Lake Chabot 50k – new PR!

The start of the race -feeling good

A few weeks ago I ran a race at Lake Chabot (thanks again Inside Trail!). I’ve run in this area a few times before – once in 2016, and once in 2012.

If you check out the results page … I came in 3rd! But even better … I set a personal record for the 50k distance!!! This 50k is the fastest one I’ve ever run in my life, and the fastest since 2012 … which is crazy, and also pretty exciting because:

  • This is the last race of my 20s (turning 30 this weekend)
  • I’m getting faster even as I’m getting older
  • I could maybe run even faster in the future!

Here’s how it went down –

The day dawned crisp and clear – as is usual for the East Bay of California. I’d signed up for the race just a few days earlier, on Wednesday of that week, because it felt like a good time to run a race (sometimes your body just tells you).

The course is an 18 mile loop followed by a 13 mile loop. The 13 mile is a shortened version of the previous loop, so there would be some sections of the course, including a substantial out-and-back, that we’d see four times. I typically do well in races with longer out-and-backs, because I can see the field of runners, and also know what sort of terrain is coming on the way back.

At some point just before the start, I realized that I’d forgotten my GPS watch.  This was a little disconcerting, but there wasn’t much to do for it at this point. I’d also recently read an article that sometimes anchoring consistently on pace or time can actually slow runners down, so I tried to focus on that.

The first loop was pretty uneventful. I spent a lot of time worrying about the runners in the 18-mile race, who would sprint past us at what seemed like breakneck speed. However, I also knew there were plenty of 50k runners ahead of me and I wasn’t really competitive, so at some point, I just settled in. The first big climb was several miles, and I’m pretty slow on the uphills anyway, so a lot of other runners drifted by me.

Around mile 7 or 8 the course has a pretty long downhill, and that’s where I felt the energy kick in. I flew down the hill, passing a lot of folks who had previously been ahead of me. I was in a pretty fantastic mood too – the scenery was gorgeous, with rolling green hills lush from rain and beautiful blue sky.

After an aid station, maybe around mile 11-12, I caught up temporarily with another runner. She was a badass – training for a 100-mile race – and somehow was just cruising up these hills. She basically had one running speed, and it was inexorable. At some point (maybe after about a mile) I had to let her go – I couldn’t keep up with her hills.

However, I still knew I was running pretty quickly and I felt pretty good. There was one point during this race where I felt so much energy, happiness, and excitement – like my heart would just burst with it – I’ve never felt that while running before. It wasn’t runners high (I’m honestly not sure what that is, but this wasn’t it) – but it was so much energy that I just didn’t know what to do with it. So I did the only thing that made sense – translate it into speed.

Another hill crest, then heading down to the end of the first lap. Miles 16-18, as we headed into the turnaround, were very flat, along the lake. This is where I knew I’d see other runners on the return, and I could figure out how far ahead of me they would be.

I saw the woman in first place about 3-4 miles ahead of me, and that was pretty disheartening. There was no way in this universe I could ever catch her – she was probably 30 minutes ahead of me. The next woman, in 2nd place, was maybe about a 1.5-2 miles ahead of me, and at that point I was pretty sure there was no way I’d place in this race.

However, for the next mile or so I didn’t see anyone – and then I saw the turnaround aid station up ahead! There were two runners just coming out of it – one was a younger woman running in 3rd, and the other was the woman I’d been running with earlier, running in 4th!

I quickly refueled and caught up to the 4th place runner – I learned her name was Ingrid. We passed the runner in 3rd place, and I started thinking about the next half-marathon of running.

Ingrid kept trying to tell me that this was “just a training run” for her so she wasn’t trying to push it, but she was a literal speed demon. She was blasting up hills and powering down the other side, and she was taking no prisoners at aid stations.  As I struggled to keep up with her, we headed into our first hill together, I was sure I’d fall back, because she was still running these hills (vs speed-walking, which is my normal approach). I settled for a run/walk combination, which translated into me running the hill as long as I could to keep up with her, then walking with long strides to not fall behind, then feeling like I was falling behind, then trying to sprint up the hill to catch her, then repeating this process.

There’s something very cool about knowing how far you can push your body, and even though I was moving up these hills faster than was strictly comfortable, I could tell I wasn’t overdoing it. I was uncomfortable, but still within the range that of not exhausting myself. So I kept following Ingrid up these insane hills.

