Taking a Chance - Zion 100 Race Report

I DNFed the Zion 100.  I quit.  I'm a failure.

I've had several days to think about it, and my mind still comes back to those thoughts.  It would almost be easier if I had a broken leg or was puking for 40 miles - in the ultrarunning culture of 'never say die', it's hard to explain how I simply decided to stop running. 

So how did I get myself into this mess?

Brian and I decided about a month ago to head to Zion for an early 100-miler.  I had heard wonderful things about the course, and the photos made the scenery look beautiful!  I knew it was extremely early in the season to hope for a strong 100-mile race, but I felt strong enough to be able to finish.  Of course, this extended winter challenged my training - as the trails remained snow-covered leading up to our trip.  I didn't have any crew or pacers, which was the first time for me in a 100-mile race, but I hoped that I would be smart enough and strong enough to overcome that hurdle - this is how you truly learn about yourself, right?!?

Race morning was chilly, the thermometer in the car read 37 degrees (yay, I'm used to that)!  Before we knew it, the race had begun and we were headed through the valley on a gentle climb towards our first mesa, Flying Monkey.  At 3 miles in, the first mesa climb begun, and we were hiking up about 1,500 feet in a mile.  About halfway up, I looked back down and saw the stream of headlamps across the valley, the first beautiful view of the day. 

(first view across the valley, from Flying Monkey)

Reaching the top of Flying Monkey, we then went on a 6 mile loop around the mesa.  The sun was up now, and I could see the amazing views surrounding me as I looped through the fire roads.  Quickly, I finished my loop and was headed back down the same climb we came up.  This was my first view across the valley - just spectacular!

(trail down Flying Monkey)

 

After a few flat miles in the valley, we climbed over a power line cut and dropped to the next aid station.  I knew this was where the climb up the next mesa (Guacamole) started.  The climb was mostly gentle to begin with, not nearly as bad as Flying Monkey.  I found I could run up most of it - and I took advantage, as it was still relatively cool. 

At the top of Guacamole, we had another loop around the top of the mesa.  It was sweet single track across slick rock, and I loved it!  The course was a bit confusing in this section, but I was fortunate to have runners near me that could help guide me through the course. 

(Slick rock trails, with views in the background)

 

As I finished the loop, I was pleased to realize that I was already 26 miles into the course - and it was still feeling comfortable.  It was getting a bit hot, but I was managing the heat.  The course then went back down the same gradual climb we had taken up Guacamole, so I cruised down to mile 30, amazed at the miles ticking off. 

Out of that aid station, I realized I was starting to over heat.  This section was a long run across the valley towards the next mesa (Goosebump) - we were exposed to the full sun, and I felt like I wasn't getting any closer as I kept plugging along forward.  When I finally reached the climb up Goosebump, I knew I was in trouble.  I was barely putting one foot in front of the other, as I stumbled around up the climb.  It was so steep, with loose footing, and I was so tired and overheated already. 

(jeep road through the desert were endless)

Reaching the top of the climb, I was so excited.  I was less than halfway through the race, mileage-wise, but I only had 1 more major climb in the race!  The heat of the day had set it, so I alternated walking and running, doing my best to continue forward progress even though the terrain was flat and I knew I should have been running.  I fell into stride with two other 'northern' folks - one from Minnesota and one from Washington, and we all suffered in the heat together.  As other runners flew past us, we took comfort in each other and the suffering that only a northerner could be feeling in that moment.  We ran together for most of the run on top of Goosebump, reaching the mile 47 aid station fairly close together.

From there, the course ran several miles down a gradual dirt road.  I was cooked, but slowly soldered on.  At the first sign of a building throwing shade, I sat down in the shade to regroup.  I was only about halfway through the race, and I felt terrible.  I was overheated and I kept forgetting to grab what I needed in the chaos of the aid stations.  While I didn't feel like eating much, I also wasn't carrying too many options because I kept forgetting to pick up my fueling. 

(Running through the scrub brush)

Sitting down helped a little, but I still found myself walking down the endless dirt road - I had flashbacks to running (well, walking) down the endless dirt roads at Nueces when I had a pulled hamstring.  I was not doing well.  The only bright spot in this section was seeing Brian on his return trip up the road.  He wasn't in the best of spirits, and we both agreed that this race might have been a really bad idea...but onward we went.

