I walked into a calm room, my patient asleep, roommate and roommate's husband quiet. I gently wake the patient and take my time navigating the patient into our ambulation session. Due to personalities of the morning that had to be seen due to impending discharge, I was not able to get to her room at the late morning hour which had previously worked well. People with Alzheimer's do better with consistency, and they do better in the morning due to what is called a sundowning effect. I was pushing my luck with 1:30pm, so I strove to make the transition as calm and easy as possible. The orientation phase going smoothly as previous days, a good sign.
A PT popped his head in to the room. "Are you seeing the other patient in this room?" I respond a simple no.
I again work towards re-orienting my patient to the fact that she is in the hospital, and that it why her room seems different and messy. That the footsteps she hears outside are other nurses and doctors. That we don't need a coat because we will be staying inside. I have to lean in to speak close to her ear so that she hears and understands everything.
An OT comes in to see the roommate, who is on the other side of the dividing curtain. She has a brassy voice in the first place, but the roommate is also partially hard of hearing. Loud discussion between the roommate, OT and husband ensue.
"Who is that? Who is there?"
"It is the OT to see your roommate."
"Someone should tell them that this is not an appropriate time to have a party."
I re-orient to being in a hospital. She mentions the coat again. I re-orient to our staying inside.
The roommate's nurse enters. Apparently there is some question that is now involving multiple opinions. Four voices go back to being three, then the PT comes in again to consult, then two doctors pause within five feet of the door to discuss something from down the hall. My patient has a hard time hearing me over the others, but we are able to get up to start our walk.
But once vertical, the visual of an unrecognizable room meets the audio of unrecognized voices. She begins to get frustrated about the clutter in her room. The noise has surpassed her threshold, and I can tell that this won't end well, nor will the path run smooth. At this point we have not walked, only stood, but for the sake of her safety I will run with whatever direction she gives be it a walk or a return to bed or something else entirely.
I offer a handhold assist, which we have used successfully for the last two days.
"No. I don't need it. I take my privacy seriously. No one let's you have your privacy anymore. I can't move when you hold me back."
"I'm only here to make sure you stay safe."
"Oh, good. Thank you."
"You're very welcome."
"Oh, sure, [mocking tone] you're very welcome." She sticks her tongue out at me. Bad sign.
"Would you like to go back to bed and get comfortable?"
"I can't get comfortable. I don't want give up that easily." She starts to walk toward the door, so I follow and guard, cautious that yesterday she was minimum assistance for balance but today rejects any offer of assistance.
We come within two feet of the door, and the nurse practitioner walks up. "It's good to see you up."
"What?"
"It's good to see you up."
"Oh, okay." She fiddles with her hospital bracelet on the left arm, and with the wound dressing on her right arm. Both arms and legs show signs of slight edema, just enough that her socks and bracelet and all other apparatuses fit tightly, so she fiddles with them out of noticing their presence but not understanding what it is. The NP notices, takes her hand.
"This looks a little tight, does it feel okay?"
"Does what feel okay? This room is a mess."
The NP quickly realizes that she added too much on top of the activity at hand. But instead of a gentle apology and exit she attempts to explain herself. I keep my sigh to myself, waiting, still guarding. After a full minute of bumbling discussion that does nothing to soothe the patient, the NP goes to check on the situation with the roommate. Five voices. A joke, followed by laughter. My patient takes one step to the right diagonal. Pauses. Turns and takes a step to the left. Pauses. She doesn't know where to go, or what to make of the scene. I'm dying to get her back to her bed. She doesn't deserve to be bed bound, but the usually succinct OT session is obviously not going to end any time soon. To have her ambulatory while riled up could become dangerous if she doesn't allow me to continue guarding. Last thing I want is for her to become so upset or so fearful that she falls.
"There's just too much. Too much people. People with their parties." I offer to go back to her bed. I try to emphasize that there is something home-like about it to draw her interest. She has none of it.
One of the nurses who was already one of my favorites looked up from a nursing cart. The nurse has had my patient before. She gives a knowing face of the difficulty when the patient is confused. I motion for help, saying that it's too loud to get her back to her room safely. We are a mere 15 feet away from her bed.
The nurse takes her hand, begins anew with re-orienting the patient. It takes a dozen exchanges and a full minute for each step, but this nurse understands the safety issue and is very patient with keeping the patient on board with the return to bed. At this point I let the nurse guide verbally. Because of the time that has now passed in an agitated state, I have become associated with the offending noise and privacy invasion. I don't fight it. I'm only glad the nurse is able freshly re-achieve a voice of calm separate from the rest of the chaos, despite having been another addition on top of everything else. You use what works.
Slowly, eventually, we get to standing next to her bed. The "party" is down to three voices, but it is still loud enough. I move myself to standing behind my patient where she cannot see me, because having the nurse in front is enough to keep her upset about sharing a small space. We re-orient her to the fact that this is her bed, that this is a hospital. Eventually she sits on the side of the bed. I am still there in case she needs assistance with sit-to-supine, since I'm not sure if/how her function changes when agitated.
