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.

Double Your Pleasure, Double Your Fun: The 24 Hours Of Laramie Children With Hope 10K and Turkey Flats 15K Race Reports

Well, let's start from the very beginning. I hear it's a very good place to start.

My relay team for Laramie wound up falling apart pretty late in the week. It was clear that Nick would not be anywhere near healthy in time to race, between his doctor's assessment and how he was feeling. Sara scheduled her surgery to repair her torn meniscus on Friday, Julie's foot still hurt from a chronic injury of an undetermined nature, and that just left Jen and myself. I'd gone ahead hoping that Jen and I might still be going up as a team, but some time late Thursday the plug was officially pulled on any team running in Laramie. I thought seriously about going up as an individual runner-this would be my first ever DNS (did not start), and I hate to pay money for nothing. I had several people, though, essentially tell me "Do what you want, but that's gonna be a lot of time, work, and money to do it alone." After sleeping on it, I did decide that it was probably a good idea for me to let this one go. I was bummed. The Moab experience was great, and I think we'd all been looking forward to Laramie as a team before the Dirty Girls became The Sick and The Gimpy.

Once I got over the bummy frustration of pulling the plug on our 24 hour relay, I shifted into "Lemons to Lemonade" gear. Looking at the racing schedule, I realized that it was a very rare kind of weekend in Grand Junction, Colorado, for a runner. There was a Saturday race, the Children With Hope 5K and 10K, which is an event I've run each of the prior two times it has been held. It benefits a children's group home/orphanage in Eldoret, Kenya, the race directors are on the board of the organization, and have a running background so it's been a solid, well-directed event each time out. Then, on Sunday, there was a running club trail race up past Glade Park, approximately 15K, starting at about 8000 feet and climbing 1000 feet over the course of hte race. Best of all, this event featured my favorite four-letter "F" word...FREE. No tee shirts and no awards-just good times on the trails, wildflowers in bloom, cooler temperatures, hanging out with a small group of the usual suspects, and even some nice snackage and refreshments at the end. I decided that staying in town while my kids were camping with their father, having some rare time being able to hear myself think, doing a little bit of deep cleaning around the house and running a bunch would be a great plan B.

I didn't really crawl out of bed more than about twenty minutes before I needed to get out the door on Saturday for Children With Hope, and still wasn't sure until I got there whether I wanted to run the 5K or 10K. When I got to the start, though, I decided that running the 10K made the most sense. 5K races are a dime a dozen around here, I don't care much for them, and the 10K would be a good training race and workout for longer distance stuff. I said howdy to, and chatted it up with several friends prior to the race, and was pleased that even though it was hot, it seemed like things were going to start on time this year. Last year, it was the first time racing in this location, and they'd opted to start the two races in different spots. It was kind of a logistical nightmare from what I could tell. This year, though, they opted to start both races in the same place, but about ten minutes apart, and routed the courses through different neighborhoods in the same area. This was a nice change and improvement from one of the few things that didn't go quite perfectly the year before, in my opinion. It was also going to be chip-timed, another improvement that reduces the margin of error, especially with two distances being contested at the race.

I wasn't feeling terrific during my warm up, but just went into things like I always do in trying to stay relaxed without thinking too hard or getting down on myself for being a bit tired. This course is sort of a butt-kicker. It goes uphill for most of the first half of the race, and a little bit of the second half. By the time you're running downhill, the heat and effort from the first half can still leave a runner feeling drained and fighting to kick it in. Last year, I really didn't feel good in the last mile and just kind of held on rather than kicking it in. This year, if anything, I wanted to run strong and with consistency. Right around 7:50 a.m., I lined up with the other 10K folks, determined to give the best I had today.

From the get-go, my legs were feeling very un-springy, and I wasn't feeling awesome going uphill, but then again, that was a good sign that I was putting in the right effort. Feeling good in a 5K or 10K at any point means to me that I'm not working hard enough-it's short distance stuff, and if you're trying to be competitive, with yourself or others, it should hurt. My breathing wasn't awful in the heat-I have done some evening trail runs as of late, so it did seem that I'm beginning to acclimate to that after being kind of a baby in other years about avoiding anything over 80 degrees.

