With the feeling of accomplishment from last year's jaunt on the Nueces course, as well as memories of the absolutely gorgeous landscape and environment, fresh in my mind, it was a no brainer to sign up for race again this year. The only catch? I'd be attempting the 50K. Joe maintains this is one of his most challenging courses, so this decision put me a touch on edge, especially considering my thoughts on the Cactus Rose course in Bandera. This in mind, I decided to take what I learned at both Cactus and Rocky and move forward with preparing for the Nueces 50K.
In the weeks leading up to the race, I pushed myself harder and further on training runs. I felt myself becoming stronger, faster, and more confident every time I laced up. I committed myself to consistency in a number of ways: (1) more healthful and whole eating; (2) smart and more focused recovery; (3) smart running; and (4) taking training one run at a time. Additionally, I committed myself to the necessary mileage. I wanted to start this race with the confidence that I could tackle the miles and the only way to gain that confidence is to log the miles beforehand. So, my weekend long runs involved a number of 15 milers, as well as one 20 miler two weeks out from race day. I tapered with a 10 mile long run the weekend before, 4-5 milers on the Monday and Tuesday prior, and rest on Wednesday and Thursday. Finally, the pre-race final meal at Whole Foods: garden vegetable soup (fiber for digestion); spinach and feta orzo (protein for sustained energy and carbohydrates for glucose); ciabatta roll (again, those carbohydrates); and some fresh fruit (those lovely, lovely carbohydrates). After the mind numbing three and a half hour drive to Rocksprings, reality was setting in: the moment of truth was upon me. Was my new approach to training (i.e., actually training) going to work? Would it be worth it? Or would it flesh out to provide me with no more strength and drive than I'd had in previous races such that I could revert back to my "Oh, training? No, I just get out there and run" arrogance?
Kyle and I made the decision to book a lodge at Camp Eagle, which turned out to be a great idea. Kyle, Ben, and I each had our own bed to get a decent night's sleep before sun rise. We nestled in around 10:30-11 p.m., on edge for that early morning alarm to sound. Surprisingly, I was able to fall asleep rather quickly and slept fairly well. After a "wake up" slap from Kyle, I wished him well and nestled in for another thirty to forty five minutes of sleep before my own start time. Finally, it was time to get after it: I woke up, got dressed and tried to warm up my legs, and turned to my trusty whole wheat bread smeared with peanut butter and blackberry preserves, along with a small can of Diet Dr. Pepper.
After picking up my packet, ooh-ing and aah-ing over another pull-over sweater as the race shirt, I began the process of honing my focus on what lay ahead of me for the day. I reminded myself of the cards I had in my pocket: (1) I'd run the course before and remembered it well; (2) I was a stronger runner than I'd ever been, and recognized it; (3) I knew to respect the mileage and course; (4) I'd run the course in my mind, with a plan of action for each section of the course (hike the hills with a purpose; aggressively run the remainder); and (5) I was ready to have fun.
The last hour before the start of a race, no pun intended, races by! Suddenly, Joe is reminding us of a few odds and ends, nuances of the course, and then we're off! I barely had a moment to stretch before nestling myself in the middle of the pack. I reminded myself to hold back the energy, hold back the adrenaline; I'd need all I could get later in the loop and later in the race.
The section of each race between the start/finish and the first aid station of a loop is always challenging for me. I just want to be in the race, which means I want to be on the other side of that first aid station. Thankfully, there were so many runners (the 25K and 50K began at the same time) that I was distracted for a number of the first few miles on the way to the first aid station. I focused on getting around particular runners who may have been too slow, too prone to stopping suddenly, or whose running style or sounds simply irritated me. Finally, the runners spread out and I was able to start taking advantage of some solitude, allowing me to bring my focus to a more central place in my body. If I could try to describe it, this focus sits in the exact center of my brain, right behind my eyes. If you have the opportunity to see me come through an aid station at the later stages of the race, you might recognize what this looks like: almost zeroed in vision, a tunnel vision of sorts. As I ran toward the first stop on the course, this focus became more and more tangible: it was going to be a good day.
