Marathon # I Don't Know Exactly, State # I'm Not Sure Anymore

I never thought that I would lose track of how many marathons I've run or how many states I've done, but, surprise! That happened. I THINK this is my 25th marathon and my 18th state but I will have to go home and count bibs on the refrigerator or else get a big US map and check off states to know for sure.

I always knew my Ohio marathon would be Flying Pig, just because it's the biggest and most famous and Ohio is not a state I ever get excited about for any reason, so I figured I would need to do a fun marathon just to make Ohio enjoyable at all. In my head all of Ohio is flyover country and boring. If I hadn't moved to Michigan I'm sure this would have been one of my last states. But because I DID move to Michigan, I signed up for it. It happens to be on my birthday this year. I'm 37 and I take great pleasure in the fact that not only am I running a marathon on my birthday, but also I look better than I did at 17 AND at 27! Take that, aging process!

I was surprised to find that Cincinnati is actually a really pretty city, with the river and the hills and the bridges and the trees and the cool downtown buildings. I did notice as I was driving to the hotel that there were an awful lot of hills. The course was described as hilly too, although I had looked at the elevation profile and only saw one that looked sort of bad, and even that one was only a 400' climb spread out over a few miles. So not bad at all. I wasn't expecting great things from this marathon. I'm both seriously undertrained and fat. I mean, I ran a 20-something back in mid-February and then everything got all messed up because of the move and the cold. Literally I ran one 16-miler in early April (and fell apart on the last 2 miles of that) and then did the 16 miles of Kamran's trail ultra a couple weeks ago -- but that was not really much running. Other than that I've done a couple of 10-to-12 milers and that's it! I just barely decided I was going to lose weight and requalify for Boston a couple weeks ago, but I haven't done that yet and am 20 lbs over my Boston-qualifying weight. So I was not expecting anything great and didn't really even want to try. I planned to walk whenever I wanted and be without a time goal other than that I really should be under 5 hours.

I must say this marathon was one of my favorites. They've had the same race director for eleven years and there was not a single thing about the race that didn't go smoothly. The weather on race morning was warm. I had debated over whether to wear my Boston Marathon shirt or my Marathon Maniacs shirt. I decided last night it would be the Maniacs shirt because it was sleeveless, but then when I tried it on last night I saw that I was too fat to wear it. A roll of stomach fat was hanging out under the bottom of the shirt. Can't have that! Boston shirt it would be, even though I thought it was really too warm for that. I figured I could always roll the sleeves up.

At the start line, we could go into Paul Brown Stadium and use the bathrooms there. There was enough room in the stadium to run your warm-up there, if you wanted to. I imagine that is much appreciated in rainy years. I was warm at the start, always a bad sign. But there was a beautiful pink and orange sunrise straight ahead. The start line was right downtown next to the river. Everything was very well-organized and went off without a hitch. The streets on the course were wide and for the number of people running (20,000 between the half and the full, which started together) there was hardly any of the run-a-few-steps-then-screech-to-a-halt-because-of-congestion that there usually is at big marathon start lines. The first few miles went through and around downtown. We ran over one bridge into Kentucky, and then over a different bridge back into Ohio. I was grumpy and did not want to be running. I don't know why. I was just thinking of all the things I would rather be doing, like lying in the hotel taking a nap, or reading my book or spectating on the sidelines with Frieda. My feet hurt for no reason, my leg hurt for the stupid reason that I had tripped going up the stairs to the bathrooms at the start line and given some muscle a little pull, my U of A visor was bugging me because it was too low over my eyes but if I tightened it so it would stay up then it would be too tight and uncomfortable on my head. Et cetera. I wanted to quit, pretty bad, for no real reason. I scolded myself and reminded myself of Tom in Zane Grey, Kamran in the 100-miler, all the WOGgers in Boston, Keith who just won a marathon yesterday, none of them quitters. I bitched and moaned in my head for the whole first 5 miles and then we hit "the hill" and suddenly, inexplicably, I felt better. I ran all the way up the hill feeling fine. About 2/3 of the way up we went into Eden Park, which had such stunning views of the city and river that I wanted to stop and stare. But I didn't, I just kept running.

Okay, so this race does have some up hills but it has a lot of downhill too. So much that by the half-marathon I was wishing it would flatten out or even climb again. My quads were sore and both my ankles and my Achilles hurt. I love Newtons but I do feel like they don't really have much stability, especially around the ankles. Any suggestions for shoes with the same heel-toe drop as Newtons but more stability would be much appreciated!

My half-marathon time was 1:55, which would be a 3:50 finish if I kept it up. I had no plans of keeping it up, just wanted to keep running until I couldn't run anymore so that I could get done as soon as possible and get to the eating part. My brother had mentioned something about a grilled cheese donut and I wanted that, bad, whatever it was. It was sprinkling rain and had actually gotten cooler since the start. The forecast had been for 30% chance of rain the last time I looked at it; well, someone got that wrong because it rained for the rest of the race. I didn't mind that -- much -- because it wasn't, at that point, a miserable downpour, just a light rain that made me glad I wore my long sleeves after all.

Miles 16-18 is where I usually fall apart but today I was strong through those miles. I got to twenty miles at 2:57 and knew I had it in me to go under 4 hours, if I wanted to. I still didn't care. But I did think I should keep running unless an obvious reason to walk presented itself. My feet hurt but not terribly, and I wasn't nauseous like I usually am. Also, the course was a gentle downhill practically all the way to the finish. I just kept running.

When I got to Mile 24 it was obvious I would be right around 4 hours exactly. I was running long according to my Garmin -- .33 miles ahead of the race mile markers, which meant I would run 26.5 miles, not 26.2. I was annoyed with myself because I had run fast enough to make 4 hours attainable (I had been planning on a 4:20, 4:30-ish finish or maybe even more, but there's no dignity in a 4:02 finish.) Plus, the 4:00 pace group had appeared out of nowhere and were right on my heels. I could not bear to be passed by the pace group at Mile 25, so I had to speed up.

I could see the finish line right in front of me and I saw 3:58 on my Garmin, so I had to speed up racing down the chute to the finish. I stopped my watch on 3:59 and hope it matches my chip time; who knows when I actually pushed "Start". The rain had turned into a downpour by the time I walked through the Recovery Zone, picking up huge handfuls of fruit and crackers and bars and water and everything else I could carry. I was soaked by the time I got to the car. I felt bad for all those people still out on the course. Even now, many hours later, it is STILL pouring outside. Hasn't let up at all. I will not be going outside if I can help it!

