tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9803459443896055762023-11-16T05:56:22.680-08:00UltraPhiaThe Original Mud Babesophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-76935210885479580182013-10-09T21:34:00.000-07:002013-10-09T21:35:23.932-07:00Bear 100- Starting over.Running the Bear 100 really started in a small abandoned Colorado mining town 6 weeks before the race. Winfield. Leadville 100. My first DNF. I don't want to dwell on this as it will be a different essay someday, except to say it happened because I just didn't know where I was with training, racing, mental strenghth and response. All areas I'd excelled in at one point or another in the past, but they simultaneously came crashing down in one big, sweaty, teary heap. <br />
<br />
I will not be so arrogant as to say that the morning after Leadville I was ready to jump into the Bear, as it was arrogance partly that lead to that defeat. However, the seed was planted by my friend and chose "Trail Daughter/ Mudbabe, " Hayley.<br />
<br />
"Sophia-- 250 signed up for the Bear and it has a 300 cap-- you should do it." I already had my plane ticket as I had agreed to pace Hayley in her first 100. <br />
<br />
Two weeks later I made a very private decision to run the Bear. This time sans FB status updates or multiple conversations with friends, family or other well wishers. My mental prep was simple and targeted. A few pointed questions to trusted runners who had conquered the Bear and a little research on associated blogs. <br />
<br />
I did make a couple attempts to find a pacer, but when the pacers of choice weren't available, instead of just trying to find anyone, I decided it best to trust my own wits and go without a pacer. <br />
<br />
With a weather forecast of sub freezing temperatures and a wintery mix (according to Erin-- I call it HAIL. Hail and damnation to be excat) I packed my drop bags for survival. This physical packing mirrored the mental place I had to be in to succeed. <br />
<br />
I spent the 4 weeks leading up to the race figuring out where I was. It wasn't where I thought, but I decided I would be happy with it.<br />
<ul>
<li>12:30's for my steady marathon running pace (really?!! I thought it was 11:30)</li>
<li>Climbing weak and all I had was a .3 of a mile hill to train on. I made a decision to run it 6 to 8 times a day instead of hike- and that was a good decision as it made my mind strong and legs a bit better.</li>
<li>Purchased super light trekking poles and got some advice from a ski coach on how to use them.</li>
<li>Stayed private- sometimes the more people know about your training or your goals, it seems the less they believe in you- or so it feels. For whatever reason, sharing less helped me more.</li>
<li>I am not a quitter.</li>
</ul>
What did this all mean? I knew I had to pull back on goals I'd had in the past-- the biggest being never to hike out the last 20 of a hundred. I had to return emotionally to square 1 and just get the buckle. That had to be the plan from the start and it was.<br />
<br />
Numbers were assigned for this race in alphabetical order and when I checked in I saw ultra legend Hans Dieter-Weissar was listed before me. The last time I'd seen 74 year old Hans was 6 weeks prior with tears streaming down my face headed into Winfield:<br />
"You'll get it next year my dear," he passed me going up the pass and on to his 10th Leadville finish.<br />
This day would mark his attempt at 140 , 100 mile finishes since starting the sport at age 59.<br />
<br />
After the gun went off, I looked for Hans- Erin and I were running together at the back to ensure a smart start. I knew there were many tough as nails runners on the course who were going to finish, and most of them were right there in the back with us. <br />
<br />
I just needed reassurance on one thing.<br />
<br />
"Guten Morgen Hans! Sophia from Leadville. It's my first time running without a pacer- will I be ok?"<br />
"Sophia, always run without a pacer. You want to be alone, in the dark overnight. It is so beautiful and it is why we run. 100's of course-- the only distance."<br />
<br />
Erin and I were marching along- at one point I tried an uphill without the poles and could immediately tell they were helping- except they kept falling apart (Z poles, so they were still attached just floppy.) DANG. Whatever. <br />
<br />
Then there was the temperature regulation. I chose to wear capri tights with Mizuno Breath Thermo tights over. It was overkill for about one minute at mile 3, after that it was perfect. At mile 10 my fingers were so cold I had a volunteer get out my hand warmers (pair number 1).<br />
<br />
I had on Breath Thermo arm warmers under my jacket (jacket number 1) but really wanted to get a whole BT stretch on instead of the Dry Science shirt I was wearing.With the work it took to get up 5 to 10 mile climbs Breath Thermo was by far the best option. (For those of you who don't know, Breath Thermo is a fabric that self generates heat with your body's sweat- so instead of getting hypothermic from mountain climbing and exerting, you stay warm.) <br />
<br />
" Look at team Orange!" A group of brothers were commenting on Erin's and my orange skirts. I'd suffered through their attempts at discussing football and welcomed the switch to fashion. They wished they'd worn matchy match outfits. They were an interesting group and we'd come across them <br />
several times throughout the race. Headed into mile 30 aid we ran down hill for quite a while. We discussed empathy and how helpful it is in pacing or simply running with friends. At the aid station we see Erica and Taylor and had a glorious bra change and got the needed BT base layer on and changed into jacket number 2. I pooped a little in a bucket. <br />
<br />
Erin and I were still together-- we were given glorious hot soup with a salty potato inside. We were practicing our empathy. Her climbing was better, but I had the experience she needed to get the smart start and consistent pacing. I am so grateful we had this running time together, as over the past year when we've done races our paces just haven't synched. It happens- especially if both are RACING- but this was a unique time as it was her first 100 and I was starting over. We had some really glorious miles of running through the beautiful trees. She'd point out the vistas (I tend to notice the trail in front of me and miss the scenery) I'd set the pace. I'd run out of water. She'd let me drink out of her hose-right by her left boob. This part was hilarious. <br />
<br />
We got separated by about 10 minutes at mile 36 and I began to run alone, knowing she would catch me later in the race once she got her pacer-or perhaps before.<br />
<br />
Mile 41 I see Taylor (who's boyfriend was running near me) and want another shirt change. I just don't want to head into the evening with anything wet- even Breath Thermo when the temperatures were dangerous. But my bag is with the other car. Fortunately BT works and I make it comfortably to the next aid station-- but not after enduring some crazy muddy slip-slop, uphill- oh crap the guy in front of me is falling backwards, and my POLES are separating.. but here come the Brothers, hiking past me. "Help! This can't be right?!! no one else's Black Diamond ultra distance poles are separating?" "Are they locked Sophia?" "I DON'T KNOW." Brother Todd, mid-step, balances on one foot, fixes the poles and continues like a nanny goat up the hill. I figure I'll never see him and the brother from another mother again. <br />
<br />
Not so- There is something I learned from a 50 mile pacing experience with John Fegyveresi (Barkley marathon finisher 2012). Zip through aid stations. Get what you need- but don't waste time.<br />
<br />
AT mile 52 aid station Taylor again is just a rockstar crew- she remembers everything I liked at mile 20 and is just so excited about how well I'm running (hiking, surviving- making jokes). She believes in me- and I can just feel it. I change into a fresh BT top, Jacket #3, more handwarmers and yes, a down puffer vest. <br />
<br />
It is now 18 degrees and on the exposed ridges the wind is blowing. 15 hours in, but I feel set for survival. Petzyl NAO headlamp is working great. <br />
<br />
... and what do you know?! It's the brothers. <br />
"Sophia- do you have warm enough clothes on?" Funny comment coming from two dudes wearing shorts. <br />
<br />
I explain I am wearing a puffer vest and that DNF in this race stand for Did. Not. Freeze.<br />
<br />
"What about your neck? I have an extra buff." <br />
<br />
This was the one piece I'd forgotten-- they got the buff all tucked in my neck and assured me it was clean , although I said I didn't care. (Insert story of Alaska adventure where buff from crotch is used by friend.)<br />
<br />
They went ahead and told me the next part was a runnable downhill. I was feeling great. I was warm, my legs felt good and ... what is that black shiny stuff? ICE. Then snowy ice pack with strips of brown where people had slipped . Looked like the tracks on your brothers underwear from when you were little. Ok- or your own. Sorry, I'm stuck on brothers. <br />
<br />
I would just stare at it, trying to figure out the best route down-- the crunchy stuff on the edges were less slippery but the drop to the right was pretty darn steep. Even with the poles , I slipped 3 times. Sometimes I just scooted down on my butt. When it was done, I hoped we were done with ice, but that nightmare recurred several times.<br />
<br />
"Well if we wanted consistent conditions we'd run road races!" I was still in excellent spirits. I got to 61 and saw Taylor.<br />
<br />
"I am going to finish this."<br />
"Yes you are." <br />
"The Mud Brothers gave me a buff."<br />
<br />
I am going to insert some advice here for first timers at this race who are going to finish in 32-36 hours (and fyi- you may think your goal is 28) . If you have a pace who can only do part of the distance and you have to choose- CHOOSE MILE 61 to 75. This is the darkest part of the night- the time Hans craves and loves, but for those of us with less experience and salt, it can be nothing short of terrifying. <br />
<br />
I made the mistake of turning on my Garmin- I thought it would be fun later to look at the data (which it may, although I haven't done it yet.,) but it just confused me and made me think the course was long (which it isn't). Again-- nothing new on race day-- even a gadget. I like time of day. I know this. I'll always stick with that in the future. Before this, I was pacing very steady and even, because I didn't have the GPS distracting me. Still- this was a small, small mistake in a race where there was ample opportunity to make big mistakes.<br />
<br />
I was getting very sleepy. I did another one of the caffeine strips Erica gave me, but I needed more. <br />
<br />
I'd get to the flatter bits now and then and fight the temptation to walk. <br />
"Just because you don't have a pacer, doesn't mean you can walk." I chanted this over and over.<br />
<br />
I drank coffee at mile 68. Looked at the zombies with drool coming out of their mouths, asleep in chairs by the fire. I wondered if I had time for a nap. I left.<br />
<br />
"Mud Brothers don't lend buffs to quitters." over and over.<br />
<br />
I started to think I was lost. I turned around until I saw a pink marker. Dang- I wasn't lost. Turn around, go back uphill. Now the sleep became overwhelming. I knew I had to wait until another runner came along and just try to keep up with them. I needed people. So, I latched onto a guy and his pacer for just enough time to re-group and ran down (when not icy) to get to 75. Again - I get lost and backtrack, even though I'm going the correct way. <br />
<br />
Mile 75: Why is Erin in the aid station? I guess she strained her gastrocnemeous/calf/soleus. Too serious to continue. <br />
<br />
Erica got me more caffeine strips, more gin gins (unwrapped. Thank you-- I have weird issues with wrappers. She always knows what to do when it comes to that for me.) And I begged a kid to pace me the rest of the way.<br />
<br />
He thinks about it for a second....<br />
<br />
"Listen- you're going to go uphill for 5 miles. It's going to suck- but you've got this."<br />
<br />
The sun came up. I kept moving. I sat only to empty my shoes so I could keep moving. <br />
I got warm and took off my jacket and vest. I got cold and put the vest back on and more hand warmers. I shared a second thing of hand warmers with a guy named Jim from Missoula. <br />
<br />
I ran down a hill all the while thinking "You just may need this 8 minutes."<br />
<br />
More uphill. More buff Mud Brother chanting. I knew I should try and run the next down-- I get to it-- and it's MUD. What? --- schloppp-- schloppp.. my attitude soured. I really believed the course must be 13 miles long. <br />
<br />
I started to hallucinate: Over and over I saw blue pop - up tents indicating an aid station-- but it was just the sky peaking through the clouds and trees, two miles before the actual aid.<br />
<br />
I kept pushing the bad thoughts from my mind-- I thought about Taylor, Erica and Erin- I could NOT figure out what time I might finish (this is really odd for me.) Each mile seemed so very long. <br />
<br />
Mud brothers. Runners run even without pacers. Be a finisher.Get the buckle. Mommy loves you. Philip (my bio brother) loves you, Daddy loves you. Erin loves you... on and on... <br />
<br />
I wasn't sure if the crew would be at 92. If they weren't my plan was simple- get rid of my warm clothes in Hayley's drop bag and head to the check in and check myself in and out, all in one breath. <br />
<br />
But there they were-- Bad Sophia pops out of the box. Upset about the mud- upset about the course length and who knows what else-- I'm told once the rant stopped and I changed that as I left to hike up the stupidest steepest little stinker of a hill ever, I turned to my Mud Babes.<br />
<br />
"Thank you for saying you're proud of me."<br />
<br />
I started up the hill and wished I'd taken off my tights. It was slippery and as steep as Hope Pass. I will admit, there was a part of me that just wanted to turn around and go back down and quit. Just at that moment some older fellows scaled past me. After 92 miles of being passed over and over on these climbs, I decided I could do it-- and a new chant arose.<br />
<br />
"Be like Hans. Be like Hans." Little steps, but constant and consistent. When I needed to I did the John Fegyveresi lean (trekking poles are great for that, and keep you from having to sit. John, by the way doesn't know I've named this move after him.) <br />
<br />
"Great job!" I was getting props from other runners.<br />
<br />
-- and that is where I needed to be and wanted to be. The runner who can re-group and instantly make a plan that works in that moment. Not because it was a pre-race spreadsheet-not because data on their wrist indicates something, but because of what is ahead and immediately underfoot and in your heart.<br />
<br />
I took this attitude to the finish line where my Mud Babes were waiting as I ran in. And where I was able to return the buff. <br />
<br />
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<br />sophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-88741826713251442592013-04-23T14:10:00.004-07:002013-04-23T14:31:11.237-07:00Ouacha waitin' for???? Ouchita 50 Mile race 2013"My turkey call sounds like an owl." I had taken to calling through the woods with a sound instead of a name to figure out where my running partner was.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgphZoSnvvTBWdaxBOOidMS3dO3EYgqa8zpl26BcwJIpWke0rKcp0sUQ_2OZNakiGTy9aCH2QyIFGmumYQbK3qGkkRiJmPvi0m8HruEwlKanKRbV64xLorBhdvWehLh3AalQUdy1-EV3NPJ/s1600/379849_10151410841322817_1623135647_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgphZoSnvvTBWdaxBOOidMS3dO3EYgqa8zpl26BcwJIpWke0rKcp0sUQ_2OZNakiGTy9aCH2QyIFGmumYQbK3qGkkRiJmPvi0m8HruEwlKanKRbV64xLorBhdvWehLh3AalQUdy1-EV3NPJ/s320/379849_10151410841322817_1623135647_n.jpg" /></a>"That's what it's supposed to sound like." My running partner is an avid and skilled bow hunter having already bagged two turkeys this season. I'd learned a lot about turkey hunting, including what kind of replacement netting is nearly impossible to find at any hunting retailer. My friend started running in October and this was his first 50 mile race.<br />
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There wasn't much of a real plan, and perhaps too many assumptions based on the past. 2 hikes of sheer terror (for me) up east Pinnacle, where I watched as he expertly climbed and even carried my 12 pound dog Puccini. Meanwhile I wobbled and slipped in disbelief that this was actually part of the race course. On the second climb, I tripped quite near the top and looked up. He was admiring the view across the valley. I felt nauseated, cried and cursed that I would NEVER climb that mountain after Saturday, and that I'd rather do Hope Pass on the inbound side ANY day than labor up that rock scramble. It is an odd feeling to have achieved a buckle at the Leadville 100 without much drama (blog unwritten), yet feel defeated by an 800 ft mini mountain. <br />
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Also in the past, a 3 loop 50k we both ran. After loop 1, I could tell my running partner was itching to take off-- so I let him. He was too new a runner to take much advice, and I was too inexperienced at helping someone learn to run from scratch to convince him that what he was about to do could have some frustrating results. So, I let him go. He finished that second 10 mile loop, 15-20 minutes ahead of me. I was excited for him. Maybe he had it in him to keep that pace through loop three? I caught him with 3.5 miles to go on the third lap. As I came up on him, he looked like a hunched old man and was spending far too much energy plodding than going forward. But as will happen, a friendly face and steady pace got him going again and we finished together in a respectable time . <br />
So my assumptions were as follows: go out at my usual 12 to 13 pace. Suffer up that thing, run in gear 4 and hope gear 3 kicks in around mile 20 to 30. I figured it was possible I'd run into my friend around 25 or so. I was going to allow myself to run my own race-- and if I could race, do so. No chitty chatting with new friends. No lollygagging at aid stations. No whining and watch out for those who want to latch onto my energy. I realize this may sound harsh, but I've gotten glommed onto by many a runner that as soon as they get a little energy fix, takes off and never returns the favor. (this totally happened to me at Rocky Racoon 2012- blog still unwritten. )
My running has been troubling to me since Leadville (unwritten blog). It is at best average (Rockin' K-also unwritten, 3 years in a row) or at worst a walk ( Bandera 100k- unwritten too and probably never going to happen). The walking is usually due to mental chaos that in the past was always sorted by running in third gear. The average running is due to asthma that re-developed after Leadville and keeps me from getting to third gear.
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So here's how it went. At the base of Pinnacle, my co-hort decided to trek up behind me, lending encouragement to myself and many scared others. Now my plan/assumptions were out the window. Looked like I was going to be helping a friend through their first 50.
Around mile 9, there was some conversation regarding the pace according to Garmin. Can I just say , I hate those things?! I don't mind them for reference such as: I'm feeling good, what pace am I going? Or, I'm feeling bad what pace am I going? That way when I am running without the Garmin I can make good calculations and adjust as needed based on how my body feels. What is very disturbing is to be told that the pace is "x," and it means I'm not going fast enough. I run by feel. I wear a watch, but don't micro-pace, instead preferring to look at how long it took between aid stations and make small adjustments that over the course of 50 miles make a big difference. (this works in life, too.)<br />
<br />
It was a little early to do so, but I picked up the pace to satisfy the Garmin. It was my kind of terrain. To run it successfully you need solid core strength, quality glutes and the concentration you would use for a difficult timed college final. I was up for it mentally and I actually thought I might be able to test my fitness by keeping it going on this race since I had just had an average race two weeks prior.
My running friend is a much more naturally talented athelete than I am, and can run in all gears (let's say there are 5 with 1 being the fastest) more quickly than I can. However, he's not quite ready yet to be in gear three for a sustained time in an ultra. So, my 3rd gear running landed us at the 15 mile aid station with him a bit drained. I was good to be in and out of the aid station, but could see he needed more time refueling. Since he didn't leave me in a crying heap on Pinnacle, I stood and waiting. <br />
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WOW were my legs stiff for the next 8 MILES. I just couldn't get back in rhythm. And it was FLAT. I can run well on flat, but only when the race is exclusively flat. Flat terrain after rollers just sucks me dry. There were about 10 water crossings that were slippery (I totally landed rear down once)- but REALLY SOPHIA???? Get moving. Yup. More average running. Again. Oh, and I haven't mentioned my butt. My unwritten blog of the LT 100 would surely mention that I ran for 28 hours and 51 minutes without emptying my colon, but also with very little trouble despite not emptying my colon. Because of that, I've developed a rather cavalier attitude regarding my pre-race defacation. If it happens, it happens. If it doesn't-- well who cares, you made it through Leadville. Right? Wrong. My belly was all poofy and uncomfortable the entire race, I kept dashing off to try and go in the woods and would get noise instead of relief, and really just couldn't either relax and go or hyper focus and race. So there it sat- the previous day's nutrition in the purgatory of my colon. Neither in nor out. (It would be until Tuesday morning for my digestive system to get back on track.)
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<br />
After the turnaround, I took a backseat and followed in 4th gear. I was grateful not to have to set the pace on the flat. And the pace was good. I would have to scramble here and there as I was following a 4th gear that is a bit faster than mine, especially on the uphills. I was quite impressed that my friend chose to run such a smart race, instead of whooping it up in the first half and suffering through the second, as so many newbies do. That gave me energy- but the dreaded aid stations (I can't believe I said that) were coming up. What to do... I knew I wanted to be in and out so I could keep the warmth in my legs. I knew my friend needed to eat a lot.
I started bolting out of each aid station hoping he'd catch up. But it made me nervous. I didn't want him to feel abandoned after all we'd each sacrificed. Him waiting for the numerous ducks into the woods, and my adjusting to his pacing needs. So begins the turkey calling. It wasn't part of the plan, was never discussed and was certainly not an assumption in a running race. But it worked. He'd hear me and whoop back.
"Awesome." I could tell he was getting closer and I knew this slight adjustment of leaving the aid stations and playing catch up was netting some decent time. Enough to come in under 12 hours.
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<br />
Not by Garmin as they always measure short, but my calculations based on the mileage from the final aid station it was a yes. If we ran the road portion.
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<br />
"I need to walk this."<br />
<br />
Ok. Running buddy dislikes pavement.
But running buddy is competetive and ambitious. That's part of why I assumed he'd be ok to catch up with me versus defeated when I left the aid stations ahead of him. <br />
<br />
" We can finish under 12 hours if we run this."
<br />
"There's no way .. my Garmin calculates a 12:15 finish."
<br />
<br />
But my calculations based on experience, terrain and determination said otherwise.
We picked it up and came in running at 11:56.
Not my fastest finish and not my slowest. It was not even faster than my Leadville Silver Rush 50 in 2011 (11:41, blog still not written.)
What matters is that somewhere between mile 26 and 50 we went from assuming a 12:30 finish to calculating a 12:15 finish to running in at 11:56.
I'm sure it was that turkey call that made all the difference.
<br />
<br />
Mud Hugs,
Sophia
<br />
<br />
<br />
RACE ASSESSMENT:
Superb race directing with a race director who cares. Below is a list of what constitutes care for me.
Never ran out of water. Even at a remote, un-womaned aid station that got visited twice.
Well marked course. I don't think anyone got lost. There were several places a less careful race director could have cut corners. Road crossings could have been minus the spray chalk--we could have had to rely solely on the permanent blue markings on the trail, and the blue ribbons could have been placed too high for the runners concentrating on the technical trail to see.
Results posted quickly.
Great volunteers and well-stocked aid stations that included electrolyte tablets.
(did I mention the course was well marked?)
Women's cut shirts that actually fit.
Charming awards. This is something that would irritate me if the above hadn't been executed expertly-- but are just one more wonderful aspect of this race.
Beautiful photos courtesy of Arkansas Outside and whatever photographer she found who could scale Pinnacle with camera equipment so that the ascent could be saved for all time.<br />
<br />
COURSE:
This race is really challenging because of the rocky terrain and climb over Pinnacle. Once the terrain gets smoother, you trade rocks for slippery water crossings. The fun in it is to keep your concentration and run as much as possible. The cutoffs mean the only casual hikers or runners who decided to do the race without training, will probably need all thirteen hours to complete the 50k. Finishing dead last on the 50 mile here, means you're a really good trail runner.
Shade: Lots of shade. Really made the running much more pleasant.
<br />
<br />
GEAR REPORT:
Shoes: Mizuno Inspire 9's in a regular width. I toyed with wearing the narrows that I wore on Rockin' K, but decided the regular width would be better in case of swelling. I was asked about Mizuno's trail shoes while scaling Pinnacle. I love the Mizuno Wave Ascend- but my feet get really hot and I needed air mesh. Also the Ascend actually has a little less under foot than the Inspire, and I just wanted a little extra padding with flexibilty on the rocky terrain. No stone bruises and my feet felt great. Plus, they matched my skirt.
