This is exactly how I feel. After 13 years of pouring my heart into ultrarunning to the point of an addiction (lets be honest), followed by 7 years of laying low due to inability to run (chronic adrenal fatigue and shit), now in my 3rd year of running again I feel like I am slowly waking up. And while waking up to the almost new scene of the sport that totally consumed me before my "previous end of a career", I am thankful for this long forced break, as depressive as it was - my "demise" as a competitor was not slow and painful as for so many aging runners, elite or near there. I was knocked off my feet, dealt with "I'll never be able to race again", and now, like a kid in a candy store, almost suddenly, I can. I can run! I can go the distance! I can race! New goals and all, I still can! And with that, my involvement with Annie and her young generation of ultrarunners, Aravaipa group where I seem to be gaining some respect as a "used to be", and Larry's full support, I am launching into my midlife crisis head on. Bring the ultrarunning back to my life! With that, I still am a dinosaur...old (ish), slow(ish) and trying to survive.
So, the last time I checked in here was a week after Zion 50k, while about to get my intestines checked. It went ok - the procedure, the results are a little more questionable, but what's you gonna do, I've got family history, and at this point, I am in the clear. Annie came right for dinner, and we had fun talking all Cocodona related. She laughed that oh, so many wild adventures were/are (and will be) born in our living room. It's dangerous to get too close to me, ya know? :) The next dark o'morning we got into the car and drove to Palmer park (literally, 3 miles from the house) to volunteer at Rattler's races put on by Mad Moose. Well, I was doing the works, Annie was running the loop just for pleasure. I had the usual assignments for start/finish: bib/t-shirts, start/finish set up, mid-way AS haul up, truck unloading, then I was a traffic controller for all 3 waves/races about 0.5 mile in, and in-between ran circles to keep myself warm. It was a perfect day for running (if windy), but we as volunteers were darn frozen, while clipping timing chips off the shoes at the finish line. But it was fun! I forgot how much fun I can have doing it! And I saw plenty of familiar faces, what made me feel like a part of this new community!
I did my own little run just before noon, and then - disaster struck!
We had a somber dinner. While he heard the pop, under my observation it didn't look broken or torn ligaments, just a severe strain. I certainly had hope, even if he didn't. As a medical professional (even if former), I've seen my share of stuff and can usually figure stuff out myself. We put an order for a brace, and started the icing/elevation/Ibuprofen combo.
Sunday morning Annie and I headed out for a run. She wanted to keep me company on the Rampart road, part of the 50M course I was doing in May. It was hella windy day! I ushered her ahead, but her tiny body was no match to the gusty wind on this open road, so we actually ended up being about only half a mile apart at her turn-around mile 9. I pushed to 11, and put full 22 for the long run.
My training continued, and for the next 3 weeks I had 102 miles, 92 miles, and 82 miles. It was a joy to feel like I can do it again. My long runs were strong (enough for me), and I never felt broken.
We had a date one Saturday evening, courtesy of our realtor and his company doing their annual great meet-ups, this year it was exploring Cave of the Winds, a local attraction we, otherwise, would have never visited. So fun!
That's all came in a separate post before/below, I just have to say, I flew back to COS and got home at 2 am Friday, and at 6 am I had other obligations lined up. Soon after, it was time to drive up to Fort Collins for Quad Rock races put on by Nick Clark and Brad Bishop, my very old friends (though even they were newbies when I was already running...say WHAT?). While Larry's ankle wasn't healed completely (or even half way), he gingerly decided to start the race he signed up for, 25 miler. I was to volunteer the start/finish area, yet again. I sent him off, and got to work. No reason to describe the duties, just a lot of time on your feet, in the heat, with a huge smile on my face. Love being back!!
The night prior the race our local videographer Allie Mac took this video, and it definitely played role as the next day unfolded. On a separate note, my God, I have an accent! Ha, I'd be scared of me if I heard it barking orders!
The morning came, and I was hopeful. I mean, not my first rodeo, it's a long distance enough that I don't need to feel too peppy, and just plod along. Larry and Annie drove me in, we chatted with Devon Yanko, an old friend from PNW who is now, too, a full time CO resident, and off we went.