The OT calls over to me, asking if I have the roommate on my caseload.
"No," I say softly.
OT. "Is everything okay?"
Nurse. "It's the party. It's a little too noisy."
OT. "Party? Hah! What party?!" Still brassy and loud. They are walking toward the door, passing by the foot of my patient's bed.
Nurse. "The noise is too much for her. We'd like to keep it quieter, if we could."
OT. "Okay." Still brassy. They pause as a group, all within view of my patient, all looking. "I just wanted to see if Laura has this patient on her list."
I shake my head. "No, sorry."
OT. "Okay. Thanks." They continue walking out, continue talking. Pretty sure they failed to realize that the noise was an issue.
Patient. "Why does she have to be here?" Pointing at me.
I can take the hint. "I'll leave you with your nurse." The nurse nods that she's okay. I take my leave.
Forty minutes. That's how long it took to orient the patient, by happen chance get her agreeable to stand, have things go south, and then the time required to return the patient to safety. You cannot predict, but it still weighs heavy on my heart to have contributed to the exact opposite of what this patient needed. Would she have become agitated by the "party" had I not woken her, had I not added physical activity to the list of offending overstimulation? Logic says possibly. My heart says probably not.
PT fail.
Tomorrow she goes early, come hell or high water. The other patients can simply wait their turn.
Friday, September 28, 2012
Monday, September 24, 2012
Ski lift hills and stomach cramps - Virgil Crest 50 mile race report
Picture yourself standing at the bottom of a ski lift. To see the top 1400 feet above (vertical feet, mind you) you have to shield your eyes from the sun as you crane your neck. According to the course description on the website, Mars Hill technically averages a 14% grade that at times reaches 21%. To your eyes, it looks like a 70 degree angle. Since you somehow find challenges like this to be fun, you get to run up and down the backside of Mars Hill. And bookending the loop of awesomeness is a similarly veined descent on road and an ascent on hiking trails running in parallel. And - and - this encompasses the middle 10 or so miles of the outbound portion of the course, so you get to do it all over again backwards.
The upside is that you are only entered in the 50 mile race. While you wallow in pain and stumble with cramps at the finish line, the 100 milers turn around and do the entire thing, out and back, again....
Again, how's that for perspective?
There's almost no need to go into depth about the other sections of the course. There were climbs and descents, tree roots and downed logs to hurdle. Compared to any other east coast trail I have run on, it was decidedly less rocky and less technical. There were occasional bouts of soft trail covered with luscious pine needles that make your legs feel 10 years younger and two hours fresher. (Seriously. I wanted to kiss the ground.) The course is surrounded by green hills that feel like a warm blanket to those like me who are regularly trapped in an urban concrete jungle. The entire race crew and collection of entrants are good people - happy to be there, happy to participate, understanding of how to help and how to mutually support.
And so at about 8.5 miles into the race I found myself on the downhill section of road. I tried to use the momentum and avoid a quad-bashing controlled descent, so I kept the cadence high and tried to avoid lingering too long on any footfall. I regularly train on a nearby .3 mile hill of this grade. This one kept descending for a total of 1.1 miles, then hooked up with a couple turns for another .4 miles of milder downhill leading to the next aid station. I definitely felt it at the bottom, a little tingle throughout my legs. Having learned a huge lesson from Traprock's festival of hamstring cramps secondary to inadequate salt intake, I was grateful to have packed and carried 8 salt tabs to supplement said stations.
Barely out of the aid station was the ski lift hill. I took my two chunk of peanut butter and jelly so slowly nosh as I ascended. No sense on blowing all your energy trying to ascend fast; rather, you must take care of yourself. The tingle from the downhill became the odd sense I have not experienced since college at Iowa. That was my last time I worked out in a gym, where if you are not careful with effort levels and angles on an elliptical you'll cut off blood flow to your feet and get the numb-tingles in your toes. I developed the same response while marching up the ski lift hill.
While I wouldn't call my training for this race perfect, I did have the Escarpment Trail Race to add a new mix of hills. It is the same cumulative elevation gain of 10,000 feet though squeezed into 18 miles. But on the Escarpment Trail, the grade is steeper and the terrain is rocky enough that, in effect, the course is a stairwell on steroids that requires use of handholds. Here, it is a smooth incline aside from the bumbles of mud and grass heaps. Not steep enough to use your hands (aside from on your thighs as Euro "hiking poles"), consistent enough that your ankle is on constant stretch or your calf is constantly in contraction depending on your ascent technique. A few times I turned around to go up a dozen steps backwards just to take the pressure off for a few seconds. Scott, the 100 miler ascending at my pace, gave a knowing smile. That led to the first of a handful of nice conversations with fellow runners.
You turn the corner at the top and have a steep descent on a gravel road, again trying to not bash your quads too much now that your whole leg is on fire. Then you ascend another steep section. There's a couple of rolling stretches mixed with a couple of steeper ascents - a fancy way of saying I have no recollection of what happened during that stretch. All I remember is a not-quite-but-almost hand-over-foot ascend up a mud hill.