Mile 1: 7:50

Onward and upward. Boy, this uphill summer road running did not feel awesome. I forced myself to relax, though, and just tried to relax everything, from the shoulders and arms down to landing my feet in a way that allowed the ball of foot to totally relax, falling forward, and keeping that cadence up as I've been trying to do for some time while practicing POSE running. "Practice" would really be the right word, too. I'm picking it up but am by no means a master. Just being dilligent about it, though, and practicing every time I run or race, though, has resulted in good progress.

Mile 2: 7:50

Well, I still felt kinda crappy, but hadn't dropped off the pace any on the uphill. Not too bad, not too bad. After the early sorting-out of runners, and passing one woman in the first mile, I found myself running what appeared to be fourth woman overall, and I could see the third place female (an 18-year-old high school cross country runner) not far ahead. I wasn't making up any ground on her but kept her in my sight, trying to not lose any ground as we turned to the right into one of the residential neighborhoods. We curved through the streets, pitching slightly uphill most of the way. Man. I really did NOT feel good, and I wasn't halfway through.

Mile 3: 8:26

Oy. Feeling pretty icky. I knew the climbing was almost done, though, and kept pushing. That high schooler started pulling away little by little, and I wasn't able to hang or catch up.

Mile 4: 7:24

We had now looped through the neighborhood and would run back from whence we came. As I passed one of the aid stations, I grabbed some water from a course volunteer, and dumped it over myself to cool off. This was a good idea. I'd hydrately decently in the morning and didn't really need anything right now, and the water kept me from really feeling the heat. I was fighting a bit, though, to keep my head in this and push as hard as I needed to. I heard someone behind me, and pushed to fend them off but a woman who looked like she was surely in my age group, 30-39, slunk on past. CRAP. I wasn't going to go down without a fight, and pushed hard to not let her get too far ahead, and try to make up some ground.

Mile 5: 7:43

Now we were being rejoined by the 5K runners and walkers, and I was doing a lot of weaving in the final mile. Converging courses and dodging walkers three-astride from other distances is a frequent pet peeve amongst runners, but today it was a good distraction from the late race fatigue and pain. I just focused on the next person I needed to move around, keeping that woman who had passed me earlier in my sights, but just not catching up any on this downhill.

Mile 6: 7:18

Okay...now I'm almost there! Yahoo! I'd actually succeeded in a decent late-race surge in the last mile, and kept it up as I turned into the parking lot and toward the finish. I pushed my way in, and registered a pace of 6:42 and split of 1:02.2 for the last .15 Garmin-measured piece of road, finishing in a time of 47:33.

This wasn't close to my PR by any stretch, but this was a hot day on a hilly course that I think had a bit more to it in the hills department with the slight re-routing from the year before. I always want to do better than the previous outing, but was relatively pleased with how I'd hung in there and finished strong rather than fizzling out. I had indeed been passed by someone from my age group, and finished second in women 30-39, and was fifth woman overall, just like I thought. For the third time in three years, I won a lovely piece of art from Eldoret, Kenya, as my age group award. This time, it was a lovely bowl with elephants on the inside. I joke that I do this race for the awards, but that's really no joke. All the awards are quite beautiful and unique-not your typical medal. Several of my friends figured into the overall and age group award mix as well, which was awesome. It just kind of makes the race an even better experience when you get to cheer on your friends who worked hard and hustled out there.


Moving on to the second race of the weekend, I had been chatting back and forth with my friend Loralie, whom I'd met at one of the weekly running club trail runs several weeks back. We'd been talking about the Turkey Flats trail race, 9.6 miles in the Grand Mesa National Forest past Glade Park which is just off the Colorado National Monument. It would be at altitude, but this also meant it would be a welcome escape from the heat down in the city. It would also serve as a great early-season training race for the Imogene Pass run, which Loralie and I were both registered for, and looking to really do well at this year.