Jog Bra: Mizuno Colt. Enough support for me, but I forgot to lube. Ouchy post race shower.
Top: 2013 Creation Singlet. This top rocks. I don't know where the Mizuno apparel team found this fabric, but it feels like butter next to my skin, yet wicks like sponge and breaths like a crisp fall breeze.
bottoms: I like skirts. Mizuno's 2013 meridian skirt in orange is attractive and the shorts do their job. In addition the inside doesn't rub funny. I also wore 3/4 tights but took them off to make all my bathroom stops faster. These were the new BG3000 tights and gave me some great and needed support on the IT band and knee.
Jacket: I started the race with the thin stashable Cabrakan jacket. Worked great and a must for every runner. <br />
<br />
NUTRITION AND HYDRATION:
<br />
Water: 120 oz.
Coke: at every aid station
Gatorade/Heed: at every aid station
<br />
Oranges: 4 slices
<br />
Watermelon: one slice<br />
Salt: maybe 10 tabs, but I wasn't sweating profusely, except up Pinnacle and that was from panic.
One chocolate chip cookie.
One inch of cherry licorice.
<br />
Honey stinger chomps: 2 packages.<br />
Honey stinger honey: probably 16 packets. Yes. Gross.. but it works for me. For now.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBJcSKf6suz5g_oaptC55U19v6D1Rhm-qYxfOpqSh07mWyqGJEWNNwQ4hKCpqolB0_yiorPhxfFBQUoK3GkA8UF7WNgXyePeUKAM8gEICiIObsRci5jhWx70If7TsLBdq4qocficssYzAn/s1600/21229_10200385731498753_1586117906_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBJcSKf6suz5g_oaptC55U19v6D1Rhm-qYxfOpqSh07mWyqGJEWNNwQ4hKCpqolB0_yiorPhxfFBQUoK3GkA8UF7WNgXyePeUKAM8gEICiIObsRci5jhWx70If7TsLBdq4qocficssYzAn/s320/21229_10200385731498753_1586117906_n.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
Breakfast:
One egg
Gatorade
Rock Star energy drink with sugar
Coffee
Lame butter croissant
One toaster waffle
<br />
<br />
OTHER:
Most people associate me with my "signature race braids." They work great, but I've had some problems with uneven breakage from where I put the elastic on resulting in having to cut 3 inches off my precious blonde/red locks. (Boo hiss.)
So for this race, I opted for a hairdo I used a lot in 2005 when I first started running- but my hair was much shorter. Cheerful ponies up top. I added a colorful headband that doubled as a sweat magnet. It worked great and I have the photos to prove it. Mostly I needed to keep the hair off my neck, so I'm cool.
Lancome waterproof mascara is still the benchmark when it comes to racing with style and not getting racoon eyes. It also helps keep a little sun out of the eyes.
I covered myself in 50 spf coppertone before getting dressed and didn't get sunburnt.
<br />
<br />
DROP BAGS:
2 locations- one that you hit twice.
I just used gallon zip lock bags with my info printed in horizontal on a paper.
I put my gloves, jacket and 3/4 tights that I took off in them.
Mostly I just needed the honey packets.
I had sunscreen and lube in one but didn't need it. (no sunburn post race).
<br />
<br />sophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-70662010772408933522012-07-19T16:18:00.001-07:002012-07-19T19:53:16.604-07:00Psycho Psummer. Running in the Danger Zone<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisXFrjvi8n3LotPEHcNMLgP434m4fdCCG2F9ZduMVIA2V_nLgBwa3xfmNNrJjRa6iw-fCBZH0XwynvTr-ENfp6DVnAKR-_gyGunIX6roO0my26zVme-3McDFmLK9VU0-z55XKcMlHyHu8x/s1600/running.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="200" width="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisXFrjvi8n3LotPEHcNMLgP434m4fdCCG2F9ZduMVIA2V_nLgBwa3xfmNNrJjRa6iw-fCBZH0XwynvTr-ENfp6DVnAKR-_gyGunIX6roO0my26zVme-3McDFmLK9VU0-z55XKcMlHyHu8x/s200/running.jpg" /></a>
It was my idea to make the Trail Nerds Psycho Psummer course 3 loops instead of 2. I pushed for it in the days where I was race directing 22 races a year with Ben Holmes and I got my way—The decision makes me think of a moment I shared with my brother Philip who is a composer of complex yet often delicate classical music. During a rehearsal a trumpet player and flutist were struggling unsuccessfully to combine their lines into one. Philip turned to me as the music unfolded in discord.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
And so I give you this 3 loop course at Wyco. I thought having a ten mile race would be fun, after all everyone loves the 10 mile race at the winter version, Psycho Wyco.
And the 10 mile race was great. Five of us crashed through the 10 mile finish in 2:07. The only problem was, I was signed up for the 50k.
I hate running in the heat. The forecast for the day was for triple digits and even higher heat indexes. As I entered loop two I could feel the sun burning on my skin collaborating with the albatross of loop 3 hanging on my neck.
The course is about 87.4% shaded with the first half mile of each loop a flat, grassy baker.
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBY7sw0o97mLWU-cJwfMTganEFmD0s5UBs8xLkLmX8qs29iiamvp54CUXg-xuRwcso7EEcORDAVo6rfnsXe_Blt0Fd9VDokeW3G9UxaXf-W0mo6M1FdQ-gliOkA50kMl59hpWqrtHOQnHi/s1600/again+uphill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="200" width="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBY7sw0o97mLWU-cJwfMTganEFmD0s5UBs8xLkLmX8qs29iiamvp54CUXg-xuRwcso7EEcORDAVo6rfnsXe_Blt0Fd9VDokeW3G9UxaXf-W0mo6M1FdQ-gliOkA50kMl59hpWqrtHOQnHi/s200/again+uphill.jpg" /></a>
I entered the woods grateful for the shade and felt an odd shiver. I looked down and saw goose bumps on my arms and felt a peculiar shiver through my scalp. I knew it was heat exhaustion and I had over 20 miles to go. There were 3 tough miles to the next aid station and ice, so all I could do was pull back on the pace, which I did. I did not tell anyone of the shivering that would become my new running companion for nearly 5 hours.
Kansas isn’t flat. Seriously- there is 1500 feet of elevation change per loop on this course. Still, because of the plentiful aid stations, many runners choose this as their first Ultra.
An Ultramarathon is anything over 26.2 miles. With a 50k being just about a 10k more, many choose a 50 k as their first ultra distance. Over the years since my first official ultra, which ironically was the then 2 loop Psycho Psummer of 2008 , I’m asked what’s the difference in training and then why? Why put your body through such torture? I’ll answer the first question in a second- as to the second, I’ve always managed to run close enough to the bright side of the edge that the torture was never very intense.
On a very basic level, the training includes longer long runs (yes, 17 isn’t long-try 24. Thank you very much) and back to back long runs. So 24 on Saturday and a nice 12 to 15 on Sunday. The purpose of this is to get your legs used to running tired. Some folks up their mileage to 70 to 90 mile weeks. I haven’t trained that way, so I won’t speak to it. I run 40 to 64 and get in a decent amount of back to backs and it works well for me.
Those back to back runs are what bring us back to this race. I’m training for the Leadville 100 and needed Psycho Psummer with it’s constant ascents as run number one of two for the weekend. Dropping a loop to the 20 due to heat exhaustion just wasn’t an option, as 20 is hardly a long run.
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWQ8hTXWkpXAnOjg9F2vLH_cO2WdkVpY5RETRstYieeaCJ31spq9eKJ6ncTQKSexqs-vUhaI_b_zqrWHDurit9YKE5p6UEK-eQuNm-NGlOL6DgimEYb6hh4T0Ujrjnb3rjXx7iIFDocXUR/s1600/heat+exhaustion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="200" width="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWQ8hTXWkpXAnOjg9F2vLH_cO2WdkVpY5RETRstYieeaCJ31spq9eKJ6ncTQKSexqs-vUhaI_b_zqrWHDurit9YKE5p6UEK-eQuNm-NGlOL6DgimEYb6hh4T0Ujrjnb3rjXx7iIFDocXUR/s200/heat+exhaustion.jpg" /></a>
Loop 2 was such an arduous journey. I just couldn’t get dialed into the zone. I was running with a gal named Rochelle who is part of a trail group in Omaha. I was excited to meet her since Omaha is part of my Mizuno territory and it’s always nice when you’re on the road to find like- minded runners to hit the trails with.
“I keep trying to tell myself that this is a race not a long run and I need to keep running even when I want to walk. You know you can always run just a little more than you think you can. But I can’t find my ZONE.”
We started walking up all the hills. Another aspect of ultra running, is how quickly and effectively hiking can get you to your destination and how much ultra runners walk in races. But my legs were stiff and I continued to dread the final loop. Psychologically, these two shorter loops seemed just as long as the two longer ones. Do you know the feeling you get when you send a letter or email and just want to jump into the mailbox and get it back? I wanted to shake the race director and say “I’m sorry , it was a terrible idea. Please just put the course back the way it was.” Unfortunately the new medals had just been cast, with 10-20-50k on them, and even had a bottle opener feature on the bottom the RD was very pleased with. The race will stay the same until those medals are gone.
By the time I got to my ultra-buddy Erica’s aid station, I felt depleted.
“Hot enough out there for you?” She was teasing and chipper.
The sound that came out of my mouth was a combination of a sigh and growl.
“Just get me some ice.”
Her demeaner instantly changed.
“I’ve got it. Coke? Anything else?” Erica knows me well and has shared many a joke and light moment. She knew at that moment, I had lost my sense of humor. Fortunately, she didn’t know I was pushing the red zone of heat exhaustion. I was having an affair with heat exhaustion, and when you’re having an affair, sometimes you can’t even tell your best friend.
Erica would see her share of suffering. One guy on the ground, blue in the lips and ultimately headed to the ER, while another sat on a bench vomiting.
The next section is a tribute to trail building mediocrity. Single track that is wound so tight, you can barely get some steam on the down. I found myself behind runners who couldn’t even take advantage of what little this trail offers. I awkwardly passed. The worst part is that trail drops you at the bottom of a dam. There runners trudge the wobbly, sideways, grass surface, crossing two , two foot drainage ditches, all at an angle similar to a solar oven. My group of now 3 climbed up and headed into the shade, where there was yet another hill.
I shivered. I watched Rochelle enjoy a second wind. I climbed another hill. I cursed the dreaded 3rd loop. And I ran with Luke.
“I want to run with the Mud Babes.” Luke was referencing the women’s group within the Trail Nerds that I founded. It was his first 50k.
“Sophia, I remember hearing you say that the best way to finish an ultra is to go out for the final loop.”
While I wouldn’t admit to the heat exhaustion I did admit responsibility for the 3 loop course.
“It’s my fault. This course is three loops because of me.”
The last 4 miles to the finish had 2 aid stations. What seemed excessive on the first loop, became a lifesaver on number 2. The last mile and a half into the finish is a section everyone calls “3 hills.” On the first loop, I agree, but by loop two it seemed more like 4.
Loop 2 complete in 2:26.
For the final loop my plan was to pull back even further, suffer through and just hike it if I had to. I started to climb the first hill and noticed something interesting to accompany my shivers. My walking was no longer stiff. It was smooth, quick and powerful and I passed Rochelle going uphill.
“Ah Sophia, you’re in the zone.”
I work for a Japanese company and admire their culture greatly. So much so, I’ve made up my own Japanese philosophy. It’s calle OYO (pronounced oi-YO, with a real emphasis on the second syllable.)
It stands for On Your Own, but can only be used when you are successful and content on your chosen journey. So there I was OYO on loop three settled into a rhythmic journey of quick climbing and doing what I do best in races which is to make myself run just a little more than I think I can. Not run faster or harder, run more often and steadier. Alone with my thoughts and nature, I was happy-and also better able to monitor whether the shivers were getting worse and if any other symptoms of heat exhaustion were entering the mix.
As I approached the solar oven for the third time, I was baking- I started to wonder if runners ever wear those umbrella hats and if it would help. I wanted to walk the whole way- OYO or not. Instead I deployed a method I’ve used often when pacing others which I call 50 – 50’s . 50 steps walking, 50 steps running. Over and over until the uphill. Like many of the ups at Wyco, this one plateaus. Cresting the top all I wanted to do was walk more. I made myself run the 50 steps, reminding myself it really doesn’t hurt anymore to run than to walk.
And then it came again…
I felt the creepy shiver like a wraith’s breath on my hot neck, but a new emotion had developed which goes with the Zone and OYO. Determination to at least finish under 7 hours. To do this, I knew I had to run every runnable portion and continue moving on the ups.
I skipped the final aid station.
3 hills blossomed. I think I counted the third hill 3 times. Was this a joke? My legs now ached and I started to wonder how I’d make it through the Leadville 100. And the clock was ticking.
After the actual final hill, there was again a plateau, this time in the sun. I was truly feeling gross and reminded myself that pain is temporary and glory is forever. However, I also knew I was skirting a trip to the ER and wondered why I couldn’t hear the finish line. Turns out it was pretty hot there too and no one was making much noise.
After crossing the finish, I unleashed my dirty little secret.
No I didn’t want beer or a hot dog. I wanted ice on the back of my neck, under the knees, on top of the knees. It took 3 people with ice in both hands for 20 minutes to cool down my core. I’m told temperatures reached 104 (had the kind volunteer told me any lower than 98, I was going to punch someone.) I had run in the danger zone for 5 hours. One of the volunteers helping me was Megan Moriarty who is crewing me at Leadville 100.
“Megan- this is the worst I’ve ever been in an ultra. If I end up here when we’re in Leadville, we are in trouble.”
While Psycho Psummer can be a race for beginners, heat is a dangerous foe and takes a special runner , beginner or not.
I ran in the danger zone for just under 5 hours. I could call it stupid. You could call me an idiot- but I can’t emphasize enough how completely in tune and engaged I was with everything my body was going through and how often I checked in and made adjustments to keep myself safe. Still, this 50k was worse than any final 30 miles of the two 100’s I have completed.
My finish time was 6:54:21. My third loop- the one I dreaded the most… 2:19. 7 minutes faster than loop 2- and that my friends is good running. It is also good living and a good philosophy. Confront your fears head on and the results may surprise you. Loop 3- I own you. I love you and will never let you go, and although I’ve never been much for medals, since this one has the bottle opener , I love you too. It’s found it’s way into my kitchen drawer. OYO!
One final note if I may be so bold: On the course—a tasty bit of single track was added which made the race 2.5 miles longer. Keep that, it's well designed, shaded and fun to run. However, I’d suggest elimintating the “tribute,” to avoid baking on the solar oven and wobbly grass with subsequent uphill. Next – go around the hill on the way to shelter 14, this would shorten the course to the proper length and eliminate two hills.sophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-84961610056821353092012-05-22T19:23:00.002-07:002012-05-22T19:23:57.128-07:00Miwok 100k. Conquering the Unexpected.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I was huddled in an emotional fetal position. The sun was bright and my water was warm, and at approxiamately mile 28 I started to feel like walking the rest of the race might be ok. The worst part is that this wasn't even my my first emotional crash.<br />
<br />
Headed down a 2 mile hill into an aid station at mile 12, my fingers had gotten so cold and red I couldn't open my s-caps. Why didn't I pack thin gloves? I've battled cold fingers all my life. In my first career as a violinist, I would hog the hand dryers, bring hot hands, rub, swing - really anything to get the circulation from my subconcious where it was feeding whatever performance anxiety I was experiencing to the tips of my fingers where it could assist in the making of music. <br />
<br />
Running is not playing the violin so you wouldn't expect cold fingers could make or break a race- but it triggered something deep inside me. Fumbling with my zip lock of s-caps, I was clearly distraught.<br />
<br />
"What's wrong? What can I get you?" A volunteer was trying to help. I continued my exasperated and useless attempt to get an S-cap.<br />
"My hands are just so cold. They are so cold." I was shaking my head. No one else seemed at all bothered by cold fingers. Just me. Alone in my unique pain. Alone at the race. Alone.<br />
<br />
"Would you like my gloves?"<br />
"Yes."<br />
I would say, I couldn't believe it-except the week before my friend Kurt and I had given out the batteries in our headlamps to the final runner and his pacer at Free State 100k. The runner had sat down and wanted to quit- and without the batteries he would have had no choice. So, I knew that volunteers exhibit generous acts of kindness.<br />
<br />
Still....<br />
<br />
Payback or not- the next part was unexpected. He pulled out Mizuno Breath Thermo windshell gloves. The lightest, and warmest gloves Mizuno makes. Many of you know, I am a rep for Mizuno but this man did not. I am certain he did know replacing the gloves would cost $24.99.<br />
<br />
"Sir , what is your name? Do you know Tia the race director? "<br />
"Yes, my name is Jeanott."<br />
"You have just leant gloves to the right person."<br />
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(Race Director, Tia Bodington)
I turned, choked up at the kindness and started to cry. Yes, real tears and while in real life I'll cry at anything from a tide commercial to my grandfather's funeral, somehow I've managed to complete two hundred milers, a handful of 50's and dozens of 50k's without a single tear. I wiped the tears with the glove and headed up the 2 mile ascent.<br />
<br />
I wore those gloves a long time, my own little emotional security blankie. By mile 28 they were safely tucked in the back compartment of my pack. The emotional simmer, started to rumble in the sun.<br />
<br />
I wish I'd asked for ice at the Stinson Beach aid station.<br />
<br />
"Hello Sophia, it's Leslie."<br />
Leslie and I had met on climb number one where she recognized my voice from a Trail Nerds video she'd seen online. That was cool. <br />
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Much has been said of this new course. It had 3 more miles of elevation gain. It was 2 miles longer than a 100k, which I believe makes it a 103.5k, and runner's times were off by 1 to 4 hours.<br />
There are 8 climbs according to some, 9 according to others. For perspective, here's the profile.<br />
<br />
For further reference, Leadville has 6 climbs over 100 MILES. Squashed into 64 miles this new course was gloriously brutal. Each time I arrived exhausted to the peaks and would see the spectacular views I'd say "Kumba-fucking -ya." Although I've been working on my trail singing- I never belted out the whole song.<br /> There are spectacular views of the Golden Gate Bridge.
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Also, I managed to do such poor research on this race, I didn't realize the Dipsea trail has a series of about 1,000 steps built into the side of a mountain. <br />
<br />
It was those steps that really cracked my rhythm. I have a specific and effective way of getting up hills and mountains which involves taking very small steps and high turnover. Having some man-made wooden railroad tie dictate my steppage, was frustrating. I allowed myself to get frustrated.<br />
<br />
Back to that first career in music, I had a voice teacher (yes, I actually got some legit training in the singing you runners hear on the trail) David Greedy told me "Frustration serves no purpose. It is a luxury we cannot afford ourselves." <br />
<br />
I have carried that advice on many successful ultras, but this time frustration snuck up on me. Between the warm water, steps and the fact that I was having trouble eliminating the food from the prior night's carbo load, frustration snuck up on me like a quiet, nasty competitor you arrogantly underestimated.<br />
<br />
I needed help and it came in the form of Leslie. She was willing to share her race with me and we really managed to help each other through ups and downs for the next 22 miles. The other great thing, was Leslie knew the trail which took out some of the unexpecteds.<br />
<br />
"Will there be more steps? Please say no."<br />
Her yes answer and prep for them even if it was a teasing-- "Oh look Sophia, your favorite-- more steps," really helped ease my anxiety. I still called her a bitch everytime we saw steps. <br />
<br />
Now the race shifted from a pity party to more of a giant Mudbabe Monday. We also leap frogged along with another Californian named Rohanna whose husband was crewing her. It was her first 100k and she really had a plan including her elixir of life, Carbo-Pro which her husband replenished at each aid station.<br />
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"Hey Rohanna!" we'd caught up to her after the Muir beach aid station, where Dave Mackey came through for a second time. Yes, I was at mile 34 and Mr. Mackey was at about 56. Not bad for a girl from Kansas?! Groan. <br />
<br />
She had one of the funniest interactions at an aid station of the day. When she couldn't find her husband (for the Carbo Pro) the aid worker looked at her and said "We have a lot of other husbands here, can they help you?" She eventually found him. Meanwhile, I'd been on a quest for ice. They had very little, but gave me a few pieces. One I put in my mouth and the cold, beautiful sensation was energizing. <br />
<br />
Next funny piece: I have a new move. On my second elimination, I used every corner of my last babe wipe. (that's not the move.) When I caught up to Rohanna, I mentioned the worry that there might be toxic residue in my clevage. She handed me her zip back of babe wipes. At this point, I didn't want to lose her and wanted to return the unused ones, so I dropped my Meridian skirt to my knees and ran along behind her laughing, lower birthday suit to the sky and wind while getting the good wipe. Go ahead . Try it. You better have a good base in technical running, because the arm twist can throw you way off. I kind of felt like the guys in the Tour de France with their crews treating their saddle sores, except I was ULTRAPHIA from Kansas, climbing the mountains with the natives and being the one woman crew.<br />
<br />
Met up with Leslie at the next aid station where they LOADED us with ice and I broke a new record of snarfing melon. It was in such small pieces. The kind that indicate, they may be running low-- I could also tell by the look in the volunteers eyes, as I've been there. I was glad when there was still melon at the end of the day at the final aid station. Tia- if you ran out of melon- it's probably my fault. Sorry. So now I owe Miwok one pair of gloves and a couple cantaloupes. <br />
<br />
Mile 50: I call this "the pacerless aid station." Everyone got a pacer but me. Rohanna had peppy little firecracker in a pink half zip. Leslie got her dashingly handsome friend, Jeff. <br />
"Bitches. That's what I'm calling the blog on this race. You Leslie and Tia Bodington with those darn steps." <br />
Jeff: "Can I please be dashingly handsome in your blog." <br />
As you can see, I've given Jeff his wish. Honestly the truth is more flattering. Jeff is one of those guys where you instantly feel a generous spirit and honesty. I found out after the race that he gave his headlamp to Lisa Henson who works for Ultrarunning magazine for the end of her Miwok journey. When I saw this, I recalled hearing Lisa talking about her astigmatism and that it was hard to see the trail. I can only imagine how she suffered until he gave her the headlamp. You see, Lisa, like many had no idea how long this race would take. She's completed it in 12:30 before- well before dark. <br />
<br />
I learned this from Lisa at mile 13- here we are: Sorry about the fist pump. I tend to block runners on my right.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
We were climbing away and I complimented her on her skirt.<br />
"I love your sunflower print skirt. I am from Kansas."<br />
"Are you Sophia Wharton? I'm Lisa Henson." <br />
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Until that moment Lisa and I had only chatted on the phone and emailed. I truly can't tell you how amazing it felt at a race I went to alone to have someone know who I was. I asked her what to expect for a time at the race.<br />
"I have no idea. I've done it in 12:30 , but 13:30 would be great."<br />
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At that point I put 13:30 in my head. By mile 40, the number slipped to 14. At some point, I just wished the race was a 50 miler. At mile 50 I forgot to pick up Powerbar Gels from my drop bag. There were 8 brutal miles to the next aid station and all I had was water and S-caps. <br />
<br />
A third emotional curl. I see Jeff and Leslie getting further and further away, and uphill. <br />
<br />
Rohanna and her Pink Pacer came along. Rohanna was concentrating. <br />
"Hey how are you? Need anything? " Pink Pacer.<br />
"I have no nutrition. I forgot to grab it at the aid station." <br />
"Here, do you like Honey Stingers? "<br />
I'd never had the honey stinger gels which are just straight honey with caffiene. They taste sickly sweet and slightly medicinal. The effect on my body was like crack. In addition, the sun was setting and the cooler temperature was refreshing. <br />
<br />
I rounded down the mountain and saw Leslie and Jeff.<br />
"She'll be comin' round the Mountain..." I was singing. It was cheesy and quite silly, but who cares? I was high on life, running, beauty, new friends and Honey stingers.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, Leslie would have stomache issues and I wouldn't see her until the end of the race. <br />
<br />
8 miles to go, and all I did was pass people. Flatish for 2 miles and I felt like I was flying.<br />
"Hey- she's running! Good job" A volunteer was directing traffic at a road crossing.<br />
"Thanks- I feel like I'm a good runner, but my time is NOT going to reflect that." <br />
"Everyone is 2 to 3 hours slower this year. One more climb and it's easy from there out!" <br />
Thanks for the gusto!<br />
I started climbing faster than I had all day. A runner and his pacer offered that I could run with them, if I'd like.<br />
"You look like you may not need it, though."<br />
"Thanks, but I am feeling great now. I have a plan. I'm from Kansas and that's where I train." Our rolling hills will never boast 2 mile climbs, but if you put your mind to it, you can get some solid training here in the plains.<br /> (Special note: Thank you to Glenn Tachiyama for this beautiful photo)
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<br />
A final crest to the downhill boasted a shimmering sunset before the moon took over. Tonight was the night the moon would be closest to the earth. "Buffalo Gals won't you come out tonight.. and dance by the light of the moon."<br />
<br />
I continued to pass all the way down the steps and steps. Even one person as we got to the last 2 tenths of road. I put 36 seconds between our finishes. It was a final wind I have only dreamed of (and dreamed of often.) Something I wanted so bad for Rocky Racoon 100. But it didn't happen there, it happened here at Miwok, where it was completely unexpected.<br />
<br />
Mastering ultrarunning depends on eliminating as many of the unexpected elements as possible through experience and training. But, reacting to the unexpected and enjoying it is aslo part of the journey- and it is always the unexpected elements that make a race memorable. <br />
Finish time: 15 hours 14 minutes.<br />
<br />
Thank you to my unexpecteds:<br />
Jeanott<br />
Leslie<br />
Rohanna<br />
Pink Pacer<br />
Jeff<br />
Lisa<br />
Tia and your unexpectedly powerful and life altering course<br />
The steps<br />
<br />
Things to note:<br />
1. I am stupid if an aid station is at the bottom of a hill. Think ahead next time and prepare for where you are going instead of just being in the present.<br />
2. Average climb time: 40 to 45 minutes<br />
3. Powerbar energy blasts melt in a drop bag that sits in the sun<br />
4. Get shirt with printed on it "Runner wants ICE in pack." It is the single most effective difference maker for me in a race. (even on a cold day.)<br />
5. Add some stair climbing in the middle of long runs, if I'm fortunate enough to get in next year. <br />
6. I have run races where I knew the course and my plan was so tight, I didn't meet or chat much with other runners. I am grateful that I went into this race with a more flexible plan or I wouldn't have made it through as successfully. And yes, sometimes success does not come in 12 or 13 hour increments. Sometimes success is 15:14 by the light of the supermoon.sophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-38240102689056623572012-05-11T19:09:00.000-07:002012-05-11T19:16:07.770-07:00Land's End, New Beginnings.Lined up they look like Pan Am sterwardesses-back when you had to be gorgeous, smart and efficient to get the job. Megan, Amanda, Heather, Sophia (me), Allison, Faith, Donna and later another Megan and Theresa. <br />
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Free State's Land's End aide station.
