’s ok,” I thought, “my weekly 2.5 mile race times are still good. I’m losing a little fitness, but I can get it back. Besides, I’ve been traveling, and it’s hard to maintain a schedule. And my hips are still tight. And…” The litany of excuses kept me from really examining what was going on. I was listless.
Fast forward to Saturday. I had run a 22 miler at the end of Nov. and two 10 milers in December. And now I was heading out on a 31 mile course, undertrained, but at least well rested! I had entered thinking I might be able to finish in 6:10 or so, way back in October. But now, I only knew I’d finish. Though I desperately hoped I’d beat my time (7:01) from 2009, when this was my very first ultra. It would be great if I could squeak out a 6:20. I’d be really happy with anything around a 6:30, though, I decided. I felt a little disappointed at how I had maybe cheated myself out of a great race.
The first 10 miles are hilly, with lots of rocks and thankfully also pretty scenery. I just wanted to get through this section with a minimum of turned ankles. My left ankle was already stretched out and unhappy from turning it over and over again in Nov. and Dec. After running with KC and RT for the first few miles, I slowly pulled away as I followed a girl (“she’s my age,” I thought) and a guy. He was doing his first ultra. She had done this race as her first ultra after a couple of disastrous road marathon attempts. And, as they discussed races, her run history sounded a lot like mine. I learned that she had also done Leadville. Their pace was good for me. I then heard that she now was considering a Leadman attempt. Soon after that, they pulled off and stopped to admire a view.
I continued on. I wondered if the pair would pass me again as I got tired. A small seed of competitive-ness sent out shoots over the next 10 miles. “If LEADGIRL doesn’t pass me by Crossroads aid station at 21 miles, then I will do my best to not let her pass me.”
At 10 miles into the race, my feet hurt. My legs were tired. I’m sure I didn’t eat enough. In any case, I didn’t feel low in energy, I just felt like I was approaching my mileage expiration limit. The aid station at mile 15.5 came and went, without a sign of LEADGIRL. As I passed a guy around mile 16, he shouted – “way to go! go get ‘em! Turn on the afterburners, it’s time to give it all you’ve got!!”
Um, no, that would be the last 5 miles. Or maybe just the last 0.5 miles. I grinned.
In any race, after the halfway point is when I start passing people. Those who have gone out too fast, mostly. Even though I felt like I should stop, that my preparation wasn’t up for this run, I was still running past people. I brightened up a bit, as one after the other came into view, and I steadily ran them down. I couldn’t run with any intensity, but I was persistent. A couple of guys traded places with me, but I eventually left them behind too.
Crossroads aid station appeared through the mesquite brush. Ok, I guess I don’t have a thing to worry about. I’m feeling steady, and haven’t seen or heard that LEADGIRL. I’m doing fine, just fine. Coke please!
And as I stood there enjoying my second cup of coke, the LEADGIRL ran into the aid station.
Dang.
I gulped the coke, and left. I hoped that she hadn’t noticed me, that she wasn’t paying attention to the little competition I had built up in my brain. But now I had to do a little work. This 5 mile section comes after 10 miles of flat to rolling, rather smooth terrain that has lulled you into running along, not picking up your feet much. It is punctuated in the middle by three hills, rocky, and covered with nasty spiky stool plants.
If you don’t wake up, this section is also punctuated by curses as you stumble through rocks, ledges, ruts, and plants.
The first three miles are runnable. I tried to run, but I was tired. The coke sloshed in my belly. I didn’t want to pick up my feet, and I left a couple of German curses up there with the rocks. I heard a female voice echo behind me, laughing at something. Dang. I move a little faster. I’m starting to feel a little better when I hear behind me approaching footsteps as I climb the first hill. Crap.
The voice says, “You run like a GIRL!” It takes a moment before I convince myself that it is a male voice, that it is a voice I know, that it is, in fact, KC, who has caught me. Whew.
I let him go by, enjoying him tell me that he’s been really running since the halfway point, and it feels great. At first, I think maybe I’ll keep him in sight, but there is no chance of that going uphill. He is quickly gone. I pass 5 runners in the last 2 miles of this section, just hoping that LEADGIRL behind me is lulled into a slower pace by the slower runners. I try to spur myself on a bit. It's fun when I recognize the runners I'm passing as those who passed me at miles 3, 4, or 5 - and every one of the 5 runners I passed fell into that category. I stop hearing the female voice behind me. Is it a trick of the twisting trail, or has she dropped back?
I get to the 26.3 mile aid station (so 4.7 to go) and see DT spectating. I’m happy, I actually feel pretty good still. I kind of assumed that the wheels that were only rated for 15 miles would have come off by now, so I was pleasantly surprised. So pleased that I forgot about my little private competition, and didn’t watch for LEADGIRL.
As I left the aid station, I looked at my watch.
