Always Climbing

It's been so long since I updated this blog, I'm not quite sure where to begin. I suppose a painting that's become near and dear to my heart is as good as any.

It sits on top of the block shelves at yoga:Vinyassa. If such a title existed, I'd be "Senior Cleaner" there. For the past two years, I've cleaned the studio in exchange for class credits. It's honestly a pretty sweet deal. Even when it's super-schweaty in there, it's a pretty darn clean place to clean. I find something very zen and calming in being in there in relative silence. It's a good place to think about important things, or think of nothing at all. I haven't had time to practice lately, and I miss it, but the class credits will be there for me when I have opportunity to do so.

One day this spring, the painting appeared. It was painted by a former instructor at the studio. And it perfectly expresses everything I've been going through lately, but can't quite put into words.

Sometimes it's hard to move forward and upward. It's freeing, though, to realize you CAN do it. Sometimes it does mean crawling on hands and knees. Other times, it means grabbing that hand that reaches out to pull you up out of a slippery spot, or keep you from tumbling down the mountain. And, it feels glorious to climb toward amazing things and realize, hey, I CAN do this.

That's in the figurative, and in the literal sense. A week ago, I was reminded that I hadn't used my race benefit for July that I receive through my job. At nearly the same time, a friend texted to ask if I'd like to carpool to a run in Silverton-one of those long-running yet still fairly under-the-radar mountain races. We'd have to leave at 4am. It just felt like one of those tough, beautiful runs that was meant to be. And, it was.

We climbed from town, literally under the clouds and then up above them, six miles and about 4000 feet to the summit. At the top, there was a 250 foot scramble to the summit, with traffic going both ways, and runners taking care to help and encourage one another, as well as being careful to not send a rock tumbling down the steep slope into another participant. The view straight up to the blue skies at the bottom of the climb, line of runners working their way upward, may have been the best running moment I've experienced since taking up the sport (and, there have been many). This is why I do this.

On the way down, I met a sixty-something runner from Cortez named David. Our conversation flowed naturally, and we agreed we'd pace together on the downhill. Downhill trail running can be deceptively challenging. I've struggled with it for years. Today, though, the running flowed right down the mountain and back into Silverton. There was a lot of joy in pushing through the climb, and then feeling truly free to open up on the downhill. There was joy in sharing that energy with others, celebrating and cheering on others who hadn't yet reached the summit, and later on, those who had gone down and were headed back up for the "K2" or second summit. I thought, "that's so hard. Why?" Then, I felt silly for thinking that. In that struggle to climb the mountain, there's joy, glory, beauty. Lots of pain, yes, but above all, a sense of satisfaction and well-being that comes from pushing through it all.

I can't tell you where I will be a year from now, but I can tell you I will always be climbing. That doesn't mean I won't backslide and fall sometimes. I'll take a moment to regroup, though, and continue moving forward.

I'm thankful for some great opportunities that have come my way this year. I've been working at the same chiropractic clinic for six months now. I love that we get to help people improve, and reach their goals of being more active. And, when I hear folks who don't have running-friendly or outdoors-exploring-friendly workplaces, I'm stoked that I am somewhere that has an Outdoor Awesomeness Team, and a supportive environment to such pursuits. In that climb, I'm learning more every day, sometimes wishing I could pick things up faster. I've learned a lot in a short time, though, and know I can keep moving with that.

I'm thankful that despite it being a long shot with the number of applicants, I was selected as an ambassador with InkNBurn. I've always loved their gear-beautiful, artistic, yet fully functional, beat-the-crap-out-of-it-and-it'll-still-hold-up running apparel. They do have some elite athletes, but I'm just a gal who likes to run, and that's the deal with all the ambassadors. Folks who love to run, love to climb, and some have struggled in their climbs, but continued onward and upward. Jeez, they make a shirt with the father of ultrarunning, Gordy Ansleigh, on the front, AND my favorite running shorts of all time, my "technical Daisy Dukes" as I call them. I feel stronger and tougher climbing in their stuff, and it's cool to get to represent the brand.

I'm thankful that my kids are still very healthy and keeping me on my toes. It's true that there's no handbook for parenting but I love spending time with them-individually, and as a group. I'm really proud of them, and just want to keep nurturing the things about them that make them, well...them. Sure, some days I wonder if I am doing the right things with them or if I'm just backsliding down a hill. Then, I learn to stop second-guessing, and just keep moving, trying to make good decisions, but keep taking steps forward with them. And, I try to remember it's okay and even good for them to see that it's not easy to keep climbing, but that you don't curl up in the fetal position and quit after a fall.

