6 years later...

What a return trip! I am still trippin':) I ran a road marathon! Now, I ran 15 of those (and a couple of trail), but it was so long ago, I was petrified to try my hand (or leg) again in it.

But I signed up. To a Miracle Match Marathon, put on by Marathon Maniacs members and built as The Toughest Little Marathon in Texas. It lived up to all those expectations and then some...

You can say I actually trained for a road marathon. Not in conventional running website way, as my miles were extremely low, but I did track workouts on Tuesdays religiously, either tempo or hill workouts on Thursdays, and long/medium run combo on roads on the weekend, building from 12 miles to 16, 18, 20 and 23. Yes, 23 road miles on hilliest routes on NW Austin, at 4am, running every step. And yes, I enjoyed it. My only trail run was a week before a marathon, last 10 miler with Eman on flat yet technical Barton Creek trails ( and I managed to get blisters on each foot!). I haven't done any easy runs (not that I could squeeze them in my schedule), and I was quite scared to set out for the race.

I was nervous for sure. The fact that I needed to use a bathroom 5 times for some serious business the morning of tells me that. I gingerly picked a goal of 4:30 - it WAS a 27M marathon after all, and it WAS hilly. My results will tell you, it was a rather firm goal, on a qwest to find all or some of my 8 fast-twitch muscle fibers.

It was a perfect marathon for a come-back. Located just 1.5 hrs away from home, it allowed us to sleep in bed. Larry drove while I dosed off for another 40 minutes. We arrived with over an hour to spare, I picked up my personalized number (with a name written across), and we mingled a bit. There were a lot of Marathon Maniacs! And some of them still remembered my name (from the time I joined in 2004, I was number 101, and the group was rather small, now they are approaching 3500 in total). We stumbled upon Dimitry, an ultrarunner from Austin, and he (and a few MM) warned me about last 6 miles of crazy hills. Hello? The profile pointed at flat first 6M, incline with 2 hills thrown in between 6 and 13, then some rolls, last hill at 20 - and home-free! Boy, I should have listened and asked more questions...Anyhow, it was small in numbers comparing to big-city races, and so it did feel almost like an ultra, even though between a marathon, a half and relay, there were likely over 300 folks (or more). However, there was enough space to not worry about starting and getting left behind. Larry asked me questions about prep, and when I couldn't respond to half of them, he mentioned I was "prepared as usual, half-ass way". He also skolded me for getting hard weight workout on Wed and Bikram class on Saturday (as in sabotaging my marathon), but my excuse is that my races should never stand in a way of me having fun in other life's pursuits. So, sore or not, I was ready for a test...

And so we were off. Those flat miles clicked rather easily at 8:30 pace, which scared me like hell - I wasn't sure I could do it for even a couple miles! When I saw Larry at mile 6 with a bottle ready to switch (yes, we played ultra-style, and he was an unbelievably awesome crew!), I mentioned that I will pay back for the start like that - but no regrets. Larry popped up more than we planned, and it was always a boost! We climbed and climbed, and I slowed down to 9:30's, to reach 13M in 2 hrs - a feat in its own rights. I felt I had already achieved the ultimate reward, and was smiling ear to ear. I talked to runners I was passing by (yep, I started on that around mile 10, as usual), and smiled and cheered volunteered even though never broke a stride through an AS. I was super-happy - when the hills, the real steep ones, began. I was running every step! I'd pass a guy, turn to him, blurt something "We only have 10 miles to go, partner!" and move on. It was great! The music blaring, my form tight, my stride efficient, all hydrated and gelled-up, I was not slowing down! Well, I did begin to hurt around mile 19, but I popped Ibuprofen and resolved not to walk a step. It's only 27 miles, for God's sake! So, when we grunted the hill at mile 20, I yelled out "Last one" as I powered by a few strugglers. They looked at me weirdly. We streamed further - and another "wall" comes up, with a sign "Last Hill...Just kidding!"...and then another, with the same sign, and a couple more! Boy, it was unexpected, and folks were struggling. Even my face, when noone was around, expressed pain and suffer, but I never let anybody see it, so while passing, or getting by an AS, I smiled wide and talked cheerfully. We paid for it! Larry showed up at mile 22 or so, unplanned, with an extra bottle switch and a V8 juice - and it was a life saver! Best thing ever...

Last 2 miles were pure exhaustion. I held on, even though it went further than 26.2 (I knew that too). The last bridge to the finish line could not come soon enough, and during that last mile I cramped in every muscle of both my legs, from heel to calf to hamstring to butt. I was afarid to stop and stretch as to not be able to start moving again. I just prayed to not have the legs buckle under me. Last turn, last climb to a bridge - across it, and into the finish.

