tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80992891345538348402024-02-08T13:49:58.668-05:00Amy's Army of Cancer Warriors: SurvivingAmy's Army of 100+ Cancer Warriors fights cancer while running and competing in athletic events. Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.comBlogger58125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-7730327877866883702016-11-02T12:23:00.001-04:002016-11-02T12:23:17.388-04:00Coke or Pepsi: My Fifth Anniversary of Cancer
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Have you ever ordered a Coke and what you get is a
Pepsi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s just not the same. Try
telling that to your health insurance company.</div>
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It has been five years since I was diagnosed with breast
cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was lucky because I caught my
cancer early: I found the lump myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because
it was not widespread, I had a lumpectomy, not a mastectomy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Genetic testing made the decision not to have
chemo an easy choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So once my seven
weeks of radiation therapy (which I called “tanning booth sessions”) ended, most
people assumed cancer treatment was behind me. </div>
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Not so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like many
women with breast cancer, I was given a drug, tamoxifen, to take for five
years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The side effects, I was told,
would include hot flashes, night sweats, and a host of other things that
sounded a lot like menopause symptoms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
was 49 when I was diagnosed, so I suffered these side effects right along many
women my age without any history of cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
"Is it hot in here?" was my constant refrain. But it wasn't too bad.</span></div>
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Until this year, over four years after starting tamoxifen,
when I began to experience changes in my mood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have always been a very happy person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had never experienced
depression until this year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then it
hit me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was tired, and thought I was
over-trained, having trained for an ultra-marathon in 2015. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took some time off, but it didn’t help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Objectively my life was wonderful, and I knew
that logically. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> But I sure didn't feel it. </span>There were days when I
felt sad, and other days when I felt nothing. Nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I slept for 10 hours or more a day. </span>I stopped my athletic endeavors almost completely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ate everything in sight and drank a lot of
wine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gained over 20 pounds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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I began to examine everything about my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then I remembered I ordered Coke and got
a Pepsi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, what actually happened is
that I went to the drug store to get my tamoxifen, and the pharmacist noted
that he had filled a different brand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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“It’s the same active ingredients as the other tamoxifen. Just a new brand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your insurance company has required us to
change it,” he explained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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“So it’s like Coke versus Pepsi?” I recall asking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I should have realized then that this could
be a problem.</div>
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It’s not that one brand is cheaper than the other, it’s just
that insurance companies negotiate volume discounts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it is not that Coke is better than Pepsi,
or vice versa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some women have worse
side effects on one type of tamoxifen, and others react the opposite way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clearly, the switch was a terrible idea for
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spoke with my doctor, and dropped
tamoxifen altogether, just a few months before my five years was up. He assured
me that the drug had already done its work in protecting me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I could not keep living the way I was
living.</div>
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So now, the good news is that I am cancer-free, drug-free,
and once again happy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have lost more
than 10 pounds that I gained earlier this year, and have a plan to lose the
rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am back to training, and am
eyeing what races I might do in 2017.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am celebrating that I have passed that five
year mark, which means that it is much less likely that my cancer will
recur.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a wonderful world!</div>
Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-55624117772839912112016-09-15T18:29:00.000-04:002016-09-16T17:54:00.929-04:00You cannot invite Lisa to your pool party: SwimRVA Splash Bash highlights efforts to boost swimming accessibility following legacy of discrimination<br />
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“You cannot invite Lisa to your birthday party at the
swimming pool,” Mom said to me as we planned my Sweet 16 celebration in 1978.<br />
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I was thinking about Lisa as I began swimming in earnest
again, training for the recent Richmond Rox sprint triathlon. I dedicated the
swim portion of my race to those who cannot swim.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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I cannot imagine being unable to swim. Swimming was part of
my everyday life, growing up in Alabama. I learned to swim at the YMCA, before
I learned to read.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Every summer, we swam in the Gulf of Mexico on Florida’s
panhandle, which we called the Redneck Riviera. A red neck was common for me
then, because (millennials will be shocked) water-resistant sunscreen hadn’t
yet been invented. I swam in the morning and evening, with thick, pasty zinc
oxide on my nose and cheeks, and a t-shirt over my swimsuit. In the middle of
the day, I played cards and board games inside with Mom, Dad, and my brother
and sister.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Later I joined the swim team. They gave out ribbons to all
six girls who swam each race, and I have a large collection of sixth-place
ribbons. By the time I was a teenager, “swimming” was mostly sitting beside the
pool. </div>
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For my 16th birthday, Mom asked me whether I wanted to
invite friends to a party, and if so, what I wanted to do. I attended Indian
Springs School at the time, and there I had a much more diverse group of
friends than before.</div>
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“I want to have a swimming pool party at the country club,”
I told her.</div>
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She looked at me sideways. “Whom would you invite?” she
asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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I ticked off my close circle of girlfriends, ending with
Lisa. Mom knew Lisa. She knew what Lisa looked like. Mom took a deep breath and
said, “You cannot invite Lisa to a party at the country club.”<br />
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“Why not???” I demanded, knowing full well what she
implied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Swimming became popular in the United States in the 1920s
and 1930s, including among women. It was the introduction of women into the
pools that led to the segregation. How could you have black men in the same
pool with white women? The law changed in the late 1950s, and public pools
could not operate unless they were desegregated. This change in law, however,
did not mean that blacks and whites swam together. Instead, public pools were
closed, filled in, abandoned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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The small lake in front of my house today featured a high
diving board in the 1930s. Today, the diving board is gone, the water is
shallow, having been partially filled when a court demanded that it be
desegregated. Across the country, after public pools were closed, many private
pools and country club pools were built. These places typically restricted access
to “members only.” In other words, white. The YMCA even figured out how to
operate segregated pools: it did so in Montgomery until it was sued over this
practice in 1970. Country clubs were still segregated in 1978, when I turned
16. I knew this, I knew that our club had no black members. But I didn’t
realize Jim Crow laws were still so overtly a part of our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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“I can’t invite Lisa to my pool, as my guest? That’s
ridiculous!” I screamed at my mother.</div>
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Mom sighed and said, “I don’t disagree with your sentiment,
but you would not be a good friend to Lisa if you invited her to the club. As
soon as you started to enjoy yourselves, a man in charge would ask Lisa to
leave. That would be very uncomfortable for everyone, especially Lisa.”</div>
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Mom went on to tell me that a black boy from Mobile,
apparently a very talented tennis player, came to an invitational tennis
tournament at the club not too long before, and the tennis pro in charge went
up to him and explained that this was an invitational event and that he was not
invited.</div>
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I felt sick to my stomach. How could this be so? Mom asked,
“so, would you like a pool party without Lisa, or another party where she can
be included?”</div>
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A party without Lisa?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Or be forced by bigots to go somewhere else just because my friend was
black. I was outraged. Here it was, 1978! Segregation was supposed to be over.
I wanted to do something! I wanted to picket. I wanted to boycott the place. I
wanted to change things. But I was just one 16-year-old girl. I didn’t know
what to do. Not then. “I don’t want a party at all, Mom. I don’t feel like
celebrating.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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I never told Lisa this story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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When you look around today, you might be inclined to say
these problems are history. Country clubs now have black members. I have some
African-American friends who not only swim, but also swim competitively, as
part of triathlon races. Simone Manuel made history this summer by being the
first African-American woman to win an individual gold medal in swimming. Have
we done enough to change things?</div>
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If a child asks her father to teach her to swim, and his
answer is “sure thing, honey, let’s start today,” the chances are the father is
white. Most black fathers cannot swim. According to a study by the University
of Memphis for USA Swimming, only three out of 10 African Americans can swim. And
African-American children and adolescents are more than five times more likely
to drown than their white peers because of limited swimming skills, according
to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. For one thing, if they start
to drown, most of the family members around them cannot possibly save
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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So, when I learned about the mission of SwimRVA, I jumped on
board. SwimRVA is a nonprofit organization whose mission is to elevate swimming
in the Richmond region, making water safety and aquatic fitness more accessible
to all. SwimRVA has set a goal to teach all second-graders in the region to
swim, especially those in underserved communities. Recently, SwimRVA launched a
program to teach children with autism to swim: such kids are drawn to water,
but usually cannot swim. They especially are prone to drowning after wandering
off from a safe environment. In fact, such accidental drowning accounted for 91
percent of deaths among children with autism spectrum disorder, according to
the National Autism Association. </div>
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For months, now, I have worked on SwimRVA’s inaugural
fundraising event, the Big Splash Bash, to be held on Saturday, Oct. 1, at the
Tuckahoe Woman’s Club. It will be a special opportunity to support those who
otherwise would not have a chance to learn to swim. We will have food and fun,
a dunking booth, a photo booth, and some chances to win amazing raffle prizes.
We also will be inducting members to the SwimRVA Hall of Inspiration: Robert
Bobb, Whitney Hedgepeth, the inaugural 1962 team of the James River Swim Club,
Marie Kelleher and Gloria Thompson.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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I hope you will join us for the fun. If you cannot attend,
please consider a donation to the cause.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You can buy tickets or contribute here: <a href="http://www.swimrichmond.org/splashbash.htm"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.swimrichmond.org/splashbash.htm</span></a>.
</div>
<br /></div>
Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-57796111967663496112015-12-17T10:31:00.003-05:002015-12-17T10:31:37.786-05:00Wrapping Up 2015
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Ever since I got off the couch and started running, cycling
and swimming, I have known that I am not fast, but I can keep going, albeit
slowly, longer than most.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d rather run
a half marathon than a 5K, rather swim slowly for an hour than one fast lap in
the pool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With this in mind, after the
Richmond marathon in mid-November, I began planning my 2016 year of racing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a year of focusing on running, logging
multiple marathon distance weekend runs, plus a 40 mile ultra, I decided to get
back on the bike and back in the pool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
figured I would run marathons, ride century (100 mile) bike rides and get back
into triathlon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I prepared charts and
schedules with a logical progression from one event to the next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had planned to tell you all about the
plans.</div>
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And then, one day, I took a “rest day” from athletic
training, which I typically take once a week, and I found that I could not
climb a flight of stairs without having to sit down for a minute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fatigue persisted for days and
weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I consulted with my doctor, who
had all kinds of tests run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Medically, I
am perfectly normal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mind and my body
tell me otherwise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need a break.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, my “plan” is not to plan anything until
after the New Year’s Day. Meanwhile, I am running only if I feel like it, and
if I’m running and want to walk, I do so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m hopping on the bike during the unseasonably warm weather, and
enjoying the great outdoors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m going
to swim at the beautiful 50 meter SwimRVA pool, but I won’t push myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I won’t worry about what I need to do to
improve for some future event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will
celebrate the here and now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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I also will celebrate everything that Amy’s Army of 100+ Cancer
Warriors has accomplished in the year since the group was formed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have raised over $50,000 for VCU Massey
Cancer Center, funds that will be used for life-saving cancer research.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve raised awareness about cancer
prevention and treatments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s been a
good year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Many thanks to all of you for your support!</div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Amy</span></div>
Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-18599440372634075932015-09-17T15:34:00.000-04:002015-09-17T15:49:07.669-04:00Pine Creek Challenge<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">After a fabulous vacation in Ireland, during my “taper,”
I returned to the office for a couple days and then headed to Wellsboro,
Pennsylvania for the Pine Creek Challenge, the 100 kilometer (62 mile) race I
have been training for all year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While
training for this race, I have been raising funds for, and awareness of VCU
Massey Cancer Center, where I was treated for breast cancer four years ago.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u>My health</u>. The first bad sign was that, on the
drive to Pennsylvania, I noticed my throat was hurting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was I getting sick? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I shouldn’t have risked the plane travel
just before the race: those airplanes are germ factories. On the other hand, I
wasn’t having any pain in my hips or knees; whatever nagging injuries I had
were gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I told my friend Holly
about my sore throat, she reminded me that when her daughter Emma, 9 weeks old
at the time, had chemo, her throat and mouth were so covered in sores that the
baby could not suckle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She couldn’t keep
a pacifier in her mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said, thank
you, no matter how bad it gets out there, I will remember “I can still suck!”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u>100 Names</u>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>On the ride up to Pennsylvania, I rehearsed my recitation of those to
whom I would dedicate a kilometer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had
100 names and “fun facts” for each of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was still working on memorizing the list, so I had Coach Dave hold the
list and prompt me as I endeavored to recite them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took an hour to read the list, and in the
end, I couldn’t talk at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We checked
the forecast for the race:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>COLD AND
RAINY.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Quickly my crew decided for me that I would not be able
to talk for an hour in the rain and pitch dark after the race with my sore
throat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we came up with an
alternative strategy: Denise would film me with her “go pro” camera at each aid
station with crew access, and SHE would read the names of the folks for whom
that segment of the race was dedicated.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u>My Crew</u>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
crew was nothing short of amazing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Coach
Dave Luscan came to support me, and brought his family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dave is not a long-distance runner, and he
was having some issues with his calf, but a month before the race, I asked him
if he would pace me during the race, maybe 15 miles or so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said “I’m trying to get healthy enough to
actually run the race with you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took this
to mean that he would run the entire 62 miles with me, and I registered him for
the race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t until we were
actually running it that he confessed he did not mean he would run the WHOLE
race with me, but that I had been so enthusiastic about his apparent offer that
he decided to go for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Susan Ann Glass
planned to start running with me at the halfway point of the race, for 12
miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Holly McFeely, who was my running
buddy for ultras in the past, would take over after Susan Ann to run 16 miles,
which was on her training plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then
there would just be 3.5 miles to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Logan Harte, my massage therapist, was part of the crew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And Denise, Holly’s mother, who has been part
of my crew for many a race, was there too.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u>The first half</u>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The race started at 9:00 am, approximately ten minutes after the rain
began.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The temperatures were in the
upper 50s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was great running
weather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a healthy person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were about 40 determined looking runners
at the start line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dave, used to running
fast in short-distance races, started with me at my slow pace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dave seemed surprised when fellow runners chatted with
us, I think because he’s used to running so fast nobody can eek out more than a
word. One woman said she had done the 100 MILER last year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Wow! What made you decide to drop back to do
the 100K this year?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She said, “well, I
was running and was having terrible pain but ignored it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In June, running another 100 mile race, I
found out that my foot was broken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I
had to stop running for a while and I’m just getting back into it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My jaw dropped, and she waved good-bye and
took off ahead of me. She broke her foot, and three months later she’s running
a 100k.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because more than that would be
crazy.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As we went along, it was great to get to know this little
band of runners. Runners in ultras will slow to chat with someone for a while
before heading off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s an all-day
affair, so a few minutes here or there really does not matter.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As we came upon the first aid station, Dave mentioned
that we might not want to spend too much time at aid stations if we wanted to
keep our time goal in mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realized
then that he did not know how completely wonderful aid stations are at ultras,
or how we would end up feeling about them later in the race. At this one,
Dave’s daughter surprised him by showing up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She spotted him, shouted “DADDY!” and gave him a huge hug. They ran a 50
yard dash together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the next aid
station, which our crew couldn’t access, we stopped and ate a whole
banquet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Chicken soup, peanut butter and
jelly sandwiches, ham and cheese sandwiches, cookies, pretzels, boiled potatoes
with salt.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We ran along a “rail trail,” which used to be a railroad
track.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The surface was packed dirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The scenery was gorgeous, with the leaves
just starting to turn for the fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
creek ran parallel to the course the whole way, so we saw waterfalls mixed in
with the changing leaves. As the day wore on, the rain got heavier and the
temperature dropped. We pulled into the next aid station, at mile 20, where our
crew was waiting for us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I reported that
this was just mile 20, but my body thought it was mile 30.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Already our running pace had slowed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I announced that my hope of finishing in
thirteen and a half hours (my stretch goal) was not in the cards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My new goal was to finish in 15 hours, or by
midnight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lay on a plastic poncho on
the group and Logan massaged my leg and assisted me in some stretches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dave was starting to fall apart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said his feet were on fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was undertrained for the race, but he had
originally planned to be my coach, not run the race with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He told me he had run for three hours the
previous Monday, or about 19 miles, so I didn’t worry too much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was after the race that he confessed that
his three hour run was cut short to 90 minutes because of the heat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He thought that telling me that before the
race would have discouraged me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway,
by this point in the race, Dave knew he couldn’t continue beyond the halfway
point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But you’ll still be an
ultra-marathoner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The halfway point is
31 miles, a 50 K.” What an awesome feat: to run a 50K on a long run of 90
minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(NOTE: Dave does not recommend
this strategy). </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We set off, knowing that the turn-around was another 10 miles
away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was an aid station in five
miles, but our crew couldn’t access it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>By the time we arrived there, Dave and I were stretching out our walk
breaks and running very slowly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we
noticed that we had to go about a tenth of a mile off the course to get to the
aid station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said, “Dave, I hate to
make the run longer, but we are definitely stopping!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was the best aid station, and I was
later to spend a long time there.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We set off again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Dave was hunched over like an old man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He remarked that he could tell that his run form was about the worst
he’d ever seen. Two runners who were doing the 100 miler passed us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man noticed Dave’s form and asked if this
was our first 100K.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He began to dish out
running advice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried a couple times
to interject Dave’s role as a coach, but the guy didn’t listen. “Be sure to eat
at the aid stations: nutrition is the key to a long race.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Relax while you are running.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Getting all tense just wastes energy.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, mysteriously, “you hurt now but the good
news is the hurt doesn’t get any worse.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I thought Dave might strike the man, and I think if he ever sees him
again he might.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But on this day all he
could do was say “ugh” and shuffle along like Tim Conway. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When we were at mile 30, we passed a runner, Mike, whom
we’d seen many times along the course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He said, “it’s only two miles to the turn-around!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What the heck?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The turn-around was supposed to be at mile
31.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>31+31=62. Mike must have
misspoken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later, at mile 31, with the
turn-around nowhere in sight, we realized Mike was right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought Dave might cry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We saw a woman ahead of us with a large
golf-style umbrella.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Dave, I’ll punch
her in the mouth and you yank on her legs, and when she falls down, let’s steal
her umbrella!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dave readily agreed, but before
we could muster any violence, we realized the lady was our friend Holly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She shared her umbrella with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was sopping wet, shivering and miserable. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Finally at the aid station, I lay on a blanket in the
back of my car while Logan took off my shoes and socks and gave me a foot and
leg massage. “You are so inflamed!” he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The foot massage hurt, but I knew I couldn’t keep<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>going without it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After he was finished, I put on new socks and
shoes, changed my dress and put on a long-sleeved shirt, a dry jacket and a dry
hat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt better, though still pretty
terrible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dave decided to stop at this point and declared, “this
ultra-running is horrible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the
worst idea ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You people who do this
kind of running are totally nuts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Really, it should be ILLEGAL!” It made me giggle.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u>Deciding to Stop</u>. Heading back, I was joined by
Susan Ann, who became my pacer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was
chirpy and chatty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Let’s GO‼!” she
said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hold your horses,” I retorted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was really hard to get running again, but
after some false starts, I could run a little.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Susan Ann began to whip off story after story to distract my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I listened to only about half of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She didn’t mind. After a mile or so, the
relief that Logan’s foot massage had given me began to wear off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My feet hurt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My knees hurt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My hips hurt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I began to notice that my back was wracked
with pain. I wasn’t standing up straight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I couldn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I soldiered on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It began to get dark, and Susan Ann and I
turned on our headlamps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon thereafter
I ran a step and experienced a sharp pain in my left foot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“OWWWWWW!” I screamed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We walked a bit and she worried that I had
broken my metatarsal bone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then she
examined my foot again, and though she isn’t a doctor, she decided it was not
broken but merely sprained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This isn’t going to make any sense to many of you, but when
she decided I didn’t have a broken bone, I was disappointed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wished I had a bone sticking out of my leg.
