You Can't Rollerskate In a Buffalo Herd: The 39th Annual Imogene Pass Run

All you gotta do is put your mind to it

Just knuckle down, buckle down, do it do it do it!

Last weekend marked the fifth time I headed two hours south for the Imogene Pass Run, a 17.1 mile race which begins at 7800 feet on the main drag in Ouray, climbs 10 miles to the summit of Imogene Pass at 13, 114 feet, and then descends 7.1 miles to the finish line in Telluride. The race has been a puzzle I'd failed to successfully solve in prior years. It's said that one's marathon time should be fairly equivalent to an Imogene finish time, and for many others, this is true. The best trail runners can hit this race even harder and faster than what they'd accomplish in a road marathon. 

For me, as a stronger road runner, though, the race has been fraught with mishaps, spills, tentative feet on the mountain, and times 45 minutes to an hour slower than my best road marathon times. Each year, it was frustrating, to say the least. The only time I've ever broken down in tears after a race was at the finish of the 2010 Imogene Pass Run, when I'd hoped to finally break the four hour mark but wiped out, ripped flesh, side stitched, and gimped on in to the finish nearly 15 minutes slower than my 4:14 PR the year prior. I'd wanted so badly to do well, had a good training work ethic, and it was just so damn frustrating that I couldn't seem to make my feet as fast and steady here as I could nearly anywhere else.

This year, I came into the race in an oddly zen state of mind, feeling very confident about my chances. My year had been unlike any other in terms of running and training. While I have always logged time on trails, I hit new highs and extremes for time on feet, and didn't talk myself out of trying new things. My first 50-mile race on a hot day was a success, largely in part to trusting my training, and sticking to a very specific race day plan that was formulated with help from friends who had been there and done that. 

Then, when the opportunity came-and kept coming-to play a part in pacing and crewing at 100 mile races, I smacked down that little voice in my head that said "these people are badasses, you don't belong there," and let the other voice that said "holy cow, what an awesome opportunity! DO IT!" prevail. It led to some of the most challenging, surreal, amazing, and satisfying moments running I've ever had. Suddenly, 17.1 over the mountain didn't seem so scary. And in daylight, after a good night's sleep-finally running it in under four hours seemed like child's play. 

I'd also fully taken on a program of regular speed work in the past year, with my only non-trail runs being our two regularly occurring speed group workouts. These groups evolved into a very supportive network of friends, and I just got in the habit of showing up whether or not I was feeling it ahead of time. Those Facebook "Some E Cards" for runners that say "I really regret that run-said no runner, ever?" They totally apply to the speed work. Some of the workouts were really tough. I could feel them paying off, though. I was able to hit a 5K PR (a mark that had been unchanged for three years) over the summer, and felt like I could really power through rough patches better in races with the inclusion of some fast running. The week before the Imogene Pass Run, I placed in a trail race for the first time ever, coming in second at the 8-mile Mary's Loop race, and with a pretty big race PR. In that run, I was patient, ran my own race, hit my strong suit (downhill running) as hard as I could, while pushing myself to not be weak-willed and hike the second I was hurting on other portions of the course. It gave me confidence that I could do the same thing a week later. 

When race week rolled around, I was just excited to get down to Ouray, where I would be staying in a house right by the start with a bunch of friends, some of whom were regular local training partners, and others from out-of-area but still people whose running exploits I was quite familiar. I'd picked up a ton of ideas about how I wanted to tackle the race, and had broken down the sections-Ouray to Upper Camp Bird (7.6 miles), Upper Camp Bird to Summit (10 miles), and Summit to Telluride into chunks with time goals attached. My "long runs" for the summer had basically been two 8-hour pacing gigs, and a half marathon race in Ouray, but these felt far more valueable to me than anything I'd done before. And general course familliarity-yeah, I had this. Going to bed Friday night, I didn't have that first-timer punchy nervousness, and was ready to log some quality R.E.M. sleep.

The next morning, I awoke refreshed, and pleased that it was cold but not freezing outside. We enterained one another in the kitchen of our house viewing the above video...Johnny Knoxville of Jackass fame on roller skates, getting pummeled by buffaloes. Maybe I'm part 12-year-old boy but it never stopped being hilarious, and I just kind of walked around singing it to myself without a care in the world. 

With regard to the next decision after my morning coffee and jackassery in the kitchen, I needed to figure out what to wear. I've tended to bundle up a bit for this race, and bring every bit of advisable gear "just in case." Part of me used to think that "oh, it's just good protection in case I fall." And I'd wear very traditional, non-colorful (read-black) pants or shorts. But, this seemed like part of my problem in other years, so I knew I needed to change it up.

One might ask, so what? Who cares what you wear? Well, I like to dress very, very, colorfully at races otherwise. Color and comfort..my two main rules. Getting on neon pink compression socks and a fun running skirt that fit well always helped me get my game face on at other races. I realized that I'd never followed these rules at Imogene, and that I would certainly be faster and have better racing mojo if I did. I also needed to not preoccupy myself with the potential for falls, or dress differently than usual for it. So, I went with a colorful skirt that had super comfy compression shorts under, the shirt my friend Jana designed for a group of us in 2009 at this race with a runner cresting surreal pink and orange mountains, and a bright paisley hat from my new sponsor, Wizbang Hats (that cool story to be told another time). I'd initially donned a compression shirt under Jana's shirt but got rid of it when Marty, one of my fastest friends, said "you move faster if you're cold out there." Good logic and I went with it.

