Exploring the relationship between tragedy and humanity

As the country, if not the world, struggles to come to terms with what happened in Boston on Monday, the Internet is filled with people’s stories of how close they were to the blasts—how many minutes before or after 4:09 they crossed the finish line, where they were standing when the explosions went off, whom else they knew who was there.

What is it about tragedy that makes us all want to be so close to it, all the while feeling exceptionally grateful that it didn’t happen directly to us? I struggle with this question, because I’ve felt this compulsion to draw a thread of connection, however thin, between myself and those at the heart of so many recent tragedies that have befallen communities I’ve been a part of.

Last year’s Seattle coffeeshop shooting touched me deeply, because I ran by the Racer Café often, and because several of the victims were friends of a friend. The avalanche at Stevens Pass that took the lives of three talented skiers in February 2012 hit me hard as well, at least in part because Chris Rudolph and I had recently chatted about a story for Western Snowsports on Washington ski areas for which I was helping solicit photos. After 9-11, I shivered to learn that my dad’s colleague’s nephew was aboard the plane that hit the north tower.

Are these scenarios any more or less tragic, due to my flimsy connections to them? Certainly not. Did I really know any of the victims? No. Is it unfair to those who did, to their friends and families, to say that their deaths, through however many degrees of separation, hit close to home for me? Why do I even feel compelled to write about these tragedies in the first place, when in reality, they’re so far removed from my own life, linked only—in this case—by a shared passion for running long distances?

On September 11, 2001, I was sitting in a journalism class when the second tower fell. Our teacher seized the opportunity to have us all spend the class period writing articles on the events as they transpired, chronicling the reactions of those around us. Even for the sake of education, something about it didn’t feel quite right to me—this grabbing at others’ misfortunes and transforming them into “opportunities.” It was an aspect of journalism that, at the time, rubbed me the wrong way.

A year later, on the anniversary of 9-11, I wore an “I Love NY” shirt to class, among other red-white-and-blue accessories. A classmate indirectly berated my choice, ranting to the class about those who’d boiled the tragedy of others down to cheap commodities and material patriotism, who’d used it as an opportunity to draw attention to themselves … I felt deeply shamed, even as her accusations didn’t ring true with what I felt my motivations had been when I got dressed that morning. What I wanted was to express some sense of solidarity with those who’d experienced losses I couldn’t even fathom; perhaps my method of doing so was misguided, or amounted to little more than an empty gesture, but it was what made sense to me at the time.

Here I am more than a decade later, in the role of an actual journalist rather than a student one, working for a publication that, by its very nature, cannot ignore the events in Boston on Monday—no matter how much I’d like to crawl inside my Internet-less hole of a home, forget that any of it really happened and wait for my broken heart to mend.

But I can’t do that. This is my community, the magazine’s readership. Writers and athletes I’ve been working with on stories were there; our readers and subscribers were there; countless friends and acquaintances from the greater running community were there.

News and social media reports indicate that hundreds of runners and bystanders ran toward the blasts, rather than away from them. In the most literal sense, such actions are a display of our very human desire to help others, to experience solidarity in our increasingly isolated society. Many reports thus far are overwhelmingly about the heroic efforts of everyday people aiding one another, rather than conjecturing about the coward who caused it all; for this kind of journalism, I am grateful.

The truth is that people die, often in gruesome ways, every single day. Yes, I am deeply saddened that the Boston Marathon will never be the same again. (I still hope to run it someday.) I am saddened, too, that the running community as a whole has been tainted. I am even more heartbroken for the victims themselves and their families, whose lives have been irrevocably damaged.

Perhaps another of the great horrors of Monday is that the images plastered across the media of bloodied and dismembered bodies are ones that are in our papers every day, but rather than on the front page, they’re tucked into the backs, under headlines about countries that seem so far removed from our daily lives that we become immune to feeling anything for the atrocities they report. We flip the page and move on with our lives, and for our indifference, we feel a little less human—or, at least, I do.

Maybe, then, we find ways to articulate our tenuous personal connections to tragedies like Monday’s not because we seek attention, but because we want to feel empathy. In the midst of our generally comfortable lives, we want to experience the very things that most make us human—our connection to others, our compassion for the suffering of strangers, our sense of global community.

My heart goes out to all affected by Monday’s senseless tragedy. I do not wish to use it as an opportunity or soapbox—and perhaps, despite my best intentions, that is what I’m doing here anyway. But for what it’s worth … humanity, I still have faith in you. I am grateful to live in a beautiful world where love and community still far outshine tragedy.

This won't stay in Vegas

I am, at heart, an optimist. I prefer the rosy-tinted goggles to dark shades, and I really, really wanted to like my experience in Vegas last weekend. After all, I like to like things!

But I think that in this case, I must apply the old adage my aunt once passed along to me: Everything is either a good time or a good story. I've been dying to sit down and write this story all week long.

The problems began before Lauren and I even arrived in Vegas. This nighttime marathon/half marathon event sold out at a whopping 44,000 participants - which already sounded like far too many. On the other hand, the Competitor group and their Rock 'n Roll events generally have a solid reputation for putting on world class events, so I relaxed. I relaxed even more upon learning that of those 44K, only 6,000 would be doing the full marathon, and we'd get to start an hour and a half earlier than the 38,000 half runners.

However, I noticed a worrisome thing when I looked at the course maps online: we full marathoners would run a 13.1-mile route off the strip before merging with the half marathon - which was run almost entirely up and down the famous Las Vegas Strip. From the outset, this seemed like a terrible lack of planning on Competitor Group's part - only the elite full runners would be fast enough to miss the messy merge with the half runners, whereas the rest of us could fully expect to run into a wall of the back-of-the-pack half runners and walkers. I was not the only full marathoner stressed about this before hand - the event's Facebook page was littered with runners asking whether there would be separate lanes for full and half runners. Competitor Group ignored all these questions, leaving us all in the dark, uncertain of what to plan for or count on.

Competitor Group further ticked me off by not allowing Race Day packet/bib pickup. I understand this rule when the marathon starts at the crack of dawn - but when it doesn't start until 4 p.m., it seems a little unnecessary. Furthermore, it wasn't made clear at registration, so if for some reason your travel plans didn't put you in Vegas in time for the Expo the day before, you had to pay an extra $40 - FORTY DOLLARS!!! - to be able to pick up your packet at all - and even then, you had to be one of the first thousand people to sign up for Race Day pickup, or else you were SOL. All this on top of the $140-170 you already paid - which, for you non-runners still with me at this point, is about twice what a typical marathon costs to run. Talk about a money grab.

Let's jump to the marathon day itself. While the 4 p.m. start was part of the initial draw for me to this event, it actually proved a bit odd - Lauren and I had no idea what to do all day leading up to the marathon. We'd laid out all our clothes and gear the night before, slept in late, then more or less spent the day twiddling our thumbs. We couldn't eat too much, certainly couldn't drink, didn't want to be on our feet too much...so there went an entire day of our Vegas trip, lounging around and doing very little in our hotel room. When the time was finally nigh, we hopped on the monorail to get to the starting area at Mandalay Bay resort/hotel/casino.


