so long, 2011

Highlights from this morning's run:
the house on Speedway with the (large!) collection of Fiesta Ware pitchers filling their casement windows
negative split - a minute or so faster on the second half
perfect weather

I'll be doing some reflection on 2011 and setting intentions for 2012 over the next couple of days. In general, I'm wanting to get outside my comfort zone more, take ever better care of myself (rest, nutrition, fitness), do fewer of the things that don't serve my best interest, and more of the things that do. With intentions like that, I may never have to make New Year Resolutions again!

guerrilla art - 1

Have I mentioned one of my favorite things is guerrilla art? Seeing art in unexpected places, made with unexpected media, the fact that someone had a vision (often quirky) and took the time to bring it to life for others to experience, these things make me happy. I like graffiti. Some tagging can be quite uninspired, but oftentimes I can gaze with wonder at how someone can get so much nuance and expression from a spray can. Once at Venice Beach, a street performer/artist was making small-scale (8x10, 11x14) graffiti art. It was cool to watch the process, and to learn there are special spray tips you can use to get different effects. I saw this cool bit of art today that had been painstakingly rendered on the side of a building that is being renovated. The raccoon makes me forget this is done on plywood. East Side!



Then there's the recent rise of guerrilla knitters who sneak about placing knit sweaters on all sorts of public objects. Yarn bombs. Love this stuff, too. I guess it's been cold enough that the Hyde Park Bar & Grill fork needed a sweater.

industrious?

Spent the past hour making a surprisingly small quantity of GF peanut butter chocolate chip cookies and chocolate macadamia sea salt bark to take to a couple of parties this evening. I could've been napping or blogging. Go me.

easily amused

I recently discovered that Stephen Tobolowsky, who plays Sandy Ryerson on Glee, also portrayed Ned Ryerson in Groundhog Day. Are Ned and Sandy related in their fictional universe? Pure coincidence, or did the creators of Glee give Sandy the same name as Ned on purpose? I certainly hope so because I think that's just awesomely clever. Groundhog Day is an excellent movie; watch it sometime with the director's commentary on, totally worth it.

chicken soup for the sick

Rather than bore (or disgust) with tales of just *how* sick I've been the past several days with a heckuva sinus infection (yay for antibiotics), here's a quick rundown of places to get some good chicken soup in Austin.

Top of the list is Julio's in Hyde Park. There are only two reasons to eat at Julio's (three if you count their stout margaritas, but I'm don't). The roasted chicken and the chicken soup. Their chicken soup fits the "medicinal qualities" bill and is both simple and flavorful. Chicken stock, sizable pieces of torn chicken (mostly white meat, possibly from the roaster), chunks of squash, celery, carrot, and onion, several slices of avocado, and a section of cob corn fill a huge bowl. Includes tortillas, salsa, and sometimes a lime wedge. You can get a side of rice to throw in. Physically & emotionally comforting.

The rest are in no particular order.

Maudie's. I just had theirs tonight because it was close, and I didn't feel like cooking. Not bad. More of a traditional tortilla soup, with cheese and tortilla strips included. It includes a side of rice, fresh cilantro, and fresh onion you can add. The soup is chicken stock, shredded chicken (white & dark), bits of carrot, green pepper, tomato chunks, onion, and two thick slices of avocado. I'll easily get two meals out of it since I got it to go. It was tasty, but not on par with Julio's. [edit: decided I really like sweetness and crunch of the fresh onion in this soup]

Chuy's. Pretty similar in makeup to Maudie's, slightly thicker stock, replace the green pepper with green chile. Haven't been to Chuy's in awhile, so not much to go on here. Good, but (again) not Julio's

Jorge's on Hancock. Jorge's tortilla soup uses a tomato-based broth, which changes everything. I haven't had theirs in awhile either, but recall shredded chicken, standard veggies, and cheese. They use red & yellow crispy tortilla strips. No rice, but extra tortilla strips or chips on the side. It's a hearty soup, but not quite chili-esque, and, not Julio's.

Vietnamese Pho is another good soup when not feeling well, but that's a post for another day.

cows on parade!

This summer Austin was host to a Cows on Parade public art project. Normally, I'm a big fan of art in public places, with the exception of giant red metal sculptures, but I was initially vehement in my contempt when the art cows began to appear on sidewalks. Not one to get riled up about much, it was funny for my friends to observe me with the following bones to pick:
A. The cow parade is old news - when I heard about the original cow parade in Chicago a number of years ago, I thought it was brilliant. It seemed like an old idea by now. Insert bad jokes about milking it until the cows come home here.
B. Didn't we just do "Guitar Town" - an Austin, "Live Music Capital of the World" take on the cow parade theme? At least that was an original twist to an old idea.
C. There was at least one other thing bugging me about the cows.
Then I saw one up close as I was leaving Barton Springs one morning. A dad was taking his kids' pictures on it; super cute, OK. Then I discovered the title of the piece was a pun, or wordplay, and I was totally charmed. And insisted on saying "cows on parade" with the same inflection/emphasis as "Pigs in Space."
Favorites:
Discow at Whole Foods
Scrabbull at City Hall Plaza
Eye Cowrumba at the Long Center
Cow-Moo-Flage (I think this is the one that hooked me)
Flamencow
Really, the Cows! On! Parade! are like stationary art cars (I still don't understand why there's no art car community in Austin), and are better canvases than guitars for depicting some awesome art puns.
My only disappointment was the egregious absence of a "Frida Cow-lo."

holi-decor

Seen in my neighborhood. I love stuff like this.

sleep, and more sleep

Came across this on my morning walk with Gracie and it made me laugh...

Santa nodding off. In other news, I turned off all my alarms last night and slept in this morning, knowing I needed the rest to get over a chest cold. I had hoped to watch the lunar eclipse during my Saturday run. With the chest cold nixing that, I figured to see it while walking walking Gracie, then ended up sleeping right through it. However, it was a San Francisco cold, damp, overcast morning, so I wouldn't have been able to see it anyway. The ten hours of sleep was not quite as spectacular and rare as the eclipse, but awesome in its own way.

Sieze the Holidailies

Holidailies are here again. This year, expect short & sweet entries tucked in amidst marathon training, appearing in a holiday tap show, work, and the general holiday hub-bub. I appreciate the additional motivation Holidailies provides to get me to post more entries. I'm lucky to have a pretty rich and full life and privileged to have the health and resources to do many of the things I love. This holiday season, I want to celebrate the little things that I appreciate about living in the best city in Texas, as well as things that catch my eye, strike my fancy, or make me smile and feel glad to be alive. Enough meta.

To kick things off, here's my tap shoes, getting some action these days after a year on the shelf due to marathon training and injury recovery, both running and not running related.

I wrote the first part of this while sitting backstage waiting for my cue. Pretty awesome to be performing tap, and some consolation for having to skip tomorrow's run to rest & recover from minor chest congestion. A week and a half ago, I had no idea I'd be in Tapestry's Christmas show, then I heard they were looking for more "snow" (which may or may not be a euphemism for white girls who tap dance). From there, it only took a day of deliberation and some honest reflection from two friends about the excitement on my face when I talked about it for me to join up. Somehow, my biggest concerns about finding the time to fit this in among my other activities and responsibilities have been a non-issue. Similar to making a plan to hike the AT, when I chose to participate in something I love, the path opened up. I am grateful for the moments when that kind of synchronicity and ease is present in my life. I spent too many years watching/letting those kinds of opportunities slide by.
On a completely different note, here's the dawg, looking guilty on the sofa, although she earned a whole day's worth of sofa lounging for putting up with ear cleaning at the vet. Not the best picture, it's hard to capture such awesomeness on film.

Rebuilding a Runner

It's been a very long and very short month since I jacked up my back and had to skip my goal race. The recovery has been up and down; on individual days it's sometimes hard to detect improvement, but in big picture terms, I'm definitely getting better. My chiro didn't see the need to schedule another appointment after this week, and my PT doesn't want to see me for another two weeks. I'm gonna assume it's because I'm improving, and not because they find me endlessly annoying. Monday starts the official rebuilding process to make me better, stronger, faster, although not bionic. Emily said to me the week I canceled my trip/race plans that there must be some reason I wasn't supposed to do that race. At the time I didn't want to hear that, and let her know quite clearly/crudely (sorry 'bout that, Emily!), but now, it seems perhaps there is a greater plan than I can conceive of.

Rogue is conducting a pilot training program based on heart rate. It's targeted at runners who are prone to overtraining and have been stuck in performance plateaus or have had chronic injuries as a result. They received more than 80 applications for 15 spots in the training group. For all the disappointment of missing my marathon, that and my other chronic injuries seem to have put me unequivocally in the "yes" pile. Not necessarily something to be proud of, but it's a fantastic opportunity. My back has recovered enough that I can do sustained running for 30+ minutes, but if this morning's run is any indication, this is going to feel like starting from ground zero, yet again. That might be a good thing since I'll be learning a whole new way of training.

