Don't Stop Believin': The Leadville Trail 100 Run

I often set my blog entries to music and there was really no better selection this time around than some positive, old school Journey.

The Leadville Trail 100, a grueling 100 mile run, takes place every August in the mountains above Leadville, Colorado. Many start this race. Far fewer make it through to the red carpet and finish line within the 30 hour absolute time limit. Even if one is perfectly trained, there are so many things that have the potential to go wrong; illness, injury, and plain old exhaustion from what this race does to a runner. To that end, it's important for the runner to consider enlisting some pacers to help him or her in the second half of the race, and crew members who can perform the basics of making sure the runner has proper gear and nutrition, as well as provide encouragement, motivation, or a plain old kick in the butt if it's what is necessary.

 I'd planned to be at the race in 2012 anyway, with several friends from Grand Junction signed up for the race when it sold out in early 2012. When my friend Ben texted last month, however, with the news that race founder Ken Chlouber himself had presented him with a gold coin...AKA a "golden ticket" that gave him entry into the sold-out race following his completion of the Leadville Trail Marathon, and would I please please consider pacing him, it became certain that I'd be going to the race to help a friend get to the finish line. Originally I was on only as a pacer. When I learned that he was going to do it crewless with just drop bags, I volunteered to crew until it was time for me to pace-still trying to keep it lowkey and simple-if that was reasonable to Ben. Ben was down with that, so I prepared to do the somewhat unusual combo of being sole crew member for 76 miles, and pacer for the last 24 miles. Silke, a friend of a friend with excellent running credentials would pace starting at 50 miles, and would also have her husband Ryan there to help. This was shaping up to be a good team effort even though some of us had never met.

We arrived in Leadville on Thursday night, not 100% sure what we were doing, but ready to see this thing through, drawing on what experiences we'd had to that point. Ben had never run 100 miles, nor had I. I did gain a lot of experience this summer on the support side of ultras, though, with the limited crewing stint at Western States, pacing at Hardrock, and as pure fan support/cheer at the Grand Mesa 100 for a couple of friends. Ben, for his part, is also a very strong trail runner, and quietly self-driven. He's always got a smile on his face and is just "good people." Training is important for the runner, but optimism and self-belief when the going gets rough and everything hurts-that's equally important. He ran the 50-miler in Leadville following his surprise golden ticket registration, ending up high on the finisher list despite running it as more of a training exercise to build confidence and endurance for the LT100. Despite the lack of long-term planning, things were shaping up well. On Friday, we hit up the packet pickup, scored his numbers, and attended the orientation meeting along with other friends, crew and pacers from Grand Junction.

We were still going to use drop bags, but I'd be getting the bags out prior to Ben's arrival at each aid station, readying items so that he could choose what he needed easily and head on his way. Some people bring in massive storage tubs on rollers and a full rig of towels, chairs, and other items to each aid station; it just made more sense for us to keep it simple, though. To that end, we made up bags, labeled them, discussed what would be good for each aid station, and packed them up.

Ben turned in pretty early that night. I spent a little time with friend Shannon, who would be crewing her husband Kevin, that evening, but also headed back to my van at a nearby campground pretty early. Soon, 3am was upon us. Ben had gotten a good 4-5 hours of sleep, and said he was pretty calm and relaxed during the wakeful time. Great-he hadn't been undone with stress and awake all night, so we were already off to a decent start. Soon we were at the start, ready to get the show on the road. And trails.

At 4am, the runners took off in a blur of headlamps down the road. It was quite the sight; an all-time high number of 800 starters ran by, including Ben and five other Grand Junction natives.

Once everyone had cleared out, I talked briefly to Elizabeth and Shannon. Shannon advised me that it would be kind of crazy at May Queen, the first aid station, at 13 miles. Runners would see it again at 88 miles. With that in mind I headed out quickly, and sure enough, it was a total zoo there. I was able to park Ben's truck off on the side of the road pretty easily, though, and made my way down to the aid station, gathering his drop bag and watching for him, and other runners coming through. Knowing friends would want updates, I started keeping a record of the times that friends came through, something I continued to do throughout the race, saving the info to a text and then shooting it out once Ben made it through each one.

Ben arrived to May Queen right on schedule at 6:15. He looked good, and didn't want to sit, which made sense. This was pretty early on. He asked about a handheld water bottle, which hadn't been sorted into the May Queen bag. No major catastrophe, though, as he had his pack with water. He was hoping for sunglasses, too, which were in the car somewhere. I made a mental note to find them for the next aid station. It was still dark now, so he'd wind up having to make do without the glasses for a bit. Soon he was off again, and I headed down the road to Fish Hatchery, the 23 mile and 76 mile aid station. Here, it was the first truly social aid station. Many of the support teams skipped May Queen, but everybody was here. The sun was coming up, and the temperatures cool and pleasant.

Friends Kevin, Marty, and Chris came through, and then I knew it was time to start watching for Ben. I had no idea what had become of the handheld water bottle but found some sunglasses, and the hat I thought Ben wanted. He came through, and it turned out that I'd grabbed the wrong pair of sunglasses from the car. The hat, though, was a pretty nice desert hat that would keep sun off the face and neck. This was good enough, and he was still feeling great. I felt bad about the minor snafus but Ben wasn't dwelling on them. Still, I didn't want to have any more issues. He headed off down the road, and I got ready to move along to the aid station where I'd cheered and crewed briefly for friend Bryan last year-Twin Lakes.

It's a true party atmosphere at Twin Lakes. The runners hit this aid station at 40 miles, and again at mile 60 after their double trip over Hope Pass, so many crews and teams stay out here for a large portion of Saturday. I'd be meeting Silke and her husband Ryan here so that she could be introduced to her runner prior to picking him up to pace at 50 miles. Since Ryan would be heading to the Winfield aid station-one I'd been advised to avoid at all costs-with Silke, I would be able to have some down time. Silke, Ryan and I found one another pretty easily at Twin Lakes, and we hung out near the ridge that the runners bomb down by the aid station. I still could not find any sign of a handheld water bottle, but had fashioned hand-made ones with disposable bottles and duct tape.

I followed the now-familiar pattern of seeing Kevin, Marty, and Chris come in. I hadn't really anticipated using the other guys as markers, but it was helping out in terms of knowing when to be on alert for Ben to arrive. Soon I started seeing runners who had come through just before him at the previous two aid stations, and got the game face on. I'd found the correct sunglasses and hat, so I felt like I was in a good rhythm now and ready for a quick transition. Soon, we saw our runner bounding down the hill, looking relaxed and fluid, and only slightly off the pace for his somewhat aggressive first-timer goal. While "finishing" is typically the best first-timer goal at Leadville, I also know firsthand how important that can be the first time out to have a goal in mind. Ben wasn't rigid to this, but the sub-25 hour big belt buckle was in the back of his head if things went as perfectly as they could.

Silke and I ran up to Ben, greeted him, and then ran him through the aid station. As it had turned out, the "wrong" hat I'd given him at the previous aid station was great for the intense sun. We switched out the hats, and he took the correct glasses. I offered the homemade hand-held, but he opted to go without, keep using the pack, and headed off down the road. Things were definitely going more smoothly now, and nearing the halfway point, things were looking pretty good. There was still a LONG way to go, though.

