Friday, November 18, 2016

What's Next?

All endurance runners get this question, and ask it of themselves, especially after a race.  What's next?  Especially after a 100, it's almost a "How are you going to top that?" 

The answer is, I'm probably not.  100s are hard.  Not just the race, but all the training.  And they prey on your weaknesses.  Let's break it down.

My Strengths:
  • No sleep issues.  I don't think I even yawned once in either 100.  This would serve me even better in tougher 100 milers.
  • Persistence.  Mentally I usually stay pretty strong, even in multi-loop 100 milers were it would be so easy to drop while steps from my car.
  • Speed and endurance.  For races with reasonably generous time limits, I usually stay safely ahead of cut-offs, which gives me a lot of buffer if things do go wrong.
  • Race prep.  I'm a planner.  I read all I can about races, and I'm rarely surprised or unprepared.
  • Training.  I'm fortunate to be retired early, so I've got plenty of time and flexibility to get all the training in I need, including the long slow runs so important for the longer ultras. 
My Weaknesses:
  • Eating.  I'm a very picky selective eater to begin with.  I know some of you will be shocked to hear this. ;-) For example, just the smell of peanut butter makes me a little ill.  I'll get to an aid station and know I need to eat, but I won't see anything that really appeals to me so I'll grab a few pretzels and go.  Being able to take in fuel is essential for a long race, and I have trouble with it. 
  • Feet.  My feet probably take the biggest beating in most runs. Even with the well-cushioned Altra Olympus I use a lot, the bottoms of my feet are very sore late in a run, and after.  I last longer on soft trails over roads, but rocky trails are probably the worst.  Hokas are too narrow for me, btw. When I get out of bed in the morning, it's a hobble, mostly due to my feet hurting.  Not just a little bit, it's a full-on old man hobble, and I usually grab the hand rail my first time down the stairs. 
  • Knees.  I had a fluke ski accident in 2012, and tore my ACL, MCL and meniscus.  Surgery was  successful, and I've now run more marathons and ultras since the accident than before.  I also ski as aggressively as before.  But, I don't think the knee is 100% stable, which gives me problems on technical climbs and descents.  I start to get just a bit wobbly, and as I continue, the wobbling puts more stress on my knee, and I feel more pain and weakness.  It's not bad, but it's enough to slow me down, and truthfully, it's just not fun.  Instead of bombing down hills, I'm carefully picking my way to reduce the strain.  Even flatter technical trails become a challenge.  There's no joy in it.
  • Age.  I just turned 55.  I haven't lost that much speed, but I have lost some.  Recovery takes longer.   The direction is clear, but fortunately the fade is slow.
I like running on roads.  Paved, dirt, whatever.  I like running on rail trails.  I like running on technical trails.  I like running alone.   I like running with people.  I guess what I'm saying is, I like running.  And I want to keep running for as many years as I can, and I want to keep enjoying it.

So where does that leave me? 

Mountain 100s are out.  All those things I listed under weaknesses would really make it tough.   I think I could finish with the longer cut-off times, but I don't think I'd like it.  I want to do some trail runs for fun with friends, but not all the time out of necessity for training.

Flat 100s, I'm not too excited about anymore.  I got my goal, so I don't know what would motivate me to get me through the training and race again.  I felt like Tunnel Hill training took over my life this year and I don't really like that.  It wasn't even a very fun race, more of a survive and grind it out day.

Never say never, but 100s seem to be out.  Maybe I'll have a change of heart and put in for Western States in 2018, or find another race that intrigues me, but as of now I'm saying I'm done.

I've never done a 100K, and haven't had much success with 50 milers.  I'm not ruling them out, but I'm not too fired up to do another.  Comrades (56M in South Africa) interests me.  Maybe I'll try to finally do well at Mountain Masochist, or do something else local like Bull Run Run or Stone Mill.

Marathons and 50Ks seem to be in my wheelhouse.  A few hours and done.  I've got those pretty well dialed in that I can give a good constant effort and feel good about it.  I can run one hard and still enjoy the rest of a vacation if it's a destination race.  I'm still ahead of the curve on qualifying for the Boston Marathon, and would like to stay there, even if I don't do that race every year.  I think I can still hold up well even on mountain 50Ks so I'll still do some of them, but it won't be my focus. 

So there it is, marathons and 50Ks are mostly what I'll be doing. That tells you something about the people I hang around with, that I have to rationalize "only" doing 26-31 mile races.

