Cajun Coyote 100 Miler Race Report 2012!

I went into the Cajun Coyote 100 Miler not knowing if I would finish due to pain earlier in the week in my left hamstring...I ended up finishing it two hours faster than last year (more than two hours faster maybe?), placing first woman! 

First woman!

Since Ray K has started giving me coaching advice, I've either won or placed in every single race I've run. I've been having a good season, and it's kind of unreal. Very exciting too.

I ran Cajun Coyote 100 miler last year and had a rough race, but a good time. The RDs were SO much fun, the volunteers lively, the atmopshere party-like...

Like a real triathlete, our numbers were on our legs!

Me and Batman, I  mean, a race volunteer

The RD looking very official as he gave his remarks

So of course I'd want to go back!

I am so nervous

Unfortunately, a week before the race, while straightening up my house, I felt an intense pain in my left hamstring - someplace I had never hurt before. I didn't do anything weird, it just started hurting. So I spent the rest of the week taking it easy, going in the hot tub once I got to my B&B, and worrying.

I started out the race, excited. This is why I flew down to Louisiana - to run 100 miles on beautiful trails. I chatted, hyper, flew up and down the hills. Perhaps I hammered them a bit too hard. Five miles in, I felt it. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. Really? Would I have to drop? Instead, I slowed down my pace, letting others I was chatting and running with pass me. After a few more miles, things felt okay.

The course is mainly single trail, small rocks, lots of roots, lots of leaves, ups and downs of the rolling hill variety (that never really seems to end), with some nice boardwalks across swamps (I guess that's the bayou...damn Yankees never know the terms!). It's pretty, autumnal with lots of leaves. You do two loops in one direction, one in the opposite, and two in the original direction for the 100mile, while the 100kers do three loops in the original direction (and they start with us). There's a 20 miler too.

The course was really pretty

I'm running so fast, I make these trees look like they are standing still.

The bayou!

The aid stations were the main start/finish one, then 4.22 miles later there's one, then at mile 7.7-ish there's another one, then there's a long stretch where you are running until mile 16 and you hit a beautiful one at the end of the boardwalk (it seems like it will never come) - and then, four miles later, you're back at the start/finish. Each loop is 20 miles, but I swear, they add extra miles in the later loops. I felt like I understood Sisyphus's Journey. 

Aid stations were quite good. Chicken soup and chicken burritos for the meat eaters, grilled cheese, pretzels, chips, cookies, lip balm, all sorts of goodies...at the end, I sucked down ginger ale at every aid station.

I ran the first loop in 3:14. I quickly made my changes at the aid station, sucked down some coconut water, refilled my bottle, and was out.

Somewhere along the way, I must've dropped some gels or I didn't put enough in my pockets. Regardless, I ran out of food and at the third aid station, sucked down the dreaded Hammergel Huckleberry flavour which Wayne loves so - and you know what, it was really good, particularly if you crammed potato chips in your mouth at the same time.

I finished this loop 10 or 20 minutes slower.

Third loop. I still felt mostly okay, you know, not incredible, but this would be the last loop alone. I was running in the opposite direction so got to see lots of other rad people, including a few listers who had introduced themselves ahead of time on the list. My waistbelt started hurting my back - the water itself was smashing and my lower back was just killing me. I stopped to stretch it quite a few times (which continued the rest of the race). It got dark about 3 miles from the finish, my headlamp batteries were so dim it was hard to run so fast, esp as we were in the toughest part. I was tripping up hills, eager to get there. And then I ran into a guy sans flashlight - running with a glowstick. He was so happy to see me, a headlamp-wearer. We ran together into the start/finish. 

I met my pacer - yes, for the first time ever, actually. We got connected through the ultra community. He knew a lot of people so he was hanging around, talking to people. I changed my outfit as I was soaked in sweat and wanted something dryer. I tied a long sleeved shirt around my race which I only briefly put on - the entire race I ran in a running skirt and tank top. It was really warm, which was actually quite wonderful.