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I noticed as I sent a photo I snapped on my phone that on one side of the aid station photos were labelled by GPS as Kanwaka and on the other Lawrence.
This crux between the two, an oasis at mile 8 and 18 of a 21 mile loop, where on this day every runner flew first class.<br />
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"Would you like an S-cap?" Megan Jones, whose husband was running the 100k. It was her first time volunteering and she proved a very quick study, and able to dish out S-caps like a phameceutical phenom. <br />
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"Coke or Sprite?" Amanda.<br />
"Baby wipe for you face?" Allison.<br />
"Let me fill that pack." Donna.<br />(without taking off the pack, we filled- FAST.)
<br />
"Stomache issues? Here's a ginger chew."
And so the day went. We grabbed, filled, dished and repaired. <br />
"Thanks ladies. You all are incredible." Over and over.<br />
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It must be pointed out that there were at times 3 men around, but everyone just loved the beautiful ladies. My long time Saturday running buddy Kurt was the brains and brawn behind the operation hauling supplies in his 4x4 pick up truck and making sure everyone was headed in the right direction. Not his usual fare, on this day he indulges in an affinity for Pringles and PBR.<br />
<br />
4 different races. 2 different start times. The epicenter of the race was Land's End, with two passes per loop. An added bonus this year, the half marathoners turned around at Land's End. <br />
<br />
" Alright everybody, listen up! We now have runner's with all four races coming and going in each direction. Awesome." Kurt.<br /> (Kurt's back is to you in the black and blue shirt- he's yelling directions.)
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The strategy: Make sure the half marathoners make a hairpin turn. Make sure the marathoners, 40's and 100 k's go straight, meanwhile watch for the frontrunners in the 40 and 100k as they head into the aid station for a second pass and make sure they head out the correct direction. Once this begins, it never stops, but the focus does shift. <br />
<br />
The buffet style aid work shifts to an atmosphere of an army MASH unit. <br />
<br />
40 miles and 100k are a long way. It can mean a lot of mistakes, especially in a race that attracts many first timers. But it also gives the runner a lot of miles to fix their mistakes with the correct instruction. <br />
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My friend Danny who is a nurse and affectionately called "Mr. Mudbabe," due to his affinity for the weekly Mudbabe Monday runs was another of the 3 fellows and joined us after running the half.<br />
"Sophia- come over here- this guy wants to quit." <br />
I headed over to assess.<br />
A firing of questions results in learning the runner needs salt.
"Take two S-caps, head to the next aid station- take two more and we'll see you back here in 10 miles."
It worked- he left and was back stronger for an even stronger finish.
This constant re-grouping and evaluating of runners was exhausting but fullfilling. It pushed my skill as an extreme extrovert to the limit. And it was fun.
"Do you want to touch the buckle?"
I'd worn the Free State 100k buckle, just in case we had a runner who wanted to quit. However, this ended up being just a fun interaction with Lloyd Lantz one of my favorite local runners.
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Actually what he needed more and we provided was a tight ankle wrap for a twisted ankle. The twisted humor, an added bonus.
"Why is HE telling me I look good?" One of the male runners was sitting and re-grouping.
"I want HER to tell me I look good."
"YOU LOOK GREAT!" Squeeled the girls.
"Massage?" Allison.
Yes, today in a sport still dominated by men, the women ruled.
br />
<br />
During a lull in the craziness, I noticed we were getting low on Pringles and decided to send Megan for more from the finish line, so Kurt could continue his love affair with the red tube of Pringles that was now sporting a fake mustache. <br />
<br />
"I brought fake mustaches for everyone." Danny. I put one on and found it a bit hot, eventually it found a home on my signature cowboy hat. Danny's ended up on the Pringles after posing for this photo with my bearded Armenian friend Seroj. Man #3. Holding the package of fake stashes, I looked over skeptically.<br />
"I guess you don't need a fake mustache?"<br />
"I don't need a fake nose either, Sophia."<br />
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<br />
Later I jumped in and paced my friend Erin for 23 miles on her first 100k. She ran a smart, planned race and didn't need much help. Still the friendship and commaraderie of a pacer is always a welcome lift.
After her finish I went back to Land's End.
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The scene was reduced to one table with cold quesedillas, soda, a few oranges and Kurt's empty can of Pringles.
Kurt and Heather greeted me warmly and I sent Heather off to cheer in our friend Amanda (also on her first 100k- Heather had also done double duty, pacing Amanda in her second loop.)
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For three years I helped Race Direct Free State along with about 20 other races per year. Last year's Free State was the last race I co-race directed with my now friend and former fiancee Ben Holmes. Just one look at this blog exemplifies the struggle I've had to put any emotion into words. The void was vast as I stumbled in a community I had worked to grow. I focussed on group runs instead of volunteers. Without the race directing I felt small. Each time I got a call about races and had to explain my new status, it stung. Over and over again. I ran. I hurt. I gave. I grew.
I used to joke when I race directed and delegated tasks that I must not be good at anything, because everyone had a job but me. I often felt I wasn't a very good volunteer. But now things are different. In the past year, to fill the emotional void, I raced, paced, planned and thought. I evolved and became complete as a runner, friend and volunteer.
With each group headed into the aid station there were people I knew and shouts of happy hellos. Many close friends and friends of friends. The void diminished and I felt a warm sense of belonging that only comes when energy is exchanged on several different levels. I travel a lot for my work with Mizuno running. In that travel, I have developed many nurturing "home away from homes." One of those is Wichita which was well represented not just by runners, but by Megan Jones my little volunteer protege who had contacted me personally about volunteering. My new experiences, the foundation. My constant friends, Kurt, Mark, Erica, Allison, Danny, Heather and Erin add another layer of goodness. So now here at the cornerstone of Clinton Lake, a place very dear to my heart, I realized my world was not smaller, but larger.
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Mud Hugs,
Sophiasophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-25168151147584463822012-04-24T09:28:00.001-07:002012-04-24T17:03:38.086-07:00A step above the rest....66 degrees outside and beautiful. A MudBabe Monday-but I wasn't headed for an early loop at the park--another plan was in place and I was a little terrified.<br />
"Sophia, you're squeezing really hard-are you just holding on or are you nervous?"<br />
"Just holding on." I lied. You see, I was perched on the back of a sleek, red Ducati for the first time. Well sort of. The performance motorcycle isn't really built for two. See that aerodynamic fender type thing behind the driver's seat, about 6 inches up-- that was where my rump was supposed to plant. But as a short woman with a short ratio waist to shoulder, I had no chance. <br />
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I kept slipping into the driver's well, where my friend Seroj, a motorcycle junkie was expertly steering my petrified self.<br />
<br />
"You can't be nervous." <br />
<br />
"This back seat isn't worth shit." I said as I tried to scootch back up on my perch. <br />
<br />
"I know- just give me the thumbs up if you want to go faster and thumbs down for slower." <br />
<br />
I really don't scare easily. I run far. 100 miles through the night... but... the surge of going from 0 to 55 in a matter of seconds made me start to pray. Well, sort of. It was more a list of things I was thankful for and maybe an amend or two, and perhaps a request that if we were to crash, I wouldn't be rendered incapable of either running or playing the violin.<br />
<br />
Regroup.<br />
<br />
I breathed out and started to listen to the low and staedy sound of the bike. So unlike the whiny motocycles that used to speed past my parent's home in Iowa, and began to enjoy the moment. Low turns on the clover leaf (with very few other cars to make me nervous) were exhilarating and powerful.<br />
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A trip down Shawnee Mission Parkway got some admiring nods and smiles from folks trapped in cars on this beautiful day. I felt cool.<br />
<br />
We rolled up to a little spot at Shawnee Mission Park, I actually have never been to. I guess we were going to have a kumbaya moment. I checked my watch, as I couldn't really make an entrance at Mudbabe Mondays if I was late. But the day was beautiful and we are young, so I don't mention the time. Instead, I ask Seroj about the sound of the bike.<br />
<br />
"Was that a Ducati I heard?"<br />
We'd walked down a path to the water where an older man with few teeth was sitting on a 55 year old Harley.<br />
<br />
I must admit, I know very little beyond the Harley stores and Sturgis when it comes to motorcyles. I know there are people who ride these things called "crotch rockets," and that the Harley people feel superior. At this moment, I begin to learn that there is a step above both of those, and it is a Ducati. <br />
<br />
As we went back up the hill to finish the ride, a father and his kids gathered at the curb to watch us drive off. Eyes wide and smiling. I made a joke about my perch, mounted, and despite trying really hard to stay up there, promptly slipped down as we headed off to my run. Humility and laughing at yourself is such an important aspect in life- and I was blissfully happy. <br />
<br />
Although I was late for a grand entrance at the run, I felt like royalty on that bike, only cooler. <br />
However, do I think I'm a step above the rest for being on the bike? Not at all--since I couldn't even stay on the seat. A position, that no doubt left my escort quite uncomfortable as his gentleman parts were pressed against the very hot gas tank.
<br />
In life, it is the unexpected that makes it interesting. I did expect to be scared. I also expeted to regroup, after all that is what I do everytime I race. I didn't expect the admiration. Let's face it, the Wharton's (my family) are obviously not fans of motorcycles. But they are fans of talent and quality. So I found myself feeling unexpectedly comfortable and at home, as I rode on a premier piece of machinery under the expert care of my friend.sophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-56496511240923439862012-03-13T16:56:00.002-07:002012-04-24T17:03:15.838-07:00Finding the Key...When I was a child, my mother , Marjorie was a chronic key loser. The episodes would result in spastic fits of shaking her purse and frantically searching the contents, which generally resulted in nothing. A trip backtracking in her mind and retracing her steps generally lead her to the purse, where, if she could muster a calmer search, she'd find the keys.<br /><br />I vowed with my first set of dorm keys, never to be a key loser. I wore shorts with pockets and when I grew older, carried a purse. As an adult, I refined my system to include a keychain with a carabiner to hook the keys either on the purse or my person. When I walk into my house, the keys go into a bowl on an antique chest in the entryway. <br /><br />Like all systems when you include the human element , they inveitably fail. I've had many failures with my keys, but generally a calm search and journey through my head, would result in the keys. That is until a few months ago.<br /><br />I was calm. I searched. I knew they <em>had</em> to be in the house. I looked in the bowl, searched all my purses, pockets and weird crannys my right hand will land on without my thinking. (Hey it's worked in the past-- just walk in the door without thinking, retrace your steps with careful attention to where your right hand lands-- bingo!) So why couldn't I find the keys? (These keys had something special on them, too. The only original to the front door--I had one duplicate, but attempts to make dupes of the dupe, wouldn't open the door. An attempt to get dupes of the orginal in November, resulted in some backwards keys.)<br /><br />After two months of using the spare set, it was time for drastic action. Sort through every closet. Spring cleaning in January? Well, it had been a warm winter. This is something I often do-- turn a bad situation into a good one, by accomplishing a large task while in the process of finding something lost. Perhaps because of my confidence in the fact that I <em>knew</em> the keys were in the house, I slipped into a bad habit, and procrastinated the cleaning party. I was, after all in the middle of booking season and the final stretches of training for a 100 mile race. <br /><br />Then something terrible happened-- I found the keys in a coat in my car. The house was still a mess. <br /><br />Of course, I was elated to find the keys, but was disappointed in myself for just letting life happen to me on something important like my keys. Even if they weren't in the house-- I am a better person than that. I turn bad situations into good ones. Had I sorted through the house, I would have had a deliriously tidy home and would have <em>known</em> the keys were not in the house. <br /><br />Here are my thoughts on this situation:<br />What if it wasn't a set of keys you were looking for? Perhaps it was love, friendship or a job. <br /><br />1. We often think we <em>know</em> where something is and struggle herorically to find it. It may result in a wonderful personal journey and growth-- even though we <em>can't</em> ever find it because we simply aren't looking in the right place. <br /><br />2. If we <em>find</em> something (physical or emotional ) without the strong and cleansing personal journey and bring it back into the mess, chances of losing it again are pretty high. 3. (from my mother) If you look frantically, you won't find what you're looking for, even if you're in the right place. <br /><br />With this in mind, I put the keys in their bowl on the antique chest inside the door and started sorting through the closets and piles of paper that had accumulated over the 3 months. And I made an even firmer committment to my personal rules and standards.<br /><br />Another observation of myself (who I am genuinely amused by at times...) You can't control loss. It happens. It hurts, and often it's permanent. All you really can control is the journey and being ready when something great finds you from an unexpected place.sophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-5978719057206590972011-07-11T07:37:00.000-07:002011-07-11T07:47:05.721-07:00POO Babes across the Pond. from THE MAJORAlrighty-- I have about 10 blogs swirling in my crazed mind-- yet not done. So here's one from Major Erin-- from "across the Pond."<br /><br />Okay- so it has been about a month since my last effort was put forth to the blog… I am happy to say that my running has been about as steady as it can be here… despite the ceremonies for fallen Soldiers, purple heart awards presentations, and well a whole other litany of random events that have interrupted the nightly run… But things here are starting to settle into a rhythm which makes it easier and easier to break away during the day to get a good 6 miles in or so. <br />So I left you guys back in late May, I think my longest run had been a 5K or 4 miles… and really with no one else but me… but a Captain, Caitlin Hall, who came in from the FOB, and she wanted to run… so we did and we went by the most famous of land features here on Kandahar Airfield, the Poo Pond. It was about 100+ degrees out that day- Caitlin was kicking my ass after we had both done intervals the day prior… My legs were a little heavy, and well we went about 3.5 and that I think was the longest run up to that point… As you can see we are really afforded the opportunity to run in about the most uncomfortable running clothes ever… the Army Physical Fitness Uniform… the shorts are super scratchy and the t-shirts are usually huge and don’t forget the mandatory reflective belt to further add to your annoyance while running in broad daylight. Luckily the Army decided awhile back to actually let us wear all white ankle socks of the running type, before it was all mid-calf old man socks.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFvsl8K5bktLVdwPjx1ztHWMT2BVGf6UOPzSj2YTqgm96mZtZy-yM7TM7OjsBL3Q_-qAMsO3Txv3U44mgeysMFVoMUXQE68gMWjNQTV8q8BEN6Yh7ip-XaGuswRGBvOUA7TjQ7NxJXZl8E/s1600/erin+2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 143px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFvsl8K5bktLVdwPjx1ztHWMT2BVGf6UOPzSj2YTqgm96mZtZy-yM7TM7OjsBL3Q_-qAMsO3Txv3U44mgeysMFVoMUXQE68gMWjNQTV8q8BEN6Yh7ip-XaGuswRGBvOUA7TjQ7NxJXZl8E/s320/erin+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628105296316458834" /></a><br /><br /> <br />Oddly enough the Poo Pond doesn’t smell when you are right next to it… it really smells several feet away or even way across the airfield depending on how the wind blows. I have smelled it while running over a mile away and almost heaved- it is that bad… Now that it has gotten really hot I am pretty sure I will not be running by there anytime soon. Apparently the Poo Pond dates back to the Russians in Afghanistan. It is alleged that the Poo-Pond has been emptied before. There are also many an urban-legend about people swimming, diving into, and doing various other things in the Poo Pond. I have not confirmed the truth of any of them… nor would I want to find myself swimming with the fishes in said poo filled pond. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNv4X-nLz3MKBRt9C1w6rW7nLp3nLdarGzASIOKVN3YPxb4VSl7XOg8tkqjc3Y7V3tQNB5T3w1mmozmNJH6lrfg0z2z4nC_jvuZzLQPKP-mHSQ354zkpst4NNi_PFTKyAVpL1vlts8fwD_/s1600/erin+3.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNv4X-nLz3MKBRt9C1w6rW7nLp3nLdarGzASIOKVN3YPxb4VSl7XOg8tkqjc3Y7V3tQNB5T3w1mmozmNJH6lrfg0z2z4nC_jvuZzLQPKP-mHSQ354zkpst4NNi_PFTKyAVpL1vlts8fwD_/s320/erin+3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628105538002807826" /></a><br /><br /> I There is a small off shoot of the Poo-Pond; I like to call it the Poo-Canal. The Poo Canal runs in between the airfield and the road, sort of moat like, and you get to run next to it for a good half-mile on the six-mile route here; that route also takes you by the Tim Horton’s Coffee shop, although sometimes I really am tempted to stop in on a run, sort of like an aid station, I have refrained. Maybe if I tackle the Airfield Loop twice (18 Miles) I will stop! <br /><br /><br />So as you can see it was fairly clear out that day, and not too dusty- normally it is super dusty- which is why we sport the “eye pro” I also chew gum which is weird, but it seems to keep your mouth from getting all sandy… As it is getting hotter and hotter every day, the dust seems to be getting worse. <br />The pictures below are from my other out and back lolli-pond, which is the tail end of the 6 mile loop too. I call it the NATO Pond 4- out to the pond and back- you can vary the mileage by the number of loops around the pond… <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQQZzxA9F6N3VSrS0UzOQVpfIAONCX0B_U_0fQQXyNKJVU_gjnnidM7MA6y-6I0jkfKrGBI2fmWSgz-gfLzxCo5sug8jNuW75jysjjECnI4fErt3PcXOKduZHcsfYgYY-cL8VI46cGhTBl/s1600/erin+6.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQQZzxA9F6N3VSrS0UzOQVpfIAONCX0B_U_0fQQXyNKJVU_gjnnidM7MA6y-6I0jkfKrGBI2fmWSgz-gfLzxCo5sug8jNuW75jysjjECnI4fErt3PcXOKduZHcsfYgYY-cL8VI46cGhTBl/s320/erin+6.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628105701510559554" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpjw2AbVaaUu_t2kHfCmZRr4vjnDJ0Vg2FBIoAOaHMftwptzRUCoZmhlm-ifROtaQL3jOX8TlbMFczUAibzIl3LFsxv7s7MX497zN7t7vh3Decjea1FfdlqiiVFA7FE_tt1S03UVGc6PhF/s1600/erin+7.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpjw2AbVaaUu_t2kHfCmZRr4vjnDJ0Vg2FBIoAOaHMftwptzRUCoZmhlm-ifROtaQL3jOX8TlbMFczUAibzIl3LFsxv7s7MX497zN7t7vh3Decjea1FfdlqiiVFA7FE_tt1S03UVGc6PhF/s320/erin+7.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628106017033299554" /></a>sophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-27563678872536217062011-05-22T17:58:00.001-07:002011-05-22T18:00:58.192-07:00Erin's Blog. "Me my Mizuno's and Afghanistan"<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRtAxj8UGvGI42BmgAw-Lu03AUq6IIHTPtcahVLLHb7nrUD93quBEJBhLlO0N71Tu9XTrD6insPOS9u3PWA_Ody_A_luFAGycja6H_yLLpZNP3l4xkC4kOEGZXbPkkHyxiQy3T6Ue45_JX/s1600/DSC01117.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRtAxj8UGvGI42BmgAw-Lu03AUq6IIHTPtcahVLLHb7nrUD93quBEJBhLlO0N71Tu9XTrD6insPOS9u3PWA_Ody_A_luFAGycja6H_yLLpZNP3l4xkC4kOEGZXbPkkHyxiQy3T6Ue45_JX/s320/DSC01117.