American River 50 Mile Endurance Run

 I did it, 50 miles officially crossed off my bucket list. Truthfully I don't even know where to start in my explanation of what happened on Saturday, I'm sure my account of this event will take more than one post to cover fully.

I ate 4 consecutive In N Out meals to prep for the race. It is the one thing that I know does not upset my stomach...and it is delicious.

I'm going to start with this:
If you know someone who is an ultra marathoner in any capacity, you need to immediately meet them with a warm embrace. I now speak from first hand experience that you may think you know what "hard" is, or how "sore" feels...you have no idea. No frickin' clue. These people are a special kind of incredible crazy that deserve your support and praise, because never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined any event so mentally and physically demanding as a 50 mile run. Send these people your love, that's an order.

Roughly 1,000 people signed up for the event, around 850 finished. My wave began at 6:15, immediately following the first wave at 6am which mostly included elites. I pushed off the line and never looked back, rolling through the first 25 miles at around 8:30-9:30 pace. The first half of the course was flat, primarily road or bike path, and relatively easy to pass other runners. It wasn't until I hit that aid station at the 25 mile mark that I hit my first (of what would be many) wall.

Mile 12 - Willow Creek Aid Station

My feet started to ache so bad, I could hardly stand it. I typically run with orthodics, well...I should say that I used to run with orthodics. Those rigid little bastards were killing me! Thankfully it was my mom's time to shine. She and I wear the same size, and subsequently, the same shoe. I told her to strip the insoles from her shoes and toss them to me. A noticeable relief, but sadly not enough to make me pain free.

By this point I had caught much of the back-half of the first wave, which was good news because we entered the single track trials for the remaining 25 miles. Around mile 30, my knees started to go. Aid stations were doubled-edged swords; a sight for sore eyes and a place to make sore legs worse. Exiting the 30-mile aid station was the beginning of the end for me.

Mile 25 - Granite Bay Aid Station

The single-track trial got increasingly more aggressive and at some times, quite treacherous for waning muscles and limited fine motor control. My legs completely rejected any attempt at downhill "running." My muscles were in great shape, but my joints...most notably my knees, straight up and quit without warning. It took me 3 hours to complete 10 miles, and at that point I still had 10 miles remaining.

Runners with high spirits and all their mental faculties were blowing by me at mile 40! What the hell? That's when I almost lost it. Rolling into the aid station at mile 40 - my folks looking helplessly on as their daughter rode the brink of total meltdown - knowing I still had so far to go, yet was entirely too close to quit... It was all I could do to keep from bursting into tears. Not sniffles, not "woe-is-me" misty eyes...I'm talking the ugliest of the ugly, inconsolable sobbing. But I choked it down. Swallowed that lump in my throat. Bit my quivering lip until I tasted blood. To cry would mean wasting precious fluids, not to mention what it would mean for my mental state. So I pressed on at 13 minute pace with my head down and 10 miles to go.

Mile 40 - Rattlesnake Bar Aid Station

At mile 47 we began the ascent. When I say ascent, I mean mountain. The last 3 mile are entirely uphill, at some times a considerable grade. Let me tell you this though, when you've gone 47 miles, a handicap ramp might as well be Everest...

Everyone walked. We'd been out there for just about 10 hours, and no one was going to attempt to run up Everest and risk rolling all the way back down to Sacramento.

"3 miles left," the sign read. "2 miles to go," said the next. I was barely lifting one foot in front of the other. There was no daylight to be seen underneath my feet. Relentless forward motion. I started jogging, taking my 15 min walk to a 14:30 "jog."

I saw the "1 mile" sign off in the distance. That was it. This had to be over. I could hear the roaring crowd at the top of the hill, but the announcer on the microphone was still to far to discern his words.

My knees were shot and I was fighting hyper-extension with every step. But suddenly I didn't give a f*ck anymore. I ran. I ran fast. I picked up my pace to a swift sub-8, rolling up a steep grade of probably 4%. I blew by competitors who'd passed me 30 minutes prior.

"You can do anything for a mile," my coach used to say. I believe him now. I was yelling to myself, "You CAN DO THIS!" And I did, sprinting up the steep hill, burning around the corner, hitting the grass and never looking back until I cross the finish line.

10 hours. 24 minutes. 20 seconds.

