My first 100k - Born To Run Ultra Marathon

Photography by Larry Gassan - Mile 50 Heading out on my last loop.
I'm surprised he caught me with half a smile on my face.

The DNF Banner at the Born To Run Ultramarathon had all sorts of excuses. My favorite was "I'm just a Grade-A Pussy." And... "Puke. Puke. Puke." There were some hardcore runners out there. Some barely hanging by a thread in the middle of the night to finish 100 miles. 

My post race restless sleep was interrupted by either the throbbing in my legs or the occasional runner being assisted by friends and family on their way in from their last loop. Salsa music blared late into the night while runners were still being announced by Luis Escobar himself as they finished their loops or headed back out. It was the music and party at the finish line that lured me in from those last miles. And the way that the cheering and music glided over the hills through the dense dark was seriously seductive, pushing me on to run the last four miles to the finish without stopping. That was my most vivid memory of my first 100k ultra marathon.

I had an eery confidence about this race. I wasn't nervous. I wasn't worried. Yeah. Sixty-two miles seemed like a long way to go, but for some insane reason I wasn't really all that messed up in my head about it. Since the course consisted of two ten-mile loops I looked at it like a regular workover - in terms of sets rather than the mileage as a whole. At any ten mile point I could just bail and drink beer. I just had to complete six sets of ten. Surely, I could do three sets and then I was half-way there, right?

Me with my ultra-running buds
Patrick Sweeney &
Alex (my not-so-serial-killer new friend)

So I packed up my running and camping gear and headed out early Friday morning to head down to Los Olivos, CA. I had to make a pitstop in the Bay Area at the Walnut Creek BART station to pick up an unknown fellow runner who, for all I knew, might be using the "no transportation" excuse as a means to chop my body up into little bits. Ok. So that's a little dramatic. If there's one thing I learned about this community of ultra-runners its that we are all a big family. This kid from San Francisco had the same motivations as I did: he was looking for an adventure and to challenge himself. He just didn't have a car and was, lucky for me, sans sharp objects. It was all good.

Picking up my race packet
and welcome necklace

The drive down was relatively uneventful. Once at the ranch we handed our waivers over to the "greeter" at the front gate and drove on in. I spotted Patrick Sweeney (Bourbon Feet) setting up camp along with his buddies from the Copper Canyon Ultra Marathon, Caleb Wilson, François "Flint" Bourdeau and Mike Miller. Later, some of the guys from Luna Sandals joined us along with Caity McCardell (Run Barefoot Girl), Maria Walton (Micah True's girlfriend) and the sweet Guadajuko, (Micah's loyal pooch). Eventually I spotted Shacky and Vanessa and enticed them to set up camp with our crew. We snacked and then headed over to the registration table to pick up our bib numbers.

Rarajipari!
Tarahumara ball races.

Shortly after picking up my race packet and grabbing a cold beer, race director Luis Escobar briefed us on the course loops, ribbons, and signage. He made it perfectly clear to everyone that there would be no whiners at this race. I loved his tough love attitude. "If you get hurt, lost or die its your own damn fault" our host announced over the loudspeaker. We would be repeating the Caballo Blanko oath again the next morning as part of our pre-race ritual. And I loved it when Luis said... "This is not Wildflower. We are not pretty people. We are dirty, gritty, ultra runners." (or something like that) I loved this guy. He was honest and genuine. And a hard ass. I can appreciate that.

Hanging out by the campfire.
Caleb looks happy to see fire. Ha!
(Photo credit: Anthony Sanders)

While I was eating dinner the Rarajipari (a Tarahumara ball race) began. People's names were drawn to compete against one another in a running/ball "flicking" race to cross the line. Then after a couple more beers, and a little visiting with friends... I was asleep in my van. Well, sorta. I didn't sleep all that well, but who does the night before a race?

Someone was carb loading
the night before.

It was a chilly, foggy morning come race day. Mexican music bellowed through camp at 5:15am. I made the decision to run with two handhelds (one water and the other full of Nuun) and a single flask of my homemade gel iskiate (which I planned to refill back at camp every 10 miles). I filled my hydration pack and left it back at the car just in case I decided to switch. I lubed my toes with body glide, put on my Merrells and a muffin and a banana later I was on the starting line ready to roll. I forgot to brush my teeth. Ewww.

Me and Caity McCardell
(Photo credit: Patrick Sweeney)

I have never seen so many men in skirts in my life! Apparently, this is THE race to well... just let it all hang out! According to Patrick, if you're sans the underwear its technically a kilt, if you're wearing underwear its a skirt. Either way it was totally hot. I could already tell this race was going to be a good one.

The gunshot cracked the crisp air and we were off.