“Oh that is not good.” It read 5:32. I now wanted to finish under 6:30. I actually felt good enough, and that section had seem to go by so quickly, that I hoped, I thought, I expected my watch to read 5:10.
The next section has 2 miles of very slight uphill followed by a rather steep uphill mile. Then a nasty ledged 0.5 mile descent that I have never seen anyone run – everyone is inching down the rocky 2 feet high ledges to gritty slides on tired achy feet. Finally the last 1.2 miles is a gentle downhill on jeep road which is very runnable.
I consider myself weak on slight uphills, and weaker on steeper uphills. And now I needed to run them at a little better than 12:30 miles. That might sound awfully slow. And it is, really. But my garmin shows that after 26.3 miles, I was averaging 12:57 miles (with stops). So over that terrain, and at the end of the 31 miles, I’d have to do better than I had all race.
Ooops.
But I wanted it. I should be able to do this. It really isn’t fast at all. I ran the slight uphill, and pretended that it was flat, that I was just tired and needed to work harder. I saw people in front of me, and ran them down, always with a good job. I was still reduced to hiking the steeper parts. The gnarly descent wasn’t much faster.
Finally getting to the jeep road, I see I need to run less than 10 min miles to make it under 6:30. I didn’t remember the two ravines I had to climb down into and back out of. I tried to go faster, and found I could. The aid station at 30.5 miles showed up early according to Garmin, and I was relieved to think I probably had it in the bag. Unless the distance to the aid station is an approximation…. So I talk myself into running faster. Why not push it more, I’m almost there. Around the corner through the trees, I see a building. I am there!
In 6:28:57. I almost plow KC over at the finish line, as he had crossed 1.5 min in front of me.
Very pleased with how the last section went, I talk over the race with my friends. I look up, and not a minute after I’ve finished….
THAT LEADGIRL crosses the line. I clap for her, and congratulate her.
In the end, I think I got what I needed from Bandera, if not what I wanted. I feel energized to go out and run. Many goals remain even after I’ve finished 100 miles, but I can’t make them for free. JH was right, Bandera showed me that I truly haven’t been running. I didn’t “get” a 6:10. Because I didn’t earn it. It was still fun, and beautiful, and challenging. I still love running. So, all in all, an odd sort of success I feel good about.
Other things of note:
Oh, those dratted cedar/juniper trees. My allergies were killing me all weekend.Try taking Zyrtec before I get there.
The three hours of sleep I got Thursday night before the 6:35 am flight was not a wise choice.
The pepperoni pizza at the Kona Grill is too salty. Get something else next time.
Wearing 5fingers after the race felt really good.
Don't do the $15 race pasta dinner - since they've gotten larger and moved it to the senior center, the food is not great.
The River Oak Inn has repainted and cleaned up some. No more deer murals.
A handheld bottle is all that's needed.
A drop bag is nice to ditch clothing in, but not necessary.
Finish in 6:28:57. 18/54 women. 6/20 in AG. 90/189 overall.
If I want a chance at a prize, I'd need to run around 5:45.
Maybe.
Analyzing the Leadville 100 trail run - it's more involved than a typical race. There’s quite a bit of data. There are many ways to slice and dice that data. There’s a little bit of luck that is intrinsic in the data, impossible to separate.
The big Mo picture:
Finish in 27:19:16. 142rd overall of 362 finishers, of 647 starters, of 797 entrants.
12th woman overall of 52 finishers, of 96 starters, of 120 entrants.
3rd in my age group of 16 finishers, of 29 starters, of 40 entrants. The 2nd woman in my AG was 2.5 hours ahead of me. The 4th woman was 15 minutes behind me. Clearly there is a big difference in ability and execution between 2nd and 3rd. A very bimodal distribution.
Ok, so even the big picture is complicated. But I was in the top 23% of women finishers, and top 40% overall.
I like comparing 1st half to 2nd half times. Very few people even split this race. Matt Carpenter did, when he set the course record. A handful of people have done it. This graph tells the story:
My first half (start to time leaving Winfield inbound) = 12:04
My second half (Winfield to finish) = 15:15
My ratio, then, is 1.27, right on the leading edge of the peak. 440 of the historical finishing runners had more even splits, 960 had less even. What does this mean? In the context of my condition during the race (good to excellent) and my condition afterwards (felt like I could have kept going) perhaps it means that (yet again) I was too conservative. Perhaps it means that I balanced my effort just right on the first half. Maybe it means nothing more than that my training prepared me well to resist exhaustion, and that my endurance was up to the task of moving forward for 27 hours.
