trail running

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August 3, 2010

race report: 2010 barr trail mountain race

Posted by Amy C under trail running | Tags: |
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preparation

at the start

Last March, as I was soaking in the Kaua’i sun, learning how to surf and immersing myself in the launch of my new business. I’d taken a sabbatical from running to focus my energies on surfing, but was in the midst of planning to get started again.

So when the sign-up for the Barr Trail Mountain Race opened in March, I decided to enter and planned on being well-trained and ready to run hard.

The running hard part I managed. But the training and being ready? Well… that didn’t work out so well.

The truth is, I didn’t run a lot between March and August and I’m not exactly sure why. I love running. I love the feeling of working hard and being on the trails. My priorities have shifted this year and I’ve been focusing a lot of my energy on Expand Outdoors.

I could offer up a ton of excuses, but the plain fact is, I just didn’t put the miles in and wasn’t ready for the race.

But I was excited about it. I looked forward to it. I figured it’d give me a really good idea of where my fitness level really was. I’d run it last year and had done pretty well. Would I completely fall apart this year? Would I blow up and maybe not even finish?

Or would I surprise myself and do well? Would it turn out that I’m in better shape than I feel?

I was curious to find out. And I was looking forward to the run itself. Just being out there and doing something I love doing. I didn’t have any expectations or goals, other than to finish and have fun doing it.

race day
July 18, 2010. I’m up at 4:30am getting ready. We arrive at the start line early. I pick up my race number, pin it on my shirt and do some stretching.

The course begins in Manitou Springs, CO, at the start of the cog railway up to Pike’s Peak. We pick up Barr Trail and run up 6.3 miles to Barr Camp (at 10,200’) and then back down to the finish (6,570’). Elevation gain is 3,630’.

elevation profile

For my non-acclimated lungs, I was curious how my lungs would feel.

the race
It was time. We listened to The Star Spangled Banner and then off we went. I started out slowly, pacing my heart rate and my breath.

running up the W's

Since I’d been on this course a number of times before, I knew the beginning was steep and planned on walking quickly, instead of running. Unfortunately, my right knee decided not to cooperate. Every so often (with no rhyme or reason), the tracking would be off and I’d pinch some ligament or tendon that would startle me with a quick shock of pain.

It was less painful to run. Go figure. My heart rate was too high to run (as my fitness level wasn’t up to par), but it was painful to walk quickly. So I walked a little slower, running when I could.

As I reached Barr Camp and the turnaround, I felt good. I was running much stronger than I’d anticipated (especially since it was the longest run I’d been on for a long time). The mountain was beautiful. Clouds came in and shielded us from the hot rays of the sun. I was smiling.

On the way down, I grew stronger and got into a rhythm. My knee didn’t pinch on the downhill, so I was able to open up and relax. My heart rate settled in and I cruised.

And then OUCH! A mile and a half from the finish, my thigh (or IT band) on my left leg began to seize up. I felt like my foot was on the end of a puppet string and the puppeteer was trying to untangle it. I had trouble controlling my left foot. I slowed down to stretch it a few times. I walked a bit to loosen it up. Stretched again—this time for a full minute.

Finally it began to straighten out and I was able to run. I realized I’d put my body through a lot and was grateful I was still able to run.

finished!

Two hours, fifty-nine minutes and eight seconds after beginning, I crossed the finish line, happy with my time. It was significantly slower than my 2009 time (by over 20 minutes), but all things considered, not too shabby.

I took a quick dunk in the icy creek and headed home, happy that I ran hard and survived.

 

May 13, 2010

gearing up for our next adventure

Posted by Amy C under climbing, mountain biking, trail running, transitions | Tags: , , , , |
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kaua'i sunset

As our time here on Kaua’i winds down, we’re busy enjoying the sun, spending time with friends and eating as many mangos and fresh avocados and ahi as we can. Seriously. I’m going to miss the food.

But! At the same time, our next adventure is on the horizon and it’s really, really exciting. You’ll be hearing lots more about it as we get closer to it (and of course, while we’re on it), but for now, here’s a sneak peek.

One year. A van. Two bikes, climbing gear and running shoes. A couple of computers, add me and Bracken and voila! Adventure.

We arrive back on the mainland (in UT) at the end of May. There, we’ll look for a van that will fit us, our stuff and our budget, kit it out and then drive it to Boulder. (Or, we’ll figure a way to Boulder and find a van there… thus begins the year of living in the moment.)

We’ll hang out in Boulder seeing friends, catching up, attending Ignite Boulder 11 (yay!) and working (probably a lot). We’ll then set out early August for a family reunion in Idaho and from there… onward.

We’ll be working some, climbing a lot, biking a good chunk and running many miles over this next year. We’ve been talking about this for a few years now (well before we got engaged) and it’s finally happening. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it… I’m excited and petrified all at once. I’m learning the art of transition quickly.

Here’s to adventure! Hope to see you on the road, at the crag and on the trail.

Aloha!

 

December 23, 2009

2009: a year in review

Posted by Amy C under climbing, integration, mountain biking, reflections, setting goals, surfing, trail running, yoga | Tags: , , , , , , |
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my annual rite of passage
I have begun the annual ritual of assessing the past year and looking toward the upcoming one in anticipation of what’s ahead. I always enjoy rereading what my annual goals were for the previous year (you can read my goals for this blog here, and my overall 2009 goals here). By the end of 2008, I knew that 2009 would be a big year.

Along with a few specific goals I set for myself (like flossing my teeth and eating my vegetables… both of which, I’m happy to report, saw an increase in activity throughout 2009), each December I think about a word or two that encompasses what the year ahead means to me.

2008 was a year of risk and wonder. 2009 was a year of creating possibility and abundance. As I write this post, my 2010 words are rising to the surface.

my writing goals for amelia carolyn
I realized when reading about the goals I’d set for my blog, I didn’t take my own advice. I didn’t revisit my goals and take time to reassess and revise them. And this December, I’m in a similar place with my writing and blogging goals as I was last December. I have made small steps, but none big enough to allow me to say, “I’ve met my goal.”

I haven’t achieved the frequency or discipline in my writing or posting that I’d set out for myself. And I know that had I read my goals again throughout the year, I would have made some changes. I might have made them a little more realistic considering the life changes I embarked on in 2009. I may have laid out smaller steps.

Writing is a huge part of my life and my dreams. I love the process and clarity I get when I write. And there have been small advances towards my stated goals to blog more and to write with more discipline (and less of writing only “as the mood strikes”). But I have work to do.