Heading out on the first pink loop.
(Photo credit: Anthony Sanders)

Initially my goal for this 100k was just to finish regardless of time. But, after I had completed the first lap of the yellow loop my goal had evolved. I really wanted to make it to the finish line before dark. There was a very short but pretty steep section of single-track just after the last ridgeline that was dubious in daylight with strong legs let alone the depth deprived darkness after fifty-five miles. The last thing I wanted was to end up on my head at the bottom of the hill at mile fifty-eight. Ugggh.

I was lucky enough to have somehow caught up with Anthony Sanders (one of the Luna guys and a United States Marine) who was also running the 100k. My pace locked in with his and he was my metronome for 30 miles until his knee laid down the smackdown and he was forced to DNF somewhere around the 40 mile mark. 

Its not often that I get to run with people. Running with Anthony was really nice. There's something oddly calming and meditative when your pace matches up with a fellow runner's. It was also nice having someone to chat with and keep me on trail when I missed the turn. Yeah. I did that. Glad someone was there to keep me on track.

Jacobus Degroot
wearing a
Zaps Threads Shirt!

Coming into camp (the center of both loops) after each lap was always a treat. By the time I had completed two loops Patrick (uber ultra runner/Guiness Book record holder for longest distance sand running) was already back at camp and finished with his 50k - taking first place. That wasn't a surprise. Coming in from each loop more and more people appeared back at camp, raising their beer to cheer me on. Is was a big motivation to see people as the day got longer and longer.

Stuffing my face and coming out
of the Barbie Aid Station.
Photo credit: Anthony Sanders

Funny how it took me until about mile 20 to realize that I had no knee pain, no hip pain and the tight hamstring I was worried about had loosened up and was a total non-issue. I had my fiyah! 

Admittedly though, my right foot was feeling pretty beat up by mile twenty-five. This, I kind of expected and has been pretty much par for the course for most of my races. The ground was hard-pack and gravelly with smaller sections of grassy, holey, uneven bits. My brand spankin' new, barely worn Merrell Pace Gloves worked like a champ, but the thinner sole of the minimal shoes still felt every sharp and jabby rock. My left foot was good. My right foot... not so much. The pain in my foot came and went. Apparently, that foot still pronates slightly which is probably why I ended up with an inconsequential blister on the bottom midfoot below my big toe. The small bunion on that foot gives me trouble from time to time when I run. By mile 25 the bones felt like they were separating when I landed and I would get a few sharp pains every now and then. I also had weird sensations like bleeding between my toes and tingling. As long as the pain wasn't consistent I was going to keep running. So I did.

The guys back at camp.
Flint, Alex, Caleb and Patrick

By noon the mist had burned off and the temps were heating up. I was lucky enough to get the iced-soaked denim treatment at Wild Bill's aid station close to mile 30. They sat me down and draped heavy-weight ice-soaked denim over my shoulders. Then they soaked my visor and strapped it back on my head. It felt amazing! Coming through that aid station after the next loop the volunteers told me I looked much better. I had no idea I looked so bad.   

Besides the ice cold denim drape, the shoulder and neck massage I got at the Barbie aid station was fabulous! They even made Vanessa and Caity mimosas to take with them while they literally inched their way barefoot back to the start line. It was a brutal course for 100% barefoot. I have total respect for both Caity and Vanessa. With the way my feet felt IN SHOES I can only imagine the pain that would ensue barefoot. Those girls were TOUGH!

The aid station volunteers were an amazing, caring, motivating and an observant crew. They were truly watching out for each and every runner out there. Words can't describe how thankful and grateful I was to each and every one of those people. My heart was filled with gratitude each and every time I left an aid station.

Coming in to mile 50.
Photo credit: Patrick Sweeney

So the fiyah happened for me around mile 30. In fact miles 30-50 were absolutely magical. I did more running in those miles than I did in the first 20. Instead of feeling tired I felt like I was getting stronger. The hills were a bit harder (I had to use Pablo's trick of walking up some backwards on the last ten miles to alleviate the burn), but I fell into my mojo easier on the longer stretches and felt more relaxed than I did in the beginning. I was surprised that my legs never felt wobbly or weak, which I expected.


Speaking of expectations... my hope was to not only complete this 100k, but to also have some kind of transcending experience. I wanted to dig deep with this race. I wanted to suffer and push through. I wanted that experience. I've never hit a wall. I haven't even really had to struggle too much mentally with the longer distances and was, in a strange sadistic way, hoping to find my limit somewhere within 62 miles.

So did I find my limit?

Not really. 

Well... it was hard heading out on that last yellow loop and walking away from camp (the top black and white picture was taken as I was heading out on my last loop and was shot by Larry Gassan (larry@larrygassan.com) a professional fine art photojournalist who photographs endurance athletes) All my buddies were hanging out at the finish line getting dinner and beers and cheering people on. The salsa music had started and people were getting their party on. Not only was I hungry for a big ol' fat burger, but my eyes had started getting droopy and I was feeling a very large nap coming on. It was hard not knowing what the last 12 miles would be like especially knowing that I was on my own, in my own head and would be solo in the dark at some point (I was hoping I wouldn't need my headlamp until after I got down from that last ridgeline). But, never for a moment did I doubt that I could finish. In fact, during the last 15 miles that was all that I could think about. That I was going to do this. And I did.

