After the 50K at Hell's Hills, I just contented myself with running. There were no races on the immediate horizon, especially with the deep Texas heat. After finals, however, my trail running went into overdrive, as did my need for that sense of accomplishment I'd discovered at both Nueces and Hell's Hills. Perusing the Tejas Trails site, I saw the Capt'n Karl's Night series: three night races near the end of the summer, spaced over two and a half months. The races offered 10Ks, 30Ks, and 60Ks. I knew the 30Ks were achievable, and the 60K was enticing. So, I signed up for the first two 30Ks, setting my sights on the third race for a new achievement: a 60K, about six miles further than my longest run to date.
To prepare for the races, I began running more times a week and at longer distances than I ever had. I became a member of the Hill Country Trail Runners, which became an incredible source for group runs, night runs, encouragement, and information. Each workday was mind numbing; all I could think about was when I would be able to lace up and hit the trails. It was an incredible feeling! I found that I'd come to love running! Who knew this could happen? I was running, for the most part, for the sake of running. It was all I could talk about, all I could think about, and was, in short, all consuming.
Capt'n Karl's: The Lake, 30K
The familiar feeling of anxiety, mixed with excitement, mixed with a twinge of self-doubt. The day of the race, I was a bit timid. How much water should I drink for my race coming up tonight? What do I eat? If I remember correctly, I think Torchy's Tacos was involved, as were 4-5 bottles of water, and a refraining from coffee so it would work when I drank it at night. An hour's drive later, we were at the race site and setting up for the few hours we'd be out there.
This particular race involved three loops of about 6 miles, which seemed easy enough. Six miles was nothing, especially with an aid station nestled right in the middle. And for that matter, I'd been training in the evenings multiple times per week all summer: this heat wasn't going to be an issue. However, as the loops wore on, the muscle cramps set in. I wasn't hydrating nearly enough, nor was I taking in enough salt or electrolytes. Essentially, everything was breaking down. I cried out from the muscle cramps they were so painful! We soldiered on, however. This 30K was not going to conquer us, we were going to conquer it. And we did, eventually. As we collapsed into our chairs, we reflected on the laps comprising this particular race. It was hot. It was unrelenting. And we were exhausted. And for me, I had to move right along: there was another 30K in just a few short weeks. All I had time to do was reflect on the lessons I'd learned: fuel smarter, don't over hydrate, and pay close attention to electrolyte consumption.
Capt'n Karl's, The Lake 30K
July 16, 2011
Capt'n Karl's: The Falls, 30K
This time around, my new boyfriend, Ben, was in tow, meaning the stakes were high. I certainly did not want to lose face in front of him; I wanted to show him how tough I could be, despite how adorable he found me. Further, my brother and his friend were also running the 30K: here was my opportunity to prove to my brother how much I'd progressed and improved. I daydreamed about finishing the race before him somehow, and had even said as much of the possibility out loud!
This race was one loop: a short and sweet 30K, a few aid stations, and continuously dimming light. The terrain was manageable and varied, allowing me to pass some of the time by reflecting on what I had seen earlier in the run. As darkness set in, so did the solitude, giving me the first glimpse of what I would come to love about trail running. I was able to get lost in the run, hearing only the sounds of my own foot falls and breathing, willing myself to keep moving and keep running. Before I knew it, I was running along the final fence line with the finish in sight. "Already?," I thought. "Well, alright." I crossed the finish line strong for the first time since I started running in the summer of 2010. Everything was on point: I was fueled well (thank you, Hut's!), hydrated, and had sufficient electrolyte levels. I finished without much fatigue, although I'm not sure another loop would have been feasible. The best part? I finished a mere thirty minutes behind my brother. I didn't meet my goal of beating him, but I came much closer than the realistic side of me thought would be the case.
As we drove away from The Falls, I felt calm and proud. I had turned to a new side of trail running: I had some idea of what I was doing, and it felt fantastic.
Capt'n Karl's, The Falls 30K, Pedernales State Falls Park, Johnson City, Texas
August 6, 2011
4:00:39
Capt'n Karl's: The Shoe, 60K
Shortly after The Falls 30K, an interesting pain developed in my knee. I'd been running like a maniac lately, with some two-a-days, longer distances, and greater intensity. Something had gone amiss. With a trip to San Juan, Puerto Rico on the horizon, I decided to take the trip as an opportunity to rest the joints in preparation for The Shoe 60K.
Unfortunately, the rest in San Juan was insufficient to alleviate the pain in my knees and I felt them almost immediately upon setting out from the starting line. The race was four loops. My excitement carried me through the first loop, as did the presence of Ben. Again, I would hate to lose face in front of him. As I started out on the second loop, the realization set in that tonight would not be in the cards for me. At best, I'd walk away with another 30K finish. A few things contributed to this realization.