I changed to a handheld, shoved gels in random places, and stumbled out of there. Lane was eager to run, and it was nice in a way that I barely knew him - we were able to you know, spend 11 hours getting to know each other. We talked about our loves, running, and armadillos. Beforehand, Lane was made aware that I'm petrified of them, so he soothed my worries (and also told me how they destroyed his lawn). Not a single armadillo tried to make friends (while I saw a lot more last year) but it could be Lane scaring them away or me informing them that Lane and I had plenty of friends and didn't need anymore and that they should go away.

I'm sure Lane thought me loopy then!

I did hallucinate, but having learned that you only freak out a pacer (ahem, Wayne at Croatan), I didn't tell Lane. Instead, I observed them (a white cat's claw - no cat attached), cat face in the bushes, bears, voices, all sorts of things. I wonder why people do things like acid when running long distances IS SO MUCH FUN! Okay, yeah, it's painful but...

Last loop! I scarfed down a grilled cheese sandwich, more ginger ale, and Lane and I split. I was so glad it was my last loop. We ran, tripped, stumbled through the first section. The aid station was SUCH a relief. More ginger ale. Running more. And then, YES, up the ditch and here I am at the second aid station. I was ecstatic. This one volunteer came up, asking for our order ("Grilled cheese! Ginger ale! Chicken soup!") and we ran with her up the hill. 

The next section was lonely and Lane and I talked - he told me about raising a 12 year old girl and about the races he ran and how his dog adores table food and all sorts of random things. He could have told me he alphabetized his sock drawer by sock designer and I probably would've intently listened and murmured, "Wow, what a great concept." But he was really entertaining and helped me go. He ran behind me with an awesome flashlight and headlamp.

My hamstring started bothering me miles 95-100, but really, it was better if I ran. So I ran.

I didn't realize we were almost at the road and when he said we were, I didn't believe him. I had tears in my eyes. As I ran into the finish with a time of 23:01, I was absolutely ecstatic! First woman, tough race, and with a tight hamstring.

I cleaned up, ate a little food, and then, drove three hours back to New Orleans straight to the airport. I hopped on the plane, crashed out, woke up in pain somewhere not too far from home. When Wayne picked me up, he had pretzels in the car and despite my unkempt appearance, suggested stopping by at Calexico for dinner on the way home - nachos, salad, quesadillas, plantains, cocktails? YES!

And then, you know, three hours later, we ate our second dinner.

Hamstring is still sore but you know what? No races for a while so I think I'll take things easy. The only problem is, I'm not sure how to do that!

Cajun Coyote 100 Miler 2012 Tomorrow...and I am a bundle of nerves!

So I ran 104.87 miles at Croatan 24 three weeks ago. I was feeling pretty good. Paced Wayne to almost a PR at Brooklyn Marathon, paced Mary in NYRR 60k, ran a decent 5k while talking the whole time. I ran slow on Saturday, feeling sluggish but managing 2.5 hours. After, Wayne and I had coffee with our running club, and ran back. I was baking cake and straightening up the house when suddenly - what the hell? My left hamstring (which has never hurt before, it was my right one that hurt) was suddenly aching. Ouch.

Sunday and Monday I started my runs slow and the pain eased by the end, but I still cut the mileage and took it easy. Tuesday it felt better after a mile so I started a tempo run at half-marathon pace with my running club - after a mile and a half something just HURT - and I turned around and ran slowly home, worried like crazy. I went to the physical therapist who pronounced it nothing bad. I still worried.

I haven't run since then. I've done some walking around New Orleans and my B&B in New Orleans had a hot tub, so I spent some time in it, reading, relaxing. It doesn't hurt at all...but I don't know what will happen tomorrow. For the first time (besides my first 100), I am actively worried I won't finish. I want to finish. I came all the way down here, it's the least I can do. I don't want to really hurt myself.

I made a promise. If I'm abnormally limping, I will stop.

Let's hope I am not. Let's hope I don't get eaten by armadillos in tomorrow's Cajun Coyote 100 Miler.

You Don't Want to Run 100 Miles, Or, Some Videos From My Last 100 Miler

At Cajun Coyote 100 Miler, I carried a camera on my second loop (miles 20-40) so I could record the beauty and craziness of the course. Here are some things to scare the crap outta you.

