Something I Learned: Balance

Two years ago I gave up alcohol and rest days, and I've never felt better. Spoiler alert: the key was living at elevation in a place so beautiful it demands activity. Also, I discovered that speeding up recovery times and doing not only a variety of activities but a variety of combinations of activities equals less real rest.  

I spent a lot of years (like, 12 years) running between 40 and 70 miles a week. (Sometimes more). Each day was essentially the same. Out the door within 10 minutes of waking for as many miles as I felt like going. I usually took a rest day every 10-14 days, usually after a longer or tougher run. Sometimes I pushed it to 3 weeks. Don't get me wrong, I loved it. Sometimes I planned what I'd do the night before, and sometimes I'd just see where my feet took me: hills, long slow distance, to the track, the park, etc. But I also started getting chronic stress fractures in my metatarsals. I am HORRIBLE at being injured. Anyone who knows me well, without hesitation, will confirm. I have a really, really hard time being still. I got so many stress fractures that I invested in my own "boot," and would throw it on for a few weeks whenever I felt the burning pain in my foot bones. 

But eventually I was sick of sacrificing even 5 or 6 weeks a year to heal my feet. I decided to spend more time on my bike, in the pool, and generally doing things other than running to get my fix. When I moved from New York City to Colorado in June of 2016, I first moved to Leadville: a town that sits at 10,200 feet. For people coming from life at sea-level, even 5,000 feet of altitude takes some adjustment; but 2-miles high can be straight-up scary. It took most of 2 months before I could run 3 miles without stopping to catch my breath. For a while, just walking and talking was a real workout. Swimming was ridiculous: a rest after every 50 meters. Each morning for the first month, I woke feeling hung over, even if I hadn't been drinking. And when I was drinking, it usually wasn't more than a beer or two before I'd feel sick. 

Going from NYC to Leadville was kind of like being injured, and I wanted to get better. I decided I'd give up alcohol entirely until I was used to the altitude. But after one month of a clear head and no alcohol, I dared myself to go a year. Honestly, after a year of no drinking, it wasn't even something I thought about. I'm pretty good at discipline: almost to a fault. If I give something up, it's just gone: not an option. I also noticed that I woke each day ready for adventure. I was discovering so many things to do that I had a constantly growing list. Two years later, my list is still very long. Just this weekend I started looking into kayaking lessons, and I totally want to surf the Buena Vista river park.

I also made my vow because something really bad happened to a friend of mine involving alcohol. So there was a secondary drive of solidarity in the decision. Around that time I remember hearing someone on the radio say something like, "If you can't get through a day, week, month, year without alcohol because you think it makes things more fun, then you might just be a really boring, uncreative person." I remember being offended at the time, and then a little scared that they were right. Now, I totally agree. 

Obviously I'm not against rest: I usually rotate which disciplines I'm going hard in from week to week. For my first year of triathlon, I worked with a coach to learn how to pair activities together. A hard run in the morning and an easy swim in the afternoon. A long bike ride the next day and a short swim in the evening. Occasionally a trail run in the early morning and a short/hard hill ride in the afternoon. And then skiing, rock climbing, rowing, and SUP-ing every once in a while for a different kind of core strength. With so many days of double-duty, the body learns to recover quickly. I found that several two-a-days followed by a day or two with only one activity, feels like vacation. And if I've gone really hard for a while, or am just feeling drained, a hike with the pup or an easy swim feels better than doing nothing. So, rest is good, but variety and active recovery has been the name of the game for me. Basically, I just never want to miss a day outside. 

I'm also not totally anti-alcohol. I fully support kicking your feet up with a cold beer or cocktail if that's your thing. Des Linden and Linsey Corbin are absolute heroes of mine, and both are known for their ability to recover with a libation. But for me, relaxing has come to include things that make me feel recovered instead of in need of recovery. Relaxing these days means hammock time, garden time, and falling asleep on the couch to a movie. 

