Finding My Limit: How I Won the Game of Ultrarunning

I found my limit on September 14, 2023, while running up a small mountain near my home. Close to the summit, my heart flipped into a dangerous rhythm called ventricular tachycardia. This had almost certainly happened before, but this time it stuck. My physician brain interpreted the sudden racehorse sensation in my chest and accompanying lightheadedness, nausea, and shortness of breath in a matter-of-fact way: “This needs to be captured on an EKG.” I walked slowly down the trail, doubling over occasionally when I felt my consciousness ebb, and then drove myself to the emergency department. A month and a dozen medical tests later, I would have my diagnosis: arrhythmogenic cardiomyopathy, and with it, a strict instruction to stop exercising – forever.

Arrhythmogenic cardiomyopathy is a rare progressive heart condition that is made worse by endurance exercise and is a common cause of sudden cardiac death in young athletes. It had been impacting my running in more nebulous ways for the seven months preceding this final run. Waves of lightheadedness were frequent during my runs, and my pace spiraled slower and slower.

As I bumped into a suffocatingly low ceiling on my physical abilities, I knew my shuffling pace would leave no room for error at my favorite races. Striving to compensate with mental strength, I became  increasingly aware of my “why” for ultrarunning: to see what I was capable of--to close the gap between my physiologic potential and my performance. My physical capacity to train diminished at the same time my schedule became more flexible. As a young physician and a mother of three, I had previously trained in the gaps of life, but finally, I was poised to enter decades without pregnancies or residency work hours. The future beckoned me to chase the elusive goal of reaching my physical potential. My body wasn’t cooperating.

Clinging to my goal, I explained away my struggles as lack of mental toughness. I learned to outsmart the confines my wise mind was imposing for my own safety. Puzzled by the uncomfortably sluggish pace my body was adopting, I would fight to go faster, and then find myself suddenly needing to put my head between my knees to gravity-assist my ineffective heartbeats. I ran close to my capacity for months, oblivious that my escalating abnormal heart rhythms brought me to an arrhythmogenic cliff-edge every time I climbed a hill. My mission to close the gap between potential and performance, anticipated as a lifelong quest, came to an anticlimactic end on September 14. I found my limit. You could say I won.

In retrospect, I had abundance in the 14 years I was an ultrarunner. I have had a warm lemon risotto pancake on a snow-covered mountaintop at sunrise. I have cried in relieved jubilation on reaching the finish with minutes to spare. I’ve climbed a mountain so steep I had to sit on a rock to catch my breath. I’ve planned to win a race and slogged through sleet filled mud to do so; I’ve also overestimated my abilities and been humbled. I’ve pouted on a log in the sweltering heat with only the mosquitos to urge me forward. I’ve shivered in the wet cold and received kindness through a pair of gloves from another runner. I’ve had my feet scrutinized and bandaged before being sent back on the trail by the unrelenting ultrarunning community. In short, I’ve experienced the array of discomforts and pleasures that ultrarunning has to offer. The richness of these runs is mine to treasure.

I recognize that framing my journey as a victory is a rationalization that conceals a deep longing. I would much sooner find a new “why” than a new “what.” Still, ultrarunning exists for more than just its athletes. The world outside of exercise is vast. Finger strokes on a keyboard have a power like footfalls on a trail. It’s time for the next chapter.

-Jordan (written in November 2023)

IMTUF Take Two

In 2018, I showed up to the IMTUF 100 with full knowledge that my poor level of training made a finish uncertain and I relied on guts to squeeze in under the 36 hour time limit with only 16 minutes to spare. From the beginning of that race, I was in awe of the beauty and the difficulty of the course and knew that I would have to come back to show the course the respect it deserved by preparing appropriately. I hoped this would translate to less pressure from cut-offs. I also had two specific rather unorthodox goals: 1) Get up the Snowslide climb without having to sit on a rock to catch my breath and 2) Get to Howie Stern's photo-op spots before he had packed up and left (Spoiler alert: he wasn't there).

