Brock's Gap 6 Miler

I have been house sitting for the last couple weeks. Though the Plantation, as this apartment dweller has come to call it, is only about two acres; it still requires lawn mowing, garden maintenance, and animal husbandry. If I go there in the evening and sleep, I can do chores the following morning and make just one trip there and back. Sometimes, however, my own daily duties don't allow that. This morning I had a long distance run on my agenda, so I ran out to the Plantation, a three mile run most of which was along Brock's Gap Road, did the chores and ran back home.
I'd considered doing this earlier in the week, but the thought of my 115 pound body competing with the daily WV to VA commuter traffic and semis loaded with white turkeys was too terrifying. This was a Saturday though, and I thought the traffic might be lighter. The shoulder is narrow, but there really is room for two cars to meet and a runner alongside the road. The trick was watching the passenger-side headlight to see that if the oncoming car really was on the road, and not the shoulder side, of the white line; and also checking to see what the motorists were looking at. When they weren't where they belonged or weren't paying attention, I'd run in the grass alongside the shoulder.
Nearly all were talking on cell phones without the benefit of hands-free devices. One had a map spread out along the steering wheel and was studying it. Most cut the curves short requiring them to cross the center line or the white line depending on the angle of the curve. Only a few appeared to be watching the road; or slowed down or acknowledged my existence in any way. Once I stepped off the shoulder to make room for a selfish motorist only to trip on the uneven blacktop and nearly fall. Nonetheless the approximate two miles on Brocks' Gap didn't seem too terrifying, but I definitely would not try it during the work week.



Freshly mowed lawn, and weeded flower beds. The shade trees keep the house (a 100-year-old cabin expanded into a four-bedroom, two story home) quite cool most of the time. And that front porch is a shady respite.
The lassies awaiting their twice daily meal. Athena (in the rear) bit me earlier this week. She had left her half-eaten bowl of food to steal Azul's, and I was dumb enough to try to grab the stolen food and return it to Azul. Normally, however, Athena just bounces and jumps on me demanding attention. She'll gulp her food in about two minutes.
Azul on the other hand pretends I don't exist unless I call her name. Then she lumbers from her cool shaded hiding place, lies down in front of her bowl, and looks at it like the contents are beneath her royal dignity. If I point at the bowel and bark, "Eat, Azul. Eat," then she'll nibble at the contents and eventually clean her bowl.
This is Peanut Butter on one of her sit-down strikes. This sheep must weigh about 300 pounds and if he doesn't want to move, he doesn't. Pushing him when he's standing is about as successful as trying to push a 100-year-old oak. Last week he got his tie-out chain wrapped around his leg and a tree. When I tried to budge him, he just stared at me as if saying, "Who are you to interrupt my morning meditation and remuniations?" I begged. I pleaded. I pushed. He just lay there! Finally I unhooked him from his tether and opted just to get him loose from the tree. Just as I did, he decided it was time for a good back scratching. That I stood between him and the tree didn't concern him in the least! I jumped out of the way just in time. And with lots of pulling and tugging I managed to untangle the chain from around his leg without getting stepped on. I finally got chain and sheep separated, re-attached and the sheep moved to a new pasture spot with only a few minor scratches and with strands of my hair remaining in the branches of the tree.