Then I could stop with no questions asked. I could lie in the rain until an
ambulance came to take me away, where I could eat as much ice cream as I
wanted. But my foot was not broken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still,
break or no break, I couldn’t run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
couldn’t even walk fast without the sharp pain coming back, and I couldn’t
tolerate that for more than a few paces.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had to walk without flexing my left foot at all: a sort of
“Frankenstein’s monster” walk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we
walked slowly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the next four miles,
we set a 30 minute per mile pace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
took us nearly three hours to cover seven miles, with the last four or five
miles being the slowest. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At this pace, in theory I could still finish the
race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would just take me about twelve
more hours of walking through cold rain while wracked with pain and a sore
throat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had already been running (or
walking) for 11 hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought of the
reason I was doing this race: to raise funds for and awareness of Massey Cancer
Center.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To honor and remember those
touched by cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Surely this pain was
easier than chemo. I thought of all the people I knew who would be able to keep
going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remembered the mantra: “I can
still suck.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We were arriving at the aid station that was off the
trail, in a location with minimal parking, so my crew would not be there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I considered whether I could walk the next
segment, six more miles, to meet them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That would be three more hours of pain, in the pouring rain. I was
pretty sure that I could not do that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And if I did, I was absolutely sure that I could not continue after
that. I cried and asked Susan Ann to call the crew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a momentary panic when we realized
that nobody had cell coverage, but of course the aid station had walkie-talkies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My crew was already worried and had called
back to see if we had made it through the aid station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I officially pulled out of the race and sat in a chair
and ate chicken soup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Several runners
stopped for 10 minutes or longer at this aid station. One woman, doing the 100
mile race, changed her shoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had
huge bunions that had deformed her feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was amazed that these feet could walk to the coffee machine, much less
run 100 miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What was it that made
these people so tough? Whatever it was, I didn’t have any of it left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I left all my mojo out there that night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was just shy of 40 miles into the race.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As we pulled away from the aid station in the car, two
runners approached, Mark Willis and Grandison Burnside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were running the 100 mile race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(They, Som Sombati and Richard Nelson, all of
Richmond, finished that next morning).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grandison
looked radiant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she heard my story
she didn’t miss a beat to say that I had gone far and should be proud, and in
any event it was all about the fundraising, so I should be very proud indeed. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u>Amy’s Army Finishes the Job</u>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next day my friends decided we should “finish
the race” symbolically. Holly started running where I stopped the night before.
Holly is training for the Richmond marathon and had a 16 mile run on her
schedule (and that is what she was supposed to run with me the day
before).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s tough, but she’s a bit
afraid of being alone in the woods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
carried mace in her hand and set off. She was afraid she might encounter a
creepy man, a rabid animal, or some other unknown danger. She told me an animal
scared her to death and she almost sprayed it with mace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turned out to be a deer!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The rest of my crew (sans Dave, who had had to return to
Richmond) parked the car about 3.5 miles from the finish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Logan and Susan Ann walked toward Holly, and
when they found her they walked back with her to mile 3.5 from the end, where
Denise and I joined the group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By this
time, 15 hours and a lot of ice after I stopped, I could walk fairly normally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Together, Amy’s Army walked the last 3.5
miles together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Holly ran and walked
nearly a marathon by the end, and of course I told her she needed to finish her
job too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, off she went, to run around
the parking lot till her Garmin said 26.2.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u>What’s Next?</u><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Before I started this race, I thought my next race would be another
ultra, this time in Africa, where I wouldn’t have my crew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know what I was thinking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Amy needs Amy’s Army!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have been trying to wrap my mind around getting a DNF
(did not finish) for this race I trained so hard to finish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve been wondering if I should try this
distance again, and if so, when.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or
should I go back to something “easier,” like triathlon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(My tri friends will laugh at that: triathlon
is hard, too, but in a different way).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don’t know what I will do next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But whatever it is, I know all my friends and
family will support me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am
blessed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">And I can still suck.</span></span></span></div>
Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-65080078565397113092015-07-07T10:22:00.001-04:002015-07-07T10:22:06.280-04:00Independence Day Win!On July 4th, I ran the inaugural Independence Day 17.76 kilometer race at Shirley Plantation. This race took us around the Shirley Plantation and on nearby roads, including Route 5. It was scenic, especially the "bonus" out and back path along which my friend Lilo escorted everyone at the start. I felt strong, and eleven miles is not a long way for me, given that I have been running more than a marathon distance in training. <br />
<br /><br />
After I finished, Lilo said, "did you look to see if you placed in your age group?" <br />
<br /><br />
"What, me? I didn't even look." <br />
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She encouraged me to go take a gander, so we looked. Turns out I placed second in my age group (ladies 50-55)! It was a small race. Were there no other ladies in my group? Turns out, there were a total of nine! I placed second out of nine ladies. Unbelievable! Some were not too far behind me. The lady who won our age group finished a full thirty minutes ahead of me: a truly fast runner. This was the first time I have ever gotten the opportunity to stand on a podium. <br />
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At the awards ceremony, some who are used to standing on the podium demurred when offered the chance. I said, "I'm definitely going up!" Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-27842311698076892882015-06-15T17:12:00.000-04:002015-06-15T17:12:33.347-04:00Six Hour Tour of Richmond<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
There are a few people in the world (Dean Karnazes says he’s one) who can train for marathons and ultramarathons without getting injured.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose it is because they are biomechanically engineered for running, have perfect form, and got the “running gene.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then there’s folks like me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I run because it makes me feel great, but it also hurts sometimes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to be careful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the other hand, if I stopped running every time I felt a little twinge, I’d be back on the couch where I sat for four decades.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No thanks.</div>
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Earlier this week, my Achilles tendon was a bit sore and inflamed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Uh oh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I iced it and stretched it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told Coach Dave about it on Saturday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hmm,” he mused. “Had you not told me that, I was going to have you do a six-hour long run tomorrow.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We consulted, and in the end he told me to have a six-hour run as my goal, but if the Achilles kicked up, stop running.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And don’t take ibuprofen; that will mask the pain.” </div>
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The weather was not about to cooperate with this plan: forecasts were in the 90s with high humidity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last time I ran in similar heat, I ended up with some crazy rash on my feet and legs, diagnosed via the internet as “heat rash,” also known as “diaper rash.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time, I got ready by waking up at 4:30 am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I put goop (aquaphor) on my feet and bra line to avoid chafing, and then I dumped powder in my socks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think this is what they do to babies with diaper rash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only they put the powder in their diapers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I slathered myself with sunscreen, SPF 50 with zinc, and then I sprayed sunscreen on top of that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I loaded my running pack with extra sunscreen for later.</div>
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And, as the sun rose, I took off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ran for about an hour circuitously from my house in Byrd Park towards the Sportsbackers’ Stadium, where my marathon training team (team Cocoa) was to begin its 8-mile run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got near the Stadium with some time to spare, so I did some nearby loops, and in doing so I spied several marathon training team peeps who looked at me quizzically, no doubt wondering why I was adding “a mile or two” to the 8-miles on the plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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I refilled my water bottles and added Tailwind, my nutrition, to my bottles, and listened to the banter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I usually run faster, but I think I’ll run about a nine minute pace today, because it is just so hot.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A nine-minute mile is what I can do on a good day in the winter, if I don’t have to do anything else for a few days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I waited for the official start, I wondered if I should forge ahead, but because it was my first day with the group, I waited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Coach Ellie, also a fabulous chef, said a few words about our route (which would take us back to Byrd Park and through Carytown) and we were off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Or I should say, everyone was off, and I was right there behind them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a half mile or so I spotted a woman behind the rest of the group, and I surged to catch up to her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m Lou,” she said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lou was more or less my age, and this was her first marathon training team year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Your first marathon?” I asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh, no, not my first, and I’m getting slower, but I don’t worry about that anymore.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How many marathons has Lou done? 80‼<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a mile or so, I realized that Lou’s slow pace was around 11 minutes per mile, not something I could sustain if I planned to run for six hours, so I dropped back and let her go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This left me dead last.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the team’s coaches ran with me for a bit, seemingly concerned at first about my slow pace, though he was kind enough not to say anything other than “how are you doing?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m doing FABULOUS, thank you!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today I am going to run for six hours.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(A/k/a, well, I’m slow, but I’m not about to fall out and require an ambulance.) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once he realized I would make it and I knew the way, he was off to tend to folks who were faster, but less sure of the distance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon I noticed a group of runners who had headed the wrong way and were retracing their steps. For a moment, I thought I’d catch them, but of course they were faster than I am, which is how they did this far plus “bonus miles” faster than I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I let them go, too. </div>
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Just around the corner, I heard and saw something terrible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A dog was barking and slamming against the inside of a car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no sign of a human.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Inside the car, I saw the dog, a pit bull, next to a bowl of water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The windows were not cracked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I noticed that the front door itself was cracked, as was the hatchback to the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But only a crack, and in this heat, the dog would die quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I turned off my watch and looked about for the owner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took out my phone and wondered aloud what to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I was about to dial 911, a police officer showed up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later I learned that Coach/Chef Ellie Basch had called 911 when she ran by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She also was the person who cracked the door and hatchback. The owner had left the dog there without even cracking any windows or doors!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The police officer said that animal control was on the way: they would take the dog if the owner did not show up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later Ellie drove back and reported that the car was still there, with a ticket on the windshield, and the dog was gone: no doubt taken by animal control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Back at Sportsbackers, I refilled my water bottles and reapplied sunscreen liberally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked for recommendations about the most scenic route to downtown, and took off, with one guy shouting at me as I left “you are going out again?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw you running in before we started.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little did he know that I had over three hours of running left to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the advantages of running on your own is that you can go wherever you’d like and change your mind at a moment’s notice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I headed through Northside neighborhoods to make my way downtown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I enjoyed the scenery, the old homes and big trees, and then I turned onto an unfamiliar road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was a bit disoriented, and then I realized I’d been there before, on a bicycle, lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That other time, I had (1) asked a homeless person for directions (who told me something very confusing), (2) asked Siri for directions (who gave me directions to Hong Kong and mentioned water) and (3) cried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time, no tears; I just ran toward the tall buildings in the distance. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The key was that I had to run so far and so long, it didn’t really matter if I ran a few miles “too far” this way or that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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It worked!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got to Jackson Ward, then through the downtown streets I made my to Brown’s Island, where my friend Emily Bashton was doing her first race as a pro at Xterra.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to arrive in time to see her finish this race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I arrived, she was leaving “T2,” which means she had finished her swim and bike ride, and was headed out on the last leg of her race, a 10K run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, Emily’s a heck of a lot faster than I am, so I knew I could get something to eat and drink and cool down a bit and she’d be back in no time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so she was. It was thrilling to watch her cross the finish line. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She came in 8<sup>th</sup> overall among the pro women triathletes. GO, Emily!</div>
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After more sunscreen, I walked with my friend Susan Ann toward her car and then took the pedestrian bridge from Tredegar to Belle Isle, where there is a scenic dirt running path on the grounds where, during the Civil War, Union troops were held.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The route was shady, thank goodness, so I did two loops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the second loop, I was thinking about what an incredibly lucky woman I am for getting to run for six hours on a hot Sunday. I wouldn’t want to be doing anything else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And my mind went off into happy land.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you know what happens when you are running on dirt or trails and your mind goes into happy land?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My toe caught on a rock and SPLAT! I found myself lying flat, face-first on the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was dirt all over my legs, body, and arms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And a little between my teeth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent the requisite two minutes inspecting the damage and feeling sorry for myself, and then I got up and dusted myself off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, well. </div>
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Next up, I climbed the stairs at 22<sup>nd</sup> street to get to Riverside Drive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took one long pause to view the James River<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>from the top of the stairs, and then I was delighted to see that the entire 22<sup>nd</sup> street entrance to the Buttermilk Trails had been renovated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s beautiful! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the water fountain there was great for washing off my wounds from my fall. I hopped onto Riverside Drive on the theory that it is shady.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had forgotten, though, just how hilly it is!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And by now, it was getting hotter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a slow few miles that got me back to the Nickel Bridge, just a short way from home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the six hour mark loomed on the horizon, I began figuring out my last miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had in mind finishing 27 miles before the end, but about two miles to the finish, I realized that to do that, I would have to find Lou’s 11 minute per mile pace again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that wasn’t going to happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I started to walk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was right then that I realized: my Achilles was fine! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had not flared up all day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I finished my six hours right at 26.2 mile, a marathon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A slow marathon, but not a bad day’s work for such a hot and humid day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No medal, but I walked right into my backyard, took off my shoes, and got right in the pool with my running dress on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Felt good on the boo-boos on my knees from the fall, and on the heat rash I’d gotten, yet again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ahhhhh! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></div>
Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-71398762242348598722015-05-06T13:35:00.003-04:002015-05-06T13:35:10.333-04:00Grandma
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As you know, I ran marathons in February and March, then a
trail half marathon, all on my way to running a 50K (that’s 31 miles) on the
same course where in 2012, I missed a cutoff while attempting a 50 miler.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was looking forward to tackling that course
again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, alas, it was not to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just before the 50K, I was running up and
down a hill in my neighborhood when I felt, “uh oh, my hip hurts.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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As you know, I’m not a “natural athlete,” so sometimes bad
