Wasatch 2018

Wasatch 100 2018 Finish Line
What are we all doing here? How did we get here? Think nat, think. The sky turned from starry sky black to glowing blue- that's where we were, and now we are here?
I'm in pain & numb ?
I'm sitting & throbbing
My skin hurts & I'm still

It's getting to a point that I might be running too many races to have authentic thoughts about the events anymore. I find the write up boring myself, reading the same buzz words over and over...and over again. Climbing, eat, salt, pain, impatience, pacer, finish line, puke, mud, heat, snow...and so it goes. I've run out of fresh ways to describe my races in a way that I only hope you can connect with or at the VERY least chuckle, wonder why?, or at best...think, I want to do that too.

Beaming into the pit, juvenile optimism about the pain.
Brave to the fatigue and naive at once
Lost in a thought about my body,
dissecting every step. Hungry?
No. That doesn't matter, as I know.
The sun is whipping me and I'm standing here
silencing my hate for this moment.

The Wasatch is special, don't let me get this twisted as I complain. I believe it would be special even if I did not live in these mountains, did not play in these mountains, did not leave my life in Baltimore for good when I stepped foot in these mountains...I think it's special for first timers, for 12 timers, for 17 timers, and for runners who were placed in a chair sick, injured, or unable to...anymore.

I've been thinking more about the Wasatch allure than the actual trails lately. There's an electricity. That might be a local charge, but I know how hard this race is. I know how relentless and damn right miserable it can be. I've met people from out of town, and I am so impressed that they are here, many alone without crew or pacers or a familiar face for 100 miles.  Why? Why this race? I can't shed light on anyone but me.
It started with my first Wasatch finish in 2015. I fought harder for that. I slogged Lambs-Brighton with a pacer that had every reason to believe I could not make it. A pacer who wanted to leave me, and in her defense, I can only say, she did not know me well enough to think otherwise. I would go into van gouge color like description of the first Wasatch, but as they say, it's not about what you've done...
The allure, started there. An extremely hard fight and run to the finish in 2015 with my friend. My friend, who in fact, did know me well enough to know, I don't go out unless I'm swinging doing it. (It's an east coast thing;) (muwah). We ran hard and full of fury, smiling. The beginning of the End. An end I wanted more than I could explain. WHY??

Because it's hard. Because it feels impossible, and when you have come this far, glory is in your site or a finish in your pocket, but it's not easy. It's not a gimmie. It's still not yours, until it is.
Gratitude. Humility. Pride. Happiness. And then what?? You chase it. You  freakin' chase it.

So, Wasatch 2018; Ack the details are boring...But, let me try to summarize 35:33 in a paragraph.
I was injured before the start. 5 weeks "essentially " off. I had a hot but good 32 miles to big mountain. I saw my dear friends Cheryl and Jen with a mango juice and Mcdonalds. I handled BigMountain and Alexander well enough. At Lambs were my people for the Wasatch this year- Mark & Betsy. More Mcdonalds, head lamps, poles, & we out. I motored as fast i could which was fast enough to cover those 23 miles of mostly up in 8 hours. One of mt partners in crime, Betsy, scooped me up and out of Brighton, mile 67. I hit a wall leaving Brighton. And, in reflection, impatience and fatigue.  Sun came up and although lovely, I was getting itchy about time. The heat sucked me dry on Friday and I gave all i had in the tank  to get to Brighton in 8 hours. But, I pushed with a consistent whine that my dear friend let slide..cuz, she knows...Bonk fest at mile 84 when it all just got to me and the tears started to flow. Something we should all remember "You're not failing, Nat. You're bonking" The Gospel of Betsy, Blessed it be to GOD. I ate, I got stung by a hornet. 15 miles to go.  I gave in...
After 30 hours, I gave in and accepted all of it and just moved.
Wasatch, will you ever come gently into the soft night? I doubt it.

