It's A Beautiful Day: The Moab RedHot 2015

The heart is a bloom 
Shoots up through the stony ground 
There's no room 
No space to rent in this town 

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.

  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. 

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. 

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. 

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.

You're on the road 

But you've got no destination 
You're in the mud 
In the maze of her imagination 

You love this town 
Even if that doesn't ring true 
You've been all over 
And it's been all over you 

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.

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.

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.

What you don't have you don't need it now 
What you don't know you can feel it somehow 
What you don't have you don't need it now 
Don't need it now 
Was a beautiful day

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.

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. 

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. 

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. 

"Still Running Against The Wind"-- The 2012 Canyonlands Half Marathon

In a training cycle during which my focus had been on two ultramarathons rather than a spring marathon, my tradition since almost the beginning of picking up running, the Canyonlands Half Marathon weekend snuck up on me with little worry or overly nervous energy. My focus had largely been on long, slow trail miles on the weekends, supplemented by shorter weekly trail runs, and a weekly track workout. Though I was up probably a good ten pounds over my best racing weight, I felt calm and confident going into the race, and this was despite a forecast that looked uncannily similar to the 2011 Canyonlands Half Marathon.

Heat, high winds, and dust were expected, but I felt all the tools were in my bag this time around to make the most of the day. I knew the mistakes I'd made the previous year, how to correct them. I'd paid dearly for a "bombs away" first mile the previous year, never recovering and steadily crashing and burning down the canyon and onto the highway. I intended to show some restraint in the first mile, and run with a consistently hard effort rather than attempting to bank time, with just a little bit in reserve to be able to handle the highway in the wind. Our weekly track workouts back in Grand Junction also provided the opportunity to focus on form, and good race technique. I knew that in the wind I would need to regularly check in on my form, making sure the stride was short, and cadence high. Running with a slight forward lean, focusing on the area of pavement immediately in front of me, rather than down the road, would give me a huge mental edge in the wind as well. When I got up in the morning, it was warm and breezy, but just a beautiful morning. Boarding the bus to the start, I felt about as zen as I've ever been at the start of the race. I knew what to do, and the pressure was off.

Getting off the bus at the starting area up the canyon, it was definitely quite warm, and breezy. Sometimes gusty. Ilana, who was feeling quite nauseous, wandered around with me, and we eventually made our way up onto one of the big boulders on the cliffs going up the side of the road near the race start. We eventually saw our friend Kevin on another large boulder, moved over there, and continued to acquire friends onto our perch. It was nice to unwind and joke around. I pulled out my iPod when I heard the Rocky theme playing-something I'd captured on the iPod the year before.

I also walked around and took many shots of people standing, sitting, leaning, or laying on the rocks, waiting it out until it was time to move up the road to the start.

As race time approached, we started thinking about getting moving. Elizabeth and Marty were off the boulder first, and there was a brief collective gasp when Marty took a good spill on his way down, falling, smashing the water bottle in one of his hands to pieces, and bloodying his hands. No major damage done, though, and soon the rest of us were up and on our way to the start, taking care on those dry, slippery rocks with our road shoes. Ilana and I chatted with Ernie and Andy from Grand Junction for a bit, and got ready to get the show on the road. It was definitely the warmest I ever remembered temperatures being at the start of this race. The wind would come and go in short, angry bursts, but there were some calm moments as well. The wheelchair division had its start at 9:50am, and right on schedule at 10am, we were on our way.

The first mile of this course drops in such a way that it's easy to bomb away. I've done it every year to some degree, and have never been able to match that early effort later in the race. Add the stampede of runners coming down the canyon, and it's just easy to go much faster than one has planned. The world of hurt I put myself in during the 2011 race was quite the learning experience; today, it was pretty easy for me to find that hard pace, but stop short of balls-on-the-table 5K PR pace. I resisted the urge to go out like gangbusters, and just let my breathing and stride settle in.

Mile 1: 7:36

As the road flattened out, I was pleased that I'd gotten through without laying myself out on the pavement, stumbling, or any other major blunders. As the race was taking place on St. Patrick's Day this year, there was a lot of green on the course. In this second mile, a couple of young dudes in flowy green tutus ran by hollering "Yay Geology! Yay Geology!" They were sort of kicking my butt here. Ah, to be young and tutu-d. I'm going to have to research this "Yay Geology" phenomenon, because there's a great video from the Imogene Pass Run in which the runner/narrator can be heard exclaiming "Yay Geology" after describing the types of rock formations in the mountains above Ouray.

Here, I happened upon Ben, who had skipped dinner with our group the previous evening, feeling exhausted, and then stopped by our hotel for the outdoor hot tub soak, arriving later than planned due to some pretty severe gastrointestinal distress. This wasn't good to see him here; we can train long runs together if I pick it up a bit, and he slows down a bit, but in a race he shouldn't be caught by the likes of me. I asked him how he felt, and he said he'd been throwing up all night. I couldn't believe he was out there running at all, but it was cool that he'd decided to go ahead and just run since he was here. We ran and chatted for a mile or so, and continued on with our races, with me drifting up ahead first before he eased back and drifted slightly ahead. I was still feeling good, and wasn't looking at my mile splits. I tried to run on feel, and hit a consistent cadence. The first five miles were rattled off at what was a surprisingly consistent pace when I checked the splits later. Learning to feel my pace in track workouts was paying off today. At mile four, there was a dude randomly set up, playing fun, cheesy keyboard music. As natural in the canyon as fish on a bike, and I was digging it.

Mile 2: 7:46

Mile 3: 7:52

Mile 4: 7:43

Mile 5: 7:49

By now, it was really warming up. That wind would whip furiously at times, but other times, it did settle down somewhat, allowing some calm moments of recovery. At one point, when I was climbing a bit, I foreign feeling hit my back....was it....it WAS! A tailwind! It didn't last more than a few seconds, but there was a collective whoop from runners around me as we got a little bit of help. Somewhere in this stretch, I saw Quinn, who was smiling and chugging along. I was entering the beginning of what was my run of steady decline a year ago, and gradual decline other years. The wind was picking up, and I tucked my head, leaned slightly forward, and ran with my gaze on my shadow in front of me, bringing me into this almost hypnotic place of being able to run and focus on my race, tuning out the wind and all others around me. The next several miles went by with moments of fatigue and feeling tired, but with me being able to find my focus and form every time I started faltering a bit, or battling the wind.

Mile 6: 7:49

Mile 7: 7:54

Hey, there's an unofficial "aid station" with guys set up with Pabst Blue Ribbon. They saw my "Almost There" beer singlet and green plaid skirt, and figured I'd be their girl, pointing and waving, and trying to entice me over for a sample. Sorry guys...that's not until later. There was still unfinished business for me to handle on the race course.

