Pine to Palm 100 Mile Reflection!

I had a difficult time determining what to write about this race. But I feel better having written.

I absolutely love the pacific northwest. I've been out that way three times and each time has been magnificent, the weather perfect. Everything about it is pleasant and gorgeous. So when I was suddenly inspired this past February about this race, I just couldn't wait to get back out to Oregon and run a new course in a new part of the PNW I'd never before been to. The race would start in a small town called Williams, and run 100 miles east and finish in Ashland. This is southern Oregon. My friend Max and I flew into Portland and got to hang out for two days before the race. I got to see my old friend Adrianne and one of Max's friends Alexis. We did an easy shakeout run on the Wildwood Trail, went to a tech meetup with Adrianne and saw some sweet companies and their corporate lifestyles, got some work done at some coffee shops, and ate some really delicious local food!

Pre-race shakeout run/hike

Adrianne and Max (Max was my crew)

We then slowly made our way down I-5 to southern Oregon. Pine to Palm 100 was going to be 100-mile finish number three for me. With number one being Leadville, I wanted to see if I could go the distance. With number two being Run Rabbit Run, I was just so excited to have friends to run with the entire 100 miles. With this one, it was a destination race and a chance to push for time. Being in a magical place, being on vacation, I wouldn't let myself quit because then I'd be miserable the rest of vacation. I was just so excited to live it up for the week.

There was something different about this race than the first two. At this point, I knew I could do it. I knew it would be painful. But I knew I could get it done. I spent the money registering, I had friends come out all for me to crew and pace. I wasn't going to quit and let them down or waste money having registered and flown all the way out here. But I questioned my reasoning for signing up for this much more during this race than during my first two. And even after finishing, it really didn't hit me the way I thought it would. Not to be a spoiler but the day after finishing, kind of just felt like another day (aside from the soreness and exhaustion). And that worries me for my future 100s. More on this at the end of this post.

The pre-race meeting

I woke up on race morning and thought, "F***********ck"... The only word that could truly summarize my feelings in one word in that moment. I was genuinely excited to see the race course though. Point-to-point course meant every step of the way would be new trail. Besides a couple miserable little out 'n backs. The first 10 miles were fun but smokey. The forest fire in northern California had us running through smoke the first 20 miles or so. It smelled like a campfire. A little annoying, but the views were gorgeous at the top of our first climb at mile 10.

Mile 10, top of first climb. Smoke down below.

Mile 20 hurt. The course flattened out a bit here and I wanted to walk. It was also getting hot out! Highs were in the 90s. But I was fine. Listened to music here to allow me a bit of an escape from the miserable thoughts about the long day ahead of me. Mile 30 to 40 was supposed to be hot and exposed. I actually felt really good through this long and exposed climb. But right after I left the mile 42 aid station, I began to feel pretty miserable.

mile 42 and my potatoes

It wasn't even physical. It was mental. It was a grueling trek to mile 52. I didn't want to leave the mile 52 aid station. This was the lowest point of the whole course for me. I knew I had 14 miles until I'd get my pacer at mile 66. The sun was also about to set and I just absolutely did not want to keep going. I decided running 100 miles is stupid. I decided I must be stupid. I decided I was absolutely never running 100 miles again in my life and I wasn't even going to run a step again in my life either for that matter. I hated running. It's funny how stereotypical this was for me to be saying and thinking. It's funny how certain I was about never wanting to run again. I felt like I was in jail. Trapped. Stuck. In pain. Miserable. In agony. Unhappy. So frustrated. I hated everything. I wanted to cry. I felt like vomiting because of the pain. I wanted to throw my spotify playlist (my phone) at a tree because the songs were suddenly sucking. But the aid station crew and Max were awesome. I ate like 10 hash browns. And just laid there on a cot staring at the trees. I wondered how my friend who was running Wasatch the day before did. I wondered what my parents back home were doing. I wondered what the ocean would look like when I finally would get to see it the next day. I imagined laying in the sand staring at the sky, not having to move ever again for the rest of my life. And suddenly it was time to get up and go. Just one more hashbrown please. And THEN I'll go, I swear.