The garmin data for the first half says:
Total time: 12:04
Moving time: 11:23
This story is not so rosy. 41 minutes of sitting still? In the first half? Um. That’s excessive. And this is before I started dawdling through the aid stations (twin lakes, fish hatchery, and may queen) on the way back. Which I DID. A LOT. Plus, I know that outbound at May queen the time was 30 seconds or less. Fish Hatchery more like 5 minutes. Pipeline and halfmoon – nothing. And I was quick through the Hopeless pass station, let’s say 2 minutes. Then let’s be generous, and give a minute for every bathroom break and the blister care = 7. So the bulk of that time, at least 27 minutes of it, has to be split between Twin Lakes and Winfield. I don’t think I was in Twin lakes more than 10 minutes. Apparently Winfield was just a wee bit distracting for me.
I would estimate that on the return trip, I spent at least 60 to 80 minutes in the aid stations. 15 for sure at Twin lakes, fish hatchery and may queen. Yowza.I'm glad I had the time to give away, or that amount of dawdling could have cost me the finish.
Anyway you look at that, it is a lot of time to give away. My middle name shall now be dawdle. (I have no regrets – this is just analysis.)
The devil and the details:
Let’s look at this by section.
I wish these splits had the AS times broken out. But they don’t . I don’t even know where the timing mat was – on the way into the AS, or on the way out? So the pace includes all the dawdling time.
For the first 40 miles, my estimates were close to right on (I didn’t know the distances between FH and HM, and HM and TL, but if those segment times are added together, I estimated 3:35 for FH to TL, and completed it in 3:36). Hope pass was not as hard as I thought it would be, so I started getting ahead on pass one, then on pass #2 I did even better and got further ahead.
During the night, I didn’t slow as much as I expected, and ran quite a bit of the distance. Feeling good made it easy to get further and further ahead of my estimations.
It’s interesting to see that on the inbound Fish Hatchery to May Queen section from midnight to 4 am, that I was keeping a pace only slightly faster than the Winfield to Twin Lakes section over hope pass, from mile 50 to 60.5. And that it was 8 minutes per mile slower than my outbound time. Yikes. Not unexpected at all in the dark, after 75 miles, but still, a lot to slip away.
And now, after putting this together after several weeks, I must publish it and MOVE ON for crying out loud.
I PR’d a 5K at the Pinto Bean fiesta – 7 weeks post Leadville. I PR’d my 2.5 mile weekly race this week. Recovery is well over. I’m looking for another 5K around thanksgiving in hopes of going ~20:30. Woot!
I woke at 12:17 AM to noises – my parents and M and K had arrived at the house. For once, the Ambien didn’t really help me get back to sleep. I tossed and turned and dozed a bit.
At 2:20, I gave up, got up and showered. I wasn’t planning on that, but since I was awake, I might as well be clean one last time before the race. Feeling calm, but rather unsteady, downstairs I went to have breakfast. K met me at the bottom with a big hello hug, and boy was I glad to see her. Then M, and Mom and Dad all came in to the kitchen with tired but strangely happy faces. I got to tell them all about my stressful day before, and we headed to the race start.
DP finally found me in the crowd, and attached the SPOT GPS device to my pack. I left my family and crew, and found my running friends in the start crowd. I could barely meet their eyes. What the heck was I doing there? This was no joke, what I had gotten myself into? Who was I kidding? I tried to grin, and remember how excited to start I had been on my Thursday run. I tried to start some good head-talk, but I could barely pay attention to myself. "Just start, and be smart. Relentless forward motion. You know you can do 57 miles, just see how the rest plays out. You’re not alone. Get ready to start your watch." I don’t remember anything that the race director Ken Chlouber said at the start line. I remember fellow runner K asking me exactly what that look was that I was giving him. (answer: panic, terror, insecurity.) I remember everyone else looking excited and oh so ready. And then we were off. Thank goodness.
I veered to the right so that Dad might spot me – I did see him and shouted, but not soon enough for him to get the picture he wanted. And then we’re off in the night. I moved back through the crowd to the center of the pack to try to find a friendly face. I soon saw R and J running together. I moved near them, said hello. R mentioned her goal time, and I quickly saw that I was being DUMB in running near them, and backed off. I hadn’t seen this part of the course, so I looked around a bit, but couldn’t make out much. Soon, behind me, I hear, “You run like a girl!” K is there, and I wonder if I am still severely out of place in the field. But he says that he’s taking it easy with SB and I on the way out. So I relax and follow him. The effort felt a little much, but I also still felt a little tense. So I just followed K and didn’t think. Soon we get behind a train of people behind a woman going a bit slow. The line moves past her slowly, and K gets a bit ahead of me. No biggie, time for a bathroom break. It’s starting to get light, and I’m amazed that I don’t mind AT ALL the line of runners, or the thought of all these runners crowding me. It doesn’t feel that way at all. I can only see maybe 10 runners around me. It feels more like a running group.
