tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89259253966440068052024-03-17T21:03:53.635-06:00Run With JillI prefer memories to souvenirs...Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.comBlogger493125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-45698278593728654092015-07-09T05:00:00.001-06:002022-04-23T19:50:45.514-06:00Boston Marathon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">This blog has pretty much hit the grave, but I feel I owe myself at least a couple more posts (I'd love to fire it back up again, I miss it, but then again.....)</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">And, because <b>BOSTON</b>! (yes, I am well aware the race was almost 3 months ago...<i>shhhhhh</i>). </span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">And, because I hate viewing that <a href="http://runwithjill.blogspot.com/2015/01/carrying-hope-into-2015.html">last pathetic post I wrote </a>every time I pull up my blog.</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">So, let's start where I last left this thing. That'd be January....</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">When the calendar flipped to 2015, Boston became my A-race, yet through all those winter and spring months, training for Boston didn't go exactly as I had hoped. Sometimes I feel as though we are all mice in a giant experimental maze, scurrying around frantically, trying to find our way through. I felt like that training for Boston. Low energy; training paces that resembled something my grandmothers could run (and neither are alive); race results that left me frustrated, and at times, feeling pretty damn low. Maybe I had came down with some newly discovered cancer. That'd be really cool, in a not-so-cool way. Maybe it was that I officially turned OLD this training cycle (that'd be 52 in case anyone wants to know where that magical line lies) and everything from here on out will be a giant spiral downward. Or, </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I've been having some extra stresses this year, so it could have been that.</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">All-in-all, I think I just felt overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by the thought of an unsure future and a confusing present where I didn't really know what it is I'm supposed to be doing or where I belonged. You know that feeling when you walk into an incredibly messy room to clean it and you don't even know where to start? So you end up staring at it for 20 minutes before going to make yourself a sandwich? That's exactly how I felt (feel) about my life. Which bled into my training.</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I allowed life to affect my training much more than it should have. Because the thing is, I know things need to be done. I know that plans must be made. And in many cases, I know what those things and plans are. But I don't always have the faith they're going to get me where I want to go. So instead, I go and make that proverbial sandwich and thus life stood still and I ate a lot of sandwiches. And <i>bleh </i>I couldn't run "well"; too many sandwiches will do that.</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I chose to take my feet back to the road marathon for a while because I could not think of another race distance that truly humbles me from the inside out. The road marathon is that challenge I just never felt at peace with. </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Pounding out that many miles at a constant steady-state, I have almost always lost my mental grit during those last few miles.</span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> The road marathon </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">is a dig-deep 10k with an aggressive 20-mile warm-up that demands an ability to run relentlessly at a pace that is right on the edge of unsustainable - a feeling I like to think of as "the wheels are ABOUT to come off." <i>Is this pace too fast? Will I crash and burn and if so when? Do I have more in me? Where is that uncomfortable comfort zone I can sustain for 26.2 miles? </i>By contrast, the varied terrain of a mountainy trail run means the pace fluctuates dramatically; constantly shifting gears to accommodate the always-changing terrain gives the mind and body a break. I felt I got lazy running trails. Trail running turned me in some of the best physical fitness of my entire life two years ago, but the head got careless. I'd come to a hill and walk because it's perfectly acceptable to walk in steep traily races. I stopped at aid stations and feasted for 15 minutes until I felt "better" before I would take off. I stopped to smell the flowers, view the scenery, take a gajillion pictures, reflect on ... anything. Don't get me wrong, running 7900' of vertical at altitudes 10,000' and higher (Silver Rush) definitely poses some challenges - like pleading with your lungs not to explode right then and there, and least we forget how many banged up bloody knees and that infamous busted rib muscle I had. </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">But I missed that sensation and challenge I feel running faster and steadier in the marathon, and I wanted it back. So my focus for the year came back to the road (at least until trail running season :))</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">And since I somehow miraculously qualified for Boston at CIM in December of 2013, Boston it was. </span><br />
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<br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I am a habitual worrier, and to compensate for the undue stress I put upon myself, I plan. And I plan well in advance so I can visualize that race in my head over and over. And over. AND OVER! I had already researched the Interwebs to death, reading and re-reading countless articles on how to run this race well (you know, because the other two times I've run it weren't so stellar) and I came up with my own game plan for race day in hopes of squeaking out another BQ there. I compared my way-too-many detailed notes and came up with a master plan (note: Marathon Pace (MP) = 9:02):</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Miles 1-4: MP -10 seconds </span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Miles 11-16: MP -10 seconds</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Miles 21-24: MP (though truthfully, I just hoped not to be walking here!)</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Miles 25-26.2: Hang on for dear life.... and to think of all the times I had some decent runs up a certain really tough local hill.</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">The weather wasn't particularly spectacular: drizzling rain and strong bouts of fierce headwinds. The temperature wasn't exactly perfect either: about 40 degrees (which was cooler when the cold rain and winds were factored in). I didn't really have adequate attire, but I'm not sure anyone had anything that was ideal for hours of running in these conditions. I stressed what to wear the entire day before and all the way until a few moments before the gun went off. In the end, I ended up wearing basically all I had: shorts, two long-sleeved shirts, arm warmers and two pairs of gloves. For most of the race I felt chilled, and by the end of the race, I was soaked to the core. It wasn't ideal by any means, but in all honestly, I'd take this over anything above 70 degrees.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My daughter, Abbey, cheering and tracking me from the confines of a dry and warm hotel lobby</td></tr>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I wish I could write all the thoughts I had during the race...not only to share, but so I could also visit them later when time steals these precious memories and the details become hazy. I can close my eyes and recall many moments that stood out, but my thoughts during the race were fleeting and I couldn't concentrate on anything more than a few seconds. I was cold, for the most part. I had to pee for what felt like an eternity. I was well ahead of my proposed plan. My quads were trashed by mile 2, and that pain never ceased. I high-fived kids whenever I remembered to look up and 'take it all in'. This race definitely became internal where I continuously was aware of my time; my effort; my pace; how I felt; when to fuel; how much further I had left; am I pushing it too hard, or not quite enough. To me, these are the precise things you NEED to internalize when you put your heart and soul into a marathon<i>, </i>and I wanted to race this thing!</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I was ahead of my plan by a couple minutes coming into the half. Yes, the wheels had a high chance of coming off, but the Newton hills were soon approaching and I am not a strong climber (if you think living in Colorado where there are mountains aplenty to make me climb well, you'd be wrong). I felt I needed these additional minutes at the halfway point if I had any remote chance of making it out alive past the upcoming hills, so I told John in my inner voice, <i>don't panic quite yet.</i></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Surprisingly, the miles were clicking by quickly for me the entire race and despite my screaming quads, I was enjoying every morsel of this race. When I remembered to look up, I'd recognized certain landmarks or places and smile at the memories from years ago. But then I saw it - the sharp 90-degree turn where the Newton Hills begin around mile 17. Anxiety started to brew. My pace had been riding consistently up to this point, and for that fact alone, my head was holding up remarkably well. But those hills! Those four ghastly hills. Knowing they were my nemesis and worrying about them for like weeks, if not months, played a significant role in my mental collapse; by the last hill, my quads were trashed; I had stomach issues, and my hamstrings were seizing up. My pace fell drastically to 10:12 when I reached the top of that last hill. <i>That's a HELL OF A LOT more than pace +15, Jill. You're screwed! </i> In 4 long, agonizing miles, my mental state became a pile of dog food and I felt I had nothing left in me anymore - my object to re-qualify for Boston next year was pretty much out the window. It seemed pointless to try. <i>If I can't BQ again, then why even bother? </i>I came up with a hundred excuses why I was content with failure. </span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">The scene became a familiar one I've encountered in countless marathons past at mile 22. <i>It hurts too much. </i><i>It doesn't matter. You aren't going to reach your goals. Goals are stupid. Why do you put so much pressure on yourself? No one cares but you and you'll eventually get over it. It will feel so much better to walk. Your quads are killing you. Just walk. You'll still finish. That's a pretty big accomplishment in of itself. 4:02 is a good finish. Why did you think you could run 3:57? You can't. It doesnnnnnn't matttterrrrr. Just finish, shed a few tears of disappointment, and it'll all be okay.....in about 15 months.</i></span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">2 minutes later..... it WASN'T okay. And it DID matter.</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I didn't know how I was going to come home and face the firing arms with my handful of lame defenses. I knew I'd lose. Not just to the people who were there by my side, but I was going to lose the battle I sought out within me: that fight to the end that I have longed for in the marathon. </span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I mean, isn't this exactly what I said I wanted? To push through these last 3 miles. To fight the pain and fatigue. To prove to myself that I can be strong. To prove I am worthy of all those proverbial cliches that make me gag every time I see them on Facebook but secretly keep tucked inside and pull out when I need them. <i>Some of the hardest challenges make you stronger......</i></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">But ugh, I was in so much pain. My quads, which had been screaming from mile 2, were in agony; every step was pouring more misery into every leg fiber I had. My hamstrings were as tight as cello strings and seizing up. I just had three more miles....three. </span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">No, not this time. I told myself to<i> just shut up and</i> <i>RUN! </i> <i>Run as hard as you possibly can! </i></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Mile 21: that crap <b>10:12</b>. Mile 22: <i><b>9:34</b></i>. Mile 23: <i><b>9:23</b></i>. Mile 24: <i><b>9:14</b></i>. Mile 25: <b><i>9:07</i>.</b> I welcomed that Citgo sign in the distance where in prior races it never seemed to move; it would hover out there, dreadfully never seeming to inch closer. This time, I could actually FEEL it moving towards me.</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I was passing people like it was my job - it felt empowering. My quads were killing me, but I was running....and I was smiling....<i>Right on Hereford, Left on Boylston and you're there. </i>I said this repeatedly... until I turned Right. Then Left. And suddenly, there I was on the infamous Boylston Street with thousands swarming the street cheering.</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Mile 26: <b><i>9:13</i></b> </span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Tears were welling up as I ran towards the finish line - I had to turn them off because it became problematic to cry, breathe, AND run. I thought about how far I had come to get here; all the obstacles I faced training for this thing; all those sandwiches I ate. This is a stretch of the race I will treasure for the rest of my life - and I will forever remember every single second of how I felt. I was home My secret goal was 3:57:something - which only my dearest friend Jen knew (who was the most supportive human being on the planet earth - emailing me and texting me daily that she believed in me, which meant the world). I crossed: </span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"><b>3:57:02</b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gun time....ignore that clock</td></tr>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">People always say running is about the journey. </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Embrace the journey. </i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">That's all fine and dandy for them.... but for me, in the end, it's about crossing that finish line! There is no greater high I have EVER felt than a well-run race. Right now I want to race until I feel satisfied I have completed all I can do. Satisfaction isn't necessarily PRs (though that would be really cool), but rather to continue to grow, to learn, and race with everything I have in me until I can't. I want to race with endurance that is strong and passionate, yet patient and wise. I want to chip away at that 3:57:02 because I know I have more in me. I don't know when this desire will cease or when I won't feel the need to get out there and beat the crap out of myself anymore; I'm sure it's in my not-so-distant future. But right now I'm thankful for the fire within. And at age 52, that is a true gift, and I cannot put it away quite yet.</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">My life right now isn't particularly 'good' as I try to inspect where I need to go, what I need to do, struggles with this and that, and where I fit in this great big world. But it is getting a little better. Boston showed me that no matter how painful things are in my life, nor how particularly low things can get, and how lonely I can feel for much of it, if I can run faster than I ever have in the last 4 miles of a marathon on completely fried legs, surely I can persevere in this thing that is called <b>life</b>.</span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">It may take longer than I wish and I may eat a few more sandwiches before I find that happy place I'm meant to be, but there is strength in pain....</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I know I can do this.</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Thank you, Boston!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBS_lqE2HwnU95Re71V6RPsm6MJc8x168-Vg8NqOCrU9J3l9NjGAAc8UV7HWgEHHMdpgSpXZOe089d6X3DOn_sVn1M5bqcZUiU9oefsJhqmSRCZemThNVcNSVQhuTBbp7pu3JMmdWHXTi2/s1600/race+pic+fam.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBS_lqE2HwnU95Re71V6RPsm6MJc8x168-Vg8NqOCrU9J3l9NjGAAc8UV7HWgEHHMdpgSpXZOe089d6X3DOn_sVn1M5bqcZUiU9oefsJhqmSRCZemThNVcNSVQhuTBbp7pu3JMmdWHXTi2/s400/race+pic+fam.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Words can't begin to describe the emotions I felt when I saw these two at the end.<br />
My unimpressed-with-running daughter said, "Why are you crying?" One day she'll understand!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A friend from home, Othman, whom I literally bumped into outside the expo</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This one flies with her own wings....</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">.....and isn't afraid to express how she feels about running expos :) </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyVfA90gwWqqGYVLd3Ut0pDN_q9ktS8YhhrgbXWNjiCCumtoWeC-QjhoCV5_Rvh3DhxCQizEFJoQgdp6Aph-66eSFOmxCFaSw4FdBs5GY8z_xD9yqpcuOA6SjPIlic_Bai0bIjuDvDzFtw/s1600/best+sign+ever.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyVfA90gwWqqGYVLd3Ut0pDN_q9ktS8YhhrgbXWNjiCCumtoWeC-QjhoCV5_Rvh3DhxCQizEFJoQgdp6Aph-66eSFOmxCFaSw4FdBs5GY8z_xD9yqpcuOA6SjPIlic_Bai0bIjuDvDzFtw/s320/best+sign+ever.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But she makes awesome signs</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And I love her to death....and in the end, she was very proud of me (along with her little brother, who saved my life with his coat post-race)</td></tr>
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<b><i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: x-small;">"</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "comic sans ms";">A runner must run with dreams in his heart."<br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "comic sans ms"; font-size: xx-small;">- Emil Zatopek</span></i></b><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Run strong, my friends!</span><br />
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<i><span style="color: magenta; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Jill</span></i></div>
Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-83678860257401769872015-01-01T21:59:00.000-07:002015-01-15T20:45:26.226-07:00Carrying Hope into 2015<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5454540252686px; line-height: 18.8999996185303px;">2014</span><br />
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I'm so glad to have waved good-bye to 2014. I have very few fond memories from the past twelve months, but some years are best forgotten. At least most of the bad moments in there. </div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.5454540252686px; line-height: 18.8999996185303px;">It's been a tough year. In many ways, my toughest. And when I reached the year's end yesterday, the first thing I thought was that it was a miracle I survived it. I know those words sound melodramatic, but for me, at the time, they don't even begin to capture how torn apart my soul has felt this year after everything I experienced.</span></div>
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I know 2015 will be a different story. It has to be. Because I feel like I hit rock bottom in 2014. It was a year of more heartbreak than happiness. <i>True </i>rock bottom is a firm boundary, comforting in its limits that at least appear to mean things can't get worse. Of course I haven't <i>truly </i>hit rock bottom. Things <i>can </i>always be worse. But pain is pain. And the lowest you've ever been becomes the newest rock bottom, because it's the worst you've known. I have had many dark moments in my 51 years of life - many of those when I was just a kid. So maybe rock bottom isn't the right word, because when I reflected on the year, these were the first fleeting thoughts that came to mind about the year....</div>
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<span style="line-height: 18.8999996185303px;">I lost one of the closest loves I've ever had. </span>I found some new trail friends. I enjoy running with them more than I'll ever admit to anyone. I miss my old running friends. I ran the Leadville Marathon. My boys graduated from high school. Ryan set some amazing running PRs. That kid went to Montana for college on a track and academic scholarship. My feelings were hurt<span style="line-height: 18.8999996185303px;">, many times.</span><span style="font-size: 14.5454540252686px; line-height: 18.8999996185303px;"> I sat on my shower floor many times with tears streaming ... until all the hot water was gone. I ran a 50k on my 51st birthday - and smiled the entire day. I spent a weekend with my daughter in Salida (where I ran a horrible race) and we ate dinner at a gas station in the middle of nowhere (Southpark) and still laugh so hard whenever we bring it up. I understood depression a whole lot better. I had a job I absolutely loved. Because I had the best manager - who soon became a good friend - that I ever had. I drank some great beers. And ate some outstanding Mexican food. I lost a friend to alcoholism. Her car temporarily sits in front of my house as a daily reminder that life is short. I learned there are many senseless thing you can live without (television, for one). Brendan plays the piano for me every night and it melts my heart. I climbed about 176k vertical feet. I ran exactly 2014 miles. And 17 races. Many of them I'd classify as pathetic, but every one taught me something about myself - and some were even fun. I had my first DNF - and I didn't wither away like I always envisioned I would. I took on a walk-to-run 5k program for new runners and beamed with pride of their accomplishments. I registered for the Boston Marathon in 2015. </span><span style="font-size: 14.5454540252686px; line-height: 18.8999996185303px;"> I had some amazing conversations with some incredible friends. I have friends who just refuse to give up on me. I never cease to wonder what I did to deserve their friendships. </span><span style="font-size: 14.5454540252686px; line-height: 18.8999996185303px;">I learned it's okay to be sad sometimes, we deserve time with our emotions. I coached some incredible athletes. I found things to be grateful for that I never imagined I could be. My daughter aced her math GRE. I explored new adventures on trails I'd never run before. Where I found some amazing geological gems. And momentary peace. I learned public assistance doesn't mean someone's a bad person. Or lazy. I learned everyone has their own demons. I learned not all lawyers are scum. I learned never to judge anyone, for you never know what anyone is going through. I found a new running coach. In my backyard, practically. He hasn't dumped me yet. He lost his free ticket to do so so he's stuck with me for the year. I spent a couple days in Dallas with one of my longest, dearest friends. He spoiled me rotten. And we shared some great words. I slept the best I ever slept all year there. And I ran one of the most consistently-paced marathons of my life. </span><span style="font-size: 14.5454540252686px; line-height: 18.8999996185303px;">I learned not to be afraid of things I once was. I learned I am a pretty fierce fighter, if I can just calm all the clutter in my head. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.5454540252686px; line-height: 18.8999996185303px;">And I learned to find peace with 2014.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.5454540252686px; line-height: 18.8999996185303px;">People call the struggles and heartache "growing pains" when there's not much you can do about it. Labels like this are suppose to sooth us into the relief that the hurt we feel isn't novel. It's not unprecedented for humanity. It's all part of the game - a necessary part, probably.</span></div>
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When we look back over the year, or decade, or our whole lives, we wax nostalgic. We say things like, "I wouldn't trade the lessons for anything." But in the lesson-learning moments, <i>BLAH. </i> Sometimes we would trade the experience for <i>anything. </i>Who is right? Is it the version of myself who feels that pain or the later version who only remembers it? It's easy to assume that the present version of yourself knows better than any version that came before. But try telling someone who is suffering tragedy <i>now </i>that what they are experiencing is a totally good thing.</div>
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If they'll listen, the only power that will get them to believe what you say is <i>HOPE.</i> Because a promise that the tragedy isn't unprecedented, or unexpected, and maybe even necessary, doesn't take the sting away. It just helps you believe that the sting <i>might </i>go away later to be replaced with something more pleasant.</div>
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Hope is just a prologue to gratitude. It's good fortune that hasn't yet been fertilized by time and perseverance. It's the optimistic simile of platitude. I chose "optimistic" because unlike platitudes, hope has teeth.</div>
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Hope.</div>
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It's what's powered me through this year of heartache. And more importantly, it's what has made that year of heartache full of happy moments. I think hope is what got me through this year and because of what I saw it do, so it's what <i>I'll </i>carry into the next.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5454540252686px; line-height: 18.8999996185303px;">So excited that the new year is a chance for fresh beginnings. I'm looking forward to uncovering what lies ahead in the next 364 days, what Boston will bring me and the marathons beyond that - and working with my new coach. I can't promise I'll fire this blog back up regularly in 2015, but maybe more than the 4 times I wrote in 2014. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5454540252686px; line-height: 18.8999996185303px;">There's always hope, huh? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5454540252686px; line-height: 18.8999996185303px;">Happy New Year, my friends. Run strong!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18.8999996185303px;">Starting off the New Year with a little vertical, with new and old friends (and Ryan :))....</span></div>
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Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-73633888113330368012014-06-23T16:29:00.000-06:002014-06-24T16:23:30.371-06:00Wrapping Up SpringI can't believe it's been over 3 months since I last wrote on this blog, but then again, I can. Two graduating kiddos and all the flurry of end-of-the-year activities have been consuming life. Band concerts, track meets, more track meets, award nights, graduation thises and graduation thats....<br />
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I've been running some. Not as much as I would like, but most runs seem to be a temporary calm from the flood of emotions I feel as these two guys head in very different directions later this summer. I'm happy for them, truly - and very proud of course. But it's not been an easy task to make myself get out there many days over the past months. Not solely because of my soon-to-be lonely, empty house, but also because of a lot of other life stuff. Hibernation from the social realms has just been easier than to continuously explain what I've been up to. Or worse, haven't.<br />
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I came to realize, pretty early on in the year, that this was not going to be a year of stellar race performances for me. Not that I have anything to prove to myself (or anyone), but I come from a very competitive background and performing "well" was always my race goal. "Well" doesn't equate to a PR at every race (I'm SO beyond those days); it merely meant I put forth an effort training hard and reaped the rewards from all that hard work. It's been difficult to let that go and accept that I just didn't have what it takes right now to put in the required time and I'd better accept "good enough" and "I survived" on race day.<br />
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Through the wonderful power of the Interwebs, a woman I crossed paths with last summer, someone who helped me immensely at Silver Rush, suddenly reappeared in my life right around the time I finished up the half in Salida (last post). Melissa registered for Silver Rush this year, her first 50-miler (also mine last year), and wanted some company on the trails prepping this spring. Last year I probably trained 99% solo for Silver Rush yet strangely here I sat this year feeling sorry for myself that I had no one to force me back on the trails - especially since I had some impending seriously vertical trail races looming. So her timing was impeccable.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Centennial Cone</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Manitou Incline</td></tr>
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Due to Melissa's <strike>annoying</strike> habitual Tuesday, "Let's meet at Mt. Falcon tonight" email nudges (a fairly steep climb in the Denver foothills), I have been up that mountain trail more times this year than I have all of last year (and last year this place was a regular Silver Rush training staple). These runs haven't given me massive mileage, but they have provided me some decent vertical climbing.<br />
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And just like that, the series of races I enlisted upon myself were here. Without a solid base (and whopping 14 mile long run) I entered my races with a, "Just get 'er done" approach.<br />
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<li>This philosophy worked great for my first 50k of the year I did in April on my 51st birthday - the<b> <a href="http://romansrusticracing.com/cure-ultra.html">C.U.R.E 50k</a></b>.</li>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who doesn't want to celebrate turning 51 by running 32 miles severely ill-trained?</td></tr>
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This race was a teeny thing - a whopping 22 of us (49 is you add in the 20k-ers) and located in a state park at the base of the foothills. It wasn't challenging in regards of vertical climbing, but it had its own set of tests with a course that wandered through water crossings with swiftly moving currents and various sections where there was absolutely no trail and you had to follow course markings carefully (a challenge for me who can get lost on a 400m track).<br />
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But it was a gorgeous day and those little icy water crossings were like little angels of heaven on my legs - I finished that race running way more than I thought I would - and smiled every single step of the way. I had an absolute blast!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BEST swag - ever!</td></tr>
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<ul>
<li>Memorial Day, I ventured into the thrones of 50,000 other insanies to do the<a href="http://www.bolderboulder.com/"> <b>Bolder Boulder 10k</b></a>. I can't even tell you the last time I did this race; it was well before I started blogging (I think). I despise the 10k and avoid it like my kids' disastrous, smelly rooms, but Ryan had never done the race before and wanted to join his teammates for one last hurrah together, so I caved. Time with my kids right now is priceless, so with absolutely zero speed training since probably October, I opted to suffer 6.2 miles to spend some time with him. My only expectation was to hopefully run right around the 9 min/mile mark each mile and not take out too fast and die at the end, like I generally do in a 10k. I ended up with a 52:02 (8:22 avg pace) and felt better and better as each mile progressed, negative splitting each of those bad boy miles. Certainly not even close to my best 10k, but considering all, I was pleased. The ceremony after commemorating the Veterans of the good ole God Bless America was moving....</li>
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And breakfast with some dear friends (who helped crew for me at Leadville last year) was divine!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cynthia (and her darling house in Boulder), Terzah, and good ole me!</td></tr>
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<ul>
<li>As well as the just-get-it-done approach worked superbly for the 50k and Bolder Boulder, I faced a complete opposite outcome at the <b><a href="http://dirty30.org/golden-gate/">Golden Gate Canyon Dirty 30 50k</a> </b>on June 31st. My first ever DNF (yah, I heard all the <i>gasps</i><i>!</i>). A a string of errors on my behalf, but the clincher was that I forgot my hydration pack which caused a severe panic attack before the race - which in turn caused me to mentally check out of the race. Not good for a 32 mile race with 8800' of climbing. It was a cupless race and aid was going to be 2-3 hours between them; visions of death due to dehydration flooded my head. Combined that little mistake with an ill-fated wrong turn which added an additional hour and close to 1k vertical climbing, and a course whose climbs were far tougher than ever thought....when I got to the 3rd aid station, I was toast. One of the race volunteers was telling another runner how now would be the best point to quit if he had thoughts of doing so since the finish was only a few miles down a paved road. I was chasing cutoff times due to the wrong turn and I though to myself I still had about 5,000 vertical feet left of climbing in about 12 miles - and I cringed. I uttered, LOUDLY, "I'm done" and that, as they say, was the end of that. No ying-yanging of pros and cons, no conflicts of what I should do - I simply didn't want to chase the cutoff time and was sick of climbing. The end. I was afraid of that offensive DNF all last year training for Silver Rush. It scared me...of what it would do to me and my fragile psyche. But I didn't care today, not even one iota, when I said I was done and felt a sense of relief, frankly. I felt more remorse for Melissa - who stuck by my side the entire way being my fuel mule and sherpa when she quit also yet had no reason to other than she didn't want to run alone after coming all this way with me. I've long since thought about that day and what happened to my declining demeanor and I truly believe that 1) the course was too difficult in my current state of crap fitness, and 2) it wasn't an A-race where I sacrificed months of my life for THAT ONE RACE, so there was no awful sting by not finishing. It's amusing to me, really, how easily one can find validation if you look hard enough for it and can justify almost anything.</li>
</ul>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibVo4famikN6hTSwTjIcMqfauQqBeHVhyphenhyphenGQnNXMCJ5b9XM256mz8wJeeGezXvWGPazH5yrvX6nbPbZthSpP6DSPAkjD8CdaSl-VI4joWYvlcNfK9Je5BG7II3smGFq9Lv3R-FAwi_Eapep/s1600/photo6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibVo4famikN6hTSwTjIcMqfauQqBeHVhyphenhyphenGQnNXMCJ5b9XM256mz8wJeeGezXvWGPazH5yrvX6nbPbZthSpP6DSPAkjD8CdaSl-VI4joWYvlcNfK9Je5BG7II3smGFq9Lv3R-FAwi_Eapep/s1600/photo6.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the most stunning courses I've ever run. And difficult!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkPvNZTIQheybb7n9MRnrD2YSDTVV9scMyZGnquE9PbJI5q56eM-UtqAfmzuJ9J4jJUs8W6Kpn3LWhNE4DZtOrCC-RN0WZ1gPkIgjrUIeUwCEnsy7y-ZPWfeHwaLVnh8fpg7ZMdxw0VVMA/s1600/photo8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkPvNZTIQheybb7n9MRnrD2YSDTVV9scMyZGnquE9PbJI5q56eM-UtqAfmzuJ9J4jJUs8W6Kpn3LWhNE4DZtOrCC-RN0WZ1gPkIgjrUIeUwCEnsy7y-ZPWfeHwaLVnh8fpg7ZMdxw0VVMA/s1600/photo8.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A first DNF deserves a toast. I'm surprised the race team hasn't dropped my sorry ass yet.</td></tr>
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<ul>
<li>A week after the calamitous DNF 50k, Melissa and I hopped back on the racing bandwagon and hit up the infamous town of Vail for the <b><a href="http://www.mountaingames.com/event-detail/Vail-Pass-Half-Marathon.aspx">GoPro Vail Pass Half Marathon.</a> </b>With a marathon starting at 10,200' in another week, I just needed to get in some altitude training. And some climbing. The race was about 14 miles with 2700' of vertical, all on a bike path. I walked more than I should have, but the goal wasn't to kill myself since I had a lofty race the following weekend, and I finished feeling far better in the altitude than I thought and was back on the "pleased" column of race outcomes. All the recent rain Colorado has seen this spring has left the landscape looking a wee-bit Irish, so I soaked in this rare treat as I know in a heartbeat things will be bone dry and brown.</li>
</ul>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dork 1 and Dork 2</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still a lotta snow at 10,500' </td></tr>
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<ul>
<li>The finale of my ill-trained spring race season was<a href="http://www.leadvilleraceseries.com/run/trailmarathonheavyhalf/"> <b>The Leadville Marathon</b></a> on June 15th. OMG, you guys, I couldn't have written a more perfect outcome if I tried. Maybe it's just me, but that recent DNF shook a bit of my confidence and this race is no picnic. The climbs are intense, much more severe than the 50 miler I did here last year, and the race starts at 10,200' and climbs to a tad over 13k. Let's also not forget how OUT OF SHAPE I AM, too. But I love it up here and I wanted to be part of it. I knew I had a pretty lenient cutoff time (8 1/2 hours) and if I paced myself well - that being don't kill my quads running hard on the first downhill - I might have a chance to make it. But I won't lie, I was pretty nervous. I seriously had no business doing a race of 26 miles and 7000' of climbing at these altitudes. I mean, this is a race for people who TRAINED for it. </li>
</ul>
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Lots of climbing early on so I took a conservative approach and did the "walk when it's up and run easy when it's down." I felt great heading into Mosquito Pass around mile 12, when the race starts a 2.5 mile climb with about 2000' of elevation gain. Sucks. So. Bad. Not only is the pitch of the climb enough to choke on a lung, the trail is full of loose rock that makes is extremely difficult to plant you damn foot without breaking an ankle. Add some snow and 40 mph winds and whalaa, I left that "good" feeling smack at the base and wouldn't pick it up for a few more hours. <br />
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Many times I screamed I wanted this climb to end while making small gains to the top of Mosquito. But I wouldn't let myself get my head in a bad place; I knew that'd be the kiss of death having so much more left to do. I just climbed. And climbed and climbed and swore and promised God all my children if I made it to the top alive and climbed some more. And eventually I was treated to the summit, at 13,200', and greeted by the original race founder, Ken Chlouber, who was personally thanking everyone who got up there. I won't lie, I got a little choked up.<br />
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I quickly headed back down, trying to remain upright on that loose spree rock while dodging runners coming up. I tried to be encouraging to all; many looked liked hell (there had to be some that just didn't make it). I surprisingly ran well down, keeping my eye on a target girl with light blue shorts so she wouldn't get out of my sight. We played leap-frog back and forth for the next few hours and this became my distraction all the way to the end (she got me the last mile). Another suck-ass climb due to a reroute of the original course because of excessive snow on it, but I was surprised how I started passing a lot of people here. Once at the top (1300' in about a mile, <i>gah</i>!!!) I could tell I was getting tired. When the aid station guy said we just had 6 more miles and one more 2-mile climb, I did the math where exactly I was for the first time that day and knew I would make the cutoffs, even if I walked the entire rest of the way. Aside from the small bit of fatigue, I felt remarkably good and decided I'd just gun the downhills. <br />
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I passed probably 15 people on the last 2-mile stretch home as most people were walking. But I felt great and was running well. The last mile is always a doozie because you turn onto the street with the finish line about 3/4 of a mile ahead and you can see it FOREVER and just want to be done! But I ran, ran hard, and crossed, beaming, in 6:38. FAR exceeding the 8-hours I thought it'd take me. Elated!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQDWcLppnVllq-A6O_oAaNn8NdJUvvIJtvVdRGSPgmmaJ3MAbCfWHwe__T5tas2YgIQ1XWXtz84wCAJoTB8D4fAqM8rSPCNP-wTAdH1Jg-k3qH1AvSlGsM3EI2ftEHStciCPniE2D6kby/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQDWcLppnVllq-A6O_oAaNn8NdJUvvIJtvVdRGSPgmmaJ3MAbCfWHwe__T5tas2YgIQ1XWXtz84wCAJoTB8D4fAqM8rSPCNP-wTAdH1Jg-k3qH1AvSlGsM3EI2ftEHStciCPniE2D6kby/s1600/14.jpg" height="290" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ran into my friend, Jenn, at the finish. She got 2nd in her age group and finished a good 45 minutes before me.</td></tr>
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Despite all my fears entering this race, I felt strong the whole time, and due to Melissa's relentless emails to hill train on Mt. Falcon each week, I never completely obliterated. After the race, I wasn't particular sore, just extremely sleepy and famished. I have her to thank. And I have.<br />
<br />
Training goes in waves, I think. Sometimes it flows better than others. It's not my year to be knocking out some crazy age group wins and times on my watch that I'm super proud of, but the races I've done this spring have taught me a lot about myself and how much grit I can push out of me when I want to. And I've had a ton of fun. And really, isn't it why we do this sport in the first place. I think so.<br />
<br />
As Spring turns to Summer, my race calendar is empty as is my soon-to-be house. I think a lot about how I'm going to fill the next phase of the year racing, but more so, how I'm going to fill in the next phase of my life after the boys are gone. I know they will always need me (as does my 23 year old daughter), but my roll is changing and losing its usefulness (thank you, Petra!!) and that is a bit scary, yet exciting. I have no firm plans but quite a few paths I'm exploring.<br />
<br />
Until I fill in the blanks, I'm sure you can find me at the base of Mt. Falcon every Tuesday night, preparing for whatever IT is.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtlaJMtAXFSKhhdWzxYovd2-uT0zm959VR3u68aeP9sbYseflqJneMghaojsAzu4RaRfC8i-E5sNKX4DuGPI4xeUWml4eB21xeZVatdfZcVOiYCniSSix_cabRGm48cruKLQvn-Qe7tZ9O/s1600/photo1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtlaJMtAXFSKhhdWzxYovd2-uT0zm959VR3u68aeP9sbYseflqJneMghaojsAzu4RaRfC8i-E5sNKX4DuGPI4xeUWml4eB21xeZVatdfZcVOiYCniSSix_cabRGm48cruKLQvn-Qe7tZ9O/s1600/photo1.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mt. Falcon</td></tr>
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<u>As of June 23:</u><br />
Miles run: 984.67<br />
Vertical miles: 100,085'<br />
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<b><i>Run strong, my friends!</i></b><br />
<b><i>Jill</i></b><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-55404480928759691922014-04-09T06:00:00.000-06:002014-04-09T08:47:24.640-06:00February, March, and a Race!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: start;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 25.200000762939453px; text-align: justify;"><i><b>"Anyone can give up, it's the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength." unknown </b></i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7VO4DzlpI5p6c6cfvW-amhTrSC7c58IWdc5XrCFG8u6Uc3vZtJC6ByUWWUe-xjxRflmFhS7J7Sp-F7Ahyphenhyphen2OJS97ay7884ipyELouys0x_dWQ3ZOZhIvnrdltuWIyI7faoOIAWOUFXtOE3/s1600/Trail1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7VO4DzlpI5p6c6cfvW-amhTrSC7c58IWdc5XrCFG8u6Uc3vZtJC6ByUWWUe-xjxRflmFhS7J7Sp-F7Ahyphenhyphen2OJS97ay7884ipyELouys0x_dWQ3ZOZhIvnrdltuWIyI7faoOIAWOUFXtOE3/s1600/Trail1.jpg" height="271" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">~ mile 2 of the Salida's A Run Through Time Trail Half Marathon</td></tr>
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Oh, yes, I do have a blog...<br />
<br />
Let's just pick up where I left off last, in January, when I was beginning to turn things around after inhaling enormous amounts of glistening sugar cookies in December....<br />
<br />
<u>February:</u> Set my mind to training like I’ve never trained before, and February laughed in my face, then pretty much gave me the finger. My training took one step forward and three steps back when I was hit with some pretty emotional "life stuff", and other things I couldn't control (and things I could, but chose not to, because it was just too hard). The highlights (lowlights): The Polar Vortex (!!!!!); a severe case of the bubonic plague (I swear I had it!); an icy trail run that was more skateable than runnable - confirmed by a PR of most falls ever in one run (5), a broken Garmin, and a banged up palm which still causes severe pain when I attempt a pushup umpteen weeks later. Then there was simply sheer laziness brought on by the stress of life. I've found I have a hard time training well when I have a lot of emotional garbage on my mind; I end up spending too much time with my toxic thoughts under my flannel sheets. I got tired of trying to run through it all, truthfully, and became utterly lazy; low days turned into stale weeks and eventually the entire month of February became depressing. I ended the month with ~149 miles, none of which amounted to anything in double digits runs, and only 11k of vertical. Pathetic, considering I had an upcoming very hilly trail marathon in mid-March with a pretty stringent cutoff time (at least in my sorry state).<br />
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<u>March:</u> First order of business with the flip of the calendar was to email the race director of abundant hills marathon and ask if I could please bump down to the half marathon distance. Injury seems to gather more sympathetic embraces than general laziness for lack of proper training, so I did what any healthy runner would do - I lied that something hurt in my body. I forget what ailment I forged, but whatever - mission accomplished.<br />
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With my new down-graded race, I then started my solid half marathon training plan with <strike>10</strike> 5 days to go before Salida's <b><a href="http://www.salidarec.com/ccrc/Run-Through-Time-Marathon-2014.htm">A Run Through Time Trail Half Marathon</a>.</b> I was excited for the race - it was my first in about 3 months and I was itching to get back out there, even though the chance of a heart-attach climbing the first hill was inevitable. I just love the <i><b>feel </b></i>of a race, love the atmosphere, love the community. I've missed it; I've needed it. <br />
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My daughter came with me to Salida. We left the night before the race for the what should be 3-hour drive. 3-hours turned into 5-hours thanks to rush hour traffic, and then a little glitch in hotel reservations, making us drive an additional 30 minutes to another town, and leaving us eating "dinner" at the Loaf and Jug in God Forsaken Nowhere. Our schedules so rarely sync and we have to plan so far in advance to make a date together, so it's actually sort of nice when there's a hitch in the plans - it makes the memories together more everlasting. Sure, a couple days soaking up rays on the beach in Mexico sounds like a better mother-daughter bonding time, but these days I take what I can get.<br />
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The race was <b><i>only</i></b> 13.1 miles, with 2200' of climbing and starting about 3000' higher than I live. Should have been a piece-o-cake, but in the back of my mind, I knew it was going to be a doozie - considering that bastard, February. <br />
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In my current state of craptastic fitness, it was HARD, guys. I mean by-mile-9-I-desperately-wanted-to-lie-down-right-then-and-there-and-take-a-nap hard. I have never felt like that in a race. Never! And it wasn't really a "hard" course - it's just that stupid February's fault!<br />
