Little Fish Must Like Pie. A story about the Cayuga 50mile.

The Buildup
Time has a funny way of simultaneously moving fast and slow.  Although I came across the finish line at the Cayuga 50mile nearly a week ago, it feels like the race just ended… and that writing this will somehow finally seal it in the past.

8 weeks before the race my coach and I decided to throw my name in the hat.  Why not?  I had just come off a great first 100km, and after the side effects of losing my appetite, having to navigate stairs sideways, and shivering uncontrollably had worn off I felt ready to tackle the next challenge. Hoorah for a gold fish memory!

I was told to win it I would have to have a phenomenal day. That maybe I could be in the lead mix… maybe.  You see, I’m an understandable underdog. My first ever ultra was in March. My Strava feed is not impressive. My running resume is short compared to the women I would be lining up against… but the thing is, I don’t count anyone out… which is great because then by default I don’t count myself out either. I was a little fish, sure, but I was ready.

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TwoWeeks Out
At this point I finally do a little research on the race and I discover two things.
1. There are reportedly lots of stairs… Coincidence we have a lot of those around here.
2. There is pie to be won.  Coincidence, I love pie!

Night Before
My faithful crew for this weekends excursion, AnnaJo, and I roll into Robert H. Treman State Park and fancy park the sprinter van.  The cabins remind me of the summer camps I attended growing up in Wisconsin (overzealous mosquitos included). After getting set up for the evening I run into a motley crew of presumably runners in the parking lot who all turn out to be from the NY area. It’s a welcome distraction and my sarcastic jabs are rewarded with a Little Debbie’s zebra cake/cosmic brownie mashup. (clearly a great pre-race fueling strategy)  I finally try to sleep, but my brain is in Pacific Standard Time and the people in the cabin next to me are having a party long past “quite hours”.

4:00am
My alarm goes off and I swat at it. It can not be time to get up?  I manage to shovel white rice into my face and get down a hard boiled egg.  I listen to an episode of This American Life as I pack up my sleeping bag and head into the parking lot to find Anna at the sprinter with coffee. I guess we are going to do this thing after all.

Runners peacock around the parking lot and starting area nervously fiddling with hydration systems.  It’s only 55F, but we know heat is on the way.

6:00am

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Ian, the RD, sounds the horn and we take off across the field.  The start is calm, pedestrian.  Everyone chitchats, I tuck in behind Sabrina with Kelsey and Laura.  As we head up the hill we start to hit the first section of roots and rocks and Kelsey and I start to pick faster lines.  I feel okay, but these races are long and I take it easy on a long fast down hill in an effort to protect my quads for later in the race. Things are clicking, I eat every 30 minutes, drink frequently, and I watch continuously for the pie tags I have been told will be scattered on course.  At one point I get excited by what I think is a pie tag, but turns out to be a sign about pesticide application instead, false alarm.  The group as thinned out and I’m running alone. Occasionally I catch glimpses of Laura behind me but the distance seems to be remaining constant.

On the way back towards the half way point I start to more fully utilize the creek crossings. Full on snow angel-ing my way through them. I eat a cucumber mint gu and think to myself “You are a gel machine!”.   Somewhere around the 19mile mark I look up and realize the runner I’m closing in on is Kelsey.  I’m surprised and all I can think is:

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10:00am
I hit the turn around point at 3:49:xx putting myself 3ish minutes under Amanda’s halfway time from the year before (and the course record).  I’m terrified.  Richard Bolt says something to the effect of, “Hey you’re winning!” and what I think is “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” and what I say is ,”I don’t know if that’s a good thing!”  I am well aware this is a going to be a race of attrition and I have a long way to go to get back across the finish line.

As I run out I see all the girls coming in to the turn around.  I cheer for each one of them, deliriously saying things like, “Go get them!” and “She’s right ahead of you!”

The great thing about looped courses is that you get to see everyone. I love cheering on other runners, and frequently will lose my voice from being so abrasively enthusiastic during races.  The bad thing about looped courses is that everyone knows where you are and as I am my own worst fear monger-er this can often lead to me running panicky.