2019 ended up being the year of plantar fasciitis, and so I did not return to IMTUF that year. In early 2020, I signed up for CTS coaching with IMTUF already on my calendar. My first call with my soon-to-be coach Stephanie Howe showcased her ability to think on her feet when I announced that instead of running 100 miles in September, I would be having a baby in October. She helped me stay active through pregnancy and given the pandemic, I entered 2021 planning to do my "backyard" 100, Grindstone. Then vaccines became widely available for adults and I realized I could return to the race that had my heart, the IMTUF 100. Even better, my best friend Jo Ann was coming to do it as her first 100. I was beginning to think that IMTUF would become "my race," the one I keep coming back to.

Training for IMTUF was punctuated with several weeks on service (2 in July) which allowed very little running and a non-COVID virus (also in July), but having Stephanie to guide my training helped me to be confident that these low volume weeks were not going to wreck my race. Jo Ann was in kick ass shape and I couldn't wait to see what she was going to do on the course, but unfortunately she got injured within 2 weeks of the start and had to sit it out.

Since I had last run IMTUF, the course had been replaced by a "Super Course" because of COVID-related closures, swapping out a couple more regular mountains for harder mountains including a mandatory-walk talus scramble (ie. walk so you don't die) and minimizing the amount of "easy" running. With this harder course, it was hard to predict whether my improved training would actually make finishing more assured. Working to my advantage was near perfect conditions with weather ranging from high 30s to low 70s and some rain the day before to clear the smoky skies.

Our kids are too young to be vaccinated so I traveled alone, but Stephanie had helped me find Erin Peterson, a salt of the earth soul who eeked in crewing a couple of aid stations for me and pacing the final section before and after sweeping a section of the race. Her eagerness to help a stranger is such a model of what is amazing about the sport of ultrarunning.

The Super Course starts with a a very gentle dirt road climb for several miles, and sunrise came just as we were above the clouds to see mountains above the clouds and trees below. 

 

A sign directed us to turn left up "stupid hill" and then we were climbing for real with absolutely amazing views, headed for the peak of Jughandle Mountain. 

 

 

All I could think was: Nathan HAS to come do this. On behalf of John Andersen and Sophie Speidel, I yelled "HELL YEAH!" from the top.

 

Then it was time to descend and my thoughts soon shifted to, "Can I do the climb again instead?" and "I am never doing the Super Course again." I knew we would be scrambling on rocks but I wasn't prepared for just how technical it would be. I generally wanted 3-5 points of contact at all time (yep, I used my butt too) and I apologized to the 20-30 people who passed me over 1/4 mile. The first aid station came later than advertised (a general theme of IMTUF as the distances between aid stations may have been based on GPS estimates on a cloudy day). Still, it was on a beautiful lake and volunteers gave me a pancake.

I was feeling good at this point, we were going up and down as mountain ultras do, and I was still in laughing-at-how-beautiful-everything-was mode.

I saw my crew at the 20-23 mile aid station (who knows the real distances). I knew I needed to stay on top of my feet since they were the limiting factor in 2018, but these were feeling good. I grabbed some potato chips and headed into a couple of runnable dirt/rock road miles leading up to the infamous Crestline section (hard for the old course, average for the Super Course). I was moving well and then choked a little bit on a running product I was eating, stimulated my gag reflex, and suddenly felt very nauseous. A few minutes later I was vomiting several times. Whoops. I gave myself 30 minutes to let the stomach settle and was settled in to the tough Falls Creek climb before I tried to eat again, spreading out my 100 calories over 10-15 minutes. Hooray, it stayed down!

It was great to see the Crestline section as this had fallen during miles 60-80 when I did the race before, so it was all dark. However, I did find myself thinking, "Now I've seen pretty much the whole course in the daylight, so I don't need to do this race again." The Crestline is beautiful, but also long, remote, and with lots of climbing. I started to note my feet rubbing and had a consult with Jer the RD himself at the South Crestline aid station about lube versus large band-aids and at his advice I reapplied some vasoline to my feet. Later, I found I had miscalculated the calories I would need for this section but Irene and her goats loaded me up with lots of PB&J tortillas and extra Gu. 