Our race start was fairly pleasant. The sun was shining brilliantly, the temperatures cool and the wind tame. Lauren and I hugged and wished each other good luck, found our starting corrals, and soon enough, the race began. I felt great for about two miles, maintaining a good clip right at about 8-minute miles. A talkative Canadian woman fell in step with me at that point, making unpleasant conversation as she ticked off, at no particular prompting, a litany of her race accomplishments, PR's, Ironman times, training philosophies, opinions on GPS devices, etc. In my haste to try and shake her, I made the classic mistake of running the next few miles a little too fast, clocking a 7:45 and a 7:40 mile. Whoops. This being the first day of a certain time of the month, this was also about the point at which abdominal cramps kicked in. The party was just getting started!

Obviously, of course, none of these factors had anything to do with the Competitor Group and their race organization. By all counts, in fact, they were doing great at this point! The weather was ideal, the sunset over the mountains as we all ran toward the desert was lovely, the bands along the course were good.

However: no porta-potties for the first 8 miles of the course. What?! I've never used a bathroom during a marathon, and fortunately didn't need to this time - but there were plenty of people hopping off the course, women squatting in the bushes, because Competitor Group failed to provide any toilets for large stretches. The few porta-potties that appeared later in the course were so few and far between that the lines were outrageous; reports later indicate the average wait time was around 15 minutes if you needed a mid-race bathroom break.

But let's talk about my first real encounter with disaster: nearly getting mowed down by a cop car. At about mile 7 or 8, there was an aid station on the left side of the road, which many of us drifted over from the right side (where we were, in anticipation of a right turn in the course soon) to try to access. Before I made it, though, a few cop cars came down the left side of the road, driving against the marathon traffic, separating us from the aid station we were trying to access, honking their horns with their siren lights swirling in the darkening dusk. This was befuddling indeed.

The cops started yelling at the aid station volunteers not to give us any water. Turns out the marathon course would eventually double back on itself on this road, so they were the aid station for later in the course - not yet. Obviously, none of them had been told this beforehand. The volunteers began frantically yelling at runners not to come over to their tables after all, which all led to a great deal of confusion and weaving and more angry yelling.

So, while I thought running at night would be amazing and peaceful (the way it always is at Ragnar), it was anything but. The race organizers - for good reason, of course - had lined the whole course with massive street lights powered by massive generators. I have a strong personal policy against racing with headphones, but the annoying whirr of these generators made me wish I'd brought some headphones after all to drown out the noise. Like running next to a lawn mower mile after mile!

Meanwhile, my cramps were getting worse. I came close to dropping out at several points, just feeling miserable and generally feeling like I hated running. I knew I'd started out way too fast when the 3:30 pacer group caught and passed me around mile 7 or so, and I already felt too pooped to try and stay with them. But I kept going.

As we approached the Strip again around the halfway point, the crowd energy was fantastic. There was music, cheering spectators, lights...all of this was great. I strung together a few more sub-8-minute miles and felt like a rockstar. But then...then came the true plummet into race-organization disaster.

I hit the halfway point in a new half-marathon PR of 1:45:18, on pace to finish in under 3:31 - a more generous Boston Qualifying margin than I'd even thought myself capable of - and I was proud of myself for gutting it out through what had already been a pretty tough race, mentally. The merge with the half marathon, however, was every bit as disastrous as my worst imagining.

The "separate lane" for the marathoners, a tiny chute along the left side of the Strip, was delineated with small orange cones, spaced hundreds of yards apart. Every tenth cone or so had an 8.5 X 11" piece of paper with size 16 font on it explaining that full marathoners should stay to the left, half marathoners to the right. In the dark, among the stampeding of tens of thousands of feet, you can imagine that the cones went entirely unnoticed. Most had been tripped over or kicked aside by the time I ran by them.

Full marathoners were yelling at half marathoners to stay to the right. This fell entirely on deaf ears. A few bike marshals tried in vain to ride through the crowd and keep half and full runners separate, but they were screamed at, spat on, and ignored as well. I don't blame the half marathoners; they were "running" in the biggest clusterf--- of their lives, too, and just trying to find space to be able to move - but to be on pace to Boston qualify and then be literally running into the backs of half marathon walkers, arms linked and chatting on their cell phones in the middle of our 10-foot-wide lane, was beyond acceptable. The ugliness that emerged between runners was the most depressing and deflating part of it all - the yelling, the name-calling, the pushing and shoving. Maintaining a positive mindset was harder than trying to maintain my physical pace at this point.

Over the next 13 miles, I pulled my calf muscles more times than I could count, dodging between runners and walkers, jumping on and off of curbs just to be able to run at all, much like try to maintain any semblance of my pace.

The aid stations were some of the worst on-course messes of all. There were no flags or lights indicating ahead of time where they were, and in the dark, you'd be even with the aid stations before you even realized they were there. This created horizontal movement across the course, resulting in tremendous traffic jams with tripping and more pushing and shoving. I missed a couple aid stations altogether because it was too late to "merge" horizontally across fifty people to get myself water. Moreover, there weren't separate cups for water and Cytomax, so you had to stop and have a conversation with the volunteers to find out what you were drinking. Lastly, there was ICE in some of the Cytomax cups - can you say choking hazard? Christ! I still have no idea what ice cubes were doing in Dixie cups when the temperature had already dropped to 40 degrees.

From mile 16 through the end, I only ran one more sub-8-minute mile. My calves cramped up horribly from all the curb-jumping and course-weaving. The half-marathon stampede never thinned out, so until the very end, I couldn't run in a straight line. And don't get me started about the horrible screamo-angry-metal band we had to listen to twice along the Strip. I was not in a good mood when I crossed that finish line in a chip time of 3:36:36.

Which is really a bummer, since it was a new personal record for me, and a full six minutes faster than when I ran Amsterdam less than two months ago!

Traffic was completely backed up at the finish line, thanks to Competitor Group's brilliant idea that all runners needed to funnel through a photo line before going anywhere. No room to walk, no room to sit down, no room to even put your hands above your head without whacking someone else's face with your elbow. I felt nauseous in the crowd.

The finishers' "food" provided at the finish line consisted of bagels hard as hockey pucks and bananas green as grapes. I walked by a woman with a banana who was complaining to her husband, "I can't even break into this thing!"

At this point, I got the hell out of there and went to stuff my face at the Bellagio buffet with Lauren and her parents - and so concludes my own list of relatively mild complaints about the race. Not awful, but certainly not great either. Unfortunately, I learned later, I had one of the better experiences at the Vegas Rock 'n Roll marathon of anyone. The stories that have emerged since are downright ugly.

Eventually, the aid stations ran out of water and Cytomax. The half marathoners out on the course for three or four hours had nothing. Then they ran out of medals. Half finishers were initially given full marathon medals (as if anyone could feel excited to wear a medal for a race they didn't complete!), then when they ran out of those, had nothing to give the finishers. I don't know how that happens in an event that's been sold out for two months, but it did.

The sparse medical tents were not given even basic supplies like blankets - so when runners began pouring in with the beginning stages of hypothermia (the temperature drop once the sun went down and winds picked up was substantial), RN volunteers were offering their own jackets and clothes to help warm runners back up. Totally unacceptable.

All runners were funneled, after the finish line, through a single set of doors into the Mandalay Bay casino - nothing like being swarmed in mobs of people, cigarette smoke and flashing lights after running a marathon! The Michael Jackson Cirque de Soleil show, also in the Mandalay Bay, let out at about the same time that many of the slower half runners were finishing - so another 35,000 (mostly drunk) people joined the already massive mob inside the casino. This is where crowd control utterly failed. People began throwing up, passing out, and getting trampled - but the mob was so dense inside that medical assistance was nearly impossible. The Strip was so clogged with ambulances and taxis afterward that most people reported being able to run the entire race in less time than it took to get back to their hotel at the end. Although the Competitor Group had promised free shuttles at the end of the race, there were none in sight, and so most of us wound up walking (limping?) for miles after running to get where we needed to go.