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Quickly after the turn around I catch my new found buddy Ben Snodgrass.  He agrees to run with me even after watching me yardsale hard over a root within minutes of joining me. It so nice to have a distraction.  My left quad and foot have been cramping spastically since mile 21. The company is giving me a second wind and we power up the hills. Ben yo-yos with every descent but comes right back.  Somewhere around the 36 mile mark he tells me to run on and let’s me know his crew will try to get a split for me at the Buttermilk aid station.

12:00pm
I slam into the Buttermilk AS double fisting watermelon and pickles as one does at mile 37.5 and thank the volunteers as I head up the Buttermilk stairs one last time.  My watch is dying so I shut it off.  It’s getting really hot and I’m desperately looking forward to the next creek crossing 5 miles up the trail. The heat is starting to cook me slowly from the inside out and I find places along the trail I can jump into the creek… desperately trying to keep my core body temperature down. I thank the state park gods for a conveniently placed water spicket and forge ahead.

I am overcome with joy to make it back to the Underpass AS, I know there are only 7 miles now between me and the finish line. A land of ice cubes and a more appropriate place to take a lie down. I get word that I had a 7minute lead to 2nd place at the Buttermilk AS and although that means my lead grew from the turn around point at mile 25 I’m terrified instead of relieved.  I think to myself, “They’re coming!”

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I leave the aid station on a mission, ginger ale in hand. The next several miles to the Old mill AS feel like they are taking too long. I’m alternating between power hiking and running and I feel like I’m moving in slow motion despite the fact that I’m steadily catching male runners. I curse each and every stone step out loud.  I dash through Old Mill a flurry of thank you’s and I’m sorry’s as my paranoid race brain tells me, “She’s right there, she’s coming for you.” I head for home.  All I want is to get to the final downhill to the road, all I need to do is get there. I’m careening down rock stairs, apologizing and doing my best to smile at families that are out enjoying their beautiful Saturday afternoon.

I dump whatever is in my larger soft flask on me, I think it’s mostly water and I don’t care.  I am so close. I have carried this win for so long.  Protected it for so many miles.  I hit the road and try to move my legs as quickly as my quads will allow.  Not safe, not home yet.  Hitting the turn onto the grass a mom and her kids stop to cheer for me and I’m lifted an inch or two taller.   I can see the road, and no one is there.  I’m in the clear, I’m safe, I’m going to make it.  I can see the finish line and the ribbon looming in the distance and I pump my arms harder.  I’ve made it.  I’m too tired to cry and I lay on the ground as Anna pours water on me.

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The outpouring of love and support from my communities near and far has been overwhelming! Thank you all so much.  After taking a few days in NYC to regroup, remaster those pesky stairs, and eat all the pastries in sight I’m back in the PNW planning the next adventure!

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I Can’t Feel My Legs When I’m With You: A story about Gorge Waterfalls 100km

A lot has happened in the past 6 months.  I left my job coaching kids I love in Bozeman, Montana to move to the PNW and go to grad school at Simon Fraser University in Vancouver, BC.

Between the packing, unpacking [repeat several times], driving through a blizzard, a last minute trip home to the Midwest, and mountains of paperwork my coach and I thought it would be a good idea to target an early spring race. If anything it would provide the motivation to spend months running in a rain jacket as an escape from my new home, a basement lab in a concrete building on top of Burnaby Mountain.

It’s been a wet winter in both Bellingham and Vancouver… like running in my Alpine Houdini every day wet. Indoor track season started, ultra season started, race results were rolling in.  People started finding their way to start lines in the deserts of Texas, Arizona, and Utah… meanwhile, I tried my best to curb my insatiable hunger for mochas and donuts.

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Who thought a spring race was a good idea?!?!

Long runs started adding up, going well. Even though my mileage is still lower than most of the women I toe the line with I’ve started to feel more like a runner and less like an imposter.

