Last week, I watched a short video that was making the rounds on social media called “Everybody Dies, But Not Everybody Lives”. If you haven’t watched it yet, take 6 minutes and do so now. You won’t regret it.
It resonated with me in a way that I haven’t felt in a long time, and I found myself practically shouting “YES!” as the author describes how our enemies, Fear and Doubt, can cripple us and prevent us from ever stepping outside “the box” and truly living. Have you ever felt that you were your own worst enemy? That the doubts and fears that lurk in the dark recesses of your mind have stopped you from making bold choices that you know could set you free, if only you were willing to accept risking failure in order to pursue what your heart tells you matters most?
I would also add a third enemy to this list: Complacency. Complacency is something that our society is far too good at. We start out with lofty dreams, ambitions, and ideas of where our place in this world will be and what indelible mark we’ll leave as our legacy, but then shrink in the face of adversity and obstacles and end up settling for “good enough”.
I’ve been guilty of it for most of my adult life. Because of some major health problems that I dealt with while in university, I instead ended up having to take a full medical withdrawal from school because I was too sick to carry on – something that crushed me and my “teacher’s pet, straight A student” soul. I had never had to accept failure before, especially when it was because of something outside my control, and I didn’t know how to handle it. When I was well again, I ended up taking on what I considered to be a temporary job at the time, working in the public sector in a union and making decent money for shuffling paper around. Good for paying off student loans and bills – bad for my soul.
Fast forward 7.5 years, and I’m still working for the same company. Different job, which has admittedly given me a huge range of skills and experience that I am entirely grateful for, but at the end of the day it still isn’t where I ever intended to be. Over these last, long years, I’ve slowly lost the part of me that challenged the norms and wanted more from life than simply status quo, and instead I settled for something that was comfortably “square”. It happened so subtly that I barely noticed, and I did a good enough job of filling my non-working hours with things that I loved so as to make it palatable, but eventually I’ve arrived at a point so far from where I started, that I’ve been forced to stop and confront the passage of time and what I’ve done with it.
Circumstances in my life over the last few months have caused me to take a good, hard look at where I’m spending my precious, valuable time. We don’t really think about how much of it we fritter away until we are confronted with the reality that it is not infinite – that while we may not all get told exactly how much time we’ve got to spend on this earth, it doesn’t mean it’s not ticking by just the same.
It hit me that living my life as I am, counting down each Monday to Friday just to get to Saturday and Sunday, isn’t nearly good enough. Sure, I spend every moment outside of my 9 – 5 job cramming in as much activity as I possibly can, but the reality is that I still spend the majority of my waking hours wishing them away in order to savour a precious few. I’m not saying we all have to quit our day-jobs to travel the world (and indeed, speaking with friends who do that for a living, it’s not nearly as easy a path as it sounds), but what I’m saying is that whatever it is we do with our time, we should make sure that we are doing it for the right reasons. There are many great reasons to stay in a job that isn’t the “Dream Job” if it serves other important purposes in our lives, but “fear”, “doubt”, or “complacency” are just not good enough.
Becoming an ultra-runner has taught me many life lessons, some of which I’m just starting to work through now. I’ve spent countless hours over the last few years battling myself on the trails, pushing through miserable workouts even when I’m exhausted because I know that the end goal is worth the temporary pain, and I’ve repeatedly broken my own glass ceiling regarding what I once deemed “possible”. That alone has revolutionized my perspective, and it’s forced me to find new ways to challenge myself as I keep redefining my own limits. But even as I’ve grown personally through my relationship with running, I’ve still remained stuck in a comfortable rut of my own creation, afraid to leave something that makes life easy in search of something that challenges me to be more.
