2008: The Cliff Notes

Life has been pretty crazy in my kingdom as of late, so I've been sitting on this post for over a week. First of all, Happy New Year to everyone. I hope it was happy and safe and you got to spend it with cool people.

Since I can't seem to think of anything new to say, of late, I've decided to ring in the new year on my blog by reviewing the one that has gone by. My total mileage was as follows:

148 runs, 1,158.7 miles, 7 days, 16 hours, 07 min, 11 sec
92 bikes and 49 spins, 13 days, 13 hours, 12 min, 28 sec, for a grand total of 4,430.6 mi (not counting miles done in spin class or on the trainer)
133 swims, 344,812 yd (195.9 mi), in 4 days, 23 hours, 25 minutes, and 18 seconds
423 workouts, 28 days, 14 hours, 4 minutes, and 56 seconds, 5,789.2 Mi


I made the podium in my age group or division a total of 11 times, although in some cases this distinction is pretty dubious due to the lack of competition.

1. Run and Dunk – Jan 1 – 5.87 mi, 51:25
a 10K-ish run followed by a jump in the ocean. Not as cold as you would think.

2. Frostbite 15K – Jan 20 – 9.29 mi, 1:20:53
lived up to its name. I had a pretty good day despite the cold.

3. Mid-Winter Classic – Feb 3 – 10 mi, 1:39:59
a 10-mile run in Maine that I ran with the flu so that I wouldn't miss the chance to meet Mindy, Nitsirk, and Iron Matron.

4. Half at the Hamptons – Feb 10 – 13.25 mi, 2:02:50
This race sucked. I still had the flu, it rained and snowed, and some guy died right in front of me. Not a terribly positive experience.

5. Martha's Vineyard 20 miler – Feb 16 – 20 miles, 3:31:00
Still sick, and not the easiest race I've ever run, but at least I got to talk to a pretty girl!

6. High Anus Half – Feb 24 – 13.3, 1:58:29
I saw Mindy again and PRed, breaking 2 hours in a half marathon for the first time.

7. Stu's 30K – March 2 – 18.75 miles, 3:02:34
This was possibly the hardest running race I have ever run. Harder, maybe, than some marathons I've run. This was my first rematch with Grandpa. I made him cry, I'm sure.

8. Trout Creek 15K – March 11 – 1:20:54
Angry and I took some vacation time and fled to Florida for a weekend where I ran a 15K "trail" race. I won my age group!!! Okay, there was only one other chick IN my age group, but I beat her!

9. Eastern States – March 30 – 20 miles, 3:13:27
I met up with Mindy and Maine Runner for a nice run through 3 states. I was so over running these races at this point, but I finished the 20 miles in one piece (far behind Rick and Dick Hoyt, I'd like to add). I had a nasty sunburn after that one, though.

10. Michael Dunleavy 5K – April 16 – 5K, 28:13
This one was just a fun 5K with my friends. We beat the Bitchy Bathroom Lady, though, so that's all that's important.

11. Boston Marathon – April 21 – 26.5 miles, 4:13:49
I ran the Boston Marathon as a bandit, thus beginning my quest to actually qualify for the race. See this post and my post about the Eastern States to follow the argument of who should be allowed to run Boston.

12. Sheriff's Sprint Triathlon – May 4 – 300 yds, 4:48/9 mi, 27:24 (inc. T1)/3.2 mi, 26:25
I won my age group and made a new nemesis. Remember this one, guys? I thought that my blog had been pulled down by a certain someone after I wrote this post.

13. Hairy Man Triathlon – May 17 – 1.2 mi (long), 40:10/56 mi, 3:27:04/13 mi, 2:04:45
The most challenging triathlon I've ever done, swimming in freezing cold water, riding a bike course with 6,000' elevation gain/loss, and running a half marathon up and down a mountain. I won my age group and got 4th (female) overall, but only 11 women even finished. Read this post to see my views on Ironman Tri-Geeks.

14. Pineland Farms 50K – May 25 – 31 miles, 6:03:30
My first ultramarathon. All in all it was an extremely positive experience. Can you believe 31 miles hurts less than 26? This is where I met Damon, my now running guru, although I wasn't very fair to him in the race report.

15. AIDS LifeCycle (posts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7, I never did write up the last day) – June 1-7 – 545 miles, 7 days
This was far and away the most fun I have ever had at an event. I would do it again in a heartbeat, and I think that all the riding I did played a huge part in the success I had on the bike later in the season.

16. Charles River Swim – June 15 – 1 mile, 28:50
I did this race just to say that I'd done it. It was pouring rain and everyone fled as soon as they got out of the river. Imagine my surprise when I got an envelope in the mail a few weeks later with a gold medal for WINNING the wetsuit division!

17. Cranmore Hill Climb – June 30 – 6.5 miles, 1:34:29, 2889' elevation gain/loss
This race was interesting, if nothing else. We started running up the mountain in a thunderstorm, and the whole hillside had turned to mud. I ran the whole second half of the race holding my pants up because they were so waterlogged they were falling off.

18. Patriot Half Ironman -- July 5 -- 1.2 mi, 32:43/58 mi, 2:45:57/13.1 mi, 1:59:41
I feel like this was my high point of the season. I had a really good race (although I didn't think so at the time, I've eventually accepted my run time for that race). Best of all, I beat Cunt on a Pink Bike by like 5 minutes! Oh yeah, and I won my age group.

19. Loon Mountain Run -- July 6 -- 5.15 mi, 1:25:38 >3,000' climbing
I did this race the day after Patriot and I was WRECKED! Parts of these hills were so steep, my GPS registered me as standing still. My most vivid memory of that day was that I couldn't move fast enough to get away from the flies.

20. Saratoga 12/24 -- July 12 -- 199.6 mi, 12 hours
If Patriot can't be my high point, I feel like this day was my high point. I had never gone farther than 115 miles on the bike, and I went nearly 200 that day, breaking the course record by over 10 miles, despite really bad conditions: 100* heat and incredibly high ozone. I thought I was going to puke all day long and my feet were KILLING me. But I was so proud of that garish trophy!

21. Vineman Full Ironman -- August 2 -- 2.4 mi, 1:03:27/112 mi, 5:57:55/26.2 mi, 5:17:08
I know that this should have been the high point of my season, but it wasn't. It made me sick for weeks to even look at anything that had to do with the race. I had a fine day physically, pulling out 4th in my AG and 9th overall, but I was just so angry that I had had a bad race mentally. Everything seemed to be stacked against me, and even though it all turned out okay in the end, it really ruined my first ironman experience for me.

22. Savoy 20 miler -- August 18 -- DNF, 10+ mi loop finished.
After Vineman, I just couldn't seem to get it together. This race was hell in the mud: badly marked and extremely technical. I gave up after the first 10 mile loop and was furious with myself. I gave up for all the right reasons: I simply wasn't having fun, but I still felt like poop.

23. Green Lakes 50K -- August 25 -- 31 miles, 6:01:03
I signed up for this race because I was furious about the last one. I drove all night to Syracuse, and ran the race expecting nothing but to finish. Imagine my surprise when I got second in my age group! Thank god for small age groups. The race bolstered my confidence again, and kicked me out of my horrible slump.

24. Malden Irish-American Club 10K -- September 1 -- 10K, 50:37
And imagine my surprise AGAIN when I placed third in my age group at this little 10K, despite taking it out WAY too fast and blowing to bits by mile 3.

25. Lobsterman Triathlon -- 1.5K, 19:32 (current?)/40K, 1:09:23/10K, 54:54
I'd been building up to this race all summer. It was a wicked competitive field, but the only competition that mattered was Big Red. I had a good swim, a great bike (except for the last 5 miles or so when this dipshit wouldn't let me by), and a HORRIBLE run. I don't know if I have EVER hurt that bad running. Ever.

26. Hartford Marathon -- October 11 -- 26.5 mi, 3:58:56
I had no idea what to expect from this marathon. I hadn't even run in like 2 or 3 weeks. I started out really strong and was doing great until suddenly I just wasn't. My quads locked up (they'd been stiff since I stopped running) and it was all downhill from there. (Actually, it was all rolling hills from there, but what does that matter).