People tell me, "I can only imagine how hard that must have been." No you can't. You can't even begin to fathom the gravity of that type of run. I trained 35 miles and still had no clue what I was getting myself into. Totally surreal that I completed it.

Getting in that 1 mile...reluctantly.

Two days later, I can barely function. I was running the day after my 35 miler. I had to push, with every fiber of my being, to get in a 13 minute mile the last two days. I refuse to break my streak. Any type of motion that requires a squat deeper than 75 degrees, isn't happening. This includes sitting on beds, couches, chairs, cars, and toilets. I get to 75 degrees and my muscles give out, all I can do is pray that after my free-fall my ass finds a seat instead of the floor.

What a triumph. Braving physical, emotional and mental fatigue. I couldn't be prouder of myself. I trained for 4 months....from scratch, others were worried they'd cut it way too close with only 6 months. I have never run a marathon. In fact, I've never raced over a half marathon. I had no nutrition help, no training program, and no pacers during my race. The odds were against me and I beat them. That's my take-away, even when the odds are against me my feet always find the ground.

Go right this second and give your ultra marathoners some love.

Thank you +Oiselle for giving me strength beneath my wings. Thank you to Jill for being my constant support from the start of this outrageous journey. And thank you to all my friends and family for offering encouragement when I needed it most.

More to come. Until then, my streak continues. Day 97. #streak 365

it's time

The day has come. Tomorrow I wake up at 5:15am, make my traditional breakfast of egg-in-a-hole, and head to the starting line of the American River 50 Miler. I can't even believe it. All the work I've put in, all the miles I've run, all the tears I've cried...culminating to this moment.

This will be my 95th day of running, 50 unforgiving miles through some of the most beautiful California back country along the American River Trial.

I've come a long way since dragging ass back in December at Club XC Nationals. In fact, my New Year's Resolution began only one mile at a time for probably the first week and a half. Not to mention the fact that I've had more running injuries during my 15 year career than most will see in a lifetime. Yet I'm healthy. Not fast, but healthy. It's remarkable.

Tomorrow is a big deal for so many reasons, more reasons than can be explained in this blog and more reasons than I'm sure many would care to read about.

I find myself in between a personal "rock" and a professional "hard place", constantly banging my head against the wall in disappointment with my lack of vision, clarity, and focus. I don't know what, or who, I want to be when I grow up. My attention span for life is about the duration of a gold fish's memory, roughly 6 seconds.

I know running is often used as a metaphor for life, just ask any runner-writer who defies convention and dares to draw such parallels in their memoirs...  For me, running is anything but a metaphor. Running is easy, life is hard. Sadly, running just seldom shares my enthusiasm and level of dedication so I end up sitting the bench with [insert your favorite injury].

But for some reason this year, for these last 95 days, running has been the one constant in my life. It has provided me with direction when I can't seem to find any elsewhere. It rewards me when I work hard. And it is my outlet when other aspects of my life circle the drain.

I've found purity in my unconditional love of this sport. I only hopes this translates into other areas of my life, especially my new belief about expectations. Expectations are for people with a plan, and people with a plan have clearly never lived because if there's any hard fact I can tell you about life (supported by my wise 26-year existence....), it would be plan on things never going according to plan.

So - like my running, my race, and my life - I just have to take each mile as it comes. When I finally let go of my expectations, I felt like my running was taken to a whole new level (think Forrest Gump leg-brace status).

I'm not scared for tomorrow. I'm embracing this incredible journey that has brought me to a place I never knew existed, to a race I never thought I'd be able to complete. Let's do this. Sh*t is about to get real.

The Auburn historical museum.

nothing short of miraculous

As hard as I have been pushing my body lately, it was my computer that decided to crap out over the last week, hence the 14-day delay from my last post. Even now I await it's return from the land of Geeks with a brand new hard drive.

Despite my technological woes, I find my running has taken some unexpected turns. I am on day 81 and going strong. After my last ultra training run left me scared and crippled, I assumed my attempt to run 30+ miles would end in a similar fate.

With three weeks out from my event and some foot tendinitis that has become a constant companion, I decided I would get in my final ultra long run with healing time to spare before my 50-mile dooms day.

This past weekend I got up at 5:45am, drove out to U-Village, and hit the Burke Gilman right around 6:40am. That was the start of my lakeside Washington tour. I visited more places in a single morning than most Washingtonian's will visit over the course of 6 months.

