This race was at the same time both beautiful and horrific, which only the genius of Joe Prusaitis can create. Since the preceding statement could be interpreted as a negative statement, perhaps even offensive, I'll explain.
In the days leading up to this marathon, I considered whether downsizing to the half marathon would be a better idea. For one, this race is right in the middle of my (last) two weeks of final exams. Thankfully, most of my finals came before the exam, which was conveniently timed to coincide with my taper week. But I also came to this race with interesting sleep patterns, a questionable relationship with caffeine, and a head foggy with sports and state and local government legal doctrine. Perhaps less of a challenge was appropriate. Second, I knew the heat could be problematic. I have been training in the early mornings, never really running after 9 or 10 a.m. "Eh," I thought, "it will be fine." Famous last words of a fool, if I've ever heard them.
My training leading up to the race was pretty standard. Five miles or so on Monday, five and change on the trails on Tuesdays and Thursdays, eight on Wednesdays, yoga on Fridays, and a 10-15-10 round of long runs on Saturdays. I've kept up the more plant-based and less-cheese diet, which has kept me moving pretty swiftly on my runs. I'm continually surprised by the progress I see in my running. The only difference between the days leading up to Pandora and those leading up to Nueces and Hell's Hills are the stress levels. While some stress has disappeared (thanks to finishing our publication goals at the Journal), some stress has increased (finals, for example, and preparing for a move this summer). I'm not sure if this affected how I approached the race, though I'm sure it did. I wasn't able to devote as much thought to it, planning my strategy. And, unfortunately, I've seen it has just "one more hurdle" to May 9, the day I get to relax by the pool until my bar review course begins. All in all, the approach to the race was both standard and perhaps less than ideal.
I woke up at 4 a.m. for my customary toast and Diet Dr. Pepper. I wanted to be on the road by 4:30 a.m. to ensure I'd get to Reveille Peak Ranch by 6 a.m. packet pickup. I put quite a bit of stock into the ability to sit around for an hour or so before a race, soak everything in, and mentally prepare for the day ahead of me. I overshot the time needed to get to the Ranch, however, and had closer to an hour and half. No big deal, really.
As the race started, the sun hadn't yet been able to burn through the overcast skies. There was a breeze coming off the lake and the temperature couldn't have been higher than mid- to high-70s. Since this was the first year Joe has offered this race, there were less runners, which was nice for the start. There was little to zero start and stop, as I experienced at Hell's Hills. The running was smooth from the get-go, allowing me to focus early in the race. I knew I wanted to get through the first loop fairly quickly, to avoid the sun as much as possible. My speed may have been to my detriment, however, as I'm thinking it zapped some energy stores I needed later in the race. The first aid station came up quickly. Having had toast over three hours earlier, I grabbed a banana and forged ahead.
The next three miles, give or take, had us traipsing across red granite outcroppings and domes with a bit of single track here and there. The views were spectacular, simply breathtaking...that is, if you could lift your gaze long enough to take a peak at what the views had to offer. The outcroppings made for a slow second leg of the loop, as it was important to keep your eyes on the ground to avoid tripping. It was easy to get lost in the crags and, indeed, I saw one half-marathon leader, for lack of better phrasing, belly flop onto the granite after tripping. I'm sure water would have been more welcome for the poor guy. After the outcroppings began to fade, we climbed up into the trees and a bit more single track and into the first aid station. I had a bit of water left in my two handhelds, so I didn't refill (Mistake No. 1). I did down four peanut butter and jelly squares, as well as three endurolytes. With about three miles to the next aid station, and no knowledge on what the course had to offer from this point, I resumed the trail gingerly.
The next three miles alternated between single track, mostly climbs, and more red granite outcroppings. I preferred the outcroppings, as they brought with them wonderful breezes as the temperatures were rising. This part of the loop was largely unremarkable from a running perspective. There were beautiful wildflowers, however, and more breathtaking views. All in all, it was a quick three and a half and I found myself at the three aid station of the loop in startling time. I filled up on more peanut butter and jelly squares and refilled my water. Off I went, three and a half miles until the next aid station.
This particular three and a half miles was probably my favorite of the course. It wound through single track, a small bit of granite outcroppings, and offered a perfect mix of scenery, grasslands, and open spaces. My running was strong and my focus honed. I started thinking this could be a 5 hour race. (Mistake No. 2). In an even more remarkable amount of time, I found myself at the fourth and final aid station on the loop before the start/finish. With less than two miles until the start/finish, I just aid a bit of banana, breezing through the aid station with little fanfare.
