March 19, 2012

40 mile weekend

Dawn at the Reservoir; me, Jen and Nico

This weekend I ran 40 miles, the most miles I’ve ever run in two days.  Didn’t really plan it out that way, meant to run Saturday morning with the girls and then Sunday with Team Alpaca, but a spontaneous mountain trail adventure Saturday afternoon added a third run to the weekend that brought my Saturday total to 18 miles.  That run was the most necessary of the bunch with the highest stakes and biggest rewards, but I’m absolutely getting ahead of myself.

 

Saturday’s run in the morning with the girls was easy.  Pulled into the parking lot a minute after they started out and noticed that my heart never even got excited about having to hustle to catch them.  I knew I’d grab them by mile 2, so took another minute to pull on the arm warmers and let the Garmin find the satellites.  Headed up Dowdy Draw in the shadows of the valley and noticed how still everything was in the pink glow of the mountains.

 

The trail was dry, no trace of the ice that plagued us a few weeks ago.  The morning was warm and promised another beautiful, 70+ degree day with clear blue skies.

 

My mind felt still, like it was resting, or waiting.  I noticed the feeling and acknowledged the slight cloud that hovered over my heart.  Something energetic was lurking on my emotional horizon.  I would watch and wait.

 

We looped through Dowdy Draw into Eldorado Canyon and back to the trailhead.  6.75 miles.  I headed back up the trail a little way to round out my mileage; I wanted to get at least 8 miles in during this run.

 

Back at the parking lot the last member of our group drove away; I waved and told her I’d meet them at coffee in a few minutes.

 

The morning was mellow and even though it was good to run with the ladies, my mood was dropping fast.  The cloud that had hovered on the horizon was turning black and the brewing storm promised to be intense.  Within an hour of returning home the storm broke and hell’s fury set loose in my psyche.  This was a full-force hurricane that racked up tsunami floods.  I was being buried alive.

 

I packed a grocery bag of several pieces of clothing; a pair of jeans and a tank top, a sports bra and wicking shirt, a jacket and some shorts.  There was no specific plan, just an instinct to Go.

 

After driving for 45 minutes I found myself in Lyons at Hall Ranch.  I ran the trail last summer with someone I used to know and vaguely remembered it was about 10 miles.  After gearing up I grabbed a Gu and the half-full water bottle as an afterthought.

 

I started out running up Bitterbrush and quit right away.  The Colorado sunshine combined with the steep incline zapped my energy fast and I didn’t have enough water to run 10 miles.  The only solution was to hike.

 

Power hiking up the trail felt good and I noticed a slight stretching in muscles adapted to running.  I sipped water from time to time, determined to make my 8 oz last, and came upon a cyclist sitting on a bench.  We chatted for a minute then I left him to his bench-warming.  A few minutes later he passed me.  A few minutes later I passed him while he paused to talk to a hiking couple that was meandering the mountain (off trails).  By this time I was on Nelson Loop, he knew I was low on water and apparently decided to make it his mission to ask everyone he passed if they had any water to spare to fill my water bottle.

 

Another half mile and I was ready to run, done with this hiking thing already.  My mood was shifting and the warmth of the sun was clearing up the cloud cover on my heart.  I could almost feel it again.

 

At the top of Nelson Loop, Cyclist Guy and Girlfriend were parked on yet another bench.  We greeted each other like old friends and when the next mountain biker came into view he hustled some water for me.  My bottle was replenished by 8 oz, and Girlfriend offered a Clif Bar.  Water and food, substance of life.

 

We introduced ourselves and I sat on the bench in the sun with Robert and Adrienne, chewing thoughtfully.  The smile that I thought would never touch my face again popped out, and I heard myself laugh.  This was progress.

 

It was time to go.  I told them I’d go first and would listen for them coming up behind me.  The trail was getting good at this point and my trail-running athlete’s body knew what to do.

 

Rocks, rocks, lots of rocks.  Dirt and sand, sunshine, and lots of downhill.  Eyes focused on the trail and my legs and feet and arms were in perfect rhythm.  Each step was intentional and I flew faster and faster.  Every so often a group of riders appeared in front of me; I had the right of way and they made room.  After a mile or so I heard dirt crunching behind me; Robert was finally there.

 

“Man, you’re FAST!”

 

He passed me then pulled over to pee under a bridge.  I ran and ran, jumping, coasting, flying through the air.  Another set of cyclists crowded the trail; I jumped onto the bank and flew over a little ditch, then another one, two steps and I was around them.

