I love this race. Loved it the first time, when I was much slower and it was all new. When I carried a camera with me, and took pictures the whole way, and didn’t mind that the camera (attached to my fuel belt) banged on my hip the whole time and gave me a huge bruise the next day.
Loved it the second year when it was hot but still pretty, I knew what to expect, and went faster. DP’s kids thought I was a dude as I was running down the jeep road to their aid station at mile 19. Loved that I ran 30 minutes faster than the previous year, and actually set my marathon PR by 7 minutes at this race which was incredibly tough for me.
Loved it this year. Loved feeling like I actually RAN it. Did that first mountain get less steep? Then the hill at 20 - still hard, but I remember its mythical stature from previous years, and this year it seemed a little… diminished. (The hill at 22 was still unhappy-making.) Loved having friends at the race doing it for the first time, loved carpooling with them and talking over the run. Loved that I ran 20 minutes faster than last year, and loved that it is such a small race that I finished second woman overall. This race is still gorgeous, even when running a little harder.
Run the Caldera Marathon, June 13th, 2009 26.2 miles, at 8000 ft elevation, with more than 2100 ft elevation gain over the course.
I got up very early (3:50) to make it to DP’s by 4:50 am. Bones joined DP, DP’s spouse, and I for the drive up in DP’s very spacious SUV. We left just after 5. This is the first time I didn’t drive, and getting to watch the scenery was really nice. We met GeekGrl and S. Baboo to caravan up from Bernalillo. We got there at 6:25 for a 7:30 start – early in my book, but there were a lot of people I hadn’t seen in awhile, so the time passed quickly. For once, I was the one in the know, having done the course twice before. I made sure to mention the killer hills late in the course at mile 20 and 22, roughly – they are easy to miss in the elevation profile as they are short compared to the mountain you climb early in the race, but very steep. I also extolled on the virtues of the cattle trough full of cold water at the finish. Very refreshing for tired legs.
As is my wont as a scientist/runner/type A, I wrote out several time scenarios. Would you like to see them? No? Too bad. 2007 finish: 5:45 2008 finish: 5:13 I wanted this year to finish under 5 hours. It had been 4 weeks since the Jemez 50K/SF100 weekend, and I was feeling recovered. Mostly. I hadn’t done any long runs since then, so I wasn’t sure about the state of my endurance.
Best case time: 4:45 This would mean running everything except small portions, and running 9 minute miles on the flat-to-rolling bits. At altitudes around 9000 ft. Very hard : 4:55 a tad more walking, and 9.5 min/mi Hard: 5:01 Moderate: 5:07 Do-able: 5:11
The small field of 48 grouped near the start with only a few overly intense souls toeing the start line. The rest of us hung around in the general vicinity. We started off with an air horn. Isn’t that a bit of overkill with less than 50 runners? Couldn’t you just yell, “GO”? The caldera had gotten rain in the week before the race, just enough to keep too much of the fine soil from being raised into a cloud of black dust by our tromping feet. It was cool and overcast, with chance of thunderstorms later in the day. Good running weather. I started near Bones. Since his goal was to finish well but comfortably, I thought I might beat him. (It’s helpful when the competition isn’t feeling competitive…) He’s speedy, and I know he’s faster over short distances. Plus, I thought he’d set a good controlled pace for the first 3 – 4 miles that are roughly downhill. Which he did. But did I stay with him? No. I was feeling pretty good. At one point, he said something to the effect of, “we’re doing 9 min miles – that’s too fast, Mo!” And I think I said, “I know, but I can’t help it.” And he had found someone to chat with. Since I wasn’t feeling like talking, I think we were both happier that I went off alone. I was sinking into the rhythm of running and breathing, looking and being. At mile three, the course turned uphill, gently at first. (I skipped the first aid station. My watch beeped every 30 min to remind me to take an e-cap or gel and water.) I kept running uphill, feeling good but slowing my pace down to 12 min miles. DP’s spouse started walking here to conserve energy, and I passed him. There was a guy ahead of me that kept about that pace, and I used him to keep me going. I caught him at mile 5, and we exchanged hellos, but not much more. There’s several streams that run through this area, some of them sulfur-y, but they provide nice background noise to get lost in. A few guys passed me after mile 7, I let them go as I thought following them would make me work too hard. As it was, I got to mile 10 (highest mark on the course) at 1:51… which was 2 minutes AHEAD of the BEST POSSIBLE time I had calculated. Ooops. I hoped I hadn’t spent too much on that climb – only time would tell. I took the next two miles easy, stopped and stretched twice, and tried to settle