Headphones back in, stomach full of hash browns, and the night was settling in. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I realized how lucky I was to get to do something so crazy. How fortunate I was to get to spend a weekend exploring 100 miles of new trails. I am healthy and strong. I live a lucky life to be able to choose to do something so difficult, all for enjoyment. So many people have difficult days every day and all day long. They don't see an end in sight. I was going to finish this. The next few miles were fantastic as the sun was setting. A few songs in that sunset moment hit me like an ocean wave. It's hard to describe how running and music can affect me in such an inspiring way. I can be so stubborn sometimes. But running and music opens my eyes to so many possibilities, so much happiness, so much creativity, and so much insight.

After mile 52, right before the sun would set

But let me tell you, those 14 miles from 52 to 66 were just as miserable as I thought they'd be. It was a slow climb all the way up. So much dirt road that should have been sort of runnable. I did run some. But man oh man. It was agonizing! It was brutal! I still wanted to quit! I had to look away as cars passed to keep myself from waving them down to take me away. I saw some crazy creatures out here at night though. That was pretty cool.

one of like 5 scorpions I saw

millipede

fuzzy spider

But boy oh boy, these miles were dreadful. I suddenly heard music coming from up the hill/mountain on the left. The music stayed in the same spot for like 30 minutes, even though I was still moving. I thought it had to be an aid station. Or no, maybe it's some people camping up there? Wait, but maybe I'm hallucinating this? Or wait again, maybe one of the runners up ahead is playing music on some portable speakers or something!?!! No, it has to be a f*cking aid station. F*ck, it's been 30 minutes, time to take another f*cking gel!! (I'm not much of a wordsmith at mile 60, nor do I particularly care to avoid the fowl language that goes through my mind). The trees cleared a bit, and I knew the aid station was way up above me to the left echoing through the night. The race course had been curving around a mountain with the aid station at the top of the mountain, which is why I continued to hear music in the same exact place. I heard music for an hour and a half before I finally made it to the aid station. That just destroyed me. I still wanted to quit. But as soon as I saw my pacers and crew, I knew I'd be fine. I was very excited to have someone to run with. My own mind is nice to listen to 'n all, buuuuut... yeah, time to have some conversations with people instead of my brain.

I was on a high for the next 10 miles with my first pacer, Cheri. We covered about 7 miles to the next aid station and it felt so easy (comparatively)! I felt a twinge in my knee for awhile, which made the downhills a little frustrating. But everything felt relatively good. We made it into mile 80 aid station and I was a little over it. The high was definitely gone. But this was the make it or break it point. A point where a lot of people drop. Mile 80 is soooooo far. But at the same time, you still have 20 miles to go! And at such a slow pace, you know it's going to feel like forever! So I knew that as long as I made it OUT of this aid station, I would finish. I couldn't let myself get too cold sitting there. I needed to keep eating. Get the dirt out of my shoes. I was fine. Time for my second pacer, Ben. The next 10 miles weren't too bad, a little grueling, but also more interesting. It wasn't just boring dirt roads, there was more single-track to change it up, along with some technical parts. Another little out 'n back section to get this little toy from on top of a giant boulder pile you had to "scramble" up to get. I'd say mile 86 to mile 90 were miserable though. It was a super steep downhill section and my knees were beat. I was grimacing the whole way. I wanted to just run it really fast, but couldn't. My knees felt like they were going to buckle and I felt nauseous because of the pain. Ben and I also got stung by some sort of hornet-wasp-bee thing. Ben got stung twice. The icing on the cake for this race. I had to laugh a little at the bee sting, it was the least of my pains in that moment.

