Tag Archives: endurance

Race Report – Many on the Genny

I called my mom on Sunday to tell her I had finished my race. “All 40 miles?” she asked.

“Well, 42, to be exact.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“I get it from you, Mom.”

“Me? I can’t run like that!”

“It’s not the running, Mom. You know how to just keep going. You never quit.”

“Aww, babe, thank you.”

I heard the tears in her voice. My mom is the best, and I owe it all to her. ❤️

My race report:



Lesson Learned

In a recent online running forum I subscribe to (Diz Runs Tribe, check out the podcast too, Diz Runs Radio), the administrator asked, “what has running taught you?” I can think of a million things right off the top of my head, but one thing rests at the crest of that heap: patience. If there is one lesson I have learned, and continue to learn, it’s patience. Patience in a race, patience in training, patience when goal setting, and this past year, patience during injury and illness and recovery.

I am not a younger runner. In one month, I will be 52. I am not one to be thinking that age 52 is old, but when I did not bounce back after my initial ankle sprain (and later, got much worse), I began to realize, “This isn’t like before, kiddo. You can’t just keep going and expect it to disappear.” In many situations in my life, that is exactly what I did, and it usually worked. With grad school and sleep, parenting, migraines, running, pain, life…”muscling through” was my modus operandi. It was a tough pill to swallow when I learned that my standard MO wasn’t going to work anymore.

I have a little over two weeks until I run my first race since being injured, a trail marathon. I thought I had been patient enough and well into recovery when, Tuesday, after a terrific training week that had me shouting, “Yes! I’m back!” a twinge in my ankle pushed back and said, “Just hold on a second…no you’re not.”


All this time, with a month of excellent growth, and…what just happened?

I’m not sure. It could have been the little extra weight I had added to my static lunges on Sunday, when I should have perhaps gone lighter. I had just completed a cold and wet 20 miler the day before, after all. Or maybe it was the muddy trails causing a little too much torque in the ankles on Monday. Or, maybe it’s just pre-race nerves.

Whatever the cause, I’ve learned enough over the past several months to listen to my body. I’ve learned enough to tell myself, “Patience — back off, don’t push it.” I had hoped for another great week of training before beginning to taper but I don’t know if that will be what I can do. Maybe I could make a great week, but would that be the wisest choice?

This race was going to be my A race this year, but patience has taught me to shift my perspective. I now see this event as a stepping stone, a test of my recovery and an assessment of my fitness so far. If I finish this run, I know I will cross the line with a sigh of relief and immediately shift my sights toward the next step and then the next. I have a 40 mile race planned and then a solo 50 mile run, followed by a challenging 15 mile trail race I hope to run with my spouse in the fall. For that one, I plan to shift my focus and train for greater speed and power. The 40 miler – well, if I finish I will be over the moon! The 50 and the 15 – they are now my focus.

Additionally, this past injury had made me think more about my long-term goal — to keep running until I die, if I can. I am not a pro athlete (though I am an athlete); I do not need to push myself to destruction in order to gain glory or a paycheck. I am in it for the long-term, I love running that much. If that means shelving my plan for a PR or a super placement, then so be it.

post-note: after writing this post, I did rest for three days before running again. Saturday, I took a beautiful, satisfying trip along an easy section of the Appalachian Trail. No problems at all!

Vision for Race Day

Race day. The weather is cool, but chilly mist promises to give way to sun later in the day. I feel the leaves shifting beneath my feet. I am cold, but the forest shows proof that yes, spring is finally here, and summer is not far behind.

I am in my mind, somewhat detached, experiencing my body as it moves through nature. Some people pass me but I steadily progress forward. My feet move, my chest breathes. “Don’t push,” I tell myself, “the hill is coming. Be ready.”

I reach the base and begin to climb. The mud slips; I feel dirt and roots beneath my fingers as I grasp anything to help me move forward. My quads flex and press, propelling me up, up…and I’m there! Then down, down in a rapid descent, into the water of the rushing stream and across…

I am tired but I chose this. My feet hurt but again, I chose this. There is no quitting, there is only movement – through nature, with nature, in nature. I am animal, going forever, moving without surcease until I find my home, the finish line.