We all took a group shot

And then headed down to the starting line.

 Notice Ilana also wore her cool shirt, as did our friend Jen (not pictured)...something that wasn't planned but seemed like good mojo again.

With the house so close to the starting line, we were only there for a few minutes before the race was underway. I never had time to get nervous nor was I feeling like I would've been nervous had we been standing around longer. The weather was perfect. I was cold but it was manageable and I knew I'd feel great once moving. The crowd was just HUGE. And that Roller Buffalo "You Can't Rollerskate In a Buffalo Herd"  song seemed oddly appropriate between the herd of humans, and that to many, this race might seem about as appealing as, well, getting nailed by a herd of buffalo (and feel like it at times). It seemed like an all-time high number of runners had made it to the starting line, thanks in part to the bib transfer program this race has, likely coupled with dream weather conditions.

We were quickly off, and on our way. I'd lined up closer to the front than I ever had, but not right on the starting line. I still had very little room to move so I kind of found my line and stuck with it, vowing that I would NOT start hiking the second I felt a little uncomfortable. I reminded myself that every step running at a high cadence-even with tiny strides-would be a lot faster and more efficient than hiking. Right away, I was just not feeling great. My lungs felt a little tired and sluggish. Instead of resigning myself to a mentality of failure and "oh, it's gonna be another 4 1/2 hour trip," I adopted an attitude of patience, and laughed thinking of the Sh#t Ultrarunners Say video where the dude says he takes 30 miles to warm up anyway. Two miles went by just like that, and I was feeling less craptastic. I also did not feel anxious or discouraged that I'd blown the race already. My head was in the best place it'd ever been at Imogene and I moved along knowing that I could warm up, push some more, and perhaps hammer the downhill to make up for the slower start.

Coming along to Drinking Cup Curve, I was feeling a lot better, and really taking in the sights and sounds around me. I watched as a man walked over to the edge of the curve-a straight dropoff you wouldn't survive if you went over-and offered a very sincere "Namaste" to the mountain. I never knew what that word meant before taking up yoga. Now that I know that it means "The divine in me honors and recognizes the divine in you," I appreciated and felt the energy this dude put out there. The mountains don't care, you can get hurt, lost, hypothermic, and other things out here-but they are still these great, big, beautiful things that you just can't experience any better than in person, on foot, without aid of motorized transit. I picked up my step, and  tried to always be conscious of using good form with short strides and a high turnover, and not allowing myself to break that to hike unless I absolutely felt like it was necessary.

You can't rollerskate in a buffalo herd,

You can't rollerskate in a buffalo herd,

You can't rollerskate in a buffalo herd, 

But you can be happy if you mind to

Continuing up the trail, the crowd now somewhat thinned out with better room to move, I had that song on continuous loop in my head. I've had other songs in my head at this race that were never nearly as helpful. The mental image of Johnny Knoxville on roller skates, a disco ball, and getting hammered by the buffaloes just kept me going. I encountered my friend Jan, who was on her 20th run here. We'd been talking up going under four hours this year, and while she claims to not be all that fast, she's actually pretty excellent on mountain trails. When she picked it up from a hike and started running a steep section, I said, "OKAY...if you insist!" and laughed as I lulled myself from what I then realized was a comfortable hike I needed to push through.

Continuing on ahead past the Victorian house that was the former mine supervisor's house, I ran into my friend Jen, who was just not feeling great today. Up ahead I could see our friend Cheryl, who has a strong high school and college track background but newer to trail running, and doing her longest run ever today. I eventually moved past Jen, and didn't rush to catch up with Cheryl, instead just running my own race, and keeping my head on roller buffalo and high cadence. Hey, it's simple, but it works.

Around here, I saw my "favorite" people from last year. I rarely, if ever, complain about other runners at races, but I must say a few words about bibs 1363 and 1364-a man and woman with a long rope or tether of some sort between the two to pull the woman along. Someone commented to them "hey, is this the modern day equivalent of a Ball And Chain?" The woman in the duo joked that next year maybe they'd get kinky and have a dog collar and leash, or something to that effect. Me, on the other hand-I don't find it cute to break the rules or impede other runners they way they were. And, she's definitely not blind as an anonymous commenter on my blog last year claimed. I just knew I wanted to get past them and resist the urge to say something about breaking race rules that everybody else seemed to have no problem following. I guess I can thank them because I moved on ahead faster than I likely would have-I just didn't want to get stuck behind them and their behavior that wasn't cutesy to me at all.

Just a few minutes before Upper Camp Bird, I reached Cheryl, and we moved along together, talking intermittently. She was feeling good, and I was glad that as one of the two first-timers who was sort of hating me for encouraging this race the night prior, she was doing just fine today. I looked at my watch, at saw that I likely wasn't going to hit my goal of 1:45-1:50 to Upper Camp Bird. Rather than being discouraged, I was pretty excited that this would still be the earliest I'd ever made it there.