 

Bighorn 100

On Saturday, I finished the Bighorn 100 for my second year in a row, tallying my buckles to 7 for the 100 mile distance, and as usual I have some thoughts about those 33 hours and 36 minutes.

Any report you read from last year, 2017 and this 2018, will most certainly mention the mud, or that writer was at a different race. Frankly, if you want to read in depth about the mud, scroll down to my Bighorn post from last year, because minus some players in the great journey, the report could ALMOST be the same. In my humble opinion, it was worse this year, but that is a factor that could vary from runner to runner. But, i think everyone would agree the shear mileage of muddy trail by far surpassed 2017.

I'll be brutally blunt, I got into a bad head space almost immediately starting Bighorn. By mile 8 or 9 I found myself inside my head over thinking every very unlikely scenario of my daughters safe and soundness back home. Why? I don't know. I quite adequately argued with myself about motherly instinct and over-active imagination from the underbelly of dark world thoughts. Dramatic? Yes, of course I am.

When I got to mile 13, the Dry Fork Aid and only Crew station that I would see my people until mile 48, I was barely thinking about the race under my feet at all. Betsy, I'm worried about the girls. "They're fine, Nat"

(in a very "I get it", kinda voice)

She said she'd call Scott and tell the girls I love them, and get messages from them she'd deliver tomorrow...(ahh..mental relief).

She also reminded me, that was a good time to eat:)

My lovely pacer Dee, parted ways with Jen and Betsy here to ultimately make her way up to the turn around with Eve & the legend known as Sherpa Jim ;) -The lovely Carrie's husband and Crew extraordinaire. Betsy and Jen went back into town to get ready for their 52 mile race the following morning. We packed me up and out, and I set off on the dirt road, into the afternoon, into the tangles and slips, the ups and face plants, the angry wet elements thrown gauntlets and the soft views through them, that the next 30 hours would bring. 

I particularly get distracted by squirrels when reading a mile by mile breakdown, so I'll try my best to get to the juicy grinds and over described moments that really help me walk the line between a report and a true story. The weather was perfect! Ya know, until it wasn't. On my way to Sally's Footbridge, Mile 30, the sky suddenly went Haunted House gray and the temperatures dropped quickly, as we have all seen happen in our lives. "uh Oh" a female runner said behind me, and as if she was already aware, the sky opened up a hail storm on top of us.  

I will bring up the mud, because this is where it started and stayed for most of the race. We were at mile 24 (roughly).

The sky ablaze with current and devastating thunder claps

was not enough to break my spirit, yet. I felt very confidant in my steep downhill running to the Footbridge in what tomorrow would come concrete textured mud, today was wet puddles and in place rocks to run through and right over. 

Sally's, Mile 30  in 5:52pm

crewing myself I:

washed my feet,

changed my socks,

emptied and repacked vest

Ate mashed potatoes

Drank an Ultragen

Ate Chicken tenders 

put on pants and dry warm clothes

out at 6:17 pm.

Again I'll refer you to 2017's post on the mud going up to Jaws. The top was better than last year, I will note. And,  I even smiled when I saw the trees Cheryl and i held on to going what felt like upstream not uphill, last year. 

The dance inside my head for these 18 miles went something like this; Hit some aid stations, eat a lot, peeing alot, peeing too much? Probably need salt. What mile is this, what time is it? How long have I been out here? Yay, a flag, this course is so well marked. Ugh, this mud, ugh. ughhhh. Relax, settle down, lots of race left. Be patient. ughhhh mud. so wet. so cold. is that rain? no, that's snow. Actually, i think it's frozen rain. Second headlamp. Now..i think it's just rain. ooh, the road, almost there. pee again. Crap, i peed on myself , hmm that's better than Piss! I crapped on myself, I'm pretty clever with word play... oooh big tent. boom, Jaws. 

Jaws, Mile 48 in at 12:55

Crew'd by Dee and Sherpa Jim we:

ate chicken fingers and fries, they were warm!!!

drank lemonade

dried off feet

changed socks

Dry Clothes

New headlamps

Bladder filled

Unpack and pack again

heavy rain jacket

out at 1:14 am

What goes up...

