Sunday, February 23, 2020

A Tale of 2 Races

A Tale of 2 Races – the Race That Wasn't, and the Race that Was

I went into Across the Years 48 hours with a big goal in my head.  Which could, in retrospect, have been the problem.  The problem with big goals is that they can get in the way of why I do this crazy sport in the first place.

Of course, another problem was (sorry Camille)…  Camille.  Which is to say, when the world 100 mile record holder jumps into a race that you expect to podium in, perhaps even set an age group record in, it messes with your head.  Or at least it messed with mine.  Benjamin says it’s good for me to have competition and its true.  But it kind of felt like an elephant racing a gazelle and all I could picture was Camille lapping me… and lapping me… and lapping me... on her way to the world record.

OK.  So – 2 issues.  Big goals, and Camille.  (Sorry Camille).

The thing is – I was as prepared as I’ve ever been going into a race.  My training and performance had been rock solid – and I was getting faster.  Just a month earlier I had only been one minute off of my marathon PR, which had been set 5 years previously before I started running ultras.  I hadn’t done anything CLOSE to that marathon in the past 5 years. 

Of course – I’d also had about the most stressful year excepting the year of the Great Divorce of 2017 in that I'd lost my job unexpectedly in August, conducted a nationwide job hunt, and moved across the country to Seattle.  Small stuff. 

Anyway – I thought I was in pretty good shape. 

BJ had driven since he was going to New Mexico after the race, and also wanted to hang out and watch the 6 and 10 day racers, and I flew in.  Shopping had already been done, so really I just needed a good night’s sleep and to set up the morning of the race – which we did.

So – here is another thing about day 1.  It had rained for days, and the course was sloppy.  Because of my work schedule, I had no ability to adjust my race start day.  I didn’t learn until 5 minutes prior to race start that Camille would be starting her race the next day, due to the wet course.  I was a little bummed about this – if I was going to be running in a race against Camille Herron, I kind of wanted to be running on the same days.  

I went out at what felt like a moderately easy to sustain pace, but which in retrospect was likely too fast.  I hit 50 miles in 9 hours, which put me in excellent shape to achieve my goal.  For the entire 50, my feet never felt great.  My Achilles was bothering me no matter which shoes I switched to.  Also, my gut was in bad shape.  I was nauseated and couldn’t eat much.  This has been happening with regularity and I still don’t have any answers, because without food, I can’t get the energy I need to hit my goals.  Also, shortly after I hit 50, the sun went down and the temperature plummeted.  I did another couple of laps and got to about 54 miles, and as I was approaching the aid station after coming through the timing tent, I had the strongest feeling I’ve ever had of just wanting… to stop.  The Med Tent was right there… my Achilles was screaming, my gut was clenched, and I felt a little dizzy.  The though occurred to me that I could just wander into that tent, and ask to lie down because I was dizzy.  Then, it wouldn’t be my fault.  It would be… a “medical issue”.  That always looks better on Facebook.

It was compelling.

I ran past the Med tent.  And slowed.  And turned around.

In the end, it wasn’t the Med tent where I sought relief.  Wanting at least honesty in this thing, I wandered back into the warming tent, and I sat. 

And sat.

And sat.

Minutes ticked by.  I figured I’d better text BJ and let him know I was… sitting. 

He, of course, told me to get moving


“You’ve still got this thing.  You have plenty of time.”


I sat some more.  I looked at my watch.  15 minutes.  Now 30.  I was sitting here watching my goals swirl down the toilet.

BJ texted again.  “Just come to me.”  (He was on the other side of the course).

I tried.  I headed out of the tent and jogged a little.  Good God Damn it was cold.  My shirt was wet, I was slow, and after 100 feet or so, shivering uncontrollably, I hobbled back to the warming tent.  That shit just wasn’t happening.

I was, however, finally able to eat.  Which I did.

I texted Bob Hearn.  He asked me if I had any goals left.  I replied “Well, I really want to see the Grand Canyon”.  

At some point Jubilee came in and I told her I thought I was done.  She threw this idea into my head.  She asked if I had a hundred mile buckle from ATY.  Although I had a 200 and 400 mile buckle, I did not, in fact, have a 100 mile buckle.  She suggested I take a break, regroup, get dry and warm, and come back when the sun was up and get my hundred.

That sounded good.  It sounded like something I could do.  I was profoundly grateful.

With that, I headed back out on to the course and started moving again.

I was moving amazingly well.  The food an 90 minute break had given me spring in my step that I thought I’d completely lost.  Running again, it felt like maybe I could do this thing. 

For about 11 miles.  When I lost it again, just out of the blue.  I rounded the bend, saw BJ’s car, and got in.  For whatever reason, I just didn’t want to be doing this race.  At all.  I knew what was ahead of me and I just wanted no part of it.

“What the hell are you doing”?

“I want to get off this course.  Take me to a restaurant and a hotel”.


We sat.  And sat.  And sat.  Another hour went by and BJ realized I wasn’t going back out there.  We headed to a Mexican restaurant and loaded up on food.  I posted to Facebook about my situation, and we went back to the course.  I slept for 3 hours in the tent, headed out, and got up around 3:45am to finish my hundred miles and get off the damn course.

And that’s just what I did.

The next morning wasn’t pretty. BJ was upset; I was stunned and confused.  I just didn’t know for the life of me what had just happened.  I’d never had a problem in a multi-day race and out of the blue I DNF’d.  I just completely lost my mojo.  

For what it's worth, Camille didn't have a great race either, running into hamstring issues after a blazing fast 100K.  I've no doubt that one of these days she will be the world record holder at the 48 - but this wasn't that day. I did get to hang out with her after the race and enjoyed getting to know her better.

The best part of ATY 48 - hanging out with friends afterward.  Adam, Eliza and Camille

My friend Melinda

We chilled for that whole day – got in some rest, and visited with the runners still on the course.  The next morning I got on a plane back to Seattle.  Flying back, I realized it was the first time I’d come home from a multi-day without a trophy.  It didn’t feel good.  Worse, I needed to figure out just what had happened in my head.  I realized I needed another race and needed it fast.  And it occurred to me that ATY had a special race it didn’t usually have – a hundred miler, the following weekend.  Damn.  I could come back and get some redemption on the same course!  I was signed up before I arrived back in Seattle.