 

“Whoa…” the sound faded behind me.

 

At the last possible moment Robert came from behind again and leapfrogged, pushed up the last 50 yards and parked at the next T in the trail to wait for Adrienne.  I slowed down and felt the fast pump of blood in my neck and the quick rise and fall of my chest.

 

“I’ve chased down mountain bikers on the trail before but never a runner!”

 

I had to laugh at this one… apparently Robert hasn’t been around enough trail runners to know that downhill running is the epitome of FREEDOM.  It’s a high that is brilliant, beautiful, life-affirming and endorphin filled to the Nth degree.  It’s the best feeling in the world, and I found it again on this beautiful Saturday afternoon.

 

I finished my run and checked the time on the clock radio of the car; 6pm.  In twelve hours I was meeting Team Alpaca at the Boulder Reservoir to run 22 miles.  Time to eat and hit the sack.

 

The next morning I pulled into the parking lot at the Res at 5:55am.  Dave wanted us there at that time so we would be ready to run by 6am.  He and Nico were there and Jen pulled into the lot a minute later.  Geared up and ready to go, we decided to loop around the Boulder Reservoir before we headed onto the trails, just to let the sun come up and light our way.  A surreal bubble closed around us; we were lost in our own little world of moving through the pre-dawn light without headlamps and just a sliver of moonlight to guide us.

 

A cold breeze wafted from the water and as we turned south our exposed skin took the brunt of the temperature shift.  My left hand went from chilly to downright cold and my thick, swollen fingers refused to tighten into a fist.  Since I didn’t have gloves with me, I told myself that the sunlight would be here soon enough to warm things up.

 

We meandered here and there and stopped at Dave’s house for a potty break at mile 13.3.  When all systems were “Go” again he dropped a little bomb on us; he was hoping to run 5.5 miles of MP paces back to the Res.  You know, no big deal, just to keep things interesting.

 

I’m sure I gave him a small evil eye glare because he looked at me and said “Okay”?  Fine, I shrugged, whatever everyone else wanted to do, I was game.  It just that my legs were starting to feel a little tired.  But whatever, I would do the best I could.

 

Nico and Dave led, Jen and I followed.  She kept at my slower pace and chatted at me the entire time.  I told her a few times to let me go and run her own pace, but she was determined to pull my slow butt along.  She wasn’t dropping me, no matter what.

 

We cruised along, Dave and Nico getting farther and farther ahead.  Finally, we turned onto 55th Street and headed back to the Reservoir, back up the last of the hills.  The guys were waiting for us at the stop sign.

 

We paused for a full 60 seconds, then started the two cool-down loops around the little neighborhood before ending at the cars.  9:30am, 22.3 miles in the bag, and the wind hadn’t started gusting yet.  Perfect.

 

I checked my Marathon Pace splits: 7:45, 7:49, 7:42, 7:44, 7:56.  Dave, my ever-present cheerleader, high-fived and reiterated his premise that if I can run sub-8’s at mile 16 of a 22 miler, AFTER running 18 miles on trail the day before, it’s absolutely possible for me to run sub-8’s at the marathon in May.  Sweet, Dave.  We’ll see.

 

As I drove home and felt the wind start to swish against the car, the words “I can do this” kept floating through my brain.  I can run strong.  I can run fast.  Keep running, don’t ever stop.  You find the good stuff when you keep moving, keep pushing boundaries, keep moving forward.  Keep running.

 

Filed Under: Seasons, Spring 2012, Training Tagged: , , , , ,
March 5, 2012

Spring Training

It’s funny what a little friendly smack-talk and motivation between runners can accomplish. But let me back up a few hours…

Friday morning I ran 10 easy miles with Dave. He and I are in the same training cycle and will be running the Colorado Marathon in early May. His paces are totally ramped up compared to mine, because I’m loading trail miles and hours instead of pure pace vs time. I smack-talked him into dipping into a Marathon Pace for the last mile, and he grudgingly obliged me by kicking it in and chasing me the last mile. That being said, Dave is a faster runner than I am hand’s down, and can hold a sub 7:30 pace for a lot longer than I can. I was just messin’ with him Friday morning.