Dee and I headed out in to the dark, to retrace the 18 miles I just tackled. When I signed up for Bighorn, I didn't secure a pacer or a crew. I was so high on 2017 and the 3 100's I did, I didn't think much past the thrill.

When Dee told me over mimosa's and a Betsy Birthday run (how we roll) that she would come to Bighorn, I about kissed her. It wasn't too bad going up alone, but my spirit was bowing ever so slightly from what was clearly going to be another mud run. The muddy, sticky and slippery terrain continued down, down, down,through all 3 aid stations 2 little bridges, and back in to Sally's. 

Sally's Mile 66 in at 7:05

Crew'd by Dee and myself I;

Washed feet

Changed socks,

Changed shoes

took off wet clothes

dry arm warmers and sleeveless shirt

ate 2 pancakes and 2 sausage

drank a lemonade

Broke the zipper on my drop bag, Shit.

wrapped up drop bag with Duct tape

unpacked and packed vest

"Dee Im heading out, catch me"

out at 7:30 am

Dee caught me after about 15 minutes, i think. The runners I knew out there, Carrie, Stacey, Eve..we were all within minutes of each other, as we climbed up aforementioned concrete textured mud. What I mean by that, is simple, part of this climb was like hiking up through a freshly poured driveway. I started to realize that "well, last year, it got better here..."
 was something I should probably stop saying. The texture changed back to slick and sticky until we ultimately reached the loooong dirt road to Dry Fork for the second time. 

It was hard not to get discouraged. By the time the ground beneath came back to running life, my feet and ankles were trashed from the footing battles of the countless past hours.  I never felt like I wasn't going to make the 3:00pm cut-off, but I had high hopes for this years Bighorn, which clearly coincided with my high hopes for this years Bighorn weather.

So much of the race was just not-fun running, and on the way to the aid station, I pumped and pepped myself up with gels and promise of the finish.  We worked hard to get right here, and we weren't done yet.

Dry Fork Mile 82 in at 2:01

Crew'd by Dee

Ate mashed potatoes 

Drank an ultragen.

Washed Feet Again!

Changed Socks Again!

Pack emptied and filled

Red Bull for the road

out at 2:14pm

Time to wrap this Shiz up...

...But not before a weepy painful scene

I crashed about 2 hours after leaving the aid station. Dee stopped at mile 82 when I went out for this last stretch. She didn't feel good about all the downhill, and I did...until I didn't.

huh, my feet hurt. Duh.

I winced at every step, i tripped on rocks and fell into trail brush, trying to do a speedy tip toe and limit impact on my pruned, wet, paper thinned skin feet bottoms and swollen ankle joints that really weren't into hinging at the moment, like at all. So, out of character, I let it get the better of me.

and I wept angrily in my pity party pain cave.

"There's my friend!" I hear from behind.

And, I bellowed,  "Betsy!"
I tol her she didnt have to wait for me, and she rolled her eyes:)
She told me about the messages the girls sent, that I could see as soon as we finished and got to the car.

We had about 8 miles to the finish. Every step and breath i took was strained.

I couldn't really talk, when I did, i just whined.

I wanted to walk. But, my walk was a crawl, so I nuzzled in right behind my friend, and just watched her feet, and tried to mimic every step to keep her pace, waiting to go numb in the lower extremities.

I was hallucinating a woman in the bushes taking our pictures, and the bridge I was longing for kept appearing, but never really there. I got lost for a moment watching the tall grass blow in the wind, and I mustered a seed of thankfulness that it wasn't too hot, and hadn't been the last 2 days. We were getting closer to the road. We crossed the street, into the park, and through the finish line together. 

Reflection: 

Bighorn took it's toll not only on me, but many other runners.  It felt like trying to keep your balance in a washing machine for so long, that when it spit you out on dry land, so many of us were ship wrecked. Sometimes, after a race, i think to myself, see that wasn't as hard as i thought it was in the moment.  But, not this one.