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609709985535990290" /></a><br />Me, My Mizunos and Afghanistan…<br />This is from our good Friend Major Erin Miller. <br /><br />The creation…<br /> I deployed to Afghanistan in February 2011, leaving my running friends, mainly the Mud Babes and my Dog Rippin’, behind in the States and landed safely in Kandahar on the 24th, hoping that I might get some running in before the brunt of my unit hit ground- I was sadly mistaken. As days turned into weeks and then into a couple of months, I finally got my act together… and that was it- I went out running… and it sucked… mainly because of my running shoes… I had packed in such a rush that the wet soggy Ascends and Cabrakans sat drying by the door while my nice and clean other ones got thrown in the bag. Of course probably with the intention of ordering or shipping my trusty Mizunos… well that didn’t happen initially… <br />So the motivation came when I started to feel REALLY, REALLY out of shape, out of energy and generally angry about most things… so I ran… it was only two miles but it felt like twenty… it was hot and dusty and well running on the gravel was killing my feet… I got back emailed my mom and had her send the Garmin… and then another run- this time in the morning- thinking maybe it was the heat… but nope… my feet and legs were killing me… and that three and a half made the difference- and I ordered the Wave Ascend 5s… two pair! <br />I patiently awaited the arrival of my new shoes. I continued to suffer through several days of running - constantly asking the main clerk if they had arrived…. And finally the day came… and I was SUPER EXCITED! And I was not disappointed a bit… <br />The next day was a bit rough for us here in Afghanistan- we lost a Soldier. Part of my job here is to participate in a “Ramp Ceremony” which is the send off of our fallen brother or sister in arms as the remains are loaded into the back of a military Aircraft bound for the states. A somber ceremony that really brings you back to reality… this was unfortunately not the first one of our year here… it was that day when I was out for a run- a short one- three miles or so- and the thought came to me… maybe a blog could be the best way to communicate my story with my friends and those who maybe want to read about a ultra-marathon-ing trail running dog loving Major in the Army while deployed to Afghanistan... There are not a lot of outlets for a woman like me deployed in a predominately male organization… so my thoughts on a run are how I bring myself back to center… sp this might get interesting…<br />I hope my blog does not bore you- but brings you along on my journey… a journey to survive twelve months or so away from family and friends, and to reach a goal for training- not sure what I am going to train for- but maybe we will start with a 50K… I might be able to find one of those on leave to run with the mud babes…sophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-35909228430492038892011-05-09T20:50:00.000-07:002011-05-09T21:29:11.944-07:00When love isn't enough<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWh0i0ejN1cqG2YH6mmBvD-VPtLFcfqlr7n3KCflcPiYpdKBry5-KcfT8H8XiZgDC-XaoCaNr3gaPvKmLz6TfoO8ztiQZEuXilMUIMu5_eC7IrjkIPWYQ058u5HfXIjUt6c-FhPn2AQGcs/s1600/water+wide.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWh0i0ejN1cqG2YH6mmBvD-VPtLFcfqlr7n3KCflcPiYpdKBry5-KcfT8H8XiZgDC-XaoCaNr3gaPvKmLz6TfoO8ztiQZEuXilMUIMu5_eC7IrjkIPWYQ058u5HfXIjUt6c-FhPn2AQGcs/s320/water+wide.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604930075280923202" /></a><br /><br />This photo says so much about the way I feel right now. Surrounded by rocks-- headed toward water with an instrument that would surely be ruined if it got wet. I know I used to think that I could defy all odds and use the instrument as a paddle over the water, and not damage it. Just focus on the goal. The rest will simply fall in place. I have learned the hard way, that is not so. <br /><br />Mid March Ben and I parted ways. Some know, others don't. While it was my decision, the pain is deep as I invested much love, energy, time and hope in the relationship over the past three years. <br /><br />I wish I could explain or answer questions, but I can not. Except that I will always love Ben.<br /><br />My new hope is that you all can learn to love me as an individual.<br /><br />Sophiasophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-54790683844654459832011-02-08T06:47:00.000-08:002011-02-09T17:27:07.778-08:00Damnation. Purgatory. Tums. Rocky Racoon 100 miler 2011<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5DPuDHs71fLlbV0EslVMp8MmIpzZZKfIAKj25p-6kjOx1_JK3fBeaxoSSihlaYoi6k11QnGFa9epuPx7FRGKUY8vA9nt1TRz-pqwbyp8hPNdrdmeNCcbcHfZE20EJ5CK0HW_Dm4gJJ7Wo/s1600/179443_10150099694288686_656653685_6117207_6147361_n.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 167px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5DPuDHs71fLlbV0EslVMp8MmIpzZZKfIAKj25p-6kjOx1_JK3fBeaxoSSihlaYoi6k11QnGFa9epuPx7FRGKUY8vA9nt1TRz-pqwbyp8hPNdrdmeNCcbcHfZE20EJ5CK0HW_Dm4gJJ7Wo/s320/179443_10150099694288686_656653685_6117207_6147361_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571361667006858530" /></a><br /><br /><br />This story begins at mile 28 as the first 28 miles of running at Rocky Racoon 100 felt like a bad day at the office. <br />I was at the Damnation aid station, mile 28 feeling gross. This is a special aid station, as it is so remote, no crews are allowed. You hit it twice per loop, and if you drop there, you have to hang the rest of the race to get a ride back. Purgatory.<br />"Have you eaten anything?" The question, over and over again from a persistent aid station worker. <br />"I've been drinking."<br />"What about calories?"<br />"I drank coke." At this point it clicks that I've been asked about eating enough, that perhaps I'm not looking too good. <br />"Do you have any potatos?"<br />"We have potato soup."<br />The day before Rocky, I got the most debilitating migrane of my life. I vomitted a chunky pink mixture out twice, once outside of Walmart, and later at the park. The second bout was like the scene from Alien.<br /><br />The thought of chunky potatos was highly unappetizing, but I looked in the cup, and it was pureed, and salty and oh so delicious. I grabbed a handful of TUMS, too and snacked on them. <br />A 6.5 mile loop later, I was back at Purgatory, and saw the same aid station worker.<br />"Well you look much better than the last time I saw you!" That was Mike. And each loop, I made sure to connect with him and give him a muddy hug-my signature- as well as the purple Mizuno skirt I was stylishly wearing.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8TjOSlQrVVPD0qVOPnYC2CFxbEGrL3mEqynLPMQxDwgssx69Z65mq1Ivs9HFIYvsS5fYOmmtmme6aIsS1XY1t_qYJBfoURkQh8lmeUp51UyfZ7TiGsK60VBVJ7urYCAU2qW94GtFRA8CD/s1600/RR100+-+02-05-2011+111+brian+sophia.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8TjOSlQrVVPD0qVOPnYC2CFxbEGrL3mEqynLPMQxDwgssx69Z65mq1Ivs9HFIYvsS5fYOmmtmme6aIsS1XY1t_qYJBfoURkQh8lmeUp51UyfZ7TiGsK60VBVJ7urYCAU2qW94GtFRA8CD/s320/RR100+-+02-05-2011+111+brian+sophia.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571865135821832546" /></a><br /><br />Finish that loop. Finish the next. Eat way more than my share of potato soup. Pig out at mile 56.6 on everything. Quesedillas, apple pie, avacado, dates, three cups of coke, more dates, two quesedillas to go. I had to walk just to digest.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ODzafBNMsbSzOsvXJAGxITTiQCPWZ9-lDoOT0l74N1xF9eqEZqpLgKRfyRD8F8pVmqKfe7HMKrQRciOhPIIH1YkhfvngfnwfnHce0M_OVzbivwky73kBnBbqHeYMPlcx3zwpd6At41rl/s1600/untitled.bmp"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ODzafBNMsbSzOsvXJAGxITTiQCPWZ9-lDoOT0l74N1xF9eqEZqpLgKRfyRD8F8pVmqKfe7HMKrQRciOhPIIH1YkhfvngfnwfnHce0M_OVzbivwky73kBnBbqHeYMPlcx3zwpd6At41rl/s320/untitled.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571362362508626626" /></a><br /><br />Mile 60: Our glorious Trail Nerd Mudbabe crew station, complete with banners, music, and Hayley my Mudbabe pacer. Many DNF'd at this point. I threw on some tights, grabbed a jacket and light and headed back out. I saw Ben, my fiancee a couple miles in and was so deliriously happy. We exchanged a very big hug and I carried on.<br /><br />I was so HOT. That just didn't seem right. I shed a layer of tights at the first aid station, but just couldn't feel ok. (probably all that food fighting to digest. Poor body, very confused) I was too cold without the jacket, too hot with it. One layer of Mizuno Breath Thermo and an Elixir jacket. Any time I ran, I roasted. I started walking more.<br /><br />Damnation /Purgatory: I consider changing my base layer, but fortunately stuck with the plan. That was a good decision. A bad one was to switch the battery in my flashlight. It must've been a dud battery, because the flashlight died. I had a lame headlamp and was forced to walk the rooted section. Now I was cold. So cold.<br /><br />Mile 73: I was stumbling, and falling asleep while running. I slowed down and joined some gals I'd chatted with before DP (Damnation Purgatory). Earlier they had been playing a game, and asked if I wanted to join. <br /><br />"I am ready to play the game now. I need your help, I am falling asleep."<br />Nikki and Katie. Cool chicks from Colorado. Nikki was an experienced pacer. Katie was running a smart first hundred. I instantly liked them both. As an added bonus, Nikki had just read the Trail Runner magazine that had the article about the Trail Nerds in it, and knew who I was.<br /><br />"Sophia... I love that name! make sure you download the song." And oh yeah, I can't remember the band Nikki told me sang the Sophia song. <br /><br />Headed into the main station to pick up Hayley, the two left me with a piece of sage advice. <br />"The last loop takes care of itself."<br />Ok, makes sense. I just need some sort of mantra.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9hNj3gGgrhUEsLraN-NN88ibkSy8scfETSHgi5fgx0rs9J-NpO9SF7Xww-L9fmSQtdUhT0Ys0q2VE5FI3Rh5v0Ir5sXagSt4FUHGE9Y1XfTFPQpui4tgGaBtVjQSF_1bmKyVjkz4uT5v0/s1600/cool+hayley.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9hNj3gGgrhUEsLraN-NN88ibkSy8scfETSHgi5fgx0rs9J-NpO9SF7Xww-L9fmSQtdUhT0Ys0q2VE5FI3Rh5v0Ir5sXagSt4FUHGE9Y1XfTFPQpui4tgGaBtVjQSF_1bmKyVjkz4uT5v0/s320/cool+hayley.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571359455731378386" /></a><br /><br />Mile 80: Enter Hayley. I re bundled up. Dry Breath Thermo. Double BT. Triple for Hayley who wasn't warmed up. Elixir jackets. Breath Thermo tights. Adorable skirts.<br />The air was moist and it was 30 degrees. It was so dark and my light was awful. Matty Mullins hooks me up with a better headlamp and power flashlight. <br /><br />I just start to cry when I think of Hayley and how much she invested in this race for me. Extra long hours at work the week before so she could have 3 days off, then picking up the extra crew duties for Ben when 2 of our posse, couldn't make it down due to the snow. The extraordinary part, is she'd never crewed or paced before. She held the responsibility, like a champion weightlifter going for the world record. <br /><br />We are hiking now, as I'd just walked too much to get back to running. I loved having this time with Hayley. We talked and talked about everything. <br />"I bet this is really beautiful during the day. I wish I'd gotten to see it." Hayley had been so busy crewing she didn't get a chance to see the trail in daylight.<br />"Oh, I went back and walked Puccini at 8am and 4pm." Our chiueagle who made the journey, but camped out in the hotel room.<br />"That is so incredible of you. Did he give you a head hug?"<br />"yes.."<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6BBPRwn9CRiyhS9MBM6zCBpI0lP_Hc6Je7EPSfaqx89L1yE0kBCsPIYuWWa5Bis2UidjRLrONwI5JWnPldwUr1Z9oyZMwv8IIlVvFcI95hBFSO0vk6xK8pD0Y5wpdKoapSSNQjen2GCRr/s1600/puccini+1.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6BBPRwn9CRiyhS9MBM6zCBpI0lP_Hc6Je7EPSfaqx89L1yE0kBCsPIYuWWa5Bis2UidjRLrONwI5JWnPldwUr1Z9oyZMwv8IIlVvFcI95hBFSO0vk6xK8pD0Y5wpdKoapSSNQjen2GCRr/s320/puccini+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571359160846123170" /></a><br /><br />Mile 82: "Where is Ben? Why haven't I seen him?" It was about the 4th time I asked.<br />"Sophia, argh.. I just have to tell you. Ben dropped. Everyone told me not to tell you. His cold was just terrible and he was just trembling. He's in the hotel room sleeping. Well just coughing really. He just wants you to finish. He's so proud of you."<br />I was so relieved to know he was safe, and glad she didn't tell me at the main aid station. <br />Mile 92: Last stop at DP. My body was going sideways, my head was spinning in circles. I had had another bout of sleepiness, and standing by the heater, my equilibrium was off. <br /><br />I sat down in a chair and put my head down between my knees. As I raised my head slightly, I could see Hayley's profile. Her lips were pursed in a determined position and her eyes were laser focussed. In front of me were zombies. 5 silent quitters, none of which were bleading, all of which were headed to the day after hell of a DNF at mile 92. <br /><br />I was up. Downed the tepid coffe, slurrped the chicken broth and headed out of Purgatory and into-- THE LIGHT. THE SUN HAD COME UP. Hayley was going to get to experience the beautiful trail in the light.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN4BD6ckoKF3lDej6eaI5cQXTa3R8cspv00WE0g4DZ5K9Ck6GXVBjn_UfPmB_8paBgO1wMPdYhlmifSeB6KOc_GOPGLe29GLOsl44UcHDWNvCF2lJdhPDJvkNs_3HVTb6kgWpy3WSPiUfm/s1600/finish+strong+rocky+2011.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN4BD6ckoKF3lDej6eaI5cQXTa3R8cspv00WE0g4DZ5K9Ck6GXVBjn_UfPmB_8paBgO1wMPdYhlmifSeB6KOc_GOPGLe29GLOsl44UcHDWNvCF2lJdhPDJvkNs_3HVTb6kgWpy3WSPiUfm/s320/finish+strong+rocky+2011.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571358722072323586" /></a><br /><br />"Let's go Sophia. It's less than a MudBabe Monday!"<br />Hayley runs with my Monday all women's trail running group, MudBabe Mondays, the women's division of the Trail Nerds. Training for Rocky, I would do two loops at Shawnee Mission park, which equals 9 miles.<br /><br />No more sleepiness. Just a steady humble hobble. <br />"Tell me about the finish line, Sophia."<br />"Turn left, finish, buckle puke. Puke on Joe (Pursatis)"<br />"NOOOO."<br />"Puke on Danny?"<br />"Yeeeessss."<br />Not sure how our Wednesday Trail Nerd run group leader Danny became the butt of this joke/mantra, but it entertained us several times during out last eight miles. Sorry Danny.<br /><br />"Sophia, just think of the warm bed and snuggle with Ben."<br />Bad Ben. My fiancee. 12 hundred mile finishes, including 3 sub 24 hour Rocky Racoon. I just couldn't wait to see him at the finish line.<br /><br />Ben had our crew all set up with videos and still cameras so he could give me a hug.<br />"Ben, in my Mizuno bag is a belt with a Free State buckle. Go get it and put this buckle on it."<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfnEDBLWVp3Th8RYPuAvfhExgRr2eWhoIpVK3dvH5iipAgMZp9RPE2aiXn2am6qxFzPmvxmbIxNns7cmT612FbzPaAS8l3667khB3OUNWOdsFX1vJp3oEytZ3vSr4HMFzy9cLNtYSSM6KD/s1600/put+medal+on+my+belt.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfnEDBLWVp3Th8RYPuAvfhExgRr2eWhoIpVK3dvH5iipAgMZp9RPE2aiXn2am6qxFzPmvxmbIxNns7cmT612FbzPaAS8l3667khB3OUNWOdsFX1vJp3oEytZ3vSr4HMFzy9cLNtYSSM6KD/s320/put+medal+on+my+belt.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571359878837744930" /></a><br /><br />"Ben, obviously your crewing job isn't over yet." Joe Pursatis was laughing as his wife got my chip off.<br /> 27:39 and change. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeYs-yXZ2AqHfYPI9t6KQC39ewwmXpnN-S2NLpNyrxo2AJNBFSB8NtwFYBaT_ALD7ZaOsAl_YRys2dZeJi5n9fjCDS0xB4oo3kPeoMCmRg0uyQM_boOhkAXTvoHpYtShO8-MzLojgvXCE7/s1600/close+up+buckle.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeYs-yXZ2AqHfYPI9t6KQC39ewwmXpnN-S2NLpNyrxo2AJNBFSB8NtwFYBaT_ALD7ZaOsAl_YRys2dZeJi5n9fjCDS0xB4oo3kPeoMCmRg0uyQM_boOhkAXTvoHpYtShO8-MzLojgvXCE7/s320/close+up+buckle.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571357716962006322" /></a><br /><br />Cool Stuff:<br />1. A quick interaction with record breaker and winner Ian Sharman as he lapped me. (of course I, like everyone else had no idea who he was.)<br />"Are you lapping me?"<br />" What loop are you on?"<br />"3."<br />"Well carry on."<br />"I love your accent." I quipped in an imitation British accent.<br />2. Seeing the legendary ultra guys, Anton Krupicka and Scott Jurek several times.<br />3. Seeing Mike from the North Texas Trail Runners at Damnation/Purgatory each loop and having him call me by name.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE4AcoVYgK9n5nl4wADPhB8sb39syxD4-JONjfJOewhrxhrdaj6rP4IrSqahtzc3fCJ2GQ0Lt0TyA62ISMwRQ25cJwPTb8t13Uen8YGEQnLCj9bFupibNwjzEex98RCqYi0MP_n8yqy72c/s1600/family+post+race.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE4AcoVYgK9n5nl4wADPhB8sb39syxD4-JONjfJOewhrxhrdaj6rP4IrSqahtzc3fCJ2GQ0Lt0TyA62ISMwRQ25cJwPTb8t13Uen8YGEQnLCj9bFupibNwjzEex98RCqYi0MP_n8yqy72c/s320/family+post+race.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571359667196337970" /></a><br /><br />Things I did right:<br />1. Lubed with A&D ointment. No blisters. No chaffing.<br />2. Packed warm clothes in drop bag and at main aid. Next time, put an extra jacket at DP.<br />3. At mile 20 changed from Wave Riders into the lower profile Wave Elixir's-- out of the box fresh. I could feel the trail better, and never fell. Just a couple stumbles.<br />3A. Note I didn't wear trail shoes. A concious choice to have more breathability, so I would have less possibilty of blistering. <br />4. Ran a 50 miler in October, which gave me confidence and an understanding of where I would blister. <br />6. Baby wipes in a zip lock bag.<br />7. Had a great pacer/crew. I'm letting her wear the belt buckle once every ten days.<br />8. LANCOME waterproof mascara. "Your feet run, your mascara shouldn't." Man that stuff makes a hundred mile finish photo look great.<br />9. Injinji socks- to avoid big toe blister.<br />10. BT socks over too short Injinji socks<br />Things I did wrong:<br />1. Not enough back to back long runs.<br />2. Not enough hill repeats.<br />3. Not enough walking practice.<br />4. Lame, Lame , lame headlamp and flashlight. More better light next time.<br />5. Didn't pack some sort of caffiene suppliment.<br />6. Didn't pack TUMS.<br />7. Injiniji socks that only came up to the collar of my shoe. Need taller ones next time.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBKtj5T3jU-BEbKCTJ8J-pwmBlQKT1J1BpU0HlSCqG1m4VXVkf0YbpqDhl6ieyt_NMBa-_E79pctzH2azzRxKJSD7r3BdnF1btiTdTEVh76JfO6O1KWlhD4deE553LPcAM2Y4SM3jR2_xG/s1600/Sophia+posing+with+buckle.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBKtj5T3jU-BEbKCTJ8J-pwmBlQKT1J1BpU0HlSCqG1m4VXVkf0YbpqDhl6ieyt_NMBa-_E79pctzH2azzRxKJSD7r3BdnF1btiTdTEVh76JfO6O1KWlhD4deE553LPcAM2Y4SM3jR2_xG/s320/Sophia+posing+with+buckle.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571360117705541938" /></a><br /><br />That's all for now.<br />Muddy Hugs,<br />sophiasophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-31889636798674838962010-11-07T18:59:00.000-08:002010-11-07T20:03:26.838-08:0050 Miles running... did it really happen?I journeyed to the Blues Springs 50/50 to help a friend, and have some fun running with Bad Ben.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp6BaKRYXsAOqtF2h-aGq1GYx4S00knhyphenhyphenw1Fn1BVooIgLcW9XTbE55htj5JhMyKXdwfkB6xjj-CNtN-amZJbkz_nwrE3-ooGse1awOksdFP7nolpPj4KgmSfr5QiW8Ei4M5YottOPUP0S-/s1600/blue+springs+1.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp6BaKRYXsAOqtF2h-aGq1GYx4S00knhyphenhyphenw1Fn1BVooIgLcW9XTbE55htj5JhMyKXdwfkB6xjj-CNtN-amZJbkz_nwrE3-ooGse1awOksdFP7nolpPj4KgmSfr5QiW8Ei4M5YottOPUP0S-/s320/blue+springs+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537018882411222898" /></a><br /><br />My friend Anne was signed up for 50 miles, but she'd run really well (too well) the KC marathon, only one week after a 50k (she also ran well) and her knee was hurting. I feared her relentless, do a longer race, spirit would render her permanently injured. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrtxeULW_nM59aMpOATkS36xP072q6KgAJMnVBZ2uHkWT2Gpgfn5InpZQVFF_fE2aJ_4wjwbC5j_SD3dRtAxJfqQmXfHuqZaAucpMkMMkXe4PIGjLtcYuMYLFPdep6R4cpfK9p-LRRWSk2/s1600/blue+springs+awesome.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrtxeULW_nM59aMpOATkS36xP072q6KgAJMnVBZ2uHkWT2Gpgfn5InpZQVFF_fE2aJ_4wjwbC5j_SD3dRtAxJfqQmXfHuqZaAucpMkMMkXe4PIGjLtcYuMYLFPdep6R4cpfK9p-LRRWSk2/s320/blue+springs+awesome.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537019289608605218" /></a><br /><br />So, we ( including Puccini, our 12 pound Chiueagle) got up early to "pace to pull." I would run with her and moniter her knee and pull her when necessary. Problem is, for all my selfless contributions to the racing community, it seems when I have a goal like the Rocky Racoon 100 miler, my own training, trumps all else.<br /><br />After a smart, slow start, I left my friend Anne to the pacing auspices of Major Erin Miller of the US Army. Far better trained in duty and loyalty-- well...<br /><br />"How fast is she running?"<br />"I don't know-- 11 minutes a mile? 12."<br />" Well , I'm not going to go slow."