Umstead 50 (!!!!!!!!!!!!) Race Report

good friends on a nice run in the park

Umstead was to be my comeback race.

Comeback from injury.

Comeback from grief.

I didn't run exceptionally well - but I finished. My morton's neuroma was not really bothering me, except when I felt a few flashes of numbness towards the end, and I simply took some walk breaks. My stomach was off. (Port-a-potty queen!) I ran my slowest Umstead first-50 mile split ever, but WHO CARES? My morton's neuroma was okay!

A few days before the race, Tony and Ray began trying to egg me on to do the 100. I crazily pondered it, but did not. A few reasons:

1. I hadn't trained for a 100 miler. How much would it suck to run and recover if I hadn't trained? Bleh.
2. It was going down to 26 degrees F at night. Ummmmmmm, no.
3. I wanted to spend time with my sister and her family without being out-of-my-mind exhausted. 
4. I was afraid that I could hurt myself. I was really nervous that 50 miles might be doable, but 100 could destroy me. I knew this could be the case, so I stopped at 50.

I began the race in good spirits - I had so many friends that I was chaotically running around like a maniac while saying hi while trying to find moleskin while arranging my stuff while catching up...

Umstead is a 12.5 mile loop course - rolling hills on carriage trails. The hills seem easy the first loop or two, and then, by the end, you are cursing the park. Unfortunately, the temperatures were the coldest I have ever experienced there, and this definitely impacted the runners. The aid stations are well-stocked and the volunteers super friendly.

And then we were off! I began running with Tony and immediately knew I was out of my league. I have only been running slow and short since, ohhhhhh December. And slow like, 10-12 min mile slow. Ha.

But I stuck with him. We had fun, chatting, gossiping, catching up.

On the 3rd lap, I began to feel dizzy and just crap. I told Tony to go ahead; I needed to walk. We were pretty close for a while, but I took my time, stopping to pee, and then, my stomach began to fall apart (I really need to figure this out). I spent some quality time in the port-a-potties over the next two laps.

My sister came around mile 44, and that was nice. I ate some animal crackers and chatted with her.

just behind tony through the chute

As I got closer to the finish, I could ALMOST feel the weirdness w my neuromas...and began walking more. No pain, but that *feeling* that's hard to describe. Walking was fine. I wasn't in a rush.

I finished. 9:38:38. My slowest Umstead, but my neuromas were okay. That was all that mattered! This was huge!

I hung out with some friends, drinking amazing hot cocoa that Brandi made for Bruce and I, and then began to cough. My asthma was not happy. I hopped in my car, and began the perilous drive on the course. I luckily hit no runners, and got to cheer on the friends I had wanted to stay to see in at 50 miles.

Then I got to my sister's, played with her kids, and spent the rest of the time eating, chilling, and snuggling. It was a different Umstead, and a fun one.

Umstead 100: Misery, Party, Blisters, Hallucinations of Jesus, and Sub 24 (though far from my goal)

 Umstead 100 is always a fun 100 miler. There are good friends, reunions, friendly volunteers, runnable course, Ray K, proximity to my sister, lots of runners, and so much fun. Of course you have to do it. Of course.

Tony is Da Man (photo by John Price)

I had a lot of trouble in the race. In fact, when I finished, I sat on the steps to the lodge bawling. "Why can't I just run a good race? Why is every race I run terrible?"

But it was fun. I spent time with good friends. We had great weather. I got to see my sister and super cute nephew. So it was a good race for those reasons.

Umstead is a great race because the course is great - fairly runnable, with some challenging hills. The weather is usually mild, in April for North Carolina, with usually pleasant race-day temps, though it can get cooler at night. The footing is good. There are port-a-potties twice on the 12.5 mile loop, and real bathrooms. There are two big aid stations with TONS of food, and a few smaller ones with limited amounts of food and Gatorade and water. It is a real fun party ultra, with great crowds and smiling folks. I love it. Also, it's ten minutes from my sister's house, which is even better! I had John Price crew me, and he's an amazing crew too, so everything was perfect.

Lap One
I began running with Tony, which was fun. We went out too fast - 1:55 for the first 12.5 miles. I didn't remember it being so hilly. We flew in and out of the aid stations, not stopping at any except the main HQ. We caught up on each others' lives and laughed and talked.

