tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6463779225005921812024-02-07T21:55:15.422-06:00Energies and AffectionsMindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.comBlogger622125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-61991312796287461612022-03-09T10:28:00.002-06:002022-03-09T10:28:36.296-06:00Without a Race in Mind<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Tucked into our warm home as the new year started, I dreamed of running and race possibilities for 2022. I spread out a paper calendar on the dining room table and penciled in potential races and added in the family and racing calendars. What to do? What to run? Where to run? Thankfully there are so many options to choose from now but impossibly, I cannot run every race. I always build around what sounds fun to me- a new challenge, a new race format, a new terrain, a new distance, etc. I rarely run the same race twice and when I do, I’m running a different distance than the time before. </p>
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<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">In discussing my plans for the year with a friend, I thought for certain I would be heading back to tick off the Superior 50 miler when she challenged me to consider going for the 100 mile instead. I fought back, saying that was not a part of the overall plan. Superior 100 is way later on my made up list of what 100’s I run in what order. She laughed and said I was cute when I was riled up. She never took her challenge back and just left it there for me. </p>
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<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I picked up the idea, turned it over a few times, set it down and walked away. Absurd. My list is made up but it isn’t haphazard. It’s carefully built. I came back to the idea, examined it a bit closer, carried it with me for a while, then set it down and walked away again. My list is written on a 3x5 notecard I created years ago when I was considering running my first 50 mile race. It still seemed legitimate. I was not wrong about the information on it. Each race builds from one distance and amount of elevation gain to the next with increasing difficulty. But what I was starting to realize was that I was my own limiting factor, not the elevation gain per mile. This was a different idea and wasn’t going to fit on any index card.</p>
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<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">For the longest time I thought it was external things holding me back but those were no longer true. I have physical and mental proof that I’ve met new distances, new elevation gains, and new terrains all with success. Running Superior 100 is no longer out of order for the runner I am now. </p>
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<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I was prepared to have a full discussion with Bill about this idea when we both got sick. Bill spent a week wrapped in blankets in bed and I spent the nights on the couch. I didn’t have energy to do much, let alone think through a race 9 months away. The Superior lottery registration slipped away and I fell asleep trusting there would be other adventures waiting for me this year.</p>
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<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Once I felt well enough to get a few miles in, I, was ready to explore the possibilities once again but nothing was rising to the top. I cleaned up the calendars and race schedules. This wasn’t going to be solved in a weekend. </p>
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<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">So now I find myself in territory I haven’t been in in a long time- running without a race in mind. Not being bound to any races has a couple of effects. For one, I feel adrift. I don’t know what I’m doing or how I should run and it feels unstable. The other is that I have a chance to let my return to running build slowly and more in tune with the rhythms of my life.</p>
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<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Yet, I know what I’m doing. I’ve been here before- restarting and rebuilding. But this time I’m adding believing in myself. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiYeLq81LOjEe5NipSNSBuhcLWnokKlDhsXtruz4RWoAZ0LWN9ITIu8wkyIqDjqLi5qhdlfsrGoojlHxhu3lsFm5k32FwivUKaYLZor-aT4T8gHkne4k96bADQVAZjt8vCIWAJbYiBogX5OXqRxYxRJldGilh0VG5mC9Pw-JP3YRhWPde8qYyI9pWasuQ=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiYeLq81LOjEe5NipSNSBuhcLWnokKlDhsXtruz4RWoAZ0LWN9ITIu8wkyIqDjqLi5qhdlfsrGoojlHxhu3lsFm5k32FwivUKaYLZor-aT4T8gHkne4k96bADQVAZjt8vCIWAJbYiBogX5OXqRxYxRJldGilh0VG5mC9Pw-JP3YRhWPde8qYyI9pWasuQ=s320" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p>Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-47941011567615178122022-02-24T05:00:00.001-06:002022-02-24T05:00:00.181-06:00Mines of Spain 100 Mile Recovery<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">After completing the Mines of Spain 100, my body was a little bit of a wreck. Undoubtedly I was tired and I wished for a small but steady stream of food to trickle into my mouth plus every muscle ached.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I napped and ate my way through the week. And as for my aches and pains, I was doing every trick I knew- sports creams, self-massages, pain shakes loaded with anti-inflammatory fruits and vegetables. I kept away from my foam rollers and anything aggressive. Recovery was about rest and gentle, active recovery.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I was walking almost normally around the house within 3 or 4 days and really wanted to stretch my legs bit more. In our neighborhood, we have a small loop about .6 of a mile- a far cry from 100 miles- and I felt certain I would be able to walk it with Kaci. I put on my shoes and we headed out. There were a few niggles and tight spots but almost everything was feeling pretty good but as we rounded the last couple blocks, my Achilles tendons started hurting. They had hurt during my race, though I ignored the pain as there was nothing I could do to fix them and it wouldn’t prevent from me finishing. However during Kaci’s and my walk, the pain was increasingly unpleasant and eventually I took off both my shoes and socks and we walked the last few blocks home barefoot. I tried several different shoes but could only walk wearing Birkenstock sandals.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg0vpFx-oQR6TQwP0OjXO-c4NJvyQA9jNiKQbDHsmgald_F_kogHvxzlChWRdhSpIo-vYngBHTwMEuTPszUhhvWB9S7kKIDnDcA8dB7hi08Cbxb3RhYDYuaMCcLYPyeRrc4GU0eMo2luJ9xx6_2Ks59OIk0y1M3HEHO9DaZ-tKnT13CkDV9gLN_caffcw=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg0vpFx-oQR6TQwP0OjXO-c4NJvyQA9jNiKQbDHsmgald_F_kogHvxzlChWRdhSpIo-vYngBHTwMEuTPszUhhvWB9S7kKIDnDcA8dB7hi08Cbxb3RhYDYuaMCcLYPyeRrc4GU0eMo2luJ9xx6_2Ks59OIk0y1M3HEHO9DaZ-tKnT13CkDV9gLN_caffcw=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kaci waiting for me to get up from another nap</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">When nothing had improved after three weeks, I reached out to my friend and physical therapist to set up an appointment to figure this heel thing out. I didn’t miss running per se, but I did miss having the option to run. I also knew the enforced rest was not a bad thing. I had just had a fairly monumental training and racing season and I often rush back to hard training little too soon. Plus, I wanted to wear normal shoes soon. Winter was coming and while I was fine with the Birks and thick socks look (thanks kids for always resurrecting fashion trends), socks and sandals were not weather resistant.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">PT IronAnne (she completed her second full Ironman in September) examined me and determined I had Achilles tendonitis. Essentially my Achilles were aggravated and swollen from extreme use. I spent hours in her office stretching, balancing, and strengthening my feet, heels and calves. At the end of the sessions she would massaged the tendons and muscles and then secure these giant positive/negative strips to my heels. My rudimentary understanding is that the two ends work to supply extra blood flow to the affected area thus reducing inflammation. It’s not invasive or painful and also I cannot jumpstart a car with them.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYpz7JmVYteYNoMDPuDtrUFZ8m2UTd08-bVd18FLO9qTIBir5RHGAlqFjpXDFCNcOMw-uIuA8zzdEsaHZEi5rAZT2jTVfcQ4aoGf3hOB09M99ddUKTImKheNFJdgCxmDN9MhEsZ4PI10taxsslGHZdYwPQCjQeiDYc0tJDIX882l0-RbaIW2pMRoM_Gw=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYpz7JmVYteYNoMDPuDtrUFZ8m2UTd08-bVd18FLO9qTIBir5RHGAlqFjpXDFCNcOMw-uIuA8zzdEsaHZEi5rAZT2jTVfcQ4aoGf3hOB09M99ddUKTImKheNFJdgCxmDN9MhEsZ4PI10taxsslGHZdYwPQCjQeiDYc0tJDIX882l0-RbaIW2pMRoM_Gw=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">All of this continued for 3 or 4 weeks until one week when I tried the exercises with shoes on, I noticed my Achilles no longer hurt. Tears came to my eyes. When you are injured or sick, even though you know it’s not true, you often think this is just the way you will be from now on. After a couple more weeks of physical therapy, Anne rewarded me by letting me run my first mile in the Alter-G.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjofH_VWWuxBfaAVHUkcDHgOJkDBQsGvh8kg3dX-vxDtspIHsaNY8z73HRoykfKvd3frxh96y45Qirp1Hb2QuGrijZ3DJSCtaHj2GB-Zq-Nc3if917WC5U62Q23CDsCszAdtu4nxAmoMlmodUITizetsV5BGp3CP8z5zBGry2o6aFpKYdXQyGr8fzgy0Q=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjofH_VWWuxBfaAVHUkcDHgOJkDBQsGvh8kg3dX-vxDtspIHsaNY8z73HRoykfKvd3frxh96y45Qirp1Hb2QuGrijZ3DJSCtaHj2GB-Zq-Nc3if917WC5U62Q23CDsCszAdtu4nxAmoMlmodUITizetsV5BGp3CP8z5zBGry2o6aFpKYdXQyGr8fzgy0Q=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The hardest part was wriggling these on</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p>The Alter-G is an “unweighting” treadmill. I wriggled on a pair of neoprene bike shorts which had a zippered skirt attached. The overall look is less than flattering.Then I stepped onto and into a treadmill. The treadmill has the complementary outer skirt attached to the frame, which was lifted up around my waist so I could be zipped in. (This is starting to sound like a James Bond torture device.) Then I held still while the machine calculated my weight before setting what percentage of body weight I wanted to bear. PT Anne had me start at 65% so the machine pumped air into the giant balloon skirt encapsulating my legs until the correct percentage was achieved. It’s a slightly uncomfortable feeling because the shorts are tight so as to not allow any air to escape and the trapped air is constantly pushing against you.<p></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgF3C2OKW7DvMPDBTo4h-hDKmJs0MaBvqcdHIjcVwm_fCoZNccpI9NEPqUxC5cttiYEhEHqDNnDupTrPxanGzYmFMFbl2vMFlvvDWxCIzao1RkWUsl5SoEK-YtX4VolnsxoaHst-uT265zlN6Z-mGizAJWMr0pOAMWu3uR5a5aI7JKS8y1ndNwGpQ9dEQ=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgF3C2OKW7DvMPDBTo4h-hDKmJs0MaBvqcdHIjcVwm_fCoZNccpI9NEPqUxC5cttiYEhEHqDNnDupTrPxanGzYmFMFbl2vMFlvvDWxCIzao1RkWUsl5SoEK-YtX4VolnsxoaHst-uT265zlN6Z-mGizAJWMr0pOAMWu3uR5a5aI7JKS8y1ndNwGpQ9dEQ=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Running at 65% body weight is a goofy feeling. Since I could not feel the full weight of my foot strikes, I felt as though my legs were flailing under me. Surely Anne thought my running form was more like a newborn giraffe rather than a seasoned runner.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">But that first mile felt so amazing! I hadn’t run a full mile since mile 50 or so in my race. And my Achilles hadn’t hurt. I peeled off my sweaty tutu shorts elated. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Eventually the inflammation went away even as I increased my mileage on both the Alter-G and then regular treadmills. Ready to run a short distance outside, Anne gave me the clearance to do so the week after Christmas.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Properly warmed-up, I took a short, easy 1.6 mile run outside on the last day of 2021. It was another amazing feeling!</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYCRXsWyBYwslOKLxAirfgxzi4PmMxCFFx217o_tB5dJtzrSrkJQB0b3UPEpzuzi_12ynjGGbMmsmLtDHrjGUPWCxhJr5Xhnf72vEhrBC5RJssl8Z3d3mEoUwGjvZm3XegO32LPcByEMvmmpKDzJIE0brguKQsL_GUuOGk_CIHgpWw6mieHSpF7PU7xw=s2895" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2895" data-original-width="2316" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYCRXsWyBYwslOKLxAirfgxzi4PmMxCFFx217o_tB5dJtzrSrkJQB0b3UPEpzuzi_12ynjGGbMmsmLtDHrjGUPWCxhJr5Xhnf72vEhrBC5RJssl8Z3d3mEoUwGjvZm3XegO32LPcByEMvmmpKDzJIE0brguKQsL_GUuOGk_CIHgpWw6mieHSpF7PU7xw=w320-h400" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p>Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-32266801964531270462022-01-18T13:00:00.000-06:002022-01-20T13:03:22.207-06:00No Fond Memories Today<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Don’t make me remember a fond memory today.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I’m remembering memories every other day of the year. A sound, a song, a word, a line, a silhouette, a shadow. I pause to catch myself, shaking through the sensation of it not being you.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Don’t ask me to share a memory because I don’t get to choose when memories come up. Memories are never convenient. I don’t have a file folder of memories, those to share and those not to share. I’ll be damned if they are organized.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It’s two years since you’ve died. The day before I remembered how I didn’t know you were feeling bad. I went to bed and remembered how you hadn’t died yet. I woke up and remembered how I didn’t yet know you had died. The morning passed and I remembered how I now knew you were dead. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The house filled with people throughout the rest of the day and not the mass of those people could make up for one you. A thousand people each with one of your memories cannot be you. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">So don’t make me remember a fond memory today<span style="font-size: 11px;">. </span></p><div><br /></div>Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-46278567608409760392021-12-31T18:50:00.024-06:002022-01-04T10:23:05.254-06:00Mines of Spain 100 Mile Race, 2021<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Have you ever climbed a prison wall?”</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">This was a life changing question for me in July of 2018. At the time, the answer was no, I had not ever climbed a prison wall.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">While Laz's question was pointed and specific to the Barkley Fall Classic, it held possibilities for me. If I did that race, what else would I be able to do? I knew immediately what I wanted to do. Run 100 miles.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Around 2010, Bill handed me the book Born to Run by Christopher McDougall and said I might enjoy it. The book blew the doors off any preconceived notions I had about running distances. Two years prior I had run a 20k (12.4 miles) and it had ended very poorly for me. A full marathon was inconceivable. 100 miles? Again, inconceivable! </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">But the idea of trail running had taken hold and eventually I found my way to the trail and ultra-running commune, I mean, community and was scaling a Tennessee prison wall in September of 2019. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">My finish of the <a href="http://energiesandaffections.blogspot.com/2019/11/barkley-fall-classic-2019-race.html" target="_blank">Barkley Fall Classic</a> was not what I had hoped for but disappointment did not mean failure. I was challenged to embrace the possibilities outside the prison wall and was lead to sign up for the Mines of Spain 100 mile race for the following year.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">On Saturday, January 18, 2020, I rushed to my brother’s home to find it filled with our town’s emergency services and the news that he had passed unexpectedly in the night. We would find out later he had an aortic aneurysm which burst and he passed instantly, his exhale out of this world to inhale into the presence of the Father. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">My grief accumulated as 2020 wore on and my running became more and more labored and lackluster. Yet, because I am not one to give up, I pushed on training through the summer. It was mid-August when I realized I was burned out, tired, sad, worn down, exhausted and not in any mental state to run 100 miles. I emailed the race director and relinquished my entry and stopped running.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">When 2021 rolled around, I tested the running waters with a very minimal training plan. I wanted fun challenges, cool swag, friends and mostly to run happy.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">In 2020 I had also signed up for the Superior 50 mile race in Minnesota, which was cancelled because of the pandemic. It made me happy to think about returning to the rugged trail which I love so much in early September. I was able to take advantage of the guaranteed race entry policy for 2021 and began rebuilding my running with a training plan which I made work for me, running the lowest mileage I thought would prepare me for the race.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">By early July, I started to hit my stride. I volunteered at the Whiterock Ultra and at the last minute, signed up for the 50k. I knew it was a bit of a stretch for me to do so but if anything, I would learn what I needed to work on. And I knew I could finish it because I am now the person who just signs up last minute for a 50k without another thought. I enjoyed myself the entire race, save the one mile of life-sucking B grade road, turned mud, and a fairly massive bonk at the start of the blue loop. I got to meet Wendy and we enjoyed downtown Coon Rapids together. I learned what triggered me into the low spot and how to solve it, save a good rant on Marco Polo to friends.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">With another solid month and a half of training I was ready for the Superior 50 mile race. Unfortunately, I came down with a nasty cold and try as I could to rest and shake it, I couldn’t run a quarter of a mile without coughing, let alone run a technical and mountainous distance race. I notified the race director I would not be starting. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It was a little crushing to have to back out of the single race I had been training for but colds cannot be helped. I felt lucky to have gotten my running back and for all the people and experiences I enjoyed in the process. I knew the question looming before me was what to do with all that training once I was feeling better? I realized I didn’t have to do anything with it, an answer I didn’t expect and which also removed any pressures. I was free to make my next running decision however I wished.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I thought of what kind of running or race would make me happy and bring me joy. What races sparked that kind of excitement and still had availability? Skimming through the possibilities, I came across the Mines of Spain 100. Now this had my attention! I compared my 50 mile training to a general plan written for 100 miles and found I had very similar mileage save one 50 mile training run. Close enough in my book. I crossed my fingers, took a deep breath and hit register on Ultrasignup. The next day I accepted my entrance to my first 100 mile race!</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">There was about 5 weeks between Superior 50 mile and MoS 100. It left barely any time to panic and no time left to cram in any more significant runs. I only had time to recover from my cold, crew and pace my friend Mindy for her first 100 mile race in Arkansas, recover from that, and put together my race crew and pacers. Get better, don’t get injured, rest up, shop for last minute items, pack, leave and run 100 miles. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The <a href="https://suntrailrunning.com" target="_blank">Mines of Spain 100</a> is held in Dubuque, Iowa along the Mississippi River. The start/finish area, also affectionately dubbed Crewville, is set up in a park on the north end of the 20 mile course. Winding up and down bluffs and prairies, it has over 14,000 feet of elevation gain in approximately 100 miles. At packet pick-up, I checked in with the race director, Joshua Sun. I hadn’t seen him since my 100k finish in 2018. We quickly caught up before I was whisked away for my first ever pre-100 mile race photo by Mile 90 Photography and handed swag upon swag, purchased a couple more items and went off for my final supper, race strategy chat with Justin, Mindy and Bill and some sleep. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqaLsvohAwp3QWr_i0p8gdGc4YStnlR88WHO7KrxdnUGuzPCObqkkhVc2upAsqL4zAtpgY3LBg51u5PZawf4MFa7IZIH_OndsNlypVV-QOKWPIi3ZT6RBlqIZOljtcYOOGY_69R8VN_dn3PPulINmu2kdCCskXT0n9nuHqEpUZzdOg0C7eYNl5vmpl5Q=s3000" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Departure photo by Mile 90 Photography" border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="2000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqaLsvohAwp3QWr_i0p8gdGc4YStnlR88WHO7KrxdnUGuzPCObqkkhVc2upAsqL4zAtpgY3LBg51u5PZawf4MFa7IZIH_OndsNlypVV-QOKWPIi3ZT6RBlqIZOljtcYOOGY_69R8VN_dn3PPulINmu2kdCCskXT0n9nuHqEpUZzdOg0C7eYNl5vmpl5Q=w266-h400" width="266" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Departure by Mile 90 Photography</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The morning of the race, I patted myself on the back after eating all my oatmeal and a banana coated in almond butter. We pulled into the park and started setting up the canopy on our little parcel of Crewville. It was a perfect little spot for a home away from home, a place to store my mountain of gear, food and clothes besides being a sheltered place for my crew to hang out. At least that was my perception of it for the short amount of time I was actually in it.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWW6wZQDwt_ld_gL9_-AS-DX2_LMQNsoSm7XHSuUOTQLcFTG0ax7kCIbYfgxtJenVMGix6bK121gZG8eiTZSY5z9ZHDCNyYoDHt_SP04kH3nRrnvYjlOm5Y38ID0kwuG157F2GL5KO1CJjFV9bBL6ZIeO4iYQADOqurGwRY5ytW52pFfp4NIOcetNd2g=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1908" data-original-width="4032" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWW6wZQDwt_ld_gL9_-AS-DX2_LMQNsoSm7XHSuUOTQLcFTG0ax7kCIbYfgxtJenVMGix6bK121gZG8eiTZSY5z9ZHDCNyYoDHt_SP04kH3nRrnvYjlOm5Y38ID0kwuG157F2GL5KO1CJjFV9bBL6ZIeO4iYQADOqurGwRY5ytW52pFfp4NIOcetNd2g=w400-h189" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crewville sweet Crewville</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">And just like that at 8:00 am we were off!</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">One hundred miles. O-n-e hun-dred my-l-zuh! </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">My race strategy was that this wasn’t a one hundred mile race but five 20 mile challenges. Over the past two years, I completed two different virtual challenges which significantly prepared me for this race. One was a 24 hour challenge, running 5 miles every 4 hours for 24 hours and the second was similar but shorter- a 12 hour challenge, running a little over 7 miles every 3 hours. I learned how to evenly distribute my effort, care for myself in the current challenge while prepping ahead for the rest of the day. Even though it was not exactly like the virtual challenges, the mental segmentation was the same. Five 20 mile loops at six hours per loop. The timing was a guess on my part. While I couldn’t know how much physical or mental attrition would happen, this seemed a reasonable place to start.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSXU5Mhie5eNkUEs5iLkLXtpIBWkE-N5MqpVucMw-GuvZMs4aJZpWA1sRmqSk7pKVXy8f34rNn3qhY9FSdMti-3JYKSaahUDeKCkJIQ6XmAovtoiSGCLXaV_6B2-fsnefcUwvOXK-V_2VNOrLcfmJteMC8D16gH6iQtKeExzm59r0_PzUAU4_KA5OBIg=s4032" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSXU5Mhie5eNkUEs5iLkLXtpIBWkE-N5MqpVucMw-GuvZMs4aJZpWA1sRmqSk7pKVXy8f34rNn3qhY9FSdMti-3JYKSaahUDeKCkJIQ6XmAovtoiSGCLXaV_6B2-fsnefcUwvOXK-V_2VNOrLcfmJteMC8D16gH6iQtKeExzm59r0_PzUAU4_KA5OBIg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bluffs and a peek of the Mississippi River</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Justin and I met years ago at our kids’ elementary school when we were volunteering for a running program. I recognized the Psycho Wyco hat he was wearing and that was the beginning of our running friendship. We notoriously find each other during our runs, occasionally have a planned run together, never make simultaneous race plans and yet somehow end up at the same races and run together. Now here we were at Mines together again. We shared the Crewville campsite and would hang together for as long as we could. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj5Kb-z6hpijgn071uETfWIfAansspSrigvldpXLQgIjU8-xoA6mDgFm-QdMZXmBllYMTZaHP1ulI5OrWkBQ9Fef-nJoVDsigT6NDXWO6mnKQCUuTEuCS9t0A-aXHplnslkllcDJLXZ6oBSDWS34COCzZwasF680YRyOXv4m3K_BPol60o3VdnYPl7dww=s3088" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj5Kb-z6hpijgn071uETfWIfAansspSrigvldpXLQgIjU8-xoA6mDgFm-QdMZXmBllYMTZaHP1ulI5OrWkBQ9Fef-nJoVDsigT6NDXWO6mnKQCUuTEuCS9t0A-aXHplnslkllcDJLXZ6oBSDWS34COCzZwasF680YRyOXv4m3K_BPol60o3VdnYPl7dww=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We're gonna go crazy tonight</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjPRRFOr8xMyDyuWd_nkIdbkr5Utnc99xiAW2NMfVg38nKxPVg7cUaY6nCTjxciIhvrDJ8FenjFpXD45CQvZNLi-bdvrZwHkSFvoC_3t1gfxnErCA3ZWFF4KnET_kIdor_gCPhOVf0ihFtEMLchHwjPc-LMtg7CfwI-lqVlhPK-JccuJFBToF503ckSBQ=s3000" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjPRRFOr8xMyDyuWd_nkIdbkr5Utnc99xiAW2NMfVg38nKxPVg7cUaY6nCTjxciIhvrDJ8FenjFpXD45CQvZNLi-bdvrZwHkSFvoC_3t1gfxnErCA3ZWFF4KnET_kIdor_gCPhOVf0ihFtEMLchHwjPc-LMtg7CfwI-lqVlhPK-JccuJFBToF503ckSBQ=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laughing all the way</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Since we had run the 100k together four years ago, we both knew our least favorite part was an out and back trail leading to a metal hole punch hanging by string from a tree where we would punch our race bib to prove we had done it. Both of us lack any nice words for this part of the trail. It is long. It is rocky. It goes on forever. There is nothing to identify where you are at and how much you have left to go. We couldn’t even keep track of the distance. Just when you lose all hope that it will end, it finally does. You punch your bib and then run back the same way you came from.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTKTlAElmLPZj34sf7ggbyRifCuKeUgwFYU6dV_kl6UTCNXX2XXZUkC0T0te0i7Tsbq_qvMchSz3kJ3goHyb0VSYn7lJdt_N0-r9GhQBUmWIKQi23W6ud8_FknQ29DAA2iIEDY0el67FF9OuCJwuV28rxaHkzQjHjyHanj5m_5YZ9nEYn9VVbcFZzYbg=s4032" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1908" data-original-width="4032" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTKTlAElmLPZj34sf7ggbyRifCuKeUgwFYU6dV_kl6UTCNXX2XXZUkC0T0te0i7Tsbq_qvMchSz3kJ3goHyb0VSYn7lJdt_N0-r9GhQBUmWIKQi23W6ud8_FknQ29DAA2iIEDY0el67FF9OuCJwuV28rxaHkzQjHjyHanj5m_5YZ9nEYn9VVbcFZzYbg=w400-h189" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The turn around is real<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Probably my favorite section of the trail was leading to the aid station at Cattesse Hollow. After the whole, desperately long out and back section, this is mercifully shorter. A runner coming out of the aid station informed us there was bacon waiting for us. You would have thought he said there was a million dollars (actually an IPA for Justin) waiting for us. My oatmeal and banana breakfast had long since worn off and hot, bacon-y food sounded amazing. And it was! While wonderful aid station volunteers refilled my hydration bottles, I side-hugged a friend I had been looking forward to seeing since the 100k four years ago. On the way back, we brought the great news of bacon tidings to everyone we met. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhgix1y89t1VrnWBlPTwaVO2HXDMq3r4rbDssehnWL2yxMO2MP8VfPEKxqsMBaYTktAjSFfN_y0nNGg55imydK6JAFJDRj0Uz0U32gmQ5kyjuzojH_zcgx6hThHMJ7uRPWJGQ0nea2RQD5ILXVoBb6FTzsKl02KcgagQOieWXPy6AalhqUFTNqW_dNP6A=s3000" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhgix1y89t1VrnWBlPTwaVO2HXDMq3r4rbDssehnWL2yxMO2MP8VfPEKxqsMBaYTktAjSFfN_y0nNGg55imydK6JAFJDRj0Uz0U32gmQ5kyjuzojH_zcgx6hThHMJ7uRPWJGQ0nea2RQD5ILXVoBb6FTzsKl02KcgagQOieWXPy6AalhqUFTNqW_dNP6A=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stayed dry this time</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I was under strict orders from my Mindy to make sure I ate. Reflecting from my 100k race, the amount of calories I had not even come close to touching had made Mindy’s job of keeping me company almost impossible- sing out loud, talk about stuff but nothing gross, scary, sad or even too happy- and left me feeling more broken down than I was. I packed my nutrition in five bags of 1,200 calories each which was approximately 200 calories every hour for 6 hours a loop. Packing the bags this way made it faster to refill my pack at the end of each loop- wrappers out, food in. I had to eat all my gels, cookies, chews, and bars plus some aid station food before I got back to Crewville. I had individual packets of electrolyte drink and one bottle for it to go in. I had to finish the bottle before I got to the Cattesse Hollow aid station where I would refill it. Bill and Luke figured out how to refill the hydration bladder in my vest and that’s the water I drank. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjQLBofMMYTHaefg8m_JHHuYyAOSzvV3VzFAvcCKhqEGxYsVF6bIKBNvM9hWkYFtH_ctXjXjqoSiSVWq50lZ4eAz6ZMGZN5TrL83QwxZlFJ_6UsFkKepcNa7JVB8VR7u7YNN5TxhlDeyzGKUQRTGtZm5-VOc819c_5L5XOHhXgdB1gTR-iXp4l7xaYR8w=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjQLBofMMYTHaefg8m_JHHuYyAOSzvV3VzFAvcCKhqEGxYsVF6bIKBNvM9hWkYFtH_ctXjXjqoSiSVWq50lZ4eAz6ZMGZN5TrL83QwxZlFJ_6UsFkKepcNa7JVB8VR7u7YNN5TxhlDeyzGKUQRTGtZm5-VOc819c_5L5XOHhXgdB1gTR-iXp4l7xaYR8w=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">5 times 6 hours times 200 calories equals</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Coming in after each loop was a relief. While I didn’t miss my crew while I was out on the course, I was really happy to see them every time. Bill was the time keeper, making almost perfect estimates of when I would come in. Mindy would greet me every time, cheering, holding stuff for me, switching out my gear and making sure I ate. Luke was there almost every time except for when he was sound asleep in the camper. Amber came to crew me and would get her first ever pacing duty through the middle of the night. Audrey drove down to cheer me on and take pictures. (Ben had college so he couldn’t make it.) I felt extremely lucky to have so many people there for me. Crewing is a tough and tiring job and I was so thankful for all of them. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzD8vFL6idJIDPOq4JPcTE9M1hsWlt_YtzL8u6mzHiMFGsIT49-oAja2rlFSihmKAAt3DmlGnnmjIgj9O4PE9n7AKu8O9TVHWPU4dZ8GDF9aXLBZviZtVfqjErDKw_wHQNZT-ooq3OXWpBinot2wdK4oQxQy_7jAY9LSoJXRaItPOidRX-aDMc7tKtsw=s5472" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzD8vFL6idJIDPOq4JPcTE9M1hsWlt_YtzL8u6mzHiMFGsIT49-oAja2rlFSihmKAAt3DmlGnnmjIgj9O4PE9n7AKu8O9TVHWPU4dZ8GDF9aXLBZviZtVfqjErDKw_wHQNZT-ooq3OXWpBinot2wdK4oQxQy_7jAY9LSoJXRaItPOidRX-aDMc7tKtsw=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thawing the Squirrel's Nut Butter</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhdLlTKUkL2lkodzwzvIJkmSYUeiri5cKavBJnIlttNNchP9868WolwbZga-t6xWizZS_Ffw5nIuBdPTXc3AlV5vhTi2bQ152YJ53S0LQQTZ62ttRLWuvYhNWOHx6wegyBQk_WNIssEtNmIIS1igZMpGg5HGfUdTylQ3yL9qP_wlur0xzpmpIpcBwu3aw=s5472" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhdLlTKUkL2lkodzwzvIJkmSYUeiri5cKavBJnIlttNNchP9868WolwbZga-t6xWizZS_Ffw5nIuBdPTXc3AlV5vhTi2bQ152YJ53S0LQQTZ62ttRLWuvYhNWOHx6wegyBQk_WNIssEtNmIIS1igZMpGg5HGfUdTylQ3yL9qP_wlur0xzpmpIpcBwu3aw=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This silicone cup needs a sippy lid </td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLfHSPpwGaZZmv3438XCCeVrrEc2SAvbdiQZ7z4kqlLdfS6c8bLPapGs58ncM6YeYSgARiBjzebutfgMTm8EkFc4VZDAxCYheo0ZAq4FhrHnA0lw2emmEyJPiDnLPW4-QGK-Bt1Kvp5rOLbAxRPBIp7sL6ztGxBJ9RG4k8CRzeELFrVFPJSYpwJ_dw2Q=s5472"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLfHSPpwGaZZmv3438XCCeVrrEc2SAvbdiQZ7z4kqlLdfS6c8bLPapGs58ncM6YeYSgARiBjzebutfgMTm8EkFc4VZDAxCYheo0ZAq4FhrHnA0lw2emmEyJPiDnLPW4-QGK-Bt1Kvp5rOLbAxRPBIp7sL6ztGxBJ9RG4k8CRzeELFrVFPJSYpwJ_dw2Q=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I don’t know what happened while I was out on the course but apparently everything happened and all kinds of conversations went on and sight-seeing in Dubuque. Bill and Luke went to a mountain bike area. Audrey and Mindy got coffee at a bar. I guess Amber shared how they put a sauna in their basement. I completely lost track of time outside of the race. Since I arbitrarily set my loop time at 6 hours and the race started at 8 am, I knew the times were approximately 8:00 am, 2:00 pm, 8:00 pm, 2:00 am, and 8:00 am. The sun was up, was going to go down, it would be dark and then the sun would come up again and it would be light. I didn’t look at my watch much and avoided trail math as much as possible. I had Bill for that.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjriSivDuan1mYBrCFY1ZIZ_dVBo-z4yZM5dqh8R4f4N-r1QMIfF40qI-zHCusIOaoyfJlKWiwS2bsaC7NmmPc0dKlYjYmdORGH3YN9O1n0-0p33C_3PMKTbU3PdbWVi27C58qRRJjuiHP3hEFFSK-l7VZIPW3FT9eFi8UqCbWrjSEMdsFPgiKSa1FUDA=s3088" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjriSivDuan1mYBrCFY1ZIZ_dVBo-z4yZM5dqh8R4f4N-r1QMIfF40qI-zHCusIOaoyfJlKWiwS2bsaC7NmmPc0dKlYjYmdORGH3YN9O1n0-0p33C_3PMKTbU3PdbWVi27C58qRRJjuiHP3hEFFSK-l7VZIPW3FT9eFi8UqCbWrjSEMdsFPgiKSa1FUDA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The time keeper and his girl</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFAKwImMEeqatSHoCocvoFi1xGH-72Wg5J2fUwieHgh_vSKsw07RuEJYkb_8OaLPvcwpAwRWzGDcgCU9OV8AJHmCJ-UJh0Ln0eSj1BJyLByfcZ0SDECjDGcFRiGGUxsVCz4Y1to0vsrxG0Yg1HDbzTjjNZlXw8lQlytPfmVLKbZnWP3PkgDdiGrJyNiQ=s4032" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="1908" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFAKwImMEeqatSHoCocvoFi1xGH-72Wg5J2fUwieHgh_vSKsw07RuEJYkb_8OaLPvcwpAwRWzGDcgCU9OV8AJHmCJ-UJh0Ln0eSj1BJyLByfcZ0SDECjDGcFRiGGUxsVCz4Y1to0vsrxG0Yg1HDbzTjjNZlXw8lQlytPfmVLKbZnWP3PkgDdiGrJyNiQ=w189-h400" width="189" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Luke was not bored</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Inside the race, it was always a matter of eating and drinking, moving forward with easy but sustained effort, being efficient at aid stations and keeping my mind on the mile I was in and the next aid station I was headed towards. It was easy to start fixating on a different mile or the unknown or the what-ifs. I wasn’t completely unaware of the future because I still had to make decisions now in order to get there but mentally, I had to stay in the present. That phrase has always seemed like a bunch of malarkey to me. But a fixed goal, a fixed bubble of a 100 mile race is a great place to test such malarkey and see if it worked and indeed, it did. When my mind wandered ahead, I would tell it to stay in the mile I was in (even though I didn’t actually know what mile that was). I had also come up with sayings for each loop that I wrote on index cards and had Mindy hand me one each time I came in. These I tucked into a pocket in my vest and would repeat to myself even if it didn’t make sense or fit the moment because it forced my focus back to the present. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Dare Greatly”</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">From the speech by Theodore Roosevelt and expounded upon by author Brene Brown, this phrase has challenged me through my running the last few years. I was in the middle of daring greatly.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“I can. I will. I must.”</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Adapted from the chant of the Navarro College cheer team, the focus of the Netflix series “Cheer”. It’s a strong cheer and the kind of motivation to keep myself going.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Swing my sword”</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Well, not all of them were that strong and this one, I found, was a bit of a reach even though I chose it. It’s from Mississippi State head football coach Mike Leach’s fascination with pirates and I imagined myself swinging an imaginary sword. At what, I cannot tell you. It didn’t really matter, I had hours to imagine all sorts of things and this kept my mind occupied.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Time to row the boat” </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I heard this phrase from a podcast and since I cannot find any actual evidence that the phrase uttered by the woman it was accredited to is true, I will not share either. However, the phrase stuck with me. Time to row the boat. Time to do the work. While “swing my sword” had me swashbuckling at imaginary foes, this was real to me. Rowing engages your whole body and mind for power and progress.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Embrace my strengths”</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Just because I signed up for this race didn’t mean I didn’t have reservations or nerves about it. I felt fairly confident I could endure the suffering better than I ever had but daring greatly and all that aside, I needed some outside assurance. In a conversation across the kitchen counter, I expressed my concerns with Bill and he succinctly said I should embrace my strengths. Among other things, I’ve got a good amount of perseverance and a pack a wallop of stubbornness. This was the first phrase I wrote down. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I decided my early miles, for however many they might be, should not feel like work. Justin and I keep our pace easy, didn’t push the uphills and kept relaxed going downhill. But by the end of the second loop, he and I were starting to separate. We had talked each other through the first two and I still felt strong while Justin was starting to battle stomach issues and such. Getting back to my crew, I changed from shorts into tights, switched shoes and grabbed my headlamp. I was ready to return to the course while Justin needed more time and I realized, tearfully, I was more likely going on this loop by myself. I walked out of Crewville crying and eating. A night loop almost completely by myself was not something I had accounted for. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhvUGZ2wMuUo0oicirym4F959gluXCpP_WJFSEZxtZ1SZB8YvMdlLOht97zwrkz-irETI9KSpYA0dWGvtUQL8xftfEGowN9LyExrhzg6mlwdcKclv_WmE6LA7iF_HZHsFmRwiukl3NEXUoSAOYfeiikEvp-qX9_D6oQKPudScfDj-TRvgwLfiVjbFPpGw=s4495" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2997" data-original-width="4495" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhvUGZ2wMuUo0oicirym4F959gluXCpP_WJFSEZxtZ1SZB8YvMdlLOht97zwrkz-irETI9KSpYA0dWGvtUQL8xftfEGowN9LyExrhzg6mlwdcKclv_WmE6LA7iF_HZHsFmRwiukl3NEXUoSAOYfeiikEvp-qX9_D6oQKPudScfDj-TRvgwLfiVjbFPpGw=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting a little goofy</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSygI-PQck-CQMETSNsf9MHu-7lpEkes5X0DYiu8Je8ZC7bTAjL4a6RboG9cihkwMsq1oo9fUlfiVWfECG4cLB7v8uBoubw2_b0BUC2oor4-TcWzUXJLmzqFhIYKw_CTIu7VBnpz5hyQotQbF80rthJFgVzn_-uXdGBuAZFbBtENRPS3KHgneVuUEG8w=w400-h266" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 238); color: #0000ee; text-decoration: underline;" width="400" /></div><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I don’t think I was strictly crying about that. This was more like “Hey, you’re in the middle of this massive endeavor and you’re not even halfway through but look at you go and what in the world are you doing.” tears. They didn’t concern me or Mindy or Bill or Luke or really Justin, although he gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. I threw away my empty mashed potato/mac and cheese container and got to work again. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">By now the sun was going down but I went as long as I could without my headlamp on. I liked the dimming light. In the middle of the prairie I was struck by the moonlight. The air was cool, yet not frigid. Silent but not lonely. The night sky slowly opened its curtains to the stars and I rejoiced to be out there. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Finally reaching the far turn around at the end of the prairie by myself, I was faced with the task of taking off my hydration pack to punch my bib which was attached on the back but lo and behold, a trail angel dressed in a pickle costume appeared. (I’m not making this up. This is not a hallucination. I repeat, this is not a hallucination.) Pickle Man kindly obliged to punch my bib for me. And I disappeared back into the woods.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Aid stations become respites in the middle of the long journey. They undergo changes themselves throughout the race. At the beginning of the race they are all big energy and hype. Mid-afternoon they find their groove of welcoming runners in and attending to their needs. But at night they are magic. The blaring music of the day has quieted but bright lights and warm food draw runners in. An oasis for runners, the overnight volunteers become your best friends and don’t mind your gibberish for the minute you are there before nudging you back out. The second day aid station has itself, tired out just a bit but is no less effective or amazing. Even in the later hours they believe you can finish even when you can’t string two words together. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJ5ZDuYoqkL4KUcNZLoQ6YXMnXhS7hb2LOHOlH7C-3I7auHmsoPIb9MZSyN8QpN1iH00ihD0q1IrBP-dVvqXBFgncLLE9YAAO26rxRD5IQkbor3psZhagx0zLcCtzND4ta-Dvop6Opx1jb2iaD6JSSLpyEvaofYqwZP7qLPAIbj8_3PR_x3CQt4N0MyA=s3000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJ5ZDuYoqkL4KUcNZLoQ6YXMnXhS7hb2LOHOlH7C-3I7auHmsoPIb9MZSyN8QpN1iH00ihD0q1IrBP-dVvqXBFgncLLE9YAAO26rxRD5IQkbor3psZhagx0zLcCtzND4ta-Dvop6Opx1jb2iaD6JSSLpyEvaofYqwZP7qLPAIbj8_3PR_x3CQt4N0MyA=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLVG0Q9TqaI01wTxo7AM-KuXNJ04NhP6KWX72nhEXrdO5l1UMc4Jef1LaEZLBCLfWX2FnwHJdzoPvyp3JLcr44mTj1sd0HFWI2pyUqT__etQ_CNf638gZachDyxzHJJZyPuw7F0S5MT8Y2Hh_RGEIz8wyAAzyEq0tvm6UpJpQ_gNPv_zv5oTWarS60SA=s5472" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLVG0Q9TqaI01wTxo7AM-KuXNJ04NhP6KWX72nhEXrdO5l1UMc4Jef1LaEZLBCLfWX2FnwHJdzoPvyp3JLcr44mTj1sd0HFWI2pyUqT__etQ_CNf638gZachDyxzHJJZyPuw7F0S5MT8Y2Hh_RGEIz8wyAAzyEq0tvm6UpJpQ_gNPv_zv5oTWarS60SA=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Here’s a little secret about ultra races. It’s about community. Yes, you get vistas and views and blisters and belt buckles. But the best is experiencing the common sufferings and celebrations. I met Kimberly, from Wisconsin, running her first 100k and we chatted while chipping away our miles. She couldn’t imagine doing 100 miles. I admitted to her I couldn’t either but here we were. Justin and I met Christopher. He’s run a handful of local races and we just met him for the first time. How great is that? Community is someone sharing their KT tape and blister care advice and someone else sharing their personal size changing tent so you don’t have to change your bra in the open. (Not me) Community is checking on a runner laying down on a bench at 3 am to make sure she’s okay. She just wanted a nap and barely got any shut eye due to all of us making sure she was okay. (Not me) Community is double checking on someone taking an emergency “side trail” with her headlamp off as to not draw attention to herself because the caffeine from the last aid station suddenly kicked in. (It was me. Thank you for your concern and also I’m sorry for what you might have seen but I begged you inside my head to please not look back at me but you couldn’t hear it.) </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I saved my caffeine, aside from my morning coffee, for later in the race. I was hoping to benefit from its stay awake effects but instead it rumbled my tummy too much. After several bio breaks, I identified the cause and stopped it altogether. What I could enjoy was the bounty from the aid stations. I already mentioned the bacon but did I mention the hot dog, bacon and quesadilla I shoved altogether in my mouth? Or the pickle, cream cheese and turkey roll-ups? How about the mac and cheese and mashed potatoes? The oranges, bananas and pickles? The mini scones? Muffins? And then there was the time when I couldn’t get down the pancake and bacon I got and so I stuffed it into my pack for later. Amber was thought is was hilarious. I thought I was being heroic. Long time readers know you can’t just go throwing away good food. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">According to Bill, I was doing well with my pace, even coming in a bit under the six hour range for the first 60 miles. Now every mile was the new farthest I had ever run. With still no clue what time or day it was, I was ready for company for the rest of the night and Amber was ready, too. Amber and I are long-time friends and she was there for <a href="http://energiesandaffections.blogspot.com/2013/10/des-moines-half-marathon.html" target="_blank">my first half marathon</a>, my <a href="http://energiesandaffections.blogspot.com/2016/09/moose-mountain-marathon.html" target="_blank">Superior marathon</a> and is starting to chase her own ultra-dreams. There is nothing like getting a good pacer to boost one’s spirits. My basic pacer requirements are that they must have strong hiking pace, not talk about sad or gross things. Singing anything and quoting movie lines are strongly encouraged but not required. Amber got to experience a night loop with me as I mumbled to myself about the granola bar I was eating or stumbled over some rock my blurry eyesight missed. She was absolutely great at keeping me company, sharing laughs and toilet paper during that everlasting gobstopper loop.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6z0FKK27J7SY6xGTq3FL7jcvLoVcpp2D0EO1YvrO-uLj4ck-vFkuik78I8gTTEW3HxpP3OawnoHz3-mQL5G5hoYfFuDRhaR0ROjobfYNMmKTIbb31M0T9mgz-meTrOoOprgqg7H5CH7Hca0yUBUlX2MZiQ4fEi-bq13-p970kbJwYnl5Iajt6sx8h_A=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6z0FKK27J7SY6xGTq3FL7jcvLoVcpp2D0EO1YvrO-uLj4ck-vFkuik78I8gTTEW3HxpP3OawnoHz3-mQL5G5hoYfFuDRhaR0ROjobfYNMmKTIbb31M0T9mgz-meTrOoOprgqg7H5CH7Hca0yUBUlX2MZiQ4fEi-bq13-p970kbJwYnl5Iajt6sx8h_A=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Early the second morning</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhXNwFBWaN0I0U1Mpt-0glZeUFXlhh1S51QZs6QHPe6-BSj9mcR6aMms2bGPHnxi5KRXTrRJycQUVBA-cLWVbFxSMFPtxvgVC6oiJ3OGESO0Vk7dmyIyfw6muD3x2ks9cVllrCHzJDd5HUAavovVcSOX7AsSAhDq7kk-NnMxmd_faX5aS21_UgQnfBSg=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhXNwFBWaN0I0U1Mpt-0glZeUFXlhh1S51QZs6QHPe6-BSj9mcR6aMms2bGPHnxi5KRXTrRJycQUVBA-cLWVbFxSMFPtxvgVC6oiJ3OGESO0Vk7dmyIyfw6muD3x2ks9cVllrCHzJDd5HUAavovVcSOX7AsSAhDq7kk-NnMxmd_faX5aS21_UgQnfBSg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amber keeping me awake</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I don’t mind a loop format at all. From a crewing perspective, staying put in one place the entire time is super easy. From a running perspective, I pick races that don’t bore me and usually there is a greater goal trying to be accomplished. There is almost always something new to look at or find for the first time even though you’ve run past it four other times. Just because the course is repeated or doing the same race multiple times doesn’t make it mind numbing. And no race is ever the same. Something always changes- either the weather, slight course changes, and you, the runner, are a different athlete than the previous year. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">One of the things that felt different about this race was the distance I was signed up for. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">This wasn’t the race I expected to be my first 100. I thought it would be Zumbro. (I want that owl!) I made the decision last year (2020) to go for MoS 100 and it all fell apart. This year, 100 miles was only on the table as a wild, improbable goal. It truly wasn’t until I couldn’t run Superior 50 that I remembered it. All the experience I had accumulated over the years and the most recent experience crewing and pacing Mindy for her successful 100 mile finish solidified my first 100 mile attempt as the next right thing to do. Running Mines was a gift.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I returned to the start/finish area and refilled my pack as quickly as possible and overcome with emotion mixed with exhaustion, tearfully left Crewville for the last time, now with Mindy and more mashed potatoes. It was really hard to believe I was doing it even as I was on the verge of doing it. I’ve heard stories of people dropping in the last 20 miles for so long that I let that subtle fear dominate my thinking instead of realizing that wasn’t going to be me. I had given myself plenty of margin to finish under the 33 hour race limit even though my loops were slowing down. However, twenty miles is still twenty miles and people would be waking up, eating breakfast, going for a much shorter run, running errands, grabbing lunch and watching the football game all while I was still out here doing twenty miles. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjv1wsd7EApiaCV3e8haKwZu-5u1zMl2BJULz6BZ0re60lrX_g-iCBiWcFheJe0oTSfeL3PUV_BSQGJK6TJZlz2-eBXJqAKG5JVbkc4EzFY8O3oWX4-6buUtSwX9xtWEo2UgiG2xTe9xxUdqm9BLlR9-EPX_6LP4H-lq8g5FFzJiKSlqaJxaWw06TSh_A=s5472" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjv1wsd7EApiaCV3e8haKwZu-5u1zMl2BJULz6BZ0re60lrX_g-iCBiWcFheJe0oTSfeL3PUV_BSQGJK6TJZlz2-eBXJqAKG5JVbkc4EzFY8O3oWX4-6buUtSwX9xtWEo2UgiG2xTe9xxUdqm9BLlR9-EPX_6LP4H-lq8g5FFzJiKSlqaJxaWw06TSh_A=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiS_vo5sV5tpVqtyBrN3KbHXya6MT1HvRaCvGXxTwFQ2IG_lzdejv6qv2axq5bLTiuMMF95uBCtysdXOCHqacm3UQv0nZRHHJug597IeOwaxzYvqNsgS8YekjLyZvtcs5EU3xUUkQsx6rg3dzF6dvH29HH21xQ_bCx0qsoqt5nGT8mRpQoGX7XFXRIJqA=s5472" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5472" data-original-width="3648" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiS_vo5sV5tpVqtyBrN3KbHXya6MT1HvRaCvGXxTwFQ2IG_lzdejv6qv2axq5bLTiuMMF95uBCtysdXOCHqacm3UQv0nZRHHJug597IeOwaxzYvqNsgS8YekjLyZvtcs5EU3xUUkQsx6rg3dzF6dvH29HH21xQ_bCx0qsoqt5nGT8mRpQoGX7XFXRIJqA=w266-h400" width="266" /></a></div><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhec6JfzAeLNvHoKlTvrQ5QJQDIKBk2qjnWZTddgVuYzcrz3M2PVIWBTg6w-jpluGH5LLI1mGnocInOMZ1JE8066h0-R1ym5_7eioxRHbV_299Uew6P_J-Egqf2I6aC1w7y1-ahlwXM5Lv_nBxbfXiVXrSbrgFkyt8_fozsANurirAWWK_-R0NLp1_P1Q=s5472" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhec6JfzAeLNvHoKlTvrQ5QJQDIKBk2qjnWZTddgVuYzcrz3M2PVIWBTg6w-jpluGH5LLI1mGnocInOMZ1JE8066h0-R1ym5_7eioxRHbV_299Uew6P_J-Egqf2I6aC1w7y1-ahlwXM5Lv_nBxbfXiVXrSbrgFkyt8_fozsANurirAWWK_-R0NLp1_P1Q=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiwE5_nCyz0YO64Z5YHQXNwkGTX-oTCyCRFHio7pPg39E8ti_WwwOB2NcbfPfuLZNNLPmyqx9jLI3SAyL9770tyJVv9tj4pR4meDPXIgJyOnks022EW2jMKv3rFUrVHHP5yqAKqPlE8dJ4lmjEGoXl31vPsWPRxyyQiWp5HkAoIrFwDYyDMuABmMHupLw=s4585" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3057" data-original-width="4585" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiwE5_nCyz0YO64Z5YHQXNwkGTX-oTCyCRFHio7pPg39E8ti_WwwOB2NcbfPfuLZNNLPmyqx9jLI3SAyL9770tyJVv9tj4pR4meDPXIgJyOnks022EW2jMKv3rFUrVHHP5yqAKqPlE8dJ4lmjEGoXl31vPsWPRxyyQiWp5HkAoIrFwDYyDMuABmMHupLw=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Lest you think I’ve been talking about myself in the third person this entire time, I have not. On one cold December Saturday morning, a group of us decided to run from the finish line of the Sycamore 8 race to the start and then start the race, going back to the finish. Julia and I were discussing running <a href="http://energiesandaffections.blogspot.com/2018/05/inside-50-zumbro-2018.html" target="_blank">Zumbro 50</a> mile the following April and Mindy overheard us and decided all on her own she would do it too. That was the start of Mindy and Mindy aka My Two Mindys aka Mindy 1 and Mindy 2 aka M & M. Over the last four years, we’ve gotten ourselves into all sorts of adventures and excitement. We’ve run and trained together so much that when she wasn’t at a group run one day, I argued with her that she was. It was only after I pulled up the group picture that I had to accept she was only there in my heart. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7jaudLvbhR_SbFOiw5ZcMDHqSCFnm7rGYLOQeZ8Y0ys60Swfv0IGrWz7UzkWn7BGkgpoEWeDW5dQEjeyUfuiX86k_ef69SIGiVkr5iKSrKJlRgtmYjXUKmSzzjchESqFSFddwje-kHkPONDSQg4qnyrW5wM_LmTTEOXORtap4SlmoxveWLJr9bbVgUg=s3088" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7jaudLvbhR_SbFOiw5ZcMDHqSCFnm7rGYLOQeZ8Y0ys60Swfv0IGrWz7UzkWn7BGkgpoEWeDW5dQEjeyUfuiX86k_ef69SIGiVkr5iKSrKJlRgtmYjXUKmSzzjchESqFSFddwje-kHkPONDSQg4qnyrW5wM_LmTTEOXORtap4SlmoxveWLJr9bbVgUg=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two Mindys don't make a wrong</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Mindy was excited to see the race during the day instead of the night like during my 100k. She was excited to get to run with me. (It had been three whole weeks since our last run together- her Arkansas Traveller 100 mile finish in which she crushed it!) She was excited for my 100 mile finish. She was excited because she’d gotten way more sleep than me. With her practically skipping down the trail, we wound our way through the last twenty miles. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">By now it was Saturday and the park was busy with families out for a hike which was cluttered with smelly, zombie like runners. More than one hiker stared at me, pulling their kids out of the way. Time moved faster than I could push myself to keep up. Keep moving. Don’t stop. Moving is making progress. Moving gets you to the finish line. Momentum is your friend. Moving takes less energy than trying to start after stopping. Stopping doesn’t accomplish anything. In a grim moment, I leaned over on my poles and gave a guttural yell. It’s madness to look at oneself 95 miles in and wonder how in the world you’re still moving and at the same time question how you can keep moving and knowing you have to keep moving. No one was going to rescue me less than one mile from any aid station or road. I’m fairly certain I startled the lovely couple on a hike with their daughter. They seemed very happy and very clean. I was kind of the opposite. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEidmOhqWiluD3VJu-YkZ0L9R9qWz1a6d0vUEPBJX3KJ9DmtjaJ2jOyfzkUgC6TJwVJeEuDx_IFqcUFXnQng7fVXUaX9dL8sx-ouw8UXdwAvh_hVmZI075NiDK5mbKgBzyzJ0Hy3QCURfYyvElxJFh4S5vDYre9ZhVunLblPIgxM2bdzFcJeRAEJCIg8dw=s4032" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="1908" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEidmOhqWiluD3VJu-YkZ0L9R9qWz1a6d0vUEPBJX3KJ9DmtjaJ2jOyfzkUgC6TJwVJeEuDx_IFqcUFXnQng7fVXUaX9dL8sx-ouw8UXdwAvh_hVmZI075NiDK5mbKgBzyzJ0Hy3QCURfYyvElxJFh4S5vDYre9ZhVunLblPIgxM2bdzFcJeRAEJCIg8dw=w188-h400" width="188" /></a></div><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span face="-webkit-standard" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></span></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">My feet and body endured the miles really well. The weather was amazing for late October and the trail was completely dry. (Please refer to my thigh high standing water <a href="http://energiesandaffections.blogspot.com/2018/12/mines-of-spain-100k-2018.html" target="_blank">100k recap</a>.) It was simply the toll of pounding up and down trails and bluffs and stairs for 100 miles that caused them to hurt. I could identify any pain I felt and Mindy passed along the sage advice that it was “nothing a finish line can’t fix”. But that didn’t stop me from expounding between which was faster or felt better- walking evenly down the stairs which reduced the jamming of my swollen toes into my shoes or stepping off to the side where the slope made me run faster and that’s how you get done is by getting to the finish line. Want to know what you think about during 100 miles? Stuff like this. Riveting. Mindy said I was really wise.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi4wSegmHAwPFj-Ru3_yI68dAXa2XMj6BA4i-oxUiGawCfprsdy0Nj5Uu9ZyjQWhBuXSBwMDc2LggaKhAas5tJIdkJNWwdqAx_ew8KpfFUuXtqf_UZbnj2SrOXo9DJ1HjSG5YjUs9hU0mm2Sb4zOfS9F9vIS4X8Bwu0NXclTjzaOmDgD6nNvcK2Mb7gNA=s4032" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi4wSegmHAwPFj-Ru3_yI68dAXa2XMj6BA4i-oxUiGawCfprsdy0Nj5Uu9ZyjQWhBuXSBwMDc2LggaKhAas5tJIdkJNWwdqAx_ew8KpfFUuXtqf_UZbnj2SrOXo9DJ1HjSG5YjUs9hU0mm2Sb4zOfS9F9vIS4X8Bwu0NXclTjzaOmDgD6nNvcK2Mb7gNA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Catfish Creek was flooded up to thigh high four years ago</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh69UHWve-qYlUckqHmIZNYwEctMEjgJCn41B4aeDEwTEM-9BzWJQBJWHtss_eJ5YrxXMwmpCMEQbV5jD-55ANIDh2lMDiGUxiexyBrBid5Nih0mwhAlYGKDIfqrZ90MsQwe1oQFkd3kquS0_MGmh4IFg7rLQEgcWAnsoE8IT3a0nYLQUTSxlcl34EuJA=s4032" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="1908" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh69UHWve-qYlUckqHmIZNYwEctMEjgJCn41B4aeDEwTEM-9BzWJQBJWHtss_eJ5YrxXMwmpCMEQbV5jD-55ANIDh2lMDiGUxiexyBrBid5Nih0mwhAlYGKDIfqrZ90MsQwe1oQFkd3kquS0_MGmh4IFg7rLQEgcWAnsoE8IT3a0nYLQUTSxlcl34EuJA=w189-h400" width="189" /></a></div><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Mindy, eyeing her watch, asked me if I had reached 100 miles yet on mine. With a few more footfalls my watch clicked over to that elusive number and I whooped and shouted out “100 Miles!”. She asked me if I felt different now and I exclaimed “Yes!”. Yet as different and exciting as that was, I was still two miles from the finish. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The Finish Line! Th-e Fiii-nnii-shh Ly-nuh!</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Mindy fell away for me to cross the finish line by myself and everyone started cheering. Spectating many times at 100 mile finishers, this was a new feeling to be the one they cheered for. I smiled into tears. I had done it! 100 miles!</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgZdsSnr3EQsXwT1Ft61r_44cbqHtqh6Fd1H7xC2k7DnGdlW8YXYidBHCHWjF0R5QZ_Hh99qbr0pVJP9jPU9FACk8q-xUWzcBYOUeLHsiGBodjQyOaCBNJQpXDN2IFdx2IikKA07NfAvHFQRp454x4zLF-J2of4TTJogSh-ux_zlfAZKlWxfF09jfoOvg=s3000" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="2000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgZdsSnr3EQsXwT1Ft61r_44cbqHtqh6Fd1H7xC2k7DnGdlW8YXYidBHCHWjF0R5QZ_Hh99qbr0pVJP9jPU9FACk8q-xUWzcBYOUeLHsiGBodjQyOaCBNJQpXDN2IFdx2IikKA07NfAvHFQRp454x4zLF-J2of4TTJogSh-ux_zlfAZKlWxfF09jfoOvg=w266-h400" width="266" /></a></div><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgIC2-1_YSJ_rt-uMcmRtZ_U21_KS8h4Yzj4HGI5CD1lHNaqac0JiJqVXr5JqAYTKZHLc8M19uYkuB0CYZovVkWKq860Nm-CpkAQHLnZlbynrwrg8oen8Bjl24CaHN0RL_zsPyQw8PLxv3sle01V7YjK9A7bQXYsnm7p4LxoXEJzWFIAdTHUyh_LFd5DQ=s3000" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="2000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgIC2-1_YSJ_rt-uMcmRtZ_U21_KS8h4Yzj4HGI5CD1lHNaqac0JiJqVXr5JqAYTKZHLc8M19uYkuB0CYZovVkWKq860Nm-CpkAQHLnZlbynrwrg8oen8Bjl24CaHN0RL_zsPyQw8PLxv3sle01V7YjK9A7bQXYsnm7p4LxoXEJzWFIAdTHUyh_LFd5DQ=w266-h400" width="266" /></a></div><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Race director, Joshua Sun, handed me my gorgeous belt buckle and Mile 90 took my finisher’s photo and then hugs and tears and more hugs and more tears all while smiling. This finish had been years in the making. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhaft_JFBkugNqgYpkwxOY3NTIkYuyr0Q1DCFWV-awwJWQDd6mi13KeC-SGXcV56YsfLIUsgJLHWMXEVfhu69WyQmA0uZ-PQEgfoLxFmPGURfuHYf7jFMScQEJchNV6lzC8rMuyfH8fCYHhBMsC1iG2hSG3Xwr_J37bHd-62tJy9GiSJyz91nA75FRXXA=s3000" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="2000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhaft_JFBkugNqgYpkwxOY3NTIkYuyr0Q1DCFWV-awwJWQDd6mi13KeC-SGXcV56YsfLIUsgJLHWMXEVfhu69WyQmA0uZ-PQEgfoLxFmPGURfuHYf7jFMScQEJchNV6lzC8rMuyfH8fCYHhBMsC1iG2hSG3Xwr_J37bHd-62tJy9GiSJyz91nA75FRXXA=w266-h400" width="266" /></a></div><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"></p><p></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiva0lIX-5RUOkmvuvQdCVkatIkRjbF_hq43fYc2bRHlmDm8u05kASUH_wR3EVf6jOrwt4CW-c50Smol2Az4wtVx4ONb5E7swFKPWsuF2VroZ3L0WWAcnR78PlfKZFGRSMa5r4op5GqctVSuktGw96kCKPj-YalYDX0NpCQauibO1SawibpRhpX0BMKSQ=s3000" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiva0lIX-5RUOkmvuvQdCVkatIkRjbF_hq43fYc2bRHlmDm8u05kASUH_wR3EVf6jOrwt4CW-c50Smol2Az4wtVx4ONb5E7swFKPWsuF2VroZ3L0WWAcnR78PlfKZFGRSMa5r4op5GqctVSuktGw96kCKPj-YalYDX0NpCQauibO1SawibpRhpX0BMKSQ=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Race director, Joshua Sun, and I share a personal moment</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXTgLqTTTWcWLPQ5sNoFFv-JOwvoSKDjQFT0A_tSrO7lsIavW6MYwUP2X0wTzXnh1BXbCW5O_B9G1eTzJNjD_ERBlI9wbeJFjMvuDooq77XlGC6gJQ2C1KfWos5vx5SNgh3Gk7FIb9s3CKGvH_UPVXBKeA-gQc3pNNPxLYPXTitmrYvhJtOw3REY2kkA=s3000" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiXTgLqTTTWcWLPQ5sNoFFv-JOwvoSKDjQFT0A_tSrO7lsIavW6MYwUP2X0wTzXnh1BXbCW5O_B9G1eTzJNjD_ERBlI9wbeJFjMvuDooq77XlGC6gJQ2C1KfWos5vx5SNgh3Gk7FIb9s3CKGvH_UPVXBKeA-gQc3pNNPxLYPXTitmrYvhJtOw3REY2kkA=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhi4zpK5-eEaf00ic0gXXZ8hHdIo-Wt9MaiH6dehmLRRLpBrccKjOli_0KTRKXecmRxXefCNAd3AZ2nwJSvBpIGPUI-UxOWtMX4G3BQVp0itnkKqXlxci_OMr1SE7FwsuafBm5fF_NNwvoCDZlYc_KpzS5ZcFZIBtcOu-tuzKfShoVgbUCIGiXgE7pECQ=s3000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhi4zpK5-eEaf00ic0gXXZ8hHdIo-Wt9MaiH6dehmLRRLpBrccKjOli_0KTRKXecmRxXefCNAd3AZ2nwJSvBpIGPUI-UxOWtMX4G3BQVp0itnkKqXlxci_OMr1SE7FwsuafBm5fF_NNwvoCDZlYc_KpzS5ZcFZIBtcOu-tuzKfShoVgbUCIGiXgE7pECQ=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjQUVikma8XPx0NcvKsWeEneR-1PxQQGOsJBv_oIOaLTJSIFCID7qG1AkeJAw8xqlxMnS8C4eR2jamyjpgdelv2bS7tQ5_df5cr8vgixY-c9Z_H9VKEudKHl56hONkuTHmjXmAHcsQrK2JWkiwUA3Tz4nmDcbjrKVD4UjmKAPU_G6fxepwGVPAk1E93AQ=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjQUVikma8XPx0NcvKsWeEneR-1PxQQGOsJBv_oIOaLTJSIFCID7qG1AkeJAw8xqlxMnS8C4eR2jamyjpgdelv2bS7tQ5_df5cr8vgixY-c9Z_H9VKEudKHl56hONkuTHmjXmAHcsQrK2JWkiwUA3Tz4nmDcbjrKVD4UjmKAPU_G6fxepwGVPAk1E93AQ=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgeNNlUe5nboJTyGu6wW_bCOskiJyCAUtZFcjdsqaVc6gPJWk9ZYJgCor8KKPqlqhQuKQ3psHX81agV6olb4BVYaMh9BWcxLShevpBENPbTk7D6CfnK5AvcND6LYVrQor745Vb-c8mVPu8Ir8sjZn3k9bgV7q5RgA5qQlcR_OLaPFS20hFfK2sB3XNjig=s3000"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="2000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgeNNlUe5nboJTyGu6wW_bCOskiJyCAUtZFcjdsqaVc6gPJWk9ZYJgCor8KKPqlqhQuKQ3psHX81agV6olb4BVYaMh9BWcxLShevpBENPbTk7D6CfnK5AvcND6LYVrQor745Vb-c8mVPu8Ir8sjZn3k9bgV7q5RgA5qQlcR_OLaPFS20hFfK2sB3XNjig=w266-h400" width="266" /></a></div><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I will not tell a lie. There is nothing to beat the elation of completing a long time hope and dream but oh, it felt so good to stop moving. My feet were truly the only parts hurting and as soon as I sat down, someone graciously took off my shoes and socks. I only had a couple blisters and knew it was from my shoes which were too small for my swollen feet when I changed into them earlier. All sorts of food was offered to me but the only thing I wanted at the time was a slice of plain white bread. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I sat under a warm blanket at the finish line with my crew, my slice of plain white bread, my belt buckle, a coffee from Audrey, while Luke climbed the massive tree behind me and we all talked and laughed and cheered other finishers and oohed at other runners’ blister situations.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmgFXImE175OMLRXE9nlntFDIZo6k0O93zol3tfQ2vASz9ZQPqQMBjacjnIuRs3BMfQSFiGDarTuFPW4-x0cI_9okd9t-lebVzgnffXeGDkjbF6gXwVHgn3JnvZuA2akat5QwpDRKI-EBKaY_7BS3Tf_7vlIFPWFTBedKvHKEulKmzol-d8SewoTwLPQ=s5472" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmgFXImE175OMLRXE9nlntFDIZo6k0O93zol3tfQ2vASz9ZQPqQMBjacjnIuRs3BMfQSFiGDarTuFPW4-x0cI_9okd9t-lebVzgnffXeGDkjbF6gXwVHgn3JnvZuA2akat5QwpDRKI-EBKaY_7BS3Tf_7vlIFPWFTBedKvHKEulKmzol-d8SewoTwLPQ=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhWROKhNppvvkDoP4Uf-MVqT1qRA5mfIo1531HPQlDMge2azUbW6G4g1OBqkwplPjaiIKtjNHaPSUyerBqKWRudWC4ik7Sx5CuTvSJ8fatGV28XcnWcN3_0guAHriqGCrV_ak6FHdUygFhKFoXF7FjI0WshT7gOfU_UrpAmZGXw1uG5txWkYGimIh1SfA=s5472" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhWROKhNppvvkDoP4Uf-MVqT1qRA5mfIo1531HPQlDMge2azUbW6G4g1OBqkwplPjaiIKtjNHaPSUyerBqKWRudWC4ik7Sx5CuTvSJ8fatGV28XcnWcN3_0guAHriqGCrV_ak6FHdUygFhKFoXF7FjI0WshT7gOfU_UrpAmZGXw1uG5txWkYGimIh1SfA=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjru7VxKctf2kYrEkIQs5yCf0FnrGug1dO05t-BldeDAsXLGOTw9Cs6G3I-p7j7R-EL9fIqfaPgivQ16QlISlBJCPfom7ezOVI01UTc1t0Sugxr65WHwyq8JN0mpck40logey2TPz4m6hiSdc46eF4iPx36Arbvrv5iwxleEe5FAAklMMIhbaasN6MIjA=w400-h266" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 238); color: #0000ee; font-family: -webkit-standard; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline;" width="400" /></p></div><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Finally we packed up. We, meaning everyone else, while I stood and watched. Somehow I got into the truck but the first time I tried to get out was not so successful. I looked at the ground, prepared my mind for what I was about to do, launched myself into forward motion and collapsed to the ground like a wet spaghetti noodle. My legs did not catch me at all. From then on, Luke would rush around the truck and help me get out. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBZ7cok3zVxVCXl8c4SVeSVB3CN7iivTaftMA-Qez0pz7n-znDghpzyFFb_KR0HlrO6QrL8kR8L-AeFB2qkfSCOsNdKaneypelzynlNAw8cVHXRIhArA85T_ojQa2LkFonVkm8bCCAPzQ3EFLy9egJ1Q-UH9wTH-taHyBPOFgp3HG9Sow0O7sIf59CMQ=s5472" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBZ7cok3zVxVCXl8c4SVeSVB3CN7iivTaftMA-Qez0pz7n-znDghpzyFFb_KR0HlrO6QrL8kR8L-AeFB2qkfSCOsNdKaneypelzynlNAw8cVHXRIhArA85T_ojQa2LkFonVkm8bCCAPzQ3EFLy9egJ1Q-UH9wTH-taHyBPOFgp3HG9Sow0O7sIf59CMQ=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">A shower felt glorious. Brushing my teeth felt glorious. Clean clothes felt glorious. The chicken nuggets and fries tasted glorious. I wanted to eat the apple pie too but by then I realized I had been up for over 36 hours and suddenly I really, really, needed to sleep. I don’t remember the rest of the ride home until Bill pulled into the driveway. Ben came out right away to hug me and he and Luke attempted to get me out of the truck and into the house. I don’t know how but somehow I got into bed and remember telling Ben thank you for taking care of me and cheering for me and I loved him and I just couldn’t talk anymore…zzz. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The next morning, I made it up in time to see Ben before he left for a <a href="https://youtu.be/TxFZhBQneSg" target="_blank">sprint enduro</a> in Indianola, IA (he took 2nd). I wanted something out of the truck, so I limped outside to retrieve it and came back in to a stern talking from Ben about if I needed something I had to ask for someone to help me. I said I was sorry and that I would do so. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I ate and slept and hobbled my way into recovery with my race t-shirt and hoodie on all week and my belt buckle and finisher’s medal by my side. I don’t have a belt to put the buckle on and I’m fairly certain it would pull down my pants if I did try to wear it and I prefer that to happen on a side trail in the dark with no one to witness if at all possible. </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Mines of Spain, Dubuque, Iowa</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Total race/moving time 30 hours, 22 minutes, 37 seconds</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Total distance: 102.73 miles</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Total elevation gain: 14,573 ft</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Calories burned: 9,961</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Hours slept: 0 </p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzhFhxo_ckEM_0ztcw3cyZzxSnv13UeKlwesliwdra34RRhFi9KDmGugPGkaYZaJOaL_pgB97dqdgPWpt4saQLwnnor-ylf0F7pVVDfxTZU_2Mcl6Ka2sNiNqfLznhnmNjHgHQTgRFQtrn0fGYkPW3DETi68pqwgV_EqdBMczjbFstazhuUEVYV1fRwg=s3024" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzhFhxo_ckEM_0ztcw3cyZzxSnv13UeKlwesliwdra34RRhFi9KDmGugPGkaYZaJOaL_pgB97dqdgPWpt4saQLwnnor-ylf0F7pVVDfxTZU_2Mcl6Ka2sNiNqfLznhnmNjHgHQTgRFQtrn0fGYkPW3DETi68pqwgV_EqdBMczjbFstazhuUEVYV1fRwg=w400-h400" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">What I learned, and I’m giving myself a generous assumption, was this: This was the strongest and smartest I have ever run. I knew it during the race but didn’t acknowledge it. I want to let that knowledge and belief sink in sooner and let it propel me to the finish. Certainly, this is much easier to say now fully recovered while just now remembering that I also learned I could run with my eyes closed for five steps at a time.</p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br style="font-family: -webkit-standard;" /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhfGVRsNNluETE6GI5Dh9b7lZPcs4v82T_tOnOmffsYl2nXsdL6Hbs3dx8dpcOj4I2je6jx8fgmXginaa3QWcKSLuY92Fn0q0Xgrz1BqZccbHiYJ_9_JPXGMx4T6UKC0iclgkX2ILlqAfobn-PcyMJPzA9KOKYMXRGzieEfiuSm8iGLDFXhyy3VBTK3ww=s5472" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5472" data-original-width="3648" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhfGVRsNNluETE6GI5Dh9b7lZPcs4v82T_tOnOmffsYl2nXsdL6Hbs3dx8dpcOj4I2je6jx8fgmXginaa3QWcKSLuY92Fn0q0Xgrz1BqZccbHiYJ_9_JPXGMx4T6UKC0iclgkX2ILlqAfobn-PcyMJPzA9KOKYMXRGzieEfiuSm8iGLDFXhyy3VBTK3ww=w266-h400" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>photo credits belong to: <a href="https://www.mile90.com" target="_blank">Mile 90 Photography</a>, <a href="https://audreychristine.com/work" target="_blank">Audrey Christine Photography</a>, Amber VanLoo, Mindy N, and me<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-55013017043213837932020-05-06T05:00:00.000-05:002020-05-06T05:00:04.484-05:00Barkley Fall Classic, 2019: Epilogue<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">Sunday, September 21. I’ve been sore after many ultras, being more sore usually after I complete the first of that distance- 50k, 50 miles,100k, like breaking in my body. I’ve hobbled back to cars, slowly climbed and descended stairs, and sat down in random places just to catch my breath or ease my fatigue. I’ve rarely been so immediately exhausted and sore as after this race. The boys were hanging out in the RV, waiting for us, when I opened the door to get in. I lifted a foot, placed it on the step, acted as though I was going to step up and then I didn’t. I couldn’t muster any strength or momentum to get in. Luke scrambled down to give me a hand. The walk to the shower and back was merely a shuffle. My physical recovery would take a couple of weeks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">Mentally, I was problem solving and looking for answers. Melinda spent the drive back to Iowa smiling, celebrating and scrolling through Facebook, enjoying all the moments other shared. I spent it breaking down the race. Many afterwards told me it was a tough course but how was I to know? It’s not like I had been here before and I didn’t know any of the other years’ routes so I didn’t know how to place it all. I posed these thoughts as questions to a few friends and they gave me their honest assessments, both for the course and how to gauge my effort and finish in regards to this year.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">I continued to hash out the race, running it over and over in my mind. One might think that by stopping at the bathrooms at the beginning was the crucial point where I could have gained those precious seconds back which is true. I wouldn’t have been at the back of the line going up Bird Mountain. What I didn’t write were all the other times I coulda, shoulda done things that woulda set me up for a different outcome. Those things alone would have given me a much bigger buffer of time to work with. However this is also a game of choices and what seemed to break my race could have been the thing that actually saved me from something else. What I concluded was the ultimate factor was that I did not pay attention to the time while on Rat Jaw. My cue card was tucked away in my back pocket and I didn’t pull it out once to see where I was at in relation to the cutoff. The enormity of the thought of Rat Jaw overrode what I needed to do which was to pay attention to the time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">Perhaps I was playing it safe, playing it scared. I found my fight a little too late, a little too slow. That’s not how I worded it to my coach afterwards but it’s a better fit as time goes on. As I said previously, Laz has taken all the elements of a tough race and cinched them tighter and my aversion to risk taking and self-confidence surfaced and this just isn’t the race that allows for that kind of play. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">Except that that isn’t entirely true. I’m not a risk avoider. I willingly signed up for this race- no one forced me, no one gave me a race entry that I was obligated to fulfill in anyway. I chose to go for what I felt was beyond me. Yes, it overcame me many times along the way. I doubted so many times but I never quit. I failed, but I didn’t lose. That is daring.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">Daring doesn’t come in a package or cloaked with a cape. No, daring is a choice. There isn’t a set up for it. No one scripted that sweaty Iowa morning when Laz suggested I take a look at the Barkley Fall Classic that I would go ahead and choose to follow through with it all the way to a trail point in Tennessee. What played over and over in my mind was wondering what might be possible for me after reaching for this. I wanted that Croix, the full finisher’s medal, and missing it still stings slightly to this day but I also wanted the see what was beyond that. Beyond climbing the prison wall.</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">A friend shared with me this excerpt from a speech of Theodore Roosevelt.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">The Man in the Arena</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">"...The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">whose face is marred by dust</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">and sweat</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">and blood;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">who strives valiantly;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">who errs,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">who comes short again and again,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">because there is no effort without error and shortcoming;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">but who does actually strive to do the deeds;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">who knows great enthusiasms,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">the great devotions;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">who spends himself in a worthy cause;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly..."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">Theodore Roosevelt, Paris 1910</span></div>
