Laurel Highlands 70 Miler: A Modern Day Fairy Tale

Once Upon A Time, a girl with pigtails ran the Laurel Highlands 70 Miler (in 2006). She was met with wonderful cool weather and helpful spirits and she completed her journey with aplomb.
 
She ventured forth again in 2008, but the Evil Rains came and she failed. She knew she couldn't let Evil triumph, so she returned once more to fight the good battle. This is her race report. It's a modern day fairy tale!


Self-Doubt. I don't think I've ever had more anxiety about a race. I was filled with doubts. I didn't believe I had the mental toughness to push through when things got difficult. I didn't want it badly enough.

Problems. I had good reason to feel pessimistic. Since changing my diet to Whole30/Paleo, I'd only had a SINGLE successful long run. The fuel I'd been trying and tweaking only got me so far in each race. The taper was upon me and I'd run out of time to test any other methods. I would be trying an entirely new fueling system in the longest race I'd done in seven years. WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG?

Betrayal. My beloved Vasque Transistor FS, the shoes I've worn during all my long trail runs for the past three years, were causing me ankle pain even on short runs. I'd have to rely on my Asics road running shoes and my seldom-worn (and never tested on trail) Brooks Pure Cadence for most of the 70 miles. 

Experimenting with Potions. I had decided to try Vespa Junior for my fueling strategy. The ingredients read a bit like a recipe for witch's potion:

• Filtered water
• Orange juice
• Honey
• Royal jelly 
• Bee propolis 
• Wasp extract
• Eye of Newt (ok, kidding on this one)

According to the website, it helps the body utilize fat stores for energy, especially if your daily diet is Paleo/low carb. You still eat some carbohydrate during the run, but much less than you'd otherwise need. It also appealed to me because I could avoid consuming a lot of sugar.

The plan: Consume one Vespa 45 minutes before the race began, then every three hours. I'd eat baby food squeeze packets and LARABARS for carbohydrates. I filled my hydration pack with good plain water, and took a page from my favorite American Women's 24-Hour Record Holder and ate pieces of Nuun for my electrolytes. Fizzy!

I reigned in my pace out of respect for the difficult course, and to assess whether my fuel was going to work. I felt curiously optimistic.

There's a bit of climbing in the first 9 miles ...

Magical Occurrences. I started the race not truly expecting to finish, but determined to enjoy the miles I ran. I made a promise to myself to stay positive and not let a single complaint escape my lips. I felt well-rested and strong. My improved climbing ability thrilled me. The temperatures stayed cool. Hubz crewed for me, and his steady, take command style was the perfect fit, as usual. My fuel seemed to be working.

Three Pairs of Shoes. My Asics GT-2000 road shoes worked better than expected on the wet, steep trail. One drawback: I felt every pebble and twig. By Mile 39 my feet were tender, so I switched to my Vasques, hoping they'd work. But they had turned against me. Within a couple of miles, they began to hurt. The next chance I had, at mile 46, I swapped them for my yet-to-be-tested-on-trails Brooks Pure Cadence. They were the good fairy in this tale. Cushioned and protective, roomy in the toebox yet snug enough to prevent my foot from slipping, they delivered me through the perilous woods.



Leaving Mile 57 Checkpoint. It's not yet dark, no idea why my headlight is on.

Solitude. I ran alone from Mile 20 on, but for a few short conversations with other runners. I was making up time and feeling good, and enjoying the silence. Memories of my last race here came flooding back as I recognized each section of trail and drank it in. I couldn't wait to see what awaited me around the next bend.  

Rejuvenation. All the anxiety, doubts and worries I'd been carrying drained away with my rhythmic steps. A deep peacefulness settled into my soul.

I didn't want it to end. Until about six miles from the finish, I was enjoying every moment. Yes, oh yes, I was sore and stiff and hurting, but what I was gaining was worth all that and much more.

I chose to leave my camera behind. No matter. No photograph can capture the way the waning sunlight sets the field of ferns aglow at Bearpen Hollow, nor the satisfying cadence of running those gentle downhills. It can't convey the cloying scent of the flora and damp grass, the sounds of alternating calls of birds as they settle in for the night, the peeping of frogs in the darkness, the staccato of thousands of light rain drops hitting the tree canopy but never reaching you, the silence in between.

I have often remarked that the Laurel Highlands Hiking Trail is my favorite. Yet I was repeatedly surprised and moved by the surrounding beauty as I ran. I felt grateful to be out on these trails. I was so glad I decided to run despite my qualms.