into a good pace. I ended up keeping about 9.5 min/mi down, with some parts at 10 – this is slower than I anticipated. The downhill is rutted and has some rocks, and I found it hard to get a rhythm. I could tell I was pretty tired. My calves were tight; I wished I had worn my compression socks. At the aid stations I was now refilling my water bottle (I drank 6 oz every three miles. I ate three gels over the course, and 2 e-caps an hour) and occasionally drinking some coke. At mile marker 15, my garmin said 14.5 miles, and it now looked like I wouldn’t finish under 5. I found it hard to enjoy the view coming down the mountain to the jeep road across the caldera as much as usual. I wondered if Mark and Steve were about to catch me after I wasted all that energy on the climb. I followed the road and it turned into the wind. I was getting hot here, so I doused my arm coolers with water. The simple fact of having cold arms (plus the scenery) shook me out of my disappointment. I decided to keep working. I could still beat my time from last year. So what if it wasn’t going to be easy? So what if it wasn’t a cake walk, wasn’t obvious, wasn’t a given, like some of my other races this year? The harder I had to work for it, the more I could enjoy it. So. I found I could run a little faster, and the need for discipline melted away. It’s so easy to talk myself into a corner, like the present is all that’s possible. The first step out of that corner is hard, but after that…
I wasn’t breaking any speed records here, but I picked my pace back up to 9.5 min miles and kept it steady. I caught a couple of the guys that had passed me going uphill. The rolling hills just before mile 20 caught me off guard, and I walked them at first. Then I ran as a guy I had just passed caught me. I “power-hiked” up the hill at mile 20, ran down it, and hiked up the next one. The volunteers here tell me I’m the 2nd woman! Woot! I think my exact words were, “No way!” I caught that guy again, and left him at the aid station. Then running downhill, my calves started to cramp. (The aid stations were a little shy on salty food selection, several only had pretzels which I don’t like.) Crap. So I get to the bottom and find a rock to stretch on. It took awhile to get them stretched out, and that guy passed me again (and he nicely asked if I was ok), I kept stretching until I felt them loosen. Better to resolve the problem now that to keep fighting it the last 5 miles. My garmin was about ¾ of a mile behind the mile markers at this point. I started running again, and I felt much better. Well, ok, my feet were achy and all the stabilizer muscles in my feet and ankles were tired, but I felt ok. I caught up to that guy again, and just kept him 20 yds in front of me. It’s mentally easier for me to follow someone than to feel pushed from behind. At the aid station at mile 23, I took some cherry coke. Blech. It was all they had. At this point, knowing the course was a huge benefit to me. I knew it was largely downhill from here, with a few flat sections and bumps. I did, however, start to let myself believe the mile markers instead of my garmin. Believing them meant that I would finish in 4:45, and that made me a bit too happy to be realistic. It did keep me focused… until after mile marker 25. Because all the miles since mile 13 were marked short, mile 25 was long. Really long. So although the aid station volunteer said there was only 1.5 miles to go, it was more like 2. I pushed the pace a little here, thinking I was close, and then it slowly sunk in as I ran, and ran, that I should trust my garmin. I passed the guy I’d been tracking for the last 5 miles at mile 25, and kept going. Finally I saw the clearing with our cars in it through the trees, and then the finish line. I couldn’t make out the numbers on the clock from across the field and I couldn’t look at my watch because the footing was so uneven. As I got close, I saw it read 4:5X and I was so happy I had kept it together.
My final time was 4:54:54. Kurt was there cheering, and he told me he thought I was second woman also. I was more excited to tell him that I finished 20 minutes faster than last year. I talked over the run with Ruthanne, who did fantastic, and went straight to the cattle trough. The one filled with cool water to soak my feet and calves, and wash off the dirt. The one I told all my friends about.
It was empty! The huge container of water was sitting right next to it on the trailer, but there was no hose. *sigh* I was disappointed, and I wished I hadn’t talked up that aspect of the race quite so loudly to my friends.
It took a little while for my calves to loosen up and my feet to feel less achy after the race. As second woman, I was supposed to receive a decorated plate. Unfortunately, they were not there to be given away, so the race organizers took our addresses. I did get 1st in my age group and so got a painted tile for that, which is nice. Shortly after I finished, I saw DP’s spouse cross the line, and then Bones and S. Baboo. I walked back up the trail maybe ½ mile with DP’s spouse to cheer her on, and run in with her.