Luckily, I don’t believe 2009 was the only pocket of time where that particular goal could thrive. 2009 was a busy year. Lots of pretty big life changes happened in 2009 that took time and energy. In 2010, my writing will become more defined and frequent. I will have more purpose and more substance to my thoughts and posts.

So what took up so much of my energy and focus in 2009, you ask?

what a year!
Here’s a recap of my 2009 experiences:

I got married. July 25 was a fairy-tale day. The weekend filled with family and friends from all over the country was a magical weekend. The 11 months of planning that went into that weekend was exciting, challenging and filled with emotion.

crested butte, co

I ran. A lot. My running season was unexpectedly amazing and awesome. I entered and completed two ultra marathons. The Moab Red Hot 50+K and the Collegiate Peaks 50 miler. I also ran my best Pike’s Peak Marathon three weeks after the wedding and enjoyed a few other fun and challenging trail runs (the Golden Gate Dirty Thirty in June, the Gothic Crested Butte Third Marathon and the Barr Trail Mountain Race in July).

moab red hot 50k+

collegiate peaks 50 mile trail run

pike's peak marathon

I moved to a new state, into a new home, with my new husband. In September I sold my car and began packing. At the beginning of October, we moved all our furniture and most of our possessions into storage. Then Bracken and I moved to the island of Kaua’i, in Hawaii. We have been housed by the generosity of amazing friends and are still adjusting to the experience of reality in paradise.

polihale state park, kaua'i

sea turtle in poipu, kaua'i

sunset at hanalei bay, kaua'i

I embarked on a journey toward a new career and subsequent new business. In September, I became a student at the International Coach Academy, based in Melbourne, Australia. I will graduate in 2010 with a Professional Coaching Certification. I will be a life coach working in the outdoor and fitness industry helping others integrate fitness and sport into their lives. I plan on concentrating on “late-bloomers” like me who are new to sports and fitness and need education and motivation on how to get started and what to expect throughout the journey. (Stay tuned for more information coming in 2010.)

I played. I summited two 14ers (Antero for my annual birthday climb) and Pike’s Peak. I climbed. I bouldered. I ran. I bought a mountain bike and began to learn. I took up surfing. I began a yoga journey (going six times a week).

looking towards the summit of mt. antero

my new mountain bike on the 401 in crested butte

my new surfboard

I began to explore the kitchen. I enjoyed a few cooking lessons. I shopped at the Farmer’s Market. I observed and participated in the cooking process. I plan to write more on this, but for me, enjoying nutrition and preparing meals is a foreign, enticing concept.

an abundance of possibility
Has 2009 truly been a year of possibility and abundance? Definitely. I didn’t make a lot of money as I’d hoped, but I began to build a solid foundation for a new career. The abundance came in the form of love. Of community. Of grace and compassion (from others, mind you… I’m still working on that ‘have compassion for yourself’ mantra). An abundance of experiences, of emotion, of newness.

Possibility seems harder to pin down. Yet it feels like the possibilities presented to me, and the experiences I’ve had this past year, have themselves, been abundant: surprising myself at the Pike’s Peak marathon and placing in my age group; moving to a small island in the middle of the Pacific, miles from anything familiar; exploring a new career and life calling; writing on a variety of topics and experiences.

Life feels wide open in front of me. And maybe that’s what possibility looks like. Vast and open and free.

a year of promise
2010 promises to be a full year. The words that come to mind when I think of all that’s on the horizon for me are words like: grounding. integration. expansion. maybe this is the year for compassion? emergence. discovery. motion.

What’s in store for me? What do I have planned? Lots of goodness and awesome. As much as 2009 was a year of new things and beginnings, it was also a year of building foundations. It was a year where I consciously and deliberately worked to set up a foundation that will support big things to come. Those things may appear in 2010, or 2046. I just don’t know, but I’m building and I’m creating and I’m nurturing my world for my present and my future.

In 2010 my marriage will still be new. We will be exploring the newness and integrating each other deeper into our lives, becoming stronger partners in this life together. We’ll spend time building the framework for our future; our communication; our finances; our habits and preferences. We’ll be sharing our love through the ordinary and mundane, as well as the awesome and magnificent. Or maybe it’s more like we’ll learn to recognize the magnificence hidden in the ordinary. Solidifying our union to stay strong and sure through the many changes and journeys that are ahead of us as individuals and together.

In 2010 my company will launch. And with that, I dream of introducing others (and creating within them) a life-long love affair with the outdoors. I plan on learning a lot more. I plan on putting myself out there and introducing myself to others so they know who I am, and what my mission and goals are (and hopefully by that, I can reach even more people).

In 2010 we plan to return to the mainland, with a good bit of surfing under our belts, to embark on a year-long road trip around the U.S. to climb, mountain bike and run through our country’s celebrated and hidden gems.

In 2010 I want to surf tougher, climb stronger, run longer and bike with enthusiasm (with a little bit of badass thrown in to the mix).

I want to write. A lot. (In my journal; for my personal blog; for my professional blog.) I want to write a book or two (maybe just a short one to begin).

I want to smile more often and connect deeper. I want to love generously, with compassion and grace. I want to walk in confidence and recognize my strengths and gifts, sharing them with the world.

So my words for 2010? Integration and joy seem to resonate with my insides.

Integrating my marriage, my home-within-myself, and my new career into my future. Consolidating my thoughts and ideas onto paper and out into the world. Merging my passion for the outdoors into a career that inspires and motivates others to fall in love with nature.

Joy for the energy and momentum I’m experiencing in my life. Happiness in the simple and humble. Exhilaration in the challenges and transitions ahead. And a childlike exuberance for the travel adventure I’ve dreamed of for many years.

I raise a toast to 2010: A year of integration and joy. Cheers!

 

November 4, 2009

managing tasks a little at a time

Posted by Amy C under setting goals, trail running, yoga | Tags: , |
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Last week I had the privilege to participate in The Runners Roundtable podcast. That particular week, Stuart, a twitter friend of mine (@Quadrathon) was hosting a session on “Going Long.” He invited me and five other speakers to talk about our experiences finishing our first Ironman triathlons or ultra-distance races.

Along with Stuart on the call, we had myself, Carlos, Mike (@dirtdawg50k), Matt (@rundigger), and Erin (@erin337).

You can download or listen to the audio of the podcast here (the 10.28.09 episode) or here.

One of the topics we covered that I find fascinating was the “how.” How do we do it? How do you stand at the start line of a 100 mile run, or 140.6-mile triathlon and actually begin?

increments of time
We all agreed that it’s overwhelming and difficult to stand at the start and think about what we’re about to do. But thinking in smaller steps—increments of time and milestones—makes it far more manageable. For some, it’s about making it from aid station to aid station, one at a time.