I hit the Grafton Mesa aid station, and was relieved to be off the jeep road.  It was all single track downhill to get to the next aid station - and that helped my spirits a bit.  I did laugh as some folks at the aid station complained about the snow they had in California this year and how they felt not ready for this race...I told them this was my first time seeing dirt trails in months!  I just had to laugh at the winter I had in the lead up to this race. 

(Slick rock trails)

Anyway, I took in the views as we ran down and off the mesa.  I wasn't feeling great, but was able to loose myself in the moment.  I did my best to not think about the climb back up to the mesa (which would be the last significant climb of the day!). 

I reached the Cemetery aid station, and though I should maybe stay there.  Dig me a grave, I was done.  I looked up to the climb I had just run down, and nearly cried as I imagined getting back up that.  I kept telling myself over and over again 'one more climb, just one more major climb'.  I didn't think I could do it.

(Single track in the desert)

 

Then, I decided to phone a friend...and I turned on my cell phone and called my friend Steph.  It was amazing how much it helped to just have someone to talk to - sharing my stories of the day, complaining about how hard this was, describing the incredible views, whatever - I don't know what we discussed, but I do know that before I knew it I was at the top of the steep climb and jogging the flats back to the Grafton Mesa. 

It was getting dark, so I had to turn on my headlamp at this point - so I pulled my hat low, and chugged back up the climb that I had recently walked down.  My energy was high, the temperatures were dropping, and I was working my way up the last bits of the climb to Goosebump.

(The beauty of the desert)

 

When I hit Goosebump for the 3rd and final time, I tore through my drop bag.  I needed fueling (which I had been forgetting all day), and I needed to keep moving - it was getting cold.  As I sorted through my stuff, my body temperature dropped and I was shivering...and I triple checked the bag and couldn't find anything other than a short sleeve shirt in there.  I wouldn't make it without clothing, and I didn't have any.  I started shivering harder.  As I walked to the aid station to tell them that I might have to drop because I didn't have anything to keep me warm, the aid station captain handed me her husband's sweatshirt to put on.  It was a size XL, but it did the trick.  In that moment, she was an angel!

(Top of Goosebump Mesa)

 

I continued on, which meant running (more like sliding) down the super steep trail off the Goosebump Mesa (the climb that I barely made it up earlier in the day).  At the bottom, there were several miles of rolling jeep trails to get to the Virgin Desert aid station.  I was hitting highs and lows in rapid succession at this point - I would feel good and cruise a few rollers thinking 'only just over a marathon to go'; but then my knees would hurt and my Achilles would ache, and I would walk a few rollers as I contemplated why I was in the middle of the desert in the middle of the night and debate if I was doing real damage to my joints with this much pain.  I thought about calling a friend, but it was in the wee hours of night back home, and there wasn't any cell phone reception anyway.

I eventually made it to the Virgin Desert aid station, and immediately sat down.  I was spent and wasn't enjoying this at all.  I asked where Brian was - curious if he would be back to this aid station (to cheer me on) anytime soon.  Turns out, he left this aid station for the finish (6 miles to go) about 30 minutes before I got there - so it would be a while till he returned.  I told the volunteer that I was thinking about quitting the race, and he said 'no' and pushed me out onto the trail (even walking me to the trail head) to be sure I was on my way.

(Sun setting over the desert)

I left Virgin Desert on the first of 3 loops (red, white, and blue loops) through the desert.  I was mostly walking, in some serious pain throughout my body and with low energy levels - but I wouldn't stop until I saw Brian.  I thought about ultrarunning, and why I keep coming back to this sport.  I thought about my training buddies and teammates who were cheering me on...but nothing was helping.

I walked back into the Virgin Desert aid station for the second time, and immediately asked if Brian was there.  The helpful aid station volunteer found him as I collapsed into a chair.  The volunteer changed my wrist band from red to white (to indicate that I was on my second loop) as I sat there and tried to summon the courage to finish.  Brian finally came over (he had been helping another runner), and I immediately lost it.  I told him I was done, I didn't want to do this anymore, I wasn't having fun.  He just said 'fine, let's go back to the tent and sleep'.  I asked him if I was a loser for quitting, and he said he loved me no matter what. 

(The views of Zion)

With that conversation, I turned in my race number and we walked back to the car, having only completed 81 miles.  We slept a few hours, and I woke up feeling guilty for dropping and had enough energy that I could possibly finish.  I looked at my watch and determined that I still had enough time to finish the race - when I told Brian that I still have time to do the last 19 miles he said 'yeah, but do you really want to?', I responded 'no'. 

