I haven't post in over a year! But I have been running a lot! As much as I wanted to have a "diary" to document all the running related things I have feel a little apprehensive lately about sharing information in the internet and that is why I haven't been posting.
Last time I post I was training for my first 100 miler and now I have completed 2 along with many other 50K and 50 milers. I am really happy that I was able to complete my first 100 in my first attempt, many people needs few attempts until they are able to do it so I feel very satisficed with my results. Second 100 was even better, I felt much stronger and I was able to finish a little faster in a much more difficult course.
In relation to my injuries, if I stay in the trails my hip doesn't give much trouble but my back is another thing, no matter how much strength training I am doing I still get a lot of pain in my back when I past 10 miles but I have developed a strong pain tolerance I guess :). Running on the roads make it worst so I really try to avoid road races and marathons as much as I can. This doesn't really bother me as anyway I don't really like running marathons anymore, ultras are much more fun!!!
I want to share a write up that another ultra runner sent me. I met her while running Vermont 100 and she has put a very nice race recap
. It is a bit long so I am only sharing since the moment we met. Enjoy!! New York city Marathon next...pacing for Achilles International, it will be a nice way to maybe say good bye to road marathons!
Vermont 100 – July
2013 – Jodi Weiss
Claudia and I became a team as we headed out of the mile 59
aid station. Claudia and I had played leap frog throughout the day, but it
wasn’t until those long haul miles that we aligned forces. Although we were over the half way point, the
last 40 miles in an ultra is the equivalent to me of a lifetime – 40 miles on
tired legs and a tired brain is just such a long way to go! We pushed the
flatter roads and trails, speed walked the up hills and tumbled down the down
hills. We passed the aid stations somewhat rapidly at first, determined, but
with each steep climb, we grew a bit more disillusioned. And yet, it was clear
to me that Claudia had the right fighter mentality to carry on – we were going to
finish, somehow, some way we would get through this! Our big goal was mile 70,
which meant the return to Camp Ten Bear. From there – only 30 more miles to go!
At some point around 8:30 pm, darkness set in, and we put on our head lamps,
our eyes and senses adjusting to the darkness. I have a love/hate relationship with
darkness in ultras – there’s always a sleep away camp, fun we are out in the
middle of the night in the woods appeal to me, and then there’s the more
realistic, grown up version of being out in the woods: It’s dark! There are
noises! This is like being in a horror movie! Anything or anyone can jump out
and get me!
Through the trails,
into the mud, alongside the horses – and the inevitable what goes up must come
down
I came to dread the trails and look forward to the road – it
was a timing thing. The roads were easier to navigate and I didn’t have to
worry about mud or any technical trail, which meant that I could more
efficiently on the roads. The trails, though, while not overly rooty or
technical, were technical enough, and muddy enough, in conjunction with the climbing
and descents, to merit careful footwork and mental attention. There was one
point, around mile 65, in the darkness, that Garesh, who I had driven from our
hotel to the race start that morning, screamed out “Jodi!” and turning for a
brief moment, I almost lost my footing down a steep incline and flew forward. A
heart attack moment, and I steadied myself quickly, and lucky for me and the
folks in front of me, I didn’t create a domino effect. Garesh grabbed me,
steadying me, his bright grin smiling at me – “thank goodness,” he said when
falling was no longer in my fate. Due to the excessive rain the week prior to
the race (Lake Champlain was at record highs and roads had been so badly
flooded they were closed!), there was plenty of mud and muck along the way. And
that would have all been fine, only there were horses sharing the route with
us, and as they apparently got to where I was going before I did, portions of
the journey were especially sloppy and slushy and messy. At first, it was fun, exciting, to see the
horses beside me and to watch them pass me by, but when the trails got a bit
messy and technical, I was not interested in traveling close to the horses; I
often stepped aside to let them pass by.