I prep myself for the aid station: two handfuls of food, one in mouth immediately, and a glass of powerade, and start walking. I beat K out of the aid station. I was speedy. We hit the aid station right at 2:23, which was right in my goal range of 2:20 to 2:28. Once we start on the Colo trail, I notice a groin muscle feels a little pulled. Everything else feels like I haven’t run more than a mile.Good, all systems are go!
We get behind someone K knows (he knows everyone) and we stay with her for the trail part. Once we hit the road, we move out a bit. We ran/walked the Hagerman pass road to the turn onto the power line road. That, I hiked. K hiked significantly faster. He said his Achilles was already bothering him, I wished there was something I could offer to help. He let me catch up to him on the top of the climb, and we ran down together. I checked my garmin a couple of times, and it seemed like we were doing about 8 min miles on the way down. Decent. Down we went, passing lots of people and exchanging hellos with those that had hiked past me on the way up.
To the road. Everything still felt good here. The people cheering at the road made me self conscious about what I was trying to do. They had more faith in me than I did, I thought at some points. Clouds of uncertainty seemed to be following me around. What’s going to happen next? How will I feel? How far will I get before I feel terrible? Never mind that, just on to the aid station. You feel great, so focus on that.
Mom and J follow me out of Fish Hatchery Aid Station
I was about 5 min ahead of schedule here. I think I was pretty quick here. Bones took my pack and filled it. I grabbed a glass of powerade at the aid station, that and the bar and two gels I’d had was it for nutrition so far. Bones gave me a look that said – work harder on that! Don’t let us down!
Mom was chasing me as she was in charge of suncreen - successfully, too!
My crew had a pb&j sandwich, I ate a quarter. I took the chips with me. I decided against taking the handheld with powerade. Before the race, I had requested it because I knew the next section would be hot. Salt and calories would be important. But I just didn’t want to carry it. Didn’t want to think about drinking it. (woop, woop, woop – stupidity alert here!) J, only a teenager, stops me and says with wisdom way beyond his years, you’ve got to at least take a drink from it. So, I chugged about 1/3 of the bottle to get him to leave me alone. Lucky for me.
And then I was off down the road. I ate a little more, then started running. K had left me behind at the aid station, and I assumed he was gone. I checked my watch and found I was running 8:30 on the slight downhill with no effort, and 9 or so on the flat with the same amount of ease.Ok, good so far.
At pipeline with T. Still smiling!
I ate a few chips, and then stopped. At pipeline, I saw T , T, and Maria, gave them a big grin and kept moving. I hadn’t seen SB since he passed me going up sugarloaf looking good. He surprised me now by passing me again with K, and then all of us staying close by each other on the jeep roads. It started to get a bit warm – I was dousing my arm coolers every so often. Halfmoon came and went quickly with just a water fill for me, a coke and some powerade. I ate a few more chips on the way out.
A little farther, and I began to notice my fingers resembled sausages , and that my stomach felt full. I took an extra endurolyte. I had been taking them every half hour. The sensation persisted, then got a little more pronounced. I was running with K at this point, SB was somewhere close behind us. Should I take more salt tabs? Fewer salt tabs? Unsure, I asked K. After asking me what the sodium level in endurolytes was, he gave me an s-cap. Ten minutes later, he gave me another. At the next half hour mark, he gave me one more, and then I noticed I was feeling better – no more sausage fingers. On his advice, I started taking 3-4 endurolytes an hour, instead of two. Crisis averted, thanks to a friend in the know! I’m pretty sure without him, I would have been in worse shape coming into Twin Lakes.
M and J helping me with shoe change #1
As it was, we hit Twin Lakes about 10 minutes early. I had warned my crew that if I was much early at all, that I was probably ruining my race. But I felt good, and there was nothing to do about it now. Bones found me, my Dad and father in law cheered as I came down the slope. Bones again filled my water pouch, I grabbed some coke, a mini milky way, some chips maybe, and exited the aid station to find my crew. I was so excited to be at Twin Lakes – I think they were a little surprised how happy and upbeat I was. Shoe change, sock change, more body glide, eat, detail what I had eaten (not much) eat a bologna sandwich, drink some water and set off. I almost left without my poles! I hiked out, knowing I had 15 minutes in the bank that would be well spent eating more food. So I ate my chips, drank my coke. I hiked all the way to the river eating, and was sure that this time, I wouldn’t see K again.
Off I go to climb Hope pass (just out of frame to the left)
I was sure I had totally blown my 15 minute buffer (although this was not even close to true). But arriving at the river, there he was soaking in the icy stream. I was happy to see him, but also wished that his Achilles wasn’t bugging him so he could have a good day out there. We crossed, then ran and hiked to the bottom of hope pass.
