Fossil Valley 9-Hour Race: What does it mean to "finish" a timed race?

I remember reading an Ultrarunning Magazine article where Gary Cantrell discussed his race, Big Backyard Ultra.  Here's the description of the race from ultrasignup.com:

The concept is simple. 
At 0700 hours on Saturday, October 15, we will start a race around the 4.166667 mile Big Trail. 
The time limit will be one hour.
At 0800 hours, we will begin another race around the trail.
We will do the same at 0900, 1000, and so on, 
every hour, on the hour,
until only one runner can complete a race within the time limit.
Any runner not in the starting corral for any race, is not eligible to continue.
No late starts!
If no single runner can complete a race at the end, 
there will be no winner.

As I recall the article, it lamented the fact that runners tend to quit before they absolutely cannot go any further.  Some quit because they are just tired or sore and want to be done.  Some quit because they have a preconceived goal of how many miles they want to hit, and once they hit that, they feel like they've accomplished what they came for.  But almost no one quits because they literally can't take one more step.  In fact, I think Cantrell said that letting yourself slow down to the point where you're "timed out" is basically the same as quitting.  

I thought about this idea a lot during my race this weekend: what counts as "quitting" or "giving up" in a timed race?  Is not giving your absolute hardest effort essentially the same as DNFing when it's a timed race?  

I started off the Fossil Valley 9-hour race pushing pretty hard, especially given the heat, humidity, tough nature of the course, and length of time we'd be out there.  Eventually I let up a bit, still running everything but the hardest inclines, but not pushing the pace, in an effort to keep my heart rate down and save something for later.  

As I ran, I kept doing the math in my head: Was I on track to finish 17 loops, like Anabel did last year for the win?  I thought so, but only if I kept my pace consistent and didn't have positive splits.  Looking at my Strava, I was very consistent; each loop was between 31 and 36 minutes (the 36-minute loop included a porta potty stop).  

When I finally got to loop 16, as the sun rose and I ditched my headlamp, I knew the timing would be very tight.  It was about 6:25am, so I'd only have 34 minutes to finish the loop if I wanted to go for a 17th loop.  (You cannot start a new loop after 7am.)  I figured the 16th loop would take me 35 minutes; after all, I was exhausted, hot, and really over running 2.67-mile loops all night.  Honestly, I very much hoped I wouldn't make it back to the start/finish before 7am; the last thing I wanted to do was go out for one more loop -- especially since I was in 2nd place by a ways and wouldn't have any affect on my place by doing extra work out there.  

But then I thought again about what Cantrell's point.  Was I a quitter?  Have I ever quit in a race?  Why would I start now, even when there is not chance of winning?  Is that really the only reason I race: to win?  Or is it that in racing, in pushing myself and testing my limits, I learn more about myself, I become a stronger person, and I define my character?

I ran loop 16 in 31:33, as hard as I could at that point, after 8.5 hours of running through the night.  When I got to the final straightaway at the end of loop 16, I ran as fast as I could, still secretly hoping I wouldn't make it before 7am, but leaving it up to God.  As I approached the start/finish area, David Hanenburg, the race director, yelled at me, "You've got 45 seconds!  Are you going?"  I hurriedly asked if I was still in 2nd place -- I was clearly still undecided whether it was worth it to go.  But David repeated, "45 seconds if you want to go!"  So without filling my water bottle or grabbing any nutrition, I took off, yelling, "I'm going!" as I punched my fist in the air.  The runners and spectators sitting all around the start/finish cheered, and off I went.

As soon as I turned the corner and was in the woods by myself again, I popped what felt like the 20th Montana Huckleberry Hammer gel I'd eaten that night.   Since I had thought loop 16 would be my last, I had stopped eating awhile ago.  I was also out of water, and maybe a bit dehydrated; after eating about 2/3 of the gel packet, I started retching.  My utterance at that time, "F--- this sh-t!"  reveals that despite my heroics in taking off for a lost-cause 17th loop that wouldn't affect my podium standings, I was still not happy to be out there.  But I did still have some Tailwind, and I had my friend Joe waiting for me to finish, so I carried on as fast as I could.  Loop 17 took me 34 minutes, meaning I still ran all of it except those two killer hills.  

When I finished, I did feel a contentment that I gave it my all; I fought to the finish.  I think I feel happier now than I would have felt if I'd just quit after loop 16, before the full 9 hours had expired.  But what does this teach me about myself?  Maybe that I'm very prideful when it comes to risking labeling myself as a quitter.  Maybe that I get a weird pleasure out of pushing myself as far as I can go, and I get positive reinforcement from not giving up.  Maybe that I like to be the underdog and fight for a lost cause.  I'm not really sure.

One thing I do know, is that I need a break from running.  I've raced 3 ultras in 5 weeks, and I've pushed hard at all of them.  That also means that I've pulled 3 all-nighters in 5 weeks, because they were all night races.  I'm feeling a bit burned out and unmotivated.  I told myself during the race that my reward for pushing so hard could be not running all this week.  Isn't that sad, that a runner's reward to herself would be not having to run?  That's definitely a sign that I need a few days off.  Maybe it's a good time to learn how to play Pokemon Go?  

Me and Katie pre-race (Katie ran the 6-hour race and won!)

North Fork 50 Mile Race

The Trail Sisters recently posted an article about the value of race reports.  I agree with them that the value lies both in sharing potentially helpful information about racing, as well as in providing a means of self-reflection for the race report author.  Writing a race recap helps me process what went well, what I could have done better, and how I feel about my performance.  It might sound silly, but I really don't immediately know how I feel about a race.  For instance, right now, three weeks after Cruel Jewel, I'm still not sure whether I should feel happy, disappointed, proud, etc. about that race.  So here's my brief attempt to capture the highlights of last weekend's race in Pine, Colorado and do some of that mental processing.