A Happy Ending

A Shiny New PR

I almost didn't go to the National Capital Rock N Roll Half Marathon. 

The forecast was for cold and rain and I wasn't looking forward to more of that. When the alarm went off and it wasn't raining, I somehow managed to get myself out the door despite not having laid out clothes, my number, or a plan.

Friends had warned me about the jam-packed metro and crowded course. Ugh. I wasn't looking forward to either.

I decided I'd run to the start, for just under 3 extra miles. Then I had to decide: was I racing, or "training through" this one? I figured I'd start off at a decent but conservative clip and see how things went. Admittedly, that is my race strategy about 80% of the time.

It was overcast but mild, near 50 degrees. Great racing weather! My warmup run got me to the start with ten minutes to spare - perfect timing. Even better, my legs felt primed.

Very happy with my splits! Walking the hill 
was definitely the right call.

I took off at a good pace. The staggered wave start worked really well. There was plenty of room to run at my chosen pace without tripping over people and fending off elbows. I had tapered a bit in the past few days, and I felt strong and steady.

I really enjoyed the course, even the long steep climb from Rock Creek Parkway to Calvert street. I speed-hiked the entire thing like the slacking ultrarunner I am. Everyone around me kept up their running motions as if their lives depended on it. 

I passed a lot of those hill runners in the next mile or two.

I felt pretty damn good the entire race. There were a few messages from my always-the-first-to-complain right hip/butt, some tight quad-IT band area sensations, a twinge or two from my 2006 broken sesmoid foot, but they were all relatively mild.

I kept dropping my pace ever so slightly, mindful of not saving too much for the last mile in case it got impossibly crowded like the Army 10 Miler. I felt like I was executing perfectly, and looking at my splits afterward, I am awfully pleased.

The race went almost perfectly for me. It only rained for a few brief minutes just as I finished. The organizers had everything covered and that made for an enjoyable road race -- even for a spoiled trail runner used to getting lost in her thoughts.

Small Victories

Army Ten Miler Race Report: Let's cut to the chase.

The Good: I shaved five minutes off my 10 mile PR, and executed my race plan flawlessly.

The Bad: I had some left in the tank, which means I could have run faster. It's not possible to run your hardest in the last mile at this race as it's clogged with runners who don't have a finishing kick.

The Ugly: You know your PR time is soft when you really haven't trained and you still beat it handily.

The Caveat: Except I'm pretty sure I beat this time during Marine Corps Marathon 2011, but I guess since there's no split time for 10 miles, that doesn't count. Right? Plus, I'm already counting it as my Marathon and Half Marathon PRs and it doesn't seem right to milk one race for three PRs.

What I Was Happy About: I didn't go out too fast, I paced myself smartly and I enjoyed every minute of this race.

So, it's decided. Break out the champagne! Here's to small victories. *clink*

Since Hubz didn't get any photos of me, marathonfoto failed me and I didn't
carry my phone (per the rules), I have only my splits to entertain you visually

In Like A Lion

In Like a Lion, Out Like a Lamb 

March roars in like a lion
So fierce,
The wind so cold,
It seems to pierce.
The month rolls on
And Spring draws near,
And March goes out
Like a lamb so dear.

~ Lorie Hill

It isn't yet March, despite recent spring-like temperatures in the Mid-Atlantic area that suggest otherwise. And on the last Saturday in February, Winter made one last valiant effort to assert itself, giving us a day that felt distinctively like blustery March. Anyone who was outdoors that day would agree it roared like a lion. 

The wind was the story of the day -- sustained and gusty, featuring headwinds, crosswinds and tailwinds. There were clouds, some warming sun, and even brief snow flurries.

I was certain I had overdressed and expected to peel off my gloves, hat and lightweight shell as soon as I warmed up. Turns out I needed them all day. I gave the zipper on my shell quite a workout in sunny sections which were sheltered from the wind, but I never removed it. 

Thankfully, there were no icy sections on the course this year, but some impressive shoe-sucking mud and frigid stream crossings kept it interesting. The trees groaned and creaked in the wind but it seemed all the tree limbs that were going to fall had already come down. Of course there were the hills, nothing too steep or long but good for a total of 4,000 feet of elevation gain and loss.

Runner enjoying a sweet downhill. Photo by Alan Gowen.

I must take a moment to praise the amazing volunteers who stood out there in that cold and wind to offer us hot food and cheer us on. Saints, all of them.