The 1.69 miles to the start/finish was probably my strongest of the race. I hit a perfect harmony of pace, breathing, and focus. I was surprised at my form, posture, and how quickly I found myself making the final turn into the finisher's chute, only 2.5 hours after I began the loop. I quickly picked up a water refill, some endurolytes, and peanut butter and jelly squares, and made my way to my drop bag for some Diet Dr. Pepper. I chugged about six ounces or so of Diet Dr. Pepper (Mistake No. 3) and made my way out for my second loop (Mistake No. 4), thirteen point one miles to go for my first marathon finish.
I immediately began to feel my stomach tighten. Nothing was moving from the organ for the next four hours. Rather, my stomach intended to cramp, heave, slosh, and wobble for the next thirteen miles. Looking back on the first loop, I didn't drink nearly enough water, but I took plenty of endurolytes. In essence, I was dehydrated and it was my fault entirely. As a result, paired with the rising temperatures and incredible heat indices on the outcroppings, I started the second loop so far behind in hydration, it would be impossible to get back on top of it before the finish. I kept up the running into the first aid station, though. Popped a chunk of banana and forged ahead.
The outcroppings between aid station one and two made for slow running on loop one, and nothing was different the second time around. It certainly felt like a longer three miles than the first go around, and I'm sure it took me longer. The heat was just oppressive and drained me of any energy or hydration I possibly had at this point. I tried to maintain my focus, but I couldn't help finding myself just scanning the horizon for the aid station: I needed water, endurolytes, and fuel. With my energy levels falling precipitously, I couldn't focus enough to remember what the course looked like leading up to the aid station, so every turn offered new hope. This proved to wear on my psychologically, which is dangerous in any challenging race. Finally, I dropped into the aid station. I got a water refill, popped two endurolytes, and stuffed, literally, some peanut butter and jelly squares into my stomach (Possible Mistake No. 5). Before I left, I decided to address an interesting issue that had arising: the sole of my right shoe had started to detach from the main part of the shoe. It was literally flapping as I ran. "Duct tape?" I sat down and wrapped up my shoe to the best of my abilities, at the time. I figured duct tape could do the rest of the work; it's duct tape, after all. The cramps in my stomach persisted and worsened as I left the aid station, commiserating with other runners there about the incredible and sudden heat. Off we went. Three miles to the next aid station, then sailing into the finish.
I ran quite a bit in the next three miles. It seemed to pass the time faster (go figure!) and get my mind off of the incredible pain and discomfort in my stomach. All I could think was a good bout of (sorry!) vomiting would do wonders. With no clue on how to self-induce vomiting, I was left to hope it would just happen naturally. Then I could quickly rehydrate and start fresh-ish on it all. Unfortunately, my hope was in vain and it never happened. I just kept moving, though, waiting for the next aid station to appear. This particular three miles was long and arduous. My focus fell to an all-time low and I simply couldn't keep up my enthusiasm for a good performance. Simply put: things were falling apart and it, likely, was all due to poor hydration in light of the incredible heat.
As I nearly fell into the next aid station, the volunteers could tell I was struggling. I dropped my handhelds and doubled over near some bushes, hoping against hope that something would come up and relieve my pain and discomfort. I suddenly felt ice cold water pouring over my back. It startling, painful, and the best feeling in the entire world, all at the same time. Unfortunately, the water evaporated as quickly as it hit my skin. I was ushered to a chair and quickly handed a cup of ice water and water treated with an endurolyte-type tab. The volunteer, Frank, checked my ability to focus my eyes (all engines firing, somehow), my will to keep going ("Are you absolutely sure?" "Yes." "Okay, then I need you to stay on top of your fluids better. You're doing a terrible job, here."), and forced me to stay seated for a bit. I somehow made my way over to the food table and chose an orange. I thought it might be refreshing and jump start some movement in my stomach. Unfortunately, the heat had sapped its moisture and it didn't do much for the discomfort. This was the last bit of food I could force myself to eat during the race. (Mistake No. 6, probably). It was then that I noticed the duct tape had begun to melt off the shoe and had failed in its mission to keep my shoes in tact for the final jaunt. The aid station didn't have any more duct tape, but they did have athletic tape. Frank quickly wrapped the tape around both shoes as best as possible, with no promises it would work. "It'll do," I said wearily. "It'll have to." After another round of being doused in ice cold water, I began the first of the most gut wrenching eight miles to date.
