Let the Trail Come to You, Part I: Forget the PR Mohican 50K

So, a little catch up is in order...

I really haven't made a lot of progress on getting over all of the pesky injuries that seem to creep up and interrupt my training and my racing.  After being cautious all winter, I had another debilitating bout with ITBS about 7 weeks out from Forget the PR this spring.  I went to physical therapy, where my practitioner, Kelly Newsad, recommended a different approach to getting over my issue: correct my over-striding.  Essentially, landing with my foot so far out in front of my center of mass was placing an enormous stress on my hips, keeping them in a perpetual state of tightness.  This tightness was not helping keep my IT band loose.  So, through the use of a metronome, I gradually increased my cadence until I was at the "magic" number of 180 strides per minute. I had started at 164 strides per minute, which wasn't bad, but still not ideal. It was not an easy transition;  my calves ached, I had no endurance, and I was even slower than before.  But, after about three weeks, my shorter strides were coming about more naturally, and I was landing on my midfoot, rather than on my heels.  In addition to the changes to my form, we also worked on strengthening the glutes and the calves, which were now more involved in carrying me across the miles than ever before.

I was feeling pretty good about the changes to my running.  My body was adapting pretty well and I was building my miles back up.  With about two weeks to go before Forget the PR,  I decided to see if I could rack up a good long trail run at Great Seal State Park.  I know I was coming back awfully fast and it was risky, but I REALLY REALLY wanted a chance to be at the starting line.  I managed about 18.5 slow and hilly miles.  It wasn't pretty, but I got it done. However, a new nemesis made its debut:  plantar fasciitis.  It was occurring on my left foot and was likely triggered by both a bunion and the new midfoot strike .  My foot was hurting pretty bad and made me decide that on race day, I would have to run with my hyper-cushioned Hoka Mafates.  I was not planning on running in those shoes, as they were the shoes I was wearing when my latest IT band injury occurred, and I had suspicions about them being a contributing factor.  But, they were the only shoes that did not irritate the plantar fascia.  While the risk of ITBS was greater with the Hokas, I could at least walk should the ITBS return. I could not walk with plantar fasciitis, which meant I would certainly DNF when the pain became intolerable.  This was not an ideal situation - attempting a 50K while still recovering from an old injury and while a new one was developing.  But, I had been training for so long to get this finish that I was willing to take a risk.  No guts, no glory, right?

Race day arrived and I was ecstatic to be at the starting line.  My dear friend and ultra running vet, Kathy Wolf,  agreed to be my pacer and to stay with me to the finish.  I warned her that I was not sure if my body will allow for a finish.  I told her that if I could at least get to 20 miles in one piece, I would walk it in.  I was wearing a Garmin, but just had it set to show distance, as I did not want to get caught up in pace.  She told me to let her worry about pace and I had no problem with that!  All I wanted was a comfortable finish, whatever pace/time that meant. After a pre-race speech by volunteer extraordinaire (and badass ultra runner in her own right) Kimba and race director Rob, we were off.  The early miles went well; the pace felt easy - almost too easy at times.  Big Ass Hill came and went and I could not believe how easily I had climbed that hill compared to other days I have trained on it.  Tapering is truly an amazing thing! :)  I had to make a couple early stops to deal with the hot spots that were forming on my feet and toes.  Another issue I have with the Hokas is that they are probably a half size too small, so blistering in inevitable.  I kept some spare duct tape wrapped around my water bottle to tape problem areas whenever they would occur, rather than wait until I got to an aid station.  Given that this course had a half dozen water crossings, I needed to be extra-attentive to my feet.

After the first aid station at the fire tower, we descended south to the bridle trails. If there is one thing I have learned with trail running is that bridle trails almost always mean mud, and this part of the trail was no exception.  The cushioning on the Hokas is fantastic - it really keeps your feet and body from getting prematurely beat up (however, no matter what shoes you wear, you WILL get beat up eventually).  However, the outsole is not rugged enough to handle mud.  I was slipping and sliding all over the place.  We finally left the mud for a brief period and ran on a little road until we hit the aid station at 13 miles.  Another runner I knew was dropping here due to his own bout of plantar fasciitis, and as much as I hated slip-sliding in the Hokas, I was grateful that I wore them, otherwise I , too, could be dropping out.  I grabbed some Coke (manna from heaven) and some Fritos, and Kathy and I walked out of the aid station.  At this point, the sun was up high, and though it was not terribly hot (60s), we were navigating trails that did not have a lot of shade and the sun was wearing me out.  Kat was having us walk a little more through this section.  Thankfully, there were a lot of stream crossings in this section that presented as opportunities for cooling off.  We were a little off Kathy's plan at this point, which I found out was a 7:45 finish.  She asked me if I would be OK with an 8 hour finish.  I told her that I sincerely did not care about finishing time; just keep us under the cutoff!   She said that we had no worries there, so we proceeded to run and walk as needed.  We hit another aid station at about 16.5 miles or so.  I had some more Coke and Fritos, which seemed to be my race food of choice.  I thought it was funny that I trained with sweets: Oreos, Snickers, and Clif Shots, but during the actual event, all I wanted was salty and fizzy.  

