I have a chronically weak right glute due to tromping through the rain forest in the belly button of Costa Rica over 20 years ago. Trail running has strengthened the glute to a point, but the imbalance rears its ugly head when I do extended road or speed work. Coming off a 16-week marathon training cycle, I’ve put in my share of fast road miles and recently visited my trusted Physical Therapist to see what kind of damage I’ve done.

My PT, an Age-Grouping Ironman, had me do a few one-footed squats. I squatted like a champ on the left foot, then gritted my teeth when I wobbled on the right. He chuckled, laid me down on the table and promptly gave me two exercises for the glute.

1. External Rotation Clamshell: Lie on your left side with your left leg straight on the floor (no bend in the hip). Place your right hand on the floor in front of you to support the upper body. Bend your right leg until the arch of the right foot rests on the inside of the left knee. Start with the right knee touching the floor in front of you, then slowly raise the knee toward the ceiling, keeping the right foot in contact with the left knee at all times. When you’ve raised the right knee as high as you can, slowly lower it back to the starting position. Repeat this exercise 15 times.
2. Side leg lift: Lie on your left side with your left leg straight on the floor, as though you are standing. Stack your right leg on top of your left and roll slightly forward so that your right arm is taking a little of your weight. Begin by turning the right foot so that the toes point upwards. Very slowly raise the leg as far as you can, keeping the toes pointed up. This posture engages the gluteus medius. At the top of the exercise gently release the leg back down. Let the toes return to a neutral position. Repeat this exercise 15 times.

After doing each exercise 15 times, repeat the set once again. Do these consistently twice a day for two weeks, then you can join me at my next PT appointment and we’ll see who’s butt is stronger.

A whole group of us met at the Expo and after getting our packets and meeting some DailyMilers, six of us headed across the street for an early dinner.

Back row: Dave, Sean, Ellen, Bob, Ty, Jon Front row: Lara (me) Jo, Jessie

Almost everyone ordered penne pasta; I was the only one indulging in veggies on my gluten-free pizza. For a minute I felt a pang of flakiness rise up; was I about to sabotage myself with a poor food choice? I let that worry go; I’ve never had a digestive tract problem after eating veggies the night before a race and I wasn’t going to worry about that one.

It was an early night and everyone scattered back to their hotel room. My friend Jo and I shared a room; we set to work laying out our gear, pinning race bibs, organizing things, checking the elevation on the race course website, and sending silly text messages to other runners. By 9pm we were spent; time for bed.

By 2:45am we were both up and moving. We were meeting Dave at 4am to carpool over to the bus pick-up area, where we would ride 26.2 miles up the Poudre Canyon to the start line. I immediately started the coffee pot and started munching on my banana, then bagel and almond butter while I pulled on race clothes and slathered sunscreen.

Dave knocked on the door at 4am and helped attach the Splits bracelets he had made for Jo and me. There were 3 columns on the bracelet; Mile, Pace and Overall Time. This way we could look at the bracelet and compare it to the Overall Time on the Garmin, to know if we were on track for our Finishing Time.

Two days before the race I asked Dave to re-do my bracelet with negative splits. I decided I wanted to try for a 3:25 finish instead of the 3:30 that he predicted I would hit. I knew my time was aggressive and also knew that if I went out too fast I would blow up. My proposed splits looked something like this:
8:00 pace for 1st hour
7:53 pace for 2nd hour
7:45 pace for 3rd hour
sprint it out for last 1.5 miles

This goal scared me silly. It was aggressive, hard, and not out of the realm of possible. The only question was if I was willing to try.

Initially I didn’t want to tell anyone about my goal.  Finally I told my twitter friend Jeff who’s been coaching and cheering for me, to get his reaction. He thought it sounded good, as long as I let up if it felt like I was going to hurt myself. Another good friend weighed in; he figured out from my vague hedging that I was planning something hard. He never told me to give up the goal, but gave me advice that resonated with my sense of life balance: push hard, but let the mind and body agree on the ultimate outcome.

The bus dropped us off at 5:20. The moon gave enough light in the canyon to see by, and Dave, Jo and I joined the crowd of cold people in line at the porto-potties. A few minutes later we found Nico, Jon, Jen, AJ, Chuck, Rick and Bob, a DMer we had just met the night before at the Expo.

Jon, Keegan, Bob, AJ, Jo, Dave, Lara (me), Jen, Chuck, Rick, Nico

My energy was high and a minute after my first gel I couldn’t contain myself. The group laughed at me jumping up and down; I was bursting at the seams. A minute later at the bag drop I ran into Courtney and Luke; they looked chilly in their singlets, but excited to run.

The starting gun went off and I eased into an 8:00 minute pace. The plan was to keep things steady for the first hour, let people pass and gently warm up.

Sunlight hit the canyon walls and the world got brighter. The road was a gentle grade but the trail runner in me took over and hit the dirt path next to the road. A runner 50 yards ahead of me stayed on it as much as she could; when it got too close to the drop-off she popped back onto the road. I followed her exactly, kept an eye on the Garmin and let the miles roll by.

I popped about 6 HoneyStinger chews into my mouth at 45 minutes and chewed slowly, washing them down with water from my Nathan hydration pack. I had put about 25 oz in the pack, knowing there were numerous water stations on the course. I was trying to find the balance between carrying the weight of the water and utilizing the aid stations.

My right foot was concerning from the get-go. I could feel the pull of muscles that didn’t like the camber of the road and played with my stride. When legs felt fatigued I dropped my shoulders and concentrated on picking my feet up lightly, making sure I wasn’t bending forward into the downhill but gliding easily through the turns. I didn’t want a repeat of the Boulder Spring Half-Marathon, where my foot locked up and I had to stop and stretch it twice on the course, losing 2 minutes overall.

Splits for the first hour: 8:04, 7:56, 7:52, 8:00, 7:52, 7:51, 7:55

I noticed that my Garmin flipped over to a new mile well before I hit the official mile flag. I was about two-tenths of a mile longer than their course markings, and I hoped that nothing would change drastically from this point onward.

Heading into the second hour I felt good. The arm warmers were still comfortable, but I was ready to ditch the $5 Runner’s Roost gloves that I bought the night before.