I spent some time this morning getting to know my heart rate monitor. It said my VO₂ max is 43, which is off the chart for my age. It was "heartening" considering how much my level of activity has dropped in the last month. I'll find out my true VO₂ max this week in a lab test (treadmill, heart rate monitor, face mask oxygen measurement, fun!). I won't be terribly surprised to learn that I've been doing my "comfortably easy" runs at a higher heart rate than I should, which ultimately compromises my recovery and ability to improve. I come by my tendency to overdo/overtrain honestly, but I'm learning there's a more effective way to train, and, if I want to continue to train, race, and improve, I can't afford not to give this my best shot.

Giving this my best shot means making some fundamental changes in other areas of my life. While I improved my rest and nutrition during my last training phase, I can do better. In an effort to keep myself honest, here's the rebuilding plan for the foundation - the things that will make my runs and training more enjoyable and more effective:

Rest - no more operating from a small, but consistent sleep deficit. I can function on 6-7 hours of sleep, but that adds stress to my system and over time, hinders my performance. Goal: 7-8 hours of sleep, consistently
Nutrition - this one calls for a bulleted list:

• do a two week carb sensitivity test
• eliminate foods that create cravings or decrease feelings of well-being and ability to perform (sugar, gluten, most dairy, caffeine, and alcohol immediately come to mind, others to be determined from sensitivity test)
  
• keep a food log - this will help with the carb sensitivity test, and help me stick with my plan
  

Strength - at least two strength workouts/week. A combination of Rogue Core workouts, Schrupercises, or time in the fitness center at work, primarily leg & core strength
Cross Training - swim or bike at least once a week, 40-45 minutes each
Flexibility - practice yoga twice a week, maintain PT exercises for my back
Recovery - monthly massage, post-run stretching, trigger point, and ice baths (as needed)

I'll track all of this, but probably not publicly. Some of these things, specifically the rest and nutrition aspects, will contribute to improving my overall well-being and making my life more enjoyable and effective. I'm clear on the fact that it's a privilege for me to be able to run and train and compete in events. I'm fortunate and grateful to have the physical health and resources to be able to do these things. I deserve to take the best possible care of myself, but I haven't been doing so. I have a genetic predisposition to high cholesterol, and have often said I would make drastic changes to my diet, if it were necessary for medical reasons. So far, my athletic pursuits have been enough to keep my ratio healthy. But running has evolved into something more than getting across a finish line or staying fit. I want to see how far I can go and how fast. That begs a deeper level of commitment and dedication than I've previously given to my athletic performance. This is a record of that commitment.

I feel like this rebuilding process needs a catchy name.

Race Cancelled?

Sunday's See Jane Run Austin half-marathon was canceled because of the severity of thunderstorms race morning. I wasn't running (obviously, from my last post) but had planned to cheer on a few friends who were running. I was quite happy to stay inside and listen to the early morning rain instead. It brought back memories of the '07 Cap Tex Tri - the only other event I've missed - that was canceled because of storms race morning. I felt bad for all the people who were planning to race. It's incredibly disappointing to have worked for something for months, then not have the opportunity to go out and execute. I remembered how pissed off and sad we were to miss the '07 tri.

Some interesting things happened as a result of that race cancellation. I had trained for months with Team in Training, getting to know a few people, but dealing with the disappointment of missing the race was the glue that really bonded us as a team. When the sun came up and the weather broke that morning, someone had the brilliant idea for us to run an impromptu 5K along the race course. Puddle jumping, whooping & hollering, and letting out some of the race energy we'd built up. Our coaches and mentors cheered us on, and we cheered each other through the finishing chute, by this time the only athletes still around. The race photographer took a group photo of us. We met up for happy hour later that week, where we acknowledged how far we'd come as a team and what we'd accomplished in the fight against cancer, regardless of race day events. We also received the only finisher medals given out for the race. Somehow, TnT staff and our coach managed to get them for us. TnT also secured entries for another race for us.

At the happy hour, talk inevitably turned to "what might have been" and "what next." Linking the anger, sadness, and disappointment was an undercurrent of dissatisfaction that I can best characterize as hunger. A hunger to perform what we'd practiced for so many months on the race stage, for closure on the training season, and to see how much farther training could take me. That happy hour was where the Half-Ironman distance first became a twinkle in my eye, and many of us informally committed to '08 Wildflower that night.

Cap Tex Tri '07 would have been my first Olympic distance race. For the Disco Tri in Dallas, the make-up race, record rains canceled the swim, so it became a duathlon (to my delight). I finally got my Olympic Tri at the inaugural Austin Tri in September. I think I ended up doing more races in '07-'08 than the previous six years combined, all on the heels of a race cancellation that somehow cemented my commitment to working toward training & racing goals. 2007 was the first year I participated in organized training, which really brought my inner athlete out of the closet. I learned that I thrive as an athlete when I work with a good coach. As someone who had a long pattern of putting the needs of others before my own, trying to do everything on my own, and keeping my athletic abilities on the back burner, seeking out good coaching was one of the best gifts I could give myself. Now, I've not only checked running a marathon off my bucket list but I'm in the process of finding out how fast I can run one. Ironman is no longer one of those races only crazy people do. Well, let's face it, that definition still applies, nonetheless, it's been added to the bucket list.

My lessons from that canceled race:

• Have your feelings, preferably with people you've trained with or who "get it"
• Acknowledge your progress and accomplishments of the season
• Sign up for another race ASAP
• Use the hunger to extend your goals
• You never know how a difficult experience will impact you over the course of time

discogenic has nothing to do with the dance floor

After four months of training, including dealing with a nagging leg issue (Thanks, Dr. Moos!) and many, many "sweating into my shoes" long runs in the glorious Austin heat (Thanks, Rogue teammates!), this was supposed to be my pre-race wrap-up post. Turns out I won't even make it to the starting line. Monday morning I had a great, short easy run, in which I noticed how balanced my stride felt, how nothing was hurting. Gracie kept pace alongside and I cautioned a couple of glances at the pre-dawn stars, enjoying the cooler morning air, clear skies, the ease of breathing, of running. Sunday's outcome unknown, but the race plan rock-solid (Thanks, Coach Amy!). Monday night, as I bent to pick up a shoe, I felt something strange in my lower back. Then I REALLY felt it when I stood up. Ouch is an understatement!

Diagnosis: discogenic lumbar region, aka bulging disc. At least it's not herniated. To add insult to injury, the cold I've been holding at bay for the past three weeks has settled in full bore.

For the first time in my racing life, I will not be at the starting line of an event I registered for. I canceled my travel plans because sitting on a plane for several hours is unthinkable, much less running a marathon. Canceling the trip sucks as much as missing the race because I was realy looking forward to seeing trail family, Journey and The Saint. I've got a call in to the race organizers to find out if I can transfer my registration to next year's race, and I'm attacking my recovery like I would a Yasso 800.

I've been asked "what's the lesson in this?" I don't think there is one. Sometimes these things just happen, and what matters is how I deal with it. Acknowledging my progress. Many great things have happened over the course of the training season. Improved self-care (nutrition & rest), getting to know and run with an awesomely fun bunch of people, training with Coach Amy & Coach Rex, practicing patience with persistent injuries (I get to practice that some more!), improved fitness, a return to the ease and joy of running that I hadn't felt since my Thru-Hike, and learning that I don't know #%!&. Having my feelings. It's an understatement that I'm deeply disappointed to miss this race, I've shed some tears, shaken my fist at the universe, and probably will again, but none of the "what might have beens" diminish the victories of this traning season. Moving on. A wise coach taught me to consider what it might mean to miss a goal, and though this is a setback, it's a resolvable one. The Doc says we've caught the issue early and I can expect a 4-6 week recovery. I'm investigating things I can do to maintain my fitness while I heal, and I am still on the path, a stronger, smarter runner. Any big goal carries with it an element of risk, that's what makes it exciting to work toward, regardless of the outcome. Writing this entry. I will need to remind myself of all of this in a couple weeks when I'm depressed about not being able to run and in the thick of PT.

For my Rogue teammates and other friends who are gearing up for Twin Cities, Chicago, Nike, Portland, Columbus, Marine Corps, New York, San Antonio, and other fall races - run with heart!

It has been an honor and privilege to run with you, I'll be back as soon as I'm able.

The Rogue Blog has a great article on Dealing With Failure.