Between going cross eyed reading scientific journal article after journal article, and settling into my new communities the winter months passed by. I toed the line of my first official ultra on March 19th at the Chuckanut 50km in front of my new home town crowd. My Bellingham Distance Project singlet gave me extra go-go juice and squeaked in under the 4:30 mark good for 5th, hungry and excited to move on to the next challenge (namely eating my body weight in french fries that evening).

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Enter, Gorge Waterfalls 100km

While shopping for a spring ultra I noticed that Gorge was on my birthday… after talking to my coach it seemed that running 62 miles for my 26th was too perfect. Neither one of us questioned the fact that it would be twice as far as I’ve ever run before or that the race mileage is pretty close to my average weekly mileage… we just jumped in.  What I lack in running history I make up for with a misguided sense of my own limitations and years of training intensely for nordic skiing and biathlon.

Gorge morning came and although I didn’t feel nervous I hardly slept the night before and sprung out of bed when my alarm went off at 3:45am. I spent the little time I was asleep dreaming I kept running off course (maybe I’ll refrain from reading other folk’s race reports moving forward).

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Photos from my wonderful BDP team mate and crew for the day Scarlett Graham

Rainshadow Running’s James Varner led us out for the first 800 meters as we tripped over ourselves, rocks, and sticks. The field comfortably found it’s rhythm as we headed up the first climb of the day.  A line sorted itself out as we continued up the switchbacks, I conservatively tucked in behind Jodee, Ashley, and Amanda. My calves complained up most of the climb but I settled into a comfortable grinding pace.  In the back of my mind I was worried what might happen once we got past the 31 mile mark. The sun was coming up over the hill and we were to treated to the most incredible views of the Columbia River Gorge.

Aside from having to pee from about mile 4 to mile 18 (best pee break ever!) and the dreaded 2 mile road section the miles clipped by comfortably.  I was putting down fluids and food well and cheering for folks out enjoying the sunny weekend. It was my birthday, I was there to party.

Suddenly we were at mile 21 and the aid station was like “WOAH! you are crushing!” and I was like, “Really? I’m just here to party….” After fist bumps and high fives I took off  towards the turn around point. My legs were handling the terrain as long as it kept undulating, the longer downhills or flats were causing my quads talk.  This isn’t news to me. Generally this kicks in around mile 18 and I hold on until the end but we were well into mile 26 before I turned into the weird girl occasionally muttering, “It’s okay little buddy, you’re fine” to myself as I run along. I was hoping to make it to mile 28 or so before the lead men passed me on their way back, and was almost there when the eventually race winner came slamming around a corner.  I have a weird love for this kind of course set up. Getting to cheer on other racers gives me so much energy!  The men’s top ten were moving well and spaced evenly and I took a moment to Wooohoooo for each one of them as we ran by.  Heading into the final mile before the turn around I knew I would see Jodee and Amanda for the first time during the race and we would all get a sense of where we fell in the field.  Jodee had maybe 8 minutes on me and Amanda 5 or 6.

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I was irrationally stoked to be at the turn around. Like awkwardly dancing around as I tried to change my shoes and socks stoked.  I was in third, a place I hadn’t planned on finding myself in a field that I considered so freaking tough! Scarlett was there and I was so happy to see a familiar face. With clean shoes and socks on I switched out watches and grabbed my iPod loaded with nerdy Ted Radio Hour and Things Mom Never Told You. I wanted the second half to feel like a fresh start. As I left the aid station Sam Drove was getting set to head back out, and Keely and Darcy were running in. I cheered to everyone and thought… “well… here goes nothing!”

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The simultaneous look of excitement and fear?

I was running into the unknown. Each and every mile was going to be a mile further than I had ever run before. I hoped my legs would keep working. Sam quickly caught up to me as I power hiked an uphill shoving a honey stinger bar into my face. I’ve been Strava stalking Sam since moving to the PNW to help find routes in the area to run. It was so nice to finally meet her and we chatted for a bit as we both tried to convince ourselves that our legs were happy.  I did some quick transitions between powering walking and running and started to feel better and better. I found myself alone again, to the extent that I was almost convinced I had missed a turn… Finally the mile 40 aid station appeared and I was on cloud nine to restock. 2nd was not far ahead and I whooped as people helped stuff food into my race vest and Scarlett refilled my water bottles.

