Roanoke Canal Half Marathon - Trail Race

Friday night I loaded my car with sleeping bag, pillow, race gear and a change of clothes and headed south to Roanoke Rapids. I left home about 8:30pm. It was rainy, and the farther south I went, the heavier the rain was. I also have to confess that my snacking wasn’t the healthiest in the world, probably had some effect on my performance the next day. Finally, at about 12:30, I pull into the RV campground near the race site. Their website mentioned $15 overnight sites. It was a self-register thing, and soon I was snuggled in the back of my Honda Element. Well, as snuggled as you can get sleeping in a car. With all the seats down, there really was plenty of room, it was just a little lumpy. I knew I should have brought my backpacking sleeping pad, it might have evened things out a bit. It rained off and on all night long, and at 5:30 when the alarm went off it was grey and drizzly with a slight coolness in the air. I was not ready to get up and tempted fate by resetting the alarm to 6:00am. Fortunately, the race was not too far away and I was dressed and at the site before 7. I got my race packet, and did a small run to loosen up my stiff joints. Bonus! I found a bathroom with no line! Now I realized I was way overdressed. The temperature was rising and it was humid, so I ran back to my car and changed into a t-shirt (already had long shorts on).

The race started in waves. Some people were confused because when the first wave left, it was more than just the fast people. With that surge gone, I somehow was right on the starting line. He said “Go!” and I took off like a rabbit out of a hole. Where is everybody, I wondered, not used to being out in front. And hey, I don’t know where I’m going! Oh yea, this isn’t a 5k, I better slow down if I want to last the whole race. Fortunately, the race was very well marked and pretty much a straight shot and as I settled into my pace, some people passed me and I caught up to and passed some from the first wave. My goal was to do just under 9 minute miles for the first half, which would give a little leeway for the return trip.
Mile 1: 8:23
Mile 2: 8:45
After mile 2 is when we hit our first slick spot of mud. The path was on a rise and sloped down on both sides. The middle was the muddiest, but if you got to one side or the other, you started slipping off the trail! So it felt like for every two steps forward, you slid one step back. When you finally got off the mud, it clung to your shoes and they felt about a pound heavier. A woman had fallen and was in pain. But she had people helping her so I kept moving on.
Mile 3: 9:08
Mile 4: 9:15
Mile 5: 9:28
The trail went in and out of the muddy spots, and then it went into this series of ups and downs and around bends. Down 10 feet, back up 20, around the corner and down again. Some of these were gravel, some were pure mud. At one point I tried to run up a slippery muddy bank. I slid back down. I tried it again, down I go. Finally, hands and feet, I crawled up the bank and made it to the top.
Mile 6: 10:02 (the muddy bank)
I reach the turn around point right at the hour mark. I could still make my 2 hr goal!
Mile 7: 9:10
My joy was short-lived. The muddy spots were now even worse since over 200 people had run on them. I had to do a little negotiating in my head. After all, I had a 100 miler in 2 weeks. It would be really stupid to hurt myself in a race that was just supposed to be for fun. So I pulled back and let myself enjoy the trails without pushing the pace as much.
Mile 8: 10:11
Mile 9: 9:42
Mile 10: 10:14
Mile 11: 10:05
Mile 12: 10:13
Mile 13: 10:11
For a course that was supposed to be flat and fast, it had a lot of dips and rolls. My garmin says that from mile 11 to mile 13, we were climbing. The sun came out at this point and warmed things up even more. With about ½ mile to go, this lady passes me on the climb. I keep her in sight, knowing that the last 2/10 of a mile is downhill. As we crest the hill and head towards the finish line I start to close the gap. The trail makes a sharp right turn, a full switchback and she makes the tactical error of swinging wide to make the turn. I slip by her on the inside and then it’s the sprint to the finish! Don’t look back, she’s breathing down your neck, don’t let her pass you! Got her (by ½ second)! She says “Thanks for pulling me in.” My pleasure. Final time: 2:05:54. 5th out of 32 in my age group, 18th woman (out of 100) and 80th overall (out of 231).
After a quick change of clothes, I jumped in the car and headed back to VA. It started raining again half way back, but I only had to ford one flooded creek to get home. Next up – the Umstead100!