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Mountains. Hills. Up, down, again and again. And again and again. Rocks I had to sidestep down, because in my hiatus of running hills, I've reverted back to being a big 'ol chicken on them (and a still screaming palm to remind me what a klutz I am). At two points during the later part of the race I thought I was lost as there was no one around me within eyesight, so I backtracked my steps until someone come along. I walked. A lot. More than I needed to - simply because it was easier and I wasn't in the mood to exert too much energy fighting this thing. Even the downhills - my love and joy - were difficult on untrained quads. <br />
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I deserved exactly what I got out of that race, considering what I put in it to get there. But I was secretly disappointed; I had lost far more fitness than I thought, and this race slapped me a pretty high dose of reality. A few months ago a 50 mile race in some serious altitude with some kickass climbing yielded better results than this 13.1 (13.4 if we want to be specific, and we do!) mile race which caused me to reach the pinnacle of my physical limits within a couple hours.<br />
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Miles: 13.41<br />
Vertical: 2141'<br />
Time: 2:55.01<br />
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But I loved being out there; back on the trails, back racing. And I'm glad I did it, even though I wanted to lay down and die at mile 9. I always say no experience in life is without value! No setback means anything about your character as long as you don't accept it as your destiny. I came home from that race feeling a lot more energized and some much needed motivation about getting my hiney back out there running, especially when those dark, sad days where the strength to crawl out of my flannel sheets to get a drink of water takes all my willpower hit me.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; line-height: 21px;">It seems as if human nature dictates that we make necessary improvements primarily in the wake (up) of loss. At least it does for me, and I'm excited to get back out there. With the trees budding and my daffodils blooming (and my allergies screaming!), the season's changing....perfect time for a season of change for this girl.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; line-height: 21px;">April: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia; line-height: 21px;">173.41 miles</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia; line-height: 21px;">13,839' vertical</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia; line-height: 21px;">Oh, and guys, my race team shirts and jacket arrived the other day....sweet! Truly honored to be part of Runners Roost Mountain/Ultra race team!</span><br />
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<u>Next up:</u> C.U.R.E 50k (or 20k, depends how I feel :)) on April 19th. A little ill-trained 51st birthday treat to me! :)<br />
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<i>Run strong, my friends!</i></div>
Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-88800337925047384432014-01-31T21:42:00.001-07:002014-02-01T22:25:53.789-07:00What's Cookin', 2014<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Top of Lookout Mt., January 1st</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 21px;">Hello, 2014. My blog's just late to the New Year's resolutions and goals bandwagon but that's par for the course. Keeping this blog updated in a timely manner thankfully isn't on the list of things to tidy up about myself in 2014 :).</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;">After CIM, I spent December with no sense of structure to my running, and I enjoyed it - probably a little too much, as I ran little and consumed thousands of glistening sugar coated sugar cookies. My body is weak now, which I am reminded with each and every run I do. Recovery takes a million gazillion years whenever I push it beyond it's threshold. I'm trying to re-learn the word 'patience' and not beat myself up when I sit here stiff and sore and totally cooked after a </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;">measly 13 mile run. I'm learning adaptation is no longer a month-long process b</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;">ut the body is slowly responding well (mostly) to the training I'm throwing at it.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;">I have some races on my 2014 calendar, but in all honestly, I can't really say they're 'goals' races but more so accomplishment races - some cool things to do. I spent many long hours in December glancing at so many races, trying to find some - even ONE - that tugged at me where I could put my heart and soul it like I did Silver Rush last year. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;">I wrote out lists of races I was drawn to, only to scratch some off, then rewrite them back in the next day .... and the next they were removed again.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;"> The weirdest thing has happened.....</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;">I suddenly feel completely fulfilled racing. Not burnt, no, but more a sense of culmination where everything just feels complete. With the exception of possibly doing a 100k and a 100-mile race one day, I feel thoroughly satisfied with what I have accomplished. It's been quite a collection, which has left me nothing but utmost pride.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;">That doesn't mean I'm not racing this year. But oodles of speedy road race days are (mostly) behind me; I've done what I can do there and I'm not going to get faster. I'm drawn to the trails now, which are kinder to my aging body and where I walk away with a feeling like I've just been on a little mini adventure and being an intrinsic part of nature. They also challenge me more and leave me with a grander sense of achievement. I've registered for a grand total of 4 races this year (which I will expand as the year progresses), that will carry me to the middle of June:</span></span><br />
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<li><b><a href="http://www.moabhalfmarathon.com/halfmarathon/index.cfm"><span style="font-family: inherit;">March 15th: Canyonlands Half Marathon</span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></b><span style="font-family: inherit;">(I may end up not doing this race and instead doing a toughie</span><a href="http://www.salidarec.com/ccrc/Run-Through-Time-Marathon-2014.htm"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <strong>trail marathon in Salida</strong></span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>,</strong> which would serve me better for my May 10th race)</span></li>
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<li><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 21px;"><a href="http://romansrusticracing.com/cure-ultra.html"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">April 19th: C.U.R.E 50-miler</span></b></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> (Happy 51st birthday to me)</span></span></span></li>
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<li><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 21px;"><a href="http://gnarrunners.com/quad-rock-50/"><b>May 10th: Quad Rock 50-miler</b></a></span></span></li>
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<li><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 21px;"><b><a href="http://www.leadvilleraceseries.com/run/trailmarathonheavyhalf/">June 15th: Leadville Marathon</a></b></span></span></li>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;">The last 3 are wow-o-wow hard for someone like me. I need to train for those suckers, I know this. And I will. And I am. But I'm discovering after pretty much killing myself training last year that I am tired of, well, killing myself. And missing some of the joy of running. I believe I can still do these beastly races and not train AS HARD as I did for Silver Rush, which I'm sure will thus mean my finish time will be much slower. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;">And I am completely OKAY with that. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #333333;"></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;"></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 21px;">I'm allowing myself to be at peace with whatever these races throw at me and if I have to drop to a lesser distance, well okay. I have so much on my plate right now and life isn't as comfy and cozy as it was last spring training for Silver Rush; I don't have the freedom nor the luxury to arrange work around training, and Mother Nature isn't exactly being kind this winter and allowing me on the trails when I do have some free time. After a particularly rough start to this week, my daughter taped this cheesy quote on my steering wheel; I think it fits my life perfectly right now.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">I'm going to loosely follow a <i><b>50 mile race on 50 miles with 5000' a week</b></i> plan (already failed that in January. Go me). Give or take some miles. Or feet. That's mostly just to give me some markers for my long runs and a minimums for my mileage and climbing. I'm no longer instilling the use of a coach, but I do have someone who has offered to give me some weekly guidance and insights to my training - and I am so grateful to have him there for me! He's an incredible vertical trail runner and knows WAY more than I do (he needs to start kicking my ass a bit more, though! :)). And, of course, I have some <strike>annoying</strike> amazing friends whom I'm sure will keep me in line when my whining becomes too extreme, or severe doubts set in (like now, because January hasn't been too kind with it's weather unlike last year). Racing is still important to me; it allows me to be around a community I still desperately need, and a means to keep me motivated to keep myself fit. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">I'm excited to start the new year off with some new adventures I've never done before. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">Here we go, 2014!</span><br />
<u><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></u><br />
<u><strong><span style="font-family: inherit;">A few January highlights:</span></strong></u><br />
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 21px;">New Year's Day, a group of us went up Lookout Mt. in Golden. Lookout Mt. is a road that is about a 1300' climb in 4.5 miles and is very popular with road cyclists (Buffalo Bill's gravesite sits at the top). It was an eerie morning socked in a cloud, a rare treat for us Coloradoans. I actually managed to run a great deal of this road, even if I came in dead last (I'm sure I'll be in therapy for months recovering from the humility!).</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Chick power!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A few days later, a large group from the track team went up the</span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manitou_Incline"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Manitou Incline</span></b></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">. "The Incline" (as we locals like to call it) is a trail that is the remains of a once railway to bring supplies to the top of Pikes Peak. It's about 2000' in about 9/10 of a mile with some sections reaching a 68% grade. Guys, that's like entering the jaws of death steep. I was stoked I wasn't dead last like up Lookout and more so, that my time up (47:20) is the 2nd fastest I've done up this tower of vertical pain.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Speeding up the trail in my Ferrari-esque 50 min/mile pace</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Coming back down on Barr Trail with the summit of Pikes Peak as our backdrop</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 21px;">I FINALLY meet a blog friend - live - for a run together in hurricane-esque winds up Green Mt. Sandra was instrumental with her guidance and knowledge getting me to Silver Rush; I bet we shared hundreds of emails before the actual event, without ever having actually met. Even in 5000 mph winds and sloth place, we had a great time with some good vertical (I just wish I could have heard half our conversation) and were blessed with the most spectacular sunset.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 21px;">Two weeks ago, Brendan and I, along with a group of crazy 14er climbers, scaled Mt. Quandary (14,265'). I'm not a fan of cold, so I stressed about what to wear for a week and ended up wearing most of Ryan's stuff - but it sufficed. The snow was deep below tree-line and beings I forgot snowshoes in my overly obsessive state of what to bring, we did a lot of post-holing (falling into the snow, waist deep).</span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQc4JlOAcvHiqkypmGYJAWToqZBuZACym5s2I-ZEpf1Q5zR_qOP5ZCXkESpqYVtK3i8wcgpj2Fq3h7TEpf7YfezlVIMfE4MQJ7kotQCKrZn2syfQrMK6H3xFUwswLAYEf7atTpGKtxpQ96/s1600/2014-01-18+09.44.29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQc4JlOAcvHiqkypmGYJAWToqZBuZACym5s2I-ZEpf1Q5zR_qOP5ZCXkESpqYVtK3i8wcgpj2Fq3h7TEpf7YfezlVIMfE4MQJ7kotQCKrZn2syfQrMK6H3xFUwswLAYEf7atTpGKtxpQ96/s1600/2014-01-18+09.44.29.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But the day couldn't have been more perfect as we made our way to the summit.....</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7CEQ1bd-rYGQ2Ufw7WvOMznKbJk71waZCCaLwtnkyv0IjQu20og_vSmdw4qML5HzpFoDNnhWPBaiMHe1xg7xl02ewsg9hi7ANLu6nfo6jfRMBC1fImHcmYy01F-m0292tE7wSz6QrGrrB/s1600/2014-01-18+10.37.12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7CEQ1bd-rYGQ2Ufw7WvOMznKbJk71waZCCaLwtnkyv0IjQu20og_vSmdw4qML5HzpFoDNnhWPBaiMHe1xg7xl02ewsg9hi7ANLu6nfo6jfRMBC1fImHcmYy01F-m0292tE7wSz6QrGrrB/s1600/2014-01-18+10.37.12.jpg" height="210" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Yep, that's me!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was slow-going after clawing our way out of the snow so often, but once we got above tree-line, the snow wasn't as taxing, it was just the altitude and the OMGI'mSoOutOfShape that slowed me to a crawl. Once at the top, we were rewarded with Mother Nature's party.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfHhizGHuctT48Nj1H41yRbLsBcJjV__vvXybPi1Mv3SJo3nV2pUmulmC1AJ0dpdP5rhhuU5Bkt_Ctw_9lo0JNnAn6voM0nuQfP6F14fobKZhKBYSsNgNmvX1sYQcr1z2NOT0s6vOl6V_Y/s1600/2014-01-18+13.20.01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfHhizGHuctT48Nj1H41yRbLsBcJjV__vvXybPi1Mv3SJo3nV2pUmulmC1AJ0dpdP5rhhuU5Bkt_Ctw_9lo0JNnAn6voM0nuQfP6F14fobKZhKBYSsNgNmvX1sYQcr1z2NOT0s6vOl6V_Y/s1600/2014-01-18+13.20.01.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Brendan in green jacket, me red. Friends in the boring colors.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I have been up Quandary a few times now (this was my first winter 14er, though) and every time on this same edge, I always see two mountain goats. Not sure if they are the same guys each year, but regardless, they are incredible creatures to see in their natural backdrop. I'm always in awe! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Almost 8 hours later, and exhaustion and achiness beyond compare, we made it down. Days later, I couldn't move a muscle without wincing, but it was a wonderful day spent with this kid of mine - so grateful for the opportunity as I know these moments will be gone soon. LOVED THIS DAY!</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 21px;"><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">January miles: 167.53</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">January Vertical: 17,403'</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">Swim: 3 miles</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">Weights: 4x</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">14ers scaled: 1</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">Run strong, my friends (I'm heeding this advise myself for February :)).</span></div>
Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-18208952840234747972014-01-02T05:30:00.000-07:002014-01-06T08:55:11.002-07:002013: What a (Helluva) Year<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Scrap metal at it's finest!<br />I hang my medals on my closet doorknob until the last day of the year. I then take each one, remember the day,<br />then put them in a large Ziplock and away in a box and start over. Repeat each year. The Mt. Evans rock (bottom center) and the age group mining pan win from Leadville - those will hang on my dresser mirror (along with my Boston medals).</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">If there is one thing I learned about myself in 2013 it's that I can do a shitload of really, really hard stuff...and, believe it or not, I'm not going to die. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">I know that sounds like I'm being a little melodramatic, and to a small extent I am, but up until I ran Leadville Silver Rush 50 in July and then 5 weeks later the Pikes Peak Marathon - two races that have been high on my list of races to run - I pretty much thought those types of things were for die-hard ultra trail-y types of people. I'm just a normal person, I can't do stuff like that. Good Lord, it took me 4 registrations of the Pikes Peak Marathon over the course of 20 years (how many dollars lost?) before I actually had the courage to do this race this year.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">Fear. It constrained me for decades. Tethered me to my past. Forced me inside my comfort zone and at times, stopped me dead in my tracks and render me useless.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">I think a lot of folks believe I ran the Leadville 50 because I turned 50. A mile for each year - how cool is that? While this is pretty cool, and does have a nice ring to it, it wasn't the true underlying reason. I guess there could be plenty of smaller <i>whys, </i>but in my heart, I just felt it was time I just faced down my fears of the unknown and tackled these races that I have always admired from afar, but could never bring myself to do. I spent 2012 trying to reestablish myself as a runner after the foot from hell fiasco and I just couldn't find the love that I knew was buried inside. I ran a couple marathons - and felt no connection to them. I raced several half marathons and none of them were even close to my abilities. I threw in several other races because, well, just because. I didn't really care about any of them, I had no attachment, and thus the training for them was non-existent...I just didn't love running much anymore and I wondered if my days of racing were completely over. Was this all there was for me? Just endless sucky road races where I got exponentially slower each year I grow older? Gah, it wasn't even fun anymore. I needed a change of scenery. Literally.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">I needed Leadville!!!!!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">Since the day I registered for the Leadville Silver Rush 50-miler in late February (and a couple months before), I had one focus for 2013 and one focus only: train for the damn thing. I can’t remember a day I slept past 5:30 AM. I was typically in bed by 9:00 or 9:30 and up at 4:00 to drive countless hours to squeeze in 5-6 hours of running on trails that I had no idea where they lead. </span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">While I certainly trained hard for my road marathons in the past (some of them, anyway), I don’t know that the same level of drive was there as when I trained for Leadville, and I know the amount of time spent didn't even come close to the same. Leadville was a huge unknown to me - a world I knew very little about. I was a road and track junkie for 37 years. Trails? How does klutzoid me run on dirt and rock without falling (I learned you don't :))? How do I run 50 miles - all at one time - when my longest run has ever only been 26.2 (Okay, 27 if you count Carlsbad Marathon when I made a wrong turn with the half marathoners and had to go back)? I get lost on a 400m track, how the heck I am to navigate my weary body around on a 3' wide patch of dirt when race course markers are only positioned maybe every mile? And the clincher...what if I can't finish what I start? Egads! The old adage of biting off more than I can chew really matters to me.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">I hired an ultra coach (well, coaches - plural - if I'm truthful). I spent countless hours in my car driving to the trails so I could get my weak climbing ass stronger. I registered for countless races to use as training. I spent days away from home at my aunt's condo in Breckenridge, a town nestled high in the Rockies, where I could get plenty of less oxygen into my lungs. I got lost on trails in Leadville and had a complete tear-ridden melt-down when I got turned around and had no clue how to get back to my car. Six weeks later, I fell hard on some other trails in Leadville and pulled a rib muscle; I was by myself and laid flat on the ground for a solid 15 minutes because it hurt so much to breathe when I moved. It took me 2 hours to walk 2 miles, via a shortcut I prayed endlessly would lead me to my car (</span><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">miraculously</span><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">, it did).</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">Add in real-life stuff like work and just trying in general to not become some dirty, stinky-ass, half-stranger to your family, and some weeks became quite the juggling act. I’d like to think I made it through without putting running first but more often than not, in reality, training for an ultra is a fairly selfish act. If I was going to do it right (as in, if I was going to train at a level that would actually prepare me for the race), then I was going to have to make some sacrifices in other parts of my life. Truly, the running part of training for a 50 mile race is easy (and really fun). It’s the logistics of putting in the time that’s hard. All that mattered was the next step, the next stride to Leadville and my kids were left without me a lot. Lucky for me, I have an understanding and supportive family who have always known how much running means to me….I think when they were little they assumed that the amount of running that their parents do is par for the course for ALL parents. But my kids believed in me, in my quest, and I all I can do is hope that they take something deeper away from what it is I do out there when their own lives hit a snafu.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">Anyway.... in the end, when I stood on the start line of Leadville, I felt an enormous sense of tranquility that I'd never experienced in a race before. My work was done. My fears were gone. Yes, I CAN do the things these uber ultra trail-y runners do. And I DIDN'T die! I was now one of them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And I loved every second of it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">I guess it's the catch-22 of being a grown-up, </span><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">simultaneously wanting certain things but being scared to death of them at the same time. We have to own those fears and realize that until we are brave enough to acknowledge the desire, and fight like mad to get it, we will never ever have the opportunity to see it blossom in our lives.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">I know it's just running, just a mere hobby. I'm not a paid athlete nor heading to the Olympics. I know that Leadville mining pan age group trophy in my bedroom and my name in Colorado Magazine's "Fastest Runners of the Year" aren't the most important things in the world, but they are tangible reminders of those hours, and the miles, I spent on those trails. They remind me that yes, yes I can do these really hard ultra trail-y things...by god, dreams really can come true. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">2013: it was a helluva year; the memories will forever be stored in my heart</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">! I know I won't be racing as much this year as I did in 2013 due to financial and logistical matters, and simply because I just want to spend more time with my kids before they venture out into the big ole world, but I do know that whatever I do in 2014, it's going to be pretty dang scary! I can't wait.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><u>2013 Numbers:</u></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><u>Mileage:</u> <b>2103.22 miles </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><u>Vertical:</u> <b>144,038'</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><u>Races:</u> <b>23 </b>(two of those were pacing my friend, Katie)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> 50-miler: <b>1</b> (Leadville, duh)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> 50k: <b>2</b> (my first time at this distance)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Marathons: <b>3</b> (two trail, one being Pikes Peak Marathon - got that monkey off my back)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> 33k: <b>1 </b>(trail)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> 25k: <b>1</b> (trail)</span><br />
14.5 miler: <b>1</b> (Mt. Evans Ascent)<br />
Half Marathon: <b>7 </b>(2 trail, the rest road)<br />
7k: <b>1</b><br />
4-miler: <b>1</b><br />
5k: <b>3</b><br />
Half Ironman Triathlon: <b>1</b><br />
Sprint Triathlon: <b>1</b><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><u>Race mileage:</u> <b>391.95 miles </b>(running, not included are the bike and swim from tris)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><u>Race vertical:</u> <b>42,931'</b></span><br />
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<u>14-ers climbed:</u> <b>9</b> (raced two: Mt. Evan and Pikes Peak)<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And...my first flipagram. I had a blast making it, I hope you enjoy it as much as I loved digging through all my memories making it (don't worry, it's only 30 seconds)...</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Happy New Year, my friends. As always, it has been a pleasure sharing the miles with you!</span></span>Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-33393723546489742232013-12-19T06:00:00.000-07:002013-12-19T16:24:20.938-07:00How to Race CIM in 38 Steps<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKac6f-RdNKHQWEXc1TLeDs7X2WfuYD0RPSNc9MdKaYQ8DuhsDrW7CjrnJwo42KaNJg2Kbt8y_r_TUyt-D86DMMzVYpC6h9rw7Kz-PgV9HTrwNBRojEnrgy0SbS6OWF6xlYBYH9q_grLlg/s1600/start2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKac6f-RdNKHQWEXc1TLeDs7X2WfuYD0RPSNc9MdKaYQ8DuhsDrW7CjrnJwo42KaNJg2Kbt8y_r_TUyt-D86DMMzVYpC6h9rw7Kz-PgV9HTrwNBRojEnrgy0SbS6OWF6xlYBYH9q_grLlg/s400/start2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I've run races 4x as large as CIM (Boston, Chicago) and none has been as clustered at the start as CIM</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">1) have friend (Katie) pick me up at 430am for 8000 hour drive to California. In the coldest weather recorded on earth. Ever.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">2) drive an hour to realize said friend dropped her phone in my driveway when she picked me up. Drive back to get it. In rush hour traffic. Actual departure time is now 3 hours later than planned.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">3) stop in Laramie, WY to get gas. Car thermometer reads a balmy -21 degrees (without windchill factored in). OhhhhMyyyyGodddd!</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">4) toes take eternity to thaw out, just in time to get out of the car again for more gas.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">5) 3 dogs tagging along for the fun get into dog fight and bite Katie's finger.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">6) adorable 4-year old, also tagging along, has a melt-down about being stuck in the car for 400 hours (who can blame her?).</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">6) stop in Elko, NV for the night in raunchy hotel. If you've been to Elko (who the hell would?), 'nuff said. If you haven't - no need to rush there.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">7) day 2 of eternity car trip from hell: eat shit all day.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">8) start to feel nauseous.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">9) start to feel REALLY nauseous.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">10) have Katie pull the car over 30x to get some fresh air so I don't barf all over her (and the kid and the 3 dogs...though 2 of the dogs may have deserved it).</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">11) </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">consider a lobotomy.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">12) laughed for 20 minutes when this song came on...</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9nlHZd2_ea-LhzYiZxkqlbRJA7BlxsLsXKwz9Fibnq49U4eybs8H0MY4W2SsJizvFiVc6v22O56ijfa60Wcou59aA85K49bk6BOTH3wmdGU9ScU5c_dE5vt5Ek8sJeB95fc1Nuygl16oH/s1600/Best+day+of+my+life.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9nlHZd2_ea-LhzYiZxkqlbRJA7BlxsLsXKwz9Fibnq49U4eybs8H0MY4W2SsJizvFiVc6v22O56ijfa60Wcou59aA85K49bk6BOTH3wmdGU9ScU5c_dE5vt5Ek8sJeB95fc1Nuygl16oH/s320/Best+day+of+my+life.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"> 12) Leave snow-ridden, freezing Colorado to finally arrive in California - to snow. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwHx_Xi7aXGC_BLolxuR07DTgsGa5ZmV4NXjNpF-mT7jTqoCeVM_gmbQrj0ALrZmrcro6-VcN6A3OZOpM9CF3V48HPqZYG2nptkinqOlKVbFmvPbTJvz9EOsmCZTDT1tRYUC3yVMWjiLVA/s1600/Cali+snow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwHx_Xi7aXGC_BLolxuR07DTgsGa5ZmV4NXjNpF-mT7jTqoCeVM_gmbQrj0ALrZmrcro6-VcN6A3OZOpM9CF3V48HPqZYG2nptkinqOlKVbFmvPbTJvz9EOsmCZTDT1tRYUC3yVMWjiLVA/s320/Cali+snow.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">13) arrive at Katie's parents' house only to instantly go lie down for 2 hours due to severe car sickness. I'm such an awesome guest!</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">14) invest in multiple bottles of Pepto Bismol.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">15) go for a 3-mile run; want to die at a 10:30 pace.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">17) go to expo and receive the ugliest shirt in my 37 year racing career.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8d__nzZcQD67vafgW_uwU359SaMrJ55v0tkGD6VEfdGPGKX1CzZ9hGQ9ql9fE90Qzs6nQoPRWqIHNVjPdl7vAjTbkUALJ5EpI_F1dmQk8kIHFR1g4HoMebI0rIsPL6H98QjWjAZN94WeE/s1600/ugly+shirt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8d__nzZcQD67vafgW_uwU359SaMrJ55v0tkGD6VEfdGPGKX1CzZ9hGQ9ql9fE90Qzs6nQoPRWqIHNVjPdl7vAjTbkUALJ5EpI_F1dmQk8kIHFR1g4HoMebI0rIsPL6H98QjWjAZN94WeE/s320/ugly+shirt.jpg" width="301" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">18) listen to speaker at expo announce to crowd, "32 degrees is freezing. Seriously, 32 degrees is freezing, people. It will be colder than freezing at race start. Remember 32 degrees is freeeeeeeeezing temperatures..." </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">19) not thinking California would be gunning for record low temps, I brought no freeeeeeeeezing temperature race apparel.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">20) shop at Good Will for race-day throw away clothes. Buy Pepto Bismol colored pink down coat (yes, the Pepto is now becoming a theme). Gawd, I miss that coat.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">21) Katie's aunt (who graciously allowed me to stay the night there, and fed me - or at least tried to) looked at me at our night-before-race dinner and proclaimed, "You look a little green."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">22) Drink Pepto Bismol for pre-race dinner.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">23) Drink Pepto Bismol for race morning breakfast.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFHS3lFqYje3AqgjQqWmsX9YpSXEjAtdPLv4uDtBHXGv3NVi9hkGEJ8QOTTSHOGrFqT8-sWGU2bTbT3Nx-JZ1JQpt4XM3eO8YQzJkv5fyUrBDdt6vmGbfZn7jR0IIzBc-JHxkHJ7TH9wYt/s1600/PEPTO.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFHS3lFqYje3AqgjQqWmsX9YpSXEjAtdPLv4uDtBHXGv3NVi9hkGEJ8QOTTSHOGrFqT8-sWGU2bTbT3Nx-JZ1JQpt4XM3eO8YQzJkv5fyUrBDdt6vmGbfZn7jR0IIzBc-JHxkHJ7TH9wYt/s1600/PEPTO.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">24) line up at start line with 3:55 pace group. Wonder what the hell I'm doing here.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">25) face plant at mile 2 (yes, that's correct, this a road race). Leave some skin on the pavement from the knee, tweak the shoulder, bruise the hip, and rip two half dollar sized holes in the palm of my gloves. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBFdtx0W58XnlaTpL2EFlAYI1wneZbW4SB9L0QQpMEI8RhyphenhyphenP8hqvXIJA_6EqEixNav97GVC13iVr8NSoPvNPFikA_2XWnN46773o0aBg0B3UjhO1510c6pc-1CizUCnKNv8Kju25KOnaAX/s1600/knee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBFdtx0W58XnlaTpL2EFlAYI1wneZbW4SB9L0QQpMEI8RhyphenhyphenP8hqvXIJA_6EqEixNav97GVC13iVr8NSoPvNPFikA_2XWnN46773o0aBg0B3UjhO1510c6pc-1CizUCnKNv8Kju25KOnaAX/s320/knee.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">26) try to run by effort and not look at my Garmin for assistance. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">27) bahahahahahaha!</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">28) effort feels too fast....so I speed up (and leave the pace group behind).</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">29) mile 10: think to myself that I should have done more uphill hill work (apparently 6 months of vertical Leadville training was fruitless when you take 4 months off from it. Who knew?).</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">30) miles 10-20 are some of my fastest miles. I feel great, perceived effort be damned.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">31) mile 21 I start to slow. Imagine.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">32) mile 23 feels like death would be a better alternative to continuing on...then all of a sudden, Jesus appeared out of nowhere to read me my fate.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD92fJPio58QTXMAWPRcYFrwSAkz_muSljNbAhSGvgJ_GBkkQMo1Zha6p6tlbDrQtJUd_uhUQ8TDm0bIGRg3DBgM6afVeSwc5wLhroR-_5ew-pbAnp56Ug5-frKSqLAQoNPnM9Q7xXr9Wc/s1600/jesus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD92fJPio58QTXMAWPRcYFrwSAkz_muSljNbAhSGvgJ_GBkkQMo1Zha6p6tlbDrQtJUd_uhUQ8TDm0bIGRg3DBgM6afVeSwc5wLhroR-_5ew-pbAnp56Ug5-frKSqLAQoNPnM9Q7xXr9Wc/s320/jesus.jpg" width="243" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">33) mile 24: trying to do math to see if I can still get under BQ time. Impossible. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">34) By the grace of some unbeknownst force (which was NOT my will the last 3 miles), I....</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 17px;"><b>Boston Qualified!</b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">35) actually choked up when medal (also ugly) was hung on my neck; it suddenly occurred to me I just wrapped up what has been one helluva incredible racing year. I truly couldn't be more grateful! A storybook fairy tale ending.<i> tear.</i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">36) rectified ugly race shirt with new, awesome shirt!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgETHUKMyzRsg3GxSxaGJKsbYm7bI5EDP9k1mPuuYovtMGlFmskLL3ADBQEPrxjAyKoxYrDw-OkBnV48XBTNYUkgW7rSzVj6mv5ASo0BFrdcRTIN-uzAgPRJNSPym2wKDNNI_Rlnjf8wS5j/s1600/BQ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgETHUKMyzRsg3GxSxaGJKsbYm7bI5EDP9k1mPuuYovtMGlFmskLL3ADBQEPrxjAyKoxYrDw-OkBnV48XBTNYUkgW7rSzVj6mv5ASo0BFrdcRTIN-uzAgPRJNSPym2wKDNNI_Rlnjf8wS5j/s320/BQ.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">37) gave Katie the BIGGEST hug when she crossed that finish line - her very first marathon - with absolutely zero stomach problems. The girl's had one disastrous long training run after another due a protesting stomach. Thankfully (?) her mom recently had knee surgery and gave Katie one of her anti-nausea prescription meds prior to the race. It worked like a charm, and Katie was beaming (and she didn't have to down 4 bottles pink chalk tasting crap, like someone).</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWgpVzdW697DJhY_SL4T0qvTpDVPbpD6vu4-ivOpXtxF_curnHua8rJlfbMYKqKSaqShI_r6JOzLNiqqX9aSut0U7IYTxLbBxXtteEtqTnbNrM2MPPAwtF5jugZJILw8wy_RWAyU1X34a5/s1600/Katie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWgpVzdW697DJhY_SL4T0qvTpDVPbpD6vu4-ivOpXtxF_curnHua8rJlfbMYKqKSaqShI_r6JOzLNiqqX9aSut0U7IYTxLbBxXtteEtqTnbNrM2MPPAwtF5jugZJILw8wy_RWAyU1X34a5/s320/Katie.jpg" width="283" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Triumphant Katie! SO proud!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic_jHdaPlt1CHKePMzzWcjcP75TexqREA7LnddP3q6Zrg5UZ4YJwC-kxNzBQyxZu3J34iQYIKoaaLJq1O5wF6RrBfEV_kacgPOKKcR1lsmCFa3m-0ckgFd3iEPeSIiZaOzWpIbJLspL2FJ/s1600/race+photo1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic_jHdaPlt1CHKePMzzWcjcP75TexqREA7LnddP3q6Zrg5UZ4YJwC-kxNzBQyxZu3J34iQYIKoaaLJq1O5wF6RrBfEV_kacgPOKKcR1lsmCFa3m-0ckgFd3iEPeSIiZaOzWpIbJLspL2FJ/s320/race+photo1.jpg" width="244" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I didn't copy this; I stole it.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI7yN3bcw2ERGy-UmvEGxudpa2fzMMEFKV0APMXCpstFmbUNkiotarNa_jY2CsSbGT1ktfBMo2qRZH4p4r0DVAJQOsOnhM2VHAc7HIe2ujUIwLFoSFqzuADXBfb26aNpAu8dTaOcBdMzBy/s1600/finish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI7yN3bcw2ERGy-UmvEGxudpa2fzMMEFKV0APMXCpstFmbUNkiotarNa_jY2CsSbGT1ktfBMo2qRZH4p4r0DVAJQOsOnhM2VHAc7HIe2ujUIwLFoSFqzuADXBfb26aNpAu8dTaOcBdMzBy/s320/finish.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">38) Not my speediest, but for the effort I put going into this race, it was an incredibly amazing day! And I was delighted to share it with this mighty fine woman! </span><span style="font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 17px;">Time: <b>3:56:23</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 17px;">AG: 40/270</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta; font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 17px;"><i><b>Run strong, my friends!</b></i></span></span>Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-42863108197855075872013-12-04T06:00:00.000-07:002013-12-04T11:31:27.142-07:00November: CIM - Half Committed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">Trying to find something to say about my pending marathon, because I feel like there should be words here for it. 26.2 miles is a long way, long enough to appear something of an impossible stunt to a new coworker who hasn't been introduced to marathons as things that exist. But I don't have much to tell her, nor have I had much to tell you, because my heart just hasn't been into the training for this race and I'm left with a few days until race day, scrambling to figure out what I CAN do. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's not that I don't want to see how fast I could go. I want to know. Rather badly. I'd really like to BQ, if I'm being truthful (even though I don't have any real desire to go back to Boston). I haven't <b><i>raced </i></b>a road marathon in 4 years, but I can still feel the pain of those last few miles, when the body tells you to stop because you've overworked it, and yet you must ignore those warning - if you want to do well. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And perhaps that's the problem. Road marathons are cruel, in that they make you run - and run hard - the whole way. No stealing breaths on hills or overly technical sections like in hilly trail ultras have taught me. And the result is what it is. You are what you ran that day, not what you thought you could do, not what that one workout said you could hit that you totally nailed a couple weeks back. There's no room for error. In a fifty miler, stopping for an extra few minutes at an aid station or walking because you're freaking tired won't bear much effect on your race. Do any of those in a marathon and your goal is screwed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My training for CIM started out well - I was hitting all my target runs on my plan. For about 5 weeks. Then November struck. I got sick. I Lost interest in training for <b><i>something</i></b>. I developed a glute "thing". Lost even more interest. I defended cake for dinner as acceptable nourishment. And the illness - whatever it was/is - decided to hang on for weeks. I even had a stretch of 5 days in a row in November where I didn't run. O-M-G! I found myself wanting to run for the sheer joy of - running.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Training for a road marathon takes a commitment of time to build up leg speed; my speed work for CIM can basically be summed up in the two</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> races in November I did.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">November 16th was the <a href="http://www.winterdistanceseries.com/Pumpkin/"><b>Pumpkin Pie 5k</b></a>. It was an inaugural event, which drew out an astounding 3500 runners (2000 in the 5k, 1500 in the 10k). It was my daughter's 23rd birthday and she wanted to run it (she doesn't run). It was a gorgeous, sunny day and I managed to drag the other non-running child into the action too.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We all ran our own races. Out of pure habit, I ran outside of my comfort zone and was dying by mile 1 and progressively got slower each mile. Abbey and Brendan ran together for the first mile and I got to see them as we weaved back around towards the start. It warmed my heart to see my two, the ones who don't run, together, running. I finished a solid minute slower than my last 5k six weeks prior, which I will contribute some of that sluggishness to several tight, hair-pin turns, which left me disinterested in revving my pace back up. But some of that slowness is because I've lost fitness in those six weeks. I managed to place first in my age group though and scored a sweet gift certificate.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I shuffled back out on the course and ran in Brendan, then back out again to bring home Abbey. The girl is running...and smiling!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We then ate every last crumb of post-race face-sized pumpkin pie and called the birthday a happy one.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtsEjUd4YnFygZuNHiR-24hOCDslfjyLuodTA71XVosQdx6cQf0z1E3XsM55D0NiAquDd4rHxIjAUhyphenhyphenLrz-qGXPFSRk7q0nqUceTvDvWKLobKU-OupuVpYDwdnqdOc7ZcszJEyJVBgKvP3/s1600/shirt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtsEjUd4YnFygZuNHiR-24hOCDslfjyLuodTA71XVosQdx6cQf0z1E3XsM55D0NiAquDd4rHxIjAUhyphenhyphenLrz-qGXPFSRk7q0nqUceTvDvWKLobKU-OupuVpYDwdnqdOc7ZcszJEyJVBgKvP3/s320/shirt.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best shirt of the year!</td></tr>
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<b>Time:</b> 24:04 (7:45 pace)<br />
AG: 1/82<br />
Overall: 144/2030<br />
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T<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">hanksgiving day marked the 40th running of the <a href="http://www.unitedwaydenver.org/site/c.6oJHLSPtFgJWG/b.8281459/k.1827/40th_Annual_Turkey_Trot.htm"><b>Mile High United Way 4-mile Turkey Trot</b></a>. I've run this race a handful of times, but not in the past several years. I was invited to race this as part of Runner's Roost, a local running store here in town, and I represented the store where I work from time to time. I really had no intentions of racing the thing; moreso I wanted to get a feel of 'marathon race pace'. But when stores compete against one another and food is the prize.......</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wouldn't you know, the non-running child was there with me again - running. Brendan had a great day and ran far better than he hoped. He even enjoyed it. I like to think I'm creating an epidemic of Parker runners.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4 miles is a long way to race, hard. It's like racing a 5k but enjoying an additional pain-staking I-feel-like-puking mile. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was impressed with my first 3 miles, where I kept consistently in the high 7:30s, which was faster than the Pumpkin 5k. The last mile, the one where the brain said it was time to stop because we had hit the 5k mark, was an unimpressive 8:04. And I wasn't even running up a hill to earn that deplorable present.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our store lost overall (but I was an entire 3 minutes faster than my predicted time since I had no intention of racing it when I sent in my prediction) so no food was won but overall I was pleased, considering this was my 2nd speed workout in my CIM training. Basically.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Time:</b> 31:12 (7:48 avg pace)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">AG: 5/324</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Female: 160/4778</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Overall: 578/8519</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>November total:</b> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">173.53 miles </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is my 3rd lowest mileage month this year, during peak marathon training. Awesome.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I sit here and consider my options for CIM, on the eve of the eve when we head out of town to Sacramento. My friend, Katie, is driving us (she will be staying with family the entire month; I will be flying home on Monday). This is Katie's first marathon; I'm super excited for her and thrilled I could be a part of her journey as I helped guide her training. I'll have more time to ponder my race in those 20 grueling hours on the road....</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jealous, aren't you?</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I could hang back and enjoy the atmosphere of the race (like I essentially did the past 5 road marathons and the trail marathon I did back in October) since I only half committed to my training, and thus not beat myself up if the race unfolds poorly. Maybe I could even run with Katie; that'd be fun!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Or maybe I can push myself out right out of my comfort zone, kiss this glute issue and sinus/chest cold goodbye, dig deep, and try to remember that I <b><i>like</i></b> to do hard things. I mean, isn't the merit of things embedded inside the difficulty at hand?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Onto my last race of the year.... let's see what the girl's got left!</span>Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-28635095872358974192013-10-31T07:00:00.000-06:002013-10-31T16:23:55.828-06:00October: Chasing Numbers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background: white; color: #7f7f7f; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">In case you
didn’t already know this, I’m a very competitive person – surprise! I have found that while I enjoy just running
for the sake of being outside and keeping myself sane, racing generally motivates
me and I love (though I rarely speak to) being around like-minded running
obsessed <s>freaks</s> soles. I enjoy running for more reasons than I can
explain, but part of what I love is pushing myself and learning what my body’s
and mind’s limits are. Races are at the core of helping me define this….I have
probably raced over 500 races (which includes my high school and college racing
career). How do you take the racer out
of the runner who’s taught herself over the course of 37 years that
there’s no bigger high than crossing that start line of a race? You can’t, not really. But I am learning some valuable lessons....</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #7f7f7f; font-size: 9px; text-indent: -0.25in;"><b> - </b></span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #7f7f7f; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">October 6<sup>th</sup> </span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #7f7f7f; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">I ran the <a href="http://www.blueskymarathon.com/"><b>Blue Sky Trail Marathon</b></a> on the outskirts of Ft. Collins in Horsetooth </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #7f7f7f; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">Reservoir. It was a beautiful Colorado bluebird sky
morning as a total of 161 of us toed the line on this deceptively challenging course.</span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #7f7f7f; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">If you’re
waiting for the part where I landed on the podium and smacked down a stellar
race time, well, you’ll be waiting a long time.