posture causes little issues. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Coach Dave
suggests it is my running form.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
suggested I emulate the running forms of famous marathoners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead I emulate Tim Conway’s “old man”
form.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In that sense, I am a Grandma. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, this nagging Grandma issue caused me to
take some time off from running, and then get back into it slowly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, by last Sunday, I felt about 95% cured
of this latest nagging injury, and I was ready for my first double-digit long
run since my hip started hurting.</div>
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I signed up for Jake’s Reindeer Race, which celebrates
childhood cancer survivors, including its namesake Jake Maynard, the son of one
of my partners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It offered a 5K, a 10K
and a one mile fun run/walk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I signed up
for the 10K and decided to run for a couple hours before the race started.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During my “warm up” run, I ran over to the finish
line of the East Coast Triathlon Festival and watched some of the talented
young triathletes race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My friend Lilo
took the picture you see under the tent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
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Back at the Reindeer Race, families gathered, played games
and celebrated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked around at the
folks lined up to race and thought to myself, “hey, I might not come in last
place!” At the triathlon, athletes were wearing svelte triathlon suits and had
their “game faces” on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the reindeer
race, folks were dressed in reindeer antlers, red and green outfits and their
“game faces” said “Let’s have fun!” on them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The race started, and I found myself in the middle of the pack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was fun running with all the kids, dogs
and folks in costumes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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However, I soon learned that all these fun folks were out
for a mile or a 5K.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My race would be two
laps of the 5K course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once I finished
that first loop, I was on my own!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All
other runners who had elected the 10K course were clearly talented
runners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is, they were fast!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sun was beating hotter and hotter, and I
wasn’t quite acclimated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were
playing Christmas music at the start of the second loop and I got in my head
“Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
couldn’t shake it out of my head for those last three miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to convince myself that I was a
reindeer, not Grandma squashed under reindeer hoofs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, my face was so red from the heat:
was I Rudolf?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because of the heat, I
slowed to a slow jog intermixed with walk breaks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realized that though my nose was red, I was
Grandma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I had gotten run over!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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But at least my hip is okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m happy to be back running long, even if I’m running slowly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This coming weekend, my plan is to run for
four and a half hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span></div>
Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-10083580055890421222015-03-26T18:40:00.004-04:002015-03-26T18:40:52.014-04:00Instant Classic Half Marathon: Napping
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My experience with trail races lately has not been
great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In December, I tripped and fell
four times in a trail 50K, and in January I got hopelessly lost in another
trail race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw a photo on-line about “napping”
on the trail, meaning falling down face first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I worried that I would do that again, or get lost.</div>
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So, I’m pleased to report that the Instant Classic Trail
Half Marathon was nothing like that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>First, the course is so well marked that even I could not possibly get
lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On one sharp turn, a sign
admonished runners to turn, noting “NOBODY gets lost at the Instant Classic.”
Thank goodness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I didn’t trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have this feeling that the tripping I did
in December resulted from fatigue brought on by many-a-Christmas-party plus
many-a-year-end-deal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kind of a lethal
combination for the little grey cells.</div>
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The trails were beautiful and we had two creek
crossings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A trail run isn’t a trail run
if you don’t get your feet wet!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On one
creek crossing, there was a huge log across the stream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I paused, and a couple came behind me and
began to use the log to cross the stream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I recalled something my friend Jay once said about creeks: “Cross them
like you mean it!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went splashing
through the water, like a big kid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A big
smile came across my face, and I headed into the finish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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About 30 seconds after I came through the finish, a man came
through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He’s the winner!” someone
announced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was running the half, and he had run the
full.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I beat you!” I told him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m usually half the speed of the winner of
trail races, so I do count my 30 second lead as “winning.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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I went home and reclined for just a few minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two hours later, I awoke from my nap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least it didn’t scar me!</div>
Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-1222919983915561132015-03-26T14:39:00.002-04:002015-03-26T14:39:07.558-04:00Tobacco Road: Don't Smoke it and Smell Like a Rose
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After a two week spell of some awful winter virus and
respiratory infection (I felt as though I’d coughed my lungs up), I tried
running again, slowly, the Monday before the Tobacco Road marathon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That two weeks off left me feeling out of
shape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is why people who run only
rarely say they hate running: it’s hard if you don’t do it all the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would I be able to run a marathon less than a
week after returning to running after a couple weeks off?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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“You can run Tobacco Road,” my coach said, “as long as you
don’t smoke it.”</div>
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So there you go. My fastest marathon was 4:54.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had run the Mercedes Marathon three weeks
earlier in 5:13.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So my goal for Tobacco
Road was anywhere between 5:15 and 6, so that I could recover quickly and get
back to running.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My target was 5:30.</div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The course was gorgeous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After a couple miles on an asphalt road, we turned onto an old railroad
trail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tracks are gone, and most of
the route was packed dirt, though there were some asphalt sections.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ran with my friend Virginia for a couple
hours, until she decided to turn on the gas and go faster.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“See you later, Virginia,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I am not going to smoke this one!”</div>
<br />
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</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The trail was not terribly hilly, but after ten miles or so
I was heading up a small hill when I saw a woman with her dog on a leash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the oddest looking dog!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>HUGE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Was it a Great Dane?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got closer
and realized: the lady was walking a GOAT!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A fellow runner stopped, pet the goat and got a photo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then she smelled her hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh, no, I am going to smell goat for the
next 16 miles!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The lady offered to let
me pet the goat, but I demurred.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I
finish a marathon, I like to smell like a rose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
For most of the marathon, I made sure not to catch up to the
5 hour pacer, and to stay ahead of the 5:30 pacer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At about mile 21, the 5:30 pacer caught up
with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was getting tired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked him how fast he normally runs a
marathon, and he told me his normal pace is 3:30, but these days he was running
them slower and pacing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because he is planning to do a 100 miler in
two weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I am a little beat today,”
he said, “because I ran a marathon yesterday too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really wanted to do this one in 6 hours,
but they didn’t have a pacer spot for that.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>WOW.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At that, I let the tired man
pass me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turns out I was more tired than
I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The last couple miles were
slow: I was still running, I suppose, though my pace wasn’t must faster than a
fast walk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the end, my finish time
was 5:45.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Success!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t smoke it, and I smelled like a rose.</div>
<br />Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-54878061828073720702015-03-04T14:10:00.000-05:002015-03-04T14:10:38.439-05:00Grit, Grits and Girls Raised in the South<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
It’s been a cold and snowy February here in Richmond, so
mid-month I escaped to Birmingham, Alabama, my home town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As it turns out, Birmingham was facing cold
temperatures too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately, things
warmed up in time for me to run the Mercedes Marathon, in memory of my father,
Ben McDaniel, who lost his battle to cancer in June 2013.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And along the way, I remembered GRITS.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Years ago, when Steve and I first moved to Richmond, my
mother came to visit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Millie’s had
no grits to offer with breakfast, and suggested “home fries” instead, Mom
declared, “This is not the South.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never
mind that it was the capital of the Confederacy, never mind that Monument
Avenue features the key Confederate generals in <span style="color: black;">larger-than-</span>life-sized
statues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During the marathon, I found a
number of ways in which the Deep South differs from Virginia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not just the grits.</div>
<br />
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</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The race started at Boutwell Auditorium in downtown
Birmingham.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw my first concert, the
Grateful Dead, here in the 70s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stood
in line for the ladies room and observed that they haven’t done a thing to the
bathrooms since I visited them thirty five years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, that’s not entirely true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have posted “no smoking” signs
everywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As an asthmatic, I still
recall that the air was not clear of smoke during that 1970s Grateful Dead
concert! </div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I noticed that although the temperatures at the start of the
race were in the upper 40s, and most of the race they were in the 50s, many
runners sported long pants or tights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
wore my signature sleeveless mini-dress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I think this goes to show that what you are used to in your training
runs makes a big difference in racing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
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</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Another big difference I saw was that Birmingham has many
more African American runners than you see in Richmond.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More than would be accounted for in the
increased population of African Americans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What’s up with that, Richmond?</div>
<br />
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</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The spectators at this race were great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In addition to the usual greetings, there
were some special Deep South shout outs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My Dad’s favorite would have been “WAR EAGLE!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dad used to say War Eagle instead of
“Hello.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Richmond, he was
circumspect, lest people be confused, but in Birmingham, his booming “War
Eagle” would be greeted by a return, “Hey, Ben, War Eagle to you, too!”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I heard War Eagles, and a fair share of Roll Tides, and I
also heard these cheers:</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<br />
<ul style="direction: ltr; list-style-type: disc;">
<li style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><div style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;">
God’s Got this for You!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Momentarily, I thought I could stop and let
God do the rest of the running; then I realized something about helping people
who help themselves, and kept going).</div>
</li>
<li style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><div style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;">
All Y’all are doing awesome! (Not just “y’all,”
but “all y’all.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it is a large and
disparate group, “y’all” isn’t always adequate. The speaker wanted to emphasize
that every single person was doing awesome, without exception).</div>
</li>
</ul>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The marathon and the half marathon started at the same time,
with the marathoners completing a second loop of the same course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because this was merely a “supported training
run” for me, I was not trying to beat my “personal record” for the marathon
distance, which is just under five hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Instead, I wanted to be sure to run comfortably so that I would not have
a long recovery time before running long again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>On the other hand, I couldn’t run slower than a six hour marathon,
because the race has a “balloon lady” who runs that pace, and if you fall
behind her, they remove you from the course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I figured I could run the race in about 5:30 or so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The goal was to run the first 21 miles
fairly slowly, and then pick up the pace during the last five miles. </div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The first lap went well. Maybe I went out a bit too fast for
the first mile or so, which were downtown, so pancake flat. I don’t think I
have ever run a race where I didn’t go out too fast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I settled into a pace after a bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to hand it to the race organizers.
Birmingham is a very hilly city, but this race was not too terribly hilly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were hills, all right, but there was
not a single hill that was steep enough to warrant walking instead of running
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was good and bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
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</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Lining the streets (it being a Sunday morning) were a number
of church groups. They handed out gummy fishes (loaves and fishes, I guess) and
held up inspirational signs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Let us run
with endurance the race God has set before us,” Hebrews 12:1, said one
sign.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No doubt the person holding the
sign referred to the Mercedes Marathon race, but of course the meaning is much
deeper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I reflected upon my journey this
year—racing toward the 100K run, racing toward raising $100K for cancer
research.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My father said he used to try
to run but could never muster more than a couple miles on the track.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was proud of me for my running.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Proud of my running the race that Gold set
before me.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I was running with “Tailwind” for my nutrition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a powder that you add to water and you
don’t need to eat or drink anything else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I filled my four bottles with Tailwind water, but of course for more
than five hours I would need much more than four 8 ounce bottles to drink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I carried extra powder in baggies and
refilled the baggies at the aid stations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I felt a bit like a drug addict with cocaine—this white powder falling
all over me. It took forever. I really like the nutrition, but I need a better
“refill” method.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
As I passed the famous Alabama Theatre and then began the
second loop, I felt great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No tiredness,
no aches. By mile 21 or 22, I was supposed to “surge” into race mode, picking
up the pace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried, but doing this was
difficult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did run some fast
stretches—on downhills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did pretty
well until mile 24.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bottoms of my
feet were starting to hurt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I noticed what looked like a finish line balloon arch down
the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Is that it?” I asked a
volunteer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes,” she said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess I should have been more specific
about what I meant by “it.” “It” was not the finish line, and when I got there,
I despaired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another mile to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The good news is that I was not walking, I
was just running pretty slowly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like,
the pace I should have run during mile 1.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A volunteer handed me a moon pie, though, and that made me happy and
nostalgic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember eating moon pies
with my Dad as a little girl. I mustered up what grit and determination I had left, and kept running.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
As I came into the finish line, a sign said “I have fought
the good fight, I have finished the race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have kept the faith.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>2 Timothy
4:7.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that made me smile.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Mom’s had a hard time since Dad died last year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later that day, I was walking like
Frankenstein’s monster, and I settled into a recliner next to Mom to watch the
Oscars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The doorbell rang.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom said, “I’ll get it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said, “okay, I think you will be faster,”
as she reached for her rolling walker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Mom: she’s got Grit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all,
she’s a Girl Raised in the South, too.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">I was supposed to keep
running after this Marathon, but I have been struck by the winter crud, so I’m
grounded for now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next up, though, is a
weekend marathon on a “rail trail” followed by<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>a trail half marathon the following weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Should be a blast!</span>Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-2919061279899041362015-02-07T15:11:00.002-05:002015-02-07T15:12:14.022-05:00Water Where?
