Long Haul 100: Squeezing Out Sub 20

PRERACE

Long Haul 100 wasn't even on my radar under until 12 weeks ago. After DNFing at Javelina in late October, I was anxious to use my training towards another 100 mile race. Because I had put 50+ miles on my legs at Javelina and wanted to BQ at Rehoboth in early December, it made the most sense to look at the January/February for another 100.

There were two major considerations for choosing one - I wanted a Western States qualifier and I needed it to be relatively inexpensive travel-wise. Rocky Raccoon 100 in Texas has been on my short list for awhile, but once I found out that Long Haul was a Western States qualifier, it seemed like a no-brainer to just drive down to the Tampa area. I knew people who had raced it, who lived close by, and I had a couple of friends doing it in 2020!

I opted work a half day on Thursday so I could drive to Florida that afternoon/evening and have all of Friday to relax. Angie graciously let me stay with her in Sarasota and we went out for pizza and beer when I rolled in after 8pm.

Knowing I could sleep in and rest as much as I needed to on Friday was perfect. I hung out a bit with her pup and then following her advice, drove out to Siesta Key for a morning on the beach. She recommended a local coffee shop a block from the beach and I took my cold brew and cinnamon roll straight to the ocean. It was a beautiful January morning on the gulf and I waded in the water, people-watched, and dug my toes in the soft white sand. 

As it approached noon, I met Angie on her lunch break from work at a tuna bowl place in downtown Sarasota and then made my way north to meet Jen and Dan at packet pickup. Dan and Dan's parents had offered to let me stay with them on Friday night and it couldn't have been any better! They were super close to the race and chatting with them all afternoon was the perfect distraction from the task at hand the following day. That evening, we piled in the car (after removing the Mahjong game from the backseat) to pick up John for dinner who was staying in a nearby hotel and met Jen at an Italian restaurant. 

Back at the house, I laid out my clothes for race morning and got everything squared away so all I had to do when I woke up was get dressed, fill my hydration bottle, and eat breakfast.

I don't think I have EVER slept so soundly before a race. I didn't wake up once and in fact, was sleeping so hard when my alarm went off that I was confused as to where I was! We left exactly when we needed to and because Dan was driving, I didn't have any worries about navigating or getting there in enough time. 

As with most ultras, the scene at the start was pretty relaxed. People were piling their drop bags onto the shuttle trailer, waiting in line for the porta-potties, and catching up with friends.

I jumped in the porta-potty line right when we got there and then sat in the car until there was about 5 minutes to start, staying off my feet as long as I could. 

THE RACE

I don't recall a countdown or any fanfare about the start except that when it was time to go, I remember thinking how underwhelming it was to begin. With a long day and night ahead, I didn't worry too much about the first mile. I just let the pack spread out a bit as we ran down the paved road to the start of the first spur. I stayed behind John and Patrick for a bit while they chatted and just listened as the day awoke. 

The course was a mile on pavement to a main intersection where 3 spurs came together. Each spur was an out-and-back so you could see runners coming and going all day long, no matter where you were in the field. It was like running the petals of a flower and coming back to the center. For all but about a half mile there was plenty of space and I actually really, really liked the short out-and-backs because you were never alone for even more than a few minutes. It was mostly double-track or wider and that meant that passing or getting passed was never some awkward moment. 

Spur 1 was about 3 miles total, spur 2 was about 5 miles, and spur 3 was about 2 miles. We ran all of the spurs 10 times except the very last lap, you got to skip spur 3 and just run into the finish. 

The first 2 laps or 20ish miles were pretty uneventful save for a couple of trips to the porta-potty. The weather was perfect and the sun was still hiding way beyond the treeline. The Florida forest offered a good amount of shade and I don't recall it feeling particularly warm until about 11am. I shed my tank after the first lap, but it felt cool enough that I really didn't want ice until I got past the marathon mark. 