This was not that race. I could
write out a handful of excuses why, but it just wasn’t in my heart to beat the
crap out of my body on the trails. I
realized early on, when I saw a woman there whom I beat by over a half hour in
Leadville take off and leave me in the dust, pretty much all my vertical uphill
training I did for Leadville is a distant memory. Being an active participant of Racers Anonymous
for the past 37 years, it took me a solid 6 miles of stressing over my
watch’s dismal display that I needed to take the damn thing off and just enjoy
being back out in nature and not an have an existential meltdown by not meeting
some irrational number I set upon myself – which was unrealistic in the first
place since this race had about 3500’ of elevation gain and was more in the
lines of 28 miles. At mile 6, I decided
it was time to turn the watch off and instead look for an endorphin bath, not an ag win! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #7f7f7f; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">The course was an eclectic mix of challenging terrain But wow was it gorgeous! I found a guy who I felt was “slow” but decided slow was what I needed
if I wanted to finish strong, and I let him dictate our pace for about 9
miles - I stuck to him like glue. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFjcZ8d7dQ8gKAN8ptdqVxvazfs_Xp-IN62WWYQdhuC8-9d2alvse-7-VUIiEq1bJzCOpurXjUY4R7TQhwru2ZBXPU3tNtJwgTo-ywuaIhtYt8YUTv0p0_aFvpUfTQFDW9tU7ds5OkNn3v/s1600/race+photo3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFjcZ8d7dQ8gKAN8ptdqVxvazfs_Xp-IN62WWYQdhuC8-9d2alvse-7-VUIiEq1bJzCOpurXjUY4R7TQhwru2ZBXPU3tNtJwgTo-ywuaIhtYt8YUTv0p0_aFvpUfTQFDW9tU7ds5OkNn3v/s320/race+photo3.jpg" width="295" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm sure he has now has a restraining order against me<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">We rarely spoke, but he was clearly aware of his pacing purpose; around mile 18 he told me he I was pushing him too hard and it was time to cut him loose. <i>Ar</i>gh!</span></span></span></span></div>
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</span>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">For the next demanding few miles, I tiptoed over and around vertically slanted red sandstone, just trying to remain upright. It was relentless, and taxing - but that's what I loved most about it. At mile 22, as the rock outcrops abated and more dirt emerged, it was time to pick up the pace a bit - if I couldn't have a decent finish time, at least I was going to finish strong. I started passing people a little here and there, which is hard to do in a very small race like this, but I was legitimately now in race mode and determined to run hard through the end. At mile 25.5, it was apparent that this was not a "true" marathon distance race, despite what RD Nick Clark told us at the start (due to biblical rains we had the weeks prior, the course was re-rerouted adding 400' more climbing and lessened in length to now "about" 26.2 miles (love trail races), and I was nowhere near the finish. I slowed a tad because, truthfully, my overzealous past 4 miles left me cooked, but I marched on - and finished satisfied with my day. </span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhyphenhyphenpMV-1kLv8zKiAmPT4OSYkBQOR106a1U3ek4FwYXc8cmr0pnyz5oPighVDWALgtejIMgjIix6SygFV4nD8iMfnM1Gghhr7uqNWNIvYQ6S9LSEBaahyphenhyphenxM_yRckq3vqlGcLsiFEp8DfbIY/s1600/48995725-BlueSky2013-694-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhyphenhyphenpMV-1kLv8zKiAmPT4OSYkBQOR106a1U3ek4FwYXc8cmr0pnyz5oPighVDWALgtejIMgjIix6SygFV4nD8iMfnM1Gghhr7uqNWNIvYQ6S9LSEBaahyphenhyphenxM_yRckq3vqlGcLsiFEp8DfbIY/s400/48995725-BlueSky2013-694-3.jpg" width="268" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB56Stw2NzdhAJqf1BhLk3r1PFNN76XbbTvlX3Gr9m7fiKdHYdQmSgFbm5TcJpEj1TSQsZiJsfnctqCqlWFHsOBFgYGDixnzlMAacJf4ivX3UFxjGsdqC4tq94gLhGUHHxlAiP7pbo_3tN/s1600/2013-10-06+15.17.37.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB56Stw2NzdhAJqf1BhLk3r1PFNN76XbbTvlX3Gr9m7fiKdHYdQmSgFbm5TcJpEj1TSQsZiJsfnctqCqlWFHsOBFgYGDixnzlMAacJf4ivX3UFxjGsdqC4tq94gLhGUHHxlAiP7pbo_3tN/s320/2013-10-06+15.17.37.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: inherit;">Time: 5:31</span></div>
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<span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: inherit;">Distance: 18.11 miles</span></div>
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<span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: inherit;">Vertical: 3429'</span></div>
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<span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: inherit;">Overall: 101/161</span></div>
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<span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: inherit;">AG (40-99): 11/18</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">- October 20th I embarked on my 4th <a href="http://runrocknroll.competitor.com/denver"><b>Denver Rock and Roll Half Marathon</b></a>. The half marathon is my favorite road race distance; the strategy of learning the perfect cocktail to hold onto that threshold of pain for that distance excites me. And scares the crap out of me. I've killed a half marathon (or 20) by going out too fast at the start, thinking I had it in me when I didn't. This could be one if I wasn't careful.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I really didn't have any wild expectations for this race. I had wishful thoughts when I registered in the spring that I could knock out a good race here considering I was killing most of my races back then. But after Pikes Peak Marathon my running took a nosedive - or at least my desire to <i><b>want it</b> </i>did (Leadville training completely consumed me and left me empty after....but more on that in another post). I'm still running and loosely training for California International Marathon in 6 weeks, but I gave up the notion I could run this race "fast" and just prayed I could somehow squeak out a sub-1:50 - even if it was just barely.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I wanted to line up with the 1:50 pacer and let him do the work (the guy in the blue shirt from Blue Sky was nowhere to be found), but they were in the wave behind me, and good lord I wasn't going to move back a wave- <i>gasp. </i>So I just ran. I know that sounds too simple, but that's all I really thought about - <i>run, run your guts out, run hard, "careful" be damned. </i>I felt my effort more in the lines of a 10k, but I didn't really care. Wasn't racing about learning what I had in me? I had my fun at Blue Sky, now it was war. The hills almost paralyzed me, but I trudged upward and was surprising happy when I reached the top of them all at mile 12 with tons of energy to spare. I ran the last mile (1.33, actually) the fastest yet (7:35) and landed across the finish far better - and happier - than I hoped a mere 1 hour and 47 minutes earlier.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6SqvKNSRsIS08KsEju5LSWuA7XEpw6TmnJLhmQdoyby9X_AdnPVEmx5z_F9KhRAPdCajpTZmQfF1CsQ19d7gy9aYmlI_g7B_o8ZMytH0SUAUqikx_H_J-VXwByc2xPj5as2jmqVn-fap4/s1600/race+photo1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6SqvKNSRsIS08KsEju5LSWuA7XEpw6TmnJLhmQdoyby9X_AdnPVEmx5z_F9KhRAPdCajpTZmQfF1CsQ19d7gy9aYmlI_g7B_o8ZMytH0SUAUqikx_H_J-VXwByc2xPj5as2jmqVn-fap4/s320/race+photo1.jpg" width="241" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: inherit;">Time: 1:47:27</span></div>
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<span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: inherit;">Distance: 13.33 miles</span></div>
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<span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: inherit;">Female: 220/5722</span></div>
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<span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: inherit;">AG (50-59): 4/295 </span><span style="color: #7f7f7f; font-family: inherit;">(I'm kinda in awe over this one!)</span></div>
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- <span style="color: #7f7f7f;">I've been running the vast majority of my longer runs on my treadmill for CIM, like 20 miles long. I know that sounds gruelingly poke-your-eyes-out-with-the-nearest-sharp-object boring, but it's a mental challenge for me. If I can stay on this damn thing for 3 hours then surely I have the strength to run 4 hours on the road at CIM. Plus, it's teaching me to <i style="font-weight: bold;">feel </i>my pace effort without looking at my watch 5 billion times in a second. I just punch in the pace and pray I don't fall off. I love the simplicity of it....bonus: I'm getting caught up on reading. And if <a href="http://royalpitatoias.blogspot.com/"><b>Emz</b> </a>can run 100% of her training on a treadmill and still land 8th overall at the hellacious Javelina 100 milers in 20-hours, then yeah, I can suck it up once a week for my measly 3 hours runs on the thing. It is making me stronger, mentally.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #7f7f7f;">- I have been getting outdoors, too.....</span></div>
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<span style="color: #7f7f7f;">Last week I hooked up with Steve from <a href="http://happytrails88.blogspot.com/"><b>Happy Trails</b></a> for a little 17 mile jaunt around the Air Force Academy trails. My legs were a bit trashed from the 17 hard marathon paced miles I did 2 days prior (on my treadmill :)), and I was slower than my normal trail turtle self, but Steve was gracious enough to wait for me (frequently) and the miles clicked by so fast. That guy has a heart of gold and never once did he complain about my sloth-like pace (I almost chocked when he told me his MAF pace...um, mine's a good 2-minutes/mile slower!) and I deeply appreciated the company. It's a rare treat when I get to run with someone, especially someone so kind and whose wife is dear to my heart. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgueLsd1Q48EtUq5scOAY7NCwpkUxQX0BthmFSRU4Yfi0eEZV-Xp-tByXpjkWzX0t7A1LdoFsHlql-yHgLAgRm1eJOwDtTZ3p2cEIv_H1QzL_H4L0NQy8MiiBMclwD5T8Cfs5JVQ9hZNncf/s1600/photo1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgueLsd1Q48EtUq5scOAY7NCwpkUxQX0BthmFSRU4Yfi0eEZV-Xp-tByXpjkWzX0t7A1LdoFsHlql-yHgLAgRm1eJOwDtTZ3p2cEIv_H1QzL_H4L0NQy8MiiBMclwD5T8Cfs5JVQ9hZNncf/s320/photo1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steve waiting. And waiting. And waiting...</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #7f7f7f;">This past Monday, Ryan had a college visit with the track team coach at<a href="http://www.coloradomesa.edu/"> <b>Colorado Mesa University</b></a> in Grand Junction (it's all becoming so real - they're leaving me! But he had a promising visit - yay). Steve and Kathleen sent me a detailed map of some trails nearby the college, all color coded for the girl who can get lost on an 400m track. Ryan and I dumped off Brendan and his friend on some trails 3 hours away for their 3-day backpacking adventure (that, in itself, is worthy of an entire blog post) and headed out on the trails. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #7f7f7f;">It was super windy when we arrived to the trail head; Ryan and I stood around contemplating whether we should go to the hotel and bag it or take on the wind. Thankfully, the wind won. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjJVCtwOJa_hbsn1kr7J-kedTL2hUJZ4bHD5vMi-KiMwHG4aCXr25seZAl63NEy-pkpIBc2MHOWnz0o5BCx139JBROIv5EsmUKG_W3I4JfjqDhTot0mFZqnJ8SOoaLPQnI51I0TZVZ2Hr/s1600/horsethief36.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjJVCtwOJa_hbsn1kr7J-kedTL2hUJZ4bHD5vMi-KiMwHG4aCXr25seZAl63NEy-pkpIBc2MHOWnz0o5BCx139JBROIv5EsmUKG_W3I4JfjqDhTot0mFZqnJ8SOoaLPQnI51I0TZVZ2Hr/s320/horsethief36.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #7f7f7f;">The desert trails, nestled on the eastern banks of the Colorado Plateau, are simply stunning as the Colorado River snakes it's way along the iron-enriched red sandstone, leaving some breathtaking cliffs.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFGvSq1WHS60dZV8nVonlmOncxwn28Mf0wc2-XLVivGHz6UgiDrEMUPtEOTQzAZzuuq0nEP9jySwESFZmV_qYV93p_f_e0G7gSzLj_in4ayWUAJt-mnARRgMYU3GLZ7yBV54n694oP3wnW/s1600/Horsethief13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFGvSq1WHS60dZV8nVonlmOncxwn28Mf0wc2-XLVivGHz6UgiDrEMUPtEOTQzAZzuuq0nEP9jySwESFZmV_qYV93p_f_e0G7gSzLj_in4ayWUAJt-mnARRgMYU3GLZ7yBV54n694oP3wnW/s320/Horsethief13.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #7f7f7f;">I swear, Ryan smiled or laughed the entire time. He was so lost in time and didn't care one iota about his pace nor the fact his coach had him doing x-amount of distance, which he clearly wasn't adhering to. Time didn't matter here; Ryan was completely immersed in this adventuresome day and deemed it, "an awesome day." And me, I was just so happy to have him here, with me, doing what we both love so much - running. Together. It's not lost on me that times spent with him like this are numbered, so I soaked up every drop and logged my mileage that day as "a lot" in the 3 hours we played on the trails. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidSQPuIRtP-CU5zit2DUPXQMFAevfr3eYoNJBLxBP72EZsuuHxaQ0ytsjuT0pnKXFVxQhIVzSe-Mcso08c6whfb9u72jI4lLMBes7yNwraiLOt0Gr9x8nw2NfVnH8HmuP4CcHPIppq-xbC/s1600/Horsethief24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidSQPuIRtP-CU5zit2DUPXQMFAevfr3eYoNJBLxBP72EZsuuHxaQ0ytsjuT0pnKXFVxQhIVzSe-Mcso08c6whfb9u72jI4lLMBes7yNwraiLOt0Gr9x8nw2NfVnH8HmuP4CcHPIppq-xbC/s320/Horsethief24.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ryan climbing up as some mountain bike was coming down (carrying his bike, thankfully)</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpGZyAsIZ3WiGLt9gUpkpOrf747dCS3MPgtnvtQfAfsxU42sUlKexWPvfUsNe0HTwEtt8ExTTbHsmzfDjtj-sDDk_g-XfMOViRUZutjz6sZZLZq2dXmWFHsJwqL7cWB95hc0Ke4tdg9MfT/s1600/Horsethief23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpGZyAsIZ3WiGLt9gUpkpOrf747dCS3MPgtnvtQfAfsxU42sUlKexWPvfUsNe0HTwEtt8ExTTbHsmzfDjtj-sDDk_g-XfMOViRUZutjz6sZZLZq2dXmWFHsJwqL7cWB95hc0Ke4tdg9MfT/s320/Horsethief23.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJkXDDdA5fy9RuuDuwtJe13FZgAGmy7JLIy9CYBco2QQlLBmlqD8RHvuKnLQiJWtSNXKGXzjjhqwUFNFLnOW7Otc9IpXd1a1z4A_Hdbby0PqrWxGxufXzqEsOWzUM4CdtF0a1uhuQ_RF2w/s1600/Horsethief10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJkXDDdA5fy9RuuDuwtJe13FZgAGmy7JLIy9CYBco2QQlLBmlqD8RHvuKnLQiJWtSNXKGXzjjhqwUFNFLnOW7Otc9IpXd1a1z4A_Hdbby0PqrWxGxufXzqEsOWzUM4CdtF0a1uhuQ_RF2w/s320/Horsethief10.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">omg, scared shitless of the 1000' drop below</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAddV3ioIpcVIo8xbP3ygzkIzlmGLjs8jRiet43T8con2G8gChTkrutW_34dCdqo2Cl3mdab7oHHM5UehamDhY7zRvgeFLuJxok1jSvpI7514GC-a8EXwv9yovsgXP8LWk-F1dx5kG5hzb/s1600/Horsethief7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAddV3ioIpcVIo8xbP3ygzkIzlmGLjs8jRiet43T8con2G8gChTkrutW_34dCdqo2Cl3mdab7oHHM5UehamDhY7zRvgeFLuJxok1jSvpI7514GC-a8EXwv9yovsgXP8LWk-F1dx5kG5hzb/s320/Horsethief7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #7f7f7f;">Yeah, racing means a lot to me, but running doesn't always need to be about chasing those elusive numbers - sometimes it's just about being connected. I am pleased with my two races this month but I wouldn't trade those memories on the trails non racing for any race </span><span style="color: #7f7f7f;">PR or glorious finish line time. Running is the best therapy I've ever had...it gives me the awareness of strength and gives me the confidence to face the rest of my day, my week....and my heavy year ahead.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #7f7f7f;">- October Numbers:</span></div>
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<span style="color: #7f7f7f;">Total mileage: 241.15 </span></div>
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<span style="color: #7f7f7f;">(that's a PR for the year, btw! Thank you!)</span></div>
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<span style="color: #7f7f7f;">Thank you for all your caring comments on my last post. It's really hard for me to make big girl decisions that vastly affect the lives of my little ones - even if they are basically "adults." It's hard stuff, but we're plugging away - together.</span></div>
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<i>Run strong, my friends!</i></div>
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Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-58214766681783503892013-09-30T05:30:00.000-06:002013-10-23T23:32:35.442-06:00Summer's End<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">“What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.” </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"> - John Steinbeck</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Making our way to Mt. Bross, one of Colorado's infamous 14ers. </td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Sunday night, 1 days left in September, I haven't posted the entire month - seems like perfect timing for an update....</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I just returned home from what may be my last hurrah in my beloved Rocky Mountains, though I may head up again at some point before year's end beings I left my only spare car key at my aunt's condo. I spent extensive time this summer while training for Leadville here; the place is nestled back in the woods and is so peaceful and serene, which if you know how ridiculously touristy Breckenridge can be mid-summer, you wouldn't believe what I just said. I love to come up here when life gets a bit chaotic....and run and run and run on all the amazing neighboring trails.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Wednesday I went for a long run on a section of the Colorado Trail, a trail my shoes marked well with monster mileage this summer. The day couldn't have been more beautiful: Colorado's notorious blue skies finally emerged from the heavy, dark clouds it's been hidden from for weeks (and weeks), and the temp was a perfect-for-running 50 degrees. Autumn was letting Colorado know it was here with it's recent snowy white peaks and peeping yellow Aspen leaves. The trails were (relatively) dry, though, so I was excited to reconnect with nature and do some much-needed de-cluttering of the head. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I have a lot of "stuff" swirling around in my life right now, heart-heavy sad stuff. Basically, life sucks. Consequently, I let the melancholy take control of my mountain run and the 16 miles of once soul-cleansing dirt and rock turned into a suffer-fest hike, half of which were spent bent over gasping for air. Oh..my..god, how did I lose SO much SO fast?!? I'm sure I'd have enjoyed the sloth pace and the intense beauty surrounding me more if I didn't have a trail marathon looming next weekend and needed to get in some miles - running.<i> </i> But trying to run and not FEEL and throw in the strain of a 26.2 hilly trail race next weekend - suddenly, out of nowhere, the cocktail caused an intense inability to breathe at 10,000'. </span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">All those endophins that running releases can't be released if I close them off to the feelings I feel while moving. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I surrendered and sat on a rock for about 20 minutes, and finally released all the tears (and subsequently, fears) I've built up the past week. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I thought about all the incredible adventures I've had all summer....how far I've come in such a short period of time, how special the summer has been - including some pretty cool things I've done since I last posted.....</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">6 days after Pikes Peak Marathon, I participated in the </span><a href="http://www.irongirl.com/Events/Cherry_Creek.htm#axzz2g9oPzOW2" style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><b>Iron Girl sprint triathlon</b></a><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">. I could barely move for days after PPM (that race left me absolutely shredded!), yet I squeaked out a 4 minute PR day (1:24, even if it was only my 2nd sprint triathlon in the past 24 years), I improved my pathetic bike pace over last year, and I got to spend some time with some incredibly special kick-ass people I work with, one who has survived some pretty severe cancer shit (Amy, the one next to me in the bottom two photos).</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">A week after the triathlon, I ran (I use that word loosely) the inaugural <a href="http://gnarrunners.com/black-squirrel-half/"><b>Black Squirrel Trail Half Marathon</b></a> in Ft. Collins. It's on some of the same trails I'm about to embark on for my upcoming trail marathon next week, so I wanted to use it to familiarize myself with the course. It would have been a great race had temperatures not reached boiling point. I can say this with all honesty though - it was one of the most beautiful trail races I've ever done. 190 degrees temps aside, and a PW half ever (2:44, but in my defense, it was a challenging 2300' climb and incredibly technical with large boulders to scramble over), I had a really fun day and was one of the most well-organized and incredibly well-run events I've ever done. And the best swag evah!</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">On Labor day, 3 days after Black Squirrel, I did another half marathon (are you tired yet? I am), but this time back to my old road life for the <a href="http://hrhalf.com/"><b>Highland Ranch Half Marathon</b></a>. It was another inaugural race, but unlike Black Squirrel, there were a few hiccups - mostly lack of water along the course. I'm learning that in trail races, you carry water no matter what the distance as aid is spread far apart. But in road races, we've come to expect it frequently I guess. 1 oz of H2O in a cup every 3 miles when it's 85 degrees doesn't really cut it. My very good blog friend, Jenny, was in town from New York (in black, below) so I was stoked to FINALLY get to race with her after countless months of running emails between us. I grabbed my neighbor, Dennis, and found one of my crewers in Leadville, Kathy.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Jenny and I vowed to stick together for the race, our intentions were to just take the race easy since we were both a bit fried (she and her husband were climbing mountain peaks all week prior).</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">But you know me....</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">By mile 3, we were digging into the low 8's on the pacing chart - I'm sure Jenny was ready to strangle me indicative by her comment, "We just ran that mile at 8:10, not 9:10 as we agreed." By mile 11, I was dying and wanted to stop; my stomach was a disaster and hurt more each mile, but we dug our grave and I wasn't giving in, yet. As we climbed the last suck-ass continuous uphill mile, I focused on a woman in pink on my right I vowed to take out (I'm certain Jenny will never race with me again)...</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">But in the end, despite Jenny's constant yelling, "C'mon, C'mon, C'mon, C'mon" the last quarter mile, I gave up the fight, let Pinky go, and Jenny and I both crossed at exactly <b>1:50.</b> I was fine with the time considering we didn't really start this race out racing, but I was disappointed in myself for not fighting the hurt. I've lost my racing grit. I hate to say it, but I think all the trail racing I've done has taught me it's "ok" to just cruise along at snail's pace and when it gets hard, walk. I need to rekindle my love of the road racing hurt....I miss it, and if I have any hopes of finishing California International with a quasi respectable time, I need to find it.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jenny, myself, and Pinky - all with matching foot planting :)</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">2 days post half marathon finish flop, Jenny, her husband, Paul, and I headed up high - I mean REALLY high - and climbed five 14ers in two days. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">"14ers" (or "fourteeners") are the those peaks in Colorado (or anywhere, I suspect) which exceed 14,000' in elevation. There are 53 official peaks in Colorado - "official" because there are actually more than 53 in total, but it's the general acceptance that a summit must rise more than 300' from its connecting saddle to a taller peak. If we go with 'the rules', then I can technically only declare I summitted 4 peaks since one we climbed, Mt. Cameron (14, 238'), doesn't technically rise above 300' from it's neighbor, Mt. Lincoln (14,286'). </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">But I climbed and summitted Cameron, it was over 14,000', so I'm claiming it (</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">autocorrect is having a field day with the word "summitted" and wants to use summons...which works just as well :))</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcXT2TTUXyNwWMfTmK-Ilsg7LOZCjQQDnm8N5RO195PqC0ckXxmxk9R_Mq98lQjtUm74iTQetOCY55ql_AEKVjde8qFm9VjF0EsTGjDAY9E4qoZAz8IATvy00K_qrO-W2NAxD9Uj1dj34J/s1600/127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcXT2TTUXyNwWMfTmK-Ilsg7LOZCjQQDnm8N5RO195PqC0ckXxmxk9R_Mq98lQjtUm74iTQetOCY55ql_AEKVjde8qFm9VjF0EsTGjDAY9E4qoZAz8IATvy00K_qrO-W2NAxD9Uj1dj34J/s400/127.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On top of Mt. Cameron (Mt. Lincoln in the background, another 14er).<br />
You can't see the sign I'm holding, but each peak has a little wooden plaque on the summit, stating the name and elevation</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I've done a few 14ers during my stint living in Colorado, but I wouldn't call capturing these things a passion, and I'm definitely not a "peakbagger"; those are crazy individuals who actually <i>enjoy</i> seeking out summits to bag....err, conquer. I've done about 10 in all prior and nailed two of them this summer <i>racing </i>(<a href="http://www.racingunderground.com/mtevans/"><b>Mt. Evans Ascent</b></a> in June, and of course the infamous last blog report from the <b><a href="http://www.pikespeakmarathon.org/">Pikes Peak Marathon</a> </b>last month (I've done the Mt. Evans race 4x now, Pikes Peak I've done the Ascent race 3x but never the full marathon until this year). </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Jenny, and her husband, Paul, are peakbaggers. They live on the East Coast and have bagged a bazillion peaks out there. They're super into stuff like geocaching, have all the coolest gear, and even speak peak terminology that leaves me quizzically questioning much of their vocabulary. They decided to make a trek to Colorado to add a few more names to their belt notches -- and somehow convinced me it'd be a </span><i style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">great </i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">idea to camp (</span><i style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">gasp</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">) in the rain and bag some peaks with them. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home Sweet Home</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">Jenny and Paul are great. They are the kind of friends who never once made me feel like the third wheel in all the days we spent together. And Jenny.... she's t</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">he kind of friend that doesn’t change no matter how much time or distance passes between you....and still speaks to you days later despite how much you whine and cursing you do on those trails.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paul and Jenny: Bestest of the best</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Day 1 we climbed Mt. Massive (14,421) with almost 14 miles round-trip and about 4800' of elevation gain.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">What I like most about this climb is that you start below treeline, so the vast array of scenery changes frequently.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">What I disliked most about Massive was the 'category 2' climbing we had to do towards the top.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifU7y_G5IWf6Akp7MBFB39cVMxDpovt08dTk6D9DHXjIsIo1CPTdF1uy_2j6_3Ha8dt-NEhsX8TH5KFxsX-MUcLRP23c0bLAF0sez5Qt92mR8pwHqxNU8TzQ3fY9JxGADhhPJRtg1FLqRH/s1600/IMG_6448.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifU7y_G5IWf6Akp7MBFB39cVMxDpovt08dTk6D9DHXjIsIo1CPTdF1uy_2j6_3Ha8dt-NEhsX8TH5KFxsX-MUcLRP23c0bLAF0sez5Qt92mR8pwHqxNU8TzQ3fY9JxGADhhPJRtg1FLqRH/s400/IMG_6448.JPG" width="308" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grace, herself, making her way down</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">But we were rewarded to Mother Nature's pride from the top ...</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">And I didn't even freak out (too much) as I ate my lunch on the summit's edge.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKw7dFIfuYnW9lb1PtOIszqlqi0-h-fuxHCF6GsQbLGQm04oC0TKGpz7MVrazw6yOwDv98RBSRh89dlcJhIVw-vz-Sv7gtQ1kIUibie7xL0cFEncgFYj3u0MMU0mQc7OLCe7eAHo3yg-EW/s1600/IMG_6435.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKw7dFIfuYnW9lb1PtOIszqlqi0-h-fuxHCF6GsQbLGQm04oC0TKGpz7MVrazw6yOwDv98RBSRh89dlcJhIVw-vz-Sv7gtQ1kIUibie7xL0cFEncgFYj3u0MMU0mQc7OLCe7eAHo3yg-EW/s320/IMG_6435.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I managed to actually run some descending Massive, and as I peered out ahead, there across the valley rose the mountains I ran just weeks before at the Leadville Silver Rush 50, the sun shining directly on Ball Mountain. The memory floodgates opened wide and my head filled with happy thoughts of that very, very special day.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Day 2 was 4-peaks-in-one. My legs were ground hamburger from yesterday's ascent to Massive, and I was in a super fun mood (read: pissy) and honestly, I just wanted to shoot myself - or stay in bed all day and complain how tired I was. As we headed out, I doubted I was even going to go climb; I brought my Kindle and visioned myself sitting on a rock all day waiting for them instead.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">4-peak day: Democrat, 14, 154'; Cameron, 14,295; Lincoln, 14,295'; Bross, 14,177'<br />
Mt. Bross is on private property and not technically legal to climb. Whatever.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">But you know me....</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhriLeTRjepV_Lk_ptm20s3KKQLrFKvFXfujmdFexPtq20u0PpEJzDPJjehc1DJ2VQ1vETPAvmP4ArHoG2GZ-CgaZBAkMrG27oEdEoINZNhJAxTknQFxV4hx4kVLRHqldmvXZAVlp-lAJRb/s1600/086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhriLeTRjepV_Lk_ptm20s3KKQLrFKvFXfujmdFexPtq20u0PpEJzDPJjehc1DJ2VQ1vETPAvmP4ArHoG2GZ-CgaZBAkMrG27oEdEoINZNhJAxTknQFxV4hx4kVLRHqldmvXZAVlp-lAJRb/s400/086.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kite Lake, lower left, was the starting point of the day. Sunrise was spectacular.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I got there, and how could I not climb!</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">The clamber to Mt. Democrat was my least favorite of all four peaks; the rock was loose and footing was difficult. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7nyn-RQT8CdRDoSJZAan69r8ko9nrRS7UX5K4Ko8A63hkPTbfP6kIyH-_XNa4IOOqxtqRbvrJXoKe_cleeJANpTod9t4G7ILdIb4CByvRwSS61uMd_UlL2ARXri5elZpPZus10ozJMJtP/s1600/102.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7nyn-RQT8CdRDoSJZAan69r8ko9nrRS7UX5K4Ko8A63hkPTbfP6kIyH-_XNa4IOOqxtqRbvrJXoKe_cleeJANpTod9t4G7ILdIb4CByvRwSS61uMd_UlL2ARXri5elZpPZus10ozJMJtP/s320/102.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Hokas would make great spies on these mountains</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivW-YpwjbYi42N-g0oKSlJgvRuqjV-7gF6ZC_cchWHagGrgKnCX871ZykGsSJyXk1fDKCCHRNfFUmjgLeJHeGq-4vIbtiPLgnfEVUTtF1mTj_loRRhnlhBJ9yRnEP3A0BCXBMAZhj9jQxV/s1600/118.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivW-YpwjbYi42N-g0oKSlJgvRuqjV-7gF6ZC_cchWHagGrgKnCX871ZykGsSJyXk1fDKCCHRNfFUmjgLeJHeGq-4vIbtiPLgnfEVUTtF1mTj_loRRhnlhBJ9yRnEP3A0BCXBMAZhj9jQxV/s400/118.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favorite photo of Paul and Jenny</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I was freezing on Democrat's peak, our first summit of the day, and doubts flooded the brain that I may bypass the next 3 peaks. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It'd probably help the freezing fact if I'd have dressed appropriately :)</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I got down from Democrat and the tug-of-war whether to continue or not started. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">A guy soloing the 4 peaks wearing a Boston Marathon shirt arrived at the saddle shortly after we did and pretty much guilt'd me into continuing on by referring I'd be a wuss if I didn't. That was all it took - I was off. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I'm so immensely grateful I did....because truthfully, the remainder of the day will go down as one of my most memorable of my entire summer. It was THAT rewarding.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">We climbed up to Mt. Cameron on a narrow ledge where you could easily fall a thousand feet on either side...</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">The views...stunning.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On Top of Mt. Cameron, Mt. Lincoln as the backdrop </td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I ran down the saddle of Cameron and then scrambled my way to the top of Mt. Lincoln..</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Garmin never lies *ahem*: 14,294' high</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dorko waving, with Mr. Boston dude</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Jenny and Paul spent some time geocaching on Lincoln so I spent </span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">that time talking to Mr. Bostonian, who was a really neat guy and from Paul and Jenny's neck of the woods (and super damn fast runner). Then it was off Lincoln to the last peak, Mt. Bross. Bross is actually privately owned and you're not "legally" suppose to climb it ... whatever.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">It was my favorite peak of the day, mostly because it wasn't so stinkin' steep and I could actually run; plus the views were the most gorgeous. I saw a guy mountain biking on the saddle between Cameron and Lincoln, which is pretty amazing considering the terrain and the dicey ledge. The entire saddle was covered with these little reddish-colored flowers, which I think may have been some sort of succulent (does anyone local know?). </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the way to Bross looking back on Mt. Lincoln, which we just previously climbed.<br />
Mr. Bostonian making his way up....do you see him?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snack time</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">The descent off of Bross was truly insane. I was doing the math in my head before we ventured to our car far below that we had 2300' of vertical plunge in about 1.5 miles - but I don't like math when it screams reality, so it wasn't until my legs protested the ridiculously arduous pitch that coming down was going to suck. Bad. So not to end my life sliding off the side of this mountains, I side-stepped down on absurd slippery pieces of palm-sized granite. My legs never hated me as much as they did at this very moment in time. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old abandoned mines were littered along the sides of these mountains. Impressive!</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">By some divine intervention, I managed to stay vertical the entire way down and I got to the lush, green valley below and hugged my car in the parking lot.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">5 peaks, 8000', and 22 miles. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"> The day was </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">perfect gift because it comprises the treasure of the hard work climbing with some of the most amazing scenery on earth. It wasn't easy but that's what I loved about it...that we truly earned those views. The fact I got to share it with some very special people</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">, who would give <i>anything</i> to have a few hours together, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I appreciate today in my sorrow more than ever.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"> This was not lost on me. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">The past 2 days were a well-written love note.</span></div>
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No, life is not easy right now, but after I thought about my pretty amazing life while sitting on that rock high in Colorado Rockies, I wiped off the tears streaming down my face and concluded it <i>was </i>a great day to be alive and continued on my way with much more spring in my stride.<br />
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I'm ready to face the last year of school, no matter how difficult life wants to make it, for my boys and myself.......and all the emotions that go with it. I still wonder about my stress, all of my family's stress as we tackle some difficult decisions....<br />
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....but I figured out this summer that the best views in life are the ones you have to work for, wait for.<br />
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I have a lot of running to do this Fall and for me there is no greater way to achieve calm than to run - so it's forge ahead with training as planned, we'll see how it all unfolds. Running itself doesn't solve many of my problems, but it sure make me feel better about them. It helps perspective, like there IS something I can do when I'm powerless. Everything will going to be okay with that little thing called time, and the remembrance of my incredible, adventurous and much-treasured summer. Thank you, Summer.<br />
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Run strong, my friends.</div>
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Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-87878278793790052802013-08-30T09:29:00.004-06:002013-09-20T15:56:28.378-06:00Pikes Peak Marathon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLlc5qfkZhf5Eta87cKNNQNNmw-z_4h_saDTtZNXA13aa_3BGT8IzBLTsAo1OV3KDqdAq4_1iWscFSXKx-VD-exdU-CwuXLXuG8O6A1s3DP9PgB_xZYkI117dLYxQ994hHvLPG7Hu_bm91/s1600/photo6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLlc5qfkZhf5Eta87cKNNQNNmw-z_4h_saDTtZNXA13aa_3BGT8IzBLTsAo1OV3KDqdAq4_1iWscFSXKx-VD-exdU-CwuXLXuG8O6A1s3DP9PgB_xZYkI117dLYxQ994hHvLPG7Hu_bm91/s400/photo6.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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A mere 5 weeks after I ran the Leadville 50 miler, I dragged my sinus infected lethargic self up (and down) that 14,115' pile of rock called Pikes Peak and completed my 20th (and first in Colorado) marathon - the <b><a href="http://www.pikespeakmarathon.org/">Pikes Peak Marathon</a>.</b><br />
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12 days ago, <span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;">I had the privilege (?) of running the 58th annual Pikes Peak</span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"> Marathon in Manitou Springs, CO. Considered “<b>America’s Ultimate Challenge</b>”, this marathon has drawn runners from all over the world to scale the 13.2 miles to the top at 14,115’, with 7,750’ of relentless climbing, then come back down the thing. </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"> Events like these are destined to push us each to our limit, whatever flavor we may desire, and I definitely was not spared reaching both my physical and mental ceiling.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">A couple months before Silver Rush 50, I was searching for ways to get </span><i style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">out of </i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">running Pikes Peak because it dawned on me somewhere smack between the 188th bloody knee and the infamous pulled rib muscle that I was a wee bit tired of running relentless vertical walls of solid granite. I half-jokingly started begging runners at Silver Rush I spoke with mid race who were doing the Leadville 100 mile run the same weekend as Pikes Peak to please let me come back and pace them so I had a legitimate out for my own little sliver of upcoming misery. My friend Samantha actually took me up on my pseudo-offer and had she emailed me to confirm within the two-week post-Silver Rush window when I was feeling the most apathetic, I would have taken the bait and paced - but she emailed back exactly one day too late, when I could actually move without excruciating pain, and thus had to decline the pacing duties (this confirms how selfish runners can be).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>PPM has been one of those races on my imaginary to-do list for a ridiculously long time. I've bailed on it a whopping four times over the course of 19 years (yes, that's correct - 19!); two of those were due to injury, one was due to being in super pathetic shape and another was just because I was chicken (that'd be 1994... though we could certainly clump the other 3 times into the 'chicken' category also). It's one of <i>those things </i>that sits at the back of your brain and festers on the 3 remaining cells there, telling them repeatedly that you gotta this this monkey off you back <b>now</b>, while I'm still in quasi hill climbing shape from my Leadville training, and before there's a 5th entry in the 'chicken' category.<br />
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Let's take a closer look at this little gem of grueling vertical sickness, just for giggles, shall we....<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwyNW2Sfk-GPNNcS5qAgrdw60Ud7n_xAvMbDCMnijikfG3zlcsUnWQ-91ZjLuZK2MRtxMkKAzvyt9Qca2TkoyRdccbkpFgsb2H-e-bWxlB6HrsNy-8wG2b0IJYd8mwTo0BoPFcxeLESeMI/s1600/profile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwyNW2Sfk-GPNNcS5qAgrdw60Ud7n_xAvMbDCMnijikfG3zlcsUnWQ-91ZjLuZK2MRtxMkKAzvyt9Qca2TkoyRdccbkpFgsb2H-e-bWxlB6HrsNy-8wG2b0IJYd8mwTo0BoPFcxeLESeMI/s400/profile.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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In comparison, let's take a peek at a popular road marathon, say California International Marathon (which I'm considering in December)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYBbbuSRJrwVfA-3kbb8Sjxs1xfn9d_kcnihOZ0iZdRJ9bzQdp3XaxIOyJTv5UOsGFjSXUwmFiSR8FyBX4DjWs7UxVJ3fd8O38kjsfOukjfRUMM07vpoF1UhJOXMdLeE5a2nsfaq_n4swC/s1600/CIM+profile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="57" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYBbbuSRJrwVfA-3kbb8Sjxs1xfn9d_kcnihOZ0iZdRJ9bzQdp3XaxIOyJTv5UOsGFjSXUwmFiSR8FyBX4DjWs7UxVJ3fd8O38kjsfOukjfRUMM07vpoF1UhJOXMdLeE5a2nsfaq_n4swC/s640/CIM+profile.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Oh God, please help me!!!<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16.890625px;"><br /></span>I rode an hour down to the race (at the inhuman hour of 4am) with a co-worker and friend, Kerry. Kerry and I ran <b><a href="http://runwithjill.blogspot.com/2013/03/moab-red-hot-33k.html">Moab Red Hot</a> </b>back in February together but we hadn't run together since. She's a super fast ultra runner and I am...well...not. But she offered to wait the 40+ hours after she was done for me so I welcomed the company for the commute down and back.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR2N0Hd415kN32atxHBF02Dpn4tJCU22Z74mZltkFrFvEt8S74MZCOOqAQ-VAF-o1Xi-rNYBtaK2vyiZZdGLgT8WVEx-LS49ZKqm-cOE6ZASioahEyrjtc5P4eM_Wv5hZGE6qwXwwqx5Pl/s1600/001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="357" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR2N0Hd415kN32atxHBF02Dpn4tJCU22Z74mZltkFrFvEt8S74MZCOOqAQ-VAF-o1Xi-rNYBtaK2vyiZZdGLgT8WVEx-LS49ZKqm-cOE6ZASioahEyrjtc5P4eM_Wv5hZGE6qwXwwqx5Pl/s400/001.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Pike Peak is that faintly gray colored blip in the upper right - which I swear is a million miles away</td></tr>
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A bit of confusion as to exactly what time we started; Kerry and were standing on the sidelines, gabbing, when the starting gun went off. <i>Opps. </i>I grabbed my hydration pack sitting on the ground and jumped into the race - still needing to pee like a race horse. I don't know if a race horse really has to urinate badly; it's a long held belief that people have to "piss like a race horse", so I'm going with it. I'm sure I knocked a few competitors out as I slung my 10 lb pack on as we ran - oh well. I'm sure there's a lesson to be learned in here somewhere, like maybe there's imperative race information in those "Final Instructions" emails sent the week before race day. Though I really wouldn't know.<br />
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Regardless, we're off.<br />