And I'm thankful for friends who reach out with that helping hand. Sometimes, I take it (and really need it). Other times, just knowing that hand is there really frees me up to advance and climb on my own. Other times, just talking through things and climbing together with others is just the ticket. Then, I, in turn, have those moments where I can reach out that helping hand, and help someone else climb with less of a struggle.

I'm far from having it all figured out, but I do know this; I'm no longer intimidated by tough climbs. No matter how long they are, or how steep they are, I will take them one mile at a time, one step at a time, and keep climbing to the top. It may take some time, but I'll get there.

**Lastly...if you have not read it, I implore you to read The Oatmeal's "The Terrible And Wonderful Reasons Why I Run Long Distances." If I could be half as funny, honest and eloquent as Mr. Inman, I'd be doing okay.**

Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In): The RedHot and Beyond

(One of the best movie scenes ever, which inspired my best Halloween costume ever-the "Gutterballs" scene/dream sequence in The Big Lebowski. I'm not a fan of musical interludes unless it's as wildly fantastic as this.)


 I've spent a lot of this winter bitching about the cold. I know it hasn't been as cold as it can be in other places, I need to toughen up, blah blah blah. But, that said-it was pretty freaking cold, snowy, icy-just plain yucky-a lot of the time. To be fair, the few folks I knew who did make a point to get out seemed to be able to log nowhere near what they would have liked to be doing, and often seemed to be getting hurt slogging out there. This was the polar opposite, quite literally, of last winter, when there was minimal snow, mild temperatures ruled, and I was able to log long runs every weekend in preparation for the Moab RedHot 55K, and later the Desert RATS 50 miler.

A year later, though, my long runs were looking pretty sparse and lame. I'd managed to amass one 4-hour photorun/hike, and participated in the s#it show that was the Bangs Canyon 30K, in which I had the dubious distinction of being one of several runners who should've known better, but managed to get dehydrated and not eat enough. This was hardly looking like the kind of training I needed for 34 miles.

 In the two weeks prior, I was very, very close to not doing the long course in Moab. The 33K was an option, and I had all but decided to downshift to that. I'd been having a pinchy hip issue, and figured there was just no way I was going to be able to get through 55K without considerable misery. Most running friends said do whatever you feel, but I had the one who said "You're doing Leadville, why wouldn't you do the 55K? Just treat it as a training run." There had been a tiny, nagging voice in my head, and he was pretty much articulating what that voice was saying. With that, somehow my perspective changed from "this is going to be a shitty death march" to "Oh....you're right. A training run! In beautiful Moab!" It wasn't going to be a PR kind of day, and in deciding to stick with the 55K, I knew it likely meant a PW (personal worst) kind of day. But, there was freedom in taking that pressure off, and just doing the long course just for the sake of enjoyment and training.

 Heading down to Moab, I was prepared to have the race suck at some point, and was ready to embrace the suck. I had also embraced the "if you can't be well-trained, at least you can be well-rested" mantra. I rested my tweaky hip for several days pre-race, and actually hadn't even done a long run the week prior, instead pouring myself into other work and pressing matters. This could've been a terrible idea, but I found myself with very good energy levels as I rolled into town with friends on Friday. With this being my fourth time at the event, and it being a pretty chill deal in general, I just seemed to be in a "whatever-it's all good" mindset.

This carried right over into the next day, and I showed up at the starting line ready to enjoy myself. I headed out with my friend Jen, whom I've known for years after "meeting" her on the various RWOL forums. We were kind of in the same shape today-not trained up like we'd like to be, but enough endurance that we'd probably be able to pull off a slow run today. Climbing the first hill, I felt my first hint of optimism that today might not suck when I realized we'd chatted all the way up the hill right off the start, and wasn't dying. I felt pretty fan-freaking-tastic, actually. My watch was on but I had no plans to really look at it much.