After running out of water, some of the aid stations started using hydrant water for runners. Hoses from hydrants filled trash cans, then volunteers scooped cups in the trash cans to fill them up - talk about unsanitary! On top of Las Vegas having one of the highest levels of pollutants in their water supply, it's no shock that handfuls of runners reported violent sickness after this whole fiasco.

The Competitor Group had reported in pre-race materials that parking for runners would be free and available at many of the major casinos. Unfortunately, this turned out not to be the case, and many runners were turned away at the casinos that had been specified and forced to find parking elsewhere, resulting in them missing the starting line or just being unable to reach their starting corrals. The corrals in the half marathon failed entirely, so most half marathoners couldn't start actually running until 8 or 9 miles into the race, due to all the walkers in the early, unenforced corrals.

Another minor, but nevertheless notable, Fail on Competitor Group's part was the pre-race "medical information" in our swag bags. There were two different pamphlets with race day tips - one which recommended all runners take a baby aspirin the morning of their race, and another that warned that aspirin has been shown to reduce kidney function and should be avoided for 24 hours leading up to any race. Way to be consistent, Competitor Group.

But the ultimate Fail of all is that for 36 hours after the race, the Competitor Group failed to comment on the deluge of stories and complaints. Instead, they went to the local news channel and filmed a segment on what an "economic success" the event was, and that they plan to open it up to 60,000 runners next year.

Three days later, finally, there was a formal acknowledgment of "difficulties", and a commitment to hearing runners' feedback and using it to improve next year's event, plus a generous $10 off our next Competitor Group event - but I'm afraid, it was too little, too late. There are too many amazing race directors and organizations who do an incredible job and value the runners that keep them in business. This was nothing but a giant money grab, and I have no interest in ever being a part of it again. I'm sorry calves, I'm sorry wallet, I'm sorry first time runners who may never be interested in doing a race again because their experience in Vegas was so atrocious, I'm sorry half marathoners who trained for months for this and didn't even get a medal at the end.

Some of these issues would be forgivable - except that this organization puts on dozens of these races every single year, and have a huge full-time staff devoted to race organization. They collected over $7 million in race fees for this. From race spokesperson Dan Cruz, "We certainly learned a number of things that will be planned better in the future" is simply not enough to make up for what happened this year in Vegas.

Haven't had enough? Read on. Four days later, the horror stories are still pouring in by the hour: Rock 'n' Roll Las Vegas Marathon Facebook page.

Amsterdam Marathon Race Report

Well, the morning of the marathon began with a minor disaster - biking all the way to the starting line at the Olympic Stadium, only to realize that I'd left my waist belt with my water bottle and all my energy gels (hauled all the way from Seattle!) on the floor of our apartment. Jeetje! Fortunately, because I'm a Nervous Nelly when it comes to time, we had about an hour to hop back on our bikes, ride furiously back to the apartment, gather my gear, and ride our bikes back to the stadium in time for the official race start. We made it back in plenty of time, but I got a little more of a warmup than I was anticipating!


Ready to ride to the starting line, smiling because I haven't yet realized I've forgotten my hydration belt.
Nevertheless, with 13,000 some runners, there was a huge bottleneck getting into the stadium for the start. I, along with thousands of others (including Cinta, who ran as a pacer for runners gunning for a 3:45 time) were still outside of the stadium in a huge mass of people trying to get in when the gun went off and the elite runners took off. My mom snapped the following photo of me right before I joined the crowd and made my way to the start.


I didn't cross the starting line for a full 11 minutes (and then some) after the official start of the race, but of course, chip timing assures you still get an accurate time. The start, then, was quick - out through the stadium and into the streets of Amsterdam, every bit as crisp and sleepy as Sunday mornings in Seattle, save the pattering of thousands of footsteps on the pavement.


The first few kilometers were really an exercise in strategic stepping, weaving between other runners to find the space among the crowd to be able to run a steady pace. Cinta and the two other 3:45 pacers, who ran with purple helium balloons above their heads, set a steady clip at the beginning, so I fought the running crowd to be able to stay even with them.

Eventually, the crowd thinned and spread out a bit, and I fell into a comfortable - albeit challenging - pace. Having run a 3:45:16 in Eugene last May, but having done about the same mileage in training this time around, I had no hopes for this race other than to thoroughly enjoy the course and hopefully come in under 3:45.

For the vast majority of the race, I stayed within range of the 3:45 pacers, occasionally dropping in next to Cinta to say hi. Despite my best efforts to pick up my pace a notch and put some distance between myself and the 3:45 pacers, inevitably the phrase I heard most from spectators along the sidelines was, "Ohh, hier komen de drie uur, vijfenviertig lopers!" - here come the 3:45 runners! Almost invariably, when I pulled over a few seconds at the aid stations to chug some water or AA drink, the pacing group would pass me again.

Meanwhile, the course was beautiful! In many ways, it was very similar to the Eugene course - a virtually flat course, starting in the stadium, running a small initial loop that lapped by the stadium again before taking off for the outskirts of the city, and running a long out-and-back up and down a scenic river...


...and eventually winding through a bit more urban scenery before finishing at the stadium. The weather was also reminiscent of Eugene - cloudless blue skies, pure sunlight, and cool, crisp morning air. In other words, ideal running weather.

My mom was an amazing supporter and cheerleader, hopping on and off her bike all morning to see me pass at several points along the course - at the ready with a bag of BodyGlide, alternate running shoes (because the ones I planned to run in mysteriously developed a little hole two days before the marathon!), and other gear...none of which I wound up needing, happily. It was wonderful to be able to see my mom along the way, hear her yell excitedly, and give her quick hugs before running on.

With that said, I learned that my mom's trademark whooping and cheers are not so trademark after all...I can't tell you how many whooping Dutch people along the course sidelines I mistook to be her all morning long! On another note, this really was an international marathon - runners not only from Holland, but from France, Israel, Denmark, Sweden, Germany, Japan, England, Scotland, Portugal, Kenya, Ethiopia, Brazil, Italy...apparently there was a small handful of other Americans, too, but I didn't meet any of them.

Because I couldn't find my Garmin before leaving for Europe, I ran only with a stopwatch - and because all the signs were in kilometers instead of miles, I never had the moment when I ran by a 20-mile marker and felt obligated to get nervous about hitting the wall. Whether the common 20-mile bonk is a placebo problem or not, who knows - but somehow, for me, not having that sign or marker seemed to help. Though I could definitely feel my legs tiring after the first couple hours - I've only done two running workouts in the past 8 weeks that could really classify as "speedwork" or training "at race pace" - the remainder of the miles felt challenging but not increasingly so, and there was enough left in the tank to sprint out the final 200m on the track. I crossed the finishing mats a full two and a half minutes faster than my last (and previously best) marathon.


Cinta and I at the finish line!




My mom steals my medal and space blanket, and strikes a pose.
RACE RECAP! (mostly for my future reference, and for the curious running geeks amongst my blog readers, too...)

