Breaking the Rules-almost

This morning I decided I might have to break the rules. I was considering it. But I ended up not breaking THE rule because THE rule says: "Thou shalt not drive more hours to a run than the number of hours thou shalt be running." I only had to drive a total of 40 minutes, 20 minutes each way from my house.

I had a 20 mile run planned, and I wanted to run somewhere different, with scenery. I considered driving to Boulder Reservoir. But I chose the loop around Houts and Equalizer Lakes in Loveland, across the road from Medical Center of the Rockies.


Yesterday I went to Denver for a visit with Steph, my amazing crew chief for Badwater. We are starting to make plans for next summer and the conversation got me motivated. Across the Years is a race, but it's an essential part of my training for Badwater.



What an incredible run! The pictures say it all, really. It was warm and very windy, the gusts were strong enough that I was being blown sideways when I was running east and west. But I had an awesome workout and I only walked a total of 5 minutes, I felt great running, even with the wind in my face, and I ran 6 big loops around both lakes plus two little extra loops around each of the lakes, plus a couple of short out and backs to my car, for a total of 24 miles in exactly 4 hours.



I felt so good, this tells me I'm recovered from Lean Horse and ready to start hitting it hard for Across the Years. I ran a total of 79 miles this past week. Over the next two days I probably won't run. It's my two 12 hour shift workdays and that is plenty. It's good, because I get a break from running, but I still get the cross training time on my feet.

I loved this loop, the only time I have ever run it before was in last year's Heart of the Rockies Half Marathon, but I think it's going to become a regular part of my training this fall. It's about one-third concrete and the remainder is packed dirt. You can't beat the scenery, and it's easy to park close to the course and use your car as an aid station.



Time for food and a nap!

Small Things

Zero times anything is nothing. One times anything is something.

It's not quite October and the leaves are still mostly green, but I'm already thinking about next year. I'm excited about my race over New Years and the prospect of running Badwater again next year.

I'm thinking about next year, and how I want it to be different, what I can do to make it different. I'm already formulating my New Year's resolutions.

The first half of this year was tough and painful for me. It wasn't until this summer when things turned around. I've been healing from a big disappointment, and I'm moving through it, but I need to find a way to take lessons from it and continue to turn it around to my advantage.

I want to take the things that made my life particularly difficult this past year, or themes that kept repeating themselves, and the lessons I learned from those, and make sure that I am living up to what I believe in.

Those are simple: Be Kind, Be Well, Be Generous.

Kindness

"Never look down on anybody unless you're helping him up"- Jesse Jackson

Remember the power of a small thoughtful act, like a thank you, a word of appreciation, even something as small as a smile, eye contact, or acknowledging someone else's presence. Small things make a big impact.

At times I've been too trusting, too forgiving, too patient. I've been willing to give a few people far too many chances to prove to me that they were just having a bad day, or they didn't really mean it. Despite how much it hurt, I still believe that most people are well-intentioned and really don't get up in the morning thinking about who they can hurt today and how to do it.

I have had to let go of my pain, and at the same time understand that there are some people who just simply don't know how to be nice, don't have empathy, and cannot possibly, not in any small way, get inside someone else's head and life and begin to imagine how their actions might affect that person, nor do they care.

I make an effort every day to acknowledge people, thank them for the things they do, make eye contact and smile when it's appropriate, which happens to be most of the time. Even though it is routine for me to do this, I know how important it can be on the receiving end, and I challenge myself to be aware of that. I also need to speak up about unkindnesses, and know when not to keep my mouth shut.

Wellness

"I am only one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something...I will not refuse to do the something I can do"- Helen Keller

When I talk about wellness, everyone thinks I mean running. Any exercise is a huge part of my own wellness. It's important to move your body, to keep the blood circulating, to bring oxygen and fresh nutrients to your muscles and organs. For me, moving forward boosts my creativity. I put in as many miles walking as I do running.