Lap Two
My tummy began hurting and I ran into the Port-a-Potty. Oh no, would this be a repeat of my first Umstead? Ugh. I ate chewable Immodiums at the aid station and washed it down with SNOWCONES. I love Umstead.

Lap Three
Tony and I began feeling somewhat crappy - my stomach, his legs felt dead. (He ran a 50 miler on sand two weeks prior.) We suffered and were quiet in our heads, chatting occasionally.

Hal Koerner was in the lead, and passed us. He was running up a hill - blasting it, actually - and Tony and I were walking. Tony yelled, "Good job," and I said, "Running? You're amazing. You're supposed to be walking it and complaining, like us!" He laughed.

(John Dennis also passed us, saying nothing more than screaming, "ON YOUR RIGHT" because he NEEDED that tangent. We moved over quickly for him.)

Lap Four
I was feeling better, and trying to swallow my gus. I ate poptarts when I could, and Tony was suffering a lot. I tried to cheer him up.

We were running on the flats in the hilly section after the second main aid station. It was Hal Koerner. I recognized him from behind. He was walking the flats. We stopped and walked up the hill with him. He told us he had a crazy week, and we chatted for a few  minutes. A really nice guy. We laughed when he said, "Didn't we meet here last lap?"

Running so fast I'm a blur (photo by John Price)

A bit before the aid station, I began running and Tony was still walking. We separated then, and Tony made it one more lap before leg cramping left him with a credit for 50 miles.

Laps Five and Six

Toast of gingerale (photo by Mary Shannon)

My pacer Carter Swampy met me. Carter is the nicest guy; we barely knew each other and now I adore him. We met at Croatan, and he offered to pace me. He paced for me two awesome laps, and we had a blast. He pushed me, let me set the pace, let me be ridiculous, told me entertaining stories, acted as my therapist, laughed, looked at my blisters, watched as I ate poptarts, and had fun - all while running or cursing at the hills.

My sister met us in the middle of lap five. It meant a lot to me; she had a baby three weeks ago and was recovering from surgery a week ago and couldn't walk far. We hung out for a few minutes, chatting, and she even brought my adorable nephew.

My headlamp stopped working. I hated gus. All food was awful. Drinking a normal amount sloshed in my stomach. My feet were hurting. My hamstrings, my hamstrings. That blister - the one I always get. OW.

Lap Seven

Kevin and his awesome fiancee Isa met me. They were incredible. They fed me, they made me run, they listened to me whine, they took care of me. I was miserable. My blisters sucked, it was dark, I was tired, and running sucks.

Lap Eight

Before lap eight, I hopped on Denise's massage table for a mini-massage. My legs felt better and Melissa began pacing me with a run-walk mixture. Unfortunately, my blisters felt like hell, worse, and my feet were so swollen I could only hobble. Misery. I was crying and wanted to stop. I wanted to curl up and nap. I hated everything. Everything. Melissa was telling me stories about deer attacking people and I was wondering if one would do that to me.

At the second big aid station, I had them pop my blisters. It took time, but now I was able to run again. They also gave me a cute throw-away fleece, and I felt warm. Melissa and I ran to the finish.

I sat on the steps and cried. What a disappointment. I trained so hard and to fall apart? Do I just not have it? Is the end just too difficult? Should I stick with 50 milers? Do I need to run in bigger shoes? Should I amputate my little toe? Am I too slow? Should I stick to roads? Am I crazy for doing this?

I don't know. I love ultrarunning. I am hungering for a good race, for a PR, for a race where I know I ran my best. It's been a while, but I'm hoping I'll have that soon.

Even if I didn't run my best, I know I did all I could do. I ran sub 24, which is still quite good. I need to talk to my podiatrist about my recurring blister on my pinky toe, eat more sweets, and figure out my tummy. Life is good. Umstead was fun. I finished, and running is almost always a blissful, beautiful thing.

22 : 35 Was Not What I Set Out To Do

I set out to PR.

I set out to wreck my PR. 20 hours was my initial hope, and then Ray K. dragged out some irrational hope that I could run it in 18 hours. I scoffed initially at the thought, then wondered.