I wanted to believe that climbing Hope pass would feel like it had in training. I knew it would be slower, but I was just hoping I had enough oomph that it didn’t feel impossible, that I wouldn’t have to work too hard. I started up, and soon K was drawing away from me. It didn’t bother me – he’s a great climber. I kept at it, and found that it didn’t feel that much different from training. It was doable, and I felt that the other side would also be doable. The switchback portion felt like it lasted longer than I remember, but soon I was passing through the beautiful flowered meadows. I could now see K again up ahead, he was slowing a bit – I was catching him. Then, I could see what I had been anticipating for a year – the llamas. One made a little noise at me when I passed. They were a fuzzy, quiet, oblivious inspiration for some reason.
K was here, his Achilles really bothering him now. I grabbed something to drink and eat, and saw SB too. He said he was slowing down, but was still doing ok. I headed out quickly, trying very hard to be fast through the aid station. I was certain that my ascent was much slower than in training, and my gut told me that I HAD to make it to Winfield by 12:30 in order to be ok with the cutoffs on the way back. So I hustled. K headed out with me. I climbed steadily, and actually left him behind because of his lack of altitude training and heel pain. Finally at the top, I didn’t pause beyond a glance - I'd seen this view in training- and headed down. K is faster downhill; I knew he’d catch me. I caught up with another guy using poles. He was doing the Leadman competition. We watched a few people fly past us, and agreed that our pace was safer for our quads. At the end of the switchbacks, K caught me. I worked to stay with him. We came to the road together, and then he came to my rescue again. I had a blister forming, and he lent me his bodyglide. I sat on a rock in the shade, set my poles down, peeled off both shoes and socks. The blister wasn’t even pea sized yet, but the skin around it was irritated. Relief that it hadn’t gotten out of hand, I hurredly applied the bodyglide, reassembled socks and shoes, and headed down the road. Tim, the Leadman with poles, caught me on the road as I was eating some chips (trying to finish them before the aid station so I wouldn’t get scolded). Click click click… went his poles…. ACK! Where are my poles! I turned to see how far behind my my sitting place was, but it was already long out of sight. Tim thought I had stashed them on purpose, so I explained about my blister, feeling extremely lame. Here this guy had done all these races, and now it looked like I stashed my poles so I didn’t have to carry them an extra 2.5 miles.
I walked most of the road, jogging only a few times. But my walking pace was still 16 to 17 min/mile, so I was happy. To bolster that feeling, I did not feel like toast, I was ready to face the second half! AND I was still 10 minutes, or maybe a bit more, ahead of where I thought I’d be. Yahoo!
historical marker at Winfield ghost town
Dad at Winfield
Me hiking up the road to Winfield eating the last of my chips!
Bones caught me going into the aid station and took my water to be filled. Into the aid station, I weighed 2 pounds more than I did the day before. I grabbed some fruit and a coke, then Bones lead me to my crew. Here I was, feeling great, and here were all my friends, helping me out. I doesn’t get any better. I ate most of my bologna sandwich, more chips, more coke, and then it was time to go.
Blister check!
Mmmm, Coke!
I told Bones we had to watch for my poles on the way back, and I explained about the blister care. About ½ mi out from the aid station, he asks where my GPS spot was. Hmm? Turns out the small device that was supposed to be relaying my progress to my friends and family that weren’t with me had detached from my pack. Crap. Oh, well, I guess I ‘ll be replacing it. It seemed like an easy worry to let go, which was all to the good as I couldn’t see how I could do much about it now. We walked a good portion of the road to let the food I had eaten settle. We jogged for a bit, then started walking more looking closely at all the rocks on the side of the road for the one I had sat on an hour ago. “It was gray…” I said helplessly. But the day was coming up roses for me: we spotted my poles laying not 1 foot from the road, crossed carelessly next to a flatish rock. Wahoo!
The party didn’t last overly long – the turn onto the trail up hope pass stared me in the face, unblinking. Well, here’s the true test, I thought. Just make it over, slow and steady. Keep about 5% back, maybe a little more for the later miles. I had to convince myself to not try to stay on Bones’ heels, to just go my own pace. Several pairs of pacers and runners passed me. Many times they’d demur – oh no, you’re going just the right pace, we prefer to follow. But quickly with someone right on my heels, I’d be working harder, my breathing more labored, until finally I’d tell them to pass. Bones encouraged me to take a gel, to eat and drink – I tried to follow his directions. He kept me good company, telling me stories, and keeping my mind occupied especially when I couldn't talk. The section that seems to go straight up took a long time, but thankfully I was prepared for it and was patient. Finally the switchbacks came. At one point, near the treeline, Bones asks where the trail goes. I looked at him quizzically – the trail was as plain as the nose on his face, straight in front of him – so I said, straight in front of you. He chuckled, and after a couple of beats I realized I had missed something. Finally, after thinking over what he had said, I realized he wanted to know where the pass was on the horizon, and I pointed it out, a little abashed. Ah well.
