Tuesday, June 24, 2014

The Best Shoe for...

Which shoe is best for sub-alpine climbs in late spring, when there’s still some ice and snow, as well as some mud? Or for toe protection as well as traction across acres of slickrock? And what about a shoe that will easily go from sometimes-dtechnical singletrack, to asphalt and finally to doubletrack fire trail?

Sure, these are important questions, and there are lots of trail runners, running blogs and independent running store employees who will attempt to answer them for you. So I won’t, at least not now.

Instead, let’s try this one: “Which trail shoe is best for sprinting through the San Francisco airport at 6:15am, when you’ve missed a connection the night before; have pretended to sleep on the airport floor for a couple of hours (while simultaneously entertaining and feeding your three children, including a seven year old who is determined to pull her first all nighter); and have suddenly realized, after the plane has finished boarding, that you’ve left an essential item somewhere between the nursery area in the departure hall (good place to sleep, if you can find it and get in) and Gate 61?”

Hands down, it’s the La Sportiva Bushido.

Sure, it looks like it’s a relatively lightweight trail shoe with a 6mm drop, which has the stability to handle some rocks, roots and mud on single track, while also having enough cushion for the occasional swathe of pavement. And like it’s a shoe whose bright colors will attract complements and who’s snug midfoot fit and roomier toe box has a nice feel.

But it’s even better when one needs to move quickly over super slick airport floors, all the while dodging bleary-eyed Saturday morning travelers, flight crews and airport employees (hint: “On your left” is not terribly effective among an airport crowd).

I know this because, a few days ago, I found myself having one of those “Oh, no, did I forget that???” moments. They usually end in relief (“no, of course I didn’t; it’s right there. Stop obsessing.”). But it had been a long trip already, with one car booster seat left somewhere between airport security in North Carolina and the airplane door in California. As it dawned on me that I was without the ever-important (for the mother of a five month old, and someone who was headed to an out-of-the-range-of-big-box-retail destination) breast pump, I began to panic.

The flight attendant let me leave the plane to check the gate area. I made it back outside, but realized that it wasn’t there, and that it must be at the security checkpoint. We had sailed through the check, but then had to wait a while for our running stroller (damn running!) to clear security, and I had been thinking more about coffee than about gathering all of our belongings.

I asked the gate agent whether I could retrieve it quickly. He looked at me skeptically. “I’ll be quick,” I offered. And then, “I’m a runner,” to back it up. “You have five minutes,” he agreed. Of course, we had used the shorter, elite status TSA line, which was furthest away. I ran all out, making pretty good time – for a middle aged woman who avoids the track like the plague.

The TSA agent confirmed that, yes, they had my lost item; they wondered why it had taken me an hour and fifteen minutes to return for it. And they needed to fill out and print a form before I could have it. And they needed to scold me for having left the plane without my boarding pass. I attempted to explain that time was of the essence – that my two minutes out left me only three minutes to get back. After what seemed like an eternity, I made the return portion of my sprint. Even though I was pulled off balance by the extra five pounds over my left shoulder, and even as I was nearly blocked by a gaggle of oblivious teenagers, the Bushidos performed exceptionally well.

I don’t think I made it back under the five minute cutoff, but the course official – no, wait, the gate agent – was kind enough to re-open the plane door for me. I think he sensed that I needed to be on my flight, lest the screaming baby in 7D drive the rest of the plane mad for the next two hours. Or perhaps he just liked my shoes.

They may not be a fashion statement off of the trails, but wearing them to fly leaves more room in the suitcase. And you never know when you will need to do some airport speedwork. 

I love to run. I love the physical challenges which running presents, the mental health benefits it offers, and the camaraderie with my running friends. I love running familiar routes near home and, even more, I love running in new and beautiful places.

