tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10926298149946206082024-02-19T00:36:53.122-07:00Plump Runner: a gal just doing the best she can.PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.comBlogger110125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-21002843416713998122017-11-24T17:52:00.000-07:002017-11-24T17:52:27.822-07:00Three Months Later...Apparently, I only blog once every three months... And I always say that I'm going to be better about that. Well, this time I'm not going to make any promises. That way, I won't feel guilty later.<br />
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Things have not been going well on the training front. It's like I've lost all ability to prioritize and manage my time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIbabRYt0_Ijr0GaCLeIWH-mFDQE8Hyfbsz7mql2l48ZknxynCEimV-Cups9PpGdbYBFknPrvMtzg9Sg18efwR1ONnC7tSSWrxDCaJGAamIop06h85iBLndNLyBhuZogg-3_6mM48hMcY/s1600/meme1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="662" data-original-width="662" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIbabRYt0_Ijr0GaCLeIWH-mFDQE8Hyfbsz7mql2l48ZknxynCEimV-Cups9PpGdbYBFknPrvMtzg9Sg18efwR1ONnC7tSSWrxDCaJGAamIop06h85iBLndNLyBhuZogg-3_6mM48hMcY/s400/meme1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fact.</td></tr>
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I've been trying to live a well-rounded life, but that hasn't seemed to be working very well. I like to get involved in new projects and have new experiences, but then those things end up taking over my life. My training was impacted most recently by the legitimate theater. My husband and I wrote a play, that was then selected to be part of a festival, in which we both directed and were otherwise heavily involved in. That meant directors' meetings, auditions, rehearsals, and a solid week of going straight from work to the theater. Training did not happen much at all during this time. But as life experiences go, it was worth it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE_y4kcday_jBTrm1Ma1vJrHeQu8IJ4s8armT3Xs44piAofdaR12m2WQERGhWiW8TPqw_TZgQtSJN96hiaCmjYOzGGB_tq_MUpiNvrHNSdK0wiAj220cZBmNlKoryzXo-HFCPrDvhzVcw/s1600/gwg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="662" data-original-width="512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE_y4kcday_jBTrm1Ma1vJrHeQu8IJ4s8armT3Xs44piAofdaR12m2WQERGhWiW8TPqw_TZgQtSJN96hiaCmjYOzGGB_tq_MUpiNvrHNSdK0wiAj220cZBmNlKoryzXo-HFCPrDvhzVcw/s400/gwg.jpg" width="308" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The poster from our show.</td></tr>
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I have four races to talk about in this round of blogging. It'll be fairly short and sweet, since they were all pretty much the same. I went in under trained, suffered through them, and barely made it across the finish line in one piece.<br />
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The Nebo half marathon is one of my favorites. Some may remember that this blog started back in 2011 as I began my training for this race as my very first half marathon. The steepness of this canyon always takes a toll on my legs. I had Scott run this one with me and we started out too fast and I knew it. But gravity was doing most of the work for us, right? No. My quads were doing the work and by mile 9 they let me know that they were toast. The last four miles were a death slog to the end. They changed the course for the last mile or so and ended at a new location, which made that last mile seem even longer. But it was a nice place to finish and the Nebo Music Festival was happening at the park where the finish was. So we were able to sit and rest afterward with free entertainment.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCXRwQxgR-F59L0jHMMp_6hwv_2GmE7ikLFbjbNMLQpEugh_BBzgQO9L4ctrhJBn6SJ2-jvfurJBf0-yLF2-K3QoKIefRpJtLb8tfe2bV0bbqsgYqKABTbqM8AT9jEoTxpo38L1glxXro/s1600/nebo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="662" data-original-width="662" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCXRwQxgR-F59L0jHMMp_6hwv_2GmE7ikLFbjbNMLQpEugh_BBzgQO9L4ctrhJBn6SJ2-jvfurJBf0-yLF2-K3QoKIefRpJtLb8tfe2bV0bbqsgYqKABTbqM8AT9jEoTxpo38L1glxXro/s400/nebo.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Obligatory swag shot.</td></tr>
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I got exactly one week to recover from the quad thrashing of Nebo to recuperate before the Big Cottonwood half marathon. Spoiler alert: the Big Cottonwood race is another quad thrasher. There are some seriously steep canyons in Utah and we all think it's a glorious idea to run down them. I did my best to keep my speed in check and not let myself get too trashed before the end. I did better this time than I did at Nebo but I still had a hard time with stairs for a few days afterward. Scott wasn't registered for this one, but he did need to get a run in, so he started at the finish line and ran up to meet me to run with me to the finish.<br />
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*For those concerned about race banditing, Scott often runs up the course to meet me. However, he NEVER takes any aid from the aid stations and he never crosses the finish line and takes a medal for a race he didn't pay for.*<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqvL9jqsTbCaJ6BhIb9HGA3eZA0O-kXqbGaitnyISGajaS-N_ob9nfB-pyJP3cJLow5WVzjLMNqWfd34_0e32Iqxgy20OfadTwm6UEE3OTDVJoZb4NDK7uwXVZ3kmvWReoj1mAzuXKH88/s1600/bcw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="662" data-original-width="662" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqvL9jqsTbCaJ6BhIb9HGA3eZA0O-kXqbGaitnyISGajaS-N_ob9nfB-pyJP3cJLow5WVzjLMNqWfd34_0e32Iqxgy20OfadTwm6UEE3OTDVJoZb4NDK7uwXVZ3kmvWReoj1mAzuXKH88/s400/bcw.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The shirts and medals for this race are always top notch.</td></tr>
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After Big Cottonwood, I had a nice long break until the Haunted Half down Provo Canyon at the end of October. Too bad October is when things started getting nuts with the theater gig, and I decided to go on a family vacation down to Moab (where I did actually manage to get two training runs in AND a bit of hiking, thank you very much).<br />
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The Haunted Half course isn't as brutal with the steepness, but the downhill certainly helped our legs along for the first few miles. As soon as we ran out of downhill though, it wasn't so good. Scott and I were both in costume, he was Dapper Dude and I was Spock. Don't bother trying to figure out how those two things go together, it wasn't a cutesy couple's costume thing.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVY5PzgQ3C-IstZKa_ZwBPTcXytETGT2cYRsoW7FCEua6wyUthdbWwMtvJwxrmhJ1enTYVGRqoorxP8esaEyYvb-8KgsFvrRb2No1Awe7a8GRjW5bIAjR37pW1ufrwebUmo4K5p-Dh_28/s1600/spock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="540" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVY5PzgQ3C-IstZKa_ZwBPTcXytETGT2cYRsoW7FCEua6wyUthdbWwMtvJwxrmhJ1enTYVGRqoorxP8esaEyYvb-8KgsFvrRb2No1Awe7a8GRjW5bIAjR37pW1ufrwebUmo4K5p-Dh_28/s400/spock.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Run long and prosper. </td></tr>
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We squeaked in under the course time limit by about 8 minutes for this one. I was just happy to be done. We were able to collect our trilogy medals for finishing three Runtastic events in one year, so that made the pain in my feet nearly worth it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtTtd7eFX873UumFIi5xhttKed8N3qIt0o1CPt4fo6Gz849DRJ_ZrcKNcijBgGRMx6e29GZnUOvFl0DAKcJ4beZv_9NuncjjcdGm_6h_EMY0Ry6QA-g1Go8pszin5aGtd0mgirpaBwLr0/s1600/haunt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="662" data-original-width="828" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtTtd7eFX873UumFIi5xhttKed8N3qIt0o1CPt4fo6Gz849DRJ_ZrcKNcijBgGRMx6e29GZnUOvFl0DAKcJ4beZv_9NuncjjcdGm_6h_EMY0Ry6QA-g1Go8pszin5aGtd0mgirpaBwLr0/s400/haunt.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I like big bling and I cannot lie. </td></tr>
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The last race to report on was the Thankful 13, half marathon number 99 in my quest to 100. I was not prepared for this race in the slightest. All of last week was devoted to the play festival. Scott and I were so run down from the festival that when it was over and time to train, we were hardly able to. We did go for a two and a half hour walk last Sunday to at least get some time on our feet. Although, he was only doing the 5K option at the race, so he didn't need that long walk but he's likes to be companionate.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidrTWlPj26nbMLZ-Kb3eOX6DUxrrGevyN1im-AGWkfAwBSZuuuMvxtEdPrCPZe157MNPysVXbmjZwHvwt5evhvQuyAo-L93zrcAFCCQVWJiy50R31c9jajR9TUe80S4B7CwmFHH9XljdU/s1600/jrpkwy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="662" data-original-width="530" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidrTWlPj26nbMLZ-Kb3eOX6DUxrrGevyN1im-AGWkfAwBSZuuuMvxtEdPrCPZe157MNPysVXbmjZwHvwt5evhvQuyAo-L93zrcAFCCQVWJiy50R31c9jajR9TUe80S4B7CwmFHH9XljdU/s400/jrpkwy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the Thankful 13 course.</td></tr>
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They changed the course this year, as well as the start and finish line. I didn't realize that until we got to where we thought it was, and it wasn't. Thank goodness it was just down the street from where it used to be. I didn't think to check that detail because for the past five years, it's had the same start and finish. Lesson learned.<br />
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I was nervous from the start of this race, knowing that the course limit might not be long enough for what I can make my legs do these days. Somehow, I managed to keep my pace just under what it needed to be to finish on time. I was keeping it pretty consistent until mile 9, then there was the all too familiar slow down that's become my signature lately. With Scott off doing his 5K thing, I didn't have him to distract me from the blister rising up on my right foot and the fact that I still had about an hour left to go.<br />
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He took fifth place in his age group for the 5K and I made it to the finish line with 11 minutes to spare. So I guess we'll call it a successful day all around.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd0tfhIaAVOXw6TIupce5KQ0KdAVTzaf2bkCGVkBIGe6wmUURyrkmcxF1X2llX6JmkDmsDsXDJVzqFy1IyW2iWbn9lTQi4tclg655eRJFOmUNU4bT4WaBQAgegclPB3I4rAl2zBTsI3Xs/s1600/thank17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="662" data-original-width="530" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd0tfhIaAVOXw6TIupce5KQ0KdAVTzaf2bkCGVkBIGe6wmUURyrkmcxF1X2llX6JmkDmsDsXDJVzqFy1IyW2iWbn9lTQi4tclg655eRJFOmUNU4bT4WaBQAgegclPB3I4rAl2zBTsI3Xs/s400/thank17.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thankful swag. (Number 99!)</td></tr>
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I have a couple of weeks to try and get my crap together before the Baker's Dozen. Thank heavens it isn't a timed race. It's going to be celebration of eating and running and getting giant medals. What more could you ask for? I just need to get some training in before then so I can actually enjoy it.<br />
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And if anyone is worried that I'll stop running after I hit my 100th half marathon, don't fret. I'm already signed up for things in 2018 that I keep telling myself I'll be ready for but probably won't be. So stay tuned for that. I'm basically a living, breathing cautionary tale. Grab some popcorn and stay for the show.<br />
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Until next time, happy running!PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-64418134194529825872017-08-22T21:21:00.000-06:002017-08-22T21:22:18.258-06:00Y'all keep thinking that I died...What is with me and my non-blogging ways?! After my last post talking about my heart rate problems, I bet a few people thought I had gone off to run the great race in the sky. But honestly, the heart hasn't acted up at all since April, so I've got that going for me.<br />
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I have two races to talk about, and it's only been two months. I have to stick to my plan to make half marathon #100 happen this December at the Baker's Dozen, so I couldn't pack my summer with races like I have in the past. It's like I don't even know who I am anymore...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUxMvbuPuk_DEpvPt8jhXzR62eO74_VOZmC5cmhS6ysgdluMCDHZvk3dIYlRIWSiuqOqDhyphenhyphen1FzOF9yzsmfWG9vyUCjdWSDKgHMixqCGGBEtyhUfRWNyuNZnkJWsfCgaXBHyW0a7MeF5zk/s1600/IMG_6048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUxMvbuPuk_DEpvPt8jhXzR62eO74_VOZmC5cmhS6ysgdluMCDHZvk3dIYlRIWSiuqOqDhyphenhyphen1FzOF9yzsmfWG9vyUCjdWSDKgHMixqCGGBEtyhUfRWNyuNZnkJWsfCgaXBHyW0a7MeF5zk/s400/IMG_6048.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh yeah, that's who I am.</td></tr>
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But I digress. My July race was the Hobbler Half marathon. It runs down the Hobble Creek Canyon. I like it because it runs down a canyon. I had actually been keeping up with my training fairly well leading up to this race, and that combined with its downhilliness, I managed my first sub three hour half for the year. Okay, so it was only 2 minutes shy of three hours, but it's still under and that's what counts. Scott played finish line photographer for this event, since he was out all night being a rock n' roll star. Late Friday night shows aren't conducive to early morning races.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU_zo8sOZ6RzwGVxz4_sRoMXKYXU1gyBmAdL5DjboNoL0Pi1ANMjMCr2yfHalFyE8h-M-kXp3xxtdatY_MxhzcusEXWdxWMJMT3XeMpUpnq-hhbQcfSz0GXdvznsefL_wety0Og56p_Es/s1600/IMG_6239.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU_zo8sOZ6RzwGVxz4_sRoMXKYXU1gyBmAdL5DjboNoL0Pi1ANMjMCr2yfHalFyE8h-M-kXp3xxtdatY_MxhzcusEXWdxWMJMT3XeMpUpnq-hhbQcfSz0GXdvznsefL_wety0Og56p_Es/s400/IMG_6239.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still trying to burn off those French pastries...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdnpZZnT0uaw92esSsNakmjIJ-Su-mbFx2l5By0IPs64dmvLjPwCAcbHcTAKA-OvL8s4aZS3lC3ykwhcHT1xZmrDauzmVEfAJ78wFQk0V2ZjscPr9iQ9v0jmWfWbDROm8vEuI_d9VyEJ8/s1600/IMG_6045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdnpZZnT0uaw92esSsNakmjIJ-Su-mbFx2l5By0IPs64dmvLjPwCAcbHcTAKA-OvL8s4aZS3lC3ykwhcHT1xZmrDauzmVEfAJ78wFQk0V2ZjscPr9iQ9v0jmWfWbDROm8vEuI_d9VyEJ8/s400/IMG_6045.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Half marathon #94 swag shot.</td></tr>
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Summer kept rolling along after that early July race. But my training didn't seem to be able to roll along with it. I'm spending way too much of my time at work, and when I do that, everything else suffers. The stress level at work is too high as well, so it's affecting other areas of my life. Things like sleep tend to get hit the hardest. I'm sure I'm preaching to the choir here. #FirstWorldProblems<br />
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I did get to take a tiny vacation for my anniversary. My husband and I headed down to New Mexico to eat all the food. We did happen to find a little gem of a running trail in Albuquerque. There's a nifty little place called Tingley Beach and they have a bunch of big ponds, a paved bike path, and a nice single track trail that runs along the Rio Grande. We were able to get a couple of nice runs in on the single track, where there was an abundance of lizards, and even a porcupine asleep in a tree.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3X6MVvO4GLxoTEreiOVkEJim_cizXuqWE70Nhnnqe2X92lpqHMTsRz-1De01NBtNGiud_EAKvWB7Sh2pDU1rq_us6idYif80C5-tHJOxJiSa2rl_6PJKxK2ToXuc7Gs-LPPZD5sCLrpE/s1600/IMG_6241.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3X6MVvO4GLxoTEreiOVkEJim_cizXuqWE70Nhnnqe2X92lpqHMTsRz-1De01NBtNGiud_EAKvWB7Sh2pDU1rq_us6idYif80C5-tHJOxJiSa2rl_6PJKxK2ToXuc7Gs-LPPZD5sCLrpE/s400/IMG_6241.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Having a shaded place to run meant we got to sleep in a bit and not worry too much about the heat.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmVM5umGwww911OoVTSKm9g7dEuHpZ0omcoZhsPBHfjw-KginUfXcLjCviDwERNTL_5Irs9ZeuzH4kE6oY2VmKBG6mCmC-tlXs3b-jh425i2qYeMJ9svnYejuAnOVn8Otz9eyIhEPWwFA/s1600/IMG_6240.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1080" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmVM5umGwww911OoVTSKm9g7dEuHpZ0omcoZhsPBHfjw-KginUfXcLjCviDwERNTL_5Irs9ZeuzH4kE6oY2VmKBG6mCmC-tlXs3b-jh425i2qYeMJ9svnYejuAnOVn8Otz9eyIhEPWwFA/s400/IMG_6240.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Obligatory vacation shot.</td></tr>
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As soon as we got back from our New Mexico eating extravaganza, real life hit hard and we were busier than ever, directing and performing in a play, playing more concerts, and we adopted two kittens in the middle of it all.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx4GFNHtFeTFWML2OpCeX-7LGrJxxv9tG8iNkLRUiNGCXVh5sck5VC9kXXsZnpL25yBOt9uoAm37-Fpktn2RDAkNs31x7BUIHSA634dszRQNi868vLQ8jPj0rT3-ACWT7ooBtpJTxz-pI/s1600/IMG_6215.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx4GFNHtFeTFWML2OpCeX-7LGrJxxv9tG8iNkLRUiNGCXVh5sck5VC9kXXsZnpL25yBOt9uoAm37-Fpktn2RDAkNs31x7BUIHSA634dszRQNi868vLQ8jPj0rT3-ACWT7ooBtpJTxz-pI/s400/IMG_6215.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Obligatory kitten picture.</td></tr>
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In that whirlwind of activity, it was suddenly time to run the Herriman Hold 'Em trail half. Wait, what? So soon? I should have been training all this time! Woe is me!<br />
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I signed Scott up for this one so I wouldn't have to suffer alone. I was right in thinking that there would be suffering. Trails are fun. They are also hilly, rocky beasts of ankle destruction.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjexTgRj7DWcf2OiS9qd2IyuV6igybomTUTyBsjHcAOkIswZDquQmqcqdGCYwdWAj_bzDe8op1iuPyGr2J9eZ2JtgrNk5YXY109r1mX0r8IPVV5LbSeFIcBfFSkRCcUsBAyJ00tQ-D88J4/s1600/IMG_6237.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjexTgRj7DWcf2OiS9qd2IyuV6igybomTUTyBsjHcAOkIswZDquQmqcqdGCYwdWAj_bzDe8op1iuPyGr2J9eZ2JtgrNk5YXY109r1mX0r8IPVV5LbSeFIcBfFSkRCcUsBAyJ00tQ-D88J4/s400/IMG_6237.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But look how lovely! Photo credit Scott M. Stringham.</td></tr>
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It was a small affair, but we managed to not be last by the grace of a man who was the voluntary sweeper. He stuck with us throughout the hills, trudging, near heat exhaustion, and rocky descents.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDe3J0VPUb6nLLTgrWQTgA7zoQyMyOzq1HQzjYLvIWviKVlKGTHLkbFNX_-KHuIEvvJFQ3P1J9GR_Cksp3UrRYboZqA9FadCJFPLtDn26NOvtn_6uM4FK7QhoaZqqHWv0ZRqzZssQqy5w/s1600/IMG_6238.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDe3J0VPUb6nLLTgrWQTgA7zoQyMyOzq1HQzjYLvIWviKVlKGTHLkbFNX_-KHuIEvvJFQ3P1J9GR_Cksp3UrRYboZqA9FadCJFPLtDn26NOvtn_6uM4FK7QhoaZqqHWv0ZRqzZssQqy5w/s400/IMG_6238.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Worth the struggle. Photo credit Scott M. Stringham.</td></tr>
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We stumbled in to the finish in just under four hours. While it was a challenge to finish, I never regretted the time that we spent out there. I cursed my slacktastic training and the ankle destroying rocks, but being out there enjoying nature with my husband is never something to regret. Plus, it really feels like we earned that post race queso and chips.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEX9aQMqPj77wcAHadVRv6bM9ou3lckEdSV7d4thICYsXxe0M-mesQhhGlQ9R0FL_2Lc5CBXTX-uV4Hajp-X4qi40CRcJ7RuHTBgBbDIV5qlS61ZvQMr6P6DEObPFKvE-jVxgA10bdvvw/s1600/IMG_6230.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEX9aQMqPj77wcAHadVRv6bM9ou3lckEdSV7d4thICYsXxe0M-mesQhhGlQ9R0FL_2Lc5CBXTX-uV4Hajp-X4qi40CRcJ7RuHTBgBbDIV5qlS61ZvQMr6P6DEObPFKvE-jVxgA10bdvvw/s400/IMG_6230.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Half marathon #95! The shirt is all kinds of cozy.</td></tr>
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I have another race coming up this Saturday, hopefully I won't be sore from the Herriman race anymore by the time the starting gun goes off... And before my training plan for February's 48 hour race starts next week. Eek. I don't know why I keep thinking I'll be ready for these things. I never am when it comes time. I guess it's time to find my mojo again. If anyone has motivation tips, feel free to throw them my way.<br />
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Until next time, happy running!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJHiw8tWcU2jYf4PhuroEQnCiYc22JYq6r_KHoK59hFn5SixBmtWVlId-VT_VMh8-ICP09UPDH8-5WTvbvB50_K1fC6bk12N6DblciyCcZuqSZQoPECbu7AT75D8WMP3nEf0nSfipRBx0/s1600/IMG_6242.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJHiw8tWcU2jYf4PhuroEQnCiYc22JYq6r_KHoK59hFn5SixBmtWVlId-VT_VMh8-ICP09UPDH8-5WTvbvB50_K1fC6bk12N6DblciyCcZuqSZQoPECbu7AT75D8WMP3nEf0nSfipRBx0/s400/IMG_6242.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Any typos or complaints can be taken up with my co-blogger, Sting. </td></tr>
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<br />PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-89901622376777649352017-06-11T18:44:00.000-06:002017-06-11T18:44:39.085-06:00Hello, internet. I am still here. I've been through writing slumps in the past, but I think that this is the slumpiest slump that has ever slumped a slump. I haven't stopped running (well, not exactly... but I'll go into that in a bit). It's been 4 months and 8 races since my last blogging. This is going to be a quick and dirty recap without a crazy amount of detail, or it will end up taking longer than the Lord of The Rings trilogy to get through.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIqt4xNkzq8cxZAt89COQOw-fJQogWIvHeLl1Jq3iUcd8ZTdfpbRc1AWpOJHho95m0EGmeqKUjE0exVYYvYJrl7r8L7t-xLfuK45lNGhQB6hKjgIelIAy0iAil_49Duc6l1VsfVcvWUYc/s1600/frabz-one-does-not-simply-fail-so-hard-f3b39c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="328" data-original-width="500" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIqt4xNkzq8cxZAt89COQOw-fJQogWIvHeLl1Jq3iUcd8ZTdfpbRc1AWpOJHho95m0EGmeqKUjE0exVYYvYJrl7r8L7t-xLfuK45lNGhQB6hKjgIelIAy0iAil_49Duc6l1VsfVcvWUYc/s400/frabz-one-does-not-simply-fail-so-hard-f3b39c.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Epic blogging failure, right here.</td></tr>
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So after the soaking wet adventure down at the Jackpot Ultrarunning Festival, it was time for the Monument Valley 50K, which got dropped down to the Monument Valley half marathon. (You'll see this drop in distance become a theme, so watch for that.) I just hadn't been dedicated enough to my training to be ready for the 50K distance, so the half was a good option for me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3uC8vkmxfknj5YySpwIQETJ0ra5z_0b8mjOX4ugtp0SnMRsVl1KjXcsKmE7HrbGZ8fxVa1e_sOv1XTUj__fB7oijU1QRVBQu-FJbWZ4VNCxOtWoUkZwIKhkZ21-vGPu_SojigO7-GCFw/s1600/monval2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="960" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3uC8vkmxfknj5YySpwIQETJ0ra5z_0b8mjOX4ugtp0SnMRsVl1KjXcsKmE7HrbGZ8fxVa1e_sOv1XTUj__fB7oijU1QRVBQu-FJbWZ4VNCxOtWoUkZwIKhkZ21-vGPu_SojigO7-GCFw/s400/monval2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love this place, so I wasn't going to not race some distance while I was there. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNsv6p-zVEoL_pgSD5tJq7xs_griZa7AbicdQsBO870_Uev2_iVSmA0vESdg9bCwj1Dzi7OPaDGSN4enPgbpcdntiIzDkpwD5E-Q-9owBaBsi5H_oyfmlJyUFJtjNG6sIf6mmn30guEWg/s1600/monval3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNsv6p-zVEoL_pgSD5tJq7xs_griZa7AbicdQsBO870_Uev2_iVSmA0vESdg9bCwj1Dzi7OPaDGSN4enPgbpcdntiIzDkpwD5E-Q-9owBaBsi5H_oyfmlJyUFJtjNG6sIf6mmn30guEWg/s400/monval3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Out on the course, walking a ton due to my heart rate, pulling faces for the camera. Photo cred to Scott M Stringham.</td></tr>
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My heart rate dictated a slow pace but we had a great time, as always, soaking up the breathtaking views in Monument Valley. Going there should be on everyone's bucket list.<br />
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After Monument Valley, I was able to go to France for 9 days, the amount of walking we did while we were there was insane, and helped to offset (somewhat) the amount of pastry eating I did while there.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeYPNgWpNomPmnIsqDj7q_2-Jj6nH3ptzS0PXIuFbM6dLubCk2aKYKp7M54A4MqtT4yxYw_SRng6sI6FdVM6yxOZqLypF6EeFgcXkHmujG0Rx2acI37aIIjKXBe9XblauRkUIEjACE-JY/s1600/frenchy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeYPNgWpNomPmnIsqDj7q_2-Jj6nH3ptzS0PXIuFbM6dLubCk2aKYKp7M54A4MqtT4yxYw_SRng6sI6FdVM6yxOZqLypF6EeFgcXkHmujG0Rx2acI37aIIjKXBe9XblauRkUIEjACE-JY/s400/frenchy.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actual pictorial account of pastry eating. Thanks to Scott for documenting my gluttony. To be fair, we both participated in the eating of these delightful delicacies. </td></tr>
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After my eating tour of France, it was time to get back to trying to train and run races. It didn't go so well... But I had paid for these races, so I showed up and gave it a go anyway. The Salt Lake half marathon was up next. At least when I signed up for this one, I knew I wouldn't be ready for anything longer than a half marathon after a decent time abroad. 10 points to me for planning ahead!<br />
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Scott's been running most of these races with me, and again, my heart rate dictated a slow pace. We took it easy and enjoyed the course. It was a welcome moment when we were directed away from the full marathon course and got to finish up our race.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNqQWjgaBxGLVX8S61zFWzQawbZMQO_2tj2WYrrtRatpf8aPa4o1D3yBSCwfaw1AvzOgNNU5Qn91CyDkOXX4rm3Vf5Yo61abYUxy7reM8ADqXn1w9-BlfGdxbfT8SHzYVC600DluY4TmM/s1600/slc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNqQWjgaBxGLVX8S61zFWzQawbZMQO_2tj2WYrrtRatpf8aPa4o1D3yBSCwfaw1AvzOgNNU5Qn91CyDkOXX4rm3Vf5Yo61abYUxy7reM8ADqXn1w9-BlfGdxbfT8SHzYVC600DluY4TmM/s400/slc.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swagalicious. </td></tr>
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Now Salt Lake turned out to be my 90th half marathon, and this got me thinking that I could get to my 100th this year if I found a few more half marys to throw in. So that lead me to running the Provo City half marathon next. Scott didn't run this one with me officially, but ran up the course to meet me and get his mileage in at the same time. I was managing a slow but steady pace, keeping my finicky heart rate in check. Even at the snail's pace I was moving, I was still able to pass a decent amount of people in the last three miles. That's one thing I've learned over my years of running races, if I pace myself, I will always end up finishing well ahead of the people who burn themselves out early on.<br />
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The next week, we ran the Dino Half, and as many of you know, it's my favorite race. The course is delightful, the medals are incredible. What more could a gal ask for?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7dBJ78LNR9inHa0dOBosXJ-sUYIkysTBq7Kir0PIDENmRQjVTlsc673MszjjKBQmt9NTlvgzYjaivjB1WLPs7bvwQGlkRuGo3AodIekI6vuj0dicwgrxwzMXLyAKb2Xj-yYy5ig1V_SQ/s1600/dino3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7dBJ78LNR9inHa0dOBosXJ-sUYIkysTBq7Kir0PIDENmRQjVTlsc673MszjjKBQmt9NTlvgzYjaivjB1WLPs7bvwQGlkRuGo3AodIekI6vuj0dicwgrxwzMXLyAKb2Xj-yYy5ig1V_SQ/s400/dino3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We are excited for this one. Obviously. </td></tr>
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I was hoping <span style="background-color: yellow;">to</span> run it faster than we did, but we didn't... And that's okay. The theme of all my races this year has been watching my heart rate. And that little bugger doesn't want me to go fast. (Like I was ever "fast" before. *insert snarky face emoticon here*)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUshZ5I9omXKjc2pIcmgRl5oGMhyphenhyphenZ5WDrGpAGs-NRSn5ZIAjEtq89ONeBbNf38TjR6TUtZydkkcXOmCqeHASpItbun8P4Rev9DwK78Z25S1x085iuxqrpkAOwM1ZcYyP2dMWwHgqNmD2M/s1600/dino2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUshZ5I9omXKjc2pIcmgRl5oGMhyphenhyphenZ5WDrGpAGs-NRSn5ZIAjEtq89ONeBbNf38TjR6TUtZydkkcXOmCqeHASpItbun8P4Rev9DwK78Z25S1x085iuxqrpkAOwM1ZcYyP2dMWwHgqNmD2M/s400/dino2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That medal though.</td></tr>
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The following weekend was the Ogden Marathon. Somehow, I was under the impression that getting one tiny run in during the week and one long run on the weekend would allow me to run a marathon without dying. Okay, so I didn't die, but let me just tell you that finishing up 10 seconds before the race ends isn't really thought of as a "win". I was pretty sore for a solid few days, imparting the wisdom of dropping to the half marathon distance in the future if I'm not properly trained.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghwkvDOJuKvjPKi8Y6nF05j0mZTk-thYfgN32hs4mwb7KdncTpjW74LNat2gpsqJLRy98vcMz_0IOoppkdpnebhbV_GTzsIM0bht1Mn1yQ4S1bIpEfHrywL3NMjq57yqTlGBVAE6VE7SY/s1600/ogden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghwkvDOJuKvjPKi8Y6nF05j0mZTk-thYfgN32hs4mwb7KdncTpjW74LNat2gpsqJLRy98vcMz_0IOoppkdpnebhbV_GTzsIM0bht1Mn1yQ4S1bIpEfHrywL3NMjq57yqTlGBVAE6VE7SY/s400/ogden.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">24th marathon swag.</td></tr>
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After the Ogden debacle, Scott and I threw in a couple of 5Ks, running the Run of Remembrance and the Art City Days 5K. I used to hate 5Ks, because I used to try and run them at a faster pace. Now my heart rate won't let me, so 5Ks are actually pretty nice. I just kind of cruise through at a leisurely pace and it's over in under an hour. Then breakfast burritos happen. Viva le 5K!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2H6gMtC_7yv1nlcxJ3iKKjrS3Y-thIfr-JMKgQ1-rtq_KbMa7LIDQZ_br1XF4YAo9VUCG7M2SRbsJGGdBL0X6TbV_iiIB1tG98Us31hbezJeYEEHpbURu22bD_G3rtPXc9raKxemNHHs/s1600/bkft.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="294" data-original-width="420" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2H6gMtC_7yv1nlcxJ3iKKjrS3Y-thIfr-JMKgQ1-rtq_KbMa7LIDQZ_br1XF4YAo9VUCG7M2SRbsJGGdBL0X6TbV_iiIB1tG98Us31hbezJeYEEHpbURu22bD_G3rtPXc9raKxemNHHs/s400/bkft.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Change "drink" to "eat" and we're in business. </td></tr>
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That brings us up to yesterday, where I was signed up to run the Utah Valley marathon, but had the good sense to drop down to the half because there's no way in h-e-double hockey sticks I would be able to finish the race before the cutoff. The sad truth is that I can't run a six and a half hour marathon right now. It's not possible with my atrocious level of training and rebellious heart rate. But Scott had a show to play that afternoon anyway, so dropping us both down to the half marathon actually made the whole day much more manageable.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4idc0eni7nEd2eUS4FDqYDgv3cuhAegBl-lBzcdhM6IZkRoxED2TMRGaA68JBWCW3qrCqj3Tn-D5EflG-2-D8RgNc2ZeMn0Iv27XXQrJ108K6GQblwPUiF8ph3C_-Rd-KtQ3MqcdGr_c/s1600/uvhalf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4idc0eni7nEd2eUS4FDqYDgv3cuhAegBl-lBzcdhM6IZkRoxED2TMRGaA68JBWCW3qrCqj3Tn-D5EflG-2-D8RgNc2ZeMn0Iv27XXQrJ108K6GQblwPUiF8ph3C_-Rd-KtQ3MqcdGr_c/s400/uvhalf.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We ended up getting the same 10 year anniversary jacket, so we were good with it. </td></tr>
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In between the 5Ks and the Utah Valley half, I finally took a step towards upping my training. When I moved from my mom's basement, I lost regular access to my favorite treadmill, Odin. So instead of leaving my husband and moving back into my mother's basement, I decided it was time to invest in my own nice treadmill. Here's a thing that you should know about me. I'm incredibly lazy. Like, soooooo lazy. I have a gym membership and all that. But the thought of having to dress in a socially acceptable manner and drive to the gym before the sun even comes up is not even slightly appealing. Getting all kitted out to run on the streets surrounding my house in the wee hours is just as bad. But the thought of rolling out of bed and throwing on whatever I grab first and getting my run in while watching Netflix is actually something I'm totally on board with.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5QCcnA33CFpoEeSH4Yxwu3XyPMwCl1KHrayPgTjQzo82KoB0ZfSUbcfCFKp7dBwskxrSQLOCskzB_Q98yLHI9dZgPwFBm1GOPRaviSxXEDD_cyCdyliTJ0WkR84HBRsmVRPs-um4Gqxg/s1600/val.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5QCcnA33CFpoEeSH4Yxwu3XyPMwCl1KHrayPgTjQzo82KoB0ZfSUbcfCFKp7dBwskxrSQLOCskzB_Q98yLHI9dZgPwFBm1GOPRaviSxXEDD_cyCdyliTJ0WkR84HBRsmVRPs-um4Gqxg/s400/val.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Squeeeeeeeeee! </td></tr>
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There she is. Valkyrie (Val for short). The Nordictrack Elite 3750. This baby can do decline of 3% even. Treadmills can do decline these days! Who knew?! Since we've had Val, I've managed to follow my training plan to the letter. It's amazing what spending nearly $1500 does to your motivation level. But seriously, I should have done done this a long time ago. She's going to get me back on track, and for real this time.<br />
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I may need to see a professional about my heart though... I've had three separate instances where my heart just started racing and then I almost blacked out. It never happens while I'm running, it's always when I'm in a reasonably relaxed state, although I am wondering if it could be a form of panic attack. It's been almost two months since the last episode though, so who knows if I'll ever make that doctor's appointment. I know I'm not the only one who puts off going to the doctor, so no one gets to chastise me here. My husband and mother will do plenty of that. It's their job, after all.<br />
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I will try to do a better job of blogging in the future. I actually have a fair bit of fun stuff coming up, race wise, so I need to make sure it gets the credit its due. Until next time, happy running, cats and kittens!<br />
<br />PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-23160623373281958462017-03-05T21:06:00.000-07:002017-03-05T21:06:17.961-07:00The Jackpot ReportThere's this race that I totally dig. So I keep signing up for it. I know many people who don't understand the appeal of running around in circles for hours. But I'm telling you, it's the shiz. The Jackpot Ultrarunning Festival gives you all the running in circles for hours that your little heart can stand.<br />
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I enjoy the chance to go down to sunny Las Vegas in the middle of the bleak Utah winter. Too bad this year Las Vegas was NOT sunny. It was washing away in the mighty tempest, Lucifer.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH8Xvhf4TGjuyoVblKNumcO21GcEwU78KDPPt7KZoDZxh0iHHJPJY52Zxru9T6F-4la5972hmsNbIkpOncMogNrwWLnotOUk2bI6iWZdxFbPElcPN7JJOTddAscMenYZF7uARbct5ljs4/s1600/columbus-flooding-becky-cook-thies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH8Xvhf4TGjuyoVblKNumcO21GcEwU78KDPPt7KZoDZxh0iHHJPJY52Zxru9T6F-4la5972hmsNbIkpOncMogNrwWLnotOUk2bI6iWZdxFbPElcPN7JJOTddAscMenYZF7uARbct5ljs4/s400/columbus-flooding-becky-cook-thies.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kind of like this...</td></tr>
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I came to my sesnses after last year's 48 hour debacle and only signed up for the 12 hour race this year. It's strange that chosing to run for 12 hours is a sensible act... My training for the 12 hour was mostly okay, actually. I did miss a couple of long runs. but I didn't have much of a goal for this race (besides surviving) so I didn't stress too much about it.<br />
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Scott was also signed up for the 12 hour. Below, you will see how absolutely thrilled he is to have agreed to this aforementioned sensible act.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPjPJ2Z_ykD4IKB51JR7XIr81L8IhadAM_-jkIld4QwUz5WFHu26qGwysLze18TLbUE8Q3jeZ4mR_tBrKmb9q-hpIWBiLOLdgCuU8iETvmVlYkNkGlrVshERtk6paDbYTbrQM_CTPJcQQ/s1600/IMG_5088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPjPJ2Z_ykD4IKB51JR7XIr81L8IhadAM_-jkIld4QwUz5WFHu26qGwysLze18TLbUE8Q3jeZ4mR_tBrKmb9q-hpIWBiLOLdgCuU8iETvmVlYkNkGlrVshERtk6paDbYTbrQM_CTPJcQQ/s400/IMG_5088.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He's never been more excited. </td></tr>
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As you can see, we're decked out in the fancy ponchos we picked up before heading to the race. Fun fact, and spoiler alert: if you run for 12 hours in a fancy poncho, you will smell like a swamp monster when you finally take it off in your hotel room that evening.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi35vgWAqEWQWU4j1zaVefEk1__k5zUjwMXlfOPZyXj_qVg6PbGwQLwcst0NFwrBMe_mOHYDhQDSKQ6bRaWIz5r02FKxOhgmAHhGoxwZEEuhyPAkUsfUjiYX3QM7OkZz06fV21BXDVKW18/s1600/bd22df3f826409de4b810f5914065089.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi35vgWAqEWQWU4j1zaVefEk1__k5zUjwMXlfOPZyXj_qVg6PbGwQLwcst0NFwrBMe_mOHYDhQDSKQ6bRaWIz5r02FKxOhgmAHhGoxwZEEuhyPAkUsfUjiYX3QM7OkZz06fV21BXDVKW18/s400/bd22df3f826409de4b810f5914065089.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My actual face when I caught of whiff of myself.</td></tr>
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But I digress. I should start at the beginning, and when I get to the end, I should stop. The race began at 8 a.m., allowing for a bit of sleeping in. The 48 hour runners had been on the go for 24 hours at this point. I don't think they were all that thrilled to see a group of fresh faced runners jumping on the course. Since there was nothing they could do to stop us, we joined in the fun.<br />
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The rain had caused actual flash flooding on the course, so the course was altered to include a nice long incline. But what goes up must go down on a loop course, so I didn't mind much. At this point, hills are just built in walk breaks. I'm still watching my heart rate like a hawk, so the ups were walked, the downs and flats were run, as much as my heart would allow.<br />
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The rain was relentless, but at least it wasn't too cold. I started with a long sleeve shirt on under my poncho, but after a couple of laps, I had to change to a tank top. The poncho held the heat in pretty well, hence the swamp monster effect.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1tiD2lipUmGG_FLqVbuvl3C-9NBBJ3G71UQui9BktEk0slAnbAY64PCoJbKM6EkRsUaOKhica2D8sabBdp2-lvp_oVzFOYK1iS0107VtOoef43CUXhB8JnOUp68mrvN_D-3WSxOq1DkY/s1600/IMG_5115.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1tiD2lipUmGG_FLqVbuvl3C-9NBBJ3G71UQui9BktEk0slAnbAY64PCoJbKM6EkRsUaOKhica2D8sabBdp2-lvp_oVzFOYK1iS0107VtOoef43CUXhB8JnOUp68mrvN_D-3WSxOq1DkY/s400/IMG_5115.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whee! This is fun. Isn't this fun?!</td></tr>
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I have to say, that even with the imperfect training and the weather conditions, I managed to feel good for about 10 hours of this race. I didn't need to change shoes the entire race, which is a first in my timed race career. Scott wasn't so lucky. Multiple shoe changes and he still ended up with a blister under his big toenail. The amount of mini lemon cakes and bite sized brownies he ate during the race soothed his sorrows somewhat.<br />
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We didn't spend much time stopped, and I was pleased with my effort overall. I made it 38 miles in total, although my official distance was 37.5 miles. Those treks to the bathroom add mileage, y'all. I know this hasn't been a race report fraught with peril and overcoming obstacles. But really, this race just went well. I felt good, Scott hit his goal of 40 miles, we saw friends, we ate good food, we spent 12 hours running in the pouring rain together and we're still married.<br />
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Here's the thing about having a good race, it makes you think you should sign up for the 48 hour for the next year. And that's what I did, cats and kittens. I only have so much sensibility in my body and I used it all up. Present-self is always so sure that future-self will be ready for the things that present-self signs future-self up for. Maybe this time, it will acutally be true. Judging by the way I blew off my 16 mile run today in order to make macarons, I wouldn't hold out too much hope if I were you...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE5ATd-IcjMa5aTKqzmnbRuCHuT9xqzABhXsNm8l2R7R-t9V8j_FmfDxHmr6r8tw7z1b0Lv52dV3w5hqOmwLZMcVXoZqLQnC8Vmx3Xsx3B9utKgrtc72UniDYm8OHKrrlrnw9TsB3Bz6I/s1600/macaron.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE5ATd-IcjMa5aTKqzmnbRuCHuT9xqzABhXsNm8l2R7R-t9V8j_FmfDxHmr6r8tw7z1b0Lv52dV3w5hqOmwLZMcVXoZqLQnC8Vmx3Xsx3B9utKgrtc72UniDYm8OHKrrlrnw9TsB3Bz6I/s400/macaron.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's Nutella in them and I will never apologize for that. </td></tr>
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So stay tuned for exciting tales of base building and heart rate monitoring! Until next time, happy running!<br />
<br />PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-66792288020743948462017-01-16T19:58:00.000-07:002017-01-16T19:58:01.810-07:00Who Runs in the Winter? Crazy People, That's Who.January: The bleakest month of the entire year. The holidays are over. (That's a relief, though, let's be honest. Bad example. Moving on.) January: Full of sadness, coldness, ice, and snow. And, surprise, races!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAF0LJfMUQ5tBW7jDQ_yV-JdlR7O5ON3gauK2dPpI-RIrJIOut-2fgk8yLZSIpi36k2AvD1AV2aUM61uRUmmCSASYDl0Ew0fn4CcBKTnTTD-aBVSvP1whcdsq-O5PAmZzIhkbjO3sU3n8/s1600/stg7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAF0LJfMUQ5tBW7jDQ_yV-JdlR7O5ON3gauK2dPpI-RIrJIOut-2fgk8yLZSIpi36k2AvD1AV2aUM61uRUmmCSASYDl0Ew0fn4CcBKTnTTD-aBVSvP1whcdsq-O5PAmZzIhkbjO3sU3n8/s400/stg7.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">People who like winter are a special kind of crazy, and not a good kind of crazy.</td></tr>
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It also takes a special kind of crazy to have a race the first weekend of January in Utah. This little event that I got peer pressured into running by my friends Jamie and Cevan, was the New Year's Half Marathon. And since misery loves company, I peer pressured my spousal unit into running it with me. Public service announcement: Peer pressure is an ugly thing that tends to snowball out of control and leaves you in situations you'd rather not be in.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDEDQD_VH0Lg61KZkPe8YepxjLf7l6Sv70wtMEgW-qfEgVxNfuF7xGolMSt_dQT82NGd5FTlBaxZ_1ei5l1KMY3doQkwGdSot2Svz8n48ECiK-OZVeHh114mxheeORIAVfG5kFvmbbGtY/s1600/stg8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDEDQD_VH0Lg61KZkPe8YepxjLf7l6Sv70wtMEgW-qfEgVxNfuF7xGolMSt_dQT82NGd5FTlBaxZ_1ei5l1KMY3doQkwGdSot2Svz8n48ECiK-OZVeHh114mxheeORIAVfG5kFvmbbGtY/s400/stg8.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">C'mon, everybody's doing it.</td></tr>
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The winter hadn't actually been too bad around here, for the most part. We had a couple decent winter storms, but we were able to dig out alright. So I thought maybe the race wouldn't be so bad. And then the cold snap came. Now I know it gets a lot colder in other places, but when the morning of the race rolled around and it was a balmy 5 degrees Fahrenheit, I knew my lungs were in for a treat. Utah has notoriously bad winter air already, so running outside at this time of year is generally advised against. Stepping out into the frigid, polluted air causes instant coughing fits.<br />
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Scott and I prepared the best we could, layers upon layers, while trying to avoid having TOO many layers, because then you sweat too much and freeze to death. Winter running can be a logistical nightmare. We stuffed heat packs into our shoes and between our layers of gloves and headed to the race.<br />
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They offered an early start for the slower runners and walkers, which I gladly took advantage of. They were having a chili lunch for us afterward, and I wanted there to be food left by the time I got there. With a field of 41 runners, I knew I would be very close to last, if not actually last.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdMcirfDGrAGzfMtp-SiVEaxsa4uY96cC2s-pU4V9l1hwW1-QLaor8K_iWDC8tp4duXiIurVH299PfUT58XTX9llgdWHI0PKJ4mKsTZsAWhZmEW1OQVFMh61qYZc3Q2QKi-R8LIHyFSRw/s1600/stg6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdMcirfDGrAGzfMtp-SiVEaxsa4uY96cC2s-pU4V9l1hwW1-QLaor8K_iWDC8tp4duXiIurVH299PfUT58XTX9llgdWHI0PKJ4mKsTZsAWhZmEW1OQVFMh61qYZc3Q2QKi-R8LIHyFSRw/s400/stg6.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quick! Take the picture! If we stand still too long, we'll be frozen solid.</td></tr>
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After we had been running for around an hour, we passed a sign that displayed the temperature. It said 7 degrees Fahrenheit. Oh good. Things are looking up. There was ice in my hair, ice in the water bottles, ice in the buff that I put up over my mouth and nose for a bit. Condensation is no fun.<br />