Although this is a tale of 2 races, it isn’t a tale about the next week’s hundred mile race.  Which I came back, and won in 21 hours 11 minutes – my second best 100 mile time ever.  It was definitely some consolation for my epic fail the week prior – but it wasn’t a multi-day.  So, I still didn’t know how I’d handle my next race over 24 hours.
ATY 100 miler - ran with joy

Enter Jackpot.  This was a Las Vegas race in February with a 48 hour option.  My buddies Jill and Jess were signed up, and it sounded appealing – and pretty easy to get to without burning any vacation time.  I signed up.

In the 3 weekends leading up to the race, I did 2 marathons and a 50K as my long training runs.  All went well.  Ironically, the last Sunday before Jackpot I ran the Rock and Roll Marathon in New Orleans with my friend Deb – my first flight heading out of New Orleans was late and I missed my connection in Vegas.  So, a week before I was going to be in Vegas racing, I was there by accident.  I did some exploring and bought some chocolate, and figured out where I’d stay the following week.

I did a one week taper going into the race – only ran 5 milers Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday.  Smooth travels Thursday night, and headed out to race start Friday morning.

My entire goal for this race was to just stay on the course until the end of the race.  I went in without time goals feeling as if the time goal had really sabotaged my last race.  I intended, to the extent possible, to enjoy myself and just take it easy. 

The weather promised to be stunning.  Sunny and 67 during the day on Friday, low 40’s at night, then sunny and 70 on Saturday with a slightly warmer Saturday night than Friday night.  Race start was fun – I got my picture taken with showgirls, Elvis and a pink Cadillac.  I said hello to Connie Gardner, Pam Smith, Emily Collins, Marisa Lizak and Pamela Chapman Markle who were all doing the 100 mile championship.  I set up my own stuff under a pavilion right next to Jill Hudson.  2 minutes after the 100 mile fasties took off, we started our race.

I started out up front and just ran at an easy pace.  Loop 1 is always just getting to know the course.  Which, I discovered, was extremely varied.  It was a 2.5 mile course in a park – not exactly a loop, but more an out and back where the back came back on a lower path than the out.  Within the first mile, there was a gradual perhaps .5 mile uphill followed by a fast down.  The course included sections that were dirt and crushed gravel, that were sidewalk, pavement, grass, and the final .3 of a mile was a short rocky and uneven trail.  I actually enjoyed the variety quite a bit. 

The first 50 miles of this race were very different than the first 50 at ATY.  First of all, I intentionally took it slower.  It was my theory that by going slower at the start, I’d have more in reserve for the end.  I also hoped to minimize the nausea which has seemed to become an inevitable part of my racing by not going out as hard.  My entire body felt better on this run – my feet were in good shape, I had no nagging aches or pains, and I felt the pace was maintainable.  The one issue I was a bit concerned about was occasional bouts of sharp stabbing gut pain.  This was particularly worrisome because the 2.5 mile course only had porto potties in one spot, so if my gut decided to rebel suddenly on the outer loop, I was kind of sunk.

Turned out…  I was kind of sunk.  8 or so miles in, the gut emergency hit.  The next 1.25 miles to the porto was an exquisite kind of torture.  At the porto potties my gut went crazy.  I spent some quality time in the little blue telephone booth, left, and immediately trotted back in.  Trot being the operative word.  Medications were in order. 

I always travel with Pepto Bismol, and that was my go to.  It was amazingly revolting – and I ended up with a little ring of pink chalkiness around my mouth – but it did the trick.  The pain and the trots both subsided relatively quickly.  Alas, not so much the nausea.  As I continued on the course I realized I was at the point of needing nutrition but my stomach felt just locked up and nothing sounded good.  I started losing a bit of energy and just focused on getting calories how I could.  Which pretty much was the occasional ginger ale with ice, and 4 orange slices during the first 24 hours.  I texted BJ and told him this wasn’t going to be a PR race – which was fine by me because it wasn’t the goal.  But, nausea aside, I was enjoying being out there and had no intention or wish to leave the course.  I just wanted to be able to eat at some point.

The night passed and it was lovely.  It got cold and we all bundled up.  I was thrilled to see Marisa finish strong in the 15 hour and change mark.  I realized that I was on track for a PR 100 – however, my energy stores were low and I thought I’d be better served by a short lie down than by chasing a 100 mile PR.  I went down for 20 minutes, and a couple of hours later decided I needed more, so took 90 more minutes off course sleeping.  This is more than I normally do in a 48, but it was what my body seemed to need.  My general mantra is to not lie down if I’m not going to actually sleep – but I did sleep both times.  I think it was a good call, because getting up from the second nap I had fresh energy.  I was able to get my pace back down into the 12’s and 13’s for a while.  
Stunning Sunrises

As it almost invariably does, dawn brought fresh energy and hope, as well as the knowledge that I was about halfway into this thing.  Despite the dawn, though, I was battling a calorie deficit and was starting to feel a little bit woozy.  Perhaps around mid-morning I saw Connie Gardner, returned to the course showered and pretty after hitting an age group mark in the hundred.  She adopted me for a bit, asking what I needed.  For the life of me, all I wanted in the world was a vanilla milkshake.  I needed calories and still nothing seemed palatable.  Passing Connie she asked how I was doing and I told her I didn’t feel right.  “Not right how?”, she asked?

“I don’t know.  Not right.  I just don’t feel good.”

She helped me put my feet up and asked what I had eaten.

“4 orange slices and some ginger ale…”

Well.  Clearly that spelled it out.  Connie and Susan Hui scouted around looking for food that my stomach would accept.  We finally found a little chocolate pop-tarty thing filled with peanut butter.  It tasted dry as hell and I had a hard time washing it down, but my stomach thought it was OK.  What’s more, it brought me critically needed energy.  I got back out on the course with renewed purpose.

The high point of the morning was seeing Marisa Lizak at the awards ceremony.  She had followed through on our brief verbal exchange in the middle of the night and… brought me my milkshake!  She ran it over and I gave her a big hug of congratulations and extraordinary gratitude.  It was the best milkshake of my life.

