Summer Fun at Big Bend

This year, I was determined to wring every last delicious drop of sunshine, warm weather and outdoorsy fun out of summer. 

A key element of my plan was several camping trips to places we could run and hike trails, go for a swim and relax by a fire.

This past weekend we pitched our tent at Big Bend Campground in West Virginia. Navigating some narrow, winding roads to get here, but well worth the trip.

Tubing at Big Bend. You start on one side of the campground, then hike back over the hill for another loop.

View from a tube.

Rope swing! The river was a bit low overall, but there's a nice deep spot to land if you hit it right.

Campfire chats with good friends and a symphony of summer insects playing. Bliss.

I hope your summer was full of fun and adventure, too.

Mostly Wordless Wednesday: Trails in George Washington Forest

Scene from Rockcliff Lake Trail, early September

I'm dipping my toe into the waters of race directing this Fall, bringing back an excellent 50K that has been on hiatus for the past few years. I'm not going it alone, thankfully, I have a veritable team of co-RDs standing behind me.

I've been lucky enough to visit the course three times over the summer. Each trip gave me the opportunity to observe the subtle changes in the forest and to appreciate the beauty of these trails.

Chimney Rock Trail in early September

Long Mountain Trail, early September

Misty Day on the Bucktail Cutoff Trail, late June

Pond Run Trail in late June

Mill Mountain Trail, late June

View from The Big Schloss, late June

Misty Morning on Tibbet Knob, late August

Tibbet Knob Trail, late August

Indian Head 46 Mile Ride

With the Vermont 100 Endurance Race done, I'm training for my first brevet. 

A brevet is just like an ultramarathon, only on a bicycle. Also, everything is pronounced with a French accent. Bruh-vay. Once I complete a brevet, I will be a Randonneur. Rahn-dough-nur.

I've set my sights on the Flatbread 200K based largely on its lack of mountain climbs. A 200K brevet has a time limit of 13 1/2 hours. I hope to finish a bit faster than that.

Just like ultrarunning, it's a lot more fun to train with friends. So I twisted Rootchopper's arm to get him to accompany me again. 




This time we signed up for an organized ride, where it works out just fine to blindly follow color-coded arrows on the road. The Indian Head Century was held on another spectacular late summer day with low humidity and mild temperatures. Oh Summer, never leave.

We spotted @MrTinDC (Ted) of Friday Coffee Club who was nursing an inflamed elbow but determined to completed the full century nonetheless. Rootchopper and I were taking it slightly easier, he with his big weekly commute mileage and the 50 States Ride coming up and me with a house that desperately needed tidying before my Mother-in-Law arrived for dinner.



Off we rode into the cool morning, starting off with a nice downhill grade. We chatted as we rolled through Charles County, a place time seems to have forgotten, at least since the 1970s. 

There were no McMansions here (yet), just small, older houses and an occasional trailer home, all with several late-model American automobiles parked outside. There were even some old houses covered in that awful multicolored Insulbrick stuff.



Cheery yellow wildflowers lined the road. The insects weren't as vocal as last week, just a few crickets half-heartedly chirping from the grass. Fall is coming.

Rootchopper was feeling pretty good on the hills, but my legs were feeling my mountain run from the day before. I still can't quite keep up with him but he always soft-pedals and lets me catch up again. 

The rest stops were well-stocked. The first one had fresh-off-the-grill eggs, ham, cheese on an English muffin! I was able to get a standalone egg but they sure looked good with all the fixins.





We briefly discussed opting for the 60 mile ride, but a rare sense of responsibility kicked in and we dutifully executed the 46-mile turn. We regretted it the rest of the way.

The big highlight of the day was the loud call and clear sight of a Pileated Woodpecker as we rode right past. What a magnificent bird!

I also rescued a turtle who was right in the path of cyclists on the bike path. His shell was shut tight so he might have gotten thumped before my arrival. Nothing looked broken so I set him down in the grass and we were on our merry way.





We also passed a nice marsh in the final miles. It's definitely the kind of place you could easily spend an hour or more taking in the scene.

Much too soon, we arrived at the finish, with 45 miles in the bag. We enjoyed a little post-ride food and then we headed back to reality. 

All in all it was a really good day on the bicycle. I'll be back next year to ride more miles in Charles County.

