Hilly Half Marathon

I can’t believe that I’ve neglected this blog for 4 years! I think there are two reasons: I don’t know how to top a race report for a 50-mile event and I have struggled with my running routine to the point where I continually debate whether it’s time to hang up the running shoes. Since I’m too stubborn to admit defeat, I keep plugging along with races. My current training strategy needs work. It’s basically summarized by: sign up for a race, neglect to do the bare minimum of running, and show up for race day. It’s not the most effective strategy. I do have one ace in my pocket though: I’ve been doing CrossFit for 6 months.  Today was a chance to see how much it would carry me. Turns out, a good bit!

The Hilly Half is a road race (ick) but is held in beautiful Brown County State Park (yay!). It’s not comparable my beloved trail running but at least it’s surrounded by some of the most beautiful terrain that you can find in Indiana. On a whim, I signed up. Then didn’t do a single training run all fall except for a September 30 trail 10k and the occasional 400m run at CrossFit. Oops. In my defense, I did do a good bit of hiking, backpacking, and consistently worked out 5 days a week at the gym.  I wasn’t just sitting on my bum eating Oreos all month. Just once or twice.

Pre-race: Friday morning we did a “heavy deadlift” workout at CrossFit. I love deadlifts and even with a race looming, didn’t want to miss it! (Are you starting to see where my head is these days?) Then I spent 8 hours helping crew a couple of amazing friends on their charity run across the state of Indiana. Neither one of these activities jives with my usual pre-race agenda of staying off of the legs and resting up before the big day. In other words, I looked at this race as a fun run and I definitely had no plan to race it. I stuck to that plan.

Race day: it’s freaking cold. There is snow on the ground. Why????? Deep breath and throw the covers off, time to get the coffee brewing.  Did I mention it was cold? I dressed in as many layers as I could (ok, it was actually only 3) and got to the park for packet pick-up with barely time to spare.

The race starts with a long uphill that climbs relentlessly for the first 2 miles. That’s one way to be sure I don’t start too fast.  After that 2-mile climb, we stayed fairly level with constant smaller rolling hills. Since it’s an out and back course, I was already anticipating a fun downhill finish!  As I warmed up, I started peeling off the layers: first the sunglasses that kept fogging, then the fleece buff, and then the jacket.

I ran the first 5 miles in a state of bliss. It was a gorgeous day, I was in a beautiful park, and my legs were moving smoothly.  The fall leaves contrasted against the snow created a stunning landscape.  Brown County State Park offers many scenic overlooks but my phone was frozen by the time I got to them. I took this picture of the snowy fence, my phone gave a feeble <bzzzt> and then fell victim to a hypothermic battery.  Well, so much for music to keep me company!

Once I lost the distraction of my playlist, I spent my time thinking. That can be good or bad. Today, it worked against me. It didn’t help that 7 miles in, my Garmin decided to nap with my iPhone. It was still recording but the display was obscured by a big black LOW BATTERY warning. For better or worse, I couldn’t electronically monitor my progress. I hadn’t been monitoring it anyway and was running off of perceived effort. Somehow knowing that I COULDN’T check in with it just threw my mind into a negative spiral. I convinced myself I was too tired, that my pace had dropped off considerably, and that this was the dumbest dumb idea I'd ever dumbed. All of the negative ways I talk to myself came out during miles 7-10. I wasn’t being very good to myself. The energy gel didn’t give the boost I wanted. Runners were starting to pass me and I couldn’t catch them. I was mentally in a bad place. (Once I uploaded my Garmin data, I found that I ran about a minute slower during this section.  I'd have sworn it was so much worse. A reminder to work on my mental training, too.)

Fortunately for me, the course started to trend downhill.  I like running downhill.  Shoot, I LOVE it!  I consider it one of my strengths as a runner. I’m one of the lucky ones who doesn’t get knee pain on downhills and it’s just EASIER than uphill. Thank god this race ends with a loooong downhill stretch. I started picking things up a notch, it felt good so I pushed a little more. Then I started passing the runners who had passed me. It felt so good to be moving downhill that I just kept nudging my pace a little more. I passed at least 4 runners in my last mile and then was determined not to let them have a chance to catch me. I spotted my friend Erin about a half mile from the finish. She was hiking a trail paralleling the road and gave me an enthusiastic cheer. Nothing like finding your very own cheerleader right before the home stretch to give you the boost for a final kick.

I didn’t score a PR but I’m also not sure how to compare this to my usual races. It had more elevation (742') than your average road race but didn’t have the technical surface of a trail run. I’m calling the day a success for a few reasons.