We made our way from the four-mile cutoff up to the right and began the 14-mile loop that would eventually come back and join the route the 33K runners would take straight through. This is actually the easier part of the entire route, which made it a great first ultra for me in 2011 after completing the 33K in 2010. Jen and I had not planned to run side by side, but it was just working out today that we were sticking together through the first ten miles. You know you're probably feeling decent if you're able to spend time catching up with someone, and not thinking "gawd, when is this hell going to be over?" I used this energy to just stay in the moment and not even allow myself to worry or think ahead. Eventually, Jen started pulling away, but I didn't really feel "alone." It was a gorgeous day out here. The stress of my impending divorce and all its implications have been weighing heavily on me, but today, it didn't matter. I felt light-buoyant, even.

Continuing around the loop, I had a weird mental break and thought I had to make it to the 18-mile cutoff by noon rather than 12:30. This caused me to push myself a little harder around miles 13-16. By then, I realized I had plenty of time, even if the cutoff had been noon. In a way, this little snafu was a good thing. The little surge got me down the trail a bit faster, and was a good diversion in the middle of the race.

Coming down the hill to the cutoff, it was like sliding through wet cement. I should've been flying through this, as a strong downhiller, but it was just sloppy. I made it past the cutoff, and instantly felt a bit lighter. That was the only bit of pressure hanging over my head today; worry about getting pulled from the course for getting to the cutoff too slowly. Now began the climb.

The next handful of miles consist mainly of relentless climbs, and up-and-down, banking stretches of slick rock. I remember how much I dreaded it the first year; I've gotten more used to this kind of thing, though, and actually enjoy it more now. I moved along, talking to folks, sharing miles with people here and there. Aid station #4 came along, and I felt pretty good. I was fully expecting to run out of fuel at some point, and was embracing that idea of pain, whenever it came. I was getting tired, but that pain was nowhere to be found. It was a spectacularly gorgeous day-probably the best weather I'd experienced here. I looked around and felt truly lucky to be able to complete such an event, and to be in Moab with like-minded people who just GET IT, no explanations necessary.

I hit the last aid station, fueled up, and with that, I realized that yep, it was happening today, and yep, I was wise to listen to my own voice, and that one friend who gave me the little push toward the 55K. I surely would've run a more competitive time in the 33K, but it would have been totally inside my comfort zone with no room for growth. This, today, was a much scarier proposition, and now I was so thankful I'd gone ahead with the "scary" thing. I wasn't sure what kind of condition I'd be in at the end of this race, but I definitely didn't think it would be this good.

 Late in the race, I started focusing on two things to get me through. One, being able to tell my kids that mom didn't wimp out, and made it all the way through. The other was to try to get in before awards started. Our friend Kevin won this race last year, and I knew he'd be a contender again. Our friend Marty had a tough day here last year on the long course but was running the 33K this year, and in good shape for it. I wanted to push along to get in with enough time to see the awards ceremony, and see if they, or other folks I knew, had nabbed hardware. This mindset worked great through about mile 30. By then, I started to get REALLY tired. To think, though, that I was still enjoying myself-this was AWESOME. Again, I felt light on my feet, even if they were moving along very slowly now.

Coming down the series of rocky switchbacks toward the finish, I was excited. It was looking like I was going to run a personal worst, but by mere minutes off my first run here, when I was well-trained. In being realistic, and finding an even level of effort appropriate to the way the winter had gone, I was getting it done. Making the last turn and heading in to the finish, I figured I'd missed awards, but it was all good. I came across the line and the friends started to wander over. It seemed that everyone had really enjoyed themselves-my race roommates Jason and "Mr. Pants (John Bagge, AKA Bagge Pants)" had a good time out there, and Jen had kept on trucking along, finishing about forty minutes ahead of me.

And, I hadn't missed awards after all, and was able to catch all that action. In a bit of a reversal from last year, Kevin had gone out balls-out, racing with a lead pack that broke the course record, only to blow up and drop back to 12th overall. It was a gutsy run but just didn't pan out today the way it did a year ago with his perfectly executed race a year prior. Marty, who blew up 20-something miles into the 55K last year, knocked out a rock-solid 33K this time around, and came in 2nd Master and 9th overall in a loaded field. Just goes to show that no matter your level, pace, or experience as a runner, we all have good days and bad days. You don't throw in the towel after the bad days, and you celebrate when a good day and good race comes together.