Me and Don, at packet pick-up on Friday

The Course

The race begins with a nearly 1,000-foot climb.  From there, it's a lot of up and down, taking the 50-milers to a high of about 8,400 feet at the turnaround.  50-milers start with the 50k-ers and don't separate until around mile 16, at which time we did an 18-mile section before rejoining the 50k course.  The trails were occasionally single-track mountain bike trails, sometimes double-track, and sometimes jeep road.  There were some rocks and roots to watch for, and a few trees blocking the path, but mostly the surface was sandy and gravelly, so not technical.  Some areas were through pine forests, with little to no underbrush, alongside cold, babbling streams.  Other sections took us through burned-out areas, where you could see all the way to snow-capped peaks in the distance.  It was just a gorgeous course.

Positive Self-Talk

I've been watching the TV show Boundless, which follows a group of endurance athletes as they test their mettle at races around the globe.  I've been impressed by Rory Bosio's use of positive self-talk to get her through low points in races and turn things around.  I tried to focus on that during the race. For example, I've been having some Achilles issues, so during the race, when it was hurting badly, I said to myself, "Well, at least it's still attached."  That, plus four ibuprofin, really helped the situation.

Uphill Battles

I took the first big climb very conservatively, because I was worried about how the altitude would affect me; I've never done a race that went over 3,000 feet above sea level before, much less 8,000 feet.  But after that, I quickly realized that a strategy of hiking every uphill was not going to cut it in this race; I'd be walking half the time.  So I began a strategy of counting my steps.  I told myself I'd count 120 steps of running up the hill, and then I could walk for 60 steps before starting to run again.  I followed this general strategy throughout the race, although oftentimes I would keep running past the 120-step mark, because I'd feel good enough to go a few more steps, or because I had already made it to the top.

Elevation (Non)Issues

I don't know how much the elevation affected me during this race.  It's true that I was a bit more breathless and felt like I had a higher heart rate, especially on inclines, than I normally would.  However, there are other factors that could have contributed to this, including the heat, the fact that I just ran Cruel Jewel 100 three weeks ago and might not be fully recovered, and the fact that I've been running really inconsistently for the past month or so, due to some SI joint issues, tapering, and recovery time.  I didn't have any headache or stomach issues, and I had a pretty decent race time, so all in all I'd say my fears about the altitude were unfounded.  This makes me eager to try a higher-elevation race sometime soon.

Aid Stations

The aid stations had ample gels, in as many flavors as you'd like, as long as you only like 3 flavors.  I made use of those, as well as plenty of cut-up Paydays, Chips Ahoy cookies, Coke, water, and a purple drink that Edward later told me was Gu Brew.  Whenever I came to an aid station, I'd just ask them to fill one bottle with water and one with purple drank.  [Don't do drugs, kids.]  One time when I came into an aid station, I was a little foggy, so my request came out like this: "One purple and one [Think, brain. White? Clear? Oh, yeah --] water, please."  

Weather

Race day was picture-perfect: warm (70s), dry,with  sunny skies.  During our entire trip, Edward and I commented on how it felt hotter than the temperature would lead us to believe.  Maybe it's due to the elevation.  Anyway, it felt really warm during the race.  I was carrying two 12-oz bottles in my vest, as well as an empty bladder, "just in case."  The only time I needed more than what was in my bottles was during the stretch from mile 22 to mile 27, which I ran with Edward.  I realized I was getting low on fluids, so I started rationing.  Then I ran out, with about a mile and a half left to the aid station.  When I got there, I noticed they didn't have any cups out with soda -- they had cold, full cans set out.  I think my eyes got really wide with excitement as I greedily grabbed a cold Coke.  I chugged an entire can and then ran out of the aid station.  Miraculously, it didn't cause any stomach issues.  It was the best Coke I've had in my life.  I felt much better after that, and bonus: it made me stop and pee, at which point Edward caught up to me.  Hey Coca-Cola execs: How about this for a new slogan?  "Coke: Reuniting running buddies through diuretic properties since 1892."  Okay, it needs finessing, but that's why they have a marketing department.  

Unnecessary Signs

Between miles 22-27 and miles 27-32, the trail winds near a gun range.  It sounded like people were firing canons or Howitzers.  Signs read, "Gun range nearby.  Stay on trail."  No need to tell me twice!  It was during this stretch, on the way to the mile-32 aid station, that I lost Edward to the lure of a cold stream.  

Mountain Bikes

Being that it was a gorgeous weekend -- it sounded like it was the best weather they've had yet this year -- there were tons of mountain bikers out on the trails.  They were very considerate and even encouraging to the runners.  They were also a good source of entertainment.  Here was the best mountain biker conversation I overheard:

Dad to kid, during a descent: "Look where you want to go!"

Kid to dad: "I'm looking.  I don't like my options!"

High Point

Coming towards the mile 38 aid station, I was running well and passed 3 ladies and a guy or two in quick succession.  I sped through the aid station and enjoyed a stretch of about 3 miles of downhill running.  That felt great.  Then the trail flattened out, and the last mile seemed to take forever.  I kept expecting the aid station around every bend, but no dice.  The thing that kept pulling me along was Light-Blue Shirt Guy (LBSG), who I could see half a mile ahead of me.  When I pulled into the 42-mile aid station, he was there, getting ragged on by his friends, the volunteers, who had been at a bottle of whisky all day.  They were encouraging me to drop him "like a bad habit," and telling him to "Stop f---ing around with your vest and go already."  LBSG didn't seem too amused.