At one point, I was sort of curious about our pace / projected finish time. I almost asked Ingrid to tell me, but then told her not to share it. I didn’t want to influence or jinx the next few miles.

Anyway, Ingrid and I stayed together for the whole second loop of the race. The last few miles we ran side by side the whole way, and we really picked it up towards the finish, flying the last flat two miles.

When I saw the finish line, the first thing I saw was the timer. We crossed the finish line at 5:19 – a full 8 minutes faster than my previous PR.

Just crossing the finish line

Ingrid and crossed the finish line together. It was really motivating to have been able to run with such a fun running buddy for the last loop. I’m 99% sure the reason for my PR was due to time made up on the hills, and that was completely due to Ingrid’s pace.

Ingrid and I sharing a trophy

Anyway, Ingrid and I exchanged phone numbers, and we’re going to do a long run together next weekend.

The trophy pre-slicing

Also, while I believe she and I tied for 3rd place, the timer indicated I finished one second ahead of her. So I had a friend cut the trophy in half (thanks Vlad!) and I sent her half of it – so now we both have half of a 3rd place trophy.

This was a great last race to run in my 20s. Looking forward to another decade of running.

 

Half a trophy

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New Year’s One Day: Fresh Start Effect

Not bad, GG bridge. You’re looking good today.

I’ve attempted the New Year One day a few times: once in 2015 and once in 2014. In this race, which takes place on December 31st, you run around in a circle for as many miles as you can in a certain period of time. The previous two times I’ve attempted it, I took on the 24-hour version. Turns out, I’m not great at running around in circles for 24 hours, because it is boring and it gets cold.

Me running this race a few years ago

These last few months have been fairly tumultuous from a personal perspective. I’ve gotten promoted, gotten married, gotten divorced, and finished an Ironman. So, as the new year came around, I was really looking forward to a fresh start. I wanted to do some running, but maybe not 24 hours of running. I signed up for the six hour version of this race about two days before the race.

This was some of the best running I’ve ever done, and not because of any particularly fast running that I did during the race. I was happy – super happy – for pretty much the entire race.

There are a few races that are great not because they are particularly hard or easy, but because you’re in a positive state of mind when running them. For six hours, during this race, I was the most content I’d been in a long time, for all the reasons that make running great. I was running for myself, propelled by myself, relying on the skills and capabilities I had built. I got to catch up with some old friends I’d met in previous races. I got to push myself just a little outside my comfort zone. I got to see some pretty scenery. And there was nothing that could stop me. It was me and this perfect little mile of 60% asphalt and 40% dirt, with iconic views of the Golden Gate Bridge every 10 minutes. I was paying homage to my city, my running, 2017, 2018, and my own strength.

All in all, this was an extremely uneventful race. I ran fast, consistently, and happily for six hours. I ran in the opposite direction for a little bit, then ran the original way again. Then at the end, I stopped running. And I felt good the whole time. And because of that, it’s one of the races I’ll keep close to my heart for a years to come.

The new year is a turning point, and even though it’s a made-up milestone in the scheme of civilization, sometimes that’s okay. For me, this race was a return to my roots.

Bring it on, 2018.

San Francisco delivers.

 

I am $25.00 fast

 

Getting past the burnout – 2nd place at Redtail Ridge

This is a race report about the Redtail Ridge 50k at Lake Chabot, put on by the illustrious Inside Trail Running.

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On Saturday, at 8:05 a.m., I was sitting in a car in the parking lot of a park. My race started at 8:30. I hadn’t put on my shoes, and I hadn’t picked up my bib. I was not motivated or excited to run this race. I was feeling burnt out.

Last week, I posted a depressing call for help on a running message board. Here it is:

Hi runners,

I’m training for my 3rd 100-miler. Race is in early April. I’m running 28-30-milers almost every Saturday, plus whatever the training plan says for the other days. Between work and training for this race, I feel really burnt out – if I’m not working, I’m running, and there’s no time for anything else. I’m starting to dread my workouts [even non long-run days], and that hasn’t really happened before.

I haven’t felt this way when training for my past races, which I did primarily by running some 50s and 50ks [fun!] and then just running the race. This time around, training seems like an inescapable slog. I’m wondering if a) I’ve hit my limit of interest for the sport b) I’ve been overtraining or c) training is hard and I wasn’t doing it right before.

Help me out, guys – another four weekends of 30-mile Saturdays just seems daunting, miserable, and not worth it, but not doing the training seems like a bad option too.