Now that I had a good 700 cool frosty calories of sweetness in me, the game was on again. I was moving smoothly and steadily and the day just ticked by.  I was thrilled that despite the fact that the weather had been forecasted to be warmer than the previous day, the cloud cover made the sun seem less intense.  The day was pure pleasant – at least as pleasant as day 2 in a 48 can be.  Sooner than I would have expected, night came again.  I didn’t have to bundle up for a while because night 2 was warmer than night 1 had been.  Eventually I got cold enough to need tights and a fleece, so threw those on.  The best thing (besides the milkshake) about day 2 was that my stomach had loosened up and I could finally eat without feeling nauseated or having anything hurt.  My favorite aid station food was cheesecake bites, and also a little cup of Chef Boyardee ravioli.  Salty squishy digestible yumminess.  I did discover a bit of a foot problem though.  As I was running, I started feeling a burning localized pain in my left foot.  Taking off my socks and shoes I realized the dryness of the course had sucked all of the moisture out of my feel and left them painfully dry and cracking.  I had foolishly forgotten the Run Goo so took this time to slather it on and start healing my poor feet.

I had moved into first place overall sometime late in the daylight on day 2.  Behind me in the female field were my new Seattle buddies Jess Mullen and Jill Hudson.  Jess was moving astoundingly well considering she was only 5 weeks out from a stunning 10 day debut at ATY and Jill was on her way to a resounding 48 hour PR at 48, also only 5 weeks out from a 6 day.  I was also truly enjoying all of the other runners on the course.  Perhaps more than any race I’ve been to so far, with the possible exception of ATY, I had many friends on the course, who always perked me up.  Tammie Massie, who generously lent me an extra headlamp when my batteries died; Rachel Entrekin, who was well on her way to killing the 24.  Fast Eddie, looking for an 80-84 age group record; Bill Dickey – encouraging word every lap.  Kim Sergeant, Kit, Shirley and Mark – Tracy Thomas during the first part of her hundred.  I’m sure I’m missing folks but all helped move me along. 

Night 2 was just steady movement through the night.  I was confident in my ability to get through the night.  My ups were getting bonky – I had a pretty steady run walk going on, but I needed to shake up some of the run spots because what had worked yesterday was not working today, and was spiking my heart rate into the 150’s.  The night moved along – I had more ravioli.  I had texted BJ with my goal of 180 – he told me, if I could, to shoot for 300K which was 187.  That seemed doable and I set my sights on that.  2 hours before the end I knew I was not only going to hit 300K, but would see 190.  I was happy with that.

I spent my last lap on the course will Jill – which seemed fitting as 2 out of my last 3 long training runs were with her in Seattle races.  She is one of my new very favorite people.  And, even more wonderful, right before we hit the finish line, Jess Mullen jogged up behind us, so the 3 Seattle babes finished together in a sweep – first, second and third place women.  It… was amazing.

This race gave me everything I was looking for.  My only goal in the race was to stay the course –which I did with relative joy.  I found my multi-day again.  By moving away from a big mileage goal, I was able to get out there and enjoy the people, the course and the experience – and still do pretty well mileage wise.  There will be other races for big numbers.  This was not that.  This was Elvis and showgirls, a Pink Cadillac and cheesecake bites.  Las Vegas dry sunshine, hills, rocks, beautiful sunrises and sunsets and lots and lots of ducks.  A rolling fall on the rocky part of the trail, watching the 100 miler fasties hit their records; running into the finish with friends.  This race was why I do this thing.

A Tale of Two Races.  The one that wasn’t, and the one that was.  I think I needed the first to get to the second.  In any case, it happened and I can never take it away.

But I’ve found my multi-day again.

Thank goodness.

Seattle Badassery

Thursday, October 24, 2019

Running with the Gods - Spartathlon 2019

Spartathlon - this way...

It was a race I had never even really considered.  

I came out of my 6 day race last New Years a changed runner.  The race had been physically grueling, but even more challenging was the mental recovery.  For weeks – perhaps months afterwards, I felt conflicted about my relationship with running.  I wasn’t sure where I wanted to go with it, and it seemed in some way meaningless.  I was signed up for 6 Days at the Dome, but mentally I knew I wasn’t ready to go back and take on another 6 day that soon after ATY.  I sent out a plea on Facebook asking for races that might ignite passion.  I wanted shorter; I wanted different; I wanted new and exciting and something that was not in a loop (although I love those).  I wanted a journey.

Bob Hearn suggested Spartathlon.  He used a gentle touch… just put in the application, he said.  Even if you get accepted, you don’t need to make a decision until May.

Hmmm.  Why not.

I was at work one day and saw a text on my phone from Bill Schultz.  He was congratulating me on making the team.


I jumped online and saw Emily Collins’ Facebook post with the team pick.  Oh.  My.  God.  I was on the US Spartathlon team.  If I wanted it.

I wanted it.

I completed the paperwork; I put my money down…  and then, I began to get worried.

I am not fast.  The early cutoffs, I knew, were brutal.  Despite the fact that it has a 36 hour cutoff for the full 153 miles, the 50 mile cutoff was at a mere 9 hours 30 minutes.  My 50 mile PR at that point was a 9:10, and I’d only done that once.  And from what I’d heard, some of the early cutoffs were even worse.

There was every chance I would not be able to finish the race… not because I couldn’t do 153 in 36 hours, but because I might not be able to do 50 in 9:30.

A plan was in order.


I lined up a coach.  Shannon McGinn graciously agreed to coach me toward my goals for this event.  I started keeping a training log, which she reviewed and critiqued each week.  She urged me to build in more hills, and to work in some speed training, both of which I did.  Hills I enjoy and tackle joyfully but speed is another thing.  Fortunately I had started regularly running with my friend Katie on Mondays and Tuesdays.  Katie is fast.  On Katie days, I’d usually run about 5 or 6 miles starting at 3:30 am and meet her at 4:45 – she’d join me for 10 miles and I’d do the last 3 on my own.  These days became my tempo runs, and Katie’s slow runs.  Win win.

