Where I Run Wednesday

I can't say if I'll make this a recurring theme, but we'll try it out this week. I invite fellow runners to post your photos and video links here of your local running haunts-that shared enthusiasm for cool running routes is part of what unites us as a community.

This is the Tabeguache Trail, just minutes from my front door. It's part of what is known as the "Lunch Loop" area, and as the name suggests, is popular with mountain bikers and others who like to come out for a little play at lunchtime. In the summer, the parking lot/staging area is like a three ring circus in the evening, with groups of people gathering for beverages and conversation after enjoying time on the trail.

The video was initially taken on my iPod for one of my cousins (originally from Michigan) to show that we've actually got an entirely different season occurring down in town, below the area where I skiied last week.

The wind seems to appear wherever I run lately...this is just a few minutes later.

It's a beautiful place, so close to civilization distance-wise with the feel of being a million miles away once one has run, hiked or mountain biked just a few minutes out on the trail.

Dust of Snow: A Little Post-Race Cross Training

The way a crow

Shook down on me

The dust of snow

From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart

A change of mood

And saved some part

Of a day I had rued.

-Dust of Snow, Robert Frost, 1923

As my friend, fellow runner and blogger Ilana recently put it, you have to master at least three outdoor sports in Colorado or they kick you out. I think I am good to go in this department, initially moving to the state to enjoy skiing, snowshoeing, hiking, and other activities, but the skiing did wind up going to the backburner during the childbearing/caring for infants and toddlers years. This winter has marked a very welcome return, though, to getting out to play in the snow.

In the week following the RedHot, I have been taking it easy as far as running goes, and it feels good. I've felt no pressure to get out there and hammer away on the roads immediately, and have just been to a few dance classes to loosen things up, along with a few slowly paced, short trail runs. The thing I looked forward to all week, though, was my first weekday off in ages, and several hours of cross country skiing. Gliding through the trees is very relaxing on its own, but I believe it to be one of the best forms of cross training for runners. That makes it a win/win activity for me.

The Skyway Cross Country Ski Area is probably one of the best kept secrets in my neck of the woods. It sits on top of the Grand Mesa, just an hour above the city of Grand Junction where I live, but feels like a world away from civilization. There are a multitude of trails in this area, well maintained and groomed by the Grand Mesa Nordic Council, of which I became a member this year. When I can enjoy this area for free..no lift ticket or other expenses, and they provide grooming, condition updates on a daily basis, not to mention good events, clinics and races throughout the winter, I figure that's the least I can do.

As someone who is usually up before five o'clock in the morning for runs, or before six to start getting kids ready for school, it was great to just SLEEP IN last Friday, and lollygag over to my friend Cassie's place once I'd gathered gear and had a bite to eat. We take dance classes together, but she also does a variety of other stuff like snowboarding and roller derby, and is always game for trying other stuff and playing around outside.

The drive up was kind of, um, exciting. There's a point on the road once we've passed Powderhorn, our small local ski and snowboarding hill, when the road suddenly gets snowy and icy, and if you're driving through weather, you might be a little, shall we say, snow blind. Well, this Friday, we were driving directly into weather. As we climbed higher and past the Mesa Lakes Lodge/Rec Area, the snow coming down was out of control. Nothing like your buddy saying "Where is the road? I can't see the road!" We made it up in one piece, though, and parked next to just a few other vehicles in the lot this day. Before hitting the trail, we posed for our pre-ski photo, because we're cheesy goofballs that way.

And, this is when we discovered our gear malfunction/miscommunication. We unloaded skis and other stuff from the back of Cassie's truck, and I pulled out my poles. She then asked me "where are the other poles?" I said what do you mean...I thought you had poles. The poles in question were borrowed gear, and apparently each of us thought the other had them. Crap. Well, not much you can do so she said she'd schuss along, pole-free. I told her I'd share the poles but with the kind of skis she had, it wasn't impossible to slowly shuffle along. We received our good karma for the day, though, when we encountered another skiier a few minutes in who happened to be one of my neighbors, and her coworker. Cassie asked her if she had some spare poles, not really expecting to be in luck here. Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I've got several pairs back at my car, here's where you can find my hidden car key, go help yourself! SCHA-WEET. Six people up there skiing, and one happens to be this generous lady. After getting fixed up with some schmancy racing poles, it was time to just go back out and have fun.