U-Village > Windermere > Matthew's Beach > North Seattle > Lake Forest Park > Kenmore > Bothell > Inglewood-Finn Hill > Juanita Bay > Kirkland > Central Houghton > Bellevue > West Bellevue > Mercer Island > Central District > Medrona > Montlake > U-Village

6+ hours. 35 miles. And one extremely dedicated friend willing to put up 13 miles of complaining.

After about mile 20, I began moving as slow as molasses. I'd say the toughest part though, was the trek across the I90 through Mercer Island. Good Lord that was the longest few miles of my life. All in all, I saw some pretty amazing things. I got to see the beautiful and unnecessary homes along Lake Forest Park, run past an orchard of Birch trees in Bothell with blue trunks, nearly got run down at the Kirkland St. Patty's Day Race, and traversed the I90 bridge on foot. It was a big day people, having completed the longest run in my life to date and lived to tell the tale.

The day Washington nearly killed me.

In the end, I made it. I figured I would surely be laid up for the next few days. My feet were so sore, my joints wouldn't bend, and I ached all over... But then the unthinkable happened.

I woke up the next morning, sore, and decided to jog my mile down to the coffee shop. So I did, at a 10 min mile trot. I enjoyed my coffee and biscuits with bacon jam (yes, you read that correctly...BACON JAM) and then began the jog home.

At first I barely put one foot in front of the other. Then things began to feel more fluid, so I opened my stride a bit...then a bit more...and more...until I was at a dead sprint and feeling weightless, a blur to passers by. I ran this way for nearly a mile, clocking roughly around 6:45. This doesn't seem like much, but when you factor in 35+ miles at 14min a pop the day before, I hope you can understand my astonishment. I felt invincible.

The following day, Monday, I ran 4 miles clipping them off around 7:40 and feeling amazing. So amazing, that I decided to go for another round of 3.5 miles at 7:30 a few hours later. Everything feels so in-tune. I've been in incredible shape before, but nothing has ever felt like this.

Have I found the secret to running (besides the obvious that bacon jam is apparently the fuel of champions)? For me, I believe I have. But that will be another conversation reserved for a later date. Until then, I continue to run strong despite some considerable personal and professional setbacks. I'm currently on a quest to find some inner peace, focus, and resolution. I sincerely believe that my running adventure thus far has provided me with more clarity than I could have ever anticipated, and surely more to come in the future as I try to make sense of the rest of my life. Day 81 of  #streak365

are you there God, it's me Amanda...

Does anyone have a box of kittens they are willing to let me borrow? After the week I had, I need something soft and cuddly...

What's with this overly dramatic feline request? Training is ramping up for me in a big way. As it stood on my calendar, I needed to complete somewhere in the vicinity of 40-45 miles over the March 1st weekend. I can sense your skepticism, and trust me it is just.

I came off my 34 mile weekend feeling tired, but no major complaints. I thought so myself, "Hey, this isn't so bad! I'm going to be the female Anton Krupika!" What a stupid little fool I was.

I had intended to run 25 miles on Saturday, March 1st on the Soaring Eagle Trail out in Issaquah, WA. I now fully understand why my friends looked at me as if I needed a straight jacket. Running 25 miles on a single track trail just ain't gonna happen on a leisurely Saturday morning. After an hour and 30 min, I had run all of 6 miles! Oh hell no. I topped out at 15 miles in 3.5 hours and called it a job well done.

But at least the trails were beautiful, breathtaking even. The run, albeit a time sucker, was pleasant and shared in good company with my running buddy.

Sunday, however...

Sunday I woke up with what felt like swollen lymph nodes. Perfect. Given that I hadn't fully succumbed to the virus that was surely pending in my future, I knew how important it would be to get in a good long run because who knows what the coming days would bring.

I threw on my running clothes, tossed my hair in a run-bun, laced up and stepped out the door...into pouring down rain and mid-30 temps. Perfect.

Maybe it'll clear up? It didn't. I drove out to Renton for a 9 mile loop that runs around Lake Youngs. It's hilly and there's not much to entertain, but I figured it would allow me to refuel every lap and at least there's no chance of getting lost.

I set out for my first of 3 loops. Naturally I got 2 miles in and hail began to crash down upon me. Perfect.  Hell had, in fact, started to freeze over.

My trail soon turned to a river and I found myself flashing back to The Oregon Trail. "Will you ford this river?" Do I dare?

