Those workouts above are pretty damn good, I think, for a woman who ran in the mountains this past weekend.
Yes, kiddos, I got the great privilege to be a part of another fantastic Ragnar team through Digital Running. This time we trekked up into the mountains for the 10th anniversary edition of Ragnar Relay Wasatch Back.
Now, this Midwestern girl really didn't know what she was getting herself into. When I signed up for this relay, all I heard was "Ragnar" and "Relay" and "10th anniversary" and "really cool finisher medal." For some reason my geographical knowledge didn't kick in at the time and realize that we would be in the mountains. You know, where you have to run up way up high and stuff?
Well that crucial bit of knowledge kicked in on the plane when we started our descent into Salt Lake City. I saw the Wasatch Mountains from the plane's window and promptly began to have an internal freakout:
"THIS JUST GOT REAL...I HAVE TO RUN UP AND DOWN THOSE THINGS."
And then I wondered if I could catch a flight home as soon as I got off the plane. I think this is only a natural gut-level response from someone who comes from an elevation of about 870 feet above sea level.
But the more rational part of me prevailed, and I got off the plane and made it through the airport to meet the rest of the team. After a snafu with the vans that resulted in us having to rent SUVs from another company, we were off to our usual WalMart run and then to the hotel to grab some dinner and catch some sleep before our mountainous adventure began.
The next morning our adventure began at Utah State University in Logan, UT at 5 AM:
Most people might consider a 5 AM start time a little insane, but we came to cherish this later in the race when we were always arriving at exchanges before everyone else and leaving just as the vans started to pour in. We managed some pictures in the dark at the starting line, and then we were off totrudge run like gazelles survive running in the Wasatch Mountains.
I was runner number 9, which meant I was in Van #2 again (I'm a Van #1 virgin). I rather enjoy being in Van 2, because you get to ease into the relay by having time to go to breakfast and get to the first major exchange early. However, you do get all jazzed up waiting for your turn to run, so by the time your first leg comes, you start getting the "I have to pee a zillion times" and the "Why am I hungry all of a sudden standing in the chute" crazy nervousness happening that only goes away after you finally hit the road running.
You also get nervous before running the Wasatch Back when you seeing sights like this while driving to your first exchange:
Holy crap. Mountains. I had no idea how I would run at this altitude, but I quickly found out on my first leg. But we had tons of time to wait at our first exchange, so, of course, we took pictures:
.jpg)
I know you are jealous of our Ragnar orange skirts. We certainly were dressed to impress. I just thought that if I was going to suffer in the mountains, I was going to look good doing it. Speaking of suffering, let's talk about my legs, shall we?
Leg #1: 3.2 miles
This leg was labelled as "easy," and it was, really--easier than my last leg for sure. It was pretty flat, and the weather was nice and sunny, with temperatures in the 70s. But for someone accustomed to being lower to sea level, I found I was struggling to maintain what is normally an easy pace for me. I managed an 8:30 for the first mile, but after the midpoint I was sucking wind and just barely hanging on to an 8:55 pace. Stupid lungs, needing oxygen that was now in rarer supply in the air around me at 5000 feet above sea level.
That's when I knew I was going to have to back off a bit on my goals for my next run or my lungs would secede from my body.
Leg #2: 11.6 miles
I began this run feeling awesome leg-wise. For past Ragnars, I have usually had a long-ish run at the start that makes me start my second run a bit fatigued (and I measure my fatigue by how badly my quads are screaming at me). But this time my quads were quiet, and when I started the run I had to do a lot more mental preparation than physical. First, I told myself I would run at a pace that was comfortable for my lungs so I could make it to the end of these 11.6 miles. Next, I wouldn't let myself think of this run as one loooooong 11.6 miler; I forced myself to think of it as two 5.75 mile runs in order to make the distance more manageable. I wasn't afraid of the distance-not after running four 20 milers for my marathon in April--but I was afraid that my lungs wouldn't be able to handle the pace at which I would have liked to run it (9:00). So, I started off at about a 10:00 pace, but started picking it up way too early in the run.
That's when I decided to make some friends so I could pace myself. I went into survival mode.
In the 4th mile I met up with a woman (I wish I had gotten her name!) who looked like she was running at the pace at which I should have been running, so I asked her if I could run with her for a bit. We chatted for the next 5 miles or so, talking about running (surprise!), families, marathons, how much the headwind sucked, and how we both needed way more hill training. Some people joined our conversations briefly as they paced with us for a while and then moved on to join the line of blinking red lights in front of us. I stopped and walked with her when she needed it, and she caught up with me when I was feeling speedy.