But we all forget, don't we? We forget the strikes against us.

We forget when we are prepping for the race, pinning the number, ultra-style, of course, on our running skirt. We forget when talk about goals, about nutrition, about upcoming races. We talk about drop bags, about sunscreen, about coconut water.

But we forget all the things that mess us up. Like being shattered over a heartbreak that ruins training for weeks. Or severe asthma troubles for nearly two months which prevented me from doing speed workout or hill repeats. Or the lack of strength training and cross-training for two months while I traveled. And I'm sure all that rum didn't help either. And the very minuscule amount of long runs I did - for me, anyway, I do better with more longer runs. And let's not forget the lack of coconut water at the race, lack of breakfast day of the race, the poor night of sleep, the day before walking aimlessly around strip malls, hitchhiking, and crying, fighting w/ my mom and my sister (originally supposed to crew), who only showed up at the race when they thought I was quitting - and they left.

Let's not forget all those tears.

But I did. I went forward, with energy, because that's what I do. Ray K. and I wouldn't shut up. "Polar bear!" Laughing at everyone that passed. "OMG, Gatorade, it's kind of like a fine Merlot." Seriously.

And I stumbled.

Kevin caught me, he did, and I'm glad. He helped me warm up, literally dragged me to the finish line. I am so grateful to him and could not have done it without him.

Three minutes off my PR.

But that's not what I set out to do.

When I finished, I didn't care. I hurt so bad. My feet ached. I was on the verge of tears at all times. I couldn't even think about anything positive. Just...done.

Three minutes off my PR.

And when I began getting all the congratulations, I felt bitter. 22:35? Far from my goals. I felt like a failure.

But really - considering - considering all I forgot - considering - considering -

I totally rocked it.

Umstead 100 Miler

An easy 100 miler. Is there such a thing? No, but people do claim Umstead is easy. Those people obviously won it or have never run it or maybe hallucinated the entire time instead of just the last 12.5 mile loop (like I did). I can barely walk, my feet are covered with my usual heat rash, blisters decorate my feet, the outline of my sports bra is imprinted in my skin, and I looked exhausted. I can tell you: Umstead is hard. Any 100 miler is hard. But Umstead is definitely not easy.

Logistically easy, yes. It’s a 12.5 mile loop, with a headquarter aid station with an amazing all-you-can-eat buffet that I hope to emulate at my wedding if I ever get married one day, free pacers, lots of room for drop bags galore, a roaring fire indoors, and the friendliest volunteers. (It’s the South, and aren’t people in the South known for their hospitality? These volunteers gave me their personal clothing to keep me warm.) Then there are the other unstaffed water stops, including Aid Station 1 with water, Gatorade, Gu, pretzels, cookies, M&Ms, Snickers, other candy. Then you can leave your other drop bag at Aid Station 2 and chill out by the space heaters in the back when you get hypothermia. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Two drop bag spots you hit up 8 times each, great volunteers, smooth surface (carriage trails) make this course rock. Plus, with the airport spur, headquarters spur, and in and out between the unstaffed aid station and and the headquarter spur, you get to see your friends a lot. And a lot of my friends were out there – including Tony, Ray K., Emmy, Steve Tursi, Mat, Tammy, Glenn, amongst others. It was great fun.

What makes Umstead hard are the hills. Rolling hills don’t seem so scary, but by your eight loop, they seem ominous. What I was charging up loops one through six, I was suddenly arm-in-arm being dragged by my pacer on the very end of my last loop. Wanting to cry, hating the hills, the downhills hurt worse, ow, ow, ow.

Loop 1:

Ray K. and I start out FAST. I feel good, but worry it’s too fast. Pound, pound, pound, not very much walking. We talk about Burning Man, running, races, love, the usuals. Ray K. is so funny, talking to everyone, joking around, making new friends. Running with him is such a blast. We’re doing really good, in great spirits, and the pace doesn’t feel killing. I smile, I rush through aid stations. I feel great.

Loop 2:

Ray K. and I are still together. Good times. More chatting, advice from the ultrarunning guru himself. I start to feel a little dizzy and Ray K. insists I drink Gatorade and munch on some pretzels. I end up drinking a four cups of Gatorade per lap, which balances my electrolytes, and also makes me pee. I’m carrying water in my fuel belt, sipping on that periodically.

