Wasatch and everything after

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. 

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 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 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.

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.

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.

 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.

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.

Wasatch100 2015
35:49:12
"It was totally like heaven and hell" -me.

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. 

WASATCH 100 ChugaChugaChugaChugaChooChoo

This could be one of the longest posts in my life, but I'll try not to bore you or myself with the minuscule details of my go at the Wasatch 100. Well, maybe a few

Weather plays a large part in a race, namely heat. You know what I was missing more than anything Friday at 2:00pm- winter, snow, hail, icy trails, a freezer to stick my head in. ICE and Popsicle at aid stations were like, like, like I don't know ice in the desert- oh, right. It was EXACTLY like having ice in a desert.

The discomfort of running in a furnace is not only not fun, but it takes endurance running to a different level that involves more thinking, which the ability to do such a thing as think oozes out your ears and pores with hydration- or maybe when you confirm your registration for these types of events. It's an all day, every half hour, at least, body check and re-up of something- salt, water, food, sugar, salt, water, tums, sugar, salt, water, I cant eat that GU , Cheryl!, salt, water, food..run?! Shit. No, like I have to shit. can't stop. cut offs, salt, watch, how many miles to Big mountain?! Salt, water, foo-ewww-d. cow bells. sit, re-up, back out.

The sun certainly depleted me faster than usual, and I did my very best to keep my self upright and moving. I did pretty well, I went very slow, as I had no other choice.

Pacers: I had 3 pacers for Wasatch. Nancy 39-53. She had me as I really began to struggle with food. EVERYTHING tasted like vomit and shit. There's just no other way to explain it. Ive said this a few times over the last few training runs- the hardest part of an ultra for me is having to eat.You can't get around it, Ive tried- you will never win that battle- or it wont be pretty if you do. Thank you Nancy for getting small bites in me often.
Pacer 2: Betsy. Betsy got me at Lambs Canyon, late...11:00pm, 17 hours in,  2 hours after my conservative estimation. 53-75, I met the sleepy monster and the mental demon. I know she didn't think I could or should go on.  Shit, I was beginning to doubt my ability. But a man told me, as I was contemplating her making the phone call that I was done, "don't quit, it will get better, keep going". I don't know who you were kind man, but thank you, thank you so much. I was talking nonsense and wobbling off trail. Betsy, Thank you for the poles, and for making me drink and eat your gross Mozzarella and pastrami;) It was a slow march to Brighton, but I just kept going- If I wasn't going to succeed, I was certainly going to go out fighting.. Thank you for the help, the time, the laughs- (although, those were pretty much due to my extraordinary humor that comes with downtrodden pain)-see, how I do that? ;)  It was slow and long, but we got there. 
Pacer 3: My Partner in crime- stuck in traffic from a road marathon! Of all the things to hold her up it was roadies;) We busted it like I was on fresh legs, like I was racing. The climbs hurt, hitting the highest part of the race, 10,400 at Sunset pass. I could feel the energy and oxygen coming back to me as we dropped, dropped, dropped, and then the heat started to suck it out, out, out. But, we were running! 25 miles, we ran! It was awesome. It hurt like hell. At one point , maybe 8 miles from the finish I thought run, it's all going to fucking hurt anyway! . Cheryl was reading me texts from my sister, Go Nat Go! Texts that my dad was following, my family cheering me on from Baltimore,Texts from her husband and my friend, Karl Meltzer, the Speedgoat; gogogogogogo! A text from Scott, my husband a video from my kids, "Push!!!!" There were no low points the last stretch, just determination, focus, and lots of cold water poured on my head and down my shirt, heart stopping cold water that felt so damn good.
THE ROAD- 3/4 of a mile up the black top to Soldier Hollow. Jill was following in the car, "You've got time, but you have to trot!" Me: ok. Then beeping behind me, my husband, my babies! Yelling out the window, just making it to the finish, cheering me on as I gave everything I had to that last bit of running! "Cheryl, what's our time, can I walk?" "we have time, but you can't walk, we can slow down". Me: Ok. Christian, Betsy J's husband, ran up to give us ice, the road was ending, the grass was getting closer! My kids, I reached out and touched Livy's hand, and I ran, I ran in and I finished the Wasatch 100! So many smiling faces and hugs, and I finished the last 25 miles in 7 and  1/2 hours!? How did I do that?? How?? I just did. Why? Because I wanted it so badly. I could see the light when the sun came up Saturday morning, I could see it, and I had such a slow hard night, that after I ate a big breakfast of sausage, hashrowns, and red bull at Brighton I knew I could do it! My stomach was solid, my legs showed up, My pacer and friend made it her job to get me there, and most importantly my heart swelled with desire to get there, feel what it felt like to run, hike, slog, and then run the 100 miles of the infamous Wasatch 100. Deep Breath. Deep Breaths...Sit, Reflect, Cheers, sleeeeeeep.

