OPSF 50K: Ultrarunning Remediation

In novels, I often think of the basic structure of a protagonist who wants something, and at the end of the novel, they either a) get it, b) don’t get it, or c) get it but realize they didn’t really want it and so they still aren’t fulfilled. My experience at OPSF 50k yesterday was another version of this: I had a very specific goal in mind, but the lessons I learned in NOT achieving it were more valuable than achieving it would have been.

Last year, I finished first female in a time of 6:36 with nasty conditions: rain, snow, sleet, hail, and MUD unlike anything I had ever seen before. I came back because I assumed I would be able to run significantly faster because conditions HAD to be better. I set 3 tiers of goals: A) Break 6 hours, B) Under 6:14, the fastest women’s time I had access to, albeit on a different course of the same race, and C) faster than last year’s time of 6:36, which I thought was a given.

In the month leading up the race, I struggled with IT band pain, and a combination of high (for me) peak mileage of 64 miles plus running on slanted surfaces like the beach aggravated it to the point that I didn’t run at all for 3 days before the race, scheduling ibuprofen and feeling anxious. It was possible I would run 1-2 miles and then DNF. I adjusted my goals as I lay in bed the night before: 1) Be grateful, 2) Take the downhills hard (if IT band allows), and 3) Run to respect yourself the next day. I thought #3 would mean go hard the last 8 miles rather than cruising in, but it ended up meaning something different.

The weather was terrific: 20s to 40s and sunny and the trail conditions were reportedly the best they will ever be for this race. But the course sits on natural springs and so there was still a fair amount of mud, worse than my muddiest of training runs in Ohio and at times deep enough to come up 2 inches above my ankle. The hills are a bit nasty, even the lead men in the 14 mile race were walking them. And almost the entire course has uncomfortable footing, not with the rocks and roots that I find fun, but with mud, ruts, and debris. By the end of the race I had learned that when I wasn’t sure where the course went and the options were what looked like a nice even trail or a nasty wide ditch of mud, I was supposed to go through the ditch of mud.

Even with my adjusted goals, I still fixated on my pace early on in the race, targeting a 6 hour finish. My legs were tired by mile 13. Whoops. A woman named Victoria caught up with me, also interested in targeting a 6 hour time, so we planned to run together. She was running this 50k as TRAINING for a marathon: crazy! After a few more miles, I was no longer able to maintain the pace I had started with, and I slowed dramatically.

Throughout the run, I recited my goals to myself. As soon I thought, “Be grateful,” I immediately felt better and realized how lucky I was to even be running on such a beautiful day. Even though my second half was slow, I was smiling for most of it. I realized that I am the only person who cares about my time or place, and people who love me care about those things only because I do: If they stopped mattering to me, they wouldn’t matter to my loved ones either. I also realized that I have no business using my GPS watch in race. Pacing should be based on effort level, not pace or place in the field.

Within minutes of the finish, I saw Victoria ahead of me, walking. I could have run hard to try to pass her at the end to finish 3^rd place female, but that wouldn’t be in the spirit of the sport. Instead I jogged in to finish likely 10 seconds behind her in a time of 6:44. This quiet jog to the finish ended up being how I met my goal of respecting myself the next day.

While I failed to achieve my time goals at OPSF 50k, I learned some really valuable lessons. This year, I am targeting sub-24 hours at Burning River as my “A” goal. Without this experience at OPSF, I think I would have been likely to make the same mistakes at Burning River. Now, I will think about that time goal to motivate my training, and if appropriate, at the end of the race, but otherwise put my focus on things like gratitude.

Speaking of gratitude, thank you so much to the RDs and volunteers who made this event possible and fed me grilled cheese when I finished!

