Keeping the Pace

Or is it faith?

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

From LT100 2009

From LT100 2009

From LT100 2009

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Coke,

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

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

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

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

Brain Dump

I’m all riled up. Can’t focus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Co: “What is?”

Me: “Finishing. Just finishing.”

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

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

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

Me: “No. I’m going to do it.”

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

Wisenheimer.

I am not a lemming...

I’m all for exaggeration, especially when used to impress others. A good fish story is, well, GOOD. I’m a better listener than story teller, so I appreciate embellishment and amplification as important devices to add color and heighten suspense.

But I find it's best not to believe your own fish stories, ya know what I mean? When your own story telling devices start to freak you out, it’s time to get a good grounding in the truth.

Fine, so when you’re telling friends about the race you’re about to do, fine, go ahead, tell them how far, the elevation change, the horrible sun and no shade. Elicit gasps of disbelief from them as you recount the feat you are about to undertake. Willingly. In fact, you’re paying for the privilege. Fine. But I gotta put a big ol’ firewall between that hyperbole and how I approach training for said race.

Let’s take a hard look at IM St. George for example. Here’s the bike profile:



And I think, gee, that’s a big ol’ hill right there, and, uh, I get to ride up it twice. Should I be worried about this hill? DP and Geekgrl seem a tad freaked out. but… but… It’s at lower altitude than we are (3000 ft, to my 7000 ft). Is this hill going to make me miss the cutoff?? Will I have to walk my bike up it??? Ack!!!

Shift gears into “analysis girl.” I should wear a mask, maybe. Ooo, do my colored lab safety glasses count?

Thankfully, handy dandy web tools exists that will let me map routes and tell me elevation points. Map my ride, and USATF are good. Plus, for comparison routes that I’ve ridden, I can make use of my Garmin Forerunner GPS data. (oh boy oh boy oh boy, I love data.) All I need is distance between points and elevation at each point.

Here is a graph of 3 routes I have done around ABQ and let’s compare them to the hill at IM St. George (Route 4), grâce á USAFT mapping.
Route 1:Smiths on Central and Tramway through the canyon to the Triangle grocery.
Route 2: Smiths through the canyon to the top of 337 (aka S 14).
Route 3: Tramway from I 25 up past the casino to the tram.

I can tell you from experience that Route 3 is the steepest, and I’ve always thought the other two were comparable.

Survey says?

Ok, IM StG = totally doable. Yes, it’s a hill. Yes, I will ride it twice, and it’s long – but there are flattish spots. It is not, NOT I say, not harder than hills I ride all the time. (The % grade I calculated was from the last two points which is the steepest section only - though it is still an average over those 15 miles.) The trick will be to ride it at a level that still allows me to have a good run afterwards.

And, while we’re at it, it’s pretty clear why I’m sucking wind all the way up Tramway, even though it's only 6 miles.

Good to know. I feel much better now.

Run the Caldera Marathon

Third time… and it keeps getting better.

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.

A race report – because how else can I remember what happened?

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.

Cruel Wolf in Extreme Sheep Clothing

Revealed!

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.