Mile 8: 7:52

Mile 9: 7:50

I was still feeling remarkably even-keeled. I knew, though, with zero good runs on the stretch of highway at Canyonlands, even in my PR run, that I had to keep working until I crossed the finish. The wind was picking up, it seemed, and it was getting hotter. I kept the head tucked and soon reached Michelle, another local whom I see sometimes at track, and who has joined in on one of the group long trail runs before. We chatted for a bit, and then I moved on down the road. All of a sudden, a runner to the right of me says "Rim Rock!" I turn, and see "Pink Girl," or Tennille from New Mexico, who led for 20 miles at the Rim Rock Marathon in November before eventually dropping off but fighting her way back into third place overall. I asked her if she'd run Canyonlands before, figuring not, since she'd told me at Rim Rock that she was a pretty new runner. When she said no, I told her "just like Rim Rock in the last stretch of highway...tuck your head, focus, and run!" I continued on ahead, and soon was at the Taiko Dan drummers...always one of the great highlights of the Canyonlands Half Marathon, and other assorted races. I was getting tired but didn't let the wind get into my head. With just 3.1 miles to go, I wanted to do something I'd never done, and run strong on the highway off the canyon. I reached Ilana, and asked how she felt. "Awful" or "terrible" or something along those lines was the reply. Well, shoot. I've been there, and don't wish anyone else to be there.

Mile 10: 8:01

Running under the bridge and up onto the highway, the wind was just brutal. In prior years, I'd seen the occasional runner walking this stretch, but today I'd already seen more in the first half mile on the highway than all previous years combined. Focus was more important than ever now. I found that hypnotic place of looking a few feet ahead to the ground with a slight forward lean, and resisted the urge to look up. I knew I had a long way to go, and looking up was only going to remind me of that, and break my form, which was about as good as it had been all race. Holy crap. I was passing people! Knowing how badly I've blown up here, though, I just kept working, no counting chickens before they'd hatched.

Mile 11: 7:45

And then it really hit. The wind was trying hard to win the battle against the runners. I made the mistake of looking up briefly. Uh, duh. As expected, nowhere near the finish, and still a long way to go. I put the head back down and found the happy hypnotic spot on the road again. The wind was kicking my butt a bit.

Mile 12: 8:29

That last mile was rather off from the rest of the run, but it could've been a lot worse in the wind. As we turned down the side street that runs off the highway, I cranked up the turnover and tucked the head. Everyone was struggling, but I managed to slide past a few more runners here. This was nuts...my history at this race has typically involved me dropping off, and people passing in this stretch. I was reaching my "spent" point but still had something left. Making the final left turn toward the finish, AKA "The Longest, Most Unpleasant Finish Chute Ever," as I affectionately refer to it, I resisted the urge to look up the block toward the finish line about five city blocks away. Well, that's until..I looked up. Whoops. Yep. It's still a long ways away, ya dummy. I tucked the head again and increased my turnover.

Mile 13: 8:01

Finally, I was a short distance away from the finish, and allowed myself to look up as I ran past the orange barriers near the finish. I'd gotten a personalized bib with my name, so between the "Go Karah"s and the "Almost There" shouts with people laughing at my shirt, I was really feeling pulled along by the crowd. As I crossed the timing mat just outside the finish, Jeff, who regularly does the finish line call from the scaffolding, called me out as I was about to finish.


(added with permission from Jeff...he was quite the jolly Leprauchaun, and a brave one at that, to be up on the scaffolding in the wind))

This time, instead of shaking my head as I crossed the finish, I charged through with a big smile.

Final .14 miles as registered by Garmin: 1:03:7 (7:24 pace)

Final Garmin time:

1:43:31 (7:53 average pace)

This wasn't anywhere near a course PR, but given that my second- and third-fastest half marathons ever were run on this course in calm, cold conditions, and my best was a magical pixie dust run at The Other Half, I was stoked. These were not ideal conditions, I was not at ideal racing weight, but I prepared to race, and executed about as well as I could have considering all factors. When the official race results came out, I was surprised to see that I'd logged my highest placement ever in age group at this race, finishing 8th out of 359 in age group, 38 out of 1917 women, and 239 out of 3240 overall. My official chip time was 1:43:26, and gun time was 1:43:40. When it came down to it, I'd handled myself ably on the parts of the course that did me in previously, and was able to follow through on my intention to reign in on the first mile, and run a controlled, evenly paced race all the way through.

It was great, again, to be on the course with my friends from the "Running Abomination Of Grand Junction" (thanks Tom Ela for coming up with that answer to the "Running Nation of Flagstaff") and other parts of our region. We celebrated first-time finishes of some, high-placing finishes of others, and in still other cases, the victory of simply finishing with illness in tough conditions. This is the one Moab race where I have yet to score hardware, and this weekend showed me that it's within reach, and a goal to target and train for over the next twelve months. As always, the Moab race crew, volunteers, and race director made it another special day; the conditions made things challenging at their end as well, and I'd be remiss if I didn't comment about how they kept things moving and put out fires (not literally, but just about) right and left to make it a good day for racers.

After some rest and chillax time with friends, I headed back home, but not without stopping with the camera to see Moab off properly. I am looking forward to participating in the inaugural Thelma & Louise Half Marathon in Moab this May, and seeing how the next chapter reads on the roads in Moab.

New Shoes: The Weekend Wrap-Up

Hey, I put some new shoes on, and suddenly everything's right.

The improbably long 2011-2012 Cheap and Free Race Tour continued this weekend with something I've only run once: the Valentines Massacre 3-mile beverage prediction run. Yes, I know that's a lot of curious information in the title. The race, which used to be a proper 5K, as I learned from the race director, was shortened to 3 miles about twenty years ago when a bridge that used to be over the river, and access to it, went away. This is one of two prediction runs locally, and the winners are not the fastest, but those whose actual times are closest to predicted race times. The entry fee is not monetary; it is two beverages-any kind-of each runner's choosing. When the race is over, our trusty race director tabulates results, and then sends winning runners to the drink table for the redistribution of beverages, letting each good guesser know how many they're allowed to pick up.