Since then, I've been trying to take that confidence I got in finishing this year's RedHot, and channel it toward my ultimate goal this year-completing the Leadville Trail 100 under the 30 hour time limit. Between lack of funds, feeling under-trained in the early season, and, well, lack of funds, I'd planned to skip the Desert RATS Trailrunning Festival, or else just do the 25 Miler. Well, sometimes circumstances intervene in a good way. My boss at my part-time job in a chiropractic clinic in town is a huge supporter of our running and triathlon community, to the point where one of my employment benefits is allotments toward entries in local and regional races. Besides that, he likes to get active and involved in races. Talking about the Desert RATS event, we figured out that we both wanted to run (he's doing the half), and I got him contact information for the race director to look into having a booth there. Well, due to permits, he can't do a booth, but the race director said he'd comp us entries for working aid stations. Me? Happy dance! That's a $110 entry fee, covered for helping out others. And, rather than living in 25-mile Comfort Zone Land, I'm going to embrace the pain that might await me in the 50. It probably won't kill me and it sure as hell will make me stronger. And that is a good thing going into Leadville and beyond.



.

Lack Of Water: The Bangs Canyon 60K/30K Trail Run

Shelter is a place
That I would like to behold
Better get to getting
Before I get old 

The Bangs Canyon Trail Run, Fatass, whatever you like to call it, is an old tradition that was off for a few years locally. Then, Kevin Koch picked up race directing for it a few years ago, and a great post-New Year's tradition was back. This first year he threw it, I wasn't there, but it sounded like fun. As I mentioned in last year's recap of this race, a Fatass, in trail running terms, is a very low-key, no-frills longer trail race, commonly held just after the start of a new year. But, Kevin's version is definitely a some-frills variety. He marks the course the day before, provides you with a trail map, and brings out a fire pit, beer, and snacks to the Bangs Canyon parking lot. This year, our friend Ray was also bringing a tent up so if runners chose, their kids could come along and play. I did a decent job at this last year, finishing around 3:57. I didn't anticipate breaking four hours then, so I was pretty stoked about that. This year, I figured with my increased volume and better trail feet, I'd turn in an even faster time.

Since the new year, I've been running, but haven't really run longer than about 12 miles in the past few weeks. My fitness seemed good, though, and there's a lot of hiking on the second half of the 30K loop, so I figured, hey. I'm golden for a good power hike. I slept fairly late that morning, ran into Angela and Kristin at the nearby Albertsons parking lot where I'd just bought some bananas, and headed up Little Park Road to Bangs Canyon. There are multiple trailheads off this road, and we climbed and twisted up the road for about ten minutes before arriving at the Bangs parking lot. It's been bitterly cold lately, and today was no exception. Still, the sun was out and looked like it would be a good day for a run. The lot was covered in snow, and I knew the trail would be as well.

The other big thing that happened recently is that I registered for the Leadville Trail 100. It's in seven months, which gives me plenty of time to build my mileage base steadily but gradually. When Kevin saw me walking up, he said "Here's our first 60K entrant!" I laughed it off. Nope, not ready for that today. I'd been in kind of a hurry getting out the door and did not grab gels or food for the run. I didn't really think I'd need them; the year prior I didn't have a ton of water, and had maybe a gel and was fine. I figured I should probably have a banana, though, and shoveled one down.

 I got my pack ready, and a lot of the usual suspects started arriving. While this is officially a 30K and 60K, Kevin records times for whomever shows up, at whatever distance they run. Hence, it's a "the more the merrier" vibe with some newer or shorter distance running folks coming out who might not otherwise be there, planning on everything from 6 miles up to about 16 miles, the distance covered if one runs all the way down to the river's edge at the bottom of the loop, and then runs back up the same way they came.

Everyone was pretty darn chilly, so we were excited to get the group photo taken and get this sucker underway. I had my Nathan pack about 2/3 full, which seemed just about right for a run under four hours.

Then, we grouped up together (I'm not sure you'd say we "lined up"...it's early, people), and Kevin sent us on our way. 

On the way down the hill, there was a lot of chatter, and I felt pretty good. I was by myself some of the time, but also talked to folks along the way whenever we passed one another. All the snow had kind of evened things out. I'm stronger on downhills than uphills, and I felt like i was mostly flowing down the trail, but did have some slips and slides in the snow. Keith (she's a chick) caught up and passed me a few miles in. My friend Jen from Delta also caught up and moved past. We said howdy before she moved along. 