This past semester, I enrolled in several strategic marketing courses, trying to “dip my toes” in a different direction, and sat in a classroom again for the first time in 8 years. As hard as it’s been to add schooling to my already hectic daily schedule, it’s also been a huge eye opener for me. Being back in an atmosphere of learning is both inspiring and motivating, and it made me realize how little energy and importance we assign to emphasizing continuous learning as a society. Simon Fraser University recently introduced a series of courses designed for ages +55 and up, and they’ve proved immensely popular, with senior students lining up at the university to enroll in options ranging from history and philosophy to quantum physics. Seeing how much joy and satisfaction these seniors get from continually challenging themselves to learn and grow made me realize how tragic it is that we ever allow ourselves to stop learning and growing. Knowledge is the key to growth in all aspects of our lives, and we should consider ourselves to be lifelong students, and masters of nothing.
I’ve just now set in motion plans that will change my current course quite drastically and allow me to pursue my dreams again, terrifying as that still seems. My only regret is that it took me this long to break free of the fear and doubt that have tried to hold me back. But this much I now know: we can’t control everything that life throws at us, but we can choose our response to it. We can’t look back, but we can and should look forward. I choose to make the most of what I’ve been given, and to appreciate every damned bit of it.
When I look back at my life in its totality, I want it to be through eyes that know that for better or worse, I’ve given each new day my all. That’s all we can really ask for, and it’s more than enough.
On April 2nd I raced Rainshadow Gorge 100km for the second year in a row. This race was the culmination of a lot of blood, sweat, and tears, as I attempted to fit high volume training mileage into a schedule already jam-packed with work, school, and life responsibilities. It wasn’t easy, I didn’t always hit 100% of the runs that I was supposed to do, and I had a couple good ol’ fashioned meltdowns along the way (cured by foregoing workouts for chocolate, wine and Netflix). However, looking back at my training block now, I’m still pretty damn proud that I managed to fit in the training that I did, and I’m slowly getting better at being okay with adapting to Plan B when Plan A just isn’t happening.
One of the things I see a lot of among fellow ultrarunners is the propensity to go 100% balls-to-walls until we burnout, recover enough to do it again, and then repeat the whole darn cycle. It’s easy to do, even unintentionally, as we continuously set bigger and bigger race goals. It’s even more of a danger when we use races as springboards to longer races (Ie. Running several “C” goal “shorter” ultra races consecutively over a few months as we head towards the larger “A” goal of the 100k/100m/long-fucking race, with no recovery in between… after all, the shorter ones are just catered training runs, right?😉).
The danger in that strategy is that it presents the temptation to push too hard at each event, without giving our bodies the time they deserve to recover after that level of effort. Some runners are really good at using races as long training runs, and they can resist being drawn into pushing harder than they should be. I totally commend them for it, and I’m slightly jealous. Personally, I’m still working on it. I’m definitely better at running smarter and more conservative races than I was a couple of years ago, but if I’m totally honest with myself, I still end up pushing harder than I would if I was to run that distance on my own as a pure training run.
It’s something that we need to talk about more, because the trend of signing up for many races throughout the year as “training” or “fun” runs can actually contribute to overall burnout and fatigue. I’m 100% guilty of it too. Exhibit A: In my first 16 months of running ultras, I “raced” EIGHT 50km races and one 50 miler, not to mention multiple smaller races along the way. I got to the point where I was no longer enjoying myself, dreaded start lines, and didn’t have any desire to push hard at all – I was tired, mentally and physically burnt out, and I didn’t even know it.
Since then, my solution has been to sign up for less races. For example, this year I’ve got exactly three races on the calendar. Orcas Island 50k on February 6, which was a “C” race for me on the road to my “B” race of the year, the Gorge 100k on April 2. I still properly tapered and recovered from Orcas 50k, but I also ran it fairly conservatively knowing that it wasn’t a major goal race for me. My one and only “A” race this year will be Fat Dog 120miler on August 12 AND 13, but in between April 2 and August 12 I plan on doing nothing but fun, easy, long adventures, focusing on time-on feet. My coach Gary Robbins has been a huge help in this regard, and at the beginning of the year as we map out my schedule he insists that I rank my races by priority, and then adjust my expectations and training accordingly. It’s a much more balanced approach to running and racing, and its meant that when I actually do toe the line of an A-goal race, I feel refreshed and ready to push myself.