I was trying to stay between 10:00 - 11:00 minute miles as much as possible. I knew if I was feeling good I would slip under 10s in the beginning, but I was also being very mindful that I needed to take a little more time at aid stations and that I would inevitably get slower after 100k. The main goal was just to finish the race and feel confident again about 100s after Javelina. But of course I wanted to do the best I could and I was hoping to finish in a time that was reasonably close to my PR. I didn't really feel like I was necessarily in PR shape, but I knew that I was motivated by my DNF and I was running more comfortably than I had in over a year. My body just finally felt like me again. 

After the first marathon, I hit a bit of a rough patch and knew the heat of the day was starting to get to me. At Javelina, I was so worried about getting in and out of aid fast that I failed to take care of myself properly. I was determined to make sure that I took a few extra minutes this time. 

So at mile 30, I took a few chances and it paid off. My feet felt tired and with groomed trails, I decided to change from my Hoka Torrent trail shoe) to the Hoka Carbon X (road shoe). I got a frosty mini Coke from Dan and chugged on it while I changed my shoes, restocked my gels, and decided to hit the music early. I train with music for road and treadmill runs, but never had listened to it during a 100 before. Instead of saving it for later, I opted to let it help me with this rough patch. There was a minor snafu when I realized my Mighty music player was completely dead, but my old iPod Nano came through. I didn't even have something to carry it in so I just shoved it in my sports bra and hoped it wouldn't annoy the shit out of me. 

At the aid station, I had the volunteer scoop ice into my buff and with calories, caffeine, a cooled neck, fresh shoes, and tunes, I bopped down the road like I was just starting. I felt GOOD. And it was weird because it lasted about 15 miles that I felt super happy and super strong. I smiled widely at fellow runners, chatted with the volunteers at the aid stations, and things were great.

Around mile 45, which happened to be nearly the exact same mileage as when the shitshow began at Javelina, I was running along the asphalt section and puked. Just one puke though. And I walked for a minute or so, trying to not worry too much about how this seemed way too familiar. As the nausea subsided a bit, I jogged slowly, testing the waters. Thankfully, that was the only puke all race!

When I came into mile 50, I remember that I was definitely not as chipper as I was before, but I was still moving well enough and hitting 50 miles just under 9 hours or so which is exactly where I wanted to be. The darkness and tired legs would catch up with me, but I was hoping I could run the second half in about 10-11 hours. The iPod battery died, but I put it back on the charger so I could run with it later in case I didn't have pacers the whole time. 

This is where I decided to take off my ice buff, put on a dry sports bra, and put on a shirt. Though I had liberally lubed with Squirrel's Nut Butter all my usual chafe spots, the ice melting down my back from my buff had created a chafe situation in my butt crack so I applied copious amounts more to try to keep it from getting worse. Behind the 10x10 tent, but still pretty much in plain view, I changed my tops and shoved goopy lube in my shorts. 

I told Dan to get my headlamp and black hat ready so I could just grab those at the last possible minute. I definitely knew I'd need it by the time I got to 60 miles. It was getting tougher to eat and gels just sounded gross. In the middle of the day, I had switched to more water and less Tailwind in my hydration bottle. But I knew I was fading fast without many calories so I forced myself to try to eat a little something at each aid station and drink a cup of soda. Thankfully, I did have pee again which meant that at least I was hydrating okay (not great, but enough to pee!). John had been sick for hours and not peeing and ultimately decided to drop which I heard about right around this time. Having been there recently myself, I knew exactly all the emotions he was going through right then. 

At mile 60, I was able to have a pacer. I was so excited to run with someone and keep me motivated to move even when my head got funky. Dan paced me a full 10ish mile loop and I felt pretty good actually in miles 65-68. I really don't remember what order I got cold broth, warm broth, warm soup in over the last 30 miles, but I do know that I was STARVING and got a cup at each of the main aid stations. 

I ran the spur 3 and 1 by myself and then Dan ran spur 2 with me again. 