Blizzard Run - February 5, 2010

The snow was falling, changing the landscape into a Winter Wonderland. The weather forecast called for the heaviest snow to come later at night, so I figured it was a good time for a little mountain run. Considering that conditions could change quickly, I loaded up my pack with extra hand and body warmers, had dual and triple layers everywhere, and headed down the road. Six inches was already on the ground. In the woods, it was double that since the snow of earlier in the week had not melted. This was not going to be a fast run. After negotiating a couple of creeks and forging a new path through the woods I was ready to climb the first ridge. Pushing through the knee high snow, I felt like Sir Edmund Hillary climbing Mt. Everest. The higher I climbed, the faster and more furiously the snow fell, till I was staring at the small spot illuminated by my headlamp two feet in front of me. The trick was I didn’t know if I were on rock, tree limb, or solid ground. With each step I could sink 4 inches, or 2 feet. Traveling along at the blazing speed of 1.5 mph, I made it to the top of the ridge and began my descent down along the “seven switchbacks of Bolden Hollow.” (Not to be confused with the Seven Hills of Rome). This was great fun. I would build speed on the almost level straight away, until I hit the dreaded turn. Then I would lay on the brakes, skid, slid, grab a tree and try not to careen into the woods as I made the turn, then build speed again until the next turn. By the time I reached the bottom, it was completely dark. Now the fun began. I negotiated the creek crossing by jumping from one white spot to another (hoping that it really was a rock under there), and headed up Piney Ridge. My pace slowed to one m.p.h. I slid, fell, crawled and pushed through the snow. Finally, I was nearing the top of the ridge. In an instant the weather changed. Wind whipped the snow horizontally, blasting it into my face. I pulled the balaclava up over my nose until only my eyes peaked out. I was working my way down the side of the mountain, the snow blowing, obscuring the trail and creating drifts that were thigh high. I was thinking “Donner Pass” as I fumbled downward, knowing a misstep could be disastrous. I laughed, this was Warrior Princess stuff! Pure craziness! After negotiating a particularly rocky turn (backwards), my feet were once again on solid ground and I felt the pure joy of running with abandon down the side of the mountain. Then snow was deep enough that there was little chance of falling and even if I did, the impact would be soft. Crossing a creek, I began the final ridge before I hit the roads that would take me home. My legs were burning by the time I came out of the trail. Here, I was half way up the mountain. Why not run to the top on the road? I started out strong, running in 10-12” of snow, but soon the conditions worsened – the snow blowing directly into my face, stinging the exposed parts. After a half mile of that, I decided it was time to head down the mountain. Things were going smoothly until I hit the steep descent. Then, bam, I was on my backside. I struggled to my feet, started to move, and whop, down I went again. Eventually, I made it down to the bottom by walking in the ditch and the snow banks. On fairly level ground, I was able to run again. A fellow pulled out of his driveway and was plowing the section from his house to the main road. I followed him out, grateful for a smooth path to run on. Now it was simply follow the road home to my house. Even that was not so simple, because with the limited visibility it would have been very easy to miss the driveway. I walked into the house, covered with snow and looking like the abominable snowman. Another great “run” – 7.69 miles in 3 ½ hours! I think I’ll run on the treadmill today and watch “Into Thin Air.” (Which I did - 29 miles and 3 movies, including The Longest Run and Rocky).

