Today's run was rough. I've been exhausted all week, though I did manage a decent paced last NMTC run on Wednesday. Otherwise I've been drowsy at work and practically falling asleep driving home. I wanted to run today since both Cedar and I needed one so we headed out the door and up the hill to the SHT. I can cut through the alley to the Middle School road, hit the back end of the reservoir, and be on the SHT in minutes.
Oof, I was tired out there. I haven't gone that slow on the trail since . . . oh wait, last week : ) But I let it be and just enjoyed my time and it wasn't nearly as slow as last week. There was lots of walking up anything hill-like and enjoying breathing in the delicious air - heavy with lilacs and assorted flowering trees and bushes like only early June can be. The woods were strangely night-time sounding, which was lovely, too. We headed out for half an hour and the way back felt much looser and easier but still tired. A good time in the woods, overall.
Don't worry, a race report is coming but just now, it's past time for bed.
Friday, June 13, 2014
Wednesday, June 4, 2014
Three days!
Three days!
Today was my last run before Saturday. It being Wednesday, I talked myself into running the NMTC race, convinced I could do it slow. Luckily, I had friends to help me keep true to that! Before the race, I helped with parking cars and thus prevented myself from getting tempted to do a warm up. It also let me bounce around some and let some of my hyper energy out with some air traffic control arm waving. I ran with Andrea and Lisa and was NOT ALLOWED to pass Lisa. Between being hyper and running for fun, I babbled up a blue storm pretty much the whole way but had a great time.
So. Every piece of running clothing I could possibly desire to bring is washed and ready for packing. I have a lovely spreadsheet to direct my packing. Which is more or less - BRING FOUR OF EVERY PIECE OF CLOTHING JUST IN CASE but a tich more organized . . .
Should anyone desire, Kettle has a sort of tracking system here. It'll list when I come into aid stations with 13 updates plus the finish. I'll be running somewhere between 26 and 30 hours.
I have two good friends who are coming down with me, Lisa and Marcus, who will crew and pace. I have a few friends in the race itself, too, that will be great to see in the out and backs. I feel strong, rested, and ready. Let's do this! Rar!
Today was my last run before Saturday. It being Wednesday, I talked myself into running the NMTC race, convinced I could do it slow. Luckily, I had friends to help me keep true to that! Before the race, I helped with parking cars and thus prevented myself from getting tempted to do a warm up. It also let me bounce around some and let some of my hyper energy out with some air traffic control arm waving. I ran with Andrea and Lisa and was NOT ALLOWED to pass Lisa. Between being hyper and running for fun, I babbled up a blue storm pretty much the whole way but had a great time.
So. Every piece of running clothing I could possibly desire to bring is washed and ready for packing. I have a lovely spreadsheet to direct my packing. Which is more or less - BRING FOUR OF EVERY PIECE OF CLOTHING JUST IN CASE but a tich more organized . . .
Should anyone desire, Kettle has a sort of tracking system here. It'll list when I come into aid stations with 13 updates plus the finish. I'll be running somewhere between 26 and 30 hours.
I have two good friends who are coming down with me, Lisa and Marcus, who will crew and pace. I have a few friends in the race itself, too, that will be great to see in the out and backs. I feel strong, rested, and ready. Let's do this! Rar!
Friday, May 30, 2014
Spring Superior 50K
Holy crap, guys. One week to Kettle! I'm feeling strong, I'm feeling prepared, and right now, I'm feeling antsy! Another week of taper, oh man. To distract myself, let's give you a short rundown of my last race - Spring Superior 50K.
Since Superior was a perfect three weeks out from Kettle the plan was to use it as a last good long run weekend. So no taper and no attempts to really push a pace. Actually, just this year have I either finally realized or finally gotten to the point that I DO have a difference in pace between long runs and races, which is a very neat revelation for me. I did have a bit of a rest the week before, which was nice, as I pushed my rest week back a week so I could make it coincide with Fishing Opener so I wouldn't have to worry about a double long run at the cabin.
I started the race trying very hard to stay reigned in and just run a relaxed pace, not letting anyone else push my pace. I was walking a little more than I felt like I would have had I been pushing. Though, I quickly discovered that it was ten times easier to run through every mud hole than walk through. And there were a LOT of mud holes . . . I was thinking in the back of my head that I would like even splits but decided to wait until I actually hit the turnaround and go from there. The turnaround came and I felt great. I LOVE out and backs - I love seeing everyone and I get such a lift in spirits from it. Which means Kettle should be fabulous since it's made up of two out and backs - right?
So the way back was quite good. I felt good, nothing was seizing and my stomach was cooperating. A possibly related new thing this go round was it being my first full race using the Lisa/Ron gel method - putting two gels into a small flask and having them premixed with water. Then just sipping on it as I go, making sure to get at least half down in an hour. I also managed to refill it on the go, so I'll definitely be using that method at Kettle. When I got back to Oberg (the last aid station, 7.5ish miles from the end), I realized I might have a chance at an even split so I figured I would be okay to push the pace for the last section. I charged up Moose Mountain pretty good, trying to strike a balance between moving fast and keeping the heart rate not redlining since the point was to be recovered for a run the next day. I was passing people (something I've never really done in the second half of a 50K!) and starting thinking that I was placed fairly decently. I didn't pay any attention to the number of women I saw coming at me at the turnaround so I only had a general feel for things. I knew I was doing well when this woman (who was walking for no particular reason) turns around and saw me. Her eyes got HUGE and she took off at a sprint leaving me giggling behind her. Because really - if you were walking before and now you're sprinting and we still have a mile and a half to go, then there's no doubt I was going to get her. I've never had someone react that way before! When I passed her, she asked how old I was and was relieved to hear we weren't in the same age group.
I came strong into the finish and felt fine immediately afterward. In fact, I might have made a bee line for the computers that were set up to check your results . . . 5th woman for me! I am super happy with that result! Spring Superior was exactly what I needed - a good long run on the SHT that went well. Good training for the legs, good boost for the mind.
Since Superior was a perfect three weeks out from Kettle the plan was to use it as a last good long run weekend. So no taper and no attempts to really push a pace. Actually, just this year have I either finally realized or finally gotten to the point that I DO have a difference in pace between long runs and races, which is a very neat revelation for me. I did have a bit of a rest the week before, which was nice, as I pushed my rest week back a week so I could make it coincide with Fishing Opener so I wouldn't have to worry about a double long run at the cabin.