Average weekly mileage in 8 weeks leading up to marathon day: 29 miles + 2-4 cross-training sessions

Longest single run in training: 23 miles

Race Day Breakfast: Raw Revolution Spirulina & Cashew bar, glass of water with a generous spoonful of chia seeds, a few pieces of dark chocolate

During the run: 2 packs of (non-caffeinated) Clif ShotBloks (1/3 of a pack every 35-40 minutes), ample water and a bit of AA Drink (Dutch Gatorade)

By The Numbers:
1st Half-marathon split: 1:51:39 (8:31 pace)
2nd Half-marathon split: 1:51:02 (8:28 pace)
Overall time: 3:42:41 (8:29 pace)
Slowest 5K: The first one (27:19, 8:47 pace)
Fastest 5K: The second and fifth ones (26:00, 8:22 pace)

Weeks Until My Next Marathon: 6

Running some numbers (pardon the pun)

All right, I think it's working. Now that I got the big stuff out of the way in that last updates entry, I feel liberated to devote an entry to some elaboration on the smaller stuff.

Shockingly (I've become so predictable, I worry), the topic I'm drawn to write about is running. In my pre-Seattle life, I'd never raced longer than a half marathon - and only one of those, at that. Since moving here barely two years ago, I've done 10 races longer than the half-marathon distance that once seemed quite daunting indeed.

Not that I really hold a candle to the many, many talented and prolific runners out there who are putting in huge miles way beyond what I do. The great thing about the running world is how simultaneously empowering and humbling it can be. Nevertheless, my move to Seattle clearly marked a turning point in my athletic life. As I head into my most dense period of endurance racing yet, I found myself crunching some numbers tonight - and turned up some interesting results.

Of the four marathons and ultramarathons I've run, there has been a distinct hierarchy in my mind on how I'd rank my performance in each, relative to perceived exertion.

#1: Eugene Marathon, May 2011 (3:45:16)
#2: Vashon Ultra 50K - Trail, June 2010 (5:34:34)
#3: Vashon Ultra 50K - Trail, June 2011 (5:36:24)
#4: Seattle Marathon, August 2009 (3:55:51)

Eugene was just a blast, hands down. I felt strong and relaxed pretty much the whole way. I knew what I was doing. It wasn't the longest distance I'd ever run before. I'd had more racing experience to fuel and hydrate properly on the run.
The 2010 Vashon was also a blast. Nervous about tackling a distance six miles beyond what I'd ever run before - and on trail, to boot - I started very conservatively. I had the wonderful Elodie to pace me the last ten miles. It was challenging, sure, but again, I felt strong and solid the whole way through - and even knocked out a miraculous first place finish.
The 2011 Vashon, though my pace reflected almost identical performance to 2010, was much, much harder for me - physically and thus, mentally. Things just didn't feel as good as the previous year.
The 2009 Seattle marathon was just kind of a mess. It was exciting because it was my first, and I had about 16 or 17 really amazing miles - but I just totally fell apart after that. Rookie mistakes. Got cocky, started too fast, didn't really fuel, and so forth.

Until tonight, I'd never really sat down and taken a hard look at the statistics of my training/preparation for each of these events. During my extremely brief stint working at 24 Hour Fitness when I first moved to Seattle, I remember consulting a personal trainer, Kyle, about marathon training tips. He'd run a bunch of marathons and ultras, and his biggest piece of advice was, "Don't underestimate the importance of running high weekly mileage."

If my general training strategy has a weakness, it is indeed in my weekly mileage. When I meet new people and am preceded by my running reputation, they often assume I must run all the time - every day, at the very least. Nothing could be further from the truth. Anywhere from zero to two runs a week is pretty standard for me, three runs a real accomplishment, and four runs a week a rare miracle.

Tonight, I looked at my training log and added up the average weekly mileage stats for the 8 weeks preceding each major endurance race I've done. I found some astounding and revealing differences that I'd never really noted in comparison before.

#1: 2011 Eugene - 25 miles/week + 1-4 cross-training sessions (max: 43-mile week, longest single run in training: 24 miles)
#2: 2010 Vashon - 32 miles/week + 1-2 X-training (max: 48-mile week, longest in training: 25 miles)
#3: 2011 Vashon - 22 miles/week, no X-training (max: 41-mile week, longest in training: 20 miles)
#4: 2009 Seattle - 19 miles/week + 0-1 X-training (max: 33-mile week, longest in training: 21.5 miles)

See? I don't run as much as most of you think I do. For all the rambling I do about it on my blog, I'm really quite a part time runner.

So what conclusions can I draw from all this? First, that Kyle was right: weekly miles matter. Second, that racing experience also matters - but not so much that it will totally compensate for under-training. Third, that cross-training is generally a good idea. Fourth: given that conventional marathon-training advice states that beginners should aim to run 30-50 miles/week in training, I could probably be a hell of a lot better of an athlete if I just put in few more miles each week.

On a curious sidenote, my overall body weight seems to have little effect at the margin. I don't keep consistently detailed track of my weight, but suffice to say that I was roughly ten pounds heavier when I ran the Eugene marathon than I was when I ran Seattle. In that case, perhaps overall racing experience did compensate after all. Hmm!

Anyway, here's to running higher mileage. I've logged 42 miles and 3 cross-training sessions this week, with six weeks until marathon day - so far, so good. Now, off to bed so I can get up and squeeze in some miles before hitting up the river in the afternoon for string band practice :)

Weekend in Oregon: Beer, sunshine, and 26.2 miles

First and foremost, thank you all for your kind words on my last entry here. My blog saw a record number of views the day I posted my entry on Sasha, and many of you took the time to send me messages or call, and I want you all to know how much I appreciated your love, comfort, and support over the past week. The loss of a pet is never easy, but being able celebrate her life with you all meant a lot to me. I'm honored that so many of you took the time to read my words of tribute to my dog, and also that they resonated with you. Thank you, all of you...I am grateful for you in my life.

Second of all...as always, bless running.


And living among mountains.


This past weekend was a wonderful respite from the "real world", as Alan and I made an Oregon road trip out of the weekend and spent our time taking my little Passat for a grand adventure through mountain passes, by lakes, along babbling rivers, into the woods, and through a few new towns. The whole weekend was all in the name of the Eugene Marathon, about which I wrote a story for Outdoors NW last spring and was registered to run in 2010 until I injured myself about a month out. Bummer.

This year, however, my body has held up to the training I've put it through. Maybe it's the new shoes (running in lightweight, neutral shoes for the first time, after a lifetime in stability shoes), maybe it's all the trail running and hills around Seattle strengthening my muscles, maybe it's just getting smarter about my training over the years...but in comparison with my last marathon, this one was a blazing success.

We began the weekend by driving down to Eugene - Tracktown USA, and home to many running greats throughout history including the late and great Steve Prefontaine - for the Expo. We stopped in Portland for lunch that day, finding (as we did for the entirety of the weekend) little hole-in-the-wall, mom-and-pop restaurants along on our way on Yelp. Family-owned Lebanese restaurant? Heck yes; 5 stars for the Nicholas Restaurant.

Guided again by editorial I've done for the magazine, I was really interested in checking out Bend (there will be a little mini-story of mine in the upcoming Outdoors NW about trail running in Bend!), so Friday afternoon, we started driving east in Oregon on the beautiful McKenzie Scenic Highway. The Forest Service campgrounds, sadly, were still closed for the season - the mountain pass along that highway peaks at about 5,000 feet, and the snow was still quite ample up there - so we wound up pitching a tent in an RV Park in the woods.


RV parks...never my first choice, but it was a surprisingly beautiful one, and I felt sufficiently tucked away in the forest in our cozy little REI Half Dome.