<br /><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When
you run on trails, you get used to the idea that you might need to cross a
swollen creek and get your feet wet. With this in mind, I never wear long
pants on a trail run because the bottom of the pants can get wet and
muddy. I never think about this when running on the streets of Richmond,
so when I saw that the weather for Frostbite 15K was in the low 40s and 100%
chance of rain, I put on long pants to keep my legs warm. Error! </span></div>
<br /><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As I
warmed up for the race, I noticed the largest puddle covering the entire road
across the lakes from my house in Byrd Park. As an SUV stopped and turned
around to avoid crossing this flood, I spotted a race volunteer and asked him
if the puddle was on the course. He consulted a map and said “you have to
cross this twice!” There’s a photo of this spot, right, with a Richmond
Road Runners truck traversing it. In the end, when we came upon it during
the race, they diverted us into the grass going out, and onto the sidewalk
coming back. Even so, it was very wet. </span></div>
<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">It rained off and on during this race, and by the
second half of it, the bottoms of my pants were soaked and heavy. I kept
having to hike them up so I wouldn’t step on them. Still, all in all,
this race was very fun! I smiled the whole time, much to the amazement of
the volunteers, who apparently thought I should be looking miserable. No
matter how bad the conditions are for a race, though, it’s always a pleasure to
run, to be able to run.</span>Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-15680168751686228912015-02-07T15:06:00.000-05:002015-02-07T15:12:14.019-05:00Danger Will Robinson<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<span style="mso-ignore: vglayout;">
So, as you recall, the last time I told you about a race, it was one in
which I ate too much dirt. I determined not to repeat that fate during
the Willis River 35K, an 18+ mile out-and-back trail race out at the same
location where my first trail race, Bear Creek, takes place. <br />
<br />
I had hoped to find my friend Jen Lebendig out there. We had run Bear
Creek together and planned to reunite at this race, but she was nursing an
injury, so I had no running buddies there. No matter: I figured that I
would end up running with someone my slow pace and make a new friend. The
awesome race director Barry gave a little speech about how we should look for
white blazes and white ribbons and if we hadn’t seen one for a while, we should
turn around, and we were off. The crowd thinned out quickly, and it was
only a matter of a half mile or so when I was in the back. In fact, it
appeared to me that the engineer had unhooked the caboose from the rest of the
train: there was nobody in sight! So, with no conversation to
interrupt my thoughts, I concentrated on lifting my feet so I wouldn’t stumble
and looking ahead for the white blazes and white ribbons. Sometimes I
would go off course, but as soon as I realized I had not seen anything white in
a while, I would turn around and retrace my steps until I saw a white blaze or
ribbon and knew where to go. I was proud of myself because I’m not much
of a navigator. I once left Richmond to meet my husband in Baltimore and
realized I’d be late for dinner when I saw the signs for Emporia, Virginia.<br />
<br />
I guess it was about mile three or so when I saw a woman walking toward me.
Out for a stroll? But then I saw she was wearing a race number and felt
badly that she was injured and obviously having to walk back to the start.
I came upon her and startled her. “What!?! You have already turned
around at the endpoint of this race and are on your way back?” she said, but
with little conviction given that I do not look like one of “those” runners.
After discussing the fact that one of us was obviously lost and convincing one
another that neither of us was good at navigation, we went our separate ways.
Soon, I arrived at a creek that looked eerily familiar. I had, indeed,
taken a wrong turn. I turned around and ran the other way again,
carefully looking for white blazes. Maybe a mile or so later, I saw the
creek again. This time, I decided to walk from this point possibly to the
next aid station, just to ensure that I made it past whatever turn I was
missing. Slowly, carefully, following the white blazes, I found the creek
again. I stopped then to take a photo. I mean, why not? I was
clearly in love with this creek. I went out again, and ended up at the
creek even sooner than before. Would I ever get out of this forest?
At this point, a fast runner came up behind me, on his way into the finish.
I decided I’d better follow him in, taking a “DNF,” which stands for Did Not
Finish. I guess this was a good idea because I got lost three more times
on the way back to the start, which was only three or four miles away. At
this point, because I wasn't going to have an official finish time, I stopped
and took photographs when I got lost. You can see a few on this blog:
could you find your way through these trees? Anyway, eventually I got
back home and I watched the fast people finish, and talk about the places they
got lost. We thought the front-runner had set a course record, but it
turns out he got confused and turned around about 150 yards before the official
turnaround. I don’t know why that made me feel better. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">I seem to learn something
every time I race. This time, I learned, if the course is difficult
to navigate, I need a running buddy to make sure I can find the way!</span>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-69433345996605834292014-12-24T16:28:00.002-05:002014-12-26T11:30:59.786-05:00Eat Dirt<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I imagine that the Jamestown colonists were nervous at their
first landing in Virginia, at what is now called First Landing State Park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was my destination last Saturday, but I
was not nervous at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For some reason,
I was calm and collected, notwithstanding that I was about to embark on the Seashore
Nature Trail 50k. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(A fifty kilometer
running race is 31 miles.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Maybe I was calm because I knew, unlike the colonists, that
I would not starve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The race promised a
food stop about every five miles on the course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>At the first stop, I was pleased to find peanut butter sandwiches, ham
and cheese sandwiches, potato chips, and lots of chocolate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>YUM! The trails were so beautiful that when I
got to about mile 8, I took a deep breath, glad to be alive, smiled, and looked
about at the beauty that surrounded me.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
TWAP!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a second, I felt my toe catch something on
the ground, and I was airborne.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried
to right myself, but no doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My knees hit
the ground, and let me tell you, they hurt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I lay there, stunned, for a couple minutes, until a fellow runner came
upon me and offered to help. “No thanks, I just need to sit here and feel sorry
for myself for a moment.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I picked
myself up and walked a bit, and then tried to run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My knees hurt so much that I looked down to
make sure nothing was broken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything
was intact, so I kept going.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Not only was the scenery at this race gorgeous, but the
people were so friendly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At every aid
station, I stopped to select food from a large buffet, and had a good chat with
the volunteers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lady played a guitar
at an aid station we passed four times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At
mile 12, a much faster runner passed me going the opposite direction, and he
smiled at me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was thinking “what a
gorgeous smile he had,” when TWAP! I was on the ground again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My knees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <strong>
</strong></span><strong>OWWWW</strong>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to go slower because
my knees hurt when I ran.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I would
take some more walk breaks to let the pain subside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I was slower because, to be honest, I was
afraid of falling again!</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The race was a two loop race, so at mile 16 you come to the
finish line but turn around just short of it and do another loop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was about mile 15 or so when I had my
third fall. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked a bit, cried a bit,
and thought about quitting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I
remembered why I was doing this. I am doing it to raise awareness and funds for
cancer research.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just last week, my best
friend’s mother died from lung cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
battled her cancer for over a year—she was diagnosed about the same time my
father was diagnosed with leukemia, but lived a year longer than he did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Another friend has been battling leukemia with treatments at Massey for months now. And a</span>nother friend’s husband is dangerously ill,
undergoing treatment at Massey for the same kind of leukemia that
took my father’s life away last year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So
I rounded the cone near the finish line, and started on my second loop.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I was careful this time, paying attention to the trails and
determined not to fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About a mile
from the turn around, on a bit of an uphill, BLAP!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time, because I was on a hill, not only
my knees got it, but also my chin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And,
I realized, there was <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">dirt in my mouth</b>.
A lady I’d met on the course, Kate, came along and instructed me to swish water
around in my mouth. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I love to eat,” I
said, “but this is ridiculous!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She said,
“take a deep breath, and don’t worry, you’ll make the cutoffs.”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Cutoffs?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hadn’t
worried about the cutoffs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I figured I
could finish the 50K in about seven hours. But that was before all of these falls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, I was hoping to finish within the
cutoff, which was eight hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to
get going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even had to hurry through
the smorgasbords offered at the aid stations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When I did eat something, I could tell that there was<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> still dirt in my mouth!</b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The rest of the race was slow going, a mixture of really
slow, careful running and walking through the more technical parts of the race,
and worrying that I would not make it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>At mile 26.2, I was plodding along at something like a 15 minute per mile
pace, still trying to swig the dirt out of my mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a sign saying we had finished a
marathon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two fellow travelers came
along and took a photo of me here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just
five miles to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ladies said they
were going to walk the rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They took
off, and I walked behind them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon I
realized that their walking pace was nearly as fast as my running pace, with
the added benefit that my knees didn’t hurt from “run jiggle.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus, I wasn’t risking another fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I power walked those last five miles, and
finally swished all the dirt out of my mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;">I started the long drive home
to Richmond, and stopped on the way back to grab a bite to eat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could barely walk, so as I stepped inside,
a lady said, “Hey, you look like you ran a 50K race today!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said yes, and she explained that she was
the guitar lady from the aid station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She gave me some leftover chocolate from the
aid station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it didn’t taste like
dirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>YUM!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">I finished in 7:52:40,
plenty of time before the 8 hour cutoff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I ate dirt!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or, as Clark </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Griswold
once said, “</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Let's burn some <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">dust</span>
here, <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">eat my</span> rubber!” </span>Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-67558842060967225942014-12-10T19:56:00.002-05:002014-12-10T19:56:52.046-05:00<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Celebrating Three and
Ten.</span></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Almost ten years ago, I got off
the couch and started an active life. That didn’t prevent me, however,
from hearing the three dreaded words “you have cancer” three years ago. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">I had planned to do my first
trail run, the Bear Creek 10 miler, that December, and someone said “I guess
you cannot do that; you’ll be in the middle of your radiation treatment.”
That made me mad as hell, so I went out and did the race anyway. I
persuaded a whole bus-load of friends to run the race too. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">So this December, I
celebrated <strong><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">ten</span></strong>
years of being active, and <strong><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">three</span></strong>
years of being cancer free, by running <strong><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">10
miles three days in a </span></strong>row<strong><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">,
</span></strong>including running the Bear Creek 10 miler again, as the first
of ten races I'm going to do in the coming year, culminating in a 100K race
next September. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">This year, the Bear Creek 10
mile race was so much fun! When you run on the roads, it can be boring.
Sometimes you just “zone out” and think of other things. On trails,
zoning out leads to falling on your face: you have to concentrate as you run,
but at the same time you can enjoy the nature that surrounds you. At Bear
Creek, leaves covered the ground, covering rocks and roots that threatened to
make you fall on your face. Every 100 yards or so, the trail would be
impeded by a downed tree. No matter, runners simply “hop” over the logs.
And the race director had explained that we would encounter five creek
crossings. In reality, because this was an out and back course, we’d
encounter creek crossings ten times. Ten creek crossings in ten miles, so
about every mile, we’d go “splash, splash, splash,” through the water.
Water would drain out of my shoes almost completely before the next splash.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">I ran most of the race with a
new friend, Jen. She and I made bets on where we’d be when the fastest
runner met us on his return to the start. (This turned out to be at about
mile 3.5—so he ran 7 miles in the time it took us to run half that distance).
We bet on how many guys would go past before the first lady. (Only two).
We were running on single track, so when these fast folks came upon us, we
stepped aside to allow them to zip past us. Everyone in trail races is
very friendly, though—even the leaders shouted “way to go, ladies” and “you
look fabulous!” At the turn around, a volunteer said “it’s all downhill on the
way back.” We giggled and he said, with a straight face, “but you have to
run backwards.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">The winner of the race
finished in 1:19, and the fastest woman finished in 1:22. WOW. I
finished in 2:48. Well, you know I got my money’s worth! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">On Monday, I ran 10 miles on the
roads. I was running from my house in the park to Meadow Street in the
fan, and it occurred to me: what do you find between a park and a meadow?
I decided to run such that my “map” would resemble a flower. I’ve posted
the map. What do you think? Well, I guess if I were an artist, I
would be a true “starving” artist.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">What’s next? Well, on
December 20<sup>th</sup>, I’m doing another trail race. This time, it is
a 50K. That is 31 miles.</span> <br />
<br /></div>
</span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-23513335344406912302012-06-17T17:00:00.002-04:002012-06-17T17:18:35.284-04:00Fifty Miles is LONG Way!<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It turns out, 50 miles is a long run! Running fifty miles is fabulously fun, I learned, for about
thirty-five miles. And then, it gets
ugly. Really, really ugly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>Pre-Race<o:p></o:p></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But let’s start at the beginning, or, more precisely, the
day before the race. As we drove from
our hotel in Northern Virginia to the packet pickup site, the North Face store
in Georgetown, Holly remarked “I cannot see a thing!” Neither could I: it was pouring so hard that
her windshield wipers could not keep up.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m glad we trained in mud!” I noted. This downpour, expected to last till 2 am,
would saturate the ground, yet again.
Some people dance and cause rain.
I just think about doing a trail race, and the skies open up in
anger. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We got to the North Face store and picked up our packets,
and I asked some sales assistants where I could find their gaiters. Gaiters are a great thing to wear in trail
runs: they are pieces of fabric that fit over the top of your shoes and the
bottom of your socks, preventing rocks and other debris from getting inside
your shoes. I wanted to see if North
Face had some cute gaiters. I was
shocked to learn that they carried NO gaiters!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Holly had brought her gluten free dinner with her from home,
but I of course can eat anything, so we stopped at Chipotle and I got a dinner
of chicken, rice and black beans. Yummy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next morning, we awoke at 3 am to eat and get ready for
the day. Two eggs, two wasa crackers,
jelly: my usual breakfast. Plus, my race
day bowl of oatmeal. Once we arrived at the
race site, I ate a banana and a Greek yogurt.
Those of you who think that’s a lot of breakfast, recall that I proposed
to expend 5000 calories exercising on this day, so I needed a head start. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We gathered with the other runners planning to run this fifty
mile race. Later I looked at the
statistics. Holly and I were among the
320 people (including 72 women) who started the 50 miler that day. About three out of four of these ultra
runners were men. There were relatively
few runners under 30, and there were plenty people older than I. I noticed a few Ironman tattoos. But the atmosphere was casual and laid-back,
unlike the atmosphere you find before a triathlon. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
MUD BATH</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The race began at 5:00 am, in the pitch dark. A man shouted “Only 49.9 miles to go!” and we
all replied “WOO HOO!” We wore headlamps
to guide our way forward. I wore a new headlamp
for the first time. It shone much more brightly
than my old headlamp. And it squished my
brains in, I realized, as we took off. Yowww. I would look forward to handing this off to Denise and Emma, our crew, at mile 21.7.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was grateful that this race did NOT start with a climb up
a giant mountain. Instead, it started
flat, through muddy trails. From time to
time, we’d hear the crowd ahead of us roar as someone slipped and fell into a
bed of mud. It was then that I heard a
man say something strange. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“This mud is awful!
It really messes up your gait!” Gait is not something trail runners
contemplate, unless, I suppose, you are Mr. Gaiter. Gait is something you focus
on when you run on a steady surface, such as asphalt. On trails, you run side to side to avoid
slamming into rocks and sticks and doing a face-plant. And you either hop around mud puddles, or you
plow right on through them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In response to the gait comment, another runner said, “Dude,
have you done a lot of trail races?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Actually,” said the man who liked to monitor his gait,
“this is my first trail run ever. I’ve
been meaning to get out on the trails. I
trained for hills, not mud! I wish we
could trade this for hills.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The total elevation gain and loss for this race was supposed
to be 4656 (combined), NOTHING in comparison to the 8000 up, plus 8000 down we
had encountered at Promise Land.
However, I really did not want to encounter hills just yet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Mr. Gaiter,” I said, “Be careful what you ask for. Muddy hills are NOT fun.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And, wouldn’t you know it, we came to a climb, where we had
to turn our feet sideways and scramble up.
At some point I had to grab onto a tree, bringing back memories of
grabbing hold of “devil’s club” in Alaska.
And Mr. Gaiter was sad. Oh, the race was going to be long for Mr. Gaiter
(who had no gaiters). We, on the other
hand, were ideally suited for this challenge!
“Holly!” I shouted, “we’re expert mud runners! We got this!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She agreed heartily.