I started the race trying very hard to stay reigned in and just run a relaxed pace, not letting anyone else push my pace. I was walking a little more than I felt like I would have had I been pushing. Though, I quickly discovered that it was ten times easier to run through every mud hole than walk through. And there were a LOT of mud holes . . . I was thinking in the back of my head that I would like even splits but decided to wait until I actually hit the turnaround and go from there. The turnaround came and I felt great. I LOVE out and backs - I love seeing everyone and I get such a lift in spirits from it. Which means Kettle should be fabulous since it's made up of two out and backs - right?
So the way back was quite good. I felt good, nothing was seizing and my stomach was cooperating. A possibly related new thing this go round was it being my first full race using the Lisa/Ron gel method - putting two gels into a small flask and having them premixed with water. Then just sipping on it as I go, making sure to get at least half down in an hour. I also managed to refill it on the go, so I'll definitely be using that method at Kettle. When I got back to Oberg (the last aid station, 7.5ish miles from the end), I realized I might have a chance at an even split so I figured I would be okay to push the pace for the last section. I charged up Moose Mountain pretty good, trying to strike a balance between moving fast and keeping the heart rate not redlining since the point was to be recovered for a run the next day. I was passing people (something I've never really done in the second half of a 50K!) and starting thinking that I was placed fairly decently. I didn't pay any attention to the number of women I saw coming at me at the turnaround so I only had a general feel for things. I knew I was doing well when this woman (who was walking for no particular reason) turns around and saw me. Her eyes got HUGE and she took off at a sprint leaving me giggling behind her. Because really - if you were walking before and now you're sprinting and we still have a mile and a half to go, then there's no doubt I was going to get her. I've never had someone react that way before! When I passed her, she asked how old I was and was relieved to hear we weren't in the same age group.
I came strong into the finish and felt fine immediately afterward. In fact, I might have made a bee line for the computers that were set up to check your results . . . 5th woman for me! I am super happy with that result! Spring Superior was exactly what I needed - a good long run on the SHT that went well. Good training for the legs, good boost for the mind.
Saturday, March 22, 2014
Where are my trails?
Here I had almost a finished entry about our lovely weather in the last couple of weeks. How I had run in single layers and even *gasp* with bare arms. Whole long runs without worrying about windchill and forgetting that a person's water tube could freeze. However, before I could post said entry, we started on our roller-coaster of Minnesota spring weather. 40 degrees. 20 degrees. Snow. Toasty sun. Back and forth but as it goes, those lows get higher to where it's always above zero. I was cautiously optimistic for a soon return to trails. Okay, not so cautious more like super ready for trails to be runnable RIGHT NOW so that must mean they'll be ready soon, right? Right? Except as soon as I was thinking that, Duluth got hit with a random 8-10 inches of wet, heavy snow. Sigh. I am gnawing at the bit to get back on my trails. I want them clear and I want them runnable and I'm sick of slogging. I don't remember being quite this frustrated at the snow this early last year, even with the late snow we got, but I guess I was still focused on road miles for Boston.
So today makes it 11 weeks out from the Kettle 100 mile. It's what I've been training for but I hadn't registered until a couple nights ago. Mostly because so much can happen in training, injury and freak accident wise, why throw down the entry money for that kind of race until you need to? I was planning to wait a little longer but it was starting to feel strange that I wasn't officially in yet. That and, Sawtooth is appearing posed to fill at an astonishing pace and I don't want to pay for two 100s right next to each other. So now I feel this weird extra anxiety to get on trails. I was in a mild panic yesterday at work, watching the big, thick snow come falling down and seeing my planned trail run vanishing before my eyes. Happily, I have awesome friends and I hooked up with two of them this morning. Molly is training for the Zumbro 50 mile so was doing her last back-to-back long runs before taper, which made her pace something I could actually keep up with. I actually almost didn't even leave the house this morning, though, since I was nauseous all during and after breakfast. It kept itself to a low level annoyance for most of the run (except downhills, my stomach was not a fan of running downhill). So that's good 100 mile training too, right?
Also, clearly, I have the right pacer for Kettle. She's already started her duties, kicking me in the butt this morning. I was going to call my run short since I just didn't feel great and was sick of the slog the trails had turned into (they actually weren't bad right away in the morning) however, mean task-mistress pacer Lisa made me finish up with Molly. And I listened to her. But only after Molly agreed that roads sounded better than 6.5 more miles of trail slog.
Tomorrow is my first race of the year! The Irish Run 8K, which should be interesting giving the combination of a long run today and no attempts at speed work so far this year. It's for the team, though, and should be a good time. I'll make sure to let everyone know how it goes - that should make me get another entry up, right?
Monday, March 3, 2014
Beautiful rainbow or horrifying humidity?
How to tell you may still be slightly traumatized by the heat and humidity at a certain race from Septebmer: Take a look at a beautiful summer picture. Do you first notice the gorgeous rainbow set dramatically against the sky still dark from the passing squall? The way the sun is illuminating the yard and also making that aforementioned sky seem darker? No. Should you still have some lingering issues remaining from the aforementioned race, the first thing that enters your head will be something along the lines of, "Ooooooooh, it looks so horribly humid!" Only after that will you see how nice the picture is. By the way, my dad insists that it was actually quite cool out when he took the picture. I'm not sure I believe him.
So, yeah. While I was a bit whiny about the cold yesterday (maybe more than a bit until I was drug outside and found it wasn't a cold as I was anticipating), I am still okay with not being hot and humid. Today was a beautiful run. It was warm out (ie, above zero) and it was snowing. Just hard enough to make a person have to squint into the wind and just big/light enough to stick to your eyelashes. It was the super pretty type of snow that made the side roads all sparkly in the light. If only the single track was packed down enough to run on then I would have no problem.
So, yeah. While I was a bit whiny about the cold yesterday (maybe more than a bit until I was drug outside and found it wasn't a cold as I was anticipating), I am still okay with not being hot and humid. Today was a beautiful run. It was warm out (ie, above zero) and it was snowing. Just hard enough to make a person have to squint into the wind and just big/light enough to stick to your eyelashes. It was the super pretty type of snow that made the side roads all sparkly in the light. If only the single track was packed down enough to run on then I would have no problem.
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Well, that idea died fast!