It was time to pick up the pace and drop into the low 7:50’s. I knew I was moderately on target with my times, but was a little confused by the discrepancy in the distance of what my Garmin said vs where the official mile markers were. Therefore I decided to go roughly off my Garmin and try to push pace just a little to make up for the shortfall.

Splits for second hour: 7:55, 7:51, 7:58, 7:52, 7:59, 7:54

An aid station appeared at the beginning of mile 13 and I decided to pee quickly. I ran in, grabbed a cup of water, drank it as I peed in the porto-potty, and was out of there in less than 60 seconds. The Garmin auto-paused while I was at a complete stop, but I figured that the seconds I had banked in the first half got me close to my ball-park target.

For me, the hardest part of the marathon is between miles 13-20. The first Half is over, and there’s a “settling in” period where there’s just some steady running. The real mental and physical toughness comes at mile 20, when you have to dig in and get through the last 10k. If I’m going to fall off pace, this is where it happens.

The downhill was mostly over at this point and the course flattened out. For a trail runner, this is not incredibly fun. I concentrated on my breath, paid attention to the rhythmic in-and-out of my chest, and peeled my arm warmers down to my wrists.

At miles 14 and 15 I pulled past some runners. One girl said her quads were killing her; another looked like she wanted to cry. The temps were heating up and we were starting to see a few spectators.

At mile 16 I could feel it starting. My foot got tight and I lost flexibility in my ankle. After a minute the hamstring and glute got tight as well; things were cramping up again. I pulled over and did a full hamstring stretch, losing about a minute on the side of the road.

When I started running again it was looser, and a few minutes later as I passed someone an arm came out of nowhere and knocked me. I looked over; it was Courtney. She didn’t speak; her breathing was labored. I told her to anchor on if she wanted me to pull her in. She just shook her head and let me go.

Finally, finally, the one and only hill on the course appeared. For this trail runner it was a breath of fresh air and I hit it with gusto. Immediately tight muscles loosened up, my form settled into place and I was rejuvenated. At the top of the hill a group of people lined the curve and I pumped my fist at them. It was good to hear the cheering.

I ate more chews, went to wash it down with a swig from my pack and came up dry. I was going to have to start using the aid stations now. They were closer together, but it meant slowing down, drinking and speeding up again.

Splits for the third hour: 7:52, 8:04, 8:04, 8:00, 7:52, 7:58, 7:56

We were on a concrete bike path now, mixed in with the last of the Half-Marathoners that were walking. I knew my splits had fallen off and I wasn’t hitting the negative numbers like I wanted. The foot cramp had cost me, though it was hard to tell at that point how much.

My mouth felt sticky from the chews and gels and 6 oz cup of water wasn’t washing enough away. The aid stations were 1.5 miles apart now and I walked through each one, speeding up again at the end.

I passed a few marathoners now, along with more Half-Marathoners. The course had more spectators and I focused on keeping pace. I had given up long ago on hitting the 3:25; now I just wanted to come in under 3:30. Anything under 3:30 would be fine.

At Mile 23 I walked through the water stop and drank two cups, one of water and one of Heed. The Heed made my mouth sticky again. My breathing was hard; the sustained effort was getting to me. I wasn’t going to have a lot left for a push, but I was going to try.

At mile 25 I ramped up, dropped pace and headed in. Crowds cheered. There was no smile on my face. I was too close to 3:30 and couldn’t take time to look at my watch. The aid stations had cost me dearly; those splits had tanked. I wasn’t going to make it.

I got off the concrete bike path and started pounding down the road. People lined the road and I sprinted in. A semi-truck was being directed through the intersection by a police officer. I gritted my teeth and ran as fast as I could towards it; the cop stopped all traffic again and let me through the intersection. My pace had increased again and I held on, passing more Half-Marathoners.

The finish line clock said 3:32 and change. I stopped my Garmin. Dave and Nico cheered wildly not 10 yards from the finish line. Someone handed me a water bottle and I made a beeline to Team Alpaca.

Final splits: 8:16, 8:10, 8:33, 8:08, 7:51, 7:19

At the time I thought that the pee break and foot cramp had stolen my sub-3:30 time. Now that I really look at the splits, I can see that my slowest consistent miles were the ones where I walked through the water stops. I had built in time for the pee break and recovered from the foot cramp by hitting the hill hard; the water stops were the splits that I couldn’t salvage.

The official time was 3:32:08, well below the 3:40 time I needed to qualify for Boston. There was some good learning in this race as well; next time I’ll carry ALL my own water. A pit stop is ok, as long as I build it into the plan. Anything else is wasted effort.

I’m completely happy with this race, and thrilled with my post-race recovery. Less than 24 hours after the race and my legs are about 80%. Stairs aren’t a problem; my quads have forgiven me. I’m hydrated, not starving, and looking forward to my first run on Wednesday. When October rolls around and registration opens for Boston, I’ll be ready.

I have a lot of thoughts about my second marathon and the training cycle that I’ve experienced. So many things are different this time around. Everything is different, actually… I can’t think of a single thing that’s the same.

I’m looking forward to this race for so many reasons. Mostly, I have a huge group of friends doing this race and it’s going to be a complete blast.

Season- my first marathon was California International Marathon in Sacramento in December 2010. I had an autumn training cycle; this time I got to experience a Spring training cycle, which was fabulous.

Training- I trained with the 3 other members of Team Alpaca; Dave, Nico and Jen. We met for various runs throughout the week and did long runs together on the weekends. I always had company to motivate and get me onto trails and routes that kept things new and interesting.

Training plan- I left the plotting and tracking to others and jumped in whenever it felt good, doing speed, distance or trail running as the mood hit. I never got burned out.

Racing- I raced during this cycle when other team members raced, just because it sounded fun. I ended up PR’ing in both races and placing 2nd in my Age Group in the Boulder Spring Half Marathon.

Long Runs- I did five runs over 20 miles this time around, the last of which was the Desert R.A.T.S. trail marathon a week ago.

Nutrition- I’ve dialed in what works and how I’m going to fuel during the race.

Pacing- my pacing is faster this year as well, and there’s been speculation among Team members that I’m going to drastically crush my previous time. I don’t want to commit to that, but my competitive nature is peeking through and I have some ideas about a goal race time that I don’t want to talk about.