Suffice to say, the last few weeks have been rough. I was tired, overwhelmed, and not excited to run. And in the car on Saturday morning, I wasn’t excited at the prospect of another run. It just seemed like so much work.

I thought about my options. I could either get out of the car and run the race. Or I could let Will run and go do literally anything else for five hours. Anything. I could go read a book or visit with friends or just wander around and explore the area. I was really grasping at any reason to not run this race.

But, ultimately, I was basically at the start line already, and I’d already paid. Two really uninspired reasons to run. So I got out of the car, picked up my bib, and started the race.

I’d run a couple of races in this park before, so the trails were familiar. The first few miles were along a lake – flat and forested, before we started a steep climb to the first aid station.

I wasn’t pushing it too hard at this point in the race. I’d gotten food poisoning on Thursday, so wasn’t sure how much energy I had in the tank. This race was also supposed to be a training run, so it was more about the miles and less about the speed. As such, I hadn’t tapered at all, and had run back-to-back ten-milers on Tuesday and Wednesday. I was moving slow, and I was okay with that, because I wasn’t motivated to run anyway.

That said, I was watching the color of the bibs around me. The 30k race had started at the same time as we had. They had green bibs instead of our yellow ones. Even though I wasn’t going for speed, I definitely looked at a racer’s bib color any time one passed me, which happened frequently, and hoped their bib was green. Runners going shorter distances should be running faster, so it doesn’t feel completely devastating when someone running a shorter distance scoots ahead. For a while, I didn’t see many yellow bibs at all, which was motivating.

After the second aid station, we ran along a rolling, wide dirt road in verdant green pastures. The trail was sloppy with mud from recent rain, made worse by the … generous … presents that grazing cows had left us along the way.

I took a quick pit-stop in the bushes and retied my shoes before the trail plunged back into the forest.

I hadn’t brought my watch on this race. Sometimes, looking at your distance during a race can be more depressing than helpful. At the beginning of the race, I felt like I had so much going against me mentally already. It didn’t seem worth it to add to the misery by knowing how many millions of miles I had left to go.

So, I’m guessing when I say it was somewhere around mile 10 when I picked up the pace a bit, for no reason other than it seemed like a good idea. At some point, I caught up to another runner, and fully intended to pass her, but she opened a conversation as we rounded a corner and stuck with me.

I’m really glad she did. We spent the next six or eight miles together. I learned about her running past [she used to live in Hopkinton, where the Boston Marathon starts!] and we chatted away a few hours of running.

I felt like I could have gone a little faster at this point, but I was more excited to have company and someone to talk to. Finding kindred spirits is one of my favorite parts of long races.

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My new friend and motivation for the middle stretch of the race

When we reached a downhill stretch, she and I parted ways; I’m a strong downhill runner and was feeling good.

The 50k course included all of the 30k course; we headed back to the start line with the 30k runners, then turned around and went out for another 12 miles after that.  As I headed back to the start line, I was feeling pretty good, energized by running with my new friend and excited by the prospect of running another 12 miles on the course. I would see her one more time on the course as I headed back out and she reached her finish line.

I like courses that have little stretches of out-and-back. Some runners don’t, because it can be demotivating to run in the opposite direction of where you’re ultimately headed, especially when part of that is at the start/finish line. However, I think  it’s fun to see the other runners on the course who are ahead or behind. It’s also an easy way to figure out how well you’re doing relative to other runners, because you can count who’s ahead of you. I hadn’t seen that many women with yellow bibs, and none that had passed me.

With just a few miles to the turn-around at the start, I started looking out for runners coming the other way. I saw one – she was moving pretty fast, and she was about 2-2.5 miles ahead of me. I saw one more, but she had made a wrong turn and wasn’t running the 50k anymore. And then … I reached the turnaround.  There weren’t any other women ahead of me.

I was in 2nd place.

And, even better, I was feeling good, both physically and mentally.

Neat. I turned around and took off, trying to widen the gap between myself and whoever was behind me. I quickly saw two women neck-in-neck, both 50k runners, about a mile behind me. So that meant I had to not lose a minute per mile to them, approximately, over the next 12 miles. It was 2nd place or 4th place.

I was glad I had left some gas in the tank, because the next few miles were back up that first hill again. I paced myself, running the hill where I could and taking walk breaks on the steep parts where I needed to, and made it to the first aid station in good shape.