I checked the temperature yesterday morning, to get an idea of what to wear for my run. -6. "That's not so bad" I thought to myself. "I won't even have to wear some of my layers!" No balaclava, no bun toaster, not even a jacket (opting for two long sleeves instead). So remember after Sawtooth when I said I was okay with never being hot and humid again? Ever. Yeah, that's still true. Just to make sure, I tried a hot tub in December - I lasted about three minutes before not enjoying it to such an extent that I crawled over the wall it shared with the pool and stood in the pool instead.
So at the end of last year, I had this vague idea of a possible goal I wanted to set for myself - to only do races in 2014 that I hadn't done in 2013 (with the exception of Sawtooth). See, my problem is that I love races. So I go to a race and I LOVE it and I HAVE to do it again the next year. Except I also HAVE to do all the other races I usually do and still want to try new ones which quickly become races I HAVE to do. See the problem? So I figured trying this idea with my races would set me free a bit to explore some new races. I knew I would have two problem races (well three because of my favorite 5K but it went and got cancelled on me)- Spring Superior 50K and Voyageur 50 Mile. Well, registration opened up for the 50K and I caved and registered in an impressively short amount of time!
Really, though, I'm very okay with breaking my sort of goal so soon in the year for a few reasons - 1: It turns out that Spring Superior is three weeks before Kettle (where I shall go after my 100 mile finish) which makes it perfect for getting a last weekend of good back-to-back long runs and anything that helps with that is a good thin; 2: Doing this race won't conflict with doing a different/new race so I'm not missing out on something new, so I don't feel I'm breaking the spirit of my idea. Other side reasons for being fine with my decision - this is really the first big race of the year (sure, I'll do Chippewa 50K and many of the same people will be there but this always feels like the opening of ultra season in Minnesota) and it's hard to turn down seeing so many friends on the trail; this is a Storkamp race which means it will be well done; more time on the SHT north of Duluth means good training for Sawtooth. So yeah, my idea didn't last very long, but I'm a-okay with that. I was never completely sold on the idea anyway, just more intrigued by it. Maybe I'll save it for a year where I don't have to attack Sawtooth again since making one exception just makes it easier to make others! I'd still have a problem skipping Voyageur, though.
Honestly, I don't have much hope for avoiding Voyageur this year as it has a special place in my heart and I just don't see myself skipping it for a not good reason. It's especially hard to miss the close races this year since I'm taking a full week and a half off to head out west this year plus two 100 miles so that uses my vacation right there. Which means any race I have to take ANY time off for is pretty much out so no winter/spring adventure for me this year. Good thing there are lots of quality races close by!
Saturday, January 4, 2014
An older story
Happy 2014, everyone! I can't believe I've been such a blogging slacker for the end of the year. Apologies for that! I hope to do better this year. The problem with not blogging for a while is that you become stuck on what to write about. Do you catch people up? Do you just skip over all that time? Go through highlights? I'm telling you, it would be so much easier to just write on a regular basis in the first place!
So instead, I'm going to start the year with a story from the end of 2012 because a friend just reminded me how awesome this run was. We were talking about it because today is the last day of Bentleyville, a Christmas lights spectacular in Canal Park, for those not in the know. Their last day includes fireworks because everything includes fireworks these days (not that you're hearing any sort of arguing from me!). Last year, the last day was on a Wednesday (they added days this year due to closing a few times for weather), thus falling on group-run-on-the-Lakewalk day. So we met at our usual time and ran through Bentleyville (which worked surprisingly well since I figured there would be a lot of people dodging). After that we headed to the Lakewalk to do our normal run. Well, at 6:00, the fireworks started behind us. I wanted to turn around and run toward them so we could watch because I LOVE fireworks of all types. I could only convince Rudy to come with me so we turned around and sprinted back to Bentleyville. We made it back just in time to be right there for the grand finale but were still able to watch the rest of the show as we ran at it, which was very awesome and I rather want to set that up to happen again. After that, we still wanted to run more, so we headed across the lift bridge and then ran down the beach for a while. It was a lovely night, quiet and calm on the lake. You could head some of the water sloshing against the ice and it was fabulous. We went out longer than planned because it was so nice.
So here's wishing you lots of peaceful runs in 2014.
Friday, October 4, 2013
Did Nothing Fatal
Sorry this has taken a little while. Honestly, it feels as though it's been forever since Sawtooth, though Google Calendar tells me it's been exactly a month. It felt like forever ago when it was only a week out, too. This will probably make for a less detailed and possibly less accurate description than normal so we'll see how this goes.
As a runner I know once said - sometimes DNF stands for Did Nothing Fatal. I remember it being really quite humid out from the get go. And warm but at least it was cloudy for a while and that helped quite a bit. It wasn't HOT right away but definitely not cool.
It seemed crazy crowded at the beginning and it was really hard to know what kind of speed to go. I tried to aim for easy and comfortable and not pay attention to what others were doing (ie, don't worry about people going by) and to not stress if I was behind a conga line once we hit the single track. I seemed to go back and forth between being all by myself (how was that even possible?) and then catching a conga line and hanging with them a bit before going around them. I tried to balance going slow with not going so slow that I'd be digging a hole for myself later on. There was lots of talking around but I wasn't too chatty at the beginning, mostly because paces weren't set. I was mostly enjoying listening to other people talking, though.
The first aid station is crewless - there's just no good place for people to park and so you don't see your crew until about 20 miles in. It's a little out and back to get to that first aid station, which a lot of people hate because you go down a steep hill for maybe half a mile for the sole purpose of hitting the aid station and then have to turn around and go right back up. I actually really liked it - I love out and back sections because they give you a chance to see people. I was still close enough to see Marcus and Ron here, which was 10ish miles in. Possibly a sign that I was going too fast? I refilled my Nathan pack, emptied my garbage, and perused the food table. It was a goal to slow down enough to SEE what was on the table (something I'm terrible at) and make myself take something back out on the trail with me so I could snack at regular intervals in-between gels. Nothing looked too appetizing since it was typical short ultra fare that early on. I tried an orange. Mmmmmmmm. Delicious, if a bit full of seeds. I grabbed a couple more slices to take with and a couple cookies and headed back on my way.
Despite having crew, I opted for little drop Tupperwares at most of the available places. I figured this way I wouldn't have to worry about my crew getting lost on new (for them) roads and I also wouldn't have to worry about figuring out how many gels and s-caps to grab for the next section since it would all be portioned out already. I will definitely do some version of this again - it was super helpful to just have to grab what was in the Tupperware (including fresh baggies for snacks/trash/wet wipes) without having to think and it definitely reduced time spent digging around for gels/s-caps or forgetting to get a new baggie or what have you.