That said, there’s something fun about those times when one’s running fitness is helpful in a direct way. It doesn’t happen often, but when I have to run from the ferry dock to the Ocracoke Coffee Company and back (2005…couldn’t give up our car’s place in line to go back for misplaced wallet), or through Dulles airport to make a connection to fly to Italy (2011…guess airports are a common place for this), it’s an extra running-related reward. It’s even better, of course, if one is wearing the right shoes. (And, for what it’s worth, the Bushido also has been great on single track trails in Washington state…).

Next time: best running nutrition products for hungry, cranky preschoolers. 

Saturday, May 24, 2014

Yes, The Years are Short. And Busy.

Nearly every post on this blog begins by noting that it’s been a while since the last post. At least I’m consistent in that way.

My husband celebrated a birthday this week, and I remembered how much life has changed in since his last birthday: a year ago, a late spring 12 mile run at Eno River State Park left me completely exhausted. Sure, the trail was rough in places, the humidity was high, and I wasn’t in the best shape, still having a less-than-perfect hamstring. But, all of that considered, it was still a surprise that a two hour trail run would leave me crashed on the couch for much of the afternoon. I couldn’t remember a time I’d felt so exhausted, except for when…(the previous post has a photo related to how this part of the story ends)

Fast forward to this May, when my husband’s birthday coincided with our baby hitting the four month mark. They say that, when one’s children are small, the days are long but the years are short. I often agree. But the last twelve months has had lots packed into it, not least welcoming a little boy to our family.

There was also the usual travel mixed in, affording opportunities to sneak in runs in new places. In addition to always-lovely Moran State Park and Turtleback Mountain last summer, the fall brought trips to (and runs in) San Diego and Claremont; Trento, Italy; and Portsmouth, New Hampshire (plus more urban running destinations, like Chicago, Providence and New Haven).  The visit to Trento, while short, took me very close to the home of La Sportiva – although the quick trip and the conference schedule meant no time to venture into the nearby mountains.

I ran the majority of my fall miles – road or trail – in the La Sportiva Helios, after discovering last summer that it has plenty of cushion for roads (at least, for me), and that it’s therefore a great shoe for runs that cover a variety of surfaces (and for trail-only runs, for that matter. For people who pay attention to such things, it's got a 4mm drop).

In 2014, I was happy to make it to the 9th Annual Little River Trail Runs, for which I was co-race director. The race was two days after my due date, but my body cooperated: I went into labor (fittingly, it started on a run) two days after the race. With a record number of runners and a stellar effort from our race volunteers, we managed to raise $10,000 this year for Little River Regional Park (more here).

In the four months since, life - running included - has been (understatement) different. The third baby has been more exhausting than the first two. There are good reasons for this, not least the fact that we’ve transitioned from playing man to man to playing zone defense (obligatory basketball reference, since I’m a Duke Ph.D. and a UNC professor). 

We have two girls who are very excited for a new sibling, but who also have their own activities and demands. Add to that a baby who much preferred to eat rather than sleep at night for the first few months; and parents who are trying to maintain some semblance of their professional lives (but we academics do get great parental leave benefits, relative to most in the US economy). The result was lots of groggy morning runs.  (We could add in the fact that I’m older with this baby, or the weeklong trip to Dublin that baby and I made in April, but who wants to go there?).

Pushing through an hour’s run has often seemed like enough – enough to reset me mentally, and enough to feel like I was getting back into shape. The nice thing about this state, beyond the incredibly cute baby who has caused it (and who is now getting better at that sleeping thing), has been running for the sake of running. While I like having events to train for and look forward to, there’s also freedom that comes with running for its own sake. Sure, I did a 25k in March (couldn’t resist the chance to run from Chapel Hill to Durham, in celebration of Merge Records’ 25 years). And I’m very excited about another chance to run on the trails of Orcas Island this summer. And I’m thinking about what race I should do in the fall.
Moran State Park, home of the best trails on Orcas.

But, for now, I’m running because I like to run.

