An ultramarathon is ultra hard

I awoke at 5 am on Saturday to the pitter-patter of rain on the windows. I was about to run my first 50k trail run and this was horrible! Rain meant there would be mud and mud is deadly on the trail. I desperately wanted to crawl back into bed, but I had come to San Antonio to run. And, people knew that I was supposed to run. It was go time!

I got dressed and went down to breakfast. I had to fortify myself for 5-6 hours of running. This was very stressful: what I ate (or did not eat) would make or break my run. If I ate too little, I would bonk. If I ate too much, I would have a gastrointestinal disasterin the Texas hill country. Like anyone with a PhD, I did thorough, non-scientific survey of runners and running blogs. I concluded that a peanut butter chocolate chip Lara bar and banana would be good – carbohydrates, protein, and a little fat. I hoped that it would get me through the first 10-mile loop of the course (which I estimated to take an hour and a half). I heard there would be a buffet of candy, fruit, and peanut butter sandwiches at the main aid station. I was very excited about that buffet.

We arrived at the start 30 minutes before early – just enough time to pin my bib to my shirt and double tie my shoe laces. Shelly whispered soothing and encouraging phrases to me (then he went back to the car for an hour long power nap before his little 10 mile race started). I tucked my precious fluorescent orange drop bag, which contained all sorts of magical food and beverage treats in front of a large tree. I joined Lori in the small mob at the start and hopped up and down like a caged bunny rabbit. The race director sounded a horn and we were off!

Lori and I committed to a *slow* first lap and settled behind a middle-aged man who looked he had done this sort of thing many times. Then we ditched him. We coasted for a mile along the top of ridge and reminisced about how this was *just* like high school cross country. Then we descended a short hill into the mud. At first, the mud wasn’t so bad – slightly squishy and slippery. It was fun and we giggled. But, it got thicker. It clumped to our shoes. My nightmare began. As the mud thickened and stuck to our shoes, each step became harder. We arrived to the second aid station and stopped for Gatorade and to de-mud our shoes. I asked for a paper towel to wipe my hands and the man haughtily told me that it was useless – I should just “get used to it.”

Lori and I continued into the mud. She kept giggling deliriously. My mud-caked shoes weighed at least five pounds – each. It felt like running on slippery stilts. Unfortunately, Lori slipped in the mud and twisted the ankle that she had injured a couple weeks earlier. I was on my own now. The trail dried up a bit as I approached the third aid station. After all that mud, I deserved some gummi bears! I chugged a couple Dixie cups of water and took off. The last couple miles of the loop were much drier and I ran at a comfortable pace back to the home aid-station start/finish area.

I didn’t linger at the aid station – just grabbed my favorite chocolate-raspberry Gu, refilled my water bottle and took off. The first half of the second loop was a lovely trot through the forest. It was everything that I dreamed trail running would be – silent except for the twittering of birds and the thump of my footfalls. I ran past the aid station without stopping, since I had just had a Gu and was carrying my own Gatorade. The second time through, the mud had been pounded dry by the other runners. Nonetheless, my quads were a bit too tired for being only 15 miles into the race! At the next aid-station, I had some banana and three more delicious gummi bears. Over the next several miles, I started to feel slightly queasy and light-headed. Perhaps the gummi bears weren’t such a good idea. I just had Gatorade and part of a gu at the next aid-station. But, I started to lose it. It felt like I was aqua-jogging while drunk. I stumbled into the main into the main aid-station a mess.

Shelly was waiting for me. When I saw him, I started to sob and told him I didn’t feel well. I knew I needed to eat something, but didn’t know what to have. The buffet was overwhelming. I demanded that Shelly tell me what to eat. The medic saw me in the middle of mental breakdown and asked if I was ok. He wanted to take my blood pressure, pulse and temperature. At first, I refused. I was hell-bent on finishing and told him (between sobs) that I just needed to eat. He let me have the piece of banana I had in my hand before slipping the blood pressure cuff on, despite my blubbering protests. My blood pressure was low, but my pulse was strong. I explained that I had freakishly low blood pressure and that it wasn’t cause for concern. Shelly handed me a piece of peanut butter and jelly sandwich and asked what I was going to do. I told him that I was going to finish this B*tch! I had some water and promised that I would eat at every aid station on the last loop.