With the sun rising to its noon position, the heat was starting to hit its peak, and I felt it. My stomach was such a brick, it wasn't even churning. It simply was cramping and refusing to function. The idea of adding water to the mix was too much for me to handle, so I simply didn't drink much of it at all (Mistake No. 7). Against Frank's advice, I ran more than I probably should have at this point. Thankfully, the capacity to do so didn't last long, and I eventually slowed to random trotting, and finally to a pitiful hike. I fell in line with another "What did I sign up for?" participant, Jeremy, and we hiked our way into the next aid station. I'm not sure if Jeremy walked it in because he was concerned about my safety, or if it was because he too was feeling the pressure of the heat. Regardless, I was grateful for the company and for the security should something happen. Things were starting to get dodgy. I stopped talking quite as much, to avoid getting my heart rate much higher than it needed to be. Despite the walking, the final aid station was upon us surprisingly quickly. I quickly sought shade and a chair; I needed to get my heart rate down, immediately. I somehow got some water in my system, but not much. I also decided against any food. Less than two miles to go. It seemed like an insurmountable distance at this point. My anxiety was peaking as I wasn't sure where to locate the pain in my upper body: my chest? my heart? my stomach? It was alarming, to say the least.
I started off on the hike to the finish. And I hiked. That's all I did. I couldn't trust my body to run, the pain in my chest and stomach was so severe. Instead, I made sure to keep my arms down by my side, to keep my heart rate down and blood flowing easily. I tried to find the perfect way to breath to keep my heart rate even and myself less winded. I knew this portion of the course better than any other, as this was the fourth time I'd run it. There was the first footbridge. And now the long bridge over the water. Ahead was a bit of open walking on Jeep road, two more foot bridges, then the turn into the final stretch. I just willed myself to keep moving, stay calm, and finish it out. Things would relax once I finished. My walk was strong, I'll say that. I kept at it. Finally, I was making the final turn. I knew Kate and Kevin would be waiting and looking for me, so I began to trot. I couldn't finish at a walk, but I couldn't run too quickly. So I trotted it in. I've never been so relieved to finish a race and know I could just slow everything down. I picked up my medal and was instructed by my running buddies to "just get in the pool." Don't have to tell this girl twice. I stripped off my taped-up shoes and socks, and got into the pool faster than I thought possible. It felt incredible. I could already feel life returning and my heart calming. At the same time, I just wanted to lay down and focus on getting all systems back to level, or as close to it as possible.
I found Kate and Kevin again, who presented me with a cup of water, and we made our way to the Pavilion. I immediately fell to the ground and closed my eyes, babbling about all of the above, explaining away my later and less-than-strong finish so they weren't questioning why they'd made the drive for such an anticlimactic experience. I could feel things calming. Eventually, I was able to sit up, again. Kate and Kevin noted the color was returning to my face. My anxiety eased as I thought it must mean I hadn't done any permanent damage. I could hear myself speaking with more liveliness and could feel less pain in my chest and stomach. I was able to drink more water and could feel the pull of thirst in my mouth. Systems were recovering.
Even with everything returning to normal, all I could think about was getting home, into the A/C, and into a definite zone of relaxation. So, without much fanfare, we packed up and made our way back to Austin, capping off a hell of a day.
I made a number of mistakes out there, chief among them being failing to respect the race in its entirety and failing to appreciate the power of heat. Thankfully, I don't anticipate running any more races while the heat is so great (Cactus Rose 50M is next on my radar), but I know the heat will still be an issue during my general running over the next few months. I've got to get a handle on this aspect of running if I want to avoid such a terrible experience. A bit of research is in order, I'd say.
All in all, it was a wonderful race. The course was absolutely gorgeous, the aid stations were perfectly organized and staffed, and the classic Prusaitis touch was there. I'm sure I'll be at it again next year, but until I know more about running in the heat. What a challenge! Many thanks to Joe and Joyce, all of the volunteers, and everyone on the course for a wonderful, entirely educational, and perfectly horrific race experience! It is one I won't be forgetting any time soon and, oddly enough, I'm glad it will stick with me.
Pandora's Box of Rox Marathon
May 5, 2012
6:33:48
In the days leading up to this marathon, I considered whether downsizing to the half marathon would be a better idea. For one, this race is right in the middle of my (last) two weeks of final exams. Thankfully, most of my finals came before the exam, which was conveniently timed to coincide with my taper week. But I also came to this race with interesting sleep patterns, a questionable relationship with caffeine, and a head foggy with sports and state and local government legal doctrine. Perhaps less of a challenge was appropriate. Second, I knew the heat could be problematic. I have been training in the early mornings, never really running after 9 or 10 a.m. "Eh," I thought, "it will be fine." Famous last words of a fool, if I've ever heard them.
