tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87416450869890418522024-03-13T08:52:21.733-06:00Tired Mama RunningI'll sleep when I'm dead. Unless someone needs me to do their laundry.TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.comBlogger274125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-36239396907466461222016-11-06T15:14:00.001-07:002016-11-06T15:14:03.316-07:00Feel Gravity's Pull: Rim Rock Run 2016<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"You can't do this", I said "I can too"</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">The Rim Rock Run started as a gate-to-gate, 37K run across the Colorado National Monument from Grand Junction to Fruita. Over the years, there have been times when the race was on the verge of extinction, but every year, various race directors and volunteers have kept it going. There has always been a passion to keep this beautiful and difficult race alive. I volunteered on-course for the last year of the original Rim Rock Run before the conversion to a full marathon, a decision that did not thrill all within the local running community. As a new runner, I recall thinking that the course was beautiful, and that these runners were out of their damn minds to run it. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Fast forward a year, two marathons then under my belt, I found myself among the crazies at the start line for the inaugural <a href="http://www.rimrockmarathon.com/" target="_blank">Rim Rock Marathon</a>. It began down the hill from the Grand Junction entrance to the<a href="https://www.nps.gov/colm/index.htm" target="_blank"> Colorado National Monument</a>, and followed Rim Rock Drive across and over the Monument, ending at the Charles Robb State Park in Fruita along the Colorado River. We whooped through tunnels, climbed uphill knowing that gravity would eventually reward us, gained some speed coming off the Monument, and then slogged down highway 340 into the park. As with the Imogene Pass Run, I felt a deep satisfaction in running from one place to another, and doing it with a little hill in the middle. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">I ran the marathon five times in to total before the 2014 Rim Rock Marathon. I was recently divorced, trying to balance many responsibilities, and didn't want to do the marathon if I couldn't give it the training effort it deserved. Enter The Bad Ideas Club. This was my first Rim Rock Marathon relay experience with my friend Tom, who said he'd only do it if he got to run the uphill. We signed up not after a heavy-duty, high mileage training cycle, but after a few post-run beers at a local brewpub when the race website announced the relay division was nearly full, hence our team name. This was good because I said I had no interest in the uphill, and just wanted to see how fast I could do the downhill without that 13.1 mile climb before it. We were the top Masters team and had a blast with it. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">The next year, my friend Bonnie and I ran it as team KAR-BON (she ran the uphill but BON-KAR just sounds weird). Again, we got it done, ran well, and decided to do it again this year. There was a brief conversation about switching legs, but when Bonnie gave it another moment of thought, she said "nah, just kidding. I'll stick with the uphill." We hadn't been exclusively running leading into this race. Bonnie was doing all kinds of running,hiking, and yoga, and I was had just finished my seasonal peaching job, squeezing runs in wherever I could. Still, our fitness levels seemed good, we'd run this sucker once as a team, and it felt like we had the fitness and right attitude to have fun, run hard and quite possibly run it faster than the previous year.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">In the week before the race, there was a lot of unexpected, hard stuff in life that came up. One of my former co-workers at my regular full-time job lost her breast cancer battle. She wasn't that much older than me, had kids the same age as mine, and it's just not fair that this woman who was healthy two years ago is gone now. Two days later, I got a message from my oldest daughter that their high school was on lockdown after shots being fired. Her sister-my middle daughter-was still on campus after school for a team practice and quickly moved with other students and faculty behind the locked doors of a copy room. When finally released they learned that one of their classmates had ended his life in his car in the parking lot. It's the second suicide since school started. Two too many. Everyone has been left hurting and asking how to prevent another kid from deciding this was the only thing they could do. It made me hurt to hear my kid saying "I was so close, maybe I could have done something to change (the decision, the outcome)." </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It feels selfish to say so, but I was relieved that we had Rim Rock on the calendar yesterday for a welcome pause from a heavy week. My kids returned to their father's house for the next week, I did quick gathering of race-day clothing and shoes, and got to bed. This was not the impossible race I thought it was eight years ago. It was a welcome opportunity to do something hard, sometimes painful, but fun and satisfying.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">My only worry had been doing a stupid sleeping through of my alarm, so I set about five of them for myself on my phone and asked Bonnie if she'd please give me a buzz when she got up in the morning. I just had to be on the bus in Fruita to the halfway point at 7:30. I woke up just fine, her call came, and I got to Fruita in a pleasant drizzle. Not too hot, not too cold. Rim Rock has had a history of some freaky weather but this was perfect. I was going to do a basic, bare bones gear bag but said screw it, I want to be warm and comfortable beforehand, take pictures, and have a really good time. I couldn't believe how many buses there were at the rec center in Fruita, and realized that this was due to the wildly popular decision to add a downhill half marathon. I found a seat on one of these buses with my friend Kevin, who crushes the "old guy" and overall divisions alike. I'd brought headphones to listen to music but instead we wound up chatting and joking on the ride up. </span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; text-align: left;">Read the scene where gravity is pulling me around</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; text-align: left;">Peel back the mountains peel back the sky</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; text-align: left;">Stomp gravity into the floor</span></span></b><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">In my extreme mellowness over the race this year, I didn't even look to see that they'd changed the relay hand-off point, and maybe they didn't tell the bus drive as he totally overshot the pull-off where we were supposed to unload. After trying unsuccessfully to make a tight three (five? seven? ten?) point turn into the lot, he finally gave up and said hey guys, just go ahead and get out here. Seeing where we were, I realized Bonnie was going to be running a longer leg than last year. I wondered if she knew she had a longer run in store as well. The previous relay exchange point was short of a half-marathon but made for easy vehicle and spectator access; this was the true marathon halfway point. She was going to have to do that climb with gravity working against her, and have a "bonus" stretch before reaching me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">The half-marathoners got off to their start at 9am, and this left a small handful of second-leg relay runners, including my friend Julie, a meterologist, who said yep, we're going to be rained on soon. We enjoyed having the port-a-johns pretty much to ourselves, and goofed off with the race volunteers. It continued to spit but never turn into a heavy rainstorm, and the temperature felt good. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Runners began coming in for the relay. I hadn't seen Bonnie's husband, or her parents. I wondered if they'd accidentally overshot this small exchange point, and were at the old spot. Julie's relay partner came through and she headed out. Expecting Bonnie in soon after-I wasn't sure where we were on time exactly-I stripped off my jeans and sweatshirt. I saw someone who looked like her coming over the hill near our spot and squinted up the road, seeing her husband Danny following along. I knew then that they'd missed our aid station. She came in fast, we high-fived off, I pointed to my ginormous duffle bag of stuff, and took off.</span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; text-align: left;">Step up, step up, step up the sky is open-armed</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; text-align: left;">When the light is mine, I felt gravity pull onto my eyes,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; text-align: left;">Holding my head straight (looking down)</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; text-align: left;">This is the easiest task I've ever had to do</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; text-align: left;">There was something about running downhill that made me want to squeal and yell "whee!" despite not doing this race in the middle of marathon training and tons of 20-mile runs, when this task was a much easier thing to do. It's just a beautiful course and it's not overcrowded with people. I let adrenaline be my friend for the first few minutes, and enjoyed the fun of going as fast as I could. Then, I tried to adjust my pace but not the cadence of my feet so that the pace was something sustainable for the duration. I've always enjoyed being competitive in a race situation, be that against myself or other runners, and my first goal became passing two gals running the full marathon. Yeah, they were running twice as far but it was a good, confidence-building first pass. They both had headphones and didn't hear me coming. I heard one of them say, oh, she's just running the half! We've already done 13 miles! I know she truly meant it in a positive way but I smiled on the inside and thought-keep moving fast enough that they don't ever have a chance to pass back. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Three miles went by at a comfortably hard pace, and I tried to play that edge between being disciplined about pace, but also looking around, enjoying myself, and saying yes, these are my people and this is my place. The weather could not have been any better for running. Not hot, not cold, and overcast. I started yelling "woohoo!" and each mile marker. It was something to keep the mind busy and engaged. If doubt or worries about how I would hold up near the end, I would go back to my form, breathing, and making corrections that would keep me going at this pace. I'd sporadically come upon and pass runners, and tried to do it with control. We were heading toward the tunnels on the Fruita side of the Monument. This is my favorite part of the entire course. Two tunnels and then this long, twisting downhill off the Monument. I'd gotten really stupid here in a previous full marathon run, getting to a pace that caused glycogen depletion or "hitting the wall" around mile 25. While this was not a full marathon, I had learned from my stupidity and didn't want to repeat it. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">There was a gal in all pink, and I was pretty sure she was a full marathoner. I'd been eyeing her for awhile, and had been inching toward her for a few miles, but she was running a strong, even pace. I let out a "woohoo!" on both tunnels, deciding to push and see if I could overtake her. I was getting closer but not getting to her. Bad ideas be damned, I decided I was going to pass, picking it up and finally getting past her. Coming off the Monument, and onto Highway 340 with traffic and small shoulder to run on, I was tired but feeling good. If my eyes allowed themselves to wander all the way down the road to Fruita, I made a point to look down about six feet in front of me. A couple were pulled off roadside to cheer on runners, and they yelled "So close!" They laughed when I yelled back "Yet so far," and the guy hollered "there's beer at the finish!" Yes indeed, that sounded good.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">We were nearing the big ugly butthole of this beautiful course...crossing over I-70, going uphill and around the traffic circles, hopping on and off concrete sidewalks, and finally downhill into Fruita. I love that the race ends where it does in Fruita, and we have great traffic control from the State Highway Patrol, but this part of the run sucks. The only time I was passed by someone was approaching the overpass. It was a guy I'd passed coming off the Monument, and he passed me back here. I couldn't hang with him, but fought the fade. Finally, looked up toward the finish. The band at the finish line was playing Godzilla. I laughed and sang along for a few words...."Oh no...there goes Tokyo..." This was probably the weirdest song in my memories of finish line songs but it felt so oddly appropriate with the green dinosaur by the finish in Circle Park in Fruita. I got my first look at the time clock, too, and saw that a team PR was in hand. I got through in 4:15 and change, somewhere around two minutes faster than our team time last year. I saw Bonnie, Danny, and Bonnie's parents, and we all high-fived and hugged. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Bonnie indeed was not expecting that bonus mile, making it feel even better that we'd still turned in a faster time. We hung out in the park, made an obligatory visit to the <a href="http://hottomatocafe.com/" target="_blank">Hot Tomato</a> for post-race stromboli and pizza, and came back to the park to hang out and get our free beer. One yoga class later today, I'm sore but feeling decent. Nothing that more running won't cure.</span></span></div>
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TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-65296026147634706352016-09-13T21:51:00.004-06:002016-09-13T22:20:42.595-06:00Time/Breathe: Imogene Pass Run 2016<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I've missed writing, and missed racing. I was racing myself, not others this weekend. A year from now, I'd like to be here racing others. This weekend, though, I was one of the faithful, being called over the mountain, from Ouray to Telluride, and what a glorious day it was. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">My first Imogene Pass Run was in 2008; it was my third race ever, and one that "they" said should not be done without many factors in place with regard to training, gear, and mountain preparedness. It's true; the mountains do not care. During my first run at this race, I was well-trained for my first road marathon, had never done anything as hard as this run, was carrying a huge pack of water, gloves, jacket, hat, and everything but the kitchen sink. I made a deal with myself that if I finished that day, I would never, ever, do this thing again. It's probably the last race I would expect to see as my longest ongoing running streak since then. A year later, race amnesia an authentic condition, I signed up for the 2009 race, and have been on the starting line every year since. Right now, slightly more experienced at life (I'm not old) and running, it makes perfect sense.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">The weekend of the race came after a few months of inconsistent but focused training. I lost almost a month of time on feet due to the single stupidest and scariest running injury I've ever ever had. It was frustrating and made some of my first runs back feel kind of tense. Perhaps it was a harbinger of things to come that my first major workout after that was a Fourth of July Mt. Garfield climb with friends Cheryl, Mike and Dewayne. If I'd let myself be too safe, I might have couch-dwelled, but instead, we took in a glorious fireworks display across the valley under starlit skies. And there was a little bit of Fireball to commemorate the occasion. The few others up there had made the same effort to see the show, and that made it special. Imogene, in comparison, draws 1600 entrants and 1200 runners on race day, but the intention of most entrants remains the same. Do something that you're afraid you might not be able to do. Or, do something you know you can do, and know will hurt.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I came into this race not well-trained, not well-rested, but experienced. I have high expectations of myself, and the idea of not performing to previous levels, or not finishing at all, was truly enough to make me want to not even start. I think it was the thought of potentially not finishing that had my stomach in knots for the first time ever before a race that produced the early morning nausea I experienced for the first time ever-either that, or the head congestion that was draining into my throat that morning. One year I came in with the goal of breaking four hours. This year, making the 7.6 mile Upper Camp Bird cutoff was heavy on my mind. My "long run" has been one ten-mile trail run. On the flip side, I've consistently been running and focusing on quality. I've returned to yoga. There was a great day on the trails with my friend Jen prior to my faceplant that reminded me why mountain time,away from phones,work,and daily shit, is important. And, although I can't say that my work schedule directly translates to running, it has taught pacing and endurance. All good things at Imogene.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Since the last time I've blogged, there have been some cool life changes. My Dad, also an Imogene finisher, decided to move to Colorado. That happened much more quickly than I think he expected, and it's wonderfully surreal to have one of my first running influences around and about. He decided to come down to watch the finish, and cheer me in, along with the many others coming over the hill. I also got engaged to Andy, which is one of the most unlikely evolved friendships one can imagine. We're independent, we challenge one another, and we support the passions that drive each of us. He came in for the weekend as well. Then, we all got to experience this beautiful weekend.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">My morning began at "The Blue House" near the start of Imogene that has been a Grand Junction runner staple for the past few years. Andy and I came in late Friday evening. I picked up my packet, we had dinner, blew up an air mattress, and we turned in, my mind still racing about race day. The next day, I did something I'd never done-ever-in eight years of racing. I tossed my cookies. Not what I wanted going into things. Andy got me water and told me to stop thinking about the puking. I needed this in this moment, despite the gut feeling weird. It brought me back to my very specific plan. Run and hike aggressively enough to make Upper Camp Bird by 10 a.m., respect my lack of training and take things slow and steady to the summit, and downhill to the Tomboy Aid Station, and then gradually accelarate toward the finish. It's remarkable how finishing with a solid strategy felt more important this year than any of my faster goals here.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-size: 13px;">I started the run and spent a lot of the uphill pacing with my friend Conrad from our Mesa Monument Striders running club. He wouldn't tell you, but he's finished the Western States 100, Leadville, and a lot of other stuff that many people don't know a thing about. He gave me a great Leadville shirt when I trained for my own failed attempt at the race, and organizes the Run To Whitewater with his wife Kim. It's that kind, experienced and generous spirit that is one of many things about trail running that is appealing to me. This was his first time back at the race in twelve or thirteen years. I made it through to Upper Camp Bird, looked around and saw that Conrad was there too. I had been concerned about making it to this point, and it felt good to know that I'd arrived. It felt even better to see that Conrad was here too. Heading out, I was smiling to myself and thinking about how I had never learned to give up this race. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-size: 13px;">The route to the summit was as it has been every year prior. A strange, joyful, oxygen-deprived march to the summit. This year, there were two gals in colorful wigs making noise and ready to give a hand for the last step onto Imogene Pass. I danced and smile as I saw them, and accepted two hands on either side, sling-shotting myself up onto flat ground. Finding my chicken broth, Gatorade and water (how is that for an unholy trinity?), I allowed a man in a baby blue tuxedo to take my picture at the Imogene Pass sign. All is well when you take in this kind of view. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13px;">Andy had said he was going to hike up from the Telluride side and do that end of the race with me. I knew this would be a tall order for one from sea level, but knew there was a slim chance he might be meeting me there due to a similar love for this perspective, and this kind of athletic "play." As it turns out, he was one $16 breakfast burrito and two-hour wait away from actually starting early enough to make the summit when I did. I was following my race plan exactly to plan, and beginning to pick up speed, when I encountered him below the Tomboy aid station. He had no sun protection, hydration pack, or anything but an enjoyment for climbing the hill and coming up to meet me. It was truly wonderful to have this time, enjoying beautiful blue skies and sparsely populated trails, and move along together. He's faster than me at any short burst but I've got endurance. And, eventually, I knew this was questionable finish was in the bag. I accelerated with purpose. Nowhere near as fast as other years, but as fast as I could in the moment. It felt good.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13px;">Hitting the road in Telluride for the last few blocks, I was smiling. I care about this race and I care about respecting the mountains, the weather, and those who make it possible for this civilized but extremely difficult run to happen. This was my gateway to things I couldn't have dreamed of years ago. Running fast, running far, and perhaps not making friends with pain, but knowing how to approach it. My friend Tess who owns our great yoga studio in GJ always says "suffering is optional." Never has this been more true than last Saturday on this familiar path from Ouray to Telluride. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13px;">Nothing is ever to be taken for granted, but I know this. In two months, I plan to be running the Rim Rock Marathon relay with my friend Bonnie, reprising team KarBon. I still want to do the downhill if she's cool with that. I want to get back to the Winter Sun 10K in Moab, a downhill and ridiculously fast 10K. I'm probably not going to run a PR but I just need to run it, breathe,and not care about anything but running and racing in the moment. </span></span></div>
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</span>TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-10219063492821192982015-02-22T21:48:00.001-07:002015-02-22T23:15:21.646-07:00It's A Beautiful Day: The Moab RedHot 2015<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;">The heart is a bloom </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;">Shoots up through the stony ground </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;">There's no room </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;">No space to rent in this town </span></b></div>
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There's a little race in Moab in the spring that isn't so small anymore, but is still a favorite of mine. My friend Jen put this on my radar six years ago, and we ran the 33K together along with our third amigo Nick that year in snow and cold. I cursed the one-step-forward, two-slides-back in the snow on the slickrock. Then, I looked around at those gorgeous views, and that was it. People pay money to come here from all over the world. They jeep, they mountain bike, but I think there is truly no better way to see Moab than on foot.</div>
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After that first go 'round, I returned to run my first ultra a year later. It had been an annual yearly event, but something that was not in budget this year. I'd volunteered with my good friend Tom at the final aid station of another race Behind The Rocks, though, and had a complimentary entry into the RedHot for that gig. Signing up ages ago, I was excited to have earned a ticket back. </div>
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Training for long distances, though, has been slim. On the flip side, I've finally found the flow of where and when to squeeze in the runs in a post-divorce life. There were plenty of regular runs leading up to the RedHot, but none of them were very long. I did have a good run at our local fatass, the Bangs Canyon 30K, which has a long, steep climb to end the second half. Honestly, I knew that I was probably looking at my slowest time ever. I came down to the race with a certain amount of happiness...giddiness at where I am right now, and all the good things taking place. </div>
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I don't have a dream job but it pays the bills, and I get to utilize my talents reasonably well. I really love my little rental house, located on the edge of our local university, and in close proximity to all three schools my kids attend. My post-divorce dog who wound up being a cat. I would call him Awesome Cat, but he already came with the name of Schmink/Shpink. Being with my kids in a cozy space. And I (re)met someone, Andy, a barely-acquaintance from 18 years ago who came out (back) to Colorado from Oregon, and would then head over to Utah with me for this race weekend. Sometimes life unfolds in ways that could never be predicted, and it's just a pleasant surprise. It was truly exciting to take a race I love on my own, and get to share that experience. </div>
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Getting into Moab, it was clear that this was going to be one hot mofo. Everything felt very lowkey, though. I knew I'd be a back-of-the-packer. I embraced my well-restedness, though, and was relishing the knowledge that it was going to be a beautiful day by Moab standards out there. Andy and I picked up my packet from Jen on the way to the start, and it was almost anticlimatic when the start occurred. He was going to meet me out at aid station 1/3 when I returned to it at 17 miles. I'd slogged up that first hill in wind, rain, snow, and other conditions, but it was perfect out there today. Climbing the first hill, I took a good look around before riding the wave downhill and on to the split where the 33K and 55K divide took place. In my head, I realized I hadn't told Andy that when hiking, he needed to turn RIGHT to get to aid station 1 and 3. And, that the signs would probably be adjusted by the time he hiked through to direct 55K runners on to the remainder of the course. Damn, not much to do about that now.</div>
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<b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;">But you've got no destination </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;">You're in the mud </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;">In the maze of her imagination </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;">You love this town </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;">Even if that doesn't ring true </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;">You've been all over </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;">And it's been all over you </span></b></div>
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I had no Garmin, and no measurement of distance other than my own personal experience on the course. This was as good as gold; I wasn't worried about spotting flags at all on the first half of the course. I knew the loop, and to where we'd return. There was no haste in my step, and I turned around every so often to take in the view. Climbing to aid station number two, I did that fun "look down to the cars" and felt that satisfaction of climbing on my own two feet. Slower than molasses but it didn't matter. I'd managed to have a signal out there, and I got two brief calls out to Andy while climbing to let him know that I was on track, near the back of the pack where I expected to be, and trucking along right on schedule. I'd been a little concerned about not making the one and only time cutoff but was still easily ahead of that mark. Given that this was not going to be a PR kind of day, I was invigorated to feel this good.</div>
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Trotting down to aid station three, I was somehow smiling. Andy met up with me there, and he'd had a bit of an adventure already, taking a left turn at the fork, which had an arrow pointing that way for the 55K runners at that point (the 33K runners go the same way, and had already come and gone). He reached an aid station where they told him, nope, you need to go back and up that hill. I laughed/groaned at that, realizing only after I'd started running that I should've remembered and told him about the sign flipperoni, He was no worse for the wear, though, and it was the best thing ever to just talk and chat down that bigass hill, and reach the cutoff where I'd head on for the second half of the course. We said good-bye and I headed off to do my thing.<br />
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Last year, there was someone who took great delight in celebrating/laughing at what we like to do out here on the trails. There was a sign at the top of a long stretch of slickrock that said "You are NOT almost there. HA! HA! HA!" He or she drew a few swear words and rave reviews for the signage. This year, they'd upped the game. This is what greeted me before the most difficult part of the race course. Truly the most inspirational and motivational steaming pile of poo I've ever encountered trailside.</div>
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<b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;">What you don't have you don't need it now </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;">What you don't know you can feel it somehow </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;">What you don't have you don't need it now </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;">Don't need it now </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; text-align: start;">Was a beautiful day</span></b></div>
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There's not much to say about the second half. The slickrock was a challenge, as always. I was surrounded by first-timers, and I spent the entire second half of the race moving along with a fella who just wanted to finish. We barely said two sentences to one another the entire time but we kept our eyes peeled for the pink and black flags in the areas on the course where they became a little challenging to track, and waved the other onward if one of us didn't spot the flag right away. After beginning the gazillionth slick rock climb, I exclaimed "I LOVE climbing slick rock. I LOVE IT!" He laughed at my jackassery and we kept plugging away. Sign Person kept it going with his/her passive-aggressive support and taunts.</div>
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They'd once again run out of my favorite race treat, Coke, by the time I hit aid station four. I just didn't have it in me to be care, and I guzzled the Sprite they still had available with great satisfaction. Then it was onward to aid station five, and the finish. I wasn't going to make it in by the time awards took place-something that happened only once before. My right IT band started twinging a bit around mile 30, but I found that hiking eliminated that twinge. In full Honey Badger mode, I truly didn't give a damn; there was never a point in the race when I thought I couldn't do it. This was a concern ahead of time, given my lack of long runs. I felt very light...not fast...but the steps weren't hard this year. Finishing the race multiple times prior, plus the Silver Rush 50 last summer, and my DNF at Leadville...this was progress to be able to just go out and run this sucker without thinking of 34 miles as something I could not complete. It wasn't the monstrously long thing I'd built it up to be in my head the first time around. It was just fun. </div>
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I made it in about 45 minutes slower than previous slowest effort, and almost 90 minutes slower than my best effort. Time didn't matter today. It was beautiful out there, with people who all shared the same interest in doing this shiznit, and enjoy moving from point to point on foot in beautiful country. I was all smiles, "enjoying the course," as the expression goes. I enjoyed that hug from Andy at the finish-he'd had his own fun hiking around, and a bit of an exciting wildlife encounter (key words are "bobcat" and "cave" and "growling") while I was running. I entered that post-race state of "Must.Eat.NOW," and off we went for the post-race stuffing of the face. It was a beautiful day; it eventually came to an end with me being too tired to consider the post-race festivities at Eddie McStiffs. I was well-intentioned but sound asleep at a ridiculously early hour. Sleep has been challenging for a long time, but running for a long time helps me to right those cycles as much as anything. </div>
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It's a week post-race and everything in the body feels pretty good. Oh, and I got into Leadville again. Taken a bit by surprise, expecting the race would be full with better and faster runners, I know I have to take my second chance at the 100 and go for it. That, too, will be a beautiful day; but for now I've got this one. </div>
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TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-13537725475785183282014-12-16T21:18:00.004-07:002014-12-16T21:41:28.086-07:00Wonderful World, Beautiful People<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b>Take a look at the world </b></div>
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<b>And the state that it's in today </b></div>
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<b>We all could make it a better way </b></div>
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<b>With our love, put together </b></div>
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<b>Everybody learn to love each other
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2014 is coming to an end and 2015 shall come to pass soon. I finished racing-not that there was much of it in 2014-at the only race I've done every year since starting to run, the Winter Sun 10K. I'll cut right to the end result-fourth place in my age group, first time off the podium in five years. If I measured things only that way, the race kind of blew. Measured it terms of doing what I love to do, showing up, being with some wonderful and beautiful friends, and doing what I could that day, it was outstanding.</div>
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My racing has been at a minimum this year and I took a fair amount of down time this fall. I had my wonderful travel experience in October, and great time with the kids and in my new place upon my return. I had some good runs in the weeks leading up to the Winter Sun. The weather was perfect, riding down with friends in the morning, I felt miserable, napping in the back of my friend Heather's car while she and Hannah chatted. Feeling kind of like a schmuck for being that sleeping passenger but feeling too lousy to care, I did my best to get a game face on.<br />
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Warm-up felt lethargic and my gut was turning. If you want to unintentionally clear a path for yourself at a race, gagging and wretching pre-race, and during a run will certainly do it. I gave serious consideration to saying screw it, I'm not running. There's no better way to get back into racing, than racing, though. I knew that was the chicken way out, too. Only racing if I was 100% confident I'd succeed. </div>
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The first half was pretty ugly. Making nasty <a href="http://theoatmeal.com/comics/running" target="_blank">blerching</a> sounds most of the way, I felt like I was moving slower than last year in the snow at this race. And I was. I kept my friend Rochelle in my sight, though. We run together sometimes, she's had a year of getting better and better. A lot of people race just for themselves but I'd be dishonest if I said I'm not also there to race other people too. And it's fun, a cool thing-to play with that good energy with others, many of whom are friends met at various races through the years. Some of my best memories are getting to mix it up during the race, then hang out after, talking about how it went, having a beer and a bite to eat. Beautiful people enjoying this wonderful world. So I hung in there and picked it up in the second half, slowly picking off a few runners. I was pretty far back so it didn't make much difference, but finishing strong and not fading away was what was on the brain now. I finally caught up with Rochelle, and worked to keep momentum in my favor-forward, and onward.</div>
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The time on the clock didn't quite register a personal worst but it was crummy by time standards. Still, when I hit that last track lap, I vowed to be strong going around. There were wonderful friends who hollered my name, and the names of other friends, as I hit the track. And, given the runs other people turned in, what my training looked like, and how I felt, 4th out of 57 was exactly where I was supposed to be today in the rankings. It's pretty rad, too, that my friend Cheryl won our age group, and Rochelle came in 5th. I'd had this dream that the three of us somehow did a 1-2-3 in age, which didn't quite happen, but we all put it all out there. There were a bunch other friends who made the podium, some regulars and some for the first time. With nearly a quarter of the race participants being from Grand Junction, and a number of other regulars and friends attending, it was also exactly where I was supposed to be. </div>
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Met all three of these crazy cats at races over the years.</div>
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Not even close to everybody, but we did our best to round up all the local townspeople. </div>
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This is a year that really came down more to the people who helped one another through good times and bad. Difficult life transitions and struggles and unexpected events dotted the calendar.</div>
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Conversely, there was a lot of good energy out there. </div>
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Friends helping friends through tight spots. Calling up or texting one another for runs or hikes. Helping one another with mundane, everyday tasks, and bigger projects alike. </div>
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Being human to one another. Open. Seeing the best in others and forgiving the flaws and shortcomings. Sometimes challenging the opinions of others, even if it was uncomfortable. Telling someone what they need to hear, with compassion. Hugging the shit out of people. New and evolved friendships, and friendships that changed or ran their course. I'm glad for it all.</div>
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We have a semi-regular "Margaritas" hangout with a group of local gals. We get together, and, yes, margaritas happen. We visit, though, celebrate and toast things that have gone well. Sometimes we're coming together as a distraction in rough times. But, we're there. Present in one another's lives. Our next hang is going to be screening <a href="https://www.facebook.com/video.php?v=1513117862256000&set=vb.1467516400149480&type=2&theater" target="_blank">Wild</a>, the movie adaptation of Cheryl Strayed's autobiography about hiking the Pacific Coast Trail. And then, yes, margaritas. I'm looking forward to being there with those who can make it for this go 'round. I couldn't get enough of her writing; the book had been recommended by several friends and this is going to be icing on the cake to see the movie. Among many things she's written, this rings truest of all right now. </div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><b>“You have to pay your own electric bill. You have to be kind. You have to give it all you got. You have to find people who love you truly and love them back with the same truth. But that's all.</b>” </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Sure, it's not all. Kindness, and paying the bills is a good start.</span></div>
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TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-20912400224151122582014-11-18T23:57:00.003-07:002014-11-19T00:28:55.177-07:00Lost In My Mind<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b>How's That Bricklaying Coming?</b></div>
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<b>How's Your Engine Running?</b></div>
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<b>Is That Bridge Getting Built?</b></div>
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<b>Are Your Hands Getting Filled?</b></div>
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<b>Won't You Tell Me, My Brother?</b></div>
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<b>'Cause There Are Stars</b></div>
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<b>Moving Forward</b><br />
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I am out of the new music loop. This "new to me" music is about five years old now. My discovery of The Head And The Heart was in a true moment of zen. Exhausted after a long day on last summer's peach gig (feeling free, accomplished, but...utterly exhausted), I'd lay down for "just a minute" on my bed, window open. In no time at all, I found myself in a deeply relaxed, but alert state. Okay, so yeah, I was drooling on the bed, semi-catatonic, I think.<br />
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Some lovely music started playing, and I picked up on the soaring "loooooooost" over and over, from somewhere in the neighborhood. The breeze and the music were washing over me, and I committed that "lost in my mind" to memory, and determined the next day, thanks to the googles of the interwebs, that it was "Lost In My Mind." I now associate it with being focused but content in the moment, and asking myself, how's my engine running?<br />
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There's no race report to write here. But, the joy of running is back and here to stay. It's not fast like it used to be, but it feels good. It's my freedom. I've run roads and along rivers that are familiar, and hit trails that are brand new.