Specifically for 2017, I'm doing the Boston Marathon in April.  I might do a Monday-Saturday double by following it up with the Blue Ridge Marathon in Roanoke, and maybe even a triple with the Promise Land 50K a week later.

Registration doesn't open yet, but I am probably going to take a trip out to Washington state for the Light at the End of the Tunnel marathon in June.  Less certain about fall, but a return to the Peak to Creek Marathon is possible.

Thursday, November 17, 2016

The Quest for Sub-24 at Tunnel Hill

Last year when I finished the Umstead 100, one of my motivations was to never have to do that again.  But, I never said I wouldn't.  Just that I didn't have to.  I felt I left a lot on the table, walking the last 30 miles (partly out of necessity), and could do better.  I decided I wanted to do one under a day (24 hours).  After some research, Tunnel Hill in Vienna, IL, fit the bill well.  Flat, non-technical rail trail, with plenty of access to crew and/or drop bags, and a good chance of decent weather.

After a rough start with posterior tibial tendonitis in the spring, training went very well.  Once I got rolling, I was generally hitting 60-80 miles/week, peaking at 109, with a lot of time logged on rail trails similar to the course.  This included two 50K "training races" at New River Trail and High Bridge Ultra.  I stayed injury free...almost...

Sometime in the final weeks, I developed a heel pain.  I couldn't even isolate it to the back or bottom, as the pain seemed to move.  Maybe it was the lower achilles, or maybe it was PF, or maybe something else entirely.  I'm not sure exactly when it started, but 2 weeks out I backed down even more than a normal taper, and shut down for the final week.  The good news is that it seemed to mostly hurt only after runs or in the morning before I got moving.  Sleeping in a Strassburg sock for the last week seemed to help.  I hoped that it wouldn't hurt while running during the race, but I knew the aftermath would be bad.  It's common for niggles appear late in training and then disappear on race day, but deep down I knew this was more than a niggle.

I made a pre-race shoe adjustment.  Rather than the zero drop Altra Olympus I had planned to run in, I went with my old reliable Mizuno Wave Precisions, figuring they would cause less strain on the back of my foot.  These are road shoes I've worn since my first marathon in 2001 and most marathons since then, and have logged many hundreds of rail trail miles in them.  They aren't even made anymore, but I had hoarded something like 8 pair when I found out they went out of production.  This was not a high risk change.

I drove most of the way to the race 2 days early, on my 55th birthday, so I could relax the day before the race.  Slept well, and finished the drive and checked out some of the course.  Vienna only has a flea bag motel, so I stayed a half hour away in Marion, where I again slept well the night before the race.  The weather shaped up nicely.  High 30s at the start, high of 58, and overnight low of 30.  Clear and not much wind (especially for the plains), and just a bit of damp chill at night.  And just a day before the super moon!

My crew and pacer meet me in Marion.  My nephew Kyle started the weekend as the family record holder for 100 miles, but he'll have to try to take it back at Rocky Raccoon in a couple months, which he's very capable of doing.  We've now actually each held the mark twice.  He's crewed the current Badwater record holder and two time champ, plus I always enjoy running with him, so he was ideal to be my crew chief and pacer.  My older brother Jim also came out.  Growing up I had an advantage over just about every other kid around because of all the time Jim spent with me on all sports.  He doesn't really run too much, so mostly he was there as secondary support and to help Kyle with the drive back to Nebraska.  I was in great hands, and I relied heavily on them because I mostly use my own food and drink rather than from the aid stations.

Tunnel Hill is a pretty big race for ultras, with 475 starters between the 100 and 50.  209 started the 100, but 99 dropped to the 50 at some point during the race, and 9 DNF, so less than a 50% finish rate for the 100.  While it's nice to get credit for a finish even if you can't do the full 100, personally I feel if 100 is your goal, you need to treat it as all or nothing.  50 as a safety net shouldn't be considered.  But for those pushing time limits or unable to get in the needed training, it's nice to be able to give 100 a shot and still have a nice consolation prize.  Needless to say, getting a 50 mile finish wasn't at all on my mind.