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I've been tracking my heart rate in a freakishly obsessive way, but I couldn't during this run. I had to have my Fitbit next to my skin, and that skin was under three layers, so I didn't get to check it once during the race. I tried to do it by feel. Guess what. Feel means nothing in that temperature. We were keeping an extremely moderate pace, 13-15 minute miles. But my lungs ached and I couldn't catch my breath. I could feel my heart racing more than it should have been for the effort we were putting out. The frigid temperatures had to have played a part in my difficulties.<br />
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When I was able to upload the data, I found that my heart rate had been at peak BPMs for over 2 hours of the run. No wonder I felt like death warmed over the last three miles. I would attempt to run and it would last maybe 30 seconds before my breathing was out of control and my heart was pounding. So we would walk. And shiver. And try to run again. It was such a relief to turn the final corner and reach the finish line. We immediately grabbed bowls of steaming chili and tried to warm up inside the building. The upside is that we learned that we had finally grasped proper layering. Our hands and feet stayed warm, and as long as we kept moving, we didn't turn into popsicles.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVhJBEEGC2mNMTYJDET71EF9LkNFVzcp-spZUYvZWTXxKF6BSGInYbxGs6RGnDImRN2bpioqdYYHqHkvyczJx0nnkkDWqgN8cb3iqIIsY1DZzrrUJim-LlbsqmXXZdhenFQCduANp8ldw/s1600/stg5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVhJBEEGC2mNMTYJDET71EF9LkNFVzcp-spZUYvZWTXxKF6BSGInYbxGs6RGnDImRN2bpioqdYYHqHkvyczJx0nnkkDWqgN8cb3iqIIsY1DZzrrUJim-LlbsqmXXZdhenFQCduANp8ldw/s400/stg5.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That snowman is WAY too happy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After that race, my resting heart rate jumped up to 73 BPM. In October, I had it down to 55 BPM. Yikes. So I spent a careful week obsessively tracking my heart rate, getting in all my recovery workouts, and trying to get enough sleep. I wanted to be feeling better for the next week's race, the St. George Half Marathon.<br />
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The glorious thing about the St. George half, is that it's in St. George. January in St. George is quite pleasant, with temperatures in the 40s and 50s. Utah is an interesting place, climate-wise. Hop in the car for a few hours and all of the sudden there are palm trees and red rocks, and perfect running weather.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNIwQKf5NR_RXmRv_jwc-IG7SFHNfUZ9t6TkWow5moMSHY-5MEoBuYnN76LM0-3N2ioLWMqm7XbJ76qHG8FoaZhwJYr79THKC5Ci8BT-up-u_9Dgx7yr3vLjR7RIyq5v0n8O98btIPOns/s1600/stg9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNIwQKf5NR_RXmRv_jwc-IG7SFHNfUZ9t6TkWow5moMSHY-5MEoBuYnN76LM0-3N2ioLWMqm7XbJ76qHG8FoaZhwJYr79THKC5Ci8BT-up-u_9Dgx7yr3vLjR7RIyq5v0n8O98btIPOns/s400/stg9.jpg" width="305" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It truly was.</td></tr>
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Race morning in St. George gave us a temperature in the lower 40s with an overcast sky. A race start time of 9:00 a.m. meant that we could get plenty of sleep. I was fairly certain that we were in heaven. Our hotel was only a couple of minutes from the start line. We found a good parking spot, had enough time to hit the port-a-potties, and line up to run. Easy breezy.<br />
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I was able to keep an eye on my heart rate the whole time this race as well. It jumped up a little too quickly in the first half mile of the race, forcing me to walk for a bit to bring it down. I think I just got caught up in the crowd of runners and was running just a tad too fast. After that, I kept it in check like a boss. It was not fast going, but we were making better time than we had at the New Year's race.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglnB1UOfgbnko7a-kmIya4Q3RVQaLrSz9R-js7EAomS86oXeOD6Me8A4mekd1SFM5Sdp4m52baWALg52b8qJx08eQCf9zRdR6aMeabKwXVwiTwUJHnG2bZfbWVMaMsPOw8iMzBqZ8qTZE/s1600/stg2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglnB1UOfgbnko7a-kmIya4Q3RVQaLrSz9R-js7EAomS86oXeOD6Me8A4mekd1SFM5Sdp4m52baWALg52b8qJx08eQCf9zRdR6aMeabKwXVwiTwUJHnG2bZfbWVMaMsPOw8iMzBqZ8qTZE/s400/stg2.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loving every minute of the glorious sun and warmth.</td></tr>
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I felt pretty darn good through the whole race. And starting around mile 8, we began passing people. We probably passed 15-20 people in the last few miles of the race. My breathing wasn't labored. My body was enjoying the easy pace, keeping the heart rate right where I wanted it. For the last half mile, I figured I wouldn't keep an eye on it anymore and just kick it into gear for a strong finish. It worked out splendidly. We cruised under the finish arch feeling great, and I knew that if I needed to, I could have kept up my easy pace for hours more. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivyLhnia4OfXTbKDedaMnjJPcFBaITYjXZXY1_XImTvy9oDabwad_nrV30bOKvlsz_JWl1j6Kre58cRMbC7nIWq13R5oWVHtPq6BBhM3CrGPi_yED1-OFfMGZ1WNpYWHx-5vs4feJoOl4/s1600/stg3.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivyLhnia4OfXTbKDedaMnjJPcFBaITYjXZXY1_XImTvy9oDabwad_nrV30bOKvlsz_JWl1j6Kre58cRMbC7nIWq13R5oWVHtPq6BBhM3CrGPi_yED1-OFfMGZ1WNpYWHx-5vs4feJoOl4/s400/stg3.PNG" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">NAILED IT.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was so pleased with how it went. The data confirmed what my body was telling me. I nailed that LSD. I beat the New Year's half time by 15 minutes. But the best part is that I didn't feel wrecked for the rest of the weekend like the week before.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVzsxdP9FZN1AW_pT7eQHDFZCExLKMTwJsNd4poQ11TbeB7m154PXOPBHF4y8q4zgZmhEg9jry7MM5ki0lw-l2crfIPzp4l4kA5bt1bT9eEBQMFJ7JUWPsyf1_0aTN7ENiA1nNABGH_ZU/s1600/stg4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVzsxdP9FZN1AW_pT7eQHDFZCExLKMTwJsNd4poQ11TbeB7m154PXOPBHF4y8q4zgZmhEg9jry7MM5ki0lw-l2crfIPzp4l4kA5bt1bT9eEBQMFJ7JUWPsyf1_0aTN7ENiA1nNABGH_ZU/s400/stg4.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Half marathon #88, done and done well.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My resting heart rate has come down some, but it's still a bit higher than I'd like. But the heart rate training is really going pretty well. I have to say that it gets frustrating at times. I mean, I've always been a slow runner, but running as slow as it takes to keep my heart rate down actually hurts a little. My muscles are adapting to a different, slower stride, and it hasn't always felt very nice. But the longer that I do it, it's feeling better. Eventually, my cardiovascular system will be strong enough to keep a low heart rate with a faster pace. That's the goal, cats and kittens.<br />
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For the next month, I will try and dial in my training for the Jackpot 12 hour event. I've been getting in my multiple hours of running on the weekends, and it's been feeling pretty good. I've got weekends coming up with 5, 6, and 8 hour runs scheduled. Thank goodness for Netflix and the treadmill.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLv3GSNdi-lddNvsVLhLlAZbpXstaWXVEN86MEKLkDGI_Oz9KUj6nDe8vXrBh4hyphenhyphendyGrvIswrBBKrIOjUt_ql0T3F1zlgh67LpkPKvSbDPU9gKqdrCLKtpCZPqMdbg93-RgWfJeXUa5pE/s1600/stg1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLv3GSNdi-lddNvsVLhLlAZbpXstaWXVEN86MEKLkDGI_Oz9KUj6nDe8vXrBh4hyphenhyphendyGrvIswrBBKrIOjUt_ql0T3F1zlgh67LpkPKvSbDPU9gKqdrCLKtpCZPqMdbg93-RgWfJeXUa5pE/s400/stg1.JPG" width="345" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's how it feels.</td></tr>
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It takes an incredible amount of time to train for these things, but really, it's my only hobby, so I suppose it's as good of a use of my time as any. People love to give ultra runners a hard time about it. Other people spend that much time on their hobbies, or even just messing around on the interwebs or glued to their smart phones. How come no one ever asks those people to justify how they're spending their time? Okay, rant over.<br />
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I'll catch y'all on the flip side. Until then, happy running!<br />
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<br />PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-39986500991835487052016-12-31T18:51:00.000-07:002016-12-31T18:51:09.645-07:00Baker's Dozen and Year in Review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Here we are, in the last hours on the last day of 2016. As per usual, I've put off blogging for as long as possible. Since it's basically zero hour for a year end report, I figured that I had better get on it.<br />
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So let's talk about some running, mmmkay? My final race for the year was my 86th half marathon, the Baker's Dozen. The Baker's Dozen is the ultimate in gluttony while running. The whole point of the race is to eat as many treats as you possibly can, all while trying to run a half marathon. What's not to love?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi72pMmS10qmpFkQegimcbTiSywugH0O40yUVrihpgFwI9RW0cBgOZgnFZF2ZkaVqQadmtjRG7dHMwlMAmfCfiKuZK0upRo1drCKKSuVgbUq1MnsIePHyh5Evo_mWXNKQLr9SEdduuIdsM/s1600/20165.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi72pMmS10qmpFkQegimcbTiSywugH0O40yUVrihpgFwI9RW0cBgOZgnFZF2ZkaVqQadmtjRG7dHMwlMAmfCfiKuZK0upRo1drCKKSuVgbUq1MnsIePHyh5Evo_mWXNKQLr9SEdduuIdsM/s400/20165.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Scott had it in his head that he wanted to go for the win in the eating contest. I didn't want to watch him puke his guts out so I talked him out of it. I'm not sure if that makes me a good wife or a bad wife. I mean, I should be supporting his goals, but who wants to watch their spouse spew doughnut chunks all over the race course? The winner of the treat eating contest gets a gift card for $100, so I understand the temptation, but personally, I would need a LOT more money to go through that kind of agony.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRotywxGvaJ52W_b1WdAauBe6mTBU6oMjry_EGaQKmxUI2lf8-ocUBxxEap7WcE3ZF-Tp-R7KiFr76joEbOBIZnUf5UwzSJdxN_9PdBTQWA0yWMn32_jic_tpiauwrt51yV2u8oHSQfw/s1600/20166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRotywxGvaJ52W_b1WdAauBe6mTBU6oMjry_EGaQKmxUI2lf8-ocUBxxEap7WcE3ZF-Tp-R7KiFr76joEbOBIZnUf5UwzSJdxN_9PdBTQWA0yWMn32_jic_tpiauwrt51yV2u8oHSQfw/s400/20166.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love you, baby. Please don't eat too much and throw it all up, at least not where I can see, okay?</td></tr>
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The race isn't timed, so there's approximately zero pressure. Y'all know how I like that. So we started out at a nice easy pace, and just enjoyed all of the great outfits people were wearing. That's the other fun part about this race. People dress in either a Christmas motif, or in junk food accoutrements. I chose the latter.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2SXsYiS6CyqKB3SVdP77P6TPIgKtZzY3S2CF1ajGmGn2yuBAHE91i6phEQCrXUQ69sRBKfF6k3kkE6rykzgfEe9VtJvetXdwe-XceYMn7XmQnCJwvAgjpGNwZHlTJdo4Jjkvl9dD2sfA/s1600/20168.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2SXsYiS6CyqKB3SVdP77P6TPIgKtZzY3S2CF1ajGmGn2yuBAHE91i6phEQCrXUQ69sRBKfF6k3kkE6rykzgfEe9VtJvetXdwe-XceYMn7XmQnCJwvAgjpGNwZHlTJdo4Jjkvl9dD2sfA/s400/20168.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He actually was at one time or another. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE7aEfaBMCOV92tTATHI53mXOYlQ3H4Ht7vorLImFehHTHdnVwZWpe4A8cs7DxrxpX6wZAqtG2pdBqmEOmErBTXNvpIxULpocsa9etElsTQK8vc0vsw_5wNF7B-O5wRZfRT5Z418aor7c/s1600/2016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE7aEfaBMCOV92tTATHI53mXOYlQ3H4Ht7vorLImFehHTHdnVwZWpe4A8cs7DxrxpX6wZAqtG2pdBqmEOmErBTXNvpIxULpocsa9etElsTQK8vc0vsw_5wNF7B-O5wRZfRT5Z418aor7c/s400/2016.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pants with pizza, doughnuts, soda, burgers, hotdogs, and ice cream cones? Check.</td></tr>
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The race director also gives a prize for the best jump. I, obviously cannot time a jump to save my life, while Scott did a masterful leap of excellence and grace.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNDiEW0Sr2TiS70AH9NvxsBBbrc98fBV_kvTRwyhOXt2MdaTKo_b4hnBu57uKVzk1y0BCwPrXaG7pkynqQj605JCItYWF3JMuNZ2KbTGzX6AlE2stsE_bdoIAWaxnu991xz8jwQtc7o9M/s1600/20163.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNDiEW0Sr2TiS70AH9NvxsBBbrc98fBV_kvTRwyhOXt2MdaTKo_b4hnBu57uKVzk1y0BCwPrXaG7pkynqQj605JCItYWF3JMuNZ2KbTGzX6AlE2stsE_bdoIAWaxnu991xz8jwQtc7o9M/s400/20163.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He jumped all the cones when he ran this race last year. We had to do one, for old time's sake. </td></tr>
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I ended up eating 6 treats, while Scott stuffed down about 15. His stomach wasn't thrilled with that amount, but at least it all stayed inside his belly. I believe the winner consumed 60+ treats over the course of the 13 miles, and threw up an undisclosed amount of times.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmbdWtCzEVkH-LoMBT3YpspYycyN4JG3Ohltcwyf74bqNqhTRr0mdAEUTXr-I8xBdGfwYnqAmuSg476KOQNNz7FVTBNu6oFBNW6ngecN_-JpVj00RXiRi82htaWhyvKdtdegBQMGp_BkI/s1600/20167.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmbdWtCzEVkH-LoMBT3YpspYycyN4JG3Ohltcwyf74bqNqhTRr0mdAEUTXr-I8xBdGfwYnqAmuSg476KOQNNz7FVTBNu6oFBNW6ngecN_-JpVj00RXiRi82htaWhyvKdtdegBQMGp_BkI/s400/20167.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The dude in the orange head gear is the one who won the eating contest, as photo bombing luck would have it. </td></tr>
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This race not only has fun costumes, great food, and friendly volunteers, it also has some of the greatest swag of all time. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCtinKuhbpIOiYMk__9BiqAL0gIaf7I_A2MA5HcX_ulLkB2CqU9q5qX6LfakCUrQxllCB27UddETVrRLMIAE-N5beLay3t5Pxw8nmwc-Q66QTpDEv6YLECHXDfK3CFCq99cWYoE9HDsxc/s1600/20162.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCtinKuhbpIOiYMk__9BiqAL0gIaf7I_A2MA5HcX_ulLkB2CqU9q5qX6LfakCUrQxllCB27UddETVrRLMIAE-N5beLay3t5Pxw8nmwc-Q66QTpDEv6YLECHXDfK3CFCq99cWYoE9HDsxc/s400/20162.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Medal as big as my face? CHECK.</td></tr>
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Who doesn't want a medal that also doubles as a blunt object in case of an attack? It's a glorious thing to see that happy doughnut frolicking upon a field of cupcakes. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCS2Ay_m9AzjOj3tvcC_YTqfdKrwFYzdZ9YPZPIxAydkHKsrhUOnqpV2BkpLVNMGPb-3L9NKh-nFP4s0Ssm4I0bHThIRyYmtQAfiGcVaEL1LNMPtwAQkTWtDQqul4fImaN1JWmOuqrzyQ/s1600/20164.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCS2Ay_m9AzjOj3tvcC_YTqfdKrwFYzdZ9YPZPIxAydkHKsrhUOnqpV2BkpLVNMGPb-3L9NKh-nFP4s0Ssm4I0bHThIRyYmtQAfiGcVaEL1LNMPtwAQkTWtDQqul4fImaN1JWmOuqrzyQ/s400/20164.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plus another sweet hat for my growing collection. Get it? Sweet hat?! </td></tr>
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There you have it. The final race report of the year. It's a good thing I have a race each of the next two Saturdays so that 2017 can start with a bang. Let's be honest. It's got to go better than 2016 did, right? There shouldn't be any major life changes coming up, so my training may actually go back to normal! A gal can hope, anyway. </div>
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2016 took me to a lot of new places and races. It gave me a new distance PR. It gave me a better understanding of just what it really takes to get where I want to be. (I've got an ENORMOUS amount of work to do if I'm ever going to make that 100 mile goal.) At this point, I'm going easy, tracking my heart rate obsessively during every run. That's made for some extremely slow running, with a fair bit of walking thrown in. But I have finally decided to do what it takes to get stronger and healthier as a runner. Getting my heart rate under control will lead to more efficient running, and when you're heavier and slower like me, efficiency is a life saver. </div>
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Here's to a happy and healthy 2017. Get out there and get shit done, cats and kittens. The only time you actually have is now, so do the most you can with it. Carpe the hell out of diem and keep on running. </div>
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Much love,</div>
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Heather</div>
PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-46368865613848694642016-11-27T13:39:00.001-07:002016-11-27T13:39:52.769-07:00November Race ReportPerhaps the title to this episode of blogging should be "Running Ultras Without Proper Training" or something to that effect. But I would hate to advocate for that sort of nonsense.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipBuNwOf2lbByrt2-ze1vyuzDtCDGodSgFuv1RXbMx36hVxjm68r2OyGEqL94cghX7Qna2EwHW9FwroxJIJOXppUv-WQzCtgMX7C01sLIxwUE3JwAFH2f4N-adqPuY6WPfojs5kifxXio/s1600/training-2l1rfe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipBuNwOf2lbByrt2-ze1vyuzDtCDGodSgFuv1RXbMx36hVxjm68r2OyGEqL94cghX7Qna2EwHW9FwroxJIJOXppUv-WQzCtgMX7C01sLIxwUE3JwAFH2f4N-adqPuY6WPfojs5kifxXio/s400/training-2l1rfe.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Back on Memorial Day, Scott and I were waiting for the start of the 10K that we were running that morning when an email came in from Mad Moose Events, promoting their Dead Horse Ultra event in November. There was a 30K, 50K, and 50 mile option. I told Scott I would like to do the 30K. He was feeling much more ambitious that day and talked me into running the 50K instead. His reasoning was that he will already have run a marathon by that point, so why not just run an ultra? I've created a monster.<br />
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So life happened, as you've all read about in the blogs since May, and to make a long story short, we weren't quite ready to tackle 30ish miles through the desert. A couple of weeks before the race, I had attempted to do a back to back long run weekend with 10 miles on Saturday and 20 on Sunday. The 10 went fine, the 20 imploded just before 11 miles and I made Scott come pick me up and take me home. Then we had a 15 miler the week before the race where my body betrayed me and I had to spend an embarrassingly long time in a gas station bathroom. I wasn't feeling terribly optimistic about the 50K after all that.<br />
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We made it down to Moab and arrived at packet pick up with 5 minutes to spare before it ended for the night. They did have packet pick up available race morning, but I always feel better if I have my stuff the night before. After we checked into the hotel, we met up with Jamie for dinner at Zax. We had talked Jamie and our other friend, Polli, into running the 50K as well.<br />
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We arrived to a chilly start line, but there was a variety of hot beverages to be had while we waited for the starting gun.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidhqCyhu7flSBK_FeHKUwGsI-fSZf_62UkEPVNvqt4-sTBYDALUg_iZQGzWFnYmalCP6Wk-glwFgwNDmkDv64ReITTh8dGHViIFXAbOvCSNin3SunWA7pTxeMvHknDqSrwBrPjqVxBPDY/s1600/dh8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidhqCyhu7flSBK_FeHKUwGsI-fSZf_62UkEPVNvqt4-sTBYDALUg_iZQGzWFnYmalCP6Wk-glwFgwNDmkDv64ReITTh8dGHViIFXAbOvCSNin3SunWA7pTxeMvHknDqSrwBrPjqVxBPDY/s400/dh8.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's c-c-c-cold. But gorgeous. Photo courtesy of Jamie Eckles. </td></tr>
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The race starts right off sending the runners straight up the Gemini Bridges road, so there was very little running on my part early on. I don't run straight up anything very well.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj45Mwt88L5sFgPKm5aJw0Hy8GG9puwxkylmFGMDS3us2I1uXXzVkJ8DTfTdyEghve4F6leofTAyYGI5r6-WS5vJW48oywL4bT17uCb-D247vWhN1USmqPKLJiOO-AMGu9WqonRyv_mq54/s1600/dh5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj45Mwt88L5sFgPKm5aJw0Hy8GG9puwxkylmFGMDS3us2I1uXXzVkJ8DTfTdyEghve4F6leofTAyYGI5r6-WS5vJW48oywL4bT17uCb-D247vWhN1USmqPKLJiOO-AMGu9WqonRyv_mq54/s400/dh5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Making my way up, slowly. Very slowly. Photo credit Scott M. Stringham.</td></tr>
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It took a few miles of climbing before things leveled out and we were able to start making up some time. After about an hour, it was time to fuel, but I was having a really hard time getting the Lara Bar to go down. It's not that my stomach was upset, but I wanted to gag every time I took a bite. So I gave up trying to eat it and waited for the aid station. I knew we were close, so I wasn't too worried about getting caught in too much of a calorie deficit. I was able to drink Coke and eat potato chips at the aid station without feeling like gagging, so that was a good sign. I grabbed some candy to take with me as we continued on and that went down fine as well.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhntiiWv3M_0QVDyJc-WIqUUopNNfy63sQTPgqd78bXozjQDaAGNSuUiroDZ3GfOaRAY5SX5jrGx1TF1Y6bkA5nOAZU2rv6HGvZAcTsNFikbA5xckH04Yi91U5CvWAj3uBST0sTb8gFVew/s1600/dh6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhntiiWv3M_0QVDyJc-WIqUUopNNfy63sQTPgqd78bXozjQDaAGNSuUiroDZ3GfOaRAY5SX5jrGx1TF1Y6bkA5nOAZU2rv6HGvZAcTsNFikbA5xckH04Yi91U5CvWAj3uBST0sTb8gFVew/s400/dh6.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeling good now that the trail is flatter and the sun is warming us up. Photo credit Scott M. Stringham.</td></tr>
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We started knocking out some decently paced miles after that. The sun was up and making things much more pleasant, temperature wise. And then we got lost. Both of us missed a big yellow sign with an arrow on it and we kept heading down the double track dirt road instead of veering off onto the slick rock trail like we were supposed to. I stopped for a moment and looked around "There aren't any blue trail markers here.". To which Scott replied "But there's footprints.". So we kept going, all the while I'm lamenting the lack of trail markers. We finally spotted a group of runners up ahead. The only problem was that they were running towards us, and not away from us. As they ran past, they told us to turn around, that they were lost. I knew it. We had been seeing markers about every 50 feet and then to not see any for that long meant we were off track. So we headed back the way we came, found the turn, and continued on the proper way. We added just over half a mile extra to our race. I was just glad it wasn't more.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwU2nIFXzd6JR59ee81hl_Xqy6zjNpSr16JWlwyVSX9KVu9Q2ilHraOnHyEAsXD9gJ0FOlCQHA5K4d2Whk5JawQLmxbvLoZ8Kpp_x-He6y2gQ6O1upYC6RgCN3YJ7rSGQ3HGULzObi4tM/s1600/dh3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwU2nIFXzd6JR59ee81hl_Xqy6zjNpSr16JWlwyVSX9KVu9Q2ilHraOnHyEAsXD9gJ0FOlCQHA5K4d2Whk5JawQLmxbvLoZ8Kpp_x-He6y2gQ6O1upYC6RgCN3YJ7rSGQ3HGULzObi4tM/s400/dh3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back on track, enjoying nature's wonders. Photo credit Scott M. Stringham.</td></tr>
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As we approached the second aid station, there were quite a few people spectating and cheering. One guy sure looked a lot like Scott Jurek. I didn't think much of it, besides thinking that he looked a lot like Scott Jurek. Then the lady at the aid station, who was cooking up delicious quesadillas, casually mentioned that it WAS Scott Jurek. So then we all freaked out and fan-girled for a moment. "Scott Jurek said we were looking good! Eeeeeee!".<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAsqXxoJ20oUx4yg0BZ2uq7iiMAGYjd5c8R9FLuPgFbkSc8IlwMKne1CUdpF8xpoc159OpWDexqrTptapteIilcNp8Hf8a5ysQRsMFYhQwOEN1l7XBJA4XGN7l4B4pj5jhFsKXHh6fNvg/s1600/dh1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAsqXxoJ20oUx4yg0BZ2uq7iiMAGYjd5c8R9FLuPgFbkSc8IlwMKne1CUdpF8xpoc159OpWDexqrTptapteIilcNp8Hf8a5ysQRsMFYhQwOEN1l7XBJA4XGN7l4B4pj5jhFsKXHh6fNvg/s400/dh1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There was a man taking pictures. Thank you, man taking pictures.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkOdwihDq6VDaLw8HIXckLpcoRenMQ9XQt8QqAy6UtRsUJn8LQDS42k1MSaJG6Y2ABs6PZeJ5iuqXJd_LFxQMgslJiJi0mQnyJcfoTkt3LeN_-M5JrCbWZ-D02t8dvPGYENrQH-dkqJIw/s1600/dh9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkOdwihDq6VDaLw8HIXckLpcoRenMQ9XQt8QqAy6UtRsUJn8LQDS42k1MSaJG6Y2ABs6PZeJ5iuqXJd_LFxQMgslJiJi0mQnyJcfoTkt3LeN_-M5JrCbWZ-D02t8dvPGYENrQH-dkqJIw/s400/dh9.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scott (my Scott, not Jurek) running along like it's no big deal.</td></tr>
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I wolfed down quesadillas and potato chips with wonton abandon. I was still having difficulty with eating the bars I had brought, but the real food at the aid stations was going down fine. We headed back up the trail, slowly winding our way gradually up to the middle aid station. It was over 7 miles from the last aid station and I was starting to curse the distance. Aid stations are wonderful little oases and I always find myself wishing there were more of them in ultras.<br />
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We finally reached the aid station that marked the halfway point. We refilled our packs, applied more sunscreen, drank copious amounts of Coke, munched down more potato chips, and headed back out. We knew that we'd be going mostly downhill until the end, with the exception of a little steep uphill around mile 28. So we tried to take advantage of gravity helping us out, and we did pretty well, for a while.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgscpcPpRR-AnfK91wd0oPf5IRTJyr_qrAWS2ZQe9hyirFGQwbunYyxFSARWIpSa-3wswK2Djbnd75MtvjXR3P4beQ9uWkhqEoFlEvVTjuMso6f4BiRa2Dxck8LDFUagYva2wPa63_uSe8/s1600/dh2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgscpcPpRR-AnfK91wd0oPf5IRTJyr_qrAWS2ZQe9hyirFGQwbunYyxFSARWIpSa-3wswK2Djbnd75MtvjXR3P4beQ9uWkhqEoFlEvVTjuMso6f4BiRa2Dxck8LDFUagYva2wPa63_uSe8/s400/dh2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trail running heaven. Photo credit Scott M. Stringham.</td></tr>
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We made it to the only cutoff with an hour and a half to spare. It's not that we were moving at a terrific pace or anything, the race just had generous cutoff times. Once we made it through the check point at mile 21, we knew we were going to make it just fine. Which was good, because at this point, the slick rock was starting to take its toll.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTJ6hAXPk_NBmgMQlebq3JHsd3fkeWyFgYybGRWb8hyphenhypheniRCoi7XHL9lW1xAhvXiYX7kt2hAzZyFmduLz3lMaJ2MIVE4-E35P7o9SkohCTY8YXGZ6MxcDtNbzuGw-Z_UNFFxFrBa9leCYVg/s1600/dh4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTJ6hAXPk_NBmgMQlebq3JHsd3fkeWyFgYybGRWb8hyphenhypheniRCoi7XHL9lW1xAhvXiYX7kt2hAzZyFmduLz3lMaJ2MIVE4-E35P7o9SkohCTY8YXGZ6MxcDtNbzuGw-Z_UNFFxFrBa9leCYVg/s400/dh4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After a while, the slick rock makes you want to die. Photo credit Scott M. Stringham.</td></tr>
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Slick rock is fun to run on, for a bit. But after, say 20 or so miles, it starts to make your feet and knees wish that you weren't running on slick rock. We were starting to long for the double track dirt road again. When we finally made it back to the road, we let out actual cheers of joy. We hit the last aid station and knew there was only 4.5 miles to go. Unfortunately, more of it was uphill than we had realized it was going to be, so it was slow going those last miles. We were both pretty wiped out at that point (probably from that whole lack of training thing). But we slogged along and eventually made it to the finish line.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrz2-xS6wvVvRddfYwPEsykJAU8CMG9KxSktzDPMU2fMyYWdRQpiiTdjajdHhiETjLp1nCo63hjqeFdihdVpocfd8Ktu5lB7i0LrjIMnxn4xhgtCpMYUaaRgSK8o4qVukmj0CSn_b5qwg/s1600/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrz2-xS6wvVvRddfYwPEsykJAU8CMG9KxSktzDPMU2fMyYWdRQpiiTdjajdHhiETjLp1nCo63hjqeFdihdVpocfd8Ktu5lB7i0LrjIMnxn4xhgtCpMYUaaRgSK8o4qVukmj0CSn_b5qwg/s400/unnamed.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And we weren't even last. Photo courtesy of Jamie Eckles. </td></tr>
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So basically what we can all learn from this is that you can train sporadically and half-assedly and still finish a 50K, provided the time limits are generous and you have a high pain tolerance. That's not really a good take away... maybe use this as a cautionary tale to inspire more training if an event is on the horizon?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRIvsrRUlu6n5cCkyDSQc3zHPbQyNbm1u6dEwFerM_xn9n_8vm9GcL9NJSzEjjN0-LEUMDPnTbwgGP6xH_YomlAgg7HDlNBMK8MWpVx20HtPM5Sbm5U9bhd-c-nVDo71sxrWyiCcy54hI/s1600/dh10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRIvsrRUlu6n5cCkyDSQc3zHPbQyNbm1u6dEwFerM_xn9n_8vm9GcL9NJSzEjjN0-LEUMDPnTbwgGP6xH_YomlAgg7HDlNBMK8MWpVx20HtPM5Sbm5U9bhd-c-nVDo71sxrWyiCcy54hI/s400/dh10.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cautionary swag, from my 5th 50K.</td></tr>
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If that's not cautionary enough, you can now imagine running a half marathon 4 days after a 50K that you weren't ready for. I'll give you a little insight on how that goes.<br />
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I run the Thankful 13 every year on Thanksgiving. I find it's a nice way to start the holiday and give me an excuse to eat ALL the food at Thanksgiving dinner. Because I always think I am going to be ready for the things that I sign up for, I didn't think much of it being a mere 4 days after my 50K. I should have really put more thought into this whole thing...<br />
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Scott was signed up for the 5K, so he could run really fast and win awards and stuff, which he did, placing third in his age group. Meanwhile, I was out trudging through 13.1 miles of cold, sore miles. It was pretty, though.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBEpJ4hvxo1ton00Ei2Qq4akxJ_KOHoJyuOXiT0o6QVGrlWcjSHEhgQI0FkZUA50lSC2z7fXx-T6pYVL8NPexre1TpP8_oNXvA1KejnCxwkAP7XTLEaTUVULBlOHvcnbiD3_pWAKdmcg0/s1600/thk1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBEpJ4hvxo1ton00Ei2Qq4akxJ_KOHoJyuOXiT0o6QVGrlWcjSHEhgQI0FkZUA50lSC2z7fXx-T6pYVL8NPexre1TpP8_oNXvA1KejnCxwkAP7XTLEaTUVULBlOHvcnbiD3_pWAKdmcg0/s400/thk1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was worth taking my gloves off once, to get this shot.</td></tr>
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I felt okay for maybe 2 miles total of this race. The rest of it felt like I had run a 50K in the desert the Saturday before. My hamstrings were throwing a royal fit, my knees were crying, and my lungs kept trying to leave my body. It was good times. But I'm too stubborn to quit, so I crept towards the finish line at a snail's pace. Scott was waiting to run with me to the finish. I crossed the line in 3:04:54, which I think is my slowest finish on that course. All that matters is that I made it though. Medals matter.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BDGCW0LY-V6e9YeBRUXgmB9jhkv1gtR-Zn8VH908mVsr_4wZbp5X_fkbQ-UuS5wNv-lMFnSGr-LL5Ut-65eDTIO4ADegdC6Ozw2Rrk3sF6t5QKymfkjrhuUBqevQcaQTZODBXGWHAVw/s1600/thk2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BDGCW0LY-V6e9YeBRUXgmB9jhkv1gtR-Zn8VH908mVsr_4wZbp5X_fkbQ-UuS5wNv-lMFnSGr-LL5Ut-65eDTIO4ADegdC6Ozw2Rrk3sF6t5QKymfkjrhuUBqevQcaQTZODBXGWHAVw/s400/thk2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Half marathon #85, wrapped up.</td></tr>
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I've got one last race lined up for the year. Thank goodness it's all about eating and having a good time. Y'all should check out the <a href="http://www.bakersdozenhalfmarathon.com/" target="_blank">Baker's Dozen</a> half and get signed up if you can. It's the perfect way to wrap up the season.<br />
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Until then, happy running!<br />
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PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-24273488361031701392016-11-14T21:03:00.000-07:002016-11-14T21:03:43.053-07:00The rest of October race report!It's time for the rest of the race reporting for October. After the St. George Marathon, I got a couple of weeks to try and recover/get ready to run a stupid hard race out at the Dugway Proving Grounds. This is a very unique race. You have to pass a background check before they'll even let you on the base to run.<br />
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Dugway is basically in the middle of nowhere. It took nearly two hours of driving to get there. But when we arrived, it was actually a very pretty place.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And the sunrise was stunning. </td></tr>
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Scott and I were in for the 30K. There was also a 5K, 10K, 20K, and 50K happening out there as well. Due to the difficulty of the courses, the father the distance, the less people were running. There was a grand total of 11 people in the 30K. ELEVEN whole people. So I knew that I was going to be last. And since Scott insisted on running with me, that meant he would also be last.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5AM1GMraxEL8eEpUEfeeUdhHhJm2itbyW2G_YrwmKDYlK4TuaxQRQih2_3d-NWtIts3KAEtDYV62ViYvZuT6FDFq5sntYBbmpzcHePk76wUcW5Sf9WobgaJGsa_oQBYMuUzPgEpoz0aY/s1600/14714964_10154697691215798_6961178330967983835_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5AM1GMraxEL8eEpUEfeeUdhHhJm2itbyW2G_YrwmKDYlK4TuaxQRQih2_3d-NWtIts3KAEtDYV62ViYvZuT6FDFq5sntYBbmpzcHePk76wUcW5Sf9WobgaJGsa_oQBYMuUzPgEpoz0aY/s400/14714964_10154697691215798_6961178330967983835_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back of the packin' in the sunrise. Photo courtesy of Scott M. Stringham</td></tr>
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The course started off fairly easy, and I was feeling alright to start with. Until just after mile 4 when I tripped on a rock and took my first ever fall during a trail run. Whee! I wasn't too badly hurt, it was mostly just a shock. I did just kind of lay there in the dirt for a minute, trying to decide if I was broken, but eventually I got up and dusted myself off. I found out that running after taking a fall is kind of difficult for me. I was overly cautious for the next few miles. I kept stopping to walk even though the terrain wasn't bad because I was nervous about falling again.<br />
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I finally calmed down and got my act together just in time for the course to get stupid hard. So there was 4000 feet of climbing in the 30K. That's a lot of feet, you guys. And I was smack dab in the middle of the (insert swear word of choice here) Whole 30 program. I basically had no energy and wanted to die by the time we started climbing up Scorpion Tail and then the Widow Maker. The race director has a sense of humor and all the points of interest and climbs had names.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I want to believe. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3r6LqkSHNh3L3bIYNXuDFIisTDsOiwAyeyqtCK0s1M_JWIZLirO_4FZFp1nUqHPnhoPRrM-o7VtV0qcHldXQrECCunMkoKWxgq4Uj2C7i3KU9L_0vIxupwtdB7sdHaMSgrlKwp-U1Lvc/s1600/14642234_10154697709510798_3529113331348029740_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3r6LqkSHNh3L3bIYNXuDFIisTDsOiwAyeyqtCK0s1M_JWIZLirO_4FZFp1nUqHPnhoPRrM-o7VtV0qcHldXQrECCunMkoKWxgq4Uj2C7i3KU9L_0vIxupwtdB7sdHaMSgrlKwp-U1Lvc/s400/14642234_10154697709510798_3529113331348029740_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There we are in front of Dugway Stonehenge, with some other choice shots of the course. Photo courtesy of Scott M. Stringham. </td></tr>
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As we were slogging up the relentless climbs, the people from the shorter distances started passing us like we were standing still. I guess one can be pretty peppy when one is only running 3 or 6 miles. There was a colonel from the base running the 10K and he was giving everyone within shouting distance inspiring pep talks. "THIS IS YOUR COURSE OUT HERE TODAY! YOU ENJOY IT!"<br />
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I was trying to enjoy it, but being completely drained and malnutritioned, I instead started writing depressing songs in my head and gave myself a band name. Look for an album of melancholy running and hunger songs from Heather's Body and the Sadness coming out sometime when I actually learn to play an instrument.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtfQDmF31NGt4Y5_3wHBiwMHNEHE2jUZxiGI_wHCFriDTDfe6SW1XCpWnweT2bZ447Mprqyqo70xoSO0MoAFMM2sA4OHQWWV_sVN3X5FDLUBpMfNrpoTCUc5sLUD9r91dvb8AEOZ3w0Ss/s1600/14691311_10154697697970798_1937552063262106212_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtfQDmF31NGt4Y5_3wHBiwMHNEHE2jUZxiGI_wHCFriDTDfe6SW1XCpWnweT2bZ447Mprqyqo70xoSO0MoAFMM2sA4OHQWWV_sVN3X5FDLUBpMfNrpoTCUc5sLUD9r91dvb8AEOZ3w0Ss/s400/14691311_10154697697970798_1937552063262106212_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This would make some sweet album art. Photo courtesy of Scott M. Stringham. </td></tr>
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After about four hours, we completed the first 11 miles of the course. Unfortunately, that meant we had made it back to the start/finish line and had to head out for another loop. It's so cruel to lead your runners to the end, just to make them head out for more. The people from the shorter distances were finishing up and receiving their medals. One of the volunteers asked if we were done, we said no. Then he asked if we wanted to be done. That's a dangerous question. OF COURSE I FRIGGING WANTED TO BE DONE. ARE YOU KIDDING ME I AM LITERALLY DYING. We politely declined his offer to be done and refilled our packs to get ready for the last loop.<br />
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They had cold Gatorade at the start/finish aid station and even though it's not Whole 30 approved, I knew I needed some. My fingers were swollen and it was getting difficult to bend them. That's not a good thing, in case y'all were wondering. So I drank that Gatorade and felt no guilt because I'm fairly certain it's the only reason that I made it though the last 9 miles. I definitely had a boost in my mood after drinking it. We even managed the ri-friggin-diculous climbs up Scorpion Tail and Widow Maker faster than on our first loop. It was a running miracle.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq2PxsZFiPgQp_f00tTGBFO4xGhk1RpaZI_77nVCPrTkk3AEHoDcM84P_14QCqFEWLXJkejiaemHkMw-soZHDATK2aR6IJ4A0ruIXT3-Hxz-TilQtCRpooqNrLy6Kb4dtk2VhgmSkZx3w/s1600/IMG_4710.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq2PxsZFiPgQp_f00tTGBFO4xGhk1RpaZI_77nVCPrTkk3AEHoDcM84P_14QCqFEWLXJkejiaemHkMw-soZHDATK2aR6IJ4A0ruIXT3-Hxz-TilQtCRpooqNrLy6Kb4dtk2VhgmSkZx3w/s400/IMG_4710.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jabba the Rock endorses Gatorade. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjkcTviLphmi6HWxD8TxtXByoAcSwlEcaLLF2vG2UwZ9P87ix5wMF66gbZSNGwuymLY24HfAVo-b2KZhyphenhyphenN4PyMH_hPH_tP5qn3IMLbn-dvm7QJ7et0znNaPOv02pPtra8B6jQ7vy6FbPM/s1600/IMG_4701.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjkcTviLphmi6HWxD8TxtXByoAcSwlEcaLLF2vG2UwZ9P87ix5wMF66gbZSNGwuymLY24HfAVo-b2KZhyphenhyphenN4PyMH_hPH_tP5qn3IMLbn-dvm7QJ7et0znNaPOv02pPtra8B6jQ7vy6FbPM/s400/IMG_4701.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After the tough climbs, we got to slytherin down the other side of the mountain.</td></tr>
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Side note and fun fact: see that burlap sack behind the sign there? That means there's an "unexploded ordinance" there. During the pre-race briefing, the race director told us to watch out for things that could blow you to smithereens, aka unexploded ordinances. He said that they had marked the ones that they had found with bags, and if we were to find any, we were supposed to build a cairn by them and move on. So not only did I need to worry about snakes and tripping and falling on my face, but also possibly getting blown sky high. And because my brain was so carb starved, I had the hardest time remembering what the "o"word the race director had used in naming them. So I kept making up new "o" words to call them. "Hey Scott, do you think that's a regular cairn, or one marking an unexploded origami? Unexploded orthodontist? Opthamologist? Organism? Oregano?", and so forth. It was an entertaining way to pass the time while remaining aware that we could die at any moment.<br />
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We made it to the finish line in just under 7 hours total. That's basically a 20 minute mile average... But we didn't get blown up, and to my surprise, I received an award for second in my age group. Make no mistake, Scott and I were dead last, but there were only two women in my age group. They had 6" shells that had been fired there on the base as the age group awards. Unfortunately for Scott, his age group was nearly half the field and he was fifth in his age group, so he didn't receive any military debris. He did win a pair of super sweet running socks in the raffle though, so we both came away with a little something extra.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF3rXQAm8Xnq7aLTKX0WhBqmW6azlYw2z67xYtg_8ZbskKJx01USgy0AZ1lcHmlfNfYJV_FFGmOIcZvPTC_O-CDPAJ18G3J7ufASzdHvkAusSsJY6HCmQKnH4u-Cmsi_LBq9kBS_LVVcg/s1600/IMG_4712.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF3rXQAm8Xnq7aLTKX0WhBqmW6azlYw2z67xYtg_8ZbskKJx01USgy0AZ1lcHmlfNfYJV_FFGmOIcZvPTC_O-CDPAJ18G3J7ufASzdHvkAusSsJY6HCmQKnH4u-Cmsi_LBq9kBS_LVVcg/s400/IMG_4712.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shell, medal with a UAV on it, and comfy shirt with course map. They had some nice swag.</td></tr>
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We had just one week to recover from Dugway before we ran the Haunted Half. In my mind, I was thrilled to have a downhill half marathon coming up. Then race day arrived and it wasn't nearly as magical as my daydreaming had lead me to believe it would be. First of all, we had to sit in the very back seat of the bus. This is super fun when you're a little kid. It is not super fun when you're an adult and the bus is going up a winding canyon. The back of the bus gets a lot of extra swerve going on. Secondly, the bus driver got lost. So I got to spend nearly twice as long getting motion sick in the back of the bus.<br />
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When we finally made it to the start, I was ready to puke my guts out. Getting off the bus was the only thing I wanted in the world right then. So of course, they made us sit on the bus for approximately forever before they could pull up five feet to let us out. Once I was free of my bussy prison, we met up with Jamie, Tennille, and Teresa. Jamie and Tennille were dressed as Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, Teresa was decked out in exercising ghosts, Scott was a mideaval warrior, and I was in my muscle suit.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYO3PWZgJGCny2oEcJ7MhFWniLyFQZOso6xpOBYkoUI-W1lWGweGi9uqPKnGYTkaOxjLhca2w6AmNUZWSekWxQ4q5THzruUePlNh5MyKZiaHSqRJa_qKOyUzHyUdWpcmgkavckqoybx90/s1600/IMG_4723.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYO3PWZgJGCny2oEcJ7MhFWniLyFQZOso6xpOBYkoUI-W1lWGweGi9uqPKnGYTkaOxjLhca2w6AmNUZWSekWxQ4q5THzruUePlNh5MyKZiaHSqRJa_qKOyUzHyUdWpcmgkavckqoybx90/s400/IMG_4723.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo courtesy of Jamie Eckles. </td></tr>
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The muscle suit made people yell things like "Go Titan!", which confused the crap out of me until later that day when I found about about this thing called "Attack on Titan".<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Z9a6BirggpA-qD5cPlGlhfpIrAqQOBfZ75ZErQ1-n8UWaWaY-RYZCfTq6b3uuGKwYQChSUmZ2iPD0QMdfsGk1z7U6WeSCIhdwS5S8Qj_J8S6UUxZfWdEW9YEw9RkyrBzuRsbM3ald5M/s1600/titan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Z9a6BirggpA-qD5cPlGlhfpIrAqQOBfZ75ZErQ1-n8UWaWaY-RYZCfTq6b3uuGKwYQChSUmZ2iPD0QMdfsGk1z7U6WeSCIhdwS5S8Qj_J8S6UUxZfWdEW9YEw9RkyrBzuRsbM3ald5M/s400/titan.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So I guess I'm this dude now. </td></tr>
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There was one family that kept following their runner throughout the race. Their runner must have been just behind us, because we saw them probably six different times during the race. The little girl in the group lost her mind each time she saw me. "GO FEMALE TITAN! WOOOOOO!". At least I could bring her some joy as I slogged my way through that half marathon.<br />
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There was no joy for me, since I was 2/3rds of the way through the Whole 30 program and had yet to feel any benefit from it. I was a broken shell of a human being (well, a broken shell covered in muscle print fabric) by the end. We squeaked in just under three hours for a course that should have taken half an hour less. Scott enjoyed it though, because he could eat what he wanted and is super good at running anyway.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXU1578ZPXpKPzshyphenhyphenWeHd0XKg6-j2uno4NtzdqUvqxpdV63M4zb5kk7H4qiKaxQSKR1_pluvaoU0CmQnaJFI1J4rIXYiO580PEHKy3XlEfTZT_57oovlIytxShOnRgWTXygnVRbNdRixc/s1600/14962593_10154732745075798_9134332479075859937_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXU1578ZPXpKPzshyphenhyphenWeHd0XKg6-j2uno4NtzdqUvqxpdV63M4zb5kk7H4qiKaxQSKR1_pluvaoU0CmQnaJFI1J4rIXYiO580PEHKy3XlEfTZT_57oovlIytxShOnRgWTXygnVRbNdRixc/s400/14962593_10154732745075798_9134332479075859937_n.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying not to die on my end, enjoying the lovely day on his end.</td></tr>