In addition to the regular running, I decided to throw in a 12 hour race over the summer and try to get as close as I could to 70 miles.  My usual strategy is to never run uncomfortably, but I knew to meet those cutoffs I’d need to be uncomfortable, so the plan was to run as hard as I could sustain for 12 hours.  Katie came to Ethan Allen with me and I managed to hit 67.9924 (WTF? hoping for 68) miles.  It was good enough for the win, but even better, met my goals of a hard long run.  I started feeling more confident.

Also starting mid-July, (after a year of BJ urging me to do so), I started run commuting.  This gave me the benefit of both being able to get in a few more miles, a bit more sleep, and some good downhill practice on the last 2 miles every day into DC.  

The final pivotal workout was a run with Larry Huffman.  In preparation for his Cascade Crest race we went over to Maryland Heights trail to get in some vert.  Each loop was about 3.8 miles - 1.9 up up up with 1200 feet of climb, then down down down over terrifying rocks and roots.  Our plan was 5 loops to get in about 18 miles with 6K of climb.  On loop 3 I went down, and shortly after, rolled my ankle.  There was a golf ball sized lump on the outside of the ankle later that evening, but I was thrilled to find on my run the next day that the ankle didn’t bother me at all.  My quads, on the other hand…. Clearly got what they needed. It took a few days to reap the rewards, but reap them I did.

The World Crashes in

Everything was feeling like positive forward momentum until I went to work one day 4 weeks before the race and to my gut wrenching surprise came home without a job.  It was as if my entire world had crumbled.  The air was sucked out of the room as I learned of this, and I felt a ringing in my ears.  It seemed impossible that just when I felt as on top of the world as I ever had with my running, something like this could happen.  At that moment I didn’t see how I could possibly do the race.  Suddenly the only priority in my life was to become employed as quickly and as gainfully as possible.  

Once again I became quickly confused about my running.  Because the job loss had come as I continued to build up the running, the two became connected in my head and it was almost impossible to feel positive about running.  On the other hand… it is what I do.  A new routine quickly developed.  Get up early, head out for 20-22, and come home and apply for jobs.  All day.  Generally until bedtime.  Get up and do it again the next day.  And the next. 

After 2 weeks of this existence, the payoff started to come in the form of interview requests, and I started being able to breathe again.  I made the decision to continue the race despite the poor timing, and just work the job search in and around the trip. 

Headed to Greece

Sooner that I could have possibly believed, it was just a week before the race and I actually needed to plan and pack.  It had been a big decision point whether to get the vacation part done before or after the race.  I had ultimately decided to do it before, mostly because it would use up 1-2 less vacation days.  Which turned out to be a moot point, but that’s how it was that we left for Greece a full week before the race was to start.

We spent 2 days exploring Athens, another 2 hanging out on one of the islands, and then headed back to Glyfada to check in to the race hotel.  Seeing all the other runners arrive and heading over to registration, for the first time the reality that I was going to do this thing really started to hit.  I adopted my usual tactic, which was to ignore that fact for as long as possible.

Checking Out the Acropolis

BJ and the Ruins

Aegina Island was famous for pistachios

Top of Mount Lycobettus

Bob Hearn had graciously agreed to crew me, as he had just done the Dome several weeks earlier and knew he wouldn’t be running this year.  I was thrilled beyond belief to have his expertise and love of the course as a guiding force.  Interestingly I didn’t know Bob well at all prior to the race.  I had only just met him in person at D3 when I went as a fan, and then BJ and I helped to crewed him at the Dome.  I certainly got to know him a bit at the Dome, but those 2 events were the only times I’d seen him.  

Bob arrived around 10 on Wednesday night.  We talked for about an hour, then met for breakfast and a short run the next day.  Bob, BJ and I went sightseeing to Poseidon’s Temple for the day on Thursday, which allowed me to ignore the impending race for a few more hours.  And then it was pre-race meeting time and dinner, and there was no ignoring anything.  

A trip to Poseidon's Temple

Bob brought down the list of cut-off times along with “slow times” and “fast times” for me to follow.  There was an aid station every 2 miles, and each one of those stations was a potential cut-off point.  I gulped as I looked at the “slow” arrival time versus the cutoff.  As an example, the first aid station was at 2.4 miles.  Bob gave me a “fast” time of 20 minutes to arrive there, a “slow” time of 26 minutes, and the cut-off itself was 30 minutes.  Considering I often will start the first few miles of a long run or race in the 11’s, I realized I’d be arriving somewhere between slow and cutoff.  Each and every cut-off point was terrifyingly close to my normal “slow easy” pace.  Ok then.  I had to run faster than that.  For 50 miles.

Game on.

Race Day

I slept amazingly well, and we headed down to our 5am breakfast.  It was relatively light – which was good.  I’ve been known to eat too heavily before a race which can lead to some early discomfort.  We drove over to the race start and started milling around at the base of the lit-up Acropolis waiting for race start.  The amount of energy was incredible, and it was special to see all the different teams sporting their country’s uniforms. 

Bob urged me to get as far to the front as possible, noting that cutoff times were based on gun time and not chip time – I could potentially lose a few precious minutes fighting the crowd.  I got myself as far up to the front as possible.  And….  It was go time.  There was a 3-2-1 countdown and off we went down the cobblestone path.

The first mile, I was thrilled to learn, was all downhill alongside the Acropolis. Despite the fact that usually my first mile is always 10:30-11 or so, this one was in the 9’s.  As was mile 2.  As was mile 3.  Hmmmm.  This was not like me.  It also seemed like taper had worked – my 5 mile days for the past week plus an abundance of hydration gave me comfortable speed I didn’t usually have.  

I hit the first aid station well before the cutoff and kept going.  Shortly after the Acropolis we headed into a much more industrial station.  There were lots of early morning commuters out, and we ran for a ways along a busy road filled with cars, trucks, some unattractive landscape and quite a few fumes.  I don’t have a good sense of how long this terrain lasted.  We got to the second aid station and again I was still in the 9’s and still easily within the cutoff.  It might have been shortly after that that I found myself running with Nadia from Belgium.  Nadia had run the race before and had timed out shortly after the mountain.  Her goal this time was to finish.  