 

My stomach was a little unsettled after this section and my feet were still rubbing. This was mild, but the race wasn't even halfway over and I knew I needed to address this quickly. So once I arrived at North Crestline Aid Station just after sunset, I took some time to let food settle and to reconsider my feet. I was carrying large band-aids Jer had given me as a back-up plan and I found a source of wisdom and experience (I never learned his name) at North Crestline who taped the bandaids to my feet and gave me the roll of tape so I could fix it again later. This was like magic as I was entering a very runnable, downhill, make-up-time section -- as long as your feet can handle the rocks.

My feet were fine and I overall moved well. However, my stomach did not like prolonged stents of running and I had some more vomiting at some point over the next few hours. This was frustrating since I was on relatively easier sections with legs that felt okay, but I went with what I had and walked more to help keep calories down. My go-to savory items at aid stations (chips, PB and J) were making things worse, so I was eating more sugary sports products and my stomach was ready to be done with those. It was so nice to brush my teeth at 4 AM (any 100 miler newbies reading this -- this is so key!) and my drop bag Starbucks frappuccino sat well on my stomach. I started up the Snowslide climb and had more goodies in my pack to eat on the way: finally some savory items that settled well, a pierogi and potatoes. The climb was tough, it was around mile 70 on the new course (previously around mile 50) and this year I was especially finding that I got very short of breath with any climbing at all beginning around 7000 ft of elevation. BUT, I think I achieved my goal. That is to say, I did sit on a rock briefly, but it was kind of an accident when I was turning around to try to see where the trail went in the dark. Those who have done the course will understand how the steepness can lend itself to "accidentally" sitting on a rock. When I got to the top, all the climbing on the balls of my feet had rearranged my foot taping, but my volunteer hero had stuck the tape in my pack so I could fix it on the trail to be able to run some chunks of the long descent from Snowslide as the sun rose.

I had been hoping I would be all the way past the Snowslide descent by sunrise, but since this was the last part of the course I hadn't yet seen in daylight, I could feel very comfortable with my decision to never do IMTUF again, except as crew/pacer. I wasn't having fun (turns out even training well doesn't make a super hard 100 pleasant) and it was helpful to cope with almost all the sections being long by reassuring myself that I would never have to do it again. I knew I was okay on cut-offs and didn't feel particularly motivated to push for some arbitrary time goal that I wouldn't be able to judge accurately because no one knows the real distances. So, while I was still moving, several people passed me in this section even though nothing was really wrong with me. I just didn't have the motivation to push a little bit harder to keep up with them.

Enter the penultimate section. This climb was very long, and higher than any other, which meant more time above my East Coast "I can't breathe" threshold. I think my fatigue may have translated to even less ability to capture the beauty with my camera (and let's admit it, also with my soul).

A couple miles after the summit, I was getting really good at hallucinating the aid station. It wasn't coming. Throughout IMTUF, the course is quite "creative," often not on a real trail but designed to show you something beautiful or do something epic. (This comes with markings that are truly a labor of love with a level of dedication I have never encountered from another RD). So given all of this, I am trying to give Jer the benefit of the doubt that there was some real reason for us to cut down the mountain on non-trail rough ground, wind down a dirt road, then cut back up the mountain on more non-trail, etc. But at the time, it seemed nuts.

I finally arrived at the last aid station, excited to begin the 6-7 mile descent to the finish with Erin as pacer. However, the aid station captain told me with confidence that it was actually 9.4 miles to the finish. Well, actually some runners were reporting 12 miles on their watches. With 3.5 hours left in the race, suddenly the cut-off was in play. We set out and instead of descending, we were going back up. We soon passed a sign that said 6.5 miles to the finish, but Erin told me I couldn't believe it. My watch was dead so I asked her to call out when we hit each mile so I could judge my pace. The first mile (including a climb but also some descent) was 24+ minutes. "That is not okay!!" I yelled. It was time to convert my ultra-shuffle to a jog. I'd argue I even got to a run (you know, the 10-11 min/mi kind of run). It actually felt okay but I wasn't 100% sure if I could sustain it for 8-11 miles. More signs came (4 miles to finish) and Erin checked her map. She decided the signs were probably accurate and it definitely wasn't 12 miles. I left myself walk some short hills. Then something wasn't right; I had pulled my quad in my over-exuberance to beat the cut-offs. So, it was back to ultra-shuffle on in to the finish. I crossed in 34:26 and got to pick a colored belt buckle as a 2nd time IMTUF finisher.