27. Busa Bushwhack -- November 2 -- 8.7-ish miles, 1:19:46
I finally got a rematch with Grandpa on the turf where our rivalry began. I kicked his ass. In fact, I think I made 3rd in my age group. This was a really great race for me. My running was starting to come together.

28. Salem Wild Turkey 5 Miler -- November 25 -- 5.05 mi, 38:02
My running finally came together. I took one and a half minutes per mile off my pace from last year. Too bad my sprint finish with that tomato-faced bitch didn't turn out the way I wanted, or the race would have been perfect.

29. Fells Trail Race -- November 29 -- 26.54 mi, 6:01:34
This race, astoundingly, was great. It was lonely and cold, but it was an incredibly challenging course and boredom was the only reason I didn't finish the full 32 miles. Much to my surprise, I was the first woman in of the people who did 24 miles. And I did an extra 2.5 miles, just to round out a full marathon: my sixth one of 2008.

30. Santa Speedo Run -- December 13 -- 1.5 mi in my underwear.
And finally, my friends and readers came through so that I could run a mile and a quarter around downtown Boston in my underwear to help raise money for poor kids. This might have been the most fun I had all year. At least it was the only race where I was screaming my head off and smiling every second of it.

Thanks for following me through such an eventful year. Let's hope that next year is just as fun, although I may be going down different paths. I'm going to sneak my big New Year's Resolutions down here where few have bothered to follow me. However, stating them out loud will give me some accountability:
1) Qualify for Boston, Kona, and RAAM in one year. (Boston and Kona are reaches, I believe that RAAM is not).
2) Break the World 24-hour outdoor cycling record by riding 440 or more miles in 24 hours. This will be a real challenge. Please don't make fun of me if I don't make it.

Happy New Year, everyone!

All Terrain

I love unseasonably warm days. They mean that I get to go and play outside, even though it's winter in this inhospitable climate. The forecast for today called for near-record highs in the low 60's, which was pretty ironic since there is still plenty of snow on the ground from last week's storms. After a poor night's sleep I saddled up and rode to the meeting point: the zoo parking lot. I know, weird, right?

Anyway, the roads were damp and grimy, but it was great to have my bike back out on a real road again, actually moving forward when I pedaled. So what if I was getting a giant stripe of grit and grime up my back? I was out on the road again! It wasn't even cold. My new 3/4 length cycling tights and a light jacket were warmth enough. Later I even whipped out my sunglasses, although admittedly it was to keep the mud from getting in my eyes. The temperature was nice, but there were tiny microclimates everywhere. One minute it was warm and humid, and the next it was cold and clammy depending on how much snow was around.

There were 5 of us, 3 men and two women. We weren't out to ride as hard as we could (a guy that we'll call 'Jorge' was on his commuter bike, and 'Pedro' was on a single speed), we were just here to ride so that we could be out.
"What are those growths on your handlebars?" 'Pedro' asked, pointing at my aero bars.
"They're not mine, I swear!" I said.
"Tri geek! Tri geek!" 'Jorge' screamed, pointing at me.
"No, no! Not me! I'm just holding them for a friend! Really!" I yelled for the world to hear.
"Are you a triathlete?" asked the other woman, who we'll call 'Alejandra'. I knew who 'Alejandra' was by word of mouth before I met her for the first time yesterday. She was the only other woman who could keep up with the Big Boys on Saturday morning shop rides. I wanted very badly to hate her, but she was so sweet and cute that I just couldn't do it. Instead, I just wanted very much for her to think I was cool.
"I do triathlons," I said carefully. I hate calling myself a triathlete, especially around roadies where triathlete means "stuck-up douchebag who doesn't know how to ride his/her bike." "But I'm starting to move away from it because I'm such a terrible runner," I went on. "I just have the bars on now because they're so much more comfortable on the trainer."
"Oh, okay," she said. I'd passed the test!

After about 20 minutes the rout passed my house. "Hi Claire's house!" everyone yelled. My house is clearly a family house. Yesterday 'Alejandra' had asked me if I was on the market for a boyfriend since her 26-year-old son was finally about to graduate college and she didn't want him to move back home. I had just told her I wasn't available. "So, Claire, are you married, or do you have a boyfriend?" 'Alejandra' wanted to know after seeing my parents' large house and the 3 cars in the driveway.
"No," I said. It was an either or question.
"How old are you?"
"25..."
"Twenty-five! My son's 26!" she began. "You should..."
And this is where it was my turn to say something. Could the situation get any more awkward? "Got any daughters?" I asked.
A loooooooong moment passed.
One by one understanding dawned on all their faces. "Aaaaaah!" said 'Jorge'.
"Aaaaahhh!" said 'Alejandra'.
A couple of beats passed. "Aaaaaaaaahhhhh!" said 'Pedro'.
"What?" said 'Pepe'.
It was probably the least uncomfortable outing I've ever suffered.

We were riding a rout with undulating hills, which means that I have to work my butt off to stay near the front so that I don't fall too far back when everyone passes me on the hills, especially in this group where everyone kept up with the big boys on the Saturday shop rides. But the damnedest thing was happening, I was starting at the back of the pack and leaving everyone behind on the hills. Again, it's December and no one was riding hard, but still. I was kicking butt! Climbing next to 'Jorge' up a longer hill his breath started hissing and whistling.
"'Jorge', are you working hard?" I asked. I was busting his balls, but also, I wasn't really sure. Maybe he was just breathing hard as a joke. I wasn't working hard at all and I was having no trouble talking.
When we got to the top of the hill, 'Jorge' asked, "How did you get so fast, Claire?"
I knew we were all out of shape, and that "fast" had no practical meaning, but it was nice to hear. I wasn't as fast as I usually am, but everyone else was even slower. Maybe I wasn't losing as much fitness as I thought. "I've been lifting weights," I suggested.
"We'll have to weigh you down!" he said.
"Or it could be all the running that we tri-geeks do in the winter, Jorge." I winked.

After about an hour, 'Jorge' lead us into a jogging park where I had never been before. The roads were closed to traffic, and there were a lot of walkers and dog walkers about, and they all said the same thing to us: "Ice ahead!" I was beginning to get the hang of this biking over ice and snow thing; all you had to do was slow down a bit, hold on tight to your handlebars, and come at it in a straight line, and you would be to the other side in no time. But then we hit the ice everyone was talking about: a quarter mile of sloppy, slippery, watery ice covering the trail. We slipped and slid down the slope on our bikes. Then my back wheel slipped out from under me. "SHIT!!!" I screamed as I clipped out at the last second. "Excuse me," I said sheepishly as my bike went down under me. It's not ladylike to cuss.
"Nice save," said 'Pedro'. He was talking about me not breaking my hip.
After that, one by one we started walking our bikes. It was slow going: ice is hard enough to walk on when you're not wearing cycling shoes, and my bike kept slipping as I pushed it. I was behind because I was the first to fall off, and so I tried to mount a couple of times to catch up, but every time I pushed down on the pedals the back wheel spun and the bike stayed in place. When we finally reached the end of the ice, I tried to clip in. It was impossible, I must have gotten shit in my cleats. I tried stepping down with all my might on the pedals, but there was no way. I stopped and checked my cleats, and they were jammed full of ice. I stood there poking at it with a stick until the stick broke.
"Stomp," said 'Jorge'. So I stomped, then I tap danced. Finally we dug the ice out of my cleats with 'Pepe"s knife (who carries a knife on a bike ride?!) and we were able to ride back out of the park.

"Have you ever been mountain biking, Claire?" asked 'Pepe' when we were back on the road. I said I hadn't. "You should really give it a try. It'll help you with your bike handling skills on different surfaces."
"Are you suggesting, 'Pepe', that my bike handling skills on that ice were lacking?" I joked. "Does this have something to do with my aero bars?"
"I'm just saying that you should get into it now when you're young and broken bones heal quickly." Now why would I want to get into something just for the broken bones?