For 9 miles I would tell myself, "Only 4 more miles till you get a snack. You'll be glad you did this when you finish." The tone of the conversation plummeted from there. At one point I distinctly remember arguing with myself, and losing. These one-sided conversations (scattered obscenities throughout) continued for all 28 miles.

5 hours and 30 minutes I was out there. Frozen. Wet. Beaten, yet not quite broken. I prayed for the sweet relief of death but it never came. It poured every minute of that run, but somehow I managed to press on. My mind is a scary place, especially when I'm trapped inside it for that long with nothing but impending doom to occupy my thoughts.

My friends, this was a struggle. The greatest test of my will power (and mental faculties) to date, until April that is. But I live to run another day...every day. Day 65 and still running.

Double-fistin' it. Post-run recovery combo.

Truly I must take a moment and thank my running buddy Jill, who I missed dearly on ultra Sunday runday, and friend Lina, for her constant emotional support. Also, a huge shout out to all my Oiselle HQ peeps for supporting me as I bitched and complained for 5 days straight post-run. Everyone in the greater Seattle area knows about my woes.

Until next time.

a great adventure

Holy crap what a week! Training is ramping up quickly and I hit the 50-day landmark in my runstreak. During my travels, I have experienced a great deal of unique runner problems whose existence were previously unbenounced to me. Clearly, this is the less glamorous side of ultra running (as if there were any particularly glamorous side) so I feel responsibility to share my findings.

Exploring the bridges of King County. To the Arb!

1. Chafing...
You're shaking your head thinking, "Duh, every runner chafes..." Wrong. I thought I had experienced chafing too. Some casual thigh friction, a little armpit rubbing, even some smarts on the inside of my knees when they would occasionally collaborate thanks to some unfortunate form deficiency. The area gets a little red, irritated, and will sting in the shower no doubt. But this, this is a whole new monstrosity! Forming in areas I never knew could even chafe! My bloody, mutilated flesh looks like a scene straight out of Texas Chainsaw Massacre! I choose to establish permanent residence in baggy sweats not (only) because I am the physical embodiment of a fashion faux-pas, but rather out of the shear agony associated with less-forgiving fabrics. The most tragic part of this battle wound? No amount of anti-chafe serum can up against it! If you see me on the street with a hitch in my giddy up, don't be alarmed...that's just how I walk now.

2. Hip-Flexors...
Hello, so you do exist. Apparently, these little tendons work for a union because at any given point I am subject to a strike in the form of violent protest. "You want to run how many miles? That's not in our negotiated running contract. We regret to inform you that we are disinclined to acquiesce your request." That's is how I imagine hip-flexors would talk, provided they could. What follows is a series of spasms, some wobbling, followed by a complete stagnation of any forward movement. Cheers!

3. Bedtime...
My body now has me pinned under a strict bedtime that is non-negotiable. I thought my days of hitting the sack at 10:30pm were relatively early for someone in their mid-twenties. Pshhh. Eight year-olds stay up later than I do. Infants stay up later than I do! What began as a slight modification to 10pm, eventually became an exponentially steady decline well into single-digits of the 7pm-9pm variety (erring on the side of 8pm). Don't text me after 9pm, I'll probably be hours deep into my REM cycle. Ah to be young and reckless...

4. Social Life...
See above. Between my fashion (non)sense, the troubling verbal exchange I'm having between me and my hip-flexors, and my affinity for pillow time...my social scene suffers a wee bit.

5. Pain...
And finally, I've gained a new perspective on pain. I am well versed in pain, but this is somewhat uncharted territory for me. My legs feel great, until they don't anymore. Once I breach the threshold into latter part of my run, or like this weekend where I did back-to-back long runs, it seems I have a veritable out-of-leg experience that is simply other worldly. My legs are mine, then all of a sudden I feel like they've been replaced with robot legs sans shock absorption, coordination, or fluidity. It's like I'm trying to run on stilts, jarring me with every step. My joints ache, I feel elderly trying to get up and down out of chairs. In fact just this morning I considered renting the booth at Ihop for fear I would have to stay there permanently. Losing control of my faculties has been a rude awaking.

I hereby dub this run "Purple Rock Hill." Can you find it?