I feel incredibly ready for this race. The distance of 26.2 miles doesn’t scare me in the least; I’ve seen the beast and stared it down. Spending 3+ hours on my feet running sounds like a helluva good time, and I like the pace that I’ll be shooting for. The only thing that would make this better would be if it were a trail run. ☺

I arrived at our campsite by 5:30pm. Within a few minutes we all piled into the car and drove back to Fruita to pick up packets.

The race bibs were cloth, and totally reusable. We were instructed to return the bib after the race in exchange for our post-race meal. My bib was as big as my face; I joked that I could use it as a baby blanket. Other people’s bibs were smaller, the size of a typical race bib.

The swag bag was pretty disappointing; the requisite paper fillers were there, along with a Hammer Gel. Some people got Hammer Gels AND a LaraBar sample; some got a plastic container for electrolyte capsules. The t-shirt looked good though. Jesse ate his (small) meal and went back for seconds; the lady was pretty cranky about giving him more, though he pleaded and she eventually caved in.

Dusk in the desert

A few hours later I tucked into my sleeping bag and tweeted “Cozy in my tent. Relatively warm out, should be fine in my sleeping bag. Alarm set for 4:55am. Leave camp by 5:30, 6:30 race start.” My good friend Jeff tweeted back; we discussed a ballpark race time, finally deciding on something between 4:30-5:00 hours based on approximately 4000’ elevation gain, single track and jeep trail terrain. He cautioned against spending too much time at the Aid Stations; I told him I was going to carry my hydration pack that holds 70 oz of water. The plan was to drink all 70 oz by mile 19, refill the bladder at the Aid Station and run hard the last 10k.

Inside my hydration vest pocket 5 gels were stashed, one for each hour of the run (assuming I ran 5 hours); 2 Clifshot Razz, 1 Gu Roctane, and 2 Clifshot Citrus flavors. I’ve tried the Clifshot Razz before and find it “okay”… a little sweet for my taste. The Gu Roctane came from somewhere unknown, and the Clifshot Citrus flavor was a last-minute pick-up item from the store when I realized I didn’t have time to restock with my preferred Clifshot Mocha flavor or HoneyStinger gels.

I woke up 30 minutes before my alarm and lay cozy in my sleeping bag, thinking about what the day would bring. There was no nervous energy or anxiety eating at my stomach, and I enjoyed the pre-dawn quiet as I listened to people quietly move around the campsite, opening car doors and speaking in low tones.

Finally I got up, put on my gear and ate half a gluten-free bagel and a banana an hour before race start. The one thing that bothered me was that there was no toilet nearby; I love to poop first thing in the morning and any deviation from this throws my GI track off.

Once we arrived at the race, excitement took over and I’ll admit to squealing and jumping up and down while a few friends stood stoically watching my antics. Jesse was cold and didn’t want to unbundle until the last possible minute. I felt frisky in the pre-dawn light and couldn’t wait to get started.

The gun went off at precisely 6:30am and 200+ racers headed out. Many of us were doing the 25-mile while some hard-core souls were doing two laps to complete the 50-mile run. (Fellow writer TR Maloney ran the 50-mile, look for his race report soon.)

The first leg was on jeep trail. It was an easy slight climb, a simple warm-up for the next 5 miles of hills on technical terrain and single track. Within minutes the pack had thinned and I couldn’t see the lead racers anymore. A few people sprinted past, but overall my position close to the front was approximately perfect for the 9:00 pace.

We headed up the single track onto sections of slick rock. The sun crested the horizon and cast a warm glow to the sandstone rocks and bathed us in golden rays. The sound of breathing and the smell of sweat pierced my senses; I was jolted into absolute awareness of the mountain and the people ahead and behind. Every footfall had a purpose; each balanced nuance of leaning into a turn or hesitant step was potential disaster if not handled correctly. I focused on the moment and rode the high of being utterly present on the mountain, letting my trained runner’s body do what it does best.

The first rays of light hitting the landscape

Orange tape waved from branches and peeked out from underneath rocks, guiding us through the turns, across dry ravines and up steep inclines. I paused periodically to take pictures of the scenery; I wanted a visual reminder that I was in a gorgeous desert, running a beautiful trail race because I was strong and alive.

People leap-frogged each other and were so kind about passing. Even though we were on tight single track there was always room to pass if the runner ahead knew your intention. I would call out “I’m coming up behind, can I pass you?” and wait for the response; I never wanted someone to feel like I was going to plow past and throw them off balance. I got the same respect when people passed me; the unspoken etiquette of trail racing was in prime form, making for a completely safe experience during the entire run.

Runners heading up the initial 5-mile climb

Finally I dropped into the first Aid Station, a little table with 2 coolers and an assortment of gels. I checked my Garmin; almost 6 miles in 1:00 on the nose. I was surprised; after doing the math with Jeff the night before, I thought I was going to be doing about 5 miles per hour, not six. This was surprising. I said a mental “Hunh!” and sipped water from my pack.

A mile later it occurred to me to eat my first gel. I wasn’t hungry but wanted to be pro-active, knowing that when hunger set in it would be too late to fuel properly. I downed a Razz Clifshot gel and drank mightily to wash away the sticky-sweet taste.

The trail settled into undulating terrain. Most of the leap-frogging was over, and I watched the sun hit the Colorado River far below. High rock walls rose from the ground and the dust from the trail gave a little crunch under my feet. I noticed a few thoughts float like clouds through my brain, but they disappeared quickly when I refocused my attention on the trail in front of me. The time for thinking was over; it was time to remain completely present and respect the race and the terrain I was covering.

The next hour quickly floated by. My breakfast and the gel still fueled my body, the air was warm but not uncomfortable by any means, and even though I hadn’t had a good poop in 24 hours my intestines were not achy or roaring to life.

The Colorado River

Dana and Tina saw me coming at the next Aid Station and set up a cheer that startled the crew workers. They screamed my name from the moment I came into sight to the time when I finally disappeared around the next hill. I lifted my arms in a “touchdown” mode and gave them a thumb’s up along with a massive smile; it felt good to have someone know that I was there. My spirits lifted and the smile didn’t leave my face for at least the next mile.