The ride back was pleasantly spent recounting the tough parts, the pretty parts, and everything in between. And post race, I got called crazy freakin’ fast. I have no delusions about how fast I am, but it’s nice to hear other triathletes call me fast.
And now I get a break from racing, from testing myself for a little while. Time to enjoy training again. Time to get back in the pool after an 11 month hiatus.
And days later, at mile 93 of 103 mile bike ride during Big Weekend while I was drinking a Coke, the unmasking:
Wolf: "And next year, Mo will do this whole thing on foot - with a mountain pass thrown in!!"
Really, the only thing that saved the wolf from the great and terrible wrath of Mo turning his bicycle into a pretzel was that I still had a Coke in my hand.
I drove up Friday taking about 2:15 to get to Los Alamos. Check in was easy, I got number 685 – nice and divisible by five, with numbers that are in my birthdate. I might be a closet numerologist. The pasta feed was unremarkable. At the course talk we were reminded that many people have gotten lost in previous years (and I was one of them during the ½ marathon last year!).
The North Road Inn was nice – we had three bedrooms, and a kitchen/living area. Not fancy schmancy, but really perfect for our needs. Amy, Jane and Steve went out for dinner, eschewing the pasta and Ragu. While waiting for them to get back to the inn, Ken, Josh and I played a little “oh Heck.” Tough to play with three people, we all ended up with terrible scores, with Ken winning by a lot. Tim came in and packed his camelbak for the next day. I had made up possible time scenarios – three of them, but I felt they might all be too ambitious (8 hrs, 8.5 hrs, 9:10). Ken gave me some estimates on when he’d reach certain points, so I tried to add an appropriate number of hours onto his times, then compared that to my time estimates. My gut said I might finish in about 10 hours. To stay on that target I thought I should reach the top of Caballo (11.9 mi) in 3:30, then the ski lodge (19.8 mi) in 6 hours. Then the finish in 10 hrs. I thought I could remember these targets no matter how tired I was.
Before the race weekend I put a lot of importance on how I would do in the 50K. If I couldn’t finish in around 9 hours (please at least under 10…), I didn’t see how I’d be able to finish Leadville, even with a year and a half to work on it. I’ve been running a lot and loving it, but if I haven’t gotten any faster, any more endurance… I’d have to lower my sights a bit. Maybe change how I’ve been training. On the other hand, I thought – how cool! Try something that will be beautiful and challenging. Do it with friends. See what happens. No matter the outcome, no matter what the clock says, what my GPS says, being out there can feel amazing, like I am a part of the whole course. Let’s go! I can’t really say which half was louder….
About 9 pm, Jane, Steve and Amy return, we all talk over what we’ll wear, food we’ll carry, weather, the course… And I take an Ambien and head to bed. The ambien ensured that I fell asleep readily enough, but it doesn’t exactly KEEP me asleep. I woke up a few times, but all in all, I got more and better sleep than I usually do.
Wake (5:00). Dress. Oatmeal. Coke. Pack up the car. Steve rides over with me. Although tempted, I did not subject Steve to any Mo Karaoke. Check-in. Wait 20 minutes.
Start.
I seeded myself to the middle back. This is a funky course that covers a lot of ground – not just a simple out and back. The first 6.4 miles were part of the ½ marathon course last year. We climbed up to Guaje ridge – I was still with people at this point. 43 minutes to Mitchel trail head ahead of schedule. The climb to the ridge, I hiked. I knew I had lots of climbing ahead, so I held it steady. I reached the ridge at 1:35, right on schedule.
After Guaje ridge, we went down a treacherous trail, loose scree, narrow with a steep drop to one side, uneven surfaces. I thought I’d be picking up speed here, but after I put a foot wrong and my leg shot out from under me I lost my nerve. So, I cautiously descended. At the bottom, we followed a stream up the canyon. It was gorgeous down there – Golden Pea flowers bobbed near the flowing water. And it was quiet in a way – closed in, blanketed by the sound of the water. Soft trail underfoot (though still uneven) wound up the canyon, crossing the water at five points or so. The stream was wide enough I had to jump each time – which makes me feel like a kid. At one point the trail leads to an iron ladder to the side of a 12 ft tall cement holding wall over which the water fell. In my time estimates, I underestimated how I’d handle the gradual climb here up the canyon – I hiked quite a bit. I tried to dodge the feeling of uncertainty in how I was doing by enjoying the surroundings.