At about mile 9.5 she needed to walk again, and told me to go on ahead of her (she could tell my legs were wanting to go). I left her and went forward, grateful for her company all of those miles underneath the cloudless sky that held an intensely bright full moon.
Soon after I pulled ahead we hit the last water stop, where I slowed down enough to grab some water. I heard another runner ahead of me ask the water stop volunteers how many miles we had left, and they told him 2 miles. Since my watch said we had about 2.6 miles left, I told him that as I passed him throwing his cup in the trash can. And that's when I met Justin from team Mohawk Madness.
He told me he was asked to run this relay after not running for a long time, and he asked me if he could run with me. I of course said he could, and we then battled our way through the last of the mileage, chatting about education (we are both college profs) and how cold it was getting--I couldn't really feel my fingers by the end of the run. Let's just say getting the slap bracelet off turned into an exercise in frustration because my fingers wouldn't work anymore.
The cruelest part of this run was the last tenth of a mile. The run itself was pretty flat, with a slight uphill climb the entire time. Slight, that is, until you turned right to head to the exchange, and then you encountered a steep hill that was almost a wall. Justin and I powered up the hill together, pushing each other to get to that exchange. I did manage to get the slap bracelet off my arm and onto the wrist of our next runner (Tim), and then promptly caught my breath by bending over and letting loose a stream of swear words in my head.
But it was the best night run on a Ragnar I have ever had. It was like no one was competing out there; we were all united by the run. Just a bunch of friendly crazy runners trying to get to the next exchange, happy to be out in the Utah night among the stars, headlamps, and blinking red butt-lights of the other runners.
How I felt during that run is why I do Ragnars. Hell, it's why I run at all.
I started shivering as soon as I got into the van afterwards, so I changed as quickly as possible at the next exchange in a Honey Bucket (port-a-john), taking a flashlight with me because port-a-johns, if you don't know, do not have lights in them. I then got back to the van, snuggled up under my blanket, and promptly passed out until we got to the next major exchange. I woke up briefly to have breakfast and then passed out again in the van until it was time for our first runner to be up on deck (Tiffany). And then we were off, running our last set of legs.
Leg #3: 4.4 miles
I put on my purplest purple outfit for this run, because purple is my lucky racing color. Besides, with the mountain I had to run, I was going to need all the luck I could get.
This was my hardest run. Ever. Out of any run I have ever done, this was the toughest thing I have ever had to do. As a matter of fact, I use the term "run" loosely, because I power-walked up most of this mountain, not ran. Below is a rare shot of me running on this leg (and I was walking before I saw the camera. Shame on me):
I did run the first 1.5 miles because they were flat, but as soon as I hit the base of the mountain, the steepness and heat got me and I had to start walking. I was bummed about this, but my lungs were burning, I was gasping for air, and my legs were feeling the 11.6 miles from the night before. I tried to run when I could, but it seemed that there was no recovery, not even when I was walking--parts of this mountain were so steep that even walking was making me wheeze like I had emphysema or something. My only other option besides walking was to sit down and roll back down the mountain.
And then Justin appeared beside me. I was so happy.
He and I power-walked/ran up the rest of the mountain. We complained through the steep switchbacks, reveled in the short flat part near the end, discussed our weight-loss journeys, and then raced each other into the chute so our next runner could start on his/her epic 4 mile journey on the STEEPER part of the mountain. If it hadn't been for Justin, I just don't think I would have made it. But I did. And I had enough energy to cheer on our next runner, who had to trek up the rest of the mountain, and looked like this afterwards:
Why do we do this again? Oh, because it's fun.
We made it to the finish line in about 30 hours, receiving the awesome finisher medal that I had heard about that made me sign up for this race in the first place.
It was another awesome time on an awesome team and an awesome experience. This was, by far, the toughest Ragnar I have run, but every moment of "why the HELL am I doing this" was worth it. Afterwards we all hashed out our experiences, swapped stories, and bemoaned our new aches and pains.
But the one question that kept coming up was this:
"What's your next Ragnar?"
