Finding my limits in a world that tells us there are none...

In a world that constantly tells us that there are no limits to what we can accomplish and that with the right mindset and training we can accomplish anything I wanted to provide another perspective...Perhaps it is okay to find your limit and here is the story of how I did.

A short back story… I got into endurance sports back in 2002 when I ran my first marathon. To say I was hooked was an understatement. Very shortly after in 2004 I signed up for my first Ironman Triathlon and completed 10 in the span of 6 years. In 2010 I ran my first ultra-marathon which lead to me running the Leadville trail 100 in 2012 (my first 100) then 8 more races of 100 miles or longer along with several marathons, 50ks, 50 milers, and 100ks. I would like to stress that I am not physically gifted, not even remotely close to being so. In fact I have a very flawed body, the list of reasons that I should not have been able to accomplish these feats is too long to explain in this short write up. What I can say is that learning how to fix my own body has actually fueled a career as a personal trainer specializing in injury prevention and most importantly keeping my clients doing the things they love. Staying healthy and injury free is one of my core values an athlete and coach, it also turned into a personal limitation in my endurance journey. Fast forward to 2016, the year I started competing in winter ultras. I had a lot to learn and it turned out that running a few 100s was not enough experience to be successful at my first 80 mile sled pulling race, the Tuscobia winter ultra. I got my ass handed to me in a big way that year but eventually I figured it out and went on to successfully complete two Tuscobia 80 milers on foot. My gut told me to stop there, my curiosity and ego told me to keep going.

I showed up to Arrowhead 135 in 2019, the year of the polar vortex in which temps dipped to nearly -50F on the trail. I stopped at the first check point (mile 36) knowing that my skill level was not up to the task. I swore I would make it back someday to complete the race. What I did not know was that my motivation to complete long races was shifting greatly. I started to feel the shift in 2017. I was competing in a 100 mile race and at mile 50 my knee began to hurt. I had no desire to complete the race on a sore knee. The old me would have pushed through. In 2018 I successfully completed two 100 mile races but my excitement for them was way less than in the past. In 2019 I had a full on emotional breakdown at the 50k mark of a 100 miler. I finished that race but it was a fight. The trend was simply this, I was fine up to about 10 hours or 50 miles, and then the race was simply not fun for me anymore. I saw no need to push myself further. I knew the physical toll that going further would take and I was sick and tired of pushing my body to that point. Fast forward to 2021 in which I got into the Arrowhead 135. The race I swore that I would come back to and finish. I trained hard, harder than I had for any other race. I received more massages in 8 weeks than I had in 6 months. I stretched, I strength trained, I even hired a sports psychologist to help me with some mental tactics to get through the event. I knew what the problem was…I simply was not motivated by the same things that I was when I started my endurance journey back in 2002. I also had learned a lot about my body, and the toll that big miles had on it. Not to mention that in 20 years I had worked with countless client’s whose ability to run had been taken away from them for one reason or another. In other words…I knew too much. In order to finish Arrowhead on foot you needed one of two things, to be a gifted athlete, or to be willing to put it all on the line. The truth was that I was neither. I showed up in International Falls, MN with all of the right winter gear, the right training, and the right nutrition. What I did not have was the desire to finish this race no matter what it took. I liked my body too much. I loved the fact that I could get up every morning mostly pain free and go for a run. I enjoyed this simple practice so much that the thought of losing it even for a few weeks scared the shit out of me. I laid awake for 2 nights before the event not because of excitement but because of dread, a feeling that I had never felt before a race in the past. The morning of the race I almost did not start but I knew that there was a small chance I could find the motivation to push my body to it’s absolute limit while out on the trail. I had done it before, there was always a small chance I could do it again. As the sun rose I knew my truth. I was not going to be a greedy athlete anymore. I knew my own personal sweet spot. I knew what my body really wanted to do. My body wanted to run. My body was tired of being pushed to the point of severe discomfort. My body did not want to pull a sled for 50+ hours while hiking up and down hills in the snow. All the while exaggerating the problems that only I knew how to fix with the proper training, and recovery. The problems that took me 15+ years to figure out how to fix. I walked for 10.5 hours feeling 50% relieved that I discovered my limit but also equally sad because my journey down this epic endurance path would be over.

As I walked into Gateway I announced to the time keeper my drop. “Are you sure” he asked me (three times). “I have been thinking about this for 10 hours I said”, he laughed. The truth is that I had been thinking about this for several years. It just took me a start and DNF at the biggest race of my life to be okay with my truth. So now I resume being just a runner. I get up most mornings and go for a run because I can and I love it. I will sign up for the occasional marathon, 50 miler, or shorter winter ultra until those races are no longer fun. Pushing myself is part of who I am and I can’t see giving that up soon. Luckily, there are a lot of other ways to challenge our bodies and minds then always continuing to sign-up for longer and harder races. Arrowhead 135 will always hold a special place in my heart. The race, community, and athletes are some of the best I have known and that is perhaps the saddest part of letting go of this goal. I will forever be grateful for the experience to participate in the Arrowhead 135 TWICE! Altough I cannot say I am a fan of winter I no longer hate it, and that is something.

Heartland 100 2020, Running with Joy at an Actual Race

The Heartland 100 is put on in Cassoday, Kansas, a town of less than 200 people. What intrigued me most about the race was the openness of the landscape (I love running in open spaces)! The race is 99% gravel roads and 1% pavement and is an out –and- back. The race is also small. I do not know if this is a normal occurrence or if it was Covid related, but in the 100 miler there were only 37 participants. The race also hosts a 125 miler, a 100k, 50 miler, 50k, and marathon. Between all of the events there were maybe 150 people registered, the perfect amount for 2020. Although I signed up for Heartland back in January and every other race I registered for this year was cancelled, I still struggled with the decision of whether or not it was right to run. Could I travel to Kansas safely and keep the people I see on a daily basis safe from Covid? After a little deliberation I decided to go for it. I took my Mom with me and we packed all of our own food. We would not dine out, we would drive to Kansas, and we would wear a mask and social distance the entire trip. The only unknown was how to race during Covid, I knew I could figure it out.