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Cruising up a hill

There were three aid stations in this stretch, and I knew that if I made it to the 2nd one without getting passed, I could defend my position and sprint the last six miles to the finish. So the next few miles were somewhat anxiety-filled. Every walk-break, I was second-guessing whether or not I was wasting time by walking. This strategizing was kind of fun, too – not something I normally did in races, because normally I don’t compete for any meaningful prizes in races.

I made it to the 2nd aid station – another out-and-back – and hadn’t been passed yet. As I left the aid station, I saw one of the other women behind me. She was still about ten minutes back. I was pretty confident that she wouldn’t catch me, but I didn’t want to take any risks.

The last six miles were great. My legs had started to fatigue a little bit, but I knew I could go this last stretch without hitting the wall. These were the miles where I could feel my long runs paying off. I felt strong and prepared for the distance.

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Flying

After the last aid station, it was all downhill, and I flew all the way down to the lake. The last mile or so was little rolling hills along the lake, and I really pushed hard. At this point, it wasn’t because I was worried about getting passed, but because I was feeling good and I wanted to leave it all on the course. Will came back and ran with me for the last couple of minutes too, which was motivating and fun.

I crossed the finish line at 5:41, which was my 3rd fasted trail 50k time. And – I came in 2nd!

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Will pacing me to the finish

 

I had a really great time out on the course. I had been feeling really burnt out on running. A fun race – which turned into a competitive race – ended up being just the thing to get me back on track. Training for a 100-mile race is hard work, and it was nice to take a mental break and see some of that training pay dividends.

Sometimes we forget why we do the things we do, and it’s hard to get over the hump. This race helped to remind me about the reasons I run.

Running is a very multifaceted activity, and it draws people in for a variety of reasons. Some people love structured training, getting lost in the wilderness, racing competitively, or breaking PRs. As for me, I’ve always loved showing up to a race with no agenda, knowing that the time doesn’t matter, and also knowing that all I have to do is have a good time in nature. I don’t have to worry about the distance or about getting lost or about making sure I get home in time for something. All of that is taken care of, and all I have to do is relax into the trail, maybe make some friends, and appreciate being outdoors in a body I’ve worked hard to make strong.

 

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Swag. Bottom middle is the 1st-place age group medal, which is what they were giving out instead of 1st-2nd-3rd prizes. Also, what a great bib number.

 

Quick reminder: I’m still fundraising for the SF double marathon. Check it out: https://www.crowdrise.com/sanfranciscodoublema/fundraiser/brbrunning 

Lessons I’ve learned from running 10,000 miles

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During my first ultra in Lake Tahoe

Today, I ran my 10,000th lifetime mile. That’s a pretty crazy milestone, especially for someone who still doesn’t really consider themselves an athlete. It’s also an opportunity for reflection, so here goes. [Also, for those curious, my training log is still available here]

I started running when I got to college in 2006. This was after three years of fulfilling my high school athletics requirement with yoga and tech theatre which, yes, somehow counted as a sport. I was inspired to run by a friend who ran the 135-mile beast called Badwater. Despite no prior running experience or athletic abilities to speak of, I crewed for him during this race, and realized that if he could do five back-to-back marathons in 120+*F heat, I could probably do six miles a day. Also, I thought by burning more calories, I could eat more ice cream [protip: not true].

I had zero confidence in my athletic abilities. In middle school, I played defense when we played soccer – but not goalie, because I didn’t want the responsibility of actually defending the goal. I was the second-to-last person to finish the mile run fitness test – the one girl behind me had a medical condition and walked the mile. As a result, when I started running, for a long time I didn’t talk about running at all. I didn’t read about running. I definitely didn’t think too hard about running or the reasons I ran. I didn’t run with other people, and wasn’t even comfortable doing so until about five years later. Mainly, I was afraid of doing anything that might derail my newfound interest in anything athletic. I was afraid if I overthought it, I’d uncover all the reasons to not to do it.

I started tracking my mileage in the middle of 2008, which was also the time when I ran my first marathon. It wasn’t an official marathon – in fact, it was just me, running around near a river for 26.2 miles with a bottle of water and some Gu gels. I didn’t realize solo-marathoning was a big deal – probably because I still hadn’t read anything about running. It just seemed like the next logical step in my training. A year later, I ran my first ultra in Lake Tahoe; with no altitude training, I came in 2nd to last. Two weeks after my first ultra, I ran my 2nd ultra – again, I didn’t know about recovery because I still hadn’t done any research about running. After another 50k a few months later, I finally ran my first real road marathon – San Francisco – in 2010. It was all downhill from there [but sometimes uphill. Lots of uphill].