It was after this aid station that I started to feel my stomach heading south.  The jostling of running gave me chills and made me feel nauseous.  I walked a little bit until the feeling went away, and then we started to run again.  That is when I first noticed it:  a dull ache on the outside of my knee.  I told myself it could be anything.  We were approaching 20 miles, and of course stuff is going to start to hurt.  But the more I ran, the more noticeable it was becoming.  I was carrying an IT band strap with me, and decided that I should probably put it on, just in case, but it was too late.  When we rolled back into the fire tower aid station at 20 miles, I could not run without that all-too familiar disabling pain on the outside of my knee. I turned to Kat and told her that I could no longer run.  But, I had made it 20 miles and knew I could finish walking.  The idea of walking 11 miles with a bum IT band on a course full of hills was not very appealing.  But, I had come too far to quit now.  I wanted the finish line.  I wanted that finisher's buckle!  I told Kat that she could go on if she wanted to run, but like the good pacer and friend that she is, she said she was with me all the way.  She told me that the walking would be good training for Grindstone, a mountainous 100 mile race in Virginia that she would be attempting in October.  I wasn't sure that a long walk in April would be of any help to her in October, but I allowed myself to believe that walking would be beneficial to her future race plans and tried not to feel sorry for myself, or for her.  I was bummed that we were walking it in, and I was worried about the long-term repercussions to my body by doing this race while injured.  But, like the Clear Fork River that awaited us in another 2.5 miles, that was water under the bridge.  I resolved to focus on the positive and enjoy my time on the trail with my friend and be happy that I was going to get my first 50K finish.

The next section of the race followed the Hog's Hollow Trail from the fire tower down to the Covered Bridge.  For a healthy runner, it is a dream segment: downhill, fast and scenic.  A welcome reward for making it to 20 miles.  For a runner with an IT band injury:  it's a nightmare.  While walking flats and uphills is mostly painless, walking downhills is excruciating, slow, and frustrating.  This was a segment I was hoping to be able to run fast.  Instead of looking forward to it, I was filled with dread.  This was going to hurt.  I tried again to see if I could muster a run of any length on this trail. I could barely run for more than a few steps.  Rats.  So, I switched gears into "walk with a purpose" mode, as I couldn't quite generate a full-on power walk. This was working well until I encountered any kind of down grade.  The only way I could get down a hill with any element of speed was to turn my leg sideways, straighten it up, and drag it behind me while I bounded with my good leg.  I am sure I looked ridiculous.  Since I was moving so slow, I was noticing all the spring wildflowers in bloom, and noticed that there was quite a bit of skunk cabbage along the trail. This excited me greatly.  I was really hoping to see one in bloom, and I told Kat that I was going to find her a blooming skunk cabbage, as their flowers are pretty cool. She probably thought I had lost it, but it was giving me something else to focus on besides the side of my knee.  Sadly, I never did find one in bloom, as it was a bit late in the season.  So, Kat, here is what you missed.

And not a single bloom amongst them all!