The following morning, we slept until the sunshine woke us up, and then made the rest of the drive east to Bend. Bend was a blast. The weather was incredible, and we spent an entire relaxing Saturday exploring town.


Our afternoon included: getting brunch at the lovely CHOW (thank you again, Yelp), strolling along the Deschutes River that winds through town, checking out Bend's REI, stopping by Fleet Feet to meet and chat with the Patagonia-sponsored runner that I interviewed for my story on Bend, and polishing off the afternoon with a couple microbrews on an outdoor terrace downtown. And I have to say, I think Oregon kicks Washington's butt in microbrew-land. Alan's 10 Barrel Brewing Co. S1nist0r Black Ale (Bend) and my Rogue Hazelnut Brown Nectar (Eugene) rocked both of our worlds.

Anyway. We drove back to our campground that night, stopping in Sisters for dinner at an old hotel renovated into a sweet saloon-type restaurant called Bronco Billy's for my official pre-marathon meal (grilled salmon, rice pilaf, and a skewer of grilled veggies = yum!) before cruising through the mountain pass at sunset to return to our campsite. Beautiful drive.


Us with the Sisters mountains in the background.
Sunday morning, the alarm clock went off at 4:30 a.m. By the light of my car headlights, we took down camp in record time (it was freeeezing cold out), hopped in the car and hit the road for Eugene. The weather, again, couldn't have been more ideal - perfect sunshine, and temperatures ranging from 42-55 degrees in the morning (68 later in the day...).


The starting line, outside of historic Hayward Field.
The marathon itself was incredible - beautiful course along rivers and trails and through beautiful wooded areas as well as quaint residential areas, full of energetic spectators, great musicians along the sidelines, and pretty flat and fast overall. And yes, I ran the whole thing with my camera (in a pocket of my hydration pack, but easily accessible while running.) I am that devoted to you all, my blog readers. :)



It was the opposite, in many (good) ways, of my first marathon in Seattle in 2009. I obviously went into this one with a great deal more long distance running experience under my belt; when I ran Seattle, 26.2 miles was the longest I'd ever run before. At mile 20 of Eugene yesterday, I thought, woohoo, only a 10K left; thank goodness I don't have to run 31 miles today!

I fueled much better this time around, taking in gels or shot blocks or squeezable packs of almond butter at 30-40 minute intervals. I stopped at every single aid station for a cup of Gatorade, and sucked down water from my pack on the run. I'm pretty sure I remember only stopping at a couple aid stations in Seattle for water or Gatorade, and only eating one (maybe two?) gels. Whoops. Live and learn.

I also ran the first half much slower. With Seattle, in my excitement, I accidentally clocked a 7:02 mile early on, and crashed and burned with 10:00+ miles and a lot of walking at the end. This time, my slowest mile (9:02) was my first, and my fastest (8:12) was, of all things, the 21st...and my overall pace got faster and faster as the race went on, with the final six miles, despite my muscles starting to burn, my fastest pace of the entire marathon.


I blame (a word I use in jest) my unexpected 3:45:16 clock time on the 3:50 official pacer. I started out the race way behind him and the pack that ran with him, beginning conservatively and really enjoying the first half of the race at a leisurely pace. I honestly had no ambitions with this marathon, except wanting to do the whole thing without walking (like I did during the last 6 miles of Seattle) and secretly hoping I'd beat my time...but not feeling very confident about it. But at some point, I caught the 3:50 pacing group, somewhat to my surprise, and was still feeling very strong; I ran with them for awhile before feeling confident enough to push ahead.

And push ahead I did! I lost the 3:50 pacing group for a few miles, and felt like I was maintaining a good, strong pace. I indulged in the glimmer of hope that I might, in fact, catch the 3:40 pacer - when all of the sudden, there was that darned 3:50 pacer again, right on my heels, and pushing what suddenly felt like a VERY hard pace. This was about mile 19, when my legs were just beginning to really feel it. Seven miles away from the finishing line seemed too soon for me to start really racing (vs. cruising comfortably), but I was determined not to let that darned pacer pass me - and there he was, chasing me down.

That sense of competition pushed me to my max. I felt unsure my legs were going to make it, but I kept reminding myself that I'd trained for this, I'd fueled everything perfectly, and there was no logical reason for me to not be able to finish the race strong - despite my body protesting and trying to convince me otherwise. Fortunately, the scenery along the river for the final 7-mile stretch was beautiful, the crowd support amazing, and before I knew it, there was historic Hayward Field and the finish line, and an unexpected miracle time on the clock before me. I finished strong, at a 7:44 pace for the home stretch into the stadium, but with next to nothing left in the tank: just the way you want to finish a race.


Bliss!

Best quote from my blog entry about my Seattle marathon: "3:45 would have been great, but that's what next time's for, right?"

Next up: qualify for Boston! I was 4 minutes and 17 seconds away from a 2011 Boston qualifying time...but they've just made the standards even more rigorous, so my goal for my next marathon, whenever that may be, is to run a 3:34:59. It's going to be hard to top this experience, though. Eugene for the win.

Life Report + my second half marathon

This life I lead is a good one.

I worked this weekend some, but all in all, it felt a lot more like heaven than it did work.

Friday: writing projects during the day (work on my trail running stories for Outdoors NW, green smoothie blogging for a website I'm doing some writing for), beaches and sushi and magic with good people in the evening


Work or Heaven?
Saturday: 3rd Annual Running Shoe Expo, i.e. spending the day outside geeking out about running shoes with vendors and customers, then driving up to Deception Pass State Park with Lauren to meet up with friends and camp by the beach


Lauren and me at Deception Pass
Sunday: Running the Whidbey Island Half Marathon, relaxing afternoon back in Seattle, potluck dinner up north with many wonderful people

Today, the sun is out, and I get to spend my day: in my PJ's, eating good food, interviewing trail runners I admire, writing for work, and meeting Ruth for dinner in Wallingford tonight instead of going to class. After much deliberation over the matter, I decided to let go of my web databases classes this semester, and drop down to halftime school, rather than doing another full time quarter.

I'm still taking a few classes I'm pretty pumped about - user experience design (creating e-commerce websites) and writing for the web (would like to teach this in the future!) - but there was no way I could keep my life balanced and thriving with any more schoolwork on my plate. While many people in the web design program I'm in are there to make a 180 career shift and get a full time design job, I will maintain that writing is, and probably always will be, my primary passion. Web design and development, while very exciting to me, are merely hobbies with which I hope to supplement and support a career path of writing and creating.

But enough of the overarching life reflections I tend to litter my blog with..let's talk about running! (...because that is something I never talk enough about on my blog...) The Whidbey Island Half was my second half marathon I've ever done. The first was the Cleveland Half nearly two years ago, and I thought I'd never be able to beat that race: the weather was perfect, my body was humming, my friend Aseem was a rockin support crew, I ran faster than expected despite it being the longest race I'd ever run, and I loved every moment of it. Whether consciously or subconsciously, I think I've avoided running any more halfs because I was scared I'd never run one as great as the race that day.


Aseem and I enjoying brewskis after my first Half.
But! Yesterday reminded me how much I love the 13.1-mile distance, when it comes to road running. It's long enough to get in a groove, but not so long that the finish line is ever impossibly out of sight. The weather was everything that Washington state is known for this time of year: gray, overcast, icy cold, brutally windy, and on the verge of pouring rain the whole time. On a clear day, the Whidbey course features spectacular mountain views (earning it its title from Lonely Planet as one of the top ten most scenic marathon courses in the WORLD) - but even with the mountains in hiding and the sky resembling a slate blanket, it was an unbelievably gorgeous course.