The race started at 6am on Saturday, October 10th at an old high school in Cassoday. By old, I mean old… like, a rundown brick building inhabited by mice. All events except for the marathon started at 6am but I still did not feel crowded or unsafe. In fact, I felt this overwhelming sense of happiness. I think that so many people were just so happy to run that you could feel the energy in the air. In fact, the energy was so light that some of us almost did not hear the race director start the race. It was a hundred miler… what is a few seconds of hesitation in the beginning? The 100 miler course has about 7000 feet of elevation gain. I know from previous experience that this would mean that there would be rolling hill, long climbs, and lots of flat areas. Because of this I decided to use my Gym Boss timer set to a 4 minute run and a 2 minute walk from the start. This turned out to be a good decision. The first 16 miler of the race were very foggy so you could not see far in front of you. I tried to notice the details along the road. The dew on the grass, the way the damp air felt on my face, and spider webs that lined the barbed wire fences. My only goal for the day was to stay in a positive head space and find the joy in the run. I truly believed that being at the race was a gift in itself and I was going to take advantage of the opportunity.

I was able to see my Mom at the first aid station that crew were allowed at, mile 16. At this point the fog had burned off and the heat was starting. The projected high was in the 90s. I was not worried, I do well in the heat. I did know that pacing myself, drinking a lot, and adjusting my nutrition plan was key. I grabbed some food from my Mom and I was shortly on my way. To get to the first 2 aid stations, crews need to travel a long gravel road. My mom was a bit nervous about this as the race warned of the chance of flat tires. I lied to my Mom and said that there was no way that she would get a flat tire because my mechanic told me that my tires were great for gravel. This was not true. I just knew she needed to hear it! About 5 hours into the race I came into the mile 26 aid station. My pacing was perfect and my effort felt very comfortable. I was also using my first GPS running watch ever, the Coros Pace. It was nice to cross reference the watch with the aid station and sure enough, my watch matched the aid station sign. I did my first sock change at this aid station. I put on a new pair of Injinji toe socks, added more sunscreen, grabbed more food and I was on my way. I usually like to eat more solid food but with the heat I knew I needed to adjust my plan. From mile 26 until the sun went down I would switch to applesauce packs, ginger ale at the aid stations, dates, bites of granola bar, and stinger chews. I find that less solid food works better for me in the heat. I would switch to more solid food during the night hours. One of the strangest things about the race was the remoteness. I can count on one hand the amount of houses that I saw the first 50 miles. You could also see the road that you needed to travel for miles. Instead of looking ahead at some point in the distance I tried to focus on the scenery immediately around me. I was able to pay closer attention to the plant life, birds, and butterflies throughout the day with this strategy. At one point I came across a Monarch butterfly and I contemplated how far it still had to go on it’s migration to Mexico. My 100 miles seemed like nothing compared to this tiny creature’s journey. I once again saw my Mom at the mile 42 aid station called Matfield Green. Supposedly it was a town but I did not see any resemblance of a town. From here we would cross the highway and head to the turnaround of the race, Lone Tree. It was also at this aid station that I was informed by one of the volunteers that I was 4th overall. “No pressure”, I thought. It would have been easy to try to catch the people ahead of me but I know from experience that in order for me to do well, I need to run my own race. I would not think about my placing in the event until much later. The road to the turnaround was uneventful other than a few cell phone towers and access roads. Ironically, the Lone Tree aid station was not a tree at all. Instead, a lone U-Haul truck sat parked on a gravel road. This aid station was super memorable for me because of one volunteer. He was so HAPPY to see us. I will never forget his smile and how helpful he was, filling my water and grabbing ice for my pack. The volunteers at Heartland were amazing. I think they were just as happy as we were to be at an actual race with people!

Until mile 50 I was running 4 minutes and walking 2 minutes pretty consistently but the heat was taking its toll. At mile 50 I decided to run 3 minutes and walk 2 minutes until I could not do that anymore. As I made my way back to Matfield Green I was able to see the runners behind me. Some of them were 125 milers and despite their all- nighter the night before, they all looked pretty good. I hoped I would look like that as the night wore on. I once again saw my Mom and with another sock change, headlamp grab, and water fill, I was off. I pride myself in not spending much time in the aid stations and this is my advice to any ultrarunner. If there are 20 aid stations and you spend 5 minutes at each one you can do the math. Get in and out as quickly as possible! The time was about 6pm when the heat of the day started to finally dissapper. My stomach had been just “okay” all day. I knew that with the cooling temps I would only start to feel better. As the sun began to set I came across my first herd of cattle. I was warned to watch out for the bull. “How can you tell which one is the bull”, I asked a volunteer earlier in the day. “Oh…you can tell”, they said. (Stupid question, I know!). The cattle were curious if anything and kind of looked at me and the runner ahead as if we were some sort of tourist attraction. I proceeded carefully as I did not want to piss any of them off. Shortly after I passed the cattle I could see one of the photographers from Mile 90 Photography in the distance. My goal was to get to them before the sun completely disappeared under the horizon. I skipped a few walk breaks and sure enough, I made it. They had been awesome all day. Just when you thought you were alone you would turn a corner and see one of their friendly faces looking through the view finder.

It was time to turn on my headlamp. I had waited as long as I could as I LOVE to travel without it. There was no moon and although we were traveling on gravel roads we had to cross cattle grates and uneven terrain with larger stones. I pulled out my trusty headlamp and as I pushed the button the light started to blink erratically. I tried turning it off, it would not shut off. I panicked for a moment…maybe longer than a moment. Would I have to travel the next 16 miles of road with a headlamp that blinked on and off only giving me seconds of light? My spare was with my Mother several hours away at the next aid station. A few minutes went by with the blinking light…I stopped…said a little prayer and pushed the button again…a steady beam of light appeared. I would not touch, or turn off my light the rest of the race.