We headed to the start/finish area later that day to pick up the drop bags.  It was wonderful to see the runners finishing up, watching the joy on their faces as they completed their goals.  On the walk back to the car, I completely lost it - I couldn't hold back my tears anymore.  I was a failure.  I had quit.  I was a loser.  There wasn't anything wrong with me, and I simply walked away.  I flew across the country to come up short.  As irrational as it sounds, I had only completed 81 miles.  I had DNFed my first 100 mile race.  I had added to a statistic.  Nothing Brian could say was stopping the water works as I let out all my disappointment. 

(Beauty along the course)

I wish I could say that this disappointment easily and quickly went away - that I was smart enough to see the whole picture and realize that this one result didn't define me.  However, that wasn't the case.  This DNF would linger for a while, and continue to break my confidence - I had taken a chance, and it didn't work out.  The silver lining was that I felt good enough to run the Boston Marathon a week later - running stride-for-stride with my teammate Karin, and had a wonderful day with her despite the weather conditions.  We both got our BQs for next year - but I would have preferred a Zion buckle.

(Amazing geological features)

 

Two of my training buddies, Caroline and Howie, have a 3 1/2 year old daughter, Nora.  While I was out at Zion, Nora and Howie had a conversation about my running that Howie relayed to me...

 

Nora: "can I run with you and mama and Amy?"

Me: "Someday. Guess how far Amy is running this weekend."

Nora: "30"

Me: "more"

Nora: "100"

Me (amazed she got it on the second guess): "Yes!!"

Nora: "I want to run 100 with Amy."

Me: "I'm sure she'd like that. How about you and I run a 3-mile in Northampton on Tuesday?"

Nora: "That's too short. I want to do 100."

Mental Training - TARC 6 Hour Spring Thaw

This past weekend, my 2015 ultra season officially began.  I ran the Trail Animal Running Club (TARC) 6 Hour Spring Thaw.  After a trying winter with many challenging training conditions, I was optimistic that the weather would behave as advertised in the title - with a spring thaw!  Unfortunately, no such luck...as Sunday was cold, there was over 2-feet of snow in the woods, and the weather forecast called for a mix of snow, rain and/or sleet to fall during the event.  I took solace in the fact that, no matter what, it would be over in 6 hours...that's the joy of a timed race.

Since misery can love company - I was pleased to see so many friends and familiar faces at the race.  It was fun and surprising to see that the women's field was stacked (with Deb Livingston, Jenny Hoffman, and Lori Wetzel), considering it was a low-key, fat ass style event. It would be fun to share some miles with these ladies and enjoy the day!

(Breaking trail in the early miles)

The race started out with a quick 1/2 mile lap around the parking lot (to spread us out) before we started our first (of many) laps on the trails.  As I turned onto the trails, I immediately post-holed to about mid-shin.  I got out of that hole, and proceeded to post-hole about every 5 steps.  It took about 6 minutes of post-holing (and a few face plants) to see the 1/2 mile marker.  I couldn't believe how slow I was going.  I continued to post hole and face plant till mile 2, wondering how I would deal with 6 hours of this!  Mile 2 to mile 3 on the loop was the worst, as I post-holed every step and was slowed to a walk.  I was frustrated, I wanted to quit, this was miserable!  Luckily, the last 1/2 mile of the loop was the same as the first 1/2 mile, and I was pleasantly surprised that it was fairly packed out from the 100 or so runners behind me.  Alright, I thought, I'll at least do one more lap to see if conditions are any better.  However, it had taken me almost an hour to cover the first 4 miles!

(Enjoying some packed trail in the later miles)

 

The RD, Emily, was in the lap area and asked me how it was out there.  I told her this is horrible, this is no fun as I grumbled along.  (It took me a mile or two before I was hit with the guilt of being rude to the RD!  I apologized to her after the race!!!) 

(Focusing, thankful that my Inov8 Stormshell kept me dry!)

 

However, conditions did improve - while it was still slow going, the snow was packed down after the first lap and it was at least runnable-ish.  If you happened to step off defined path or loose you balance at all, you would post hole and fall, but that only happened maybe once every mile or so.  The mile 2 to 3 section never got well packed out and was, at best, 1/2 track - you had to run an extremely narrow gait to stay in the packed sections and there were several spots where you could plunge ankle-deep into an icy stream.  I spent the next lap trying to catch the lead guy.