Hallucinations, way too early in.


Crying because I really need water and I'm out


Vanilla gu or pudding?

Cajun Coyote 100 Miler: A Race Report of a Very Unusual 100 Miler

So the good news on the Cajun Coyote 100 Miler first, I suppose:

• I was second woman!
• It reinstilled my love in the love run - oh, trails, how alive you make me feel.
• I ran through some beautiful places.
• While my time was far from my PR, I still had a smashing good time.
• It was like Burning Man - we all had "race names" and I used my playa one, Cherry Bomb, as my name.
• One of the most fun races I ran.

I arrived at the start and knew I was in the right place - the RD was wearing a stuffed alligator hat and the volunteers were wearing Mardi Gras beads. In my race bag (one of those little sneaker bags) were lots and lots of beads, a nice tech shirt that actually looks good, a Lip Smacker (Yes! I loved them when I was 9 years old and they're still great!), a mask, homemade soaps, bug wipes, Hammer samples, and other fun. Everyone was excited, chattering under the Christmas lights about the day to come. Numbers were written on a select body part - you'd run into an aid station, shouting your number and your nickname. My nickname was, of course, Cherry Bomb.

At the start...

#111, Cherry Bomb!

The course was five 20 mile loops. Louisiana's a flat state, and this was in the bayou, so it was flat, right?

WRONG!

Me at the start

Yes! Get me outta here!!!

Loop One: Miles 1-20
The race started with the RD saying offhandedly, "Bye!" And we took off!

I started out at a good pace, chatting with a guy doing his first ultra (who later went on to win the 100k) and a guy from Maine. We talked about dysfunctional relationships, work, running. The first 4.3 miles - up to the first aid station - were the hardest. Up, down, steep, short, up, down, repeat. And a rock to trip on, a root, focus, focus. Through some miracle I did not trip at all on this single track rocky-and-rooty course.

The next 4-ish miles were the easiest. Lots of ups and downs, but not as hard as the first section. Right before the aid station you run down into this ditch and then up. Oh, fun. And then up a little hill and to Jeff's aid station - Jeff who didn't sleep the entire race. I love ultra volunteers.

Then there were eight miles to the unmanned aid station. Mentally, it was a challenge. I also had to be careful and conserve my water each time. At this aid station, there was water, a container of Heed, and a jar of pickled pig's lips. No one dared open it - yuck!

Ew! Pigs' lips as ultrarunning snack

And then a mere four miles or so to the main aid station. This wasn't so terrible, some hills, but it was only four miles. 


And then you were back.

Overall, the course was up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down on single track. Enough rocks and roots and twists and turns and bridges to keep your eyes on the ground at all times - but wait, look up, don't miss those orange blazes. (The RD put heaps of ribbons up which were helpful...until the trail maintenance volunteers decided to help out and remove all the ribbons. ARGH!)


Loop Two, Miles 20-40
I repeated everything.

On the move!

Fueling up

I ran a bunch w a guy from Maine who I got into an extensive discussion with about dysfunctional relationships. We'd lose each other on and off - he'd spend extra time in an aid station, and I'd leave him, or he'd get a speed burst. It was a nice way to pass the time.

 And then I was alone, but it was okay. I felt free, alive, in love with the run. I was here to run 100 miles, yes, but the real reason? I needed vengeance on the 100 mile distance. My last 100 was so wretched that I needed to prove to myself and the world that I loved this. And I did. I did. I felt alive as I ran across a wooden walkway (which were SO pretty and I loved them during the day but at night were positively frightening) across the bayou. I thought, "Yes, yes, this is why I'm here! This is what it means to be alive."


Loop Three, Miles 40-60
It got harder. That goes without saying.