And this brings me back to a run on my husband’s birthday. We planned to run together in the afternoon, something we hadn’t done in months. Of course, this included pushing the baby in the stroller, in 90 degree temps, but it was still fun to get in time on the double track trail together.  I started a few minutes early and, in my six outbound minutes on the trail, I ran into two different TrailHead friends (and one dog), both of whom were nearing the ends of their runs. We joined together and turned back, three women, one stroller and one dog greeting my husband when he approached. The four of us had a nice run together, talking of all sorts of things. After a couple miles, one of the women headed home; another mile later, the second one also left us. My husband headed for the car after a couple more, and the baby and I finished out our run alone.

This run made me happy (although it also nearly made me melt), not only because it was a rare date run for us, but also because I love running into people in the woods. We have a great running community in Chapel Hill/Carrboro, and there are a lot of folks with flexible work schedules, so one often bumps into familiar face on a run -- although it's often hard to predict *whom* one will encounter.

And, as the heat began to really get to me, the run seemed a nice analogy for life – I had started alone. Along the way, I found a friend. And then another friend. I hadn’t planned on running with either one of them, but that surprise made it more fun. And then there was my husband, of course (and our youngest child), who was there as promised. And, at the end of it all (and, at that point, I did feel like I might be close to death, via heat exhaustion), I was back to running on my own. It might be a nice analogy for life – we start alone, we leave alone, but in between, we meet folks along the way, sometimes in unexpected ways, but often in ways that bring us joy. Or, that could all have been the heat talking…

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

A Perfect Afternoon

Blogging has, yet again, been non-existent for many months. Since the last post, I've spent a few more weeks on Orcas Island, taught a semester's worth of classes, run maybe 1200 miles, traveled to various conferences...and (saving the most im-balanc-y thing for last) had a baby. One of these days, I'll write about these things in detail.

But, for now, and in the spirit of bidding farewell to a long and cold (by central NC standards) winter...what a glorious day yesterday was. It wasn't just the cloudless Carolina blue sky or the ease of parking around town that comes with UNC's spring break. Rather, it was a lovely walk with baby (and with a friend and her baby) to the daffodil field that emerges along Morgan Creek each spring. We walked a few hundred feet to the daffodils and, after some failed attempts to photograph baby on his own in the flowers, we sat and had a lovely conversation and some much-needed coffee.

And -- the second piece of fun for the afternoon -- the day's run also brought a new discovery. I thought that I would, for the first time in a long time, and in anticipation of running the "faculty mile" at UNC again this spring, do some repeats on the track. I ran up to campus, but a lacrosse game meant that the track was closed. Disappointed, I carried on with a road run...and I managed to discover some trails that I'd never been on. Having lived in Chapel Hill for nearly 10 years, and having run all of that time, it's a rarity to find a new local spot. But there I was, on a dead end street on a warm afternoon, and realizing that the dead end included a trailhead. It was perhaps only a mile of trail, but it included some lovely forest and a gently flowing creek. I'm so glad that the track was closed, and I'm now figuring out how to work this bit of trail into some of my local runs. Yippee for spring, and for discoveries close to home!

Thursday, July 25, 2013

A Year in Review, Part II

Yesterday's really long entry covered a few months of the last year. I promise that the rest of the year will go by more quickly -- as in, a shorter blog entry this time.

I forgot to mention, though, that I wore the La Sportiva Quantums (in half a size larger than usual, as I've discovered that they run small) for most of the Bear 100. Around mile 62, I also changed shoes, opting for the C-Lite -- mostly just for a change of pace for my feet. The Quantums felt great on the trails, as well as on the fire roads that made up parts of the course. After the race, though, they lived on the porch for quite a while -- not only were they caked in mud and dust when they were packed into my suitcase, but in my post-race exhaustion, I seemed to have forgot to do anything to clean them. The benefits, or dangers, of having a screened porch, I guess.