This is the vision I keep in my head as I enter the last month before race day. My mantra still holds as I count my breaths and steps, willing myself to endure in each training session:




I will run and I will succeed.

What Now? The Motivating Endurance Question

This post is based on the podcast http://www.richroll.com/podcast/james-lawrence/

I’ve been listening to an interview with a guy, James Lawrence, who is going to attempt 50 Iron Man races in 50 days. Both he and his wife and five kids are totally into the project. While that sounds like an utterly extreme and crazy goal, I was struck by his humble and balanced nature.

I love that a good number of endurance athletes are incredibly humble.  They view their goals, not as ‘hunt down/chase down/fight and succeed” type challenges, but instead as challenges that are more like the culmination of steps in a process of change and development.  They believe that what they are doing may seem incredible, but truly, anyone could do the same, if the goal is pursued with patience and done one step at a time.  For Lawrence, the drive is not to be “the best.”  At his core, I believe, Lawrence’s drive is personal and motivated by something that is, in essence, very simple: curiosity.  When asked (I’m paraphrasing here), “on a personal level, why are you doing this,” his response was to talk about his journey, beginning with the question, “why can’t I run 4 miles?  I should be able to run 4 miles,” to now asking, “I want to find out where my breaking point is and, when I get there, ask myself, ‘okay, what are you going to do now?'”

Ting!  Lawrence’s words struck a chord with me.  His drive is not competition; his drive is based on a pure and natural curiosity about himself.  His question is a good one.  It represents a motivation I can understand.  I am not competitive.  I even feel uncomfortable saying what many runners say, that “I am really just competitive with myself.”  That phrase does not exactly hit the mark for me.  I don’t feel the fight to be #1; I don’t understand the fire or aggression some believe must be in a competitor’s heart; I don’t even understand, really, the idea of ‘pursuing’ a goal, as if it is to be hunted down.  What I do understand is this curiosity.  I do comprehend, down to my deepest inner self, the drive to explore the what are the limits to which I can go, and when I reach them, I want to ask the question, “what now?”

Inspired by the podcast, I put the same question out to the universe during my meditation today.  I like this question.  I like the purity of it, the simple truth of it.  It’s my question, and it is the spark that will keep me moving, I believe, when I attempt to run 69 miles in June.  When I hit a point that I feel I can go no further, I will ask myself, “is this my breaking point?”  I know the answer will be “no.”  I will keep running, and  I will run until I reach the next point, when I will ask the question again.

This question will carry me through my race, and lead me to where I want to go.

Why I run ultra

(this post is in response to a question asked by a fellow member of the Facebook forum, Trail and Ultra Running)

I love trail running, I always have. I love dancing over rocks and dips, scrambling over trees and fences, flying down hills or through tall grass, only to be stopped dead in my tracks by a fantastic view or by the momentary connection with a deer or fox in my path. To observe a funny squirrel (do you know how different they can be?) or a boar shuffling through the brush. To experience the grace and solemnity of a heron poised along the water’s edge. Gosh, running and experiencing those things brings such joy to my soul. Pounding pavement to me is just exercise. The breeze from a green forest against my skin gives me life.

Problem is, to really appreciate trails, one ought to be prepared to go long. Small, four- to five-mile jaunts are nice, but the more one runs, the more one finds these distances are not enough. A runner finds herself wanting to be able to endure and commune for as long as possible. I am made to endure. I have always wanted to. I have the body for it, the constitution, and the will. There was just this one issue that kept me from achieving that point: a genetic propensity to migraines.

Migraines are not just headaches. My episodes were frequent and excruciating, as in zap-me-with-a-tazer-and-knock-me-out-before-I-hurt-myself kind of pain. I tried medications, but every time, my body grew resistant to them, and the preventive medicines did nothing except depress me, limit my energy, and cause me to gain weight. I hated them. A once avid hiker, mountain-biker, and runner, in the span of a few years I became a suffering individual who could barely spend time in the sun without sparking a migraine. It was not a life.