It was about a mile later--less than five miles into our fifty mile
race, that Holly encountered a gigantic mud puddle and seemingly could not
decide whether to plow right through it or tiptoe around it. Indecision will get you every time. I saw her slip-sliding away, attempting to
right herself. But it was no good. PLOP, down she went, on her backside in the
wet, sloppy mud. She got up and looked
at herself. I knew what she was
thinking. “For 45 miles, people will see
me and think I could not make it to a porto-potty.” </div>
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<br /></div>
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EMF_US 40669558v1<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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The truth was, I saw more people covered in filth during this
race then I’ve seen in any other. About
this time, a man passed us wearing what appeared at one time to have been a
white shirt and white shorts. “I thought
I was going to play tennis today!” he shouted.
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>The First Cut-off<o:p></o:p></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The course consisted of a 14 mile section from the start to
an area called Great Falls. This section
is thought to be the easiest. And on a
dry day, it would not have been difficult at all: relatively few climbs and few
roots and rocks to trip you up. Of
course, today it was muddy, which slowed progress. We were so glad to see Denise, Holly’s mom,
and Emma, Holly’s daughter, at mile 14.
We refueled and said hello. I
shoved food into my face and Emma asked me a question. I tried to answer and sprayed food all
around. “Do not emulate me! This is not lady-like!” I told her, and she
laughed. Every time I saw Emma and
Denise, and at each aid station (generally about an hour apart), I ate like a
fiend. I refilled my water bottle with
sports drink and engulfed whatever food was there--peanut butter sandwiches,
boiled and salted potatoes, Lance crackers with peanut butter on them, Fritos,
cookies, whatever they had. I shoved it
in my face and chewed as quickly as possible.
It was hard to eat enough to keep up with the calorie deficit we created
with our long run. I was still shoving
food in my face when Holly said we had to go: we could not dilly-dally because
a cut-off was looming. It was about half a mile before we realized that we'd forgotten to drop off our headlamps. We both had headaches from wearing them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After the fourteen mile section, we were to take three loops
of the Great Falls Park. This loop
contained hills, roots and rocks to keep your run interesting, rocks that
actually required you to “scramble” over them, and some absolutely gorgeous
views. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From the days of early planning, we had been most worried
about the very first cut-off, at about mile 21.7, at the completion of the
first Great Falls loop. To finish in
time, we would have to keep up a pace that was faster than our training runs
generally had been, faster than we had run any of our trail races. That was daunting, but we took comfort in the
weeks leading up to the race that the
first fourteen miles were neither hilly nor technical. We could “bank” some time, and then it would
be okay if the technical loop was slower.
Of course, we didn’t account for the mud. So on race day, I worried that our 50 mile
race might be less than a marathon!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The loop was beautiful, and difficult. I kept an eye on my garmin for time, and I
worried. We got to the end of the loop,
where you had to scramble on rocks. I
got mixed in with runners who were completing their second loop.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“This is so gorgeous; I didn’t take time to look at this
last time! I won’t win anyway, so I’m
going to take it easy through here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I got very concerned that I was going to be stuck behind
tourists with race numbers on their shirts, but fortunately their chatter was
nothing but chatter. They scrambled
quickly through the rocks, and I followed close behind. When we got to the cut-off at mile 21.7, we
had been running for 5 hours and 36 minutes.
We made the cut-off with six minutes to spare! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I celebrated by asking Emma to roll my legs using a special
“stick” designed for that purpose. At
this point, my hip, which had been giving me trouble, seemed to be doing fine. Before too long, Holly said, “Amy, we need to
go to make sure we make the next cut-off.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>Our First Scraper<o:p></o:p></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Off we went for our second loop. Before long, we were greeted by a young man,
wearing sandals. He announced that he
was a volunteer named Matt and that he was going to join us for this second
loop. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What, are we last?” I asked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, no, you are pretty far up the field,” he replied. “You are doing great!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But you are a sweeper, right?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes. There are a lot
of us, though. I’m just going to stick
with you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I like to call you ‘scrapers,’ by the way, because by the
time you usually roll around I need to be scraped off the ground. But Holly and I are doing great!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
During this loop I learned that Matt had just finished his
freshman year at college and worked at Passages, an adventure camp in
Richmond. He is more of a kayaker, which
explained his sandals. Apparently,
though they weren’t Jesus sandals, because at some point, he kicked a rock and
barely recovered from taking a header. (I am sure that Bedrock Sandals, which I have dubbed Jesus sandals--see my prior post--would not cause you to trip on a trail run.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Don’t fall, Matt, it looks bad when the caboose runner has
to scrape up the scraper. It just ain’t
right.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A little later he told me they had marked the course on
their mountain bikes at 2 am that same day.
“It’s hard, actually, to run in bike shorts It’s starting to hurt.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What? Are you
complaining about chafing? I will not
hear one word about chafing! I am
running 50 miles and so far, no chafing. No more of this talk! You’ve nearly taken a header and now your
speak of chafing. You are going in the
race report, young man! What else would you like to say for posterity?”<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Matt was pretty quiet then, till he wished us well at the end
of the second loop. We made it to 28.6
miles in 7 hours and 27 minutes, four minutes before the theoretical “last
runner” was supposed to come through. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>The Third Loop: Calm Before the Storm.<o:p></o:p></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The third loop was tough.
This was the loop on which Tyler was supposed to have joined us, as our
official pacer, to get our mind off whatever ailed us. He’d ended up with strep throat, holed up in
bed in Connecticut. I’d made a last
ditch effort to pour him onto a train so he could be at the crew stops as
additional moral support, but he was too sick.
He had instructed us, though, to cuss him out whenever the going got tough. “Make a game out of cursing me. It will help.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And it was on this third loop that we began cussing him
out. “Damn that Tyler! If he were here
he’d get our mind off this hell!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Truth be told, though, we were doing pretty well at this
point. My legs were starting to get
sore. If you have run a marathon, you
will know what I mean--my calves were tight, my hamstrings were sore, and I
felt a twinge in my knee. Strangely, it
was my left knee that was talking to me, even though it had been my left hip
and knee that had given me trouble leading up to the race.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Holly said she thought she was getting blisters and that her
toenails were probably going to fall off.
Her feet started hurting too, and she resolved that if we made the
cut-off after the third loop, she was going to change her shoes and socks. She began to talk brightly of new shoes, in
the way my sister used to speak growing up when we went shoe shopping just
before the school year started. “New shoes! new shoes! If I run fast enough I can put on new shoes!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eventually we got to the rock scramble, which had been
infiltrated with tourists. This time,
they really were tourists--families enjoying the view. Holly scrambled ahead, in search of
shoes. A family of tiny people began
their way toward me and threatened to make me wait. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“STOP THERE!” I commanded in an authoritarian voice,
pointing at a four-year old girl. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She looked at me in fear.
“I am passing!” I announced. “you
stay right there.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her mother said, “Are you in a race?” and when I said yes, she asked, “what is this
race?<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I am running fifty miles!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, my Lord in heaven!
Please pass on by! Goodness. Fifty miles in one day?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Finally, I got to the last “hard” cut-off, the last official
time that they could make us stop running.
It was mile 35.5, and we had taken 9 hours and 30 minutes to get
there. The cut-off was 9:59. Miraculously, we were now 29 minutes ahead of
the fictional “last runner.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By now, we had heard on the scrapers’ walkie talkies that
many runners had missed cut-offs, and others had dropped out of the race. I was so happy to have made it!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, we had only 14.5 miles to go, and Holly had on new
shoes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>The Pit of Despair. <o:p></o:p></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Almost as soon as we began the 14 mile trek back to the
start, bad things started to happen. My
left knee began to stab me with a sharp pain, particularly going down
hill. I reminded myself that I had
resolved to finish this race “unless going on would result in long-lasting or
permanent damage.” Holly’s feet were
hurting. She was developing signs of
arthritis in her feet, according to a recent diagnosis. Running 50 miles is not ideal for a person
with arthritis, and her feet were reminding her of that. We were in despair. We cursed Tyler. He would have been pacing us at that point,
had he not been lying in bed. The big
baby! And then we cried. Both of us.
Big babies.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Holly said, “I think I’m going to have to stop when we get
to Fraser,” the stop at mile 42.2. “I
don’t think I can go on.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I feel terrible too.
At this point, we are not going to make it to the finish in 13
hours. We will be officially DNF. Let’s
see how we feel at Fraser.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Finally, we got to Fraser.
The volunteers asked what we planned to do.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“She won’t let me quit,” said Holly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What? I didn’t say
that,” I replied.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We’re going on,” she explained to the volunteers.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, on we went, to run (more like walk) the last 8 miles of
the race, even though we knew we could not get an official finishing time. By this point, the scrapers (a/k/a sweepers)
were following us on mountain bikes, removing trash and directional flags from
the route behind us. They listed to a
message on the walkie talkies and gave us some bad news. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Um, they want you to be off the course by 7pm, one hour
after the cut-off, for insurance purposes.
Um, when you get to Sugarland, they may just drive you to the end, or
they may say you can finish but not do the two mile Sugarland loop.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What? We won’t be
able to do the whole 50?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well, let’s talk again at Sugarland.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I felt awful. I really wanted to finish the 50 miles. I picked up my pace a bit. The pain in my knee pierced me like a
knife. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then I realized I could not breathe well at all. I was
getting asthma, which sometimes happens when I run. I took out my albuterol rescue inhaler and
took a puff. A couple minutes later my
breathing was worse, so I took another squirt.
I repeated this a couple more times, taking four doses of albuterol. My heart was racing because the medicine has
the side effect of increasing your blood pressure.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At this point, the terrain changed. We had to climb up hills that I did not
remember descending on the way out early that morning. My heart rate soared as I climbed, and I found
that not only did I need to walk slowly, but I had to stop from time to time to
catch my breath and let my heart rate fall.
And then I would descend a hill, and the invisible devil would get his
knife out and stab my knee. Oh, oh,
oh! I prayed for flat land.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Holly was just ahead of me, her feet hurting. I tried to remember what I had said about
when I would quit this race. “Not unless
I am facing long-lasting or permanent damage.”
The knee would be fine, but what about this inability to breathe and
this heart racing like a greyhound? Could that actually kill me? I began to wonder. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When you are really exhausted, physically, your mind works
very hard to get you to stop working. It
is a defense mechanism: your brain will convince you that you must stop long,
long before you actually could do damage to yourself. Part of the key to endurance sports is to
train your brain to stop acting like a big baby. Well, try that after you’ve run 43 miles. Imagine my brain as a giant infant, crying so
loudly that he gasps for air and his face gets red as a beat. That was my brain. The truth is, I did have asthma, but it was
not a full-blown attack. My body was
just exhausted. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Holly was exhausted too, and as we came down a hill together
we saw a road. “Look! There’s a road. Maybe we should ask them to get someone to
come get us.” At this point, we didn’t
think they’d let us finish anyway, so why not get a ride now? The kids on the mountain bikes used their
walkie talkies. One said “these two
runners want to throw in the towel.” As
soon as he said that, I knew I had to go on.
I could not “throw in the towel.”
And, as it turns out, I was given no choice but to pick up the towel and keep going. This road was a private country club
road--nobody could drive it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You will need to keep going to Sugarland,” they told us.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sugarland. That was
our goal. By this point, Holly and I
were walking like a couple of Grandmas. I
came to a steep hill and paused at the bottom.
I was not sure I could climb it.
Tears rolled down my face. Four
kids on mountain bikers waited patiently behind me. One of them said, “you can do it!” I took a deep breath and started the
climb. It felt like Mount Everest. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The descents were killing my knee, and Holly went on ahead
of me, no doubt looking forward to sitting down at Sugarland. “Perhaps they will let her sit in the front
seat of the car that will drive us to the finish while she waits for me,” I
contemplated. I imagined the plush
leather seats, the breeze from the air conditioning. And then I looked up to see Holly, not
sitting, but standing, at Sugarland.
There was a truck parked there, but she was not sitting in it. I was dazed.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are we getting in the truck?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No room. You have
only 1.7 miles to go. Nothing in
comparison to what you’ve done already.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I looked at him to see if he was wearing a red devil
costume. No, he was disguised as a
fit-looking runner type. I looked at my
Garmin, which reflected that I had travelled just shy of 47 miles. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What? There are
three miles to go to finish the 50 miler.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“They won’t let us do the Sugarland loop,” Holly explained.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We can’t do the Sugarland loop, nor can we get in the
truck?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When this was confirmed, I began to cry. “I don’t think I can do it. I am sick.
I have asthma; my heart rate is through the roof.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We’ll be right here with you.” I looked again, and I think he was wearing a
red devil costume, for just an instant, and then he changed back into his
disguise.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I spied a porto-potty and said, “Well, I’m going in there
first.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After I got inside, the truck drove up beside the
porto-potty and the porto-potty began to shake.
I began to fear that they were lifting the porto-potty up with me inside
it to transport it. I banged on the
door, “I’m in here!” Then I began to
pray that they would take the porto-potty to the finish line. Then I wouldn’t have to go any farther on my
legs! But the truck was lifting up a
trash can next to the porto-potty, so I emerged and Holly and I began the long,
long journey to the finish line.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Along the way, I chatted with Kevin Tobin, the owner of
Passages (and the boss of all the volunteer scrapers I’d met along the way),
who regaled me with stories of running ultras all over the place. I walked with him for over a mile, and it
wasn’t till we got near the finish that I realized he was wearing a cast on his
leg. Apparently he hurt himself not on
some crazy adventure, but doing something like flag football at the company
picnic. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Holly went on ahead, so she could sit down, no doubt. When I finally caught up to her, she was
sitting on a fence, crying. “What’s
wrong?” I asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The finish line is there,” she said, pointing 100 yards to
the left, “and the car is there,” pointing 100 yards to the right. “They want me to go to the finish line, but I
just want to go to my car.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Y’all need to finish!” Tobin said. “You are going to get a medal!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I gathered Holly up, put my arm around her shoulder, and
said, “LET’S GO!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We hobbled the 100 yards to the finish, even managing a
little jog at the end. The volunteers
cheered loudly, and created a bridge with their arms on the other side of the
finish line. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>The Aftermath.<o:p></o:p></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After crossing the finish line (48.5 miles and more than 14
hours from the start) and getting my medal, I proceeded to the medical
tent. They tested my oxygen, listened to
my breathing and my heart, and took my blood pressure. By this time, my breathing was fine, but my
blood pressure was quite elevated. I
decided, though, that I did not need further medical attention. I just needed to stop moving. And I needed to eat!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The volunteers had saved a plate of food for Holly and
me. I ate it, voraciously. It was barbecue, cous cous, salad, and I
don’t know what else. It was great, and
I worried that Holly would decide it was enough of a dinner and would want to
cancel our steak dinner reservations.
Fortunately, she did not, and after a shower, she, Denise, Emma and I
set off to dinner. I called ahead to
find out where to park. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, no, that’s too far.
I cannot walk very well, Sonny.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Do you have a handicap sticker?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Uh, no.” (By the
way, for future reference, does anyone know if you can get a temporary handicap
sticker before you run an ultra?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The dinner of steak, french fries, red wine and dessert was
great! Who cares if it was the second
dinner of the evening--I had run far! And
at 3 am, I awoke, starving. I had two
bowls of oatmeal. At 7:00 am, I had
three eggs and toast. At 9am, we had
Hobbit’s “second breakfast” in the hotel lobby.
And by noon, I was ready for lunch.