The bricklaying, so to speak, and my new house-the first that has truly ever been mine and mine alone-is coming along. I'm renting, but it's my name alone on the lease. It was freedom to travel alone to Mexico and really enjoy being lost in my own thoughts, and it's freedom to write that rent check. I think, but don't worry all the time about paying bills.<br />
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One of my kids has been really sick, and will be healthy eventually. It's been difficult to see your take-no-shit, strong, intelligent, and active child reduced to a few hours of low-level homebound activity a day, and desperate to have a normal energy level. But, it's stripped things down to a very basic, day-to-day, and moment to moment existence. How are you feeling? What would help right now? And, this amazing kid has taken her shitty hand of getting sick, and used the time when she's felt decent to do things I never asked for or expected, but helped me tremendously around the house. And filled her hands with something that mattered to her-freedom to make our space what she visualized. I'm beyond thankful for it, and pleasantly surprised that it all came from a 15-year-old I've told to stay in bed, to rest-but wants to do things that let her get lost in her mind and feel normal when she can't go to school or dance.<br />
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Winter has come and hit "hard" so far this year, but I know we still have it pretty good. I've run in colder weather, at the buttcrack of dawn, and am ready to take another "crack" (ha, had to go there) again. I signed up once again for the Winter Sun 10K, knowing that it is extremely unlikely that I'll top my best effort at this race in 2010. Moving forward doesn't constitute sitting scared, waiting for the perfect scenario, though. It's on a day that flows easily for me, so I'm going. And the first ultra I ever ran-The Moab RedHot 55K-is the next race up after that. Volunteering at another Grassroots Events race, Behind The Rocks, punched my ticked for this one. It's another no-brainer in moving forward. There's also the "free" monetarily, but punishing, Bangs Canyon 30K/60K. The race directors for all of the above events-Ranna, Chris, Kevin- are true stewards for our sport, and make it fun while managing events we all return to, year after year. They make it seem low-key when in fact it's a major undertaking to get it done right. It's up to me to move forward and show their kickass runs some justice.<br />
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I want to take another swing at Leadville, but am not going to force the matter. Instead, I am keeping eyes and options open to different 100 mile races-ones that I can enter if I feel trained up, and can reach easily from Grand Junction. My current job was a slight step up from the last one. With this one comes more responsibility, more use reasoning, planning, and a combination of my head and my heart. It leaves less flexibility, though, to vacation time. This may move me forward to opportunities I can choose without needing permission-things like The Grand Mesa 100, or possibly Run Rabbit Run. Or, I may say, forget it (nah, this isn't true at all. I want to complete 100 miles on foot, and experience all that goes with that journey). And, then, a chance encounter with a good friend who doesn't live here anymore opened a great conversation about a run that would be fun, long, beautiful, and entirely about getting out there. Like Rim To Rim of the Grand Canyon, but closer, and not something I would have come up with by myself at this time. The fires have been stoked. In Zion.<br />
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In the meantime, I am content to get lost in my mind on a run, come back with some clarity, extra energy for my family, and build bridges toward better things.
TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-23934839716494392832014-11-03T21:17:00.000-07:002014-11-03T22:06:21.744-07:00Banditos: The 2014 Rim Rock Marathon<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>And everybody knows </b><br />
<b>That the world is full of stupid people </b><br />
<b>So meet me at the mission at midnight </b><br />
<b>We'll divvy up there</b>
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Our region has several great races and runs that started as bar bets, impromptu treks, or other circumstances. Things that seem like bad ideas, if you look at things from an entirely analytical perspective. Stop and think about things too much, and the things never happen. Action never occurs.<br />
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Thought isn't a bad idea; I'm a great proponent for it. Some things are truly stupid and bad ideas. Sometimes, though, the mind can limit what the body can do. Or, one can convince himself or herself that doing things the same is always the way to go. That the same is good enough. And, the brilliant thing about a bad idea is that you don't have any illusions about what you're getting yourself into. If things go well the expectation has naturally been exceeded. And, there are times when you just have to try something to know to never do it again-at least not the way you attempted it the first time around.<br />
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So, it was one day in early October when my eventual teammate for the <a href="http://rimrockmarathon.com/" target="_blank">Rim Rock Marathon</a> relay, Tom, and I were having a beer in a Grand Junction watering hole after some run, and decided to jump into the fray at this great local run. It used to be gate-to-gate across the <a href="http://www.nps.gov/colm/index.htm" target="_blank">Colorado National Monument</a>, or 37K. Five years ago, it became a full marathon, and starts off almost immediately with a 2000 foot climb. Runners get to enjoy spectacular views, though, and what goes up must come down. I'd run the marathon every year it had been a full, and volunteered at the final two Rim Rock Runs (37K). A month out, though, I remained uncommitted to anything racing.<br />
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There were only four team slots left out of thirty at that point. I hadn't done any speed work in a good six months and really hadn't run much of anything since Leadville. I'd actually blanked out on running the Imogene Pass Run this year, it was such a pisstastic race on my part. This, though, sounded pretty awesome. Tom was only willing to do it if he could run the uphill. He had a bunch of other adventure races, running and ski club obligations, and, you know, work and stuff. I said screw that uphill stuff, I only want to do the downhill. And I had two jobs, one position brand new, a new place, and four kids every other week, Perfect. What could be a worse idea than signing up for a race now?<br />
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I was energized, though. More energized than I'd been in many months about doing a race. Some people hate road running, and a bunch really hate downhill road running. This section of the Rim Rock course was one of my favorites, though. I could see in my mind that amazing, panoramic view out of the second tunnel on the downhill. The full marathon was a great race, but the Colorado Marathon in May had not been my finest effort. I didn't want to do another marathon out of habit, and turn in another subpar performance. Tom was jazzed to do the uphill. And good at uphill running. The team name came quickly: The Bad Ideas Club. We were in, and about two days later the relay was full.<br />
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Race weekend rolled around, and I'd not thought too deeply about Halloween being the day prior. The week had been incredibly busy. Somehow, though, everyone in my family got where they needed to go. My youngest and I trick-or-treated with our friends, the peach farmers, and their daughter (sounds very Sopranos; I really do have James in my phone as "James Peaches"), and it was great. Probably much better than sitting around and trying in vain to go to bed. My friend Carrie was willing and happy to get my kids to the finish line on Saturday. The kids were down with the plan. I didn't push or worry, but things just flowed after bouncing ideas back and forth with friends. Tom and I had some excellent "<a href="http://www.inknburn.com/catalogsearch/result/?q=amigo" target="_blank">Amigo</a>" shirts I'd gotten from <a href="http://www.inknburn.com/" target="_blank">INKnBURN</a> to wear for the race for fun. We were dialed in for awesomeness.<br />
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Getting up early on Saturday morning, I stepped outside. The temperature was perfect, but shit, that was lightning. Tom swung by early for me, and we headed out to Fruita. This was my first time catching the bus; in prior years, I'd gotten rides to the start for the full marathon. This time, we headed to Fruita in the dark, parked the car at the finish, and divvied up into buses headed for the start, and the halfway point. On my bus were two local doctors named Andy who are also strong runners, Kristin and Kathy, who are also rock solid regulars, and various folks from around the state and region. Someone got on the bus and told us there were bananas, water and snacks for us while we waited. This was great news to me; my stomach had been a little funky and I wasn't hungry early on. Now, I was hungry. A banana, water, and pretzels sounded perfect.<br />
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The weather had really cleared up. It was brisk, but sunny. I asked Kristin if she wanted to trot up to the port-a-johns; if we'd been on the trails we would have just ducked off in the brush, and part of me wanted to do this anyway. It just would have been really uncool, bad mojo, a bad idea, when the park police, rangers, and volunteers were out there being cool and taking time to make sure things were done right. We trotted easily up the hill, did our thing, and came back. We sat on the bus for a bit, had to go again, and ran back up, deciding it was a good time to start watching for the first marathoners. Sure enough, they were on their way.<br />
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The first dudeman in the marathon trotted along in no time. He was young, springy, shaggy and smiling. I didn't even get my phone out in time to catch him until he was past.<br />
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(too fast for my camera)</div>
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Our friend Julie, on a team with fellow meteorologist Paul, got dropped off by her fiance. It felt weird that I'd be racing soon, but with no idea when I'd go. Friends Angela and Kelly showed up to spectate. More and more runners were coming along now.<br />
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Two of our local first-timers who turned in outstanding runs, Alex and Ezzy</div>
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It was almost anti-climatic when Tom appeared, and we high-fived (the official regulation move to carry on with the second leg). I was guessing he was about the tenth relayer up the hill but wasn't sure. Perfect; we were kind of in that fun/competitive sweet spot. But first, I had to do the only little uphill stretch on the downhill.<br />
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Ever had a decision validated immediately? I knew, heading up the hill, and passing a runner right away, that this Bad Idea to enter a race while sitting in a bar had been a great one. I hadn't run close to a half-marathon distance in the past two months but I'd run enough to feel like pushing. Relaxed and focused, relaxed and focused, I told myself. This is what worked in my best race here, and really any good race I'd done. My friend Kathy had tagged off earlier, and I couldn't see her, but the fact that I had a stretch goal to catch her was a rush. Whether or not it happened, just wanting to race, and thinking strategically, felt good.
I wasn't about to let anyone pass. Tom ran a strong leg and that team obligation was a good thing; I wasn't about to give less than my best. And, MUUUUUAH. I just felt MUUUUUUAH for the first time in a long time in a race.<br />
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It was around Artist's Point when I first noticed that strong side- to tail-wind. Tailwinds are great, but it was not consistent; kind of a random hard shove. Quite a first world problem, yes, but finding a rhythm was sort of a challenge. Since we were switching back and forth, it occasionally became a headwind. Keeping the mind in "patience and persistence" mode, I found that pace that was uncomfortable but felt like something I could maintain. Passing another runner or two, I eventually saw what looked like Kathy ahead. Running further down the Monument, through that big, favorite, stretch after the tunnel, I was confused when I looked upward and could see that Kathy was behind me now. I figured she must've made an emergency stop, an unfortunate turn I'd had to take at the Colorado Marathon. Pushing on, I passed another runner who I believed to be on one of the relay teams. This put us into first in the Masters (over 40) relay spot. Just in time for coming off the Monument and heading down the road. This has been a mediocre to average stretch for me in past years. Getting my ass handed to me several times in the past here kept me moving in manageable chunks, finding the sign or driveway a quarter mile away, not looking down the full stretch of road.<br />
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Turning into the park, I was pretty sure I didn't have anyone close, but didn't turn back and didn't let up. This wouldn't be remotely close to my best second-half effort in previous years, but that wasn't the point. Hitting the finish, I knew this had been a fantastically bad idea. My kids, my friends, being outside, all of it. No self-imposed performance pressure. I'd wanted to be out there for every moment of the race and even told myself once or twice, hey, good choice to not run the full marathon.
We wound up winning Masters and placing fifth overall in the relays.Even better-we didn't get struck by lightning at any point. It would have made for an exciting story, but any time you don't wind up in the ER is winning. The wind was pretty insane at the finish; it reminded me of the days during the summer, selling peaches, when we had to stake down our tent with as many heavy things as possible to keep it from launching. Runner after runner came in, and we cheered them on, whether a PR, or a struggle from beginning to end. I was glad the weather was pretty beautiful for my girls chilling out at the finish. I know it's not fun to spectate when it's pouring<br />
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Not banditos, we paid for our entry</div>
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The friends. The fam damily</div>
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Today, I'm stupid sore. The day after the race brought a yoga class, my first in months. It brought balance and consistency to my lower body soreness, causing everything in my body to feel perfectly sore. The yoga was a challenge but I could tell that I'd moved beyond my fatigued and burned out state. Poses weren't perfect but I tried everything. When I couldn't hold it, oh well, but at least I gave each pose an honest effort. And that seems fair, that seems fair, to give everything, good or bad idea, an honest effort.
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<br />TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-59207216343129746732014-10-20T21:21:00.001-06:002014-10-21T06:52:20.725-06:00You Can Call Me Al: Not A Race Report.<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: DroidSansRegular, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.7681884765625px; text-align: start;">If you'll be my bodyguard</span><br style="font-family: DroidSansRegular, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.7681884765625px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: DroidSansRegular, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.7681884765625px; text-align: start;">I can be your long lost pal</span><br style="font-family: DroidSansRegular, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.7681884765625px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: DroidSansRegular, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.7681884765625px; text-align: start;">I can call you Betty</span><br style="font-family: DroidSansRegular, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.7681884765625px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: DroidSansRegular, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.7681884765625px; text-align: start;">And Betty when you call me</span><br style="font-family: DroidSansRegular, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.7681884765625px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: DroidSansRegular, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.7681884765625px; text-align: start;">You can call me Al</span><br style="font-family: DroidSansRegular, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.7681884765625px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: DroidSansRegular, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.7681884765625px; text-align: start;">Call me Al</span></b></div>
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I have a feeling I was not the only kid in the mid-eighties who looked forward to this video every time it popped up on the fledgling VH1. Or maybe I'm just a weirdo. Wait, I know that I am a weirdo. The song came up comically to me, again and again, as I arrived to a beautiful spot in Mexico during an intense thunderstorm, staying for a week with a friend I hadn't seen in two-and-a-half years, but "see" every day on the Facebooks of the interwebs.<br />
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It's not a unique phenomenon to have everything happen at once, but boy, did I, leading up to this adventure. I moved. I was in a very burned out state, and I knew it. It feels strange but honest and freeing to admit that. I wanted to run but needed to sleep. Have two great jobs that make the difference between making ends meet, and not. If you knew me this time a year ago, or if you don't-my first job experience with my current employer was one of the most difficult experiences of my life. I try to find the good in everything, and I struggled to find anything. Fast forward a year, and sticking out that difficult road led to the recent upgrade into a position that isn't everyone's cup of tea, but challenges me in a way I enjoy.<br />
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I came close to saying, screw it. I'm not going on this trip. Oh, what a bad choice that would have been.<br />
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It was a bridge from a what was a good transitional state in many ways, but a leap of faith out on my own. Time to not be rushed. Time to back up and be less critical of myself. Just time.<br />
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I had smooth sailing on all of my flights to Mexico, but realized that due to my poor initial Spanish-speaking skills, the weather, and really having no idea where I was after riding the bus from the airport to Playa Del Carmen, I was a little freaked out about not knowing what to do next. Instead, I chilled out and just waited. After all, I'd made it this far. Lots of people travel all over, and this is, I'm sure, quite laughable. But, this was my first time traveling solo internationally, with my other trip out of the states being to the UK with my dad when I was a teenager. (He says I gladly accepted a glass of wine on the flight over when they mistook me for being older than I was...I do not recall this event.) Somehow, I did manage to get a text out and soon enough, my friend was there. It's pretty cool that the randomness of being at the same race (the Imogene Pass Run) a few years ago ultimately led up to the trip. You meet cool people running, and most are pretty kindred spirits.<br />
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There's not much to the next week, but oh, so much. I was going to be very happy just to couch surf. The space I had was my own space...above and beyond what I'd ever expected. And we had communal space to chill out, eat, talk. That was great. And then it was just amusing when the place across the street...."un secto" as one of Elizabeth's friends called it-started their "show" and a frenzied pitch several nights a week.<br />
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I also got my own photo opportunity, my shot at redemption. I didn't bring my "real" camera but did what I love to do, observing, taking pictures on my phone of things that interested me. We ran at sea level with 100% humidity. Really, it was there because of the daily rains, much like my days working for Disney World on their college program (20th anniversary trip was this weekend...IamnotthatoldIamnotthatoldIamnotthatold). I watched E play with two different bands. She trained classically but the girl has found her niche with rock and blues. It's good stuff. The guitar player in each band was quite Anton Krupicka-esque. I declared it a future requirement that any new bands contain one guy who vibes my favorite trail runner.<br />
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I took a yoga class, open air, en espanol. I sheepishly admitted to not being a Spanish-speaker when she asked, and then, much to my relief, she did teach it nearly entirely in Spanish. I was surprised how well I "understood" without understanding each and every word. I was a little intimidated to try to spend pesos and be understood in the "Mega," which is pretty much like Wal-Mart or Target, but with motorcycles for sale, and an ice cream parlor, merchant stands, and ATM underneath. I finally realized nobody was judging me, or gave a shit what I was doing, and came to embrace trying to put myself out there. Speak in Spanish no matter how terrible it sounded. Ordering from the most amazeballs open air quesadilla shop, where I got as far as ordering everything competently before I blanked on how to say "to go." Then it poured rain, I sat down to eat there, and it didn't matter as I enjoyed just being.<br />
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I found the best spot on the beach, loads of Mexican families, kids burying their siblings to their necks in the sand. Guys going in the water in jeans. I could use a big word but it was just damned nice.<br />
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Sometimes, I thought about nothing. Or read. I got all the way through "<a href="http://www.cherylstrayed.com/wild_108676.htm" target="_blank">Wild</a>," which I'd started several times but, like a lot of other things, just didn't take top priority until now. Here, I had nothing but time. Damn, that was good to read. I'd see kids who reminded me of my kids. I was missing them a ton but knew this was a rare opportunity to be where I was. My favorite race, The Other Half, was this past weekend, and it was big that I was able to decide, hey, the race will be there next year. I was just looking forward to seeing my kids and sitting in my new house with my kids, and my new cat. Hear that? That post-divorce dog I was going to get is a motherfucking cat. He picked me long before I picked him. And I wanted to hang with the cat too.<br />
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I decided, some time during the week, that I am going to take another swing at 100 miles. I'm over the "failed at Leadville" mentality. I went out at the toughest spot, not because I quit, but couldn't move fast enough. It'll be something in the spring, in the place of a spring road marathon.<br />
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I thought about school, doing something different that what I am doing now. Uncannily, I started Aron Ralston's "Between A Rock And A Hard Place." True to my impatient nature, I skipped ahead to some stuff at the end-where he's recovering from his 127 Hours here in Grand Junction, Colorado, at St Mary's, where I've worked since last summer. He's describing the view from the hospital roof (the "old" hospital, not the top of the tall, modern tower that was recently built), in my neighborhood, with...as I read thank you's, the recreational therapist I know from the Life Center whom I'd refer to as "The Yeti" the way he stealths in and out from the pool over there. I laughed at how damned small the world really is, and that hell, you only go around once. Working at the Life Center, I'd started seriously thinking about going back to school to be a PT assistant or recreational therapist. I'd watched what they did. Talked to a few of them about their jobs. It would be a major undertaking. I enjoy my job but don't want to be in central scheduling forever. I also laughed that when Aron thought he might not never get out of there, he was thinking about talking to friends and having a big, salty margarita. Yeah, that's a good focus rather than your arm being pinned to a rock.<br />
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When I came back, one of the first things I did was sleep a lot. And then I easily gave up my yoga cleaning gig-on a permanent basis. I'm still on as a sub but letting one thing go that wasn't a top priority was big. So, the yoga studio owner suggested it, but it was a good idea. She's right, I have about a million class credits there. I just need to go in and practice again.<br />
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I hung out with my kids and my cat, who went on a big wander right after we moved him. I know cats don't want to be found if they don't want to be found, so it was with great joy that my youngest kids spotted him and coaxed him inside. He's going to get to resume indoor/outdoor lifestyle soon, but he's also sleeping off an adventure.
So, that's that.<br />
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I was sad to not be at The Other Half this weekend, but also not, when I woke up at 7am on Sunday after ten hours of sleep, knowing that I needed it, and that my friends had boarded the bus an hour prior. Oh, my competitive side is still there. I did look at results and see where my 2013 time would've landed me, but...it's just a race. It'll be there next year. It was much better this year to be seeing angels in the architecture, spinning in infinity and saying hey, hallellujah.<br />
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<br />TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-13563967496620740832014-09-18T22:40:00.001-06:002014-09-18T23:11:52.766-06:00Storm/Carry On: Summer, Fall And Beyond<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe seamless="" src="http://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=2837436347/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/transparent=true/" style="border-image: none; border: 0px currentColor; height: 470px; width: 350px;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://open.spotify.com/track/7nm5C4cvu6D9yLIMLiPsMl" target="_blank">&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://paperbirdband.bandcamp.com/album/carry-on"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Carry On by Paper Bird&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;</a></div>
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<b>My heart is a river, and so I run.</b>
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<b><a href="http://paperbirdband.bandcamp.com/track/storm" target="_blank">I have a secret, come meet me at the sky. You can fly, you can fly, you can fly.</a></b>
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(click on the lyrics in red, and play this lovely song that sounds like I feel upon reaching that summit or peak amidst wind and whatever other weather is out there)<br />
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The closest I could come to finding a YouTube video of the track "Storm," that speaks to me most on Colorado's own Paper Bird's album "Carry On," was this. The whole album is there but check out that track..it's Great Gig In The Sky when the folky/bluegrassy ladies are wailing in the second half. These guys played a killer show at Palisade Bluegrass in a crazy windstorm as if nothing was happening, and then I was fortunate enough to catch another amazing set at a tiny theater in Paonia months later, two of the best shows I've ever seen. Their last two albums have been the musical interpretation of how I feel running in the mountains. "Running," used loosely, because I am no Antonio Krupiccio.