We ran together comfortably for miles and miles.  It turned out Nadia spoke 7 different languages.  A German joined us for a bit and she spoke to him in German.  Alex from Mexico was with us on a beautiful section overlooking the water and she chatted easily with him Spanish.  I just ran, grateful to have the company.

I was actually pretty happy with the weather so far.  Everyone had talked about the brutal heat, but it still felt like it was only in the low 80’s, not too humid and there was a breeze.  After the sticky swamp that was DC running in the summer, it was pleasant.  

The marathon point was the first place where I’d be able to hook up with my crew.  I was really looking forward to seeing BJ and Bob although at this point I didn’t need too much aid.  I flew into the aid station and it took a minute for Bob and BJ to see me.  Bob did not look happy.  “You are 17 minutes ahead of the fast time!” he chastised.  

“Yeah – I know – but it’s OK – I ran comfortably” I said perkily.  He remained worried and urged me to take more walk breaks (I hadn’t actually taken any) in order to slow down a bit.  I sucked down a cold soda, and Bob and BJ cooled me down just for a second with the ice in a bowl they’d gotten, and I headed off.  I’d lost Nadia in the aid station, but I thought that might not be a bad thing…  It was possible she had been pulling me a bit, and without her next to me I was in less danger of going too fast.

Out of Athens the views improved...
The next 24 miles continued to go well.  By mile 47 or so it was started to get really hot.  I started to build in little walk breaks and jog a bit slower since I was well ahead of 9:30 cutoff at 50 miles.  My primary race goal – the one thing I thought I had to do here – was to get to the 50 mile point and beat the cutoff.  I always figured if I could do that, I’d have it made.  I could take it a bit easier for the rest of the race and just run my “Amy” running and get it done.  

But it was, as I said, getting hot.

Coming into Corinth was like joining a big party.  It was only the 2nd time I was able to see my crew (I’d be able to see them much more frequently after this), and at this point I was in need of nutrition and cooling.  Bob and BJ were there waiting for me with my liquid nutrition – they had been unable to find protein drinks, but had found plain Kefir.  This certainly seemed to go down more easily than any of the pretty dry food at the aid stations.  I was starting to feel nauseous so definitely planned to go a bit more easily after 50.  

Those first few post-50 miles were great.  I felt euphoric – I had passed the worst of the cut-offs – they all got easier from here on in, and I was still feeling good.  For about 5 miles.  At which point I started feeling decidedly not good.  Nausea was coming in waves and sapping my energy. 2 miles from the 58 mile aid station where I could meet Bob and BJ again, I did the entire mile at a walk.  I texted BJ to let him know I was going to need something for nausea, and more chocolate milk and seltzer to get some calories.  In just a few miles I had gone from feeling on top of the world to feeling like I might drop.  It didn’t feel as if I could muster the energy to keep going.

That next aid station was pivotal.  I sat for 10 minutes while Bob and BJ attended to cooling me down, helping with nausea and getting some fuel into me.  I got something for my stomach, drank some seltzer and chocolate milk, and bathed my head, arms, neck and wrists in ice.  I headed out already feeling much better, and within about 20 minutes I had found my happy place again.  I trotted on in complete contentment.  It was getting cooler and I felt considerably recovered and ready to tackle this thing again.

Gearing up for night time

I have to say I don’t remember a whole lot from the 100K mark to the 99 mile mark.  There was one section Bob told me about saying it was a really long dirt road climb – probably steep enough that walking would be idea.  Then I’d have a good down for quite a while – until I got to the base of the mountain.  The dirt road was indeed a bit of a climb.  I saw some folks trying to run it, but I was content to largely power hike it knowing there was a down on the other side.  That dirt road climb seemed to go on and on, but eventually I got to the top and started running down.  The view on the way down was great.  First of all, the down seemed to go on forever.  Second of all, way off in the distance was a string of lights – which I figured was my destination.  Which indeed was the case.

It was dark and there were sparking lights and I was feeling good.  Dark can be a magical running time for me.  During my normal life, most of my running is in the early morning dark.  I draw strength from the dark coolness, and the lights in the distance added a sense of allure and magic. 

I knew from Bob that somewhere around mile 94 I would start climbing – there was going to be about 2000 feet of climb over 5 miles, and then I would be at mountain base.  He suggested I walk the section up to the mountain, which I did.  By and large most of the field was power hiking this section, but there were a few beefy women who passed me and I was wondering whether I’d be better off running.  Maybe next time.

Even with the slow ascent, eventually I reached mountain base, where BJ and Bob were waiting to send me off.  It would be 7 miles before I saw them again – and I didn’t quite realize what a long 7 miles it would be.  Bob walked me up to the start of the real climb.  I looked up and saw a string of red lights which appeared to go straight up, and I swore like a sailor. Over 1000 feet of gain in a mile… but what made it even more challenging was the terrain.  It reminded me of the “Roller Coaster” section of the Appalachian trail.  Rocky and uneven, lots of loose gravel.  The trail itself was perhaps 5 feet wide, and on the right there was a ribbon strung between poles demarcating the edge of the trail.  It was certainly not a ribbon that would prevent anyone from falling off the edge, and I took care to stay as close to the inside as possible.  I wouldn’t describe the edge of the trail as a cliff per se – but it was steep enough that serious damage could be done by falling, and I took care not to do that. 
The Mountain

My legs were pretty tired at this point, and the footing, for me, as a road racer, was challenging.  I took the climb as conservatively as I could – which is to say, at a snail’s pace.  That first mountain mile took me 40 minutes.  As predicted, it got colder as I approached the top, and was downright chilly at the summit.  Fortunately I had put on warm gear at the base so I wasn’t overly cold.  I took about a 5 minute rest at the top – the volunteers wrapped me in something warm and I just sat for a few minutes until I was mentally ready to head down.  And down I went.