Rather than just heading back to the campground and my van to nap, I stuck around Twin Lakes with some of the other GJ-area crews. Kevin's team had full costumes on, and soon they had me in Kevin's superman costume as well. He'd worn it on Halloween the year prior, a child's costume cut in half, lamenting that "I just wanted to be a ninja." I doubt I'd have been able to nap if I'd left, and this fun, casual down time suited me just as well in terms of staying relaxed and calmly focused on the rest of the race. Ultrarunning legend Scott Jurek paced then-leader Tony Krupicka into the aid station, and afterward, we managed to get a picture with the down-to-earth and friendly guy who then posted the picture to his Twitter page. The police officers handling traffic on the road at Twin Lakes also pulled us aside for a photo-op.

I stayed until Kevin, who had gotten VERY sick coming over Hope Pass, made it in, and got back out after Shannon, Bryan and Elizabeth worked to get him feeling semi-human again. Ryan, Silke's husband, had texted me that Silke was now with Ben, and that he still looked good. I headed back to the campground, gathering up my things and changing clothes to get ready to pace the home stretch. I also stopped to get some real food. Even though we wouldn't be running fast and would likely be hiking from 76 miles to the finish, it was important that I take care of myself and stay well-fed and hydrated. I got a text saying that Ben and Silke were through Twin Lakes inbound. He was maybe an hour off that A-game time goal, and looked better than most according to Ryan. I made it to Fish Hatchery late in the evening, and met Ryan right away-he was parked a mere two vehicles over from me. It was nice to be able to chat with him, and to also use his smartphone app that let him know where Silke was with Ben. They'd slowed down quite a bit but were still moving-excellent news, considering that he'd been up and over Hope Pass twice, and was entering the late stages of this thing.

I took a brief one-hour rest/lay down period, and that gave me a nice recharge. Kevin was in eventually, and looked markedly better than at Twin Lakes inbound, where he honestly looked ready to keel over and quit. This is where having crew and pacers is so important; they helped him to get back out there again, and somehow, he was back in this. Marty came through eventually, also looking better than he'd apparently been earlier, after coming off Hope Pass. Then came Chris, Jeff, and our friend Kirk, who has run this thing 17 times. I wasn't concerned, though-as long as Ben and Silke were still moving forward, it was all good. Soon, Ben and Silke were in, and Ben was still smiling. He was tired but still looked like a guy who believed and knew he'd make it to the finish line in Leadville. Heading up to the aid station tent, we got him the food and drink he'd need, took a quick team picture, and then Ben and I headed out, 76 miles into his race. It was close to 1am now.

 As I mentioned in a previous blog entry, there was a great post from another ultrarunner on the Footfeathers blog about being an ultra pacer. It was comical, and all about art of balancing the runner's needs at any particular moment with the pacer's amped up energy and readiness. I wasn't sure if Ben would be talking, silent, wanting songs and jokes, or something else. As we headed down the road, I couldn't believe how chipper, positive, and super-conversational he was still able to be. He asked "Do you want to hear my new goal? 29 hours, 59 minutes (a minute ahead of the absolute cutoff)!" Reality had set in that it wasn't going to be sub-25 hours his first time out, and he was totally okay with it.  I texted his sister Jessica to let her know that Ben looked good and that we were, in fact, telling "That's What She Said" jokes at that given moment. I also updated to Facebook so his mom Bea and others could follow along, before we started the big climb up Powerline. Heading down the road, we were at a brisk hiking pace. This was great-keep in mind, Ben had been moving since 4am. That's 21 hours.

 Soon, we could hear some strange music in the woods that got closer and closer. Eventually, we passed a house where what could best be described as Mexican romance music was being blasted. We laughed our way past this absurd distraction, and then hit the trail for the long, steady climb up Powerline. As the name suggests, this section of trail runs underneath a powerline and straight up the side of the mountain. We weren't hammering the trail, but somehow managed to pass quite a few teams as we climbed without even trying. Ben's a strong climber, and and we just kept a steady pace, admiring the starry night skies, and feeding off the wonderful energy of being out here in the quiet of the night, looking at the steady stream of head lamps moving up the mountain. There were several false summits and climbs, but Ben wasn't fazed. We moved in a calm, slow, steady hike up the hill, stopping for a brief recharge here or there, but really no stopping. Finally, we crested the high point of the trail-no more climbing! The stars were amazing. We looked up to admire them several times, and kept plugging away.

 Heading down, we hit hardpack road, and Ben was quieter now. I was feeling oddly sleepy. There wasn't much technical to mess with here, and in a way, than was as mentally taxing as anything. I looked around to keep myself awake, but I sensed that the quiet was good and didn't run at the mouth. Soon, though, Ben was needing to stop and re-group regularly. It didn't worry me-I could only imagine how badly his body hurt, and how the lack of sleep was beginning to mess with the head. Ben started being very concerned about time, and what mile we were at on the course, and how soon we'd be to May Queen, the last aid station. It was SO close, yet so far away.  I assured him that we were making good time, and that it was okay to not know exactly what mile we were in at that given moment. He was worried about it in a way that he had not been until this point, though.

 Walking slowly down the trail, I became aware that Ben had dropped back a bit, but I kept moving. As long as we were moving, even slowly-it was forward progress. All of a sudden, though, I heard Ben say "this seems awful silly for a belt buckle. I've gotta lay down." I turned around and he was down on the ground, laying down and looking up at the stars. One thing you want to avoid at all costs is your runner sitting or laying down late in the race, and if it happens, the pacer needs to get that runner up and moving as quickly as possible before it becomes an exercise in futililty. Instinctively, I said "you can look at the stars, but you NEED to stand up." There was a moment there when I didn't know if I was in for a fight, or if he'd get up easily. After a brief pause, he got up. We turned off the head lamps, looked at the starry skies again, and then I said something to the effect of okay, let's start moving again. His brief attempt to quit the race was over before it even started, and we continued to move down the road.

Soon, we hit the turn back onto trail. Fellow runner John Constan had described it as being steep and hard to see in the dark, but something you just have to go for without daintily stepping onto it. This change of scenery and step onto more challenging terrain was a welcome change. It required focus, and the variety of twists and turns provided a much needed shot of adrenaline. Here, in the dark, we came upon fellow Grand Junction runner Jeff, and chatted with him for a bit before moving past. The trail seemed to flow naturally, and I didn't have to look too hard for the glow sticks as it wound and curved past trees and over a few nice bridges/water crossings. We also passed a runner with an incredibly loud pack, blasting country music from some source within the pack. We couldn't tell if this was his music of choice, or something designed to be annoying and thus keep him awake. Regardless, we'd climbed up from the low point not too long ago, and this was good. The focus was on continuing to that May Queen aid station. I told Ben that a brief 5-10 minute sit would be totally cool here, and great to re-charge; we just didn't want him sitting or getting too warm and comfortable beyond that. He was agreeable, and soon we could hear the distant sounds of the May Queen aid station with cheering aid station workers and crew.