The course goes ~13 miles in one direction and back to Vienna, and ~12 the other way and back, for 50 miles.  Repeat for 100.  Crews can help at the s/f midpoint, and at aid stations about 10 miles out on each spur, and again at the same place after the turnaround.  11 points in all during the race.  I can't tell the exact mileage of the legs because distances and aid station mileage just didn't add up right.  A couple other runners I talked too the day before the race said the same thing, and we all laughed that we didn't want to be "that guy" who asked about exact mileage.  But really it was annoying that you'd see different mileages listed in different places on their website and docs.  The only difference between the first and second times was a 1/4 mile loop around the parking lot to spread out the field at the start, and I think the RD just fudged some numbers to try to make it come out or at least show as 50+50.  Just for example, one section was listed as 4 miles the first time, and the exact same section was 4.6 the second time.  Impossible. Garmin/Strava came out to 50.3/50 for me.

My race plan was to run for 8 minutes and walk for 2, repeating as long as possible.  The max slope was 2% on either side of the tunnel we went through, and mostly it was dead flat.  Since there was nothing about the course to dictate walking, and I knew I couldn't run the whole 100 miles, I figured I was better off with a run/walk from the start.  From my training, 22 hours seemed doable.  If everything went great, I could do better, and if not, I had 2 hours of buffer to still break 24.  Beyond that, I wanted to break Kyle's mark of 25:08, then my PR of 26:23, and finally to beat the 30 hour race cutoff.  I planned for 5 hours on the first 26, same for the next 24, than 6 for each the second time around, but that was a target, not a goal.  Sub-24 hours was the #1 goal.

OK, finally the race itself.  I was relieved at the start to have no pain at all in my heel.  With the big crowd, my 8/2 run/walk meant I was getting passed by some people while walking and then having to pass them back when running.  It was only annoying with one or two clumps of people who were taking up the width of the trail, but after a couple miles I just extended my run a bit to stay ahead of them until the packs unclumped.  Things seemed great.  I was more on a 20 hour pace than 22, and felt very comfortable.

Somewhere around mile 4 or 5, the heel pain came back.  Every time my left foot landed, I felt it, and it gradually got worse.  It also hurt while walking, and no matter what pace I ran, so I pretty much kept the same pace.  I tried to blank it out, but couldn't.  Music didn't help.  My gait must've changed a bit, as my hips and back started to ache.  I saw my crew just before mile 11, and when they asked how it was going I gave a very non-committal "OK".   I felt worse when I saw them at mile 16 after the first turnaround, and had Kyle walk with me a bit after the aid station to fill him in.  I really didn't want to start on the Advil so early but we decided it was needed. 

The next 10 miles were black.  The pain got worse, and made me nauseous.  I'm a terrible eater during ultras and knew I'd probably stop eating solid food at some point, but this early was ridiculous.  I was basically going into survival mode by mile 18.  I had to go with my alternate nutrition plan of a gel every 30 minutes, Perpeteum sports drink, and bananas, which I can always handle.  It felt like something was tearing in my foot.  I was getting worried I was causing real damage.  My quads were also aching now, and my knees seemed eager to join in.  My pace was falling off a bit.  I started to think about dropping.  I hated it, but the prospect of 95 miles of pain just to get a finish, and possibly ending my running career, was not appealing.  But I didn't want to give up without trying more stuff.  I still had the Altra shoes to try, and see if an Aleve plus rubbing on Biofreeze at mile 26 would take the edge off.  I decided I would go 50 before making a decision.  I had a plan, but I was still in a bad place.  I felt like I was at the tail end of the race rather than in the first quarter.  I really didn't think the Altras had much of a chance of working, but I committed to trying.

I got to the start/finish at around mile 26.6 at 5 hours and 3 seconds, right on my 22 hour pace target.  I told my crew that things were bad, and it was 50/50 that I would finish.  I actually thought it was more like 25/75 but didn't want to admit it.  This was supposed to be a quick in and out, but I had to sit to swap shoes, and while I had them off I switched socks and lubed up, and tried to eat a bit.  It cost me about 10 minutes but as Kyle walked out with me we agreed it was time well spent.  Certainly continuing on with no changes would not have been viable.  I told Kyle to set up after the finish line the next time I came through here, so I could at least get a 50 mile time and then sit and we'd evaluate what else to try and whether to go on.  I didn't like the safety net, but since it was there I might as well use it, and it was actually a motivation to not drop even earlier.