<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFf6R-QKKrBSJFMYB77vBa55jvPXbp1r_xTRWA8FpagR2Fkd6RA9ihK2so0m0bCeGjTswG0Qp7-ZLfS2_GVF9b3brN7QMDGNKy70593nXxNr6ycXj4acKls3NM4XaaXQh5AQ_qx15Mkxbx/s1600/blue+springs+3.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFf6R-QKKrBSJFMYB77vBa55jvPXbp1r_xTRWA8FpagR2Fkd6RA9ihK2so0m0bCeGjTswG0Qp7-ZLfS2_GVF9b3brN7QMDGNKy70593nXxNr6ycXj4acKls3NM4XaaXQh5AQ_qx15Mkxbx/s320/blue+springs+3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537019543182643170" /></a><br /><br />Turns out the Major was better at laying down the law with a faster pace for Anne, and I was better at.. taking off.<br /><br />I ran out to Danny Miller, paced him a while, and with his encouragement took off. <br /><br />Still, having not planned on running 50 miles, due to the crushed gravel course instead of the single track I prefer, I was fine with running about 35.<br /><br />"Sophia, you look great, what do you need?"<br />Bad Ben.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsFzRKLNthRayiH2IEn83Z0QJ_j5jsbKLESYCSg1DP0_BEAoCcRMBR91oa8oINTB8nRw490FPreiao6axx9PIEJpBSFwSFi01LL5B-sLOfZ7u3tX448cIwpy_ka22UIktRfCoZSCfepCxg/s1600/blue+springs+ben+me.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsFzRKLNthRayiH2IEn83Z0QJ_j5jsbKLESYCSg1DP0_BEAoCcRMBR91oa8oINTB8nRw490FPreiao6axx9PIEJpBSFwSFi01LL5B-sLOfZ7u3tX448cIwpy_ka22UIktRfCoZSCfepCxg/s320/blue+springs+ben+me.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537019804507264658" /></a><br /><br />"Should I keep running? Is this good Rocky Training?"<br />"It's great for Rocky."<br />Ben seemed like a kid watching the underdog win the world series. He was cheering for ME I realized this race would get me into the lotto for Western States. The thought amused me.<br />I was high! <br />9 minute mile. walk fast<br />8:30 walk fast.<br />Aid Station. More cheers. <br /><br />Hi ERIN and ANNE. Wow still running-- they RAN 40. I was proud of the Mud BABES.<br />Out and back again, again. More Ben.<br />Aid station. Ben again.<br />40 miles.<br />9 minute pace. Running , running, realizing, I've got lots in the tank. HIGH.<br />WIND, oh so much wind in the face.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgF2Zkx-xL1MLfmhr9I724L_NpEzYG08tR-fuyMMKq335KBknQ1qQIdSdEDdQh64Rizdq4ZzaGmzlH0ISPC9YnIDe4uQa02eVXFUTkfOKkv_r5_fqlxfcB8t1ZCH5oNB0pvgUFN0-pvef5/s1600/blue+springs+ben+taking+photo.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgF2Zkx-xL1MLfmhr9I724L_NpEzYG08tR-fuyMMKq335KBknQ1qQIdSdEDdQh64Rizdq4ZzaGmzlH0ISPC9YnIDe4uQa02eVXFUTkfOKkv_r5_fqlxfcB8t1ZCH5oNB0pvgUFN0-pvef5/s320/blue+springs+ben+taking+photo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537020156575044466" /></a><br /><br />I'm not really tired, just a bit bored. Get to the bridge and it's simple. <br />Over the bridge.<br />BEN,ERIN and ANNE.PUUUUUCCCINNNI<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt6_ECS1dASFOb4n-TuD_Ixdv7LoAmoVWOeS4O0Qxx07BUJ7GV-9PIjJOWQCbRAOcpJ8_En777Fujm07dMTZeLf3_VEU_VCtLN2BgsfwgpZcN1OF37sDxUspMUbfGHVzzCJdApFIwO2O1i/s1600/blue+springs+puccini.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt6_ECS1dASFOb4n-TuD_Ixdv7LoAmoVWOeS4O0Qxx07BUJ7GV-9PIjJOWQCbRAOcpJ8_En777Fujm07dMTZeLf3_VEU_VCtLN2BgsfwgpZcN1OF37sDxUspMUbfGHVzzCJdApFIwO2O1i/s320/blue+springs+puccini.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537020602828700962" /></a><br /><br /><br />Ben ran with me until the end-- and I almost cried. So happy to have a such incredible people in my life, cheering for me.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeXCyoZdsV5KrAwKmzMhR3VDR42AjsFZ_NOqqE382cOa2jn4mpT23tUCyfxFVNRFYeEM5QirfsSS-k_RFgp64KJOx5T9puI09tjQ_G28wkiLSLg91cFYou1jcbt7CdMtKIhAQ4Bgfq3hLg/s1600/blue+springs+benfia.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeXCyoZdsV5KrAwKmzMhR3VDR42AjsFZ_NOqqE382cOa2jn4mpT23tUCyfxFVNRFYeEM5QirfsSS-k_RFgp64KJOx5T9puI09tjQ_G28wkiLSLg91cFYou1jcbt7CdMtKIhAQ4Bgfq3hLg/s320/blue+springs+benfia.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537020370254064258" /></a><br /><br />Later, at my bank in Topeka, I mentioned the 50 miler to my friend Mark who works there. <br /><br />"How do you do it?"<br /><br />"It's the Nordstrom's Effect.. You hit the aid stations, and they tell you, you look great and you head back out. Later you may think (just like those shiny purple parachute pants in the 80's you bought,)why did I buy that? But unlike the 80's in a 50 miler, you are grateful.<br /><br />I don't know if this can ever happen again.. but I did not bonk, or even come close. In fact, I think back on the day, and 50 miles seems short-- an etherial experience as I am running an 8:30 pace and look down at a watch that says 41 miles, knowing there is plenty of gas in the tank.<br /><br />And what about Mudbabe Monday. <br />"What time Sophia?"<br />The Major. "6pm, let's just do a short 4.5. "<br />We felt good. The Major had ended up running a formidable amount herself-- 50k the day before.<br /><br />We actually could have run longer on Monday but I was after all busy eating. Ben arrived home Monday to a counter full of a hodge podge of dishes. Every leftover, can and box in the house. He laughed and cleaned it up. Glad to be pulling for a winning team.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-nzc5xb-glKg8OQNicSYPp0MW5FDARAtgCnjtr4xeLXP3A9nfTHaEuJAoFWuZHAoZvGN49cH5ySXih-jSVnqg-s8o-EkvrjeB5vjwqLAL28xCL-mlslwODK7Zrf_que1RNdEKeSycAEID/s1600/blue+springs+50.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-nzc5xb-glKg8OQNicSYPp0MW5FDARAtgCnjtr4xeLXP3A9nfTHaEuJAoFWuZHAoZvGN49cH5ySXih-jSVnqg-s8o-EkvrjeB5vjwqLAL28xCL-mlslwODK7Zrf_que1RNdEKeSycAEID/s320/blue+springs+50.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537020994952291106" /></a><br /><br />So, did it happen? Could 50 miles go by in 9:11 with so little pain? So little waivering? It is as if without the pain or need for major encouragement due to physical or mental trauma, I can't feel the magnitude of the race. However the race must have existed, as this time I did run as Sophia Wharton.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjtn_lTcGoi4gB9NRL9COcBshL4ghkusWb6LmTRxJR0gQ7O612z7UNrztez84grChn9dEq1ZGKSciTsi8MGk6uievCbeHBewVmqyBGjOSnSaO_f-2mGwEvwyaMjWaXDhV_COui2KvJfcxs/s1600/blue+springs+end.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjtn_lTcGoi4gB9NRL9COcBshL4ghkusWb6LmTRxJR0gQ7O612z7UNrztez84grChn9dEq1ZGKSciTsi8MGk6uievCbeHBewVmqyBGjOSnSaO_f-2mGwEvwyaMjWaXDhV_COui2KvJfcxs/s320/blue+springs+end.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537021353611989842" /></a>sophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-32273136783945891082010-11-07T18:15:00.000-08:002010-11-07T18:40:47.508-08:00Running my BestThe alarm rang at 5:15 am on a Tuesday. Not your conventional alarm. There was no jangling noise, not even a nasty crack of light through a hotel window, harshly dragging me from dreams to reality. Instead, a gentle eye opening to a cool dark room and bright outlook of a day. <br />I guess I'll go running. I felt refreshed. If any of you have followed this blog ( I think at this day there are 24 of you) you know, I've been prone to excuses, ov0ersleeping and spotty training. But this day was different.<br />In Corallville, Iowa, headed to help Team Mizuno sell at the Chicago marathon, I got up and headed out for a run. Early on, I saw a critter cross the path-- it was a racoon. I decided to name it Rocky. Rocky Racoon, just like the 100 miler in February, my fiancee Bad Ben signed us up for. <br />Would I ever be ready?<br />I logged 8, made a plan for the week, and headed to Chicago. <br /><br />The final piece of this week's plan was to run the Chicago marathon. It would be under my worst conditions. Two solid days of standing and selling apparel, dead legs, and no taper on a hot day. On marathon day I had 36 miles under the Wave Elixirs. Did I mention how much I hate running in heat? <br />10-10-10 marathon morning, I called the receptionist at the hotel. "I 'm sorry I missed the forecast, what is it for today?" She replied it would be "perfect," highs in the 80's and sunny.<br /><br />Going into the race, I knew I needed to execute discipline. A fast marathon or a bonk fest could ruin my Rocky training for two weeks. I needed this race for my MIND. I needed to run my best, not my fastest.<br /><br />My boss, Tim invited me along with some friends he'd mentored in training and we headed to the start line (via the VIP tent-- many thanks Tim for that!)<br /><br />I watched the guys speed off, and settled in. Goodbye runners, I may see you later... 10 minute miles. 3 piddle breaks. Temperature climbing. 1/2 marathon in 2:10 (note to readers-- You won't find results under "wharton," a woman who couldn't run named Gabriellla Thomas gave me her number through a friend, but I didn't use the chip-- you'll see my photos under Thomas and 27376--her number). 2:10 x's 2.. I did not feel like running for 4:20 or more in the heat. I was annoyed with the piddle breaks. <br /><br />Time to drop the hammer. So I cruised through the land of the living dead, to a 4:07 finish. Seeing the folks with 3:30 pace team, on their backs. Maybe we finished the same time, but I ENJOYED my whole race. Even more so, that at the end, with bored crowds (bored with wathcing Zombie land) standing smoldering in the sun, I was able to WHOOP it UP!!<br /><br />"Hey, cheer for ME," I called out, and a wave of cheers erupted from the crowds lining the streets of Chicago!<br />"GO Me GO"<br /><br />I was running my best, finishing running strong with a 9 minute negative split. In no way, my fastest, but accomplishing the goal. Defy ego early, and enjoy success in the end. <br /><br />I was ready to run the next day, and did.sophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-17038584378817909952010-07-18T13:12:00.000-07:002010-07-18T13:15:38.527-07:00Free State Trail RunDrive into the parking lot at the Free State Trail runs and on first glance it looks like a Memorial Day picnic. But make no mistake, this event is run by professionals. Since you never know about the weather, the Trail Nerds make sure they take care of any other variables. Seasoned and informed volunteers, clearly marked course, good food and the kind of attention from the race directors that can only come from one thing. A goal of excellence. The Free State Trail 40 mile, 100k and marathon at Clinton State Park in Lawrence was no ad-hoc event.<br /><br />Again, we had weather challenges. A full day of rain 2 days before the race, and threatening skys and a storm during the race. The course conditions were very muddy. It brought out the best in some and the Whiner in others. <br /><br />The crazy mud seemed to put last year’s 40 mile winner David Wakefield at ease. He went out just to have fun and cruised in for the winning 40 mile time this year with a 20 minute negative split. An excellent race.<br /><br /><br />Then came the whiners….<br /><br />Trail Nerds jokingly say “whiners will be buried in shallow unmarked graves.” Since I didn’t bring my shovel, the whiners had to settle for a verbal shove. <br />“ I have a friend who’s little boy is only 5, his name is Braden, and he’s dying. Would you please go out and run 20 more miles for him.”<br /><br />The week before Free State Ben and I race directed a charity race for a 5 year old named Braden Hofen. He’s fighting neuroblastoma, a battle his father compares to an endurance race, and may not be with us much longer. We were exhausted again, and I for one was not putting up with any whiners. Braden Hofen laughs and smiles through adversity, you people can get out and run another 20 muddy miles. <br /><br /><br /><br />There were several I shovelled out for another loop (with the help of Braden) , but my favorite whiner was Tim Smith, from Iowa. Here’s a snippet of Tim’s humorous (if redundant) post to the ultra list of the mud covered course and race: “mud, hill, rocks, roots, roots, rocks, mud, hill. SMELL OF BURGERS AND BRATS MMMMMMMMMMMM, COERCED BY PONY-TAIL GIRL INTO DOING ANOTHER LAP.”<br /> The lap I sent Tim out onto, ultimately earned him a 100k buckle. In his blog he writes that Braden helped him through the last excruciating lap. An excellent effort from Mr. Smith, near the end of a day filled with excellence. How do we know? We got no suggestions, and few complaints.sophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-50834993675040315442010-05-23T19:13:00.000-07:002010-05-23T20:15:56.249-07:00Eternal Running Buddy<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTiMwCv0ixutsC9Y0hk5K6qFPfnCPxk4ThsHADhaKKSWN98Mj2bP-C-K4sIg79SVCpq86SdCmCbHVj5HfDdfPnyevE86OafEi6ONIj6bRvSIH1jbcHT0Ad2KHO5JknzmpSGWOZoX6QPZl4/s1600/Berrymanwaterx.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474662419838991922" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTiMwCv0ixutsC9Y0hk5K6qFPfnCPxk4ThsHADhaKKSWN98Mj2bP-C-K4sIg79SVCpq86SdCmCbHVj5HfDdfPnyevE86OafEi6ONIj6bRvSIH1jbcHT0Ad2KHO5JknzmpSGWOZoX6QPZl4/s320/Berrymanwaterx.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br />"Hey Ben doesn't Mizuno make something better than that?"<br /><br />I am a rep for Mizuno in the running division and have made sure Ben is fully equipped. But he hadn't quite planned on the cool temps for the Berryman marathon and was cold. He dug deep into his past to come up with the above look, I dug deep for a quip to the owner of one of my running accounts.<br /><br /><br /><br /><p>"It's the new Cabrakan tunic for men, Willie!"</p><br /><br /><p>Yup, that's my fiancee sporting a Hefty bag with a twist. I think it's pretty sexy. Add the snazzy gortex fedora-- I can hardly stand it! Don't you just LOVE how the bottle holder cinches the bag at the waist to complete the look? Errol Flynn does come to mind.</p><br />All the stops were out for the Berryman marathon. It was our year anniversary of tapering and we just weren't going to miss the race.<br /><br />"Sophia, we can't do Berryman, we have the Psycho 5k this weekend."<br /><br />"Are you KIDDING me? Casey has his RV reserved, and just sent us both pictures of his muddy training legs. Give me an hour, I'll have it set up." Done. 1 hour, 55 minutes. Ha. The race would take longer.<br /><br /><br />The Race:<br /><br />Crack, bang, boom.<br /><br />"Ben, would you call off a race for all this thunder and lightning?"<br /><br />It was 3 am, and I was quite awake-- on an air mattress that had deflated. But warm and dry in the RV.<br /><br /><br />"I wouldn't start it, but it will taper off-- "<br /><br />Was I the chief mudbabe looking for an excuse not to run?... sigh... maybe. A year long taper doesn't happen without giving in to a few excuses.<br /><br /><br /><br />This was the day that excuses DIED. Rain conquered with a spirit drenched in happiness.<br /><br />26.2 miles. 2 pairs of Mizunos and one altered hefty bag.<br /><br />2 people in love.<br /><br />In love with running on trails, and in love with each other.<br /><br /><br />We set out and quickly got in step with each other, played with the mud, entertained soggy aid station personel and enjoyed life, shared energy and embraced having an eternal running buddy.<br /><br />And that's what it's about. Everyone is more energized when they unlock the secret. The secret is finding that special someone who shares your passion, and is willing to trot alongside you through thick and thin.<br /><br /><br />Tough patch? No problem, Ben... let me baste it with a little mud.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGBhcR0JOVP4OPYu4hUCS5F9zJ8TyewU47xzDi-_IgsZvPW7waduC33r0WfNObjuBxOlD8iUycc72W_UpEe7zxH1uOzkpW7vsXE2VgsZbcSqRtpq8xShIV8sFQI5yDomwx2q4lQnmnl5bS/s1600/berrymanJPG.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474669214604877474" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGBhcR0JOVP4OPYu4hUCS5F9zJ8TyewU47xzDi-_IgsZvPW7waduC33r0WfNObjuBxOlD8iUycc72W_UpEe7zxH1uOzkpW7vsXE2VgsZbcSqRtpq8xShIV8sFQI5yDomwx2q4lQnmnl5bS/s320/berrymanJPG.JPG" /></a><br /><div><br /><br /><br />Think you can't handle the garbage life throws you?<br /><br />Here's a hefty bag, Sophia.<br /><br /><br />"Mud you Sophy Trophy."<br /><br />"Mud you too Bentor."<br /><br />Our pet names and mud language.<br /><br /><br />I pulled Ben up a hill-- he'd repay me in some energy return on the last painful miles.<br /><br /><br />I indulged in running too fast at mile 21, and it just wrecked my quads. I couldn't run downhill.. but the uphills were just fine.<br /><br /><br />That's right-- I was begging for more uphills the final 5 miles (and they came in 600 foot climbs).<br />And that's the way life goes sometimes, you don't realize that the uphill battle is the fun one.<br /><br />You think you want a race day without rain, and then it keeps your feet cool. It washes the mud off your shoes, and keeps horseflys and horse riders off the race course.<br /><br /><br /><br />Pray for the tough times my friends. For in those lie all of life's joys and happiness.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfXjRdjXaeZLiDi4_xk8Ox1RCPq9Y2-MozS_Y-_konUOq-85BshN_hWVb12W-ODQvptf2gsF9DoYljuXOeE2fNwZTUqrbl6pOKQUkwGJodCQP45pMgk096fngSwqVrOS3X3HRrrjzTqeKF/s1600/sophia.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474668697243203026" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfXjRdjXaeZLiDi4_xk8Ox1RCPq9Y2-MozS_Y-_konUOq-85BshN_hWVb12W-ODQvptf2gsF9DoYljuXOeE2fNwZTUqrbl6pOKQUkwGJodCQP45pMgk096fngSwqVrOS3X3HRrrjzTqeKF/s320/sophia.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br />Muddy Hugs,<br /><br />Sophia</div>sophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-64701087254087874502009-12-01T11:09:00.001-08:002009-12-03T15:08:45.176-08:00Holidays Mizuno Style..."Have you ever taken the innagural dump in a porta potty, <a href="http://badbenkc.blogspot.com/">Ben</a>?"<br />We were at Run Lawrence's Turkey Trot.<br />I just sat there, sort of shaking my head with a grossed out look on my face.<br />"Blue splash of death?"<br />"Is that what they call it?"<br /><br /><a href="http://morningbounce.files.wordpress.com/2009/05/portapotty.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="http://morningbounce.files.wordpress.com/2009/05/portapotty.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Turns out Ben has a solution for it... ( I wish I'd know sooner)<br />Using baby wipes or TP, let it float to the bottom of the potty, forming a barrier over the blue stuff.<br />"Ok- Soph, the middle one's ready for ya."<br />After testing Ben's handi-work one more time, I was ready to race.<br />It's been year's since I actually put any effort into a 5k, but I thought I might have a chance at 3rd in my age group if I didn't poop out.<br />I admired the blue environmentally friendly Asics bags with a touch of green envy. Raised an eyebrow about what to do with the XL Asics top, pinned on my New Balance number and headed for the starting line.<br /><br />One of my accounts, Francis Sporting Goods was one of the race sponsors. As I looked around I saw a good sampling of Mizunos-- but couldn't help noticing I was the only rep actually running in the race.<br /><br />Their loss-- it was a glorious day.<br /><br /><a href="http://badbenkc.blogspot.com/">Bad Ben</a> helped out at the finish line-- his main job cheering on Sophia!! Ra RA -- more cowbell please.<br /><br /><a href="http://00673d3.netsolhost.com/photoalbum_index.htm/11-26-09lawrence/images/IMG_2248_s_jpg.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 600px" alt="" src="http://00673d3.netsolhost.com/photoalbum_index.htm/11-26-09lawrence/images/IMG_2248_s_jpg.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://00673d3.netsolhost.com/photoalbum_index.htm/11-26-09lawrence/images/IMG_0137_s_jpg.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 600px" alt="" src="http://00673d3.netsolhost.com/photoalbum_index.htm/11-26-09lawrence/images/IMG_0137_s_jpg.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We did a few more miles on the smooth dirt trails of the Sandrat where we saw a turkey! Birrrundering. IT's everywhere. Then headed to Shelley's to--- EAT THE RUN!!<br /><a href="http://blogs.phillyburbs.com/news/bct/wp-content/blogs.dir/3/files/wild_turkey.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://blogs.phillyburbs.com/news/bct/wp-content/blogs.dir/3/files/wild_turkey.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Stuffing, stuffing, stuffing.<br />Such wonderful memories. Her sweet children gave us hugs and played with Puccini. The turkey and marvelously set table looked like a Martha Stewart special-- and oh my gosh-- the $3.99 pie was delicious. Some Mexican train dominos and we were a Norman Rockwell Holiday party.<br /><br />Obviously the next day entailed more running. It was the second annual Recession-Proof run out at Clinton. Last year I became a big fan of Friday runs, which I called "The hookie run." David Salavitch was kind enough to wait til Ben and I arrived at 10-- and we were off. We hit all our old haunts and reminisced about the past and looked forward to all the running in the future. A quick hello to Levi Bowles-who's first run with the Nerds was this day last year.<br />"Hi Levi!"<br />"I'm hobbling home-- IT band hurting."<br />I gave him a quick poke on the IT-- OUCH-- and emailed him later the name of a good doctor. And recommended the hotsie totsie Mizuno manpris for some extra support. Ben was rocking those -- and (gasp) the Asics women's XL race-T. Yup, my Badness had overdressed for the unseasonable weather and the Asics shirt was the only option knocking around in the car.