Jordan

 

IMTUF 100: Suffer in Splendor

I signed up for the IMTUF 100 as a special treat to myself, a first time “destination” race which looked spectacularly beautiful and would renew my Hard Rock qualification. I intended to be very well trained for this event, but work and travel left me with little time and I was only averaging 25-30 miles a week for the 2 months prior to the race. I knew this meant my likelihood of finishing would be diminished, but I still planned to have fun running in the mountains.

Nathan and I drove to Greenville so my parents could keep Fuller for the trip, then flew to Boise, and drove a beautiful 2 hours north to McCall where we would be staying. The race start/finish was another 50 minutes north at Burgdorf Hot Springs, which is remote enough that in the winter it is only accessible by snowmobile. The course is a 103ish mile mountainous loop between 6000-8000 feet high and with over 20,000 feet of elevation gain. It became clear at the pre-race meeting where many runners were wearing Hard Rock clothing: this race was in another league

The first 25 miles of the course were deceptively easy, with lots of smooth running and no significant climbs. I hit a stretch of flowing downhill single track with 360 degree mountain views at sunrise and couldn’t help giggling with delight. There is an out and back to a picturesque lake which runners gush over in clockwise years (my direction) and which irritates runners in counterclockwise years. I knew there were more challenging sections to come and when I came into the Chinook aid station at mile 16.7 and a volunteer remarked that there were only 23 runners left to come through, I was encouraged that I was being sufficiently conservative.

Runable beginning of race

Loon Lake

I did struggle with a headache starting about 2-3 hours into the race, which I guessed was related to altitude since I was well hydrated. This worsened on the first major climb up Diamond Ridge and I ran out of water shortly before coming to the unmanned water station, which was out of water. Everyone filled up from a stream which was hopefully free of diarrheal illnesses. Eventually, I reached my first drop bag at mile 33 and was able to knock back my now 7 hour headache with some Advil. The RD had warned that the next section could be hot, so I changed out of my long sleeves and ¾ tights in short sleeves and shorts. 

Sampling of more moderately technical trail offered

 

Views like this were throughout the course

Instead of heat, clouds rolled in and it started to rain as temperatures dropped. My windbreaker was enough to keep my body warm but soon my gloves were soaked through and I became worried that the rain wouldn't stop and my lack of waterproof gloves would make it unsafe to run through the night. But it did stop after 2 hours and I was soon cheerfully singing “Here Comes the Sun” while bringing my hands back to life at the 42 mile Duck Creek aid station fire.

I was euphoric as I left the aid station. The only 2 issues I had had so far (headache and cold) had been reversible, my legs felt relatively fresh, I was 30-45 minutes ahead of the 34:30 pace chart I had made for myself, and Nathan would join me as pacer at the next aid station, Snowslide, where pulled pork sliders also awaited. The section before Snowslide was the easiest in the race, a hike up a gentle grade on a dirt road for a couple miles and then a cruise back down. If I had realized there were no more good moods to come for the rest of the race, I would have savored the moment a bit more.

Feeling good at Snowslide Aid. Photo by Danielle Zemola

I ate my pulled pork slider as Nathan and I started up the Snowslide climb, the steepest, most technical ascent of the course. My good mood vanished and I developed what I am calling “bottomless pit syndrome.” I had been eating well throughout the day but was suddenly insatiable and essentially spent the next 4 hours bonking despite eating a TON, sometimes as much as 100 calories every 10 minutes. The unmanned water station here was also out of water, so Nathan’s first section with me was 13 miles unsupported with an irritable bonking runner. I spent 25 minutes at the mile 59 Lake Fork aid station eating pizza because I knew my troubles had to be sorted out before heading into the Crestline section, the most difficult section of the race.

Snowslide

We started the Crestline section a little before midnight, and I was hit with sleepiness like I have never experienced before. After a couple miles of dirt road, we started another steep technical climb, and I all I could think about was sleep. I was barely awake while hiking and sat on a rock intending to take a quick nap. It was at this point that Nathan and I had a heart to heart. The Crestline aid stations were all remote and packed in, so it was a 21 mile section where there is no mechanism to drop. There were several climbs, technical trails, and the most sustained higher altitude of the race, all through the middle of the night. It might be safer to turn around and go back to the previous aid station to drop.

