Summer of Leadville 2022: Leadville Marathon Race Report

With 40 minutes left before the final cutoff of 3:30 pm, I was rushing towards the finish line of the Leadville Marathon, fully aware that I was in trouble with time. My friends were expecting me in ten minutes based on my prediction from previous finish times (8:03 in 2018, 7:57 last year) but I was three miles away from the finish. My Lead Challenge was almost over before it even began. 

When I signed up for the Lead Challenge in December, I was confident about running and very, very intimidated by the 100 mile mountain bike race. I was so intimidated, in fact, that when given the choice of a 50 mile run or a 50 mile MTB ride at the Silver Rush race in July, I selected the run option.

Who would have known that six months later, I'd be feeling so much stronger and more confident on the bike, but feeling weak and wobbly on the run. Moving to a new home in February meant new running routes, most of which are asphalt and concrete. As my training ramped up, running on hard surfaces started to take its toll on my body. Then I fell off my bike a couple of times, as you do when you're learning to ride a mountain bike. Then I fell twice during a trail run. All of these things led to an injured right knee in April. 

It's still hard to even type the word "injured." After being in denial about it for longer than I should have (aka wasting two weeks wishing it away), I spent two months at PT rehabbing my knee and strengthening the muscles around it. I could only run short distances every other day. I felt super strong biking, but I really questioned my ability to run the marathon. 

Eventually, one week before the race, I went out and ran 12 miles on trails - my first "real" training run for the race. My knee was fine, but my feet and legs were very sore afterwards just from the time on my feet. I knew that my body would be feeling miserable for at least the last half of the marathon. I also knew from prior experience last year (stress fracture in February) that it's possible to do this marathon off a lot of bike volume and not a lot of running.

I was really excited to get up to Leadville, but I was also really nervous about how my body would feel. Would it be impossible to breathe? I live at sea level now. I flew into Denver on Thursday and stayed the night in Lafayette with my lovely former neighbors Lindsey and Mackenzie. It felt really weird to be back in my old apartment complex. Lindsey and I headed out for a shakeout run on Friday morning, and I loved running on one of my old routes and saying hi to the prairie dogs and bunnies that I've missed so much! I was happy to note that running felt pretty normal in Lafayette, in fact, it felt better than running in Little Rock's heat and humidity! This was a good sign.

Lindsey and I drove up to Leadville on Friday afternoon. We checked into our perfectly located airbnb and headed over to the expo. I was thrilled to get to meet my Team SFQ teammate, Kara, and to see my former BSR teammate Zach, his fabulous wife LindsAy, and their ridiculously cute puppies. We also took the opportunity to meet ultrarunning legend Courtney Dauwalter. The exchange went something like this:

Courtney: Hi, what's your name?
Me: Hi, I'm Kris.
Courtney: Hi Kris. I'm Courtney.
Me: I KNOWWWWWW
Lindsey: *shakes head, apologizes on behalf of her friend

Lindsey and I headed back to the airbnb and got our stuff ready for the next day. We made our own dinner (she had pasta, I had my favorite meal of late: rice, eggs, and avocado). We watched some TV and went to bed fairly early.

Race morning came around and before we knew it we were off and running. I knew what to do. You just have to keep moving and spend as little time as possible at zero miles per hour. I preach this all the time. That turned out to be hard to do with so much socializing happening on the course. My absolute favorite thing about the day was that every few miles I got to see someone I knew. But even knowing a lot of people out on the course, I basically spent the whole day alone. I was moving slower than usual. I'll blame the altitude and my lack of run training.

Josie! My wonderful friend from Lakewood Masters, who crewed me at the 100 run in 2018!

Jess, my Gravel Girl friend!

Holy cow, y'all. I think it took me SIX YEARS to meet Cheryl Miller in person, of course I was going to stop for a photo.

The race starts at 10,200 feet in Leadville and then climbs up to 13,200 feet at the top of Mosquito Pass. There are some other climbs and descents in there as well, so you end up with 6,000 feet of gain by the end of 26.2 miles. As usual, I felt better climbing than descending. I had my poles with me and I pulled them out at the bottom of Mosquito Pass for the climb. I used them for the rest of the day - they were more useful for descending than climbing. I used them as makeshift crutches to protect my knee. 

I saw Lindsey running back down the pass as I was heading up, on her way to fourth place overall female and first in her age group. Then I saw Josie and Kara on their way back down. Finally, as I was reaching the top of Mosquito Pass, I saw Zach on his way down. He stopped and said we should take a picture. "I DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR THIS, ZACH," I yelled, "I have to make the cutoff!" But he had his phone out so I stopped to snap a pic.

Zach commented later that he was worried I'd miss the cut by a minute and then he'd feel responsible.

I was four hours and 30 minutes into the race when I reached the turnaround point. I didn't even stop to take a selfie at the top of the pass. I knew I was in trouble with time. I hurried down as fast as my legs and poles could carry me. I stopped at a porta-potty at mile 20 and then headed up the Trail of Tears, the one-mile segment that is straight up a steep hill, with loose rocks and no good line to take. I saw a man sitting on the side of the path about 3/4 of the way up. I told him he had a quarter of a mile to go. A few minutes later, he passed me on the descent, jokingly complaining that it had been more than a quarter of a mile. We had about four miles left to go.