When it was clear that I'd be in town for the race, and not in Laramie, Loralie let me know that she was house-sitting up in Glade Park, just about 20 minutes from the race start, and kindly offered to let me come up and spend the night there before the race, thus shaving about half an hour to forty minutes off my travel time to the race. It's so nice and peaceful up there, and since I could bring my old chocolate lab Wilson with me, I gladly accepted that offer. Other than temporarily panicking when Wilson wandered off with the other dogs, and then couldn't quite find his way back at dusk, it was a mellow evening, and I got a great night of sleep. This was SO strange to have a whole weekend without the responsibility of caring for four children, or working, and I my body must've gotten that it was a good time to sack out and sleep hard.

In the morning, we chowed down, geared up, and headed out on a beautiful western Colorado morning. Loralie was going to try out my Nathan hydration vest, an item I'd purchased at the Boston Marathon expo that I have been testing out as a possible gear item for Imogene, and really liking. I just planned to hydrate well beforehand, and carry my Ultimate Direction handheld. We made sure the dogs were set in their dog run with water before leaving, and then drove over to the start at the Turkey Flats camping area and trailhead.

There we found Tom Ela, race director for all of the Grand Mesa Nordic Council ski races, and for this annual trail race. Tom's that guy you see all over the place. He runs, skis, does adventure races, even turning up in a photo on the Mesa Monument Striders Facebook page riding a mechanical bull at some recent event. He knows how to put on these lowkey, no-frills, high-quality events, and we chatted with him a little at the sign-in table before moving around to say howdy to others who were there to run (shout-out to Scott Jones, who mentioned that he reads my ramblings here sometimes, and got a little bit of Imogene information going into his first run there this fall. Glad that I can put my many mistakes at that race out there so that others do not make the same ones. And there are MANY mistakes from which to choose.)

Medium to long trail runs seem to attract a different variety of folks than your local road 5K. Looking around, we were definitely kind of an older, bigger and taller bunch. At 37, I think I was still one of the younger runners there. I recognized a good handful of folks, and quickly got to know the ones I hadn't met before. I also saw Shannon, one of my Dirty Girls teammates from Moab, who was up there with her friend and my former neighbor Kathaleen and her family. It was a little warm but felt pretty good at the start area, which was at about 8800 feet or so. The mosquitoes were out, but Loralie and I had coated ourselves pretty well with bug spray so they weren't biting too bad.

Tom had a good map posted, and the lollipop-shaped course, largely single track trail with a bit of dirt road, seemed like it would be pretty easy to follow. Tom gave us some quick course details, handed the timing device off to his brother, and then we crossed the road from the campground to the start at the Turkey Flats trailhead. We got a little countdown, and then about 28 of us got started on the course. There were already several other runners/hike-walkers who had opted for an early start, so roughly 32 of us were on the course.

I didn't have a ton of excess energy to burn from the start, and at first I was really feeling the altitude. The trail was absolutely beautiful, though-the wildflowers were in bloom, there was a lot of shade on the course, and there was none of the noise and bustle of modern life. This could be a really kick-ass, hard trail run if one wanted to be competitive on the course, and was also the ultimate in berry-picking, become-one-with-nature, zen run race. I was kind of balancing between the two, wanting to really work at running as much of it as possible with minimal hikes, but also taking everything in and not turning it into a joyless, hard run or pushing that ankle to what could be an easy re-injury on some of the roots, rocks, and slippery spots along the way. I let myself relax and didn't really worry about competing with others. I just wanted to run MY race and pace accordingly.

After the first mile of gradual uphill pitch, we started downhill toward a clearing, and I started to feel a little bit better. My lungs were adjusting a bit to the altitude, and my heart rate had come down and didn't feel like it was on the verge of redlining. I had briefly been in a short line of runners, but we thinned out soon after. I found myself running with a woman who was a little bit older than myself up ahead, and another guy who is frequently at around my pace in races just behind. One or two other runners moved on past early on, but this would essentially be my spot in the pack for most of the race.

The trail continued to meander through the trees, sometimes pitching upward for a bit, and flattening out at other points. It was a pretty steady climb, though, and soon I came off the trail and onto a bit of dirt road. This was great practice for Imogene, in my opinion, because of the two-thirds uphill, one-third kind of downhill course. I soon found myself running past a small lake, and got the smile/nod from several folks camping and fishing in the area. As I picked up single track trail again and headed uphill, thus began the mudbogging, log jumping and bushwacking portion of the race. Good times. This is what it was all about.

