tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16358023311243374132024-03-13T03:52:59.135-07:00Olive and Cheese in the CityUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-6634068514996053372020-10-18T11:10:00.008-07:002020-10-18T11:53:40.667-07:00The Bear 100, My first (decided) DNF<p><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Given the Covid Crisis and the shutdowns of all the things; school, offices, restaurants,races, fun and normalcy, in general, I was both surprised and excited that the Bear 100 was a go. The weather, typically a hodge podge of WTF and all four seasons, I thought there was no way they could support a race where indoor shelter deemed a must at times. But, the weather was perfect, the RD and the committee put on a stellar race, and by the time we left for Logan on Thursday afternoon, i was busting with excitement for the weekends journey and celebration thereafter. </span></span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">4 of us, Eve, Jen, Cheryl, and I, headed north. We checked in, we dropped our drop bags, we had a wonderful dinner outside by the river, and went to the hotel for final prep and sleep. Easy breezy morning, slightly scattered start, but all the calm, cool, and collected feelings of the Bear and of the acceptance of the long days ahead were present. </span></span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I have been processing my DNF out there, for 3 weeks now...I was moving well. I was off my goal time, but w/out crew for day 1 (Covid precautions) I tried and succeeded getting myself whole and on top of all the things like electrolytes, water, food, gels, to Cheryl at Temple Fork. I inhaled a lot of dust on the dirt road heading into there, mile 45. Truck after truck kicking up the ground and no way around it. This is where the beginning to my end started, I believe. But we moved well to mile 52, Tony Grove. Half way. But before we reached there, I began to have extremely labored breathing on the climbs. My heart would beat very fast and the drowning feeling of not being able to take a deep breath began. It got worse leaving Franklin, mile 63ish. I puked, which is No big deal. It was the breathing. Perhaps my muscles were not getting the oxygen they needed from the hours of labored breathing(?) I don't know, but I can tell you when we hit the rocky road to Logan River, my quads were all but seized. The downhill was a joke, I couldn't even trot. What was happening? The climb out of Logan was soul crushing. I walked slowly behind Cheryl, contemplating what was going on. I can't hike without a panicked heart and lack of breath. I couldn't trot the downhill, as my muscles would not contract and the pain was stark and sharp. I had taken so much Ibuprofen already. I had puffed on my inhaler more times than I should have. I have salted, I have ate, Cheryl just gave me tailwind, and chews 2 at a time. I had cried. i had asked her to let me stop right there, 3 or 4 miles from Aid..I was falling apart. Why?</span></span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">What was happening? I have been here before. I have hurt before, I have befallen at some point to this distance many times, and yet always found a way to climb out on top. That's one of the things I love about the 100 mile. But, I was broken as the beautiful sunrise was swept by a threatening rain cloud that stayed away. </span></span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">What else can I do? I have to stop. And then Jill came up behind us on the road in her car. Just about a mile to Beaver Lodge aid. Some words were said, I felt like I was bent over. I heard coffee and cream of wheat. Here it comes, the tears, the shaking, the faces of my friends sunk to my level of head hanging down, changing my socks, cream of wheat, coffee, washing my feet. My head was spinning, my eyes burning from dust and tears, my body shaking. I see Betsy packing my vest. "I can't" i say. "i can't breathe". Everyone moving in the direction that will get me out of this chair, as we do , as we hope, as we anticipated for months and months.</span></span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And so we left, onward from mile 76. A brief feeling of relief as we slowly walked. Betsy was fresh and smiling and optimistic as she is. Yet, I am still wondering what I was doing. Where could I stop? I know what's coming, I don't think I can do it this time. </span></span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">What is happening? Why is this happening. How do I have nothing left to give? I have been trying to turn this around for so many miles. So many hours. People were passing me left and right. The hike to Gibson felt insurmountable with every step. The basin ridge cold and painful. Hot then cold, hot then cold, shivering then pulling at my zipper with such urgency as i thought I would suffocate. Betsy can I sit, I think I am going to pass out. Breathe..slowly...We keep walking. "I think I just had a panic attack". "We can sit at Beaver Creek, just another mile or so. Quads revolted and seized, i tread as lightly as I could and stiff as a board, down the steep rocky descent into mile 85, the campground. </span></span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I sat and ate, oatmeal I think... dirt covered watermelon, and grapes. As Betsy pulled out a McDonald's hamburger and breakfast burrito from her bra, a roar of laughter from the volunteers pushed a slight smile across my face and a thought? (Don't all pacers do that?) We had been here so many times together, sometimes me in the chair, sometimes Betsy. I looked my friend in the eye who was loading up my vest to march onward, and I said "Betsy, i can't". We sat for a few more minutes, maybe 15, and then I signed my race away. </span></span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It wasn't until the morning came, that my lungs really showed how much of a beaten they had taken, and my quads with newly bursted blood vessels were still agonizing and stiff. All levels of nutrients and electrolytes felt wrong and yet nothing outweighed or stung more than dropping from the race. Don't let me get it twisted, regret is not the word, but disappointment is. I burst into tears as I entered my house. "I'm sorry I couldn't get it done", I said to my daughters....</span></span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the weeks that have passed, I first eagerly waited for registration to open for 2021. Hoping that the anticipation of redemption would be enough to kill the nightly re-enacting in dreams of this years race. Just a drop in that bucket, however. The chatter and reserving a house for next years race, also a drop in that bucket. The opening up about it to Betsy and Jen yesterday on the trail was a couple more drops to help fill that mucky bucket. And, as the weeks come and go, as the humility helps mold the lessons learned, I expect that bucket to be full and fresh again. </span></span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">To my daughters on a night shortly after the Bear; "You can do big things, and sometimes they work out, sometimes you succeed, and sometimes you don't. Sometimes it's not your day or your moment. But keep trying and then keep trying again and again and again..and again."</span></span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></i></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-83146149663625043232019-11-20T12:21:00.001-08:002019-11-20T12:25:08.590-08:00100<i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I walked out of September with sore knees and a real sense of self joy. It doesn't last long enough, but it lasts for awhile. I don't really remember how or why I decided to run 3, 100 mile races in a 7 week span. "The Utah Triple" Perhaps a thing, a very new thing, regardless of it's "thing" or "not a thing" status, it was a thing I did. </span></span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Was it that I was turning 40? Was it the turned up spirit and blues of fall running coming to an end when the snow came and stayed last year? Was it the addictive natured voice reminding me just how good it feels to overcome and cross the finish line. The fantastic pleasure of sitting down and being still, finally? The laughable pain of trying to sit on the toilet the next day or the burning itching feet through the first night? </span></span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I have a hard time putting it into perspective or understandable terms when I am describing it to others. But, this morning on a lovely dawn patrol run, I didn't have to explain it to my friend, she has the same thoughts and feelings of the distance; as we talked about now what? what next year?</span></span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Ute 100 </span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Wasatch 100</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Bear 100</span></span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">...This is the Utah triple (be it a thing or not). I was a little burned out after the Bear. The weather conditions for all 3 races varied. With a 40 hour cut off at the Ute, I had time to sleep for the first time ever in a race #backofthepackproblems. We saw 2 bears. I laid on the trail with my friend and stared at a billion stars and made a joke about 5k's and margaritas. I was sick and sleepy and fell in and out of panic and patience quicker then my turnover. At the Wasatch, it rained and no hornets to be had. I decided I was done over and over again; I just never said it out loud. I was impatient and irritated, and wondered for the first time if I even wanted to be there. I was overwhelmed with friendship that ultimately carried me into day 2, mile 90, and then to the finish. And at the Bear, I was happy and healthy, and smiley, and strong...until I wasn't. Until I was muddy, and cold, and puking, and pooping, and slowed to the pace of a sleeping tortoise until I didn't. Until I saw my friend, my friends, all of them there for us...rounding the corner, seeing the park, shivering in the wettest clothes and the wettest skin I could remember, finishing next to one of my besties. </span></span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">And then it was done. And, I was burned out but satisfied. And then I was burned out and depressed. Curious if what I think of as an accomplishment is simply...not. Perhaps, I pondered, this is just another way to fuel my highs and ignore my lows for a time. Perhaps, running 100 miles is a way to escape and not necessarily to be present at all. Or, maybe it's both? I don't love every minute of it. There's many miles I DO NOT even like. But, I do believe it's something that has enriched my life and spirituality in humanity. And, I can't deny the benefits and impact the very act of running has had on me. </span></span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">For now, I am running short and slow. I have been out of the acute recovery phase for many weeks now, but I am enjoying the fall weather and cool mornings, the familiar winter trails, browsing ultra sign up daily for a new exciting event, and reflecting on 2019. To next year...Cheers</span></span></i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-653372455543888352019-08-20T08:20:00.000-07:002019-08-20T10:50:07.298-07:00Ute 100<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">There have been a few races gone now, since I've sat down to write about the experience. I guess, i do this as a journal for the handful interested and my daughters. One day, this might reveal a lot about me to my small people that give me so much hope and wrinkles at the same time.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Ute 100.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">For weeks maybe months before this race, I had a healthy dose of doubt and a not so healthy dose of desire, or lack their of. I was in a rotten head space about the race and it's logistics. 3 am start, camping the night before, 25 miles to our first drop bag, 3 drop bags in total for 100 miles, 40 hour cut -off, remote, rugged, high, lightning probability, HEAT.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I'm not spoiled, and I do like a challenge, but this was not something I was used to say at Wasatch, the Bear , or Bighorn. If I didn't have my amazing crew, and a vehicle to aid out of, I'm not sure I could have pulled off a finish.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Even with all of the selfless help of my friends, I wasn't sure I could pull off a finish. I won't do a play by play, I won't ask for your attention more than a few minutes. here it goes:</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Like mentioned, we started at 3:00am. Jill and I were up a little after 2:00am after a few hours asleep in the back of her truck. We ran then hiked in the dark until the sun came up around 6:30. The first 25 miles were lovely , and relatively easy terrain. After a few steep jaunts, there was lots of easy downhill and then rolling mountain bike trails. The weather on Friday was very bearable. Perhaps the altitude was in fact blessing us with cooler temps in the Ls Salle mountain range.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">After mile 25, I got hot and impatient and tired and impatient and sick and tired and a little more tired. The biggest climb of the race came up around mile 33. Mann's Peak that tops out somewhere in the 12,200 ft range. The climb up was a beastly one, but I managed to do quite well here. I shuffled down the scree ridge from the top as fast as I could (fairly slow). Frankly, I was a little nervous up there. I wouldn't generally say I'm scared of exposure, but this was high, narrow, and slippery scree in places. It was windy and threatening to rain, although it never did.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The stress of this climb and getting off the ridge line fatigued me even more. All day i had told myself to just get this climb out of the way, and it will be a piece of cake (LOUD LAUGH OUTLOUD ). This was a mistake as I only mentally prepared to get over the hill so to speak, and then I could get it done. After a long descent off Mann's peak, my eyes were heavy and my patience was thin. In and out of the next aid (mile 42ish) We climbed out and then down and then up again-this service road full of blow downs and debris from a fierce winter, then another dastardly rocky, downhill full of mooing cows near and far. The sun was setting across the sky lighting up what I believe was Castle Valley. Gorgeous- however, the pleasure of the sites was no match for my ultimate bonk of the trek.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I came into Mile 51 broken. Tears, fatigue, hunger, defeat, discouraged, chaffed, sting everywhere, sweaty, then cold, shaking, and foggy. Betsy, Cheryl, Nancy taking my clothes off and putting new ones on, Do you want this? Can you eat that? How about this? Headlamps? Socks? jacket? try this? one more bite of that...Like a pit crew in the Indy 500, but I couldn't see past my sorrow. No one was feeling sorry for me though...I should know better than that. I wasn't coming in for sympathy- I was coming in for aid, and that's what we do best out there for each other.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Ok...Homestretch..ish..eh, not quite. Cheryl and I headed out into the night. Enough ups and downs that I could go into great detail, but to sum up the night; I could barely stay awake. I wanted to melt into the dirt, and did a few times.Laying on the dirt at one point we turned our lights off and I was staring at the magnificent star lit sky "Cheryl, why don't we run 5k's and drink margaritas afterwards?" ..."Because we drink vodka" :) Can't argue with that. So up and out.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I had time at mile 71 to take a nap. This was a run changer for me. I don't usually have this luxury, but with the 40 hour cut off, I had time to be out cold for about 30 minutes, horizontal and warm in the car for almost an hour. I popped up around 6:00am. I ate mashed potatoes and a 5 hour energy shot. Then bam, 6 feet in front of us on the trail out of the aid station, a mama and baby bear. Oh SH!t. With normal brain function I would have possibly pooped my pants, but Betsy, now with me for the duration, cacawed like a bird and flapped her arms like a crazy person. mama ran beside us for a few seconds and then disappeared into the thick.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">We rallied from here. We rallied from there. We rallied and I grimaced in pain on the downhill, and tried not to think about the heat that was coming as we descended further and further to the finish line. 5 miles of dirt road, we ran it. I came in just under 37 hours.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The darkest and hardest miles were long and bending. My heart was not in it for hours upon hours. I eventually got to a "place" that was familiar- a balance in the mental chaos. A bite down and move mentality- but not until I could see the end near. Maybe mile 86. From about mile 35-85, i couldn't see it, I didn't want it bad enough. I fought it and that is my demon out there. Patience and fatigue. It suspends me out there too long, and I'd like to get to a calmer state quicker and less dramatic. Let's see what Wasatch brings me in 2 weeks. I do love this shit, but that was a doozy for me.</span></span><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-88156487483628692552019-02-20T14:46:00.002-08:002019-06-13T16:13:47.366-07:00a love poem to no one You’re so beautiful, I could look at you for hours, if I weren’t to aftaid of exploding<br />