I pulled over and peed behind a rock, figuring that I had been running for 2 hours and it was time to let loose a little water. My Garmin said 2:09 for 13 miles. I did a double take at the reading; this couldn’t be right. I was on pace to run a 4:10 race. No freaking way.

It was time for another gel. I fished a Citrus flavored Clifshot from my pocket, squeezed some into my mouth and tried not to spit it out. It was gross; syrupy sweet with the consistency of molasses. After finally swallowing it and washing it down with water I managed one more squeeze of it. I carried the packet in my hand for the next 2 miles, trying to work up the courage to finish the damn thing. I couldn’t do it and put the half-full pouch away for later. It occurred to me that I could try another flavor, but that seemed ridiculous when this one was already open.

I kept sipping from my hydration pack, trying to wash the taste from my mouth. My lips and hands were sticky now, as well as the tube of the hydration pack. Suddenly I was not impressed with my current state of affairs, but doggedly refused to slow down or stop to improve my situation.

Following the ridge line

The trail closed in again and followed the ridgeline of the rock for several miles. I was alone now; no one was immediately ahead of me and the sound of other runners had disappeared behind me. I had the entire landscape to myself and reveled in how small I felt next to rocks that were hundreds of millennia old.

At mile 17 I looked up to see three male hikers; one was sitting on the rock ledge in the shade with a huge pack of some sort on his front. The other two were standing next to him wearing full backcountry packs; one held a water bottle and poured it into the sitting man’s mouth. This registered briefly in my mind as I ran within inches of them; they smiled at me but none of us spoke. I knew that the trail was open to hikers and cyclists and figured that they were out on their own adventure.

I pulled into the last Aid Station at mile 19. Dana and Tina were there again and cheered royally, just like last time. I didn’t even think to stop and refill my water bladder; it felt like there was enough left to make it another 10k. Time to hit the hill.

And hit it I did. My pace had already slowed to 10:15/mile average, and I was readjusting my time goal. Now I wanted to finish by 4:20. The terrain was taking a toll on my glutes, though my feet were still totally fine.

Directly out of the Aid Station the jeep trail went UP. The two people in front of me were walking and I decided to do the same. My pace slowed even further into the 13:00/mile range, as I interspersed walking the hills with running whenever I could. At the top of the hill the trail turned south and we followed another ridgeline, heading up for another mile.

After two miles at a 13-minute pace I caught up to a few runners. One guy had taken off his shirt and the effects of the Colorado sunshine were already apparent on his skin. I picked up the pace as soon as the terrain leveled out and started to run again. No time to slow down, had to keep going. My friend Jeff kept popping into my head, and I had mental conversations with him, telling him about the terrain, the power walking, how I didn’t spend any time in Aid Stations, how my feet were fine and I was still running.

Finally the terrain shifted again and instead of going UP, I was going DOWN. Quickly. The trail was boulder-infested single track next to high rock walls. I was starting to get tired, and my legs didn’t have the same pep.

At mile 23 it occurred to me that I hadn’t had any fuel for about 10 miles. That half-eaten gel was still in my pack. It was time to force feed myself and get out of the bonk.

At a moderately clear place on the trail, where I didn’t have to use my hands to ease down through the rock crevices, I pulled out the gel and ate the disgusting thing, washing it down with water. There. That should do it until the finish line, only two more miles to go. Almost there.

A few people passed me as I considered carefully the best way through some of the scree fields, and one woman’s voice floated back to me as she ran ahead; “hold on, I’ll pull you in…”

It was a lovely thought, but I had to get off the rocks before I could do any anchoring.

The lead 50-mile runners were coming up the trail at this point.  Two men, running together, looking so fresh and happy, like they were meant for bouncing around trails on a beautiful Saturday in April.  A few minutes later a third 50-mile runner came into view; I pulled over and let him pass.

A few more twists and turns, and finally I was down. Less than half a mile to go, almost there. My 10:00/mile pace had blown up to 10:39. My only hope of salvaging anything was to bust out the last few minutes as fast as I could.

A minute later the Garmin clicked over to Mile 25. I heard the little chiming noise, looked briefly at the watch, and let out a big, fat, F-Bomb. The finish line was not close. I wasn’t there yet. The course was long.

I picked up the pace and ran steadily along the jeep trail that had started the whole thing. I stopped thinking and just ran. Nothing to do but run. Not there yet… keep going. Bring it home.

The finish line in sight, I pushed through and remembered to look at the clock; 4:36. My Garmin read 25.9 miles and I ruefully said that the organizers should have called this race a marathon and been done with it.

Dana stood cheering and had beverage in my hand within seconds, then a refill and M&M’s. I stood in the sun and looked over the crowd; two of my friends that were racing had already come in; I was third, and Jesse was somewhere behind me.

I was upset with myself for blowing the 4:10 pace I had set at the outset of the race, and couldn’t find any joy in coming in at 4:36, well on the low side of the 30-minute range Jeff and I had discussed. I was too tired to think of anything I would/could have done differently; all I knew was that I had left it all out on the course. I had done the best I could.

I grabbed a plain hamburger patty, slathered it with relish and ketchup and wrapped it in lettuce. My friends laughed to watch me eat; apparently I was loving on the food and wore a good amount as I took huge, happy bites.  After the burger I downed a few electrolyte capsules and drank a few more 8 oz cups of water and Heed.

About an hour and a half later I slowly walked to my car and changed out of my shoes into flip-flops. I ate the other half of my bagel with more almond butter and drank a single-serve container of Chocolate Almond milk while I considered my shower options in town.

I tweeted my race result and moments later Jeff wrote back with Congratulations. Maybe I was just tired, but suddenly I fell apart and it got hard to see the keyboard when I replied to him that I didn’t do well at all; I missed the 4:10 finish time and couldn’t go any faster. He replied with reason and logic; “well, you ran your hardest? Left it all out there?”

I knew what he was saying and smiled through my tears. If I had given it my all, that was good enough. That’s all anybody can do and that’s all that he, or anyone with a pulse, can ever hope for. I had run my hardest and did the best I could.

I wrote back “yeah, I did. I know what you’re going to say and you’re right. ☺”

He replied, “☺ be happy with what you did. Think about what you can improve on and do that next time. But you knew that. ☺”

It took a good 12 hours for the thought to cross my mind that my lack of fuel might have had something to do with my slow pace. All I knew at the time was that I couldn’t choke down another sticky/sweet gel. This is good information going into my next race, where I will work on getting calories in a liquid format.