Overall I am really pleased with my time. It used to be a big deal to be under 4 hours, and my average marathon time is still 4:10, so to do 4 hours when I haven't really been training is pretty cool. Happy birthday to me! This was a great marathon and for anyone looking for a nice course and the "big marathon" feel without the big marathon logistics complications, I totally recommend it. Plus, it has a really cool medal:

100 Miles NEVER

That's my conclusion, after spectating at Kamran's first-ever 100-mile race and pacing him through a middle-of-the-night lap (actually beginning-, middle-, and end-of-the-night lap, as it turns out, if I'm being technical). It's not the distance or the pain or the cold or the nausea or anything else that makes me say never, it's the realization that you have to STAY UP ALL NIGHT to complete one of these, and staying up all night is not something that I like to do, not ever. Even when I was younger I did not really like staying up all night. I just did it because that was what you did when you were young. But I've always felt more myself waking up at 5 a.m. ready to get a jump on the day. Staying up all night now makes me so tired it takes a week to recover from it.

But enough about that! I was really looking forward to this event. It's called the Indiana Trail 100, and takes place in Chain O'Lakes State Park, outside the adorable small town of Albion, Indiana, about three and a half hours from my house. The course was six laps of a 16-mile loop. The park was beautiful. Inside it there are nine little lakes, created by glaciers, and strung together by little waterways. The trail, though advertised as rolling, would be considered flat by any Tucson trail runner. It had just enough small rises and falls to keep your legs from getting bored on a true flat. Under better conditions, I believe it would have been an ideal first 100-miler, just because of the scenery, the cushy trail surface, the lack of any significant climbs, the nice spacing between aid stations, and the number of runners (180 in the 100-miler, enough so that you could always see a headlamp somewhere after dark). Unfortunately the whole Midwest had just been dumped on with rain for a couple days, 2-4", and much of the trail was flooded out. The race was going on as planned and people would just have to get their feet wet. Oh well -- it's a trail race, right? What are you going to do?

On race morning I drove from Michigan to Indiana. The race started at 6 a.m. and I had told Kamran that I would try to be there at 10:00 in hopes of catching him at the start/finish line aid station. Four hours looked like about the right length of time to finish a 16-mile lap, although of course that was just a guess. There was snow on my car and it was icy cold outside, in sharp contrast to Thursday which had been 80 degrees, and when I stopped to get gas about 40 miles from the race, the icy wind ripped through my clothes like they were made of Kleenex and there was a dusting of snow on all the fields and farm buildings. I shivered thinking of the runners starting in this cold, and hoped it would get warmer but was not hopeful. The predicted high temp seemed to drop every time I checked the weather, from 55 to 50 to 47 to 42 and at that point I decided to stop checking because, really, what was the point? Clearly it was going to be cold and miserable.

The park is out in the middle of farm country. It was beautiful. Once I arrived there, I drove around aimlessly for a while. I stumbled upon an aid station but by the time I found the start/finish aid station, Kamran had already been through, finishing up his first lap, and I had missed him. The start/finish line is on Sand Lake, one of the bigger of the nine lakes. There was a freezing wind blowing off the lake, so I did not want to hang around there any longer than I had to. Instead I drove around the park until I found the Schoolhouse aid station, named for a one-room schoolhouse originally actually used for school teaching but now used for housing exhibits on the park's history. I walked Frieda around and let her play with sticks, her new favorite toy. (And mine. They are free and numerous, and it's easy to stick one in her mouth if she looks like she might bite someone. Can't bite with a stick in your mouth.) It was more comfortable here because the trees provided a nice wind break, but it was still cold. I could see into the woods where the trail emerged onto the road that the runners had to leave the planned trail and push through bushes because the planned trail (I could still see the flags) had turned into a mini-lake itself. I did see one girl, the eventual winner of the 50-mile race, run right through the mini-lake and the water was, I kid you not, nearly up to her hips. Now that was a Trail Runner magazine cover photo if I ever saw one.

I somehow missed Kamran here too (the runner tracker online was not working properly, just as it has not at any race ever in my experience where anyone was depending on it) so I finally headed back to the start/finish and decided I would just park myself there and not move until he came through to start his third lap. It was freezing and windy but I had no choice but to bundle up and sit outside, because otherwise I was afraid I would miss him again and we really did need to communicate about what our plan was for the pacer lap.

Finally he showed up an hour later than I thought he would be. He did not look pleased. He told me how crappy the course was and mentioned that he thought he might drop after the third lap. I never know what to say in these situations. Do you insist that the person keep going, thereby making them feel bad if they really need to drop? Or do you tell them it's okay if they drop and then risk having them hate themselves for dropping when they could have kept going? I never know. I try to strike a balance between the two. Our consensus was that he would definitely do the third lap, which would bring him to 50 miles, and then reevaluate whether he felt like continuing or not. Personally, at that point I thought he would drop. I was not entirely upset at this thought, envisioning a nice dinner and me NOT having to go out and run through mud in the middle of the night, but I tried to conceal that from him.

At the end of the third lap, which he finished so fast I almost missed him, he said he had got his second wind and was going to keep going. He looked pretty good at this point. We decided I would go back to the hotel for a nap while he ran the fourth lap alone, and then I would meet him for the fifth lap.

The hotel was almost forty minutes away, so by the time I got there, ate something, and showered I only had time for an hour nap. I woke up afterwards wanting to cry at the thought of driving back there and going out in those conditions. I held on to my secret hope that he would drop and I could just go back to bed.

I got back to the race at 11:00. If he had finished at 11:00 that would have been a 4-hour lap. It was dark and freezing, of course. I waited outside the aid tent and every time a head lamp came bobbling up the dark hill I looked at the number to see if it was Kamran. DNF's were piling up on the board; every time I looked there were a couple more of them. Already more than 70 DNF's out of 180-something registered for the 100-mile race. The winner of the race, a local girl, came in around 11:30. She came into the tent, had some chicken noodle soup, had her picture taken with the plaque she won, and then left. Right after that Kamran showed up. He was tired but didn't look too bad, and was definite that he was going to continue. He changed from wet socks and shoes into dry ones and then we headed out. Since I knew I was doing it now, I was excited again and looked forward to seeing the course.