I’ve now run 47 marathon-or-longer distances and covered a lot of training miles in between. I’ve also learned a lot. In classic consultant style, here are three lessons that stuck with me.

  1. A good run doesn’t make you a good runner. A bad run doesn’t make you a bad runner, either. While the academic definition of a “good” runner is one who runs really fast, the majority of us probably won’t be breaking any records any time soon. That means that we have to come up with our own definitions of success. For me, success is consistency – consistently getting out there, even when I don’t really want to, or it’s raining, or I’m tired. To me, a good runner is a consistent runner – one who runs when they say they will, and doesn’t create excuses in order to skip days. One good run doesn’t make you a good runner if you never run again; it just means you had one good run. A “bad” run doesn’t make you a bad runner, either – it’s just an opportunity to get out there the next day and try again. The key is just doing it.
  2. There are a lot of different types of runners; celebrate and learn from them. There are short-distance runners and long-distance runners. There are people who run once a week and athletes who train 10-15x/week. There are people who run one marathon – ever – and elite athletes who race 10+ marathons a year. There are people who love treadmills, and there are people who hate them. Some runners love Gu; some runners are vegan. Some runners like running naked – of electronics, while some like running actually naked. Some just keep their feet naked. My feeling is, if whatever you’re doing is working for you, keep doing it, and don’t judge those who do it differently.
  3. I am a runner. I’m a lot of other things, too. Probably one of the most difficult times in my life was a year and a half ago, when I had a knee injury. I don’t know that I’ve ever fully written about it on this blog, because it was a really difficult time for me [I did write about an earlier injury]. Running had been so core to my life, and my self-identity, for the past several years. When I went running on Sunday mornings, I called it “runner’s church,” because it was my way of getting in touch with myself and my environment. I even had my own Runner Heaven. Being injured – the prospect of never fully recovering, and never being able to run any appreciable distance again – really made me question how I defined myself and what was important to me. Importantly, it made me realize that while I am a runner, I’m a lot of other things too – a daughter, a sister, a girlfriend, a photographer, a sailor, a student, a sometimes-dancer, a wannabe chef, a reader, a behavioral scientist, a TA, am ailurophile – the list goes on. Running may be core to my identity, but, especially when I’m injured, I have to remember that there’s so much more to runners than just the act of running.

I may never add a 6th digit to my lifetime mileage. To reach 100,000 miles, I’d have to keep running 2,000 miles a year … until I’m 70. Or run this 3,100-mile race every year for 30 years. Or run the 1,000-mile Iditarod race three times a year for the next 30 years. That’s a lot of running.

If I’ve learned anything over the last 10,000 miles, it’s that there will always be faster runners. There will always be runners who run farther. There will always be runners who are just a little bit more extreme. But running isn’t about that. Running is about the personal satisfaction we get – from achieving our goals, being out in nature, and just giving ourselves some time to explore.

Into the Mist – San Francisco 50-mile race report

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After finishing!

As some of you know, I’m training for Pine Creek 100-miler, a flat 100-mile trail race in northern Pennsylvania in early September. As part of my training, I like to get in some long, hard runs – so the San Francisco 50-miler in the Marin Headlands seemed like a great fit.

The out-and-back 50-mile course covered some familiar ground in the gorgeous hills just north of the Golden Gate Bridge. It also included quite a bit of climbing, with almost 10,000 feet of elevation gain over the 50 miles. Check out the course profile:

 

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My theory behind tackling this race was that if I could handle this much climbing over this distance, I’d be pretty well prepared for a flat 100-miler in September. For me, hill climbing can be psychologically devastating; you’re working very hard and moving very slowly. For this race, I was prepared for the worst.

There were 72 registered runners for the 50-mile race, and 18 runners taking on the 100-mile race. We’d all run together for the first 50 miles, after which the crazy people would stop, and the crazier people would keep moving for another 50 miles, on sightly different but equally challenging terrain, to finish their 100.

This was basically what it looked like at the start line. Our first ascent was up those hills on the far side of the beach. Source: http://forallmyfriends.com/page/309/

The morning was characteristically foggy. We followed our intrepid race director out of the parking lot, and he laid out two orange cones as our relatively informal start line while explaining how to follow the ribbons to stay on course. “We’ll have a mat at the finish line to record your time … we haven’t put it out yet, but it will be there.” “You’ve got plenty of time!” one of the runners called back. The course record for the 50-miler was just under 8 hours, which, while fast, certainly left them some time to set up.