The other part to the overtraining piece is that we often don’t give enough care and intention to our tapering and recovery periods. It can be very frustrating to go from high volume training weeks to almost zero activity for the two or three weeks leading up to the race (hello, taper tantrums), and even more frustrating to give our bodies the recovery time they deserve following our actual race – especially if we have a good race that leaves us feeling powerful and epic and ready to conquer the world (anyone else get that or is it just me?). This feeling of invincibility is usually followed by feeling 90 years old, as every bone and muscle in my body hurts for a solid week or two, but by the time three weeks has passed after a big race I start to ask myself existential running questions like: “Am I even a runner? I can’t remember the last time I ran!”; “Could I even run around the block right now?”; and the worst one: “Why am I winded walking up one flight of stairs??”. It can be tempting to jump the gun on recovery to stop the constant and exhausting internal diatribe, even while knowing that this will only end up biting us in the rear further down the road.
For the past few weeks as I’ve been recovering from the Gorge 100k, and feeling surprisingly (and dangerously) good post-race, I’ve done my best to keep my runs to nothing over an hour or so in length, no more than a couple times a week at an easy, social pace. It’s a good excuse to catch up with friends and make outings more about the catch-up than the exercise. With the gorgeous weather we’ve been having its very difficult to stay away from the mountains, so my solution has been to call up a buddy, grab cameras and gear, and make a fun and SUPER mellow adventure out of the day… with much stopping for photo fun and ridiculous antics. I always find the buddy system is good for holding me accountable, so don’t be afraid to use it to your advantage and schedule social time as religiously as you normally do long runs.
The biggest key, for me, is to always remember why we do this crazy sport in the first place. Sure, it’s pretty satisfying to sign up for a crazy-long race and train our asses off for it, but I see races more as bookmarks and progress indicators along a much bigger journey of exploration and lifelong adventure. We are so incredibly lucky to have our health and fitness and the ability to access incredible parts of the world with our own two legs, and we can’t and shouldn’t take that for granted. So balance the work with play, and, most importantly – Have fun out there!
This past weekend, I ran Rainshadow Running’s Gorge 100km race in the Columbia River Gorge for the second year in a row. Having also run the 50k course in 2014, it’s safe to say that this race is now definitely one of my favourites (that, or I just keep going back for more pain!). It features miles and miles of countless waterfalls, moss-laden trails, and flowy singletrack – but make no mistake, this race is no gimme. With a sneaky 12,000 feet of cumulative gain built into 100km of rolling hills, and two steep climbs bookmarking the beginning and end of the out-and-back course, as well as off-camber footing and rocky terrain that makes it hard to run with a normal gait, it’s easy to see why this race is now a Western States qualifier. It’s rugged, tough, and gorgeous. Sign me up.
I’m extremely lucky to have a wonderful group of insanely talented girlfriends who also willingly register for crazy races like this one, and we turned the weekend into an unconventional girls’ roadtrip. We caravanned down to Oregon in two cars with 6 girls and 2 boyfriends in tow, stopping almost every 30 minutes along the way for pee breaks and food, as one does the day before a big race. I have an amazing talent for cramming in all of the water I should have been drinking in the week before the race into the day before, much to my bladder’s chagrin. Side note: on the return trip, we stopped exactly once the whole way back… just a slight difference from the nervous hydration happening pre-race.
We stayed at McMenamin’s at Edgefield, which is a quirky old school that has now been converted into a creaky older hotel. Bathrooms are communal, and our rooms were on the 3rd floor – no elevators. My first thought upon checking in was “Oh boy, I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to get back to my room after the race”. Also, after carrying my bags up three flights of stairs, I was winded. Not a good sign the night before running 100km. Clearly, pre-race jitters had kicked in.