The first leg wasn't too bad. Mostly downhill, some patches of mud and water but nothing horrible. There was enough moon that we could turn our head lamps off and run by moonlight. I was warm after a couple miles and even splashed through puddles that I probably could have gone around. I was surprised Kamran was doing as much running as he was after that many miles. (These were miles 68-83 for him.) He didn't look like he'd been running for 18 hours already. We chatted and the first four miles zipped by.

We didn't linger in the first aid station. The trail left the woods and went into a beautiful farm field. No trees and it felt like you could reach out and touch the stars. Then it went back into the woods and we started hitting the major mud obstacles. The mud filled the whole trail and you could not avoid it unless you wanted to walk through the brambles on either side of it. These feel just like catclaw and I would rather suffer in mud than be ripped to shreds by the Indiana version of catclaw. The mud was icy and had plenty of standing water in it. It sucked at my shoes with every step I took, like quick sand. Suddenly it wasn't fun anymore. My feet slowly turned to ice as we went on and I could not feel them at all. I felt something rubbing against my leg and thought maybe I had brambles sticking to me, but when I reached down I found that, no, it was not brambles, just my track pants which had frozen solid in the shape of bell bottoms. (I was planning to wear just tights but threw the track pants on over them at the last minute because of the cold.) My shoes and socks were also frozen. Literally frozen, like with ice. I couldn't feel my feet or toes at all. Kamran couldn't either and did not seem overly concerned, so I decided to stop worrying and keep going. Our water in our packs also froze and so did the valves on the tubes. Oh well, who needs water anyway?

This was a long stretch. As we jogged into the aid station, I could feel something in my shoe that was getting bigger and more uncomfortable with every step. I had no idea what it was. Maybe I had broken a toe and not felt it because of the cold and now it was swelling up? At the aid station I sat down in front of the fire. After five minutes of struggling with my laces, which were frozen, I got the shoe off and found a ball of ice in there. Glad my toe was okay. But I could not for the life of me get my shoe tied again. I held it over the fire and the lace remained encrusted with ice. I could see that Kamran was getting ready to leave so finally I just stuffed the lace into the shoe.

After this aid station there were sections of runnable trail but many more sections of freezing mud. The water was deeper over here. At two points they had rope strung across the water because it was so high and/or the mud bank was dangerously steep. We got through those places and then slogged through the most miserable miles of the night. Kamran stopped talking and I knew he was in yucky ultra-runner space. I've been there and it sucks. I knew there was nothing I could say -- if I forced light-heartedness, he would be annoyed with me for being falsely cheery; if I complained or said anything negative, he would feel worse. So I said nothing at all and just kept walking. The trail went on and on. We both felt like we had been walking forever and the trail would never end and we should be at the aid station by now and blah blah blah. Finally it appeared.

At the aid station an EMS guy asked Kamran how he felt as Kamran flopped into a chair and he responded, "Bad" and offered no further information. The EMS guy asked him if he was feeling unusually bad and Kamran did not answer. The EMS guy prompted him: "Nausea? Dizziness?" and Kamran agreed, both. He had a cup of soda and then got up and walked back towards the trail. I went with him. The EMS guy shrugged and let us go. "I do not think I'll make it," Kamran said, but I didn't respond to that because I figured he was just saying it because he felt bad and it might go away soon if I ignored it.

Back on the trail Kamran said his biggest problem was that he was dizzy. We decided he would take a short nap at the start/finish aid station, which was only three miles away. Suddenly he felt better and five minutes later we were discussing religion and I knew he was going to be okay. We did have one scary moment when we couldn't see where the trail went and he became convinced we had lost it. I almost believed him although I knew we had been following flags and there was no way we were lost. To make it worse, another runner had lost the trail and was blundering around in the woods to our right, calling to us for help in finding the trail. Once he got back on trail, he found the real trail -- through a small lake of standing water, naturally -- and soon we were dragging into the start/finish aid station.

Kamran took his nap while I held his shoes in front of the space heater to dry as much as possible. When ten minutes passed I woke him up and got him out the door. He looked a little better. It was about 6 a.m. which gave him six hours to finish the final lap. I knew he would do it. I went back to the hotel for a shower and another nap. I rinsed my socks and pants in the sink -- shoes went straight in the trash; they were old -- and could not get the water to stop running brown. It looked like I had dunked everything in coffee and squeezed it out. I finally decided to deal with it at home.

I made it back in time to see Kamran finish, looking pretty good, smiling and even jogging. I cannot tell you how proud I was to see him finish! So many people dropped and he did not, despite being exhausted and freezing and wet and muddy all night. (The race director was at the finish line and he said they were only expecting about 30% of the registered 100-mile participants to finish, a DNF rate higher than anything I had ever heard of before.) Standing at the finish line, exhausted and excited and proud, I naturally thought of Boston and the finish line there and how messed up it was to have something so horrible happen at such a wonderful place. But even thinking about that could not ruin the joy of the finish line or the feeling of excitement when he showed up almost an hour earlier than I had been expecting him. I love finish lines and always will! Crazy people, you can't stop me or any other runners I know...

So that was that. I am glad I did the pacer thing in an ultra but have no desire, ever, to do a 100 of my own. Not unless I get so fast I can complete it without staying up all night. Ha.

The Uninspired Triathlete In Michigan

Yup, I live in Michigan now, and between packing up my whole house, driving across the country, moving into the new house, and starting the new job, my workout schedule AND my diet have gone to hell. Luckily my scale broke in the move so I have not been able to see how much damage this month has caused, but I know it's significant. Fortunately it is still so cold here that layers of clothes make everyone look fat, so it's hard to tell who really is. But it has been over 50 degrees two days in a row and soon the truth will come out.

I actually like Michigan. Even the weather. I know this will shock people who have been listening to me bitch and moan on the 12 days a year Tucson isn't sunny and when the high temperature drops below 80, but it's true. The cold, the dark clouds, the snow, the wind all make me feel like I'm living on another planet. If Arizona has an opposite, it's Michigan. The weather changes all the time and without warning. Right now, since it's almost April and the end is in sight and I have only been here a few weeks, I enjoy it. Ask me again next February if I'm still enjoying it; the answer might be different.