Combusting, death of something through the uttermost form<br />
Of living. Living without boundaries or social etiquette,<br />
Or doing the work just for the reward, but every breath of life with each other<br />
Rather the reward. And then the alarm goes off at 5:20am.<br />
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I don’t need to know if I’m thankful or saddened. I don’t know if I’m<br />
Experiencing trauma or bliss. I think I’m all of it.<br />
And in the hours that follow-I’m in then mountains, in the snow, in the car pool line.<br />
I’m in the grocery store, the Starbucks, the office... and still I’m almost brought<br />
To tears by a shape of a face that , by all accounts should have forgotten the details of.<br />
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she's just goneUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-10811082071043165712018-09-12T16:33:00.003-07:002018-09-12T16:54:42.263-07:00Wasatch 2018<span style="font-size: x-large;">Wasatch 100 2018 Finish Line</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">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?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">I'm in pain & numb ?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">I'm sitting & throbbing</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">My skin hurts & I'm still</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">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.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Beaming into the pit, juvenile optimism about the pain.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Brave to the fatigue and naive at once</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Lost in a thought about my body,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">dissecting every step. Hungry?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">No. That doesn't matter, as I know.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">The sun is whipping me and I'm standing here</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">silencing my hate for this moment.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">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...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">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??</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Gratitude. Humility. Pride. Happiness</b>. And then what?? You chase it. You freakin' chase it.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">So, Wasatch 2018; Ack the details are boring...But, let me try to summarize 35:33 in a paragraph.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">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...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">After 30 hours, I gave in and accepted all of it and just moved.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Wasatch, will you ever come gently into the soft night? I doubt it.</span><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-71531534563323820982018-06-19T12:45:00.000-07:002018-06-19T13:02:30.639-07:00Bighorn 100 <div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">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"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">(in a very "I get it", kinda voice)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">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).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">She also reminded me, that was a good time to eat:)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">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. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">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. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">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).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">The sky ablaze with current and devastating thunder claps</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">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. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Sally's, Mile 30 in 5:52pm</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">crewing myself I:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">washed my feet,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">changed my socks,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">emptied and repacked vest</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Ate mashed potatoes</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Drank an Ultragen</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Ate Chicken tenders </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">put on pants and dry warm clothes</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">out at 6:17 pm.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">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. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">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. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Jaws, Mile 48 in at 12:55</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Crew'd by Dee and Sherpa Jim we:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">ate chicken fingers and fries, they were warm!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">drank lemonade</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">dried off feet</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">changed socks</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Dry Clothes</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">New headlamps</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Bladder filled</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Unpack and pack again</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">heavy rain jacket</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">out at 1:14 am</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">What goes up...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">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. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Sally's Mile 66 in at 7:05</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Crew'd by Dee and myself I;</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Washed feet</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Changed socks,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Changed shoes</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">took off wet clothes</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">dry arm warmers and sleeveless shirt </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">ate 2 pancakes and 2 sausage</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">drank a lemonade</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Broke the zipper on my drop bag, Shit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">wrapped up drop bag with Duct tape</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">unpacked and packed vest</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">"Dee Im heading out, catch me"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">out at 7:30 am</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">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..."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"> 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. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Dry Fork Mile 82 in at 2:01</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Crew'd by Dee</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Ate mashed potatoes </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Drank an ultragen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Washed Feet Again!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Changed Socks Again!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Pack emptied and filled</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Red Bull for the road</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">out at 2:14pm</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Time to wrap this Shiz up...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">...But not before a weepy painful scene</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">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.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">huh, my feet hurt. Duh.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">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.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">and I wept angrily in my pity party pain cave.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">"There's my friend!" I hear from behind.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">And, I bellowed, "Betsy!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">I tol her she didnt have to wait for me, and she rolled her eyes:)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">She told me about the messages the girls sent, that I could see as soon as we finished and got to the car. </span></div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">We had about 8 miles to the finish. Every step and breath i took was strained.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">I couldn't really talk, when I did, i just whined.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">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. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">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. </span></div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Reflection: </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">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.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Bighorn100 2018 33:36 </span></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-42595823913719237112018-05-31T07:24:00.001-07:002018-05-31T08:00:47.466-07:00one day at a time<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>Clarity.</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>I don't always have it.</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>But when I do, it often makes me weep.</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>It often let's me sleep.</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>Dropping flashes of the underbelly nights,</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>I call upon an un~level hill </b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>I am sweaty and disappointed in the </b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>last poisoned cranberry soaked restless dark.</b></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>Habitual decompression of polar characters</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>and yet, the frost is favored as my skin is often so hot,</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>and my pulse, I feel it in my chest and head like that bongo</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>remember?</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>That one night, drumming out Sublime and Ben Harper songs?</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>You remember, don't you?</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>In that house, with those friends, bottles and instruments,</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>laughter and curse words?</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>and you, your eyes, so blue. I lost the rhythm when I saw them.</b></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>Caught in a web of earthly driven days and nights,</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>smelling fires and charcoal</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>feeling pumpkins and wine goblets that fit so perfectly in my hand.</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>That's the one, that'll be my cup. </b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>We have a bond, one I love and hate.</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>But those cool desert nights</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>That mountain glazed in purple & green, and stubborn July white tops.</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>It feels like magic!</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>Until it doesn't.</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>Until clarity.</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>Until admission and guilt step up like a</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>caged beast, and you cant help wondering</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>How have I not heard you? How have I not nourished you? You are me and I am you.</b></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>And those free falling and endless nights have long been gone.</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>And those fires are in the stove warming my home for my children</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>And, those pumpkins are carved by delicate hands</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>And, those bongos are in the basement collecting dust</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>But the music still plays in the air</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b>and you, your eyes, so blue...help me see my truths.</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><b> </b></i></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-84845060099426749312018-03-26T15:46:00.000-07:002018-03-27T07:46:12.309-07:00Buffalo Run 50 mile- My very first and my most recent-<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">There's this place I see</span></span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">clear as mud and the water in my eyes</span></span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">comes without sadness. The</span></span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">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. </span></span></b></i></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">It's never a <i>gimme</i>; 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 <i>gimme</i>. 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. </span></span></b></div>
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<br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">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...</span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Did I overestimate my ability or underestimate the mental and physical order of this course? </span></span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">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.</span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">My goal was 10 hours. I finished in 11:12. </span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">2013- 11:33</span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">2016- 12:40 </span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">(Variables and anythings happened in those years, that's besides the point)</span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">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. </span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">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.</span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">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 <i>gimme</i>. And yesterday, i was reminded once again, that it's (races) are never a <i>gimme</i>.</span></span></b></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Ahhh, but horah-hooray! Real running season has begun, I can't wait for long mountain mornings that turn into afternoons.</span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The 2018 plan:</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Zion traverse</span></span></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Scout Mountain 35k</span></span></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Bighorn 100</span></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Speedgoat 50k</span></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">El Vaquero Loco 50k</span></span></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Wasatch 100</span></span></b></span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Gnarly Bear 50k </span></span></b></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-87107225509812438162018-01-08T14:48:00.005-08:002018-01-08T15:37:11.202-08:0010 Years<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">in 23 days and roughly 2 hours, it will be 10 years that my mother died.</span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhig5KijvPAJvKFOuLDlhUEjXMPBTcoPFh379VRMVMnBT-6VwdbFLmTy-LeCZ9Aw6G6eqjoaQzHBa9TbZGgm8HA6J74i8DOXhm5h4Pqq5-RcVxPV4VsFj7rFB3FXQ9W-csUEfV-e4zqeEY/s1600/12644680_10208232777114667_8449293769039005314_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhig5KijvPAJvKFOuLDlhUEjXMPBTcoPFh379VRMVMnBT-6VwdbFLmTy-LeCZ9Aw6G6eqjoaQzHBa9TbZGgm8HA6J74i8DOXhm5h4Pqq5-RcVxPV4VsFj7rFB3FXQ9W-csUEfV-e4zqeEY/s320/12644680_10208232777114667_8449293769039005314_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">July 2000, 1 month before I moved to Utah</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> Before Cancer</span></i></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">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?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">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.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">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".</span></span><br />