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I hate to write something that feels like a forced essay or resume summarizing my races, which is probably why I haven't blogged in months. That, and I just finished weathering the storm which was a season working Palisade Peaches with some of my closest friends (want to test friendships? Try that), caring for my children every other week at my place (and being as available as I can be even when it's not "my" time", and am desperately longing for "sleep," and working my regular jobs. I trained as best I could but it didn't leave a helluva a lot of time for running. Still, I got in and out of the Silver Rush 50 feeling good about things. And, peaching season taught a lot of lessons, many of which were applicable to ultra running, dealing with unpredictable weather and product, being tired and cranky (friends being tired and cranky), but...you carry on. Sometimes you don't even have the experience to handle the weird, unique situation presented during your day, but you just go at it the best you can at that moment. We had fun, too. My coworker Michaela and I figured out how we liked to operate the peach stand, and things just flowed. We made cracks about her brother and father peaching on the other side of the mountain and narrated a fictitious reality show about it. We worked hard and had a great time, even if we were tired and banged up at the end of the way. Much like a good day on the mountain.<br />
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The Silver Rush wasn't a fast day but steady and surefooted. I knew I would finish-there was no doubt in my mind. It was the first time my children got to watch me race in years. That was a huge deal to me, and there was no way I was going to fail out there. There was a lot of joy in being in Leadville, with them, being crewed by my kids. It was just awesome. I'd kind of dreamed of something like this and it was happening. My friend Tom made it all possible in giving up a weekend to follow my slow ass around the mountain with my kids, something I've said I will happily repay some time. I've been told, though, that he's never going to do anything that dumbass. He might be on to something.<br />
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Leading into the Leadville Trail 100, I kind of knew I was burning the candle at all ends. I was feeling good about doing good things for my family but this meant less running than I'd normally be doing. In hindsight, I can see that there was no way mental toughness and stubbornness alone was going to get me through the LT100 with the Extreme Peach Taper, and in hindsight I almost wish I hadn't brought friends out to help, but then again I know they were there for me because they wanted to be there, and that I would do the same for them anytime. I had my wonderful friends Emma-Leigh, Tom, Angela, Elizabeth and Kyle there to crew/cheer at various points, and had past finishers Bryan and Ben there to get me in and out of Twin Lakes, the last aid station I cleared, with masterful flow.<br />
The gals had me in a dry shirt there before I could even turn around. They were there at the 4 a.m. start, there after I got off of that magical first loop in the dark around Turquoise Lake. I also was fortunate to get feedback and advice from various LT100 finishers, including two previous winners of the race, who were incredibly kind and generous in sharing their experiences on the course, and how I might apply strategies that work well out there (thank you Kirk and Lynette, two class acts who took time to say things that really helped me to keep moving forward). I owe all these guys and gals a debt of gratitude for being supportive of my little dream, and offering help when there was nothing in it for them. That's not to mention all the other friends and family who wished me well, fellow INKnBURN ambassadors, and anyone else who supported this common love we all have. Humbled, that's what I was.<br />
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(A role reversal of the 2012 race. I just need to hold up my end of the deal and FINISH the next time)</div>
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It was a fully successful failure to get halfway through the race (the "Hopeless Aid Station 50 Miler," as I call it now), and be deflated, dejected momentarily, but realize that I got to meet the sky in my failure before turning back down to Twin Lakes to think about how to do it right the next time. And that most people would not have gotten nearly as far on what was, frankly, piss-poor training on my part at the end. Not by design, but let's call it what it was. <br />
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I know next year that there can be peaching, and there can be Leadville, but there can't be peaching and Leadville. The most talented and well-trained runners have no guarantees of success at this race, and I don't have a lick of mountain running talent to carry me for 100 miles. I will be working that section out of Twin Lakes multiple times next year, practicing going over Hope Pass, and get in the mindset of being WAY up on time coming in so that when I slow down, I have a cushion to move me slowly to the sky, back down, back up again and over to Twin Lakes.<br />
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In the weeks after Leadville I thought I'd bounce back well but was surprised at how little I felt like I had in me-physically, emotionally, for much of anything. I just wanted to sleep all the time. Still, I thought I'd rest up, and come into the Imogene Pass Run, rested and ready to go. Oh, it was far, far from that. My body told me it was done, DONE. It needed a break. I had already accomplished a pretty epic personal worst by the time I found my friend Emma-Leigh, grimacing from a wretching stomach and clearing out her gut several times already at that point. Right then the only thing that was important was us getting in together. Not the race that I was expecting by any stretch. Being as competitive with myself as I have been, I could've been down about it but the fact that it was such a hard day made it empowering. We got to the finish when it would've been easy to say you know what? Fuck it. My dad was there too, and made it to Upper Camp Bird, but felt awful. He opted to turn around and go back to Ouray, satisfied that 15 mile hike was okay this year. Dad then booked his room for the next year, and what will be his third IPR start and presumptive second finish after returning to the strategies he employed in the first finish.<br />
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I'm at an odd crossroads now. I am back to my day job, and part-time job number two. I got a small promotion at work and am focusing on learning that new gig. It's not a dream job but it challenges me to learn a lot of new stuff, and talk to patients all day, which is cool for me. And, for once, I am not signed up for any races...at all. I'd planned on the Run Rabbit Run 50 miler last weekend, but without a shred of energy to run it, or drive to show up and run it with my head, I stayed home. We cleaned things around the house, which sounds boring, but had an immediate positive impact on my stress and fatigue levels. I joke around but I do wear my emotions on my sleeve at times, and my heart is definitely a river that needs to run. In this case, it told me I needed to just get out and run a little bit, easy, every day. Not think about training for the next big event, but just let it run and flow. I'll be back to racing soon enough, but for now, it's just time to carry on, and know that I CAN fly again, on and off the mountain.<br />
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<a href="http://paperbirdband.bandcamp.com/track/dont-you-run" target="_blank">Carry On this way in my heart, carry on this way in my heart</a><br />
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(Click again for more awesome Paper Bird. It's really ironically (or, perhaps, accurately in my case) called "Don't You Run" but just enjoy the rocking close to the blog)<br />
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TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-29182929509357802142014-06-17T22:58:00.000-06:002014-06-17T23:20:58.868-06:00As I Am: The Leadville Trail Marathon<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b>"These arms of mine were made for lifting up<br />
And when I set things down again<br />
I hope they are better than they were"</b><br />
-Paper Bird, As I Am<br />
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<b>"I will not just survive, I will be better than before." </b><br />
-<a href="http://www.denverpost.com/ci_23235866/colfax-marathon-just-another-way-vince-dicroces-life" target="_blank">Vince DiCroce</a>, as quoted on the back of a Leadville Marathon runner's shirt.<br />
DiCroce, a former city attorney in Denver, recently passed away from a brain tumor. He ran more than 30 marathons and 7 Ironmans, most after his 2004 diagnosis. <br />
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I admit, I had a different song in mind all along for this race. Then, sometimes, another message comes through- loud, clear, timely, and meant for me. The above song popped up on shuffle as I drove past Turquoise Lake early Saturday morning to pick up my race packet. The "lover" in the song is definitely my mountains, and speaking to letting go of fear and the past could not have been more timely. I had also never heard of Vince DiCroce until the final moments waiting to start the Leadville Trail Marathon, where I read the above message on the back of a shirt, and saw repeatedly as I followed the man up the mountain who was wearing the shirt. I committed the quote to memory, and upon googling it when I returned to Grand Junction, learned that Mr. DiCroce was a kindred spirit to those of us who like to get out, live life and challenge ourselves despite the odds. So, this is my humble tale about trying to be better than before.<br />
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<b>Winds are blowing, the sky is clear<br />
Let go of fear<br />
And what's happened to you</b><br />
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The Leadville Trail Marathon, while I'd tried not to play it up in my head, was kind of a big deal to me this year. Leadville Trail 100 dreams went kaput pretty early last year, but this year, things have been different. My game plan has been one I've put together to point myself toward success in August, doing what I think is important for me to accomplish a finish in under thirty hours.<br />
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I abandoned speed work, the roads, and anything that would be a hindrance to reaching that goal. I took every opportunity I could to climb hills, and get more and more used to steep up and down terrain. In a perfect world I would have liked to have a higher mileage base, but I felt that I really was doing things better than I have done before. The mileage, right now, has been enough for this point in the game, so long as I continue to build and challenge myself. Still, I was very nervous. Yes, I'd run on the Grand Mesa, gone on long outings on the Fruita trails, done the gnarly Garfield Grumble and done another steep run up the backside of Garfield with my friend Cheryl. Would it be enough, though?<b> </b>Despite all that work, I am still much slower on trails than most of my friends. I don't know why, but no matter how hard I try I am not the same speed there as I am on roads.<br />
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I had at first thought I would go up solo, but late in the week, I chatted with my friend Butch about coming up to Leadville for some cool mountain air, and hanging out. Our friend Ernie was also going up, and offered space at the campground where he'd be staying. A plan had been hatched.<br />
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Friday night came, though, and I was a literal hot mess. It was 98 degrees when I got off work. I couldn't find anything I needed. I wasn't motivated to pack. And, despite an overwhelmingly high number of good days dealing with my new life situation, it wound up being one of those evenings when I had a total crying meltdown. I'm kind of ashamed to say that, but sometimes stuff just comes out. And, well, I think it was meant to be. I hit the shower to cool off, and felt like I'd pretty much purged any negative, pent-up energy I'd had going on. I picked up Butch, we headed to Leadville, found Ernie's campsite and pitched his tent at about 11pm. Despite the late hour I felt very mellow and relaxed. The skies were clear, the temperature perfect for sleeping in the mountains at night. I must have been awake for no more than 30 seconds before I was out like a light, and I did not wake up until I'd accomplished six good hours of coma-like sleep. For a gal who has trouble sleeping much of the time, this was great.<br />
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Waking up before my alarm, I took a stroll to the shore of Turquoise Lake, just steps from our campsite.<br />
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It brought back good memories of pacing my friend Ben around the lake in 2012, on his way to a finish in the LT 100. The sun had been rising on his second day of racing, and he was still going, having survived all the troubles of the night. I made packet pickup at 5:58, hit City On The Hill, the coffee shop, at 6 on the nose, and got my steaming hot caffeine just prior to the massive rush of runners piling in through the doors. This seemed to be a sign that this would be a good day; it was also a treat to be in here since it had been two years since my previous involvement in a Leadville race. I seemed to have the mojo and energy of it being MY first time to be the runner, not the support crew or pacer.<br />
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After the beverage I came back to camp, finding Ernie and Butch awake and ready to go. We rode into town for the start, and the skies were clear and blue. I managed to make it through the bathroom line just in time to join the massive throngs of Heavy Half and marathon runners with about two minutes to spare. Unlike my disastrous gastrointestinal issues at the Colorado Marathon, everything had thankfully, uh, come out just fine today. I was feeling good and ready to go.<br />
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As the race began, I felt free, happy, and in the moment. I'd made it here, and was going to enjoy this experience for all it was worth. As we started, I moved forward with the crowd, and was pleased that my lungs were not screaming. A mere mile in, I was talking with new friend Kate who had recently moved to Grand Junction, and was glad I could carry on a bit of a conversation. Soon, we reached the split where the Heavy Half-ers went straight ahead and we, the marathoners, turned right. This was the beginning of what I expected to be much more steep and straight uphill, but had more of a nice continuously rolling uphill feel. I had no grand plans to knock myself out today; this was about maintaining an honest effort, running as much as I could, and being present on the course. When a fellow runner said it was a privilege to be out here today, because not everybody could do such things, I knew what he meant. I kept moving ahead, looking around and appreciating where I was.<br />
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After hitting the first aid station, we reached a flat with gorgeous 360 degree views. I stopped to look around a bit and take a picture or two before continuing on.<br />
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<b> </b>This was the first time I really noticed the blowing winds. I debated staying in my short sleeves, and was really feeling "The Force" of my shirt...but decided that I did not want to get too cold and then try to warm myself out. I tugged my old Boston Marathon shirt out of my bag and it seemed to be just the ticket. Climbing up, up, up, I would chat with some of the now usual characters with whom I'd been sharing the trail. Soon, we saw the first Heavy Half-ers come flying through...Ewen North first, with another guy and a badass chick not more than a minute back. As a woman in the sport, this was exciting to see. We would learn later that she went on to finish third overall, and set a new course record for the ladies. Great stuff.<br />
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Now, it was time for more climbing. Again, no great speed on my part but I had not stopped once due to fatigue or a less-than-tough mental state. I was emboldened by feeling for once like I did not suck at climbing. It was, in a weird sense, relaxing and meditative. To quote Scott Jurek, "Sometimes you just do things." I just did what I needed to do here.<br />
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Reaching the last aid station before the final climb, I saw eventual winner Timmy Parr go blowing by. He'd stayed at our place for Desert R.A.T.S. in April and it was exciting to see him absolutely killing it; he'd had a tough day in the mud here two months prior. After passing through that aid station, I saw local Corey come flying through in 4th or 5th, and as I continued working my way to Mosquito Pass, I eventually saw new locals Sean, and then his wife Laura. I was further along than I expected when I saw all of these characters, and I just kept that momentum going.<br />
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In the last series of switchbacks, I was feeling pretty good. Relative to the racers I was with, I was able to push uphill as well as anyone, and challenged myself to give the most I had here. Finally, I could see that the summit was imminent. Upon reaching it, there were two people manning it. A kid bundled up in a sleeping bag and jacket, and..<a href="http://corunninghalloffame.com/2013/01/31/ken-chlouber/" target="_blank">Ken Chlouber</a>, Leadville Trail 100 founder! It took me a minute to figure it out, and when I did he was taking a picture for a runner. I asked if he wouldn't mind getting a quick one for me and he happily obliged, telling me it would be better if I stood by the sign to get it in the picture, adding "Honey, you're getting cold!" I assured him I was more than fine, and didn't mention that I was totally geeked to be in his presence. A very genuine interaction, and one that would have me grinning all the way down the mountain.<br />
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Heading downhill, it was decidedly colder and windier. the water flowing down from the top had increased and was now very muddy. My hat blew off as I ran a section with plowed snow next to the trail. I jumped up on it quickly and was able to retrieve the hat before another gust could pick it up and blow it away. The sky was no longer clear but I felt invigorated by Mother Nature making her presence known.<br />
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Another issue was causing me troubles now as well. I'd stepped hard on a rock a month or two back, and it had pressed up through the sole of my left foot against my cuboid bone. On the one downhill section on the climb in miles 5-8, it was causing me some grief. Now, I could really feel it. It did not require any debate in my head about what to do. I was going to protect it, and not hammer down like this was my big goal for the summer. I needed to be able to run the next weekend. I hated not hammering but I knew that to preserve my future races, I needed to not do anything super stupid today.<br />
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Moving along, the skies were darker at times, but there were also breaks of light. At one aid station, a volunteer asked if I had rain gear. Uh, no, I said. Just this shirt, but I do have hat and gloves. "It IS going to rain, he said. Put your gloves on if it comes." I was actually rather annoyed with him thinking I didn't know what I was doing, and somehow I had this feeling, in the certainty of his remark, that the rain was not going to come during my run. I politely let him know that I had been wearing the gloves the whole time anyway because my hands get cold easily, and that my long sleeved shirt was perfect for me for the last nine miles down the hill. I made a quick pit stop and continued onward.<br />
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Chatting with gals I'd been with the whole time, I hit what became the most challenging section of the course; miles 18-21. I'd been advised by veteran trail runner Bernie Boettcher to save something for this section, and I am so glad he offered this advice. This was the same territory covered in miles 5-8. Holy shit. This kind of hurt. Once again, though, I was surprised that I moved ahead of all the gals I was with, and never felt like the climb had the best of me. It more of a challenge for me to prove to the hill that I could handle it. Reaching the final aid station, I got a few more comments on my shirt, and I commented on how I'd been hoodwinked about this being a flat and fast course with a rock and roll band on every corner. I grabbed a handful of salty chips and got ready for the final descent. It was still windy but no rain had come.<br />
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Moving through the final miles, I was stoked. I was not in it to win it; far from it. I was in it as a first test to see if I was on track for my summer, and I believe I was passing this test. Heading down the last stretch of road to the finish, I just soaked up knowing that this was not the end of the line but a first big step of letting go of my fears of failure and just going for it. When I finished, my friend Butch was hollering like a madman and gave me a huge hug. This would've been a great solo journey, but it was super cool to share the finish with a friend who has a thing for the mountains as well, and knew what this day entailed for me.<br />
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The last few hours in Leadville involved dark skies, and high spirits as we cheered in the final runners. It was a thrill to encourage them on, and see them smile and fist pump upon coming through.<br />
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Some say Leadville has sold out or that it sucks. And, I hear it WAS kind of a mess at the 100 in 2013, but I was not there so I can't comment. Maybe that is their truth; it's not mine. This is where I first saw friend and neighbor Bryan finish the 100 in 2011, barely ahead of the cutoffs and with 15 minutes to spare at the finish. I watched my local friends go six for six the next year, and aided one of them along the way to that goal. Now it's my time, my goal, my race. I'm smart enough to know that I can't base success in August off a marathon in June but it was a huge positive step forward toward that. Getting ready to leave for Junction, Butch and I encountered a guy who was a LT100 finisher, and who had advice that had kind of swirled in my head, but not as he articulated it. "Just look at it as another day. Sometimes you'll feel bad in that day but it's just another day and it'll keep going on." He also added, "See you in August." I am actually starting to see myself there in August. <br />
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This was advice that was race-specific, but quite applicable to all I've been through lately. And, after the race, I did feel like I'd lifted my arms up and offered myself to the mountain, and had come out better than I was before. If I can just keep doing that-keep trying to be a little better than before-there is a strong chance I can keep it going to the finish of that race, in August, as I am, as I came to be.<br />
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TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-17247111648995259732014-05-05T18:24:00.003-06:002014-05-05T22:28:26.454-06:00Home/Colorado: The 2014 Colorado Marathon<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b>Settle down, it'll all be clear </b></div>
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<b>Don't pay no mind to the demons</b></div>
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This song came like a message especially for me at the 20 mile aid station at the Colorado Marathon on Sunday. Imagine my complete delight when I looked up the video, which I'd never seen before, and quite clearly spotted Mount Garfield and the Bookcliffs in Grand Junction (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Home_(Phillip_Phillips_song)" target="_blank">Wikipedia</a> says I am correct...it was shot on the road between Denver and Salt Lake City on tour). All the more apropos for the weekend.</div>
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I hadn't trained seriously for a road marathon since about 2011, and really hadn't had much of an interest since then, with a Rim Rock Marathon in 2012 when the weather was crap, and I felt like crap. Then there was the "one 20 miler in five months" training plan for Rim Rock 2013, when I knew, going in, that it was a fun effort, and a guaranteed personal worst. It was fun, and a personal worst. </div>
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But, before that, there was Boston. </div>
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I was hurt, angry, pissed, and wanted to get back to "our" race. I signed up for a race that several friends had finished, and enjoyed tremendously-the Colorado Marathon in Fort Collins. Also racing was my friend Rochelle, who started running with regularity two years prior, and would be completing her first marathon this weekend. Then there was friend Tom, a longstanding active member of our local running club who has done every type of race in many sports under the sun in his 61 years, except, surprisingly, a road marathon. We went to Fort Collins on Saturday, staying with my friend Kim, who answered our "thanks for letting us all crash here!" with a shrug and "Runners are runners!" assertion. We all grabbed some food together and wandered Old Town for awhile.</div>
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Eventually, our friends Marty (and brother to Rochelle) and Cheryl made it to town after supporting another friend of ours, Marco, at a trail race in Buena Vista, the Collegiate Peaks 50-miler. Tom and I chilled out and wandered Old Town Fort Collins with them while Rochelle chilled out back at Kim's, and eventually made our way back to turn in for the night. I was tired and ready for a good night's sleep, not really thinking much about the race. My training cycle had been far from perfect, but was also far from a high suckage percentage. There had been virtually no speed work, with my summer racing goals in mind, and knowing how that was not where my energies needed to be spent in base building for those races. I did, however, rack up a bunch of runs 20 miles or longer, and finished my fourth RedHot 55K in February. I was also, er, a few pounds up from ideal racing weight. I was pretty curious what the over/under would be on all factors. Regardless, I was going to have fun out there, give it my best, and enjoy.</div>
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Sunday started out comically. We boarded the buses, and were the last three runners put on the bus. I made my way to the three open seats in the back of the bus, where I was seated next to a young man who had his head in his hands because he'd not trained for this race, and was just realizing that no training and his only race ever being a 5K on Super Bowl Sunday might not be the best training plan. As we rode along in the dark (we'd boarded buses at 4:30 a.m.), things got more exciting. Rochelle came back to use the bathroom on our luxury bus and says "We're going the wrong way." No way, I said. Way. The driver had followed two other buses and missed the turn up Poudre Canyon, where we'd run the first 17 miles of the course. What followed was pulling a u-ey through some farmer's dirt circular driveway, with the bus pointing straight down at a point where the circle dropped sharply. I was imagining how surprised these people would be to find a bus on its side in their front yard at 4:45 a.m., but we made it through and got up the canyon.</div>
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When we reached the start, things felt great. Temps were cool but not cold. No wind.</div>
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We found our Junction friend Angela's sister Elizabeth/Lizzie, who had some injuries and down time but decided to go ahead, enjoy the race, and let it be whatever it would be. She found us a much shorter port-a-potty line that the massive one everyone else was in. This was great, except for the first time ever, uh....(sensitive readers, avert your eyes), I was having gut troubles for the first time ever in a race. As in...could not get myself cleaned out. This has never once been an issue. We'd barely gotten through the bathroom line when they started calling for the start. Rochelle, Tom and I jumped into the corral, and I made sure I had the Garmin I'd borrowed from Marty ready to go. My good friend Kevin O'Brien from Paonia had advised to not get too carried away with the early downhill miles, because it would flatten out later, and there was the matter of a big hill at mile 19. I just committed to racing on feel as the gun sounded.</div>
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Crossing the starting mat, there were a few moments of being a little bit slowed down, but we got moving freely surprisingly fast for a race with 1500 racers. I'm not sure if this has anything to do with so many people using this as a Boston qualifier, and being capable of being in that striking range, or if having the full two lanes of road to start made things space out early. Probably a little of both. All I knew is that I took off like a relative bat out of hell, with Kevin's voice kind of in my head. I also had that voice of go big or go home, nothing ventured, nothing gained. </div>
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The first four miles rattled off at 8:00-8:05 mile paces, and being quite a bit ahead of 3:30 and 3:40 pace groups. This should have been my first clue to really heed Kevin's advice. But, I did feel good, and I know that my very best races have come from overshooting what the pace charts and tables said I should be expected to do, and just going with how I felt on days when all systems were perfect. So, on I went. It was quiet; the only noise I could hear was the flow of the Poudre River. It was slightly overcast and temperatures were perfect.</div>
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In the next few miles, I slowed a bit, but not dramatically. I had consciously told myself to back off the 8:00 miles and was hitting closer to 8:15-8:20 now with some surges and slowdowns at different points. Around mile ten, though, it began. My stomach started talking to me. I ignored that sensation and convinced myself I could will it to away. Crossing the half in roughly 1:49, it seemed like I was in good shape, with room to positive split and still BQ. My gut, though. It was ANGRY. And making more noise.</div>