Calories on the go
For this race, I had trained to use gels. They are easy to
carry, and in the Florida heat, I have found them the easiest way to get down
calories. That said, come race day, everything changes for me. I did manage to
get down a few gels early in the race, but somewhere along the way, I was not
interested in gels. I ate…a few bites of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
here and there, some potato chips, and at Camp Ten Bear, I ate watermelon and
took a few sips of Boost, which I have not drank in over a year. I ate
cantaloupe at one of the aid stations, which was delicious and I tried to eat a
cookie at Margaretville, but I wasn’t very interested in it. Later in the race,
I resorted back to gels when I started to feel depleted. I drank a bit of coca
cola here and there, too, but relied most heavily on water. I didn’t have food
issues this race, but I also didn’t have that much of an appetite. I know,
though, that I need to get in calories, and so do my best to get something down
when I can. I remember at some point in the race thinking about the gluten free
ginger cookie I ate the prior night at the barbeque, and feeling nauseous over
it. I also ate some M&M’s at the 84th mile aid station. One
thing there was not a shortage of this race, was aid stations! And yet, as
there was so much climbing, I felt as if I needed each of the aid stations to
replenish my water.
What it’s all about
For me, a race is really about my relationship with myself –
how deep inside of myself am I willing to go to find the energy and strength to
go on. It’s about the story I tell yourself – am I a winner? A loser? A
quitter? A go getter? Am I a person that looks out for others? Am I someone who
takes responsibility for myself, or am I someone who seeks excuses when the
going gets tough? And there’s not any one answer – during a race, I become all
of those selves, but when I cross the finish line, because I choose to believe
I am heading there, who is that self? That’s what each race seems to teach me.
Whoever I may be when I start the race, may not be who I am when I cross the
finish line. And often, that’s a good thing.
For me, a race is an exercise in perseverance, an
opportunity to focus and quiet my mental chatter, much like I do each day when
I roll out my yoga mat and start my practice. A race is about persistence,
passion, believing, and trusting in the universe and in ourselves. I passed High Hopes Farm and smiled, because
I did have high hopes – for this race, for my life – I had hope, or maybe a
trust that everything was exactly how it was supposed to be, that I was right
where the universe wanted me to be and that this experience, like all others in
my life, was perfect and that there was nothing I needed or wanted – that all I
had to do was just be and keep going and keep believing, beyond a shadow of a doubt,
that everything was perfect.
More done than not
Claudia had two friends meeting her at Camp Ten Bear/70
miles, who were to pace her through the night – a married couple, Sondra and
Matthew. To my good fortune, I became part of team Claudia and got to share the
next 19 miles with her crew. First Matt led the way, telling us stories all the
while, and then his wife Sondra took over, at around mile 79, and led us for
the next ten miles. I rarely have a crew come out to help me on a course—I tend
to run a lot of races with running buddies—but then, there, in Vermont, on that
course, I was overjoyed to be part of a team. It was just too dark, too much
between hills and trails and roads for me to have to face it all on my own
through the night. Team Claudia talked about everything, from Vermont life
(Matt and Sondra had lived there during his MD residency), to dogs and hikes
and New York City, my hometown and where they all lived, to running and
activities and the crazy course we were on.
Our one mishap happened right after we left the mile 70 aid station – we
turned the wrong way on the trail, missing one of the yellow arrow plate
markers and headed up a super steep tree covered hill. It was as if we were
climbing up a hill that had been destroyed by a hurricane. As we climbed, tree
limbs scratching our flesh, I could not imagine that it was the right way. It
was just way too everything—steep, technical, and impassable! And then, as if
by magic, a crew of runners called out to us and pointed us in the right
direction. Climbing down, making our way towards the right trail, we were
relieved we hadn’t gone too far off course, even if we had lost some time as a
result.
Around mile 75, I intersected with a runner who had been
slowly deteriorating for the last 10 or so miles. He was grimacing in
pain. Claudia and Matt leading the way,
I was close behind, so when the deteriorating g runner asked me, “How far do
you plan to go?” the question startled me. He and his pacer at that moment were
busy searching for large branches which they were using to make him make-shift
canes. “ I plan to go to the finish line,” I said. “Huh,” was his response, and
it was clear that in his smugness, he doubted that Claudia and I would finish. A few miles later, Matt left us and Sondra
took over team Claudia. New stories, new pace, new energy! Heading out of the aid station at mile 84, two cars passed me, their headlights blinding in the darkness, but what I was able to make out was that the first one had the initials KW in it, and the second one did, too. KW: Karen Weiss. What I love about those moments in an ultra, or in life, is that I don’t have to lend thought to it; the moment I saw those license plates, I gazed up into the foggy sky, and took in whatever stars were visible and thanked my mom for being there with me, and always seeing me through.