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Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-17513089398310984932019-11-26T05:00:00.000-06:002019-11-27T12:08:17.151-06:00Barkley Fall Classic, 2019: The Race<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">It's September 21, 2019. The start of the Barkley Fall Classic was subtle. Laz lit a cigarette. There was a race clock overhead but no countdown or shout of go and not really much in the way of whoops and hollers but more as a small surge of bodies pressing forward in the dark. I saw Luke off to my side and gave him a high five. I’ve been away from him for only 10 minutes but I’m already so happy to see him. We take off down the park road towards the trail, the wave stretching out. Right away it’s is hard to know if we are running the mile to the single track fast enough and I’m trying not to worry about it. Melinda says she could really use a bathroom stop and we decide to take advantage of the facilities right before the yellow gate. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Laz's Cigarette Start</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">The back of the pack is usually chatty but not as much today. Laz has taken all the normal race components and compressed them into a tighter form by means of difficulty, distance and time. I feel the need to go, go, go but we are nose to cheek going up the first mountain and moving needlessly slow. There is no good way to pass so many people without being jerk unless there is an obvious gap. I see one man start to work his way through and I tell Melinda we need to stay with him. I don’t know it at the time but his name is Leonard and he’s been out here, oh, a time or two. All I know is I want to move and he’s moving and I urge her to go with him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">At packet pick-up, Larry said we would need to exercise aggressive patience but suddenly there is no aggression as the congo-line has come to a complete stop. Looking up the mountain, I can see everyone has stopped. No one has successfully played telephone back to us but someone guesses a tree is down and they are right. It’s huge and runners are slow to get over it. While inching towards it, I take time to pull out some food and eat. Someone asked if anyone knew any good duets and the only song I could think of at the time was "A Whole New World" from Aladdin, which I couldn’t recall if it was a duet or not and dared not start singing it because it would be stuck in people’s ears for the rest of the day. The only bright side to stopping was that after the downed tree everyone has spread out and we can begin hiking or running in earnest.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">Now Melinda and I were moving. We would be free for a while and then come up to other runers. I hate nipping at other’s heels so after assessing if we were faster or the same pace, I would encourage Melinda to find a way to pass, as I was a few steps behind and could see a little better. Getting around the next person or people felt really good but we also worked really hard to make it happen. We were finding a rhythm getting up the mountain and soon found ourselves going down, down, down. It was fast and flowed and I loved it. Then were climbing again and I discovered I was bottoming out. My energy was gone, my spirit was sinking and I was struggling. I thought I had eaten enough up to that point but so much had already happened and time passed quicker than I realized. We headed up the next mountain and a few of the people we had recently passed passed us back. It was a terrible feeling. We were eight miles in and I was bonking.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">The first aid station popped out of nowhere. Instead of being excited to have made it that far, I was quiet and tearful. The volunteers were wonderful, cheering for us, offering us water and Sword electrolyte drink and simply being there. I didn’t say anything only wiped my eyes in my buff and grabbed some Slim Jim’s, a few Oreos, and stuffed my mouth with a handful of potato chips. (I never know what I will gravitate to during a race. I follow what looks good to me. It’s so weird.) We left the first aid station on a roughly Jeep road that was all downhill. All downhill may sound delightful but it takes a subtle beating to one’s quads over and over. At one point I declared to Melinda that I would prefer to ride this section on my motorcycle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">We were met at the next aid station by the local high school football team. They offered to fill our hydration pack and bottles with water and Sword. They were super great boys and as mom of teenage boys, I’m proud of them for being there. We grabbed more food and headed out to the next section of trail. I had told Melinda that we should not make a habit of asking how the other was doing but to always assume we were going forward and that we would both be working hard and therefore suffering at some level. (I had listened to Gary Robbins explain this on a Trail Runner Nation podcast years ago.) We could tell each other things like ‘I’m almost out of water’ or ‘I need to go to the bathroom’ but we would keep our complaints to ourselves. As soon as were back on the trail, I told her I was going to work to get to the next aid station only. I couldn’t think beyond there. It was too much. I told her I was in a low spot, which I’m guessing she already knew. She heard me and said that sounded good. She was having a great day, running in a lot of joy. I, however, was being buried by the magnitude of it all and knowing all the hard parts were left to come. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">Somewhere along the climb, the calories kicked in and I heard myself being chatty again. If a person can overthink during an ultra-run, I was that person. I knew I was feeling better but then I was concerned I was expending my energy by being all talkative. This section felt relentlessly uphill with fewer switchbacks than the other trail and much steeper in parts but I liked it. I still don’t even know where the top is. I do know we got to a flat section and I looked over to see only blue through the trees. I struggled to place where in the world was a large body of water in Tennessee and so close to Frozen Head State Park only to realize we were high enough up that it was the <i>sky</i> we were looking at. We were looking down at the sky! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">In all the years, okay, in the few short years I’ve heard about the Barkley Marathons and the documentaries I’ve watched, podcasts I’ve listened to and one very informative but slightly dull book I’ve read, I’ve never gotten a good view of the trails, the park or the area itself. I’ve only viewed it through the eyes of suffering and dreams met or dashed. Now as I saw it for myself I couldn’t get over how beautiful it was! I was delighted to find the trails were like trails I ran on here and everywhere. There were birds singing, insects buzzing, flowers, trees, views. I kept remarking of how one section was very similar to this trail or another section to another trail I've run on. Much is lost in the close-up perspective of a runner in those films. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">At the next aid station, we were greeted by a second football team. I opened my hydration bladder to be filled with water and realized a few seconds later that I had filled it with Sword instead of water so I dumped it out and started again. We got our bibs punched by Laz and he exhorted us to run. “Go get it!” Melinda and I are both ready to go but a few minutes later I realize I urgently need to stop. However we were flanked by a steep drop off on one side and the mountain’s broadside on the other. There’s no use trying to find any kind of proper cover so I looked for a spot on the far side of a tree, hopeful for enough cover from oncoming runners and free of anything poisonous- poison ivy, sumac, oak, etc. Not that I could tell you what these looked like to begin with so I guess I looked for a spot mostly bare. Melinda stood guard, engaging passing runners in conversation, trying to distract them enough to keep them from looking around. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">Because the course is not marked with assurance ribbons and slightly marked at significant spots, you are forced to pay attention to the course map along with a general understanding of the park. I thought I did have that understanding until we came to an intersection and would have to pause to look at the map. Thankfully, there would always be someone coming up from behind who pointed the way. It was always such a relief when that happened but other than a couple spots up Rat Jaw, I couldn’t tell you today if we went straight or turned. That’s the downside of not leading; I wasn’t forced to learn because I was following. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">Eventually the course opened up to a clearing and to my right was a tremendous view and drop-off. Quickly we were re-directed and told first we had to do this section and to our left was a similar drop-off littered with runners going both down and up and right in front of us were runners who had made it to the top but were sprawled over the ground. After stopping to put on gloves and arm sleeves (me), we soon found we weren’t running downhill so much as skidding or sliding. We kicked dirt into the faces of runners coming up and tried not to slide into them as they were crawling on their hands and toes up. We couldn’t see the bottom so for all we knew we would do this for eternity only to have to turn around and somehow scratch our way out of the armpit of the mountain. Laz had stationed a volunteer, a brave, hearty soul at the bottom to punch our bib. How he and his canopy got there and got out, I’ll never know. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">Once at the top, we assessed ourselves and plunged over the other side to ski-slide our way down again. Dust flew up into our faces and nostrils from ourselves and those around us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">The next point on the course was the prison. Brushy Mountain State Penitentiary. The last prisoners were moved out in {2009} and the prison now offers tours, a moonshine distillery and a cafe. Paul and all the boys met us there in a flurry of hugs, dogs, stories and scooters. I was so surprised and happy to see them and especially Luke. He’s a top notch crew and encourager. We quickly moved through the aid station and up the prison drive, through a side gate into the backyard where climbed a ladder over the wall. “Have you ever climbed over a prison wall?” I have now, Laz, I have now. I can also say I have run through the water drainage tunnel next to the prison. We slipped our way through the chain-linked fence and faced the monster before us.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzoW9Hzfoi7MaxOQzjv9HNga-K3O8n59R5bBOcr-EC0pQz_NSNvhofAoPzE7Hg9sovi1PF1wjpgKo0gJuHfN3IUuiMUuT4IJzMZq0aswn0ZTiAFC1j3gtGVqTa0PRxKvhAU1N8DSvZsr0D/s640/The+road+to+the+Brushy+Mountain+Prison.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Have you ever run up to a prison, defunct or otherwise?- check</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Have you ever walked through a prison gate?- check</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWH1dGXc4YZTG1a962Tyvv6gya1b6YuMqZXsa8Uj2QFdvrwtbf1BJcVUfemj9lLJSqvj5Zq1cK6wRDeMPG5jnki3mfT6Bqm9QjqMjFRrPBoSd3jSaY1ezAsk6sOzVw68aXYDvFP4DD7NIK/s640/Bottom+of+Prison+Wall.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="480" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Have you ever climbed a prison wall?</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Have you ever run through a prison drainage tunnel? Check</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">Rat Jaw. We knew it loomed before us- an unknown beast known to kill the spirit of many a man and scar anyone who dared pass. Less than a mile long, more than {1,600}feet of gain, full of sawbriars, numerous stinging and biting insects, rattling snakes, and any amount of tortures if the mind allowed, exposed to the sun like an animal on it’s back, it’s body warming intensely in the mid-day sun all to scorch the flesh and soul. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Have you ever climbed Rat Jaw?- check</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">We mounted the beast hand over hand, clawing for dirt, rock and root and thus began our conquest. This section is really an exposed power line section that had been cut and cleared of trees. What grew in the clearing is what grows in any area that has been cleared- weeds, namely nasty briars. And it was part of the course and we wanted to do it! The front runners forged the path, knocking down the tall briars while enduring cut after cut. The briars caught anything they could get a hold of. I crouched low against the ground, partially because of the steepness and partially because I could stay in the tunnel (the rat tunnel- shudder) and not get caught or cut as much. It wasn’t always possible and I came away with a good number of cuts on my arms, shoulders and legs.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">The further we climbed, the more bodies we saw strewn along the edges of the trail. Runners cramping, catching their breath, throwing up and everyone with a death stare. It was a wild experience to be bear crawling, barely looking up, only to then look to the side and see someone sitting off to the side. We would check on them but kept climbing. Sometimes there was a knocked down patch where someone had been but now only the ghost of them remained. Yet onward we climbed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">It was along here that Melinda and I separated. I was ahead of her, climbing faster than she was, but every once in a while I caught a glimpse of her. We were moving at our own paces but because of the windiness of the trail, she said she never knew quite where I was but always thought I could be around the next bend and I never expected her to not be close by. I found myself climbing with a handful of men and one who knew Rat Jaw. He threaded us between two giant boulders to stay on course and mentioned we were getting close to the cut off. I had not been paying attention to my watch during this climb and even as he said so, I didn’t look down to see what time it was. Several others said they hoped they would miss the cut-off by a minute or so and the more they repeated it, the more I realized I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to miss the cut-off. I had trained and worked so hard to get here, I wasn't going to throw it away now.I knew we were near the top because I had stood slightly up to look up and could see the fire tower only to have the briars immediately catch my hat and tank top. I angrily wrestled them back and furiously scrambled my way out of the tunnel.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2IQIGUhfAzafBxQEGBzoIsa7duaU5hf0RyeWVmuNoEc2IvVmeuAZOKYubfEHgKcnV3JmQ63Nf1ppnuQUbBFAr5-UxmJbhoIc5Ja3dyLpuv8V7XD2fPsEd6ZE6_GuHBskOWILxcL9OkpN7/s1600/Near+the+top+of+Rat+Jaw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2IQIGUhfAzafBxQEGBzoIsa7duaU5hf0RyeWVmuNoEc2IvVmeuAZOKYubfEHgKcnV3JmQ63Nf1ppnuQUbBFAr5-UxmJbhoIc5Ja3dyLpuv8V7XD2fPsEd6ZE6_GuHBskOWILxcL9OkpN7/s640/Near+the+top+of+Rat+Jaw.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAH4k-jQmSDHuYRJAabRfKEQsYgIs8gTkGi_z0u5m-4qCej50iLE3FUII8UnJDy3mEZ4zkYq_voa6xeypt8c3C947neF-Z8J7yMwi5DtZu16l4TZuX-olQ0nYCHR5VQ1OsoF0S33tyhGTg/s1600/Out+of+Rat+Jaw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAH4k-jQmSDHuYRJAabRfKEQsYgIs8gTkGi_z0u5m-4qCej50iLE3FUII8UnJDy3mEZ4zkYq_voa6xeypt8c3C947neF-Z8J7yMwi5DtZu16l4TZuX-olQ0nYCHR5VQ1OsoF0S33tyhGTg/s640/Out+of+Rat+Jaw.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">As I emerged from Rat Jaw the photographer asked if I was going for it and I told her I was. She said it was tight but to go for it. I still had to climb the fire tower for a checkpoint punch on my bib, fly back down, and run a gravel road to the decision point. I noticed very quickly that while my body had felt all sorts of weird and wearied throughout the race, the familiar sharp twinge of pain pinched my right knee as I hobbled my way down the road. I came into the aid station as the volunteers rushed to find my drop bag while shouting instructions. It was a flurry of activity and very quickly I realized I couldn’t stop to get anything from my drop bag if I were to make the cut-of time to get to the rest of the 50k course. I yanked my poles from my bag and sprinted, grunting in pain and effort, around the corner to where Laz stood. I rushed the line and he called out “Time”. I had missed the cut-off by seconds. I immediately turned to the side and burst into tears. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">Over and over, I chose to believe I belonged here. I chose to believe that I could complete the race even while doubting and struggling. The sting of missing it seared my soul but I recognized immediately I felt that way because I was fully committed to it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">The tears heaved out. Laz gave me a hug in the most understanding way, getting slightly choked up himself and I’ll never forget it. It’s a game with a clock like any other and when the time runs out you don’t get another shot just because you’re holding the ball. All I could choke out through my tears was thank you over and over.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">The volunteers offered me a chair where I sat to collect myself and drink the ginger ale I had stashed in my drop bag, which then I dropped and spilled most of it. I picked it up and drank it anyway. The ground food streak continues. I received my final punch on my bib from Laz, who made sure I was okay because I was still crying, and headed down Quitter’s Road to the finish line for a marathon finish. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">“Failure happens whether we deserve failure or not” Laz, Big Dog’s Backyard Ultra, I Run 4 Ultra, YouTube. Almost a year ago I chalked that phrase on the blackboard in our basement. I’ve looked at it and pondered it in the months since. It isn’t to instill a mindset of failure but a reality that failure will happen when we try things. We don’t like to talk about failure and we quickly rush on to the positive side of failure, all the lessons we’ve learned and how strong we’ve become for the trying, when we should hold space for the heartache and loss, too. It belongs there as much as the victory.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">Of course, I didn’t think about this as I hiked down the trail to the finish. I really thought about the pain of the last seconds, Laz’s comforting, and about a couple of long-gone family members who had come alive to me again at the start of this whole journey that July day. I wanted to let the tears keep flowing but it is difficult to be sobbing and running at the same time and I only had breath to do one of those things. Before the race, I had penned in my journal the prayer of strength to endure the pain nobly. Now the noble choice was to finish strong.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">Ahead of me was a woman who had gotten out of the aid station before me and I soon closed the gap between us. My running wasn’t great so even though she encouraged me to pass her, I didn’t feel I could actually pull ahead of her at the moment, so I stayed behind. She would pull ahead with some running as I fell back with hiking then the distance would tighten again as we switched modes. We were close enough to confer the map a couple of times at intersections on the trail but without either of us saying a word, we read each other’s intentions- we were still competitors. I used her to pull me out onto the park road and she worked to further her lead. I wanted to keep moving, keep closing in on her so I continued to use my poles. A volunteer offered us water and she moved over to have some but I declined and kept running. I ran and the knees and dust and scratches and memories faded away. I ran and didn’t look back because my grandpa had told me never to look back in a race. I came to the Finish area and people were cheering for me. I could only look at the finish line until I crossed it. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWkMtYtbXkX8_QKqVKF8UOGHGX-PnXf0wYTHEpaHzIUbB_whhcDGczAqBNJtmMdA0TFLaN5GJOu2SKp01QtwcpuaQUUU8buAzQgpNYZfYtPm3dioVPQc9XUkdMDyN54YMNQD96IhEa8Jvz/s1600/Finish+line+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWkMtYtbXkX8_QKqVKF8UOGHGX-PnXf0wYTHEpaHzIUbB_whhcDGczAqBNJtmMdA0TFLaN5GJOu2SKp01QtwcpuaQUUU8buAzQgpNYZfYtPm3dioVPQc9XUkdMDyN54YMNQD96IhEa8Jvz/s640/Finish+line+1.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">Only then did I look around and there was Paul to greet me and by chance, Luke was there with a big hug. I was exhausted and devastated and in shock. I hobbled over to get my dog tag medal. People told me congratulations but I didn’t believe them. My competitor crossed the finish line and I congratulated her. She thanked me for making it a race to the end. While Paul went to get a chair for me, I made my way to the food tent and tried to ask for a plain piece of bread but couldn’t even do that without breaking down. The men were so gracious with me. When I came back later, they said they were quite concerned about me and were glad to see I was doing a little better and filled me up with a rib-eye steak sandwich. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6ffcVNmlrWndBCI37vdzCdssAF8ZvyH4zzBNBhyTeFbQivU3T6Ufj-6q8Bd_-T-OBYuV5uSnQzylze6oqo2OlMZ_dzszX3pc4VPWj3rKiBzboOu4On1wL9QmubptaTmoTZ12ZYohnkHz9/s1600/Luke%2527s+finish+line+hug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6ffcVNmlrWndBCI37vdzCdssAF8ZvyH4zzBNBhyTeFbQivU3T6Ufj-6q8Bd_-T-OBYuV5uSnQzylze6oqo2OlMZ_dzszX3pc4VPWj3rKiBzboOu4On1wL9QmubptaTmoTZ12ZYohnkHz9/s640/Luke%2527s+finish+line+hug.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">One of the best crew and cheerleaders I know</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ynTQ1d17vVYMGiPvnwrYLpDJeFuXMEm1aRo6K28H8Rfctb1lnnXBpSnM3hV587CIxrdZJ3g8dAR9Ourjeu3B3Pe0KaFok0d7J16-4nJpB9qTGTWvkCVA4xjbqdgYEmpbokH4phM5Qkuw/s1600/Competitors+Hug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ynTQ1d17vVYMGiPvnwrYLpDJeFuXMEm1aRo6K28H8Rfctb1lnnXBpSnM3hV587CIxrdZJ3g8dAR9Ourjeu3B3Pe0KaFok0d7J16-4nJpB9qTGTWvkCVA4xjbqdgYEmpbokH4phM5Qkuw/s640/Competitors+Hug.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My competitor</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">Melinda crossed the finish line not too much later. I was so happy to see her. She was full of smiles and loved her adventure. We sat along the finish line, comparing our scars and scrapes which were still covered in dirt and cheered runners in until the very end. It was one of my favorite parts. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Mindy Extraordinaire!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi56mfnkoI84KeYlGnBSiqVnxn0mVkJzqQxBA8oOQ3ZI3U3f_2OysJumF8KluE4L8SIn4C7Kk2R0Q9sjO2mt76dXv6IoE9AfmawPf9QVg-ZaJRqSX3S3dCTyKPKyOZVbRquXacURuLuUYvh/s1600/So+dirty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi56mfnkoI84KeYlGnBSiqVnxn0mVkJzqQxBA8oOQ3ZI3U3f_2OysJumF8KluE4L8SIn4C7Kk2R0Q9sjO2mt76dXv6IoE9AfmawPf9QVg-ZaJRqSX3S3dCTyKPKyOZVbRquXacURuLuUYvh/s640/So+dirty.jpg" width="426" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">We're so dirty!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDDKCvmQMSMTgo2kMXrWaTk97QbDOW1R4y-SJ06VE3Oe44yzi5QDzIThh2RgO18i_PTy3Y6XEG80L0kuejbn4S5vBibq5LKbuq6oQdcSX6XXjCDidXiyCTMyPOCUKK0q9wm6MGHa_5YKNm/s640/We+can%2527t+even+take+off+our+packs.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We're so tired we can't even take off our packs</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2u6Oe73ZBP8j7iBGAj_XwwN1PmZF8X-t89ngjTIkiRGQxrGd2s6fL5xxFM2JMhmRJvYXhOj4kxEL6TKnSnnq-ecFNBdRpoxVvMlWZnVd7htCWqEPX7hhY5eXJ0toUKhDRtYsoW1FzYpZW/s1600/Tis+but+a+scratch.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2u6Oe73ZBP8j7iBGAj_XwwN1PmZF8X-t89ngjTIkiRGQxrGd2s6fL5xxFM2JMhmRJvYXhOj4kxEL6TKnSnnq-ecFNBdRpoxVvMlWZnVd7htCWqEPX7hhY5eXJ0toUKhDRtYsoW1FzYpZW/s640/Tis+but+a+scratch.JPG" width="480" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Tis but a scratch</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjS0VWNOyc9iQ51FY1jwYDRqJMS0s3oTM7zGG7XxVog4AieKn-eIATGlDlmuzWcOIAk_voCYE2qT_7r2pBXFqE13MgLJPOft4wcXF7jwYd0NJuQVyALveDQDgRRYd2ppHTmYPmfDtMW8Kp/s1600/That%2527s+gonna+leave+a+scar.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjS0VWNOyc9iQ51FY1jwYDRqJMS0s3oTM7zGG7XxVog4AieKn-eIATGlDlmuzWcOIAk_voCYE2qT_7r2pBXFqE13MgLJPOft4wcXF7jwYd0NJuQVyALveDQDgRRYd2ppHTmYPmfDtMW8Kp/s640/That%2527s+gonna+leave+a+scar.JPG" width="480" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">That's gonna leave a scar</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">I finished the Barkley Fall Classic marathon. There was heartbreak in missing the 50k cutoff but there was also reward in daring to go for something beyond what I thought I was capable of doing or anything I had dreamed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;">I dared anyway.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I'M A WEINER!</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxpyL3aNri-hgJUl5CAn0WZ7epg9CsyQH6xYBfVYuQtvfHBLLb3ocKGNv3Ub1JXFcL4r_5fEWNyNRQtV71P3qT3xtEBVCeu6VvMitk23kjImlops1VN2VFlQ4QpWaZzg4m-jhpda6MwonW/s1600/Finisher%2527s+Bib.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-kerning: none; font-size: x-small;">photo credits: Paul Nye, Misty Wong, Curtis Baker, guy sitting on the prison wall, me</span></div>
Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-33501481219698460132019-11-25T05:00:00.000-06:002019-11-27T12:05:14.744-06:00Barkley Fall Classic 2019: Pre-Race<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It's September 18, 2019. A nice but chilly evening in Iowa. The corn is done growing. The moon is shining. The cows are in bed. I'm in the back of the RV Paul and Melinda have rented for our road trip to Tennessee. We're going there to embark on a race we've only heard and seen from magazines and the internet. A race that decidedly has played mind games with us all summer year. And we ready to play back. Stuffed into our home on wheels for the next four days, besides us three, are their two boys, their puppy Bullitt, Luke, 2 scooters, 3 bikes, running gear, homework, coolers, and not enough snacks.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="776" data-original-width="1440" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieQ1KsaqjR291ZT3gsTX6AbXmrsh7fuNAZFLOFck_R-cTgJh8wTWFaAIAmQM-nNdLCE6Zu2ceGkZt-CoTyPgXoKrzgXYL1NmFz6IOW-8IZCAPOEUPU9-WeIayqvTaE4ZmCX4inbCZh03l_/s640/Frozen+Head+sign.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We're here!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">After driving all night, we arrived at our campground near Wartburg, TN late Thursday afternoon. Paul had found a great area for us and Luke was instantly excited because he knew there were mountain bike trails there. We slept in Friday morning and got going slowly. Eventually we solidified our plans for the rest of the day. Melinda and I went for a little shake-out run on the campground trails and it gave us a good taste of what we might find the next day. It was mid-morning but I notice the sun felt different; closer. The predicted weather for Saturday didn’t seem terribly hot but being on an exposed mountainside can make a little seem a lot worse and I don’t know how Tennessee weather behaves.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXvNAXzwkNWJRxnKRao_EZD7KKtWHDq1qt2xhIcYf2ZBpPjJ2DnaxohFpCsC0asD1Qdi8LiXm51LlHnTs7P9oA5nayhI8Xn6_cNKERJCxWTUCbOxvnEVbB0UfQQVf1lLDTEjxztJ5ScJM0/s640/Post+ride+Luke%252C+Griffen+and+Bullitt.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Luke and Griffen loved the bike trails</span></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">When we arrive at packet pick-up, I bolt out the RV door faster than Bullitt. I’m ready to see and learn what this whole thing is about. I made my way down the line, getting everything including a really nice drop-bag which was offered for purchase ahead of time. Laz is sitting in the awning out of the Tennessee sun and I re-introduce myself, handing him a jar of my candied jalapeños and suggesting they would go well with his blue cheese burger he described in detail to us last July. Melinda meets him as well and we have our picture taken with him. It’s only after this happens that I feel a thrill of excitement tingle through me. Soon we have the race map spread out over the hood of a truck and Larry leads us through the course while I jot down notes. I know this will not be easy but having the map now makes me feel more secure. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN_Rh6Sj33b5yPBVk_OxSRV4YYedY0rU_vHc6qsK5tHvL_ykFFhsQInWegyrAXGZPp_vpFJsCQN9oPwWDCokC3Ly5QA1fJf3IfOEMAs7dMNRHbQeY7ur6No1Tl0PETTVbkIhr2mz7iU2KV/s1600/Seeing+Laz+again.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnXcDoyyApOkDTpt0NQZhOEm4bdfoo-SJnnZtQlsUnTxL7lgawCksnRpHBoNu1FmGHt7we_urhF-c1dEsblmQP44N2uJBwaq34uA3jgmZZpYlBOMcGJF2gA44a9uJ7hDSRB1J7TbNOXs1_/s1600/Larry+and+us.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Getting all the details from Larry</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN_Rh6Sj33b5yPBVk_OxSRV4YYedY0rU_vHc6qsK5tHvL_ykFFhsQInWegyrAXGZPp_vpFJsCQN9oPwWDCokC3Ly5QA1fJf3IfOEMAs7dMNRHbQeY7ur6No1Tl0PETTVbkIhr2mz7iU2KV/s640/Seeing+Laz+again.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We meet again</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfi2vTW2y9uo2UW8nnlMGVnzz2Nw80L3YSK4W2Di78nATgZCcmRnCQ4-Kn3PnARukrMc5yg9JS7K1gG4fpvxiFTT0mKZ9QcfvThOhmreLXBJ7j3f3p_hGKvb4g3V5Z6qTCrb2XYGVXlCdp/s1600/Two+Mindys+and+a+Laz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfi2vTW2y9uo2UW8nnlMGVnzz2Nw80L3YSK4W2Di78nATgZCcmRnCQ4-Kn3PnARukrMc5yg9JS7K1gG4fpvxiFTT0mKZ9QcfvThOhmreLXBJ7j3f3p_hGKvb4g3V5Z6qTCrb2XYGVXlCdp/s640/Two+Mindys+and+a+Laz.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Laz and two Mindys</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitjSSrcqR8-AeEdUjXbmC-r5OKVtlzMugH26YeoGdR-54K10TZj9fMysm0zfHBEJNPGeNAgAyVBnKymypue7pkWtAwIcKNyXE3mqITlSIpwXmbKPPnNMeIQ5yhyLujWLSVRtgwx80rddXi/s1600/Laz+and+I.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitjSSrcqR8-AeEdUjXbmC-r5OKVtlzMugH26YeoGdR-54K10TZj9fMysm0zfHBEJNPGeNAgAyVBnKymypue7pkWtAwIcKNyXE3mqITlSIpwXmbKPPnNMeIQ5yhyLujWLSVRtgwx80rddXi/s640/Laz+and+I.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Not our last hug</span></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Standing in line for the spaghetti supper, I look around at all the runners and notice the race t-shirts everyone is wearing. I love it! It's like I've found my people. We enjoy the spaghetti supper but don't stay for the talk or movie because we want to get to Frozen Head State Park to see how the race is set up. The walk up to the yellow gate feels unreal. We are here! I’m here! I’m a bit overcome by it all. It’s just a regular gate painted yellow like a lot of other park gates except this one has stories to tell. There is a gate in the little preserve I run in and every time I run by it, I touch it. I say we all have our yellow gate and now here I am, standing by the one yellow gate! </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">A moment of silence</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqld2qq5z5zmmhcDPzTe7txrYf_jSFYSwwRihRw16YdMKxfCdcKI5hHo2XlUdaxKtojLcdgu-yC_YX2q0_ThtSZNd3ABSchxm6zBgx8T1Fwg2oiDsesLijdIiIhYtlD9Wzow1MeAsAFpLj/s640/Two+Mindys+and+a+Yellow+Gate.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We don't do easy things</span></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Finally we head back to the campground and start getting settled for the night, except there's still so much to do. We begin to fill our packs and drop bags and lay things out for the morning. I pull out the maps and some pens and notecards and begin to condense the route information onto a notecard. I put it into a small sandwich bag which later I fold and stuff into my shorts pocket during the race. I inspect my new drop bag which is amazing and then figure out how to pack what I want in it. I decide I will carry more on me because of where the drop bags will be located in the race. Eventually we tucked ourselves into bed and try to sleep. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It seems as though all of Tennessee is fast asleep when Paul pulls out of the campground and secures a parking spot at the race. I opened the back window’s blind and see a stream of cars pouring into the park. We finish our final preparations, double check everything and finally nudge the boys awake. We all stumble out of the RV and make our way to the start to leave our drop bags. There’s a start line with a timing clock over it and a chute lined with all the state and country flags representing the runners in the race. Come to think of it, it’s the fanciest starting area I’ve witnessed. I’m a little bit emotional but try to stuff it down. I’ve got a race to run and a job to do. Luke feels the weight of the moment and stays close to me. As I hug him for the last time, he reminds me to take care, have fun, to not sit down and to stay out of the tall grass. I laugh at my clever boy as that’s what I’ve told him all weekend long because of potential bug bites. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">photo credits: Paul Nye, Melinda Nye</span></div>