Race Report: Baytown Bud Heatwave

The last time this race happened was 11 years ago. They call it the heatwave for a reason. The last (and only previous) time I ran it was at least 15 years ago, and I almost passed out from heat stress. Granted, I was younger, dumber (i.e. not nearly as educated about training), and not really prepared for the distance and conditions. But I was very reluctant to enter races after that.

I was due for another visit to my birthplace, and an inexpensive 5 mile race on July 4 was good incentive for a family visit. Plus, I was curious to see how I'd fare with the benefits of age and experience. Race morning I dropped Gracie off at my parents house after a breakfast of raw oats, chia seed, raisins, walnuts, and almond milk. I drank a Nuun on the drive over. It was a fairly small field (352 finishers), but well supported with aid stations and cold sponges on the race route, showers, popsicles (no HFCS), water, fruit, sodas, beer, & sausage on a stick at the finish. I enjoy smaller, grassroots races like this because the course is less crowded, and I have better odds of placing well in my age group. I never claimed I wasn't opportunistic. I'd driven the course the night before and the last mile and a quarter were daunting. A long straight stretch where you could see the finish three blocks to your right, but had to go another half mile or so before making the turn toward the finish. I ran the straightaway for my 20 minute warmup, then headed to the start.

A local student sang the heck out of the National Anthem, then I spotted my parents, who'd made it to see us off. I ran over to give them both a hug, really excited they were there. My goal for this race? In the back of my mind, breaking 40 minutes, but I really had no idea if that was reasonable, considering the conditions and that I'd only done long, slow, distance training to that point. Plus, some tightness in my right calf was just beginning to be an issue.

I went out conservative at the start. Besides the real contenders, who were long gone, quite a few people motored past me, and I let them all go, telling myself I'd probably see some of them later in the race. I picked a comfortably hard pace and checked my time at the first mile. I was reasonably happy with the pace and settled into a pretty good rhythm through miles 2 and 3. Lots of turns in this section, and some welcome shade. A scenic course, this is not, but I don't think that would be possible in Baytown. Around mile 2, an older guy passed me and complimented my running form. He ended up winning his age group (65-69).

With a 7am start, the sun was fairly high by the halfway point, and it was getting hot. The ice cold sponges were awesome and plentiful. Between miles 3 & 4, it seemed like I stopped sweating, and I was mildly concerned. By this point in the race, I was starting to pass the people that went out too hard, and that just motivated me to keep my pace. The last mile was just as tough as I thought it might be, but I finished at 40:50 and change, for an 8:10 per mile pace and fourth in my age group. Not quite fast enough to score a giant beer mug, out of which I'd probably only drink smoothies. Technically I was seventh, but the top three women in my age group took the top three masters spots, so, I got bumped. I always like a free upgrade!

Post-run, I ate half a popsicle, lots of fruit, caught up with my parents, had one bite of sausage, and zero beer. Mom & Dad took me to a local taqueria for one of the best plates of huevos rancheros ever, infomercials on the TV notwithstanding. Then I went back to the hotel for an ice bath, trigger point, and nap before hanging with the fam for the rest of the fourth, which included a trip to Baskin Robbin's and two slices of mom's chocolate chess pie for the drive home.

Race Report: Pflugerville Tri - Breakthrough Swim

Marathon training is in base building mode, so what better way to follow up a 14-miler than to race a sprint tri the following morning.

When I considered which triathlons to do this summer, Pflugerville had a lot to like about it. Smallish race, new (to me) course, and reasonable entry fee. Knowing it was on the calendar was good motivation to swim a lap or two at Barton Springs every now and then. Same for starting a twice a week bike commute schedule during bike month. So, my preparation/training for this race was lots of easy pace running, 3-4 stride sets per week, a couple of short post-run swims per week, and biking to work a couple times a week. I had no goal time or expectations for the race other than to maintain hard effort throughout the race (whatever that might feel like after a 14-miler), and enjoy the return to multisport.

I figured the course would be pretty windy. We've had lots of wind out of the south lately, and there's not a lot of development or trees near the race site. I didn't account for the effect of the wind on the swim course. Swimming is the segment of triathlon where I have the most "opportunity for improvement". Standing on the shore of the lake, I got really nervous seeing how choppy the water was. Getting bumped and jostled by other swimmers, or getting splashed in the face when trying to breathe cause little anxiety spikes for me. Tension makes for inefficient swimming, which would only be compounded by the rough water. Things were not looking good to me. It didn't help to see one of the women from the previous wave turn around and swim back to the start. Standing there, waiting to start, I told myself just swim buoy to buoy, once you get to the red one (halfway) the hard part is over. For the second half of the swim, we'd be headed back to shore, with the waves. By that time, I wasn't particularly nervous, more resolved that the swim was going to be tough, but slow and steady, I'd get through it.

The horn sounded for our start, I hesitated for a moment, started my watch, then started swimming. To my utter surprise, I quickly fell into a rhythm, and was more relaxed than I'd ever felt on a swim, regardless of conditions. I found myself riding along with the waves, breathing in sync with the motion of the water, hardly getting splashed in the face at all. I seemed to maintain pretty good body position without much thought or effort. Before I knew it, I was past the second buoy and headed for the halfway point. Rolling with the conditions and not fighting was making it easier somehow. Granted, I was still working, and my arms were getting tired by the halfway point, but I was feeling really good about my progress and my mental state. The second half of the swim actually felt harder than the first. Fatigue was starting to set in, but my pace seemed to slow despite the calmer water and swimming with the wind. I went a little wide on the return, reset my course, and exited the water really happy about how I'd managed a difficult swim.

The bike course felt long and was very windy. Tailwind and downhill to start, then stiff crosswind/headwind/crosswind/headwind combinations with long slow uphills, rollers and a few glorious sections with tailwind. I don't ride with a computer, so went purely on effort, and maintained whatever gear/cadence necessary to keep my breathing at a comfortably hard level. Here's where I started feeling yesterday's 14-miler. My legs were the limiter on the bike, which probably served to keep some cardio in reserve for the run. I took a gel and some Nuun in the first mile, then chose not to take another gel. Any race is as much a mental test as a physical one, but today's conditions were the kind that make it easier to / harder not to get caught up in head games about how tough it is. When the going gets tough, just keep going. This was the toughest part of the day for me. I just didn't have any power in my legs and the course reminded me too much of my bike commute. Long, slow, windy uphills that should have felt easier since I wasn't carrying a backpack. Perhaps on fresh legs it would've been different.

It took almost a mile for me to settle into my breathing on the run. I'd forgotten what it felt like to transition to the run after the bike. Shuffle-jog into the headwind, head down so as not to lose that hard-won Rogue Trail Series hat. By the time I get to the far side of the lake, I'm in my stride. My lungs feel like the limiter by now. We've got a good headwind for parts of the run. I put my head down and let the wind blow through me. I think I'm picking up the pace as I go, but can't tell for sure. I definitely pick it up for the last 150 or so yards to the finish. Start easy, finish strong. Glad to be done. Race results not in yet, but I don't really care about my time after how great the swim felt.

Highlights/Observations
Seeing Pyrofly - fellow '09 AT Hiker: thanks for the body marking, hope to see you out racing soon!
The first half of the swim
Mile 8 of the bike - An old windmill in the field to the left: hearing it's fleeting squeak as it slowly turned in the wind, like a cry from the past.
Hanging out with racing buddies Devon, Krista, & Ken
Robin & Gracie coming out to cheer me on

The Ranch 30K

Or, Are we done yet?

Parts of the course reminded me of Grayson Highlands State Park, with a Texas twist of mesquite trees. Running over the granite uplift and through granite boulders was wonderful. And fortunately, only part of the first 10 miles. I couldn't have repeated that section, it was spectacular, but tough. This race was my absolute favorite of the series. On-site camping, beautiful course, beautiful weather, awesome post-race showers and food. The scenery was so amazing that I didn't feel bad for the times I slowed to a walk. That said, I least looked forward to this race. I had busted my knee and elbow open at the ranch two weeks prior on a training run, and had struggled on long runs since. I was tired and ready to be done. Apparently, my busted knee was legendary. Some of my friends told the staff they were with me and didn't have to pay for camping.

The field was probably twice that of the previous races, so chances of placing were pretty slim. The 'back of my mind' unofficial/unspoken goal was to finish no slower than The Loop race at Emma Long, but I wasn't sure even that was possible. Tough to gauge how that was going on this (unequal) two loop course. Loop one was about 11 miles, loop two made up the difference. Turns out no one got official times or placing because there were course marking issues. Many people took wrong turns and either ran over or under 30K. My time was on par with my goal, so I either ran short and slower, or ran the course as marked.

