Archive for March, 2012
Whatcom County had been blitzed by storms for over a week, and the precipitation gods were still not done with us on the morning of the Chuckanut 50K. Ultra runners don’t mind rain and mud, I hear. If I were someone who could finish a 50K before lunchtime, I might not mind it, either. But as Bill drove me to the start of the race, I had to check my annoyance about the weather. If I got started complaining before I even began the run, I wouldn’t make it very far. One thing I’d promised myself about this race was that I would stay calm. The weeks leading up to it had been fraught with hand-wringing and sleepless nights as I worried about details I couldn’t control. I’d even emailed the race director, Krissy Moehl, to ask if she thought they would have enough food at the aid stations for back-of-the-packers. Her answer: If you were planning to finish within the 8-hour time limit, you would be fine. I thought I would be fine, but just in case I turned out to be slower than expected, Bill agreed to meet me at the last aid station with sustenance. With this precaution in place, I breathed a little easier… until I saw the dark clouds overhead on Saturday.
I get a pretty constant stream of questions from non-runner friends about why I would sign up for an ultra. “It was hard enough to turn yourself into a marathoner,” they remind me. “Maybe,” they say gently, “you’ve proved your point. What do you have to gain from a 50K?” As I observed the dark, gray, solid sky while I waited to use the toilet once more (the last toilet I would see for a long, long time), I can’t say I had much of an answer to this question. All I know is that running is about stretching myself and growing as a person, and standing in the rain watching the first wave of runners start their journey at 8:00, knowing they would be finished before I’d made it halfway, I already felt stretched.
At 8:20, the third wave–the back-of-the-packers–were given the go-ahead. The first part of the Chuckanut 50K along the Interurban Trail was very familiar to me. More Saturdays than I can say, I’ve traversed this section of the route; I even direct a race that follows this course (the Wind Horse Run for Education). It was only when I had to turn up onto the Fragrance Lake Trail that I was in less familiar (although not totally unknown) territory. On a sunny day, the trail up to Fragrance Lake would be a refreshing little hike with the reward of a gorgeous hidden lake to linger beside. Saturday it was just the first big, muddy hill of many more to come.
As I began to navigate the switchbacks, the rain turned to snow–thick, heavy flakes that melted instantly on the skin. I’d started the race with a fellow who told me he was going to turn around at the first sight of snow, no matter how far he’d gone. Here, only about six miles into the race, when the white stuff came down, my amigo was true to his promise. I watched from above as he stopped at the switchback just below me, turned around and headed back down the hill. I waved to him and pressed on just as a clump of snow shook loose from a high branch and fell inside my raincoat collar and down my neck. There was no time to indulge in the misery of the icy trickles making their way down my shoulder; I had to make time here at the beginning of the race because I knew once I got into the wooded 7-mile loop starting on the ridge a little later on, it could be slow-going. In training, Bill and I had completed every section of the route and calculated what my average pace would have to be for each if I wanted to finish in 8 hours.
A little more than an hour after the snow started, right on schedule, Bill was waiting at the next aid station at the base of the trail on Cleator Road. He walked several hundred yards with me, but not far enough to see that the higher up you went on this 3-mile winding hill, the more packed, icy snow was on the ground. Nearly 600 pairs of shoes had trampled the slush into a slippery mess. I trekked up with three other runners, Debbie (from Friday Harbor), Linda, and a man whose name I never caught. I was grateful for the company however short-lived it might be. Linda would drop out at the next aid station just before the rest of us turned onto the Chuckanut Ridge Trail. A marathoner bound for Boston in a couple of weeks, she dared not risk hurting herself in the river of mud that was before us.
Debbie and I would leapfrog each other on and off until Chinscraper, which lay about seven miles ahead. Most of that time, we wouldn’t be able to see one another, but it would be a comfort to know someone else was out there. Early on in the woods, before the mud was shin deep, Debbie came up behind me as I was pulling myself over a large boulder with the help of an exposed tree root, and asked if I knew how far we’d gone. I looked at my Garmin. We were halfway–15 miles behind us and 15 miles to go! This was a good omen, I thought. If I’d made it half way and still felt strong, I had a chance of making my 8-hour deadline.
But shortly after my brief conversation with Debbie, my legs began cramping. She ran ahead as I stopped to stretch. My left quad and right calf, unused to so much slipping and climbing, were angry. I was alone on the trail and, remembering Anne Lamott’s affectionate conversations with her thighs (which she calls “the aunties”), I spoke aloud to my legs, my only vehicles out of the forest. “Come on babies, you can do this. Just relax. We’ll get there.” And my dear, faithful limbs relaxed–for the time being.