When we got back to the main aid station, I was at mile 80ish and still had to do the shortest spur to complete the loop. My Garmin was dying so I got my charging cable and charger and my iPod which appeared to be half-charged. I was kind of delirious at this point and just putting one foot in front of the other so I wasn't really sure if and when I'd have my pacers. It took a bit of time to figure out how I was going to wear my charger, charging cable, and Garmin with my belt. I was walking on the shortest spur, stuffing everything into the belt at first, but then it was too heavy and bounced so I just left the charger in the pocket, put my watch on my wrist with the cable, and let the cord dangle about. I'm honestly not sure how this didn't annoy me, but I suppose there were too many other annoyances clouding this one.

Angie was ready to pace me for spur 1 at mile 82ish. She noticed a sign near the start/finish that said runners did not need to do spur 3 on their final loop! This made me so happy. We walked a bit while I digested soup and then ran to the timing mat, walked a bit, and ran back to the road. She went back to the tent and because I was still running (and not walking), Dan had to catch up to me on the road. I wanted to run to the sign that said something about the hall of pines and then I took a walk break. I had my little sections broken up to try to run and try to walk, the walk sections getting longer with each loop. 

I think this was the section that he nearly karate chopped an armadillo rustling in the woods. I'm not sure there would have been much to jolt me out of my ultra-fog at that point. I just kind of turned my head when sprang into action, but kept moving along as though nothing had happened. I needed to pee again (yay!) and decided I'd use the porta-potty on the way back from the spur 2 aid station. When I came back, there was someone in it and after waiting 30 seconds, I decided I didn't need to go that bad. 

Back at the main aid station, I went out on spur 3 for the final time. About 100 feet past the timing mat, Angie caught up to me and we trounced out of the woods together. I was definitely doing a lot more walking at this point, but trying to run when I could. I don't really remember what we talked about or the music that was still playing in one my ears, but I was moving forward, making progress.

Dan met me at the trail intersection on the final spur. I didn't want to waste too much time at the aid station knowing that I was going to be done in less than an hour so I just filled my bottle halfway and tried to keep moving. There was considerably more walking at this point because I was thinking that a few minutes here or there really wasn't going to make a difference. I was going to be finishing around 20 hours or so. We walked a bit on the road and I had told Dan earlier in the loop that I was just going to run again once I saw the tents. 

But then I looked down and saw 19:52:XX on my watch and knowing in the back of my head he'd force me to run, I said I had less than 8 minutes to make it to the finish line to get under 20 hours. He rallied me to get my legs moving and while cursing him, I found that last gear to push for the final minutes. I knew the pain would be over soon and as I saw the first lights of the tents and then the timing clock, the sub-20 hours was happening. 19:58:05, 3rd female, 10th overall. 

The race director handed me my buckle and I posed for a few photos at the finish line.

POST-RACE

Back at the tent, I sat in a chair for the first time in 20 hours and felt the cloud of exhaustion grip me. I knew it wouldn't change much, but I did sip slowly on a Tailwind recovery drink, trying to rehydrate and get in some calories. Dan's brother-in-law graciously fired up a few bratwurst for us and I mindlessly chewed slowly, eating 3/4 over what seemed like an eternity. My wet clothes soon felt cold, but I really didn't want to move so I sat until the 3 of them packed up. As soon as they were gone (Dan helping, but coming back), I changed into dry clothes and crawled halfway into my sleeping bag. By the time Dan came back, I was asleep.

At first light, I started to stir, legs throbbing, a layer of dew coating me and the sleeping bag. I sat in the chair for awhile, just watching the morning unfold.

Eventually, after Dan awoke, we decided to start to break down camp, find some breakfast, take showers, and come back to watch Jen finish. Rain was starting to try to come down when we came back, but fortunately never too hard. As the clock crept near 30 hours, we peered down the asphalt, watching for Jen and Angie to come around the bend. Soon, even in the distance, I could spot them and knew she was going to make it easily under the 30 mark. I desperately wanted to run in with her, but my legs were so tight that I just had to hobble down to the finish line, hoping I had enough time to stay ahead of her for a finish photo. Mission complete.

It wasn't my fastest 100, it wasn't my first time running 100 miles, but it was the first outright 100 mile race I've done. There were plenty of things that went wrong, but there was a lot that went right and I'm happy that I ran a pretty consistently paced race (for that distance) and stayed pretty positive. 