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Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-26560236320931182542019-11-24T10:44:00.003-06:002019-11-27T12:04:11.527-06:00Barkley Fall Classic, 2019: Prologue<div style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">It’s July 4, 2018. A nice warm morning in Iowa. The corn is growing. The sun is shining. The cows are mooing. I’m in the backseat of Mel’s car and we are headed northeast to Ackley. Mel, Susanne and I are going to meet up with a guy we’ve only read of and seen from magazines and the internet. His name is Gary Cantrell although most people call him Laz. He’s walking across the United States and is sharing his miles with anyone who wants to join him. We want to join him. We find him a few miles out on the east side of town. He’s sitting in a lawn chair his crew person has placed for him safely off the highway where a gravel road intersects yet not too far off the road for steps are counted and precious. He’s been walking all night, for as you may or may not know, Iowa can be unpleasant during the day in July and he switched his walking schedule to nights to save himself from the relentless roasting of both the sun and humidity which is aplenty thanks to our burgeoning corn crops. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">No Iowans were confused in seeing this sight. None whatsoever. Or upset. Everyone was cool.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Larry, please bring me an ice cream cone this big"</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The three of us take turns walking with him, swapping out one of us for the two and we each share about our lives. I tell him this is my backyard, so to speak as my grandparents’ farm is just a short distance away. I explain my high school summer job of roguing corn and watch him stop to take a picture of a fiberglass ice cream stand for his daughter. I think he likes Iowa but is not too keen on Highway 20 suddenly becoming a four lane road, unsafe for foot travel nor the lost time he has had to fight to make up because the roads in Iowa are messed up because of all our corn! He finishes his walk for the day, er, night a couple of miles west of Ackley and we all meet up to congratulate him. He’s younger than my parents by less than handful of years but has made it from the East coast to the middle of the United States on cigarettes, Dr. Pepper, chocolate milkshakes and now Casey’s breakfast pizza. As we stand around finishing our conversation, he asks me if I’ve ever climbed a prison wall and I confessed I hadn’t gotten to it yet.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One of these is not like the others</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The moment I registered on Ultrasignup for the Barkley Fall Classic 50k, I felt excited and immediately sick.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">If anyone knows about this race they usually only know about the Barkley Marathons from the Netflix video The Race That Eats Its Young. Whether they do or do not know about that race, I end up trying to explain that I’m signed up for a race in the same park and with the same race director as the guy from the movie but it’s not <i>that</i> race. On top of that, I’m not in the race yet because my name didn’t get drawn in the initial lottery but am on the waitlist and might get my name drawn as runners “pre-quit”. (Laz’s term, not mine.) It’s a cumbersome tale and eventually as the months wear on, I shorten it to say I’m training for a race in Tennessee in September. Which is close enough because once I share that its in the mountains with a lot of climbing and the actual distance is unknown but might be around thirty-six to thirty-seven miles, their eyes have long since bugged out and I’m left justifying why I think this is a fun idea and then even I begin to think I’m crazy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">In the meantime, I’m calling upon all my friends and acquaintances to share with me their Barkley Fall Classic experiences and advice as I begin my training. I’m on the waitlist but am training like I will get in. My friend, Melinda, threw her hat in the ring as well as was drawn in the initial lottery. Together we scour the internet for information and compare our training, her with her coach and mine with Coach Matt. It’s difficult to tackle something unknown. The race, while not <i>the</i> race, still has a bit of mystery to it. No GPS devices or tracking is allowed on the course. The race route is revealed to the runners the night before the race at packet pick-up and it is sort of understood that this race belongs to only those who toe the line that year so no exact routes are shared afterwards. On top of that, there are some off trail sections that only if you’ve been in the race before know what they are as going off trail in the park is prohibited. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjObxj3xg9Q6hCBMXses32c2GxbNGcDPpDDzRolvGfI61Jm0-q0oFRURrWJPAQSKy1Ie8-RoIgmS6r681uZvAO_iRFHBhoiZf0UPuzNjeCrsGLSNgzD9GXZjQ7F_DI6ngsH2ZF2rSB-_6yS/s1600/Jack+Trice.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjObxj3xg9Q6hCBMXses32c2GxbNGcDPpDDzRolvGfI61Jm0-q0oFRURrWJPAQSKy1Ie8-RoIgmS6r681uZvAO_iRFHBhoiZf0UPuzNjeCrsGLSNgzD9GXZjQ7F_DI6ngsH2ZF2rSB-_6yS/s640/Jack+Trice.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Jack does not care if you're hot or cold, tired or sore</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ledges crew <br />(missing David) <br />(because he came later) <br />(not because he was lost)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The most consistent advice I received from my Midwest friends was to do a lot of hill repeats. And a lot of hill repeats do I do. On the gravel roads near me, I took to repeating all the hills and steep driveways as many times as the month’s number- six repeats for June, seven for July, etc., using rocks or sticks to keep tally at the bottom of the hill. At Ledges, I spend hours upon hours running and hiking up and down. If I saw a family or group of people hiking in the park, I was going to see them three more times that day. Melinda, Shannon, William and I made up sick games to pass the miles and climbing. Then we went to Hitchcock and did the same thing. We would repeat Angel’s Dead Wing and Legacy trail along with Care Bear loop until we were silly worn down. (These trail names have been altered to protect their innocence. They’ve done nothing wrong. I, on the other hand, had stopped caring what the actual names were and made up whatever sounded close enough.) Earlier in the year, a friend let me into Jack Trice Stadium to run the stairs several times. And in June, Melinda and I ran a 50k in Decorah to test ourselves a bit. I spent at least one day a week on core and strength work. Then to change it up a bit, Coach Matt had me do a couple of 20 mile bike rides. I’ve never ridden my bike that far before. It was all new and I was plenty nervous to go that far but my reward was that I got to ride all the way to the High Trestle Bridge for the first time! </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Pre-Driftless Dirt 50k smiles</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Run when you can and when there's a photographer</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On repeat number- who's counting anymore</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXXumtdvjnpa1zP64g2gK57LUIj-PweYgY2VHOZw3mQ8QBVrwt-kCbYVgnea3k0g3v948mpmPr3_IBelsCn6AJ373D-216Pkx5-It40sCwKmtDz4jCKMEGs5zdgRDCBk3V8i3hmfbjRcPv/s1600/Care+Bear+Trail.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXXumtdvjnpa1zP64g2gK57LUIj-PweYgY2VHOZw3mQ8QBVrwt-kCbYVgnea3k0g3v948mpmPr3_IBelsCn6AJ373D-216Pkx5-It40sCwKmtDz4jCKMEGs5zdgRDCBk3V8i3hmfbjRcPv/s640/Care+Bear+Trail.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They ran ahead because my singing was getting out of control</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">One Saturday, I was in the middle of a monster hill repeat day at Ledges when I look up to see Susanne and Aaron coming down Crow’s Nest. They join me for a repeat and ask me if I’ve made it off the waitlist and I say no but I will show up ready anyway. Later that day, I pull into my driveway to a text from Susanne saying I got in! I don’t believe her! We were just talking about it! I confirm it by looking for the official email asking me to accept or decline the invitation and then gush about it on Facebook. I am thrilled! It’s the beginning of August. I’ve waited almost a year to get into this race.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip_nlbpX6aK1D14U3TOsJAX1VVXbKepzVYxx9_VYTAifjQfsAO4ZwcOjmM7x-mn6-w97Ai5yz3vxIyOY7p3reKnO-iTRjF76bEZqaXSEOKLdogCu5XUJDFBPhIZ06NDSEl8qp2RHBLX7Cz/s1600/BFC+Official+Invite.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="967" data-original-width="750" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip_nlbpX6aK1D14U3TOsJAX1VVXbKepzVYxx9_VYTAifjQfsAO4ZwcOjmM7x-mn6-w97Ai5yz3vxIyOY7p3reKnO-iTRjF76bEZqaXSEOKLdogCu5XUJDFBPhIZ06NDSEl8qp2RHBLX7Cz/s640/BFC+Official+Invite.png" width="496" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">Besides training, I armed myself with maps, books, and maps within books. I learned trail names and tried to memorize locations within Frozen Head State Park. I stared at contour lines until I could almost imagine the mountains rising from the map in 3-D form. I always like to have a paper map when learning a new trail and I wasn’t going to get a preview run so this was my best shot at knowing my where I would be when I got to the race. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ledges: one soul and quad crushing Saturday after another</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuFs8xG2bXXBez442IyiPi50yQTD91neM_bcyx9KcIQDMLPgHHgau9vUqX8G13R4PPKk7z2I9Zskpc7CGDrWVCaXboV31BdKjvx6jo9LMfPbAAFTb2KMbsxSrPtZDu1uPbZUA0x-PQaMqe/s1600/Ledges+up.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuFs8xG2bXXBez442IyiPi50yQTD91neM_bcyx9KcIQDMLPgHHgau9vUqX8G13R4PPKk7z2I9Zskpc7CGDrWVCaXboV31BdKjvx6jo9LMfPbAAFTb2KMbsxSrPtZDu1uPbZUA0x-PQaMqe/s640/Ledges+up.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">Scanning the through continual onslaught of b.s. and speculations on the Facebook page, I started a long list of gear needed and slowly collected the items. I wondered if my pack would be big enough to hold everything so on our last long run, I tell Melinda we should do a test run with everything we think we’ll need. It was a smart decision because I learned the gloves I had were too big for my pack and later that week I spend 20 minutes in Theisen’s looking for a pair that would fit. I debated about buying a new pair of shorts that might be more briar resistant and a bigger hydration pack but I would be risking a lot on untested gear so I skipped both purchases. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-A4wtiXFrZ5f3yCn8UfigaGnXV-ODxnkIzODEut1lT5bUNnMLW7VeAdHp4KEj7KvUC9Tz-YJV-mJeP3pZMe14Xxo0bO3IBejp3UjrVwNLGOxBSc5ZAyLO9mrTGhVx1Fxbxf-Xrj9h7arX/s1600/Carlton+Peak+with+Audrey.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-A4wtiXFrZ5f3yCn8UfigaGnXV-ODxnkIzODEut1lT5bUNnMLW7VeAdHp4KEj7KvUC9Tz-YJV-mJeP3pZMe14Xxo0bO3IBejp3UjrVwNLGOxBSc5ZAyLO9mrTGhVx1Fxbxf-Xrj9h7arX/s640/Carlton+Peak+with+Audrey.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Showing my future pacer Carlton Peak</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH4dJoQdLuPzdcRaNzWndhCVGxR-8RP0e2LOISPGLnnnJ1mN7E3lmEP-uEmc3bV88Z3BWbhpAwDdxAoU_ycilKD4rgNCkBptYZ8jYziFZlt6sqHZSabPpY5HvJ8bZFiZOwiD0N8iEMqmWg/s1600/Tettegouche+mouth.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH4dJoQdLuPzdcRaNzWndhCVGxR-8RP0e2LOISPGLnnnJ1mN7E3lmEP-uEmc3bV88Z3BWbhpAwDdxAoU_ycilKD4rgNCkBptYZ8jYziFZlt6sqHZSabPpY5HvJ8bZFiZOwiD0N8iEMqmWg/s640/Tettegouche+mouth.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mouth of Tettegouche River</span></td></tr>
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Working with my sometimes uneven schedule and a family vacation to the North Shore, Coach Matt was able to keep my training at an effective level. But even with rest days built in, it still became a blur of long weekend days, climbing and descending, and shorter focused week days. I texted him frequently with concerns and mental breakdowns and he carefully patched me up and sent me back out. I trained like I’ve never trained before and it’s working even as it taxes me. I get to the point where I can’t imagine actually racing but I’m so tired of recovering. </div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Photo credits: Susanne Kennedy, Larry Kelley, Nick Chill, Shannon Haus, me</span></div>
Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-18396300424348905362019-04-30T21:33:00.000-05:002019-04-30T21:33:00.663-05:00No Earbuds Week 7<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;">Day 43: Another rest day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 44: Core and strength day. Finding a rhythm and not being distracted by what I should listen to even as I work out. Silence brings its own kind of focus. I can bench press about 65 pounds so its not like I need a lot of focus on my wee strength. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 45: A new run for me- running the stairs at Jack Trice Stadium. Coach wanted me to hike up the stairs and then crush it going back down. An hour later I'm drained. I didn't know how it would be to do such a daunting workout and not have some music to motivate me. I stayed intense and know that had music been pumping through my earbuds, I would most likely have ripped them out. (But if I could have music blaring through the stadium sound system, that would probably be different!)</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Just a typical training day</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 46: Hello! Yesterday's run has left my calves and quads destroyed. I head out for an early meet up with Anne and Kristy and I feel like I can barely make my legs move. I can also barely make my mind move but I listen carefully to them. We each could go for an hour solid of airing our cares, concerns and crazies. Instead we spend time passing the mic back and forth. It's important to each of us that each of us are heard. For the rest of the day I prepare food for Easter dinner for us and Audrey and some of her friends. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Oh the feast these people filled me with!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">I don't remember if I explained this at the beginning, but when I chose to not listen to any music or podcasts during my run (and no podcasts whatsoever), it was in conjunction with observing Lent. And it was an unexpected choice. Both in observing Lent and with what I chose to fast from. One doesn't have to follow a religious tradition to practice restriction of course. I don't normally follow the liturgical calendar as it is but this year was different and I've learned to listen to the rhythms I am lead to.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">All that to say this was a very good practice for me. I loved not having to mess with deciding which podcast or playlist to listen to, making sure to download it, messing with all the cords that become tangled the instant you set them down and then require stringing through my clothes. Getting out the door became a little bit simpler, a little bit faster because these steps were eliminated. I know this especially now that I'm on the other side of the fast. All theses choices are now mine to make again and they all take time. (Today I lost a glove because it wasn't secured during my run while I was messing with my earbuds.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">I am also missing out on what my brain is processing simply by having a distraction feeding into my ears all the time. This is perhaps the biggest thing I took away from the past 46 days. I might have said this before but the thinking time has been there but I've been busy cluttering it up. It took this practice for me to remember this and to embrace it. For the most part, I really like the white space.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">That being said, I am sometimes too much in my head and would have welcomed a respite from the voices talking back to me. (I'm an Enneagram 1 and we come with loud inner critics) Having something to help me shut them down for a while is not a bad thing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">During this time, I've given a bit of thought to the idea that we are more of an add in culture rather than a take away culture. We'd rather add a pill, drink a new magic elixir, follow a strict regimen than to reduce what we're consuming either in our minds, bodies or spirits. And we often deny obvious outcomes, saying something doesn't affect us when in truth, everything we take in does affect us. Simply said, we cannot consume and be immune. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">After such a break, I'm slowly navigating my way back. It is easier just to choose one way and do only that. Set it and forget it. But we were not made to live with fasting only or feasting only. We were made to do both. Learning to live that way, that everything is a choice, is a lot harder. Making space, margin and a lot of times saying no actually opens up opportunities and discoveries usually within us. We only have to learn to be okay with the quiet.</span><br />
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Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-10731979885916132552019-04-26T08:46:00.001-05:002019-04-26T08:46:11.395-05:00No Earbuds Week 6<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 36: Rest days are important. As I slowly build up my training, I'm being mindful of building a healthy rest day routine. Today I took Kaci for a walk for a couple of miles, then I did an easy yoga practice and tried to be thorough in foam rolling. I think rest days should be easy but often I get caught up in making it more and it doesn't stay restful. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 37: I made a beet smoothie after my workout today. Smoothies are eluding me at the moment. I used to make them all the time but for some reason, they currently wreck my system. I'm suspecting its because of the huge handful of greens I throw in. This beet smoothie doesn't have any greens in it but it does have chocolate in it and it tasted great! </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This be the tastiest beet smoothie</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 38: I was able to run with Anne and Kristy and after they finished their miles, I did hill repeats. One trick I'll be practicing in this new training phase is to commit to run as many repeats as is the number of the month. So I did 4 repeats on each hill until I got the mileage I needed. I did not dress warm enough for the wind and temperature combination and started to feel really bad by the end of the run. I got home and immediately started shivering. Weather in April is weird. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 39: Another early morning run. This time to meet several friends at Jester Park for a complicated loop around the flooded park. We're hoping the flood waters stay away this summer. It has damaged so many of our trails already this year. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTk1sk-ooudCVQS3eIvsxmFy4mxbGhGyQc2tB9DIlbkXPm7pHp1HiMnS3Dtgblrgvis9wBaHikWchoDbYc1M8DpC5w6ilmKGLeVshJA4Jm2cxiXtLyyeF45l2rV0zc6vZiX6l4YYSyI_8X/s1600/Jester+group+run.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTk1sk-ooudCVQS3eIvsxmFy4mxbGhGyQc2tB9DIlbkXPm7pHp1HiMnS3Dtgblrgvis9wBaHikWchoDbYc1M8DpC5w6ilmKGLeVshJA4Jm2cxiXtLyyeF45l2rV0zc6vZiX6l4YYSyI_8X/s400/Jester+group+run.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Somehow I became the designated group selfie taker</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 40: Light yoga and stretching and a good soak in the tub. I'm trying to determine if a weird spot on the bottom of my foot is a callous of some kind or a wart. (hard hitting blogging right there)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 41: I'm constantly amazed at the changes a few days can make. Taking an easy pace and letting the mind wander. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDYYCNW8XI8DLkwBvAOOpIBKxYiX9CtPMkfKTIFOJoeBj66GXGqtRdc4CqqCgT4hbkqFa5OnAytIZy_1RzkOdKLjRQIiJF28kDwqIAPteZ0heCdaxec3XsLI5h5WSo5Ma__doH8g38lKU9/s1600/April+creek.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDYYCNW8XI8DLkwBvAOOpIBKxYiX9CtPMkfKTIFOJoeBj66GXGqtRdc4CqqCgT4hbkqFa5OnAytIZy_1RzkOdKLjRQIiJF28kDwqIAPteZ0heCdaxec3XsLI5h5WSo5Ma__doH8g38lKU9/s400/April+creek.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">April creek</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 42: On the plan for today, I was supposed to hit certain paces on specific miles. About mile 1.2 I was on the struggle bus. My diet the night before and leading up to it hadn't been great and I could tell. I remembered a little piece of advice I had heard from ultra runner Sally MacRae and that was to keep my heart up. So on those miles when I was hurting, I just thought of keeping my heart up. For one, it kept me focused on something. And secondly, it pointed my attention to positivity. Eventually I found myself on the last mile and still hitting the pace I needed to even though it hurt. Keep your heart up!</span><br />
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<br />Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-73052574426532875042019-04-11T06:00:00.000-05:002019-04-11T06:00:09.643-05:00No Earbuds Week 5<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 29: I spent this rest day buddying up with the foam roller and doing an extended yoga session. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 30: I am so stoked that this training block has a day specifically for strength training. You know I continually refer to my wee arms so by no means will I be bulking up but I will be hitting the core strength hard and adding in weights to build and balance me out. My body responds better with some weight-training added. I started my session with a 10 minute row. Some of you may recall I had a not-so-great experience the last time I tried to use a rowing machine and have avoided it ever since. But after reading Boys in the Boat, I was motivated to get back on it and have had success so far. It could easily become my favorite workout machine beside the treadmill because it is so body complete.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 31: The red-winged blackbirds are out but have not started nesting yet so thankfully they only squawk from the branches instead of flying with an overhead attack. The sheep at the farm north of town are ready to lamb so I stopped in the middle of a timed mile to take a picture. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRxNOvXwNzkYSu3ot6riMN9iGcpt-9VNbkaypDsgejIDC1Mot0Xx4Nz8CbfV5zoJMKj6whfXfz8PUCc44MnVGm7zsua4JG3eHb0v9QW5YUZcwFZpdwlKoP4NNS3S-uR0_bKEp2vbjXrTRE/s1600/Early+April+sheep.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRxNOvXwNzkYSu3ot6riMN9iGcpt-9VNbkaypDsgejIDC1Mot0Xx4Nz8CbfV5zoJMKj6whfXfz8PUCc44MnVGm7zsua4JG3eHb0v9QW5YUZcwFZpdwlKoP4NNS3S-uR0_bKEp2vbjXrTRE/s400/Early+April+sheep.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Loving this v-ewe for as long as I can</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 32: It was an early start for the three of us. 6:00 AM at this time of year still requires a headlamp for almost an hour. A few neighbors had stirred but for the most part it was us running in the dark talking about everything but mostly about puppies. Melinda has had her puppy for a couple of weeks and Julia was going to pick hers up later that morning, hence the early start. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHqSzYFE512WJXZpvGLjYC9c3s_87um3M_S_m4xfNNlPitNJRvKcLHwTT_17fHXLWB-hyhmVJGwoqdjQGWIAiA945FzhHpOYuDgVKaljWxwrvBSMMWiL74r0LxfVxpZTC-w2Z8TLC9C8mm/s1600/Early+April%252C+Early+Run.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="958" data-original-width="958" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHqSzYFE512WJXZpvGLjYC9c3s_87um3M_S_m4xfNNlPitNJRvKcLHwTT_17fHXLWB-hyhmVJGwoqdjQGWIAiA945FzhHpOYuDgVKaljWxwrvBSMMWiL74r0LxfVxpZTC-w2Z8TLC9C8mm/s400/Early+April%252C+Early+Run.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So early we're delirious </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 33: Off day of running but when for a walk with Kristy and took Kaci along. Kristy and I talked at length about community. She and her family are moving in June and my heart can hardly handle it. She knows what she'll be looking for in their new place. I'm learning to listen for what I need in community, fellowship.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimIEK3cW7ViDPjUpi3Exotqw1s1l9Un-_Qk1q2_OyBgtJ65IwiFyvPZSl0wKTFH-BVW-cRaAL_b9BpAjWh5sZQgecaah_SiKC7bh0OrOzLqf0EPkZGvyBO14tD4tx7G4_nWp_jF7jRfPiW/s1600/Kaci+thanks+Kristy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimIEK3cW7ViDPjUpi3Exotqw1s1l9Un-_Qk1q2_OyBgtJ65IwiFyvPZSl0wKTFH-BVW-cRaAL_b9BpAjWh5sZQgecaah_SiKC7bh0OrOzLqf0EPkZGvyBO14tD4tx7G4_nWp_jF7jRfPiW/s400/Kaci+thanks+Kristy.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Kaci says Kristy's neighborhood has good dogs.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 34: I spent most of this run thinking about the egg salad wrap I had eaten for lunch that did not sit well with me. I like egg salad. What I don't like are wraps. I've tried. I think they are a bad pitch for a sandwich plus you don't get as much sandwich filling as you think. Get a sandwich with bread or no bread at all. It was also almost 80 degrees with 20 mph headwinds for most of my run and I became overheated, dehydrated and sunburned in 6 miles. Today was not a good day but I didn't quit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 35: Bill was headed to Cambridge again to ride so I snagged a ride with him again to run the same trail I kind of don't love again. Compared to yesterday, it was barely 60 degrees, overcast and only a slight breeze and I took water with me.</span><br />
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Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-1008881579408355862019-04-03T12:12:00.002-05:002019-04-03T12:12:43.471-05:00No Earbuds Week 4<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 22: Today I learned about frost boils. It's a thing I guess where the frost heaves up the ground, turning it very soft and underneath a hole is left and vehicles and people can sink. Or at least this is how Anne described it. Initially we had seen a hole in the gravel road where a culvert had washed out and then it lead to the discussion and examination of frost boils. Tell me this is what you talk about with your friends.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0P2Ki27Tvz8qJpRNqLpLt7YMuD86_PUEzgYF-4Hs71YIlZayfbmFWvcMkAFW4IvTH8h0tl1qQ2nuC0iQvg7pHW33tD-hIhGpaJKHj6lg02WNXzwkTZpcY1-dNKf5TeuzEzO26q6BYbvKp/s1600/Hole+in+the+road.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0P2Ki27Tvz8qJpRNqLpLt7YMuD86_PUEzgYF-4Hs71YIlZayfbmFWvcMkAFW4IvTH8h0tl1qQ2nuC0iQvg7pHW33tD-hIhGpaJKHj6lg02WNXzwkTZpcY1-dNKf5TeuzEzO26q6BYbvKp/s400/Hole+in+the+road.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Hole in the Road- band name- called it</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 23: Today was Kaci's first run in a long time. I took her out for about a mile and a quarter, dropped her off at home and finished my run. Later, as I was doing a bit of yoga, she was conked out next to me. However, she's really good a downward dog.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 24: Yoga and foam rolling </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 25: I had on schedule a long run but time only permitted me a shorter run. The wind was howling and the temperature didn't feel spring-like at all. The Barkley Marathons is this weekend and I spent a lot of time obsessively checking Twitter for updates and a lot of time wrapping my mind around the athletes mind sets. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 26: I decided this would be the year I attempt a challenge I came up with and have spent a long while tweaking it. I have a small forest preserve near me and I've run hours and hours in it since it is my nearest trail. I decided to run a loop of my design for every month. In January I ran one loop. February is the second month so I ran two loops. Today being the very last day of March, I had to run three loops. Amber joined me and having her along helped pass those not quite 6 miles total much more quickly.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKGNtTG0gb2Zki8axXDTUNKGX0OA27Gj9kqPa62YJT-zK_KF8skZpf_wsft-DO3sd4FfZRNIUQU3zq6yfzdQkZoMDT2lqfg3V9KTT4e1ezK7iddEZAdTuJJXpf53z1mJOEvbJ-JfnFpvcE/s1600/forest+preserve+March.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="558" data-original-width="750" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKGNtTG0gb2Zki8axXDTUNKGX0OA27Gj9kqPa62YJT-zK_KF8skZpf_wsft-DO3sd4FfZRNIUQU3zq6yfzdQkZoMDT2lqfg3V9KTT4e1ezK7iddEZAdTuJJXpf53z1mJOEvbJ-JfnFpvcE/s400/forest+preserve+March.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Flower in the Forest- art piece- called it</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 27: I was up very early to join Anne and Kristy for a run. If you heard three women chattering away at 5:15, we're only a little bit sorry we woke you.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 28: I'm officially on training for a fall race that I hope I get into. I will tell you more about if it happens. Bill took a long lunch today so he could ride for a short bit so I threw on my running gear and ran from Cambridge to back home. It was a decent run for me although this short, flat section is always mentally tough for me. I'm not quite sure why. I can remember almost all of the times I've run it and what I was thinking and feeling. On this section was the first time I had ever heard of the Barkley Marathons and I remember being fascinated. It is only by coincidence that I would be running this stretch so close to this past weekend's race.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimcjIjhEnhhxAYlxXieXy9nB3fkXj9Ap0QwEaOfQ4XgGrPGJ930-qqYFYbWoVfNYqcppbDW8IiNayqdNWkxHg69A45ZaymA61s8MhDBuxGC853an-5VEGsRN25DVw_Z3svIBGySNFcJAmW/s1600/Week+1+BFC+training.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="750" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimcjIjhEnhhxAYlxXieXy9nB3fkXj9Ap0QwEaOfQ4XgGrPGJ930-qqYFYbWoVfNYqcppbDW8IiNayqdNWkxHg69A45ZaymA61s8MhDBuxGC853an-5VEGsRN25DVw_Z3svIBGySNFcJAmW/s400/Week+1+BFC+training.PNG" width="223" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Training for the Unknown- book title- called it</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span>Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-62146810653969936282019-03-29T06:00:00.000-05:002019-03-29T06:00:19.864-05:00No Earbuds Week 3<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 15: You've probably noticed by now I don't run every day. I had intentions of running today except for my body really wasn't having any of it and I decided to rest. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 16: It's the end of March and we desperately want Spring. I want the sun to be a warm sun and feel betrayed when I step outside to have the wind chill me and the shadows still piled with snow. Bill asked if I had time for a run and there was no way I was going to turn that offer down. We haven't gone for a run together in a long time. It was great to be with him.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkcAIpMu2y4wsLcRICTLUfQXLWwxH6vphtmpQTLK2h8AL2uDFeXLcgw5thjYcgnDXSmYVyhcrGr-Yu-kkiSlUlbs2pP_qBQb7veoRbZENZeVcg1SUephXESLvI_m3mpZXu57yFCRYkGupW/s1600/running+with+Bill.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkcAIpMu2y4wsLcRICTLUfQXLWwxH6vphtmpQTLK2h8AL2uDFeXLcgw5thjYcgnDXSmYVyhcrGr-Yu-kkiSlUlbs2pP_qBQb7veoRbZENZeVcg1SUephXESLvI_m3mpZXu57yFCRYkGupW/s400/running+with+Bill.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Hello, sunshine!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 17: Rest day/grocery day/Audrey came home for supper</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 18: The trails around here are starting to dry out but not quite enough so Melinda and I hit the gravel once again. We took a new route around here and had quite a bit of fun for Iowa gravel roads. She's reading a long biography about The Beatles and I just finished a book about the 1936 Olympic gold medal men's rowing team titled The Boys in the Boat. This book unexpectedly resonated with me and will stay with me for quite some time. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH1XdKfE-Vzf_JdXUYkCQBoesbQT_uGqG9so7wcKw1X8BrJHLjNk7h7VAWE1RJQE7kfeSCHpwf7MgI8B5vzd4oU01pyuga43udK1ntvTdir71mVuydjMgnWcQASPV9vl8NgE3VI4J4EP5-/s1600/lucky+caterpillar.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH1XdKfE-Vzf_JdXUYkCQBoesbQT_uGqG9so7wcKw1X8BrJHLjNk7h7VAWE1RJQE7kfeSCHpwf7MgI8B5vzd4oU01pyuga43udK1ntvTdir71mVuydjMgnWcQASPV9vl8NgE3VI4J4EP5-/s400/lucky+caterpillar.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">With delirium setting in after 15 miles, we called him the lucky caterpillar</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieVxXM8xLJoymnYc47nCBFVeYUMOHh9TrfaNRQqBWOBPCC1JYjgL62IksGyKkaZhrOuF7v2AfdG5deJal4roLofL810Np37opw23ZAjgO_0lS0P3PLjX1jxOhHC9uP86iEvkro6hRZKFRw/s1600/haybale+snowman.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieVxXM8xLJoymnYc47nCBFVeYUMOHh9TrfaNRQqBWOBPCC1JYjgL62IksGyKkaZhrOuF7v2AfdG5deJal4roLofL810Np37opw23ZAjgO_0lS0P3PLjX1jxOhHC9uP86iEvkro6hRZKFRw/s400/haybale+snowman.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If you haven't seen hay bale creations, have you even run Iowa gravel roads? </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 19: It was race day for the boys, so I recovered by walking trail and standing for nearly all day watching them race.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 20: An easy three miles with Anne turned into an easy 4 because we had parenting things to work out. We solved approximately none of our problems.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 21: My plan was to go for a run but my body is begging for me to take care of it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Body- You should take care of me today. Instead of going for a run, how about you do a bit of yoga, hit the foam roller, maybe a bath and definitely work on a callous or two.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Me- Nah, I'm good. I haven't really been training for anything so I'm fine.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Body- No, you're not fine. That weird thing on the bottom of your right foot hurts even when you stand on it. Both of your hip flexors cramp up when you sit sometimes and your lower back is tight.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Me- Listen, I just switched to a 50k plan and I want to knock out the first day.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Body-You're not going to knock it out if you're injured.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Me- I'm fine. </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Body- TAKE CARE OF ME!</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Me- Fine! You don't have to yell. Sheesh. </span></blockquote>