A couple of times I stumbled but caught myself. Both times I rather vehemently told the trail, "you are *not* getting another piece of me!" Both occurrences boosted by energy level for a bit, so that was a nice bonus for not quite falling. Somewhere beyond the halfway point, my right hip started to bug me. Either my adductor or psoas was complaining. I tried some minor gait adjustments with some success. It never really resolved itself, but would come and go for the rest of the race. It slowed me to a walk a few times, so I got to enjoy the views. The hardest part was the last half mile. We had to run back along an unshaded dirt road, skirting the pond by the pavilion, where we could see the spectators and everyone who'd already finished. And they could see whether I was still running. I really wanted to walk for part of that last bit, but kept running (slowly) out of pride. We circled wide to get back to the finish line, which I couldn't see until I'd made the final turn. It was a nice surprise to see my housemates and friends there to cheer me in, with a sign and everything! I found a little finishing kick for the last 50 yards, very happy to be done.
My time was slightly faster than the previous race, and being one of the few women who completed the 30K series, I earned a pair of Brooks Cascadias. Not bad for 90K in 3 months.

Six days of rest, and on the seventh day, fall marathon training began. So far, I'm enjoying the base building phase.

The Loop 30K

Skipped my usual pre-race breakfast because I just didn't feel like it. That had some consequences in the last 5K when my stomach started growling. Two weeks prior, I ran a loop of the course with my training group. It was a tough morning and I was not looking forward to running three more loops of that course. Turns out it wasn't so bad (some things never quite are in retrospect)

Highlights:

• pre-race campout. The weather was nice enough to "cowboy camp." Gracie was a little more restless because the surrounding campsites had a later "lights out" than me, but she eventually settled in. So nice to sleep in the open.
• ending the first loop, a little family group was up on the bluff above the parking lot cheering the runners. The little kids stuck their hands out for high fives. That kind of stuff makes me smile. I was disappointed they weren't there for loops 2 & 3.
• halfway into the third loop, I noticed a bright red salvia blossoming off to the left of the trail, and wondered how I'd missed seeing it the first two loops. It looked almost neon in contrast to it's surroundings.
• spent most of loop 3 running alone. Emma Long is far enough from town to escape some of the sounds of civilization, which is nice.
• swimming. Spent some time throwing balls & sticks in the lake for Gracie to fetch the evening before. After the race I got to appreciate the cool Lake Austin waters and give Gracie more time in the water.
• finishing with Gracie. Robin arrived during the race to take over Gracie duty, as I had left her secured under a shady tree while I ran. As I made the final turn to the finish, Robin was there with Gracie and I took her leash. Continuing the trend of terrible race photos, the photographer was plagued by dust and wind and didn't get any good shots of us. I was t-i-r-e-d at the finish and Gracie practically dragged me across the finish line. Love that dog, and appreciate Robin for making the effort to come out and support me.
• strategy: start easy finish strong. I really started slow and easy this race, got into my groove around mile 4, then felt steady and strong until the last 5K, when I ran out of gas. Overall, a slower finish than The Maze, but my post-race recovery was easier.
• mental challenge: at the end of each loop, we crossed the parking area (where we could see the finish area about 100 yards away) and headed back into the trees to do a twisty but flat half mile or so until we popped back out near the finish. I was not expecting that little add-on after the first loop, and it didn't get any easier for loops 2 & 3.

Oh yeah, I was first masters female for this race. There were two 40+ women ahead of me, but they took overall honors, so I got bumped up in the standings. I'll take it.

Trail Days

Two years removed from my Appalachian Trail thru-hike, I am still struck by how firmly that experience is etched into my psyche and weaved into my existence. It is rare the conversation where I don't have some related anecdote I could share from the hike. Rare is the day that ends when I haven't thought of someone I met on the trail. I can't hear the wind in the trees, watch an incoming storm, listen to the rain, sit outside, hear songbirds, owls, watch birds in flight, hear "Hey Jude," see a reference to Hannah Montana, or spend time in the woods without remembrance. Sometimes those moments feel like slipping into a warm bath, sometimes I just smile with knowing. On good days, my heart opens up with gratitude and love for the experience and I'm no longer haunted by the question "what's next."

trail racing

or, what was it I missed so much about trails when I was marathon training?

My return to trail running after six months of almost exclusively road running actually resulted in a more balanced appreciation for both disciplines. Each has its challenges, joys, frustrations, and benefits. The past couple of weeks, my trail group has done intervals on the hike & bike trail and the road, and the speed work has been a welcome change. For awhile, I wondered if concentrating on trail running was a mistake. Maybe I should have focused on road and track-based speed work during the "down time" before marathon training resumes, considering the BQ goal. But two months in, my foot seems completely healed, and I'm convinced that the trail work is strengthening my structural foundation while maintaining the cardio and mileage base, leaving me better prepared for speed work. On to the race report:

The Maze:
A mere month after the marathon, I was questioning my sanity, as the first race in the 30K trail series loomed. I soon learned that a 30K on the trails can feel a lot like a marathon. Started before sunrise, opted not to wear a headlamp (good choice), set the watch to beep every 15 minutes to remind me to hydrate and (every other beep) eat. Ran with Noel from work, who started faster than was comfortable for me, and I worked to keep up anyway. Here's where I learned to never disregard start easy, finish strong. Before the first aid station, I let Noel know I needed to back off a bit, and she graciously slowed her pace somewhat. But I was already working beyond comfortably hard, and would hover there the rest of the race, miserably so in the last 10K. After the aid station at mile 3, Noel offered to regale me with the epic saga of her week of jury duty on a criminal case. I don't quite understand how people have conversations while running. For me, talking expends energy that I need to keep running. The only reason Noel didn't beat me in this race is because she talked for at least six miles. Granted, I asked some clarifying questions and threw in some commentary, but even so, I was still working to maintain pace while she blithely bantered and ran.

Oof! early in loop 2 of the 3 loop race, my toe caught a root when I cut between two trees and I went down hard on my right knee, reopening a scrape from the previous weekend. That's a pain that's gonna linger. Not supposed to be experiencing the last lap lazies just yet, but I am already fatigued. Noel waits while I assess the damage and then we ease back into running. She cautions me to take it easy and let the adrenaline settle. Good advice. When we finish the second loop, Robin is there with the Gracie dog, who gets quite confused when I run past.

Loop 3 is a practice in managing discomfort, staying alert enough to keep from tripping again, and a hard realization that I'm not fully recovered from the marathon. Post-marathon, both quads were sore to the bone for a week and a half. The left more so than the right. Years ago, when I played softball, I trashed my left quad sprinting bases. Every spring, I'd pull the same muscle early in the season, but I haven't been that kind of sore in years. The last 10K of the trail race brought that to mind and I decided that the marathon had aggravated the old injury (muscle memory works both ways) and this trail race wasn't helping matters. Fortunately I had a massage scheduled for later in the week. My awesome pacer Noel pushed me onward, claiming my marathon training gave me the edge on the last 10K. We managed to pass another masters female in the last 5K and I finished a couple of seconds ahead of Noel.

The aftermath: Third in my age group, 5th masters female, and not quite as sore as after the marathon - I was able to walk downstairs by Wednesday following the race. That's progress. There was serious chafing, but I'll spare you the details.

A note about Noel: two weeks after The Maze, she was in quite the bike crash and suffered broken jawbone, cheek, and orbital bones. Fortunately, she was wearing a helmet and riding with a friend who was able to get emergency help. There was no car involved in the crash; one moment she hit a spot of gravel and next she was on the pavement, unconscious. Scary. It's motivated me to finally get a RoadID. Ride with a helmet and emergency identification/information, you never know when you'll need it.

more marathon recollections

Found the following the other night. As with many things, I'm fortunate that I wrote them down, because I would never have remembered them otherwise. Please note these were written the day I ran the marathon, while I was still high from the experience and effort. In other words, it's a mixed bag and much dorkiness/corniness may follow. Stuff in brackets [] are my edits.

What did I see and experience today?