Dogged for Almost Two Miles

Second 5K at a track meet. I felt intimidated at the last one, my first track event. The runners who participate are fast -- and I am not. Though I have been the first female in my age group at many races, the truth is there is also just not much competition. Fifty-year old Virginian women just don't seem to run the distances that I do.
Nonetheless I determined to be pleased with the last 5K track race pace, even though I came in near the very end. And knowing I'd come in near the end again, refusing to let myself be discouraged by those much faster than me, I set a goal to just finish this run in 90-degree heat while still being able to breathe. At the start the pack took off and soared ahead. I instead quickly set into a moderately comfortable personal pace and let them go.
Now the advantage of running with a pack is that a pack pushes a person to run hard. And I do like that. But I don't mind running solo; I can concentrate better on form that way and end the race less depleted. I am used to competing with myself. Running my own race at my own pace while the crowd runs another is a skill I've honed during 19 races this year. And that's what I thought I'd be doing last night.
But then shortly after the half way point, I had to slow a bit for a couple cars going through an intersection. As I looked over my shoulder for a safe crossing point, I saw Jeff "JC" Campbell just behind me. Now normally I run way ahead of him, so I picked up my pace a bit. For the first time in my racing career, I was neither running to catch up to someone nor running to stay with someone. Instead I was running to stay ahead of someone. Up the hills Jeff gained a bit. Downhill I gained. But he stayed right there, just off my right shoulder dogging me.
At the last down hill I picked it up just a bit more. Still he dogged me, the monkey just off my right shoulder. I could see his red shirt out of the corner of my eye.
I slowed to make the last turn, up a ramp, between two cones, up a knob, and onto the track -- slowing so I didn't lose footing on the uneven terrain. He came closer.
A volunteer yelled, "Stretch it out. Finish strong."
JC just off my shoulder, about ready to pass.
I tried to stay steady, knowing if kicked too soon I'd lose it at the end, and then right at the end he'd soar ahead. That happened to me once when I wasn't paying attention. And I was not going to let it happen again.
"Hang in there," I told myself. "Just a few seconds to the kick point. Save something for the end."
I rounded the second curve on the track and entered the last 100 meter straight away. Focusing on that line, I gave it all I had and crossed the finish line -- just four seconds ahead of Campbell.
I turned to him and gasped, "Thanks for dogging me. I was just cruising till I saw you off my shoulder. You pushed me!"
And he thanked me for pushing him by picking up the pace, and making him work. His time was a full minute faster than his last track 5K. Mine was 10 seconds slower, but a good solid 8:31 pace nonetheless. He's been running more since the last track meet; he said he'd tried to catch me then, but couldn't come close.
That increased effort made him a great competitor last night. But then good competition amongst those with similar athletic ability works that way -- it makes us push just a bit harder to do what we thought we couldn't do. And all the competitors end up stronger because of the effort.
Thanks, JC, for a great 5K!

Track Event - Predicted Mile

I ran my second predicted mile. Even some of my running friends don't know that term, so I'll explain it. You write down the time in which you expect you'll run the mile. When the gun goes off, you take off with no clock and see how close you come to your prediction. This type of race gives the slower runners who knows themselves a chance to win, as the winner is not the fastest runner necessarily, but the one who finishes closest to their predicted time.
Two weeks ago I was 18 seconds off; I had predicted an 8:15 and ran a 7:57. I was the female to come closest to my predicted time. Last night, given the heat (90s), that grass allergens are high and I'm allergic to grass, I predicted an 8 minute mile. I ran a 7:59. People cheered when it was announced that I had been just one second off. I think I was the overall winner.
Earlier this winter I ran a predicted 4 mile, and came very close to predicting that time as well. When I mentioned this to my daughter she said something to the effect, "I'm not surprised, Mom. You log and time everything, every last detail. So you WOULD know."
And I thank Coach Ayers of Houghton, New York, for teaching me that discipline. He taught me to log details: weather, food eaten, time of day, splits, distance, times and pace per mile. And studying those details DOES, after nearly five years of running, give me a pretty good idea of what's going on. Once in a while, he said, you'll do poorly and not be able to figure out why. You just have a bad day. But most of the time, logging the details will reveal patterns and help you understand the factors that most influence your own pace.
And who knows? Keep the logs long enough and study them carefully. Then enter a "predict -your-time" race, and you may be a winner, too.

Another Day of Rest -- Blue Hole & Lost River

After an easy 27:33 minute 3 mile run, adventure and nature called. This is Blue Hole just short of Bergton, VA, a popular diving spot. (Take Route 259/Brocks Gap and follow the sign to Bergton; and then take a left just past the bridge onto Blue Hole Road). Most of the water here is very shallow, but there's a rope, barely visible near the spot where the slate layers angle down. And in that spot there's a very narrow hole deep enough for diving. The water is also frigid, so I didn't try. My feet got damp when traipsing along the stepping stones, and that was enough cold water for me.
Lost River State Park is a great place to get lost. The map is so detailed it's confusing, and the staff didn't have any idea where the trails were, nor had they hiked them. After several false starts and short (15 minutes) trails that wound up back on roads, we found a serpentine trail switchbacking up the side of the mountain. East Ridge Trail leads to a stunning ridge, but thunder in the distance prompted a detour on to Razor Ridge and back down to the parking lot. Nonetheless I did find this stunning view of dogwoods near the top. And so I ended this hike with another item on my action list: go back to Lost River and hike all the way to the top of the ridge.