Finally, we got to the Covered Bridge aid station and were ready to start the purple loop.  This is the part of the race with the hand-over-hand climb up Little Lyons Falls.  It's also a slow-going section as the first mile or so goes up a small stream bed full of bedrock, boulders, and roots.  It's fairly technical and slippery.  Kat remarked that once we reached this point in the race, we were going to be moving slow regardless of the circumstances.  This thought did make me feel somewhat better about my situation. Plus, I knew once we finished this 4 mile loop, we'd be on our way to the finish line.  We started our walk on a fairly flat section that is along the Clear Fork River.  We encountered a few runners that were on their way back to the Covered Bridge after completing the loop.  I was energized by this, as I got to see three of my friends on their return loop - Bob, Segev, and Tim. Segev and I commiserated for a moment,  as he was having IT band troubles of his own.  It was good to see the guys and know that they were all going to finish.  I wished them all well and then pushed forward into the "Enchanted Valley" - the little creek bed that leads to Little Lyons Falls.  I like to think that everything happens for a reason.  While I was not too enamored with the massive slow down of my race, something happened in this section that made me grateful for the events that led me to be on the trail at a particular moment. We were navigating the creek bed behind another racer who was from Pennsylvania.  We were making chit-chat on the trail as we navigated over boulders and downed trees.  I had mentioned previously that this trail was slippery.  As Pennsylvania guy went to take a step onto the rock in front of him, his feet literally slipped out from under him and he fell backward - right into my hands.  I was able to catch his head right before it hit the rocky ground behind him.  Now, maybe he would have been OK, and maybe not, but I felt like I was there at this moment just to keep this guy's head from splitting open all over the trail.  Maybe it was just something else to make me feel better about the race I was having; that my running injury happened so that I could be used for a higher purpose. Sure, why not? 

We made it up and over Little Lyons falls without any falls of our own.  We then had a short section of trail before we ended up on a section of road along the not-so-aptly named Pleasant Hill Dam.  I really was hoping to put down a fast walk here, but this road section was pretty much all uphill.  I was also feeling a hot spot on the back of my heel.  So, we sat down on the road, patched my heel with duct tape, and moved on.  It wasn't too much longer before Kat mentioned that she was having an issue of her own on her heel.  She showed me the spot where the heel counter of her shoe had rubbed right through her sock and left her with a bloody hole.  I asked her why she didn't say something earlier??  She said she didn't want to complain.  I told her that misery would have loved some company miles ago, so next time, complain away!  I gave her some of my magic duct tape to get her through until we could do a proper tape job at the aid station.  This section felt endless, but soon enough, we were finally on our way back to the Covered Bridge.  To my surprise, there were still runners heading out to start their purple loop.  As slow as we were moving, we weren't going to be last!

We finally got back to the Covered Bridge and were ready to start the journey home. Kat decided that she didn't need any more taping for her heel, the duct tape should get her through 5 more miles.  By this time, the muscle on the front of my right shin, the tibialis anterior, was incredibly sore and painful.  All of the downhills with my legs all straight had not been kind to it.  Thankfully, we had one more stream crossing: the Clear Fork right at the Covered Bridge.  This stream was deep enough that it went over my knees and the cool water gave my aching lower right leg some serious relief.  The last section of the race followed the Clear Fork downstream back to the camp ground area where the start/finish was located.  It was mostly flat, though there was one significant climb left via the North Rim Trail.  The angst of not being able to run returned, as this was a very runnable section.  I comforted myself by thinking that I probably would not have had much run left in me at this point anyway, so try not to sweat all the walking.  I was dreading the North Rim Trail in the worst way, because as we all know, what goes up must come down.  The idea of more downhills was killing me, as now with my shin hurting, there was no way for me to navigate the downhills without pain. I could only hope the smell of the finish line would be an anesthetic!  One of the good things about walking for so long was once we did reach the climb up the North Rim Trail, I was actually passing people on the way up.  Of course, all of those people were going to smoke me on the downhills, but I didn't care.  I was going to savor this tiny victory!  The downhills were not as bad as I thought, though I was terribly slow.  Hills, both up and down, are Kat's strong suit, even when walking, and she ended up way ahead of me.  She kept turning around to check on me, and each time, I told her "I'm comin' Roberta!" as I hobbled down the trail.  We were almost there and I could feel the happy vibes were kicking in as the finish line drew closer.  I told Kat that no matter what, I wanted to run through the finish.  When we finally got to the campground, she asked me if I was ready to run.  I told her I'd try, but we were still too far away, as I had to stop after about 30 seconds.  So we walked a little more, until we literally could see the final straightaway.  At this point, I could hear people shouting my name.  I saw my friend Adrienne, who placed 3rd female in the 25K, run up to meet us and Kat, who had taken pictures throughout the race for me, handed her the camera so that she could capture the dramatic finish.  We ran through the finish line and finished with a time of 8:36:17.  Rob Powell, the race director, handed me my buckle and gave me a huge bear hug at the end.  It wasn't pretty, but I had finished.  The best news of the day?  There was beer left!