Low Point

Those aid station workers told me what I already knew from studying the course info online: the next stretch, miles 42-46, included a 3-mile climb.  I dreaded it, and headed out prepared to powerhike most of it.  Maybe due to that expectation, I felt very low in energy, and let myself hike a lot, chatting it up with LBSG until I did eventually drop him.  This was the only stretch where, looking back on the race, I feel like I didn't push myself as hard as I could have and should have.  I could have gained time here and maybe gotten 4th place instead of 5th.  (4th beat me by about 5 minutes).  I kept taking gels every 20 minutes, as is now my habit when I'm feeling low in energy, and also sucking on Gu Brew, but to no avail.  Fortunately, the aid station came more quickly than I thought it would -- I'm not sure that it was really 4 miles, or that the climb was actually 3 miles long.  But I'm not complaining! 

Home Stretch

Man, was I happy to see that last aid station!  Only 4 miles to the finish, and it was almost entirely downhill.  I left with a male runner -- we never exchanged names -- and we chatted about races for a bit.  He had done UTMB last year, and sat next to Zach Miller on the plane ride home.  The funny thing is, all he registered at the time was Zach's mustache and head-to-toe Nike gear; he didn't realize who it was -- the winner of CCC -- until he later watched Billy Yang's film of the race.  

After a while, the jeep road gave way to singletrack, and it was harder to hear one another and continue conversing.  From that point on, we silently pushed one another, not letting ourselves back off until the finish.  I'm so glad we were together; if not for him being there, I would almost certainly have let up and not pushed myself that hard.

Alligators?

The last 1/2 mile of the race is along a pretty lake.  I had pushed past my running buddy and was trying to kick all-out to the finish.  I was pretty gassed, and not thinking clearly.  So when I passed a sign that read "No swimming," I wondered for a fraction of a second: Do they have alligators here?  Wait, where am I?  It honestly took me a second to remember I was in Colorado, and no, they don't have alligators here.

Finish

I finished in 10:48, one minute faster than I ran Mesquite Canyon 50 and Monument Valley 50 earlier this spring.  That makes me feel good, knowing that this was at a higher elevation than both the others, with substantially more climbing than Monument Valley.  

Instead of medals, which I never keep, we got unique finisher bowls, which the artist signed on the bottom.  I also got a nice pint glass etched with 2nd place in the 30-39 age group.

The After Party

Hanging out after the race was so fun.  Don (who killed the 50k, as I expected), Helena, Edward, and I enjoyed playing around with Hudson, drinking free Avery beers (okay, I nursed mine and then tossed it), and eating free food.  The race organizers prepare food and drinks for everyone in attendance -- not just the runners.  It was great, and it stayed light out until well after 8:00, when my college buddy Caroline came to pick me up and spend the rest of the weekend with her.  It was sad to say goodbye to Don and Helena; I really enjoyed staying with them and Edward at the "Hauk Family B&B."  (I haven't decided on my Yelp rating yet.  On the positive side, Don makes a mean breakfast burrito.  On the negative side, the room service is terrible.)

I don't have to do much processing to come to the conclusion that this was a great race experience and that I'd recommend it to anyone.  I am already looking forward to the next time I can visit Colorado and explore another race there!  

Post-race selfie: The whole crew

Cruel Jewel "100": Race Recap

Pre-race

I met Rob Goyen and Steven Monte at the Atlanta airport, and we drove to Blairsville, with a stop for amazing pizza along the way.  When we checked into our hotel, I received an envelope from the front desk clerk; inside was a handmade card from my amazing Trail Racing Over Texas teammate Katie, with motivational quotes on little slips of paper!  I carried them with me all 37 hours of the race.

Katie's inspirational surprise!

Race Day: The Start

The race start was Friday at noon, which was kind of nice, because we got to sleep in.  I don't think I've ever gotten nine hours of sleep the night before a race until this experience!

The pre-race briefing was basically: "If you DNF, do it at an aid station.  Follow the pink ribbons.  Red is dead.  Your SPOT tracker might not work; don't come bitching to me if it doesn't."

From the gun, Gia and Steven and pretty much ALL the other runners left me in their dust. I hadn't run for two weeks, and my back was so stiff and sore that my running gait was more of a shuffle.  I didn't want to take tons of ibuprofen during the race, because I know it can lead to rhabdomyolysis, and I had already taken four that morning.  However, I made it only fourteen minutes into the race before I concluded that the risk was worth it; I couldn't make it 108 miles with this SI joint as bad as it was.  I decided I would be sure to stay well hydrated and take pills as sparingly as possible.  By the race's end, I had taken a total of 12 ibuprofen, mixed with probably 7 caffeine pills.  Towards the end of the race, I didn't do great at hydration, but I did say a little apology to my kidneys when I took my final dose of ibuprofen, so I felt like that made up for it.

Warming Up

My doc, the best in the world, told me he thought it might take maybe 10 miles for my SI joint to loosen up.  It actually took about 40 miles, but then it did really feel better.  At the mile 20.6* aid station, Rob told me there were only 8 runners behind me.  Eight.  I spent the rest of the race, once I felt better, trying to move up in the field.

*All distances provided for this race were short, by all accounts.  If it was supposed to be 5.5 miles from one point to the next, it was liable to actually be 6.  If it was supposed to be 7.6, it would actually be 8.1.  Some information about the race online says it's a 106-mile race; some says it's 108 miles.  I'm guessing it's at least 110.