Loop 3:

Ray K. and I run more. I hear the story of Barkley, of Ray K. running Barkley. I’m hurting just a little, but mostly feeling good. He stops to change his pants at the end of the loop…and I lose him.

Loop 4:

Where is Ray? Feeling good, except a little lonely. Decide to combat loneliness by charging up all the hills. Blake (RD) sees me, and says, “Running up this hill? You’re an animal!” The day is beautiful – high low 60s, breeze, I’m RUNNING!

Bonus: I run the first 50 miles in 9:25, my fastest 50 miler ever!!!

Loop 5:

Still feeling good. Singing to myself while running – out loud of course. Charging hills. Feeling amazing. Up, down, I’m FAST. Or I feel fast. Gatorade. Pretzels. Lots of vanilla gu. Powergel blasts. Too many wintergreen mints, to present nausea. Water. Endurolyte. Occasional other random snack. Smiles. Getting called PINKY because I’m wearing pink visor, pink long-sleeved shirt, pink polka dot running skirt, pink compression sleeves, pink leopard print gaiters. I feel great. I can’t stop smiling. I feel amazing.

Loop 6:

Okay, this is getting hard. These hills…ow. Start running with this guy Steve, a dentist. Talk about our lives, our running, our partners, surgery, life. Walk more but when we run, we run FASTER. Smiling still. Everyone keeps saying, “You look great.” I am feeling strong, but it’s starting to get rough.

My asthma bothers me. I take two puffs. The number on the counter on my inhaler reads “100.” This has significance, I am sure of it.

Loop 7:

Meet my amazing pacer, Kevin. Kevin responded to a Tweet I posted on Twitter, “Both my pacers for Umstead are injured. Can anyone help?” He lives in Cary, mere minutes from the course. A triathlete training for his first Ironman, he worried about keeping pace, but I assured him I’d be running slow. And slow I did.

I walked more than I had previously. He pushed me to walk less, run more, pick up the pace when I was walking. We learned more about each other, talked about training, running, cycling, work, places we’ve lived.  I’m feeling rough. My feet are swollen, I can feel a big blister on the bottom of my foot growing and I want this race to be over. NOW.

But thanks to Kevin, I finish – which would have been much more difficult without him.

Loop 8:

This is horrible. My feet don’t want to move. We hobble out, and running is becoming more and more painful. We discover speedwalking is faster than the hobbling I’m calling running, so we do a lot of that. We run, I laugh at how ridiculous I am running. The miles seem to go on and on. The airport spur. The first unstaffed aid station. The unstaffed water spot. And then…the aid station.

I can’t stop shivering. The combination of the slower pace, the dropping temps, and the wind have made me really cold. I’m chattering. The volunteers try to warm me up. It’s mile 94.52 and I can’t even stand up. They warm me with blankets, wool and fleece. I lie down but it doesn’t help. I sit in front of the heater. I eat a little potato soup. I drink some hot cocoa. They tell me I’m so cold because of my low blood sugar, that I need to eat. I eat a few grapes. “At nine calories per grape, you need every grape you can get in you.” Animal crackers. Nothing really sounds appealing. I try to eat, at everyone’s begging.

I’m still cold. A volunteer lends me his pants. Another woman from Colorado lends me an extra jacket, giving me her address so I can mail it back. We wrap a fleece blanket around my neck.

I will not quit. That’s not even an option. I am finishing this thing, though it’s not 18 hours like I had hoped.

Kevin pulls me up. Arm-in-arm, very tightly, we walk very quickly out of there. We talk about how I’m feeling better, about how good it will feel to finish, about everything. The branches off in the woods form into different things, and my minor hallucinations entertain me as I hobble on.

Gatorade. Power gel blasts. We’re finishing this. I have no idea what time it was until Kevin tells me I am definitely breaking 24 hours.

In the main gate. I’m running, as fast as I can. It hurts so bad, it hurts so good. I push on. Faster. Ow. People are cheering me on, though the crowds have thinned as many of the crews are asleep, home, or in the lodge, warming up.