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In miles 13-17, I could tell I was slowing more and more and the business I couldn't do earlier....yeah, if you're going to do something new on race day, blowing your entire cushion of time for a several minute pit stop in the port-a-john at mile seventeen is not something I'd put at the top of the list. On the upside, I felt so much better to have finally cleared the plumbing. But, not where I needed to be timewise with the big hill on the course coming, and no more downhill to get that free help from gravity. I climbed the hill feeling frustrated that I'd pretty much paced entirely wrong for this course, and that a factor that has never, ever hampered me had made such a dent in the day. Oh well, suck it up and trudge on. I passed folks with "May The Fourth Be With You," "May The Course Be With You," and "Your Feet Hurt Because You Are Kicking Ass!" signs and embraced the energy. </div>
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Then, that big hill came that Kevin mentioned. It was long, not steep, but just kept coming. I felt okay other than knowing that I was slowing down when I didn't need to put myself at a more of a deficit, and digging myself a hole on any chance at a BQ. I was having moments of "screw this," when I came through the aid station at 20 miles. That popular song, "Home," came on, precisely on the verse that gets repeated multiple times. Settle down, it'll all be clear. Don't pay no mind to the demons, they fill you with fear. It was the roundhouse kick in the ass I needed then. Heading out of that aid station, I got out of my head that I was going to rack up my third personal worst in a row and just started running again in the moment. Maybe I could pull something out of my ass to BQ, maybe not, but I wasn't going to roll over and give up.</div>
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We then entered what I will now lovingly refer to as the barren wasteland section of this course. Canyonlands has the "on the highway" two miles that I'll NEVER complain about again after the "concrete path under the powerlines with sand and scrub and no soul" section of course at the Colorado Marathon. It sucked.<br />
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I was tired, and tried stopping once or twice here, only to kick my own ass and make myself start running again after a few walking steps. That was only going to prolong the time out here. This eventually gave way to a section with a few trees and more people, and then a long, wooden bridge that I realized was suspension once I felt it moving under me. My gut immediately started rearing up again. I thought I was going to puke...for real. Again, something new. I have never had motion sickness but something about that bridge swaying gently was not awesome for me in that moment.</div>
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Moving down the bike path, we were entering shadier territory, and moved through a tunnel. Soon, the last mile was there. I wasn't sure if or where I would see any friends. I can't tell you in which order I saw them-it's a blur-but I think that I first saw Cheryl and Marty. I shook my head going past...Marty looked at his watch and knew I wasn't going to BQ, and Cheryl hollered something about digging my outfit. Still, it was great to see them and it gave me a little levity when I was feeling rough. And then I think I next saw Laurie, who is a fellow INKnBURN ambassador. We hadn't met before but she knew I'd be here, and we spotted each other immediately. Her fiance Kurt started snapping pictures like crazy, ran down the path, took more pictures, and so on, for a stretch (he's a runner too). Again, I felt a little lighter from that interaction with Laurie and Kurt. </div>
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Finally hitting the home stretch, I was over 3:45 now. There would be no BQ today. But, I could still finish strong and fend off a PW. That was just shy of 3:52 at Rim Rock. I was thrilled to see that finish chute coming, and was determined to leave it all on the course. The dude on the mic was awesome, and seeming to catch everyone as they came in. I soon heard my name and my hometown, and kicked it through the finish, 3:50, a good five minutes off that BQ goal. Nowhere close, a lot I could've been disappointed about, but feeling like I'd salvaged a bad race in the places I could. </div>
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I got my water, and finisher poster, and then headed out of the finish chute to find Cheryl and Marty so we could watch for Rochelle and Tom. My legs were throbbing. Along the way, I hollered and cheered on finishers, many of whom I'd shared the road with at multiple times during the run. Getting back on the bike path, I reached Laurie and Kurt first, and visited with them for a bit. My legs were killing me and it felt great to stop on the grass. They told me they'd seen my friends move on up the path a bit further, and I told them what my friend Tom was wearing in case they saw him and could get a quick picture, but that Rochelle would probably be harder to spot as a 40-something female in black shorts and generic yellow shirt. Then, I headed down to meet my friends. </div>
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They asked if I'd seen Rochelle just to make sure we hadn't missed her, but I'd walked the full reverse from the finish and had definitely not spotted her. It's so hard to say how one's first marathon will go, and we just didn't want to miss that moment. Right when we were having that conversation, I was the only one facing that direction and spotted her coming. We jumped in alongside Rochelle, and suddenly my dead legs were moving again. Kurt spotted us and started snapping away, getting a great shot of all of us running alongside Rochelle. </div>
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We ran with her until we reached the street into Old Town Fort Collins, stepping out and running alongside the course. I told Cheryl that we probably needed to get ahead of her because they were directing traffic about two blocks out, and we might get held up there. Luckily, we made it across that intersection, and on down to the finish, to see her chasing down the 4:15 pace group leader and coming in just under that mark, 4:14 and change. What followed were hugs and happy tears from all that on one hand, I wished I'd pulled the camera out to save, but on the other hand, was just so nice to be present in the moment to enjoy. </div>
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That extra bit of running sort of (very much) hurt, so I was happy when we decided to station ourselves on the sidewalk in the final three blocks to watch for Tom. I didn't think I had it in me to run most of the last mile again. Sure enough, just under 4:30, we saw that orange "The Other Half" race shirt coming, and started hollering "Tommy Toast!" Hundreds of running races, a number of triathlons, adventure races, ski races and the awesomely hard Pike's Peak Marathon, Tom finished his first road marathon with a smile and a woot. There were more high-fives, hugs, pictures, bluegrass, margaritas, leg soaks in the river, Cinco De Mayo festivity walkthroughs, and just the enjoyment of all of us being "Home" with one another. </div>
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Despite being a really imperfect race in a lot of ways, it was a really perfect weekend. I had some momentary thoughts of "revenge marathons"...er, getting back on the wagon really fast to try to BQ again, but the fact of the matter is that's not my goal for the summer. I quickly talked myself out of that, because the focus has got to be on the three races this summer here in Colorado...in that state we all love so well, as sung by probably my favorite musical act in the past few years, Paper Bird. I blasted that tune several times on training runs, and on the drive over to the race, so I think it's appropriate to end/continue the next chapter with that. Hop on board or just run because we ain't gonna stop until we had our fun, doing the things we'd never thought we'd do. </div>
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TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-68932049174786981642014-03-31T08:21:00.001-06:002014-03-31T08:24:42.093-06:00Happy: Canyonlands 2014, Behind The Rocks, and The Arrival Of Spring<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b>Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth</b></div>
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Rolling into spring, I've had a sense of optimism that has been far more the norm than anything else. I've felt settled into my "new normal," new schedules and routines, and not wondering what crazy changes are coming in the next week. That sort of freed me up to say this year that I was going to really enjoy a spring tradition-the Canyonlands Half Marathon-to the fullest. Except for one thing. After many runs in the half, I decided that what I really wanted to do was race the accompanying 5-mile race. And I wanted to go big, and win the Female Masters division. Anything worth doing is worth doing full out. I had no Canyonlands hardware prior to 2014, and dammit, I wanted that to change this time.</div>
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This 2014 edition of this race was going to be special not just for what would be a new race for me, but for a lot of friends coming in from out-of-state as well. In my early years of running, I was pretty active on the RWOL (Runner's World Online) forums, and got to know a lot of folks in the Boston forum, meeting up with many of them at the 2010 and 2011 Boston Marathons. A hearty handful of them decided to come out to Moab at the urging of several of us from the group. It was pretty exciting to get to show off "our" race and place to these guys and gals who were here for a fun weekend. I was also going to get to camp all weekend with my friend Rochelle and her family, and not rush back to Grand Junction following the race finish. It was "my" weekend....a new concept. I rode down to Moab with Rochelle and her Dad Ed, AKA "The Gongfather" or the dude who bangs a gong, co-owned by several of us, at all of our races. Truth be told it's really his gong. It just sits in other peoples' homes between races. We posed for pictures on the way to Moab like goofy tourists. </div>
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That afternoon, we hiked <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corona_Arch" target="_blank">Corona Arch</a>, which is always fantastic. When evening rolled around, we filled up the back of <a href="http://www.miguelsbajagrill.com/ordereze/default.aspx" target="_blank">Miguel's</a> with all of the Boston crew, eating, drinking and hashing out plans for my special 12.5 mile aid station. We have a Boston Marathon tradition of a fella named Troy handing out cannoli from<a href="https://www.mikespastry.com/" target="_blank"> Mike's Pastry</a> for that last turn and run down Boylston Street. Since I was only going 5 miles, and the rest of the crew was running the half, the idea for a margarita mile was born. I would run my race, then hand off single-serve margaritas while Ed banged the gong to bring everyone in. Perfectly normal, right? The Boston crew thought so. I was stoked. </div>
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Getting back to our campsite, we turned in for the night, not sure if Rochelle's brother Marty was going to make it to our campsite or not. Sure enough, he rolled in with son Tyler who would be running his first half marathon the next day, and daughter Michaela who is an old pro at these goofy race weekends. Our campsite was pretty spectacular and the night skies were like a room with no roof. Just stunning, dark, lit up with stars and the nearly full moon. </div>
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When morning came I was surprisingly well rested, given all the activity the day before. I played my "which <a href="https://www.inknburn.com/" target="_blank">INKnBURN</a> shall I wear today?" game, settling on the Sugar Skull top and Pink Ink skirt. Getting back to my roots of wearing skirts on race day felt good. Heading to the start, I was telling myself I did have a great shot to make my goal and was pretty happy about it. The weather was pretty nice. Not too hot, not too cold, and I was thrilled to be running the 5-mile and not the half. When it was time to line up to race, I felt about as good as I could. I was the happiest I've been in awhile, and just didn't feel like there were any major stresses or worries that could get to me today. My fitness was not perfect but I was as ready as I could be given all circumstances. You just do the best you can do at any given moment. </div>
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When we took off, there was a small handful of gals who were off and gone. I was definitely in the top 15, though, and this seemed like a good starting point for me. Another part of running the 5-mile was that this was to be my farewell to racing short things in preparation for Leadville, so the pain of trying to race fast was tempered by the knowledge that I would not be in speed work mode for a long time following this race. </div>
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After less than a mile, there was a petite gal with short hair who...maybe she was under 40, I told myself....no, Karah, who are you kidding, she is for sure another masters female. I pushed ahead of her, knowing I don't have a great history as a kicker later in a race. I also drifted past several early kickers who faded fast. Presumed Masters Gal passed me back, though, and floated up the road quite a bit.</div>
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Coming to the drums so early in the race was a treat, but also weird. I'm so used to seeing the Taiko Dan drummers when I am nearing the end of the half. It was kind of funny to start the race and then reach them right away. I gave them my now-traditional (since taking up yoga) thumbs to third eye and "Namaste" as I passed. It's a great place to give and receive good energy.</div>
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I seemed to be pulling closer to Presumed Masters Gal but every time I thought I could overtake her she pulled further away. Entering the highway, I got really close and thought I might pass her but then she pushed onward. I did pass a teenager through here that I'd been reeling in the whole time. I just kept the head tucked, not looking up for that Denny's restaurant where we turn toward the finish. I knew it was a long, long way away.</div>
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When I finally reached Denny's, I was stoked to know I'd be seeing Ed on the gong soon. I pushed myself to push through without a slump at the end. I could still see PMG but wasn't making up enough ground to overtake her anytime soon. I finally could hear that gong, and then realized, comically, that this would be a VERY bad corner for my refreshment station in Utah. This was an excellent distraction as I thought about where else we could set up in a low-key fashion. When I saw Ed on gong, I made the final turn for home, and tried to not focus on how far away that freaking finish chute was from me. I was in drive-it-home mode.<br />
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Heading toward the finish chute, I focused on the space about ten feet ahead of me and picked it up. as I neared the beginning of the finish chute, the teenaged gal passed me back but we were both making up ground on PMG. It wasn't quite enough for me, though. As I entered the chute, PMG crossed the timing mat near the end of it, and I heard Jeff up on the microphone at the finish line declare "and here is our first female masters finisher." Darnit. So close. I stayed pretty close to the teenager and came close but couldn't pass her again before crossing the finish myself, about 23 seconds behind not the Presumed Masters Gal, but Definite Masters Gal and Champion. I finished 10th female overall, second masters female, and 1st in the 40-44 ladies. I'd say I was only moderately disappointed because I really didn't have any more gears to go to, I'd stayed in it until the end, and had just picked up my first hardware at Canyonlands.<br />
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After the race, I regrouped, and found Ed, and my friends Willie and Geri Virtue, and it was determined that not on the last corner by the police car, and not in front of the LDS church were good choices with regard to the final aid station for friends in the half. We found a nondescript corner about half a block from the beginning of the finish chute where we banked on friends hearing/seeing Ed and being able to spot us. We thought Richard or Kevin might be some of the first few in, but we were blown away when Kevin came blazing through well before the first female finisher. There was barely time for me to chuck a beverage at Geri, who handed it off to Kevin while I banged the gong (the GongFather had taken a brief break).<br />
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As the race continued, we were joined by other friends and family of racers, and continued passing off beverages with near seamless handoffs, with the exception of our friend "Crazy Tom" from Utah. I feel bad about that one...will need to have an idea of his costume ahead of time for next year's race. Later, visiting the awards tent, I was excited to see that the trend of functional items at Moab races continued, with my first place award being a cutting board from Triassic of Moab (though my friend Marty, who won overall male Master, thought it was hilarious for the next week to say, "I think my wood's bigger than yours," which, as it turns out, was indeed a slightly larger cutting board). There was more hiking and fun throughout the weekend, celebrating the efforts of all, and really taking advantage of the time in Moab.<br />
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Not more than two weeks later, I found myself back in Moab, but this time for a volunteer gig. I've run GrassRoots Events' Moab RedHot five times now, and after seeing a number of Junction friends at aid station tables, I made plans to help out at the upcoming inaugural Behind The Rocks 50K and 50-miler. It was a weekend when my kids would be with their dad, and I've been learning that the best way to ease that lonely mama heart on "my"weeks is to fill that time with things that are fun and fulfilling. My friend Tom, who does all kinds of racing, and some race directing/volunteering, came down too and we were the final aid station on the course. The course was simply eye-popping, and the resolve of the runners to get through what turned out to be a beast of a course was clear. As a mid- to back-of-pack trail runner, it was quite the privilege to pretty much crew those last few runners in, get them what they needed, and send them out. Seeing the front-runners in obvious fatigue and pain, but determined to keep it going and finish big, was also an amazing sight.<br />
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Once the last runner left our aid station, we drove down to the finish to wait for the final three to arrive in the dark with head lamps, and sure enough, each of them got in with a smile on the face and a little bit of celebratory relief.<br />
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I loaned my phone to one of them (his had died) so he could text his girlfriend to let her know he'd finished. When she later replied back, "thanks!", I could see his note of "OMG. Almost quit. Tough course." If I can get down again to volunteer next year, I'd love to be back in that same spot, that last chance to refuel before the final push in the race.<br />
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The weekend ended with me getting a 22-miler in, kind of a hybrid training run for the upcoming Colorado Marathon (road) with more basebuilding for the Leadville summer series. Some rolling and climbing but not the steepest thing we could find in Moab. I've got a sticker on my increasingly stickered-up old Toyota van that says "Moab Is My Happy Place," and that would be the truth. It feels good to run happy, and let that carry over into my daily life.<br />
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TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-11415730675363943302014-02-02T09:48:00.001-07:002014-02-02T09:48:14.090-07:00Finally Moving: 2014 And Beyond<div style="text-align: center;">
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Oh, Sometimes I Get A Good Feeling, Yeah</div>
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I Get A Good Feeling, Yeah.</div>
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2014 is here, baby. And I think I've never been quite so happy to have one year and one chapter close, and flow on into another. In many ways, it's started exactly the same as other years-getting back into my running brain, focusing on shaking the fat, and setting goals for the year. In other aspects, it's an unfamiliar, exciting, uncertain, and sometimes scary new chapter. It'll be whatever I make it. This is a thrill, and a challenge to me.<br />
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In other years, I've done a "year in review" of sorts. Hit the highlights, lowlights, and everything in between. 2013 certainly had a lot of wonderful moments for which I'm very thankful. As a whole, though, I would like to just leave it behind me, and not re-hash. My running is at the core of who I am and what moves, motivates and drives me. I felt very "stuck" for much of 2013-like I couldn't move the way I wanted to. The best races I strung together last year-last fall, to be exact-evolved in such a way and at such a time that I didn't enjoy them in the manner I should. Everyone hits those low points at some time, though-and it did seem to be not just me. The year was a bumpy one for others who are important to me as well. It wasn't fun to be there but I do feel like I am finally moving again, and able to run and move again as I never have before. I find myself not anxious and worried about my goals for the year. I find myself, dare I say, optimistic that I will create balance and see opportunities to reach my goals. Rather than focusing on the past, berating myself for shortcomings or wishing I could change them, I'm focusing on the steps in front of me.<br />
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This year has already featured some traditions that help to kick the year off right. I ran in the new year at midnight, January 1, 2014, a running group annual tradition. A few days later, I took my deferment from last year, and re-registered for the Leadville Trail 100. There aren't any guarantees that things will be any different than last year. I can say this,though-I'm already doing things differently. No dumbass 2x a week speed work, one day on a rubber-covered cement indoor track. Just getting out to run, with plans to gradually increase my mileage, and hit key races along the way to help me be successful at finishing in August. The first will be the early season Moab RedHot 55K. This is the event that's taught me that your mind can either make or break you, and that if you get in your mind that it's something you can get done, you'll make choices and take action that helps you get there. It'll be a slow slog for me, but I have no doubt I will make it through the 34 miles. And then it'll be a stepping stone to other things.<br />
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I'm planning to break from the same 'ol, same 'ol with some race choices. After years of running the Canyonlands Half Marathon, and always liking, but not really loving that race, I just downgraded to the 5-mile. I ran it once with Alexis, when she was about nine, running with her on her way to a 10-and-under girls podium finish (she's a dancer now and doesn't talk about her running much, but I'll do it...she's outstanding at everything she tries, and running was no different). I really love racing stuff in that 5 mile/10K distance range, but don't get to do it that often. I was feeling the pull this year, and so I emailed race director Ranna last week to officially make the change. When I'm as stoked as I am about that decision, and feel myself smiling to mention it, I know it's the right choice. I'm going to race for a women's masters win; don't know how things will shake out but I'm focusing on that goal, and work toward making it happen.<br />
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Other than Canyonlands, the focus for 2014 is going to be on going long. In another change, I'll be running my first road marathon since 2010 that is not Boston or Rim Rock. I'll be hitting the Colorado Marathon in Fort Collins this May, with a goal to run a BQ time. I was moved to do so after the events of last April. Whether I make it back to Boston in 2015 will be another matter. I just want to run that sub-3:45 again. Ideally, I want to shoot for another sub 3:30, which I've done only once. My 2013 Rim Rock Marathon was....in best of terms, an undertrained effort done for fun. That said, I am not planning to disrespect the marathon like that again. I've gotten in more 20-mile road runs, and 3-4 hour trail runs, in my base building phase in the past month than I did in the last several months of 2013. And, they've felt great. Not great in the sense that they were easy-they mostly did not feel like that. It just felt oustanding to get out and move. To get it done.<br />
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And, back to Leadville...Leadville. After last year, I thought it just was not in the cards for me to think about it again. Then I thought about it some more. I had to be honest with myself and realize that it is absolutely do-able. It's all about choices, and making choices that reflect my goals. On "my" weeks, the choices will certainly be easier than they ever have been. I'll be able to run just about any time I'm not working. On weeks with my kids, the choices become more important. Timing will be everything. Meaning...early early. Late. Whenever I can squeeze it in. I'll be looking at supplemental training activities that I can do at home, with the kids, on those weeks, too. As I write this, I've just finished getting my road bike set up on a trainer so that if I've got 20 spare minutes, I can hop on that sucker for a workout. There's a treadmill out on the back patio, too. While not ideal, choosing those activities over nothing, or despairing that I'm not hitting the trails every single day for hours, will be important. And, perhaps, they'll help keep me stronger, and less prone to injury. For certain, they'll help me balance out everything on busy weeks. I'll hit races that I believe will help me along the way, namely the Leadville Trail Marathon and the Silver Rush 50 miler. And I'll get high as often as possible...the Grand Mesa, locally, or doing Mount Garfield repeats, or taking weekend trips up to Leadville when I have weekends to myself. Sleep in my spacious van. Enjoy moving, enjoy rest, enjoy quiet. But mostly, now that I'm finally moving again, I simply want to keep moving.<br />
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TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-36887965086784340472013-12-31T16:25:00.001-07:002013-12-31T16:31:01.947-07:00Sweater Weather: The INKnBURN Holiday Sweater Experience/Review<div style="text-align: center;">
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All I am is a (wo)man...I want the world in my hands.<br />
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Actually, I'm far more simple than that; I like to spend time with my kids and friends, I like to run, and I like to live colorfully. Last year, I'd seen this groovy<a href="http://www.inknburn.com/women-s-holiday-sweater-long-sleeve-tech-shirt.html" target="_blank"> INKnBURN tech "sweater,"</a> which looked a heckuva lot like a real sweater. When winter rolled around this year, and the company came out with a smashing new red, white and blue tech sweater, I knew I had to have that. In a year full of challenges, just the simple act of putting on something that fun brings a smile to my face. You can't wear a running shirt that looks like an ugly Christmas sweater and not feel a bit of joy. Better yet, that joy is infectious, as it turns out.</div>
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I first got this year's <a href="http://www.inknburn.com/women-s-navy-holiday-sweater-long-sleeve-tech-shirt.html" target="_blank">tech sweater</a> prior to the Rim Rock Marathon. I'd worn it for some training runs, and I was pleased that my INKnBURN holiday sweater was definitely cut for a woman. This has long been a pet peeve of mine-so many race shirts and running shirts seem to have a unisex design....AKA, fit like a potato sack. INKnBURN does a great job of making sure their products fit the athlete wearing them, whether he or she is 4'10", 6'5", long and lean, or proud Clydesdale or Athena. What I did not anticipate was all the talk about what I was wearing on the race course. That was quite amusing, and on a race day that was tough for me, I laughed to hear men whispering "yes, that's definitely a sweater," or have women ask to touch my clothing after the race. I take my running and training seriously, but I also take seriously that this is a joyful activity, first and foremost. This soon became my go-to item for winter running.
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I wore it again for the Winter Sun 10K, which is normally a crisp and beautiful December race. This year, in the midst of freezing temperatures, snow coming down hard during the race, and laughing to myself at how absurd it was that we were all out in this weather, it felt like the perfect thing to be wearing as I tore down the bike path toward the finish at Moab's high school, snow falling all around, and frosted trees hanging above. I wore it to a free Monday night race put on by the host of the Footfeathers blog, which was to test a brand-new timing system, and ended at the Copper Club in Fruita, Colorado, with free beers. Mr. Footfeathers and the gal helping him out said they remembered my goofy sweater from Rim Rock, and I once again had folks ask to touch the fabric. It's pretty cool that the thing looks like a real sweater to the point that strangers ask to touch you. Well, it might be weird to some, but not to me if it's made someone smile or question what the heck I'm wearing.
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(pre-race, rocking the sweater at second from left. and, why yes, that is a gong that we tote around to races.)