Quitting at this point would have violated 3 of my rules: 1) Fatigue is not a valid reason, 2) No dropping because you expect to miss a cut-off; let them pull you from the course after you DO miss a cut-off, 3) No decisions about dropping may be made while going uphill. The safety concerns made it still a conversation worth having, but ultimately we pressed on with a possibility of a nap at the next aid station. Instead of a nap, I had some instant coffee which woke me up and saved my race. Perhaps the coffee was to blame for the bout of vomiting that hit me in the next section, but that was short lived and didn't slow me down much at all. We finished the Crestline section with an hour cushion on the cut-offs.

Obligatory pic with the goats who kindly packed in my aid

We then got to descend back to 6000 feet, though the “road” that achieved much of this was really a rock garden that was very uncomfortable to run on. My feet were in need of attention because the “moon dust” had infiltrated and was rubbing painfully on the balls of my feet, but I made a costly math error as we were coming in to the mile 88.8 aid station. Adding up my predicted paces for the remaining sections which didn't allow for time spent in aid stations, we would need to make up 20-30 minutes over the next 6 hours. There was no time to work on my feet; I just had to suffer through it.

I realized as we started on the next section that I had miscalculated and we had an hour more than I thought. I stopped a couple times to shake out shoes and change socks but it didn't help. The final climb was a steep 1000 feet leading to the mile 94.2 aid station, with 3.8 miles of slow ascent and another 1000 ft up to the final 98.1 mile aid station. We left 94.2 with a healthy cushion on the cut-off, which was fortunate because every step I took at this point was excruciating, especially when I ran. I thought my hiking pace was reasonable, but it was over 2 hours before we reached the final aid station. I was expecting 4.8 miles of easy descent to the finish, but the volunteers told us it was actually 5.5 miles and the first 4 miles were technical singletrack. We had 1 hour 40 minutes to get there.

As we left, I told Nathan, “I don’t know if I'm going to be able to make it, but I will try.” This was code for, “If you try to push me, I will snap at you,” and he got it. This poor man had an irritable runner for the majority of 55 miles and 23 hours. I insisted on stopping one more time to see if I could improve my foot situation; I wasn't sure if I could run on them at all. I wasted 5 minutes and couldn't help anything. I started running where I could (the rocks were too numerous in some places) and let loose foul language as a coping mechanism for the pain. Then, oh sweet moment, we reached the dirt road to the finish: 1.3 miles and 35 minutes to do it in. Nathan started whooping and I enjoyed the luxury of getting to take some walking breaks. I finished in 35:43:54 to add my hardest fought for belt buckle to my collection.

Finished! Photo by Danielle Zemola

The stress and intensity of racing cut-offs was new to me, and we were in that mode for 18 hours. I'm so grateful that Nathan knew me well enough to know what I needed when I was in danger of DNF (less is more). I have more pride in this belt buckle than any others.

The buckle has a bottle opener

IMTUF was an incredible race with RDs who marked the course expertly and a community who came together to pack in aid stations to remote locations. I was fairly miserable for the majority of the race, and I'd like to come back and do it again sometime when I am adequately trained so I can better enjoy and appreciate it. But first, I need to heal my feet so I can pace Nathan at Grindstone in 3 weeks!

-Jordan

Cry Me a River 100k: Summer Runnin'

The last 3 races I have done have all been in the snow, so I expected heat to bring an additional challenge to yesterday's Cry Me a River 100k. Despite the string of 90+ degree humid days the midwest has been seeing, the forecast indicated a high of only 80 for the race. What luck! It wasn't until the race finished that I realized that the last time I had run this far in the summer was in 2011 at the Burning River 100 miler. The heat and I didn't get along well then, but success at shorter distances over the last couple of summers had led me to believe I had things figured out.