A Fortuitous Metric Century

Rootchopper and Little Nellie with Longhorn cattle

I've been meaning to go on a long bike ride with my friend Rootchopper for ages.

I had met Rootchopper (whose real name is rumored to be John) at Friday Coffee Club a couple of years prior. Besides riding some serious miles just by commuting to work by bicycle, he posts photos and blogs about weekend rides in lovely places. He tells some pretty amusing stories and is good conversation. I was really looking forward to riding with him.

I said I'd love to do about 50 miles, and he had offered up a 43-mile route he'd done at The Great Pumpkin Ride last fall. Close enough. I could always do a few more miles on my own if I felt like it afterward. I figured that would be pretty unlikely.

Obligatory selfie at the start

The weather couldn't have been better. In keeping with our unusually cool August this year, we had low humidity and pleasant temperatures. Though the sun made a few brief appearances, we were happy for the cloud cover.

The ride began with a lovely downhill grade on the Warrenton bike path. Then we popped out onto a two-lane country road. Confession: I had never done a road ride outside of the DC area that wasn't a part of an official event. While I am perfectly comfortable riding in the craziest DC traffic, I was a little tentative about riding country roads with their curves, hills and absence of any real shoulder. But there was no time to dwell on it.  We were well-lit, had ample reflectors and once we were pedaling through the serene countryside, my trepidations were mostly forgotten.

Rootchopper had kindly printed me out a map of our route which I promptly tucked away and lazily allowed him to navigate. The turns all followed yellow arrows which were still plainly marked on the pavement. How easy was this? 

We rolled pleasantly along through verdant woods and past open fields. There were cows and tractors and hay bales and even a tiny dog at one farmhouse who gave chase. I don't think he could have reached my pedal.

Through the woods

Past green fields

The "Welcome to Stafford County" sign was our first clue that we might be a little off course. Right at 50k into our ride, we stopped to check the map against our smart phones. 

By "we" I mean I sucked down some Whole30-compliant beet and sweet potato baby food while he did all the work.

I don't see this road on our map.

Turns out we were more than a little off course. I was kind of excited that we'd be getting a few more miles out of this picture perfect day.

On we pedaled to rejoin our planned route. We stopped at a couple of country corner stores. I haven't seen stores with that little on offer in awhile. They had cold water, soda and iced tea, baked beans and other canned goods, a few bags of chips and some local fruit. That was about it. 

Me and My Precious at Grove's Store in Somerville. Photo by Rootchopper.

As we were about to ride away, a young couple emerged from the store. The woman stammered, "Excuse me - this road, can I ask you -- this road --"

She seemed unable to get it out, so I interjected,

"Just so you know, we don't live around here, so we probably won't be any help, but go on."

"I mean, this road, we saw some other people on bicycles earlier. Well, it was another road. But no, it was you! I mean, is it safe to ride here? I'm, you're just, I'm so INSPIRED that you're out here riding your bikes in this beautiful place. I really am!"

The guy never said a word.

Once we recovered from all that, Rootchopper assured her it was quite safe.

We continued our ride, and the hills started to show up a little longer and more frequently than in the first half of our ride.  But the scenery was so lovely, I could hardly hold a grudge. I had to employ the crazy low granny gear on my Surly Long Haul Trucker at least five times.

 

Thankfully, Rootchopper proved to be a true friend because every time I fell off the back, he let me catch up again.

Bike Selfie. I might be getting a bit loopy at this point.

He had warned me at the beginning that the last section would be uphill. We joked about how marathon spectators always tell you lies like "it's all downhill from here" and "you're almost there."   

Yep, it felt totally like this in the final miles.

I was thrilled to see the bike path once again, and also to see 64 miles on my watch as we pulled up at my car. My first metric century!

Thanks, John. That was a fantastic ride, and the company was top notch. Let's do it again soon.

See Rootchopper's Ride Report and Photos.

Our route.

Vermont 100 Race Report

I signed up for the Vermont 100 for the only reason that made sense: All my friends were going and I didn't want to miss out on the fun. I also figured that if I didn't sign up now I might never run another one. After all, eight years had passed since I had run my first 100 miler.

I went into this race with a good amount of trepidation. I hadn't raced a single ultra in the past year thanks to a foot injury that plagued me from October to mid-March. I was toeing the start line on very minimal training mileage, just a couple of hundred miles in the few months since I'd been able to resume running. My longest training run was just 38 miles and much of it had been hiking. I was only 3 1/2 months into building my training base using the Maffetone Method (it can take up to 6 months).