The strength of my heart and will
My perseverance and willingness to work - to do the hard work toward reaching a personal goal [In all my years of running, I've never put my abilities on the line/to the test the way I did training for and racing this marathon. My first words after finishing: "Oh my God, that was hard"]
Slips of blue sky above the clouds
Delightful, cooling breezes
People who came out for reasons I don't entirely understand to cheer on marathoners. Are most of them there to see people they know and cheer for strangers while they wait?
Runners in tutus
Runners in veils
A squirrel as frenetic about crossing the road as if negotiating through oncoming runners were as challenging as negotiating through oncoming cars. Seriously little dude, we're not moving that fast.
A rare glimpse of my fun-loving, adventurous spirit. [What else explains why I jumped into a 50 degree lake after the race? Totally worth it, by the way]

There probably was more, but I fell asleep as I was writing, so there you go.
Incidentally, I never completely lost any toenails, they're all still hanging on for the ride, a couple by only tiny slivers, but they're there. Still have the marathon splits in my watch, too.
Coming soon - trail race reports. I have my second 30K this weekend. After a practice loop of the race course last Saturday morning, I was dreading the race. Then I managed to work in a solo 14 mile greenbelt run Sunday evening wherein I realized I've been going too fast in my training runs. Being competitive with my training group is appropriate for speedwork and hills, not so much for the long runs. Sunday's run was at a comfortable pace and it felt good to focus only on my effort and not chase anyone. It helped that there was no one to chase. So, my outlook for the race is a little better today. No time goal. Actually, I expect I'll be some minutes slower than the last race. Ok by me.
Also, nice to notice the only thought about my foot issue is that I'm not thinking about it. Tonight's 7.5 miles of fartleks in the minimalist trainers confirm - the foot is healed.

Race Report: Austin Marathon 2/20/2011 (Part Two)

The rest of the race is mostly a remembrance of the level of pain (or discomfort) I was experiencing, or the friends I saw along the route.

Miles 13.1-15
As I make the turn onto Bull Creek, I realize I'm not going to remember much from this race. I'm so focused on my effort level, what's going on with my body, and getting through each mile that I'm not taking in much of what's going on around me. That makes some sense because this is my town. I have biked and run these roads so much over years of training that it's familiar. But especially after the halfway point, a lot of the race is just as much a blur today as it was when I ran it. Things I do recall:

The musicians I thought would be an annoyance were absolutely wonderful. I got an energy boost and remembered to smile every time I saw them. Favorite group: the kids choir (Palm School, maybe?)

The aid station volunteers were also wonderful. Some of them had quite the knack for finding and reading names from race bibs and addressing runners (including me!) by name as they handed out water. By the time I got to Bull Creek, I was no longer with Devon and Christina, so that bit of personalized attention was very welcome.

There was one unfortunate volunteer at the aid station along Bull Creek who cheerfully told runners "it's all downhill from here!" I am sure she meant it to be encouraging, but I knew all too well there were hills waiting for me in mile 25 and plenty of false flats before that. I realize I'm overly sensitive to comments like this after all the time spent on the AT hearing people say "you're almost there" when I'm a whole state (or two) away from the end, or "it's all downhill from here" when, quite obviously, it's not. So as I passed, perhaps with a little more bite than necessary, I yelled back "Stop saying that!"

At this point, I'm working a little harder than "comfortably" hard, though "comfortably" in this sense has no relation to sitting on the sofa watching a movie. Then I remember that Amber, who I trained with for my first Half-Iron tri, lives along the course and throws a marathon-watching party in her front yard every year. It's epic - they practically drag their living room onto the front lawn. And there they are - Bad Amber, Amanda, and Mandy, standing in the street cheering us on (probably Shelley, too, but I didn't see her). They recognized me as I ran past and I got another surge of energy that lasted about 200 yards. I'm pretty sure I took in another gel during these miles, but, you know, it's a blur.

Miles 16-20
Making the turn onto White Rock, the only thing on my mind is the long false flat of Great Northern that's coming up. I'm totally zoned out when my buddy Noel from work yells my name from the sidelines and starts running with me. She lets me know the four hour pace group is a little ahead of me (I file that tidbit away with no comment - their race is not my race), asks me how I'm doing, tells me not to waste energy responding, then proceeds to ask lots of questions. I end up chatting more than I intended, which takes an energy toll. But I'm glad for the brief bit of company. I recover from the conversation by the time I hit Great Northern. I'm hoping to see Devon & Christina's crew along here, and sure enough, they spot me as I approach Greenlawn. Again, nice to see support along the route. I had only planned one gel during this section of the race, but take two (good thing I brought that extra) about three miles apart. I think both were caffeinated, so that's three caffeinated gels for the day. I'm still working hard, the quads are tightening up a bit more, but aren't yet painful, and around mile 17 realize that I'm no longer having any discomfort from the hot spots or my foot. I hit mile 20 a little slower than goal pace, but a lot can happen in 6.2 miles.

Miles 21-26.2
I take my last gel between miles 20-21. Five more miles seems like a loooooong way from here. I start gradually picking up my pace around mile 21. From here on it's a total guessing game. I'm trying to hit my splits on my watch but keep missing the roadside mile markers, so I really have no idea what my pace is. That probably worked in my favor to motivate me to work harder. Between 21-22 I wonder if I've had too much caffeine because I feel a little nauseous, but that works itself out within a mile. Alisha & Scott are at North Loop and Lamar with their pups, and a sign for me! Yay. And I see Vishal from training group! More yay! I chose to walk through each aid station to make sure I was adequately hydrating, but in those last 5 miles, it got harder and harder to start running again. By the time I hit mile 23, the legs are really tight. The best I can do is focus on quick, light feet. The less time my feet are on the ground, the less pain in my quads. Other than the quad pain, everything else feels ok, but I'm ready to be done. I am passing lots of people, but it happens in super slow motion. I feel like I'm either zoned out or that I have pinpoint focus on the work at hand (and it is definitely work), I can't tell which, probably doesn't matter.

When I hit mile 25, I am delighted to see that I am two minutes faster than goal pace. Which means I have 10 minutes to run the last 1.2 miles. At least that's how the math worked out in my head. I realize I've got my sub-four in the bag and the thought occurs to me that I could take it easy for the last 1.2. I quickly throw that option out the proverbial window. In all my years of running, I rarely put it all on the line, rarely raced, and am finally learning what it feels like to "leave it all on the course" so that is exactly what I will do until I cross the finish line. This last 1.2 is not easy, those San Jac hills are looming, so I keep something in reserve for them as I run through the t.u. campus. When I hit San Jacinto, I get a little unexpected motivation. Off to my right, two young women are cheering on a girlfriend of theirs, but I find them overly loud and annoying so I run faster to get out of earshot. Before I know it, I'm up & over San Jacinto and heading downhill to Congress. I wait to make the turn onto Congress to open up, but as soon as I do, my legs almost buckle, so I dial it down a notch, then keep pushing across the finish. First marathon done. 3:58:45. Tough, but worth it.

Post Race Thanks
The cheering sections - Devon's family, Christina's family, Noel, Alisha & Scott, Vishal, the volunteers, Bad Amber & Company - thanks for the motivation and encouragement!
Robin - my post-race domestique. That was an unexpected surprise. Thanks for schlepping my stuff, putting up with my rambling, and keeping me company.
Devon's Dad - my loaner dad for the day, who brought fresh garlands from Hawaii for Devon, Christina, and me. Incredibly sweet!
Emily, Nicole & Robin - for joining me for the impromptu celebratory steak dinner
Amy - for the coaching and for helping me create a realistic race plan
Me - for doing the work to train for and execute said plan
My body - for holding together for 26.2

I'm probably forgetting something or someone, but this report is as overdue as the marathon was, so I'm calling it done.

What's next?
I've already signed up for another marathon in the fall. For now, I'm spending the spring trail running - just ran my first 30K race today - and will return to triathlons (and marathon training) this summer.

Race Report: Austin Marathon 2/20/2011 (Part One)

Or, It's About Time!
(I finally run a marathon and finally post the race report - ok, part of it)

First, the week leading up to the race was the most intense pre-event week I've ever experienced. I don't recall being as wound up the week prior to my first Half-Ironman triathlon, which was my biggest event prior to the marathon. The last weekend before the race, I hardly slept Friday and Saturday nights, and I was on a low level adrenaline high most of the week. I repeatedly caught myself tensed up in anxiety mode and would take a few moments to calm myself down and relax. There were elements of fear (what if I reinjure my foot? how bad will the predicted heat be? is my time goal achievable?), but mostly it was nervous anticipation, or anxiety on the edge of the unknown, as I've learned to call it. It was fun to feel that "up" for a week, but I worried that I was wearing myself out before the race even began. Other than general pre-race anxiety, these were the most significant sources of worry leading up to the race:

• Hot spots and blisters that appeared a week and a half before the race. Same shoes and same socks I'd been wearing all through training, so why now?. To circumvent a full-tilt freak out, I emailed my coach, who talked me down and helped me with a plan to deal with them. I soaked my foot in concentrated epsom salts a couple of times and taped my toes for the remaining training runs. By race day the blisters were mostly gone and any possible problems (from those particular spots) were held in check by taping.
• First potential loss of a toenail. Really? I hike 2178 miles and run over 575 in training with toenails intact (a feat in and of itself), and a week prior to the marathon one nail begins to separate itself from my toe? Not the best timing. Looking on the bright side, I reason that losing a toenail makes it official that I'm really a runner, as if that wasn't already obvious. Another quick email to the coach for advice (did I mention my coach is patient?), and I trimmed the remaining nail as close as possible. After which I realized the exposed quick was not at all tender. I assumed I'd lose the rest of the nail during the race and was able to let it go and forget about it.
• Saturday evening, from 4-9pm, the night before the race, when I should be well hydrated and fortified, the salad I had for lunch came back to bite me on the butt. The most delicate way to put it: I did not stray far from the bathroom that night. I grew increasingly concerned that all my efforts to hydrate throughout the week were being foiled. Assessing the situation, I kept up my efforts to hydrate by drinking lots of Nuun and water and decided that if I was still having problems race morning, an Immodium was in order. Amy will no doubt be surprised that I didn't send her a panicky email about this, too. Fortunately, everything worked itself out by race morning, though I did have an Immodium tucked in my pocket during the race for insurance. I probably will never again dine out the day before a race.