Things got a bit worse as I had stiffened up from sitting.  I walked for a few extra minutes, then started jogging.  No real change.  This was going to be a long freaking 24 miles.  I tried not to fall into a pity party, and just plodded along.  I couldn't help but contrast this with Umstead, where I felt really good for about the first 65 miles.  My consolation is that I wouldn't have to continue into the night.  We could go back to Marion and get a room, grab beers and dinner, and watch the Husker game.  Not what I trained for all summer and fall, but not a bad weekend.  After a couple miles I realized at least it wasn't getting worse.  It still wasn't fun, but I had stalled the death spiral.  I wasn't even thinking about pace at this point.

As slowly as things had gotten worse, they started getting better.  By the time I reached the tunnel at mile 36 before seeing crew again, it was tolerable.  At some point I remember thinking, "Damn it, now I'm going to have to run all night!"  The tunnel itself was surreal to run through.  It's straight and 543 feet long so you can see the other end, but in the middle it is pretty dark and disorienting to run through.  But I was in a better place and got a kick out of it.  Kyle met me before the aid station, and I told him things weren't great, but they were better.  After going out to the turnaround and back, I knew I was on a comeback and let them know I was back on the tracks.  I had to switch watches earlier than planned as my Garmin 220 with 10 hour battery life gave me a low battery warning at just over 7 hours.

All the pains disappeared between mile 40 and 50, except for the quads.  Incredible.  It all had taken its toll on my energy and nothing was going easy, but I definitely wasn't struggling anymore. The second watch didn't have the run/walk alarm so I used the mile beep to signal time for a 2 minute walk.  I started to stretch that to 3, but still ran most of every mile.  I came into mile 50 at 10:17, which is actually a 50 mile PR for me, albeit a very soft one.  17 minutes off my 22 hour target pace, but 10 minutes of that were at the last turnaround so I was still moving at under 24 hour pace.  There was no evaluation discussion.  The only talk was what I needed for the night.

Temps had plunged as the sun went down.  After my hypothermia experience at Umstead, it was drilled into me that 100 mile pace requires more clothes in the cold than what I'd normally wear for runs.  We ducked inside the depot we were right next to so I could put on an UnderArmour base layer and tights.  Swapped to another pair of Olympus shoes and socks since my shoes were off anyway.  I chewed up around 25 minutes of buffer here for various reasons.  It was helpful to have a lot of "just in case" gear, but it meant more time finding everything.  Still, I was now set for the night and this is the kind of thing the 2 hour buffer was for.  I had one concern here, I noticed my vision in my left eye was partially foggy.  I worried about "Hellgate eye", a temporary blindness some face in the cold of that December 100K, but figured I'd deal with it if it got worse, and maybe it was just somehow due to being inside since it was still well above freezing. The other eye was fine.  I set a goal of 6.5 hours for the next 26 miles, or 15 min/mile, and set off.

The second 50 was actually pretty dull and uneventful.  I ran and walked. Just the normal aches for later in a 100 miler, and I didn't notice anything really off with my eyes.  My walk breaks extended to 3 and 4 minutes, but I was keeping ahead of pace outbound, giving some back on the return.  I cheered when I got past my Umstead meltdown point at mile 68, but took nothing for granted.  My brother told me later that he was amazed that I looked stronger every time he saw me after the mile 26 debacle.  I'm not sure I was stronger, but I was more determined and focused.  I got back to mile 76 at 17:08 race time, slightly under 6:30 for the section.  Kyle was ready to join me and I got in and out quickly, with a bottle swap, bananas, switching headlamps, swapping back to my recharged Garmin 220, and adding a medium weight ski jacket to stay ahead of the cold.

More math.  6:50 in roughly 24 miles to make 24 hours.  I calculated that to be 17 min/mile pace.  It's handy to be able to do math in your head and trust it.  I switched my watch to do a 4/2 run/walk, knowing I would probably reverse it to 2 run/4 walk before the end.  The first mile was stiff and slow, but then I started putting a minute plus in the bank every mile.  My pace slowed at the trail rose gently toward Tunnel Hill.  I skipped a run once and saw it barely affected my mile split since my run was slow and my walk was still pretty brisk.  I wanted to walk the rest of the way to the tunnel, but Kyle suggested mixing in some short runs, otherwise I might stiffen up and not be able to get a run back at all on the declines.  So I ran 100 steps 1-3 times every mile.  It worked, because after the tunnel I went back to the 4/2 and ran the downhill pretty well, though I had to walk most of the way back up.