Once again, I found myself on a road lined with cars in the dark, just like the morning prior. It was a small victory of sorts to make it here after that low point/laydown not too long ago. Ben chowed down on a nice bowl of potatoes and hung out near the space heater. I shoveled down some watermelon and ramen noodles, hit the port-a-johns, and grabbed what Ben needed from his drop bag. When I said it was about time to go, there were no arguments, and we moved out quite easily. Other runners were not faring so well, and a number had seemingly given up the fight to move forward, wrapped in blankets on cots. That was the last aid station; there was still a long way to go, but we were in the home stretch.

 Moving down the road a bit, we eventually hopped onto the trail that would take us all the way around Turquoise Lake. It's said that runners go through many stages over the course of 100 miles; it was unbelievable that now, after almost 90 miles, Ben was back to smiling and joking again. I threw out another "That's What She Said" joke to which Ben responded "WEEEAK! C'mon. You can do better." He was definitely back, confident, believing he was going to make it through. In that rough patch, he was trying to do running math, which every runner will tell you just doesn't work...this was especially so after 24 hours on foot. Ben was believing me now when I said he had this thing so long as he kept moving to the finish. Moving around the lake, he was even able to jog small sections, and whenever he wanted to do that, I went with it until he had to hike again.

As the sun began to rise, we marveled at how this was now the second sunrise he was seeing as a racer. The air was calm, and daylight on the lake was another welcome, beautiful sight. I sent out another text as we came around the lake, updating friends and family that we were coming upon 95 miles and about to get off the trail from the lake and into the final stretch toward that finish line. It was starting to set in now that Ben WAS going to do this. He was going to finish. The exact time was up in the air but there was no question now that he would do it. It's sort of a cruel joke that while we weren't far from finish line, the actual course kind of meandered sideways along the perimeter of Leadville for a bit with some pretty good climbs. We started cracking with other teams about it being the Walking Dead moving toward the finish. Nobody was running, but everyone was feeding of that energy and knowledge that there were only a few more miles to cover.

The warm sun further energized us; it had gotten pretty cold overnight and this was a nice change. Checking in on my phone, I started reading Ben messages and well-wishes from Facebook; there, I read that his sister Jessica had made it there with his dog Leila, and would be waiting for us at 99 miles. We reached 98 miles and the smiles and good vibes were all around despite extreme fatigue and pain of covering that distance on foot. The tendons on the front of Ben's feet were just throbbing, and he hurt all over. When we climbed uphill, I tried to redirect toward thinking about how good it felt to stretch things out as we climbed. Sure, I knew this wouldn't change how bad he hurt, but anything that took his mind off it for a minute would help. Then, we were there-99 miles.

(pic via Jessica Hauschulz) 

Jessica appeared with Leila, instantly perking Ben up to see his sister and his dog. We continued down the road together, moving amongst slowly moving, but MOVING teams of runners and pacers. The excitement in the air was palpable. Soon, we could hear the finish line announcer in the distance.

Clearing the last big hill, we headed down the road and then started the final climb to the finish. Ben was going to do it. So many people had dropped already, and he didn't even know a month ago that he'd be here; nor did I. He'd tried to quit at 87 miles, almost losing the dream there. And now he was about to do something that few dream of doing or training for.

When that red carpet was in sight, we all started trotting toward it together, hearing "and please welcome Benjamin Hauschulz!" In that moment when he crossed, a crazy dream that a lot of logical types wouldn't have attempted was realized. Run 100 miles? Crazy. After officially training-albeit, with a strong base-for a month? No way. I nearly broke down then but managed to keep it together as the race director hung a finisher medal around his neck and hugged him warmly. It was one of those beautiful moments in life when someone's work, the struggle, the effort had all paid off, and the emotion of it was an incredible thing. Amongst a great group of trail running friends, Ben's an exceptionally positive light who is always a pleasure to be around, and run with. His finish here was an unlikely, wonderful moment. It's also a reminder to not shy away from challenges and golden opportunities. One never knows if and when they may come around again.

(Jessica, with Ben, 2012 Leadville Trail 100 finisher, official time, 28 hours, 20 minutes, 20 seconds)

(**With a finish rate this year of less than 50% of the starting field, great congratulations to all the Grand Junction area runners, who logged a 100% finish rate despite a variety of issues and challenges that could have easily ended their races: Marty, 24:05, 58th overall, Kevin, 24:23, 65th overall, Chris, 25:12, 83rd overall, Kirk, 27:07, 124th overall and 18TH FINISH AT LEADVILLE(!) with no DNFs, Ben, 28:20, 186th overall, and Jeff, 28:50, 238th overall. You ALL are beyond inspirational and motivating.**)

Ride The Lightning, Kiss The Hardrock: The Hardrock 100 Experience

Following a premature ending to my Western States 100 crewing experience (our runner, Kami Semick, suffered a severe asthma attack less than 30 miles into the race), I definitely felt the pull to come to another 100 mile event to help crew, or even pace a fellow runner to the finish line of one of these epic events. Though our runner could not complete her WS100 journey that day, we were able to return to the race and participate in other roles. One friend picked up another runner to pace, and I was able to provide general good cheer and support, help move some cars around and give rides, and finally, make it to the finish line to see another runner, Claire Price, make it to the track at Auburn for her first 100 mile finish. The feat in and of itself was incredible; knowing then what it took in the way of support to make that happen inspired me to put my name in the hat again to help the next time an opportunity came to pitch in for a runner in pursuit of a finish at the 100 mile distance.

Fast forward just a week or two. I'm in a Facebook group for regional ultra runners, crew, and pacers. It is set up for the purpose of coordinating all things ultra running; finding people to run with, setting up crews, making travel arrangements for races, and other activities. One runner, Adam, whom I'd met at the Bangs Canyon 30K/60K in January (AKA...the Fatass Run) posted a request for pacers at the Hardrock 100. It's one of the most grueling and difficult 100 milers out there, and there was a pretty immediate response from group members. I threw my name in, but wasn't necessarily expecting to hear anything. Soon, though, I got a message asking if I'd like to pace from the Sherman to Cunningham aid stations, approximately 20 miles, late in the race.

There would be a lot of power hiking at altitude in this stretch between 73.9 and 93.2 miles. It would be very scenic. Also very wild. And tough. That's the motto of the race; Wild and Tough. Unlike other 100 mile runs, where runners might average around 24-25 hours and have an absolute finish deadline of 30 hours, the Hardrock 100 has a 48 hour absolute time limit, with more than 32,000 feet of elevation change. It also has some of the most scenic and spectacular views, with a route that leaves the single track trail many times, climbing straight up and down mountains in place accessible only by foot or horseback. Yes, let's do this, I said. A few weeks later, I found myself down in Silverton, getting ready to pace and help crew for Adam, as well as provide general good cheer for John and Kirk, the other two area runners doing Hardrock.