Steadily a young woman in a pink tank top gained on me fast throughout the entire series of climbs. Turned out to be Rachel, a 100 miler with whom I previously had a small chat during the benign initial section. Every uphill she would power hike easier than I've ever seen before. She was kicking ass and taking names. But it still helped my confidence, because for all the distance she'd close on me during an ascend I could in turn recreate on descents. It turned out to be a consistent parlay of order for the first 25 miles. Rachel was so positive and full of youthful spirit that at a point I had to ask her age. "Twenty four. Yea, I'm older than I seem." I told her it was more of a benefit than she realized. She went on to describe that she absolutely loves hills to the point that she gets giddy. And when she is further and further into a crazy long race she becomes deliriously giddy, apparently much to the dismay of we older (or, as in my case, "older") and more cynical folk. We had a lot of fun joking about when we'd next pass each other. And it was a blast to run for so long with another female.
But I digress. After getting through the multitude of false top-outs you eventually make the long descent on the backside of the loop. Your legs can't open up on this kind of grade. Well, at least not if you are a mortal such as I am. I tried instead to sit my butt back and keep a high foot cadence. And breath between the winces and muscle twinges. Eventually you make it back to the same aid station as before. That whole loop mess? 4.2 miles in one hour.
I walked a short bit to let my legs breath while I stuffed my face. Short, since the trail paralleling the loop is but a couple minutes away. After the jarring introduction to the loop it all seems easier. You simply use denial when it comes to knowing you'll do the loop in reverse at some point. This section and the fifth section were when Rachel and I were together as much as the parlays would work out. The fourth aid station had watermelon and oranges. I moaned audibly as I inhaled. As we closed in on the fifth aid station and turnaround point the rolling hills created a resultant downhill, so I pulled away from Rachel at some point. Somewhere in there was a very big near fall, my left foot catching on something. Not until I was within a mile or two did I see anyone on the return. One guy told me that I was the second woman on the course. For now, I thought. Just keep moving.
I dunked a potato into a bowl of salt, smiling as I laboriously chewed and waved thanks as I left. It felt like only a few minutes, though it may have been more, when I passed not just a few but a crew of folks still headed outward. In that crew was Rachel in the lead, to whom I gave a hearty high five and a holler, and three other women amongst a handful of men. You figure there's a train chasing you, but you don't expect a literal running train. Eesh. Just keep moving. I also saw Elaine, who had a marvelous second wind and thus a second place finish at the Traprock 50k. Realized to late for a high five, so we exchanged hollers. A little scary to know who is tracking you down, but energizing at the same time.
A half hour later a woman in bright clothing suddenly appeared behind me. I was trying to use the momentum but cautiously, knowing that the loop was out there waiting our return. I let her by with some encouragement. I decided to try to maintain third place. I also saw my mother in-law's coworker who was doing his first 50 miler with little training secondary to a farming accident over the summer. His wife managed to spot me before the start, so once I heard of his reasons for nervousness I had given all the practical advice I could think of. He wasn't sure he'd finish, and yet he was maybe 4 miles from the turnaround. Good stuff! I was glad to see him still out there.
After the aid station of watermelon goodness at mile 30 the uphill started again. I again hiked, hoping that my power hike would at least hold off the other women from the power train. I actually hoped Rachel would catch up again, but I knew she had to spread her energy over twice the distance as I did. She might have lingered at the aid station for good reasons. You never know. I saw a dude a ways up ahead who I recognized from a brief exchange earlier, and managed to slowly reel him in. You focus your eye on them, add in a conscientious breathing pattern, feed off their pace to help your momentum, and then thank them as you pass. As we exchanged sentiments about "hanging in there" I noticed a woman running - yes, running - up the hill behind us. Sh*t balls. As we crested and made our way through a few rolling hills I tucked in behind my conversation mate for a few minutes. I hoped that she was blowing her steam by running and that my judicious hiking would win out in the end to maintain third. Once the downhill started I let loose as much as the now goopy, mud slung, downhill and yet side slanted trail would let me. I saw neither of them any time I looked back. At some point on that descent was a 5+ foot slide down a mud incline. Yahoo.
Eventually I passed the aid station. Grabbed more peanut butter and jelly sections, and started the reverse of the loop. Just as I got out of sight of the aid station I heard someone yell, "There's Heather!" followed by cheering. Sh*t balls. On this kind of a hill you can't judge, you can't force. You just survive. Just keep moving. I saw another guy I recognized, Michael, up ahead. He was not having a good time. Once nearby we exchanged commiserations. He told me to fight back for second place. I laughed and said I was trying to simply hang on to third. I kept hiking up around the bend (let's face it, "power" hiking is a relative term at this point...), only to hear Mike call out that Heather was indeed running up this hill too. Sh*t. Balls. I grumbled something of a thanks for the heads up, let out a big sigh, and told myself to run the less severe inclines.