If I'm struggling with a problem, and I go for a run, even if I don't actively or consciously think about the problem while I'm running, I usually end up solving it after the run, or at least I have a better approach. The same thing happens if I go for a walk.

There is something about the forward, rhythmic motion of moving through the air, arms and legs pumping, that turns the wheels in my head and gets it all going. I find it hard to think when I'm sitting still. I challenge everyone to find ways to add forward motion. For example, walking to the little grocery store in my neighborhood instead of driving to the big supermarket. It takes less time to make the round-trip on foot, I timed it.

There are so many ways to make changes in our lives, but to make change last, you have to start small. Take small steps, and achieve success with those, before taking bigger steps. It's a process, but even if you make one small change in the direction of wellness next year, it's a success.

Success builds on success and you will learn that it is possible to make lasting, positive changes. Then it becomes easier to take the next step.

Generosity

"The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step"- Lao-Tzu

Don't underestimate the importance of a penny. It's a small thing by itself, not much value, but like any small thing, they add up to something big. When I do speaking engagements, often I tell the audience that success builds on success. One small thing each day. A series of small steps add up to something big. Sixteen hundred steps in a mile. One hundred sixty thousand of them in a 100 mile run.

A penny by itself is only a cent. One hundred fifty pennies is a dollar fifty. If a thousand people give a dollar fifty, that makes $1500. Loose change can do a lot.

My goal at Across the Years is to run 150 miles. If enough people donated a penny per mile, it could add up quickly. My running partner said she'd give a quarter a mile. I've been dumping my loose change into an old coffee can and I'll donate that.

I challenge everyone reading this to make a New Year's resolution of generosity, making a big impact through something small, by contributing some loose change to the PVHS Foundation Cancer Building Fund, to build something that will bring wellness to this community. Small steps, small things that add up and make a big difference.

Off the Bench and Going Bad

We spent this weekend in Como, checking out the aspen leaves. This is the best time of year in Colorado, from now until November, when the days are sunny and cool, and the bugs start to disappear. Once the temperature stays close to 40 degrees at night, the bugs will be gone and I can start running at Riverbend Ponds and along the Poudre River again without breathing through my teeth.

This morning I got off the bench, ended my self-imposed sabbatical from running, and went for a nice but buggy 10 mile run along the Poudre Trail. I ran 9 minute miles, which was an effort for me. I am so used to running a slow pace that I now consider 9 minute miles an effort. I hope I can get a little speed back this fall, but I'll have to balance it with preparing to run for 48 hours.

Our kitchen table is being taken over by tomatoes. This year we got what look like mini-Roma tomatoes, too big to be grape tomatoes, but the same shape as Romas, only about half the size. Today I tried baking some lemon ginger scones which turned out to be a disaster. They tasted good but were too much like muffins. I need to go back to my cookbooks and figure out a different recipe.

I have the energy to work a few extra hours each week, which has been helpful. I have to work about 200 extra hours over the next year to pay for Badwater! I am meeting with Steph this Sunday and we will start planning for next summer. It seems like 10 months is a long time, but it goes by fast.

Time to Go Bad again.

Prepare for Takeoff

I almost did it. I almost managed to go for two whole weeks without running. I took 9 days off completely, then rode my mountain bike one day, followed by two days of 2 and 3 miles each of running.

Today I'm starting again. I did five miles this morning on the bike path and didn't feel bad, I feel slow. Blisters are mostly healed, I've caught up on my sleep, and I'm starting my regular schedule this week at work, which will be twelve hour shifts again. Back to normal.

The weekend before last we went up to the cabin and took a drive to Salida to Mountain Spirit Winery to get our wine fix for a year or two! Two years ago we bought a case of wine and it lasted us about a year and a half. This year we got a case of Merlot Raspberry, some dessert wines for gifts, and half a case of their new Blackberry/Cabernet Franc. I love this stuff!

The trees weren't changing colors much last week, but there is still time to make a trip or two up to the cabin before the South Park winter snow and wind kick in.