I reached the base of Caballo, ate and drank, filled my water bottles, and started up. (I did very well on nutrition and hydration on this race.) The climb was hard. I was with a group of 6 or so to start, but soon we broke up each going our own pace. It was hard work, but that was to be expected. There were runners headed down on the same path, and I see Tim on the 50 mile course – he looked like he was concentrating pretty hard. Not too much farther up, Ken comes shooting down the trail and he tells me to be careful coming down because the footing is loose. He looked good, relaxed and efficient. Lucky dog. A little while later (which, when climbing slowly, seems like an eternity) Jean runs down toward me, with Maria just off her shoulder. Wow, they look great. Then Amy comes down, and not far behind her is Steve, who tells me I’m not far from the top. And you know what? He wasn’t lying. It’s a pet peeve of mine that people tell me I’m not far, and then it turns out their definition of not far, and my definition of not far are NOWHERE near the same thing. Of course, the tricky thing about “not far” is that it depends on how good or bad I’m feeling. The worse off I am, the shorter my definition of not far actually is. This does make it a bit difficult for others to pinpoint, I concede. I reach the top, and it’s nippy up there! The volunteers are wrapped in sleeping bags. Admire the view, and around the cone I go, back down the mountain. I check my watch, and I was right on target – 3:30. “I guess it will take me 10 hours,” I think. *sigh* On the downhill I start to feel better, and I move downhill well, passing several people, maybe 8.
I had really examined the course profile, so when I reached the bottom of Caballo and the aid station volunteer said, “there, you’re done climbing! The rest is downhill.” - I knew he was oh-so-wrong. In fact, the next non-unsubstantial climb started almost immediately past the aid station. My climbing muscles were tired, but I plugged and chugged, hiked up the switchbacks. People ahead of me were starting to slow down. At the top, I started jogging immediately. After 30 seconds or so, the legs feel weak, like I should stop, but I don’t. I know that feeling will pass if I keep jogging. It does. I passed more people now, as they continued walking. My legs felt tired, but still ok – no cramps, I was still moving pretty easily. I reached pipeline in a running groove. Drank some coke – 2 cups. Water, tried a boiled potato, ate something salty. I didn’t really dig the boiled potato. But my stomach didn’t care too much and it handled everything I threw down my gullet. Maybe I paused here too long, as some of the guys I passed got to the station and headed out before I did. So, right, Ken says this isn’t a sight-seeing trip, so let’s go. I’m running, but most aren’t anymore. Some give me envious looks as I pass them. I feel good. Just 3 miles to the ski lodge, and I suddenly think that I’m getting ahead of schedule. That fuels me. This section was fun – I had been here 2 times in the winter skiing and it was a kick to suddenly be somewhere that was both familiar, and unfamiliar with all the snow gone. I saw Amy, and then Steve on this section as they are headed back to pipeline. This section is great to run on – wooded and rolling, wide trails. Before I know it, I’m at the ski lodge, and they cheer as I run in. ok, that’s a bit odd – but I’m happy to be there, so maybe the cheering is for my big smile. I hit the aid station at 5:25, ahead of schedule.Wahoo!
MMmmm, ham and cheese wrap. More coke. More water, Gatorade, etc. Bathroom – I’m dehydrated, despite the cool weather and my drinking like a fish. *sigh* More water. More sunscreen. And I head out leaving the station feeling great at 5:33. Awesome! Let’s get back to pipeline and then get down to the finish. I thought maybe I’d have problems running back to pipeline – it’s slightly uphill. But I ran it, passing more people. Ran passed the photographer, and though he didn’t get a picture of it, I was smiling. Maybe it was on the inside. Pipeline aid station shows up really quickly. Fuel, fuel, fuel.
I follow the sign out of pipeline down a jeep road, and …
There’s a big hill down the road. It looks like a wall. The course profile indicated some rolling hills, but this was more. It was intimidating. I pass this guy, and he asks me how much longer I think it will be. It’s now 6:15 hrs in, and we have 11 miles to go. Normally, I’d say two hours, or less as it’s mostly downhill. It won’t be that easy though, as the hill in front of us suggests. I tell him 2.5 hrs and keep moving. And now, I start telling myself to pay attention. It’s here that people get lost, missing turns. No bonus miles this year. Keep looking for the course flags. I round a corner on the jeep road, and see another wall. I may have groaned. But shortly there after, I see course markings directing me to another forest single track trail. Another very run-able section, and I love it still – feeling my legs moving, listening to the wind in the aspens. There’s no one in sight now. I enjoy the solitude.