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And thus I finished half marathon number 84. You'd think they'd start getting easier or something...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx65G9of2-QLv82C7TUy2HV-iNnbQuRH-V-noxCf6cp2jVMhBb7M2xmM_BwgDAiaOPlb1upk_JfYdhiPVddoidLULxKGrFnKou_YhjgXimUCInOau6Lk7otNgfQFDhYC83BzJ1HT0AYGw/s1600/IMG_4729.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx65G9of2-QLv82C7TUy2HV-iNnbQuRH-V-noxCf6cp2jVMhBb7M2xmM_BwgDAiaOPlb1upk_JfYdhiPVddoidLULxKGrFnKou_YhjgXimUCInOau6Lk7otNgfQFDhYC83BzJ1HT0AYGw/s400/IMG_4729.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Great shirt and medal this year.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Close up of the medal detail.</td></tr>
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So there you have it. October was a rough month. But I finished the Whole 30 program last week so maybe I can get back to feeling like myself again. I have the Dead Horse 50K this weekend, which of course I'm completely unprepared for. My training runs have been absolute crap thanks to cutting out nearly everything my body loves for 30 days. Maybe I can eat enough carbs between now and Saturday to fake my way through another ultra. Stay tuned to find out! Until then, happy running!<br />
<br />PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-46228657328162591402016-11-02T21:35:00.000-06:002016-11-02T21:35:40.377-06:00St. George Marathon Race Report!Now that it's November, I guess I can finally get around to writing about the races of October. I am finally all settled in my new house with couches and internet and everything, so I'm out of excuses. But because I want to give them their proper due, I'll just go over one race here and then the other two in another post later this week.<br />
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October kicked off with the St. George Marathon. I was certainly not ready to run a marathon, since I have been at level zero in my running for months now. But hey, who am I to waste a race entry? I was mostly certain that I could beat the cutoff at mile 23. So Jamie and I, plus another of Jamie's running pals, headed down to southern Utah for some marathoning fun.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You have to stop in Beaver on the way to St. George. It's mandatory. Photo courtesy of Jamie Eckles.</td></tr>
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After we made it to packet pick up, chatted with legendary ultra runner <a href="http://www.fastcory.com/" target="_blank">Cory Reese</a>, and ate our weight in breakfast foods at the Cracker Barrel, we headed down to Mesquite, Nevada. The hotels in St. George on marathon weekend are pretty pricey, so we were staying with another friend of Jamie's that lives in Mesquite.<br />
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Staying in Mesquite meant that we would be waking up around 2:30 a.m. to get back to St. George in time for the bus loading. Yay. I've run plenty of races with sleep deprivation so what's one more?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I didn't need sleep. Honest. Photo courtesy of Jamie. </td></tr>
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I guess I should talk a little bit about my level zero state before I get into how this race went. I have been having issues with my heart rate being ridiculously high. Like over 180 during my long runs. Needless to say, that's been concerning. I do believe I have a handle on the issue now, but I certainly didn't when it was time to run St. George. Now back to the race.<br />
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I started out super conservative, checking my heart rate obsessively. Any time it got over 160, I would walk to bring it back down. I wasn't making the greatest progress, but at least I was moving forward. I did my best to keep calm thoughts in my head. No need to add negative thoughts and stress to my situation. I knew that would just make my heart rate go up. I saw my nemesis cruise on past me, and I had a moment of panic. My nemesis had never beaten me in a race before, but it seemed like today might be the day.<br />
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I knew that worrying about someone else's race wasn't going to help me with mine, so I went full on zen and just let it go. What right did I have to think I could beat someone who'd been doing the work when I hadn't? Humble zen, ladies and gentlemen.<br />
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Once I decided that I needed to worry about only myself, I was able to enjoy the scenery. The St. George Marathon is a large race, so I was never by myself. There were always people around and they were all friendly and pleasant. So we back-of-the-packers would take turns passing each other, stopping to walk, take pictures, and get Icy Hot slathered on us by the ample body of volunteers.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It really is a pretty marathon course. </td></tr>
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I kept an eye on my heart rate and the cutoff time and knew I was going to be okay. By some miracle, I was moving fast enough to make it on time to mile 23. I wasn't feeling great. I wasn't feeling good. I was surviving. But around mile 20, something happened. I don't know if it was muscle memory finally kicking in, or some blessing from a benevolent running god, but I started to feel good. Then good turned into great.<br />
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I had run/walked/wogged 20 pretty crappy miles and now, all of the sudden, I felt like I could run forever. So I ran with it (pun intended). I never know how long these feel good bouts will last so I try to take advantage as long as I can. I was running my fastest miles of the day and it was sweet. I made the cutoff with about 25 minutes to spare!<br />
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Just after the aid station at mile 24, I started to walk as I tried to dig my chapstick out of my water bottle pocket. As I did so, I saw my nemesis coming from behind me. Somehow, I had passed him and not seen him. I immediately forgot about my need for chapstick and took off running. There were only two miles to go. I could do this. I could keep my unblemished record and beat him again. I rarely get competitive with my running, you guys. Because basically everyone runs faster than I do. But in races where my nemesis is involved, I get extra motivated.<br />
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My feeling good kept up all the way to the end and I crossed the finish line with a smile on my facea and ahead of he-who-I-always-try-to-beat. It's so nice to end on a high note. I know that for me, if I end a race feeling good, even if it's just the last mile, I will always think fondly of the race.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wheeeeeee!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag from marathon #23. How have I run 23 marathons?! That's weird.</td></tr>
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Some of you may remember that I mentioned having a plan for improving my training in my last post. That plan involved getting my nutrition sorted out. So on October 11, I started the Whole 30 program. I'm on day 23 and I'm still waiting for it to be awesome. Because let's be honest, not eating dairy, grains, sugar, and everything that you love, sucks. It sucks big time. It's the biggest suck that ever sucked a suck. I guess you guys get the gist of how I feel about it.<br />
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But in all seriousness, it's supposed to be making me feel better. Everyone keeps telling me to keep with it. It's going to be worth it. Blah blah blah. I'll stick with it, since I've made it this far. Quitting now would be like dropping out of a marathon at mile 25. I've added some vitamin B supplements to help with the overwhelming depression that's been the highlight of this eating plan. I am also more tired than I have ever been. Like ever. I get home from work and I'm ready to pass out and never wake up again. The only good thing that's happened on this program, and I can't say for certain if it's even correlated, is that my resting heart rate is finally back down to 55. It hasn't been that low in months.<br />
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So there you have it. Stay tuned for the Dugway and Haunted Half report coming soon! Until then, happy running! And eat some carbs for me, while you're at it.<br />
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<br />PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-35311834106028805322016-09-12T12:36:00.000-06:002016-09-12T12:36:14.082-06:00Getting back to it.It's been just over a month since my last blogging. And what a month it's been! The wedding went as planned, no big stress or drama.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Runners love cake.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Basically, the greatest cake topper of all time ever. Thanks Melanie!</td></tr>
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After a successful wedding, we began the successful honeymoon. It wasn't without its struggles, though. My car broke down 6 hours into our trip.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We had the nicest tow truck drivers. It was great. Thanks AAA!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We spent a lot of time in tow trucks...</td></tr>
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My car had to sit in a shop in Boise, Idaho while we secured a rental car and continued the honeymoon. We couldn't miss our race! We managed to get to Cascade Locks in time for packet pick up that night. Thank goodness. The race was incredibly beautiful and I would have cried like a baby if we had missed it.<br />
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The race starts and finishes at Cascade Locks, and during the course of the race you run over 5 different bridges. The first and most impressive of the bridges is the Bridge of the Gods (that's also the name of the race).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGRlPoRfTLTfzki_4gaYF7HTaPfyFDlXNNoDvlpMDTOiom3-wFKcYLOr8cZY0QHXIvC2nisL5KxfUUAeOU6_COBCCtjEAp5K6S1GRLi7Ni96fFKonIhuQ1pWk7ZoR4azj20rftxuZk82E/s1600/14055113_10209838986589920_9030543893041260986_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGRlPoRfTLTfzki_4gaYF7HTaPfyFDlXNNoDvlpMDTOiom3-wFKcYLOr8cZY0QHXIvC2nisL5KxfUUAeOU6_COBCCtjEAp5K6S1GRLi7Ni96fFKonIhuQ1pWk7ZoR4azj20rftxuZk82E/s400/14055113_10209838986589920_9030543893041260986_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our view from the Washington side of the race. The bridge links Washington and Oregon together.</td></tr>
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Fun fact: the Bridge of the Gods is not solid. You can see the water below you. And that is slightly terrifying as you run across it. I was running very gingerly and carefully until we reached the other side.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX87nhci3Y_e0cX5TLRBRqGX4jQUOIHuLFZX0GYV5pEc9yTgbIaLpIygy4LdpMkkbEs50orZb9Tqqdko9EeZJQdmAemzgWjmAn1kuChtwh_sPaN4syMzqcT5sfU_xQi6JrrjuopuhA7XA/s1600/13962562_10209839014790625_6409602749652416090_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX87nhci3Y_e0cX5TLRBRqGX4jQUOIHuLFZX0GYV5pEc9yTgbIaLpIygy4LdpMkkbEs50orZb9Tqqdko9EeZJQdmAemzgWjmAn1kuChtwh_sPaN4syMzqcT5sfU_xQi6JrrjuopuhA7XA/s400/13962562_10209839014790625_6409602749652416090_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's a long way down.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ9XloGzWNH4ZCOhLqEUyad_QuP7DaFeft8X2eMuFsMwbqkYvL4vqFWNnOS3bAlNyF8y2Ge_6vVQ0Es3C8ow6p6dw8hB4NWFlyxCC4l80Wa6xxeGnSj46OWJNFwka7XxFpgNSmA2F3vjc/s1600/14039890_10209839018550719_5000611820129716641_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ9XloGzWNH4ZCOhLqEUyad_QuP7DaFeft8X2eMuFsMwbqkYvL4vqFWNnOS3bAlNyF8y2Ge_6vVQ0Es3C8ow6p6dw8hB4NWFlyxCC4l80Wa6xxeGnSj46OWJNFwka7XxFpgNSmA2F3vjc/s400/14039890_10209839018550719_5000611820129716641_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And he's allllllll mine.</td></tr>
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After the surviving the bridge, we got to meander through the beautiful Oregon forest surrounding the area. Everything is so stunning and green.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPcCz6sDotvtSEVj0CG0K36RwQiadw7D1iEgBblKVFAFfmU1foEI01c7lLTHZJQQJyQhDt8V1vs3sNPc7_BqNToLNCxj-e6uZWzeIWjTvyt8nK4TMaMGxVra1lwHnFG-99CKg5YFhcd38/s1600/13934908_10209839021590795_6760252768235287057_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPcCz6sDotvtSEVj0CG0K36RwQiadw7D1iEgBblKVFAFfmU1foEI01c7lLTHZJQQJyQhDt8V1vs3sNPc7_BqNToLNCxj-e6uZWzeIWjTvyt8nK4TMaMGxVra1lwHnFG-99CKg5YFhcd38/s400/13934908_10209839021590795_6760252768235287057_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The mermaid and the Scotsman take Oregon by storm.</td></tr>
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I guess you can tell we spent a good deal of time taking pictures and not running. This race was definitely not about our finish time. We wanted to get the most out of our entry fee, so we did.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0eHS7QqrPRwrUddZIHidYpjXmaH4Ce1yX51k_00aqSDao3XhaF4ekUFoF2_ZrjjO2Pj79d94Ns5RetvriRQGn3rBdB22JkjoEq8rwSU8wF0g2oPqvcKS3xcUTA6teQc3wUPcaeCTBeRk/s1600/14089105_10209839032591070_1346698552330680978_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0eHS7QqrPRwrUddZIHidYpjXmaH4Ce1yX51k_00aqSDao3XhaF4ekUFoF2_ZrjjO2Pj79d94Ns5RetvriRQGn3rBdB22JkjoEq8rwSU8wF0g2oPqvcKS3xcUTA6teQc3wUPcaeCTBeRk/s400/14089105_10209839032591070_1346698552330680978_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the "Stairway to Heaven" section of the course. It was FUN. Because 4 flights of stairs in the middle of a race is always fun. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPO2NGxmmy6MlqK_LjoUHqqx5dIdmiSpP5c9bLesZtySybuzJKQnCcJuUSLuu5Gb-9HjK2dxN-9W-pCM8WIXNsxkbX_OKPwoCcoL1chFriAJARmCzW25-9BQuFlQb0Plk9HLWcLwj4h-Q/s1600/13939347_10209839036151159_5718155049427777795_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPO2NGxmmy6MlqK_LjoUHqqx5dIdmiSpP5c9bLesZtySybuzJKQnCcJuUSLuu5Gb-9HjK2dxN-9W-pCM8WIXNsxkbX_OKPwoCcoL1chFriAJARmCzW25-9BQuFlQb0Plk9HLWcLwj4h-Q/s400/13939347_10209839036151159_5718155049427777795_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting close to the turnaround point. Alas, we didn't get to run on those two higher bridges. </td></tr>
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While we took our sweet time, we were still nowhere near the last finishers of the race. The race offers a very generous cutoff time, allowing for walkers to complete the course with time to spare. It was a wonderful, no pressure race, and they served up a great little lunch on the island in the middle of the river afterward. If you're looking for a wonderful destination race, I can't recommend this one enough.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiftBY-KKEkSt3TLSDzf9-UfA99gDv9n5AK4S-3B2lxSvYOz2haP2thyphenhyphenYrMiHbGLeKqKdJw3hPBlpJsr3rHjfwvyH_vfeK2EI7BG8tsBiiueIZPs_5bUmaYabKsxSKBKnvwzFPGrKRbUSw/s1600/14040088_10209797002660348_2429955321900710052_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiftBY-KKEkSt3TLSDzf9-UfA99gDv9n5AK4S-3B2lxSvYOz2haP2thyphenhyphenYrMiHbGLeKqKdJw3hPBlpJsr3rHjfwvyH_vfeK2EI7BG8tsBiiueIZPs_5bUmaYabKsxSKBKnvwzFPGrKRbUSw/s400/14040088_10209797002660348_2429955321900710052_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Obligatory swag shot. Half marathon number 82, in case you were keeping track.</td></tr>
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After the race, we continued our honeymoon through Portland, then up the coast of Oregon and into Seattle. We managed to get a few training runs in (although not nearly what we should have been doing, but hey, we were on vacation). It's a good thing we managed to get some runs in while we were gone, because I had signed Scott and I up for a marathon happening two weeks after we got back home. Oops.<br />
<br />
So we arrived at the start line of the East Canyon Marathon a bit undertrained. But we sure as hell weren't going to back out of the race. We are stubborn and we like medals.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOskAkWzwLJG9ZySahMlgf8ZxOTJuv7yT0QdnxLQoJDYUFYTwnxzlNDH-1kULNf7d492N2XMgC-S7_ndMODItNAxwnoC3g-KNxflwY-eWJ7Xk0SDgT_4D0EeGd16gf9tu4HR4sUxi7csU/s1600/14079876_10209923258216658_5867417232203577309_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOskAkWzwLJG9ZySahMlgf8ZxOTJuv7yT0QdnxLQoJDYUFYTwnxzlNDH-1kULNf7d492N2XMgC-S7_ndMODItNAxwnoC3g-KNxflwY-eWJ7Xk0SDgT_4D0EeGd16gf9tu4HR4sUxi7csU/s400/14079876_10209923258216658_5867417232203577309_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here we are at mile 14, pretending that we feel fine and we can totally make it another 12 miles. </td></tr>
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It was the inaugural year, and there were only two bus loads of runners competing. That spells trouble for me on a good day. Being as undertrained as I was, I knew that we could very possibly be last. Scott could have finished hours sooner but he decided that we were going to do the whole thing together. He's sappy like that. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Even though we were moving at the pace of a snail trapped in molasses, it felt like the miles went by quickly. We'd pass a mile marker and what seemed like mere moments later, we would pass another one. I guess that means we were enjoying the course and each others' company so much that we didn't notice the time ticking on by.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcFQPFvGdPMmwGdoHR32mDjArLHDbQSBNeJzGzh5V4lhPwhyURSmZTsKh9qmYe3SZlkJx00w2AagG87JDWak6wphxm-e5Nt6iEWXb4MAsDKqW3jJeRTDwgovE2RS_glxW9pBjBKKeWjcw/s1600/14067521_10209924531088479_3428661670797652566_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcFQPFvGdPMmwGdoHR32mDjArLHDbQSBNeJzGzh5V4lhPwhyURSmZTsKh9qmYe3SZlkJx00w2AagG87JDWak6wphxm-e5Nt6iEWXb4MAsDKqW3jJeRTDwgovE2RS_glxW9pBjBKKeWjcw/s400/14067521_10209924531088479_3428661670797652566_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There was also a delightful selection of haunted buildings to distract our attention. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The canyon was popular with cyclists that day, and part way through the race I hear one yelling my name. My friend Devin was out finishing up his training for LOTOJA. It's always a bonus to get some surprise encouragement mid-race.<br />
<br />
Even with the mid-race boost, we were starting to feel our lack of training. It was around mile 20 that things started really hurting. And not just in the "oh I hit the wall" way. The scenery was still lovely, so we tried focusing on that.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ-7wKD09BcphVlpI6CN3H3pkpruM0aRxnnCjVxlBr8RzjFbIA6aqH6q2lQrzSAn8FtVEZv84lZqio0bXc6O74vG_9YdiAd2k-WpeiyuuXrKNcphngAkTiKJ663XZ0j6pNTSdhyfFn8l0/s1600/14238235_10210048652151428_7775307738413338661_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ-7wKD09BcphVlpI6CN3H3pkpruM0aRxnnCjVxlBr8RzjFbIA6aqH6q2lQrzSAn8FtVEZv84lZqio0bXc6O74vG_9YdiAd2k-WpeiyuuXrKNcphngAkTiKJ663XZ0j6pNTSdhyfFn8l0/s400/14238235_10210048652151428_7775307738413338661_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See? Super neat scenery.</td></tr>
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At this point, we knew we were in last place. The support van would check on us once in awhile, but they were never annoyed or belittling to us about our pace. I appreciated that more than they could ever know. As we were approaching mile 23, we could see a figure ahead, hobbling down the road. We instantly started trying to figure out if he was in the race or not. Because if we could over take the injured and hobbling man, we could totally not be last.<br />
<br />
Now y'all know that I've finished dead last before. More than once, even. It's really not a bad thing. It didn't ruin my life or stop me from running a race ever again (obviously). But I really didn't want Scott to come in last on his first marathon because he decided to stick with me. He just wanted to get to the finish line so he could sit down, I'm not sure he cared what order we got there in...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiavwdwlFRzbaSTdVi08nuFv7FbgABT6SYPW0cxLaeTmZHph2EKToK6IlgFc9LG3DeBcC-xPu1FbIVBHp9LXv5OD5qhYWL_K9ZvEaXKnVBp6VYInyJnWNfVlDChY6ao0E8RVSSuUm5TiAE/s1600/memerunforlife.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiavwdwlFRzbaSTdVi08nuFv7FbgABT6SYPW0cxLaeTmZHph2EKToK6IlgFc9LG3DeBcC-xPu1FbIVBHp9LXv5OD5qhYWL_K9ZvEaXKnVBp6VYInyJnWNfVlDChY6ao0E8RVSSuUm5TiAE/s400/memerunforlife.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Truth.</td></tr>
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It turns out that the poor man, who was really more of a poor teenage boy, was in the race and he had messed up his ankle pretty badly. But he was still trucking along towards the finish line the best that he could. I was seriously proud of him for continuing to push through. At this point, Scott and I were picking landmarks to run to, then walk to. It's the only thing that got us through those last three miles.<br />
<br />
Okay, see that mailbox? We'll start running at that mailbox. Then we can walk at that stop sign up ahead there. Got it? Let's go! Oh wow. That stop sign seems really far away. Is it actually moving away from us?! Why aren't we any closer?! We made it! Phew. Okay... see that parked truck up there? We'll run when we get to that truck. Hmm. We got to that truck faster than I would have liked, but here we go!<br />
<br />
Three miles of that and we were approaching the finish line! Finally! And then we got lost... Not lost like we didn't know where the finish was, but lost like we couldn't tell the route that they wanted us to take to get there. It was at the Morgan high school, and there was approximately a zillion people in the area for multiple high school sporting events. There were cars and people everywhere. We followed the path that the arrows pointed to, and ended up running the wrong way towards the finish arch. The finish line crew looked as confused as we were. The distance on our watches wasn't at 26.2 yet, so we ran past the arch, kept running up the road, then turned around and made it to the finish line with the proper distance.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihFQE4yicUhOM9yKWjqg-ew9fhP_XkghSMNuNNuHYxhf1p1PqpmDnZ0cMhAKswTzf9GxG0EmRZrwqXPWh4C-XzIaO2HIO746RyqX0mLzY5h_Cj1XTYf4FagWqeAFrFYe2FlUepUFCpJi4/s1600/14192568_10209938303432779_7364852033805527227_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihFQE4yicUhOM9yKWjqg-ew9fhP_XkghSMNuNNuHYxhf1p1PqpmDnZ0cMhAKswTzf9GxG0EmRZrwqXPWh4C-XzIaO2HIO746RyqX0mLzY5h_Cj1XTYf4FagWqeAFrFYe2FlUepUFCpJi4/s400/14192568_10209938303432779_7364852033805527227_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marathon #22 done.</td></tr>
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So having survived our undertrained marathon, I, of course, ran another race the next weekend. Because I love my husband and didn't want him to divorce me after a few weeks of marriage, I did not sign him up to run it with me. The Nebo half marathon is wonderful. The hardcore followers of this blog know that is was my very first half marathon, 5 years ago. It's a fast course, coming down Payson canyon and finishing at the high school not far from the mouth of the canyon. I love that there's only about a mile of the course that goes through neighborhoods.<br />
<br />
Right before the race started, one of Scott's friends, Pam, recognized me we started chatting. It turns out that her pace and my pace are basically the same. So we ended up running the whole race together. I was tired, and it was only Pam's second half marathon. And of course neither of us let on that we were both dying, so we continued to keep pushing each other through to the end. I know I would have had a much slower finish time if I hadn't been worried about slowing her down.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBf6P_LMOho1sqRKAkU8-JsWIRTmoozSZkHfGqODnMKsW54cipOxhUyrUHb92LjOs5ZXNwX19ZvVkddms1mZWOg_QvZCuWw6YkXOtiwNrkdzLbcNnx2qSq0kgwHTGPbIX0aE-AQzm8OUw/s1600/14191902_10154537506695798_3146657873398402006_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBf6P_LMOho1sqRKAkU8-JsWIRTmoozSZkHfGqODnMKsW54cipOxhUyrUHb92LjOs5ZXNwX19ZvVkddms1mZWOg_QvZCuWw6YkXOtiwNrkdzLbcNnx2qSq0kgwHTGPbIX0aE-AQzm8OUw/s400/14191902_10154537506695798_3146657873398402006_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finishing up half marathon #83. Photo credit Scott M. Stringham.</td></tr>
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Scott did run up the course to meet me, since I had signed him up for some later races, he couldn't stop running completely after the marathon. He caught up with us just before mile 10 and ran us into the finish, getting some great photos, like he always does.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPblm1WtelJ1UJYpIH2fE5U4nGgtCt-kLQ7TvGDeudcST6o2fMPyQ91KSOCaBMdvU7SSGYniUqZbawuLK0hbN1E-8X8aK1bMC5iqlAA_PdZxBRfL5aiEL1TLLlFHUgTF9Jzfwftx-xPYo/s1600/14241501_10154537512610798_1451327440043788433_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPblm1WtelJ1UJYpIH2fE5U4nGgtCt-kLQ7TvGDeudcST6o2fMPyQ91KSOCaBMdvU7SSGYniUqZbawuLK0hbN1E-8X8aK1bMC5iqlAA_PdZxBRfL5aiEL1TLLlFHUgTF9Jzfwftx-xPYo/s400/14241501_10154537512610798_1451327440043788433_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We're almost done! Wheeeeeee! Also, isn't that a great view? Running in Utah never disappoints. </td></tr>
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After we finished the race, we hung out for a bit and waited for Jamie to finish up the marathon. I will need to run the full marathon at this event one of these days... Jamie was having an incredible race and finished with a shiny new marathon PR! To celebrate, we went and ate breakfast burritos. Because nothing says victory like breakfast burritos.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL24QRFfiJgXOl-zIrzLoTOE-2opxNMNPpjQ0N2bFUgwCIITKXBa8qE0isIgGq-OIC8ZF7QW7VSBTif5X278e7SmflC9M5ymOTXx63S2ceBkF646s12WoNI6phjhO2lVlq7b5KfbpoBm8/s1600/14238324_10210046560979150_3198360609322000434_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL24QRFfiJgXOl-zIrzLoTOE-2opxNMNPpjQ0N2bFUgwCIITKXBa8qE0isIgGq-OIC8ZF7QW7VSBTif5X278e7SmflC9M5ymOTXx63S2ceBkF646s12WoNI6phjhO2lVlq7b5KfbpoBm8/s400/14238324_10210046560979150_3198360609322000434_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This race always has the most beautiful medals.</td></tr>
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Some of you may be wondering if I'm going to talk about the Bear Lake 50 now. Well, I'm not. Mostly because the race got moved to a later date. Also, I can't run it at the later date anyway, which is actually totally fine with me. Spoiler alert: it might have killed me. With the wedding, honeymoon, and house hunt, I am just not ready to tackle that distance. But we are only a week or two away from closing on a house that we love, which happens to be less than a mile from one of my favorite running trails. I've got a game plan that's going to take effect once we get settled. I'm going to get serious and get back on track. I'm going to get my nutrition sorted. I'm going to stop neglecting my cross training. I am going to spend the rest of this year and 2017 prepping for my next 100 mile attempt in March of 2018. Things this big need serious time and preparation. A fact which I blatantly ignored on my last attempt.<br />
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So stay tuned for all of that. Because we all know how the best laid plans tend to go! Until then, happy running!PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-42392706422765956742016-07-31T16:25:00.000-06:002016-07-31T16:25:04.433-06:00Trying to catch up.I haven't blogged in a while... Oops. And I had been doing so well! I have been pretty busy with the wedding preparation, and we decided to buy a house instead of renting. House hunting is basically a part time job. I have been doing some running, though, and it's time to talk about it.<br />
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The weekend after the Bear Lake triple, we were off to run Ragnar Wasatch Back. 5 of the 6 of us in van two had been at the Bear Lake event, so we weren't really sure how it was going to go. We made it up to the first exchange to take over from van one and it was HOT. I think we all nearly melted trying to get through our first legs. We managed to survive and headed out to what we thought was the second exchange. The directions that were written in the booklet made it sound like we needed to go to the high school that was actually the third exchange. So we sat around forever, waiting for our runner to come in. We realized our error a bit too late, but we managed to book it on over to the proper exchange and get back on track. The van one people only waited maybe 10 minutes before we made it there.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Blt3ZPzhUosGTtpBLIBEMWYQkASSUZHJRbXouDOZj-b0SasiPI0_aIvRx7mKNab39v6u-VBJ_t0tyw6U_vuVCnyZwROtdDFrAXc4ToFq0RMd9Csl8IM01Ogitt5BgCaNlx4iXkttgmY/s1600/13427872_10209333906723239_2408907089392670953_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Blt3ZPzhUosGTtpBLIBEMWYQkASSUZHJRbXouDOZj-b0SasiPI0_aIvRx7mKNab39v6u-VBJ_t0tyw6U_vuVCnyZwROtdDFrAXc4ToFq0RMd9Csl8IM01Ogitt5BgCaNlx4iXkttgmY/s400/13427872_10209333906723239_2408907089392670953_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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Our nights legs all went well, but when the sun went down, it got downright cold. You had to keep moving at a decent pace to keep warm. I had a 6 mile run downhill and I have never run 6 miles so fast in my life. It turns out that I can run super fast when I have a full bladder and I'm freezing. I was managing 10 minute miles, and I NEVER do that. I came in so much faster than my team was expecting that I had to wait a few minutes for them to come take over. We finished up our second set of runs just after sunrise and headed to the last exchange.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5EpFj6QhsnE0S3tNXesm_mklY-VZvfipkPRoq9Xdxmn6fX_xgGG_gZDWA1pE6j2tLNBXykeOinoSNDcDNtahEp4yLq08wQN2KACVRyZCKBCEe56FCefFFdRF7LztJ2ilmudX_R9dBqxo/s1600/13427948_1024012031013051_6090198120948675961_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5EpFj6QhsnE0S3tNXesm_mklY-VZvfipkPRoq9Xdxmn6fX_xgGG_gZDWA1pE6j2tLNBXykeOinoSNDcDNtahEp4yLq08wQN2KACVRyZCKBCEe56FCefFFdRF7LztJ2ilmudX_R9dBqxo/s400/13427948_1024012031013051_6090198120948675961_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An epic hand off to Scott on the first day.</td></tr>
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At the last exchange, we tried to sleep in the van, but the hot sun made it difficult to get much sleep. So we were all feeling cranky at this point. As the day progressed, the crankiness turned to loopiness as we tried to get through the tail end of the race. Jamie, our runner 12, got to run some bonus miles at the end as well, because of a last minute course change.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp2hSIKvCBnDCzHT7ay6YpgDbkuhsTj_OuRqAmOSTme-vrhC_4wvxruQo1TSRaDJv0F-aAzlYLviuJMUMOt1QcWEwo8F7vx2rnGOheS2HAu5-_Etl5qRNdwMTvVvrvV7hRRrKcR3jDVNU/s1600/13434864_10209357946764225_4153025316433469761_n+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp2hSIKvCBnDCzHT7ay6YpgDbkuhsTj_OuRqAmOSTme-vrhC_4wvxruQo1TSRaDJv0F-aAzlYLviuJMUMOt1QcWEwo8F7vx2rnGOheS2HAu5-_Etl5qRNdwMTvVvrvV7hRRrKcR3jDVNU/s400/13434864_10209357946764225_4153025316433469761_n+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Team Haulin' Arse, looking triumphant. </td></tr>
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I spent the week following Ragnar just trying to recover. Those things always beat me up, worse than any ultra I've run. The fatigue is overpowering. But I had another race to run the next weekend, so I did my best to catch up on sleep and do some active recovery at the gym.<br />
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Next up was the AF Canyon Half. The proceeds from this race go to cancer research. It's a wonderful course, as well, so it's a win/win all around. I didn't feel so great at the start (go figure) and it was a struggle to get through it. I did manage a decent time due to the course.<br />
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Scott ran up the course to meet me, and get his miles in for the day. It's always so great when he does that. I enjoy having the company to get me through the last few miles of a race.<br />
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As an extra bonus, he always runs ahead to capture the finish. It's like having my own personal race photographer, plus a lunch date for afterwards.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: Scott M. Stringham</td></tr>
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I was still feeling quite a bit of fatigue from the past weeks of racing, so I spent even more time not running during the week to try and be ready for the next weekend of racing. The 13 Miles of Freedom was up next. Scott, Jamie, and I were all in for yet another half marathon. This one was nice because they cooked up a pancake breakfast for us at the end. We all struggled with the heat, and our finish times were not what we wanted, but at least we got it done.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwAaUNJAUBjG3aTUFZKGtosMqz31D_vu_C0XCRcKNEKJro5jrc8Y4X9wgOWTR453jTbjCfnDYZms5oRpyMt78mcz06VPQYv2QFtFoMH70B68XVvXnRVC3A8A3Kyeh2Cng4FgSZFAYzJSw/s1600/13516252_10210107515034324_3636643390498765456_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwAaUNJAUBjG3aTUFZKGtosMqz31D_vu_C0XCRcKNEKJro5jrc8Y4X9wgOWTR453jTbjCfnDYZms5oRpyMt78mcz06VPQYv2QFtFoMH70B68XVvXnRVC3A8A3Kyeh2Cng4FgSZFAYzJSw/s400/13516252_10210107515034324_3636643390498765456_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Running for America. Photo credit: Jamie Eckles. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So patriotic. </td></tr>
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I had one more race to get through before a much needed break. My last race for July was the Hobbler Half Marathon. The course is down the canyon right by my house. I like the race for its convenience, plus the french toast breakfast afterwards. Scott ran this one with me, too, since he needed 13 miles for the day anyway so why not get a medal for it?<br />
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It was a nice day to race. It started early enough that we got through before it got too hot outside. I was finally feeling good and was able to run a strong race. I finished with my fastest half marathon time for the year. They changed the course from the previous years that I had run it. There was less downhill with the new course, but it didn't seem to matter to my time.<br />
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With all of the races out of the way, I still have had to get my long training runs in. The heat has been sending me inside to get most of them done on the treadmill. But I have been managing to get most of them in. My training hasn't been perfect, what with everything else going on. I've got the Bear Lake 50 coming up in September, and I really don't know if I'll be ready or not. I may end up not doing it, depending on how things go after the wedding, honeymoon, and the continued house hunt. At least we're running a race on the honeymoon (I know you're all surprised to hear that).<br />
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I hope to have a more entertaining and timely blog for y'all next time. Until then, happy running!PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-25038908711723419092016-06-26T20:59:00.000-06:002016-06-26T20:59:57.021-06:00The Bear Lake Report (alternate title: I'm not dead)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's been three weeks since the Bear Lake triple marathon. Three long weeks in which maybe some of my dear readers thought I had died in my attempt. Since I am writing this, it is apparent that I did not perish.<br />
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Let me take you on a journey that covers three days, three states, and 78.6 miles. It is a tale fraught with peril, triumph, and the agony of the feet.<br />
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The Bear Lake adventure started out innocently enough. Scott and I drove up to meet with the rest of our party, Jamie, Teresa, and Desaray, in Logan to gather supplies for the weekend. There's nothing like 5 stressed out runners trying to make sure they're buying enough food for the upcoming weekend. The cashier was pretty impressed/horrified by the amount of food that was purchased for such short period of time.<br />
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We got everything loaded into the two cars and made our way to packet pick up in Montpelier, Idaho. When we arrived, we were showered with copious amounts of race swag.<br />
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We foolishly told the race director that we would be running the secret fourth day race on Sunday. Because I wasn't ready to run three marathons in three days, so I should totally act like I could run one more on the fourth day. But we'll get to that.<br />
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We made our way over to our home for the weekend, found that it was on the second floor and had no elevator, and lugged our ludicrous amount of gear and food up two flights of stairs. Scott cooked a tasty pasta dinner for us while we foam rolled and tried to come to terms with what was about to happen. Jamie and I were in for the three full marathons, while Teresa and Desaray were in for the three half marathons. Scott was set to run the half marathon on Saturday.<br />
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The alarm went off at 3:30 a.m. on Thursday morning and the adventure began in earnest.<br />
<br />
Day one: Location: Cokeville, Wyoming.<br />
Fun fact about Cokeville, Wyoming: they had a miracle.<br />
They also have a really long, hilly road that we got to run on.<br />
<br />
For the first one, I decided not to take the early start and start with all the fastholes. The course would be open until 1 p.m., surely I would be able to finish before that. I'm always so funny.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6CiPr3DOECuTIZmrJkvTuPrnifRtNEsPsBR0P0ixUQ7LPTFqaTAfDZzwHSJuj1O1l-4KK-lsFrSGXsGI2VFT3eEqZN8JojibR6h6CmUMsR5SjdFzGWOKt77Is7MDI5yE5hgzgWvXVQdk/s1600/13393939_10209910249782816_4364230169391929660_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6CiPr3DOECuTIZmrJkvTuPrnifRtNEsPsBR0P0ixUQ7LPTFqaTAfDZzwHSJuj1O1l-4KK-lsFrSGXsGI2VFT3eEqZN8JojibR6h6CmUMsR5SjdFzGWOKt77Is7MDI5yE5hgzgWvXVQdk/s400/13393939_10209910249782816_4364230169391929660_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying to look excited for what's about to happen. Photo courtesy of Jamie Eckles.</td></tr>
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When we started, I watched nearly the entire pack pull away from me like I was standing still. I immediately regretted my choice of skipping the early start. One or two runners were back where I was and one in particular wanted to be quite chatty, until she realized that my pace was "just a little slow" for her. I've been running slowly in races for long enough that this didn't bother me much. It's my pace for my race, and that's how I get it done.<br />
<br />
I mostly enjoyed myself for the first 10 or so miles. I wasn't making amazing time, but I thought I would finish somewhere around six and a half hours. The course was an out and back, and it seemed like we were going mostly uphill so I was looking forward to the turn-around. My physical state started to slip somewhere around mile 11, though, and once I hit the turn around the course still felt like it was still uphill.<br />
<br />
The strange thing for me was how well I was doing mentally. Everyone was so far ahead of me, but I could just see one girl way up ahead, and there happened to be one woman who was walking the whole thing quite a bit behind me. I wasn't totally alone, but it felt like it. I figured I would make the most out of the solitude and sing loudly and badly as I went along. I also talked to the cows that were pastured along the course, because why not.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmnjc0Q_aof9o0Fy_zq2wmDqGBm18rdrV56HTZ7hH5XsTF3DwfDJ5wHaac3BFL7obTxcsInqKE_MhKm-rn5hn-mb0RL1AwuuhIxTqowNz5vsvrgvtsbwzXlQlkVJhWUnazparuvmvcPqA/s1600/13418943_10209252592450433_2134560410731913592_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmnjc0Q_aof9o0Fy_zq2wmDqGBm18rdrV56HTZ7hH5XsTF3DwfDJ5wHaac3BFL7obTxcsInqKE_MhKm-rn5hn-mb0RL1AwuuhIxTqowNz5vsvrgvtsbwzXlQlkVJhWUnazparuvmvcPqA/s400/13418943_10209252592450433_2134560410731913592_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This road goes on forever. And ever. And ever. </td></tr>
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Scott was running up the course to meet me to get his miles in for the day and see me through to the finish. I was supposed to be a lot farther along than I was, so he ended up with plenty of bonus miles. I basically had to walk the last 8 miles. I would try to run here and there but every time that I did, my feet would just hurt. That was the biggest problem of day one, extreme foot pain. I really didn't think that would pop up until the second day. Oh well.<br />
<br />
Scott just walked with me and kept me company, which was nice after being alone for most of the day. I didn't even sprint to the finish. I waited until it was pretty darn close and then kind of shuffled in under the arch. It was a rough finish. I came in at 7 hours and 21 minutes. 21 minutes after the course "closed". The great thing about these races, though, is that they allow everyone to finish, the course support just ends. Thank goodness.<br />
<br />
We went and got ourselves some celebratory raspberry shakes. Which turned out to be a bad idea after a long race with no real food in our stomachs. Lesson learned. We finally got some real food, had a little time to wind down, and then it was off to bed so that we could get up crazy early and do it all over again.<br />
<br />
Day two: Location: Montpelier, Idaho.<br />
Fun fact: Montpelier, Idaho: there are carved bear statues everywhere. EVERYWHERE.<br />
It was also my favorite course of the three.<br />
<br />
I opted for the early start this time, but had a hard time getting going in the morning and we got there just a few minutes late. I had to scramble to get going and chase down the rest of the runners. The course was point to point this time and extremely lovely. I was surprised at how well I was moving on stiff legs.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDuRWnppI2jo32m0Svpgv4rfw73rUl8dHjE4t1a89csjWO3KAN6DF4N48L5XzShlwPEqXC-9h_f7NwIvE-8_gzAqjPedPMQcQpRvntuNdA_PCwmfB2LcfO7yI7PGpQoXa1H4Ps3eA2-aA/s1600/13344575_10209261974604981_3127129875266360959_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDuRWnppI2jo32m0Svpgv4rfw73rUl8dHjE4t1a89csjWO3KAN6DF4N48L5XzShlwPEqXC-9h_f7NwIvE-8_gzAqjPedPMQcQpRvntuNdA_PCwmfB2LcfO7yI7PGpQoXa1H4Ps3eA2-aA/s400/13344575_10209261974604981_3127129875266360959_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some shots from the course. </td></tr>
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This was also a fairly flat course, until we hit the dirt road section, and even that wasn't too bad The weather was much cooler on the second day, and that coupled with my early start left me feeling surprisingly good. I always do better when it's cool. All of the fast runners started to catch up with me around mile 9, as we were running through an open range with cows running towards us. That made for some fun moments.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9eznMPh9g01RiswXAymgpGuwaRx0SLe6_KnBb2S1uS16AjKqqVwh-G-Zkoy0f6_nhp7hbHthPz9ktUQsF7ygWMCK2MRIh-ZfPF6XZQm98JGJ-S5Vsv7QmZnjaNy_Qeci6A-VuT-LtpC4/s1600/20150423__CCT-WCCOWS-0426-1-4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9eznMPh9g01RiswXAymgpGuwaRx0SLe6_KnBb2S1uS16AjKqqVwh-G-Zkoy0f6_nhp7hbHthPz9ktUQsF7ygWMCK2MRIh-ZfPF6XZQm98JGJ-S5Vsv7QmZnjaNy_Qeci6A-VuT-LtpC4/s400/20150423__CCT-WCCOWS-0426-1-4.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stock photo of cows. I wasn't about to stop and take a picture as they ran down the road at me. </td></tr>
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I survived the open range and made it back to the paved road where more and more of the regular start people whizzed on by. By around mile 11, I was starting to struggle. I felt like I did during Behind the Rocks, where I was so tired that I couldn't really keep my eyes open. Nothing like going into a torpor when you still have 16 miles to go. I stumbled along, just trying to keep moving. For some reason, I didn't even think to eat something and take my electrolyte pills. I struggled on for another mile before I realized that a boost of calories and some salt may make a difference. Runner brain is a real thing, guys. And it's not pretty.<br />
<br />