Really Minimal Training

Would my body hold up? Would my heart rate stay under control or would it spike after I'd run fifty miles or so? Did I have the mental fortitude to persevere when things started to hurt? Did I want it badly enough? I wasn't sure about anything.

Hubz and I drove up to Vermont in order to bring a big cooler for my real food fueling strategy. Having him as my crew was crucial. There's nobody more organized and efficient. We arrived Thursday evening and stayed with our friend Jen's parents in New Hampshire at the fabled Tofu Farm.* They made a delicious dinner for us and were wonderful hosts. Hubz was particularly thrilled that he was allowed to take a spin in Jen's father's red '64 Corvette.

Breakfast at the Tofu Farm.  *The Tofu Farm has nothing to do with tofu, I was sad to discover.

The next morning they whipped up an enormous breakfast of scrambled eggs, hash browns and bacon for us. It's a wonder we ever left!

After stuffing ourselves we drove to the race site to register. The sun was shining, the temperature was cool and optimism was in the air. 

The Vermont 100 is an endurance race for both humans and horses. We share many parts of the course with the horses and riders and it's always a thrill to be running alongside them. 

Past the rows of horse trailers, campers and tents dotting the grassy meadow, I found registration. Volunteers weighed me, took my blood pressure and queried me about my training and readiness and the risks involved. Gulp!  

There were many fellow VHTRC members milling about including MMT100 Race Director Kevin Sayers and first ever Grand Slammer Tom Green who is attempting the Slam once more this summer. Apparently we outnumbered the Vermont folks!

After the race briefing, a big group of us drove just across the New Hampshire border to The Common Man Pub to celebrate Bob's birthday. The usual camaraderie and hijinks ensued, and then we headed back to our hotel for a few short hours of slumber. 

At 2:15 a.m. the alarm went off. I had slept fairly well. I downed a couple of hard boiled eggs, some Velvety Butternut Squash and my usual cup of half-caf coffee with coconut milk. Hubz drove us to the start and I found my VHTRC friends. We made jokes in poor taste about blueberry patches and pooping and how the French-speaking runners nearby were probably discussing the exact same topics.

I downed a Vespa Jr. We took a few bad selfies. The crowd was suddenly drifting toward the starting line. It's difficult to be half-awake and nervous at the same time but I somehow managed it. And then we were stumbling forward across the meadow.

We turned downhill on hard-packed dirt road, running easily through the dark. I kept my pace reigned in and let my friends disappear into the night. Soon we were in the woods, our footfalls muffled on the dirt trail. After a brief pit stop I found myself near the back of the pack. 

I ran alone for a few miles until Jo Kappus caught up and joined me. I hadn't met her before but she turned out to be excellent company. Over the next 12 hours and 40+ miles the conversation flowed easily. We discussed many things: Jo's experiences with endurance horse racing, ultras we had run, beef liver as endurance miracle food, eye makeup techniques, juicy gossip and (literally) making hay are the few subjects I remember.

Running with the horses

At the Taftsville covered bridge

I had forgotten just how much of this course was road. I also didn't remember the steepness, frequency and length of the hills on the Vermont 100 course. Having done a lot of slow running and hiking on rocky trails, I feared my legs would rebel. I hoped the ups and downs I'd done in training were enough to prevent my old nemeses calf and tibialis cramps from showing up.

I focused on having the same mindset I'd had at Laurel Highlands the year before: I would enjoy running the miles one by one and not get caught up in thinking too far ahead. I would take it step by step.

In every ultra, when things start to hurt, I think "This seems much earlier than usual." It happened around mile 16 this time, both of my feet felt like my laces were too tight. Ironically, this same thing had occurred in my first 100 (and never before or since).

I saw Hubz for the first time at mile 21 and changed from my Brooks Pure Cadence to my Merrell All Out Rush. Unfortunately, the culprit was not the shoes or lacing, but my compression socks which were too tight on my feet. I had to run another ten miles before I saw Hubz again and could swap them out for calf sleeves and some DryMax socks.

The "Sound of Music" meadow

After that had abated, I was feeling pretty good, though I was already growing stiff and sore. Bending over, squatting, sitting down and getting back up could no longer be done without a grunt escaping.