<br /><br />Saturday!!! Ben runs wyco with Andy Bowman one of our awesome volunteers-- I rest up for <a href="http://www.psychowyco.com/id86.html">Dude Where's the Trail</a>.<br /><a href="http://00673d3.netsolhost.com/photoalbum_index.htm/11-29-09dude/images/IMG_3025_s_jpg.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 600px" alt="" src="http://00673d3.netsolhost.com/photoalbum_index.htm/11-29-09dude/images/IMG_3025_s_jpg.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Lou Joline-- you have such a sense of humor. Note to area runners-- please don't ever complain about his courses-- and certainly not the only easy part of a 50k-- even if it's pavement (double gasp). That 5 foot 1 ball of fire made the craziest course ever. So much bushwacking.. so many tiny little burrs in my Mizuno Breath thermo stetch . My favorite garment, nearly reduced to shreds. As Ben and I sat picking off the darn things afterwards- I thought my fingers would certainly cramp. Meanwhile we had to endure abuse from Lou for missing the rope section.<br />He seriously stamped his foot--<br />"Ben-- Ben you missed the rope? I put it in JUST for YOU."<br />Yale (his alma mater) clearly taught him how to lob a guilt trip.<br /><br />So a total of 67 miles this week. Getting back there...<br /><br />As I sat picking off the burrs, going over the past week and all I am thankful for-- that little blue splash didn't seem a big deal. Not at all.<br /><br />I have a job with <a href="http://www.mizunousa.com/running">Mizuno Running</a>, the best company ever. I have amazing friends-- and the ability to run run run-- and make life fun.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr1LxhxJHJ6bu-82Tn0-IGHi0pRo8dA1oQYrvodljLPT1r7tL713er0YizkyvHHpJRCUkF_MgnKD0l9PDO7QdwWwM3DJ3nMt_08WAs9JGMvZsfX1XkSKOzdkD7dx-GDvYxNyyU3rnjUDZD/s1600-h/Mizuno_Running_sm.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411137881194982290" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr1LxhxJHJ6bu-82Tn0-IGHi0pRo8dA1oQYrvodljLPT1r7tL713er0YizkyvHHpJRCUkF_MgnKD0l9PDO7QdwWwM3DJ3nMt_08WAs9JGMvZsfX1XkSKOzdkD7dx-GDvYxNyyU3rnjUDZD/s200/Mizuno_Running_sm.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />During the holidays as everyone looks through their bank accounts and worries about what's going in and out of that-- take a moment to see what's in your Fun bank-- or your run bank. Take care of those-- and the rest will fall into place nicely.<br /><br />Muddy Hugs,<br />Sophiasophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-83387235088149112952009-11-19T12:18:00.000-08:002009-11-19T12:35:00.163-08:00Rockin' K... unpublished 'til now<div> </div><div>Wait... backtrack.</div><div>"Hey Sophia, it's Debbie.. see if Ben will lend you to me over the weekend for Rockin' K."</div><br /><div>"Yikes. We have all this Brew to Brew stuff to do. " (blog on that to follow--yeah I am REALLY behind) I hated to have him suffer alone with the paved race packet pick-up. Not Ben's favorite. Still, I know how important Brew to Brew is. A fundraiser for Cystic Fibrosis (horrid disease) but also one of the Kansas City Track Club's most important events. The group and Lou Joline believed in Ben's vision creating the Trail Nerds. They have been great and supportive team members for our group. I didn't want to let them down.</div><div>"Tell Ben I'll work all day Sunday at the aid station at Brew to Brew, if he lets you go."<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4iPUrvujbg3KiNImEiaW10QInfRVW73tXF7xRMupRZdvcI-I58o4SF3fj7creiAhcJz03re1XwSekzwDiMmzFuesREk6syUH4AA_SZGWikXkwVDxF93qOdEr5quzXhLO4zz5i30i00pr2/s1600-h/IMG_0339.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4iPUrvujbg3KiNImEiaW10QInfRVW73tXF7xRMupRZdvcI-I58o4SF3fj7creiAhcJz03re1XwSekzwDiMmzFuesREk6syUH4AA_SZGWikXkwVDxF93qOdEr5quzXhLO4zz5i30i00pr2/s200/IMG_0339.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334355311290330210" border="0" /></a><div>It was an easy sell.</div><div>Oh my dear Ben. I love you. love you , love you so much for never resenting me when I get to go run with our friends on beau<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkg7QVCBl9YwG6RpTFExNKbpT8ZMHWCAanBkhYyRtp8MR62OE2oKUQNZ0opvBcNfC2dtnVebJMpREFrO9Fz7ygpEdlSzsqObv1EbdtDd3ctxMrpTGtANxh2uHnnsBpxfl4869Mxjf_hCXM/s1600-h/photo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkg7QVCBl9YwG6RpTFExNKbpT8ZMHWCAanBkhYyRtp8MR62OE2oKUQNZ0opvBcNfC2dtnVebJMpREFrO9Fz7ygpEdlSzsqObv1EbdtDd3ctxMrpTGtANxh2uHnnsBpxfl4869Mxjf_hCXM/s200/photo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334356139719693490" border="0" /></a>tiful trails. Even when you have to be responsible and take care of the hand (KCTC) that feeds us. Oh I was excited... so excited! </div><br /><div>I hadn't raced since November 27th. </div><br /><div>"Sophia, where have you been? Why aren't you racing?" An email from Rick Mayo in February. I seriously ran into him before this race.</div><div>" Hey I'm back, I'm back!!" His beautiful wife Kristi was there with their equally beautiful daughter. Great to see them...... hmmm.. where were the other boys from Kearny? (find out more here at Gabe's Blog)<br /></div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>Wait... backtrack.</div><div>Carpool/Nerd-Mud Babe motorcade to the race. </div><br /><div>Everyday's a party in Sophie's World.</div><br /><div>I met up with Deb<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYW7eFIsKg2ED-Gm9qQLbcIW2e1WTkKTiS6NV8nZvIEIOvMv7IXqarV7G0H6xKUBhLg1HCOvG6Yz_pCEKiH_Uq7iefo7c6OGuzSjSKvaZqsOiVltKpKJu81iekummu-eDlwlMgBuzmVXUB/s1600-h/IMG_0252.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYW7eFIsKg2ED-Gm9qQLbcIW2e1WTkKTiS6NV8nZvIEIOvMv7IXqarV7G0H6xKUBhLg1HCOvG6Yz_pCEKiH_Uq7iefo7c6OGuzSjSKvaZqsOiVltKpKJu81iekummu-eDlwlMgBuzmVXUB/s200/IMG_0252.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334359670629824322" border="0" /></a>bie, we loaded up the truck with muddy shoes, snacks etc? Actually an impressive stash for a weekender. Two doesn't constitute much of a carpool. Read on.</div><div> </div><div>I had 6 nerds to coordinate. Two cars right? Ended up with three. Two people per car right? Nope. 4 in one car and one each in two others. Jim wanted to multi-task and work on the way (admirable actually) and Greg had a different "bailout after the race schedule," since he was doing 50 miles. </div><div> </div>On the way out we lent Shane Jones to Greg for company, and in retrospect should have put James T. in with Jim since he spent the majority of the trip glued to his cell phone. Meanwhile, Debbie and I did our best to distract James by rockin' out to her latests favorite country song. We'd made a quick stop at Target in Lawrence to grab Ja<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkwe3YxOF7c7PQlyf4L4U2VMahHuLY4efImkDoiUBmp-JuWsx-prWjl8NP4HklBXrvtdqSEp_GBVwKvh4LVXqbDrIdITdgZ-Cg1u_H1G8ZaMj-FLlOs-Jg3hS8Ne68dx4IFNazoBb-qogB/s1600-h/IMG_0251.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkwe3YxOF7c7PQlyf4L4U2VMahHuLY4efImkDoiUBmp-JuWsx-prWjl8NP4HklBXrvtdqSEp_GBVwKvh4LVXqbDrIdITdgZ-Cg1u_H1G8ZaMj-FLlOs-Jg3hS8Ne68dx4IFNazoBb-qogB/s200/IMG_0251.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334357088070041362" border="0" /></a>mes and Shane. I got a battery put in one of Ben's old watches. And got teased by Shane for my super cool Timex. Shuddup Shane (tease back) it only cost $10. Did I mention I'm unemployed?!!<br /><div> </div><br /><div>So the motorcade looked like this:</div><br /><div>In Car 1: Jim Megerson and phone</div><div><br />In Car 2: Debbie, me, James, phone and country tunes</div><br /><div>In Car 3: Shane and Greg having a bro-mance</div><div> </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaA1EWzpKLmJjVYu12g-eg_QakkuTX3p0XOpF2AWdbg56VwVeh3dV_bp1nCNIMa3RSMAej_u06c95sH9_DSLU4k_W90e46HMz_YnRU_gBlrmF69E5OSuLTzgFOfblmd-MB3ZasuBd8ko9n/s1600-h/IMG_0250.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaA1EWzpKLmJjVYu12g-eg_QakkuTX3p0XOpF2AWdbg56VwVeh3dV_bp1nCNIMa3RSMAej_u06c95sH9_DSLU4k_W90e46HMz_YnRU_gBlrmF69E5OSuLTzgFOfblmd-MB3ZasuBd8ko9n/s200/IMG_0250.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334357713724358722" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Meatballs, meatballs, meatballs!</div><br /><div>The pre-race dinner and meeting Stacy Sheridan was awesome! I'm not sure God could put more positive energy in one woman. Muddy hug! Oh I love that lady.</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>A fun positive to being so RIDICULOUSLY far behind on my blog is perspective. Here's one. Take a look at Laurie Euler's plate of meatballs. Paired with her race report peppered with self deprecating humor that she couldn't poo. That's a lot of blockage. Her dear boyfriend Nick (the garbage disposal<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig16s83FEDXVPx6kpqvjOiRjhJiCRLpyddw9xaJAhOcrysPwAHaG9L8pQyWkVlwJg5lyOzHkggddZwkQc3BXz8b04_OVwKJ1pszs-2qM1QkAkQ2IUmMBhMPmVyrEG9dAHUvbRwOKIUb_1s/s1600-h/IMG_0283.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig16s83FEDXVPx6kpqvjOiRjhJiCRLpyddw9xaJAhOcrysPwAHaG9L8pQyWkVlwJg5lyOzHkggddZwkQc3BXz8b04_OVwKJ1pszs-2qM1QkAkQ2IUmMBhMPmVyrEG9dAHUvbRwOKIUb_1s/s200/IMG_0283.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334358709414871570" border="0" /></a>--eats like Michael Phelps) had stopped in and partook at our firm invitation of our breakfast spread. Watermelon, displayed in the ice container (presentation is so important) and peanut butter bagels. </div><br /><div><br />"Hey does Laurie want anything?"</div><br /><div>"Not a fan of mornings."</div><br /><div>She was already in the Nick's car. Next time take us up on the peanut butter Laurie! It works wonders. No promises... but maybe it would help with the Poo!</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>Shane and James pop into our room, on time-- thanks guys. We start shoving food in their faces. Coffee coffee! I'd hopped across the street and gotten some marginal brown brew from the convenience store.</div><div>"I'm not too good in the morning." Shane.<br /></div><br /><div>boom chicka boom chicka la la twang.</div>"I love this song! This is my favorite song right now!"CMT was on the television. Yup, while other runners were catching up on the latest weather forecast for the day, Debbie and I were tuned into the Country Music Channel. "I will run to you-oo -oo. I will run to you."We sang and danced in unison.<br /><div>"Sorry, I don't think it's that great a song."</div>Shuddup Shane. (teasing)<br /><div> </div><br /><div>On the way to the race we discussed our post race strategy.</div>"Shane why don't you run with my key fob since you'll finish WAY ahead of all of us."<br /><div>We all concurred this was the best plan.</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>boom chicka boom chicka la la twaaaang.</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>"What? wait? not this song again?"</div>I turned around to Shane.<br /><div>"We bought the CD at Target so we can hear it whenever we want. C'mon it says "run" in the chorus!"</div>"ugh."<div>Even James seemed a little irritated.</div>"I will run to you!" We sang at the top of our lungs.Played it twice.<br /><br /><div>Radio after that. Hard dude rock. This time everyone was singing. </div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>THE RACE:</div><br /><div>Fear. For this race, I knew I had to follow all the rules. Respect the distance, respect your body, listen to the signs. I can't even say I was on the Megerson constant taper. (25-30 miles per week max, year round). I was quite simply out of shape. January and February had been total running busts. I hadn't raced since November. Would my body remember what to do?</div><br /><div> </div><div>"Ben, what should I expect for a time on this one? I am so undertrained."</div><div>5:30 to 6:30. Ben knew the course and has run it in several different fitness levels. I looked down at my "new," watch and wondered what it would read at the end of the race. </div><br /><div>Anxiety. I shared it with Debbie.</div><div>"I can't make any mistakes. I am going to have to be militant about salt, food, water, wardrobe.. everything." I packed a drop bag for the first time ever. Mostly I wanted a labelled place to leave my Mizuno stretch crew in the middle of the race so I could start out warm and comfy at the beginning. I threw in my inhaler. (Performance enhancing drugs according to Mr. Megerson!)</div><br /><div>"We are making a mistake right now."</div><br /><div>Debbie and I were chatting away like school girls on a slumber party.The mistake? Not getting to bed in time. But somehow it worked out. We were relaxed and at least slept well for the few hours we got.</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>Before the race, Stacy Sheridan came a lookin for me.</div>"Sophia..Sophia there you are!" great big hug. "ooops I forgot I had to sign in. I'm here."<br /><div> </div><div>Then I was running. Running in the breathtaking splendor of Kanopolis State park. I felt free at last. I came up upon Coleen and Deb Johnson after taking a break to water a bush. Btw, an interesting experience with 40 mph winds and little to block it. </div><br /><div> </div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBfvSKNSOq9HO6eO5_s0fjnFsbP9UkO8buun6OLu5pOPlt2vS8hXhq8icFx9CLkRiQvf-Kjq7e7RNU1eQ85x-uWojrFF2xlMBD4pMDu9EY3n0mm5hLrXM_UgYcnuh_TgCtJBHRbRvVLOA1/s1600-h/IMG_0320.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBfvSKNSOq9HO6eO5_s0fjnFsbP9UkO8buun6OLu5pOPlt2vS8hXhq8icFx9CLkRiQvf-Kjq7e7RNU1eQ85x-uWojrFF2xlMBD4pMDu9EY3n0mm5hLrXM_UgYcnuh_TgCtJBHRbRvVLOA1/s200/IMG_0320.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334361889234039858" border="0" /></a><div>I chimed in a hello and tried to make conversation, but there was also very little to block the angry hostility and seething silence of Coleen. I can't tell you how many tears I've shed for the loss of this friendship. It was a friendship based on discovery of ultra running, laughter, watermelon and oranges. I loved having her as a friend. I miss her. In the past few months, sometimes we'd end up on the same group run and chat and chat. Tap dancing over the rocks and the taboo subject. Not<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht78Q-UoM3voXrBdQDHex1LuPtsc5SXHkp50zxflu4UoRjxIIngwASZE84N9tSnHAewFWK-0Z70C7AKHdSJJI76kAidqX_Tbad8IMpW7ruqLUckSR0zsjTpq9Rwhdvjz5qZjRijakglWGd/s1600-h/IMG_0308.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht78Q-UoM3voXrBdQDHex1LuPtsc5SXHkp50zxflu4UoRjxIIngwASZE84N9tSnHAewFWK-0Z70C7AKHdSJJI76kAidqX_Tbad8IMpW7ruqLUckSR0zsjTpq9Rwhdvjz5qZjRijakglWGd/s200/IMG_0308.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334360888337239138" border="0" /></a> anymore. Hardly a hello. Glares. Daggers. Hurtful taunting. Accusations. Gossip. Denial. It is truly painful.</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>The tears would fill a small tub if they ever made it there. Instead their salty stream burns and stings the wounds, many of which are 9 months deep. I hate to even have this passive mention here, but each time I think we could be approaching repair, something happens. The knife turns, the wound is exposed, the tears sink deep within.</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>On this day, the salt is from sweat, not tears. Instead of crying, I will run. And if I'm to run in silence, I'd prefer it be pure. I charge ahead and run alone. </div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>13.1 Coke, Mountain Dew. Ah, blessed aid station. Oranges. Shane???</div><br /><div>"Shane what are you doing here?"</div>"Look at that? I feel like quitting."<br /><div>I'd caught up with Shane who was grumpy because Kyle and Tony were 5 and a half brutal miles ahead of him.</div>"c'mon run with me!"<br /><div>I was so excited. Seeing Shane truly energized me, because it meant I was running pretty well. I should have grabbed the key though. I actually finished a few minutes ahead of him. </div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>This is where the race got interesting. Serious climbs. Ran into Willie from Great Plains Running. Muddy hug. Trotted along. Took pictures. Made a little video interview with Willie. Got back to the aid station. Dropped of the shirt. Took my performance enhancing drugs, and carried on.</div><div> </div><br /><div>pa-thunk--- pa-thunk. Yup. That's the sound your running makes when you're being blown sideways. A first. And with a step up because of the deeply rutted horse trail. But it didn't bother me. Many have described the wind at soul sucking. Instead it was like Narnia, with Aslan breathing trail running life back into this emotionaly weary Mud Babe. </div><br /><div> </div><div>I took it all in. Deeply. Honestly. Forever. I was back in my beautiful world. Completely.</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>Around 21 I caught up with a fellow named John from Minnesota. We couldn't talk much because the wind was so loud. I didn't get a chance to talk to him after either so I want to thank him here. I was tired of running alone. Thanks for waiting for me at the top of a hill at mile 22. I was ready just to drop back. It was nice to know someone wanted to run with me. Even just for a few miles.</div><br /><div> </div>Finish line: 5:31. <div> </div>Shane finished.<br /><div>Coleen, Debbie and Deb J. finished.</div><br /><div> </div>I had watermelon left over from breakfast. Maybe, just maybe Coleen would like some? Nope. I try to walk up to the group and offer. But get the side of the head. Laughter to all the other women but exclusion to me. It is obvious the friendship meant more to me, than it ever did to her.<br /><div> </div> However, it is ok. While it's more fun to share delicious watermelon with a friend, it still tastes good all by itself.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhjYLg4FmaaA41qzzNgAhGPAUxJtG5-xej6OJI6_Gw09IEKweMNQppDop-J-MegYYGfnFKBXIdV2WPyPr9s46tN-K36c_TQUaBCVqJ5lLF6-qmYyfE9n_FQrlGKflaM4KtSp1t2Oz6qwd9/s1600/watermelon_72.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhjYLg4FmaaA41qzzNgAhGPAUxJtG5-xej6OJI6_Gw09IEKweMNQppDop-J-MegYYGfnFKBXIdV2WPyPr9s46tN-K36c_TQUaBCVqJ5lLF6-qmYyfE9n_FQrlGKflaM4KtSp1t2Oz6qwd9/s200/watermelon_72.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405915538840352306" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXwcG-oqcYjsvK6N893rQetELi_4EcMvVC7AZQx__RJgLzw_U7Snn9OXUVr6PyddGsQXzOuBpTF6nhnOIkBQrankvNVrEyPlGI5s4AxiEl_dMGPuNObkg58XC5wMZ3GdY7BreJUXGs7LDe/s1600-h/photomecol1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXwcG-oqcYjsvK6N893rQetELi_4EcMvVC7AZQx__RJgLzw_U7Snn9OXUVr6PyddGsQXzOuBpTF6nhnOIkBQrankvNVrEyPlGI5s4AxiEl_dMGPuNObkg58XC5wMZ3GdY7BreJUXGs7LDe/s200/photomecol1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334363913030176994" border="0" /></a><div> </div><br /><div>Muddy Hugs,</div><br /><div>Sophia</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div> </div><br /><div> </div><br /><div> </div><br /><div> </div><br /><div> </div>sophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-28401464443898677272009-10-19T07:09:00.000-07:002009-10-19T07:50:14.430-07:00A New Leaf<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWCLZw_q_MknTwJ7weTR66yeqROTScg6l1rhQsKCys5mw8eaXjFFQZyVlHDQplZE2lqpZtYea94oAU_2NNJeHm726GSDfZQwYRS09aUhF72myRWx_jAWze1dZu9_UMG5H4d49uzABDTPRy/s1600-h/leaves.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWCLZw_q_MknTwJ7weTR66yeqROTScg6l1rhQsKCys5mw8eaXjFFQZyVlHDQplZE2lqpZtYea94oAU_2NNJeHm726GSDfZQwYRS09aUhF72myRWx_jAWze1dZu9_UMG5H4d49uzABDTPRy/s200/leaves.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394320664825084882" /></a><br />Ben was wheeling out his homebrew set-up from our small porch.<br /><br />" You don't have to tear that down. You can still brew if you want."<br />"I don't want to brew for other people if I'm not drinking."<br />It made me sad but I had no energy to disagree. <br />I'm really proud of Ben's brewing ability.<br />His beers are complex and delicious.<br />But since we moved in together, it seemed beer was forefront.<br />Instead of a weekend at my beautiful home in Topeka. Brewing.<br />Instead of running. Beer drinking. <br />Thing is, beer isn't such a temptation for me. I could sit and avoid the beer fridge. I prefer wine. So Ben started bringing home bottles of wine.<br />I tried gentle conversations about finding some balance. <br />More running?<br />Symphony?<br />But we just couldn't find the balance. Month after month,I would drink wine. Ben would drink beer. I would hate myself. We weren't running.<br /><br />All I want to do is run. But the drinking was zapping my motivation. Our motivation. Our time. Our love. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCz7OGWgBS2MXmm_M5r0tjp0XZybitUpPAalWSZIXk4oc4-CoICDqhlMreMj9s1ohG5nbDDQFdHsG9JYjD5GCDtM0m1wovZG8gtsqs32iteuJLIykvq-AV5fzc8474XEsgJKDJUlOs25nd/s1600-h/benfia.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCz7OGWgBS2MXmm_M5r0tjp0XZybitUpPAalWSZIXk4oc4-CoICDqhlMreMj9s1ohG5nbDDQFdHsG9JYjD5GCDtM0m1wovZG8gtsqs32iteuJLIykvq-AV5fzc8474XEsgJKDJUlOs25nd/s200/benfia.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394320951843651698" /></a><br /><br />The races were painful. Ben somehow runs pretty well on this program. For me, it was awful. I couldn't enjoy the races, knowing I had been undisciplined in my training which lacked structure.<br /><br />Finally a simple plea.