I was just behind neighbor Bryan, dropping further back on climbs, and usually catching almost all the way back up to him on downhills. And Marty, who wasn't even sure if he was running down to the river or all the way around, had decided to run with a 40-lb pack with sand tubes inside it (a sandbagger, literally), and fun-photo-run until he decided not to run. I leapfrogged him a number of times as he stopped for pics.

Lack of water
Got to free yourself
Maybe I'm to blame
But it's not too far to see

Getting all the way down to the river, I was feeling warmed up, and now I was thirsty. I realized I had not had a single sip of water all the way down; I just hadn't felt thirsty. Now, I was sweating, and had some serious hairsicles. Whoops. That was sort of a dumbass move to not drink for eight miles. I went to sip on the end of the line to my pack, and-nothing. I tried again. Nothing. Well, shit. While water was sloshing around in my pack, the line was frozen. This might be a problem.

As I moved along the river, I made one brief wrong turn but immediately corrected myself, running into Shannon and Marty when I found my way back to the trail. I said "my line's frozen." Marty said here, take this, offering a handheld about 1/3 full of Perpetuem. Don't you need that, I asked? Nah, I have another, he said. I didn't give it a second thought in accepting the bottle, then, knowing he had another. He's so damn fast and strong I figured he'd probably pick up the pace shortly and haul buns in to the finish. We leapfrogged once more (we think maybe I took an accidental parallel turn), and then they were gone. I had guzzled the Perpetuem and felt like crap now trying to slog uphill in the snow. I was super thirsty and started scooping up handfuls of snow and sucked on that as I hiked up.

Somewhere along the way, I had what could best be described as a series of unpleasant texts that further soured how I was feeling. I tried to block that out of my mind, and kept moving, but there was no denying that I felt like shit. It was beautiful out, though, so I tried to focus my energy on that, and not feeling terrible. At one point, I turned around, and was surprised to see that John was back there. When he eventually reached me, he said he was self-appointed sweeper for the day, and started moving along with me, saying it would suck to do this hard by myself. He was right, and I was glad he was there. He helped me get some water poured out of my pack into the handheld, and I immediately guzzled that, filling it back up right away. He also had some gels on hand, which I happily scarfed down when he offered them. All the while, I felt kind of like a dumbass. I should know better than to be out here with no calories to consume. Even the rest of the bunch of bananas would've been something. I'd left them in the car, though. I hadn't expected to get this worn out or dehydrated on such a cold day.

Continuing along, I realized I would come nowhere close to my 3:57 finish last year. John trotted ahead for awhile, but he'd drawn some funny pictures in the snow and written words here and there with his trekking poles, which was rather amusing and kept me focused. Finally, we hit the high point, and the trail started meandering downhill. Thank you! Finally! I felt marginally better, but still like crap. The downhill helped, though, to not blow all that was left of my energy.

I followed John all the way down before the trail starts climbing again, where we ran into his wife, Julie. PHEW! I was starting to worry, she said to John. He said nah, I'm fine, just appointed myself sweeper and taking it easy. I told Julie I was lucky he did, because he really pushed me along there for awhile, and bailed me out on water and gels. She mentioned that she had just given Marty some water, and that he wasn't looking good, either. Wait, what? I was not expecting to hear that the guy who ran three hundred-milers last fall, and wins almost everything he enters, was still on the course, let alone in bad shape. I figured he was likely done by now, though, with just a mile of uphill left. John and Julie went down the trail a bit to hang out and hike and I continued on uphill. Not too far ahead, I was totally surprised to completely catch up to Marty, who was alternately hunching over, and walking very, very slowly. 

The first thing he said when I caught up was "Do you have any food?" No, I said. But, I have a full handheld of water. Here, I said, passing it over. He took a good swig but then asked me to take it back and hold it for him. Wow, he was in really bad shape. We kept crawling slowly up the canyon and I was glad we were almost done. I kept offering the water since I wasn't sure he'd remember to ask for it. Every once in awhile he'd stop, but did keep moving. When we got to about half a mile from the finish, I asked where his stuff was in his car so I could trot on ahead, and have his food waiting at the campfire, and brought the handheld with me to run back down. He'd guzzled it. I came up the hill, Kevin saw me, got up, and took a picture after I'd finished. Last year, 3:57. This year, a sucktastic 5:03. But hey. I made a bunch of dumbass mistakes and was done. He cracked "just one more lap to go!" I think you can tell by the look of this that there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that I was getting out there again.