I'd been running regularly, and did all my required reading, including this awesomely hilarious but highly informative three-part blog series called How To Be An Ultra Pacer. I read, amongst other gems and morsels of useful information that "By the time your runner shows up you're amped up like a rabid squirrel that just shot an eight ball mixed with white heroin. Your runner, on the other hand, looks as though he just fell off a 1,000 foot cliff onto a ten lane highway and got pummeled by speeding traffic. Balancing this odd mixture is an art form and imperative if you want to make it twenty feet together, let alone 40 miles to the finish." I knew it would be less about going at some specific pace, but figuring out what to say (not say) and do to help get Adam down the trail a stretch, and not in worse condition than when I found him. Didn't know how that would play out but felt ready. I also pored over details of the course handbook, read blogs, and just tried to stay as informed as possible about what might go on out there. When it came down to it, though, I know my endurance is good, and I like to think that I'm decent at solving problems and keeping a generally optimistic mindset. It seemed like those would be the most important factors-stay positive and ready to work problems that could arise.

Getting down to Silverton, Colorado, I had the chance to tool around town ('town") before the race. Silverton's a big tourist spot in the summer months, with the Durango to Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad stopping off here, and there were plenty milling about. I think very few people there knew that 140 runners were getting ready to set out for a 100 mile loop, traversing the mountains, with stops in Telluride, Ouray, and near Lake City before coming back to Silverton. In order to finish the race, the runners must "kiss the hardrock," a massive thing dedicated to the memory of the miners who once worked this rugged land. Following a night of sleep at John and Julie's apartment which would also be used as a home base for all the local crews, I headed down to the start to meet everyone. At 6am, the runners took off from the starting line, immediately turning and climbing up into the mountains. Nothing was certain, but Adam, John and Kirk had trained well, and were as well-prepared for this adventure as anyone. It was going to be an exciting two days, but would also have a lot of "hurry up and wait."

I caught a ride over to Telluride with Karie, Adam's wife, where we would await runners at 29.8 miles. The skies went from bright blue with sunshine and a few clouds to a torrential downpour during this time. When Adam got in just behind John, he had some good spring in his step, acting hammy and cracking jokes. The guys took a few minutes to sit, eat, and change out gear. Then, they were off again down the trail. I'd missed Kirk coming in earlier but those who were there said he looked great. No surprise; he has more finishes at this race than any other runner. Completion of the 2012 race would mark his 18th time finishing the race.

We caught a quick bite before moving on to Ouray,where runners would enter the city park near the Ouray Hot Springs Pool, and be able to pick up their first pacers. Our friend Kevin would pick up Adam, and Greg would pace John. At the park were many from the Grand Junction area running community; most of us who were pacers or crew for any of the runners were here to hang out and cheer, along with others as well. We hung out, bounced around a volleyball, did yoga tricks and other stuff to pass the time, along with cheering in other runners as they made it to Ouray.

Kirk was in first, and well ahead of his best time estimate. So early, in fact, that his pacer was not there yet.

 Kirk was all mellow and chilled-outness to the nth degree, though, and soon his pacer arrived to take him on his way. John was in next, looking better and stronger than the last time we'd seen him.

Adam then made his way in, still chilled out and smiling in the darkness.  After some discussion about whether Adam needed pants for this leg, he eventually accepted a loaner pair just in case they were necessary overnight.

Then, he was off with Kevin, heading out to burn the midnight oil, and eventually make it the Grouse aid station where Marty would pick up pacing duties. I drove Kevin's vehicle back to Silverton, and tried to get a few hours of sleep, knowing that a text would come pretty early when Karie was en route from Grouse (several hours away) and ready to take me to Sherman (also several hours away). I napped some but just couldn't get into a deep sleep, knowing I would need to jump up, ready, when she contacted me.

Sure enough, that text came and I was glad I was mostly ready the night before. Karie got to John and Julie's apartment, I hopped in the car, and off we went. She was really nervous about not making it there in time to Sherman; while I knew that was a possibility given the distance, I tried to keep things positive. We would likely make it in time, and if not, Marty would not leave him hanging, and had the endurance to keep going with Adam if that worst-case-scenario played out. Luckily, though, would not be a concern. We made it in about an hour before the men came down the road. Adam sat down for a full meal here at Sherman.

I chatted with Marty about the prior leg, and learned that Adam had been doing great with gels mixed into a handheld water bottle. It was decided that we'd keep going with that as long as it was still working. He couldn't stomach the solid gels but in diluted liquid form, it was great. I also learned that they'd been mostly hiking, and that Adam really just wanted to finish. Adam was quieter than he'd been earlier but still looked great. In my two other cheering or crewing experiences at 100 milers, I'd seen some rough looking people. Adam looked focused, and nothing more than an expected level of fatigue after being on his feet so long. Heading out, I sensed that it was probably not a good idea to talk a blue streak. So, when we left, that's what I did-kept my yapper shut. Climbing switchbacks through the woods over multiple stream and river crossings, Adam would occasionally point out a landmark or feature, but we generally let the sounds of nature be the soundtrack for the course.

Getting above treeline, we traversed our way across stretches that could best be described as "Sound of Music" in feel, climbing the Alps. If I was here to be a total goofball doing my own thing, I might've done a Maria Von Trapp spin out here. Instead, I tried to stay just a bit ahead of Adam, providing a little bit of a "pull" without getting too far ahead. Whenever he stopped for a minute, I'd tell him to drink. We got into a rhythm when I didn't even need to say drink-he knew if he stopped, it was hydration time.  I knew he was exhausted and hurting like everyone else at this point, but you wouldn't know it. After reading all the stories in "How To Be A Pacer" (and hearing stories from other pacers and ultra runners), I'd never really had to lay down the law hard. He even got a little bit of run/skitter in him, and went down the few downhills with nice kick.

Passing Cataract Lake across a willow filled valley, we hit more single track trail, crossed Pole Creek a few times, and had a huge climb up a hill and reached our first aid station together-Pole Creek. It was pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Horses brought in the supplies (they were resting nearby), and a small shelter/canopy covered it all. When the wind picked up, aid station volunteers had to hop up to make sure it didn't blow away. The food was pretty deluxe, and while Adam picked a rock out of his shoe I figured out what he wanted (hot, salty, noodly broth, and a little bit of Coca Cola). I got down some of that delicious broth and soda, along with a wrap of some kind. Less than ten minutes later, we we were on our way again.

Moving toward Maggie-Pole Pass, I was taken by the view, and how there was really no other way to see this than on two feet. I've finished the Imogene Pass Run four times and this altitude is challenging; somehow, though, it felt easier to move when we were almost the only people out there. A few pairs of runners and pacers had passed us earlier but it was pretty much just us, and another runner with her pacer. We flip-flopped with this runner and pacer some through here. By now, we were climbing, the sky was spitting regularly, and Adam and I had put on our rain jackets. The women seemed to do a lot of putting theirs on and taking them off, but we just kept ours on since we were climbing and weather could move in fast. I continued to lead and Adam made some hilariously dry comment with a near-smile about how he felt like his body had been hit with a baseball bat. I replied that if he could even tell me that while continuing to move forward, he was sort of rocking it at this point. After a huge climb we finally dropped down through what I'd describe as the most spectacular field of wildflowers I've ever seen; these things looked unnaturally dayglo in their brightness, but it was all Mother Nature's doing.Then, we were at the Maggie Gulch aid station, roughly 87 miles in. We took less time here, with Adam getting some potato soup and a little more Coke. On we went.