Race Report: Boulder West End 3k

I've been running since I was 10-years-old, when I'd "help" my dad get ready for marathons. That doesn't mean I am or have ever been particularly amazing (even during my cross-country days, I was usually 4th runner in), it just means I've run at a lot of events. Boulder Westend 3k made me realize that the best events are super simple, super cheap, grassroots, just a bunch of runners who love to run. We don't need swag. We don't need packet-pickup. We don't need all the crap that gets in the way of running. This race is so fun because it's spectator-friendly. Which means it's automatically not as fast as a track, or maybe even your typical looped road race. But, all those hairpin turns (3 times around a 1k "loop," down and back the same street) mean spectators get to see the runners several times. Nothing matches the hype of streets lined with cheering fans. Everyone imagines leading the pack--being the hero.  

I knew I wanted to watch the elites run, so I entered the open 3k, which went first: even if I could technically qualify as elite (women had to run it in under 13 minutes), it was WAY more fun to watch the pros than to be dusted by them. After rain cleared through the area, the sun came out and Pearl Street was bumping. I saw Noah Droddy before the open race, in addition to a few other familiar faces. No matter what day of the week, what time of day, what the weather is, people will show up to run: especially people in Boulder. This race was commemorating Pasta Jay's 30th year in Boulder, and the place was packed. It was all organized by former Olympic marathoner Lee Troop, and TEAM Boulder. 

The open race was super fun. At first I thought making all those turns would be annoying, but passing the crowd 5 times in a few minutes was awesome. My legs were still recovering from a 100-mile ride with 7,200 feet of gain I had done the day before, so I wasn't trying to crush it. Nonetheless, the runners were keeping a good pace, and I managed a 6:45 average. I'm glad to know that with some work, I could probably get "fast" again. 

Then the main event. Noah Droddy hung back for the first loop, and let the other top guys set the pace. By the last loop, he was inching to the front, and by the final straightaway he was totally crushing it. He looked over his shoulder a few times to make sure he was set: no one was near him. I haven't seen official times, but he crossed the line right around 8:35. It's fun to see the local hero win a race, especially one who is such a good character. Noah and I had the same cross-country coach: went to the same tiny college in Indiana; so, it's like he's family. Overall, this was a great community event. There was a 1k race for kids under 12, several local vendors on hand, and plenty of outdoor seating to grab a bite and watch the best of Boulder. 

Race Report: Boulder Peak 2018

For the past two years, as soon as this race is over, I tell myself: don't sign up for this race next year--it's too hot. But then the scorching heat is replaced by the cool Boulder weather we love, and I only think, That's such an epic race, I have to do it again! So I'm writing this here, to remind myself: it's an epic race, and it's almost always the hottest week of the year. Here are my details:

The morning before the race I did a shake-out open-water swim with no wetsuit. It was the first time in a long time that I had gone that far without a wetsuit. And honestly, it felt great. More range of motion, nice and cool, and I oddly felt faster. I swam around 1,200 yards, and decided I'd try a race without a wetsuit. (This is where most people opt for a speed suit, but I don't have one). What I didn't take into account was, I was alone in a calm lake on my rehearsal swim....that's very different from race morning chaos. (I have been swimming with the open-water crew at Horsetooth for the past several weeks, but always in a wetsuit). I learned my lesson. And that lesson is, the wetsuit is my friend: take the wetsuit. It just cuts down on so much fatigue. As I was swimming in only my tri suit, I kept feeling like I was having a panic attack. It wasn't a complete disaster, but my pace was 1:46/100 yards where I was hoping for 1:38 or faster. I tried to put it behind me as I entered T1 and remembered I didn't have to strip a wetsuit. T1 = 2:33 

This year they did the waves by gender, which was different from last year. First, the elites, then all of the men (youngest to oldest), and then the women. At first, being in wave 10 had me worried I wouldn't begin until 8am: they said they were going to leave 5 minutes between waves, but only ended up leaving 2 minutes. I started right around 7:25am. 

I'm still earning my street-cred as a cyclist in Colorado, and I've been doing a LOT of climbing. I don't have a tri bike because I honestly can't rationalize it. I think of myself as a swimmer, a biker, and a runner, but only mediocre at the actual triathlon. Nonetheless, I honestly think the road bike is a better choice for this race. I passed A TON of tri bikes on the way up Olde Stage, and really for the entire first 8-miles of the race. (I still can't believe that some people unclip and walk up this not-at-all-enormous hill). There's actually no better feeling than whizzing by someone on a crazy-expensive tri bike and aero helmet as a roadie. After the Olde Stage climb, there's a 35 mph speed zone. But...it's really just for safety. The rest of the course is rolling and fast. I made myself eat two gels on the bike, and my entire bottle of water. The heat was getting intense even on the bike. My pace was 18.1 mph for a 1 hour 24 minute split. 