We made it to mile 90. The sun finally rose and I had 10 miles of gradual downhill to the finish. I got a warm excited feeling for a moment. That moment you know you will definitely make it no matter what. I listened to music most of the rest of the way and some songs from the previous day hit me again and really put the whole experience together for me. I was still in pain and so ready for it to be over. I was on track to finish around 27 hours. We dropped into Ashland and rounded some corners to the finish line. My final time was 27 hours and 10 seconds. I felt completely satisfied. 100-mile PR. I laid down on a cot and knew I didn't have to ever move again if I didn't want to. Ohhhhh the satisfaction of finishing these horribly, awfully, wonderful adventures. I guess it wasn't THAT bad.......

Mile 98

Laying on the best cot ever at the finish line. With Cheri, Gary & Ben

The awards ceremony in Ashland was my favorite awards ceremony so far of the three 100s I've run. The race director, Hal Koerner, asks everyone to answer a question - this year to tell their favorite and least favorite part about the course. It was fun to hear everyone's crazy stories. The race is smaller compared to some other 100s out there, so the small group setting felt really nice. More personal. And in case you'd like to know my favorite and least favorite part: I said mile 52 for favorite and least favorite. I felt like quitting. But the aid station crew gave me as many hash browns as I wanted! It was horrible and great all at the same time.

awards ceremony

And of course I spent the next two days driving up the coast along Hwy 101, enjoying the supreme relaxation that comes with beach towns and wineries. It felt so incredibly enjoyable and (I hesitate to say it) almost too easy in contrast to the difficulty I endured the previous couple days.

fresh grapes at a winery

the BEST salmon I've ever had

that perfect moment I kept dreaming about during the race

reminiscing 

oh yes, the hot tub and sauna

post race cigar and Oregon wine

Back to the part of me that couldn't figure out what to write in this post. I think it relates to the comment I wrote above about how finishing this race didn't hit me the way it did after my first two 100s. I still have trouble with this. But at the same time, maybe it's good. Before a race, I tend to minimize the pain I'm about to be in. I don't study the course the way some people do, I just let it happen. I don't get a fancy hotel and pamper myself the night before, I sleep in a tent. I actually sleep well before 100s. I just don't think too much about it. Of course I usually have a slight pit at the bottom of my stomach before a giant race like this. I have a sense of hopelessness for what's to come. Some anxiety. But I just let it happen. And I think allowing myself to just take it one step at a time allows me to somewhat overlook the craziness about it. The race begins, I endure it, and it's over the next day. 27 hours really isn't THAT long in the grand scheme of things. It's just my mindset. I'm always ready for something to be so much worse than it actually ends up being. Don't get me wrong, mile 52 felt impossibly difficult in the moment. Seriously. But I allow myself to maintain a sense of naiveness and innocence about the enormity of the task I'm about to set out to accomplish before and after, that the incredibly difficult moments don't actually last very long. I'm the person that has no clue that what I just did was actually difficult. People may say, didn't you notice that giant hill at mile whatever? It won't have really crossed my mind that that hill was a GIANT hill, it was just a hill and I was going to climb it anyways, so who cares how it's classified? It could have been anything and it would have been just the same in my mind. I think it's good. I enjoy the experience. I push through to finish. And most importantly, I don't sign up unless I'm totally consumed by inspiration about the race. That's key for me. I was inspired by this race, and inspired by Oregon and couldn't wait to get back to the ocean. I knew I'd finish, if even just out of respect for the gorgeous trails this beautiful place has allowed me to explore.

gorgeous waterfall on the last day of the trip

Ultras are Easy, Life is Hard

My feet pound into the loose and sandy dirt as the wind blows it up like fairy dust into the sky. Dust particles dissolve into the salty sweat dripping down my forehead and into my eyes. Tears from a combination of wind and pain sting the corners of my eyes as I grimace and blink. I attempt to blow a snot rocket but instead it lands into my hand to combine with the stickiness of leaked energy gel. I attempt to wipe the tears and snot and stickiness away on my shorts. Everything feels gross and dirty. And then a cool breeze brings goosebumps and a wave of nausea. There's really no use in trying to rid of it all. It's fine; the annoyance, the pain, the filth, the discomfort, the reality. I look from my pained legs and my tired feet up ahead to see my trail disappearing into the horizon as the sun looks at me dead on. This all makes life better, right? Right.