Again, I was sure I was losing time on my prediction, but reminded myself to let it go, and just keep moving as easily as I could. I felt good, considering. No real problems, and how great is that? We got to the top and headed down to the Hopeless aid station. As we round the corner and the llamas come into view, I hear Bones admiring them. I put on more Vaseline here, as I worried about the downhill and my almost blister. They were out of coke, but the soup was good, and Bones got me out of there quickly. We jogged along, and made good time overall. At a bathroom break, I snagged some barbed wire, but other than a tear in my gaiter, I thought I was unscathed. Once we were down to the river flats, my legs weren’t too excited about the lack of gravitational assistance, but Bones had me walk/run, and then FORCED me to soak in the river for 3 minutes. Which felt awesome. Even the small muddy pools in the track on the other side felt good, though Bones laughed at me for just going through them instead of around when it was possible. Soon, when I knew we were close to the aid station, I told him what I wanted, and sent him ahead. I looked at my watch, and got a jolt of energy. I was half an hour ahead of schedule. No way! I felt great. I was running through the swamp at frickin’ mile 60, and I felt fabulous. Some onlookers gave me great encouragement here, and really got me excited. Just to be coming into Twin Lakes, which I had always pictured as the 2/3 of the way mark, and also a spot where I could be in a lot of pain, a lot of trouble - but instead I felt awesome, it just meant that I was doing Leadville right in some way. That I was succeeding.
I crossed the road into Twin Lakes with a huge smile, feeling like I was on top of the world. My crew found me, and exclaimed at how great I looked. Finally they convinced me to sit down, and start taking care of business. A shoe change, more to eat, a shirt change, amidst much talking and laughing. I got to talk to Co here on my mother in law’s phone, but I kept it brief, and he told me to go get ‘em. Maria was all suited up and ready to go, so my crew hustled me out of there. Even though I was ahead of schedule, by a lot, they didn’t let me linger. What a crew! I also told DP that, as good as I was feeling, I thought that I’d be early into all the other aid stations too, and that they should adjust the expected times.
I headed out with Maria holding ten things in her hands (and asking if there was anything else she could take) while I tried to down a cup of soup. The hike up the jeep road out of Twin Lakes wasn’t bad, at least, no worse than I expected. I took it slow, stopping occasionally to try to knock some of the noodles in the bottom of the cup into my mouth. I was keeping up with my salt tabs, and doing well with water. As we got to the trail turn off, I told Maria to go first, and we switched on our lights. The moon was coming up, full and bright, lighting up the scattered clouds. I hiked a big portion of this part, until the trail started going downhill. I love running on trails at night. I didn’t have a handheld flashlight with me, and I regretted it. Maria gave me hers, and I felt much more clear sighted. We leapfrogged with a pair of guys, the runner in good spirits but belching loudly at regular intervals. Which brought to mind Wacko, or should I say, the great Wakkarotti.
And then, the Yakko’s Nations of the World.
I ate a gel somewhere here, and had some chips. Soon we were descending the cut to the jeep road. Once there, running along, we came upon K. To whom I said, “You run like a girl!” We high-fived. His achilles was a non-stop painfest for him now. I told him I wanted to see him cross the finish line, and then we ran on. This section had occasional beautiful moonlit vistas of canyons and trees with mountains in the distance. The temperature was perfect, the surface was perfect, the company was great. We were passing people constantly, when one person we passed spoke up. “Is that Maria?” We had caught up to J, who had cracked a rib but was still soldiering through the tough course without being able to take a deep breath. “I wondered when you were going to catch me,” she said. After a bit of chatting, she took off. No really. Took off. All of a sudden, she sped up, her pacer went with her, and she left me in the dust.
Oh.
I have to admit that wasn’t a lot of fun. I was a little hard on myself for a while, but soon the aid station showed up, glowing in the darkness, offering coke and all things salty, sugary, warm and cold that a runner could want. I didn’t eat or drink much, but the coke I had was good. A look at my watch… I think we are even farther ahead of schedule. But, wait, is it 10 miles between Twin Lakes and Halfmoon II, or is it 6? I can’t remember, but I think it is 10. Maria can’t remember. We ask someone close by, they don’t know either. If it was six, then we are really slow. If it was 10, then we are making really good time. Which is it? Unable to figure it out, we head down the jeep road. Here I start to feel an ache in my left shin, just a little. It’s a little worse once we turn north on the pipeline road, just enough that picking up my toes to go over the ruts is hard. I direct Maria to the bridge to the west side of the jeep road, then thankfully we are on smooth pavement, and I can relax. I can definitely tell I’ve slowed down here. For reassurance, I ask Maria if the shuffling pace is faster than the walking pace. She says it is, and though I have my doubts, I keep running. Shuffling. On one of the walk breaks on the road to fish hatchery, I started to get a little cold. I had all my clothes on at this point, but wished I had a hat. Maria told me to use my buff – brilliant idea, except I don’t know how to make it into a hat – I need the diagrams to make it work. Instead, I pull it up so it now looks like a nun’s wimple, with just my face showing through. Maria just about fell over laughing, and I felt pretty silly. With that, my spirits up again, we headed up the road to Fish hatchery, now way way ahead of my projections. I just hoped DP would be there….