Around mile 70 I passed a gentleman running without a light. “Was that the third place person”, I wondered? Again…I could not worry about it. A top three finish would be awesome but with 30 miles to go anything could happen. I stayed focused and moved forward. I was starting to get tired around this time as well. When I get tired it is easy to get into a negative head space, something I had avoided the entire day. I have two remedies for fatigue and negativity… caffeine and music. I did both! One caffeine pill and my playlist in the background and I was on my way. The caffeine that I take is equivalent to one cup of coffee and I only take one at a time. Within 20 minutes I was wide awake. At mile 25 I once again saw my Mom. I changed my socks, grabbed a jacket, and planned on meeting her in 10 miles. At this point I was alone on the road. I had not seen another runner for almost 2 hours. I am okay with this but it definitely made me question if I was still on the course. The course was marked well but only major intersections. You might travel down a gravel road for an hour without seeing a marking. I had to keep reassuring myself that I had not missed a turn. I made sure to keep one earbud out of my ear so I could listen to the night. It was here that I heard the coyotes in the distance. It sounded like there were hundreds of them and their serenade went on for over an hour. It was about this time that I was getting sick of eating. You would think that a 24 hour all- you- could- eat buffet would be an awesome thing. Let me tell you…it is not! I was also running out of food and was hoping to find something solid, vegetarian, and different at the next aid station. With 16 miles to go I saw my Mom for the last time until the finish. I projected that it would take me 4 hours to complete the last 16 miles. I did not change my socks, I grabbed the rest of my granola bars, and I gave her an air hug. She may be my Mom but she does not need to hug my disgusting self at mile 84 of a race!

I usually use the last miles of an ultra for deep thinking and reflection, the last 10 miles of Heartland were no exception. This year had been a bitch. At one point earlier in the year I felt lost. My business was shut down, I could not coach anyone, I could not run a race, the future was uncertain. My calling… my life’s purpose, had been taken away for a while. It took me months to get my mojo back and my career in the fitness industry was was still on thin ice. Then, as if the universe knew I needed to hear it, the song “Learning to Fly” by Tom Petty came on and I sang along and cried. “Some say life…will beat you down…break your heart…steal your crown… but it started out… from God knows where…I guess I’ll know… when I get there”… Onward I walked…singing and crying believing in brighter days ahead. The lights of Cassoday started to become visible in the distance. By this point I had developed one hell of a blister on the ball of my right foot. Each step was sharp and reminded me of the 250,000 before it. I actually welcomed the pain...it was proof of the adventure. A slight calculation and I guessed that I had 3 miles to go... I power walked towards the lights in the distance.

Finally the city… nearly being stopped by a train… and then the finish. With such a small race there were maybe 3 people at the finish line including my Mom. It was here that I also learned that I was third overall and second woman with a time of 22 hours and 57 minutes, a new 100 mile PR for me. I got my picture taken, I grabbed my sweatshirt and my belt buckle, and we made our way back to the hotel. Just like that, it was over. So here is what I have learned from this race…It never gets any easier (racing and life) and I wouldn’t want it to. To do things in life that are hard…to struggle… to keep moving forward when everything tells you not to… that is living. And as for 2020 and all of the things it has thrown at me… at us… Thank you! You were one of my biggest teachers. I will not let you crush my spirit…I create my own peace and joy no matter what you throw at me in the future.

A HUGE photo credit to Mile 90 Photo who provided the beautiful pictures in the blog for racers to download!

Lean Horse 100 miler, questioning my motives

I start this race report with so much to say but yet so little. I struggle in my running life to find a balance between sharing all of the details of my experiences (as I am a coach), and yet somehow keeping some of my hobby private, sacred to me. Here is my experience at the Lean Horse 100 this year… one of the most beautiful events I have ever run.

The Lean Horse 100 miler is a 100 mile out and back course that takes place on the Mickelson Trail in the Black Hills of South Dakota. The race starts in Custer and goes almost to Deadwood before turning around and running back to Custer to finish on the High School Track. The race starts at elevation, approximately 5000 feet, and has a net gain of about 7500 feet over the 100 miles. The race also has a 50 mile, 30 mile, and 20 mile option. These are point to point.

Training:

Although Lean Horse starts at elevation and has a net gain of 7500 feet, I was not concerned about training for hills this year due to the railroad grade of the track. I did most of my training leaving from my house in Neenah, WI (flat as a pancake) and working a very strong run/ walk strategy. My Saturday long runs consisted of a 5 min run followed by a 2 minute walk and I would do this for between 18 and 22 miles. Sundays are strictly power hiking/walking days for me and these walks would last between 2 and 3.5 hours. Overall, I never broke 65 miles in a week and this strategy has worked well for me throughout the years. In my humble opinion (15 years of coaching athletes), most people are doing way too much running. I should also mention that I strength train 3 days per week, do yoga 1 to 3 times per week, and work on my running form until I am blue in the face. I use a Gymboss timer to time my run/walk breaks and a Timex stop watch to tell me when to eat. I do not use a GPS watch.

Prior to the race:

Greg and I got out to the Black Hills area about 5 days prior to the race and spent our time site seeing. There is so much to see and do in the area and I would highly recommend that if you do the race you spend some time before or after exploring the area. Due to the high rain that the Black Hills area received this year, everything was green and lush like it would be in the spring time. The only running I did the week before the event were a few 20 minute easy runs from the cabin we stayed at. We did hike quite a bit, but nothing that fatigued my legs.

The Race:

The race starts at 12pm on Friday which if I had to make one criticism of the event it was this. I am sure they have their reasons, but it meant that an early riser like myself spent hours twiddling her thumbs prior to the start.

The race starts at the Custer YMCA “downtown”. The field was small, maybe 65 athletes and there were very few women. I am used to this by now but this race seemed surprisingly under represented by females. My strategy was to start SLOW. I knew that the course would be deceiving…very runnable… and that could get someone in trouble early on. I set my run walk timer to a 3 minute run to a 2 minute walk… the race director said “go” and I pushed the start button on the timer.