I practiced my POSE skiing (why, yes, there really IS such a thing!), but mostly just took it easy and listened to the sound of almost silence, save the creaks of the trees, and wind blowing between them. The snow was coming down hard, and if I got out of the tracks meant for classic skiing, it would immediately clump up under my binding. Really wet stuff that just started sticking like glue, and Cassie got very adept at taking her pole to scrape what I couldn't reach on my own. She would make fun of herself and say "oh, I have NO cardio!" every time I'd ski out and back to her, but truth be told, she'd done pretty well the first time we did this, and the lungs seemed to have adapted a bit more. This was all just for fun, anyway. Sometimes it's nice when you're performance driven in other sports to get out of that, and just do it for the sake of getting outside for an endorphin fix.

It was just a giant time suck out there. When my friend said she'd had about enough, it didn't feel like we'd been there long, but upon returning to the car we figured out that we'd been there for about three hours. I guess that's always the case when you're really enjoying something. The time flies by. It was the best of both worlds, chatting with Cass half the time and lost in my own brain the rest of the time. When we took our post-ski photo, I realized some hair had slipped out from under my hood, and I now had a lovely haircicle sticking out the side.

Rock on. Nothing like frozen hair and wind burned cheeks to make you feel alive. Before leaving, I got a few more shots of the wintry conditions. It's hard to believe that while it looked like this up there, it was dry as a bone and fifty degrees back in town.





I foresee more of these days in my future. When you go-go-go all the time, and always have deadlines and other stresses hanging overhead, sometimes the best thing to do is forget about all of them for the day, shut off the phone, shut off the computer, and get away from it for just a little bit.

Slow and Low, Let Yourself Go. The Moab RedHot 55K

Once again, I found myself in Moab this weekend. Time for another adventure, but this was going to be WAY off the beaten path. I came down last year to run the Red Hot 33K in the snow, mud and other fun conditions, and still had a great day despite the conditions and my snail-like pace on the course. At the time I'd been considering the longer 55K course, but wound up bailing a few weeks out and downshifted, realizing that I was neither physically nor mentally ready for it at the time after minor injuries sidelined me early in the year.

Things are a bit different a year removed, though. I'm still slow on trails but my confidence and enjoyment are in a much different place.. The adoption of POSE running principles has made me more efficient (read...a LOT less tired, clumsy, and likely to wipe out). Hence, the trails are more fun in general. When I have more fun, I'm more relaxed, the heart rate is down and I can just keep going for a lot longer than I used to be able to run.

Despite a really bad couple of running weeks and stress leading up to the Red Hot, and seriously considering a downshift again to the 33K, I stayed on the entry list for the longer race. I was committed to getting through it even if I was the slowest person out there, and a friend and fellow runner nailed it a few days before the race in saying that I'd be kicking myself later if I didn't do the 55K this time. I was scared but chose to embrace the idea that it would be hard, but nothing I couldn't do. Still other running friends gave the great, obvious advice to remember that this was FUN-so get out there with the intent of enjoying myself. As a typically competitive person when it comes to my running, I can lose sight of the obvious, so it was good stuff to hear.

Friday night included a solo drive down to Moab, which might sound lame and boring, but wound up being kind of like a mini vacation when I am rarely child-free. I hit up the packet pickup, and laughed when the lady handing out the course maps asked me "55K? You look like you're running the 55K." I'm not sure what made her say that but whatever...I'll take the vote of confidence.

I had plans to meet some of my 24 hour relay teammates for dinner later in the evening but was so starved upon rolling into town that I immediately hit up Miguel's for enchiladas, rice, beans, and a margarita. A few hours later, I joined my teammates, their spouses and another local runner for Dinner Number Two. Yeah, I'm a running omnivore who eats anything not nailed down. Eating what I needed seemed to be the first thing I did right going into the next day.

After hanging out for a bit, I headed back to soak in the outdoor hot tub under the stars and full moon at my hotel. Usually this lulls me into a good sleep the night before the race, but the loud heater in my room coupled with the people having a deep, loud conversation in the next room well past midnight kept me tossing and turning for hours. When morning came I didn't think it was a good sign that I couldn't drag myself out of bed, but after a little coffee I started to feel kind of human. Once I was dressed and my Camelbak was packed up, I headed out to find a bite to eat with plans to get down to the race start (Gemini Bridges Trailhead) in time to leave my drop bag to be delivered to the aid station at mile 23.

Here was my screwup for the day. It turned out that my hotel didn't do breakfast in the winter/off season months. Fair enough. I headed down to the Love Muffin, thinking I could get a bite there. No such luck, they weren't open until seven o'clock. I wasn't going to run this thing with nothing in the belly, though, so I waited it out, grabbed a muffin when they opened, and headed down the road to the start just in time to miss the drop bag truck. Damn. Oh well-I figured I could just move a few of my ziplocked bags of spare socks, gloves, hats and other random small items to my pack.