Now, the skies were turning darker and the rain picked up again. We reached the top of the first ridge and it was amazing to look down and see the aid station far below. There wasn't far to go mileage-wise to get to Cunningham, but it was going to be a challenging and time consuming stretch to get there. Coming down some single track trail with a steep dropoff to the right, we stopped and leaned in against the mountain to put on our gloves and allow the two women running near us to pass. As the rain started getting harder and the air grew colder, the pacer in that duo looked at us quite seriously and said "I am SO SCARED." She wasn't kidding; she was petrified, and her runner was now a bit ahead of her down the trail.

Rather than this being a bad distraction, it wound up being a good thing that Adam could tell her it's all good, there's some more open, greener stuff down the trail a bit. Once we hit that greener stuff, the skies opened up fully. The rain then turned to hail, which blew in sideways at our faces. Adam and I aligned the brims of our hats/visors to try to block it, and he made a crack about "Well, there's your Hardrock Moment!" Famous last words as we hit the bottom of that ridge and began climbing the next. We moved along with the other team, and the downpour became even more intense. We joked with the other team, and "Man, that Mother Nature sure is a bitch" and "Okay, we get it, Mother Nature, you're in charge"-type remarks were passed. Climbing again with the rain pouring down, temperature dropping and not a dry spot on our bodies, lightning exploded through the sky. It was frighteningly close to us.

Looking ahead, we could see lots of fog, a shadowy figure crossing the next pass, and several terrified runners and pacers running backwards down the trail toward us. "The lightning hit the pass," said one of the runners. Everyone was shivering, and teeth were chattering. Someone suggested that we all huddle for warmth, so we did that. I'm not an alarmist but it was of immediate concern how cold I was getting so quickly, and that every single one of us was shaking. One runner even said "#uck it, it ain't worth this, I'm quitting and heading down the road to Silverton." "NOOOOOO! You can't do that. You're so close" was the collective group response, but this weather was no joke. We had two bad choices-go over the pass, totally exposed, and risk a lightning strike in a downpour. Choice two, stay put in the middle of nowhere, where hypothermia was certain. I said to Adam that I thought we needed to go for it. Right then, big lightning strike number two happened. It was still pouring. Shit. In a bizarre bit of twisted comic relief in this situation, all I could think of was my friend Cassie. She'd come to my birthday party last year, the one roller derby chick among a whole bunch of runners. "You guys are ALL crazy," she'd said as several of us debated how far was "too far" or what was too extreme for us to race. I also remembered telling Karie I'd get her husband in unscathed and ready to finish his race. I knew the mountains don't care but this was the mountains not caring, and then proceeding to kick the crap out of us.

Before the second lightning strike, it seemed that Adam and I were on the same page with going over the pass rather than staying still, getting colder and becoming hypothermic. After a few more minutes with the skies still unloading on us, but no more lightning in the immediate vicinity (we could see flashes and hear thunder rolls, but it seemed to be moving), we agreed that going for it was best. We were no more protected where we were standing, and getting up and over with less time in the storm seemed to be the best good option. Trying to get other teams to move along with no avail, we started climbing. Visibility was crap, and sometimes we'd have to stop for a minute to look for the little Hardrock 100 trail markers. Soon, though, we were on top of the pass, and the weather was, in context, not as bad as what we'd just experienced. Adam had pick-me-up in his step that I didn't know was possible after almost 90 miles. In a weird way, the intense weather had provide a shot of adrenaline to keep moving as fast as possible.

Descending the pass in the fog, visibility continued to suck. At one point, Adam slid and fell three times in a row, something he hadn't done at all while I'd been pacing. It was very slippery and pretty easy to do now. On the upside, the third slip/slide put him down directly in line with the course marker we'd failed to see until that point. Finally, the downpour let up into some regular old rain and then a drizzle. We encountered some people coming up the trail from the next aid station, Cunningham, and told them that there were a bunch of runners behind us who might wind up needing medical. Just about now, though, we could see them off in the distance, finally making their way over the pass. Relieved, we were able to keep moving knowing that those guys were all going to be okay too. I'd never been close to a serious medical/weather event while running, let alone a potentially life-threatening situation. It felt easy to move now, knowing that all of us who were stuck in the storm were on the way to Cunningham now.

Dropping through the switchbacks on a very steep ridge, Adam was still very light on his feet, and I kept the pace up since he seemed to be moving well. We started hearing his crew and other friends cheering, and eventually got down to the road. Yes! 93.2 miles. Here, Rob would pick up with Adam, getting him through to the finish. After a little more time here to warm up, change clothes, and eat a bit, Adam and Rob took off, and I caught a ride back to Silverton, changing into dry clothes and and getting a bite to eat. Heading to the finish area, we learned that John and Kirk had just finished, and visited with them for awhile. This was Hardrock finish #18 for Kirk, and #1 for John. John had come in so happy and pumped that this would be what the race director remembered of his finish to share with the crowd at the next day's awards ceremony and breakfast. And Kirk, well-that's just plain amazing. This is a guy who would never tell you how good he is at this sport, how many times he's finished the race. It makes it all the more special to be around him and see him get it done yet again.

Rob was to text his wife, Jane, when the men were in town (about two miles away). The distance on the last section to pace was not great, but the effort required to traverse the mountains would be gargantuan. Sometime after 1am, we got the text, and everyone assembled near the finish chute. They texted again a mile out, and we were becoming giddy with excitement, everyone catching a fourth or fifth wind looking for head lamps coming down the road. Then, someone called it-here comes Adam! Then, in a surreal moment, someone else says "Hey! There's a bear!" I didn't quite get it at first. Then, again, "Hey! There's a black bear!! Right THERE!" Turning to the right, half a block away from the finish chute, a massive black bear crossed the street and moved on down the alley. Holy crap! Then, Adam and Rob were THERE. Coming down the block, turning toward the finish chute, Karie followed Adam up to the rock, where he kissed it and then turned around to get a hug and kiss from her. Forty-three hours and four minutes after starting, he was now a Hardrock 100 finisher, starting with 140 runners, and now one of 98 runners to finish.

 His finish also make for a 100% finish rate for the "Junction Boys," an incredible feat given all the things that can go wrong during 100 miles. The two words that came to mind were Freaking Awesome. The training takes a LOT of time. This race takes a lot of time, physicality, mental toughness, patience, and a variety of other factors. Kirk, John, and Adam did it, and it was Freaking Awesome.

After getting a few hours of shuteye, the runners and crews assembled for an awards breakfast during which the race director dressed in a graduation gown, and handed out "Master of Mileage" awards, moving through from the "caboose" or 98th finisher, and working all the way up to runner #1, Hal Koerner, winner of the 2012 Hardrock 100 Mile Endurance Run. It was special every time a runner was honored, and I felt lucky to be there to help them celebrate. I kind of knew a little about the race but being able to pace and then celebrate at the end was something else. I got to see the payoff for all that work, the sacrifice that family and friends make in training and on race day, and got firsthand why a runner would want to do this race.