While I had been well prepared for OPSF 50k this March, I had prioritized other things above running over the last 2-3 months, and my fitness had declined:

Still, I managed (thank to impressive efforts by Nathan to rally me during a 90+ degree humid run) a 30 mile training run 3 weeks out, and I trusted my experience to carry me through.

The Cry Me a River race website claims 23,500+ feet of elevation gain over 100 miles, and while I intially expressed my skepticism of this to a local runner (Paul), I became a believer as the triple out and back course allowed me to see every hill six times. The trails weren't technical at all and were impressively dry and hard; my shoes were cleaner when I finished than they had been when I started.

I had my typical plan to walk 1 of out every 10 minutes, but the hills demanded walking more than this. In retrospect, this means that my planned "recovery" while going was consistently replaced by tough uphill hikes. I settled in with a runner named Paul after the few miles, perhaps going a touch faster than I would have alone, but overall comfortable. When we reached the first turn around point at 11 miles, the lead female (last year's winner) greeted us as she ran back out with, "Oh my gosh! There's 5 females within 5 minutes!" I noted this but realized that this early in to the race, the most important thing was to stay steady and be careful not to speed up.

For the next 30-45 minutes, I was able to see the woman ahead of me, Sarka, and I finally caught up to her, thinking we should run together since we had the same pace. I quickly realized this would not work: she was a very strong downhill runner and I ran the gentle inclines while she hiked them. On such an incline, I suddenly found I had passed her and the two women ahead of her. As I came into the 20 mile aid station, I moved in to first place.

The temperatures were rising for the second out and back, and I slowed some as a result. I came to learn that the 4-7.5 mile section of each lap was the toughest, and the return to the start/finish direction was easier than the way out. At the turnaround, I saw Sarka was only 8 minutes behind me (I was not surprised). The other women were further back. I moved a little better on the quicker return trip, but the cumulative hours in the heat, even though it wasn't terribly hot, were adding up. Around mile 38-39, my stomach was sloshing and I hearkened back to Burning River. I needed to get my gut to absorb this water or I was going to end up vomiting and unable to eat. I walked a few minutes without improvement. I was looking forward to taking a wet wipe to the thick layer of salt caked all over my body. That was it--salt! I grabbed a handful of very salty potato chips from the aid station and walked while I let the salt do its trick.

After a few minutes, the stomach slosh was gone, but now I was bonking. I forced down some food, but it was making me nauseous. My breathing was much heavier on the climbs than it should have been. I knew I was dehydrated, so I grabbed a bottle of rocktane to guzzle down as I left at mile 42.

Sarka caught up to me a few miles later, as I had been expecting. She cheered me on and encouraged me: "If you want to race me, just run. I walk all the hills." She said this while setting a blistering pace hiking a steep climb. She was so strong and so friendly about it all. I was genuinely happy for her and felt she deserved the win. At the same time, I had to adjust my goals since now trying to win wasn't realistic. My stomach was acting up again (a poorly guided bite of quesadilla really set me off) and it took my a good 45 minutes to get out of my funk and decide on breaking 17 hours as my new goal. This would still be faster than the previous course record (though this year was admittedly under better conditions). Eating was a real struggle for the rest of the race, but I choked down the calories and made it to the finish line at 16:41. I was 2nd female and 4th overall. Sarka had finished a whole hour before me, and was showered and enjoying a post-race snack when I finished.


As tough as yesterday was, I do feel that I did about as well as I could have given the amount of training I put in. I met some friendly Illinois runners and enjoyed the one patch of hills in a state of fields. All in all, a good (if tough!) experience.

-Jordan

OPSF 50k: Mud Slushies and STUDs ladies sweep

I chose the OPSF 50k largely because of the timing; it fit well in my training plan for IMTUF 100. Though it was a "B" race, I still decided to race it and I set an audacious goal: to win the women's race. I even made it official by telling people (okay, only Nathan and my mom) that this was my goal. Ultimately, this was a huge factor in maintaining consistency in my training over the past 2 months.