After our little ice capades I was getting tired of our adventure. I'd had enough of daring and excitement. I had dirt in my teeth, my feet were frozen, and I was beginning to wonder about the brand new digital camera that was sitting in my back pocket now that the back of my jersey was soaked. We rode for another 45 minutes through places that looked familiar from when I was a kid, but I hadn't seen in 15 years. I had absolutely no idea when we would be home, and so every minute dragged on. Finally we reached a place I recognized: I'd been here before, recently! Sure, I'd been lost at the time, but I'd been running, so we couldn't be far from home. In fact, I'd been lost on this road twice. Two weeks in a row I'd set out to do a new rout that I'd found on mapmyrun.com, with directions in my pocket. Each time on this very road (some 10 miles into my run), the directions had fallen out of my pocket somewhere along this road and I'd had to find my way home along hilly, windy streets I'd never seen before without the aid of directions. This road was bad luck. AND it went over a huge hill.

As we started to climb the hill, something felt funny in my bike, like maybe there was something stuck to my wheel. I looked down, but it's so hard to tell if you've got a flat while you're sitting on your bike. I don't flat very often, so I'm a little slow to catch on when I do have one. Everyone was half way up the hill before I screamed "FLAAAAAAAT!!" at the top of my lungs and they sent word up the line. I had known that I would get a flat today. The melting snow had washed all kinds of shit into the road, I just couldn't believe it was happening now, just a few miles from home. 'Jorge' and 'Pepe' helped me change the tube quickly. For the first time today I was getting a good look at my bike, and it was FILTHY. There was dirt, filth, and grime spattered on every surface and crevice of the whole bike. Great, now my bike would be ruined along with my brand new digital camera. 'Alejandra"s face was covered in grime, and I suspected mine was too. I had hardly hit my water bottle all morning and I was hungry and thirsty. 'Pepe' found the offending piece of glass in my tire and handed it to me. "I'm afraid to look for more because my hands and the bike are filthy. I'm afraid I'm going to put more in than I'm going to take out." We all held our breath as the cartridge filled up the tire. "I'm waiting for the tssssssss," 'Pepe' said.
"I'm waiting for the BOOM!" said 'Jorge'. "There's nothing more insulting than that!" Phew, I thought it was just me who managed to load my tubes wrong and wind up pinching them when I pumped them up.

We were back on the road in no time, but now I was nervous. Flats always take away my mojo, and this street was bad luck. I still climbed to the top faster than everyone but 'Pepe', but as we were riding down the back side I hit a bump and my pump came out of my saddle bag. I tried to turn around and get it, but I couldn't get my bike moving back uphill in the big gear I'd been riding downhill. Finally 'Pepe' was able to find it, but now I felt like a real dick holding everybody up. I hate it when I can't solve my own problems and other people have to help me. Stupid bad luck street.

Right: That's not a 5 o'clock shadow, that's all the road grime on my face. Please ignore the helmet hair.

I got home without event, though. My camera was fine, and I was able to use it to take pictures of how filthy I'd gotten.

In the end I rode a whopping 35.81 miles in 2 hours and 21 minutes, for a SCREAMING average of 15.2 miles per hour. To be fair, that included the quarter mile traversing of the glacier in Breakheart Park. But still, I can't wait to get back on the roads again for real! How long till spring?

Left: my filthy legs. I am not wearing anything around my ankles, that's just the sock line. My feet are red and blotchy because they're frozen.

Oops, I deleted my blog

Crap.  Leave it up to me to fuck up my blog when I was just trying to help.  

As a holiday gift to my readers I decided to change my blog template.  I have received a lot of complaints about reading white text on a black background, so I wanted to find something easier on the eyes.  And anyway, the running chick on my old background looked like she was running in a skirt.  I detest running skirts.

The problem: There are very, very few usable blogger skins that have anything to do with swimming, biking, and running.  Take Lance Armstrong and mountain bikes out of the equation and you have none.  

I was about to give up, when I decided that I'd spent 2 hours searching for a template, if I didn't change anything, that would have been a waste of time.  I like to finish what I've started.  Sometimes.  I realize that the picture at the top is of a BMX rider, and I've never even TOUCHED a BMX bike, but at least it was an attractive image involving a bicycle.  And there was no black background.  

The next problem: When I loaded the template, it deleted all my gadgets and sidebars.  Fuck!  That's really not good.  And I've STILL never ridden a BMX bike.  So I went through and I put them up AGAIN.  I had to do my blogroll from memory, so check and see if your name is there.  If it's not, I apologize.  Please let me know and I'll put it back up.  Nothing personal!  (Note: I tend to only add people to my blogroll if they come by and comment often.  If you want to be on my blogroll, help me get to know you and leave some comments!  You are excluded from my blogroll if you do not have a blog.  Sorry.)  

Once I'd finished updating all my colors, themes, fonts, sidebars, etc., I looked at the page again.  "Home," "Entries," "Comments," "Edit" at the top of the page... what the hell are those?  How do I make them go away?  What do I do with them?

Oh whatever, who cares?!  I hope you like it.  Maybe more cool features will appear later.  But in the meantime, I hope the new skin is easier on all your tired eyes.  Happy Holidays!

UPDATE:

Alright, I've been working at it all day, and I've finally got something that I'm half way satisfied with.  Not all the way satisfied, but I'm tired of wrestling with blogger trying to change styles.  I hate you, blogger!  Why won't you just let me pick my own background color!

On the plus side, I have discovered some pretty cool scrapbooking tools on photobucket.  Please let me know what you think of the new look.  And if you know how to create your own blogger skins, please let me know.

Rants: Yoga and Your Useless Fat Ass Is Your Own Damned Fault!

I think that perhaps I may be in a bad mood. Either that or I'm just having a bad day. Either way, I'm annoyed at the world. I'll start with the second one first.

On Saturday I did a weights session followed by a long-ish, fast-ish run, and as a result my hamstrings (thank you straight-leg deadlifts), lats and rhomboids (thanks pullups), and pecs (thanks pushups) have been fucked up all week. Not injured, just tight and sore. I am not flexible to begin with, especially not in my neck and shoulders. I have that rounded-forward shoulder, winged scapulae thing. Kyphosis? Typhoid? Whatever it's called. I try to care, but I really, really, really don't. Nothing you can say can change my mind about that, so quit interrupting. I'm trying to tell a story.

So I go to yoga this morning to try to address the aforementioned problems in my back, chest, and legs. I do not enjoy yoga, I go because it is good for me. I also do not like the teacher. She is one of those people who fancies herself a serious triathlete, but skips 90% of her workouts. And yet she still makes excuses, like we care, or that we haven't noticed when she never shows up to swimming. When she comes to swimming, she will sit out 50 yards out of every 100 to catch her breath, but she refuses to move down to the slow lane. She loves to talk about the marathon she ran (I think it was Chicago in something like 1855), but I have heard her speak of ONE actual run that she's gone on in the year I've been going to her class. After that ONE run, she complained of being sore for a week.

But she thinks she knows everything there is to know about anything. After I ran the Boston Marathon she asked me what my time was. I told her it was just under 4:15. "What was your time?" asked one of the swimmers in the class, Susan. We like Susan, she just hadn't heard me. The World's Most Knowledgeable Yoga teacher answered for me, "4:50, anything under 5 hours is good." I didn't run a 4:50!!!!! But for some reason I didn't correct her. It seemed like it would be rude, since she does know everything after all. But it annoyed me.

I must have told her in February or March that I was training for an ironman. "You mean a half ironman?" she asked. Noooo, why would I say 'ironman' when I meant half ironman. Either you think I'm stupid or you think I'm a liar. I don't appreciate either one. Then, some time in the spring she asked me again if I was training for anything. "My big race is my ironman in August," I said. "Is it a half ironman?" she asked. Noooooo, it's STILL a full ironman. Before I left for California at the end of July she asked me what I was going for. "My ironman," I said. "Oh, is it a half ironman?" Noooooo, still a full fucking ironman! Once I can understand, maybe she just didn't hear me. But three times?!