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<div class="t pg-176m0 pg-176x2 pg-176h1 pg-176y2 pg-176ff1 pg-176fs0 pg-176fc0 pg-176sc0 pg-176ls0 pg-176ws0">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">T<span class="_ pg-176_0"></span>o<span class="_ pg-176_0"></span>day is June 16, 2008. It is warm in Utah and our garden is growing. W<span class="_ pg-176_0"></span>e<span class="_ pg-176_0"></span> have a<span class="_ pg-176_0"></span>ll walks of </span></div>
<div class="t pg-176m0 pg-176x2 pg-176h1 pg-176y3 pg-176ff1 pg-176fs0 pg-176fc0 pg-176sc0 pg-176ls0 pg-176ws0">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">life in the backyard raging from thyme to sunflowers, and lettuce to grape vines. I got back<span class="_ pg-176_1"></span></span> </div>
<div class="t pg-176m0 pg-176x2 pg-176h1 pg-176y4 pg-176ff1 pg-176fs0 pg-176fc0 pg-176sc0 pg-176ls0 pg-176ws0">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">from Baltimore 2 days ago. I was there on a visit to see my family<span class="_ pg-176_0"></span>,<span class="_ pg-176_0"></span> the famil<span class="_ pg-176_1"></span>y that’<span class="_ pg-176_0"></span>s l<span class="_ pg-176_0"></span>eft. </span></div>
<div class="t pg-176m0 pg-176x2 pg-176h1 pg-176y5 pg-176ff1 pg-176fs0 pg-176fc0 pg-176sc0 pg-176ls0 pg-176ws0">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">I felt immediate anxiety as the plane landed back in Salt Lake. I used to<span class="_ pg-176_1"></span> get so excited about </span></div>
<div class="t pg-176m0 pg-176x2 pg-176h1 pg-176y6 pg-176ff1 pg-176fs0 pg-176fc0 pg-176sc0 pg-176ls0 pg-176ws0">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">our garden, but life and growth is something I have been tangoing with since the beginning of </span></div>
<div class="t pg-176m0 pg-176x2 pg-176h1 pg-176y7 pg-176ff1 pg-176fs0 pg-176fc0 pg-176sc0 pg-176ls0 pg-176ws0">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">the year<span class="_ pg-176_0"></span>. Every<span class="_ pg-176_0"></span>thing is s<span class="_ pg-176_1"></span>ymbolic and once a day at least, I am rushed with images of mom and </span></div>
<div class="t pg-176m0 pg-176x2 pg-176h1 pg-176y8 pg-176ff1 pg-176fs0 pg-176fc0 pg-176sc0 pg-176ls0 pg-176ws0">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">of simpler days, and I ache, god damn I ache. It all just stopped when she died. </span></div>
<div class="t pg-176m0 pg-176x2 pg-176h1 pg-176y9 pg-176ff1 pg-176fs0 pg-176fc0 pg-176sc0 pg-176ls0 pg-176ws0">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Simultaneously with her passing, I became stuck in some twisted limbo between utter </span></div>
<div class="t pg-176m0 pg-176x2 pg-176h1 pg-176ya pg-176ff1 pg-176fs0 pg-176fc0 pg-176sc0 pg-176ls0 pg-176ws0">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">loneliness and a light I can’t see. T<span class="_ pg-176_0"></span>he birds are silent or ma<span class="_ pg-176_1"></span>ybe I’m deaf to them, and the snow</span></div>
<div class="t pg-176m0 pg-176x2 pg-176h1 pg-176yb pg-176ff1 pg-176fs0 pg-176fc0 pg-176sc0 pg-176ls0 pg-176ws0">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">is messy and cold, while the sunshine is too happy for me. If I were a pie chart, a huge piece </span></div>
<div class="t pg-176m0 pg-176x2 pg-176h1 pg-176yc pg-176ff1 pg-176fs0 pg-176fc0 pg-176sc0 pg-176ls0 pg-176ws0">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">would be missing, maybe all but one slice. If I were a dozen eggs, I’d be there, but cracked </span></div>
<div class="t pg-176m0 pg-176x2 pg-176h1 pg-176yd pg-176ff1 pg-176fs0 pg-176fc0 pg-176sc0 pg-176ls0 pg-176ws0">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">and oozing, no good for anyone. I’m here, but I’m not right, just incomplete and broken.</span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">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. </span></span></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="t pg-176m0 pg-176x2 pg-176h1 pg-176yd pg-176ff1 pg-176fs0 pg-176fc0 pg-176sc0 pg-176ls0 pg-176ws0">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">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.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-41189438118255851532017-10-10T16:39:00.002-07:002017-10-12T10:43:37.353-07:00That's a wrap - The Bear 100<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Clean desk, clean house, getting work started and done, meal planning, and even a touch of wandering around the house humbly staring at the mountains out my living room window. My race year is over, and it was a sizeable one, for this 38 year old mother of 2. And now...nothing. Well, nothing in the sense of running, there's plenty of something's in my life that bring me joy, but I spent a large portion of 2017 running and gearing up for 3, 100 mile "runs" and road trip races with friends. I wouldn't say I've got the blues, I'm just a little flat at the moment. Resting and recovering, crossing domestic and work chores off my list, and feeling a little pang of longing as I watch the colors burst in the cold mountain mornings that turn into truly spectacular sunny fall days. I know it's fleeting, our quick Utah fall.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWlPldvQsbKvQM2U4UyARncOKcc0G5SeW3T_Ad8JvVXfNdu6HKFYuYgZ1c4Hu7zOGmhiBrdYswqX-mixBRudj69uogE7iRm_vxkLwz8pG5F3PxN1VTVed8AYgCuS2TC6yeDk8okwKd0AA/s1600/Phone+Picture+October+2017+4573.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWlPldvQsbKvQM2U4UyARncOKcc0G5SeW3T_Ad8JvVXfNdu6HKFYuYgZ1c4Hu7zOGmhiBrdYswqX-mixBRudj69uogE7iRm_vxkLwz8pG5F3PxN1VTVed8AYgCuS2TC6yeDk8okwKd0AA/s320/Phone+Picture+October+2017+4573.JPG" width="256" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>So, It's almost 4:00pm, and I'm inspired to write some. I just poured a Wasatch Evolution into my first swag of 2017, another Red Hot 55k pint glass. I remember getting dressed that cold and rainy February morning and thinking, oh my! these shorts are tight! It's an early race, only 6 weeks after New Years! My first of the year. I got lost, I kinda panicked, I found my way back on course, I had the longest Red Hot run in the 4 I've done, my family didn't make it to the finish, they were 45 minutes late, I had no cell service, and I burst into tears of exhaustion when I saw my mini van chugging up the canyon. That was the start of my biggest year in Ultra-running. I'll only go back a little further, to charge my battery on the details. I ran a 100 in 2016, Bryce 100, and it fell apart later into day 2. I finished, but it was a death march to last place, 2
hours after the 36 hour cut-off. I was demoralized, I was tired, and I was in pain. And as every
bad race has reasons...in the end, I just felt defeated. Then later in 2016 about this time, I crewed/paced my friends in 100 mile endeavors of their own. And, I was inspired to bite off more than I could quite possibly chew, I could quite possibly even choke on those bites, but a smart phone, an impulse, a credit card attached to Ultra Sign up, and let's be honest, probably a cocktail or 2...there was my 2017 of running, boom, boom, boom.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>A little late to get my Bear 100 experience outta my head, but here I go. Jill and I were running the race, but we were not alone. Cheryl, Betsy, and Eve were all their to cover miles with one or both of us. Sometimes you just know you're going to have a bad day. I knew on Friday from the get go, that I was going to have a good day. I can't recall a race I've ever felt so strong and confident in the "good day". The Bear starts with a big climb in the dark, it was slow but steady and in an hour, maybe 2 we popped along some beautiful single track. The views were stunning and the weather was awesome. My music was eerily on point song after song in shuffle mode, and I kid you not, I was smiling and bubbly for the 5 hours it took me to get to the first drop bag aid station. Leatham Hollow, mile 20. I just did everything I knew I was supposed to do. I ran the dirt road like Jill told me to, where everyone else was walking, like Jill said they would be. Quickly after the road there was another climb. Boom, more giddy smiles and wide eyed bewilderment as I passed open range cows sitting in fire engine red maples and water gently running next to the fairy tale trails that I'm sure held snow white and those goofy dwarfs somewhere in it's entangled arms of beauty.</b></span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The miles ticked off with ease and I came into Mile 45 earlier than I targeted. My friends! Betsy and Cheryl were there with warm Wendy's chicken nuggets, bellissimo! Jill had just left. Pack it up pack it in and out to the road across the street and 6 miles to Tony grove. Here it got dark, but I still got into mile 51 before my target time. Cheryl was crewing Jill when I got there and Betsy took care of me. We were off and we came up on Jill who was not feeling great, about an hour or 2 later. The 3 of us, and the mad-Massachusetts-talker who somehow Betsy accidentally began pacing as well, mostly ran the 3 hours to Franklin. "Hey T-shirt, do you need a jacket?" This made me laugh and notice that everyone around me was bundled up and I had stripped down to said t-shirt and shorts. That changed when we left Franklin, even on the climb, I was starting to get a little chilled.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The miles to the lodge were dark and pleasant. Betsy and I chatted and giggled, or silently hiked for minutes at a time. I fell a little bit in the Logan river, and then met my lowest moment of The Bear. A tendon above my heel had been screaming at me for hours. Fatigue slowed me down, which made me get even colder, and then that thing that happens when you start to acknowledge all the tough stuff going on, happened. I began to get overwhelmed with the miles to go and even the few miles right in front of me. This felt like too much cold, too much pain, too much of everything. The back of my foot hurt incredibly bad on climbs. Relief came on down hill as I purposely slid my feet forward to avoid friction from the back of my shoe. She reminded me that I should have some crappy moments in a 100 when I told her I was feeling low. I ate some and we trucked on to Beaver Lodge, where we hunkered down in Eve's VW bus. Eve made me a grilled cheese and fresh pressed coffee...Sweet Jesus, I am so spoiled. Betsy was done with me, and I've got to say how happy and lucky I am to have a friend run almost 60 miles of the last 2, 100 miles I've done, which happened to only be 3 weeks apart. Thank you my friend. i owe ya- But, I have a feeling I'll repay that favor in 2018.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Eve and I began again, but not before she gave me the literal new socks off of her feet. How I didn't have socks in my bag there, I don't know. She threw on an older pair she had and off we went. I didn't realize the time, but just like that, we had arrived to my second morning of the Bear. We caught Jill at the top of the climb, mile 80 ish, and she and I were together the rest of the morning which turned into afternoon, and then the finish. Jill didn't feel well, and I have been in races feeling shitty for so long, and it sucks. The only silver lining is I was able to run with her in a 100. So Jill, Eve, and I trucked down to mile 85 together. Cheryl and Karl were there. Cheryl who paced Jill from Franklin to the lodge had a 3 hour break where she was supposed to sleep (she DID NOT sleep) and planned to pick me up for the final 15. She gotta a 2 for 1, and she led the way as Jill and I finished the Bear, in 32:33.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Right after Cheryl picked us up, the weather began to turn. The rain turned to icy snow, and the trails turned to mud. Oh Mud, had we not parted ways amicably at Bighorn?? Had we not had our fill of each other and all of our shoes? It was a slippery and rather painful, for me, stretch to the last mile and a half of road. Jill asked me if I was still having fun, and I answered "no, I just wanted to be done". The pain in my foot was unbearable, but I needed to feel it a little longer. But as all races have up's and down's, I laughed again as Cheryl and I lightly debated bacon. It's not food, she says. Why isn't it food, I say? It looks like food, it smells like food, you eat it! It's not food, it's not enough calories , she says..and this continued on down the slippery trail for long enough to remember that no one is making me do this, and the smile returned even as I winced in pain.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I let out some mix of relief and tears when Cheryl said we had a mile and a half to go. I saw my girls as we rounded the corner. Me, Jill, Olivia and Sylvia ran it to the end, and we were done.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It was my fastest 100 of the year, and besides my first 100 at Antelope Island (FLAT!!!) it was my fastest mountain 100. Here's to the big runs in 2017, geez, I guess I am a little blue it's over, but I am very much looking forward to shorter runs in the dark cold mornings, skiing with my family, and swearing off early races like Moab and the Buffalo Run, or ya know, at least until that impulse, smart phone, and cocktail combo meets again. (which is kinda</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">inevitable).</span></span></b><br />
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Thanks for reading that was longer that I set out to write!<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-66702410292037475502017-09-14T06:24:00.001-07:002017-09-14T11:07:07.748-07:00"Welcome to Saturday Morning!"<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> WASATCH 100</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I guess I am getting slightly seasoned as I went to bed at 9:00pm the night before Wasatch, and....I slept.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I woke up at 2:45am, even for an early bird like me that sounds stupid. But, I got up and started my day. Coffee and OJ. 2 hash browns and a handwritten note of thanks & Love to my family. knock,knock,knock Nancy went at 3:45am! What a friend.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Nancy pants drove me to the start on her day off because well, she's awesome. It wasn't long until I hugged her goodbye and began the journey of one foot in front of the other. I had an uneventful day thus far in the way of shit gone wrong. I ate 700 calories climbing Bair canyon (4,000feet in 4 miles) I tried to drown out the "lemme tell you all about me and all my races" stories in the conga line and enjoy the cool air, the glowing blue sky, the clear moon that had been out of focus for days given our beautiful west on fire. I was a little impatient with the complete stops crossing a creek or 2, but I remembered the words of my tribe, be patient, eat, move with purpose. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The heat is such a bitch to me. I wish I could turn it into an advantage as it is a beast to so many, but I can't. I run so warm that even a mere 75 degrees in a cloudless sky feels like an inferno to me. I packed an extra bottle strictly for my neck and head at Bountiful B. 10:09 am and I'm already wearing ice water.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In and and out of Sessions lift off , rolling like a stone in an upward swing of switchbacks under a canopy of green and brown. We had moved from jeep roads to single track. What goes up, must go up again. We hit a short but steep climb, and meandered on single mountain side trails for a number of miles before finally popping out onto rich red road at Swallow Rocks. This next 5 miles got me good in 2015, and I wasn't feeling real well again. I ate a green otter pop, (even though I wanted red, the suffering life of an ultra, it's like offering a starburst and dishing out a yellow, I mean, what's the point?) But, I ate it and it was pretty good, after all.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I got into Big Mountain, mile 32ish where I saw the lovely Eve and Carrie. I was feeling a little crappy. My stomach was not shot but it wasn't great. Eating would help, so I did that. Eve, if ya don't know is a plethora of knowledge on all biological things and experiences, and a lover and care taker of the earth, which can only explain how she knew a Mcdonald's hamburger and a mango Jamba Juice would be perfect.