My training leading up to the race was pretty standard. Five miles or so on Monday, five and change on the trails on Tuesdays and Thursdays, eight on Wednesdays, yoga on Fridays, and a 10-15-10 round of long runs on Saturdays. I've kept up the more plant-based and less-cheese diet, which has kept me moving pretty swiftly on my runs. I'm continually surprised by the progress I see in my running. The only difference between the days leading up to Pandora and those leading up to Nueces and Hell's Hills are the stress levels. While some stress has disappeared (thanks to finishing our publication goals at the Journal), some stress has increased (finals, for example, and preparing for a move this summer). I'm not sure if this affected how I approached the race, though I'm sure it did. I wasn't able to devote as much thought to it, planning my strategy. And, unfortunately, I've seen it has just "one more hurdle" to May 9, the day I get to relax by the pool until my bar review course begins. All in all, the approach to the race was both standard and perhaps less than ideal.
I woke up at 4 a.m. for my customary toast and Diet Dr. Pepper. I wanted to be on the road by 4:30 a.m. to ensure I'd get to Reveille Peak Ranch by 6 a.m. packet pickup. I put quite a bit of stock into the ability to sit around for an hour or so before a race, soak everything in, and mentally prepare for the day ahead of me. I overshot the time needed to get to the Ranch, however, and had closer to an hour and half. No big deal, really.
As the race started, the sun hadn't yet been able to burn through the overcast skies. There was a breeze coming off the lake and the temperature couldn't have been higher than mid- to high-70s. Since this was the first year Joe has offered this race, there were less runners, which was nice for the start. There was little to zero start and stop, as I experienced at Hell's Hills. The running was smooth from the get-go, allowing me to focus early in the race. I knew I wanted to get through the first loop fairly quickly, to avoid the sun as much as possible. My speed may have been to my detriment, however, as I'm thinking it zapped some energy stores I needed later in the race. The first aid station came up quickly. Having had toast over three hours earlier, I grabbed a banana and forged ahead.
The next three miles, give or take, had us traipsing across red granite outcroppings and domes with a bit of single track here and there. The views were spectacular, simply breathtaking...that is, if you could lift your gaze long enough to take a peak at what the views had to offer. The outcroppings made for a slow second leg of the loop, as it was important to keep your eyes on the ground to avoid tripping. It was easy to get lost in the crags and, indeed, I saw one half-marathon leader, for lack of better phrasing, belly flop onto the granite after tripping. I'm sure water would have been more welcome for the poor guy. After the outcroppings began to fade, we climbed up into the trees and a bit more single track and into the first aid station. I had a bit of water left in my two handhelds, so I didn't refill (Mistake No. 1). I did down four peanut butter and jelly squares, as well as three endurolytes. With about three miles to the next aid station, and no knowledge on what the course had to offer from this point, I resumed the trail gingerly.
The next three miles alternated between single track, mostly climbs, and more red granite outcroppings. I preferred the outcroppings, as they brought with them wonderful breezes as the temperatures were rising. This part of the loop was largely unremarkable from a running perspective. There were beautiful wildflowers, however, and more breathtaking views. All in all, it was a quick three and a half and I found myself at the three aid station of the loop in startling time. I filled up on more peanut butter and jelly squares and refilled my water. Off I went, three and a half miles until the next aid station.
This particular three and a half miles was probably my favorite of the course. It wound through single track, a small bit of granite outcroppings, and offered a perfect mix of scenery, grasslands, and open spaces. My running was strong and my focus honed. I started thinking this could be a 5 hour race. (Mistake No. 2). In an even more remarkable amount of time, I found myself at the fourth and final aid station on the loop before the start/finish. With less than two miles until the start/finish, I just aid a bit of banana, breezing through the aid station with little fanfare.
The 1.69 miles to the start/finish was probably my strongest of the race. I hit a perfect harmony of pace, breathing, and focus. I was surprised at my form, posture, and how quickly I found myself making the final turn into the finisher's chute, only 2.5 hours after I began the loop. I quickly picked up a water refill, some endurolytes, and peanut butter and jelly squares, and made my way to my drop bag for some Diet Dr. Pepper. I chugged about six ounces or so of Diet Dr. Pepper (Mistake No. 3) and made my way out for my second loop (Mistake No. 4), thirteen point one miles to go for my first marathon finish.