My short list of what worked: broth, music, all the portable chargers, handheld hydration instead of a pack, Hoka Carbon X, ice buff (but I really need to figure out how to keep my shorts dry if that's even possible), mini Cokes, smaller doses of caffeine, properly taking time at aid stations, dry clothes, and alternating pacers.

Link to splits on Strava here.  

Resolution Run 6 Hour: The last PRs of 2017

After I raced the Jacksonville Marathon and came up with my 3rd fastest marathon on December 16th and the hurt-but-still-BQ'd Rehoboth Beach Marathon on December 2nd, I was definitely in recovery mode. I didn't even crack 20 miles the week before Christmas mostly because I was sore and tired. So I plodded along a few miles here and there, but it was all just slow and short. The top of my left foot felt bruised from JAX so I was also trying to be smart (ish).

The week of Christmas, I felt sluggish from all the cookies, steak, and wine. I asked Laurie & Jen on the 26th if they were doing the Resolution Run and they both were traveling. I did a 10 miler at MP +30 on the treadmill that evening and woke up the next day with a return of the sore foot and a head cold. Ugh. I took the 27th off running and decided to do an easy 5 mile progression Thursday.

On Friday, I woke up thinking I was just going to tell Matt I would skip the Resolution Run. But then he texted me a screenshot of his registration. Crap. I seriously wavered back and forth for hours about it all day when it popped into my mind. My sniffles were mostly subsided, but my stupid foot was still sore. I taped it up and told myself I would just wait until after work to decide.

It did actually feel much better with the tape and decided I would just sign up. The race fee was only $10 so even if I woke up feeling horrible, I could just either not go or hang out and volunteer.

With a 1:00 p.m. start in Greenville, SC, I had plenty of time to sleep in and pack up my gear in the morning. I made the 2 hour drive easily and ate some avocado wraps and granola I had packed about an hour before the race. It was definitely chilly just sitting around and I waited until about T-minus 15 to toss off my warm-ups before we got going. I popped a couple of ibuprofen, ate my traditional mini Snickers, and popped in my ear buds.

Matt got caught up at work and so I would be starting the race without really knowing anyone. Cool with a marathon, but kind of lonely in an ultra. The race director ran the first 1 mile lap with us so I just stuck to the front of the pack when we started. It was just under a 10:00 minute mile and while I was grateful for an easy start and conversation, it was nice to get moving after that first lap.

There was a teenager who leapt out in front and I watched his galloping, light strides as he slowly separated from me. He was built like a typical fast high school runner and immediately wondered how long he would hold that pace. I knew I was being a bit reckless with my own pace, but it felt comfortable and all my body parts seemed to actually being feeling good.

Each lap we ran, we had to grab a pebble from a 5 gallon bucket and place it into a cup. The first few times, it was kind of fun to stop and watch the pile grow. Admittedly, I got a bit annoyed with this system later in the race as other runners would take their time to choose a rock from the communal pile and drop it in their cup. Silly in retrospect as those few extra seconds didn't mean anything, but it was just one of the things breaking my rhythm every mile.

The course this year was less hilly than the prior year, but I still ended up with over 2,000' of gain for 40 miles. It was a mixture of paved sidewalk, concrete sidewalk, a smidgen of dirt, and a grassy soccer field. All of that in a mile. So just when I'd find my groove on the pavement, it would switch. And when I started to feel happy that the grass would be absorbing some shock, it would switch. So it really kind of was like an urban trail run in that you had to pay attention to your footing a good portion of the time.

I started blasting my music after the first mile, content to just put my head down and run until Matt got there. I was about 7 miles in when he arrived and we continued seeing each other in the same out-and-back section for many, many miles. It was kind of funny that we were running nearly the identical pace for about 15 miles or so. He stopped at the aid station at one point long enough that I was able to finally reach him when I was in my 20-something mile.

Somewhere in the late teens, I felt a twinge in the hamstring and started to panic. It wasn't acute like when it first happened, but rather the same residual soreness I had afterwards. Strangely enough, it dissipated after about 5 minutes and I never felt it again through the race. It kind of put me in a funk through those middle miles though as I was worried I was going to have to cut my run short.