Approximately 175 (unofficial count) finished the 25-mile trail race. The racecourse was absolutely beautiful. The weather was incredible and the runners were a fabulous group of quality individuals. I wish there was gluten-free food at the post-race tent, or some shade, though that didn’t seem to matter much at the time. Also, a finisher medal would have been nice.

The race director broke the age groups into three categories per gender; 0-34, 35-50, and 50+. It was bizarre to think that I was racing against people across a 15-year age range. I ranked 5th in my Age Group for women, and came in 55th overall.

My last long run was a week ago; I tromped through the mountain trails with my trail running buddy. We covered 19 miles in 4 hours, soaking up the beauty of the spring flowers and power hiking our way through some sections.

On Sunday night I arrived in Charleston S.C. for business for a few days, and did a slow 4.5 mile run Monday morning to acquaint myself with the area and get my bearings. The following morning I planned to go out again, but the sports bra and shorts still hung on the bathroom rack, soaked after washing them the previous day in the sink.

It’s Friday morning and I leave for Fruita in a few hours. I’m just starting to pack. I have a few work things to do this morning before I can even consider getting on the road.

I’ve never run fewer miles in a taper week. Initially I thought it would be more along the lines of 30 miles… but no. Couldn’t even squeeze that in.

Saw Bob Cranny, my adored Physical Therapist, yesterday, and showed him my right foot. The arch has this puff of swelling that’s been there for about 6 weeks now and doesn’t respond to ice, rest, rolling or acupuncture. There’s also residual swelling that sneaks up the inside of the ankle.

Bob did his magic and proclaimed that pretty soon (not today obviously, we’re a little pressed for time) I’m going to need custom orthotics. The foot is rolling inward at a strange angle because God attached my right leg with just a slight twist in the socket, so I do a little compensating. This is part of the reason why I can’t seem to strengthen the right glute, the hamstring is pretty tight, and that IT Band gets cranky on long, fast distances.

I’ll take my running shoes to Bob later this morning; he’s going to put a small post in the shoe to take some pressure off my foot.

Now, it’s 6:48am and I’m watching birds flit in and out of their little birdhouse outside my window. My cup of Chinese Breakfast tea with Almond Milk sits next to me, steaming. I’m freshly showered and the tiger balm on my calf muscle is working its magic.

The surreal feeling that creeps up around these long races is back. Last October I drove to Moab alone; the man I had been seeing was supposed to accompany me and bailed, even though he kept calling and texting to see if I was okay. Today, there is no lover in the picture. I’m not running a 50k this time (or 59k as it turned out), just a mere 25 miles. This will be a little more than a “walk in the park”, but well within my wheelhouse.

The taper has been good for me; I turned all my attention from running and focused on work. My brain was moving at the speed of light and some really good things happened this week. Now, I’m going to shift that attention again, and consider my body, the trail, the people around me, and sink into camping in the wilderness for two days with my new JetBoil and cozy tent.

This Colorado girl is heading to the wilderness.

SMZRunner on the Mesa Trail

This has been a week of running on tired legs. At some point in the marathon training cycle the legs get beat down due to the pounding. Being a trail runner, I’ve learned what to do to combat the fatigue… I get on the trail and spend some quality time high-stepping over rocks and plowing through single track.

I reached out to my buddy Jerry; he was game for a run on the Mesa Trail Wednesday morning and promised to bring his video camera. Jerry has mad video skills (check out his latest Race Report and video of the Rocking 50-mile in Kansas last weekend) and we thought it would be fun to document a little run-around on the trail, Saturday Morning Zen- style.

We met at Chautauqua and headed up the brutal incline. Jerry’s an experienced Ultra Runner and trains in these hills with the Colorado Ninjas. As soon as we took off he turned on the camera but immediately started to lag behind. “Start out slower, this is serious tempo!”

I would have laughed except I needed the breath. The heart-pounding exertion of hitting a 25% incline from Zero is intense. This is always my slowest mile, but I have hopes that it’ll get faster one day, as long as my heart doesn’t explode.

My sore glutes loosened up immediately. It’s hard to focus on aches and pains when you’re concentrating on each breath. The intense rise and fall of the chest, the rhythmic sounds of air whooshing through parted lips, and the warmth of my limbs as freshly oxygenated blood pushed through my veins was all-consuming. My body was present and alive, and the familiar feeling of crossing the threshold from rest to intense exercise was the drug I craved.

Clouds hugged the mountains but promised to hold back the rain as long as we stayed on the trail. Jerry darted around, doing intervals on tired legs as I cruised along. He’s incredibly visual and can picture in his mind what a film will look like; all he has to do is get in the right position to record the image. Several times he sprinted ahead or fell behind as I continued my solitary journey, only to rejoin me a few minutes later. This was never jarring though; his peaceful, steady, intuitive energy matches the mountain.

Clouds holding tight to the Mountain

He let me set the pace for a while, though he commented that this was a tempo run for him, not a training or recovery run. It took another mile for my brain to process this comment and realize he meant I was going too fast.

As we looped behind NCAR and headed down the stair steps he saw a fellow runner friend. I said hello and continued on my way, deep in my own thoughts and warm in the safety of my body. These stairs can be treacherous in various seasons; icy in winter and slippery in the heat of the summer when the ground is parched. Today, they were manageable and I slowed to an easy downhill glide.

smzrunner, on the trails

As we headed out of the ravine I dialed into the pace I’m used to keeping. Jerry caught up to me again and we talked about Ultra training and heart rate zones. I told him about being a “flaky racer”, in that I usually show up at races dehydrated, sleep deprived, with cramps or headache, lacking sunscreen, or whatever, pulling whatever run/pace out of my butt as I go. He’s a fabulous racer that has all the I’s dotted and T’s crossed at all times and trains in his heart rate zone, and mentioned that I would do well to slow down and get more endurance under my belt for upcoming Ultras.