I then quickly spread the word that I was done with IMTUF. I asked Jer if the Super Course was here to stay and he said it likely was. Great, confirmation that I don't need to do this race again.

24 hours. Ha! I was already thinking about coming back as I drove away from the finish line. I still need my epic Howie Stern photo.

-Jordan

UROC 100k: Bounce Back from Baby

Running a 100k less than 7 months after having a baby takes a combination of great support and good luck. My support came especially from my husband, Nathan, as we generally plan our weeks around ensuring both of us get our runs in, and my coach, Stephanie Howe. I found out I was pregnant as I was in the process of hiring Stephanie. Stephanie would have her own beautiful baby boy two months after Caleb was born. Stephanie helped me keep moving during pregnancy and I was ready to start training again soon after delivery, so I decided to use my COVID-19 rollover entry to UROC 100k.

UROC (I cringe to admit that stands for Ultra Race of Champions) strives to entice elite athletes with a large cash purse for top 5 runners of each gender. COVID brought several changes this year: no cash purse (thus fewer elites), a 5 PM start to distance 100k runners from 50k/25k runners who would start in the morning, and, announced only 1 week before the race, an entirely different course involving repeats of out and backs almost entirely gravel road. The course change made me seriously consider skipping the race, but I was eager to race and needed to remember how to run for > 10 hours in anticipation of a fall 100 miler. Since now the course wouldn't be technical at all, I picked a reach goal of sub-12 hours to help me get excited again. I planned to schedule walking every 10 minutes since the course would be so runnable, but Stephanie told me not to be so rigid and conservative; she wasn't worried about me going out too fast. Gulp.

The first few miles were through grass and involved summiting a treeless mountain during a wind advisory - the wind was quite impressive and I hadn't calmed my pre-race jitters well enough to enjoy the 360 views. An early out and back gave me far too early information that I was 3rd female; I was running with an F6 bib but it seems a few of the women seeded above me chose not to start. I calmed down when we hit the gravel and began a section I had interpreted as "rolling" when looking at the elevation profile. While the hills were less than a mile each for this section, they were quite steep and contributed to the total 10k of vert. I was hitting my paces for a sub-12 hour finish (checking only at aid-stations as I had disabled the distance and pace functions on my watch), but I quickly realized that the amount of climbing the course included made sub-12 a less appropriate target. I stopped checking my pace chart altogether.

Miles 8-16 were a long, mostly gentle descent, and I ran the whole thing, chatting intermittently with a woman named Llewelyn who reported she had never showed up for an event so undertrained. Ha! She ran really strong and we spent more than 1/2 the race within 2 minutes of each other, cheering each other on at the many turn-around points. The sun went down while we climbed back up, and I found my body transitioning to "let's go to bed" mode as early at 8 PM. This was probably the closest I got to a low the whole race, so I just took my time climbing back up and ultimately decided to start taking caffeinated products a little earlier than planned, around 8:30 PM. The last section to the halfway point was only 1.7 miles, but most of it was climbing and it was quite slow. I took note that it might be tough to have much of a finishing kick the next time I returned there.