The Beaver Bay to Silver Bay section includes these horrid, awful wide open sections on rock cliff faces. Really quite pretty when it's not 90 degrees and 90% humidity (both stats I've heard thrown around and while I don't know if they're true, I'll believe them). So I was going through this section right in the heat of the day, making it rather like an oven with the heat radiating off the rocks. A humid oven. Oh, it was gross. Amusingly enough, it was in here that I decided my cheese stick sounded tasty. It was a rather warm cheese stick that was thinking about becoming melty and I knew it SHOULDN'T taste good but . . . yum. I actually made a point of eating it slowly, thinking my stomach might just rebel against it but it was delicious and I wish I had had another one. In here, I caught up to a small group of people and we chatted a bit. Alfredo is the only one I really remember because he has an awesome name. He also had trekking poles all folding up and stored on his Nathan which I thought was a little silly at first (when I had first seen them on him 20 miles ago) but throughout the day they seemed more and more appealing. Anyway, this group was going REALLY slow through here. Walking pretty much everything, including flats and some downhills. I hung with them for a while because it was nasty out and I knew I didn't want to go all that much faster anyway. After a while, though, I knew I had to move at least a little faster while my legs were still fresh and happy, so I went around them. I wasn't going too much faster, but I was running the downhills and the flats and I felt good about my decision.
I started the day in my Austin-Jarrow jersey and typical race shorts, knowing it was going to be hot and figuring I wouldn't change until night time. I am definitely done with my race shorts for ultra distances now - after chaffing from the seams at Voyageur and what they did at Sawtooth. I changed out of them in Silver Bay - where they were already soaked from the humidity and definitely rubbing me funny, despite the body glide. Andrea tells me that I may have alarmed one of my crew when I set him to the task of finding sunscreen for reapplication and then walked a few steps away from the crowd, turned my back, and changed my shorts.
Coming into the aid stations were generally pretty awesome. The early ones are full of people - volunteers, crew, spectators. You just feel like a rock star coming into this mass of people cheering for you. I came into Silver Bay rather hot but left feeling pretty awesome in general, ready to tackle the next section. I also discovered the fabulousness of having ice down your bra. How have I not done this before? An added plus is that it slowly drips down your shirt and helps keep your core cool. I also went back to my hat for this race. I've found that generally with my short hair, having my hair down and a hat on top actually makes me more hot so I've been avoiding it all summer. However, I wanted my head covered as sun protection so I tried some pigtails and that worked great. Having a hat also lets you have a hat full of ice going out of the aid station and that was also wonderful. I was super sad one all the of ice was gone from my hat and bra.
So I'm unsure as to exactly where the shit hit the fan. I think I've decided that heading up Mount Trudee must have set it off as I can't remember my breathing coming down after that and the timeline makes sense. So we'll say from about there on, I was hyper-ventilating more and more. As in sounding as though I was finishing a hard road 5K instead of barely running downhill. That phase lasted a while and wasn't terribly alarming and then I moved into to sounding like a donkey (picture the "hee-haw, hee-haw" type of noise). I knew I was in trouble when I made this realization and didn't find it funny at all - I realized that I should be at least amused by it and instead felt detached from it. In retrospect, I don't think I took it seriously enough when it started. I think I was breathing hard from heading up Trudee and just did my usual recovery method, which is to start running again and wait for the breathing to come back under control, only this time it never did and instead of realizing that and stopping for a few minutes, I just kept going. I didn't really feel like I had a tight chest or as though my throat was constricted - it just felt as though there wasn't any oxygen in the air to breathe. When it became obvious that it was just getting worse and worse I did back off and walk, only that didn't really slow my breathing down. I also tried stopping to sit on a rock, which didn't seem to effect anything at all since I wasn't willing to sit for all that long. When I tried sitting on a bench, it was way too late. My fingers went tingly and then the tip of my nose. I'm pretty sure I lost feeling in a couple fingers (I spent some time trying to determine if they had feeling or not and then got distracted by something) and the tingling moved into my palms. Once my cheeks started going, I had this thought in the back of my head that I better get into the aid station before the tingling moved any further. I don't think I was panicked in here. I don't recall panic or drama. Maybe a little frustrated that I couldn't run what was a nice, mostly downhill, runnable section but mostly I was just sort of removed from it.
I had lots of runners ask if I was okay as they passed by. I would usually managed to huff out something like "Fine but can't breathe." I did tell someone (Dale Humphries?) to tell Lisa I was coming, if she was still there, which I didn't think she would be. When I was just around the corner from the Drainpipe (less than a mile from the aid station), two runners FORCED me to sit down. I tried to tell them that I tried sitting earlier and it didn't help and what I needed was to just keep moving to get to the aid station but since I couldn't breathe, I couldn't really talk, and they interpreted that as panicking. One guy kept going so he could let people at the aid station know I was having issues and eventually I convinced the other guy to let me keep moving (it's not as though there was really an alternative, anyway . . .). He insisted on staying behind me and wouldn't let me run or even really walk fast. "Slow, slow" is what I kept hearing. Good advice, I'm sure, but I just wanted to be in to Tettegouche. I don't even know the guy's name to thank him for watching out for me.
Andrea and Ethan (who was volunteering) came out to meet me and got me settled in at the aid station where my crew had set up a chair and my gear. It took me a solid 45 minutes for my breathing to come down. I was urged to lay down at first (on some poor person's now gross and sweaty fleece blanket), but that definitely made it worse and made me start to feel panicky. My fabulous crew was wonderful, as was Ethan who took off my shoes and socks for me and took my pulse a few times. Everyone stuck the perfect balance of taking care of me and just letting things get down to normal and forcing some decisions on me when I wasn't making them (such as "okay, now I'm going to hand you soup and you're going to eat it"). I took a full hour at Tettegouche but was laughing by the time I left. A woman who had been sitting near by (waiting for her runner? volunteering? I'm not sure) told me she couldn't believe I was getting up to go and that I was amazing. I did a full clothing change, helped by my awesome crew and, with a baggie full of oranges, I was ready to head out. Andrea said she'd be ready to pace at Co Rd 6 and so I had something to look forward to with the next aid station.
Something else I will do for my next 100 - I taped a list of place to Body Glide at each aid station. Very helpful! I can only imagine this would get more helpful the longer I go.