The ladies at the finish line
It was fun to run it with friends, too. I'd never run a road race with a friend before. We all ran at slightly different paces, but because of certain out and back sections of the course, we passed each other often and were able to exchange cheers and high fives at points. Several boyfriends came along, too, to cheer us on along the course and at the finish line. (Boyfriends were also responsible for helping put together the rockstar carbo-load dinner at camp the night before: grilled salmon with pesto pasta, zucchini squash, and portobello mushrooms...who knew camp food could be so gourmet?)

The course was pretty hilly, and I realized how much I have grown as a runner since coming to Seattle; hills used to terrify me, but these days, I embrace them. They make me feel hardcore. It's admittedly very empowering to cruise up them when others are slowing down, because of all the mountains and hills (thank you, Queen Anne!) that I've run in training; my muscles were all, "Hey now, we know what to do here!" Uphills generally mean downhills, too, which are pretty much like free periods of rest for my legs and heart while clocking sub-7-minute miles: awesome.

Overall, I finished with a chip time of 1:49:23 . I maintained an 8:21 average pace, which was an improvement over my 8:33 pace at Cleveland two years ago, but still with a big window for future improvement and PR's - the best of both worlds. Also placed 7th in my age division, woohoo!


Here's me approaching the finish line at close to a full-out sprint: so much energy still left in the tank!


Lauren also had energy left in the tank...here's her prancing around on rocks a couple hours after running her first half-marathon.
Running is delightful. It is a framework for me to understand, interpret, and process my life. I love trail running for the scenery and laidback nature and solitude and more intense mental challenge...but there's still a place in my heart for a good road race with cheering crowds, camaraderie, and course support. Really looking forward to a solid running schedule in 2011. Also, big thumbs up for camping out the night before at the world's most beautiful campground!

Next up for me: Eugene full marathon in three weeks!

Running Meets Politics: 300 mile foot races vs. changing the world

When I was at Oberlin, I got to attend free speeches, lectures, and performances by famous people all the time. (Toni Morrison, Michael Pollan, Newt Gingrich, Jerry Springer,etc...) Once you're no longer paying great sums annually into the system, however, there are fewer "free" perks. However, every now and then, I still luck out.

This week at REI, we had our annual all-store meeting. Some ambitious soul recruited world-famous ultramarathoner Dean Karnazes to speak at it. Again, I realize that for most people, "famous runner" is sort of an oxymoron, and the vast majority of you won't even recognize the name. (I know Natalie will, though! What Would Ultramarathon Man Do?) However, a short list of Dean's accolades: Ran 350 miles nonstop without rest or sleep, Ran 50 marathons in 50 states on 50 consecutive days, Ran a marathon at the South Pole in -40 degrees F, Voted one of Outside Magazine's Ultimate Top 10 Outdoor Athletes, Voted one of the GQ's Best Bodies of the Year in 2004, Winner of the 2004 Badwater Ultramathon (135 miles through Death Valley in the middle of July), etc etc etc.


He's been called "The Perfect Human."
The gist of his motivational speech to all of us was that what he does isn't so miraculous after all; it's just a matter of yearning to test his own limits.

Whenever I go for more than a few weeks or months without running a lot, I forget how much I love it. I forget how good it makes me feel, how simple it makes the world seem, and how much my mind and body alike appreciate me for treating them. I forget the surge of creative energy and flow that comes when I run, and I forget the natural high I get, and I forget, most of all, what a perfect metaphor running is for everything in life.

I've always said that I could probably be a fiscal conservative, under one condition: that how hard one works actually corresponds with how much money one makes. (A terribly gross oversimplification of my political beliefs and interpretation of the world, but allow it to suffice for now.) In such a "perfect world", it's easy to get behind the idea of straightforward economic incentives to motivate people to contribute to society, in whatever way they best can.

On a tangential but related note, my favorite quote find of the week, on the Facebook profile of a Seattle ultrarunner I met briefly at my Vashon Island run..."Don't ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and go do that, because what the world needs is people who have come alive." - Howard Thurman.

Anyway. Distance running is that "perfect world." Dean summed it up yesterday when he gave his tongue-in-cheek demonstration in response to the question "How do you run 300 miles without stopping?" He sort of did a little jog across the room in front of all of us and said, "That's pretty much it. Except instead of stopping, you just keep doing it until you've gone 300 miles."


Me smiling at the end of my first ultra!
In the world of distance running, anyone can excel. It doesn't matter if you're big, small, long-legged, short-legged, old, young, male, female, have a high V02 max or not, whatever...you see 55-year-old women kicking 25-year-old men's butts at ultramarathons. The only things that matter are: how hard you trained, how well you fueled your body, and how hard you pushed yourself mentally during the race. Sure, injuries and weather and other minor unpredictables can happen and throw you off course, but for the most part, there is a direct correlation between how hard you work and how successful you are. The playing ground is level, how much time you're willing to devote to make yourself great corresponds with how far you're able to go, and ultimately, anyone can win.

I'm finding myself more and more confused about how close or far our American society, as it stands right now, is from mirroring that world of "anyone can win." How level is the playing field? So many important people in my life, all whose opinions I value and trust, have completely different answers to that question. How much more level is the playing ground than fifty years ago? How much more level should it be? And how do we get there?

Big questions without easy answers. As opposed to...Q: "How do I get better at running?" A: "Run more."

I wish the world were like running: simple and easy to navigate. The path to running success is long, but at least it's clear cut. The path to other goals is so much trickier to identify and get started on. Seyeon, for example, wants to design and implement an entirely new school system for adolescents. I want to be a better asset to this world and use my words to help people feel more connected and understood, less isolated and hopeless. America wants to stay true to its founding ideals and ensure every one of its citizens is given the rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Where do you even start with such goals? If you want to run a marathon, the first step is a literal one; you pick yourself up off the couch and put one foot in front of the other. And you keep going. I sure wish I could figure out the first step on all the other things I'd like to change about our world...

Vashon Ultra Race Report!

Team REI takes on yet another island!
I can officially, legitimately call myself an ultramarathoner now! Yesterday, I ran 50 kilometers - which roughly translates to about 31.1 miles - nearly five miles longer than a standard marathon, and not without coincidence, five miles longer than I'd ever run in my life before. The moment in which my Garmin rolled over from 26.2 to 26.3, and I noticed that my legs were still moving along just fine, was pretty darn exhilarating.

I didn't make my Sun Mountain mistakes; I started toward the back of the pack, and used the first mile or two as a very slow, gentle warm-up, rather than trying to push hard right out of the gates. The course was a lollipop loop course, with 3 ten-mile loops, and a bonus 1.1ish-mile loop at the beginning for all the 50K runners (there was also a ten-mile event that took off at the same time as the 50K, but skipped the 1.1 bonus loop.) I started catching 10-miler runners about half an hour in. About halfway through that first loop, something scary happened: I passed a 10-miler who said, "Hey, I've been passed by about a dozen of the male 50K-ers, but as far as I can tell, you're the leading woman!"