I was done in 4:12, what made it for pretty much even splits (13M in 2:00, second 14M in 2:12), and I had no regrets. I kind of lowered myself on a curb with Larry's help, and exhaled - I passed the test. Welcome back, sista. Your 8 fast-twitch fibers are still alive amongst 56 slow-twitches:) What a great course and a perfect venue to a Little One! And it was, indeed, the hilliest of my 16 road marathons. It reached 77F by the end of the day, and it was rather humid all morning, but I was right on with salt taking. My fueling was perfect, the energy never went down, the hydration was on cue (thanks to Larry!), the stomach behaved beautifully...the views were gorgeous, and the feel of a small-town marathon was pretty close to an ultra-crowd. I, honestly, never read-lined in my breathing (and was able to chit-chat to those willing to listen), but I don't think my legs could move any faster if I did try to pick up speed. I highly recommend this for everyone as a venture into roads. And I may be making some road shorter races, now that I had overcome my fear of it! I always said, as crazy as it sounds, running trail 50's (and even 100's) had become somewhat comfortable to me, not that it's not challenging, but not scary. I don't want to stagnate in my life, I want to challenge and overcome and test...I may never do well (in terms of how I used to be) in Yoga, but I will sign up to compete. I may never drop my fat to 15% as I was 13 years ago, but I will try a figure competition. May be not this year, but not too far away. I will pass PT exam, I will take psychology classes, I will do a lot in my life. We will hike CDT, and explore Spain backcountry. I will run a PR in 5k, and learn to bike and swim on a level that is not simply "holding on". And I will age gracefully and with lots of fun:)

Next up - Larry is running RR 50M, while I'll crew for him and help volunteering at start/finish (I do not officially own an AS at this race). In a meantime - enjoy some pictures.

The Long Ultra

Please do click on the picture I’ve inserted and read this piece. There is a reason I had included it.

I wasn’t going to write anything about my experiences at Bandera, but then later afterwards, I came across this article in an Ultrarunning magazine (interestingly, a whole issue later, this is just how not obsessed I am anymore) – and couldn’t resist. Totally broke me into tears a few times. As a runner – for sure. How many times had I come across those wonderful, often un-named people, selflessly standing in the heat, cold or rain, serving me and other idiots with water and soup? Giving a word of “looking cute and booking it”? Lending you their own fresh pair of gloves and a hat because you decided that racing in CA means sunshine year round? But also as a volunteer. I had been giving my time back to help at the races since my own inception as an ultrarunner, which was a 50k in Central Park 8 years ago coming in exactly 1 month (why do so many think I am an old-timer? It wasn’t that long ago! Although it certainly seems like a century away, may be due to some 80 ultras, or may be because the scene and ideas had changed so much, I am, indeed, an old school). Volunteering officially, helping passing by while hanging out, crewing and pacing and pitching in, and even race directing. And it’s often difficult to decide which I enjoy more. It likely shifts around as I “age” in the sport. I don’t have FOMO (“fear of missing out”) anymore, I am not jealous, and I am not even inspired by amazing performances. I am simply helping normal folks, human beings, to achieve their goals, reach their potentials, fulfill their bucket lists, from front runners to last ones. It is very satisfying, and it is surely very tiring. 30 hours at Cactus Rose and 24 hours at Bandera were worth every minute of what you experience while running an ultra yourself. Aching feet, junk food and upset stomach, dehydration because you forget to drink, being cold and hot at random points, dirty, slimy, stinky, smelly, sleep-deprived, ranging your mood swings from extremely happy to pretty pissed off. You just don’t get to run…

I wouldn’t have been able to “own” the Lodge AS without my awesome volunteers: Thomas (whos pictures I’ve also included below, along with my own and a couple of stolen official), Larry, Jim, Tracy, Julienne, Meghan, and many more at various points, as well as famous cook Crash who tried to keep us fed, and, of course, never-resting-always-there RD’s Joe and Joyce of Tejas Trails and their right hand Henry. My boy Larry ran a 25k version in a great time and then worked the AS, and my boys Stephen and Harrison behaved rather well all day, so by 7pm and before the rain storm started, I decided to be a nice mom and send them home. After all, the official AS closed at that time for the half-way of a 2-loop course of a 100km race, and all we needed to do was serve finishing souls some hot food. As the damaging rain began to pour – so did our wet, cold, hungry yet excited runners. They got some chicken noodle soup and hot cocoa – and a heated tent to mumble a few horror stories from clay-like mud, lightening in the sky, ups and downs turned into rivers and buckets of rain Texas style. By the way, the Lodge was Soviet for a day, tough love military style.