(Closing in on the lead guy)

 

Once I caught the lead guy, Greg, it was great to have some company and pass the laps together.  We ran together for several hours and traded stories about running adventures and life.  I likely wouldn't have been able to keep my focus and continue if I hadn't had his company through the middle section. 

After about 4 hours, conditions started to deteriorate again.  It started to rain on us.  One of my microspikes broke (so I had to run with only one on).  The trails were turning to ice covered in slippery slush.  Greg pulled away from me after my microspike broke, so I was on my own. 

(On my own again, practicing mental toughness)

 

I wanted to stop, but thought of all the races on my calendar and the mental strength that would be needed.  I focused on staying mentally tough and running strong for the full 6 hours.  I started to lap folks, including Jenny and Deb, so it was great to share a few minutes with them before I moved ahead.  I counted the laps left...only three times more past the bonfire, twice more past the snowman. I was passed by the 2nd place guy and let him go - he was moving better than me at that time.  I dropped my waist belt for the last lap, just for something to look forward to.  It has started raining pretty hard in the last hour, and I was ready to shed anything I could.

(Greg and I, as male and female champions)

At the end of the day, I had run 28.5 hard earned miles.  This was essentially a flat course, but the snow conditions had made it such a challenge to get in every one of those miles!  I finished 3rd overall and 1st female.  With 100 runners starting the day, only the top 3 of us managed to get in an ultra distance.  Many folks bailed after the first lap and ran on the local roads instead.  It was certainly a great day to test your mental toughness and continue running!  While I was a bit disappointed in the mileage I accumulated, I was pleased to have run strong the entire 6 hours given the conditions.  It'll be hard to gauge my fitness based on this race, but at least it was another training day in the books.

(RD Emily with top 3 females - Deb, myself, Sonia L-R)

 

This was my first TARC event, and they do an AMAZING job of putting on a low key and fun event.  Emily, the RD, is enthusiastic and did a wonderful job with some rough conditions.  The volunteers who stood out in the rain just to take care of us were AWESOME!  One of my favorite things that a volunteer did was build a snowman to point out an unmanned turn (see picture above).  Thanks to Emily and her volunteers! 

 



(Volunteer-built snowman to direct runners!)

Why Not Me? - US Snowshoe National Championships Report

As a youngster, I was a competitive cross country skier.  I raced through the high school level making the Massachusetts team to compete in the New England Championships, and through the collegiate level where my team annually competed at the Collegiate National Championships.  I still follow xc skiing, and was inspired when two members of the USA Ski Team made the podium at the World Championships earlier this week (Silver - Jessie Diggins, Bronze - Caitlin Gregg).  In an interview post-race, Jessie said "We've never had U.S. girls podium at a distance event at the World Champs and to have two?  It's incredible.  We talked at the team meeting last night and I said, 'Why not me?' I knew today I had great skis.  And I skied my heart out to create the opportunity."

Her words resonated with me, as I mentally prepared for the 2015 US Snowshoe Nationals in Eau Claire, Wisconsin.  Why not me?  Why couldn't it be me who races well?  Why do I count myself out before the race has even begun?  My mantra leading up to the race was 'why not me'.  Those three words captured everything I wanted to believe and achieve.

(Rocking the Inov8 Trail Ultras, and Dion 121s)

For me, the 2015 US Snowshoe National Championships was an opportunity for redemption over last year's results (15th place finish).  I was also excited about the addition of a half marathon event, and was planning to 'do the double' by racing the 10k on Saturday and half marathon on Sunday.  While I didn't get in a ton of snowshoe racing this season in preparation, my snowshoe training was plentiful and I felt strong.

(There was minimal snow coverage, often time just a narrow ribbon of snow to run on.)

Saturday morning started with the men's 10k race - so I cheered on the race while I tried to prepare myself.  The course was rolling (but with no big hills), and had minimal snow coverage which lead to some fast times.  It wasn't exactly playing into my strengths, but I did my best to stay positive.