With Claudia and Sondra beside me, we headed towards aid
station 89, the first break of day apparent in the horizon. It was cool and the
air was frosted, but with each step, we were making our way to the finish. We
jogged as much as we could, and stopped to walk when our legs commanded us to
do so. We passed some of the most beautiful farm houses and took in such a
peaceful and optimistic sun rise – it was a new, glorious day, and we were
okay: focused, moving, and happy. At the mile 89 aid station, we glopped our
legs with Ben Gay – my legs became a frozen and numb nothingness under me.
Claudia at one point had burning/freezing legs and she wondered if something
was wrong. I drank a Boost, or as much of it as I could get down, and then we
were off! I was feeling better, happy! The sun had risen in full bloom, and
with the light of day, everything was hopeful: the birds were singing, the cows
were standing and Mooing – and I thought, when was the last time I heard a cow
Moo so loud and clear. There were moments of bliss when we were on stretches of
road. Road was easy – road meant we could look straight ahead, road meant we
could pick up speed, gain some time, move! But then, there were the trails. And
there were even some of the high grass fields thrown in, which were soupy,
slushy messes.
Mile 92 and counting
We were almost done! Claudia and I had decided that we were
not going to stop at the 92nd mile aid station – we had enough water
and the more progress we made, the better off we were. Onward was our mantra.
But then, as I approached the aid station, I saw my dad’s back as he sat in a
chair. Was he waiting for me? Was he working at the AS? I screamed out to him,
and then I was upon him. “Dad!” I called out, stopping for a moment, hugging
him. “How are you?” He gave me his happy-as-can-be-smile and said he was fine.
One of his new aid station buddies told me that they had been looking for me all
race, which made me smile – I was on the course the whole race. Where else
could I have been?
Claudia, adhering to our no stop decision, screamed at me –
“keep moving, let’s go! No socializing! We are not stopping!” I explained –
“it’s my dad!” and she didn’t get it at first, until I told her again pointing
at him – “my dad!” And then she got it but still motioned for me to come along,
which I did, telling my dad that I would see him at the finish line.
And then it was over
We jogged and walked, walked and jogged, lamented over our
legs, over the hills, over this race, and then we hit the joy streak at mile
95, when we realized that it was almost over – that soon, this would be a
memory. That we would not be climbing hills forever. The end of the course went
something like this: uphill, more uphill on the road, then back into the trail,
then more uphill, then some level ground that was joggable, then some downhill,
then road, then more trail, and uphill, uphill, just when you thought you were
done with only 2 miles to go, more uphill, lots of soupy/muddy/messy trail
which went on and on and then, out of the trail more uphill, and then finally,
still climbing, a bit more to go and then exiting with only a stretch of grassy
land separating us from the finish line. The race was over! Done! 29 hours and
11 minutes. I didn’t remember one minute
of struggle as I crossed the finish line – hills? What hills?! I loved ultras
in that moment – I loved everyone on the course, I loved the volunteers, I
loved Vermont! There was my dad, there was Sondra, there was Matthew! My dad’s
ultra, which consisted of over 30 hours with no sleep and volunteering all
through the day/ night/ day was also over.
What I didn’t know
then
That morning when I finished Vermont 100, I didn’t know that
I would be running long again the following Saturday – 36 miles from Miami to Deerfield
Beach, and then 8 more on Sunday (that was when I bailed and decided it was
time for yoga!) with some of my FUR buddies. I didn’t know then that during that trek from
Miami to Deerfield Beach, I would seek shelter
from a thunder and lightning rain storm at a Motel 6, and later, sitting on the
curb, in the pouring rain, eat my first bean burrito from Taco Bell, then jog
past Fort Lauderdale Airport, the planes approaching their landings right
above. I didn’t know then, that the following Sunday night, I would be sitting
with a group of folks – some ultra veterans, others having completed their
first 2-day ultra trek from Miami to Palm Beach, in a restaurant in Palm Beach,
playing with puppies, who resided at Big Dog Ranch Rescue, which was the cause
for which we were involved in the ultra trek. And it was a good thing I didn’t
know, because when that race was over, I was so happy that I didn’t have to run
another ultra for a bit!
