<p>No, Julie, there is no happiness in a Monday that returns you to... work!
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<p>And thanks for the good words. It amazes me too that the human body can power that long by running for 9 hours, or 8:55 to be precise. I had a very rough stretch from 31 to 38 but then started coming out of the funk and actually finished the last 5 miles very strong. Although it did help that of the 12,000 feet of total climbing on the day, the last 5 miles were coming back to earth, so to speak, with a major down or flatter.</p>
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<p>Beth: Solid race this weekend, girl. And yes, always bring it. The way I look at it is that if that person were behind me, they'd go for the kill. And so you owe it to yourself in doing the same. BTW, if it was a mental fatigue thing for you, with the later time, a trick that works for me is to focus with pin point attention on the here and now. Get in the moment and spend your energies staying there rather than thinking stray thoughts. It's hard to figure out but once you do it it'll be among the best tools you'll have when it comes to racing. Trust me on that one. I there this past weekend for, oh, about 5 hours worth
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<p>Tamster: Sorry about the ride this weekend. But you know what, and this is a very good thing what I'm about to say... you don't need it. 45 miles on the bike will gain you zero over what you have. And that's because you've been an amazing little trainer, getting in all of the good stuff. Onward!</p>
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<p>Weekend Recap...</p>
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<p>Saturday: 2.5 mile easy run with a few strides. That's it!</p>
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<p>Sunday: Twin States 50 - 8:55 (not sure on placement yet, but maybe 3rd, maybe 5th, maybe 8th, results will be out later) - Twin States 50 is a new 50 mile race in Vermont that has 45% of its course identical to the Vermont 100. The 50 miler had, I think, 12,000 feet of total climbing. The course traverse back dirt roads of rolling -- and I mean rolling (see elevation) -- Vermont and into New Hampshire, hence the Twin States name. I went up the night before with my buddy, who was seeking his first 50 miler. He was fit, strong, and very in-shape. So fit he was that on the way up I cautioned him about burying me by going too fast. "If you're a step ahead of me for more than a tenth of a mile," I warned, "you're pulling me and will wind up burying me." Race morning came at a 28F made chilly, even a little too cold, by a steady wind. The race had 200 original entrants, but race morning only 50 showed up. No worries. My goal was to help my buddy conquer his first 50. Off we went with a climb to kick the race off that ascended 700 feet in the first two miles and then continue on, just not as steep, through mile 5. Up and down and up and up and down and up and up the course went. Around 3 miles in, my buddy got quiet. I asked if he was okay. He said he was cold and could not warm up. He also said he was sick, and he was. I could tell because he wasn't himself. At first I thought it was nerves, but I learned quickly he was genuinely sick. By the time we got to mile 5, with all the climbing we did, he still couldn't warm up. The furnace wouldn't fire for him. I was cold and warm and cold and warm, as we were working hard enough but also fighting into that head wind that got strong and cold as we ascended closer to the clouds on these icy and wet and pitted dirt roads. By then, instead of me leading the charge on pace, I had to let him dictate pace, and before long we were walking. He wasn't doing well. At all. He was sucking down water as if he hadn't had a lick in three days. We walked from 5 to 10, very slowly, when he finally convinced me to go ahead. I had refused saying that I'd only let him go if we got to a point where he could short circuit the course for a quick return to base. That point was mile 12. By then we were, what I would imagine, last in the race by far, as we walked from 5 to 12. I gave him my iPhone with the GPS map with a clear, easy to follow route home. His day was, unfortunately, done. Meanwhile, I forged on, running all by myself, way in the back. It took me until roughly mile 17 to see someone in the race. It was a set of brothers, one of which wasn't doing well. From there I went another mile or two before picking off another. Then I started seeing many runners. I ran with one for 3 miles. He had picked up pace to stay with me. It was a nice diversion and helped take my mind off the fact that my start had been so slow with still so many miles ahead. The course was set up with two large loops. The first loop, 27 miles, went into Vermont around Mount Ascutney; the second, at 23 miles, went on the other side of the Connecticut River into New Hampshire. I completed the first loop feeling very fatigued but in decent enough shape, especially mentally, to continue on. First loop was roughly 4:35 time. I went through marathon distance in something like 4:28. My buddy was waiting for me as I finished the loop. He was doing well but pretty lethargic. I urged him to grab a long nap and some lunch. He wound up doing just that. On to the second loop I went with a refill of my pack. Water, gatorade, more bars and gels. The second loop got difficult not long after crossing the Connecticut River through a picture-perfect covered bridge. The course jumped back on dirt roads and went up and down and up and up and down and back way up, undulating. Around mile 31, right