1. I scraped my ego and brain game back together in time to put forth a solid effort at the end.
2. My finish time today was over 10 minutes faster than my time at the Carmel Half this past spring. Carmel is known for being a fast course so this is significant.
3. I had fun.
4. I do like running.
5. I love race day.
6. I’m still a runner. 💜

Prairie Spirit 50 Mile: The Race

How can I possibly sum up what it’s like to run 50 miles in a race report?  I’ve stared at the blank computer screen puzzling over this and how to even start.  So many things happened that day.  Was it really only one day?  It felt like many days, quite possibly weeks.  Seriously, how could it take so long to get from 8 am to 9 pm?   How can I even begin to explain what it was like?  This is going to be long, folks, so settle in for the evening and we’ll see if you can get through it all in one sitting.  Good luck on that.

 

The pre-race dinner on Friday featured the legendary ultrarunner David Horton.  He delivered a talk that was perfect for this newbie 50-mile runner:  a hearty dose of inspiration and encouragement with just enough of a reality check that we knew not to expect a shiny day full of rainbows.  Some key points that I took away from his presentation were “this too shall pass”, “it never always gets worse”, “don’t wear stupid socks”, and “tomorrow you’ll be making memories” no matter what happens.   He said a lot more that was important but I admit, I think a couple neurons might have been sacrificed the next day in the course of the run. 

 

I got a fair night’s sleep Friday.  I did my usual wake up every hour to be sure I’d not overslept, but otherwise I guess that it was a good sleep.  The alarm went off for real at 5:45 and I instantly was wide-awake.  I got up, dressed, and went to see how the hotel breakfast looked.  I knew I needed to eat, but my stomach was already doing flips.  A quarter cup of coffee, part of a banana, and a smallish portion of eggs was all that I could get down.  Not unusual for me on race morning for me to have a nervous stomach on race day.  Preparing to run 50 miles?  Not usual.

 

We drove over to Celebration Hall, which was the staging area and start/finish line.  I deposited my two drop-bags in the appropriate areas, then grabbed a seat to wait for the rest of the BARA crew.  I was nervous, anxious, excited, apprehensive, and desperately wanted to get the race underway.  Thank goodness Aaron was there, he was a calming presence before and during the race and I drew on that.  He had already mapped out how to get to each of the crew-accessible aid stations and had instructions on what I might need, what my mental state might be, and what I hoped my pace could be.  All of those instructions were, of course, up for rewriting as the day progressed.

 

Erin, Chris, and Ben arrived.  The usual pre-race chatter.  Finding satellite signals on our Garmins.  Bathroom visits.  Checking out my fellow runners and marveling at how such outwardly unremarkable people are capable of amazing activities.  I learned long ago not to judge ultrarunners on their physical appearance: they (we??) are a whole different stock.  Thin, stocky, tall, petite, young, old…none of that really seems to have any relevance on the outcome.   The magic is all on the inside and physical features aren’t the predictors you’d expect.

 

The morning was chilly, so I was starting out with arm sleeves and gloves that I could easily pack away once I was warmed up.  I would be running the bulk of the miles in shorts, short-sleeves, calf sleeves, and cap.  The day held the promise of sunshine, a gentle breeze, and temperatures topping at around 60 degrees.  My kind of day, in other words.

 

Eric called us out to the starting line and gave a few last minute instructions, then we were sent on our way.  The race started with 2 miles to the caboose marking the northern terminus of the trail, at which point we’d turn around and run south for 25 miles.  The nice thing about this was that we’d be 27 miles into the race before turning around to head north for the finish: over halfway.  Of course, that was still many hours away. 

 

I hadn’t even made it the first 2 miles when the back my right ankle started fussing.   I had decided to wear ultralight Injinji socks under a pair of ultralight Balegas.  I’d bought a brand spanking new pair of Injinjis for the race, the same style I’d been using in training.  This pair though, had a seam that was literally rubbing me the wrong way.  I tried adjusting the sock several times, but it wasn’t working.  I stopped for a minute after the 2-mile turnaround to reapply Body Glide to my heel and Achilles and hoped that would do the trick.  It didn’t.

 

As we approached the fairgrounds where the race had started, I started doing the math to see how many miles to the first manned aid station.  I’d written the aid station mileage on the inside of my forearm because I knew this would be a constant question for me.  I decided 7 more miles was going to be longer than I wanted to run before visiting the next real bathroom, so we made a quick detour into Celebration Hall for a pitstop.  A quick hello to Aaron back at the trail, I tossed him my gloves, and we tucked in for the long haul south.