Between trips to the bathroom, I forced myself to eat a reasonable dinner, set out all my clothes and gear for race morning, set three different alarms to wake me up, set a timer to remind me to take gels during the race, and reviewed my race plan. Best decision I made: to add an extra (insurance) gel to my nutrition plan. Race morning, my stomach seemed OK, I was able to eat my usual breakfast of oats, almond butter, and banana, and continued to hydrate with water and Nuun. As I left the house, Gracie looked awfully disappointed that I was clearly leaving for a run without her. Sorry pup, but running a marathon is not in your best interest.
Pre-Race
Christina, Kevin, and Matt met me at Rogue and we all drove to within blocks of Congress Ave. (curb service doesn't get any better), where Christina & I got out and started to make our way to gear check and then the porta potties. Kevin & Matt joined us and we met up with Devon and her entourage at the Rogue tent and headed to the start at 6:30. Despite the warm (for a marathon) temps, which were in the low 60s, I was chilly and kept my 2 extra shirts on until about 5 minutes before the start. Pre-race photos, nervous banter, National Anthem, first gel, a bit of water, the starting gun, aaaand we're off, sort of.
Start-Mile 5
Once the race started, we stood there for a couple minutes, then started to walk slowly toward the start line. Lots of people. I'm not a fan of big crowds, but that's what you get with a marathon, in most cases. It took just under 8 minutes to get to the starting line. We started to jog a bit probably 50 yards before the start. Those first two miles were spent trying, for the most part unsuccessfully, to find running space and rhythm. I wondered how much harder those San Jacinto hills would feel when I saw them again in the last mile. I was really glad to have a small water bottle that allowed me to skip the crowded water stops in the first five miles. I missed the first mile marker, so waited for mile 2 to clock my first split, which was 5 seconds faster than goal pace total for the first two miles. Missing the mile markers and not knowing my mile splits would become a theme. Still warming up and looking for my rhythm as we made the turn onto Congress. The long climb going south on Congress is too early in the race to be terribly hard, but I was definitely working and wondering about the shorter, steeper hills to come. Took my first gel as scheduled. Amusing sight - a guy in a red shirt with a picture of a Heinz ketchup bottle on his back, running with a woman in a yellow shirt with a picture of a Heinz mustard bottle on her back. The Heinz's. <dork>I asked them where the relish and hot dog were.</dork> I'll admit it, I was a little giddy to be racing my first marathon.
Miles 6-10
These miles felt the easiest of the whole race; most of my work was concentrated on holding something back. I'd read enough horror stories of people blowing up in the last 6 miles because they'd gone out too fast or pushed the pace in the early miles because it felt good. Fear of "the wall" and an exponentially tougher last 10K held me back, along with my coach's "start easy, finish strong" mantra. These miles also went the fastest, in terms of mental time, not clock time. But they were not without their issues. As I rounded Ben White onto South First, the ball of my right foot felt like one big hotspot. I was completely flummoxed. Why was I getting a giant hotspot where I'd never had one before? This did not bode well for the rest of the race, and there was a lot of it left. I tried some minor adjustments to my foot strike, but nothing seemed to resolve it, so I resigned myself to keep working and address it if it got worse. Took my second gel as planned, and had a few swigs of Christina's coconut water, which her support crew had on hand when we hit Cesar Chavez. Immediately after taking it I worried I'd made a mistake, since I'd never trained with it. As we made the approach to Winstead, the 4 hour pace group passed us, going at what seemed like a pretty good clip. I felt a little concerned, but also knew they were going faster than my goal pace, so I let them go and continued to run my race plan.
Miles 11-13.1
Ah, the turn onto Enfield where the marathoners split off from the half-marathoners, the course, to my relief, became less crowded with runners, and the hills started to get serious. I was working pretty hard to stay on pace, and had taken my first caffeinated gel earlier than planned. I was hoping for a little boost for the hills. As it was, I maintained pace through the hills, but that was the extent of the boost. When I hit the halfway point, I was a full minute slower than goal pace, but I didn't know that because I only knew my goal splits for five mile increments. I was glad to crest the last big hill (for awhile) at the 35th street overpass. Structurally, I had no foot pain, the hotspot was no worse, but, my quads were beginning to feel a little tight. The real work was supposed to start at mile 20, but it felt like it had already started.

to be continued...

Note: It has taken far longer than I planned to write this. The day after the race, I received some heartbreaking news that took priority. While I dealt with that, the race report was on hold. Thanks for your patience.

pre-race acknowledgments

Before I write the race report, I have some acknowledgments to make about the process and support I experienced in the months of training and injury recovery leading up to the marathon. Without which, I would not have made it to the starting line.

Julie - For encouraging and motivating me to start running again. Your consistency and dedication to running is admirable, and knowing you would be waiting for me at the lake for those 6am runs was crucial for me getting back out there. Big thanks for loaning me the flotation belt for aquajogging, as well.

Katie (and Neeley) - for joining us on many of those early morning lake runs and for keeping me company for an aquajogging session. Aquajogging is not the most exciting way to spend a morning, getting to spend one of those sessions with you was a highlight!

Devon - for motivating me to actually sign up for the training and the race. I don't remember who brought it up first, but I'll accept the blame if you say it was me. We both initially wavered about whether this was "the year," but when you emailed and said "so, are we really going to do this?" that was all I needed to commit. You frequently assert that you do not love running, at all, and I realize (finally) that you're not kidding about that. So I have nothing but respect for your commitment to the process (vocal complaints during training notwithstanding). Nonetheless, it was great getting to spend more time with you and get to know you better. Here's to the 2011 triathlon season!

Christina - Devon and I fortuitously met you when we chose to deviate from the map on our first long run and you followed. You were a great training partner, and not just because you had a geekometer (GPS). I really love that I made a new friend along the way. Another committed runner, you impressed me with your willingness to go for ridiculously early or ridiculously cold runs due to travel. Especially awesome that you actually like running (and trail running) and occasionally mention Leadville. Here's to the 2011 Trail series!

Amy, my Rogue coach - I couldn't have asked for a better coach for my first marathon. Smart, talented, honest, responsive, and caring. You were available for encouragement and advice anytime I asked, and when I strained some foot muscles just eight weeks before the race, you talked me down from several mini meltdowns and helped me stay grounded and motivated. Your advice to the team regarding strategy and the mental aspect of racing a marathon was invaluable. I knew I could finish a marathon regardless of who I trained with, but you were the best person to help me achieve my time goal. Here's to the next one!

My Rogue teammates - Team in Training taught me the value of group training (best antidote to the bed magnet), and while the Rogue culture is a bit different from TnT, I really enjoyed the new friendships and the shared experience of toughing out the training. Knowing y'all would be there motivated me to show up and work hard. Speaking of hard...hardship is a great teacher, and at a low point three weeks into my injury recovery, I realized how much I missed y'all. So that Saturday, instead of heading to another long session of water running, I chose to ride the run route on my bike. It made my day to get to see you guys and offer some support and encouragement while you ran. That one morning had a lasting effect on my attitude through the rest of my injury recovery.

Alisha - for geeking out with me about running and active recovery from sports injury and for being an awesome cheering section.

Dr. Spears & my PT, Ryan, from Sports Performance Intl. You came highly recommended from the athletes I consulted when I was injured, and you did not disappoint. While PT is not the most exciting thing to do, Ryan's home assignments were effective. I didn't budget for a visit to an orthopedist and physical therapy when I signed up for this marathon thing. Thankfully the money was there when I needed it and honestly, I was grateful to discover a structural weakness early and develop and implement a plan to resolve it.

My parents - for helping to keep me in running shoes and supporting my running habit. I know you don't entirely understand all my athletic pursuits, but you support me anyway. That's love. Most of my family would only run if you they were being chased, but there's some athlete genes in there somewhere, and I thank you for those, too!