T2 = 1:37  The run at Boulder Reservoir is almost entirely exposed. I'm a huge fan of the crushed gravel, but this is a brutal course. Almost everyone I saw was stopping at each mile for water. I stopped at most aid stations myself. It was too hot to risk serious dehydration. I actually felt really good for the entire run. I think I could have pushed harder and probably come away with at least a 7:45 pace, but I played it safe and was satisfied with a 7:55 pace for a 48-minute split. 12th out of 27 in my category (but with the second fastest run), 45th woman out of 200. 

Overall, this is a great race. The heat is always a factor. I would love to race this course in late-September or October. My time last year was right around the 3-hour mark, and this year it was 2:49, so I'm stoked that I trimmed it down, despite the swim. I don't know if I'll race this again (I probably will). The Withoutlimits crew is so great. Everything about the race organization is always awesome. And there's nothing better than a slip-n-slide finish!

Gear: Altra Superior 3.5

When I lived in Brooklyn, NY, I worked at a (then) locally-owned running and triathlon store. It was like Cheers but with gear instead of booze. The manager had been there for 9 years, and was king of the neighborhood. Kids stopped in on their way home from school. Loyal customers brought cookies on holidays. Regulars showed up for group runs in the pouring rain. Even though I had been teaching higher education for more than a decade, I learned more in the running store than I had since I bagged groceries at the local co-op during graduate school. Everyone should be required to work retail or an otherwise low-wage job as an adult: humanity might be saved. 

I specifically remember when we were introduced to the Hoka One One (pronounced oh-nay oh-nay). I took a picture of a quarter next to the height of the cushioning, and rolled my eyes for months. We were at the tail end of the minimalist craze, and I felt embarrassed to even have it in the store. I treated the Hokas as sort of a joke: whenever I brought it out for a customer to try on, I said something like, "And then there's THIS!" Other employees made a note of telling us all if they sold a pair. We'd wager bets on how soon a customer would return them.

Fast-forward...I've been wearing nothing but Hokas (Cliftons) for at least 2 years. After finally breaking down and buying my first pair, I couldn't get over how light they were, and how 100% injury-free they made me. Now they're everywhere. I even saw a photo of my cross-country coach wearing a pair! (Go Tigers). 

But, when I started getting serious about trail running a few months ago, I started tripping on rocks. I know this is largely (if not entirely) human error, but I wanted a new shoe: something with a low drop and more traction. I found the Altra Superior 3.5. Like the Hoka, this is a unique shoe, and certainly not for everyone. It is "minimal" in that it is zero-drop, but it's nothing like a racing flat. The cushion is perfect and the grip is incredible. I haven't tried the rock plate that can be added because I love it as-is. My foot doesn't move around at all, despite the "foot-shaped" toe box.  

Altra is built on the ample-forefoot room (their motto is "embrace the space,") which I love. I recently put this shoe to the ultimate test. Horsetooth Mountain in seriously muddy, foggy, slick, rainy conditions. I ran a little over 6 miles with 1,600 feet of climb and descent. This shoe was amazing. Even thick mud didn't stick to the lugs on the sole: it transitioned well from mud to rock to grass. (For a long time--like, 7 years--the Mizuno Wave Rider was my shoe; but my main complaint with that shoe was that "stuff" constantly got stuck in the wave plate: snow, mud, rocks...) With the Altra, I went through puddles and streams and even scrambled up some rock, and never slipped or collected the trail in my shoes. While the upper isn't waterproof, necessarily, I never felt uncomfortable despite being covered in mud and rain. At the end of my run, I sprayed them off with the water fountain at the trailhead and the grime washed right off. While mud and rain haven't ever been my ideal conditions for running, they might soon be with the Altras.  

Something I Learned: Slowing the Pace

Trail running has always sort of intimidated me. But, anything I'm not really good at intimidates me. I tend to be a one-pace person. That pace has changed over the years, but generally I go x-minute miles with only about 20 seconds difference. Ever.