The early miles are all a blur to me, but my biggest impression was regarding the landscape.  I'd never been to Georgia before, and didn't know what to expect.  What we got, in the Chattahoochie National Forest, was what Gia described as a green tunnel: the tall trees provided a shady canopy that kept us cool in the 75-degree heat, while obscuring any and all views of the beautiful, smoky mountains in every direction.  Literally, there was not a single nice vista in the entire race course; all you could see were teases of the views that might have been.

Some of the beautiful views we did not get to see

I had a lot of time to reflect on the landscape, because as soon as we hit the trails, I was almost immediately alone.  The only times during the race when there were people around me were the Deep Gap loops, the stretch to the turnaround at Camp Morganton and back, and the Weaver Creek spur.  The rest of the time, I was left to my lonesome, alternately cursing aloud and silently: "F this f-ing course!"  (More on that later.)

This was the first race where I've used trekking poles.  They were a lifesaver on the climbs, although carrying them for that long posed some challenges.  Miraculously, I never tripped myself or poked anyone with them; however, I did accidentally throat-punch myself once when the end of my left pole rammed into a tree while I was running.  Could've done without that.

A Moveable Feast
Some people like to stand at aid stations, like they're at a buffet without plates.  Since time equals time, I like to grab some food and go.  I relied heavily on the aid station food at this race, rather than eating packaged food I brought with me.  I ate their potato chips, PBJs, grilled cheese, ramen, orzo, pickles, frosted cookies, and an oatmeal cream pie.  The most delicious food was a rice bar made with avocado and sweet potato.  I came up with this great system where I'd grab, say a dixie cup of orzo and a PBJ sandwich, stick the sandwich in the cup, and stick the cup in my bra.  Then I'd take off down the trail, and whenever I felt like I needed calories, I'd reach in and grab something.  It was so perfect! 

Rob ran something like 11 miles with me during the race, which was so much fun.  Once, as we were running, I reached into my bra and pulled out a quesadilla and started eating it.  Rob got this look of wonder/disgust.  Here was the conversation:

Rob: It was all fun and games until Julie pulled a quesadilla out of her boobs.
Me: Shit's getting real, Rob.
Rob: Shit's getting real real.

And then there was this conversation, at an aid station:

Me to Rob: Remind me to throw away my bra garbage.
Aid station volunteer to Rob: I'll take that cup.
Rob to Aid station volunteer: Lady, you do not want this cup.  Trust me, it's nasty.  Boob garbage.
Aid station volunteer: ???

(After the race, at 2:00am Sunday, back at the hotel, when I undressed to take a shower, multiple bread crusts fell out of my bra onto the floor.  Yikes.)

High Times, Low Times
I felt really good during the first night.  I passed a ton of people during the first Deep Gap loop, especially.  I guess I reluctantly embraced Chris's nickname, for me, "Mistress of the Night," even though it does make me sound like a hooker.  But coming back from the turnaround point (not quite halfway through the race), I had a low point.  The turnaround is in a shelter, with lights, flushing toilets, warmth, and humanity.  Leaving it at 11:45pm for the 50-degree darkness, knowing I still had 56 or so miles left to run, was not fun.  Especially since at the aid station I stupidly grabbed a potato and put enough salt on it to kill a million slugs.  My stomach immediately started cramping, and I spent the next couple hours alternating between stomach cramps, dives into the woods to take care of business, and not wanting to eat for fear of more problems.

The Devil's Buttcrack
When the sun came up, two guys from Ohio caught up to me.  I thought they'd want to pass, but they stayed behind me for the next 9.5 miles, for which I was so grateful.  Not only because the guy immediately behind me, Pacer John, was funny and entertaining and playing Beatles music, but also because Runner Steve sounded just as miserable as I felt.  That section, which took us on a spur trail to Weaver Creek Road, was basically a 2,000 foot descent into the seventh ring of hell.  With every steep step we took down the mountain, all I could think was, "No! Not more down!  We're just gonna have to come back up!"  I thought the descent would never end.  But then it did, and there was nothing for it but to turn around and head back up.  Again, thank goodness for John and Steve; suffering through that misery would have been much worse without them.  I was so grateful, in fact, that while John was telling me about Ohio, I actually said out loud, "Go Buckeyes!"  Don't worry; I immediately felt regret and secretly took it back.  I plead temporary insanity. 

The Road
We got to run on the road between Old Dial Rd and Wilscot Gap.  It was a really nice change of pace after all the up/down trails.  Despite the fact that it was a cloudless, bright sunny day, and I had neglected to carry a hat or sunglasses in my pack, I really enjoyed that 5.5-mile* section.  I was feeling good, Rob was with me, and he said later we were running 8-something-minute miles, which was great considering I'd run 80 miles already.  This was also where I moved into 5th place, which I held til the end.

The Dragon's Spine
There's a 4.9-mile* section (read: closer to 6) called the Dragon's Spine.  It's after the last dropbag location, about 82 miles into the race.  The entire race course travels up and down mountains constantly, and there's no such thing as a switchback.  But this particular section is a bitch and a half.  I thought it was never going to end.  Rob ran it on his own, and told me later that parts were literally 30% grade.  Long before this point, the front of my ankle/lower leg had swollen up and become very painful on the uphills, due to the angle my foot had to take on the ups.  This made it all the worse.  With each new uphill stretch, I'd look around, fully expecting to see other runners lying in a heap on the side of the trail, sobbing and begging for deliverance.  I was really proud of all of us, that we didn't; I can't be the only one who had a desire to do just that.  When I finally finished that section and dragged my @ss into the aid station, there were several runners sitting around in camp chairs, with dead eyes, looking broken.  I looked around at them, pointed behind me at the trail we'd just come from, and said, "What the hell was that?!"  The ones who had energy gave me a pity laugh.