My non-athletic friends - for asking about and listening to me prattle on about my training and my injury. I know you don't entirely understand why I do this, but you support me anyway. That's true friendship.

My housemates - for letting me hog the bathtub for ice baths and mineral salt baths. Also, see above.

My A#1 training buddy, Gracie Ann - for motivating me to get out and run on those solo training days. You make the neighborhood loop more fun and remind me to stop and smell the roses and watch the monk parakeets. You could slow it down a little, though; those are supposed to be easy pace runs.

My Body - I put you through a lot in the past few years - a year of physically demanding work with Habitat for Humanity, six months of strenuous hiking followed by six months of very little activity as my body recovered from the trail. Then I asked you to train for a marathon, essentially starting from zero. A year ago my knees hurt so bad I couldn't run 5 miles, and I was still emotionally and psychologically depleted. There were times I wondered if hiking had ended my life of running. The answer is clearly no, but 2010 was definitely a rebuilding year. Starting from ground zero is never easy, but when you've been running for the better part of 25 years, it is tempting to whine about it. Just a little. There were many times I had to dig deep to remind myself that this body - these feet and legs - carried me over 2000 miles, and they could run just a little bit longer. It's never too late to experience something new, but it was strange to feel so strongly the urge to just stop. Fortunately, that feeling does not come at the exclusion of the one that says you can do one more, go a little further, keep at it a little longer. It's just new to have the competing messages. The hard reality is that hiking changed my body. I pushed too hard and my body rebelled eight weeks before the race with a foot injury. I sought help as quickly as I could, worked hard to recover, and am lucky the injury was minor.

It was a victory to make it to the starting line, but I didn't do it alone. It takes a village to raise this marathoner. Thanks for all the support y'all!

Long-Distance Hiking with a Dog - Part 7: Gear

Or, you want me to wear what!?!

Early in our hike, the last day we were in Georgia, the weather was really cold when we lunched at PlumOrchard Gap shelter. I was concerned that Gracie's feet were getting too cold. She was already decked out in her fleece coat and wore her harness and backpack over that. After I packed up from lunch, I put Gracie's dog booties on her. She always takes a few minutes to adjust to wearing them, and initially acts like a cat with tape on its paws - lifting and shaking each paw and basically acting as if she doesn't know how to walk. I try really hard not to let her see me laugh at her, then she gets the hang of it and we move along. This time, she wouldn't budge. Wouldn't even stand up. After a few minutes of coaxing (and muffled laughter) she won. I took the booties off and she trotted along, happy as ever. I realized later that I'd crossed her maximum accessorizing threshold. No more than two items of doggie clothing. Booties and backpack, jacket and booties, jacket and backpack were all tolerable, but her doggie dignity would not allow one more item. Duly noted.

Here's a brief list of gear your hiking dog might need on the trail:

• Collar, ID tags, and leash are obvious, but I'm including them anyway. I chose a Ruff Wear 6' leash that had an adjustable loop on the person-end, which I could use to attach the leash at my waist. Not previously a fan of hands-free leash walking, this proved invaluable on the trail because it left my hands free for hiking poles (also invaluable) and provided a simple means to hitch Gracie to whatever suitable hitching posts I could find on breaks or in town, such as trees, shelters, poles, bedposts, etc.
  
• Doggie backpack. Don't expect your dog to carry this full time, unless you're willing to slow your pace when it's hot and shorten your hiking days while your dog gets its trail legs. Gracie only carried hers 20-30% of her time on trail. There were many days when she started with the pack in the morning, but by mid-morning, I'd removed it and strapped it onto my backpack. I was not enthusiastic about adding the extra 5-8 pounds from her pack to what I was already carrying, but her ability to enjoyably hike the trail was more important than my comfort. After repeating a few episodes of bouncing her pack ahead, and putting it back on her when we caught up to it, only to find myself strapping it to my pack yet again, I finally left it in the bounce box for good in Pennsylvania. When we got to the more challenging terrain (and cooler temps) in New Hampshire, Gracie carried the pack for the rest of the hike, often with very little weight. I carried her food; she might carry my snacks and lunch for the day, whatever trash we found along the trail, maps, and an extra 1/2 liter water bottle. Be prepared for a wide range of reactions when people see your dog wearing a pack. They run the gamut from "how cute" to "how cruel." Clearly the following photo shows that Gracie doesn't mind wearing the pack if it's not too hot, mind you. This was taken in Maine, in October.
  
  
• Cold weather clothing. I heard of one dog's hiker who'd converted a kids down jacket to a dog jacket. Ingenious, but I had neither the time nor the motivation to be so resourceful. I found Gracie a Ruff Wear water resistant fleece-lined jacket. I ended up cutting the sleeves off it because they chafed when she was wet. After using it a couple of times, it seemed like it was most effective when we hiked in the rain/cold. Gracie seemed to shiver more if she was wearing the jacket around camp. So, in camp and at breaks, I would put out the sleeping pad (and sleeping bag if it was really cold) for her. Sometimes I would wrap her in my rain shell, as shown in the first photo. Her coat worked best to keep her torso dry and clean when we hiked in the rain.
  
• Booties. We carried these 1800 miles before we needed them. And when we needed them, we really needed them. Many times I almost put them in the bounce box along with the backpack, but I always had second thoughts and tucked them back into my pack. I found these on the interwebs several years ago after trying several types that wouldn't stay on. These, which are from England, are made from tough cordura and have two velcro straps per bootie. They're tough and they stay on. Gracie's pace started to slow through the Whites of New Hampshire as we approached Mizpah Hut for lunch. The trail was made up of lichen-covered rocks, which must have felt like walking on sandpaper to her. I was exhausted and thought she was too, but when I checked her feet after lunch, her pads were beginning to show signs of irritation. Heeding the accessory threshold, I put the booties on her before we set off. She was wearing the pack, so I wasn't sure how she's respond, but after a few steps, she seemed to realize that with booties, she still had traction and no pain. It was like having a whole new dog, so delighted she was to have her super powers restored. Here she is on day two with booties, looking down into Carter Notch.
  
• Food/water bowl. Again, probably obvious. I'm all for multipurpose gear, but even as a thru-hiker, I have some standards and I was not about to share my food bowl with my dog. I used a light plastic reusable container for hers. You can see one in the top photo. We used at least three different ones on the hike. I kept dropping stuff on them and cracking or breaking them. Or leaving them in town. Duct tape was handy for patching the holes and cracks that developed. I cut a hole in the corner so I could attach the bowl to a backpack (mine or Gracie's) with a carabiner.
  
• Bear bell - you may think you need one of these, but trust me, you don't. We started out with one, but by day three it was tucked away in my pack, nice and quiet-like and I was no longer in danger of becoming homicidal from the incessant noise.
• Doggie bandanna or towel. When you've spent all day hiking in the rain and mud, you may not want to share a bandanna with your dog for clean up duty. It was easy enough to carry a half size bandanna that was dedicated for Gracie's use. She's also pretty fastidious on her own, so there wasn't much for me to clean up once we were ready to bed down, thank goodness.
• Tweezers. Ticks are nasty little creatures. You will pull ticks from your dog and probably yourself. Tweezers make it much easier. I used the tiny ones that came with my tiny Swiss Army knife, and shockingly, never lost them, or the knife.
  

Long-Distance Hiking with a Dog - Part 6: Logistics

Or, we've walked 20 miles today and I don't want to take another step
Getting To and From the Trail
This is one of the biggest challenges for hikers with dogs. Unless your dog is a certified therapy dog, bus and train travel are off the table, as is airline travel, unless you're willing to subject your dog to being checked as baggage. That's just not something I was willing to do to a dog that was going to walk over 2000 miles. Gracie loves a good road trip as much as I do so, I drove my car to the trailhead in Georgia and left it in long-term parking. That long-term parking is some trail magic in and of itself. For only $5 you can leave your car for the duration of your hike. I had to ask the park rangers several times because I couldn't believe it was a one time fee, not a daily rate.

I did not make advance arrangements for our departure from the trail because of the unknowns - would we make it all the way to Maine, and if so, when? Or would we need to get off the trail earlier, and if so, where? I had discussed the possibility of a ride to Bangor with the woman who would keep Gracie while I hiked Baxter State Park, and the hostel where I stayed in Millinocket offered a shuttle to Bangor, so those were possibilities. When we finished the trail in Maine, my friend Phil actually drove up from Massachusetts (bless him!) to celebrate with us and he ended up driving us to Bangor to pick up a rental car for the drive back to Georgia.