For me, it’s a variety of techniques. I definitely break my races down, but I don’t have a consistent system. (I think it actually makes it better to switch it up a bit… fools the mind just a little more.)

I’ve broken down races by mileage (“only a 10k left to run”), by aid stations (“only 2 more aid stations left” or “after this aid station, it’s all downhill”), and when I’m running on a familiar trail, by terrain (“I’m at the first steep part, and just after this it’ll be a rolling 5 miles before we go down”).

For the swim portion in my last triathlon it was buoy to buoy. (Word of caution: don’t go swimming for the first time in a wetsuit you haven’t worn in three years after building climbing muscles… the wetsuit might not fit and you might not be able to breathe while you’re swimming.)

For the Pike’s Peak marathon I considered it two separate races: one uphill and one downhill. This was really effective. I wasn’t prepared for the race and simply tried to have fun on the run. Breaking it up into two half-marathons with very different personalities was extremely helpful for me.

For the Collegiate Peaks 50-mile trail run, it was a combination of aid stations (only 6 miles to the next one), weather patterns (the clouds are breaking… the view of the snow-capped 14ers in the distance is breath-taking), hills (7 miles downhill to the turnaround and then another 7 miles up), the half-way point (time to change my costume for something cooler), food intake (every 45 mins to an hour I try to eat), and mileage.

It helps to talk to other runners every now and then along the way. It helps to focus on the movement and the steps you’re taking. It helps to remember to smile and have fun (‘cause that’s why we’re doing this, right?). It helps to notice the scenery; the flowers and trees and views. It helps to remember that I’ll finish faster if I run when I want to walk. It helps to simply remember that all I have to do is put one foot in front of the other.

applying small steps in other areas of life
Bikram yoga used to feel looooong. The postures were held for a long time. My pain lasted throughout the pose and it often felt like it was never going to end.

Now, after running a few ultra races and long training runs, I have noticed my mind breaks down the series of postures. Only four postures after the initial breathing and I can have a sip of water. Only three balancing postures before I get to my favorite stretch. Only two more postures until we begin the floor series.

Each set is broken down in my mind. It happened without me thinking about it. It somehow, and quite simply, became easier. The 90 minutes goes by quickly. I feel more present for each posture. I notice each breath more often.

Endurance. I didn’t think it would translate so effectively to other areas of my life. But now I know. When I break things down, I notice more. I am conscious of the path and the journey. The milestones are spaced a shorter distance apart. They come more quickly and allow me to pay attention to what’s happening now, because I’m not so worried about how long it’s going take.

My mind shifts into a space of comfort and steadiness. There is time to breathe.

 

October 28, 2009

a yoga journey begins

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, setting goals, trail running, transitions, yoga | Tags: , , , |
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Here in Kaua’i I have one main fitness goal: to begin a yoga journey. I want to increase my flexibility for climbing. I want more core strength and mental focus. So for the next six months, I have committed to going to yoga six days a week (every day but Sunday). Our days are scheduled around it. And it helps that both Bracken and I are embarking on this journey together, as there’s no waffling when one or the other is feeling too tired or not in the mood to go to class—we go to yoga at noon every day. That’s it. No question.

I’ve done yoga before—Bikram, Corepower, yoga with weights, yoga for relaxation—but I’ve never gone more than two or three times a week at the most (and usually struggled to maintain a once-a-week routine). And I’d never gone two days in a row.

Today is my 18th day on the island and will be my 15th day of yoga. I’ve had mixed results. As a runner, my flexibility is extremely compromised. I notice it most in my hamstrings, but my back and neck are pretty stiff as well.

While I credit my once-a-week yoga practice back in 2004 for keeping me injury-free during my first marathon (February 2005), I began to think that combining long-distance running with yoga was tricky business. More often than I’d want, I would notice tweaks and pains in my knees and hips during a run after a yoga session. I have no scientific proof or resources to back up this theory, but I feel like the yoga was doing its job and stretching my muscles, but that my muscles didn’t have the time to strengthen along with the flexibility, and were so loose, that they were actually more at risk for injury.

I believe the two can (and likely quite beautifully) work together and complement each other, but it needs to be done slowly. I didn’t take the time to build that strength and flexibility back in Boulder.

So here in Hawaii, I’ve started developing a plan (always subject to change, of course). I’ve opted to focus on Bikram. I enjoy the heat and the familiarity of the postures. I may do a few other classes here and there, but will be predominantly focused on the Bikram series.

I have not gone on a run since I’ve been here, and plan to wait another couple of weeks. I want to take the time to gain some flexibility and strength before introducing the repetitive jarring of running back into my routine. And since running is not my primary goal here, it feels like the perfect opportunity to take advantage of the rest and allow myself to work back up to long distances slowly.

I don’t want to lose my current fitness level, but I do think it’ll be worth the small step back to incorporate more flexibility into my running form. When I do begin to run again, I plan to begin as though I’ve never run. One or two miles to start. And these will be slow miles. I want my body to build its strength while maintaining the flexibility and openness that yoga is providing.

Maybe in another few months I’ll be up to running 5 – 10 miles regularly, but my intention is to keep to this (admittedly painfully slow) plan. I miss running!

However, yoga is teaching me many, many wonderful things—about life, about fitness and about the journey toward a truly healthy body. Stay tuned for more posts on my yoga journey.

 

October 19, 2009

magical places

Posted by Amy C under integration, life experiences, reflections, setting goals, trail running, transitions | Tags: , , , |
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Mt. Sanitas

Mt. Sanitas

Our earth is vast—filled with so many places to experience, to live, to dream about and to wonder about. And there are a few places in the world for each of us that hold a special meaning. Places that mark transitions or growth. Places that remind us of others. And places that hold history.

These places are small landmarks in our personal history, mapping out where we’ve been, what we’ve experienced and maybe even hold a clue to where we are going.

There are a number of such places in my own life, but one stands out more than any others for me.

mt. sanitas
Mt. Sanitas is a popular trail in Boulder. It’s a 3-mile loop that covers approximately 1,300 vertical feet within the first mile, reaching a summit of 6,863 ft. From the summit you can see Boulder to the east and Indian Peaks Wilderness area to the west.