<br />"I am easily influenced. If there is a bottle of wine in front of me. I'll drink it. Is that the influence you want to have on me?"<br /><br />Nope. <br /><br />So, for now we're off the sauce. <br />Of his own volition, Ben donated the leftover beer. In it's place are two kegs of sparkling "Benegrino," (carbonated water) in the fridge. (a freezer he converted into a fridge --he's so clever!) <br /><br />50 + miles this week, and already feeling much healthier.<br />I'll admit I was afraid no one would understand. People liked to come over and sample the three beers we used to have on tap. <br /><br />But our friends are true. They know that running is our number one, and that it should be protected at all costs. <br /><br />Thank you Dallas and Asher for being understanding. <br />Mike Osborn. Kurt Schuler. Rick and Kristi Mayo. Shelley Flones. Jenn Bernstein. <br /><br />It means a lot that we can make a big change and have support from our friends.<br /><br />My father is an Episcopalian priest. So I'm going to use one of his Lenten suggestions. It is this; If you give up something, take on something else . <br /><br />I'm putting recycling bins in the porch so we can sort and organize our trash. <br />I'll admit it. We've been terrible recylcers. Yes I just made up a word. <br /><br />Will we ever brew again. Probably. But for now we need to find structure and discipline in our running and build our relationship that way. <br /><br />And a perfect balance, that as we detox our bodies and minds, we are detoxing the planet, too.<br /><br />Muddy Hugs,<br />Sophiasophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-10627058420338967472009-09-07T20:05:00.000-07:002009-09-19T21:15:23.560-07:00We were There! Leadville Trail 100<A href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9xFbR39-gV5uMCuBRa5kNCQQ43hZXDHVc4rfuRE_IjRY1u6g7-_bA-B5cAOiQGrOVAgqcOY_d_SMEpJ2aBAk7p4hLyHgH1baFF7DdEPqlUbP6V1rK48mgDK8n7r_8OYhJL3-kevU0bjJz/s1600-h/viewhop.jpg"><IMG id=BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381440238172876882 style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9xFbR39-gV5uMCuBRa5kNCQQ43hZXDHVc4rfuRE_IjRY1u6g7-_bA-B5cAOiQGrOVAgqcOY_d_SMEpJ2aBAk7p4hLyHgH1baFF7DdEPqlUbP6V1rK48mgDK8n7r_8OYhJL3-kevU0bjJz/s200/viewhop.jpg" border=0></A> The Race Across the sky, brought many Kansas and Missouri runners across the prairie. My boyfriend, Bad Ben founded the Kansas City Trail Nerds 9 years ago, so it was fitting that we aid in this epic event. There wasn't a runner in the bunch (and by runners I also include crew and pacers) that hadn't been involved in the Trail Nerds in one way or another. Past board members, race participants, race winners, record holders, volunteers and friends. Friends whom we mentored, lunched with, ran with and hosted birthday runs, shared in their first ultras, got into races after the deadline was long gone, and did whatever we could even outside of running to help. Good people we care about. We were not going to miss cheering them at this race. Our mission was to crew and pace Greg Burger. Greg is one of the oldest and certainly most loyal members of the Trail Nerds.In March we had created a " Trail Nerd dream team," to get Greg through the race. Ben, Danny Miller, and me. Our other task was to help as best we could, Fast Andy. One of our newest and equally loyal members of the Trail Nerds. Andy Henshaw. A spectacular runner and recent Mizuno convert. Shameless plug for the Wave Ronin, our neutral racing flat. We had a very serious meeting with Greg before the race. We had a less serious meeting with Andy. It was our Trail Nerd volunteer extraordinaire Derek's birthday. Andy liked the hats:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLFLJwmxq9CXOfiQfNZWdL0g2PXO7Aqn8-kAWrTDqeJrUOngH2d8ULZcm7DXfsQh05phVatlfOSoXkUMEjrECMuX6S0ve554h0K42g7nlVcfRqfyAgaCDcEjO2icW2OrYNlxbgzdsDDezX/s1600-h/andyhats.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLFLJwmxq9CXOfiQfNZWdL0g2PXO7Aqn8-kAWrTDqeJrUOngH2d8ULZcm7DXfsQh05phVatlfOSoXkUMEjrECMuX6S0ve554h0K42g7nlVcfRqfyAgaCDcEjO2icW2OrYNlxbgzdsDDezX/s200/andyhats.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381447023697553474" /></a><br />Still, we took this mission very seriously. We nerdled a bit at Twin Lakes with Kyle Amos and Darin Schneidewind. Status updates: Coleen running with Nick in good spirits.. grabbing Caleb's butt. Darin pacing Rick. Caleb pacing Josh. Kyle pacing Tony. I was starting to get worried about Andy. He was light years ahead of our fastest Nerds but I wasn't sure what HE would get for pacers. I'd called all my Mizuno buddies and begged around. Even Anton Krupicka tried to line someone up, but nothing solid worked out. Or so we thought... Driving into Winfield, through the dust kicking up from the cars on the dirt road we saw two Trail Nerd Shirts and flashes of TWO pairs of orange popsicle Ronins. "Hey, Derek is pacing Andy!" Derek and his girlfriend Shelley caravaned with us up to the race and had been crew extraordinaire for Andy along with his family. <A href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW1PjjZJ19GmkrS1cqujgZOwHjNC68HhrRcF0xqUNhZitwPd-ICUZ8QwD-baMOEKwScoD8I4LdlqTduMuGVwtgS5WI17_-dEZWkdHm6Qa3-utso0uLiEFKSaUqqAAxB-DH6DRwfnZd4gTZ/s1600-h/derekshellley.jpg"><IMG id=BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381442310897334018 style="WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW1PjjZJ19GmkrS1cqujgZOwHjNC68HhrRcF0xqUNhZitwPd-ICUZ8QwD-baMOEKwScoD8I4LdlqTduMuGVwtgS5WI17_-dEZWkdHm6Qa3-utso0uLiEFKSaUqqAAxB-DH6DRwfnZd4gTZ/s200/derekshellley.jpg" border=0></A> My pacing portion was to take Greg Burger over and down Hope Pass. Leadville is an out and back so he'd seen Andy and Derek. "Was Derek with him at the top of the pass?" "yes!" Way to go Derek. Trying to be uber pacer and taking advantage of the fact that muling is allowed, I strapped Greg's 12 pound water pack over my own little camelback like a South American drug trafficker. First we see Coleen. Ben, myself and our dog Puccini had seen her husband Erik earlier at Winfield (mile 50)and their great dane Otis. When I saw Coleen, it was my turn to give a status report. "Coleen, Puccini humped Otis!" She laughed instantly.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirK8LpOF7C_ZjDLMePL9VOucZteE-dcTsIZoCWTx5heXt6aSHLe976EcK9XAclef5_ZK-wAs-IecFDyGbishHdJsQsnVu9ChnhbOjQbRzfBd7BN2T2kTBdvcJzLIlEt28UCi_dj2MTvVGk/s1600-h/otis.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirK8LpOF7C_ZjDLMePL9VOucZteE-dcTsIZoCWTx5heXt6aSHLe976EcK9XAclef5_ZK-wAs-IecFDyGbishHdJsQsnVu9ChnhbOjQbRzfBd7BN2T2kTBdvcJzLIlEt28UCi_dj2MTvVGk/s200/otis.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381447382123733058" /></a><br /><br /> She looked so strong, and I hoped she was having a good day. Next Nerd: Nick Lang, came barrelling down, as only he can do. Ever strong on the downhills! Josh Pool: Looking fly in his Free State shirt. (Our Trail Nerd trail marathon, 40 miler and 100k) Gary Henry: Taking pictures as always. He caught my glazed look and bulging eyes. <A href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6HHW-cH561YeDAez8hxx5nXswNzzIRFBqBErpHMv7bv_LI2T1k1QdgVrcTJAeIwdsxtGYqLVtziGfWNOZ9qI9XlKhbL5eFKDl1JCrZ7NM7FKiXX5jZnWSMgCD62DGkFvXANyFpTiaX5x3/s1600-h/sophiahope.JPG"><IMG id=BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381297285578640082 style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6HHW-cH561YeDAez8hxx5nXswNzzIRFBqBErpHMv7bv_LI2T1k1QdgVrcTJAeIwdsxtGYqLVtziGfWNOZ9qI9XlKhbL5eFKDl1JCrZ7NM7FKiXX5jZnWSMgCD62DGkFvXANyFpTiaX5x3/s200/sophiahope.JPG" border=0></A> I was half way up the pass and felling woozy. "Don't loose your runner." Pacer nightmare. Can't keep up with Greg. "Take smaller steps," I tell myself. Legs like jello. I can't stop. This is crazy. Greg needs you. Willie Lambert from Great Plains Running in Topeka (one of my favorite accounts) firmly told me that the night before the race. With my heart bulging out of my chest like the Grinch as he listens to the good folk of Whoville, I do the only thing I can. "Greg, I may not make it, you're going to have to carry your own pack." He chugged along ahead and I wondered if he would loose me. Rick Mayo: One of the famous "Kearny Boys." He'd come in uder 24 hours at Western States, but was severely underweight today. I gave him a couple pieces of melon and some fig newtons from a sack of food I'd packed for Greg and wished him well. I knew he was done. He could have made the cuttoff, but his weight was too far gone. I caught up to Greg and We saw Willie and Dr. Steve Plumb. I got to see the view at the top of Hope Pass. <A href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheDE34Da0LgTgrheya3QjYmXFyOWna2GJ9KbQ527Uq0H3EDNyFqIwkGVQiEvqlKePm0N5lF0_VEVr89eyhvk55Si4rbB0lPcgi7PlCEoBGm1jV9MTT07YYeceSjfj5SI7Xab2ygnKib0ts/s1600-h/greg+point.jpg"><IMG id=BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381298832465392962 style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheDE34Da0LgTgrheya3QjYmXFyOWna2GJ9KbQ527Uq0H3EDNyFqIwkGVQiEvqlKePm0N5lF0_VEVr89eyhvk55Si4rbB0lPcgi7PlCEoBGm1jV9MTT07YYeceSjfj5SI7Xab2ygnKib0ts/s200/greg+point.jpg" border=0></A> I waited for Greg to take a dump at the Hopeless aid station. I have to insert a funny story Shelley told me here; Early in the race Anton Krupicka needed to relieve himself. Everyone followed until one of the guys shouted, "hey the course is over here-- he's taking a dump." Pooperazzi. Headed into Twin Lakes Greg was in excellent spirits. <br /><OBJECT class=BLOG_video_class id=BLOG_video-d36d1b06185d3c3d height=266 width=320 contentId="d36d1b06185d3c3d"></OBJECT><br />"I'm going to do this thing. I am going to run 100 miles today." I roused more support from the hundreds of onlookers. "His name is Greg. Shout Go Greg Go!!" And they did. Over and over for a half mile, til I passed him off to the capable hands, feet and energy of Bad Ben. I raced to the finish line, hoping to catch Fast Andy. I donned my Team Henshaw shirt, getting there in plenty of time. A voice over the PA system. "Team Henshaw, would you come over here." The mayor of Leadville was the emcee and originally from Osawatamie Kansas. He needed more information on the Legend of Fast Andy. <A href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSST-mK60W3fbqPM-hXEjrzrCbWAuq-bXK9B0EV7OiieyswdkDt-h9UeLyvGcmdtJ26zNR_l8ErVYPUq7VH_1Kgnp0S7VEKffoW_Zx94sfbdcHTzalL6I4gmtbDRO4bKeOfS7FTq19vOZu/s1600-h/mayorleadville.jpg"><IMG id=BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381441145596558898 style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSST-mK60W3fbqPM-hXEjrzrCbWAuq-bXK9B0EV7OiieyswdkDt-h9UeLyvGcmdtJ26zNR_l8ErVYPUq7VH_1Kgnp0S7VEKffoW_Zx94sfbdcHTzalL6I4gmtbDRO4bKeOfS7FTq19vOZu/s200/mayorleadville.jpg" border=0></A> 1 2 and 3 came in. The voice! "Team Henshaw get ready your runner is coming!" We assembled with signs, whistles and excitement. Andy and his faithful friend Dallas were headed in. Dallas who specializes in the 800, paced him for 13 miles! (Dallas also recently won the Trail Nerds Northshore race.. directed by none other than GREG BURGER) "Andy Henshaw finishes 4th place in the Leadville Trail 100 and is a Kansas City Trail Nerd." I wept. So did Shelley as we carried him to the medical tent. <A href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBsDyk4hzxmqutbtVustTg4n5dODSemqTr8Dt-seh7HPqG9zmXvd5PxJebFfOlHXQymHR-_jr2LOfmYGhkEcizpWuqQFmVZq163SOr4qsIbbxGFtI7Z2Gq7q9hLDBv4522fbIhrtBhpQKR/s1600-h/shelandywalkingafter.jpg"><IMG id=BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381298013812164882 style="WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBsDyk4hzxmqutbtVustTg4n5dODSemqTr8Dt-seh7HPqG9zmXvd5PxJebFfOlHXQymHR-_jr2LOfmYGhkEcizpWuqQFmVZq163SOr4qsIbbxGFtI7Z2Gq7q9hLDBv4522fbIhrtBhpQKR/s200/shelandywalkingafter.jpg" border=0></A> "Sophia, the first pair of Ronin's. They are trashed." I am overwhelmed with emotion again. "Sophia, how is Greg? Is he going to make it under 25?" Greg and Andy had bonded as ultra runners as Trail Nerds do the week before the race, and on training runs in Lawrence. Andy's original plan *gasp* was to turn around after finishing and help pace Greg. " I don't think I'm going to be able to make it back out." Andy was lying under a down blanket with a Tejas Trail Nerd hat on, shivering. Moments later he would vomit. <A href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhluh-UYachKrZE7p6GgBIWzHdoZ7DxMGazhOfEJ0xh0zursrFc_C3_sT5PyjUfOG48qPZ7VAuPCVlyZn34Rz4Xoo3IAww42NrQmGAbK3wcLN7SYaaTn29WUYWMpnHx32MoHwI8YuyoeLap/s1600-h/andycot.jpg"><IMG id=BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381441986351631618 style="WIDTH: 151px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhluh-UYachKrZE7p6GgBIWzHdoZ7DxMGazhOfEJ0xh0zursrFc_C3_sT5PyjUfOG48qPZ7VAuPCVlyZn34Rz4Xoo3IAww42NrQmGAbK3wcLN7SYaaTn29WUYWMpnHx32MoHwI8YuyoeLap/s200/andycot.jpg" border=0></A> "He's strong Andy. I don't know if he'll make it under 25, but he'll make it." Young Andy reminds us. That's what nice Nerds do. They pace, they care and they think of others first, even in their own moment of glory. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcAmmtMoWj9Pz7KM_A4WQ92peQAYTKi1uaJYSTCzdy4tS9dpFv_SFCWARWHSWk88n7V9K9rkKZASbiQxwiXnCyp0teXdfSryDhODxQXA59VwTa3Gk6SJRKPvDSw8yXBEknQiJF5cofFdcG/s1600-h/trailnerdshirtcot.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcAmmtMoWj9Pz7KM_A4WQ92peQAYTKi1uaJYSTCzdy4tS9dpFv_SFCWARWHSWk88n7V9K9rkKZASbiQxwiXnCyp0teXdfSryDhODxQXA59VwTa3Gk6SJRKPvDSw8yXBEknQiJF5cofFdcG/s200/trailnerdshirtcot.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383398095304213378" /></a><br /><br />Thank you Ben for taking me to Leadville this year. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP780GQa4UJuNqq0BsN79hXcDwnydK9TRkaHALISAOfCAtTh1acriyGJH2VZAC75VQsP95_Fd1w2L3kdk1EgRbKQbAGIM7_noL64VtThaTnRELHWwndCFiqa9uOrpQc5hwQKi35BDKvAkr/s1600-h/benflower.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP780GQa4UJuNqq0BsN79hXcDwnydK9TRkaHALISAOfCAtTh1acriyGJH2VZAC75VQsP95_Fd1w2L3kdk1EgRbKQbAGIM7_noL64VtThaTnRELHWwndCFiqa9uOrpQc5hwQKi35BDKvAkr/s200/benflower.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381447777956417218" /></a><br /><br />It's kind of an addictive atmosphere. Just before heading out to Twin Lakes on Saturday, we stopped at the front desk of Greg's hotel. "We'd like to reserve a two bedroom suite for next year." 2010 we're running. If we can find pacers.sophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-34477588240623590172009-07-19T19:14:00.000-07:002009-07-19T19:48:36.157-07:00I WON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<div>Before I got my job with Mizuno, I entered an essay contest to win a pair of Innov8 shoes. I was telling my brother about it, as I mulled through the prose.<br />"Don't you always wear Mizunos and doesn't Kelley help you out with the shoes?"<br />"Yes, but the winners get published in Trail Runner magazine."<br />The light goes on.<br />"Ah, it's about your writing."<br />After I sent in my entry I called my brother back.<br />"I'm going to win. There's no way I won't win."<br />Yes. 11 years in journalism. My first award winning piece!<br />Ironic.<br />Just as I change careers.<br /><br />And I'm excited to try the shoes. Conflict of interest with my current job selling running shoes for Mizuno? No. Instead, research. I can't wait to see how they stack up against our incredible new shoe, the Cabrakan, (means Aztek god of mountain and earthquake) that hits the market this September.<br /><br />Trail Runner, published the final portion of the essay.<br /><br />Here it is in it's entirety.<br /><br />ONE YEAR OF RUNNING THE MUD<br />By, Sophia Wharton<br />Aka: Original Mud Babe<br /><br />It was a dark and stormy morning. The choices were: stay in bed with someone you love, or get up and run in the mud. We made the right choice, it was, after all close to my one year anniversary of running in the mud. A mighty group of 6 slipped and slided for 13 miles on the rocky rooty, and very muddy trails of Clinton Lake in Lawrence, KS. The forecast was for a high of 55. The forecast was wrong. It was chilly. Bad Ben, of Kansas City Trail Nerd fame, realized it was too cold for his Ice Breaker shirt alone, and pulled a trash bag out of the back of his Honda Element and put it on.<br />“Look it’s Bag Ben.” Another pun for me, Sophia. Yup, I love puns, especially when they go with running in the mud. After my first ooey gooey muddy run last spring, one of the other Trail Nerd women and I decided to team up for a 44 mile relay from Kansas City to Lawrence called Brew to Brew. There was a contest for clever team names.<br />“Hey Coleen!” I was on the phone with her. “I just registered us as ‘Bad Ben’s Mud Babes.’ Is that ok with you?”<br />“Hell yes! I love mud!”<br />Bad Ben decided the name was too cute for a one -time thing, and now the Trail Nerd women are all Mud Babes. A movement within a movement was born. Really, what woman wants to be a nerd? And mud is so squishy and fun, plus it really cools your feet down on those hot July days. Like during Psycho Psummer 50k. I was hot, and running again with Coleen who we dubbed “Cynical Mud Babe. “<br />We were schlocking through a combo of deep mud and horse poo, grateful for tightly laced shoes. We came upon another woman digging a lost shoe out of the mud. She laughed as she saw us.<br />“Well, I guess now I can buy the Mud Babe T-shirt!”<br />“You’ve earned it. And we’re the two Mud Babes in the picture!”<br />As we slipped and slided along I was so hot, I wanted to just sit down in the mud, but resisted that. Instead, I tried something new psychologically uplifting.<br />“Coleen come back!”<br />I was standing in mud up to my ankles. When she got beside me, I leaned down, grabbed a finger of mud and painted a muddy heart on her arm. She did the same for me, and the Mud Tats were born.<br /><br /></div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1cXIDCE_MxOnPSeIUHO35gW-A7lYigK9HHEjhOpRGfHzKSIo4kBnvmuyPY_PRF4AlI7L7a3QsYXewQDSXd-4y-RilebRVtplkdQd1gGTMnIcoVeJjOo0V4ioflP7hxOHwUuhdcJrO6UFj/s1600-h/psychmecol1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360365082842399266" style="WIDTH: 134px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1cXIDCE_MxOnPSeIUHO35gW-A7lYigK9HHEjhOpRGfHzKSIo4kBnvmuyPY_PRF4AlI7L7a3QsYXewQDSXd-4y-RilebRVtplkdQd1gGTMnIcoVeJjOo0V4ioflP7hxOHwUuhdcJrO6UFj/s200/psychmecol1.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><div></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><br />Smiley faces for guys. Arms in summer, cheeks (on faces) in the winter. It’s tribal bonding at it’s best. After all, nothing quite says “We love you, and accept you,” to a new runner like a muddy heart. And although I only have the science of my experience to back this up, you do run faster with a Mud tat.<br />One day, I’d fallen back from the pack and was running alone. I needed a pick me up, so I made some mud with my water and painted a smiley face on my arm. I call that, mudsterbation.<br />“Sophia that smiley face is working.” I’d caught up to James the Trail Nerd lawyer, and was about to leave him in the dust. I suggested his own mud tat instead.<br />But this was really child’s play compared with my run with Superhero Mudbabe Debbie Webster at Mud and Muck. A 5 k with a full fledged mud pit crawl. We finished and went back for more. More mud, more fun and many, many mud tattoos. Including one on photographer Dick Ross’s bald head. We laughed, we ran, we played. We spanked James, as it was his 38th birthday, that day.<br />(Trail Runner chose this final piece. Which was the clincher, I knew would land me the prize)<br />Yes, I love running in the mud so much the words have become interchangeable. It has been a little over a year I’ve been running in the mud. Last March, I sent Bad Ben a text message. My hand was shaking a little, but I pressed “send.”<br />“Are you falling in mud with me?”<br />“Yes.” Was the reply.<br />“Mud U.”<br />“Mud U, too.”<br />So, from running in the mud a great love was born.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkbk36kDVInlNTxlXhpRMiPPQTZtWt6F6iAU4tWj75jsWzlVNu0NWCH5ts-KN-RpYm5lHVyVPswwYOyHzsSULCJs5lNYpu6ddCFJQF428HQZLb2LX-XUQbBIMWKhCoWiIQvBjon1jsCTZd/s1600-h/photosdudeside2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360365181138157842" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 134px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkbk36kDVInlNTxlXhpRMiPPQTZtWt6F6iAU4tWj75jsWzlVNu0NWCH5ts-KN-RpYm5lHVyVPswwYOyHzsSULCJs5lNYpu6ddCFJQF428HQZLb2LX-XUQbBIMWKhCoWiIQvBjon1jsCTZd/s200/photosdudeside2.jpg" border="0" /></a>sophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-54319831662092056152009-06-20T14:23:00.001-07:002009-06-20T16:23:24.551-07:00Flying MudBabesI've written a lot about ultra marathons and running farther. But often the best things in life come in smaller packages. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8UKm6cp3PRNiLVlYt0kx66BLcM5_gOZsleHqm8wZOLAt9MuwjkV28RH7TiarlE3ObvUBoT-GtQfs7yXQgM3uasrxcZ_SHm3rsBrAgSygkaaZZAe_2DQz9r4vJsefZc5-ixk-P-LhmEg76/s1600-h/flyinghigh.