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Needing the calories to settle, Eve and I started hiking slowly out of the aid station. The heat had gotten to me for hours, and we were heading into a notoriously hot stretch in the late afternoon. Ugh..I hate Alexander Ridge. -Which, if I stopped saying that to myself, perhaps it wouldn't feel so terrible EVERY time we run it. So, wait, I love Alexander! But we're not there yet, we are still making our way to Bald mountain. Eve gave me an acid reducer that began to settle my stomach as we perched on top of Bald for a mere moment before trotting down the loose rock. Suddenly something marvelous happened! The clouds began to gather so tight and close to each other, that they blocked out the sun and the wind cooled my face and tried to steal my hat. We saw rain in the distance and assumed we'd feel it soon. This was a gift. We got up Alexander ridge, ran the rail trail, down into the trees before hitting Lambs aid, mile 45ish. The rain never came but the relief the distant storm brought for temperatures was welcomed. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My crew! Nancy and Jen were at Lambs with food and helpful hands. Eve kept talking to me about layers, but I was perfect. "It could get cold..." nah, not for me, I'm basically a running microwave. Jen and I set out for Brighton, but before that, we set out for Upper Big water, Desolation, and Scott's Pass. We walked the long road to the trail head eating French Fries (I love my friends and the fried foods they bare) up to Bare Ass Pass steadily moving and eating. The road to Upper Big Water, which is the end of Millcreek Canyon Rd, is what it is. It's a gradual 3 mile incline in the dark. Temps were cooling but I was not chilled in the least. Checked in, emptied and repacked, Jen's on it at aid stations, organized and thorough. I decided to leave my hat and gloves. We set out for Desolation Lake as I downed 2 servings of instant mashed. Yawwwwn. Oh no. Yawwwwwn. Yay a tree, I'm just going to put my head here for a minute. I was eating fine, but the sleepy monster was coming in strong behind me. Yawwwwn. After Desolation my eyes began to cross, It was not painful to run, but painful to be awake. I asked Jen if I could close my eyes for 2 minutes..."ya got 2 minutes". I could have fallen into a deep slumber with drool and all. I'm not sure if Jen got me up after 2 minutes or the raging cold burst that hit me did. But I'm up! And FYI, the 2 minute snooze cruise helped. It helped the way a cat nap does, just enough to push on. But the cold... We were heading on to the ridge line and the cold wind had me shivering. Since I don't get cold...Jen gave me her own hat and gloves. What a friend. I had wind pants and a lite jacket in my pack. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We made it to Scott's and to Brighton, but not before I puked a little. Jen inspected said puke and was happy that I didn't lose ALL of the calories I just got in me:)</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Brighton, mile 67ish, Hello Betsy!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Pee, clean contacts, sausage, hash brown, coke, headlamp #2 and we're outta there. It was 4:30am, and I was off my goal of getting to Brighton by 2 hours. But, there is something about day 2 of 100 miles that gets me excited. The probability to a finish perhaps? Because we already made it through the night, the stomach and sleepy monsters, puke, and the cold? Or the fact that you will be done later that day-with a finish or not...you will be home today. Or after going 70 miles, 30 more is doable? I know this section. I can run it in my mind Brighton to Pole Line. It's 7 miles. I think I was moving well. Betsy brought Iced tea and Fried Chicken tenders (seriously, im pacer spoiled).</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We breezed through Ant Knolls, and up "The Grunt" 3 big switchbacks up. We hit the pass at Sunrise "Welcome to Saturday morning!"said Betsy.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There was a lot of actual running from here on out. I missed my personal goal at Brighton, but we were nowhere near cut-offs. I felt considerably great. I'd go through little bouts of sluggish marches, but Betsy got me back on track and focused. The immediate goal was to get to Pot Bottom by 11:00am. That would give me 6 hours, waaaay more time than I needed to go 15 runnable miles. We ran into Pot Bottom at 11:08am...nice. From here on out we ran. Betsy would toss me back a chicken tender and a flask of orange gatorade periodically, so that was awesome. I love those miles where you forget that it hurts, you even forget you're in a race, and you're just running with your friend laughing about this one or that one. Now some might say it's the need for calories, maybe the need for sleep, most likely both but at one point I had to stop and think "Am I running Wasatch or is Betsy?" Whew, it was me. In my defense we did this exact same stretch last year with roles reversed.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Coming into the last aid station and the finish was actually the first time in 2 days the physical pain got to me. Surprisingly, my feet are in great shape today, but they just throbbed those last 6 miles. Everything did. My glutes, my outer thighs, my IT bands, even my arms hurt with every step. Betsy reminded me that it's going to hurt until we finish so lets run. When I thought a log was a cat she wanted me to eat. I ate some bacon, but that was it, we were almost to the road. There it was, the end. 34:40. An hour and 9 minutes faster than 2015. I was done and I was happy.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My family was there, the sweet faces of my girls! I couldn't even talk about them 15 hours ago, or I would have started to cry. My friends! So many smiles and hugs. Such a wonderful way to celebrate life and ability and the earth and running. I know we're not saving lives out there, but we are certainly trying to live them.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Next up is the "finale" of my running year. The Bear 100.</span></span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-2982648741891159382017-06-25T09:56:00.000-07:002017-06-25T10:10:22.319-07:00Bighorn 100<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">I might be too tired to finish this post, but I'll give it a shot.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">33:17</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">I've said this before but a start line starts way before your feet begin to move on race day. So much anticipation and thought,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">so much effort and support from many.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">So much thinking and planning and checking the stupid weather. and then you get there-</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">and there is so.much.mud.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">I'm not sure how I could have been surprised by the soul sucking mud. I believe every person I talked to about Bighorn mentioned the notorious mud, in one conversation or another. And, I already know I will not be able to describe it well enough. The only thing I can describe is my shock at the 38 miles of wet, slippery, deep mud. It was remarkable and extraordinary in a God, this freaking sucks! kinda way. And, suck it did. For hours I curled my toes in my soaked shoes to help keep them on while trucking up 18 miles and down 18 miles. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">Friday was perfect. the weather was right in my wheelhouse, cool, drizzly, over cast. I ran well and felt well. I started this race in good shape, for me. I haven't injured myself all year and I have been consistent and running better than I have in awhile. I was super excited to get Bighorn under way. Very minimal jitters and a lot of pre-race fun; a long drive, just a few beers, a street festival, souvenir shopping for the kiddos, and fish tacos with my second family. 10:00am start and I rolled into Footbridge aid mile 30 at 6:00pm. This is where I met Cheryl, and we began our really unbelievable 7 hour stretch up to Jaws. Just when I thought I couldn't take one more step of mud we got to Jaws a little after 1:00am.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jill was there waiting with my bag, getting me food, ramen I think...maybe some bacon. It's hard for me to remember, as so much of our time together is all about eating and calories and salt and putting in what I can expend out and fuel one foot in front of the other. We quite literally slid down the course for hours. It was really frustrating at times trying to multi-task like eat while Not falling on my ass, or my side, or my face. I could not get my footing placed under me, my feet were wet and at at the mercy of mother earth's funny obstacle she was throwing down tonight. If you did not laugh at this ridiculousness we were trudging through, you would quit. That's where I was. Laugh and move or bitch and quit. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">Cheryl feels like my OG partner in dirt. She brought me into this community and introduced me to some of the strongest women I am honored to call friends. She has paced me many times but more accurately for hours..days even, if you add it all up. Our trudge up to Jaws was nothing short of insane, but we move as naturally and efficiently as if we were out on a training run, with the exception of the 110% goal being mine and she is taking the lead for me. We talked and moved and ate. We ran when we could, but even the leaders struggled up this shit, I'm sure of it. We talked about how grateful we are and important it is to have such a group of women who genuinely lift each other up, support and encourage each other with no judgement- just because we blindly understand somethings you just can't explain. You've heard it before...therapy, release, adrenaline, personal success in an unconventional manner not judged by a piece of paper on your wall or zeros in your bank account. A measure that is so personal, that it's metaphoric denomination varies in each of us. For me, it's strength. It's like adding an ingredient of mental strength to the make up of Natalie. And, it's not just races or ultra distances, it's just the courage to try and overcome that comes with running. When i ran my first 100 in 2013 I was trying to explain this to my sister. I said something like, I feel like I am going to have to fight really hard for something in my life. I feel like I need to see if I can fight hard enough. Now...arm chair shrink here is going to say this might have some deep seeded roots tied to my mom dying so young, and watching her fight when the end was simply inevitable . But, after thousands of miles, that feeling like I need to fight hard has transpired into a confidence that I never had. It has transformed into a serious look at myself and after 37 plus years, finally liking me for all I am, not disliking me for who I am not. I digress..as I do.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">So now I'm going to call out Jill. After about 6 1/2 hours getting down from jaws and breaking into an overcast Saturday morning. We reached footbridge for the second time. The rain had stopped. She sat me down in a folding chair and struggled to get my muddy wet shoes and socks off. She washed my feet. Did you hear me? She washed my feet. She remarked that they looked terrible, but I didn't want to look. I knew they felt pretty terrible. I did catch a glimpse at the bottoms. They looked like wet paper. She dried them and helped me get on dry socks and new shoes. These were not the shoes I planned on wearing for the remaining 34 miles, but anything was better than the encased swamps I had been in the last 22 hours. Jill you are so calm and smart. I don't know if I could have kept it together without you... which brings me to when I in fact could not keep it together with you. I set out for cow camp. A decent climb...Over 2,200 feet in 3 miles. This trail was dry yesterday. Today, not so much. The rain had stopped but the mud was thick heading up. The sun was out now, so fingers were crossed that the trails would dry up, but not here, not yet. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jill told me to go ahead at footbridge, she had to clean her own feet and would catch me. She's a killer climber, so I knew she'd catch me in no time. Here's where I began to worry about time. The cutoff to Dry Fork was 3:00. We had 13 miles and (I think) a little under 5 hours to get there. But I told Jill I wanted to get there at 2:00. I really wanted a cushion between cut-off's. I would have been more comfortable with a 1:00 cushion, but that shit was not happening. 3 miles an hour, that's all we have to do, Jill said. It was runnable. We could do this, but I'll be damn if I believed that, as I started to unravel coming up the long dirt road to the aid station. I can't even guess how much I ate in this stretch and how many salts. I was peeing every 10-15 minutes. Jill carried Gu Brew, an electrolyte water in a bottle for me. I was drinking a lot, but it was going right trough me. I said something to Jill; that nothing I was putting in was giving me a second wind or an ounce of energy. Was I in a hole, depleated? Was I burning it too fast? Both? Jill would have me run for 30 seconds then walk. Then she'd have me run for 10 seconds then walk. I started to grab my head, yelling at myself, that this was just temporary. Figure it out, just run! I was yelling at myelf. I was saying everything hurts, but it won't last long, suck it up, just go faster! I couldn't entertain the thought of failing, the thought of telling my daughters I couldn't dig deep enough. But, I didn't even know what the hell that meant at that moment. I choked up and asked Jill if we were going to make it to the finish. I was unraveling. I had no idea what time it was or even if I made it to Dry Creek by 3:00 if I could run another 18+ to the finish. I asked Jill to just tell me what to do, what and when to eat and drink. I couldn't make decisions. I asked her to think for me. When we got to the last little push up to the aid station. She said 10 minutes. She said 10 minutes to the top. Then you have 10 minutes in the aid station and you're out. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">Holy shit, we made it. And, it was only 2:10 (i believe) I sat down. Jill wrapped me in a blanket, and dumped my drop bag. A rainbow of Gels and a red bull. I put on my hat. "You have to eat something, I don't care what it is". I ate bacon and a Perfect bar. I drank a red bull, Jill filled my water. "Go, Ill catch you". It was 2:20 and I was ready to take on the next stretch. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">Friends. A friends face is so amazing. I hadn't seen Betsy or Jen since yesterday at mile 13 where my girl posse crewed me. They were running the 50 mile race. It started this morning at 5:00am, at the top of Jaws. I thought often how they were faring in the mud. As I was heading out of Dry Fork, I ran right in to Betsy coming in. "Hi friend!" Betsy yelled. We hugged, and I said, "I've got to go right now, catch me!" </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jill came up from behind a mile or 2 later with a... wait for it...Mcdonalds Cheesburger. She wanted to peel the cheese off, but I said, Jill would you rather me have calories now or diarrhea later:) She walked behind awhile longer. My friend who had been taking care of me, literally thinking for me, was depleted herself. She needed to eat and get herself back. She caught me on the last little climb, of course she did:) We ran the rocky downhill for what seemed like forever. It hurt. The shoes I changed into were minimal. Everything hurt, but we were close..we were approaching single digit miles. Just when I thought we were smooth sailing with 6 miles to go...."Natalie, can you run any faster?" "umm..yeah?" "ok, do it, I'm worried you're not going to make it" Wait, what?? So, my internal compass and inability to do math after mile 20 bamboozled me once again. We still had 3 miles to the aid station. So, 9 or 10? more miles, not 6. So, I ran. I ran faster to that aid station than I had all day. I was passing people that also started running. A kid came up behind me running. "Your pacer told me I needed to run or I wouldn't make it!" haha, Jill, always looking out for people :) We got to the road. I knew the road was 6 miles to the finish. But, the aid station volunteer told me it was only 5. I wondered at that moment if it would be inappropriate to kiss this man. It's amazing how much 1 mile made a difference in my mood at that moment. It was about 4:00. I had 2 hours to go 5 miles on flat dirt road. Even if i walked the whole way, I knew I'd make the cut-off. Jill met up with me at the last aid station, Homestretch . I had a pink freezie pop. We ran over the bridge, we ran down the sidewalk, turned left, a short jaunt down some grass, boom. Finished. 33:17</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">Unfortunately, many people missed cut-offs or dropped seemingly due to the weather and mud. Even for a notoriously muddy course, apparently this much mud and for that long was atypical. I tend to do well in extreme situations. I am not speedy, I'm not an amazing climber, but I can endure and suffer.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ohh, it felt so good to be done. I felt so freaking amazing and proud of myself. I felt so grateful to have such an amazing crew and support from my friends with me and family and friends afar. Scott has really become my ultra-running crew from home. No more griping about running for hours or gone for days, we've finally reached understanding and support. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">We headed back early Sunday morning, Father's Day. This past week has been peaceful. A calm high of Bighorn 100. Next up is Speedgoat 50k and then the double 100 attempt in September Wasatch100 and the Bear 100. I can only hope they go as well for me as my time at Bighorn in the northern mountains of Wyoming.</span></span></div>