I thought about how much my running has improved this training cycle, due in large part to running with Team Alpaca. They are, without exception, stronger and faster runners than me; I’ve built muscle, speed and stamina trying to keep up with them. After the Colorado Marathon, it’s wild to think about shifting gears and training with someone else’s expertise to make me a better Ultra Runner. I have so much to learn, and adore the fact that there are people out there who willingly share their wisdom and experience with those of us who want to learn.

we share this world with those we do not know... tread lightly.

Jerry and I covered a lot of verbal ground in addition to running almost two hours yesterday morning. He followed me out on my tempo pace, cracked jokes and told stories as we ran. I listened to his words and hung out with my body, letting tired muscles reinvigorate on my darling single track, breathing the rich mountain air and enjoying the easy feel of legs that are at home in trail shoes, dancing through the rock fields.

I need one more trail recovery run before heading to Fruita next week. I know my body is ready to race, but I need to cover a little more single track to get my wits about me and settle the energy. Racing is 90% mental; in 48 hours, my mind will be ready too.

I’ve known Jeff via Twitter for a while, though our connection probably began on DailyMile.com, a social media website that allows athletes to track their training. When I heard about his goal I followed his training and cheered (virtually of course, from Colorado) during the entire time he was on the course. I finally caught up to him a week after the race and got to hear the details of the race, in all its glory.

Jeff mentioned that Badger Mountain is a less supported race than other Ultras; in some sections runners need to carry their own gear for long stretches (over 20 miles) before they see crew again. Sixty-two hearty folks registered for the race; thirty-six crossed the finish line.

Badger Mountain 100 is a “Frontier Race”, where runners need crew of some sort and should understand the course very, very well. Runners know that Ultras are dynamic in nature, and this one was no exception; one week before race-day the R.D. re-routed the course when a landowner would not give permission for participants to cross his property.

Before the race Jeff put together three different scenarios for finishing in 28, 30 and 32 hours, based on times, distances, elevation and a few other factors that his technical brain conceived. He and Desiree talked over many different scenarios for completion, including how far they’d run together and when/if they should split up along the course. Plans were made as training and eventually, tapering, brought them closer to gun time.

The race began promptly at 7am Friday morning. Jeff’s 6am tweet proclaimed it to be “windy, windy, windy”, and sharp, cold blasts continued to buffet his group until they were off the 3rd mountain peak almost seven hours later. Being a seasoned trail runner, he dressed for the elements in an UnderArmour shirt, cycling jersey, arm warmer sleeves and rain jacket. He carried a heavy fleece, wore a stocking cap for the next 26 hours, and had two layers of protection for his legs that ultimately he donned after mile 58. Knowing that the race would be run on mainly jeep roads, crushed gravel and a little bit of asphalt, he ran in Montrail Rogue Racers.

For the first 27 miles things went pretty well. The wind was steady and occasional 60 mph gusts rocked runners as they edged along the top of mountain ridges. Jeff and his gang eased into a modified Galloway, doing 10-12 minutes of running interspersed with 10-12 minutes of power walking. They walked the hills and ran the flats, and pulled into the Chandler Butte Aid Station at 1:50pm. At that Aid Station they saw three people DNF; someone already had hypothermia, another had rolled an ankle and a third had unspecified leg strain.

The little group continued running over hardpack and unpleasant sections of asphalt where the shoulder was just wide enough for runners but too narrow for comfort. Semi’s drove full-speed through this section. Jeff noted “I wasn’t looking forward to going back up this section on the way back. I wasn’t stressed, but it was a constant march for two and a half miles. We definitely expended energy on this section just trying to be careful of the vehicles.”

At 7:50pm he arrived at the Grow A/S, the turn-around point, and sat down to enjoy pizza in a family’s garage. His team was still on track to complete the race in 28 hours, even though rest times at the A/S’s were starting to add up and they were starting to slow down.

Another 9 miles and temps had dropped into the low 30’s by the time they pulled into the next A/S. Jeff layered the heavy fleece under the rain jacket and put the rain pants on as a necessary layer for his legs. Desiree was cold and shivered in a blanket, while the pacer that was going to join them tended to her. Jeff tried to eat a pancake on an acid-filled stomach. By this time his left second toe had been taped and other toes had blisters on the pads though miraculously, his legs were completely fine.

After leaving the A/S the team tried to protect Desiree from the wind as much as possible. She was in the beginning throes of hypothermia, though none of them realized it yet. The wind had picked up again and was constantly changing directions; Jeff tried his best to protect her as she tucked in behind him, letting his larger body shield her much smaller one. It would be another 22 miles before they saw any crew again.

Des and Jeff each popped a Pepto tablet that helped to settle stomach acid. They had been eating steadily at the A/S’s, drinking Perpetuum and munching Gu’s and sport beans but the constant exercise was draining their systems.

During this long stretch Jeff started to worry about not making the cut-off time. The team talked about splitting up, which was hard because the original plan was for Jeff and Des to stay together at all costs until Mile 78. One of the team members didn’t want to talk about contingency plans and minor irritations started to rear.

All during the night Jeff felt fine and never lost his mental powers to do math. He kept running numbers in his head, calculating distance and time, factoring in stops at the A/S’s, elevation and terrain changes.

He pulled into the Chandler Butte A/S with 10 hours to cut-off and 50k to go. At the next aid station, four miles down the trail, a spark of energy goosed him up; he scooted out so fast that his pacer had to call out his number to the volunteers. He ran a good part of this section on moderate terrain and waited for his team to catch up.

Desiree held on until the McBee A/S; she had run over 76 miles and had to stop due to her hypothermic condition. When Jeff & Jeremy headed out again they had picked up a runner that had been sleeping at the A/S for over two hours. The volunteers wanted to DNF the runner but he insisted he still had time to complete the race.

Jeff headed up the side of the ridgeline with his brother pacing. The terrain was steep with lots of ascents and descents and his shoes caught in the sandy loam. Sometimes he was on jeep trails and had to walk through those sections, as it wasn’t good runnable terrain. At mile 84 he headed down and back up the steep side of a ravine.

Jeff began the race wearing his Nathan hydration vest (filled with Perpetuum) and carrying a bottle of water. At each A/S he refilled and alternated between drinking the sports drink and quenching his thirst. At the McBee A/S he took off the hydration vest and switched to carrying two hand-held water bottles, though didn’t realize until too late that they were both filled with Perpetuum; he was water-less and suddenly there was no impetus to run anymore.