I have learned efficiency, humility, patience and strength—and I have known victory—on Mt. Sanitas.

patience and humility
It all started when I was still living in downtown Denver back in 2006. Two very good friends had just moved from Dallas to Boulder and began training with me for the Pike’s Peak marathon. I drove to Boulder every Wednesday after work, meeting them at the trail head at 6:00pm. We’d run the loop, head to the climbing gym for a 2-hour climbing session, and then eat a quick dinner after. I’d then make the drive back to Denver late at night.

It was my favorite day of the week.

They were waaaay faster than me on the trail. Sometimes they’d run/walk behind me, but more often than not, they’d run up ahead (and they could actually run up to the summit, whereas I was running for the first five minutes, only to end up hiking most of the rest of the way up, huffing and puffing, my heart rate skyrocketing). I spent lots of time alone thinking and wishing I was faster and in better shape. “I will run up this trail without stopping by the end of the year,” I told myself one day. And as simply as that, I’d set the goal. That was in 2006.

I didn’t meet that goal by a long shot, but I did experience two very important lessons.

heading up the trail

heading up the trail

1. efficiency
There was one day in particular that summer that sticks out more than all the others. It was one of those mid-summer days when no one wanted to be outside. The temperature was over 100º and the air was heavy.

I headed up to Boulder, determined to get my run in. My friends bailed, wanting nothing to do with such a hot run (and rightfully calling me crazy). However, I arrived at the trail head and climbed out of the car. And it was hot. I didn’t want to run. I wanted to crawl back into my car, crank up the A/C and drive away toward sanity. But I was already there, and I was determined to stick to my schedule.

Fortunately, I decided that simply hiking it might be a good idea, considering the heat. I figured a run might be pushing it a little too hard. I planned to go slow and steady and try to enjoy the effort. I’d been timing myself on the weekly runs to gauge my progress, and was getting a little better at running more often, but looking back, I’d guess I was still walking for over 60% of my time to the summit.

I began hiking, stepping deliberately and steadily, placing one foot in front of the other. I took my time and focused on my fluid and fuel intake. I took very few breaks, keeping my steady pace. When I finally reached the summit, I looked at my watch and did a double take.

I’d made it up two minutes faster than my fastest “run” time.

I puzzled over this on the way down and came to the conclusion that by walking, I had been able to make better placements with my feet and take longer strides. My heart rate had been able to maintain a steadier beat.

I learned efficiency can be more effective towards a goal than pride or false expectation (like thinking running is always faster than walking). It prompted me to question other perceptions, expectations and ideas I held for myself and others. And I gained even more confidence and found renewed enjoyment in exploring and pushing my physical limits.

some of the many, often interminable, stairs on the trail

some of the many, often interminable, stairs on the trail

2. perspective
It was my first year running  the Pike’s Peak Marathon and close to the summit it’s a pretty steep climb: all high, awkwardly spaced steps up large rocks for what seems like forever. Tired, hurting, and pushing myself forward, I experienced a relative calm when I looked up at the final climb. I’d realized that “it’s just like Sanitas.” My thoughts shifted mentally and I imagined I was climbing my home trail. It felt similar enough (only my breathing at 14,000 feet was a little harder to manage), and it allowed me to focus on the steps, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before I was on my way down.

I learned to separate the big task (finishing the darn race) into smaller, more manageable moments (climbing that last stretch of stair). The technique worked then, and I still utilize it in so many other aspects of my life (like running, hiking, yoga, travel, packing, working): breaking the task at hand into smaller bits and staying focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

spring on sanitas

spring on sanitas

my experiences on sanitas
I first hiked Mt. Sanitas back in the late ‘90s when I moved to Colorado. It took me over three hours to hike the full loop. Since then, I have run and hiked this trail with a myriad of people, in every season and in tons of different weather conditions. I have cried along the trail. I have run it sweating in 100º temperatures, and I have run it on the ice with screws in my shoes.

I’ve been lost on the trail after following a game trail. I’ve seen the leaves change colors, and I’ve seen the flowers bloom. There were the first dates up Sanitas when I was single, and the weekly runs with my friends. I heard a symphony of insects the morning I ran it after I quit my corporate job and launched into a year of exploration and uncertainty. I imagined they were all applauding my daring.

I hiked it after 18” of snow fell, realizing simultaneously that Boulder is crazy (the trail was already beaten down) and that I was in love with this trail. I remember running it one March after an ice storm where I saw these amazing sparkling creations all over the tree branches and leaves and grass—images I had never seen before, and will never forget. I have been on Sanitas in fog, on ice, through snow, at night, and at the height of a summer afternoon.

And early one morning in the summer of 2008, I ran with Bracken to the summit to watch the sun rise. He proposed while a hummingbird hovered as witness. And a year later, just a few days before our wedding, we ran it again (and encountered another hummingbird while we were on the summit). The place is truly magical.

the magic of victory
Of course, I didn’t run to the summit that first year. Nor the next or the next. I’d let the goal lie dormant as I focused on other things. And then, four years after I’d set that original goal, I went out one morning for a run.

I started slow and steady. I ran the first steep section and was happy to arrive at a flatter portion to lower my heart rate. I lengthened my stride a bit and relaxed into the run. I got to the second steep section and shortened my steps, looking for efficient ways to get to the next step without working too hard. And then I was at the final third of the trail. My curiosity kicked in and I wondered, “can I really run the whole way?”

I could and I did. Slow, steady and strong. (I had some serious stoke at the summit.)

I sat down, looking out over Boulder—my home—and was flooded with so many memories of that trail; of my life since I’d first been on that trail; of the metamorphosis I’d undergone in those years. I was stronger, more confident, moving forward towards a life that felt good and right for me. The imperceptible shifts of life moving along were magnified for me that day at the summit. My journey to that moment when running up felt easy and doable, paralleled so many other areas of life that I was working toward.

I was excited that I’d finally done it—and humbled that it’d taken me four years. It was a powerful reminder that goals take time and when we push too hard, we risk losing sight of the steps in between.

such a place
Mt. Sanitas isn’t just a trail for me. It’s not a summit to snag, or a local haunt to claim. It represents a landmark—a place on the map of my life that has served me well. It’s been a constant barometer measuring the change and growth in my life. In each rock, and in every tree and flower along the trail, I see myself and my lives—past, present and future—melding together through the seasons of experience and transition.

I hold my memories of Sanitas and her lessons close to my heart now as I move into a new environment and new phase of my life. I am so incredibly grateful for the hours spent on that ridge, and for the lessons I have learned. I feel as though I have a solid foundation from which to leap, as I set my sights onto the vast ocean from the island of Kaua’i.

Running up Sanitas felt impossible for me a few short years ago. But now I not ony know the secret, I have experienced its magic: There are no dreams too big.