How interminable and lonely that seven-mile loop felt! The mud was thick enough that I was never sure when I set my foot down whether I would hit solid ground, a rock, or a sink hole. On the descents, the mud trickled downhill in a stream. Keeping my eyes on the ground, I watched not only the placement of each footfall, but also the way the cold, wet mud seeped into the fabric on the top of my shoes. I wish I could say I was in a state of mind to reflect on how my laborious pace and tenuous stride might translate into a metaphor for my life outside of these woods, but there was no space in my brain for anything other than trying not to fall. When it began to hail, I laughed aloud and shouted, “Of course! Why not?”
When the next aid station finally came into view (more than two hours since Linda had dropped out), it was like an oasis in the desert: civilization, complete with electrolytes and potato chips. I was so grateful to see human beings–but these human beings had bad news for me.
“You’ve got an hour to get to the last aid station before it closes,” one of the volunteers announced.
“What do I need to do between now and then?” I asked.
“Four miles. One up and three down,” was the reply.
“Okay. What happens if I don’t make it?”
“They’ll give you a ride back. Better get a move on.”
This must have been around mile 21 when I received the news that I needed to pick up my pace. And directly in front of me was Chinscraper, a mile of steep switchbacks and one almost vertical smooth dirt hill, which would certainly be nothing but mud. By this point, my GPS had stopped working, but as soon as I left the volunteers, I knew I wasn’t going to get to the next aid station in an hour. Every few steps my left quad and right calf acted up. I simply had to stop and stretch, or at the very least let the pain pass.
As I grappled with Chinscraper, I asked myself what I was going to do when I finally reached the next station. I could quit if I needed/wanted to. I would have run the equivalent of a marathon distance. Maybe I’m just not cut out for more than 26 miles, I thought to myself. But my friend, Julie, was waiting for me there to help me run the last six miles. And Bill was there with food and dry clothes, ready to cheer me onward. My other friend, Stephanie, was stationed at the end of Arroyo Park to take my picture if I ever got that far. Would I let them all down if I quit?
On the other hand, maybe it would be easier for everyone if I just gave up and we could all go get a beer. The finish line would be disassembled by now anyhow. Even the awards ceremony would be starting before too long. I have to admit, the chorus in my head asked again what there was to prove here–and I couldn’t come up with an answer.
But I’d come so far I knew I had to finish, even if my few faithful friends and I were the only ones who knew I’d done it.
So up, up I inched, taking a few steps up the worst of the muddy rise and then sliding backwards in the mud just as far. I did it again. And again. Until I finally conquered the mud and the worst of the ascent.
Out of the woods at last! Now all that was left was to descend three miles to the aid station in the Clayton Beach parking lot and then somehow propel myself forward for six more miles after that to the finish line, located at Fairhaven Park. Although I ran the whole of the three miles down to Clayton Beach, I reached it well after it was supposed to have closed. As I arrived, I blessed the volunteers who’d stayed just a little longer than they were required to and then greeted my little “team.” Bill took my dirty gloves and gave me a fresh pair and delivered a bag of greasy French fries to stave off hunger as we were now coming into the dinner hour. Then Julie took me in hand for the final miles, speaking to me as a mother might speak to a child just learning to ride a bicycle. “Just from here to that tree. There you go. You can do it.”
At 5:39pm, I crossed the finish line. Dear Krissy Moehl, with so much to do as a race director closing up an event, was standing by to record my time and gift me with my prize: a black beanie (which Bill later tried to steal, claiming he earned it more than I did even though it’s the only tangible proof I have that I completed the race). I hugged everyone and cried and stretched and breathed a deep sigh of relief. Finishing time: 9:19:40! I’m proud to say that mine is the last recorded.
The next day I stayed in bed. Bill says I “seemed confused” all day, which I probably was. Every muscle ached; my nose was badly chafed from all the blowing and wiping with soiled gloves; and I’d developed a mysterious soreness on the roof of my mouth (potato chip burn?) and couldn’t eat solids for two days. As I recover, I’m still mining the psychic riches of this experience. What did I learn about myself? Or my life? There’s something about loneliness, support from friends, perseverance, patience, joy in the midst of the mess that is life…. I’ll tell you as the insights crystallize.
In the mean time, the one thing I know is that it took a small village to get me to the finish line. Thank you to all who were there for me that day! (And Bill, go ahead and keep the beanie. You deserve it, my friend.)
First two pictures by Bill Pech, remaining photographs taken by Stephanie Bender of A Mere Glance Photograph.