When I did catch up to Matt, I was still in that funk. And really wasn't in any mood to talk. I kind of mumbled some words at him for about a mile and a half and then pushed him to go on ahead. Though I wasn't inherently feeling anything physically bad (wahoo!), I wanted to do quiet work by myself.

There was a 3 hour race that started at 4:00 p.m. and it was good to get some faster moving legs out on the course. The 12 hour runners were definitely into the zombie zone and the teenager who led the 6 hour for awhile had begun walking. About an hour into their race, I passed one of the 3 hour women and she must've thought I was in contention in her race because she immediately came blowing past me with a whole new gusto. Though I knew we weren't competing in the same race, it was good to kind of have someone be the pacemaker for at least a short while.

I had been pretty on top of my calories all day and was proud that side of the race was going really well. After I got into the double digits, I put my handheld on and kept hydrating until the final hour. I started with gels and then guzzled Tailwind in the middle miles. At some point, I grabbed a coconut bar and a handful of rosemary potatoes from the aid station and felt like a new person.

I drank an entire Coke from my stash as I was actually feeling sleepy in the second half. It seemed to be helping so I sought out another one from the aid station. I found one on the table, opened it, drank a quarter of it, and came back about 45 minutes later and drank the last quarter of it. Apparently I was sharing with someone, but these things somehow seem less gross when you've been running for 4 hours?

My marathon split was somewhere in the 3:40s and I was relieved when I hit that mark. Somewhere before I actually hit 50K, Matt and I were running together again and he asked if I had ever gone under 4:30 for a 50K. My 50K prior to this race was 4:47, but happy crossed over the line around 4:30 and Garmin beeped at 4:32:21. My GPS was losing about 2/100ths of a mile each lap so no official chip PR - just a Garmin one. But hey, a PR is a PR!

As it got close to 6:00 p.m. and the 5 hour mark, I noticed the waning sun and decreasing temperature. When I stopped to get my headlamp, I also tossed my gloves back on. I actually felt very comfortable temperature-wise the last hour so the gloves were a great choice!

Runner math was not really on the table until I had about 45 minutes left in the race. I was content to just get to a marathon, a 50K, then 35 miles. Once I got to 35 miles, I realized that I could hit 40 if I stayed within a reasonable pace. It was definitely getting harder and the miles were wearing on me. But with the finish nearing, I kept going. Just 3 more laps, just 2 more laps, just 1 more lap.

I knew I'd have 39.5ish on my Garmin when I stopped and really wanted it to say 40. But when I stopped after my 40th lap - the lap time became good enough. I was pooped. Happy, but pooped. I counted all my rocks, recorded my laps, and waited for Matt to come through on his final lap. He ended up with 33 laps - we basically did the same pace for 5 of the 6 hours - and he came in second!

40 miles in the 6 hour is a PR for me. Coming off 2 marathons and on a less-than-ideal course makes me feel good about where my fitness is even if my body parts are randomly uncooperative. There is always the what if factor of an ideal course and a rested body, but a couple of extra miles in the 6 hour is one I'm okay to leave on the table for now.

An ode to my runner widower

Being married to a runner is often thankless. I leave for work at 7:20 a.m. and often don't return home until 8:30 p.m. during peak training weekdays. Dinner is often whatever the quickest thing I can put together - half the time while still wearing my sweaty running clothes. I spend a good chunk of the weekend racking up miles in the woods and then fail miserably at adulting when the nap monster takes over.

I use up all the ice for ice baths and filling my beer Gatorade cooler. My sports bras hang from the laundry rooms for days. I ate both bags of your chips and I'm not even the least bit sorry. I spent approximately $700 on shoes last year. Running shoes. If you know me, you can vouch for the reason why we never take my car anywhere.

75% of our travel expenses over the past 5 years have been to travel to a race. I talk to you about tempos, rabbits, PRs, fartleks, sub-3s, and BQs and you know exactly what I'm saying. I pop blisters on the kitchen floor and haven't had 10 toenails since 2014.