 

August 18, 2009

race report: pike’s peak marathon

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, setting goals, trail running | Tags: , |
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Holy cow.

Pike's Peak (taken in 2006)

Pike's Peak (taken in 2006)

the back story
Yep. That’s right. Holy. Cow. Remember this post? The one telling the story of a woman (me) running a full mile for the first time—ever—when she was 26? The one detailing that she (me again) was the girl in the back of the pack in high school gossiping with her friends while walking the mile during gym class? Remember? And then she started running. And got totally hooked. Yet was average, generally finishing in the 50th percentile for most races she entered. (I promise I’ll start writing in the first person soon.)

There are goals. There are dreams. And then there are fantasies. We tell ourselves to make our goals realistic. Achievable. Our dreams are there to guide us. We may not realize them, but if we head in the general direction of our dreams, life gets better and we’re closer to our goals. But fantasies? Those (we tend to assume) are the unrealistic dreams. The ones where, if we think about them too much, or try for them too often, we’ll be disappointed.

I think fantasies are good. In the sense that dreaming big is good. If we head in the general direction, some of the fairy dust might rub off on us and we’ll see some success. Not the fantasy-come-true success, but the this-small-part-of-my-fantasy-feels-really-great kind of success.

I felt that two years ago at my second running of the Pike’s Peak marathon. My first race had been painful. I’d pulled the muscle connecting the hip to the quad a few weeks prior and decided to run anyway. I cried in pain most of the way down and experienced pain with every step I took for four months after the race that year. I was happy to have finished, but it hadn’t been pretty.

2007 came along and I was excited to try it again. And I ran a really good race. Knocking my ascent time down nine minutes (to 4:09:56) and my total time by about 26 minutes (to a very good 6:34:41). It was my brush with fantasy. Placing 6th out of 24 in my age group and 42nd woman out of a total of 189 finishers felt unbelievable. I’d felt good afterwards. Proud and happy. I didn’t think I could do much better.

second thoughts
So 2009 rolls around. Sign-up for the marathon is in March. It fills up quickly, so you have to know then if you’re planning on running it or not. There was a lot of thinking and hesitating going on inside my head regarding this race. I’d missed it last year. But I had a lot going on leading up to the August 16th date. A wedding (my own) three weeks before, to name just one. I wasn’t sure I wanted to put the time in to train. I was running a lot and thought I might need a break—especially with the wedding plans.

But my friend, Rich (thank you!!), convinced me that I was running strong this year, and of all the years to run, this might be a really good one. So I committed. But I made a deal with myself in hopes of relieving some of the stress I anticipated: I wasn’t going to worry about it. I had a few goals in mind, but they were secondary. I looked at this year’s Pike’s Peak as an “easy” race; one I’d done before and that I knew I could do so I didn’t have to worry too much about training for it.

the training
I knew I had a good base built up from my two ultra runs (see here and here for details on those). But Collegiate Peaks had been way back at the beginning of May. I’d had over three months of semi-but-not-really training runs. I had a lot on my mind, and Pike’s Peak was only a small part.

I logged only 29 more miles in May (after the 50-miler), 68 miles total for June, and 75 in July. I went on a total of 4 runs in the three weeks between my wedding and the race (when I taper, I taper well!). Did I feel ready? No. All four of those runs felt sluggish and hard. The few days before the race, I began to have serious second thoughts.

seeking grace
She’s a big mountain. It’s a BIG race. You can read about the course description here, but suffice it to say, it’s not for the faint-of-heart. It climbs 7,800 vertical feet over 13.1 miles to the summit of Pike’s Peak at 14,115 feet above sea level. Then you turn around and pound down 13.1 miles to the finish line.

I realized my predicted time of 6:15:00 was a little unrealistic considering my training (or lack thereof). I adjusted it in my head (and to my friends who would be at the finish) to be just under 6:30. I’d still be happy with that. It’d be a few minutes off my 2007 time and if I was close (or just under) four hours for the ascent, I’d be ecstatic.

the dream
So in my mind, I held on to a couple of “dream goals.” My main goals that I figured were fairly reasonable, were (in order of importance):

  1. to finish
  2. to finish without injury
  3. to finish under 6:30

And then there were my dream goals. These are the goals I secretly hoped and longed for, but didn’t allow myself to dwell on since I hadn’t put in the training time. They are:

  1. to make it to the summit under four hours
  2. to make it to the finish around 6:15 (my original predicted time back in March)

One of the crazy things about this race is understanding the length of time it’ll take you. It’s a pretty good rule of thumb that if you’ve run a flatland marathon, your finishing time will be the rough equivalent of your ascent time. My fastest flatland marathon is 4:26, so in some (possibly warped?) way, having a sub-four ascent time would mean that I could run a sub-four marathon one day (if I was interested in running on roads ever again). So the sub-four ascent time was important to me. Unrealistic, but most definitely important to me.

50 years of women marathoners
I will take a step back briefly here, to mention a very cool, and very important milestone the Pike’s Peak marathon marked this year. Fifty years ago, in 1959, a woman named Arlene Pieper, along with her 10-year-old daughter, lined up at the starting line of the 4th annual Pike’s Peak marathon. She finished the race with a time of 9:16, and became the first woman on record to officially complete a U.S. marathon. (Her daughter, incidentally, made it to the top in 5:44.)

The organizers of the PPM tracked Arlene and her daughter down, bringing them out for the weekend festivities. Arlene counted down for the starting gun at 7:00am Sunday morning and they were both there at the awards ceremony presenting.

the fantasy
I woke up the morning of the race with a sense of calm. Deep down, I knew I would be fine. Whatever happened during the race, I would be fine. I could be running for over seven hours and it would be okay. I had fallen in love with running awhile ago. I love the mental challenge of long courses, the weather looked good, and there was nothing more to do but run.

I put on the clothes I’d decided on the night before (my favorite running skirt, a camisole and a mid-weight long-sleeve shirt), packed up my fuel (two gels, two packages of shot bloks and an extra package of luna moons) and fluid (32 ozs of gatorade) and put on my running shoes. My breakfast included a banana, half a croissant and a tall americano from Starbucks. Sunscreen applied, we headed out the door.