Down the stupid steps, Kevin telling me each step because he knows I’m a tad delirious. And up the steps, I’m running up them, screaming with hands in the air, wearing all these donated clothes, so happy to finally finish this wretched race, this beautiful race.

And I’m done. Four minutes off my PR. Not what I had set out to do, but I ran harder than I ever had. I felt great. Runners’ high. It was a beautiful day, a beautiful race, a beautiful struggle.

Final Taper Run Before Umstead

Nerves.

My stomach feels literally, cliche or not, like butterflies are fluttering about, from intestines to stomach and all over my body. I'm tingling with nervousness.

The 2011 Umstead 100 Miler will be my 5th 100 miler. That doesn't mean it's any easier. Instead, I feel this intense pressure to perform well. To run fast. To not have any problems.

There's a lot I've done to prepare for this race - the intense training; the long runs; the races; the cross-training; the running in suckiest of weathers; the visualization; the prep I'll do with food the next two days (Bring on the carbs!); the packing; the meticulously arranged drop bags. But when it gets down to the race, anything can happen, things you can't control. Stomach problems. Random pains. Injuries. Nausea. Where's the bushes? Electrolyte deficiency. Who knows?

But there's nothing you can do, but embrace it all. I'm excited to run with good friends, run on pretty trails, run in weather that will be warmer than in NYC. My mom and my sister will crew me. It's going to be so much fun.

As I tapered this morning, all these thoughts flooded through my body. An excitement pushed my feet - flying. I saw three of my totally awesome NBR teammates during mile repeats - I chatted to them while they rested before their final repeat. Then I saw another NBR-ite on her way to work. We chatted. They all believed in me. They think I'm crazy, but they were supportive of what I can accomplish.

And accomplish I will.

No matter what I do, I will have won in my heart.

Umstead Packing!

I'm packing right now, with the assistance of my cat. She's staring at the stove, waiting for another mouse to emerge. I'm forgetting things like, non-running underwear, packing way too many gels (Conversation goes like this: Me: "I'm packing 24 gels." Wayne: "You going to eat that many gels? Wow." Me: "Of course not. I'm going to eat 4, feel like if I eat another I'll vomit, and then stick to race food the rest of the time, and my mom's cookies."), worrying I don't have enough, pretty sure I have too much.

A rough packing list (borrowed from previous blog posts, and to remind you/me!):

• 2 sports bras
• 2 tank tops
• 2 running skirts
• 2 pairs of underwear
• 3 pairs of socks
• 2 sneakers (one is a half-size bigger, which will feel like heaven at mile 70!)
• 2 thin long-sleeved shirt
• 2 warmer running shirt
• visor
• 1 pair of gloves
• baby wipes
• body glide
• packs of tissues (for when you gotta pee on the trail (Yeah, we get lazy and don't even move off the trail sometimes!) or a port-a-potty that of course, has no tp!)
• foradil (asthma medicine)
• albuertol (asthma medicine)
• singulair (asthma medicine)
• dulera (asthma medicine)
• 22 gels (though I never eat this many, just in case!)
• 12 sports chews (power gel strawberry blasts)
• 1 sports beans
• 30 endurolytes
• gaiters
• Hydration belt
• 2 water bottles
• 1 5-hour energy shot 
• Energy chews (Caffeine in the for of gum!)
• Ziploc bags
• sunglasses
• headlamps
• extra batteries
• Advil
• Imodium & tums
• mints (I like Mint-o-Green lifesavers)
• 2 Drop Bags

To buy when I arrive:
Sunscreen, Coconut water


Can't wait to see my sister, run 100miles with some of the most amazing peeps I know!

Thinking Big

"You cannot get what you don't go after."

--Ray K.

Umstead 100 Miler. Just the very thought sends my mind someplace else...to those well-groomed carriage trails, to last year's race, to that seemingly torturous hill after the second main aid station (the one where I clutched my stomach after learning my limit of M&Ms, and where I had a woman stop her race to help offer me Tums...), to how I do not plan on spending time inside the lodge, to how I want to PR, to how strong I need to run to do this.