Pyramids

I had told my virtual running buddy a week or two ago that I was "plumb tuckered out." After that my exhaustion level got worse with the heat and with the extra cycling and pool workouts. I remember going to bed last Wednesday bone tired, meaning every bone in my body hurt. And it hurt so much it was hard to get to sleep.
I thought about taking an ibuprofin, but decided to hold off and see if the aches would subside on their own. Anna Maria and I stretched together (I was sleeping at her house as she had an early Thursday morning meeting and needed a babysitter since her husband was away.) That helped some, enough that I finally fell asleep. But Saturday's slow 5K convinced me that I desperately needed some recovery time.
And that's what this week has been for the most part. I've taken naps, gone to bed early and awakened late. Today I actually looked forward to this morning's run, and was ready for an interval workout I haven't done for a long time. I call it a "pyramid" -- 200 meters, 400 meters, 600 meters and then 800 meters on the track. I can't figure out how to time intervals on my watch, so I timed the repeats and then, instead of timing the intervals, I walked 100 meters. between the intervals.
My goal was an 8 minute pace, since I'd run the 7:57 mile last week. The rest must have helped, as I averaged a 7:33 mile pace. At that rate, I might be able to pull a 7:55 mile at next week's track workout.
Incidentally, the burns are healing well. I popped the two biggest blisters. That took the pressure off and now they feel fine.

Recovery Run . . .

Made myself run 3 miles on the track Sunday afternoon, and demanded that the sandbags that have replaced my legs get a move on and do at least a 10-minute-mile pace. After the 8th lap, I gulped some water and tossed some more down my back. Even so I still managed 29:34, or a 9:55 pace. At 8:30 I hit the sack and actually slept!
At 3:45 a.m. Monday morning I was up and, by 4:15 a.m., out the door for a trip to Reagan National Airport. I had agreed to help caravan 10 Mennonite students and their co-leaders so they could catch a flight to Newfoundland. I took a one-hour nap in the afternoon and woke up still exhausted.
Supper didn't look good last night, but I knew I should make myself eat. As I pulled the lid off a chicken dish, the lid slipped and steam burned all four fingers on my right hand. It looks like I'll have two or three blisters, at least those places are more gray. Three fingers are burned down to the second knuckle. As I watched a movie about Steve Prefontaine and his ability to handle pain, I felt like a big sissy. Tears streamed down my face in spite of my hand being wrapped in an ice-encased cloth. Finally after two hours I went to the drugstore; the pharmacist suggested Bactine, but I couldn't keep my hand uncovered long enough to give the Bactine a chance to work. So I stuck my hand in a bowl of ice water. When that reached warm temperature, I tried the Bactine again. I could stand the pain by then, and then around 10:30 p.m., when the movie ended, I decided I might even be able to sleep. When I bumped it on the blankets, I'd awaken but otherwise it was okay.
Though running primarily involves the legs, runners still pump their arms. So I wondered how much that movement would hurt. I settled on a goal: see how I felt at the 3-mile-turn-around and go from there. My running buddy is still limited to cycling because of his calf pull, so he carried my water bottle on his bike and we took off. As I slogged along I realized that I am mostly just plain tired -- I ran 90 miles in May (a personal record), and 18 races so far this year. And I've added cycling and pool running to my exercise mix.
So I altered my goal a bit, opting just to run for fun, to see if I could remember how to do that. And at the 3-mile-turn-around point, with a breeze in my face, cooler temperatures and some shade from the trees, I opted to just keep going. . .
I was aware of my hand; it hurt when I pumped my arms, but it was bearable. I walked one hill, stopped three times to chug water and still managed a +5 mile run at 51:36. And that's my fastest time for this course.