Around mile 43 or 44 my legs I slipped on a stick and hyper extended my right knee.  I had been moving pretty well and it scared me. After hyper ventilating for a couple of minutes I took off again, but more cautiously bleeding crucial time to 2nd place and to 4th place. The wheels were falling off and all I could do was relentlessly move up the trail.  Somewhere shortly after this Keely came by me like a gazelle that could still nimbly move over sticks and rocks and I thought to myself, “this is how I die” as I trundled along.

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I quickly lost about 3 minutes to Keely and did my best to keep moving forward. We hit the 49 mile aid station and I was hungry, so freaking hungry. I opened all the food that wasn’t nailed down and quickly shoved it into my face.  My watch had died and I must have missed a feeding. With a Rice Krispy treat still only halfway into my mouth I muttered to Scarlett, “Well it’s not going to be pretty but we’re going to get this done!”

Leaving the aid station we hit the dreaded road section, that unlike so many hours before now had a head wind. I cranked up my podcast about brains and tried to focus on the tiny neon clad dots up the road. Before turning back on the trail I was told I hadn’t lost any time to Keely on the road. We were past the 50 mile mark, a distance not long ago I thought was impossibly long. We were in the long home stretch. [Miracle of Miracles! *audible sigh of relief]

The next section of course was undulating which was good for my leggies. Clipping along as one does after 50+ miles I did my best to politely pass the seemingly super large families out enjoying the sunny afternoon. The last 6 miles of this course were going to be torture no matter where you were in your own head or in the field. I dropped down into the last aid station at 56 miles and to my surprise Keely was there. [Oh S*&t] I ate what seemed like an entire orange (sweet sweet nectar of the gods) and with full water bottles took off for the most painful, out of body, 10km of my life. We had a good 1,500ft climb ahead of us with lots and lots of human obstacles.  I did my best to power hike like the best version of my former skier self but my legs felt like itty bitty corgi legs (adorable, but oh so short).

Cresting the top of the climb steep down hill switch backs, wet bridges, several stone stairs, the slightest most painful uphill ever, almost getting doored in the parking lot, and a long loop (read: headwind) around the backside of the lake stood between me and the finish line on a monumental day.  Keely and I caught glimpses of each other, always about a switch back apart over this section. We both gritted it out and held the distance to the finish.  After 62 miles and 12,000 feet of climbing we had made it. We made it through the teeth of the Gorge. We made it in under 11 hours, and under the old course record.

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I don’t know that I’ve ever been so happy to make it to the finish line. Gorge held so much unknown for me. Would I even like racing this far? What happens after mile 31?  Would I even make it?  At what point would I curl up and yell uncle?

Although my legs might currently disagree, I didn’t just survive Gorge, I learned to thrive in Gorge. I found a new layer of guts.  For now I’m content to spend a few days eating donuts as I relearn how to not have to walk down the stairs sideways.

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Spirit Animals: A Race Report

Imposter
Long days in the mountains lend themselves to producing a quality of conversation that is best described as bonk inspired, or foolishly tired.  One such day as we scampered over loose rock down a series of switch backs in the Northern Bridgers more commonly traveled by mountain goats than humans a conversation on spirit animals ensued (yes it progressed to a debate on spirit vegetables as well).

It was on that fateful day my spirit animal was born.  I was no golden retriever, or owl.  No wolf, or rabbit.  I was complicated.  It turns out I am a fawn, but not any fawn.  I’m a fawn that dresses up in fleecy pajamas and tries it’s best to be accepted by the mountain goats it longs to be.  You see, I was not born into the mountain culture I’ve been drawn to.  It wasn’t until 2008 when I left the midwest to go to school that I discovered the mountainous trails that satisfy me.  I was drawn West to the promise of running a different mountain peak every weekend, and I was in love with the notion.