After eating an entire pizza by myself and washing it down with a courage-boosting glass of wine, I tucked myself into bed at 10:30pm and set my alarm for 4:15am. Compared to last year, when I had to be up at 1:30am for the much earlier 3am start time, this felt downright luxurious.
Our fearless racers, consisting of Alicia, Tory, Tara (Barry) and Tara (Holland) and myself, managed to get ourselves ready and out the door to the race almost on schedule, but when we got to the start line parking lot at Benson State Park 15 minutes later, we were told that the parking lot was full and we would have to park a mile down the highway and walk back to the start line. Uh oh. This was a good lesson in leaving time for the unexpected, as we had planned our morning so that timing would work only if everything went according to plan. Suddenly we found ourselves hauling drop bags and gear along the highway back to the start line in a panic, checking in with minutes to spare, and still pinning bibs on as the race began. I only hoped this wasn’t an omen for the day to come.
Tara Holland and I had previously decided to run the first half of the race together so that she could pace herself and not go out too fast, as it was her first time doing 100km (and double her longest distance ever!). Because of the scramble to get to the start line we found ourselves quite far back in the pack, and shuffled along in a conga line with the main pack for the first kilometre until we hit the big climb and the pack started to space out a bit. As I watched people jostle for position or sprint uphill in order to move ahead exactly 10 feet from where they were, I had to laugh at the futility of their efforts. In a race this long, the less effort you expend the better, especially at the beginning when it doesn’t do you any good. One of the golden rules I swear by, which coach Gary Robbins has taught me well, is to “start slow, finish fast”. I can say with certainty that every single one of those runners who went out too hard in the beginning in an effort to prove that they could indeed run uphill (good for you, that looks sustainable!), ended up struggling to finish, if they finished at all. Pacing, in these races, IS the race.
I’ve discovered that one of the reasons I like long distances so much is that I’m good at finding a consistent pace that I can hold for hours on end (aka Hilary the human metronome), and I felt fantastic as we cruised through the first section, blew through the first aid station without needing to stop, and settled into a comfortable rhythm as the KM’s ticked away. I felt so lucky to be able to share what ended up amounting to ~80% of the race with Tara H, who is both a badass (and crazy fast!!) runner, but is also a straight up wonderful woman who I have so much admiration for. We were actually asked once during the race if we were sisters, and I replied “I wish!!”. It really felt like we were. We were a seamless team for much of the day, and took turns pushing and pulling the pace as needed. It always amazes me how life brings us exactly what we need in that moment, and I’m so grateful to count Tara as a friend and future adventure buddy.
The first half of the race flew by with little fanfare, other than the unseasonable humidity which had everyone drenched mere hours into the race, and early hotspots on my feet that slowly turned into blisters over the course of the race. I decided not to change shoes when I had the opportunity to at the first pass through Cascade Locks Aid Station (35km in), because a) the blisters weren’t bad enough to affect my gait, and b) the Saucony Nomad TR’s that I started the race in were my best option given all of my foot issues leading up to the race, and I wasn’t willing to give them up yet. Shoutout to the Wy’east Wolfpack, led by rockstar leader Yassine Diboun, who made this aid station the highlight of my day with their amazing energy and enthusiasm. You guys rock!
So as far as nutrition goes, I realized early on that my stomach was not happy, and I had a lot of trouble eating the food I’d packed in between aid stations due to nausea. Because of that, I started spending more time at each aid to make sure I got at least a couple of hundred calories in when I could. Coke, chips, fruit and pickles became my lifesavers, along with some avocado at 65km that tasted like heaven, and gallons of electrolytes to compensate for my extreme sweating. What a cocktail.
Tara and I (along with Alicia, who we met up with along the 35-50k section before she ended up eventually dropping out of the race due to pacing and nutrition issues), hit the turnaround point at exactly 6 hours 30 minutes, which was perfectly on pace for my goal of a sub 14 hour finish, with a bit of a buffer built in. I should add that I ran the entire race without a watch because I worried that I would become fixated on my time goals and screw up my pacing – and really, there’s not much I can change about the outcome by obsessing over each minute that passes for 13 entire hours, other than to drive myself crazy. Before the race, I had decided that I would run by feel and by heart, and be at peace with whatever outcome that gave me at the end of the day. It’s a hard thing to do, especially since I had last year’s performance to compare myself to – hello, déjà vu – but I do feel that for the most part (until the last hour when I decided to just go for it and see how fast I could finish), I managed to stick to it.