I finally dropped into the first aid station. I filled up my water bottle, grabbed a handful of peanut butter and jelly sandwich squares, and perhaps a handful of salt pills. I knew the middle portion of the loop was both the easiest and challenging. Coming out of the aid station, the trail becomes nearly unnavigable and it can be difficult to follow the markers. I slipped down loose rocks, scrambled over fallen branches, and pulled myself up hills that seemed to stare me straight in the face they were so steep. I ran this portion as best and safely as possible; I knew I would be rewarded with an opportunity to rest on a gentle, but steep, climbing hill. The tangle of branches, rocks, and roots deposited me at the bottom of this hill and I relished in the sunshine and gentle breeze.
I attack hills with a particular goal: hike with a purpose. The goal of an endurance event is to traverse the distance while expending as little energy as possible. While it would look incredibly impressive indeed to scale a hill with gusto, speed, and while running, this will only cost an athlete later. So, I hike with a purpose: I swing my arms at my side to propel me as fast as I can, just short of a run. I take short steps to avoid rolled ankles, and I pull from my core so I don't burn out my calves or quads. Finally, on the longer hikes, I content myself with the knowledge that my body will recover remarkably quickly once I reach the summit.
As I reached the summit of this particular climb, I began to, what I will call in retrospect, trot. The last mile or mile and a half, however long it was, had been challenging but invigorating. Without much fanfare or warning, though, I felt myself moving faster. I hadn't told my legs to move faster, but there they went. I was moving past other runners with such ease, I couldn't help but look down at my body with wide eyes and surprise. What on earth was going? To this day, I'm not sure, but I didn't question it and took advantage of it. I just focused on keeping my back straight, shoulders back and relaxed, arms moving rhythmically. The end of the descent from the longer climb dropped me onto one switchback trail. I knew this meant I was close to the next aid station; I also knew this was an incredibly lazy part of the course and I had to take advantage of the lack of rocks, ascents, and sun exposure, so I kept running. Before I knew it, the trail was dropping me at the Wall, the second aid station of the course.
Ben met me at the Wall, which was a great motivator to keep up the enthusiasm and energy. I had a few peanut butter and jelly squares, as well as some banana with peanut butter smeared on top. I didn't want to burn out on peanut butter and jelly, after all. Off I went, and with a few butterflies in my stomach: the most gorgeous part of the course was upon me. As with last year's race, this was the part of the course that convinced me to sign up for the race. I ran across a portion of the river bed, across the river on an old wooden bridge, and along a bluff directly next to the river; this was why I have grown to love trail running. The experience with nature is just overwhelming, humbling, and incredible.
Another ascent; another hike with a purpose. This ascent took us up, only to come back down and into the creek bed. I knew that, with every step I took, I was coming closer to the most, well, horrific part of the course: the fence line littered with palm-sized rocks with zero shade. Suddenly, it was in front of me. Alright...again, hike with a purpose. Just keep moving and, no matter what, do not look up. To look up would be to crush one's spirit with the force of a sledge hammer. This particular ascent was absolutely unending. The moment you thought it was over, it kept going. I didn't look up. I kept my focus and kept hiking. Finally, I was at the top and got back to running. The next portion would be slightly rocky, but it was still easy to take this portion aggressively. After three rolling ascents and descents, I found myself at the final aid station before the start/finish. A mile and a half, and I'll have finished the first loop. I picked up a few M&Ms and was off; I'd refuel and get some electrolytes at the start/finish station.
After a quick jog across a field of sorts, the trail dropped down through a few trees, across the park entrance road, and suddenly the lodge is in sight. At this point, your spirits lift and you know you're doing something right. My pace quickened ever so slightly; I wanted to get to the start/finish as soon as possible so I could get started on the second loop. I knew this thing would be in the bag if I just started on the second loop. Still, I held back a little bit. After all, I still had 15.5 miles to run.
At the start/finish, I took another handful of salt pills, ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and drank another small can of Diet Dr. Pepper. I started the second loop the same way I started the first: slowly. I knew the first mile and a half or so of this portion of the course was hilly and could zap more energy than other portions of the course.