Last week I gave a little talk to the Aspen Club at Medical Center of the Rockies about getting started on an exercise program. It was fun speaking to the group. When I had my personal training business, most of my clients were older and I remembered how much I enjoyed tailoring training programs to their needs. It was nice to speak on a different topic, even though I love speaking about ultrarunning.

This past weekend I went down to Longmont to help my buddy Mike Melton get things started in the morning with his timing system and late registration at a new race. The race was put on by David Clark in honor of 9-11. It consisted of runners putting in as many laps on a 1 + mile course as they could do in 9 hours and 11 minutes. Interesting theme.

It seemed to be a success, most of the runners were not ultrarunners and turned in their chips after less than a dozen laps. A few die hard ultrarunners including my friends Jeff O'Reilly and Dale Perry stuck it out for the duration and tacked on the miles.

Meanwhile in Utah my friend Nick Clark (from my 2008 Badwater crew) won the Wasatch 100, a big victory for him being a relatively new ultrarunner, in his 3rd 100 miler. He kicked butt at Western States this year, placing 4th overall. Nick is going to be a big ultra star by next year. I don't think they gave him the credit he deserved in the write-ups on Western States this year. Other than his place on the finishers' lists, they didn't even mention him in Ultrarunning magazine. I hope that means next year he'll take them by surprise and blow everyone away.

I'm looking forward to Across the Years, I need to get some miles in this fall and get myself used to running a little faster than I have been. I've been such a procrastinator about doing anything resembling speedwork for 3 years now and I can feel it. I won't be doing any speedwork this fall, too risky, but I will be increasing my running pace at least once a week.

I feel good. I can feel the difference in my energy since I started my new job, and people have noticed. I've heard everything from "You look so much happier" to "You're glowing". I feel like I pulled myself out of quicksand when I was up to my neck. I still have a lot of residual fatigue but it's going away. Healing takes time, but I'm fastening my seatbelt and all the baggage I brought with me is now safely stowed away in the overhead bin.

Flight attendants, prepare for takeoff.

Rant: Running for the Long Haul

I feel a rant coming on.

Maybe it's lack of sleep but at this point I only owe the sleep bank three hours, so that's probably not it. It's not PMS either. I feel this need to say something, because I am concerned about some of the runners in my life (at least three at this moment) whom I care about and I want to see them continue being able to run. But this applies to almost any woman runner, and a lot of men too.

So consider this a rant coming from a place of kindness, and caring, and concern. Here it goes:

Ultras are a gift to the body, not a punishment. I totally disagree with the "that's crazy, let's do it" mentality. I don't do ultras because I'm daring myself. I don't do them to beat the crap out of my body. I do them for the enjoyment and what I get from them, which are unique experiences shared with other unique human beings that I hope I'll be able to continue to have for a long time.

I've been running for nearly 27 years, ultras for 20 years. As long as I'm physically able, I intend to continue this.

I could care less about where I place in the pack. I have no interest in being competitive anymore. Interestingly, I still place pretty high at times, when I have a good race, without trying. I certainly don't plan on it, but I seem to hit those good races more often than a noncompetitive runner would expect to.

People say to me all the time,"I don't know how you find the time to train for ultras."

"I could never put in that kind of mileage."

"Marathon training is so painful, I could never imagine training for ultras."

"How does your body hold up?"

Hmmmmm. How does that work? Let's think about this together.

I averaged 48 miles a week prior to the Keys 100 for 4 months. I finished in 26 hours and change.
I averaged 47 miles a week prior to the Lean Horse 100 for 3 1/2 months. I finished in 28 hours and change.
Wanna see my weekly mileage trend from the Keys to Lean Horse?