As I stood around I felt kind of....not just kid of, but totally like an ultrarunning poser. There were some serious rock stars of the trail running world waiting around for the start, and here I was just hoping I could make it through in one piece.The mood was very chill, though, and conversation with other runners milling around was very relaxed. I talked to my son's teacher, who was running the 33K, and made small talk with some other ladies who sounded like they'd be bringing up the rear with me today. It was kind of reassuring to know there were others just out to have fun, not contending for big money and fabulous prizes.

It was extremely warm for February, but the wind was crazy and light rain falling felt like little wet BB gun pellets when it hit my face. The conditions were still far more appealing than what I remembered from the 33K last year, though, and I figured if this was the worst of it I could deal with it. I took my pre-race S-Caps packet o' stuff (it keeps me from cramping up and helps to avoid hyponatremia in an endurance event), guzzled some water and got ready with everyone else. Holy cow, here I am. No backing out now. When it was time to start, though, I was calm and didn't really have a worry in my head. The plan was to stay this way physically and mentally, run relaxed and enjoy. Soon we were off, and headed out on a 34 mile foot tour of the slick rock and red dirt of Moab. John, the husband of my 24-hour teammate Julie, was in the longer race too and said "Remember to have fun!" when he ran past at the start. Excellent advice that I intended to follow.

My plan for the day was simple. Run the easier and less technical sections at the fastest pace I could that still felt "comfortable," so to speak. With the steeper and more challenging stuff, I intended to avoid the power hike in favor of running in the old "Zero Gear." This meant I'd be landing with relaxed compression while lightly lifting the other foot, running as slowly as necessary but still running. When I first started doing this last fall, it felt very awkward. I felt like I was shuffling and couldn't possibly be more efficient this way. Now, I am amazed at how different and comparatively easier to hiking the effort feels and can't imagine doing it my old way. My other strategy was to break the course up into different segments to pick apart-the first ten miles, the next eight to the mandatory time cutoff (had to get there by 12:30), the marathon point (26.2), the last aid station (29 miles), and finally the last five mostly downhill miles.

The first five miles were really just a time for me to settle in and let the body warm up. Some days you have it, other days you feel terrible, and I was relieved that things felt pretty good despite a few weeks of crap running, stress, and a bad night of sleep. I made it to the turnoff for the 14 extra miles on the long course feeling, dare I say, GOOD. There had been some hard rain to the face in the early miles but it seemed to taper off. The wind, though, was a different story. It was the only thing that was less than awesome on race day. I just tucked my head down a bit whenever it got bad and moseyed along.

I'd been told that this 14 mile loop was the "easier" part of the course, and that I'd already covered the tougher section running the 33K last year. Kind of a double edged sword since the hard part would come later, but that assessment was pretty right on. There was a lot of up and down but it wasn't steep or extreme, and there were some views that blew my mind along the way. I believe I talked to most of the City of Fort Collins, Colorado while looping around in this area. It turns out that they'd brought about 40 runners down for this. That's what I love about this kind of race-everyone out there enjoying and sharing the experience. You will have to turn the head for this next video....sorry. My iPod video cam skills were lacking sometimes but it's worth it for the sweet view in this clip.

The wind was still whipping around and the rain was coming off and on, but with relatively warm temperatures it was still kind of refreshing. Last year, it had been very sunny but cold, and frankly, this felt better. The sun wasn't beating down on me and nothing on me was too hot or too cold. Constantly running kind of off-camber and leaning downhill to the right was a little awkward but not awful. When I arrived at the third aid station near the end of this 14 mile loop, I was thrilled to see that unless I lay down and did nothing for an hour, I would make that 18-something mile cutoff with ease. I fueled up on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, coke, and water before moving along, and passed the jeep where they were recording runners moving past the cutoff at around the 3:40 mark.

Now I was almost entirely by myself. We were pretty strung out near the back of the pack, with big gaps between runners. Occasionally, I'd overtake someone or a random runner would slide slowly past me, but there just wasn't much in the way of civilization out here. Reaching 20 miles, I was beginning to tire but wasn't hurting yet. It wasn't anything that broke my relaxation. When epic winds and dark skies moved in, and those little water drop bullets started slapping against me again, I felt as calm as I'd felt the entire race. The winds were brutal, the skies were dark, but I felt completely at peace in the middle of it all, and was feeling more and more confident that I'd be finishing with a smile on my face in a few hours.