I haven't had the best training, I know. Backpacking seemed to take a priority over long runs (Hello, beach! Hello, surfboard! Hello, rum! Hello, awesome new friends! Hello, Cacao Shaman! Goodbyes all around!), and while in Central America, though I did run 1-2 hours nearly every day, I still didn't get in my usual amount of long runs. The weather back home was so miserable that instead of laughing around Bear Mountain, Rockefeller, and Minnewaska, I probably would've been slogging miles in paved Central Park with the dreaded iPod.

But - more than anything else - I have the desire. The want. The burn inside. Ray K. told me we could do 18 hours - I don't know if this is possible. My sister wants me to run as fast as possible ("If you finish before 11 o'clock, we can still get a table at this restaurant!" "The quicker you run, the more time you'll have to eat."), my mom is sad I plan on spending less time at aid stations, and others doubt if I can do it. I'm not sure.

When yr crew has a spread, grabbing what you need is easier.

But I'm still going to TRY.

But if I have a good day - and I'm planning on having a good day, that's what I marked my calendar for! - I can run strong and fast and well and have fun. I hope to stay with Tony and Ray in 10 minute miles for the first 50 miles. I'll have to learn to get in and out of aid stations quicker - have Lissy and my mom prep water bottles for me, and give me my extra bottle of coconut water, my savior, and whatever delicious snacks I'm desiring of. I'll have to plan my drop bags out a little better than I have previously.

Prepping drop bags cluelessly before my first 100miler

Next week - I'm serious - sleep. Lots of it. Lots of carbs, good food. Just a little running, to keep the legs in motion - but getting lots of rest. I'll cut out caffeine (Makes that 5 hour energy shot kick me into gear a little stronger!). I'll stretch. I'll make my sister promise to force me into an ice bath (and she can be fierce, so I know she'll make me do it).

And victory...I want to taste it. I want it so bad. I need to go after it in order to get it.

Umstead 100: 22:32: Race Report

"An easy 100," I've heard said of Umstead before. I don't think there is such a thing, but Umstead is easier in terms of 100s - the course is 12.5miles long, and you run it 8 times. There are two big aid stations where you can have drop bags and there is quite an array of a variety of food (baked potatoes, pretzels, m&ms, oranges, cantaloupe, hot dogs, pizza, hot cocoa, soups, potato chips, animal crackers, I can go on and on...), so with these two logistical issues taken care of, the 100 becomes *slightly* easier. There's also several intermediary aid stations I usually skipped that just had water and gatorade (some with a little bit more) and usually no volunteers. The footing is quite good (nothing technical) and while the loops can become a little boring...but it's a good race if you love to run. That makes it "easy" too.

The course has some flats, some steeper hills, some rolling hills - nothing too awful, but when you're feeling like death later in the race, it's hard to motivate yourself to do anything but walk up the minor hills.

The pre-race meeting was too long and boring, and I felt bad for my poor sister and her husband (They put up a lot this weekend!) so we snuck out early to head back to their place to eat pasta. I ended up falling asleep around 8:30, and woke up around 3:30 when my parents arrived at my sister's.

The start was fun. My mom, sister, and Brian were a little overwhelmed by the start ("Why do these people need coolers?" "What are they wearing?" "That's what they're leaving at the aid station?" etc.), and quite underwhelmed by the start (One second, I was chatting about where to buy running skirts, the next I was running!).

Lap 1:
I felt pretty good. I went out strong, was happy, and warmed up quickly. (It was in the 30s when we started.) I ran with Tony for a while, scaring myself. (He's a quite bit faster than I.) I felt good though, quite comfortable. (About 2hr16minpace)

Lap 2:
I chased after Tony and kept up on my pace. I met new friends. One of the greatest things about the course is you can see people (like Paul, Shannon, Steve Tursi, and many others) in multiple points -- there's an out and back each time to the main aid station, and another on the "airport spur." It made for a very friendly ultra, with almost a party-like atmosphere. Lap two I continued to feel great. My sister, father, and Brian were at the HQ aid station again (and the intermediary) and brought me some bottled water - the water had a funny taste (which others have remarked on as well). (About 2:20 pace or so)

Lap 3:
Felt great still. Just enjoying the race, the day. Tony was a bit ahead of me and I wanted to catch him, but didn't want to burn myself out. Felt strong. (About 2:20 pace or so) 