Here it is, in chronological order, starting with the week after the Keys 100 race.
week 1: 6 miles of running, 14 miles of walking
week 2: ran 33 miles
week 3: ran 36 miles
week 4: ran 38 miles
week 5: ran 50 miles
week 6: ran 75 miles (including a 30 mile training run)
week 7: ran 70 miles (including a slow Leadville Marathon in 7 1/2 hours)
week 8: ran 19 miles (worked, then on vacation in Phoenix, traveled to Death Valley)
week 9: ran 10 miles (in Death Valley for Badwater, caught up on sleep afterwards)
week 10: ran 85 miles (including a 50 mile training run)
week 11: ran 70 miles (including 5 x Rock Repeats for 22 miles)
week 12: ran 70 miles (including a 33 mile training run)
week 13: ran 41 miles (including 3x rock repeats for 13 miles)
week 14: ran 21 miles (week before Lean Horse)
week 15: Lean Horse week. Ran 106 miles total including the 100 mile race.

Only five of those 15 weeks were somewhat high mileage, and only because I did long runs those weeks. In the middle I took two weeks easy, since I was traveling and busy doing other things. Hardly obsessive.

There is so much more to life than training all the time. People think what I do is obsessive but really, I am about the least obsessive runner I know out of all my friends. I know how to get down to business when it's time to focus on a goal I've set, but I also know how to let go of the need to constantly pound out the miles.

This fall I plan to take September mostly off, with cycling as my cross training. If the weather doesn't cooperate, well too bad. I'll ride in the rain or I'll just take the day off.

Sure I plan to run Across the Years in late December and I'll get serious sometime in October, but I'm not going to worry about it. I'll do a couple of long training runs around Halloween and Thanksgiving, but other than that, regular mileage applies.

This week, after my race, I'll concentrate on letting my feet heal and not worry about fitness. I won't lose much in a week. Nothing noticeable anyway.

I can only run a lot of ultras for a couple of years before my mind and body tell me I need a break. Fortunately it's usually my mind first. I tend to get burned out on training all the time, I miss my other interests, I miss doing things with my family, and I feel like I need to back off so many hours of training and preparing to train and run races.

On the physical end of things, I have never had a stress fracture. Never missed a menstrual cycle due to low weight. Since starting ultras, any injury I've had is due to a mishap, like a sprained ankle, not due to overtraining.

And I eat. I carry a little extra weight, not so much because I eat, but because I do have thyroid issues, and to look at the body type of my ancestors, they were not fat, but short and solid, more of a muscular build as they got older.

Because I would rather have a few pounds extra for my bones as I get older, I don't worry obsessively about weight. Sure I'd love to feel light on my feet again and fit in my smaller running clothes, but that is less important to me than staying healthy. I am thankful that despite my increasing middle age vanity about things like hair color, I have never been one of those skinny at any cost people. Whenever I've been skinny, it's been because my thyroid is out of whack.

Sure I do think about weight and in the back of my mind I view my body image in the same way as nearly any woman brought up in this culture. I go back and forth in my own mind, thinking I'm too fat at times. Somehow I've managed to have some of my best running performances when I was at my heaviest weights. I've tried to re-train myself on those matters. And I've managed to avoid a lot of the pitfalls of being too skinny, not eating enough, and falling apart.

That's where the concern for my friends comes in. I see them making the common mistake of too many miles, not giving your body a break, thinking you feel good after a long race without allowing the healing that has to happen at a microscopic level in the soft tissues and bones to take place, the probable but unknown effects on your immune system, the risk for mental burnout, the cost to families and individual lives.

When you feel good now, it might be a function of your great fitness. But it can be tricky. Often runners say they felt great right before they got sick or injured. Feeling good now does not mean that all is good inside. The body has it's own wisdom and we can try to avoid it but eventually it will get us.

If runners are not able to cut back on miles or take necessary care of their bodies, they are running for something beyond the enjoyment of running, and it is most likely an addiction, and no, it's not a "good" addiction. It's just a different drug. And it's rooted in a fear, which is related to body image, fear of losing something youthful about appearance, fear of running a little slower, fear of having a little fat on the body or weighing a certain number of pounds, in the brainwashing so many women have endured.