Not only had I expended 5000 calories on the run, but after a long
endurance race like that, your metabolism is pumped up for several days. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I felt sad knowing that we did not finish the race in the
allotted 13 hours, and that we were only permitted to run 48.5. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>Some Statistics.<o:p></o:p></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Very few
people ever think about running 50 miles. On our race day:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">320 people
(including 72 women) started the 50 miler, but only</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">277 people
(including 54 women) finished before the final time cutoff.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">This means
43 people (more than 13% of the field), including 72 women (25% of the
women) failed to finish in 13 hours. We had a lot of company. Some
of them might have gotten a ride when they gave up, too. : )</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">The
race ranked everyone, including those who didn't finish in 13
hours (based on the interim cutoff times). </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Holly and I
ranked 57/58 out of 72 women. In other words, 14 out of 72 women (19% of
the women) did worse (quit or ran slower up till the last interim cutoff) than
Holly and me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">We ranked
290/291 out of the entire field of 320. There were 29 people (about 9% of the
entire field of men and women) who did worse than we did. Some dropped
out; others just ran slower to the interim cutoffs.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Holly
ranked 19 out of 24 in her age group. (She did better than 20% of her age
group).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">I ranked 6
out of 8 in my age group. (I did better than 25% of my age group).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Not too
shabby!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">What’s
Next </span><o:p></o:p></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The 50 mile run was the fourth of five events of this season
for me. The last is the Philly
Triathlon, this coming weekend. In it, I
will swim 1500 meters, cycle 24 miles, and run 6.2 miles. I am not too worried about the 6.2 mile run,
but the swim and bike ride will be tough--I have been doing very little
swimming and cycling of late. I finished
my fastest triathlon of this distance in 3:18:58. I will be happy if I finish
this one in 3:45. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The main thing is that I will be doing it in honor of my
Dad: the race is on his 75<sup>th</sup> birthday. Happy Birthday, DAD!<br />
<br />
I have raised over $10,000 to fight cancer this year. Amazing! I thank everyone for their support and encouragement all along the way!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-22441067556986413632012-05-14T17:27:00.001-04:002012-05-14T17:27:06.016-04:00Yaba Daba Doo!<br />
Last Saturday, Holly and I drove to Charlottesville to run the Bedrock Trail Marathon. Yaba Daba Doo! <br />
<br />
Although I expected to see Fred and Wilma, Barney and Betty, when we arrived at the start of this trail marathon, all I saw was a sea of Pebbles. <br />
<br />
Apparently this race would consist almost entirely of college girls. They chatted and giggled as we waited in the porto-potty line. “I’m doing the half, are you?” they asked one another. "Yes, me too! He He!" All were doing the half marathon. For many, it would be their first. They were bubbly. One asked me, politely, to confirm that I was doing the half? “Oh no, not the half. I plan to stay all day and do the full marathon.” <br />
<br />
“WOW! You go! You are amazing!” I tried to ignore the sub-text. “Wow, a full marathon, and you don’t even look like a runner. Like, you’re as old as my Mom!” I resisted the urge to say “oh, this is really just a supported training run for us: We’re training for a 50 miler, three weeks from today.” I just smiled and said, “Thanks, dear, this should be fun!”<br />
<br />
There were some guys, too, including the co-race directors, who were also the co-owners of Bedrock Sandals. Both were wearing their signature footwear, of course. They had promised a prize to the fastest runner who wore the sandals, but I couldn’t figure out how I would get my orthotic inserts to stay put in those sandals. And then, of course, would I beat anyone else whose toes were uncovered? Probably not. One of the young sandal entrepreneurs sported a beard.<br />
<br />
“Look at that guy,” I said to Holly. “He looks like Jesus.”<br />
<br />
“I agree, he really does” she remarked.<br />
<br />
"Well, he looks like Jesus, if Jesus were from Norway,” I clarified.<br />
<br />
Nordic Jesus announced that it was time to start the race, and we were off. The first mile was, of course, up an asphalt hill. Why do trail races so often start this way? I guess this kind of start is a good way to thin out the crowd before the single-track starts. By the time we got to the trailhead, I was sweating buckets because of the heat and humidity. All the Pebbles and Bamm-Bamms were way ahead. All that were left were my companion and me. Let us abandon Holly and Amy as our handles. Let's call us Greta Gravel and Ann-Margrock.<br />
<br />
The trails were rocky and full or roots, much like the Buttermilk Trail near my house, but much hillier. Still, nothing seems hilly after doing Promise Land! Holly (oops, Greta) and I got into a rhythm. We crossed a stream, ankle deep. These stream crossings used to scare me, but now I look forward to dousing my feet in the brisk water. Eventually we popped out of the forest to an aid station along a service road. There was Nordic Jesus again, telling us how great we looked. <br />
<br />
We popped quickly back into the trees and continued running. As I went downhill, my toe caught a root and I pitched forward. My left knee landed on some bedrock. Yaba Daba Doo! Strangely, as I hurled through the air, the calves on both my legs cramped up. I yelped and then I recalled what I do when I get a calf cramp at 2 am. Sure enough, as soon as I stood and began walking, I was better. <br />
<br />
As we came toward the finish line for the half marathon, knowing we’d need to do another loop, we saw Nordic Jesus again. “You’re doing great, and you’re almost done!” he announced. “I’m afraid not, my friend. This is going to be a longer day than you had planned because we’re doing this loop again!” I expected him to break down and cry, but it was as though "he didn't hear it, didn't see it." Maybe I really was Ann-Margrock, and Nordic Jesus was Tommy.<br />
<br />
We re-entered the forest, and I let Greta Gravel lead for a while, and suddenly she screamed “SNAKE!” I looked down and next to my left foot was a giant Black Snake. Once again, I was glad to be wearing enclosed shoes! Just a few feet farther I saw something and it was my turn to shout. “SQUIRREL!” I shouted. Greta Gravel laughed, and said one of her favorite movies was “UP.” I didn’t even realize I was quoting from that movie. We kept seeing creatures--a yellow snake, a big centipede, spiders. She told me “Be sure to check for ticks when you get home.” uggh. I think maybe I prefer trail running in the winter!<br />
<br />
A bit farther along, as we mounted a hill, I tripped again; this time I scraped up my wrist and my leg landed on a protruding stick. It jabbed my calf, though I was wearing calf sleeves, thank heavens. OUCH! Once she realized I would not need ambulatory care, Holly roared in laughter and said “if you are going to fall, fall UP hill. It’s not as far of a fall when you fall UP!” <br />
<br />
Finally, we reached the end of the second loop, exited the trails and ran down an asphalt hill. A tune began to blossom in my head:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">If I told you what it takes<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
<span style="background: white;">to reach the highest high,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br />
<span style="background: white;">You'd laugh and say 'nothing's that simple'<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br />
<span style="background: white;">But you've been told many times before<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Messiahs pointed to the door<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br />
<span style="background: white;">And no one had the guts to leave the temple!<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: white;">I'm free-I'm free<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br />
<span style="background: white;">And freedom tastes of reality<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br />
<span style="background: white;">I'm free-I'm free<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br />
<span style="background: white;">And I'm waiting for you to follow me!</span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
As we approached the finish, the crowd roared. Well, it was really just a half a dozen hippies wearing Jesus sandals who cheered, but it felt great. I WAS FREE! And then we learned something truly remarkable.<br />
<br />
Second Place Woman Marathoner: Ann-Margrock (a/k/a Amy Williams)<br />
Third Place Woman Marathoner: Greta Gravel (a/k/a Holly McFeely)<br />
<br />
PODIUM FINISH! HA HA! (Never mind that nobody was behind us. Those who finished behind us were at home, sitting on their sofas, eating Rocky Road ice cream.)<br />
<br />
Less than three weeks till the 50 miler!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-54176727763761261302012-05-07T11:00:00.001-04:002012-05-07T11:11:55.412-04:00Promise Land: 8000 Feet of Ascents and Descents, Throw in Thunderstorms with Hail and Sleet!“Is this your first time racing Promise Land?” asked a friendly stranger.<br />
<br />
“Yes, and, actually, it is my first ultramarathon,” I replied.<br />
<br />
“What? Are you crazy? What are you thinking? This is no ordinary 50K,” he retorted.<br />
<br />
Well, I knew it was supposed to be hard, but to hear this from a veteran ultramarathoner was, let’s just say, discouraging.. The course was reported to be extremely hilly (with 8000 feet of ascent and 8000 feet of descent) and longer than an actual 50K (which is supposed to be 31 miles). Holly and I got our race T-shirts the night before the race. I began to panic. They showed nothing but hills, or shall I say, mountains, for 34.5 mile! Everyone around us looked so fit. I had this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.<br />
<br />
The race director announced “everyone who is here can finish this race. You just gotta keep going.” The race included one hard cutoff, he explained. You had to get to the 26 mile aid station in 8 hours. If you did, you should finish in the course limit of 10 hours, though you would be recorded as having finished no matter how long it took you to do the last 8 miles, as long as you got to the eight hour cut off on time. Someone asked about the weather, and the race director reported that the forecast was for perfect weather. It would be cold to start, but the high was predicted in the lower 70s. Thank goodness, no rain! I’d had enough of mud runs. <br />
<br />
When the alarm went off at 3:45 am the next morning, I knew there was nothing to be done but go run. Or, put more precisely, “to keep moving.” Holly and I started near the back of the pack. We wore headlamps because it was just 5:30 am and pitch dark. After about a quarter of a mile of running, we began the day’s first ascent. For five miles, we climbed up a steep mountain. He could hear a rushing creek beside us--it would be gorgeous at the end of the day to come back down this hill and admire the waterfall that we could hear on the way up. There was no way we could run up this hill; it was a hike. And that is not because we were less fit than others: everyone was walking. Well, we figured at the front of this train there were probably a handful of folks--freaks of nature--running. How they did it was a mystery. About halfway up was our first aid station, where a friendly volunteer offered to take our headlamps, as it was starting to dawn. We ditched them, and Holly ditched her gloves, but I kept mine because my hands get cold when I run even if it is in the 60s.<br />
<br />
At the top of the mountain, the trees parted and we glimpsed the mountains across from us. Gorgeous. I said a prayer for Olene, the mother of a friend who just learned that her breast cancer has come back, two years after her first diagnosis. A reminder of why I do these crazy events. Holly said, “do you think we have to climb that mountain over there?” “Surely not!” I replied.<br />
<br />
And then we began the descent. If you are not a runner, you might think running down a really steep mountain would be easy. This, alas, is not so. Running down a steep slope is very hard on your quad muscles. I called this part of the race “The Quad Thrasher Descent.” It was hard, and I worried about how it would affect us later in the day.<br />
<br />
But the scenery was amazing. I remember saying "well, we couldn't have asked for better weather! At least the trails aren't muddy like they were at Seneca Creek." About 15 minutes later Holly said, "what was that noise?" I said, "thunder!" And suddenly it poured and poured, rained sideways, pelted hail on us. Holly said, "well at least if it's lightening, we're near all these big trees." I don't know if she was kidding.<br />
<br />
The rained slacked off after an hour or so. We had about 8 miles to make the only hard cutoff of the race--we had to be at mile 26 in eight hours. We thought we could make it if we pushed. I remarked, "well, at least the trails aren't very technical. I mean, they are steep, but there aren't a lot of rocks and roots." We turned the corner and began a very technical descent, full not only of rocks and roots, but loose rocks about four to seven inches in diameter. It was a rock slide! Holly said, "well, you cannot run down these. You have to walk." And a man, flew past us, doing some five minute per mile pace. Why he was there we weren't sure. We finally concluded he must be a volunteer running from aid station to aid station. I said "follow his lead Holly!" And she said, "I ain't breaking my nose out here. I'm not busting out my two front teeth. NOPE."<br />
<br />
Eventually we got to the end of the rock slide, and began climbing up a muddy mountain. Slip, sliding away. We caught up with a woman who was wearing red arm warmers with the word "bacon" on them. She was having trouble with cramping legs. Bacon Lady remarked, "well, at least it's not raining super hard like before. This light rain is not so horrible, I guess." She stopped to take an S cap, and we got ahead of her. The thunder started again, and it was raining hard. NO, it was SLEETING. And Holly had no gloves. At some point, we came to raging creek and she thought we'd have to cross through the water. That's when she started sobbing. Thankfully there was a bridge, but it was too late. The water kept rushing. Down her face. <br />
<br />
We were approaching an aid station, though, and she consoled herself that they would have paper towels there and she could rub her fingers on the paper towels. Perhaps she would not get frostbite. I said, “you already declared that you didn’t want to break your nose or lose some teeth. I take it you want to keep all your fingers, too?” I kept cracking jokes, but she was not laughing. We finally arrived at the aid station. and they had no paper towels. She announced, "I am not having fun!" Her fingers were so cold that she could not eat, so I had to get food out for her and feed her, like she was a baby bird. She wasn't getting warmer. I asked if they had anything at all for her hands. They realized they had styrofoam cups (but nothing warm to drink out of them). They took two stacks of the cups out of the plastic bags that hold them and gave the thin plastic bags to Holly. She wore plastic baggies over her hands after that. <br />
<br />
We made the 8 hour cut off with 45 minutes to spare. A volunteer explained that we had only to climb a steep 3.2 miles and then run downhill five miles to the finish. We had 2 hours and 45 minutes to do it in order to finish in 10 hours. The race director had said, however, that even if we didn't finish in 10 hours, he'd still record our time. We just wouldn't get the shorts. Well, I like skirts anyway, and had already decided give any shorts I got to my Coach, Kyle. But I mean, really, surely we could hike up 3.2 miles in an hour or so, and then run 5 miles downhill in an hour or so. We might get the shorts!<br />
<br />
Hard to believe, but it took us two hours to climb those 3.2 miles. How is that even possible? It was nearly straight up half the time, and very technical. I used my hands quite a bit. And this stretch of the race presented my turn to cry. My quads were totally trashed from running down hills, and the climbs up the hills had done a number on my calves. Holly kept getting ahead of me and waiting for me at turns. I tried to tell her to go ahead because she was still so cold, but she wouldn't leave me. I had to keep reminding myself that this would pass, that it was not as bad as the cancer treatments some must endure. <br />
<br />
Eventually a very fit man flitted up behind us. "How are you doing, 196?" he asked me, calling me not by my name, but by my race number. "Never better," I replied, "I am just putting one foot in front of the other." He was the sweeper, and he told me that I was the last runner on the course. “I think the word ‘scraper’ might be more apt,” I suggested. He laughed, pointed to the summit and said, "Look, it's not very far. You've got this! And after this it's just five miles downhill." <br />
<br />
At the top of the hill, Holly arrived at the aid station ahead of me, exhausted. The volunteers offered to drive her the five miles to the finish. "You want to do that?" they said. "YES!" she said, "but I can guarantee you she will not let me,” pointing down the hill. "Well, let's see what she says when she gets here. She will probably want a ride too. You only have 45 minutes till the 10 hour time cutoff, and it's five miles, so you will not make it. You cannot win the shorts." <br />
<br />
As soon as I got to the summit, I felt so much better. I felt a smile coming back to my face, having done that horrible climb. The volunteers said, "what would you like to do?" I said, "top off my water bottle and have whatever food you have to offer before we do this last stretch!" "But we are offering to drive you the rest of the way. You are not going to make it in time for the shorts."<br />
<br />
"DRIVE US WHEN THERE ARE ONLY FIVE MILES LEFT? YOU MUST BE OUT OF YOUR MIND! I DON'T EVEN LIKE SHORTS!" <br />
<br />
Holly, said, “well, guys, I told you so!”<br />
<br />
We began the five mile downhill journey to the finish. The first few miles were muddy and slippery. After all, it had thunder stormed for hours, and over 300 people had run through the mud before us. The final 2.4 miles were on a gravel road, but it was SO STEEP. At this point, my quads were screaming, and my knee began to scream as my IT band inflamed. I actually had to walk a little down the gravel road because of the sharp pain in my knee. Every muscle in my body was aching. You'd think we could go fast down these hills, but it hurt so much! Every step was horrible. I don't think we did much better than 15 minute miles these last couple miles.<br />
<br />
I was so glad when we finally saw the sign "PROMISE LAND." We were finished. My finish time was 10:48:32. We were the last two runners. We did it! The race director encouraged us to come back next year. "But when you come back, finish in under 10 hours! I know you can do it!"<br />
<br />
Later, the race director emailed the results to runners and said:<br />
<br />
“Are you warm yet? I felt sorry for many of you who finished in the middle to the back of the pack on Saturday. It was an epic event. We had one other year that it rained a lot, but with getting sleet and hail, we have never had anything like that before at Promise Land. I am impressed with how some of you were bordering on hypothermia but still made it to the finish line.”<br />
<br />