I took the first loop nice and easy, chatting with friends and new acquaintances along the way. On the second loop, I wanted some time to myself on the trail. It was a good decision. I needed to set my own pace, push up the hills and pay attention to what I needed to do to keep myself fueled and my thoughts straight.

Ever heard the statistic that most automobile accidents occur within a few miles of your home? I caught my toe on the smallest tree root on the course and sprawled all out -- in the last hundred yards of the trail, naturally. Pick up those feet! 

Typical trail section at Hashawha. Photo by Alan Gowen.

All in all, I had a good day out there. I set a new PR by almost 40 minutes as a result of both the course conditions and my body being in better shape this year. 

I feel like I'm back in the swing of my trail running. It's a good place to be.

 

Marine Corps Marathon

I won't bury the lede: I spanked my PR from 2005 (my last road marathon) by 42 minutes! 

I'm really happy about that.

The only photo in which I don't look like death

My race report in a nutshell: Crowded. Shuffling. Accelerating. Weaving. Jostling. Slowing. Avoiding. Tripping on gloves and random discarded clothing for the first eleven miles. 

PEOPLE EVERYWHERE.

I kept expecting, any moment, that the crowd would thin. But it didn't, much. It was tough to execute form and maintain a consistent pace when you're more focused on avoiding collisions with other runners (and spectators). It was completely mentally and physically exhausting. 

Deep in the Pain Cave.

How it all went down    

Apparently, I've become a trail curmudgeon. Give me a 50 miler on trails, any day!

A huge thanks to fellow WUS member Brian G for jumping in around mile 16 and pumping me up with encouragement and positive talk. It really made a difference in my race. I'd have walked a lot more without him at my shoulder.

I missed my "A goal" by quite a few minutes. Honestly, I felt it was overly optimistic. Perhaps that became a self-fulfilling prophecy, but I'd had trouble holding my pace on tempo runs most of this training cycle.

As Hubz would say, "in police work that's called a clue."

I'll admit to feeling disappointed when I hit the wall and my pace fell apart. But after a day to reflect on it, I can't be anything but overjoyed with my big PR.

At one point I seriously considered lying down on the side of the road for just a few minutes. I can't remember the last time I ran that hard. 

I know that I gave everything I had that day. I left it all on the course. 

I think that's the best one can ever hope to do.

A broader question: Are we ever truly, completely satisfied with our time in a race?

If we were, would we keep coming back for more?

I have no recollection of posing for this photo.

Highlands Sky: Stunning Beauty, Grueling Course

Highlands Sky 40 Miler rocked my world. And my quads. Also, my feet.

Fueling up before the first climb, a misty 2,300 foot ascent.

Back in the Game. This was my A race for the year, yet somehow, it sneaked up on me. In preparation, I'd run 50k in February, March and May, so I felt good about my endurance but less confident about my leg speed. Outside of a flat trail 10 miler in March, an impromptu 5K in April and a couple of social insanely fast-paced WUS trail runs, I'd been running pretty easy. I'd been content with being healthy and enjoying my running. Spending a lot of time injured will do that.

Last-Minute Speedwork. I'm not sure that racing a 5k (which was supposed to be a 10k) the weekend before was the best plan as I noted a bit of lingering quad soreness early in the race. In hindsight, it may have been less taxing than the planned 10K would've proven to be.

Typical section of the rocky Roaring Plains trail

This was not my first rodeo. I'd run this race in 2009 when shortly after we started, the skies opened and a downpour ensued. The first and biggest climb featured flowing chocolate milkshake mud. The stinging nettles were hardly noticeable as we struggled to make uphill progress. When we reached the top, the rocks of the Roaring Plains trail couldn't be seen, only feared as we ker-plunked for many miles in ankle-deep (and in some sections, calf-deep) water. There were three major stream crossings and at one, Bill G was swept downstream for a few frightening minutes. Everyone who ran that year had a story to tell.

We begin the descent from Roaring Plains. The mountain laurel was lovely.

Thankfully, this year's weather was unremarkable. It was overcast and not too hot, even when the sun broke through.

I caught up with good friends Marti and Gaynor about 10 miles into the race. They were both having tough days and I was feeling good, and still, these strong women dragged me up hills and kept my pace brisk when it would have degraded into a stroll. I usually spend a significant amount of time running alone. Today, I drew energy from their company.