When the marathon distance finally ticked away on the ol' Garmin around 5:45 or so, it was kind of anticlimactic. I hadn't been running a traditional road marathon pace so there was none of that feeling of impending glycogen depletion or hitting the wall-just the slow creep of fatigue, and when things started to hurt, it seemed like they'd eventually reach a point at which things didn't get any worse, and just went numb. By now my excitement was building even as I tired, knowing I was less than eight miles to the finish. Blue skies and sunshine made a brief appearance to mark the occasion.

I spent another mile or two by myself, with a few people in the distance behind me, and eventually found myself creeping up slowly behind another woman who was shuffling along slowly but steadily. When I reached her, we started chatting and just kind of kept chatting and moving along together. We were in just about the same place as far as pace and how we were feeling. Her name was Julia, and we seemed to also be very similar runners in being slower on the trails, but both a little faster on roads, and running Boston this year. It was her second time running the 55K, and she was also down here for relaxed, fun "me time" with kids back home.

I'm not sure if we were tired or if the flagging got a little bit sketchy here, but we went off-course for the one and only time of the day somewhere around 30 miles. We followed one flag toward a hill but then kept going up the hill. Only after cresting the hill did we realize that we'd overachieved, and should have turned right across the hill rather than climbing it. Whoops. Still, this wasn't a whopper of a mistake. It cost us two or three minutes. No big deal.

Now in our seventh hour of running, the feeling was sweeping me that this thing was in the bag. I'd be in the last fifty finishers, but didn't care. Somehow, I'd never reached the point at which the pain and fatigue was greater than my desire to keep moving along and do what I'd trained for today. There were now regular slow-shuffle/hike breaks but never did I reach the "shoot me, put me out of my misery" point. Making our final descent toward the finish area at the Poison Spider trailhead, the wind was really getting insane to the point of a full blown dust storm that stopped us dead in our tracks with about a mile to go. I felt like a wuss for stopping and turning my back against the gusts, but looking uphill I could see that the few other runners behind me were doing the exact same thing to avoid being blinded. It finally let up and we continued down to the finish.

I had my third wind to really finish this thing off now, and wanted to be done as quickly as possible. Right around 7:29, my Garmin decided it was done for the day and just shut off. NICE. Not a big deal but geez, it could have waited another ten minutes. I wound up pulling away from Julia just a bit, wanting to accelerate up with whatever was left and finish strong. Coming down the hill, I could see the finish area, and the few spectators lining the end of the course where whooping it up enthusiastically for those of us coming in. I had a smile on my face and soaked it all in as I finished, 34 miles and a few thousand feet of elevation change behind me in 7:38:06. This was roughly 2:30 after the winning open woman and 2:45 behind Masters/Overall winner (and Western States 100 Champ) Anita Ortiz, but I didn't care. I'd faced down my fear, ran it down and was now standing succesful on the other side.

Going Down to Moab, Gonna Have Myself A Time

Somehow I find myself a day away from my first trip to Moab for 2011. Oddly enough, my last real race report on this little blog was from the last trip of 2010 to Moab. I guess something about that place makes me want to write.

This time, it's for a return trip to the Moab RedHot 55K and 33K. Last year, it was for the 33K with my friends Jen and Nick. This year, it's a lone-wolf trip down in what looks to be sketchy weather for the 55K. I'm reserving the right to downshift to the shorter distance if the weather is disastrously bad, but a huge part of me just says "Suck it up, sista, it'll make you stronger to face that fear." I've had a lot of balls in the air lately, and lots on my mind, and it's easy to give into that temptation to run the shorter race. I also had the first really craptastic race in awhile last weekend at a local 10K, so that gets into the head for sure. It was a race PR, but a lackluster performance that was not up to what I thought could have been possible after last fall's racing season.

I think staring down all that uncertainty and fear of failure might be the best thing, though, even if I am out there all.day.long, moving along slowly in my zero gear. The course was challenging last year, and it is a little scary actually KNOWING what to expect this year with that route plus 14 miles. On the flip side, I am inspired when I'm in Moab. I felt like I was running across the sky on this course last year, and that's a powerful feeling. Being with like-minded folks who just get it is another aspect of the whole thing that makes me think I CAN make it through, even if I am the last one out there and even if I'm swearing off ever doing something like it again in the final miles.