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I've also worn it to my job. I work in the largest hospital between Denver and Salt Lake City, spending my mornings registering patients for a variety of procedures from basic lab work to CT scans, pet scans, MRIs, x-rays, and other things that nobody yells "heck yeah, I'm going to the hospital today!" over. In the afternoon, I'm registering folks at another location for physical therapy, occupational therapy, speech and other treatments that might not be the most fun thing in the world for the individual across the desk from me to be doing with their time. Surprisingly, I've gotten more compliments and laughs about it at work than anywhere. That's a pretty cool thing; I strive to be that first friendly contact who makes the whole process a little easier, and if I can take their mind off things for even a moment, it's a good thing.</div>
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I most recently wore my holiday tech sweater for what has become "my" annual tradition of running Serpent's Trail, my beloved local hill on the Colorado National Monument, on Christmas Eve. Each year, a few folks have joined me in festive attire to run or hike up and down the hill, and celebrate being outdoors. As mentioned early on, this has been a challenging year for me. But, it felt SO good to be out there, doing what I love to do, and remaining colorful and positive. It may sound cheesy....but, at the most difficult times, that's what has saved me. Getting a smile on your face, not taking yourself too seriously, and being a goofball may not bring about world peace, but it softens things. Lightens things up. Gets one in the mindset to seek positivity...and it often follows from there. Hope this gave you all a little joy and amusement, and some positivity to end 2013 carrying into a new year. Sometimes it's remembering to do the little things we love, and doing them joyfully and with humor, that makes the biggest difference.</div>
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Top of Serpent's Trail, 12/24/13</div>
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Wishing You And Yours Peace, Love, Health, and Good Humor in 2014.</div>
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(If you would like to try out some <a href="http://www.inknburn.com/" target="_blank">INKnBURN</a>, first time customers may use the discount code "karahtoldme" for 15% off your first order. I bet you'll smile as much as I do when I get to wear their fun stuff)</div>
TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-70155935835139263282013-12-10T22:50:00.000-07:002013-12-10T23:08:46.497-07:00Road To Nowhere: The 2013 Winter Sun 10K<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b>Well, we know where we're goin'</b></div>
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<b>But we don't know where we've been</b></div>
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<b>And we know what we're knowin'</b></div>
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<b>But we can't say what we've seen</b></div>
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<b>And we're not little children</b></div>
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<b>And we know what we want</b></div>
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<b>And the future is certain</b></div>
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<b>Give us time to work it out</b><br />
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My 7th Winter Sun 10K started with a bit of a rude awakening. I'd meticulously set my alarm for 4:45 a.m., leaving plenty of time to putter around and be ready to transport a full van of friends, and a gong, to Moab, Utah. Imagine my surprise when I awoke naturally at 5:30 with a departure time of 5:45 a.m. out of Grand Junction, and no coffee to speak of anywhere in sight. I know, it was my basic nightmare too.<br />
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I did quickly get my crap together, thankfully, having determined the night before that it was going to be butt-cold for race day, and that I was best wearing tights and as many lightweight layers for the race as I could. I threw my stuff on, packed up a change of clothes, and was ready just in time for friends to begin arriving for the drive to Moab.<br />
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My friend Rochelle and I had planned to carpool and take whomever wanted to go; by Friday night we had nearly a full van scheduled to ride with us. This was great news for me as I don't have any extra change these days to cover a full tank of gas by myself for a day trip, and I also think these regional races are best experienced communally, with like-minded friends. The weather had turned cold-very cold-earlier in the week, and we were holding out hope for warmer temps, but it became very clear that this was going to be a cold and snowy one.<br />
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Heading down I-70 toward Utah, the snow started blowing. Visibility was crap, and at times I couldn't really see where we were going on the road. It was, quite literally, the road to nowhere when the snow drifted and blew across the highway. I took it slowly, though, and soon enough, we'd made it to Moab.<br />
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I laughed to see that everyone who was there bright and early was from Grand Junction-apparently, we don't use snowy, cold weather as an excuse to miss a race, and are willing to get up at ridiculous hours to make sure we don't miss the show. I chatted with race director Ranna a bit about the course, and found out that it really wasn't as bad as it could have been. There were some icy spots at the bottom of the hill in the second mile, and track had only been plowed in one lane. Beyond that, though, it sounded mostly runnable. Our crew socialized with friends coming in to the high school for awhile, not wanting to rush up to the start and the inevitable miserable cold.<br />
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messing around with Jeni and Rochelle before the race<br />
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We eventually loaded up, no more time to delay the inevitable. A few things were certain. It was freaking cold, and we were going to run from the golf course down to the high school track.<br />
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We screwed around at the van for awhile, and finally got about the business of warming up. It was...well, not comfortable, while I warmed up, but less miserable. My friend Cheryl has the Masters course record here, and was running again today for the first time since that race where she set that record, finished second, and I finished third overall with a 10K PR. There was absolutely no danger of that today; even in perfect conditions, I was not at racing weight nor had I been on any sort of regular training schedule over the past few months. That said, I was coming into the race on an upswing; consistent running since Rim Rock, and regular speed work. I knew that my new age group was not any easier than the one I'd just come from; Cheryl would be in there, and other regular podium finishers who left a fifth straight age group podium for me far from certain. I liked it this way; I think I had my mental A-game on much more than other years when the age group wins came with less fight and struggle. We posed for a few requisite photos with our gong, and moved toward the start.<br />
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It's all about the windup on the gong<br />
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When the time came to start, I was ready to go. It was bitter cold but I just kept saying "tropical sands, tropical beaches" as if it would magically make me not cold. It did work a little bit. Ranna climbed the scaffolding at the start, declaring "Welcome...to the Winter No Sun...." and everyone giggled a bit. It had been 60 degrees here at the finish a year prior; this weather was just stupid. Soon we heard the on your mark, and go. My 7th Winter Sun was now underway, eyes watering from the cold, brain wondering "Why the hell am I doing this?" Then, primal racing instinct kicked in.<br />
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This course is net-downhill, allowing a runner to typically go much faster than they would on a flat or hilly course. Today, though, I felt a bit stifled by the cold. I spent most of the first mile fighting the urge to walk and bail. There was no magical zone of pain awesomeness today. Just me, the elements, and a few hundred crazies out here with me. I started out with a good eight women ahead of me. Not good; in recent years, I'd been in the top 3-5 and this was not where I wanted to be today. But (and even though I hate the expression), it was what it was. I focused on trying to establish a rhythm, and not letting anyone else sneak on past. I became aware of snow landing on my face, swirling around, and realized that it had just started up again and was really starting to come down.<br />
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Heading into the hill in the second mile, I really felt like toast. I've run this course more than any other race since becoming a runner, not missing a year since my first run in 2007. It took everything I had today to not adopt Walter from the Big Lebowski's "F--- it dude, let's go bowling" approach, and just bow out in favor of anything but dealing with feeling tired and crappy in the weather. Then, racing Karah took over that whiny bitch and dragged her off the road. I got my game face back on and was determined to claw my way back into things.<br />
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Of course, right when I was thinking this, my friend Marty's 19-year-old son Tyler passed me. This is not much of a surprise as he's usually a bit ahead of me at these shorter races. I tried to stay on him, and also keep Cheryl in my sights, up the road a bit. There was another gal between Cheryl and I as well. I decided that my mission was to get past Tyler and that gal, and then see if I could reach Cheryl. Cruising along, I essentially held my position, but didn't feel like I was blazing through this section like I usually did when given that gradual downhill section, my one true strength as a runner. I tucked the head. The snow kept coming down. I felt a weird tightness around the bottom of my hat, which meant only one thing; the sweat in my hair had frozen into stiff hairsicles. Awesome, baby. In these middle miles, I got passed again, this time by another local friend named John. The snow was seriously coming down now. I couldn't see anything with the cold making my eyes water heavily. I think I laughed to myself a bit at one point about how absurd this whole scene was, and that I'd paid money to be a part of it.<br />
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Coming into the fifth mile, I really felt myself waking up. I crept on, and passed, Tyler, surprised because usually once he's passed me, I can't get back into it. I was also gaining ground on that next gal. Coming to the left turn into the residential neighborhood, the curve monitor alerted us to the ice on the turn. I felt good in my footing and hammered through; the other gal, not so much. I'd passed her and it gave me a surge of energy to stay ahead. She seemed to be less confident in plotting her vector through the neighborhood, first running on the other side of a line of snow and ice in the middle, then jumping in behind me. I fueled on that and pushed even harder.<br />
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When I reached the turn on to the bike path to the finish, I nearly missed the turn. It just looked SO different in the snow. The volunteer here directed me just in time, and then I weaved through the funky little gate before pounding down the bike path. Here, the snow looked positively magical. I hurt, and my face and hair were frozen. But, dangit, I'd made it here. I felt good; as good as one can feel here. I was running a bit scared, though. I did not want anyone to catch me.<br />
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The bike path runs behind the high school, and then hits a short uphill patch of grass to the track. Today, it was covered in snow. I managed this stretch better than expected, and hit the track feeling nearly depleted but knowing I couldn't quit. Folks were too close behind me; I had no guarantee of anything. I was confused momentarily..I'd heard the track only had one lane plowed and my racing brain didn't know what to do when I saw it was the outside lane. Gongmaster Ed was banging away on the gong, and I heard Marty yell "outside lane..." and got myself in the cleared lane as the snow continued to fall hard. I saw the time rolling over on the time clock and thought "well, s#it," seeing that it was a good two minutes off my performance in three of the last four races, and then quickly threw any frustration aside to hammer it home on what was a truly strange weather day.<br />
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Pushing around the track, I could feel without looking back that nobody was going to pass me but pushed to get to that finish as fast as I could. Cruising into the finish, I was not caught by anyone else, and came to a stop knowing I'd done the best I could on this day, and fought to stay in things when I wasn't feeling great. This was a good feeling.<br />
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Awards were held inside, in the cafeteria at the high school, for the first time since I'd run this race. After The Other Half, I was still holding my breath to see if I'd made the podium, knowing that it was entirely possible that the small handful of gals ahead of me were all in my age group. Going through the results, it was a veritable parade of Grand Junction runners; Cheryl's brother Dewayne won the race as the only non-GJ racer in the top five, followed closely by Kevin D, Marty, Kevin K, and Jeff.<br />
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(Cheryl and her little brother/overall winner Dewayne)<br />
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(Jeff, Kevin D and Kevin K cleaning up mens 30-39)<br />
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The women's race produced the first female winner from Junction I'd seen since starting the race with Ezzy, who ran for CMU, taking the overall women's title. They finally got to the Old Chick divisions, and I did not recognize third place, or have a clue if she had been ahead of or behind me. When Ranna said "From Grand Junction...a long-time supporter and participant of Moab races...." I said "phew" in my head and went up to claim my second place medal. Cheryl had won the age group, so it was pretty sweet to be up there with a chick I've got a lot of respect for as a runner. Neither of us killed it out there-far from it-but we both gave all we had today.<br />
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The day carried on with celebration at the Moab Brewery. This year, our Triple Crown Award (for those who have completed Canyonlands, The Other Half, and The Winter Sun in the same calendar year) was a nice stainless steel mug/glass, and a complimentary beer at the brewery. This is our typical post-race Grand Junction hang anyway, so free beer went over like gangbusters. Heading out of Moab and back to dodge, I asked everyone in the van if we should take the highway, or up the more scenic canyon/Highway 128 out of town. Everyone voted scenic route, which led us to a true road to nowhere, with near whiteout conditions, wild turkeys, cows on the highway, a stopped train, a game of snow baseball during said stopped train, and somebody (what happens in the van stays in the van) peeing their name in the snow with brilliant peemanship. And many, many laughs. It felt like the perfect fun weirdness to end the day.<br />
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they were in the middle of the road before we crept up<br />
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Snow baseball. I have no photos of the peemanship, thankfully<br />
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The weather, the race, and everything, seemed like a very fitting end to my official 2013 racing season and year in general. It was a formidable storm to fight through at times; I wanted to quit at other times. Still, I pushed through and was so glad I did come along and take that ride.<br />
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TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-33309248815729901872013-11-17T08:35:00.002-07:002013-11-17T08:48:21.655-07:00Counting Stars (Everything That Kills Me Makes Me Feel Alive): The 2013 Rim Rock Marathon<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/KvkTbS9sBuI" width="480"></iframe>
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Everything That Downs Me Makes Me Want To Fly</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Rim Rock Marathon is a race with origins as a gate-to-gate 37K run, originally dreamed up by a handful of Mesa Monument Striders, in the 90s. I've recounted on other blog posts how I volunteered at the race before it became a marathon. As a new runner, I enjoyed volunteering but this was one race I swore I would never run, thinking "these people are out of their minds." My experience in the snow in 2009 at the marathon changed all that. The race eventually was in the hands of professional race directors, but circumstances led to them eventually giving up the race, and the race almost not happening this year. It was again a small handful of MMS members who took on keeping the race alive this year, just a few months prior to the traditional November race date.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This year, simply put, has been weird and inconsistent. That's in the context of running, and life in general. I had not been training for a marathon. Basically, I had the Imogene Pass Run for a long run over the past four months. That's it. I didn't want to miss Rim Rock, though, and initially chatted with my friend Andy about being a relay team when he posted a Facebook query about it. After all, this would be the sensible, logical thing for two folks not trained up for a marathon to do. It's funny, though-this conversation seemed to steer both of us toward what we were moved to do-running the marathon anyway, lack of training be damned, and being okay with whatever happened. Seven years of continuous running, experience on the course, and a strong desire and pull to be there were going to be what would get me through this year.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I signed up again, knowing that in all likelihood, this would be a long day for me out there. It's a tough race with a lot of climb at the beginning, some middle miles that are not as flat as everyone thinks, and flying down and off the Monument for the "beautiful" (AKA...car exhaust and fatigue) finish down Highway 340 and finally into the park in Fruita. A number of my friends had signed up for the relay division, including Angela, Kristin (who got injured and was played by Shannon on race day), Corey H, Emma-Leigh, Butch, Randee, and Keith. My friend Kim's husband Corey D was in for the full marathon, as was Andy, and a fella named Mike who would sometimes come to the Tuesday morning speed group I used to facilitate. After being on the receiving end of a lot of heckling, Marty became a late entry, ponying up a registration fee at packet pickup the day before the race. We'd done a 20-miler, 10 miles up Little Park Road, 10 miles back down, two weeks prior, and it had gone well enough for me that I was convinced I would not die at Rim Rock. I have a hard time not being competitive but that was reality-I wasn't going to run a PR today on two true long runs in four months. I could still run it the best I could, with what I had, and enjoy the day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Which comes to that day. The weather was as spectacular as it had been in four prior runnings of this race. Last year had been plain miserable, with rain and snow blowing in sideways. Today, it was crisp, cold, and sunny. I, on the other hand, had not been spectacular, feeling drained and sick for much of the past week. I was a little better, though, by race morning. Some things that had weighed heavily on me in recent days, while far from perfect and totally resolved, were better. I was so glad to be toeing the line in any condition, and that the race was happening this year.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When we lined up to start, it was pretty sweet to see all the starters. The turnout was strong if one considered that the race almost didn't happen this year. I didn't recognize many of the people who were here from out-of-state or out-of-town, and saw a few Marathon Maniacs, 50 Staters, and Half-Fanatics for the relay. I'd donned my new INKnBURN holiday tech sweater (this is not shameless advertising, folks...the tech shirt kind of took on a life of its own as the race unfolded) and it was reflecting my attitude for the day I was feeling celebratory to be here, and needing to do things with color and flavor today. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The start was a little odd, with just kind of a "go" without an audible gunshot or horn. In that anti-climactic moment, I pitched forward with everyone else from the Gem And Mineral Society building on Monument Road, and began a familiar trip. Passing the ranger station at the east gate onto the Monument, I said "Good Morning, Rangers!" and got smiles and a good morning back. There were already a handful of women ahead of me, and Marty had blazed to the front of the pack, but with another guy hot on his tail, and Corey not far behind that guy. I just worked on getting established in my run, trying to play my edge and hit that sweet spot where I pushed as hard as I had any business doing today. This wasn't feeling great today. I hurt. But, unlike last year, when I just wanted to curl up and quit several times, this pain was making me feel alive today. I was stoked, and just thinking "Yeah, let's do this, run to Fruita, baby!" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I tried to stay on my friend Shannon for a bit. She was running the uphill for team WTF 1 (Welcome To Fruita, Where's The Finish, What the ....."). I also tried to stick close to Mike, who tends to be a bit faster than me, but was a good one for me to chase. Working our way toward the tunnel, I saw Marty, guy #2, and Corey disappear several switchbacks above. The front end of things looked like a real race might happen-they were close together and nobody seemed to be running away with anything. I still didn't feel good but I looked around, thinking "hot damn, here I am again. Sweet." It's pretty unlike me to be, well, content with knowing I wasn't going to be mixing it up for overall podium slots, and in all likelihood would run my slowest marathon ever today. I knew the level of my training and that kind of freed me up to enjoy things. I think this is probably a pretty healthy turn for me-turning off the extreme competitiveness for just one day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Winding up, up, up, I was finally at the tunnel. There's something magical about running through in the dark, in near silence, with just the sound of feel slapping and echoing in the darkness. There was some guy breathing heavily and painfully in there, and I couldn't help it, it made me laugh. I tried to keep it to myself, though. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Continuing onward, I passed Cold Shivers point, and eventually reached the High Point on the Monument sign, crossing to the other lane to run over and give it a slap. The guy running near me did the same. Around now, I did the first of what would be many leapfrogs with another gal. As we continued along, she'd let out a "yow!" with each passing mile marker. I would wind up like a fast-pitch softball pitcher, slap each mile marker, and let out a "woohoo!" If she was ahead of me, I'd see her fist-pump in the air. She'd overtake me every time we hit an uphill, and I'd cruise past on most downhills. We were pushing each other, and this was just what I needed today. I could be a realist about my training but can't turn off the urge to race altogether. I would hear occasional comments at aid stations or from runners behind me about my attire for the day ("Is that a sweater? Are those jeans?") It was starting to amuse me because a lot of the conversation was coming from dudes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hitting the middle miles, I was running by a fella in Vibrams, neon green shorts, no shirt, and rocking a perfectly curled Snively Whiplash mustache. I still did not feel physically good at all, but there's just no way you can't enjoy yourself running next to that. My good friend Tom was working an aid station and I heard his familiar whoop as I approached. This is the cool thing, as a local-you get to see your friends, and the local businesses out, working the aid stations. Soon, I saw the mob scene at mile 12, which is where the relayers were to hand off. The gals I knew on relay teams hollered at me, and I heard a "no, those are DEFINITELY jeans" from yet another Dudeman. I still had strong notes of "Feel Like Crap" but with definite hints of "But It's A Beautiful Day And I'm Halfway Through With My Favorite Part Still To Come."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Shannon was up at the 13 mile aid station, looking for refreshments after passing off to Angela. She got me as I went past. When I saw this later, I was surprised to see that I didn't look as miserable as I'd felt. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The rest of the race sort of continued on as a pain-filled, fatigue-tinged, yet blissful blur. That gal and I kept leapfrogging and whooping through the mile markers. I eventually lost Snively Whiplash (I think he stopped for a bathroom break). I had long been following a guy named John who makes a great video of this race every year, and I finally caught up to him a little bit past the Visitor Center and downhill tunnel. We joked about how gimpy those of us in the marathon looked compared to the jackrabbits hammering through on fresh legs in the second half of the relay. I looked at my wristwatch (I'd been paying it little mind) and could see that I was probably on track for a personal worst (I have a PR of 3:29 on this course, and a PW the year before at 3:47), yet was delighted that it looked like it was still going to be a far better time than I had any business running today. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There had been no aid station at the bottom of the hill coming down from the tunnel, and this threw me off. I always planned to drink here, and part of my race strategy every year included the oddly missing aid station. I learned later that it was my fault-if I had read the course description on the website, I would have learned that there was indeed NOT an aid station scheduled in this spot this year. I hoped I wouldn't start bonking hard, and that there was still an aid station coming off the Monument.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Getting off the Monument, I was relieved that yes, there was an aid station here. I was getting pretty spent, and slammed a water and a Gatorade here. Leapfrog gal passed me one final time coming down the road. My kick was gone but this was somehow the least mentally torturous run I'd ever had on the 340 section of the race. There were so many relayers out here, and so it felt like we were all in this end-of-race pain together. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A relay bus went flying by to the finish, and I heard the heavy New Jersey accent before I saw Emma-Leigh, screaming out the window at me. She joked later that this was probably not something awesome for a school principal to be doing-exactly what she tells her students to not do-but hell, I dug it in the moment. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Turning into the park, I was just wanting to get this sucker done. Heading down the gravel path, I was surprised to hear bagpipes-yes, bagpipes, and then saw Bagpipe Lady playing a tune for me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">(taken later as I was watching other runners finish)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">I hit the last corner for home. Not a banner day by time at all. But, hell, I knew that's not what I was going for today. Grand Junction to Fruita over the Colorado National Monument in 3:51 is something that I think was the best I had with what I had today, and fuel to train properly for a marathon this spring, not disrespecting the distance, and doing what needs to happen for a few months in order to run my best race possible.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">I watched finishers come in, and checked out the results. It was a bonus that on what was not my best day, I'd snuck into third place in the 40-49 women, 11th lady overall, and gotten some groovy, hand-cut hardware for that. Keith and her teammate finished third out of 29 relay teams, and Angela and Shannon fourth. Emma-Leigh and Corey H got a podium as well, and it was a true joy to see Randee squealing that she'd never won anything before as she and Butch collected their co-ed Masters hardware. Marty had led up to about ten miles before the younger guy in second pushed past, and came in second overall. Corey D had dropped off that third but still finished rock-solid in fourth-pretty amazing if you consider he's a family practice resident who is working, well, all the time, and in a constantly sleep deprived state. I had no less than three women come up after the race, comment on my race attire, and ask if they could touch it. I don't know why this seemed perfectly normal...maybe because these are my peeps, and this WAS perfectly normal for the day-and let them touch my clothes. </span></div>
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Getting a hug from Kim Cole at awards</div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">This was just such a cool day. If you know me, you know I hate the expression "It Is What It Is." True, sometimes you can't change certain facts and truths, but you can change your perspective and attitude for the best possible outcome. That's what today was about. Everything that kills me makes me feel alive. Gonna take that money, watch it burn, sink to the river the lessons I learned.</span></div>TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-29842771806998227672013-10-22T22:21:00.002-06:002013-10-23T06:23:29.689-06:00My Town: The 2013 Other Half Marathon<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/VwjmN52WofY" width="459"></iframe>
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<b>I'm going back to my town
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<b>I won't be there for long
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<b>I'm going back to my town
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<b>Where I Can't Lose And I Can't Go Wrong
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<b>I'm going back to the city
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<b>Where everyone turns around
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<b>I'm going back to the city
</b><br />
<b>Where my feet spin fast off the ground
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<b></b><br />
<b>I'm going back to my town
</b><br />
<b>I need it oh so bad
</b><br />
<b>I'm going back to my town
</b><br />
<b>When I Leave Your Face I'll Be Sad</b>
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(another of several blog titles from The Samples, for whom I sold tour merchandise nearly 20 years ago. check out the live version on their Underwater People album...it's good stuff)<br />
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My running joke is always that my second home needs to be a teepee somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Moab, Utah. It's only a partial joke; this city was basically the birthplace of my running, and a place where I have always felt at home. The energy there always feels good, and it's kind of a spiritual home for me. I feel connected to the vastness and beauty of Moab; in that, whatever negative energy, emotions, or circumstances I might be feeling or experiencing melt away. I can't go wrong here; I've learned to race, had some great experiences, some challenging experiences, but have always been able to learn something new and grow from them.
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The Other Half Marathon is a race that holds special significance for me. It was the one that started my running "career" back in 2007. It is less crowded than its larger, older counterpart, the Canyonlands Half Marathon, and the beauty plus the challenge of the late rollers on the course make it special. I don't do this thing half-assed; it holds the distinction of being the race where I ran my first, best, and worst half marathons. It's all about getting into a rhythm, and flowing down this course, which starts out gently rolling downhill, then opening up into a series of progressively larger hills in the second half of the race.
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Some years, I've flowed along nicely on this course, getting a good handle on the "what goes up must come down" rhythm. In 2010 I ran a race that can best be described as the closest to a perfect race I've ever run, in which I ran hard, aggressively, and made the half marathon standard of sub-1:37 to qualify for an guaranteed entry into the New York City Marathon. The very next year, I turned around and ran a personal worst, twelve minutes slower than the year before. I nearly quit that race, feeling terrible for no particular reason. The rhythm of the hills...I didn't have it that year. I didn't quit, though, and got through it, even though it was pretty much a massacre of this sport we call running.
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This year, I came into the race in the midst of a perfect storm of transitions. Some were coming, expected and positive, and others not so much. My "normal" has been turned on its head this past year, and in particular, the past few months. Running has become a precious commodity; I never know when I can squeeze in a run, and it's a sweet pleasure to be able to do so. I've felt pretty darn exhausted a lot of the time, and uncertain when entering races how things are going to go. Despite that, my results this fall have been the best I've had in several years. It hasn't been about the physical part of running; it's been about leaving uncertainty, doubt, sadness, hurt and every other negative feeling at the door, and trusting that I can still do what I've loved to do for seven years now. It's been about making myself stronger in pushing through pain, and knowing that if I can do it in a race I can do it anywhere in life. That feeling is exhilarating.<br />
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I wasn't even sure how I was getting to Moab late in the week; in the barter deal of the century, my mechanic had taken my car on a road trip with his family to Las Vegas (8 passenger van, yo) in exchange for doing a ton of work for free for me. The day prior, I made arrangements with my friend Emma-Leigh, who had run the Chicago Marathon six days prior, to ride down together. En route to Moab, we drove the race course, talking Boston qualifications, training plans, and goals, and she decided that racing The Other Half would be a great idea. Fabulous...I love enabling other runners! Truth be told, she didn't need my help and would've done it anyway...but it's part of what I love about running. These are my peeps...it's not weird or odd with this bunch.
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When we got to Moab, there were the usual hikes, hangouts, and meetups with friends from all over the region. <br />
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The evening prior ended with a small group of us hanging out, talking, and enjoying one another's company. I went to bed and slept like a log. For a girl who has had a lot of trouble with sleep over the past few years, this set the tone for the day.
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We got ready, headed to the gravel parking lot, and rode up to the start. The air was damper than usual, but the temperature was nice. I was a weird ball of many emotions. Anxious that I wasn't going to perform well. Excited to be racing. Stressed about stuff back in GJ. Distracted by a difficult situation that was impossible to avoid this weekend. Motivated to not let it get the best of me, and channel it into a good race. And, finally, optimistic that I could do that. If there's a shred of optimism, there's a chance for things to go well. <br />
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Today, I was racing with a sport watch, no Garmin or other specialty timing devices. My plan was simple. Push hard early, manually calculate my mile splits as I ran, which would keep me from obsessing about instantaneous pace or other matters. I'd race, and race hard. I would fight to stay in it on the uphills, and attack on the downhills, which is the one strength I'd say I have as a runner. As we lined up, I greeted my friends Ilana and Kevin. We've got such a good history together in Moab and it was a joy to be at the start line with them here today. I joked around with other runners, a surprising number of whom were in costume or with beer tied to their person right up front. Soon, we were counted down, and off we went.
It's on. Time to attack.
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Going into the first mile, I ran like a bat out of hell...and by that, I mean a 40-year-old mother of four who was f'in tired all week but had energy to burn now. I chased out with the lead women, even though I knew I probably wouldn't be able to stay with them. Sometimes, you just go with it. What's the worst that will happen? I was running with reckless abandon and it felt terribly, fantastically perfect.<br />
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Near the end of the first mile, I chatted a bit with my friend Ernie, and we hit the end of that first mile in just about 7:00 on the nose. This was waaaaay too fast for me, so it was a good thing I did not have a Garmin to tell me that, and maybe slow me down unnecessarily. I kept hammering through the next few miles, rattling them all off in under 7:30. When I reached the end of a mile, I'd check my time, and calculate where I needed to be by the end of the next mile. The running math was coming along shockingly well, and I didn't think about it again until the time the next mile rolled along. This simple plan that came out of me not being able to find my Garmin was simply fabulous today.
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By mile four, I could hear familiar breathing...sure enough, Ilana. She crept on past and I knew I'd gone out too fast, but I was not deterred. I told myself, hey, now you made a big cushion of time to play with. What's the worst that could happen? I continued on knowing that I was not going to be hitting 7:00 miles the rest of the way, but determined to keep up with this "mile by mile" approach, and make this day and this race something special.
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Nobody passed me until we started hitting those rolling hills. Over the next few miles, I had two women move past me. I really, really wanted on the podium again and moving from 10th lady to 12th was not what I wanted, so I dug in more to keep it from happening again. I shortened up my stride, increased my cadence. I felt like I was really tiring, but every time I did my "mile by mile" check, I was not in nearly as bad of shape as I was feeling. I guess that's a good thing...if you're running your hardest, you're going to hurt really bad. <br />
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I kept looking around, filled with joy at the beauty of the red rocks around me, the sky, this road filled with people who all love to run. I thought of my friend Rachelle whose mother is in the end days of her fight with cancer, and has ALWAYS had a smile on her face when I've been around her. I thought of friend Judy whose daughter Katie lost that battle as well. My discomfort was nonexistent and silly in comparison. I pushed hard, kept looking around, and fighting to stay strong.
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Coming through the biggest hills, I found myself approaching that magical spot where the Taiko Dan drummers pound on their instruments to the rhythm of the runners hitting the road. I remember how full of emotion my heart felt here in 2007 when I ran past the drummers. That emotion was here today, but different. It was like coming home, back to my town. I wouldn't be here for long but I was sure going to soak in every little moment of today's journey. I clapped vigorously to the rhythm of the drums before raising my thumbs to third eye, and bowing to the drummers as they played, mouthing "thank you" as I ran past. Now it was time to really kick it into high gear.
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Heading down, down, down toward the turnoff to Sorrel River Ranch, I realized I'd made it through this whole thing on a pace that appeared to be much faster that last year, when I had podiumed in the 35-39 women. I didn't know how things would shake out this year, but I knew my result was going to be better than all but one run here..the one that happens to be my dream, perfect race three years ago. I kicked it into an even higher gear, feeling just about ready to die but knowing I was really ready to live in this moment.
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Making the last few turns toward the finish, I could see the time clock and realized that, wow, I think I was going to come in to the finish in under 1:40. This only happened once prior, at that aforementioned Race Of Awesomeness. This wasn't that day, but then again, my circumstances coming into this race today were a LOT more challenging. I was emboldened...filled with positive emotion at what I was doing today. There was no good reason for this to be a strong race, but here it was. The finish line. And I crossed in under 1:40 for only the second time ever, finishing in 1:39:36. My friend Jeff Recker was announcing finishers, and I heard him call my name as I passed through. With that, I was finished, spent, nothing left. I'd given it my all, and then some. I was thrilled that I didn't let "stuff" hold me down, and had managed to use "stuff" to propel myself forward.
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When it came time to check the results, I'd been joking that half of those dozen women in front of me would be in my age group. I'd done research and it's a funny bracket. Some years were incredibly difficult to make the podium...the age groups just under and over age 40 seem to be that way. This was another one of those years. Despite running three minutes faster than the year prior, when I finished third in my age group here, I'd failed to podium this year, finishing 5th woman out of 121 in my age group, and 12th gal overall in the race out of 750 or so.<br />
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I'm a competitive gal and it would be a lie if I said "I'm just happy with the great time!" But, I am looking at it as positive fuel in the fire to come back and run a PR next year. Getting older doesn't mean getting slower-just ask Ilana who won the Master's title when all was said and done. I wasn't crashing and burning after all-she'd just had a phenomenal race, and it was a thrill to see her do it. <br />
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One by one, my friends came in...Emma-Leigh running a PR just a week after her first marathon, Angela finally running her first half marathon in under 2 hours, and countless others. We joyfully drank our 3.2 beer, listened to the band play, and watched friends go up for awards, one by one. Our friend Ray was honored as one of the first 10 Year Club members at this 10th anniversary Other Half, and we all whooped and hollered accordingly. <br />
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The weekend seemed to come to an end very quickly. It was sad to leave the faces of friends I don't see all the time, and sad to know the race was over and that it would be a year until the next incarnation of this special race. That's part of what makes it special though. I know I won't be there for long. None of us are here for long. We should make the best of those moments when we're together with the people we care about, doing the things we love. That's what happens when we come to Moab. We can't lose and we can't go wrong.