I had been led to expect that I wouldn’t be able to run the down, and that was absolutely true.  Although the trail seemed wider on the way down, the surface was covered with scree – loose rocks that just skittered all over the place when you landed funny on them.  I carefully picked my way down, looking for good footing – but every once in a while just skidding several feet forward.  I did not like this at all.  I heard some male voices behind me – they were laughing and having a good time.  I wasn’t sure if they were racers or hikers but what I WAS sure about was that they were laughing at my overly cautious descent.  Then, to my left, I saw a nimble runner just bounding like a jackrabbit over this killer terrain.  Lightfooted and swift, he was making this mountain his own.  I was pretty sure it was Andrew Snope – one of the Americans and a skilled and fleet trail runner.  I was envious of his magical descent as I arduously ground my way downward.

Eventually I reached terra firma again – which is to say, paved road.  I wasn’t sure how much run my unhappy quads had left in them, but I had lost enough time on the mountain that I had to try.  I broke into an easy trot and was thrilled that it felt just fine.  I had a few miles to go before I’d see Bob and BJ again but now that the mountain was behind me, I pretty much felt I was up to anything.  The 3 road miles passed quickly enough and I finally got to see my crew.  I had taken so long on the mountain that BJ was really worried.  Bob, on the other hand, knew the terrain I was facing and was pretty calm.  Going into the mountain I had been about 90 minutes ahead of cutoffs – coming out, I’d lost 20 minutes of that gain.  However, I had a bit of down in front of me and took full advantage of it.  Bob was amazed, after two aid stations, when I made up almost all of that 20 minutes.

After the mountain, there was a pretty long stretch of gentle winding and rolling country roads.  Bob had told me he hated that section because it was always super dark and not as well marked and he just zoned out and got lost a few times.  However, it was getting light as I approached that section, as I was much slower than Bob, and in the misty dawn, I adored that section.  Although the day was supposed to get hot, the morning was cool and foggy.  The country roads and the little towns reminded me amazingly of Cooperstown, New York where I had discovered long distance running.  That was one of my favorite sections of the entire course.  I was feeling good and strong and all my previous nausea had dissipated.  I was able to start eating more at the aid stations, and even though there were 35 or so miles to go, I was smelling the barn.

Sometime around 11am the sun suddenly and ferociously came out.  It went from cool and pleasant to blazing hot in a heartbeat.  More of the aid stations seemed to have ice available than on day 1, which was a relief.  I started trying to estimate my finish time based on miles to go.  

My Happy Place

Day 2 early afternoon was just steady hot progress.  Not much to comment on.  I recall a bit of up, and switchbacks.  Had to stop at least once to find some bushes for a potty stop. (Did I mention there were zero porto potties?  Or if there was one or two, they were very well hidden).  I recall going up a hot sunny hill and seeing blackberries growing on the side of the road.  I picked some and ate them and forged on.  Sometime with about 30 miles to go, Bob told me “this is where your race starts…  you are a multi-day runner.  This is where you get stronger.  Run steady on the flats and kill it on the downs.”  

So that is what I did.  Dug deep, pulled out some giddy-up, and got going. And started passing folks.  

It was hot.  Really hot.  I added a bit of mileage on to my run by crossing the road every time there was an opportunity for shade.  Doused myself with water at every aid station.  Ran on.  The next time I saw Bob, he said “you were 20 minutes faster than we expected you! “  

I said “I’m doing what you told me to do…”

Mid to late afternoon I reached the magic aid station.  Once again BJ and Bob were there.  Bob said “just go to the top of this hill, cross over the timing mat, and then it is all downhill.  For the next 13 miles. “  

Down.  13 miles of down.  


Off to my right there were craggy Alp-like mountains that reminded me of a scene from the Sound of Music.  There were gentler mountains in front.  The road wound down switch backing through little picturesque towns.  I got one more opportunity to see Bob and BJ about 6 miles from the end.  I was starting to feel nauseous again and I told them I was probably going to take it slow.  Bob said “you have a sub 34 in you, but not if you don’t run.”  Sub 34.  I liked the sound of that.  I picked up a trot and headed out to the last 6.
I saw Emily Collins about 3 miles before the end.  It was wonderful to see a friendly face. 
Coming in with Bob
She looked as hot as I felt.  We exchanged hellos and I forged on.   Down into Sparta now, and it was getting more congested.  I was running on sidewalks, over a bridge.  I knew I had about 2 km to go.  I was still throwing in some walk breaks because I wanted to make it to the finish strong and I was pretty sapped from the heat.  A more crowded street.  People cheering.  Arrows pointing to the right.  Very crowded now and I see Jean Louis Vidal who gives me a big hug.  Bob is running towards me – I am almost there.  I am so very very happy to see him.  I run on with Bob toward BJ and the finish line.  There is the station.  There is the timing mat.  I cross it… I am done.

I am done.  All that is left is to kiss the statue, drink of the chalice and receive my crown of laurels.

Crossing the Bridge into Sparta

Getting Crowned


17 Americans started the race.  8 of us finished.  I was thrilled to finish 3rd American, in 33 hours, 56 minutes.  

Hanging with Emily Collins post race

This race...  it is special.  I had expected that if I reached 50 and made the cut-offs, the rest would be smooth sailing.  Instead, this was, perhaps, the hardest race of my life.  I worked hard for a much higher percentage of time than I usually do for this distance.  But the rewards... ah, the rewards.  This race is living in my heart.  The whisper of ancient ruins in the dark... the thrill of climbing mountains, of running where the Gods once played, of being part of a race that includes participants from all over the world.  The friendships, the constant sense of discovery, the climactic and theatrical finish- there is no other race like this.  I will be back.

I have so many people to thank for their contributions to this effort.  My husband BJ who inspires me to bigger goals than I ever think I'm capable of.  My running hero, Bob Hearn, who graciously lent me his wisdom, expertise, experience and incredible knowledge of running.  My running partners Katie and Larry.  My coach, Shannon.  My family, who support me in this crazy pursuit even as they scratch their heads in puzzlement.  I could not have done it without all of you.