Fall 2012 brought with it the usual rhythms of the semester, as well as one daughter who started kindergarten and another who moved to a new preschool (about which I cannot say enough good things -- check them out here!). Work trips to Austin and Charlottesville allowed me to sneak in runs in new places, with friends old and new...always a treat! And we took the family to London (with a short escape to Paris) for a long Thanksgiving break. The days in Europe were short, but it's always fun to explore the trails in the outer London suburbs (my in-laws live near a piece of the LOOP trail, as I discovered a couple years ago), and to run in Paris (where I had the unexpected and odd experience of being propositioned by a prostitute on the trails of the Bois de Boulogne during a 7am run -- that's a new one!).

Running included a trip to Asheville in early November for the Shut-In Ridge Run, a race I'd heard lots about but had never done. It was rent a house with friends for the weekends, and to get out into the mountains. The race itself was harder than I'd expected it would be -- perhaps not surprising, as my legs were still a bit unhappy after Bear, and as the race is a point to point with a good deal of elevation gain. I went out fairly fast, but then struggled to get into a comfortable rhythm. I had some great distraction between miles 6 and 9, as my former next-door neighbor (I didn't know he was doing the race), who now lives near Asheville, caught up to me and told me all about the family travel adventure that he had planned for the spring (read more here -- wow!). At the mile 9 aid station, I managed a spectacular -- judging by the sound of the thud and the looks on the faces of those around me -- fall, on a mostly flat section of trail, and right in front of the aid station. That took me by surprised and, for the second half of the race, I mostly just struggled to move forward, and looked forward to getting to the Pisgah Inn. Prior to the race, I had suggested to Andy that I might be able to do it in 3:30; my time of 4:09 showed how wrong I was!

The New Year brought with it a trip to Mumbai and Goa, India, for a conference on India and economic globalization. This was my first time to either place, and I was able to get in some runs (although, in Mumbai, following local convention for women by not running in shorts meant nearly roasting in the 80+ degree and humid weather; Goa is more relaxed in terms of norms, and I got to run along the beach as well as up the road to the old fort), as well as to learn quite a bit about some of the political and economic issues that India faces. 

Local industry, in Dharavi, Mumbai

More production -- recycling cooking oil containers -- in Dharavi.

Scenes from Goa, near Fort Aguada.

After India, it was back to start the spring semester, and to co-direct the 8th annual Little River Trail Runs. We had a record number of runners -- 600 -- registered in 2013. Lots of rain and a bit of snow in the week prior to the race made for a wet (and in a few places, underwater) course, but our usual great group of TrailHeads volunteers made for a very successful event. We ultimately donated $8,000 to Little River Regional Park (and we're looking forward to the 2014 race, on January 18).

In terms of running itself, I was happy to try out a La Sportiva shoe that I hadn't used before, the Raptor. This shoe is beefier than the C-Lite, and has a more aggressive tread than the Quantum or the Vertical K (I also did a good deal of running in the Vertical K last summer. A soft midsole made it a nice shoe for the combination trail/road runs that I often did on Orcas Island). The Raptor is a nice shoe for rocky and muddy trails, and I like the fit (somewhat fitted through the arch, like the C-Lite). After doing the Uwharrie Mountain Run 40 miler -- a race that is so special to me -- four times, I decided that my hamstring (which a fall 2012 MRI showed to be improved, if not perfect...but I still had pain) might benefit from instead running the 20 mile distance. This meant not as much mileage in December and January, which fit well with my schedule.

So, in early February, it was off to Uwharrie again. I sneaked away from work on Friday to volunteer in Asheboro, at race HQ, during the day. This was a great experience: our job was to pack the bins for each of the aid stations. I find this sort of organizational project to be a fun mental challenge, and it also was a good reminder of the challenges that this sort of race presents for the RDs and for the volunteers -- many of whom are members of surrounding communities who don't run, but who want to support the event and the trails. Early Saturday morning, I headed back to Troy, NC for the start of the 20 mile race. I was a bit sad not to be running the 40 miler, but there were lots of other TrailHeads on hand, and the idea of not having to turn around and run back was sort of appealing. The race itself included a wrong turn in the first mile (the fast folks at the front went the longest off course; once they doubled back, the rest of us did, too), and my realization that I wasn't moving any faster in the 20 than I had in the 40. I finished in 3:40, in 4th place among women, and with the realization that my hamstring might still need some help (and that I might not have put in enough training, even for the 20 -- good thing I didn't give into the temptation to switch distances and run the 40!).