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TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-60085889560497975332013-09-30T22:42:00.001-06:002013-09-30T23:05:36.247-06:00Runnin' Down A Dream<b><br /></b>
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<b>I'm runnin' down a dream</b><br />
<b>Never would come to me</b><br />
<b>Working on a mystery</b><br />
<b>Going wherever it leads</b><br />
<b>I'm running down a dream</b><br />
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Sometimes, you have no expectations. That doesn't mean you're not working hard and dreaming of big things.<br />
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This weekend brought a race I've run since being a brand-spankin' new runner. It was my first 5K, the one where I nearly hurled at running an 8:37 pace, which I knew just happened to be exactly what I would need to run to qualify for the Boston Marathon. A dream was born then, and I knew it wouldn't come to me. It was proof enough to me that I could go for it.<br />
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Besides that special race, there were multiple other opportunities to race this weekend, a "problem" I say we're blessed to have now in our non-major metropolitan area. It presented the unusual opportunity to race trails at altitude the day after hitting a hard 5K. Last year, I'd thought about it but not followed through on it, kicking myself after the fact. This year, it was my plan to just go for it. At worst I might be pretty damn sore, but who cares? Working through pain and fatigue is part of chasing down bigger dreams and goals.<br />
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Saturday brought the old faithful, the Anna Banana. The week prior to the race featured a lot of crap I'd rather not rehash. It also was punctuated by opportunity to reflect on all that was as good in my life...and there was a lot of good stuff. Much of that was worked out during runs, in solo meditations and in conversations on the run. I went into the race day with the best night of sleep I'd had in about two months. Turnout was lower than usual for this race. I typically finish somewhere in the top-10, with an oddly out-of-place win in 2010.<br />
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<b><span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">I felt so good like anything was possible</span><br style="background-color: #ccccdd; border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">I hit cruise control and rubbed my eyes</span><br style="background-color: #ccccdd; border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">The last three days the rain was un-stoppable</span><br style="background-color: #ccccdd; border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">It was always cold, no sunshine</span></b><br />
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It happened again this year, much to my pleasant surprise. After a lot of rain over the past few weeks, the weather was perfect today. Cold, and sunny. I had no expectations today, but I felt like I could do anything, for whatever reason.<br />
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The men all went out like gangbusters, and I let myself get drawn out with them. There was a gal I've seen occasionally on trails who was ahead of me going into the first turn, and I increased my rate of turnover to get ahead. Oddly, the local young gal I haven't beaten in about three years was behind me. I was puzzled by this but knew that since I'm not a kicker, I needed to pour on whatever I had now. Last year, all the local ladies who are clearly faster than me were here. There was just one of them here today, and my fighting instinct kicked in early. I knew she had to be very close but I never once turned back.<br />
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I passed a two or three men over the course of the race, never knowing where the ladies behind me might be. I ran like they were on my shoulder, knowing that chances to win things for your average age-grouper are few and far between. With everything else I've had going on lately, this was oddly "easy" push myself to the hardest effort I had in me today.<br />
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<b><span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">There's something good waitin' down this road</span><br style="background-color: #ccccdd; border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="background-color: #ccccdd; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">I'm pickin' up whatever's mine</span></b><br />
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Taking the final turn for home, I realized I had it. A good four minutes slower than my friend Kim, an outstanding mountain goat, ran last year to win, about a minute slower than what my friend Suzie has won this race in, but you race who is there that day. Today, I got to be the top banana. It was fanstastic to run, and celebrate great runs with the folks who motivate me, and vice-versa.<br />
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The next day, a race I'd always wanted to do, the Thigunawat 10K, took place on the Grand Mesa. I came very close to not going. The plan was to go up with my daughters (I don't hate my son. He was just having a weekend of fun with a buddy). They got home from a movie at midnight, and we almost didn't go. I finally decided it would be good for everybody, and met up with our friend Angela to carpool up.<br />
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I'd never done this race before. I'd thought of it the year prior, but didn't go up, thinking I was just too tired for it after the Anna Banana on Saturday. Angela and my friend Marty did the double, though, and I kind of kicked myself for being a dainty, delicate flower who was too tired to race. I picked up some delightful caffeinated beverages for myself and the older girls (hot chocolate for Ava), and off we headed to the Grand Mesa.<br />
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This race...this was special. This is why I run.<br />
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I had pretty good course recon from Angela. Water crossings, deep mud, a bunch of up and down, mostly single-track, mountains and trees. It was pretty darn windy before the race, and I was tired. Still, I was thrilled to be up here. My girls may not have been thrilled now but I still think it is super important for them to see that I try things that are hard...and see them through. I want them to know that when I am scared, tired, not sure how I'm going to do at something, that I try it anyway. That's all one can do..keep on moving.<br />
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When we started, I'd thought this would just be my fun trail run after the Anna Banana. I love trail running but possess no amazing speed on trails. So much for that thought; the racing instinct kicked in almost immediately.<br />
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Climbing the first hill, I was surprised to be near the front. Quads were sore from the day prior, but I kept moving. My god, this course was gorgeous. This is why I moved to Colorado.<br />
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After the first climb, we plummeted downhill. I used to be terrified of going downhill on trails. Now, wow...I love it. I made up some ground on other runners, and got into a groove. There was a speedy gal ahead of me for a bit, but eventually she pulled away. Nobody had creeped up on me, though, and I established a pretty good rhythm, hammering downhills and talking myself into running as much as the uphills as I could, taking a few strategic power hike breaks, with the quad-push that seems to help me keep moving quickly. One fella and myself kept leapfrogging, but we were essentially pushing one another to run as much of this as we could.<br />
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Rather than walking around the mud bogs and stream crossings, I hit them hard, and kept running through. The feeling of that cold water in my shoes, and mud squishing through-this is why I run. I've never felt so alive, wet feet, mud up the legs, mountains and sun above.<br />
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One aid station told me I was sixth lady as I headed toward home. My oldest daughter Alexis told me I was third overall. You never know, but when things shook out, I had indeed grabbed that third slot. My legs were tired today and trails are never speedy for me. The joy of being on the mountain, in the mud, with my family here spectating and like-minded runners out to play, made it easy to go wherever the trail would lead.<br />
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This was pretty special today to hit that mark behind two awesome local athletes, and to be enjoying autumn in Colorado with my family and friends. Heck, it was a pretty special weekend in general. I was running down a dream. It never would come to me. I had to go for it.<br />
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<br />TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-54963016981075413022013-08-14T08:33:00.002-06:002013-08-14T08:51:31.267-06:00INKnBURN Gear Review (Limerick Style)<div style="text-align: center;">
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There once was a girl from Grand Junction</div>
Whose running gear could hardly function</div>
She found <a href="http://www.inknburn.com/" target="_blank">INKnBurn</a></div>
Then things took a turn</div>
And she went to <a href="http://mtsneffelsmarathon.com/" target="_blank">Mt. Sneffels</a> with gumption.<br />
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She already had <a href="http://www.inknburn.com/women/shorts/women-s-performance-denim-shorts.html" target="_blank">Performance Denim shorts</a><br />
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And <a href="http://www.inknburn.com/women-s-independenc-tech-shirt.html" target="_blank">Independence Tech shirt</a> of course<br />
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So what did she try</div>
So on race day she'd fly?</div>
<a href="http://www.inknburn.com/women/shorts/women-s-dragonfly-shorts.html" target="_blank">Dragonfly Tech Shorts</a> made her a force.<br />
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She toed the line in blue and green</div>
Power and poise could be seen<br />
Then took off from the start</div>
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And lots of heart</div>
Ouray and Ridgway she'd run between.<br />
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In Dragonfly she ran down the road</div>
Her running just naturally flowed<br />
She felt strong and tall</div>
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Never took a fall</div>
And into the finish she strode.
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What did this girl like best</div>
Of the shorts she'd sought out to test?</div>
She felt colorful and strong</div>
Things stayed where they belonged</div>
No worries about how she was dressed.<br />
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And what happened on this day</div>
Forty years after she entered the fray?</div>
She won her age group</div>
Wasn't thrown for a loop</div>
In <a href="http://inknburn.com/" target="_blank">INKnBURN</a> color, not gray.<br />
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She liked these shorts so well</div>
Soft, and harbored no smells</div>
So with friends she shared</div>
(Because, she does care)</div>
So that their running, too, could gel<br />
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Want to try INKnBURN out</div>
And hear what the fuss is about?</div>
Use code <b>karahtoldme</b></div>
And you'll save 15</div>
You'll love INKnBURN, no doubt!<br />
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So this is the end of today's tale</div>
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Of running gear that did not fail</div>
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They show off some color</div>
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Simply like no other</div>
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And that girl hopes for more in the mail!<br />
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**This
was indeed my first race testing out INKnBURN's Dragonfly running
shorts, and camisole top. I felt strong, colorful, and had that
additional bit of confidence as I raced the Mt. Sneffels Half Marathon,
which helped me push hard enough to make the podium as an age group
winner on my birthday, and first race as a masters runner. I do, by the way, recommend checking out the fabulous <a href="http://mtsneffelsmarathon.com/" target="_blank">Mt. Sneffels Marathon and Half Marathon</a>, which takes place each August, runs a beautifully scenic course, and benefits the Mt. Sneffels Education Foundation.**<br />
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The above code is no joke-use code <strong>karahtoldme</strong> on your first order with INKnBURN at <a href="http://www.inknburn.com/">http://www.inknburn.com/</a>
and they'll give you $15 off the order, AND $10 off with the 10 Reward Points
that appear in your account when you register an account at INKnBURN.
Check it out, and see what you think! **</div>
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TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-89028712307425810762013-07-28T23:21:00.003-06:002013-07-28T23:21:50.527-06:00Always ClimbingIt's been so long since I updated this blog, I'm not quite sure where to begin. I suppose a painting that's become near and dear to my heart is as good as any.<br />
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It sits on top of the block shelves at yoga:Vinyassa. If such a title existed, I'd be "Senior Cleaner" there. For the past two years, I've cleaned the studio in exchange for class credits. It's honestly a pretty sweet deal. Even when it's super-schweaty in there, it's a pretty darn clean place to clean. I find something very zen and calming in being in there in relative silence. It's a good place to think about important things, or think of nothing at all. I haven't had time to practice lately, and I miss it, but the class credits will be there for me when I have opportunity to do so.<br />
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One day this spring, the painting appeared. It was painted by a former instructor at the studio. And it perfectly expresses everything I've been going through lately, but can't quite put into words.<br />
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Sometimes it's hard to move forward and upward. It's freeing, though, to realize you CAN do it. Sometimes it does mean crawling on hands and knees. Other times, it means grabbing that hand that reaches out to pull you up out of a slippery spot, or keep you from tumbling down the mountain. And, it feels glorious to climb toward amazing things and realize, hey, I CAN do this.<br />
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That's in the figurative, and in the literal sense. A week ago, I was reminded that I hadn't used my race benefit for July that I receive through my job. At nearly the same time, a friend texted to ask if I'd like to carpool to a run in Silverton-one of those long-running yet still fairly under-the-radar mountain races. We'd have to leave at 4am. It just felt like one of those tough, beautiful runs that was meant to be. And, it was.<br />
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We climbed from town, literally under the clouds and then up above them, six miles and about 4000 feet to the summit. At the top, there was a 250 foot scramble to the summit, with traffic going both ways, and runners taking care to help and encourage one another, as well as being careful to not send a rock tumbling down the steep slope into another participant. The view straight up to the blue skies at the bottom of the climb, line of runners working their way upward, may have been the best running moment I've experienced since taking up the sport (and, there have been many). This is why I do this.<br />
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On the way down, I met a sixty-something runner from Cortez named David. Our conversation flowed naturally, and we agreed we'd pace together on the downhill. Downhill trail running can be deceptively challenging. I've struggled with it for years. Today, though, the running flowed right down the mountain and back into Silverton. There was a lot of joy in pushing through the climb, and then feeling truly free to open up on the downhill. There was joy in sharing that energy with others, celebrating and cheering on others who hadn't yet reached the summit, and later on, those who had gone down and were headed back up for the "K2" or second summit. I thought, "that's so hard. Why?" Then, I felt silly for thinking that. In that struggle to climb the mountain, there's joy, glory, beauty. Lots of pain, yes, but above all, a sense of satisfaction and well-being that comes from pushing through it all.<br />
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I can't tell you where I will be a year from now, but I can tell you I will always be climbing. That doesn't mean I won't backslide and fall sometimes. I'll take a moment to regroup, though, and continue moving forward.<br />
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I'm thankful for some great opportunities that have come my way this year. I've been working at the same chiropractic clinic for six months now. I love that we get to help people improve, and reach their goals of being more active. And, when I hear folks who don't have running-friendly or outdoors-exploring-friendly workplaces, I'm stoked that I am somewhere that has an Outdoor Awesomeness Team, and a supportive environment to such pursuits. In that climb, I'm learning more every day, sometimes wishing I could pick things up faster. I've learned a lot in a short time, though, and know I can keep moving with that.<br />
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I'm thankful that despite it being a long shot with the number of applicants, I was selected as an ambassador with InkNBurn. I've always loved their gear-beautiful, artistic, yet fully functional, beat-the-crap-out-of-it-and-it'll-still-hold-up running apparel. They do have some elite athletes, but I'm just a gal who likes to run, and that's the deal with all the ambassadors. Folks who love to run, love to climb, and some have struggled in their climbs, but continued onward and upward. Jeez, they make a shirt with the father of ultrarunning, Gordy Ansleigh, on the front, AND my favorite running shorts of all time, my "technical Daisy Dukes" as I call them. I feel stronger and tougher climbing in their stuff, and it's cool to get to represent the brand.<br />
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I'm thankful that my kids are still very healthy and keeping me on my toes. It's true that there's no handbook for parenting but I love spending time with them-individually, and as a group. I'm really proud of them, and just want to keep nurturing the things about them that make them, well...them. Sure, some days I wonder if I am doing the right things with them or if I'm just backsliding down a hill. Then, I learn to stop second-guessing, and just keep moving, trying to make good decisions, but keep taking steps forward with them. And, I try to remember it's okay and even good for them to see that it's not easy to keep climbing, but that you don't curl up in the fetal position and quit after a fall.<br />
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And I'm thankful for friends who reach out with that helping hand. Sometimes, I take it (and really need it). Other times, just knowing that hand is there really frees me up to advance and climb on my own. Other times, just talking through things and climbing together with others is just the ticket. Then, I, in turn, have those moments where I can reach out that helping hand, and help someone else climb with less of a struggle.<br />
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I'm far from having it all figured out, but I do know this; I'm no longer intimidated by tough climbs. No matter how long they are, or how steep they are, I will take them one mile at a time, one step at a time, and keep climbing to the top. It may take some time, but I'll get there.<br />
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**Lastly...if you have not read it, I implore you to read The Oatmeal's "<a href="http://theoatmeal.com/comics/running" target="_blank">The Terrible And Wonderful Reasons Why I Run Long Distances</a>." If I could be half as funny, honest and eloquent as Mr. Inman, I'd be doing okay.**<br />
<br />TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-41704339137409172842013-03-03T19:41:00.002-07:002013-03-03T19:58:52.259-07:00Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In): The RedHot and Beyond<div style="text-align: center;">
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(One of the best movie scenes ever, which inspired my best Halloween costume ever-the "Gutterballs" scene/dream sequence in The Big Lebowski. I'm not a fan of musical interludes unless it's as wildly fantastic as this.)<br />
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I've spent a lot of this winter bitching about the cold. I know it hasn't been as cold as it can be in other places, I need to toughen up, blah blah blah. But, that said-it was pretty freaking cold, snowy, icy-just plain yucky-a lot of the time. To be fair, the few folks I knew who did make a point to get out seemed to be able to log nowhere near what they would have liked to be doing, and often seemed to be getting hurt slogging out there. This was the polar opposite, quite literally, of last winter, when there was minimal snow, mild temperatures ruled, and I was able to log long runs every weekend in preparation for the Moab RedHot 55K, and later the Desert RATS 50 miler.<br />
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A year later, though, my long runs were looking pretty sparse and lame. I'd managed to amass one 4-hour photorun/hike, and participated in the s#it show that was the Bangs Canyon 30K, in which I had the dubious distinction of being one of several runners who should've known better, but managed to get dehydrated and not eat enough. This was hardly looking like the kind of training I needed for 34 miles.<br />
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In the two weeks prior, I was very, very close to not doing the long course in Moab. The 33K was an option, and I had all but decided to downshift to that. I'd been having a pinchy hip issue, and figured there was just no way I was going to be able to get through 55K without considerable misery. Most running friends said do whatever you feel, but I had the one who said "You're doing Leadville, why wouldn't you do the 55K? Just treat it as a training run." There had been a tiny, nagging voice in my head, and he was pretty much articulating what that voice was saying.
With that, somehow my perspective changed from "this is going to be a shitty death march" to "Oh....you're right. A training run! In beautiful Moab!" It wasn't going to be a PR kind of day, and in deciding to stick with the 55K, I knew it likely meant a PW (personal worst) kind of day. But, there was freedom in taking that pressure off, and just doing the long course just for the sake of enjoyment and training.<br />
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Heading down to Moab, I was prepared to have the race suck at some point, and was ready to embrace the suck. I had also embraced the "if you can't be well-trained, at least you can be well-rested" mantra. I rested my tweaky hip for several days pre-race, and actually hadn't even done a long run the week prior, instead pouring myself into other work and pressing matters. This could've been a terrible idea, but I found myself with very good energy levels as I rolled into town with friends on Friday. With this being my fourth time at the event, and it being a pretty chill deal in general, I just seemed to be in a "whatever-it's all good" mindset.<br />
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This carried right over into the next day, and I showed up at the starting line ready to enjoy myself.
I headed out with my friend Jen, whom I've known for years after "meeting" her on the various RWOL forums. We were kind of in the same shape today-not trained up like we'd like to be, but enough endurance that we'd probably be able to pull off a slow run today. Climbing the first hill, I felt my first hint of optimism that today might not suck when I realized we'd chatted all the way up the hill right off the start, and wasn't dying. I felt pretty fan-freaking-tastic, actually. My watch was on but I had no plans to really look at it much.<br />
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We made our way from the four-mile cutoff up to the right and began the 14-mile loop that would eventually come back and join the route the 33K runners would take straight through. This is actually the easier part of the entire route, which made it a great first ultra for me in 2011 after completing the 33K in 2010. Jen and I had not planned to run side by side, but it was just working out today that we were sticking together through the first ten miles. You know you're probably feeling decent if you're able to spend time catching up with someone, and not thinking "gawd, when is this hell going to be over?" I used this energy to just stay in the moment and not even allow myself to worry or think ahead. Eventually, Jen started pulling away, but I didn't really feel "alone." It was a gorgeous day out here. The stress of my impending divorce and all its implications have been weighing heavily on me, but today, it didn't matter. I felt light-buoyant, even.<br />
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Continuing around the loop, I had a weird mental break and thought I had to make it to the 18-mile cutoff by noon rather than 12:30. This caused me to push myself a little harder around miles 13-16. By then, I realized I had plenty of time, even if the cutoff had been noon. In a way, this little snafu was a good thing. The little surge got me down the trail a bit faster, and was a good diversion in the middle of the race.<br />
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Coming down the hill to the cutoff, it was like sliding through wet cement. I should've been flying through this, as a strong downhiller, but it was just sloppy. I made it past the cutoff, and instantly felt a bit lighter. That was the only bit of pressure hanging over my head today; worry about getting pulled from the course for getting to the cutoff too slowly.
Now began the climb.<br />
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The next handful of miles consist mainly of relentless climbs, and up-and-down, banking stretches of slick rock. I remember how much I dreaded it the first year; I've gotten more used to this kind of thing, though, and actually enjoy it more now. I moved along, talking to folks, sharing miles with people here and there. Aid station #4 came along, and I felt pretty good. I was fully expecting to run out of fuel at some point, and was embracing that idea of pain, whenever it came. I was getting tired, but that pain was nowhere to be found. It was a spectacularly gorgeous day-probably the best weather I'd experienced here. I looked around and felt truly lucky to be able to complete such an event, and to be in Moab with like-minded people who just GET IT, no explanations necessary.<br />
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I hit the last aid station, fueled up, and with that, I realized that yep, it was happening today, and yep, I was wise to listen to my own voice, and that one friend who gave me the little push toward the 55K. I surely would've run a more competitive time in the 33K, but it would have been totally inside my comfort zone with no room for growth. This, today, was a much scarier proposition, and now I was so thankful I'd gone ahead with the "scary" thing. I wasn't sure what kind of condition I'd be in at the end of this race, but I definitely didn't think it would be this good.<br />
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Late in the race, I started focusing on two things to get me through. One, being able to tell my kids that mom didn't wimp out, and made it all the way through. The other was to try to get in before awards started. Our friend Kevin won this race last year, and I knew he'd be a contender again. Our friend Marty had a tough day here last year on the long course but was running the 33K this year, and in good shape for it. I wanted to push along to get in with enough time to see the awards ceremony, and see if they, or other folks I knew, had nabbed hardware.
This mindset worked great through about mile 30. By then, I started to get REALLY tired. To think, though, that I was still enjoying myself-this was AWESOME. Again, I felt light on my feet, even if they were moving along very slowly now.<br />
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Coming down the series of rocky switchbacks toward the finish, I was excited. It was looking like I was going to run a personal worst, but by mere minutes off my first run here, when I was well-trained. In being realistic, and finding an even level of effort appropriate to the way the winter had gone, I was getting it done.
Making the last turn and heading in to the finish, I figured I'd missed awards, but it was all good. I came across the line and the friends started to wander over. It seemed that everyone had really enjoyed themselves-my race roommates Jason and "Mr. Pants (John Bagge, AKA Bagge Pants)" had a good time out there, and Jen had kept on trucking along, finishing about forty minutes ahead of me.<br />
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And, I hadn't missed awards after all, and was able to catch all that action. In a bit of a reversal from last year, Kevin had gone out balls-out, racing with a lead pack that broke the course record, only to blow up and drop back to 12th overall. It was a gutsy run but just didn't pan out today the way it did a year ago with his perfectly executed race a year prior. Marty, who blew up 20-something miles into the 55K last year, knocked out a rock-solid 33K this time around, and came in 2nd Master and 9th overall in a loaded field. Just goes to show that no matter your level, pace, or experience as a runner, we all have good days and bad days. You don't throw in the towel after the bad days, and you celebrate when a good day and good race comes together.<br />
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Since then, I've been trying to take that confidence I got in finishing this year's RedHot, and channel it toward my ultimate goal this year-completing the Leadville Trail 100 under the 30 hour time limit. Between lack of funds, feeling under-trained in the early season, and, well, lack of funds, I'd planned to skip the Desert RATS Trailrunning Festival, or else just do the 25 Miler. Well, sometimes circumstances intervene in a good way.