I held her off for a bit, but we were only half way up the climb and the grade got steep again. (On the elevation graph, it's the hill leading up from mile 36.3.) We eventually hit the dipsy-doodle hills on top, and as I gently began to jog along a momentarily flat/down stretch she finally matched me.
Me: "How the hell have you run up all these hills?!?"
Heather: "I don't know!"
Me: "Have you done many ultras before?"
Heather: "No. Just road marathons. This is my first ultra."
Me: "Dude..."
After a few beats of silence to let that sink in, the sadness of forfeiting a spot was immediately replaced by complete awe for her performance. Both she and Rachel should do Sky Running events, where the races tend to go straight up significant mountains much like the ski lift hill but longer.
It was then that my stomach started to cramp - not my abdomen/intestines, not even an abdominal muscle. My actual stomach. Never experienced that before. I was already periodically hiking my legs back to life. Now I had to do the same for a visceral organ. I tried pacing my breath, but this wasn't CO2 related. I hunched over and stuck my fingertips as far under my left ribs as I could while still moving forward (your muscles don't just turn off, so I couldn't really get in there) and did my best to mobilize my stomach on the move. I was able to take the sting off so long as I was on a flat section or an uphill. Somehow running downhill was what aggravated things.
Mike caught back up to me, and we began our own parlay that narrowed with each passing as we made our way through the remaining dipsy-doodles, alternating between my stomach and his hamstrings. At one point Mike was ahead and no one was behind, so I took my only pee during the race at 7 hours 40 minutes in. I managed to catch back up to Mike again. Then Heather came running back towards us asking if we had missed the turn. We reassured her that we were on course. My mind sparked a glimmer of hope that maybe I could fight for third after all. We found the turn off down the mud slide, which Heather had passed before turning around, and off she pranced while the downhill flared up my stomach again. I think that glimmer of hope lasted a whole twenty seconds. Reality check: just finish the damn race in one piece. Right.
We hit the first of two big downhills on the loop. It was harsh on the legs, but steep enough that the pace was still relatively slow and so by some good grace did not aggravate my stomach. We turned to head up the last climb of the loop, spotting Heather just about to crest the top. Mike: "She's still running." Me: "Yup. Friggin' Energizer Bunny." She was even wearing a pink tank top. Despite being out of ear shot I still wished her a finish just as strong. Mike and I fell into step and opted for good conversation. We were suffering, but we had a good time. We didn't see Heather at all when we hit Mars Hill headed down. And we probably looked, and sounded, ridiculous as we made our way down to the aid station.
Heather was not too far ahead of us leaving the aid station, but I also knew that the road hill awaited us. We did our best plod-along jog on the less severe incline, switching to a hike the moment we hit the base of the main drag. Heather was still running. Definitely the ultra shuffle, but definitely running. Mike and I laughed and kept up the conversation. Soon another guy popped up next to us. Hadn't a clue where the hell he came from. Apparently he had seen us and made an effort to catch up. Safety in numbers. We welcomed Ethan to our hobbling group.
Eventually we made it to the remaining section and a half of forest trail. We ran as a group for a while. Eventually Mike got a second wind, so Ethan and I cheered him on as he took off. I had to walk a bit for my legs again after hurdling a handful of logs, so I then cheered on Ethan as he took off. Bit by bit I made my way to the last aid station. I picked out a potato chunk with high surface area and dunked it into as much salt as I could get. The volunteers cheered for my salt acquisition methods, then laughed for a good minute as I stood motionless and moaned in my salty euphoria. This is the delirium that comprises the latter chunk of ultras. More watermelon, and off I trodded.
The last section was a blur. Every five or ten minutes of shuffle-run was followed by at least a few minutes of hiking and poking at my stomach. I kept looking over my shoulder to make sure no other females were coming from behind. The only two who appeared were from the relay race, so they were actually running and were full of vigor and good wishes. With about two miles to go I caught back up to Ethan, and the two lead 100 milers passed on their second outbound trip. I gave them a big high five, and they reassured me that I was close. What felt like a gently rolling nothingness at the start of the race became a slight downhill to the finish that wreaked havoc on my stomach. I kept walking and poking. Ethan eventually passed again. Thankfully no one came from behind. I managed to keep Ethan in my sight, and with a half mile to go I managed to shuffle-jog through the objections from my stomach, the idea of being done outweighing the pain.
After all that, would I do that race again? Yes :)
Total time: 10 hours 25 minutes. Fourth female, 13th overall out of just over 100 finishers. Only 21 minutes behind the lead woman, and 9 minutes after the gazelle Heather. Manage to best my Bear Mountain 50mi time despite the increase in elevation. Mike finished just after her, rounding out the top 10 overall, Ethan just behind Mike and ahead of me. Rachel came through at 10 hours 40 minutes, but in my stupor of recovery I missed getting to cheer on the start of her second half. I saw Scott as he loaded up with food; he made it to the base of the ski slope loop for a total of ~60 miles but dropped at that point. Better to take care of yourself when you need it. And my mother-in-law's coworker Allen? He finished in 14 hours 42 minutes. Attaboy.