Then, rounding a corner after a climb, I remembered how short Garmins measure in the mountains, and was pretty ecstatic to hit that 7.6 mile aid station at 1:53. I'm a steady climber but generally slow, and this was not that far off the most aggressive goal I'd ever set for myself here. Some people were stopping for pictures, or stopping for no reason, and I advised Cheryl to just keep going and not stop unless she was really needing to make a gear adjustment or eat something there. She said "okay" with focus and went right on through. It's SO hard to get going once you stop at this point. If anything, it's better to save that for the summit if one wants to savor the moment and accomplishment. She was in a great zone so "keep on keepin' on" was for sure the way to go here. I moved a little past her and got ready to attack this final stretch to the summit. The air was thin but there was a huge shot of adrenaline to the system, knowing that the climb was 3/4 of the way behind me.

Now, I was really feeling the altitude. I think this was perhaps because I was moving faster than I ever had here, and pushing myself as much as I could. Between watching "Unbreakable," about the Western States 100, and watching other runners at 100 mile races, I'd decided that using my hands to push down the quads on steep climbs would be a good tactic. I did this and it just seemed to flow naturally. When I hit the couple of flat-ish sections, I was actually able to run them, inevitably followed by this weird woozy/high/rush of blood to the head feeling that would subside after 30 seconds or so. I remember coming to a near standstill near the summit, willing myself forward, the first few times out. I was moving far better today. Looking at my Garmin for the first time in a long time, I realized that no, I wasn't going to summit in my goal of 2:45, and probably have no shot of running under four hours total. Again, though, I was as unfazed as I'd ever been at Imogene about this. Yay! I'm going to summit faster than I ever have! And it feels awesome! That's where the head was. 

Getting into the last stretch-that awesome line of ants marching to the summit-I started talking with the woman immediately ahead of me, who was from Durango. She was a mom of three with her youngest being under age one, and this was her first big run again after a c-section with that kiddo. Having gone emergency c-section with my son and repeat the last time out, we both agreed that this race was a LOT easier than recovering from major abdominal surgery while caring for a newborn. It was very cool to be taking these last few steps to the summit with another woman who just gets why I get out here to do this stuff, and likely does it for a lot of the same reasons-no explaining what all that crazy training is about. She hit the summit a step or two ahead of me, and then I crossed in 2:51, 18 minutes faster than the prior year and 9 faster than my best ascent ever. I realized that based on prior Imogenes, sub-4 was unlikely, but again, I just felt good to get up here faster than ever before. My goal now was a quality PR, and with that in mind, I walked through, drank half a cup of chicken broth, and headed out without lingering. It was time to knuckle down buckle down, do it do it do it.

As I took those first few strides from the summit, I felt great. I mean, bulletproof great. I've been pretty tentative in my steps here each time but I was running this time. Passing the camera dudes on the side of the hill, I did an impromptu fist pump and yelled "yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeah!" as I ran past, something I never do at races. Certainly not this one. I bombed ahead a bit, and then realized that damn, my legs were a little jello-y. I backed off a bit but gone was that tentative bounce/put-on-the-brakes slide down the hill. I didn't turn into a head case and get cautious, just backed off as needed if I felt like I was getting a bit out of control going downhill. Sub-four was certainly out now but hey, I was passing a few people, and felt like I was setting up a pretty good race PR here. 

About two miles down, I knew I was past that steepest section that gave me so much trouble two years prior when I yard saled in awesome fashion. I picked it up a bit. I felt like I was getting that pre-sidestitch sensation and though NO. NOT today. I backed off just a bit but the good downhill form was intact. I got that stride really small and the cadence high, trying to avoid jostling myself all over the place and hammering hard like I was trying to set a land speed record. Soon, and thankfully, that sensation passed. I was picking up steam, and passing lots of runners now. Vowing to use my Garmin for nothing more than checking my time at key locations, I did a quick look at 14 miles to see where I was.

Now, every runner will tell you to NEVER do running math. It just doesn't work. But, looking at my watch, with 5K to go, I realized-no way. I had time to go under four hours if I hammered all the way in to the finish with no letups, falls, or break in form. It was REALLY close but there was a chance. Every time I pushed myself in speed work when I just wanted to sit on the couch at home with a beer-that lightning storm at Hardrock when keeping calm and focused was the only choice-the disappointment I'd felt at this race before to fall short on my goal over and over-all those experiences were going to come into play in an all-out finish. 

I picked things up, telling myself  "It's only 5K. It's only 5K. You can push really hard for 5K." I was gathering steam and passing anyone I could. I was tired and starting to hurt but I knew that waiting another year to go under four hours if I hadn't pushed myself to my breaking point would be no good. I reached mile 15, checked my time, and saw that I'd need to hammer the last two miles harder than I ever had. I was also at that flattest point on the course, with the gentle downhill where I could fly with confidence, and that I did. It wasn't a matter of "can I pass that person?" It was "what the most efficient way to get past that little group?" This felt so bizarre, but I can't lie, it felt totally awesome. 

Getting to mile 16, I checked my time again, and knew now that I would do it-I was going to run this sucker in under four hours! And I was still picking up steam. Now, I wanted to see how far under I could go. Unless I lay down on the trail, I had it in the bag. Like a blubbering idiot. and already on the verge of tears, I randomly told some runner whom I'm sure couldn't have cared less that I was going to finish under four hours here for the first time in five tries. I'm not sure what his reaction was because I was still cranking it up.