Towards the Finish
Coming out of the Fish Gap aid station, I could not find my mojo.  Fifty-milers (who had started Saturday morning from the 100-mile turnaround) were passing me, and disappearing so quickly ahead of me on the downhills.  I just couldn't seem to go faster.  My head seemed to be floating above my body; I was really out of it.  Fortunately, I've been there before, and I remembered what Stefan told me at Cactus last year: "Maybe it's calories.  Take a gel every 20 minutes until you feel better."  I happened to have 3 gels on me, so I followed that strategy, and after the third one, I seemed to get a little mojo back.  I was able to run much more quickly down the hills, and with a couple miles left before the last manned aid station, I re-passed almost all the 50-milers who had passed me when I was feeling low.  Unfortunately, the next aid station didn't have any gels, so I took some cookies instead.  In the last 7.4 miles* (more like 9 miles), I didn't even care about eating or drinking.  I barely took a sip of water.  I downed ibruprofen #11 and #12, another caffeine pill, and emitted a cloud of profanity so large that it's probably still looming over the Georgia mountains.  

When it got dark, before I got to the last aid station, the wind picked up a ton, and it must've been around 40 degrees.  I pulled my arm warmers and light jacket out of my pack, and pulled my buff over my ears, but my poor legs were still freezing.  Part of that strectch in the dark followed a ridge line, where the trail was right next to a big drop-off.  This was the second night in a row of running on zero sleep, and I kept thinking, "What if I took one bad step and fell off the cliff? I could really benefit from a buddy system!"

There was one long stretch in the last 4 miles of the race where there were absolutely no course markings.  When I passed a guy in this section, he asked me if we were going the right way, and I said yeah, but after another 5 minutes of running, with no confidence markers in sight, I started to wonder.  Eventually I got worried enough to turn around and backtrack to the last marker.  Fortunately, before I had gone half a mile, I ran into someone who said he knew the trail, and we were on it.  But there was 1 extra mile that I didn't need when I'd already done over a hundred.  And then when we came to a road, I took it, thinking that, mercifully, this was the road we had started on, that led back to the start/finish.  Unfortunately, after a few minutes of running down the hill, I realized this was not the right road, so I had to turn around and go back up the bleeping hill.  Another half a mile or so that I didn't need to do.  

Back on the correct trail, again there was a distinct absence of trail markings.  And it seemed to last forever.  I'm not an angry person; I get mad maybe once per year.  But this was it for me.  I started angry-muttering.  Things like, "Great!  I hope this trail NEVER f---ing ends!"  Fortunately, the trail gods didn't hold it against me, and the race did end.  I crossed the finish line, received my enormous buckle, and found my friends waiting in the warm shelter.  Here's me forcing a smile for Rob:

At some point on the Dragon's Spine, I said to myself, "F--- running.  I need to reexamine my life choices.  What the hell am I doing here?"  Steven said that something similar crossed his mind, that during the race he thought about retiring from running.  Of course, by Sunday he was already thinking about coming back for his 3rd Cruel Jewel.  (I told him he's out of his f---ing mind.)  As for me, I'm not eager to do this particular race again, but I am thinking about other mountain hundreds.  After all, if I could accomplish this, which seemed impossible, injured or not, it would be cool to see what else is possible.  It's kind of fun (albeit in a sick and twisted way) to test yourself with a challenge you've never experienced, where there's an actual risk of failure, and feel that accomplishment of coming out on the other side, scraped and swollen and sore, but alive.  

One lingering effect of this race, in case you haven't noticed, is that I'm still cursing like a sailor-turned-truck-driver who also works part time on an oil rig.  It's coming out in my writing, for which I apologize.  Hopefully that will wear off soon, at least until the next mountain race.  (Oh, which is in 3 weeks.)

One story from a recent race . . . and of course, potty humor

Wait a sec.  Do you enjoy bathroom humor?  Whoopee cushions?  Fake vomit?  If yes, proceed.  If no, please close this window and peruse something else, because I'd hate to lose your friendship by offending you with the following story.  

I really hesitated to type up this story at all.  I think it's hilarious, and have really enjoyed sharing it face-to-face with folks, but I'm not sure how it will play in written form.  Here goes nothing.

This story comes from a recent ultramarathon I ran in the desert.  Prior to the start of the race, I went to the bathroom, but wished I could've done more.  (Runners, you all know the feeling.)  Around mile 30, I finally felt like it was time.  No one else was in sight; I had passed two male runners maybe half a mile back, so if I was going to go, I should go now.  

Just one problem: to my left, sand.  To my right, sand.  In front of and behind me: sand.  And some scraggly tumbleweeds.  So I got into squat position off the trail, next to two tumbleweeds.  That's when I pondered the next problem: what shall I use to wipe myself?  My usual trail-running toilet paper (rocks, grass, leaves, pinecones facing in the right direction) were nowhere to be seen.  I certainly couldn't use sand: can you imagine the chafing?  

As I glanced down at my hydration vest, inspiration!  It suddenly came to me that I'd been carrying around this quesadilla from an aid station for a couple hours, in the hot sun.  I didn't really want to eat it anyway, by this point.  

So.

Yes.

I used a quesadilla to wipe myself.  I then buried my business in sand, like a cat, and stood up to continue my race -- just as the two gentlemen I mentioned earlier came into view behind me.  "Whew!  Good timing!" I thought.  