Post Race with my crew

Mayor's Luncheon

Bob and "The Beast" - Andras Low, 21X finisher

Big Bad Bob

Me and my running hero - Bob Hearn

Tuesday, June 25, 2019

TGNY 100

It is…  12:30 in the morning or so, and I am on the boardwalk at Coney Island.  The lights of the rides are behind me and there is music and life everywhere.  Drunken revelers, people speaking all languages, pounding surf to my left, a woman in a bikini drinking a cocktail and yelling excitedly into her phone to my right.  I have travelled here by foot, 84 or so miles from Times Square, where I started almost 20 hours earlier at 5am just as dawn was breaking.  I am in another world and I am tired, a little bit sore, and a little bit disoriented.  I am…. Perfectly happy.  I am as happy as it is possible to be.  I am sweaty and sticky and my clothing and gear has been rubbing various parts of my body until they sting like a mother, and I don’t want to be anyplace else in the world right now.
I am so very, very grateful for this moment.
Some races are linear – they have a beginning, a middle, and an end.  This one to me is a series of vignettes:  images, experiences, moments, feelings, sensations. 

Arriving at Times Square for the race start at 4:15am.  I have worked and lived in this city:  I am not naive.  Yet… after living in the country for 20 years and in respectable northern Virginia for 2, perhaps I have become so.  The lights…  the enormous flashing billboards straight out of Bladerunner, turning night into day…  the woman wearing only mesh and a thong so her full breasts are completely visible… the food trucks on every corner, the fact that it is 4am and unlike me pretty much everyone here has been up all night; garbage piled in alleys, the smell competing with the smell of smoky hot pretzels, hot dogs, steam from the subway, weed.  Perhaps most astoundingly, mixed in among the natives and the tourists and the exhibitionists there is a tiny tribe of ultra runners, all of whom, it seemed, know at least several others here – gathering together in our little band of hydration vests and Hokas, sharing McDonald’s receipts so we can sneak in and use the bathroom one last time before this thing starts.
The 45 minutes before the race start is a blur.  So many, so many friends here.  Different than most races where I only know one or 2 people.  The group photo is a reunion and the start of a grand adventure.  This part goes way, way, too fast.  The pre-race anxiety is more focused on making sure that I say hello to everyone I know is going to be there rather than worrying about the race.  For I already know I am not racing but rather embarking upon a grand adventure.  There is no time goal at all and that is… glorious.
Meeting Kellie, with whom I committed to run, so neither of us would get lost.  Her last name is Maurer… mine is Mower.  They have the same German origin.  I tell her husband Erik that I think we are likely related. 

We gather together for the pre-race photo, and line up at the start. Kellie and I start running with Larry Huffman – a recently training partner who now is part of my Sunday Great Falls joy runs.  Larry has run this before so I know that not only does he run at a pace that is perfect for me, but (more importantly) he knows where we are going.   He is also… a great guy.  We commit to sticking with Larry.

Slow easy taking off through the streets of NYC, the sun is coming up, and people are starting their day.  Because it is Saturday, there is less hustle and bustle than there would be on a weekday.  It is strange, running on uneven concrete, and our first street crossing is an interesting revelation of the forced breaks that will be built into the race.  There is more to see than I can possibly take in, and sooner than I would have imagined, we are in Central Park.  And then… a few miles later, we are out of it, and the adventure really starts, because we start to go through parts of the city I have never walked before.

There is a huge cathedral on our left – I think it is St. Johns.  We go up, up up… I had no idea, how hilly this could be.  We reach the top of one hill and the sun is a glowing orange ball coming up over water.  Several of us stop at a monument to take pictures of this glorious sunrise and I know that I am already in love with this race.  At 122nd street we head west and down toward the water…  turn right, run under an overpass.  This part of the city is gritty and real… fast food stores, construction, ethnic food vendors.  We turn north, get closer to the water.  It is more park like… less like a city.  There is a bike path and restrooms… this is more like running on the W&OD in the morning.

Phil McCarthy, the race director, has marked the course with small yellow arrows.  They can be easy to miss if you are not careful.  Somehow in one of the parks, near the Cloisters, we get lost for the first time.  We follow what we think are arrows to a lovely overlook – but the arrows lead nowhere after that.  We find our way back down to the course but have picked up at least an extra mile. 
We cross the first of what will be many bridges and are in the Bronx… soon enough at the gates of Van Cortlandt Park.  Although I grew up in the suburbs of New York I have never been here and it is a revelation. We run on a shaded soft dirt trail that is less populated than the trails of Great Falls Park in Virginia.  It is impossible to believe we are in the middle of one of the biggest cities in the world.  Larry is in his element on these trails and starts picking up his step.  I am delighted, like a small child, just at the notion that I am on a wooded trail in the middle of New York City.

Out of the park and the sun is beating down strong now.  Some runners have complained about the heat but to me the sun is glorious because the day itself is only about 80, with a cool breeze and almost no humidity compared to DC.  I can feel the sun sizzling my skin as we emerge from the park and we enter a part of the Bronx that is probably more what people think of when they think of running through New York.  We are running on a bridge with another road over us, chain link barrier to our side, an occasional small dead animal on the ground next to litter people have tossed from their cars, an occasional beer can, and cars driving by, fast fast to our left.  This is not pretty and it is not nice… but it is absolutely real. 
I love this bridge.  I love this day.
Hitting the low 20 mile mark at this point… we cross into Pelham Bay Park for a scenic out and back with a photo opportunity at the beach…  We stop and wash up at the old bathhouses and I am delighted by this early Saturday morning at the beach.  Because although we have been running for hours, it still only mid morning and the beachgoers are few and far between.  Some older Italian men give us wondering glances as they gossip on a bench, one spraying himself with cold water.  The water spray makes me thirsty and for a moment I feel hot.
We get lost again and add a little bit more mileage to our total.  Turn around… find the right path.

There is a blur of city miles and at some point we are at Randall’s Island.  This is memorable because of the entrance with the smooth path underneath and arches overhead.  There are ball fields on the island and it feels parklike.  And we are out of the park and…

we are climbing a ramp and cross what was formerly the Triboro bridge (now the Robert F Kennedy)… on foot. 
We stop at the highest part of the bridge to take pictures and take it all in. 