At this point, I switched my watch from race time to show the time of day. I knew the finish line cutoff was at 3:30. I kept moving forward, slower than I'd like, but my legs were done. Approaching the final aid station, there was a volunteer standing at the top of the hill. "Once you pass me, it's less than three miles to go," he said. I looked at my watch. I had 40 minutes left. I know how great I am at wasting time on Leadville race courses. I thought to myself that it would be completely humiliating to not even officially finish the first race of the Lead Challenge. 

Passing the aid station, I saw someone lying on the side of the trail ahead of me. It was the man who had passed me earlier. I yelled to the volunteers that there was someone in trouble. They rushed up to help him and I heard him protesting: "I'm just resting." A few minutes later, I guess he was fine because he ran by me, telling me to hurry up, that the race was almost over. What the heck. 

I ran as fast as I could towards the finish and counted down the miles. My quads, feet, and calves were burning.

My watch buzzed: It was a text message from Shelly. "I'm thinking about you." I ran, grateful for the encouragement, grateful to her for somehow knowing that I'd need it.

My watch buzzed: It was an Instagram message from Jess. She was sharing the pictures we'd taken on the course. Great, but uggh. I still had more than a mile to go.

My watch buzzed again: It was Lindsey calling. God DAMMIT Lindsey do not call me to ask me where I am and why I'm not done yet. (I love you Lindsey.) 

As I approached the final descent into town, I knew I was going to make the cut. Lindsey and Kara greeted me and ran in the last tenth of a mile to the finish with me. The time limit had been extended for some reason - we had been given an extra three minutes. I crossed the line at 3:25. I'd made the cut by 8 minutes.

My teammate, Kara, who had finished an hour earlier. And Lindsey running in her slippers.

I am so grateful to my amazing coach Nell Rojas who got me to this start line. I know that with her guidance I'm in good shape for the rest of this series. I'm thankful for my amazing friends and Team SFQ teammates who cheered and supported both in person and from a distance. And I'm so grateful to have a husband who understands me and supports this training that's taking hours of my time (I'm also grateful that he's not mad at me for being faster on the bike now than he is. 😉 )

My love.

I'm so happy and relieved to still be in the Lead Challenge. As long as you start one race, you get to start the next one. I just really, really, really want to finish all of them. My next start is the mountain bike race (yes, that's right, I switched from the run to the bike) at the Silver Rush on July 10. 

Wish me luck because I'm going to need it! 💕

Unbound Gravel 50 Mile Race Report 2022

It's been almost ten years since I first heard about the Unbound Gravel race in Emporia, Kansas. These are the facts that I knew about the race formerly called the Dirty Kanza: the race was all on hilly dirt roads, it was 200 miles, and my most accomplished cyclist friend Jenny had just completed it, during which she had a crash that resulted in her stapling her thigh back together with an actual stapler. Jenny and I had just finished our first full distance triathlon at Ironman Texas, and when asked which event was more difficult, Jenny did not hesitate to say it was the 200 mile bike race, no question. Holy cow. Also, hell no.

Flash forward ten years and I've got a gravel bike that I love riding and I'm living in Kansas City, Missouri, only an hour or so away from Emporia. Of course I needed to check this event out. With other big goals on the calendar and still harboring an unhealthy amount of fear of the 200 mile route, I opted for the 50 miler. I convinced Orissa to drive up from Texas to ride as well.

In early January we learned that both of our applications for the race had been accepted. In February, Trent and I moved to Little Rock. Kansas City would have been pretty far away to make a comfortable home base for the race, and places in Emporia had been booked since before the lottery for the event even opened. Orissa and I got a cute little Airbnb in Wichita. 

Because packet pickup for the 50 mile race was on the same day as the event itself, we drove to Wichita on Friday, settled in, and drove over to Emporia in the morning for packet pickup and our 9 am race start. We got there early enough to grab a donut and take our time getting to the start line. The 100 and 200 mile races had started a couple of hours earlier. There was even a 350 mile event that started the day before.

As we lined up in downtown Emporia for the start, Orissa and I shared that we were both feeling quite nervous. I wasn't sure why, because we had decided ahead of time that this would be a bit of a joyride with no goals except to stay upright and enjoy the day. We rolled out with 500+ other riders and slowly made our way out of town and onto the gravel.

Oh, did I mention it was raining? It was sprinkling before the start and we'd decided to start the race with our rain jackets on. I think I can confidently say that there was some type of rain falling from the sky for the entire duration of our race, but it was light and lovely enough for the first 20 miles that I eventually took off my coat. It was difficult for the first little bit of the race to get into a rhythm because of all the people around us. We passed politely, staying in the doubletrack lanes. I felt surprised every time someone went outside the lane to pass, but eventually Orissa and I started to do the same thing. 

I had an idea that we would follow the same pattern that I've been using on my training rides - stop to take a gel every hour and use that opportunity to stretch. It became clear after a while that neither of us wanted to stop because that would require making our way back through the packs of people that we'd just passed. It felt like the course would just stay crowded for the entire event, but eventually the crowds thinned and we mostly were by ourselves. Just us and the cows. That was probably about the same time that it started to actually rain. 

We shrieked when we heard a loud clap of thunder and I hustled to get my raincoat back on. From that moment on (I think we were around mile 25) it was nothing but pouring rain. We decided to bypass aid stations to avoid getting tangled up in other riders. We had backpacks filled with sports drink so it wasn't necessary to stop anyway. The water began to pool on the roads, making it difficult to see ruts and pot holes. Our bikes became noisier as they picked up grit from the road. We stopped at one point to check Orissa's front rotor, but there was nothing either of us could think of to do to fix it. As we passed other riders, some of their bikes sounded insane. One man laughed that his bike was about to fall apart under him, and I worried that he might not actually be joking.