Because of the out-and-back course, another thing I love about this race is seeing everyone else either coming or going along the way. So many high fives and hugs!! Tara Barry passed us flying as she headed to her eventual 10th place finish in 12:15, and rowdy high fives with Tory kept us all in good spirits.
Gary had warned me not to start racing until after the 50km mark, and having run a conservative first half of the race, I felt ready to pick it up a notch. I waved goodbye to Tara and Alicia, and started to tackle the uphill climb out of Wyeth AS with more energy. It felt great to open up the legs here, and I enjoyed the solitude of flying along in the woods by myself. The beauty of races this long is that they give you plenty of time to ponder life and be super intellectual, while still gasping for breath and thinking about which tree you are going to pee behind next.
The biggest takeaway from my hours of musing (I’ll condense it for you, you’re welcome), is that my motivation for running these long, physically and mentally demanding races has to be rooted firmly in the right place. When I’m out there alone for hours, battling highs and lows and convincing myself to maintain forward momentum, the only person that I am truly competing with is myself. The reason that I love ultra running so dearly is because I am continually learning more about who I am and what I’m capable of each time I challenge myself to do something that I’m not totally sure I can do. I’m aware that not every challenge will be successful, and there will come a day when I don’t reach the finish line – and that’s ok too, because it’ll also teach me something new about myself. This journey is pushing me, redefining my limits, and forcing me to be completely honest and vulnerable with myself and with others. It’s an incredible feeling, to strip everything external away and just run with my heart, and to be completely present in that moment and that moment only.
I hit Cascade Locks AS for the second time feeling strong, except for the growing blisters on my left foot that I couldn’t quite ignore. I’d been planning to stop here and change shoes, but as soon as I did I realized that that was no longer an option. My backup pair have a narrow toebox, and I knew as soon as I swapped shoes that this was going to make the blisters worse – so I put my Nomads right back on again. Sigh. As I was dealing with my shoes, Tara came flying into the AS. Crazy how close our pace was all day, even when we weren’t running together! I waited for her to grab some food and switch shoes, and then we took off together, reunited again! I was extremely thankful to have her company when we hit the 2 mile road section following Yeon AS at around 75km. It was HOT, exposed and asphalt, and we were shuffling along on a road that ran parallel to the highway. Not exactly inspiring stuff. It was a low point for both of us, but we got through it with a combination of running and walking and shuffling, until we finally hit the relative cool of the trails again. It took a few minutes to get our energy back after that soul-sucking section, but we slowly regained momentum and started picking racers off by the handful. The beauty of starting out slowly is that you get to feel really strong when you are passing runners late in the game – and we realized after the race that we didn’t get passed once for the entire second half of the race. I’d call that successful pacing!
Right around when this picture was taken, I started to get the urge to really pick up my pace. I left Tara for what turned out to be the last time that day, and started to push myself. I glanced at the time for only the second time that day as I hit the final aid station (just before the last big climb starts), realizing that I needed to have a strong finish if I wanted to be decisively under 14 hours. This thought gave me new energy, and I felt strong as I power climbed the final hill, passing runner after runner as I went. I stopped counting after a while, but later Tara and I figured out that I passed 10 girls in that last 10km alone, moving from 23 to 13th place. The power of pacing, seriously. Apparently I passed runners who I knew as I went, but I was so focused that I have zero memory of it at all.