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Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-25043173922297384582019-03-26T21:10:00.002-05:002019-03-26T21:10:19.712-05:00No Earbuds Week 2<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 8: off</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 9: </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Aach! This weather! The past days of rain plus warming temps are thawing everything out which is great. We have to get to Spring somehow. But it is a grey and dirty mess to get there. Very similar to my mop water (dog, boys, dirt bikes). Which is what I decided I would do when I got home- mop while I was still in my running clothes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 10: off</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 11: Went for a run with a friend on the Neil Smith Trail since the dirt trails are thawing and drying out. I love being able to run with my friends to begin with but as I practice this time of silence, shared run are really highlighted. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 12: I am a little sore from yesterday's run so I took Kaci on a quiet walk. Normally I catch up on a short podcast or two when taking her out but it was nothing for our mile and a half walk. I'm starting to enjoy to decluttering of my mind. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 13: Today, I took care of Anne's dogs and spent the rest of my run thinking up a story from the dogs to text her while she and her family are on vacation. The real backstory is that yesterday they escaped and I had to chase them down. Today they hadn't eaten their food from yesterday so this is what I came up with.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Today we protested with a hunger strike. We've tasted freedom and we want it. We're inspired by Alexander Hamilton and Lafayette, the famous Frenchman, and so our cry is "Freedom for America! Freedom for dogs!"</span></blockquote>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieZadb0egzcuG48blkf9jmY-k-hgVHuQs9Fdax4KhF46Gte4nSm2XDuX1ekvptsTjpMyFM055D9WLfopqMIySZP17OPcLOZZ2e4J0Sv5r-5er7dqmtc_qpKiHB_LYiwfDwSO7LwNynLAWU/s1600/Hilleman+dogs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieZadb0egzcuG48blkf9jmY-k-hgVHuQs9Fdax4KhF46Gte4nSm2XDuX1ekvptsTjpMyFM055D9WLfopqMIySZP17OPcLOZZ2e4J0Sv5r-5er7dqmtc_qpKiHB_LYiwfDwSO7LwNynLAWU/s400/Hilleman+dogs.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">On the day of their capture, they expressed no remorse, declaring this the best Spring Break ever</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 14:</span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Can you go for a run at 10:00?" Yes! And so we talked, ran, walked and got some feelings out, both of us feeling a little less crazy at the end of it all. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-32086474793629330482019-03-14T06:00:00.000-05:002019-03-14T06:00:09.638-05:00No Earbuds for 40 Days<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I have decided to give up listening to anything on my runs for the next 40 days. It's time for a break from this habit for a little while. I do this often, particularly after a big race when I go out to quiet myself and ground myself to what I'm about and to reflect on where I've been. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I mostly listen to podcasts during my runs in the winter and in the summer I listen to music. It’s kind of a weird thing I’ve noticed about myself. Perhaps its the stories that get me through winter and the motivation of the music that moves me in the summer. And I don’t listen to anything while racing. I’ve tried before only to find myself more engaged with the race than whatever is pumping into my ears. </span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;">I used to run without listening to anything when I first started trail running. I was very busy learning how to run on a new surface. Now </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;">I'm revisiting this practice and bringing you along. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">So excited, can't you tell?</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span>Day 1: I didn't run today. Crushing this goal.</span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 2: I jumped on the treadmill with Spotify pulsing through my earbuds. What the heck? First day and I’ve already blown it? I’m not even disappointed with myself. Because it was snowing again and I needed to run. A combination of listening to James Bay, watching Bill workout and some dirt bike video he was watching got me through. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6QQ-m_9GUbuubUtc6fX0Dl3Tc-G-tYcK9oJ-43xlzi4QvXBcPs4YyXVuGS23EGqB1Mchj55EVv_wP46eMdmwT0wxj-g-bNz8vn3fv0Kuj7xC9r50qrGXQhlJUh7UX81sLbAefiZ8YV0Kq/s1600/Rowing.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6QQ-m_9GUbuubUtc6fX0Dl3Tc-G-tYcK9oJ-43xlzi4QvXBcPs4YyXVuGS23EGqB1Mchj55EVv_wP46eMdmwT0wxj-g-bNz8vn3fv0Kuj7xC9r50qrGXQhlJUh7UX81sLbAefiZ8YV0Kq/s400/Rowing.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">This is the best view I've had in a while. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 3: Today’s run was outside.The weather has cleared for a brief time before more precipitation tomorrow. Out I went, sans headphones. I did notice right away it streamlined my prepping and leaving for my run. I didn’t have to untangle a mess of cords or thread them through my clothes. I didn’t have to debate which podcast to listen to and wait for it to download. I simply stuffed my phone in my pocket and that was it. I cannot say I had any lightbulb moments. I thought about a lot of things, as I normally do, even though as I write this now it feels more like a shower moment where you’ve had something brilliant come up and then can’t remember it five minutes later. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day 4: Treadmill time again. This time I was determined to not listen to anything but instead of being a quick transition out to the garage where I will stare at the same pull-up bar that taunts me, I was thorough with my running prep and did a few odd tasks around the house before finally getting going. Procrastination is real. With my workout on a post-it, I got started and once pass the warm-up, I found I was involved enough in each part of the plan, I could get through an pretty intense workout without music. Plus, I paid attention to the tension in my body as I pushed the pace, working to let it go while keeping my form in check.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Duct tape formally used to attach iPad to console but also workout sticky notes. Workout sticky notes because math.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Day 5: When Sunday night kinda goes to crap and Monday turns out sunny and dry and you get a text from a friend needing a long run, you go for a long run. You listen, you talk, you get a little sunburned. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Day 6: I thought of everything today and was amazed at the space my brain needed to wander. I spotted a Cardinal tucked back into the woods, catching only a flash of red. As I was wondering how I saw him, my ears picked up a call that started singularly but turned into to stereo the closer I got. I thought maybe it was some sort of electrical pinging or kind of construction noise. I stopped and listened to the stereo performance, first my left ear and then to my right. Carefully I scanned the trees, trying to locate what my ears had found. By luck, I came to rest on a Blue Jay. I could have missed his performance.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Day 7: No run today. </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I’m willing to let my mind and spirit wander where it needs to go. I’m curious to see what happens in the upcoming days. </span></span><br />
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Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-80826040783082876232018-12-13T08:53:00.002-06:002018-12-13T08:53:37.230-06:00Mines of Spain 100k, 2018<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">The decision to run 100k, 62 miles, was made the same day I completed the Zumbro 50 mile race. Well, maybe not the exact same day as I had no idea what time it was when I crossed the finish line and was immediately stuffed into the back of the truck and driven straight back to Iowa through a blizzard. When I came to the next day in my bed and before I had really anything proper to eat, however, I reflected that I could have done another loop, another 17 miles. It wouldn’t have been easy or pretty as I was just starting to hit some weird lows and I had some aches and pains that would continue to develop had I gone on but I could have done it. The realization came to me right before another wave of sleep washed over me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">For the past several years, there has been a half marathon, 10k, and 5k, in the Mines of Spain area of Dubuque, Iowa. A lot of runners come to the race not fully prepared for what the race has in store for them. It’s always held in early August and the good people behind the race have managed to find nearly all the climbs and stairs available and put them in a nice 13 mile loop. They make sure some of the downhills are technical and leave the prairie sections open so that you visibly melt in the Iowa humidity which they’ve specifically cranked to hearty dose. Most people call the race brutal and try to erase all memory of with the post-race party. So instead of leaving it at that, the race directors found a way to tack on more miles, more climbing, more prairie and more everything. Altogether they made a 20 mile course and called it the Mines of Spain 100 mile and 100k. The only thing lacking is the guarantee of 100% humidity since it is held in mid-October. Sign me up!</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I spent the next four and a half months preparing for the 100k. I found a coach, Matt Randle, to help get me there in one piece and in good preparation, which he did. I had a magical, adventure-filled summer of running which pushed and pulled me in new ways and truly proved how much I’ve gained since I started my ultra endeavors four years ago. I ran a new personal best time at the 25k distance (15-ish miles), had my first adventure run in Leadville, Colorado with friends and ran my first 50k in Fairplay, Colorado after not thinking I could ever do a mountain race (a story unto itself). I put in more time and more climbing than ever at Ledges and ran with so many friends. When it came to tapering back for the race, I really felt it was too soon. How could the race already be here? </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">At the same time I felt apathetic and tired. I expressed my concern to a friend saying all I thought I would have at the end was a medal and that it would be over. He said it sounded like I was ready. When I told my coach, he said I was more confident than I realized and that was a positive for me. It turns out I was nervous because this was what I wanted but had shoved it way down. I had forgotten that this was my A race, my goal. This was what I had been working for all summer long. My perspective changed. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDaVyKQQWZKBffpdJX6t4gETM3HX3VxpD9IYMEOxHi3nI7R6eFJkHDHI3o6d5DTcVFnrS7iqq_fLDR8XCkvT9gDln_FiRPlW-oWgC2dvQesMVhL5kyBoYE0TKYS29M9bTdhJ5peke5w6Ir/s1600/bibs+the+name.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDaVyKQQWZKBffpdJX6t4gETM3HX3VxpD9IYMEOxHi3nI7R6eFJkHDHI3o6d5DTcVFnrS7iqq_fLDR8XCkvT9gDln_FiRPlW-oWgC2dvQesMVhL5kyBoYE0TKYS29M9bTdhJ5peke5w6Ir/s640/bibs+the+name.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The race started Friday morning at 8 am. The forecast was for light rain early then ending with overcast skies and temps in the high 40’s, low 50’s. Because of our unusual, or maybe usual unpredictable Iowa weather this Fall, I had a lot of practice trying out clothing combinations until I narrowed it down to shorts, t-shirt, gloves and a lightweight jacket. I ate my normal pre-run breakfast, forcing food down even though my stomach was in knots. We pulled into the race area and the nerves wouldn’t go away. I fumbled with pinning my race number to my vest and broke down crying about four safety pins. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">On the way back from the bathroom I saw my new friend Jeff and blurted out my distress. He has done dozens of ultras and assured me I would be okay. Then I saw Crystal who also has done a lot of ultras. And my mom found me. Then I very briefly met Ann Trason as we made our way to the start. I was surrounded by ultra runners, all of us on the same conquest. My nerves dissipated into the morning rain as we took off.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_33MiURDTiCIZnsQXHpFlVH6v06t0EVMqtN7OECaEWhF8ha1b1FTrIzVkXegOjMLH_PtZWulYfjTj4TB-iv84Op2uBCK25TL8Xy37UIaDkTwGfzglcMnNH3MEL832lzB7FWyw5uUIDJ9Y/s1600/Ann+T+and+Me.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_33MiURDTiCIZnsQXHpFlVH6v06t0EVMqtN7OECaEWhF8ha1b1FTrIzVkXegOjMLH_PtZWulYfjTj4TB-iv84Op2uBCK25TL8Xy37UIaDkTwGfzglcMnNH3MEL832lzB7FWyw5uUIDJ9Y/s640/Ann+T+and+Me.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Oh, you know, just casually walking to the start with Ann Trason</span> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjbqLnpNgSqQJ4Q1NeRyoU5dK6K9dtTFXxn0mxmclTMywaz4ZSwMYG0ruARqMGawa4OCwIykuycfmapXVl-M46Hxr_szUblI3PvxtZRZrtI3Wm5muyrkMaM8QrIumWLFqESjQy_7lvoK-q/s1600/Mom+and+me.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjbqLnpNgSqQJ4Q1NeRyoU5dK6K9dtTFXxn0mxmclTMywaz4ZSwMYG0ruARqMGawa4OCwIykuycfmapXVl-M46Hxr_szUblI3PvxtZRZrtI3Wm5muyrkMaM8QrIumWLFqESjQy_7lvoK-q/s640/Mom+and+me.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">No matter how old you are, your mom is always proud of you</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Justin and I never plan any running together. You recall him for last year’s McNaughton 50 mile. We live in the same town. We have similar goals. We end up doing the same races and running together during the race but never outside of the race. We tried once this fall and it fell through. But here we are at Mines together. We catch up on life, family, and our running adventures through the miles. Honestly, its nice to have company you don’t have to start from introductions to have conversations. Justin has been pushing his nephew in a running chariot in races and had just pushed him in a trail race. It’s a story and an effort he might not make a big deal of but I gladly will. I knew Justin was in strong shape for this race and when he pulled away from me during the second loop, I was only sad to lose his company. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg37b0uks9Tf36g5VcNosr8qfN7UiDwpGFI0KGvu4uMEPueZEY_vGoy3tS7GClDXVUBuYoZEyxwUwjBmZfIFfsRgqv3Gt52meQGq-nAbfo2Na4BPRPeozUcKhVIM1zDipXRiyyoq3l8EqV0/s1600/Justin+S+and+me.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg37b0uks9Tf36g5VcNosr8qfN7UiDwpGFI0KGvu4uMEPueZEY_vGoy3tS7GClDXVUBuYoZEyxwUwjBmZfIFfsRgqv3Gt52meQGq-nAbfo2Na4BPRPeozUcKhVIM1zDipXRiyyoq3l8EqV0/s640/Justin+S+and+me.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">During the first loop the rain drizzled on and off for about half of it. I kept my jacket on, took it off, zipped, unzipped, carried it balled up in my hand, or draped over my arms until I could finally take it off and put it away. I learned I can take my jacket off while not completely removing my vest. I’m sorry if this is utterly boring but these are the things you think about and obsess over when attempting long distances. You keep tuned in to everything that could make or break your body. You try to keep eating food and drinking water and balancing electrolytes. You manage heat and sweat. There is time to think about other things but these basic things are never far from your mind.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgegAhrqCkyDmMFAB12ZjgFOaXG-JDOyo6j2tCmn7lcbAoGJ4k6K6iIbjfRwr4vfEUYLM2BHxByGrkZUss1O6i6MXw2zYgyf8tCQKGzncqXTvcBZnBzxA81GCOJ012aWaCh-whmy8ZBSbf2/s1600/Creek+Hopping+with+Crystal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgegAhrqCkyDmMFAB12ZjgFOaXG-JDOyo6j2tCmn7lcbAoGJ4k6K6iIbjfRwr4vfEUYLM2BHxByGrkZUss1O6i6MXw2zYgyf8tCQKGzncqXTvcBZnBzxA81GCOJ012aWaCh-whmy8ZBSbf2/s640/Creek+Hopping+with+Crystal.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Crystal and me hopping creeks </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Mile 90 Photography)</span><br /></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">An exceptionally rainy fall made all of Iowa was squishy. The week before the race things tried to dry out although there was still some rain. I prepared mentally for the inevitable mud, low spots in the prairie, or obvious runoff and for the little creeks to hold more than a little water. I slipped and fell a couple of times on muddy banks. The race directors had told us there would be some water on the course ahead of time by way of a fun little video. Cool. Cool. Cool. However, after we descended the Calcite Trail (the section with the steep stone steps), we were greeted to squawks and hollers from runners crossing a very, very flooded trail. Shock crossed all of our faces. Even though we were to turn left to head to the third aid station before coming back to cross it, runners were still drawn to the flooded trail like sirens luring sailors to their death. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Knowing that trail was not ours for the moment, we turned away and headed out to the third aid station. A ways in we were greeted with those already coming back giving us a heads up that there would be a stretch of trail under water about ankle deep. Onward we pressed, diverting around some watery sections and of course thinking, “Well, that wasn’t so bad.” Oh no! Just a bit further, around a corner was the section they had been talking about. Again, before we could see it, we could hear it coming from the shouts. It was about 30 yards long and more than ankle deep, and cold. At first the idea was to high step it as much as possible but that ended kicking up water either onto yourself or the runner ahead of you so we shuffled as fast as we could. My feet were numb by the time I was through it. And lucky for us, we got to go back through it in just a couple of miles. My feet were no less numb the second time through.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">We hadn’t forgotten the flooded section but only temporarily pushed it from our memory. That is until we were face to face with it. Foot to flood with it? It came to my mind that this was like the “Going on a bear hunt” song. I can’t go around it. I can’t go over it. I can’t go under it. I’ll have to go through it. In we stepped. In we sank as the water rose higher and higher and I honestly wondered how high it would rise on me. Would it be waist high on me while only thigh deep to Justin? This time it only went to mid-thigh on me. We pressed through the water, guessing as to what was the trail beneath us, out of sight. Our yelps and cries dwindled to nothing as we traversed the three hundreds yards of cold, cold water. 300 yards later, we merged back onto dry land shocked, stunned and numb. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">As we finished the first loop, the flooded trail consumed my thoughts. How could I manage to keep my feet dry for as long as possible? What shoes should I wear? How could I keep warm when each time I came out of the water my feet were nearly numb? What would it be like at night? I needed to assess my gear and what I would need for the next loop as I came into the start/finish area but I could not stop thinking about the water. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Back on the second loop it occurred to me that I was letting one 300 yard section of the trail dictate my miles so I forced myself back to being present for the moment. I had miles to go before I came to that again. The stretch between aid station one and the far turn around seemed to stretch on longer than ever and we ran for endless miles before we were able to get to the heart shaped hole punch that was tied to a tree branch so we could prove on our race bibs we hadn’t skipped that section. At aid station two I ate a couple of pirogies and some Coke. The sun tried to break through the cloud cover but couldn’t get a hold so we stayed in mild, cool temps that were perfect. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcSAxS_8-ruhsX1FEaLsg7Qbuh7NmPzE4IHdEcQ8qOW50DtvdvlQlFtSLwCGxLZapQ0NyC8w2eesivzOZTSPwhDZEvFaJZxjL_nQ0LF3sGbgTssiEIO9gG-4mGiR-MsI9tBJ79W1jsbR8v/s1600/Bluff+Up%252C+Thumbs+Up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcSAxS_8-ruhsX1FEaLsg7Qbuh7NmPzE4IHdEcQ8qOW50DtvdvlQlFtSLwCGxLZapQ0NyC8w2eesivzOZTSPwhDZEvFaJZxjL_nQ0LF3sGbgTssiEIO9gG-4mGiR-MsI9tBJ79W1jsbR8v/s640/Bluff+Up%252C+Thumbs+Up.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Bluffs up, thumbs up </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">(Mile 90 Photography)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">After aid station 3, my body started complaining and I couldn’t keep up the downhill pace I had been doing. I started walking 30 paces then running 30 paces. If anything the counting kept my mind occupied. I was by myself now and looking back on that time, bonking a bit. I hadn’t been diligent with eating and stubbornly didn’t take care of myself like I know I should. I didn’t want to be doing this so soon but eventually let myself hike almost completely. I was happier and was not fighting myself for what I should or shouldn’t be doing. I can hike very quickly even on the uphills. As Melinda remarked later, I just need an uphill race. Crossing the low water section again was neither warmer or easier. It was just as cold and maybe a little deeper although I found if I stayed to the edge is wasn’t quite as deep. On the way back from aid station 4, the evening sun cast its glow across the top of the autumn trees. It was such a stunning contrast to a grey day. I drew it in, knowing that the next time I was that way it would be dark. </span><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">At the high water crossing I appreciated the humor someone had placed out there for us. As I crossed, floating sticks and small branches banged against my legs under the surface. It occurred to me that there could be more than those things in the water but I quickly put it out of my mind. I couldn’t let those kinds of thoughts take hold. The water was no less cold and was slightly higher than the first pass. To keep warm I had to keep moving. I was driven to get back to the start/finish. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-ZWj_uKb1wHXyqXJ2we9zwAnO3hBDyqOR_RuO6u5E0hrrxyhNUbYQ8t7OupyiOV0TPKAT7UhLrSq6BP0-2olm_LJRUWvGruYJnr4Ob5A9jJ7HPkofxIfSQhyphenhyphenNKm-a-VP7aQKE-Lu03bP/s1600/You%2527re+funny.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-ZWj_uKb1wHXyqXJ2we9zwAnO3hBDyqOR_RuO6u5E0hrrxyhNUbYQ8t7OupyiOV0TPKAT7UhLrSq6BP0-2olm_LJRUWvGruYJnr4Ob5A9jJ7HPkofxIfSQhyphenhyphenNKm-a-VP7aQKE-Lu03bP/s640/You%2527re+funny.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Here for the trail humor (that's not Justin) </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">My crew was waiting for me. At the start of the race was Bill and my mom, who was so excited to finally be able to come to one of my races. Between loops 1 and 2 our friend Joe had stopped by and my pacer, Melinda, had just made it there with the best pb&j sandwiches. Then between loops 2 and 3, another friend, Kevin, came over to say hello as he was volunteering overnight. I had met Chuck during the course preview run a month before and even though he was volunteering at aid station 2, he was still all over the place and called me out every time he saw me. During my summer mountain race, I felt the loneliest I’ve ever felt during a race but at this race I never felt alone. All of them were bright spots in my race.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBcforSxCp-HlzJjaF1C2PMekagPAsOnhxA2SZ5Gk7OMOZ5EybnJfqorpwqU2cm2npZKvVmUUUL36nkAnLwFQISTcbHm2eBeJ0OUMKnQodpx9EPFGiwx6eDR9_wjIQLqRsPZjSQJ6phSKW/s1600/second+loop+finish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBcforSxCp-HlzJjaF1C2PMekagPAsOnhxA2SZ5Gk7OMOZ5EybnJfqorpwqU2cm2npZKvVmUUUL36nkAnLwFQISTcbHm2eBeJ0OUMKnQodpx9EPFGiwx6eDR9_wjIQLqRsPZjSQJ6phSKW/s640/second+loop+finish.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Possibly faking this smile finishing the second loop</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">During the second loop I thought about what I would need for the third loop which would be almost completely in the dark. I had been wearing shorts and t-shirt and it wouldn’t be enough once the sun went down. I needed to change into capri tights but not wanting to walk out of the way over to the bathroom or try to balance on wobbly legs in a small porta-potty, I had Mom and Melinda hold up a beach towel around me while I backed myself against a brick wall of the shelter and changed. Listen, there’s just a lot of little things like this that happen on the trail. We end up sharing experiences that bond us into best friends with inside jokes which no one gets a chuckle over except us.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Mom figured out crewing duties quickly</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I changed my socks and shoes, threw on a light long-sleeve layer, grabbed my hiking poles, headlamp and Melinda and I set out for the last loop. I want to say I headed out to crush the last lap but it was still 20 miles long and I wasn’t in a crushing in type of mood. Although it was light out when we started, by the top of the first climb I had to stop to put on my headlamp and extend my poles. As the day faded, I wondered how long it would take for the darkness to fill in around me, the shadows grow to their fullest. The bluffs put on a beautiful play of grey. The sky remained clear and gradually the tiny lights of stars appeared as a not quite full moon found its mark on the night stage. New to me was experiencing the temperature changes along the trail. Most of the trail felt cool as I expected it to be in the evening but in some sections the temperature was colder and frost covered the ground while every once in a while a warm spot rose up. Even when you are limited to a circle of your own light, your other senses have not stopped working.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">When we started out together I gave Melinda updates on how I was doing and so on. But the cheer and energy of the aid station soon faded and I was starting to dip back into a low level bonk. I’ve never really experienced this kind of energy swing before in a race and can only see what is was now with post-race perspective. I gave Melinda the unenviable task of trying to converse with me without talking about anything sad, gross, reminiscent, or really all that happy. I was on the verge of breaking down. I missed my boys terribly and thinking of them was too much. I could hear all about what was going on in Melinda’s life- what books she’d read, movies she’d seen, new hobbies she’d started and where she’d hidden her energy gels at in her house to keep her boys out of them but then couldn’t find them herself- but in my life nothing was going on other than I was trying to get through one mile after one mile. For me, life was whittled down to a very small circle, focused on what was required to do right in front of me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">What does a pacer do? Mine made me eat the extra pirogies she had stashed away from the aid station. She made me a killer pb & j sandwich and kept asking me if I was eating it. She made sure I had some broth when I would have just left the aid station without any. She told me I was doing well and moving strongly. I hardly believed her because how could I be doing so well when I knew I was slowing down and everything was hurting? But she kept encouraging and cheering me. She was there for me and believed in me.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhziRlZnnWzO8LW_cPzgh5XOWF8ixqb0di3g16T61IRf_haGSxJLIf1n70d1immSS7auRUyehGsWUGFDKAWV5pMuOdogC3W21ojnN7pAYEVKY-GlgENDkCcytVtIfFF7rpCpsLClJu1whSg/s1600/Ann+and+me+in+the+dark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhziRlZnnWzO8LW_cPzgh5XOWF8ixqb0di3g16T61IRf_haGSxJLIf1n70d1immSS7auRUyehGsWUGFDKAWV5pMuOdogC3W21ojnN7pAYEVKY-GlgENDkCcytVtIfFF7rpCpsLClJu1whSg/s640/Ann+and+me+in+the+dark.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Seeing Ann during the race was always a bright spot no matter how dark the night was</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Every section of the course had become familiar to me. I knew where to turn, where to look for the next flag, when to cross the bridge and all the nuances of the trail. I called them out to Melinda to let her know where to step at each mud pit or how this was only a fake water hole, not the real one. Finally we came to the low water crossing and as much as I tried to suck it up and endure without much thought, it nearly broke me and I cried out a little. I did not want to go through that again! It had gotten longer and deeper as the day had progressed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">We made it to the last aid station and while I usually celebrate things such as last time through aid stations, I did not this time. Nothing was funny, nothing was amazing. My friend, Nate, surprised me by driving over and was there. He was live streaming on Facebook and my sister had joined in. I got to see her and hear her love although I was in dark spot and didn’t really respond to her. At this last aid station I wasted a bunch of time on figuring out how to carry a handful of gummy bears and Skittles along with my poles in my gloved hands. It was just the dumbest thing to spend time on when more importantly I needed my jacket on and something warm to drink. Melinda forced a cup of broth into my hands and we left. As it turned out, the Skittles were too hard for me to chew and I ended up getting rid of them. So fueled on a cup of chicken broth and a handful of gummy bears, we left for the last miles of the race.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The water was inevitable. We made it through the low section for the last time and I sighed only a bit. With the night fully dark now, I shuddered at the thought of the long stretch of water. Standing at the edge of it, I directed Melinda to move as quickly as possible and to not fall down. I gritted my teeth and stepped in. I wanted it over with. Floating in a kayak was a race volunteer, watching to see that we made safe passage. The water crept up higher and higher on my legs, falling just short of my waist but I just kept going. At the end of it, I gave a long shout. I should have felt like a conqueror but instead I was relieved to be done with it for good. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Melinda and I finished up the last sections, the last miles. Nothing had stopped me so far and nothing was going to stop me from finishing. Except for perhaps that skunk we saw in the middle of the road which thankfully scurried away before we got too close. Going up the final sidewalk, crossing the road for the last time- the last time- it felt surreal. I had gone further than I had ever gone and in almost the same time it took me to finish Zumbro. But I didn’t think about any of those things. I thought about the finish line and crossing it and being done.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCcn5Crs-wpE2U1XEFTN0wClUD7JcswwIq_tk5lJ3kXZOQWplzuTsL7I31rsjeyvpg4GUPiW3lq9xWjeiHZRl4WhyphenhyphenbTfa7hSNSd3Wr-A6QFQSS40-6wZ8-lcArCoZWDXuDNbN3yzJMurQm/s1600/fuzzy+photo+finish.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="750" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCcn5Crs-wpE2U1XEFTN0wClUD7JcswwIq_tk5lJ3kXZOQWplzuTsL7I31rsjeyvpg4GUPiW3lq9xWjeiHZRl4WhyphenhyphenbTfa7hSNSd3Wr-A6QFQSS40-6wZ8-lcArCoZWDXuDNbN3yzJMurQm/s640/fuzzy+photo+finish.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">When I finished, I felt a bit dazed. Everyone was cheering for me and I was enveloped in a hug from one of the race directors and given a finisher’s medal. I looked up for the first time in a long time and tried to recognize who was there. Bill and my mom came up to me for hugs. Not having to think about anything was strange. I was overwhelmed with not having to make any more decisions for any more miles. I had finished.