And she says the names of stuff wrong. Granted, she's French, and I of all people shouldn't be criticizing anyone of knot knowing obscure plurals and rare eccentricities of one's second language, but she makes these mistakes in every class, and in every class they annoy me, second language or not. She calls vertebrae (plural of vertebra) "vertebras." She calls scapulae (plural of scapula) "scapulas." She calls your pelvis (noun) your "pelvic." She uses "foot" for both singular and plural, same with "shoulder" and "buttocks." And she calls your plantar fascia your "plantar fasciitis," as in "We are going to stretch your plantar fasciitis." If you don't know, plantar fasciitis is inflamation of the plantar fasciia. You cannot stretch inflamation.

So today, as I mentioned, I was stiff and sore. I'm not usually a very flexible person, but today I was in especially rough shape. That's why I go to yoga! We're warming up, doing our breathing thing (I have to cheat, I don't know how other people can breathe in for 15 straight seconds without suffocating), when she comes up behind me and tries to roll my shoulders back. I have the forward-rolling shoulder problem, I know. I don't care. I usually let her roll them back and I hold them as best I can. But today the woman was trying to break some bones. I was trying to be zen about it and ignore her, letting her reshape me without affecting my chi. You know, flowing with the river... But then she whispers, "You want to roll them back a little farther." At this point it feels like the points of my scapulae are about to puncture my lungs, and I physically CANNOT move my shoulders back any farther. "That's as far back as they'll go!" I whisper, and she goes back to the front of the room.

Then she comes back to correct me on pretty much every pose for the rest of the day. She corrects me more than the new people I have to either side of me: the woman who is twisting in complete WRONG direction, and the man who is doing the ocean breath so loud that I swear they can hear him all the way up on the Death Star. I know I'm not the best yogi out there, but I'm sure my form is better than some of the 50-year-old runner guys in the class. "Claire, keep that leg straight. Claire, flex your foot. Claire, you want to rotate your hip out more..." But when she asked about my jacket, I knew she was picking on me. See, it was 6º when I pulled in to the Y parking lot this morning. So I was wearing this warm, old, ratty fleece. I'm one of those people who's always cold, and I was still wearing my warm, ratty fleece halfway through class, because it's not like we were running or anything. I was cold. She came over and said, "Aren't you too warm in that fleece?"

"Not yet," I said. What the fuck?! Like I wouldn't be able to tell if I were too warm. Just because she's menopausal and suffering from hot flashes doesn't mean that we all are. This is yoga class, not tea in her living room. Let me zone out and feel my body dammit! Quit distracting me.

But I wasn't pissed off yet. This is just the typical yoga annoyances that I put up with every week. I'm zen, I can deal with it. This is why I do yoga, to stretch and calm down. Then, after class I sprayed down my mat, put my stuff away, and was putting my shoes back on outside the yoga studio. "Claire," said the World's Most Knowledgeable Yoga Instructor, leaning out the door. "Have you been stretching after your biking and running?"

"No," I said, because it was the answer she was waiting for. In fact I do stretch... a bit. Probably every other run I'll be feeling tight and stretch for less than 5 minutes. You know, touch my toes, stretch out my calves on a stair, stand with my foot on my butt... I'm not one of the people who starts wiping down their bike in spin classes before the stretching is over. But I'm usually too cold/tired/sweaty/hungry to stay touching my toes for 20 minutes after every workout. That's why I go to yoga! And anyway, aren't modern exercise trends moving away from static stretching?

"Well you really should be stretching after you work out," the World's Most Knowledgeable Yoga Instructor told me, like I'd asked her opinion. "That's why you're so tight. Just for a few minutes before, and then more afterwards."

She CAME OUT OF THE CLASSROOM to tell me this. This is why I go to yoga!!!!! And yes, I was tight today, but it was from fucking myself up lifting too much weight. That's. why. I. come. to. her. class. at 5:30. in. the. morning. EVERY. WEEK! I come to yoga to STRETCH, you blockhead!

Are you really leaving the house wearing THAT?!

Sorry to those of you who came by earlier today and found this blog set to private. Seems that a link was floating around SOMEONE's office, and it wasn't mine. Out of respect for the interested parties, in this post the characters known as Dirk and Diggler will be played by (who else), Mark Wahlberg, and the part of Big Red will be played by Molly Ringwald. Enjoy.

Alternate names for this post:

Scotch Tape: No Longer Just for Wrapping Presents
More Ass Crack and Back Hair than I Bargained For
I Swear, I Wasn't Looking!

First of all, I have to say that I have some of the coolest friends and readers in the whole, wide world. When I sent out a half-assed e-mail and threw together a blog post in less than 20 minutes asking for money for Cradles to Crayons, I thought I would be lucky if I raised $100, let alone met the minimum of $250 in the one day I had to raise it before the race. But my friends came through, and within 7 hours I had made the $250 minimum, and by the next morning I had hit $365!!! Your generosity, especially in these tough financial times really, really touched me. I would like to extend a special thanks to

Jen (who I can't wait to meet in Orlando)
Angry (aka Hater – your glutes may be better than mine, but your ass is grass in the moomoo contest in Disney)
Warrior Woman (who has been one of my greatest supporters in ALL my crazy ideas)
Iron Bob (who knows a thing or two about freezing his b@//$ off)
Damon (my own personal Jack Daniels)
Maggs (who could probably have worn a swim suit today without even busting a goosebump over there in Kona)
And Claire B (the cloaked reader in the shadows who shares my name and I know not what else!)

If I missed anyone, I'm sorry. Many people donated with only first names or under assumed names, and it was hard to place everyone!

As my friend (who we'll call Princess because that's what I call her) and I walked towards the start (just blocks from the Boston Marathon finish line), the thought crossed my mind that this may be my stupidest idea to date. I'd had some stupid ones, but running down the street in my underwear in Boston in December really was pushing it. Although it had warmed up from the 24º it was when I woke up (16º with wind chill), it hadn't by much. The temperature was only in the high 20's, and though it would be warmer than the 10-mile run I'd done the night before at 23º, this time I was going to be pretty much naked. At least I was doing this for a damned good cause: warm clothes for kids that have to live in this inhospitable climate. And at least I wasn't in this one alone.

I had spoken to Big Red earlier that morning. "I jogged in front of the mirror, and I could see my fat jiggling!" she accused. Like this was my fault?!
"Wait, you jogged in front of your mirror?!" I asked.
"She jogged in front of the mirror?!" Princess repeated.
"Well yeah," Red said. "Didn't you? Don't miss the point!"
"No," I said. "I guess I don't have a lot of mirrors at my house."

Princess knew the way to the bar where registration was held, but it was pretty hard to miss. It was the only bar on Boylston Street where the men smoking outside the door were in speedos. It was still only 12:00, one hour to the start, but the bar was already packed to the rafters with people in bathing suits. Drunk people in bathing suits to be more specific. Many of them looked like they'd been there for hours. Who knows what clothes they had showed up in, because they were already stripped down to their speedos and bikinis and drinking glasses of scotch and bourbon and yelling the kinds of incoherent things drunk people yell when they're excited. One girl who found herself pressed up against the floor-to-ceiling window either by choice or by accident was giving a skin show to the people in the street waiting to get in. Everyone in the street was still dressed... so far. I was beginning to realize that this was really the kind of event that one has to do drunk. Being outside in a bathing suit in December? Being in public in a bathing suit??? What was I thinking?

Princess and I took one look into the bar and decided to go somewhere with a shorter bathroom line and fewer drunk people. Princess has been trying to get off the sauce herself since September and we keep each other company on Gchat all day at work. Letting off steam with her is probably a huge reason why I didn't relapse when things were looking so bleak this fall, and I like to think I've been a positive influence on her as well. Neither of us wanted to be shoved in shoulder-to-shoulder with 400 drunk people in their underwear for an hour. By the time we got back to the line to get inside, it had grown and it looked even more crowded inside. Where the girl had been giving the skin show 20 minutes ago, there was not an angry looking redhead in her place with a red and green Santa hat and a bourbon on the rocks in one hand. With her other hand she was banging on the window trying to get my attention. It was Red. She signaled to me to look at my phone. Three messages from Red, the last one saying, "YOU'RE NOT HERE! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

Yeah right I'd miss the chance to see Red run down the street in downtown Boston in her underwear, even if I had to be there to do it with her! They weren't letting non-runners into the bar since it was CLEARLY filled well past capacity, so Princess waited outside while I elbowed my way to registration and collected my t-shirt. Red collected her two friends, who we'll call Dirk and Diggler, and we went into the bar next door which also had a room for Speedo runners. It was empty. It was probably the best decision we made all day... considering the circumstances. Maybe the only good decision we made all day. With an abundance of personal space we stripped down to our outfits and Red, Dirk, and Diggler had another round of bourbon. I realized yet again that I was stupid to think that running this thing sober would be a good idea, and even stupider to think that I could stand in front of a camera in my underwear without several shots of liquid courage. I have taken the liberty of doctoring any photos that I find particularly unflattering. Also, at Red's request I have photoshopped obstructions in front of her stomach in any pictures where her stomach is not already covered in some way.