I headed out of Tettegouche in my running dress and half tights, expecting the temperatures to start dropping as night hit. I also had a long sleeve shirt around my waist for the same reason. Not a block down the trail, I put the long sleeve on since I was chilled from sitting for so long. About a half mile out, I realized the chafing from my shorts was pretty horrible. My fix last time was to put a Buff around it, so I stopped and gave that a go. Turns out trying to do that under half tights just makes the Buff rub the chaff, as opposed to protecting it. I made it across the Baptism River before taking it back off. Happily, having the brief bout of extreme rubbing with the Buff made it feel not so bad without it. I ended up chaffing so bad that I pussed. Ow. Which is probably much more than you wanted to know, but there you have it! The long sleeve came off not long after that since it was actually still really hot and humid, despite the sun being on its way down.
All those people telling me it was going to cool off at night? Liars. Every one of them. The night brought no relief from either the heat or the humidity.
Tettegouche to County Road 6 was horrible. It took me 4ish hours to go 8ish miles. The hyperventilating came back as soon as I started going uphill after crossing Hwy 1. This time, I was mildly panicked about it. I knew what it could turn in to so I had to stop at the top of every hill or part way up, depending on how big it was, in order to let my breathing come back down. I couldn't run at all. I couldn't walk very fast or it would start up again. It became very obvious in not very long in that I was either not going to make the cutoff or I would be so close that I wouldn't have a chance to recover in the aid station before having to leave and start it again. I found a nice rock on top of a hill, overlooking a lake down below, with an inkling of light still in the distance and I sat down and had a short little DNF cry. At least as much of one as you can while attempting to bring your breathing down from heading uphill. I was okay after that and just kept moving along as it became even more obvious that there was no making it in before the cutoff unless I could magically suddenly run. I was breathing hard the whole way but at least the donkey didn't make an appearance again. I sat on rocks, I sat on stumps, I sat on stairs. I had no thoughts of feeling better than a dead weasel, no songs running through my head, nothing since somewhere before Tettegouche until I was done. Which, since I had mostly the same song in my head for the previous amount of the race, might have been a good thing.
This section was horribly long. It took forever to get in. I had several people pass me, most of which checked in with me but I didn't sound like death anymore. At one point, I was positive the sweeps had caught me (I actually have no idea when the sweeps start. They probably weren't even out there yet) as there was a group of chatting, laughing, singing men behind me who seemed to be giving me space to work. They eventually passed me, though, and were definitely not the sweeps. We had to be almost in, right? I mean, we were heading downhill. How much further down can it be? A lot further, as it turns out. Since you come out on a road and then run down the road some, you can't even see or hear the aid station to know you're getting close. You just keep going and going and going. Eventually, I saw Andrea coming up the trail for me. Time for a quick hug and more tears. On the way down she asked if I wanted to know about the time and I let her know I knew I was over the cutoff. I can't remember by how much, though. Cut off was 10:30. 10:37 is sticking in my head for some reason, but I feel as though that might have been when I found Andrea? We had a ways to go after that so I was well past the cutoff by the time I straggled in, struggling to breath even on the flat road. I don't know if I missed the cutoff by 15 minutes or half an hour.
County Road 6 was littered with dropped runners. We were everywhere. I heard later that as the volunteers had packed everything up and were about to leave, they found three runners laying on the ground on the edge of the little clearing who didn't have rides to get anywhere. Here I thought I was dead last coming in and there were still people dragging themselves in when we were leaving the aid station and we stuck around for a while so as bad as my slog fest was, theirs must have been worse. My crew was perfect. Upbeat without being annoying about it. Encouraging things to say without making you want to slap them.
My crew was Jan and Dick - Jan was my assistant cross country coach in middle and high school as well as the mother of a good friend of mine and Dick is her man. They are both runners and coaches and while they had never been around ultras before, they know runners and were a great help. Andrea was, of course, fabulous. She made me the awesomest pin to wear on my Nathan and was perfect moral and otherwise support.
I spent a little while at the aid station before leaving. Turned in my timing chip. Ate some soup and sausage. I was torn between wanting to head right out and crew Marcus for the rest of the rae and wanting to go to bed and stay in bed all day Saturday. I called Lisa and managed to hit her in an open window before she started pacing and where she still had coverage and let her know what had happened. Luckily, the house we had planned to crash at the end of the race wasn't too far away and we headed there for some sleep. After showering, of course. And scaring the crap out of poor Mary Jo, who was obviously not expected us until the next night. Happily, shower-wise, since it was so humid and I was so wet already, adding water to the chaffage didn't cause the extreme pain I was expecting. Trying to arrange my body in a way to be able to sleep was interesting, though . . .
We woke up around 7 or 8 the next morning (when it was STILL hot and humid. I recall swearing as I stepped out the door). I didn't feel as though I had slept at all. I called my dad to let him know not to come up, as he was planning on crewing the last few hours for me. Andrea and I ate some breakfast and then we headed back out on the race course to find and follow Marcus around for the rest of the day. After a brief debate with myself, I put on my long sleeve Sawtooth shirt for the day. Which I may or may not be basically living in since then:
I decided that since this is not a finisher shirt (that's what the hoodie is for), I am damn well allowed to wear it. Plus, it's the general shirt for all three events and I covered the distance of one of them, at least. In any case, I am in no way ashamed to wear it.
We met Marcus at Temperance, where I told him I had already finished and he better get his butt in gear. It was actually quite nice to have another runner to focus on and it was good to still be around the race and my friends and help the runners out. I had two friends tell me things that made me feel better (well, I had lots of friends trying to make me feel better but these two really resonated). One was from Maria, who took a minute out of her own awesome race to remind me that it took her three times to finish Sawtooth. Now, if you don't know her, Maria is fabulous and tough and an inspiration so it was nice to be reminded that Sawtooth slapped her down, too. The other was from Tony who told me that I would have more DNFs, maybe even a whole column of them to line up with my finishes. For some reason, that made me feel a lot better. Going to the finish line was hard, though. I actually couldn't really be at it and had to leave and head up the trail to wait for Marcus to come in since 100 mile finishers don't need a teary-eyed DNFer wandering forlornly around, barely able to cheer for finishers. I ran with Marcus and Andrea for the last half mile or so and then was able to focus again on taking care of "my" runner, though he didn't need much taking care of this year.
I spent most of Sunday moping around and then felt a lot better. Except for the part where it was gorgeous and cloudy and cool and windy. Really? We couldn't have had this perfect running weather two days earlier? It made me angry every time I looked outside. I think it was good to be able to just mope for a bit, though, and let it get out of my system. Since I already had taken Monday off of work, I kept it off and slept in super later and went for a run and a dip in some water and felt a lot better.