 

As we left Ottawa, the trail changed from asphalt to finely crushed limestone.  The trail was tree-lined but otherwise we were deep in Kansas farm country.  Beyond the tree line, we’d see farm fields, the occasional grain silo, and every so often we’d pass by a pen full of curious cows who would watch our slow progress.  The trail crossed gravel county roads approximately every mile, but we only saw 2 or 3 vehicles on those roads all day.  Other than the 3 small towns we passed through, that describes every mile of the path.  While it was physically an easy trail to run, it was monotonous mentally. 

 

We planned to break the day into small pieces.  The pieces were divided by food breaks every 6 miles and the aid stations.  We kept count and ticked each one off, counting down as soon as we had the first pack of gel and as we’d pass the aid stations.  The first aid station was at 7.5 miles and it was just water jugs on a table, an unmanned station with no food or facilities.  We just breezed by, we both were still well-stocked with our hydration packs.  The first manned station was in Princeton at 11.8 miles so that was something we were looking forward to:  Aaron would be there and we’d get to check out the provisions at the aid stations.  Although we were excited to finally get to it, we barely stopped at the Princeton aid station.  I took a quick “nature break”, grabbed a bite of a salted potato, and that was it.  I had plenty of G2 in my pack, so I gave Aaron a quick status report and we were back on our way.

 

Erin and I didn’t chat much in those early miles.  We were together, but each in our own heads.  Erin’s heart rate monitor was giving her fits, so she took it off pretty early and we ran off of my heart rate.  I was worried that I was holding her back but she was content to take walk breaks when my heart rate crept up even though I told her she could go on ahead.  It was 7 miles from Princeton to the next aid station and our drop bags at Richmond.  It turned out Erin emptied her hydration pack early in that segment, but that’s her story to tell.  She sipped from my G2 now and then and I tried not to annoy her by asking her how she was doing.  I was a bit worried that she might get into trouble without water, but also reasoned that if she’d guzzled 2 liters of water in 13 miles, she was probably well-hydrated by then.

 

It seemed to take forever to get to Richmond.  We were looking for our friend Ben since we knew he should be on his way back from the turnaround.  It was maddening that there was a runner wearing green just at the edge of our visual range.  Ben was also wearing green.  We must have asked each other a dozen times, “Is that Ben?”  We finally got to Richmond and got a quick update from Aaron and Chris that Ben was due anytime and at last report he had a 40 minute lead on second.  Erin and I both refilled our hydration packs, I put moleskin on the hot spot on my ankle, and reapplied my sunscreen (Neutrogena Sport SPF 70 for the win!) and we were off. 

 

 

We hadn’t gone a mile when we spotted a lime green BARA singlet coming our way!  What a mood lifter!  Ben looked loose and fresh, he even asked if we wanted to get a group photo.  Of course we did!!  I tried to get a selfie of the three of us, but kept cutting Erin out of the frame.  We begged another runner to backtrack and get a photo of the three of us (thank you, mystery runner girl!) and then sent Ben back on his way.  I swear, we were practically skipping after that encounter. 

 

Five miles to the next unmanned aid station and then we still had another four miles to our turnaround at Garnett.  Around mile 25, the work started.  The walk breaks were lasting longer and coming more frequently.   We were seeing the mid-pack and back of the pack runners as they headed back north towards Ottawa.  It was both encouraging and tough to see them: they’d already hit that turnaround that we were working towards.  Almost everyone passed us with a cheery smile and good wish, we offered up our own encouragements to each runner, too.   It actually was a nice distraction to have those brief little interactions with our fellow runners.  Anything to break up the monotony was a good thing at that point.

 

We finally pulled into Garnett and runners were telling us there were soft tacos at the aid station.  Honestly, that just turned my stomach but we laughed each time they told us about them.  Maybe the tacos WOULD be appealing once we got there, but I had my doubts.  When we got to the old train depot that marked our turnaround, we both had restocking to do.  I completely changed out both pair of socks (finally got rid of that darned seam that wanted to chew through my ankle!), tossed trash that had accumulated in my pack, and replenished my fuels.  And the tacos did NOT smell good.  I ate a couple of Pringles, but that was it.  I was really just feeding off of my own foods: dates, Ignite gels, and baby food.  Aaron reported to us that Ben had finished about 17 minutes before we got to the aid station and he’d won!  That was great news and again, another boost.  Erin and I had already discussed and agreed that we both wanted to access our audio devices at the turnaround.  We needed the distraction of music and audiobooks since we were moving into the mental stage of the race.  Freshened up, plugged in, and with full packs, we charged back out of the depot to head for home.  I’m not sure where it came from but the first 2 miles heading north were 2 of the fastest of the day. 