Those fears lead to overtraining, fear of taking a break because they might gain weight. Fear of losing a little fitness, as if once it's gone, it will be gone forever.

Guess what, fitness is a renewable resource. It's like money. You can always find more of it, you just have to be motivated to get it.

I think about my health years from now, and I want to give myself the best chance possible to be one of those 80 year old ultrarunners. There are enough pitfalls of getting older, some of which we can't control. But I want to make damn sure my bones hold up in order to do it, and that is something I can control.

Less is more.

End of rant.

Nirvana at Night: Lean Horse 100

Final score: Argyle Road 100, Alene's feet -4 toenails in overtime, 28 hours, 22 minutes.

I had to run the Lean Horse 100. It's inexpensive, it's close to home, it has the same climate and terrain as Fort Collins, I know a lot of the runners who were there, the time of year is perfect, and I needed a training run for Across the Years. Mission Accomplished.

By the time I reached the finish line twenty-eight hours and twenty-two minutes later, my feet had been screaming expletives at me with every step since about mile 80. Ask my feet if they needed it.

But the real outcome of this race was that I was once again reminded of why I do ultras, despite the temporary pain like sore feet. Running through the trees and scenery of the Black Hills, and through the moonlight at night, is the ultimate high. And the Mickelson Trail is the perfect place to do that.

Overall it was a fun time and everything you could want in a 100 miler was there. It wasn't my best race, not by far, but it was one of those gems, low-key, easy on the budget, great scenery, nice course.

Holley Lange from Fort Collins was running the 100, and Doug and Marji Nash were coming up to help both of us. The plan was for Doug and Marji to crew for me from the 16 mile point until about halfway when Doug would begin pacing Holley, and Marji would crew for me throughout the night.

The way things worked out, Holley ended up having muscle problems that resulted in a painful 45 degree lean, and at about halfway she decided it was enough, a wise decision. Marji gave Doug and Holley a ride back to Custer, where Holley found a ride back to Hot Springs so she could go back to her motel room. Doug ended up crewing with Marji all night and then he paced me down the last 16 mile Argyle Road stretch in the morning.

Another nice thing about Lean Horse is the reasonable 6 am start time. It's always great to get a decent night's sleep before the race. I need that.

I appreciate so much that Jerry, the race director, kept the pre-race briefing short and to the point. It lasted no more than about 20 minutes. There is nothing worse than pre-race events that go on for hours when all you want to do is eat and finish preparing for the long day ahead.

The pre-race dinner was a little disappointing, but it is a low key event. They had only hamburgers, bratwurst, and potato salad loaded with mayonnaise. None of those things are appealing to me anyway, but especially not the night before a race. I choked down a dry hamburger and then walked across the street to the grocery store and bought a couple of frozen pasta dinners to heat up in my motel room microwave. Ugh.

Hot Springs doesn't have much for restaurants, there was a Pizza Hut, a Subway, a Dairy Queen, and a few little mom & pop places.

I saw a lot of runners I knew at this race, and I met a few for the first time. I saw Badwater/Across the Years runners Dan, Jamie, and Dave. Pat and Karen were there, along with Steph, my super alpha crew chief at Badwater. Karen was running and Pat and Steph were crewing for her.

I also saw Brad, who reads my blog and was running his first 100 at Lean Horse. He ended up having an outrageously great race, finished 5th overall in about 20 ours. Way to go Brad! Congratulations! I saw him around halfway during the race and he had his son with him, and he looked fantastic. Mike from Fort Collins finished 3rd, and I haven't met him yet, but congratulations.

I met Fuzz from Oregon for the first time, whom I know only from the ultra list. I met Bob, who was paced by my friend Cat at this year's Grand Mesa 100. And I met Ray.

I first met Ray around 15 miles on the Argyle Road, he was chasing butterflies. I threatened him. I said if you're not careful, you'll end up in my blog as "The Butterfly Man". But I had several conversations with Ray during the race as we leapfrogged each other. Turns out Ray has not only had a lifelong interest in butterflies, but more recently has developed an interest in tree farming.