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<img alt="Pikes Peak Ascent and Marathon course" src="http://www.pikespeakmarathon.org/img/m_course_bw.gif" /><br />
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<b>Start to No Name Creek (1:12):</b><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This section (4.3 miles) has an elevation gain of 2,150' for an average percent grade of <b>13.4%</b>. If you think I'm all badass-like and "ran" all of this section, you be wrong. I barely ran any of it other than the first mile, which was only about 8% incline. I'll use any excuse in the book, but honestly, as mid-to-back of the packer on a "hill" this steep, your pace is at the mercy of whomever is in front of you. The trail is narrow, the protruding rocks are plenty and passing is virtually impossible. It was nearing 400 degrees and I was sweating profusely - which was a huge concern (me + heat = potentially pissed off stomach). </span><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ__hMtQ1irZ_FLIUmlQ66rTOJ_J1MxYvtsbCfQoozzrl5hTi1VhbfVZV6mFR31nxeH2tzm874EfCiauWZqXaO8AftDC8VBKEpiYR9xv8TgOw3p6thKkf_zaUCCSi4qPxUUtow7S3DUQ48/s1600/To+No+Name2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ__hMtQ1irZ_FLIUmlQ66rTOJ_J1MxYvtsbCfQoozzrl5hTi1VhbfVZV6mFR31nxeH2tzm874EfCiauWZqXaO8AftDC8VBKEpiYR9xv8TgOw3p6thKkf_zaUCCSi4qPxUUtow7S3DUQ48/s320/To+No+Name2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Photo: Stolen from Happy Trails blog (thanks, guys)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>No Name to Barr Camp (55:56, 2:08 total):</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">From No Name Creek to Barr Camp is about 3.3 miles with an elevation gain of 1,450' for an average percent grade of 8.3%. This is the fastest section of the course and even includes several slight downhill sections roughly 1.25 miles above No Name Creek. This is my favorite section of the entire course because I actually like to consider myself a runner vs. a hiker and I could actually RUN here. I still felt pretty good, but the heat was starting to take it's toll; I could literally wring out sweat from my "wicking" shirt. I was so relieved to get to Barr Camp, which is about the half-way point (in mileage, not in time (for me) - unfortunately). Barr Camp aid station is like a carnival of cheering volunteers - absolutely uplifting. I saw, and spoke briefly to, a woman who was volunteering whom I met while crewing at Zion 100 for Tim. It brought a big (but short-lived) smile.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqCm_NbzW42hr3VNSJ9tMJjHQYK4gBeGUhLNjYu1cSBrfMLdXXYHXlPL5pSSoacN6EFPTwLtaa7gA56L_U9pzeySapRRwT_GrgLgKzthYdfT3ZGOd73JvQErMcCO_Qq8I7qwIXUynqHxCq/s1600/To+Barr+Camp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqCm_NbzW42hr3VNSJ9tMJjHQYK4gBeGUhLNjYu1cSBrfMLdXXYHXlPL5pSSoacN6EFPTwLtaa7gA56L_U9pzeySapRRwT_GrgLgKzthYdfT3ZGOd73JvQErMcCO_Qq8I7qwIXUynqHxCq/s320/To+Barr+Camp.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigfAiq9BEYxWVPDiwypXRvRUEHriZUJ6ujVHkOD7_tfji0Xws4oGsJwNjIayHrTBozPiZrbEAG7MY6TgUga94XKZ0HGZdj6edDrqIwDKy7ZTRQPszg_nrAWiyNVBA55dNCpfc66GqGOnX6/s1600/To+Barr+Camp3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigfAiq9BEYxWVPDiwypXRvRUEHriZUJ6ujVHkOD7_tfji0Xws4oGsJwNjIayHrTBozPiZrbEAG7MY6TgUga94XKZ0HGZdj6edDrqIwDKy7ZTRQPszg_nrAWiyNVBA55dNCpfc66GqGOnX6/s320/To+Barr+Camp3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">You can also get the first glimpse of the summit of Pikes Peak on this section, which has been hidden after the first half mile. Though it's <b>only</b><i> </i>7 miles away, it appears more like 200.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj49uicjjkBRhSIvVTp6K6P9Xzy_LutbjO9orEebO_si-fRgQ8EfYBV7ycOspquTxCf0S_VqLypCn8sV7E4qk_w7fVU03hazu1KBZygDFkj3T2teEitueMwpmZGAeWu4NBMg3NUHRP4cxhB/s1600/To+Barr+Camp4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj49uicjjkBRhSIvVTp6K6P9Xzy_LutbjO9orEebO_si-fRgQ8EfYBV7ycOspquTxCf0S_VqLypCn8sV7E4qk_w7fVU03hazu1KBZygDFkj3T2teEitueMwpmZGAeWu4NBMg3NUHRP4cxhB/s320/To+Barr+Camp4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><b>Barr Camp to A-Frame (1:06, 3:10 total):</b><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Barr Camp to the A-frame shelter at treeline is 2.6 miles and 1,800' in elevation gain for an average percent grade of 13.1%. 13.1% at 10,500' and we're back to hiking, baby - every single step. I pretty much hated the sun about now and doubted there was such a thing called the ozone layer. Somehow. I managed to become the yellow-shirt in a peloton of about 20 behind me, which was weird because I didn't even think I had taken any EPOs at that point. The ever increasing mass of people behind me may have caused me to increase my pathetic crawl up a notch to a now slow slog pace - and overdoing it slightly. But I don't know for certain ... I felt I had one sloth-like speed but the growing mass behind me was stressful so at A-frame aid station, I pulled off to the side to let them slide by and felt a huge sigh of relief to be "alone".</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqF2bOZA_io2LIJFuczHMU13d-55ouFJreQClhEYoA1UQLNDgHYyahOm74cC0cjFdyhecVOGfo3udQuuFa5pnzNtJDOIrl2Lj-u0jsgAb3XEE_RP65mF0LGAo_9PbmFmzsoFRcuIOxBJRx/s1600/A-frame.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqF2bOZA_io2LIJFuczHMU13d-55ouFJreQClhEYoA1UQLNDgHYyahOm74cC0cjFdyhecVOGfo3udQuuFa5pnzNtJDOIrl2Lj-u0jsgAb3XEE_RP65mF0LGAo_9PbmFmzsoFRcuIOxBJRx/s1600/A-frame.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b>A-frame to the summit (1:36, 4:46 total)</b><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">From the A-frame to the summit/turnaround (14,115') is about 3.2 miles with an elevation gain of 2,050' for an average percent grade of 12.4%. The trail is primarily loose gravel with one short section of broken rock and the section known as the 16 Golden Stairs being gravel with frequent step-ups of some 10 to 15 inches (the Golden Stairs refers to the 32 switch-backs remaining to the summit). Yes, it took me an hour and 36 minutes to go 3.2 miles - you can stop laughing now.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlKMBbOWi1mqnxhypPGFWpNpRCgBMXXZR5Ka3emNsj0zIeG7_ew9-iF0T4dk1pj0T6njBZJNYwSZ67WXYkP1auGFFnFsaDWA4B1NBxBGJhq11_afuJhRpalBPTIFKq9vZ2ZOQ13Dt87cay/s1600/photo5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlKMBbOWi1mqnxhypPGFWpNpRCgBMXXZR5Ka3emNsj0zIeG7_ew9-iF0T4dk1pj0T6njBZJNYwSZ67WXYkP1auGFFnFsaDWA4B1NBxBGJhq11_afuJhRpalBPTIFKq9vZ2ZOQ13Dt87cay/s320/photo5.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
These last 3 miles of this thing was an entirely different race than the previous 10 - which is to say I have never, ever, ever been so close to the end of me as I was during those 3 miles above tree-line (GZ says this race is actually 4 races woven into one - this I wholeheartedly believe). Every single step was a decision. Pain. No oxygen. Nauseous. Light-headed. My head was a bowl of mush. I wanted to stop so bad, but I couldn't. I've crossed that proverbial red line in altitude before on Mt. Evans this summer but I never felt this miserable ever (PP is TWICE as steep as Mt. Evans, so there is that), but holy mother of peril was I wretched. Runners were coming down in large quantities, and the trail which was treacherous for ONE runner to occupy, now squished TWO on the narrow trail. The person going up got the short end of the stick (that'd be me) so a lot of time was spent hugging a boulder so some speedster could get down. With about 2 miles to go, I saw my blog friend, <b><a href="http://georgezack.blogspot.com/">GZ</a>,</b> flying down and got a high-5 (obviously, he's part mountain goat), which lifted the spirit a tad. I just kept going. One<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> mile from summit, which is to say an ETERNITY from the summit, the '16 Golden Stairs' begins and the two-way traffic is insane. My 35 min/mile pace felt like I was going flat out as I scrambled on all fours to climb up and over. Somewhere on those stairs I must have looked like death was a better alternative to what I was doing because someone coming down told me I'd feel better the second I turned around - and suddenly I felt considerably stronger and clawed my way to the summit. The enormous support from the amazing volunteers up here was incredible and I got a little chocked up.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiddjeszDWW30HhBjtV60jxyj_ym7OqGTs-y7pBAEG0YtpMxZY9Lv8sdvnq9Tz0THS1UGqkEzNqxImfQPq7Ep6sPXbTPfmijw4zV_-bytFn_rIq_1mW8jsxkVIjC_rJG_MIYRjQjVsA7hlv/s1600/race+pic4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiddjeszDWW30HhBjtV60jxyj_ym7OqGTs-y7pBAEG0YtpMxZY9Lv8sdvnq9Tz0THS1UGqkEzNqxImfQPq7Ep6sPXbTPfmijw4zV_-bytFn_rIq_1mW8jsxkVIjC_rJG_MIYRjQjVsA7hlv/s320/race+pic4.jpg" width="232" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">NEVER wear a white shirt in a trail race. Just sayin'.<br />
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<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Summit - 4:46. If you look closely in the lower center of the photo below, you can see the display clock proving how God did not grant me any hill climbing genes.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Kathleen, look - there's Joyce right in front of me :)</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><b>Summit to A-Frame (49:29, 5:36 total):</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">I grabbed about 5 grapes and a few jelly beans at the summit and started my way down as I gnawed at my gourmet meal one morsel at a time. Within 20 steps of descending, I felt remarkable. It helped tremendously too that some clouds decided to stroll in which allowed the 5 hours my back previously spent swimming in sweat to finally dry out some. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">After scrambling past the intense staircase and hordes of ascenders still making their way to the top, I reached the loose gravel section and was surprised I could actually RUN. At 14,000'. It's not a secret if you read my <a href="http://runwithjill.blogspot.com/2013/08/leadville-sr50-rr-and-jillnever-ever.html"><b>Leadville Race Report</b></a> that downhill running and I are bff, but I decided I needed to play it safe for a few miles - I've never run this far, this steep down, and I didn't really relish the thought of blown out quads with 8 miles of intense downhills miles left. I latched onto a guy for a couple miles who was from Minnesota and let him set the pace. The one and only time I fell (I know, hard to believe it was only once) was on this gravely section; I hit a switch back too fast and went sliding down. But no DNA left on the trail, so all was good. </span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>A-frame to Barr Camp (33:50, 6:10 total):</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Mr. Minnesotan and I picked off about 5 runners before he decided he had enough of pacing me and pulled off at A-frame. It was a relief to get back down to tree-line - you could almost <i>FEEL </i>the increased oxygen invade the lungs! About a mile further, I started running with a guy who had done Silver Rush a handful of times, including this year. We ran about a mile together; he was a lot of fun and had the most inspiriting words when he told me he couldn't believe I was 50 and how well I did at Leadville :). He was having some stomach issues so slowed some... and I realized here, I had a LOT left in me and it was time to see just what I could do.</span></span><br />
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I picked up the pace and was floating by so many people. I couldn't believe how good I felt and how well I was holding up. I also knew I was embarking on a big section of trail with a lot of rocks and tree roots, which could take notorious face-planter me out in a heartbeat. I had some stupid song stuck in my head for hours (I honestly couldn't even tell you what it was any more) but it was time to let those lyrics go and instead think, constantly: <i>pick up your feet, do not fall. Pick up your feet, do not fall. Pick up your feet, do not fall. </i>I swear I said these words 500 times until I crossed the finish line.<br />
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<b>Barr Camp to No Name (32:00, 6:42 total):</b><br />
My confidence was soaring (for once). Every person in the peloton I was holding back earlier on, whom I let go by me at mile 10, were long ago passed. Every. One. Of. Them. <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The support from fellow runners was extraordinary when I passed (and when they passed me up), and every pass generously had a pat on the back as I went by. The bond of runners on Pikes Peak had its own sense of magnitude which I have never witnessed on any other trail race I've ever done. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span>Suddenly, I was showered with immense courage and I started soaring down this portion of the trail which has always intimidated and scared the crap out of me in the past. Just three weeks prior when I was on this same section of trail training, I was side-stepping some of steep, rocky portions just to get down ... today, I was hopping off the rocks and floating as fast as my legs (and lungs) would let me.<br />
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<b>No Name to the Finish (37:27, 7:19 total):</b><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">I stopped at the No Name aid station to grab more jelly beans and ingested a pickle for the first time ever in a race (well, ever, while running). The pickle just looked good (and I've read successful stories of pickle juice fueling) so OK, sure. It was getting really warm again but I was determined to keep up my zippy pace - visions of becoming a <i>real </i>trail runner one day entered my head as I counted my 40th victim I passed from the summit. A guy I passed with about 2 miles to go clipped onto my heel and was matching my pace stride for stride....the competitive juices oozed out (as if they weren't out already?) and when I hit the paved road, I kicked it into high gear and left him behind. Gawd, I wish I had my Garmin at this point because I know I was well above my lactic threshold and gunning a sub 7:30 pace (just two weeks ago Kathleen and I hit this mile at 7:19, but I also didn't have 25 miles on my legs that day :)). </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">It was so fun to go from practically zero spectators on the entire course all day (aside from a handful of hearty soles who drove to the summit) to the sounds of many cheers along the sidelines as I hit downtown Manitou. I eased up slightly on the pace because I thought the finish line was about a half mile further down the road where the start was (info in the "Final Instructions" email, perhaps? :)) and I was getting a little cooked. I rounded a corner and suddenly, was across the finish line.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">Descent - 2:32</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">(Ascent: 4:46)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Total Time: </span><b style="font-family: inherit;">7:19:51</b><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Overall: 406/707<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Female: 81/170<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Age Group: 11/18</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Miles: 26.4</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Vertical: 7750' (all but about 50' is in those first 13.3 miles to the summit)</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">Pikes Peak Marathon -</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The views...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The intensity...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The majesty...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px;">I wasn't sure what my fifty-year-old body could hold out there just a few weeks after the longest run of my life in Leadville. I didn't really care what my time was on the clock at PPM (not entirely). </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px;">I pushed past some seriously low lows to rebound and give that race every ounce of strength I had in me. It was by far the hardest race I've ever done (it shredded me much more than Leadville did, even).</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">19 years of chasing. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Finally caught.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I did it.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And <b>THAT</b> matters to me.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpAabi1eHO6xCG8ebz6jJIWRNGfdngi3EAEDZt7y9HG4qoCk0LVQDx6NeTNDnZPdoEpJuP-T5gPOMvz-u3CKZBrBpABE1lT1j7yEn6UNT2rd4A34-5E_Om1qKlldPKpvPl_acRan0wmukK/s1600/shirt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpAabi1eHO6xCG8ebz6jJIWRNGfdngi3EAEDZt7y9HG4qoCk0LVQDx6NeTNDnZPdoEpJuP-T5gPOMvz-u3CKZBrBpABE1lT1j7yEn6UNT2rd4A34-5E_Om1qKlldPKpvPl_acRan0wmukK/s400/shirt.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">The shirt's pretty ugly, actually. Whatever!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Back of shirt</td></tr>
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If your dreams don't scare you, my friends, then they're not BIG enough.<br />
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Run strong!Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-60409183643059103652013-08-22T17:58:00.003-06:002013-08-22T20:09:51.882-06:00Guest Post: Crewing for Leadville's Silver Rush 50<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIuD_NhT6CuDYFANIEy6d9di8UWpLyq97bhCLECc4KfRZPAQRuJawESaaNQ6WMn_kW8NDefpAJ6L7KUza9jbpzVQE_i1yEkB6mZS9xQJkCA8b302F5sO2K8Pdi5MgzIe2jZfgHrjNpC6xc/s1600/terzah2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIuD_NhT6CuDYFANIEy6d9di8UWpLyq97bhCLECc4KfRZPAQRuJawESaaNQ6WMn_kW8NDefpAJ6L7KUza9jbpzVQE_i1yEkB6mZS9xQJkCA8b302F5sO2K8Pdi5MgzIe2jZfgHrjNpC6xc/s1600/terzah2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rockstar runner, Terzah!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNIkkiACN2N5qWGgGMv3lfoo8PG0Ku3eXzh0Md8baaGjDuVUnQW5AVQ_6NeDIR_OX3Vw9d4FTGjrhHRscIR1xSF9MYc3LrV5Hqr_voOKvzGbvSywCMCHIXBKc7CMeeulxoJTANGiYpOkG1/s1600/terzah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNIkkiACN2N5qWGgGMv3lfoo8PG0Ku3eXzh0Md8baaGjDuVUnQW5AVQ_6NeDIR_OX3Vw9d4FTGjrhHRscIR1xSF9MYc3LrV5Hqr_voOKvzGbvSywCMCHIXBKc7CMeeulxoJTANGiYpOkG1/s320/terzah.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Terzah, her husband and their awesome twins.<br />
When she can't run a race, she volunteers</td></tr>
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While I'm prepping (or stalling, same thing) my race report from the Pikes Peak Marathon I just did over the past weekend, I'm going to let my friend, Terzah, recreate the Leadville day from the viewpoint of a crew-er. It's short and sweet, unlike my <a href="http://runwithjill.blogspot.com/2013/08/leadville-sr50-rr-and-jillnever-ever.html"><b>relentless babble race report</b></a>, so without further ado, here's Terzah....</div>
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<b>Crewing for Jill at the Leadville Silver Rush 50</b></div>
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Last month I was lucky enough to be included in the crew that supported Jill in the Silver Rush 50. As you know if you've read her race recap, it was a triumphant day for her. Here are some of my memories of that day, to give you the point of view of a crew member who didn't run a step.</div>
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<b>--The people:</b> -- Of course there was Jill, who surprised and impressed us all with her relative calm from the moment we arrived <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1732385923" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">on Saturday</span></span> night to the scene at the finish, when she sat under a tent in the pouring rain and glowed; Kathy, Cynthia, Marcia, Melissa....I'm lucky to count these women as my friends; and Jill's son Ryan, the most competent high-school-age male driver I've ever met (and he's a great runner, too) and so proud of his mom in his quiet way.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpjipYnO81n5Vo0CHjQ4-0TVUgUvhdupiT9t4Wpvn_St11TnZblLvXhXbvTUEIv9k1wK5EEqbnk-EQ5nW63WUqudv-yxopHsR597Ddq3wW7UdpsDr_Tnu327MITLIpAoBHB1s7DnSpTXoH/s1600/crew-mates1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpjipYnO81n5Vo0CHjQ4-0TVUgUvhdupiT9t4Wpvn_St11TnZblLvXhXbvTUEIv9k1wK5EEqbnk-EQ5nW63WUqudv-yxopHsR597Ddq3wW7UdpsDr_Tnu327MITLIpAoBHB1s7DnSpTXoH/s320/crew-mates1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kathy, Moi, Terzah, Marcia, Melissa (MIA: Ryan and Cynthia)</td></tr>
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<b>--The start:</b> I loved how most of the runners....didn't run. There was a steep little hill at the beginning, and though a few wanted the honor of being first up it, most of them speed-hiked, wisely conserving resources for later. There would be plenty of hills to climb.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLSMqV6YJCmcyBxOIpO8E8EQE-RtzBBd90G_VSz7oR0BqmsG27qOjjBr-C8uElI40CziuqHaREY_oZZwlHoYoy0XmDhq4MdZ-d7MXvHLTp-ODIO9O1zQHNQQukWcTy9bmq3HKDeRxdh3d5/s1600/start+SR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLSMqV6YJCmcyBxOIpO8E8EQE-RtzBBd90G_VSz7oR0BqmsG27qOjjBr-C8uElI40CziuqHaREY_oZZwlHoYoy0XmDhq4MdZ-d7MXvHLTp-ODIO9O1zQHNQQukWcTy9bmq3HKDeRxdh3d5/s1600/start+SR.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wouldn't really call when I did up this thing "speed-hiking"..."slog" would be a better fitting word for me</td></tr>
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<b>--The aid stations</b>: I had to stay clear of them. The spread was just too tempting. It's almost worth it to train for an ultra just for that (note that I say "almost"). We had a bag of her handpicked snacks/drinks/painkillers for Jill, and it was enough for me to keep my hands out of her M&Ms (I might have stolen a few).<br />
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<b>--The scenery:</b> Leadville and its environs are stunning. You can actually feel how much closer you are to the sky. When the storm that Jill just managed to outrun moved in, I felt we were in the clouds, not merely being rained on but rained around. I am jealous of Melissa, who ran some miles with Jill and got to see more of the course than the rest of us did.</div>
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<b>--The stress:</b> There was actually very little of it. The only time any of us felt stressed was when we had to decide whether it was worth the risk of missing Jill at the last aid station she expected us at in order to see her at the second-to-last one. We decided it wasn't. I felt bad about that later (she *was* looking for us, we learned), but she did so well anyway that in the end it came out OK. I can see, though, that if you are crewing for a runner who is having a bad day, decisions like that can be huge.<br />
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<b>--The letter:</b> I had the privilege of being the one to deliver to Jill a letter from her friend Tara, who moved away before this race could happen; the letter was meant to give Jill a lift when she came to a bad place....but she never did come to a bad place, so I decided at the last aid station to read it to her anyway. When you're running 50 miles, you need a lift when you have seven to go, even if you're having a great day.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmUgXpZTU3GckZH9Wo8Uw986WfD_Q6nCamaHxO7-Kg1SN_1iLPtKuDdOEDEL8B5mOIX7hNY39RzS0MrvYgYrLl36tppyoFtKOEEE2EPHCXb8rLaZHwlimZ_M8mSpfA-CEh_7aKovy9t6fi/s1600/tara+note.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmUgXpZTU3GckZH9Wo8Uw986WfD_Q6nCamaHxO7-Kg1SN_1iLPtKuDdOEDEL8B5mOIX7hNY39RzS0MrvYgYrLl36tppyoFtKOEEE2EPHCXb8rLaZHwlimZ_M8mSpfA-CEh_7aKovy9t6fi/s320/tara+note.jpg" width="294" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tears were shed during this reading, I promise</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b>--The storybook ending:</b> if you followed Jill's training for this little 50th-birthday gift she gave herself ("HEY, I think I need to run 50 miles!"), you know it wasn't all smooth sailing. There were rocks that leaped up and bloodied her legs, and a strained rib muscle; there was interrupted training, and the worry she felt constantly that she wasn't getting enough "vertical;" there were long drives to the mountains to run, which meant long drives back in bad traffic and too much time away from her family (and too little downtime); uncertainty about her first coach.......and yet....In the end, she finished nearly two hours faster than she thought she would. She finished serenely. Yep, that was what I saw on her face: serenity.<br />
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Cynthia, Kathy, Melissa, Marcia, Ryan and I were standing at a spot just at the bottom of a little hill where the runners come down and make one last turn to the finish. We could see the storm clouds building to the west, and the wind was turning chilly. I loved watching those runners come in. Some were met by their small children, who ran them into the finish line. Some pranced like they'd just gone for a little walk in the woods, not run a rugged ultra. Most had a smile on their faces. We bobbed up and down, hoping Jill would beat that rain.<br />
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When she came around the bend, the announcer (who'd given some personal attention to everyone who crossed that line), said something like, "Here comes Jill Parker! Jill is third in her age group." And we--Jill's little crowd--went wild. We'd known for several hours she was doing well, but to get an age group placement! Wow! After jumping up and down like crazy people, we jogged our own way to the other side of the finish line, just in time for that dump of rain to begin. We got her under the tent, and a nice spectator surrendered his seat to her. We hovered like mother hens (I was worried she'd get hypothermic), but she didn't need any mothering in those moments.</div>
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I have no idea how it feels to run that far, over terrain like that, at those altitudes (much less how it feels to do it well). Even after watching Jill do it, I know you can't know until you do it yourself. Maybe someday I'll try. For now, though, I'm very proud of Jill for giving herself the gift of that race, and grateful to her for letting us be there for her that day.<br />
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And the next time she wants to do something like this, I'll be honored to be there again. Thank you, Jill--run on, my friend.</div>
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Thank you, Terzah. And thanks again to all who made this day a very, very special one!<br />
<br />
And now, I must get back to writing up last weekend's pretty cool race up Pikes Peak so it's not four weeks post race, like others *ahem* have been....</div>
</div>
Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-61682475998304892422013-08-12T06:00:00.000-06:002016-03-04T23:27:16.999-07:00Leadville Silver Rush 50 Mile Trail Race<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQrgoW_uUGMF10Ps8ZJG8d4iio-ggQlvalcFBP3SydtwOPDvVSKamPw7uMzQZqxNU7uYe6UewzxPiGAQSHBPQ8u8rCK4dNL0uKy1WZt_qjpRIHG0F1Rf-pWlnDe-gIs1Xh_XModzU3TTBI/s1600/photo09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQrgoW_uUGMF10Ps8ZJG8d4iio-ggQlvalcFBP3SydtwOPDvVSKamPw7uMzQZqxNU7uYe6UewzxPiGAQSHBPQ8u8rCK4dNL0uKy1WZt_qjpRIHG0F1Rf-pWlnDe-gIs1Xh_XModzU3TTBI/s320/photo09.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 115%;">I guess almost 4 weeks post the 'biggest race of your life' is a sufficient gap to write a race report. Most have moved on and are now asking, "What race did you run again?" </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">So
yeah, I ran a little 50 miler in Leadville. 50 miles. In Leadville! <b><a href="http://www.leadvilleraceseries.com/page/show/312299-silver-rush-50-run">The Leadville Silver Rush 50</a>.</b> Unless you're dead and
therefore not on FB to have witnessed the live onslaught of race vomit postings by my
loving crew-mates (I say that affectionately to them, btw), </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">most know already that
yes, <b>I DID IT</b>, and not only did I do it, but I felt amazing and well and <b>STRONG</b>.<b> </b>It sort of feels surreal, actually, like it didn't happen and was
instead just a mere fragment of a convivial dream – except for days upon my
return home my quads felt like a truck ran over them 80 trillion times, and my still-to-this-day
lingering fatigue announce that yes, I did just run 50 miles<b>. At 10,200' Leadville! </b></span></span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPUpj9ch8Hjcgj1td-s385Jgh38Yifl8BopGORjUo4n1WLldWqXvSK199t-mduM9TOp0SZdS2QbZ8pxVUsSyGE5CXjQ9k6ifCv5v1ejBWwIgU77sa70vkhNZgGCUwIDJAExtJswn9gCwWr/s1600/SRprofile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPUpj9ch8Hjcgj1td-s385Jgh38Yifl8BopGORjUo4n1WLldWqXvSK199t-mduM9TOp0SZdS2QbZ8pxVUsSyGE5CXjQ9k6ifCv5v1ejBWwIgU77sa70vkhNZgGCUwIDJAExtJswn9gCwWr/s400/SRprofile.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">As you can clearly see, the course is very flat from mile 25.01 to 25.02. Nice! </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Entering an unknown 50-miler world I didn’t have much of a
gauge where I’d land across the finish line on race day. Sure, I had some great training runs and
incredible race results early this spring to give me a generic template,
but then disaster struck: a dehydration nightmare at the Sage Burner 50k in
late May formed a gelatinous head; almost no sleep in 3 days following the
Boise Half IM early June caused my body wincing in fatigue for weeks after, and
yet another fall on the trails in Leadville late June produced a pulled rib muscle
- trying just to take in air was excruciatingly painful, so much so that that little thing called 'running' became problematic (it’s a
requirement, btw, that all race reports be over-exaggerated – but these were
pretty true facts). I felt my fitness slipping quickly after Boise when I produced nothing of quality running-wise. When Tim told me he
thought I could realistically finish around 11-hours, I wanted to throw-up and hide in my closet! </span><i style="line-height: 115%;">Bleh</i><span style="line-height: 115%;">, no way. Never in my wildest happy finishing SR dreams
(and I had plenty) did I think I could pull this thing off in 11-hours, not even when I
was more fit and better trained in the spring. 13 hours is what I realistically thought now, 12:30 was best hope. Basically I had no clue. All I knew for certain was that even though I'm pretty good at undermining my abilities, I can be also be pretty stubborn about what I want. I got my head back into the game about a week before the race. I wanted to finish Silver Rush. Period. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">And I knew I would. Finish time, it didn't matter.</span></span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Race Recap (aka: the boring ad nausea details)</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 10.0pt;"><u><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Pre-Race:</span></u><span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">When<b> <a href="http://www.marciashealthyslice.com/">Marcia</a> </b>caught word I was running
Leadville, she graciously offered to fly from the Windy City to help crew for
me.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD0VA5X0J_Lq6nZroiat_Gj3FJq3x0q8iKnz3ZKAqAA0MOptQ-JoHat_IPNFYVoazSzh4qGJ3t4Jb2MbimBd3eTdsbdMZgekZ4Lx7HCIkPMUrJjGkcKecSGMvcPo9Zl72HRorio9vC07fS/s1600/meandjill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD0VA5X0J_Lq6nZroiat_Gj3FJq3x0q8iKnz3ZKAqAA0MOptQ-JoHat_IPNFYVoazSzh4qGJ3t4Jb2MbimBd3eTdsbdMZgekZ4Lx7HCIkPMUrJjGkcKecSGMvcPo9Zl72HRorio9vC07fS/s320/meandjill.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Soon, friends Terzah, Kathy, Cynthia
and Melissa jumped on the crew and cheerleader bandwagon, along with my son
Ryan (who was crawling out of his skin with excitement); before I
knew it I had an entire entourage. Melissa, I met exactly once, when my keys were lost somewhere on Mt. Evans back in mid-June (lucky girl got to see me have a complete melt-down the first time I met her); I can't figure out what I did to deserve such gifts in my life.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Best crew-ers ever!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">L to R: Ryan, Cynthia, Marcia, Kathy, Terzah, Melissa.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 10.0pt;">I picked up Marcia on
Thursday evening and we immediately high-tailed it up high to get our altitude acclimation
groove on. I always have some issues the first day with the altitude and
whatever annoying alpine allergens are in thin air so it was crucial I spent as much time up in altitude as possible before race day. We
had a great time in Leadville Friday trying to dodge piercing, horizontal, torrential rain for three hours when the notorious late-summer Colorado monsoons arrived weeks early. This did wonders for
the already forming knot in my stomach; who doesn't dream of running in 35
degree freezing rain for 13 hours! The only
caloric intake my stomach could handle seemed to be ice cream and beer. At least I was carb-loading.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 10.0pt;">Saturday, Marcia and I defined the word “slug” pretty well while Ryan went on some 200 mile sub-5
minute run. My stomach was starting to
feel better, but I was starting to become fixated on race details, like which rain jacket to take with me for the race. Rain threatened to be a constant on race day. I modeled the two jackets I had with me to Marcia
about 400 times; I'm sure her only thought was, <i>they’re both identical</i>. Saturday night the banshees arrived and the
living room became filled with pizza and war room race cheering strategies. I went to bed a bit later than I had wanted, but feeling pretty calm. By 2:30am I was wide awake - with a solid (okay, broken) 4 hours of sleep for the race. </span></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Race Day:</span></u></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I've learned in
trail racing, no one lines up an hour early to jockey
for a good starting position like we insanely do in road marathons so I wasn't
too worried with my 15 minutes to spare arrival, I ended up bumping into a friend, Samantha, at the start line (an incredible ultra-runner
who I had the pleasure of running some with at the Sage Burner 50k back in May). It was a crisp, overcast 40 degree morning, and I was surprisingly excited to get the ball rolling. A
quick snap shot of my favorite crew-er before the start….<span style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu0EcEgSCSQz7sgwk_NWoLFmWXnCF8yYUEhYSt0hE0JHC_ulixNucNIKHf1tzQ5DJL_h4V_26ynZFncnaUPHj5A52KtPc-zUAGkidgxnN_GzBZX5_f__0QCufTpKU7kYqm_2bcvvkP2PcV/s1600/Ryan+me+start.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu0EcEgSCSQz7sgwk_NWoLFmWXnCF8yYUEhYSt0hE0JHC_ulixNucNIKHf1tzQ5DJL_h4V_26ynZFncnaUPHj5A52KtPc-zUAGkidgxnN_GzBZX5_f__0QCufTpKU7kYqm_2bcvvkP2PcV/s320/Ryan+me+start.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I had enough crap in my pack to cloth and feed a 3rd world country - just in case</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And up the insane first
hill (of thousands) of the day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMp1PjmPFUWEr9_f7jvnXlpYgHOaxNfVjjEcifsdR3R7LAcoi5OEu8rQjKxPEaLK4-nyYlR11driPvYHRB5nU5IV95p6-By16QDEohLtjF8_3OOluETsj1jv1ekngrIVUn_-qhvlCbaRFA/s1600/start2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMp1PjmPFUWEr9_f7jvnXlpYgHOaxNfVjjEcifsdR3R7LAcoi5OEu8rQjKxPEaLK4-nyYlR11driPvYHRB5nU5IV95p6-By16QDEohLtjF8_3OOluETsj1jv1ekngrIVUn_-qhvlCbaRFA/s320/start2.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Marcia happened to snag a
photo just as the sun rose right after we took off. Kind of an ugly place to have to run 50
miles, huh?</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXy2Pb4LRwWWzxc3XgMK9cGZfeTgnyoh6q9uW8cV53pVxjA3hO0YNBo6qq6CSnE5cyYSPKn7rJCTNZVpHzUb7T2_b02sVWEsd2UVICGFdgX9KkOdKGyDgLnWjER2PjRR7HfEmuxgOqMdup/s1600/at+the+start.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXy2Pb4LRwWWzxc3XgMK9cGZfeTgnyoh6q9uW8cV53pVxjA3hO0YNBo6qq6CSnE5cyYSPKn7rJCTNZVpHzUb7T2_b02sVWEsd2UVICGFdgX9KkOdKGyDgLnWjER2PjRR7HfEmuxgOqMdup/s320/at+the+start.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></b>
<b>Start to Black Cloud Aid
Station (mile 7):</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I ran a bit with
Samantha during the first early miles; she knew everyone out there, I knew no one; I just listened in on her
conversations and took in my surroundings. Somewhere around mile 3,
Samantha had to do some business in the trees so I bid her farewell and said I
looked forward to seeing her when she passed me. Samantha had a goal of
10:30. I did not. I figured
she’d be passing me eventually. I chose not to wear my Garmin after deciding that this little device could potentially destroy
my day if I got my head tangled up with it's display; I needed to [try to] go on instinct and have faith in my own judgement. I wore my trusty generic Nike watch - simply because I wanted to be sure I was
fueling, hydrating and salt in-taking precisely when I needed to. I
learned the hard way at Sage Burner your stomach will hate you for eternity if you screw around with these things - they are what
can take you out of a race this long in a nanosecond and vital to one's success. I didn't even hit "start" on my watch, I simply used it
to keep track of what went into my gut.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The first few miles of
this section are a very gradual uphill on mostly dirt trail/jeep road. I
walked when I felt my HR start to climb, and ran when it lowered. My
strength on the trails are my quads and running downhill comes naturally easy to me,
but I knew I had to hold back in those early downhill miles; I had no idea
how my quads were going to fare at say mile 40, so I had to play it safe. Not an
easy task for the girl who loves to race and pound the downs. I stayed
exactly where I intended and never got wrapped into what anyone else was doing
around me (which is a pretty huge feat for me).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Eventually the trail
turned into a dirt and rocky road which started to climb. I just kept plodding forward with my run/walk method and eventually ran up a short steep hill and suddenly was into the first aid station where I was greeted with a
welcoming cheering squad. I had made a quick ETA schedule for each aid
station - which was based on absolutely nothing concrete. Ryan and I sat with the
course map one night looking at the elevation and guesstimating where the
course mile marking might possibly be in relation to the elevation. I'm
sure there's precise data out there somewhere if I searched long enough or
emailed the right people, but the official map per se was pretty useless in this
department, so I just came up with a game plan in my head based on a 13-hour
finish time and threw in some random paces for each section. I've never been good with race strategy; it works much better if I just go on instinct so now wasn't really the right time to start. "Left, Right, Repeat. Are you dying? No! Then keep going." Easy. The crew had
strict instructions to let me know if I was fell behind my 13-hour target - my
biggest fear was to not make the cut-offs. When I got to Black Cloud,
Cynthia told me I was right on schedule so I smiled, thanked them all, and away I went -
feeling really, really, really, REALLY good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Black Cloud to Printer
Boy (mile 14):</b><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbXcp2K3VjQuXXRC9cra1wyE0Ui37svxXeXzigOA4UkKHJJSeDonefboS-MZWYM1JfguG8jpae8XHUkmj10E3L6_qnsCN945ZJCqKQ4M-7am0rjbV16rjc2fuhLlvylW4GjkERRiH2ij6l/s1600/69223_556441631088204_1680780672_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbXcp2K3VjQuXXRC9cra1wyE0Ui37svxXeXzigOA4UkKHJJSeDonefboS-MZWYM1JfguG8jpae8XHUkmj10E3L6_qnsCN945ZJCqKQ4M-7am0rjbV16rjc2fuhLlvylW4GjkERRiH2ij6l/s320/69223_556441631088204_1680780672_n.jpg" width="213" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Photo: Leadville Race Series</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I know it's hard to believe, but this isn't me</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 10.0pt;">Out of aid Black Cloud
was a steady uphill climb eventually topping
out well above tree-line for the first of six 12,600' peaks. This was one of my
favorite views on the course; the enormous granite walls are simply
breathtaking (or maybe that was lack of oxygen). But it was a bit rocky in
spots so I ran cautiously.
Those who tell you to look around and become one with your surroundings in ultra
races are apparently not big face planters; I was constantly looking down so as not to leave more blood samples on those trails. I looked around occasionally, but whenever it was rocky, my view was the ground.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPzI4A6bfMQqPPwnH_HkDu718MVaxSn-g9hJNzLh0d5WsrF2Q-A2jpZyOcpSWeZBqtsyRZuYiYoHukgHxoV1XV9DJJL3pHNfsamST5rl4nLN4K1HJZ9ZYQ-6EJyK6oGN59BuJJRJWSDczt/s1600/44994_556440494421651_1122640641_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPzI4A6bfMQqPPwnH_HkDu718MVaxSn-g9hJNzLh0d5WsrF2Q-A2jpZyOcpSWeZBqtsyRZuYiYoHukgHxoV1XV9DJJL3pHNfsamST5rl4nLN4K1HJZ9ZYQ-6EJyK6oGN59BuJJRJWSDczt/s320/44994_556440494421651_1122640641_n.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Photo: Leadville Race Series</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVbiI-xRjzRoF5QSbN1q-SKtN9n2G7bQDKNbS0OMZzXGdzq7678GaIiZRK2PJ_wbIVQd71VzqyeOuMGIeerGOzqJsiWr27lwwn_HdREo1gqn-JG1vz2s1H9aHzRepRViRZkul0sHIY1YuT/s1600/photo03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVbiI-xRjzRoF5QSbN1q-SKtN9n2G7bQDKNbS0OMZzXGdzq7678GaIiZRK2PJ_wbIVQd71VzqyeOuMGIeerGOzqJsiWr27lwwn_HdREo1gqn-JG1vz2s1H9aHzRepRViRZkul0sHIY1YuT/s320/photo03.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">
Once finished with the first major climb, I knew my time to gain a little ground was going to be on
the nice 5-mile descent into the next aid station. This section was a wide dirt-packed road with loose gravel - very runnable. The race's 450 runners had thinned out considerably by now but I tagged onto a group of five guys who had all done this race before, all in the 11-12 hour range. As we started passing a lot of runners, the worry of whether I was running too fast and therefore would be dead at mile 30 also started. But they were the funniest guys I run with all
day and that made the miles clicked by in what seemed like seconds, so I hung
with them anyway and felt a pang of sadness when I lost them at the next aid
station. Like Samantha, I just figured as the day progressed I’d see them eventually when
they passed me. I got down that hill and knew
I had just checked off one of the 4 major climbs/descents, which was a huge mental uplift. </span><span style="color: #222222;">I felt
fantastic. I rounded the corner and heard my fan club eagerly
cheering!</span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ngS2TwmvT3sB50zO_TNlL6NjwNFJkfeXAjZKzn2sjOyhOLValXDZiWJllIM77X0dMuuAmMreAxao1ZYG1ujnx8DwzH3MiNtnA5u61MmkNlyXkKSrwCVSkQqsBeGkYgzYUEAf6gztrb3l/s1600/21398_10201558178535207_410697239_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ngS2TwmvT3sB50zO_TNlL6NjwNFJkfeXAjZKzn2sjOyhOLValXDZiWJllIM77X0dMuuAmMreAxao1ZYG1ujnx8DwzH3MiNtnA5u61MmkNlyXkKSrwCVSkQqsBeGkYgzYUEAf6gztrb3l/s320/21398_10201558178535207_410697239_n.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">All
that cheering causes lots of leg fatigue and much need to re-fuel, it appears</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Cynthia checked the
bladder in my hydration pack and sternly told me I wasn't drinking enough - I had only consumed about 10 oz of my water in those 14
miles and she was adamant half of my water be gone when they saw me next,
which was in a mere 2 miles. I was slightly ahead of my ETA here, but I told them
I didn't want to know by how much...only tell me if I got behind. I wasn’t even aware of the time on my watch.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPZrEBTNlbipqKqvJTle109fuR6lGVrhhyIdlFYMNO9S23C80e1HTczeCIKCKHLSlLR41D0Fitq_Xwhkl4gYNpND4wTdD1oeqUBmYSHEWGdUQoYthSrrwWd64w5Qf1eUUAkRJDbzxUrs1v/s1600/mile+14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPZrEBTNlbipqKqvJTle109fuR6lGVrhhyIdlFYMNO9S23C80e1HTczeCIKCKHLSlLR41D0Fitq_Xwhkl4gYNpND4wTdD1oeqUBmYSHEWGdUQoYthSrrwWd64w5Qf1eUUAkRJDbzxUrs1v/s320/mile+14.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 10.0pt;">Terzah clearly captivated by my
tantalizing words:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">"I'm doing well. I feel great.
No, I don't want any food. Do not give me a jelly bean, I'll barf
it up. Water, what's that? Am I running 50 miles TODAY?"</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 10.0pt;">Printer Boy to Rock
Garden (mile 19):<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Out of Printer Boy aid, we took a sharp turn onto some single track rocky
trail in a wooded area and headed downhill.