I haven't decided yet what's coming next this fall but I wish I didn't have to wait a whole year to take on Sawtooth again. Though, much as I was ready to take it on RIGHT NOW a week afterwards, right now I'm okay with having that year to get ready.
I posted a long thank you note on facebook that I'll copy here: I have some pretty awesome friends. Jan and Dick for crewing for me and being nothing but positive and willing and saying they'd do it again. Andrea for being a rock star crewing, coming up the trail to find me, and letting me cry on her shoulder about missing the cutoff - I'm glad you were able to go pace without me. Ethan helped take care of me when I drug my hyperventilating body into Tettegouche so I could get sent back out 45 minutes (an hour?) later in high spirits. The mystery runner who didn't know me but made me stop and sit and stayed with me until I insisted I needed to just get into the aid station and then insisted on staying behind me. - I'm so sorry I don't think I even thanked you. Rick and Wayne for waiting for me at Co Rd 6, giving me hugs, and being awesome to be around the next day. Maria for taking a minute in the middle of her own awesome race to remind me that she DNFd her first Sawtooth, too. Micah for driving me around from aid station to aid station on Saturday when I realized I couldn't drive the car (someone please teach me stick) and putting up with a worn out me. Lisa for giving me words of encouragement at the finish when she was tuckered herself from crewing/pacing. John Storkamp for putting on a fabulous race to test us all and giving me a hug at the finish line. And, of course, Mary Jo for letting me show up at her house at midnight, crushed and defeated and then taking care of us all post race.
As a runner I know once said - sometimes DNF stands for Did Nothing Fatal. I remember it being really quite humid out from the get go. And warm but at least it was cloudy for a while and that helped quite a bit. It wasn't HOT right away but definitely not cool.
It seemed crazy crowded at the beginning and it was really hard to know what kind of speed to go. I tried to aim for easy and comfortable and not pay attention to what others were doing (ie, don't worry about people going by) and to not stress if I was behind a conga line once we hit the single track. I seemed to go back and forth between being all by myself (how was that even possible?) and then catching a conga line and hanging with them a bit before going around them. I tried to balance going slow with not going so slow that I'd be digging a hole for myself later on. There was lots of talking around but I wasn't too chatty at the beginning, mostly because paces weren't set. I was mostly enjoying listening to other people talking, though.
The first aid station is crewless - there's just no good place for people to park and so you don't see your crew until about 20 miles in. It's a little out and back to get to that first aid station, which a lot of people hate because you go down a steep hill for maybe half a mile for the sole purpose of hitting the aid station and then have to turn around and go right back up. I actually really liked it - I love out and back sections because they give you a chance to see people. I was still close enough to see Marcus and Ron here, which was 10ish miles in. Possibly a sign that I was going too fast? I refilled my Nathan pack, emptied my garbage, and perused the food table. It was a goal to slow down enough to SEE what was on the table (something I'm terrible at) and make myself take something back out on the trail with me so I could snack at regular intervals in-between gels. Nothing looked too appetizing since it was typical short ultra fare that early on. I tried an orange. Mmmmmmmm. Delicious, if a bit full of seeds. I grabbed a couple more slices to take with and a couple cookies and headed back on my way.
Despite having crew, I opted for little drop Tupperwares at most of the available places. I figured this way I wouldn't have to worry about my crew getting lost on new (for them) roads and I also wouldn't have to worry about figuring out how many gels and s-caps to grab for the next section since it would all be portioned out already. I will definitely do some version of this again - it was super helpful to just have to grab what was in the Tupperware (including fresh baggies for snacks/trash/wet wipes) without having to think and it definitely reduced time spent digging around for gels/s-caps or forgetting to get a new baggie or what have you.
The Beaver Bay to Silver Bay section includes these horrid, awful wide open sections on rock cliff faces. Really quite pretty when it's not 90 degrees and 90% humidity (both stats I've heard thrown around and while I don't know if they're true, I'll believe them). So I was going through this section right in the heat of the day, making it rather like an oven with the heat radiating off the rocks. A humid oven. Oh, it was gross. Amusingly enough, it was in here that I decided my cheese stick sounded tasty. It was a rather warm cheese stick that was thinking about becoming melty and I knew it SHOULDN'T taste good but . . . yum. I actually made a point of eating it slowly, thinking my stomach might just rebel against it but it was delicious and I wish I had had another one. In here, I caught up to a small group of people and we chatted a bit. Alfredo is the only one I really remember because he has an awesome name. He also had trekking poles all folding up and stored on his Nathan which I thought was a little silly at first (when I had first seen them on him 20 miles ago) but throughout the day they seemed more and more appealing. Anyway, this group was going REALLY slow through here. Walking pretty much everything, including flats and some downhills. I hung with them for a while because it was nasty out and I knew I didn't want to go all that much faster anyway. After a while, though, I knew I had to move at least a little faster while my legs were still fresh and happy, so I went around them. I wasn't going too much faster, but I was running the downhills and the flats and I felt good about my decision.
I started the day in my Austin-Jarrow jersey and typical race shorts, knowing it was going to be hot and figuring I wouldn't change until night time. I am definitely done with my race shorts for ultra distances now - after chaffing from the seams at Voyageur and what they did at Sawtooth. I changed out of them in Silver Bay - where they were already soaked from the humidity and definitely rubbing me funny, despite the body glide. Andrea tells me that I may have alarmed one of my crew when I set him to the task of finding sunscreen for reapplication and then walked a few steps away from the crowd, turned my back, and changed my shorts.
Coming into the aid stations were generally pretty awesome. The early ones are full of people - volunteers, crew, spectators. You just feel like a rock star coming into this mass of people cheering for you. I came into Silver Bay rather hot but left feeling pretty awesome in general, ready to tackle the next section. I also discovered the fabulousness of having ice down your bra. How have I not done this before? An added plus is that it slowly drips down your shirt and helps keep your core cool. I also went back to my hat for this race. I've found that generally with my short hair, having my hair down and a hat on top actually makes me more hot so I've been avoiding it all summer. However, I wanted my head covered as sun protection so I tried some pigtails and that worked great. Having a hat also lets you have a hat full of ice going out of the aid station and that was also wonderful. I was super sad one all the of ice was gone from my hat and bra.