Meltin' in Montevideo

A dozen of us raced a 5K in Montevideo Saturday morning in memory of Don Glick, who coached at that high school for more than 30 years. Under his coaching, the team won five state championships in track and field. We began this race by running around "his" track, up onto a road that turned to dirt, up some hills, back to the track and back around it again.
It was hot! The oppressive air shoved down on my head till I could barely lift my feet, and every breath felt like sucking water. At the turn-around, I gulped one glass of water and dumped the other down my back, but it didn't seem to help much.
Here, at the start, I'm in front with my running buddy Susan Dendinger immediately behind and George Gillies (far right). Susan's been walking a lot of races because of a hamstring injury. This is the first race we've run together where she could actually run, and she ran an impressive 27:08. George ran a 26:12.
Whew! I made it. I came in at 28:32, 12th place. That's my slowest 5K since April 26, but it was also my 2d 5K last week. That, plus the heat, probably accounts for the slower pace. As my granddaughter often says, "Grammie, you can't win all the time. It isn't fair. Sometimes you need to let someone else win."

--Photos by Butch Proctor, who unfortunately couldn't run because of a calf muscle pull. But he could take pics!

7:57 mile. . .

I ran the predicted 1-mile, and the 5K race during the first of SVTC's annual track meets.
I've been doing speed work at an 8:15 minute mile pace, and haven't run faster than that since my second year running nearly five years ago now (I did one 7:30 mile at that time). Also since the temp was in the 80s and I've been running slower in the heat, I predicted an 8:15 mile. Instead I ran a 7:57, 18 seconds faster than predicted.
Then I ran a 5K at 26:15, or about an 8:30 pace at the back of the pack -- not last, but back of the pack. And I was the last female, last of 5 anyway. I don't know how old the others were. One said she was 45.
I don't really care that much about my placement as I run against me, and I think I ran very well compared to my usual times. So I am pleased with this, my first track experience.

Bliss

Well, perhaps bliss is too strong a word. But today's run sure felt like bliss after the last week of high heat, high humidity runs. At 8 this morning, the temp was about 75 degrees, the humidity was still high, and weather.com still held out a high heat warning (anticipated index of 105 degrees). But a breeze made all the difference. I stopped my 5-mile-run three times to gulp some water, and on the third stop also doused myself to cool off a bit. I ran a 10:35 pace (52:55), which is not spectacular, but sure beats last weeks' 5-miler time of 1 hour and 8 minutes). Saturday's 7-miler was only a 10:56 pace, so I am pleased. Effort level makes this a tempo run, even though the pace doesn't agree.

Cross-training ... Pool Running

After Saturday's 7-mile-run I took the granddaughters camping. We spent most of Saturday afternoon and early evening in the camp pool. Eliza swims well now, and loves jumping off the deep end (which was five feet deep). Magdalena, however, is content to sit in her toy innertube, using her arms and legs to drift along. She'll jump off the shallow end, but only if her tube is around her waist.
She and I played barge several times -- I, the tug boat, held on to her while I side-stroked or dog paddled to the deep end and back, running when I could touch the bottom near the mid-point. I'll bet we did 50 laps that way! Sometimes Eliza joined us as another "engine." Often times I'd lose hold of Maggie, and she and I would giggle, "Oops! the tug lost the barge!" I'd then reverse course, latch onto her, and push off again.
We took three swim breaks -- once when the pool was closed because of thunder and a threatening storm, once for a playground break and once for a 15-minute hay ride. I saw the threatening cloud before the pool was closed, pointed it out to the girls and warned, "See that cloud up there. It could get ugly. If it does, I'll tell you to get out of the pool NOW, and I'll need you to do so immediately. Okay?"
A few minutes later, while on the playground after the pool had closed, thunder cracked and lightening flashed. I looked at the girls and said, "NOW!" Eliza looked at me wide-eyed, paused for about 30-seconds and took off running. Magdalena didn't hestitate for a second but ran off. I said, "The pavillion. . ." Just as we neared the pavillion there was another flash and boom. Liza halted, looked at me and said, "No, not there! Let's go to the bathroom."
I nooded my head, grabbed both girls hands and we switched directions. A few seconds later I heard hail on the skylight.
"Oh, oh. That's not good," I said.
Maggie said, "That sounds like rocks on the roof. What is that?"
I said, "Hail."
I cracked the bathroom door just enough to see out. Pea-sized hail splattered on the gravel road, now a three-inch deep rivelet.
"How can ice come out of the sky when it's this hot?" Eliza asked.
And so I told her about hail and how it forms. We were all quickly bored, but the storm didn't last more than a few minutes. Once the gully washer became a sprinkle, we headed back to the campsite for a snack and to check on the tent. A damp sleeping bag and a puddle on the tent floor. Nothing insurmountable though. Back to the pool and then, around 7, the traditional grilled salmon with S'mores before crawling into a soggy sleeping bag and tent for the night.