In other news, I've joined a relay team that currently consists of six women and one man for the 24 Hours of Moab, a relay event that takes place in late March. This involves a six mile loop, and logging as many laps as possible around that loop in a 24-hour period. I've wanted to join a relay team for some time, and am stoked to venture into this new racing territory. I have no idea what to expect, how many laps I'll run or how I'll feel, but I'm excited for the adventure. For now, I just need to do some laundry, pack up some gear, and get myself safely to Moab tomorrow. The next adventure awaits in less than 48 hours.

It's A New Dawn, It's a New Day

Yes, Virginia, there IS still a blog here.

There are many ups and downs in life; same thing with the running, racing, and training. I had a few excellent races following the last entry here a few months ago but kind of kept the full story with each race to myself. Each was a uniquely personal experience, and I suppose that after breaking down boundaries and working myself harder than ever with good payoffs, I didn't have much left to blog. They were just extremely gratifying after my Imogene experience, and I'm starting to see that not as a terrible fail but a chance to look at what I needed to change, and what I could do to improve things.

Now that we're in a new year, and I know it's time to return to blogging again. I have some big things on the horizon-races that some might say I shouldn't or couldn't do, or that if I do, should not have the big lofty goals attached that swim in the back of my head. It's okay-I don't listen to those naysayers anyway. There are a lot of question marks in my life these days but I intend to put an exclamation point on everything I do in 2011, for better or for worse.

The 2010 Other Half

"Do what you love. Know your own bone; gnaw at it, bury it, unearth it, and gnaw it still." -Henry David Thoreau

Mid-October in my neck of the woods brings what is perhaps my favorite annual race, The Other Half Marathon. The name comes primarily because it is "the other half marathon" that was recently added by the Moab Half people, five months before the original Canyonlands Half, a race that has been taking place for many more years. While Canyonlands is now a lottery race and stuffed full every year between the half and the five-miler run the same day, The Other Half is a much more intimate and smaller feeling race. While 1500 people is still a fairly large race, the vibe is just different. The whole race takes place well up the canyon on Highway 128, beginning at the Dewey Bridge and ending at Sorrel River Ranch, with the river running behind it, and red cliffs all around. I feel very alive on this course, and love running it. No matter how well my season's been going coming into this race, that alone is enough to give me quite literally a leg up. There was absolutely nothing of serious consequence at stake with this race for me; I would be happy knowing I did my best on this course regardless of my time. With that said, there was a little voice in the back of my head saying "NYC......NYC." Some days it's just not your day, and The Other Half is not at all known as a PR course. Still, I felt very confident about pulling out all the stops with whatever I had for the race.

I started my race weekend by taking the road less traveled, and turning off of I-70 at the exit which takes you through the ghost town of Cisco, eventually leading to a turn for Highway 128. It can take a few minutes longer than driving all the way to the main exit to Moab, but it is a scenic drive and would also give me the opportunity to drive the rolling course. It was a beautiful day, and I took my time enjoying the ride, stopping for photos every now and again.

Rolling into town, I was still well ahead of check-in time at my hotel, so I wandered over to the expo to pick up my packet. I knew that Ilana would be due in town at the expo around five or five-thirty, so I wandered back to the hotel, checked in and brought my stuff inside, and headed back over to the expo. I had a friend not running the race ask me to pick up her packet/shirt; the problem was she'd pitched her packet pickup card. Um, makes it hard for me to get your stuff, I told her-but I said that I would do my best.

When I arrived back at the expo, the race director (who has done an amazing job growing all the Moab races, keeping them organized and high quality) was working the information/help table. I'd jotted down my friend's bib number and explained that that was all I had. She started quizzing me on stats like my friend's birthday (um....she's ten years or so older than me? That's all I've got), her phone number (uh....it's programmed in my cell phone. Maybe.), and other stuff. She joked with me "well, how good of a friend is this, anyway? What's YOUR name?" When I said it, she said "OOOOOH! I didn't recognize you with clothes on! You going to win your age group this year?"

Now, if I'd had a drink in my mouth I would have blown it out at the "didn't recognize you with (regular, street) clothes on" comment. What I was more surprised at is that she knew my name and was implying I had a shot at age grouping. I wound up third in my age group at last year's Winter Sun, and have run all three of their races every year since '07 with the exception of the 2008 Other Half, but I haven't placed or done anything interesting in all those runs. I said something like "ooooh...I don't know," and she got together the race bag and a slip of paper that would let the shirt people know it was okay to give me one. I thanked her for letting me collect my friend's stuff, and as I walked away she said "See you on the podium!" Gulp.

Soon after, I found Ilana, and after she gathered her stuff, we met up our friends Kevin, Nora, and Paul for dinner at Miguel's Baja Grill, which is typically where Ilana and I wind up for dinner before any Moab race. Kevin and Paul were both running, and Kevin's wife Nora was along for cheerleading and enjoying the weekend. It was a great time hanging out, loosening up, eating good food and having a margarita or two.