As far as running and riding (forget swimming -- I no longer even make a pretense of being interested in that), there are lots of good things and one major bad one. The major bad thing is that road riding does not appear to be nearly as popular or as safe as it is in Arizona. I live about 20 minutes north of Detroit, and my work is a 20-minute drive north of where I live. Between my house and my work, there is no major thoroughfare with a bike lane or even a shoulder (except for small, isolated stretches). There are smaller roads but none of them go through. The road surfaces themselves are horrendous. Tucson roads, even roads like Euclid near the U, are far superior to roads in my area. Even driving on the roads is uncomfortable. This morning I was drinking coffee while driving on I-75 and went over a bad section and spilled hot coffee all over myself. I would expect that, say, on a dirt jeep road or something, but not on a major interstate. I have not seen one single cyclist on the road since I've gotten here. (I've seen a few on the sidewalks but usually riding the wrong way and with lots of plastic shopping bags hanging from the bars.) The traffic is high-speed and high-volume and I am afraid that, because they're not used to seeing bikes, they're not going to be as aware of them as drivers in Tucson are. I have mostly resigned myself to the idea of not ever bike-commuting. That's not all bad because I can bring Frieda with me to work, and I wouldn't be able to if I biked. I'm sure there's somewhere in lower Michigan with bike lanes, so I may just have to... gasp... DRIVE my bike somewhere in order to ride it. I can probably kiss my 4026 bike mileage goal goodbye, though.

The running is much better. My first "long" run here was 14 miles, in my part of town. This might have been the flattest run I ever did. The elevation was at all times between 635' and 650'; there were no hills anywhere in the route. Not even an incline. I like the running in Rochester, where I work, better. There may not be mountains in Michigan, but there are definitely hills. Leader Dogs is at the top of a big hill that I always run down at the beginning of my run and up at the end. (I usually have a tail wind coming back, so I don't mind the hill much.) There are a lot of trail systems in northern Oakland County, where Rochester is. So far I have been on the Paint Creek Trail and the Clinton River Trail. Both were crushed asphalt surfaces. My feet feel like they have died and gone to heaven. I cannot think of a nicer running surface than crushed asphalt! (Except maybe pine needles.) The roads may suck but they know how to make trails out here!

The change of scenery is also invigorating, although also slightly disorienting. (When there are no mountains and there is no sun, and trees surround you, how the hell do you know which way is west?) I have been taking Frieda with me on my post-work runs, and she saw running water in nature for the first time in her life. It was the funniest thing -- she actually froze in her tracks when she saw it and even hackled up! That's my suspicious shepherd for you. Then when I dragged her down to show it to her and she sniffed it and decided it was harmless, she got giddy with excitement and starting spinning in circles. When it gets warmer I'm going to take her to a lake and teach her to swim -- I can't wait! Anyway, that is one more thing I like about running out here. It is best for me by far to run immediately after work. If I go home, I have lost all motivation by the time I get to my house, and if it is cold, or wet, or anything else, I just won't go out at all. But when I go to collect Frieda from her kennel at Leader, and she comes out all full of energy and dying to run, it is not that hard to get excited about it myself. Frieda is a great running companion. She knows the rules of running with me now and never breaks them.

This morning I went on my "long run" of 16 miles with a group leaving from the Hanson's running store in Lake Orion, a little town about 10 miles north and west of Rochester. I had looked at that town when I was here on my interview, but decided it was too far from the city to live there. I may have now changed my mind. If it can support both a running store and a bike store, it's good enough for me! And apparently all the worthy outdoor recreation is north and west -- NOT by Detroit. The run I did this morning was 2 laps of a 7-ish mile loop. Scenery was trees, farms, frozen ponds, rolling hills, and some lakes. Running surface was (mostly hard-packed) dirt road. The people from Hanson's had marked the course and had four water stops out there, which was awesome. There is also a local running club in Rochester. They run on Thursday nights and I am definitely going next Thursday. I went on my first hash run ever last weekend in Ann Arbor. The people were fun and I am glad I finally got to experience one of those runs, which I've heard about my whole running life, but I don't think I'll do another one. Only because the beer:running ratio is a little too close to 50:50 (or maybe even over, in favor of beer).

So that's the current state of training out here. In April I'm meeting Kamran from Tucson in Indiana to be his crew for an ultra, and on my birthday I'm running the Flying Pig Marathon in Cincinnati. Still trying to decide on which other marathons to do this year: Indianapolis, Detroit, Ann Arbor, Steamtown, Philadelphia are all possibilities. I would like to try to keep up with this blog more but since I am also keeping a thorough daily training journal at Leader, I doubt I'll do more than one blog post a week max. We'll see.

A Breakup That Worked!

Me and Tim -- now that was a good breakup. No yelling, no terrible things said, just a mutual parting of the ways. Now it's a year later and when I got the idea to do a Bear Canyon Loop to ring in 2013, I knew Tim would think that was a good idea, and he did!

It snowed in the Catalinas yesterday and I could see it from my house and in pictures on Facebook and for some reason, I wanted to go up there. Originally I had planned to do the traditional WOG Saguaro East run. Then Tom mentioned a Sunday-morning BCL and I started thinking that sounded good. Then out of nowhere came the idea for a midnight BCL. Why, I don't know. Because I have had only lame New Year's Eves, like, every single year since I moved to Tucson? Because it was a little bit crazy and seemed like it might be epic? Or (most probably) because it would get my obligatory January 1, Back-to-Working-Out-After-Almost-Two-Weeks-Of-Sloth run out of the way and allow me to sleep in on New Year's Day? All of the above.

We parked at Sabino at 9. It wasn't that cold, not freezing, I think 37 or 38 degrees. I had on tights, wool socks with poop bags over them in anticipation of snow (hey! they work! and I am a fan of the cheap and low-tech), my brand-new trail gaiters, a thermal shirt with a long-sleeved tech shirt over it, nice warm gloves, a neck warmer, and a hat. I am pleased to say I dressed right and was neither too warm nor too cold anywhere on the run.