Just under 10 miles left now, and a tick over 3 hours to cover it.  18 min/mile pace would get me in with a few minutes to spare.  I shuffled my 100 step run whenever I could for a few miles, but blisters started forming on the bottoms of both feet and it was a lot worse while running.  I knew I had 24 hours in the bag as long as nothing bad happened, so walking it in seemed safer.

Oh, the Super Moon!  There were a lot of people running without headlamps.  I kept mine on because I needed to see my watch to know when to take gels, but it was cool to see and helped light the way.  Late in the night it was low and put a really cool reflection on a fog covered pond that we could see for a few hundred yards.  We took a pic but it didn't turn out well.

The sun started to come up, and I noticed that my left eye vision was still partially foggy, though no worse.  I was wearing a ski balaclava mask as a cap, so I adjusted it to cover my face around my eyes and try to keep it warm.  Good news came as we passed under the I-45 bridge at 22.5 miles into the section, and I had remembered it being nearly exactly 1 mile from the finish.  This gave me more buffer since I had less distance left to cover.  My walk quickened, and before long the final footbridge into the park came into view and Kyle congratulated me.  I managed a shuffle for the final yards to the end.

The stats:  23:36:21 finish time. 29th male and 43rd overall out of 101 finishers and probably about 200 starters.  3rd of 7 in the 55-59 group.  There was some leapfrogging, but no one who started behind me at mile 50 finished ahead of me, and I passed 7 who were on their second 50.  Still holding at zero hallucinations.

Post race, I went back into the depot to warm up and asked for medical help to look at my eye.  Dean Hart, who crewed on and provided med support for Pete Kostelnick's record breaking cross country run was there, and he said it wasn't too uncommon with LASIK eyes and should clear in time, as I also expected.  As I sat there, I bonked.  Just totally shut down, hunched over, head down, hoping not to spew.  Not sure if it was for 5 minutes or 30 or longer.  Someone suggested I needed sugar, and after awhile I took a Pepsi.  3 sips in and I had perked up.  So I had 2 silver bullets this weekend:  Altra Olympus shoes at mile 26, and Pepsi post-race.  By the time I finished the can I was back to normal other than sore feet with blisters, and aching quads.  My vision was clearing too.

The shame is that the bonk kind of took away from celebrating.  I was also a bit down on myself for walking so much at the end.  I think there's always a feeling you can run a 100 faster, but for most of us things will always go wrong, so it's foolish to expect a perfect race.  Jim and Kyle waited as long as they could but had to get back to Lincoln once I was on my feet, so they got my car all packed up and we went our separate ways.  It wasn't until later in the day before it fully dawned on me that I did exactly what I set out to do.  I broke 24 hours even after a very rough start, by hanging in there, solving problems, and managing my race well.

I could've finished this on my own, but wouldn't have broken 24 without Jim and Kyle.  When I was moving well, they got me right in and out of aid stations.  The 11 times they helped me had to have saved me more than 24 minutes of getting my own bag and sorting through it for my stuff, especially since I was doing my own food and drinks.  Kyle's suggestions all race, and encouragement while pacing me, certainly helped me as well.   I thank them both for driving out and giving up their weekend to help me out.

Lessons learned?  "It doesn't always keep getting worse!"  Keep trying to fix problems, and if you don't know how, try something, anything!  Remember to enjoy your victories!  Finally, I should've got my heel checked out before the race so I might have known whether it was safe to run through pain or not.

Some might remark that I toughed this one out, but that's not really true.  More accurately, I figured it out, and it got better before I couldn't take it any longer.

What's next?  My New Year's resolution will be to eat gels, because I sure as hell won't even look at another one the rest of this year.  I'll do the Boston Marathon in April for sure.  Thinking about The Light at the End of the Tunnel Marathon in Washington state in June.  It's a fast downhill marathon, and apparently I like races with tunnels--New River had one too.  Another 100?  Doubtful.  That's a topic for another post.  I had plenty of time on the two day meander back home to think about that.

Lastly, please give me a moment to mourn the loss of an old friend, the Mizuno Precision Wave.  I don't know why they suddenly caused such a problem, but it seems our ways must part.

Monday, May 2, 2016

Achilles tendonitis, Promise Land 50K, and next 100 mile training!