(Early in the Women's 10k race, I am in the middle of the lead pack)

Soon enough, the ladies 10k race was lining up and getting under way.  While the lead pack took off immediately, I scurried to catch up (which is typical - my ultrarunning legs take a few minutes to catch up).  The first 1km of the race was wide double track, and there was plenty of jockeying.  As we turned onto the first single track (at 1km), I was in 7th or 8th place in a tight train of the top 10.  We battled for the next 2km of mostly double track and ultimately I found myself in 8th place as we dodged through the trees on the tight single track mountain bike trails.  I felt like I was flying - but the tight tracks and close trees might have been giving that illusion.

The next km of the course brought us through some single track with a huge 180-degree turn, and I was surprised to see that the leaders were only about 30 seconds ahead...I was still in the hunt!  I focused on the ladies ahead as I climbs up from the river.  On the next double track, I could still see the leaders not far ahead.  The 4km mark was on a tight squirrelly downhill with a few bare patches where we ran across dirt!  I hesitated on the dirt section, focused on not falling and not breaking a cleat...and between that and the next uphill/downhill section, by 5km I was running alone with no one in sight.

(Early race in the Women's 10k, jockeying for positions)

I glanced back, and couldn't see anyone - I was running in no-mans land.  I'll admit it - at this point, I settled.  I mentally gave up.  I stopped chasing 7th place and started defending 8th place.  I ran controlled, but was thinking of tomorrow's half marathon.  I enjoyed the last 5km of the race, winding around the single track and through the trees...and didn't see another racer.  I finished in 51:09 for 8th place. 

I was immediately thrilled to improve upon my 2014 results - cracking the top 10 in a National Championship is always a challenge.  However, the more I let the result sink in, the more disappointed I was in the result - knowing that I didn't give 100%, knowing that I mentally shut down and ran tactically, knowing that my mental strength still needs some improvement. 

(Enjoying a bit of alone time in no-mans-land)

However, the blessing and curses of a 2-day event is that (negatively) you have to immediately get over any disappointment and focus on the next day but (positively) you immediately have the opportunity to right any wrong.  I had to regroup, refocus, and try again the next day.  It can be a challenging task to turn around and race the next day, especially when I was in the middle of the country and didn't have Brian around to chat with. 

Sunday morning, and I was once again lining up to race a National Championship event.  It wasn't until we had started, and I was looking around my competitors, that I saw that none of the other women in the top 5 had raced the previous day - I had expected that most folks who would race the half marathon would also be on slightly fatigued legs...but I was apparently incorrect with that assumption.  Luckily, one of my training buddies, Erik, also jumped into the half so we ran the first several kms together, gabbing like it was a training run. 

(Start of the inaugural National Championship Half Marathon race)

About 6km in, he asked me if there were any females ahead, and I answered that there was only 1 female ahead of me...but that I was more nervous about the female that was only 15 seconds behind me.  He offered to put in a surge with me, to try to drop her, but I knew I could only do so much...so I wanted to wait and see where she was in another 10km.  He did take the lead and we unintentionally picked it up for a few km of fun rolling single track.  Funny how no matter how tired I might be, I will always open up my stride when I'm having fun and enjoying a trail!  By the end of my first lap, Erik was about 30 seconds ahead and I was, again, running alone...but without the next female in sight behind me I was content to keep cruising.  The first female was long gone ahead of me, so I focused on maintaining 2nd place.

The second lap was pure joy on snowshoes.  I took in the moment, enjoyed the trails we were running, and had fun with the solitude that snowshoeing often brings.  The 3rd place female was within striking distance, so I cheered her on when the trail allowed, but was sure to keep the pressure on to maintain my gap.  I passed a few guys as they faded, but in general was running on my own.  The feeling I got for this lap, however, is exactly why I love snowshoeing - it was completely zen.

(Once again, running on my own through the trees)

I crossed the finish line in 1:59:04, good enough for the silver medal on the day.  I was proud of that accomplishment - my best ever individual National Championship results have been bronzes (at Collegiate Skiing Nationals and the US 50 Mile Trail Champs).  This felt like a break through - I might not have taken the top step...yet...but I took one step higher and proved that I can be among the best in the country.

(Celebrating with my training buddy Erik, who earned a Silver in his age group)

In general, while I'm not 100% satisfied with my results, I am pleased to have gotten some redemption on my 2014 Snowshoe National results.  I am also excited that I got to participate in (and show support of) the snowshoe half marathon at the championships, which I think is a great addition and will (hopefully) attract more of the endurance runners to the event.