After I finally got a gel in my system with some electrolytes and a caffeine pain pill, I was nearly a brand new person. I was able to pick the pace back up again and make better progress. At this point, most of the fastys had passed by and I was alone again. So I decided to go back to what worked the day before to keep my spirits up: singing loudly and badly, with a few sweet dance moves thrown in. I also had packed some real food with me for this one and I actually thought to eat some of it later on during the race.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVqe0oBVMYgqUfAHt7SlqZ6epxV2XTaQUsGZeP-2dLFNHo2VoTn8upe95KEF0dkMO5CvtcqMo1uL7tnfq4ZdSt3acAVRYZGg6tuFmq_pCkY5g7jlRrOI_c5ImWe-lP7iDXmReKExP6Jpg/s1600/13412925_10209261924243722_178859072887310789_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVqe0oBVMYgqUfAHt7SlqZ6epxV2XTaQUsGZeP-2dLFNHo2VoTn8upe95KEF0dkMO5CvtcqMo1uL7tnfq4ZdSt3acAVRYZGg6tuFmq_pCkY5g7jlRrOI_c5ImWe-lP7iDXmReKExP6Jpg/s400/13412925_10209261924243722_178859072887310789_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love me some creepy old buildings. </td></tr>
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Scott decided to drive up and down the course this time, since our "run" the day before was much less than stellar. This proved to be quite a bonus to me. It meant he could bring me a cold Coke to drink. There's nothing like a cold soda during a long race. I don't care if it's good for me or not because for just that little while, it makes you feel like everything is going to be fine.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy2TtE2qptX5bdKJicvX7NZj3HDaK2GPBC-3XanWVUNgZI4vfUtM7WOinK2sI7z7MGqzyJG76EUQkcwNQi5gF2ZJBsgZMkXNqLWI4XXzfjlCeR4UNft5B6QHcfcXG9TH1OTB-4jKxD3To/s1600/13406885_10154287622415798_2700175760692103056_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy2TtE2qptX5bdKJicvX7NZj3HDaK2GPBC-3XanWVUNgZI4vfUtM7WOinK2sI7z7MGqzyJG76EUQkcwNQi5gF2ZJBsgZMkXNqLWI4XXzfjlCeR4UNft5B6QHcfcXG9TH1OTB-4jKxD3To/s400/13406885_10154287622415798_2700175760692103056_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not only could he bring me liquid joy, he could also take pictures as I went along. </td></tr>
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I had been moving along at a slow but steady pace and was able to keep it going, which continually surprised me. But that doesn't mean that I wasn't thrilled to see this welcomed sign.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb9hZosbpKP2XQyU2uhSzMWN0-_RTVPTWyRV07d2qo0CJrolG8LkJOvF5q55zLj4igdU4IwO6WQATxOfB_WwHh36kXtzRIfwqawB-7-PokB4uUmfgfMGHMEttmOVFSrzbhnbuMEVKi1w4/s1600/13427969_10209262000205621_3464898433037427992_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb9hZosbpKP2XQyU2uhSzMWN0-_RTVPTWyRV07d2qo0CJrolG8LkJOvF5q55zLj4igdU4IwO6WQATxOfB_WwHh36kXtzRIfwqawB-7-PokB4uUmfgfMGHMEttmOVFSrzbhnbuMEVKi1w4/s400/13427969_10209262000205621_3464898433037427992_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yaaaaassssssss.</td></tr>
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That last mile actually went by rather quickly. I think this was due to the fact that I couldn't see the finish line until it was right upon me. I turned a corner and there it was! And wouldn't you know it, I finished only four minutes slower than the day before. I have no idea how it happened, but it may have just been my previous ultra training kicking in to save my sorry butt.<br />
<br />
Then it was back to the hotel to start recovering yet again and going to bed early. I did make myself go and spend some time in the pool, allowing my warm leg muscles a chance to cool off. Everyone was a little more subdued after day two was over. Scott whipped us up another tasty dinner of steaks and mashed potatoes and we were back in bed before the sun went down.<br />
<br />
Day three: Location: Laketown, Utah.<br />
Fun fact: bald eagles nest there during the summer. I know because I saw them.<br />
This race was also horrible for 22 miles.<br />
<br />
Jamie offered to take me to the early start for day three, even though she would be waiting around for an hour to start her race, so that Scott, Teresa, and Desaray wouldn't have to get up so early, since their race started at 7:00. We were moving noticeably slower on day three. We all had the appearance of ragged zombies, a dead, cold look in our eyes. I made my way up the hilly first portion of the course. Jamie managed to catch up to me quite early on in this one. And when we saw each other, we both vowed that we would not be running the secret day four race. The only thing that was getting me through this last race was knowing that I wouldn't have to get up and do it again.<br />
<br />
I was running 16-17 minute miles. Around mile 10, there were some kids out in a field and they were trying to get the runners to talk to them. Since I was moving so slowly, I had time to answer their questions.<br />
<br />
Kids: "You look tired, why are you tired?"<br />
Me: "I am tired. This is my third marathon in three days."<br />
Kids: "You're running a marathon every day? Why?!"<br />
Me: "Because it sounded like fun when I signed up. But guess what. It ISN'T fun."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj91vVL97WG03k1C9PLelxOjshbsG_O8-r_PwodzikuDB5bO7E-pI232Aq9RjGhGnIwUJHAOQLMw72HigV0yUwpd06CG-7Pmlt0MzyRFlwAn87_kNPVUoTAoXMrvNpGYbV9WrIcDjM6RKk/s1600/13413645_10209270181490148_5786272283999612932_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj91vVL97WG03k1C9PLelxOjshbsG_O8-r_PwodzikuDB5bO7E-pI232Aq9RjGhGnIwUJHAOQLMw72HigV0yUwpd06CG-7Pmlt0MzyRFlwAn87_kNPVUoTAoXMrvNpGYbV9WrIcDjM6RKk/s400/13413645_10209270181490148_5786272283999612932_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A lovely sight before the busy road. </td></tr>
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And then I kept slogging on. And on. And on. We ended up on the main road through town and I didn't like that one bit. Not having much of a shoulder to run on while large, boat towing vehicles come hurtling down the road towards you is not ideal. Eventually we were directed off the road and onto a isolated dirt road. That was much better. And I was feeling like I could make it, it wouldn't be pretty but I could make it. As I was shuffling along the road, I came to a steep hill just before an aid station, so I started walking. While I was walking up the hill to the aid station, another runner passed by me and asked if I was walking the whole thing. Now that really pissed me off. That road was straight. He could see me for a long time before he caught up with me to pass me. And I had been running. I HAD BEEN RUNNING, YOU JERK. Why would you ask me that?! Why not just say "hello", or "looking good", or "keep it up"? I didn't mention anything about him puking his guts out after the finish of day one because I'm not a jerk. Rule number one of running; Don't be a jerk.<br />
<br />
I had been trying to get my runner brain to calculate what time I would be finishing. Math is difficult when you're sleep deprived and exhausted. But I finally figured that at the rate I was going, I would finish in about eight and a half hours. WHAT. Oh well. There's not much I could do about it but keep moving. I tried to enjoy the scenery, since it was very pretty. The day was not overly hot, we had some nice cloud cover. I got to pet someone's corgi. That was nice.<br />
<br />
Scott had finished his race and had decided to drive out to find me. I was not in a good place mentally or physically when he did. I had been through 22 rough miles at that point. But he had something magical in the car. He had a small carton of chocolate milk. I didn't know that chocolate milk was ambrosia of the gods until that moment. I drank it down and got ready to keep on slogging. Scott said he would go back and get me a Coke as well. He left and I made my way up a massive hill. Once I got to the top, things started feeling a million times better.<br />
<br />
That chocolate milk had done the trick. I felt like I could run. So I did. I started a slow jog, and was able to finish that mile in 16 minutes. Then the next mile fell under my feet in 14 minutes. I passed another runner. I flew down the hill and right past the aid station, not daring to stop, lest it should throw off my groove. I was nearly to mile 25 when Scott was back with the Coke. He was amazed that I was so close to the end. I was making up time like crazy. I stopped to drink some Coke, then just kept going.<br />
<br />
They cruelly threw in a gigantic hill just past mile 25 that had to be climbed and then run back down before we could head to the finish. I powered up that hill and was down in no time. My time for that mile was 13:34, the fastest I had run the entire day. And that was with the hill, and stopping to drink.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKt02Qqg5u00waMPfCiU3yQ9ZnGhJ7L6c3E2vmb-TzEbnIq7YFV0OIvMsOQ9E4ILaYRTPiwhdUjEpird2OUvbEx3ZKpFcCf5RZpxQFIRKt5wMCKuJSnNR0LnESsZ_kkPePUXklFxnyQ8c/s1600/13419133_10154290570710798_3876424311210613301_n+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKt02Qqg5u00waMPfCiU3yQ9ZnGhJ7L6c3E2vmb-TzEbnIq7YFV0OIvMsOQ9E4ILaYRTPiwhdUjEpird2OUvbEx3ZKpFcCf5RZpxQFIRKt5wMCKuJSnNR0LnESsZ_kkPePUXklFxnyQ8c/s400/13419133_10154290570710798_3876424311210613301_n+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Killing the hill. Photo credit: Scott M. Stringham</td></tr>
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I could see the finish, I felt amazing. I was able to sprint my way under that arch with a time of 7 hours and 56 minutes. I had managed to knock 34 minutes off of the finish time that I had projected back at mile 17. I couldn't believe it. I rode that high the whole way back to the hotel and for a while after. Although, when I came down, I came down hard. I then spent the rest of the night eating everything I could find.<br />
<br />
We had all successfully finished what we set out to do. Jamie, Teresa, and Desaray were all there at the finish to celebrate that we had all lived through it. Scott had a rough time with his half marathon, but still managed to come in 38th overall, out of nearly 200 runners. I was proud of him for pushing though when all he wanted to do was quit. He's got the makings of an ultra runner.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDzolNj7iVLPwYdj7FWLfPhGxD8iIMyz7eupGWoMF-XyPX3sbLnetWPgmRtYHwAlraTnwJ3pf4C80adBAaKyVpLQEgLXV-LqIioav8Z6koRtEyJTu5O-dX6a_ixzhbfpdM4C-RIkIeKmU/s1600/13450808_10209933281598597_6746630284865710543_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDzolNj7iVLPwYdj7FWLfPhGxD8iIMyz7eupGWoMF-XyPX3sbLnetWPgmRtYHwAlraTnwJ3pf4C80adBAaKyVpLQEgLXV-LqIioav8Z6koRtEyJTu5O-dX6a_ixzhbfpdM4C-RIkIeKmU/s400/13450808_10209933281598597_6746630284865710543_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hanging out with all our bling after a rough weekend. Photo courtesy of Jamie Eckles. </td></tr>
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<br />I don't know how I got through this challenge, I honestly wasn't ready for it at all. I didn't do a single back to back long run like I had scheduled. My laziness totally won during my training cycle. So basically, the take away from this is, if you're stubborn enough and are willing to deal with massive amounts of pain, you can do anything. I don't think that's a very good moral at all. But it is what it is. I know one thing though, I will not attempt anything like this again on such half-assed training. I learned my lesson.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;">l<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwInv1dXacgofcngJHqzxyAzykRn_QlAF5U_1LNS5KdYfmxdQPB8Ull7Y9obwELgiHmi3NPrHr2adOW_d7zls4HscZieZX95X1_9DTfV91d2HuB4U-yNEOsUUO1sXUpPfNelFVcRmuut8/s1600/13418898_10209277522953680_493826788252386313_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwInv1dXacgofcngJHqzxyAzykRn_QlAF5U_1LNS5KdYfmxdQPB8Ull7Y9obwELgiHmi3NPrHr2adOW_d7zls4HscZieZX95X1_9DTfV91d2HuB4U-yNEOsUUO1sXUpPfNelFVcRmuut8/s400/13418898_10209277522953680_493826788252386313_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lesson learned and buckle earned. </td></tr>
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My next report will go over the madness that is Ragnar, and a few other half marathons. Until then, happy running!<br />
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<br />PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-42630467015583498052016-05-29T17:49:00.000-06:002016-05-29T17:49:18.150-06:00The May race report!I'm so proactive on this race report that I'm doing it before the end of the month. So basically, I am winning at life. I do have one more race for this month, but it's just a free little local 10K for Memorial Day. I don't know that anything crazy will happen during it, but I'll be sure to report on it if I find a dead body or something else runners are known to do.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim78wnwbybTh7bx88vgwR-31CO4_qhWNRI3maVfnwikD7QRoro6rvwZXDjsbDhGk3jpWlYvAJQCA8xAne3tDrCW1Jwu6w8B1-KgS3nZDQHudhpsV8_-HKPVBKhZY4JQc2sUpn9yqFMJng/s1600/05191c9198c5e84042414976957058cde0ca4-wm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim78wnwbybTh7bx88vgwR-31CO4_qhWNRI3maVfnwikD7QRoro6rvwZXDjsbDhGk3jpWlYvAJQCA8xAne3tDrCW1Jwu6w8B1-KgS3nZDQHudhpsV8_-HKPVBKhZY4JQc2sUpn9yqFMJng/s400/05191c9198c5e84042414976957058cde0ca4-wm.jpg" width="277" /></a></div>
I took a break for the first weekend of May so that I could support Scott in running a half marathon at his pace instead of mine. As his significant coacher, I was very curious to know what he could really do. It turns out, he can run a half marathon roughly an hour faster than I can. It was most impressive.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqrw-XADCAq1qcCLQKe3aAv42fZYiMH1ayNUQDMwZXVii-nuF1jrrOJWGNpWM4sqbMuPZ5ejGzkZhsnt1iWjWXU32o4RZ2oa_fEOVs4D1BN1QufJM2CEz1Qw5aMrA0P8sfv9sApzmOL7k/s1600/13173830_10209008599990774_5020783784329544463_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqrw-XADCAq1qcCLQKe3aAv42fZYiMH1ayNUQDMwZXVii-nuF1jrrOJWGNpWM4sqbMuPZ5ejGzkZhsnt1iWjWXU32o4RZ2oa_fEOVs4D1BN1QufJM2CEz1Qw5aMrA0P8sfv9sApzmOL7k/s400/13173830_10209008599990774_5020783784329544463_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coming in at a speedy 1:43 and change.</td></tr>
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The next weekend, we headed down to Vernal for my favorite half marathon, the Dino Half. I've run this race every year since it began. I have a three minute window of time that I finish this race in every year, too. I was happy to keep that trend going this year.<br />
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The weather was perfect, which was a nice change from all of the stormy races I'd been having. The hotel catered to their running guests by serving breakfast earlier than usual. It was nice to have an actual breakfasty breakfast before a race for once. Most of the time I'm eating a package of Poptarts or a peanut butter sandwich in the car on the way to the start.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA2DPUf8jAt8BPpDy-HAJrEZ-9yAvoWGl5yxCe9n8KAdSkUy9n6M0YkETRU3dEMJuc0fl6HtNh6qLeMd5z-fQgOssjGcOP5y8JRQGUZzGm1OYlGwqUcQa0St6twDv-GIINPjEPRQWtZ74/s1600/peanut-butter-and-jelly-pop-tarts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA2DPUf8jAt8BPpDy-HAJrEZ-9yAvoWGl5yxCe9n8KAdSkUy9n6M0YkETRU3dEMJuc0fl6HtNh6qLeMd5z-fQgOssjGcOP5y8JRQGUZzGm1OYlGwqUcQa0St6twDv-GIINPjEPRQWtZ74/s320/peanut-butter-and-jelly-pop-tarts.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I got these for the mornings when I can't choose between one or the other. </td></tr>
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The race started and we were off. Scott made a habit of jumping over the cones along the race course. There were an awful lot of cones along this course, so by the end he was starting to regret his life choices. I was just trying to keep moving forward, neglecting the up and down jumping motion. We finished up the race and got a little fuel to head back out on the race course. We had told our friend, Cevan, that we'd come back up to keep him company while he swept the course.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUASyUnH2Ea9zFITjEeYbJuYtYEtaAVFqgeWjHq2dVmk2_vzfqcsd1dj-tXaufpvBezL6gQWMVsE4Au3wpf1qCIB3DBK96EvaqySEozG5sdYvMtFGSxaV_kOAiGavg0HyUs9nMRbAeW_k/s1600/13221607_10209456303508105_1840153730696319655_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUASyUnH2Ea9zFITjEeYbJuYtYEtaAVFqgeWjHq2dVmk2_vzfqcsd1dj-tXaufpvBezL6gQWMVsE4Au3wpf1qCIB3DBK96EvaqySEozG5sdYvMtFGSxaV_kOAiGavg0HyUs9nMRbAeW_k/s400/13221607_10209456303508105_1840153730696319655_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: Cevan Skinner.</td></tr>
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We ended up with an extra 3.5 miles for the day. In my mind, that little extra is TOTALLY going to help me survive Bear Lake.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdg-2-A8DBXrp91EPSoLTXJVg18omAXl9XgDDypNhUpD0MfjIj3gDJUdcyYb6cHNrmxZ8L6DFF8dCmlasHDgDkr0rWmhtOtckGQqE-59crz5jZCmF9S0jOUH1EjIMmz2d2R2XUrChl-t4/s1600/13177094_10209062787545429_4991198200529603957_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdg-2-A8DBXrp91EPSoLTXJVg18omAXl9XgDDypNhUpD0MfjIj3gDJUdcyYb6cHNrmxZ8L6DFF8dCmlasHDgDkr0rWmhtOtckGQqE-59crz5jZCmF9S0jOUH1EjIMmz2d2R2XUrChl-t4/s400/13177094_10209062787545429_4991198200529603957_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Half marathon rock stars. </td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg3Xrk-d6zQEvhQZvDFoIC8Tq5FNPe6ApXk9b80pvjae9f_6f20yb0DIOxoNER59tuBBRYqm_iY_DjLkoQlvNDrJEKHecVQOqj8wpXVohkU2CrEjNixZh0CCFt-GvynzsitMWftPLp3Ko/s1600/13244675_10209062885707883_4485042505510413819_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg3Xrk-d6zQEvhQZvDFoIC8Tq5FNPe6ApXk9b80pvjae9f_6f20yb0DIOxoNER59tuBBRYqm_iY_DjLkoQlvNDrJEKHecVQOqj8wpXVohkU2CrEjNixZh0CCFt-GvynzsitMWftPLp3Ko/s200/13244675_10209062885707883_4485042505510413819_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The medals for this race are always incredible.</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8a09u2UMcovVzeaWBSLhExHWv0zQBKCy7VzYyiI91IKN2oLPivfeo6cheLnItGASCnoh5QHGXpjXgghG6o41nBPS0jRum25Iuopg-cF3KXNUsdj5PJlKPr0hAG6cHGBeyIkBeQz6IjxU/s1600/13245232_10209062884907863_8774773808383732996_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8a09u2UMcovVzeaWBSLhExHWv0zQBKCy7VzYyiI91IKN2oLPivfeo6cheLnItGASCnoh5QHGXpjXgghG6o41nBPS0jRum25Iuopg-cF3KXNUsdj5PJlKPr0hAG6cHGBeyIkBeQz6IjxU/s200/13245232_10209062884907863_8774773808383732996_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag from the race. As always, great stuff!</td></tr>
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I was feeling pretty ready to run the Ogden Marathon the next weekend. And then I got sick. Throat burning, fever and sniffles, sick. I left work early on Wednesday to try and get over the worst of it. And by Friday, I was thinking that I was feeling well enough to tackle the race without much difficulty. I am so funny sometimes.<br />
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So I meet Jamie at the bus loading area and we head up to the start. Last year, it poured rain the entire race. I figured there was no way that it could do that two years in a row, but I made myself a trash bag poncho just in case. And it's a goof thing, too, because when we got off of the bus, the rain was already coming down.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjLRRmPagc1P1fmkj0K-gor_-SQFiYQZog2Z41lYKuWHIxnC_qlrzVXhJwoKNn5A645bk3gR8o5PLA5me8jYbs9Hd0Ir5oIsm1RhEDn3HEV4lZJddQsGBCqcLVFdN-bqG51tiv95a3pvw/s1600/13267868_10209755029822414_4488920932840154080_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjLRRmPagc1P1fmkj0K-gor_-SQFiYQZog2Z41lYKuWHIxnC_qlrzVXhJwoKNn5A645bk3gR8o5PLA5me8jYbs9Hd0Ir5oIsm1RhEDn3HEV4lZJddQsGBCqcLVFdN-bqG51tiv95a3pvw/s400/13267868_10209755029822414_4488920932840154080_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying to be marathon mermaids in our space blankets and trash bags. Photo credit Jamie Eckles. </td></tr>
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We sat around getting rained on for over an hour and a half waiting for the race to start. I was doing my best to try and stay positive about running in the rain. After all, I had my trusty trash bag. Sure, I was starting to feel sniffley again, and my throat was starting to feel raw again. But I had my trash bag! My head was soaked. But I had my trash bag!<br />
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The race started and right away, I could tell that things felt weird. My body was really struggling, my breathing wouldn't settle. But I had my trash bag, so I just kept going. I actually HAD to keep going so that I didn't freeze to death. The trash bag was keeping the rain off of most of me, but my jacket collar was wicking water down onto the rest of me. So I was plenty wet. At least it helped keep the wind from cutting through too badly.<br />
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I couldn't see my watch because it was buried under my jacket sleeve. So I just tried to run by feel, and my feel wasn't good. I was only walking through the aid stations because if I tried walking at any other point, I would start to shiver. I hit the half mark at about 3:02, which seemed too slow for how nice the course is. It's a lot of downhill so I knew that something was not quite right. There were people dropping out at various aid stations due to the weather. But I am a stubborn gal, so I just kept slogging along.<br />
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I thought I was doing much better than I was. I didn't feel that I had slowed as much as I had. I was just pushing the best that I could, to keep warm. The weather finally did break and I was able to feel some sunshine warming my black plastic trash bag. I kept it on for a few miles, not trusting that the sun would stick around. But after I started steaming in my trash bag, I decided to let it go.<br />
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I was happy to feel some warmth finally, but I was really feeling drained. Since I didn't have to keep running to keep from freezing, I ended up walking much of those last 4 miles. My breathing felt rough and my heart rate was not where I wanted it. By the time I came into the finish, a new storm cell was rolling in and I got pelted by a little more rain before making it to the end.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXu3tPlVLTSd3YReYonhk_A_qAz_uLLiQVxHb3lbYQTMs997O-j0NMP1dEoRTzVVhxV0HmzA2XsMIY-QKyED5XOeG2TaAemV5kxMr3hpWkdACOltFKjP5RtPbdhiaj6-0BPFj6ZM3Tsr4/s1600/IMG_5037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXu3tPlVLTSd3YReYonhk_A_qAz_uLLiQVxHb3lbYQTMs997O-j0NMP1dEoRTzVVhxV0HmzA2XsMIY-QKyED5XOeG2TaAemV5kxMr3hpWkdACOltFKjP5RtPbdhiaj6-0BPFj6ZM3Tsr4/s400/IMG_5037.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not feeling fine, at all. At least it looks like I'm moving alright. </td></tr>
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Scott, his son, and my mom were all waiting at the finish so that we could go have our celebratory meal at Rovali's Italian restaurant. As we sat down and began to eat, I could barely get anything down. My body wasn't having it. It let me sip on my hot chocolate and eat my minestone soup, but I had to do it slow. I haven't had eating issues after a race since my first few marathons. I tried to eat my lasagna but I could only get a few bites in.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsLKHE53UnUCu7bxvm8b3nRDISGtOPMstS1xMwZjcpIjeMdqAPu-M6tM3_muQQmr1WlPTtnm4-0vn2MvO302lW1bjfQeEnQcU9Ykb6-_z4fU6-7jguLNk5U6U_xNv8CTvtFcveEwkgu-M/s1600/13256298_10209114952329516_2442796701144992578_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsLKHE53UnUCu7bxvm8b3nRDISGtOPMstS1xMwZjcpIjeMdqAPu-M6tM3_muQQmr1WlPTtnm4-0vn2MvO302lW1bjfQeEnQcU9Ykb6-_z4fU6-7jguLNk5U6U_xNv8CTvtFcveEwkgu-M/s400/13256298_10209114952329516_2442796701144992578_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The rain ate my race bib.</td></tr>
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By the time we made it home from the race, it was clear to me that I was still sick. Really sick. I had developed a wicked cough that is still with me as I write this. But I had another marathon to run, and so I did!<br />
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The Jordan River marathon was yesterday. I had been out late the night before, watching Scott's band play a rockin' show.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivxaJeroSXlUtrKA-Si5Itb-6Goi8hdJ0ZvPBz-Nb5Qe2mIw9qUyqXSaok9mQNdsER4IdVGZBIaqR2FGAOseL8-2R2SZ-0_uhKvxURxQYgb1hdtJ4VgK2ZG1U4YK0T3RcHWAwMUQjWKss/s1600/12705483_10208224436507177_6667616067560257871_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivxaJeroSXlUtrKA-Si5Itb-6Goi8hdJ0ZvPBz-Nb5Qe2mIw9qUyqXSaok9mQNdsER4IdVGZBIaqR2FGAOseL8-2R2SZ-0_uhKvxURxQYgb1hdtJ4VgK2ZG1U4YK0T3RcHWAwMUQjWKss/s320/12705483_10208224436507177_6667616067560257871_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If we're not running, we're rocking.</td></tr>
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I managed to get three and a half hours of sleep before the race. No big deal, right? I had gotten decent sleep the whole week before, so I should have been fine. But, surprise surprise, I wasn't! I am playing a game right now that I call "sick or allergies?". Basically, it's me trying to figure out if I am still sick or if my allergies are so bad that I feel like I'm dying.<br />
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The race had 86 people in in. That means that when it started, everyone else took off at break-neck speed and left me plodding along behind. No big deal, it's not the first time and it won't be the last. I tried to keep a positive attitude, but I felt horrible, physically, so it wasn't easy. I spent most of this race all by myself. One lone girl, race bib pinned on, zombie shuffling her way down the trail. I hoped that there were still racers up ahead of me, so that the regular trail users would know I was actually in a race and not just playing dress up.<br />
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Scott had driven to the finish and was going to get his miles in for the day by running up the trail to meet me and then running with me until the end. He ended up with 2 more miles than he needed because of how far behind I was. I was 16 minutes behind where I should have been when he caught up to me, and it got worse from there. I was only able to shuffle out 15-16 minute miles. Everything in my body was rebelling. My stomach was resisting my attempts to eat my gels. My lungs were resisting attempts to breathe. It ended up taking me 6:32:39 to finish. By some miracle, I beat two people. Don't ask me how it happened, because I honestly don't know.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxD-cdOIFhMXyWfB8VX30jGo7CJuMX3xH6DWhgWJztE3TZU9i2_fH3T8EDR3VEeVMaFTxnDqY3kvbEKE5ooL-JgY3sT8pCbAcuve1yvCb8jAX93xJkWNF0ZXkbqttjHEzRlX7Gy6gQXeU/s1600/13260219_10154252524935798_3736798714699669370_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxD-cdOIFhMXyWfB8VX30jGo7CJuMX3xH6DWhgWJztE3TZU9i2_fH3T8EDR3VEeVMaFTxnDqY3kvbEKE5ooL-JgY3sT8pCbAcuve1yvCb8jAX93xJkWNF0ZXkbqttjHEzRlX7Gy6gQXeU/s400/13260219_10154252524935798_3736798714699669370_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smiling because I am done and don't have to run anymore. Photo credit Scott M. Stringham.</td></tr>
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We went out for our post race meal, and I had the same stomach issues that I had after Ogden. I kept feeling nauseous. I would eat a couple of bites and have to stop so that it didn't come back up. I was completely and utterly exhausted and even my beloved queso and chips couldn't save me. If I could have gotten more of it in me, maybe it could have.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCyTbhjDA9DsiimpjnvruH_JqGuZQwvezOj5aY9fN5zD6tRFRnTl-5vJ7M1MbnvBWWOwUOj4VhyPagnIgilEPlDdm05pfICYz_ESHbHylnx5IUcJWMopnFsuWa0aL3aqTD_BnHVyQah4c/s1600/13322037_10209169996705591_4888974389772318818_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCyTbhjDA9DsiimpjnvruH_JqGuZQwvezOj5aY9fN5zD6tRFRnTl-5vJ7M1MbnvBWWOwUOj4VhyPagnIgilEPlDdm05pfICYz_ESHbHylnx5IUcJWMopnFsuWa0aL3aqTD_BnHVyQah4c/s400/13322037_10209169996705591_4888974389772318818_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two shirts from this race, the bottom one is amazing. The running party is the best party. </td></tr>
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So after weeks of feeling like I'm going to die while running, I should really find out which ailment it is I am suffering from. Allergies? Possibly. Sick? Possibly. My cough isn't going away, so it may be time for a trip to the doctor. But we all know that runners are no good at going to the doctor when something is wrong.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcPecAvk4w7XtPqCXll62ttfCKXhcoEP96SWI3_zlgEf1zmc1B2m2QeyMJIr-TvDakg2j9KByoGvBPuzfohlC8MTepG1VQttw6lTMN3PBFmPBaCbhLnaYyHZFQH3_G5DundUWRjA4mMus/s1600/d3032c1be98ea8a564d5abf2c1deb2f5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcPecAvk4w7XtPqCXll62ttfCKXhcoEP96SWI3_zlgEf1zmc1B2m2QeyMJIr-TvDakg2j9KByoGvBPuzfohlC8MTepG1VQttw6lTMN3PBFmPBaCbhLnaYyHZFQH3_G5DundUWRjA4mMus/s400/d3032c1be98ea8a564d5abf2c1deb2f5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If I don't go, I don't have to ignore them when they say "no running allowed".</td></tr>
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So that brings y'all up to speed on my month of "racing". It's a loose term at this point. June is going to be nuts, so hold on for that train wreck. Until next time, happy running!<br />
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<br />PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-5142176359117829602016-05-22T16:24:00.001-06:002016-05-22T16:24:53.505-06:00The April race reportSo now that May is 2/3rds over, I am finally getting around to writing about the races I ran in April. I'm really trying to get caught up, I am. Writing has never been an easy thing for me to do, so getting myself to sit down and get it done is always a struggle.<br />
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But here we go! The first race that I ran in April was the Behind the Rocks 30K. I enjoy any chance to head to Moab, and running a race there is always a pleasure. Behind the Rocks was no exception. I had never been to the area where the Behind the Rocks trail is. The area isn't well advertised and that's not at all a bad thing. I just wish that the dudes on 4-wheelers didn't know where it was...<br />
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The race started out on a hard packed dirt road, but turned to slick rock, single track, with more dirt roads interspersed. The weather was ideal, the scenery was lovely, the runners were friendly. The trail was mostly well marked, although I did miss a turn a time or two on the slick rock, but was able to correct my course before I got too far off.<br />
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I had been sick for most of the week before the race, but that never stops me from showing up to run when it's race day. I felt alright for the first couple of miles. The new scenery helped to keep my mind off of the tiredness I was feeling. But by mile 7, I was feeling pretty awful. I was just really drained, so I mostly just walked. I didn't start feeling better until mile 18, Since the race was only just over 19 miles, I got to enjoy that last little bit, at least.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNT1qSTWHFV-UDOUrunfrxaW8IN4epo5MQXvEa91xwqGfC7wiIAWYfzzd4UOCOL-a6dx5rDB1N284rMPrEMzZfDDd2PEOjLuAVLqVc92o6cRQzReRFKlhRWAO9AYPdtCXdY18eJjeg4ZI/s1600/IMG_5032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNT1qSTWHFV-UDOUrunfrxaW8IN4epo5MQXvEa91xwqGfC7wiIAWYfzzd4UOCOL-a6dx5rDB1N284rMPrEMzZfDDd2PEOjLuAVLqVc92o6cRQzReRFKlhRWAO9AYPdtCXdY18eJjeg4ZI/s400/IMG_5032.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The famous stopping my watch shot.</td></tr>
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I really enjoyed the race itself. The organization was good, the swag was nice, the course was a good kind of challenging. It would have been nice to feel better during it, but that's nobody's fault but mine.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg37DEeakS28wjUNLd-gvyqjbDG66fTImiq2y4UnkZliurFq9MCN0Ht14XE3fyNBFhZkJGM-Tvwk2n8RolnG_wSToU1I36t0ZsNtBldyxq9tWqbDD-7nGQyTGeQafRBwTegFRvRqSphy6c/s1600/1958406_10208745530014189_2513277718241989994_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg37DEeakS28wjUNLd-gvyqjbDG66fTImiq2y4UnkZliurFq9MCN0Ht14XE3fyNBFhZkJGM-Tvwk2n8RolnG_wSToU1I36t0ZsNtBldyxq9tWqbDD-7nGQyTGeQafRBwTegFRvRqSphy6c/s400/1958406_10208745530014189_2513277718241989994_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My first ever finisher cowbell.</td></tr>
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The next race that I ran was the Salt Lake Marathon. I had run the half marathon at this event the past two years, but Jamie had talked me into doing the full this year. I wasn't really looking forward to it, since road marathons always stress me out. (So why do I keep doing them?!) The first few miles went by pretty well, then I tanked pretty hard around mile 6, which is a weird time to bonk in a marathon. I was worried that I wouldn't make it through the whole thing. I had started to consider dropping to the half instead of turning off at the split for the full. But around mile 10, things started to feel better so I decided to give it a shot. I'm glad that I did, because I felt better and better as the race went on.<br />
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I ended up finishing with my third fastest marathon time, ever. My splits were incredibly even for once. The second half of my race was very nearly as fast as the first. That never happens to me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaNWKK2Jvn43iV5Dwanqjc_jxzZrR23GzC7O49LOOdKw_S-IPUxmg3M9qmDmM6dYg50yFaR1ws4yS7BEobHitZoB5rdpERTwYBeBfWmzp9cwWZxKIkjXJ09KGTXQpCE3B9157gh43nd_s/s1600/12985571_10154147601020798_1475739094203068074_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaNWKK2Jvn43iV5Dwanqjc_jxzZrR23GzC7O49LOOdKw_S-IPUxmg3M9qmDmM6dYg50yFaR1ws4yS7BEobHitZoB5rdpERTwYBeBfWmzp9cwWZxKIkjXJ09KGTXQpCE3B9157gh43nd_s/s400/12985571_10154147601020798_1475739094203068074_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photos courtesy of Scott M. Stringham. I have no idea why I'm pulling a face that looks like Beaker from the Muppets.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-9FJHphczSakbBMimdGu5T7HGOzOI1FiN5Nd2YffXdj2kYVjYBhKWoY-oKfhs1uJ-VUzXm3f09O5HT4fwd5gCqzffKi23Kl5EDJ2GGI8wZ7banw8lIWILUpXmqvF2q1cYhc3CAMnYB5U/s1600/13015389_10208855552604685_27180801199835182_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-9FJHphczSakbBMimdGu5T7HGOzOI1FiN5Nd2YffXdj2kYVjYBhKWoY-oKfhs1uJ-VUzXm3f09O5HT4fwd5gCqzffKi23Kl5EDJ2GGI8wZ7banw8lIWILUpXmqvF2q1cYhc3CAMnYB5U/s400/13015389_10208855552604685_27180801199835182_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marathon #15.</td></tr>
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I was registered for the West Mountain Marathon the very next week. I realized when I arrived at the start line that this would be my first time running marathons on back to back weekends. I was feeling pretty prepared though, since Salt Lake went so well. The weather was not looking good on race morning, so much so that the race director changed the course to an out and back instead of a loop so that he could keep track of the racers better.<br />
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I had prepared for the weather by making myself a rain shell out of a trash bag. I'd seen runners do this before and it seemed to work for them.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXkpEFYDCSWm1K4dfght4i4568nyctj8mIhFeGBu4lEE9Q8XcZjxUgu2AqItqpYgT7-SkJEJkKfuTmxqZPBP02F9bd5efkhOPiLlypJCVZD0POTu0P2SiXBYO0fNuS5oIanXLELJlN-4s/s1600/13061969_10208905149844585_4226721388857298529_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXkpEFYDCSWm1K4dfght4i4568nyctj8mIhFeGBu4lEE9Q8XcZjxUgu2AqItqpYgT7-SkJEJkKfuTmxqZPBP02F9bd5efkhOPiLlypJCVZD0POTu0P2SiXBYO0fNuS5oIanXLELJlN-4s/s400/13061969_10208905149844585_4226721388857298529_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some shots from the course. </td></tr>
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The sky looked like it was going to let loose any second, but the race started and we were off. As we ticked off the first couple of miles, some blue sky started appearing in the west. I'm a Utah native, so I know not to trust the weather, ever. So I kept my trusty trash bag rain coat on until mile 11. I only took it off then because the sun was roasting me alive in that black plastic. But I was wearing my elastic race number belt, so I tucked it into the back of the belt and ran with it for another few miles, just to be safe.<br />
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The weather decided to be pretty nice, for those first 13.1 miles before the turn around. At the turn around, we got hit full in the face with wind gusts that hit 30 miles per hour.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLSwlgtEhnls9weynmNscjBwW5pimCuf1VejbouaFWK4IQZhozIu9tqQjhYCOWR13IqTTRSPZchpf0AgSzsqQszgDL6JrlUCR_esV9ztbTMWCTbRaemzAbPp8H0xwi9H1PK_nwlqU5QKM/s1600/13094301_10208905073082666_168362150843451154_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLSwlgtEhnls9weynmNscjBwW5pimCuf1VejbouaFWK4IQZhozIu9tqQjhYCOWR13IqTTRSPZchpf0AgSzsqQszgDL6JrlUCR_esV9ztbTMWCTbRaemzAbPp8H0xwi9H1PK_nwlqU5QKM/s400/13094301_10208905073082666_168362150843451154_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It looks so peaceful. But the wind was about to give us hell.</td></tr>
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The wind kept up for the entire second half of the race. I had been feeling alright for the whole race, and I did manage to pass a couple of people in the last bit. But the wind had really taken its toll by the last couple of miles. Scott had run up the course to meet me, and get some of his miles in for the day. I'm sure he enjoyed the choice words I had to say every time a gust hit us. I still managed to finish the race only 5 minutes slower that I did at Salt Lake the week before.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEfs0F-_fHAIW9Ce1jlXuuYseVdWUhuEMNJs7Hy06ZMjOfi7eKojYF8vxag7EB6IiGoweoYrCtILW-T1drLXA0hMNNq_cRzobziHZa3JsysA4A7LC-x0iQrHAOqA1QsWstyFBYhDzWGEI/s1600/13086684_10154164444525798_1546603624813960251_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEfs0F-_fHAIW9Ce1jlXuuYseVdWUhuEMNJs7Hy06ZMjOfi7eKojYF8vxag7EB6IiGoweoYrCtILW-T1drLXA0hMNNq_cRzobziHZa3JsysA4A7LC-x0iQrHAOqA1QsWstyFBYhDzWGEI/s400/13086684_10154164444525798_1546603624813960251_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Close to the finish now, photo courtesy of Scott M. Stringham.</td></tr>
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It was a pretty little race, and I didn't mind the course change because things always look different on the way back.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgylFyjVbG_Em1fWPHjJI_0hWo3TInBnVKwyCG34K9bmu4OaWhZixO2Nk4OKuBJVt9Mu6oKZO626YxZRfAzFdmTpN0Bz8CWlCSq7GYUNnRPvy85orS6bfnf6XCdvrC47lTnK4aFdomeuPo/s1600/13043764_10208912376665251_6179831674670637712_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgylFyjVbG_Em1fWPHjJI_0hWo3TInBnVKwyCG34K9bmu4OaWhZixO2Nk4OKuBJVt9Mu6oKZO626YxZRfAzFdmTpN0Bz8CWlCSq7GYUNnRPvy85orS6bfnf6XCdvrC47lTnK4aFdomeuPo/s400/13043764_10208912376665251_6179831674670637712_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marathon #16.</td></tr>
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The next weekend, I was supposed to run the Salt Flats 50k. I had signed up for it quite a while ago and had forgotten the very important fact that the race was on a Friday and not a Saturday... Oops. So I had booked my hotel for the wrong night, asked for the wrong time off of work, and all that.<br />
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Scott and I had already made plans to have dinner with his friends, who live out in Wendover, so we decided we were still going to take the trip anyway. I emailed the race director about my mistake and asked if he needed any volunteers for Saturday, since the 100 miler would still be going on. The race director was really nice and offered to roll my registration over to next year.<br />
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We made the trek out to Wendover, had a lovely time with Scott's friends, got a nice 10 miler in the next morning before heading out to take over the last aid station for the 100 miler.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiUHI8bTyGsHWL1oFfUnNyM_KCQ-sAPaZhGjjuCe7gJblOlA-8dLq_SWHqEVA7loJSzGePcQr3buZPj2siTMnbSI2NeCWNAhEpep1u7Z3pjsVbuzSdyuXpeJ8oyfEIpXsQGdkThrMfjqg/s1600/13133141_10154180584725798_7568158302849952107_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiUHI8bTyGsHWL1oFfUnNyM_KCQ-sAPaZhGjjuCe7gJblOlA-8dLq_SWHqEVA7loJSzGePcQr3buZPj2siTMnbSI2NeCWNAhEpep1u7Z3pjsVbuzSdyuXpeJ8oyfEIpXsQGdkThrMfjqg/s400/13133141_10154180584725798_7568158302849952107_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hiding out in the car while wind gusts and rain battered the aid station. Photo by Scott M. Stringham.</td></tr>
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Once we got to Wendover, I didn't feel so bad about not getting to run it. The rain had gone non-stop basically all week leading up to race day and the Salt Flats had been turned into a lake. A lot of people had to drop from the race due to the elements. I was happy to help the runners that were left finish up their race. It was really neat to see them come though at mile 95 and see their determination to finish those last 5 miles, even with all they'd been through.<br />
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I'll do a May race report after my race next weekend (hopefully). I need to have everything caught up so that the Bear Lake triple will get its own blow by blow, because it's not going to be pretty.<br />
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Until next time, happy running!PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-83178274429161096752016-05-01T15:43:00.000-06:002016-05-01T15:43:39.430-06:00I forget that I have a blog...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have been so busy the last little bit, that I completely forgot that I have a blog that I should be writing in. I'm working too much, and not running or writing enough. I also got engaged three weeks ago, (WHAT. That's so crazy, I know.) so there has been a lot of wedding stuff thrown in to the mix.<br />
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I've got 5 new races to report on, but I'll just tackle two in this post and the others next week (hopefully). I ran the Zion Half Marathon again this year. I tried something novel this time. I tried running the whole thing without walking. Okay, I did stop and walk for a moment to take my jacket off and one moment to refill my water bottle at mile 5. But other than those two tiny moments, I ran the whole thing! And guess what. My time was SLOWER than last year's where I let myself take walk breaks. Lesson learned.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo courtesy of Jamie Eckles. </td></tr>
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The week after Zion, I ran the Monument Valley 50K. I was nervous at first about this race. The race Director is Matt Gun, and he doesn't do easy races. I wasn't sure that I was recovered enough from Jackpot and that my training might have been less than ideal for this race. But once we got down to Monument Valley, I knew I wouldn't be dropping to the half. I needed to run the 50K, just to see all of the incredible scenery up close and personal.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mitten Butte, right outside my cabin door.</td></tr>
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Packet pick up was held in a hogan, the pre-race briefing included a Navajo sunset prayer ceremony and some traditional songs.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">White corn flour being used for the ceremony. Photo courtesy of Scott M. Stringham.</td></tr>
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We wrapped up the evening by eating Navajo tacos and watching the stars come out over the gorgeous desert landscape.<br />
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Race morning dawned and we headed to the start line for the sunrise prayer ceremony and the start of the 50K. Scott was running in the half marathon that started an hour later, but he came with me to the start of my race to see me off. After getting me on my way, he was able to wait for his race start in a hogan to stay warm.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise with the Mitten Buttes, just before the start.</td></tr>
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The first couple of miles of the race are on a hard packed dirt road that leads past the main formations of the park. As the sun kept coming up, the red rocks began to glow in the morning light.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view of the Three Sisters formation.</td></tr>
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The firs few miles went along pleasantly. The surroundings were breathtaking and it made it so easy to forget that I was running. After the first aid station stop, we headed out on a single track trail called the red loop. Every turn of a corner on this loop brought another amazing sight,<br />
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The single track was not too technical, and it made for some very enjoyable running. Towards the end of the loop, the sand started, But it wasn't too bad just yet. Another stop into the aid station and I was out on the white loop. The white loop was my favorite loop, except for the sheer amount of sand that we had to run through, This loop had all of the arches and windows of the race.<br />
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By mile 15, we'd been running through deep sand for hours. I had to stop and dump the sand out of my shoes. So much had gotten in that it felt like I had sand orthotics in my shoes. I thought dumping out the sand would have made more of a difference but by mile 18, there was just as much sand in them. I didn't feel like stopping and dumping them out again so I finished the race with piles of sand in my shoes.<br />