Just then, an older man on horseback came into sight cresting the hill ahead of me.  He pointed to the sky behind me and commented, "Helicopter."  I didn't even bother looking back; this guy must be crazy.  What would a helicopter be doing in the middle of the desert?  Seeing my lack of comprehension, he again pointed and said, "There's a big helicopter behind you!"  In disbelief, I turned my head and saw, approaching from behind, the race director's drone, zooming around to capture footage of the race.  

I was on the course for almost 11 hours.  This was the one time I went to the bathroom, and the one time I saw the drone.  Good timing?  Or the worst timing ever?  I'm not sure what the range of a drone camera is.  If it did get footage of me with the quesadilla . . . well, that may be the next big viral video.  And if so, maybe I'll be on Good Morning America or something.  And you can all say you knew me when . . .

Race report: Mesquite Canyon 50M

Short on time?  Here's the condensed version:

The night before the race, I wrote in my journal that I was feeling a combination of anxious/nervous/scared.  To quote my journal entry, "I just have no idea what to expect from the trails, how I'll feel, when I'll finish, anything!"  I have never run a mountain race before, I was up against mostly local runners who presumably have some experience on the course, and I'd gotten dire warnings about the intense toughness of the course from my friend Chris, who had run the 50k before:

But then I revisited my journal entry from the night before Rocky Raccoon 100M, where I had written a prayer I heard from my pastor back home in Minnesota, Fr. Richard: "God, you're here with me now.  You'll be with me then.  So I let go."  

After praying this, I felt my stress level immediately go down.  I released any pretense of control and just relaxed, realizing everything was in God's hands.  Even during the race, I repeated the prayer to myself, when I'd feel myself starting to worry over what place I was in, how I was feeling, etc.  After I finished, as people asked how my race was, all I could think to say was, "It was fun!"  And that was the truth.  Thanks to my new-found relaxed attitude, I just really enjoyed the day.  I never really had any low spots, and I smiled a lot.  The end. . . . unless you want the longer version:

The Longer Version:

I arrived in Phoenix the afternoon before the race, picked up my rental, and drove to White Tank Mountain Regional Park.  My rental car was my hotel room for the night, and it provided 8 hours of sleep . . . although I woke up once every hour to attempt to find a more comfortable position.  (Never happened.)

Wise words from my friend Edward gave me some encouragement:

In the morning, I spotted Jamil Coury (fangirl!), set out my drop bags, and admired the laid-back atmosphere of Aravaipa's races.  No runners approached the start line until literally 5 minutes before race time, when the race coordinator made some announcements about the course markings.  And then we were off!  I set out on my "All Day" pace, since that's how long we'd be out.  I never let myself think of it as a race until at least halfway through -- for better or worse, that's my strategy.

The 50-mile race was two loops: the first loop followed the 50k course, and the second loop followed the 30k course.  During the first loop, I toggled between 3rd, 4th, and 2nd place.  Although I loved the beautiful desert views -- mountains, saguaro, flowering cacti -- I kept my focus on my right foot, which I re-injured last week at the Pandora's 52M race, making sure to not take any bad steps and roll it again.  Coming into the start/finish at the end of loop 1, the 1st female, Jen, passed me heading out on her second loop.  I judged that she was about 2 miles ahead of me.

Loop 2: Pulling out all the Stops

The second loop, for me, means the race has really started.  So I gave up my "All Day" pace and switched to a push.  I also pulled out all my tricks:

1. Music!  Everyone should have Neil Diamond's "Brother Love's Traveling Show" on hand for races.
2. Pedialyte.  As my buddy Edward says, "Electrolytes!  It's what plants need!"
3. Caffeine pill
4. Ice in my hydration bladder.  And after every ice-cold sip, blowing through the nozzle so the water didn't hang out in the tube getting warm.
5. Replaying inspirational quotes in my head from my current favorite video, which everyone should watch.  "Think of it this way.  It took 11 Apollo missions to make it to the moon.  So you have 10 tries before I consider you a failure."  "Feeling like a loser 'cause you only have $5 in your pocket?  Well, you still have $53,000,005 more than Kanye West."

Amusing the Passers-By

Owing to the beautiful, mid-70s weather, tons of hikers were out and about on the trails.  They were all very kind to move aside for the racers and offer encouraging words.  I entertained a small group of them when I (for about the 6th time that day) tripped and stubbed my right toes against a rock.  They emitted a collective gasp, but I just kept running and called back to them, "It happens!" which seemed to amuse them very much.

The one not-pleasant interaction with a hiker came on my 3rd journey up Goat Climb, a tough ascent.  I was laboring up the climb, hands on knees, when a leisurely hiker coming down told me, "At the rate you're going, you won't get anywhere for hours!"  Me externally: "That's cruel." *good-natured chuckle*  Me internally: Thanks, a-hole.

Deep Questions

I did that thing I do, where I don't want to stop to pee, because it's a race and all, so I hold it for 30 miles.  Does anyone else do this?  It can't be good for me, I know.  My Garmin read 33.25 miles when I finally stopped to go.  I wonder what the record is for holding it.

Oops

When I picked up my headlight around 3pm (just in case I didn't make it to the finish line before dark), it was already turned on.  It had probably been on ALL DAY.  Dang it.  I could hear Edward's voice in my head: "WTF, Julie, learn how to use your damn headlamp!"  Sorry, Edward!  Please sign me up for your next headlamp class.  At least that was good motivation to hurry up and finish before dark.  

Iron Stomach for the Win

I usually bring my own nutrition to races, but since packing space was limited, I relied on aid stations for most of my nutrition this time.  Coming into the Bajada aid station on loop 2, I said, "You guys had the best bean burritos last time."  The volunteer responded, "The secret is, it's from a can.  And we take it out and let it breathe for four hours in the hot desert sun."  I said, "You could tell me anything, and I'll still eat it."