The halfway point had 2 treats awaiting me: a bottled Starbucks frappacino (SO GOOD!!) and my friend Adele, who ran a few miles with me and helped me navigate the grassy section in the dark since the flags used to mark the course had no reflective element. She then turned around so she could meet me again later. A short out and back revealed that the women ahead of me were nowhere in sight. This was no surprise, particularly as elite runner Aliza Lapierre was leading the race. Llewelyn was right behind me at this 36-mile turn around point and I realized that if I wanted to gap her, I should use the upcoming long descent with 10 miles of no turn-arounds to do it. I pushed just a little bit on the descent, mostly trying to help gravity to help me. Looking back, my splits were still 1 min/mile slower than they had been on the way out, but this was the main section where I passed runners. Overall, I was impressed that I seemed to be surrounded by experienced runners who knew how to pace well as my place in the pack didn't change much outside of this section.

The mile 46.6 turnaround had 3 treats! Adele was there to run with me again, I had opened up a 16 minute gap on Llewlyn, and I had never seen the woman who had been running in 2nd. So I was now running in 2nd place with a comfortable lead on 3rd and legs that felt strong. I was excited to go headlamp hunting on the climb back up, but what had been mild nausea the last few miles escalated a bit. I needed to walk a few minutes anytime I was due to force down calories. There were several sections my legs felt strong enough to run but my stomach advised I walk. It was nice to have Adele with me for another 6+ miles since my slowed pace meant I didn't catch anyone and was otherwise totally alone.

My stomach started to settle by mile 55 and I tried to pick up my effort a bit more, worried that I had lost my gap since Llewlyn had proved herself a strong climber. The final turnaround showed that I had maintained it, so I finished relieved that I didn't have to "race" up the final grassy climbs. My time was 12:46 for second female; final results aren't posted yet but I suspect Aliza Lapierre was far enough ahead that she may have already been back home by the time I finished. Lleywelyn looked great as she finished not too far behind!

24 hours out from my finish, my legs are tired, but I have more pelvic I-just-had-a-baby soreness than regular running soreness. The sleepiness after the finish was intense. I don't mean to imply that 32 is "old," but staying up all night is getting harder the older I get! I'm grateful to the race volunteers for filling my bottles and making the race happen, Adele for coming out to run with me IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, Stephanie for helping me get to the start line fit and ready, and Nathan for helping me get runs in and feeding me so well while training + breastfeeding.

Fall race plans are 99% set but don't want to say for sure here lest I jinx it :)

Thanks for reading!

Jordan

Frozen Sasquatch 50K: Emerging

Last year, I ran the Frozen Sasquatch 50K as a way to get a long run in during back-to-back service months in residency. Now, time is my own in a way it hasn't been for seven years. Yet the majority of my running in 2019 was defined by plantar fasciitis, which initially made me stop running altogether before I slowly started building back up with a new way of running. I discovered that if I run without letting my heels touch the ground, it doesn't bother my plantar fascia and often even helps it. After building enough strength to run this way, I've been lucky enough to discover a new running friend to share miles with the last few months. Between my schedule flexibility and her friendship, I've had good consistent running, with my lower mileage periods in response to running needs rather than scheduling needs.

It had already been raining for a day or two when the Frozen Sasquatch 50K started, and the rain mostly continued during the race. Thankfully, West Virginia trails hold up against rain much better than Ohio trails. The race starts with an immediate climb (the first of three per loop, six total) and I was already breathing hard as we hiked up. However, we were soon running easy along the ridgeline behind a long line of 25k runners who had taken an alternate route up the mountain. I met Kim from Pittsburgh at this point, and enjoyed chatting with her as we ticked off miles that were fairly consistently a little quicker than I expected. I don't think I appreciated last year just how runnable the majority of this course is. We also met up with Sean Humphrey from Dayton and enjoyed a few miles with him. By the end of the loop, they started to pull ahead (I probably should have let them go sooner) and I came through the halfway point around 2:54.

Breaking 6 hours was my "reach" goal. I had run 6:41 here last year, but I knew I was in better shape now. A 2:54 first lap would probably be about perfect to break 6, but this was assuming I had paced wisely. Instead, I found that I was having to work a good bit harder to keep a steady pace even as early as 18-20 miles. The second climb of the second lap made it clear that taking a shot at that goal would require a greater level of hurt than I was willing to endure that day. I settled in at a slower pace with an adjusted goal of 6:11, which would be 30 minutes faster than the year before. This kept me motivated to move but was still comfortable.