After dinner, Ilana and I headed back to the hotel for the standard outdoor hot tub soak and race gear selection. I brought my regular training New Balance 1225's, which I've pretty much used for races without regard for whether or not something lighter would help with my time and feeling light on my feet. I did buy a pair of Newtons several months ago, though, after trying them on at the Boston Marathon expo. They felt AMAZING on my feet, and I have been using them in shorter races lately, running race PR's each time. Despite being a bit unsure that it was a good move for a comparatively "bigger" runner, I attached my timing chip to the Newtons and called it a night.



Our day started early when it was determined that we were both wide awake and restless, and soon we were chowing on Ilana's breakfast cookie and drinking coffee. It was a nice bus ride in the dark to the start, and getting out, it definitely felt warmer than it had been in 2007 and 2009 for this race. I worried a bit that it might warm WAY up, but thus far it wasn't terrible. It was actually sort of nice that it was just medium-cold, and not bonechilling to the point of taking your energy while walking around and shivering.

When it finally came time to warm up, I ran up the road, away from the start, and toward an old abandoned service station. I felt very calm and normal. Nothing hurt. When I finally peeked at my Garmin, I was surprised at the pace-it was faster than I thought I was going. This was a good sign to me that it was a day with potential. I had my Jet Blackberry Gu and started getting the game face on.

We moved down to the start area to line up, and noticed right away that there were no women moving all the way to the front, and just a small handful of us clumped right behind the 7:00 pace sign. Where were the sponsored runners? They weren't there. So this was going to be a day for the competitive mid-packers. Another sign to just go for it. The minutes counted down, and the Moab Taiko Dan drummers started pounding away on the drums from the back of a truck at the start. We were counted down, the gun sounded, and off we went.

It felt great to finally get underway. My breathing was excellent, my heart rate felt like it was well in check, and I concentrated on staying very relaxed, something I've been working on lately as part of learning more about POSE running. This isn't a sales pitch, and I frankly am just a novice at applying its principles to my running. It's just something that I have learned really works for me-it keeps my heart rate down, and is making me more efficient. Today, it was allowing me to work hard yet still feel relaxed.

Mile 1: 7:02

First mile was done, and my self-assessment here was that I felt very strong. Could I maintain this all the way through? Who knew-but I was now committed to an all-out effort with no holding back. There were maybe a dozen women tops who were out ahead of me-so maybe I really did have a chance to age group today. I really wanted that, and I really wanted to keep every mile under the pace I needed for the guaranteed entry into next year's New York City marathon.

Mile 2: 7:13
Mile 3: 7:18

I was really settling in now. The first three miles had gone by without extreme pain or struggle. I felt like I was walking that line and in Good Hurt Land. Not at a pace so fast that a hard crash-and-burn was guaranteed, and not in that range of being just a bit slow so that I could "save something for later." Listening to how hard some of the men running around me were breathing, it reminded me to relax and lift lightly, and to go to a "zero gear" with an even smaller stride if I started to feel fatigued, but still keeping my cadence up.

Mile 4: 7:21
Mile 5: 7:24
Mile 6: 7:27

Oops. That mile six was a little slower than what I needed to average to hit 1:37 or faster. I was still feeling good, though, so I didn't let that split get into my head. I was now coming into the last of the downhillish miles, and getting ready for the big rolls and hills to come on the second half of the course.

Mile 7: 7:16

I was back on track and ready for the meat and potatoes of the course. The "Big Hill Mile" was next. I felt a normal amount of fatigue for this point in the race yet still felt in charge of my race. I knew it would be markedly slower than the first seven and that I'd lose some time coming up the hill, but I just relaxed, focused on what was immediately ahead of me, and did not strain or stress the size of the full hill. I went back to that "zero gear" where I was moving with small steps, keeping my cadence up and staying relaxed. While others around me were in a super-heavy-breathing zone, straining, and somewhat on their toes, I was not. I let my heel relax totally and lifted every so lightly, which felt like shuffling but did in fact feel a LOT easier than the way I used to get up on my toes and try to stride big up the hill. While I had slowed a little in the hill, I had slowed less than others and actually passed a runner or two here. It felt SO strange and awkward the first few times I practiced being really relaxed and getting to a point where I was at zero effort on hills, but dang, there's something about it that is working for me now that I am getting more used to it.