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Kevin brought me over a couple slices of plain bread. It’s a weird food to want at the end but I find the plainness with no flavor, salt or sugar, is settling for me. I ate one piece and shoved the other one in my pocket to eat as we stood around a fire and recounted our day, exchanged battle stories and such. Slowly we dwindled away, everyone to their cars and hotels and such. Bill drove me out of the park. I could not get my head around what I had just done. It felt like he had just driven me there and now I was leaving the shelter of the ultra-world. The race was still going on for many runners in both the 100k and the 100 mile distances but I was done. I felt like I was deserting them even though my body raged and ached with every move. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">At the hotel, I somehow managed a shower and came back out to Bill sound asleep. It was, after all, 2:30 in the morning. I propped my uncovered feet up on a pile of pillows and draped my campfire smelling coat over my upper body but barely slept as my legs were on fire and my mind refused to turn out the lights. I decided to get up at 6:00 since I really wasn’t sleeping and shuffled to breakfast. Mercifully, we were on the first floor. Once they were open, I put a few things on my plate then forced the food down while propping my head up with my hand. I looked like I just had the best worst night of my life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Later that morning, we started for home and talked about my race and how it went. And with a breakfast sandwich in my lap, the tears rolled. I couldn’t grasp the enormity of what I had just done. Bill broke down my performance lap by lap a little bit and I was overcome with how I had met most of my goals. I was a little disappointed with the breakdown of my body sooner than I felt it should have happened. I couldn’t believe it was literally just yesterday, really less than 24 hours ago. I wished to be back at an aid station just to see some runners, just to be there. I muttered about how dumb it is that McDonald’s refuses to sell lunch items at 10:25 a.m. but will magically have a cheeseburger available at 10:30. I cried because it hurt to stand and walk or sit and be still or have socks and shoes on. I cried because I already missed running.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The reality of me completing 100k continues to slightly overwhelm and undo me. I know I did it but it’s such a big thing that I can’t quite get my arms around all the time. Every once in a while a surge of “Heck, yeah!” rises up in me when I think of what I accomplished. I remember this same feeling after finishing my first 50k 4 years ago. I remember feeling empowered and strong, capable of more than I gave myself credit for. In pushing myself further, I have found cheerleaders and encouragers who may shake their head at my crazy but also tell me they believe in me. I am grateful for all of them. I continue to be grateful and amazed that I can do these things. It's all grace, all gift.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiehIdgJ1zxN_KLSLBjVP6eP1WOnYeOhFUngIg0Nx_Tw8yg4nJyrTYeqkH1-wmL0jK8-8EPlc7Eiin7KwUPbuoLqYbVzVKC637JNvhAa0BNCcki3pIQjYCj1GbAQVZ4WWfCXXW8Y8sGwM-r/s1600/Mines+finishers+bib.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiehIdgJ1zxN_KLSLBjVP6eP1WOnYeOhFUngIg0Nx_Tw8yg4nJyrTYeqkH1-wmL0jK8-8EPlc7Eiin7KwUPbuoLqYbVzVKC637JNvhAa0BNCcki3pIQjYCj1GbAQVZ4WWfCXXW8Y8sGwM-r/s640/Mines+finishers+bib.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">All hearts for the Mines of Spain</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">People always ask me similar questions. Here are some answers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Do I eat? What do I eat? How do I eat while running?</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"> I’ve practiced eating and running at the same time during my training. It is harder to eat the faster I run, so I mostly try not to run that fast. (Mostly kidding.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"> The aid stations have a normal assortment of foods and drinks to choose from: fruits like bananas and orange slices, candies like gummy bears, Skittles, M&M’s, other sweet items; chips, pretzels, pickles, other salty items; hot foods they make such as quesadillas, grilled cheese, burgers, and whatever else they want to provide; hot broths and soups and mashed potatoes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"> Along with aid station foods, I bring my own kinds of food and calories- pb&j in a ziplock bag, Clif Bars- the peanut butter or hazelnut butter filled ones are my favorite, and all kinds of energy gels and chews. I eat all the brands: GU, Clif, Spring Energy, Huma, Honey Stinger</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Do I drink anything? How do I carry it?</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"> I drink water and usually carry it in a hydration bladder in the back of my running vest. I also drink an electrolyte drink, which is currently Tailwind Nutrition, similar to iocane powder, minus the deadly consequences.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"> Aid stations also have water and some kind of electrolyte drink plus Coke, Ginger Ale, etc. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">These are specific products I love, love, love </span><span style="text-align: center;">and are the things I would recommend if someone asked me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Jacket: Patagonia Houdini Jacket- This thing is super lightweight, protects well from moderate wind and rain, rolls up super fast and zips into its own pocket. It’s like the hedgehog of jackets. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Shorts: Oiselle Rogas- I have so many pairs of these shorts. They lay flat against my backside (not poofy), has a liner that has yet to cause me chafing, and fits so well. There’s not a Roga I don’t love.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Socks: Injinji toe socks- These look weird but work great. I can’t explain it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Foot Protection: Trail Toes- This anti-friction cream is my go to foot protection and has protected my feet in all kinds of weather and terrain. I don’t use anything else. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Hiking Poles: Black Diamond Distance Z trekking poles- The carbon fiber makes these half the weight of normal poles. They fold up or unfold and lock into place easily. And they are magic.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr6Xt8pNvEKVStgp_UGU4AsY2jDKbFHQpSiRk2j52YblIEg44dSwbXeKjTv6dfU5IQSaZ-4gNAFilYAdE4-DBTFVMncurFVZa_Rnx51GWd9GgJxEi_e4c-21k05TpRQFshFIrrpUjxgsHW/s1600/Bluffs+.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr6Xt8pNvEKVStgp_UGU4AsY2jDKbFHQpSiRk2j52YblIEg44dSwbXeKjTv6dfU5IQSaZ-4gNAFilYAdE4-DBTFVMncurFVZa_Rnx51GWd9GgJxEi_e4c-21k05TpRQFshFIrrpUjxgsHW/s640/Bluffs+.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The beauty of the bluffs and a peek at the Mississippi river</span></td></tr>
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Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-76290352080263340922018-05-29T18:20:00.000-05:002018-05-29T18:20:42.601-05:00Inside the 50: Zumbro, 2018<div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">“Between here and the first aid station, you will have a life-altering experience.” This is the </span>beginning<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> of race director John’s pre-race briefing to us 50 mile runners. After strong words of warning and resolve, I overheard another runner say “That’s not John’s normal speech.” and it isn’t.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmNlkFRDAZq0vho-eNAOq0Dqs-RBJSBxkAEIQSIohRIB1kAz3-pRs2sqV5ub_iqTLpnH9KWY7CsYSZCCyTSljd5NpksLxDXwsI_oCvmpV1toLff4UsRB1vzTzbxsMKOfHWv6mMeYDzrOPI/s640/30425780_789798847886450_1377145710457932990_o_1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Life changing experience in 5 minutes! (photo credit- Paul Nye)</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmNlkFRDAZq0vho-eNAOq0Dqs-RBJSBxkAEIQSIohRIB1kAz3-pRs2sqV5ub_iqTLpnH9KWY7CsYSZCCyTSljd5NpksLxDXwsI_oCvmpV1toLff4UsRB1vzTzbxsMKOfHWv6mMeYDzrOPI/s1600/30425780_789798847886450_1377145710457932990_o_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But this is Zumbro. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Since my first run here four years ago I have had the map and elevation profile taped to my wall next to my desk. I’ve compared this course to every other course I’ve run. I didn’t know when I would be back and what distance I would do but I’ve wanted to be here since I left. Zumbro will not leave me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Zumbro will not leave others as I know from conversations with my friend Julia, who ran it in 2015 and with Melinda, who ran it in 2017, all of us the single 17 mile loop. In the fall, we discovered our life schedules were clear for us to do the race again. As we ran one of our Friday Adventures, we decided the 50 mile distance was for us. That is, Julia and I talked and Melinda listened but within a week or so Melinda was on board as well. We each picked our own training plans and set to the work of getting to Zumbro. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Two weeks before the race, Julia and I headed up to Zumbro to join a group for a training run. For me, it proved to be one of the most valuable training days. Within a mile the group had separated into different abilities and paces and Julia and I found ourselves picking our way around the bridle trails by ourselves. The entire trail was in a state of ice, snow, mud and standing water other than the few which were south facing and had dried out. We cut our run short, not completing the entire loop, even though the twelve miles had taken us four and a half hours. Back home, we strategized, watched the weather, bought massive amounts of gear, watched the weather, planned, watched the weather, panicked and regrouped and watched the weather some more. Winter was not budging. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Bill, Luke and I pulled into the Zumbro West End campground with the camper around 4:30 Friday afternoon. It had been raining on and off all day from what we could find out and the trail was a terrible muddy mess. The 100 mile runners, including Julia, had started that morning at 8:00 but the trail was winning as the drop rate increased with each loop. Julia called it after one loop deciding that the mud was not going to play nice with her injured foot. I walked to the registration/aid station area to assess things. Spirits were good but showing signs of battle. As I walked back to the camper I overheard John say to a runner who dropped that Susan Donnelly who is a very accomplished 100 mile runner had said this was the worst conditions she had ever run in. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As Melinda and I sat around the trail map discussing plans, layers, gears and trail conditions as reported by Julia who had risked coming back from her hotel to visit, it started to thunder. Then we heard the sound of ice hitting the camper. Then it snowed. We stepped out of the camper at 10:30 to 3 inches of snow on our way to pick up our race bibs. The boys were building snow forts. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had made up mind as to what I was going to wear as I packed the day before but there was still last minute doubt as to how best to handle the worsening conditions. I made Bill keep track of the time for me as I changed layers until I on a thinner pair of tights under a thicker pair of tights, a short-sleeved shirt, long-sleeved shirt, a thicker outer layer and a wind and rain proof jacket. I put on a single pair of Injinji wool socks after slathering my feet with Trail Toes and then placed foot warmers on top of my feet. Our camper was full of friends as my friend Nate showed up at 11 to check out this ultra running scene. We all talked and laughed as Melinda and I finished getting ready.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">At 11:45 or so we assembled for the pre-race meeting. We found Charlie or Charlie found us and told us the harrowing tale of him driving on the dangerously icy roads to get to the race. He advised us to use hiking poles earlier rather than later and later rather than earlier I decided that was very good advice. We saw Jason and he was all bundled up in all his warm gear and goggles to crew friends of his. Pre-race directives, pictures and hugs and kisses (Bill only for the kisses) over, we moved to the start line. In the dark of midnight, it would have been difficult to find but in the blinding snow we could only follow the people in front of us and listen to John’s voice as he called us to come closer, closer, closer… Go! </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Where's the start line? (photo credit- Paul Nye</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was now inside the 50. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’ve not done a lot of night running and my past experiences have not be great. The times I have run at night I have spooked myself with the sound of my own footsteps, letting out a little yelp when the sound got the best of me. Other times it has been squirrels, rabbits and deer, their eyes illuminated by my headlamp. I chose the midnight start because I figured I wouldn’t get eaten or attacked or spooked if hundreds of other runners were with me, all of us with headlamps on. We quickly filtered down to single file on the trail where banter was surprisingly quiet, I believe due to all of us waiting for our life-altering experience. Since I was more mid-pack, we were hiking the climbs rather than running and our footsteps fell in sync. The sound of us moving and marching was a unifying experience. I wasn’t the only one to notice it as others around me laughed when I broke into a little “Hi Ho, Hi Ho”. I looked back and could see a line of light made by all of us individually but blurred together. The snow draped and outlined the branches. It was beautiful. I imagine the same run but without the snow to reflect back our light and I don’t think it would have been nearly the same experience. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The trail conditions seemed markedly improved from my expectations and previous experiences. Make no mistake, there was plenty of mud and standing water. Perhaps I’m becoming a more seasoned trail runner, perhaps my life-altering experience happened four years ago but the weather had changed and so had the trail since Friday morning’s start. I knew two things- my mind would not budge from my goal and I would take what the trail gave me until one of us won. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In the dark and snow, we came over the first overlook then tucked ourselves back onto the trail. Branches hung low being burdened with snow and often Melinda and I smacked ourselves with one, not looking up from our footing to see it. One of my favorite sections is the trail though the pine trees. On my scouting run, it was an ice rink which was completely opposite of the stream that ran down it four years ago and this time it was muddy. But what captured me was the way the branches domed our headlamps. I could see a runner ahead, a tiny cathedral of moving light. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I really don’t know where Melinda and I were in comparison to the rest of the 50 mile runners because within the first three miles, we had all thinned out significantly and by the first aid station we were no longer headlamp to hydration pack close. There was always mud but there was almost always a work around. The temptation to dodge all the mud would eat up time and energy so it was a balance of continually moving forward and staying out the of muddiest parts as much as possible. It was just a game out there as we wove our way along on the driest paths others before us had stamped out. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And it continued to be dark since it was in fact nighttime. Even later in the day, I remember thinking to myself “I’m running in the dark!” or “I ran through the dark!”. I’m literally so proud of myself for staying up most the the day before other than a few hours of rest and then running from midnight on. One of the advantages of using headlamps is that the course markings are easy to spot because they are reflective. With a quick glance up the trail I could spot the next turn or next section. I could also spot where other runners were on the trail. We would be at the bottom of a climb and I would tell Melinda to look up so she could see them.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Julia and I had deemed the steepest climb before the second aid station as The Big One. You climb several smaller ones, hoping that it’s the big one but only when your legs are screaming and you wonder just when in the hill its going to be over, do you realize you are on The Big One. Summiting the hill, you quickly crest and descend, using mud or ice as the means to get down. On our first loop, the trail was mud but not the flowing mud the 100 milers had the fortune of riding down. This was less mud for me than 2014 so I felt really grateful for what it was. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We were in and out of the second aid station fairly quickly, although I think we could have always shaved more time off of the stops. The second aid station acts as the third A.S. as well. This section is a quick little up and down and then a sandy coulee which is often difficult to run well. That did not prove to be the case this time since the rain had compacted the sand and it was firm underfoot. We were able to run this section and make it back to the aid station quick enough.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Right out of the aid station we started the long climb to the ridge. We met up with another woman at the top and stuck with her for some time while she us all about some awesome races she has done and now I want to do them. We made it across the ridge and headed down Ant Hill. Ant Hill is not small. The boulders are not small. It’s even a tough ride for my guys on their dirt bikes (they go up whereas we go down). I’m not a fan of Ant Hill. We went slow enough to reduce the impact of the long, long descent on our knees but fast enough to take advantage of the downhill. At the bottom is a mile plus long access road. Both Melinda and I were a little bitter about this road because both of us walked this stretch the last time when we wanted to run but we’re stronger runners now and ran most of it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">After the fourth aid station, which is also the first, we encountered the most standing water. It filled the entire trail and we spent a lot of time trying to keep our feet out of the water and mud but was only somewhat success. Even though this section never did fully drain, my feet were the wettest and muddiest during the first loop.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We had made really good time for our first loop and for not knowing what we were going to encounter out there. Our boys were sleeping but Paul, Bill and Nate were there to help us gear up for the next loop. I called out what I needed from Bill and he filled my bottles with more Tailwind and found my next pair of socks and shoes. I changed both, wiping down my feet with baby wipes first and adding more Trail Toes before. You know what? Trying to change socks and shoes with the wind and snow howling around you while trying not to go hypothermic from not moving sucks. Bill took off his winter coat and draped it around me while I finished up. And he hates being cold! The aid station offered me an amazing quesadilla and some bacon and my eyes were wide with delight. Nate, this being his first experience with an ultra of any kind and me at 5:00 in the morning giddy about a cheesy flour tortilla that stuck to my gloves as Melinda and I headed back out into the blizzard conditions, well, he was speechless.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’ve always heard the sunrise does wonders for the spirit after a long, dark night of running and was waiting for my Zumbro sunrise. Melinda called to me and over our shoulders was the low, red glow of the sun ready to break the horizon. I was ready for it to happen and hoped to catch it in a turn in the trail. But the clouds would not release their captivity of the sky and that was all we ever saw of the sun for the rest of the day. Gently the morning song of a few brave birds broke out but the rest of the woods remained silent. The darkness of night moved away for the light of day so we turned off our headlamps and took in the trail as though for the first time.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We landed at the first/fourth aid station and rejoiced to take our headlamps off. Mine has a light on the front and a battery pack which is strapped on and is worn on the back of my head. I had tried to lower my ponytail to keep the battery pack from causing a pressure point but didn’t get it quite right. Plus, after 6 hours of wearing it, it was heavy.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Getting to the top of The Big One, the mud chute had now become an ice chute. We, along with several men, battled our way down it. The second/third aid station looked more remote than ever as only a handful of volunteers were there and the lights used to brighten the station during the night were gone. I overhead a volunteer ask another if they needed a certain item anymore and she replied that she did not. It occurred to me that they might be packing up instead of cleaning up. I had hoped we could finish our second loop before the 17 mile runners started or at least be far enough ahead that they would never catch us. I did not want to share the trail with 500 of them. I asked about the morning race and they told us it had been cancelled but said nothing about the 50 or 100 mile race. Melinda and I spent the next section wondering if this would be our last loop but continued with our mindset that we would go until we finished or got pulled. I spent several icy downhill sections sliding, falling and swinging around trees as if they were poles while Melinda looked on from above and rated my skill and poise. As she crept her way down, I decided my safest course of action would be to sit on my feet and slide as far as I could, using my hands as paddles. See, no one will write about this kind of inside information in Ultrarunner Magazine but I’m here to say it was somewhat effective and definitely entertaining. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5qh7yzR9bEVeMLibtKn3UrceVpShP0O0tGyjgrRjrDR5llH8eRZVRIvX7uU-mMF_eI3R4TaXHCxhfNVsgxEqPWPGLVlkXVZU-5C1FCiMAbjjmfNa7JDzTA-T7Hog0Alm87CUrYn7LTqhD/s640/IMG_6162.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="480" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Ah! So this is what the trail looks like!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Melinda and I entered the third aid station and no one said a word to us about stopping after this loop. We overheard a volunteer boost a 100 miler up, assuring him he would be able to finish, and we took it as a sign that we would be continuing our race as well. We slipped and slid our way up to the ridge. We kept our mission up to run when we could and walk when necessary and found the trail drifting over although we could still find it. Melinda and I always stayed together but worked at our own paces. We even took bio breaks together although a fair distance from each other. Squatting in a half a foot of snow on tired legs can be an awakening experience. (Dudes have it super easy is all I’m saying.) </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">After 16 hours, this was hilarious</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There is a long service road before reaching the bridge which links back to the front end of the course. Again, we had no positive feelings about this road but suffered ourselves together to run it as much as possible. We knew it was around a mile long even though it felt like 5 miles but in reality we had no idea how long it was. Assessing ourselves, Melinda’s knees hurt when she ran and my Achilles hurt when I walked. Despite our uneven injuries, I figured with the third loop we would probably both develop another pain that would even us out. Through the trees I kept searching for the metal arches of the bridge. I found them at least three times only to have them be branches before we really did see them. The aid station had made chocolate chip pancakes for us and they were a delight! </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We came into a very forlorn looking campground. By now the boys were up and everyone met us. Luke found the sign Kristy had made for me during one of my long treadmill runs and was holding it up for me. He became my real live giant teddy bear which I hugged at will. Bill and Paul hustled us into a huge canvas warming tent that had been set up and helped us with our gear. The mood was pensive and hurried. I overheard someone say to hurry up because the weather was getting bad. It’s really not the kind of thing you want to hear in a toasty tent with the snow and wind whipping the sides. It will suck the resolve right out of you. I was down on calories and down in my spirit and paused for a moment. I knew I was going back out and that I would finish but it was definitely a low point. Fortunately Bill knows me and knew how to assess the situation well. He gave me a hug and kiss and booted me out of the tent. I shoveled in a load of scrambled eggs and took two sausage links to go in my formally cheesy and now greasy mitt.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Since the trail had gone from mud to ice, we decided to use our spikes for the third loop. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">They would not have been a good choice for the first loop as there was too much mud. I learned this by finding a singular spike in the mud during that loop. I picked it up and was going to carry it to the first aid station, however, minutes later we came upon two women, one who had lost one of her spikes in the mud and I handed it to her. But spikes on an icy trail are magic and we never slipped once during the loop.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I also brought my new hiking poles with me. I had purchased these a few weeks before the race and only tried them once on a walk in the park. I had my doubts as to how much benefit they would provide versus the challenge of learning a new piece of equipment. The course climbs out of the campground very quickly, I learned very quickly just how amazing using hiking poles were. Charlie was right. I was able to transfer enough weight through the poles to now use both my arms and my legs to move me forward. I proclaimed my love for them immediately. Eventually I share the poles with Melinda so she could try them and she also professed her love. We swapped them back and forth for a while and each time she had them I was plotting as to how and when I could get them back. Finally, I realized we could each use one pole and handed one to her. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Nailed it! (Note the snow accumulation on me and in my eyeballs) (photo credit- me, obvs)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We entered the first aid station again and I asked if there were any more pancakes and nearly cried when the volunteer said there was. Since they were in a covered container and kept slightly warm, they were nearly the only thing edible and not frozen on the table and I gladly ate two. Throughout the a.m. I had been eating bananas, potatoes, a few potato chips and some very frozen Aldi brand Girl Scout cookies, plus the aforementioned foods from the aid stations. Between aid stations I sucked down Huma chia and Spring Energy gels along with chomping through Clif Bars and Picky Bars. I washed everything down with plenty of water, cups of ginger ale or Coke, and kept the constant drip of Tailwind going until I thought I was going to puke, to which I backed off of. Entering the third aid station, Melinda asked for some hot food as she had munched on pb&j sandwiches the entire time. The volunteer said she had a hot grilled cheese sandwich ready to go. When she carried it over to Melinda the sandwich slid off the spatula and fell to the ground. We stood there, not knowing what to do as there was one more on the griddle but there was two of us. Can you guess what happened next?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I ate the fallen sandwich!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Is it even sane of me to admit that I had wondered for a good portion of the race if I would eat anything off the ground? </span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Well, I did and my mom has already declared how proud of me she is and there are no take backs even after discovering this sort of thing keeps trending with her daughter.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was a hard day for the aid stations as well.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnBnH00W5So69R0yRuyKYxmQxICFaxX2wA8f2vmJeVINMfNUryV0AQKEohvv5LswdJaLSpF8hk6P_swN0tBu9jDM7wBkVlBO8QEsA8kGGb7QdUjMIYlC1Lc9XWmCj5SNkPTFTQ9zedONaD/s1600/IMG_6171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">While in the sand coulee, we had heard a loud crack and the sound of either a tree or a huge branch falling. And while the we had experienced snow, sleet, wind, ice all throughout, nothing had felt dangerous. But this felt precarious. The trail on the ridge was completely drifted over. Melinda looked at me and I commented “Nice.” We no longer walked on the trail but on the snow, guessing as to what was the trail. I held my left hand up to block the wind from driving the snow into my eyes but realized I wouldn’t be able to hike that way the entire ridgeline so I pulled my buff even higher and dropped my head down. Melinda, ahead of me, had done the same and the image I have of her is that of a lone hiker in a blizzard bent into the wind. I only post-holed once (when your leg drops through the deep snow) and quickly corrected my course. With the wind and the new perspective, I found a little log shelter on the ridge. I’m sure it had been there the previous two loops but I’ll be danged that I’d never seen it until now. New weather, new times of day, new perspectives and one sees new things every time.</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">And that is the thing about this year’s race. It was brutal. I guess. I look at pictures and can’t quite remember it being so bad. Inside the 50, inside 16 hours for us, as the trail changed from mud to ice, as night went to day, as hundreds dwindled to a few, it was absolutely beautiful.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One of my favorite views- the layers of white</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We walked the entire access road back. The ridge had taken so much out of us. We ate, we walked, we regrouped. We checked in at the last A.S. and finished the last stretch. We talked of how we would get together for beer and pizza later. We marveled that we could still run. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Finally we pulled up out of the bottoms and saw the campground. The wind drove at us, desperate to get in its final licks but we would not have it. Paul would later say that people were trying to guess who was running through the campground and he proudly yelled out “It’s my two Mindys!” </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwGNUaAYMQMF10oLgj3oYLQHU4w8Ynj0cfKhSw6n20EQRTuI30dlL0nJmgDQfnB1xtRPXRrIxfp4EU0VhpCOhiCq8c5jrgPTXODLE_MPFairAlMGn8wPaSxRSfc1mhGuRsAqRqJXOmNKyt/s1600/IMG_6175.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwGNUaAYMQMF10oLgj3oYLQHU4w8Ynj0cfKhSw6n20EQRTuI30dlL0nJmgDQfnB1xtRPXRrIxfp4EU0VhpCOhiCq8c5jrgPTXODLE_MPFairAlMGn8wPaSxRSfc1mhGuRsAqRqJXOmNKyt/s640/IMG_6175.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Two Mindy's, two finishes, 1 adventure </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Our times are equally listed. We have a story only 49 other 50 mile finishers can share. We took care of ourselves and each other. Melinda is emphatic in saying she could not have done it without me but I wouldn’t have wanted to do it without her from the beginning. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Stoked to have done it and to be inside</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We’re bummed we could not be with Julia and that she did not have the trail or race we had but she stepped up to a bigger task with all the heart and bravery one needs to even do so. We are humbled by the true selflessness of the volunteers who stayed long after their shift was over because relief could not gain access just so we could stay the course. My admiration and gratitude for John Storkamp and the outstanding team at Rocksteady Running runs deep. I am grateful to Paul for taking such good care of your Mindy, capturing some outstanding pictures, losing sleep and providing for our every need post-race.</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">My people- Ehresman small group for saying you believed in me more than you said I was crazy; Julia and Melinda for all the texts, long runs and dreaming; Anne and Kristy for the treadmill signs and Yeti </span>strength; the Turkeys for the long runs at Ledges and Browns; Gary for talking me off the ledge- your need for no bs makes me focus; my family for occasionally asking me about my races means a lot; my sister for putting me back together all the time. <span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There aren’t words to express how I feel about Bill. He drove me to the race, managed all my needs, took care of Luke and made the call to pull our camper out of the campground to higher ground, missing Supercross in Minneapolis, to drive us safely back to Iowa all in a day and half. Your belief is me is beyond my belief. </span></span></div>