The first mile or so is paved and then we made our way onto the crushed limestone of the Mickelson trail. I noticed early on that I was being passed by A LOT of people. “Am I going too slow”?... “Why are all of these people passing me”… “do they know something I don’t”… All of the voices that pop in your head. The experienced side of me knew to stick with my plan and let the others run their own race.

About 5 miles in… all at which are on a slight uphill… I caught my first glimpse of the Crazy Horse monument. This was just the start of the amazing scenery on the race course. A few miles later I came across Greg on his mountain bike. “Wow, all of these people are going way too fast this early” he said. I was so glad he made mention to what I was feeling. Onward with my run/walk I went.

Logistically it was tough to have Greg crew me or pace me on this run. We had brought the dogs with us and our cabin was 20 minutes south of Custer, in the opposite direction of the run. Greg and I both decided prior to the run that he would meet me at the 50k mark and then I would be on my own until morning. At the 50k mark Greg would hand me my headlamp and a coat and I had a drop bag of food at the turn-around. This was totally fine by me. I had done races crewed, un-crewed, paced, un-paced before. They all have their advantages and disadvantages and everyone has a system that works for them.

As I was running throughout the day I was marveling at the scenery but also dealing with some mental demons. You would think that with each additional race, an athlete would find the distance easier. I have found the opposite. My first few hundreds were “easy” per say. I was fueled by naivety, a little ego, emotional pain, and the drive to prove to others and myself that I could do these things. As I get older and wiser my motives have changed significantly and for whatever reason, that is what I focused on during the first 50k of Lean Horse. By the time I finally met Greg at mile 31 I was ready to be done.  “Why do I need to run any further, 50k is enough? Am I being selfish with all of this running and racing? What is my “why”?” All of these questions flooded my brain. I was in tears and pulled Greg aside. Like the wise man that he is, he listened and said nothing really. I was really hoping he would say something… give me permission to quit, tell me that I had nothing to prove… nope, not a word.  “Well, you look good. How are your feet? Let me get you some bug spray. I will see you in the morning”. Not at all what I wanted to hear from him but it was the tough love that I needed.

I don’t know what flipped my switch at that 50k mark, but I left the aid station crying and never once thought about quitting the rest of the race. The mind is a silly thing... A few miles outside of the aid station Greg surprised me on his bike. I know he wanted to make sure I was okay although he told me he wanted to bike up to a tunnel and then he was going to head back for the night. It was a morale boost for sure even though I knew I would be alone again for the next 50 miles.

The next section of trail from the 50k mark to Deadwood (at least what I could see of it) was breathtaking. We ran through a couple of old railroad tunnels, streams and creeks followed the trail, and the Black Hills were silhouetted by the sunset in the background. I ran mostly alone, following my 3 minute run/ 2 minute walk. My plan was to do this until the turn-around and then flip-flop the interval. Walk 3 minutes and run 2 minutes. I would do this until I couldn’t.

At some point… maybe around mile 45, I finally came across a running partner. The sun had set and my headlamp was on. Ryan asked if he could run with me as he hated running in the dark. I welcomed the company. We ran to about mile 60 or 65 together chatting the whole way. At mile 65ish Ryan picked up his pacer and I went on ahead. I kept with my run/walk.

 My nutrition plan was as it always is. Eat every 30 minutes, about 150 calories per hour. Alternate solid food with liquid/gummy/gel until about mile 50 and then see what the aid stations have. Usually at mile 50 I switch over to more savory food…things like potatoes, soup, chips, and tortillas. For some reason the aid stations lacked vegetarian savory food. The potatoes they had at the aid station were raw, and the tortillas contained cheese and meat. Now I am not blaming the race, rather my poor planning, but due to the lack of savory food I had to keep ingesting sugar. I believe that is why my stomach turned. By about mile 70, I was starting to deal with a terrible case of nausea. I have dealt with this before but typically for only a couple miles. I had to slow down. By mile 75 I was walking exclusively and by the time I saw Greg at mile 80 the only thing I could stomach was ginger ale and potato chips and not really much of that.

I sat down at mile 80 and told Greg to give me 5 minutes. It was early and it was cold. Up until then, my light wool running coat had kept me toasty throughout the 50 degree night but now the temps were in the 40s. I knew they would not stay there long but that in order to stay warm, I had to keep moving. Greg handed me my trekking poles and we agreed to meet at every aid station until the finish.

My nausea lingered and I got further and further behind on my calories. I was starting to feel a bit light- headed around mile 90 but noticed that as long as I nibbled on a bit of food every mile or so, I could keep it down and the sugar was like a little IV of energy. Just enough to keep me upright and moving.

Finally, the last aid station before the finish. I saw Greg once more and the friendly aid station volunteer shared with me that instead of the 5 miles I thought I had left, I actually only really had 4. This may sound trivial, but this news is HUGE in a 100 mile event. At this point the 20 milers were starting to come in so the trail seemed a little less quiet as they blew past me.

I kept looking behind me. The other pressure that I felt during this event was knowing that I was currently the 2^nd place women. In fact, I knew this from the 50 mile point on. It is a very different feeling in a race knowing that someone might be coming to get you. With 1 mile to go, I pretty much knew I had it. and a little pressure came off a bit. Would some phenome come flying past me to take the title? I had to be okay with that because my lightheadedness would not allow me to run.

Finally the track, the final ¼ mile to the finish. The brain and body are amazing and funny at the same time. I saw the finish line and felt great. Greg and I ran the last little bit… I crossed… and then I INSTANTLY had to lay down. “That’s it” my brain and body said. “Now lay in the grass and don’t move.”

It took me 30 minutes of laying in the grass to finally stand up and walk to the car, belt buckle in hand. I had completed the Lean Horse 100 with a total time of 23:09 and a 2^nd place female finish. If it were not for the stomach issues I probably could have finished in under 22 hours but it was still a personal record for me in the distance. I will take it.