After Uwharrie, I visited my favorite orthopedist, and I submitted to another round of PRP, and another monthlong break from running. That wasn't so bad -- it was an excuse to sleep in, and to spend more time at home, during a busy part of the semester. And the timing worked out such that, when I made a quick trip to London for a conference in March, I was able to do a couple of runs there -- nothing long, but nice runs along the Thames Path, in Primrose Hill and Regent's Park, and along the Regent's Canal, a place that I had forgotten about as a spot to run, but really enjoyed visiting again. Andy and I also managed to overlap in London for about 36 hours, thanks to help from grandma. We haven't been on our own in London in so many years!
Rainy run along the River Thames.

Primrose Hill path.

Regent's Canal, near Camden Town.

Spring also included a family trip to San Francisco, our attempt to combine the International Studies Association conference with the kids' spring break. My 6 year old, who did a kids' running program in the spring, insisted on tagging along for one of my morning runs. I think we ran for maybe a mile, saw some parks, walked around a bit, stretched at Union Square and got coffee. It was very sweet -- especially when my daughter asked if this was all ok, or "do you need to run by yourself so that you can have alone time, Mom?" She may have figured out this whole running thing of mine. This trip also included time to catch up with a TrailHead friend who's now in San Francisco, as well as a day trip to Muir Woods and Stinson Beach (which left me wishing that I hadn't given up my slot for the Miwok 100k in May, even as I knew I'd never be in shape for that this year).

Other spring news: my edited book, on using interviews in political science research, was published (makes a great gift for the social scientist in your life...). My stepson graduated from high school, and he won a fabulous music scholarship to UNC. And, when the semester and the school year ended, we were lucky to be able to again head to the San Juan Islands -- this time, a week at the Whiteley Center on San Juan Island, and seven weeks on Orcas Island, our new favorite place to be in the summer. More on Orcas next time!

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

July 2012-July 2013: A Year in Review (Part I)

Or -- an escape to Orcas Island, a return to North Carolina, and another escape to Orcas Island...with some work, time with family and running thrown in, too.

I was fortunate to spend most of Summer 2012 in the San Juan Islands of Washington state. We rented a house near the lovely Moran State Park, and the wonderful teachers at the Orcas Island Children's House welcomed our girls to preschool there. We spent our days writing at the local coffee shop, with time to explore Orcas Island and the surrounding islands with the girls (favorite beach: Shaw Island County Park). Although we had rainy weather for our first couple of weeks, by early July, the skies had cleared, and it was a near-constant parade of blue skies, temperatures in the upper 60s/low 70s, and low humidity -- a great contrast to the heat and humidity of the NC Piedmont.

View from Mt. Constitution.

When we first arrived on the island, my running was pretty non-existent. Shortly after the 2012 Uwharrie 40 miler (and after a great training run for the Umstead Marathon), I slipped while walking down the hallway at work (in my defense, it was a rainy day), and my hamstring pain went from nagging (where it had been for about 18 months) to very pronounced. A visit to the ortho a couple weeks later confirmed that I had, in fact, managed a hamstring tear -- something, of course, that was more likely to happen after attempting to run through hamstring pain for far too long. So spring brought a couple rounds of PRP (platelet rich plasma) injections, more physical therapy, and very little running. I had my second PRP a couple of weeks before heading to Washington state, which meant that the first few weeks were only PT and walks on the trails. 
Cascade Lake, Moran State Park.