Oh. My. God. None of us can believe that we're doing this! Quote by Dirk 5 seconds before this picture was taken: "Wow, Claire, you're not a very tall person, are you???"

For those of you who live in warm climates, this is what White people look like in Boston in December: PASTY! (Note: Redis standing on her tip-toes to make her legs look better and to make me look shorter!)
Not the best angle for my arms, but trust me, I can give Red the swimming dynamo a run for her money in the Best Arms competition!

Princess agreed to watch our stuff, and as 4 people's jackets, sweaters, and yes, pants came off it became clear that it would be too much for Princess to carry out to Newbury Street all by herself. So Princess agreed to stay with our stuff down in the basement of the bar alone a full bar of cheap drinks. I tried to insist that we take all our valuables out of our pockets and put them in her purse so that she could go outside, but she insisted. Princess earns my everlasting respect for sitting at the bar alone for the next half hour drinking water, even after the bartender offered her anything on the house for being such a diligent coat-watcher. Even when the dirty old man offered to buy her a drink.

I put on a red hat and a green scarf and Red, Dirk, Diggler, and I left Princess and went next-door to the skin bar and barely had enough time to clear the foyer before they started ushering us outside again. What the hell?! It's only 12:45! I don't want to be standing out there for 15 minutes!!! But we had no choice. We walked back out the door, and I screamed. I was glad that I'd had the foresight to put scotch tape over my nipples to avoid a severe case of "cold runner" syndrome. For 15 minutes Red, Dirk, Diggler and I hopped around in the crowd of other hopping people in their bathing suits trying to keep warm. Dirk had brought a flask, and they passed it around the group eagerly. I wished I could join in. It was 29º outside, but only 16º with the wind chill. We took pictures and Red made friends with everyone around us, of course. She was in heaven in a crowd full of young men in banana hammocks.

God, I look old! I can't believe that the bouncer scrutinized my ID so closely! And yes. It was 29º outside at that moment. And we are in our underwear.

Finally, we started moving. Everyone started singing, "Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the waaaaaaay!" I could feel things jiggling, things that are usually covered by a pair of shorts.
"RUN!" Red yelled in my ear. We had to yell to be heard over all the screaming and whooping and singing.
"I'M TRYING!" I yelled back. "IT'S TOO CROWDED." So Red elbowed her way forward, and then the path closed behind her. By the time I'd caught up with her, the group was... STOPPING! We were right at the front and I was hardly breathing hard. What gives?!

We got through the first verse of Jingle Bells, then everyone STOPPED and started doing jumping jacks! Oh my god! They weren't going to let us run this whole thing through! They hadn't closed the streets, and we had to stop every 2 blocks so that the cars in front of us could clear the traffic lights up ahead before we caught up, and so that the people in the back could catch up so that we weren't taking up too much of the street at once. We ran another couple of blocks and then everyone found a small space to lie down on the ground and we all did pushups. I got out 13 before we got up and started running again, this time singing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. We must have had to stop 4 times in the 5 blocks before the turn-around.

Me in the foreground.

It wasn't unbearably cold most of the time, but every minute or so an icy gust of wind flew through the skyscrapers at a million miles per hour and blew my scarf out of the way. Each and every time that 16º wind hit my core, I screamed. For the most part, though, the cold wasn't unbearable. I had felt just as miserable running in sweaty clothes on a cold, blustery, windy day. When we turned around I thought that the wind would be to our back, but nope. The wind plans for occasions like this one, and we had a headwind in both directions.

Now the runners were chanting, "We're not drunk enough for this!" every time we stopped. One of the police officers outside the bar this morning had told Princess that the year before they had had to put sawdust down on Boylston street because so many people had puked during the race. Were we stopping and waiting for the pukers now?

The crowds were getting thicker as shoppers on Newbury Street stopped to watch the spectacle. There was a construction crew fixing a patch of concrete when suddenly, to their shock and surprise, hundreds of people in bathing suits were running at them. They held out their hands and people slapped them as they ran by.

Finally we were within a block of the bar again, and I busted out in my best sprint reserved only for emergencies. I hadn't felt this good running since the day I sprinted 3 blocks to catch a train only to turn and find Lorraine was a block behind me. She can outrun me in any distance from a 5K to a 100 mile race, and I chalked it up to the performance enhancing benefits of gin and tonic. I saw the bar and didn't stop running until I was already at the door. Red caught me there and made me pose for another picture. "Here?!" I screamed. "But it's so COLD out!" I posed for just long enough for someone to snap the picture, and then I ran back to the basement of that bar as fast as I could get there.

Princess was at the bar by herself sucking down her second soda water. Anne and I were the first ones back in the bar, and Dirk and Diggler followed us down a minute or two later. As Dirk got dressed he looked at me and said, "Don't judge me! It's cold out there!"
"Oh my god! I wasn't looking, I swear!" I said. "Red, tell him I wasn't looking!" I really hadn't been looking, I promise. I wouldn't know how to judge a guy in a speedo. I don't even know enough about the male anatomy to know what I would be looking for. Everyone had gone for the smallest bikini or speedo that they could fit into, and I had seen more ass crack today than I wanted to see for the rest of my life anyway. I certainly wasn't checking out what ELSE was wrapped in small packages!

I was hungry after not letting myself eat much all morning so that my tummy wouldn't pooch out. Red, Dirk, and Diggler wanted to keep drinking with the rest of the skins, so we parted ways. In the end, at 14 minutes and 47 seconds it was the slowest mile and a quarter I have ever run. It was also the shortest race I have ever run. But still, to be honest, it wasn't the coldest I've ever been. I would rather run down the street in Boston in December or dunk up to my neck in the Atlantic on New Year's day than swim for half an hour in 51º water at the Hairy Man any day. Once I'd put my clothes back on, I was warm within about 10 minutes.

Still, it's going to take a lot more than $365 dollars to get me to streak through downtown Boston in my underwear again! Thanks again to everyone who donated. In addition to my discomfort and humiliation, your generous contributions went to a great cause: keeping kids warm and safe. Thanks again.

Ante Up!

I've told y'all about the Santa Speedo Run that I'm planning on doing tomorrow. I've already bought the Christmas-colored swimwear: the first 2-piece I've bought since high school, and maybe the first time I've worn a bikini in public in my life. The day's high is supposed to be 29º. I was ready to run 1.5 miles through downtown Boston in a bathing suit. I was really going to do it.

Anne and I were planning on just signing up the day of the event and running it. But then Wednesday one of us was inspired to look at the web site a little closer. It turned out to be a charity event asking each runner to raise $250 for Cradles to Crayons, an organization that gives kids age 0-12 the bare necessities that they need to live and be healthy enough to go to school and get an education. We're talking blankets, jackets, school supplies, cradles, crayons, etc.

I was ready to scrap the idea (part of my huge funk over the last few weeks, but not the only contributing factor).

Anne was ready to run it as a bandit. I agreed that would be acceptable to me.

But then Anne started poking around the web site a little bit more and started feeling bad. These people were really excited about raising money, and it was for a really good cause. If we ran as bandits, karma would probably catch up with us and make sure we looked worse in a speedo than this guy:

So Anne sent out an email to her friends saying that she would do it if she could get $250 in pledges by the end of the day. In 8 hours, she'd raised $280. Anne's like that. She also wrote to the race organizers to see if it would be alright to participate with a more "modest" donation than $250. She's like that. They said yes.