I was flying (for me) and passing so many people but keeping my concentration on the rocky terrain. This race isn’t very technical overall; there are
only a few miles scattered where you need to be cautious
with protruding rock. I just happened to have been lucky enough to fall on them all in training.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">Done with the downhill, quickly cross a paved road, and headed up on on wide gravel road on the other side. There seemed to be more people around me now than the previous hour; I was ecstatic I was, for the most part, matching walking pace with those around me (which hasn't been the case in any other uphill trail run I've done prior to this year), and even passing some. If there's one thing I have learned about vertical trail racing it's that your pace is based on effort and if that means walking, you walk. I was thrilled to find my walk pace is getting quicker (one doesn't really know this unless you're around others doing the same :)).</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuZr_Ho-lKLULnl4BRS1kTkJnNVT2VUBFm3lZgIK9RNS5xE2c0nMoNZe7Cu-430IARlRWI_iMvP2ql9GB6qAmmKdJJu_Po-gRDrhtO-hDLrWnUL2_Fqu6T5kuTbp1_HQiX_1fh9TXNbRyA/s1600/Mile+16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuZr_Ho-lKLULnl4BRS1kTkJnNVT2VUBFm3lZgIK9RNS5xE2c0nMoNZe7Cu-430IARlRWI_iMvP2ql9GB6qAmmKdJJu_Po-gRDrhtO-hDLrWnUL2_Fqu6T5kuTbp1_HQiX_1fh9TXNbRyA/s320/Mile+16.jpg" width="220" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">I saw the crew just 2 miles after I last saw them (now mile 16), which is remarkable since I was now well ahead of my so-called 'schedule' and for them to reach me at this point they had to haul ass out of the last aid station, back into town, and down some some un-named road - which could be anyone's guess.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6maReEmmax4BKDLsD9xyXaWx9H0GE8lK024k3hscdpBfxMEUnoRFdluPSGD4tqLAdz649Bi2R8pDjRGrObqow5YFShLY-GoIo_XYPqQISyIDfj4nNtkbB7AuVhytRiIJcJcQqzrEfaKa-/s320/road+sign.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="301" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Redneck" would be a great definition for Leadville</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="color: #222222;">I stopped when I saw the crew to deal with some tape on my foot which I had put on to hopefully prevent the never-ceasing blister from Hell. I felt a build-up of pressure on the 'problem area' and decided the tape was an utter fail and could actually exacerbate the situation, so off it went. I thought about changing shoes but didn't want to dink around with the timing chip removal, and besides, Kathy is an ob/gyn nurse so I figured at least I'd have medical help close-by :). Ryan loaded me up with more salt tablets and off I went on my 2nd major climb to 12.600' of the day. I wouldn't see the gang until close to the turn-around, which was a couple hours away.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">I started playing leapfrog up some switchbacks with a woman using hiking poles. The constant <i>click click click click</i> of the poles was driving me batty. I'd pass her on a teeny descent and she'd re-pass me on the up; this went on for a few miles until the constant 'click' made me want to grab one of her poles and wrap it around her neck. The Rock Garden aid station arrived quicker than I thought; I had a volunteer here grab my iPod out of my pack so I could drown out the incessant pole clatter. I vowed then and there I wouldn't use the poles Tim lent me - even if my feet fell off and I had to crawl on my knees at some point.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikcVYybakF-kGy61UtMqCM95EyZcb0jp_lQvFD2Hmam2_XieU2MJV2NgJM27jYoNw747rjLila_XDjMn3u2ezSevzNAuEwr7E-EMGZSEZbn1qVUvu_lPQK9HXjYV_bco3JozqmU3aEzqau/s1600/rock+garden+aid+station.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikcVYybakF-kGy61UtMqCM95EyZcb0jp_lQvFD2Hmam2_XieU2MJV2NgJM27jYoNw747rjLila_XDjMn3u2ezSevzNAuEwr7E-EMGZSEZbn1qVUvu_lPQK9HXjYV_bco3JozqmU3aEzqau/s1600/rock+garden+aid+station.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Photo: Kelly Agnew</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Looking to the west from Rock Garden aid station</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rock Garden to Stumptown (half way):</span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiYUkFWBacdalDhajZKVA4MxuXo4ewgScSZ8nfJq6M8Kiv4Pf1CkIRdrpZNhxmie8Owbheo1Z0XbAOEPHj62-RX_WP_KZf-xR_dv3nurr1xeQAyWgjH8MwZuhARFDA3GhC2AK5MWpC6bBA/s1600/after-rock-garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiYUkFWBacdalDhajZKVA4MxuXo4ewgScSZ8nfJq6M8Kiv4Pf1CkIRdrpZNhxmie8Owbheo1Z0XbAOEPHj62-RX_WP_KZf-xR_dv3nurr1xeQAyWgjH8MwZuhARFDA3GhC2AK5MWpC6bBA/s1600/after-rock-garden.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Source: Kelly Agnew</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Heading east out of Rock Garden aid station</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222; text-align: center;">I've been on these middle miles training so I was familiar with what I was about to face, which was good because this area is some of the most grinding vertical on the course. Rocky and steep. But also incredibly scenic. I ran well out of the aid station down to tree-line and through the trees, even when the rocks threatened to take me out. Then climbed back up to 12,600' again. I saw Ken C</span><span style="color: #222222;">hlouber, founder of the Leadville 100 race, standing at the top of the peak, smiling this evil grin which pretty much said, <i>I'm so glad I'm not you right now.</i> I told him thanks for the awesome hill. He laughed and told me the rest of the race was all downhill from here. I didn't even remotely find his words funny.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">Miraculously, I managed to get down the steepest section of the course without incident by side-stepping some of it. Yeah, really. I started to have some minor calf cramps a couple miles back and they were getting slightly worse by the time I got down to the creek, so I stopped and stretch a bit before I started climbing again. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPCZttHLGkAGHofWcoLbdfEjvDi39T6B-gSsZ7oFNC6TNaJWTEqegE_n9v0vherPUn_iI5bb6reepUruwyfTv4pySgw_8ZCj3wzZEtYgp3ulNlWlJn8-wTrhJCEiKAMXfyzA1uCCS0mQtt/s1600/photo06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPCZttHLGkAGHofWcoLbdfEjvDi39T6B-gSsZ7oFNC6TNaJWTEqegE_n9v0vherPUn_iI5bb6reepUruwyfTv4pySgw_8ZCj3wzZEtYgp3ulNlWlJn8-wTrhJCEiKAMXfyzA1uCCS0mQtt/s320/photo06.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; text-align: center;">The trail after the bridge is really runnable, but I thought it was better if I implemented a run/walk; I was still worried about how the body was going to hold up hours later and this is the section where I had the rib disaster 3 weeks prior. I took my eyes off the ground for a nanosecond and saw Tim coming the other way. When he saw me, he turned around and walked with me a bit up the hill, which I couldn't be more thankful for. He told me that I was doing great and killing the race; it was SO good to see him out there and it brought such a kick of energy that I was able to run the entire rest of the way to where I saw my crew at about a mile to the turn-around. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; text-align: center;">The cloud cover for the majority of the race was now gone and the sun's heat was becoming pretty noticeable - and made me worry a bit. It was great to see the crew (mile 24ish); Cynthia told me I was doing better hydrating after checking my pack (and my calves were much better now, I'm certain there was a correlation between these two) and said I was now well ahead of schedule. I walked a lot to the turn-around; I had heard there is a mother hill right when you get to the half-way point and rumors turned out to be true. Thankfully it was short-lived and I got through the halfway arch in exactly 5 hours 20 seconds ....and turned around to head back out and repeat the course in the opposite direction. I was half way done.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222; text-align: center;"><br /></span><span style="color: #222222; text-align: center;">And I felt incredible.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQv-G13_D3iv8Wxljsl9pg2iQFetm4Y0Py9dIHFkhYqGLxY00o9F6OkdbD4yLPxg2r-9OECQjC416EPIO-826xypb2WU51g4B9ZKox611iWAAU2Fwb2Btky_eWPvUPS8_z3TkKnpFDdOSV/s1600/1001655_556441007754933_1964155665_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQv-G13_D3iv8Wxljsl9pg2iQFetm4Y0Py9dIHFkhYqGLxY00o9F6OkdbD4yLPxg2r-9OECQjC416EPIO-826xypb2WU51g4B9ZKox611iWAAU2Fwb2Btky_eWPvUPS8_z3TkKnpFDdOSV/s320/1001655_556441007754933_1964155665_n.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Half way fanfare</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Photo: Leadville Race Series</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><b>Stumptown to Rock Garden Aid Station (mile 31):</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222; text-align: center;">The crew was planted where I saw them last, about a mile from the half-way point. I quickly told them I was doing well and ate something at the last aid station, so I didn't stop. I knew I was about to embark on the toughest section of the whole race and I just wanted it done. </span><span style="color: #222222; text-align: center;">In a few minutes I ran past Samantha; she didn't look that well but she said she was doing fine. </span><span style="color: #222222; text-align: center;">A few minutes later I passed by the group of 'fun guys' and they all screamed and yelled for me which was, admittedly, uplifting. (None of them, btw, ever did pass me :)).</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; text-align: center;">I ran by the rock that busted my rib a few weeks back and laughed at it....which was really juvenile. Whatever. I got down the hill in one piece and put my game face on for the mother of all hills I was about to embark upon: a half mile with 700' elevation gain, and filled with loose rock. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222; text-align: center;">I've been on this beast in training but never with 28 miles on my legs, so the crawl up this thing seemed much worse (imagine!). Inching up this thing simply sucked. To exacerbate the carnival fun, my stomach was becoming nauseous and the higher I climbed, the more I wanted to bend over and barf. <i>Ugh </i>. I tried not to panic, but the symptoms were similar to those early stages of disaster at Sage Burner. I forced down some water and a bit of a gel, but my gut was on a full-blown strike. My iPod, which saved the life of Clicking Pole Woman earlier, was oddly making my stomach even more queasy, so I instantly yanked it out. By the grace of I'm not sure who, I somehow got to the top without losing half my stomach; i</span><span style="color: #222222; text-align: center;">t took an entire geological era to get up this thing. </span><span style="color: #222222; text-align: center;"> I had a great opportunity to run down the other side but my stomach was still a mess and I couldn't run. A woman passed me and I quickly felt this frustration overcome me that I couldn't run with her. Shockingly though, I never got negative or angry, I just keep moving forward. I realized here though - the race was starting to become a little more....competitive. That racer in me started shinning through.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222; text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #222222; text-align: center;">Eventually, the stomach started to cooperate as I downed more water. I ran though the trees and once I w</span><span style="color: #222222; text-align: center;">as out in the clearing, climbing to 12,600' for the 5th time that day, it started to hail. Awesome. Let me just say for you who have never been in rain and hail at 12,000+ feet - <b>it was freezing</b>. And excruciatingly painful on exposed skin. I wanted to stop and get my jacket out of my pack but decided to proceed to the aid station which was coming up soon. When I got to the aid station, I just stood there for a couple minutes trying to assess what the nutty weather was going to do. I finally got my pack off and dug for my arm warmers and wind jacket (my crew had my heavier rain jacket - the thing I obsessed for 2 hours over the night before, I didn't even have it with me). I took in some watermelon, oranges and some Coke, but I couldn't choke down anything solid they had. I knew this was a sign my stomach was not happy, but at least it wasn't in previous barf-mode. I stood under the tent for probably 10 minutes waiting for the hail to stop, which was utterly ridiculous...and starting to upset me I wasn't moving quicker.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><b>Rock Garden to Printer Boy (mile 36):</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222; text-align: center;">When I finally pulled myself out the dry shelter at Rock Garden, it was raining steadily but the hail stopped and I was warm and the wind jacket seemed to be keeping me dry. In typical Colorado high country weather, 10 minutes later the rain ended, the sun poked out from the clouds, and it turned 200 degrees. I thought I'd see the crew in a mile so I just decided to bake to death in my layers until I saw them. But w</span><span style="color: #222222; text-align: center;">hen I got off the trail and entered the road where the crew was to be, they weren't there. I understood there could be a chance they'd bail on this stop since they were so rushed to get here the first round, so I didn't worry - but admittedly, I was hoping to see them, just for an energy boost. I was still feeling really great, but I'd been running the longest I've ever run before...the enormous length of the day was starting to creep into the head. I stopped to take off my jacket then took off running, keeping a woman up ahead on my radar - she just looked like someone I could eventually pass, and it was great to keep my mind distracted in something other than how long I had been out there. I made some gains on her during the road's ascent, but once it crested and started to descent, that's when I nailed her. I felt really strong! I got to the bottom of the hill, crossed the road and looked up when I heard someone yell my name; it was </span><b style="color: #222222; text-align: center;"><a href="http://dirtyhundy.blogspot.com/">Kiki</a> </b><span style="color: #222222; text-align: center;">- a really cool local(ish) woman I've met who is training for Leadman and was there with some friends cheering. It was so good to see her, even if was just for a mere second - it gave me a big lift for the next short climb.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">Back up the hill and through the trees. <b> OHMIGODDD, this report is getting long, redundant </b>- <b>and boring</b>!! I think a 4th grader could write better crap than this piece of garbage. Whatever. Uphill, downhill, blah blah blah - let's continue on.... </span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; text-align: center;">I got up this section feeling pretty damn good, and if there's one thing (okay, two...three....ten) I will forever remember about his race it was the look on Ryan's face at this very moment: his HUGE smile and the high-five he gave me as I came into the Printer Boy aid station at mile 36. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">I can't even explain how it feels to have your child so incredibly proud of you. It's a pretty cool feeling inside to see your son have his mom take on a huge challenge, fight, and eventually succeed. I could go on and on about that, but I think my 4 hours of 'free time' at the coffee shop is about to expire and my mandatory 500 word RR limit has been far surpassed four thousand times over.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222; text-align: center;"><br /></span><span style="text-align: center;"><b>Printer Boy to Black Cloud aid station (mile 43):</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">As I got into Printer Boy, there was one last major climb - the spot where the fun people and I were passing runners earlier in the day. I knew this was going to be a death march climb, but also relieved it was the last climb to 12,600' of the day. Melissa graciously offered to "run" a few miles with me, and I welcomed the company. You're not allowed pacers at this race, but she wasn't "pacing me", she was keeping me company and just there a few miles ... and best I could tell, the roads and trails were wide open and anyone could be out there running, or driving (which they were, occasionally). I was starting to feel slightly fatigued and it was great to have Melissa keep my mind occupied. We talked about useless stuff, mostly mocking everyone in the race, myself included. It started to rain, heavily for a bit, as we climbed, and climbed, and climbed, and still climbed more. I was walking, and apologized profusely to Melissa for our pathetic snail's pace and the fact she was soaked to the bone (I finally had my obsessed-over rain jacket, but she had nothing to protect her. I worried about her...something to keep my mind occupied). I was getting frustrated I couldn't run here; it seemed fairly runnable, but my legs couldn't do it. I looked around and the few racers left around me were also walking - so I was a bit more encouraged about my crawling pace. The hill wouldn't end; we just climbed forever and whenever I thought we'd reach the top around the next bend, we didn't. I told Melissa "sorry" 5 million times how slow we were going and I'm certain a few expletives came out of my mouth...remember, I had met this girl a grand total of once, and I was in a foul mood then. I can only imagine what was going through her head now about me. Melissa had her Garmin on and I slipped once and asked her our pace. It was deflating - I'm not even going to mention it, but it was slower than the 17:30 avg overall pace I needed to finish within the cutoff. I was well ahead of schedule by now, so I wasn't worried, but this hill was starting to become mentally draining. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; text-align: center;">About 480 hours later, the hill and rains simultaneously stopped. I took off my raincoat, gave it to Melissa, and decided it was time to pound out the next few miles to the last aid station, which was an awesome tactic, btw, since I still had some rolling hills to climb later. But at the moment I didn't really care; I felt strong and this insatiable need to run hard just entered my head. So we did. Melissa said our pace was in the sub 9's, which at this altitude on legs with 40 miles on them, was probably stupid - whatever. I really had no rhyme or reason for what I was doing and winging it at this point. But as the miles at this over-zealous pace continued, I was getting cooked. My sour stomach started to rear its ugly head slightly....getting to the next aid station became my new obsession; I was craving orange slices like you wouldn't believe, which I knew was a sign I was dehydrated (again). I couldn't even tell you one thing Melissa said to me here, other than I needed something solid in my stomach, which almost caused me to vomit.</span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Black Cloud to the Finish (mile 50):</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">By the time Melissa and I reached Black Cloud, my stomach was on full strike. I ate my weight in watermelon and orange slices and nursed some gel, anything and everything liquid, until I felt good to get moving. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq3aKBzJU7l56e8ZAuMB6QO1mL9tTgrVw4O-Gp0XNRJhdHe0UrKreoKOe7g91s1Sbp2ndS_Z27GYrQja5gD6b3m0E78ZdgWKsB5Bf0ZHSIvutVKpymOewshSb93snxTXI2X5cYHmSA-RtA/s1600/Mile+43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq3aKBzJU7l56e8ZAuMB6QO1mL9tTgrVw4O-Gp0XNRJhdHe0UrKreoKOe7g91s1Sbp2ndS_Z27GYrQja5gD6b3m0E78ZdgWKsB5Bf0ZHSIvutVKpymOewshSb93snxTXI2X5cYHmSA-RtA/s320/Mile+43.jpg" width="180" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Mile 43: "research" indeed!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">As I headed out for the last leg of the day, Terzah said she had something to read me, something from Tara that...well....I knew would shed a tear - or ten; just the mention of Tara's name caused me to lose composure, never mind the words....</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Terzah reading note - my absolutely favorite picture of the day!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As a side note, I can't help but laugh at my hair here, it was a massive ball of sweat, rain, dirt, bug spray and sunscreen</span></td></tr>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sniff sniff.<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Tara moved out of Colorado the week before my race; I'm still grieving that she's gone. It was tough not to have her there so the note meant so much (It's currently hanging on my bathroom mirror).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">After Terzah read me Tara's note, I continued down the road trying to run, but quickly started to struggle some. I don't know for certain what was going on - I just sort of zoned out and in an odd way, no longer felt "part" of this race. I started playing leapfrog with a guy whose legs were killing him. I told him I felt great, nothing sore at all, so why wasn't I running more? This was starting to irritate me; there was no explanation for my lack of speed, but for some unbeknownst to me reason I just didn't want to run much. 2 minute walk breaks turned into 5, simply because I didn't feel like running anymore. It was so ridiculous. I was a bit tired, sure, but nothing hurt. My legs felt great. My stomach wasn't the best but it wasn't nauseous anymore. My feet were blister-free and no soreness at all. Whenever I wanted to run again, I'd look down at my bracelet <a href="http://happytrails88.blogspot.com/"><b>Kathleen</b></a> gave me for my birthday and drew strength from all her positive and encouraging words she gave me the past 8 months. This girl is going through some tough health stuff right now and yet whenever I got down or tired or complained about one tiny thing to her, she'd quickly remind me how precious life is and the pain I feel right now is only temporary (we're not talking only race pain). I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have been at the start line of SR had it not been for her continuous belief in my mission.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">With 2 miles to go the skies turned dark gray and thunder was prominent; I knew a heavy storm was moving in and not going to move out quickly like the previous rains I had run through that day. This sort of lit a small fire in me, but not a full-fledged flame. I kept hoping I'd see Tim or Ryan - anyone - pop out from behind the trees and tell me to get my ass moving faster - I felt very much alone, I'd long ago passed the white coat guy I was leapfrogging with earlier and now there were no runners in sight and I just felt this overwhelming need to see someone. As I came up on the last hill (seriously only a sadistic RD would put another major hill, however short, when you can actually SEE the finish line, yet have you run a mile away from that line) the dark clouds released their fury and it started down-pouring. I ran (yep, finally RAN) past the arch at the top of the hill where I had run through many, many, MANY hours earlier, and heard them call out my name from below, where the final finish line chute was. I had no idea how much further I had to go....all I wanted to do was get out of the rain.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was only a minute at most when I turned a corner and started running downhill ... and there she was, in all her glory: the finish line....</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Pretty anti-climatic finish line fanfare, eh?</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I knew by my beloved little Nike watch I was ahead of my self-imposed 13-hour timetable, but my watch display was all fogged up and it was off by a few minutes from the starting gun, so I thought running down this stretch to the finish line (with adoring fan club cheering loudly off to the sidelines - a vision I will never forget ) I was a few minutes over the 11th hour.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">To say I was STUNNED to see the finish clock display is an understatement.....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">2 hours and 8 minutes faster than where I honestly thought I'd land! </span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And -<b> 3rd in my age group!</b></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfRXBMcXJHWQUTCZBUJ3mWObzl3_2vZk2jaI2B53lvXFE8wIAZmeksjYxATxmEv9sqbdHp0S71LmjOUrKI3MBCqvdmpx96zczxLonKPrfw_DHYYnJQQsn93mIQRKhkjZR-EkObE1Ihq5_z/s1600/pan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfRXBMcXJHWQUTCZBUJ3mWObzl3_2vZk2jaI2B53lvXFE8wIAZmeksjYxATxmEv9sqbdHp0S71LmjOUrKI3MBCqvdmpx96zczxLonKPrfw_DHYYnJQQsn93mIQRKhkjZR-EkObE1Ihq5_z/s320/pan.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A silver mining pan as an age group award! Be still my heart!!!!!!!!!!!!</span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Finish:</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I can tell you with 100% certainty I was smiling when I crossed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And I can tell you I was proud.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I can also tell you with 100% certainty I was BEAMING when I got a huge unexpected finish line hug from rain-soaked <a href="http://ontobq.blogspot.com/"><b>Sandra</b></a> seconds after I crossed. Though I never really met Sandra before for more than a minute, we've exchanged countless emotionally-filled SR and ultra running emails during these past few months and I knew exactly who this girl was running out towards me. She wasn't suppose to be there that day, but plans changed and there she was....not for me exactly, for another friend, but at that moment it was for me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was home.</span><br />
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<u style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">Official results:</u></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">Start to Printer Boy:
2:59:36<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">Printer Boy to
Stumptown: 2:17:44<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">Stumptown To Printer
Boy: 2:33:59<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">Printer Boy to Finish:
3:11:58<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">Finish time: <b>10:52:15.24</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">Avg Pace: 13:02<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">Female: 30/113<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">AG: 3/12<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Overall: 206/449</span></span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Miles: 50</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Race Elevation: 10,200-12,600'</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Elevation Gain: 7950' </b></span></span><br />
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<b>The Aftermath:</b></span></u></div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">I always struggle to write race reports because I never think about one damn thing when I'm out there, not even for 50 miles, so all there is to share is what happened at that time or point in a race. Sure, I had fleeting thoughts but nothing continuous; I just had a sense of calmness during the race and it's hard to capture those inner momentary thoughts into words. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">I suspect the reason why it's taken me so long to write this report is that, honestly, I've had a tough time upon my return. I've had long, and thus </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;">exhausting wars within my head about this race. I think</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"> the biggest reason Sandra and I are friends is because we mutually ran this race for the same reasons: to find our breaking point, the point where we say no more, we've found the limit of mental or physical capacity where we will choose to not go past. It seems to answer the question of why we do something like this more often than not. When I crossed the finish line of SR I barely shed the emotional tears I envision for months I would, nor Molly Shannon my ass high in the air. In fact, I felt a little bit of a let-down. Maybe it was the rain and the fact I was soaked and frozen and wanted to instantly leave, but I honestly thought I'd cross that finish line and walk away from it with <b>something,</b> something more tangible I guess. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">The answer I was seeking wasn't out there, which is funny because I couldn't even tell you the exact question was I was searching for.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">The race almost seemed .... like it was just handed to me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">For days after I got home after SR, I fought with this. The day was inexplicable and I had to take some time to process it all. Maybe the shiny silver box with a bright blue bow at the finish line wasn't meant to be something tangible, or touchable, but rather was meant to teach me that I have a lot more in myself to give. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">I mean, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">If you d</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">on't learn something about yourself in a race of this magnitude, then you aren't paying attention. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">I </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">feel </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">I could have done a lot of things differently out there: I didn't have to wait so long for it to stop hailing; maybe I could have pushed harder up and down the hills earlier on; I know for certain I could have pushed a hell of a lot harder those last 5 miles; and I'm sure I could have been more dialed into my nutrition and hydration. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">But I worked like a madwoman to do them to best of what my ability allowed. And I did it fantastically. Tim was spot-on where I'd land across that finish line based on my training - and that says a lot about him. But it also says a hell of a lot about me! I know me and I know my shit and learned in this 8 month process that the scope of what I believed was possible has expanded and I DO have the talent to do these things if I set my mind to them - and work for them. Next time, I'll know I have a lot more to give - and maybe then I'll find the answers I seek and reach my breaking point where I say this is enough. And maybe I won't.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">And that's okay, it's even great really - there is beauty in that. So for now, it's good enough for me. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">I was the most positive I've ever been in a race.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">I am proud of what I accomplished. I AM happy. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">And Tara....I will never, ever give up fighting. Ever.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">My heart is bursting with gratitude for the amazing souls who graciously took time out of their lives for me that day. Tim, whose words of pride I know were not just given without warrant. My crew who took time away from their families to be there for me were simply incredible and lifted my spirit every time I saw them. My friends Kathleen, Jen, Sandra, Gary (your note made my day!) who always had the best things to say to me - just when I needed them most. Craig who helped me a lot the last couple months, and GZ whose generous words made me understand my post race doldrums were not unique and it was okay to feel a little hard on myself. Ryan and the rest of my understanding family who I spent countless</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"> hours away so I could train. And you, all of YOU who've been by my side all these months and believed in me. I am deeply filled with gratitude. It was an incredible day; I was honored to take you with me; it meant a lot. THANK YOU!</span><br />
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<span style="color: #595959; font-family: inherit; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;"><i>"Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we
have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos into
order, confusion to clarity...Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace
for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow." - Melody Beattie</i></span></span></div>
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Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-48210008559352028792013-07-11T09:21:00.000-06:002013-09-20T22:50:16.203-06:00Leadville SR50: T-Minus Three Days<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ6K2Co3yZyZhQNj6T_08tm27YhoBY9RJYHCWM199O2LYo0UEoQrRlN75YdhCt2-405snlLl4adx9PysY4DaJwa6WQUhvDsaRqVebilTJN0ADGY_0nEu7boia8i31nDkCAyJ_0_0_k0bry/s1600/photo21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ6K2Co3yZyZhQNj6T_08tm27YhoBY9RJYHCWM199O2LYo0UEoQrRlN75YdhCt2-405snlLl4adx9PysY4DaJwa6WQUhvDsaRqVebilTJN0ADGY_0nEu7boia8i31nDkCAyJ_0_0_k0bry/s320/photo21.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Middle section of the SR50 trails last weekend: the wildflowers were bursting<br />
in color the higher I climbed</td></tr>
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Crap, I started this post days ago and now I'm about to head out of Denver and land smack at Leadville. <br />
<br />
That can only mean one thing: <b>IT'S HERE!</b><br />
<br />
I haven't documented this journey to the <a href="http://www.leadvilleraceseries.com/page/show/312299-silver-rush-50-run"><b>Leadville Silver Rush 50</b></a> like I had originally intended. The excuses are getting lame and I could repeat that old adage that I'm lacking time to write, but really I don't know how to say the same repetitive words to make them sound exciting, "I went to the mountains. I spent hours in the car to get there. I ran a lot. I fell (again). I got lost (a lot). And I (still) suck climbing uphill. The end." The thoughts I want to convey have been whittled to the equivalent of the loud, slow English one would bark in, say, Serbia, while trying to get directions from a native who only knows two English words: Obama and McDonald's.<br />
<br />
Looking on the bright side, after next week (or whenever I write a race report - could be September at my blogging pace), I won't have to ponder what to write about it any longer (coincidentally, nor will anyone have to read about it, but more importantly, I won't have to pull up the website and link it any longer; I'm sick of looking at it). Starting next week, the real empowering and inspirational posts will arrive, "I didn't run today. I ate a gallon of chocolate ice cream - in a record 3 minutes flat. I drank too much beer. Damn, those nachos were delicious."<br />
<br />
In the meantime, my head's in a really good place right now for this race (as opposed to, say, 2-3 weeks ago) so I'm going to do everything in my power to let it sit right here and brew until the big day. My dear friend Louise, er <a href="http://www.marciashealthyslice.com/"><b>Marcia</b></a>, is flying in today to help crew for me - I'm pretty stoked to see her. Marcia and I have had some crazy running adventures together over the years (I'm shocked sometimes we're still alive - or at least not permanently injured), and I'm sure Leadville won't disappoint in that department; she'll be a great diversion for my head in the remaining two days leading to the race. Cross your fingers we stay injury-free. I find myself stunned I'm actually getting a little bit excited for Silver Rush vs. biting off heads in my path from nerves.<br />
<br />
I've lost some fitness in the past couple months (I can "feel" it). Denver has turned on the oven and baking me to death when I run - or simply walk out my front door. I fell (again) about 2 weeks ago running on the course trails and tore a rib muscle - I thought for sure Leadville was doomed (it's now about 80% healed and I'm basically ignoring it, expect when I breathe deep, which is a bit problematic - especially at 12,000'. Whatever). Point of impact:<br />
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I have a blister from Hell x5 on my left foot - for the past 6 months. And just because I like to torture myself a bit, whenever I look at the elevation profile of this beast, all above 10,000', I question my sanity. Just one of these things alone can be terrifying; combine the masses into one big equation and I'm stunned I didn't quit long ago and head for the track, where my heart sings loudest.<br />
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Though I haven't been training as I wish with my rib, I have been up in altitude as much as time permits, and Ryan and I hit Leadville a couple times since I last wrote. It's a rare opportunity when I get to share a run with this kid; his track schedule keeps him on a pretty tight regiment, never mind the fact that the kid's abilities left me in the dust - overnight. So I cherish the few moments he's had the opportunity to head to altitude to help me train. We ran a half marathon trail race 'together' two weekend's ago in Copper Mountain (right outside of Leadville).<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ryan came in 6th overall at some insane super fast speed. Me, I sandbagged the thing due to my rib, and the fact I wanted to practice my SR50 pace (aka: power-walking), yet I somehow </span><span style="font-size: small;">got 2nd in my age group (I may have gotten a wee-bit competitive the last two miles :)). We both won a free pair of Asics (and additionally I won a Nathan waist pack). I've never worn Asics in my life, I don't think, but free shoes are, well, free shoes. I hope they come in pink.</span></span></div>
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Then, last weekend, Ryan and I headed back up to Leadville to scope out some of the race course; he's going to be crewing for me - the kid can read a map like no one else (unlike his mother who was reading the 100 mile course map at one point ... don't get any ideas in your head) so he's been hired (or drugged) as main crew-er. I don't necessarily NEED a crew at SR50, there are plenty of aid stations to get me through, but this race is kind of a long way race and kind of a <b>really</b> big deal for me, so the presence of some special people who mean a damn lot to me out there will be treasured. I ran about 8 miles at 12,000' last weekend and just chugged along nicely at a snail's pace, and socked in my surroundings, wishing I could capture these moments and bottle them up to take them out when I needed them most.<br />
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Training up here is just so damn ugly, eh?</div>
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I may not be as fit as I was 2 months ago, but I believe I'm fit enough to finish this thing, even if it takes me all damn 14 hours to do so (cut-off). As my coach wrote me: <i>You have plenty of time to finish, so don't get caught up in thinking about times or people in front of you. The goal is the finish, nothing else....This is not a race; it's a day of enjoying the mountains and stretching your boundaries. Stay positive and “light” all day</i>. When the man of few words writes some powerful shit, you take the words to heart and you listen (I'm learning, probably not the easiest way :)). <br />
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Silver Rush is not a race for me, it's an accomplishment - I need to keep that in perspective! I'm not out there to win the damn thing, I'm out there to prove to myself that I can achieve something that is pretty dang scary to me.<br />
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I chose to do the Silver Rush 50 because I got complacent where I was before my injury. I needed a new experience that stretched me and called me higher. I needed the validation in my mind that I could do something outside my box, something that just plain and simply frightened the crap out of me and made me vulnerable. I mean, let's be honest, if you can take the flat road marathon girl and slap her on some steep-ass mountain for 50 miles, can't that girl learn to accept, love, and possibly ask for forgiveness in other areas of her life!?<br />
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With the few exceptions of people I care about, and admittedly my coach, I don't really care what people think about my running, nor think much about it. I run for me, to make me a kinder, better self. But damn if I didn't get choked up when I got this email from Ryan's track coach yesterday: <span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ryan is very proud you're doing this, and very proud to do this [crew] for you. He talks about your accomplishments with great admiration.</span></i></span></div>
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Ahhhh, dammit. That made me cry.<br />
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If I don't finish thing this on Sunday, it's not because I didn't try... for me....for my coach.....for those who mean so much to me. For Ryan!<br />
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Well, Marcia's plane is about to land so it's time for me to sign off, throw my bags in the car, and get this thing done. Thank you for sharing the miles with me - it's been an incredible journey and I can't wait to get back and share how it goes. I think it's going to go well.</div>
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T-minus 3 days....<br />
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I ... am ... ready!!!</div>
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Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-486627961532789942013-06-26T05:30:00.000-06:002016-03-03T22:15:52.402-07:00Boise Half Ironman, A different kind of RR...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I sat around for days upon my return from Boise, composing thoughts to share about my first experience at the half Ironman distance. Heck, this was the first triathlon, aside from some sprint I did last summer, in 24 years. I wrote, re-wrote and, hard to believe even over-wrote a very well-written and exciting post (Ha!). But the second I finished building the post of the century, my Boise 'teammate, Katie, presented me the below video, which pretty much sums up my verbose narrative, minus the relentless minute details. You may as well watch the entire 15:26 video than sit and read my incessant babble, which trust me, was longer than 15 minute. It's cheesy, but I'm a sucker for cheese in some instances, and this would be one of them - it touches my heart.<br />
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Awesome, right? I actually got choked up when I first saw it (hard to believe) the other night when we had a little post-race BBQ at Audrey's house. I think it's really fun and as Tara, my old swimming and training partner, moves on with new life adventures out of Colorado next week *sigh*, I'll look back on this amazing day and cherish the incredible memories.<br />
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It's no secret that I didn't physically train for this race; I have <a href="http://www.leadvilleraceseries.com/page/show/312299-silver-rush-50-run"><b>another adventure</b></a> to train for which is far more emotionally personal to me which required this aging and hill-challenged body's training time, but I knew I could use this race as a very solid endurance training day, so I went into it with no real expectations other than the experience - and somehow enjoy - the day (how someone enjoys 56 miles of hell on a bike is beyond me...). The relentless bike hills, the gale-force winds swirling in every direction, the intense heat as temperatures rose to 92 degrees - all those factors wore me thin.<br />
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But I'd do it time and time again if I could share it with these very special people.<br />
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When I opened up blogspot for the first time around 5 years ago, it was at my daughter's urging because she knew I loved to write, loved to run, and wanted me to combine the two so she could, as she claimed, have something to better understand my running "disease" long after I was gone. (I guess my endless verbal running chatter really does go in one ear and out the other) I thought about this for a couple months before I eventually decided that yes, my running was important enough to me and the journey was something I wanted to share. It took a long time for technology-challenged soled me to figure this blog thing out, but eventually I wrote and back then - I wrote a lot.<br />
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Many changes have taken place on this blog over the past 5+ years I have been writing. It's pretty obvious I don't write as much as I used to, I don't feel the need or crave the outlet like I used to, but it is still the pen and paper-esque journal I set it out to be (and what it will always be); I truly hope one day, when I'm "long gone", that I've painted a vast landscape for my children describing a lifestyle that has meant a lot to me for the past 35+ years. <br />
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Somewhere along the course of the massive years writing, the journal morphed: blogging became a creative outlet, a source of motivation, and something that connected me with so many. I shared a Boston Marathon hotel room with people I only exchanged typed words with; I raced races with bloggers in California, Utah, Massachusetts, Illinois, and my home state of Colorado (to name a few); I found my coach; I lost a running friend who always, always, ALWAYS believed in me; I learned copulas amounts of running information, advice, and opportunities - and I connected with so many of who I'd now call my<b> best friends. </b><br />
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All this, because of the encouragement my daughter set upon me over 5 years ago.<br />
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The incredible people doing Boise with me I met via this blog (except for Audrey, who was Katie's friend...but Katie and I met through the blog). Before Tara had her baby 9 months ago, her and I meet a couple times a week to swim (and bitch about how cold the water is). I met her though the blog. This little blog of mine! Wow, Boise wouldn't have happened without it.<br />
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Katie wrote a synopsis of her thoughts about Boise when she sent the video. I was going to post the entirety she shared with me but this post is getting super long as it is (I know, I can't shut-up when I actually DO take the time to write :)) so he's a short blurb ....<br />
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<i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";">On June 7th, I nervously sat in a lecture hall at the Boise convention center. I have to say it was the first time I was </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";">required</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";"> to attended an informational meeting before a race....which just made me more nervous. The breakfast I had choked down was starting to creep back up and my heart was racing. I sized up the people around me and realized I actually had no business being here. Look at me....look at them! I was about to flee....then I looked to my left and there was Jill cracking jokes about how she was going to get a drafting penalty. My breathing eased, my stomach settled, my confidence reappeared. It was going to be okay. I wasn't alone, my team was here....</span></i><br />
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I train almost exclusively alone. It sometimes sucks, especially when I'm high on a ridge in the middle of the Rockie Mountains on trails, lost, and have no idea where they're leading to nor if I'll find my way back to my car before my water runs out (Last week was a classic example). It gets old. It gets lonely. There are days that are very tough for someone like me (and I'm alone, a LOT!).<br />
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So when I get the rare opportunity to to share the road with some really fine people, I treasure the company. I often wonder how I got so lucky to have friends like this. I could laugh and half-kiddingly say that once they find out what I'm really like (after sharing a car ride for 13 hours!), all bets are off. But the thing is, they already know and still there for me anyway - cracks, divots and all. <br />
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We need each other, you know, my trail shoes and my friends....sharing our experiences and making memories for each other. We live our lives, love our people, and do our work. But we can get into a fairly absolute pattern with these items, forgetting that we were designed for adventure too. We need the experiences that stretch us higher. We need validation. When we ignore these needs, it's easy for our passions to get clogged and erupt, or morph in ways that are harmful. We are not designed to thrive under restlessness or complacency; our lives need life, they need adventures.<br />
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Thanks, ladies - I had a blast (except for the 13-hour drive home).<br />
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<b>7:01</b><br />
1 minute off where I had hoped I would finish. But thanks to a lovely 33 minute first mile run when I forgot my bib and forced to go back to retrieve it, which added an extra 2 miles to the run, I'll take it. The day was exactly what I set out for it to be - a great endurance training day! I just got lucky to share it with some amazing people.<br />