I had zero stomach issues. No sloshing or bloating. It was almost as if my stomach wasn't there at all. That's huge. My energy was steady for the entire race. I used Vespa Junior, sweet potato and beet baby food packets, VFuel gels, Epic bars and Nuun to fuel on the run, along with some occasional cold cantaloupe and watermelon at aid stations during the first 40 miles. Hubz met me at the crew-accessible stations with a ready supply of food including Velvety Butternut Squash, chicken and apple sausages, Merguez lamb bangers, olives, homemade bone broth and kombucha. I was well fed, indeed!

Jo and I ran together until Camp Ten Bear, mile 46. After Hubz restocked my pack and saw to my needs, I hiked up the road until I caught up with Jo. She wanted to slow down. I was feeling good. I knew I had to run my own race and forge ahead while I had the strength to push. 

After some more heinous climbs on trail, then more road, I passed the halfway point. No one else was near.

The hills were long, steep, and relentless. The downhills were punishing. I focused on my form and using my glutes with every step. My body was weary and I hurt, the kind of hurt where things start to tingle but don't yet go blissfully numb. Still, I felt strong down deep. 

I had been at the back of the pack all day, but well ahead of the cutoffs. As the daytime turned to dusk, I kept making steady progress. The solitude was taking its toll, however. With no conversation to distract me, my mind wandered to dark places. When I saw Hubz around mile 60, I begged him to find me a pacer to accompany me the last 50K.

As darkness fell, I began to overtake other runners. I chatted with them briefly, eager for conversation, but soon I ran ahead. Almost all of them were death marching and staying in their company too long can be deadly to both your mindset and your pace.

The section between Margaritaville (mile 61) and Camp Ten Bear II had nearly been my downfall eight years ago. I was very glad to share a mile or two with Amelia K. when she followed me out of Brown School House (mile 65). I had gotten a much needed cup of coffee there and was starting to feel revived. We walked for a time on this gnarly piece of trail and chatted until we decided we should run again. Soon I had pulled ahead and found my own rhythm.

Indeed, it was as tough and dark and hilly and long as I remember it, though better marked this time, the glow sticks making it easy to have confidence I was on trail. Finally I arrived back at Camp Ten Bear (mile 69), plopped in my chair and started eating. My pacer, Devon, introduced himself.

I got my hydration pack refilled and some leg and foot rubbing by Hubz, then we started the final 50K. Devon remarked that I was still climbing strongly and running downhills well. I was just happy to have his company and that the trail was mud-free.

As we trotted along many of the trail sections seemed familiar. This was a comfort to me, despite the fact that my last time on these sections was during one of the biggest pity parties I've ever thrown. This time I was prepared for the pain and fatigue in my legs. I focused on how much I love running at night. I thought of eight years ago on this night and what Bob was saying to me along our journey. Stop focusing on the pain in your feet, focus on your legs. Pick up your feet. My mantra most of this race was not something soothing like "serene, strong, swift" but "Use Your Ass to Run" to remind me to engage my glutes and use proper form.

The hills just kept coming, steep and long. The downhills followed and they were more painful, though they had the advantage of allowing me to make up some time.

Did I mention the hills? Course profile courtesy of Keith Knipling.

I caught Gary Knipling at the Seabrook aid station. He was clearly suffering and I felt almost guilty about my happy tummy. I gave him a quick shoulder rub and then I was on my way.

The arch of my left foot felt as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. I didn't know if it was residual effects of the tight compression socks or if it was a stress fracture waiting to snap. It worried me but I figured it wasn't bad enough to stop.

Gary somehow revived enough to catch up with us, though I could tell he was still in a bad way. We shared the trail til Spirit of '76 aid station where Hubz crewed us both. I gave Gary some of my olives since nothing else seemed to be appealing to him. I changed back to my Brooks in hopes that would help my foot pain.

We had scarcely gotten a half mile down the hill when a woman ran up quickly behind us. Zeke, the aid station captain, had sent her to accompany Gary the remainder of the run. He immediately took off and abandoned me. So fickle!