I had NO idea that I was leading the women's race at that point. I still wasn't sure, but a family who'd set up a makeshift aid station at the foot of the gravel driveway of their tucked-away-in-the-woods home confirmed such on my second lap. They'd cut up a bunch of watermelon, which I gobbled down with the most profound sense of gratitude, but the mom was just like, "Go, go! You're the first woman...go win this race! You're an inspiration to my girls!" It's probably good she said something, because otherwise I might have stayed and eaten watermelon there forever.

Of the three laps, the first lap was, naturally, the best: the exciting exploration of a new course, my muscles fresh and energy levels high, the adrenaline of the race just getting started in my veins, plenty of other runners still around to keep me company...I felt fantastic. The single-track portions through dense forest were gorgeous and fun to run, and with some baby hills, but nothing too aggressive elevation-wise, at least not in comparison with what I usually train on. The weather was ideal: overcast and in the 50s.

The second lap was mentally, by far, the toughest. From 11-21 miles, my body started wearing down, so I couldn't cruise the course quite as easily as I had the first time around. The 10-mile runners were already done, and the 50K-ers more spread out than before, so I was mostly running alone by the second lap. I started psyching myself out with the unknown...what if I hit the wall the way I did at 18 miles on my road marathon? What if my stomach got upset? What if I developed blisters? What if I'd been horribly overambitious and would lose all momentum, and have to walk the last lap in the same cloud of defeated disappointment that I spent the last six miles of my marathon? I was the first woman then...but what if I got passed? What if I was stupid to go out as fast as I did, even taking it as slow as I thought I was? 31.1 miles is a hell of a long distance to run...

But once I made it to the third lap, I knew it was going to be okay. Elodie came out to pace me for the final ten miles, and knowing that I'd have her at my side made things a lot easier mentally. My body was certainly more tired than ever, but I never hit a wall. I remember moments in my road marathon when I thought I was running, and suddenly notice that I was actually just walking, and be unable to either remember when I'd stopped running, or muster up the energy in my leg muscles to run even more step. That never happened this time. My last lap was the slowest, but I held a steady pace, and didn't get passed by a single soul. I still even ran up the majority of the hills.


Me with my illustrious pacer!
I crossed the finish line in 5:34:34 - far from a truly spectacular time in the scheme of the ultrarunning world, but almost half an hour faster than my secret time goal I'd hardly even admitted out loud beforehand, and a first-place finish (14th overall) for my first 50K...can't complain there! The course was spectacular, and the support along the way - the volunteers, the aid stations, the families cheering along the way, the friendliness and encouragement of other runners (so many genuine "You go girl!"s from 10-miler women that I passed on my way out on my second loop as they were just approaching their finish line) - were downright amazing. I couldn't have asked for a better first ultra experience.

It's been said that long distance races aren't even about running; they're simply eating and drinking contests. My stomach does not digest well on the run, so as much as I can, I avoid consuming more than water and the occasional GU, even on long training runs. But all the advice I got for this 50K was that fuel is more important than anything else, and I HAD to eat in order to survive that kind of distance. So I did. I stopped at nearly every aid station and ate fruit and energy chomps and the occasional handful of potato chips. I carried a 1.5-liter bladder of nuun-infused water on my back the whole race, and drank it all by the end, in addition to guzzling water and electrolytes at most of the aid stations, too. I bought squeezable packs of peanut butter and almond butter which I ate while running, in order to get some protein in my system, too. I took GU gels every hour. My stomach wasn't happy the whole time, but for the most part, it cooperated. No blisters, rolled ankles, sore knees, or serious chafing either. *Knock on wood.*


The ferry ride back to Seattle at the end of the day, post-run, post-BBQ, post awards-ceremony...
As for the aftermath? My right shin feels a little sore - but otherwise, I don't even feel like I did anything strenuous at all yesterday. I think I was more sore from my Mount Si run last week than I am now from yesterday's adventure. Such a sharp contrast, again, to the Seattle marathon last November, after which I hobbled and limped around for several days. The biggest post-run effect has just been my appetite: I can't stop eating. I had a giant breakfast this morning, and my stomach still rumbled all the way through my tutoring session. Second breakfast when I got home from that, which involved pizza and eggs and a giant bowl of granola and milk. It's been about forty minutes since I finished that, and I think I'm just about ready for first lunch now...

Workin' and runnin' with the boys

Friendly deer on Orcas Island

So, I'll try to make this entry as non-running-obsessed as possible...

...but I'm probably going to fail miserably! Bear with me... So I went up to Orcas today to do some trail restoration work with other volunteers from the upcoming race next weekend. My alarm went off at 4:25 a.m., and an hour later, I was hopping in a car with two strangers with whom I'd coordinated a carpool up from Seattle - Don and Glenn. Both proved to be wonderful company for the ride up there. Don's done adventure racing and a handful of marathons, but this will just be his second ultra. Glenn gave up running races himself (with nearly 200 marathons under his belt...) to shoot them instead. He'll be photographing the race next weekend. While he and Don had crossed paths several times over the years (the ultrarunning community in the Northwest is incestuously small), they really hadn't caught up in over a decade, so it was fun to be a part of their "reunion."

We got there in plenty of time to grab a cup of coffee at the ferry landing in Anacortes and make quick friends with the passengers in the other cars bearing the requisite "26.2" and "140.6" bumper stickers. In total, there were about twenty of us who turned out to volunteer. Already on the ferry ride over to the island, I felt at home with these folks - chatting it up about all my favorite subjects: running, good food, and the Northwest in general.

The work itself involved a lot of getting dirty - slogging through ridiculously sloppy mud, wielding shovels, gathering rocks, aesthetically rearranging gargantuan logs, and essentially remaking an entire stretch of trail that wasn't draining properly. With the guidance of a geologist, we dug trenches where necessary, narrowed out and semi-rerouted the trail, rebuilt up the soil, bolstered the whole thing with rocks, and built up a bit of a gravel path where we could to assist in draining. It was awesome to examine the whole thing with the eye of an engineer - If it rains for three days straight, where is the water going to flow? How can we prevent the trail from flooding in a worst case scenario? I'll never look at trails the same way again.

Before.

In progress.

After.

My favorite thing about ultra runners is their love for food. When our lunch break rolled around, people didn't just pull out a sandwich. They pulled out one of those huge Ziploc bags with three, four, five sandwiches inside. Or a round of focaccia bread the size of a large frisbee. Bags of peanut butter vegan cookies. Yes, yes, I thought, these are definitely my kind of people.

My other favorite thing about them is that most of them are in their thirties, forties, fifties...there's a 72-year-old registered for the 50K! There was a couple, both 60, that came out for the work party today, who'd met at a triathlon years ago and have done all kinds of crazy 100-milers (etc.) together in the time since. Several of the forty-somethings commented on what an inspiration it was that they still had at least twenty years left in this fabulous sport. Doing the math on that for myself made me feel all the more psyched than I already am. Which is indescribably awesome. I feel like a child who's just stumbled into a magical world long before I was supposed to find out about it. What a paradise trail running is!

After we finished up trail work, we drove up to the top of Mount Constitution and climbed the tower there (the run next weekend crests the mountain, but it being a race, there won't be time for much tower-climbing or all too much sightseeing, of course.) The view was quite foggy, but still stunning to look out over all the water, the surrounding islands, and even Vancouver BC way off in the distance.