Bighorn100 2018  33:36

one day at a time

Clarity.

I don't always have it.

But when I do, it often makes me weep.

It often let's me sleep.

Dropping flashes of the underbelly nights,

I call upon an un~level hill 

I am sweaty and disappointed in the 

last poisoned cranberry soaked restless dark.

Habitual decompression of polar characters

and yet, the frost is favored as my skin is often so hot,

and my pulse, I feel it in my chest and head like that bongo

remember?

That one night, drumming out Sublime and Ben Harper songs?

You remember, don't you?

In that house, with those friends, bottles and instruments,

laughter and curse words?

and you, your eyes, so blue. I lost the rhythm when I saw them.

Caught in a web of earthly driven days and nights,

smelling fires and charcoal

feeling pumpkins and wine goblets that fit so perfectly in my hand.

That's the one, that'll be my cup. 

We have a bond, one I love and hate.

But those cool desert nights

That mountain glazed in purple & green, and stubborn July white tops.

It feels like magic!

Until it doesn't.

Until clarity.

Until admission and guilt step up like a

caged beast, and you cant help wondering

How have I not heard you? How have I not nourished you? You are me and I am you.

And those free falling and endless nights have long been gone.

And those fires are in the stove warming my home for my children

And, those pumpkins are carved by delicate hands

And, those bongos are in the basement collecting dust

But the music still plays in the air

and you, your eyes, so blue...help me see my truths.

 

Buffalo Run 50 mile- My very first and my most recent-

There's this place I see

clear as mud and the water in my eyes

comes without sadness. The

wind rips around my flesh and the sun is aggressive in it's kissing. The patience I strive for is greater than my pain, it's a mental confluent surge of ability and superiority  burning pangs  and irritation, all  dancing poorly and violently in the pits of my stomach and surface of my feet. 

It's never a gimme; except this finish was a total freakin' gimme in my mind. And I got that finish, but that's not what I wanted most.  I ran it faster than I ever have. But, it still wasn't a gimme. I drove out to the island too early. So I shut my eyes for 45 minutes in the car before checking in and getting the damn thing going already.  

First leg is the 25k loop with an extra added out and back for a total of a shy 20 miles. It has variation, there are some gradual climbs and gradual down hills. Nothing technical, compared to the Wasatch front. The Sunrise on Saturday was nothing short of kiss the ground and mountain air you breathe  spectacular! Running gleefully with the rising blue glow and looking out over the city lights, beyond the reflections in the great salt lake was immeasurable beauty. You'll see no pictures from me though. No time for love Dr. jones! ;) I set myself up, and more accountable even, told my friends my personal goal. I wanted to run this 50 miles in 10 hours. The 30+ miles that came next are flat, completely runnable, flat, flat, flat miles. I knew 10hours was a stretch, but one I thought I reach. My best time out there was my first. My first Ultra. My first dip in this dirty world. My first experience with all the good and the bad that comes with long distance running. Well, damn, I've done a lot since then. I have fallen in and out of love so many times with ultras since the first...

Did I overestimate my ability or underestimate the mental and physical order of this course? 

There are ALWAYS reasons and variables that will effect your day. My goal ALL of the time, is to treat those variables  equally, and not let them get in my way. So, I won't mention those variables that made the day more challenging. -Because- that is what makes endurance running so engaging. "Anything can happen in an Ultra" I have heard it 1000 times, and it always rings true. Anything can and does happen, even if that anything is a great and smooth day, post holing through snow, or trying to find a place to crap every half hour.

My goal was 10 hours. I finished in 11:12. 

2013- 11:33

2016- 12:40  

(Variables and anythings happened in those years, that's besides the point)

Humbly speaking, I didn't want to just finish. I wanted to run strong and hit my goal. I've come far from just wanting to finish. I've done that, I'm looking to improve. 