First, in between The Falls and The Shoe, I'd signed up for another race: Cactus Rose 50 Miles at the end of October. Because I didn't know what was causing the pain in my knees and how serious it might be, I didn't want to jeopardize the next feat on the horizon. Had I known what the pain was, and that I could continue running on it without causing further damage, perhaps I would have kept going.
Second, and more importantly, I realized the importance of knowing my limits. I wasn't prepared for a 60K, not in the least, especially one in the dead of summer. I hadn't logged nearly enough miles; I didn't have the necessary mileage base; and I didn't know what can happen to one's body as the miles pile up during the course of a race. All I had in my bag was arrogance: I'm young, fit, and have "run" a 50K, I can certainly do this.
As I approached the end of the second loop, I voiced all of this to a still-unknown fellow runner. He was much older and clearly, this wasn't his first rodeo. I explained to him how difficult this was for me; how difficult it was to decide to quit. I could barely utter the word at all. I explained that, because I was so young, I didn't have enough experience to handle this more gracefully and understand that it isn't the end of the world. Despite all of this, I knew what I had to do: with this knee pain, my upcoming attempt at Cactus Rose, and my inexperience with this distance, I had to drop from the 60K.
Ben could tell something was wrong as I strode into the start/finish area. He wrapped his arms around me and asked what I needed. I couldn't even look him in the eye. My voice was so small, I'm not sure he heard when I said I need to talk to the race director, Joe. I pulled myself away, still embarrassed about what Ben was about to see and how disappointed I knew he would be in me. I walked over to Joe, my head hanging lower than I thought was possible. I uttered the words I didn't think I was capable of uttering: "Joe, I have to drop. I have to drop out of the race." I then heard one of the most heartbreaking sounds imaginable, given the circumstance: the ripping of my timing chip as it was torn from my ankle. My race was over. Joe patted my back, nodded his head approvingly and sympathetically as I explained why I'd made the decision, and offered my a 30K medal as a token of consolidation. I took it, although to this day I wish I hadn't. I slipped away, quietly and quickly gathered my things, and went off to hide in my own miserableness. No one could say anything to assuage my disappointment. It was absolutely crushing.
We made it back to Austin that night and all I could think about was how on earth I would fare at Cactus Rose. What had I been thinking signing up for it?
Capt'n Karl's, The Shoe 60K Attempt/30K Finish, Mule Shoe Bend, Marble Falls, Texas
August 27, 2011
5:06:07
To prepare for the races, I began running more times a week and at longer distances than I ever had. I became a member of the Hill Country Trail Runners, which became an incredible source for group runs, night runs, encouragement, and information. Each workday was mind numbing; all I could think about was when I would be able to lace up and hit the trails. It was an incredible feeling! I found that I'd come to love running! Who knew this could happen? I was running, for the most part, for the sake of running. It was all I could talk about, all I could think about, and was, in short, all consuming.
Capt'n Karl's: The Lake, 30K
The familiar feeling of anxiety, mixed with excitement, mixed with a twinge of self-doubt. The day of the race, I was a bit timid. How much water should I drink for my race coming up tonight? What do I eat? If I remember correctly, I think Torchy's Tacos was involved, as were 4-5 bottles of water, and a refraining from coffee so it would work when I drank it at night. An hour's drive later, we were at the race site and setting up for the few hours we'd be out there.
This particular race involved three loops of about 6 miles, which seemed easy enough. Six miles was nothing, especially with an aid station nestled right in the middle. And for that matter, I'd been training in the evenings multiple times per week all summer: this heat wasn't going to be an issue. However, as the loops wore on, the muscle cramps set in. I wasn't hydrating nearly enough, nor was I taking in enough salt or electrolytes. Essentially, everything was breaking down. I cried out from the muscle cramps they were so painful! We soldiered on, however. This 30K was not going to conquer us, we were going to conquer it. And we did, eventually. As we collapsed into our chairs, we reflected on the laps comprising this particular race. It was hot. It was unrelenting. And we were exhausted. And for me, I had to move right along: there was another 30K in just a few short weeks. All I had time to do was reflect on the lessons I'd learned: fuel smarter, don't over hydrate, and pay close attention to electrolyte consumption.