Lost in the Woods

Two to four inches of snow and ice had fallen the night before, coating the mountain with white and obliterating the distinction between trail and woods. I arrived at Keyes Gap, WV at about 2:30am, backpack full of body and hand warmers(just in case), as well as my usual mountain trail running paraphernalia. As I started on the trail, headlamp illuminating the way, I noticed a single set of footprints headed in the same direction. Despite the flickering thought that the tracks could be those of an axe murderer, I was relieved to have something to follow that would keep me on the trail. The night was clear and cold. Bright stars flickered above the trees, and the lights of the valley could be seen whenever the ridge narrowed. The trail climbs up for a 1000 feet or so, then runs along the ridge for several miles before hitting the section called the roller coaster - a series of climbs and descents to weary the best of hikers/trail runners. The first few hours were uneventful; the night was quiet with only the soft crunching of my trail shoes to break the silence. As I got into the higher elevations, the ice became harder and the axe murderer's tracks began to fade. Now, I had to look down to watch my footing, and look up to keep an eye on the white trail blazes. I was cruising down a steep descent when suddenly those white blazes disappeared. There was no distinct trail anywhere. I ventured forward and around the bend shining my light into the surrounding trees for the trail markings. Not seeing any, I turned around to retrace my steps back to the last marker I saw. Everything looked the same, and I had left no footprints in the encrusted snow. I wandered up, to the left, back to the right, down the hill - nothing. A little surge of panic welled up. "I'm lost!" I took a deep breath and thought it through. I was heading south and was more on the east side of the ridge. If I headed back up the ridge - west and north - I should cross the trail eventually. If I start going down the other side I missed it. While I was contemplating this action, nature called, and I found a tree to squat against to have my "mystic moment." I turned my headlamp off for privacy. As I sat there contemplating life, I saw a light through the trees. "I wonder what that is?" Another hiker? It wasn't moving. A house? Then I heard a voice from within, deep and low "Go toward the light." Okay, I thought as I finished my business. Getting my bearings I headed toward the light and low and behold within minutes saw the familiar white blaze of the trail. I sighed with relief and hugged the tree just for good measure. Heading down the mountain, I next came to a power line road. Several limbs and trees had fallen and the power company had cut them up and pushed them to the side of the road. The problem was, they blocked and obscured the trailhead. I ran up the road until I passed the federal park boundary signs. I ran back down the road, looked from where I came out of the woods to the road and saw nothing. Eventually, I crashed through the woods and was able to pick the trail back up pretty easily. Now I was climbing again. As I crested the top of the ridge and arrived at one of the few overlooks on this section of trail, the first rays of morning were creeping over ridge. I stopped to let the sun bid me "Good morning" and then headed down again. At the bottom of this ridge, I also made a wrong turn on one of the many switchbacks, but knowing I had to cross the creek at a certain point, I just followed it back to the trail. Now I could turn off the headlamp. Up the next ridge and back down again. A couple of early morning hikers greeted me. I reached Route 7, crossed it and began the next section of the Appalachian Trail. By now, I was in rhythm with the woods. Up and down I went. The sun's rays sparkled against the ice-enclosed branches and trees creating a winter fairyland. I crossed a raging stream, getting my feet wet, and surged up another steep ridge. I was getting close to home. At the next road crossing, I realized that my time was up so I ran that last three miles on the roads, reaching my driveway in the warmth of the noonday sun. I never did discover what that light was on the mountain, but I learned this: When you're lost and need direction, go towards the light and you'll always find your way home.