It was the hardest race I’ve ever done. Yes, it was harder than the Ironman, I do believe, even though it took less time. I had quite a blood blister to show for all the hard work, too. OWWWW.<br />
<br />
What’s next? Well, Holly and I have a little trail marathon this week. Just a long supported run, we figure. Shouldn’t bee too mountainous. It is in Charlottesville. It’s hilly up there, isn’t it? Can't be too bad, though. Our next "main" race is our 50 mile trail race on June 2nd. I’m a little nervous about that one!Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-85388137758580434242012-03-19T18:05:00.001-04:002012-03-20T16:05:30.337-04:00Chewing Tobacco and IceThis past weekend, I traveled to Virginia Beach to take part in the Shamrock Half Marathon and to take part in a Polar Plunge in the icy waters of the ocean. I stayed with my friend Holly, who planned to run the half with me, and another friend Virginia, who was running the full marathon. We stayed in a cabin that Holly's daughter declared was "creepy," but I agreed with Holly's assessment that it was merely "rustic." Rustic, but with running water and electricity. There was a bed in the loft, but Holly and Virginia told me I wasn't allowed up there for fear I would knock my head on the ceiling and get a concussion. We'd packed for 80 degree temperatures, but the weather changed, with a new forecast of a chilly and windy start of the race. So we went to Rite-Aid and bought matching black velour jackets studded with rhinestones. They were actually for children--I bought a size 2XL and it fit perfectly. I've appended a photo so you can see how Goth the three of us look. The original plan was to throw these youth jackets away once we warmed up during the race, but they were so nice that we ran the races with velour jackets tied around our waists.<br />
<br />
During the run I spotted a shirt that said, "I'm an Ultra Runner. This is My SHORT Run!" It made me giggle because it was definitely a short run for Holly and me! We'd hoped to maintain a 10:30 pace throughout, and maybe even pick it up at the end. This would result in a finish somewhere around 2:15 to 2:17. Last year, my finish time was something like 2:14. But training for an ultra does not make you faster. Plus, as someone very dear to me reminded me after this race, I've been through a lot since I last ran the Shamrock Half Marathon.<br />
<br />
<b>Chewing Tobacco</b><br />
<br />
Experts tell you not to try anything new on race day. But for me this was a short run, so I decided to try some new food. I usually eat Cliff Bars and Gu brand gels. (Gels, for those of you who aren't runners, are little squirts of mainly sugar in a liquid form. They are easy to digest when you are running and your body does not have to work to convert the food into sugar, which is what fuels you when you run). Someone had told me about a product called Vega Sport. So I bought a gel and a bar in this brand. Around mile 7 I felt great, and we were maintaining the 10:30 pace, as planned. I tried the new orange-flavored gel. It tasted like what your dog might throw up if you forced him to eat oranges. BLECH. Around mile 9, I was tired and started to slow. Holly went on with another friend, Judy. I decided to eat the new bar. It tasted like chewing tobacco! And the more I chewed, the bigger it got. Apparently these bars are not for runners, but for baseball players! <br />
<br />
After the chewing tobacco incident, I could not get my mojo back. My pace slowed considerably. Thankfully, my knee wasn't hurting and I didn't experience any boob zingers. I was just tired and hungry! Finally, about three miles from the finish, I spotted by teammate Jack Martin, who was walking. Jack was coming off an injury and had planned to walk a good bit of the race because he'd only run about 6 miles in recent training. When he does run, though, Jack is faster than I am. In fact, he'd run the first couple miles with his son at a pace quicker than 9:00, after which he'd started walking, except when he saw someone he knew. He must be a fast walker because, here I was, not able to catch him till almost mile 10! He said he was happy to do a bit more running, so I asked him to run some with me and keep me sane. We had a blast in those last few miles. Somewhere along that stretch, I saw Holly's mother, aunt and daughter, and handed them my beautiful velour rhinestone-studded jacket. I will wear that again! When we finally got to the finish line, I was very happy that this run was so short! My finish time was 2:22, resulting from an average pace of 10:51 . It was slower than I had hoped, and for a moment I felt like a turtle. Not that I mind being a turtle: they are green and it was a Shamrock race! But later, the race organizers sent me an email that showed that I ran faster than 40% of the entire field, and faster than 49% of the women in the race. Among the 45-49 year old ladies, I ranked 245 out of 532--that's the TOP HALF. Not a turtle! Maybe not a cheetah, but not a turtle. <br />
<br />
<b>Ice Bath Challenge</b><br />
<b><br /></b><br />
A few days before the Shamrock, I began talking about taking a dip in the ocean after the race WITHOUT A WETSUIT. The plan was to go all the way in and get my head completely wet. And to see how long it might take before I came running out of the water, screaming at the top of my lungs! <br />
<br />
You see, the water temperature was only 54 degrees. Now air temperatures of 54 are not so bad, but water temperatures of 54 are cold! The water temperature at Ironman Coeur d'Alene was actually a few degrees warmer, yet for that swim I wore a long-sleeved wetsuit and two swim caps. I found a website describing how to avoid hypothermia in 50-something degree water. It suggested that you should "climb aboard the wreckage." A surfing website described the water temperature on that particular day in Virginia Beach and suggested that you should wear not only a wetsuit, but also "neoprene booties and a cap." And I was going to go in the water with a skirt and a sports bra, nothing else. After finishing my race alongside Jack Martin, Jack introduced me to his son, an avid surfer. He mentioned that he had stuck his toe in the water and "if you can stay in for a full minute, I will greatly admire you!" I began to get a little worried,<br />
<br />
But I couldn't quit! I had promised people that if they made donations to my fundraising site I'd go in. A friend, Brian Lilley, who was running the full marathon publicized the stunt too, and for that I am ever grateful to Brian! During this little "polar plunge" campaign, I received $250 in donations, to which people had added 13 cents (for my half marathon) or 26 cents (for my friend Brian's marathon). <br />
<br />
So, I had to go in. Despite of the warnings from Jack's surfer son, I braved the elements. I ran out in the waves, and they knocked against me. I screamed! It was so, so cold. I recalled the cold water at my Ironman CDA race, and I was so happy I wasn't expected to stay in for 2.4 miles of swimming! I dunked my head under, only to be whipsawed by a tsunami-like wave. Wow it was bracingly cold!<br />
<br />
It was tough going, but I'm sure immersing myself in that cold water was good for me. My muscles are not sore now, and I'm ready to hit the trails again!<br />
<br />
<br />Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-42191547846561113442012-03-05T16:32:00.002-05:002012-03-05T16:32:43.040-05:00Pain is Inevitable; Suffering is OptionalWe got a t-shirt at the Willis River 35K that said "Pain is Inevitable; Suffering is Optional." Since that race, two painful things have happened to me. <br />
<br />
<b>The Pains</b><br />
First, I continue to get zingers when I run. These are like electrical shocks to my breast, and I am told they are a side effect of radiation treatment, though my treatments have been complete for two months. Sometimes the pain is debilitating, shooting pains in me and throbbing, and usually once the pain starts, it does not stop until I take a warm shower. I checked with my radiation oncologist, Dr. Arthur, who said I was not damaging anything to run through this pain. "Pain is Inevitable; Suffering is Optional." Some of it is a head game, of course. Whenever the pains started, I figured it was God saying to me, "you did say you wanted to keep this boob, didn't you?" And He was reminding me that I am alive!<br />
<br />
Second, I began to develop some knee discomfort, which I know from experience results from something called IT band syndrome. Now, this pain was not as great as the breast zingers, but it was more threatening because it could get worse. I went to Dr. Green of Active Chiropractic as soon as I noticed the pain, which was after a 22 mile trail run, and I cut back on the mileage. Three weeks later, I wondered if I would be able to run the Seneca Creek Greenway trail marathon? Coach Kyle, taking a conservative approach, suggested I skip it so that my March and April would be pain free for sure. I went back to Dr. Green for a second opinion, though. He examined me and said, "Go for it!" He did advise me to take a one minute walk break after every nine minutes of running, to reduce the chance of injury.<br />
<br />
Holly did a little jig when she learned I would join her for the all-day race. Our friend Susan Ann had to drop out at the last minute, but we kept her and her family in our thoughts during the run. We drove to Gaithersburg the night before the race, and it rained so hard it was difficult to see the highway. I looked on the weather channel and learned of a flash flood warning in Gaithersburg lasting until 7am. The race was to begin at 8am. I said, "Holly, we had a good excuse to skip this race, and we BLEW IT!"<br />
<br />
<b>Race Morning.</b><br />
Race morning was surreal. We parked at the race finish and rode a bus to the start with all these ultra runners. I thought Holly and I were crazy. These folks were talking about the 50 milers they did before and the 100 milers they were planning in the months ahead. They talked about running long but not very fast. They talked about running in the rain and falling in the mud, and noted that we would be doing both today. And they talked about food. Lots of it. I loved it! When we arrived at the start it was pouring buckets, and we shivered with everyone else under a small shelter. Holly whispered to me, "What do you notice in common about all these people's legs?"<br />
"Buff?<br />
Muscular?<br />
Toned?"<br />
"No," she replied. "Scarred."<br />
The race director announced that the race was delayed by 10 minutes because a bus was late. "But don't worry," he said when some moaned. "We won't let them go to the bathroom when they arrive."<br />
<br />
<b>The Muddy Race</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<div>
<span class="yiv748552676Apple-style-span">By the time the late bus arrived, it had stopped raining. After the first half mile, on asphalt, we entered the trail. By then, Holly and I were near the back, so hundreds had tromped through the mud before us. We could see their footsteps and the places where they had slipped and fallen. Sometimes the mud was just wet and icky. Other times the trails were absolute "shoe suckers," meaning you weren't sure if you lifted your foot whether your shoe would come with it or no. Mud caked on the
bottoms of our shoes, making them heavy and covering up the treads so we had no
traction. I kept slipping and shouting "Oh, Camille's been telling me to stretch that inner thigh!" I used to be petrified of creek crossings--irrationally so. On Saturday, we actually looked forward to creek crossings. They represented opportunities to
get the mud off our shoes. Sometimes if we had a choice of stepping on stones or walking through the water, we chose the water.</span></div>
<div>
<span class="yiv748552676Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div>
<div>
At mile 3 of the race, we arrived at a creek crossing. Maybe I can say river crossing. I've posted a photo. There was a rope across the water to prevent people from being swept down stream. I switched my hand held to my left hand so I could use my right hand to hold on. The water did get up to my knees. It was exhilarating! Later in the race, I wished I could cross this stream again. I would have sat my butt down in the water!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At about
mile 10 the trail look horrible. We saw slippery mud on the outside with signs people
had slipped, surrounding a huge puddle of water in the middle. Holly said, "well at least
the middle doesn't look muddy.". So I pranced across the middle and immediately felt my self slipping, slipping, ohhhhhh! I fell right on my behind. My left hand was submerged in the muddy water puddle. My right hand held my hand held water bottle, which was caked with mud. Holly laughed so hard and I started to giggle as I got myself up. She said, "it looks like you have Montezuma's revenge!" She offered to spray water on me, but it was hopeless. I did let her spray water on my water bottle. It turns out that even though I like to eat most anything, mud is not my favorite. At least not when I am expecting a cool sip of water. I kept shouting at people who came upon us, "this is mud! It isn't what you think!". They would laugh and shake their heads. I think
someone shouted back "try going gluten free!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Later in the race I tripped on a root and fell forward onto hard
ground. My left knee looks horrible! Had to walk some till it loosened up.
Given the choice, I recommend falling on your butt in soft oozy mud!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We met some incredible people during this race. For a long while we ran with a woman named Lois, who is 70 years old. Sometimes we got ahead of her, but then she would keep coming. We spoke with her and learned that she does many marathons. In fact, she planned to do a marathon the very next day! This 70 year old finished the race before we did, by the way! WOW</div>
<div>
<br />We also ran a good bit with a Retired navy guy who started in September on a
quest to run 52 marathons in 52 weeks. He is ahead of schedule, having run 9 in
9 days at Christmas. See, there are people crazier than I! At some point he mentioned that his wife had undergone treatment for breast cancer recently, but she was doing great. HOORAY!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At mile marker 15, most racers were given the choice of running an additional four miles around a lake. This was the choice of "marathon" or "50K." Holly and I had contemplated doing the 50K, but we weren't sure we would make the time cut-off to be permitted to do so. And, indeed, we missed it. For one thing, they did not extend it for the ten minutes delay for the start. But we would have missed it anyway. We would not be permitted to run around the lake, but would have to content ourselves with what this race called a "marathon." We responded in a stoical manner. Life goes on.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For those of you who are marathon runners, you might remember telling non-running friends that you were going to run a marathon. Someone said "Wow. That's great. How long is your marathon?" And you explained that all marathons are 26.2 miles. They would be 25 miles but for a desire to finish in front of Windsor Palace. Not that many marathons finish at Windsor Palace, but we must uphold tradition. So you think asking how long a marathon is might be a dumb question. Not necessarily.</div>
<div>
<br />We finished and a finish line volunteer asked if we had just completed the marathon or the 50K.. I looked at my Garmin and replied, "well, my gps
says 31 miles." She said, "great, congratulations for finishing the marathon!" Ordinarily marathons are 26.2 miles and a 50K is 31 miles. This marathon was 31 miles and the 50k was 35 miles! Were we disappointed, in the end, that we didn't get to run around the lake? Heck no: once again, God was looking out for us. Oh, sure, we prayed that we'd make the cutoff. God heard our prayers and said, "um, no, I know better." Because in the end, I couldn't run another yard! </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Our time was 8:29. Yep, eight hours and 29 minutes. Why rush through it--you might miss something! Once again, we got our money's worth. By the way, most people pay through the NOSE for a mud bath. Ours was only $20, the entry fee for this race. Plus we got food. Not sushi and red wine, but cookies and red Gatorade. Worth every penny!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I met so many nice people during this race. On the way back to our hotel, I stopped at a grocery store for ice (for an ice bath), and some neosporin and band-aids for my bleeding knee. I was still caked in mud, including the mud on my backside that looked, um, odd. I was catching quite a number of stares. The line for the express lane was long, so I stood in a regular lane behind two people with large baskets. A woman from nowhere said, "EXCUSE ME! I WAS HERE FIRST!" I looked from her buggy to her face and concluded that she was Alice from the Brady Bunch doing the monthly shopping. Really? I am holding a box of band-aids and neosporin and looking like Swamp Thing, but she has her rights. Dorothy, we're not in the South any more! I figure she was rude because she's never certain whether it might take her 10 minutes or three hours to get home, due to the high traffic in those DC suburbs. Poor thing, bless her heart.</div>Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-10573432514044451702012-02-08T15:37:00.001-05:002012-02-08T15:37:25.810-05:00Red LipstickMonday evening, I met Geralyn Lucas, author of "Why I Wore Lipstick to My Mastectomy." She was diagnosed with cancer at age 27 and is funny and engaging. She asked if I would wear red lipstick to the luncheon the next day. I am more of an earth tone, blend into the crowd kind of gal, but I said, "sure!" She offered to lend me some, but I said I had red lipstick. The next morning I realized I had none, so I stopped at the drug store and bought some. Sure enough, at the end of her speech to several hundred people, Geralyn called my name and asked if I was wearing red lipstick, and if so, to come on stage. So I stood on stage because I was wearing red lipstick! And because I was alive!Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-56916507545418374402012-02-08T14:27:00.000-05:002012-02-08T14:50:46.412-05:00Bear Creek and Beyond<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hop!</div>
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Pop!</div>
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Bop!</div>
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Slop!</div>
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<br /></div>
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Log!</div>
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Frog!</div>
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Dog!</div>
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Egg Nog!</div>
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<br /></div>
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These were the sounds of my friends and me announcing
obstacles along the Bear Creek course to one another. We sang Little Bunny Foo Foo. Trail running is so different from running on
the streets. You cannot shuffle, you
cannot lose your focus. If you do, you’re
going down! And when I found myself tripping over a little log, I stretched my arms out wide, "SUPERMAN!" But, alas, it was Underdog who fell to the ground in a THUMP. </div>
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<br /></div>
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But up I popped again. The ten-mile run was an out and
back, and around mile 4.5 I thought, “what were you thinking?” I didn’t know how I could go on. But I dragged myself to the turnaround, where
the volunteers said, "oh, you must be the gigglers!" Apparently, we had gotten a reputation. This buoyed me up, and the rest of the run
was so fun!</div>
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<br /></div>
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I am ever so thankful for all my friends who joined me on
this trail run. Many had never run on
trails before, especially not in a race.