I hit the top of the climb completely euphoric, knowing that all that stood between me and the finish line was around 5km of downhill, concrete switchbacks and a flat kilometre around the lake at Benson State Park (it’s a torturous km, as you can see and hear the finish line at that point but yet you are moving away from it). I’ve previously had my quads totally cramp up on me at this exact downhill section, but on this day I felt invincible. I literally threw myself down the mountain, whooping and hollering out loud and feeling giddy with glee and abandon. I splashed through creeks recklessly, no longer worrying about keeping my feet dry to protect my blisters. I’m pretty sure that tourists hiking up to the waterfalls thought I was batshit crazy, but I didn’t care. I was having an absolute blast, and felt no pain. In what felt like only minutes later, I skidded into the finish line at 13 hours and 27 minutes, 13th female overall, and almost 45 minutes faster than last year’s 14:12.
Tara finished almost exactly 5 minutes after me – again, our paces were ridiculously close. What an incredible debut for her first 100km race!
Aside from some very glamorous puking in the parking lot as we were heading back to the hotel (who knew sprinting downhill with a stomach full of nothing but Coke and pickles was a bad idea at the end of a race?! Sorry, stomach), the rest of the trip was blissfully uneventful.
I do have to admit though – one of my first thoughts when crossing the finishing line was “Gee, if this was Fat Dog 120miler, I’d barely be halfway done right now”…😳. A frightening thought, that, but thank god I don’t have to worry about that until August. For now, you’ll find me happily glued to my couch.
What a difference a year makes. Last year at this time, I was nervously getting ready to run my first 100km race, the Gorge 100km in the stunning Columbia River Gorge.
This year at this time, I am also nervously getting ready to run this same 100km race for the second time. I guess that first part hasn’t changed.
Exactly what has changed can be found more in the time that lies between the two dates. Last year’s race was my longest distance to date, and I had one goal: finish. This year, having had great races at both the Gorge 100km and Fat Dog 70miler last year, I find myself toeing the start line for this still-daunting distance again this Saturday, with a new goal: finish faster than last year. Last year I finished in 14:12:34. This year, my goal is sub 14 hours. Doesn’t matter if its only one minute less than 14 hours, but that’s what a good day will look like for me this year.
The 2016 edition of this race features an incredibly deep field for both men and women, as the top 2 men and women will once again be gifted with an elusive “golden ticket” to the venerable granddaddy of ultras, Western States. For the rest of us more lowly mortals, the 2016 edition of this race now counts as a qualifier for the WS lottery…which is the reason that I am back to run this course for the third year in a row (the first year being the 50k version, back when I thought people who ran 100kms in one stretch were completely mental. They still are, come to think of it).
For many reasons, this year’s race poses new challenges to be overcome.
1) Training, or the lack thereof. I enrolled in part time courses at BCIT this past semester – which, on top of working full time and balancing schooling, running, life and relationships, singing and performing regularly in a high-level choir, has proved to be a bit challenging as far as fitting in long runs are concerned. There were many weekends over the past few months where I couldn’t string together 4 hours in a row for a long run, so I would end up bookending my day with a few hours early in the morning, followed by a few more hours late at night (then repeat the next day), which grew exhausting and uninspiring over time. Contrary to the beautiful pictures of adventures that I tend to favour on my Instagram account, I compensate for those amazing moments in time with many boring slogs around my neighbourhood’s industrial style “trails”, punctuated by hill repeats in the rain and dark.
2) Ongoing shoe problems. I have had difficulty finding a pair of shoes that I can run more than 2 hours in for the past six months, and have cycled through just about every pair and style that I can get my hands on in an effort to find something that doesn’t result in burning arch pain and the inability to walk properly for a few hours after a long run. One month ago, I got my hands on a pair of Saucony Nomads, and ran my last week of long runs in them with reasonable success and minimal pain. Because of that, they are looking like my best option right now, so I’ll be toeing the line in a pair and style of shoes that I have very little experience with. Suffice to say that I will be sending backup pairs to every aid station along the course just in case these ones tank.