That being said, if these proceed to be my only hiccups I will consider myself lucky. I remain injury free (as you're reading this, you'll be hearing the faint sound of someone knocking on wood) and inspired. I managed to make it through a weekend of consecutive long runs, 14 on Saturday and 19 on Sunday, and remain in good spirits. I'm hopeful that I will be able to pry my ass off this couch for work in the morning. Next weekend will be another doozy. Until then, I bid thee adieu.

#keepingitreal

Ah, Valentine's Day. A day of chocolates, flowers and commercialism! We honor this social convention of giving sweets and treats to loved ones in hopes of creating a gradient of positive 'pr' points to hold us over until the next major holiday gift exchange. Sorry, I know you can taste the bitterness.

Even though I celebrate this day sans significant other, I still consider it a win. Day 45 of #streak365 started with a run and was promptly followed by raspberry-glazed donuts, clearly life isn't too bad.

But this week a particular topic has caught my interest, keeping it real. Oiselle's own Lauren Fleshman has sparked a revolution, challenging preconceptions about body image. Anyone with the bravery to make public their 'thigh cheese' is a champion of truth. This is the equivalent of (insert your favorite Hollywood actress) posting pictures of herself without makeup or Photoshop on her own free will. A professional runner with thigh cheese and a bloated belly? Consider the mystery of perfection shattered, and the illusion of reality fully realized. Finally.

As I've stated in the past, I constantly battle my own demons in this department right alongside all the other women on this planet I'm sure. Lauren's call to bear arms, bloated bellies, thigh cheese, love-handles and the like has finally tipped the scales in favor (pun intended) of the real woman.

So I thought I'd put my little piece of body image out into the universe.

This is me, I believe this was the last time I was in shape about 2 years ago.

And...this is me as a beached whale. Complete with frumpy face.

This is certainly not my worst photograph, but rather one of the few remaining that have not yet been burned to ashes and sent out to sea. Does posting these pictures make me feel empowered or somehow stronger? Nope. Does this help me better embrace all the imperfections? Absolutely not. I believe it is a powerful message, and I'd like to do my part to contribute.

I will get back to racing form, back to a place where I feel comfortable in my own skin. The difference now will be to achieve my own inner peace, not to fit some mold of 'skinny girls wins races' that seems to be the going rate these days.

It's about time to take a stand and embrace what it means to be human, imperfect, and yet beautiful. Join in on the challenge. #keepingitreal

In the meantime, I continue my runstreak and quest for 50-miler completion. I will be ready.

15 miles in fresh snowfall.

surreal

I keep asking myself, "did that just happen?" If I didn't have the pictures to prove it, I don't know that I would believe it...

Fleshman in the flesh!

Holy sh*t.

Seeing these incredible athletes in person has a dream come true. Like movie stars, you grow up watching them in near disbelief that they truly exist beyond the magazines and television coverage. To meet them? Laugh with them? Even run with them? I'm still without words. Being a part of the Oiselle runfamily has opened up a whole new world for me full of opportunities that far exceed any expectation and imagination. Consider my life complete.

Every decision I've made, most importantly in the last 4 months, has led me to these moments that I'll remember forever. Sticking to my convictions, taking a leap of faith, diving into the unknown with nothing but a hope and a prayer has made for some of the most meaningful and life-changing experiences I have ever known.

Now down to business.

So begin my weekend long runs, having completed 10 miles this past Sunday. The tentative plan is to increase my longest run each Sunday by 30-50% (last Sunday was 10 miles so this Sunday will be between 13 and 15 miles).

My working knowledge of how to train for an ultra marathon is very limited, but I've been told time and time again that it's not the mileage but rather "the time on your feet" that matters. Concentrating on the total time spent running, as opposed to total amount of miles run, will help prepare my body for the brutal 10+ hour event I hope to complete in April.

The safest way to gain the time on my feet and limit the risk of injury is to complete back-to-back long days over the weekend. Saturdays, therefore, will be incorporated in to what will be considered a #longassweekend instead of the more jovial #sundayrunday. Saturdays will be roughly 75% of the time I anticipate completing on Sunday (i.e. 4 hours of running planned for Sunday would mean 3 hours of running to be done on Saturday).

Sure it sounds intimidating, but I'm excited. I have run 38 days in a row! I don't know that I've had that many consecutively healthy days in my entire running career... Perhaps a slight exaggeration? Sadly not. Most days I want to run twice or even three times, but I resist. I can't get enough of it!

So here's to breaking the mold, embracing the crazy, and diving in with both feet. #streak365