It's not so much that I didn't hit my goal. I was happy by the end that I PR'd none the less! I think what surprised me was how hard it was, and how hard I pushed, and I still missed 10 hours by a landslide. I was also unpleasantly surprised with how impatient and physically uncomfortable i felt.  I didn't really enjoy the last 20 miles, and that's a long time to just want something to be done with.

It's not my favorite course. In fact, I think I have been quoted saying I'd never run out there again! But, I had a good year last year with lots of race practice, I thought this was a gimme. And yesterday, i was reminded once again, that it's (races) are never a gimme.

Ahhh, but horah-hooray! Real running season has begun, I can't wait for long mountain mornings that turn into afternoons.

The 2018 plan:

Zion traverse

Scout Mountain 35k

Bighorn 100

Speedgoat 50k

El Vaquero Loco 50k

Wasatch 100
Gnarly Bear 50k

10 Years

in 23 days and roughly 2 hours, it will be 10 years that my mother died.

July 2000, 1 month before I moved to Utah

 Before Cancer

Reading that brings a warm layer of tears over my eyes, my brown eyes, like hers were.  Somewhere in between a bottle of wine and a late night pee before hitting the pillow, I was finally able to articulate a feeling into a thought.  Running long distances has never really seemed hard for me. Don't let me mislead any reader that it is easy, it most certainly is a challenge of endurance and patience, and a dance with your discomfort and pain thresh-hold. But running long distances, particularly the 100 mile distance, has never seemed too much to bare. I, in fact, welcome the day and a half with open arms, maybe more so than any other distance i have endured. Why?

I wrote a book...for lack of a better word. One could call it a 300 page journal entry.  But, I sat down at my computer 6 weeks after my mom died. At a messy desk, in a messy basement, full of memories and junk, and I poured everything I could out of me. I had this hope that if i got it out, it wouldn't hurt so much anymore. That if I put the grief into words that I could make sense of it, figure out where she was, and then ultimately realize she was nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

I didn't want to die 10 years ago, but I didn't know how to live. I didn't believe happiness was a feeling I would ever sustain again. I didn't believe that I deserved anything but chaos and regret. When I picture myself in 2008 I see a slumped shell of me; knuckles dragging on the ground and a low hung head.  I see chaos around and inside me.  And, I believed that was where I would stay. Not in total darkness, but in an overcast room that was always too cold. And so what does that have to do with running? Nothing, nothing at all. Here is a page from my "book".

Today is June 16, 2008. It is warm in Utah and our garden is growing. We have all walks of

life in the backyard raging from thyme to sunflowers, and lettuce to grape vines. I got back

from Baltimore 2 days ago. I was there on a visit to see my family, the family that’s left.

I felt immediate anxiety as the plane landed back in Salt Lake. I used to get so excited about

our garden, but life and growth is something I have been tangoing with since the beginning of

the year. Everything is symbolic and once a day at least, I am rushed with images of mom and

of simpler days, and I ache, god damn I ache. It all just stopped when she died.

Simultaneously with her passing, I became stuck in some twisted limbo between utter

loneliness and a light I can’t see. The birds are silent or maybe I’m deaf to them, and the snow

is messy and cold, while the sunshine is too happy for me. If I were a pie chart, a huge piece

would be missing, maybe all but one slice. If I were a dozen eggs, I’d be there, but cracked

and oozing, no good for anyone. I’m here, but I’m not right, just incomplete and broken.

Time does help. But, I won't ever forget those days. I'll never forget the best days and Ill never forget the worst.  And, I'm glad i wrote it all down. I seem to always re-visit my own words in January and May. The months and days where we celebrated and said goodbye still come, right on time. 

So somewhere between a bottle of wine and slumber, I realized the thing I like about 2 days of mountain climbing, running, fatigue, pain, and relenting miles, I like- that it ends. It doesn't last forever, you survive. Because both the beauty and  the pain of forever is the non-negotiable finality of the never ending.