Start/Finish Line and the funky manequin

And even though I didn't make it to the finish line before dark I achieved my "Plan B" goal which was to make it off that little steep bit before dark. It was twilight when I pulled into what was to be my last aid station on the yellow loop. I sat down for a few minutes and chatted with Bill, the volunteer, and another guy running the 100 miler. I grabbed a handful of red vines (I have no freakin clue why those looked so delicious to me) turned on my headlamp and trotted slowly out of the aid station and onto the dark road.

My 100k finish!
(Photo credit: Patrick Sweeney)

With only 4 miles to go my feet were on auto-pilot and I was being summoned to the finish line. It actually hurt more to walk at that point because the road was hard packed and gravelly. Running with a headlamp in pitch black darkness is like running in a box. There's not much to look at except maybe 10-15 feet in front of you and a small peripheral area. With nothing to look at I was bored and in my head a little more than I wanted to be at that point. That's when my other senses took over and I found myself being seduced by sounds and smells. It was a pretty cool experience.


Coming in to the finish line I had only a small two-mile out and back to the funky lingerie manequin to do. I was re-energized by the cheering and the music which made those last two miles tolerable. Everybody was salsa dancing and partying. It looked like a fun place to be.

My Kukini finisher's amulet

And upon final completion of 62 miles in order to receive the official kukini finisher's amulet, I had to... hula hoop. 

Wha??? You say.

Oh yes. Hula hoop. With a big, ginormous hula hoop. 

So I did. I had no idea I could hula hoop after 62 miles. Then the hot shirtless guy with the pink skirt (I think his name was Jacob) tied the amulet around my neck, picked me up and spun me around until I was sufficiently dizzy. Honestly, dude could'a just put a beer in my hand and called it good. After setting me down, he had to hold on to me for a few seconds to keep me from falling on my ass.

I wish I had party in me left to stay at the finish line and join the cheering crowd as the other 100k finishers and 100 mile runners were coming through, but honestly, there was good beer waiting in my cooler back at camp and once I sat down to enjoy my Torpedo IPA it was all over. That's OK, though, because I'll be back again next year.

Who knew I could hula hoop after 62 miles!

I did it. And not only did I run 62 miles, but I completed it in 15:38 which I honestly don't know if that's a good time or not, but it was enough to make me a top overall women's finisher in 3rd place (there were 12 women who finished the 100k). I didn't figure that out until a day later when my coach Seth facebooked me and congratulated me on my finish. That's when it all sunk in and I thought to myself "HOLY FUCK I JUST DID THAT!!" Not only that, but my longest training run to date has never been anything over 4-5 miles. And I did it all in my minimal shoes.

 

The video above is Caity McCardell's video of the weekend shenanigans. She also captured me finishing my 100k and hula hooping. (Fast forward to 3:30) She also got video of Maria's tattoo, ball racing, and the salsa dancing party at the finish line.

I can wholeheartedly say now that my training is working for me. I'm staying uninjured. I'm strong. I'm well prepared and in shape for these long miles (though, I have some strengthening in my right foot to do) and I've got serious fiyah. I'm able to achieve distances I never thought were even possible. It amazes me just how far I've come (literally) just within the last six months. Words can't even describe how thankful I am to my coach, Seth, for putting up with me and all my doubts. Lets just see where this takes me from here.

My ultra running family. (Anthony, Me, Vanessa, Shacky, Alex, Flint, Patrick, Maria, Caleb, Mike, Caity and her children, with sweet pooches Guadajuko and Nigel). Someone I really wanted to meet was not in this picture. Funny how we left a spot for Micah. I'm sure he was there in spirit running the trails with Maria, Guadajuko and the rest of us.

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Check out more of Larry Gassan's photography from the Born To Run Ultra Marathons.

My Little Black Strap

Getting my black strap on. 
The assisted "couch stretch."

I have a black rubber strap attached to the base of my bed. I know this sounds way kinky and like I've got a bedroom bondage fetish going on, but before ya'll go on an epic mental tangent about this mystery strap and its myriad of naughty uses, understand this: This little mother fucker takes mobility to a whole new level. This hardy piece of rubber is like having your own PT or sadist dominatrix, whichever floats your boat I guess.

Although my husband and I joke half seriously about its potential as a marital aid, I actually use this stretchy black rubber strap to facilitate joint distraction in my hips.

I know. B-O-R-I-N-G. 

That little black strap is all about the distraction without the sexual benefits. For now, anyway.

Distraction of a joint separates the joint surfaces without pulling ligaments out of place or dislocating anything. For people like me, with tight hip flexors and junky joints, the aid of a stretchy band can help loosen my hips considerably when I'm stretching. It can be a little intense while I'm using it but afterwards I feel less stiff and much more mobile. 