From there, though, I didn't sit down right away, running over to grab Marty's stuff, and handing Bryan the empty handheld which he then filled and ran back down to him. I grabbed a few bananas from his bag and ran back down the trail. He was moving really slowly, but despite that, didn't want to take off the pack. He scarfed the bananas, and made a couple of not-fit-for-print comments about his hunger level. Sense of humor was still intact, though, and we all walked up the hill and on in to the finish. I am pretty sure that was a first for him-a legitimate dead last finish. He'd made more or less the same dumbass mistake I had, but on a grander scale with the pack, and the running back and forth, adding extra distance to his run, at "normal people" speed and not fast guy speed.

Recharging by the fire, I scarfed down some of Ray's most awesome beans, and watched my youngest playing with some of the other kids in the snow. By the time I got on dry clothes, and had eaten plenty of food, I was feeling far more human. My middle daughter Kaia also arrived, which was great.

After the race, I was sort of dumbfounded as to how someone like me, who should know WAY better, managed to get herself dehydrated in this race. Other people said this was a hard day for them, too-that they worked harder and drank more than expected. Thinking back to the conditions the year prior, it had been warmer, overcast, and just a few patches of snow on the trail here and there. With the low temperatures, sun, and snow all the way through, i guess we were just expending a lot more energy. And, thus, needed to be taking in even more calories and water. To be fair, I'd skimped a bit last year on that, and really just got lucky because of the conditions.

On the upside of things, I got myself a good learning experience. And, it was on a day when really nothing was at stake. I thanked my lucky stars that John had been out there to help me along; it would've been worse had he not decided to have a trail enjoyment stroll. And, I can say thank goodness there's seven months until Leadville; I have a great deal of work to do between now and then. Until then, I will keep training, increasing the miles, and trusting the process along the way.

*******

***Most local friends know by now, but there was tragic accident that took place on the Grand Mesa at the County Line cross country ski trailhead parking lot on the same day and during the timeframe of our Bangs Canyon run. This accident claimed the lives of Julie's parents/John's in-laws, who were up there to enjoy a cross country ski, where many of us also enjoy skiing and snowshoeing. Please keep their family in your thoughts, and if you're the praying type, please send them prayers as they deal with their loss and grief. Live and love each day to the fullest, and hold close those who matter most in your life.***

Oh, The Places You'll Go: The Year That Was.

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You're off to Great Places!
You're off and away!

Last fall, I ventured out with my kids to a Dr. Seuss bonfire, hosted by running friends Mike and Julie at their place in Olathe, about an hour from my home. Kaia and Carter had a great time reading the books they'd brought along with all the adults listening attentively. The highlight of the night, though, was Mike reading "Oh, The Places You'll Go," giving note to the uninitiated that the book sort of has cult status in ultra running circles.  With the fire pit sparking and warming us, we were treated to the coolest reading of a night full of cool Dr. Seuss readings. If one did not understand why another might find deep satisfaction in this pursuit, I think Mike cleared it up pretty well that night.

 As 2012 played itself out, my running organically evolved into my first real foray into ultra running, and with it, the limits I'd placed on myself fell one by one. And it seems only fitting that I recall the things I saw, places I went, people I met, and all other great experiences via this great piece of children's literature.

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You're on your own.  And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who'll decide where to go.

 You're lighter if you leave the chains, buffalo pelts, and other such accoutrements at your vehicle. And if you want to be the only dude who runs 30 miles, well, there will be folks who are happy to drink beer, warm up by the fire, and wait for you at the finish while you steer yourself along on the trails. 

Run your own race, at your pace. It'll carry you all the way through 34 miles, whether it's a first-time ultra finish, or a dark horse win. 

Out there things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and footsy as you.

When a kickass outdoor and sports photographer calls for trail runners to shoot, you put your name in the hat. You just do. Even if you have no idea what you're doing. At a minimum, you get a cool experience, some great photos, and a bit of money. And, sometimes really cool things happen, like that kickass photographer gets a picture of your friend during the shoot that winds up on a magazine cover. And, let's be honest. It's fun to get to play the the superhero version of yourself, if only in photographs.