Again, I just wanted to get on the other side of that first aid station; I wanted to be in the middle of the second loop already. Unfortunately, my energy levels seemed to plummet suddenly. The heat was bearing down on me and I was started to falter. Something had happened. I decided to take a moment to take stock of what was going on and sat down on the side of the trail. What was happening? I'd just had some food and caffeine, I should be firing on all cylinders. Then I realized I still had my running jacket on. It had been reasonably cool when the race started, but the temperature had risen quite substantially by this point in the day and I hadn't thought to take the jacket off at the start/finish. I slowly un-pinned by bib and peeled the jacket off and over my head. I slowly pinned by bib back onto my shirt, hoisted myself up, and tied my jacket around my waist, praying this would do the trick. I started off at a trot again. Slowly but surely, my enthusiasm, focus, and energy returned. I'd pinpointed the problem, solved it, and was back in the game.
This first portion of the second loop was as long as it had been the first time around, but I finally found myself at the first aid station. I refilled my water, picked up (surprise!) some peanut butter and jelly squares, as well as a few Pringles. Off I went. I knew what I needed to do on this part of the course and I was anxious to tackle it a second time. The middle part of the course the second time around was almost identical to the first. Within what felt like minutes, I was at the Wall again.
I hydrated, fueled, and handed off my jacket to Ben. Off I went; this finish was within grasp. Given that, I kept my emotions and daydreaming in check. I still had a number of miles to finish; it wasn't time to celebrate quite yet. Down into the river bed, across the bridge, up the ascent, down and around, and there was the fence line. "Blast," I thought. "Here we go again." The sun had risen higher in the sky by this point, so the temperature was all the more overbearing. Sweat dripped down my face and my legs ached with the job of pulling me up the hill. I diverted my attention to a conversation with a fellow Austinite. We lamented the climb, and reminded each other to take a moment to appreciate the views of the Texas Hill Country. It truly is a breathtaking view from up there. At the top, I knew the rest was downhill as long as I kept running.
"Just keep running," I told myself. I started approaching two runners ahead of me. As I passed, one turned to look at me and said, "Well aren't you looking great!" I nodded in appreciation, but kept my focus. I didn't want the nonchalance and arrogance to take over. One ascent and descent. "Two more," I thought. Another ascent and descent. Then, wham. Something in my ankle seared into action. I'm still not sure what happened amongst those bones; by the time the race was over, I didn't experience any more pain. But in that moment, I was sure I'd done something serious. "Move!," I told myself. "Just keep moving! Adjust your gait to avoid the pain, but you're not bleeding and you don't see any bones. Move!" So I kept going. I found a way to run on the tip of my toes on the left foot, supporting most of the movement on my right, and came to the third and final ascent and descent. I knew the aid station was at the end of this hill. Another runner I came across was experiencing some muscle problems, so we brought it in together. A volunteer at the aid station took a look at my ankle. He probed it, put pressure on it in a few places, rotated it; in short, he couldn't find anything wrong with it. "Screw it," I told him. "I'm out of here. See y'all at the finish." I grabbed some more M&Ms, declined a swig of Dos Equis, and high tailed it out of there. I had less than two miles and I was going to finish strong and without whining.
To be certain, that ankle wasn't on board with my plan. It fought back and brought tears to my eyes a few times in the last two miles, but I bore on. I kept going and I finally found a comfortable running style to get into the finish at a full on sprint.
As I crossed the finish line, a new emotion flooded over me: a sense of happiness at how strong of a run I'd just had. In the past, my finishing emotions centered around the fact that I'd actually finished. Today, I was overcome with emotion because of how I'd finished and how amazing it all felt. And on top of that, I finished an hour and a half faster than I was anticipating! It was incredible and I hope to hold on to that sensation well into future races.
With a smile plastered onto my face, and random giggles, I gathered my things and headed back to the cabin. For the first time, I was able to take a solid shower immediately after finishing and it was glorious. I threw myself onto the bed after and took in the day. Here I was, showered, laying down, and smiling after running thirty one miles. Training had paid off, I reminded myself. I had to stick with it. I suppose the hundreds of thousands of other runners who train are actually on to something...