I immediately began to feel my stomach tighten. Nothing was moving from the organ for the next four hours. Rather, my stomach intended to cramp, heave, slosh, and wobble for the next thirteen miles. Looking back on the first loop, I didn't drink nearly enough water, but I took plenty of endurolytes. In essence, I was dehydrated and it was my fault entirely. As a result, paired with the rising temperatures and incredible heat indices on the outcroppings, I started the second loop so far behind in hydration, it would be impossible to get back on top of it before the finish. I kept up the running into the first aid station, though. Popped a chunk of banana and forged ahead.
The outcroppings between aid station one and two made for slow running on loop one, and nothing was different the second time around. It certainly felt like a longer three miles than the first go around, and I'm sure it took me longer. The heat was just oppressive and drained me of any energy or hydration I possibly had at this point. I tried to maintain my focus, but I couldn't help finding myself just scanning the horizon for the aid station: I needed water, endurolytes, and fuel. With my energy levels falling precipitously, I couldn't focus enough to remember what the course looked like leading up to the aid station, so every turn offered new hope. This proved to wear on my psychologically, which is dangerous in any challenging race. Finally, I dropped into the aid station. I got a water refill, popped two endurolytes, and stuffed, literally, some peanut butter and jelly squares into my stomach (Possible Mistake No. 5). Before I left, I decided to address an interesting issue that had arising: the sole of my right shoe had started to detach from the main part of the shoe. It was literally flapping as I ran. "Duct tape?" I sat down and wrapped up my shoe to the best of my abilities, at the time. I figured duct tape could do the rest of the work; it's duct tape, after all. The cramps in my stomach persisted and worsened as I left the aid station, commiserating with other runners there about the incredible and sudden heat. Off we went. Three miles to the next aid station, then sailing into the finish.
I ran quite a bit in the next three miles. It seemed to pass the time faster (go figure!) and get my mind off of the incredible pain and discomfort in my stomach. All I could think was a good bout of (sorry!) vomiting would do wonders. With no clue on how to self-induce vomiting, I was left to hope it would just happen naturally. Then I could quickly rehydrate and start fresh-ish on it all. Unfortunately, my hope was in vain and it never happened. I just kept moving, though, waiting for the next aid station to appear. This particular three miles was long and arduous. My focus fell to an all-time low and I simply couldn't keep up my enthusiasm for a good performance. Simply put: things were falling apart and it, likely, was all due to poor hydration in light of the incredible heat.
As I nearly fell into the next aid station, the volunteers could tell I was struggling. I dropped my handhelds and doubled over near some bushes, hoping against hope that something would come up and relieve my pain and discomfort. I suddenly felt ice cold water pouring over my back. It startling, painful, and the best feeling in the entire world, all at the same time. Unfortunately, the water evaporated as quickly as it hit my skin. I was ushered to a chair and quickly handed a cup of ice water and water treated with an endurolyte-type tab. The volunteer, Frank, checked my ability to focus my eyes (all engines firing, somehow), my will to keep going ("Are you absolutely sure?" "Yes." "Okay, then I need you to stay on top of your fluids better. You're doing a terrible job, here."), and forced me to stay seated for a bit. I somehow made my way over to the food table and chose an orange. I thought it might be refreshing and jump start some movement in my stomach. Unfortunately, the heat had sapped its moisture and it didn't do much for the discomfort. This was the last bit of food I could force myself to eat during the race. (Mistake No. 6, probably). It was then that I noticed the duct tape had begun to melt off the shoe and had failed in its mission to keep my shoes in tact for the final jaunt. The aid station didn't have any more duct tape, but they did have athletic tape. Frank quickly wrapped the tape around both shoes as best as possible, with no promises it would work. "It'll do," I said wearily. "It'll have to." After another round of being doused in ice cold water, I began the first of the most gut wrenching eight miles to date.