My full stats, as per the race results on the Virgil Crest Ultras website:
The upside is that you are only entered in the 50 mile race. While you wallow in pain and stumble with cramps at the finish line, the 100 milers turn around and do the entire thing, out and back, again....
 |
| The full 50.2 mile course |
There's almost no need to go into depth about the other sections of the course. There were climbs and descents, tree roots and downed logs to hurdle. Compared to any other east coast trail I have run on, it was decidedly less rocky and less technical. There were occasional bouts of soft trail covered with luscious pine needles that make your legs feel 10 years younger and two hours fresher. (Seriously. I wanted to kiss the ground.) The course is surrounded by green hills that feel like a warm blanket to those like me who are regularly trapped in an urban concrete jungle. The entire race crew and collection of entrants are good people - happy to be there, happy to participate, understanding of how to help and how to mutually support.
And so at about 8.5 miles into the race I found myself on the downhill section of road. I tried to use the momentum and avoid a quad-bashing controlled descent, so I kept the cadence high and tried to avoid lingering too long on any footfall. I regularly train on a nearby .3 mile hill of this grade. This one kept descending for a total of 1.1 miles, then hooked up with a couple turns for another .4 miles of milder downhill leading to the next aid station. I definitely felt it at the bottom, a little tingle throughout my legs. Having learned a huge lesson from Traprock's festival of hamstring cramps secondary to inadequate salt intake, I was grateful to have packed and carried 8 salt tabs to supplement said stations.
Barely out of the aid station was the ski lift hill. I took my two chunk of peanut butter and jelly so slowly nosh as I ascended. No sense on blowing all your energy trying to ascend fast; rather, you must take care of yourself. The tingle from the downhill became the odd sense I have not experienced since college at Iowa. That was my last time I worked out in a gym, where if you are not careful with effort levels and angles on an elliptical you'll cut off blood flow to your feet and get the numb-tingles in your toes. I developed the same response while marching up the ski lift hill.
While I wouldn't call my training for this race perfect, I did have the Escarpment Trail Race to add a new mix of hills. It is the same cumulative elevation gain of 10,000 feet though squeezed into 18 miles. But on the Escarpment Trail, the grade is steeper and the terrain is rocky enough that, in effect, the course is a stairwell on steroids that requires use of handholds. Here, it is a smooth incline aside from the bumbles of mud and grass heaps. Not steep enough to use your hands (aside from on your thighs as Euro "hiking poles"), consistent enough that your ankle is on constant stretch or your calf is constantly in contraction depending on your ascent technique. A few times I turned around to go up a dozen steps backwards just to take the pressure off for a few seconds. Scott, the 100 miler ascending at my pace, gave a knowing smile. That led to the first of a handful of nice conversations with fellow runners.
You turn the corner at the top and have a steep descent on a gravel road, again trying to not bash your quads too much now that your whole leg is on fire. Then you ascend another steep section. There's a couple of rolling stretches mixed with a couple of steeper ascents - a fancy way of saying I have no recollection of what happened during that stretch. All I remember is a not-quite-but-almost hand-over-foot ascend up a mud hill.
Steadily a young woman in a pink tank top gained on me fast throughout the entire series of climbs. Turned out to be Rachel, a 100 miler with whom I previously had a small chat during the benign initial section. Every uphill she would power hike easier than I've ever seen before. She was kicking ass and taking names. But it still helped my confidence, because for all the distance she'd close on me during an ascend I could in turn recreate on descents. It turned out to be a consistent parlay of order for the first 25 miles. Rachel was so positive and full of youthful spirit that at a point I had to ask her age. "Twenty four. Yea, I'm older than I seem." I told her it was more of a benefit than she realized. She went on to describe that she absolutely loves hills to the point that she gets giddy. And when she is further and further into a crazy long race she becomes deliriously giddy, apparently much to the dismay of we older (or, as in my case, "older") and more cynical folk. We had a lot of fun joking about when we'd next pass each other. And it was a blast to run for so long with another female.
But I digress. After getting through the multitude of false top-outs you eventually make the long descent on the backside of the loop. Your legs can't open up on this kind of grade. Well, at least not if you are a mortal such as I am. I tried instead to sit my butt back and keep a high foot cadence. And breath between the winces and muscle twinges. Eventually you make it back to the same aid station as before. That whole loop mess? 4.2 miles in one hour.
I walked a short bit to let my legs breath while I stuffed my face. Short, since the trail paralleling the loop is but a couple minutes away. After the jarring introduction to the loop it all seems easier. You simply use denial when it comes to knowing you'll do the loop in reverse at some point. This section and the fifth section were when Rachel and I were together as much as the parlays would work out. The fourth aid station had watermelon and oranges. I moaned audibly as I inhaled. As we closed in on the fifth aid station and turnaround point the rolling hills created a resultant downhill, so I pulled away from Rachel at some point. Somewhere in there was a very big near fall, my left foot catching on something. Not until I was within a mile or two did I see anyone on the return. One guy told me that I was the second woman on the course. For now, I thought. Just keep moving.