By July, I was able to begin to run again and, while the pain hadn't gone away entirely, it was great to hit the trails again. On 4th of July weekend, we ran the inaugural Funhouse 5k. It was a small race around the main village of the island, and I managed to come in as first woman (Andy was second overall). 

Back at home, post-race (yes, those ribbons were our prizes).

That was my only racing all summer, although I did go for quite a few runs in Moran State Park, including a couple to the top of Mt. Constitution (2409 feet; most importantly, great views to Mt. Baker and Mt. Constitution on clear days). Did I mention how much I loved the trails in Moran State Park -- as well as the post-run quick swims in Cascade Lake Lagoon? The longest I ran while on Orcas was 13 or so miles, but that included some good climbing, so I felt like the Bear 100 (a race I'd signed up for before the whole hamstring tear thing) might still be a possibility.

In late July, we set off on our drive back to North Carolina, made possible only by limiting our drive time to 7 hours maximum per day, and by two IPads. We saw friends in Eugune, OR; Bend, OR and St. Louis, MO; and we had some quick time exploring the Olympic Peninsula, as well as Burns, OR (the high desert of Eastern Oregon -- I had no idea!); Ogden, UT; Laramie, WY; Boulder, CO; Salina, KS; Nashville and Asheville. The trip provided several opportunities for runs exploring new places. I was thrilled to run a bit in Boulder again (this time, at Betasso Preserve), as well as to discover a few of the many trails in Ogden. Running in Laramie was a bit haunting, being close enough to town to see the main road, but also feeling very isolated in the rolling hills behind campus and the golf course, and not far from where Matthew Shephard was murdered. And running in Salina -- flat, dry and already hot at 7am -- was a reminder that we had left the ideal running conditions of the northwest.
Driving the McKenzie pass, toward Bend, Oregon.

Once back in Chapel Hill, I tried to increase my mileage a bit, while also not making my hamstring too unhappy. I decided that, if I could put in a couple of 50 mile+ weeks, I'd go ahead with attempting the Bear at the end of September. I was able to do this, although my long run maxed out at around 16 miles. In some ways, this was liberating: I knew I didn't really have any business going to Bear, and that anything I was able to do there would feel like an accomplishment. I decided that I'd start the race and I'd be ok with hamstring pain -- but if the pain got worse, I'd stop, and I'd also be ok with stopping. Training for the other three 100s I'd done had involved lots of miles, and lots of pressure from myself to run sub-24 (something I've yet to do). It was sort of nice to not have any expectations, beyond enjoying the scenery and the company, while in Utah.

A big group of TrailHeads converged on Logan, Utah for the Bear 100 -- runners who now live in southern California and in Bend, Oregon, as well as crew from Durango, CO and Salt Lake City...and the usual Chapel Hill/Carrboro suspects, including a TrailHead whose family lived very close to the race finish, and whose hospitality during race weekend was really wonderful. My mom came to Chapel Hill to watch the kids, so Andy was able to come along for crewing and pacing. 

Some of the gang, at the trout farm on Thursday afternoon.

On race morning (a Friday -- because this was Utah, and finishing a race on Sunday morning wouldn't fly), we converged on a small park on the edge of Logan. We ran through the neighborhood in darkness, and then began a long, steep climb. I did most of this climb with Icarus, and it was nice to have company, and to be forced to mostly hike to start the race. By the time we reached the top of the climb, dawn was breaking, and we had a wonderful view down into Logan. The scenery during the race was incredible. It didn't hurt that the maples were red, the aspens were yellow and the skies were clear blue. We had great views across the canyons from the tops of various climbs, as well as wonderful stretches of trail along streams and creeks. As the day wore on, the heat definitely became noticeable, but it was never unbearable. 

Somewhere in the mile 30s.
When one sees a camera, it's good to pretend that everything is wonderful!