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As for Leadville training....it's still going, though admittedly I'm sick of it all and starting to feel the effects of my body starting to break down. It's not that I'm over-trained - it's that I'm burned-out. Tired of it. Tired of so much time away from my kids as I spend days away each week at altitude training. I'm just ready to be DONE! I recently had a great race up Mt. Evans last weekend and some Leadville training runs in Leadville. Gawd, get me out of damn car; I spent more time driving to a vertical training run than I actually RUN! 2.5 weeks left....<br />
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Let's Run, my friend!<br />
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Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-57082992266303989712013-06-06T05:00:00.000-06:002013-06-07T07:42:51.150-06:00Leadville SR50 Weeks 8 and 7: A First of Many<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><i>"Storms makes oaks take root" </i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px; text-align: start;"><i>Only the strong (well-rooted) survive. Others get blown away by the wind or washed away by the rain.</i></span></span></div>
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Well, I was on a roll with the weekly progress to Leadville report - for a week. Eh, life. With my long, vertical runs getting longer and, well, more vertical, things in life are taking a backseat to my training (laundry, kids, food, that little necessity called a job, which I have rearranged my entire Silver Rush training around...).<br />
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<u><b>Week 8:</b></u><br />
Miles: <b>70.07</b><br />
Vertical: <b>8609'</b><br />
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Coming off week 9 with the slumpiest of slumps I've ever been in, I attacked week 8 with a renewed spark and extra spring in my step; I dug deep to complete my aggressive plan - and I survived. And my legs didn't fall off. In fact, I felt remarkably strong the entire week, yet admittedly by week's end, I was pushing the envelope in energy department. Fatigue is something I need to deal with in Leadville, obviously, so I racked up this week as one of the best mental conditioning weeks I've had while training for Leadville cycle with the most mileage and vertical I've done to date. (I've hit 67 miles a couple times years ago, but never anything with the leading number being a 7).<br />
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A few of highlights for the week first included a record setting long run of almost 5 hours at <a href="http://jeffco.us/openspace/openspace_T56_R57.htm">White Ranch Park</a>. It was a gorgeous day filled with lots of power-walking climbs and powerful downhill running, and topped just a bit over 4600' for the day. 5 hours of solitude may sound like ecstasy to some, but it can be a bit mind-numbing for me. When I had about an hour left into my run and feeling pretty beat, I happened to run past a large group of elderly there out and about exploring - and I got my own cheering section! They asked me if I was training for anything in particular and when I told them the Leadville Silver Rush 50, they applauded me like I just finished the race, and told me to keep running strong. I won't lie, their salute to my mission gave me a huge boost, and I finished that run feeling like I can do anything.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">White Mountain Ranch Park ranch</td></tr>
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The remaining brunt of my vertical mileage that week came when I went to Mt. Falcon and ran 2 mile hill repeats, 3 of them, which tallied a bit over 1100' each. I still can't run the entire path up Mt. Falcon's steep 10% incline (in comparison, Silver Rush's climbs are 7-8%), but I am getting faster, evident in comparison to numbers two weeks ago. More importantly, I felt much stronger.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 21px;">The week ended on a huge high when I paced my Boise Half IM-bound friend Katie to a heavenly 2 minute PR for her at the Colfax Half Marathon. She said she wanted to run a 2:15. I said she could run a 2:07, and I made that our goal. Katie and I chatted a couple miles, then I moved a bit in front of her and had her clip in directly behind me. I'd periodically turn back to make sure she was still there, give her a thumb's up, and always given a nod of agreement in return. She felt great, so I ran with that feeling (ha!) and slowly picked up the pace as we progressed. We ran in at 2:04. I was honored to be such a small part in Katie's very big day. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 21px;">If anyone needs to hire me for any pacing duties, you know where to reach me. Just nothing in the sub-7:30 range for more than a mile.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">No, it's not sacrilegious to wear Boise race paraphernalia before race day - it's LUCKY!</td></tr>
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<u><b>Week 7:</b></u><br />
Miles: <b>49</b><br />
Vertical: <b>6000'</b><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 21px;">Somewhere in the middle of the week, I set off for my last long ride before Boise (in 3 days - <i>yikes!</i>). Seeing a "Road Closed" sign on the bike path meant nothing; it was either turn back and endure 80 miles of riding or it meant we hike up and over the dirt and rock-filled embankment to the railroad tracks and down the other side. I wasn't about to make this an 80 mile torturous hill ride, so hiking with bikes on our backs was the only solution.</span><br />
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Hauling bikes up...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Let's use Katie as our model...</td></tr>
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on top of...<br />
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and back down (in slippery road bike shoes to add to the fun); the entire process took Katie more than a half hour. The look on countless guys working on that "road closed" section was priceless; I'll never forget their expressions as Katie finally got down and hauled her bike over the orange plastic "do not enter" netting, getting her bike shoe tangled in the process. I still laugh when the image pops in my head :).</div>
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Not long after this harrowing adventure, I came around a hair-pin turn, hit sand, went down - hard - and soon was down for the count.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 21px;">You can't tell from the pic (Katie's been fired as official Boise race photographer), but I was pretty dinged up on my entire left side (most notable: my hip. Nothing like a little swelling in areas you really don't need to accentuate further). I'm feverishly picking at the monster sized scabs on my forearm and shoulder; should have those totally removed by Boise in a few days.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 21px;">The crash pretty much dictated the stage for running the remaining of the week, aka: not much; my thigh had a constant, piercing pain whenever I tried to run. I finally was able to compress the stupid thing with an ace bandage and get in a few miles here and there, but I kept the running mellow; I had a big race in a few days and didn't want to further damage the battle wounded thigh muscle. Not to mention my knee wasn't exactly happy when I tried to bend it.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 21px;"><b>Sage Burner 50k: </b></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 21px;">Week 7 ended with the Sage Burner 50k race on Memorial Day (my plan follows a Monday - Sunday calendar week). I could write an entire blog post, or five, on the actual race itself and all the thoughts and emotions I felt and survived during those almost 7 hours (6:57 to be precise, and I'll be honest, it looks better than 7 hours!) but I don't have the time, nor the desire to really relive that beast right now (but I will at a later date). I'll just sum up the race as seriously one of the hardest races I've ever, ever done. My mental marshmallow state, lead-like legs, and stomach protesting everything and anything in its path, were all fueled by the sole fact that miles 20-end (31.38), I was severely dehydrated. The course wasn't easy, and in fact one of the hardest technical single-track trail races I've done to date (and longest, too). It was hot. It was 2000' higher than where I live and mostly train. It gained almost 5750' in elevation (another personal record in one run). All these factors contributed to the 10 mile death march fate, for sure, but it was the fact I wasn't taking in any liquids nor fuel for pretty much the last 3 hours that eventually cooked my race. I may eventually write a post about this race, because as a training run race, it taught a few lessons I need to fix before Silver Rush if I hope to make it out of the town of Leadville alive. But I finished, when I really didn't want to. And I think that says a lot. It was a gorgeous course, I have absolutely nothing bad to say about this race itself; I just made some seriously stupid mistakes. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 21px;">Place: 29/37 (yes, a whopping 37 of us finished, 41 started)</span><br />
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Ryan ran the 25k race with a few of his teammates from cross country, and knocked off almost 30 minutes from his race time last year with a 2:33 (almost 3000' of elevation climbing). I was in serious a state of 'let's get the hell of out here' hurry when I crossed, so I forgot to snap a picture of us together at the end of my race, so on the way home we stopped (one of 28x stops home to refuel my pressure-cooked body) to look at Colorado's infamous<b> <a href="http://www.colorado.com:9001/articles/colorado-scenic-byway-collegiate-peaks">collegiate peaks</a></b>, and finally took the time to smile about my day. It was pretty cool to know Ryan was out there running somewhere on the same course, at least for the first 2:33.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mt. Princeton, 14,196', in the background</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 21px;"><b>Week 6:</b></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 21px;">I'm now in the middle of week 6, with about 5.5 more weeks remaining to Leadville. This should terrify me, but I'm starting to get my game face on for Leadville and not over-think it too much; just do the work. I started some high altitude training earlier this week and though I didn't climb as much as I have in the past couple weeks, I felt good at 10,000' (and that was the mission) and completed a 15 mile run .... in mostly one piece. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It sucks to live in Colorado!</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 21px;">With the weeks dwindling down to a trickle, I plan to alienate the few existing friends I have left here in Denver, including my kids, for the remaining minuscule time I have left to Silver Rush so I can get up high in altitude as often as I can. It's okay, they're all getting used to it, but I won't lie if I say this being away from home so much isn't a bit draining. Adaption to the altitude is vital though, so I'll keep at it.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 21px;">I'm heading out of town as soon as I close this blog and get it posted.....I have a little adventurous half IM I'm super ill-prepared for in Boise to get checked off my race list. Seems like it was forever ago when I registered last August for it; a time when Leadville wasn't even on my radar, so Boise's taken a back-seat in training. I'm excited, yet nervous; it's not like I'm any good on my bike, but I've down-graded the race from would 'love to do well' to 'it's just a great endurance training day' - I haven't put the time in on this race to warrant anything decent, and I'm absolutely at peace with that - my focus has been Leadville. Still, I'll have a blast as I road trip with a few very special people in my life....I'm looking forward to it and think it will be a great endurance training day for Leadville (how many times is it legal for someone say Leadville in one blog post?)</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 21px;">I know there are some who question if I am ready for a race so lofty as the Silver Rush. Admittedly, I had my own doubts after I finished Sage Burner rather scathed, torn, and shredded. I know I'm not ideally fit for Leadville, but I think I'm adequately fit enough. But really, this is what this game is all about for me, this little Leadville 50 miler: To test myself, on so many levels...</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 21px;">As someone dear wrote me recently....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>SR will be hard - really hard - but not once ever, not even for a second will it ever be impossible. EVER. It's why you chose it - for a challenge, to find and see if you can find your breaking point. Isn't that why we do this? This race will not be that for you - </i><span style="font-style: italic;">I venture to say you've found your breaking point, and it has nothing to do with running</span><i> </i><i>- SR will not be that for you...I can feel it. You will get out there and you will put your head down so you can see where you are running and you will run that race, and you will eat and drink wisely and you will not try and win the damn thing - and you will not go to the dark places that have you asking 'why or can you' you will just do it - and you will finish and you will know you can do it.</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: inherit; line-height: 21px;">These words are revisited in my mailbox daily; they mean a lot to me (along with the rest of the email). </span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: inherit; line-height: 21px;"> I know I will stand at the starting line of Silver Rush, and God willing I stay healthy (and fix this stomach disaster), I WILL finish what I started. I only need to prove to myself I can do it, those who doubt ... well, let them doubt. If I don't finish, it won't be because I didn't spend 6 months of my life trying.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; line-height: normal;">Adaptation to circumstances is the key to survival. It’s not the most brilliantly beautiful, deeply intelligent, or ferociously strong among us who survives. It’s the most adaptable to change. I am changing, I am adapting....</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; line-height: normal;">I will finish this Leadville thing. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; line-height: normal;">But first, Boise's calling....</span></div>
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Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-22841222838763746762013-05-15T05:30:00.000-06:002013-05-15T23:29:13.681-06:00Leadville SR50 Week 9: What Happened to Spring, And My Motivation?<i style="font-family: inherit;">"The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life. Attitude, to me, is more important than facts. It is more important than the past, than education, than money, than circumstances, than failures, than successes, than what other people think, say or do. It is more important than appearance, giftedness or skill. It will make or break a company... a church... a home. The remarkable thing is we have a choice every day regarding the attitude we embrace for that day. We cannot change our past... we cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play the one string we have, and that is our attitude... I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% how I react to it.</i><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>And so it is with you... we are in charge of our Attitudes” - </i>Charles Swindle</span></div>
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I found this poem/quote in the back of a drawer the other day, something given to me by a coach of mine a very, very long time ago. I didn't know back then how much it'd mean to me when I revisited it throughout the years later.<br />
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Yesterday's temps hit a howling 87 degrees (and I have a killer sunburn on my back to show for it) as I wrapped up my 10th week to the<a href="http://www.leadvilleraceseries.com/page/show/312299-silver-rush-50-run"> <b>Leadville Silver Rush 50</b></a> with a nice little 35 mile jaunt on the bike with <a href="http://happytrails88.blogspot.com/"><b>Kathleen</b></a>. Last week we had snow in the Denver area, today I'm being roasted to dissolution. Somewhere, Spring got lost on it's way to Colorado and Summer's arrived at maximum speed. I guess if there's one saving Grace to Spring's absence, my allergies are only at a code level orange instead of the normal red this time of the year.<br />
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I also just happened to hit my lowest running mileage during this training cycle, with a somber disposition to follow suit.<br />
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I guess it was bound to happen I'd eventually hit a major motivational slump, but I was utterly unprepared when it slammed me last week, and felt like a complete failure every day when I pulled up my killer training plan and couldn't muster up the strength or energy to run. I logged a whopping 16 miles last week and about 900' vertical. Go me.<br />
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I'm certain my bleak mood of having to lower my runner's flag to half mast was partly due to residual soreness from the 50k the week before (my calves were on fire all week, ouch), but I also think some of my doom was due to a plate that is just not merely full, but more so over-flowing with end-of-the-school-year activities. When you're a working athlete-mom living the working athlete-mom life, these things happen, I guess. But ugh, it hit me hard. I'm sure in 2 weeks I'll be picking my nose out of sheer boredom....but right, I can't see one speck of that plate.<br />
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I tried to run last week, I did, but either my screaming calves or Mother Nature told me No. Mid-week, when I found a window between Ryan's regional track meet events (he ran a new PR 1:56 anchor for the 4x800 :)), I scurried to the foothills to get in at least a few miles of vertical run in. Got there, and it instantly started thundering. I don't mind a little mind-cleansing rainy run to sooth the soul, but lightening's a different ballgame; I don't exactly relish the thought of being being burnt to a crisp on the side of a mountain. I had a little meltdown, screamed to the skies above to just give me a stupid break, and soon landed back at the track meet.... missing Ryan's 2nd event. I could have gotten on my treadmill later that night, but I didn't. After the vertical fiasco run, I wanted stillness; I didn't even want a breeze to move my flag.<br />
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My attitude started to pick up a tad towards the end of the week when a group of women I work with threw me a <strike>29th</strike> 50th birthday party. I hate being in large groups ("hate" being the emphasis here), especially with a focus on me turning old, but the gesture was touching and I was deeply moved by their kindness. I don't think I've laughed that much in a really, really long time. I'm not sure why, but I even did a shot of tequila, and I rarely drink anything other than an occasional beer. For some reason, I thought it was stupidly funny and doing it made me laugh....there is always a pocket of comfort in discomfort (a large group of people, for example) - I just had to be willing to find it. My runner's mast was lifted, ever so slightly.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">50-year-olds shouldn't be up so late, nor drinking margaritas and a shot of tequila; they may fall asleep on the table </td></tr>
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Saturday, I ended my coaching gig for Girls on the Run with our 5k "run". The girls had an amazing season and progressed so much over the course of the past 12 weeks, I couldn't help but get choked up on race day, especially since I'm almost certain I will not return next year (I said that last year, too). I've coached at the same school for the past few years; it's a low-income school where every girl is on a scholarship to participate. Some of their stories of harrowing survival are heart-wrenching, I can't help but be reminded that, even when I have some pretty horribly down days, I could have it so much worse. Flag rose again - how could it not!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">My two run buddies. We crossed just at exactly 40 minutes and the girls and I were super proud. </span></td></tr>
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Sunday marked an all chick's 5k race. I talked my very dear friend, and old training partner, Tara, into running the race also. Some long time readers (Maybe all one of you) may remember Tara's blog; she had a baby in the fall, and then fell off the blog planet, but she is a riot and makes me laugh - constantly. Tara means the world to me and totally <i>gets me</i> and all my baggage; when she told me in the car on the way up there she was moving out of Colorado the weekend after we get back from Boise, I felt heaviness weighing like 5 million bricks in my heart. I knew this day was coming, still....<br />
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The two of us twisted fellow Boise-bound friend, Katie, into running also (but we <i>made</i> her run the 10k, since running is her weakness. Sort of like I should be on my bike 7 days a week since biking is my weakness. Whatever, it's not always about me :)) and my Greenland crewing compadre, Julie, showed up as cheerleader. Everyone needs a cheerleader, especially when my attitude towards running was still bouncing all over the map. With my <i>bleh</i> disposition towards this race and Tara's horrendous stomachache, Julie got an ear-full of 4-letter words...but, as always, Julie just smiled and loved us anyway.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm not sure why I'm listing to the left, but I'm taking Tara with me</td></tr>
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I couldn't decide how to really race this nor how much I really wanted it, which is never the best headspace place to be before a race. I decided last minute not to run by the watch and instead, turn it off and go by perceived effort. But I had 'auto lap' on and the good ole watch beeped at mile 1: 7:04. <br />
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Crap. Too fast? I didn't really know. I felt good but I had a sneaking suspicion my zippy pace wasn't going to hold for two more miles. Right I was. Mile 2: 7:18, mile 3: 7:40 (after slugging through some almost knee-deep waters where a creek over-flowed on the path, which left me spent and pretty much mentally giving up). I finished with a fairly decent time, for me: <b>22:41</b>, and a 5th place finish overall.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I swear, I only counted 3 women ahead of me, so not sure why I'm not 4th overall ...not that I'm being a<br />
big baby about it or anything!</td></tr>
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I raced it poorly, evident by my increased pace per mile, but my overall finish time was, I think, the 2nd best 5k time I've had in the past 5 years. For a 'not a big deal' race, I didn't beat myself up over my lack of ill-paced stupidness, like I did a week ago at the Greenland 50k. I had fun, I had a good overall finish time, and by the end of the race, I <i>wanted</i> that flag raised to full mast... the race, and time spent with people I care so deeply for during the past week, helped inch it closer. I'm not really good around people most of the time, so this is pretty big stuff.<br />
<br />
I finished the week with the leisurely sun-soaked bike ride with Kathleen, chatting about life's little hiccups, knowing that the things we're both dealing with won't always be as they are. Suddenly, I looked at her, smiled, and knew I was ready to tackle Leadville again. If anyone ever needs a lift in life, Kathleen can handle the job well!<br />
<br />
My mindset may not be fully intact for the ambitious races I have in the upcoming weeks, but my training rut is officially over, just like Spring. It's time to pursue my goals with the optimistic abandon of a child. I feel the flag almost at full mast; I'm going for it.<br />
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Leadville, my game's back on - Maaahhhahahahahah! <br />
<br />
P.S. Brendan leaves Saturday (as in THIS Saturday) for 3.5 months with the <a href="http://www.bknights.org/"><b>Blue Knights</b></a>. So proud of that kid, he worked so hard for this...but damn, my heart's hurting, despite BK prep crap scattered from one of my house to the other. He's going to have an incredible summer filled with some amazing experiences. I hope he embraces the opportunity he's been given and never gets down on those days that are going to be super tough, just as Charles Swindle says (I'm going to copy the poem and put it in his backpack. I'm sure he'll roll his eyes when he notices, but I know this kid well...and I know he'll cherish my sentiment). Ah, the parallels between his Blue Knights and my Leadville journey ....<br />
<br />Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-15798397664131910952013-05-08T17:09:00.001-06:002013-05-14T20:58:37.529-06:00Leadville SR50 Week 10: Pace Is Not A Goal<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">I want to start this post off by
saying that I love my children. All the moms out there probably know what
is coming next, but in case you aren't a mom, I will explain. When a
mom starts off with "I love my children," the next thing to come out
of her mouth will be a complaint about motherhood. Kind of like when
someone says, "No offense," the next thing to come out of their
mouth will be horribly offensive. (If you are from the south you can
substitute "no offense" with "bless your heart.") It
is like the former statement offsets anything negative said in the latter
statement. Like, "No offensive, but your face makes me want to throw
up." And, "I love my kids, but if they don't shut the hell up I'm going
to sell them on Craigslist." "No offensive" and "I
love my kids" made those totally acceptable statements.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">No offense, but when I had the VERY rare opportunity to drag all my kids, and my achy post-race body to dinner the other night, after I had just run a brutally tough race where I conquered Mt. Everest (4 times),</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I instantly found the Craigslist phone app when I asked my kids to pose for a "nice family photo" ....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Bless their hearts .... do you think they are in need of some sort of family therapy? Maybe I can find a group discount on Craigslist, I now have the app at finger's reach.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent;">On to running, which isn't really as entertaining as my kids (after Leadville, I'm starting a "Stupid Things My Kids Do" blog)... unless I write about the brainless things I do running or cycling (I doubtlessly need to include myself in the new blog)...</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent;">I'm entering a phase in my training for Leadville where the miles and the vertical climbing need to get longer. Joyous. I run 99.999% of my long runs alone (all runs, basically, not just long. Cue the violins). I map out where I need to go, drive a long-ass way to get there, run, go home, crash. Ignore kids, dinner, mail, phone...repeat. This pretty much sums up my long run days. I know my body pretty well and how it responds to these long, solo plights; fun at first because it's exploring new stomping grounds and tackling more vertical miles in a month than I've probably done in my entire running career. I'm not complaining, I love that I'm embracing a world that has frightened me for so long and I haven't given up,</span> I'm enjoying the rewards my body is reaping from the hill work - and<span style="background-color: transparent;"> more than happy not to hear any longer,</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: 'Open Sans', serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> "No offensive Honey, but you have a big butt....bless your heart." Hill work can have give the body some pretty impressive advantages!</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent;">But eventually, long vertical hours running alone can do some wild things to my headspace. Thoughts of wild animals peering behind rocks, creepy old men lurking around, songs on my iPod I never want to hear again - ever ever ever ever, podcasts that make me want to vomit they're so pointless, audiobooks I've missed whole chapters because I got sidetracked wondering if creepy old man was looking at me the <i>wrong way</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent;">So to offset a few of solitary long runs, I'm entering the world of <i><b>The Trail Race</b></i>. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent;">I was brought up in a racing world where a time clock was held over my head and I ran laps repeatedly around a track based on a specific time (I watch Ryan go through this same scenario, daily). Races were time tests and the reward of those tedious laps, if all panned out well, was a personal best. You enter race, you performed your best. Period. But endurance trail running isn't like that, at least not for newbie trail runner me. I'm learning (and not the easy way, either) to chuck the watch and let my ego fly out the window because pace means basically nothing; all I need to really know is time and elevation. I thought as Leadville grew closer (Holy crap it's getting close!), I'd enter a few hilly trail races to use as long training runs. Get me away from creepster old dude. Put me in an environment where I am forced to keep moving forward ....no ...matter ....what. No more road racing here on out to Leadville (let's just not count the 5k I'm doing Sunday ;)), I'm entering the zone where every mile - on the trail - is really, really REALLY vital.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent;">Since I know y'all stalk my blog daily (no offense, but the number of daily hits are dwindling rapidly. Actually, I don't follow my stats, I don't really care - It was just perfect timing to use "no offense" again :)). you've seen I had two trail races since my last post. Let's just do a quick recap, since you're chomping at the bit to hear all about the glorious triumphs (aka: I am still alive).</span></div>
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<b style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://epicenduranceevents.com/">Cheyenne Mountain 25K</a>, </b>April 27th (15.44 miles, 1821' vertical)<br />
I went down to Colorado Springs a couple months earlier to run some of the course with my friend, <a href="http://happytrails88.blogspot.com/"><b>Kathleen </b></a>(the .01% of the time I get to run with someone) so I had a little bit of an idea how challenging it was. <br />
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For some reasons only known to those who work for Garmin (no offense, but Garmin folks suck), my elevation profile display actually worked for once (normal display is flatlined, even if I run 3000', or more) so I get to share it. Starting on an incline was challenging and I worried about my pace and if my effort was too ambitious. Since the trail was a single track so for a good mile, my pace was at the mercy of those in front of me. But it soon thinned out eventually and I could do my own thing....but the problem was, I wasn't really sure where my "own thing" needed to be - this thing had to be run on effort, not pace, and I couldn't get a good reading of my body and what it needed to feel. I was running with my friend, Aimee (who I've never gotten the pleasure to run with before...an awesome triathlete who is the kindest, sweetest woman) and we were trading positions in front for the first 4 miles. When we got to the aid station at mile 4, I told her I was pulling back, I thought my effort was too hard, yet a half mile later, we came upon a sweet little descent (finally), and I felt my effort was too easy, so I took off and I left her. My "effort" was all over the map and I struggled to feel exactly I needed to be. Inexperience was evident. <br />
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That last climb from mile 7.5 to 11 was a doozie, and the terrain became pretty technical with large outcrops of rock. I learned from my <a href="http://footfeathers.blogspot.com/p/running-clinics.html"><b>awesome hill running clinic</b></a> that I just needed to put my head down, place hands on knees and use them to push down and power-walk this sucker when it became too beastly to run. I found that my power-walk was actually as fast as most running around me so I wasn't losing too much ground on people (important for the competitive freaks like me), and bonus: once I'd get to the top of the uphill, I wasn't so winded like everyone else, and I was rewarded with an enormous amount of strength in me... I started passing people like it was my job; it was incredibly empowering.<br />
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When I got to mile 11, I stopped to take a salt tab and a guy passed me who told me to come with him. He looked strong and I knew he was my meal ticket to finishing the last 4 miles well, so I clipped in behind him and we shared a few laughs together how I was his wingman. He was all for it and so encouraging to me. We were flying down this mountain, and climbing strong the hilly parts - I was having a blast, finally, and my stupid head stopped playing mind games with my effort. With a little over a mile to go, we came to the last aid station and I grabbed some electrolytes (both calves cramped up a mile earlier like a total mother ..), gave my speedy pacer the thumbs-up (with a nod of approval from him) and off we went. It only took a minute before the finish line came into view ... and no offense, but I dropped my pacer like a once bad drug habit (not that I have any experience in that arena). I actually felt a little bad about using him to drag me to this point, but that thought only lasted a microsecond; he told me to gun it in if I had it in me, and somehow I did. I sprinted like it was the last lap of my old infamous mile races from eons before and I crossed - feeling pretty dang satisfied.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpB73w2f07Kgo6YZiImuRzhI-BS7ZTXRMRXIcWmWbSdQRaD6V9dgkoAALs7sr5QDwWQZHYlyJmisXF4j7CGhAjvYHU4ol-varqOGfK89X18ddD6G2au_tEHSVgFZHbLNYG-BGATtfwmreH/s1600/race+pic+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpB73w2f07Kgo6YZiImuRzhI-BS7ZTXRMRXIcWmWbSdQRaD6V9dgkoAALs7sr5QDwWQZHYlyJmisXF4j7CGhAjvYHU4ol-varqOGfK89X18ddD6G2au_tEHSVgFZHbLNYG-BGATtfwmreH/s320/race+pic+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Um, yeah...that's a podium 1st place 50-99 age group finish, thankyouverymuch</td></tr>
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<b>2:40:49</b><br />
AG: 1/9<br />
Female: 14/100<br />
Overall: 50/188<br />
<br />
<b style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://greenland50k.com/">Greenland 50K</a>, </b>May 4th<b> </b>(30.81 miles, 2198' vertical)<br />
Ah, Greenland 50k, my first completed "ultra" distance and longest run I've done to date. It should be ranked up there as one of those greatest accomplishments in my running career, but I'm not sure it honestly was.<br />
<br />
The website describes this race as:<br />
<i><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;">"Colorado’s fastest 50K! With Pikes Peak as your backdrop, </span></i><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;">you’ll cruise over a soft dirt trail on your way to a new personal best. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;">The entire course is run on dirt trails. With wide, smooth double track trails, the Greenland Trail 50K is a very fast course and also very beginner friendly."</span></i><br />
Let's review that statement from my perspective and compare:<br />
Pikes Peak was definitely my backdrop (gorgeous, blanketed entirely in white). I did not cruise, I felt lethargic from step one. The dirt wasn't exactly soft, the first 3.5 miles (times 4, because this was a 4 loop course of 7.75 miles each) mimicked something more like a walk along the beach in thick, heavy sand. It was absolutely <b>not</b> fast. And if this is a beginner friendly course, then I'm going to die in Leadville. I did get a personal best though (hard not to when it's a new race distance), so I'll walk away with at least one check mark in the positive category.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the start line, terrified</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNMkcZuwtq-jbnZR6g-O3xLf33iwBB_InVelSLk4eM82RDqziD5uk9fed8Ukv8IOw7nvOCvSy7HyzOAnWiPxVuUsH964exQwhMFHFgTLqn7v_nCOSisDmVBTu9TMD482x9AViLUHUtwsS4/s1600/923287_4899240726620_1507411679_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNMkcZuwtq-jbnZR6g-O3xLf33iwBB_InVelSLk4eM82RDqziD5uk9fed8Ukv8IOw7nvOCvSy7HyzOAnWiPxVuUsH964exQwhMFHFgTLqn7v_nCOSisDmVBTu9TMD482x9AViLUHUtwsS4/s320/923287_4899240726620_1507411679_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">My friend, Bob, who I happened to run into before the race</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">(he finished 23/238 place). Incredible runner<br />with an incredibly warm heart; he waited after his 25k race to help me</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> right after my 3rd lap</span></td></tr>
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Greenland really wasn't a <i>bad</i> course - it was actually very beautiful and the 4 laps didn't bother me mentally whatsoever, like I thought they would (just the climbing Everest 4 times is all). But something was off I and struggled to keep a consistent paced time each 7.75 mile lap. Instead of pulling back when I felt labored early on, I instead pushed through those difficult miles, trying to maintain a pace which felt more like a tempo run than a long, slow ultra paced run, even though my watch read a number far slower than my base paced training runs. Red flags were billowing in my head but inexperience at this distance told me to ignore them and it'd get easier. I'm not sure where I got that idiotic idea, it's not like any marathon I've ever felt too fast at the start ended in a glorious finish, so why adding an extra 5 miles to any marathon distance I've done is going to miraculously get easier was beyond me. I just didn't know what to expect, I guess, and went with a pace in my head instead of an effort. Stupid watch.<br />
Lap 1: 1:14<br />
Lap 2: 1:15<br />
Lap 3: 1:19<br />
Lap 4: 1:21<br />
When I look at those stats I pulled from the website, they don't paint a picture as to what I actually experienced. I felt like I pretty much succumbed to the proverbial death march around mile 24 and could only muster a few runnable yards here and there as I climbed up - and up and up. I long ago turned the 'pace' display off my watch - I didn't want to look at that nauseating number; all I wanted to see was distance, and somehow try to get my head out of the bowl of mush it was swimming in. I started lap 4 trying to be cognizant of where I was in that moment and bare witness to all the glory that surrounded me instead the initial dread I was beginning to feel. I remember looking at the mountains and feeling so blessed to live in such a beautiful place. I remember hitting the last aid station, which just so happened to be placed precisely at the marathon mark, around 4:25:something and being pretty damn pleased. I remember climbing the last vertical climb of the day, smiling, that I still had the strength to do it.<br />
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I remember reaching the top of the last climb, knowing I had two heavenly miles of downhill to the finish. Downhill running must be my strength, apparently, because somewhere, I found the energy to run - HARD - again....and man did I run. The race had thinned out considerably by now and only a few souls were scattered here and there, so I put my head down, ran as fast as I could, and picked off everyone I focused on. I ran those last two miles in a sub-8:30 pace (I checked my Garmin later :))....on legs that were absolutely spent. If I walk away with anything good spent in those hours on the trail, it'll be the remembrance of those last 2 miles...<br />
<br />
They taught me that I do have a lot more physical strength in me when my feeble mind tells me otherwise and I am capable of so much more than I think I am.<br />
<br />
<b>5:11:11</b><br />
AG: 3/9<br />
Female: 8/30<br />
Overall: 50/125<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">I won a gift certificate for coming in 3rd to a local running store :)</span> </td></tr>
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I cannot express in enough words how thankful I am that my friend Julie came down to help me with this race. I knew my head could land in a heap of trouble if I let it after each lap, it was so comforting to have Julie there - that familiar face of comfort that I had hoped I provided for Tim in Zion. She let me vent about the "F-ing course" after my first lap and was always upbeat and positive. If it hadn't been for her enormous hug she gave me at the finish and stating how proud she was for finishing my first ultra, I'm sure I wouldn't have been the emotionally teary-eyed marshmallow I had instantly become. Thank you, Julie - I sincerely appreciate your long day out there for me and you helped me realize that though this day was much harder on me mentally than I ever imagined it'd be, I accomplished something pretty crazy amazing.<br />
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<br />
I did it, I ran my first ultra....and honestly, it wasn't nearly as bad as I let my head think it was. <br />
<br />
I have a lot to figure out about pacing and fueling and everything-ing before Leadville. But one thing I am not going to do is beat myself up further about is the pace. It is not my goal to cross the finish line of these lofty races with a specific pace; pace is a reward of the vertical work I still have yet to do. Instead, these races, and the hefty upcoming ones, are there to teach me all the things I need to learn to make Leadville a success. It's as simple as that - I just need to get word to my head to accept this. I am making significant gains in my training.....thank you, <a href="http://footfeathers.blogspot.com/"><b>Tim</b></a>.<br />
<br />
Looking at those pictures of my kids above reminds me that training and racing isn't my whole life; it only enhances my life.<br />
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No offense, Jill's head, but she ran a pretty sweet first 50k. So shut the hell up and get her get on with Leadville training. <br />
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A last quick note: kuddos Ryan who just ran an incredible 1:58 anchor leg in the 4x800 and his whole team. His smile says it all (second from left).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">4x800 both girls and boys: New PRs and state qualifiers!</span></td></tr>
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<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">"Fill all thy bones with aches." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">-The Tempest</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">'s sorcerer-king Prospero</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Run strong,</span></div>
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<span style="color: magenta; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><b><i>Jill</i></b></span></div>
Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-87287681502028920322013-05-02T04:30:00.000-06:002013-05-08T08:01:21.969-06:00Leadville, Backing up to week 12: Crewing Zion 100<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Standing on a cliff, around mile 20, of the Zion 100 mile race</td></tr>
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I missed a week (actually now two, no three...I'm really 10 weeks out to Leadville. <i>gasp</i>) of this weekly journal to Leadville Silver Rush 50 thing. Life is traveling faster than the eye can see and I'm in a bit of an overwhelmed funk. I can't articulate the words I want to write, they aren't effortless and fluid anymore and I don't really know what to say. Life right now feels like Humpty Dumpty, fallen and broken, pieces shattered everywhere on the ground.<br />
<br />
But I do miss the blog, friends, and writing, if that matters any. And I have lots to say, though most of what's taking up my brain space is related to things not blogging (for one example: Brendan leaves for 4 months, performing with the<b> <a href="http://www.bknights.org/">Blue Knights</a>,</b> in a mere <b>13 days</b> <i>Whaaaa).</i> So I'll just sum up the past couple weeks and hope I can get back on track after this. Grab your coffee mug, this could get lengthy.<br />
<br />
<b>Week 13</b> found my biggest vertical climbing yet at 6300' and 50 miles. Sad, really, because this isn't even close to what I <i>should </i>be climbing.<br />
<br />
<b>Week 12</b> was my lowest vertical week with 850' and about 42 miles (I have yet to tally up my data, which for those who know me well, speaks a telling tale). It was a back-off week so I shouldn't beat myself up...still, the lack of anything vertical was a bit deflating.<br />
<br />
<b>Week 11</b> saw the worst mileage in training yet with a tad under 32 miles. Because of a fairly vertical race sandwiched in the middle of the week, I was able to squeak in 2000' of vertical, which is pitiful (hence, the fear part of my training...<i>I'm going backwards</i>). But the race was good and I felt far better than I thought, so I'm not writing off the week as a complete loss. I'll try to touch upon that race, and an upcoming one, later this week.<br />
<br />
But let's back up to <b>week 12</b>, specifically April 19th, and see if I can formulate a few pitiful words about the adventurous experience I had in a little remote part of the earth, an incredible geological gem, near the <a href="http://www.nps.gov/zion/index.htm"><b>Zion, Utah National Park</b></a> region. I'd skip it and move on to whatever current week I'm on but the scene was one of those moments in life that will just be forever laminated in a small corner of my brain, and I wanted to share some of it.<br />
<br />
I casually mentioned to <a href="http://footfeathers.blogspot.com/"><b>Tim</b></a> a couple months ago I would gladly help crew for upcoming his <a href="http://zion100.wordpress.com/"><b>Zion 100</b></a> mile race if he was in need of a clueless crewer. I've never crewed for a race of that length before, nor have I even witnessed a race that long in duration where one human being was on their feet for an entire 100 miles. At one time. So with my beefy 100-mile crewing resume, it seemed fitting I'd blindly raise my hand for a ludicrous beast like the Zion 100 (sort of similar to when I signed up for the <b><a href="http://www.leadvilleraceseries.com/page/show/312299-silver-rush-50-run">Leadville Silver Rush 50</a> </b>where I only half knew what I was getting into).<br />
<br />
It's been a tough process for me to sum up my 22+ hour Zion 100 feelings without getting too tedious; the gamut of raw emotions I felt was vast - from sheer excitement, to utter sympathy (with a couple tears mixed in). Whatever words I do manage to muster here are going to fail miserably compared to what I actually experience out there in those 100 miles. But I guess most race reports and summaries can't ever paint a real picture in a single blog post anyway (and I'm not writing 6 editions), so I'll just sum up the day, and the feelings I endured, as best I can.<br />
<br />
Selfishly, I thought volunteering in such an environment, hands on, would give me some sort of quick, magical insight or tips to overcome pain, malice and fatigue for my own little race in Leadville this summer. I wanted to witness how one bounces back after hitting a low and then still miraculously runs 50 more miles - or more. I wanted to hear runners' tales of perseverance and witness grand triumphs of heroism. I wanted to hear what deep thoughts enter ultrarunners' heads when they have their 'dark moments.' I'm going to hit a low at some point in my measly 50 miler at Leadville; any clues I can walk away with to help my plight surely had to be found here during this incredibly long day. Plus, come-on - what geology geek doesn't want to spend time in such a beauty as this:<br />
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But, mostly, I volunteered because I've read enough 100 mile race reports, especially Tim's, to understand the importance of having <i>someone</i> there. Not just to drastically cut minutes off the finish time (it did), but also just someone you know, a familiar face, for when those low points hit (they do) and the miles become long - and arduous. I know Tim's perfectly capable of doing this 100 mile thing alone, but the worrier in me just wanted to be there to hopefully make it a tad bit easier, and, perhaps, a dash more comforting for him.<br />
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This is only the second year this race was run, so I have to give a huge pat-on-the-back to Matt, the RD, who had the vision to put this thing on and pretty much single-handily pulled the thing off without much incident that I am aware of. I know the race was brutally tough, evident by Tim's, and other's, disposition I witnessed towards the end, so I do hope the RD takes note of their feedback and makes some changes next year so those poor runners aren't crawling up the most difficult section of the race (2000' up in a single mile, with a rope on some parts, because it's - oh my god - so steep) - on legs with 85 miles on them. But overall, I think the consensus was, though this was a crazy, merciless course, it was also very well-organized, well-run throughout and an incredible race overall.<br />
<br />