We took off on a flat road, heading south into the fog. It’s always tempting at the beginning of a race to run quickly – after all, it is a *race* – but in ultras, speeding up that early can tire you out really quickly. I reigned in my enthusiasm for the first mile or so, listening to a couple of runners chatting behind me.

A few of them were using this race as a training run too, as they were preparing for various 100-milers around the same time as mine. Training for a 100 can logistically challenging, as there are very few people to compare training plans with. Marathon training plans are pretty well-established and straightforward in their mileage, frequency of runs, and distribution of long runs, but there’s no formula like that for a 100. It was good confirmation to hear that other runners had the same idea I did about this race.

Ultrarunners have a very particular way of running that is pretty easy to identify. There’s zero wasted motion, and the range of movement is also very tight – again, the goal is to conserve as much energy as possible. We spotted one runner way out in front – he had a big backpack on, and it looked like he had to overcompensate his body movement to keep it in place. I learned that he’d biked almost 20 miles to get to the start, and, today, was taking on the 100-mile distance. Internally, I raised my eyebrows (actually raising them would have taken up a lot of energy 😉 and wished him luck. We passed him at one point, and despite much speculation amongst runners on the course, I’m not sure how he ended up.

In ultras, my mantra is “if it looks like a hill, walk it.” This gives me permission to interpret any surface as a hill – even if it isn’t one – and walk it. The surface only has to *look* like a hill, not actually *be* a hill. So, when we hit an easy hill very early in the course – it was a shallow, 200-foot climb – and I knew I could run it, I dropped to a brisk walk – I’d need that energy later.

One of the runners behind me caught up and started walking, as well. We shared the same hill philosophy – walk all of them. He introduced himself as Rick, and was using this run as a training run for the exceptionally challenging Wasatch 100; it has something like 27,000 feet of climbing at ~5,000 feet of altitude. This guy was a speed demon hiking up hills – I kept telling him to take off when he’d inch ahead, but we ended up running together for the rest of the race, which was really cool!

The first 8-12 miles weren’t bad at all. The fog was incredibly thick – one of my friends once likened these conditions to running inside a ping pong ball, because all you can see is the ground in front of you and a greyish orb everywhere else. Having run those hills before, I knew the views of the ocean and the Golden Gate Bridge could be beautiful and expansive. However, it was a relief to not see the huge stretch of trail extending miles into the distance, knowing that I’d have to run it. Instead, I focused on the trail just in front of me and the deep, vibrant greens and browns around us.

As part of the race, we had to descend, then climb on the way back, this ladder, a famous feature of the Dipsea trail. Source: http://adventurerun.wordpress.com

Around mile 20, after a few aid stations and a lot of climbing, we hit a the high point of the course and an aid station. We then left the rolling hills and plunged into a wet, green forest. This was part of the infamous Dipsea Trail, which is known for its challenging climbs, including 688 steps over 7.5 miles.

The turn-around was at mile 27, at Stinson Beach. On the way in, we had some beautiful views of Stinson’s long stretch of white sand. While the sun was clearing out the clouds a bit, it still wasn’t too hot, which was also great.

Usually I carry an Amphipod water bottle, which has a hand strap and is curved to fit into a palm so the runner doesn’t have to squeeze to carry it. However, I’d left mine back in Philly – traveling with carry-on only isn’t conducive to toting around lots of gear. Instead, I was using a cheap 16-oz disposable plastic water bottle and refilling it at the aid stations, to the confusion and consternation of the aid station crew. I also didn’t bring a jacket, arm warmers, compression socks, or a Camelbak backpack; I was definitely (and proudly!) the runner with the least gear.

After taking a quick minute to refuel, Rick and I turned around, looking forward to retracing our steps along now familiar trails. We’d done the first 27 miles in 6 hours and 10 minutes; not bad at all.

The third quarter of the race is always the most challenging for me. It’s tough to face the fact that I’ve got to do double the mileage I’ve already done. While I’m more than half way, there’s still so far to go.