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I should have put more water in my pack at the second aid stop, because I ran out of water around mile 17 and had to go another 30 minutes without anything to drink. By the time I made it back to the aid station, it felt like my tongue was how it is in the cartoons where the character sticks out their tongue and there's a cow skull and cactus on it.<br />
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I spent quite a bit of time at the aid station, getting rehydrated and fueling up. I think I overdid it a bit because my stomach was a little unhappy for a couple of miles as I headed out on the last loop, the blue loop. The blue loop started with a hard packed dirt road that turned off into a sandy single track trail. MORE SAND. I was starting to develop Post Traumatic Sand Disorder.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh sure, it looks innocent. But try running 20 or so miles in it and then decide.</td></tr>
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This is the only part of the race where I hit a slump. I was feeling gross because of overdoing at the aid station, the sand was slowing me down, and I knew that the giant 1500 foot climb up the mesa was still to come. So from about mile 20 to 22, I was pretty grumpy. But then, the sand ended and we got to go back to packed dirt road until the climb started. I started feeling better and got some good running in on the road.<br />
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The climb up the mesa was a very narrow trail, strewn with big rocks that liked to move around when you stepped on them. There were runners coming up and going down, so it made for a lot of stopping and stepping off to the side to let people pass.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view from the climb up.</td></tr>
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This is the only part of the race that I had specifically trained for. I knew that this climb was going to come after I was already starting to feel fatigued, so I had been doing an hour on the stair climber at the gym after my session with my trainer. I taught my body to climb even when it was tired, and it paid off. I kept a steady hike going up the mesa and ended up passing quite a few people.<br />
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When I got to the top, the views were breathtaking. It was totally worth it. Also at the top, the trail was incredibly runnable. Nice soft single track, not sand.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's the finish line! Somewhere in that speck of civilization.</td></tr>
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I hit the turn around, punched my bib with the hole punch to prove that I'd made it, and turned around to head back down. I was feeling great at this point, since the hardest part was over and it would be less than 10 miles to the end. I cruised along the top of the mesa to start my descent. There were still a good number of runners coming up the mesa, some 50K runners, some 50 milers.<br />
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Coming back down was actually just as difficult as going up, due to the steepness and all of the giant rocks. You couldn't just bomb down the trail because too many of the rocks would slide out from under you. Plus with the other runners coming up, it was just too dangerous to go crazy on the way down. I made it down without too many scary slips of the feet and made some good time back on the dirt road. The only problem with the white loop is that is wasn't really a loop, it was an out and back, so I had to go through that damn sandy single track again. I had hit the end of my sand tolerance and just trudged through it until I hit the road back to the aid station.<br />
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I just grabbed a cup of Coke with ice on my way through and asked how far it was to the finish. I couldn't remember if the race was a long 50K or closer to the standard distance. I was ecstatic to hear that there were only 3 more miles to go until the finish. I knew I was going to come in well under the cut off time, and it was all dirt road back to the finish line.<br />
<br />
I took off down the road at a decent pace and was able to hold it pretty steady until some of the steeper bits. I hiked up the steep parts, ran the downs and flats, and was in pretty good spirits for that last chunk of the race. Scott and my mom were waiting at the finish line. He had a great race in the half, finishing in the top 10%.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlGwV3QssQBAVoQDToiMcOc2crmgH4ia_fR5o9pUDEK315Kz-B_Q5hPb7gMNLlRNdEEGxSNnAi5cY5SifxWlTG-nnaRVm9ht1_xBWotXV6JBmQSyycyXKSbMOaLoB8rF52pXehJ2p-5C8/s1600/IMG_5018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlGwV3QssQBAVoQDToiMcOc2crmgH4ia_fR5o9pUDEK315Kz-B_Q5hPb7gMNLlRNdEEGxSNnAi5cY5SifxWlTG-nnaRVm9ht1_xBWotXV6JBmQSyycyXKSbMOaLoB8rF52pXehJ2p-5C8/s400/IMG_5018.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scott finishing his race, looking strong!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQpLnAtOvXKfZTiyEY8Ip6aKToPWMVSJ2wHVtvwy7ji2JF2cSWhM6npEV7Z-YvhHrd94UqsOhCXUVdsZnYC4Z4hpenY5nAetYOIP4luMlsby58b7GgNAU4FYJ3FMf0EOELLCwMWiCtgys/s1600/IMG_5022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQpLnAtOvXKfZTiyEY8Ip6aKToPWMVSJ2wHVtvwy7ji2JF2cSWhM6npEV7Z-YvhHrd94UqsOhCXUVdsZnYC4Z4hpenY5nAetYOIP4luMlsby58b7GgNAU4FYJ3FMf0EOELLCwMWiCtgys/s400/IMG_5022.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Excited to have finished a tough race!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDQUmqlBgp79-vpJffWyyqIXYV6Xbyq0IlzlDgJdr9S4hqtRoOcQc76XQn8zdC2P7cR63xF5nU2Ph7_VxxqRhYx-T3L9ck0I17oZjU-ty6w2-Mit4Ct4o3fxkuPO2dwEfitFiAaE0KfMc/s1600/6d97b590-6390-4b69-b3be-10d15f2052d5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDQUmqlBgp79-vpJffWyyqIXYV6Xbyq0IlzlDgJdr9S4hqtRoOcQc76XQn8zdC2P7cR63xF5nU2Ph7_VxxqRhYx-T3L9ck0I17oZjU-ty6w2-Mit4Ct4o3fxkuPO2dwEfitFiAaE0KfMc/s400/6d97b590-6390-4b69-b3be-10d15f2052d5.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I finished! It was tough and beautiful and can we come back next year?!</td></tr>
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I relaxed at the finish line for awhile with my Scott and my mom. We chatted with some other finishers and took some great photos. If this race isn't on your list, I think you should add it. It's a challenge, but the cut off times are generous. It took me 10 hour and 14 minutes to complete this race, but that was 46 minutes ahead of the cut off. The Ultra Adventures crew puts on an amazing event. They take great care of you at the aid stations (bacon quesadillas, anyone?). The location couldn't be beat. And we wrapped up our trip by participating in a sweat lodge ceremony.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieNRt9BUFXDOAvoMK2cIjTtbsrQxoI9d9o_JVLk-slwbUP2JMCAOpBLPvkGkctwIjgYo5L2bZTm_U1kGJxNLGcUwnRKa6wE7Mp_qNpJQs4EGHSagSCo969XD3QU3dy1kGU8y6ZqrTKNwE/s1600/IMG_5026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="363" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieNRt9BUFXDOAvoMK2cIjTtbsrQxoI9d9o_JVLk-slwbUP2JMCAOpBLPvkGkctwIjgYo5L2bZTm_U1kGJxNLGcUwnRKa6wE7Mp_qNpJQs4EGHSagSCo969XD3QU3dy1kGU8y6ZqrTKNwE/s400/IMG_5026.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hanging out by the hogans.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUIHTDzvKx0fqpslmtjSIOTeDvnMUv0H94gXHJC-MmtusIQ-qjgKYIlGdOZphc2W8FgfOk2vDBz-55H0NKk1f-eYpsBRN7jyzQ26O11yEpefs6rk4ykg8Uc0wgccLWfSdhKz7IB1iqtS4/s1600/IMG_3126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUIHTDzvKx0fqpslmtjSIOTeDvnMUv0H94gXHJC-MmtusIQ-qjgKYIlGdOZphc2W8FgfOk2vDBz-55H0NKk1f-eYpsBRN7jyzQ26O11yEpefs6rk4ykg8Uc0wgccLWfSdhKz7IB1iqtS4/s400/IMG_3126.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love the ceramic mug!</td></tr>
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I can honestly say that this race is my favorite that I have ever done. I hope that I am able to go back again next year. Scott says that he would love to run the 50K next year so that he can see more of the park. The half marathon runs the red loop and the Wildcat Trail but misses the climb and all the arches, But in those 14 miles, he had his favorite running experience to date as well.<br />
<br />
I promise to try and write about the other 3 races very shortly and get back on track with regular reports. But until then, happy running!PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-16129683761766169022016-02-20T23:39:00.000-07:002016-02-20T23:39:36.901-07:00The Jackpot ReportThis one time, last year, I ran the 12 hour event at the Jackpot Ultra Running Festival. I had trained phenomenally well and had the time of my life. This led me to sign up for their New-for-2016 48 hour race. Because the leap from 12 hours to 48 is completely sane and logical.<br />
<br />
Fast forward one year. As some of you know, my training through the end of last year and the beginning of this year has been greatly interrupted. It turns out that having a couple of injuries and a debilitating chest cold can really throw things off.<br />
<br />
I was happy to head to Henderson, Nevada, in spite of my ill-preparedness for the task at hand, Mostly because it was 17 degrees here in Utah and 77 degrees there. There was a tiny part of my brain that thought that I could magically wing my way through the event.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jwKmJieo7z44lJDPnbT4BnO-cIh8pSZnj9aOLQmoDUoKp-rD2vLYG7VQ-2QGY4kRWhLqle8WGMg7zeZG3dUNfkNHiARL4bm_I95cGMKyO_ULk-LEnrp8GQvjJIo1ETqeEEkkbK95u6c/s1600/IMG_2944.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jwKmJieo7z44lJDPnbT4BnO-cIh8pSZnj9aOLQmoDUoKp-rD2vLYG7VQ-2QGY4kRWhLqle8WGMg7zeZG3dUNfkNHiARL4bm_I95cGMKyO_ULk-LEnrp8GQvjJIo1ETqeEEkkbK95u6c/s400/IMG_2944.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look how nice and sunny. Thanks to Scott M. Stringham for taking all of the pictures contained in this post. </td></tr>
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I like the venue for the event. Cornerstone Park provides a mix of every kind of terrain. You get crushed gravel and dirt paths, pavement, concrete bridges, and a little stretch of single track trail. It has just enough up and down to give your muscles a break.<br />
<br />
The day started out with a gathering of Idiots. (Idiots Running Club, for those who don't know.) A gaggle of them had gotten to the park before me, so I received a warm welcome. Most were there to support Kristie Cranford while she rocked her 100 mile effort. But they were just as happy to see me, and also ended up adopting three other runners. "No Man Left Uncrewed" was the motto of the day.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnaYXsQ6XQugEVa8na_fLPEC7EaQONNMd296G8mjT-o-Bof6gr7x57o7QPvc7O-H-NbuJn4-wBRxcHuMuzKEAyq2QssZa5fYsDxhleuT-BSdh1YSAVtBVOtAZCasTi3BiiDe9bSPFKu4Q/s1600/IMG_2935.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnaYXsQ6XQugEVa8na_fLPEC7EaQONNMd296G8mjT-o-Bof6gr7x57o7QPvc7O-H-NbuJn4-wBRxcHuMuzKEAyq2QssZa5fYsDxhleuT-BSdh1YSAVtBVOtAZCasTi3BiiDe9bSPFKu4Q/s400/IMG_2935.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The 28 brave souls, waiting to get this party started </td></tr>
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At 10 a.m. the gun sounded and we were off. Very slowly. That's one of the things I love about a timed event. No one is in that much of a hurry. You can't get to the end of 48 hours faster than anyone else, so you take it easy. Being a back of the pack runner doesn't matter much in these types of events.<br />
<br />
Scott came down with me to crew and also to volunteer at the aid station. He was also my race photographer, which was pretty handy.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi__wYxQqJpoauRVv-XOH4shBf2Kne3yU8l7PB8CcvR6VS-aNip-Q9-7lrOFwNtQCcg1YFRYZmEGcDrjAAf1yyUjdqg3tTSOD79-iX09S1CjPOlxt6KLlmCg6Re61TfB9i3VXCRwEHRTW8/s1600/IMG_2937.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi__wYxQqJpoauRVv-XOH4shBf2Kne3yU8l7PB8CcvR6VS-aNip-Q9-7lrOFwNtQCcg1YFRYZmEGcDrjAAf1yyUjdqg3tTSOD79-iX09S1CjPOlxt6KLlmCg6Re61TfB9i3VXCRwEHRTW8/s400/IMG_2937.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See? Handy documentation of race goodness.</td></tr>
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The first 12 hours or so were actually pretty uneventful. I was moving, not particularly well or quickly, but I was getting those loops in. I was chatting with other runners and sharing stories and laughter. I was staying on top of my hydration and nutrition. When the sun was fully down, I took the time to change completely so that no wet clothes were on my body. I learned my lesson from the Hypothermia Incident at Across the Years. It was completely worth the time it took to do.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2GZcIo2STY8OmXTfD6_aiok9387qy9gAaBjYdsf_Al9BK5sosYAlVUObORZDUO5fsTthazPLrKq5KvxTIGdrFUIMNJOBtgR7JbKDbFZbRADNRrYiy7VkARytR-dH9XC4pkUyMoNjmGmc/s1600/IMG_2934.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2GZcIo2STY8OmXTfD6_aiok9387qy9gAaBjYdsf_Al9BK5sosYAlVUObORZDUO5fsTthazPLrKq5KvxTIGdrFUIMNJOBtgR7JbKDbFZbRADNRrYiy7VkARytR-dH9XC4pkUyMoNjmGmc/s400/IMG_2934.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sitting sure feels nice... Too bad this is only about 11.5 hours in.</td></tr>
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I can't recall exactly when my feet started to rebel. It was sometime during the first night. I wasn't blistering, bleeding, or anything else terribly untoward. But the pressure of being on my feet for that long was starting to take its toll. Now, I had done two previous events that totaled 24 hours and my feet didn't seem to have that problem. This is where I think my interrupted training reared its ugly head.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI5_PHy6_NJyrVNHjwvi5QYILEDsvTSdA-poboYTyPuKWaA7ZgmSaT27dIKuKMCc2brhgyJptZaO3UUKBK1p5OwkI1AxdxgXx2ICIKeasMhGGbgLkZ7RIiB6rorPzCxdtP_h39w8MtwB8/s1600/IMG_2932.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI5_PHy6_NJyrVNHjwvi5QYILEDsvTSdA-poboYTyPuKWaA7ZgmSaT27dIKuKMCc2brhgyJptZaO3UUKBK1p5OwkI1AxdxgXx2ICIKeasMhGGbgLkZ7RIiB6rorPzCxdtP_h39w8MtwB8/s400/IMG_2932.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">50 miles in and trying to pretend that it doesn't hurt like hell</td></tr>
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If my training had gone as planned, I would have spent much more time on my feet in preparation for this. But it was what it was. I decided that it was time to lie down and get the pressure off of my feet. I didn't dare take my shoes off, though, because I was fairly certain I wouldn't be able to get them back on due to the swelling.<br />
<br />
At first, these little lie downs were helpful in relieving the pain that my feet were experiencing. I managed to grab a bit of sleep each time, too. The fatigue accumulates rather quickly as the hours tick by. I never slept more than an hour and a half at a time, most naps were less than an hour. There are only a couple of people that I've heard of that can keep going for 48 hours straight. I am not one of those people, just FYI.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2V4aAeQBePlmDchEG9cza1EdnkxvIu3mCpDtG8PbnKD6nQsxqNXEAuDikTHxjkRkHXQiNxO5K0fjR74wwS80tb1PVHGY0z43JGIr7C9EDbKEeWTIf6KNKjZcQPGsgB1WofXw-hjQcImA/s1600/IMG_2929.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2V4aAeQBePlmDchEG9cza1EdnkxvIu3mCpDtG8PbnKD6nQsxqNXEAuDikTHxjkRkHXQiNxO5K0fjR74wwS80tb1PVHGY0z43JGIr7C9EDbKEeWTIf6KNKjZcQPGsgB1WofXw-hjQcImA/s400/IMG_2929.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeling a bit sassy after a nap and a sunrise.</td></tr>
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Day two began with me waking up just as the sun was starting to rise. I had only slept for just over an hour, but it made a big difference, at least for a little while. At this point, I had given in to the pain and taken my shoes off. I ended up doing a couple of hours in socks and sandals. I was looking sharp, cats and kittens.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, the sandals weren't a perfect solution and I ended up having to put shoes back on. One of the nice Idiots propped my feet up and brought me a bag of ice for them, which helped get the swelling down enough to re-shoe.<br />
<br />
So I had reached 60 miles right around the 24 hour mark. The next 24 hours would only bring me another 28 miles, and incredible amounts of pain. I was reduced to trudging. The pain in my feet was so intense that I would stop at each bench I passed to sit for a moment. At one point, I had my shoes off and was trying to massage some happiness back into my Pillsbury Dough Feet, a fellow runner stopped and did the foot rub for me. It was one of the nicest things anyone has even done for me. I got a good solid hour of faster movement thanks to that foot rub.<br />
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<br />
Scott was also incredible in his role as support crew. About mid-day on the second day, maybe 70ish miles or so in, I broke down. It was becoming painfully (literally) clear that I wouldn't hit the 100 mile goal that I had set out to accomplish. So what's a girl to do? This girl fell into a heap on the cot and started sobbing. Big blubbery sobs of infinite sadness. Scott gently removed my shoes, got me wrapped up in the sleeping bag, and went to the store for some Icy Hot and Tums. He didn't yell at me or try to make me keep going, he just helped me get through it, which was exactly what I needed.<br />
<br />
He let me rest and when I was ready to sit up and get ready to head back out, he rubbed my feet down with the Icy Hot, put fresh socks on my feet, and somehow managed to get shoes back on me. He packed up a bunch of food and made me eat while we made our way slowly around the loop. He ended up walking about 14 miles with me that second day. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhWUi9iZY111dk9QQPu8GOUMOpnZsmQdQ-NkZdzQeqza1FX-FGARgbsIMV44nl6w4mv8MfN0spoiGc9RqqTEUacqP6LdnjCTmCy3bcdrPzvOGyFWWXhtMYD4OMwo1eca1aNJ46xfoRw8g/s1600/IMG_2940.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhWUi9iZY111dk9QQPu8GOUMOpnZsmQdQ-NkZdzQeqza1FX-FGARgbsIMV44nl6w4mv8MfN0spoiGc9RqqTEUacqP6LdnjCTmCy3bcdrPzvOGyFWWXhtMYD4OMwo1eca1aNJ46xfoRw8g/s400/IMG_2940.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset on the second day.</td></tr>
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I knew that the second night was going to be the worst part of the whole 48 hours. And I was right. I was having a difficult time regulating my body temperature. I spent a lot of time at the aid station through the night, trying to get warm food in my body.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp5C-17GsG79JywkMW-QAZRz-QaO7hERyRRC1BZQ-_d0Fa0l_7dVhY5mVIa_VmyF6sCPjL57wsXantk6AOBR7HY5iVbLQC9MHCU5sKoANZpI7vTKr47ajR3lrYX0Qf57Vq4EmUxF_vF7w/s1600/IMG_2931.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp5C-17GsG79JywkMW-QAZRz-QaO7hERyRRC1BZQ-_d0Fa0l_7dVhY5mVIa_VmyF6sCPjL57wsXantk6AOBR7HY5iVbLQC9MHCU5sKoANZpI7vTKr47ajR3lrYX0Qf57Vq4EmUxF_vF7w/s400/IMG_2931.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feet up, food going in, expression: loopy.</td></tr>
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In the wee hours of that second night, I knew I needed to take a longer break than I had been taking. Mentally, I just couldn't take the pain anymore. My muscles were actually holding up pretty well, but my feet would have hurt less if someone had taken a hatchet and chopped them right off my body.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5m2Tbn7vbsgfKmnu3jKn8LEPv1aLPFItjB-pkkPWW2wtDNXn09zfKoNyaA1tj_lEsE2qJmt6rTxcPXR-K_s4IhdVSTyJKSrGaPiqroqoI1HUwGSpT4fVv4UdcDfWqx7_y61K_2lgtu4w/s1600/IMG_2928.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5m2Tbn7vbsgfKmnu3jKn8LEPv1aLPFItjB-pkkPWW2wtDNXn09zfKoNyaA1tj_lEsE2qJmt6rTxcPXR-K_s4IhdVSTyJKSrGaPiqroqoI1HUwGSpT4fVv4UdcDfWqx7_y61K_2lgtu4w/s400/IMG_2928.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Right before choosing to take that long break. My face says it all.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I went into the warming tent and took my shoes off. Scott had 45 minutes left on his volunteer shift that ended at 3 a.m. The race director was letting people leave the park to recuperate in their hotels and return to the race later. I knew that was something I needed to do or I would probably walk down into the lake that we'd been running around for 40 hours and drown myself. The guy in charge of timing was doing everything he could to try and get me back out onto the course. But I had made up my mind and I wasn't budging until Scott could take me back to the hotel.<br />
<br />
Sleeping outside on the cot had worked out alright for awhile, but the cold was an issue. Even in a good quality sleeping bag, I was getting so cold while I slept that I would shiver myself awake. Just getting out of the elements and into a real bed for a couple of hours changed my whole attitude. After the sun rose on the third day, we made our way back to the park and I knocked out two more loops before the time was up. I was even smiling through those two loops. I managed a bit of running, even. I was completely astounded that I could run after 80 + miles.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeLbul47v_EebRMgXbNu24vJ9iax9P_cr3drnXdIJaXcFt1lEuQjcWM72iuckhiaaeZzzRxwEMa_nXWo-mwRz2e3tLs48G4F1Rr9cC1RCmH6Dhb3MvESf6knC54xthollnID6XgSyZ15Q/s1600/IMG_2687.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeLbul47v_EebRMgXbNu24vJ9iax9P_cr3drnXdIJaXcFt1lEuQjcWM72iuckhiaaeZzzRxwEMa_nXWo-mwRz2e3tLs48G4F1Rr9cC1RCmH6Dhb3MvESf6knC54xthollnID6XgSyZ15Q/s400/IMG_2687.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I did it. I survived somehow. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I ended up with a total of 88.06 miles. Somehow I was 6th place out of the women, and 23rd place out of the 28 total participants. I had expected to be dead last, but in 48 hours, all kinds of things happen to even the most well prepared people (which I totally wasn't).<br />
<br />
I learned so much from the experience, so even though I didn't get my 100 miles, I got life lessons instead. Those are valuable, too. Lesson 1: you can't be under trained for an event of this magnitude and expect your sheer stubbornness to carry you through to your goal. Lesson 2: invest in a pair of shoes half a size larger than normal for when your feet swell. Lesson 3: ultra runners are the nicest people on the planet. Lesson 4: coming to terms with what you're capable of at that moment won't kill you. There is time to get better, to get ready to try again.<br />
<br />
Failure isn't always a bad thing. It's a teacher. You learn more from a failure than a success. I have a renewed sense of purpose and drive for this year now. I will train smarter. I will be more focused on getting my body ready to meet the challenges that I have set up for it. I have already chosen the venue for my next attempt at the 100 mile distance. Next March, I'll try again. And mark my words, I will be ready this time. I'll leave you with this quote from Theodore Roosevelt, which I often think of when attempting these crazy things.<br />
<br />
<span align="justify" style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Tahoma, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 19.04px;">"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat."</span><br />
<br />
Until next time, happy running!<br />
<br />PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-47514091759521422352016-01-18T20:08:00.000-07:002016-01-18T20:08:01.981-07:00Starting the year off with a whimper. I always get so jazzed about a new year, guys. But so far, this new year hasn't been so hot. We lost David Bowie and Alan Rickman, I didn't get anywhere near the mileage that I wanted to at Across the Years, and I've been sick for two solid weeks. Things can only go up from here, right?!<br />
<br />
I was feeling okay about the Across the Years race. That should have been my first clue that things wouldn't be the greatest. We had a pleasant trip down to Phoenix, stopping off at the Hoover Dam to snap some pictures of some Seraphs.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMhXNmN5ess-hX51oeU3IkrrS1o6-xVSP8gIJQ7iLrEWBshnvjYWbEXbtns4qCXc1TWBPnL17VgGZQzICgFwlXBecjRHvEbNs-0GDnOc6NuNUwZTzmKKCOYAz9f0512huLr8cLocOsD2I/s1600/087d3dca-4f33-4216-ba1c-622d5cde94cd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMhXNmN5ess-hX51oeU3IkrrS1o6-xVSP8gIJQ7iLrEWBshnvjYWbEXbtns4qCXc1TWBPnL17VgGZQzICgFwlXBecjRHvEbNs-0GDnOc6NuNUwZTzmKKCOYAz9f0512huLr8cLocOsD2I/s400/087d3dca-4f33-4216-ba1c-622d5cde94cd.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Totally worth the detour and crowds. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was later in the evening by the time we got to the hotel, and had dinner. I knew I needed to go check out the venue before I'd be able to get any sleep though. I also knew that the 6 day runners had started 3 days before, so the course would be open and I could check it out. Upon arrival, a smattering of zombie shuffling runners crossed our path. "So that's what you look like when you've been running for nearly three days,", I thought. The thought did not comfort me.<br />
<br />
I did like the set up that they had there, though. The aid station appeared to be well stocked, and the warming tent was fairly large. The course even looked pleasant enough, from what I could tell in the dark, anyway. So I was slightly comforted, and maybe even a little excited for what was coming in the morning.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsTOsD1TqSzr3mz-48QUBOxaXvLAZ0ErsFX4oYGeZe4dZsZllTWcQmCngjf1lKYsJ9O5n_LVMA8bMPPDW5skLg_gZLqGf0QEkSu3Q2PIrgFYeOZgAhGp6jq1tpZpiq7_ckqQm55XrLQZQ/s1600/IMG_2723.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsTOsD1TqSzr3mz-48QUBOxaXvLAZ0ErsFX4oYGeZe4dZsZllTWcQmCngjf1lKYsJ9O5n_LVMA8bMPPDW5skLg_gZLqGf0QEkSu3Q2PIrgFYeOZgAhGp6jq1tpZpiq7_ckqQm55XrLQZQ/s400/IMG_2723.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Silly girl, doesn't know what's coming. Photo credit: Scott M. Stringham.</td></tr>
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I lined up with my fellow crazies, and at 9 a.m., we were off on our 24 hour adventure. My training leading up to this event had been pretty craptastic, so it was easy for me to start off real slow. At least I didn't go out too fast, right? After the first couple of laps, I fell into a nice enough rhythm, thinking that maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. I was still feeling pretty peachy around the 5 hour mark when Scott joined me for a couple of laps.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG_5KwqyqdUS6zx3N0IlBCuBJZGzOPvlYjLcquXV7O9HzAzNHJCC3xOaPfTS-GIhp_AdKCCtKJMRIInu-FmACGO7YuLd5FlmkDyCEOv56npbKVdo3sT3PjnG6roBCqYBOoDEtWbpcgXKU/s1600/IMG_2720.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG_5KwqyqdUS6zx3N0IlBCuBJZGzOPvlYjLcquXV7O9HzAzNHJCC3xOaPfTS-GIhp_AdKCCtKJMRIInu-FmACGO7YuLd5FlmkDyCEOv56npbKVdo3sT3PjnG6roBCqYBOoDEtWbpcgXKU/s400/IMG_2720.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rocking his guest bib like a pro pacer. Scott took this picture, too. But I think y'all can tell...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Scott did two laps with me to get a feel for the course before night fell. The loop is just over 1 mile in length, so it doesn't take terribly long to get around to the beginning again, but having someone with you makes those miles fly on by. After that, he went back to the hotel to rest up for the night of supporting that loomed on the horizon.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGQ4SX8Nh_-i9EyuVoV06aels6p3NPenOQyMQgnSqBPbGXPCYTg4Zfm_ykSQCQX6FjKFhPEypVhvpfK5d73pJGBLWXX64xUpnrYBLvPE9Lm5GZCa8ky3I6EgujhY7GXlBiKI9v8PA2-7I/s1600/IMG_2685.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGQ4SX8Nh_-i9EyuVoV06aels6p3NPenOQyMQgnSqBPbGXPCYTg4Zfm_ykSQCQX6FjKFhPEypVhvpfK5d73pJGBLWXX64xUpnrYBLvPE9Lm5GZCa8ky3I6EgujhY7GXlBiKI9v8PA2-7I/s400/IMG_2685.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The course had some lovely sections.</td></tr>
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I didn't hit my first slump until around 6 hours in. So I took a moment to sit down, change my socks, and grab the iPod. So far, so good. The music was a nice pick-me-up, and the fresh socks were refreshing. The course was really dusty and that dust was finding its way into my shoes in copious amounts. The gaiters were only doing so much. There was a burly biker dude who was working the halfway point water stop who gave me a hug every time I passed by. That helped to give me a boost every half mile as well. I regret that I didn't take a picture with him.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiipj3VI6ssCZDjOG7CAqdxmh-T3IIRfdhcQmO9UmqETQxuAuETkpNk4Gzhl8UGGfGDR8jZ6fEwI98nXDPG6VCtdxK-vTaNuy46cHz-_b65EscZUnxDNfaLVdClIxOHvnl8yd3yw82cl7o/s1600/IMG_2684.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiipj3VI6ssCZDjOG7CAqdxmh-T3IIRfdhcQmO9UmqETQxuAuETkpNk4Gzhl8UGGfGDR8jZ6fEwI98nXDPG6VCtdxK-vTaNuy46cHz-_b65EscZUnxDNfaLVdClIxOHvnl8yd3yw82cl7o/s400/IMG_2684.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But I did take a picture of my favorite sign. Note: these things were not an issue. That would have added an extra element of excitement, though.</td></tr>
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I kept a super slow but mostly steady pace for the next bit, occasionally chatting with the other runners. Scott came back just as the sun had set and donned the guest bib for some dark miles. I only had about 32 miles under my belt by then. It wasn't where I wanted to be, but at least I was still moving.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilIKGOP6cgp7mPbfoR5eNbThA6vuFSRkOywaNuPqlZkswDMidAKHBgUc3y51NbNHJ9_MOQG-Zw5Sv3rSrYf9DcH_BsSgnqoviRbSlqAK3L3LeI-DhqlDAPn12Q69lv_mdy48kMIKcXk3o/s1600/IMG_2719.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilIKGOP6cgp7mPbfoR5eNbThA6vuFSRkOywaNuPqlZkswDMidAKHBgUc3y51NbNHJ9_MOQG-Zw5Sv3rSrYf9DcH_BsSgnqoviRbSlqAK3L3LeI-DhqlDAPn12Q69lv_mdy48kMIKcXk3o/s400/IMG_2719.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Artsy sunset silhouette shot. Photo credit: Scott M. Stringham.</td></tr>
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Once the sun went down, the air temperature dropped dramatically. The daytime had been downright pleasant. Much fun was had by all. The nighttime was a different story entirely. I noticed the 6 dayers bundling up like they were going skiing. Puffy coats, snow pants, ski gloves. I had none of these things. Being the Utah girl that I am, I didn't realize that Phoenix gets just as cold as Utah does when that sun goes down. I just had it in my head that Phoenix is a hot place, like all the time, and stuff. Oops. I mean, I had layers and whatnot. But they weren't the right layers.<br />
<br />
Okay, so it was a little chilly. As long as I keep moving, I'll be fine. I was fine when the sun went down during Javelina, right? This is the same area! Scott paced me through 15 more laps, then we hung out at the aid station for the New Years countdown. After our New Year's kiss (Eeeeewwwww gross! Just kidding, it was super great, you guys.) Scott headed back to the hotel for another round of rest before coming back in the early morning hours to get me through to the end.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0KP-m8dNYnW6ZpigmjbbkOJPYiqL_xSXIvD41OWHwQTxf8DDWzIII31jTyjcOSpqR5Hfdhch7b4G7JSTUIG7tyq0hicOmVxMuKEDLSU50dd-NBl6W9rbk9yrb4u-ridPhIA3hkgBbFs4/s1600/cold-cold-everywhere.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0KP-m8dNYnW6ZpigmjbbkOJPYiqL_xSXIvD41OWHwQTxf8DDWzIII31jTyjcOSpqR5Hfdhch7b4G7JSTUIG7tyq0hicOmVxMuKEDLSU50dd-NBl6W9rbk9yrb4u-ridPhIA3hkgBbFs4/s400/cold-cold-everywhere.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frigid. Cold. Horribleness.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I managed to get through another hour, feeling cold, but not like I was dying. The next hour brought that part. It had gotten to the point that I couldn't keep moving fast enough to keep warm. I had started to shake and shiver like crazy. So by 3 a.m., I was in the warming tent. I planted myself in a chair near the heater and tried to get warm. I was so tired, but every time I let myself fall asleep, I would shake myself awake with violent shivering. I couldn't make myself get up to move around. I was hungry. I needed to go to the bathroom. None of that mattered. I couldn't get up. I manged to send Scott a text so that he would know where to find my body when he came back.<br />
<br />
Scott did find me, and I was still alive at 5 a.m. He could tell I was in bad shape. Probably because I couldn't even raise my head to look at him, and I only used single word sentences in our communication. He ran to the car and grabbed a giant blanket. After wrapping me up, he went and got me something warm to eat. Unfortunately, the something he found was vegan French toast. I didn't know this at the time. Even in my weakened and hypothermic state, I knew what I was eating was disgusting. I choked down 6 bites before handing the plate back. I'm fairly certain that vegan French toast is made with a heaping helping of sadness.<br />
<br />
Then he came back with a steaming bowl of oatmeal. That was infinitely better. Once I had eaten most of the oatmeal, I finally felt like I could stand up and make it to the porta-potty. Once I was out of the warming tent, though, the violent shivering returned, but now it was accompanied by an even more violent cough. Whee.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9_89-8EPQlRgS8Ux7Hf_6gR9fJJKk-gZY8Jy2clhooSVLxm7JyaPSPRMNQkRZcAe-371B2fW2T98Pc8JDM31S4vduY06tk1B0Pola3pR2ROAkfqt5yE_HgpEshLcfexLWtI5qyTpjzG4/s1600/4b7eddfcf711672dd2913ce41e0a9f59.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9_89-8EPQlRgS8Ux7Hf_6gR9fJJKk-gZY8Jy2clhooSVLxm7JyaPSPRMNQkRZcAe-371B2fW2T98Pc8JDM31S4vduY06tk1B0Pola3pR2ROAkfqt5yE_HgpEshLcfexLWtI5qyTpjzG4/s400/4b7eddfcf711672dd2913ce41e0a9f59.gif" width="262" /></a></div>
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I returned to the warming tent, and Scott was determined to get me moving again. So he warmed the blanket with the heater in the tent, and wrapped me up like a burrito. We headed out into the frigid early morning hours, his arms wrapped tightly around me to help keep the blanket on, and to keep me upright. He guided me around the course 5 more times that morning, with another stop in the warming tent after 3 laps so I could eat some more warm food. As Scott was walking his frozen burrito girlfriend around the course, a fellow runner commented that we were the perfect picture of love and support. Awwwwwwww!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB3x_Mw2X4Iacpuc426LU6zo0BST_iP3mN6DUbEZtKU4QWQAX66vfTlyduL1QPHoTcQ-6MyVQS-CqaGBKbSdvtZBVUmd0mmYujs46717eR6BPnmCxxj5IRgW60h23Tk7TuAwb87V_8LSA/s1600/12316197_10207764293963901_457267426758187810_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB3x_Mw2X4Iacpuc426LU6zo0BST_iP3mN6DUbEZtKU4QWQAX66vfTlyduL1QPHoTcQ-6MyVQS-CqaGBKbSdvtZBVUmd0mmYujs46717eR6BPnmCxxj5IRgW60h23Tk7TuAwb87V_8LSA/s400/12316197_10207764293963901_457267426758187810_n.jpg" width="328" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, it was just sadness.Vegan French toast sadness. </td></tr>
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But seriously, it takes a special kind of love to support someone in their crazy goals. Scott's not an ultra runner (yet!) but he was out there with me, logging 23 miles total (the most he's even done, by 10 miles), being patient, kind, and a literal life saver.<br />
<br />
Anywho, I called it quits at 23:37. I didn't want to try for another lap in the condition I was in. Even though the sun had come up and things were starting to feel slightly warmer. I ended up with 57.04 miles. I wanted to get 70. I guess I could have, if I hadn't spent hours slipping into hypothermic coma. Live and learn, cats and kittens, live and learn. I was surprised to see that I actually finished pretty well in the standings. I was 32nd out of the 70 women, and 64th out of 172 overall in the 23 hour race. I honestly couldn't believe it. Maybe I should actually try properly preparing for one of these things. Who knows how high I could go in the ranks!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlPtOdV46e3MHBTi-bmulrCweXaLf5oWqr1k0Z9NZ0hYcHcoFqKwAg5YUkrEaeDg3V404NWdHcVVbqLGFJ8ucSrJ0tIE-l6_3ZwtbmzAK90gVCoS2D9HyVHz4ulOmC_Y_1enUcHz5X89I/s1600/IMG_2694.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlPtOdV46e3MHBTi-bmulrCweXaLf5oWqr1k0Z9NZ0hYcHcoFqKwAg5YUkrEaeDg3V404NWdHcVVbqLGFJ8ucSrJ0tIE-l6_3ZwtbmzAK90gVCoS2D9HyVHz4ulOmC_Y_1enUcHz5X89I/s400/IMG_2694.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love the bib belt. I've been wanting one for ages. And the stein is huge!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I survived the hypothermia, but got hit by a nasty sinus infection a day after getting home from Phoenix. That sinus infection just wouldn't go away. After 8 days, it had moved down into my lungs and my throat was burning. So I finally caved and went to the doctor. I had a race coming up, and I wasn't going to not run the darn thing. I don't know if you're supposed to run while you're right in the middle of a course of antibiotics, but I did anyway, because America.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlvJWg_3p-xMhSf1D5FPovipfSLDYJlImrqNwFkEFyiPoJoQruIUk7PCsCs3YKJvzdFXw4jXI2Q4EHGx9-RzqOu8ct58v7e_8l_YchgQD0G3PAfX-iIV872yfMEK5fQLJ0j5uZzkQnxuk/s1600/Hulk-Hogan-630x315.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlvJWg_3p-xMhSf1D5FPovipfSLDYJlImrqNwFkEFyiPoJoQruIUk7PCsCs3YKJvzdFXw4jXI2Q4EHGx9-RzqOu8ct58v7e_8l_YchgQD0G3PAfX-iIV872yfMEK5fQLJ0j5uZzkQnxuk/s400/Hulk-Hogan-630x315.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">AMERICA. Or something.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was not optimistic about how the St. George half marathon was going to go. I was having breathing issues when just standing around. How was running going to go?! I knew I could just walk the whole thing if I needed to, so I just went for it. I focused on taking it easy and it worked! I hit a bit of a wall at just before mile 6, but it passed, as it usually does if you can just keep going.<br />
<br />
I had saved my caffeinated gel for mile 9 and was feeling quite rejuvenated by mile 10. Right around this point is also where I could see a lot of the course out in front of me, because the path is on the side of a hill. I could see the man who had leap frogged me through the first four miles and then kept me behind him. I could tell he wanted to beat me. But there he was, slowing down at mile 10. Something kicked in, and I went into full-on hunt mode. By mile 11, I had overtaken him. I stayed in hunt mode for the last few miles and managed to pass about 20 people before crossing the finish line. I guess my body knows how to run half marathons, and stuff, since that was number 76...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQHMFQo-CCS-85sjjB7myGMRqyVQ4dx6Ogu1V_lSvOR4bsskY-rAcTCj1FkBeYn6NMOAy1UGeg6fglDZZywA-udDuFdiuHDjZ4gLejXboEjieBzIJLi2OjkssAqEvdaEDOQPhxWIRpsv0/s1600/IMG_2777.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQHMFQo-CCS-85sjjB7myGMRqyVQ4dx6Ogu1V_lSvOR4bsskY-rAcTCj1FkBeYn6NMOAy1UGeg6fglDZZywA-udDuFdiuHDjZ4gLejXboEjieBzIJLi2OjkssAqEvdaEDOQPhxWIRpsv0/s400/IMG_2777.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some nice swag this year.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's not like I finished fast, or anything. My time was 3:02:06. I only beat 37 people. But I finished feeling decent enough. And I didn't start coughing my lungs up until I was in the shower, so that was exciting. Scott ran the 5K, and came in first in his age group. He got a sweet sandstone slab with a plaque on it. I survived, he placed. We ate queso and burritos in celebration. Running is fun, you guys.<br />
<br />
The sickness is still lingering in my lungs a bit, but I think I'm going to be fine in a few more days. Then I really need to get serious about training again. My 48 hour race is 4 weeks away. Eep. I know I can't get where I need to be before it happens, but I can at least do my best to prep for survival.<br />
<br />
Stay tuned for more fun and frivolity. Until then, happy running!PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-35494981686276030782015-12-22T20:33:00.001-07:002016-01-18T17:10:25.332-07:00Year end dealy.Here we are, cats and kittens, on the brink of a new year. I don't do much in the way of New Year's resolutions, since I'm always struggling with day to day resolutions, but I still have quite an affinity for this time of year. I like the feeling of a fresh start, even if it's only in my mind.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPHIXoejPEXuYut3SFGARfX6DleFzhKOzIn6jdina5zj8m9s58jhMp-sjwb8reipOiTZ6J3UF4g5P8B4jXIaY60YdGtBsWc2tRlW0l56Fdl_mYX-FbXVc6N320eUqbB3uquEGk5KRPhAE/s1600/hqdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPHIXoejPEXuYut3SFGARfX6DleFzhKOzIn6jdina5zj8m9s58jhMp-sjwb8reipOiTZ6J3UF4g5P8B4jXIaY60YdGtBsWc2tRlW0l56Fdl_mYX-FbXVc6N320eUqbB3uquEGk5KRPhAE/s400/hqdefault.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cats and kittens, ready to party into the new year.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
As you may or may not remember, 2015 was the "Year of the Ultra". And it really was. I had set out to run at least one ultra distance per month. At my last count, I think I only missed the mark a couple of months. I ran 5 official ultra races, from 50K to 100K, and DNFd a sixth one. I managed to bang out hours and hours on the treadmill, binge watching Agents of Shield Once Upon a Time, and Supernatural, repeatedly logging 30+ miles in a single go. I avoiding injury all the way up to September, when I somehow pulled a hip muscle at the Little Grand Canyon marathon. I healed up in time to injure myself of the course at the Javelina Jundred. An injury which has healed enough to allow me to run in the Across the Years 24 hour race over New Year's Eve.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjomiX9dhYZvKedguAsCfKT1-Q2N3dhDEm0jgZOKIBipIfU-_PMjKHU3aGAYYD5w6nqfS6ci1EypHDg-oxSmwr7YXfA-z27P-KW3G7KGijXY71pfinjlqYvpKTQttq-B4Xp6gABqZUcrc/s1600/1920160_10201476414373349_1919472408_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjomiX9dhYZvKedguAsCfKT1-Q2N3dhDEm0jgZOKIBipIfU-_PMjKHU3aGAYYD5w6nqfS6ci1EypHDg-oxSmwr7YXfA-z27P-KW3G7KGijXY71pfinjlqYvpKTQttq-B4Xp6gABqZUcrc/s400/1920160_10201476414373349_1919472408_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nuff said.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was pleased to be able to finish off the 2015 racing season with a fantastic event called the Baker's Dozen. This incredibly fun race is put on by ultra runner extraordinaire, <a href="http://www.fastcory.com/" target="_blank">Cory Reese</a>. The point of the Baker's Dozen is to eat as many treats/pastries/doughnuts as you possibly can. Oh, and there's some running involved too, I guess.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5DmU3HWytQ5_hrrXfN8kbJw2muvK1tY4IvCQABZ_kjKN7tLUdZNdBv_IKMI1VY5uyLJaBKmFuWOC30-txKkpgb5wfYP4Hw194aypJKSxWCbwTbxaJbT_HeycBKuTMITv9hGlJo0nHnI8/s1600/o-HOMER-SIMPSON-facebook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5DmU3HWytQ5_hrrXfN8kbJw2muvK1tY4IvCQABZ_kjKN7tLUdZNdBv_IKMI1VY5uyLJaBKmFuWOC30-txKkpgb5wfYP4Hw194aypJKSxWCbwTbxaJbT_HeycBKuTMITv9hGlJo0nHnI8/s400/o-HOMER-SIMPSON-facebook.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An accurate representation.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I've run this race twice now, each time signing up thinking of the warmer weather that Southern Utah is known for. Except that both years that I've run this race, the weather has not been so cooperative... Last year, it was cold and rainy, this year was cold and windy. And not a gentle breeze either. Serious wind. It was fitting that the race was held in a town named Hurricane.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM1ht0Q11iK0sFe_pY_pZSc6lgssHL0rOv0hdA1phDQe6nQEN51ie-IXu5Vt5uxJ6suXUYoiGeSGt_9zRBfdB5XfJPNUnztuqAP8CVSdfCvL_NE-1m0498Ejk6LXtikX0JSrZ9KiXEC2E/s1600/12321462_10207838852307813_1894424707070547765_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM1ht0Q11iK0sFe_pY_pZSc6lgssHL0rOv0hdA1phDQe6nQEN51ie-IXu5Vt5uxJ6suXUYoiGeSGt_9zRBfdB5XfJPNUnztuqAP8CVSdfCvL_NE-1m0498Ejk6LXtikX0JSrZ9KiXEC2E/s400/12321462_10207838852307813_1894424707070547765_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretending that we're not cold, like at all. Also, that arch in the background wouldn't be up for long. Because wind.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As you can see, I recruited some crazies to join in the fun. Jamie, Desaray, and I were in for the half marathon, Scott was in for the 5K (this will be important to remember later). As we lined up to start the race, Weird Al's "Eat It" was playing. So appropriate.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/gW3iTdxhcME/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/gW3iTdxhcME?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