Late Friday afternoon I felt a little itchy, ready to run again. The question was, should I run a double (two runs in the same day) given that I planned on running Saturday morning with the girls and Sunday morning at the Reservoir? As I sat at my computer writing I tweeted with Jeff (my twitter runner friend from Seattle who’s ramping up his training in preparation to run a 100-miler in late March), discussing this little idea of mine. He asked all the right questions; what was on the books for Saturday and Sunday, were the miles going to be on road or trail, what was the expected pace? Based on my answers he gave the thumb’s up; run a double on the mountain, go easy on Saturday, run for time on Sunday. I could have made the decision on my own, but it was great to be able to hash it out in conversation with another runner who was familiar with my ability, weekly mileage and propensity to sell myself short.

As the sun set Friday evening I hit the Mesa Trail with my headlamp. The plan was to run up Big Bluestem, head down North Fork and loop around again, about a 6.5 mile route. I hadn’t been on the mountain in weeks and didn’t know what kind of conditions I would find. I ran Big Bluestem in the dusky twilight and at the top of the hill paused briefly to turn on my light. The bright moonlight didn’t reach the forest floor, and the footing was about to get tricky.

For the next mile and a half I walked/ran/slid my way down. At one point I stood on the side of the trail, looking in awe at the river of ice that twisted down the ravine and disappeared into the dark. No snowpack, gritty gravel or pine needles littered the ice. The only possible traction on this section was to try to land on the rocks that marred the perfection of the frozen terrain. Visions of falling backwards and breaking an arm danced around my brain, and I slowly resumed my cautious descent, realizing that if I truly injured myself it would be a long walk back to the car in the dark.

I ran slowly that night, looking up at the stars that shone so brightly. My feet hit every divot on the trail, jamming ankle bones this way and that. Pretty soon the cold that had started off as a benign chill permeated my bones because I wasn’t generating enough heat; I wasn’t running fast enough.

Back at the car I didn’t stop to stretch or take a last breath of night air; I headed home with the heat cranked. An hour later I climbed in bed to sleep, so I could get up and run again 10 hours later.

The next morning I joined the Saturday Morning gang at Bobolink and ran the same trail as the morning before, this time at a slower pace with different company and conversation. The incessant wind that has tortured us for weeks was quiet until the last few miles, which worked out perfectly because Siga and I were deep into solving our Contemporary World Problems; we had our groove on and weren’t deterred by a few 40 mph gusts.

At coffee that morning I ran into Jen, a friend of Dave’s. We exchanged cell phone numbers and arranged to run the next morning at the Boulder Reservoir. I told her my plan to run four hours; she wanted to run 20 miles, so we figured we were in the ballpark to do some serious miles together. We decided on a 6am start time, said goodbye and left to enjoy the day.

After getting 5 hours of sleep I arrived at the Boulder Reservoir. No other cars were there, so I had my pick of where to park. Jen arrived a few minutes later; we geared up and headed out.

My legs were tired when we started running and the wind was already ramping up its onslaught. We headed north out on 55th Street and watched the sky brighten to the east. A mile and a half in, we stopped for a pee break and Jen snapped a picture of me in the early light.

Jen was a powerhouse, chatting easily into the wind even when I had to duck my head to get out of the gusts. I lagged many times due to fatigued legs and the effort it took to battle 40 mph gusts that at time, seemed like they went on for miles.

We stopped again to take a picture of the alpaca that caught Dave, Nico and my attention a few weeks back. I clicked a picture of the local wildlife and giggled at the this one.

Alpaca face!

We kept a steady, slow pace, and I apologized to her again for my slowness. The last time she, Dave and I ran, we were a full minute faster on that 18-miler. Today, I just didn’t have it in me.

We rounded out around the Reservoir and watched a hundred runners head out together in a monthly rUnify Boulder gathering. I toyed with the idea of trying to catch them and tacking on the last 10 miles with the group, but they were a good half-mile in front of us and I didn’t have the wheel-power to catch them. We plodded along and turned into the wind again. We had another three miles before we even got to the cars.

The wind kicked up some spray along the dam of the Reservoir

At mile 18 I told Jen that when we arrived in the parking lot it was going to take a lot for me to want to keep going. The effort of battling the wind had done me in. We calculated our time and miles; we would have about 20 miles in the bank, coming in at 3 hours and sixteen minutes. It wasn’t worth it to me to keep plowing through the gusts to get another 45 minutes on my feet. I was done.

Back at home I added the mileage to my weekly training log and looked at the grand total. 51 miles in 4 days. My legs were trashed, I was hungry and tired, and completely satisfied with the week. I broke through some physical and mental barriers this week and have a few friends to thank for helping me along.