What drives ME to run 100 miles over and over again? I no longer have to prove to myself or anyone else that I can do it and the emotional pain that I was medicating with endurance racing is gone. Maybe it’s the scenery, the people I meet along the race course, the demons I have to confront in the race, the ramen??? Or maybe it’s just the very simple fact that for some strange reason my body can do these things and for that very simple reason, I SHOULD.  I am not sure when I will figure out this question but for now I will continue to show up and learn from each experience.   

Tuscobia 2018, Ice and Inspiration



Photo Courtesy of Gregory T Photography

I am not a religious person, but I have always had some deep understanding that there are things in this world that are magical, beautiful, and beyond our understanding. Once and a while I feel in touch with this force, but only for moments at a time. Maybe this is what some call enlightenment, or awakening, and I am sure for some of the religious, it is getting in touch with God. Regardless of what you call it, I feel it during my time spent alone in the woods running, and I always feel it more during the Tuscobia Winter Ultra.

This report is not meant to be some sophisticated writing on the spiritual aspects of running, but I start with this intro so you understand why I write about Tuscobia. I run dozens of ultramarathons a year but very few inspire me to sit at my laptop and reflect on my experience. Every year Tuscobia does, it inspires me while at the same time humbling me.

For those unfamiliar with the Tuscobia Winter Ultra, let me give you the run down. The Tuscobia state trail runs between Park Falls and Rice Lake, WI. It is an all-purpose trail but mostly used by snowmobiles in the winter. It passes by sleepy towns with populations ranging from unincorporated to 8000 but mostly unincorporated. The trail is flat and straight with a few random hills and is tunneled by pine trees. Runners, bikers, and skiers can choose to participate in the 80 mile from Park Falls to Rice Lake or the 160 miler, from Rice Lake to Park Falls and back to Rice Lake. There is one check point about midway through for the 80 milers, and an extra check point at the turn around for the 160 milers. With little aid, racers must carry their required gear with them (see below). Bikers strap the gear to their bikes, runners and skiers usually pull a sled.  You are not allowed crews, or to accept aid from anyone other than another participant. You are allowed to visit gas stations, and restaurants along the way, but those are few and far between.

Every year Tuscobia seems to throw some new challenge to the racers. Last year saw temperatures around -18 at the start, dipping to -30 below at night (wind-chill not included). This year there was debate if there would be enough snow to cover the trail. The Thursday before the race left the trail covered in a slushy, rainy mess. This made it difficult for the 160 mile racers as it caused wet feet early on. As an 80 mile racer, I start a day later. The trail had firmed up but turned treacherous in some spots as it was covered in ice.

Jason and I happy at the start of the race!

 

Our 80 mile race started on Saturday morning at 10am. The temperature was about 10F which I might add is the PERFECT temperature for this sort of thing! Moisture management in winter ultras is key so I was testing out some new gear. Last year I made the mistake of getting wet early on and ended up layering clothing in an unhealthy way to get through the -30 degree night. This year my goal was to stay dry and I did. (See gear list below).

I always have a goal of finishing a race but on top of that I wanted to beat my time from last year. I had a strategy of hiking fast and whenever I saw a “no trespassing” post, road crossing, or any other man made trail marker, I would run 100 steps. This strategy did an amazing job of keeping my hiking pace up, keeping my core temperature regulated, and breaking up the repetition and muscle usage of always walking. I also had a goal of keeping a positive mental attitude and staying in the moment. I think that in ultras it is too easy to get stuck in a negative thinking pattern or to think ahead to the next aid station, finish line, or a hot shower after the race. I tried to stay in the moment as much as possible, and although I could not completely turn off the negative voices I was able to turn the volume down a bit.

The first 35 miles to Ojibwa, the one and only check point, went relatively fast. I spent some trail miles with my friend Jason and that helped pass the time a bit, but for the most part I was alone. I don’t mind the quiet time. I often get asked what I think about and to be honest, not much. Many minutes will go by when I don’t think about anything, but when I do think I try to reflect on the positive or to be grateful. This year I thought a lot about the people who are no longer with us, and about the people in my life who are going through tough times. I friend of mine just found out that her son will need a liver transplant, another ultra-marathoner died tragically this year in his early 20s. Although this doesn’t sound like a positive thought process it made me incredibly grateful to be out there in the woods on a cold winter’s day. What more could one ask for then health, and one more day to take in the beauty of the world.

A lonely biker leaving Ojibwa, Photo Courtesy of Gregory T Photography

 

Once I rolled into Ojibwa the task was simple, change socks, fill water, and go. Ojibwa is a very primitive stone building in a park, but it’s a welcome refuge when you have been out in the woods for hours. Surprisingly my clothes were not wet at all so I was able to zip in and out of the check point in 7 minutes. I was two hours ahead of my time for last year, so many of the people I came upon were 160 mile bikers. I would not have wanted to ride that icy course, kudos to them.

Now comes the 45 mile push to the finish. It can be a little daunting when you get to the check point and are not even half way there, but I tried to break the time up into two hour windows. Each hour is started with a “200 calorie bomb”. That’s the thing that never ceases to amaze me about the winter races. I need to eat just as much or more than the races that I RUN.  I am only walking through the snow, pulling a sled… how hard could it be? This year I separated my food into 200 calorie zip lock baggies so I knew I was eating 200 calories per hour and no less. I have found that I need a variety, I get sick of the same things. This year I packed my Mom’s Christmas cookies, fruit cake (my new favorite winter racing food), nuts, party mix, peanut butter protein cookies, and goldfish crackers, all foods I would not touch in real life!