We talked about trees from our respective parts of the country, the Southwest and Pacific Northwest. Ray has a tree farm on Vashon Island in Washington, on family property. You never know what conversations you might have with other runners in these events. Meeting Ray was one of the highlights of my race, because it's always fun to talk about mutual interests and things you would never imagine talking about during a 100 mile race.



It was a great day. The weekend before the race it had been 100 degrees in Hot Springs, the day before the race it was 101 degrees, and on race day we had cloud cover for the first two hours and the temperature never got much above 90 degrees even on the hottest part of the course. It rained in the evening and cooled things down.

The only glitch I noticed in the whole race was in the morning, 10 miles in, at the Morph aid station. About a dozen of us showed up there at the same time. No crews are allowed on the first 16 mile stretch which includes the Argyle Road. It was already getting hot and the aid station had no ice, which was concerning. All they had was warm powerade and warm water. They were out of water in their coolers and were refilling them as we all stood there. They seemed a little unprepared.

Other than that the aid stations were great, the volunteers were helpful and enthusiastic throughout the course.

I started out with a plan: I wanted to see if I could finish under 26 hours by pacing myself to go to halfway in 12 hours. I got to 25 miles in 5:52 and 50 miles in 12:05. Might have been a little too fast given the heat of the day. If it was a good day, and all went well, I know I could have done 26 or better. It was a little hotter than I anticipated, but I could have avoided some of the suffering by planning a little better.

The lessons will be repeated until they are learned. It was warm, and I didn't cover myself from the sun with my jacket during the heat of the day, which might have contributed to my lack of appetite. I did wear tons of ice on my neck and my hat and sunscreen, but the clouds make you think it's not as sunny and hot as it really is. I ate two sandwiches in the morning but all afternoon I struggled with taking in calories, it was just too hot to be interested in food. As a result, I was playing catch up with my blood sugar for most of the second half of the race.

My hydration was perfect, I did my usual ice topped with gatorade and a salt stick capsule in each bottle until night time when I started getting sodium from the chicken broth in the soup at the aid stations.


The one thing different about this race was that I never slept. Usually I take a nap, but I never reached that weaving, inefficient place where I am dead on my feet. I was drinking Starbucks frappucino and double shot drinks from about mile 50 on for my main source of calories. Liquid was the only thing I could deal with in the second half. I ate a lot of shot blocks too.




Around halfway I had grabbed a baggie full of cantaloupe and strawberries from my cooler and then picked up a banana at the aid station. After eating all that fruit I felt nauseated from about mile 50 to 60. It eventually passed but I couldn't deal with solid food anymore.

The middle section of the course was beautiful, between Custer and Hill City. Also there was a view from the trail of the Crazy Horse memorial.


One thing I noticed during the heat of the day were the signs warning of rattlesnakes along the side of the trail. I also saw a "Danger Buffalo" sign. I thought of this on the way back in, in the evening because it would be warm, but the rain kept the critters away.





During the night I saw the horse poop, a few times there were stepped-on road apples that looked like tarantulas, and the crickets in the grass sounded like rattlesnakes. But I swear I wasn't hallucinating.

I completely enjoyed the course, especially the part at night, going down the trail in the darkness, only with moonlight and stars in between the dark spaces of clouds, the big black shadows of ponderosa pines, smelling the trees and rain, seeing the moonlit meadows and beaver ponds, and listening to trance music on my MP3 player as I powerwalked the Mickelson trail.

I think it was nirvana, or heaven, or something, from about mile 55 through 75 in the darkness. I didn't use my lights hardly at all, and I reached that place that is why I do ultras. That feeling of being out there under the stars, moving forward, with music, like a dance. It doesn't get any better than that.

I did try sleeping at mile 80 at the Lime Kiln road aid station, but after climbing in the back of Doug and Marji's Ford Explorer, five minutes passed and I realized I wasn't going to sleep, so I got up and went on.