It's also important to remember that this race isn't officially timed. That's a good thing, because it takes quite a while to stuff your face at the Sugar Shack every 3.whatever miles, a task some took much more seriously than others. The person who ate the most treats ate over 60. Scott ate 10. I ate a whopping 4 treats. Yeah, I'm hard core.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxgfqoCoQ8wRUcgUotIXdBjErGwyhe8SZX8ZSGUwRagnjENQvHgH0xvteq4LejUipi_TtU2LUHNz3VGwEC7wPAvLlYSC-HUbzgvU9obo18TY8cL3ZLXwI8YgF3Vv9xPWHJifpP6dkPdE8/s1600/12371122_801029126674237_8472001647339777096_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxgfqoCoQ8wRUcgUotIXdBjErGwyhe8SZX8ZSGUwRagnjENQvHgH0xvteq4LejUipi_TtU2LUHNz3VGwEC7wPAvLlYSC-HUbzgvU9obo18TY8cL3ZLXwI8YgF3Vv9xPWHJifpP6dkPdE8/s400/12371122_801029126674237_8472001647339777096_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sugar shack, baby sugar shack. Tin roof. Rusted.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Scott decided he was going to stick with me through his 5K loop. It's always nice to have someone to share the miles with. We knew to look for the photographer to get our race jump picture taken. There's a contest for the best jump, so everyone was giving it their all.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTfIA9aaM7oMxaehMGdIAHeSRsuSJccVu48Gmx8ZvYrv3UsS_EJsWdDqTqtZvErCdNkVXT8aorHbgrUqwxGfwppLefgE5xQ3OQSd_h9dNPx-qeu3axsJYnFS_MZx1rNygfVyazwUuGRRA/s1600/12375231_801049393338877_6256925411827884598_o+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTfIA9aaM7oMxaehMGdIAHeSRsuSJccVu48Gmx8ZvYrv3UsS_EJsWdDqTqtZvErCdNkVXT8aorHbgrUqwxGfwppLefgE5xQ3OQSd_h9dNPx-qeu3axsJYnFS_MZx1rNygfVyazwUuGRRA/s400/12375231_801049393338877_6256925411827884598_o+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm getting hit in the face by my braids. Most epic.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As we were getting through that first loop, I mentioned to Scott that since it wasn't timed, he could always get a little more mileage in and run the second loop with me. He was game. He runs the 10K distance fairly regularly now, so no big deal, right?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrFT1Zbrt8a2zd9r7pOpCQt3AYWcOV3WROiVg8ldzojIisjFdcc9K3YpkFQSYniT7TfSt6PR-jH20QoU9kCj-hCl4f_CfJabqeej9WXr1RdC-R7P_LGqSd4XdueGy2lgnJ73xgD7qoNKU/s1600/12357007_801029133340903_5501413683393425242_o+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrFT1Zbrt8a2zd9r7pOpCQt3AYWcOV3WROiVg8ldzojIisjFdcc9K3YpkFQSYniT7TfSt6PR-jH20QoU9kCj-hCl4f_CfJabqeej9WXr1RdC-R7P_LGqSd4XdueGy2lgnJ73xgD7qoNKU/s400/12357007_801029133340903_5501413683393425242_o+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They had dirty Dr. Pepper, too. DELICIOUS.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I had lots of time to stand around and drink that Dr. Pepper while Scott ate even more tasty treats. He was so hopped up on sugar, he thought he'd go ahead and run the third lap with me as well. Why not?! On that lap, he ran the farthest he had ever run before. Another stop at the Sugar Shack and he was chomping at the bit to go the last lap with me.<br />
<br />
So, I don't know anyone who accidentally runs a half marathon. Well, I mean, now I do. But I didn't before... Since I don't run a blistering pace, it was easy enough for him to keep going along with me. The wind was relentless, adding another element of difficulty to his accidental half. But when you get swept up in the running mania, wind means nothing.<br />
<br />
We came in to the finish, where a most epic medal awaited us. We were fortunate enough to talk with Cory afterwards and upgrade Scott to the half so that he could get a medal too. He ran the distance, he deserved the medal! Cory is the nicest guy, and let quite a few people pay the difference and collect the sweet, sweet swag.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Y84DkcCDg2aLvWFWWsSzOcZoh6kNzUTrH17Pc139N-nyo4K__LBlgQEr_P2nA5kKzic45jXcqfitZIxl-v2o1_Zxw_kzn6QlsXmbvI2Cf1hJ-3xVW-FsqJZBz0wJb2ThSKwcaDswUAY/s1600/12310504_10208389780492034_724603234841135200_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Y84DkcCDg2aLvWFWWsSzOcZoh6kNzUTrH17Pc139N-nyo4K__LBlgQEr_P2nA5kKzic45jXcqfitZIxl-v2o1_Zxw_kzn6QlsXmbvI2Cf1hJ-3xVW-FsqJZBz0wJb2ThSKwcaDswUAY/s400/12310504_10208389780492034_724603234841135200_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Half marathon finishers are so hot. Just look at that attractive group.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There were actually a lot of people that I knew at this race. So many friendly faces added to the party atmosphere. We're planning on an even bigger group for next year (Jill, Wade, we're planning on you being there). With great swag like this, how could you resist?!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJOeL3Zi2mC2AVSYWH_nJq6myPyR6cXHWu2sC2VVhOlB94K4OgxjBBedS7reZ67tWiv-w_fFstAoUJcDsUbJk3SER-KF_PznLbO9spEXHsnm15AinpSsM1TSjzKaXoRHDsmk-q_Dt0VGg/s1600/12348064_10207845570235757_3698145507816748941_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJOeL3Zi2mC2AVSYWH_nJq6myPyR6cXHWu2sC2VVhOlB94K4OgxjBBedS7reZ67tWiv-w_fFstAoUJcDsUbJk3SER-KF_PznLbO9spEXHsnm15AinpSsM1TSjzKaXoRHDsmk-q_Dt0VGg/s400/12348064_10207845570235757_3698145507816748941_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's good stuff, right there.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I can't think of a better race to have had as my 75th half. I highly recommend this party, errrr, I mean, race to anyone who likes a good time. Which I figure is all of you reading this. I don't think that fun haters read this blog... However, if you are a fun hater, feel free to comment and let me know you're out there!<br />
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I really need to gather up all of the medals I've earned so far and take one epic swag shot. It would be interesting to find out if I can stay standing under the sheer weight of that many medals... It's amazing what you can accomplish in just over 4 years of running. I've made some fantastic friends, been to some incredible places, and survived things I never thought possible.<br />
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I'm going to wrap up this little blogging adventure with a comic from <a href="http://zenpencils.com/comic/rhodes/" target="_blank">Zen Pencils</a>. It's too epic to try and paraphrase so click that link and enjoy it's awesomeness. No matter what your passion is, take a little bit of time and actually pursue it. You won't be sorry.<br />
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I spared you all the super mushy stuff for this year's wrap up. But know it was a good one, one I am incredibly grateful to have had. Here's to a new year of adventuring. Until next year, happy running!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-32960968818727446872015-12-08T21:29:00.000-07:002015-12-08T21:29:06.026-07:00Making bloggity blog efforts left and right.All of the sudden there are people other than my mom and boyfriend reading this blog. Welcome, guy and gals! I'm happy to see all the wonderful comments and support. Iztok, come back to Daily Mile, man. We miss you.<br />
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Any who, it's been requested that I blog a little more often. That's probably not a bad idea, since I run enough races to do so.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6iiWj0ieVaaQeyfLdPDfH4Kv2rH4a_5JeZf-6Jow5kDv_Ji_t3_R465OnQHrMRqwDYbIeX74RLPsnI8oW5XLFw9vLMQBxe8koqixTdhmVbboJQtyBzvk-w9qsUW8KxtrJN4DXCZ59MQU/s1600/IMG_2550.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6iiWj0ieVaaQeyfLdPDfH4Kv2rH4a_5JeZf-6Jow5kDv_Ji_t3_R465OnQHrMRqwDYbIeX74RLPsnI8oW5XLFw9vLMQBxe8koqixTdhmVbboJQtyBzvk-w9qsUW8KxtrJN4DXCZ59MQU/s400/IMG_2550.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't worry, people. I'm already signed up for a zillion races for next year.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I've got three more exciting race tales to tell in this blog, so buckle up. I gave myself three whole weeks to heal up from Javelina before jumping back into the race scene. I decided to ease back into it with a 5K. No biggie, right? Oh, I suppose I should mention that the 5K was the day before my next half marathon. But I'm jumping ahead.<br />
<br />
My running friend, Geof, had talked me into running the Route 66 races in Tulsa, OK this year. Then he bailed on me. (For totally valid reasons and there's no hard feelings, I swear. For real, Geof. Stop making that face. You know the face I mean.) So anyway, I find myself in an annoying rental car, navigating my way around the vast, flat state of Oklahoma. I make my way to packet pick up without incident, only to be confronted with the longest line of people I have ever seen. I was starting to wonder if there was going to be sweet roller coaster or Star Wars movie premier at the end of the line.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxWEi-EQlYnWUbwLnO34ZVf7zrd6lFEim4npbqFm-U4C8myo1inhjsF73RwX_ffcjLjkYkTZRe3L-pdFMp9ZzODGg_JieEskaTgVXUR_MGb6UlZC1YeB9rbYHrUxELo6dLhRiLu_f-BXA/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxWEi-EQlYnWUbwLnO34ZVf7zrd6lFEim4npbqFm-U4C8myo1inhjsF73RwX_ffcjLjkYkTZRe3L-pdFMp9ZzODGg_JieEskaTgVXUR_MGb6UlZC1YeB9rbYHrUxELo6dLhRiLu_f-BXA/s400/download.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Totally worth the wait. If it would have been there. But noooooooo.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
No such luck on the roller coaster/Star Wars front, however. BUT I did finally get my race numbers. Hooray! You can't run without those babies. I was happy to see that I only had to wait behind one other person to pick up the shirt and jacket that were included with my race registration.<br />
<br />
By the time I made it back to my hotel, I was completely knackered and promised myself that I would go nowhere else until race morning. Thank goodness there's such a thing as pizza delivery.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyMiY5TPq612a4VXX09BxEnB8nHQzdH_9bXnAme4iBV89wEbZf22blkTNQ1UMSAgsOdAK-ue93Kov0klWhHeqJWoFTGbvR28vKthkMNgalbVbfVZ93hM2hVX64ElSXd4wmly6iVqEcvjI/s1600/141022132041-dominos-pizza-all-time-high-1024x576.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyMiY5TPq612a4VXX09BxEnB8nHQzdH_9bXnAme4iBV89wEbZf22blkTNQ1UMSAgsOdAK-ue93Kov0klWhHeqJWoFTGbvR28vKthkMNgalbVbfVZ93hM2hVX64ElSXd4wmly6iVqEcvjI/s400/141022132041-dominos-pizza-all-time-high-1024x576.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hello, Heather. I am your pizza angel, here to save you from further commuting and/or starving to death alone in the Super 8.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I ordered myself the most giantest pizza they had, since there was a fridge in the hotel. This saved me from having to venture out and spend money on eating alone for most of the weekend. (Geof, seriously, it's fine. Stop with the face already!)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5WlE95khDl06S9HrXrPDZaFwn2U3VKo3YVq9O5Q7nBsY2Q9g2Bc2sXvFSG17YTeI9AkAzHyr-ELBiMt791vqO-9kBSBRHYVN7MtURcte4te7X7gMAz3t9txyN1ciP-gG5rJEoQjdY2hk/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5WlE95khDl06S9HrXrPDZaFwn2U3VKo3YVq9O5Q7nBsY2Q9g2Bc2sXvFSG17YTeI9AkAzHyr-ELBiMt791vqO-9kBSBRHYVN7MtURcte4te7X7gMAz3t9txyN1ciP-gG5rJEoQjdY2hk/s400/images.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Artist's rendition of Geof reading this blog. I am not the artist... Thank you, random internet drawer for your image. If I find out who you are, you get all the kudos and credit. Because you totally nailed it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I survive the night, which seemed to be a miracle to me, since the wind shook my hotel door the ENTIRE night, sounding like someone was trying to break in.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ-HVinDKFb5FgjDfCcdEBzM9AViCabOb7aH65zPgqRfl34vnM2EyootKkIx6KglgKhK_vZ9h9LmOCUvTfsmOoPXm7qwyAcYztE07CkzKoNcqvYBdZMOCpp53dTdAaGXKzwe38kl0qmUE/s1600/23126982.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ-HVinDKFb5FgjDfCcdEBzM9AViCabOb7aH65zPgqRfl34vnM2EyootKkIx6KglgKhK_vZ9h9LmOCUvTfsmOoPXm7qwyAcYztE07CkzKoNcqvYBdZMOCpp53dTdAaGXKzwe38kl0qmUE/s400/23126982.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My thoughts, ALL night.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was much relieved to see that I hadn't been murdered in the night and was looking forward to getting to run. I made sure to dress warm, since the temperatures were basically arctic. I had this silly notion that I would get too warm in my jacket after about a half a mile in, like normally happens. NOPE. Big ol' cup of nope.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9-ye3IbEKcXAuIXnCIITmeAHj57DF3OoZQ2PsOGR29hgPMN_U1ZAOeVCwWXv6CRr6FoowlLmeh7SzfICvUDLOLx8laeOVn5fvJcIdpaztmMwzmnywepERVJCh5upWGiYqmZ-vE8b0wtM/s1600/a2dfd343d330826afbf1a4b7d772201f412080c4a9b95fd10b5e2bd11cda57fb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9-ye3IbEKcXAuIXnCIITmeAHj57DF3OoZQ2PsOGR29hgPMN_U1ZAOeVCwWXv6CRr6FoowlLmeh7SzfICvUDLOLx8laeOVn5fvJcIdpaztmMwzmnywepERVJCh5upWGiYqmZ-vE8b0wtM/s400/a2dfd343d330826afbf1a4b7d772201f412080c4a9b95fd10b5e2bd11cda57fb.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You're reading this in a British accent.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I did get asked if I was running my first 5K while I was walking to the start line. I was surprised that I could hear the woman over the howl of the gale force winds, I just told her that I was also running the half the next day as well and left it at that. I figured she didn't need to hear about what I had survived three weeks earlier.<br />
<br />
I had learned my lesson from last year that I shouldn't start in the back. I put myself in the first third of the crowd. This was ideal placement, meaning I didn't have to spend ages trying to pass the walkers. I could have finished faster than last year because of this smarty pants move, except that the wind was trying to push us all over.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibnujLhioNENHEK1Js9JKD8sDvYkpymZJc0Vir66IZYGEMcPzGECWbWRORSrCg4cqtxmHOL-fq3MLRyclUHMqYZZ0cKcEsI2AiVov1kK4d6qrz7WeTthHr8W6Dr1bjX2JdMo8Vb13wreM/s1600/61141555.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibnujLhioNENHEK1Js9JKD8sDvYkpymZJc0Vir66IZYGEMcPzGECWbWRORSrCg4cqtxmHOL-fq3MLRyclUHMqYZZ0cKcEsI2AiVov1kK4d6qrz7WeTthHr8W6Dr1bjX2JdMo8Vb13wreM/s400/61141555.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At least we were badass rockstars as we got blown all over the roads.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I made it to the finish line and was hoping to stick around and watch the last finishers. I was able to make it about 10 minutes before I was shaking so hard I could barely stand. I shambled my way back to the rental car, cranked up the seat heater, Googled the nearest Starbucks, drove to the nearest Starbucks, and ordered the biggest cup of peppermint hot chocolate that they had. Once I was able to warm up a bit, I made my way back to the hotel for some sweet, sweet angel pizza.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI43sdTOVUWWiauXeSon7HP8hmpQvf4yGE-B85Q4omRUs7WTVuT2omUcTKIUcGjcfykqgdBcf0XaO8czFv2RT7BlyF6kbeUBjL6UtcIrB9DI0Qv0WHTXd9DBpyLhCzj765L1wltoSDV5s/s1600/IMG_2506.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI43sdTOVUWWiauXeSon7HP8hmpQvf4yGE-B85Q4omRUs7WTVuT2omUcTKIUcGjcfykqgdBcf0XaO8czFv2RT7BlyF6kbeUBjL6UtcIrB9DI0Qv0WHTXd9DBpyLhCzj765L1wltoSDV5s/s400/IMG_2506.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have to say, the swag was pretty worth the frigid temperatures. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I spent most of the day in the hotel room, working on a crafty project that will be a Christmas gift. (You guys had no idea I did anything other than run races all the time. Your whole perception of me has been blown out of the water! But really, I mostly just run races...)<br />
<br />
I was able to go out that evening and meet some internet running friends in real life, Chuck and Kim. It was nice to have dinner with some friendly faces after my nearly two days of isolation and hermitude. (Geof, the face again. Like I don't know you're making it.) Then it was off to bed to rest up for what would be half marathon number 73.<br />
<br />
Thankfully, the night was not as windy as the previous and I was able to sleep soundly. I managed to find a parking space in the crowded streets of downtown Tulsa and headed for the corrals. There were so many people. I was in corral C, the second to last corral. I have to say, corrals are a nice system, Again, I didn't have to spend much time trying to pass people, because we were all going about the same pace.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilvU4HkQ4-yAQn4ZKbxmC5qFms80npv1aLxj0_xJZ_mYHW_rkTTCPou_5pB7T_52desHV6hJIFyNXafVt9SNJnqVyPaoBhK5hx_LnC6_bjPmWypxZ1CQ5uDvqod3r3UHv_UakmkNjIFPo/s1600/IMG_2511.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilvU4HkQ4-yAQn4ZKbxmC5qFms80npv1aLxj0_xJZ_mYHW_rkTTCPou_5pB7T_52desHV6hJIFyNXafVt9SNJnqVyPaoBhK5hx_LnC6_bjPmWypxZ1CQ5uDvqod3r3UHv_UakmkNjIFPo/s400/IMG_2511.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting for the starting gun!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When the countdown hit zero, two giant confetti cannons went off, which is pretty fun, in case you've never had the pleasure. I started off feeling pretty good. I was bundled up in my jacket and gloves, even though the day was warmer than the previous. I started to worry again that I was going to get to warm, but then a gust of chilly wind would remind me that I wanted very much to keep those things on.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiQH4bagvwJ9qALA3BYN_l7uXzJwX3l2Mct4tLvwUZXrinjupt_nK_rhv40eAcYFuIHRt9iHU5LdIxK3G8jLGIrN1z2p5BTw7McyBlJhe24q2KxafzJo8dMu3G2FvyxdkMh9z2SqUaXrE/s1600/IMG_2512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiQH4bagvwJ9qALA3BYN_l7uXzJwX3l2Mct4tLvwUZXrinjupt_nK_rhv40eAcYFuIHRt9iHU5LdIxK3G8jLGIrN1z2p5BTw7McyBlJhe24q2KxafzJo8dMu3G2FvyxdkMh9z2SqUaXrE/s400/IMG_2512.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We run past this lovely art museum. They made me feel pretty.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I really enjoy being in a race this big. When there are 15,000 other runners, you're never by yourself. That's a big deal to a gal who finds herself alone for the majority of smaller races. Also, with that many people, even having a bad race means I won't finish last. Yay!<br />
<br />
So I was cruising along with all my fellow corral C-ers, doing my best to avoid the cracks that are ever present on the Tulsa roads. That's really my only complaint about this race. The roads need some serious repair. I took my eyes off the ground for a moment around mile 6 and was rewarded with an ankle tweak. Of course it was the ankle that I injured during Javelina. I managed to tweak it again just after mile 7. That when things really started to be unpleasant. My pace slowed quite a bit as I could feel my ankle starting to swell. I was on track for a decent finish time until then.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7nY9sjOpY925v__KkDQgBSTyGjqG1cePf5etUry4TA6GtV2c4PsSHndUUNMD91XT4bZemlPjzIVx-x_Qv8Apky5kkdTB90CXsin0intQYbATPMtrTfs1hoki9VUQ1jGgtQhBkdrUA6lU/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7nY9sjOpY925v__KkDQgBSTyGjqG1cePf5etUry4TA6GtV2c4PsSHndUUNMD91XT4bZemlPjzIVx-x_Qv8Apky5kkdTB90CXsin0intQYbATPMtrTfs1hoki9VUQ1jGgtQhBkdrUA6lU/s400/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="383" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was walking a lot at this point, so I might as well take a picture of this cool sign. Plus, there was a wizard.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I struggled my way along to the finish, stopping once more to take a picture of my favorite Tulsa thing: the penguin statue. There are quite a few penguin statues scattered throughout the city. Make sure to look for them when you go.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidgCDO_fdk3CtAKTBk6eAHwo4NGR2iABxin9dFFKmEHgUXDT43Lr-rjhM4gYv9wnuLYzeOuwV7PHJnqwrK_7XKDhdpKlLwOgpPymtXMusPKM-e9PyWhB1Oa8DTFzImmBJmsRy6xbQDZlw/s1600/IMG_2521.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidgCDO_fdk3CtAKTBk6eAHwo4NGR2iABxin9dFFKmEHgUXDT43Lr-rjhM4gYv9wnuLYzeOuwV7PHJnqwrK_7XKDhdpKlLwOgpPymtXMusPKM-e9PyWhB1Oa8DTFzImmBJmsRy6xbQDZlw/s400/IMG_2521.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isn't it neat?!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I finished in barely over three hours; I had wanted a sub three, but considering the ankle, I was okay with it. I made my way through the finish area to Maniac Corner. Let me tell y'all about Maniac Corner. It's a magical place where members of the Marathon Maniacs and Half Fanatics can go to hang out, post race. They give you a special finisher's medal, delicious food, and a front row seat to the finish line. I picked up that special medal, and a delightful pulled pork sandwich, and made my way over to the fence to watch the finishers. I ended up spending nearly two hours watching runners come in. I bawled like a baby off and on while watching the finishers. I had my sunglasses on, so I don't think anyone noticed.<br />
<br />
There is something so amazing about watching people finish a race. You'll see some people that are struggling, every step is agony. Some people have the biggest grins on their faces. You see all shapes and sizes. Old and young. People helping each other along. sometimes being the only thing keeping each other standing up and moving forward. They are all accomplishing something incredible. Running is not an easy thing, and running for hours upon hours is certainly no small feat. So I cry. I dare you not to cry when you witness this for yourself.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhev52gtt5VPq6XugdZFeCUGwEmaMZJU0ffIGeUXFNotikVc_qFZUDXgtljcAmC9GgRf5NQtPy2_Vkp-DaB1Pkj4INli-PuiZD2CGNxKTp4DTqMS8d3m6CSx4RTdEFwJsVHd4lLEY9QRc4/s1600/Okay-Crying-Meme-05.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhev52gtt5VPq6XugdZFeCUGwEmaMZJU0ffIGeUXFNotikVc_qFZUDXgtljcAmC9GgRf5NQtPy2_Vkp-DaB1Pkj4INli-PuiZD2CGNxKTp4DTqMS8d3m6CSx4RTdEFwJsVHd4lLEY9QRc4/s320/Okay-Crying-Meme-05.png" width="242" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, at the finish line. NOT an exaggeration. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was thankful that the weather was much nicer, the sun was out, the wind had died down. I wouldn't have missed watching those finishers for anything. I'm telling you, hang out at finish lines once in a while. Your faith in humanity will grow three sizes.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRC5AnFOmEJB86QzWUv-HQnTEWCGVpRirNJ6nNKIKFnN6mHspLu0exFeJlODmXr7JWrrmAD1t7l9zCCF3YZEu_f5CGuda_mZoGhu4HhZZaFNcv3mlQK_Q8p07_ClOCfQb6mcYo9R77FWg/s1600/IMG_2518.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRC5AnFOmEJB86QzWUv-HQnTEWCGVpRirNJ6nNKIKFnN6mHspLu0exFeJlODmXr7JWrrmAD1t7l9zCCF3YZEu_f5CGuda_mZoGhu4HhZZaFNcv3mlQK_Q8p07_ClOCfQb6mcYo9R77FWg/s400/IMG_2518.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not a bad haul, if I do say so myself.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I made it home safely, obviously, since I'm writing this... And it's a good thing, because I had another race to run on Thanksgiving day. It was an especially exciting race because Scott, the boyfriend, would be running the 5K!<br />
<br />
So, you know how I said that it was cold in Tulsa? It was MUCH colder here. Whee! Race morning greeted us with subzero temperatures (if we're using Celcius, and we should because subzero sounds way better than sub 32 degrees).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCcPJpS01oiWeU-GvPWz8X9xzHyQzxxdhP-0fG6qKUZOkHPIhXzIhCxJYHBbdE2Mqz5qKBseSFmPkCOc6XqiQWOiuKe8tFPCkKYTLcYRPiTHiEHc3PW51o-bhqGWRSR6wDUAqvP0t2PPI/s1600/IMG_2540.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCcPJpS01oiWeU-GvPWz8X9xzHyQzxxdhP-0fG6qKUZOkHPIhXzIhCxJYHBbdE2Mqz5qKBseSFmPkCOc6XqiQWOiuKe8tFPCkKYTLcYRPiTHiEHc3PW51o-bhqGWRSR6wDUAqvP0t2PPI/s400/IMG_2540.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We're trying not to look like we're freezing to death. </td></tr>
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We had matching sweaters, thanks to a mix up in shipping from the lovely folks at Ink n' Burn. I didn't mind, the sweaters are pretty amazing. Too bad it was so cold that we had to wear jackets over the sweaters for the entirety of our races.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhewdnS4jhNDlBJ58GN7Nb-z6RXsmyUch96rFoLJ5WljqMjNkh1uI2GBIR8SqtvCGZpNeXwRccCINtZshAEMjkrXrqOEycjZCF_tdPS93S69oeEsUd-H6Zb8GpkWlT5LAz0MkA4-joKaUs/s1600/12314108_10153779443970798_1940654610302889721_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhewdnS4jhNDlBJ58GN7Nb-z6RXsmyUch96rFoLJ5WljqMjNkh1uI2GBIR8SqtvCGZpNeXwRccCINtZshAEMjkrXrqOEycjZCF_tdPS93S69oeEsUd-H6Zb8GpkWlT5LAz0MkA4-joKaUs/s400/12314108_10153779443970798_1940654610302889721_n.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scott, rocking the 5K, freezing his booty off.</td></tr>
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It turns out that Scott is actually one hell of a runner and took 4th place in his age group (out of 47 people!) and finished with his best time for the distance, ever. Not bad for a first race. I was only about 5 miles into the half when I received a text with the good news. I was so sad that I wasn't at the finish to see him, but half number 74 wasn't going to run itself...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL0d3HzeLP14o5y_3guZCts8zKjdM8td8m5p_AjV__2O8Dj58DLAsaUj9Dx8abeq_umdX0zqZPOzACBdUYaM2suc11L0fYFe75DEnZ13DUzt5PbHW14pd1bxL67a9KpKStqrMLtSZjjlM/s1600/12308798_10207772025837193_4379512836397074446_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL0d3HzeLP14o5y_3guZCts8zKjdM8td8m5p_AjV__2O8Dj58DLAsaUj9Dx8abeq_umdX0zqZPOzACBdUYaM2suc11L0fYFe75DEnZ13DUzt5PbHW14pd1bxL67a9KpKStqrMLtSZjjlM/s400/12308798_10207772025837193_4379512836397074446_n.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hey, look! I'm smiling while running. I guess that means I still like it.</td></tr>
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My ankle did start to protest somewhat at mile 10, but that's not too bad, considering it had only been three full days between Route 66 and the Thankful 13. The swelling went down very quickly after the race and my training runs since have been pretty uneventful, so it seems like it won't be too much of a problem in the future.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh85NXOJWxu6YgUq76v2gQwBDvKZiTk73t2zZKeGCViullzjvdND0ex1tqaw1Omsdr1HOBHYcIrWAl5ONgzore4Tqts3k5gqGzcXam1KO_w4CD6TBadvswQ9HgzyBY3oUO3N95Hw_5tAmw/s1600/IMG_2544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh85NXOJWxu6YgUq76v2gQwBDvKZiTk73t2zZKeGCViullzjvdND0ex1tqaw1Omsdr1HOBHYcIrWAl5ONgzore4Tqts3k5gqGzcXam1KO_w4CD6TBadvswQ9HgzyBY3oUO3N95Hw_5tAmw/s400/IMG_2544.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The shirt has thumb holes. Best shirt ever.</td></tr>
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With half marathon 74 successfully completed, I just have a couple more races to finish out the year. I'll be running half number 75 this weekend at the Baker's Dozen. It promises to be most epic. I'll finish off the year with my third timed event, the Across the Years 24 hour race. Which I feel woefully unprepared for, just so you know. Seriously. Since Javelina, there have been no runs longer than half marathon distance. At least with timed events, there's not too much pressure. I do have a mileage goal of 75 miles. We'll see how long it takes for me to throw that goal right out the window... And hey, it's only 9 weeks until my 48 hour race at the Jackpot Ultrarunning Festival. Like that won't kill me with how little I've been training these days. Yeah. Okay.<br />
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I'll leave you with that for now, and until next time, happy running!<br />
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<br />PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-46994656644709633022015-11-25T00:22:00.000-07:002015-11-25T00:22:49.734-07:00It. Is. Time.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I think it's finally time, cats and kittens. Time to talk about what happened to me during the Javelina Jundred. Here's a picture of a javelina to get you in the mood.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkulaTLQdWwWN2vQFDtXHEgIV8N0U1T-wFKBQw0Tdmgmr5zzT6PSqOtfmuHeny7ObIanpuNZJ_TQU1Sy2SNgo85gcai1Uj2tG4e18qvVGHgBql2LDB5a4Rr0731nAU0-4S5X-Mf8w4HOE/s1600/javelina.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkulaTLQdWwWN2vQFDtXHEgIV8N0U1T-wFKBQw0Tdmgmr5zzT6PSqOtfmuHeny7ObIanpuNZJ_TQU1Sy2SNgo85gcai1Uj2tG4e18qvVGHgBql2LDB5a4Rr0731nAU0-4S5X-Mf8w4HOE/s400/javelina.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The babies! I die from their cuteness. </td></tr>
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The day is October 30, 2015. I arrive in sunny Fountain Hills, Arizona to await my fate on the Pemberton trail system of the McDowell Mountain Resort.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsEuk2BAGrVoD0oSM0lmcFfW85G8pk8G1lDjz_SwJpE3P2yg-ZzWWemXp4iZaPAwF4X-0VZ4Lhyphenhyphenf647trxqPb0QhJG_sv2XIoPxErxsJYB7P5vSB4Pkmq6RSSEVBzUcrsoUvEx2-dov0/s1600/08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsEuk2BAGrVoD0oSM0lmcFfW85G8pk8G1lDjz_SwJpE3P2yg-ZzWWemXp4iZaPAwF4X-0VZ4Lhyphenhyphenf647trxqPb0QhJG_sv2XIoPxErxsJYB7P5vSB4Pkmq6RSSEVBzUcrsoUvEx2-dov0/s400/08.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A thoroughly marked course means I didn't get lost. Hooray!</td></tr>
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We went out to the race start/finish to check out the area and get a feel for the place. This trip to the venue the night before was also to (hopefully) allay my fears for the coming day. Spoiler alert: it did nothing of the sort.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix9JB0nJY9pOlkUdquUS6nwZlr2zlz7BDsaY6JItL___wihA3Qgd_XR5LIWB2W5FZY0fJFHLAvg8-UxKQeUpZ2Ki88lajPYRxRLom2KGRk6L638qOkm8Zs8G0IGDk97Kx4Qp81s3MMDcc/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix9JB0nJY9pOlkUdquUS6nwZlr2zlz7BDsaY6JItL___wihA3Qgd_XR5LIWB2W5FZY0fJFHLAvg8-UxKQeUpZ2Ki88lajPYRxRLom2KGRk6L638qOkm8Zs8G0IGDk97Kx4Qp81s3MMDcc/s400/01.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh good. This looks promising.</td></tr>
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While the desert was stunning, what with the giant saguaros looming over their domain, it did not quiet the screaming in the back of my mind.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkEEgXna5mi2tzYwKs8nrIvGji3tihlApSWNi-HHZFT_ClnlA5vqeAVAe5nSpCMgv86A1IjYMp638k8tJlgOKGmCHZNWOA7FpTeTEg52yWuFTw5-vAW5mFIxwFaRSmbwysg-IGVrgRTkQ/s1600/The_Scream.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkEEgXna5mi2tzYwKs8nrIvGji3tihlApSWNi-HHZFT_ClnlA5vqeAVAe5nSpCMgv86A1IjYMp638k8tJlgOKGmCHZNWOA7FpTeTEg52yWuFTw5-vAW5mFIxwFaRSmbwysg-IGVrgRTkQ/s400/The_Scream.jpg" width="313" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me. In my mind.</td></tr>
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I tried to focus on the beauty of my surroundings and not the fact that I would be spending 61.2 miles in the desolate desert. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXwlBSA5U0YRPp9YVZPuZqYggvrKbXap97HwVO8fnwVqDOJp9kzR8z4h3TLVpRvvaDMc9COS66RDrl3-iLC_Pb-K6mFzdfIYq-gvXk7XnjQ8SNAFagM-MhlyxlxBQ0ur8-sfj3CEN3m1Y/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXwlBSA5U0YRPp9YVZPuZqYggvrKbXap97HwVO8fnwVqDOJp9kzR8z4h3TLVpRvvaDMc9COS66RDrl3-iLC_Pb-K6mFzdfIYq-gvXk7XnjQ8SNAFagM-MhlyxlxBQ0ur8-sfj3CEN3m1Y/s400/11.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is not my beautiful house, this is not my beautiful wife. How did I get here?!</td></tr>
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My face in the picture above conveys the cluelessness and confusion that comes with realizing that I paid money to be here and do this. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlwKhZLUIcpGGvEAoSUNtJ-O9y3zrw9zHs1hUgx57fs49JjFwi9cmeWO8v1PAknXALiZcyuNNmuIchLLaFqugNkTDYTcQUzfJoYtTR3kKNIzFgqd8e9uchHgAAb0JQ8EFQD3aVKhkm8cg/s1600/06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlwKhZLUIcpGGvEAoSUNtJ-O9y3zrw9zHs1hUgx57fs49JjFwi9cmeWO8v1PAknXALiZcyuNNmuIchLLaFqugNkTDYTcQUzfJoYtTR3kKNIzFgqd8e9uchHgAAb0JQ8EFQD3aVKhkm8cg/s400/06.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I only had to do 4 laps, not 7 like those suckers in the hundred miler. Pictured with the lap signs is a former Javelina participant. </td></tr>
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After sufficiently exploring the area and doing nothing to calm my nerves about the adventure of the next day, we headed back to the hotel. We decided to just have dinner at the restaurant that was connected to the hotel. It was a wise choice. They had a most delightful beef stroganoff. I made sure to finish off dinner with an ice cream sundae. For all I knew, it was my last meal and I was going to make the most of it. </div>
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Despite all of my expectations, I slept fairly soundly and didn't have any pre-race nightmares. I had meticulously arranged my gear for the morning and just had to focus on getting dressed and eating breakfast. In this case, breakfast was two strawberry Poptarts. I'm pretty sure those are the breakfast of champions, or something.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdEzJiU3VPHjpa764E4Fa-xF8FN8tag2rBVkARxuQaxpmXARi8gnWXPE_jAl6iy_kmW72w3GAuhxHcjU__YzQp31D_UmhwYPdznAUfX0CglkJ8FeR0gIIZ9353CHXJoL5eDq08ZrLzcPE/s1600/Strawberry-Pop-Tarts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdEzJiU3VPHjpa764E4Fa-xF8FN8tag2rBVkARxuQaxpmXARi8gnWXPE_jAl6iy_kmW72w3GAuhxHcjU__YzQp31D_UmhwYPdznAUfX0CglkJ8FeR0gIIZ9353CHXJoL5eDq08ZrLzcPE/s400/Strawberry-Pop-Tarts.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah, that's totally a breakfast that champions eat. I mean, look at those sprinkley bits! </td></tr>
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I made it to the shuttle bus without incident and we headed off to the start, Javelina Jeadquarters. I noticed that Mirna of <a href="http://fatgirlrunning-fatrunner.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Fat Girl Running</a> was on my bus. I geeked out a bit, because I love her blog. I didn't dare say anything to her then, I waited until we were lined up at the starting line. Because by that point, I was so freaked out, I couldn't even string together coherent sentences. It was the perfect time to try and and talk to someone I admire. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5ScEZMKh9hsDrZ9N-6jXi8K7Yx_46G41Ni1mjMkjE2EaSePVOWDBb5vsx2YCBVCKi-mxtPPsJrmysrXKey6pejk-HlOEBuWMfFJP6W5yKsIF2D_FV2oqi6p3-VxTMss8LmZvkXOHcevI/s1600/17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5ScEZMKh9hsDrZ9N-6jXi8K7Yx_46G41Ni1mjMkjE2EaSePVOWDBb5vsx2YCBVCKi-mxtPPsJrmysrXKey6pejk-HlOEBuWMfFJP6W5yKsIF2D_FV2oqi6p3-VxTMss8LmZvkXOHcevI/s400/17.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The desert sunrise is worth waking up for. And then going back to bed instead of running 100K. That would have been the wise thing to do.</td></tr>
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Anywho, the countdown went way too quickly and the race began. What I love about these longer distances, is the way that everyone starts out at a nice leisurely pace, e.g. walking. We're going to be out there for a long freaking time! Better take it easy, amiright?!</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiQAAmAeeb1HECMCmEDOsZjZyo_leFG_EbKTPgqk2BKyK4kw9sNAlCQT4McECW90oKRIeldVAuzkBc_wNefVXwwBKQITbN9PUMUiB5kJoWueRniENabfCV8yHMSwCSiJT7h98LjEq0mpE/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiQAAmAeeb1HECMCmEDOsZjZyo_leFG_EbKTPgqk2BKyK4kw9sNAlCQT4McECW90oKRIeldVAuzkBc_wNefVXwwBKQITbN9PUMUiB5kJoWueRniENabfCV8yHMSwCSiJT7h98LjEq0mpE/s400/download.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That pretty much sums up my ultra running strategy. </td></tr>
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The course at Javelina is a 15.3 mile loop. This is important, so remember it. There may be a quiz at the end. After leaving Jeadquarters, we came to our first aid station at only 2 miles in. Hmmm. This seems like odd placement for an aid station, I thought to myself. This theme of odd aid station placement would plague me throughout the run. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3x3fyRY4n2shSOTbqXzR6pz10k3svBuwjBkcB0XhVJI2xNv7fkTMEo2qPe9U84siBqGh03jVRIw6SKDplQJVHPs8ppBKTVed0QGsqUHljjP2H0PcFVTfkzKiiHLPeExixrGFoFF47jYA/s1600/23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3x3fyRY4n2shSOTbqXzR6pz10k3svBuwjBkcB0XhVJI2xNv7fkTMEo2qPe9U84siBqGh03jVRIw6SKDplQJVHPs8ppBKTVed0QGsqUHljjP2H0PcFVTfkzKiiHLPeExixrGFoFF47jYA/s400/23.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pffffffft. That's not even that far. I'LL BE FINE.</td></tr>
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On that first lap, 6.5 miles didn't even seem that bad. But trust me, it got progressively farther as each lap progressed. But I digress. The first lap was actually quite pleasant. I tried to just soak up the scenery, take pictures, and chat with other runners. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOA54CAzHzy8L8I4TOrY8wXCncuNO9uvC9y9R9xkpldHPlkF2iqM1a02il1HIcBsJCQxKMftAdOXcDJs8eBgwgG1iSesrLaWopB-0rPOe9_5M9iWJ276thr8EctnA5tPda5Nj5ETR2U9s/s1600/24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOA54CAzHzy8L8I4TOrY8wXCncuNO9uvC9y9R9xkpldHPlkF2iqM1a02il1HIcBsJCQxKMftAdOXcDJs8eBgwgG1iSesrLaWopB-0rPOe9_5M9iWJ276thr8EctnA5tPda5Nj5ETR2U9s/s400/24.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hey look! Scenery! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />It was seriously pretty out there. So here's a bunch of pictures to prove my point. <div>
<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhadSltdlFyvcJ7q0JUXNv-AJqg7WPTPzYFDyGOqmlTs5z8pqM4WktuQIcW7PeY0vHM3-RMZs3X1h9WZzsw3teUt0sNtB0mhKIri6DOcn9yMH5R7sd3LAWhKpqyHIjKGxWmRwfrEunTmE/s1600/30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhadSltdlFyvcJ7q0JUXNv-AJqg7WPTPzYFDyGOqmlTs5z8pqM4WktuQIcW7PeY0vHM3-RMZs3X1h9WZzsw3teUt0sNtB0mhKIri6DOcn9yMH5R7sd3LAWhKpqyHIjKGxWmRwfrEunTmE/s400/30.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whoa, that's some scenery! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtL_iWNaB8Yy7BsfxVZ964pusB0r-OmfQ-zjApgjmcwsJT-yGovxg0vcqNTaY8rZA4ETGCPyun1bvIPlwt-0CP4len6NQvMkX8HfVVORvz9PnNWXlu0eZr00bFnMEfr2sagp8X80UlqPI/s1600/27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtL_iWNaB8Yy7BsfxVZ964pusB0r-OmfQ-zjApgjmcwsJT-yGovxg0vcqNTaY8rZA4ETGCPyun1bvIPlwt-0CP4len6NQvMkX8HfVVORvz9PnNWXlu0eZr00bFnMEfr2sagp8X80UlqPI/s400/27.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holy cow! Would you look at that!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE11-4EWkJtBgvLoNJ2gFIJTjArZKd1BmYBf18yrHqx0bhajVejGaRfiMLzpQs9NCcXBu_Mh45lpk0rdX8tugtGmePNAqEZVWUMTi4f45TM6o8gleX9NlBEqzE_s42wM7xc29nlJs0zm4/s1600/28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE11-4EWkJtBgvLoNJ2gFIJTjArZKd1BmYBf18yrHqx0bhajVejGaRfiMLzpQs9NCcXBu_Mh45lpk0rdX8tugtGmePNAqEZVWUMTi4f45TM6o8gleX9NlBEqzE_s42wM7xc29nlJs0zm4/s400/28.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And here I am, in the scenery!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtmGeD_Fmx80ThQ5nMDiPCEvrK9glVuRdwpXrJ5FwH0SL6gPQVpAhIHVAQP5Re0vXkIHB1gEK-RYnRbhdU_3n7nZFSxGHuGqO8_x7ZNzKnV-UyoNLA5Ph5aA_SsvuFiGHSigsK7hOgW7s/s1600/32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtmGeD_Fmx80ThQ5nMDiPCEvrK9glVuRdwpXrJ5FwH0SL6gPQVpAhIHVAQP5Re0vXkIHB1gEK-RYnRbhdU_3n7nZFSxGHuGqO8_x7ZNzKnV-UyoNLA5Ph5aA_SsvuFiGHSigsK7hOgW7s/s400/32.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Okay, that there? That's just cool.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Lap one went as planned. I completed it in about four and a half hours. I wasn't breaking any land speed records, but I was on track for the 18 hour finish that had been predicted for my by Ultra Signup. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I fueled up at Jeadquarters and while there was helped by a very nice gentleman. He filled my pack with ice water and even offered me some ice for my bra. In the Arizona heat during an ultramarathon, that's not even weird. It's quite welcome.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So I headed out for my second lap, all iced up and ready for action. Or so I thought. It was getting pretty darn warm out there. And all the ice in the world couldn't change that. I had to slow my pace dramatically in order to avoid heat stroke. At least I had the good sense to do so. I heard that others were not so sensible. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVl6zG2osiF-ssXxK9cPbIsLgc2ebUvhGr8GkbeFIVO-8uZmQ_K5rFpUg8f5GYgMZZVvFk1siTM63ha6JH9YlrjQujCu8lpnwNBBaABne-RbOzX3CC7dEP1w1SIUy0i-B7DhnltGkcRtE/s1600/keep-calm-and-be-sensible-4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVl6zG2osiF-ssXxK9cPbIsLgc2ebUvhGr8GkbeFIVO-8uZmQ_K5rFpUg8f5GYgMZZVvFk1siTM63ha6JH9YlrjQujCu8lpnwNBBaABne-RbOzX3CC7dEP1w1SIUy0i-B7DhnltGkcRtE/s400/keep-calm-and-be-sensible-4.png" width="342" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seriously.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was really starting to dislike the heat, however, and by the time I rolled into Jeadquarters for the second time, I was mostly looking like death.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie3-9THx0clsY6fuzcYah7kguYVBpBsMhxL5sxu9g7TG70hmSoTTfFRF-OEcG62HnxtC7nyTQXkm7HbSF9HsRLqCefufbn5ohviTwhBcmljHQ_EG3jLjxsMsN4-_noIOEyZbVjoy_2Edw/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie3-9THx0clsY6fuzcYah7kguYVBpBsMhxL5sxu9g7TG70hmSoTTfFRF-OEcG62HnxtC7nyTQXkm7HbSF9HsRLqCefufbn5ohviTwhBcmljHQ_EG3jLjxsMsN4-_noIOEyZbVjoy_2Edw/s400/images.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Artist's rendition of me at the end of lap 2.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div>
The heat had been making it difficult for me to stay on top of my nutrition. Basically, that means that I hadn't been eating enough. And that equals bonking, big time. At least there was a friendly face to greet me when I came in from lap 2. Turd'l (of the <a href="http://runningplump.blogspot.com/2015_07_01_archive.html" target="_blank">Capitol Reef 50K DNF </a> debacle) was there and gave me an encouraging pep talk.<br /><br />I made myself eat some pizza at Jeadquarters. It was the pizza of angels. I drank an enormous amount of Coke. It was the Coke of angels. I refilled my pack with, you guessed it, the ice of angels. Once I had been fortified by the foods of the heavenly host, I felt much better about heading out for my third lap. Extra bonus, lap three is where the sun went down! Woot! </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Here's where things get crazy, y'all. My third lap was absolutely incredible. "How can it be incredible when you've already gone 31 miles?!" you ask. The answer is: I have no friggin' idea. But it was! The temperature went down and my pep level went sky high. Pep, guys. I was irritatingly cheerful. I was totally stoked about the rattle snake that was crossing the trail in front of me. (It was far enough away I was in no danger, but a dude coming the other way was having a bit of a fit about it.) We let the snake pass and kept on keeping on. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZyuY5UIQGQ9QTqYdcUlHmSSF-BTeZs__Gah95tBJiwyqbDYE81IHSUcSsTcZnnBHhJCPUNesFbaaBP3g6sGQSWZVEDO21BDjenvUHhkU6D9DuAQ7gTc3qyMqUzPevRfafCSTFg-tQiAQ/s1600/isolated-rattlesnake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZyuY5UIQGQ9QTqYdcUlHmSSF-BTeZs__Gah95tBJiwyqbDYE81IHSUcSsTcZnnBHhJCPUNesFbaaBP3g6sGQSWZVEDO21BDjenvUHhkU6D9DuAQ7gTc3qyMqUzPevRfafCSTFg-tQiAQ/s400/isolated-rattlesnake.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They're really kind of beautiful... When they're far enough away not to bite you.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
That was pretty much the only wildlife encounter that I had. Unless we count the coyotes that I heard howling as the moon came up. Which I thought was pretty incredible. The moon was rising at the same time as Orion was, the coyotes were whooping it up. And everything was the most magical that it could possibly be. Until mile 42,</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Mile 42. The place where the magic ended and the pain took hold in a vicious, unrelenting vice grip. Here's what happened. The trail had some seriously rocky sections. Rocky sections equal ankle tweaking, right? Right. So after a that many miles of slightly tweaking my right ankle, an injury occurred. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8a3erGrlEcBkpOaVRtJlcx1-ZlTtFTLKfuED2I07o2wBqVv6X7_qnOQuIEtNkg6DOMgRWCR8bfc-abrTjxl9EQo9LQC8teJf0rR5gBWLE5b5hyhOBlQiC93E67buoGDj9l-380eY_01Y/s1600/download+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8a3erGrlEcBkpOaVRtJlcx1-ZlTtFTLKfuED2I07o2wBqVv6X7_qnOQuIEtNkg6DOMgRWCR8bfc-abrTjxl9EQo9LQC8teJf0rR5gBWLE5b5hyhOBlQiC93E67buoGDj9l-380eY_01Y/s400/download+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My ankle, and more specifically, my Achilles' tendon had begun to swell, pushing against my shoe in a most uncomfortable manner. It slowed my pace to a crawl, almost literally. The only reason that I didn't actually resort to crawling was the numerous cacti along the course. Those spiny bastards will get you. They don't mess around. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmoxlNIULIhCyRoJ7kk_hvJqa79Z9I2sWnwdyoos9TqDRW6E5Wjdd2cN0WW9dD0GU80HbQ4REh4b0qGALNKNwvqCgse2r9WYTT2rd8YEfJB06KM1ltkLzapCMu1R9THz0tNBCqXl01xHo/s1600/Cholla_Cactus_Garden_IMG_2458.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmoxlNIULIhCyRoJ7kk_hvJqa79Z9I2sWnwdyoos9TqDRW6E5Wjdd2cN0WW9dD0GU80HbQ4REh4b0qGALNKNwvqCgse2r9WYTT2rd8YEfJB06KM1ltkLzapCMu1R9THz0tNBCqXl01xHo/s400/Cholla_Cactus_Garden_IMG_2458.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah, we don't mess around!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
I hobble into Jeadquarters to find my mom waiting for me. She can tell I'm not doing so hot. But she also knows better than to try and talk me into quitting. I sat with her awhile, eating Ramen noodles, which were basically the only thing that I could get down any more. I tried to eat some more pizza at the end of lap three, but two bites in I knew that was NOT going to be okay.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihN26Hy2831RggzKezE5EOigtWYdaTrVefl0-LFSo3XNV-SMXZ2LMBuRuQkHtZCl5RMn2kzfDXvSNaY9A5XezKLZn94nTVGPO3B2jvaxg0RbZCCFRbzEHBDDI1ehyphenhyphenewPlWdcLiHQaI9wM/s1600/download+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihN26Hy2831RggzKezE5EOigtWYdaTrVefl0-LFSo3XNV-SMXZ2LMBuRuQkHtZCl5RMn2kzfDXvSNaY9A5XezKLZn94nTVGPO3B2jvaxg0RbZCCFRbzEHBDDI1ehyphenhyphenewPlWdcLiHQaI9wM/s400/download+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This NEEDS to be my new ultra running hat.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