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For the longest time I was the “skier who runs”.  It was a great when I beat “the runners”.   And then I was a reformed skier, but not yet a runner.  My lats and triceps left me feeling like an imposter and a wind block when I would toe the line against more demure competitors. Although my lats may be smaller now, I thrive on the strength that remains.  I might still be a fawn in fleecy pajamas, but I’m finding my footing in the world of mountain goats.

Flagstaff Sky Race

Stephen and I hit the road last Wednesday to make the progressive slog down South.  It was nice to have a partner in crime to make the drive and car camping more enjoyable.  As much as I love to solo quest, some things are better shared.  Like waking up on top of Guardsman pass to the golden aspen.  Listening to a coyote party in the desert, and soaking in your first view of the grand canyon.

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It was great to connect with friends new and old, to have a one man support crew team, and to high five the other girls who had also taken on three big sky races in the course of 1 month.

The race itself took us from the base of the Mount Elden area in Flagstaff up over and around until we reached the Snowbowl Ski Area.  Although the course profile didn’t look ‘so bad’ with what appeared to be only two major climbs… this naive thought was soon proven wrong.

From the gun we headed off across a rolling, gradual climb.  I slotted in behind the lead group of guys and found my groove.  Heading into the Elden climb I let Megan Kimmel and a speedster from Durango by.  I’m still finding my legs and wanted to take it out a little cautiously. Halfway up the climb I was being shadowed by the eventual 2nd place women.  She was breathing hard, and I let her by.  I thought to myself, “She must not know what’s coming!!”  Turns out she was a local and I probably should have tried to glue myself to her back.

After cresting the top of the climb I was in no man’s land.  I forced down some food and tried to let gravity take over on the descent.  With lazy feet I took my first trail nap of the race.  Clumsy Clumsy. It would not be my last tumble of the race, but what’s a trail race without a little blood?

By mile 8 and our second aid station I could see 2nd and 3rd and felt good coming off a long descent that I felt like I was moving really well on.  I do love some technical descending!

I left the aid station in 4th after exchanging my bottles with fresh ones from Stephen. The trail turned into a humbling false flat. The runable, twisting, single track that wound for miles through aspen groves brought us over, through and around rocky dusty trail.  For the first mile of this section I was full of WoooHooooos… but soon I was dizzy in the zig zagging forrest.  I had to come to a complete stop several times convinced I was off trail, and walked more of this section than I feel comfortable admitting. Somewhere along the way I passed the speedster rocking booty shorts and although I could see 2nd she was always just out of reeling in distance over the serpent of a trail.

At mile 17.4 I proclaimed we were all “snails passing snails” and headed into what was the first bit of our big bad climb to just over 11,000 feet.

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Following “shirtless man with hand flasks” we ran along playing the let’s just run to that next flag game.  Up and up through the aspens. We then hit the power line climb, at this point it didn’t take long for me to wish I had ski poles.  I jokingly offered to buy a pair off a guy I caught part way off the climb, he didn’t go for the margarita Clif shot-blocks… so on I forged.  After a brief slog up a ski slope, jumping over erosion ditches, we descended to the bottom.  In a cruel twist of fate we actually have to run across the finish and then loop back out and up to the top of the ski area before one final descent to the finish.  Even though I knew this from looking at the course map I panicked and briefly froze refusing to run through the finish.  To everyone’s entertainment I was coaxed across the line and sent back up the hill.

Clearly paranoid and slightly not all there I put my head down and power shuffled up the climb.  At the top I lapped up water tired of the sugaring fuzzy feeling my whole mouth had developed over the preceding 22 miles. I desperately wanted a tooth brush, and had started to fantasize about brushing my teeth.