But I'm one of the lucky ones.

You always say you're crazy, I love you, be safe when I'm leaving for the woods at 5:00 a.m.

You brag to your customers about me and always let me know when you helped a runner.

You celebrate when I do well, you know to back off when I've had a tough race or training run.

You have woken up at 3:00 a.m. to see me run for 60 seconds.

You always ask me how far I'm running today and when I get home, you ask me how it went.

You never give me (real) grief about the time and money I spend on running.

You have made friends with my running friends all over the country.

You have volunteered at races and walked 5Ks even though you aren't a runner.

You give me bittersweet inspiration every day to appreciate every moment I get to do what I love.

I don't say it enough - thank you for not only letting me be me, but giving me a reason to be a better version of me.

Don't be afraid to fail. Be afraid not to try.

I blinked and it was September. The malaise of August securely behind me now, I was greeted to the first month of fall with crisp mornings and that thing in the air. At the end of the month, I am attempting to tackle my biggest challenge yet. The base has been built, the miles have been run, and (most) of the hard work is done. 

Last summer, I just raced and raced and raced and tried to learn as much as I could about night running and ultras. This year, I've just been running. Luckily, the new job has been pretty conducive to having a schedule of sorts and I am finally able to say yes to every weekend trail run. Funny thing is, I don't actually need any trail runs in my training. Hinson is basically flat and scores 0 on the technicality difficulty.

But the trails have been good for my heart and my head. Running in the summer in Hotlanta is defeating. I typically do all of my running after work and paces in 90°+ are ugly. I try hard not to compare too much to winter paces, but I am human. Sometimes, I get on the treadmill just so that I can run in 75° and nail some faster times.

I have felt especially tired in the last 2 weeks, but I think that is probably the point of ultra-training? A few times I have started a run and it has been so hard to not just throw in the towel in the first half mile. Taking it to the next level by adding a 6th day and hitting 60+ miles each week has taught me a lot about myself. Mostly that I am hungry all the time. But a little bit about gritting it out when the mind and the body are totally against me.

Truth be told, I feel my running has been subpar lately. I am going into these last few weeks feeling like it's been more of an exception for me to have a good day. Part of me wants to believe it is because I have been putting my legs through the ringer - 600+ miles in the last 2 months and nearly 30,000 feet of ascent. 

But there is always the self-doubt that it feels harder because I'm not as strong. I think that any runner or athlete that has any sort of competitive nature in their blood understands this notion. There is that feeling that you don't want to leave anything on the table to give it your best shot.

This is the last big(ger) week. I am ready to start winding down and see if a little freshness makes me feel better. Last year, I had the goal of hitting 100 miles in 24 hours. I really didn't have any idea what to expect. I had never run beyond 12 hours and my peak distance was 68 miles. Honestly, I don't have that much more perspective this year other than the knowledge that I am capable of running 100 miles in 24 hours - 109.866 miles if you want to get technical about it and yes, I do, thankyouverymuch.

When I learned about the 24 hours US National Team qualifying distance (125 miles) earlier in the year, this seemed like an outlying goal to aim for. Another 15ish miles is only .62 more miles each hour. Seems reasonable in theory, pretty tough in reality. I found out a couple of weeks ago that they raised the bar to 130 miles for women. Those 5 miles are big. This is a whole new kind of runner math. 

So I'm sticking with my original goals in ascending order because it is far easier to tick up, than tick down (mental trick #45082348): 1) finish upright 2) 100K 3) 100 miles 4) PR 109.866 5) Course Record 114.6 6) 125 7) Seriously?

The thing about having a plan for one of these races is that there needs to be not much structure to said plan. You cannot just plug numbers into a spreadsheet or calculator and expect it to happen despite all the history and training. The human element is far too great, especially in longer distances and there is no telling what sort of shit will hit the fan. I cannot control the heat or the rain, the nausea in my stomach, the soreness in my legs, the chafing everywhere, or anything else causing me physical anguish. But I can control how I react to it. 

And much as in life, there is very little I can even begin to feel sorry for myself about. To get to do what I get to do, I'm one of the lucky ones.