The only other time I ran this thing, it was with my oldest daughter who was then about nine years old, and it was together at her pace in the "sweetheart," two-person team division. An instant distance PR is always a winning deal, so I figured, hey, let's predict away. I'd had some tenderness and twingy pain in my right ankle, though, since Tuesday evening, and after several days off, I could still feel it when I tried warming up. I can really close to logging a DNS, which would have been no big deal, but thankfully, the ankle and foot started to loosen up and not hurt after some more gentle jogs up and down the hill in the starting area. I initially predicted 22:00 because I felt a little tired, and also didn't want to run that ankle into the ground. I decided to be both optimistic and less exact in my prediction, though, and erased it in favor of 21:53 a few minutes later. As race time approached, it seemed like a pretty strong turnout for a low key club run. You would never know it was February in Colorado; although we live in the warmest part of the state, being this comfortable in shorts was still rather unusual.

We gathered behind a flour line at the bottom of the road, and I hoped I'd be able to run without getting lost on the unmarked course. It was fairly straightforward but there were a few neighborhoods and sidestreets where one could take a wrong turn. We took off, and I could already tell it wasn't going to be a banner racing day. I resolved to give it my best but wasn't feeling any pixie dust. On better days I'd be able to hang with some of the fastest runners for a bit, but I had no kick today. When I reached the top of the first hill and turned downhill, I took a long look down the road once and could see how far ahead the one sponsored triathlete guy in the race was; it was now time to run in my own space, and focus immediately ahead of me.

Pretty soon, I heard one runner, and then another, easing up behind me, then next to me, then move slightly ahead. It was Andy, and Larry. Larry hosts the turkey prediction run, as well as the Tortoise and Hare relay, a race with the unique and fun format of pairing fastest runners with those who spend the most time "enjoying the course." It makes for a competitive race, and again, it's another El Cheapo run. I was feeling very un-awesome but this fired the competitive engines. I kept them in my sights as we ran down the neighborhood streets, briefly turned onto Monument Road, and then climbed back to loop through the neighborhood toward the finish. I had that moment of "why the hell do I run these short distance things? These HURT!" and then got over myself.

We turned uphill and then the downhill stretch to the finish was upon us. Larry and Andy had strung out a little ahead of me through the neighborhood but I'd made up some ground near the end of the race. Hammering down the hill, I tried to catch them, but it wasn't quite enough. After taking a moment to get my breath back, I checked my time. 22:10. With my most recent two 5Ks going sub-22, I was a little bummed about the weak showing today, but I knew I wasn't feeling awesome, and wasn't out to bust up my ankle today either. I did the usual rounds of visiting with everyone post race, and got treated to the sight of a bald eagle hovering over the river in the distance. He made an appearance several times; everyone agreed this was some kind of good mojo.

I chatted with Ben, one of the regulars on the weekend long run crew, and I said I thought I would be okay on the tender ankle for some short and easy trail running in the two to three hours tops range. I knew Sandra would be good for it as well, and did need to get in a little something before next weekend's RedHot. We convened the next morning, and along with Leila the Eyeball Sniffing Wonderdog, headed out to the trails near Loma and Mack to seal the tapering deal. We got our run mojo on with some gangster rap, and the first few songs from my Beer Songs CD. It's been determined that most of this pre-run ride is filled with stuff that is amusing only to those in the car, with prior drive activities including a five letter F word round-robin spelloff, and Zamfir, Master of The Pan Flute, on tape. I hope this revelation doesn't trigger a request for an intervention or psychiatric evaluation from any friends or family.

When we got to the trails, we decided to do a Mary's Loop/Horsethief Bench combo run. We didn't want to do a ton of climbing the week before the race, and I thought Horsethief was a very pretty meander the week prior. I had some new shoes on; the Newton trail runners my friend Elizabeth recently purchased and let me try on. I scored a killer combination of discounts with Roadrunner Sports, and was excited to try out the shoes today. I love the INOV8's I've been training in, but wanted to get something a bit more supportive for the long course. I've had great luck with my Newton road shoes, so this was fun to get out there and text them.

I felt a little sluggish to start, but we still seemed to be moving along at a decent clip as we headed east on Mary's Loop, and then took the rocky drop down to Horsethief Bench. I'd brought along my little iPod for a change, and thought I'd shoot some short clips of us acting stupid here and there. This was our own personal "S#it Ultrarunners Say."



Continuing down the trail as it curved toward the river, we had our first animal encounter of the day. There were several cows walking right up the trail in our general direction.



Around every turn, there were more of these big guys, and we weren't sure the best plan of action at first. I know what to do if I encounter a mountain lion, but wasn't really sure the right-of-way protocol with massive cows. We decided a bushwhack along the right side of the trail was as good a plan as any, and with that, the stalled line of cows started doing the same thing on the other side of the trail.



We thought they'd all passed, but looking up a narrow, steep, climb with nowhere to bushwack, we saw another cow staring down at us. Not wanting to get into a head-to-head with one of these guys, we turned off and headed all the way down to the river for a little snack and chill break, hopefully giving enough time for the cattle train to move past. It was a good thing; we otherwise wouldn't have gone down for playtime along the banks of the river.



We hung out down there until we started to chill, and figured the cattle had been given plenty of time to pass, and came back up to finish running Horsethief Bench, and back up and out for the rest of Mary's Loop. By now, I was hitting that "just warmed up" point. Another from the s#it ultrarunners say video. Then we began the new post-run tradition of honey dates, oranges, and coconut water. The last long run before the RedHot was history; the hay was in the barn, and all of that jive people say in the taper. My ankle was a little twingy to start, but again loosened up as it did the day before. My shoes met expectations as well, which thrilled me. I was worried they might be slippery, like my road Newtons get in the snow and ice and slop, but they gripped just fine, and had that little bit of extra cushioning I want for the long run.

With six days until THE big day, I am not setting a time goal. The plan is to take it day to day with the ankle, REST it, as I am doing today, bailing from running and yoga, and see how it feels on Saturday. Truthfully, I will be a little bummed if I can't race the way I'd planned this whole training cycle. There's none of the Imogene Pass Run continuous steep climb at the RedHot, and with all the trail time I've put in, I know there will be sections I should be able to cruise, unlike last year when it was a first-time ultra experience, and less of the training had been on trails. It is what it is, though. If the run needs to be a scenic video hike to prevent an ankle blowout, that's the best way to spend my day rather than being pissed off and trying to force the body to do things it shouldn't be doing. I'm hoping, though, that the patented Extreme Taper™ does its thing, allowing the ankle to get 100% happy just in time for race day, benefits of training fully absorbed and ready to be cashed out on the trails above Moab, Utah.

Hope's A Funny Thing-It Shines Like A Ring: Turkey Trotting And Speed Working

Firefighters over the starting area of the GJ Firemans Turkey Trot

Photo by Me

I have to admit to being rather unmotivated to blog this week; or, more accurately, so busy with other stuff that I've not wanted to do much of anything when down time finally came to me. Good things have been happening, though, so they're worth sharing.