The race itself went in a blast for front runners in each of the provided distances, 25k, 50k and 100k. Course records were crashed severely, and friends were thrilled with combination of WS100 spots (Montrail cup) and checks written (USATF championship). I had benefits of “hosting” my Oregon homies and all-over-the-country friends on this turf of rocks, besides sharing the day with local runners. Contrary to popular belief that views me as a social butterfly, I am an extreme introvert. The way so many remember me from serving AS or browsing pre- and post-race meeting is simply a compensating mechanism implemented since my childhood when I wanted to “fit in” so badly…I never did, though. So, as the day wore off and the night fell, I felt a need to retrieve to my “cave” and took a sitting in a dark room for 20 minutes. Later in a night you could find me quietly stirring the soup and hardly saying much. I apologize if it offended anybody (along with Red Flag)…I was still happy to see you be done and alive.


And that brings me to a second part of my post. It is a long ultra – to volunteer. It is a long ultra to stay upbeat for hundreds of people to see. I was thinking of the usual beginning of the year “2010 recap and 2011 goals” - and decided not to make oit a separate post. What can I say? I had a great year. Running-wise, it was nearly perfect. I had solid “training” races, and great-to-hard-to-believe “goal” races of Leona Divide 50M and MMT 100M. Even with coherent DNF at Tahoe 100M in mid-July due to burn-out, I was a happy camper with my season. Dropping off the running allowed me to come back to yoga, which was so far on a back-burner, I almost forgot just how much I loved it. It also allowed me to come to it with a lot of humility. After so many years of running and forgoing any legitimate stretching (in my books anyway), I lost all that I had naturally or acquired by hard work in that department. In fact, I managed to tear off my hamstring by pretending I am at least at 50% capacity – which I wasn’t.

And thus come my new season. The low key, the “travel-around-Texas-then-see-if-still-want-to-do-a-100” year. The year I call “taking care of me”. The year I am taking 4 classes of yoga a week, the year I pay attention to my weight training routine by making it smarter, the year I don’t set out to “drop x-amount of pounds”, but rather “figure out why I hold on to so much fat”, the year I – GASP – run less, yet everything I do run, I do quality and with love. The year I take care of my injuries – I had battled plantar fasciitis and that messed up hamstring for almost 4 months now, and finally, FINALLY, at the suggestion of Liza Howard had visited the Airrosti, and while they charge a small fortune, and I haven’t met my deductable for the year yet (obviously, I don’t go to doctors), they do what they claim – they hurt a whole bunch, but they treat your ailment in a couple of visits!!! I had run through every injury in a running book, and always simply allowed time (a very slow time at that since I never took time off or did much for myself in terms of treatments) to heal thyself. Paying most of my Christmas gift money for a single visit to a dude who made me sweat buckets from pain for a mere 10 minutes was new to me. So is scheduling 2 massages in the next 2 months – for myself, not to visit my clients. Wow, something’s wrong in this Universe!

But this is where I stand. Setting up challenges – and not sharing them with the whole world – or those few that still read blogs. As an introvert, my first response is to retrieve to my cave… Just being ourselves is the biggest fear of humans. We have learned to live our life trying to satisfy other people's demands. We have learned to live by other people's points of view because of the fear of not being accepted and of not being good enough for someone else. (Don Miguel Ruiz) But I figured I'll tell you at least a bit...

I had a great year, that 2010. I had made the best of my new life in a new place. I battled the heat of Texas summer, the absense of my beloved mountains, the "I don't know anybody who speaks Russian here" syndrome, I had (and continue to) adjusted to living with a husband - after dating long-distance, no matter how much love, it was still a challenge. I had faced another teenager meeting head-on all those teenage challenges. I did my best in dealing with it, and am constantly working on my attitude towards it. We cannot choose the things that will happen to us. But we can choose the attitude we will take toward anything that happens. Success or failure depends on your attitude. (Alfred A. Montapert) I dove into a new job, and entered an-almost-business-like market with massage therapy, slowly chipping away at the steps towards my semi-retirement goal: live in a small community near a mountain, own a small home out-right, do massages, teach yoga, and walk everywhere. Thank God Larry has the same goal! (sans massage and yoga parts). And I faced all these life changes without relying on a crutch. As my darling husband says, I am a different person (hope he still loves this one). May be I am finally becoming me...

Lets see where this year will take me!

Neither here, nor there

Нет родины в отечестве моём...No home in my homeland...hmm, even Google couldn't translate it the way I feel. But this is as close as I can try and describe my emotional being on this last trip. Every year it gets harder. And this time, on a second day, it hit me - I am not home anywhere. It's a common knowledge that the first generation of immigrants have it most difficult. In US I am as Russian as they get. Back in Russia - I am an American. Where is home? I don't have one...that's the truth...

It was still a wonderful trip. One day a few years ago I had compiled a bucket list. "Take a foreigner to Russia to see my home country through their eyes" was on it. This past week I had put a check mark to this wish - and realized exactly why I wanted it...