This was the first time in several years that I had managed such consistent training prior to a race, with several 50 mile weeks in a row before a short taper.

 

Still, the training was focused on IMTUF as the ultimate goal, and so my hard workouts were uphill intervals 1-3 times a week, with less emphasis on long runs and no running at intensity for longer than 3 minutes at a time.

The race is held at Owen Putnam State Forest near Poland, Indiana and offers 14 mile, 50k, and 50 mile distances on a lollipop course. The trails were rolling with some steep hills (I got 4900 feet of elevation gain over the 50k) and not technical, or wouldn't have been if it weren't for the mud. Apparently there is always some mud on the course, but it started raining and snowing a few hours before the race and we were expecting a day of 33 degrees and precipitation.

I started off at the front of the pack, though I didn't feel like I was going out too hard. My first mile was a little fast at 9:51 (my goal was to average 11:30ish miles and break 6 hours) but it had some road and more downhill than up. By 2 minutes in my feet were wet (and would remain so all day) and by 4 minutes in I was totally alone (and would remain so the majority of the day).

The first time around the "pop" of the lollipop course was mildly unpleasant with about 5% of the course made up of ankle deep slush (water and snow mix) in thick mud that sometimes sank down to cover your leg to mid-calf.  Another 10-15% was more "regular" thick mud that was still slow and exhausting to run in. I was on pace, but when I started the second loop around I realized what an advantage it had been to be at the front of the pack before. Now that 50 plus runners had come through, the majority of the trail was thick mud with even more standing water as it rained. I threw out my pace plans and decided to ignore my watch from there on and just go by effort. I then fell several times in a row, each time in the ankle deep mud water. I took a tree branch to the shin with one fall, ripping my favorite tights and giving myself a several inch long area of bruise/scrape that forced me to walk for a few minutes. My gloves were totally soaked now so I took them off since it was actually colder to have them on.

The run back to the start/finish before headed out for a shorter lollipop was definitely the low point of the race. It was now raining ice (I'm not really sure if it was hail or freezing rain) and also snowing. I couldn't feel my feet to have a sense of the trail beneath me. I had a bit of a mental breakdown with lots of swearing at the start/finish turnaround largely centered on confusion about where the trail was (the markings looked like they were blocking the trail) and inability to find my dry pair of gloves. All of this took about 10 minutes, but on the bright side, I gained about 3 minutes of being able to feel my feet, which was enough to lift my mood.

On the way back, I could see the runners coming in and I knew that I had a comfortable lead on second place. Since there was little point in a time goal now, I decided to just focus on keeping moving without pushing myself too hard so I could jump back into training soon after the race. For the last 3 miles of the race, I teamed up with a runner named Jared, who helped make the last part of the race much more enjoyable. We tied for our finish at 6:37 (7th place overall).

Fuller is modeling the finisher's award here:

And I won a beautiful ceramic plate for winning first female:

Aneta, tough as nails, would stick it out for another 29 miles and was the only female to finish the 50 mile race: only 4 people did total! The conditions were truly a special kind of miserable. It was a STUDs ladies sweep of the ultra events of the day!

The challenge wasn't over after the race, unfortunately, as my drive back through Indianapolis required several hours of 15-30 mph on poorly plowed highways as it actively snowed. I passed ~ 30 wrecks in and around Indianapolis. After waking up at 3 AM to get to the race (and driving through snow on the way there, too), I was totally exhausted by the time I got home. Nathan made a lovely meal of salmon, salad, and twice baked potatoes which was the perfect celebration.

Congratulations to everyone who toughed it out yesterday and thanks so much to all the dedicated volunteers who spent their Saturday in such nasty weather to make the event possible!

Thanks for reading!

-Jordan