Unsurprisingly, my 2nd bean burrito made my tummy hurt.

Surprisingly, my 3rd bean burrito made me feel great.

PS: That 3rd bean burrito fell on the ground, but I still ate it.  Now with minerals!

All 3 bean burritos were somewhere in my digestive tract when I passed Jen, who had stopped to puke.  I felt almost ashamed of my careless burrito ingestion when she was unable to tolerate anything at all.  I offered her ginger chews and Tums, but she said she just needed to stop for a bit.  After I passed her, I really put on the gas, not wanting to relinquish the lead and never knowing just how far back Jen was, and if she was feeling better.  Sadly, at the finish line I learned that she had to pretty much walk it in from that point, which was about 10 miles from the end.  She was so determined and strong to keep going!

Finished

This was honestly the first race in my life where I've been a little disappointed to see the finish line.  It was just such a fun day, I was sad to see it come to an end.  But how cool to see friends at the finish line, when you feel like you're in a foreign land and don't know anyone!  I saw Dave James, who I met at Team RWB Trail Camp, and who is now working at Aravaipa.  And I met Ana, a Rockhopper who hangs out with Tanya and Jason.  It was great talking with Dave and Amy, and Ana and her family, as well as Jen and her friends.  The wood-fired pizza and beer were nice touches, too.

At the finish, with Dave James

Meeting Ana, a Rockhopper from San Antonio, who finished her 50k!

We missed the 3rd place female!

Didn't need the headlamp, thank goodness.  Approaching the finish.

Rocky Raccoon Highlights 2016

This was my 3rd time doing the Rocky Raccoon 100M.  Some people dislike the race, because it consists of 5 loops.  I guess compared to the Habanero 100, which is 14 loops, five really doesn't seem all that bad.  It's a fun course, with a good amount of root-dodging and rolling hills.  Plus, I like seeing the tall pine trees, which is such a different landscape than what we're used to in San Antonio.  I hope to keep running Rocky in years to come and keep learning how to do a better job there.

I suck at race reports, because I can barely think straight during a race, let alone remember all the details.  So here are just a few notable highlights:

Biggest Mistake
Probably my biggest mistake of the race was in my shoe selection.  I started the race in my Altra Lone Peaks, which were great for the first 40 miles, but I've been having calf pain, and my calves and feet were bothering me.

So at mile 40, I changed into my Brooks Cascadia 10s -- even though I've never worn that model of shoe before.  (I loved my Cascadia 9s, but they have huge holes in them now.)  I know what you're thinking: That's the #1 rule, not to try anything new on race day.  Well,

And yeah, my feet hurt a lot right now.  What's your point?


Best Use of Movie Quote

-Matt Zmolek, upon running into me on his way to a smoking fast finish time.  I was so overcome by delighted surprise that I couldn't think of a good comeback, except to shout out a quote from Ace Ventura about 20 miles later when I ran into him again.

Race Tunes 
Best pump-up song on my iPod: Get Back, Ludacris
Best line from a song on my iPod: "And that's about the time that b**** hung up on me." What's My Age Again, Blink-182
Saddest moment: When my iPod died midway through loop 4

Trivia
This is the first trail/ultra race I've done where I haven't gone to the bathroom in the bushes!  I actually used the fancy bathrooms by the Nature Center aid station and the port-a-potty before the Park Road Aid Station.  Sad fact: the port-o-potty was out of toilet paper, so I used some I found on the floor. . . . don't judge me!

Ultra Celebrities
It was fun seeing Nicole, Sabrina, Ian, Gunhild, and Gordy.  I can now add Gordy Ansleigh to the short list of celebrities that have touched me.  I guess if I could choose celebrities I'd want to touch, this list might look a little different. . . .

True story: Jay touched my hand while musing, "I gotta go to the bathroom," clearly stoned out of his mind.

Father of ultrarunning

Lowest Point
The first 5 miles of the race were really tough, because my calves were killing me, especially my left calf, and my left foot started going numb -- maybe because the inflammation in my calf was blocking the blood flow to my foot?  I don't know, but fortunately a combination of acetaminophen and walking it out eventually loosened it up.  

The next 80 miles were great; I really pushed the pace, not wanting to hold anything back.  By mile 85, though, this strategy left me feeling really depleted and in pain.  My head felt like it was drifting away, and my body started swerving serpentine-like over the trail.  Around mile 95, Edward passed me and I couldn't keep up with him, although I would have loved to run it in with him.  I eventually stuffed some more calories in my mouth, and I was able to pick up my pace slightly.  I'm guessing I got lackadaisical with calorie intake on that last loop, and that's what caused the bonk.  I'm getting better at managing nutrition during these races, but it is so easy to lose track of intake when I get tired late in a race.  When it gets away from me, it seems to spiral downward pretty quickly, and it's so hard to get back.  Clearly this is an area I still need to work on!

What worked well

• Trail Toes tape -- I didn't use Vasoline at all, which is my usual protocol.  This time I just pre-taped areas that usually chafe.  A couple times during the race I also applied Trail Toes, but the tape pretty much warded off the bad chafing I usually get.
• Chocolate muffin from Whole Foods -- Yep, this might be my breakfast of choice for all future races.
• Taking a gulp of Pedialyte between loops.  What are electrolytes?  Who knows.  But they sound good to have.  

I'm so blessed to have the Rockhoppers and Team TROT as my Texas ultrarunning families, and to have their support and encouragement!  Rockhopper Central is a home away from home!