 

Somewhere between Garnett and the unmanned aid station, things started to go downhill for me.  Erin kept chugging on ahead.  I was still run/walking, but she was mostly running.  I never let her get out of my sight, but I was struggling to hold onto her.  At the unmanned aid station at mile 31, I had to stop again to repair the bandage on my right ankle.  Erin waited for me while I worked on it, then she was powering on again.  She was relentless!  By the time we got to Richmond at mile 36, she was about a hundred yards ahead of me.  Aaron was concerned about where I was but she reassured him that I was right on her heels and walking fast.  I was struggling physically but knew that I could and would finish, no matter how long it took.  I was already starting the battle with nausea, but still able to take in gels and G2.  Ben was there and he was Facetiming Steph into the party.  I think I was barely coherent, but I so appreciated her support!    

 

From Richmond to Princeton, I still attempted a few brief running segments.  I was getting so nauseous though, that they were short-lived.  It turned out that I could walk almost as fast as I could run.  It was a dilemma.  I wanted to get it over as fast as possible, but running was so much effort and so nauseating that I could barely manage it.  Walking actually was physically more painful than running, but I lacked the energy (or the mental stamina?) to maintain a run.   It was also starting to get cool and I was chilled.  I got my arm warmers out of my pack and put them on but was still cold. 

 

Erin was way ahead of me by the time we got to Princeton.  I told Aaron that I was in rough shape but wasn’t stopping.  I asked him to get my gloves and jacket out of the car.  I got some ramen broth from the aid station but it didn’t even taste good.  I’d always heard soup was a wonder food in a race, I was disappointed that it didn’t set well.  Aaron very quickly topped off my hydration pack with G2, Ben told me I needed more electrolytes so I popped a couple in my mouth, and then choked down a quick pouch of baby food fruit puree as I shuffled on out of the aid station.  Erin was still sitting on the bench but I knew she’d catch me and pass me quickly, so I wanted to keep moving if I could. 

 

Erin and I stayed closer from there on.  I think it was in this segment that we heard a cyclist coming up behind us, then saw that it was David Horton.  He gave us a super-quick pep-talk with “this too shall pass” as he went on around us and he wished us well.  I wish that he could have stayed longer but I imagine that he was hustling to get back to Ottawa before dark. 


Sunset was fast approaching.  My nausea was getting worse.  I could barely even stomach my G2 and couldn’t eat anything after that last fruit pouch at Princeton.  I tried to eat a Gin Gin candy, but it was making me gag, too, so I spat it out.  There was no more running, I was just repeating the mantra “relentless forward motion”.  First I tried to keep my pace under a 15 minute mile, 4 miles an hour was a tolerable albeit slow pace.  Then I struggled to keep it below 18 minutes, then 20.  Erin and I were side by side for the last 6 or so miles.  Or maybe more?  I honestly don’t know. 


It’s all an exhausting, painful, miserable blur at that point.  The last 15 miles were awful.  It wasn’t fun.  It wasn’t some kind of magical day.  It sucked and I wanted to stop moving.  I was 
physically, emotionally, and mentally depleted and just needed to be done.  We kept calculating how long it’d take us to reach the finish but it seemed like we were stuck.  Each time we’d calculate it, our pace had slipped so much that we didn’t seem to be any closer to the finish.  At the same time that it was so awful, Erin and had the best conversations and possibly the most laughter.  What an odd contradiction that sounds like, I know.  In some weird, twisted way though, it was enjoyable in that we were in it together and we each understood exactly what the other was enduring.

 

As the sun set and we relied on our headlamps, it seemed that we almost stopped moving.  Our feet were moving, our legs were working, but the miles just seemed to stall.   The two circular beams of light from our headlamps lighting the trail seemed to be our entire world.   I was so happy for her company, the dark was more unsettling than I had expected.  We both marveled at how the 100-mile racers would be dealing with this all night, we were in the dark for less than 2 hours.  And how did Ben handle this at WS100?  This 50-mile event was quite the eye-opener.  I simply cannot wrap my mind around what a hundred miles must feel like and what kind of mental constitution it requires.  While I don’t discredit the physical conditioning that must go into a 100-mile race prep, now I think I understand that the mental side is what makes or breaks you.