Now I know that times are tough for EVERYONE right now with the economy going to hell, people's 401K's dissolving before their eyes, and the unemployment rate up around 100%. So let's call this an Abe Lincoln drive. I'm collecting as many $5, $10, $15... $3 donations as I can in the next 24 hours.

Please empty out your penny drawer, and then go to firstgiving.com/clairelunardoni and help those who are REALLY going to have a shitty Christmas (or Hanukkah, or Kwanza, or Ramadan, or Festivus) this year. Check out what Cradles to Crayons is doing at cradlestocrayons.org.


If you've come by to leave a comment just so that I'll come by your place and you can't even afford $2, don't worry! I've thought of you too. There's a new post below that you can comment on.

Rant: Spinning

I love spin classes. Not as much as riding my bike outside, but it's good for the wintertime. Having someone yelling at me to go harder is a hell of a lot better than trying to suffer through long sets in front of some DVD in my living room. And for some reason, I'm far more likely to go to the gym and do my workout than just sit on the trainer at home. I have done spin classes from California to Barcelona. Once I did 5 consecutive hours of spin classes. Like I said, spinning is great... BUT some things really bug me about spinning.

1. What in the hell is first position? Third position is something like having your hands on the brake hoods. I get it. Second position is like having your hands on the crossbar of your handlebars. Okay, I do that sometimes. But first position is like holding your handlebar stem. What the fuck is that?! You get on your bike and you ride 100 feet standing up with your hands in "first position", and when you get out of the hospital, you tell me how it worked out for you. Now tell me why my spin instructor wants us to spend all our standing time in first position. And that's not just this one instructor either, it's everywhere!

2. I spend about 5% of the time on my bike standing when I'm on the road, and even that's a bit much. Why do I spend 60% of my spin class standing up?

3. The music that you like to listen to in your car is NOT necessarily the best music for your spin class. I do not want to do a tough climbing set to Dave Matthews Band's Crash Into Me, nor do I want to climb to anything by Cold Play (who cares which song, they all sound the same anyway). I don't want to sprint to Matchbox 20. When I'm spinning, I want to listen to music that makes me want to dance, not music that makes me want to run out of Abercrombie and Fitch screaming. The cheesier, the better: Madonna, Come on Eileen, One Way or Another, It's Raining Men, Super Freak, that sort of thing... There is no excuse for Smashmouth, ever. There! I said it!

4. If someone walks in to your class wearing a cycling jersey, bike shorts, cycling shoes, and a heartrate monitor, do NOT ask them if they are new to spin and offer to help them adjust their bike. Just don't.

5. People should not be bouncing on their bikes, least of all the instructor. There's this one instructor at the Y who bounces so hard in her saddle I think that the whole seat is going to break off. She looks like a woodpecker with her head bobbing back and forth like that. Is she riding with NO resistance on her flywheel? And your elbows should be relaxed, but you should not look like a meth head doing the Chicken Dance. It makes me want to walk up to her bike and give the resistance knob a big, fat turn. Then I will tell her that I will keep turning it until she can sit still!

6. Only insecure guys with small penises put their bikes away without taking the resistance off. Only insecure guys with even smaller penises turn the tension up before getting off the bike.

7. In theory the resistance (in spin classes I've been in anyway) is on a perceived exertion scale from 1 to 10. But if we never, ever, ever, ever go past an 8, even in the most extreme circumstances; and we never, ever, ever go below a 4 , even when we're warming up. Isn't that really a scale from 4 to 8? And, really, if we're only using a 4-point range of our 10-point system, why do we go from 5 to 5.5 to 6 to 6.5? Why don't we just start at 1 and use all the numbers?

8. And while we're on the subject of resistance: let's talk about sprints. If, according to my friendly spin instructor, a 4 is that level where the pedals are doing half the work for you, then it's fine to make us pedal as fast as we can, but please don't call it a "sprint". On a real bicycle if you got in your small ring and were riding in your easiest gears and spun out at 130 rpm, you probably wouldn't get above about 12 miles per hour, and you would probably fall off your bike. So we can call it a drill, but please, let's not call it a sprint. Let's save the word "sprint" for when there's resistance on the pedals, okay?

9. People who whoop and yell in spin classes make me cringe in embarrassment, but if no one whoops or screams in your spin classes, then the class is BORING and the instructor's not making us work hard enough!

Where's Speed Racer?

Is she hiding back here?... Nope.

Is she under here?... Nope.

Is she up there?...
Nope... Oh god! Nice... Shoes.

Is she in here....
... Nope
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Theeeeeeeeeeere she is!
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She is feeling grouchy, crabby, and cranky.

She doesn't want to train.

She doesn't want to write blogs.

She doesn't want to read blogs.

She doesn't want to race.

She doesn't want to go out in the cold, where her hair freezes 2 minutes after walking out the door.

She doesn't even want to get out of bed.

Speed Racer will be back when she is feeling better.

She would like you to know that you shouldn't take it personally.

You're Doomed!

I ran the Fells race at the end of March this year. It was one of my slowest 50Ks ever. You're doomed!

~Words of encouragement from Damon, accomplished ultrarunner and my own long-distance running guru.

Nevertheless, I can't say I didn't know what I was getting myself into. The Fells is a state park reserve that starts about half a mile from my house. I could be at a trailhead for the very trail that we ran today in less than a mile. I know these woods like the back of my hand, or at least pretty well. Although I don't usually run on the Skyline Trail (I usually run the shorter, flatter, and less technical Reservoir Trail), I have run it before. Let me tell you one thing about this trail: it is pretty much impossible to overstate its difficulty. The whole, entire thing is covered with rocks, roots and all kinds of perils to ankles and those with poor balance in general. The hills are not long, but they are steep, they are everywhere, and they are often un-runable both on the way up and the way down. There are spots where you're climbing down 10-foot rock faces, or balancing on the spine of a smooth, rounded glacial boulder. Although it is well marked with painted arrows and blazes, it is still very easy to get lost. I have never been able to run more than about 10 or 12 miles in these woods without completely frying myself. It sounds like I'm exaggerating, but I'm not: these are the most technical trails I've ever run on (not that I'm an expert).

And yet, I signed up for the "ultra" division, mostly because of how flexible it was. You could run 24, 32, or 40 miles; whatever you felt like. And anyway, this race had the greatest web site I'd ever seen. I just had to sign up and do it up right.

Bonus points for funny captions for this photo: What thoughts are going through my head at this moment?
I showed up at the top-secret starting location (classified information to keep too many cars from showing up for the limited parking at the trail head). The other racers were a mix of ultrarunners and adventure racer types. You could tell by their hydration systems what group everyone belonged to: ultrarunners had hand-helds and belts, adventure racers had camelbaks. Everyone was decked out in their Sunday race best from Eastern Mountain Sports, and I was a little self-conscious in my hodge-podge of $11 Red Sox beanie, thermal bike jersey (for the pockets), rash guard (ssssshhhhhhh, it's meant for surfers to wear under their wetsuits, but my mom bought it for me thinking it was a long-sleeved running shirt, and it actually WORKS well as a long-sleeved running shirt), and running tights that I had put on soaking wet right out of the washer this morning. The only thing I'd done right were my ugly-as-sin the trail shoes.

Because days are so short this time of year, the race director was letting people leave early if they so desired. A couple of people requested to leave at around 7:30, and Bogie (the race director) held a tiny, little cone-shaped device right in their faces and pushed a button. An air siren went off right next to their ears. "What the hell was that?!" one of them asked.
"It was my bike horn!" Bogie said with a giant grin. "We're professionals here! We do it right!" So the two racers went ahead and started running.