First of all, this new weekly speed work group we started about a month ago is REALLY taking off, from four of us the first week to ten the day before Thanksgiving, and twelve yesterday. It's not just straight-up speed work; we do a warmup, some drills and exercises for strength training and injury prevention, intervals (of course) where we already seem to be pairing and grouping off with other similarly paced runners, and cooldown. Interestingly enough, three of the four workouts have come before races for me, but we're learning how to modify the speed work pre-race so that it loosens us up and gets us ready to go rather than taxing or exhausting the body. I wasn't sure if I should go last week, since I decided late to do our local Turkey Trot the next day. Our fearless leader assured me it was a good thing if I ran my 400m intervals at around 70-80% effort for the first 300 meters, opening up to race pace in the last 100 meters. When I went to bed that night I did feel a little tired, but I think this was more to do with two races and a bunch of speed work less than two weeks after a marathon. The Turkey Trot was not some huge target race of mine, so it was a great time to experiment with racing a little tired, but with high hopes and confidence for a good race based on my recent running.


I showed up about an hour early for the Turkey Trot, which I figured would be plenty of time to pre-register. It was, but I learned that unfortunately, they only had 900 timing chips and already had more than 900 runners registered. The good news here was that they'd lowered the race day registration to cost to $15 to make up for this. I wondered, though, how they were going to record times for those of us who were unchipped.

I warmed up on the riverfront trail pre-race, and just tried to keep it about going through the motions with good form. I didn't want to overthink and remind myself that my legs were a little tired-I just wanted to get out there and run as fast as I could. To that end, I'd ditched the Garmin again, as I did previously at the Holy Family 5K. I was just going to run fast and hard, and have no idea my actual pace.

When it was time to line up, there were all the usual local speedy people out there, as well as what appeared to be some non-local speedy people in to visit family and friends, and whup up the locals. There were actually close to 1200 people toeing the line today-an amazing number in a city with a population somewhere around 46,000. It's great to see so many people-from competitive local and regional runners to recreational walkers-out to start the day off right, and support several local firefighter charitable groups. Soon we counted down and took off.

What's that rule about 5K races? Oh, yeah. They HURT. BAD. Today was no different, but on the upside, nothing seemed to be hurting me above and beyond the normal pain threshold for short distance. It was a little cold, and my lungs were struggling a bit to adjust at first, but I soon settled in. There was a good handful of women who were off and gone; there were a few others of us who paced kind of near one another in the first mile. Considering that I was 12 days post-marathon, this was a pretty decent run on tired legs thus far. I focused on a high cadence and running with good form, and tried to ignore the small mile marker on the ground at the end of mile one. I didn't want any outside influences other than me pushing and keeping up my own pace; I didn't want to let in any chance of a second mile sag.

Heading down the road and turning toward the Connected Lakes, I managed to pass a guy or two, but also had two local women pass me-with dogs. They are speedy gals, and I tried to pick it up but they were picking up more. Running down to the turnaround, it was so uncomfortable to have to corner the orange cone quickly. I boomeranged around it and got my first look at how close any other women might be to me. I saw two less than 30 seconds back from me, and knew they were good runners who could pick it up anytime. If I'd had any thoughts pre-race of this maybe being a fun run where I let myself coast, they were gone now and I was in full racing mode.

Hitting the second mile marker, I was pleased that although I knew how far into the race I was, I hadn't obsessed about the long second mile, nor did I feel like I'd dropped off any. I was running now on the paved riverfront trail, which curves, twists, and has a number of uneven spots and little bumps. It's a real workout late in a 5K on what had been fairly smooth and flat surfaces until now. I was bound and determined to really hammer through and finish strong, and not sag off or get clipped at the finish. There was a little bit of leapfrogging with various men running about my pace, but there had been no passing or being passed by women since before the second mile ended. Coming toward the finish, I could see the balloon arch and time clock, and got a look at the time...clicking off in the 21:xx range! This was going to be another good 5K finish for me, and I surged ahead with a little bit of a third wind. I crossed the finish in 21:44, and moved through the chute, happy to be finished.

Moving past the finish chute, I saw Ali come in (one of two ladies not far behind), and we hung out and talked, soon joined by another one of her friends. Looking over my shoulder at one point, I saw that our track group leader dude was talking to a reporter from a local TV station, so I knew at that point that he must've won-sweet! I learned later that he did, but it was by the most razor thin of margins, with the #1 and #2 men shoulder-to-shoulder coming into the finish. Still, a win is a win. For my part, I did not have an official time logged but Bryan, physical therapist extraordinaire and host of the race at his PT offices allowed me to go talk to the timers to have my time recorded. With the time clock, I was able to report the exact time I'd crossed the timing pad, backed up with my self-reported time being a few seconds behind a local runner I could identify as finishing just ahead of me. So, that was cool that I was able to log an official result even without the bib.

When the results were published online, I could see that it was a fast race at the front. I was 10th out of 467 women overall, with three women running 19:00 and under, and four more running under 21 minutes. I was 2nd out of 120 in age group, so all in all, I was very happy with my result. The speed work, racing, and practicing good form when tired worked out. I know I didn't just go out there and hope I'd do well-I'd been working hard and working SMART at training for goal races on my schedule-but having self-confidence, hoping, and expecting to do well did pay off.

This week, I again focused on smart training. I did a comfortably paced but still very challenging run on Serpents Trail, an area trail with 1.75 miles of climbing, 900 feet up, and then descent back to the trailhead. There was also a good hour of running early morning running on neighborhood streets, a downhill speed workout in a neighborhood that provides good practice for the Winter Sun 10K, and speed work night again yesterday. I'm feeling a little fatigued, but nothing that won't be all rested away by Saturday. I've also been to hot power yoga twice this week, and am finding that it is making me stronger, recovering me from hard workouts faster, and allowing me to really become tougher with workouts in extreme temperatures. The practice is at 98 degrees, and it killed me in the beginning, but a few months in I'm finding that it's a great supplement to running.

Tomorrow's the big day to hit the road for Moab for my 5th run at the Winter Sun 10K. Other than still being 7-8 pounds up from last year, I find myself as confident, strong and hopeful as I've been for a race. After just talking about how I need more speed work for some time, I'm actually doing it now, and am beginning to see results from it already. The strategic downhill workouts should also be very helpful for race day. I hear the race day weather forecast is getting crappier by the moment, but really am not putting much stock into it right now, or deciding in advance that I can't have a good race. Hope's definitely a funny thing....that, coupled with trusting my training, and being mentally tough when it gets hard, could have me on a road that I believe can bring me to a podium finish in Moab this weekend. If that doesn't work, maybe a pre-race margarita and soak in the Gonzo Inn outdoor hot tub will do the trick.