Lap 4:
The first half I started to feel really hungry. I had eaten a gel but needed solid food. When I got to the middle aid station, feeling famished, I gorged on pretzels and M&Ms. I learned a very powerful lesson a half mile later: too many M&Ms in too short a time can result in nausea. I ended up clutching my stomach, pausing to dry heave. People passed me, all inquiring (I was bent over, holding my stomach, walking a lot) and one woman paused to help me, giving me Tums. They were magic. (Note to self: carry Tums on every ultra from now on!) I felt a lot better...until my stomach began hurting in a different way - and let's say that a half mile to a portapotty can be too far and I was so glad I had immodium. I lost A LOT of time and felt awful - I was soaked with sweat from illness and this messed my stomach and appetite up a lot.

This one guy passed me and said to me, "You know, you can still do sub-24 if you push yourself." I was walking, feeling horrid and said, "My stomach hurts SO bad." (I was literally moaning to myself b/c I was in so much pain.) He said, 

"If you're gonna walk, walk like you mean it. You can whine when it's over."


That kicked something in me. I ran until I had to run behind a tree to go to the bathroom.


This phrase echoed in my head anytime things got tough.

Lap 5:
When I got back to HQ aid station before starting, I took medicine, drank ginger ale, and ate some pretzels. Some random crew person helped me (I LOVE the runners, pacers, crew, and volunteer at ultras; they always go above and beyond helping, way beyond anything that would happen in a road race).  

I kicked it up. I picked up the pace where I left off, pushing, pushing, passing people who had passed me. "You look great!" "Someone looks a lot better." It was such a welcoming and nice environment and I felt so great and happy and SO much better.

Lap 6:
Pacer time! My little sister met me, all ready to go. I drank some coconut water (mmmm, Zico!), took more endurolytes, and ate pretzels. The rest of the race, due to my messed up stomach, I stuck to a steady diet of pretzels, animal crackers, and Power Gel Bursts. I also took a 5 hour Energy Shot, which helped keep me awake.

I also changed my shoes to a half-size bigger - this helped my swollen feet have room to spread out, and I highly recommend this to anyone running a 100 miler. I also changed my bra and tank top and put on a long sleeved and a pair of gloves.

It got dark slightly before we hit the second aid station, and my sister somehow figured out how to break the head lamp (just kidding, but it did disassemble) and we had to figure it out. The moon was full and some people opted for no head lamp, but I found it mostly helped. I still felt pretty good.

My sister carried my fuel belt which helped lighten things up for me - every little thing like that is always nice!

Lap 7:
I had never met Kelsey before, but she volunteered to pace me. She was fantastic and I couldn't have asked for a better stranger to become my friend during the course of pacing me. She was sweet, funny, interesting, motivating, smart, and a great runner. I was struggling a lot, and Kelsey tried to get me to eat. I tried to eat crusts of white bread. The promise land of pancakes never materialized, despite promises from the RD that there would be pancakes. (Apparently they were made WAY after I finished running, Boooo!) I was a little out of it, swaying and shivering, and Kelsey pushed me. I struggled hard as my time dropped.

Lap 8:
Ow. My feet hurt so bad. At one point, I said something like, "I'm running like a little old lady in high heels." Step, step, step. I think when I was running hard on lap 5, trying to make up for lost time, I ran too hard on some of the downhills...and my quads were reminding me on laps 6, 7, and 8 what happens when you do that.

The first 7 miles of this lap were awful. We walked a lot as Kelsey engaged me in various conversations. When we got to the final aid station, happiness surrounded me but I knew I needed to get something in me or it would last even longer. I opted for hot chocolate, made from a mix, something I'd normally snub but that really helped me. Kelsey encouraged me to eat and I stuffed animal crackers into my pockets to eat during the final miles.

The hot cocoa really warmed me up. I pushed, pushed, pushed as much as I possibly could, running more, feeling good.

And then - then it was over! Down a hill, up a hill - and to my sister, mom, and Brian screaming. It felt great! 55 overall -- and over 220 starters. Wow! A PR of over 6 1/2 hours!


What would I do differently?