My only grumble about my small measly part of the 22+ hours I was out there, if there is one, was the inconsistently worded, and lack of detailed instructions, for the crewers. I found myself hopelessly lost and panic ridden countless times; had it not been for the incredible people I met to guide me to the right places, I'd probably still be somewhere along Grafton Mesa writing out my last will and testament and throwing it in my Diet Coke bottle to the bottom of the canyon for someone to read to my kids one day. Those kids aren't getting squat, because, let's face it - I have nothing, but it'd be nice for them to know I actually do love them. Sometimes.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz_bX1ISgfx5aY0x20tO6pHIbBFjyDoIojf2nDP-pUA7H-PvxJ7z5klkfJxqdeujsiuHPH4oBTSVPX-t2nHC72pMmU7hqd2ZFIhONOmlX0fc5cLkuE4nReSOHGRBSXHMFdis6JuJQ2y-L3/s1600/Tim+Mile+10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz_bX1ISgfx5aY0x20tO6pHIbBFjyDoIojf2nDP-pUA7H-PvxJ7z5klkfJxqdeujsiuHPH4oBTSVPX-t2nHC72pMmU7hqd2ZFIhONOmlX0fc5cLkuE4nReSOHGRBSXHMFdis6JuJQ2y-L3/s320/Tim+Mile+10.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tim, flying into, and out of, aid station #1 around mile 10.</td></tr>
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In retrospect, it probably wasn't so much the minimal instructions from aid station to aid station that had me in an occasional frenzy out there, but more so, the fact I was soloing this sucker. I discovered early on, like within seconds into this race, that most people out there running didn't just have <b>one</b> crewer or a pacer - they had <b>teams</b> of up to several people crewing and pacing for them. Teams where one would sleep or fuel between stations, so the other was fresh and ready to roll when their runner came in. Or the team would formulate a plan to get to the next stop - together. The couple crewers I met who were flying alone, most (if not all) had all done this crew gig before. I had clueless me. And that was absolutely OK, but I'd better step out of my normally introverted ways and ask every single soul out there for directions and opinions if I was ever going to finish this thing in one piece - and somehow find Tim along the way.<br />
<br />
And questions galore I asked.<br />
<br />
The people I met out there were incredibly forthcoming in advice and invaluable getting me where I needed to go. I met a woman early-on who was the caretaker of the <a href="http://www.barrcamp.com/"><b>Barr Camp</b></a>, a hut found mid-way on Barr Trail to the top of <b><a href="http://www.pikes-peak.com/">Pikes Peak</a> </b>in Colorado Springs. She was instrumental in getting through a couple of the most harrowing sections of road my poor car would drive through. I met one of Tim's friends, Ryan, who understood my worry when I'd stand and wait for Tim to come in. As I anxiously awaited for Tim at mile 37, Ryan drove by, stopped, and told me saw him about a mile up. I met <a href="http://slippingslowlyintopain.blogspot.com/"><b>Kelly Agnew</b></a>'s wife, Jo, who witnessed me at my worst in the middle of the day when I discovered the road I was to embark upon was some of the most horrific stuff I'd ever driven. We later shared countless laughs for a couple hours at the finish line when I was so deliriously fatigued and my normally closed-off personal life suddenly became a best selling book. It was these people, people I don't normally socialize with, that brought me such relief that day (along with Tim's very gracious appreciation :)). I realized somewhere out there I have missed out on a lot of incredible stories and possible formed friendships by standing in the corner too much of my life.<br />
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Anyway... at one point while standing on this ledge, 1500' above the valley floor, I remembered it was my 50th birthday. I was so wrapped up in the job at hand (and really, does anyone actually care they're turning 50?) I had completely forgotten. As I stood there watching a couple runners come up this crazy beast, I had someone snap my birthday photo. Lame, but I wanted the memory forever coated. I couldn't think of a more fitting setting to celebrate the day - totally immersed in geology heaven, surrounded by those with an impeccable desire to run a really, really long way.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy Birthday, me</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tim looking super strong, climbing at mile 20.5</td></tr>
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I tried to give Twitter updates via Tim's account, which proved difficult not only because here I was in a land so vast without any semblance of cell phone coverage, but my Tweeting skills are as lengthy as my 100 mile crewing resume. I actually set up an account two years ago - I have no idea what my username is. Tim gave me pointers and said to be sure I said "Zion 100" in there so people could follow. I think I managed four updates, one may possibly had the proper wording. I apologize for my lack of Twitter knowledge...one day I'll jump on the bandwagon.<br />
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Not long after Tim came through mile 37ish, I knew I had a bit of downtime (aka: able to breathe again) and I actually got in a little run of about 5 or so miles. It felt good, but I was starting to feel the fatigue standing on my feet all day and the pressure of my job :). I had a great run though and not too soon after I came back, I ran into the infamous <a href="http://www.fastcory.com/2013/04/zion-100-race-report-2013.html"><b>Cory</b></a> coming in to the aid station. God, it was so good to see him, he's like this big rock star - EVERYONE knows Cory and we were all clapping him in. Tim and I managed to hook up with Cory and his beautiful family for a couple brief minutes the day before the race at packet pickup...<br />
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So I easily recognized him when he came through at mile 37. We talked for a couple minutes and I realized that I'd probably never seem him again, which hit me pretty hard for some reason. The day was starting to get long, Tim was starting to take a front position, and crewers I'd been around prior, the ones vital in aiding me to the next check points, were thinning. It was starting to become just me out there, for the most part, and it was a bit scary.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cory at mile 37<br />
As you can see by paper and pencil, I was very diligent in my crewing duties.<br />
Cory was such a bright ray, what an incredible upbeat attitude - constantly!</td></tr>
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Tim came into mile 52 shortly after Cory left at 37. I had his gear bag all set up on a tarp so he could sit, if needed. He did. God, he was in so much pain...and it was here I encountered, what was to be many episodes throughout the rest of the race: total helplessness. <br />
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Help: The one thing I wanted to make his journey easier, I felt completely unable to do for him. This, combined with the fact I was having a hard time reaching certain aid stations via my car before he'd attain it on foot, was starting to rip a hole right through me. And as the day progressed, and Tim fell into some rougher patches, the hole grew larger. <br />
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I could write a million words about my whole experience in Zion (I know, I'm close). How I got lost repeatedly, how I lost my car key, how my car - and bike - were covered in 15" of red sand. And more. And more. And more. But to hurry this thing along (thank God), let me just jump to mile 83, because this was a big turning point in the race. For me. (And I'm really tired and need to finish this thing up :)).<br />
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As I was sitting and reading my book in the car while waiting for time to pass (and trying not to fall asleep), a guy named George tapped on my window and told me to come and join his motley crue of aid station helpers. They were a lively bunch having the best time together and I momentarily hung with them... but it somehow felt wrong to be there, having fun, while these runners were out there suffering, so I just went and stood at the corner - waiting and watching. George was incredibly nice; as the evening progressed and I starting to worry about Tim's whereabouts, George would run ahead on the trail for a half mile or so, check to see if he was coming, and report back to me. A older gentleman, who was manning the radios, would come over periodically and tell me, repeatedly, "He'll be along soon, don't fret, Honey." He'd make me run back to the campfire at the aid station to get warm for a few minutes, then I'd quickly run back to my post after my feet thawed. This scene was repeated at least 15 times. But the kindness found at this aid station made those long hours there pass by faster and helped calm me some. I talked to the eventual second place finisher's (3rd) pacer for a good hour - a great bunch of very young guys all traveling the country, racing (and pacing) whatever suited their needs. How they afforded their really nice Jeep is beyond me, but we had a really great sub-surface conversation that wasn't so mundane as what seems like my life has become anymore. Sometimes, it's the small things like this, just the tiniest of intellectual conversation, that make me think eventually, I can lead a better life.<br />
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Tim made it in, of course. I think he was running,I really can't remember anymore. Regardless, he was starting to crumble physically, and mentally he was a marshmallow. I and had no power whatsoever to help him feel better. He eventually ate a bit of a pb&j and I got his jacket out as nightfall, and cold temps, set in, and watched as he took off for the final, horrific, stretch of the race. Tim told me not to drive to the last aid station because there wasn't anything he needed from his crew bag, so I wouldn't see him until he finished, around 4 hours later. This was hard for me ... as he started that climb out of the aid station, I kind of fell apart. I so badly wanted to witness this very moment, a moment where the toll of the ultra race takes over your soul, yet you somehow keep moving forward ... yet I was emotionally unprepared to be more than a bystander watching his agony. This was incredibly tough for me to watch. I couldn't formulate any encouraging words and uttered something stupid like, "Good luck." No one needs luck at this point, and worse - they don't want to hear it ... they need the internal will to survive. <br />
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I stood and watched him crest this hill until I couldn't see him any longer - I hoped it was possible for Tim to draw a new starting line here, just when he thought he couldn't muster another step, and persevere.<br />
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Four hours and twenty some odd minutes later after I last saw him, after tacking some of the most brutal sections of the course, in sheer darkness, he made it across the finish line.<br />
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He did it: 22 hours and some change. <br />
<br />
I couldn't help it, I was emotionally choked-up. I was glad it was dark....no one could see the tear streaming down my face. He was a mess. And I couldn't do a thing to help ease the pain; damn if that didn't just tear me up; I'm sure the words I tried to speak just after he crossed, to give some sort of comfort, were bleak and ridiculous. I was so happy for him; he finished this ruthless course in a very admirable time. I was proud in one of those really hard tried to process ways, so I tried only to think of the good this race brought him. I realized soon, time was the only thing going to fix him.<br />
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When I was a kid, I spent summers at my grandmother's country house on the outskirts of the tiny town of Lansing, Iowa, in the NE corner of the state. I didn't have the most glorified childhoods (that's an understatement) so all my adolescence memories, those which were spent there, are the most sacred and most clear. I remember the way her house smelled, the way the breeze would rustle the big white birch tree in her front yard, the big backyard where you could see rolling farmland for endless miles, sitting at her vanity and brushing my long, blonde hair and trying on her pearls. I had no program. I just played, ran around, fished, played cards, wandered around the old one-room school house, and spent hours reading old issues of <i>Reader's Digest </i>(I loved the "Drama in Real Life" stories). To this day, when I need some self-imposed therapy, I go to this magical place at my grandmother's for a few minutes - and smile.<br />
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My experience in Zion isn't necessarily a place I will wander my mind when things heat up in my life and I need to go to to that "happy place" for a bit, but I know it will be one of those occasions where I return when things get difficult in my running: when I think I can't take another step because it hurts way too much, or that my running sucks, or I'm not good enough to do it anymore. Instead, I will return to Zion to remember Tim and the incredible people who fought so hard to overcome some pretty intense moments to reach their glory. Despite how much that race zapped me upon my return, I'm glad I did it - and I would never throw that experience away. <br />
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Thanks, Cory, for the awesome rocks - my kids and I love them. I placed them in a jar and set them on the perimeter of my bathtub along with other past race souvenirs of rocks, sand and seashells. It was so cool to meet you and I hope our paths cross again soon!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Be still my heart</td></tr>
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Thank you, Tim, for allowing me to be a big part of your incredible day in Zion, it was truly an honor to be your crew person. I know you weren't overly thrilled with your performance out there...but I witnessed you overcome some pretty deep stuff, on many levels, and persevere. This means more to me than I'll ever be able to truly articulate and I will carry those memories of success into my own little hell in Leadville - and I know now I can do it. Crewing for a 100 mile race probably isn't the best gig for someone who's a habitual worrier like myself, but I wouldn't trade those memories on my 50th birthday for anything, thank you!<br />
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<i>"Pushing your body past what you thought it was capable of is easy; the hard part is pushing yourself even further....past what your mind wants to let you. That's what ultrarunning is all about; introducing you to a self you've never know."</i><br />
<br />
Ah, The world of the sacred institution of ultrarunning....<br />
<br />
....Bring on the Leadville Silver Rush 50!Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-12819917425492307152013-04-11T06:00:00.000-06:002013-05-05T16:46:29.765-06:00Leadville Week 14: Testing My Limits<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This 'writing a blog post each week until Silver Rush' is going well, as you can see, since I'm half way into week 13 and writing about week 14, and having trouble recalling most of. It could have something to do with the balmy 8 degrees this morning and thus my brain is frozen. The trails I need to hit are covered in white evil, again - <b>on April 10th - </b>and my motivation to get outside and get-'er-done is well below the minimum motivation requirement to get out today and my thoughts are following suit.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiJVLlsc-YQ7c-XuHDMuFLIe5mhZ4DZf_jrodM0jiYqVJP92x7UMYYswg3S9VGQW_NovoBcPxyV75_pGr6XurA2M4Yk9d8e2_DlAOoZBWWK-4cTdQE5fYedse4Ve9E4jmAwKO3GMJNejDi/s1600/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiJVLlsc-YQ7c-XuHDMuFLIe5mhZ4DZf_jrodM0jiYqVJP92x7UMYYswg3S9VGQW_NovoBcPxyV75_pGr6XurA2M4Yk9d8e2_DlAOoZBWWK-4cTdQE5fYedse4Ve9E4jmAwKO3GMJNejDi/s320/003.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My once gorgeous hyacinths in my garden - now frozen dead</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It could also be the fact I was certain I came down with the bubonic plague last week and am still feeling a bit like crap (turns out, it was<b> </b><i><b>just</b> </i>a sinus and ear infection) and everything I eat has this awesome metallic flavor from the "aggressive" antibiotic I'm on, so I just opt not to eat, which is leaving me feeling rather chipper (I hope you noted my facetious tone). I also haven't fully rekindled my blogging love affair....but I'm going to give this documenting-my-way-to-Leadville thing a try; I want my kids to see how much "fun" I'm having in this journey when I'm dead - which will probably on be those Leadville mountains. Mostly though, I want them them to see how I'm not going to give up on a pretty gigantuous goal, despite how hard it is for <i>someone like me.</i><br />
<br />
It really wasn't a bad week, as far as the numbers go, if you enjoy some cringe-worthy headaches, barfing, and shivering uncontrollably torture running. I sure do.<br />
<br />
Brendan returned home from NYC late Tuesday night, much later than planned, and tired. Hard to imagine that a 17-year old spending 5 days in NYC touring the entire city would leave him exhausted, but apparently it did. He had a great time playing at Carneige though, and said it was the highlight of all the incredible things they did there....<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipGtTRNfVG3bVTCJA6fv1trXGk1AZBqBWedUqvOJW2KtOEVgnkpmQmh3B3PkWYAa-enczGTvaaMuts6e5t3C8qAPQUD5-uQj7W46gZSxDWUH3JVQRJiMlsIDsKQIjaOXbxmRiEeH384lwA/s1600/Carnigae+Hall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipGtTRNfVG3bVTCJA6fv1trXGk1AZBqBWedUqvOJW2KtOEVgnkpmQmh3B3PkWYAa-enczGTvaaMuts6e5t3C8qAPQUD5-uQj7W46gZSxDWUH3JVQRJiMlsIDsKQIjaOXbxmRiEeH384lwA/s400/Carnigae+Hall.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brendan: first guy, last row on the left</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So with one fatigued kid, another bailing so he could run with the track team (I'm starting to see where his priorities are, <i>the nerve)</i>, and one on Spring Break and not organized mother, our plans to head somewhere warm to backpack for a few days never materialized last week. Stuff goes bad. It rots, it breaks, you grow out of it, you get sick of it, you change your mind, you move on, or you want more stuff. But memories are timeless, priceless and untouchable, and especially memories with my soon-to-be senior twins, who will soon-to-be gone. I was a bit bummed, in one of those I-really-don't-like-to-backpack-anyway ways. <br />
<br />
This failure of a trip turned out well for me Wednesday and allowed me to get to the track and preform a little MAF (maximum aerobic function) run test, to gauge if there's been any pace improvements in the same HR zone, since I started back running in October; followed by a little negative split tempo run. Give me a track and I'm happier than a Slinky on an escalator. Well, if things go right - which, surprisingly they did, in my headachy, sinus congested-y state:<br />
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<tbody>
<tr style="height: 24.75pt; mso-yfti-firstrow: yes; mso-yfti-irow: 0;">
<td colspan="3" style="border: solid black 1.0pt; height: 24.75pt; mso-border-alt: solid black .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 267.9pt;" valign="top" width="357"><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>2013<o:p></o:p></b></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="height: 24.75pt; mso-yfti-irow: 1;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid black 1.0pt; height: 24.75pt; mso-border-alt: solid black .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid black .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 76.4pt;" valign="top" width="102"><div class="MsoNormal">
January 3rd<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid black 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid black 1.0pt; border-top: none; height: 24.75pt; mso-border-alt: solid black .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid black .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid black .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 80.3pt;" valign="top" width="107"><div class="MsoNormal">
March 1st<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid black 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid black 1.0pt; border-top: none; height: 24.75pt; mso-border-alt: solid black .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid black .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid black .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 111.2pt;" valign="top" width="148"><div class="MsoNormal">
April 1st<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="height: 7.1pt; mso-yfti-irow: 2; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid black 1.0pt; height: 7.1pt; mso-border-alt: solid black .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid black .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 76.4pt;" valign="top" width="102"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: red;">Mile 1:</span> 9:59<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: red;">Mile 2:</span> 9:49<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: red;">Mile 3:</span> 9:47<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: red;">Mile 4:</span> 9:47<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: red;">Mile 5:</span> 9:39<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>Avg
Pace:</u> <b><span style="color: #0070c0;">9:47</span></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>Max HR:</u>
<b>145</b><o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid black 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid black 1.0pt; border-top: none; height: 7.1pt; mso-border-alt: solid black .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid black .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid black .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 80.3pt;" valign="top" width="107"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: red;">Mile 1: </span>9:37<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: red;">Mile 2:</span> 9:34<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: red;">Mile 3:</span> 9:32<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: red;">Mile 4:</span> 9:21<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: red;">Mile 5:</span> 9:33<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Avg Pace: <b><span style="color: #0070c0;">9:29</span><u><o:p></o:p></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>Max HR:
</u><b>146<o:p></o:p></b></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid black 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid black 1.0pt; border-top: none; height: 7.1pt; mso-border-alt: solid black .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid black .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid black .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 111.2pt;" valign="top" width="148"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: red;">Mile 1:</span> 9:08<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: red;">Mile 2:</span> 9:19<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: red;">Mile 3:</span> 9:18<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: red;">Mile 4:</span> 9:21<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>Avg
Pace:</u> <b><span style="color: #0070c0;">9:16</span></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>Max HR:</u>
<b>145<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
*<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">Only did 4 mile test because I had a tempo
run after</span><o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Hey, lookie, I'm getting faster!!! I suspect my rate of speed will drastically slow down now, and if I see any more gains, they will be less significant. But you can't argue with factual data that I have made progress. I immediately went into full tempo mode post MAF run (meaning I didn't dilly-dally at the porta-pottie or procrastinate by checking my watch or getting more water or .... ) and knocked out a negative split 3 miler with an 8:08, 7:47, and 7:24 respectively. Oh yeah!<br />
<br />
Thursday I woke up feeling like a truck ran me over - twice (just to make sure I felt extra miserable) so of course that meant Brendan decided he wanted to head down to Colorado Springs to climb 4000' up to Barr Camp and spend the night. In sub-freezing temps. Whatever prior thoughts I had yesterday about spending quality time with my boys before they abandoned me went out the window and my once "I needed experiences and people, not things" thoughts were leaning more towards material objects, like my warm flannel sheets. But I went, because that's what magnificent mothers do. So I hear.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsEUWnkqLIAe4k9YvoOBZWu_5LJ3ofcApPLKCNJMOQ5hwANwsmXvOEDIpObSfuOhr9CJdaNezUw4XirydL9fNH873F9Md7OywS9eRTeqVP4312W2pxWYG0uqOwYRvludks2n8MYlIKDFBY/s1600/photo6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsEUWnkqLIAe4k9YvoOBZWu_5LJ3ofcApPLKCNJMOQ5hwANwsmXvOEDIpObSfuOhr9CJdaNezUw4XirydL9fNH873F9Md7OywS9eRTeqVP4312W2pxWYG0uqOwYRvludks2n8MYlIKDFBY/s320/photo6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoRRWl_MNnIl2mbgk-MjEagyIr4nEDEo89oeW3xsjuduOx1D6wYuH77jEvyahMJXhCj1CqC-kcHhv7eKgIaQ-QaM8WrJsukdcfm9gfqQ-ORgXE_FM9RRpL6F476FUO3-ApUqCZeCwTUq6W/s1600/photo8.pg.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoRRWl_MNnIl2mbgk-MjEagyIr4nEDEo89oeW3xsjuduOx1D6wYuH77jEvyahMJXhCj1CqC-kcHhv7eKgIaQ-QaM8WrJsukdcfm9gfqQ-ORgXE_FM9RRpL6F476FUO3-ApUqCZeCwTUq6W/s320/photo8.pg.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Glad you're carrying 40 lbs, Brendan, so I can "run" up this dang thing with nothing but my water</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjerCwnWy9ruzB9qf5gBsjeb9lttQEKQkC9QDZX-3Fq6r6vMlrQblFQwbHLy6w7SFb8dc8bIKtbkcw_adSDWC9MCPlfOyhiruSR8Fr8bJEGboYWbIbYO24D3teLf5UsIQEQYjS26Xu-650y/s1600/photo3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjerCwnWy9ruzB9qf5gBsjeb9lttQEKQkC9QDZX-3Fq6r6vMlrQblFQwbHLy6w7SFb8dc8bIKtbkcw_adSDWC9MCPlfOyhiruSR8Fr8bJEGboYWbIbYO24D3teLf5UsIQEQYjS26Xu-650y/s320/photo3.jpg" width="283" /></a></div>
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Not long after this last picture (don't let the smile fool you), around mile 3 and 2200' of climbing (that's some steep shit!), I suddenly started shaking and just before I could yell at Brendan to stop, I barfed. On my sparkly new trail shoes (the ones I'm praying will not fight with my feet and stop the blistering madness). That was kinda cool, in a not so fun sort of way. We climbed another half mile before I finally had to start crying, because it's really cool to cry when you're frustrated and feel like hell. And have a long way to go until you get to camp (4 more miles and another 2000' of climbing). Brendan wasn't feeling that wonderful himself, having been at sea level for the past few days. I eased into the conversation the notion that perhaps downshifting and returning to the car was a really good idea, in light of, well, everything; my limits were tapped. My tears were of frustration that I was disappointing him, but hell, if he gave me the A-okay to abandon ship, then I'm not going to argue, especially since my stomach was in knots. So that day ended with 7ish miles and ~2200' elevation, not anywhere close to the 3-4 hours of vertical climbing I had on my plan. But damn if memories of adventure weren't just what I asked for :).<br />
<br />
Friday was spent at the doctors office, for the 2nd time that week (let's take a minute to remember the arm amputation earlier in the week <a href="http://runwithjill.blogspot.com/2013/04/15-weeks-to-silver-rush-50-random-crap.html"><b>from the last post</b></a>) where I was given that super tasty antibiotic and as a bonus, got to spend $148 on some Nasonex (I want into the pharmacy industry, seriously!). Saturday, I finally felt enough marginal relief that I could go ride my bike. In 25mph headwinds for 25 miles. With symptoms that somewhat mimicked seasickness (oh what fond memories on a boat in the Alaskan Peninsula, hanging my head over the side of a boat - for hours). If today wasn't a test mental perseverance, then tomorrow would be.<br />
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I ended the week on Monday with a little 16.5 mile, 3000' climb - on dead legs from the day's before race - up <a href="http://jeffco.us/openspace/openspace_T56_R12.htm"><b>Deer Creek Canyon</b></a>, hitting the trails before the spring storm that rolled in hours later (yippee). I was tired and dragging my <strike>ass</strike> feet and fell, twice. The first time was minor and I got up quickly and rolled with it. Fall #2, about 15 minutes later, left some skin on the rocks and worse, shook my confidence, leaving me skittish descending the massive amounts of time I still had left to get down.<br />
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It's nothing really, I know I'll have many more falls before I end this Leadville gig on July 14th, so I'll just look at this little scab as a badge of honor and tell all my co-workers how badass I was when I ran away, fast, from some mountain lion. I think what the fall solidified for me, is that when my legs are fatigued, tested, and sore, as they will be suffering in Leadville somewhere along those 50 miles, so I need to be dutifully aware of my acrimony ... and pick up my feet to finish that thing in one piece. But my overall pace was about a minute faster than when I did this same route a few weeks ago, so progress is happening.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 20px; padding: 0px;">
Sometimes we have to try to take what we have rather than have what it takes – and go. I may not have felt good this week, but damn if it wasn't a good week none-the-less.<br />
<br />
Miles: 47.52<br />
Vertical: 5451'<br />
<br />
"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood...."<br />
<br />
Run strong,<br />
<i><span style="color: magenta;"><b>Jill</b></span></i></div>
Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-16618535103713013962013-04-03T06:30:00.000-06:002013-04-07T12:38:52.559-06:0015 Weeks to Silver Rush 50: Random Stuff<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Z5-axsWfjvCb-3YiHswGlc8bqZlRnMVU-x9L_2-Ysh66WzAJh7Gk7E1tCmnG0mPy6BorwktNomASyLUJV5ZXILWgNG_PR5sNu1zScI20ULxsnY3Vyu1EEfjxqzH1Q8tFCRuZpUFuo6ZK/s1600/79746379_640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Z5-axsWfjvCb-3YiHswGlc8bqZlRnMVU-x9L_2-Ysh66WzAJh7Gk7E1tCmnG0mPy6BorwktNomASyLUJV5ZXILWgNG_PR5sNu1zScI20ULxsnY3Vyu1EEfjxqzH1Q8tFCRuZpUFuo6ZK/s320/79746379_640.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Start of the Leadville Silver Rush 50</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I really hate putting 50 random, useless things about my dull life in a blog post (like that's stopped me before), but I'm not in a 'writing mood' this week so rambling (and long) this will be....<br />
<br />
Due to some issue with my iron, I get to go to the doctor bi-annually to have some blood drawn; today was that lucky day. I get dizzy and almost faint every single time with this simple procedure so the nice nurse had me sit down on a kid size chair while she asked me 539 times if I felt OK and if I needed some juice. She couldn't find a vein so she poked and rolled the needle in my arm a couple dozen times until she struck gold. Or blood, whichever came first. I got a pink, sparkly Band Aid after, so I called the day good.<br />
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My entire family left in existence, basically all live in Colorado. My parents are long gone but my aunt and my two bothers live here. A couple cousins. And my niece - who, much to my delight, works as a rep for Coors and gets as much free beer as she wants. I rarely see my family, despite their close-ish proximity. One of my brothers doesn't really speak to any of us so it's weird he joined in on our Easter festivities. I think family holiday get-togethers are wonderful because they remind me why I don't see more of them. Anyway, they somehow got wind I was doing this crazy 50 mile race with insane vertical at altitudes that make my rib hurt at just the mere mention of the 10k' start line, and they wanted to know why I'd do such a thing to myself. You'd think after 35 years of this running gig they'd have it figured out, but like I said - there's reasons why my family and I don't see one another often. I told them, "Because it will hurt. A lot." The end. My darling niece who graciously shares her Coors freebies with me said, "That's the best answer, ever." She is the only family member in my imaginary will: she gets all my running shoes when I'm gone. Lucky girl.<br />
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Hello, antihistamine, nice to see you're back. While I was at the doctor to get my arm amputated off with a needle, I told my doctor that I'm having mother angry headaches again and a persistent cough at night. He reminded me it was seasonal allergy season and, well, wasn't I top of his list of allergy sufferers? I told him I was abating that crap this year by cutting out some gluten and thus will be happily allergy-free this season. My pink, sparkly Band Aid and I went home, laughing at that doctor and his silly accusations. I spent last night from 3:00-5:30am sneezing and blowing my nose 4783 times until I finally cried Uncle and took a Zyrtec. I've been in a fog all day, I hate that shit! As much as I hate cold and snow, Spring isn't exactly my friend. I think I'll go eat a piece of bread.<br />
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I ran into <a href="http://blog.ransick.org/"><b>another blogger</b></a> last week. Well, I didn't literally run into him, but rather planned to meet him when I heard he was visiting my state for a week. I've never met Mike, so to impress him, I headed to our little luncheon date promptly post tempo run, full of body odor and salt drizzle down the side of my face. I'm shocked he didn't call the police. Or the homeless shelter. But we had a nice lunch (despite my sensitive stomaching protesting cheese; irritates me that pizza and I can't be good friends) in a quasi-cool (if you know the right places to go to) old gold mining town, and had some good ol' conversations for a good three hours....and I didn't even have any alcohol to help my normally introverted self suddenly become this crazy endless speaking old lady talking about nothing (much like this blog). Thanks for the lunch, Mike - and the delightful conversation. Maybe next time you're in town, I'll take a shower before our meet-up, or at least bring some deodorant.<br />
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Brendan headed to NYC on Friday to play with part of his high school band at Carnegie Hall. How cool is that? This pic below was from a band concert a couple days before he left. And yes, I came to the concert directly post long bike ride and look like hell. You're probably thinking by now I never take a shower and rush all over the damn state. That would actually be a somewhat true thought. But B's looking pretty good, so that's all that matters. He's due home any minute now from five activity-filled New York days - I absolutely cannot wait to hear all about it. I'm probably the only person on the planet who's never been to NYC. I have no desire to really go other than to say I've been there. And see my son play his trumpet at Carnegie Hall.<br />
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<a href="http://footfeathers.blogspot.com/"><b>The coach</b></a> had a hill running clinic on Sunday, which I dutifully attended, mostly for fear I'd be banded from sending future 10-page emails to him on how much I hate hills, if I didn't attend. I got to learn a bunch of cool new tips how I can kick some Leadville butt, and was in geology heaven with the monolithic red rock and <a href="http://www.redrocksonline.com/"><b>Red Rocks Amphitheater</b></a> as our background.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXnykSAGbzAKpY5GT1FCf6btRcFI85cbbE3D_MCNI6V0_5R79oTljLFti5dLT1D0PwK9Mt0ZZjEKaCaq5HgBl-5OsyrQrFYC4GMJ-sneZ3hFCsFm0FhDwWECYDwGFBDUzmQkHVZnjcy5c6/s1600/Clinic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXnykSAGbzAKpY5GT1FCf6btRcFI85cbbE3D_MCNI6V0_5R79oTljLFti5dLT1D0PwK9Mt0ZZjEKaCaq5HgBl-5OsyrQrFYC4GMJ-sneZ3hFCsFm0FhDwWECYDwGFBDUzmQkHVZnjcy5c6/s320/Clinic1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: Stolen from Tim's blog without his permission</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The clinic was great and if I weren't so damn tired right now I'd be more prolific about all the tips I learned, but suffice it to say that on my almost 3000' run/power-walk/crawl after the clinic, I incorporated those tips and definitely noticed a difference in my effort and subsequently, speed. Thanks for finally bringing that clinic to Colorado, Tim. If I don't die in Leadville, I'll make ya' proud.<br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">It was a gorgeous, sun-filled day, and I was just absorbed in the task at hand and suddenly realized that this trail running thingie is actually starting to become more enjoyable for me.... despite the fact my shoes are eating my feet alive. </span><br />
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Best part of the day, hands down, had to be second trip up the 1500' climb, when the fatigue of these hills were setting in and my pace and attitude were equally declining rapidly, a "kid" of maybe 27 stopped me and said he noticed I was on my second lap back up this beast, so I stopped to talk to him for a few minutes. He didn't have a shirt on, and his dog was cute - I couldn't resist the rest-stop. He said he climbed this trail almost daily and then proceeded to tell me if I ever wanted company to come and join him...and oh, by the way, we could grab a beer together after. Oh yeah! Then, on the way down the second time (ugh, my quads were screaming!), I ran into a guy I used to run with occasionally - a very long time ago....you know, when I used to run fast. er. Before my f-ing foot zapped my speed. I guess the second trip up was worth it, even though I can still barely walk three days after that little 3000' climb.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDrgbmtU5kYE7XVVzYaE6cnk8ZKLVCyEV6xQRwHsbkGl-v0SWwAOIqQ8eYYIELXrgnYkx9wVP75ykw_apP3IoOm5XNOtIczvLbsI0wpGxW-t7e4jg9-SiSOs-M55UpXgCAFM4K0w6swo3W/s1600/craig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDrgbmtU5kYE7XVVzYaE6cnk8ZKLVCyEV6xQRwHsbkGl-v0SWwAOIqQ8eYYIELXrgnYkx9wVP75ykw_apP3IoOm5XNOtIczvLbsI0wpGxW-t7e4jg9-SiSOs-M55UpXgCAFM4K0w6swo3W/s320/craig.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hi Craig, so cool to run into you!</td></tr>
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I knocked out a little mile swim PR the other day - and I wasn't even trying; I was just swimming, stopped the watch at a mile, and there it was. Solid.<br />
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I get asked a lot about my numbers: mileage, vertical gain, hours, etc. It probably wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done signing up for a crazy beast like Leadville 50 when I had already committed to the Boise Half Ironman 5 weeks earlier than Leadville. No one said I was smart, especially me, but I think the biking, which is clearly my weakness, is helping me recover a bit quicker with my running. No, I'm not training nearly as much on the bike as I should be, and I'm tired as hell - constantly, but I feel great running, and that is my main focus; I just hope I can hold on to this high I seem to have been magically (finally!) given. Here's March's numbers...<br />
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<b>Run:</b><br />
<u>Vertical climbed:</u> 17,469'<br />
<u>Miles:</u> 224.22<br />
<u>Hours:</u> Too tired, nor do I really care right now, to add it up.<br />
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<b>Bike:</b><br />
<u>Vertical climbed:</u> 4351'<br />
<u>Miles:</u> 210<br />
<i>Isn't your bike mileage suppose to be 3x your run mileage for a triathlon? Whatever. And I wonder why I am such a weak cyclist?!?!</i><br />
<u>Hours:</u> ~13. <br />
<u>Avg Speed:</u> Pathetic!<br />
<br />
<b>Swim:</b><br />
<u>Miles:</u> 3.46<br />
<i>I'm okay with this low number, swimming is not my weakness, but I'd be good if I got in the pool for longer swims now. I'm sure it won't happen though; I hit that mile and I'm instantly want out of the pool. I did manage 2050yds the other day though....go me.</i><br />
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Okay, Brendan just walked in the door so time to wrap this up (I'm hearing big sighs of relief) and go hug my kid. Look what he brought me :) ...<br />
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Run strong, my friends. And please, run a hill or two for me, too - I need it.Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-39319040803582423132013-03-23T12:22:00.000-06:002013-03-26T23:23:22.223-06:00The demotivating effects of H2O<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am a scientist...well actually, I just have a Geology degree and
I taught science. Sorta. But I will say that I am a woman of science and thus I
am always making observations. Actually this isn't true either, I am like
the most oblivious person ever, but I have made this one observation: there is
strong correlation between snow and motivation. I have made a super
awesome scientific graph to showcase this observation:</span><span style="font-family: Open Sans, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">As you can see, as snow accumulates, motivation diminishes
greatly. You can't argue with the graph, it has labeled axes. Add a little wind to the snowfall axis and you'll see motivation drop well below zero and you'll just stay in bed all day and sulk (Sorry, I'm too busy sulking to make another chart, you just gotta trust me on this one).<br />
<br />
What is it, you ask, that has me talking about my groundbreaking hypothesis for which I am applying for a government grant to study? Well, </span>I am looking outside to yet another winter "wonderland."<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"> It is 10:57am and I am still in my pajamas
and I can't seem to get motivated to bundle myself up and get to the gym on icy roads.</span></span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGHIVlAM3Si3frPux6C_3ycQJxLrNM1srz5cnqIujsxJBQaDOcioSRHWtnzjn8WfJ4ghw4L_HQ7Y15x-qMPxFOyHCBZ_JsiPkZYKgb18RlSz4_-evI2IHrys_ftbV5EM_Vo_qNCbrQTT9G/s1600/001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGHIVlAM3Si3frPux6C_3ycQJxLrNM1srz5cnqIujsxJBQaDOcioSRHWtnzjn8WfJ4ghw4L_HQ7Y15x-qMPxFOyHCBZ_JsiPkZYKgb18RlSz4_-evI2IHrys_ftbV5EM_Vo_qNCbrQTT9G/s320/001.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ryan's poor bike</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie_HAihImgYpsviDcQS61EyniUPTp23AD6R7aMVtrth8x8FHi_pUeWIf8zPIiQtRlej9W5eIkP7HyBAeCRgJhm4crWltzqE4-5GladuI7IXBpLKTmTboHtC8RNEyh6q42QwYqZBMrJjEEJ/s1600/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie_HAihImgYpsviDcQS61EyniUPTp23AD6R7aMVtrth8x8FHi_pUeWIf8zPIiQtRlej9W5eIkP7HyBAeCRgJhm4crWltzqE4-5GladuI7IXBpLKTmTboHtC8RNEyh6q42QwYqZBMrJjEEJ/s320/003.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brendan's poor tent in the backyard<br />
(actually, the freaky kid loves to winter camp. I think he got switched at birth...<br />
he was the 2nd twin...this explains a lot)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf-bhlisYb0qho4dGtZ7NyaAubEKgPdvNI2WO3sx3DoK0TCKZ570cakNC8eRDAO4CUKboolieDDGnT10KqWbMHM2nF8Min0Q5TXSmanfIL0I8LW_i03QD7M76olEYhC8qk-rhFX0sbegVD/s1600/Snowy-Morning-Denver-City-Park.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf-bhlisYb0qho4dGtZ7NyaAubEKgPdvNI2WO3sx3DoK0TCKZ570cakNC8eRDAO4CUKboolieDDGnT10KqWbMHM2nF8Min0Q5TXSmanfIL0I8LW_i03QD7M76olEYhC8qk-rhFX0sbegVD/s320/Snowy-Morning-Denver-City-Park.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Site of poor Jill's race where she was SUPPOSE to race today. Note<br />
Denver skyline in the background (if you squint through the blowing snow).</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Why
is it that on sunny days I am up and at 'em, but when it snows I can barely make
myself get out of bed? Because snow is evil, obviously!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have lived in Colorado for half my life now. You'd think I would have
learned by now this is springtime in the Rockies and spring is when most of our snowfall lands. Apparently not.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I loath, hate, despise,
and detest snow. I would have gone on but it would have involved me
getting a thesaurus and as I said, I'm too busy sulking. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">People born here love the stuff. If you don't believe me just check out
my Facebook feed after a snowstorm. Every status update says stuff like,
"Oh goody it's snowing." "How beautiful this snow is."
"My life now has meaning because it is snowing." "I'm actually
crying tears of joy over this awesome snow." "It is snowing and it is
literally the most magical, wonderful thing that has ever happened to me."
Are you kidding me? Barf! You'd think it never happens, according to my water bill statement that just arrived with an attached notice stating we cannot water our lawns but twice a week this summer due to severe drought. I'm really glad now my budget didn't allow me to water my backyard grass last year and it died! But Denver has on average 48 snow days a year and the only two months that show no
average snow fall are July and August. That's a fact, according to Wikipedia. I know it's hard to believe the Internet would lie, but I ran up Pikes Peak in AUGUST of 2008 and it snowed!</span></div>
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</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl0Hsmc2m97xVb8h-duIozb0pBHCW5yvTUKRkFo381xjyLjikRRrBxQMhZY9zpiLgDnqmvOCA0GKPg28UwFwZqr2EeaomD3OdJiskbcQL0Ofk_izzdkOG8PD4GG8i_sJYliCkWTkLZYC-X/s1600/Pikes+Peak+Summit.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl0Hsmc2m97xVb8h-duIozb0pBHCW5yvTUKRkFo381xjyLjikRRrBxQMhZY9zpiLgDnqmvOCA0GKPg28UwFwZqr2EeaomD3OdJiskbcQL0Ofk_izzdkOG8PD4GG8i_sJYliCkWTkLZYC-X/s320/Pikes+Peak+Summit.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It sucked!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't actually
mind all the love for snow....I don't get it....but I don't mind it. And,
I actually love reading the Facebook posts about snow. <i>But </i>don't
expect me to join in the jubilation when it starts snowing. And please
understand where I am coming from - I'm on a roll with my training and this is royally driving me insane when I can't get out and do what I need to.<br />
<br />I grew up in Iowa, winter is much more brutal there, but I was a kid then. Kids are forced to live where a parental unit reside and besides, kids have no common sense (I have 3, trust me on that one too) and being almost 50 and alzheimer's about to set in, I've forgotten how harsh Iowa winter's can be (and I don't ever plan to remember).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Here is a graph of average temperature in Camarillo, CA. I've never been there, and I'm not even sure where it is, but it looks like a lovely place to live based on the chart:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF4SqlgUfscFNXwgjWbEHoFZpXcABsTuTgNVmboaT30k-t1-wTINDhtU61mo2xTNiRi7c1WzZQ0yi4pfQnv9Naf_qK8rx1dSxjsioplkhogWtAAhyphenhyphencbGPvxgKf5uYmTQxYC1jYmldgaJ7M/s1600/caliweather.jpg.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF4SqlgUfscFNXwgjWbEHoFZpXcABsTuTgNVmboaT30k-t1-wTINDhtU61mo2xTNiRi7c1WzZQ0yi4pfQnv9Naf_qK8rx1dSxjsioplkhogWtAAhyphenhyphencbGPvxgKf5uYmTQxYC1jYmldgaJ7M/s400/caliweather.jpg.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
As you can see, the four seasons are cool, warm, awesome, and awesomer. My
body drools over these perfectly year-round training temperatures, it doesn't like dealing with 60 degree temperature shifts that
happen over the course of an HOUR here. Now here is the graph for average
temperature for Centennial, CO, where I currently reside:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyW3hnq-y0ijRY3WK9H5EKzxf6pXYx-DzL5hnBu94emMmWhBsPRACyzaTdx8NE-mZeMMbI6_gWYzLmBO8KBIKz6xY1RlGuM7wPHsrwGeLo5US_hf7KfkYwXEDrFFBgt2gP6BKQIN9vCCew/s1600/coloreadoweather.jpg.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyW3hnq-y0ijRY3WK9H5EKzxf6pXYx-DzL5hnBu94emMmWhBsPRACyzaTdx8NE-mZeMMbI6_gWYzLmBO8KBIKz6xY1RlGuM7wPHsrwGeLo5US_hf7KfkYwXEDrFFBgt2gP6BKQIN9vCCew/s400/coloreadoweather.jpg.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoxQ_N5f5qKh21DF-KUqAh4S5dmXPim1fDa61p7_eg_bu-gG79yYFebnjUhEosuAd62PYMzQrKCcE-BlhEGTW6Z2h4_kSdZA2nXj4geijcfdpKWX1fT5P2yWu2lMO18tUJIaoUOs6Rxwtz/s1600/Average+weather+in+Littleton,+CO.png"><span style="color: #888888; font-family: "Open Sans","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-no-proof: yes; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><v:shape alt="Description: https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoxQ_N5f5qKh21DF-KUqAh4S5dmXPim1fDa61p7_eg_bu-gG79yYFebnjUhEosuAd62PYMzQrKCcE-BlhEGTW6Z2h4_kSdZA2nXj4geijcfdpKWX1fT5P2yWu2lMO18tUJIaoUOs6Rxwtz/s640/Average+weather+in+Littleton%252C+CO.png" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoxQ_N5f5qKh21DF-KUqAh4S5dmXPim1fDa61p7_eg_bu-gG79yYFebnjUhEosuAd62PYMzQrKCcE-BlhEGTW6Z2h4_kSdZA2nXj4geijcfdpKWX1fT5P2yWu2lMO18tUJIaoUOs6Rxwtz/s1600/Average+weather+in+Littleton,+CO.png" id="Picture_x0020_190" o:button="t" o:spid="_x0000_i1025" style="height: 165pt; mso-wrap-style: square; visibility: visible; width: 480pt;" type="#_x0000_t75">
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<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As you can see the seasons here are: too hot, almost winter, winter,
still winter, and spring blizzards. Do you understand my problem now?<br />
<br />
I hate snow and being cold. I do and that is not going to change.
HOWEVER, I do LOVE Colorado (Shhhh, don't tell anyone I said
it, but I do). Despite that fact that it snows constantly (It
doesn't but it feels like it does whenever I have some important training day scheduled!!!) this is the place that I now call home.