Finally, I could see all the people dotting the trail as it turned off to the steep, short couple of road blocks to the finish. I could see a 3:55 on the clock and just RAN. Like I never have before. I came flying through, saw my friend Elizabeth and few others, and went over, temporarily overcome with emotion that's rare for me-high or low-at the end of a race. Good thing I never really tried to develop some serious, badass runner chick persona. Because it wasn't this mushy chick crying with happiness over a time that's really, honestly, pretty easy for most trail runners to come by.

Since my very first race in 2007, there have been good days, bad days, average days, interesting days, learning experience days, and plain old in-the-crapper days at races. There have been a select, very few races that would make the cut as outstanding days at the races where preparation, race day strategy, execution, conditions, and experience all came together for a near-perfect day. This was one of them, and I think may top the list because it was on a trail, and not a road, where I have always felt so much more comfortable.

While my final time-3:56:04, and placement-24 out of 102 in age group, 153 out of 553 for all women, is nothing notable, it was a mega-leap forward for me after kind of stagnating at this race and on trails in general. I didn't have it in mind, either, but a few days later I remembered my secret thought that if I ever wanted to train for 100 miles, I wasn't going to let myself until I could do this short, hard effort in under four hours. Well, that day came. And now there are days coming that I won't fear, and will work toward with the belief that it's possible if I just put in the work and don't allow myself to quit when it's hard. You may not be able to roller skate in a buffalo herd, but you can be happy if you mind to. All you gotta do is put your mind to it. Just knuckle down, buckle down, do it do it do it.

Stand and Walk (It's A Long Way To Fall): The 38th Annual Imogene Pass Run Race Report

It's taken me a few days to formulate thoughts for a race report. And, because I'm a fan of theme music, it took me a few days to figure out the correct soundtrack to the race this year. Blues Traveler was a big part of last year's report, so an encore appearance seemed entirely appropriate beyond the way the fact that the song feels like it was written and paced just for Imogene.

Thunder

Don't scare me at all

Lightning

Well just a little

Swing number four at the Imogene Pass Run finally came last weekend. It was inevitable. Three years wasn't enough to convince me to just quit while I was behind or face-first and pointing downhill on a scree field. Looking at it by the time clock, it was another average performance by an average trail runner. (Wo)man does not run by time clock alone, though, and in almost every area that mattered to me, this was a breakthrough year.

Late last week, the pre-race chatter kicked off with some somewhat OCD weather-watching. As the week went on, the predictions were moving increasingly toward a chance of rain, snow and thunderstorms the night before the race, and on race morning. I packed for just about everything. Wear shorts in rain and snow? Well, maybe some especially badass trail runners do this. In fact, I know they do. I'm now to the point of being half-fast, so I was leaning toward tights in what seemed like could be a race of epic weather.

When I got a phone call from my friend Butch on Friday afternoon saying that it was not just raining, but hailing and thundering in Ouray, I just sort of laughed it off, but surpringly did not have even the slightest sense of panic or worry. I picked up my friend and first-time IPR runner Sandra from her job at a downtown bank, and as we drove toward Ouray, we could see weather ahead(pic by Sandra..I was not driving and taking pictures). We just kind of laughed it off, figured we'd have some good stories to tell if this thing turned into "Abominable Snowman Run '11," and made some plans for dinner.

Arriving in Ouray shortly after 5, we were pleasantly surprised that we were arriving to find the calm after the storm. The clouds were quite literally parting, the air damp and pleasantly cool. The weather had beaten the earth into submission earlier, but now it was almost spookily quiet. We did dinner, visited with friends at the Ouray Brewery, laid out our gear, soaked in the hot tub at our motel, as is now pre-race tradition, and attempted to crash out for a good night of sleep.

Pressure

It ain't worth a dime

And your wounds

They'll all heal in time

When I woke up in the morning, the first thing I did was step outside to see if it was raining, snowing, or if the remnants of any stormy weather lingered. After predictions of up to a 70% chance of rain and snow, I was pleasantly surprised again to see that the ground was damp and dewy, but we were NOT in the midst of a blizzard or anything else. It was cool, overcast, and pleasant. My trail rash from the previous weekend's race at Mary's Loop was healing up, but I like the way my compression tights and shirt feel. I figured they'd also give me an extra degree of confidence in covering up those scabs, keeping worry out of my head over potentially taking a spill and re-opening them. I opted for tights, compression shirt, compression socks, and my Honey Badger iron-on tech shirt made two weeks prior with some members of the local running club. I was wearing my INOV8 trail shoes for the first time in this race as well. They'd been great in training and now I would finally get to test them out in the race.

I went to get my Garmin from the charger, and discovered my glitch for this mission. Part of the band had broken off and I wasn't going to be able to wear it. I'm not sure how this happened, or why I didn't notice it the night before, but surprisingly didn't care a bit. I wasn't planning to let the Garmin dictate my race, so I decided to just stick the whole watch in one of the front pockets of my Nathan hydration pack, and pull it out periodically to check my time and pace.

After handing off race packets to two friends who arrived race morning, Sandra and I wandered with our friend Jen to a nearby house where some local runners stayed the night before. We slapped some almond butter on bread, chowed down, made another pit stop and headed toward the starting line.