It did rain off and on at night but only enough to cool things down, never enough to get soaked or have to put on heavy rain gear. It also cut down on the dust on the Argyle Road the next morning.

What I didn't count on was the impact the Argyle Road would have on my pavement trained, dirt and rock-naive feet. I've been training almost exclusively on pavement for the past year, since my sprained ankle mishap last August. I did do a few Rock Repeat runs on the dirt road, which helped for the hills. My muscles and joints felt good and I am not sore anywhere except for my feet.

Since Doug wasn't pacing Holley as we planned, I asked him if he'd like to pace me down the Argyle Road starting at mile 83. It was a good thing because my feet started hurting around mile 80 and once we made the transition from the soft Mickelson Trail surface to the gravelly, hard-packed dirt of the Argyle Road, it was excruciating.

Every time we made the transition from going uphill to downhill and then back up again, cresting a hill and bottoming out on the endless repetitive hills of that road, the muscles and tendons on the front of my lower shins, and the surface of my feet, were screaming. The pain only compared with my foot pain at Badwater.

The bottoms of my feet felt like I jumped up and down with my full body weight, plus a couple of 50 pound dumbbells, on top of spikes for 28 hours. Every step was painful, and I wasn't the only one suffering. I had gaiters and my shoes stayed gravel-free, enough that I never had to take off my shoes.

Going down the Argyle road in the morning, there were several runners who were having to dump out their shoes and then deal with the nearly impossible task of getting them back on, and getting started again. I tried not to stop at all once we hit the Argyle Road.

At the Morph aid station at 90 miles I saw Fuzz. His eyes were wide open and he was drinking a beer! He offered it to me, but I said no. Soon he came flying by me and finished about an hour ahead of me.















It warmed up in the morning, but I was hurting too much to notice the heat. I couldn't manage running very well even when I reached the finish line. I could not wait to get off my feet.




By the end I had a huge blood blister on my left heel, a smaller one on my left big toe, a few little friction blisters on top of my toes, heat rash, and a hugely swollen left ankle. I had taped my right foot because of my peroneal tendon which has been bothering me, and my right foot looked 1000 percent better than my left foot. I should have taped both feet.

I am also going to lose 4 toenails. Less weight to carry.

Doug and Marji were a fantastic crew, and I was so glad they were out there. We sat there at a table in the post-race party, and Fuzz joined us, there was more leftover food from the pre-race dinner. Even as hungry as I was, I couldn't stomach the two day old bratwurst they were serving. I got some fruit and my belt buckle, said goodbye to people, and went back to the room to put my feet up while Doug and Marji unloaded my stuff into my car.




I got my training run for Across the Years. I plan to take it easy in September and then hit it hard again throughout the fall into Across the Years. As much as my feet hurt from Lean Horse, I imagine I'll be back, it's too convenient and close to home to not run this race.

Sunday I took a long nap in the afternoon. After that I went for a short drive around sunset to Wind Cave National Park and the wildlife are amazing. I saw buffalo, antelope, deer, elk, wild turkeys, and beautiful views of the Black Hills.













Monday morning I drove home to Fort Collins, and now I can start paying back the sleep bank and resting my feet before I go back to work Wednesday!

160,000 Steps Closer

This past week I listened to an amazing story.

I attend a local cancer support group fairly regularly, which I joined early this year for two reasons. One, I thought I might be able to learn from listening to the experiences of cancer survivors, their caregivers, families and friends, as I was interested in making a move into oncology nursing, and also, I thought I might learn something that I could use to help my own family members who have been affected by cancer.

This past week the guest speaker was a physician, a surgeon who is a cancer survivor. Without going into great detail, I can say that his story really touched me for several reasons. One was that the audience, mostly lay people without medical training, were listening to a surgeon, and a good number of them were his patients. People tend to place physicians in a category somewhere on a higher plane than the rest of us mortals.