My next problem was sleepiness. It was the middle of the night, I'd been awake for more than 24 hours and I could hardly hold my head up. I was like Dorothy in the field of poison poppies in the Wizard of Oz. My pacer was super nice but not exactly loquacious. Normally, this is a quality I would prize but at this moment I needed real help staying awake. I was constantly scanning the landscape for a nice spot to lie down, just for a few minutes.

So sleepy ...

We caught Gary about mile 80 at one of the unmanned aid stations. I tried to figure out how I could take a nap atop one of the big coolers there. Gary offered me a Vivarin tablet which I gladly accepted. It didn't seem to do much, but I didn't get any worse so it very well may have saved my race.

Dawn arrived, always a welcome sight for a tired runner. Not long after, we arrived at Bill's (mile 88). One last weigh in, more coffee, more begging Hubz for JUST A FEW MINUTES to nap. Though I still had almost 12 miles and probably 3 hours to go, the finish line was within reach. Don't think, just run.



The last miles are a blur of more road and hills. Oh, the hills. The old finish was much gentler, this year's course change wound up, up and around and up some more. It was downright cruel until we were running the last quarter mile.

As I ran the last few yards toward the finish as Hubz and my friends cheered, all I could do was bawl, overwhelmed with relief, pride and exhaustion. 

The asterisk I'd always tacked onto my first 100 miler finish when Bob had wheedled and cajoled me the final 31 miles was finally banished. I had dug deep and I had come up triumphant.

Three Things Thursday

I rarely write a Three Things Thursday post, because I usually can't think of three things of interest to report, but I have a few newsworthy items for you today!

1. The Maffetone Method. I've been running a lot lately. I'm 12 weeks into my heart rate training. I'm using The Big Book of Endurance Training and Racing, inspired by this rock star who went from hilariously painful looking 5K race photos to kicking ass and taking names at Ironman/triathlons. Thank you Katie for being amazing and for all the reading recommendations. I am learning so much!

My running has been going well despite (because of?) the limitations put on my speed by my sworn obedience to my heart rate monitor. 

Three weeks ago I decided I should run the Appalachian Trail across the entire state of Maryland. It was a nice little run in which I spent 12 hours on my feet (and a couple of minutes flat on the trail). Speaking of the trail, there are trails with rocks and then there are trails that are rocks. And they say the AT in Pennsylvania is bad.

Photo style also borrowed from/inspired by Katie at This Amazing Day.

2. The Great Bear Staredown. Two weeks ago, I went running in George Washington National Forest with my friend Brian. Brian is a front of the pack runner who regularly wins ultramarathons. He had pulled ahead of me a few miles into our run so I was very surprised when I rounded a bend to see him standing in the trail. 

A big black bear stood watching us about 50 yards away, her cub in a nearby tree. As a midpack runner, I was very excited about seeing a bear, especially one that was more than just a flash of black disappearing into the woods. 

But this bear didn't hurry off. In fact, she had been staring at Brian for about 15 minutes. 

We decided to bushwhack straight up the hill to the left to give her a wide berth. We hadn't taken more than three steps before mama bear started up the hill as well. We beat a quick retreat back to the trail, fearing a charge was imminent. She climbed further up the hill, but didn't head our way.

After a few minutes of nervous discussion we decided it was likely her cub had gone or she wouldn't have moved that far away.  We started tentatively down the trail. She stayed put, her gaze affixed on us the entire time. We walked until we were out of sight.

We ran together for a mile or so and then Brian pulled ahead. As he ran out of sight, I checked over my shoulder to be sure the bear wasn't following me. That old joke occurred to me: You don't have to be fast enough to outrun the bear, you just have to be faster than the slowest person with you. Crap, that's ME!

3. Vermont 100 Miler. Speaking of um, running, my second 100 mile race (ever) will happen in nine days. I'm running the Vermont 100. 

I've been reticent about the subject as I crammed to come back from my 5-month foot injury. Thanks to a really skilled sports acupuncturist, I think I have been able to put enough hay in the barn. I may be a little short on training mileage, I may not have done a night run or raced anything long in over a year but I am ready to tackle this challenge. Vermont, here I come! 

If you want to read my race report from my last 100 miler (also at Vermont) 8 years ago, it's here: 102 Miles of Vermont: Reflections of a Babe in the Woods. It's the story of a young, impressionable girl who fell under the spell of a powerful man in the woods.

The incomparable Bob Gaylord and me at mile 89 in 2006

Wish me luck!