Pokey 60k

Not sure why those last 6 miles of Scout Mountain 60k, formerly Pocatello 50k fuck me up, but they have both times.

It's an easy 6 miles compared to much of the course.  Year one, I was dehyrated and bonking so long that day that I had a hard time coming back, I actually never came back just hated evey minute of those last 6 miles.

This year, I had self arguably the best run EVER. No I didn't show up with any real competion out of the blue, but I felt so god damned good. Better than ever. My music and I were so in sync I felt like I was dancing through some serioulsy outta site trails and wild flowers. I didn't take my camera. I knew it would slow me down, and I had a mission to run my best and not fuck around to show the stupid facebook what I saw and did. And- im so glad I did. My iphone wouldn't have done it justice. All the rain in the west has bled green into the mountain sides and the wildflowers were so big you'd think they were genitaclly enhanced if you didn't know otherwise; If you didnt know that so many people will never experience that feeling, that moment, that site. It's mine, all mine..and if you want to see it..well book your flight to the moutnains and work hard to see it.

Above paragraph is precisely why I still consider this one of my best runs ever, even with the puking for about 1.5 hours. I was so sick that when I crossed the finish line and dragged myself to my car, I sat down leaning against the front plate, away from people, and sobbed. It hurt so bad, it hurt so fucking bad, the pukey terrible fuck me feeling, hurt so bad.

I made a recovery drink, and undressed in front of anyone and no one, I drove bra-less and shoeless home 3 hours back to Utah; squirting saline in my dry contacs every fifteen minutes or more.


I puked all night. I was hungry but didn't eat a real meal for 2 days. But, I had the best run ever.

So what happened? I drank some EFS, a liquid high octane gel that I have had bad experiences with, but one really good experience with. I was feeling so damned good, I decided to give it a go. I drank too much, and that was it, I whacked my tummy too hard to finish strong.
Live and learn:)

Next up, Speedgoat
then Wasatch 100

deep breath

Wasatch 100

10 weeks in to training for the Wasatch 100. i Started from low fitness  and lost endurance levels given an injury. But , this isn't about that, it's about the tears and fear of this endeavour that is 18 weeks away.

18 weeks of anticipating anything is just entirely too far away, but with this over 30 hour mountain run looming in my dreams, and already loathing those dark moments of pain and impatience and fatigue, I wish I had 50 more weeks to anticipate, to train, to cover every part of the course 3 times.

But that's not the case. 

I ran part of the course, the only part I've run before, on Saturday. We came in just under 17 miles, and I was pooped. Pushed and encouraged to run the last bit to Pence Point, I hung my head between my legs and thought my heart might burst through. Was it the altitude or the winter rest still side eyeing me? I dont know and it doenst matter. I watched my friends power hike and run up Alexander pass, and I was pushing hard! But, as I looked up periodically they were getting further and farther away from me. 

I was able to run relatively fast on a flat rail trail back to the car, not sure I would have without my running girls behind pushing me, but nonetheless...

Im terrified of this race, and spent a good part of my day reading race reports and descriptions of the gnarly climbs nad rigourous downhill, the dark night in the mountains, only to be brought here to put it all down here and outta my head.