He circumnavigated crops along private property and found himself walking down someone’s driveway and into a little town. His team was confused for a bit and when they stopped to ask someone where the course was, the friendly towns-folk couldn’t help because they didn’t know there was a race going on nearby.

At the Dallas Aid Station Jeff sat down. It was 10:24am and he had been moving for over 27 hours. “I think I’m done”.

His brother looked over at him and did what brother’s do; he smack-talked Jeff and pushed every emotional button there was. Jeff grabbed a Nuun, more peanut M&M’s and ran out of the Aid Station in a sub-8 sprint, thinking, “Fine… you want me to run? Then grab onto my ass and catch me!” As he ran the exhilarating feeling of utter freedom climbed into his brain and electrified his body; as he told me later, those next 4.5 miles over 650 feet of elevation gain and subsequent hammering of the downhills wrapped themselves into the best running moment he’s ever had.

Jeremy and Jason finally caught up and they faced one last section of asphalt, the heat of a new day, and random Washington sunshine. The blister that had formed on the side of his foot didn’t hurt as much when he ran, so he ran as much as possible from this point forward, crossing the Finish Line in 31 hours and 32 minutes.

Jeremy and Jeff, about to cross the finish line!

This was the first 100-miler for Jeff, the first in a series of what will become a life-time of 100’s. As he told me this week, it’s one of the best things he’s ever done; he’s excited to crunch stats and fine-tune his knowledge to race harder, stronger and smarter each time.

You ran a great race, Jeff… Congratulations!

Red, watery eyes stared back at me from the mirror as I stood in the bathroom braiding my hair. My body was tired and there was zero Oomph in my legs. This was not going to be a great race. I could already tell.

The weather forecast called for warm temps at the starting line and full-blown Colorado sunshine all day. There would be no relief from the sun at the Boulder Reservoir.

I pulled into the dusty parking lot and let loose a big fat smile at the sunrise that blasted over the horizon. It was hard to stay cranky faced with the beauty of a Boulder Reservoir dawn.

Dawn breaking at the Boulder Reservoir

After packet pick-up I met up with Dave and his friend Andy; Jen was running late and would meet us when she could. We had just started jogging up the road for an easy warm-up when she caught us. We hugged, laughed and talked splits and race goals. Dave, our fearless leader, has the McMillian pace calculator memorized and told us what to shoot for based on all factors (except intestinal ones). I secretly wanted to hit a 1:35 time, knowing it was in my wheel-house based on the training and racing I’ve done recently, but also knew that that would be a 7 minute PR over my fastest time. And given my physical circumstances, I didn’t want to be too hopeful.

After the warm-up and a potty stop where no dead creatures emerged from my hiney, I made a show of stretching on the little grassy hill next to the Start Line where I could fart in peace. The gas was still rank and utterly obnoxious and I didn’t want to be close to people until the last possible moment.

Minutes later the Starting Gun went off and runners shuffled over the mat. I hit the Start button on the Garmin and began the slow slog through a sea of people.

The course has two initial hills that are long and involved. Whenever we train out here I settle into the distance and know that after two miles I’ll be nice and warmed up. Last year I started too far back and ran way too slow. Today I was determined to run by feel, get in a groove and not embarrass myself by being years slower than my speedy friends.

The field evened out quickly and there was room to see the uneven dirt road in front of my feet. At one point I glanced at my watch and did a double-take at the average pace; 7:37. Serious? For the first mile? You gotta be kidding. Dave thought that I should go out at 7:45 and I had laughed in his face, saying, “That’s way too fast Dave, I have to start slow and negative split. I don’t run like you!”

Even though my watch said I was going at a good race pace, it didn’t feel like it. My legs were lead and within a few miles the heat of the day appeared in all its glory. At the first water stop I grabbed a cup and managed a sip before sloshing the rest up my nose and down my chin.

I ran along at a decent clip until somewhere in Mile 5 when my right foot started to feel weird. It was landing with a SLAP on the ground instead of rolling through the motion. My toes felt like they were frozen open and as I kept running, my knee and glute started to twinge; I couldn’t lift my leg very high anymore. I ran for a few minutes like this before pulling over and stretching out the foot, trying to release whatever was happening and losing precious time.

I quickly got on pace again and walked through the next two aid stations, drinking fully. Most people were doing this, so I never got too far behind Mr. Blue Shirt that was just ahead of me.

My goal was to open up the legs at the turn-around point and negative split the race. As soon as I headed into the return of the out-and-back it was obvious I didn’t have anything in the tank. The best I could do was hold pace and try not to get left in the dust. I was running on empty.

I started looking at the faces and bodies of the people still running out to the turn-around. It was fascinating to see the various postures and gaits. Some people were struggling, some were plodding along, some looked squarely at the ground in front of them. Some looked happy and a few looked absolutely tortured. I watched with a curious detachment as my mind wandered.

The average pace on the Garmin had crept up to the 7:43 zone and stayed there. I hoped to be able to knock seconds off the pace in the last two miles. Miles 8, 9 and 10 felt okay but somewhere in mile 11 the massive cramping started in my glute and worked its way down my leg into the foot, where it froze my toes open again. For about 60 seconds I hoped to plow through it but gave up that pipe-dream when it occurred to me that I might hurt myself my running with a compensated gait. Again, I pulled over and stretched.

A minute later I caught up to Mr. Blue Shirt, the guy I’d been trailing for about 8 miles. A few times I had almost passed him but he’d glance up and step on the gas to stay 10 yards ahead. Apparently he has serious issues with being chicked by runner-girls with pigtails.

Last year I pushed hard on the downhills and negative split the race by 9 minutes. This year I couldn’t push hard. My legs had one speed.

I ran hard through the last few hundred yards and raced to the finish line where I stopped the Garmin and slowed to a walk. My average pace was 7:43 on the Garmin, with an overall time of 1:42:01, which didn’t take into account the time I had stopped to stretch my foot. The volunteer lady fumbled to get the chip of my bib for a good minute while I stood there breathing hard and trembling.

At the beverage table I alternated between Gatorade and water, downing about five cups before my hands started working again. Then Jen appeared and we headed to the toilets; my gut had started to rumble. I exited the porto-potty two pounds lighter than when I entered, having emptied my intestines fully and extensively.