I knew it was going to be close. The last mile involves a quite technical descent on many switchbacks. It was risky to push the pace until the course opened up on a gravel road. Unfortunately, I tried to speed up one step too early. I caught a rock and went flying. I lay there where I faceplanted, first making sure I hadn't dislocated my GOOD shoulder (okay, just sore) and then trying to understand why I couldn't move my right leg (my calf had cramped up and I had to wait a while for it to relax before I could get up). When I got up, I realized that my knee hurt quite a bit and I didn't particularly want to run on it. But I wanted my 6:11, so I grimaced my way to the finish line (crossing in 6:11!) where I would discover my knee looked like this:




 Kim would crush the second lap to finish in 5:58 for 3rd female. I ended up 4th female, 21st overall.

My legs actually feel pretty good now; I think the more consistent mileage leading up to the race helps. My knee is sore, but I think I'll be able to run again in a few days.

The rest of 2020 plans are still up in the air now, but I'm currently signed up for the Ultra Race of Champions 100k in Virginia on May 2-3. Happy trails!

-Jordan

10 Lessons from 10 Years of Ultrarunning

January 2^nd will mark my 10 year anniversary of my first ultra: the Tsali Frosty Foot Fest 50k. I’ve run a few miles and races since then (not much compared to some), but I do feel I have learned some lessons during that time, many of which would have surprised me back in 2010. Of course this is only based on my individual experience, but I hope it is helpful to newcomers and resonates with veterans of the sport!

10. Mornings are where it’s at.

For those of us with a job and a family (most of us), the early mornings are the most protected time for getting runs in. Sometimes this means runs have to happen at 4 AM. But aside from when I’m on call, I’ve never had anything external to myself keep me from running in the wee hours. Later in the day, work inevitably goes longer than expected and any time spent running is time away from family. Night time runs either don’t happen or lead to trouble falling asleep when I try to go to bed soon afterwards. To ensure the run happens, it’s best to get up and go.

9. When in doubt, go uphill.

I’ve had a vast variety of running injuries during the past 10 years. A common, but not universal, theme is that pain improves or resolves when I am running uphill. Many a run has been salvaged by turning to the treadmill and bumping up the incline (slowing down the pace to keep the effort level consistent) until the pain goes away. Similarly, injuries tend to crop up when I am trying to do lots of fast running on flat or even downhill surfaces. Keeping the higher intensity mostly on an uphill lets me get the training stress without setting off injuries.

8. Scenery and aid station fare are totally legit criteria to base race selection on.

I have definitely selected races in the past based on photos of mountains and/or lists of tasty food available. A course designed to highlight natural beauty and aid stations that are going above and beyond are signs that the race organization is taking extra effort to take care of its runners. I have “forever’ memories of flowing singletrack trails with 360 degree mountain views at IMTUF and warm lemon risotto pancakes in the snow at sunrise at Blood Rock. Food and views can carry you through when other things aren’t going well.

7. 10 minute miles are not slow.

Though I should know better, it still makes me cringe a little bit to admit that my true easy pace on hilly roads is in the 10:30 min/mile range. High school cross country training runs were never truly easy and when I was marathon training, I used the “Run less, Run faster,” plan which had ALL of your running at a faster pace. Running slower than a 10 minute mile was a sign that something was wrong, like I had just given blood or was ill. Early in my ultrarunning days, my running friends were often faster than me and I worked hard to keep up with them, then tried to keep my pace similar to what they run on other days as well. Now, I often settle in to a pace above the dreaded double digit mark any time I am running easy, which is most of the time. I may be a little slower than in the past, but I think more than that, I’m smarter. Easy miles are easier to maintain and build on without injury. There’s nothing magical about the 10 min/mile pace separating “runners” from “joggers,” and you can be a very serious runner while running very slowly.