Many went outside their comfort zone to support me, to celebrate my
successful surgery and what appeared to be ongoing successful radiation
treatments.</div>
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<br /></div>
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At the finish, I got a bear!
The race director, Barry Kreisa (Barry the Teddy Bear) arranged to have
the guy who makes prizes for the winners make a prize for me too. Take a look at my bear prize. He’s
so cute!</div>
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<br /></div>
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I LOVED THIS RACE. As a result, I decided to keep running on trails. In January, Holly and I ran the Willis River Wilderness Race--a 35K (or 21 mile) run in the woods. We got lost twice, ran through creeks, got stuck in muddy fields. It was a hoot! We decided to keep going.<br />
<br />
So, as I mentioned, here is my schedule for this spring:<br />
<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 3.75pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 10.5pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">March 3rd. Seneca Creek Greenway "Marathon." The race director suggests that the Marathon is more than 26.2 miles, but instead "more like 31 miles." All on trails with creek crossings, hills, etc.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 10.5pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">March 18th. Shamrock Half Marathon. This is a more traditional road race.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 10.5pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">April 28th. Promise Land 50K. A 31+ mile race in the mountains that involves 8,000 feet of ascent and 8,000 of corresponding descent in the mountains in the western part of Virginia.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 10.5pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">June 2nd. Fifty MILE TRAIL RACE. North Face Challenge. And we signed up for a 10K in the same race series on June 3rd. Just for good measure.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 10.5pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">June 24th. The Philadelphia Triathlon--my race for Liberty from Cancer, Making Cancer a Sprint! It's on my Dad's Birthday, and I am racing in his honor!</span></li>
</ul>
<br /></div>Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-26887250941015169432012-02-08T11:54:00.002-05:002012-02-08T11:54:09.078-05:00Tattoos, Tanning Booths, Sunscreen and Zingers<br />
<br />
<b>Tattoos</b><br />
<br />
My husband hates tattoos. They are so popular now that he admonished me not to long ago “Never get a tattoo!” Now I have two! As a breast cancer patient receiving radiation, I got a tattoo on either side of my breast, to help the technicians make sure the radiation is going to the same place each time. <br />
<br />
Getting the tattoos was hilarious. I went to Massey Cancer Center downtown and put on a dressing gown. A nurse came and got me.<br />
<br />
“Are you going to give me my tattoos?” I asked.<br />
<br />
“Yes, I give you prison tattoos!” she said in a thick Russian accent. I trembled.<br />
<br />
“Prison tattoo? I was hoping you would do this,” I said, showing her a picture of an “Ironman” tattoo that many of my friends have gotten. It is called an “M-dot.” <br />
<br />
She looked at it admiringly. “Pretty!” she said. I was hopeful.<br />
<br />
“NO! You get prison tattoo!” she concluded. <br />
<br />
And so I got the standard issue prison tattoo. No colors, no liveliness. And symbolizing something a lot harder, I’ve got to tell you, than an Ironman.<br />
<br />
<b>Tanning Booths</b><br />
<br />
Radiation isn’t nearly as bad as chemo, though. I was told the main side effects would be sunburn and fatigue. Both side effects would get worse and worse during my six weeks of treatment, and subside a few weeks afterward. I told the doctor about my fitness level, and he said this would mean I wouldn’t have any trouble with the fatigue getting in the way of my work and day-to-day living. “But you will have a crummy run one day,” Dr. Arthur said, “and you will blame me.” He is a marathoner himself, so he knew how to make me laugh. “I’ll do that!” I promised.<br />
<br />
I got my radiation treatments every weekday at 6 pm at the Stony Point location of Massey Cancer Center. Dr. Arthur admonished me that I could not miss a single appointment. “Don’t be telling me you’re busy at work and you can’t get here.” he said. I think he’s met lawyers before! I did manage to get to all my appointments on time, often telling folks that I had to go to my tanning booth appointments. <br />
<br />
Going to radiation is, in some ways, like going to the gym. Or the tanning booth. I go through the main entrance and sign in with the same guard every night. Then I say hi to the receptionist in radiation oncology and she buzzes me inside. From there I go to a dressing room and change, and then I sit and wait my turn, with ladies who become my friends over our weeks together. A technician gets me and I go into a gigantic room with a huge machine in the middle. There is a second technician helps me lie on a table. There is a block under my butt so I don't slide down, and then I lift my arm over my head and rest it on some padded armrests. After they get me all adjusted they step out of the room. A big screen thing begins to lift up, slowly, tracing from left to right, in an arc, across my chest. As it goes I can feel the progression as tingles that move along. It is really strange feeling. The treatment only lasts a few minutes.<br />
<b><br /></b><br />
<b>Sunscreen</b><br />
<br />
After a few weeks, my breast became bright pink,. The scar under my arm where they took the sample lymph nodes was the worst because my bra rubbed there. OUCH. After a month, everything began to peel. OWWW Worst sunburn EVER. And I’ve had some doozies. I still remember wearning zinc oxide and a t-shirt and staying inside mid-day during our vacations in Florida when I was a little girl. By contrast, my olive-complexioned sister could run around outside all day.<br />
<br />
A friend of mine asked me why I didn’t wear sunscreen. I repeated this to the nurse, who was HORRIFIED. Apparently last summer, a patient did wear sunscreen, despite repeated warnings not to use anything on your skin before treatment. She told the nurse, “well, I put on sunscreen right before coming because I didn’t want to burn.” Oh dear. You see, sunscreen does block something or other, and they actually want to torture us with this radiation. This is war, and it’s a war we want to win. The radiation is designed to kill the cancer cells, and unfortunately there’s collateral damage, like in any war. I surely didn’t want to spend an hour every day getting shot with nothing but blanks!<br />
<br />
Fatigue was the other expected side effect. The ladies who sat with me each evening were experiencing fatigue. I was tired during Thanksgiving weekend, but decided in the end that the turkey did it. I kept running and cycling during radiation. I also swam. Sometimes I wondered if people noticed my “glow.” My shoulder hurt quite a bit during this time because I used it so little right after surgery.<br />
<br />
<b>Zingers.</b><br />
<br />
So, fatigue was nothing. Zingers, on the other hand, were terrible. I was warned that I might be standing there, minding my own business, when I would be struck with something that felt like a lightening bolt in my breast. I felt these--it was as though a nerve was hit errantly. This, they said, was a side effect of radiation. “They only last thirty seconds or a minute,” they promised.<br />
<br />
Not so. Turns out if you run for hours and experience a zinger mid-run, it will not go away for hours! I took to wearing four bras again, and taking four ibuprofen. Sometimes I would still be shot with a zinger. I asked Dr. Arthur what people had done in the past. He confessed that he’d never had a patient who trained as much as I did. If you ask the average woman doing her thirty minutes three days a week exercises what she’d do if she were struck with a pain in her breast that felt like a lightening bolt, I think she’d say she would get off the treadmill and go have a glass of wine. But I kept at it. In the end I found the winning combination was four bras and four ibuprofen. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-32153620768504007082012-02-08T10:39:00.002-05:002012-02-08T14:28:40.444-05:00Post-Surgery and Humpty Dumpty PR<br />
I asked the doctor whether I could go back to work the day after my surgery. He said, “absolutely not! You will be loopy! I don’t think you will want to go back to work for a full week.”<br />
<br />
“When can I run again?” I asked. “Not for three or four weeks,” he said. <br />
<br />
I thought these predictions were a bit crazy before the surgery. In the recovery room, the nurse told me that the anesthesia would keep the pain away till evening, when she admonished me to take the prescribed oxycondin (yes, the addictive stuff) before nightfall “whether you think you need it or not. Otherwise, the anesthesia will wear off in the middle of the night and you’ll wake up screaming in pain!”<br />
<br />
That sounded pretty awful. I imagined myself morphing into Edvard Munch’s famous painting. It was not pretty. So I took the drug. I don’t think drugs work on me the same way as normal people. Before long, I was totally hopped up. Instead of spending all night sleeping, I spent all night wide awake and thinking crazy thoughts. It was terrible. All in all, I wished I’d taken advil!<br />
<br />
And just as the doctor suggested, I did not go back to work all week. I was totally wiped out. I always get daily emails suggesting a workout, and respond to them by posting my actual workout. I had not bothered to get this adjusted due to the surgery. So I would get something like “run three miles” and I would write "went to the beauty parlor, which wiped me out!" Getting my hair done on Wednesday after surgery was exhausting!<br />
<br />
But what about the doctor’s prediction that I would not run for three weeks? I thought this was crazy too. But one week after surgery, I started “fitness walking” again. Jiggle, jiggle, OWWWW! Running would be painful, I realized. But I missed running!<br />
<br />
Two weeks and five days after surgery, my friend Holly said she was going to run 9 miles. I joined her, after taking four ibuprofen and wearing four bras. No way was there any jiggling possible. In fact, it was a bit hard to breath with all that compression going on. But it was a glorious run! The following weekend was the Richmond half marathon. I had assumed I could not run a half marathon only four weeks after breast cancer surgery. But the day before the race, I said, "what the heck!"<br />
<br />
I dressed as the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland and kept telling everyone I was late. The best part was when little kids in strollers noticed me. One set of twins kept yelling, "Bunny! Daddy, Bunny!" Daddy was looking at his iPhone and never got to see Bunny. Poor Daddy, letting the good things in life fly by!<br />
<br />
Truth be told, I was Humpty Dumpty, if the King’s Horses and King’s Men had done a better job! I was put together again. No Personal Record (PR), but I got a HUMPTY DUMPTY PR--fastest half marathon I’ve done four weeks after a surgery!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-88784754376061715792012-02-07T19:54:00.000-05:002012-02-08T09:59:17.017-05:00My Genomic ScoreAfter surgery, I learned that my "margins were clear" and that there was no evidence of cancer in my lymph nodes. Excellent news. In the old days, the doctors still wouldn't know whether to recommend chemotherapy. Chemotherapy is a horrible thing--it can cause all sorts of medical problems, and even death. And of course, the hair loss. But at the same time, if can prevent a recurrence of cancer. But until recently, deciding on chemotherapy or not when there was no indication of metastasis was a crap shoot.<br />
<br />
Now, they have a test called the oncotype dx. They send off your tissue after surgery to do this test. It must be enormously expensive because they actually called me to get me to authorize it. They said, "your insurance company has approved the expenditure. You have met your deductible, so you will not have a co-pay. Your doctor recommends the test. Would you like it?" umm, yes! And then I had to wait, and wait, and wait.<br />
<br />
On this test, a high score is over 31, and any doctor would recommend chemo. Under 18 and the doctors do not recommend chemo. In between, once again, it's a crap shoot. You have to make a difficult decision whether to undergo chemo or not. The doctor does not know what to tell you. As I waited for my results, I wondered about my score. <br />
<br />
"I know what my score will be," I told Steve.<br />
<br />
"You think it's in the middle. Because you cannot stand uncertainty and that would be uncertain."<br />
<br />
So true. I was absolutely convinced that my test results would fall into the grey zone. And then I would opt for chemo. <br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br />
Despite this decision, I was on pins and needles waiting for the results. I called the lab, which indicated that the doctor would have them by Friday. <span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">I called the office and tried to change my appointment to
Friday, but they said he isn't in the office then, nor on Mondays. My blood started to boil. Where the heck was he, playing golf? Then I remembered that on Mondays
and Fridays he does something other than golf. Like, um, surgeries? Oh, yeah.
I was all ready to be mad as a wet hen, but I guess a surgeon has got to do
surgeries....</span><br />
<br />
But, miraculously, the results were back Thursday. My score is 9! HOORAY! Far under 18. This means the risk of recurrence in 10 years if very low. The average rate of distant recurrence (meaning recurrence of cancer in your lungs, liver, bones or brain) for someone like me is only 7%. So chemotherapy is not recommended. Radiation yes, Chemo no. This is good--chemo can kill you and makes your hair fall out. Radiation causes sunburn.<br />
<br />
I am a redhead who grew up in Alabama. I am an expert on sunburns.<br />
<br />Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8099289134553834840.post-53746604227902095642012-02-07T19:49:00.003-05:002012-02-07T19:49:23.719-05:00My Health ScoreAt work every year, we march down to the break room, where a nurse weighs us, measures us, and gives us a flu shot. Then we answer a series of questions about our health, diet and exercise. We receive a “health score” in various categories, of: Excellent, Good, Needs Improvement or Houston, we have a Problem!<br />
<br />
With my Type A personality, I strive to receive an “Excellent” score on each topic. This year, as you know, I have cancer. Nevertheless, I got weighed and measured and answered all the questions. To the question “Do you have cancer,” I checked “yes.” What was my ranking on the cancer question? Good. HA HA HA. What do you have to do to get a score of “Houston, we have a Problem”? Apparently, you have to smoke, drink to excess, eat Ding Dongs and exercise only if somebody’s chasing you with a carving knife! Or maybe all those, plus actually have cancer.<br />
<br />
When I told my husband this story, he said, “you answered the question incorrectly.” Say, what? “You do not have cancer. You had cancer. The doctor removed it.”Maymont Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16967485702145493166noreply@blogger.com0