PC: Myke Hermsmeyer

PC: Myke Hermsmeyer

After a quick fist pump to the amazing volunteers I took off down the hill scared of the ghosts I was sure were closing on me. Flying down the hill, quads screaming I caught up with Josh Korn who was on his was to finishing the 55km race.  A quick high five my panic driven legs threw me once again towards the base area.  As I cleared the final (cruel) erosion ditch I started to get emotional.  The finish line was looming and in my tired state I was thrilled to know I would soon get to lay down.

After falling in to the hug from Stephen waiting for me at the finish line I moved with surprising quickness towards the ground.

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I was overwhelmed as the magnitude of the past year settled in.  I had made it.  After such a long time struggling to get to a start line, let alone finish a race, finishing off the sky running series feels huge.  It’s getting to finally stamp HEALTHY across my training log.

This is my third sky race in the past month. I crammed it all in, sneaking onto the podium with a solid 3rd place finish and 11th overall in the last race of the sky running season. I had no idea what to expect stepping onto this scene, but I knew I wanted to make it my own.  The men and women who show up to these races are absolutely incredible.  They are supportive, understanding, and driven.  In a short 6 weeks I feel like I have made a group of friends from all over the US that I can not wait to see next year.

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If you want to hear me ramble semi awkwardly you can watch my post race interview here.

For now I’m back in Bozeman coaching my minions trying to figure out where the next starting line with take me.

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Finding My Stride: and associated puns.

Preamble
After a much needed break from my broken self I decided that this summer I would dip my toes back into the pool of stiff competition. It’s a story in the making. Nearly two years of mending, and fighting it, and mending again.

I fought for a comeback.  I spent a year trying to remake myself, I would be a runner.  It was that simple.  However every time the starting line approached something would break.  My hips were relentlessly tight, my hamstrings tweaked, and heel pain so bad it was crippling.  Albeit, it was incredibly frustrating, but it made me refocus.  Instead of remaking myself, I needed to find myself.  I dove back into academics.  Found blankets, and cups of tea.  Found friends around dinner tables, and new ways to slide on snow.  My heart didn’t race when I tried to sleep.  I didn’t need to search for reasons to get out of bed, and although unsure, for the first time ever I didn’t feel restless.

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Scene One
(Enter New Coach)

Roughly a year ago I decided I was ready to start “training” again.  I searched the internet relentlessly looking for someone to offer me guidance for less than 1billion dollars a month.  Thanks to the twitter gods, David Roche and the SWAP team entered my life.  Although I know how to train I need someone to tell me when to chill out and associated expletives.  I needed a community that was united over pizza, pancake breakfasts, and pictures of each others dogs. No matter how distant we all might be, I know if I need advice about running, careers, and cider pairings I can count on them to lift me up.

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Suddenly I was 8 months deep and my name was turning up on start lists. Was I ready?  Would my body hold up? Is this satisfying?  Am I okay if I do not perform to my expectations?  Is that okay? What does that mean?  Would there be enough cookies???

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Scene Two
(Let the races begin)

I made it to the start line!  …and it was okay.  After dabbling in some of the early season races (including a speedy fast 12k, a duathlon, the Bangtail Divide, and a trip to US Mountain Running Championships) and doing my part to cheer on other Montanans in the mountains it was time to step into the deep end.

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Two weeks ago I got on the start line at the Rut Mountain Runs in Big Sky, Montana ready to embrace competition head on. I jumped in the vertical kilometer, also known as “Go till you blow!”  Although I didn’t feel as strong as some of the girls around me I settled into suffer mode and had a lot of fun.  Anna Frost kindly asked if I wanted to pass her… I panicked like a JV track runner and settled in behind her as we scrambled up BoneCrusher Ridge for our first of many ascents up to Lone Peak that weekend.  I ended up 12th in a packed ladies field complete with over a half dozen professional European athletes.  The next day I ran the 25km (errrr… 28-ish km?) and struggled.  My quads couldn’t engage and I slogged through the first half of the course half way between despair and “toughen up!”… I ran into a buddy at the 9 mile aid station where I willing grabbed his flask of bourbon.  Boosted by the cheers of the aid station I reluctantly gave back the flask and trudged on.  Somewhere on BoneCrusher Ridge I felt more and more like myself and found new gears and glee all the way to the finish. 15th women, top ten for Americans, and able to walk.