CATCHING UP

Long time, no blogging.  I should've posted about my Oregon trip in September, because it was awesome.  Started with running waterfall trails along the Columbia Gorge, a so-so performance at the Flagline 50K, then checking out as many trails (and brewpubs!) around Bend as I could, followed by a spin on Pre's Trail in Eugene and finally a bit of hiking in Portland before flying back.  October brought a 13+ minute BQ at Peak to Creek marathon in North Carolina, a fast, fast downhiller.  I took a shot at a PR but faded at the end and jog-walked the final 5 for a 3:26something.  My legs rebelled at Richmond in November so that was a slow finish.

For 2016 I decided to take the first part a bit easy, and focus on my 2nd 100 miler in the fall.  My goal is sub-24 at the Tunnel Hill 100 on a flat rail trail in southern Illinois, on November 12.

THE INJURY

I started the racing year in March at the Virginia Creeper marathon, a very low key long-running marathon in SW Virginia.  The Creeper Trail is a rail trail, with a bit of a climb but the race only hits about a 2% grade max.  I had been dealing with a sore hip so I went in undertrained, but didn't really care about the results.  I felt good at the start though, just over 8min/mile pace for about the first 12.  Then I felt a pain in my lower leg.  At first I thought it was my calf, but it was lower, the Achilles tendon.  I slowed down, hoping it would subside.  It didn't.  I took walk breaks.  Didn't help.  I changed my gait a bit to compensate, but started to feel hip pain by mile 15, so I walked to mile 18, which passed by the start/finish, and dropped.  I could've walked another 8.2, but didn't see the point of risking more injury.

PROMISE LAND
Next up, Promise Land 50K++ this past Saturday, with about 8000 foot of climb.  Unless my achilles recovered quickly, I didn't like my odds.  Every time I tried running on it, I felt it tug within a minute.  But I could walk with no pain, even up steep hills.  Even 30+% grade hills.  The week before PL I had a charity 5K which I planned to take easy, but I got stupid when I started in the lead.  2 miles in I was walking and in pain. 

My new plan for Promise Land was to try to power hike it.  If it started hurting, I would stop.  If I missed cut-offs, no problem.  I had 10 hours to run a 50K.  That's a 19:30 min/mile pace.  Easy peasy. But Promise Land is really about 34 miles.  That's 17:30 min/mile.  No problem on a flat course, but Promise Land is far from flat.  I set my expectations low for finishing.