Bedroom Bondage

I'm aware of the huge controversy about stretching. I know there are a ton of studies out there which go both ways, but, what I've come to believe is that it seems stretching is more personal and situational. I have a tendency to hold my body in constant tension (yeah... I'm literally uptight and wound up all the time) and stretching for me forces me to consciously relax those muscles on a regular basis. For me, that's critical.

There are certain stretches that I can do that feel amazing afterward (like the pigeon pose or the couch stretch in the above pic. Other stretches Fuck. Me. Up. I tried doing a wall stretch by laying on the ground and propping my feet up against the wall. A super simple stretch, right? My left leg was good, but it somehow messed up my right leg. In fact, my right leg felt like it was overextending at my knee and it ached for some time after that. Recipe for disaster in my book. That stretch was fired.

So for me stretching is done as a way to facilitate range of motion and loosen me up. Um. I should mention here that cocktails loosen me up too *grinning* and if I combine the two its like I've transformed myself into an Olympic gymnast! You should see me try to do the splits after a couple gin fizz's. Now that's a spectacle. OK. Seriously now, I'm no Olympic gymnast no matter how many cocktails I've had but after I've had a few I like to think I have potential. Actually, not really. I just fall asleep.

One thing I don't normally do is use stretching as part of a warmup to a workover or running, although I might do it several hours prior to exercising and almost always after exercising.

Lately, I've been back to working in my office at a regular desk a couple hours out of the day and I've noticed I've been more tight in my shoulders. Instead of going out and buying another expensive piece of rubber (the black bed strap was part of a $20 pilates kit I bought years ago) I decided to make one myself I can use to stretch my arms, back, and shoulders.

Luckily, my husband is a bike whore. We have old mountain bike tires and punctured road bike tubes decorating the walls and floor of our garage. In fact, we could make bank in Japan converting all that rubber into those cheesy rubberized fake food displays. Yeah. We have a lot of rubber.


So here's what I did. It was super easy.

1. Got myself an old bike tube.

2. Cut the stem out.

3. Cut open the tube along one fold.

4. You will have about a 3in. wide piece of rubber.

5. Tie a knot in it.

Also, once I cut it I washed all the powder out of the inside. It was getting a little messy. I guess you can leave it unknotted and tie it permanently to whatever, but I plan on wrapping mine around a tree limb or my doorway pullup bar. Cutting the rubber so its open makes it more stretchable, but I guess you could just use the tire tube as is. Just be sure to tie it around something heavy that isn't going to move easily. The bed is a no-brainer. 

Black band tire tube.

As for my training for this upcoming 100k I've been cautious with a tight right hamstring and funky hip lately. Besides the speedwork and intervals I did a couple weeks ago my training has been consisting of little running. Luckily, the time off seems to be making it better. The inside of both my thighs were really sore several weeks ago and it perplexed me just how long it had been going on. It had been a good three weeks. I had muscle spasms in my quads and that achy knee. I could definitely feel it when I walked and running made it worse. Finally, thanks to some of this stretching and LOTS of rowing I think I'm back on track.

We'll see.
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100k - Born To Run Ultramarathon Prep

In about two weeks I will be driving about six hours to run for about twelve hours (actually, I have no idea how long I will be running. It could be seventeen for all I know so I plan on bringing my headlamp just in case.) 

The Born To Run Ultramarathon is the perfect opportunity to test my training and endurance and I almost missed it. Whew. That was a close one.

Am I ready to run 60+ miles? Who knows? My plan is the same as always. Get my ass to the first aid station and see how I feel from there. My only real big question mark right now is whether my feet will hold up. I plan on wearing my Merrell Pace Gloves. Its by default, really. I don't have any other option other than barefoot or my Invisible Shoe huaraches, which might be a possibility at any given point. We'll see. I also plan on bringing some socks that might add a little cushion if my feet get a little battered. This trail is probably not as technical as my last few races so I may not get the fatigue I'm used to, but I've never ran more than a 50k so how would I know? I won't. Not until race day. Its all a guessing game at this point.

This race is organized by Luis Escobar, a seriously talented photographer and one of the official characters from McDougall's book, Born to Run who ran the first Copper Canyon Ultramarathon in Urique Mexico.

Inspired by the book, Born to Run, Luis describes this race in his interview with Caity McCardell of Run Barefoot Girl, as more of a mini running festival than a race. Encompassing an entire weekend of camping, music, games and plenty of hard-core running, its not commercial by any means. In fact, its a small, home-grown runner's race. Designed by runners for runners. Luis labels his race in his own words as "FUN-KY." Its essence is old-school, community based. There's no timing chips. No shirts. No awards. No swag (that I know of.) There's minimal support. You go there to run for the pure love of running. It truly is a race that embodies the spirit of ultrarunning. Its about sharing the experience and the passion with fellow runners (and their pooches - yes. Its a dog friendly race as well.). Its ultramarathon fiyah! See why this race is so perfect for me?