They hadn't published the routes for the race until a couple of weeks before the event. Orissa and I had speculated about how much time it might take for us to complete the 50 miler. For my Leadville training, I've been riding a very hilly 50 mile route on my mountain bike that takes about five hours each time, so we surmised that a five hour finish might be reasonable. We were thrilled to find ourselves heading back towards town much earlier than that, and we ended up coming down the chute at 3:48:02. What a fun day!

It was really fun to race and it was really fun to feel SO GOOD racing. The hours of training around Lake Sylvia that I've put in have helped so much. Learning some skills from my new MTB hero friend Ari and racing on single track at the Ugly Gnome mountain bike race last month has helped to sharpen my skills and my confidence as well. I felt like I was flying up every hill with no effort on my gravel bike. The shocking part is that I felt myself flying down the other side of each one with confidence - confident in my handling skills and my ability to choose a line. It was great to practice riding with other people in a race on rocky double track and I feel so much more confident about the upcoming bike races in Leadville this summer.

At the finish, Orissa and I were soaked and freezing but we chose to take the time to take our bikes to the complimentary bike wash sponsored by Muc-Off. What an amazing feature at a gravel race. We rushed back to the car to change into warm clothes and watch the other racers come in. At some point the sun came out and it felt hot as we stood along the chute watching the mud-splattered pros and other heroes of the 100- and 200-mile races coming in. We even claim that we saw Peter Sagan cross the finish and coast around the side of a building on his bike, away from the crowds.

The event was inspiring and exciting and I can say for sure that I'd come back and do the 100. I'd even do the 200 if I can find a way between now and then of being less fearful of riding on dirt roads in the dark. In the meantime, I've got one week until my first race of the Lead Challenge next weekend - the Leadville Marathon. The Summer of Leadville is about to start...here we go!!!

It wouldn't be a race without donuts.

Another cyclist told me "you look like a magical fish." I love these beautiful kits!

Ouachita Trail 50K Race Report (DNF): A Blessing in Disguise

I have always firmly believed that DNF (did not finish) is always better than DNS (did not start). After my experience at the Ouachita Trail 50K on Saturday, I think I still agree with this statement, but not for the reasons you'd expect. 

A month or so ago, I joined the Arkansas Ultra Running Association page on Facebook to try to get some ideas of trail running routes that I could use in my training for Leadville. Since we moved to Little Rock in February, I've been running on asphalt and mountain bike trails - nothing like the rocky fire roads of the Leadville courses. The first thing I noticed was that a 50K race was coming up, five miles from my house! Even though I wasn't really quite up for the mileage of a 50K, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to do a trail race at Pinnacle Mountain State Park.

The event had a 50 mile and 50K option, and both races started at the entrance to Maumelle Park, about two miles from the Pinnacle Mountain visitor's center. I've been riding and running frequently on the road that makes up the first two and last two miles of the course. From there, the run goes onto the Ouachita Trail, up the east side of Pinnacle Mountain to the summit (about 700 feet straight up), down the other side, and back onto the Ouachita Trail for an out-and-back course that would eventually bring you back to Maumelle Park, bypassing the mountain climb segment on the way back.

I did a practice run on a section of the course a few weeks ago and it didn't go very well. I got lost on trails covered in roots, rocks, pine needles, and leaves. I don't know if runners around here would call the route technical, but compared to the fire roads, groomed trails, and gravel paths that I'm used to running, it was technical AF. Although the only real elevation gain was the part up Pinnacle Mountain, the rest of the course that I practiced on was basically an undulating up-and-down course that was never particularly flat or gentle. I thought I'd be fine for the race: I'd just run what was "runnable" and fast-walk the rest. There was no real time limit for the 50K, just a 13-hour time limit for the 50 mile run that you had to meet.

The race started at 6 am. About 150 runners were led up the road by an emergency vehicle, the blue lights flashing in the dark. Right away, a runner came up next to me and introduced herself. Like everyone else that I've met in Arkansas, she was so incredibly friendly and began giving me tips on how to pronounce the names of things around here (for example, Ouachita = Wash-it-ah). She also told me about a trail running group and encouraged me to join it.

The first two miles passed quickly, and we were at the top of the hill at the end of the road section, ready to turn onto the Ouachita Trail. We turned onto a downhill segment that led to the road below, and as soon as we took our first steps downhill, I stopped to wave others past. Noelle was gone in an instant. I was sad to lose the company but knew that I needed to take the steps (both natural and man-made) carefully. I had taken couple of tumbles on my mountain bike in the past week and my right knee was at about 75%. It really didn't like going downhill; it felt like it was going to hyperextend or buckle under me. So I took baby steps down the hill and wondered if it would be smart to tap out at mile 3. This was a training run after all, it was not the type of situation where I was in a "die before DNF" mindset. I kept going.

Some meandering through the woods with a little running and a little walking led me to the bottom of the big climb up Pinnacle Mountain. I could see the runners ahead of me climbing up the steep boulders, and I wondered how hard or scary it would be to climb up. I learned very soon that it would be pretty hard (like climbing the boulder field at the top of a fourteener for 700 feet) and pretty scary (but not quite as "I'm going to fall backwards and plummet to my death" as ascending the Manitou Incline). We were all in a line using hands and feet to climb up the boulders and it reminded me of the photos I've seen of the traffic jam at the summit of Mt. Everest. Except that I was holding up the line. I stepped aside a couple of times to let others go by. At one point I squealed, "I think I'm stuck," as I stood paralyzed not knowing where to place my foot next. A kind gentleman behind me offered to spot me, and I scrambled up, more out of embarrassment than confidence. 