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A lot can happen in two weeks and when I stepped on the start line of my second sky running race of the season this past weekend in Washington I felt ready to compete, instead of survive.  The moment we crested the first big climb of the day and I saw Rainer jutting up in the distance all thoughts about placement fleeted away.  I suffered.  My quads and back screamed for relief, but instead they were treated to the right combination of wonderfully horrible ascents and descents any good trail race offers.  Despite a late charge with 3rd and 4th place insight I couldn’t quite pull it together on the long descent to the finish and had to happily settle for 5th, a handmade medal, and a hug from Stephen who was waiting at the finish.

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Epilogue

I am happy to have found my feet and a new chapter in my competitive career.  There were many moments over the past year where I was wondering if I’d ever race again.  If I’d embrace it, or find it overwhelming and ultimately leave me unhappy.  In the past two weeks I found answers.  I was happy, healthy, and excited by the start line.  Two weeks from now I’ll be finished with my final sky race of the season.  I’ll have completed a major goal of mine, and we’ll be looking towards a full 2016 season!

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EntEn

Fatty Fitness and Embracing The Good

I can’t believe it’s already July… in part because  by this point in the summer I’m generally a hurting pony or rather…a sad panda.  A very sad panda.  …And despite my iron being in the tank, and occasionally being  so stressed I cry because I can’t get egg whites to whip, life is good.  Really really good.

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At the height of my anxiety this spring I wrote,

 Life is generally good, especially when taken one day at a time.  The struggle lays in getting caught up in the ‘what if’s’ of the ‘what if’s’.  Already panicking beyond a standard deviation into the future.  

When you doubt your theoretical point B even exists, because quite frankly you aren’t sure what or where point B is suppose to be.

You only know that you’re being pulled through your life towards something that may or may not be more than the giant magnetic force of  ‘ifs’, ‘tangibles’, and ‘hypothetical outcomes’.

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More recently on a beautiful hike with Jennie we got lost… or as we like to say, took a little detour.  Immediately getting off trail and heading in the opposite direction of our intended destination.  Jokingly it seemed like a metaphor for our lives.  A little off path, a detour here and there, but ultimately heading towards this destination, this peak.  You can see where the gears are going, can’t you?

A lot of my stress stems from waiting for something to go wrong.  Waiting for the next disaster to strike.  Not a whole lot of fun or enjoyment can enter your life… Ew, yes ew… that is the appropriate sentiment right now.  It’s an Olympic year, and the tension is palpable.  My Facebook feed is inundated  daily with athletes yearning to make it work at any cost.  Now there is nothing wrong with asking for donations, but when I lost my funding from USBA and the USOC I vowed I personally would not go into debt for my athletic pursuits.  (a certain clarity dawns on you when you realize you’ve seriously considered selling eggs, and not the chicken variety, to fund your season)  As people around me intensify towards this winter, I feel myself, reflexively, backing away.  And acknowledging this… I can slowly feel my stress dissipate.

As athletes around the world step up their game, train bigger hours, move bigger weights… I’m stuffing my jersey pockets and drink belt with cookies, I’m going on adventures, and I’m collecting all the pieces of me that I left along the trail over the past three seasons.  You seemingly can’t carry all that much onto the podium with you.

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Surprisingly, I’m the fittest I’ve ever been.  Maybe there is something to all this happiness training after all?  Recently I’ve embraced the realities of my circumstances.  I’m excited to race and, darn it all, maybe even be fast…   Enter fatty fitness.  Fatty fitness was born to a collective of friends who liked to ski hard and eat harder(sure?). An epic all day adventure that would ultimately culminate with everyone passed out on the floor full to the gills with momo bliss. As the boys like to remind me, “Training is an essential part of the eating process.”  Logically.  More than anything  (although entirely unintended by the founders) fatty fitness reminds me that my life is a total blast and that every race I enter, every inch of single track I travel, and every detour I take is all because I enjoy the heck out of it.