Halemau'u Trail Report, or: The Time Where You Find Out Just How Stupid I Can Be

Last time I was in Maui, I took the Sliding Sands trail in Haleakala National Park for a 20-mile out-and-back, which was amazing.  This time I wanted to try something different in the park, so I took the Halemau'u Trail.  I'll describe it, in case you ever find yourself wanting a good run or hike on the island, but also in case you want to play a quick game of "How many stupid decisions is one person capable of making in 1 day?"  Let's play.

I wanted to see the sunrise from the summit of Mt. Haleakala, so I woke up at 4pm and left my hotel around 4:15.  At some point during the drive, I thought about turning on my Garmin, and then suddenly realized I had forgotten it back in the hotel room.  (If you're playing along, that's blockhead error #1 for the day.)  Then I briefly considered using the Strava app on my phone -- but I wouldn't have enough battery, even with my charger -- dang it, which I also left in the hotel room.  Nerds!  (#2)  Okay, I figured,  I'll just have to rely on the trail map from the visitor center to know how far I've gone.

In order to conserve battery on my phone, I had taken a screenshot of the directions to the park from Google Maps, and decided to rely on my ability to read said directions and follow street signs.  (#3)  Long story short, I ended up in Wailea, which, according to Google Maps, is an extra 22.6 miles of driving.  I say that now, because the extra mileage will soon become an integral part of this story.

Oh, had I mentioned that when I left my hotel, I had at least a quarter tank of gas in the rental car?  Maybe as much as a third of a tank.  Surely enough to get me to Haleakala and then back, if not to the hotel, at least to a gas station, no sweat. (#4)

I'd been told the national park was about a two-hour drive.  It ended up being more than that, due to error #3.  By the time I arrived at the park entrance -- in the middle of nowhere -- the fuel display read 2 tiny bars' worth of gas.  My car back in San Antonio tells me exactly how many miles I can drive before I'm out of gas.  And even then, I figure I actually have at least 20 more miles before I'm really, really out.  With this rental, though, I had no idea.  How much gas is equal to 2 tiny bars?  I didn't know, but I was sure glad to finally be in the park.  Except I had forgotten a crucial piece of information.  According to the gentleman who accepted my $15 entrance fee, "It's another 30 minute drive from here to the summit." Crap on a cracker. (#5)

After 30 more minutes of driving 15 mph up, up, up a windy road in the pitch black, I made it to the summit, in plenty of time for this gorgeous sunrise.

Putting my rental car keys into the velcro pocket of my hydration vest, I took off on the Sliding Sands Trail toward the Halemau'u Trail.

Did you catch #6 just then?  If not, just stick around.

The trail drops from an altitude of 9,740 ft to approximately 7,200 ft in about 4 miles.  That makes for a great downhill run, but can really trash the quads.  I didn't care; my running has been so inconsistent lately due to injury that on this day, when I felt pain-free, I was happy to run, whatever the consequences.  Previous visits to this park have involved gale-force winds, fog, rain, and cold, but this was a beautiful, sunny, even hot day, and I loved every minute.

Sliding Sands is just as it sounds -- the trail is composed of loose black volcanic sand and cinder.  After 4 miles, you have the option to continue on this trail to the Kapalaoa Cabin, or turn left to the Halemau'u Trail, which is what I did.  It was hillier than Sliding Sands, but just as beautiful.  It took me out of the dry, desert basin of the crater, into a wetter landscape with tropical vegetation, past the Holua Cabin, and then up a series of switchbacks until, after 11.2 miles, l I was back at 7,990 ft.

Instead of doing an out-and-back, I thought it would be more interesting to take the road, which is where the Halemau'u Trailhead is located.  At about the 14 mile mark, I reached into my vest pocket for something, when it dawned on me -- Hey, I could've sworn this is the pocket where I put my keys. . . .  (Yeah, that was #6.)  I searched every pocket, but yep, they must have fallen out at some point along the trail.  So, decision point: do I retrace my steps, and end up doing 28 miles, not find my keys, and not be able to do anything about this car situation until it's almost dark?  Or do I take the shorter way to the visitor center, which was 5 miles away, in the off chance someone found my keys and turned them in?  If I went to the visitor center and they didn't have them, I'd have to turn around and retrace my steps anyways, but it would be a longer trip.  I decided to pray fervently and head to the visitor center.

Someone out there's looking out for me, because the visitor center did have my keys.  I made sure to hug the national parks employee who handed them to me.  Praise God!

And so, on to my next adventure: driving a car with "1 tiny bar" of gasoline 27 miles down a remote mountain into town.  Fortunately, the drive was literally downhill all the way out of the park.  I didn't touch the gas pedal at all, just the brakes.  Unfortunately, the gas station that seemed the best bet on Google Maps was a decrepit shack with a sign reading, "Closed on New Year's Eve."  (#7)  So it was another white-knuckled 6-mile drive to the next closest one.  But *whew*!  I made it.

What with all that stress, I had cut my run shorter than I wanted, so on my way back to the hotel, I did some of the Lahaina Pali Trail, which is 5.5 miles each way, going straight from the ocean up a cliff, taking you from 100 ft elevation to 1,600 ft.  Finishing that trail is now on my to-do list for the next time I'm in Maui.  The trail is so technical that running up or down is nearly impossible, but it's great hill hiking training.

So all in all, 7 huge idiotic moves in 1 day, yet when I got back to my hotel, I still had time to go snorkeling, swimming, and body surfing before dinner.  The day turned out wayyyy better than I deserved, for which I am truly grateful.