Its also a popular race amongst the purist of barefoot runners. Apparently, the trail proved to be challenging last year and few barefoot runners were able to complete the longer distances completely sans shoes. Luis is looking forward to seeing more barefoot runners at his race this year. There's even a community lottery that's being collected that will provide the first award for the first 100 mile barefoot runner. No shoes. No socks. No tape. Nothing. Just pure barefoot. It would be exciting to see that happen.

So I'm getting my camping gear sorted, checking to see if my air mattress will fit in the van, gathering all my running gear and hemming and hawwwing on whether or not to dope. Yeah. You heard me right. I think I might be doping for this race. As soon as I heard Luis mention grass in his interview (not the kind you smoke, but the kind you run on) my allergic ears perked up. I'm thinking I had better not forget my trusty pills or I will be miserable. It might even be a game changer for me.

Words can't begin to describe how stoked I am about participating in this race. I couldn't have made a better decision.


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Life Advice to my Younger Self

My ID card. A registered 24 year old "alien" in England.

For the first time in twenty-five years I saw myself as an athlete. To me, that sounds weird. I'm not a fast runner. I'm not a great cyclist. I'm just a recreational kayaker. I have never placed in any races since I was sixteen. I'm also a 41 year old mom, so to say I'm an athlete is a bit "alien" to me. 

But the other day I walked into the darkened mirrored room at the gym where they do the TRX classes and for a second I thought I saw another woman in there. I went in there to do part of my circuit that included aussie pullups (the ones where you hold onto rings and pull yourself up from a semi prone position.) I saw a woman's silhouette when I looked up after walking into the room. She had seriously muscular quads and sculpted shoulders and I was thinking to myself "that chick is a serious athlete!" It took me a second to realize that it was my own reflection that I was looking at. It was a funny experience not to recognize myself.

Making phone calls?

It doesn't surprise me though. There's a lot that's changed about me within the last few years apart from my physical appearance. I blame some of these changes on my obvious mid-life crisis - come on... isn't the purple hair a giveaway? My other transformations are the result of life events (like my breast cancer scare last year). I have a new appreciation for living. Not only living, but living my life how I want to live it.

Its funny because if I saw the "me" from ten years ago I probably wouldn't recognize her. In fact, I'm not sure that I would even be friends with her. And the person I was at thirty was such a different person than the person I was at twenty. If my 41 year old self had a chance to talk to my 25 year old self there's a lot of shit she would say. In fact, I'd probably lay down the honesty smackdown on her. Hey. Its me. I can take it. So here are a few things I would tell my younger self if I ever ran into her:

College graduation. 1996. 
I had bubbles.

"Lighten up, girl! Don't be so serious."


"Stop second guessing yourself. Be confident about the decisions you make and own your mistakes."


"Don't be so afraid to have kids. You won't be a perfect mother, but you will be the perfect mother for them."


"Open yourself to feel love. Don't hold back anything and you will be rewarded. Even if its wrong sometimes and slaps you in the face, or on the ass."


"You ARE beautiful. BELIEVE it."


"Quit believing you're broken because you're not. You're just temporarily out of order."


"Try risk taking uncalculated sometime. Be spontaneous and don't think so much!"


"One day you will run again. You won't just run a marathon, you will run ultra marathons."

Backpacking at Vogelsang. 
Circa 1998

"If you want to run, throw away the fucking motion controls, girl! You CAN make your feet strong."


"Stop making decisions based on what everyone else thinks. You're a fucking pleaser and it'll ruin your life."


"Be raw every once in a while. Don't be so fucking in control. You will learn a lot about yourself."


"To help with the above, try this recipe: 2 measures of Gin, half a squeezed mandarin, 1 tsp cranberry concentrate, ginger ale. Enjoy!!"

Lavender Party Girl

"Enjoy your 'me' time, you lucky bitch."


"Don't be such a hard-ass. Talk to a stranger and flirt every once in a while."


"Dump the witch on the motorcycle. He's trouble."


I honestly couldn't find a totally serious picture of me except for the ID pic above. That was probably more of a "what the fuck am I doing in a foreign country" and "I haven't slept in almost 48 hours" look. So maybe I'm a little harder on my younger self than I should be.

In general, my younger self didn't do so bad. Afterall, I started my own business at 28. I also partied, travelled, backpacked and waited until I was good and ready to get married and have kids. You can never go through life without making mistakes or having regrets, though. I guess the point is to avoid the BIG mistakes and the BIG regrets. And even if you make the big mistakes and have those big regrets, as long as you're alive, there is always time to make up for it.
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Guess What I Just Did?