Capt'n Karl's, The Lake 30K
July 16, 2011
Capt'n Karl's: The Falls, 30K
This time around, my new boyfriend, Ben, was in tow, meaning the stakes were high. I certainly did not want to lose face in front of him; I wanted to show him how tough I could be, despite how adorable he found me. Further, my brother and his friend were also running the 30K: here was my opportunity to prove to my brother how much I'd progressed and improved. I daydreamed about finishing the race before him somehow, and had even said as much of the possibility out loud!
This race was one loop: a short and sweet 30K, a few aid stations, and continuously dimming light. The terrain was manageable and varied, allowing me to pass some of the time by reflecting on what I had seen earlier in the run. As darkness set in, so did the solitude, giving me the first glimpse of what I would come to love about trail running. I was able to get lost in the run, hearing only the sounds of my own foot falls and breathing, willing myself to keep moving and keep running. Before I knew it, I was running along the final fence line with the finish in sight. "Already?," I thought. "Well, alright." I crossed the finish line strong for the first time since I started running in the summer of 2010. Everything was on point: I was fueled well (thank you, Hut's!), hydrated, and had sufficient electrolyte levels. I finished without much fatigue, although I'm not sure another loop would have been feasible. The best part? I finished a mere thirty minutes behind my brother. I didn't meet my goal of beating him, but I came much closer than the realistic side of me thought would be the case.
As we drove away from The Falls, I felt calm and proud. I had turned to a new side of trail running: I had some idea of what I was doing, and it felt fantastic.
Capt'n Karl's, The Falls 30K, Pedernales State Falls Park, Johnson City, Texas
August 6, 2011
4:00:39
Capt'n Karl's: The Shoe, 60K
Shortly after The Falls 30K, an interesting pain developed in my knee. I'd been running like a maniac lately, with some two-a-days, longer distances, and greater intensity. Something had gone amiss. With a trip to San Juan, Puerto Rico on the horizon, I decided to take the trip as an opportunity to rest the joints in preparation for The Shoe 60K.
Unfortunately, the rest in San Juan was insufficient to alleviate the pain in my knees and I felt them almost immediately upon setting out from the starting line. The race was four loops. My excitement carried me through the first loop, as did the presence of Ben. Again, I would hate to lose face in front of him. As I started out on the second loop, the realization set in that tonight would not be in the cards for me. At best, I'd walk away with another 30K finish. A few things contributed to this realization.
First, in between The Falls and The Shoe, I'd signed up for another race: Cactus Rose 50 Miles at the end of October. Because I didn't know what was causing the pain in my knees and how serious it might be, I didn't want to jeopardize the next feat on the horizon. Had I known what the pain was, and that I could continue running on it without causing further damage, perhaps I would have kept going.
Second, and more importantly, I realized the importance of knowing my limits. I wasn't prepared for a 60K, not in the least, especially one in the dead of summer. I hadn't logged nearly enough miles; I didn't have the necessary mileage base; and I didn't know what can happen to one's body as the miles pile up during the course of a race. All I had in my bag was arrogance: I'm young, fit, and have "run" a 50K, I can certainly do this.
As I approached the end of the second loop, I voiced all of this to a still-unknown fellow runner. He was much older and clearly, this wasn't his first rodeo. I explained to him how difficult this was for me; how difficult it was to decide to quit. I could barely utter the word at all. I explained that, because I was so young, I didn't have enough experience to handle this more gracefully and understand that it isn't the end of the world. Despite all of this, I knew what I had to do: with this knee pain, my upcoming attempt at Cactus Rose, and my inexperience with this distance, I had to drop from the 60K.
Ben could tell something was wrong as I strode into the start/finish area. He wrapped his arms around me and asked what I needed. I couldn't even look him in the eye. My voice was so small, I'm not sure he heard when I said I need to talk to the race director, Joe. I pulled myself away, still embarrassed about what Ben was about to see and how disappointed I knew he would be in me. I walked over to Joe, my head hanging lower than I thought was possible. I uttered the words I didn't think I was capable of uttering: "Joe, I have to drop. I have to drop out of the race." I then heard one of the most heartbreaking sounds imaginable, given the circumstance: the ripping of my timing chip as it was torn from my ankle. My race was over. Joe patted my back, nodded his head approvingly and sympathetically as I explained why I'd made the decision, and offered my a 30K medal as a token of consolidation. I took it, although to this day I wish I hadn't. I slipped away, quietly and quickly gathered my things, and went off to hide in my own miserableness. No one could say anything to assuage my disappointment. It was absolutely crushing.
We made it back to Austin that night and all I could think about was how on earth I would fare at Cactus Rose. What had I been thinking signing up for it?
Capt'n Karl's, The Shoe 60K Attempt/30K Finish, Mule Shoe Bend, Marble Falls, Texas
August 27, 2011
5:06:07
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