Here's the condensed version of the race:
- Stormed up the hill on the road ahead of pace.  This is going to be a piece of cake!  Trekking poles are da bomb!
- Slowed down on the trail, and not as fast as I thought I could do on downhill, but I'm still ok.  I think.
- First cut-off coming.  Should be about 5 or so minutes ahead of it.  WAIT!  When did I stop seeing trail markers?  CRAP!  I'm off course.  I added a full mile.  (I went up to that giant FAA antenna right after the first parkway crossing, for those who know the course.)  I'm screwed.  But maybe I can talk my way past if I'm only a minute or two off and running in.  So mad at myself.
- WHERE IS THE AID STATION?  It's not at mile 13, it's 13.7, 14.7 for me.  Bad race prep.  I'm doubly screwed, but I run in anyway.  Really really mad at myself.  I'm 7 minutes over cut-off.  The end.
- "What do you want in your bottle?"  Don't you mean "Your race is over"?  Not gonna ask!  I'm still in the game, and I escape before the aid station workers change their minds.  HOORAY!
- Run downhill for awhile to make up time.  New math.  17 minute/mile to the end.  I can do that.  I think.  Yeah, I'm pretty sure of it.
- Back hurts.  Knee hurts. Hip aches.  Achilles twinging.  Technical downhill hurts.  No more running.  I'm walking it in.  This might be close.
- The "half way" point aid station, a bit over half way on distance, but generally considered the half point on time.  4:52, so I'm 8 minutes ahead even with the extra mile.  WHEW! My friend David Smith is sitting in a chair, having dislocated his shoulder in a fall at a creek crossing.  I give him 10 seconds of sympathy and assurances that he'll be ok (trust me, I know), and tell him I have to keep moving.
- Why aren't my power walking miles as fast as they were before?  I think I'm still ok...
- 2nd/last mid-race cutoff coming.  8 hours at mile 26.  At every mile I do the math, and I'm seeing it 35-45 minutes ahead of danger.  I come in at 7:22, 38 minutes ahead.  I'm golden!
- The big climb.  As long as I don't bonk I'll be fine.  3 miles up the hill, and 4 miles to the finish.  I should check that on my phone where I've got the course profile, but don't want to take the time, and it is what it is, right?   Plan on an hour up and an hour down, lots of time in the bank.  Whew!  Jordan Chang is at that creek aid station and tells me it's 3+ and 4+, but we agree I should be fine.
- Death march.  Not a full-on bonk, but I'm dragging, and trying to save a little in my legs for the finish.  Apple Orchard Falls is pretty, but I better not stop to take a pic.  Just in case. An hour passes and the top isn't in sight.  Can't be too far though, right?  Here's a sign.  Still 0.9 miles to the parkway.  It is more than 3 miles.  Did I mention the bad race prep?  Oh, man, I'm out of funds at the Bank of Bob (aka, the BOB).  This is going to be close.  Very close.  Might have to run some on the final road part.  I figure I can do 15 min/mile pace on the final section.  Any faster and I'm in trouble.
- The top!  What's the real mileage left, I ask?  5?  Five?  FIVE?  Terrible race prep.  I should know these things without having to ask.  70 minutes left.  That's 14 minute pace. I'm screwed.  Unless I run.
- Oh yeah, that's not the real top.  I knew that.  Still a bit of climb, with not-so-fast walking.  Not good.  Screwed a little deeper with every minute that's off-pace.
- The top!  Oh yeah, choppy trails down, which I'm having a lot of trouble with.  Run a bit, mostly walk.   I don't even want to look at my watch anymore because I know I'm falling farther behind.  I forgot that this trail part goes for a couple of miles.  It's over.  I hate life.  All that work to come up short.
- The road!  But I've got only about 25 minutes left, and it's 3 miles.  Or is it 2.5?  WHY DON'T I STUDY THESE THINGS BETTER BEFORE THE RACE?!?  Probably screwed, but let's see how running goes.  Might as well goes down swinging, though I make a decision here, that if my Achilles flares up I will stop running completely even though that absolutely guarantees a DNF.
- 10 min/mile pace.  No pain.  I don't dare go faster.  I think back to the missed turn and I'd kick myself but that'd probably just irritate the achilles.  I'm going to win the Horton stupid award for missing 10 hours because of that, but little did I know that award had already been claimed.  But that's not my story to tell.
- Where's that 1 mile to go marker?  I have visions of some of my CAT cohorts coming out to bring me in for an epic finish a la Gunhild Swanson at Western States, and AJW going ape in the post race photo, but I see no one.  It's gotten drizzly and cooler, and everyone has probably gone home.  Not that I want anyone to see me come in too late.  Boo-freaking-hoo.  Just run.
- There is is!  One mile! And 13 minutes left!  I've got it!  I walk 20 steps just to give myself a break, take a mini-celebration and one last swig from my bottle.
- But wait!  I bumped my watch off at least twice taking my pack off to get stuff during the race.  I know I turned it back on quickly, but just how long was it off?  Also I didn't start it right away at the gun.  How much time do I really have?  It's Horton's clock, not mine, that counts, and I don't know what his reads. Am I good, or am I screwed?  I dunno. I don't hate life anymore, just Horton.  Dare I pick up the pace just a bit? 
- The squirrel!  The turn for the camp is coming!  Whether I make the time or not, it's all going to be over.
- The camp!  Someone is there yelling something about time.  I take out my headphones and ask, he says I've got 3 or 4 minutes to run 200 yards.  WHEW!  But do I trust him?
- I turn for the finish, and there are a few people there cheering me in!  Why are they pointing to one side?  Crap, I missed the chute!  I jump the low rope and rumble in.  9:57:24.  Dead Freaking Last, but a finish!  I'm grateful for the many friends who did stay around for my finish. 

OK, that wasn't so condensed, and there's really nothing else to say, so that's all I'll write. Strava log here.   I've battled cut-offs before, but never from the start, plus I saw only 3 other runners in the last 20 miles, so it was mentally exhausting. Glad I brought music.  Physically, walking is different enough from running that I ache more and differently than after nearly every other race, and my feet are really beat up.  Pretty much everything hurts.  But not my Achilles tendon!  Hooray for that even more than the finish!



NEXT!

100 mile training for Tunnel Hill started today.  Guess what?  I'm behind!  But once I recover I'll start with some slow easy miles and make sure I'm really ok, then work into my training plan.