I want to run and finish the Wastach 100. I don't want to DNF, miss cut offs, or die.

Let's see how it goes on
 9/11/2015

If it's broke..fix it.

Sitting down the other night, on the upswing of an almost 3 month rest sentence from running, I realized out of the last 8 months..I have been injured 5 of those months.

With that realization, and the fact that I still managed to run well over 1,600 miles in 2014. I began to think..geez, what am I doing wrong?

Super quick re-cap. I fell injured after (even before) San Juan Solstice 50 mile run in June. I was pulled from the race when I didn't make the first cut off. A CT scan and some unhealthy denial later revealed 2 stress fractures in the heel.  Bam, 9 weeks- all summer- nada mile.

With a green light from the doc early September I was ramped up and ready to prove something to myself. The DNF in June was a bummer, and I was gearing up for my own 50 mile redemption in Park City in October. This gave me 4 weeks of training for a 50 miler, when I (Hindsight!) should have been rehabbing my heel and coming back insanely slowly and smartly. I ran the 50. I finished the 50. I kept going week after week with big runs on Saturday's. I was feeling so good, and so encapsulated with the freedom and satisfying depletion that is earned from the long run, that I failed to see that I was going down a similar road; not letting my body catch up with my mind and heart.  So on Dec. 6, I went out to Antelope Island with my running girls, and ran my last run. Afraid I'd miss out, always worried I'll miss out on a great long run;  I didn't pay attention, or more accurately I ignored my body screaming at me- and Bam..Tibial stress fracture.

Why am I getting all these stress fractures??!! (This one makes 5 in 3ish years)  This has been the center of my thoughts for months now. MRI's, Nuclear Bone scans, Dexa Scans, Hormone Testing, Bone turnover rate testing, SO MANY VIALS OF BLOOD...All to come full circle that I over train.
There's a bit more to it than that, as I've come to discover in stress fracture research, injured runner online support groups(yes there is such a thing) Books, articles from reputable sources...
But, I had cut back my running. I maybe grazed a 50 mile week or 2 in the fall, but I was mostly staying in the 40 mile range.

This is such a smack in the face because I really enjoy it, duh. I mean I have never met  a runner who doesn't enjoy running. So, yeah, it sucks. And, what do I do about it? I set some pretty Lofty goals for myself, obviously.

So, before all this happened again, with the tibia. I was signed up for The Buffalo 100 at Antelope Island- SUPPOSED to be my second go with this race, and I WAS hoping for a better run and finishing time. I had to withdraw. I was signed up for the Red Hot 55k. Had to withdraw.

SO now Here's the menu

Pocatello 60k June 6 http://pocatello50.com/
Speedgoat 50k July 27 http://karlmeltzer.com/speedgoat-50k/
Wasatch 100 September 11. http://www.wasatch100.com/

All Pretty flippin' hard mountain races. And here it is almost March, and I'm slowly working up to a 3 mile road run. yikes.

POINT: It takes me some self indulgent babbling, but I usually get there. I'm terrified- and not of these races, although, I definitely should be. I'm terrified of breaking again, and ending up in a stupid pool or wallowing in my situation for months. I had an Ortho specialist tell me that I wasn't born to run. He told me to get a bike. They all told me to get a bike. I am going to get a bike. But, that's all part of this approach I pretty much have to adapt; run less to run more.
Biking, Weights, Swim and Run. Strengthen the legs and build the muscles without the impact. Become a stronger runner, without running?! What.The.Fuck.

It's a drastic change to my current way of thinking about endurance running, but something has to change. I won't have a chance of running these races well or at all if I  break again. Everyone is different. Maybe it is simply I do too much too quick without proper strength or training. Patience has never been a quality of mine, but I'm learning it.