I dunked a potato into a bowl of salt, smiling as I laboriously chewed and waved thanks as I left. It felt like only a few minutes, though it may have been more, when I passed not just a few but a crew of folks still headed outward. In that crew was Rachel in the lead, to whom I gave a hearty high five and a holler, and three other women amongst a handful of men. You figure there's a train chasing you, but you don't expect a literal running train. Eesh. Just keep moving. I also saw Elaine, who had a marvelous second wind and thus a second place finish at the Traprock 50k. Realized to late for a high five, so we exchanged hollers. A little scary to know who is tracking you down, but energizing at the same time.
A half hour later a woman in bright clothing suddenly appeared behind me. I was trying to use the momentum but cautiously, knowing that the loop was out there waiting our return. I let her by with some encouragement. I decided to try to maintain third place. I also saw my mother in-law's coworker who was doing his first 50 miler with little training secondary to a farming accident over the summer. His wife managed to spot me before the start, so once I heard of his reasons for nervousness I had given all the practical advice I could think of. He wasn't sure he'd finish, and yet he was maybe 4 miles from the turnaround. Good stuff! I was glad to see him still out there.
After the aid station of watermelon goodness at mile 30 the uphill started again. I again hiked, hoping that my power hike would at least hold off the other women from the power train. I actually hoped Rachel would catch up again, but I knew she had to spread her energy over twice the distance as I did. She might have lingered at the aid station for good reasons. You never know. I saw a dude a ways up ahead who I recognized from a brief exchange earlier, and managed to slowly reel him in. You focus your eye on them, add in a conscientious breathing pattern, feed off their pace to help your momentum, and then thank them as you pass. As we exchanged sentiments about "hanging in there" I noticed a woman running - yes, running - up the hill behind us. Sh*t balls. As we crested and made our way through a few rolling hills I tucked in behind my conversation mate for a few minutes. I hoped that she was blowing her steam by running and that my judicious hiking would win out in the end to maintain third. Once the downhill started I let loose as much as the now goopy, mud slung, downhill and yet side slanted trail would let me. I saw neither of them any time I looked back. At some point on that descent was a 5+ foot slide down a mud incline. Yahoo.
Eventually I passed the aid station. Grabbed more peanut butter and jelly sections, and started the reverse of the loop. Just as I got out of sight of the aid station I heard someone yell, "There's Heather!" followed by cheering. Sh*t balls. On this kind of a hill you can't judge, you can't force. You just survive. Just keep moving. I saw another guy I recognized, Michael, up ahead. He was not having a good time. Once nearby we exchanged commiserations. He told me to fight back for second place. I laughed and said I was trying to simply hang on to third. I kept hiking up around the bend (let's face it, "power" hiking is a relative term at this point...), only to hear Mike call out that Heather was indeed running up this hill too. Sh*t. Balls. I grumbled something of a thanks for the heads up, let out a big sigh, and told myself to run the less severe inclines.
I held her off for a bit, but we were only half way up the climb and the grade got steep again. (On the elevation graph, it's the hill leading up from mile 36.3.) We eventually hit the dipsy-doodle hills on top, and as I gently began to jog along a momentarily flat/down stretch she finally matched me.
Me: "How the hell have you run up all these hills?!?"
Heather: "I don't know!"
Me: "Have you done many ultras before?"
Heather: "No. Just road marathons. This is my first ultra."
Me: "Dude..."
After a few beats of silence to let that sink in, the sadness of forfeiting a spot was immediately replaced by complete awe for her performance. Both she and Rachel should do Sky Running events, where the races tend to go straight up significant mountains much like the ski lift hill but longer.
It was then that my stomach started to cramp - not my abdomen/intestines, not even an abdominal muscle. My actual stomach. Never experienced that before. I was already periodically hiking my legs back to life. Now I had to do the same for a visceral organ. I tried pacing my breath, but this wasn't CO2 related. I hunched over and stuck my fingertips as far under my left ribs as I could while still moving forward (your muscles don't just turn off, so I couldn't really get in there) and did my best to mobilize my stomach on the move. I was able to take the sting off so long as I was on a flat section or an uphill. Somehow running downhill was what aggravated things.
Mike caught back up to me, and we began our own parlay that narrowed with each passing as we made our way through the remaining dipsy-doodles, alternating between my stomach and his hamstrings. At one point Mike was ahead and no one was behind, so I took my only pee during the race at 7 hours 40 minutes in. I managed to catch back up to Mike again. Then Heather came running back towards us asking if we had missed the turn. We reassured her that we were on course. My mind sparked a glimmer of hope that maybe I could fight for third after all. We found the turn off down the mud slide, which Heather had passed before turning around, and off she pranced while the downhill flared up my stomach again. I think that glimmer of hope lasted a whole twenty seconds. Reality check: just finish the damn race in one piece. Right.