Swinging Bridge 50K - January 16, 2010

The race advertisement said 80% trail, no significant elevation changes but crosses up to a dozen creeks and numerous short hills. Doesn't sound too hard, right? So, I crawl out of bed at 3am to dress and make the 3 hour drive down to the race site. After an hour of driving, I stop to get gas and realize I've left my purse at home. I had stuck $20 in my pocket, but didn't know if that would buy enough gas to get down and back, plus we were supposed to pay for parking at the state park and I didn't know how much that was going to be. Panic! I spotted a Sheetz gift card sitting on my dash that was slated for someone else - and decided I could use that and just replace the card when I got home. Onward I went. Finally, I pulled into the state park and found the race site. There were three port-a-potties at the registration site. Those were it for the duration of the race (and the start/finish line was a little ways down the trail). I figured there were about 100 people there for the race, but I didn't know how many were going to do the 35K and how many were doing the 50K. Some were probably like me, sitting on the fence until we actually were running the race. Besides, there was that little thing called a cutoff time that could pose a problem. It was cold and I was shivering, but it was supposed to warm up to the 50s later in the day. I was happy they finally said "Go!" Off we went, single file through the woods. The trail started off fairly wide, but the farther along we ran, the narrower the trail became until soon it was a glorified deer trail. The hills started right away, nothing really steep, but I began to realize this was going to be a lot hillier than I first thought. The second obstacle was logs. Logs were down on the path everywhere. Some you jumped over, some you climbed over, and some you climbed under. After about a mile and a half, the line of people I was following reached the first intersection of confusion. "Where did the white trail blazes go?" We went one way, but it didn't seem right. Finally, someone went off in the opposite direction. "Here they are!" Now we're climbing an even bigger hill. The path widens out and several people pass me, then on the down hill I pass several people back. I just love to open up and let gravity take me down the hill. Now we're running along a creek. Oof! Down I go. "I'm ok!" I say, and pick myself up. Down a slippery bank, sliding backwards this time onto my rear-end. "I'm ok!" The first couple of streams were shallow and in the woods. They were still frozen and you sort of skated across them. Then we came to the real stream. The larger streams had fairly steep banks on either side. So you would have to climb down to the creek, wade across it, then climb back up the other side. These banks got muddier as the day went on. The water was freezing and calf high, in some places knee high. When you climbed out to the other side your feet were numb until you got moving again. I was moving along and felt the presence of a few people behind me (not much room to pass on the trails), so I stopped to let them go by. There were 10 people or more right behind me. They go by and then they miss the trail and end up behind me again. As we came out of the woods at one road intersection, I fall flat on my face. I'm thinking "I'll just lie here a while and contemplate life" But then, these two guys come by and literally pick me up and set me back on my feet. They did point out the ambulance down the road. So it's 7.5 miles into the race, and I don't know how many times I've fallen, but I'm having a little pity party. I've about given up doing the 50k and thinking that a 35k training run in these woods might be enough for me. One of the guys walks with me and then runs with me once I start moving again. He is in the army and was in Iraq back in the summer. He tells me of the RPG that he could have reached out and touched as it shot by their helicopter, the pickup truck full of Iraqi policemen that was blown up right before his eyes, and the mortar that landed near him but didn't explode. His wife told him that he didn't come back the same. How could you? It reminds me of the incredible sacrifice our soldiers are making, and of the challenges they face on a daily basis. Real challenges, life and death stare at you in the face all the time. He helps me down one of the slippery banks and up the other side of the creek and then he moves on. Now I'm content, as I watch the runners move farther away from me. I like running alone in the woods. But I really have to go to the bathroom! Finally I reach the aid station at the 10.5 mile turn around. No porta-potty. "You don't happen to have a bathroom, here?" I ask. "Well you can go down the road there, and turn left into the woods." Ha ha - that's exactly what I do. As I head out of the woods there are 4 other women squatting in various places. I head back on the trail, enjoying the peace and quiet, when the 4 women catch up to me. They seemed pretty content to stay behind me, and so I lead for a time. The women talk nonstop as they run. Some people love to talk during a run - the companionship makes the miles go by. But me, I love the solitude of the woods. I stop to get a rock out of my shoe and they move on. Now I'm really alone. I begin to relax and view the race like I intended - as a training run. I'm recontemplating the 50k. After all, I'm the warrior princess, I can't wimp out at the 35k mile marker. I think about all my friends who just completed the Disney marathon, for some their first marathon ever, or of those who did the Goofy (half-marathon on Saturday, marathon on Sunday), and how they pushed through and finished. So I decide that if I can make it back by 4hrs 30 min, that gives me 3 hrs to do the extra 10 miles. Piece of cake, right? For the first 10 miles, my paces ranged 10:34min to 13:55, depending on the hills, the number of obstacles etc. On the next 10 miles my paces ranged from 12:44 to 16:59, depending on whether I needed a potty break or how many times I fell down, etc. So by the time I got to the 35k mark the time was 4hrs45min into the race. 15 minutes before cutoff! I asked them if they would pull me if I didn't make it back in 7:30. When they said nope, this was the only cutoff that counted, I headed down the new path for the last 10 miles. As I headed out, other runners were coming back. I realized that most of the runners did the 35k. Up and down the hills I went - some of the climbs were not "short" as the advertisement said. This was as gnarly a trail as any I had been on yet. On one creek bank, I sat on my rear-end and slid down to the creek, crossed it, then crawled on my hands and knees to get up the other side. At the final turn around and the last five miles, they informed me that there was one other person behind me. I said, "Oh, maybe I should slow down, so I can be last." I did slow down, but not intentionally, although I knew that as long as someone was behind me I was okay. In the end, I passed a guy who seemed a bit lost. Now there were two behind me. Right at the end, one of the guys caught up and passed me, finishing about 30 seconds ahead of me. Next, I crossed the finish line in 7:36:48 and the final guy was 3 seconds behind me. 31 people did the 50k, of those 4 were women, so I was 4th woman overall! And of us 4 women, we were all 40 or older. Go masters women! I was proud of myself for sticking with the game plan. It would have been real easy to quit after 35k - it wouldn't really have been quitting since it was an official race distance, but for me it would have meant taking the easy route out, of not pushing myself to the limit. How will I get better unless I test myself, to know what it will take to finish the race strong (no matter what place you come in). So that's what I did.