Jack Daniels says that 60 mile weeks for a fast, experienced, strong runner isn't as stressful to their body as a 60 mile week is to a slow, less experienced, less strong runner. We are out there longer- stressing the body longer, stressing the mind longer, my bones longer. It's not necessarily about distance, but time. I don't know if I can run these crazy hard mountain races on less running and more cross training, but something isn't working for me, so here goes nothing..or everything...or..something

My Mom is Nuts

I see so many Mommy blogs. Working Mommy, Stay at Home Mommy, Amazing Pinterest Mommy, and (Yet not as many) What's happening Mommy.

So here's my take on this hot topic.

We Make It Work

Preferably without Prozac, but understandably so.

We Make It Work

Preferably without yelling but, who the hell are you kidding.

We Make It Work

Preferably without gadgets, but go eff yourself.

We Make It Work

EVERY DAY.

I like to think I am an in tune with both the stay at home and working mom. The stay at home Mom, which I became unplanned. And, the working Mom, which my sister is the highest level of;  have conversations that are full of deep moments and adorable toddler shit while she is making her way home in Baltimore traffic.  That's what I  get, and I take what I can get, because I know she works hard and loves her kids, and the minute she walks in the door- that's it.  

So let me start. I'm a stay at home, part time working, mom- with ZERO family in a 2000 mile radius. Both myself and the baby daddy I call husband are transplants to the great White Hope- Utah. And, despite our lack of interest in the local faith, green Jello, and a great interest in Friday night's with wine- it turns out, I really like raising my children in an affordable, pretty, safe place.  

We might be an exception for loneliness in this mecca of children, but give me the pleasure to rant, regardless.

"My mom was crazy"- This is the Intro of the fictitious novel I see being written in the head of my current 7 year old. On a hike recently, i thought to myself, maybe we spend too much time together. Maybe this young, strong (very opinionated)  , smart (too smart for my own good), stubborn(argumentative) baby! (young girl) spends too much time with her crazy ass mom. 

They get all of me, her and her sister. They get too much of me. Maybe if I worked, they wouldn't have the chance to write a novel in 20 years that starts with "I think my mother was a fucking skitzzo.." Because, my house wouldn't be a cluttered sticky mess, my life thoughts wouldn't parallel the chaos of scattered toys, and crap around me, because I could hear nothing for minutes except... nothing.

I'm not whining. I walk my daughter and dog to school over coffee and hot chocolate with the effing rocky mountains for a view. We live in a really safe place, I raise my children, and by 4pm we are planning what game or movie we will engage after a dinner that I have cooked- every night. The thing is..it never stops. Of course they are amazing little scientists discovering every god damn thing, including their own voice and intelligence, but THEY NEVER STOP. And, they argue- LOUDLY about the stupidest shit! Like lalaloopsy dolls, and the occupying fort rights;forts made from my fucking couch cushions! And they yell "It's not fair!!! louder than "The British are coming!!!!"

I've read the blogs... I know, my amazing working mom's don't want to hear about the insane usage a house gets when you have to be there all day with these sweet little dirt bags, but let me tell you, it's enough to bring you to viscous tears. They have no respect or gratitude and why should they? They are children, tiny little people that I'm in charge of shaping, molding, feeding, loving- But, someone, please, help me process that, and just pick up their shit without grumbling like a lunatic on meth and glue?

I took a class (oh Christ,watch out), but, I took a class: "Marriage and the Family Experience". It was 2 years ago.  I decided to finish my Associates degree at the tender age of 33. And..it reported that most marriages end..END!!! because of housework. The unequal distribution of housework between spouses. SPOUSES WITH BEAUTIFUL AMAZING children...:

LAUNDRY

DISHES
BEDTIME
PICK UP
PICK UP
PICK UP
ALL

THAT
STUFF

YOU,

MOM...

WILL DO!

I digress. But, here I go trying to conclude: I know my sister won't have time to call me when she is home from work, and I understand and respect that.  That's her fleeting time.