We hit the first of two big downhills on the loop. It was harsh on the legs, but steep enough that the pace was still relatively slow and so by some good grace did not aggravate my stomach. We turned to head up the last climb of the loop, spotting Heather just about to crest the top. Mike: "She's still running." Me: "Yup. Friggin' Energizer Bunny." She was even wearing a pink tank top. Despite being out of ear shot I still wished her a finish just as strong. Mike and I fell into step and opted for good conversation. We were suffering, but we had a good time. We didn't see Heather at all when we hit Mars Hill headed down. And we probably looked, and sounded, ridiculous as we made our way down to the aid station.
Heather was not too far ahead of us leaving the aid station, but I also knew that the road hill awaited us. We did our best plod-along jog on the less severe incline, switching to a hike the moment we hit the base of the main drag. Heather was still running. Definitely the ultra shuffle, but definitely running. Mike and I laughed and kept up the conversation. Soon another guy popped up next to us. Hadn't a clue where the hell he came from. Apparently he had seen us and made an effort to catch up. Safety in numbers. We welcomed Ethan to our hobbling group.
Eventually we made it to the remaining section and a half of forest trail. We ran as a group for a while. Eventually Mike got a second wind, so Ethan and I cheered him on as he took off. I had to walk a bit for my legs again after hurdling a handful of logs, so I then cheered on Ethan as he took off. Bit by bit I made my way to the last aid station. I picked out a potato chunk with high surface area and dunked it into as much salt as I could get. The volunteers cheered for my salt acquisition methods, then laughed for a good minute as I stood motionless and moaned in my salty euphoria. This is the delirium that comprises the latter chunk of ultras. More watermelon, and off I trodded.
The last section was a blur. Every five or ten minutes of shuffle-run was followed by at least a few minutes of hiking and poking at my stomach. I kept looking over my shoulder to make sure no other females were coming from behind. The only two who appeared were from the relay race, so they were actually running and were full of vigor and good wishes. With about two miles to go I caught back up to Ethan, and the two lead 100 milers passed on their second outbound trip. I gave them a big high five, and they reassured me that I was close. What felt like a gently rolling nothingness at the start of the race became a slight downhill to the finish that wreaked havoc on my stomach. I kept walking and poking. Ethan eventually passed again. Thankfully no one came from behind. I managed to keep Ethan in my sight, and with a half mile to go I managed to shuffle-jog through the objections from my stomach, the idea of being done outweighing the pain.
After all that, would I do that race again? Yes :)
Total time: 10 hours 25 minutes. Fourth female, 13th overall out of just over 100 finishers. Only 21 minutes behind the lead woman, and 9 minutes after the gazelle Heather. Manage to best my Bear Mountain 50mi time despite the increase in elevation. Mike finished just after her, rounding out the top 10 overall, Ethan just behind Mike and ahead of me. Rachel came through at 10 hours 40 minutes, but in my stupor of recovery I missed getting to cheer on the start of her second half. I saw Scott as he loaded up with food; he made it to the base of the ski slope loop for a total of ~60 miles but dropped at that point. Better to take care of yourself when you need it. And my mother-in-law's coworker Allen? He finished in 14 hours 42 minutes. Attaboy.
My full stats, as per the race results on the Virgil Crest Ultras website:
 |
| They still weighed about 2 pounds each the next morning. And they smelled gloriously. *Gag* |
Friday, September 21, 2012
The plan
The plan:
7:30am-3:30pm: Work. Doing my damndest, yes damndest, to get out on time.
3:30pm-4:30pm: Walk from work over to Fort Lee, NJ to pick up rental car. (Waaaaay cheaper than Manhattan, folks!)
4:30pm-5:00pm: Wait in line at rental car place.
5:00pm-9:00pm: Drive to Cortland, NY. Crossing fingers for no horizontal toll both traverses.
9:00pm: Check into hotel
9:15pm: Dinner, roll left butt and thigh on tennis ball, lay out stuff for tomorrow. Maaaaybe shower.
10:30pm: Sleep. I hope...
3:30am: Wake. Coffee, food, dress, repack stuff.
4:30am: Leave for Hope Lake Park.
5:00am: Check in, get bib, apply copious amounts of Aquafore, use bathroom.
5:40am: Get a little nervous. Apply more copious amounts of Aquafore, eek out a last pre-performance pee.
6:00am-tba: Run, hike, eat, run, hike, eat, run, hike, eat. Virgin Crest 50 miler. Hoping to finish in by 11 hours.
1-2 hours later: Try to not cramp or fall asleep while driving the hour to mother-in-law's house.
Another 1-2 hours later: Stumble into mother-in-law's house, try not to fall on one of a dozen possible cats, attempt to at least hit the couch if not a bed. Sleeeeep.
And yet, knowing that ultras go however they choose regardless of careful planning means that I am excitedly awaiting tomorrow though not worried. It'll be however it is. What I am more worried about is the week after, wherein I transition from a Mon-Fri schedule to a Tue-Sat schedule. I'll become the new Saturday point person. There will be at least one other on that first Saturday to help me, but the whole setup process is different, and I'll be in charge of organizing all the weekend therapists who more often than not are from other areas of the hospital (such as outpatient - very, very different).