And if you meet someone at a race with whom you become friendly, and eventually she says "Hey, would you like to be sponsored by a hat company I represent?" You say yes. Especially when the hats are awesome, and it's owned, operated and marketed by some fabulous outdoorsy women stateside. (Thank you Paige, Kim, and WizBang!)

Then, you'll find yourself in Boulder for the annual 10K there. Your two younger kids come along too, and you stay in a house with a bunch of your friends also running the race. And it just so happens that the place randomly found on Craigslist is owned by an Olympian. A marathon runner. This is cool. But then she stops by to say hello to everybody and introduce herself. Then, out of the bright fabric purse/bag she's carrying, she pulls an Olympic bronze medal and asks if folks would like to see it. You can't get that thing off your son's neck.

(Lorraine Moller, a 4-time Olympian for New Zealand, winner of the '84 Boston Marathon, and bronze medalist at the Barcelona Olympics. She is the mom to a 10-year-old daughter, and is still involved in the sport as a running coach.)

And when things start to happen,
don't worry.  Don't stew.
Just go right along.
You'll start happening too.

50 miles is a long way in the brain if you've never run it before. But just keep logging the training miles, and if you're local, run that course every weekend if possible. Practice your nutrition, consider all the what-ifs. You might be one of the last ones out there, but you'll still be out there, happening. One of 29 men and 5 women who were happening in the blistering heat. And you might just have some support from some pretty awesome friends who knew what a big deal this was to you.

You'll be on your way up!
You'll be seeing great sights!
You'll join the high fliers
who soar to high heights.

So there's a little race in California called the Western States 100. It used to be on horseback only. Then this guy named Gordy had a horse go lame in the race, so he finished it on foot. And thus, ultra running as we know it was born. Fast forward...your friend the immigration attorney in New Hampshire has a few pacing and crewing opportunities available to you, and some other solid runners, with a couple of the best female ultrarunners in the world. You say yes to the chance and road trip west, catching views of the starriest skies you've ever seen in the middle of nowhere, Nevada. Then the incredibly blue waters of Lake Tahoe. Then you get to Squaw Valley, meet incredible athletes from all over the world, and work to help them realize their goals on little to no sleep. And it's amazing. Some succeed, while others are unsuccessful. You start to understand the "why" of the sport. 

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted.  But mostly they're darked.
A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out?  Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?

Then, with that experience complete, you are excited to do it again. When friends need help in Silverton, in Leadville, and in Steamboat, you go. There's a hellfire-and-brimstone thunderstorm at one. You and your runner consider whether you'd rather die by hypothermia or lightning strike. Your runner lays down and threatens to quit at another. And at a third, your runner is trucking along fine except when he gets lost, and is trying to not succumb to the warm fire that claimed many an overnight runner who just wanted to get a bit warm only to not start again. You're so comfortable now with crewing that you're that girl in the sleeping bag in the bushes, comfortably sleeping away until your runner gets there. And you're never quite in a deep sleep because you know your runner is probably coming in to the aid station soon.

At two of these races, you see a local finish who has won in Leadville, and in Silverton. He ran with you and your friend while training for your second and her first ultra, and never, ever made you feel like a noobish loser. Rather, he was happy to have company on the run, and if you asked for advice, yeah, he'd share. But you'd never guess what a rock star he was. Oh, and he's finished Leadville and Hardrock 18 times apiece. No bigs.

Oh, the places you'll go! There is fun to be done!
There are points to be scored.  there are games to be won.
And the magical things you can do with that ball
will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame!  You'll be famous as famous can be,
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

And you become aware of The Tony. And decide you liked The Tony. Not in a creepy, stalkerish way, or anything. You simply admire his running. Your friends start thinking The Tony thing is funny so they tackle him and get you a picture with him in Leadville. Because that's not weird at all.

(props to all the elite ultra runners above...Anna Frost, in the pink jacket, working her butt off crewing and pacing for Salomon runners in Leadville, and Hardrock. She paced the winner, Thomas Lorblanchet, in his run which wound up being one of the fastest in Leadville history. Scott Jurek, pacing Tony, center. He was a genuine friendly guy when we asked to get a picture with him at Leadville, got one on his own camera, and tweeted this to his fan base. Joe Grant, in yellow, at bottom, racing at Hardrock. Joe finished second and ran the fourth fastest time in Hardrock history, behind winner Hal Koerner who ran the third fastest time.)