Seashore 50k - December 19, 2009

My daughter and I headed down to Virginia Beach on Friday, planning on making a stop to check out Regent University. All week, the weather forecast kept changing. First, it was supposed to be dry on Saturday, then a chance of showers, but by the end of the week a full blown winter storm was forecast. I debated the wisdom of driving down there, but with race paid for and room reservations made - away we went. By the time we checked into the hotel room, the snow was already coming down up north, and high winds, heavy rain and possible flooding were predicted for VA Beach. It was too late to change our minds and turn around, because we would have had a hard time making it back home in the midst of the storm. The race was still on with a slight modification to the course. Now instead of two loops, it would be three loops (or more correctly - 3 out and backs), with part on a paved road inside the state park. This little change made for mentally a tough day. Never-the-less, I showed up for the 7:30 start ready to go. Temperatures were rainy and in the forties at the start, but were predicted to drop during the day. I had on 2 layers on top, with my rain jacket over all that, plus running tights and rain pants on the bottom. Two pairs of socks, gloves and a hat. I wore my hydration vest, plus also carried a small bottle in my jacket pocket along with numerous gels and sport beans. We ran about half a mile and entered the trail. Already it was pretty muddy. Most people were running on the sides of the trail to avoid the puddles in the middle. I followed for a while and then because it was impossible to keep the feet dry, and I was expending extra energy dodging back and forth across the trail, I decided to run straight down the middle. This worked for at least the first loop. The paved part was a nice break from the mud and I kept a good pace. The first 10 miles were done in 1:36. Now, for the second loop. The rain comes and goes. It would taper off for a while, then begin to pour! With 160 people moving up and down the trail, the footing gets worse. My strategy of running right through the middle of the puddles gets harder because the ground is getting softer and softer. We are also running in a green tunnel. While the trail had markers every 1/2 mile, it seemed like forever before you come to the next marker and everything looks the same. As I approach the paved section for a second time, the wind and rain pick up once again. Right before the turn around point, the road is flooded! Other people are plunging in, so I follow. In the middle of this new lake, the water is over my knees and freezing cold. When I finally trudge through to the other side, my feet are numb until I get them moving again. Turn around, and then I have to go through it again. Soon, I was on the muddy trail again. By this time, I was stopping to get extra gatorade at the aid stations. I hit the 20 mile marker at 3:33. I thought I was doing pretty good and figured if I could even maintain a 12 minute mile I would finish in less than 6 hours. A lady in a red outfit ran by me, and I decided to try to keep up with her. We had been playing tag for the last 4 miles. But mentally, I didn't want to do the third loop. The mud was getting to me. As we ran down the trail, she seemed to get farther and farther ahead. Lots of people were starting to struggle - you could see the toll of the rain and mud on their faces. Plus I could feel the temperature starting to drop and was so glad this was my last loop. I waded through the "lake" one more time and then on the way back finally gave in and took the route through the woods. My legs were really starting to ache. I walked for a little bit with a guy doing his first ultra, having never run over 14 miles in training. He was also wearing Vibram 5 Finger shoes. I left him to try to run as fast as I could while still on the pavement, knowing that the 3.5 miles of trail leading to the finish were going to be tough. My time at the marathon mark was 5:00. I still had a chance to break 6 hrs, but even when I was running I felt my pace slipping closer to 14 and 15 minute miles. The trail was so muddy that I could only walk through the slipperiest and softest spots. At about mile 29, I was thinking "I quit. I'm just going to go to the next aid station and drop out." Of course the aid station was right before the finish line and I would have to walk past the finish line to get to my car. So I just laughed at myself - it was my running internal joke "I quit, I'm done," knowing that it would get me to the finish line. Weird about what works when you're tired. Finally I saw that last aid station, picked up my drop bag(which I didn't use) and ran/walked to the finish. Done in 6:10:44 - over half an hour slower than my 50k PR, but what an adventure! I went back to the hotel, took a long hot shower and jumped into the in-room jacuzzi. Nice! Va Beach got a dusting of snow that evening. The next morning on my recovery run I saw people surfing! I guess you got to catch a good wave when it comes!