Everyone listened quietly as he spoke about his own cancer experience in great personal depth. He talked about the physical and emotional events surrounding it, from the events leading up to his diagnosis to where he is now, about 4 years out from treatment. To share such personal and private fears, revelations, and experiences with the audience was an act of great courage and strength. The audience saw that this talented surgeon is also very much a human being, very approachable and real, with the same fears and hopes, made of the same flesh, with the same vulnerabilites and mortality as themselves.

This surgeon also happens to be a runner and he talked about how the cancer affected his running and physical activity, with the neuropathy from chemotherapy, and the effects of the cancer itself on his ability to get through a run. He talked about the fear he had of the neuropathy not going away, because if it didn't, he might not have been able to return to surgery, which is one of his great gifts.

The kindness he shows to his patients and others who cross paths with him is an example of his humanity, and speaking publically about his experience is another gift he gave to everyone in attendance that night, and everyone who shares the story he told us was okay to share with others outside the group.

He described a renewed sense of purpose as a result of his cancer journey. He feels that he is here for a reason and he continues to do surgery with a special affinity for those who are going through cancer treatment. He is open about his own experience when he meets a new patient for the first time who is about to undergo treatment for cancer. It puts them at ease and makes them realize they are in the hands of someone who cares about the outcome.

I imagined him, taking each step, not being able to feel his feet, taking one step at a time, over and over. He went for an evaluation to see if his stride was altered while he was experiencing the neuropathy, as he was afraid he would fall on his face. They told him he was doing fine, so he continued to run. As I imagined him taking each step, I thought about the finite number of steps each of us takes in our lives. Some take more steps than others, by choice, or sometimes not by choice. Everything we do, enjoy, and endure is a step by step process, even when the steps blend together.

I can feel my feet. I have fairly good health and I don't have cancer. I don't need chemotherapy. I don't need surgery. I can take a lot of steps on my own, by choice. I want to make those steps count. I want to help someone with every one of those steps, if I can. You don't have to be personally touched by cancer in order to reach out with generosity, kindness and caring to those who have been.

Even in my good health, I could stand there at the start of a 100 mile race and think about how impossible the journey seems, and be intimidated by all the mountains I might have to cross in between there and the finish line. I could think about the pain I might feel somewhere in the middle, and run with my tail between my legs. Instead, I lean into the first step and feel my feet carry me forward to encounter whatever is in my path. That carries me to the next step, and the next, until the finish line.

People with cancer can't do that, they have to go through a lot of steps and feeling up and down and lots of places in between to get treated. It can seem overwhelming standing there at the starting line knowing you have so much ahead of you and so many unknowns. But there is only one way and that is forward.

All I have to do at the start is look around and see the other people who are joining me in that journey. We help each other along the way, and we make it to the finish line, exhausted, sometimes beaten, but better for it. We help each other through our bad patches and we give words of encouragement when someone thinks the only choice is to quit.

We tell each other war stories along the way, from our past ultra experiences, and share them for the purpose of encouragement. There are always reasons to keep going forward, to reach for the success of the finish line. Not everybody makes it, but giving your best effort and getting the most out of every moment is just as successful as finishing intact.

The PVH Cancer Center will happen as a result of people telling their stories and helping others understand the importance of giving, caring, helping someone up when they've hit bottom, when things seem impossible and they feel like giving up hope.

This surgeon knows, he's been there. He understands what a small act of kindness can do, how a few kind words can create enough support to pull someone up out of a hole they've fallen into, and stand upright and move forward again. It takes many steps forward to make the cancer center a reality. I'm going to take about 160,000 of them myself this weekend at the Lean Horse Hundred in South Dakota. Please join me in a few of those steps forward by donating to the PVHS Foundation Cancer Building Fund. If you're donating before September 1st, please call (970)-237-7400 to make a donation, as the website is undergoing changes at this time.

"Never look down on anybody unless you're helping him up"- Jesse Jackson

Check out this new music video for the PVHS Foundation. For more information about the video, go to their blog.