Crossing the bridge

I had my light but I wouldn't need it until the end of this loop. Things got rough and I pushed and I felt the pain but I pushed and I pushed and I pushed. I thought of coconut water and Odwalla bars and of my cat back home, sleeping for sure, and of The Godfather, which I was re-reading for the third time, and created sentences in my head in Spanish and about what to get V for Xmas and everything, everything, everything. I thought and then I blanked and I pushed and I pushed harder and hardest of all, I pushed the tears from my eyes and wouldn't let them escape. I was tougher than this.

It got dark. It was okay. I was tough. But my headlamp battery wasn't. It was impossible to see. I got freaked. I began singing loudly, scaring the armadillos, comforting myself. I wonder if KRS-ONE ever thought when he was writing "How Bad Do You Want It" that some ultrarunner would use it to push herself during a 100miler.

I could barely see. I slowed down, squinting with my pathetic light to see the markers. I had to walk, to avoid tripping on things I couldn't see. Finally I arrived at an aid station and they gave me batteries. It was a relief to get back to the main aid station and get my kickass headlamp and pacer.

Loop Four, Miles 60-80
My pacer was new to ultras, and we barely knew each other, but that wasn't a problem. We quickly began talking, laughing, getting to know each other.

About seven and a half miles in, we got to an intersection and couldn't find the next blaze. No worries, there it is. Oops. Rather, that is the orange blaze we just passed. We ended up running three extra miles. Argh. When I figured it out, I began running super hard. I was so upset that I just pushed, pushed, pushed and tried not to think about it. When we got to the next aid station, I inquired if I'd have to pay extra because, after all, everyone else paid for 100 miles and here I was, running 103 and paying the same price!

Things felt rough but I felt mostly good. I was eating throughout the race - grilled cheese and rice at the main aid station, quesadillas at Jeff's aid station, and vanilla gus and honey stingers in between.

Loop Five, Miles 80-100
It hurt.

I was psyched to be on my last loop but my shins were killing. And I was SO tired. I felt wretched. Of course, if I didn't, something would be seriously wrong with me.

A light was behind me. Push. Push. I can't let it pass me. My pacer and I would talk, or we would say nothing but breathe and think and push. Then there would be times where it would get to me, and I would say to Jessica, "Talk. Say something. Anything," and she'd amazingly well respond, "Well, at work..." or "My kids..." or whatever. She could have been reading the ingredients on a cereal box to me and I would have found it soothing.

It got later. It got worse. Each aid station was a beacon of hope, the volunteers so cheerful, so wonderful, so nice and helpful. I inhaled grilled cheeses. I drank ginger ale. They were so helpful and nice.

I started to cry. Jessica told me not to cry. I was unable to listen to her. I cried harder. This hurt so much. I worked so hard, why was I running so poorly? How have I been getting slower, getting further from my goals? Why did it hurt so bad?

We started talking, laughing. I pushed. "Mile 97!" "Mile 98!" And harder.

And then we were on the road. I couldn't believe I was almost done. As I came in, everyone cheered. And the RD was there and everyone was awake. It was over. Somehow.

Food was prepared and shared. I sat there, stunned and exhausted. I called New York, was told I sounded totally out of it. I was told not to drive.

The RD gave out finishers' hats, and I was second woman. I won a free pair of sneakers. We joked around, and I was stunned at how I was able to run into the finishing area not that long, and now, now that the clock had stopped for me, walking was near impossible.

In the middle of the night, I thought about how hard it was. It's so hard. 100 milers are a million times harder than a marathon, a lot harder than a 50. But it's SO hard. Mentally. Physically. Everything hurts and it's hard to remember why you should push. And it's hard to break through. Those people that are WINNING - they impress me. Because when I run, I'm in my own race. I'm competing against myself. I'm running for the love of it, for the struggle of the day, for discovering within.

And really, it takes 100 miles to find a lot of that out. Because if it didn't, why would we be doing it in the first place?

Packing...

Right now, my living room is a 100 mile mess. There are two pairs of running sneakers (one a half-size bigger for the last 70 miles), headlamps, water bottles, 2 hydration systems, sports bras, a visor, panties, a lace skirt, almond butter, a 24-pack of vanilla gu, body glide, work papers, barrettes, arm warmers meant for Burning Man but now running ones when I lost my running ones, and too many other things to name. And somebody please tell me to never again fly standby (i.e., just a carry-on!) when I am running 100 miles AND spending 5 days in New Orleans. I'm not scrimping on race supplies, but there's a chance I may not have enough clothes in NOLA. Oh well. I'll repeat. Skirts, anyway!