After the incredible rush of being a part of that weekend, it's been back to business and life as usual, running, training, and getting ready for other things. Is the Hardrock on my list of possible future races? Yes. Very much so. But it'll be first things first now-time on my feet, trails, speed work, and all the basic bread-and-butter running I need to do now to think about running Leadville in 2013, with a goal in mind to finish. If that goes well, I'll make a decision then as to whether bigger and even tougher ultras lie ahead on the trail. Either way, this was an incredible experience at Hardrock. If one ever gets the chance to pace, crew, or spectate/cheerlead, do it. Expect it to be not at all what you expected, and expect it to be amazing.

The West Is The Best: The Western States 100 in Pictures (And A Few Words)

Last weekend, I had the incredible opportunity to travel to the Western States 100, the famed footrace on trails from Squaw Valley, California, to Auburn, California, to be on the race crew for Kami Semick, one of the best ultra runners in the world. I've been told that my posts are sometimes, er...a tad long. Rather than go that route of accounting blow-by-blow, I'm narrowing my photos down to the ten photos which, for me, best embody the spirit of the weekend. So, here they are in no particular order. I have a full album available to view here should one wish to view them.

Never The Same: Thelma & Louise, Mothers Day Mile, Mike The Headless Chicken, & Bolder Boulder

And now I'm never the same

Never the same girl twice

(wanted an excuse to use this wicked cool song and video)

The blog has been on the back burner in recent weeks, with a combination of life with four kids at the end of the school year, and the major event of putting my house on the market, and the ensuing surprise, shock, and relief that we had a buyer after a mere 24 hours in this tough market. Running has been my normal-maker and sanity-keeper through it all, including my creative outlet here on the running bloggeroni. I've been told my blog entries are, erm, a little lengthy at times. I'll do my best here to update on some of the cool recent races I've run, along with what's in store this summer and fall. The races were all very different, and I was never the same at any two races, making a little more progress each time I hit the road.

The Inaugural Thelma & Louise Half Marathon

This fell a mere three weeks after my first 50-miler, and even though recovery seemed to be going well, I just knew going into it that my speed was not back 100%. Still, I resolved to give it the best go possible. I'd been assigned bib #1 for the first annual all women's event, and just tried to appreciate the coolness of the 1/1 thing. I road tripped down with my friend Angela, and we got to spend time hanging out, goofing around in Cisco (a filming location for the movie), and being around the other Girls on the Run Solemates fundraisers in Moab. The energy at this race was fantastic; women from all over the country showed up to run, the course was spectacular, and there were tons of little details in the race itself that paid homage to the movie. The lead vehicle was a convertible with Thelma, Louise, and J.D., a tanker truck sat on the side of the road at one point, and there was even a Jamaican biker leaning on a county police vehicle. There were a lot of strong women running up front; it was pretty amazing to have a good, competitive field at a first-time event for women. 

I realized as I was running that I definitely did not have spring in the legs and speed back 100%. It wasn't going to be a PR day. Still, my mind was willing and focused, and my body, well...all the speed work and longer miles were still going to get me through to the finish with about the best I think I could've hoped for that day. Other than my first-ever shoelace malfunction, I kept chugging along without collapse, and even got into a fun kick to the finish with Jan, one of the ladies who regularly attends track workouts. I crossed the finish line in 1:44:42, 17th overall out of 361, and 4th out of 144 in my age group. Although my competitive side always has me wanting to be at the top of the board, I knew I'd put all my eggs in the 50-miler basket this spring, and really couldn't be disappointed with giving it what I had that day. This was also (no surprise) a fabulously organized event with a lot of FUN built in to the race. The western chuckwagon finish party, music, finish line food and beer, and great door prizes and giveaways concluded another great race by Moab Half Marathon, Ranna, the race crew, and volunteers. I expect this race to grow tremendously as the word gets out; turnout was very high even with several other races were taking place in the region, and with just a few months lead time between the race announcement, and day of the event. It'll be on the calendar next year, and will be a possible Runners World  BQ Babes Reunion race.

Mothers Day Mile

The Mother's Day Mile was a mere 18 hours after the start of Thelma & Louise, over in Glenwood Springs. I'd run it the previous two years, and it's an incredibly positive event, raising money for Advocate Safehouse (protecting against domestic violence), and for HIV positive men and women who are trained as skilled artisans at the Imani Workshops in Kenya. All prizes come from the workshops, with other items for sale, and a silent auction to boot. Pie made from scratch, and small-town bazaar atmosphere make it a great place to take the family for the day. The race itself, an all-out mile on the hilly streets of Glenwood, seals the deal. There aren't many opportunities to race a mile if you're an adult. The fact that it's not "flat and fast," and  is at an elevation of 6000 feet or so, make it a challenge I can't pass up.

Getting up that day, I was pretty sore, tired, and a little lackluster. Luckily, the race doesn't start until 1pm. Driving over, I really wasn't feeling it. I was sleepy and not all that motivated. Mind over matter prevailed, though. I knew it would be fun when we got there. When we arrived, I registered myself, Ava, and Carter, got in some warm-up time, and waited to get my turn in one of four waves. That's another neat aspect of this race-there is a competitive kids wave, an open wave,, a masters wave, and a family fun run/walk wave. It meant that I could watch the kids race and vice-versa, and it  adds a bit of suspense and surprise for racers because overall spots would be contested from all three competitive waves. I watched my kids, and they did great, finishing several minutes faster than the previous year. In true Ava style, my baby girl wore a fancy polka-dotted dress, looking stylish as she trotted to the finish. 

When my turn came to race, I was very antsy and nervous. I didn't know if this was a bad idea, or the  worst idea ever to race a mile right after Thelma & Louise. When the starting gun sounded, a bunch of women were in front of me already and I just shut the brain off from thinking any more. I kicked it into high gear, pushing up the hill at the beginning of the course. I began picking off runners, and fed off that energy. Pitching down a steep hill, I became more confident, as downhill road running is probably what I'm best at as a runner. Moving past more runners, up to the hairpin turn, and back down the road for the finish, I pushed into overdrive, taking a turn for home into the parking lot, and fighting to catch and pass another woman just before the finish. My time of 6:53 was a race PR, and put me 10th woman overall, and third 30-39-year-old woman. I was on a true "runners high" right after, and for the first time, felt back to normal after the 50-miler. I got to hang out with Cheryl, a really speedy friend from nearby Silt who came for the races. With the wave setups we also got to watch Marty win the masters wave, and the overall race win by mere tenths of a second over a runner from the open wave. Mind over matter wound up being a great thing. I was glad in the end that I talked myself in to going to Glenwood. The kids and I had a great time hanging out, and I was pleased with my race.

Mike The Headless Chicken 5K

Only in Colorado do you find festivals celebrating things like frozen dead guys, or in this case, a chicken who survived 18 months after a failed decapitation. This race is pretty strange-it's not some special, magical, scenic course, yet hundreds show up every year to race, some from far away. People run it because, well-it's The Chicken. There are also tractor races, carnival games, a car show, and vendors. It's quite the scene. It's hard to podium at this race, as the only awards given are overall, masters, and typically first and second place in 10-year age groups. This year, as it turned out, they were just doing first finisher in each age group. We had good track group representation in Fruita that morning, and we all set out to warm up together. It felt good, and got everyone energized to race.  I'd never raced with Laetitia, a cool lady who is a newer runner, very competitive, and with a killer work ethic. I was excited she was here today, as well as a number of other butt-kicking ladies like Cheryl, Ali, and Lanie. I knew we'd be pushing one another in the race. Nobody was going to be coasting or giving less than their best. Suzie, who often wins or is in the mix to win stuff locally, was sick, but here to hang and watch.