JFK 50 Mile - November 21, 2009

Saturday morning I woke at 3am, dressed, got my gear together and made the drive up to Boonesboro for the start of the race. I reached the intersection going into town just as the 5am starters took off and I had to wait for them to go by. They were jogging or walking up a small hill going out of town. Couldn't help but wonder if I should be with them instead of the 7am starters. Finally, I'm allowed to go and I find the educational complex where I pick up my race packet, make a potty stop and wait for the pre-race meeting. Mentally, I'm running through my race strategy and trying to decide if I should wear the knee pads for the Appalachian Trail section. When I did my training run on this section, I fell hard and bruised the side of my knee. But the things aren't the most comfortable in the world, and since I have no crew to hand things off to, I would either have to ditch them, or wear them the whole race. Finally, I decide to wear them. I am also using the Nathan Hydration racing vest for the first time. I am determined not to get dehydrated today. Of course, I first had to figure out how to get the liquid out of the bladder and into my mouth. I fiddled with the hose while we walked to the starting line in the middle of town. I also wore my many pocketed vest over a long sleeve technical shirt and had the pockets stuff with gels, sport beans and s-caps. On my arms were wool socks with the toes cut out. Suddenly the horn sounded and we were off! I kept looking for a mat to cross over, but there was just a chalk line drawn across the road. As the road started to climb up the mountain I decided to continue running, slowly. My splits up those first 3 miles were 10:39, 11:32, 12:39. Then we turned onto a trail. I saw an open porta-potty and took my first bathroom break. This trail didn't last very long before we began a long climb up a paved section. It was steep! I walked and ran up this section which topped off at about mile 5. My pace definitely slowed here. Finally, the real Appalachian Trail - a narrow single-track rocky path. This section rolled up and down, actually more down until we got to the first aid station. I had my one and only tumble here, hit the rocks hard - my knees were protected but got a nasty bruise on my thigh. I was a little surprised that no one stopped to make sure I was okay, but rather used the opportunity to pass me (not typical ultra runner behavior). I was feeling pretty good at the first aid station, so kind of ran through that one and continued on the trail. This section had more uphill and was more technical. Overall, the A.T. section was fairly runnable, but the section I didn't like was the last mile and a half down the mountain. It was very technical and my feet were starting to hurt. I should have stopped and adjusted my shoe laces but just wanted to get off the mountain. At 3hrs, 30minutes into the race I finally came down to Aid station #2 and the C&O canal. I ditched the knee pads which were getting extremely uncomfortable and downed two glasses of gatorade and took two electrolytes. I knew I needed more hydration, my legs were already tight, I felt pretty spent and I still had 35 miles to go. Now, I needed to worry about time cutoffs. I decided to shoot for 12 minute miles and calculated that if I could make it to 26 miles by 6 hours, I could finish the race doing 15min miles. My goal was to bank time. My second decision was to stop at every aid station and drink at least two glasses of something, and to take two endurolytes. I would sip from my hydration bladder between stops. At the 20 mile aid station, near Harper's Ferry, a group of about 10 people on horseback were headed down to get on the path. I didn't think that was a good idea with all the runners. Suddenly, BAM! BAM! BAM! Loud gunshots go off over the water (duck hunters!) The horses spook, one rider gets thrown and they take off in the opposite direction. "Horse loose!" I yell. Someone runs up to the thrown rider, but she's more concerned about the horse than herself. I head back down the trail, glad no one was hurt. About this time, a runner, who had stood up at the pre-race meeting with a 10 hour goal, passes me. I was surprised he was still behind me, but at the pace he was now running, I knew I would never see him again. So, I plodded along at my 12 minute miles, doing a lot of self talk. Where was that deep inner fire that kept me going, relentlessly forward when things started to hurt? "Hello, Warrior Princess, I know you're in there somewhere. Come out, come out wherever you are." I prayed that the Lord would give me the strength to keep pushing, to not quit unless they pulled me. Many