We arrived at the start in plenty of time to warm up, be nervous and take care of business. Just before 7:00am, we all lined up and listened to “America the Beautiful” (whose words, if you don’t know, were written at the summit of Pike’s Peak by Katherine Lee Bates). Arlene Pieper counted down, and the gun went off.

at the start, running up Hydro Street

at the start, running up Hydro Street

I settled into a slow, relaxing pace. Too many people go out too fast and blow up early. I was happy to allow many runners to pass me, biding my time when they’d be walking up the W’s and I’d run past. I was thankful for having run the Barr Trail Mountain Race six weeks before. I knew my pace was good for the long haul and simply put one foot in front of the other, walking the super-steep sections, moving quickly while saving energy.

One thing I’ve always done well is walk fast. And I can hike fast and efficiently, which I use often in trail running. Many times it’s faster for me to walk up steeper sections, rather than try to run them. So I paced myself throughout the ascent, walking when it made sense, but pushing the pace and then running when I knew I could.

What amazed me was how often I was able to pass people. I figured I’d be passing a lot of people at first, but would eventually settle into a group going the same pace as me for the majority of the incline. I was wrong. Since I try to stay pretty self-sufficient with my fuel and fluid needs, I only refilled a bottle of gatorade once, running through all the other aid stations (and passing people when I did). I kept going. I kept alternating my walk and run, feeling strong and steady.

I passed Barr Camp at 1:50. At this point, I knew I had a chance to get to the summit before four hours. I started to get excited, but tried to keep it in check so I wouldn’t be disappointed if I didn’t. I kept pushing.

I reminded myself that I had no races coming up. Nothing to “save” myself for. I could push and hurt and be just fine. I kept passing people. And the weird thing is, I kept feeling good. I wasn’t tired. I wasn’t too out of breath. The increasing lack of oxygen wasn’t bothering my lungs (only my hands, which by this time, resembled the stay-puff marshmallow man).

We passed the A-frame and I was again reminded of why I do this. One of my favorite places in the mountains is that space where you go from treeline to alpine (around 11,500 feet). It’s just beautiful. The trees are all gnarled and then they open up into wide, open spaces of rock, grass and wildflowers with views all around. Running and hiking through this part, my smile started to stick. I was having fun. I was loving this race.

approaching the summit

approaching the summit

I spied the summit and turnaround point and looked at my watch (my new gps) and realized I was crushing my “dream” goal. I wasn’t sure if I should believe it. I’m rather notorious for mis-reading my times and getting it all wrong. But sure enough, there were the kazoo-ists playing the “Chariots of Fire” theme along the sixteen golden stairs. They joked about that stretch being a “sprint” zone and I was feeling sassy, so looked back and said, “really? sweet!” and took off running again. I heard laughter and cheers behind me. And then they were far behind me. I had been able to keep running!

I passed a few more people. Smiling, running, grinning widely. I was going to make my dream goal. I heard my name, looked up, and saw my friends cheering me on.

me (in blue) at the turn around

me (in blue) at the turn around

I looked at my watch as I went through the turnaround. 3:46:53!!! Seriously? Thirteen minutes faster than my goal time? 22 minutes faster than two years ago? This was a good race.

my goofy grin (that stayed with me most of the way down)

my goofy grin (that stayed with me most of the way down)

I couldn’t believe it. I was beyond any feeling I’d experienced. Excitement. Pride. Joy. All rolled together. My adrenaline was running high. As I began the descent, I knew my 6:30 time was well within reach. Maybe even close to the 6:15. I had to remain calm and focused to keep from falling on the technical descent. And I knew that although I’d gotten better at descending, I was still more cautious.

I found a good rhythm and stayed with it. One of the great things about being faster is that you have more space between you and other runners. I wasn’t passing many people and I wasn’t being passed. Those still on the incline would call out “runner” and move to the side of the trail to let me by. We all exchanged “nice jobs” and “looking strong” sentiments back and forth.

I was loving my new GPS (thanks sis!). I watched my pace on the downhill trying to calculate my finish. I thought about the race itself, and how, to me, it seemed like two very different races. One up. One down. Two different strategies. Two different mental approaches and techniques. I think this helps me break it up in my mind and makes it possible to think of it as “not that long.”

As I passed the mile markers (10 miles to finish; 9 miles to finish…), I noticed slight fatigue in the legs setting in. I stopped once to walk a short incline and once to give some ibuprofen to a woman who’d sprained her ankle, and had trouble getting my legs going again.

I put one foot in front of the other. I continued to fuel every 45 mins. I soaked in the change of scenery from the alpine, to subalpine, to aspen groves. I noticed when the heat kicked in again as we descended closer to town. The sun felt warm on my back.

At 4 miles to finish, I was about 5 hours, 30 minutes in. If I kept under a 10-minute pace, I’d make my 6:15 goal with minutes to spare (figuring I was running 10-minute miles). I kept my eye on my watch. 9:30. 8:22. 10:58. “Keep it moving… under 10. Pick it up,” I told myself. 9:24. 8:43. 7:37. What?!? Sub-eight? (I’m a very consistent 10-minute-miler on flatland.) “Keep it under 10. You’ve got this.”

I hit pavement at one mile to go and 5:54 on the clock. Holy cow! I was early. I was moving! I knew Bracken and our friends were planning on getting to the finish at around the six-hour mark to start looking for me. That was the “super-early” time we discussed because there was no way I’d be there that early. “They might miss me,” I thought to myself.

Then I smiled. It turned into a grin, with tears of amazement threatening behind it. It finally started to sink in that I was really and truly crushing my previous times. My feet took off, my heart pounding, my legs feeling the pavement beneath me. I felt elation. Amazed, I kept running. 7:22. 6:37. 6:22. I don’t think I’ve ever, ever, run that fast for so long. The cheers got louder. I knew this course. I knew the finish. I wasn’t fooled by any false corner. I kept my pace. My grin wouldn’t go away (not that I wanted it to, but it made me laugh harder, realizing it wasn’t going anywhere).

I spotted the corner where, just beyond, I knew the finish line awaited. I looked at my watch as I rounded the corner. I pushed harder. I stepped across the finish line at 6:01:15.

6:01:15!!!

Holy cow. That’s not a typo. That’s one minute (one minute) and fifteen seconds after six hours.

that’s not the end of the story
I was crying with glee as I received my finisher’s medal. I saw Bracken and went out to give him a huge hug. He’d been crossing the street, getting into position, when he’d heard my name called. He saw my back cross over, but couldn’t get his camera out fast enough to get a picture of the finish. Cause I crushed it! :D 6:01:15! Holy cow!!!

soaking it all in

soaking it all in

As I was sitting down, eating pretzels and m&m’s, Bracken went to go look at the unofficial results they post as runners come in. He turns around to me, with a huge grin himself and says, “third in your age group!”