I don't know if it's experience with this race, my recent addition of power yoga (and its ability to clear my head) to my fitness routine, or something else, but my brain was totally empty now. We've joked locally that many of the "name" running cities and other major cities (Flagstaff, Boulder, Denver, etc.) are routinely mentioned on the mic during pre-race announcements, while our fair city of Grand Junction is routinely the redheaded stepchild and goes without a mention. It's not a big deal, but c'mon, we typically have somewhere in the area of 75-100 runners entered from our city and surrounding areas. Well, we DID wind up getting a mention this time, along with the surrounding cities of Delta and Montrose. Oh yeah, a little love. Sandra, the lone representative of Clifton, on the east side of GJ, started saying "Oh yeah, Clifton IN DA HOUSE!" I cracked up. Finally, it was time to go. About ten seconds before 7:30 a.m., the final countdown took place and the 38th Annual Imogene Pass Run was under way.

The Answers Are Getting Harder

Wow, this was quite the bottleneck of runners early on. I did not recall being clumped together so tightly with other runners in previous years, and avoided wasting energy with a lot of weaving in the first mile. I saw Jen from Delta blow past right away, and just kind of kept in mind that I was planning to focus on good POSE technique, stay upright, keep my rate of turnover high, and run MY race. I felt pretty relaxed. There was nothing weird with my breathing, or any other early strangeness indicative of trouble. This was good news.

The crowds started to thin out a bit, and somewhere in the second mile, Sandra moseyed up alongside and paced with me, looking pretty comfortable. Well, "comfortable" for Imogene. The starting line altitude is 7810 feet, with a ten mile climb to the summit at 13, 120 feet. Lots of heavy breathing all around. We were able to chat some, though, which is a good way to pass the time early on. My shoes felt great-very grippy on the damp jeep road, and I was experiencing zero sliding around between the good grip and keeping with the relaxed compression of POSE running. My training was so patchy over the summer with some great altitude runs, but weird periods of illness and life stuff that resulted in more missed runs than ever before. This wasn't a blistering pace but it felt like things were going my way more than ever before at IPR.

The answers are getting harder
(If an answer comes to those who pray)

Whoa, nelly. Hello, altitude. I was really starting to feel it now, but continuing to refocus on my breathing, much as I'm learning to do in yoga practice with the Ujjayi breath (can't do exactly the same thing on a mountain run, but the general principle of opening the lungs and calming one's self work) was working. Focusing on running in the moment, and just keeping my eyes a little bit ahead was another excellent piece of advice I'd received regarding the continuous climb. This may sound like "DUH" advice, but it's so easy to look way up and get intimidated by the climb. This was also keeping me from getting distracted and faceplanting. I've never fallen on the uphill, and didn't want to start today.

I don't like to get really negative or worry much about other people's races, but I do have to mention the scene that kind of bugged the crap out of me in the early miles. If you were someone in the +/- 4 hour finish range at the race, you saw these people. I saw them early on but I think about halfway up the mountain was when I decided if there were two people I needed to beat, it was this duo. A woman in a pink tutu (that's not the bad part-I'm all about color and flavor on the course), attached to some guy by a long rope and two carabiners, kept coming up alongside of me me. This guy was literally PULLING her up the hill. Not cute or funny, actually rather dangerous with other runners around, and while I can't find a rule that says they cannot do this....it just doesn't seem like it should be legal to pull someone up the hill like that. I'm still not quite sure if I did get over to Telluride before them, and I guess it's good. It would make a little of me die inside to know I was beaten by a the human mule and driver.

The answers are getting harder
(If an answer comes to those who pray)

Approaching Upper Camp Bird, 7.6 miles up the hill, with a mandatory cutoff time of 2:30, I was happy to see that despite not having a high mileage summer, and without looking at my watch, I'd reached this checkpoint in 2:07. This was slower than any of my prior three runnings, but truly not by much, and I felt 100% more in confident than each of those races combined. I kind of split the difference between my "no time for berrypicking!" run-through in 2010, and taking many pictures in 2008 and 2009, stopping to fully consume a cup of Gatorade and take in the view but then moving on my way. It was colder now. There was a bit of a breeze. I was warmed up, though, and continually refocused on my breathing and relaxing my quads every time I started to feel that I might be jamming the quads and working too hard to get down without a fall. Conversation among runners was almost non-existent now, but there were some short pleasantries exchanged here and there. I just tried to feed off that good mojo and stay relaxed.

The answers are getting harder and harder
And there ain't no way to bargain or to barter

The air was getting thinner, and the pitch of the mountain was getting steeper. I was beginning to see folks dotting the sides of trail, stopping for breathers, usually facing downhill so as not to get intimidated by how much more we still had to climb. I started feeling that strong urge through here, but refocused on race founder Rick Trujillos mantra, "Incessant Forward Motion." I really wanted to stop several times here but kept going. There were a few short, flat-ish pitches close to the summit that I've run in the past, only to find my heart rate out of control when the climb started again. This year, I tried kind of a POSE-inspired hike with very quick turnover, and short strides. When I got out of the flats and started climbing again, I didn't have that redlining heart rate, and even passed a few people. There was no time to get all overconfident, though, as we were still climbing, and man, was this HARD. Soon, though, I could hear the sweet sound of the Cowbell People at the summit. Last year, we'd been greeted by a vuvuzela, and I was just happy that the tried-and-true cowbell was back. It was pretty breezy and cold but not miserable, and I'd never need to stop to put on my jacket with the long sleeved compression shirt/short sleeved tech shirt combo.