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Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-31644386864549391152017-10-03T06:00:00.000-05:002017-10-03T06:00:06.946-05:00What I Learned In September<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">At the prompting of Emily P. Freeman's blog, <a href="http://emilypfreeman.com/lets-share-learned-summer-2017/" target="_blank">Chatting at the Sky</a>, I spent some time reflecting over September. I remember it being September 17 and remarking to Bill that it already felt like we had skipped September entirely and gone straight to October. The weather has played havoc with our sensibilities in the last few weeks and the pumpkin spice latte has already made an appearance despite the fact that the real pumpkins weren't even ready in the garden. Finally, I settled down into it really being September and here are a few things I've learned this month.</span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I've just started reading and learning about Enneagrams. While I've pulled together bits and pieces to understand myself more over the last months, discovering the enneagram has made so many things fall into place. I still don't know very much but I am eager to learn more.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I finally cleaned my make-up brushes. I used this simple method from <a href="http://cleanmama.net/">CleanMama.net</a> and wow, what a difference! You can find little bottles of Dr. Bronner's soap in Target by the sample beauty products.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I've spent enough time sitting, standing and waiting for my racers and runners to come in that I finally learned I am not a good crew person or volunteer if I don't eat. Last year I spent a long day volunteering and hardly ate. I did not enjoy my experience. I mean, I was grumpy. Last week, I waited a long day for Ben and Bill to come in from racing and then another long afternoon for them to receive their awards. I could have done a better job taking care of myself so I could take care of them. I don't think it's being selfish. It is being aware of the situation and being proactive. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I buy my bananas at Sam's Club. Bananas are generally sold by weight but Sam's sells them by bunch at $X dollars. Here's a trick I've started doing- counting how many bananas are in the bunch. Usually there are 8 but I'll look for 9. On my last visit I scored 10 bananas!</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;">I devoured </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Girl-Waits-Kopp-Sisters-Novel/dp/0544409914/ref=pd_ybh_a_19?_encoding=UTF8&psc=1&refRID=ZV7X61M871KATPDJQYTC" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;" target="_blank">Girl Waits With Gun by Amy Stewart</a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;"> in 3 days. It would have been less if I didn't have, laundry, cookies to bake, people to feed, etc. I heard about the book through Anne Bogel's podcast </span><a href="https://modernmrsdarcy.com/what-should-i-read-next/" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;" target="_blank">What Should I Read Next</a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;">. Its my first novel in a long, long time! </span></li>
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">I loved putting together this little list and sharing it with you. What did you learn in September?</span></div>
Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-52091884529221408552017-09-30T16:04:00.001-05:002017-09-30T16:04:13.661-05:00PrairieFest 10k, 2017<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Why do I keep paying to run a race that I can run for free every single day? Why do I keep coming back to this race and this distance? I have nothing but high hopes, barfy feelings, pee my pants effort and dashed dreams and it costs me money to feel this way. You, too, can have this every August for less than $30.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I keep coming back because it is literally my local race. It goes directly past my house every year and I know lots of runners. While I love cheering all the runners on while I sit in a lawn chair and eat cinnamon rolls, it's also hard for me not to be out pounding the pavement with them. This year I had even declared to Anne and Kristy I would not be running it. But as I went to bed the night before, I decided it would be weird of me to go out for a run on my own and finish at the same time the race was starting. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I woke up early, whispered to Bill I was running the 10k, had my usual pre-run breakfast and headed out to register at the park, a half block away. After registering, I went out for a long warm-up. I need at least a mile of very easy running before I'm anywhere near ready to go. I did a bunch of dynamic stretches at the back of the crowd and chatted with a friend. My goal was to not want to quit while giving it about 80% effort. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaqpohg6JtKFL7fRwv6vWhREsKjJBih2ydUMPE6gFNPD-fwbAJhbJcFVxYljV1hcp2Iov8EWvXLHJJZoX-36GorOEb5axfTVLZzg2cji_yPGJntDRP0fnB0d80MoLsYkijmi_Tk7z5GzhR/s1600/IMG_5454.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaqpohg6JtKFL7fRwv6vWhREsKjJBih2ydUMPE6gFNPD-fwbAJhbJcFVxYljV1hcp2Iov8EWvXLHJJZoX-36GorOEb5axfTVLZzg2cji_yPGJntDRP0fnB0d80MoLsYkijmi_Tk7z5GzhR/s640/IMG_5454.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I envy the runners who look so cute. No I don't. They probably got up extra early to look that way. <br />I rolled out of bed. Obviously. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Every year I want to quit. Every year people comment that this must be a breeze for me. So this year I will attempt to set the record straight. Yes, I've run further than 6.2 miles before. Yes, I run 6.2 miles more often than not in my daily training. But racing 6.2 miles is different. For me, 6.2 miles is gas to the floor kind of running. I've been working more on speed this summer than ever but in general I'm always working on very technical terrain which is slower or longer distances which is also slower. To say a 10k is a breeze for me is not the case. It is work. But if you tell me next year that this must have been easy for me, I'll probably smile and mumble something not bad.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">So there I was at the back of the crowd. I didn't move up or position myself to some advantage. I knew there would only be a handful of runners doing the 10k to begin with. The truly fast ones would be where they belonged and I would be where I belonged, towards the back away from the fast cross country kids who would be done and gone before I crossed the finish line. I didn't care where I was. The race is run on roads the entire time and we are able to spread out across the width of the road. I could maneuver around runners as need be and not get caught up in them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">I popped in my earbuds and surveyed the crowd ahead of me. I watched the 5k's take the turn to head back and started calculating who might be ahead of me. This year it seemed the 10k participants was especially small. We stretched the entire length of East 1st street. This is always the longest section for me. I hardly ever run it (for free) and every time I do, I feel it sucks the life from me. Today I didn't allow myself to feel that way. A couple miles ticked off and I took time to look at my pace. I was pleased and decided to try to negative split the race. It would probably hurt but I decided it was the only way to make peace with this race this year.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">My nephew and a couple of his friends has by-passed the 50k and went for the 10k, something I'm kind of proud of. They hung just in front of me. I knew he could pick it up but secretly hoped I could at least creep in front of him for a bit. I didn't say a word as I inched my way closer. I considered if it would be bad for him if his aunt beat him but before I could come to a conclusion those boys must have decided they were done being out there and just left me in the dust like I was standing still. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">I made all the usual turns along the course. I thanked the volunteers who stood offering water but took none. I rounded the corner right next to our house where a neighbor was out walking her tiny doggy. She remarked about me stopping to go inside and I laughed. I could actually do that. But I didn't and I didn't want to quit either. I was starting to gain on a couple of people and was hoping to make a pass. However, the distance from my house to finish line is just shy of a mile and one of the runners took off. I didn't have that kind of speed to catch her. I kept plying myself to finish strong.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">I crossed the finish line to a few cheers. I was pleased with my time considering having just raced the 2/3 marathon the weekend before. I was happy to find I had some leg turnover after having a really rough Spring and an easy Summer to make up for the Spring. Later I looked at my mile splits and found that I ran each mile faster than the previous. I negative split the run. I collected my age group first place medal and headed to the parade where everyone else was already at.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibuJ1H9q150t_e5ykHx8S2jx5hTit2nztT_CJp6Y2TdcbQRtNbPxflzmCQSVnho_28NsGirua5NCppzHmYsYBSLV5nKfTLbIKHPxZWlexUJJNPlqx928btN_xceFnKtXr3V9wVgkvh44bR/s1600/IMG_5455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibuJ1H9q150t_e5ykHx8S2jx5hTit2nztT_CJp6Y2TdcbQRtNbPxflzmCQSVnho_28NsGirua5NCppzHmYsYBSLV5nKfTLbIKHPxZWlexUJJNPlqx928btN_xceFnKtXr3V9wVgkvh44bR/s640/IMG_5455.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Warning: Do not feed the ultra-runner a 10k</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-59117465415226810482017-09-29T11:45:00.001-05:002017-09-29T11:55:24.453-05:00Moorehead 2/3 Mazathon<br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Sometimes there are so many races and sometimes there are so few races. The distance of the drive, the length of the race, the difficulty of the trail, these are all factors which weigh in on my decision for a race. Over the summer, I wrote out a calendar combining my training plan and potential races to align with the plan. Then I merged it, actually mashed it together with our family calendar and looked at what I had for options. I've never read tarot cards or had them read to me, but I suppose it's probably similar. How about if I use a panning for gold analogy? Yes, I was looking for little golden nuggets of training races amidst the rubble of dirt bike dust.</span></div>
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I taped up the notebook paper schedule beside my desk and occasionally referred to it. I couldn't make the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/MinesOfSpainTrailRaces/"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; -webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 238); color: #551a8b;">Mines of Spain race</span></a> because it coincided with two other activities that weekend. It's a great race and a tough course but I haven't been able to get back there for a couple of years. You know about my experiences with the <a href="http://www.psychowyco.com/"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; -webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 238); color: #551a8b;">Trail Nerds Pyscho Wyco races</span></a> to know that I would be out of my mind to choose that again so soon. But floating around the Turkey's Facebook page was a new to me race in Ida Grove, Iowa named the <a href="https://runsignup.com/Race/IA/IdaGrove/MooreheadParkTrailMazathon"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; -webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 238); color: #551a8b;">Moorehead Mazathon</span></a> and the <a href="https://runsignup.com/Race/IA/IdaGrove/TrailoftheDragon50K50mileRun"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; -webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 238); color: #551a8b;">Trail of the Dragon Ultra</span></a>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Initially, the family calendar said we were busy so the reminders and notifications from Facebook passed. But early in the week of the race the calendar cleared up- like storms clouds floating away. The race director, Susan Knop even reopened the registration and I quickly applied. I found a place to bunk the night before the race via GOATZ friends and headed towards Ida Grove. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">At packet pickup, which isn't a packet, it's usually a bag that is stuffed with a bit of swag from race sponsors but that's what we call it, I met the two women I would be sharing a cabin with and another mother runner. We shared our running backgrounds and life tidbits over spaghetti and salad, provided by the race then headed to our cabin for the night. We spent the rest of the evening watching the sun go down, not getting much cell service and deciding the guy next door should make better life choices than to have a heart shaved into the back of his head as part of his haircut. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">When I arrived the next morning at the race, the 50k and 50 mile runners had already started, including my two cabin mates doing the 50 miles. There are 5 different races being held at the same time. The ultra races, called the Trail of the Dragon, go out and do a few extra sections on each loop. For the non-ultra races, called the Moorehead Mazathon, there are three distances to choose from- the 1/3, 2/3 and full marathon (8-ish miles, 17-ish miles, 26-ish miles). Again, these are trail races and the mileage is not exact and trail runners are okay with that. After a brief pre-race talk, the race director scratched a long line in the gravel as our official start, timer started us and we headed towards the trail. The starts may be my favorite as they are so nonchalant with most trail runners. Nobody is standing alongside commenting, "Wow! Look at them go!". Sure, there are always a few who take off and more power to them and a bunch of us start our watches and that's just about it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I was super curious about the trail. It started out with a double wide path which helped sort out who was moving at a faster pace and who was dropping back. Being such a small race, there really was no jostling and positioning to get into the right crowd. The trail then turned into a grass path that went over the top of a hill, rounded around the bottom, ran along off-camber of the same hill before spiking up to the top and back down. During the first lap, the sun was hidden by a layer of fog so thick it draped us like a heavy robe. I knew as soon as the sun bore its way through the clouds, we would die a thousand deaths in a smoldering cauldron of heat and humidity. (#TWH) Y'all, an August race does not play nice with weather. As the trail made its way into more wooded sections, it stayed double wide and was not technical although there was plenty of water erosion areas within that required good foot choices. Finally, the trail tucked into single track and I gave a little shout of glee. The trail would be a little more established and the tree cover would be better. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">course description: some gently rolling hills with heavy humidity</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I kept my eye on my general pace and decided I was doing just fine. I had no particular goals for this race other than see what is was all about and to test myself in a race setting. I came upon a group of women discussing audio book choices and was passed by a speedy 50k or 50 miler but other than that just enjoyed my time. The single track ended when we hit the ski area and let me tell you, that was a sad realization. For the most part, the elevation change had not been too much so far but the race boasted 1,000 feet for each 8.8 mile loop and it had to happen somewhere. My leg turnover slowed to a hike as I made my way up the first of three steep hills. At the top of the first was a cemetery. How fitting, I thought. I also wondered if a trail races doesn't pass by a cemetery, is it even a trail race? Just a little funny moment to myself. Down to the bottom, around the corner and back up another steep climb, only to turn around and bust your quads to the bottom where other than an aid station check in, you turn around and head back up the same hill via a different route. Imagine the three climbs making a W. It was a brutal section because they came one after another after another. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Death, oh death. Won't you spare me over 'til another year?" <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mB6_BPT6VFk" target="_blank">Ralph Stanley</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The race director did a fantastic job of squeezing every bit of mile out the park. She routed us through the historic homestead of Ida Grove where a small handful of buildings still stood. After they finished, the audio book women told me on another loop the buildings were open and they toured one! </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The local cross country team was enlisted as volunteers. They did everything from timing, to managing the aid stations to directing runners. There were two particular enthusiastic and vocal boys at the mazathon/ultra split who whooped and hollered and cheered more than anyone I've ever seen at a race. While I missed my turn initially because I was so entertained by them (but they quickly re-directed them), they were the best! All the volunteers were great. It really was a local effort and I loved that aspect. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I finished my first loop, stopping briefly for a bite and bathroom break then headed toward the trail again. I was really pleased with my effort on the first loop and decided how I wanted to approach the second one, which would be my last since I was running the 2/3 marathon. I decided to see if I could finish strongly with my time being as close as possible to the first loop. I plugged in my ear buds to the Hamilton score and worked on not throwing away my shot. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I would say my general approach to my second and final loop was to keep the pace steady and push when I could. I now knew the entire course and there weren't any surprises. I had kept an eye on the bib numbers of runners passing me on the out and backs and had a general idea of where I was in terms of placing. It wasn't my plan to place; my plan was to run smart, but I wasn't going to let someone pass me if I could help it. On the climb to the cemetery, I saw the next person ahead of me and started planning. I crushed that downhill, beat it up the next climb, crushed that downhill again and after a shot or two of pickle juice at the aid station, charged my way to the next climb. However, between the quick aid station and the fast, steep hikes, my body screamed at me. I listened because I knew I would not pass anybody if I flat out bonked before I had a chance at the chase. I made sure I had enough calories in me, filled my water bottle and worked my way around the course. Very soon I saw her and realized I was moving better than she. I passed her quickly, giving her a word of encouragement. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I was happy for my surge but it had taken a toll on me and I worked to not back off completely, which is a different kind of battle. It's a mental one that presses the body to overcome when it wants to stop. All of this was what I had come for although I didn't think of that at the time and only now as I write. (Thanks for making me write race re-caps, Kristy.) The trail came to and end and I ran along the edge of the park road. In the grassy edge were a photographer and a guy and girl in formal clothes. I thought it was a an odd time of year for prom pictures or senior pictures or so on but maybe not. Around the next corner the picture became clear. There stood a bride and groom and another photographer. I wished them congratulations as I sprinted to the finish line. At least what I thought looked like sprinting.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">As I cross the timing mat to people clapping, the timer told me I was third place female. Oh, wow! I did pass that one woman ahead of me and no one else passed me but I am never quite sure of my position. It was really fun to race well and third place is a nice perk. Later in the evening, I looked at my time for each of my loops and I had run them exactly even! </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I hung around at the finish, cheering in other runners, talking to friends, sipping some Blue Moon, chowing down on post race food and thanking the race director, Susan Knop, again for a great, quality race. No matter how many attend the race, it is still a lot of work and she is doing it well.</span></div>
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Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-62704290616241806802017-06-07T07:59:00.002-05:002017-06-07T07:59:19.913-05:00McNaughton 50 Mile Trail Race<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I believe I’ve mentioned this before but the start of a trail ultra marathon looks more like a gathering, a clumping, a general standing around until the race director yells go. Depending on the difficulty of the race, the length of the race, and the preference of the runner, some will take off and give it a go while most will barely stop their conversations as they pick up their pace. Our small group of 50 mile and 100 mile runners started at 6 am Saturday morning in the camping area of McNaughton Park and quickly took a left down a short, steep trail before rounding a field. As we lengthened out, the chatter was cheerful and plenty. A similar short and steep ascent brought us back near the starting area where I immediately dumped my headlamp with Bill as it was already light enough to see the trail. Thus began my first 50 mile race.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My new headlamp Bill gave me for Christmas that I never even turned on</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I can’t share my race experience without mentioning Justin. We’re both from Huxley. We both run trail ultras. We both did Psycho Wyco this year. And we both signed up for this race. But we never run together. Well, almost never. We ended up doing some treadmill miles together about three weeks before the race inadvertently. However, at packet pick-up (where you pick up your race bib and t-shirt and other stuff), we met up and I invited myself, Bill and Gary to have pizza with Justin. At supper we all talked race stuff where Gary gave us a bit of course description, him having done three loops before having to call it quits on his 200 mile attempt. The guys also talked cars and that sort of thing. I still have no idea what a splitter is but my pizza was good. The next morning when Justin and I started together we didn’t talk any strategy or race pace or anything. Just two Huxley ultra runners who never run together running together. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">First loops are almost always fun. The runners are generally together and the banter is light and there are lots of jokes. It’s easy to get carried away by fresh legs and bright ideas. Optimism is at its highest during the first loop. Caution to keep the pace easy and attention to course markings blown to the wind. Except I knew better and having been warned by Gary to pay attention as he knew of other runners getting lost on the first loop. The sun rose within our first hour and brought with it warm temps which perked up the spring colors. Around the trail we ran and hiked the hills while the birds exercised their vocal chords. We came into the first aid station about 3 miles in and grabbed some fruit and kept moving. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Pay attention to the flowers, too</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I never rely solely on the hotel for my breakfast and always pack my own. This time it was a breakfast burrito and a banana with almond butter. I’ve tried also eating yogurt but it gives me a serious gag reflex later when brushing my teeth and I’ve come close to a full on throw up. No throwing up this time either at breakfast or the rest of the day for me. (Thanks for reading, Dave. Have a nice day!) I didn’t know about the coffee situation and had brought my own k-cup in case our room had a machine. It did not but as I staggered bleary-eyed out of the lobby, I found that the hotel management had started the coffee early, thanks to the insistence of another runner.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Even though I had been on the course last year, I paid particular attention to how it flowed for me during the first loop. Whatever felt easy to me now and was no big deal would be harder and harder in subsequent loops. I hiked all the hills with momentum but not too aggressively and took it easy on the downhills. Even though I didn’t have as much hill training as I would have liked over the winter, I knew the hills on this trail were short and steep and definitely work but were not that bad overall. I made mental notes of where I hoped to be able to run on the later loops and where I would have to practice patience and get through. The course was marked with ribbons on trees, ground flags and paint, some signs and reflective clips for those running in the dark.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In the weeks leading up to the race, the weather had been quite rainy. This gave me a bit of concern as to how muddy the trail would be and how high the creek crossings would rise. There are two creek crossing over the 10 mile loop. 50 miles, 5 loops, 10 creek crossings. Its not really something I practice during my training runs. Neither is running in mud. Most public trails don’t like traffic on them in wet conditions because it tears up the trail. As it turns out, the trails were mostly mud free though it was inevitable that my feet would be completely soaked at each water crossing. I made sure my feet were well covered with <a href="http://www.trailtoes.com/" target="_blank">Trail Toes</a> (kind of like Vaseline but better) before slipping on my socks and shoes.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Last year we could get across without getting wet. This year Moses didn't show up.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Making a 10 mile loop around a park means the trail weaves around established trails, crosses over some open spaces a couple of times, takes you over hills, winds you around the bottoms, connecting all the different sections into one. Almost every part had a name: Totem Pole aid station, the beach, Heartbreak Hill. There is a pretty little section called Heaven’s Gate that stays on the edge of the creek with a sweet single track section before crossing a field that stayed wet all weekend. The course passes through a disc golf course before ending back at the race camping area. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbA-W8r6iX7yN2BDL6NDlz2lFQlxL6y_H_V0inibbKb-O-YVn4eQSjGiIicChl-VMehFKJ2HRa-Z7ZFHmmyqn716XjBIDremYJi8gQIdKxa-Ch3aEW6UmqNu_qnogXlUlr1aA5ncIae_w8/s1600/IMG_4963.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbA-W8r6iX7yN2BDL6NDlz2lFQlxL6y_H_V0inibbKb-O-YVn4eQSjGiIicChl-VMehFKJ2HRa-Z7ZFHmmyqn716XjBIDremYJi8gQIdKxa-Ch3aEW6UmqNu_qnogXlUlr1aA5ncIae_w8/s640/IMG_4963.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If only they allowed dirt bikes on the trail</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Justin and I discussed what we would do once back at the start/finish line. I had started the race in capris and two long sleeve layers but had already warmed up enough so I wanted to change into shorts. We finished our first loop in about 2 hours and 15 minutes and I dashed into Gary’s tent to change. My crew was Bill and Gary. Bill kept my gels and food replenished, my Tailwind bottles and hydration bladder full and did the math, along with cheering me on. Gary picked up my trash, inspected the condition of my wet feet and kept up the race banter which is code for checking on my mental condition. They were great and made each stop there go smoothly and quickly for me. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Before Justin and I headed out our second loop we stopped at the aid station table loaded with food. They had donut holes! I grabbed two and practically choked on one stuffing it down my throat. I shoved a half banana into one of the pockets of my vest for later.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The runners had spread out now. We would come across pockets of them here and there along the trail. Often we would pass a runner with a pacer or two. They had started either Friday to complete 150 miles or Thursday evening for 200 miles. So many of them were in good spirits despite having only the smallest amounts of sleep they felt they could get away with in between loops although we did see someone asleep to the side of the trail as his pacer kept watch. We would catch up to one, have a brief chat but since we weren't nearly as tired and didn’t have as far to go, passed them and moved ahead quickly. The birds were singing, the day was early and everything still felt easy.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Justin and I chatted about anything and nothing. It didn’t matter and I barely remember. We were just passing the time and miles. The trail was starting to take on its own rhythm. I kept taking it all in and strung all the parts together from last year and this year. Doing five continuous loops never became boring. For one, it was on a trail and even in one day a trail can take on so many nuances. Secondly, I was always assessing my pace, how I felt, what I was eating and drinking and would this be sustainable for me for the next loop or the next two loops, etc. I kept an eye on the half hour, taking in a gel as routinely as possible, Other than that, I didn’t pay attention to the actual time of day or how long I had been out there, more on the half hour marks and my average pace. My primary goal was to finish the distance and my secondary goal was to finish it under 15 hours. This is an average finish time for most 50 mile races even though this race was very generous by having over 30 hours to complete the distance. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">I had posted a picture on Instagram of all the food I planned to pack and eat such as fig newtons, oatmeal cookies, Twizzler Nibs and Pringles since these were the foods I trained with. However, with last minute advice from a trusted friend, Chris, I changed it all up. He said I should keep my base calories (200 calories/hr) incoming by way of gels and add other foods as needed or wanted. Chris’s suggestion made sense to me and since I have not had a problem with how gels affect my stomach, I went with the strategy of downing a </span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; -webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(4, 51, 255);"><a href="https://guenergy.com/" target="_blank">GU Energy gel</a></span><span style="font-kerning: none;"> or </span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; -webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(4, 51, 255);"><a href="https://humagel.com/" target="_blank">HUMA chia gel</a></span><span style="font-kerning: none;"> every half hour. This plan worked really well for me and am positive that I will continue this fuel plan when I race again.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6z4aWuLeVRGQNAoeg6mz7ducXTF_Uhv5P2m8dMnoZuMvdPaET_F1tldmLk-AtJ33tqJJfQ8X5QZ9t7j-xC4COUlvbOsldo8uFALUBDiMTLGn0btyYe9j0d2fXL0n1P_u3wib57rWJsCY1/s1600/IMG_4906.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6z4aWuLeVRGQNAoeg6mz7ducXTF_Uhv5P2m8dMnoZuMvdPaET_F1tldmLk-AtJ33tqJJfQ8X5QZ9t7j-xC4COUlvbOsldo8uFALUBDiMTLGn0btyYe9j0d2fXL0n1P_u3wib57rWJsCY1/s640/IMG_4906.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Running is so healthy</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Finishing the second loop, I shouted out to Bill what I wanted from my stuff so he could pull it out while I went to the bathroom. I made sure to stop every loop since I didn’t want to go in the woods if necessary. Only once did I have to do that and I’ll tell you there is not much cover in early spring. Having to go meant I was drinking enough liquid. Not having to go more than once a loop meant I was managing my water and electrolytes and caffeine pretty well. Side note- Even though the toilets were temporary, the race kept them clean for the entire weekend. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We kept this stop short. Minutes add up quickly at aid stations and I like to pass through most of them as fast as I can. My feet still felt fine so I took a new bottle of Tailwind, a handful of gels and headed down the trail with Justin. On the previous loop, I went to eat the banana I had stashed in my vest pocket but couldn’t find it. I figured I must have eaten it already but of course couldn’t remember if I had or hadn’t. A trash can was placed a bit further on then the main aid station and I took a moment to empty the trash I was carrying from gel wrappers and other stuff when I looked down to see half a banana on the ground. Being less than two feet from the trash can, it looked like a runner was a lazy slob and couldn’t throw it away properly. But I knew the real story and exclaimed “Here’s the banana I lost!” So, I did what I normally do. I picked it up and threw it into the trash. Sorry, friends, I did not eat any food off the ground this race. (I probably should get a gold star for this.)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One of my favorite things is when the race starts to take on personality. We came across a young boy with his dad. He had a race bib one so I asked him what he was doing, meaning what distance was he attempting. His reply to me was “This.” (He completed 50k, with lots of careful supervision!) Someone had been out and placed plastic plate signs along the course. I came to think of them as what fortune cookies would say if they had more room.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTm9JJ_spVeYSuMkB-Gt2leX_Z_n2pb7mVovFEdmc-K4mZRmVBK_Zg04QaNSkR-LMedYRI5H8hlR2ZMzcdZBzAvqfdaYDLL4z_LE-lU4IccADNs0gQre2KuErfa3l_smj6_psmIuHSMBF8/s1600/IMG_4962.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTm9JJ_spVeYSuMkB-Gt2leX_Z_n2pb7mVovFEdmc-K4mZRmVBK_Zg04QaNSkR-LMedYRI5H8hlR2ZMzcdZBzAvqfdaYDLL4z_LE-lU4IccADNs0gQre2KuErfa3l_smj6_psmIuHSMBF8/s640/IMG_4962.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I did have to put on sunscreen</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ32tFIycpwVg_WH4oy2H7Mw57pyVsLGdqPvnqOnvIslC8fVGWdxuyzDBiIWjpStuOnuwF2LbJSGbX0LsWzMkjOg3Nm_VAI-P95Zf6uVhNWG4a0Ul5nTgq-yq6t646gQqQ2N2xlKYVnFof/s1600/IMG_4965.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ32tFIycpwVg_WH4oy2H7Mw57pyVsLGdqPvnqOnvIslC8fVGWdxuyzDBiIWjpStuOnuwF2LbJSGbX0LsWzMkjOg3Nm_VAI-P95Zf6uVhNWG4a0Ul5nTgq-yq6t646gQqQ2N2xlKYVnFof/s640/IMG_4965.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Is it just me or does this sign have a little too much sass for a plastic green plate?</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">At the end of the third loop my knees were aching more than I wanted them to be. Having dealt with this over and over by now, I didn’t do anything more than just note how they felt and sprayed them with </span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; -webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(4, 51, 255);"><a href="http://www.biofreeze.com/" target="_blank">BioFreeze</a></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">. I continue to wonder why they hurt only during races. My guesses are that I am unable to train on terrain most similar to the trails I race on and maybe even more importantly, in training I never push the pace because I’m going for a new distance or trying a more difficult terrain. I plan to adapt my training to work on this. We always finished our loops strong and when we came in this time I changed both my socks and shoes after wearing the same pairs for the first thirty miles. The fresh footwear felt so good. Gary stuffed my damp shoes with newspaper to help dry them out faster, remarking about my doll sized feet and how he was saving on newspaper. (I wear size 7 and if anyone wears or tries on my shoes they are on my naughty list.) Bill was concerned I wasn’t drinking enough water but I assured him I was.