So I'm unsure as to exactly where the shit hit the fan. I think I've decided that heading up Mount Trudee must have set it off as I can't remember my breathing coming down after that and the timeline makes sense. So we'll say from about there on, I was hyper-ventilating more and more. As in sounding as though I was finishing a hard road 5K instead of barely running downhill. That phase lasted a while and wasn't terribly alarming and then I moved into to sounding like a donkey (picture the "hee-haw, hee-haw" type of noise). I knew I was in trouble when I made this realization and didn't find it funny at all - I realized that I should be at least amused by it and instead felt detached from it. In retrospect, I don't think I took it seriously enough when it started. I think I was breathing hard from heading up Trudee and just did my usual recovery method, which is to start running again and wait for the breathing to come back under control, only this time it never did and instead of realizing that and stopping for a few minutes, I just kept going. I didn't really feel like I had a tight chest or as though my throat was constricted - it just felt as though there wasn't any oxygen in the air to breathe. When it became obvious that it was just getting worse and worse I did back off and walk, only that didn't really slow my breathing down. I also tried stopping to sit on a rock, which didn't seem to effect anything at all since I wasn't willing to sit for all that long. When I tried sitting on a bench, it was way too late. My fingers went tingly and then the tip of my nose. I'm pretty sure I lost feeling in a couple fingers (I spent some time trying to determine if they had feeling or not and then got distracted by something) and the tingling moved into my palms. Once my cheeks started going, I had this thought in the back of my head that I better get into the aid station before the tingling moved any further. I don't think I was panicked in here. I don't recall panic or drama. Maybe a little frustrated that I couldn't run what was a nice, mostly downhill, runnable section but mostly I was just sort of removed from it.
I had lots of runners ask if I was okay as they passed by. I would usually managed to huff out something like "Fine but can't breathe." I did tell someone (Dale Humphries?) to tell Lisa I was coming, if she was still there, which I didn't think she would be. When I was just around the corner from the Drainpipe (less than a mile from the aid station), two runners FORCED me to sit down. I tried to tell them that I tried sitting earlier and it didn't help and what I needed was to just keep moving to get to the aid station but since I couldn't breathe, I couldn't really talk, and they interpreted that as panicking. One guy kept going so he could let people at the aid station know I was having issues and eventually I convinced the other guy to let me keep moving (it's not as though there was really an alternative, anyway . . .). He insisted on staying behind me and wouldn't let me run or even really walk fast. "Slow, slow" is what I kept hearing. Good advice, I'm sure, but I just wanted to be in to Tettegouche. I don't even know the guy's name to thank him for watching out for me.
Andrea and Ethan (who was volunteering) came out to meet me and got me settled in at the aid station where my crew had set up a chair and my gear. It took me a solid 45 minutes for my breathing to come down. I was urged to lay down at first (on some poor person's now gross and sweaty fleece blanket), but that definitely made it worse and made me start to feel panicky. My fabulous crew was wonderful, as was Ethan who took off my shoes and socks for me and took my pulse a few times. Everyone stuck the perfect balance of taking care of me and just letting things get down to normal and forcing some decisions on me when I wasn't making them (such as "okay, now I'm going to hand you soup and you're going to eat it"). I took a full hour at Tettegouche but was laughing by the time I left. A woman who had been sitting near by (waiting for her runner? volunteering? I'm not sure) told me she couldn't believe I was getting up to go and that I was amazing. I did a full clothing change, helped by my awesome crew and, with a baggie full of oranges, I was ready to head out. Andrea said she'd be ready to pace at Co Rd 6 and so I had something to look forward to with the next aid station.
Something else I will do for my next 100 - I taped a list of place to Body Glide at each aid station. Very helpful! I can only imagine this would get more helpful the longer I go.
I headed out of Tettegouche in my running dress and half tights, expecting the temperatures to start dropping as night hit. I also had a long sleeve shirt around my waist for the same reason. Not a block down the trail, I put the long sleeve on since I was chilled from sitting for so long. About a half mile out, I realized the chafing from my shorts was pretty horrible. My fix last time was to put a Buff around it, so I stopped and gave that a go. Turns out trying to do that under half tights just makes the Buff rub the chaff, as opposed to protecting it. I made it across the Baptism River before taking it back off. Happily, having the brief bout of extreme rubbing with the Buff made it feel not so bad without it. I ended up chaffing so bad that I pussed. Ow. Which is probably much more than you wanted to know, but there you have it! The long sleeve came off not long after that since it was actually still really hot and humid, despite the sun being on its way down.
All those people telling me it was going to cool off at night? Liars. Every one of them. The night brought no relief from either the heat or the humidity.
Tettegouche to County Road 6 was horrible. It took me 4ish hours to go 8ish miles. The hyperventilating came back as soon as I started going uphill after crossing Hwy 1. This time, I was mildly panicked about it. I knew what it could turn in to so I had to stop at the top of every hill or part way up, depending on how big it was, in order to let my breathing come back down. I couldn't run at all. I couldn't walk very fast or it would start up again. It became very obvious in not very long in that I was either not going to make the cutoff or I would be so close that I wouldn't have a chance to recover in the aid station before having to leave and start it again. I found a nice rock on top of a hill, overlooking a lake down below, with an inkling of light still in the distance and I sat down and had a short little DNF cry. At least as much of one as you can while attempting to bring your breathing down from heading uphill. I was okay after that and just kept moving along as it became even more obvious that there was no making it in before the cutoff unless I could magically suddenly run. I was breathing hard the whole way but at least the donkey didn't make an appearance again. I sat on rocks, I sat on stumps, I sat on stairs. I had no thoughts of feeling better than a dead weasel, no songs running through my head, nothing since somewhere before Tettegouche until I was done. Which, since I had mostly the same song in my head for the previous amount of the race, might have been a good thing.
This section was horribly long. It took forever to get in. I had several people pass me, most of which checked in with me but I didn't sound like death anymore. At one point, I was positive the sweeps had caught me (I actually have no idea when the sweeps start. They probably weren't even out there yet) as there was a group of chatting, laughing, singing men behind me who seemed to be giving me space to work. They eventually passed me, though, and were definitely not the sweeps. We had to be almost in, right? I mean, we were heading downhill. How much further down can it be? A lot further, as it turns out. Since you come out on a road and then run down the road some, you can't even see or hear the aid station to know you're getting close. You just keep going and going and going. Eventually, I saw Andrea coming up the trail for me. Time for a quick hug and more tears. On the way down she asked if I wanted to know about the time and I let her know I knew I was over the cutoff. I can't remember by how much, though. Cut off was 10:30. 10:37 is sticking in my head for some reason, but I feel as though that might have been when I found Andrea? We had a ways to go after that so I was well past the cutoff by the time I straggled in, struggling to breath even on the flat road. I don't know if I missed the cutoff by 15 minutes or half an hour.