The climb was cool. I'm glad I got to do it.

The way down on the other side was less technical than the way up and I baby stepped my way down, cognizant of the other runners nimbly skipping by. I cursed my unsteady right knee but continued on. Finally, about six miles into the race, I arrived at a section I'd call runnable: a straight stretch of flat trail covered with soft pine needles. Can you guess what happened next? I tripped over a root or a rock or whatever was lurking beneath the pine needles, went full superman and landed on my left knee and my face. My chin bounced off the ground and my hat and glasses went flying. I felt the squish of my water bottles as I landed hard on my chest. My immediate response was to roll over and curl into the fetal position, trying not to cry. I think I was less physically injured than I was scared and angry, but other runners were coming up behind me so I tried to get it together. I gingerly stood up and worried that my left knee was now the injured one - I took a few gentle steps and decided it would be okay. I brushed the dirt and leaves from my clothes and slowly started walking down the path.

There was a perfect opportunity to bail out at mile seven. I arrived at the next checkpoint and decided I was okay to move on. I would just be really careful. About a mile later I was overjoyed to find the trail popping up onto a section that would be paved, and I jogged gleefully towards it. I tripped again. As I pitched over onto my side and into a thorn bush (at least I didn't land on my face this time), I screamed out my patented phrase of "FUCKING FUCK," and just laid there for a second. Again, I could have turned back at this point, but I chose to keep going.

I continued on for a while, irritated that I was too scared to pick up any speed, angry that I apparently can't pick up my feet on the trail enough to not fall down every mile or so. Eventually, probably because of the falls or maybe because I'd been wandering in the woods for four hours, my right knee, the one that was not at 100% when I started the race, began to hurt, like actually hurt. I realized that with 20 miles left, I should probably go ahead and DNF the event. 

I was out in the middle of the woods. I could turn back or I could continue on to the next aid station and drop out there. I wasn't fully committed to the idea of dropping out at that point, so I continued on. Runners started coming back the other way, first the winners, then the rest of the 50K participants, then the winners of the 50 mile run. 

On Sunday morning when I woke up with the same terrible headache that I'd had the night before, feeling nauseated and sensitive to light, I realized that when I fell and whacked my chin, I probably gave myself a concussion. I think that's why when I decided to DNF, I chose to text the group chat and ask for any of my friends to call me. I wasn't thinking clearly and needed 1) reassurance about dropping out and 2) advice on whether to turn back or continue to the next aid station. My beautiful friends all called me and said 1) YES drop out and 2) TURN BACK. So I continued on to the next aid station. I called Trent and told him I'd be DNFing at the halfway point and that I'd probably get a ride from there back to my car. He said, "Are you sure you really need to quit?" This is why I love him. But I replied, "yes." He told me to be careful and I kept going. After six and a half hours on the course, I finally reached the aid station at mile 16. I told the volunteers there that I wanted to DNF and one of them asked, "are you sure? You still have plenty of time." Yes, I was sure. 

This would be the point where I'd say, okay, I learned all these lessons, onward and upward, all those good things. The end. But I'm not done yet! 

The volunteers at the aid station were so kind. They gave me a cup of soda and a cheese quesadilla and told me to sit in a camp chair. One of the volunteers pointed to a man in a Leadville 100 finisher's hoodie with his cute dog sitting on the other side of the aid station. "George will drive you back to the start," she said.

Holly runs with George and has completed marathons and 50Ks!

After waiting a few minutes for the outbound time cutoff to pass at that station, George motioned that we should go. I gratefully hopped into his car with him and Holly the dog. I asked him about Leadville and he said that he'd run it about ten years ago. When I mentioned that I'll be racing there this summer, he asked me where I've been training. I explained that I'm new to the area: I've been running on the roads and on the trails we were just running on. Where should I be running? And then I just started taking notes on my phone as he listed the places I should go and the events I should look up online. George is the president of the Arkansas Ultra Running Association and he's an absolute wealth of knowledge.

We continued to the turnaround point of the 50 mile run and waited there for a few minutes for anyone to drop, then turned back and went to another checkpoint to do the same thing. A man named Jim dropped from the 50 mile run at that point - he was at mile 27 and had two hours to make it eight miles back to the next checkpoint, and he was over it. He joined us in the car and we headed back to the start. It turns out that between them, Jim and George have finished Leadville, Western States, Run Rabbit Run, and the Wasatch 100. I'm sure they've got more incredible ultra running accomplishments that they didn't even mention. I was in the car with ultra running royalty, and these two guys did all their training for these races in Central Arkansas. This was such inspiring and exciting news for me! They told me where to go to train and even mentioned a friend who did the Leadman Challenge last year and completed it, commenting that he'd likely be happy to give me advice about it if I reach out.

If I hadn't started the race, I wouldn't have met Noelle and learned about the trail running group that trains on Saturdays. If I'd turned back to DNF or decided to finished the race, I wouldn't have had the opportunity to meet Jim and George or to learn about all the wonderful places to run around here. As my very wise friend Linda told me, the DNF was absolutely a blessing in disguise and "the universe gives us what we need even though we often do not understand until later why things unfolded the way they did." 