(The song that inspired this week's blog post by Denver's own Paper Bird)

I Was In The Right Place, But It Must've Been The Wrong Time: The 2011 Other Half Marathon

Or, sometimes you eat the bar, and sometimes, well, it eats you. Pick any expression along those lines, and visualize that kid meandering around, physically and mentally checked out in the "party at the moon tower" scene from the classic movie Dazed and Confused, and you've got my race at The Other Half. Upon going through four years of race results, this was my second slowest half marathon ever, and goes onto the training log as one of the worst races I've ever run.

I knew I wasn't quite in the shape I was in a year ago, but between my recent training and most recent race result at the Anna Banana 5K, I had optimism that I could run this race well. It is one of my all-time favorite races, and I've run it well ever year for whatever my level of training and experience has been at the time. Experience is something I have on this course, too, running this course three times already since starting to run in 2007. There was no reason NOT to expect a good race, or to anticipate that things would get as ugly as they did on the run from the Dewey Bridge to Sorrel River Ranch outside of Moab, Utah.

Warming up for the race, things felt pretty good. I was a little bit punchy with race day energy, and I got up to race pace with no problems during warm-up, and even overshot a little bit, needing to slow down and keep that pace in check. I'd had some rice for breakfast, which goes down nice and easy for me. My body felt a little tired, but that wasn't unusual. Often, it's just that my body's not warmed up and in a running rhythm. I've run plenty of other races when I felt like this beforehand, but the second that starting gun sounded, the body and mind would slide easily into racing gear.

The weather was not too hot and not too cold-kind of perfect, really. Lining up for the start, I put myself in position with the other 7:xx/mile racers, where I'd paced and finished in my previous two runs at The Other Half. The traditional Taiko Dan drummers started sounding the call to start from the back of the truck, rhythmically pounding as runners moved toward the Dewey Bridge. The sun was rising over the red cliffs behind us, warming us and lighting the start area. Ranna, the race director, got on the megaphone for final pre-race comments. I laughed when her final words to runners, "....and you know what's waiting for you at the finish line?" were met with a a loud, resounding "BEEEEEEEER!" response from the crowd. It was time to go. I lined up with my finger on the start button of the Garmin that was duct-taped together on my wrist (no, I'm lazy, I haven't called Garmin yet to ask for a replacement strap), and then off we went.

Starting off, I found myself in just about the same position as the prior two years early on-in about the top dozen or so women. Things felt pretty good. I was loose, and just kind of went with that, trying to run relaxed but with a high cadence and short strides. I looked down at my Garmin, and was displeased to see that it was freaking out, starting and stopping itself even though I hadn't touched it since the start. There was clearly a problem with the internal workings of the thing, and that start button, since it had also jammed up at the race two weeks prior. Oh well...not the end of the world, I told myself. The guy running the stopwatch at the end of the first mile was shouting out "7:25....7:26......." as I approached and came through that mile marker. Good-first mile is done, and about where I'd wanted and anticipated being.

The next two miles weren't blazing, but they weren't terrible, either. I slowed down slightly but wasn't far off the mark. I wasn't feeling very springy, though.

Mile 2: 7:32

Mile 3: 7:32

Well, this wasn't quite like last year when I was regularly doing a Saturday long run on roads and a hilly medium-long run on Sundays. I was beginning to lose momentum in a way that felt like I had to fight for it because I wouldn't get it back if I started dropping off my pace too much and too early.

Mile 4: 7:53

Mile 5: 7:49

Oooof. I was starting to feel not good. At ALL. I was vaguely nauseous, which made no sense. I wasn't on any "run 'til you puke" kind of 5K race pace, and although it was a warm October day, it certainly didn't qualify as hot. This wasn't good news so early in the race. I usually find myself in "exquisite pain" on the hills later in the race, but the first seven miles stretch has typically been a place for me to be uncomfortable but strong, and pushing my pace.

Mile 6: 8:10

Mile 7: 8:23

I was really fighting now, and we were only beginning the hills on this challenging course. That nauseous feeling was welling up inside me; my legs felt heavy, and steps flat-footed. I started focusing my attention on the scenery around me, or the space immediately in front of me, trying to disconnect as much as I could from what was now an overwhelming urge to stop running. At least at the Canyonlands Half, there was a little bit of humor in the whole situation with the hot wind blowing up the canyon. Today, I was plain frustrated, and didn't know what the hell my problem was. I felt like I was moving through quicksand.

Mile 8: 9:50

That above split is correct. I was on the verge of a DNF in this mile, with that nauseous feeling growing, and people flying past me right and left. At one point, I took a step that was on the verge of turning into a walk on the uphill, but something in my brain screamed "DON'T DO IT. You won't be able to get going again if you do." I pushed on, and attempted to get some turnover happening on the flats and downhills. I was merely digging myself out of a hole, though, and not gaining momentum.

Mile 9: 8:40

We hit the next hill climb, and again, I just wanted to lay down and be done. This wasn't an option so I played the "disconnect your brain" game, looking around, and keeping in mind that it's a gift to get to run here. I needed to pull out some energy from somewhere, and it was going to have to come from around me today.

Mile 10: 9:17

I was moving in the entirely wrong direction again on pace, and moving really ugly, for lack of a better description. No natural flow over the hills, the ever-present nausea, and legs in quicksand. What's sad is that the year prior, when I set my half marathon PR on this course, I felt bulletproof. I'd been in that really uncomfortable zone the whole time, but felt strong in every way a runner can feel that way in a race. I'd spent lots of time at altitude and on hilly training routes this summer and fall, and had taken two days off to rest prior to this race. I wasn't going to let this race day funk get the best of me. NO.

Mile 11: 8:47

And then....the lovely sound of those Moab Taiko Dan drummers. I fought the fade and pushed toward the rhythm of the drums. If you've never seen or heard this group, it's an amazing thing to hear it echoing through the canyon, and then to come upon this group of women and men, raising these huge sticks high and coming down on huge drums. It's always at a cadence that causes one to pick it up just a little bit, or fight to hang on if struggling. They pulled me up to the top of that last hill, and I had to give them a little clapping in time to the drums as a thank you for the mojo when I didn't have any.

Mile 12: 8:54

This has always been my favorite section of the course...a rapid "bombs away" drop, and then long, curving horseshoe route to the finish at Sorrel River Ranch. I needed to hammer in with whatever was left today. I was clenched up all over by now, gritting my teeth, and feeling crappy, but working to flip that "faster you run, faster you're done" switch. This was where I locked in that NYC Marathon qualifying time by the skin of my teeth last year, and I pushed to find that effort.