I first saw our crew at the aid station around mile 20, and then again near mile 45. By mile 45, I was definitely feeling the effects of a day of running -- and the effects of not being trained for a day of running. Cari, the very able and sweet crew chief that she is, said I'd never looked better at that point of a 100 (she's seen me at all four 100s I've done), but I'm still not sure if she was lying -- or if not running hard early in the race really did make for a runner who wasn't thrashed halfway through. After mile 45, there was a big climb (what felt like an endless climb) up. I tried to remember that, at Bear, the bulk of the climbing occurs in the first half of the race...so that, if I could make it up that climb, I'd have less climbing in the second half. I came into the 52 mile aid station to see a lake with the moon coming into the sky above it -- a beautiful view, and a great excuse to sit down. I joined Wackus, who had arrived just before me, and Gumbi, who arrived just after. I announced to them that my running was coming to an end -- that I was definitely staying in the race, but that my legs were just too exhausted to have much running left in them, and that I was ok with hiking for most of the second half.

Around mile 43.

With that, we left the aid station together. Darkness had begun to fall, and it was then that I realized I'd made a mistake at mile 45: I'd left wearing only shorts and a short sleeved shirt. This was great for the hot, dusty afternoon; but when the sun went down, I was cold. We didn't have crew at 52, so my next chance to get warm clothes would be around mile 61. The guys soon left me behind, as I'd expected, and I spent the next 8 miles trying to focus on finding the trail markers (I only missed a couple of times) and, eventually, giving myself pep talks about what not to do when really cold -- e.g. "it really wouldn't be a good idea to lie down next to the trail for a little rest." I realized, maybe for the first time, how being cold can really cloud one's judgment. 

I was very happy, then, to arrive at the next aid station and find our crew. I whined about being cold, and they put me in a chair next to a fire, held a blanket around me, and helped me change into tights, long sleeves, a jacket, gloves, and a hat. I was dressed for the dead of winter and -- once I managed to actually put on all of this stuff, which isn't easy when one's muscles are fried -- I was thrilled. I was also happy because this stretch of the race -- 61ish to 75ish -- was the one time when I'd have a pacer. Andy was going to pace me, something he'd also done for 62-78 at Western States. He wasn't feeling great himself, fighting off a respiratory infection, but he led me out of the aid station and back onto the trail.

The next five or so miles were a real low point for me. Every time the trail turned up, at even the slightest climb, I wanted to cry. Actually, I did cry. I would just stop in the middle of the trail, announce that I simply couldn't do it and start sniffling. Then Andy would encourage me along, and I'd start moving, and we'd go until I did the same at the next incline. I wasn't very good company, to say the least. But, around mile 69, there was a funny shift in the dynamic: for some reason, after that aid station, I began to feel much better; meanwhile, the dust on the trails had irritated Andy's lungs, and he was hacking and coughing like mad. I recall announcing to him, as I left him behind on a climb, that he could either catch up with me, or he could return to the mile 69 aid station and get a ride; but that I was again able to move and not going to wait for him. I may even have said things along the lines of "you're tired?!? I've been out here for nearly 70 miles! Don't tell me that this hurts you!" (In his further defense, he'd had knee surgery the previous fall, and had only been able to start running again himself during our time on Orcas Island. So 14 miles was definitely his longest outing in a long time).

The pinnacle of our cranky runner-pacer interactions came somewhere around mile 72, when I began to worry that we had got off trail. This part of the course wasn't terribly well marked, something we realized a bit later, when we found other groups of runners lost in the woods and searching for the markers. In our case, my concerns about being off trail hit at the bottom of a long descent. I think I actually argued that we needed to retrace our steps back up this hill, so that we could confirm that we were indeed on the right trail. Andy didn't really see this as a very good idea -- to put it lightly. We did decide to carry on, and we found others who were lost, and then we all found our way back onto the course, and eventually to the mile 75 aid station.