County Road 6 was littered with dropped runners. We were everywhere. I heard later that as the volunteers had packed everything up and were about to leave, they found three runners laying on the ground on the edge of the little clearing who didn't have rides to get anywhere. Here I thought I was dead last coming in and there were still people dragging themselves in when we were leaving the aid station and we stuck around for a while so as bad as my slog fest was, theirs must have been worse. My crew was perfect. Upbeat without being annoying about it. Encouraging things to say without making you want to slap them.
My crew was Jan and Dick - Jan was my assistant cross country coach in middle and high school as well as the mother of a good friend of mine and Dick is her man. They are both runners and coaches and while they had never been around ultras before, they know runners and were a great help. Andrea was, of course, fabulous. She made me the awesomest pin to wear on my Nathan and was perfect moral and otherwise support.
I spent a little while at the aid station before leaving. Turned in my timing chip. Ate some soup and sausage. I was torn between wanting to head right out and crew Marcus for the rest of the rae and wanting to go to bed and stay in bed all day Saturday. I called Lisa and managed to hit her in an open window before she started pacing and where she still had coverage and let her know what had happened. Luckily, the house we had planned to crash at the end of the race wasn't too far away and we headed there for some sleep. After showering, of course. And scaring the crap out of poor Mary Jo, who was obviously not expected us until the next night. Happily, shower-wise, since it was so humid and I was so wet already, adding water to the chaffage didn't cause the extreme pain I was expecting. Trying to arrange my body in a way to be able to sleep was interesting, though . . .
We woke up around 7 or 8 the next morning (when it was STILL hot and humid. I recall swearing as I stepped out the door). I didn't feel as though I had slept at all. I called my dad to let him know not to come up, as he was planning on crewing the last few hours for me. Andrea and I ate some breakfast and then we headed back out on the race course to find and follow Marcus around for the rest of the day. After a brief debate with myself, I put on my long sleeve Sawtooth shirt for the day. Which I may or may not be basically living in since then:
I decided that since this is not a finisher shirt (that's what the hoodie is for), I am damn well allowed to wear it. Plus, it's the general shirt for all three events and I covered the distance of one of them, at least. In any case, I am in no way ashamed to wear it.
We met Marcus at Temperance, where I told him I had already finished and he better get his butt in gear. It was actually quite nice to have another runner to focus on and it was good to still be around the race and my friends and help the runners out. I had two friends tell me things that made me feel better (well, I had lots of friends trying to make me feel better but these two really resonated). One was from Maria, who took a minute out of her own awesome race to remind me that it took her three times to finish Sawtooth. Now, if you don't know her, Maria is fabulous and tough and an inspiration so it was nice to be reminded that Sawtooth slapped her down, too. The other was from Tony who told me that I would have more DNFs, maybe even a whole column of them to line up with my finishes. For some reason, that made me feel a lot better. Going to the finish line was hard, though. I actually couldn't really be at it and had to leave and head up the trail to wait for Marcus to come in since 100 mile finishers don't need a teary-eyed DNFer wandering forlornly around, barely able to cheer for finishers. I ran with Marcus and Andrea for the last half mile or so and then was able to focus again on taking care of "my" runner, though he didn't need much taking care of this year.
I spent most of Sunday moping around and then felt a lot better. Except for the part where it was gorgeous and cloudy and cool and windy. Really? We couldn't have had this perfect running weather two days earlier? It made me angry every time I looked outside. I think it was good to be able to just mope for a bit, though, and let it get out of my system. Since I already had taken Monday off of work, I kept it off and slept in super later and went for a run and a dip in some water and felt a lot better.
I haven't decided yet what's coming next this fall but I wish I didn't have to wait a whole year to take on Sawtooth again. Though, much as I was ready to take it on RIGHT NOW a week afterwards, right now I'm okay with having that year to get ready.
I posted a long thank you note on facebook that I'll copy here: I have some pretty awesome friends. Jan and Dick for crewing for me and being nothing but positive and willing and saying they'd do it again. Andrea for being a rock star crewing, coming up the trail to find me, and letting me cry on her shoulder about missing the cutoff - I'm glad you were able to go pace without me. Ethan helped take care of me when I drug my hyperventilating body into Tettegouche so I could get sent back out 45 minutes (an hour?) later in high spirits. The mystery runner who didn't know me but made me stop and sit and stayed with me until I insisted I needed to just get into the aid station and then insisted on staying behind me. - I'm so sorry I don't think I even thanked you. Rick and Wayne for waiting for me at Co Rd 6, giving me hugs, and being awesome to be around the next day. Maria for taking a minute in the middle of her own awesome race to remind me that she DNFd her first Sawtooth, too. Micah for driving me around from aid station to aid station on Saturday when I realized I couldn't drive the car (someone please teach me stick) and putting up with a worn out me. Lisa for giving me words of encouragement at the finish when she was tuckered herself from crewing/pacing. John Storkamp for putting on a fabulous race to test us all and giving me a hug at the finish line. And, of course, Mary Jo for letting me show up at her house at midnight, crushed and defeated and then taking care of us all post race.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Brief Sawtooth
Sorry for the delay - no coverage for my Nexus plus not wanting to post right when I got home this afternoon.
The short: I DNFd - didn't make the cutoff at County Road 6 due to some severe hyperventilating coming into Tettegouche and less severe continuing of it. Clearly not what I wanted but my first DNF is over, now. More details to follow.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Here we go!
T - 10 hours!
I have my drop bags packed and dropped off at packet pick up. I decided on small tupperwares to pack my gel, ginger, and s-caps in. That way, I won't have to worry too much about something going wrong with my crew and I won't have to try and calculate how much gel I should grab.
The pre-race briefing has been attended. I have my number and ankle chip. My crew bag is ready to go. My extra clothes are sorted (bag for long sleeves, bag for short sleeves and shorts, bag for socks/hats/sleeves/etc). All that's left to do is sleep and then wake up and start this thing. I'm excited but mostly I'm feeling ready and not too nervous right now (though was crazy nervous earlier in the day).
I will try to post to facebook and here sometime Saturday night, depending on coverage and such.
Here we go! Rar!
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