I'm excited. I'm nervous. I'm a lot of things. My last 100 mile race was the biggest disaster of my running career. I felt like I pushed it hard, so hard, it really was crazy difficult - but I somehow, ran my suckiest time ever. I wish to forget that now.

In a way, I'm out to redeem myself. I need to prove to myself - I need to run my heart out for 100 miles. I want to PR - oh yes, that's the ultimate goal. But really, it's to discover the love I have for the sport, the fun, the excitement. Last time I ran to prove how tough I was - so tough that I pushed myself beyond the limits of sanity. This time, I will run to prove to myself that this is my first love. (Sorry, Wayne. Not like you're #2 but I fell in love w running when I was 13 and you when I was 31! You and running, you're the two most important things in my life.) I will run to discover the beauty of every step. If it sucks, I will not acknowledge that. A secret, friends - I'm going to pack my little iPod mini that I use at the gym - if it blows, I'll pull that. But really - I won't need it. I know that.

The first 20 - fun, energetic. Next 20 - I'm there, but I got it. Push it. Next 20. Push. Push. It's getting hard but it's not dark yet. Thoughts of seeing Jessica at mile 60 keep me going. Next 20 - I meet my pacer. Change shoes, clothes, get a grilled cheese in my belly. Final 20 - poor Jessica (my pacer) might shove me into the swamp. We'll get to know each other better than people who've known me for years - she'll tell me about the first person she fell in love with, I'll talk about that awful first kiss and that really terrible thing no one else knows - you cross the boundaries, in ultrarunning, everything and I mean everything comes out. She'll laugh at me as I hallucinate ridiculous things, as I pour my heart out, as I trip, as I drop my cookie on the ground and pick it up and keep eating it with the dirt, as I pee on my glove and put it back on, as I cry my heart out, as I bless the stars, as I talk about La Playa de Estrellas de Mar in Bocas and putting starfish on as a bikini top, as I babble, as I reach upwards and forwards, reaching, reaching, reaching...

Until I finish.

Which I will.

Remember, DNF is not in my vocabulary. I tried to include it, Kathy (amazing pacer at Rio del Lago) would not let me. I am seeking redemption. I will buckle. I will push beyond my limits, beyond what anyone thinks another person is capable of. Pain? Hah. Pain is weakness leaving the body. I will push forward. I will win. Not the race, necessarily. I will win for myself. I will have fun. I will enliven my spirit.

And then I will celebrate in the streets of New Orleans after.

Because I run for the love of it.

Best Waiver for a Race Ever!

I am SO excited about the upcoming Cajun Coyote 100 Miler. I can't wait to run 100 miles with these bunch of nuts, I mean, super fun people. Have you ever seen a race waiver like this?