To compound that feeling, we faced one of the steepest climbs of the course on the way out of the turnaround. The course profile shows it as vertical line, which inspires little confidence. I remembered tackling that climb around the same mileage at Northface and feeling completely defeated. I assumed I was going to be wrecked on this climb, too. However, the combination of my summer training mileage and having a fellow runner along for the pain of the climb made it completely manageable.

We re-climbed Dipsea, which was conveniently shaded. Once we hit the aid station just after that, we had a 4-mile downhill stretch. This was the first time my muscles started really complaining – the downhill can be hard on quads, and I was just starting to feel it. We had some switchbacks on this portion that were really brutal – I had to take some downhill walk breaks. However, it meant that the biggest climbs were behind us.

I’d done no hill training in the past three months; New York City is pretty flat. I’d been very worried about how I’d hold up during this race, but all the climbing seemed okay; I guess running in crazy heat and humidity will train muscles pretty well, too.

The last few hills were challenging; we encountered freezing winds on the ridges, which we’d also found on the way in. This time, though, we were running downhill and looking forward to being done, so we stretched out our arms as if we were flying down the mountain.

That being said, miles are miles; 12 isn’t a lot, but you still have to run them. When we only had 8 to go, it seemed like we were almost done – but we still had to actually run the miles. Mile 42 to 43 seemed very, very long to me. I was so lucky to have found a compatible running partner; we’d been sharing stories throughout the race, and our chatter really motivated me through this tough spot. Mostly, we were looking forward to finding the final “shortcut.”

As mentioned, the turn-around was at mile 27, and this was a 50-mile race. So, we weren’t perfectly retracing our steps; the last few miles would take us off of our original path along a shorter trail to the finish line. Even though 50 miles is 50 miles, we – Rick especially – were really looking forward to finding this shortcut.

The last aid station was 3.2 miles before the finish line, and they pointed us to the shortcut. We left the original out-and-back and trotted on the final stretch to the finish line.

We ran as much of the last ~5k as we could. With a bit over a mile to go, we could see the finish line, and, while still moving, spent several minutes speculating how we’d get there and where the course would take us. At one point, a 50-mile runner *blasted* past us – he was seriously flying. “I’m trying to come in under 12 hours!” he shouted, and blazed down the hill. We didn’t know what mile we were at, but we estimated he’d have to be doing an ~8 minute/mile pace or so to get there, which is really fast after ~48 other miles before it. (He made it in 12:01:49 – very close!).

Rick and I agreed he’d have to really push it to make it, and we kept our steady trot.

We descended into the beach area and turned off the trail and onto the road. The fog was still blanketing the area, and it was getting a little darker – it was about 7pm now. There were two runners behind us as we took on the final stretch.

Motivated to not be passed within a half mile of the finish, we “picked up the pace” – i.e. didn’t walk – and made the final turn into the parking lot.  The timing mat had, as promised, been laid out. Rick and I crossed the finish line simultaneously at 12:07:54. Pizza, soup, and hotdogs waited for us at the finish line. Delicious.

Lisa and Rick just after crossing the finish line. That fog’s still out there!

One runner we’d been trading places with back and forth took off; he was a 100-miler.

Overall results: 7 of the original 18 runners in the 100-mile race finished. 7 additional 100-milers dropped to the 50-mile. Of the original 72 runners in the 50-miler, 61 (excluding the 100s) finished. I finished right in the middle of the women’s pack, and came in 2nd for my age group (… okay, there were only two of us. She was about 30-seconds per mile faster than me).

One of the hardest parts of running long distances is the psychological challenge. There can be some serious, serious lows, where you feel completely demotivated to continue and even doing another mile seems completely out of the question. I was fearing that I’d face that on this run, but this was actually one of the easiest races, mentally, I’ve ever run. I chalk it up to good company, good weather, great scenery, and long, solo training runs over the last several months.

I’m not quite sure what my training plan is for the next five weeks. I’d like to get a couple of 20 or 30 mile runs in without overdoing it. Since I’ll be traveling through the southwest with my equally crazy boyfriend, who is also training for this 100, I’m sure we can fit that in – the challenge will be making sure to get the rest and the taper.

Overall, great race – I feel well-prepared for what comes next.

Delicious post-race meal. California, you rock.

Behavioral Contagion – or Why I ran a Solo Marathon this Weekend

I just ran a solo marathon. Google+ makes these gifs look good.

My usual training method is somewhat ad-hoc:

  1. Run a few miles a week
  2. Run a few more miles each week
  3. One day, notice I’m running a lot of miles
  4. Sign up for a 50k race that’s three days away.