I jumped. I signed up for my first 100k! And its in 3 fucking weeks! Holy crap! Talk about a total crack of the whip decision, but I did it. I signed up. I don't know if I can do 60 miles but I think I'd like to try.


I had the Born To Run Ultra Marathon in the back of my head... WAY back in my head because it was coming up so quickly. As it turns out its the perfect race to do my first 100k with three twenty mile loops and camping. Running and camping. Two of my favorite things. So I just jumped. I'm in. We'll see how this turns out. Lately I've been having some slight hamstring/hip issues (which I blame completely on the lack of ass massage aid stations at my last 50k) so we'll see how this all works out.

I can't believe I'm signed up. I'm totally stoked! Now I had better go find my headlamp, cuz I might be a while. Ha!
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Dope To Cope?

I'm not naive and I'm definitely not gullable. In fact, my rose-colored glasses are more of a poop-tinted color. 

I don't believe there has ever been an honest politician, a sinless priest, or a perfect mother. As a matter of fact, as humans I think we are wired to build paths right through the loopholes in life. Its our problem-solving nature to find ways to improve, transform and well...sometimes cheat. 

Honestly, I don't think cheating is all that evil. In fact I would argue that it can ironically add balance to your life especially if you've lived your whole life being a "pleaser" and a "good girl." Trust me on this one. I know from experience.

A pinch of naughty can round us out as individuals. It gives our lives a deeper and more complex flavor. In some ways going against the grain develops our sense of individuality and gives us a unique sense of independence. As long as the irreverence is based on sincere and genuine beliefs (and doesn't involve axing people up into little pieces) it can shape our inner self worth and change our lives. And lets face it. Being naughty is oh so much fun. *grin*

But, just like a lot of things in life, moderation and risk assessment are key here. Cheating in general is not something to take lightly. If you're going to be naughty I believe you have to weigh the risks. Cheating on your diet with that tasty morsel of chocolate is a lot different than cheating on your spouse. The ramifications of the first decision only effect you, the outcome of the second can affect an entire family.

In a nutshell, if you're going to cheat you better weigh the risks first and be damn well ready to accept the consequences. If you compromise your deepest, most fundamental moral code it will be a cavernous crawl out of that hole.

That being said I've been wondering about sports and doping. That shit baffles me. Why would athletes take that kind of risk?

My husband is a mountain biker and road cyclist and follows the Tour de France every year. The first Tour De France I watched with him was a ginormous YAWN. Seriously? Watching a bunch of skeletons suit up in their lycra man-toe shorts and ride for days through the french country-side was not my idea of exciting sport television.

But then drama and scandal started to unfold. Rumors about Floyd Landis and Lance Armstrong being users was way too juicy to ignore. Suddenly, I was drawn to the sport of cycling like a hormonal teenage boy is drawn to the internet.

Apparently, doping allegations have been happening during the Tour almost since its inception in 1903. But actually there's rumor that riders began using performance enhancing drugs long before then. Cycling was considered such an "extreme sport" that riders felt doping was the only way to cope with the pain and suffering through the long distances. So it stands to reason that coping-by-doping would already be embedded in the cycling community long before the Tour de France began.

The biggest mind fuck to me is the fact that these riders were doping with some seriously lethal shit. One of the first drugs of choice for Tour riders was a drug called strychnine. Used mostly as a stimulant to the cental nervous system, strychnine was also a poison used to kill rodents. Yeah. I'm gonna go ride some 2,000 miles AND take a lethal dose of RODENT KILLER!!! Apparently, these dudes weren't the sharpest tool to stab someone with. 

But, besides strychnine, these athletes were competitive enough to use whatever they could get their hands on... alcohol and ether were common choices. 

OK. Um. I have been "known" to carry a small flask of "happy hour" with me on my longer trail runs, so there are no judgements here on that one, but ETHER? That shit seems crazy. Crazy until you look up the difference between alcohol and ether (which I just did) and guess what? The only difference is water. (Yeah. I never took chemistry.)

So here is where things start blurring a little (especially if you've had a cocktail or two). It seems only the high profile sports or races seem to require drug testing. And really, it seems its only the high profile athletes who are doing this. It seems. Afterall, a small edge is all they need to secure endorsements, sponsors and seven figures. Even golfers have been known to dope. Wha? And if golfers are taking this shit who isn't taking it? And then I wonder if any super competitive not-so-professional athletes have ever experimented with doping. And if you're really competitive (you've seen these people at the start lines) and the kind of races you run never test you then its a pretty safe bet no one will ever find out.

Now, I'm not about to go all neighborhood watch and start questioning people at the starting line, but just knowing that this sort of thing is really possible and could be happening under the radar is sorta, well, a little disappointing.

Awwwyeah. Happy Hour Dope Cope

But then again, like I said, I've been known to mix up a little flask of gin iskiate for my races (more for celebratory reasons than performance enhancing ones cuz anyone who has ever ran with me knows I don't run fast. Take my last 50k for example.)