I feel like my childhood was full of happy moments. But in between I remember vividly feeling trapped. Staring outside my first grade classroom window as the teacher groaned on about who knows what, I felt trapped. Being dropped off at my babysitter and watching mom leave when I was little, I felt trapped. Watching cartoons and hearing other beautiful make-believe stories in books, I felt trapped. Trying to fall asleep by counting seconds between minutes on the clock and counting as high as I could, I felt trapped. I counted into the thousands once and still couldn't fall asleep. I don't know why, I felt trapped. But my parents took me outside. And I immediately felt free. And as I grew older, the further I went, the freer I felt. As an adult, the further I ran, the happier I felt. I made sense of life in this way and it worked.

The body and mind are always striving for a solution to the problem, whatever the problem may be. A solution to loneliness is to meet people. A solution to a boring job is to get a new and exciting one. A solution to an injured knee is rest and rehab. It's not always clear what solution is best or whether there's even a solution that makes sense. But the clearest solution to any problem I've ever encountered is running. It's like a template for an elaborate work of art. The work of art being life. If I can run 26.2 miles, I can pass calculus. If I can run 50 miles, I can graduate college. If I can run 100 miles, I can get the job of my dreams. I can be stuck and confused and emotional and tired, but if I can finish this race, then I'm free and can accomplish anything else in life. It's not really this straightforward, but it's the basic concept that makes sense to me. Running takes the messy, confusing stuff, and straightens it all out.

What's crazy is these messy and confusing life things are always so much more difficult than running. These life things don't end very quickly sometimes. Pain and helplessness and loneliness, it's excruciating. But 100 miles is just a little pinch, almost just a bad dream. I start running at 6am today and by tomorrow morning I'll be done. So freaking simple. What happens in between is just patience. But indescribable agony when life situations don't go as planned and people breaking hearts and anger filling voids, can last for weeks or months or years. And destroy so much more than a little muscle tissue and a pair of shoes. I can handle my feet exploding and my lungs burning and the monotony of seconds passing like hours. But I can't handle the emptiness of an unhealthy relationship that drags on, or the loneliness that follows an escape from an unhealthy relationship, etcetera. That 1,000 foot climb will be over so much quicker and the nausea will pass so much sooner. It's not like ultra running is actually that easy. It's just easier than the rest of it. And when I finish I won't feel trapped. I'll feel free and happy.

It's not some addiction. Or even a sport. It's a way to understand being alive and a way to understand the times I don't feel alive. Without these long moments deep in the mountains, I'd be lazy and angry and fat and numb and some other sort of not good. I don't want to know what else. I don't want to go there. Instead, I want to go to the top of that mountain and look around. I want my five senses to light up. I want to feel the ground and see the air as my legs and lungs burn. I want to fly down the mountain like a kid who just discovered the biggest playground in the world. I want my heart to beat hard with vigor. And it will all be fine. Because I figured it out. I can run and it sets me free.

100 Miles, Why?

To me, trail running and everything outside of trail running follow parallel paths in life. Trail running is the yin and everything else is the yang, in a way. Yin and yang are described as being "complementary, interconnected and interdependent". It's true, trail running complements everything I do in life by acting as the structure that smooths out the unorganized chaos. Trail running is the canvas I paint on, or the playlist that organizes a bunch of songs. When I run, I think and figure out and find a way to be more efficient in my choices and actions. Trail running allows me to determine the best way to proceed forward in life, with everything.