Thanks Dave, Jen and Jeff. You all helped me this week and I really appreciate the smack-talk and motivation that get me out of my comfort zone.

Filed Under: Seasons, Spring 2012, Trails, Training Tagged: , , , , ,
February 19, 2012

Boulder Backroads 21

Isn’t it funny how the runs you dread the most are usually the best ones? And how, if you go into a run with zero expectations, you get the most out of it?

The last few days have been hard, between not sleeping enough and doing some serious, hard-core yoga that has wailed on my hips and glutes. Add a few hormone into the mix and you have a beautiful trifecta that’s called Tired Runner Girl.

I actually got close to 8 hours of sleep last night and felt like I wouldn’t die if I ran long today, which was a better attitude than the one I went to sleep with. So things were looking up.

Dave, Nico and I met at the Boulder Reservoir at 6:30am. After a little general morning chitchat we took off down 55th street in the pre-dawn light.

They planned on running 21 miles today; I was thinking more along the lines of 18. We’re all running the Colorado Marathon in May and are loosely on the same training cycle, except I’m running the Desert R.A.T.S. 25 mile trail race in Fruita in April and need to peak earlier than them in terms of trail endurance, a totally different beast than marathon endurance.

Yesterday I ran Rattlesnake Gulch with the Boulder Trail Running Breakfast Club, pulling in about 10 miles in close to 2 hours. Did I really need to run 21 miles today, considering that my longest run in this training cycle was 16 miles? “Need” is a relative term because at mile 9, the moment when I had to choose if I would turn back and run the last 9 miles ALL BY MYSELF or finish the run with the guys, it was a no-brainer to decide to tack on the last 3 measly miles so I would have company the entire way.

I don’t know what the best part of the run was today because there were so many good things that happened.

The weather was perfect and the sunrise was phenomenal… orange and strawberry swirled sherbert at the top with a treasure trove of lemon meringue at the bottom, all culminating in a glowing ball of fire that rose from the flat side of the earth.

The conversation was amazing as well. We covered topics ranging from teen fiction to Dave’s passionate disgust of certain root vegetables, to pop culture and parenting, with the requisite breath spent debating the merits of distance running and opining about our certain brand of crazy. During one conversation I spouted off about the difference between Madonna’s “Express Yourself” and Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way” and used a short list of terms from some lyrics. Apparently Dave is getting to appreciate the variety of conversation I’m capable of and I’m waiting anxiously for the blog post in which he uses his new favorite word that until now, hasn’t been a part of his running vocabulary.

We cruised along at an 8 or 9 minute pace, stopping periodically to fuel, pee and take pictures next to the beautiful alpaca we found around mile 16.

Dave talking up the alpaca

She likes me, she really likes me!

Nico and the alpaca discussing who had the funniest hair.

We were a big pile of smiles and the miles continued to melt away as we casually, easily trotted along, engrossed in the moment.

Finally, around 9:45am, we saw the first signs of other runners. A big pack was headed our way. As they started to pass us Dave called out and greeted by name about six of the fastest guys you’re likely to see in Boulder, including James Carney, the guy who came in 7th in the Olympic Marathon Trials in Austin a few weeks ago. You know, because that’s who he hangs with. I mean really… what is this, BOULDER, the running mecca of the U.S.??? Yup.

Finally we turned onto 55th and headed into the homestretch. From somewhere behind us a group of runners that were doing an easy 90-minute run appeared out of nowhere. They magically split the three of us apart and with new pacing partners to reel us in, Dave, Nico and I ran our fastest three miles of the day. I talked with my new friends about social media, writing and One World Running, an organization they both volunteer for and one that’s been on my radar for a long time. We told stories and entertained each other until suddenly, we were done. 21.12 miles later, we were back at the cars.

There’s a certain magic that happens when you have no expectations. I didn’t know how far I was going to run today, how I would feel or what would happen anywhere along the way. I just knew that I was committed to showing up. In the process I got to run with two fabulously talented and interesting people and then met a few more along the way. That never would have happened if I had turned around at mile 9 for the crazy reason of “I shouldn’t push myself too hard”.

I’m stronger than I think, as a wise friend in Seattle keeps reminding me. And when I let my life be touched by other people, I gain so much more than strong quads.

Filed Under: Seasons, Training, Winter 2012 Tagged: , , ,
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