Posing at AS #3

The Road Across the Sky. I have a love-hate relationship with roads. Trail is my true love; road makes running seem too much like work. But in a race with 75% trail - featuring boggy, rock-strewn, uneven terrain that demands vigilant attention to foot placement, it offers a welcome break. It's 8 miles long, however, and as you crest each hill you can see very tiny people far ahead on this seemingly interminable stretch.

Marti, feeling peaceful on The Road Across the Sky.

Dolly Sods. The Road Across The Sky travels along the Eastern Continental Divide. The eastern side of the road drains into the Atlantic Ocean watershed and the western side drains into the Gulf of Mexico. This place is a geological wonder. And the wildflowers provide a beautiful distraction from fatigued legs.

Wildflowers along the Road Across the Sky

Long after we've had our fill of road, the course makes a hard left onto Bear Rocks Trail. There's a steady wind blowing and flora is strange and foreign, reminiscent of Canada.

Starting down Bear Rocks Trail

More boggy trail, rocks, and a stream crossing. The landscape changes and we're in dark and lovely woods carpeted with soft pine needles.

And suddenly we emerge into more big sky open meadows.

This section reminded me of the Bighorn course in Wyoming

Picture Perfect. Bring your camera. I took almost as many photos as I did during Bighorn 50K last year. Hubz thinks I could finish a lot faster, but I think these moments rejuvenate me.

I lose Marti during this section when I make a pit stop in one of the spruce thickets.

Raven Ridge Trail

There's more foot-trashing wet trail. Plus rocks.

Boulders. After the big open wide west, there are boulder fields. More incomparable beauty that challenges my weary body. Alan G catches up to me here. We've been leap-frogging since the Road Across the Sky. The gash in his forehead is apparently not serious enough to keep him from finishing.

Boulders that would be great fun on fresh legs

The Last Climb. It's a half mile up Salamander, a Timberline Resort slope which I skied down this past winter. I rejoice when I spy Blue-Eyed Grass. At the summit, another hard left. I shred what's left of my quads on the aptly named "butt slide" as I catch Marti again.

Climbing Salamander

The Home Stretch. It's just a mile or so on crushed rock road until we reach the final aid station. I'm happy to see Kimba, though her offer for a sip of golden nectar nearly derails me.

We run, walk, commiserating, laughing, talking each other through the next push.

There Wasn't A Dry Foot On The Course. One last boggy, uneven section of grass. Dan Lehmann, the awesome race director, mows this so we don't have to run on the highway. The sun is out now, and the wet earth is steamy. Seeing more Blue-Eyed Grass cheers me.

We reach the highway crossing and our menfolk are there, cheering like mad. We grind out the last section of shady, pleasant trail and cross the finish line.

Photo by Race Director Dan Lehman

A Keeper. This is one tough run. The kind that makes you fall in love with a race. I have a feeling I'll be back next year.

Lawyers Have A Mere 5K

It was to be my third running of the Lawyers Have Heart 10K.

Alas, early the morning of the race, the organizers decided the heat presented a danger and voila, it was suddenly a 5K.

Hubz had never run a 5K before. He was a gym rat who ran a couple of Annapolis 10 Milers and then got sucked into ultrarunning.

We frantically tried to warm up by running up and down the street under Whitehurst Freeway. We squeezed into the line at the 6:30 mile pace group and waited.

Our last-minute strategy: Go out hard, like at a Tuesday night WUS run, and hope to hang on as long as possible. 

We surged forward and within a half mile it was clear we'd picked the correct place in the crowd to start.

I tried to keep Hubz within sight but he pulled away and was lost in the crowd. I saw him at the turnaround and he wasn't as far ahead as I'd anticipated.

PAIN PAIN PAIN LEGS TIRED LUNGS BURNING PAIN AAAAAAGGHHH KEEP RUNNING

With less than a mile to go, I remember to lean forward and channel my inner Chi Runner. Instantly I felt faster and lighter. It still hurt though and like any last mile of a race, it took all the mental energy I had to keep pushing and not let up.

In the final 3 blocks, the course makes a 180 turnaround, descends a steep traffic ramp and then finishes on a flat. The ramp descent seems like a gift but my legs are so shot it barely registers, and then the flat seems like a hill.

Thanks to another woman who looked to be in my age group, I manage to muster some semblance of a finishing sprint. 

I was dreading seeing the raw truth of my mile splits. In all the excitement of the 5K change, it turns out I forgot to turn on the Garmin satellites, so they will remain a glorious mystery.

Hubz had a great time legging it out on pavement, and beat me by a minute and a half. And somehow, I ran a two minute PR.