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The fourth loop waited for us. Neither Justin nor I had gone further than 31 miles until now. My friend, Julia had said the fourth loop would be the worst. It would be new distance territory and also not so close to the finish that you could say you were almost done. I decided to just let this ten miles be its own and didn’t expect anything else. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We made it to the first aid station and I grabbed a cup of potato soup. Although the temperature was in the 70’s, the soup tasted so good. For ultras, aid stations are placed a few miles apart and are packed with food, unlike road races, which are mainly water or Gatorade. There is fruit- orange slices, bananas, watermelon. All sorts of candy. Salty items such as pretzels, pickles, potato chips. And real food choices like quesadillas, oatmeal peanut butter balls, soup, boiled potatoes, cookies, and more. When you consider runners are out for 6, 12, 24 hours, having real food makes sense. And is delicious. Everything is the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Justin didn’t know he liked fruit so much. Watermelon is amazing. Avocado and cheese quesadillas are magical. Coke and ginger ale have healing powers, I tell ya. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQVk14yqHwdtzuKwz6iuiZ5cmLGx2-iIoBHl3PlH9JgTpJCqRl-4QkB2gMZsTClPhqUs5vzgRY76F3J8Bg8vdayvqm3NOyxqa8O7T9oxkwXke5GI78B-kkBOVZa3mT3jnFNBnSQ1d_m574/s1600/17972384_10100459588449832_3202304945869930962_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="1296" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQVk14yqHwdtzuKwz6iuiZ5cmLGx2-iIoBHl3PlH9JgTpJCqRl-4QkB2gMZsTClPhqUs5vzgRY76F3J8Bg8vdayvqm3NOyxqa8O7T9oxkwXke5GI78B-kkBOVZa3mT3jnFNBnSQ1d_m574/s640/17972384_10100459588449832_3202304945869930962_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Not captured- me belching after guzzling this cup of potato soup</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Amber had advised us to work through our highs and lows during this loop. At one point, Justin and I separated a bit. When we met up again, I was concerned about how the rest of the race was going to go for us. I had yet to bonk but I told him if I did it would look like me crying, which freaked him out a bit. I told him if that happened to make me eat something and keep moving. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I really wanted to run so I tried, asking Justin how my running looked. He said I was better walking. I agreed, given my knees were acting like the Tin Man in need of a good oiling along. I was more efficient at hiking than I was at running anyway. I didn't spend much time dwelling on what I couldn’t do but instead focused on what I could do and what I needed to do to keep that up. I wanted to get this loop over with. I wanted to finish the race before I needed my headlamp again. I didn’t want anyone passing me. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikv7o4oHPINRN4ADHXCE0SbohugTozt-uACTrYt7PDFRNgteyvugl8QxPPjCBgyviuNfZzD-KARW2ORBebTG8ue-M26-ok32njhLVjX9Hq2-XVih2l2WK80bS_-u2iut1Kaj21Zqec2FHw/s1600/IMG_4961.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikv7o4oHPINRN4ADHXCE0SbohugTozt-uACTrYt7PDFRNgteyvugl8QxPPjCBgyviuNfZzD-KARW2ORBebTG8ue-M26-ok32njhLVjX9Hq2-XVih2l2WK80bS_-u2iut1Kaj21Zqec2FHw/s640/IMG_4961.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Go ahead, Justin, you pick the best spot to cross. I'll wait.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As we came into the start/finish line for the fourth time, I stopped first at the guys to get the last of my stuff before crossing the timing mat and going out for the fifth loop. All the other loops I had crossed the timing mat and then gone back but this time I wanted to get going as fast as possible. Bill decided to come along with us. He was ready to stretch his legs after a day of waiting around for me to come in every two and a half hours. I filled him in with all the really important details of the day: the banana story, how I lost my balance and dunked my shoe in the mud, how there were 10 horses and riders out for a trail ride on the same course, and pointed out the cemetery from which they get the name of Heaven’s Gate and which I only just found it last loop. Fascinating stuff. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The last loop was exciting and I was ready to take it on. Once started though, it occurred to me that I still had ten miles to cover and pacing would still be important. We were about three miles in when I could feel the tears trying to make an appearance. I told Bill I was on the edge crying and needed some space to deal with it. I decided I was fine and didn’t have any reason to break down. I ate something and started focusing on the grape.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">On the far bank of the first creek I had seen a green grape in the dirt during an earlier loop. It was there again during the fourth loop and I mentioned it to Justin who had seen it also. We decided if it was there on the fifth loop, we would have to do something. As I got nearer and nearer the creek I wondered about the grape. Would it be there? How did it get there in the first place? What would I do with it? We crossed the creek and with eyes down, scanned the sandy corners where it had been but it was gone. Neither Justin or I could find it. I felt a little let down because I kind of wanted to see it again but consoled myself with the idea that it met it’s fate in the way it was supposed to. Then I spent the next stretch of trail concocting stories about the grape. See, loop courses don’t have to be boring.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was on the home stretch and I wanted to be finished. I felt I was moving slower and slower even though I pushed myself harder than ever. I finally looked at my overall time and distance to go and started really wondering what time I could finish under. Here I was, about to finish my first 50 mile race and I was going to finish faster than I had hoped. I hadn’t thought all day of how long I had been out there more than about how long each loop took. Wading across the last creek that finally didn’t splash up past my knees, I knew I was about two miles from the finish and went for the final push. Those last two miles were some of the longest of my life. Finally! Finally the campground came into view. I saw the seconds tick by as I hobble ran the last stretch towards the finish line. I finished in 12:44!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Richard, one of the race directors, was the closest person to me and I threw my arms around him in a happy hug. He handed me my belt buckle medal. Bill and Gary closed in and they each got hugs. The grinning was not going to stop for a while. And you know what never happened? I never bonked. I never cried. I didn’t cry in the week leading up to the race, or packet pickup or the morning of, or during or at the finish line or afterwards!! </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Justin was not too far behind and soon he finished as well. I’m really grateful for his company during the race. I know I did not experience the loneliness and the lows because he was there. Which means he’ll be signing up for at least three more 50 milers since that’s how many more I have in mind.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">50 mile finishers! </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Wow! I was so happy with the entire day! </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I don't have a belt or a fancy place to wear this buckle</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Post-race</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Back in the hotel room, I started removing layers. Off came the shoes and socks for the second inspection of my feet that day. I had a sore spot on the back of my heel but there were no blisters and no significant damage from the continual pounding and dunking they took. As I sat on the edge of the bed later, waiting for Bill to return with our supper of Mexican food, I started to get so tired. I had to get in the shower but I mostly just wanted to sleep. Eventually I chose the shower. I gingerly stepped in because that’s where any chaffing is truly discovered and none was to be found. Again, wow! All my gear had worked well. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One would think after 50 miles with 8,000 of elevation gain, I would be starving. I was hungry but not overly so. I knew I had to eat so I worked my way through a taco and rice and beans. My feet were starting to swell and were getting hot and painful so I partially filled a garbage can with ice and water and forced my feet and legs in for 10 seconds at a time. Wow! It hurt like none other! I did so a handful of times and the swelling and pain was definitely reduced. I fell asleep that night with my puffy jacket on top of me like a blanket with my lower legs completely uncovered all on top of the blankets. Later on, I woke up only a little thirsty but knew I still needed to drink water. I had to keep balancing the water and electrolytes so at 1:30 in the morning, I sat in my bed eating Pringles and sucking water from my hydration pack. I fell asleep again with all that still on the bed and now a little puddle where the end of the hose had been pinched open under me and leaked. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Even though Gary said the race was offering free loops the next morning, I took a pass and we headed home. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’ve thought a lot about this race since then and writing about it has taken a while not because I procrastinated but because the whole thing needed space. There was so much that went exceptionally well that day. The weather was unbelievably nice. The trail was in great shape and the creeks were tolerable to cross. I spent all day with good company, had a great crew in Bill and Gary and the race itself is well organized with amazing directors and volunteers.</span></span></div>
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Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-86325305461559962132017-03-13T06:00:00.000-05:002017-03-13T06:00:00.381-05:00Failure to Rest<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Since I decided to go ahead and run the 50k race sick with lungs half functioning and some sort of infection brewing in my ears, I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to recover. A real goal I wrote for last week was to Get Better. </span></span></div>
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<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Go to church but do not shake hands, do not sing, have your son serve you bread during communion and mostly try not to let on you are sick.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Finally admit to yourself you really are sick. You came to this realization during the 31 miles you covered on Saturday but by Monday you just want to quit life. </span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Confess to your mom you are sick and that you ran sick and that no, you never do listen. Assure her she does not need to come down and stay with the boys because there are still pizza rolls in the freezer.</span></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Listen to your nieces’ piano lessons and decide they sound good enough this week. You mostly want to take a nap while they work out tricky rhythms laced with quarter notes, half notes and quarter rests.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Go to the chiropractor on Wednesday and tell him you are dumb. He says he’s impressed with your determination and while you listen and appreciate his </span>encouragement,<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> you still mostly think you are dumb.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Spend a lot of time in bed and in pajamas. Wonder when the best time is to wash the pajamas because you do not want to be without them. </span></li>
<li><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Decide that this is the week you’ll finally start Gilmore Girls. </span></li>
<li><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Notice that The Great British Baking Show is also on Netflix and while Lorelei is always going to be a mess, pastries and sponges are the real deal. This becomes a nightly favorite for you and the boys because there is competition.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Text your sister regularly with your death prognosis. She says to chill out and rest </span>because<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> you ran 31 miles sick and these things take time. </span></span></li>
<li><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Continue to text your sister regularly with your death prognosis.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Text your friends and tell them that while you’ve been resting you also painted Luke’s room. Have them point out your failure to rest.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Lose your patience with the boys. </span></li>
<li><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Buy them pizza and then force them to watch another new to you show- Fixer Upper. You’re watching a lot of tv- the most you’ve watched in a long, long time.</span></li>
<li><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Discover that skipping through commercials and being able to go from one episode to the next immediately is how everything should be watched.</span></li>
<li><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Fall asleep immediately when Supercross starts. This makes the third week in a row that you’ve missed it.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Have some tiny meltdowns all week long. </span></li>
<li><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Lose your sense of humor. </span></li>
<li><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Eat weird things because your taste buds and sense of normal eating are all messed up. </span></li>
<li><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Drink tea. </span></li>
<li><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Despise tea because tea is not coffee.</span></li>
<li><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Have your friends worry about you and implore you to go to the doctor. </span></li>
<li><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Have your sister tell you- Go to the doctor already! </span></li>
<li><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Wonder if you should shower before you go and is it acceptable for an adult to go to the doctor in pajamas. </span></li>
<li><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Go to the doctor.</span></li>
<li><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Tell her you ran a 50k sick. </span></li>
<li><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Get diagnosed with bronchitis.</span></li>
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Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-1902260540894662532017-03-12T06:00:00.000-05:002017-03-12T06:00:12.412-05:00Winter Psycho Wyco<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Two days before the <a href="http://www.psychowyco.com/id7.html" target="_blank">winter Psycho Wyco 50k</a>, I thought I was dying. I stayed in bed most of the day with aches and a cough and other miseries. I had gone from tired but still healthy on Tuesday to sore and chilled on Wednesday to all out dying on Thursday. My friends know that I invest myself fully in whatever I do and a cold is no exception. </span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I contemplated what was in store for in two days- three trips around a trail near Kansas City with over 3,000 feet </span>elevation<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> gain. I knew this trail from last summer as I chose to celebrate my birthday by doing two loops on it in near 100 degree heat. I finished that race stinky from sweat, dripping from all the ice I tucked in all over my body and spent the trip back to Iowa dry-heaving from a bit of heat exhaustion. If those aren't reasons to come back, I don't know what is.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I chose this race as part of my training for my upcoming 50 mile race at McNaughton as a supported long run. A supported run means you have volunteers </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">wearing flannel shirts and fake beards </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">cheering you on. A supported run mean there is more to eat than your humble fig newtons and pretzels. There are quesadillas and broth and potatoes and Coke and pumpkin chip cookies. Some have made posters that make you smile and someone else has decided to wear Viking horns and beat on a drum at the top of a long climb although I suppose these things could happen during an unsupported run. I'll keep you posted. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The morning of the race, I rolled out of bed and bleakly looked at myself in the mirror. The temporary surge of wellness felt the day before had waned away and I found myself with a good size cough and that whole watery eye, runny nose bit. The hotel coffee was not the best part of waking up but to be honest, nothing was going to be that morning. Dressed in clothes appropriate for low 40 degree temps, I made my way to the start area. I found Susanne, Justin and Shannon and we all exchanged well wishes for the day. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-rQRs_bftnq7WueXwhKUnN4oyVKe2NHPwu5V9c41ujnCg1UWV8SsP6iEZEp7ejvJPqWt3GSchmfPoeNYEV4Loa20nUBp2yWkIpnBhR4IpeWNiMIYlGJ7xXGFSiaPxziW3h6L90ttwIfpe/s1600/IMG_4777.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-rQRs_bftnq7WueXwhKUnN4oyVKe2NHPwu5V9c41ujnCg1UWV8SsP6iEZEp7ejvJPqWt3GSchmfPoeNYEV4Loa20nUBp2yWkIpnBhR4IpeWNiMIYlGJ7xXGFSiaPxziW3h6L90ttwIfpe/s640/IMG_4777.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">guy in back didn't want to smile so we kicked him out of our group</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I knew I was in for a day of work when by a mile in I was far back in the pack and I didn’t care. I stopped at the first aid station only a few miles in and asked for broth- they would have it for me when I came back around. I tried to talk started coughing; every breath went down with jagged edges. I was sick and now had to finish this somehow without completely destroying myself.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The reasons one chooses to keep going despite being miserable are interesting. For one, I had nothing but time provided I start my last loop by the sixth hour. I called Bill at the beginning of my second loop to get encouragement and some help with pacing math. He assured me I had the endurance to do this race and that as long as I kept moving, I would be fine. Today was testing my mental stores. I chose to run when I could and walk all the rest. Anybody who could, passed me on the second loop. Secondly, this course has many areas that mimic the McNaughton race and to have to go over those again and again was good training. Thirdly, I couldn’t get this day back. I could have stopped at two loops and no one would have faulted me but I knew I wouldn’t get another shot at having this kind of support and time during this training block. I also felt like I was finally getting a real glimpse of what kind of work and suffering I will be getting myself into in a month or so. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd2jMO-Pl3fylYDCgR5f_G3iKLPU7bT_phbcXnSl4VSOQ1GS-ZNVjoZdJ7UlFgZ3z1GyHTkWa5ta6WZXnaMk6mOL7OIL7hzVnTecLMNdNGukENGqNM9X3X_Y0J9g-5T5lcCeuIEvNLMI4V/s1600/IMG_4780.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd2jMO-Pl3fylYDCgR5f_G3iKLPU7bT_phbcXnSl4VSOQ1GS-ZNVjoZdJ7UlFgZ3z1GyHTkWa5ta6WZXnaMk6mOL7OIL7hzVnTecLMNdNGukENGqNM9X3X_Y0J9g-5T5lcCeuIEvNLMI4V/s640/IMG_4780.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">runnable</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The winter course is similar to but not the same as the summer course. The winter course goes from the backside of the dam up the dam hill and continues up the dam road whereas the summer course goes across the dam bridge only, i.e. not as much dam. There are plenty of loose rocks and technical areas but much of it is runnable trail. Not easy and you must pay attention but still quite a nice. I found many sections of the bridle trail to be tough on the ankles because of the hoof prints left and then hardened into the trail. Days after the race was done, my lower legs were still sore. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizg6jzgv3YSRw482cRcCmc4y-NtNU_RTEkkNREn6H9mssDDL0wh__uNEAkXl9n1ZjZhelqdzS0tyEJ9tUHOJMR4IhJ3PO41LBO3dYV74_PB9_1B1X7PbjwI0Ut6g3FIXCmF0x4GK1wJl2F/s1600/IMG_4785.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizg6jzgv3YSRw482cRcCmc4y-NtNU_RTEkkNREn6H9mssDDL0wh__uNEAkXl9n1ZjZhelqdzS0tyEJ9tUHOJMR4IhJ3PO41LBO3dYV74_PB9_1B1X7PbjwI0Ut6g3FIXCmF0x4GK1wJl2F/s640/IMG_4785.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">dam hill, in case you don't know what one looks like </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzT0X1iZjXLVrxLHZCzJEFHw8lCtpDpFWANmjbxvoiP-0A5WpBijIAXC_A3kL7ROnxHKy-TSA-2D9242KBiuqMEa20AALwUnazIPz4IdD5El8eydVnD7IX9MX0Ejd_DoRLK5ZVF_7fE73b/s1600/IMG_4781.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzT0X1iZjXLVrxLHZCzJEFHw8lCtpDpFWANmjbxvoiP-0A5WpBijIAXC_A3kL7ROnxHKy-TSA-2D9242KBiuqMEa20AALwUnazIPz4IdD5El8eydVnD7IX9MX0Ejd_DoRLK5ZVF_7fE73b/s640/IMG_4781.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">homophone with bridal</span></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Friends cheered me on via text and I took the time to read them all even though I usually don't. I opened myself up to the entire experience and everything I was feeling. Amazed that I wasn't quitting. Quiet because I couldn't do anything more. Tired because I </span>haven't<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> figure out how to run with my eyes closed yet. Humbled because it would be this plus two more loops for 50 miles. Sad because I missed my boys. Encouraged because my friends and family believe in me. I may not have been sprite and cheery but I would not </span>complain.<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> Twice, spectators yelled from the roadside "Go get it!" and "Good job, young lady!" and who am I to correct them? </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCVPKQAYcaxjz_RvLsOhjQrQpvzSyEtw7yKPKPiXEZ2_7jZmfZT-wsPK_mjYbQ2e4U-SJCQk0xG4JQKaUTuUjztixwJChQp6CODQCwup_BVIXkkL74nlk06SCk_DLcs3FRkZ_S78m14Up6/s1600/IMG_4778.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCVPKQAYcaxjz_RvLsOhjQrQpvzSyEtw7yKPKPiXEZ2_7jZmfZT-wsPK_mjYbQ2e4U-SJCQk0xG4JQKaUTuUjztixwJChQp6CODQCwup_BVIXkkL74nlk06SCk_DLcs3FRkZ_S78m14Up6/s640/IMG_4778.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">totally works</span></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">My stubbornness prevailed and I started the third loop but it wasn’t without another call to Bill and another round of tears, which lead to a disaster of a runny nose. I learned fairly early on in the race that I could not wipe my nose on my sleeves every 5 minutes and my fingers were frozen so I was in no mood to manipulate tissues. Thus, I learned the art of snot rockets. Listen, in this training cycle I have had at least one thing in each long run bring me to a new, humbling low. Some of my friends (who are now in the best friends club) have been witness to these and others have heard my confessions. I have never been able to execute a successful snot rocket and all my previous </span>attempts have left me almost wrenching at the grossness.<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> I was so proud of myself and my new skill I considered titling this post "The Race I Perfected the Snot Rocket".</span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfpAfjH06GuzE8nSc6wuRzS-hpNDWnhuji0LjlargA3ZMyz9Su_zt0BdZKboOqltYg0QE2SMzjgVVbi-Y1xF_qoQ9s1jN2V3b0W2I0sgTC-GuubfS-e9eBojX4YGAN0w3IFtXhlTDEBpJ_/s1600/IMG_4779.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfpAfjH06GuzE8nSc6wuRzS-hpNDWnhuji0LjlargA3ZMyz9Su_zt0BdZKboOqltYg0QE2SMzjgVVbi-Y1xF_qoQ9s1jN2V3b0W2I0sgTC-GuubfS-e9eBojX4YGAN0w3IFtXhlTDEBpJ_/s640/IMG_4779.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">did you expect a picture of my snot rocket?</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I wish I could have exchanged banter with the volunteers. They go out of their way to help everyone and bring smiles and positive energy to us. But since talking was a no go for the race, I just moved through every aid station and kept going. At the end of the loop are three hills or climbs. If you don’t know about them when you start, you will know about them by the end. At first I dreaded these hills. The whole section is a bunch of work. Both the ascents and descents are technical. Momentum is your friend on the way up and awareness is key on the way down. After the first loop, I adjusted my outlook when I got to them because the finish line was literally just around the corner. <span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I finished the last loop and the last of the climbs and crossed the finish line. Someone stuck a finisher’s medal around my neck; Susanne placed a 50k finishers hat on my head and after a few brief conversations, Aaron drove us home.</span><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB_9md9GecFZ-cB2LIx9RFM7TXxmhBaXUt9cxtT4WFmthjObfpImtFsJdTTjL8jjD7ea4V0dYMtXeLTUuzWQjqHxytegKnrRfMSoXMo2pJ-IftXjTIpk_rsP6HnSCeSs8Oi_j2dTOt4XDZ/s1600/IMG_4782.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB_9md9GecFZ-cB2LIx9RFM7TXxmhBaXUt9cxtT4WFmthjObfpImtFsJdTTjL8jjD7ea4V0dYMtXeLTUuzWQjqHxytegKnrRfMSoXMo2pJ-IftXjTIpk_rsP6HnSCeSs8Oi_j2dTOt4XDZ/s640/IMG_4782.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">rocks more unstable than they appear</span></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Two days later I found myself piled up in bed again, despondent of life itself. I would get up from time to time to take care of a little thing or two but mostly the tissues wore raw my nose, coughing chaffed my esophagus, and various bowls and mugs overflowed my bedside stand. My contemplation complete, I don't really want to go back to this race in either its winter or summer editions at this point. It has kicked my butt both times although not because of the race itself but because of my physical condition. That being said, both times it has been the perfect training course for me for other races which what I signed up for. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpavDGJmavO7tyFlleEEQ59ivxxTfQB6-Vii49qg-Pq0MWdbts2GMV1W6xFi7NPXJYFDphbAurT-dMU_7GYHFoRIT88vlYiqXX9qnPCurRMiSxGWyyWZYSnxuNJj67rmDVx9K4HR74LwQJ/s1600/IMG_4788.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpavDGJmavO7tyFlleEEQ59ivxxTfQB6-Vii49qg-Pq0MWdbts2GMV1W6xFi7NPXJYFDphbAurT-dMU_7GYHFoRIT88vlYiqXX9qnPCurRMiSxGWyyWZYSnxuNJj67rmDVx9K4HR74LwQJ/s640/IMG_4788.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">the tornado spins</span></td></tr>
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Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-42980608631333345332017-03-11T06:00:00.000-06:002017-03-11T06:00:10.433-06:00Hungry and Restless<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">What is becoming more and more apparent during this 50 mile race training is the amount of stress my body is enduring. When I was training for my first 50k several years ago, I knew only a little about the changes but everything was new to me and I couldn’t pinpoint things other than to say I had never done this amount of mileage before. Now, a few years later after a couple marathons and 50k’s worth of training and racing in me I see noticeable differences as I amp up my mileage.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">hunger—- I am hungry. There’s no denying that as the number of miles stack up, so does my appetite. Since I’ve already written about this I won’t go much more into it. Please send food.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlrBCoZel_xBSzHJWS0PocpqGSkKTdt69J9OBpgVRM9vQBKp2hvRVWzY-gYW13aoUjxrebp4E7aiL2m1b31ROJ9hyFkTWtAGUheXq9f_s9OqJpFNKZMDtmCw4FgpmSNZw5uUKvXEeTVCOR/s1600/IMG_4677.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlrBCoZel_xBSzHJWS0PocpqGSkKTdt69J9OBpgVRM9vQBKp2hvRVWzY-gYW13aoUjxrebp4E7aiL2m1b31ROJ9hyFkTWtAGUheXq9f_s9OqJpFNKZMDtmCw4FgpmSNZw5uUKvXEeTVCOR/s640/IMG_4677.JPG" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">bacon, kale, runny eggs, amen</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">rest—- My long runs currently fall on weekends instead of weekdays as in the past. It mostly means that I adjust my run time to extra early to be gone a little less during normal family operating hours. I’d love to report that to make up the early morning difference I go to bed at say 8:00 pm and then sneak in a nap here and there but that has not been the case. I don’t think I caught how little rest I was getting until I finally slept lights out for ten hours straight two nights in a row. The go, go, go was causing me less rest, rest, rest instead of more. This was a pretty subtle change until I was </span>undeniably<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> restless despite a huge weekend of running. </span></span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXMrJvYBIFaqk2ctW062aLNcBN_O0XeiAMNJlhFNX-ruqkaoX604ZlDrn2eVtwH2j3RYuG7H2QAhciyTxwn_alb7bA9ieE3dXYu_SVgj7ULePJY9h-FUdZsKXULcncdrzPB52Higl01g90/s1600/IMG_4693.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXMrJvYBIFaqk2ctW062aLNcBN_O0XeiAMNJlhFNX-ruqkaoX604ZlDrn2eVtwH2j3RYuG7H2QAhciyTxwn_alb7bA9ieE3dXYu_SVgj7ULePJY9h-FUdZsKXULcncdrzPB52Higl01g90/s640/IMG_4693.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">At least someone's getting a nap</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2mYr8ROue-OXgzz38YUK4Ks-esRjubLPbXfJDbisJfaEndBZo49-GrZevzomOc5eb8x6ewkWkB9I_F4jLS_4oD7dzTbyOrEZvsVRAtaGrN9-h6g3vKSbuFzsiJXpfjoB869wHb-98FXGf/s1600/IMG_4724.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2mYr8ROue-OXgzz38YUK4Ks-esRjubLPbXfJDbisJfaEndBZo49-GrZevzomOc5eb8x6ewkWkB9I_F4jLS_4oD7dzTbyOrEZvsVRAtaGrN9-h6g3vKSbuFzsiJXpfjoB869wHb-98FXGf/s640/IMG_4724.JPG" width="474" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Real sunrise captured after 10 miles</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">calm—- This one has been perhaps the craziest of them. The directions are pretty straight forward: get up, run, eat, sleep (super simplified- please fill in every other life responsibility). </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">While it seems I do this every day, I do not. I get days off. As of late, however, days off aren't any fun. I start the day solid, thinking of the myriad of things to get done and working my way through them. Somewhere around 1-2:00, my brain starts eating itself. At least that’s what it feel like. Then I get twitchy. I start a task only to end up wandering around not completing much. I feel a gnawing hungry pain and head to the kitchen to find something. “Good,” I think. “I will calm down.” Nope. My brain feels fuzzy. It's like this every rest day. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I've done a bit of yoga, lead by my friend <a href="http://thecrislers.blogspot.com/2017/02/and-then-i-started-teaching-yoga.html" target="_blank">Kristy</a>. Anne and I are fiercely trying not to compete- which is the opposite of yoga. We need a lot of help being calm. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc70QIfCPryM7lVM_s2YE-bxiqTHwh8uUDJnHIA7iLrzmAG3JV45-LoccQHIf4RK1K9Ek7VrNR-0ULc9oAY5idkhtP0npRKVFcEE6a1CZHZ5JolVnfnAjiHGWyp5f802AXITkw8pF8jOlu/s1600/IMG_4733.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc70QIfCPryM7lVM_s2YE-bxiqTHwh8uUDJnHIA7iLrzmAG3JV45-LoccQHIf4RK1K9Ek7VrNR-0ULc9oAY5idkhtP0npRKVFcEE6a1CZHZ5JolVnfnAjiHGWyp5f802AXITkw8pF8jOlu/s640/IMG_4733.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">cute yoga mat and tasty smoothie- what's not to be calm about?</span></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I finally figured out what is going on with me. My body is addicted to the high mileage. *low whistle* </span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">My body is doing all that it can to stay caught up even on rest days.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">All to say, its nice to know I’m not going crazy.</span></span></div>
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Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-646377922500592181.post-2087525680803078952017-03-10T12:00:00.000-06:002017-03-10T12:00:04.101-06:00Confessions and Victories<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Confession- Stacked away in my basement are ten years worth of Martha Stewart magazines, the latest dating almost ten years ago. I loved getting the magazines and reading them and baking from them and gardening and crafting and homemaking from them. Martha Stewart was Pinterest and everything else before anyone else. And I saved them- moving them 4 times.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Victory- I parted with 3 years worth of running magazines. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4yKtov47_tFeF9rQKsGLkV3RokIdx5OubSPuuZI0726gBepEUeCb0nasDFtZzuFiKeQVcEoTEOAYDbAA8rVfHzEfAQ5C_Ow9QZ43X0qu8QPgqdppoDBdTs_8bP6zZCgo4jh5OEFaJuhJp/s1600/IMG_4753.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4yKtov47_tFeF9rQKsGLkV3RokIdx5OubSPuuZI0726gBepEUeCb0nasDFtZzuFiKeQVcEoTEOAYDbAA8rVfHzEfAQ5C_Ow9QZ43X0qu8QPgqdppoDBdTs_8bP6zZCgo4jh5OEFaJuhJp/s640/IMG_4753.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Confession- I fear cleaning up my Pinterest boards and deleting things I’ll never do. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Confession- I’ve had a lengthy conversation with others about what to do with leftover party supplies. I’ve invented parties for others or myself to have to use up said supplies. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Victory- I got rid of some stuff. It was sitting in my garage- a large box and a bag of clothes waiting for me to take it somewhere. It didn’t even matter where, it only needed to go. I opened a few cupboards, raided a bookshelf and threw 10 more things in the box. I took it somewhere.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Confession- I found three food containers with mold growing on the contents in my fridge today.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Victory- I tossed those items out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Confession- A large bunch of kale is haunting me from the crisper drawer. </span></div>
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Mindyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14170767440305505517noreply@blogger.com0