Lining up and starting, I remembered to warm into my first mile. This doesn't mean take it slow-I went out hard, but didn't way overshoot into Unmaintanable-ville on my pace. Beginning to accelerate gradually, I was able to move up toward the lead string of ladies, and began passing in miles one and two. I had a Garmin on but wasn't looking at it; I just focused on a fast turnover, and passing decisively whenever I got close enough to pass people. Soon I found myself third and could see Cheryl. I felt like I might puke but blocked it out and pushed to keep her in my sights. I wasn't sure where Laetitia, Ali and the others were but knew it wouldn't be far back, and that I couldn't get lazy or let up. Late in the third mile, the course turns and  heads slightly uphill until the final push to the finish. The puke feeling was rising within but I just leaned into it and pretended I didn't feel the overwhelming urge to toss my cookies. Making the last turn for home, I looked down the road, got in my head that there was more to run than I thought, and had what was essentially a 10-second meltdown, letting up a bit before regaining my composure, form, and hard push to the finish. I wasn't going to catch Cheryl but I was going to hang on for third woman in a time of  21:48. This  was a race PR and rank/placement PR after a couple of 5th places, and a 12th place the year prior. I was about ready to fall over when I finished, but walked through the chute and turned around just in time to see Laetitia come flying through, and then Ali for 4th and 5th overall. Angela, who has been at this running thing for less than a year, rocked a huge PR, and charged through the finish looking strong. I had to walk away at one point because I thought I really might barf on Laetitia and her husband Josh's feet (I know, classy), but soon I was able to rejoin everyone and enjoy what was an across-the-board great race for everyone.

Bolder Boulder 10K

The Bolder Boulder is a special race for many reasons. I'd been here three times before, pacing with my oldest daughter Alexis when she was 8 years old back in 2008. I raced it on my own the next two years, and missed 2011 altogether. This time would be special because Carter and Ava would be coming with me, and Ava would be doing her very first Bolder Boulder. Those who have run it know that it's just a great big party on the course, and that there are smaller waves within the race, offering a great experience for everyone from fun walkers to sub-elite runners. I'd be running my race, then getting back to the start to do it again with Ava. Rather than showing up the afternoon prior, a good sized group of us from Grand Junction would be arriving on Friday and Saturday, staying in a home rented to us by Lorraine Moller, the 1992 Olympic Bronze medalist in the marathon. It also brought opportunity to run in Boulder before race day, spend time taking in music and dance at the Boulder Creek festival, and enjoy the company of friends for several days instead of hurrying to get in a run here or chatting briefly at a race there before taking off. The day before the race, we were surprised by a visit from Lorraine at the house, along with her Olympic bronze  medal. Everyone was geeked out, and either tried it on or held and looked at it up close. The level of awesome was off the charts. I was a little nervous about leaving my kids during my race but knew they'd be in great hands with Jan, who would not be running due to injury. Grayson and I made a friendly wager, and determined that the one of us who ran slower would sing the praises of the other's running on Facebook. I felt like I could run a race PR with all the speed work but didn't fixate on certain times.

Race morning began earlier than usual, with my usually fantastic sleepers waking up shortly after 3am. I got them back to sleep, but then I was up. Oh well. I'd raced on less sleep than this. It would be okay. We all piled clown-car style into the van, and somehow Ben, the tallest man in the car, and I, the tallest woman, were the ones who would up riding in the hatchback/trunk. Couldn't do much more than laugh and wonder how the hell I wound up in the trunk of a van. Following some comedic misadventures, we made it to the start in one piece. I said good-bye to my kids, lined up in the B Wave, launching at 7:03am. The call to post sounded on the bugle, and the starting line announcer wished good luck to us "Killer B's" as he called us, starting fourth after the A, AA, and AB waves. Then, we were off. I remembered Lorraine's advice to stay controlled in the first mile, and then let 'er rip. This wasn't a problem because I felt a little off, but could maintain a pace that felt about right. I passed my kids about a half mile past the start, and that motivated me. This course was harder than what I'd last ran, climbing, twisting and turning continuously for 4.5 miles. It's also a little disorienting to be racing a bunch of strangers from all different waves-I had to really concentrate on MY race and feeling my pace.  Soon, though, I found a rhythm. Getting over the big hill on the course, I let myself fly. Looking at my splits later, mile 5 was my fastest of the day. I felt strong, and mostly maintained it into the last 1.2 miles. I hit the finish at 47:00.77, another race PR by 30 seconds. I had hoped for a faster day, but on a more difficult course, I couldn't be too disappointed. The top 15 in each individual age year get awards, something I'd managed once with a 14th place two years prior. Today, my one goal was top-10 for  my age, and I got it on the nose, finishing 10th out of 504 for 38 year old women.Two words-speed work-stood out in my result today.

 I headed back to the start and got to see the race through a different set of eyes-those of my youngest daughter Ava, who likes to hike and run the trails. This is what it was all about-the youngest and oldest participants were in this wave...families, small children, new runners and fitness walkers, people who were not in perfect health or who were overweight yet doing something good and positive for themselves. Learning that this can all be fun, and not intimidating. Ava skipped through sprinklers, took a two minute hula hoop break at someone's "Hula Hoop Station," almost cried when the "Marshmallow Station" ran out seconds before she hit it, and ultimately covered the whole 10K, hand-in-hand with me much of the way. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't awesome, or that I'm not immensely proud of that girl. I'd also entrusted Carter with the one camera we own now, wondering if it might be a mistake. He took his photog duties seriously, though, and had a fun time documenting the race, and our friends at the start and finish. 

ON DECK

With the weekend winding down, the focus this week is, surprisingly, that registration for the Imogene Pass Run is on us yet again. I'm acting as unofficial trail host for a few hours of running this evening on my favorite steady climb, Serpents Trail, and then my friends Elizabeth and Bryan will host runners in their home at midnight as we all log on to register for the race, which is expected to fill almost immediately this year. Rather than trying to stay awake in our own dwellings, this seemed like the way to go. It's going to be fun. This will also kick off a summer of long trail runs, getting into gear for Imogene and other big things on the horizon. I'll be in the support/crew/pacer role at some 100-milers this summer, and I'm very excited to take part, learn, and gain experience that will (hint) help me to be successful at what I'd like to do over a weekend in August 2013 in Leadville as a 40th birthday gift to myself and my kids. Until then, it's one step at a time, and keep chugging on down the trail. 

Our Lips Are Sealed: 50-Mile Race Recovery

The Go-Go's. I'm sorry. Or you're welcome. Maybe a little of each.

I could have written this a week ago and it may have been more entertaining for sheer train wreck value; as it is, it'll probably make more sense today.