At mile 8 I felt the first twinge in my left calf. Is that a cramp? Holy shit! I know for a fact it is NOT a hydration or electrolyte issue, I just started, it's still cool, cloudy and windy, and I am drinking Tailwind! I committed to walk it off and stopped trying to throw a jog into that mile. 2 guys passed me - we would stay together from there till mile 41 - and said something nice. I am like - I am twice your age and have been doing it for almost as long as you remember yourself. I smile. The cramp twinge moves up my thigh into my left hamstring, then the right leg joins in. Mile 9, I try some jogs a few more times, very short, but by mile 11 abandon this mission. Power hiking it is, and maybe I can drop at the top AS.
I get to the top - it pays to know the course! - at mile 13 into the race, and, miraculously, I am full 6 min ahead of the pace chart, 2:54 in. WTF? How am I to drop if I am not losing time? I get my Tailwind with two nice gentlemen, and follow those two young'uns. They turn to me and say: didn't the AS folks mention you're 3rd female? I sort of exhale: I didn't register, I don't care, I am in a seriously bad cramp state. We move on. I keep up with them, even though they are running much more than I am - I am only allowing myself some shuffling on a down part of these next 7 miles. The dirt road rolls non-stop, I can't decide whether it goes more up (and therefore hoping for more down on the way back) or not. It all hurts so much, striding out to walk, shuffling, moving...I dream of dropping. The next AS is run by Aravaipa Colorado Monday chapter, and I am looking forward hoping to talk myself into no longer suffering. We finally see the tent roof, and I hear wild screaming: Olga is coming! It's Devin, a nephew of our friend Matthew, who is running this AS at mile 20/34 Rainbow Gulch, and he, Matt and Amber (another Monday running friend) are thrilled to see me. Damn, I can't drop with all this excitement! Plus, somehow I gained another 8 min. 15 min on splits - I guess I should keep going? Although I am terrified of the Rampart reservoir loop - what if it's technical, and every trip, toe catch, foot turn will send me into convulsion? I don't have time to think this through - Matthew is opening my tomato juice from the drop bag, Amber is filling my bottles, and I am off, ahead of the boys.
The first mile is smooth sailing, and pretty downhill, and I perk up. We enter the single track, and it, too, looks smooth. I carefully stride out, as the trail rolls gently flat, little up, little down...the full 14+ mile loop only has 2,000 ft of gain. A couple miles in or so the guys pass me, again. My cramps seem to get under control - they are not gone, but maybe because the surface is so gentle, and my steps are shortened, I feel the intense pain and quivering are calming down.
I live on hope. Jubilee is somewhere there, taking photos, and we can see the Dam, and the next AS, pretty much the whole way - yet we keep going around coves, like fingers of this lake, and salivate over all the people in the canoe on the water, on the chairs near water, fishing dudes, tanning gals...torture. I take my eyes off the reservoir and focus on my steps. In a few places the trail does get somewhat techy and rocky, and even narrow and steep, but really, it's nothing, and I am still ok. I get to the Dam AS, finally, some 8.7 miles in - I lost 7 minutes, half of my extras, here, but nothing crucial, right? Besides, I can't drop here, I don't know anyone. I grab a watermelon slice, refill my bottles, empty used gel packets, and get out before the boys do. The road over dam is just over half a mile, and we're back on single track, rolling - they pass me shortly after, again. I am sort of ok, if tired of this game of careful footsteps.
I live on hope. Jubilee is somewhere there, taking photos, and we can see the Dam, and the next AS, pretty much the whole way - yet we keep going around coves, like fingers of this lake, and salivate over all the people in the canoe on the water, on the chairs near water, fishing dudes, tanning gals...torture. I take my eyes off the reservoir and focus on my steps. In a few places the trail does get somewhat techy and rocky, and even narrow and steep, but really, it's nothing, and I am still ok. I get to the Dam AS, finally, some 8.7 miles in - I lost 7 minutes, half of my extras, here, but nothing crucial, right? Besides, I can't drop here, I don't know anyone. I grab a watermelon slice, refill my bottles, empty used gel packets, and get out before the boys do. The road over dam is just over half a mile, and we're back on single track, rolling - they pass me shortly after, again. I am sort of ok, if tired of this game of careful footsteps.