It's Monday as I type this and I feel so much better than I did yesterday. My head isn't hurting anymore and my thoughts are clearer. My chin and left knee are bruised and scraped, I have cuts from the thorns on my right side, and my right knee is still swollen and iffy. But I am full of inspiration and motivation to get out there and train for the races this summer that are approaching so quickly. I learned all these lessons! Onward and upward!

First Stop on the Way to Leadville: Vegas Baby!

A Rock n Roll Marathon event would not usually be on my radar. Several years ago, their contract with the city of San Antonio prevented other half marathons or marathons from taking place in the city within a timeframe around their race, which shut down multiple local events. When that happened, I said I'd never do another Rock n Roll event. On top of that, I'm training for a trail running series this summer, so there was no need to do a road race. I guess if you're going to compromise your principles, Las Vegas is the place to do it.

A flurry of peer pressure and discounted race entry fees last December led Orissa, Shelly and I to meeting up for a much needed girls weekend in Las Vegas for the half marathon at the end of February. Bonus: it was Shelly's birthday weekend! After a brief moment of panic when Shelly texted NINE HOURS before their flight was scheduled to depart that it had been cancelled (thanks American Airlines), Orissa and Shelly figured out a solution and we all arrived in Las Vegas on Saturday around lunch time.

We checked in at the Aria and headed over to the expo, checking out some delicious dining and enjoying some day drinking on the way. It was disconcerting at first to find that Las Vegas was just as crowded as ever, pandemic or no pandemic, but we quickly got used to all the people around us. I also didn't realize that they still allow smoking in casinos -- yes, you can describe me as an aggressive nonsmoker who can sniff out the smell of smoking from a mile away (more about this later).

We purchased some snacks in the store downstairs so that we could avoid any temptation from the minibar and returned to our room. We settled in, drinking wine and cosmopolitans while we admired the view of the Strip. Orissa and I had a hilarious moment when we tried to rearrange the unrefrigerated portion of the minibar. Above the refrigerator was a large decorative display with Fiji water and bags of cashews and other snacks. We tried to lift the display box up to move it out of our line of sight, only to find that it was connected with wires to the rest of the cabinet. Shelly warned that even if you so much as touch items on the minibar you can be charged for them! So we put the bottles and snacks back where we'd found them and hoped that we weren't going to get in any trouble.

Pre-race fueling

By this time it was 6:30 pm and I'm embarrassed to say that we were all ready to go to sleep. We forced ourselves to get up and go to see some sights. The Bellagio fountain and conservatory were just as beautiful as ever and Caesar's Palace was lovely even though we were politely discouraged from being seated at one restaurant for looking like we couldn't afford to eat there. 

The next morning we got up and spent a full day shopping, dining, and sightseeing. The race didn't start until 4:30 pm, so we had plenty of time to spare. We even got to see the Van Gogh Immersive Experience and all three of us were grateful to get to sit down on the floor for the 35 minute show -- our feet were already tired! As we walked back to our room to get dressed for the race, we congratulated ourselves on how well we had planned. We had about an hour to put our feet up before heading over to the start line.

It took one second after walking into the room for me to shriek, "WHY DOES IT SMELL LIKE WEED IN HERE??" Gross, it was probably coming through the air vents from another room. Moments later, Orissa exclaimed, "WHERE ARE THE CASHEWS!?" The large bag of cashews from the end of the mini bar display was gone. Immediately we surmised that someone had stepped into our room for a smoke break and helped themselves to a snack when the munchies kicked in. We checked the rest of the room and found nothing amiss, then called down to the front desk to report the break-in. We were nonchalantly told that someone from security would come up and take a report. The security person did not appear and we found it more important to get to the start line in time than to wait for them.

Arriving at the Start Village, we were late for my corral. The start area was somewhat chaotic because there were waves but they were based on no particular criteria. My wave was one of the first and Shelly's was dead last -- she had signed up late -- and there was an hour between the two start times! Our friend Q was also running the half marathon and had left the corral at her designated time. She texted me to say that they weren't checking bibs and to just go with the next group because there would be another mile to walk before the actual start of the race. What? Orissa and I talked Shelly into jumping the line and we nervously squeaked through the gate and into the chute to start. Then, as Q had said, we walked a mile to the start. Weird. I don't remember ever starting a large race without pace groups or corrals based on time.

The Strip looking ghostly as it was cleared for runners.

As we started the race, our conversation was drowned out by loud music and an energetic race announcer dressed like Britney Spears from the "Baby One More Time" video. Shelly, Orissa, and I wished each other well. My instructions from Nell were to start at a 9:30 pace and work my way down from there in the second half of the race if I was feeling good. I hoped for any time under 2:10, which would be an improvement over the last half marathon I'd run in August. Shelly and Orissa, who have not been running much distance at all lately, decided to aim for anything under 2:30 and hope for the best. 

As I ran the first three miles from Planet Hollywood towards Mandalay Bay and out of town, the sun was going down and I tried to run at 9:30 or slower to conserve energy for the second half. It didn't feel as easy to run 9:30 as it has on recent training runs, and I wondered vaguely if I was just too tired from all the training I've been doing. Then I reached mile 3 and the course turnaround. We had been running uphill! Suddenly I had to really work to slow myself down. I remembered that the old Las Vegas Marathon used to start in the desert and finish on the Strip and that it had a net downhill course. That meant we would run slightly downhill until the next turnaround, then run approximately the last 3 miles back up to the finish. 