My boss at my part-time job in a chiropractic clinic in town is a huge supporter of our running and triathlon community, to the point where one of my employment benefits is allotments toward entries in local and regional races. Besides that, he likes to get active and involved in races. Talking about the Desert RATS event, we figured out that we both wanted to run (he's doing the half), and I got him contact information for the race director to look into having a booth there. Well, due to permits, he can't do a booth, but the race director said he'd comp us entries for working aid stations. Me? Happy dance! That's a $110 entry fee, covered for helping out others. And, rather than living in 25-mile Comfort Zone Land, I'm going to embrace the pain that might await me in the 50. It probably won't kill me and it sure as hell will make me stronger. And that is a good thing going into Leadville and beyond.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KfSlv1Oshis/UTQHvwSh7GI/AAAAAAAABmY/DMmT9N0rWm4/s1600/karahredhot.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KfSlv1Oshis/UTQHvwSh7GI/AAAAAAAABmY/DMmT9N0rWm4/s320/karahredhot.jpg" /></a>TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-16297397087834344832013-01-09T12:00:00.002-07:002013-01-09T12:30:16.522-07:00Lack Of Water: The Bangs Canyon 60K/30K Trail Run<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">Shelter is a place</span><br style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">That I would like to behold</span><br style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">Better get to getting</span><br style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">Before I get old </span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">The Bangs Canyon Trail Run, Fatass, whatever you like to call it, is an old tradition that was off for a few years locally. Then, Kevin Koch picked up race directing for it a few years ago, and a great post-New Year's tradition was back. This first year he threw it, I wasn't there, but it sounded like fun. As I mentioned in last year's recap of this race, a Fatass, in trail running terms, is a very low-key, no-frills longer trail race, commonly held just after the start of a new year. But, Kevin's version is definitely a some-frills variety. He marks the course the day before, provides you with a trail map, and brings out a fire pit, beer, and snacks to the Bangs Canyon parking lot. This year, our friend Ray was also bringing a tent up so if runners chose, their kids could come along and play. I did a decent job at this last year, finishing around 3:57. I didn't anticipate breaking four hours then, so I was pretty stoked about that. This year, I figured with my increased volume and better trail feet, I'd turn in an even faster time.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">Since the new year, I've been running, but haven't really run longer than about 12 miles in the past few weeks. My fitness seemed good, though, and there's a lot of hiking on the second half of the 30K loop, so I figured, hey. I'm golden for a good power hike. I slept fairly late that morning, ran into Angela and Kristin at the nearby Albertsons parking lot where I'd just bought some bananas, and headed up Little Park Road to Bangs Canyon. There are multiple trailheads off this road, and we climbed and twisted up the road for about ten minutes before arriving at the Bangs parking lot. It's been bitterly cold lately, and today was no exception. Still, the sun was out and looked like it would be a good day for a run. The lot was covered in snow, and I knew the trail would be as well.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">The other big thing that happened recently is that I registered for the Leadville Trail 100. It's in seven months, which gives me plenty of time to build my mileage base steadily but gradually. When Kevin saw me walking up, he said "Here's our first 60K entrant!" I laughed it off. Nope, not ready for that today. I'd been in kind of a hurry getting out the door and did not grab gels or food for the run. I didn't really think I'd need them; the year prior I didn't have a ton of water, and had maybe a gel and was fine. I figured I should probably have a banana, though, and shoveled one down.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;"> I got my pack ready, and a lot of the usual suspects started arriving. While this is officially a 30K and 60K, Kevin records times for whomever shows up, at whatever distance they run. Hence, it's a "the more the merrier" vibe with some newer or shorter distance running folks coming out who might not otherwise be there, planning on everything from 6 miles up to about 16 miles, the distance covered if one runs all the way down to the river's edge at the bottom of the loop, and then runs back up the same way they came.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">Everyone was pretty darn chilly, so we were excited to get the group photo taken and get this sucker underway. I had my Nathan pack about 2/3 full, which seemed just about right for a run under four hours.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">Then, we grouped up together (I'm not sure you'd say we "lined up"...it's early, people), and Kevin sent us on our way. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">On the way down the hill, there was a lot of chatter, and I felt pretty good. I was by myself some of the time, but also talked to folks along the way whenever we passed one another. All the snow had kind of evened things out. I'm stronger on downhills than uphills, and I felt like i was mostly flowing down the trail, but did have some slips and slides in the snow. Keith (she's a chick) caught up and passed me a few miles in. My friend Jen from Delta also caught up and moved past. We said howdy before she moved along. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">I was just behind neighbor Bryan, dropping further back on climbs, and usually catching almost all the way back up to him on downhills. And Marty, who wasn't even sure if he was running down to the river or all the way around, had decided to run with a 40-lb pack with sand tubes inside it (a sandbagger, literally), and fun-photo-run until he decided not to run. I leapfrogged him a number of times as he stopped for pics.</span></span></div>
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<b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">Lack of water</span><br style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">Got to free yourself</span><br style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">Maybe I'm to blame</span><br style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">But it's not too far to see</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">Getting all the way down to the river, I was feeling warmed up, and now I was thirsty. I realized I had not had a single sip of water all the way down; I just hadn't felt thirsty. Now, I was sweating, and had some serious hairsicles. Whoops. That was sort of a dumbass move to not drink for eight miles. I went to sip on the end of the line to my pack, and-nothing. I tried again. Nothing. Well, shit. While water was sloshing around in my pack, the line was frozen. This might be a problem.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">As I moved along the river, I made one brief wrong turn but immediately corrected myself, running into Shannon and Marty when I found my way back to the trail. I said "my line's frozen." Marty said here, take this, offering a handheld about 1/3 full of Perpetuem. Don't you need that, I asked? Nah, I have another, he said. I didn't give it a second thought in accepting the bottle, then, knowing he had another. He's so damn fast and strong I figured he'd probably pick up the pace shortly and haul buns in to the finish. We leapfrogged once more (we think maybe I took an accidental parallel turn), and then they were gone. I had guzzled the Perpetuem and felt like crap now trying to slog uphill in the snow. I was super thirsty and started scooping up handfuls of snow and sucked on that as I hiked up.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">Somewhere along the way, I had what could best be described as a series of unpleasant texts that further soured how I was feeling. I tried to block that out of my mind, and kept moving, but there was no denying that I felt like shit. It was beautiful out, though, so I tried to focus my energy on that, and not feeling terrible. At one point, I turned around, and was surprised to see that John was back there. When he eventually reached me, he said he was self-appointed sweeper for the day, and started moving along with me, saying it would suck to do this hard by myself. He was right, and I was glad he was there. He helped me get some water poured out of my pack into the handheld, and I immediately guzzled that, filling it back up right away. He also had some gels on hand, which I happily scarfed down when he offered them. All the while, I felt kind of like a dumbass. I should know better than to be out here with no calories to consume. Even the rest of the bunch of bananas would've been something. I'd left them in the car, though. I hadn't expected to get this worn out or dehydrated on such a cold day.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">Continuing along, I realized I would come nowhere close to my 3:57 finish last year. John trotted ahead for awhile, but he'd drawn some funny pictures in the snow and written words here and there with his trekking poles, which was rather amusing and kept me focused. Finally, we hit the high point, and the trail started meandering downhill. Thank you! Finally! I felt marginally better, but still like crap. The downhill helped, though, to not blow all that was left of my energy.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">I followed John all the way down before the trail starts climbing again, where we ran into his wife, Julie. PHEW! I was starting to worry, she said to John. He said nah, I'm fine, just appointed myself sweeper and taking it easy. I told Julie I was lucky he did, because he really pushed me along there for awhile, and bailed me out on water and gels. She mentioned that she had just given Marty some water, and that he wasn't looking good, either. Wait, what? I was not expecting to hear that the guy who ran three hundred-milers last fall, and wins almost everything he enters, was still on the course, let alone in bad shape. I figured he was likely done by now, though, with just a mile of uphill left. John and Julie went down the trail a bit to hang out and hike and I continued on uphill. Not too far ahead, I was totally surprised to completely catch up to Marty, who was alternately hunching over, and walking very, very slowly. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">The first thing he said when I caught up was "Do you have any food?" No, I said. But, I have a full handheld of water. Here, I said, passing it over. He took a good swig but then asked me to take it back and hold it for him. Wow, he was in really bad shape. We kept crawling slowly up the canyon and I was glad we were almost done. I kept offering the water since I wasn't sure he'd remember to ask for it. Every once in awhile he'd stop, but did keep moving. When we got to about half a mile from the finish, I asked where his stuff was in his car so I could trot on ahead, and have his food waiting at the campfire, and brought the handheld with me to run back down. He'd guzzled it. I came up the hill, Kevin saw me, got up, and took a picture after I'd finished. Last year, 3:57. This year, a sucktastic 5:03. But hey. I made a bunch of dumbass mistakes and was done. He cracked "just one more lap to go!" I think you can tell by the look of this that there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that I was getting out there again.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">From there, though, I didn't sit down right away, running over to grab Marty's stuff, and handing Bryan the empty handheld which he then filled and ran back down to him. I grabbed a few bananas from his bag and ran back down the trail. He was moving really slowly, but despite that, didn't want to take off the pack. He scarfed the bananas, and made a couple of not-fit-for-print comments about his hunger level. Sense of humor was still intact, though, and we all walked up the hill and on in to the finish. I am pretty sure that was a first for him-a legitimate dead last finish. He'd made more or less the same dumbass mistake I had, but on a grander scale with the pack, and the running back and forth, adding extra distance to his run, at "normal people" speed and not fast guy speed.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">Recharging by the fire, I scarfed down some of Ray's most awesome beans, and watched my youngest playing with some of the other kids in the snow. By the time I got on dry clothes, and had eaten plenty of food, I was feeling far more human. My middle daughter Kaia also arrived, which was great.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">After the race, I was sort of dumbfounded as to how someone like me, who should know WAY better, managed to get herself dehydrated in this race. Other people said this was a hard day for them, too-that they worked harder and drank more than expected. Thinking back to the conditions the year prior, it had been warmer, overcast, and just a few patches of snow on the trail here and there. With the low temperatures, sun, and snow all the way through, i guess we were just expending a lot more energy. And, thus, needed to be taking in even more calories and water. To be fair, I'd skimped a bit last year on that, and really just got lucky because of the conditions.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">On the upside of things, I got myself a good learning experience. And, it was on a day when really nothing was at stake. I thanked my lucky stars that John had been out there to help me along; it would've been worse had he not decided to have a trail enjoyment stroll. And, I can say thank goodness there's seven months until Leadville; I have a great deal of work to do between now and then. Until then, I will keep training, increasing the miles, and trusting the process along the way.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px;">***Most local friends know by now, but there was tragic accident that took place on the Grand Mesa at the County Line cross country ski trailhead parking lot on the same day and during the timeframe of our Bangs Canyon run. This accident claimed the lives of Julie's parents/John's in-laws, who were up there to enjoy a cross country ski, where many of us also enjoy skiing and snowshoeing. Please keep their family in your thoughts, and if you're the praying type, please send them prayers as they deal with their loss and grief. Live and love each day to the fullest, and hold close those who matter most in your life.***</span></div>
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TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-37940299664042876202012-12-27T09:49:00.000-07:002012-12-28T08:54:57.035-07:00Oh, The Places You'll Go: The Year That Was.<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Tw Cen MT; font-size: large;">Congratulations!<br />
Today is your day.<br />
You're off to Great Places!<br />
You're off and away!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tw Cen MT;">Last fall, I ventured out with my kids to a Dr. Seuss bonfire, hosted by running friends Mike and Julie at their place in Olathe, about an hour from my home. Kaia and Carter had a great time reading the books they'd brought along with all the adults listening attentively. The highlight of the night, though, was Mike reading "Oh, The Places You'll Go," giving note to the uninitiated that the book sort of has cult status in ultra running circles. </span><span style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT';">With the fire pit sparking and warming us, we were treated to the coolest reading of a night full of cool Dr. Seuss readings. If one did not understand why another might find deep satisfaction in this pursuit, I think Mike cleared it up pretty well that night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT';"> As 2012 played itself out, my running organically evolved into my first real foray into ultra running, and with it, the limits I'd placed on myself fell one by one. And it seems only fitting that I recall the things I saw, places I went, people I met, and all other great experiences via this great piece of children's literature.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tw Cen MT; font-size: large;">You have brains in your head.<br />
You have feet in your shoes<br />
You can steer yourself<br />
any direction you choose.<br />
You're on your own. And you know what you know.<br />
And YOU are the guy who'll decide where to go.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tw Cen MT;"> You're lighter if you leave the chains, buffalo pelts, and other such accoutrements at your vehicle. And if you want to be the only dude who runs 30 miles, well, there will be folks who are happy to drink beer, warm up by the fire, and wait for you at the finish while you steer yourself along on the trails. </span></div>
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Run your own race, at your pace. It'll carry you all the way through 34 miles, whether it's a first-time ultra finish, or a dark horse win. </div>
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<span style="font-family: Tw Cen MT; font-size: large;">Out there things can happen<br />
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<span style="font-family: Tw Cen MT;">When a kickass outdoor and sports photographer calls for trail runners to shoot, you put your name in the hat. You just do. Even if you have no idea what you're doing. At a minimum, you get a cool experience, some great photos, and a bit of money. And, sometimes really cool things happen, like that kickass photographer gets a picture of your friend during the shoot that winds up on a magazine cover. And, let's be honest. It's fun to get to play the the superhero version of yourself, if only in photographs.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tw Cen MT;">And if you meet someone at a race with whom you become friendly, and eventually she says "Hey, would you like to be sponsored by a hat company I represent?" You say yes. Especially when the hats are awesome, and it's owned, operated and marketed by some fabulous outdoorsy women stateside. (Thank you Paige, Kim, and WizBang!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tw Cen MT;">Then, you'll find yourself in Boulder for the annual 10K there. Your two younger kids come along too, and you stay in a house with a bunch of your friends also running the race. And it just so happens that the place randomly found on Craigslist is owned by an Olympian. A marathon runner. This is cool. But then she stops by to say hello to everybody and introduce herself. Then, out of the bright fabric purse/bag she's carrying, she pulls an Olympic bronze medal and asks if folks would like to see it. You can't get that thing off your son's neck.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Tw Cen MT;">(Lorraine Moller, a 4-time Olympian for New Zealand, winner of the '84 Boston Marathon, and bronze medalist at the Barcelona Olympics. She is the mom to a 10-year-old daughter, and is still involved in the sport as a running coach.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Tw Cen MT; font-size: large;">And when things start to happen,<br />
don't worry. Don't stew.<br />
Just go right along.<br />
You'll start happening too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tw Cen MT;">50 miles is a long way in the brain if you've never run it before. But just keep logging the training miles, and if you're local, run that course every weekend if possible. Practice your nutrition, consider all the what-ifs. You might be one of the last ones out there, but you'll still be out there, happening. One of 29 men and 5 women who were happening in the blistering heat. And you might just have some support from some pretty awesome friends who knew what a big deal this was to you.</span></div>
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You'll be on your way up!<br />
You'll be seeing great sights!<br />
You'll join the high fliers<br />
who soar to high heights.</span></div>
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So there's a little race in California called the Western States 100. It used to be on horseback only. Then this guy named Gordy had a horse go lame in the race, so he finished it on foot. And thus, ultra running as we know it was born. Fast forward...your friend the immigration attorney in New Hampshire has a few pacing and crewing opportunities available to you, and some other solid runners, with a couple of the best female ultrarunners in the world. You say yes to the chance and road trip west, catching views of the starriest skies you've ever seen in the middle of nowhere, Nevada. Then the incredibly blue waters of Lake Tahoe. Then you get to Squaw Valley, meet incredible athletes from all over the world, and work to help them realize their goals on little to no sleep. And it's amazing. Some succeed, while others are unsuccessful. You start to understand the "why" of the sport. </div>
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You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.<br />
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they're darked.<br />
A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin!<br />
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?<br />
How much can you lose? How much can you win?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tw Cen MT;">Then, with that experience complete, you are excited to do it again. When friends need help in Silverton, in Leadville, and in Steamboat, you go. There's a hellfire-and-brimstone thunderstorm at one. You and your runner consider whether you'd rather die by hypothermia or lightning strike. Your runner lays down and threatens to quit at another. And at a third, your runner is trucking along fine except when he gets lost, and is trying to not succumb to the warm fire that claimed many an overnight runner who just wanted to get a bit warm only to not start again. You're so comfortable now with crewing that you're that girl in the sleeping bag in the bushes, comfortably sleeping away until your runner gets there. And you're never quite in a deep sleep because you know your runner is probably coming in to the aid station soon.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tw Cen MT;">At two of these races, you see a local finish who has won in Leadville, and in Silverton. He ran with you and your friend while training for your second and her first ultra, and never, ever made you feel like a noobish loser. Rather, he was happy to have company on the run, and if you asked for advice, yeah, he'd share. But you'd never guess what a rock star he was. Oh, and he's finished Leadville and Hardrock 18 times apiece. No bigs.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tw Cen MT; font-size: large;">Oh, the places you'll go! There is fun to be done!<br />
There are points to be scored. there are games to be won.<br />
And the magical things you can do with that ball<br />
will make you the winning-est winner of all.<br />
Fame! You'll be famous as famous can be,<br />
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tw Cen MT;">And you become aware of The Tony. And decide you liked The Tony. Not in a creepy, stalkerish way, or anything. You simply admire his running. Your friends start thinking The Tony thing is funny so they tackle him and get you a picture with him in Leadville. Because that's not weird at all.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tw Cen MT;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(props to all the elite ultra runners above...Anna Frost, in the pink jacket, working her butt off crewing and pacing for Salomon runners in Leadville, and Hardrock. She paced the winner, Thomas Lorblanchet, in his run which wound up being one of the fastest in Leadville history. Scott Jurek, pacing Tony, center. He was a genuine friendly guy when we asked to get a picture with him at Leadville, got one on his own camera, and tweeted <a href="http://instagram.com/p/OfCGqESlFo/" target="_blank">this</a> to his fan base. Joe Grant, in yellow, at bottom, racing at Hardrock. Joe finished second and ran the fourth fastest time in Hardrock history, behind winner Hal Koerner who ran the third fastest time.</span>)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Tw Cen MT; font-size: large;">I'm afraid that some times<br />
you'll play lonely games too.<br />
Games you can't win<br />
'cause you'll play against you.<br />
<br />
All Alone!<br />
Whether you like it or not,<br />
Alone will be something<br />
you'll be quite a lot.</span></div>
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And there will be a few times you just won't quite nail it. Or just totally miss the target. The inaugural Thelma & Louise Half is just a bit too soon after the 50-miler to have full speed back. Hoping to podium here, it doesn't happen. It's still a great time running an all-women's race for the first time.<br />
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The Rim Rock Marathon proves to be easily the greatest disappointment of the running year. A course you've always run strong, and almost won once. A marathon PR was set here another year. This time, it's a brutal slog through wind, snow, and frigid temperatures. When your park ranger buddy high-fives you at the Visitor Center, it's one of the only things that keeps you moving on the way to a PW (personal worst) in the marathon, and failure to run a Boston Marathon qualifying standard. Only other time that happened was the five second miss in marathon number one. Despite the disappointment, it's something that motivates you to work harder and do better the next time at handling bad conditions.<br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT'; font-size: large;">On and on you will hike</span></div>
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and I know you'll hike far<br />
and face up to your problems<br />
whatever they are.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tw Cen MT;">That race, Imogene. A woman's name, they say. She's been a bitch to you the past four years, or perhaps you didn't know how to handle her. After trying hard and specifically every year to run the 17 mile race in under four hours, you didn't have any official strategy or formal training plan to accomplish the goal this year. This time, though, things are different. The 50-miler, the pacing through the night at Leadville, the speed work for almost a year with friends who motivate you...somehow, this was going to be the year. It just was, and you seemed to actually know it this time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tw Cen MT;">When it didn't seem like it was going to happen for the first 13 or so miles, you didn't panic. You were just excited that it was still going to be your best run here, even if it had a 4: at the front of the time. And then you realized with just a few miles left that it could be done in 3: something. But you're going to have to be all-out for three miles, so all-out you run, and clear that four hour hurdle by several minutes. When a lot of things have come more easily in running, but this deal has always been a "how can I f#ck this up" kind of endeavor, it's a special day when you're there with your friends for the sub-4. Some of them wound up on the podium, and some of them finished for the first time. It's a beautiful day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tw Cen MT;">You'll also throw a few special running events-not "proper" races, mind you, but stuff that sounded like fun, and a good opportunity to train as a group. For six hours, you'll go up and down on Serpents Trail. Then, coming back from Western States on no sleep, there's a conversation that starts something like this. "You know what would be cool? A six hour run. In the desert. With a gong." So you go on an excellent adventure to locate a gong. Eventually, you own a share of a gong with your two other friends and race-throwers. It's absurd, and it's awesome. The gong rotates from house to house, and sort of takes on a life of its own. It goes to races. Everybody gets to enjoy its sound at the start of the Winter Sun, and later on at the awards. Oh, and you find out that you've got some darn competitive and fast friends, even when they're having a beer or a shot, every quarter mile. You also learn that it's probably not a great idea to compete in both beer and shot divisions at the same event; still, you have fun, and everybody just laughs about the post-run silliness. One of your friends who was instrumental in pulling of these events almost didn't get out of her car at her first speed work session a year ago-now it's like she's been part of all the craziness for years. And that's cool.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT'; font-size: large; text-align: start;">You'll get mixed up, of course,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT'; font-size: large; text-align: start;">as you already know.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT'; font-size: large; text-align: start;">You'll get mixed up</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT'; font-size: large; text-align: start;">with many strange birds as you go.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT'; font-size: large; text-align: start;">So be sure when you step.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT'; font-size: large; text-align: start;">Step with care and great tact</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT'; font-size: large; text-align: start;">and remember that Life's</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT'; font-size: large; text-align: start;">a Great Balancing Act.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT'; font-size: large; text-align: start;">Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT'; font-size: large; text-align: start;">And never mix up your right foot with your left.</span><br />
<br style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT'; font-size: x-large; text-align: start;" />
<span style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT'; font-size: large; text-align: start;">And will you succeed?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT'; font-size: large; text-align: start;">Yes! You will, indeed!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT'; font-size: large; text-align: start;">(98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)</span><br />
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You'll have two hard-fought podium finishes in the last year of your 30s, coming back from an absolutely terrible run at The Other Half the year prior to finish third. And wind up being the runner featured in the race program-an honor that feels really special when you have a special affinity for a race that was your first half, and where you first proved to yourself that yes, 13.1 is NOT too far for you to go. And that you've come a long way since then. For the last trip of the year to Moab, at the Winter Sun, it's clear that making the podium is going to be harder this year than ever before. Laying it all out there, you run your second best time at the race and squeak into 3rd at age 39 in the 30-39 ladies, in a time a few seconds faster than what won you the age group the year before. It feels really good to have fought hard and raced smart. This was no cake walk. Your friends clean up big time, too. People set PRs, and there's a lot of "from Grand Junction" during awards.<br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT'; font-size: large; text-align: start;">KID, YOU'LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!</span><br />
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There were many other places I went, people I met, and other moments of awesomeness throughout the year. Some strange, yet cool, birds, certainly populate our sport. It's always great to feed into that positive and maybe a little crazy energy. You stop thinking about what you can't do, and focus on what you CAN do...put one foot in front of the other. It's pretty simple. Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. And never mix up your right foot from left. Get out on the trails, or take to the streets (the roads really aren't evil; and I still love those Moab races very much). Because...</div>
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<br style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT'; font-size: x-large; text-align: start;" />
<span style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT'; font-size: large; text-align: start;">be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT'; font-size: large; text-align: start;">or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O'Shea,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT'; font-size: large; text-align: start;">you're off to Great Places!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT'; font-size: large; text-align: start;">Today is your day!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT'; font-size: large; text-align: start;">Your mountain is waiting.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Tw Cen MT'; font-size: large; text-align: start;">So...get on your way!</span></div>
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TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-15321537125682997942012-12-05T11:41:00.000-07:002012-12-05T11:56:15.549-07:00Dog Days Are Over: The 2012 Winter Sun 10K<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b>The dog days are over<br />The dog days are done<br />The horses are coming<br />So you better run</b></div>
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This was playing in the final minutes prior to the start of this year's Winter Sun 10K. I really can't think of a better way to accompany the blog for the last official race of the 2012 racing season.</div>
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The Winter Sun 10K in Moab has long been a popular race with Grand Junction runners. Years ago, it was a fairly small affair, mostly made up of members from the Moab and GJ running clubs. From those humble beginnings, the race grew into one of the larger ones in our region, with typically 600-700 runners showing up to run the wickedly fast course. It remains very popular with those of us from Grand Junction for a variety of reasons: the proximity to home, the opportunity for Mesa Monument Striders members to pick up a guaranteed entry into Canyonlands, and the chance for us to represent and compete with some of the better runners in the region. </div>
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This is the only race I have done every year since becoming a runner, and it's a pretty good road map of the path I've taken since first lacing up. I made the podium in my age group at this race the third time I ran it, back in 2009, squeaking into 3rd place for the 30-39 ladies. Then, the next two years, I won my age group, running what is still my 10K PR of 41:45 at the 2010 race. This was to be my last year running in that age group at age 30-39, and I really wanted to close it out with one last age group win before moving up to 40-49/Masters ladies in 2013. Ultimately, though, I realized that ANY kind of podium finish was going to be something I'd have to run hard and fight for; there are a number of fast women in my age bracket, and they're always "game on" at this race.</div>
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The weather typically falls somewhere between pleasantly cold and sunny, and brutally frigid, at this event. In 2009, the temps topped out at about 10 degrees; race director Ranna and one of her race crew had to shoo some of us out of the warmth of the high school to start riding buses up to the start, rather than everybody waiting for "round two" of buses. This year, it was truly bizarre to feel near-warmth in the air. I'd only brought down a long sleeved compression shirt, and was wishing I'd paid better attention to the forecast as this was going to be short sleeved/sleeveless racing weather for sure. Oh well-at least I had a running skirt, not tights, so my legs would get to breathe a little bit. I'd ridden down with a small group, and besides us, there were tons of other runners from Grand Junction and surrounding cities in Moab for this unseasonably warm race day. We got our stuff, packed my van full of people, and headed to the start. </div>
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The temperatures just seemed to be climbing, and when I headed down the road to do some warming up, I was really regretting not having a short sleeve option. There was soreness in my body that had me regretting somewhat the decision to cross country ski the previous Sunday, hit a couple of hard speed workouts midweek, and do the "seemed like a good idea at the time," now somewhat traditional day-before shakeout run/hill climb/pre-race bushwhack on trails near the Department of Energy complex, hanging over the river back in Grand Junction. Oh well. It is what it is, I told myself, and even though I wasn't jumping out of my skin with energy, I knew I had to trust my training. A solid year of speed work was in my system, and a number of other running "firsts" in 2012. I was going to choose to be confident that I could hammer out a good run when the gun sounded.</div>
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Cheryl and I had a friendly wager riding on this race. I have the edge on longer distances, and she claims the short distance end of the spectrum. This was the first time we'd race something in between together, so we figured it would be good motivation for both of us to put a refreshing adult beverage on the line for the one of us who crossed the finish line first. She was also feeling the heat, and made a decision a few minutes before the start to strip off her shirt and run sports bra-only. I was seriously considering this-but, no, sorry folks. I'm pretty physically fit, but after four pregnancies, I just don't let that gut out for the world to see. I was just going to have to deal with being hot today.</div>
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When it came time to line up, I reminded Cheryl that it was NOT a chip timed race, and we needed to be right up on that starting line. When we got up there, to my surprise, I saw brand-new mom, 2011 Winter Sun champ and Olympic marathon trials runner Megan Lizotte, looking like there was no way she'd grown a human inside her recently. There were a few other focused looking ladies up there, and of course Kevin K, Kevin O'B, and Marty on the starting line. Another fast Junction runner, Jay Valentine, whom I'd never seen at this race before, was up there. We'd brought the gong along, and Marty's dad was up on the corner, already making some noise on it before the race even started. Ranna welcomed us to the "Last Winter Sun ever, if you believe the Mayans," getting a good laugh from the crowd. In that last minute I shook out my muscles and tried to empty out my brain as much as possible. I didn't need to have an endless loop of "I'm sore, I'm tired" in my head, I just needed to run and stay focused on the run. Ranna gave us an "on your mark," and then we shot off.</div>