We decided to do the loop in reverse because we anticipated the water would be flowing in Bear Canyon and did not want to do the whole run with soaking wet feet after the crossings, so we headed up the tram road. Right away I was not feeling good, tired and cranky and icky stomach. My fault: on the way over to Tim's, I got a Mushroom Angus Swiss burger from McDonalds. AND fries. AND a big Diet Coke. All because it was my last day that I was going to let myself eat like crap. When I got to Tim's house and ate the burger, I looked at the waxy cheese and the congealing grease and wondered, briefly, if this was a good idea. Then scarfed it down anyway. It was NOT a good idea! Also not a good idea to drink that much soda right before a run. What was I thinking.... I have no idea.

The tram road was almost empty except for one group of walkers about two miles up and one little pair of red eyes, maybe bobcat- or coyote-height, shining in the light from my headlamp when I looked into the bushes. As soon as we got to the top of the tram road and starting climbing up into the mountains, the moon gradually came out and illuminated the mountains to the east. They had snow on them and looked stunning in the moonlight. When we got to the East Fork-West Fork junction we turned off our headlamps and listened to the silent mountains. I ate a nearly-frozen GU, so cold I could barely squeeze it out of the wrapper, and then we took off again for the long slog up and out of Sabino Basin.

A little ways up Tim called down, "Snow!" and pointed. There were tiny little patches of snow scattered on the sides of the trail. As we climbed higher, they got more numerous, and finally the whole trail was covered in powdery snow. This was neat for about five minutes. Then I remembered why I hate snow. The higher we went, the more I hated it. My stomach was bothering me (and I kept flashing back to the way that burger looked, all slimy and disgusting under the street lights at Tim's house, and burping up tastes of it) and I was slipping all around. I pictured myself slipping and sliding right off the edge of the trail. I also pictured throwing up that entire disgusting dinner and leaving the mess in the middle of the trail so Tom and Sion would have to step over it in the morning when they did their BCL. I actually stuck my finger down my throat, gleeful and inspired by that thought, but my stomach refused to cooperate as always when I tried to purge something, so I just went on, miserable.

Tim was far ahead of me and was loving the snow while I was getting more and more annoyed. We got to the top of the East Fork trail and he took off running. I was grumpy and walked. Then suddenly I heard something large and heavy crashing through the bushes on the slope above me. Okay, it was probably a deer and NOT the mountain lion I saw in my imagination, but still... I screamed for Tim, who was way ahead of me, and kept screaming until he turned around and came back. I was so ready to be out of these scary, snowy mountains. I could not stop thinking about whatever had made that noise until Tim tactfully pointed out that my bloodcurdling scream had probably scared away everything in the vicinity. This was true.

We were headed downhill now and could hear the rushing water way down in the canyon bottom. I usually fly down this stretch of downhill but couldn't because there was still some snow and it was covering the rocks. Just before we got to the canyon crossing the clock hit midnight and we stopped and screamed, "Happy New Year!" at the twinkling city lights down below us. That was that and we kept on going.

I had totally planned on getting wet crossing the canyon since I knew there was a lot of water, but actually we were able to walk across on rocks like always. This is good. In all these years of running BCL I have managed to never once get my feet wet. I have no interest in ever doing it either. We were mostly walking by now (because of me and my stupid stomach) so were getting colder, and didn't really want to add wet feet into that. The only time I got wet was on the dirt road going back to the visitor's center, when I decided I didn't need a light because there was enough moonlight and promptly planted my foot in a mud puddle just as Tim, who had his head lamp on said, "Puddle." Thanks a lot!

Back at the parking lot, Tim made tea while I was in the bathroom. There was one other car in the parking lot, covered with frost. No one else. Then an older SUV pulled in and started driving in random circles around the parking lot. It would drive for a minute, then stop and sit, then drive a little more and stop for a few minutes. That car creeped me out and I was glad to leave the parking lot and head home.

All in all it was a great New Year's Eve, and the Catalinas looked amazing in the dark with snow on them. But I was reminded of two things. Snow running is not for me, and neither is nighttime running. Good to know; that should quell any latent desire for a 100-miler.

FINALLY Running Well!

Today's TTR run was Douglas Spring Trail to Cowhead Saddle and back -- a run that I have done at least a dozen times. It is always slow and usually miserable. I wouldn't even have done it except that I have a ton of stress to burn off, and nothing does the job quite like physical exercise. Seriously! If you're a couch potato and you're depressed, you're not getting an ounce of sympathy from me until you try working out and see what it does for your depression.

The last few TTR runs have been either really really long or really really difficult, and because this one was neither one, at least by TTR standards of really really long and really really difficult, in my mind it was an easy run. Only 18 miles, and even though it was essentially all uphill on the way out, it was all downhill on the way back, and almost all runnable in both directions. Not only that, it's just so familiar. I have it broken down perfectly in my head. 2 miles of pretty steep uphill, another 4 1/2 (4.7, to be exact) miles of easier uphill, and then 2.4 miles of some more pretty steep uphill (but even that has plenty of little runnable stretches). Weather was supposed to be nice -- sunny and warm but not too warm. And we would be in shade for the whole first half of the morning, because we were running up the west side of the mountains.

My first couple miles -- always my least favorite part of this trail -- were slower than they should have been because I stopped to take pictures, and every time I stopped I had to undo my pack, get my phone out, take the picture, put the phone away, and refasten the pack. I was trying to catch Blacketts but could not do it. He's running well too. I kept seeing glimpses of him ahead of me and thinking, oh yeah, I got him, but... nope! Never did.

Once I got to the end of the first bad miles, I surprised myself by running most of the remaining 7 miles up. I didn't run fast by any means, but I ran nearly all of it and that is unusual for me. At 6.7 miles the trail goes through the Douglas Spring campground. There is a bathroom there. It's BYOTP but even so, at least it is a bathroom, for someone who just hates peeing in the woods and always will. I always stop at that bathroom and take a break to catch my breath, eat an orange, etc. Today I did not do any of that, just stashed a bottle of Nuun so I didn't have to drag it up the steep climb and then kept going. I knew Chia-Chi, Steve O, Joe P, and Michelle, who are all faster than me, were right behind me -- I'd been hearing them for miles and could always see them if I turned around and looked behind me -- and I thought it would be cool to stay in front of them for as long as possible. Usually whatever order people leave the campground in is the order they stay in up to the saddle, then the order shifts as the good downhill runners pass the so-so downhill runners on the return trip.