The trail was very dark this year. The little sliver of a moon was always under cloud cover so I had to turn my head lamp on early. I typically like to travel without a headlamp except when a snowmobile approaches, but this year the darkness and the icy trail required some light. After leaving mile 35 I was alone except for the 160 mile fat bikes that would pass by offering a “good job”. My body from the ankles up was holding up fine, but I was experiencing some achilles and ankle pain, at least that’s what I thought it was. The discomfort in my ankles was concerning and I will never be a racer that will push the limit and wreck themselves just to finish a race. I also know that sometimes things work themselves out or don’t get any worse.  I decided that I would monitor the situation and re-evaluate my condition in Birchwood. Birchwood is a tiny town with a gas station roughly 20 miles from the finish. If needed I could call for a ride there. I didn’t want that at all.

I arrived in Birchwood at 2:45am, now 2.5 hours ahead of last year. I was able to keep a relatively quick hiking speed with my 100 steps of running mixed on when the trail was not icy. Everything in the town is closed at 2:45 in the morning but I needed to fill my hydration pack. Luckily, some volunteers from a club in Birchwood had pitched a warming tent with water, hot chocolate, and cookies. I guess they were getting sick of racers knocking on their doors in the middle of the night. It was like a little oasis and I filled my pack, said my “Thanks” and left. The temps were still staying pretty stable around 10 degrees so my water was not freezing. I always keep a Stanley thermos of hot water in my sled just in case I run out. To tell you how great that thing is, 2 days later I emptied it… the water was still warm even after a daylong race and another night in a cold car.

My ankles were not feeling any worse so I decided that I would press on and not worry about them anymore. Sometimes, the more you think about something, the more it bothers you. I sent a silent apology to my body for putting up with my shenanigans and marched on. There are a few steep rolling hills to deal with after Birchwood as the Tuscobia state trail merges with the Ice Age trail. Normally I would use this opportunity to gain some speed and run down the hills but they were all too icy. I found a path along the edge and tip toed my way down. The whole time my 30 lb sled wanted to dart down the ice, I had to brace myself to walk it safely along side of me.

Once you get through the hills the trail flattens back out and mocks you with mile markers. The last 9 miles to the 4 mile Wild Rivers trail that takes you to the finish, goes on forever. Mile 9, mile 8, mile 7… I tried not think about the time. Last year I was motivated by fear of the cold, this year I wanted to enjoy my experience and take in the beauty of the winter around me. Although there was not much snow the little there was blanketed everything in a sleepy quiet dream.

Finally the last 4 miles. I was met with a few flags signaling a turn and a nice man congratulating me on my journey. Where else would a random stranger hang out at 6:45am in the cold to cheer on someone he didn’t even know? The ultra-running community is incredible.

And...DONE! Photo Courtesy of Gregory T Photography

 

The last 4 miles are a victory lap. I was able to watch the sunrise, reflect on my journey, my year, and my life, and give Thanks. I literally said “Thank-you” out loud and cried for a minute or two. In that moment I was grateful for so many things, the Universe, God, my health, my friends and family, the running community… but mostly for this precious life.  I really hope I get to be here a long time, but just in case I don’t, I will pack as much life and love into my days as I can.

 

REQUIRED GEAR:

• Sleeping bag – Mine is rated for -20 F
• Bivy sack 
• Sleeping pad- Thermarest
• Stove.  I use an Esbit
• Fuel – 6 extra Esbit Tabs
• Firestarter -Waterproof matches
• Headlamp- Foxelli rechargeable plus one spare headlamp
• 3 individual flashing red LED lights + back-up batteries for each light- I use bike lights with lithium batteries, they do better in the cold
• $30 cash
• At least 20 square inches of reflective material- I use an elastic belt, see pictures
• 3000 calories – Peanut butter and chocolate, if shit goes down I am going to be fat and happy

Additional Gear:
- Roughly 6000 calories, more than I need but better to be safe than sorry
-Stanley Thermos filled with hot water
-4 pairs of Smartwool hiking socks
-4 pairs of Injinji liner toe socks
-Trail toes foot lubricant
-Leuko Tape
-Altra Lone Peak Neo Shell mid 3.0 boots, 1 size bigger then I typically wear
-Ice Breaker Merino Wool Base Layers
-Ansilita Goretex shell pants that are 3 sizes too big but work great!
-2 fleece 2nd layers, only needed one
-Arcterix lightly insulated coat
-Minus 33 Merino Wool Liner Gloves, kept my hand warm until about 4 am
-Garneau Clamshell cloves
-Outdoor Research Alti mitts (didn't need them)
-3 Polar Fleece buffs, replaced when wet
-1 balaclava
-2 hats, only needed one
-1 pair of puffy pants, didn't need
-Mountain Hardwear ski jacket, didn't need it
-1 ginormous duffle bag
-Expedition sled
-military grade padded waist belt with carabineers and rope for the sled
-Chap-stick, Tissues, Cellphone, Caffeine tabs
-Nathan 2 Liter Hydration pack

All of this gear weighed in at 30lbs


 

 

 

Cornbelt 24 hour Run: 275 opportunities to start over

 

I have been an endurance athlete since 1999 and a coach since 2005. I  have spent 75% of my time over the last 18+ years focusing on the physical side of training… how to eat, how many miles to put in during training, how to prevent injuries, what shoes to wear, proper technique, you know… the “easy” stuff.  Sure, I can “suck it up” when shit hits the fan but how long does that approach really work? At some point mental breakdown sets in and even the strongest athletes are brought to their knees. How are some people able to seemingly turn off the discomfort and boredom of endurance sports to accomplish super human feats? Better yet, how can I teach others to do this and how can we apply these skills to situations that occur in everyday life? This is my theme of 2018, the mental side of endurance sports and maybe in life in general.

My search for ultimate mental fortitude was inspired by the Sri Chimney Self Transcendence race which I found out about five years ago. The Self Transcendence race is a 3100 mile race that takes place around a city block in New York City during the hottest part of the summer. Athletes at this race are given 52 days to complete the distance and run from 6am to 12 pm everyday. How are they able to get up every day and run or walk the same loop without going crazy? Well for starters, many of them are followers of Sri Chinmoy, a larger than life meditation teacher who lived in New York City and led thousands of people down a path of ultimate mental peace through athletics. When listening to the interviews of these runners one thing was certain, if they suffered, they knew how to turn it off… but how do they do it? I am determined to find out.