• Not eat so many M&Ms at once
• Get my mom to bring me pancakes
• Figure out other food that works for my stomach (and bring more Powergel bursts)
• Pack bottled water for next year's Umstead

I think that's pretty much it. I ran as hard as I could - and I'm so pleased.

Now - next goals...I would love to break 20 hours! Hah!
 

umstead 100: quick update

So I did it! I broke the 24 hour 100 mile barrier and ran Umstead 100 Miler in 22:32. I'm sore, exhausted, but so full of life.

Full race report coming soon!

P.S. I think I like 100 milers a lot more now...!

Umstead 100

This is it - off to JFK to catch my flight to Umstead 100 Miler!!!

Packing List for Umstead 100 Miler

Because I don't want to forget anything (I'll have houseguests the week prior to Umstead and my work conference, so I'll likely be packing days in advance), I already made a packing list for the Umstead 100 Miler. (Okay, so I was bored in a meeting the other day...)

• 3 sports bras
• 3 tank tops
• 3 running skirts
• 3 pairs of underwear
• 6 pairs of socks
• 2 sneakers
• rain jacket
• thin long-sleeved shirt
• warmer running shirt
• running tights
• two visors
• 2-3 pairs of gloves
• sunscreen
• baby wipes
• body glide 
• pack of tissues
• foradil (asthma medicine)
• albuertol (asthma medicine)
• 15-20 gels
• 2 sports chews (power gel strawberry blasts)
• 4 sports beans
• 30 endurolytes
• gaiters
• velcro for gaiters
• 2 water bottles
• fun-sized snickers bars
• 2 5-hour energy shot
• ziploc
• sunglasses
• headlamps (2)
• small flashlight
• extra batteries
• advil
• immodium
• ginger candies
• for post race: sandals, fleece socks, comfy pants, warm hoodie, clean undies, t-shirt

Did I forget anything???

Pot at the End of the Umstead 100 Rainbow

Right now, I'm really focused on Umstead 100 Miler. I want to go sub 24 so bad I can taste it, but I also know it depends upon so many different things. If I'm having a good day, I KNOW I can do it. So many little things - chafing, blisters, upset stomach, electrolyte imbalance - turn into much bigger things in a 100 miler. I'm doing everything I can to be prepared - but the day of, we'll see what happens.

Using the sage advice of others on the ultra list, I have developed a plan to go sub 24.

I must run the first 50 miles in anywhere from 9 hours to 11:30 (depending on who you talk to). I'm hoping to do it in around 10ish.

The RD sent me an excellent race report that I've used to help develop my race plan. Each loop is 12.5 miles, and I need to run appropriately to finish in sub-24.

Lap 1: 2:20
Lap 2: 2:30 (Total time: 4:50)
Lap 3: 2:35 (Total time: 7:25)
Lap 4: 2:45 (Total time: 10:10)
Lap 5: 3:00 (Total time: 13:10)
Lap 6: 3:15 (Pick up pacer!) (Total time: 16:25)
Lap 7: 3:25 (Pacer!) (Total time: 19:50)
Lap 8: 3:40 (Pacer!) (Total time: 23:40!)

Obviously, it's going to be really tight, but I'm hoping I can make it.

The RD and others say if you want to finish sub-24, you need to bucket in enough extra time - so 10 hours for the first 50 miles, 13 for the next. Seeing as I've only gone sub-10 hours once in a 50 miler, I know it's going to be really, really tough. However, I have on my side:

• Intense training
• 5 Hour Energy Shots
• My mom, dad, and sister crewing me
• My sister pacing me for one loop (I wish she could do more because she's not afraid to beat the crap out of me when I need it but she's not an insane runner like me!)
• Kelsey pacing me for two loops (who is totally awesome!)

I can't stop thinking about Umstead...counting the moments down...it's going to be a blast, amazing, insane fun - and one of the toughest things I've ever done!

and the training for the umstead 100 miler continues...

I have to get more serious about things. I've been trying to make sure I do my strength training at least twice a week, preferably three times. I went to yoga tonight - I haven't been in forever and need to be more mindful about my stretching. I'll keep up with my cross-training, upping my mileage smartly, and training through glycogen depletion.

I'm excited and nervous and loving (and sometimes hating) the process.