 

I’d like to say that as we approached the finish, we had a burst of euphoric energy and charged over the finish line in triumphant jubilee.  What actually happened was we could see the finish area for what felt like hours.  It was less than a mile, but so far away.  We were maybe a hundred yards from where we’d take a left turn for the finish line when we heard FAST feet behind us.  It was the winner of the 100-mile race!  Absolutely amazing.  He crossed the finish line just a couple of minutes ahead of us, yet had run twice as far.  Incredible.

 

Aaron was at the corner waiting for us and as we passed, he started to walk with us into the fairgrounds.  I scolded him and said “don’t you dare pace us to the finish!”  I was terrified that someone would see his walk back to the finish as pacing and I’d be DQ’ed.  I hadn’t fought my way through those last miles to lose my finish at the end.  I realize now that was probably ridiculous, but that’s where my head was.   Poor guy, he’d been so supportive all day and now I was running him off in the final stretch.

 

We crossed the finish line at 13 hours and 11 minutes.  Exhausted.  Happy.  Relieved.  Tired beyond words.  In pain.  Eric came tearing around the finish chute to give us hugs and our buckles, then posed with us for pictures.  To me, this was what I was there for.  That moment is precious to me.  I’m deeply grateful to Eric for putting on this event and for his enthusiasm and encouragement. 

 

Quite possibly the best part of the whole day was the stopping.  Is that why we do this?  So that just the act of standing still is a relief?  I don’t think so, but you’ve never felt the pure joy of standing still until you’ve experienced it at the end of an ultra.  David Horton came up to our group while we were rehashing things in Celebration Hall.  I don’t know if it was Erin, myself, or maybe it was both of us, but someone released a deep, exhausted, blissful sigh and he ecstatically wheeled on us and said, “That’s it!  The sigh!”  We laughed and joked about how much meaning is in that sigh and nothing else sums it up so eloquently.   I think I must have sighed like that a thousand times that night.

 

So how do I feel about the race now that it’s over?  It was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done, both mentally and physically.  I still don’t think I’ve fully processed it all.  Am I glad that I did it?  Yes. Absolutely.  Was the race what I expected?  No.  It was better and it was worse.  Did I do as well as I expected?  Not at all.  It was brutal, it was ugly and it stripped me bare.  The experience ripped away the façade of confidence and forced me to come face to face with my weaknesses.   I feel like I was underprepared in every way possible.  I don’t know how I could have changed the physical preparation given the ITB issues that flared up in November, but I did what I could.  Do I want to sign up for another 50 to improve on the first one?  No.  I do have a couple of fixed time races on the schedule, we’ll see how they go.  I may never do another 50.  Time will tell.  It was both awful but good for me.  I learned a lot about myself, pushed my limits back another notch, and I guess that was the point.

 

 

     

Prairie Spirit 50 Mile Race: The Prep

What in the world possessed me to take on the challenge of a 50-mile race?  As it turns out, several things all congealed at the same time that made this sound like a good idea.   I was feeling great after a year of solid training using the Maffetone method and changing my diet.  I had come back from my first race DNF in September at Flatrock to complete 30 miles in an unofficial 8-hour trail event (no thanks to the government shut-down which turned my October race into a fun run).  The kicker was my friend planting the seed of “what if” in my brain in November.  She laid out all of the reasons why this was THE 50-miler for us.

The Prairie Spirit 50-mile race is hosted by Eric Steele and his company Epic Ultras, they also host Flatrock.  The Prairie Spirit Trail runs from Ottawa to Iola in Kansas and follows an old rail corridor.  In other words, you can’t find a flatter course.  The trail surface is neither technical nor pavement: an easy-on-the-body crushed limestone/dirt trail with no obstacles.  The race is an out-and-back.  The event consists of a 50-mile race and a 100-mile race, which meant that the 50-mile event would have a very generous cut-off.  Why did all of this matter?  I was still stinging from the Flatrock DNF, still wanting to prove to myself, and yes, to Eric, that I had the tenacity, the strength, and the endurance to see the race through to the finish.  Yes, I still needed a redemption run.  

As often happens when someone suggests something crazy, the idea took root.  I mulled it over for a few weeks, discussed it with my husband, and finally decided to bite the bullet.  I told my friend that I was on board and we both signed up.  Even at that point, it seemed crazy and completely irrational.  Neither one of us wanted to tell anyone though, this was to be our secret.  Why?  Speaking for myself, I was still nurturing the fragile confidence that I could see this through.  I didn’t want to invite any criticism or questioning.  I had enough of that coming from myself, I sure didn’t need any from outside sources.  There was also the promise of being able to eventually have a “grand reveal”, a “look what I can do all by myself” event.  The secrecy of it was both because I doubted and I believed, a strange contradiction. 