It was awesome to have the Strip blocked off for only foot traffic. However because of the weird start, I was constantly running around people for the entire race and could never get a rhythm going. I felt the energy to pick up my pace at mile 7, but that's also the point in the race where you run onto the less populated part of the Strip. The sun had set and it was really dark outside! Without the bright lights of the casinos, the road was difficult to see and I had to step carefully to make sure each footstep was solid. As I ran past the wedding chapels, discount liquor stores, and cannabis shops, I felt myself losing momentum. At the aid station at mile 10, I felt tired. I took my last gel and willed myself to hold the pace to the finish. On the out-and-back section somewhere between miles 10 and 13, I heard Shelly and Orissa screaming from the other side and I was happy to know that they were running together.

Finally, the finish line appeared! I ran across in 2:06, feeling super stoked to reach my goal. I smiled and soaked it in. The only other finish lines I've crossed in the dark were at Ironman races, and that plus the loud music and bright lights of Vegas made it feel so festive. Another woman nearby was clearly enjoying the moment as she took a selfie right at the finish line! I laughed and then took a second look - it was Q! We couldn't have timed it better.

Q was just minding her business taking a selfie.

Photobomb! Q is like, who is this ridiculous woman ruining my shot?

Hahahahahahaha!

Q and I waited for Shelly and Orissa to cross the line - they made it in 2:29! Goals had been met all around. We went out for pizza and girly drinks to celebrate. It was so much fun to catch up with Q, who we haven't seen since she moved to Las Vegas a few years ago. We talked about San Antonio and and how hard the Wednesday night workouts at Dawn's house used to be when we were all training for triathlons together.

When Shelly, Orissa, and I returned to our room, we were happy to note that it didn't smell of pot anymore. We got cleaned up and examined our feet for damage (Orissa's was extensive - she had a broken toenail, Shelly had a couple of bruised toes, and my feet were freakishly fine). We called down to find out the latest on our dramatic break-in situation and hotel security had no record of our call down earlier in the day. We made enough of a fuss that a representative from security came up to take our statement, but he didn't seem too concerned. He said they'd find out who had swiped into our room and let us know. We still don't know, but the hotel didn't charge us for anything in the minibar and as an "act of goodwill," they didn't make us pay the "resort fee," whatever that is. 

The next day we had a lovely shakeout swim in the hotel pool followed by a delicious brunch with a server who was so entertaining and attentive that Shelly left her a thank you note. As the three of us sat in the airport waiting for our flights, we exclaimed about how wonderful the trip had been. Orissa commented that it couldn't possibly have gone better, which made me laugh. Their flight had been cancelled and our hotel room had been used as a pot smoker's break room. But we had such a good time that it cancelled out these minor inconveniences. 

I can definitely recommend the Rock n Roll Las Vegas Half Marathon and I really do hope to be back again next year. Shelly, what do you think about making this an annual birthday celebration trip? 

From Little Rock to Leadville: Wait, What? Little Rock?

Am I the only one who feels like the events of the last couple of years have eaten away at my brain? It's not just that I haven't been able to focus at work - I've been unable to will myself to write for fun, and that sort of scares me. It's been a while since I've posted here with any regularity. My goal is to be back on a roll now because I actually have something to write about: my journey to and through the Lead Challenge in Leadville, Colorado, this summer.

But first, let's catch up. I live in Little Rock, Arkansas! What? It's been a long and winding road, to say the least. Less than a year ago, I was living and working in Lafayette, Colorado, where I've been for the last five years, and Trent was living and working in Kansas City, Missouri. Of course our goal was to be together...but where? And how? Once we stopped focusing on the "where," the "how" became easy. We eloped in Golden, Colorado, on September 4, 2021. 

We made it official. 😍

It was a beautiful, perfect day, but at the end of that weekend, he drove back to Kansas City. I guess there's something about being married (eeee!) that made me just want to be with my husband (eeee!!) more than ever, so a couple of months later, I packed up my stuff and my cat and we drove to Missouri. I love Colorado, but I love Trent more, so I got my head wrapped around the idea of being a Midwesterner (hmmm). 

Of course, life does what it does, and within a month or so, Trent was presented with an un-pass-uppable job opportunity in Little Rock. So... yada yada yada... here we are. And so far, so good (I've been here a little less than a week). I've found an awesome Masters group to swim with and I've got some really beautiful places to run and ride. When we moved to Denver five years ago, I was expecting all these things. Finding them in Little Rock has been an incredible, wonderful surprise. They call Arkansas the Natural State for a reason. It's gorgeous here. We even have a mini mountain near our house.

In the middle of all of this change, I signed up for and got into the Lead Challenge (eeeeeeee!!!!). I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say Leadville is my favorite place in the world. I've done an event or two there every summer for the last few years, so signing up for the Lead Challenge doesn't feel too far out of left field. Bonus: now that I'm no longer living in Colorado, participating in the Leadville series of races forces me to spend most of my summer there. 😀

What is the Lead Challenge? It's basically all of the races in Leadville: the marathon in June, the Silver Rush 50 mile run in July, the Leadville 100 mountain bike race and the 10K run the following day in early August, and the Leadville 100 mile run a week later. 

How unrealistic a goal is this? I've started all of the running races before and I've finished the marathon and the 10K within the time cuts. I was 8 minutes too late to the finish line at the Silver Rush in 2018 to be considered an official finisher, so I have that goal looming ahead of me. I DNFed my previous attempt at the 100 Run at mile 40 in Twin Lakes after missing the time cut at the 31-mile mark. Also I've never done a mountain bike race before. In case it wasn't clear, I'm saying that I have my work cut out for me. However, I fully believe that I'm capable of completing the whole thing, even the 100 Mile Run at the end of the series.