I did the best I could to keep moving in the old "zero gear" whenever possible, but sometimes it got so steep and slippery that I would momentarily revert to a hike. I say hike, and not power hike, because I tried to stay true to POSE running here, expending as little effort as possible, staying relaxed, keeping my gait short and cadence up. Though I was doing some hiking, I knew I'd already done a lot more running on a steep course than I would have likely done a year ago, so I felt more than okay about how I was doing today.

At what must have been somewhere around six or seven miles in, the trail kind of flattened out, but it was a true mud bog. After kind of trying to move around it, and bushwacking through the sides of the trail, I finally reached a point of saying "screw it....let's get REALLY dirty." (After all...if you ran on a relay team called the Dirty Girls, you should kind of live up to the name, right?) I sort of jumped right into the single track mud trail, but it was SO thick that it was almost pulling off my shoes. The mud and water was surprisingly cold, which definitely kept me alert, and kept me moving. I hurdled over several more logs, splashed around in the mud, and finally got to a point at which I was coming out of the woods and back to that clearing, completing the loop around the "lollipop," and ready to turn back down the "stick." I was pretty gooey and mushy feeling but wasn't fading, and kept plugging along. I wasn't really speedy on the downhill portions of trail, but most important to me was that I was running with good control. I wasn't braking or being tentative, but wasn't flying down the hills, totally out of control.

Somewhere in the final mile or so, Paul, the guy who had been running behind me, moved a bit ahead and was now just behind Sue, the woman who had been ahead of me most of the race. Rather than getting discouraged about moving back another spot, I just kept moving along, and tried to stay focused and dilligent with my POSE with as much of an increase in turnover as I could muster. That said, I was holding back just a little bit because of that ankle. I was so close to being finished, and didn't want to have a careless trip or fall that would put me out for any length of time. As I came back down the Turkey Flats trail I could see Tom's brother there with the timing device, and pushed in for a strong finish, crossing at roughly 1:50:52 by my watch for the 9.6 mile course. I wasn't the fastest person out there, but I was relatively consistent, ran much of the course, finished strong, and did not get hurt. All in a good day's trail run.

Next, I moved over to the finish area, and grabbed some Gatorade and watermelon. After proper rehydration, I grabbed a tasty malt beverage from the Beer Cooler Of Awesomeness, and checked out the results board. The first guy was through in about 1 hour 19 minutes, with Cynthia, one of the others who participated in the alcohol study last summer, coming in as the first woman and third overall at a hair under 1:21. Another gal, Kelly, who has a small sponsorship running for Aquafor, was the second lady, with Sue and I finishing about a minute apart as third and fourth woman. The remaining four ladies were just a few minutes back, finishing pretty much together with all regular starters completing the course solidly in under two hours.

We hung out for quite awhile after the race, and just enjoyed hanging out with the other runners away from the 95-degree temps down in town. This was a strong bunch of runners, but it was quite a different vibe from the road race the day before. While this wasn't all tiptoeing through the tulips, the vibe today was largely about pure enjoyment on the trail, and having a good race for yourself rather than getting into serious cutthroat competition. Not a bad way to end the weekend of racing. Today, there wound up being a very good article on the first page of the Daily Sentinel's sports section about the race, and given that running goes largely unnoticed in the mainstream press, it was a nice piece that summed up Turkey Flats, and why people run it quite well. I was especially amused by the fact that in the results, mine was nowhere to be found, yet a runner by the name of Jose Cuervo (whom I speculate is actually a guy named Doug who is a regular at the weekly club trail runs, and grooms the trails for the Nordic Council) had a finish time listed. It's all good, though-I was in this for training and the fun, not public acknowledgment of a 23rd place finish.

In the end, the Weekend Double was a great idea, and other than feeling pretty tired today, I'm no worse for the wear. It was a good weekend of trying new things, and the new things seemed to help me make good progress toward the goals I've got on the table for fall. I don't know when I may have the chance again to run two races locally in a weekend, but the experiment was successful enough that I will surely try it again if and when the opportunity presents itself.