Training for the event would start as soon as we finished our next marathon: Tecumseh in early December.  Midway through a November long run training for that race, I developed severe knee pain.  Keep in mind, this was just a few days after I signed up for Prairie Spirit.  Bring on the panic.  I iced and rested the knee, tested it again, pain worse.  Ramp the anxiety up another notch.  I had already decided that Tecumseh was not going to happen for me even before a snowstorm forced its rescheduling.   Knowing that I needed to be healthy in order to even start the 50-mile training, I immediately got myself to the doctor and started PT.  Honestly, I thought my chances at getting patched up and back to training were slim.  The doc diagnosed a couple of issues, including ITB pain, but nothing that would force me out of training completely.   I did my exercises and they worked their magic.  Training got off to a much slower and later start than I’d planned, but I was whole and ready to go by the end of January.  I was a good bit behind schedule, but hoped that my base mileage from the previous year would carry me.

I had used the Santa Clarita Ultrarunners program for my 50k training and it seemed to work well for me, so that was the plan I would follow for the 50 mile.  Basically, it calls for 5 days of running a week, with back to back long runs on the weekends.   I was again going to be heart rate training, so the pace was slow and easy for every run.  The next hurdle to training was the coldest, snowiest winter in years.  Not only was I battling the elements, but the dismal weather brought on a serious case of seasonal affective disorder.  I dealt with that combination by doing a lot of my training indoors.  And by a lot, I mean almost all of my shorter midweek runs and several 20+ mile runs on an indoor track that was 6.8 laps/mile.  Folks have told me that they admire my perseverance at doing those indoor runs.  It wasn’t any strength of character that got me through those runs: it was intolerance of cold, borderline depression, and fear of DNF’ing at the race.  It sucked but it got done.

 

I was fortunate that the ITB issue didn’t flare up again, all of those laps on the track very well could have triggered a relapse.  The most significant physical issue that worried me was my feet:  I couldn’t find a pair of shoes to suit me.  Blisters plagued me all winter.  I tried several shoe models trying to find the “magic fit”, no luck.  I tried different socks, Body Glide, and 2 Toms but no matter what I tried or where I ran, I would get blisters with every run over 3 or 4 miles.  I went to the running store for another shoe search and Ben assisted me in trying on several possibilities.  When he offered up the Altra Lone Peaks as an option, I told him I already had those and that they were my trail shoe.  “Why don’t you wear those?” he asked.  Genius.  I had it in my head that because this wasn’t going to be a tough technical trail that a trail shoe would be the wrong choice.  How did I miss something so obvious?  If a shoe works on one surface, try it on another and see if it works there, too!  Several test runs on the road and I knew my problem was solved.  Sometimes the most obvious answer eludes me.

My training didn’t go perfectly, I had horrible long runs and successful ones.  I had doubts but I was also extremely motivated to avoid failure.  My husband was going to crew me, my friend would be running the race, and about a month before the event, we finally shared the secret.  Letting other folks in on the plan was scary:  it made it real.  Fortunately, there was no criticism.  Instead, there was excitement and encouragement, my running community is simply amazing. 

In the final week before the race, the list-making and weather-stalking began.  The weather was shaping up to be absolutely gorgeous, so good in fact, that I had to completely change my plans for clothing.  One last test run to be sure that all clothing was cooperative, a few shopping excursions to get food, gear, and supplies, and it was time to pack.  A last minute registration meant that a third friend would be running the event with us and that was a welcome distraction.  He had good potential to win and that fueled my own excitement.  Everything was really shaping up for a great event and on Thursday, I was excited to finally be Kansas-bound.  

Illustrative Review of 2013

Mason Half Marathon

Over the past couple of months, I have been thrilled with my progress with the heart rate training.  In spite of the DNF at Flatrock, my running has been going better than ever.  I ran an 8 hour "not a race" event on the trails in early October and got in a full 30 miles, feeling great for all but miles 20-24 (hydration/nutrition issues, fixed them and finished strong).   One week later, I ran a road 5k and came very close to a PR.  What?!?  How could I PR a 5k a) on no speedwork in a year and b) one week after a 30-mile trail run?  Hmm...wheels started turning.  Seemed like it'd be a good time to take a stab at my half marathon PR which I ran in 2008.  I started hunting to see what race I could find that would suit me.  As luck would have it, there was one in Mason, OH the same day as an anniversary dinner for Aaron's aunt and uncle in Harrison, OH...only 40 minutes away.  Hotel reservation was made, RSVP was sent, and I registered for the Mason Half Marathon.