I become an analyst while I run; assessing my body and assessing the decisions I've made or need to make in work, relationships, and everything else. Currently, I'm in the process of a career-change. From healthcare to the creative/tech industry. It's exhausting to feel as though I always have something to work on. From classes to projects for my portfolio to freelance work for people. The more work I get done, the sooner I can apply for jobs in the field, meaning there's never an absence of work to work on. It's overwhelming, until I go run and figure out a timeline for myself. Where should my focus be and when should that focus change? I need to rest and feel as though I'm allowed to rest and not be working. And when I'm working, I need to feel determined and work hard. Running allows me to compartmentalize my thoughts and actions. I never half-ass anything. When I'm on a run I'm really focused on analyzing my body and my ideas. When I'm sketching and following through with ideas, I'm not worried about my next run where I become the analyst, right now I'm the artist working on ideas. And when I'm drinking beer and watching Netflix, I'm just me, focused on recovering my body and mind. I keep it all separate and I don't multi-task as much as possible. 100% energy on one thing at a time. This makes me a lot happier and more self-sufficient as a person.

The great thing about this separation of trail running and life outside of running, is that they feed each others drive and motivation. When I work out a real-life problem during a run, I can't wait to put it into action. And when I'm stressed out, confused and feeling indecisive, I can't wait to go run and figure out what to do to simplify my confusion. Because my formula works! Running always makes me feel better. It always allows me to feel more creative. And my high turnover of accomplishments only proves my point. I figured out I was iron-deficient and b12-deficient a couple years ago, and I figured out what to do to fix it. I decided Indiana's cloudy weather makes me feel depressed, so I moved to Colorado where it's sunny most of the time. I realized there's no job in healthcare that will make me feel happy and utilize the creative talent I have, so I decided pursuing a job in graphic design would make me happy. I won't settle for being only 80% happy. I'm in control of life, and when I'm not, I'm in control of the way I perceive what's currently happening. There are endless ways to change what's not good around to make it better, and trail running so far, seems to be the perfect tool in allowing me to make quick and positive decisions. 

I can't forget to let you know it's also fun! It's not always hard work. Slow runs with friends don't feel like hard work to me. I'm in good shape, so that's part of it. I also find fun in seeing results, marked by races. It's also more like a meditation than a sport. It relaxes me and like I said above, it's a tool for organizing and simplifying the way I perceive my life. It's just so healthy for my body and my mind. I love exploring new trails and I love going back to the same trails that hold so many awesome memories. One health benefit of being in supreme running shape is how much energy I have, physically and mentally. It allows me to work hard on whatever I'm working on. Of course there's rock climbing, strength training, skiing, swimming, yoga, and maybe mountain biking - I feel similar all-around benefits from these activities. But none totally compare to running.

Now for that million-dollar question: why ultra-distance? Why not a 5k or half-marathon? Why does it have to be a crazy 100 miles in the mountains or 50 miles across the Grand Canyon and back where you don't even end with a finishers medal?...

Because, it wakes me up. 

It reminds me I'm alive with endless opportunities and possibilities in this world. There's just nothing that compares. It's not to say that a 5k or half-marathon don't. But that alive feeling only lasts 21 minutes or so during a 5k, and only 1 hour and 40 minutes or so during a half marathon! During 100 miles, I get to feel alive and awake and full of feeling for an entire 30 hours or so. And for years to come afterwards. In a world of hiding emotions and stressful situations, running forces it all to the surface. It's a therapy. You relive your whole life during 100 miles. You feel what you've bottled up and you sort through it and keep on running. No matter the pain, no matter the desire to stop, you keep going because quitting would mean giving up on finding out what the deepest part of your being is made of. It's an incredibly emotional experience that leaves you feeling fresh and light and simple after. On a scientific level, this probably has something to do with the way the brains serotonin and dopamine levels change throughout a run this far. But it seems good to stir the body's chemistry up every once in awhile. Get the blood flowing, give the body a reason to fight for life and accomplishment. Bring it all to the surface to see what we're truly made of. And I can tell you with certainty that mile 85 gives you a fantastic glimpse into what you're really made of. Oh, and if I can run 100 miles, anything else I set my sights on in life will be a piece of cake!