I love that there are over 300 days of sunshine a year. I love
raising my family here. I love the culture, mostly the arts. I love looking out my front door and seeing the Rocky
Mountains. I love the friends that I have made. I love how active I am here in Colorado and how easy it is to find a great race to do! It really is a fantastic place to live. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Besides, I got in a couple great runs with last week before this latest onslaught of white evil....let's just look at those pictures and ooh and ahh and remember, eventually, all this white crap will melt. Around July.</span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;">Monday:</span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN0JInGpsIDbCMfnRrqW7PST8Y77pyl0iJLqqT6ls1X2Nmjq-wI-WJ7KP_OiUHsVZhU_rnu4o-rD1SsM5JZpnNsibYu_fY_1_1uEFVUFy8yYZ9qJMxqRzp6OiE8TLvuMIgFQhjro2HilYw/s1600/506.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN0JInGpsIDbCMfnRrqW7PST8Y77pyl0iJLqqT6ls1X2Nmjq-wI-WJ7KP_OiUHsVZhU_rnu4o-rD1SsM5JZpnNsibYu_fY_1_1uEFVUFy8yYZ9qJMxqRzp6OiE8TLvuMIgFQhjro2HilYw/s320/506.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheyenne Mt. in Colorado Spring; sight of an upcoming race</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVPyh5bqK_JkDURulGv-F5Vh3v2_iRCmb8J8nuth5zYbmKtCjhWBsgmmrPB8o4KvsGtxsh6cv2qWX3mEjznPI1_TqQQ-9jc756WTi05Ue7VJVAcbPvFy8vn7OPe8RLt7Y4-GFKW6BWBMmD/s1600/507.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVPyh5bqK_JkDURulGv-F5Vh3v2_iRCmb8J8nuth5zYbmKtCjhWBsgmmrPB8o4KvsGtxsh6cv2qWX3mEjznPI1_TqQQ-9jc756WTi05Ue7VJVAcbPvFy8vn7OPe8RLt7Y4-GFKW6BWBMmD/s320/507.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Running with my dear friend, Kathleen (Happy Trails), at Cheyenne Mt.<br />
Even with a pulled calf muscle at mile 2, she still dragged my sorry slow butt up<br />
those steep hills, which she deemed "manageable" and I deemed "deadly". She's a rock star trail runner, even injured!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wednesday:</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjX-64fTHE8gAmUifEYbSWcrHVKK_RqTfOUQb6-P6yWqhEjMMDjyPKYg6_Hw7zfx_qctM3lnChiYfRq6leAddft7Kypssl1vcbHOpdkzXDSv9AImb-y8SHubDTzZTnzReuKyex0bsjZSHQ/s1600/001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjX-64fTHE8gAmUifEYbSWcrHVKK_RqTfOUQb6-P6yWqhEjMMDjyPKYg6_Hw7zfx_qctM3lnChiYfRq6leAddft7Kypssl1vcbHOpdkzXDSv9AImb-y8SHubDTzZTnzReuKyex0bsjZSHQ/s320/001.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deer Creek Canyon </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCGP6OD4ehnS8fPRNvoNSxgitfdLW5P9WuxmtCqDOe9IzXlhFH6_Uvs22iDXCp-BugfdyTbmcPOf1g4F6P9elTnApQSgTYndXJttVbgGSwxEnmEGUug1fc4FQHepOfaPq7Sbufglgv5Vlm/s1600/020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCGP6OD4ehnS8fPRNvoNSxgitfdLW5P9WuxmtCqDOe9IzXlhFH6_Uvs22iDXCp-BugfdyTbmcPOf1g4F6P9elTnApQSgTYndXJttVbgGSwxEnmEGUug1fc4FQHepOfaPq7Sbufglgv5Vlm/s320/020.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grateful (seriously grateful) I didn't encounter a mountain lion</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpEh5bEeQCKfc4GbtvSGuBqJJXesQqVmBzeTtt8TevfZS-2MWeVl33WAGcnP_1qS_iOzpHruFa259lhQcDl6sk0tGP5jifHoFbqxM6QfndaV6CLwg3OmDsnPZcvKJE6rLUiZrcSSvWXxMc/s1600/011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpEh5bEeQCKfc4GbtvSGuBqJJXesQqVmBzeTtt8TevfZS-2MWeVl33WAGcnP_1qS_iOzpHruFa259lhQcDl6sk0tGP5jifHoFbqxM6QfndaV6CLwg3OmDsnPZcvKJE6rLUiZrcSSvWXxMc/s320/011.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Saturday:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My hands may be cracking and bleeding every winter, and my training is thrown out the window on days like today....</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;">...but Colorado is home for me now and I couldn't imagine leaving. </span><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;">But I am still going to complain about the snow though...I am so over dealing with it.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;">Now excuse me, that's all the time I have for now, I have a little treadmill 5k PR to set....</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Btw, I just looked at my weather.com phone app to see how many more inches we're going to get today and all is says is, "BLIZZARD". Does anyone live in Caramillo and can get me a job? I make great charts!</span></span>Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-57348484056229794832013-03-17T22:00:00.000-06:002013-03-17T22:59:02.064-06:0034 Minutes to Grace<div style="text-align: center;">
<b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u>Grace: </u></b><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: white; cursor: default; font-family: verdana;">a</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana;"> </span><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: white; cursor: pointer; font-family: verdana;">pleasing</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana;"> </span><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: white; cursor: default; font-family: verdana;">or</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana;"> </span><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: white; cursor: default; font-family: verdana;">attractive</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana;"> </span><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: white; cursor: default; font-family: verdana;">quality</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana;"> </span><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: white; cursor: default; font-family: verdana;">or</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana;"> </span><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: white; cursor: default; font-family: verdana;">endowment</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(I like it, I'm going with it) </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I feel the need....the need for <i>SPEED"</i><br />
Be still my Iceman heart...</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #61636a; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 15.390625px; text-align: justify;">Something really nutty is happening to my running: I’m getting faster - and it doesn't even seem like I'm really trying. It kind of makes me doubt the reliability of my Garmin, but for now, my ego likes to go with the idea. I hadn’t mentioned it because I didn’t want to jinx the whole thing, but now I’m riding the wave like I own it.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #61636a; line-height: 15.390625px; text-align: justify;">My first coach didn't exactly like me racing while building my base. I get that. I really do. Regardless, I snuck (I know "sneaked" is the standard past tense and past participle form of "sneak" - whatever, it's my blog)</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #61636a; line-height: 15.390625px; text-align: justify;"> in a couple 5ks and a half marathon back in the fall. They were slow. They messed with my head. So to torture my ever so fragile slow pace psyche further, I signed up for a couple more short races this year, just to confirm my slowliness (Webster's soon going to contact me for that brilliant new word). But I didn't get to do them. January's 5k was traded for a night on the bathroom floor hugging the toilet (and losing 5 lbs in a weekend - a fair trade-off, if you ask me) and February's 5k, I mistakenly showed up 24 hours early for the race (genius me). By the following day, race day, I was totally over the race and didn't want to do it anymore, so I didn't (mostly because I had a big bike day planned and since I suck so much on the bike, and have a <b><a href="http://www.ironman.com/triathlon/events/ironman-70.3/boise.aspx#axzz2NmKjnYxE">big biking event in June</a>,</b> I thought the time was better spent on the bike). Now enter March 10th, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #61636a; line-height: 15.390625px; text-align: justify;">and short race #3: a hilly St. Patrick's 7k</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #61636a; line-height: 15.390625px; text-align: justify;"> (I triple checked the date, and confirmed date with a friend - twice). Whatever microscopic amounts of Irish blood I have in me loves this race. I love the spirit; I love the camaraderie; I love all the </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #6aa84f; line-height: 15.390625px; text-align: justify;"><b>GREEN</b></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #61636a; line-height: 15.390625px; text-align: justify;">; I love the challenge of the course; I especially love that it's not a 10k (is there anyone that loves to feel like puking for 6.2 long miles? If so, you're my hero). Maybe it's all the free Killigans and corned beef sandwiches post-race, but people are genuinely happy at this race and it's incredibly infectious. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #61636a; line-height: 15.390625px; text-align: justify;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #61636a; line-height: 15.390625px; text-align: justify;">Because I wasn't able to do those two earlier 5ks this year, I don't have much of an idea how fast I am right now at <i>anything</i> speedy, so I asked <b><a href="http://footfeathers.blogspot.com/">my coach</a>,</b> of a whole one week, what my race strategy should be. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #61636a; line-height: 15.390625px; text-align: justify;">I basically did one failed tempo run a week before this race (I thought death would be a better alternative), which is the first speed workout I've done in probably a good 3 years - give or take a year. I'm sure his guess at a sustainable pace for 4.35ish miles was as good as mine, which was equivalent to throwing darts at some random pace chart and going with whatever pace the dart hit. 8:20s was my given crest. <i>Gaaaasp. </i> I have fallen so low. I told my neighbor, Dennis, who drove us to the race that morning, "Please shoot me and put me out of my misery if I run an 8:20 pace." Yet in my head, I had no idea if I even COULD<i> </i>run an 8:20, or even close to it.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">My B-goal was to beat the guy dressed in all green.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">(A-goal was to not get shot by Dennis) </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #61636a; line-height: 15.390625px; text-align: justify;">Dennis made me start up near the front with him. With people I had no business starting with. I didn't really have a choice, you see; I had to pee as people were already lined up to run, so when I was done doing my business, I latched onto Dennis' shirt so I wouldn't get stuck in the tail end of 3500 green-clothed souls as he wormed his way through hoards of green masses. Front line was where he landed (he's fast) and thus I did too (I'm not <i>that </i>fast). The gun went off, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #61636a; line-height: 15.390625px; text-align: justify;">runners were weaving around me, leaving me in the dust so that I felt like I was running in that dream where you don’t move at all even though you’re grinding hard on your feet. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #61636a; line-height: 15.390625px; text-align: justify;">I was having trouble getting a consistent readout from my piece of crap Garmin, be it the height of downtown buildings or the viaducts we ran under. I didn't know what my pace was that entire first mile, and as a result, I did the opposite of what my coach advised (as you can see, we're off to a good start!) and I hit mile 1 at 7:33.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #61636a; line-height: 15.390625px; text-align: justify;"><i>Whoops.</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #61636a; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 15.390625px; text-align: justify;">If this race were a 10k (or more), this 47 second overzealous pace would have instantly had me pull back my overzealousness so I could survive to the finish without crying for mercy the last mile. But I only had 3.35ish miles left, and so what if mile 2 was one continuous ginormous hill and hill running is my weakness - isn't racing about seeing what you have in you and learning what you don't so you can improve upon that for next time? Maybe not for an A-race you've spent half your life and sacrificed every close relationship you've ever had training for it, but sometimes I like to see what I have inside me and this race was just for fun anyway (see comment above to Dennis about shooting me if I ran too slow).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I felt too good to slow down, so I laughed at my watch and continued on at my neck-breaking pace - wondering at what point my legs were going to be coated in lead with cute little lead sprinkles. The thing was, I really didn't care - my insatiable desire to run anything above my 145 max HR MAF zone was so strong right now, I was willing to crawl the last mile if need be; just let my damn legs - and my heart - race. Fast!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sent my mind to focus onward at whatever I had in me, 8:20s be dammed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mile 2's continuous hill reiterated my weakness moving upwards (coincidentally, I suck biking up hills, too. Yippee). If I had my HRM on, I'm sure I would have had a heart attack just looking at the number displayed. Thankfully, I had the foresight to know this ahead of time (for once) and didn't wear it or I know I would have slowed down at the voluminous number displayed. I slowed moving up this monster hill (a series of two hills, the 2nd being 150' in a half mile - I'd have thought it was Mt. Everest the way I complained about it post-race), but I felt strong and miraculously managed an 8:16. Mile 3 I started losing some steam, but I also started passing a few of the runners who’d dusted me at the start of the race, which always gives you a kick of energy, and I was holding my first mile pace (even a second faster. Narcissist race reports must always announce to the world every minute molecule of speed). I was a bit surprised I wasn't doing the proverbial death march by now, by the grace of <i>something,</i> I wasn't. I think when there is a goal that I want nearly to the point of entitlement, there’s only pursuit. It can be a big, fat goal, like when I Boston qualified, or it can be a stupid little private determination like the time I averaged 1:40 splits on 20 x 400 meter repeats. The visceral drive makes me weigh them equally because I am in a zone where I will not lose, and if I do, it’s not because I didn’t fight like a bitch. Mile 4 and change suddenly wasn't going down without a fight even though I felt those leaded sprinkles starting to decorate my quads and my lungs were about to explode (and to add to the fun, two more short hills to boot); I <i>needed </i>to own this race, it became an obsession. Mile<b> </b>4:<b> </b>7:40 (which I contribute to dropping my water cup and stopping to get another - excuses are also part of a high quality race report). Another .35 miles (.38 according to my trusty Garmin, whom never lies) up the last hill, turned the last corner, and there it was - the finish.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>34:02</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">7:47 pace (take that 8:20!)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Truly, a pure act of grace. Or badass determination.... take your pick.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Dennis and I and a fellow track mom, Kathy, whom we ran into post race.<br />No, Dennis and I do not have matching shirts - his is from Moab 1/2 Marathon,<br />mine is from the Park City Marathon. Utah race directors must have got a good<br />deal on neon green that year.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Celebrating post-race with a fellow teacher I just happened to run into</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Btw, it has to be DAMN cold for me to wear tights in a race - like sub 19 degrees.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As soon as I crossed the finish line and kissed the nearest green clothed creature (thankfully, it wasn't goal-B man), I rushed in to find Dennis so he didn't get trigger happy, grab his car key so I could run to his car, find my phone, and text the boss that I ran like a big girl and was, indeed, still alive. And smiling. He was happy, I think. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #61636a;">Running <i>fast </i>gets to my core and rocks my world simultaneously from the inside out and the outside in. Calling it </span><em>therapy</em><span style="color: #61636a;"> doesn’t do it justice. It’s so much better. I don’t know about you, but when I feel the burn on umpteenth mile whatever, I’m thinking less about how much this sucker hurts and more about shredding my muscles to make me stronger. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For better and mostly worse, I am a competitive person, which gets particularly tricky when I'm also somewhat wishy washy. Competitive people aren’t known for being indecisive, but most of the time, I’m not sure of stuff. My mind is a crockpot full of question marks. You should see me in a new restaurant with a menu.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because I am so often indecisive, when I do know a thing I want for sure for sure for sure, I will fight the good (and okay, sometimes not so good) fight to achieve it. I want to be a nice girl, I really do. But I also want to kick ass. I suppose my indecision isn’t all that much of a mystery. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I love racing, even when I don’t think I do, even when it feels like such gut-sinking torture that I want to quit the sport altogether. I am scared of racing, scared of failing and losing the thing I want for sure for sure for sure (right now, it's the Leadville Silver Rush 50-miler in July - my for sure for sure for sure; it scares the shit out of me). And so because I’m compelled to do something scary, I believe in forcing myself to master areas that are scary and potentially fatal. You really can sum up my approach to life with: “I hate (suck, same thing) running long, vertical, hilly mountains. Thus, I will sign up for the Leadville 50-miler.” (the race has almost 9000' elevation gain, all starting at 10,000'). I’m convinced that racing and competition are intractable traits. They’re qualities that both intimidate me and drive me, almost without my permission. I pin on the bib, stand at the Start, start the run, and the drive takes over.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think 2013 will be a great year in running for me (can I hear y'all say, "FINALLY!!!!!!!!!!"?), one where my potential, power, and ability in sport matches the lightness of life. I'm in good hands, I'm loving my new training approach my new coach is giving me, and I feel the drive to succeed taking over. </span><span style="color: #61636a; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am so ready to start a renewed focus on speed work, volume, and the training that gives way to whatever I desire. </span><br />
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<u style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Next up:</u><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> the Platte River Half Marathon on April 7th. This will be my last race before I turn 50 (just a reminder: it's on the 19th for all those lavish running related gifts which need to be ordered and mailed to Colorado ahead of time .... ) - I kinda get choked up whenever I think about leaving my 40s. There were some good years sprinkled in there amongst the mostly bad ones (but that's a post for a later date); but what competitive freak isn't excited about entering a new, and MUCH easier-to-place age group? Um, that'd be me!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh, and one last speedy note: My son, Ryan, had his first track meet of the season Saturday. It was touch and go if he'd do it as he's been sporting what I was convinced was a stress fracture on the top of his foot. But race he did....</span></div>
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<span style="color: #61636a; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 15.390625px;">That was the best run mile race I have EVER watched (and I raced the mile in high school and college - I've witnessed a few 1-mile races in my lifetime!). I'm not sure if you've ever witnessed a group of 30 or so high school males all fighting for a win, but it is gut wrenching (for me :)) to watch. Ryan made his move and pulled out in front with about 700m to go and I thought for sure this was too soon and he'd be crawling the last quarter with those lead sprinkles I got in mile 4 of my race. But low and behold, he held on and won the whole enchilada - with a 5 second PR. He's never won a varsity race before today.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #61636a; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 15.390625px;"><br />My heart is singing!</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #61636a; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 15.390625px; text-align: justify;">I guess that pretty much sums it up, for now. Now, go kick some ass...</span></div>
Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com39tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-67152418333023670982013-03-05T06:21:00.000-07:002013-03-14T08:50:40.969-06:00Moab Red Hot 33k<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1414; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">I took the one less traveled by, </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1414; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">And that has made all the difference. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1414; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">--Robert Frost</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypWpjoP7apHqK8Axdf6O8qnnL1l_BMvOM-fpl8OAjdGp8QHJg9rSwGTcuj8jjzLT3OM2CuexltbLICSDPf8-lnbPlZuuFQti73katWtsX812qzL2D1tPfXqWZCtEn9n-saLYmX_vPAoI9/s1600/pic21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypWpjoP7apHqK8Axdf6O8qnnL1l_BMvOM-fpl8OAjdGp8QHJg9rSwGTcuj8jjzLT3OM2CuexltbLICSDPf8-lnbPlZuuFQti73katWtsX812qzL2D1tPfXqWZCtEn9n-saLYmX_vPAoI9/s400/pic21.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moab, Utah<br />
Source: Me</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, 'Trebuchet MS', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Without trying to turn this post into a mellow-dramatic emotionally-filled marshmallow of long rambling paragraphs, let me just sum the<b> <a href="http://grassrootsevents.net/home/moabs-red-hot-55k-33k/">Moab Red Hot 33</a>k</b> trail race as one of those little things you do in life where you just happen to come out a different person than when you started. Not always necessarily better or worse - just <b>different</b>; different perspective, a change of goals, a more fond awareness of just what you're doing just might actually be okay after all. In picturesque Moab, somewhere amongst all that red sand, red dirt, great vertical walls, and vast slick rock sandstone, I smiled. I was in love again - a love that has been buried under a heap of old pace times, slow MAF miles, lost endurance.... to name a few things. I've hated running for so long now and wondered if 'my time' was ever going to come back to me. Somewhere around mile 10, I can whole heartedly say it did, and I came home eager, and <b>excited, </b>about my running future.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinVYu-meQhbVKcnpPSSAnMA7Cm2IAL_ojEi1VQNJw5tGP8q2ZC2Ga-KlNcLESBdXe7DShhAfN1nNp167yGlG55qM9LvrY22V84JYfavfK5axEkqm16nbJegxAH-H3IRUUFsDDkm1Z1qmHv/s1600/photo3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinVYu-meQhbVKcnpPSSAnMA7Cm2IAL_ojEi1VQNJw5tGP8q2ZC2Ga-KlNcLESBdXe7DShhAfN1nNp167yGlG55qM9LvrY22V84JYfavfK5axEkqm16nbJegxAH-H3IRUUFsDDkm1Z1qmHv/s320/photo3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, 'Trebuchet MS', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, 'Trebuchet MS', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I stood on the start line of Moab a bit over two weeks ago. Nervous - yet excited. Definitely uncertain of what lied ahead of me (y'all know I'm not much of a trail runner and I wasn't exactly race fit for this thing), and a little bit... empty. Empty because four-ish days before the race the coach and I parted ways (parted ways? That's such a super lame expression...but I'm going with it because that's what happened and I'm way too lazy to actually put a lot of<b> thought</b> into this post to come up with something more eloquently written. Whatever); I'm not going to get into the nitty gritty of why - there is no real reason why other than we just didn't mesh. Though it was meant to be, it didn't mean it wasn't painful (queue the violins). So when the gun went off at Moab, my one prevailing thought was: use the race to let the past go - literally and figuratively - and to enjoy the amazing day ahead of me. And that was it.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">En route to the race bright and early</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, 'Trebuchet MS', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, 'Trebuchet MS', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I went to Utah with a couple women I work with, both of whom I don't really know that well - which always makes for an <b>interesting</b> trip. Kerry (blue jacket) is an incredibly gifted trail runner and tons of fun; she also ran the race. Kim (orange jacket) didn't race; she came as a cheerleader, race start/finish chauffeur, and shoulder lender a time or 90 for me. She's the warmest-hearted woman you'll ever, ever meet!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis5IpkXCfG44UW-_OgEaPstLRx6egqMl2WQTzFP7bv1tcuN6l2YEgigEQYY-sihWxAB5M9o2nCjlD_xVQ9HyrQk9swB30wUE-fg6DJbObFznjp8lCsySAwej99a5l-alLHcFXpBu6jVsAC/s1600/photo6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis5IpkXCfG44UW-_OgEaPstLRx6egqMl2WQTzFP7bv1tcuN6l2YEgigEQYY-sihWxAB5M9o2nCjlD_xVQ9HyrQk9swB30wUE-fg6DJbObFznjp8lCsySAwej99a5l-alLHcFXpBu6jVsAC/s320/photo6.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Are you drooling over the scenery yet? If not, you will!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, 'Trebuchet MS', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Somewhere along the course of Facebook connections through connections through connections, I met Doreen who was also running and we hooked up a couple times while there. Awesomely accomplished woman who I instantaneously formed a special friendship with.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, 'Trebuchet MS', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHLkua8ZOYGWu_hMwHmWX7epKmXC7ZkLia0BEmloH8MQP9-IyN7feoSWhjdeLvb84FV6YAxHYN957l-r6NKJrtaqZ4S2jddoiLpP-bSnnlcFxPXgv83MrYe9WrK-Dx7aJX2ItmpDHqpbdR/s1600/photo9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHLkua8ZOYGWu_hMwHmWX7epKmXC7ZkLia0BEmloH8MQP9-IyN7feoSWhjdeLvb84FV6YAxHYN957l-r6NKJrtaqZ4S2jddoiLpP-bSnnlcFxPXgv83MrYe9WrK-Dx7aJX2ItmpDHqpbdR/s320/photo9.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, 'Trebuchet MS', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span><span style="color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, Trebuchet MS, Lucida Sans Unicode, Lucida Grande, Lucida Sans, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">If you've never been to Moab, Utah, you truly must put it on your bucket list, if not to run, just to sit and admire its beauty. I'm not a well-traveled girl but in all the places I've ever encountered, Moab's scenery is incredibly unique; it's a magical place where you come to find peace. It is country filled with vast red rock sandstone, canyons carved from the Colorado River, and the La Sal Mountains, over 12,000', located to the SE as a backdrop. The area is filled with technical and slick rock sandstone and has become the mountain bike capital of the country. Within these demanding, yet drop-dead gorgeous trails, I stood on the start line of the Red Hot 33k about to enter a trail running world I knew so little about.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, Trebuchet MS, Lucida Sans Unicode, Lucida Grande, Lucida Sans, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, Trebuchet MS, Lucida Sans Unicode, Lucida Grande, Lucida Sans, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">There is a colossal difference between trail and road running. In the almost 19.5 miles I ran in Moab, I encountered so much diversity of terrain and scenery that my mind never had an opportunity to become mush, my vision was continuously rewarded, and every muscle constantly challenged. </span></span><span style="color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, 'Trebuchet MS', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"> I never had to think of strategy or my pace or where I was positioned - those things meant nothing here as I climbed sandstone outcrops, stood and wondered which way was the course, ran down gnarly broken rock, slugged through red sand up to my ankles - and then climbed (and climbed and climbed and climbed) to then do it all over again (and again and again). I sit here and look at my Garmin data and I honestly cannot remember much about the data it's displaying, the only visions I can muster up are those of the incredible people I encountered along the way, and how every single step brought a different path than I was on just mere moments ago. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2WymGJYMH2pa-cwPB2597S1pxelBUS4xNPybpmauW2oWgZQJZ8QQS-Rt2lFdnMZIV_g9Yykxcgem4IwcQJHVBoFpj3I_7Pxjj_H90XdYaRp5z2mENjHs-g6MYnphEGO2MDoJixiEnriN8/s1600/photo15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2WymGJYMH2pa-cwPB2597S1pxelBUS4xNPybpmauW2oWgZQJZ8QQS-Rt2lFdnMZIV_g9Yykxcgem4IwcQJHVBoFpj3I_7Pxjj_H90XdYaRp5z2mENjHs-g6MYnphEGO2MDoJixiEnriN8/s320/photo15.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">First mile of the race was straight uphill, and the only section we<br />encountered slippery ice.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Red dirt trail found after the first icy mile</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjqzGFWja5k3SrkrhfV941Fjd8TomfB-WfK63Bbt0k2AjoZaWruqRcu9dw55WEZcGdCXZRjq8NgRie6tyR29TNQkjXXysJZW-AGX_ec6uMgrlRUmez1k06dXL8kvuE3oCW-dKkswhtfQ7w/s1600/photo19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjqzGFWja5k3SrkrhfV941Fjd8TomfB-WfK63Bbt0k2AjoZaWruqRcu9dw55WEZcGdCXZRjq8NgRie6tyR29TNQkjXXysJZW-AGX_ec6uMgrlRUmez1k06dXL8kvuE3oCW-dKkswhtfQ7w/s320/photo19.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Red sandstone vertical cliffs became my backdrop early in the race</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8zwUAI5w0N5XTloDSnIWkaD674OOJr8OLGy_LH21jfPz1EMCmxXp41O6otYECg_R_XoCRlg1JQqH_R2_dHxY14vtnES0qFwMbjQO4AhYFrNDQ3rW1CFvkDpRE_EXnmHu3Aisb1xwKRBZw/s1600/photo20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8zwUAI5w0N5XTloDSnIWkaD674OOJr8OLGy_LH21jfPz1EMCmxXp41O6otYECg_R_XoCRlg1JQqH_R2_dHxY14vtnES0qFwMbjQO4AhYFrNDQ3rW1CFvkDpRE_EXnmHu3Aisb1xwKRBZw/s320/photo20.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">A posse of runners I hooked onto early on; they were having a<br />blast and I loved their company. Until I dropped them at mile<br />4 and left them in the dust! :)</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_2RZsLgV8a1BN0OELlK1xEfXI8S8qFAuKyail_2bXRhQmEa313bOuc2tiNS4-aC3N1c49iOdU52OaJx9S9x_FgD-uJUHyEVZRAg4M11C7fVjWHuIFs2UEFI_0M2kWyJeoAWs5o6e8GOUj/s1600/photo25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_2RZsLgV8a1BN0OELlK1xEfXI8S8qFAuKyail_2bXRhQmEa313bOuc2tiNS4-aC3N1c49iOdU52OaJx9S9x_FgD-uJUHyEVZRAg4M11C7fVjWHuIFs2UEFI_0M2kWyJeoAWs5o6e8GOUj/s320/photo25.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">People - way in the top center - to give a scale of this section's<br />enormous openness </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsvd0NpljnPSbZqFeLPCQILXc35jdNziWQm-cPqP8YokYB6WtmDz2q38GKsHPQkTKt8Uzt4RX8sv9hhLLZ0uJK22Jtpqawd7t7Cld3HhcpuJYDffx2XGV7itQq7bj0v16N0ZooR1ahFEk6/s1600/photo28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsvd0NpljnPSbZqFeLPCQILXc35jdNziWQm-cPqP8YokYB6WtmDz2q38GKsHPQkTKt8Uzt4RX8sv9hhLLZ0uJK22Jtpqawd7t7Cld3HhcpuJYDffx2XGV7itQq7bj0v16N0ZooR1ahFEk6/s320/photo28.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Climbing up vasts amounts of slickrock sandstone...</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFvvA7J_cGeJWeO1odLZKh9HPEE_KO4Nue3Kd9MjKHIlws8xIkQ3w7ppeXIme0G2BXDJek59aQMYBzQyAhcB1Aks7QJtlkHUKZWT4dZqdN1l5Hkxjvvti0-2fLU4iMr6rv5fPjTq2qjkY0/s1600/photo27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFvvA7J_cGeJWeO1odLZKh9HPEE_KO4Nue3Kd9MjKHIlws8xIkQ3w7ppeXIme0G2BXDJek59aQMYBzQyAhcB1Aks7QJtlkHUKZWT4dZqdN1l5Hkxjvvti0-2fLU4iMr6rv5fPjTq2qjkY0/s320/photo27.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">....to come upon views like this!!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiarVVkZAQ4FBgYzZ23lYNdG2NeGb4r3RuPioNhOzXs1t2S202WJDCi0Aje0srKe4EpzB-7xIljPbmMUe0N25GpW3QQF3Ein7JBsU0_thyphenhyphenrww4hdfV8LvpAfPR7CLF39phtL7tnJmklfw40/s1600/photo42.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiarVVkZAQ4FBgYzZ23lYNdG2NeGb4r3RuPioNhOzXs1t2S202WJDCi0Aje0srKe4EpzB-7xIljPbmMUe0N25GpW3QQF3Ein7JBsU0_thyphenhyphenrww4hdfV8LvpAfPR7CLF39phtL7tnJmklfw40/s320/photo42.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">And then back down....</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7g0atqfVy14UfX8o1UCeDxdtipttmlS-uodSJASrZNS5o1_vG-KX7gmRxX7hXpvCTMB8iGdl99HxiY2ETbU7bqW4XnoTodf6f2ZUYmo89Rf8CBJP0UaLf0PDEjllVCtpjdlwnD_9uPw6d/s1600/ribbon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7g0atqfVy14UfX8o1UCeDxdtipttmlS-uodSJASrZNS5o1_vG-KX7gmRxX7hXpvCTMB8iGdl99HxiY2ETbU7bqW4XnoTodf6f2ZUYmo89Rf8CBJP0UaLf0PDEjllVCtpjdlwnD_9uPw6d/s320/ribbon.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Follow the pink and black stripped ribbons....if you can find them.<br />I spent several times stopped dead in my tracks, wondering<br />where to go next. Which made it all the more - fun!</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyZ_wheRHLJMpHlQuUnUl0LUPfHBfJhVsrMolS6xbWFmPt8RALzJEpakdNosjdedGxY3yzeun0bAYWsw1R0Ad-guCBkDbY_Vo86rmvQbMo-0s3xek9ZO_hh1SDdmuOySoanZ3oIFqJOkeg/s1600/rock14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyZ_wheRHLJMpHlQuUnUl0LUPfHBfJhVsrMolS6xbWFmPt8RALzJEpakdNosjdedGxY3yzeun0bAYWsw1R0Ad-guCBkDbY_Vo86rmvQbMo-0s3xek9ZO_hh1SDdmuOySoanZ3oIFqJOkeg/s320/rock14.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSNupl9AQjntDe4J1tVMYLt_Wa0IxJ95_5VQd77edWT0uPWzvx_MWMDc9pZWvpj1NOr08Fw-3dvkLGT8Avrd-C-5HzoKHQvIu8uzja9szd3S5IGlo78JNu7hhpbCB5C4lD-WSXqCNtICJB/s1600/rock4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSNupl9AQjntDe4J1tVMYLt_Wa0IxJ95_5VQd77edWT0uPWzvx_MWMDc9pZWvpj1NOr08Fw-3dvkLGT8Avrd-C-5HzoKHQvIu8uzja9szd3S5IGlo78JNu7hhpbCB5C4lD-WSXqCNtICJB/s320/rock4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiElfKctYYo-LHj3VH1O0v6_L58Wj2cXtrCkfMX-2jMBv06yKC0WeiPFq6iMMmw5HDgdhLBxXWzJhiaHvM63LwDe5xRYJllssl6uiX4NuH9fsan_Ne9PwBpdVADTdpOPMLeSIml94kTMt7j/s1600/rock8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiElfKctYYo-LHj3VH1O0v6_L58Wj2cXtrCkfMX-2jMBv06yKC0WeiPFq6iMMmw5HDgdhLBxXWzJhiaHvM63LwDe5xRYJllssl6uiX4NuH9fsan_Ne9PwBpdVADTdpOPMLeSIml94kTMt7j/s320/rock8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaTIdMWXAs9L_sDbfgc9YfM8NqhRyIb2e3bNNbC5qa3iVDZjU_NdvvNCFfE6PXCMpFGZWPyGrrzFozZc_xfolyOz58v14Nk034xmmXXCsYFZOcTSExiF0xs5ys-M3mNV5zh3jRl4VXKjrH/s1600/rock3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaTIdMWXAs9L_sDbfgc9YfM8NqhRyIb2e3bNNbC5qa3iVDZjU_NdvvNCFfE6PXCMpFGZWPyGrrzFozZc_xfolyOz58v14Nk034xmmXXCsYFZOcTSExiF0xs5ys-M3mNV5zh3jRl4VXKjrH/s320/rock3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, Trebuchet MS, Lucida Sans Unicode, Lucida Grande, Lucida Sans, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, Trebuchet MS, Lucida Sans Unicode, Lucida Grande, Lucida Sans, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I have so many pictures and so many thoughts, I could spend hours upon hours posting them all. I hope the pictures bring a small glimpse into this incredibly amazing race. I was so absorbed in my surroundings and never thought much about the task at hand; I just did it. I ran hard when I could and walked up the sheer vertical walls when I couldn't. I latched on to various people throughout the course, so as not to get lost (and to have a little entertainment :)), and I dropped every single person at some point. I wasn't breaking any speed records, but I felt fantastic. When I came to the last aid station around mile 15, I set up my mind to run those last downhill miles as fast as my fatiguing body would allow me. I was starting to get choked up at how incredibly good I felt and I was passing people like it was my job; it was hard to corral my emotions but I had to finish this job.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, Trebuchet MS, Lucida Sans Unicode, Lucida Grande, Lucida Sans, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, Trebuchet MS, Lucida Sans Unicode, Lucida Grande, Lucida Sans, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">With about a mile to go (I actually didn't really know how much longer to go since I had run off-course many times and no idea where I was exactly), I saw Kerry just ahead of me so I kicked it in a bit to catch up to her. I knew something <i>wrong </i>had to be going on with Kerry since she's so much faster than me (or I was having some magical super human powers :)); poor girl was having some IT and hip issues and struggling a little but we grabbed a quick picture... </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3yxgq7G0Dfz8qokLSy_23gQlGD_4Jm8F2VQIhtiMW0f9hCHFxILf8GmieknGy5c0qrI-He9RsWaUtjano4yoPbjyQJIUkIX683Vli3uhbrUJHyjaEhKE6NyNN_wmQqeYBx1cq_7XEQWTj/s1600/photo44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3yxgq7G0Dfz8qokLSy_23gQlGD_4Jm8F2VQIhtiMW0f9hCHFxILf8GmieknGy5c0qrI-He9RsWaUtjano4yoPbjyQJIUkIX683Vli3uhbrUJHyjaEhKE6NyNN_wmQqeYBx1cq_7XEQWTj/s320/photo44.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, Trebuchet MS, Lucida Sans Unicode, Lucida Grande, Lucida Sans, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, Trebuchet MS, Lucida Sans Unicode, Lucida Grande, Lucida Sans, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">...and headed down the last stretch of rocky trail together, feeling stronger than ever, and chatting away about the race thus far.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, Trebuchet MS, Lucida Sans Unicode, Lucida Grande, Lucida Sans, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, Trebuchet MS, Lucida Sans Unicode, Lucida Grande, Lucida Sans, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">We crossed the finish line together and heard our friend Kim cheering from the side. 3:56 and some change (and 25/72 in the 40-99 age group....yes, this is an age group in trail racing), which FAR exceeded any expectations I may have even slightly thought about prior. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, Trebuchet MS, Lucida Sans Unicode, Lucida Grande, Lucida Sans, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, Trebuchet MS, Lucida Sans Unicode, Lucida Grande, Lucida Sans, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I was stunned, and kinda an emotional mess! Kerry went to kiss me on the cheek, and tears were literally streaming (I'm a dork!).</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2EBiFwoxl8z3MWALhwIoqfQEYeBBMeGvS17qOSBHx04OL5OxoV4Ag4IhlSAbLoo45AYNJgg12lSgr9zeGUoeJNH6v8UpS69zprQKhMJcWhacuST2tv7b0qf2iqtm5n6NVm9rvCja3vfbV/s1600/finish3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2EBiFwoxl8z3MWALhwIoqfQEYeBBMeGvS17qOSBHx04OL5OxoV4Ag4IhlSAbLoo45AYNJgg12lSgr9zeGUoeJNH6v8UpS69zprQKhMJcWhacuST2tv7b0qf2iqtm5n6NVm9rvCja3vfbV/s320/finish3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLBQyiPOXPrh17VlNuIPmM2U8cpYnbATfwo96In1YGk_fUwioAKfqR4PwxYTQLCjBsc8vvPDO9cP0phZRqz-P2LejNvWvBFi60ipDDGS2rv_1kbeJf1kj48GxLptLH_PSpu8bdc7IIpw5V/s1600/photo52.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLBQyiPOXPrh17VlNuIPmM2U8cpYnbATfwo96In1YGk_fUwioAKfqR4PwxYTQLCjBsc8vvPDO9cP0phZRqz-P2LejNvWvBFi60ipDDGS2rv_1kbeJf1kj48GxLptLH_PSpu8bdc7IIpw5V/s320/photo52.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">I am truly blessed!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, 'Trebuchet MS', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">There's nothing more motivating for success than success itself. The gains I have made with my running, albeit slow, are noticeable and reinforces my dedication to the sport I once loved so much ... and fell in love with again out there on Moab's trails. I have new-found confidence and I am where I need to be right now.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, 'Trebuchet MS', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">It feels so good!</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2QR3xZ9Mu4HDM2CyffLCfc7sbzmPgLwsT8JEaBKgqsx3JbRfxaSDDm6qvFtF1PtfC4hg9twaoTxr3z56HofyALNfWDiRaD5g0XJ-pWziHS6U0PkpjjZxm3uLAQ5ki7ClyfyyQxEnEZbHj/s1600/race+pic+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2QR3xZ9Mu4HDM2CyffLCfc7sbzmPgLwsT8JEaBKgqsx3JbRfxaSDDm6qvFtF1PtfC4hg9twaoTxr3z56HofyALNfWDiRaD5g0XJ-pWziHS6U0PkpjjZxm3uLAQ5ki7ClyfyyQxEnEZbHj/s320/race+pic+2.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Official Race pic, I'm guessing around mile 9. These two nice woman,<br /> whom I followed for about 5 miles,<br />I passed and never saw them again.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVzvJGHYVzWI_1jXjIT4Le9dfhXeHT-Ea2ymuNRSlHvSM6qLxOB3tGwAn9V8P-_lypLC0hcBl1p2qsb6h7cYlFcnrfEV4PjPsyWQ4Csz009giajZd55xkvkn5VQC0urQjAmV4h9qZPP8il/s1600/me2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVzvJGHYVzWI_1jXjIT4Le9dfhXeHT-Ea2ymuNRSlHvSM6qLxOB3tGwAn9V8P-_lypLC0hcBl1p2qsb6h7cYlFcnrfEV4PjPsyWQ4Csz009giajZd55xkvkn5VQC0urQjAmV4h9qZPP8il/s320/me2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Smiling on the slickrock</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">It may not look it, but we climbed almost 3000'.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, 'Trebuchet MS', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, 'Trebuchet MS', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">You can now put those violins back and don't worry about me and my once fragile emotions over the coach situation (I appreciate the songs while the lasted though); I am fine. I have no regrets over what happened, I feel fantastic, I've lost all the excess weight I put on in my woe-is-me foot fiasco, and I have a brand new sparkly ultra coach and I can already tell we'll work together well. As far as running goes, life is chugging along quite nicely, and you can't argue with that!</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1414; font-family: Calibri, Tahoma, 'Trebuchet MS', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span>
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</span>Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com54tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8925925396644006805.post-23357950360710522442013-02-12T16:37:00.002-07:002013-02-18T09:28:02.071-07:00And on the 8th Day, God Created LOTS of Hills<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I don't think God was really done on the 7th day and rested as they say in good ole book. No, he had something else brewing in his head to prep me for my upcoming race this weekend: <b>HILLS!!</b> He made hills on the 8th day - and lots and lots of them.</div>
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In a mere 4 days, I'll be running this....</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moab Red Hot course</td></tr>
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I know, life is rough over here in Western U.S. and the scenery is pretty crappy, but you may not be drooling so much when you hear that the race climbs over 3300' over the course of the 33k race. Not huge by most standard ultra races here in the West, but considering my current fitness level is still in the slow build-up process, this is actually going to be a pretty tough challenge - scenery be dammed! Yeah, poor, poor me...I know you're really feeling my pain. </div>
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So lots of vertical miles on my plan recently to get me ready for Moab. "Lots" is relative, of course, but considering my training up to a few weeks ago involved a grand total of 100' in any given week (which is actually really hard to do living in mountain-esque Colorado), suddenly seeing 'vertical long', "2x(45"/1:00"/1:30) at sub-7:00", and "6x3:00 fast at 6-7% grade", just to name a few of many, is ... well.... a little exciting - and <b>hard!</b></div>
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But I love seeing 'hard', considering I've been plodding along for a few months in my slow MAF HR zone of 135-145. Anything, pleeeeeease, just to get out of those super slow miles and change up the scenery. Literally! But since 'vertical' and 'long' miles require a bit of strategic planning on my part, since living Suburbia USA doesn't equate to long, rocky, dirt-infested hill climbs, I bestowed the help of Beth from <a href="http://www.shutupandrun.net/">SUAR</a> a few weeks ago and headed to a trail near her neck of the woods in Boulder, <a href="http://www.protrails.com/trails/view/80/boulder_denver_golden_fort_collins_lyons/walker_ranch_loop">Walker Ranch</a>. (super old news for all you who read her blog regularly...I think she posted about <a href="http://www.shutupandrun.net/search?updated-max=2013-01-27T18:05:00-08:00&max-results=1&start=8&by-date=false">this run</a> about 3 weeks or more ago, immediately after we ran it...but you know me and how long it takes me to get up a post :)). It was a 2-hour commute (thank you rush-hour traffic) each way so the entire day was spent for this one run. But oh what a run!</div>
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Considering this was my 2nd vertical run in my quest to not die in Moab, did we pick a dozie of a 'hill'.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuvpCOrSQCBibh9LgdfRwhnuLIMTUsjwDOZdG2BWEzIL8wk_cCC0eiUBbKY67fTvyhSOMMy8kcaSPS4eqJaRTCGxKu_gxEkRcdam9USa5H3d7_tpkLR7Ukg4XVrPUJHCutRATo-V-MmFGb/s1600/elevation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuvpCOrSQCBibh9LgdfRwhnuLIMTUsjwDOZdG2BWEzIL8wk_cCC0eiUBbKY67fTvyhSOMMy8kcaSPS4eqJaRTCGxKu_gxEkRcdam9USa5H3d7_tpkLR7Ukg4XVrPUJHCutRATo-V-MmFGb/s400/elevation.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I broke no speed records doing 1 1/2 loops of this 'baptism by fire' trail, where I climbed about 2850' that day, and demonstrated that my climbing muscles have some serious work to do. Mountain goat Beth had to wait for me often, and her 7.55 mile loop run turned into probably 20 miles circling back for me, but running about 900' vertical feet before Beth got there made my muscle memory get a glimpse of what they used to be able to do and gave me hope that some day they might just be able to do it again. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5eA1_NyZOWI52cB_JQT-8IS3Q7QWh2UZxHv7p0iwGUDMTUlvlSdCHCJGrxOs1ig-i6Na7yl5VRIWU8-lo_PuJcyeSIl15QeOZL8at6yfDvtQBqJerfxznGri6rszEAsmNLOLZB4_vKKr7/s1600/photo1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5eA1_NyZOWI52cB_JQT-8IS3Q7QWh2UZxHv7p0iwGUDMTUlvlSdCHCJGrxOs1ig-i6Na7yl5VRIWU8-lo_PuJcyeSIl15QeOZL8at6yfDvtQBqJerfxznGri6rszEAsmNLOLZB4_vKKr7/s320/photo1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDDOiyFJPsE5PB-Zj-bWCX7uB0B5E4WOYeraBm6RCi9lAgM1jGo8XeZaiNm5tPatpRPowaAVxLDho2wTjZlmPDqq0rPa2KH_jxy6ihyphenhyphenuD3ATdZDBxWkgDM8Pldgy9p_KRNYnyaW8QPLIO/s1600/photo2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDDOiyFJPsE5PB-Zj-bWCX7uB0B5E4WOYeraBm6RCi9lAgM1jGo8XeZaiNm5tPatpRPowaAVxLDho2wTjZlmPDqq0rPa2KH_jxy6ihyphenhyphenuD3ATdZDBxWkgDM8Pldgy9p_KRNYnyaW8QPLIO/s320/photo2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When they have to put in stairs because it's so steep, you know it's going to be painful</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beth only ran the flat sections, that's why she was so much faster than me ! :)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boulder Creek. It freezes in January (imagine) but still so pretty!</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPfzzhdd6bM7NcA4asju0Lp_E1NWQuyqmAjMsiS76GGXzAaRGhpZzz-yQGS6cUTvfiUOvyi5R9K15GOCT-qfm-kqy3vea0t2S0y6dcM5coXHExkfefcepwhb0FYn8QX_IELOqPGQEdPqt0/s1600/photo6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPfzzhdd6bM7NcA4asju0Lp_E1NWQuyqmAjMsiS76GGXzAaRGhpZzz-yQGS6cUTvfiUOvyi5R9K15GOCT-qfm-kqy3vea0t2S0y6dcM5coXHExkfefcepwhb0FYn8QX_IELOqPGQEdPqt0/s320/photo6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD1pAKbg1INPID4f2wdEW4kgpGVRFa9qdq7YRV-7J8oPkOzJUpA5fJx6XdvU8mobY_FnpzcZiaPeyttU4IvPkSsovdRzBuyKZ6rsyd5G_2Fc7NZkLYpuZPumWaTpwYEcc8EOIYSMT8prOf/s1600/photo17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD1pAKbg1INPID4f2wdEW4kgpGVRFa9qdq7YRV-7J8oPkOzJUpA5fJx6XdvU8mobY_FnpzcZiaPeyttU4IvPkSsovdRzBuyKZ6rsyd5G_2Fc7NZkLYpuZPumWaTpwYEcc8EOIYSMT8prOf/s320/photo17.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNS_N3XRytgD741tNWx4osPrkfHxBAEhW2aOlyntFvnZnUGsMs0AGxxJs-kYL-ysAzujEQKQEgZNGyCDa1a_Mv-wiMAdw_8uCLYLEypNsj34T5kIMUk_vp5B0XFQAEexi5Yeir5VUkpjPt/s1600/photo13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNS_N3XRytgD741tNWx4osPrkfHxBAEhW2aOlyntFvnZnUGsMs0AGxxJs-kYL-ysAzujEQKQEgZNGyCDa1a_Mv-wiMAdw_8uCLYLEypNsj34T5kIMUk_vp5B0XFQAEexi5Yeir5VUkpjPt/s320/photo13.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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It was tons of fun to share the trails <strike>behind</strike> with Beth and I hope to get up there soon again. Maybe Beth will only have to do 18 miles next time :).<br />
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Last week, I had one last long vertical run before Moab but the germ-infested petri dish I work in got the better of me and decided I needed to battle a stomach virus instead of my long run. Bummed, for sure, especially after spending the entire weekend on my bathroom floor hugging the commode instead of 3 key workout days I needed to do, but I did get in a little medium length run on some snowy trails before the stomach decided at mile 14 that was enough.<br />
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So that's a wrap as far as training for Moab goes. I'm not going into the race in tip top fitness, that's for sure, but I have made some ground tackling some hills and I hope it's enough to get me up them in Moab feeling good. A lot sort of rides on how I finish in Moab in terms of what comes next; I have no real race plans for the rest of the year (with the exception of the Boise Half IM) so we'll see what this weekend's hilly race produces and where my next adventure takes me. Regardless, I'm sure there'll be plenty of hills involved - I actually can't wait.<br />
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Run strong!Jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10174883718651790845noreply@blogger.com39