The course flags are placed far apart here, and I get nervous at a few points. I haven’t seen any other trails to follow, but if I were to miss a turn, I wouldn’t see the other trail. Every flag I see is a little pat on my back. I arrive back at the Guaje ridge station, where I get more sunscreen, more water, more fuel. I’m getting a little tired of fuel at this point. Nothing is particularly good. Not that it’s bad, it’s just not good. And now my feet are definitely tired, and hot. Five miles to the next aid station, and only seven miles to the finish. Resolutely, downhill I go. This section is down a rocky ridge, with several downed trees to climb over. It’s exposed, and the sun is out. I get a little warm, but I don’t feel like drinking anymore. I do some anyway. I’m back on a portion of the course I’ve seen before. It was on this section that I got lost last year. I came to that spot and this time, I took the path most traveled by!
I see someone now in the distance. I think I can catch him. Pushing a little, I am catching him – then he looks back, sees me, and takes off. The trail undulates, and he’s walking the hills while I keep running. A perfect scenario to keep my head where it should be. I pass him, and figure I still have a mile to go to the aid station. As I get close, I see a sign, striped red and white that reads, “Naughty!” Stopping in my tracks I wonder if I’ve gotten off course again. But if that’s the case, shouldn’t it read, “wrong way” or something? Hm. I keep going, and see another sign that reads, “or NICE?” colored in red and green. Ok, this must mean the aid station is close, and I am on the right track. I get there, and they tell me how good I look (and I actually believe them – I must be delusional). Their station is Christmas themed. It’s funny. I spend little time here, thinking – I’m just 2 miles from the finish. It’s just past 8 hours. I can do this under 9! I remember this section from last year, and it was hard – I was toast after doing 6 bonus miles, and it’s a little uphill. This year, though, I ran most of it. And I felt great about it. I almost stepped on a snake, too, but that’s beside the point. I was not toast. I was still running. My feet hurt (and my neuroma had bothered on and off the whole race) but it hurt no more to run than to walk. And the discomfort wasn’t that bad. I finally got to the road, and the finish line. Where they actually did tell me I could stop now. After 8:37. That’s flippin’ fantastic.
Post race, I hear how everyone else did, see Amy’s war wounds, hear that Keri came in second overall by only 6 minutes and won the women’s race. Everyone did great. I am so happy that I ran the second half of the race, relieved and disbelieving that I finished as fast as I did feeling as good as I did. I came in 13th woman, of 36, and 44th overall of 96.
And then I headed home to sleep and get up to bike the Santa Fe Century on Sunday.
Santa Fe Century, 103 miles:
I had trouble sleeping, but I got out of bed on time, and on the road. I thought I’d arrive at 6:50, and be ready to go at 7 as we had all planned, but there was a line of cars waiting to park at the start area. After finding Jane, Mark, and Chris, getting ready, it was 7:30 by the time we headed out. Ooops. Opposite from Saturday, I’m pretty confident in my ability to finish this 103 mi ride. I may need to draft quite a bit, but I’ll do it.
We started with all the Outlaws, but they pretty quickly left me, Jane, Ken, Amy and Chris behind. We enjoyed the downhill road out of Santa Fe, and felt like we were rolling along just fine. I was tired, and felt like I should concentrate on conserving my energy until the last 20 miles, after Galisteo. The first couple of climbs showed me that completing this day was going to be no joke. My legs had no zip, no power. To boot, my stomach just would not settle down. I had to keep eating and drinking, even so. Here’s the reality: on Saturday, I burned 3500 calories just running, plus my regular metabolic expenditure of 1400 or so. I probably consumed 2400 calories that day – I couldn’t really eat anything that evening when I got home. That’s about 2500 in the hole. I had lost more than 4 pounds on Saturday. Today, I would burn about 2500 cycling, plus the daily 1400. With probably most of the muscle glycogen gone from the day before, whatever I couldn’t supply through eating would come from metabolized muscle and fat. So, I felt nauseous, and drank Gatorade, water, and ate chex mix, PB&J sandwiches, melon chunks (ugh, don’t think about chunks…) anyway. About mile 30, my bike started making alarming creaking noises from the handlebar area.