So turn up the good, pass the bacon and hold onto that ice cream I’ll be back for it after this run.

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Single-Track Nirvana and Terry Gross

So May happened… Wow, now that sounds anticlimactic doesn’t it?

Realistically that is more a jab at my own tardiness on here than any sort of reference to my spring… because frankly, this spring has been rather awesome.

Albeit my spring had a rocky start. In the span of one week I managed to break my hand, successfully mangle my trigger finger with an immersion blender, turn 23, and get kicked off the national team (yeah I know it was a busy week).   But like every other nordic athlete on the face of the earth it was still April and I was still craving sunshine, and that’s exactly what I got.

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April quickly turned into a runcation, adventuring over the hills and mountains of California and Washington.  Stephen pedaled his bike as I got sunburnt running the endless single track.  While most athletes were taking a break from the long race season I ran more than I have in a long time, but it is exactly what I needed.  Nothing will quite your mind quite like the awe that comes over you running through Big Basin state park.  Inundated by beauty all my problems were muted. If I wasn’t running I was pedaling, if I wasn’t pedaling I was on a yoga mat, and if I wasn’t on a yoga mat I was cramming as many avocados, strawberries, and citrus fruits into me as I could manage.  That and awesome mexican food, obviously.

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May has now come and gone and with it the training season has started once again.  The hours are creeping in from all directions and although I’m struggling to figure out exactly what it is I am doing I’m overjoyed to have some semblance of balance in my life.  I’ve been spending my days child and animal wrangling, planting a garden, training with my constant companion Terry Gross, and working through the general panicking that goes along with putting your life sized puzzle pieces together.   It’s now June and after a training excursion up North to Canmore Alberta I’m back in Bozeman and oh so happy to be home.

 

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Sometimes you get kicked off the national team… and that’s okay.

I could write words and words about the relatively wonderful end to my season.  How it poured on us for days in Whistler and I discovered my love and admiration for a good pair of rain pants… Or how I raced really well, hitting more targets than I ever have ever.  How the competition was great and the camaraderie better.  How Mammoth Lakes treated us to amazing generosity, sunshine, and smiles…. How a bear crashed our race, and how I crashed on my face.  How I managed to break my hand and within what seemed like hours also make a very good attempt to hack my trigger finger off.

Ladies Podium

Ladies Podium

….But that’s all said and done and great, and I’ve got this massive elephant in the room that needs to write it’s way out.

As of April 3rd I am no longer a member of the national team.  BOOM! …the thing is, as much as I sensed this coming a long ways off, it still feels like I got punched in the soul.  You know that feeling you get in your throat when you are trying to keep it together, grating down towards your lungs, like you’re trying to fit a square through a circle?  It hurt.  It felt personal.

Then the questions started rolling: What are you doing next season?  What do you want to do next season?  Do you want to join a nordic team?  Will cookies make this all feel better?   No?  Chocolate?  No?  Chocolate cookies!?   Do you want to join our nordic team?  Can you classic ski?   You can classic ski can’t you?   What do you want?  Oh my goodness you don’t have a coach! What do you want?  Ahhh!  What do YOU want?  Screw it, just switch back to running!   No, seriously what do you want? Help!?!? (wow… you do not want in my mind)

I’ve worked through many of these questions over the past couple of weeks.  Ironing out the seemingly logistical mess and putting together something meaningful.  And you know what?  I think I can do this.  I recently wrote to a former coach of mine and told him getting kicked off the national team felt an awful lot like getting tossed in the ocean, and realizing that I can swim.

It’s not going to be easy but for the first time in two years I feel like I have a handle on my life and my happiness.  There are days when I’m still not sure which way is up but I have the most incredible support system put in place that I could not be more thankful for.  I’ve got incredible friends and family to keep me grounded and a community behind me.  (So very many shoulders!)

As spring slowly moves into Bozeman I can feel my fledgeling of a self grow stronger roots and boy is it an exciting conclusion to begin with!

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