From there, we drove back to our base camp, where we figured out we'd missed the last ferry off the island for the next four hours - so we did the next most logical thing, which was all change into running gear and go for a little trail run around the island. There were seven of us, and I was the only female, the only one who'd never run 30+ miles before, and the only one worried out of my mind that I'd fail miserably to keep up...but we kept the pace slow and gentle, even on the uphills, and I wound up having a blast running with them - through gorgeous old-growth forest, around crystal clear lakes, by stunning waterfalls. Seriously. The Northwest knows how to do islands.

When we got back from that, we stood around talking and laughing and gorging on bananas and sour cream and onion chips for awhile before deciding to go back to the ferry landing, where I had a giant bowl of clam chowder and a big, refreshing glass of Fat Tire Ale. Over dinner, we were regaled with the (often hilarious) tales of various crazy ultras that people had done - ranging from the grueling 135-mile Badwater Ultramarathon through Death Valley in July to a 100-miler that James, the race director for Orcas, had run in which he and the other two guys vying for second place all bonked at about mile 80 and were in various stages of miserable comatose-ness at the aid station. Good times.

These guys give me craziness to aspire to.

Anyway, the sunset was pretty awesome, too:

I'd say that island + running + beer + sunset = unbeatable.

And talk about being inspired by others! Yet another awesome thing about the ultra community in general is that it's small enough that the elites are standing right next to the slower folks and newbies on the starting line. In a regular road race, if there's even a well-known name or two in the race at all, there could still well be 30,000 people standing between you and that athlete. But in a trail run, you're right there in the same place. I felt that way even today, on my little run on the trails with guys who've run for 25 hours straight before, who routinely race sub-3-hour marathons, and have done some of the most grueling, hallowed ultramarathons in the world. What an honor to go for an afternoon jog with them (on a beautiful island, to boot!)

Granted, ultrarunning doesn't get nearly the press coverage that road racing does...and road racing already gets only a fraction of the media coverage that other sports do. (Ann Trason, Scott Jurek < Paula Radcliffe, Alberto Salazar < LeBron James, David Beckham.) But the lack of recognition from the general populace doesn't stop these guys from garnering the respect, awe and admiration of those in the ultra community itself.

The Seattle Marathon

What a day! This post is brought to you from my crippled and battered but thoroughly exhilarated self, from the comforts of my couch and the heaps of ice and Ibuprofen under which I'm currently buried. Today I completed my first (hopefully of many!) full marathon. 26.2 miles through the streets of Seattle - a course that's considered "moderately hilly" and is discouraged for first time marathoners by all conventional wisdom and opinions on the Runner's World forums.

But! I love this place, and I love running, and running and urban living have become inextricably linked in my heart, so what better way to celebrate my first few months here by running the Seattle city marathon?


Alan saw me off at the starting line!
By conventional wisdom, too, I probably under-trained for today, doing 1-3 training runs a week, only once running a 30+ mile week. And being on my feet close to 40 hours a week the last couple weeks probably didn't help either.

But! (Again!) I started out really strong.


Look how happy that smiling runner's face in the crowd is!
The weather couldn't have been more ideal. Cool, overcast, but most importantly, no rain! (It's been known to sleet and hail on marathon day here, and we'd had a couple sunny days in a row, so I was terrified our no-rain quota had already been used up for the week.) The temperature, I believe, hovered in the high 40s. Little wind, with a few exceptions. Everything felt fantastic...my second mile was an overly ambitious 7:02-minute pace, but I blame it on a tempting long downhill stretch. After that, we all entered the I-90 Express Lanes and ran for several miles out and back on the floating bridge to Mercer Island - a rather excruciatingly long and straight and extremely windy portion, but nice to have lots of cars and truck honking on either side of us to cheer all the marathoners on. I averaged 8:20-8:30 miles along there and along the scenic Lake Washington Boulevard that followed.

Alan and Seyeon both cheered me on along the way. I saw the two of them together at about mile 9, and it was an incredible boost to see both their smiling faces along the "sidelines." They were fantastic. I, coincidentally, also still felt fantastic at that point.


See?
I didn't see them again until Mile 21. They apparently went and had a fabulous lunch together at a cute organic cafe on Madison. In the meantime, my legs starting wearing down. I'd been sticking pretty well with the 8:35-pacer group at that point (aiming for a 3:45 finish), and it felt like a solid but not-too-stressful pace. I hit the 13.1 mark about three minutes faster than when I raced the Cleveland Half Marathon last May. That felt pretty awesome.

At around mile 15, though, my legs started to cramp a little bit. It may have been dehydration (I did my best, Carolyn, I promise!), or it may have been the hills, or it may have just been my pushing my pace to its limits, but they got progressively worse and worse through the last, increasingly painful 11 miles. My pace slowed to 9:00 minute miles. I had a quick pick-me-up around mile 17 when Aseem called my cell phone, and I got a hearty laugh from some spectators when I picked up the call and chatted for some time while running. I wouldn't have, except that Aseem and I used cell phones to communicate our locations when he cheered me on in Cleveland, so I figured talking to him while running marathons has become a bit of a tradition at this point.

So, here's me at Mile 21:


I'm smiling, yes, as Seyeon snapped this, but it's because she and Alan had parked themselves at 33rd Avenue (I love them!) and I was so unbelievably relieved to see them again after my first few flickers of "Oh God, am I going to be able to finish this after all?" I'd taken my first walking break at that point (steepest block of the entire marathon and a steady uphill for nearly a mile following it? Ugh...) Fortunately, there was a long downhill at the end of it all, where Seyeon ran next to me, and I got a bit of a second wind.

It was short-lived, though. The last 5 miles were pretty excruciating. My legs were totally shot. I stopped to try and stretch and my legs almost collapsed out from under me as I tried to orchestrate a simple quad stretch. Uh-oh, I thought. But other marathoners are great, as are the spectators, and people consistently cheered me on with positivity and support any time I stopped to walk (which was a LOT in those last few miles.) The 3:45 pacer had long disappeared ahead of me, and I found myself stealing nervous glances backward in dire, depressing hopes that the 4:00-pacer group wouldn't catch or pass me in that final stretch.


Happily, they didn't! I crossed the mats with a chip time of 3:55:51 - which I'm really happy about, given how difficult almost the entire second half of the race felt. 3:45 would have been great, but that's what next time's for, right? I'm thrilled to have come in under four hours for my first.


Seyeon and Alan were at the finish line, with water and a space blanket and the best-tasting banana I've ever had. (There was a guy with a box of Krispie Kremes about two miles from the finish, and I *almost* went for one...) I got my calves iced at the medical tent, and inhaled everything from power bars to fruit cups, and it all tasted like heaven. As did:


It was the first time since moving to Seattle that I've been to McDonald's, but gosh were those fries yummy. And apparently a lot of other runners thought so, too. The place was jam-packed with marathoners in space blankets.

Anyway. I feel fantastic. I can hardly walk at all, and it's a blessing that I had the foresight to ask off work for the next couple days to give my legs some time to recover...hopefully a good night's sleep and some gentle walking tomorrow will help. In the meantime, though, I'm daydreaming about the future of my running life. Alan and Seyeon and I have tentatively agreed to all run Cleveland next May - so attention all friends in the Cleveland/Oberlin/Chicago (Amtrak, Becca, Amtrak!) area...stay tuned!

"We run, not because we think it is doing us good, but because we enjoy it and cannot help ourselves...The more restricted our society and work become, the more necessary it will be to find some outlet for this craving for freedom. No one can say, 'You must not run faster than this, or jump higher than that.' The human spirit is indomitable."
- Sir Roger Bannister

!

The starting gun will go off in eleven hours.



Wish me luck!