An SUV passes us on the road, then stops. DP’s voice carries through the darkness, “Margaret is that you?” I have no idea how they spotted me in the dark, but she and Bones gave us encouragement and headed to the aid station to set up. I was happy to know they were there, though I think they were a bit stressed out that they didn’t have much time. Here, I started to flat out ignore K’s advice, and I DAWDLED in the aid stations. I had oodles of time. I felt good. My crew told me I looked good and I believed them! I was excited for the next chunk, and also, I wanted to eat something here before the next big hill. Another cup of soup down the hatch. I think I ate something else here, too, but can’t really remember. Pretty soon my crew cottoned on to the fact that I was just sitting there, and DP hustled me out into the night. #805 checking out! At this point, I knew that I would finish. It didn’t matter what else the race had in store for me.
DP was the most motherly pacer I had, probably because I needed it. She let me hike to the turn up the sugarloaf hill, with one short bout of running downhill, before getting me to eat something. At this point, 20 hours of running, I really had to work up some enthusiasm for those gels. And not the quiet internal conversations, no this was full on, out loud, “oh boy! Strawberry banana. Mmmm. That’ll be good. Yum, strawberry banana. I like that. Tasty!” Hey, it worked for me. Going up sugarloaf, DP was easy on me. We went slowly so I could digest. The only prodding I got was to eat something, to drink something, but she left the pace to me. I took my shoe off to get a pebble out, I noticed a huge blister on the side of my toe, and a spot of blood at the base of my big toenail (painted Lickety Split Lime!) that seemed to mean that toenail wasn’t long for this world. Since the blister didn’t hurt at all, we decide to hold off on treating it until the aid station. As we got about half way up Sugarloaf, nature called. As I made my way back to the road, I hear someone coming up the path. Not footsteps, but groans, over and over again, steadily coming closer. A pure pit of human misery making their way in the dark. Maybe I should have waited and offered to help, but I couldn’t face it. I went faster uphill. We got to the top in 90 minutes, which matched the predictions I had made. So I had slowed down on this section, but I was ok with that. Still prodding me to eat, DP kept me company by teaching me a new alphabet based song. Which I think I caught on to by the time she got to ‘t’. Downhill before the Hagerman pass road was actually painful on my shin, lifting my toes to avoid the numerous rocks. We stopped once and DP rubbed it, but it didn’t really help for long. And it hurt equally to walk as to run… so might as well run. I asked DP whether the run was still faster than my walk, she said it was. The smooth Hagerman pass road was a relief, and we ran well down that, until we came to the turn off onto the Colorado trail. I asked to go first. It felt great to be back in the woods on a trail. I felt pretty great again in the cool of the night, the woods close around me. I forgot all about my shin, or maybe it just didn’t hurt anymore. Had DP given me a tylenol? I don't remember. DP took my water bottle to fill it, and I kept running. I focused on the path and tried to dance lightly over the rocks. First bridge. Keep running, keep running, feels so good – DP is somewhere behind me, I hear her say to someone I passed, “yeah, right? Who’s pacing who here? She’s doing great!” That gives me a lift. Second bridge, a glance at my watch – awesome, I’m still way ahead of schedule. She caught back up to me before the last bridge, and all too quickly we’re off the trail and running down the road to May Queen.
Me and crew at 4 AM looking at where my blister used to be
DP had a medic come to look at the blister, but it had popped going over sugarloaf, and looked completely normal. I ate, I got rid of a layer, drank some. I saw K’s son J, who told me no one ever looks this “with it” at May queen, much less happy. I felt great. I’d been moving forward for 24 hours.
Only 13 miles left, much of it trail, what’s not to feel good about! I tried to dawdle, but didn’t get very long before Bones and DP forced me up and out of there. I heard them make K and M promise to make me eat, cross their hearts and hope to die.