It really stung to be eight minutes late to this line.

So here we are in February. The first race is in June. I have a new pair of trail shoes and a new mountain bike. I've joined a strong team of women who #setgoalssmashgoals and I'm so happy to have their inspiration to draw from. I'll have my nutrition nailed down with Tailwind. I've got the support of my husband who luckily also loves riding mountain bikes, although running is no longer his cup of tea. And, of course, I have my amazing coach, Nell Rojas, who has coached other middle aged, female runners and cyclists to the finish lines in Leadville. She coached me through my first Leadville journey and I'm really excited to have her coaching me virtually for this one. And I'm even lucky enough to have awesome friends who are doing many of the races too!

It's a good time to have a big goal -  I'm coming out of the pandemic haze of "training for life" (that got boring) and now I'm training for real with something to train for. I feel like myself again. Join me on the journey, either virtually by reading about it here, or in person at 10,000 feet this summer - there are still slots available for several of the races.

Thanks for reading and happy trails!

Training for Life

For as long as I can remember, when someone asks me what race I'm training for, my standard response is to reply with the name of the race and then comment, "if I don't have something on my calendar to train for, I won't exercise at all." I always had an event on the horizon to train towards: triathlons in the summer, marathons in the fall and winter. When the pandemic hit last March, I was training for Ironman St. George.

Along with the uncertainty that came in the late weeks of February and early weeks of March 2020, I was also reaching the biggest weeks of training for the race. I remember that on one day, I did a 4000 yard race prep swim feeling so excited about how strong my swim would be at the race. Only to find that two days later when I went back to the rec center for my next swim, the door was locked with a handwritten sign: "Closed until further notice." I didn't swim again until June.

I remember messaging my coach and telling her, "I know I had a 75-mile bike ride on my plan but I just couldn't bring myself to do it," after bailing out of a long ride early in March. "That's okay," she responded, "Nobody is motivated to do anything right now." I went from hoping the race would still take place to hoping that it would be cancelled. When we finally got the news that it would indeed be cancelled, I was relieved to have it off the calendar.

As you all know by now, of course, every single event last year was cancelled. This was a small impact on the scale of what else was happening in the world, but for me, it was probably the hardest thing to wrap my head around.

Now what? What would I do, given my standard statement that I wouldn't train at all without something to train for? 

Well, I started to just do whatever I wanted to each day. I ran most mornings on the less busy creek paths so that I could stay away from people and avoid having to pull a mask up and down. I took my bike out by myself for meandering rides with no intervals, no heart rate goals, no purpose except to be outside. I'd spent the last couple of years moving away from cycling, building up my running instead, but during the pandemic the opposite happened. Being on the bike was the one way to get around and see things -- I felt like I must have felt as a child on a bike -- it was transportation, it was freedom, it was a way to get away from my small apartment for a while.

Trent got back into cycling too -- the golf courses were closed -- so we started planning our weekend trips around riding in either Colorado or Kansas/Missouri. We rode up Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National Park. We rode around the Copper Triangle. We rode up and down the Katy Trail across the state of Missouri. We found cycling again and we became closer together because of it, and because of that, I'm so grateful. (We also own five more bikes than we had at this time last year, but that's another post.)

Trail Ridge Road

When the pool at my apartment complex reopened in June 2020, I bounded back into the water, grateful for every stroke. I was so happy to feel the cool water rushing over my skin and for the calm peacefulness that only comes with being submerged in the water, the only place that I have the ability to remove everything from my mind except the laps that I'm counting. It was pure joy to be back in the water.

By mid-September, even though I loved working with a triathlon/running coach, I had decided instead to use that money towards mental health, and I started talking weekly with a counselor. In one of our conversations, Elizabeth said to me, "exercise is like breathing for you," and I've held onto that phrase. I think it's just a perfect way to put it. Physical movement really is the only thing that centers me and puts me in the frame of mind that I need and want to be in.

I remember years ago, Dawn would say that her goal was to be in shape to build up to do an Ironman within a few weeks' notice, and I was in awe of what that meant. Why would anyone do that much training for no reason? Well, with nothing at all to train for except the love of the sport, I found myself swimming, biking, and running every day of the week, doing double workouts and enjoying them all. Partly it was because I didn't have anything else to do. But mostly, being able to remove the pressure of having a particular race goal allowed me to just enjoy the training. 

A stress fracture in January prevented me from running, which gave me more time to ride my bike. Not surprisingly, as soon as they were available, I signed up for several gravel bike races: the Old Man Winter Rally in February, the Pony Xpress in Trinidad in May, the Mad Gravel sprint race a week later, CO2UT a week after that. I was happy but not too surprised to learn that by biking more, even with only unstructured training, my strength on the bike and my handling skills have improved. 

Old Man Winter Rally, mud and all

CO2UT was excellent - Put this one on your list for next year!

I'd signed up for the Leadville Marathon for June 2020 and had it deferred to this year, and I didn't want to miss out. I love that race, but was skeptical about how it would go. On only bike training plus about a month of running, was it really wise to try to complete the full distance at this race? Should I drop to the half? I decided to go for it and do the full, thinking the worst thing that could happen is that I'd end up finishing late in the day and miss the time cuts. I completely surprised myself by not only finishing within the allotted time, but also getting a course PR - I was five minutes faster than when I'd actually trained for the race three years ago. Who knew.