So apparently becoming the Saturday point person is scarier than running 50 miles with a cumulative 10,000ft of elevation gain. Perspective is an interesting thing, isn't it?
7:30am-3:30pm: Work. Doing my damndest, yes damndest, to get out on time.
3:30pm-4:30pm: Walk from work over to Fort Lee, NJ to pick up rental car. (Waaaaay cheaper than Manhattan, folks!)
4:30pm-5:00pm: Wait in line at rental car place.
5:00pm-9:00pm: Drive to Cortland, NY. Crossing fingers for no horizontal toll both traverses.
9:00pm: Check into hotel
9:15pm: Dinner, roll left butt and thigh on tennis ball, lay out stuff for tomorrow. Maaaaybe shower.
10:30pm: Sleep. I hope...
3:30am: Wake. Coffee, food, dress, repack stuff.
4:30am: Leave for Hope Lake Park.
5:00am: Check in, get bib, apply copious amounts of Aquafore, use bathroom.
5:40am: Get a little nervous. Apply more copious amounts of Aquafore, eek out a last pre-performance pee.
6:00am-tba: Run, hike, eat, run, hike, eat, run, hike, eat. Virgin Crest 50 miler. Hoping to finish in by 11 hours.
1-2 hours later: Try to not cramp or fall asleep while driving the hour to mother-in-law's house.
Another 1-2 hours later: Stumble into mother-in-law's house, try not to fall on one of a dozen possible cats, attempt to at least hit the couch if not a bed. Sleeeeep.
And yet, knowing that ultras go however they choose regardless of careful planning means that I am excitedly awaiting tomorrow though not worried. It'll be however it is. What I am more worried about is the week after, wherein I transition from a Mon-Fri schedule to a Tue-Sat schedule. I'll become the new Saturday point person. There will be at least one other on that first Saturday to help me, but the whole setup process is different, and I'll be in charge of organizing all the weekend therapists who more often than not are from other areas of the hospital (such as outpatient - very, very different).
So apparently becoming the Saturday point person is scarier than running 50 miles with a cumulative 10,000ft of elevation gain. Perspective is an interesting thing, isn't it?
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Just another Sunday
Usually I am lucky enough to fall on open areas. This time it was across a few moderately sized rocks just two steps shy of the concrete path at Alpine Lookout. I had just been debating whether to go another half hour or full hour before turning around when *BAM* I hit the deck. In no surprise to me, my left foot/leg was the culprit for not clearing the obstacles. Took a few minutes to walk this one off. Need to rest my brain a bit before Virgil Crest in two weeks....
While I was figuring out how to get a shot of myself, Miss Bad Cat helped herself to the watermelon left over from last night.
Portal for peanut butter cups
Storms rolled through the city yesterday. Late morning got exciting what with a tornado in Queens (see pictures and video here). From what I hear the result was mere property damage. Figures that it was barely an occurrence -- as of late, natural disasters (blizzard 2010, eastern seaboard earthquake of 2011, hurricane Irene of 2011) only strike NYC when I am not there but traveling alone to Kansas City.
Later, some friends were coming over for dinner just as a new bout of storms came over Harlem. In the bottom right corner you can see the front line.
I didn't have my camera out quick enough to catch the front as it marched across the sky. It was moving fast. The white blob in the center had been an open hole granting odd glimpse at a blue sky.
My mind recounted movie scenes where the hole is a portal for alien space ships (a la The Avengers). In keeping with Mother Nature's agreement aforementioned agreement, nothing came of it aside from normal rain. Instead, Nathan brought home Reese's. "I figured it makes an appropriate one week anniversary gift." *Sigh* I don't think I'll ever manage to kick the habit....
Later, some friends were coming over for dinner just as a new bout of storms came over Harlem. In the bottom right corner you can see the front line.
My mind recounted movie scenes where the hole is a portal for alien space ships (a la The Avengers). In keeping with Mother Nature's agreement aforementioned agreement, nothing came of it aside from normal rain. Instead, Nathan brought home Reese's. "I figured it makes an appropriate one week anniversary gift." *Sigh* I don't think I'll ever manage to kick the habit....
Sunday, September 2, 2012
The Impressive Clergyman says...
Mawage.
Mawage is wot bwings us togeder tooday. Mawage, that bwessed awangment, that dweam wifin a dweam...
And wuv, tru wuv, will fowow you foweva... So tweasure your wuv.
Have you the wing?
And, despite flying by the seat of our pants, we even ended up with a flower girl. Perfect :)
Mawage is wot bwings us togeder tooday. Mawage, that bwessed awangment, that dweam wifin a dweam...
And wuv, tru wuv, will fowow you foweva... So tweasure your wuv.
Have you the wing?
And, despite flying by the seat of our pants, we even ended up with a flower girl. Perfect :)
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