We got to Heartbreak Hill which Ken and Amy had not been up before. Amy thought it didn’t look so bad! Heading up, I was feeling a bit grumpy because of my bike, and my stomach and maybe because I was tired and had low blood sugar. Which made me stubborn. Very stubborn. I decided to climb HH without traversing, without stopping. About halfway up, Jane’s telling me to go ahead and traverse a little, there’s no traffic. I think I grunted. She might have been a little alarmed at how hard I was breathing. But I held out to the top. Maybe a dumb way to spend my muscle energy, but it was a nice boost to me psycologically. Surprisingly, shortly after Heartbreak hill my stomach started to feel better.
When we turned north, I was really starting to get tired. My morale was pretty low. Chris, Amy, and Ken kind of drift off ahead. I turned to Jane and she absolutely pulled me through. Literally. I sucked her wheel from Stanley to Galisteo, letting her go a couple of times on inclines only to catch her on the downhills. She was awesome. She tried to make conversation, and she did keep me entertained, but I wasn’t able to hold up my end of the bargain very well. And as we got close to Galisteo, we caught up to Amy and Ken. Thanks, Jane. You rock.
And here, I became famous. It was all about the socks. My compression socks were white, and knee high. Picture that with my black spandex bike shorts, and my shrek bike jersey. I was stylin’. (ha.) However, some of my fellow bikers couldn’t decide whether I was wearing tube socks, or was trying to dress like a catholic school girl. I had no idea of the confusion I was causing until at the Galisteo station, 20 miles from the finish, when a couple of guys asked me, “so, what’s with the socks?” Apparently, it took them 80 miles to screw up their courage. So I explained that they were compression socks. “Oh, like Tor Bjorn at the Ironman?” one guy says. I nod. They all nod and start asking me whether I think they work, do I like them, do I do triathlons… So, if you want some extra attention, wear compression socks to non-running, non-triathlon events. I’m just sayin’.
After Galisteo, it was only 12 miles or so to the coke stop. The aid station with a gas station next door where I could buy a coke. I had been talking about this all day. A Large Coke. Jane and I sang a little song about how much our butts hurt. Because they really did. A lot. Amy was struggling a bit at this point, I stayed with her for a while. Then Jane joined us. As we headed to the last climb, I felt like I needed to go my own pace… and I could taste that coke. I road into that gas station, completely bypassing the aid station, and bought a huge fountain coke. Actually, Ken bought it for me – he said I looked so happy holding that coke. I paid it forward when Amy came up, giving her cash to buy her very own coke. I understand the importance of a good Coke fix. I think they should sponsor me.
Our team of five had a little miscommunication here, as Ken and Amy wanted to get back (Jean and Josh had been waiting for hours for them) they went ahead. Jane, Chris and I, once we were convinced they had gone ahead (and I had finished my huge coke), we cruised in those final miles. I was feeling much better after the coke infusion, and we really motored.
And with that, my big weekend was over. I’m surprised that I did it. When I write out on paper that I ran 33.2 miles then the next day rode my bike 103 miles, I still shake my head. I’m doing it now.
The last few days I have been bumping up against the challenge I accepted to run the Leadville trail 100 in 2010. With an only 40% finishing rate, I can’t even say I have even odds of being successful. That hill looks pretty d@mn steep.
You know, an Ironman was supposed to be my big goal this year (Beach 2 Battleship in Nov.). I am finally going to do one, after wanting to try since I was 8. A dream 26 years in the making. That’s big, right? There aren’t a lot of dreams that have stayed with me from childhood. But this one has the same appeal, maybe stronger, as it did back then.
I imagine my race calendar as a trail I am following, the races being hills. It’s fitting, considering the place I now live. Some hills are bigger than others. The B2B mountain is just beyond the foothills of the Jemez 50K/SF100. In fact the B2B mountain has a twin just beyond it, the IMUT in May. But now in the gray distance, there’s a 14er. I think I knew it was there all along. My PhD professor told me in 2002 that I’d do LT100 one day, and his mention of it was the first time I heard about the race. I think my jaw hit the floor. I protested, “No way! That is crazy. Do you know how far that is???” – but like anything, if someone tells me it’s hard, deep down, I want to try. But I thought it was much farther away. Like maybe when I turn 50.