around the 50K mark, I slid very quickly into a bad spot. I pulled from my pocket my Ironman training tools and tried to correct what was wrong. Unfortunately, it wasn't until mile 38, an eternity when you're hurting and climbing terrain like this, when I started coming out of that bad spot. I stayed mentally focused through it, concentrating not on where I was on the course or even my boy back home; instead, I had no choice if I wanted to stay in the game by focusing only on being in the moment. Feeling the hurt, striding as light and efficiently as possible, assessing hydration and nutrition. On I went. To this point there was much climbing. I was now walking anything on the steeper side, say anything over 4 or 5% incline, which meant I was walking a lot. But I was still moving, and I was moving efficiently from a time perspective, and when the terrain would dip back down, I ran the downs and flats and mild ups. I noticed that when the uneven, pitted dirt roads turned smooth or to pavement, that's when my pace and vigor would return. You can't keep the road runner in me away. By now I was all by myself and had been for miles. Every few hours I'd pick off another runner. It wasn't lonely. I was focused, enjoying the scenery, enjoying being an athlete surviving a tough race, and in the moment. Every now and then I would see a few locals out either walking their dogs or strolling with binoculars for bird watching. It was nice because, ever so friendly, when I would say hello we'd get into a short exchange about what I was doing. Around mile 42, when I was circling around a farm and heading back up a few thousand feet to get to the top (the views were just stunning), I saw way up the dirt road navigating up the "hill" two runners wearing orange. I was buoyed with new energy for company. I got on my horse, ran more of the hill than I probably should have, and caught them right over the top. I was impressed with myself because they really were at least a quarter mile up, probably more. As soon as I caught them we realized we were lost, off course. After 10 minutes looking at our phones, a local came by walking her dog. She helped us find our way again. We had made a wrong turn due to the unfortunate placement of marking tape, similar to that we were following (right on red; left on lime). Our detour fortunately added no extra miles. On we went. The guys in orange were interesting. Because earlier around mile 31 to 33, I passed the one guy; and then I recognized the other. One guy was in the race; I had passed him. He did not pass me back. This was odd. The other guy was the one driving a car, and now I saw the car, which was being driven as support by a woman, who was running earlier. What happened was one of the guys and girl were pacing this guy. But how did he end up ahead of me? At one point I saw three people in the car, as it came by me at around mile 36. It was on a thousand foot climb. Although I don't know for certain, I think he cheated. In any event, those two guys kept pulling ahead of me. Although I was feeling a little better, I didn't have much for the ups after chasing them down. We ran together, they then pulled ahead when I walked the ups, and I would catch up on other sections. We did this from mile 42 through 47. Finally, the course popped out on a road. I could tell that the other guy (not his pacer; the guy in the race) was very competitive. He had actually never said hello to me, and anything I got ahead of him, he was start running and try to put distance on me. But when we hit that road section, I started coming to life. Off I went getting faster and faster and faster. I was probably running 7:30's because it was smooth road and either flat or mildly down. Staying focused, thinking nothing about anything or anyone but staying in the moment, I popped out to realize I was now a good tenth of a mile ahead. As I came down toward the covered bridge, the same one we took to start this loop, I saw lime marker and stopped in my tracks. The lime marker meant go left. But going left, that's not where we came from. The covered bridge was a half mile down, I was sure though I couldn't see it. That's when the car support of the two guys in orange stopped. The woman driver pointed up this road that climbed 300 feet and said, "Yes, that way." I was tired and decided to go against my better judgement and take her word. I knew I was near the end, so with the grade of this hill, I would have walked but decided to run it. Near the top I looked back to see if the orange guys were following. And that's when I saw them down on the road I had come from, continuing on, where I thought I was supposed to go. "That bitch". I cursed the woman in the car as I ran back down the hill, my quads burning. Left at the bottom, I chased the guys in orange. I was all set to let that woman hear it when I saw her next. She left me to go the wrong way. As I was approaching the guys in orange, the woman driver flipped around and came my way. "Sorry," she said as she pulled over with a rolled down window. "I was on my way to get you." Yeah, like what, after those guys ran a mile? Like really. Instead of wasting negative energy, I simply said, "No worries," and got back on my horse. I was still running very strong, though my lungs were burning due to breathing more heavily. I passed orange guys in the first third of the covered bridge spanning the Connecticut and hammered the rest of the way to the finish. I looked at my watch now and then because I really wanted to go under 9 hours. By the time I ran through town and into the high school for the finish, total time was 8:55. Orange dudes finished in over 9 hours.</p>