In EVERY given day, I remember why I'm happy to do what I do. I never thought I'd be a stay at home mom. I worked 2 jobs for most of my life. I have 2 girls, who are beautiful and healthy. I literally witness every moment of them evolving, and growing, and thinking on different levels. While I clean shit(actual poop) off the toilet seat, washable (not washable) paint off the floor, and peanut butter off of...everything, SPOILER ALERT: I'm not smiling while doing this! But, i get it... why you're also not smiling not doing it, working mothers.

I'm there, and that's gonna pay off in another way...shit, I hope so.

But, i TRULY worry they get too much of me. They get all the mid 30's hormones and breakdowns, and they have to witness every processed decision because this is us, this is their family, this is what we are, and we are really good, but we are really messy, and we are really flawed...

"My mother was crazy..." 
I'm not, for the record. I'm human. 

But, my daughter who sees all of me...that might be how she interprets me one day.  I hope it comes out as; "She was  loving and always here, rather than..She was crazy and I wish she'd leave me alone." 

It's not easy..Not fucking any of it. We just gotta love the good parts.

Listen to this

"Take My Hand, Not My Picture..."

Twirling my own fingers and tightinigh my core

with images of years spent waiting for

you on the floor.

So many breaths taken in your

spectrum, waiting in an alley

my tounge thumping like a drum.

So many days spent in rivers of weeps

so many moments and trouble

with sleep

Throwing pennies over bridges

writing words that did nothing

anxious, nervous, twitching

risky, careless, slushing.

All because of love

or the thought that it might be discovered

a brand new smell

and brand new covers

And years have sped by 

And epidermall skin has died

a thousand times over

like a broken film clicking 

and clicking

and clicking

The tragic comedy

the heroin an average man

casually strolling below the beat of the earth's heart...

So, songs will soar me back

and small hands catapult to the present

summarized in moments

with lyrics misinterpreted. 

And, I wait.

 "I don't want to take what you can give...
I would rather starve than eat your bread...
I would rather run but I can't walk...
Guess I'll lie alone just like before...
I'll take the vermin's path... oh, and I must refuse your test
A-push me and I will resist... this behavior's not unique
I don't want to hear from those who know...
They can buy, but can't put on my clothes...
I don't want to limp for them to walk...
Never would have known of me before...
I don't want to be held in your debt...
I'll pay it off in blood, let I be wed...
I'm already cut up and half dead...
I'll end up alone like I began...
Everything has chains... absolutely nothing's changed
"Take my hand, not my picture," spilled my tincture"

I know you'll be a star in somebody else's sky

I had a weird moment in yoga, woah, woah...hold the phone, this sounds like some Guru bell ringing restorative soul shit..Yeah, kinda.

But, it brought me to a very hysterical state where I talked with my mother on the floor of a rec center. So, might be worth an ear or your heart.

Plough Pose- not camel, which is typically the pose that you open your heart and bend your spine creating a release of emotionally heavy shit.  Camel makes me smile- Maybe because my calss sang me Happy Birthday in Camel pose in July, and then someone farted. No one laughs when someone farts in yoga, and this fact alone makes me giggle- as fake poop and farts were always a source of bursting laughter growing up. My mom used to gag and yell at us disgusting little people laughing at our own stench and rippers.  But, in yoga, there's a pose called wind relesaing pose...so, yeah, eveyone is all too mature and centered to laugh..i guess.

Anyway, I'm on the floor after a 5 minute plough pose

I came out and we go into final meditation; usually the part where I sneak out and grab my daughter from the child care. I stayed a few weeks ago, and low and behold...my mom said hi Natty.

With her beautiful white straight teeth, she smiled and was wearing purple. Her hair was black with hot rollered curls. She was not sick but she was not alive.
Here's how it went:

Me: Mom, where have you been? I've needed you.

Mom: Natty, I've been with Bri.


And then she held my hand, and I sobbed quietly on my yoga mat, on the wooden floor of the rec center, and tears fell fast in to my ears, and on to the yoga mat.

Brian is my brother.  Brian is 38 and had a liver transplant moments from death 2 years ago.   And, since, Brian has been fighting so hard to rebuild and progress, and he is a gentle soul with a heart bigger than most. And, Liver transplant doesn't end all your physical problems, so there have been adjustments, bumps, pain, irritations...