The views in Leadville will keep me coming back year after year.

I don’t think I’ll lose the joy of training just because racing is back. At least I hope I won’t. When I was in college, one of the requirements for a degree was to finish a "lifetime fitness" course, meaning a sport you could continue to enjoy over your lifetime, not high school team sports like football or volleyball. I picked ballroom dancing - I'm giggling as I recall that class. I'm probably the only person in the history of Trinity University who didn't take it as pass/fail, and who only achieved a B in ballroom dancing. I haven't ballroom danced a step in my life since I graduated. But I'm swimming, biking, and running every day, and I couldn't be more grateful.

This weekend's Opal Wapoo Gravel Experience in Excelsior Springs, MO, was the latest top notch gravel adventure.

Do Not Mansplain My Bike to Me

Last weekend I participated in my first race in over a year, my first real bike race in at least four years. It was amazing. I felt so strong; all the riding I've been doing since January paid off. I finished the 85k Pony Xpress gravel race as 8th overall female and 2nd in my age group. I raced happy like I always do, feeling the wind on my face and smelling the fresh piney air of the course in Trinidad, CO; taking in the beauty of my surroundings and smiling all the way to the finish line. I paced myself well and finished the second half of the race stronger than the first. The big mountains looked beautiful in the distance and I took a million mental pictures as I raced happily, feeling so much joy. 

I could stop there with that mini race report, but I'm not going to. This race was different because I raced a little bit angry, too, because of an interaction that took place right before the race started.

Before the race, I took my bike for a spin to run through the gears. I had done this already the night before and the bike was fine, but I took advantage of some extra time to get a warmup in and make sure the bike was still in good working order. Guess what - it wasn't. I couldn't get the front derailleur to shift up into the big ring consistently. As I rode around the parking lot testing it, it worked about 40% of the time.

I went to the tent at the start line and asked if there was a mechanic available. "What's going on young lady?" asked a friendly older man. I told him that I couldn't shift into the big ring and wondered if he could help me out. He looked at me and then looked at my bike, and then launched into mansplaining to me what cross-chaining is, and how that was a big no-no in cycling. That's why my front derailleur wouldn't shift into the big ring, he explained. He smiled at me kindly. 

"Of course I know what cross-chaining is, and that's not it," I replied confidently. "Another bike accidentally bumped my derailleur this morning and must have caused the problem. I've tried all the troubleshooting that I know, but I don't know how to adjust a front derailleur. Can you help me?"

Just kidding. That's not what I said. I immediately gave up. With wide open, grateful eyes, I beamed a huge smile at him and thanked him for explaining cross-chaining to me. He patted me on the shoulder and said to me, "by the way, that's actually a really nice bike that you have." I thanked him for that, too, although I was thinking to myself, yes, I know it's a really nice bike. I can tell you think I don't know what it is, but I picked out the frame and chose all the parts myself after doing a lot of research, sir. I smiled again and walked away.

I raced using the front derailleur only when I needed to, worried that my shifting might fail at any time, and stayed in the big ring as much as possible in case it did get stuck there. I felt furious and minimized as well as complicit in my own minimization. I'll show him, I thought, as I allowed anger to help propel me through the race. I know how to ride a bike. I know how to race a bike.

After the race, as I joyfully described the day and my accomplishment to Trent, I finished by complaining to him about the interaction before the race. "Please don't tell me that you thanked him," Trent guessed. He knew what I was going to say. Yes, I did. Uggh.

The next day I brought my bike to the Trek shop in Boulder where the mechanics listened to me as I described the shifting issue. I also provided an incredibly poor explanation of a creaking sound that has been getting worse every ride. They listened thoughtfully, took my bike and said they'd troubleshoot it, and sent me on my way. Two days later, I got a call from Patrick at the Trek shop providing a detailed explanation about what he'd done to troubleshoot the issues. He told my voicemail that my bike was ready.

When I walked into the shop, I was greeted with courtesy and respect. As one employee went to locate my bike, Patrick the mechanic came up to the front desk and asked if I'd heard his phone message. He went again through the details of what he did with my bike and told me that the gears were running great and that he couldn't hear a creak. He and the other Trek shop employees talked to me like a cyclist - not a female cyclist. Not a Boulder-chubby cyclist. A cyclist. That's why I'll be buying my next bike from the Boulder Trek shop.

The experience at the Trek shop was so different from my experience on last weekend's race morning. Just being treated like a knowledgeable equal means so much to me. I just feel this overwhelming need to thank the guys at Trek for taking me seriously. And a big, serious thank you to the guys at Bicycle Heaven in San Antonio for all the years before that, for treating me like an athlete and doing everything they could to support me. I want to thank Trent for knowing that I shouldn't have said "thank you" to a mansplaining man who, whether he meant to or not, was minimizing me when he shouldn't have.

Maybe it's the pandemic that has shed some light for me on what's important. Maybe it's my age. Maybe it's the thoughtful conversations I've had with a counselor over the past year about what it means to be a feminist. Maybe it's being engaged to a man who not only hears, but listens to what I have to say, who understands that he can do better and is willing to try. He's truly an ally for the women and people of color who he works with, and he is not just playing the role of a white male savior. I'm so proud. Maybe it's just that the world happens to be changing right now and it happens to be the right time. Whatever it is, I'm done being complicit in my own minimization. I'm forcing myself to change, as uncomfortable as it may be. So watch out. 😬