My best form of research comes from throwing myself into the fire so I thought of one of the most boring places I could think of to run around, a high school track. If I could take away the mental stimulation of new scenery, trails, aid stations, and mile markers, would I be forced to enter a different part of my brain? To prepare my mind for this event and my ultimate challenge in November, I started a meditation practice in the beginning of the year. I am not very good at it but those who meditate know that I just broke a rule of meditation, don’t judge your meditation! Leave it to me to be type A even in my meditation practice.

The Cornbelt Running club of Iowa hosts a 24 hour track run in a small town called Eldridge. They have hosted this run for 37 years and every year athletes of all abilities come to run around this small circle for a full day. I instantly knew I would LOVE the race when we pulled into the Happy Joes on Friday night to pick-up my race packet. I was greeted by the race director and one of the members of the Cornbelt running club, instantly I felt welcomed into this small eclectic group. We were given a long-sleeved shirt, number, and participant list…there were 29 of us. 29 people willing to run around in circles all day long. The oldest participant was 78, and only 4 of us were under 40 years old.

 

The race started on Saturday morning at 7am to the sound of a pistol that the race director could not get to work. The energy of the race was relaxed as half of us took off in an easy run and the other half a walk. My goal was to run 100k on Saturday, go back to the hotel and sleep and come back on Sunday to finish up. We would run the first 4 hours in one direction, and then switch directions every 3 hours after that.  I would run 2 laps and walk 1 lap until I hit 50k, then run 1 lap and walk 1 until I hit 50 miles, then… there was no plan after that.

There were no timing chips as we each had our own lap counter, a person that literally called out, “Cassie 1, Cassie 2!” after each lap. I HATE knowing where I am in a race so quickly asked my lap counter to not tell me my laps. I think I was the only one who did this but it worked well for me and we quickly developed a system of “nod and wave” as I went by to signal that they caught my lap.

 

The first hour went by very slowly… I found myself saying, “what the fuck did you get yourself into?” I tried not to focus on that and soon I found myself having difficulty counting my two running laps. “Is it time to walk?” That’s when I knew I was “there”. THERE is that place in running where you really are not thinking about anything but placing one foot in front of the other. Nothing hurts, you are not competing with anyone, and you could say you are in a state of joy or peace.  I found myself trying to make each lap a new experience, to live in the present moment. I focused on the green grass, the wind, the sky, and the energy around me. The simplicity of the event made this surprising easy for a while. Then, shit hit the fan.

It was “hot”, or hot for someone that just came out of a cold Wisconsin winter. Around hour 9 my stomach started to get funny and I focused on that exclusively. Then like it typically happens, you focus on the negative and then I noticed how tired my legs were. I pulled out my music but that only helped for an hour. By hour 10 I was walking exclusively.  I only had 3 more hours to go for my day one goal, but that seemed like it would take an eternity. That’s when I took a step back and looked at my mental state. “Stop the negative thoughts Cassie. You just have to walk for 3 more hours, then you can rest. No big deal.” I kept repeating this over and over until I had 1 hour to go. Greg showed up and walked with me and just like that day one was done.

 

As I packed up my stuff you could see the questioning looks on people’s faces. “If you stay out here you could win it for the women”, one man said. True, but that was not my goal.  I want to see what it feels like to leave and come back on a new day with a new attitude.

I hardly slept, which in not new for me. I typically sleep awful after an event but I was showered, fed and my feet were up for 5 hours. It is easy when not sleeping to focus on the negative, but surprisingly that did not happen. I was actually looking forward to going back out on the track for the last 2 hours. I wanted to see the sunrise, I wanted to be out on the track until the absolute end with this unique group of people.

The alarm rang at 3:30 and Greg and I packed up our room and drove back to Eldridge. My original plan was to walk but after the first two laps I noticed that I felt really good so I ran. It’s amazing what rest does for a person.  A few of the runners had left for good but there was a strong group that had gone all night. Most were walking but a few people were still managing a nice shuffle. The leader at that point was set to get in almost 130 miles and the oldest competitor was inching close to 90 miles. It’s funny how there is a secret code between ultrarunners. The morning is quiet and even though everyone is tired and struggling there is no complaining, just forward motion.

The final two hours flew by. It was as if I had never ran that ¼ mile loop the day before. My mantra was simple, every lap is a new experience, a new race. Before I knew it I had just under 3 minutes to go so Greg and I “sprinted” to get that last lap in. Unofficially it was 70 miles, almost 8 miles over my goal. Other than some blisters my body felt great. Better yet, I was not mentally exhausted, which was the entire goal of the run.

 

After the race a few of the runners headed over to Happy Joes for breakfast and to receive their awards. Plaques were given out to the runners who had ran 100k or more and hour glasses were awarded to the top male and female runners. The top male made out with 128 miles, the top female, 78.

When I told people I was going to do this run the most common response that I received was a condescending “WHY?” “That sounds so boring”.   I know my WHY. I wanted to explore the depths of my brain, but what about the others out there? Out of all of the places in the world to run, why would anyone choose to run around this little track in this small farming community in Iowa? It certainly was not for a shirt and a plaque. I have thought a lot about this and my conclusion is this…it’s the movement. Movement is life and it’s a gift no matter how slow or fast you are. When you strip away the spectators, the mile markers, and the grand views it’s always been about experience of moving one’s body through space and time. A track takes away the expectation of hitting a certain distance, of worrying about where one is, or if one might fall on their face because they tripped on a rock. Each loop is a new experience, each loop is a chance to start all over again. What a beautiful metaphor for life.

 

Re-invent Your "Why"

Before I was an ultrarunner I was an Ironman triathlete. I cared a lot about my time, in fact that was all I cared about for a while. Forget the fact that I was young, healthy, and had the physical and financial means to participate in the sport… I wanted to be faster, pure and simple.