Only 4.5 miles back to Rainbow Gulch...and then, that last mile - it merges onto itself after the loop back, and now is going uphill. Well, apparently, my power hike is what triggers the cramps with vengeance. By the time I see the tent and hear Devin yelling my name with excitement, I am in a full blown Charlie horse from my butt to the lowest calf portion, both sides. Devin tries to lead me past the gate into the AS, but there's a rock - and no way I can lift my leg over it. I make a small detour around the other side of the gate, and see the guys, again. Plus, 2 people sitting at an AS in chairs, looking defeated and hot. I lost my cushion, but now still just "perfectly" on my time chart. I try to make decisions: what do I want to do? In a meantime, Matthew is popping my tomato juice, and Amber is filling my bottles. I gaze over them, I just have to say it: I want to drop so badly...And he's like - nope, not here! I know, I respond, I know, I just have to say it out loud!
The guys and I are walking out, together, and as soon as that very first uphill starts right out of an AS, I am in so much pain, I want to scream. I try to shorten my step, hit the back of my legs with my fists, talk nice and dirty to myself, alternating...this extreme lasts 2 miles, and the next 5 miles to AS at the top, it is all sort of a blur of pain, hike, shuffle. I pass a guy, and see the boys not far ahead. How is it possible, I wonder? I get to the Top AS at mile 41 exactly as the guys are leaving. I know for sure I will not be able to run downhill, and I am sad, silently bidding them goodbye. I can't even get mad at myself - I am a downhiller at heart, I am good at it, and I know this 13 mile stretch so well! I am also in excruciating pain. Dear God, 13 miles. The two men-volunteers cheerfully tell me: it's all down, you deserve it! - and I sigh. Yes, any other day. Not today...
I do try to shuffle some portions of the first couple of those downhill miles, but first of all, every uneven surface (rock scattered on this dirt jeep road, anyone?) I graze with my foot, sends my foot into full "toe-out, ballerina locked in screaming pain", and secondly, my quads hurt. What? My quads? The only things in my body I never feel sore since my first WS100 in 2004? I mean, my pride possession?!? My guess is, I relied so much on my front chain because my back chain muscles were not doing the work, I blew off my quads just by simply overuse. Whoa. I walk fast - and somehow still manage to hit some 12 min/mile for the most part. Yet, darn, it is not the 8-9 pace I planned on! Nobody's in sight, and I no longer care how far off the pace chart I am. I was at 41 mile in 9 hours, and I figured, it'd take a miracle to make it even in 11:30, yet along sub-11 as I predicted. I thought of Larry and Annie waiting for me. About the damn stupid interview I gave to Allie the night before: I want to do 10:45, and I am usually good on my predictions! Dumb ass. I eye every car that passes me on this dirt road - lots of them! I imagine waving one down, getting in, and texting Larry that I am done. Fuck, I don't even have a phone on me. I make myself to keep moving, the pain getting worse. Somewhere before the last AS (7 miles to go) I feel that a) I don't need to "touch" anything with my foot for the leg to lock into Charlie Horse (and a screaming match, full stop, don't fall), and b) the ground on the left seems to be closer than on the right, plus my right side back is hurting. I stop a number of times and stretch it. Finally, that last AS...I drink 3 small cups of coke, refill my bottles, and gather my wits. Gotta do it, girl.
A mile later, after a couple more screams and a few more stops and back stretches, Jubilee is out with her camera. Damn, I haven't shuffled in miles, but I feel obliged. She snaps a photo and says something encouraging, which I can't process.