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This was pretty lengthy, thanks for reading :) </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-20748515020939618432017-05-16T14:56:00.000-07:002017-05-16T15:13:42.370-07:00Quad Rock 50 mi...errr, 25 mi..scratch that 35 mile race?<span style="font-size: large;">I can't call my run at the Quad Rock 50 a race. And, I can't really call it a fun run either. Actually, I am still trying to process last Saturday's run at Lowry State Park. Perhaps, getting it outta my cluster fudge of a brain will help me articulate my thoughts on this past weekend.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>ROAD TRIP!</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We quite literally, merrily headed outta town Friday morning, heading east to colorful Colorado. It was a long drive, but I've come to the conclusion that my friends who are also my running tribe do not run out of things to talk about. You name it, we talked or laughed about it. We rented a cute little house 10 minutes from the start line. The evening before the race was full. Packet Pick-up, quick shopping trip, and dinner. Need to point out Fort Collins is a jumping town! Main street is packed with brewery's, restaurants, shops, and college kids oozing from every corner. It was also graduation weekend, there were people everywhere! After a really fun dinner consisting of 2 beers and mediocre at best fish, but outstanding chips (potato, potato, potato...) we piled back in Jill's truck and headed to the house. Drop bags, race clothes out, bed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>RACE MORNING!...came early</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Coffee started peculating at 3:00am. One by one we began milling. The scents of Coffee, Sunscreen, and Desitin filled the kitchen and living room. Bibs pinned, shoes tied, poop again, and we're out the door. It was pretty warm, for a May Colorado morning at 4:45am. Quick shot over to the start line. We snagged a parking spot right next to the start line due to our untouchable car pool game. It's gonna be a good day, i could feel it, man! And, we were off.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">From here, I can only account my version of this race, but I can say I think we were all pretty stunned by the outcome. The first 10 miles were great and runnable. The scenery was on point, and the first 2 hours flew by. I glided in to the first aid station Towers for the first time, grabbed a watermelon and headed out behind Betsy. Cheryl, Jill,and Dee were ahead and outta eye sight. Betsy and I pushed in to the Horestooth Aid (mile 10+) at the same time, and 10 minutes under my personal goal time to get there. The cut-off's to this race are tight. Betsy heads out. I'm slightly behind at this point, because it was getting HOT and I wanted to start icing my neck immediately. blah, blah, blah for 4 miles back up to Towers (for the second time) and exactly where everything went backwards (sincerely) for me. I saw Betsy just before the she popped out on the dirt road leading to the aid station (mile 14ish) In true Betsy fashion she was outta the aid station like lightening and I didn't see her when I arrived a few minutes later. I got more ice, I ate some more watermelon, I asked a volunteer if I needed to check out, and I proceeded down the wrong trail. How? I'll tell why it's there fault, then how it was mine. There were 2 trails out of Towers Aid. There were 2 distances in the Quad Rock. The 25 milers were coming in from a dirt road, and the 50 mile racers were coming in from an adjacent dirt road... let's see if I can draw this<i> how I see it in my head right now</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i> No, my 5 year old didn't draw that, I did.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><u><i>So, how is it there fault</i></u>? In my opinion there should have been a sign and or person at each trail signaling runners to their course trail. Or, at least checking the 50 mile runners in and out of that aid station. There was no timing mat at this aid, but I still think a written check in-out could have helped air heads like myself...which brings me to...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><u><i>So, how is it my fault? </i></u> Those awesome colorful triangles in my portrait above are flags. In hindsight, I should have realized that was a "barrier" for the 50 milers to take the trail to the left . However, <i>back to their fault</i>. I went right to the tables and never knew there was another trail out of Towers. I actually thought the flags were blocking off the dirt road which we came up earlier in the morning, which was now the trail the 25 milers were coming up into Towers. (confused yet?) (Well, clearly I was) <i>Back to my fault,</i> I should have read the course description. And, actually I usually do study the course before hand.so, my fail. Also, it should have tipped me off that I had been on the trail to the right before. It was really sweet downhill for about 5 miles, and I was just on it maybe 1 and a half hours ago.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, after getting food, ice, coke I said to a volunteer at the (wrong) trail head, "Do I need to check out" She said No, you're good, squirted me with water, and I proceeded down. I wondered why so many people were speeding by me, but WHY didn't dawn on me until I hit Hoorsetooth trail again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">After a bit (a lot) of cursing and holding back of tears. I decided to get aid and continue back up to Towers the exact way I went up before, take the correct trail this time, and continue on to the Start/Finish. Knowing very well that I would miss the cut off's to finish the 50 miler, I came to peace with it pretty quickly with the notion that my goal races are Bighorn 100, Wasatch 100, and The Bear 100. I would get 34 or 35 miles and heat training out of the Quad Rock 50 miler.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I ran into the always lovely Eve who was running the 25 mile race. She allowed me to curse and vent some more. We chatted for awhile, and I dropped behind her for the big climb back to Towers. At this point, Quad Rock had turned into a training run. I didn't have a chance in heaven or Hell to make the first cut off with my course mistake, so I didn't push hard from there on out. blah blah blah, back to Towers, down the correct trail, into Arthurs, out of Arthurs, climbing up one last time until the descent to the start/finish. After Arthurs, I expected to cross the girls paths as they continued on their counter clockwise direction of the course. Where is everyone?? Perhaps I followed a trail of boy scouts or a heard of deer this time and missed the course again? Perhaps I was daydreaming and took a turn to head back to Hoorsetooth for the third time? :) But no, I was on course. Finally, I see Carrie, Dee, and Jill. They made the first cut off at the turn around, yay! They were trucking on to Arthurs but chasing the second cut -off. Betsy and Cheryl were done for the day due to cut off's and pains. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I had to force down a bonk bar to get the last 2 miles under my belt to the finish. When I came in, everyone was there, and done for the day. None of us were able to get in under those cut-offs for the 50 mile finish. What. The. (You Know what Im gonna say...F!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">For a little perspective...I went on UltraSignup ,Jill and Dee have never missed a cut-off. Between the 2 of them alone, they have 165 races recorded on Ultra Sign up. This ain't their first Rodeo, know what i mean?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> (I am not sure about Betsy, Cheryl, and Carrie) But, I do know there's another combined 110 races between Betsy, Cheryl, Carrie, and myself. So..here's what I'm having trouble processing, and you can make your own conclusions, obviously:) But, that's 6 strong and tough women who have ran, according to ultrasignup, 275 races (and mind you, more than that, as all races aren't recorded on UltraSignUp) who couldn't make the cut -off's for the Quad Rock 50. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps, it just wasn't our day. Perhaps, (speaking for me only) this is not a race for me. Even though I took a detour that didn't give me a chance of making up time in this race, I don't think I could have made it past the second cut off, even if I managed to get it under the first. It allows little to no margin of error or hiccups for a back or middle of the pack runner (in my very humbled opinion)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAg9LAdzVutwdOGcV4BuRtDc-bCRVDof9hdC3h-57NkWVLeDm7pxwusjTpMG9xcrhXFhglqF8GIVAslqNX_gO_Yb0XOrP8sSTRy35ANIy0bbYgY0Z-cYqE9TS8Sf6vQBFgZ85wlTcz97M/s1600/18485284_10212632510745258_1513609294506234535_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAg9LAdzVutwdOGcV4BuRtDc-bCRVDof9hdC3h-57NkWVLeDm7pxwusjTpMG9xcrhXFhglqF8GIVAslqNX_gO_Yb0XOrP8sSTRy35ANIy0bbYgY0Z-cYqE9TS8Sf6vQBFgZ85wlTcz97M/s640/18485284_10212632510745258_1513609294506234535_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>AH WELL</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">So, we didn't get what we went out for, but that's life. We all walked away with a 25 mile finish medal, and a long day in a beautiful place. Beers and food afterwards eased the sting. We headed back to Salt Lake early Sunday morning. It was Mother's Day, and as much as i couldn't wait to spend it with my little babes, it was also pretty great to spend the morning with my second family. We will get em' next time. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Next up </span></div>
<ul><span style="font-size: large;">
</span>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Scout Mountain 35k</span></li>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Bighorn 100</span></li>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Speedgoat 50k</span></li>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Wasatch 100</span></li>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">The Bear 100</span></li>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">The couch for a month</span></li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-89737796447596441132017-01-11T13:29:00.003-08:002017-01-11T13:34:56.235-08:00What would you change if you knew you only had one year left to live<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Recently I
revisited an article titled "What would you change if you knew you were
going to die in one year"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;"><br />
So here is what I would change.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;"><br />
1) I would move back to Maryland to be with my family</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">2) I would sell
everything except my car, because I like to go places.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">3) I would
splurge on Food and Experiences</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">4) I would stop
worrying</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">5) I'd stop
questioning my value and beauty </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">6) I would quit
social media</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">7) I'd take my
daughters out of school and spend every day with them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">8) I would
smell them and hug them too much.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">9) And, I would
make them videos and write them books of memories and lessons</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">10) I would
print every picture I ever took.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">11) I would be
as honest and sincere as I could, always.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">12) I would let
go of pain and scars.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">13) I'd kiss my
husband every day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">14) I wouldn't
work out, but I would run until my bones broke, and then some more.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">15) I would
tell each person I love, why I love them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;"><br />
<br />
So, the point of this exercise, I gathered, was to pick your list apart, and
change what you can control now. As I sit here with tears rolling down my
face, it's a very simple but powerful exercise to really narrow down what is
important to each of us. I look at this list and I see very clearly what is
important to me: My Family, Nature, Friends, Mental Freedom. I guess I
could move home without a death sentence, and I guess I could pull my daughters
out of school and forgo conforming any longer to society. I kind of already do
run until my bones break, so I guess I can check that one off. But..all
of those things have consequences that leaves us in a rational state figuring
out the right and wrong things to do in our lives, the possible, the difficult,
the affordable things that contribute to quality of life . But...I think the
conversation that is starts with yourself, when you put yourself in this idea
wholeheartedly , is possibly one that can filter thorough the muck, through the
decision making process, through the top layers. I realize this is
getting very abstract, but looking at my own list I see the things I
want. I want to be free of negativity and excess, it gets in the way of
so many things in so many ways! I want to like myself more, which goes hand in
hand with my previous "want". That is not a poor me thing. I
like myself a lot, most of the time. But, I want to all the time...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">I'll digress
for just a moment because I think this is one of the greatest things I've heard
in a long time...</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Even if you sleep late, eventually every day begins, and in the
first minute of each day you have to face yourself. Day after day, until
you die, you will wake up and remember what you’ve done. Memories of
what you did the night before will bubble to the surface. Those memories
will come with feelings. If you binged on ice cream or box wine or
cocaine, that will be one of your first thoughts, and it will come with a
weight of shame, maybe even self-hate.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Those feelings may be subtle when you’re young and you think you
have all the time in the world to turn things around. But unless you <a href="http://www.menshealth.com/health/doctor-tips-for-2017" target="_blank">practice treating yourself well</a>,
soon you’ll be in your 50s and you’ll wake up and the pain of that
first minute will be so intense that the day ahead will feel like a
prison sentence.”</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> “If you practice treating yourself well, then in your first minutes
you’ll remember that you met a goal. You’ll remember that you ate <a href="http://www.menshealth.com/weight-loss/worlds-best-protein-sources" target="_blank">food that nourished you</a>,
and that you moved and played with the body you’re so lucky to have.
Those positive memories will come with good feelings—with deep,
meaningful pleasure. <a href="http://www.menshealth.com/health/meditation-reduce-stress" target="_blank">A sense of peace</a>. Accomplishment. Rightness.</span>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Practice living with intention and treating yourself well. Bother to
care for and about yourself and your body, and your first minutes will
feel like new beginnings. Ignore your body’s needs, neglect yourself, or
continue to justify not treating yourself well, and your first minutes
will be torture.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> “And here’s the thing: Your first minutes are unavoidable. Even if you graduate and <a href="http://www.menshealth.com/health/the-young-mans-get-rich-plan" target="_blank">get rich</a>,
you can’t ever outsource your first minute. You can’t hire someone to
deal with it for you. Yes, you’re gonna die. We’re all gonna die. But
until that hammer drops, you alone have to experience the first minute
of every single day between now and then. We’re talking tens of
thousands of times. Dying only happens once. Relative to those thousands
of first minutes, dying is small potatoes.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> “Not to say that stuff has no impact on how you feel about life.