I met Leslie in the third grade. We weren’t friends at first sight, but we were by second or third sight. And we’ve been pals ever since, in spite of the fact that Leslie moved away and we haven’t lived in the same town for 35 years (oh, did I say that out loud?)! I’ve been following along on Facebook as Leslie, her husband, and her three kids have been traveling around the country in an RV for the past several months. And I cheered her from afar as she announced her plans to run a half marathon and then began to train (and kept training no matter where in our big ol’ nation she found herself on any given day). Here’s my interview with her:
Thanks for doing this interview, Leslie! Can you first talk about what made you decide you wanted to do a half marathon?
I saw on Facebook that you (Cami) were going to do the Tinkerbell half at Disneyland and thought that kind of race would be fun. At the time I’d just started a Couch to 5k program and couldn’t even run 2 miles, but I like a challenge, and I needed something to force me to workout while I travel the country with my family for a year.
How did you pick the one you did?
I was unable to sign up for the Tinkerbell half (in California) before it closed, so I looked at the Disney Princess half in Florida. I reasoned it would give me another month to train, and I had to be in Florida for a wedding anyway. I watched a runDisney video and saw people dressed in costume, the character photo ops, running through the castle–it looked like fun. When I could run only two miles, I signed up because the price was going up that weekend.
Talk about your training: How did you train? What worked? What would you do differently next time?
Jeff Galloway is the runDisney trainer so I followed his beginner program. I ran 30 minutes on Tuesdays and Thursdays. On Saturday I alternated 3 miles with increasing miles on the other weeks. It was a 21-week program, and I followed it to a T pretty much. I missed a couple of short weekday runs when I got a huge blister, but I trusted in the program and was impressed at how it worked to get me to the mileage I needed. I was really impressed each time I finished a long run. They weren’t all fabulous times, but I was growing and learning as I went. I ran six miles straight at a 16-minute pace and felt great. I thought, “Maybe I can do this.” I re-read through the training program, and Jeff Galloway suggests a combination of running and walking so you’ll have less fatigue, recover quickly, and reduce injuries. I thought this was just to use at the beginning, but Jeff uses it all the way through his marathons. I was hoping to go faster than 16 minutes per mile, so I looked at the run/walk combo to help me speed up. I didn’t ever really master it but have since learned more and will focus on the run/walk sequence for future runs.
Did you feel ready? What were your biggest fears going in?
I was excited for the race since it had been on my mind for months. I was excited to see the characters, get the shirt, go to the expo, etc., and then I realized–I have to run 13.1 miles! But I trusted in the training that I had completed and believed that I was ready. Disney has a minimum pace of 16 min/mile because they need to open the roads. If you don’t maintain that pace you will be swept so that was my biggest fear. They have a “balloon” lady that walks at that pace and warns you to speed up if you fall behind. They literally pull buses across the course and you have to get on if you don’t meet the time requirement.
Tell us about the race: What did you love? What was hard? What surprised you?
I loved the Disney experience! My race was like a Disney movie–a nice beginning, a scary middle, and a happy ending. The first six miles went quickly. Inside the Magic Kingdom it was fun to see my family, meet a bunch of characters, and run through the castle. I was relaxing and enjoying my time there. I debated about using the port o’ potty at one point because there wasn’t a line, but decided I didn’t have to go, so I’d keep running. Good thing I did because I heard mumbling about the balloon lady, looked around and found her in FRONT of me! She was saying there was a pick up at mile 8, so I hustled to get on the other side of her and stayed there. It made me nervous, though, and negative thoughts came to my mind–what if I didn’t get to finish? I’d have to tell everyone I didn’t complete the race. To battle my thoughts, I worked on positive mantras and a faster run/walk interval. I finally made it to mile 12 where I was safe from being swept, but the experience had become a race instead of a run for a few miles for me. That was hard.
What surprised me was my recovery. I felt great the next day and all the following days. The other thing that surprised me was that I actually did it. I trained for months, and I did it! I’m glad I have the pictures so show myself that that’s really me. For several days after the race, I couldn’t get over that fact that I did it.
Do you think you’ll ever do another one?
I’ve already signed up for the Disneyland half so I can earn the Coast to Coast medal by running a Disney half marathon on both coasts in one calendar year. I’m totally doing it for the medal! My friend signed up, so I’m looking forward to running with someone else this time; that’s going to make it more fun. I’m happy that I have this goal to focus on so that I don’t lose the conditioning I’ve built up. I’m working on speeding up my pace so that I can have more time on the course taking pictures with characters.
What are your hopes for future races?
I may try some of the other races that sound fun–Rock and Roll, Get Your Rear in Gear, and Color Run. I enjoy triathlons, though, so I might do a combination of triathlons and half marathons/10k in the future. My overall goal is to be physically fit so that if something fun comes up, I’ll be able to do it.