With the sun rising to its noon position, the heat was starting to hit its peak, and I felt it. My stomach was such a brick, it wasn't even churning. It simply was cramping and refusing to function. The idea of adding water to the mix was too much for me to handle, so I simply didn't drink much of it at all (Mistake No. 7). Against Frank's advice, I ran more than I probably should have at this point. Thankfully, the capacity to do so didn't last long, and I eventually slowed to random trotting, and finally to a pitiful hike. I fell in line with another "What did I sign up for?" participant, Jeremy, and we hiked our way into the next aid station. I'm not sure if Jeremy walked it in because he was concerned about my safety, or if it was because he too was feeling the pressure of the heat. Regardless, I was grateful for the company and for the security should something happen. Things were starting to get dodgy. I stopped talking quite as much, to avoid getting my heart rate much higher than it needed to be. Despite the walking, the final aid station was upon us surprisingly quickly. I quickly sought shade and a chair; I needed to get my heart rate down, immediately. I somehow got some water in my system, but not much. I also decided against any food. Less than two miles to go. It seemed like an insurmountable distance at this point. My anxiety was peaking as I wasn't sure where to locate the pain in my upper body: my chest? my heart? my stomach? It was alarming, to say the least.
I started off on the hike to the finish. And I hiked. That's all I did. I couldn't trust my body to run, the pain in my chest and stomach was so severe. Instead, I made sure to keep my arms down by my side, to keep my heart rate down and blood flowing easily. I tried to find the perfect way to breath to keep my heart rate even and myself less winded. I knew this portion of the course better than any other, as this was the fourth time I'd run it. There was the first footbridge. And now the long bridge over the water. Ahead was a bit of open walking on Jeep road, two more foot bridges, then the turn into the final stretch. I just willed myself to keep moving, stay calm, and finish it out. Things would relax once I finished. My walk was strong, I'll say that. I kept at it. Finally, I was making the final turn. I knew Kate and Kevin would be waiting and looking for me, so I began to trot. I couldn't finish at a walk, but I couldn't run too quickly. So I trotted it in. I've never been so relieved to finish a race and know I could just slow everything down. I picked up my medal and was instructed by my running buddies to "just get in the pool." Don't have to tell this girl twice. I stripped off my taped-up shoes and socks, and got into the pool faster than I thought possible. It felt incredible. I could already feel life returning and my heart calming. At the same time, I just wanted to lay down and focus on getting all systems back to level, or as close to it as possible.
I found Kate and Kevin again, who presented me with a cup of water, and we made our way to the Pavilion. I immediately fell to the ground and closed my eyes, babbling about all of the above, explaining away my later and less-than-strong finish so they weren't questioning why they'd made the drive for such an anticlimactic experience. I could feel things calming. Eventually, I was able to sit up, again. Kate and Kevin noted the color was returning to my face. My anxiety eased as I thought it must mean I hadn't done any permanent damage. I could hear myself speaking with more liveliness and could feel less pain in my chest and stomach. I was able to drink more water and could feel the pull of thirst in my mouth. Systems were recovering.
Even with everything returning to normal, all I could think about was getting home, into the A/C, and into a definite zone of relaxation. So, without much fanfare, we packed up and made our way back to Austin, capping off a hell of a day.
I made a number of mistakes out there, chief among them being failing to respect the race in its entirety and failing to appreciate the power of heat. Thankfully, I don't anticipate running any more races while the heat is so great (Cactus Rose 50M is next on my radar), but I know the heat will still be an issue during my general running over the next few months. I've got to get a handle on this aspect of running if I want to avoid such a terrible experience. A bit of research is in order, I'd say.
All in all, it was a wonderful race. The course was absolutely gorgeous, the aid stations were perfectly organized and staffed, and the classic Prusaitis touch was there. I'm sure I'll be at it again next year, but until I know more about running in the heat. What a challenge! Many thanks to Joe and Joyce, all of the volunteers, and everyone on the course for a wonderful, entirely educational, and perfectly horrific race experience! It is one I won't be forgetting any time soon and, oddly enough, I'm glad it will stick with me.
Pandora's Box of Rox Marathon
May 5, 2012
6:33:48
Kimberly, what an awesome first loop you had! I knew you were suffering when I saw you on the 2nd. I was hoping you would have laid down in the stream for a couple of mins, I did. Running in the heat is a real challenge, especially when it comes on so fast... you've got to look for every trick in the book to get your core temp down when it starts climbing out of control. BTW, high core temp is also usually a cause of the stomach issues. I'm no expert, but, I've had a few brushes with heat exhaustion just like you... you'll figure it out. :-) Way to stay tough!
ReplyDeleteDavid, thank you! I should've laid down in that stream; in fact, the guy I fell in line with and I contemplated it, but were concerned about what might be in there. I learned some good, and tough, lessons out there. I won't be forgetting that experience for some time to come. Unfortunately, I don't think Capt'n Karl's is in the works for me this summer, so I'll have to experiment with heat conditioning on my own. Great seeing you out there!
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