Mile 8: 8:08

This was a good split for mile 8, but I knew that it also took away most of the little cushion I had for 1:37. As soon as I was up and over the hill, I increased my turnover but kept the strides short and relaxed. Still in a surprisingly good physical state at this point, but I still had a bit over five miles to go.

Some clouds covered this part of the course. There was a light headwind briefly that concerned me, but it stopped almost as soon as it started. A little bit of moisture spit from the sky-not much, but just enough to feel refreshing and cool. It didn't last for long, but it did feel good.

Mile 9: 7:17

I can't do running math to save my life but again I knew I was right back to walking that 1:37 line. I was becoming more fatigued now but made myself relax every time I started to tighten up. Another good roller was in my path now.

Mile 10: 7:33

Over that 1:37 pace again. Dang. I got a little "mushy" feeling on the hill-that scary sensation of nearing glycogen depletion I felt late in the Eisenhower Marathon in 09, and right before my one hitting of the wall at my fall marathon last year in mile 25. I had no choice but to slow down just a bit to go back to that zero gear again. Amazingly enough, though, this wasn't the beginning of the end, and that feeling went away. I charged into the next mile back at full speed ahead. I heard the drummers, then saw them, and started clapping over my head in time to their drumming.

Mile 11: 7:18

There was one last hill left. I was feeling invigorated to know that the tougher hills were behind me, and that I just had to get over one more before my attempt to pull out all the stops on my finish. I was getting really tired, but there were no wheels about to come off. I felt in control of my race and just fed off of that feeling.

Mile 12: 7:23

I was over that last hill, and heard an aid station worker at the last station yell "It's all downhill from here!" Yes, yes it was. So many people I talk to HATE this last mile. You can see the finish from a long way off. Coming down the hill, you sort of follow a horseshoe kind of pattern, going curving off the highway and following the driveway as it bends toward Sorrel River Ranch. I love it, though. Seeing that finish lights a fire under me, and I break the home stretch up into small chunks in my mind, taking one small bite out of the course at a time. I went up into as high of a gear as I could. All out, prepared to take whatever pain I felt. Turning into the driveway, I passed a guy I'd paced next to for much of the second half of the race. Oh, man. I hurt. I was not going to allow a five second miss on that 1:37, though, as I looked again at my Garmin to see I had under two minutes to do it. I passed another guy and was running like a woman possessed.

Mile 13: 6:41

Making the last turn toward the finish chute, I could see the clock ticking off in the 1:36 minute and knew I was going to do it unless I tripped, fell and broke my legs. Even then I think I could have clawed my way accross the line with the adrenaline I was feeling. I heard the finish line announcer saying my name and pushed on in to make it official.

Last .17 miles Garmin measured: 6:26. Garmin time 1:36:28, official race time 1:36:27. I did it. Sub-1:37, free to bypass the New York City Marathon lottery and go directly to guaranteed entry. Words fail what I felt at this day coming together perfectly on all fronts, or how I felt about a five minute race PR and four minute half PR. It was just a sense of satisfaction and peace.

Kevin and Nora saw me come in, and were the first to say congratulations on my race. Kevin, for his part, ran an incredible race, finishing ninth overall and second in his age group. I came out of the finish chute to talk with them, and turned around to see that Ilana was now coming in at right around 1:40. This was good enough for an age group win for her, and 14th woman overall. Steven, another runner from the running forums, wound up placing 1st in the same group in which Kevin ran, and was sixth overall. It was exciting to see them do so well.

For my part, the run did get me on the podium after all-2nd in my age group out of 199 finishers, and 7th woman overall. Like I said, there were no sponsored women there, but you can only race the people who show up. After several beers in the beer garden with friends, I got to collect my medal. I thanked the race director, and as I started to walk away she said "See, I told you you'd be on the podium." Ha. I think I owe her a thank you for the age group talk at the information booth because it just fueled my thoughts that yes, I certainly did want to wind up placing. We wound up getting a nice shot of our little group after everyone received their medals.



I'm a little stumped, on one hand, how I could come into this race with ZERO indications for a sub-1:37 based on recent race results, but if I look closer at all the little components, they stacked the deck in my favor. I had been up in weight since a little bit after Boston until recently-not a lot, but it sure does help to be at your best weight for racing. I think getting back to that point helped, along with going to shoes that are significantly lighter. My feet feel so light in them, and the design of the Newtons just works for my gait. I feel this "flick, flick, flick" of kicking lightly and with ease in them. I almost did not get these shoes because of the ridiculously high price. They were still ridiculously expensive when I found a discount code for a running retailer, but they have literally been worth their weight in races. The weather was just perfect, too. Ilana and I were a little concerned when it was already 50 at 5 am, thinking the temperature would climb high early. Instead, we got the best of both worlds with it staying relatively unchanged for the pre-race and race itself.