Nueces is quickly becoming my favorite of Joe's races and I anticipate returning every year, perhaps tackling the 50 miler one of these days. For now, I think the Nueces 50K will be my go-to yearly race.
Nueces 50K, Camp Eagle, Rocksprings, Texas
March 3, 2012
6:39:30
In the weeks leading up to the race, I pushed myself harder and further on training runs. I felt myself becoming stronger, faster, and more confident every time I laced up. I committed myself to consistency in a number of ways: (1) more healthful and whole eating; (2) smart and more focused recovery; (3) smart running; and (4) taking training one run at a time. Additionally, I committed myself to the necessary mileage. I wanted to start this race with the confidence that I could tackle the miles and the only way to gain that confidence is to log the miles beforehand. So, my weekend long runs involved a number of 15 milers, as well as one 20 miler two weeks out from race day. I tapered with a 10 mile long run the weekend before, 4-5 milers on the Monday and Tuesday prior, and rest on Wednesday and Thursday. Finally, the pre-race final meal at Whole Foods: garden vegetable soup (fiber for digestion); spinach and feta orzo (protein for sustained energy and carbohydrates for glucose); ciabatta roll (again, those carbohydrates); and some fresh fruit (those lovely, lovely carbohydrates). After the mind numbing three and a half hour drive to Rocksprings, reality was setting in: the moment of truth was upon me. Was my new approach to training (i.e., actually training) going to work? Would it be worth it? Or would it flesh out to provide me with no more strength and drive than I'd had in previous races such that I could revert back to my "Oh, training? No, I just get out there and run" arrogance?
Kyle and I made the decision to book a lodge at Camp Eagle, which turned out to be a great idea. Kyle, Ben, and I each had our own bed to get a decent night's sleep before sun rise. We nestled in around 10:30-11 p.m., on edge for that early morning alarm to sound. Surprisingly, I was able to fall asleep rather quickly and slept fairly well. After a "wake up" slap from Kyle, I wished him well and nestled in for another thirty to forty five minutes of sleep before my own start time. Finally, it was time to get after it: I woke up, got dressed and tried to warm up my legs, and turned to my trusty whole wheat bread smeared with peanut butter and blackberry preserves, along with a small can of Diet Dr. Pepper.
After picking up my packet, ooh-ing and aah-ing over another pull-over sweater as the race shirt, I began the process of honing my focus on what lay ahead of me for the day. I reminded myself of the cards I had in my pocket: (1) I'd run the course before and remembered it well; (2) I was a stronger runner than I'd ever been, and recognized it; (3) I knew to respect the mileage and course; (4) I'd run the course in my mind, with a plan of action for each section of the course (hike the hills with a purpose; aggressively run the remainder); and (5) I was ready to have fun.
The last hour before the start of a race, no pun intended, races by! Suddenly, Joe is reminding us of a few odds and ends, nuances of the course, and then we're off! I barely had a moment to stretch before nestling myself in the middle of the pack. I reminded myself to hold back the energy, hold back the adrenaline; I'd need all I could get later in the loop and later in the race.
The section of each race between the start/finish and the first aid station of a loop is always challenging for me. I just want to be in the race, which means I want to be on the other side of that first aid station. Thankfully, there were so many runners (the 25K and 50K began at the same time) that I was distracted for a number of the first few miles on the way to the first aid station. I focused on getting around particular runners who may have been too slow, too prone to stopping suddenly, or whose running style or sounds simply irritated me. Finally, the runners spread out and I was able to start taking advantage of some solitude, allowing me to bring my focus to a more central place in my body. If I could try to describe it, this focus sits in the exact center of my brain, right behind my eyes. If you have the opportunity to see me come through an aid station at the later stages of the race, you might recognize what this looks like: almost zeroed in vision, a tunnel vision of sorts. As I ran toward the first stop on the course, this focus became more and more tangible: it was going to be a good day.
I finally dropped into the first aid station. I filled up my water bottle, grabbed a handful of peanut butter and jelly sandwich squares, and perhaps a handful of salt pills. I knew the middle portion of the loop was both the easiest and challenging. Coming out of the aid station, the trail becomes nearly unnavigable and it can be difficult to follow the markers. I slipped down loose rocks, scrambled over fallen branches, and pulled myself up hills that seemed to stare me straight in the face they were so steep. I ran this portion as best and safely as possible; I knew I would be rewarded with an opportunity to rest on a gentle, but steep, climbing hill. The tangle of branches, rocks, and roots deposited me at the bottom of this hill and I relished in the sunshine and gentle breeze.