A while ago, I decided it all had to stop. With my doctor for support, I threw away all medicine. I changed my diet, and slowly began to exercise. It was a long process. By 2006, I was running once again. First three or four miles, then six, then ten. In 2009, I ran my first half-marathon. I was walloped by a major attack afterward, but even so, I knew I wanted to do it again. By that time, I had come so far; I knew I would be able to find a way to go further.

I kept running, kept experimenting with ways to endure. Unfortunately, I was not listening enough to what my body and heart were saying and focusing too much on what road runners and racers say. “Push harder, pick up the pace, force your body forward.” I tried this over and over and wondered why it didn’t work. I’d bonk, trigger a migraine, and disappoint myself every time. It wasn’t the right way for me and I knew it. But what other way could there be?

Last year, after finishing a trail half-marathon, I had the opportunity to watch my first-ever ultra race. I was astounded not only by the distances these runners were covering, but by the runners themselves. So many different types of people – older, younger, heavier, slimmer. I loved the determination I saw on their faces. I loved the way they moved – it looked right. I was in awe of what they could do.

As I watched the runners and cheered them through the finish line, a new friend began to describe for me the difference in training for such distances. “Get comfortable with being uncomfortable,” he told me, and then he described how an ultra trail runner must learn to listen to his body and his brain, understand how to hydrate and eat while on the move, and run slow and with focus when necessary in order to endure. Listening to him while watching those runners made me think, “This could be what I was looking for.” What he described to me is what my own heart had been trying to tell me all along. This was the first time I had ever heard that maybe, just maybe, my heart was right.

That was in September of last year. For two months, I read, I listened, and I gathered as much information as I could. On November 1, I started to train for my first 50k ultra. I ran with a heart rate monitor, searching for that sweet spot of a range in which the alpha waves of my brain would kick in, the flow of blood and breath would be in sync, and the body would be in harmony with its environment. The moment I found it, I was transcendent. Really. At that point, one early morning at 4 am, on my way to a trail, I found it. In that state, I felt as if I could endure forever.

The bulk of my training focused on reaching that state. I ran further and further, only once or twice sparking a mild migraine. Graduate school and sleepless nights were the main instigators of pain now. Running in the forest became my medicine. I did find that heart rate exercise could even stop a headache from time to time. It was a revelation, to say the least. I had always heard exercise could help, but because I had always thought I was either supposed to push or do so little “mild” exercise, it never helped. Working out at the right zone for my body did.

It was a learning process for me, with injuries and life issues threatening to stop me from my training. I didn’t though. I learned a lot about myself. Winning a race was never a goal in my mind – in fact, the prospect of competition is a real turn off for me – but I was surprised by how much training became my goal, and the race merely a joyous culmination of the effort. That is the part I am reflecting on now, and I am in the process of setting a “goal” of a race so that I can once again begin to focus.

I ran my first 50k a few weeks ago. I did well. Of course I hated some parts of it, but for the overwhelming majority of the course, I was in heaven. Knowing that this time, the kind of pushing I was doing was right and steady and in harmony with who I was gave me the energy and determination to finish. I paused to thank the beautiful scenes around me; I paused to thank my fellow runners and volunteers who were there to encourage and assist. Toward the end, facing just one more hill of nasty muck and mud before hitting the lengthy stream crossing, I dipped my hand in the slosh, pulled some up with my fingertips, and smeared it across my face. It wasn’t a conquering gesture, it was a communal one. I could endure, and Nature gave me the chance to see it. She deserved to be there on my cheeks as I crossed that line.

Does all this explain to you why I run ultras? I am not sure it does. I will say, as I look back, I have had very few – perhaps one or two – migraines since January. If controlling migraines were the sole reason for running ultras, that would be enough. But that is nothing now – a mere sidebar and benefit to a practice that has become an essential part of my life. I run far – it’s what I do.