I got together with a group that planned to leave at about 7:50, but one of them got in line for the bathroom, and I didn't get the memo. There was a bit of confusion about who was leaving when, and because I didn't get the memo, he wrote 7:50 next to only my name. "Are you going to leave with your coffee?" he asked.
"Well, no. I was going to ask if you had a trash..." I said, feeling like a fool. Where was everybody? Why was I all by myself?
"Are you leaving or not?" he asked.
"Ummmm, I was going to wait for them..." Time was ticking away, 7:50 had already come and gone.
"Well it's you're time," he shrugged. "You're written down as having left at 7:50 whether you're here or not..." Then he blew the air horn in my face. I didn't know what to do, so I stepped one step past the gate to stop cars from driving on the trail, the "starting line." Now that I was on the course, I stood there waiting some more. Finally it became clear that someone was breaking Claire's Number 1 Rule of Public Pooping: Don't, so I decided not to wait any longer and left all by myself.

Loop 1

Weather (usually cruel, wet, and cold), elevation, length, not paying attention and getting lost will make this a painful DNF for many ... many ... many MANY racers.
~From the Release of Liability on the event's web site.

I love running on these trails. Since you simply can't go fast on the rough terrain, I have oodles of fun hopping from rock to rock, swishing back and forth on switchbacks. I feel like a video game character. The series of bridges at the right I call the Super Mario Bridges because, well, that's who they make me feel like. If I stand on them for too long they'll sink into the quicksand and I'll go flying into the air shrugging and the player and kicking my little feet. All of the leaves were off the trees now, and all over the ground, which sometimes made it slippery or hard to see the roots and rocks, but they were all covered with that kind of delicate frost that looks fake. It was pretty. Even though I was alone, I was really enjoying myself. The sun was really bright, and sometimes it was hard to see the blazes on the trees, or distinguish white paint from frozen puddles, but I was finding my way okay. Or, anyway I was until I wasn't. I had been running on a section where the trail followed my usual rount, but suddenly all the white trail markers had disappeared. I walked back a few hundred yards, on the trail to where I'd seen the last white blaze, then turned around, and... there were no more. I went back and forth for several minutes before I finally saw a rock sitting under a bush with a white stripe painted on it. This was the trail?!

That's when things started getting hairy. The ascents were steep, steep, steep, and the descents were more about not pitching forward and breaking your neck than running. My GPS registered me as standing still more on the descents than the ascents. Really, the second half was more like hiking than anything else. I'd been overtaken by some of the group that I'd tried to wait for at the start, and I was having a heck of a time keeping up with them. They were adventure racers, and this was the only reason I could think of that they were not following the Number 1 Rule of Ultra Trail Running (as designated by me): Walk the Uphills. I would have let them go, but I was afraid that I might miss the turnoff to go back to the start/finish area and sign in as having finished the loop. I needn't have feared, though, because it was very clearly marked with arrows spraypainted on the ground, and laminated printouts stuck to signposts in case you were too dumb to understand "TO START -->" on the ground.

Alright, I have to admit it, I'm a bit thick. Runners were responsible for putting down the time they finished each loop. Was that the time of day? The cumulative time since the start? Time taken per loop? Not to mention, since my Garmin doesn't actually tell time, and was set to autopause when I was stopped, I didn't have any of this information. So I just wrote down the same time as the guy in front of me: an hour and thirty-eight minutes. It was probably totally wrong, since I and I alone had left at 7:50, but whatever.

Loop 2
You can break your neck or your spine and be paralyzed. -- You can fell [sic], get wounded and bleed to death. -- You can lose one or both eyes, become paralyzed or disabled. -- You can get dehydrated if you do not drink water and electrolyte drinks.
~From the release of liability.

I was still feeling fresh. Actually, I was pretty surprised. I haven't done much trail running since I decided this summer that training for a 50-mile race was a stupid idea, so in theory all my little stabilizing muscles should have been out of shape, right? The connective tissue in my ankles should have been weak and ready to snap every time I rolled off a rock. The hills should have been kicking my ass. Instead I felt fresh. As much as I hate to admit it, the few times I've gone trail racing since I started weight training have been much, much easier. So there is some truth to what Angry and Rocketpants say about strength training being good for endurance sports, but don't tell them I said so. My running volume has also nearly doubled in the last few months, so it could be that too...

Coming out of the aid station I fell in with the adventure racers again. There were only two of them, a man and a woman. The woman, whose name was (I think) Jen, had been the race director of the "Run Like a Girl" trail race. It was a race that I'd almost gone to, and I don't remember why I didn't. But in the parking lot before the race Jen had given me a t-shirt that had been left over from the race and asked me to wear it. I'm a total t-shirt whore, and I think that being given a t-shirt by the race director exempts me from the Number 1 Rule of Race T-Shirt Etiquette: Thou Shalt Not Wear the T-shirt from a Race that Thou Hadst Not Finished. Anyway, I feel that I should at least give her a plug here.

I managed to keep up with Jen and her adventure racer companion for a few miles where we exchanged the usual information: where are you from, what races do you do, have you ever tried... etc. Then I told them that if I tried to keep up with them any longer I'd be in trouble later on. That was the last time I would have company on the trail.

There was a spot about a third of the way around where Bogie had set out jugs of water. I eyed them as I passed, but my water bottle was still 2/3 of the way full, and I'd only drank about 2/3 of a bottle on the first loop. I decided not to stop and ran on. Big mistake. I was moving slower this time, being slightly more careful with my footing and in general I didn't have the same spring in my step when I got to the really tough terrain in the second half. The temperature was above freezing now, and although I was still cool I have a rare talent that I can sweat buckets even when I'm freezing. I'd run out of water when I still had a few slow miles left to travel before getting back to the car, and I was getting thirsty. I sucked desperately on my water bottle and all I was able to pull out was air. By the time I got back to the start/finish area I was parched.


I had found Jen's Adventure Racing Buddy's number lying on the trail, and had carried it some three miles back to the start, planning to pin it on the sign-in sheet for him, but when I got to the parking lot he was standing right there. I called out his name (it was written on the number), and handed it to him. He, Jen, and another adventure racer (I could tell by her camelbak) were standing around looking worried. "Is everything okay?" I asked.
"Did you see a girl out there? She's young... She must have missed the finish," the third adventure racer said. "She was wearing a blue jacket."
I thought really hard, I thought I did remember a little girl that matched that description. She had been about 8 years old. "Is she blond?" The woman nodded. "I think I do remember seeing her..." I said, "... but I can't remember where. I'm so sorry."

"Well if you do see her, her name is Tori. Can you please tell her how to get back to the start?" My god, I was thinking, how is an 8-year-old going to follow blazes if experienced trail runners are having trouble spotting them??? And who lets an 8-year-old run a race alone in the woods??? "It's her first race too..." the woman lamented as an afterthought. No shit! I thought.

I drank all the water I could swallow, ate some snacks, and signed in. Again, I didn't know what time to write on the sign-in sheet. My garmin said I'd taking about 3 hours and 30 minutes to get this far, so I added 5 minutes for good measure and hit the trail again. I vowed that even though I hate children, if I found Tori at any point on the trail, I would take the shortest rout back to the cars with her. When I did eventually find Tori, 90% of the way through my third loop, she had been found by the third adventure racer. "We found her!" she said relieved. I looked at the girl, she was blond, wearing a blue jacket, and young, but she was about 16 years old, not eight. I was relieved on so many levels.

Loop 3

Also you are aware that if you drop out you have to have enough cash with you to be able to call a cab.
-From the Release of Liability

I was feeling absolutely... fine! I know you won't believe it, I didn't either. Sure, I was moving at a snail's pace and being ever more cautious with my footing, but when it came time to run again it didn't take superhuman will power to overcome inertia and start running like usually happens in the later stages of an endurance event, especially a tough one like this. Normally, after about 8 or 10 miles on these trails I'm tripping over rocks and almost falling ass over teakettle, letting out ugly yelps and grunts every 5 minutes. I'd run over 16 miles so far on a trail that I'd never dared to run more than once in a day and I had only tripped or slipped bad enough to make an embarrassing noise once or twice. What the hell was going on here?!

I had a theory that it might have something to do with the Advil I'd taken before the race. I never take ibuprofin before a race or important workout because it thins your blood, lowering your hematocrit (red blood cell density in your blood), and impairs oxygen delivery. But this morning I anticipated having "womanly problems," and figured it would be a good idea to stay away from my VO2 Max on a long day like today anyway, so I'd popped a couple of Advil. I can stand the pain of running 31 miles straight, but I will NOT stand the pain of non-athletic cramps. Could the Advil really be the reason I was feeling so great? Was it the weight training? Was it the fact that I've been running 5 days a week? It certainly wasn't the easiness of the course!