Yep. We're addicts alright. Evensuffering running in the mountains can't cure us; it just keeps us jonesing for more.
 |
| Team Great Salt Ache, #241 |
Now, this Midwestern girl really didn't know what she was getting herself into. When I signed up for this relay, all I heard was "Ragnar" and "Relay" and "10th anniversary" and "really cool finisher medal." For some reason my geographical knowledge didn't kick in at the time and realize that we would be in the mountains. You know, where you have to run up way up high and stuff?
Well that crucial bit of knowledge kicked in on the plane when we started our descent into Salt Lake City. I saw the Wasatch Mountains from the plane's window and promptly began to have an internal freakout:
"THIS JUST GOT REAL...I HAVE TO RUN UP AND DOWN THOSE THINGS."
And then I wondered if I could catch a flight home as soon as I got off the plane. I think this is only a natural gut-level response from someone who comes from an elevation of about 870 feet above sea level.
But the more rational part of me prevailed, and I got off the plane and made it through the airport to meet the rest of the team. After a snafu with the vans that resulted in us having to rent SUVs from another company, we were off to our usual WalMart run and then to the hotel to grab some dinner and catch some sleep before our mountainous adventure began.
 |
| Dinnah with our awesome team. |
The next morning our adventure began at Utah State University in Logan, UT at 5 AM:
Most people might consider a 5 AM start time a little insane, but we came to cherish this later in the race when we were always arriving at exchanges before everyone else and leaving just as the vans started to pour in. We managed some pictures in the dark at the starting line, and then we were off to
I was runner number 9, which meant I was in Van #2 again (I'm a Van #1 virgin). I rather enjoy being in Van 2, because you get to ease into the relay by having time to go to breakfast and get to the first major exchange early. However, you do get all jazzed up waiting for your turn to run, so by the time your first leg comes, you start getting the "I have to pee a zillion times" and the "Why am I hungry all of a sudden standing in the chute" crazy nervousness happening that only goes away after you finally hit the road running.
You also get nervous before running the Wasatch Back when you seeing sights like this while driving to your first exchange:
Holy crap. Mountains. I had no idea how I would run at this altitude, but I quickly found out on my first leg. But we had tons of time to wait at our first exchange, so, of course, we took pictures:
.jpg)
 |
| Those are band-aids on my face. This made for some sweet tan lines later. |
 |
| Pro-compression Ragnar socks! |
I know you are jealous of our Ragnar orange skirts. We certainly were dressed to impress. I just thought that if I was going to suffer in the mountains, I was going to look good doing it. Speaking of suffering, let's talk about my legs, shall we?
Leg #1: 3.2 miles
This leg was labelled as "easy," and it was, really--easier than my last leg for sure. It was pretty flat, and the weather was nice and sunny, with temperatures in the 70s. But for someone accustomed to being lower to sea level, I found I was struggling to maintain what is normally an easy pace for me. I managed an 8:30 for the first mile, but after the midpoint I was sucking wind and just barely hanging on to an 8:55 pace. Stupid lungs, needing oxygen that was now in rarer supply in the air around me at 5000 feet above sea level.
That's when I knew I was going to have to back off a bit on my goals for my next run or my lungs would secede from my body.
Leg #2: 11.6 miles
I began this run feeling awesome leg-wise. For past Ragnars, I have usually had a long-ish run at the start that makes me start my second run a bit fatigued (and I measure my fatigue by how badly my quads are screaming at me). But this time my quads were quiet, and when I started the run I had to do a lot more mental preparation than physical. First, I told myself I would run at a pace that was comfortable for my lungs so I could make it to the end of these 11.6 miles. Next, I wouldn't let myself think of this run as one loooooong 11.6 miler; I forced myself to think of it as two 5.75 mile runs in order to make the distance more manageable. I wasn't afraid of the distance-not after running four 20 milers for my marathon in April--but I was afraid that my lungs wouldn't be able to handle the pace at which I would have liked to run it (9:00). So, I started off at about a 10:00 pace, but started picking it up way too early in the run.
That's when I decided to make some friends so I could pace myself. I went into survival mode.
In the 4th mile I met up with a woman (I wish I had gotten her name!) who looked like she was running at the pace at which I should have been running, so I asked her if I could run with her for a bit. We chatted for the next 5 miles or so, talking about running (surprise!), families, marathons, how much the headwind sucked, and how we both needed way more hill training. Some people joined our conversations briefly as they paced with us for a while and then moved on to join the line of blinking red lights in front of us. I stopped and walked with her when she needed it, and she caught up with me when I was feeling speedy.