6. Having a crew/pacers is more about creating memories than finishing the race.

Going in to my first 100 mile race, I wrote 2 typed single spaced pages of instructions and tips to my crew. I thought they were invaluable to my success. In reality, they were quite helpful, but they were only necessary because I had made up my mind that they were. Since then, I have done races up to 100 miles uncrewed which have been no more difficult to complete than that first very well supported attempt. Other races have allowed Nathan to join me at the halfway point to run the second half with me. He provides encouragement and makes aid stations more efficient, but really the point is for us to share the experience together, a rare period of hours together without interruption.

5. Infertility, pregnancy, delivery, and breastfeeding are big deals.

Every year or two, a story comes out about a woman breastfeeding at aid stations on her way to a spectacular performance at an ultra. This led me to believe that this was a requirement to being a “badass” and that women who couldn’t do this simply weren’t as tough. But there are so many factors that need to be “going well” other than raw toughness for this to work. Motherhood has influenced my running more than anything else over the past 10 years:

- Infertility led to psychological distress about the entirely unscientific possibility that skipping a run could increase changes of getting pregnant. It also prevented any long-term running related planning.

- Aside from pregnancy making running physically more challenging, there are similar psychological fears about hurting your baby while running, which were reinforced when I spent the night in a hospital after a hard fall during a trail run at 31 weeks.

-Most women have stories of some sort of complication with delivery. My OB didn’t clear me to run until 8 weeks after delivery and I didn’t feel physically ready any sooner than this.

-Before 6 months age, breastfed babies get all of their calories from their mother. So if you are running and breastfeeding, the number of calories you need to take in is even more than regular running AND you have to time arrival at aid stations with when your baby is hungry. Miscalculating this led me to DNF a 27K I was trying to breastfeed through when Fuller was 4 months old. The “WOW” stories of breastfeeding ultrarunners mostly involve older infants, and I don’t think it is a coincidence that these infants are less strictly dependent on their mothers AND their mothers have had more time to recover from delivery. All of these periods of young motherhood have very direct impacts on running and none of that makes mother runners any less tough.

4. Training matters…

There have been a few races (generally before all of the events in the point above) that I have been well prepared for headed in to them, and it has paid of. At the end of 2010, I ran the North Face 50 Mile in Atlanta, Georgia and was able to work up the pack to ultimately share a podium with Nikki Kimball while she was still in her prime. Okay, she was over 2.5 hours ahead of me, but this was still an incredible achievement for me that wouldn’t have been possible if I had not been physically prepared. In contrast, I tried to run the Iron Mountain 50 this past summer after minimal running for 3-4 months leading up to it because of injury, and while my early DNF was multifactorial, lack of fitness was probably the biggest reason I dropped.

3. ...but training only influences enjoyment so much.

In spite of the experiences above, the finish I take the most pride in to date is my finish at IMTUF. I was coming in to the race on a laughable 25-30 miles per week average for the last few months, mostly organized in an ill-advised alternating 10 miles per week with 40 miles per week fashion. I wasn’t sure if I could finish, and reaching the finish with 16 minutes to spare before the final cut-off took a new level of grit. I doubt better fitness would have made the mountains any more spectacular than they already were. Training is rarely perfect, and even if goals need to be adjusted, going ahead with races with different expectations is almost always worth it.

2. Undertraining is not a character flaw.

Do you ever feel guilty for not meeting your training goals? This is a universal experience of being a serious runner, right? But there are usually good reasons for failing to fulfill your plans: work demands, family obligations, illness, injury. All of these SHOULD take priority over running and that’s okay! Even if the reason for missing runs isn’t so clearly justifiable, that’s still okay, because…

1. I do this for myself.

I hear some ultrarunners claiming that their motivation for running is selfless, for example to inspire their children. They also speak of providing crew the “privilege” of helping them in their races. I don’t doubt they genuinely believe this, but I can’t find ultrarunning to be anything other than a selfish pursuit. I take time from my family to run for my own mental and physical well-being. Especially as a woman, there is some societal pressure that all your actions should be devoted to others’ welfare. But there is nothing inherently “bad” about doing something for yourself, even if it is something that takes a tremendous amount of commitment. We run because we love running, not because we love others. It’s okay to do both!