I’m not sure what we imagine fantasies feeling like when they actually happen. I’m not sure if we ever actually imagine it, because they’re the impossible dreams, right? For a girl who had only been running for nine years (hadn’t run a full mile ever, before that), who consistently ran 10-minute (or more) miles on flats, and who finished most races right smack in the middle of the field… for this girl, placing at all was a feat in and of itself. But to place in a race like this? In one of the most competitive age groups?

It was truly an indescribable feeling. I won an award! I placed!

me shaking hands with Arlene Pieper and her daughter after accepting my award

me shaking hands with Arlene Pieper and her daughter after accepting my award

And I’d had fun. I’d finished without injury and with a smile on my face.

I have to add here, that technically, I finished sixth in my age group, but they don’t give double awards, so if you’re fast enough to win an ‘overall’ award, you’re not counted in the age group results. So the top three in my age group (I told you it was a competitive age group, right?) had times fast enough for the overall awards, so I qualified for 3rd. Yipeee!!! (I was the 23rd female out of 171 women to finish and 163rd overall, out of 711 finishers).

To be perfectly honest, it’s a little unsettling to realize that when I think of the Pike’s Peak marathon, I think “fun” and “amazing” instead of “painful” and “what-was-I-thinking.” Maybe it’s the beginnings of a recipe for a 100 in my future. Who knows. What was once impossible in my world has become possible.

i leave you with a wish
My story here is long. I thank those of you who have made it through to the end.

I wish for you to see, through my experience, that you have a story to write, too. A story about an impossible dream that comes true. About a far-fetched fantasy that one day, when you least expect it, will turn into a moment to hold close forever.

feeling on top of the world

feeling on top of the world

 

July 17, 2009

race report: barr trail mountain race

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, setting goals, trail running | Tags: |
[6] Comments 

Last weekend, on Sunday, July 12, 2009, I ran the Barr Trail Mountain Race (or BTMR). I’m training for the Pike’s Peak marathon in August, so this is a perfect training run for me. It starts in Manitou Springs, CO and is a wonderful, 12.575 mile single track course that travels halfway up Pike’s Peak and back down. The elevation gain is 3,630′ with the high point at 10,200′ above sea level.

Last year was my first year running it, and was one of the first races I felt I actually raced. Sounds weird, I know, but I don’t get super-competitive with other racers. I’m good at pacing myself and finding my own rhythm, and generally prefer to compete against myself. Since beginning to run, especially trail runs, I’m a middle-of-the-pack finisher. Generally right smack in the middle of my division. So the feeling of racing against someone else was new, and surprisingly fun.

This year I went in hoping to shave some time off last year’s finishing time (which was 2:39:13). I’ve been running pretty strong all season—especially uphill—with a pretty good base for endurance.

The wake-up was early. This year we decided not to stay in Colorado Springs the night before, so left Boulder at 4:15 a.m. I slept most of the way down, and had gotten a pretty solid night’s sleep, so was feeling pretty chipper and awake at the start. We picked up our packets and had a little time to stretch and warm up.

The race began at 7:00am. Early for a race of this distance, but I was glad. The sun was bright and hot early on. I found a place in the middle of the pack and took off at the start. My strategy for the race was efficiency. I wasn’t going to try and run the whole thing (like I’d done for the Golden Gate Dirty Thirty), but rather to walk when it made sense (i.e., when I could walk faster and more efficiently than I could running).

The strategy seemed to work out. I passed a lot of folks on the way up. Either walking or running, I was pacing quicker than those I began with. About 40 minutes into the run, I began to settle in with those running a similar pace. We all leap-frogged for the rest of the ascent, which is always fun and inspiring.

I was hoping to make it to the turn around at Barr Camp quicker than I had the previous year. And… I did it. By two seconds—in 1:39:05. I will admit that I was somewhat disappointed. I’d felt strong and sure that I was faster and stronger than last year.

I sighed a little, but then decided that last year was a really good race for me, so to keep that time wasn’t so bad after all. :)

On the way down, my mind wandered. Descents have always been mentally tougher for me (and I’m finding it’s true for biking as well). I hate falling, and have some pretty solid diggers in my history, so am generally pretty conscious of my pace. The first half felt a little sluggish, but when I hit the No Name aid station the flow started to come.

The trail through this portion is smooth with little obstacles and an easy, really fun, grade down. My feet were turning over with rhythm and ease. My smile appeared and stuck around, and I realized that I was having fun. The need to beat my time vanished and I started noticing how my feet came off the rocks and roots with a renewed energy. Wheee!

As I approached the last aid station, the flow slowed down as the trail got a little more technical. I was okay with it. The sun was hot and I was ready to cross the finish line.

the final climb to the finish

the final climb to the finish

Bracken and a good friend (who, unfortunately, wasn’t able to run this year) were at the finish to cheer me on. I finished in 2:37:29. Just under last year’s time, and good enough to place 10th out of 22 women in my age group. And in a field of 113 women, I came in 45th. A little better than last year.

This year has seen so much joy and strength in my racing… I can’t wait to see how Pike’s Peak feels. Stay tuned for August 16th!

enjoying a (very cold) dip in the creek post-race

enjoying a (very cold) dip in the creek post-race

 

July 15, 2009

race report: gothic to crested butte run, walk or crawl 1/3 marathon

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, trail running | Tags: |
1 Comment 

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Crested Butte on the Fourth of July.

For a girl who prefers to avoid crowds on big holidays, spending the weekend camping in a town whose busiest weekend is the Fourth of July is somewhat surprising. However, crowds in a town of 2,000 are a little different than crowds in our nation’s capital city. So it’s been quite manageable for these past six years I’ve been going.

And magical. Crested Butte holds a very special place in my heart. The changes and the growth I’ve experienced in the calm of the mountains, the warmth of the sun and the brilliance of the wildflowers has, without fail, rejuvenated me each year in various ways.

One of the traditions our group of friends has done is to run the Gothic to Crested Butte Run, Walk or Crawl Third Marathon put on by the Rocky Mountain Biological Laboraty. The 8.5 mile race begins in the small town of Gothic (about 8 miles north of town) and runs along Gothic Road, onto a bike path and finally into Crested Butte in time for the parade and town-wide water fight.

I’ve run the race twice before (other years I’ve not due to injury). The first year I ran (2005), it was one of the longest races I’d done. The 8.5 miles of mostly downhill felt loooong and tough. The incline at the start was punishing and the downhill pounding.