At mile 75, we were again met by the crew. There was hot chocolate and soup and a chance to hang out inside (this was at a ski resort, as I recall). Leaving the aid station, I took Andy's Nano with me, thinking that being alone in the dark, in the pre-dawn hours, might be a good time to have music -- something I never have on training runs or in races. As it turned out, this was great....as I set out alone in the darkness -- which was a little creepy -- it was good to blast the music. And it was a bit of a mystery what the playlist was, so I had that to distract me (and, by the end of the race, I had decided that Adele was the best running music ever). At some point not long after, I came to the sign that we were crossing into Idaho -- "how cool is that?," I thought. 

Sometime around first light, it began to sleet/snow up high, near the next aid station, which was a bit strange. I spent some time during this section with a couple of other women (a runner and her pacer), and it was nice to at least see others on the trail. When I reached mile 85, I had one last chance to see our crew. Andy was asleep in one of the cars, and I got an update on how the other runners were doing. Cari was again there to send me on my way (as she always does). I knew it was going to be a slog to the end, but I also knew that I would finish. As I left the aid station, one of the women from the previous section called out to me, and asked if we could run/hike together. Her pacer was done, and she was doing her first 100. It was great to have some company for this section, which included what felt like another long climb up. By the time we reached the mile 92 aid station, I sent her on her way, because I could feel that I had really slowed down, and because she had family/another pacer meeting her there. We promised to see each other at the finish. 

Leaving the mile 92 aid station, it's a steep climb up...and then basically a long descent (with some small rolling stuff thrown in) to the finish. It was heating up again, and I realized that I was still wearing tights, long sleeves and a windbreaker. I tied the windbreaker around my waist, looked up at the trail -- and burst into tears again. It's funny what an ultra does to one's brain: I could look at this last steep climb (and at the elevation profile I carried with me) and tell that this was a little climb. Maybe 500 feet of gain. "The first mile at Uwharrie" I kept saying to myself. And yet, this seemed like it was going to be impossible. One foot in front of the other, counting to see if I could manage 30 steps before stopping for a rest.

Of course, I made it up. And I mostly hiked down for the next 8 miles, despite the fact that there were some long descents that would have made for great running for a better-trained person. But it didn't really matter -- I knew I was going to make it, despite the hamstring and the lack of training. I could see Bear Lake (which is amazing -- I had no idea!) in the distance, and while I had failed to notice in the course description that there's a significant distance between seeing the lake and being at the finish, I knew it was nearly done. Andy came out and met me on the last part of the course, the road from the trail to the park at the lakeshore. I think I tried to run it in once we hit the park, but I also know that I was very tired! Still, writing this in July 2013, I smile thinking about the fact that I really had no business doing this race -- I wasn't nearly trained enough. And my time (31:14) reflects not only the challenging terrain of Bear, but also that lack of training. 

And yet, I got to spend 100 miles running in a new place, meeting some great people along the way (including Luis Escobar, with whom I ran from 37ish to 42ish, and who entertained me with stories of Caballo Blanco and with photographing various ultrarunners and races for Montrail), and having Andy along for the crewing and racing experience. My trail shoes have never been more caked in mud and dust, and I'm fairly confident that the bag I checked at the SLC airport on Sunday morning was the smelliest piece of luggage ever encountered by TSA screeners. I once again benefited from having a great crew -- the Ringo family as well as Dorph, Zephyr and Cruz -- and from doing the race with other TH friends.
The TrailHeads runners and crew, post-race.

Bear 100 is a great race. It has that old-school, nothing-fancy feel that reminded me of Cascade Crest. Pre-race briefing in a little town park somewhere, drop bag collection and t shirts for sale at a trout farm down the road. Post race burgers on the grill in another little park, with everyone hanging out to cheer runners to the finish. The most wonderful post-race blueberry milkshakes from the place down the road (and, in our case, a crew who stayed on duty by fetching these milkshakes while we all sat, dazed, on the grass in the park). And wonderful scenery, too. (And, as a bonus for the NC folk, the winner of the men's race, who said a new course record, had run at NC State).

Of course, this long entry still leaves a lot of time, late September 2012 to now...but that's for another day!