Mile 13: 8:07

I could see the time clock now. I hadn't been watching my overall time on the Garmin between it acting up, and knowing that it would only be discouraging in that second half of the race. It was pretty discouraging to look up and see a 1:49 on the time clock, though. With previous times of 1:58, 1:41, and 1:36:xx, this was nowhere near what I'd realistically hoped or expected to run. There was some definite anger in me as I threw myself toward the finish with a final split of 7:37 for the last .1, Wonky Garmin final time of 1:49:08, and official race time of 1:49:31. In other words, in the time it took me to run the whole thing last year, I was barely past 11 miles this year, and fighting the urge to throw in the towel the entire time.

After the race, I just lay down on the grass for a good ten minutes. What the hell happened out there? I'd expected the best, didn't start too fast, and seemed to have all the components in place lately for a real shot at another PR. Sure, those don't always happen, but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I'd spend eight miles feeling gross and wanting to stop the entire time. Racing IS very fun to me, though...I love it. My friend Ilana from Durango was kind enough to go grab me some water, so while I lay on the grass, I just closed my eyes and kind of flushed out all the pissed off-ness, frustration, and tense feelings.

By the time I was having that water, the "shake it off" was setting in. I found my way to other runner friends, and to the 3.2 Utah beer line. Sipping a beer, in the sun, by the river in this beautiful spot is sort of awesome, definitely took away most of the sting of what was a total mess of a race for me. The nausea and sick feelings had subsided, and the food at the finish area, pretty much entirely from local producers, tasted about as good as anything I've had to eat. Watching familiar and unfamiliar faces collect awards, it was cool to realize I was hanging out with runners from twelve years old all the way up to the fabulous Julia Barrett, now close to 80 years old and still getting out there to cover this course. I joked that at least I should get a door prize out of this day, and we were surprised with a trivia game on top of the regular prize drawings. When it was asked "Who is the Masters course record holder, and three-time winner of this race?" my hand shot up. If you live on the Western Slope of Colorado, and run, you've seen Bernie Boettcher a race or ten, and know that he's won most of them at least a time or two. I got a pretty sweet pair of Sock Guy socks for my quick thinking, which seemed to be the only thing moving quickly today for me. I would have rather raced for hardware, for sure....but hey. Really awesome socks.

In the end, my result wound up placing me 12th out of 192 in my age group. I will fully own up to playing the "if I'd run last year's time this year" game in the age group for all of about three minutes....but the fact is that I DIDN'T so it's a moot point. You race who shows up on the day you show up, in the conditions you get, with what you've got. I wanted to win the age group but today I was 12th.

Where to go from here? The Rim Rock Marathon is coming up quickly. I'm going to take a lesson from The Other Half, and NOT put pressure on myself to move up in time or placement, but just work hard between now and then. No cramming for race day, but no slumping or bailing from workouts either. The real focus is going to be the Winter Sun 10K in December. I am a weirdo who likes that distance, but doesn't get to race road 10K's before often because they don't exist in great quantity anywhere. It's a net downhill course, and kind of consequences-free when it comes to running aggressively. By the time that painful finish at the track comes, it's okay, because, hey, it's just "one easy lap." Or something. This is the third of the annual Moab Half Marathon races every year, too, and somewhat of an annual tradition. Then, there's the Moab RedHot 55K in February. I'm not an ultrarunner, and had an experience that exceeded my expectations last year in running for fun there. This year, I think I'm doing "fun plus," and am going to plan hill and trail training with a faster result in mind. When I have problems and tough spots, I will just imagine drums and beer awaiting me at the finish.

Every Day Is Like Sunday

It's certainly not going to be silent and gray, but I am SO excited to trudge back over pebbles and sand around Moab before showing up at the starting line at the site of the historic Dewey Bridge.

It's Other Half weekend, and the pre-race scramble and taper madness have begun. This marks run #4 at the race for me (every year but 2008, when I ran my first marathon on the weekend following the scheduled race day). My friends have heard me talk ad nauseum about this race, but there's just no arguing that there's a little something special about this race. It's not a "flat and fast" course by definition. Something about that, along with the beauty of the course, really frees one up to run free, and with enjoyment and inspiration.

Enough of the deep thinking, meditative stuff, though...never have I seen a race medal quite like the one being offered at the finish of The Other Half this year. Typically, my party line on finisher race medals have been very neutral; I'd rather have a well-organized race first and foremost. Give me the ability to open things, and create the race medal equivalent of a multi-tool, though, and we're now we're talking. Aron Ralston may have been able to free himself in less than 127 Hours, AND enjoyed a refreshing beverage, with this. (Okay, I'm totally kidding, but this is a sweet medal.)

(image via Moab Half Marathon's Facebook fan page)

24 Hours of Moab: A/V Club Edition.

Yes, I am bringing the photo and video badness to my fellow runners and friends yet again. Somehow, the job of unofficial event photographer for the Dirty Girls went to me, which is comical for a multitude of reasons. It was an enjoyable gig, though, and it was cool to preserve some of the memories from the weekend that have also been shared with my teammates, their friends and family. This was a little video clip from the ride into town for dinner on Friday night with Jen behind the wheel, and Sara and Nick sitting in the back. Instead of Dirty Girls, maybe we should have named ourselves Team Dork, or honestly, Team "We Find Ourselves Highly Entertaining...Even If Nobody Else Does"

Then, there was the infamous missed baton handoff during the first run through the rotation, during which I was.......elsewhere. Doing something. Something that was not waiting at the tent to receive the baton from my teammate. Nick and I discuss. Meanwhile, Mad Dog Mike eats potato chips to fuel up for his lap. Let the record state that I was NOT doing my hair. That should be plain to anyone who views this clip.

Here's my teammate Julie, who was also our default team captain, passing off to Sara. This is sort of the story of our team. Members randomly wound up with certain jobs, and everyone just kind of ran with whatever they got without question. I knew everyone but Sara (with whom I had been chatting on our team's Facebook group page, along with everyone else) coming into the race and sort of expected this would be the case, but it was great that it did play out that way.

One thing that I do regret a little is not taking my camera or the iPod out and around the actual trail loops on the Monitor and Merrimac Trails. What can I say-I was pretty focused on racing all-out on my day laps, and we were just kind of letting the day unfold as it may for the in-between-laps portions. That said, I did get some shots of the campground, and the La Sal Mountains off in the distance.