Of course she has been with Brian.

Redemption Song

Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery;
None but ourselves can free our minds.
Have no fear for atomic energy,
'Cause none of them can stop the time.

The truth is, I had to run a 50 mile race on Saturday.  The truth is I had to... for me.  There was no doubt that I had to try, so i didn't stress about it, I didn't question the need, I just went out and ran- because that's all it is, right? Yes. 

But I had to do it, there was no other choice- I had to set out to accomplish that distance again, to remind myself of my ability, strength, and patience. To remind myself that it is just running, but the fight to the finish is way more than that for so many like me. And, it was the first race I have not felt like a naive, disorganized, overly packed,  newbie. The wise words of so many ran through my head, and I listened to each. "Be patient" "Find the pace you can do all day long" "be in the moment" "breathe" "embrace the pain" "Run, it's a race!" "don't forget to look around" and "enjoy it".

However, for some reason I couldn't remember what a dozen people have told me about Moose. This was a bit comical as Cheryl (my friend and pacer ANGEL) and I were hiking up switchbacks and spotted a big fella mere feet from us. Cheryl: (yelling) "Aren't we supposed to talk loudly and let them know we are here!?!" Me (whispering) : "Or, are we supposed to sneak by him quietly and quickly?" I doubt the combination is the answer, but he strolled away from us casually, regardless.

I ran the first 21.6 miles alone on the fairytale trails of Park City Mountain Resort. Pristine trails in October bursting colorful Aspen leaves to the ground, welcoming the hard working feet of runners starting at 5am.  When the sun came up, I had just hit the ridge line after a gradual 13 mile climb, and the sun warmed my right ear first as I struggled to see the ground for moments from the first poetic rays of the orb dosing my eyes. I huddled close to the shady side of the trail and came in to the aid station over dressed, but very damn happy.

I could skip the next 6 miles and pretend this entire day was just the perfect combination of bliss, fall colors, and strength- but, it's an ultra, so here's the "ugh..why do i do this miles" I stripped my clothes, I ate some food, and started back on the trail with a heavy load in my back and that feeling that I had just gone 4+ hours, 16 miles, and hadn't even put a dent in this day yet. +***IMPATIENCE*** I had a difficult  time getting my shit together. By shit, I mean food, pace, comfort, running. I was irritated at my playlist which I aptly named "YOU HAVE TO DO THIS" Even with Kelly Clarksons "Stronger" blasting in my ear, whom I was convinced was an ultra runner just days ago as she belted out the lyrics " Didn't think that I'd come back, that I'd come back swinging, you tried to break me, but you see what doesn't kill me..." you get the idea. And yet, I was irritated at my own playlist. And, that's an Ultra, one minute you are thankful for your place in life, the world, the moment, and the next you want to punch the next person in the back who says "nice job!" as they zoom by you warning "on your left!".

I'll cut to the chase. Then, I remembered what Cheryl told me a few years ago; "Aid station to aid station". So, I just moved, one foot in front of the other- Eat, drink, run. Eat, drink, run. 

I got to the 5 way aid station and met Cheryl. I ate a half of an avocado, some bacon, and gatorade. "How are you doing on salt?" Me: "I've only had 2 all day" "Take one" "Ok". We got going, and we didn't stop. I wanted to get in and out of aid, because I didnt want to waste my time there. We just kept moving, and hiking up, and running flat and running down, and eating, and taking salt, and laughing, and commenting on the beauty of the trails. and... then we finished. And..I knew we would hours before and miles before. I knew it. I was in the moment, every moment, every section, and it was a Great day.