I'm afraid that some times
you'll play lonely games too.
Games you can't win
'cause you'll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something
you'll be quite a lot.

And there will be a few times you just won't quite nail it. Or just totally miss the target. The inaugural Thelma & Louise Half is just a bit too soon after the 50-miler to have full speed back. Hoping to podium here, it doesn't happen. It's still a great time running an all-women's race for the first time.

The Rim Rock Marathon proves to be easily the greatest disappointment of the running year. A course you've always run strong, and almost won once. A marathon PR was set here another year. This time, it's a brutal slog through wind, snow, and frigid temperatures. When your park ranger buddy high-fives you at the Visitor Center, it's one of the only things that keeps you moving on the way to a PW (personal worst) in the marathon, and failure to run a Boston Marathon qualifying standard. Only other time that happened was the five second miss in marathon number one. Despite the disappointment, it's something that motivates you to work harder and do better the next time at handling bad conditions.

On and on you will hike

and I know you'll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.

That race, Imogene. A woman's name, they say. She's been a bitch to you the past four years, or perhaps you didn't know how to handle her. After trying hard and specifically every year to run the 17 mile race in under four hours, you didn't have any official strategy or formal training plan to accomplish the goal this year. This time, though, things are different. The 50-miler, the pacing through the night at Leadville, the speed work for almost a year with friends who motivate you...somehow, this was going to be the year. It just was, and you seemed to actually know it this time. 

When it didn't seem like it was going to happen for the first 13 or so miles, you didn't panic. You were just excited that it was still going to be your best run here, even if it had a 4: at the front of the time. And then you realized with just a few miles left that it could be done in 3: something. But you're going to have to be all-out for three miles, so all-out you run, and clear that four hour hurdle by several minutes. When a lot of things have come more easily in running, but this deal has always been a "how can I f#ck this up" kind of endeavor, it's a special day when you're there with your friends for the sub-4. Some of them wound up on the podium, and some of them finished for the first time. It's a beautiful day.

You'll also throw a few special running events-not "proper" races, mind you, but stuff that sounded like fun, and a good opportunity to train as a group. For six hours, you'll go up and down on Serpents Trail. Then, coming back from Western States on no sleep, there's a conversation that starts something like this. "You know what would be cool? A six hour run. In the desert. With a gong." So you go on an excellent adventure to locate a gong. Eventually, you own a share of a gong with your two other friends and race-throwers. It's absurd, and it's awesome. The gong rotates from house to house, and sort of takes on a life of its own. It goes to races. Everybody gets to enjoy its sound at the start of the Winter Sun, and later on at the awards. Oh, and you find out that you've got some darn competitive and fast friends, even when they're having a beer or a shot, every quarter mile. You also learn that it's probably not a great idea to compete in both beer and shot divisions at the same event; still, you have fun, and everybody just laughs about the post-run silliness. One of your friends who was instrumental in pulling of these events almost didn't get out of her car at her first speed work session a year ago-now it's like she's been part of all the craziness for years. And that's cool.

You'll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know.
You'll get mixed up
with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life's
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)

You'll have two hard-fought podium finishes in the last year of your 30s, coming back from an absolutely terrible run at The Other Half the year prior to finish third. And wind up being the runner featured in the race program-an honor that feels really special when you have a special affinity for a race that was your first half, and where you first proved to yourself that yes, 13.1 is NOT too far for you to go. And that you've come a long way since then. For the last trip of the year to Moab, at the Winter Sun, it's clear that making the podium is going to be harder this year than ever before. Laying it all out there, you run your second best time at the race and squeak into 3rd at age 39 in the 30-39 ladies, in a time a few seconds faster than what won you the age group the year before. It feels really good to have fought hard and raced smart. This was no cake walk. Your friends clean up big time, too. People set PRs, and there's a lot of "from Grand Junction" during awards.

KID, YOU'LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!

There were many other places I went, people I met, and other moments of awesomeness throughout the year. Some strange, yet cool, birds, certainly populate our sport. It's always great to feed into that positive and maybe a little crazy energy. You stop thinking about what you can't do, and focus on what you CAN do...put one foot in front of the other. It's pretty simple. Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. And never mix up your right foot from left. Get out on the trails, or take to the streets (the roads really aren't evil; and I still love those Moab races very much). Because...

be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O'Shea,
you're off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So...get on your way!