K headed out with me, and she and I walked to the trail head while I finished eating something. I think. M had told me that K was a bit worried about keeping up with me at altitude. Once on the trail, we ran steadily. A couple of times I thought I heard her stumble, but she assured me she was fine. We kept passing people. We saw Ruthanne, who was suffering from nausea. I offered everything I could think of, and finally gave her a hug and told her to keep working, that she was doing great, the finish was close if she could keep it up. SB passed me – I gave him a big cheer. What a comeback! It didn’t take long to get to the boat ramp, and M subbed in for K. I kept K’s headlamp, though, as it was much better than mine. I couldn’t believe it. I was on the last 7 miles. Can that possibly be right? M sang an air force cadence with my name substituted into all the best places which got me giggling. In the half light of the approaching dawn we both hunted for the trail markers as we passed through campgrounds. I was still passing people consistently, I passed SB again. Then I came upon J, still running with her hurt rib. We exchanged encouragement, and then I eased by on the left, and continued running. I still felt good. Wasn’t life supposed to suck at some point during this 100 miles? Not that I was complaining! It all seemed so surreal, like maybe I hadn’t even started running yet. I couldn’t believe I was capable of doing what I was in the midst of doing. I kept shaking my head, and I don’t believe the smile ever left my face. M asked if I was going to jump over the finish line. I tested out a jump – I didn’t get much air, that’s for sure.
Once we got to the dirt road part, I knew it was just a few more miles. The race didn’t seem as long as it was supposed to seem. How in the world did I get this close to the end? Everyone on the course at this point was congratulating each other, encouraging them, extending friendship and well wishes to everyone around them. We knew we would finish. The end was within reach. The camaraderie buoyed those that were flagging, and pushed those that wanted to push. Some faces I passed had pain, relief, some amazement, but all showed a sense of thankfulness for the day and the current moment that is missing in everyday life.
M and I were still running, until we turned to go uphill on the boulevard. We mixed walking and running. The sun came over the hill in front of us as we were climbing and blinded us. We turned left, and the knowledge that it was just a mile to the end brought tears to my eyes. M spent the large part of our run telling me how amazing this was, how inspirational for him. It wasn’t until I crested the hill and could see and hear the finish line that I could internalize even a small part of that sentiment. I was still just me, but I was also finishing something I wasn’t sure I could do. Something really hard. I had a lot of luck over those 27 hours, and a lot of help, planning and preparation had gotten me here, too. The run to the red carpet was quick. I could hear my friends and family cheering. I stuck my tongue between my teeth so I could bite it against the tears, and I was smiling as wide as it was possible. And I did jump.
Post race dazzlement
I almost didn’t want to stop at the line. Didn’t want it to be over. But it was finished at 27h 19 minutes for me, and I got hugs from crew, friends and family. K told me that we were now square – I had paid in full my half of the Ironman – Leadville bargain. The medical guy came to take me off to be assessed, and he echoed Ken Chlouber, saying that I didn’t look like I had run at all. I was still up 2 pounds. Monsigneur medic proclaimed that I was just fine, in great condition without any more tests. I stayed to see J finish just a bit behind me, then we went to the coffee shop for mom and dad. I saw my crew off headed back to the ABQ. Although part of me wanted to see the finish, we went back to the house instead so I could shower. First, though, K and M emptied 4 bags of ice into the tub for my icebath.
Facing that tub might have been harder than several race sections. I was already cold, my body not able to self regulate temperature very well anymore. It was all I could do to sit in there for 10 minutes.
Post shower I tried to stay awake to talk with mom and dad, but soon I could tell my head was nodding. I bowed to the desire to sleep and took a 30 minute nap. After that, we headed to the awards ceremony. Unfortunately, mom and dad had to leave for the airport halfway through, and didn’t see the awards part. As M and K, and my in laws and I were sitting in the bleachers waiting for them to start calling names, M shows me a picture of the results. It looks like this:
Wait, what are all of those numbers in front of my name?
143 = overall placing. Really? Cool! That’s good for me… out of 781 entrants… who knows how many started… or finished….
12 = placing among women. What? I was the 12th woman across the line? Wow. I did well out there. Really well. awesome. I can’t believe it.
3 = place in my age group. NO WAY! REALLY? … I got an age group award at Leadville… my first 100… an award… Hee hee hee I love it when the fast people stay home! Unbelieveable!
I had finished so far ahead of anything that I expected to do. I was disbelieving of that time. I fully expected to finish in 29:XX. I texted DP and Bones. Wahooo! As if I wasn’t unhinged enough by finishing the race, then finishing well, and feeling well, trying to absorb further good luck in placing in my AG was just beyond me.
Mayor Merilee, Me, and RD Ken Chlouber
My belt buckle and award pan
Other fallout:
I didn’t end up losing a toenail after all. The barbed wire that I snagged between Winfield and Twin lakes just scratched my big toe.
My blisters faded into callouses and were a complete non-issue.
The soreness in my shin is actually the tendon that runs up the front of the leg from the big toe, and that remains sore a week post race, but not terrible.
The GPS Spot was found by some angel runner or pacer, and turned in to lost and found. Thank you to that good hearted person!
I'm 36, and in the last two years I've finished a lifelong goal of doing an ironman race. Two actually. And I finished something I thought was impossible, the Leadville 100 Trail Run. Now what do I do with myself?