But besides strychnine, alcohol, ether and even blood transfusions where is the line drawn? 

I personally don't take ibuprofen when I'm running long stupid miles, but other people I know do. And when my knee starts to act up on the hills I'm definitely at a disadvantage to someone else who's popping NSAIDs the whole way. Since there's a serious risk and choice involved with taking ibuprofen during a race I would consider this doping.

And what about caffeine for the 100 mile ultras? Would that be considered doping? Clearly it puts you at a disadvantage if you're mormon. Caffeine stimulates the release of free fatty acids (FFAs) from stored triglycerides so an athlete is capable of maintaining a higher power output or delay exhaustion. It can also stimulate the nervous system not only making it easier for an athlete to stay focused but it aids in the contraction of muscles.

And then there's nutrition. If we're talking caffeine, what about carbs? I start carb-doping two weeks before every race since my regular diet consists of little to no carbs. I can't push myself above and beyond my limits on a low to no carb diet, though. I try it on a regular basis with my workovers and interval training and its hard. So when I eat carbs straight for eight hours on one of my long-ass races, you better believe that's doping for me. It even feels like it. Here's a shot of me on carbs at mile 18 of my trail marathon. 

Me on carbs. Rock N River Trail Marathon 2011

Clearly, I hadn't hit any "walls" and was totally on FIYAH!  And I hadn't even had my Happy Hour yet!!

It was the carbs. It was a totally amazing feeling. And you know what's weird? The last two 50ks I did I had the same carb "high" around the same mileage. Its like mile 18 is the magic carb window where my body is burning and glowing in the sheer light of the sugar rainbow. If that's not doping I don't know what is.

But for me, I don't give a fuck if the guy who's all uber competitive with his tricked out fancy shoes decides he needs more of an edge and wants to pump his body full of stupid, risky performance enhancing drugs. But, he could at least tell me about it. Its not gonna change the way I run or the way I fuel, but at least I would have a better idea where I stack up against everyone else. Unless I finish DFL and then clearly EVERYONE is doping except me.
So instead of drug testing and banning people from races I say we let them race but disclose their drug of choice. In fact, maybe we even have it printed on their bib number. 

So the next time you get passed by some nervous dude in the tricked out fancy shoes scratching himself you'll know it was because he was a meth head and not because he was actually fast.

I'm curious what others opinions are. Have you ever cheated? Do you think its possible some athletes dope in the run-of-the-mill 5ks, 10ks and beyond? Have you ever done anything out of the ordinary to increase performance?
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Flexibility - More Than You Want To Know

Oh the possiblities!

Over Easter Break I didn't do squat. Ok. Maybe one squat, but not much more. And I felt it. My hips, quads, calves and achilles were super tight. I pretty much sat on my ass working on my computer (yeah... you would think vacation means "free of work," HA! Not in my opposite world!) This scenario is pretty much a recipe for disaster as far as my mobility goes. Yeah. If you saw me get up to walk across the room you would point and laugh. I looked like a severely wounded animal trying to drag my carcass to the nearest corner so as not to be labeled road-kill.


So over the last few days of my break I pretty much replaced my normal mobility routine with, well... working and cocktails. Funny thing is, the cocktails worked. Talk about FLEXIBILITY. Awwwwyeah! After a couple gin and cranberies or a few beers I swear I could do the splits! OK. That's probably a bit of an exaggeration (um... maybe not as much of an exagerration as you might think), but I wrote this post on the last day of my vacation while under the influence so take my words with a grain of salt, or maybe a splash of bitters. Trust me, the bitters are the way to go. *wink*


So before my sudo health hiatus, otherwise known as Easter Break, I was working diligently on getting my mobilitude on. Its all about the mobilitude, flexibilitude, pliabilitude, bendabilitude... And lately I've been working on the split-it-itudes. (how do you like my George Bush inspired vocabulary?) Well, at least I was working on doing the splits. Last time I tried it I got low enough (which really isn't that low for me) my hips locked up, my abs cramped and I needed to recruit help to get myself back up again. Seriously. Trying to do the splits right now is a two person endeavor. I need to call for back up.


As you can see my fitness is not limited to sweat drenching workovers, high intensity sprinting or even whacking myself in the head multiple times with a jump rope. I have work to do in the mobility and flexibility department especially if I want to run long stupid miles. Or if I want to fix my bad posture. Or stay injury-free. Or, well.. as my minus-mobility break revealed... walk.


But, what exactly is mobility and flexiblity? Yeah. I've been trying to suss this out for myself. It seems some people have it and others don't. So here goes a partly intoxicated explanation:
Flexibility refers to the ability of a muscle and other soft tissues to lengthen, but its more than that. It also encompasses mobility in a joint which is the range of motion that joint has. If you don't have flexibility, you will limit your mobility. As Seth puts it... 