Obviously, it does. But unless you treat yourself well and feel well,
then it doesn’t matter how much good stuff you’ve got going on, because
it’ll all just feel like a fancy box that you live in and resent until
you die.”-Kelly Coffey</span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">I
want to work on my relationships, I want to make them better, stronger, more
honest, less fluff, less criticism and judgement, more accepting, patient, and
loving. </span><span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;"><br />
<span style="color: black;">The other day, a rare day when my house was clean, my
to-do list was all crossed off for the day, dinner was great, and there was no
arguing or bickering with or by anyone...I looked around and felt satisfied. I
felt calm and happy. I felt loved and loving. I decided at that moment, that
everything I have is enough. I tried really hard to hold on to that feeling for
a few days. It lasted until one night I had one too many cocktails, and
spent the first minutes of the next morning wishing I hadn't, not feeling very
good. The house was no longer straight, and the girls were arguing over the Minecraft
world they were playing in together, virtually.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "andalus" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;"><br />
<span style="color: black;">It's hard for me to look at myself without
negativity. I don't always see the good stuff. I don't always see
strong, only the weaknesses I have. Some days I forget to listen to my
children talking. And some days marriage is work. Some days I miss my family so
much that resentment and anger builds like a fire. I believe all of us are
works in progress, and I thought this exercise, of listing the things I would
change if I only had one more year to live, showed me the things I should
change if I have 100 more years to live... </span></span><br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-91470107303004390992017-01-03T10:22:00.001-08:002017-01-16T07:30:29.629-08:00My New Year Post 2017I went total cliche this New Years. I took off December and ate and drank myself into a jean size bigger, all with the idea and anticipation of resting & recovering from a year full of races, runs, biking, yoga, and getting stronger. A year full of really cool places and really hot runs, actual muscle definition, and very little body fat. But all that melted away in December with the help of all the food and all the drink and all the merry ol' holiday spirit..with gravy.<br />
<br />
Actually, if you know me, you know this was an unplanned R&R. Nagging pains and past injuries had been pestering my runs since a Thanksgiving morning run in the snow. So, I talked myself into a planned (not really planned) rest, because I have filled my plate and went back for seconds, thirds, and a doggy bag for 2017.<br />
<br />
Not to mention all the training runs I love and need to get me to these races in the New Year, this year, here's what I have on my horizon:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="color: red;">Moab Red Hot 55k in February</span></li>
<li><span style="color: red;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Buffalo Run at Antelope Island 50k in March </span> </span></li>
<li><span style="color: #4c1130;">Quad Rock 50 mile in Colorado in May</span></li>
<li><span style="color: blue;">Scout Mountain 20 mile, Pocatello in June</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #cc0000;">Bighorn 100 mile, Wyoming in June</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #38761d;">Speedgoat 50k (The Monster of the 50k) in July, Snowbird, UT</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #8e7cc3;">Wasatch 100 mile Endurance Run, September, Wasatch Mountains, UT</span></li>
<li><b>The Bear 100 mile Endurance Run ALSO in September, Utah/Idaho.</b></li>
</ul>
<br />
The only one iffy on that list is Wasatch, as it is a lottery. However, I did not get in last year, so I think my chances are even better this year of my name getting pulled.<br />
<br />
Soooo..here I am January 3, with a mostly healed lower leg. This pain comes and go's. It is an off and on lingering pain / sensation from a tibial stress fracture 2 years ago. I have had it MRI'd in the past (not this time) But, the MRI came back clear as crystal. Doctor said it could be nerve damage. Either way, it irritates and worries me, becasue I have been benched in the past for almost 4 months due to an injury in the same spot..ayeyeye. So, I have rested..Im so damn rested, I feel like Ive been hibernating with Winnie the pooh and and large quantities of honey..and wine..and Salsa Verde dorittos..and tacos, plenty of tacos.<br />
<br />
So here is my New Year Post. Not of much interest to many, but a good way for me to get it all outta my head. So thanks computer for allowing me to blow my running bubbles with the ease of a keyboard and the risk of carpal tunnel. Who needs paper anyway. #savethetreesman<br />
<br />
I gotta end this post with a reflection of 2016. As far as running goes, it was mostly great. Ups and downs with aches and pains didnt stop me this year from finishing all the races I set out to run. The first half of the year was tough. I figured out some tummy issues and dealt with a 5 week rest a month before Bryce100 (another unplanned rest due to a nagging injury that felt too much like a breaking bone) Bryce was interesting and eye opening. Beautiful race, but hot and more like 105 miles. I learned way too close for comfort of the need to carry more water than you<i> think </i>you'll need. I learned to take care of your feet out there in the sandy desert for 100 miles, and that was no joke. I also learned DO NOT expect you and your ALSO sleep deprived crew to rally back to Salt Lake after a 100 mile race in the dark. Because although 4 hours aint no thang..it most certainly is after being awake for 40+ hours.<br />
I came back to end my summer running with a satisfying finish at the Speedgoat 50k. Paced 3 different friends in 100 mile races, exceeded my expectation at the Corner Canyon 50k in October, and ended the year with a double crossing of the Grand Canyon.Which was really great. For what its worth, I thought the eye candy was on the North Rim, BY FAR!<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
But- lets talk about this election. Have you heard?? The US elected an unqualified orange man who tweets angrily and often at media criticism and has turned this country into a dangerous joke, that for the first time in my life actually makes me want to cry about politics. This is not a new feeling for the millions of Americans who chose differently. I was having a conversation with 2 men the other day- about this said asshat. At last, I blurted out.."But hey guys!! Grab them by the Pussy?!?" Both men, one lib & one not, agreed with each other, that that was not that big of a deal."That's how men talk"...My only response was , well, than I am disappointed in both of you too. A friend of mine, whom I was very close to in my youth, is an apparent Trump supporter given her social media accounts. I know for a fact this girl has been sexually assaulted, raped. I will not go further into other reasons I can't understand her support for the man-baby. But, I am so shocked and sickened by even this one aspect of Trump. But, more so, I am shocked and sickened by the "no big deal" attitude of the way he treats and has talked about women. Trump is a national Show full of quick insults when his detached from real America ego gets fractured by the NY times or CNN. He's a joke..and we are the butt.<br />
<br />
I'm putting it here, and honestly hope I am wrong when I come back and re-read this next year. I hope we go further forward as a united country. This will be tough given the volatile steps we have taken backwards over the last 18 months. But, I'll do my part. I will try to understand why him? How Him?! But, I am not hopeful I'll ever agree.<br />
<br />
Anyway, back to running for sanity, for health, for a pure high, and for a damn good time.<br />
Happy 2017<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-74544690481259749642016-12-06T13:40:00.001-08:002016-12-06T13:40:14.268-08:00And there we swayed<br />
on a sinking ship<br />
with a broken smile<br />
and a bloody drip<br />
<br />
Around my shoe<br />
forming a puddle<br />
missing time<br />
nothing but subtle<br />
<br />
cries of anger<br />
and manic laughs<br />
with boiling souls<br />
and sarcastic banter.<br />
<br />
The water rising<br />
now stealing our necks<br />
Our hands clasp<br />
our legs intersect.<br />
<br />
The silence is enough<br />
to scare me to death<br />
which is fitting<br />
as I have not one breath<br />
<br />
I should have said it<br />
I should have ran<br />
I should have played with them<br />
more in the mountains and in the sand<br />
<br />
I should have left this space<br />
and seeked out more<br />
more as in less<br />
more as in to soar.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-25919116911475543752016-09-28T13:27:00.004-07:002016-09-28T14:45:31.609-07:00If you're going through hell....<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>If you are going through hell..keep going. </b></span></i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>My theory on that quote comes full circle, that if you enter it, you must be able to exit it. That is something I have always carried with me, since I was a young adult with a heart so broken over a boy that I thought I might actually stop breathing out of utter sadness. Dramatic?..yes. But, I feel with every piece of me, entirely consumed, but also intrigued by pain; more-so, the ability to heal. I carried it with me when my mother died. I watched her take her last breath, and her body lay still and stiff in a hospice bed..and I bent down to her face and she was gone..and I suffocated for moments. I left this world for moments, and I went through hell and hung out there for a very long time. I found a way out, I found a way to heal, to get through hell. Some of which was not very smart or healthy. Sometimes I'd close my eyes while driving fast, to see what would happen. Other times, I'd drift off into a haze of bottles and pills and turn the world off. And, some days, I'd go for 4-5 hour road runs with nothing but not enough water and music for no reason except to run away. And then those some days turned into more days...and then some more. And, when I felt that physical pain, I didn't embrace it or enjoy it as much as related to it on a level that I'm still not sure I can put into words accurately or articulately. The best way I can is to say it was my only friend in the world that i could relate to and who understood me. Somehow the pain that came from running for hours on empty ate the sadness that wrapped around me like ivy. The sadness became tangible and I could control it. I could hold on to it for hours, I could fight it, I could tell it not to le<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">ave me yet..or I could tell it</span> to go fuck itself and keep running through it, or to it, or from it...I'm not sure which..<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">probably depended on the day</span>. </b></span></i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>I realized over the last few weeks that the things that drives each of us to the mountains or the road is very different, and that to me is a beautiful diversity of unique individuals with wildly varying fires in their bellies, hearts, and legs.</b></span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></i></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>I paced 3 runners in 100 mile race's in the last 2 weeks. Backup- I paced or accompanied 3 friends in their own unique endeavors and adventures. </b></span></i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>It was wild being on the other side of a 100 mile run. Not that I have done so many- which is why it is all so interesting, intense, and exciting for me to watch and hopefully help someone in these very never-ending-esqe forward motions. Goals, reasons, decisions, motivation, perseverance, ups that come fast and downs that come faster, mentally speaking. The only thing that I find comforting when you are feeling so down and quite frankly, like total dog shit..is that nothing lasts forever, not even hell; and the most eye opening and profound thing I learned is that it is your own hell, and your own decision to exit when you're ready. And, I'm speaking both literally and metaphorically. I have yet to reach peace with pain. Perhaps it's the cross I strap to my back like my pack.</b></span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></i></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>I'm so proud of my friends. Proud to call them friends and <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">h</span>umbled by their efforts and even more in love with dirt than i ever though possible. What a trip man. </b></span></i></span><br />
<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-6406827687862117122016-07-12T15:39:00.000-07:002016-08-17T06:21:21.388-07:00Speedgoat 50k <div style="text-align: center;">
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I went back to Basics at The Speedgoat. Gels, S-caps, 20oz of water and EFS pro an hour, no watch for mileage, just time of day.<br />
<br /></div>
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I paid really close attention to eating.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I paid really close attention to running when I could run.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Hiking fast when I should be hiking.</div>
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**Staying Cool** (Thank You Eve)</div>
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<br /></div>
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Secretly, I was hoping to break 10 hours.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
By mile 20 I was pretty sure I could hit 10:30</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And, by mile 28, I was convinced I could PR with under 10:55.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Well, I came in at 11:02, and I was <b>elated</b>. You know why? <i><b>Because I had a good day</b></i>. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And, by the time I was rounding the switchbacks over by Baby Thunder, I was still running. I had been running all day, and taking care of myself, by myself</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and I felt good. Shit, I felt great.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Last year's Speedgoat took me 12:14. When I dragged myself down those switchback's last year I was interrupted from walking to puke every couple of minutes. I had been throwing up black for the last 4 hours , at this point last year.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Last year, I wanted nothing more than to leave the minute I finished. And, when I was on the bathroom floor all night throwing up and crying in fatigue and pain</div>
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I wanted nothing more than to feel better.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And, when my husband had to pull the clothes off of me and help me sit in the shower; and asked me...Why do you do this to yourself? I wanted nothing more than to have an answer that made sense, to me. Because, "it's fun" was no longer going to sum it up at this juncture.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I thought about that question a lot. -Like a whole lot. <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(I could go into great depths why I do this, but only I need to know why. And, in the simplest and fewest of words, it's because it's important to me)</i></span><br />
I was reborn after Wasatch with the reason why? WHY? I mean HOW COULD ANYONE NOT!? </div>
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What a Great day Wasatch 100 was, and a great finish after the many challenges that preceeded the last 25 miles </div>
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<br /></div>
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And then 2016 races began, and I found myself back on the bathroom floor, or on the couch with a bowl looking up insta-cares, or on the side of the trail in tears with a raw throat unable to eat or drink or even have an ice cube slowly melt on my tongue without a horrific and painful battle with my stomach. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I figured that out, by the way..with the help of my friend Jill, whom saw my puke at Antelope Island 50 and said "that's not right"...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Doctor. Endoscopy. Bacteria. Ulcer. Lactose Intolerant.2 week of Antibiotics-8 pills a day. No more dairy.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Stomach-SOLID.</div>
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This alone was very encouraging. However after the BOSHO marathon in April, my ankle became sore to the touch. Bone. Ouch. I Took off for close to 5 weeks, where I came out on a rainy Saturday and ran 10 miles pain free. Bryce 100 was only 4 weeks away from that first double digit mile in over a month... </div>
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I was leery, but confidant in my mental endurance, but my training had taken a significant lull. But I felt good head to toe stomach to flow.</div>
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I went out to Bryce and finished. It turned into a clock race, and I came in at 38 hours. I was happy to finish, but obviously wish things had gone better. </div>
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So, back to present day. Speedgoat was 3 weeks out from Bryce. And, my last race scheduled for this year. I did a lot early. Moab Red Hot 55k, Antelope Island 50 mile, BoSho Marathon, Scout Mountain 35k, Bryce 100. </div>
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And, last up was my favorite and hardest race ever.</div>
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Speedgoat 50k. </div>
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I could have come in at 11hrs, but once I knew I was just seconds away from under 11:00 hours at 10:59:55 with the finish in site. I slowed to a walk and pulled out my other bottle. My mouth was cotton, and I had avoided stopping 20 minutes ago for my second bottle cuz I was pushing hard to get under 11:00. Once I knew I'd finish in the 11th hour, I got some water and ran it in. Cornering the service road, my daughters came running towards me. And, we ran under the Hoka finish arch, and Karl gave me a high five, a Speedgoat Pint glass, an Ultragen recovery drink, and my third Speedgoat 50k medal.</div>
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"I think we have a PR", Karl said. "Nope, 10:55, but that was when the end was all downhill!" I chuckled. I guess it was a PR on the current course, and I was 1 hour and 12minutes faster than last year. But, as I melted into a chair with a grapefruit beer and a turkey avocado sandwich my husband brought me, time had also melted away. I felt GREAT! I was celebrating after a very hard race, not clawing internally and focusing only on leaving so I could wallow in my pain alone. </div>
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I hope this is <u><i>not</i></u> the last Speedgoat. But, if so, I am so glad I got to experience such an amazingly difficult race, and finish 3 times. Perhaps, I love this race so much because it's my friend's race. And the truly amazing and inspiring people I have met are all there; RD'ing, volunteering, marshaling, sweeping, putting ice bandanas on me, encouraging me, yelling my name as i came in and out of aid stations. Maybe because it's at Snowbird, the place where it all started for me in Utah. Maybe it's because it's one of the hardest physical challenges I have ever had; and I feel pretty bad ass finishing, regardless of the time. </div>