I felt MUCH better over the next couple miles and actually started to have fun. I caught up to a man with head phones on and playing air guitar while running. While I was feeling better, I don’t think I could have played air guitar while running at mile 23. At the next aid station, I had a lime Gu hoping that it would taste like a margarita. WRONG – it was wretched but I forced it down. The medic was stalking me on the bike. As I ate the Gu, I plastered a big goofy grin on my face and proclaimed that it was delicious! Seven more miles to go.

I was running VERY slowly, but I was running forward. I tried to focus on happy thoughts, like the bottle of Champagne I had waiting for me in the car. That got me through a couple miles. I caught up to another woman and ran with her for a couple miles. When I arrived at the next aid-station, the medic was waiting for me. He said I looked a bit better and reminded me to eat. Fine – I had some m&ms. As I continued running, I could feel my blood sugar and energy levels plummet. Each calorie consumed was immediately used. It was a roller-coaster of sugar highs and lows for the next five miles. At the last-aid station, the only thing I could stomach was a banana. I only had 2.5 miles left, but if I didn’t eat, I would probably pass out in the middle of the trail.

I mustered the strength to “drop the Bomb” in the last two miles at 11 minute pace. The faster I ran, the faster I finished and the sooner I could lie down and have a Mimosa. I was focused, and light-headed. I followed a hair pin turn around a tree and tripped on a root. It was the first fall of the entire race! It took me a minute to realize that I was lying in a pile of mud and leaves. I surveyed my body for blood and used a branch to pull myself off the ground. Those last couple miles were a blur. All of a sudden, I emerged from the woods and saw the finish. I crossed the finish line and they asked if I wanted water and Gateorade. I told them I wanted a Mimosa!

I hobbled over to a bench and plopped down. Shelly politely asked if I wanted a sip of his beer. I grabbed the cup and chugged! He was astonished when I handed him the empty cup. I normally don’t like beer, but on that afternoon it tasted so damn good.

Bandera

It started with a text message. I hadn't planned to run at the Bandera Trail Race. I wanted my first official trail race to be “easy” with minimal bloodshed. From what I had read and heard, Bandera was not “easy.” But, when I received the text message asking if I wanted to run do the 25K in Bandera, I was intrigued. I was craving a spontaneous adventure and this could satisfy it. I asked Shelly if he had run it. He had and quickly added that he had gotten hurt there. I gasped: maybe this wasn't such a good idea. I contemplated the possibility over a cocktail. During dinner, I asked Shelly if he thought I should do it – was it a bad idea? He said, “do it, just don't fall!” The way he said made it sound so easy. The decision was made – bring on Bandera!

On Friday afternoon, I spent half an hour frantically packing an overnight bag with anything I thought I might need before, during, and after the race – running clothes, trail shoes, GPS watch, warm post-run clothes, gu, snacks, water bottle for the run, and Nuun. This was not a systematic process and I was certain I was forgetting something. By 5:30 pm, we heading south on I35! On the way, I texted a friend who had run the 50K last year for some advice. She said, “Have fun with those nasty rocky hills. You'll fall. But, your young and in good shape – you'll bounce right back up!” I had visions of me in my favorite pink tank top tumbling down hill and bouncing off rocks and cacti. There would definitely be bloodshed. I nervously chugged Nuun wishing it were spiked with some form of liquid courage.

We stopped for dinner along the way and arrived at our Guest Ranch rather late. A genuine cowboy clad in Wranglers, Cowboy hat, boots and a belt buckle the size of my fist greeted us. Evidently he'd been out two-stepping all night. The room was spacious with several beds from which to choose. I tried them all – but only the King bed was remotely comfortable. So my friend and I got cozy in the King. I slept soundly to the hum of the heater.