Making an awkward segueway from the serene and peaceful to the just plain silly, there was another product besides Kick Ass Sinus joining the all-namer team around camp. This is a product that is used for...well....Nick describes it as problems that arise from....swass. Or...swenis. I wouldn't know firsthand about that second item so I'll just take his word for it. Raise your hand if you know who Bjorn Borg is, and keep your hand in the air if you think Mike bears more than a passing resemblance in this photo (I did not take the one of Mike....I think it was from either Julie or Shannon)

Our camp was made up of an assortment of cars, tents, campers, and best of all, Shannon's Van Of Awesomeness. She and her husband (a top area triathlete, ultrarunner and artist-check out his work here, very talented guy. Grand Junction locals should recognize several of his landscape oil paintings) recently acquired it, and it wound up being pretty useful over the weekend. I was able to nap on the bench in there during overnight drizzles, and it brought back fun memories of my grandparents coming to visit in their VW Bus/camper, and letting me sleep in the narrow "upstairs" sleeping area, which was also a feature of Shannon's van. One of my favorite parts of the van was the "nature scene" on the wood paneling inside the door...1970's and 80's decor in all of its glory. She is also working on curtains for the van out of old race shirts. I've seen quilts of old race shirts but never curtains. They should add even more character to the joint.

I mentioned Melody Fairchild being at this event in the prior blog. She still holds the course record at the High School National Cross Country championships, and was a two-time winner there. I warmed my hands around the fire next to her at 2am waiting to start laps, and she was as unassuming and friendly as they come. At some point during the weekend, Jen was monkeying with my camera, took a random test shot and happened to get one of Melody, pictured in the middle in green and black. It's great that she's still running, and doing her running camps for talented high school girls (teaching healthy body image and good nutrition, which I love. Great article on here on her struggles since high school and subsequent comeback).

There were other colorful characters as well. I can say, without a doubt, that this is the first and only time I've encountered a runner wearing a kilt and Vibram Five Fingers. It took me awhile to figure out that the kilt was being shared by his teammates, and donned by whichever runner was out for a lap. Little bit of an "ew" factor there to me with sharing a sweaty kilt, but hey, to each his own.

This just amused me. One of our camp dogs, locked in a staredown with his lifeless opponent.

Finally, a shot of my teammates, minus Shannon who was out running a lap for the team at the time. These guys were smiling throughout the event, and I never heard a complaint from anyone even though several of them were dealing with injury and illness issues. They really made it a pleasure.

That just about covers it. Dirt. Slick rock. Mud. Coughing. Sweating. Falling. Laughing. Smiling. Running. Living. This is what it's all about.

The Best Laid Plans/Under The Milky Way Tonight: The 24 Hours of Moab Race Report, Part 2

When I last left off, the Dirty Girls were up, running, and had made it through the batting order one time, finding ourselves in a dead heat for the lead with team Monkey Love in the Open (6-10 person) division. We didn't come in with a ton of killer instinct to make mincemeat of the competition, but we are definitely competitors. This was good motivation to really hammer out our afternoon laps, and stay on the ball with smooth baton handoffs. It was a great time of day to spectate the laps of our teammates, and I did wander over for several of the exchanges. Jen passed cleanly off to Nick...

And then, in 45 minutes or so, I was NOT in the tent doing the sunscreen-I was waiting right there for the baton, no search party required to locate me. The baton was handed off with a dramatic flourish, and off I went again. This time, the heart rate was down a bit since I didn't have the hurry-up start, and even though I'd done the equivalent of a speed/hill workout combo in the morning, the body felt great and loose. I POSED my way up the slick rock, and noticed a weird trickle of fluid up ahead. Looking up, I see that the dude 20 feet ahead is actually taking a leak WHILE running. Seriously? Yuck. Pull off to the side, man-you're not going to save any time over the course of 24 hours by peeing on yourself and on the course.

When I turned back downhill, I was really flying, but continued to focus on running the tangents across the slickrock, and just staying mentally sharp. It's neither smooth nor flat, and that surface is pretty damn hard if you go down. I made it down to the winding dirt trail feeling strong, and just enjoyed this pretty, secluded section of trail that moved along a wash before climbing back up to the road for home. When I came back in, I was pleased to stop my Garmin a smidge earlier than on the first loop at around 49:50 before handing off to Julie again.

We were now at a really mellow part of the day. Some of the Mad Dogs and Dirty Girls hung out in chairs around camp, telling stories about snakes, other adventure races (all I can say is WOW to a certain story about a famous "White Horse" who figures in prominently to that barefoot running book that Chris McDougall wrote), and randomness.

Many took this as an opportunity for a midday snooze. I am not much of a napper or long sleeper, so I wandered around to catch my slumbering teammates. During this stretch of time, I also took a trip into town with Jen and Nick, just to grab a few random items and to get a slight change of scenery. Upon our return, we fueled up on chili with our teammates, and started discussing the night runs. Now, I run regularly in the wee morning hours with a head lamp. Currently, I'm out twice a week at 4:50, and last summer and fall, I was averaging three to four early mornings a week because there are just more runners in the nice weather months willing to get up at the butt-crack of dawn to run. That said-most of it was on paved surfaces-road, bike trail/path-not true trail running in pitch darkness. Still, I felt pretty confident that I could slow myself down just a little bit and get through it safely.

Mike suggested that we try running with a flashlight in hand along with wearing the head lamp. One of my sometime-running partners actually prefers to run with just a flashlight if he needs anything at all during an early morning or evening run-doesn't even own a headlamp-and never has issues. Seemed like a good thing to try out even though I normally don't run that way. The sun was setting as Nick was out for his third lap, and this meant I was going to be the first person on the team doing a loop through the darkness. I was a little nervous, but also excited at the prosect. There's something freeing about running in the dark, and I almost feel like I expend less effort and go a little faster that way. I don't know...it's just very zen.

When I began my lap, I was very conscious of lifting my knees so as to not catch my toe on a rock and take a digger. I remained relaxed, though-a key to staying upright. Just after the first mile, I got a little bit off-course into some brushy stuff and had to momentarily stop. Soon, though, I saw one of the green glow sticks being used to mark the way. Moving to the slick rock, I had to start looking for the white hash marks to find my way. This was a bit tougher, and I was kind of weaving and not running the tangents so well. At one point going uphill, I did stumble and tip over but I wouldn't even call it a fall. I sort of caught myself, stood up and kept going.