We go down, down down the bridge and all of a sudden we are in Queens, where we will spend the next 40 miles.  Kellie, by this point, is not feeling so great.  Her stomach is acting up mightily.  I feel guilty for feeling so wonderful. 
We run essentially through LaGuardia airport – the car rental shops to our right, planes taking off low, over our heads. 
In the high 40’s, Kellie starts talking about our going on without her.  She asks us to promise we will let her go when we hit 100K – she has a friend who will join her.  This does not feel good and we don’t want to do it and at first we say no.
We are at 51 miles now and Kellie is insisting.   She feels she is slowing us down, and assures us she can get to 100K and will have company.  We reluctantly say goodbye and head on now a duo instead of a trio.  The rhythm changes.  We miss Kellie’s company, but are hoping we made the right call because she is feeling so crappy that we know she doesn’t want to run right now as much as we are running.  It’s hard feeling pressure to run with someone who is, at the moment, feeling better or faster than you are.  I’ve been there many times and almost always I will choose to run alone at my own pace rather than stay and be forced to a pace that is out of my comfort zone.  We hope we are truly honoring what Kellie wants.  And… regardless… the decision is made.
Flushing Meadows Corona Park…  a mass of humanity just out to enjoy the beautiful day…  picnickers, rollerbladers, families and couples… the smell of roasting meats, barbeques – I eye the tables as I’d eye an aid station except this food is not for me…  We stop in front of the Fountain of the Planets to take a picture and we run like children through the spray, cooling our sun baked skin.  We run past the fountain down a straightaway, soccer games to our left and a sea of people on the right, shadows of leaves, a cooling breeze.  I see an ice cream vendor and strongly consider a fruit pop.  I pass, and moments later we pick up Jim Treece who isn’t having the race he hoped for and is now focused on just recovering from his bad spell and enjoying the journey.  He chose the fruit pop.  I am jealous.  We run together on and off to 100K.

100K is magical.  They had advertised eggplant sandwiches which I have been looking forward to for 30 miles.  Paul Kentor is there and takes great car of me.  I leave the aid station a little overly full, but the mile required for digestion is well worth it for the well of energy I now have.
A half mile out of the aid station I see a Carvel and decide I need dessert on top of the eggplant sandwich.  I have a choco-vanilla soft serve cone.  Larry has a slushie.  He says “This will either be the best or the worst thing I’ve done all day”.  The cone is delicious but I find myself wishing I had chosen the lighter cooler slushie.  Larry generously offers me a few sips.
It turns out that the slushie is not the best thing that Larry has done all day.  While my cone is (to Larry’s amazement) sitting just fine, his slushie is not so much.  I am very impressed by Larry’s ability to systematically lose bits of the slushie here and there out of his unhappy gut and not slow down his running pace by even a hair. 
It is… sometime between 9 and 10.  Probably closer to 9 because it has only just gotten dark.  We arrive at the beach.  This makes me profoundly happy.  It is actually our second beach arrival today and there is a big sign, “Rockawy Beach – B94th” greeting us as we head to toward the shore.  We turn right and run along a largely dark asphalt walkway – it is wide, with a railing separating the walkway and the beach proper.  I can hear surf far away.  There are benches here and there, and some (but not many) people walking along.  A ways down the walkway we hear and see several helicopters overhead – they are flying low over the water, green tail lights flashing.  There are at least 3 of them.  They are there, buzzing back and forth, for most of our time on the walkway.  We reach the end of that section and run down into a Queens neighborhood.  A man is walking a dog and he comments on the copters.  “That ain’t good… that usually means someone’s in the water. “  Sure enough, as we travel a few more blocks through the neighborhood we see a cluster of emergency vehicles at the end of one street.  At the same time that we are sobered by the sight of accidental death so nearby, it hits home that this is just one more part of this experience – which is really just us, moving at a running, jogging, and walking pace, through a day in the life of NYC. 

Coney Island.  I am as happy as it is possible to be.  A band is playing open air at a bar and I start to dance.  I see the lights of the Cyclone…  a Nathan’s hot dog stand.  I love (love love) the feel of the boardwalk under my feet, the surf to my left, the night life to my right. 

We are in Queens for about 40 miles.  That’s a lot.
Brooklyn.  I lived here once.  I was young, and very, very different.  I was a drinker and a smoker then.  I was not even a little bit athletic and I was so very not who I am today.  But… it was the start of my love affair with this tremendous city, and the beginning of my growing up and learning to love the person I was.  I had once lived on Dean Street, and gone out with a guy (he was a jerk) who lived on Atlantic Avenue.  He had (generously) offered me one drawer of his dresser after we had gone out for a while to keep my stuff in.  (Did I mention he was a jerk?).  The bar where he went to see the girl he was really in love with while he dated me for convenience was also further down on Atlantic Avenue.  But I digress.  Which is sometimes what you do when you run down the streets of your past. 
Other ghosts… when I lived on Dean street (which was the wrong side of Court street, back then, when there WAS a wrong side of Court street – it looks more gentrified now…), I lived in a second story apartment where, one summer night with soft breezes blowing, I heard a man scream, and then heard a really (really) loud pop.  When I went out to see what had happened, there was a crowd around a body and more blood than I could imagine coming from what had been this man’s neck. 
In Brooklyn we are running a block and walking a block.  It is working well and keeping us steady.  Soon we reach the 95th street aid station.  Francis Kwok is there, and Adrienne.  The smell of the barn is oh so strong, as is the lure of the Brooklyn Bridge, towering over us – a monument to the city’s past.  It is… indescribable…  crossing this bridge on foot back into the city where only single digit miles remain.  It is almost morning and the view of the city brings tears to my eyes.

Manhattan again.  The sun is rising and we are back on the sidewalks and heading to Times Square.  I want to be at the finish and at the same time I want this never to end.  Larry gets it in his head there there is a possibility we can bring it in under 24 hours (we cannot), and starts running miles in the 9’s.  To my amazement I keep up.  Until Jim and I convince him that there is no possibility of a sub 24 and we are killing ourselves for nothing.  Still… I kept up.  First time I’ve ever done miles in the 9’s after I’ve already hit 100.  (Did I mention we got lost?)
I see BJ as we close in to the finish and wave madly.  Larry, Jim and I step ceremoniously at the same time onto the finish line marked in chalk.  I love that we are able to do this.