So that was five months ago and the start of a long, hard summer of trying to bounce back.  I had done a real doozy on my knee, and it was not going to let me forget it.  But, I am grateful at least that it gave me what I had been chasing, for better or worse, for over a year:  my first 50K finish!

Me and Kat with our finisher's buckles. Thanks, Kat, for sticking with me through thick and thin, my friend!

Throwing Down the Gauntlet

It's been a while since I have written a blog post.  Three months, actually.  It's not that I haven't had anything to say, it's just that a lot of it is negative and I don't want this blog to be a repository of bitchy posts.  But, I need to document what is happening, if for nothing else but to help myself.  And it's not like there has been nothing good going on.  I'll try to summarize:

I ran an amazing 17 miler at Mohican a week after I decided not to run Bigfoot.  Had this run been used to determine my readiness, I would totally have gone for it.  I managed to keep a 13 minute pace for this run, had fun, and even climbed the firetower!  It's so nice to have one that feels so good. 

With Sam Kerbler and Terri Lemke (local ultra running legend!) on the firetower.

The following week was Salt Fork 10 Mile Trail Challenge, which is the day before Bigfoot and is one loop of the Bigfoot course.  I had hoped to do the run in less than two hours, but sadly, it rained like the dickens the week before and the course was wetter and muddier than any of my preceding visits.  By the time I hit the stretch of road halfway through, I was cooked.  I didn't make up any time on the road as I ended up walking a bit.  I ended up finishing in 2:09.  Damn mud :).  The happy part of the day was that Kim also did the race!  It was her first trail race, and though she found it to be quite challenging, she had a lot of fun.  She's totally hooked on trail running now.  Another one bites the dust!  Hehe.

Last hill before the finish. I'm ready for it to be over, yes.

Kim and I at the finish. Look how happy she is!

The rest of December was a mish-mash of running, as the holidays always make it challenging to be consistent. The following week after Bigfoot, I did half of the Festivus 50K, an annual Fat Ass event that encompasses all of the Olentangy Trail from Worthington to Whittier Peninsula and back.  Sam and I left my Subaru at Scioto Audubon Metro Park and drove together to the start.  We ran and then ran/walked with Lisa Fine and Julie Bowen-Miller.  Even though we ran slow, we were struggling at the end, which ended up being almost 17 miles. The entire run was on flat pavement, and it has been a long time since I had gone that far on that kind of surface.  Get me back to the trails, stat!  

Once the New Year rolled in, I was set to go with a training plan in hand and motivation was high.  Then I got sick, REALLY sick, the first week of January.  It was the worst head cold I had in a long time.  Once the cold symptoms dissipated, I figured I was out of the woods and able to run just fine.  I hit up the Alum Creek Intermediate bike path with Robbie Gannon that Saturday, and was shocked at how difficult it was to breathe.  It was like someone shoved a sock in my mouth.  I was reduced to walking every quarter mile.  Knowing this was not normal, I opted not to run Great Seal the following day and ended up going to the doctor on Monday.  I was diagnosed with bronchitis and received antibiotics and an inhaler to use for a week.  When I get sick, I am used to being out of it for a day or two, and then I am fine.  This extended period of ick was not the norm for me. 

By the following weekend, I was feeling much better.  I ran with Kat at Dublin on Saturday and though I felt weak, I had a good run.  On Sunday, a few of the gang were going to Great Seal again.  I met up with Julie and Lisa and together we pulled out 20 very hilly miles in the cold.  I still felt a bit weak, but I kept my pace reasonable and managed to get a solid 6.5 hour run in, with over 3300 feet of climb.  That run was a keeper.  We topped it off with a feast at Bob Evans after and I went home feeling very encouraged.

Then the wheels started coming off.  January 2012 in Ohio was a very bizarre month for weather.  We would oscillate between bitter cold and spring-like temperatures all within a matter of days.  This was wreaking havoc on my immune system.  The week after Great Seal was a run at Clear Creek where I had hoped for another 20 miles. Within three miles, I was falling behind, walking more than I should and feeling weak,  headachy, and to top it off, I was nauseous.  WTF??  The trail was a sheet of ice too, which made for an extra challenge.  I ended up alone after 6 miles and managed to crawl back to my car and left after 10.5 miles. 