I spent far too long trying to psych myself up to head out for that last lap. Another 15.3 miles wouldn't be too bad, if I could walk as well as a teetering toddler. Alas, my walk was not nearly so graceful and quick as that. I came up with a mantra while I was slurping down those Ramen noodles. "I didn't come here to quit." And I hadn't! I didn't spend two days in drive time, all the money on gas, hotel, and race entry, and I didn't spend my entire year training just so I could quit. The time limit for the 100K is 29 hours. I could make it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I said my farewells, and slowly hobbled back out onto the course for my fourth and final lap. I knew that the 18 hour goal was not going to happen. Not. At. All. It was 17 hours and change when I headed out on that last lap. I desperately wanted to beat the sunrise. So I adopted this really awkward shuffle that I would do off and on. It at least made me feel like I was moving along slightly faster than a lame sloth. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And then, my watch died. This is where things got to be the worst. I had nothing to tell me how far I had gone, how fast I had gone. How long until the next aid station?! I'll never know! It's dark. All the cactus look the same in the dark, in case you were wondering. They're lousy at helping you get your bearings in the middle of the night, in the desert of Arizona. I was probably clocking 25-30 minute miles at this point. Every uneven step that I took with my right foot sent agonizing pain shooting up my leg. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I thought I would never reach Jackass Junction, the aid station halfway through the loop. I kept asking passing runners how far it was and not getting the answers I was hoping for. When I finally made it, I wasn't sure I was ever going to leave. They had a warming tent and grilled cheese sandwiches. Do you know how amazing a grilled cheese sandwich is in the wee hours of the morning on a cold desert night? It's downright mind blowing.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQczekSH-xaFmuTZE0-tp3enME0_BjFhj30D9XHPe_MefnV2ZY-S9tvVf4-w3n5rp7jox1wVyboB27BCsIBM1EnFzNtcIfByikVK9yngZIxIpHznxaVDodq_Z97O0OW_8vHFuxNbXkz8/s1600/grilled-cheese.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQczekSH-xaFmuTZE0-tp3enME0_BjFhj30D9XHPe_MefnV2ZY-S9tvVf4-w3n5rp7jox1wVyboB27BCsIBM1EnFzNtcIfByikVK9yngZIxIpHznxaVDodq_Z97O0OW_8vHFuxNbXkz8/s400/grilled-cheese.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I am the sandwich of your salvation.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I eventually pried myself from the bench I had been occupying and continued to hobble my way down the trail. The runners that I did see were all very encouraging and friendly. They could tell I wasn't doing well and most asked if there was anything that they could do. Runners look out for each other, and that's pretty great.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ZbqqGP-GvaGqWkAOCc8XJOgajZdLDARYVytnqtJ433_XchnwTFbUZhZxKOlICWwyCVVX11XtF59xx6T4-dVt1WcR4vmpc-obKGNvkML7A4dtubx52G9Rmsd_fysFjEurIfUF6aJgIH4/s1600/48.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ZbqqGP-GvaGqWkAOCc8XJOgajZdLDARYVytnqtJ433_XchnwTFbUZhZxKOlICWwyCVVX11XtF59xx6T4-dVt1WcR4vmpc-obKGNvkML7A4dtubx52G9Rmsd_fysFjEurIfUF6aJgIH4/s400/48.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the middle of the desert, running an ultra.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After I was a couple of miles out of Jackass, I couldn't take the pressure on my ankle any more. I began to look for, what I decided to call them, sitting rocks. Rocks that were just enough off of the ground and flat enough to sit on. I would do a thorough snake and scorpion check before lowering myself down onto each sitting rock I found. I spent many a minute sitting on rocks during that last lap. I knew that sitting every couple of minutes wouldn't get me to the finish any faster, but I was too tired and hurt to care. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I knew if I could just make it to the Coyote Camp aid station, the finish would only be two miles away (at the rate I was going, that was still another hour, but hey). It took an eternity to get there. I could see Coyote Camp gleaming in the distance, mocking me with their ever receding lights. I swear, it kept getting farther away the more I moved toward it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
An awful thing happened as I finally trudged my way into Coyote. The sun came up. I wasn't supposed to see the second sunrise! I was supposed to be snuggled in my comfy hotel bed when the sun came up again, with my belt buckle of victory resting on the nightstand. But nooooooooo. I had been out there long enough that the earth had made a full rotation around the sun. WTF.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was now a meager two miles from the finish line. I spent those two miles intermittently sobbing. And I mean sobbing. It wasn't some gentle tears running down my cheeks. It was full blown, chest heaving, noise making, sobbing. It really impressed the other runners still out on the trail with me (all but two of whom were running the 100 miler). But I could hear the announcer at Jeadquaters. I was so close! All I had to do was keep moving. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I gave everything I had to do a limping shuffle jog into the finish, I tried to hide how much it hurt. I don't think I was very successful...</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEXP8g0z2zbhmbc83pVlYlL4taYK3LDbeJa99hHnxsLZ77iX4ohUH_lhE_0m86sTes3v8A_dM0NM2RdVcSzriZ_Mwx01H7iuvp1YGBKSc8G3nGEEr6FjsB8DyNxbmS4JUZXqbLueAkKCQ/s1600/IMG_4989.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEXP8g0z2zbhmbc83pVlYlL4taYK3LDbeJa99hHnxsLZ77iX4ohUH_lhE_0m86sTes3v8A_dM0NM2RdVcSzriZ_Mwx01H7iuvp1YGBKSc8G3nGEEr6FjsB8DyNxbmS4JUZXqbLueAkKCQ/s400/IMG_4989.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I am in sooooo much pain right now.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I had done it. It was over. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifk-1f1MU86v8vEu-KgFI2OwEkCN_t5oLwEPHwc8k4C36ubh7vKU-EiDwbGhek0Qnb-dKDQLWGAKZsYsS5fDjOTRtGRj4pACt-Vfbvy4sUGyoBAO5KqvVJjTI7NtysrkFJYHHF50Ymse4/s1600/IMG_4990.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifk-1f1MU86v8vEu-KgFI2OwEkCN_t5oLwEPHwc8k4C36ubh7vKU-EiDwbGhek0Qnb-dKDQLWGAKZsYsS5fDjOTRtGRj4pACt-Vfbvy4sUGyoBAO5KqvVJjTI7NtysrkFJYHHF50Ymse4/s400/IMG_4990.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Please, let me sit down forever and never move again! </td></tr>
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<div>
Except for the part where one of the volunteer ladies tried to get me to go out on another lap because she thought I was in the hundred mile race. I told her to check my bib, that I was in the 100k, and to give me my buckle now, please. I wanted that damn buckle so bad. I was pleased to see that it was quite hefty. I would have been a bit sad if it were some flimsy little thing.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBj09ZLjTuQ6nvPtpec4oeG1J6-1VKhyphenhyphenbNlBNWt9nwU3XA5GGTEIoW_UgVKHS3qkPxwQzZZEFRKGf9YEHNPjJFQERlH4FenQl2KuhSAaQsqn3_xIL_8QpmwFX2RVrCaR23Lqpo7xhQDtI/s1600/43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBj09ZLjTuQ6nvPtpec4oeG1J6-1VKhyphenhyphenbNlBNWt9nwU3XA5GGTEIoW_UgVKHS3qkPxwQzZZEFRKGf9YEHNPjJFQERlH4FenQl2KuhSAaQsqn3_xIL_8QpmwFX2RVrCaR23Lqpo7xhQDtI/s400/43.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Precious.</td></tr>
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It took me 24 hours and 34 minutes to finish this race. The last lap alone took nearly 8 hours. But I did it. I finished. There were 33 people in the 100k who did not finish. And I completely understand it. That course is not to be trifled with. I don't hate it, though. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd0zY22oOXFeSoqUl_ieyl-DPI-4U3p_R-3EeETGYbCXdF_tG0kDHd-Z1o-ErYcTb81BvAI95psEvHzq05mvfEVngmcXYyMpoKpOIYohuhKbGcY4xkPR5qaVid-alwnxcQOKlNnG0CAmc/s1600/44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd0zY22oOXFeSoqUl_ieyl-DPI-4U3p_R-3EeETGYbCXdF_tG0kDHd-Z1o-ErYcTb81BvAI95psEvHzq05mvfEVngmcXYyMpoKpOIYohuhKbGcY4xkPR5qaVid-alwnxcQOKlNnG0CAmc/s400/44.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The swag was pretty great, you guys. Totally a good reason to do it again.</td></tr>
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I would go back and do it again, but only if I could have someone do it with me. The long, lonely stretches in the dark were almost too much to handle. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuTN76xeInJLEfrOgirpb-GzpN6ozkY2Yyv_-ZD7IwZvibRcTK2IRQ5zDmO8ogd5P6WilTphEiGs3eXd08Qw6U7qTjYbYUbQXLcZSA-inbQnsztRcfb1PlUoYKPfxXDsi84MkbgjIP0Fs/s1600/47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuTN76xeInJLEfrOgirpb-GzpN6ozkY2Yyv_-ZD7IwZvibRcTK2IRQ5zDmO8ogd5P6WilTphEiGs3eXd08Qw6U7qTjYbYUbQXLcZSA-inbQnsztRcfb1PlUoYKPfxXDsi84MkbgjIP0Fs/s400/47.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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This quote sums it up. It was the toughest thing I have done so far in my life, and still I rise. </div>
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There's nothing quite like accomplishing something that you never thought you could. I encourage everyone that reads this (Hi mom!) to go after those things that linger in the back of your mind. The goals and aspirations that hang on, despite your best efforts to subdue them with a "normal" life. The negative thoughts that tell you that you can't. That tell you you're not good enough. Don't listen to them any more. Frances Bacon said "It's all so meaningless, we may as well be extraordinary.". And how can you argue with a man with such a delicious name? </div>
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I'll leave you with that for now, and until next time, happy running!<br /><div>
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PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-66938103125586036332015-11-08T14:41:00.001-07:002015-11-08T14:41:21.420-07:00Another triple race report. I know you're all wondering, did she survive the Javelina Jundred?! I did, gentle readers. But I am not quite ready to write about my experience yet. It will take a while to process what happened to me out there.<br />
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Instead, y'all can read about the three half marathons I completed in the 2 weeks leading up to Javelina. I decided to do another back-to-back race weekend, because why not? So on the slightly misty morning of October 17th, I toed the line for my 70th half marathon at the Lake Powell Half.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_sGWuy-GBTyXmC3e6boROf4F9KUTCpwXwqdmDe6vPNqhAqxySSt9Q1iuFQvx3a1IYWtLQh0q5xR1PS-TSdWWH8QluKmPw0otSVFJAtm4o6ZW5xFIA9NsQWK3TvyPM0SchOLaOqFIPwAU/s1600/IMG_2085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_sGWuy-GBTyXmC3e6boROf4F9KUTCpwXwqdmDe6vPNqhAqxySSt9Q1iuFQvx3a1IYWtLQh0q5xR1PS-TSdWWH8QluKmPw0otSVFJAtm4o6ZW5xFIA9NsQWK3TvyPM0SchOLaOqFIPwAU/s400/IMG_2085.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
We wound through some neighborhoods for the first little bit, but then we turned a corner and saw this sweeping vista. I hadn't ever spent time in Page, Arizona, and I was glad that I remedied that. The town is surrounded by breathtaking scenery.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZXErehPqIfY7SCkWQhrTUtT5U7rSQffj9MrBfS6V63fwwVs31RQXDRoQyPKHI3vhpUp-rcnKPFrwdPg0AbCfes8nSVZJ2Ca5YlcppaWYMDSrOf_ijNzYtda6a1CJcK7E2kePSszjvsDk/s1600/IMG_2089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZXErehPqIfY7SCkWQhrTUtT5U7rSQffj9MrBfS6V63fwwVs31RQXDRoQyPKHI3vhpUp-rcnKPFrwdPg0AbCfes8nSVZJ2Ca5YlcppaWYMDSrOf_ijNzYtda6a1CJcK7E2kePSszjvsDk/s400/IMG_2089.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favorite part of the course.</td></tr>
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We got to see even more of it than the race directors had planned. The lead bike pacer took a wrong turn and we ended up going about a half mile more than we were supposed to. I know this really upset some people, but for me, mileage is mileage and I'll take it.<br />
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I hadn't done much research on the course and was pleasantly surprised when we took a turn onto some glorious red dirt single track. I started passing people like crazy in this section. I think of myself as a trail running newbie, but I must be better at it than I think I am. It felt like I was flying through this section while other runners were standing still.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuaBLnDU9-aOgsZIrx4sFmn_PUcAZ8U6A_rPQS38oKb8yPQ_wI5HLuQu0nVFVlf2eHMOCkj-oN9m9g_KmYumvDgWghMngPZ-MpVmCZg3XKh0HTElSFuWuZ9QTW9lEMO2ItlAoxUdkE2Ck/s1600/IMG_2094.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuaBLnDU9-aOgsZIrx4sFmn_PUcAZ8U6A_rPQS38oKb8yPQ_wI5HLuQu0nVFVlf2eHMOCkj-oN9m9g_KmYumvDgWghMngPZ-MpVmCZg3XKh0HTElSFuWuZ9QTW9lEMO2ItlAoxUdkE2Ck/s400/IMG_2094.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I took a break from flying along the trail to get a runfie.</td></tr>
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When the trail section ended, we got to run over the bridge right by the dam. It was pretty dam cool (Get it? Dam? Ha!). <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIKAn69nhGJqr1FG2xL7w2SSNOuIxyoYT3BYVUTKf7LZft8Wv8yhnW2wRRDlYS1DXkomtHwvw5SPhT_QZQY0vfSSzhRcC-kjBH0v5WXo4caZwxvEPg7QSCwrwv3kRkcc2rZvDLeDthNng/s1600/IMG_2095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIKAn69nhGJqr1FG2xL7w2SSNOuIxyoYT3BYVUTKf7LZft8Wv8yhnW2wRRDlYS1DXkomtHwvw5SPhT_QZQY0vfSSzhRcC-kjBH0v5WXo4caZwxvEPg7QSCwrwv3kRkcc2rZvDLeDthNng/s400/IMG_2095.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dam!</td></tr>
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<div>
The weather was really nice for the run. There was only a little drizzle around mile 8 and it didn't last long. The clouds enhanced the already stunning scenery. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ-lDxw5nSh6O5FiWUbxKUfhscEH20ZK5IowW30Jkp_9aXAE-Kr-o80sP0bDPUiFAxnvLh7R9fQhSDZsBWi-e55X4cCuaJKjX8Hf94R2gtykkfyT_wCtMnIWxfDSIfYNqyEr4eJlCy09w/s1600/IMG_2098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ-lDxw5nSh6O5FiWUbxKUfhscEH20ZK5IowW30Jkp_9aXAE-Kr-o80sP0bDPUiFAxnvLh7R9fQhSDZsBWi-e55X4cCuaJKjX8Hf94R2gtykkfyT_wCtMnIWxfDSIfYNqyEr4eJlCy09w/s400/IMG_2098.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Phone cameras can't quite capture the glory of it all.</td></tr>
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<div>
I was focused on running this race nice and easy, and with the added distance, I finished right around 3 hours. I was happy with it, considering that I was going to do the same thing again the next day.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQJXIWn_Q_Wo4BOXBAw5mRh0N-_8kQKJJiOPQPsRhEGjt27TAgZm0IjIc0000i6DmrdsyEfrdp3PJCo7FNlH15D0WvAvgN-lITyIMhZ30MbNioYj41EWmE0hgA8GJTm-rjtAJemEjoTqU/s1600/IMG_4941.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQJXIWn_Q_Wo4BOXBAw5mRh0N-_8kQKJJiOPQPsRhEGjt27TAgZm0IjIc0000i6DmrdsyEfrdp3PJCo7FNlH15D0WvAvgN-lITyIMhZ30MbNioYj41EWmE0hgA8GJTm-rjtAJemEjoTqU/s400/IMG_4941.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I had enough energy left to kick it up a notch for the finish.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoQRcEfIYGjOvKW_Vbri4i5NDCZHy-Q01bnEVKImO1yiAEwDp7e3S0OGvkEghf_6nEklvnduYzYxrcikxbuL_rvcgUBmyzt8iENE3BSoBXwectxWcUXnedzc8AliB3I7UY7xiXgYx4aLY/s1600/unnamed+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoQRcEfIYGjOvKW_Vbri4i5NDCZHy-Q01bnEVKImO1yiAEwDp7e3S0OGvkEghf_6nEklvnduYzYxrcikxbuL_rvcgUBmyzt8iENE3BSoBXwectxWcUXnedzc8AliB3I7UY7xiXgYx4aLY/s400/unnamed+%25282%2529.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The shirt and the medal are superb. </td></tr>
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I finished with enough time to make it back to the hotel and shower before we had to check out and start our drive to Moab for the Other Half. As it turns out, it's quite a drive from Page to Moab. So I was good and stiff by the time we got there. I knew the race was going to be tough. It's already a hilly beast of a course, and stiff legs weren't going to help. Oh well.</div>
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At least I would be sharing the course with some great running friends. Jamie was there, as well as Jill and her husband, Wade. We goofed around before the start, taking pictures and enjoying the morning. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwa76vuauJlrwtNkDZ-p-s9Zz6Fx7zswQI0hDnKW3iBOt8Fwjw_YGg7zX3zBWINkjFFf8xy4kfuQnkQ7VagHaeF4U-iA9Op7gRipmG-R6AbGdUFNMAJQ1zEjQF-QjUev7Ca86IHCwePrw/s1600/12112467_10208072692685037_7695861217040152779_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwa76vuauJlrwtNkDZ-p-s9Zz6Fx7zswQI0hDnKW3iBOt8Fwjw_YGg7zX3zBWINkjFFf8xy4kfuQnkQ7VagHaeF4U-iA9Op7gRipmG-R6AbGdUFNMAJQ1zEjQF-QjUev7Ca86IHCwePrw/s400/12112467_10208072692685037_7695861217040152779_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: Jill Lynch</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4cRkYnfNA63FhxZyQ0A_KYreyHNrcCuQf_0ac0yc_vZANAW8kiEKjV8TD9WGFBAVhIhWuZlqC48cjgdfSNVv2MAmOQkVO6GIXUmB3bhP4DE8GYw35UMrR8__VRpmn0qPgYZV-Tjvz1ig/s1600/12115592_1018065341548423_2352950741827824664_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4cRkYnfNA63FhxZyQ0A_KYreyHNrcCuQf_0ac0yc_vZANAW8kiEKjV8TD9WGFBAVhIhWuZlqC48cjgdfSNVv2MAmOQkVO6GIXUmB3bhP4DE8GYw35UMrR8__VRpmn0qPgYZV-Tjvz1ig/s400/12115592_1018065341548423_2352950741827824664_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jill just told Wade to take his shirt off so that we would smile really big for the picture.</td></tr>
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<div>
Jamie and I were wearing our Three Amigos outfits and she decided that she would run the whole thing with me, because "Amigos stick together!". I'm glad she did, because I was going to have a tough time. It's such a lovely course, it's nice to go slow and take it all in. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjixPQmgKGAxoIHqiss1vaxa9QDbKucrfs3FUQ2SU7rnJPeJuQVeFoCox3wsDKH0wCBuDFyi_3XpkDEPieqNeeyzcM3bop2L6WEMxav7d2rxmJvca1YFc7DoKCEBtGBnmS6rblUyOOBvrY/s1600/12088250_10208072665604360_7464726733215495513_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjixPQmgKGAxoIHqiss1vaxa9QDbKucrfs3FUQ2SU7rnJPeJuQVeFoCox3wsDKH0wCBuDFyi_3XpkDEPieqNeeyzcM3bop2L6WEMxav7d2rxmJvca1YFc7DoKCEBtGBnmS6rblUyOOBvrY/s400/12088250_10208072665604360_7464726733215495513_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enjoying chatting with Jill. Photo credit: Jamie Eckles.</td></tr>
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I was having a rough time from the first mile. Jamie and Jill kept me distracted pretty well, though. As much as my stiff legs didn't want to do this run, it was a great day to be out there with friends. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBYil_Y2CUKysuChu7jSPEfO0f7qjdVLNqQphQYbbh1I-6w_JsPWtu5b0T8RYhkWlSfzg9mBmvODZwsXenONunKziAQoibVVqGq36B31MCc24PWqVHXwGPR_KokA7HfsoLw4NetYtLdWg/s1600/12107090_10208091820923231_472069750774196664_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBYil_Y2CUKysuChu7jSPEfO0f7qjdVLNqQphQYbbh1I-6w_JsPWtu5b0T8RYhkWlSfzg9mBmvODZwsXenONunKziAQoibVVqGq36B31MCc24PWqVHXwGPR_KokA7HfsoLw4NetYtLdWg/s400/12107090_10208091820923231_472069750774196664_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amigo pose. Photo courtesy of Jamie Eckles.</td></tr>
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The best part of this race is the Taiko drummers that are at the top of the last big climb, around mile 11. This is my fourth year running this race, but it was the first time that I stopped to take pictures of the drummers. After I had snapped a few pictures, one of the ladies brought over a pair of drum sticks and told me to give it a try. I was geeking out. I had always wanted to bang on those big ol' drums. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil3-lAMW79oGfLaSSi01QSM0CauwJ3Y8wLz32fCJEtCbA-zwCiBoghdDdVEshw4U_nzeXygg5c-ILmERK1k6sH9bxX_oVud-j4rVu5bmo-CtZsPrqSPtMoxIxgFcF1fUkjGR84XOH51sI/s1600/unnamed+%252812%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil3-lAMW79oGfLaSSi01QSM0CauwJ3Y8wLz32fCJEtCbA-zwCiBoghdDdVEshw4U_nzeXygg5c-ILmERK1k6sH9bxX_oVud-j4rVu5bmo-CtZsPrqSPtMoxIxgFcF1fUkjGR84XOH51sI/s400/unnamed+%252812%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0QxfZmXLOVLejPAtrk1M7Sj1qLEv9g9T1DEPyV-6QkxCfWko4JzsyYBFTUIMdV8DY9HZi5m1klmBQgjZNIz9nDqupCmY_3P3OSNMp0UzOnbcr9Nrc2PfBeR-ugstpvRdcTZaKov6HIXQ/s1600/unnamed+%252814%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0QxfZmXLOVLejPAtrk1M7Sj1qLEv9g9T1DEPyV-6QkxCfWko4JzsyYBFTUIMdV8DY9HZi5m1klmBQgjZNIz9nDqupCmY_3P3OSNMp0UzOnbcr9Nrc2PfBeR-ugstpvRdcTZaKov6HIXQ/s400/unnamed+%252814%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Letting us live the dream. Thanks, drummers!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Another drummer handed Jamie some sticks, and we started giving it our all. It was so amazing to get to do this in a race, a truly incredible experience. Being able to do something so cool gave me an instant burst of energy and endorphins. The fatigue I had been dealing with went away for a good mile and we made up a little time. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQkgbOOyUVWugeMf3ywlvRdgQDvL1fD-KUcYs6Zy8WHW5rmtZmKtb1M97fgAk1Cgq-QAdH1G9uPiQiH4PtZh1T2HaPKrxQxbmQVaHO8ScqlGwgEQ6eHBdEEpAxEJbIJ1d7TtnxsU2B3lM/s1600/IMG_4947.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQkgbOOyUVWugeMf3ywlvRdgQDvL1fD-KUcYs6Zy8WHW5rmtZmKtb1M97fgAk1Cgq-QAdH1G9uPiQiH4PtZh1T2HaPKrxQxbmQVaHO8ScqlGwgEQ6eHBdEEpAxEJbIJ1d7TtnxsU2B3lM/s400/IMG_4947.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I somehow found the energy to make a decent spring to the finish.</td></tr>
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<div>
We came in right behind the 3 hour pacers, and I was good with that. My finish time for this race has always been within 2 minutes of the three hour mark. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpaUNIsHtyhfylQLihSyVUuHFqfbUJDIUL1mwrS5mZ67hd4c_Kns5Jc6IyxjVj9I0eFehNr3lmlE3eNBetC6kXov0_kbRTTpVuCxHeVOigBGPyWVtDDISJJZbb4gdBJhsPm0ZS-BjyKDc/s1600/12107765_10208072659324203_8754113902455514475_n+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpaUNIsHtyhfylQLihSyVUuHFqfbUJDIUL1mwrS5mZ67hd4c_Kns5Jc6IyxjVj9I0eFehNr3lmlE3eNBetC6kXov0_kbRTTpVuCxHeVOigBGPyWVtDDISJJZbb4gdBJhsPm0ZS-BjyKDc/s400/12107765_10208072659324203_8754113902455514475_n+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good friends, great location, fun times. </td></tr>
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<div>
The Other Half never disappoints. The weather is always pleasant, the atmosphere of the race is fun. And the swag is fantastic. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVqUj1zmwM1nzOKOS_J7B870EBAGG0-R2ypvYuiiCAK77V4b7ZHj1k6QtSsnbSXkmgeSjAzPRo67pf1KXeP7LCvCO7UIN2zx-5tSeL_VxO8-ji_HXXGectkXkKDGCV-z2OMmNXtKPctYM/s1600/IMG_4951.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVqUj1zmwM1nzOKOS_J7B870EBAGG0-R2ypvYuiiCAK77V4b7ZHj1k6QtSsnbSXkmgeSjAzPRo67pf1KXeP7LCvCO7UIN2zx-5tSeL_VxO8-ji_HXXGectkXkKDGCV-z2OMmNXtKPctYM/s400/IMG_4951.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love the pint glasses.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Having successfully completed another back-to-back weekend, it was time to start my taper for Javelina. Not that I had been doing all that much running during the week anyway. With the injury from September, working all the time, and trying to have a life, my mileage was way off what it was supposed to be. I decided that I was at the point where I needed to just focus on some cross training and only run for the next half on the schedule. So that's what I did.</div>
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The last half that I did was the Haunted Half, in Salt Lake City. I didn't want to like this race, because I spent 3 hours stuck in the car just getting to and from packet pick up. The race wanted me to like it though, and it won. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG-QUFR1A1OvnKLuHhqW9geq7Uigbqzqj2CiIq06xj54P5J5uulGIcMiJkn91GoSUXyUcFAvWrT5yHsbvtgGmkLwuMgSUWVXo-OZQ3Y3XnKYdmDAhvvCchSCo5ASofCwayiR3gn8Pimo4/s1600/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG-QUFR1A1OvnKLuHhqW9geq7Uigbqzqj2CiIq06xj54P5J5uulGIcMiJkn91GoSUXyUcFAvWrT5yHsbvtgGmkLwuMgSUWVXo-OZQ3Y3XnKYdmDAhvvCchSCo5ASofCwayiR3gn8Pimo4/s400/unnamed.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Headless Horseman was there to start the race.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
The race started up Emigration Canyon, a place I had never run before. The grade in the canyon is really nice, not too steep. I was feeling very well rested due to not running all week leading up to the race and I was cruising right along. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFOLkPiWRKM_VKL-s2nGwDn-8L_z_iGs3Y0CSUisN2ZuC5T3CIFAO6R0JTyBzlv0fvtX_gsBGhClR45K-PDk9a1n9v9Mvcg_bBiiEAzEW1syw0m0lgyi7z9XArgAP_UnPFPI3J2a-yf3o/s1600/unnamed+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFOLkPiWRKM_VKL-s2nGwDn-8L_z_iGs3Y0CSUisN2ZuC5T3CIFAO6R0JTyBzlv0fvtX_gsBGhClR45K-PDk9a1n9v9Mvcg_bBiiEAzEW1syw0m0lgyi7z9XArgAP_UnPFPI3J2a-yf3o/s400/unnamed+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I did stop to take a picture of this glorious sky.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
I was able to run strong through the entire race, which doesn't happen much for me. The course was a great one to move along at a decent clip. I knew there was a super sweet medal waiting for me at the end, too. I somehow managed to get my fastest finish for a half in 2015. I hadn't finished in the 2:30s all year, so it was exciting to come in at 2:37:54. It's not an overall PR, but I was quite pleased with it. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTbd0_0SheOovSgdrA7S39dwt0Lfa4Uw2i9SLCrstEIhljsgHwLjAdwDwAliF-alHrlsVtYwSl5P4sS7zim9KWG5SSCkN0dsYLiCbg9Uvmk4Tl4zOc5bJYjLrhbJcr46XizdviEoYoS5w/s1600/fix.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTbd0_0SheOovSgdrA7S39dwt0Lfa4Uw2i9SLCrstEIhljsgHwLjAdwDwAliF-alHrlsVtYwSl5P4sS7zim9KWG5SSCkN0dsYLiCbg9Uvmk4Tl4zOc5bJYjLrhbJcr46XizdviEoYoS5w/s400/fix.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two sweet medals, actually!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxs9ZDVcw3DIEI6RCEQvpXmgS7V3WmUT8cDUFuT8-Wz2hGJjiHG-7Tm6Q-JVON5zPC-J5qr-QLjWbI0megIQs1jX5i6AouH1gGESK0WlUmP8saspHOiOZmXhxjEXvaWINbTpgfKxHqlwQ/s1600/12189697_10207573144345280_659791620296964068_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxs9ZDVcw3DIEI6RCEQvpXmgS7V3WmUT8cDUFuT8-Wz2hGJjiHG-7Tm6Q-JVON5zPC-J5qr-QLjWbI0megIQs1jX5i6AouH1gGESK0WlUmP8saspHOiOZmXhxjEXvaWINbTpgfKxHqlwQ/s400/12189697_10207573144345280_659791620296964068_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What's not to love?!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
There you have it. Three half marathons in two weeks. I'll try and get myself pulled together enough to write up my Javelina report soon. </div>
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Until then, happy running!</div>
PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-14294461400742997152015-10-20T22:17:00.000-06:002015-10-20T22:17:48.727-06:00Two marathons, a half, and a world record.You heard me, folks, a WORLD RECORD. But we'll get to that in a moment.<br />
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<br />
First, we get to talk about heat stroke and marathon running. It's not as fun as it sounds. (You are all shocked, I'm sure, because it sounds like a friggin' party.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKBOixekYq_BsxWgpaRMFKtAiYvigAqy2VHZwZpQ9NrhTAZoOpC8wHCjGkMVbwoHetARUtUGCpfzuFvP1k5_jvqNlGcYngE9rP_Y2269tyPpCCzsZPHNh0UoHQuzZtL34rIHmbR6AGeuo/s1600/1marathong_468x482.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKBOixekYq_BsxWgpaRMFKtAiYvigAqy2VHZwZpQ9NrhTAZoOpC8wHCjGkMVbwoHetARUtUGCpfzuFvP1k5_jvqNlGcYngE9rP_Y2269tyPpCCzsZPHNh0UoHQuzZtL34rIHmbR6AGeuo/s400/1marathong_468x482.jpg" width="387" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was just like this. Except I'm not a dude. And I never wear shorts. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It all started on a late September weekend. The race was the Huntsville Marathon. The start time was 9 a.m. NINE A.M. WHAT. The forecast for the day was in the upper 80s to the low 90s depending on what source you're looking at. I am not fast. Y'all know this by now, right? So a 6 hour marathon (standard finish time for me) means that I would be finishing the race at 3 p.m. THREE P.M. WHAT.<br />
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When Jamie and I disembarked from the bus at the start line, the sun was already high and hot. We immediately took off our jackets and gloves and began fretting over how much we were going to suffer that day. We weren't the only ones having mild panic attacks as the temperature started climbing. It's good to know that we weren't alone in our freaking out. Jamie's plan was to run like a mad woman down the mountain until the heat stopped her. That was also my plan, and it was not a good plan, ladies and gentlemen.<br />
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By the first aid station I was already pouring water all over myself like I was in Flashdance. I was wearing enough bright colored spandex, after all.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTqtDA_6gDXdAfx4IAWEqU6d2aw8EM8kJ9jQSA0ux4x2RP8QtlDHJ9wg274I4wC43bTSxGMRnLoFBJIuRM4RTo8vkd4NpuYT__xymSEuF000uHpns6-haOjYJko9hPcOgjfXYtU1cxDU/s1600/Flashdance-The-Musical.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTqtDA_6gDXdAfx4IAWEqU6d2aw8EM8kJ9jQSA0ux4x2RP8QtlDHJ9wg274I4wC43bTSxGMRnLoFBJIuRM4RTo8vkd4NpuYT__xymSEuF000uHpns6-haOjYJko9hPcOgjfXYtU1cxDU/s400/Flashdance-The-Musical.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is an accurate representation. For real.</td></tr>
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Pouring water over my head gave me sweet relief for a grand total of 2 minutes before I was fairly certain that I was on the brink of death. At least I had the downhill of the canyon to keep me moving along at a relatively decent pace. By mile 15, though, it was all over. The course flattened out and the sun was roasting me alive. I would run in tiny spurts, telephone pole to telephone pole. And the moment there was any shade, my pace slowed to a crawl so I could stay in the slightly cooler air for as long as possible.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKKlau_n-hUIr22XKB4OcuXbguGvl09Dvbb9Q_3KtYFl5USqHxOoKf3X9nLdZZTtphgk_eo1sDrDyVx1NXpQGk_tmE83Jtmlvqhvtz0zC45FaYzDn_DQXw-EaTZcDBb9RjCRUcBymfWZU/s1600/Sweaty-person-Airplane-the-movie-300x153.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKKlau_n-hUIr22XKB4OcuXbguGvl09Dvbb9Q_3KtYFl5USqHxOoKf3X9nLdZZTtphgk_eo1sDrDyVx1NXpQGk_tmE83Jtmlvqhvtz0zC45FaYzDn_DQXw-EaTZcDBb9RjCRUcBymfWZU/s400/Sweaty-person-Airplane-the-movie-300x153.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'll never get over Monte Cristo.</td></tr>
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As I was death marching my way along, I happened upon another death marcher and we decided to trudge some of the hot, awful miles together. It turns out that this gentleman had also run the Little Grand Canyon a couple of weeks earlier as well. So we reminisced about the blissful weather of that day as we made our way to the finish. After a couple of miles chatting and walking, I decided to try running again. Let me just say that that little plan of mine didn't last long. I was reduced back to the zombie shuffle in a matter of half a mile. By mile 25, there were some course officials driving around with Creamies. Holy smokes, you guys. I wanted to take ALL the Creamies and bathe in them. They were melting fast enough... But I refrained and simply ate one.<br />
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My trudging friend caught back up with me at about 25.5 miles and we just went the rest of the way together. We didn't dare to try and run until we saw the 26 mile marker. Surely, that .2 miles at the end wouldn't kill us, right? So we take off running, the finish line in sight. And I swear, it just kept getting farther away. My trudge buddy turned into Mr. Speedypants and I was pretty sure I was going to puke, then die, then come back alive just to puke again.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4-wvY-oB7OE8ulowXfFIq_04nhJg8JhhMLIsprO2VMc8HlEyhtVr_hoeLKN4MpEPAUlC-hzQb_6DkvsVCtwrBTCr2p5ATz5qIEa02eUQuks7imGWvFinVRGuV0v7vc8YnEqZZfVQh60/s1600/IMG_4933.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4-wvY-oB7OE8ulowXfFIq_04nhJg8JhhMLIsprO2VMc8HlEyhtVr_hoeLKN4MpEPAUlC-hzQb_6DkvsVCtwrBTCr2p5ATz5qIEa02eUQuks7imGWvFinVRGuV0v7vc8YnEqZZfVQh60/s400/IMG_4933.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He's speeding out of the frame. I am just a statue, by comparison. </td></tr>
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I finally made it across the line. 6:18:something. Really? I hit the half way point by 2;42:something. That last half really took some time. Oh well. I wasn't the last person to cross that line, by a quite a bit. I headed straight to the recovery table to drink copious amounts chocolate milk. Ice cold chocolate milk, chugged as fast as I could get it down. OOPS. I instantly regretted that decision and spent the next 15 minutes lying on the ground trying not to vomit. Because being over heated doesn't mesh well with a belly full of frigid dairy product. Lesson learned.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDR3tff1vc4qAtBQCr70tJTOjLHdOSuhjbNToGjVmz7c3Uf0-KFoQy3m2U4OxPn5NEJ45BfaE68YRyq7ldi25GK7L6IR-Cmm76xkwl4Ej-zHmhsNO_vvu65EgH36vdASOAsE3foUGk3GQ/s1600/IMG_4937.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDR3tff1vc4qAtBQCr70tJTOjLHdOSuhjbNToGjVmz7c3Uf0-KFoQy3m2U4OxPn5NEJ45BfaE68YRyq7ldi25GK7L6IR-Cmm76xkwl4Ej-zHmhsNO_vvu65EgH36vdASOAsE3foUGk3GQ/s400/IMG_4937.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marathon #13. The race that tried to kill me. But what a great medal, amiright?!</td></tr>
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With a week's worth of recovery, it was time to hit the Jordan River trail for a half marathon. The weather was approximately a billion times better than the previous week. It was a very low key event, meaning I was once again postulating a last place finish. Meh. Somebody has to be last, and my non-existent running ego can take it. I did somehow managed to beat 6 whole people though, so that was exciting. Also, I got a high five from my friend, Devin, who happened to be zipping down the trail on a training run. Shout out to Devin and high fives!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs3DPSSZB89AcK8oeefqIO0mZfee94QjsEUGgf8TnMKU21JOdaLtV2t8rGpqkNflhPI8yGd86lq9BTwLg5ewW4ZXN3s5bCf7WEnGrResFYgJ6wFJud8IcufWeO_WcLGAtkMUdXF-u1UG4/s1600/homer-excited.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs3DPSSZB89AcK8oeefqIO0mZfee94QjsEUGgf8TnMKU21JOdaLtV2t8rGpqkNflhPI8yGd86lq9BTwLg5ewW4ZXN3s5bCf7WEnGrResFYgJ6wFJud8IcufWeO_WcLGAtkMUdXF-u1UG4/s400/homer-excited.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can I get a woo hoo?!</td></tr>
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Jamie and I celebrated our pleasant weather finish with a king size Kit Kat bar and some wild cherry Pepsi. Because we EARNED that shiz, yo.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlwdrSRrPKMAlzV0jcOqMJ2zAsOrbAZSkc1UbDywTB5OVpGlhyphenhyphengiUgU1fQ_V8N2wV2V5eDN0ifZLLDBz9YJ8vivkWseQUzwFPMbPivF-dBXuooq4ycvkvkfDatxaKsjl01Cb2sk6xno4k/s1600/12108250_10207451077253679_2025454477413479488_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlwdrSRrPKMAlzV0jcOqMJ2zAsOrbAZSkc1UbDywTB5OVpGlhyphenhyphengiUgU1fQ_V8N2wV2V5eDN0ifZLLDBz9YJ8vivkWseQUzwFPMbPivF-dBXuooq4ycvkvkfDatxaKsjl01Cb2sk6xno4k/s400/12108250_10207451077253679_2025454477413479488_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Double agents celebrate in style.</td></tr>
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Now the moment you've all been waiting for. The story of the world record. Buckle up, cats and kittens. This is an epic tale of stress, woe, murderous intentions, and ultimate victory.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNx0T5IvbKKmZjodsGGGlaI-C5le60-GtfnTunCk_wZwdteaCP-qu_V08p3esSwMfF5Lbf19QGclI2KRXW24ARc4oERRVLEZ47-rvoo8Zkp-eQkzfs1yio52eG0hvdI9W7gtya9O5Htb8/s1600/maxresdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNx0T5IvbKKmZjodsGGGlaI-C5le60-GtfnTunCk_wZwdteaCP-qu_V08p3esSwMfF5Lbf19QGclI2KRXW24ARc4oERRVLEZ47-rvoo8Zkp-eQkzfs1yio52eG0hvdI9W7gtya9O5Htb8/s400/maxresdefault.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now you're all shivering in antici.......pation.</td></tr>
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The Layton Marathon course is the only course in Utah that world records can be set on, due to it's relative flatness. So some crazy kids decided to get some other crazy kids together to break the world record for the number of people tethered together to complete a marathon. I'm a crazy kid, Jamie is a crazy kid, and we knew some other crazy kids, so we all signed up to give it a go.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqDsBDufw0Hto_wMMOCJNJkgTLL_3e4FKUb8ous1HVzccqJ99hYwxu3Wzzr9D653RbtY4y_izoaN1ogFO68zrDxObCXB7EZ5oP6UIGVnv-pH7X9wbTt6CltaY2PvwEB51lTejzsBXz0Cw/s1600/12096054_10207640255582262_5782914915594155013_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="383" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqDsBDufw0Hto_wMMOCJNJkgTLL_3e4FKUb8ous1HVzccqJ99hYwxu3Wzzr9D653RbtY4y_izoaN1ogFO68zrDxObCXB7EZ5oP6UIGVnv-pH7X9wbTt6CltaY2PvwEB51lTejzsBXz0Cw/s400/12096054_10207640255582262_5782914915594155013_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We were a millipede; we were amazing. </td></tr>
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So this looks like fun, huh?! It sure would have been, if I hadn't been tethered to some awful specimens of human kind. The three ladies tied right in front of me were some of the worst examples of the running community that I have ever encountered. There's nothing quite like listening to three Boston qualifiers bitching about our pace for nearly 8 hours.<br />
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Hey, ladies. When you signed up for this, they made it very clear that speed was not a thing we were even going to worry about. We just had to finish. And with 82 people chained together, that was going to take some time. I knew that, and just about everyone else seemed to know that. DID YOU MISS THE MEMO?! By about the half way point, I was gauging the likelihood of being sent to prison if I strangled them each with my length of rope. I could plead insanity, because they were actually driving me insane.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQnyDFsAVSZYWIbldl6cbanQYgg7_lvAodCHvslmysoLUZN5emVmkSVY5a4nOftyEBJ3FLVoo-d8-VIml1haCaWA5c-G442Zh6lSeYqZB18RVe3T1Us_Mq0f59K_SDE5cafLJdUVxL9As/s1600/12088264_10207490103229304_8228941223182144836_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQnyDFsAVSZYWIbldl6cbanQYgg7_lvAodCHvslmysoLUZN5emVmkSVY5a4nOftyEBJ3FLVoo-d8-VIml1haCaWA5c-G442Zh6lSeYqZB18RVe3T1Us_Mq0f59K_SDE5cafLJdUVxL9As/s400/12088264_10207490103229304_8228941223182144836_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"See? This is enough rope to murder three people with!"</td></tr>
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I was willing to chance losing the record if I could just get those negative Nellies to shut the hell up. Here's the thing. Negativity isn't going to get us to the finish any faster. It's just going to make everyone hate you. And I do hate you ladies. You soured the experience of becoming a world record holder by being awful, selfish human beings. Your complete disregard for the well being of your teammates was disgusting. You didn't care that some people were struggling to keep moving. Some people weren't able to stay properly hydrated and instead of seeing what could be done to help them, you just screamed at them to keep moving. You didn't care when the man tied behind us tripped and fell. You kept us dragging him along for 3 solid feet before we could get you to stop. And did you ask if he was alright? Did you care that he was bleeding? No. You just complained that we would be even slower now.<br />
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I know this is level of vehemence isn't usually found in this blog. But I am still angry with the way these people acted for the ENTIRE day. The worst part is, they are an active part of the local running scene. I have seen them at many other races and I know I will see them again. I do not want to see them again. I may still harbor strangling urges. We'll see.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh946kefCczGAcaqKoOr23lDzBnjzCvyiWsDM6rnOCReJe_70b9maAGjyam0sgFYDHbwbmZAPNjUaHOeGXs3PZqmF9udbqsI_-p1RWNLW07mY3_mXo3BRhgAxyqORJqLAZKGDHxlM9xnYA/s1600/12108120_1644480315837622_8794620603730909664_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh946kefCczGAcaqKoOr23lDzBnjzCvyiWsDM6rnOCReJe_70b9maAGjyam0sgFYDHbwbmZAPNjUaHOeGXs3PZqmF9udbqsI_-p1RWNLW07mY3_mXo3BRhgAxyqORJqLAZKGDHxlM9xnYA/s400/12108120_1644480315837622_8794620603730909664_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Woooooosh. </td></tr>
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The bright spot at the end was that Scott (the ever-patient boyfriend) was finally able to come see me finish a race. He was there with icy cold drinks and Snickers bars. Because he is a saint. I knew we would be going to lunch together after the race, which was the ONLY reason that I didn't strangle anyone. They don't let you go to lunch after you murder people. They take you to prison. I had enough foresight to know the consequences of acting on my urges.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKB__KnlKQAbHudV1Lmc4UNecNq_mH_oFMehtCNwwF24dPeyWcUHTStjLDV5C-SahbqclKMLMuc58WEfjWwY-S9CaN6KeDklWB8wgOG1F3sTVF56wuGEZmpSljJHyMWyU0tmDF5WGms6w/s1600/12075021_10153684093855798_3248636269984439254_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKB__KnlKQAbHudV1Lmc4UNecNq_mH_oFMehtCNwwF24dPeyWcUHTStjLDV5C-SahbqclKMLMuc58WEfjWwY-S9CaN6KeDklWB8wgOG1F3sTVF56wuGEZmpSljJHyMWyU0tmDF5WGms6w/s400/12075021_10153684093855798_3248636269984439254_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not only a saint, but a diligent photographer. </td></tr>
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I am amazed that 82 people held it together long enough to complete this challenge. We did beat the previous record. We're just waiting on the final confirmation from the Guinness people. I would like to say it was worth all that we went through, but I'm still sort of wondering about that... My faith in humanity took a little hit to the gut. But it will pass. 99% of the people in the running community are the nicest, sweetest, most helpful people you could ever hope to meet. I'm going to try and focus on that. And hey, we set a world record. A WORLD RECORD. That's pretty cool, when you think about it. Plus, I learned that I possess much more self restraint than I previously thought. Learning is also pretty cool.<br />
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Stay tuned for another three race report next week, where I will also probably spend half of the blog freaking out about the Javenlina Jundred coming up on the 31st.<br />
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Happy running!PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-71785790263213098762015-09-20T15:58:00.000-06:002015-09-20T15:58:24.990-06:00Races, meltdowns, injuries, and freak outs.I shouldn't wait so long to do my race write-ups. Writing has never been an easy thing for me, and when I let too much time pass from the events to the blogging, it's even worse. Let's just jump in and see if any of this comes across in a coherent fashion.<div>
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A month ago, I ran my 68th half marathon, the Top of Utah half. I ran this race last year, and was smitten with its moosey goodness. Everything associated with the race has a moose on it. I can't not run this race. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoTlmKzcCsf8aWXyX5s-cZIx5Fy_xewZY_nBEHLVYS-uj2yM6B136Kf4EzSxMzLY7k3f-NsY-e5qpFRXRWw_JD9P_Nzc2NS5UPz0-KvuqBgpCG3i3He9Zlu2scOR5WzICE4ZT1ADKLOTk/s1600/IMG_1675.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoTlmKzcCsf8aWXyX5s-cZIx5Fy_xewZY_nBEHLVYS-uj2yM6B136Kf4EzSxMzLY7k3f-NsY-e5qpFRXRWw_JD9P_Nzc2NS5UPz0-KvuqBgpCG3i3He9Zlu2scOR5WzICE4ZT1ADKLOTk/s400/IMG_1675.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Also, they have the most colorful porta-potties, of all time, ever.</td></tr>
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<div>
One of the perks of living in Utah, is that there's a multitude of races that run down lovely canyons. Top of Utah is one of those. The buses take the runners up the canyon about 7 miles. I had the great fortune of riding up on the bus that was staying to take the drop bags back down. I got to stay on the bus, all warm and cozy until right before the start. I managed to take a nap and everything. WHAT.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_CN2UmE4yYgVmm9QgoramXr995-ZccFNI9CFQN2uOL7VE_u23Ydlo3wzKAYX_hGTfaPth5flp1C-0ehLtYCu2ulozFJXySFKzPOrbusFKXqW4vtVPt07sdQqviBi0c4eWjuGLiePAgic/s1600/IMG_1679.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_CN2UmE4yYgVmm9QgoramXr995-ZccFNI9CFQN2uOL7VE_u23Ydlo3wzKAYX_hGTfaPth5flp1C-0ehLtYCu2ulozFJXySFKzPOrbusFKXqW4vtVPt07sdQqviBi0c4eWjuGLiePAgic/s400/IMG_1679.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading to the start line.</td></tr>
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It was a perfect morning to be out running. The temperatures stayed down; there was no rain to contend with. I waded through the large group of runners to position myself at the back of the pack, my natural habitat. </div>