The 10 days leading up to the race were a bit of a mess.  Work was even more nuts than usual, I strained my back lifting a huge dog, the girls had a soccer tourney out of town, and the one day I could have gotten in a run, we had nasty winds and rain.  So I got in a quick 3 miles on Saturday just to make sure the legs remembered how to run, then we jumped in the van for the drive.  We literally made it to packet pick-up minutes before they packed up the bibs and shirts.  I checked out the running store that hosted packet pick up (reminded me of IRC) and bought a fantastic orange running cap (perfect for alerting hunters to the fact that I am NOT a deer), some calf sleeves, and a cheap pair of throw-away running gloves.  I wore all of that lovely newness on race day.  

Race forecast was perfect:  38 at the start, clear, no rain, no wind and it was expected to be in the low 40's by the time I'd be finishing.   I planned to wear my tried and true Ink n Burn shorts, my long-sleeved IRC shirt, new calf sleeves, orange cap, and the throw-away gloves and sweatshirt.  I didn't know the area at all, but the race description was that it was a flat course.  I had checked out last year's results so I knew that it should be a small race, less than 500.  This really sounded like a perfect race for my PR attempt.  I'd have no external excuses for a bad race.

I didn't sleep well Saturday night.  I think it was a combination of the upper back strain and my excitement about race day.  In spite of that, I woke up feeling refreshed and ready to go.  It didn't hurt that due to the time change, I had an extra hour in my favor.  I downed my breakfast, packed up my gear and Aaron drove me to the staging area at the Mason High School.  We hung out in the school cafeteria until it was time to start the race, so nice to have a warm place right at the starting line! I loved this!

Five minutes before the race started, I joined the crowd outside, and walked less than 50 meters to the starting area.  The starter made a few announcements and we were off.  No hoopla, just the starting gun.  The 5k'ers and half marathoners all started together but even with that, it was a very manageable crowd.  It was a bit of a shuffle to the timing mat but I was running at pace as soon as I crossed it.  No bottleneck of racers to fight through, just run your pace.  Ah, the joy of a small race.

My plan for the race was to run it solely based on effort.  I was wearing my heart rate monitor and Garmin but I turned off the heart rate alarm and had the display set so that I couldn't see my pace, only total distance, total time, and current heart rate.  The only feedback I got on pace was at each mile when it would beep and the display would show that mile's pace.  Most of the race, I just didn't look.  The first mile though, I ran 9:29.  Ummm, unexpected.  Faster than expected, but running on effort and it felt good.  The first mile was mainly along a 4-lane road, but traffic was pretty sparse at that hour and we were able to run in the far right lane for most of it.  Just before the first mile ended  we made a turn into a lovely city park.  Gentle hills, gorgeous fall landscapes and a couple of ponds.  Just after the first mile, I stopped long enough to shed and discard my sweatshirt.  I saw my favorite spectator in the park:  a great blue heron about 20 feet off of the pedestrian path that was fishing at the water's edge.  He just watched the runners go by, we didn't seem to bother him in the least but I thought it was awesome to see HIM. I've never been that close to a heron, good thing I'd left my phone behind or I'd have been tempted to get his picture.  Second mile in 10:36, not bad considering I spent almost a minute fighting to get out of my sweatshirt.

Things just settled into a rhythm at that point.  I knew that the pace would need to be faster than comfortable to get that PR so I just kept pushing at what I though was my limit for the distance.  We finished the 3 mile loop in the park, passed back by the high school as we headed out on the out and  back that would take us by Kings Island.  We were running on sidewalks along a 4-lane city street but it wasn't bad at all.  It's a nice residential area, it reminded me of Carmel.  There were a few spectators out, probably family members of other runners, and a couple of folks had set up music for us.  For the most part though, it was just the runners with an aid station every 3 miles.  The leader of the half marathon came by as I was at 4.5 miles, he would have still had about 4 miles to go himself.  Second place was a couple minutes behind him, then it became a steady stream of runners heading back for another loop of the park.

I took a gel at 5 miles and tried to remember how much farther it was to the turnaround.  Was the turnaround at the halfway point?  We got to 6.5 miles and I still couldn't see the turnaround.  I wish I'd known when to expect it because it did bother me a bit not knowing.  Oh, well.  Just follow the runner in front until they turn us back to the start.  Keep pushing.  It's getting tougher but that's expected.  The course really is pretty flat, just a few small rollers.  Now and then there'd be a slight grade but all very doable and to my liking.  I leap-frogged with a  few runners, but for the most part was passing more than being passed.  Feeling strong, but there was a part of me that worried I'd start to falter after 7 or 8 miles.  It's happened before, was this going to be a repeat?