Coming back down, Audra from the Mad Dogs came up alongside me, said hello, and moved just a little bit ahead. I tried to pick up the pace just a bit to see if I could stay with her, and it felt good. This actually made for a much brighter path, too, with both of our head lamps and my flashlight. The flashlight was working out fabulously-I could use it to spot the white hash marks or glow sticks without really having to turn my body. I finished up this lap at 9:30 pm and in about 57 minutes-a time I thought was pretty decent for total darkness, and not trying to run fast and stupid. There were updated standings posted by now, and we now had a miniscule lead over the Love Monkey team. I did my first night watch shift, which involved just hanging out and waking up the person two ahead of me in the rotation when it was about 15 minutes out from their run time. Then, I headed over to Shannon's van of awesomeness. I would be napping on the padded bench/couch in there (did I mention the van had HEAT?), and when I curled up in there it felt like a five star hotel. Of course, I was pretty grubby for a five star hotel after three cycles of run-sweat like a pig, dry off, repeat. Still, it was nice to have relative luxury at this point when I was kind of tired and needed a decent nap.

At around 2 am, Jen woke me up for my last loop. I was SO nice and cozy and had a bit of trouble getting up at first. Once I sat up, though, I realized I did feel pretty good. A little coffee at the aid tent while I was waiting really helped too. There, I wound up standing right next to former national cross country champion Melody Fairchild, who was there with one of the ultrarunning training groups. That's something I love about this sport-you don't get to stand side-by-side with greatness in many other sports.

As the time for my turn grew closer, I was standing around truly disturbed by some of the Spice Girls and other tunes coming from the radio-and thinking wow, I'm getting ready to run in the dark at 2:30 a.m. It was just cool to see bobbing lights moving down the road in the dark, and just waiting until the runners got to be about ten feet away before they took recognizable form. When Nick made it back in, it was finally time for me to go for what would be my last lap of the race. I was off to a great start this time. I anticipated the spot where I wandered off into the brush on the first night lap, and made it through without steering off-course. Right on.

As I moved up the slick rock, I did notice that my breathing was great, I felt alert and relaxed, but wow, the legs were kind of gooey and tired. I paid special attention to moving safely and lifting my knees, but the ankles were a little loose and rolly. Coming to the halfway point, I noticed several runners who were steering off-course and just getting plain lost momentarily before rejoining the trail. I turned to the downhill section and thought this is it...just 2.5 miles or so and I'll be at 22 miles for my team.

Probably about three miles in, though, my glitch for the mission happened. I was running, and then without warning I rolled my left ankle REALLY hard, and down I went. The pain in that instant was agonizing; I have never fallen and felt anything like that before. It felt broken, and I thought s#it, there goes Boston. There goes my team winning or placing. I pulled myself up slowly and tried hobble-limping. This hurt tremendously BUT I could move on it. So, maybe it wasn't broken. As I kept moving, it still hurt a lot but it seemed like I could get away with a hobble-jog. I soon was able to get back up to a slow run and it seemed like my ankle was pretty well numbed up by now. Nobody is going to come to rescue you out here so regardless, I pretty much needed to put on the big girl panties and finish this lap off.

My Garmin died somewhere late in this lap so I really don't know my time. I think it was probably about an hour and fifteen minutes with my fall, and time on the ground, walking, and slow shuffling. Still, I was SO glad to be able to make it in and not have a huge impact in the big scheme of things. I chowed on a grilled cheese sandwich and potato soup at the tent during my watch time, and then took a three hour nap after waking Shannon, who filled in for Sara to be the only person on the team to get in a fifth lap. This wound up being the last official lap, as there was maybe forty minutes left in the race. Jen decided to go do a lap just for fun since she was up anyway, and we all started making our way to the aid tent, knowing that we were going to place. We just were not sure which position.

Soon, they were going through the different categories of the race, and finally they arrived on Open Co-Ed. Third was announced...not Dirty Girls. Second...not Dirty Girls. First place...with 134-odd miles...DIRTY GIRLS! We were ecstatic, jumped up and down like little kids, and collected our medals. Soon, we were taking photos and high fiving...until the race director got on the mic. There was a scoring error, he said. Another team actually had one more lap than us, so we would need to give back our medals and exchange them for second place. Now...we'd seen a runner come in at 7:02 from that team. The race ended at 7:00am. It seemed that the winning team may have lobbied for that lap to count. We were kind of perturbed, but whadaya gonna do? We had run our asses off, had supported one another throughout, worked well as a team and basically couldn't have had a better experience together as a team. Almost everyone was sick, a little injured (or, if you're me, became a little injured). Still, we got out there, and gave it our best shot for the good of the team. Sounds corny but we felt like winners even if the results didn't officially reflect this. The Mad Dogs also had a stellar showing, finishing third in the Extreme Team division with their three member team, and against larger and "known" teams (winning team from Eagle/Vail included Western States 100 champ Anita Ortiz). It was a good day for our motley crew.

We got some nice team shots, and then headed back to strike the camp and roll out of town. The weekend seemed to have flown by in a blur, and like childbirth, I didn't even remember the painful parts, like wiping out, or that I reeked of campfire and sweat. No, this was a really special weekend and I kind of didn't want it to end. We all had to go back to the real world, though, so after saying good-byes, Jen and I headed to breakfast at the Jailhouse Cafe (I LOVE their breakfasts, but they never seem to be open when I'm in Moab for races), then headed east to Colorado.

Back in town, that ankle has become more than just a passing tweak. By Sunday night, I couldn't bear weight on it. The thing looked like someone had taken a bike pump and inflated it. By the next morning, though, it looked better and I thought that if I skipped my morning run, I could get away with doing a greatly modified ballet class. WRONG. Made it halfway through, and pulled what we call the "adult card." Ironically, we talk about it a lot but rarely play it. Tonight, I knew something was messed up, and quit when I saw it puffing up literally as class went on.

I did make it to the doctor, and got what was initially devastating news to me. She told me it was so swollen she couldn't even do a proper exam, ordered an xray, anti-inflammatories and pain meds, got me a walking cast/boot, and said that the Boston Marathon was probably out even if it was not a broken ankle or other bone. I was crushed. I'd been running well, was focused, and just had a tired body when I fell. When the x-ray came back, though, the doctor's office called to tell me that there was no fracture, and that she wanted to see me in a week, not two, and "talk about getting you to that race." I don't know for sure, but I foresee a LOT of time with a bike on the bike trainer I won as a door prize at that New Year's Day ski race. And that's okay. I'm thrilled and relieved that Boston is still probably going to happen.

I absolutely loved my experience in Moab, even with the ankle debacle. You just can't go through life never doing anything because there's a possibility of getting hurt, or because it's a little scary or out of your element. This really pushed me out of that comfort zone in many ways, but there was also this great group of people there for it all, having one another's backs and being there for one another. We loved the experience so much that there's already talk of doing "Dirty Girls II-The Laramie Project," and running the same event in Laramie, Wyoming in June. If I don't get hit by a bus between now and then, I'm there with bells on, and trail dirt on my shoes. I am a Dirty Girl, after all.