Splits for the race: 7:37, 7:32, 7:42, 7:50, 8:04, 8:08, 7:52, 7:32, 7:29, 7:28, 7:55, 7:43, 7:37, 7:25.

My two slowest miles were miles 5 and 6, when I stopped for the first foot cramp and then walked slowly through the aid station at the turn-around. The second foot cramp came at mile 11, where I stopped for a full minute to stretch. When Jen and Dave asked how I did I was embarrassed to tell them my time; it wasn’t the sub 1:40 any of us thought I’d do.

The race directors had a new thing going this year; they input your bib number into a computer and a machine spits out a “receipt” with your gun time, chip time, pace, overall place, and age group place. Dave had picked up his receipt right after he finished and got Second in his Age Group. We ran an easy mile cool-down where we talked about our races; I grumped about my foot cramps and tried not to cry.

When the line for the receipts thinned out Jen and I headed over to grab ours. I looked at the little piece of paper in my hand and gasped; I had placed Second in my Age Group. For the first time ever, I was about to get an award for ranking high in a race. I couldn’t believe it. Jen was so much faster than me and placed fourth in her age group. She deserved the award more than I did and here I was, about to get a pretty because I was older than her.

We hung around, got more food and beverage, found sunscreen at the Info tent and sat on a bench in the sun while awards were handed out to amazingly talented runners of all ages. Dave and I clomped across the stage to receive our decorations, and Andy snapped a picture of us afterwards.

Me and Dave with our Second Place age group awards

This was a brutal race with completely unexpected results. Poor sleep the night before… intestinal trouble… heat… foot cramps… culminating in a Second Place age group finish. Go figure.

Cuz I’m sure I’m not the only one who has some questions about how painful it can be, how big the needles are, and whether an organ will be punctured.

I’ve had acupuncture too many times to count; I can honestly say I’m a big fan of needles when used for Chinese Medicine (if you’re after my blood though, you better not laugh when I start crying from the pain. Seriously). The school of thought that says there are channels of energy coursing through the body makes a lot of sense to me. I’m a big believer in things being connected at a core level even though they might not look related at first glance.

Last night a friend on DailyMile.com asked about dry needling… she’s been thinking about it and wanted to know my thoughts.

“I think it’s a really good thing, but give yourself the day for recovery before you try to do anything. As with any bodywork, don’t be surprised if some emotion comes creeping up to peek in the window. It’s good stuff… Done right, it’s not painful. Look for an Acupuncturist to do it, not a PT, you want someone who understands the nuance of the needle and the energy flow underneath it.”

Dry needling is different from acupuncture in that far fewer needles are used. It’s targeted for specific knots and aches in the body.

I initially had needling done in my calf muscle because the arch of my foot was whiny. I had had some ultrasound and massage done on the foot, as well as some acupuncture. Nothing worked; clearly we needed to look further for the source of the problem. Steven Rizzolo over at Boulder Sports Acupuncture did a little treasure hunt on my body and found knots the size of small rocks in my calves that weren’t responding to massage or foam rolling.

While I lay face down on a heated table listening to gentle tribal music and breathing in the relaxing smell of sage, he used a typical acupuncture needle and went straight into the core of the knot. My leg jumped reflexively.

“Good,” he said approvingly, in his soothing voice while he waited for me to take a few deep breaths.

Then he very, very gently worked the needle just a hair further into the knot, causing a second mild tremor in the muscle. After another deep breath that settled my heart rate, he found one more nuance of release that caused the third, and final, muscle twitch. Then he extracted the needle and while rubbing my leg, noted that the position of my foot had changed. The muscle had been holding so tightly that my foot was being tweaked inward, causing a change to my gait and constant pressure on the arch of my foot.

Seemingly unrelated, but once identified, the root cause of the problem.

When I stood up my leg felt like a brick. The entire calf muscle was adjusting itself to this new paradigm and wasn’t happy about the entire state of affairs. I mentioned to Steven that things were sore; he assured me that by tomorrow I would be ready to run again.

That night I went home and iced the calf a few times while I sat on my butt and tried not to move too much. I seriously doubted Steven’s assessment that I would be “fine” the next day, but I held out hope that he was right and I was wrong. This would be an awesome thing to be wrong about.

The next morning I woke up and gingerly tested my calf by flexing the foot. So far, so good. I stood up and walked around the bedroom; still fine. In the next hour that I busied myself getting kids ready for school, the muscle loosened up even further. I was fine, and it was time to run.

So let’s reiterate:

1. The needling itself is not too painful. I’ve broken bones, crushed my foot with flagstone and gone through natural childbirth twice. Dry needling, in the grand scheme of painful, is pretty low on the list.
2. The needles are incredibly thin. You can’t draw blood or sew with them; they’re acupuncture-grade needles.
3. Your organs will NOT be punctured. A drop of blood might be drawn somewhere, at some point. You won’t bleed to death. Stop being squeamish.

Earlier I mentioned that there’s an emotional aspect to this work as well. Recently I had a treatment where I left the office and tears oozed, dripped and spurted from my eyes for a good six hours. Not because my body hurt so much but because it felt like my heart had been whacked wide open. A few days after the massive release I canceled my next appointment with Steven, justified in my assessment that there was NO WAY I could go in and allow him to bring that kind of crap up to the surface and then leave me to mop up the mess when I should really be working.

He emailed me a few days later to check in. I replied honestly about what happened. Within his next email he said something that resonated in my brain; “the body remembers what the mind forgets”. I know I’m a living, breathing example of holding onto memories in my body. And now Steven knows my secret; that by poking a needle into certain muscles, cryballs ensue. Excellent.

We talked at length about how sensitive I am to body work, how close to the surface my energy sits, and how I need more nuanced treatments. As he so astutely pointed out, “You’re a Mom; you can take anything that’s thrown at you. But for you to really heal, YOUR BODY needs time and space to relax into the emotional and physical release. So… we’ll go slower.”

So here’s my assessment of dry needling: it’s fabulous. Someone who works with needles all the livelong day and understands the nuance of the muscle and response, and adjusts treatment accordingly should do it. Also, plan to let your body be achy afterwards, you’ll be able to run again the next day.