I ran only twice in Moscow, and both times it was before Larry arrived. It was -15C with winds and humidity, and while Russia had began a wave of fitness a few years back, seeing a single woman in tight pants and red jacket at 6am o’dark in the morning on the streets is still rather a weird encounter. Especially when all the streets are sheer ice covered slightly with mashed snow on top. By the end of each hour I felt every small muscle on my backside and hamstrings from making an effort to keep my body upright and feet from sliding and slipping.

It is fascinating to come back to a place where you grew up and kind of measure it up. The first run I kept going, and going…and going – and suddenly, just like that, I was at the Third Ring highway, the place I never walked to before, where Moscow boundaries end and I’ve only being out for 35 minutes. It was twice further than I ever walked when I was a teenager. Made it for an interesting perspective. My second run I made a different loop, and still couldn’t find more than an hour worth of total running, simply ran out of road (not that Moscow is small - iut's huge, my folks just live on outskirts) – not to mention that morning was so cold, my eyeballs froze and I had an ice layer on my chin and cheeks. However, each of those runs brought me peace. Like - everything is ok, normal, the way it should be. I guess it’s just part of me, whether I am training, burnt out, or don’t care about it at all…

There were more bickering with my family members than usual, although it was also longer than I stay on average. Still, it showed how far apart we grew, me – over here, in US, them – back home, and in a different country at that. It was sad. We kept our cool and played adult, but the aura was there. How many times will I be coming back? I don’t know anymore. It draws me, but it also pushes me away…

Even before Larry came, I was making discoveries with Stephen’s eyes, now that he is 15 and has opinions. He picked on details that were rather so right, it wasn’t funny. Everyone is in a hurry in Moscow – big hurry. They all walk 3-4 miles a day just for their daily tasks, getting to bus, then subway, then work, then back, supermarket, picking up kids, back home…you get the idea. Even without running, we figured we walked between 6 to 10 miles each day with sightseeing. Add to it tightening muscles Pilates style to keep upright on the sheet of ice – and here you go. Explains why I never gain weight on my trips home, even though eat like an elephant every night, 4-course meals. Speaking of food, another Stephen’s observation – all Russian people care about is to feed their guests. By the way, we don’t take them out. It is a bad manner to take your guests to a restaurant. You have to cook elaborate meals to show how much they (guests) mean to you – and then the hostess spends all evening serving, cleaning and washing, rarely sitting with guests (it’s a man’s job).

Larry said it is obvious to him why I am so good at an ultra. May be not fast, and that pays into a 100 mile more than a 50k. This is where I learned to powerwalk. To be patient (try standing in a line to every place you need to get, or waiting for the bus in -25C). To get by on no food (fast-food places didn’t exist back in Soviet, and now are too expensive for the salaries, so you have a simple breakfast, and then a 7pm dinner). To accept changes (who wouldn’t, living in Soviet? We don’t make decisions, we just adapt to them.) We love to sacrifice – the whole culture is built on it. We love to help in trouble. Not so much to see others content (why am I not so lucky?). We wear dark clothes (Moscow is a dirty city, even though the streets had gotten extremely clean in the last few years), but our women wear lots of bright make up. Russian people as a nation is skinny – I am one of the fatter examples. It got even skinnier. Ladies look like elite athletes with no thighs or hips. Trust me, arriving to Atlanta airport and standing on escalator really made a point at it. But then again – we walk a lot, and we don’t eat processed food. Everything is made from scratch, and there is no abundance. We also appreciate beauty, inside and out – and work to keep at it.

We go to theaters, museums and concerts – still, no matter collapse of Soviet Era. We still read (much less than before, though). We are just as crazy about gift-giving for New Year as here people do for Christmas – it wasn’t even funny. And yes, we still drink a whole bunch of vodka for any and every occasions…

I showed Larry so much, my head was spinning, and it was wonderful. Some of it I actually saw for the first time myself. Like inside Kremlin – I bet you’re picturing Soviet officials, but it was built as a city of Orthodox churches. We saw Russian Ballet and heard a concert of classical music, visited an Old Circus (where tiger misbehaved, but gymnasts were fantastic) and Kremlin Armory Museum (not what you think it is), saw every famous building inside the First Ring of Moscow (historical city) and Moscow State University, spent 2 frozen hours trying to find my Medical University with no money for a bus fair (yeah, I know, sounds really stupid and shameful), heard Church Liturgy with beautiful singing, walked in a cemetery, took plenty of rides in the best (and first in the world) subway, got amused by Red Square and vicinity, ate tons of traditional food made by my sister and walked in a snow blizzard through a Victory Park (for WWII)… I am sure he, in his detailed manner, will write a great post about places we visited – and what he thought of us.  I simply include a few random shots that mean something to me…