This somewhat contrasts to my new Wharton MBA classmates plans. Several of us are running the Philadelphia Marathon; my classmates are following quite rigorous training plans, which involve increasingly long weekend runs: 18, 20, 22 miles. Out of laziness with regards to my own training plan, I’ve latched on to their long runs.

Behavioral Contagion is a fascinating type of social influence. It explains why members of a social group tend to do similar things , like all face the same direction in an elevator or all order diet-busting dessert at a restaurant. It also explains why I seem to be following a training plan for this race – everyone else is doing it.

Behavioral contagion played a part in my decision to run a solo marathon this weekend. Here’s how:

  • Hogfest. On Saturday, Wharton hosted an inter-collegiate rugby tournament. I know I would be celebrating with the team that evening, and I also knew they’d be glowing from post-tournament exhaustion.  I felt like I would be missing out if I weren’t also athletically drained and able to celebrate with them.
  • 20 miles is almost 26.2 miles. I also knew that my runner colleagues would be running about 20 miles this weekend. But, in my mind, 20 miles is just an hour short of a marathon. It seems silly to not just tack on an extra 6.2 and get the marathon.

Perverse logic. But, there it is.

I thought about all of this on Thursday. True to my historical training regimen, three days later, I woke up and ran a glorious, easy, solo marathon.

The weather was amazing – just around 50*F. I ran along the river, with a very slight breeze and the sun low on the horizon. There were a few stretches of gravel path with green branches arching up on either side. It wasn’t a redwood forest, but it was gorgeous nevertheless.

The geeky runner information: My goal was to run a 4-hour marathon without feeling terrible afterwards.  I was trying to run at a consistent pace – one that didn’t feel frantic, but also that was a bit of a push. I ran my first 13.1 in 1:59:53 (just under two hours), then finished the entire run at 4:04:22 – pretty close to goal. Legs were a little wobbly around mile 16, but a Gu helped with that. Overall, this wasn’t terrible – and I think I can improve on 4:04 for Philadelphia, especially since I hadn’t tapered at all for this particular run (the total mileage for the week was 56.2).

In summary: I was “contaged” to run a solo marathon. But it was the best kind of contagion – the kind that pushes you just a little farther than you would have pushed yourself.

Also – this happened to be my 30th marathon. Yay!

How to Find Your Inspiration

The view from my parents' house in Southern California. I'm pretty jealous.

Inspiration is not sport-specific.  Inspiration is effective across activities; just because you happen to be running, swimming, or working through spreadsheet formulas doesn’t mean you won’t find people like Lance Armstrong or amputee Badwater runner Amy Palmiero-Winters inspiring .

In the toughest moments of a race, I’m inspired not by Olympians, even though they’re obviously very impressive.  What motivates me the are things that are closer to home. The scenes, moments, or events that I have a personal connection to are the ones that keep me moving during the times that seem most desperate.

When I need it dig deep for inspiration, the scenes that usually come to mind are about hills: climbing hills, seeing people I know climb hills, having climbed a hill, or running down the side of a hill I just finished climbing.

A few years ago, I had just come back from a long trip, at the end of which I had to say goodbye to some good friends. On returning home, I experienced the characteristic let-down of returning back to routine. Of course, the solution was a hard, fast, painful run.

There’s a route I like to run near my parents house in Southern California. It’s only 5.5 miles, but the first 1.25 miles are a brutal ascent up a very steep hill.

On this particular day, I pounded up this hill as hard as I could, given jet-lag and the associated exhaustion. At the top, I did something uncharacteristic – I took a quick breather.

The view at the top of this hill is stunning; it’s 360-degrees of rolling grasslands on one side, with mountains in the distance. On the other side is the Pacific Ocean, vast and steely grey.  On clear days, you can see Catalina Island. On clearer days, San Clemente Island is visible, too; a little grey hill of its own rising out of the ocean.

I’ve been taking some indoor cycling classes lately. They happen in the morning, and the instructor turns the lights off.  The darkness, while a bit strange, encourages visualization. When I’m looking for inspiration in those cycling classes, I sometimes think of this particular run – of vicious climbing up an impossibly steep hill, and of the beautiful reward at the top.

Inspiration comes in many forms, and from unexpected corners. Sometimes, the most inspiring stories aren’t the ones everyone knows; they are the ones nobody knows.

What inspires you? When you need a little extra juice, what do you think about?