We woke early the next morning to discover it was had rained over night and was still drizzling. This was not good. But, there was no turning back. I got dressed and went to the dining hall to grab a banana and tea. Since the park was only 15 minutes away, we left at 6:15 to give ourselves plenty of time. However, there was a traffic jam on the road into the park and race area. Its the one time of year in Bandera when there is a traffic jam that necessitates the help of the state police. The race started at 7:30 and it was 7:10 when we finally parked, 1/4 mile from the start area. I sprinted gingerly through the mud and rain to the registration tent. I had 15 minutes to register, and organize myself before the start. I told the registration man that I wanted to run the 25K and thrust my credit card at him. He stared at me and curtly stated that they only accepted cash, because he didn't have the equipment to take credit cards. I fumbled through my wallet and realized that I only had $37 in cash. I panicked at the thought of coming all this way and not being able to run. Thankfully, my friend had plenty of cash and lent me enough to register. I now had 10 minutes to pin my bib on, change into my trial shoes, secure my gu, and take a deep breath – in the rain. There were three races that morning and they all started around the same time, from different points. I had no idea where I was supposed to be. I asked a couple of people and they pointed in general directions. Finding the start area was like playing the kid's game “hot and cold.”

At 7:40, a booming voice proclaimed that the 25K was about to start (a little later than scheduled due to the clouds and rain). Two minutes later, a gun went off and the same man shouted “Go!” I got caught in the stampede through the start. The trail quickly narrowed into a single track. You have no choice but to keep the pace of the group. I weaved around a couple people at some the wider, passable spots. I passed a couple small kids who were wearing bibs and clearly intent on running the entire 25k. I was flabbergasted that little kids could do this (the safety and well-being of the children had not crossed my mind until I was discussing it with other parents of small children later). The first couple miles were fairly smooth rolling hills – nothing shocking or treacherous. Then, I came around a turn and smacked into a huge, rocky hill. It was simply impossible to run up! Everyone was walking up. I hiked to the top and broke into a run when the trail flattened. At mile 4, it got muddy. I lost traction and slid five feet through thick clay mud on my stomach. I stood up and giggled – it was like being on a slip and slide. I was covered in mud, but there was no blood. I checked to make sure I hadn't lost any gu packets and ran on, a little more carefully.

There were several more steep ascents before I came to the first big descent. I stood briefly at the top and looked down in fear. It dropped steeply and was covered in loose rocks. I almost peed in my pants. While I took baby steps down, more experience mountain goat runners bounded down, ricocheting off large rocks. At the bottom of the hill, I broke into a fast run and eventually caught the mountain goats! We formed a little running train, with me in the caboose. If I fell, at least the people in front would cushion my fall. I continued along comfortably with the little train for a couple miles, up and over some nasty hills. My legs were scratched by the Sotol cactus that lined the trail. Some drew blood. On a steep down hill, I stepped on an unstable rock and fell. As my friend had said, I bounced back up! My knee, and ego, were a bit bruised and scraped by the fall. I lost the group and continued on alone at a slower pace. I changed my strategy and walked up and down steep hills.

The allure of trail running is the beauty of trail. I have lived in Texas for five years and have never appreciated the hill country's rugged beauty – and BIG hills. Because it had rained heavily the week before, the trees were a lush green and the air smelled earthy and clean. The earthy scent may have been the mud that was caked all over me. The low clouds and fog added a sense of remoteness and isolation. When I didn't see or hear another runner for more than 15 minutes, I worried that I had lost the trail and would get lost in the Texas hills never be found! Large vultures birds circled above and were probably eying me for lunch. Those birds made me a little nervous so I picked up the pace through a flat area.

Around mile 10, I saw the brightly colored flags of the big Cross Roads aid station. I went into the tent in search of Gatorade. To my delight, there was a buffet of snacks – m&ms, jelly beans, pretzels, peanut butter sandwiches and fruit! Since this was a training run for a 50K that I am planning to do in March, I decided that I needed to practice eating. I took a dixie cup of m&ms and ate a dozen. M&Ms have never tasted so good! I was tempted to linger and eat more, but I had five more miles to run. The sugar coursing through my veins put a bit of a pep in my step, I took off.