Even the climb up wasn't so bad. The last several times I've run this trail, I've made it a 20-miler and gone one steep, wind-sucking mile past the saddle before turning around. I was so grateful I did not have to do that today. I was also grateful we weren't doing the awful Tanque Verde Ridge run today -- a much harder and more miserable run than Cowhead. When I got to the saddle I slapped the sign and turned around and went right down.

I really wanted to keep going but now I really did have to pee and knew it would only get more uncomfortable with all the downhill pounding going back to the trailhead. So I stopped at the bathroom after all. When I came out Steve O passed me. He was running well too. I got into a funk leaving the campground because there was a tiny little bit of uphill. On this run I always feel that I deserve all downhill on the return trip and that all uphill, no matter how insignificant, should be walked. But the funk was nothing that couldn't be cured by a few margarita shot bloks. Pretty soon I was running again. Michelle passed me somewhere in there, and then the shot bloks kicked in and I realized I had a chance at being under 4 hours (unheard of for me on this trail) if I sped up, so I did and repassed Michelle.

My downhill running has gotten so much better! Last time I did this trail I just picked my way down it like a pack mule. This time I was actually running. It's not really easy downhill -- too many step-downs, and miles of those = pretty uncomfortable pounding on your feet, knees, and internal organs. But still, downhill was way better than up. I kept looking at my watch. Oh, man, it was going to be close. As soon as I hit the smooth dirt trail that led back to the parking lot I really cranked it up as much as I possibly could. I could see the seconds ticking by on the Garmin -- 3:58:00, 3:59:00, come on, where is that goddamn trailhead sign? I was at the trailhead and hit Stop on the Garmin at 3:59:57 -- the closest to my goal time I have ever been in my whole life. I almost didn't make it but managed to do my last mile at under 8:00 pace. This was my best time by 26 minutes, which is not insignificant! Maybe all these long runs I've been suffering through have actually done some good? Or maybe it was just my feeling, wrong or right, that this was a short run? Who knows, but I'm pretty happy with it.

Deja Vu -- I Recognize This Yucky Feeling...

...from the last time I did the Redington 50k!

I can't remember that old song, or jingle, whatever it was, that had the line in it "second verse, same as the first", but wherever it came from, that phrase was stuck in my head because, really, yesterday on that route was eerily similar to the last time I was on that route. I had two goals going into this event. (This  was not a race, by the way; it was just a TTR training run. In other words, I did this for FUN, not for a T-shirt or a pint glass or a medal. It was just what was on the TTR schedule for this weekend, so that's what I did. I'm not even training for anything. Just burning calories. I have now reached trail runner insanity.) Anyway, my two goals were as follows:

1) Have a better experience than last year
2) Beat my last year's time

I accomplished one of those, I beat my time. As far as having a better experience... well, maybe I did. That mountain at the end was not quite as bad as it was last year. The rest of it pretty much was, though.

This is actually not that hard of a run, by TTR standards. It doesn't have the kind of climbing that our last couple of runs have had (Agua Caliente hill, Lemmon Ascent). I don't know what the total elevation gain was, maybe a couple-few thousand feet? Tame. And there were lots of places where it was almost flat, and it was runnable almost the whole way. It was obvious at the beginning that the sun was going to be the biggest factor (well, aside from the distance, of course). I know when I am only slightly chilly at the start in T-shirt and shorts that it's going to be really hot later. I was smart this year and had stashed a bottle of frozen Nuun at the place where the AZ Trail crosses Catalina Highway. That way I could pick it up when we got there and spare myself having to carry a frozen bottle down the 2.7 miles of trail between the start and the highway. I would then carry it up and over the hill coming out of Molino and stash it again at the bottom of the big hill. See? I'm not always stupid!

The first 2.7 miles is a big drop from the Prison Camp parking lot to Molino Basin. It's a nice way to get started, with a couple fast, easy miles. Once we cross the highway at Molino, there is a pretty short and not too difficult climb up to the saddle. From the saddle you can look out at an endless sea of mountains. I was trying to figure out whether they are the Catalinas, the Rincons, or a mix of both. Anyone? Yeah, I could look at a map but I am a little too lazy for that.

On the other side of that saddle is the drop of about 1000' if I remember correctly from last year. I didn't have elevation on my watch today so couldn't check that. That is so much fun to run down, unless you are thinking the whole time about how miserable it will be to climb back up a few hours later. At the bottom there is a stock tank and that's where I stashed my bottle, on the west side where hopefully it would stay in shadow all morning and still be cool when I got back to it.

From the stock tank the AZ Trail follows a jeep road for a while and then turns into trail again. I got a little disoriented there because there were a lot of little side trails, but I managed to stay on the right trail the whole time. After a couple miles on trail, the trail comes to a dirt road and picks up again on the other side a little ways to the left. This is well-marked and it would be hard to get lost here. From this point it's 4 miles, mostly a gradual climb ending in a drop down to another dirt road where our aid station was, at just over thirteen miles in.

I'd had a pretty good run up till now, even though the trail was very sunny and exposed. Deja vu officially kicked in at the aid station. It was just like last year. I scarfed down little triangles of PB&J, looked at the cooler full of soda, thought, "I want a Pepsi," told myself, "No, you'll make yourself sick and ruin your run," pulled out a Pepsi anyway, drank half of it, told myself to leave the other half for my return trip, and then chugged the other half too because it tasted so good. My stomach promptly blew up like a balloon and I regretted the Pepsi instantly. I sometimes wonder why I just cannot seem to learn some lessons. Is it stupidity or something else? Self-destructiveness maybe? Who knows. Anyway, from the aid station it was another 2+ miles to the turnaround. There was no reason for me to do those extra 2+ miles. I could have just turned around at the aid station and been satisfied with a marathon for the day. But nooooooo, I had committed to 50k so I was going to do 50k.

I walked out of the aid station, walking delicately because of my stomach. Not 100 yards up the trail I decided it was too hot and took my shirt off and threw it on a rock. I walked along thinking how unfair it is that I can't burp. If I could burp I could just drink soda like a normal person and not get the shaken-up soda can feeling that has ruined so many of my races. Eventually the caffeine kicked in and I wanted to run, but I could only run for short distances because of my stomach. I stopped and stuck my finger down my throat, thinking, fine! I'll just puke it up then! but my stomach clamped down stubbornly and refused to let me puke. See, stubbornness runs all through my whole body.