3) Pacers no longer allowed. I was fortunate to have benefitted from incredibly strong pacing by my friend Brice at both of my 100km+ races last year, and it certainly makes a huge difference to have that injection of fresh energy after running (and talking to myself) for 10+ hours on my own. However, in order to make Gorge 100km a Western States qualifier, Rainshadow Running eliminated pacers from this year’s race – a decision I actually agree with, as it levels the playing field, especially for the elites vying for the Western States entries. However, it will mark the first 100km distance race that I’ve tackled completely on my own, which is certainly a terrifying thought. It’s just me competing with me, and when the going gets tough I’m the only one who’ll be there to dig myself out of holes and keep one foot moving in front of the other until I cross the finish line. Basically, it’s time for me to put on my big girl ultra pants.
Here’s a couple of things that are working well, just to balance out the first list.
1) Nutrition is dialled in. Over the past year, I’ve worked really hard with coaches Gary Robbins and Eric Carter to dial in my nutrition, and I think I’ve got it sorted. My primary calorie sources for a race this distance are dates, nut butters, avocado, and then coca-cola and chips at the aid stations. The coke provides simple sugars, and the chips reset the palette so that I don’t end up with sugar overload. This combination has worked well for me over the last year, and I’m going to stick with it for this race as well.
2) Mental space. Having a few long distance races under my belt has done wonders for my confidence, and I’m excited to see how adding in this new challenge of no pacers will affect my day. I consider one of my strengths to be my ability to stay positive for hours on end, so this race will test that theory out. Looking forward to seeing how my experiences over the past year play into this year’s race.
3) More sleep. Last year, I took the early race start to give myself as much time to finish as possible, which meant that I set my alarm for 1:30am, and began racing at the ungodly hour of 3am. I’m not sure why that is even legal, it seems downright inhumane. This year’s race time has moved, and it will now begin at the relatively sane hour of 6am, which means that I will hopefully not have to get up before 4:30am or so… practically luxurious. Crossing my fingers that having a few hours more sleep will make a difference to my energy levels during the day.
4) Girls roadtrip. I’m very lucky to count some incredibly badass (and crazy fast) women as my friends, and we are turning this weekend into a girls getaway (although running a 100km race is not the traditional format for one of those, I know). I’m always amazed by the incredible people that I have met through the trail running community and now count as friends, and these ladies are a big part of that. Excited to see them all kick butt (including mine!) on Saturday. I’d also be remiss if I didn’t give a special shoutout to Miss Tara Holland, who is tackling this race as her first 100km. It’s double any distance she’s ever raced before, and she only found out a few weeks ago that she was going to be running it at all, when she made it off the waitlist at the last minute. Her primary reason for signing up in the first place? It sounded like a fun getaway, and she wanted to come hangout with the gang. I love having friends as crazy as me. 🙂
The one challenge I haven’t mentioned yet – and it’s probably the biggest one that I worry about – is that because I ran this race last year, I now have a benchmark to compete against. In my head, if I’m being honest with myself, it’s no longer good enough to just finish. I know that I’ll be fighting to avoid looking at the time or worry about my pace and whether I am on track to reach my sub-14 hour goal. Also, because the course is an out-and-back, you get to see where everyone is as they reach the halfway mark and turn around… which can also mess with running my own race, because it’s hard not to compare where I am versus where others are on the course. Times like this are when I really appreciate having all of Gary’s insight and knowledge, and he has helped me to work through my fears during the last few weeks and focus on running my own race – and avoid trying to run someone else’s race instead. It may sound simple, but when you have that many hours to think about nothing but what time you’ll be finishing at (mostly so that I can sit down and eat and sleep), worrying about my placement or time could end up sending me into a negative spiral that completely derails my race. I was never very good at math to begin with, and my math during races especially sucks at the best of times. I’ve had races where I’ve calculated that at my current pace, I am days away from finishing, rather than the 5 or 10km I actually have left. Oops.
Primary goal #1: get out there, have a great day, and focus on being thankful that I am healthy and fit enough to run these races in the first place.
Stay tuned to find out how it all works out! The adventure continues.