Hot Babe on a Hot Run -- Literally!

Pretty hokey title, I know, but I'll bet it caught your attention, didn't it?
The temps in Virginia soared to the high-80s and mid-90s last week. I attempted a short five-mile run Tuesday around noon, immediately upon returning from Iowa. Butch's calf injury didn't let him run, but he cycled alongside. At the turn-around point for a 3-mile run, I was dragging. Since Butch was along and not running, I decided to push myself as hard as I dared.
At the two-mile point he said, "I've never heard you breathe that hard on a run."
I heard the warning, and slowed my pace. Still I decided to continue the five-mile-run -- just not at the tempo pace I had planned. By mile 4 I had finished off the contents of Butch's water bottle. I hadn't brought one of my own, having never needed water for a five-mile-run before, and not thinking about the heat.
I reached the 4.5 mile point, and Butch rode off. Shortly thereafter my son-in-law and granddaughter drove by in my car which they had borrowed; and I stopped for a moment to arrange a meeting. And then I took off once more, finishing in a bit over 1 hour -- agonizingly slow. And there was Butch, with more water in hand.
Wednesday went much better. This time I rode solo, and, thus, used much greater caution. I drank lots of water and a slugged a Sports drink before my 3-mile, which I ran in a safe and slow 32:17.
Friday was a cycling break for me and then Saturday's scheduled called for a long run. I left at 8 a.m., an hour earlier than usual for my morning runs. I had my Camelback hydration pack on my back and my running buddy alongside on his bike. I took off down Turner, and up 42/Harpine Highway. That was the sunniest part of the 7.2 trek. It seemed that every sip of water just seeped right back out from every pore in my body. The sweat soaked my tank and ran in rivelets down my legs.
A right turn up Trissels. I opted to walk up the long, steep hill, hoping I'd be able to run the rest of the way. The turn on Sunset brought smatterings of shade and breeze, and welcome relief. Nonetheless I still walked a couple more hills. I just couldn't run slow enough to keep from getting too short of breath.
I finished with a time of 1:18:39--eight minutes slower than planned. Given the heat, I'll take it.
But my pre-run routine has changed to accomodate the stressors of summer heat. Smoothies made with soy milk instead of oatmeal with milk for breakfast, a Sports drink before any run greater than 3 miles if the temps are above 75 degrees, a waist pack with water for five miles and up, the Camelback for anything 7 miles and up, training goal paces of 9 to 10 minute mile pace, and easy or long goal paces of 10 to 11 minute mile pace.

Imprinting

Nephew Eli watched Butch with his plastic toothpick, and then asked him mom for one of his own. I guess Eli and Butch must have become buddies. On Sunday Butch tossed a few balls for Eli to bat. Butch said Eli does pretty good for a six year old, just needs to keep his eye on the ball.

Pre-Dam to Dam -- Uno Attack

Photo: At my baby bro's house (left) in Iowa playing Uno Attack. That's my nephew Elijah on the right and Butch in the middle.

Not too long after arriving at my brother's house Thursday afternoon he, Butch and I went for a real easy three-mile run (Per had already run 7 that morning, so he had a total of 10 for the day). We then went to a t-ball game in which Eli batted once and ran to base; and then lightening and thunder hit, cancelling the game. At least I got to watch him bat and run. We ended the evening playing Uno Attack.