Time wore on, and other than the occasional dog walker, hiker, or racer coming in the other direction, I saw nobody. I had my iPod in my pocket, but I didn't really feel the need to listen to it, even though "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas" was stuck in my head, having replaced Adam Sandler's "Hanukkah Song" which was stuck in my head on the last loop. When I wasn't trying to remember what came between the line "Eeeeeverywhere you gooooo..." and "But the prettiest sight you'll seeeeeee, is the Christmas wreath that will beeeeeee, on your ooooown frooooont dooooooor!" (or was it Christmas tree instead of wreath ? Why would you have a Christmas tree on your door? Maybe it was beside...), I was scanning my body to see what hurt: nothing. My muscles, joints, and EVERYTHING felt fine. I'd told myself that I could drop out after 3 laps, or 24 miles, if the course was too hard. But it wasn't too hard.

Still, that last 8 miles would take an awfully long time. The sun was getting low, and I'd flipped my sunglasses on top of my head. It felt like it was getting late. I didn't know it, but it still wasn't 1:00. I felt great now, but how would I feel after another 8 miles? Would I still be able to negotiate the tough trail if I started to get tired? What if I fell and sprained my ankle, or worse? What was I trying to prove? I KNEW beyond a shadow of a doubt that I could finish the 32 miles, I just didn't know if I should. If I slogged through 32 miles, it would probably mean digging really deep into my reserves. My workouts would probably be really crappy for a really long time if I went for that full loop, and I was really enjoying getting faster for once.

Left: My feet leaving the ground, even on the uphills, despite being half way through my third loop.

...But still... It WOULD be nice to get in 1 more marathon before 2008 is out... As long as I was running 24 miles and feeling good, I might as well make it a marathon. Better to finish 26 miles feeling good, than finish 32 feeling like crap. So I decided that when I finished the third loop I'd write my finishing time on the sign-in sheet, indicate that I was done, and run a final 2.2 miles unofficially. There was a spot about a mile from the start/finish area where the trail hit a road, and that road was about a mile from my house, all down hill. I figured that I could just run home, and then get a ride back to my car.

Above: My butt looking big, but I SWEAR it was just my stocked pockets!; Below: My butt, this time way more butt and way less stuff in the pockets. Notice: These are the pee pants (the ones that show pee stains well), and there are no dark spots in my crotch!

I'd run out of food (gumdrops, orange slices, and crystalized ginger) about half way through the third loop, and I was hungry when I got in to the start/finish area. But still, I wasn't bonking. I felt fresh, just sick of running this stupid, cruel trail all by myself. Maybe it was that, for the first time ever, since there were no aid stations, I'd been drinking accelerade the whole time rather than re-filling with Gatorade? Was that why I felt so good?

Left: No caption contest here, I remember exactly what I was thinking – You're going to take my picture NOW?! On an uphill at the end of my third lap?!?!?!

On the sign-in sheet Bogie had written in huge letters "I MEANT THE TIME OF DAY!!!" So I pulled out my cell phone (which I'd carried with me since the web site had warned me that I'd need to call my own cab if I needed to drop out), and checked the time. 1:30 on the nose. I had covered 24 miles in an incredible 5 hours and 40 minutes! I wrote "1:30 PM --- DONE! THANK YOU" next to my name, then I grabbed some cookies and another bag of candy from my car and set out for my bonus mileage.

The above image is what you get when you follow the "Results" link on the web page. If you look closely you'll see that there's no Claire, but there's a Blair Badass Mofo.

Loop 4
There are about 2 possible shortcuts -- people caught off the white Skyline trail ( on shortcuts) will be posted on this website ( in disgrace , of course :-)
~ From the Course Description on the race web site

Suddenly running home seemed like a stupid idea. Running on pavement would probably make my poor legs hurt more than the last 24 miles of running had, and what if no one was home to give me a ride? What if I was locked out? I could just run out along the trail for 1.1 miles, then turn around and come back. Or better yet, I could take the flatter Reservoir Trail out for 1.1 miles and then turn back. But I decided that I'd started on the Skyline Trail, and I should finish on the Skyline trail, even if I wasn't really finishing.

The problem was that my Garmin hadn't registered exactly 24 miles at the end of the last loop, it was more like 23.5, and I must have been more loopy than I thought, because I was having a really tough time figuring it out in my head. At first I thought I needed to run 1.7 miles each way, which worked out to be... what? Turn around at 25.1 miles. Yeah, that's it. But then a few minutes later I wasn't sure again. Wait... 2.7 miles; divided by two; plus 23.5 is.... 25 miles? Yeah! That must be right! Something still seemed fishy, but I figured that if I ran 26.21 miles or more, then I could technically call it an "ultramarathon" if I really wanted to split hairs. Right?

I ran an interminable 1.5 miles out, and an even longer 1.5 miles back, and arrived at the "finish line" without a soul in sight after completing 26.54 miles in 6:01:34 (that doesn't count all the time I was stopped, or when I was moving so slowly that Garmin THOUGHT I had stopped). In just over 7 months I had finished 6 events of Marathon distance or longer (1, 2, 3, 4, and 5). Why so many? That's twice as many marathons in 31 weeks as Bobby's done in his entire life. Because naked marathons terrify me, and the idea of a marathon at the end of an ironman makes my blood run cold. That's why. This year I wanted to do as many marathons as possible so that I wouldn't be so scared of them anymore. I wanted to be absolutely, positively sure that I could finish a marathon under any circumstances, trained or not, rested or not, part of a longer event or not. Marathons in ironmans still scare the shit out of me, but naked marathons now seem a bit more manageable.

The Finish
Bad things can also happen when you train for this race, when you drive towards this race or after you leave the race. So you know that trail or mountain running is not safe.
~ From the Release of Liability

I spotted several boxes of pizza sitting behind Bogie's car and had shoved have a piece in my face in one big mouthful when a couple emerged from their car to grab more pizza themselves. "How'd you do?" the woman asked.
"I'm done," I said. That was all that mattered.
"Yeah, I finished 3 loops, and that was enough for me," she said. She gestured towards her husband, "I cheated. He ran with me the whole last lap. About a mile from the end I started crying and saying I couldn't do it anymore."
"That's okay," I said. "It makes a much better story that way."
"Yeah, well if I did it again, I'd only sign up for the 8-miler," she said.
"If I did it again, I'd cheat," I told her.

When they left, another man I'd seen running in the other direction several times during the day came in. He was also calling it a day after only 3 loops. I'd noticed that most of the people had written "DONE" after their 3rd loop time on the sign-in sheet. "I just wasn't expecting it to be so hard!" he said. "I've only seen one other trail this technical, and that's at Wapack. There wasn't a flat section on that whole course!" I confused Wapack with Wasatch, which is a 100-mile race in the Rockies. "Yeah, I've done Wasatch once too," he said. It made me feel better to know that he was an accomplished trail runner and still thought that this terrain was difficult.
I gestured to the dirt stains that went down the whole front of his shirt, "You take a spill?"
"Just a couple," he smiled, meaning it had been more than a couple.
"And you're wearing those shorts so you can show off that sexy scab on your shin?" I joked. I was feeling pretty proud of myself for not falling.

By this point I'd shoved 3 pieces of pizza in my face and I was beginning to shiver. I went over to my car and drove the 3 miles home, during which time I: waited for a stop sign to change, made a turn when I should have yielded and cut a guy off, and swerved all over the road. I guess I was more out of it than I thought. I wasn't doing the post-marathon shuffle, though. When I got home I went to the bathroom, and my pee was ORANGE. Guess I should have had a bit more to drink.

So, kids, the lesson is: Don't drink and drive, but don't NOT drink and drive either.

Side note that has nothing to do with this post, but I have to share anyway: It's a sad, sad day when you start getting hand-me-downs from your cousin's 11-year-old daughter... and they fit.