I attack hills with a particular goal: hike with a purpose. The goal of an endurance event is to traverse the distance while expending as little energy as possible. While it would look incredibly impressive indeed to scale a hill with gusto, speed, and while running, this will only cost an athlete later. So, I hike with a purpose: I swing my arms at my side to propel me as fast as I can, just short of a run. I take short steps to avoid rolled ankles, and I pull from my core so I don't burn out my calves or quads. Finally, on the longer hikes, I content myself with the knowledge that my body will recover remarkably quickly once I reach the summit.
As I reached the summit of this particular climb, I began to, what I will call in retrospect, trot. The last mile or mile and a half, however long it was, had been challenging but invigorating. Without much fanfare or warning, though, I felt myself moving faster. I hadn't told my legs to move faster, but there they went. I was moving past other runners with such ease, I couldn't help but look down at my body with wide eyes and surprise. What on earth was going? To this day, I'm not sure, but I didn't question it and took advantage of it. I just focused on keeping my back straight, shoulders back and relaxed, arms moving rhythmically. The end of the descent from the longer climb dropped me onto one switchback trail. I knew this meant I was close to the next aid station; I also knew this was an incredibly lazy part of the course and I had to take advantage of the lack of rocks, ascents, and sun exposure, so I kept running. Before I knew it, the trail was dropping me at the Wall, the second aid station of the course.
Ben met me at the Wall, which was a great motivator to keep up the enthusiasm and energy. I had a few peanut butter and jelly squares, as well as some banana with peanut butter smeared on top. I didn't want to burn out on peanut butter and jelly, after all. Off I went, and with a few butterflies in my stomach: the most gorgeous part of the course was upon me. As with last year's race, this was the part of the course that convinced me to sign up for the race. I ran across a portion of the river bed, across the river on an old wooden bridge, and along a bluff directly next to the river; this was why I have grown to love trail running. The experience with nature is just overwhelming, humbling, and incredible.
Another ascent; another hike with a purpose. This ascent took us up, only to come back down and into the creek bed. I knew that, with every step I took, I was coming closer to the most, well, horrific part of the course: the fence line littered with palm-sized rocks with zero shade. Suddenly, it was in front of me. Alright...again, hike with a purpose. Just keep moving and, no matter what, do not look up. To look up would be to crush one's spirit with the force of a sledge hammer. This particular ascent was absolutely unending. The moment you thought it was over, it kept going. I didn't look up. I kept my focus and kept hiking. Finally, I was at the top and got back to running. The next portion would be slightly rocky, but it was still easy to take this portion aggressively. After three rolling ascents and descents, I found myself at the final aid station before the start/finish. A mile and a half, and I'll have finished the first loop. I picked up a few M&Ms and was off; I'd refuel and get some electrolytes at the start/finish station.
After a quick jog across a field of sorts, the trail dropped down through a few trees, across the park entrance road, and suddenly the lodge is in sight. At this point, your spirits lift and you know you're doing something right. My pace quickened ever so slightly; I wanted to get to the start/finish as soon as possible so I could get started on the second loop. I knew this thing would be in the bag if I just started on the second loop. Still, I held back a little bit. After all, I still had 15.5 miles to run.
At the start/finish, I took another handful of salt pills, ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and drank another small can of Diet Dr. Pepper. I started the second loop the same way I started the first: slowly. I knew the first mile and a half or so of this portion of the course was hilly and could zap more energy than other portions of the course.