There are no car rental agencies near the Georgia trailhead, so I still had to arrange a shuttle from the Atlanta airport to Amicalola Falls State Park after I dropped off the rental. We took several days to drive back to Georgia, so I made those arrangements en route. On returning to my car, I was not terribly surprised the battery was dead. I probably should have disconnected the terminals, but it was a three year old battery when we left, and was due for replacement anyway. I was also lucky rodents hadn't taken up residence in my car as they had in another poor hiker's car. Still the park staff was very helpful. The guy I hired for the shuttle from Atlanta works at the park, and he gave me a jump start and we drove around the park to see if the battery would hold a charge. No dice, so Gracie & I camped one more night, I got another jump start in the morning, and we drove to the nearest town for a new battery, hoping I'd left enough gas in the tank to get there. Dang but that's a lot to keep track of while you're tending to a dog and you're both exhausted from months of hiking.
Shuttles
Besides getting to/from the trailhead, other places where you might encounter shuttles or public transportation include the Great Smoky Mountains; Delaware Water Gap; NY train station near Pawling, NY; Great Barrington, Dalton & Cheshire MA; and Rutland, VT. Because you won't have your dog with you in the Smokies, you can take that shuttle to Gatlinburg or Cherokee, but in all the other cases, dogs are not allowed on public transportation. Be prepared to either find a safe place to keep your dog, hitchhike, or watch your hiking buddies go enjoy town without you.
Hitchhiking
I actually planned my hike to minimize the amount of hitchhiking we'd need to do. Hiker forums provide conflicting reports on people's willingness to pick up a hiker with a dog. The few times we hitchhiked, unless we were with Willow, it took 30 minutes or more to get a ride. I wondered if perhaps I didn't "look" like a thru-hiker. Regardless, I was happy with my decision to keep hitchhiking to a minimum. There are several hostels and hiker motels that will pick you up at the nearest road crossing with advance notice, and I took advantage of that as often as possible.
Boarding/Kenneling
There are three sections of the trail where dogs are not allowed - the Great Smoky Mountains National Park (NC/TN), Bear Mountain Zoo in New York, and Baxter State Park (Mt Katahdin) in Maine. Some people choose to skip or hike around those sections. Skipping sections of the trail, any of it, was not part of my plan, so I chose to board Gracie while I completed GSMNP and BSP. There is a blue blaze alternate trail around Bear Mountain Zoo, which is considered "official trail" for hikers with dogs or hikers passing through outside of zoo hours, so we used that path. I had a good experience boarding Gracie for GSMNP and BSP.

For the Smokies, the boarder met us at Fontana Dam, brought the resupply boxes I'd had shipped to her, and then returned Gracie to me at Standing Bear Farm, at the other end of the park. Gracie was ready for some R&R, and I was ready for some time away from the relationship. I encountered some of the most challenging weather in the Smokies, and was often grateful Gracie wasn't being subjected to the hypothermia-inducing conditions. It was a real struggle to keep myself warm & dry, and I couldn't imagine how I would've taken care of her as well. The week of rest served her well. She was happy to see me again, and excited and energetic when we returned to the trail. I wanted Gracie to have a consistent diet, so she ate her usual food, which I provided, for both of her kennel stays, minus the dehydrated food, which I saved for the trail.

For Baxter, Gracie stayed with a local couple and their crew of dogs. I was a little nervous that it wasn't a kennel situation, but a phone call the next morning revealed Gracie had taken up a spot on the family sofa, so I quit worrying. As I climbed Mt. Katahdin, I was again grateful that Gracie was not with me. The climb was fairly challenging, and the summit greeted us with driving sleet, wind gusts of 50+mph, and wind chill temps below freezing. By her accounts, Gracie may have gotten the better end of the deal on that sofa!

Long-Distance Hiking with a Dog - Part 5: Lodging

Or, You want my dog to sleep where?
Lodging on the Trail
If you read the hiker forums for information about hiking with dogs, and if you plan to hike with a dog, I highly recommend you do so, you will discover that dogs on the trail are a polarizing topic, and a lot of it has to do with where the dog sleeps. From what I read, I anticipated that we would not spend many nights in shelters, because we'd be unwelcome. The reality was much different. I always asked my fellow hikers if they minded having a dog in the shelter. With one exception, everyone was agreeable to sharing a shelter with Gracie. That said, we began our hike late-ish in the hiking season, and rarely experienced full or crowded shelters. Still, in an effort to be respectful of shared space, I would claim a spot against a wall, if available, and tether Gracie so she wasn't free to wander around or get into others' food and belongings. For the most part, Gracie was more than happy to curl up and warm the sleeping bag once we got to camp, whether in the tent or a shelter.
Speaking of tent, I started the hike with only a tarp for our shelter - no floor (I carried a tyvek groundcloth) and no bug netting. After the first few rainy nights it was clear I'd made a poor decision in terms of comfort. Another drawback was that there was no means for me to secure Gracie in the tarp while I tended to camp chores, so that's a deduction for convenience.
Thus, we spent a majority of our nights in shelters for the first half of the hike. Partway through Virginia, my friend Jenny loaned me her tarptent (floor + bug netting) for the rest of the hike. It was palatial in comparison to the tarp and Gracie, who was crate trained, seemed quite content and secure when zipped in by herself. Our routine when we got to camp was for me to secure Gracie to a tree or post, set up the tent, then put her in it to rest while I made dinner. Often, when I would fetch her after setting up the tent, she would pull me to the tent door, so eager was she to get into her "den." For the second half of the hike, we spent more nights in the tent than in the shelters. We slept better and I appreciated the privacy and reprieve from the smells and noises of other hikers and rodents.
Gracie was always good about grooming herself on wet/rainy/muddy days, and I would wipe her down with a doggie bandanna if need be, but other than a good shake out once a week, the tent stayed pretty clean by hiker standards. Campsite selection was no different than when hiking without a dog. We often camped near shelters to enjoy the company of our trail family and access to nearby water sources and privies, but we also spent some nights away from the shelters.
The Whites
In the White Mountains, I never knew from one day to the next where we would be sleeping. No camping is allowed above treeline, and you spend most of your time hiking above treeline through the Whites. Dogs are not allowed in the Huts, which usually offer work-for-stay to thru-hikers, and for a portion of the trail, approved campsites are too far apart to reasonably hike from one to the next in a day. Through the White Mountains, we stayed at three campsites, two stealth campsites, and one Hut. I managed to work-for-stay at two Huts, one of which had us stealth camp a quarter mile from the Hut. Was making the trek to and from the Hut five times worth breakfast and dinner? It was worth a good story, at least. A better story comes from the Hut stay. Lakes of the Clouds Hut offered us space in "the dungeon" emergency shelter in the basement. However, as I was getting ready for bed after my work exchange and dinner, a skunk joined us. I notified the Hut croo, probably interrupting their game of whisky slaps, and they kindly offered us space in an empty bunkroom. One of the nicest first-class upgrades I've ever had. But don't count on that in the future.

Lodging in Town
Here's where it gets more challenging, logistically and financially. Much of the lodging options in town are small, independently owned and managed businesses that cater to the hiking community. Bunkhouses, hiker hostels, small motels. They provide whatever information you might see in a guidebook, therefore the information in guidebooks is not consistent. If a place does not explicitly indicate they welcome pets, it doesn't mean they don't, but neither does it mean they do. I made lots of phone calls during the months before we started the hike to inquire about pet policies and plan around that. If you're hiking sans canine, you can be much more cavalier about where you stay in town. Sometimes, lodging with a dog means you pay more for a private room, because they don't allow dogs in bunkrooms. It can be more challenging to find someone to split a room, as well, though once your hiker family has gelled, this is less of an issue.

The siren call of a hot shower, hot meal, clean laundry, and a warm, dry bed is hard to resist, but if you're hiking with a dog, be prepared to spend more time figuring out where you will stay, and possibly spend more money. I always looked for places where Gracie could stay with me. In Virginia, there were two places I stayed where she wasn't allowed indoors, but I felt the outdoor accommodations were reasonable. Happy Hiker Hollow in Atkins, VA turned out to be one of my favorite hostel stays on the trail. From the guidebook info, it seemed they did not allow hiker dogs, and I did not initially plan to stay there. By the time we got closer, we had spent the last several nights in the rain, I was miserable, and couldn't bear the thought of another night in the rain. After some amusing miscommunication, I learned Gracie could stay in the barn with the chickens, where she would be warm and dry. It was not my ideal arrangement, but she seemed to manage just fine, as did the chickens, and the little bit of separation was worth the opportunity to dry out.
At Bear's Den Hostel they had a dog house for hiker dogs. Since I had a bed for the night, I doubled up the sleeping pad for her, and again, she seemed to be fine and didn't notice that they misspelled "Princess Gracie". I was glad there was no rain that night.
Those were the two exceptions. Otherwise Gracie bedded down next to my bunk, or was in bed with me when we weren't camping out.