Leadville pops into my head without warning. Strange tangents to everyday thoughts: cracking open a coke provokes “maybe I should give up coke because I’m doing Leadville. “hmm, my foot hurts. Better not be serious, because I’m doing Leadville.” Crunching numbers at work drifts into “At Leadville at mile 86, I’ll be lucky to be able to work out that 2+2=4.” Sometimes anxious, sometimes just curious.
It’s very reassuring to me to have friends around that have done and are doing the race, and friends that have told me they think I can do it. With a friend next to you, the hill looks less steep.
Even the NY times agrees: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/21/health/21well.html?_r=1&em “Last year, researchers studied 34 students at the University of Virginia, taking them to the base of a steep hill and fitting them with a weighted backpack. They were then asked to estimate the steepness of the hill. Some participants stood next to friends during the exercise, while others were alone. The students who stood with friends gave lower estimates of the steepness of the hill. And the longer the friends had known each other, the less steep the hill appeared.”
The backpack may be heavy, friends, but that hill isn't too steep after all.
If you are a sheep, (and you know you are), be sure you REALLY DO want to emulate the sheep around you. 'Cuz it's going to happen, it's just a matter of time. Find an appropriate flock.
Flock selection is key to sheep happiness.
When meeting a prospective flock for the first time, it might be wise to get acquainted with the extremists. Do you admire their extreme-ness? Envy it a little? Fine, YOU are in the RIGHT FLOCK. If the extreme sheep are doing things you think are out-of-the-question, no-fookin'-way-I-am-ever-doing-that, then perhaps a different flock is in order. Or maybe you can hide yourself in a sub-flock and ignore the extreme sheep. Do not become friends with the extreme sheep.
When in a group of sheep, and one suggests you do something somewhat outrageous that they have already done, DO NOT expect the other sheep to give you reasons not to do the outrageous thing. They. are. sheep. It is not in their makeup, any more than it is in yours to turn down the suggestion.
Sheep can be steered by using their tail like a joy-stick. Betcha didn't know that.
Contemplate an outrageous thing long enough, and it will seem less and less outrageous. Especially if one is surrounded by supportive sheep. Sheep who offer to pace you at the drop of a hat (Maria!). In fact, outrageous ideas send out taproots that are practically impossible to dig out in a contemplative environment. Add sheep dung, and you've got yourself a Kudzu bed.
"Ba ram ewe, to your sheep, your fleece, your clan be true, baramewe."
In an effort to reconnect with their Norwegian heritage, Heidi and Lars decided more cross country skiing must be done before all the snow in the sunny southwest was gone. Heidi was most frustrated by her recent experience in the Mt. Taylor Quadrathlon, and so she searched far and wide for a cross country ski area that was more than 1 mile long, and involved more skiing, and less hiking up hill and falling downhill.
The wonders of the internet came to the rescue, displaying as the first google result the Southwest Nordic Ski Club. While Heidi was uncertain about the Norwegian-inity of using the internet, communication using trumpets fashioned from the horns of large animals was beyond her. Not to mention the hunting, slaying and removing said horn in the first place. The SW Ski Club mentioned several possible places to cross country ski, and touted its very own groomed course in Los Alamos as wonderful.
To Los Alamos we go!
The day was beautiful, with a sunny blue sky and warm temperatures. Lars only complained that Heidi’s hair really ought to be plaited to truly get in the spirit of Nordic skiing. Heidi wished to avoid comparisons to Pippi Longstocking. The course was fantastic with moderate climbs forming a loop that lead to a view of the Valle Caldera. Lars picked up the knack of kicking and sliding on his skis. Heidi grinned widely while confidently gliding downhill on the wide groomed trail.
A yodel was bursting to be released from Heidi’s throat, but too timid, she swallowed it instead. This reconnecting with one’s heritage can be tricky. Both Lars and Heidi, after such a successful bout with skis on their feet, demanded a do-over for the Mt. Taylor Quadrathlon ski. “Vengeance will be ours!” Lars exclaimed. “Until next year,” Heidi threatened.
The end of the trip culminated with a fine meal, though the draughts of choice, it must be noted, were pop instead of mead. Our novice adventurers have much to learn.
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?
ra with me, and took pictures the whole way, and didn’t mind that the camera 
Loved that I ran 30 minutes faster than the previous year, and actually set my marathon PR by 7 minutes at this race which was incredibly tough for me.
Loved that I ran 20 minutes faster than last year, and loved that it is such a small race that I finished second woman overall. This race is still gorgeous, even when running a little harder.