Again, I just wanted to get on the other side of that first aid station; I wanted to be in the middle of the second loop already. Unfortunately, my energy levels seemed to plummet suddenly. The heat was bearing down on me and I was started to falter. Something had happened. I decided to take a moment to take stock of what was going on and sat down on the side of the trail. What was happening? I'd just had some food and caffeine, I should be firing on all cylinders. Then I realized I still had my running jacket on. It had been reasonably cool when the race started, but the temperature had risen quite substantially by this point in the day and I hadn't thought to take the jacket off at the start/finish. I slowly un-pinned by bib and peeled the jacket off and over my head. I slowly pinned by bib back onto my shirt, hoisted myself up, and tied my jacket around my waist, praying this would do the trick. I started off at a trot again. Slowly but surely, my enthusiasm, focus, and energy returned. I'd pinpointed the problem, solved it, and was back in the game.
This first portion of the second loop was as long as it had been the first time around, but I finally found myself at the first aid station. I refilled my water, picked up (surprise!) some peanut butter and jelly squares, as well as a few Pringles. Off I went. I knew what I needed to do on this part of the course and I was anxious to tackle it a second time. The middle part of the course the second time around was almost identical to the first. Within what felt like minutes, I was at the Wall again.
I hydrated, fueled, and handed off my jacket to Ben. Off I went; this finish was within grasp. Given that, I kept my emotions and daydreaming in check. I still had a number of miles to finish; it wasn't time to celebrate quite yet. Down into the river bed, across the bridge, up the ascent, down and around, and there was the fence line. "Blast," I thought. "Here we go again." The sun had risen higher in the sky by this point, so the temperature was all the more overbearing. Sweat dripped down my face and my legs ached with the job of pulling me up the hill. I diverted my attention to a conversation with a fellow Austinite. We lamented the climb, and reminded each other to take a moment to appreciate the views of the Texas Hill Country. It truly is a breathtaking view from up there. At the top, I knew the rest was downhill as long as I kept running.
"Just keep running," I told myself. I started approaching two runners ahead of me. As I passed, one turned to look at me and said, "Well aren't you looking great!" I nodded in appreciation, but kept my focus. I didn't want the nonchalance and arrogance to take over. One ascent and descent. "Two more," I thought. Another ascent and descent. Then, wham. Something in my ankle seared into action. I'm still not sure what happened amongst those bones; by the time the race was over, I didn't experience any more pain. But in that moment, I was sure I'd done something serious. "Move!," I told myself. "Just keep moving! Adjust your gait to avoid the pain, but you're not bleeding and you don't see any bones. Move!" So I kept going. I found a way to run on the tip of my toes on the left foot, supporting most of the movement on my right, and came to the third and final ascent and descent. I knew the aid station was at the end of this hill. Another runner I came across was experiencing some muscle problems, so we brought it in together. A volunteer at the aid station took a look at my ankle. He probed it, put pressure on it in a few places, rotated it; in short, he couldn't find anything wrong with it. "Screw it," I told him. "I'm out of here. See y'all at the finish." I grabbed some more M&Ms, declined a swig of Dos Equis, and high tailed it out of there. I had less than two miles and I was going to finish strong and without whining.
To be certain, that ankle wasn't on board with my plan. It fought back and brought tears to my eyes a few times in the last two miles, but I bore on. I kept going and I finally found a comfortable running style to get into the finish at a full on sprint.
As I crossed the finish line, a new emotion flooded over me: a sense of happiness at how strong of a run I'd just had. In the past, my finishing emotions centered around the fact that I'd actually finished. Today, I was overcome with emotion because of how I'd finished and how amazing it all felt. And on top of that, I finished an hour and a half faster than I was anticipating! It was incredible and I hope to hold on to that sensation well into future races.
With a smile plastered onto my face, and random giggles, I gathered my things and headed back to the cabin. For the first time, I was able to take a solid shower immediately after finishing and it was glorious. I threw myself onto the bed after and took in the day. Here I was, showered, laying down, and smiling after running thirty one miles. Training had paid off, I reminded myself. I had to stick with it. I suppose the hundreds of thousands of other runners who train are actually on to something...
Nueces is quickly becoming my favorite of Joe's races and I anticipate returning every year, perhaps tackling the 50 miler one of these days. For now, I think the Nueces 50K will be my go-to yearly race.
Nueces 50K, Camp Eagle, Rocksprings, Texas
March 3, 2012
6:39:30
Great report. congrats on your finish and being a trooper and knocking it out of the park. ~ Manny
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