But if you've got the angst or the ardor
You might faint from the fight but you're gonna find it

Finally, I was in the single-file line to the summit. I found myself a wee bit lightheaded approaching the 13, 120 foot summit, but it wasn't like I was about to pass out either. Last year, I was very impatient to get there in under three hours. This year, I was moving ahead as fast as I could but focused on the moment and not the clock. Moving along, stepping up past the Cowbell People over the summit timing mat at 3:09:46. This was my slowest ascent ever at the race, but it marked a first with no a single slip or slide. I've never fallen on the first half, but have sure skidded around plenty every year. This marked a departure and step up from HOW I've done the race before. Running with confidence more slowly means that I can start to practice running with more confidence more quickly.

I took my time at the summit this year. No pictures were taken, but I slowly consumed some hot, salty chicken broth, then another full container of Gatorade, retied my shoelaces, and got ready for what was my downfall last year, literally, and my slowest descent into Telluride ever.

For every challenge could have paradise behind it
And if you accept what you have lost and you stand tall
You might just get it back and you can get it all

I began the trip down the hill purposely cautious, but it wasn't out of the fear I've had in previous Imogene Pass Runs. It was out of what I considered reasonable caution in protecting the ankle that I sprained badly last spring, and re-sprained to a lesser degree over the summer. It's hard to not brake when moving more slowly but I tried my best to kind of "spring in place" down the steepest part below the summit. People were flying past me but that was cool. It really sucked to be unable to run last spring, and I just knew I needed to control myself here and not take the kind of fall or roll on that ankle that would be the one that tore tendons all the way through, or broke anything. I relaxed, though, and smiled my way past the guy from Elevation Imaging on the side of the mountain.

As the downhill became less steep, I opened up slightly and picked up a bit of "speed," but this is really a relative term. I couldn't remember where exactly I went down last year; all the switchbacks looked like "the one," and I just kept doing that thing of focusing on the now, and watching where I was going next. Soon, I was at the first aid station after the summit, and realized that the point where I'd fallen had not made a permanent impression on my brain. I was past it now. I stopped to drink again, and then opened things up some more.

Somewhere through here, I heard a "Hey Karah!" It was my friend Julie, who had originally planned to run with the Dirty Girls relay team last spring before an injury. Her son is also in the same kindergarten class with my youngest daughter, and we do run in the ballpark of one another pace-wise. We chatted about kindergarten, school, and other various stuff, picking up speed as we chatted. I was feeling better physically than I did two years ago, the only time prior that I'd felt like the downhill didn't own me. Looking at the time, it was obvious that I wouldn't PR today with the slower ascent. I was looking at a strong finish, though, if I kept up this pace and stayed upright. I joked with Julie that "I haven't gotten through Imogene without falling on my face until I get through Imogene without falling on my face." We leap frogged back and forth, continuing to pick up speed and move well. At some point, I started to ease ahead, just really feeling good and like I wanted to fly.

So now you know why it's a long way to fall
Yeah cause it's a long way to fall
Cause it's a long... way to fall

Dare I say that my legs and body mechanics in general felt GREAT? I was passing people right and left now. There was a method to the madness, though, and control that I've never had before. It felt very odd to be on nearly an identical finishing time pace from the year before, but feel so good to be running an entirely different race.

Did I say that the Garmin was the glitch for the mission? Oh, yeah. There was one more to come. Right around mile sixteen, I started feeling the unmistakable ache of a side stitch. I tried blocking it out but it got sharper and sharper. I didn't want to walk because everything else felt great, but then I could feel what was almost a stabbing sensation. Well, crap. That wasn't part of the game plan. I started walking it out briskly to try to make it go away. Some of the people I'd just passed wound up passing me back. Julie came along, and asked if all was ok as she ran past. I said "just a side stitch...gonna try to walk it out." Soon, I didn't feel that fabulous stabbing sensation anymore. I started running again, determined to make up as much time as I could from that minute or two spent walking.

Coming down the final mile and last couple of switchbacks, I was very focused on controlling my breathing in a way to keep that side stitch at bay. I could still feel dull pain but I could run through this with no problem. Soon, I was passing back some of the folks who made up ground on me. I started to see fans and earlier finishers along the side of the trail. And then I could see Julie...I was determined to pick it up and catch back up to her. Turning onto the pavement, I turned it up as much as I could. I'm not sure if she knew someone was behind her but she was picking it up too. I got almost all the way back up, but it was Julie oustriding into the finish, and I came barreling through a second behind, kind of slapping her on the back and saying "Hey Julie!" as I finished in 4:29:07. She said "Ah, I'd hoped you'd catch up!" and we hugged after the finish. I don't know what my exact time was when I started running again at the summit, but this either matched or was slightly faster than my prior best performance on the downhill. I was thrilled and ecstatic. It was actually about 25 seconds slower than my overall 2010 time, but didn't look remotely like the same race.

Stand
Stand and walk
Stand

I strolled around, found some of the hometown folks, scored a fresh peach, and kept talking to folks. As it turned out, the local guys and gals had all run very well, with no less than three of them winding up with podium finishes in their age groups. I went to look for Sandra coming in, and someone said "she just finished!" Damn, I missed it...but she was so happy, crying tears of joy at her 4:44 finish that I don't think she'd have cared if nobody was there at the end. (Okay, that would sort of suck. But she was happy).