Do you agree? What are the major lessons you have learned from ultrarunning?

-Jordan

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

 

Frozen Sasquatch 50K: Free Miles

It’s hard to run consistently when I’m on service, and right now I’m just over halfway through a 2 month stretch of service. I signed up for the Frozen Sasquatch 50k as “free miles,” that is, 31-32 of them without the mental difficulty of sloughing out a long run alone. It also helped me do my best to get my runs in over the last month, though I didn’t train specifically for this race (max run was 16 miles, and I didn’t run at all for nearly 2 weeks when I should have been peaking for this race). Finally, a beautiful course with great support and good company is a good reminder that I like ultrarunning, helpful when winter and work encourage me to stay in bed when that 4 AM alarm goes off.

I got up at 3 AM to drive the 3.5 hours to Kanawha State Forest in West Virginia in time for the race start. It had rained the whole afternoon/evening/night leading up to the race and then stopped right before the race started, leaving muddy trails but no active precipitation (and even some sunshine!) for the race itself. It was a little cool to start (40 degrees) so I wore the amazing smartwool hat provided as race swag.

The course is 2 laps of a 15.8 mile loop, each with 3 significant (~600 foot) climbs up mountains. The first begins only ¼ mile into the race. Early hiking: free miles! We then ran along the ridgeline awhile (beautiful running = free miles). The descent that followed was on a wide gravel trail/road, making a quick pace very easy: free miles! There was some mud which occasionally made singletrack descent comparable to skiing and rarely caused ankle deep mud puddles on the gravel/dirt trail, but really it didn’t significantly slow the course. After the second climb, we were treated to some flowing singletrack switchbacks, but the course was still too crowded at this point to be able to really cruise down it. A mile of flat road followed: free FAST miles!

I stopped at the second aid station to pick up some pringles and was walking to eat them when I saw a man with a camera. Okay, I’ll run and smile to try to get a good picture. I was working hard to look happy and take a good picture when Sasquatch himself jumped out from behind a rock and roared. I think everyone for half a mile heard my scream, and my hands flew up before settling in to hug it out with Sasquatch. And now I had an adrenaline kick for the third climb!

After the third climb, we had some easier running for awhile before descending sharply on switchbacks to go through the start/finish (my split was around 3:11 when I did so). Even though many of the runners I had been around the whole first lap were doing the 50k, once the 25k runners stopped, the course went from being a little crowded to totally empty. I passed one runner on the first climb, and then went a whole 10 miles without seeing another runner. I was a little tired and had slowed a bit (about 1 minute/mile), but probably could have run a little quicker if I had the right motivation. Then with 5 miles to go, I saw a woman (I later learned her name was Emily, wife of Sasquatch) ahead of me. I actually said out loud, “Jackpot!” Perhaps “jackrabbit” would have been more accurate, because 1 minute later she looked back, saw me, and took off.

I caught her 1-2 miles later at the last aid station and tried to pick up my pace for what I knew was a fast/easy last section. But then 2 miles later, I found myself running toward Emily. She was right and I was wrong, of course, but I was stubbornly confident that I had been following markers the whole way. We stood there a few minutes, pulling out Emily’s map and finally deciding that I had done something wrong and a little extra (free miles!) before the next runner came up behind Emily as the confirmatory tiebreaker.

When I crossed the finish line, John Denver’s “Country Roads,” was playing. My time was 6:41 but I’m encouraged that my detour/standing around to look at the map falsely inflated my second lap split, so I didn’t slow down quite as much as the time would imply. Finishers all received smartwool socks (yes!) and BBQ lunch (perfect post-race food).

After driving back home, I was surprised that my legs were fine getting out of the car and walking in: success! My Salmings are done: the holes in the side are big enough now that rocks were slipping in the shoes that was during the race.

Overall, I was super pleased with the race course and organization and look forward to doing more West Virginia races!

-Jordan