She actually takes more pictures of me as I descend - right as I realize my "weird ground perception" - I have an infamous ultrarunner's LEAN! There's a first for everything! Well, I had it once in backpacking, but holy shit! All those YouTube videos of people finishing an ultra, leaning forward and to one side so much, they fall unless caught - yep, that is me! It's getting worse, too! Now I am stretching about every minute - and considering how slowly I am moving, it's a lot of stops in each mile. I am scared to hit my face to the dirt road. I am hurt. I get to the end of this Rampart road, and lean on a gate side, trying to get myself up. It works for a minute or two. Unbelievably, we actually have to go up the hill on the Garden of the Gods road! That tiny thing, half a mile with maybe 100 ft of gain in its steepest part, nearly killed me. I couldn't walk it for nothing, being so bent over, couldn't stride out my cramping legs all the backside of them as my body was twisted forward and to the left. The asphalt seems so close, I briefly consider getting on my hands and knees, - and some dude, literally, danced past me, singing: last mile! I wanted to smack him terribly (good thing I couldn't in the position I was in) - and the hill. I got off the asphalt onto another dirt connector, and stretched myself on the gates at both ends, to not much relief. The last part of the race, I kid you not, is a 0.5 mile street with gentle down slope. I can see Larry, Annie and co-RD/friend Brian standing there, concerned and waiting for me. I can't even walk fast, with each step my face is closing the distance to the road. Larry later said, he thought I am stepping off to puke or something - instead, I was trying to hug whatever tree or mailbox I saw alongside to get my body upright. I even laid (no joking!) on some trailer parked on the street! Oh, Lord, I finally crawled in this way to the turn - Brian still standing - grabbed him, said: I need to get straight for the finish photo - and as I turn the corner, I'm immediately back into Letter Z/Quasimodo, striding as if I have CP or Polio. I smile, nevertheless.
As soon as this "pretty looking" photo-op is done, I look up and tell Larry: catch me. He does, and someone puts a chair behind, but I can't sit - my legs are seized in full-blown cramps. People ask stupid questions: salt, water? I mean, ok, maybe not stupid questions, but do you really think, after 22 years of doing this shit, I could possibly NOT take good care of myself? Doing all the right things is my game! They get me to a medical, I tell him I am a doctor and promise not to die, and finally it hits me: I am done. Plus, no other female passed me, and I still managed to get 3rd! Granted, many hours after Devon and Alissa (which does a bad number on my ranking, ha-ha), but still. 
I sit still (more or less) for about 10 minutes, drinking, and telling Annie that I couldn't drop. As she said on her IG post later: "Death before DNF" - what kind of lesson this mentor would have given to a young girl if I stopped some 54 miler at mile 8? And then, as the miles somehow kept moving, why stopping with less than half to go? Oh, the justifiable things we say to ourselves...it is definitely a lesson in overcoming shit, that's for sure. I am proud. Well, sort of. I feel dumb, and proud. A great combination for this old dinosaur:) I now have 4 experiences with cramping, growing each event in lasting time: May 2013 McDonald Forest 50k, last 8 miles; August 2021 Staunton trail marathon, last 10 miles; September 2021 Sawatch 37 miler, last 19 miles; and now, full-out 46 miles. A winner? A predictor to come?!? Not to mention, I am now a "proud owner" of an ultrarunner lean!
I sit still (more or less) for about 10 minutes, drinking, and telling Annie that I couldn't drop. As she said on her IG post later: "Death before DNF" - what kind of lesson this mentor would have given to a young girl if I stopped some 54 miler at mile 8? And then, as the miles somehow kept moving, why stopping with less than half to go? Oh, the justifiable things we say to ourselves...it is definitely a lesson in overcoming shit, that's for sure. I am proud. Well, sort of. I feel dumb, and proud. A great combination for this old dinosaur:) I now have 4 experiences with cramping, growing each event in lasting time: May 2013 McDonald Forest 50k, last 8 miles; August 2021 Staunton trail marathon, last 10 miles; September 2021 Sawatch 37 miler, last 19 miles; and now, full-out 46 miles. A winner? A predictor to come?!? Not to mention, I am now a "proud owner" of an ultrarunner lean!
Monday Larry and I are back to the Aravaipa evening run. OK, lets be honest, I sort of walk - but I get to tell my thanks to Matthew, to Morgan and Brian (RD's), and Larry and I both get a 10-time attendance shirt! So, well worth the suffering, I say. And to ensure more suffering, I pull my ever-done-forever-yet second toenail from its bed. My normal state after every race. I really need to just remove it for good, I just don't have time to schedule the healing process. Excuses we make;)
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