And my training leading up to the race? I wasn't doing speed work. I wasn't doing high mileage. What I did do was a number of QUALITY runs on hills and trails. I practiced that POSE thing as much as I could, and started learning how to run hills and trails without taxing my body as hard as I was before. It made me more efficient, and I would be fresh and ready to go for my next run without ever feeling beat up. I started leaving my Garmin at home, and ran just for the joy of running. I took two full days off before the race, knowing I couldn't help my race with "one last workout," and was just ready to enjoy running through the Canyons in Moab. None of these things guaranteed the kind of race I wound up having, but it was a recipe for a potential great day. On Sunday, the ingredients mixed well, and cooked until done.

Jane, Stop This Crazy Thing!

When did the middle of October sneak up and bite me in the butt? I'm not quite sure, but it sure got here in a hurry. This means it's almost time to meander across the border to Utah to gather with like-minded friends at the spot where the Dewey Bridge once stood. From there we'll be moving as swiftly as our bodies will allow to Sorrel River Ranch, 13.1 miles down the road.

This was a race I looked forward to greatly back in 2007, when I timidly signed up for The Other Half as a member of Team Tiara, the fundraising leg of Girls on the Run. I really didn't think I could cover the distance at the time of registration and was terrified the first time I showed up for a training run with all those strong, fit ladies. As it turned out, they were all pretty great and encouraging, and I started sliding down that slippery slope from just wanting to finish to modest time goals to what were moderately aggressive at the time. Squeaking in to the finish in just under two hours was an exhilirating feeling, and I was truly bummed the next year that the race date was too close to that of my first marathon. Returning in 2009, though, I remembered exactly why I love this race. Beautiful surroundings, a course that keeps coming at you with good hills and rolls, one big climb late in the race, and then the opportunity to run all-out after cresting that hill and heading down toward the finish. Stoked? You bet.

As for goals, motivation, and confidence, I think it's safe to say that I have kicked all negative feelings about Imogene to the curb. It was a bad day, I was disappointed, but it was just one day. I turned around and ran a local 5K two weeks ago that I have run every year since becoming a runner, trimmed one second off my time from the year before and somehow snuck into the first place women's spot. While I will be the first to say that 21:25 really doesn't and shouldn't win a race (and was probably the slowest winning time for women since the race started), it felt goodnonetheless to keep up a consistent pace for most of the race, and not let any other women get ahead of me. My huge positive splits in 5K's have been sort of a pattern so it was a huge confidence booster to keep things pretty even.

What's more is that the race honors a girl who ran for one of the local cross country teams and passed away in a car accident. It's a total celebration of her life-not depressing at all, with her family and friends running and in attendance. People seem to be very "up" for this race, and just ready to give 110% since we're healthy and able to do it. There is a huge high school cross country race that follows the citizen race, and it's down in the area where I do so much of my running, through the lakes and trees along our riverfront trail. If I could pick any one local race I'd like to win, this definitely would make the cut. It was just the kind of bounce-back to get the ball rolling toward my fall goals.

Goals? Oh, yeah. I have a few. I am not putting massive amounts of pressure on myself, but I d have that New York City Marathon guaranteed entry standard whispering in the back of my head. Sure, 1:37 is over three minutes faster than my fastest half to date. Sure, The Other Half is a very rolly course. You'd never describe it as flat and fast. That said, I don't care why I shouldn't be able to do it. I'm up for this race as much as any race, and even though it kind of hurt to push over some of the hills last year, it was a good hurt and I'm feeling focused and ready to do it again. 1:37 is a long shot right now, but it's possible. I'll push with everything I have Sunday morning, and we'll see how it turns out.

As far as other goals, I have taken my first step toward my not-so-secret-anymore desire to one day run the Leadville Trail 100. I registered for the Moab RedHot 50K+, which will take place in February. I briefly had my name on the entry list for that race last year after upgrading from the 33K, but minor injuries and lack of appropriate training made it a no-brainer to shift back down to the short race. This year, though, I'm training for it as my main goal race for the early spring. I'm already spending more time on trails, and have made some changes to the way I used to run that now allow me to be more confident and more efficient. It's a learning process and I still have a long way to go, but I am actually feeling up to the challenge of 34 miles, and not petrified and sick to my stomach. I didn't know where it went, but it feels so good to have found my running mojo again.