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I can't tell you how great it felt to go out on races this year on a high note. I' haven't had a great one all year, until Speedgoat. </div>
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Next up: Pacing Betsy at the Wasatch100 </div>
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Pacing Cheryl at the Bear 100</div>
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Happy Running. Happy, Happy Running.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-25288898404842219782016-06-20T12:01:00.001-07:002016-06-20T12:31:35.085-07:00Bryce 100<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> And all those things I didn't say, wrecking balls inside my brain....</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>My Power's turned up...</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I'll be strong...</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And I don't really care if nobody else believes...</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Cuz I still gotta a lot of fight left in me.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>So many stories come from one race. And, as Betsy reminded me, that's because you're out here for so long! </b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I don't know if plans work for other runners, but my races never seem to go how I envision them. Even on the rare occasion I do everything right-or as planned, the twisted fates of mine seem to twirl me into a spiral of great or worse. My "race report" might read more like a short story taking liberal advantages with poetic license, and peppered with some seriously painful blisters, math calculations, and bowel movements. </b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Bryce was my third 100 mile race. I came in last, placed 102, female #19 at 38:06. Part of me, the very small boat in a big ocean part of me, is bummed about my time. If you know me, you know that I absolutely swoon over the long distances, and you also know I am not speedy at the long distances. I have an almost romantic relationship with a good playlist and an ascending single track down a mountain, and that is the dragon I chase.</b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I am not very competitive by nature, which makes "racing" not only ironic, but also difficult for me. However, I love the atmosphere, the friendships, the beauty, the aid, and the finish of races, that sometimes I view as organized and assisted runs rather than races. Given all that fluffy information about me; I still thought I'd finish Bryce in 34 hours or less. </b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>In the post-holing months of layers and gloves, the fantastical warmth of summer mornings dance in the back of our minds. And in the desert in June, just the opposite. We started out Friday morning at 6:01 am. It was 36 degrees at the start line. It warmed up soon enough, and I was cruising at my very own pace for miles. Really enjoying the views. Stopping dead where I stand at the first glimpse of the Red Hoo Doo's and the vast green forests afar. Then, gulping at the fact that I would still be moving this same time tomorrow. But, you can't think about that, or you shouldn't. The time can overwhelm me and induce impatience and can open the flood gates of negativity. My sweet Olivia told me that she believes my mom comes into our yard and visions in the form of a butterfly. As I moved through the variable and ever changing scenery of the course, I was often visited by the flutters of my mom as a Monarch Butterfly. This made me smile and tear, jumping emotional lily pads. One moment blissful gratitude for my daughters, then a whimper that I was so far away from them. I was very emotional on Friday. I was drenched in thought, and my mind is a hard thing to turn off. </b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Honestly, I thought the distances between aid stations were too far the first 30 miles, and therefore, the last 30 as well. The aid and volunteers were great. But, I ran out of water every stretch of those in-between's . Perhaps that was my fault, but 60 oz of water usually gets me through 10 miles or less, so that's what I brought, and that wasn't enough. However, I was moving really well, and noticed that I am improving on power hiking. boom, boom, boom. I trucked along all day long, eating so much and so often. My tribe would be proud of this little former puker. By god I think I've done repaired & reformed my stomach. So- That was #1 GOOD thing about Bryce, solid tummy. </b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>So here I am moving well. Mile, 10, 20, 30, 40, 45, 46, 47777, 488888, 4999999. Shit, it's dark. My feet had started to bother me around mile 30. Nothing too bad. And, not to sound like too much of a self proclaimed tough cookie, but pain doesn't bother me. Frankly, endorphin's usually mask my pain so incredibly well, that I don't even know something hurts or is broken until the run is over. But, my feet were getting trashed early on. I failed to take a head lamp going forward to the turn-around, mile 51.65. The sun went down as I was making my way through the single track into Crawford Aid. I was tripping on nature, and wishing that brutal sun would come back for just 30 more minutes. All day, I held close to my heart the idea of calling my girls at the turn around to say goodnight, and to gain some energy from their sweet voices and well wishes. As the night grew darker, I wept that I would miss them before bed. I was in rough shape when I got to Betsy and Nancy.</b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I was so happy to see them both. "where's my car?" I asked. "Why?" asked Betsy. It was like she knew I already decided I was going to lay for just a minute. And, it was like she already decided that wasn't happening. "Can you get my phone?" Betsy handed me my phone a few minutes later...No Service.:( </b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>My friends sat me in a chair, changed my shoes and socks for me; something I don't usually do, but I had to try something to remedy the feet. Ibuprofen wasn't doing a thing for the pain. I ate soup and fried chicken I brought from home. My crew and pacer angels filled my pack, dressed me warmly, and Nancy and I trekked outta there at 10:30pm. I felt better. I was loaded up with calories and was relieved to be on the other side of 50. After a few hours of fighting the sleepy monster, I asked Nancy if I could shut my eyes for a few minutes. She gave me 2 minutes, that felt like 2 seconds. She let me sit down on the trail again, if I promised to eat while I sat. We went into Mile 62 at 2:00am.</b></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> I sat in my car this time. I ate more soup, I drank a Red Bull, I changed my shoes back, still trying to ease my burning toes, pads, and heels. Then, Betsy and I headed out into the early morning hours. We only had 4 more hours until the heat of hell rose in the east. #2 GOOD thing, Betsy and I had a lot of fun chatting, laughing, eating & moving through the night. The cool weather was intoxicating, and although my feet were on fire, I jogged the downhills at her lead. We made it to mile 75 right before 7:00am. Shortly after that, I took off my socks. The sand, the friction, the sweat was unbearable. It was the only thing left I could try. So, I ran close to 20 mile with no socks, foot to shoe. The magic of mile 75 lasted for a few hours as we trucked through the morning. The blisters on my toes grew along with the intense sunshine. Aid Stations had run out of ice and cold water, bacon, and anything remotely palatable. I ate a sandwich that was in my pack and gel's the rest of the afternoon. I was slowing down to a slow walk by mile 86 on the brutal climb out or Proctor. We were now sharing the trail with the fresh and speedy 50k racers, and the 50 mile runners, too and getting asked to move out of the way frequently. I kept running out of water, and Betsy selflessly gave me her own more than once. There was no ice or means of cooling down at aid stations, at this point. We just had to deal with our rising core temps and swelling fingers. Salt, Salt, Salt, Gel, warm water, warm gatorade. A small run off of cold water was salvation approaching the last aid station at Thunder Mountain. EVERYONE stopped and waddled in the puddle.</b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I knew we would be OK even at a slow pace, to go 7.5 miles from the last aid to the finish, and still make the 36 hour mark. I needed aid. I needed food, I needed ice and cold water. I also needed 7.5 miles, and no more than that. -And, I got none of that.</b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Betsy ran ahead to the aid. She was going to fill a sock with ice to keep on my neck. I approached a few minutes behind an irritated pacer. No ice. No cold water, in fact there was a line for warm water. They had little food, and nothing substantial left. But, the kicker was a white board that said the distance to the finish was 9 miles. The last 30+ hours had proven longer distances between about half the aid stations, by my math I was convinced this race was closer to 105 miles. And although it was only 1.5 miles longer than the website promised, it was too much, and I began to feel defeated. My blisters were riddling me with pain, to the point I was wincing and quivering at a jog. We now had 3 hours to go 9 miles with one of the biggest climbs of the race, and I was essentially crawling. I cried for a few minutes. </b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I was angry and confused. I had been making cut -offs with hours to spare since the start. Once I accepted this point in the race for what it was. I said to Betsy. We will be fine, I am working and moving as fast as I can right now, and if I work any harder I'll kill myself. I will move as fast as I can to the finish, hopefully they will give me an official finish time.</b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> My lungs were audibly filled with dust. I hadn't taken a clean deep breath since last night. My feet were wet, blistered, and burning. My back was throbbing given my compensated run to find some run/walk that spared my feet, unsuccessfully. I ran out of water again, and again, Betsy gave me her own, and my core temp was so high I truly think you could have cooked a pot roast on my head.</b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>So, I walked and winced in pain with every step. Betsy called Nancy and let her know we were walking it in to the finish. <i>I still wanted to finish.</i> Nancy walked the course backwards with ice and cold water. With over 3 miles left we were both dry as a bone. The three of us walked to the finish, and I shuffled over the timing mat to the applause of the runners around. "Congratulations! Go see my son to get your buckle."</b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I actually did get an official finish time, and my third 100 mile finish and buckle. I collapsed in a chair, vibrating and drained from the last 2 days. We shuttled back to my car. I took a shower in a public wash room and drank a warm beer as the hot water washed layers of dirt off my body. </b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>We headed back to Salt Lake after.</b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I don't know numbers, but so many people dropped. Do I wish it would have gone better?- well, duh, yes. But, I am happy that I kept going. I am happier that I had 2 really amazing women by my side, and friends and family cheering me on from a distance. Encouraging messages from my family, my sister's text quoting my motivational song, <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">a</span> text from my husband to stay strong and finish, no matter what. I did the best I could, I really did. And, I am happy with the accomplishment. </b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>~I spared you the bowel movement details, but just know they existed and were graphic.~ </b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>I value time to reflect on not only races, but moments during them. The small moments or the few miles of smiles where the feeling of self pride and joy of the moment over ride the negativity and the impatience. When you put on your music, or laugh with your friend, and enjoy the run. </b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Next up, Speegoat. The MONSTER of the 50k distance.</b></span></span></span></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-57376649817836023152016-05-23T10:38:00.000-07:002016-05-23T10:41:12.547-07:00BEFORE POST Bryce 100 June 17, 2016<div style="text-align: center;">
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I kept telling myself as the past few weeks passed by like a large hour glass with it's grains pouring to a pile in front of my feet; be positive. Think positive, be patient, do what you can. I am not inspired by motivational memes and by the social media runners who share every mile and moment with the world. I too get excited and energized by the personal thrill and the vast depths of mountains and canyon trails- And I too share with my little world. But sometimes it's just about me and my moments and they are mine, as yours are yours. Tangent- I digress-as I do.<br />
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My point is, Im a fighter, a survivor, a slogger, and rougher around the edges of every mold I fit; this is how I see myself, anyway. So, it's very easy for me to go into defense mode, especially against myself. But - Be kind I told myself, be positive and positive things will happen. Now, I don' tthink this positive thinking has medically healed my ankle- i think that has been the time I took off and PT I administered on myself with the help of google.<br />
But, I think I made it through and am back on track for the Bryce 100 mile endurance run on June 17. 3 1/2 weeks away.<br />
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Nervous? Absolutely.<br />
Excited? Very.<br />
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I finally ran a double digit, all be it the first double digit- 10, miles on Saturday. An unexpected cold rain and the company of a friend was both good for training and the soul. Confidence that I can make it to the start line in Southern Utah blossomed from that rainy May Saturday.<br />
I have been working out every and all other ways I can over the last month and will continue to do so, as I attempt to train smart and strong for 2 more weeks. Going into Bryce with a week of taper; not my usual plan, but we roll with the punches..or the ankle for poetic effect.<br />
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So here's my before BRYCE 100 post- with 3 weeks away, I've got lotttts of shit to do.<br />
Betsy asked me Saturday, <i><b>where are you going to sleep Thursday night? </b></i><br />
<i><b>What are you going to eat during the race? </b></i><br />
<i><b>What's the weather going to be like? </b></i><br />
<i><b>Can we have a car at the 50mi turnaround?</b></i><br />
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(Betsy and Nancy my friends, crew, and pacers for this one) I HAD NO ANSWERS.<br />
This is unlike me, as I usually am studying up on all this kinda info and plans. But I have been 110% focused on healing inside and out. And, for now, I GET TO go run.<br />
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So, wish me luck, YOU;)<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-1690258177840289012016-04-25T08:57:00.001-07:002016-04-25T09:28:16.356-07:00R & R & Re-charge.It's so easy to feel defeated or sorry for yourself when your world and unfortunate circumstances leaves you feeling like the "why me?" victim. It's very easy to dilute those in a cocktail with your ankle in a bucket of ice-<br />
Ahh, so, there it is, there it always is. injury. "why me"? Why is it always me?<br />
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I ran a free locally organized trail marathon a week or so ago. 6,250 feet of climbing. A month before, I ran 50 miles out at Antelope Island, a disaster of a race due to stomach issues that I have spent the last month fixing. Found out I'm lactose intolerant, have had a horrific bacteria for who knows how long, as it led to an ulcer at the base of my esophagus. Im happy as shit that I figured out why I was puking blood and stomach lining at every race besides Wasatch in the last year, and then boom- ankle pain. Bad ankle pain- or fibula pain where it meets the ankle to be more specific. Bone pain in the lower extremities is a big old nightmarish red flag to Stop. And Stop Now, like 5 min ago Now. <br />
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Driving back from car pool line this morning, I turned up the music as I always do. Loud like a teenager to re-live a brief moment of solitude and defiance. ..."ya know the one thing you're fighting to hold, will be the one thing you have to let go..."<br />
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heavy footed I drove faster to the 7-11 to pick up a bag of ice and a coffee with NON -DAIRY powder creamer, yuck- but i'm done mourning cheese and cream- it's not a death sentence, just a change.<br />
-However, here I am falling into "why me?" Well, fuck that. Shit happens to everyone, everyone has their problems, and that's life. By the time I was back in my car with ice for my ankle and shitty coffee for my soul, I had changed my perspective:<br />
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It's a set-back. A temporary time to rest. And, I'm going to squeeze every drop of the good out of this pain that I can. I have run 3 races since February, I have been through the ringer with my tummy, I think I have run all winter smart and strong. Ive gotta look at this as a rest to rejuvenate my bones, my muscles, my love of the training and warm mornings that are on the horizon. I have some big things planned in the near future, and if I play the fiddle of my body correct, I will be able to run these things and enjoy them. Minimal training for ultras has been my process since last years sidelined winter. 12 weeks..maybe more, maybe less...I can't remember exactly, just that it felt like a really effin' long time.<br />
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It's a rest, a break, a time to get healthy for the Grand Canyon in 4 weeks. I've never been, and I get to go see it from rim to rim to rim on foot, with friends. I have been wanting to do this since I learned I was capable of running long distances and for a long time. It's been something I have wanted to do for several years, and I'm super stoked about it.<br />
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It's a re-set, set-back, re-rejuvenate, re-invent training time to get healthy and strong for my third 100 mile race on June 16, the Bryce 100. I'm also super excited about this too! I get giddy thinking about the long full mooned night, followed by a bursting sunrise in the out of this world Southern Utah desert sky. Butterflies dance in my belly imagining the last 25 miles when the end is in your back pocket and you can see it, every painful step and tear and smile to get to that place, and collapse happy and tired and fulfilled. I have friends coming with me to support me, run with me, do all those things that your running people do for you, because they get it. -And, you will do it for them too.<br />
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If all goes well, which I really hope and am confidant it will, I'll end my racing for the year pretty early with the beastliest of the 50k distance. The 10th year of the Speedgoat 50k, for my third time. This race, as everyone knows is a monster. A monster which destroyed me every minute of 12+ hours last year. It's so brutal and relentless that it is the only race, besides the Wasatch100 that has brought me to tears before it even begins. That dance is on July 9. (and I heard there's a chance my friend could possibly make this race even harder this year)<br />