WAIVER: I understand that running is a strenuous activity and has some inherent risk, some would say moreso on the trails than on a treadmill inside some meat-market gym.  But then, who’s going to listen to “some” when your friends drag you out onto the dirt for more than what a treadmill can provide?  Having heard just enough, though likely not researched enough; and likely not listened hard enough about the Coyote genre of trail running events from other Coyote Veterans, and thus chosen to subconsciously or consciously forget/ignore, I realize that my inattention to my own health and well-being cannot be cause for my ranting at the organizers, sponsors and supporters, in all their sizes and forms and personalities, for whatever mental grievance or alleged physical discomfort I may concoct just to please my own self-centered sense of how right I always am and how wrong the rest of the world should recognize it is.  In signing, I hereby and therefore aver and avow that I recognize the risks of trying to participate in the Cajun Coyote trail run towards the objective of crawling into bed Saturday night (Dec 3^rd) or Sunday morning (Dec 4^th) in as good health as I brought to the game Saturday morning, and that there is no medical reason (beyond the sanity piece my doctor seemingly wants to bring up more often than I’d prefer) that I should not attempt to run and enjoy my long hours, from morning’s light and potentially into the deep, deep, deep darkness of night, and dang, maybe even into Sunday morning.  Some say, and others have confirmed, that running on trails poses many hazards, not limited to falls, slips, trips, dips, caca weather, swamp monster and bayou bogeyman attacks in broad daylight or deep, deep, deep darkness of night, and generally a whole bunch of other dangerous conditions that you don’t want to read about, but have heard from those “some” and “others” that often motivate the more skittish in life just to sit in their cocooned condo and have all their food and household possessions delivered to their doorstep and/or conduct their interaction with the outside world almost completely via online resources, and who wait impatiently glued to C-SPAN coverage in hopes that Congress will magically implode and we’ll return to that fantasy world of benevolent government catering to all citizens’ wishes.  Considering all that I’ve acknowledged above, summarily, I fully assume (and promising not to parse that into the proverbial you and me looking like an ass) all risks of illness, spillness, fulfillness, thrillness, injury or (yes, my Precious) even death, and release covenant (that means something legal to cover the butts of the lay people who couldn’t figure out how the lawyers sustain their livelihood off of saps like us) not to sue or otherwise pursue legal judgment, and discharge the CajunDip (“The Dip”), the Coyote Cohorts and its volunteers, Chicot State Park and its jurisdictional parent organization, and all other contributors, or other agents (except them clan-dess-tine fed’ral guys who may have a part in them swamp monsters showin’ up) from all actions (meaning, here, the legal definition of the term, cuz otherwise, you’ll be “active” when you’re running or hanging out consuming Cajun yummies at the Finish, so isn’t that “action” too, which now suggests you shouldn’t be doing it, right?), claims or demands for damages arising out of my participation in the Cajun Coyote events.  The foregoing release (and, gee, isn’t there a lot of it?) is binding on me personally, as well as upon my heirs/’airs/airs (whichever or all of which may apply), executors, and administrators (and if I have that many and can afford them, then if I survive the weekend mentally intact, perhaps I’ll send a few Jacksons, Grants or Franklins back to the Coyote Cohorts for their much depleted coffers brought on by having to pay a hefty legal fee for creating this waiver), and/or all members of my family who might make claim on my behalf.  I also confirm that I bear the full burden for reading and taking personal ownership of all salient information (by which rolling multi-syllabic presentation means anything The Dip took time to craft and put in front of my eyes) provided to me on the Cajun Coyote website and/or sent to me via e-mails from The Dip that pertains to my participation in this event, such that should I either fail to read the messages or ignore their significance to my preparation and running in the Cajun Coyote madness, any complications I experience (for example, forgetting to pack my lucky Mongo Monkey in my fanny pack because I just got SO excited about going to Chicot State Park that I lost sight of my priorities) is my own goll darn fault, and any whining on point will be appropriately discredited and serve as fodder for being ridiculed at public settings before, during and after Cajun Coyote.  Two more things:  (1) I realize there will be Ultra Paparazzi spread throughout the Cajun weekend, and any images of myself that they capture may be used at will by them and event management to highlight not only what an incredibly fit and able runner I am, but other shortcomings as well, including but not limited to fashion sense, eating manners, swilling of drinks, any lack of entertainment skills, and/or general human comportment (crawling to the Finish line, or upchucking out of an Aid Station, included).  (2) I also aver and avow that if my sanity isn’t medically discharged before Cajun Coyote expires deep, deep, deep into Saturday’s darkness or after Sunday’s quirky murky sunrise, the beneficent part of me may actually incite me to share some of my premium hooch with one or more of the Volunteers who gave up their weekend so that mine could be as self-indulging as I care to make it.  OK, now I’m done.  Here I go now to sign my name as record of my lack of common sense but complete willingness to abide by the above provisions (not to be confused with the semi-edible provisions which may be awaiting me at any or all of the aid stations I will encounter while suffering, er, enjoying my miles of the Cajun Coyote Trail Run.  Gosh, thinking of such rich culinary experiences has my mouth watering already!!).