The following week, I was back at Mohican.  We were supposed to do the upper 25K loop as an official training run for Forget the PR.  I ended up somehow with Terri Lemke again, and by the time we made it to Covered Bridge, she decided to take the group on the mountain bike trail, rather than continue on the purple loop.  Well, I had no idea where we were going, or how long it would take to get there, but before long, I was alone, feeling just as I had a week before.  To make matters worse, the Pearl Izumi shoes I was wearing were causing my left arch to cramp, and the pain shot right up my leg into my hamstring.  I limped a solid three miles as the winds picked up, and eventually just sat down on the trail and started to cry.  I questioned myself as to why I was trying so damn hard to pursue something that comes with so much challenge for me.  I mean, everyone else can just hit the trail and bust out 20, 30 miles like it is nothing.  I was 13 miles into my run and ready to die.  I came close to swearing off ultras, but I also remembered that low points are part of the game.  Kat has told me many stories of her own crying fits on the trail.  It's not that they happen, but how one responds to them.  Well, I had a pretty good cry, and once it was over, I stood up and reminded myself that "relentless forward progress" was what needed to happen, or I'd be in the woods forever.  So, I started going.  Pretty soon, I managed to find my run again.  It hurt, it was slow, but it came back.  I had always wondered how that happens.  Now, I don't have to wonder anymore in terms of a race.  I ended up with 19 miles in just over 4.5 hours in spite of all the walking.  Most importantly, I learned to weather the bad spots of a long and hard run. 

That run was two weeks ago and stands as my last long run to date.  I didn't run long last weekend as I wanted to spend as much time as possible with Kim before she left for a 6-week work trip to Pacific Asia.  I ended up seeing the doctor again for the headaches and nausea and took a course of prednisone to try and eliminate any remaining inflammation in my sinuses. Apparently, my blood pressure has been sky high for the entire month, and if it did not come down once I was feeling better, I'd have to go on meds due to my family history.  Hell no!  One of the very reasons I pursue all this running business is to keep my blood pressure in a healthy range.  I am 37 years old and run a lot.  I will not take medication at this time to control my blood pressure, thanks!  I am happy to report that a re-check of my blood pressure on Friday showed normal numbers: 120/74.  Booyah! Take THAT, genetics!

So, here we are on Sunday, February 12, 2012.  I will not run long this weekend, either.  I don't know what I did or how it happened, but my right soleus is is incredibly tight.  It actually makes walking abnormal, much less running.  I was supposed to go to Mohican for a training run on the lower loop of the 50K course yesterday, but I was gun-shy about making the trip.  My run on Turtle Thursday was not so great - both legs were extremely tight and it made running very uncomfortable if not painful.  I did not want to drive all the way to Mohican in the cold and ice just to have to bail out early, or, worse yet, end up suffering like last time.  Instead, I went to Sharon Woods with the intention of two laps around the park (7.6 miles) to assess my legs and then aim for 20 at Highbanks today.  After one loop at Sharon Woods, I was done. At least this time it was just the right calf, but things did not feel right at all.  I was tight and my form was awkward.  I remember a similar feeling last winter and I ended up running through it as I didn't want to miss precious training time.  All day yesterday I hemmed and hawed about whether I should attempt my long run.  I massaged the calf, did yoga, took a warm epsom bath...I decided if it was still tight in the morning, I would err on the side of caution.  Well, here I am, blogging instead of running.  I don't know what the heck is going on!  My running is so much less than it was a year ago.  I put in less mileage, I only run long every other week, and I am not doing any quality like tempo runs, etc.  My mind is boggled.  I am a tad frustrated but am trying to maintain a positive frame of mind and look at the big picture.  If I push it now, I could end up not starting the race again.  I'd rather be undertrained and able to start the race, than to be injured and not have a chance to try.  Truly, this 50K is going to be a test of my mental strength, as it is clear I am not going to be as physically trained as I would like.  So, I am going to head to the gym in a bit and do some pool work and either hit the elliptical or the bike.  The one thing I need to change this year from last year is that if I can't run, I need to do something to maintain fitness. 

So, That's where I am at.  I am praying that actually listening to my body will keep my from a full-blown injury.  I am trying to be patient with myself, but I am really wanting a stretch of feel-good running.  It's like my body is testing me to see how bad I really want this ultra.  At this point, it's personal.  I am not going to give up this quest.  The gauntlet has been thrown.  I WILL make it to race day, and I WILL get that buckle!! Ya hear me, body?? 

Off to the gym.