The morning started early with a 5:30am wake-up call. My friend Andrew was running this year, too. We left our campsite at 6:00 am (thanks to Bracken for driving us into town!) to make it to the bus. We managed to get a seat on one of the last buses to the start line and settled in for the 30 minute ride.

As we got off the bus, the sun was already feeling hot. I shed my jacket, wrapped it around my waist, wishing I’d left it in the car. We had some time to chill and warm up before the 8:00am start.

With roughly 400 runners ready to go, we found a place towards the back of the pack (I wasn’t expecting to break any records that morning) and waited for the signal to start.

As we took off, Andrew and I quickly realized our mistake… we had quite the experience navigating through slower runners and walkers, trying to find some space to find a ryhthm. I found a line to the left, Andrew took off towards the right. As I settled into a steady rhythm, looking around me at the amazing vistas of aspens, wildflowers and mountain peaks all around, I was reminded (yet again) of why I run, and how beautiful our world truly is.

The 2 mile incline at the start—the one that felt so punishing a few years ago—was easy. My pace continued without a hiccup. I felt strong and happy. I felt overcome with gratitude and excitement that I’d come so far with my fitness.

The pavement came too soon, but I knew then I was only about 4 miles out from the finish and concentrated on feeling the flow of the descent.

With the rains this season, the wildflowers were in full force. I smiled. I grinned. I felt goood. I scouted some fields that might be good for portraits in three weeks when I would return for my wedding.

As I descended down the bike path, I saw Andrew up ahead. He looked strong. I looked at my watch and tried to stick with the steady pace I was enjoying. I started to hurt a little as the course flattened out, but knew we were almost to the finish.

I passed Andrew at the last aide station (I like to carry my own water, so didn’t need to stop) and headed into town. One part of my brain wanted to beat my previous time and the other wanted to be in soon so I could get ready for a hair appointment I’d made in preparation for the wedding (in hindsight, poorly scheduled so close to the race). Both motivated me to pick up the pace and finish strong.

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Bracken and friends were at the finish with cameras and cheers. I finished in 1:17:51 (about 9 minutes faster than my last time). I felt awesome. Tired, but awesome. Andrew finished just behind me in 1:18:27 (you can read his race report here).

Here’s to another year in the Butte!

 

June 9, 2009

race report – the golden gate dirty thirty 12M

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, trail running | Tags: , |
[3] Comments 

Ah… May and June in Colorado have to be two of the most beautiful months along the front range. The late-season snows and rains in March and April have created lush, green growth along the foothills. If you’ve never experienced this, I encourage you to get out and go for a hike. The trails are soft, fragrant and stunningly beautiful.

A few months ago I was volunteering at a fundraising event for The Women’s Wilderness Institute (TWWI) and heard about a new trail race that was being held as a benefit to send Gilpin County high school girls on a leadership course with TWWI.

Be still my beating heart! A trail run for my favorite non-profit? Sold! I went home and put The Golden Gate Dirty Thirty on my calendar.

The race featured three distances: 7 miles, 12 miles and a 50K (31 miles), and wound through the trails of Golden Gate Canyon State Park. I thought briefly of signing on for the 50K. But in respect of my goal to relax and not train through the month of May (post-50-miler), I decided to sign up for the 12 mile course, intending it to serve as a jump-start into renewed training for the Pikes Peak Marathon.

Bracken and our good friend Andrew Hyde headed out early Saturday morning. The weather was calling for cool temps and potential for rain. Nothing could’ve been further from that forecast. It was chilly in the shade, but certainly not for long.

The 12-mile course was predominantly on single track trails (a HUGE plus for me as I much prefer technical trail to the 4×4 dirt roads a lot of trail races include) and featured about a 5,000 foot vertical gain. It’s a tough course. And I loved it.

It’s been a while since I’ve run a full race course smiling most of the way. And not smiling at others (although everyone running was in great spirits, friendly and helpful), but smiling just because.   

Because this course was beautiful. Because it was technical and fun. It crossed the creek 11 times over wooden bridges, log bridges (some a bit precarious and wobbly), single logs and rocks. We jumped over fallen trees and crawled under them. It reminded me of the Muir Woods marathon I did in 2006… very much like an obstacle course. Just good ‘ol fun times.

Along the way, instead of the easy training run I’d planned, my goal morphed into, “can I run the entire distance—steep vertical climbs and all?” I wasn’t planning on pushing myself. It’d been a month since I’d run longer than 5 miles. A month since I’d pushed my body to do anything it didn’t really want to. But it just seemed right to push during the race.

I wanted to see if I could do it. I knew I’d finish faster if I walked a lot of the vertical. I can power hike quickly and efficiently, giving my body and muscles needed recovery during the run to go faster. But I ran it. All of it. From the girl who couldn’t hike uphill for longer than 5 minutes just a short decade ago, my pride in myself was bursting.

I almost caved in the last 2 miles. There was a final, very steep incline and I wanted so much to stop and walk, but had come too far with this surprise goal to back down. I grunted. I pushed. And I made it, running into the finish strong and smiling.

Both Bracken and Andrew had amazing races as well. Andrew was so inspiring to watch. He’d signed up for the seven mile course and at the last minute, switched to the 12 (having never run more than about 7 in his life). His determination, joy and fortitude was so fun to witness.

Since Bracken ran as well (finishing 2nd overall, I should add), there are no pictures. But rest assured, it was green, green, green and lush and soft and fragrant with the smell of spring. 

results
They did something a little different with the categories for this race. Instead of placing in your age group, you signed up based on what you thought you could run. So the categories were as follows: Mountain Goat (you should win overall); Snowshoe Hare (you’d win if the elites weren’t running); Homosapien (you’re average); Burro (you’re slower than average, but not last); and Tortoise (you may indeed be last). 

Overall, I think it was a fun idea. However, looking at the results, it’s interesting to see some of the discrepancies in expectations vs. reality (i.e., the overall male winner for the 12-mile had signed up as a homosapien). That could be a subject for a whole other blog post.

My results were very respectable. My total time was 2:42:01. Overall, I came in 15th out of 37. I was 7th out of 22 women. Looking at the last time I ran a 12-mile trail run at Golden Gate Canyon (my second ever back in 2004 where I’d placed 56/62 overall), my progress over the years is amazing to me. 

strong women
Running for charities always makes me feel good, but this one in particular was an awesome feeling. Having been on a course with The Women’s Wilderness Institute, volunteering for them over the last year, and knowing everyone in the office, it is with pride and appreciation that I was able to run for this cause. The race raised over $9,000—enough to send six Gilpin County girls on the 12-day leadership course. A huge thank you to those who ran, donated time, money and energy.

 

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