I bought into the idea of a “faster” bike. I purchased the best equipment that I could afford at the time, and I trained my ass off. I punished myself for poor performances… I saw my time as a measure of my self-worth. At one point I was working full time, finishing off a college degree AND training for Ironman Hawaii. I was not a paid athlete, not even an ambassador. I was fueled by youth, ambition, and an over inflated ego.

I competed several years in this way, pushing…logging each workout, striving to take seconds off my swim splits until finishing Ironman Louisville in tears because I was “slow”.  It wasn’t until the next day at the after party as I was looking at my finishing pictures that I saw it, a frown as I was crossing the finish line of an IRONMAN. I had just finished an event that so many people will never have the means to do and I appeared as if my dog just died. In order to last in this sport something had to change, that something was my attitude.

Fast forward to 2018. I am an endurance coach and ultrarunner. I work with people every day that remind me of my former self. Pushing, and punishing themselves to compete in the sport they supposedly love. They come to me crying, they come to me looking for some consolation that they are worthy enough, that they will get faster, that they will win, that they won’t be last. The truth is that some of you will not get faster, some of you will never win, and some of you will be last. Should you beat yourself into pieces, should you give up all together?

I recently competed in an ultramarathon which went up to the top of a mountain and back down. The sun was shining and it was a beautiful day. I ran with a simple Timex watch to remind me when to eat, I never looked at it.  As I came back into town I ran on the outskirts of a trailer park where a man sat in a wheel chair cheering on the runners as they went by. If that doesn’t hit you between the eyes I don’t know what will. The former me would have raced, trying to take seconds off my finishing time, trying to place in my age group, trying to prove my worthiness to myself… to others. The new me slowed down, waved enthusiastically at the man and yelled “THANK YOU” with tears in my eyes. I was grateful in that moment, grateful for this gift of movement, grateful to live everyday within this gift.

My message to you is simple, bask in the glory of movement. Give yourself a break. If you are not a paid athlete, chill the F*ck out. If you slow down don’t break yourself in two. You have a gift no matter how fast you are!  And for God’s sake…run without your Garmin watch every once in a while.

My Facebook Stalker

 

My Facebook Stalker

 

We all have different stages of our lives… childhood, defiant pre-teen, confused young adult, building a career, starting a family , mid-life crisis, retirement... and the like. I like to lovingly refer to the years of 2014 to 2016 as my “man-hating” stage, perhaps you all have been there?

Why did I hate men you ask? Well, like over 50% of Americans I had just gone through a long and painful…painful is not quite the word... but let’s say incredibly disappointing divorce. I am such a Type A person and this life that I had so strategically planned fell apart… I was disappointed. I was mad at the man in the middle of it all, there for I was mad at all men. Which really makes no sense at all but like I said I was disappointed. I mean, that’s like your car breaking down and you deciding that you are never going to drive again… a little irrational I know!

 

Now being that 50% of the population is made up of Men, and that my profession involves working directly with men this was kind of a problem. But I didn’t trust them as far as I could throw them. In fact, I imagined a life dressed in black and praying to the rosary would be much better suited to my current attitude, but being that I wasn’t Catholic, I hated the color black, and the fact that I hadn’t even stepped foot in a church in over 5 years… I kinda ruled that out as a possibility.

When my divorce was final in December of 2015, I vowed that I would stay single for at least one year. I automatically assumed that every man that said "Hi" to me was hitting on me and there for I would give them my best “f-you” face, as my mother calls it. I couldn’t even give off a hint of being interested. It sounded like a great plan.

But then there is this thing called Facebook, and the fact that I run a business and have to be professional.

So on January 28^th, 2016 at 7:36PM less than 2 months after my divorce was final I receive a message from a man that says, “What’s the Mosquito Endurance Run”… is that an ultra? So a little background, I am race director for a running event that takes place locally every year and receive emails and questions about this event all of the time and I always answer them professionally… regardless of what sex the sender is.

I respond back with…” It absolutely is. You can find all of the information on our website. I hope you will run with us.”

Typically this is the end of the conversation because ALL of the information is on the website but the man messages back…

“Great, I will have to check my race calendar, is there a price increase anytime soon?”

Again, all of the information is on the website but I answer his question and that is all for now…

But…On Jan 29^th I receive a message from the same man asking if I know of anyone doing a bike race that weekend…

I respond back that “I do not”, and start to wonder why he is still asking me questions…. I am getting suspicious.

He must have sensed something because he backed off for two days… but then on Feb 1st this…

“By chance did you go see the band Ruckuss the other night? My boss is one of the guitar players and I hear they are pretty good. If you ever want to go see them sometime let me know”

Okay… I did go see the band the other night but how the heck did he know? This man is stalking me… and you know what, I am going to stalk him right back.

So I went on his Facebook page and did some looking around. He didn’t look like a serial killer. Basically he had a bunch of pictures of him with friends at running and cycling events. He had a warm smile and kind eyes.  Now, I am a runner and cyclist, and had never heard of him, but I did notice that one of our mutual Facebook friends was a client of mine. So that week I asked what she knew about this man. “Is he an axe murderer?” I asked. She got the biggest grin on her face and said. "No… I have known him for a few years, and he is a really nice guy. I think you all would have a lot in common."

That night I did some soul searching… am I really going to let a broken heart close me off from the world? Am I going to let one failed marriage at 33 years old determine my relationships for the rest of my life? That sounded kind of stupid… maybe I could un -hate 1 man at least enough for a 1^st date….

Fast forward two years… last weekend I finished a very challenging race. One that took me two subsequent failures but one that  I KNEW that if I kept at…  I would eventually figure out. Maybe love is the same way? If we keep trudging along, and learning from our mistakes, we will eventually figure out and "win". The irony of this race was that the man that met me at the finish line in the sub zero, -20 degree temperatures was the man who had the guts to send me a message. He is my best friend and biggest supporter. He has restored my faith in relationships, in love, and in the male species as a whole.  I will always be grateful I took a chance on him.