"Being inflexible is the same as driving around in your car while your parking break is on.  It won’t stop you, but it sure as hell puts a ton of wear on the car and requires much more force to get anywhere."

And you'll probably look like a total dork. Which isn't hard for me to do. I try to limit my dork-like tendencies by not driving with the parking break on. So flexibility is yet another reason why I'm working my ass off with all this mobility stuff. Well, not literally working my ass off, cuz it was still there last time I caught some random creepy dude at the gym taking a picture of it. Really. Maybe I should wear a pair of shorts like the chick above that say "No Flash Photography, Please." on my ass next time.


Moving on... 


Flexibility can either be static or dynamic in nature. 


Static flexibility is the range of motion that can be achieved when, for example, someone else takes your leg through a hamstring stretch. 


Dynamic flexibility is the range of motion an athlete will produce on their own during a movement. Here's where speed and velocity become a factor. A sprinter might need more dynamic flexibility in their hips than say a pole dancer. Ok. Maybe pole dancers do need lots of dynamic hip flexibility. Bad example, but you get it. Its important to have a good amount of range of motion in a joint in order to produce speed and velocity.


But, mobility and flexibility is not just about the joints and the muscles. The nervous system plays a key role here as well. In fact, many experts believe that our nervous system may be what's keeping people like me from doing the splits. If I can lift my left leg up to a 90 degree angle and do the same with the right leg what's stopping me from doing both at the same time? Well, other than the fact that I don't have two classical columns to prop myself up on like this dude...

Men who can do the splits are pretty hot.

When I try to do the splits my inner thigh muscles are screaming out, "OH HELL NO!" and they're not budging. So what gives (or doesn't give in my case)?

Well, first of all, its not our muscles that are saying "OH HELL NO!!" its actually our nervous system. Specifically some little nerve dudes who live inside the muscle in what is called the muscle "spindle." They like to chat with their pals in the spinal cord about our stretch reflex by barking out technical coordinates and such like the length and rate of muscle lengthening. Apparently they think they're pretty smart since they help to control our muscle reflexes.

The spindle is also responsible for the phenomenon known as reciprocal inhibition. What happens is when a muscle contracts the opposite muscle will relax to allow the movement to occur without resistance. THIS, my friends, is TEAMWORK.

Check out this party trick:

To experience what I'm talking about here firsthand, stand or sit in front of a counter or table and press the edge of your hand, karate-chop style, onto the tabletop. If you touch the back of your upper arm—your triceps muscle—you'll notice that it's firmly engaged. If you touch the opposing muscles, the biceps (the big muscles on the front of your upper arm), they will be relaxed.  

This reciprocal inhibition shit is pretty cool stuff. Ok. I will admit. My geeky side is on display right now.

And you know who else likes to chat with the nerves in the spinal cord? The Golgi Tendon Organ (commonly referred to as the GTO). Hey! G-T-Ohhhhh! GTO sounds a little gangsta to me.

The GTO lives in some fibers that attach muscle to bone (hence the tendon description). So this guy is one of the first to know when a muscle is being contracted or stretched. This dude might think he's a big know-it-all telling the nerves in the spinal cord all about what's going on with the muscles around him but its really the smaller, more nerdy nerve cell in the spinal cord that sends the signal back whether to initiate smackdown by either contracting the muscle or relaxing it. Those little nerdy guys are pretty bossy. They like to bitch slap me if I even THINK about doing the splits. Afterall, they are trying to keep me from hurting myself and having to call back up.


So its my small, nerdy nerve cells in my spinal cord that I need to have a talking to. But apparently they eventually chill with their "OH HELL NO!" signals and let our muscles relax once the muscle spindle has had a chance to adapt to the new length. Which takes about six seconds.
This would totally explain all that hooha about how stretching before activity might not be such a good idea.


Its probably not a good idea to put my muscles to sleep right before I'm about to run a time trial or do Tabata sprints. And I don't need a bunch of slacker muscles right before I'm about to do deadlifts or heavy squats either.


But if I did a bunch of lunges, squats, or whacked myself a few times with a jump rope my GTO dude would yell out "GAME ON!" and give me some power.


A dynamic warm-up increases blood flow to the muscles and can increase power, flexibility, and ultimately range of motion which is why its great before a workout. On the other end of things static stretching is great for after a workout since its sending the "chill out and don't do shit" signals to the muscles if they are in any static position for more than six seconds. I wonder if that's why I get all narcoleptic while I'm stretching after a workover. Hmmmmm...


So it IS possible for me to do the splits. Eventually. But it may take some time. I have to convince my spinal cord nerds to tell their GTO and other buddies to lighten up and relax a bit. In the meantime, I've gleaned some valuable information just on flexibility and mobility and how it all works with my brain and nervous system. See what five days in the woods does to you?


And now I have to apologize for vomiting all this information all over you. Drinking and unrestricted access to the internet is a dangerous thing.
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