At about mile 9.5 she needed to walk again, and told me to go on ahead of her (she could tell my legs were wanting to go). I left her and went forward, grateful for her company all of those miles underneath the cloudless sky that held an intensely bright full moon.
Soon after I pulled ahead we hit the last water stop, where I slowed down enough to grab some water. I heard another runner ahead of me ask the water stop volunteers how many miles we had left, and they told him 2 miles. Since my watch said we had about 2.6 miles left, I told him that as I passed him throwing his cup in the trash can. And that's when I met Justin from team Mohawk Madness.
He told me he was asked to run this relay after not running for a long time, and he asked me if he could run with me. I of course said he could, and we then battled our way through the last of the mileage, chatting about education (we are both college profs) and how cold it was getting--I couldn't really feel my fingers by the end of the run. Let's just say getting the slap bracelet off turned into an exercise in frustration because my fingers wouldn't work anymore.
The cruelest part of this run was the last tenth of a mile. The run itself was pretty flat, with a slight uphill climb the entire time. Slight, that is, until you turned right to head to the exchange, and then you encountered a steep hill that was almost a wall. Justin and I powered up the hill together, pushing each other to get to that exchange. I did manage to get the slap bracelet off my arm and onto the wrist of our next runner (Tim), and then promptly caught my breath by bending over and letting loose a stream of swear words in my head.
But it was the best night run on a Ragnar I have ever had. It was like no one was competing out there; we were all united by the run. Just a bunch of friendly crazy runners trying to get to the next exchange, happy to be out in the Utah night among the stars, headlamps, and blinking red butt-lights of the other runners.
How I felt during that run is why I do Ragnars. Hell, it's why I run at all.
I started shivering as soon as I got into the van afterwards, so I changed as quickly as possible at the next exchange in a Honey Bucket (port-a-john), taking a flashlight with me because port-a-johns, if you don't know, do not have lights in them. I then got back to the van, snuggled up under my blanket, and promptly passed out until we got to the next major exchange. I woke up briefly to have breakfast and then passed out again in the van until it was time for our first runner to be up on deck (Tiffany). And then we were off, running our last set of legs.
Leg #3: 4.4 miles
I put on my purplest purple outfit for this run, because purple is my lucky racing color. Besides, with the mountain I had to run, I was going to need all the luck I could get.
This was my hardest run. Ever. Out of any run I have ever done, this was the toughest thing I have ever had to do. As a matter of fact, I use the term "run" loosely, because I power-walked up most of this mountain, not ran. Below is a rare shot of me running on this leg (and I was walking before I saw the camera. Shame on me):
I did run the first 1.5 miles because they were flat, but as soon as I hit the base of the mountain, the steepness and heat got me and I had to start walking. I was bummed about this, but my lungs were burning, I was gasping for air, and my legs were feeling the 11.6 miles from the night before. I tried to run when I could, but it seemed that there was no recovery, not even when I was walking--parts of this mountain were so steep that even walking was making me wheeze like I had emphysema or something. My only other option besides walking was to sit down and roll back down the mountain.
 |
| My view "running" up the mountain. |
And then Justin appeared beside me. I was so happy.
He and I power-walked/ran up the rest of the mountain. We complained through the steep switchbacks, reveled in the short flat part near the end, discussed our weight-loss journeys, and then raced each other into the chute so our next runner could start on his/her epic 4 mile journey on the STEEPER part of the mountain. If it hadn't been for Justin, I just don't think I would have made it. But I did. And I had enough energy to cheer on our next runner, who had to trek up the rest of the mountain, and looked like this afterwards:
Why do we do this again? Oh, because it's fun.
We made it to the finish line in about 30 hours, receiving the awesome finisher medal that I had heard about that made me sign up for this race in the first place.
It was another awesome time on an awesome team and an awesome experience. This was, by far, the toughest Ragnar I have run, but every moment of "why the HELL am I doing this" was worth it. Afterwards we all hashed out our experiences, swapped stories, and bemoaned our new aches and pains.
But the one question that kept coming up was this:
"What's your next Ragnar?"
Yep. We're addicts alright. Even
LOVE this post and loved getting to meet you. What an inspiration you are. Can't wait to do another Ragnar with you soon. XO Lisa
ReplyDeleteThanks! Loved getting to know you, too, and hope to Ragnar with you again! Had a great time with everyone up in the mountains. ;)
ReplyDelete