Dam Race (5/31/08)

We left my baby bro's house in Davenport early Friday afternoon and headed for race packet pick-up in downtown Des Moines, near Nollen Plaza and a dam, which was only visible on my map. Alas, my name was not on the list of runners! Even though I had sent both my registration and my running partner's registration in the same envelope, his had arrived and mine had not. After some fast talking and re-registration, I was put on the list. Because this was a seeded race, however, the Friday registration put me at the back of the pack -- race rules stated that only pre-registered runners could start according to predicted running times.
Sister Annie and her family housed me and my real time running buddy. She treated me to no bake cookies (one of my favorites!) made with soy milk. She and her husband found a glutin free pizza; so I was even able to have a traditional pre-race supper.
Annie, Dennie, Butch and I took a long walk through a nearby park and toured the outdoor rooms of someone she knew along the walkway. And then about 9 p.m. it was bedtime. Though my surroundings were awesome (I had my niece's room since she was away at college), I didn't sleep. But then I usually don't sleep much before a race.
At 4:45 a.m. on Saturday my alarm went off. Already dressed in my running clothes, I sneaked downstairs and put some instant oatmeal and soy milk in a cup, and nuked myself some breakfast. I could hear my running buddy downstairs; so I knew then that he'd gotten up, too.
We left promptly at 5:15 a.m., and found a parking spot. From there we hopped on a shuttle to the race start near Saylorville Dam where we joined about 4,000 other 20K runners (12.4 miles) in a dense pack snaking along a two-lane road as far as I could see. Though against the rules, Butch and I crossed our arms in front of our bib numbers and inched our way as far to the front as we dared.
Even so it was three minutes and 45 seconds after I heard, "Go," before I finally reached the start. And then I tried to settle into a pace. The crowd was so thick I could barely jog. I saw someone take the shoulder, and followed suit. I'd hop back up on the road when I heard someone gaining on me, and hopped back off and passed some more runners when the shoulder cleared. Frustration reigned when, eleven minutes later, I crossed mile one.
I tried the other side of the road about mile two and found a virtually unoccupied shoulder. And there I picked up the pace and started passing runners. Eventually I found an open spot and could ran unimpeded for a while. The bands were great -- rock, classic rock, jazz, you name it. I ran through the spray of a garden hose provided by a kid, and the sprinkler aimed at the road that someone else had provided. It wasn't horrifically hot -- somewhere in the 70s, I think; but warm enough that the water sure felt good. There was water every other mile, and I took advantage of every chance to gulp some more water.
At 1:58:13 I crossed the finish line, a 9:34 pace, which was slower than my Charlottesville Half. Though flat races are supposed to be faster, obviously this one was not. But I did have to make up close to two minutes lost by the very slow start, so I'm thinking that my last 10 miles must have been several seconds faster than Charlottesville's 9:21 pace. And that makes me feel much better.
Lessons learned from this race: flat races probably ARE a bit faster, but races with large crowds are frustratingly slow unless you get started far enough to the front. The bottoms of my feet hurt a lot more after this race than they did after Charlottesville, but my calves hurt a lot less. I think the bands and spectators along the way prevented the immense monotony that I thought I'd experience on the flat. My legs were really feeling heavy though at the half-way point, more so than I remembered on the hilly Charlottesville course.
When I mentioned my observations to Butch he said, "You think too much. . .just do it. Just put one foot in front of the other." I think he's right.
And he did exactly that even though a pulled muscle at mile four caused him to launch from his left leg and limp on the right for the duration of the race. He said he nearly quit, but then thought about the 16.5-hour drive just to get there and the registration fee. And he determined to finish. And so, though the first four miles were around a 9-minute-mile pace, he finished with an agonizing slow time of 2:30. He, too, was disappointed, but amazed he'd been able to overcome the injury.
My sister and her husband were at the finish line, but an onlooker pushed in front of her and then launched his kid onto his shoulders for a better view of the finish -- blocking her view apparently just as I crossed the finish line. So she was disappointed, too; she had awakened early just to see me cross. And then didn't.
But I have a finisher's medal to add to my collection of running medals, the only Iowa medal hanging amongst a handful of Virignia ones.
I'm still glad I did this though I probably wouldn't do it again. In the future I'll race or I'll see family, but I won't try to do both during the same week. And I'll avoid the super-sized races, as I prefer smaller races where I can run my own race.

Final Stats (from Dam to Dam web site):
2577 out of 4813 total runners (53.3%)
35 out of 104 females 50-54 (33.7%)
871 out of 2233 females overall (39%)