people passed me. I was afraid to look behind in case there was no one left. I played leap frog with a lot of people. They would run by me, then take a walk break. I would jog by them in my relentless, plop, plop, plop. Or I would catch up to them at the aid station or when they took a bathroom break. Each aid station, I would stop drink two glasses and, if needed, refill my hydration bladder, eat a few chips, take a couple of endurolytes and move on. I also did 4 or 5 gels and a package of sport beans during the day. Sometimes, I would stop and stretch out my calves. Then I would continue my plodding along. My pace looked something like this: 12:25, 12:35, 13:13, 15:14(aid station), 12:26, 13:30, etc. At the 39 mile aid station, I pulled in and the lady said, "Good job, you made it just under the time cutoff." What?! I thought I was doing pretty good. Now I was panicking. I'm not going to make it. They're going to pull me from the course!! This was the lowest point for me. In my mind, I was rationalizing "Why keep going? They're going to pull you anyway?" But then I kept doing the math in my head - I actually had an hour to get to the next aid station which was only 3 miles away. I was still hitting 12-13 minute miles. And I was still banking minutes. A little spark lit inside. Just keep going! You're not a quitter! You're the warrior princess. Nothing can stop you. I kept going. The one couple I was playing leap frog with passed me again. The lady touched me on the shoulder. "You're an inspiration. You just keep that steady pace, and we'll get to the finish line." Then, I pulled into the last aid station on the canal path, where I was given a bright orange reflective vest to wear. I was at 9hrs and 40mins and a little over 8 miles to go. We turned off the path and started heading up a large hill. Ugh, my confidence started to slip, it's not in the bag yet - but then something happened. The spark inside me grew and the Warrior Princess returned. I started running even on some of the uphills. I began passing people, one after another. It got darker and darker. The road was not blocked off and cars were coming and going, forcing us onto the shoulder. I thought it was downright dangerous! I had my headlamp tucked in one of my vest pockets which I pulled out and carried like a flashlight. Then I kept my head down and just kept moving. As I spotted people ahead, I made it my goal to pass them. I ended up passing at least 50 people if not more. My legs suddenly felt good, not tight at all! I was enjoying myself! And I knew I would make it. At the 46.5 aid station they finally had one lane blocked off, so I could breathe easier about the traffic. With 1.5 miles I passed a guy who was getting his head bandaged up (so close and then that to happen)! Down a hill, into the town. I could hear the finish line, then I could see it! I raised my hands in victory as I crossed in 11hrs and 35 minutes! The Warrior Princess was back! Then I promptly threw up. After retrieving my bag, I climbed on the school bus for the ride back to my car. It was a day of ups and downs - a lot of introspection - learning not to quit when I'm down - that there's always something left, if you just hang on. And in the end it all comes back to God and His grace and mercy. Acts 20:24 - "But I don't place any value on my own life. I want to finish the race I'm running. I want to carry out the mission I received from the Lord Jesus-the mission of testifying to the Good News of God's kindness."

Marine Corps Marathon

The race that didn’t happen. If I don’t write about it, then it didn’t happen, right? If I ignore it long enough, it will go away. But I still have that big clunky medal and the $80 official jacket! Oh and the way too big race shirt.

So this is the short version (the long version no one but me will read because I poured out my soul on the paper and you really don’t want to see it, trust me):

Shivering, teeth chattering cold at the start, too many people, pushing crowding against me, weaving through the crowds, long lines at the potty – held it for 26+ miles. Noise, noise and more noise – horns and people. I can’t think, I can’t focus – just got to get away from these people. I’m tired and its only half way. Slowing, slowing. Maybe I should just stop, maybe I should find my family and go home. Can’t hear my inner voice – no drive, no ambition. Tired, dizzy, I think I’m going to pass out. Walk, run, cramp, walk, dizzy. Crying. why is this so hard? Want to drop to my knees and crawl to the finish. Dizzy. No! stay standing! Musn’t quit, musn’t quit……done. Give me room to breath, fake smile for the camera, where’s my family, crowding, never again…
Time: 4:48:05