The dullest part of the course was the part that paralleled Kings Island.  I think we were running through/near the big tennis pavilion where they hold pro tourneys.  Parking lots are b.o.r.i.n.g. even if you're running on nicely groomed pedestrian trails beside them.  Ugh.  Finally made it to the turnaround there though.  I think that was at about 7.5 miles.  I knew there was still a long way to go,  but that was a big mental boost.  Ah, time to go back home!  All of the rest of the route would be  newly familiar territory and I knew it was all easy terrain.  No surprises (not that there'd been any, but there could have been!) from here on.  Still holding my pace right at the 10:00 pace, give or take a few seconds.  I took my second gel at mile 9.  I was feeling good but figured at that point, I may as well eat it so it would be on board for my final push.  At mile 10, I spotted a portolet and took a very quick break.  No lines for potty breaks are awesome!  Took care of business and back at the running without any time wasted in line.  Did I mention I love small races?

At this point, I had 3 miles to go and started doing the math to see what I needed to do to get that PR.  It was going to be very close and I knew that I needed to bring it up a notch to hit it.  Mentally, I was completely in this race.  Physically, I was getting tired.  Was I 50k tired?  Not even close, so keep pushing.  It definitely was becoming a mental race for me at that point.   I was trying to figure out how the final loop through the park would go.  Our first loop through it had been 3 miles, but we still had a mile to go to even get to the park.  I tried to visualize the path but couldn't see how they'd make the loop a mile short.  Was this course going to be long?  Have to run to the finish, however long it might be, so I keep plugging along.   When I start to feel my strength wane, I think of the bracelets I'm wearing.  One is for Jen, a member of my online running forum who is fighting her own health battle.  Another is for TJ, a young man with epilepsy and CP.  I also think of Kylie, my young buddy with I Run 4 who has had 3 open heart surgeries.  These friends are my motivation and my inspiration.  They are my heroes.  I draw on their strength and want to honor them with my effort today.

As we got into the park for the second loop, we approached what had been our first aid station. I saw that they HAD changed the route from the first loop. There was a right hand turn that I'd not even seen and they had us take it.  Several cheers from the volunteers at the aid station as they reminded us that we only had 2 miles to go and I went ZOOM down a nice downhill.  Homestretch.  Keep it up.  I checked my time.  I needed to average under 10 minute miles to get that PR.  My legs felt like they were moving in slow motion though.  I'm asking them for more, but it's like that dream where you're trying to run faster but you're barely moving.  Go, legs, please just go a little faster!  Mile 12 in 10:09.  No, gotta go faster than that!  Passed the gal that was in front of me,  passed another, can finally see the school.  Mile  13 in 9:52.  I'm so close. 

I need to cover the last tenth in under a minute to get the sure PR.  Oh, no, we have to go all the way around the outer edge of the parking lot rather than taking a direct cut to the finish.  I start to feel defeat, I can't do that, it's too far too fast.  I feel a flicker of doubt.  Then I dig deep and decide I'm not going down without a fight to the very end.  Just go. Just go.  Just GO.  

I see Aaron, he's cheering and taking pictures but I don't even look at him, smile, or wave.  I have a job to do and all of my focus is on that job.  I'm glad he is there, but I can't show it.  I see the race clock.   Aaron is running alongside still taking pictures.  I see 2:10:50.  I know that my previous PR is in the 2:11 range, but I can't remember how many seconds.  Can I make it?  I'm giving all that I have as I drive toward the finish.  I get myself all the way through the finish chute before I hit my Garmin to turn it off.  I see 2:11:12 and I am 90% certain that is a PR.  As Aaron runs up to me, I have my hands in the air in triumph.  I am celebrating the PR that I think I've earned.  Elation.  Smiles.  Great big giant happy smiles.  A few minutes later, my official results are up and I compare them to my old PR.  2008 time:  2:11:27.  Today's time:  2:11:09.9  PR, baby, oh, yeah.

Mile/pace/avg HR
 1   9:30  158
 2  10:36  165  (shedding of the sweatshirt)
 3   9:51  169
 4   9:56  168
 5   9:41  167
 6   9:49  170
 7  10:01  168
 8  10:02  168
 9  10:16  166
10  10:20  166  (bathroom stop)
11  10:11  166
12  10:09  166
13   9:52  170
0.13  1:02 (8:04/mi)  175

13.13 mi  2:11:09.9  166