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The race started, and the typical dance of leapfrogging began. In every race, there are always those people that pass you, then you pass them, then they pass you, and this continues until one person finally decides that he/she can't take it anymore and they widen the gap. On this day, there was a man, close to my age, who played this game with me. Except this time, there was a difference. He was more concerned with me passing him than anyone I've ever seen. I get it, no one wants to get beat by the chubby girl. But they don't know that this chubby girl does this type of thing nearly every single weekend. Every time he would get in front of me, he would keep nervously looking back over his shoulder. I decided to take advantage of this at around mile 6. I could see the fear in his eyes, so I started hunting him. I began to push the pace, making him have to run faster, all the while, looking over his shoulder. It was so funny to me. Probably because I'm a horrible person. I finally decided to leave him alone around mile 9. Three miles of purposeful torment was enough. It was starting to affect my enjoyment of the course. Finish times aren't why I run races, getting to experience new scenery is. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDRsAhMnh7-J9vNWhc_Uy2S6fkH3Aq105KXKyFlwp_EuE_ShyphenhyphenR_E89dCUcSyNs2kcincGf7yquveuekNfFIch5KM3Iq5GKyrbVYUJh5BRNBvycFjaaIdu4AsP4k5OkaaUY-9BekugugyI/s1600/IMG_1680.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDRsAhMnh7-J9vNWhc_Uy2S6fkH3Aq105KXKyFlwp_EuE_ShyphenhyphenR_E89dCUcSyNs2kcincGf7yquveuekNfFIch5KM3Iq5GKyrbVYUJh5BRNBvycFjaaIdu4AsP4k5OkaaUY-9BekugugyI/s400/IMG_1680.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A lovely, tree lined section of the race course. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYoZ2HmyiLgWuDLc-j4n4Vjo0dgvOEG1kNCVhPBX_MhDcUJjSqH4o_L38WTvo8nUUcCiLwvZ_9uF4ONKtTWiDcT2e6HT5hFQmvu9q9_HcmnJxi4QMxDyKEpkvvYiEnFlvCTZS10f6sv6o/s1600/IMG_1682.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYoZ2HmyiLgWuDLc-j4n4Vjo0dgvOEG1kNCVhPBX_MhDcUJjSqH4o_L38WTvo8nUUcCiLwvZ_9uF4ONKtTWiDcT2e6HT5hFQmvu9q9_HcmnJxi4QMxDyKEpkvvYiEnFlvCTZS10f6sv6o/s400/IMG_1682.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm done hunting, it's selfie time.</td></tr>
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<div>
I felt good throughout the race, and was able to finish right about the same time as I did last year. I like consistency. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcgUmz6ILPOG4YUFIcUfta2XHDnXhRGvxiBx-tfaE_DJJdKj09j1WulLU09J-xCn0svoCPtQKwEYC1rTHwyJrZUowztkmycXmBneFqMMYi_8csZVmD-rk3r4m7I5uzJGjHfCPi5aalX7E/s1600/IMG_4923.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcgUmz6ILPOG4YUFIcUfta2XHDnXhRGvxiBx-tfaE_DJJdKj09j1WulLU09J-xCn0svoCPtQKwEYC1rTHwyJrZUowztkmycXmBneFqMMYi_8csZVmD-rk3r4m7I5uzJGjHfCPi5aalX7E/s400/IMG_4923.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love the pictures my mom takes. I guess I should have run faster to get more into the middle of the shot.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLHKAv4I7Ddp9BcrBRUIkrRS973rwtHqaWj8UoAKKl3r64qa_3O3le3cRUdZjAQEl8qyQeWuBzyp-CWoElGOg4O2QNsvT94CMJfCmR_nQY2Bn7COyVc1cQIvkb2ee8SrpfXp1vwqG-xlE/s1600/IMG_1687.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLHKAv4I7Ddp9BcrBRUIkrRS973rwtHqaWj8UoAKKl3r64qa_3O3le3cRUdZjAQEl8qyQeWuBzyp-CWoElGOg4O2QNsvT94CMJfCmR_nQY2Bn7COyVc1cQIvkb2ee8SrpfXp1vwqG-xlE/s400/IMG_1687.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moose! Moose everywhere!</td></tr>
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<div>
I had a week break after Top of Utah and then it was time for the Little Grand Canyon marathon. I had seen shirts from this race on other runners and it had always intrigued me. I decided that this year was the time to make it happen. The race takes place a mere hour and a half from where I live. I'm sorry that I hadn't been running it sooner. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQs01NDW10DuzluyUSq3V-1pdP4fvz8chmWhRe7C9IqSkOVaLKD2Yl_iFCDg2GwhOBivJpXqlJezTZ8aMWM-L1uz3KONI6c_5ERVXCNs_KicxrXh039zT7EfsaNAp_gygpGU4dwPQzqys/s1600/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQs01NDW10DuzluyUSq3V-1pdP4fvz8chmWhRe7C9IqSkOVaLKD2Yl_iFCDg2GwhOBivJpXqlJezTZ8aMWM-L1uz3KONI6c_5ERVXCNs_KicxrXh039zT7EfsaNAp_gygpGU4dwPQzqys/s400/unnamed.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Packet pick up alone was worth signing up for this race. </td></tr>
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If you know me at all, you know that I have an affinity for dinosaurs. This race course goes past actual dinosaur tracks, and Native American petroglyphs, How cool is that?! These things are what convinced my mother to participate in their 10K option. She can't say no to dinosaurs and petroglyphs either. </div>
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I know you're all starting to wonder where the meltdown mentioned in the title comes in. Well, here it is. It didn't have anything to do with the race I was about to run. I wasn't worried or nervous. I didn't doubt my abilities. But the night before this race, as I got undressed in the hotel bathroom and stared at my naked body in the mirror, illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights, I lost it. What I saw when I saw myself wasn't a hard core ultrarunner. I was just an overweight, pasty white girl. Weird tan lines, stretch marks, love handles, a poochy stomach, multiple chafe mark scars from my sports bra lining my rib cage, arms that jiggle, thighs that wiggle. How could this body that I'm staring at have done any of the things that it had? This body ran 50 miles?! Yeah, sure it did. This body looks more like it sat through 50 weekends of pizza-bender-Netflix-marathoning. I broke down. And I have to say, I've been in a funk about it ever since. These past few weeks have been full of self loathing. I'm a smart girl, I know that this attitude isn't going to help anything. That doesn't make it any easier to just snap out of it. My boyfriend has been putting up with my body image issues like a champ though. I just hate that it's something that he even needs to deal with. I should be able to be comfortable in my own skin. I should be proud of my body, no matter what it looks like. I have a feeling that this will be a long road...</div>
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Now that I've had my meltdown, it was time to get some sleep and run a marathon. My mom and I got up and dressed and headed out to the town of Huntington to catch the buses that would take us to our race starts. The marathon had only one bus load of people in it. Oh great. I'm going to be last. That's the thought that crosses my mind at every small event. Somebody has to be last, so I've made my peace with it. I hung out in the back again, chatting with some other runners. It was really going to be a nice race, so it was tough to be too down about it. I was dressed in a crazy colorful outfit and the older gentleman I was talking to cracked a joke about me needing to wear something a little more visible. I told him I was dressed that way so that they could find my body in the desert. At least this got a chuckle from the people around me. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqswoxFm8HJ73ifsSw2RSTZ_G5R-5T9f0BgQ8w63rdXJV_0txusvs4ypJL6EZfEekyzz5T9lwfnTLYa1duJxpLaH19O5onKsDtGFSjwcczn9x19AJeRJ3iCACzuI2PIlWMeARrdGymfcA/s1600/IMG_1763.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqswoxFm8HJ73ifsSw2RSTZ_G5R-5T9f0BgQ8w63rdXJV_0txusvs4ypJL6EZfEekyzz5T9lwfnTLYa1duJxpLaH19O5onKsDtGFSjwcczn9x19AJeRJ3iCACzuI2PIlWMeARrdGymfcA/s400/IMG_1763.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Running through the San Rafael Swell is beautiful.</td></tr>
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At mile 2, a small jack rabbit ran right in front of me. It scared me, I scared it. It was a fun little adrenaline boost. The sunrise was so lovely as we headed into the San Rafael Swell area. There were a few hills in the first 9 miles that I was content to just hike up. For the most part though, it was a fairly flat course. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnWpA9HrKicYX7CNDNWFNHA-OJ_umBPog0AXNTbfRoBhNWR2WjMroW3UalCv9IXy777e5gjMttNn0drKDPdhKnFjOBJ7GUdzp5slr7uwGuS0XCxm_fwq50fT-2blGjpK1c0QeCsLusFio/s1600/IMG_1772.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnWpA9HrKicYX7CNDNWFNHA-OJ_umBPog0AXNTbfRoBhNWR2WjMroW3UalCv9IXy777e5gjMttNn0drKDPdhKnFjOBJ7GUdzp5slr7uwGuS0XCxm_fwq50fT-2blGjpK1c0QeCsLusFio/s400/IMG_1772.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Running off into the desert.</td></tr>
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I spent at least 20 minutes taking pictures. I threw my finish time out the window and just focused on enjoying being out there. I felt decent for the first half of the race, but then fatigue started to set in and I walked a lot more of the second half. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTJYuqN7__Ig8HsN1gGW8WxzmRDL6kueObUnJ1QTKQG401QyGodTgQAO4-e7EDJW4lEm7MrPUpqKpJ8h3r8tSSfo2Pa-jGwJTEY9539R2NGjkQpT5TIMwOR-Wk_1p5FCTzLiFo44OjKBQ/s1600/IMG_1766.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTJYuqN7__Ig8HsN1gGW8WxzmRDL6kueObUnJ1QTKQG401QyGodTgQAO4-e7EDJW4lEm7MrPUpqKpJ8h3r8tSSfo2Pa-jGwJTEY9539R2NGjkQpT5TIMwOR-Wk_1p5FCTzLiFo44OjKBQ/s400/IMG_1766.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This race tells you how far you have left to go, which was kind of depressing when the sign said 25 more miles.</td></tr>
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But as the race went on, the scenery got better and better, so I didn't mind that I was going slower. People continued to pass me and I continued to take pictures. And all was right with the world for that bit of time. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvogDvV6TfIv7fHpOq19pP64rJrtitvKYgU2act053XWq2eWejksVKyJQgYCXtubr1zXrot_1PFD3BFRP1joZBks5Y37jFXdQ7grfELyd_qcny2xEJhM7lwZRSKXhFjKFLHO2db8Pn1rw/s1600/IMG_1790.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvogDvV6TfIv7fHpOq19pP64rJrtitvKYgU2act053XWq2eWejksVKyJQgYCXtubr1zXrot_1PFD3BFRP1joZBks5Y37jFXdQ7grfELyd_qcny2xEJhM7lwZRSKXhFjKFLHO2db8Pn1rw/s400/IMG_1790.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Such a pretty place to run.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt4Jh9lqNx4HESJGYatA5H4ufHoZlY8JFu90AYJaYwPSOdC12s9mGLu_glehsDV0hT0SNIrQjxWhkrwrfKRO0RhsmhqBoQuVQAtH_VbR-TLIZvbKm64BVDxIy1lc8CbvNNv9wGRxKlM_I/s1600/IMG_1792.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt4Jh9lqNx4HESJGYatA5H4ufHoZlY8JFu90AYJaYwPSOdC12s9mGLu_glehsDV0hT0SNIrQjxWhkrwrfKRO0RhsmhqBoQuVQAtH_VbR-TLIZvbKm64BVDxIy1lc8CbvNNv9wGRxKlM_I/s400/IMG_1792.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Covered in salt and sweat, but enjoying the journey.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_i83VXvKuCPkgnBpRbyizV_YxK9KWmFbcmDDK1aAHGysMIVIHsC5iB9SEHre7pqQq8RnK30rkRZnN_VT82PJHaj67z_drrtU6pFMs8ubW-x9corrDcAn7piUtjtQahDsPl5_5b-zp3XA/s1600/IMG_1806.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_i83VXvKuCPkgnBpRbyizV_YxK9KWmFbcmDDK1aAHGysMIVIHsC5iB9SEHre7pqQq8RnK30rkRZnN_VT82PJHaj67z_drrtU6pFMs8ubW-x9corrDcAn7piUtjtQahDsPl5_5b-zp3XA/s400/IMG_1806.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How could you not love this?</td></tr>
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They had begun busing down the runners that had finished the half marathon, 10K, and the faster marathoners. The runners on the bus would wave and cheer as they passed the rest of us still on the course. The last bus that passed on by had my mom on it, so I knew she had made it. Her first 10K was a success! </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZqGkSou0whfC62kl0f-LR5JwSHEr0AkT6cLiPjVz9H7gP42HTmBmwHwGF3OaDA9dNZWA_3SU1bSGjVX_eOAg85Ids3s5aACxZ1ECkPvfJQvCNsbcyBsdJv9R3Ps_DblTzqQpjsVCuXLc/s1600/IMG_1798.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZqGkSou0whfC62kl0f-LR5JwSHEr0AkT6cLiPjVz9H7gP42HTmBmwHwGF3OaDA9dNZWA_3SU1bSGjVX_eOAg85Ids3s5aACxZ1ECkPvfJQvCNsbcyBsdJv9R3Ps_DblTzqQpjsVCuXLc/s400/IMG_1798.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The petroglyphs were right off of the road. It was incredible. </td></tr>
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My mom chose her distance wisely. The last 10K of this race was the most scenic part of the course. I am considering just doing the half next year to skip the hills and soak up the scenery. When I finished the race, I was certain that I was last but it turns out that there were still 4 other people behind me. We waited there at the finish for the last runners, which was fun. Plus, there was plenty of good food there to eat while we waited. It turns out that there was no bus coming back to take us back to our cars so I got to ride back down to my car in an ambulance. It was a fun way to get back down and they didn't even send me a bill!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH0XYOmhT2QHMIJFgUPSdFGgA1c1lyMo3izrWcyWP16IAXtifstBxuS92_c3e8EdGrdPNOSipld3jHJhjwL8405T_wpWsORBr3-FXfsSA7Fc3BspkBC0kbCpJXPLHHVImGcWEwY1xUj5w/s1600/IMG_4926.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH0XYOmhT2QHMIJFgUPSdFGgA1c1lyMo3izrWcyWP16IAXtifstBxuS92_c3e8EdGrdPNOSipld3jHJhjwL8405T_wpWsORBr3-FXfsSA7Fc3BspkBC0kbCpJXPLHHVImGcWEwY1xUj5w/s400/IMG_4926.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Such great swag!</td></tr>
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Now you're all wondering where the injury part mentioned in the title comes in. Here it is! As my mom and I were having lunch after the race, something in my right hip started to feel funny. It got to the point that I could barely walk by the end of the night. I have spent the last two weeks trying to recover from whatever it is that happened. I didn't feel anything during the race. The best I can figure is that it was some sort of muscle strain. I was able to run 8 miles yesterday, but it wasn't pretty. Jamie had to prod me through every step of it. But that's what running friends are for, right? I'm just hoping that I'll be recovered enough to get through the Huntsville Marathon next weekend. </div>
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I was starting to have a major freak out about being ready for the Javelina Jundred next month. The anxiety over being ready, plus the body image funk I'm in, makes for more mental anguish than I need. So I tackled my anxiety about Javelina. The time limit for that race is so generous, I can walk most of it if I have to. Reminding myself of that has made things a little better. I can finish the race. I might not be in love with every minute of it. But honestly, what ultra have I loved every minute of? That's not the nature of the ultra marathon. I keep going back because each one teaches me more about myself. And since I'm a stubborn gal, it takes me a lot of time to learn from my mistakes. (Insert winky face here.)</div>
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I'll try to be more timely with the next blog, that way Javelina can have its own entry. 100k will give me a lot to recap, so brace yourselves for that. In the meantime, I need to survive running and writing about two more marathons.</div>
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Until next time, happy running!</div>
PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-10238805153724408272015-08-17T21:29:00.000-06:002015-08-17T21:29:08.812-06:00Another Three Race ReportI've been Little Miss Lazy Blogger, gallivanting around, having a life, hanging out with a boy. But I've still been running, racing, and cross training. I even spent some time volunteering at the Speedgoat Ultra weekend. If anyone needs countless bottles of Ultragen mixed up, lickety split, I'm your gal.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfCkndrkxA_QecL7bnYYVolnoG8nflsF0xpzBUe0D8Qa25MFpx6-dMAhZY1OYWfgvcl1sRP3hZcn7lujmR1EUISrRsov40D6bb5Hg4LVsBQSr-6HIRkP8yxvrIcUI2sC0TU0mIQBJvi6Y/s1600/IMG_1569.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfCkndrkxA_QecL7bnYYVolnoG8nflsF0xpzBUe0D8Qa25MFpx6-dMAhZY1OYWfgvcl1sRP3hZcn7lujmR1EUISrRsov40D6bb5Hg4LVsBQSr-6HIRkP8yxvrIcUI2sC0TU0mIQBJvi6Y/s400/IMG_1569.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A shot of the finish line at Speedgoat. </td></tr>
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Half marathon #66 was the Timp Half. This was my third time running this race, and honestly, it was probably my last. This year, like last year, they didn't get a permit to keep the canyon open longer than an hour and a half. That meant that if you weren't out of the canyon by 7:30, you would get picked up by the bus and driven to the bottom, then they would let you continue. This really bothers me. They're just robbing the slower people of the accomplishment of completing the distance. Sure, they offered an early start. But a bus that was full of people also broke down on the way up and that bus had people who didn't get to take advantage of that early start because of the delay. </div>
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I can run 7.5 miles in an hour and a half. If nothing goes wrong, if I'm not having any issues, aches, or pains. This race has stressed me out of my mind the last two times because of this deadline. I spent the entire morning waffling back and forth between taking the early start or not. Trying to assess how I felt; can I do this? I decided to just go with the regular start and run like hell.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1LYMzAAGhBtqcnMmzGHAtWlfvRtYel1Gpclx0iEvLlU50uGUpBGr0FB-ap_2R3TrXR6XoDHwzkzBUAmM5zBti-ySBBsR07YX0K6tCF70CE61VPJ3YZ1Z22rp0t5Alv9B8TNbJlC_yrz4/s1600/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1LYMzAAGhBtqcnMmzGHAtWlfvRtYel1Gpclx0iEvLlU50uGUpBGr0FB-ap_2R3TrXR6XoDHwzkzBUAmM5zBti-ySBBsR07YX0K6tCF70CE61VPJ3YZ1Z22rp0t5Alv9B8TNbJlC_yrz4/s400/unnamed.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Burrrrrrnt ouuuuuuttttt.</td></tr>
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And that's what I did. I ran my guts out for about 7 miles. And then everything hurt so much that I just stopped caring. I had just enough of a time cushion to shuffle through the last half mile out of the canyon. As soon as I got out and onto the bike path, I walked. So there. I was just burnt out. I don't do fast. I do distance at a relaxed pace. I spent the rest of the race just plodding along, praying for the finish. At least the medal was nice and heavy. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibw_C5WfLrpWx_BmoOt-3xZcJpl8ZUfNBD4-rRH7ybZMj2oKsEDwvd4q8DDoUDtz_Kg6b6ujmFKcssnVlRd0Rxl0-9qavcE7eZL0RkXJPbTBmnWG57EFczODuqqR_6Pz9W_TlkLwXJ6pU/s1600/unnamed+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibw_C5WfLrpWx_BmoOt-3xZcJpl8ZUfNBD4-rRH7ybZMj2oKsEDwvd4q8DDoUDtz_Kg6b6ujmFKcssnVlRd0Rxl0-9qavcE7eZL0RkXJPbTBmnWG57EFczODuqqR_6Pz9W_TlkLwXJ6pU/s400/unnamed+%25281%2529.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smiling, like it doesn't hurt or something.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXh0HCOxL_CR0wOKyaLvQqeRWpVSedRyi_XucR6hpJV5F_jsWgObzOiRpCMGTwfZcgQqhFEIstLZbgHgIHK1fehSoXt5lZ3NbG8XdCvTz6X_xVrbaNvRAlFluGXpp-e-sYw1B6LIjA1Vc/s1600/IMG_4921.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXh0HCOxL_CR0wOKyaLvQqeRWpVSedRyi_XucR6hpJV5F_jsWgObzOiRpCMGTwfZcgQqhFEIstLZbgHgIHK1fehSoXt5lZ3NbG8XdCvTz6X_xVrbaNvRAlFluGXpp-e-sYw1B6LIjA1Vc/s400/IMG_4921.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some not terrible swag.</td></tr>
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After my race, my mom, brother, and I, headed over to watch my bike brother finish his first 60 mile race. It was a nice change of pace to sit back and watch the finishers come in. We cheered him in and got some nice finish line pictures. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTqkXPWzGO9mPPww2YqoEO5PfZ7QUKlLXv474FtPFdFG0tx4bwKyGMttPdgAjhtdXJGGPGFyrB36jlmeBRN5zAS4bzbWxiEMpgAN_p1x-FcD9FWcD3DPlqfVUAoL7KMxz2zxPGvw8T5JU/s1600/IMG_4913.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTqkXPWzGO9mPPww2YqoEO5PfZ7QUKlLXv474FtPFdFG0tx4bwKyGMttPdgAjhtdXJGGPGFyrB36jlmeBRN5zAS4bzbWxiEMpgAN_p1x-FcD9FWcD3DPlqfVUAoL7KMxz2zxPGvw8T5JU/s400/IMG_4913.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">60 miles! Whoosh!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghsuLK3JKI5GNnL1fXpgmF4iA6_2d3f4QiELuCQ7S7DsUkIi8tBwX28_cC0d6bxGQD9AWF-S-kMkS4s_4ybwPilIX6unSoP7wYHcTGBRuBQA2l47FWWAlh2DYorjFC7FnQIPTHG8FwWgw/s1600/IMG_4916.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghsuLK3JKI5GNnL1fXpgmF4iA6_2d3f4QiELuCQ7S7DsUkIi8tBwX28_cC0d6bxGQD9AWF-S-kMkS4s_4ybwPilIX6unSoP7wYHcTGBRuBQA2l47FWWAlh2DYorjFC7FnQIPTHG8FwWgw/s400/IMG_4916.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sweet taste of victory (medals).</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKN6qldFKyt55CpDOHBAMZVusb0FekrCIQzegcs1N7GSejGhwJUvAetV8XOJwr1t4iRCdkX1AOSLRnPjHGSbAlsTT8Sie3tiO-GmfRTPRy_wYTCown808RH7dnye5JMV_MCY_9z-9W1oM/s1600/IMG_4919.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKN6qldFKyt55CpDOHBAMZVusb0FekrCIQzegcs1N7GSejGhwJUvAetV8XOJwr1t4iRCdkX1AOSLRnPjHGSbAlsTT8Sie3tiO-GmfRTPRy_wYTCown808RH7dnye5JMV_MCY_9z-9W1oM/s400/IMG_4919.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The family that races together gets a bunch of cool medals together.</td></tr>
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The second race of this report is the Park City Trail Series 15k. I've never done a 15k before, so it was an interesting change. This race was on the Round Valley trail system. I knew with it being a trail run, at elevation, I was going to be very realistic about my finish time. Trails are tricky beasts. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhobbNetoGZ84B5NKI4dBSlm7JPrwpz_2bzqJNDytx5g7nCljLq4gWR6C72PZ3nxekgMC530BeE1CotkYWOmxJ3MojvZoVWmnRaIKIabC53C09_kk8bZ0p2jx5hhuTX0z0bDurskfW_2aE/s1600/unnamed+%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhobbNetoGZ84B5NKI4dBSlm7JPrwpz_2bzqJNDytx5g7nCljLq4gWR6C72PZ3nxekgMC530BeE1CotkYWOmxJ3MojvZoVWmnRaIKIabC53C09_kk8bZ0p2jx5hhuTX0z0bDurskfW_2aE/s400/unnamed+%25283%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading up into the hills. </td></tr>
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The trail started out as a fairly wide, double track trail. We chugged our way up, and up, and up. None of it was ridiculously steep, thank goodness. When we got up to the top of that particular section of climbing, we were rewarded with some decently technical single track. I think this may be my favorite type of trail. I like just enough roots, rocks, and obstacles to make my brain work a bit. The fourth and fifth miles of this race were really great. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_JQPpetGJfMsggl15AQlgRBfMe4WTmaG4bQ9tf0qeUMYKjKTpIY4IimT31w9nJogck5p321P5_NugGUmgoVtKc75AnbHbsVI-pj5492gAIth28mmD0F-tdTolfx_cMiheT_w0oxSlYo4/s1600/unnamed+%25285%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_JQPpetGJfMsggl15AQlgRBfMe4WTmaG4bQ9tf0qeUMYKjKTpIY4IimT31w9nJogck5p321P5_NugGUmgoVtKc75AnbHbsVI-pj5492gAIth28mmD0F-tdTolfx_cMiheT_w0oxSlYo4/s400/unnamed+%25285%2529.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I see you, single track. Shaking your thing.</td></tr>
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<div>
It was a perfect day out. There had been a big storm the night before, and it kept the temperature down. It also made for some extremely muddy sections on the trail. Mud keeps things interesting. It wasn't too terrible, just another trail challenge. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRYpRu_mJ1y3n5FQ5CGcBJ3SKhjiVrUimLRVHMbRxdU8JTUtfPtOmU1e0QMQkfzRDEGcfrRP-c0_zlhxx5TSoJ2_nwaSIToexCxvfwIPISUY3BEkzecKRQXshBKRvjpVkIInHYG5GNjr0/s1600/unnamed+%25288%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRYpRu_mJ1y3n5FQ5CGcBJ3SKhjiVrUimLRVHMbRxdU8JTUtfPtOmU1e0QMQkfzRDEGcfrRP-c0_zlhxx5TSoJ2_nwaSIToexCxvfwIPISUY3BEkzecKRQXshBKRvjpVkIInHYG5GNjr0/s400/unnamed+%25288%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trail running montage! </td></tr>
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<div>
I was supposed to do some extra mileage after this race, but honestly, it took more out of me than I thought it would. Trail running is so much more difficult than road running. It took me 2 hours and 25 minutes to get those 9.5 miles. So I called it a day and just added bonus miles to my run the next day. Besides, I had a date to go on (you're all completely shocked, I know). My weekly mileage didn't suffer, and I felt better doing it that way. Flexibility is key in training, you guys. Trust me.</div>
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The last race to report on (at least for another week) is the Porter's Half Marathon. There were some great things about this race. Starting with the option to pick up my race packet on the morning of the race, saving me a drive through rush hour traffic the night before the race. Huge bonus points there. The race started at the mouth of Little Cottonwood Canyon, also a nice thing. But the course started to lose its charm as we continued through random neighborhoods and along busy roads with no shoulder. There were a few times that we got to run on a bike path with no traffic and that was alright. I have to call the course a downside to this race, sorry Porter's people. </div>
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<div>
The biggest issue of the day for me was the heat. When I woke up Saturday morning, the temperature was 77 degrees. That was at 4 a.m. guys. By the time the race started at 7 a.m., the temperature reached 82 degrees. Yikes. I was doing alright for the first 9 miles. Then, it was just too much. The heat had become oppressive. It took me nearly an hour to get through the last 4 miles. I was reduced to running for about 30 seconds, then walking, then trying to run again. It was one of those days that I started to question everything about my running life. </div>
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I got to the finish, albeit 10 minutes slower than I had anticipated. I was rewarded with a giant medal (bonus) and Jamie's commiseration about how awful it was out there (bonus because misery loves company). We were both just happy to have made it through yet another tough race. 2015 has been a year of extremes for us and race day weather.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAYKoGE9G2a59TxzMeHR0eNkN-OpOPEcE6vNeq9ogFSCzyKj2wy43iaRwL8TjIA5JguG5hlqielzGqj88BtDPm4B625HjsD6lhW6mEQv8tZYfw0kS8Z4aFZm60uyMr2Q_gVenpL6tXgvc/s1600/IMG_1637.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAYKoGE9G2a59TxzMeHR0eNkN-OpOPEcE6vNeq9ogFSCzyKj2wy43iaRwL8TjIA5JguG5hlqielzGqj88BtDPm4B625HjsD6lhW6mEQv8tZYfw0kS8Z4aFZm60uyMr2Q_gVenpL6tXgvc/s400/IMG_1637.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bullet holes in my medal/belt buckle? Hells yes.</td></tr>
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<div>
I finished up last weekend's running adventures with a 28 mile treadmill run, because I was NOT suffering through that kind of heat for that long. Flexibility, kids. For real. And with that 28 miler, I logged my first ever 70 mile week. I've been doing my best to stick to the training plan for Javelina. October 31 is going to be here before I know it, and those 62 miles aren't going to run themselves. </div>
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I'll have a whole new slew of races to report on in the next few weeks, so stay tuned! And until then, happy running!</div>
PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1092629814994620608.post-22361438920149422472015-07-16T20:40:00.000-06:002015-07-16T20:40:44.323-06:00Capitol Reef 50K: Adventures in DNFIt started out innocently enough. It was a gorgeous day down in Capitol Reef. We arrived to a scene of lovely red rock cliffs and puffy clouds.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmj6sDxof9Ayr9DTX3uMLKiHG23RtPH4xlzTminujlcw-GYSb0Ur0v5LeAxP0o_j_6yKEoWxHeHfEkVTrYcysrUut1XOvc2GEkYxj5NkG3jL4k5dblovY4Fm839gT_p_pA6eskJe5Y_1k/s1600/pic5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmj6sDxof9Ayr9DTX3uMLKiHG23RtPH4xlzTminujlcw-GYSb0Ur0v5LeAxP0o_j_6yKEoWxHeHfEkVTrYcysrUut1XOvc2GEkYxj5NkG3jL4k5dblovY4Fm839gT_p_pA6eskJe5Y_1k/s400/pic5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The back drop for the finish line. Not too shabby.</td></tr>
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I got my sweet race swag and settled in for the pre-race briefing. As the briefing went on, I became more and more concerned about getting lost. It turns out that was a valid concern.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz_VdoM-sHxMZDm8czLPt81W4NQ6jggsgFilNdjnjk5XFz7-yV8qmX79YnFgGEsHgbMYee4Z4q76npUzMZIBvbJgIwWHj7qZP1z7KxSfmqkojzD162UDQjyogxe0vKCR1J3gaEjZPu_L0/s1600/IMG_4904.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz_VdoM-sHxMZDm8czLPt81W4NQ6jggsgFilNdjnjk5XFz7-yV8qmX79YnFgGEsHgbMYee4Z4q76npUzMZIBvbJgIwWHj7qZP1z7KxSfmqkojzD162UDQjyogxe0vKCR1J3gaEjZPu_L0/s400/IMG_4904.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet swag! I have no problem wearing it, even if I DNFd.</td></tr>
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After the race briefing, we went out for dinner. We ordered quite a bit of pizza, because we wanted to have leftovers for the rest of the weekend. There was some other runners there having dinner and when the second large pizza was brought out, we heard one of them say "Wow. Trail runners sure love their pizza,". Yes. Yes we do.<br />
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I slept fairly well, having only one pre-race dream about what was to come. I arrived at the Red River Ranch to await the shuttle and lo and behold, I met someone who reads this very blog! Hi Adriana! It was pretty neat to meet someone that reads my ramblings! (Besides my mom, best friends Krista and Geof, and kick-ass running buddy Jamie, that is. You guys are great!) We swapped stories and shared our anxieties about what we were about to do. All of the runners waiting with the shuttle were friendly and easy to talk to. I find this is more common with trail races than road races... I'm still trying to figure out why that is.<br />
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The shuttle was late but when it arrived, it was a pretty neat old school bus. It slowly climbed up the mountain, gears grinding as we lurched towards our fate. I talked the ride away with the gentleman next to me and before we knew it, we were at the start line. We only had a few minutes to compose ourselves before the starting shout was issued (it really was a shout, from the race director's cute little girl).<br />
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We were off like a shot! Well, we were off like we were about to climb to 11,000 feet. I knew the first 5 miles were going to be incredibly difficult. And I was right.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2WQ-PmGUvy4brcLRUyGglhs7Lns7IbCQl4e9Jxe91PhDAXxpe9WqFnFyMGJFuvvfeFArrqjrUveLhFHcztjsIi9Hq4CYCYLD5cjboTcgI-4yIATPIJqWWXCIU7GvVB3BEQCj6Sz88Q4w/s1600/pic9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2WQ-PmGUvy4brcLRUyGglhs7Lns7IbCQl4e9Jxe91PhDAXxpe9WqFnFyMGJFuvvfeFArrqjrUveLhFHcztjsIi9Hq4CYCYLD5cjboTcgI-4yIATPIJqWWXCIU7GvVB3BEQCj6Sz88Q4w/s400/pic9.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There we go, winding our way up the Aquarius Plateau.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgezW9SMfqrxLfskTGugPX0RM8_ryhekBsNf1t4O5awK-c1gJIKStYqciFY3U70IVrpDfSE79xP8LS3jkKawlvEV5hlZSHceuaj8AXbYtvMAgJF2huu98MwvBNHnIYw2rr34j2Gyx_m6k/s1600/pic10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgezW9SMfqrxLfskTGugPX0RM8_ryhekBsNf1t4O5awK-c1gJIKStYqciFY3U70IVrpDfSE79xP8LS3jkKawlvEV5hlZSHceuaj8AXbYtvMAgJF2huu98MwvBNHnIYw2rr34j2Gyx_m6k/s400/pic10.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting steeper.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiejnqHDci0k5l01OuqKT623C71ZNsdl_3CXW7p7Jz2W1IEbXjGWSstcwGkS9tYk-trtkpvZaT9Nb3uGdH_l3bM9LT4TeiVUSbrU3zgeRDTi9FxCFfablsLvsfcZ8fMYH6IyFoum12Hbq4/s1600/pic11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiejnqHDci0k5l01OuqKT623C71ZNsdl_3CXW7p7Jz2W1IEbXjGWSstcwGkS9tYk-trtkpvZaT9Nb3uGdH_l3bM9LT4TeiVUSbrU3zgeRDTi9FxCFfablsLvsfcZ8fMYH6IyFoum12Hbq4/s400/pic11.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At least this part still looked kind of like a trail. That would change.</td></tr>
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We climbed and climbed. And then we climbed some more. It was utterly relentless. I just did my best to keep moving forward. It really was gorgeous, which is why this blog is going to be jam packed with pictures.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzpy5cOS9TjA-eeOjQVyMHm636W7oDXD3KPxwyLrH0Wbv46Pa9aewVW8IhTQVxwtdJtFUL8NflUop5EnXyWGIAFwhgFZX0ChwNLSoI5HN_yH964cDpiryWjpU9Q-aeiXTCTvnhUqGX6s4/s1600/pic13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzpy5cOS9TjA-eeOjQVyMHm636W7oDXD3KPxwyLrH0Wbv46Pa9aewVW8IhTQVxwtdJtFUL8NflUop5EnXyWGIAFwhgFZX0ChwNLSoI5HN_yH964cDpiryWjpU9Q-aeiXTCTvnhUqGX6s4/s400/pic13.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is where I am! Thank you, signs. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOw4e9NVnKWleMfQ1eqhCjYaCDQrlkDTHrO-Xnc1ocsHNHIjDt1iKUKEh3tZ-Ez-XqrQagQuM698BFUUvix7Dw2JjHYhnNM1o-nls732OYxeCtaxF2o-0ebtKol0hZ9T6XZv4Y5_wtRXU/s1600/pic14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOw4e9NVnKWleMfQ1eqhCjYaCDQrlkDTHrO-Xnc1ocsHNHIjDt1iKUKEh3tZ-Ez-XqrQagQuM698BFUUvix7Dw2JjHYhnNM1o-nls732OYxeCtaxF2o-0ebtKol0hZ9T6XZv4Y5_wtRXU/s400/pic14.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This may have been my favorite view from the course. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXrz2rKyGGbaQQKLfQg_BkNvXkmwyM5nlWjyQHLJjY4Slt-CJYwavr_kahxdsY9xi9eDCaGVBg6bbLPz7RSDeNOvH6rLxdAbSmdCxjggyfqENh9xSKF9ItwkV0Vd6daNbCLo9nC3LcMx8/s1600/pic20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXrz2rKyGGbaQQKLfQg_BkNvXkmwyM5nlWjyQHLJjY4Slt-CJYwavr_kahxdsY9xi9eDCaGVBg6bbLPz7RSDeNOvH6rLxdAbSmdCxjggyfqENh9xSKF9ItwkV0Vd6daNbCLo9nC3LcMx8/s400/pic20.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was a bit rocky where we were...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I finally made it to the top of the biggest chunk of the climbing we would do and I had to just stop and stare for a moment. The view was stunning. The air was thin. It was the perfect excuse to stand still for a bit and take it all in.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLIRtplTIZzoIxSmdXn3q2sUsiiL_qN-eE_lrpQqqu1yWDNa1ipKMHj58U24_EmzJIJ-F5WqCJI5a5C6j4RvkW6bRryCPLpWHNQVI-2I_yFA8-LwQ-mkyhVJExTsWptoOOIOM04hfOPSo/s1600/pic24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLIRtplTIZzoIxSmdXn3q2sUsiiL_qN-eE_lrpQqqu1yWDNa1ipKMHj58U24_EmzJIJ-F5WqCJI5a5C6j4RvkW6bRryCPLpWHNQVI-2I_yFA8-LwQ-mkyhVJExTsWptoOOIOM04hfOPSo/s400/pic24.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The pictures don't do it justice.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7xWRqCNpTahIcKcyLOV2xEUctQmNi9NJKgsW0P6yLZXF4CdhOB5V-AIsD-16R_73AFeTFYyoNY4rghGh2EroHw5PJ3XQ7Ls3I1k1orw9VUBWTJfqsRYf7RGNWfI07HJOvHmcR9Skdf5E/s1600/pic25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7xWRqCNpTahIcKcyLOV2xEUctQmNi9NJKgsW0P6yLZXF4CdhOB5V-AIsD-16R_73AFeTFYyoNY4rghGh2EroHw5PJ3XQ7Ls3I1k1orw9VUBWTJfqsRYf7RGNWfI07HJOvHmcR9Skdf5E/s400/pic25.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I lived through the hardest part! Which is why I have no problem wearing that shirt and hat.</td></tr>
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<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHctASO3QUuTgkKGTdo3qmMC4UcP97U_jP1Sj4YFb8PzHRWgGsckokJ1i7GdqN3xEyc1O69H_9tnoBVh1F2VlDxUtBRfilLZUoALpabZuVcjBTeodAHwUMO-9RYQi_fr2EECXcYLywptQ/s1600/pic27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHctASO3QUuTgkKGTdo3qmMC4UcP97U_jP1Sj4YFb8PzHRWgGsckokJ1i7GdqN3xEyc1O69H_9tnoBVh1F2VlDxUtBRfilLZUoALpabZuVcjBTeodAHwUMO-9RYQi_fr2EECXcYLywptQ/s400/pic27.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sweeping expanse of the American West. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After gathering myself and a snapping more than a few pictures, I continued along the plateau, enjoying the little bit of runnable trail I would encounter that day.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiytA9HFS9Cl4eGEcxFY0rZkH8UVCdIZbeFEz7tIGK4y6BeLrvWAiO8h7adSs7RF4lCM0Ly6tBH8RTVGmHD5I-UzH55WHdKKQGxFdzh2zDRqFF3SwT5Wd01NOVu7KJ5MprccK9LI1qsSs8/s1600/pic30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiytA9HFS9Cl4eGEcxFY0rZkH8UVCdIZbeFEz7tIGK4y6BeLrvWAiO8h7adSs7RF4lCM0Ly6tBH8RTVGmHD5I-UzH55WHdKKQGxFdzh2zDRqFF3SwT5Wd01NOVu7KJ5MprccK9LI1qsSs8/s400/pic30.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This part was heavenly. Soft dirt and pine needles. Glorious.</td></tr>
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<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikJb_D4dBXXkhfOJA3Mw69oCbTrmLNGvOIW8_U3zd16g_VZmZOuaffgM15mgqtZcGR7_M9qhUSxAx9438o0sDKy-LA8j7XNUtHRjLAhmTksNsLaqAaLi5G2iB3yfdgxcAE10yApbG5cRw/s1600/pic31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikJb_D4dBXXkhfOJA3Mw69oCbTrmLNGvOIW8_U3zd16g_VZmZOuaffgM15mgqtZcGR7_M9qhUSxAx9438o0sDKy-LA8j7XNUtHRjLAhmTksNsLaqAaLi5G2iB3yfdgxcAE10yApbG5cRw/s400/pic31.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was pretty great...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It didn't stay runnable for long though. I finally made it to the first aid station and was greeted by Kelly Agnew, local ultra runner extraordinaire (I read his blog, he does crazy stuff. Like win the Jackpot 24 hour race with 140 miles). He got me some Coke and provided some words of encouragement as I headed back out onto the course.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBOmj2kW0oL0TYWvnccq8agcV8l1nqB09hsLWJPf9hoyoqgDDfWEvqv5n2gK0rD_TKtjeK-beOV-rBhyphenhyphen9L7AmOdIow8oYNRZE4yKOJBByd16B6g-1_QYnLyXCuo8muoLoa0ga0aCd5ino/s1600/pic32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBOmj2kW0oL0TYWvnccq8agcV8l1nqB09hsLWJPf9hoyoqgDDfWEvqv5n2gK0rD_TKtjeK-beOV-rBhyphenhyphen9L7AmOdIow8oYNRZE4yKOJBByd16B6g-1_QYnLyXCuo8muoLoa0ga0aCd5ino/s400/pic32.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first of many lakes I would see. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsnTDiWFr-VZuvyoBK-oZ5p3bq9VoNY359ndHM2-srl9knbkPBeJL4oyeMadHIqc7DyqklDHrKvFEorSnAGp_bDfljotpGwuuyrZvopLZrs6w8d2qmO6BvK5LIKR8MdVZe8-b8GGO891o/s1600/pic33.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsnTDiWFr-VZuvyoBK-oZ5p3bq9VoNY359ndHM2-srl9knbkPBeJL4oyeMadHIqc7DyqklDHrKvFEorSnAGp_bDfljotpGwuuyrZvopLZrs6w8d2qmO6BvK5LIKR8MdVZe8-b8GGO891o/s400/pic33.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another excuse to stop and catch my breath.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsXw6qFDyd8qKuMXNz_m06Wgx_F2RKZr6C_BuCNiDXZMQ2RpUFIdmEchla3JVLElDJCkb9-ufwZGmQumO-PSDPrsELLr4KhHIJQx3A3lD23PX5m_-kc6ZeorlTMXSrawQc8v_fvGAzh7g/s1600/pic35.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsXw6qFDyd8qKuMXNz_m06Wgx_F2RKZr6C_BuCNiDXZMQ2RpUFIdmEchla3JVLElDJCkb9-ufwZGmQumO-PSDPrsELLr4KhHIJQx3A3lD23PX5m_-kc6ZeorlTMXSrawQc8v_fvGAzh7g/s400/pic35.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dun dun dun! I'm just happy I didn't end up this way.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After the aid station the trail turned into a meadow. A meadow with no visible trail. Also, lots of mounds and holes to watch out for, hidden by the tall grass. I tried to keep up a quick hiking pace because running just wasn't working. Plus, the markers were tricky to see in the grass. The cairns they had put up were a bit better. Then all of the sudden, the meadow left and I found myself scrambling down rocks and trying not to lose my balance and topple into the stream below.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDLdQdmPCCtRQW86icSqaki0oQH6Hnk5QphSRqEiLdqOGpkfL-WeOjC5BSQzTtmUDvA2_J7N7l3dqdf7TidTBd5kLMfD1KxvYwnpOzoAfNIlOOkbvbBF5usSIghgJw042-VOHucjQeGP4/s1600/pic38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDLdQdmPCCtRQW86icSqaki0oQH6Hnk5QphSRqEiLdqOGpkfL-WeOjC5BSQzTtmUDvA2_J7N7l3dqdf7TidTBd5kLMfD1KxvYwnpOzoAfNIlOOkbvbBF5usSIghgJw042-VOHucjQeGP4/s400/pic38.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's a trail here somewhere...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI7NyeJWJemk5vr3mNwjykG0e69HfopMLIjYM0dHuIQEexR6yTh6-N5RCSJ3fCn30NK3WIHQzQv688arWGgVc2aAsIxcWpQTznDSaVhO1MZnZ9H3Uv1wc7EMhjZ28UZKijHM2XNNl8spY/s1600/pic39.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI7NyeJWJemk5vr3mNwjykG0e69HfopMLIjYM0dHuIQEexR6yTh6-N5RCSJ3fCn30NK3WIHQzQv688arWGgVc2aAsIxcWpQTznDSaVhO1MZnZ9H3Uv1wc7EMhjZ28UZKijHM2XNNl8spY/s400/pic39.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whatever you do, don't trip and fall!</td></tr>
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<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1M7FZmD7spRJL8PMYPfS9TSrS6Qj14fti42Na_HqqaZCSvBhxRmkWQvZ8HrgE_bQVfheP94cKBX0XotNhda4kLmwSTqVxmLZfk9XsRe2fBgPgOIkeNvxvXl7cpV7kU8PpcZXFtCCSyUA/s1600/pic42.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1M7FZmD7spRJL8PMYPfS9TSrS6Qj14fti42Na_HqqaZCSvBhxRmkWQvZ8HrgE_bQVfheP94cKBX0XotNhda4kLmwSTqVxmLZfk9XsRe2fBgPgOIkeNvxvXl7cpV7kU8PpcZXFtCCSyUA/s400/pic42.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So pretty though.</td></tr>
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This is the part of the race where the trail started going through this pretty little stream. The flags marking the course were planted in little piles of rocks in the middle of the water. Fun! And it really was fun. I was starting to get nervous about making the cutoff at mile 19 though. I was moving along the best that I could, given the conditions. Then the intense downhill reared its head. The trail got so steep and scary. Every step I took had me slipping down the mountain, slightly out of control.<br />
<br />
I finally arrived at the second aid station and filled up my hydration pack. It's a good thing I did, because I would get lost shortly thereafter. Anyway, the aid station was manned by a great older gentleman who was whipping up flapjacks and quesadillas. Delicious! I ate some fruit and had some ginger-ale too. As I was leaving the aid station, two guys were coming in. One of them asked if there was a nurse at the aid station while his friend was carrying a deer antler rack with part of the skull attached. Being the comedic genius that I am, I told them that it was probably too late for a nurse to save that deer. I AM SO FUNNY. And they just kind of glared at me. Fine, dudes. Sure, you're running the 50 miler and you're at mile 31 and your sense of humor is lying dead on the trail somewhere, fine.<br />
<br />
I made my way out of the aid station and around the shore of another lovely lake. Then the climbing started again, It was starting to really wear on me. I was only a little over 12 miles in at this point and I was feeling pretty beat up. I had to keep stopping and resting on the way up. I finally made it past the brutal section of trail and got to start going down again. This time, the down hill was pretty runnable. And thus began my downfall.<br />
<br />
While the grade was very conducive to making up time, it was still a minefield of rocks and roots. I was so busy watching my feet and running a decent pace, I stopped watching for the trail markers. I just zoned out and followed the trail that was in front of me. I have no idea how far I had gone before I finally noticed that I hadn't seen a marker in awhile.<br />
<br />
Now, at the race briefing, they stressed the fact that if you didn't make a cutoff, the aid stations wouldn't be there when you got there. I was flirting with the cutoff time as it was, and since I had no idea how many miles I had gone off course, trying to back track seemed like a very bad idea. The trail I was on was fairly wide and looked to be well used. My gut told me to stay on that trail instead of trying to fight my way back on course. Sometimes, you just need to listen to your instincts.<br />
<br />
I kept heading down the trail and eventually it widened out to a road, I even found a trail head with a "you are here" map. That damn map didn't help me at all. This is the point where I started crying. But I knew that I had to keep moving. Roads are where people are, plus, it was leading me down the mountain, towards town. I kept my pace the best that I could and when I had hit 19.23 miles, a savior in a red truck appeared. It was Turd'l, one of the race staff, He had the funniest look on his face when he rolled down the window.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
"What are you doing out here?!" </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"I GOT LOST!"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"I can see that. Get in the truck."</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU."</div>
<br />
It turns out that he was headed up to pick up the 50 milers who didn't make the cutoff time for the Fish Creek aid station. By the time we were headed back down the mountain, the truck was full of weary runners. The DNF rate for all the race distances was very high. We all agreed that this course was the most brutal any of us had encountered. Slow clap to you, Ultra Adventures. A few of the people were pretty darn upset that they weren't allowed to finish the race. Me? I was just so happy to not be lost anymore. It took most of the sting out of getting my first DNF(did not finish, for those who don't know).<br />
<br />
When I got back to the finish line, my mom was waiting for me. I ate my finish line pizza and shared my harrowing experience with her. One of the other runners, a successful finisher, brought his chair over to chat with me about the race. Seriously, trail runners are the nicest people. Nothing but smiles and kind words were there for me through the day (excluding the humorless deer head people). My mom thought that I knew the guy who came over to talk to me, since we were able to just fall easily into a conversation. I've said it before, I'll say it again. Runners are some of the nicest people on this earth. I was wearing my hat from the race the next day as we were going around town and through the park and other people who had run made sure to come over and talk to me about it.<br />
<br />
I handled the non-finish pretty well, until Sunday night. When I tried to get some sleep, I just tossed and turned. My mind was starting to rebel. And when I did manage to nod off, I would have awful dreams about it. I was in a pretty bad mood about the whole thing all through Monday. Things are feeling better now, and I am bound and determined to get that finish next year.<br />
<br />
August is going to be a busy racing month, and that always help to lift my spirits. So stay tuned for many more race reports, and of course, pictures. Until then, happy running!<br />
<br />PlumpRunnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00247638918354733875noreply@blogger.com6