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After that, I take another rest- this one planned, not because something hurts. We will head out of town to see family across the country, ending our summer with a beach week in August. After the MONSTER , It's casual running for me, as my friends will be in the thick of their 100 mile training. Of course, Ill join them on running the courses and long saturdays, but my pressure and race anxiety will be over. Running for fun with friends and fitness and views and laughs and experiences and sanity. So, Im also very excited about September; crewing and pacing the ladies who have picked me up emotionally and physically so many times. First up will be the Wasatch 100, where I will be Betsy's pacer and whatever she needs. 33 miles from brighton to the finish with her, and it will be great and hard. Then, 2 weeks later, pacing and crewing my partner and mentor in this dirty world- The Bear100 where I will be Cheryl's pacer and pain in the ass for 25 miles.<br />
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So- Im excited. And, Im bummed. But, it will be fine, patience and discipline and intelligence will be imperative the next few weeks, to get me to all these amazingly hard things coming up.<br />
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But for today, it's work, ice, kiddos, and shitty coffee.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-61234420988341692482016-04-08T07:34:00.003-07:002016-04-08T11:25:51.535-07:00When I dream of Michelango<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>I cleared my head as I slept</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>and yet there's that</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>face I met.</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>The one with the spark</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>the one with the laugh</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>touched in the dark</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>delivered from my past.</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>How are you here?</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>So close and so far</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>thousands of days</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>thousands of scars.</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Twisted on the hood of that car</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Rain pouring down</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>moving like tar</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>I can't hear a sound.</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Along came a ghost</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>and the floor dropped out</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>sad humming crows</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>just a dream and years of drought.</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>They can be so real</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>these pictures in our heads</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>I could smell you, your hands I could feel.</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Holding on so tight!</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>But then you melted away,</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>like a storm at light.</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>like <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Utah's </span>snow in May. </b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>A black and white <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">checkered</span> cover</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>like a scattered lover</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>rocks at a window</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>joy discovered</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>music, so much music</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>dancing in trees</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>these dreams distorted</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>But I know what it means...</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Can I write this?</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Can I feel this?</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>You've been gone so long</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>dead but alive</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>here but gone.</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>dry from the rain</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>right not wrong. </b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>I woke up and cried</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>in the middle of the room,</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b> hands are tied.</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>I can't find you in bloom.</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>I'm not allowed to tip the boats</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>I just teeter at sea</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>and empty into these notes,</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>as useless as they can be. </b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>...Saturn on a line<br />
A sun afire on strings and wires<br />
To spin above my head and make it right<br />
But any time you like<br />
You can catch a sight of angel eyes all emptiness and infinite<br />
<br />
And I dream of Michelangelo when I'm lying in my bed<br />
I see god upon the ceiling I see angels overhead<br />
And he seems so close as he reaches out his hand<br />
But we are never quite as close as we are led to understand...</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-44228682509674224072016-02-24T10:53:00.000-08:002016-02-24T16:12:23.879-08:00"man, I aint changed but I know I ain't the same"<div class="t pgm0 pgx0 pgh1 pgy0 pgff1 pgfs0 pgfc0 pgsc0 pgls0 pgws0">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Although not compelled to write about the RedHot55k, I am
going to anyhow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve been in a bit of a limbo rut, dipping into dark and
worthless feelings, but bouncing back to happy valley and mountain thankfulness,
since December.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I lost my dog. He died in December.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I registered for school only to find out I
registered for the wrong class. I DID NOT get into the Wasatch 100, 2016.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a fairly shitty run out in the always
beautiful southern desert lands of Moab.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have been reading about introverts, about depression,
about hypoglycemic migraines and anxiety. I have been reading about happiness,
Colorado, and even Ray Lewis. I have been reading and searching for some kind
of answers to questions I can’t formulate or articulate. I continually pull my
proverbial boot straps up and try hard to remember the anguish and sadness I
was overcome with last year as I dunked my fractured tibia into ice baths daily
all winter. –and, then I try to dig deep for gratitude that my legs are
working, that my face feels the cold morning air, and my eyes fill with the
monthly full moon in predawn hours. I dig deep, I push, I dissect every feeling
from brain wave to toe nail, and yet I teeter on balance and can barely spot
bliss.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, perhaps this is not about the Red Hot 55k. Although,
that day sort of culminated all the see-saw feelings of the last few
months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I rode pretty high after the Wasatch
100 in September 2015.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was not
feelings of invincibility, it wasn’t acquired speed, nor did it generate grandiose
goals. It was peace and fulfillment. It was personal accountability that paid
off and sent me soaring above the highest peak, metaphorically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a feeling I would not get drawn for the
lottery this year. Perhaps it’s the ever present undeserving notion I have of myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought; that day, September 12, was too
good; there was no way the universe was giving that to me twice. And as I state,
this is not a pity party… perhaps it is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So how do I shake it? I thought a great run in Moab would shake it;
chasing that finish line feeling brought me nothing but exhaustion, irritation,
and disappointment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">consistently
inconsistent</i></b>. The need to link emotional and physical mood continually
defines my personal performance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
really never know how I am going to run from day to day, rested or not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Training typically brings me hours of peace
that I can repeat day after day because I can stop or go at my desire. I can
fuel the passion or I can call it a run. The races- the races are a commitment
that <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I
HAVE</i></b> to finish- no matter what.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, the Red Hot in Moab started out really well. Beautiful
day, plenty of gross gels, melodic motivation in my ears- then it stopped going
well. I know what happened physically- I should have eaten more. I even know
what happened emotionally, but I don’t know why. I just shut it down 5 miles
before the finish. I just didn’t want to run anymore. I didn’t want to be
exploring the beauty of the landscape by foot anymore. I wanted my dead dog, I
wanted my dead mom, I wanted a good race and a good time, I wanted everything
that the universe would not give me, and I wasn’t having fun or peace or a good
run. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t have a conclusion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I am in a limbo-ey rut; a blue slope that I am eager to catapult out
of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have another race in 3 weeks. It’s
the first ultra and first trail race I ever ran. It’s <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>out at the Great Salt Lake; The Buffalo Run,
50 miles. Another go at a finish line high.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Man, I ain’t changed, but I know I ain’t the same”</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-60987090043364173082016-01-06T10:53:00.001-08:002017-03-30T19:33:22.189-07:00The Bestest Friends<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I began to cry dumping left over scrambled eggs into the garbage this morning. My first instinct is to dump leftover eggs in Buster's bowl. The bowl that is no longer there.<br />
<br />
Yesterday I was at the library, I am the parent volunteer for my third graders Battle of the Books group at school. 3 eight year old girls and my 4 year old to boot. My phone rang. The number looked very familiar, one I had called many times before.<br />
<br />
"Hello"<br />
"Hi, this is so and so from Willow Creek Pet center"<br />
"oh... hi"<br />
"Buster's remains are here for you to pick up, anytime during regular business hours"<br />
"Ok, thanks"<br />
<br />
Deep Breath. Deep Breath. Everything went silent in my head and all I could feel was a memory; the fresh memory of rubbing his soft ear on my chin one last time 3 weeks ago.<br />
"Mom, Mom, Mom"... (yanked back)<br />
<br />
"what?"...<br />
<br />
....I dropped my girls at home, and went right back out. I was actively holding in tears and blocking out memories of my sweet old boy peeing in the same spot every visit on the concrete pillar of the pet center. Lamaze type breathing to hold it together until I got back in my car and let it out. <br />
<br />
"I'm here to pick up my dog's remains" I whispered, for fear of letting myself hear it.<br />
(clear throat) Repeat.<br />
"What is the pets name?"<br />
Whisper, squeaking like a mouse "Buster"<br />
"Oscar?"<br />
(clear throat) Repeat louder. "Buster"<br />
<br />
She returned with a gift bag...a gift bag. I hurried to my car, and cupped my face passing the pillar again....His ashes in a redwood box is heavy, but too light. It's his remains, all that remains are the ashes of my 80lb kindest friend in the world. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***</span></div>
It's not an uncommon pain. They are better than people. Every dog parent has a story, a connection, a void when their companion of typically many years is gone. The footsteps in the hall, the dog hair fading away, they are gone. My short story with my Buster is this. I adopted him when he was roughly 4 months old. I was fairly new to Utah. He had been adopted previously and returned a week later. I had to take him home.-And, that's where he stayed, with me for almost 15 years. He loved to run, we had his ACL repaired when he was 8. He ran more. Then he got cancer, we chose to do chemo. We walked a lot. Then he got worse. And, one day he couldn't walk, eat, or drink. And, then he was gone. And, the pain that comes from the finality of a loved one's absence creeps up on my husband and I sporadically and frequently.<br />
<br />
I think the reason that it's just as hard to lose a very well loved pet as it is a human is partly because a well loved pet loves you right back. They are a constant presence of peaceful looks and licks and warmth from their bodies as you curl around them nightly, year after year after year. They have personality's, like people, often better than. My Buster was a gentle giant and I may have adopted him and given him a home, but he gave me so much more- simply <br />
love and happiness.<br />
<br />
I miss him so much. I know you miss your bestest friend too. Time helps almost everything, but I don't think I'll ever love a dog as much as I did my Buster. He was as special to me as yours is or was to you. I am trying to remember how much nicer he made everyday, and be thankful he was mine, rather than being so sad that he's not here.<br />
<br />
Rest in sweet peace all of our lost friends.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635802331124337413.post-77032360189621420802015-09-29T11:48:00.007-07:002015-10-06T20:22:08.779-07:00Wasatch and everything after<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">It's been 2 weeks and 3 days since I finished Wasatch. I wrote my last blog entry in a bit of a hasty high, and have had ample time to reflect on that so hard to depict weekend. I've read every race report posted to facebook; some technical blurbs about nutrition and hydration, pack choices, and brand dropping. I've read disappointed runners blogs who had big problems and had to end their journey early- those people I can feel through the screen. I've even read a few disappointed runners blogs who actually finished in top 10 - those people I can't relate to. That is a field I will never be in, in these extremely tough mountain races I choose to do. But, a struggle nonetheless when competition and winning is what drives you. </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I won't go into detail about fuel and hydration, as it really is boring. And, as I continue to learn, it's a personal science experiment over many training runs and races. Races always have super highs and lows, for me. Which isn't surprising given my personality which parallels that good and bad, happy and sad, manic bursts of heaven, and teary smacks of grief. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I understand why race reports are so long. You start from the beginning, or even before- months before the start line even. I'll start with the night before. I poured a glass of wine and sat in the living room with my husband. It was 9:00pm. Cheryl would text me "here" from her car idling out front in 6 1/2 hours. My stomach was so sick with jitters, I couldn't eat dinner. I couldn't drink that wine I poured, but I could cry. And, I did. My lips just started to quiver and I cupped my face in my hands and cried. What's wrong, Nat? "I'm pretty scared, this is going to be really, really hard" Yeah, it is. </i></span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">I tried to sleep- not a wink. My nerves had me shaking and my heart beat skyrocketed for hours. The only service I did to myself was drink water in the dark as I rolled from back to belly over, and over, and over, again. I just wanted the race to start- I just wanted the anticipation of the Wasatch 100 to end, and get on with it. And , then it did.</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Many race reports, including my previous, talked about the heat. It was hot. Dry, dusty, and then it got hotter. My contacts were covered in a film of dust, and my vision blurred from mile 15 -75 when I finally reached Brighton- 28 hours from the start line,where I took them out and cleaned them with saline. I could finally see clearly after 60 miles.</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Frankly- although slow. The climbs did not overwhelm me. And, it's the pat on the back Ill give myself. Any chance I could , I climbed. I slugged out the Speedgoat 50k, which has some of the most challenging climbs I've ever done in a race where your legs are trashed. I didn't find any of the climbs to be too much. So- yay me, I trained for the tough stuff. The fatigue surprised me worst of all. Even with newborns in the past who didn't sleep and were breastfed and I didn't know what day it was or if it were morning or night. I've never been so tired that I fell asleep standing up. That was unexpected- not the fatigue itself, but the INTENSE fatigue.</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"> The thing that got me through the Wasatch 100 was positive people and
just a few encouraging words. You help the runner, you push the runner, you tell her
she looks great when she looks like shit, you do all that even if you
don't think she has a chance in hell; because we are fighters- and I'd
rather go out swinging in a sleepy stupor than say let's
call it a day. </span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">It's easy to say keep going, one foot in front of the other, eat, drink, move. But, it's hard to do, your body and mind don't always agree. You have to fight and dissect, destroy, burn your limits and fear. Easy to say, and not so easy to always do. The things that kept me from going over the edge and dropping were the people. The people in my life who were rooting for me, who crewed me, who took off from their jobs and their lives to devote double digit, 24+ hours to me, my family watching the tracking at home, worried that I wasn't going to make it to the finish in time, which turned out to be my fastest 25 miles of the day. My friends who have taught me so much about mountain running and ultra running and myself. I couldn't stop, I couldn't call it quits, no matter how many times it crossed my mind. All that anticipation that kept me up Thursday night was fear and accountability, it was the fear of not being able to deliver what my family, myself, my friends were waiting for, the finish. </span></i><br />
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Wasatch100 2015</span></i></b><br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">35:49:12</span></i></b><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">"It was totally like heaven and hell" -me. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">I've got some aches, but I'm resting. My Wasatch high is coming to an end and the blues of it all being over have set in this week. I'll certainly put in for Wasatch again. </span></i><br />
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