My GPS hit 15.5 and I was still not at the turnaround, which is marked by a big AZ Trail sign. I kept going because, you know, it does not count unless you hit the turnaround sign. I hit it at 15.7. Then I turned around and faced a long, miserable slog back up to the aid station. Just exactly like last year, this is where the wheels fell off the bus. I walked every bit of that stretch and even stopped to pee at the exact same spot as I did last year. Forgot that my TP was in the pocket in my water bottle... which was 10 miles away by the stock tank. Oh well. It's not like it matters when you're going that far. I grabbed my shirt on the way back to the aid station but decided I was not going to put it on; too hot for that.

At the aid station I drank a Gatorade and a water and then some more water. I refilled my water bag and strolled out of the aid station like I had all day to get where I was going. My now-heavy-again pack was bouncing around on my back and something at the bottom of it was digging into my skin since I had taken my shirt off. I stopped to fix the poky thing but found that it was the place where the hose attaches to the bag, can't do anything about that. Oh well! It would just have to rub, then, no way was I putting the shirt back on. By now it was close to noon, and there was nothing but sun. Thankfully there was also a good breeze that kept it from getting too hot. Still, though... all that sun. And do you think I wore sunscreen? No! Of course not!

Even though I had stuffed myself at the aid station, I still had a GU about a mile later. This is not just any GU... it is peppermint-flavored holiday GU! I bought it on impulse at the Running Shop on Saturday and I am so glad I did. It is smooth and not overly sweet and did not make me feel sick at all. Well, at least it didn't make me feel sick until I accidentally looked at it while I was squeezing the last bit out of the packet. In my head the GU was white with red stripes, like a candy cane, like the package it came in. In real life it is approximately the color (and close to the viscosity) of motor oil. Ick! It's surprising, the things that can turn your stomach on a long run!

I hate this run, of course, but one thing I do like about it is that it breaks up nicely into manageable segments. From the aid station, it's 4 miles of mostly-downhill to the dirt road. Then a couple miles of trail to where it turns into dirt road. Then a couple miles on that dirt road to the stock tank. Then the climb up the horrible mountain, then the drop into Molino Basin, then the climb out of Molino and back to Prison Camp. I continued to have pretty awful problems with nausea the whole way but luckily ran into Renee at about Mile 23. She kept me going till the climb started at about the point we finished the marathon distance.

Climbing that mountain was NOT as bad as last time. I never felt like I was going to die and I did not have to lie down on the trail and I did not spend time hanging out in the bathroom at Molino like I did last time. It was miserable but no more miserable than I ever am at that point in a long run. The more-miserable part came on that last 2.7 mile stretch of the AZ Trail back to Prison Camp. It is a long slog uphill, minimal shade. My Garmin (well, Kathy's Garmin) warned me about low battery a couple times and then shut off at Mile 29-something. I felt like it was saying, "Screw it, I quit." I know the feeling! The AZ Trail roughly parallels Catalina Highway here and I know I cannot be the only one who has looked over at the highway and thought about walking out there and thumbing a ride to the Prison Camp parking lot.

My stomach was so awful by now that even the tightness of my sports bra was uncomfortable. I pulled the bottom of it away from my skin and walked along like that, getting madder and madder that I even had to wear a bra. WHY do I have to wear one? What kind of society is this where men can run shirtless but women can't? I mean, I fully understand that if I had a chest I would need the bra for support, but since I don't, why do I have to wear one? I have run braless before though with a T-shirt on, and it was not uncomfortable in the least. So, seriously, how come I have to wear one while Joe Bob with a huge gut can walk around shirt-free and get away with it? As soon as I'm done writing this I'm going to google "right for women to go shirtless" and join the political activist group that I'm sure is out there somewhere. Or else I'll just take a nap, one or the other.

I finally finished and I think Ross said my time was 7:43, which is better than the 8-something I had last year. That should be a 7-hour run if I could just get my act together. The lying down in the Prison Camp parking lot, the wanting to eat but being way too nauseous, the thoughts of never wanting to trail run again, all those were familiar from last time. This time I actually sunburned bad enough that you can see the outline of my sunglasses on my face, something that's never happened before. Also, I stayed nauseous the whole evening last night and couldn't eat. So at least it was a good day calorie-wise if not in any other way.

I Really Should Change The Name Of This Blog...

... to "The Uninspired Trail Runner", since I don't do anything resembling triathlon anymore and haven't touched water in a swimming pool since... I don't know... maybe November? LAST November, that is. I have pretty much gone over to the dark side of trail running. Even though I claim to hate it, I am out there every weekend with TTR even when there is no race on my agenda till April at the earliest.

Anyway, shame on me for neglecting this blog. "The Uninspired Trail Runner" doesn't have the same ring to it as "The Uninspired Triathlete" so I guess I will just keep the name for now. I am really uninspired as far as writing goes because this blank blog entry has just been sitting here open on my computer since last Sunday, when I ran from Sabino Canyon to the tippy-top of Mt. Lemmon on trails. Well, okay, I did not actually RUN. I ran most of the first 10 miles and not much after that in a total of 18 miles. Hey! 10 miles of running out of 18 is good for me in a TTR run.

This one was one I did not want to miss. There's just something about running to the top of Mt. Lemmon on trails that is so badass-sounding I could not resist it. I mean, who does that? Outside of TTR runners, of course, most of whom do it faster than I do, but I mean of real world people. That's just a crazy thing to do, all right, maybe not as crazy as running to the top of Pikes Peak, but right up there. So of course I had to do it. I don't really worry anymore about whether I'm in shape to do these runs. I just fuel up and go for it and figure I'll be out there as long as it takes and finish when I finish. I guess my body is finally used to the fact that it just has to keep vertical and keep moving for long periods of time.

This run required some logistics. It is point-to-point, not a loop, and Sabino Canyon to the top of Mt. Lemmon by road is something like 35 miles. Luckily Tim, the best ex-boyfriend in the world, nicely volunteered to drive my car to the top of Mt. Lemmon (with his bike in the back) and then ride down, leaving my car up there for me to drive down. So I picked him up early Sunday morning and we drove to Sabino Canyon together and then he left me there.