My experience two weeks ago was pretty incredible now that I've had time to process all that went on. I'm incredibly thankful for all the pre-race and race day support that helped me to finish the Desert R.A.T.S. 50-miler. While none of the experienced ultra runners I looked to for advice and opinions kept recovery experiences a total secret, it was just not something that came up much. When it did, it was because I asked, and not stuff that was volunteered readily. After the fact, though, it's been good to know that my experience has not been unique, and is nothing which should make me worry. Some of the facts of life of recovery are pretty straightforward and not surprising. Other experiences have been a bit of a surprise. So, without further ado-here are my rules of 50-mile race recovery.

YOUR BRAINS

No, it is not unusual to feel a bit tired and a little bit out-of-sorts for a short time after a good race effort. After longer trail races, like the Imogene Pass Run, or the RedHot 33K and 55K races, I remember that my body was pretty tired, and just wanted rest for a few days. I don't remember, however, any of these races wreaking havoc on my thought processes as the one I ran two weeks ago did for a short time. This was true immediately following the race, when I was so spent that forming basic sentences was a challenge. I'm usually pretty gabby after a race, but simply could not muster more than a few words this time.

 I also did not anticipate that my memory-or lack thereof-was not to be trusted.  I found myself misplacing items on a daily basis in the week following the race. I would repeat conversations with friends, and have no recollection of the original conversation. As one friend pointed out reluctantly but with a laugh-while he was indeed at the finish of my race, he was NOT there at the midpoint even though I have a distinct recollection of his presence. I hallucinated a friend. This was a first. I had another regular training partner tell me a story about repeatedly passing around his belt buckle from a 100-mile race at the office, not realizing he'd already passed it around once. I was supposed to work on some online continuing education in the week post-race as well. This was simply NOT going to happen. My attention span for simple tasks was about the same as that of a house fly.

SLEEPY TIME

Along with logging the miles, and good nutrition, sleep and getting adequate rest is probably the critical third piece of the puzzle when it comes to good running and racing. Sleep is when the body repairs itself, and without adequate sleep, it's not possible to sustain good running long-term. With longer road races and trail races, I've experienced that need after races to sleep more. I thought I knew what was coming this time around, especially with the race day heat. I figured I'd be tired for a week after, but would be able to get through days just fine with added sleep time at night.

What I did not anticipate was needing a nap by 9am every day. I was hydrating and eating well, and having my typical morning coffee. I figured that I would be in that blissed-out, and kinda fatigued zone. It was a surprise that I could barely keep my eyes open by mid-morning. As in-I wanted some serious, deep sleep. My days were spent going through the motions, eagerly anticipating that reasonable evening hour when sleep would be okay and acceptable. Though I had no plans to run early in the morning in the week following the race, there's no way I could have roused myself from bed at 5am if I'd wanted to do so. It felt like I'd reverted to the sleep patterns of an infant; sleep a long time at night, get up for two hours, want a nap that I couldn't take, get to midday, want another nap I couldn't take, then off to bed early. Almost two weeks after the race, I'm feeling much more back to normal, but it was weird for a bit. I don't know how much of this could be attributed to my first-timerness, or the heat, which was unusual even in our high desert, on race day. All I know is that sleep was a valued commodity in the seven days post-race, and that I sought it out whenever possible.

YOUR SPEED

Kiss it good-bye. This was probably the biggest secret of all. Nobody mentioned this to me ahead of time, and had I known, it wouldn't have changed my desire to run 50-miles. This was the big spring race, and something way out of my comfort zone. Getting to the finish was awesome. I did not have a clue, though, that running a slow, steady race for 12 hours would sap all relative speed from my body. It's not like I was running my 5K or 10K pace, or even marathon pace at the Desert R.A.T.S.  

This came up when I showed up at track a few days after the race with no expectations to do the full workout at my top speed. I was just there for the regular routine and habit of speed group, and knew I likely would not do the full workout, and that my pace would be slower than usual.

What I did not expect was beginning the first 400 meter interval, feeling good for about 100 meters, and then immediately decelerating involuntarily. The experienced ultra runners at that night's workout told me that this was normal, and that my typical speed would likely be gone for at least a month, and maybe longer, depending how my recovery went. On one hand, this was frustrating that I couldn't just work hard like usual and magically run my very best at short distances. On the other hand, it was a relief, and gave me permission to be patient and run easy.

FOOD-O-RAMA

Yes, I expected to be extra special hungry in the week after the race. The unexpected part was that I'd have long periods of time when I DIDN'T feel hungry-almost like a switch had been shut off-but when I became hungry, look out. I couldn't get food in the system fast enough. There'd be almost no warning, either. I had to make an effort to keep putting food in my face in small amounts on a regular basis, because if I went by my appetite alone...trouble. And, yes...I did splurge and eat some crap I wouldn't normally, but made a point to balance it out with even more of the good stuff, with lots of deep leafy greens, and fruit.

THE IMMUNE SYSTEM

It will be lacking its usual kick post-race. This is one thing that didn't surprise me, and thus I've been pretty pro-active with how my body has reacted. There was some crud going around town pre-race, and I did feel a little scratchy in the throat the day before the race. A few days later, I had a full-blown sinus infection (I tend to get a few of these a year, but not much else, illness-wise), and was sicker than I'd been in ages. I got into the doctor once I could see that the sinuses were getting worse, and continued to stay on top of rest, hydration, and nutrition. Things are beginning to feel a bit more back-to-normal now.

GENERAL RECOVERY, AND THE ROAD AHEAD

I've gotten a mixed bag of recommendations based on the experiences of other ultra runners as far as how much to run, and how soon I can expect to resume racing again.What I've been learning is that after the initial "walking dead" experience in the first week post-race, there are no hard and fast rules if nothing in the body hurts, and it's just a general feeling of natural fatigue in the body from the effort. I completed runs several days in a row on flat surfaces at an easy pace that lasted no more than 20-30 minutes.My legs frequently felt like jello to start, but more often than not, if I dialed into an easy pace, I'd feel better by the end. I also did some regular hilly hikes, which further aided recovery without causing strain.

This week, I did my first hilly trail run, and while it was very slow, I was able to get through 45 minutes. The climb was hard, and I could feel that I was a bit tense and not freely flowing to start the downhill. Just going through the motions felt good in the end, though. It allowed me to loosen up, and it felt like some of the tight joints and muscles were able to work themselves out a bit. I missed weekly track in this second week post-race due to family commitments, but managed my first road run today with bursts of speed thrown in at the end. I am sure it was slower than normal, but it didn't feel miserable. The run itself lasted about an hour, which was above and beyond what I thought I could do today. It's going to take more time to be fully recovered, but this morning's run was encouraging. 

The next few weeks bring uncharted territory. I'm reverse-tapering up to the Thelma & Louise Half Marathon in eight days. It's a brand-new race, and my first time racing with women only. Two weeks later, I'll be running the Bolder Boulder 10K for the first time since 2010. My track record at this race has been mediocre; while it's not the fast downhill course one finds at the Winter Sun in Moab, I've just never had a "knock one out of the park" experience in Boulder. The plan is to continue the gradual but continuous re-introduction of time on feet, and general fast running. If all goes well, I might be able to capitalize on good endurance coupled with a strategic reverse taper for shorter, faster races. Until then, I will continue this exercise in patience, knocking out the slower miles and finding satisfaction in being able to run for simple enjoyment in the meantime.