The next several miles were muddy and flat. Under drier conditions, one could pick up the pace and may be even drop the bomb. But not today. The clay mud caked to my shoes adding at least two pounds to each. My hip flexors and quads were burning with each step from the extra weight. I had to stop every quarter mile to take handfuls of mud off the bottom of my shoes. The miles that were supposed to be the easiest were turning out to be the most difficult. I mumbled obscenities about Texas and had decided that I was a “pretty” runner that didn't belong in the mud and ought to stick to the clean streets! I was getting frustrated and dangerously close to throwing a temper tantrum in the middle of the woods. I was trudging along when I saw a random spectator who proclaimed that I was less than a mile from the finish! I had lost a GPS signal on my watch and had no idea where I was in the course. I gave up trying to take the mud off my shoes and ran as “fast” as I could to the finish. I crossed the finish to the applause and cheers of a handful of spectators.

Someone said that I looked like I had a lot of fun in the mud. My hip flexors and quads disagreed. Some miles were delightful and others were muddy misery. It was definitely an “adventure” and a unique running experience. When asked if I would do it again, my quads say “hell no!” However, I have a feeling that I might try a couple more trail runs...

Ageing

On my 30^th birthday, I tried to cower under my bed. My thirtieth birthday marked the end of “youth” and the beginning of responsible adulthood. I wanted nothing to do with being an adult. Alas, I was forced into daylight and week of wine-infused festivities. I could say it was horrible, But, who am I kidding. It was fabulous.

Thirty has come and gone. At first, I was ambivalent about turning 31. Then, I had an epiphany. Most of the women I run with are several years older than me AND they kick my but at workouts on a regular basis. Furthermore, in the past two years, they have set spectacular personal records in their running! Lets not forget their careers and families. They are kicking ass and taking names – mine included!

I have observed that women runners age powerfully! They grow strong and fabulous, rather than graefully refined. I declare that my thirties will be thrilling. I will run farther and faster (and pursue the other aspects of my life with similar energy). Its starting with a 50k (a poetic 31 miles).

2012: A Year of Running in Review

In 2012, I ran two marathons and one half marathon. For each marathon, I ran approximately 710 training miles. That's well over 1,000 miles run in 2012! Here are a couple interesting things that I have learned:

1. Fire your glutes! However, in order to fire your glutes, you must have strong glutes. After running up and down many hills while training for Boston, I finally had reasonably strong glutes! (Towards the end of the training season my pants were actually a little tight in the rear. I felt like J-Lo). At some point, I figured out how to use them too! They make all the difference.

2. Hips don't lie! Strong hips are happy hips and happy hips make happy runners. After sitting in front my computer fiendishly writing my dissertation, my hips got weak and my J-Lo glutes vanished. My hips were not strong and consequently very, very pissed. In fact, they went on strike before the Sydney marathon. It was the WORST running experience of my life. Never let your hips get weak.

3. One should think twice before taking a seat offered by volunteer at the end of a marathon (especially if the seat is a wheel chair). That seat will surely lead to a bed in the medical tent. The medical volunteers will whisper sweet nothings about beds, hydration, and massages. Do not believe them! They will poke and prod in unmentionable places an stick with you needles! You will not be hydrating with mimosas as you had planned for the last five miles of the marathon. Its all a ruse. Do not take the seat!

4. One needs a strategy to run a successful marathon. When I ran the New York Marathon (2011), my strategy was to have fun. I took off weaving around the quads singing Jay-Z's "Empire State of Mind" to myself. It was awesome, until mike 20. Then I hit a ugly wall. By the time I had finished, I had ran almost 28 miles (from all the weaving) and felt like I horrible (mimosa didn't even sound good). In Boston, I had a good strategy. Then I saw the weather report and revised. I ran the first half conservatively (unlike New York), drank and ate at regular intervals, blew kisses to the girls at Wellsley, waved to my dad and finished with a smile (sort of). A race strategy is a good thing!

5. I have excellent running friends! We often play a game called "Kill, Marry or F**k?" A person is given a list of three people and has to choose one to kill, one to marry, and one to f**ck. To my knowledge, I have never been killed. I think that is a sign of strong friendships.