I grew up running with no devices and never really worried about numbers. When I went to college, my father got me a Timex watch that had one feature: a timer. I went out for between 40 and 50 minutes each morning during the week, and 80 to 100 minutes on the weekend. I ran every day and didn't even know how fast I was going. I drove routes in my old Chevy Lumina, in order to have some idea what the milage was. When I started running cross-country, everything was new to me. Tempo, fartlek, repeats. The only "speed" work I did with my father was sprinting to the end of each run: maybe 100-200 yards. 

Because speed work wasn't how I was born into running, I feel like I always sort of dreaded it. Each first day of practice after a break from school, my college coach would have us run a timed mile. I never stopped running during breaks, so it wasn't a big deal for me. But my teammates (whether they did their own conditioning or not) would run so hard they'd vomit. I never got that: I never went that hard. 

I've given trail running a few chances here and there, but recently I think I'm finally GETTING it: like being a kid again. Pace doesn't really matter. Or, not like it does on flat land. There's zero consistency. Get up the hill (or, mountain), recover, and fly down the other side. It's. So. Much. Fun. I've been getting up earlier and earlier to be the only one at Devil's Backbone in Loveland, Colorado. The first-light sun on the rocks is always stunning. There are several different trail options, and all give way to views of Rocky Mountain National Park--namely, Long's Peak. 

I like the concentration of being on the trails: it's actually freeing. There's so much to think about (rocks, foot placement, climbs, mud, grass...rattle snakes) that you can't get wrapped up in anything else. Nothing can clutter the mind except the trails. And I'm totally fine with my miles spanning at least 3-minutes on the trails: it all balances out. 

ColoRADo Fall

It's full-on fall in Colorado, and I'm once again reminded that this is my favorite season. I think I truly fell in love with the end-of-summer transition into colder weather when I ran cross-country in college. Days started with early-morning miles at sunrise--just for the sake of miles. Practice was at 4pm, which meant hills, drill, sprints, and race strategy, followed by huge team meals. I was running more than 70-miles a week back then, and didn't feel stretched thin. I just loved going as far as I could go.

These last few mornings in Colorado have felt like those CC days. You pick up the pace because the air is crisp and clean, and you just want to go faster. This morning I ran tempo--10x(2 minutes up, 2 minutes down). I tried to keep my ups between 7-flat and 7:15. The humidity was right around 30%. Weather like this makes it easy. 

The first ski slopes open this weekend. As much as I'm looking forward to winter--to becoming true Colorado and getting on skis more than twice this year (AND FAT TIRE BIKING)--I could hang onto fall for at least an extra month. Maybe I'll get my wish. The next 10 days look to be sunny with a high around 70 and a low around 40: literal perfect weather. Hopefully even faster splits. 

Thanks for spoiling me, Colorado! I just raked a few huge piles of leaves, and plan on playing in them with the pup!

Horsetooth Half Marathon

Post race

Sorry Indiana: I don't think I can ever run a flat race again. Running big hills is just too much fun. I've been sort of terrified of this race since I signed up in February. The net elevation gain over 13.1 miles is only 1,000 feet, but the hills are steep: really steep. Within the first 1.7 miles you gain more than 500 feet. (There's a cash prime for the first man and woman to reach the top of those first 2 big hills). Another pretty significant hill is at mile 4, and another one at 8. But then, smooth sailing to the finish line. I highly recommend this race: the opposite of any race experience I've had in big cities. Start time was 8:30 (about an hour and a half too late if you ask me). People show up at 8:15. No drama, no chaos, no waves. Just 1,200 people looking to eat some hills for breakfast. Everyone was so happy to be there. The 1:45 pacer couldn't have been nicer! Small crowds gathered around the hills and dams of the reservoir to cheer. There were cowbells. This is what racing is supposed to be like. The finish line is at the New Belgium Brewery in Ft. Collins, which is a beautiful place to hang out. A (really good) band played, people relaxed on the lawn and enjoyed either free beer or, like me, DAIRY FREE CHOCOLATE MILK! 

Monster Mountain

As soon as my quads are fully recovered from the downhill sections, I'll be back on those hills to train. And I'll certainly be back next year: by that time, I hope to be able to sprint up the hills with super lungs and legs.