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Video of start and other portions of race courtesy Kevin and Nora O'Brien:</div>
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This race course is net downhill, and the only hills on the course come early. It's pretty crowded in this first mile and I just sought to get out of that lot at the golf course without weaving, and running tangents as much as possible. From the start, there were 6 or 7 women out ahead of me, including Cheryl, Megan, Lauren from Moab who clipped me near the end of the Monument Downhill a few months prior, some gal as tall as me with pink compression sleeves, and Robin from Flagstaff who finished second here last year. Right away, there was also some other gal running very, very close to me. I mean, practically on top of me. I thought about shifting over to get out of her way but thought, no, she was the one cutting into me. With earbuds/headphones at that. So, I accelerated a little to try to get away from her.<br />
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It seemed that every time I did this, though, she'd accelerate back up and step right into me, even bumping elbows on one of these maneuvers. Getting into the second mile, she said something to the effect of "instead of trying to pass each other let's try to pick off other people! You're pissing me off.....just kidding!"<br />
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Oh, hell no. She then went on to tell me that this was her first 10K. I didn't say it to be Know-It-All Old Chick, but I casually replied "Oh. This is my sixth time running this race." I was here to run MY race. I was a little irritated but knew it probably wasn't intentional to be racing right on top of me; just inexperience. I tried to use it to fire me up rather than get sidetracked. When she next said something about "let's go pick off those guys up there! Come on," I replied with "I'm running MY 10K pace. All the passing I do is going to be later." It was both a reminder to myself, and my polite-ish way of saying you run your race, I'm running mine. Right after that, we got to the big hill climb, and I moved past her, never to be bumped again during the race.<br />
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Getting into the third mile, we were beginning the long, steady plateau with slight downhill. That wasn't a lie that this was where I'd begin my passing; it's always a struggle for me to keep up with the lead women and men on the one big hill on the course. In this next mile or two, I've always been able to regroup and make up ground. My friend Tom Ela from Grand Junction was ahead of me here, as was Art Rohr, a 60-something runner from Cortez. We always seem to be near one another at regional races, and I bet we might have a darn-near even split on wins and losses. Seeing him was a good sign that I was right on pace.<br />
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I was feeling quite fatigued, and kind of had felt this way the entire time. The year I ran that PR, though, I felt the same way, and I turned this feeling into a game, playing tricks on my head. If I hurt really bad, it meant I was running with the right effort for my best performance today. And..I was also halfway through. I played the "just 20 or so more minutes until you're done, and then you can have a beer!" game. I relaxed. And with that relaxation, I was able to pick up my cadence. With that increase in cadence, I "remembered" what it felt like to run hard and do well here. It's all about tricking the mind into not limiting the body from doing what it can do, and was made to do.<br />
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<b>Run Fast For Your Mother, Run Fast For Your Father</b><br />
<b>Run For Your Children, For Your Sisters And Your Brothers</b><br />
<b>Leave All Your Love And Your Longing Behind</b><br />
<b>You Can't Carry It All With You If You Want To Survive</b><br />
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I was beginning to fight that second-half fatigue at the same time that I was really starting to plug away and make progress. I did pick off a few of the guys ahead of me, and could see Cheryl not far down the road, who had now moved past the woman in pink compression sleeves. As I was becoming more tired, I had to dig in even more. I knew there were a number of women ahead of me; Lauren was in my age group and long gone. There was a good possibility that even if I ran my best and hardest, I might not even make the podium. I dug in, shut off my brain and just ran fast. I wasn't sure where Close Running Girl was, or how old she was. I also didn't know who might be behind me, making up ground and targeting me to pass.<br />
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Hitting the hardest downhill section, I evened out with Art again. He's a really smooth, relaxed runner, and I tried to feed off that vibe. His pacing is also very strong and even, so I used this as another way to trick my brain into thinking I was strong and feeling great. When we hit the turn into the residential neighborhood at five miles, I made a slow, careful pass of Art, making sure not to step into him or cut him off, knowing we'd likely remain pretty close all the way in to the finish. I could see that the pink compression sleeve girl was beginning to fade. I targeted her now; I wanted to get ahead of her no matter what, but she did look like another who could be in my age group.<br />
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Turning onto the bike path, I played more head games with myself. I just needed to run a "mile of awesomeness." All out. Hard. Oh, man, but it sure hurt. There's one spot on the bike path when runners cross over a bridge; a surefire way to tell that one is tired and fading is that they'll turn to the side to see who is coming as they cross. I could see Cheryl cross, and she remained intently focused ahead of her. Compression Sleeve Girl got on the bridge, and looked over her shoulder to her left. Blood in the water; I smelled it. I hammered over that bridge like a woman possessed. She seemed to know she was almost on empty, and should could see where I was as well. I chased her down the bike path, gaining ground, but also running out of fuel myself.<br />
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In the past, we would've stepped off the bike trail, headed down the road in front of the school on the road, and jumped onto the track from there. This year brought the first major course change since I started running Winter Sun. We stayed on the bike path, running past the children's garden (nice), moving around the back of the school, and then something really different-crossing a short, uphill grassy knoll. This was killer, but with all the Tuesday morning speed group meetings at Lilac Park in GJ, doing the short, steep hill at the end, I didn't seem to be losing any momentum. Then, it was back onto sidewalk, and a final turn into the stadium. This change allowed for something interesting too-a look at who was coming without having to turn and look over the shoulder, since we made nearly a 180 degree turn onto the track. I could see a few men behind me, but no women immediately nearby.<br />
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I had a split-second mental lapse here, and momentary drop from 200% all-out finish effort. Wait, what the hell was I doing? I put my face down to that zone just a few feet ahead, forward lean, kicking like it was the last lap of my life. I mean, maybe the Mayans were right. After the first quarter I passed Kevin K on the infield-he yelled at me to pick it up. I thought I was picked-up as much as possible but found another gear. I got another 100 down the track and saw Ranna, who yelled at me to push and finish strong. Dangit. Do I really have another gear left? Okay. I could see pink sleeve girl and I'd narrowed a lot. Turning the last corner I saw Marty, who gave a few claps and yelled "C'mon! Push! Push!" I could see the time clock and it looked like I might have one of my best efforts here. I didn't catch Compression Sleeve Girl but this was all about what I told Close Running Girl-Run My Race. Finish strong. I was thinking of my kids now; I'd really wanted them to be able to come down today but they had rehearsals and prep for their dance studio float with the Parade of Lights. I thought of them and ran hard for them. I finished in a time of 43:22. Going back later, I would figure out that this was my second fastest run at the Winter Sun 10K, and 11 seconds faster than the previous year. I finished, and saw Ed on the gong, now banging away for finishers. I felt totally wasted, and knew I'd left it all on the course today. Now it was just a matter of waiting for awards, and seeing how the age groups shook out.<br />
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I mingled with friends after; lots of outstanding performances, whether first-time finisher, runner returning to the game, or competitor for the top spots. Marty regained the title he'd taken twice here before. Kevin K finished a very strong third overall, and Kevin O'B had finished fifth and ran a PR. Cheryl knew she was around 4th or 5th woman overall, virtually assuring her a podium spot, and also guaranteeing her a drink from me. The wager had turned out to be a fun thing; an added kick to keep both of us on our toes, and working together while running our own races. Then, the prize drawings and triple crown awards (for finishers of all three "open" races in Moab, Thelma & Louise excluded). I was really, really nervous. Did I make the podium?<br />
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Ranna started with overall, and then Masters divisions, before starting with the oldest age groups and working down. Liz from GJ was surprised and excited to podium in the 50-59, then Elizabeth Schnittker, a long time regular, did likewise in 40-49. This was very cool. Then, they moved to 30-39 women. As soon as I heard "In third place...from Grand Junction...a longtime supporter of the Moab races....," I jumped up with a smile and relief. Yeah, I really wanted one more win. But I worked my ass off today. Without working my ass off, I wouldn't have worked into that third place spot. It was a faster time than what won me the age group the year prior, and somehow this was very satisfying in and of itself. I was officially 3rd out of 122 in the age group, and 7th woman overall. In the "Random Factoid Interesting Only To Me" department, the overall female champ, 1st place 30-39, and 2nd place 30-39 were all 30 years old. Which means I don't face off against them in age group until age 49! On the other hand, I join Robin from Flagstaff's age group next year. And Cheryl, who is strong across the board and wound up taking second in 20-29/5th woman overall, will be someone fun to race even when we're not going to ever be in the same division. Always some tough chick out there to keep it fun and keep it fast.<br />
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<b>(First in age group, Lauren from Moab, 40:53, Second in age group, Pink Sleeve Girl, who is also named Lauren, but from Salt Lake City, 43:10, and me, 43:22)</b><br />
<b><br /></b>Much but not all of Grand Junction gathered for some pictures. Anyone missing ought to be photoshopped in...it would be nice to get a picture with everybody who was there but not right there when we gathered for the photo. In our attempt to have fun, we'd talked about getting Snuggies for the whole crew at the race; it's a good thing that instead, we got organized on bringing the Junction Gong, not Snuggies. It was 60 degrees or so by the finish, and we were enjoying being out on the grass in the sun and warm air. These people are my "sisters and brothers," if you will. We see each other at our best and worst, meet each other to run whether we feel like it or not. It helps forge tight bonds, and part of why our running community is so close-knit yet always gathering new folks.<br />
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I'm still on a quest to set a 10K mark faster than what I did in my best racing season ever, fall 2010. That said, this was exactly the kind of race I wanted to run...one with my body, my mind, and my heart. I did it the best I could at any given moment (well, save the split-second letup entering the track). And it was pretty fantastic to see a big podium cleanup by my friends-not just regulars, but others who made it up for the first time.<br />
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There's one more event for the year-that's the Beverage Mile Of Awesomeness which will be hosted at my friend Angela's place by several of us who are also officially kicking off a racing team(!) for the first time in our city. It's an exciting time of progress and change. I've also registered with my guaranteed entry for another Canyonlands Half Marathon. This time, I'm planning a very focused and specific training season, with the end goal of making the podium for the first time there. I came close but no cigar last year; it's a good carrot to dangle for myself now, and something that'll keep my training focused over the winter. And with that, it's just about time to bid 2012 adieu, and welcome 2013. How will I do that? Running, of course. With friends, as the clock strikes midnight, another year of great opportunity ahead of us.<br />
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TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-41616303601867114212012-11-14T14:38:00.004-07:002012-11-14T14:49:21.194-07:00Weather With You: The 2012 Rim Rock Marathon<div style="text-align: center;">
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Last weekend, I ran the 4th annual Rim Rock Marathon. This race went on for many years as the Rim Rock Run, a 37K run across the <a href="http://www.nps.gov/colm/index.htm">Colorado National Monument</a> from the Grand Junction gate to Fruita gate. In 2009, about a mile was added from the start, and a little over two miles from the finish, to make this annual tradition a true 26.2 mile marathon. After swearing it off as a volunteer the last two years of the Rim Rock Run, I joined in for that inaugural marathon, which was far and away an experience well beyond my expectations. Since then, I've been back every year.
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Preparation for this race seemed to be going well. My lineup of fall races, from 5Ks to the Imogene Pass Run, had all gone well to quite smashingly, in the case of the IPR. The Other Half would probably fall in that territory as well, with what was not a PR race but a strong bounce-back from a poor performance the year prior. Additionally, Rim Rock has always been a course where I could "show my stuff." A lot-a LOT of Colorado runners will tell you how much they hate running roads, and especially hammering downhill on roads. Well, I love that stuff. And, that tends to be an area where I excel. The layout of the Rim Rock course, with the climb early, rolling middle miles, and downhill nearly to the finish are well suited to me. I went in feeling like I was trained and ready to go. Wondering what the next year of my life will bring has been a constant concern and worry. Still, I'd been compartmentalizing pretty well when it came to racing, and able push away storm clouds when I felt them looming over me on race day.</div>
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Watching the weather all week, it was clear that there would, indeed, be "weather," as we like to say in Colorado, of some sort. First it looked like rain. Then snow. Then a possible combo of the two. And cold. This was an odd juxtaposition to the 65 degree days we were experiencing leading up to the race, but weather forecasters assured us that there would indeed be weather on race day. With that in mind, I started considering various race day possibilities. I'm usually all about the "battle armor" for race day, usually consisting of some brightly colored skirts, socks, and other apparel that fires me up to race. Rim Rock, though, has some cold and shady sections even on nice weather years. I opted for something I'd never done before-a compromise-with a favorite skirt plus tights underneath. My product sponsor, <a href="http://wizbanghats.com/Heroes">Wizbang Hats</a>, did bring some added color to this year's show, so the bright orange and pink on the head would be kind of taking the place of my bright pink socks on the legs this time.</div>
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The night before the race, I had a very chilled out dinner with Cheryl, and our friend Bryce, a local chiropractor who had run one marathon many years prior, and was now diving back into the game. We joked around, I gave Bryce my .02 on his options on race day attire, and had a good time carbing up for the next day. In the morning, Cheryl and her fiance Skip showed up to get me, and Skip gave us a lift to the start. This was nice; most other people were taking a bus from the Fruita side. I live close to the start, but there's no parking allowed at this funky little "Gem and Mineral Society" building where race staging takes place. </div>
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When we arrived, the bathroom lines were long. I immediately saw Keri Nelson, a 4-time winner of the Rim Rock Run/Rim Rock Marathon, and was pleased to see she'd made it. She'd been noticeably absent from regional races, and I'd heard it was due to a back or some other injury on the job. I was curious, though, if she was healthy and ready to put on a clinic for the rest of us, or if injury had caused some changes to her running.</div>
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I'd barely gotten through the bathroom line when they began calling us to the starting line. Skip was hanging out until then, and Cheryl and I made our last second clothing drop in his truck. BRRRRR. It was definitely cold out, but I felt like I'd made the right choice with a long-sleeved compression tech shirt, hat, gloves, and of course the skirt/tight combo. Others were in all garden varieties of dress and undress. I lined up near my friend Kevin from Paonia, who had been scheduled to run the New York City Marathon but elected well before the cancellation of the race to stay local and run Rim Rock. We didn't have to wait long before an executive from US Bank, the race's title sponsor, counted down and sent us off. Here we go! Trip number four for me across the Monument for a race I swore off as a course volunteer in 2007.</div>
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I don't know what it was like to start the Rim Rock Run without this first mile of the marathon, but I have to say that I think it is fabulous to get in a nice warmup before the climbing begins. Moving down the road, I was close behind Keri and some other ladies, and near Adam, whom I'd paced at the Hardrock 100. I passed Jessica and Morgan, two ladies who sometimes come to Tuesday morning speed group, and we waved at one another. They were supposed to run the marathon relay together, along with a number of other teams. Unfortunately, that portion of the event was called off. It was way cool, though, to see them along the course, sending runners on their way.</div>
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Approaching the Monument, Adam and I chatted here and there, which was cool. We joked about Hardrock, and kind of kept plugging along at a good warmup clip. Keri was right ahead of me, and this was my first indication that she might not be at 100% health. She owns the course record, has won major races like the Pikes Peak Marathon and the Imogene Pass Run, and is a general badass. Finally, she started lengthening out a little bit, and Adam moved up ahead a bit as well. I am not a standout climber but Imogene taught me that I can still make gains and use good technique for better times uphill. I relaxed and just focused on keeping my cadence high, and eyes focused a few feet ahead on the road. It was cold but the sun was shining. There was a breeze but it wasn't gusting. </div>
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This first, challenging section of climbing switchbacks seemed to go by with the least mental effort I've ever expended. It was kind of like climbing from Ouray at Imogene; challenging, yes, but after doing it several times, experience was on my side. I just kept plugging away, and eventually, Cold Shivers Point was visible. And then, I saw her-Keri, with hands on hips, walking slowly downhill and away from this first major marker on the course. She was out. What a bummer; I felt her pain, as a runner, at having to quit due to whatever was ailing her. Her gait had looked a little "off" for the little bit of the course I'd been following her, though, so it seemed like she made a logical decision to call it a day early rather than an emotional decision to power on and risk long term injury.<br />
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<b>Things ain't cookin' in my kitchen</b><br />
<b> Strange affliction wash over me</b><br />
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<b></b>It was right around now when that damned w--- word first reared its ugly head. Wind. It was no longer just breezy. A headwind started smacking me in the face, just like the past several half-marathons in Moab. Really? C'mon. It also felt like the temperature had dropped as we'd climbed 2000 feet. I tucked my head down, and just ran into it. I didn't feel like I had bucketloads of awesome to spare, and wasn't sure why. I'd rested the day before, slept well. Things just didn't feel great. I'd been in this position before, though, and didn't let myself fall apart mentally. This came right back to the basics of "run the mile you're in, run the moment you're in." Thinking about how much of the race lay ahead of me would've been a losing proposition. It was about dealing with the weather and the conditions RIGHT NOW. Or, as I was actively trying to do, tune them out. Shut off my brain. Just run.<br />
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Once I hit the high point on the Monument, the reward was a few rollers with some downhills-finally! While it was still sunny, that Mother Nature was becoming a feisty gal. The wind picked up, trying to demoralize me with every step. I did my best to ignore it but I just wasn't moving as fast as I had other years here. Eventually, arriving at the big hill climb halfway through the race, I felt a little sense of victory at being a half marathon away from finishing, with my strong suit still to come. Climbing the 13 mile hill with two men who had been pacing near me for a bit, we saw a runner ahead of us drop and start walking back down the hill to the aid station. IT Band, he said. While I've logged a DNS, I've never logged a DNF. I felt for this guy when he had to call it a day; I had an IT band injury several years prior, and it's just nothing one can tough their way through.<br />
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The next stretch, while rolling much of the way with no significant climbs, is one that requires a lot of focus. In a way, the climb is "easy" because one is so singularly focused on getting through it. Here, in the middle miles, there's still so much ground to cover. And that mothertrucking wind. It was becoming furious at times. The skies darkened as clouds moved in. There were some frosty patches on the road. This was a Rim Rock Marathon unlike any I'd run prior. After some Garmin repair mishaps which left me concerned that I might not have one at all for race day, I'd been able to secure a loaner. Looking down at my loaner Garmin, I checked to see how I was doing. This was definitely a lot slower than I'd been at this point in prior races. Undeterred, though, I kept pushing forward. This wasn't over by a long shot.<br />
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Over the next few miles, I just kept my head on combatting the weather at any given moment-and it was changing dramatically from moment to moment. There were periods of brief sunshine, but mostly, there was a lot of gusting wind. It was so loud I couldn't hear anything much of the time. It was tiring. A little bit of me really wanted to say screw this. It's just a stupid marathon. But then I realized that was an attitude that would get me nowhere. Literally, nowhere. Nobody was going to hold my hand or carry me in to the next aid station if I decided to bail. So, onward I went. I was struggling but so was everybody else; as I focused on getting to the Visitors Center at 20 miles, I was passing runners occasionally. This gave me a little levity at a time when I was feeling very heavy and fail-y. My friend Nick is the Head Interpreter on the Colorado National Monument; he's a runner and knows how much this race meant to me. I knew he was working today, and hoped I might see him when I got near the Visitors Center.<br />
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After several more miles, I realized that some of the aid stations seemed to be in totally different locations, or just absent from where they were in previous years. It kind of threw me off, as I was expecting to see them in the spots they'd been since I started running this race, only to find out they'd been moved. Oh well, keep rolling with it, I told myself. Then, hitting a downhill stretch, the wind became nearly unbearable. I felt a few wet,hard, things, hit my face. Yep, now it was snowing. Hard, dry, angry little flakes to the face. I felt like a sail being caught by the wind, unable to make forward progress. It made me angry. This was the one thing in my life I was supposed to have control over right now. And I had no control over this snow and wind.<br />
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Finally, it let up a little. The snow ceased, but the wind was still nasty as ever. I could, though, see the Visitors Center approaching. 20 miles. From there, I'd take a big plunge down and off the Monument, and then had just that short but tough stretch of Highway 340 into the park in Fruita awaiting. There was a gradual but steady climb to the VC. I saw one truck blocking the way into the lot, and continued up the road. There was a park truck at the other end of the lot, and as I drew near, I saw a door fly open. A familiar park ranger, distinctive Ranger hat on head and coffee mug in hand, jumped out, ran over, and gave me a high five. Seeing Nick right then was exactly what I needed-he yelled something like "finish it!" and I focused on doing exactly that.<br />
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The next section is my favorite part on the course. I've run downhill races or section of races before, but nothing beats this series of back-and-forth switchbacks leading up to a tunnel and then a huge curve downhill through a canyon. At the 2009 Rim Rock Marathon, I actually hit the wall of glycogen depletion at mile 25 for the first and only time in a marathon due to hitting this section too fast. It's just fun to run. Oh, and spectacularly beautiful. This section is what makes the race for me, and why I think all the Marathon Maniacs and 50-Staters ought to visit us in Western Colorado for this race. The wind was coming from all directions, though. And I was simply getting more worn down at this point than I'd ever been in other years here.<br />
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Rounding down through the tunnel, around the huge curve, and hitting the switchbacks off the Monument, I knew it was time to focus. Traffic flies by on the road, most of the drivers unaware and not really caring that you're now more than 24 miles into a footrace, and ready to be done. The exhaust fumes and concern about being hit by an errant passing truck are now piled on top of all other fatigue and race day concerns. I looked at the Garmin somewhere along here, and it all but confirmed that I was on track for my slowest marathon ever. Not just slowest Rim Rock, but slowest since I started tackling this distance. And on the course where I'd run a PR two years prior. If I were more of a novice runner, this might have gotten to me. But, I know that some days are rock star days with great conditions. Other days, you don't feel your best, and the conditions don't exactly help your performance. My goal was to push with anything left in the tank now. "It is what it is," and make the most of that "is" in the moment.<br />
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<b>There's a small boat made of china </b><br />
<b> Going nowhere on the mantlepiece </b><br />
<b> Do I lie like a loungeroom lizard </b><br />
<b> Or do I sing like a bird released</b><br />
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<b></b>I don't remember much of this section here. I didn't feel great but lots of speed work and experience in marathons was on my side. I knew I couldn't and wouldn't collapse and die. I wasn't going to walk, even when the wind was clobbering me. I was going to show the elements that they couldn't deter me, even if they had slowed me down. Onward I moved, marking off traffic cones in my mind as I passed them. Getting to the bridge over the river, the air grew very chilly again, and the wind was about to blow me sideways into traffic. Screw this, I thought. I am getting over this bridge one way or another. I was angry. At what or whom, I'm not sure. But it got me over.<br />
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Finally, I could see that I was approaching where I needed to turn into the park, but I felt a little disoriented looking for the turn. Finally, I saw the path. Some high school boys working the turn cheered, and then one, in mock emotional moment, said, "you're an inspiration to us all!" He picked the right girl and right moment for that one-I busted out laughing momentarily. I mean, really. As much as I hate not killing every single race, that's sort of a first world problem to not be killing it. I hit the final stretch of gravel trail to the finish, and kept plugging away, and finally saw that turn to the finish-sans arch, because it would not have been able to stay up in the wind-and hammered toward it. I crossed the finish line in 3:47:37, my slowest marathon finish ever, 7 out of 64 among women, and 2nd (really, 3rd, but the overall woman came from my age group) out of 19 in the 30-39 ladies. I'll repeat what I said after my stinkfest at '11 The Other Half in knowing where that puts me in the grand scheme of things, but acknowledge that I was disappointed in falling way short of my own expectations for this day.<br />
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Getting through the finish, I was immediately medaled and greeted by my friend Angela who had been volunteering since 6am on the Fruita side of the course, and just never left because the help was necessary. She said everybody had finished, looking and sounding like me, and that our friend Kevin had totally killed the race with a second place finish overall, but wasn't doing well at the moment. I eventually caught up with Kevin and Nora, and it was apparent that he'd given it all to the course, still shivering and not quite his normal self (thankfully, later in the day, after warming up and getting some food and beer in the system, he was good as new). Cheryl was soon through in a little over four hours, doing a great job running her own race after training well, and putting up with listening to those of us with experience here doling out well-meaning advice. Bryce was in not much later, and then went promptly to work doing his A.R.T. thing on race finishers. And Liz, a regular at our speed groups about to cross into the 60-something age bracket, took about an hour off her time from a year prior. So, all in all, a great communal experience with a bunch of freaks like me who think this stuff is pretty cool. (I really wanted to use The Samples' "Underwater People" for this blog had it rained, as promised, for the element of being where you belong with your weird friends. Alas, that'll be saved for a day when I'm really running in a downpour.)<br />
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I won't lie...I was totally okay with my performance on Saturday, but on Sunday, Monday, into Tuesday, even now...it feels kind of rotten. I avoided blogging until now because it would've been a darker and more self-absorbed piece on writing than it needed to be-and that's not who I am. But, the upside is that those rotten races have always fired me up to come back and tear it up, not go away, tail between the legs. Will I run Rim Rock next year? I don't know. But I am still focused more than ever on running the Leadville Trail 100 next year, come hell or high water, with everything in my life in a state of flux. And I do have one more shot to close out my thirties an age group win, at the Winter Sun, in three weeks. I plan to take this disappointment, and use it to light the fire to do something big there. In the end, "it is what it is," but I plan to define that "is" with a lot of pure, unadulterated hard work, and heart for this sport that I love so much.<br />
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TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8741645086989041852.post-76591180937589403162012-11-08T10:34:00.001-07:002012-11-08T10:44:40.884-07:00Sounds Like Rain<div style="text-align: center;">
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There are not words for how much I love the video for Sounds Like Rain as performed with Ballet Nouveau when they collaborated on the ballet Carry On, over in Denver. The increasingly crappy and precipitous forecast for marathon Saturday brought the perfect opportunity to let those gorgeous Paper Bird girls sing on my blog. If you have access to Spotify or other streaming internet radio, check out the entire album. No, they're not paying me to say that.</div>
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Since The Other Half, I've continued to run and train without any breaks. I felt great after so there was no reason to take any time off. I raced a 5K put on by the local Catholic school, wore no watch and did reasonably well there, winning my age group and coming in a few seconds back from a speedy local teenager. The next day, very tired and not really feeling it, I set out for a long run of indeterminate length on the Colorado National Monument, starting from Cold Shivers Point, about mile 5 on the Rim Rock Marathon course. I was ready to call it a 17 or 18 mile out-and-back across the middle miles on the Monument, so it was a good thing when Cheryl was dropped off by her fiance an hour into my run. She'd just left her car at the marathon finish line area at the park in Fruita, so this meant I was going to get in a good, quality 21 miler in when I was tired. I started feeling less sucktastic about ten miles into my run, but by the time we got off the Monument and hit the last 2 miles on Highway 340 to the park, I was ready to be done. Cheryl having 14-15 mile long run energy at this point was a good exercise in trying to stay on her pace. </div>
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In the next week, we hit several runs on the Monument, and rather than doing one single taper medium-long run, we tried something different. Friday night, we set out from almost the beginning of the marathon course, climbing up, doing what I call "tunnel fartleks" on the climb, and then turned down as the sun was setting for some speedy downhill practice and fairly hard intervals as we tried to stay not too far behind our much faster friend Marty. When Cheryl checked our mile splits, it turned out that we'd done a good job keeping a steady pace moving uphill, and just really killed the downhill miles, so we were pleased. </div>
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The next morning, Cheryl and I met out in Fruita, and this time ran the end of the course, starting near the finish, running onto the Monument from the Fruita side, making it up to the first tunnel before turning around and heading back. This was, oddly, the first time we'd encountered other runners training for the marathon on the Monument. Realizing we were starving, we chowed down, feeding trough-style, at Starvin' Arvins (doesn't that name just scream good health and nutrition?), a bit of a celebration for the end of marathon training.</div>
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Since the weekend, I've been in full-fledged cat juggling mode. Kind of trying to hold on and get stuff done, but in truth my sleep and nutrition have not been awesome. I've had a lot of other things on my mind besides the marathon, and that can creep in and wreak havoc on the week when I'm supposed to be getting tan, rested and ready. I'm trying to refocus here in the final days, though, and did string together two restful nights of sleep in a row on Tuesday and Wednesday nights. That's a hugely neglected component of marathon training for a lot of runners-even the best of them-at times. You can train well but if you're not getting enough sleep, the body is not going to do what you need it to do on race day.</div>
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My goal today and tomorrow is to only put things in my system that benefit me nutritionally, and, well, to make sure I EAT regularly. I don't mean that in an "ohmigodshesananorexicrunner" kind of way; don't be alarmed. Trust me, I LOVE my food. With the nature of my work plus an extra full in-box of stuff to accomplish this week, though, sometimes I've gotten focused on completing a task, getting the kids out for fresh air, and then realize as I'm getting them down for nap and tummy is growling that "Oh. I haven't eaten today." Today and tomorrow are all about staying on top of having a little food here, a little food there, all day long. I have some things to throw in the juicer, too, so that when I am on the run, I have something good to put in my system.</div>
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On one hand I feel better prepared for this race than any of three previous Rim Rock Marathons. On the other, the outside "noise" and lack of zen this week have me a bit nervous about race day. I don't feel well rested with tons of energy to spare. I've put the time in to train, though, and have done so in all the right ways. I'm seeking to execute a race in which I cash out all those training deposits I've made. And, like the last like of Sounds Like Rain, I get my courage from this feeling that what I'm seeking is looking for me too.</div>
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TiredMamaRunninghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423159147507047828noreply@blogger.com0