Some of us gathered wound up at the Brown Dog in Telluride post-race for a celebratory drink,

(Eric, Sandra's husband, Sandra, me, Julie, Shannon, with Ray and Greg hiding behind the camera)
and then we moved over to the park to watch the awards ceremony, and cheer on our local peeps. I was so happy with finally seeing a real improvement in my trail skills, even though I didn't PR. It was true icing on the cake to loudly cheer each time we heard "From Grand Junction...." during the awards, and really appreciate all the outstanding races from athletes across the spectrum of age and gender.

So, will I be back next year? Yeah, I think I'll be doing this race as long as I have air in my lungs, legs on my body, and I can still get into the thing before it closes out. The goal next year IS to run it with a focus on time, along with focus on form. Because, if I don't-it's a loooooooong way to fall.

Racing, Trying To Stay Upright, and Competitive Weather Forecasting

I'll cut to the chase on Saturday's 8- and 16-mile races at Mary's Loop. My last run here was in 2007; it was my third race ever, and longest race to date as a final tune-up before my first half-marathon, The Other Half in Moab. That year, I managed a so-so 1:23 and change on the 8-mile course, did a lot of hiking, and got passed by a everyone and their geriatric brother on the home stretch, the frontage road that rolls on forever after coming out of the beautiful first six miles of canyon. This year, I ran the whole thing, did pass one person with no one passing me on the frontage road, and trimmed about 7 minutes off that time for 1:16 and change, not age-grouping but probably finishing fourth or fifth in the womens 30-39. I still haven't seen official results but that's about what it looked like on the preliminary results posted right after the race. It was all pretty decent for a tune-up race that I didn't want to do quite full-out, except for the part halfway through when I tripped and fell for no discernible reason.

Yep...oops, I did it again. I didn't go nuts like Britney Spears....just wound up catching a toe on a flat-ish section, and wound up with a really good bruise, scrape and cut line running from right knee to left elbow and hand. On the upside (and there is an upside), I really didn't feel myself going down so there was no braking or tensing up. And I got back up immediately, hurting a lot right after, but not letting the fall get in my head like wipeouts have done in the past. I felt sort of stupid running and bleeding with the woman right behind me asking "are you okay?" but other than that, I wound up wasting no more than about thirty seconds between time on the ground, and getting a slow running start again. At the finish, one of my friends mentioned having hydrogen peroxide in his car to hose off, and I gladly accepted getting to use some of that stuff on my lovely oozing trail rash. Between that, and a pool swim and run in the afternoon with my friend Loralie, I think I'm really no worse for the wear. I'll just need to make sure the grossest trail rash is covered on Saturday in case I happen to fall and potentially re-open the stuff. This is how a little part of it...my elbow and arm....looked a few days after the fall.

On another upside....it was one of those gloriously beautiful Western Colorado mornings. The race started earlier this year-7:00am-which meant that we weren't boiling right away. Although there are a lot of runners in our area, they don't all race every time. This race, though, was truly a gathering of most of the people whom I like to call "The Usual Suspects," and it was fun to cheer people in after finishing, as well as finding out how far ahead the speediest among us had come in. Oh, and the schwag at this race was great. Somehow, I scored a 3-month membership to Gold's Gym in the prize drawings. I haven't had a gym membership in years, and can't really justify the expense now. There were a lot of cool things given away, but I was stoked to get something I'm going to use.

Now, turning to the big thing on the calendar...the Imogene Pass Run. For the past three years, we've been graced with some of the best race weather in the history of the run. If you read here, there are some gnarly accounts of bad weather years, but 2008-2010 were really walks in the park. Well, HA-it looks like this streak comes to an end this year. At the moment, those of us who are racing Saturday are keeping a close eye on awesomeness that is the forecast for some combination of wind, rain, and snow on Friday night, and more of the same on Saturday. I kind of dislike the expression "It is what it is," but that's sort of right-on this time. It's an uncontrollable factor-no use wishing for 50 degrees and no precipitation. If we get a weather worst case scenario, I'm just going to laugh it off, relax, and throw the watch out the window. Okay...I'm really not going to pitch my Garmin. I'm not going to be bent on making particular splits, though. It's going to be about running the conditions of the day the best I can.

When it comes to this blog and other runners, this is actually my "favorite blogging season." Some of you guys know that I have a nifty little tool called a "statcounter," something that many bloggers use. For me, it's just neat to see how people wound up on the blog, and if they are searching for a particular race, training plan, injury information, wandered over from a friend's linked blog, or somewhere else altogether. My friend Jen will occasionally search my blog and throw in funny search terms just to see if I notice, which is always good for a laugh.

Well, the Imogene Pass Run seems to draw some of the best searches ever. There are usually a ton of run-of-the-mill searches by race name from the time of registration until race day, but all the cream-of-the-crop searches are taking place now. Some of my favorites include, but are not limited to: "incessant forward motion," "Imogene Pass Run accidents," "what to bring to Imogene Pass Run," "tapering schedule for Imogene Pass Run (three days before the race...um.....you're a little late in planning that out)," and perhaps my favorite of all time, "Imogene Pass Run death."

So, I might as well try to cover some of those searches, and give my .02 all in one spot. Keep in mind, this comes from a woman who has never finished in under four hours, and who has gone slip-sliding away all over the mountain. I have FINISHED the race three times, though...so I might have some semi-valid opinions.