The first six miles of this run were familiar to me -- 3.7 up the paved tram road, then a couple more on trail to Sabino Basin. After that the run followed the West Fork Trail, which was completely new to me. That trail goes to Hutch's Pool. Hutch's Pool is one of the most popular hiking destinations in Tucson, and I had never been there. It is a deep natural pool in the canyon. I was excited to see it for the first time but should've listened a little more carefully to the instructions about what to do when I got there. I did listen carefully to the instructions for the climb up to Romero Pass, which were: Don't Turn Left. Take the Right Trail. Somehow "turn right, not left" stuck in my mind. This was unfortunate. I was making pretty good time (for me) on the West Fork Trail as I got up to Hutch's Pool. But I must have either missed the trail turnoff to the left, or else just subconsciously followed the right fork of the trail. There are lots of well-used trails that lead down to the pool so it's easy to figure out what happened.

I was running by myself at that point, not too far behind one group and not too far ahead of another one. I still thought I was on trail as I ran past some guys camping by the pool. "Your friends just went that way," one of them said helpfully, pointing to the trail that ran to the right along the edge of the pool. "Thanks!" I said cheerfully, and kept going for another five minutes or so until the trail ended, or got so faint among the weeds and boulders that it might as well have ended. I poked around for a while but decided that could not possibly be right so went back to the campers. I was wondering why the group of runners behind me hadn't caught up to me yet since I knew they weren't that far behind me.

The camping guy said yup, the trail did go that way for sure. I decided forget it, I would just hike back the way I came until I ran into the group behind me. But then I couldn't find the trail out of there, either. I did stumble upon the other camping guy heading back to his campsite with a camp shovel in his hand.  I asked him about the trail too, and he confirmed it went along the side of the pool. But just then I saw a red-shirted runner flash by up above me on the side of the canyon. "That's the trail I want!" I said. "Oh no," the guy said, "that's the West Fork Trail up there." Yup, West Fork was the one I wanted all right. But I could not for the life of me find a clear path up there, so I bushwhacked up the side of the canyon, which involved wading through waist-deep weeds and hoping desperately that it was too cold for snakes to be out.

Okay! Now I was back on trail but way behind everyone. What a buzzkill. I still had not solved the mystery of what happened to the other runners that had gone down the trail alongside the pool but decided to forget about it. I knew this was the right trail and that I had about three more miles before the trail junction where I had to turn right and climb up Romero Pass. This part of West Fork was a nice, smooth, totally runnable trail. It was climbing, but very gradually. Every so often I would catch glimpses of other runners way ahead of me. It was very sunny out. I had worn tights and a long-sleeved shirt thinking about temps on top of Mt. Lemmon, but it was a lot warmer than I had anticipated down here.

A group of runners came up behind me. It was a bunch of faster people who had been in the group that had taken the detour at Hutch's Pool. They had gone farther down the wrong trail than I had, and they said some other people had kept going, not turned back when they did. I was glad I was not in that group. This really is not the kind of run you want to do any extra miles on. That group passed me but we stayed pretty close together till we got to the trail junction. A left turn would have taken us to Cathedral Rock and the right turn went up Romero Pass. The group that was ahead of my group had stopped there to refuel so it was like a giant TTR party. I had stripped off my long-sleeved shirt so I was in just a sports bra. The cool breeze felt amazingly good on my skin. I couldn't believe how warm it was. I contemplated taking off my tights too and running in sports bra and thong, but decided that was a little much. (NOTE: I have hiked on Mt. Lemmon in a thong before, but that was with Krissy when ordinary rules did not apply.)

By this point, ten miles in, I had really had quite enough of running. Blacketts was waiting with the group at the trail junction. I asked him how he was getting down and he said he didn't know. I suggested he take my keys and drive my car down and I would meet him at Sabino. I was having vague thoughts of taking the Cathedral Rock Trail and having that somehow be a shorter return to Sabino but he informed me that was not true and we were now past the point of no return. Sigh, okay. I headed up with everyone else.

The climb up Romero Pass was not bad but once we got to the junction with another trail (the Mt. Lemmon Trail? Never did get the name) it became terrible. Straight up, boulder-scrambling required, practically hand-over-hand in some places. Amazing views across the Catalinas in all directions. I had been scrambling along talking to Craig and Sarah but suddenly was slammed with nausea that practically knocked me to the ground. I had no idea where that had come from but I had to stop and lean against a tree until it went away as suddenly as it had come, leaving me weak-kneed and clammy with sweat but able to keep going.

This climb went up to the top of a 7500' knob (as described on the map) and continued to torture me the whole way up. Nausea came and went. I wondered if it was the altitude but doubted it since Pikes Peak was twice this high and I never got nauseous there. This was a different kind of nausea, not the kind I usually get from swallowing too much air. I wondered if maybe I was coming down with a stomach virus and thought this would be a very crappy place to have it hit.

At the top of the knob the trail dropped down to the junction with the Wilderness of Rocks Trail. I had always hit this trail junction coming the other way on the Lemmon Trail and had always turned on WOR and wondered what would happen if I just kept going straight. Well, now I knew! From here to the end I was familiar with the trail, no surprises.

I was plain out of energy here. I managed to do some running but not much. With about three miles left to go I was feeling sick again and had to lie down on a rock. It was much cooler up here but that cold rock still felt so good against my bare skin! I stayed there until I started to feel cold and then ordered myself to get up and get moving for the last haul to the top.

The last part of the trail switchbacked up the mountainside to an old jeep road. When we hit the jeep road we still had a mile and a half to go, nearly all of it still uphill. I got my second wind when I hit the road and managed to run nearly all of it to where it spit us out up near Radio Ridge (9300'? 9100'? I didn't have my GPS but think it was one of those two). I wanted to take a nap up there but couldn't since I had someone coming over later and really had to get down off the mountain. Somehow I neglected to eat anything besides a Mountain Dew, even though there was lots of awesome food. The Mountain Dew finally settled my stomach and I felt fine again.

This was a good day's run and I finished in 5:47, which I think isn't horrible time for this run, but I haven't seen the other times so have no idea what they were like. It was awesome to explore a new trail and to get to the top of Mt. Lemmon on foot. Also, the one nice thing about lots of uphill? No new black toenails.