We were greeted by Karl (Meltzer) and Betsy (Johnson) at the finish. Karl as anyone reading this either knows or knows of, and whom I have known since I moved to Utah gave me a ride early Saturday morning. He was helping at the race, sweeping the course, following the very last 50 mile runner to Mile 21.6; A truly inspiring person and runner whose accomplishments and ability I think of often to pull me out of a bad running stretch- then call myself a p!#$$y and get my shit back together. Betsy who just finished the marathon distance, and waited over 3 hours for us at the finish! And, the first words out of her mouth were "I'm so proud of you!" And, Cheryl..who I originally told she didn't have to pace me, because I was going to be painfully slow...I might have made it to the finish line without her, (although I'm not sure) it wouldn't have been as fun or special without her. And, man! Does she know how to take care of her runner..and friends. 

The North face 50 mile

7 out of 9 in my age group

103 out of 125 finishers

13 hours, 29 minutes, and 4 seconds

San Juan Solstice 50 DNF- shit.

So, why does this suck? Remember those years when you were not a teenager anymore, but hadn't yet begun to see the shit storm that adulthood can actually rain? Those few years where possibility is taken for granted along with tight skin and eating chili dogs at 2am with zero regret?

That's who I am when I finish an Ultra. The reflection on these insanely hard feats physically warms my skin and I glow for days. Not finishing- well, i felt like shit and like crying, and like defeated with wrinkles and regret for eating birthday cake..my own birthday cake, even!

I DNF'd on Saturday at the San Juan Solstice 50 mile in Lake City, CO. I did not drop, I was pulled for not making the first cut off at Williams creek. Mile 16, roughly- 5:20 in to a mentally prepared 16 hour day- done.

I left with my friends Friday morning to drive to CO. We rented a sweet house a mile form the start/finish. It was a 7.5 hour drive. We pulled into Lake City, checked into the race, went to the pre-race meeting, headed to the house, and packed drop bags, took them back to the armory where all the race shit was happening, enjoyed a fish taco dinner, 2 Sierra Nevada's, and bed.

3:45am the first alarm goes off in the house...mine. Up and prepare for battle. I had only run about 25 miles in the weeks before San Juan. My foot is jacked up- shit just hurts,and I am currently ignoring it. Also, smart. But, I woke up feeling rested, fresh, and pretty excited about the long day ahead of me. I actually had a feeling I was going to do really well.

Given the late snow accumulation, the 7 creek crossings were high, rushing, cold,and a little "like woah" a couple times. We were in thigh deep water, My skirt was soaked to my waist to give you an idea of the vigor of some of these crossings. Runners were holding each others hands and helping others get across just to run a few hundred feet to another crossing. But, this might have slowed an already slow climber down even more (cough cough, me). The nice thing about the water was it numbed my busted heel. And we climbed...from 8,600 ft to about 13,200.  Boom...and it was like a force field holding me back, like 2 magnets- Me and the altitude. My heart was beating fast, I was out of breath, my legs were like molasses, and I had fallen way behind the pack I traveled the first 7 miles with.  I began to feel better as the course descended into William Creek aid station, but that was it- i was too late. I think I would have squeaked in if I didn't think I got off trail, and hiked back up about a .25 mile only to find out I was going the right fucking way after all. But, I didn't squeak in, and I didn't make the cut off, and I packed all those drop bags so perfectly for nothing. And, I planned my hydration and pace methodically for nothing. And, I cried like a baby to the volunteer.

And, that was that. I went to the finish and watched my amazing friends come through late in the evening. I wanted to feel that good pain as we sat around the table late Saturday night. Damn, it stung. It stings. I guess it just wasnt my day.

It wasn't just the altitude. It wasn't just my foot. My head got out of this race really early on. Frankly, I had an unpleasant conversation with my husband the night before that left me feeling kinda blue as I was fighting up there on the ridge of the first big climb. I was essentially all alone in this vast land of amazingness and instead of embracing it, my head got out of it. It just wasn't my day.

I just got back from a 6 mile run in Little Cottonwood. I was alone with my music and ran hard and faster than I ever have up there, filled with rage and disappointment. But, some peace came as I finished. I'm in search of more peace with this...and redemption...Speedgoat50k on the horizon.

Sad didn't make cut off Selfie