Death? No. As far as I know, nobody has ever died running this race, which is a pretty good course record if you consider how often one hears of a runner keeling over and dying in the heat at some road marathon. Don't worry about dying while running this race unless you deliberately jump over the edge of Drinking Cup Curve (photo by my friend Ilana). You might get banged up but you're not going to die. Well, okay. I guess I can't say that for sure. It's highly unlikely, though, which should be reassuring to those friends and relatives who really do think you're crazy and that you'll surely die out there.

What to Bring? The course is well-supported, but personally, I like having a hydration vest to drink from between aid stations, and as a place to shove my camera and jacket (which I'll probably be wearing this year). Some people just carry handhelds or use waist belts/fanny packs. It's truly whatever worked for you in training, keeping in mind that the weather can change very quickly in the mountains, and will probably be doing so a great deal this year. They don't have gels on the course, but there's water, electrolyte drink, cookies, crackers, and the delicious, salty chicken broth at the summit. I've run in shorts one year, and pants twice. This year, I'm going for compression pants and a kind of compression-y shirt with another shirt over the top, plus hat and gloves. The hat and gloves have been my mainstay every year. If the appendages stay warm, the rest of me stays pretty well-regulated, temperature wise. I've used compression socks for the past two years as well, and for me, it's felt very good on the uphill on those calves. Still, so much of this is personal taste, and what has worked for the runner in training. The lightweight, waterproof jacket will be a must this year, and I think it's a pretty good idea to put some extra socks in a ziplock bag in case the feet get soaked during the race. I'll also be sending over a full change of clothes in a plastic bag within my gear bag, fully expecting to be soaked upon arrival in Telluride.

Tapering? Yes, you should be doing that now. Even my friends who are much stronger and faster are getting their rest in, paying attention to nutrition, resting, running easy, RESTING, RESTING, RESTING. Get it?

Imogene Pass Run Accidents? Again, people fall and get banged up. I'm not aware, though, of anything major in the race history. Keep an eye out for your fellow runners during the first few miles. It'll be tightly packed through those first few curves. No one has ever been pushed off a cliff, though, and the road is closed to vehicle traffic during the race (no jeeps going over during the run).

And finally Incessant Forward Motion. This is the key to making the cutoffs. Even if you're at a crawl and moving as slowly as you can possibly go without being totally stopped, you'll still be moving forward. Don't look up and get overwhelmed by how far you have to go. Just stay focused on the now, and the space you're running, hiking, walking, or tiptoeing. You'll make it over if you stay relaxed and just keep moving.

Well, that's about it. Today I'll be gathering up gear and getting ready to ride down with my friend Sandra, who is running her very first IPR courtesy of a transfer entry from another mutual friend. A bunch of the Grand Junction area runners will be there, and we're going to do our best to hang out when we can over the weekend, whether that's pre-race, chatting on the course or celebrating after. In the end, I'm just excited to be healthy enough again to do this thing, and looking forward to getting my "ass over the pass."

(**NOT the official race shirt. We had an iron-on shirtmaking party and pre-race gathering locally, and used what seems to have become our unofficial local trail runner mascot, the Honey Badger. If you see our shirts on the course, yes, it's those kooky kids from Grand Junction**)

Imogene, Imogene, Imo Imo Imo Gene

Imma be on the next level. Going from 8000+ feet in Ouray up to the summit of Imogene Pass at a little over 13,000 feet, and back down again on the Telluride side. Oh yes, I'm an excited girl today.

Registration for the 38th Annual Imogene Pass Run opened at midnight earlier today, and after doing everything I could to keep myself awake, I celebrated National Running Day by getting on the computer at midnight for the fourth June 1st in a row, and signing for the 17.1 mile run from Ouray, Colorado to Telluride, Colorado over the Imogene Pass. Well, actually, I registered a friend first who has a very busy life lately and kindly requested it since I'd be up (not without joking that I was going to then take his credit card on a spending spree after registration). Then, I became one of the first 250 people to sign up in the first five minutes after midnight. By the time I got up to run at 5am, I was floored to see that there were nearly 900 entrants, and by shortly after 10am, the 2011 Imogene Pass Run was filled to capacity.

I have to say I'm stoked this year because I'm training for the race, and plan to run it with a different mindset. I have a pretty aggressive time goal, which on one hand seems unrealistic. I set aggressive goals last fall, though, and it paid off in spades to aim beyond a "safe" goal. Safety doesn't really drive me as much as being told I can't or shouldn't do something. I've decided I'm done with giving my reasons and excuses, and am ready to attack the things that need work with my trail running in order to be strong enough to hit that time goal. I'm going to have a good network of people to train with, too. The excitement was contagious among veterans and first-timers alike as the 1500 person field filled rapidly, and I'm looking forward to getting dirty, confident, and strong over the next hundred days.

Next up on my agenda, though, is a big weekend of dance rehearsals and performances. Oh, yes, it's time to put on my Teflon hat and go along for that ride. I love it once I'm sitting in the audience watching the kids, but it's just going to be a little hairy for the next few days before that time. Then, it's on to Durango, Colorado for my third running of the Steamworks Half Marathon. It's another good pre-season training race at altitude, and you can't go wrong with local beer and real food off the grill after the uphill finish. I'll just keep squeezing in the runs here and there over the course of this busy week, and let that recovering ankle dictate pace and distance. It's definitely great to be back to running regularly, and I'm looking forward to making those training deposits all summer long.