What did you learn about yourself on this journey?
The first two miles are hard, and it gets easier after that. Running is mental–the challenge of running 3 miles is about the same as running 13 for me. I also learned that if I exercise in the morning before I turn the computer on I won’t have guilt for the rest of the day because I got my work out in. Most importantly, I learned to trust in the process and the program. I may be slow, but I’m determined and can reach the goals I set!
It’s Tuesday. I’m sitting at a coffee shop looking out the window at the slush remaining on the ground after last night’s snow. Rain is coming down now–pretty typical for March in the Northwest.
But today is also four days from the Chuckanut 50K (that’s 31.1 miles, friends). Did I mention I’ll be running it this year? Well, I am. And signing up for this race has given me occasion for all kinds of worry and fretting. As a back-of-the-packer, I’ll be out on the trails for approximately 8 (yes: eight) hours, while the elite ultra runners in the crowd (750ish strong) will finish in half that time.
Since Bill pushed “enter” on the sign-up form and committed me to this race, I’ve been planning and ruminating and crinkling my eyebrows about everything from what to wear to how much food to carry on the route. You wouldn’t think I’d be inclined to all this obsessing given the fact that I’m a veteran runner. I have, after all, run full marathons on every kind of terrain all around the world. I even completed the Lake Youngs 50K a couple of years ago–and felt good afterwards. In addition, this Chuckanut 50K course is in my back yard, so I’ve had the advantage of training on the trails and getting to know their quirks and switchbacks.
That may be the problem, actually. I’m well aware of the three miles straight up Cleator Road and about the “Chin Scraper” incline at the end of the 8-mile loop on Chuckanut Ridge. I know all about the lengthy stretch of mud I’ll have to plod through after 700 other sets of trail shoes have softened it to quick-sand quality (if you never hear from me again, you’ll know it sucked me under). Too much knowledge might not be a good thing….
Also, my last couple of long runs (and subsequent cramping and soreness) have reminded me that I’m not genetically inclined toward athleticism. Committed I am. Determined I am. Patient I am. Audacious I am. But alas, athletic I am not. I’ve always envied my friends who have slim, streamlined, muscular bodies which are seemingly made to cut through wind at clipped, brisk speeds. I just don’t have one of those bodies, and to get one, I’d have to commit more of my life to the gym than I have time or inclination to do. So, in this upcoming race (as with all of them) I’ll make the best of the one I have.
The best this body will do will be about eight hours.
“Why take part in something that creates so much fear and trembling? Something that you won’t be very good at and that will make you hurt for a week?” you ask.
These are fair questions. Here’s my best answer: I was raised to be “sugar and spice and everything nice.” Over the years I’ve discovered that this cleaned up version of self-hood is a very unsatisfying way of living. Gritty and messy and pushy enough to move beyond my own and my family’s narratives are much more interesting qualities to try to live up to. Why not do what is hard or even ridiculous sometimes? No matter how the 50K goes on Saturday, I’m going to grow as a person during those eight hours in ways that a year of therapy couldn’t expedite if I went three times a week (and I’m a therapist!). Running this race is actually a shortcut to self-actualization.
It should also be a great chance to get mud-suckin’ dirty!
Just a little personal note:
I usually reserve my blog here exclusively for running-related news and reflections, but I thought some of you might like to know what else I’m up to.
1. I have some new services up on my CamiOstman.net site. These include newsletters, group coaching opportunities and something I call the Main Event–an intensive 6-week personalized course for those who feel they need to catch their own midlife second wind (whether you’re a runner or not).
2. I’m also very excited to share that I’ve started blogging for the Psychology Today blogger team! Visit often and see what we’re up to there! The Psychology Today website is packed full of helpful and rich information/encouragement.
3. If you live near me (or if you can get here easily), you might enjoy a terrific one-day retreat I do with my friends Eileen Laughlin and Carol Frazey called Refresh Your Bliss. When you need to reevaluate your priorities and reboot your self-care mechanisms, this retreat is an excellent chance to get away and Refresh Your Bliss. Our next one will take place on May 19 (right after Mother’s day). Check out the details at refreshyourbliss.org!
I’m also still doing individual therapy in person or by phone (206.890.8694). Let me know if I can be a resource to you. And keep running!
Cheers,
Cami
Brrrrr
Sniffle, sniff, sniffle
Wipe
Breathe
Sniffle
One side plugged,
She blows
And wipes.
Relief
But brrrrr
Bounce, drip
Sniff
Sniffle
Wipe
Other side plugged,
She blows.
Only five hours to go.
Running is hard work for me…