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349524284181591234" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 133px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8UKm6cp3PRNiLVlYt0kx66BLcM5_gOZsleHqm8wZOLAt9MuwjkV28RH7TiarlE3ObvUBoT-GtQfs7yXQgM3uasrxcZ_SHm3rsBrAgSygkaaZZAe_2DQz9r4vJsefZc5-ixk-P-LhmEg76/s200/flyinghigh.jpg" border="0" /></a> Sometimes life is so good, it just seems like you're flying. That was the case at the Psummer Intro 5k (well 2.8 miler). That's my awesome mudbabe buddy Shelley Flones. She was flying pretty high too. Before the race, we both got a generous sprinkling of fairy dust from Peter Pan (Bad Ben) and as you can see it was working wonders. Maybe it was excitement that so many people showed up. 106, compared with 60 last year. Yes the Trail Nerd message of inclusivity and love of nature and maturity is quite inspiring.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3P-Sep47QsEtFNkYf8nJBc9Y4m8qT5E67P8YDWhY9Liaq6BvxsMGh6RgMpfjYvJPZplaTjTQrjCuXmi26DIuESw5su6xYN6Wlvh5eoWEQ5mVGuMv7APlRSIpnNf32KHr-JDM1pr5c7CUi/s1600-h/crowded.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349525442744662274" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 133px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3P-Sep47QsEtFNkYf8nJBc9Y4m8qT5E67P8YDWhY9Liaq6BvxsMGh6RgMpfjYvJPZplaTjTQrjCuXmi26DIuESw5su6xYN6Wlvh5eoWEQ5mVGuMv7APlRSIpnNf32KHr-JDM1pr5c7CUi/s200/crowded.jpg" border="0" /></a>While we joke that we want world domination, mostly we just want<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />people to have a great quality of life, through running on trails. Maybe I was flying because it was my first spin in the new Wave Cabrakan. I just got a sweeeeeeeeet job working as a territory<br />manager for Mizuno USA in the running division.<br /><br />I talked my way into wear testing the Cabrakan that comes out in September. Right now the shoes are just headed out to the top running magazines, so it was quite an honor. They feel great. A FLEXIBLE rock plate in the front. Great traction, and an incredible soft feel-- an<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwoWG1XZFISpLkimxZ67UUr79iy6IUbSFEdAeE83qoFpmZHEbcL1KjgvSopZTXEw_2XrL3F3cPYD4x1aYorycdE0sxnczE-FquZ_tp4u7DZePnCaNbz-ngRifr6yT43_AOssHbG_7imrTz/s1600-h/flyingfinish.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349526666645318498" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 133px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwoWG1XZFISpLkimxZ67UUr79iy6IUbSFEdAeE83qoFpmZHEbcL1KjgvSopZTXEw_2XrL3F3cPYD4x1aYorycdE0sxnczE-FquZ_tp4u7DZePnCaNbz-ngRifr6yT43_AOssHbG_7imrTz/s200/flyingfinish.jpg" border="0" /></a>d I was, as you can see FLYING. No lying. Flying. I will post more on the incredible possibilities these shoes hold for runners soon.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />So was it sole, or soul that made me run 3 minutes faster than last year, despite less training. Maybe it was a little acknowledged phenomenon. Borrowed energy. Hmm..or maybe it was that Shelley (a bit of a Tinkerbell) had some fairy dust of her own.<br /><br />On this day she was quite the leader. Check out the Run Posse!!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcMXfa81GT3dmqSVMZfwhGY66GkVrLukYOtljnDvvtCUEopGoxonov73XrtmiqB-A8Q3DfnAiEiC2NivuWoEQm2Sjz_fHSZkYVhFyp6Cp7lqOZLsRk9uKDkY_hzTFzRCX7BHUDHbYxFsmU/s1600-h/cabrakanrunposse.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349542623804385858" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 133px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcMXfa81GT3dmqSVMZfwhGY66GkVrLukYOtljnDvvtCUEopGoxonov73XrtmiqB-A8Q3DfnAiEiC2NivuWoEQm2Sjz_fHSZkYVhFyp6Cp7lqOZLsRk9uKDkY_hzTFzRCX7BHUDHbYxFsmU/s200/cabrakanrunposse.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />She's the Flying Mudbabe. She won the Rock Creek 10k and ran an impressive 24:15 on this day. I was close behind, but ahem... felt the call of nature and tinkled on the trail. Wow, then I really felt light as a feather.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnuVSMaAU3oCpJk7uazBWuleNg6HG9xCMrNUvZjE1alJjVwdI9szhL5vUYtLAA6-sgah5DGPoMgXpHOcekPhkLeoHK-DCzWfrvcX8t72pgZllKeAD8TVQ3Hxr8SFrKeegh6n9nnxP6kz1z/s1600-h/cabrakantrees.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349526497496634098" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 133px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnuVSMaAU3oCpJk7uazBWuleNg6HG9xCMrNUvZjE1alJjVwdI9szhL5vUYtLAA6-sgah5DGPoMgXpHOcekPhkLeoHK-DCzWfrvcX8t72pgZllKeAD8TVQ3Hxr8SFrKeegh6n9nnxP6kz1z/s200/cabrakantrees.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I'm allowed a certain budget for promotion of running through my job as a territory manager for Mizuno. Since the Trail Nerds and Mud Babes are unquestionably the most dynamic running group in KC, I've decided to sponsor them. I gave out t-shirts to folks running in the Wave Ascend (another great trail shoe) and our awesome Maverick short (has a zipper pocket) to two of the female finishers.<br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349537386337459170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 133px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4U162H2c0Pe6AoIphy-8o0QGIjX73HAUnPGnYy8el64wAbUeiN-QBxUySf2MRCgB0l5cjyjMC9UMF-vFBheT5EmYSVM0ZC55PcCjMFAhmNshNNVJMxectASbSZ1l2LScbeNDksQMC36_Q/s200/mzunotent.jpg" border="0" /><br />There were other pockets of energy in this race.<br /><br />Fast Andy. Andy Henshaw. Broke the Brew to Brew record running 44 miles on a windy nasty day at about a 7 minute pace. Uber volunteer, willing to get off the couch the night before a race and redo a mile of trail that's been demarked by an overzealous 4 year old on a walk with her underzealous when it comes to discipline parents. I might mention he was getting up at 5 the next morning to come and volunteer for 18 hours at the Free State marathon.<br /><br />This day we had the Andy effect: "Follow fast Andy!" "Andy's going to win!" "Go Andy, Go!" He was proudly wearing his Trail Nerd shirt, lovingly soiled with dirt from many races and happy falls in the woods.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTIWhMycUWTaGCI_4xj8f3MWlhmnWJFzeVXW1StPsOuOFZpDQVv4rTehWx0zYa-apvV1mUSYoPdWElxOMpNdoKmcp0EejwFJbrihLcGfxeJ0J6AnbrGCji5iYtX69vxIuCvkmEGu8Vg5BJ/s1600-h/andy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349541869471580130" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 133px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTIWhMycUWTaGCI_4xj8f3MWlhmnWJFzeVXW1StPsOuOFZpDQVv4rTehWx0zYa-apvV1mUSYoPdWElxOMpNdoKmcp0EejwFJbrihLcGfxeJ0J6AnbrGCji5iYtX69vxIuCvkmEGu8Vg5BJ/s200/andy.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />But leaders aren't always in the front.<br /><br />Sometimes they are in the middle. oops cut in half.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZkuc-COtCtHjcJOyzApgvFSorUF5WHEqbj6IEDZ3J4fufbY1uzjic7JvKGgu17LTV1Xwd3ijngBhxCnVriNYV1nQiRYwhLesTZ7F5fj1juuohGsFsk-m0yw0Li_jeWWZ_kGVuzr-MPPCj/s1600-h/halfshelley.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349541036192888514" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 133px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZkuc-COtCtHjcJOyzApgvFSorUF5WHEqbj6IEDZ3J4fufbY1uzjic7JvKGgu17LTV1Xwd3ijngBhxCnVriNYV1nQiRYwhLesTZ7F5fj1juuohGsFsk-m0yw0Li_jeWWZ_kGVuzr-MPPCj/s200/halfshelley.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Sometimes they are in the back. Bad Ben was leading his son Matt. I call him "The Young Mr. Holmes." Matt calls himself "Son of a Ben," proud to be the son of a great man and leader. It is after all father's day weekend.<br /><br /><br />Right after Free State, Ben and I were having a conversation. Matt had just spent time before, during and after the race schlepping, hauling and without ever, EVER whining helping with the race.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxmeGUBwJ_6nh1Z1vH5xWJThvz85WN0TEveU3ISWsYa9qzHloEOvujA6cLOV2vqz1fOYxea-eQHTiUY1w46J90Oz0WadafdgkFheEX1Y_hwqZFaeulcCTdTVLoIYWO4b5o0X_vA8HfSDTP/s1600-h/listentoshane.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349540654834036962" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 133px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxmeGUBwJ_6nh1Z1vH5xWJThvz85WN0TEveU3ISWsYa9qzHloEOvujA6cLOV2vqz1fOYxea-eQHTiUY1w46J90Oz0WadafdgkFheEX1Y_hwqZFaeulcCTdTVLoIYWO4b5o0X_vA8HfSDTP/s200/listentoshane.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />"Sophia, Matt wants to run a race with me."<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />"No problem, do Intro to Psummer. I'll race direct." I had just gotten a first hand (and one that I sought out and enjoyed) view of what it takes to put on a successful, organized, can survive any disaster--even a tornado--race.<br /><br />But..... then I got hired by Mizuno. I wasn't going to have time.<br />"I'm not going to get to run with Matt."<br /><br />Enter Shane and Brandy Jones. Sometimes leaders are at the finish line. Or at home, tirelessly entering the results for 106 runners.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFMoISaCEkE5bjen8FP5w6nlP14L9Sxpc7zV4yUUVKAOpvwPJnze_OKCmTNAwd5E9mDHeCsY91tuoK-HHawRQ5jmmWue9ged3LsnDBTS62vrLffu8QNfvQYIYS-AQ2Xx6i5dTVK8Wb2knf/s1600-h/shanebrandy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349541355708991730" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 133px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFMoISaCEkE5bjen8FP5w6nlP14L9Sxpc7zV4yUUVKAOpvwPJnze_OKCmTNAwd5E9mDHeCsY91tuoK-HHawRQ5jmmWue9ged3LsnDBTS62vrLffu8QNfvQYIYS-AQ2Xx6i5dTVK8Wb2knf/s200/shanebrandy.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Ben brought up the rear with Matt.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiugN9witouCuLDgG7Vx2O921mAYFiYzuaMHeq1LdSCkbqkVEHvq8swTKjJvTcQgzcyvNIuw_ElmWcgRSvKVJvRV0bezNcn6KkIF7zQNUwszpUucqqg-zK-oatTZBv23BxwJW4OoACmNsV6/s1600-h/benandmatt.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349536638762317426" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 133px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiugN9witouCuLDgG7Vx2O921mAYFiYzuaMHeq1LdSCkbqkVEHvq8swTKjJvTcQgzcyvNIuw_ElmWcgRSvKVJvRV0bezNcn6KkIF7zQNUwszpUucqqg-zK-oatTZBv23BxwJW4OoACmNsV6/s200/benandmatt.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Sometimes leaders are at the very back of the pack.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I was talking to a lady after the race.<br />"Oh that's YOUR Ben? Oh please tell him thank you, thank you so much for encouraging me and my friend. This was my first ever trail run, and I so appreciated it. Give him a hug for me."<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC-J7BxI6jaTuWCalHOqJcJu5fcSXv1fY_3unTsQcYqllCY9HED1_GVX71ztXJ2I6vxmz7gVhHw8oZtVhc_TLyth3UN1GGOqcoTFFlV29KnIK1RTVgbmmQUyPxUbQWam7kpqGpihTmVawU/s1600-h/newmudbabe.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349541633073871010" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 133px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC-J7BxI6jaTuWCalHOqJcJu5fcSXv1fY_3unTsQcYqllCY9HED1_GVX71ztXJ2I6vxmz7gVhHw8oZtVhc_TLyth3UN1GGOqcoTFFlV29KnIK1RTVgbmmQUyPxUbQWam7kpqGpihTmVawU/s200/newmudbabe.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Muddy sweaty hug.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKgoINNq7D5R3lpjEpMIiRZrudncQ6zZu06wmzJe0ydtBqoLFwNaSWSPNSDCU3a3SYZnplBPzaNKqty8dt72El0sFdKU8B0cEI4YaLM7YZMLtyhXz2_X-Vu8U9YtTokv7ptLXaehtJVK9D/s1600-h/benfiamatt.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349537001310873218" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 133px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKgoINNq7D5R3lpjEpMIiRZrudncQ6zZu06wmzJe0ydtBqoLFwNaSWSPNSDCU3a3SYZnplBPzaNKqty8dt72El0sFdKU8B0cEI4YaLM7YZMLtyhXz2_X-Vu8U9YtTokv7ptLXaehtJVK9D/s200/benfiamatt.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />So what are the Trail Nerds about? Leaders. Everywhere. In front, in the middle, at home, and sometimes most importantly bringing up the rear.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzU_f1YkcUfWHc6412bjJ8Err4RhRFvSeHodfnrgLh42EkbbhI4Pl3YdGoXGw5RGCaBEZeD5rJvgBmd2jCiNIr_6551utjeIg9DX8V9gx0lnAeUCAchN-gdQRNTsjZTmmFrDw0gFFNGP6U/s1600-h/shwag.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349538047470176514" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 133px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzU_f1YkcUfWHc6412bjJ8Err4RhRFvSeHodfnrgLh42EkbbhI4Pl3YdGoXGw5RGCaBEZeD5rJvgBmd2jCiNIr_6551utjeIg9DX8V9gx0lnAeUCAchN-gdQRNTsjZTmmFrDw0gFFNGP6U/s200/shwag.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Happy, happy Muddy Hugs to everyone. </p><p>Sophia<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnuVSMaAU3oCpJk7uazBWuleNg6HG9xCMrNUvZjE1alJjVwdI9szhL5vUYtLAA6-sgah5DGPoMgXpHOcekPhkLeoHK-DCzWfrvcX8t72pgZllKeAD8TVQ3Hxr8SFrKeegh6n9nnxP6kz1z/s1600-h/cabrakantrees.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnuVSMaAU3oCpJk7uazBWuleNg6HG9xCMrNUvZjE1alJjVwdI9szhL5vUYtLAA6-sgah5DGPoMgXpHOcekPhkLeoHK-DCzWfrvcX8t72pgZllKeAD8TVQ3Hxr8SFrKeegh6n9nnxP6kz1z/s1600-h/cabrakantrees.jpg"></a></p>sophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-213241815935648812009-06-18T06:12:00.000-07:002009-06-18T06:19:47.871-07:00StefanieWay back... almost a year ago I posted a blog about all of my amazing girlfriends, and how supportive they were of me in an incredibly devastating time in my life.<br /><br />It's been amazing to watch how they've evolved through the past 10 or so months. One is Stefanie.<br /><br />I helped mentor her for her first 8k. Kept her from going out too fast, and kept her company. When you run long distances, maybe an 8k doesn't seem so far--but it's all about perspective. For her, a sprinter, it was the longest she'd ever run.<br /><br />In April, she ran the Oklahoma City half marathon in 2 hours and change.<br /><br />Yesterrday, I got a text from her.<br />"Man I just ran 9.6 miles in 80 minutes! If it weren't for u i would have never been able to do that or want to run at all. Hope all is well mud u!"<br /><br />It's so nice to be appreciated, especially when it's from someone you know you can trust to be there for you, too.<br /><br />I'll get pictures up later.sophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-17200701928634872872009-05-16T20:33:00.001-07:002009-05-16T20:44:01.524-07:00Running running and runningI love running.<br />I was so happy to be back running on a trail at Rockin' K.<br />It was a joy and honor to help Ben with Free State and see and hear the appreciation of the runners and their families.<br />I'm really excited about the trail building we're doing at Wyco, and the mojo Ben has created by teaming up with the Earth Riders. (great vision).<br />I am so thankful for the true friendships I've encountered in life.<br />I am grateful the future is looking very, very bright and full of love, running and prosperity.<br />I have a new job, where I can run everyday and help people explore their running and live better quality lives.<br /><br />So many of my prayers have been answered. It feels good to be blessed.<br />Muddy Hugs,<br />Sophiasophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-20186657596366756782009-05-11T10:23:00.001-07:002009-11-19T12:10:46.013-08:00rockin originalI can't believe how far behind I am on my blog. Somehow, I've been more busy as an unemployed member of society. I've found myself on numerous committees, quite a few short lists to help out friends, and very happily on many "A" lists of friends new and old.<br /><div> </div><div>Pretty proud to be on Julie Toft and Debbie Webster's "A" list. Julie was signed up for Rockin' K, but got stuck on an out of town, airport terminal, crap infested work assignment the weekend of the race. She offered me up her cowtag ( I love that this race gives us cowtags to traipse through the literal, cowpaths!) for what it cost to switch ($45). Saweeet!!! Did I mention I'm unempl<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizVsXD09aMnq2Av2cvQYG-NjPc_dCpwp-gCv8V76Rc7HCSPl2AVMq7ebtCPRzQt8ua4tYX_yYhllEsAi0uESCUtUTGe7Wu7OGk2xcjjLs-nJX395ONhNIViF6DlD3B6gMd0M2VWnYOptRS/s1600-h/IMG_0247.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizVsXD09aMnq2Av2cvQYG-NjPc_dCpwp-gCv8V76Rc7HCSPl2AVMq7ebtCPRzQt8ua4tYX_yYhllEsAi0uESCUtUTGe7Wu7OGk2xcjjLs-nJX395ONhNIViF6DlD3B6gMd0M2VWnYOptRS/s200/IMG_0247.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334354636169769362" border="0" /></a>oyed?!! Then she didn't even let me pay her that. Mud U, Julie.</div><br /><div> </div><div>Wait... backtrack.</div><div>"Hey Sophia, it's Debbie.. see if Ben will lend you to me over the weekend for Rockin' K."</div><br /><div>"Yikes. We have all this Brew to Brew stuff to do. " (blog on that to follow--yeah I am REALLY behind) I hated to have him suffer alone with the paved race packet pick-up. Not Ben's favorite. Still, I know how important Brew to Brew is. A fundraiser for Cystic Fibrosis (horrid disease) but also one of the Kansas City Track Club's most important events. The group and Lou Joline believed in Ben's vision creating the Trail Nerds. They have been great and supportive team members for our group. I didn't want to let them down.</div><div>"Tell Ben I'll work all day Sunday at the aid station at Brew to Brew, if he lets you go."<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4iPUrvujbg3KiNImEiaW10QInfRVW73tXF7xRMupRZdvcI-I58o4SF3fj7creiAhcJz03re1XwSekzwDiMmzFuesREk6syUH4AA_SZGWikXkwVDxF93qOdEr5quzXhLO4zz5i30i00pr2/s1600-h/IMG_0339.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4iPUrvujbg3KiNImEiaW10QInfRVW73tXF7xRMupRZdvcI-I58o4SF3fj7creiAhcJz03re1XwSekzwDiMmzFuesREk6syUH4AA_SZGWikXkwVDxF93qOdEr5quzXhLO4zz5i30i00pr2/s200/IMG_0339.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334355311290330210" border="0" /></a><div>It was an easy sell.</div><div>Oh my dear Ben. I love you. love you , love you so much for never resenting me when I get to go run with our friends on beau<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkg7QVCBl9YwG6RpTFExNKbpT8ZMHWCAanBkhYyRtp8MR62OE2oKUQNZ0opvBcNfC2dtnVebJMpREFrO9Fz7ygpEdlSzsqObv1EbdtDd3ctxMrpTGtANxh2uHnnsBpxfl4869Mxjf_hCXM/s1600-h/photo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkg7QVCBl9YwG6RpTFExNKbpT8ZMHWCAanBkhYyRtp8MR62OE2oKUQNZ0opvBcNfC2dtnVebJMpREFrO9Fz7ygpEdlSzsqObv1EbdtDd3ctxMrpTGtANxh2uHnnsBpxfl4869Mxjf_hCXM/s200/photo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334356139719693490" border="0" /></a>tiful trails. Even when you have to be responsible and take care of the hand (KCTC) that feeds us. Oh I was excited... so excited! </div><br /><div>I hadn't raced since November 27th. </div><br /><div>"Sophia, where have you been? Why aren't you racing?" An email from Rick Mayo in February. I seriously ran into him before this race.</div><div>" Hey I'm back, I'm back!!" His beautiful wife Kristi was there with their equally beautiful daughter. Great to see them...... hmmm.. where were the other boys from Kearny? (find out more here at Gabe's Blog)<br /></div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>Wait... backtrack.</div><div>Carpool/Nerd-Mud Babe motorcade to the race. </div><br /><div>Everyday's party in Sophie's World.</div><br /><div>I met up with Deb<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYW7eFIsKg2ED-Gm9qQLbcIW2e1WTkKTiS6NV8nZvIEIOvMv7IXqarV7G0H6xKUBhLg1HCOvG6Yz_pCEKiH_Uq7iefo7c6OGuzSjSKvaZqsOiVltKpKJu81iekummu-eDlwlMgBuzmVXUB/s1600-h/IMG_0252.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYW7eFIsKg2ED-Gm9qQLbcIW2e1WTkKTiS6NV8nZvIEIOvMv7IXqarV7G0H6xKUBhLg1HCOvG6Yz_pCEKiH_Uq7iefo7c6OGuzSjSKvaZqsOiVltKpKJu81iekummu-eDlwlMgBuzmVXUB/s200/IMG_0252.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334359670629824322" border="0" /></a>bie, we loaded up the truck with muddy shoes, snacks etc? Actually an impressive stash for a weekender. Two doesn't constitute much of a carpool. Read on.</div><div> </div><div>I had 6 nerds to coordinate. Two cars right? Ended up with three. Two people per car right? Nope. 4 in one car and one each in two others. Jim wanted to multi-task and work on the way (admirable actually) and Greg had a different "bailout after the race schedule," since he was doing 50 miles. </div><div> </div>On the way out we lent Shane Jones to Greg for company, and in retrospect should have put James T. in with Jim since he spent the majority of the trip glued to his cell phone. Meanwhile, Debbie and I did our best to distract James by rockin' out to her latests favorite country song. We'd made a quick stop at Target in Lawrence to grab Ja<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkwe3YxOF7c7PQlyf4L4U2VMahHuLY4efImkDoiUBmp-JuWsx-prWjl8NP4HklBXrvtdqSEp_GBVwKvh4LVXqbDrIdITdgZ-Cg1u_H1G8ZaMj-FLlOs-Jg3hS8Ne68dx4IFNazoBb-qogB/s1600-h/IMG_0251.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkwe3YxOF7c7PQlyf4L4U2VMahHuLY4efImkDoiUBmp-JuWsx-prWjl8NP4HklBXrvtdqSEp_GBVwKvh4LVXqbDrIdITdgZ-Cg1u_H1G8ZaMj-FLlOs-Jg3hS8Ne68dx4IFNazoBb-qogB/s200/IMG_0251.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334357088070041362" border="0" /></a>mes and Shane. I got a battery put in one of Ben's old watches. And got teased by Shane for my super cool Timex. Shuddup Shane (tease back) it only cost $10. Did I mention I'm unemployed?!!<br /><div> </div><br /><div>So the motorcade looked like this:</div><br /><div>In Car 1: Jim Megerson and phone</div><div><br />In Car 2: Debbie, me, James, phone and country tunes</div><br /><div>In Car 3: Shane and Greg having a bro-mance</div><div> </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaA1EWzpKLmJjVYu12g-eg_QakkuTX3p0XOpF2AWdbg56VwVeh3dV_bp1nCNIMa3RSMAej_u06c95sH9_DSLU4k_W90e46HMz_YnRU_gBlrmF69E5OSuLTzgFOfblmd-MB3ZasuBd8ko9n/s1600-h/IMG_0250.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaA1EWzpKLmJjVYu12g-eg_QakkuTX3p0XOpF2AWdbg56VwVeh3dV_bp1nCNIMa3RSMAej_u06c95sH9_DSLU4k_W90e46HMz_YnRU_gBlrmF69E5OSuLTzgFOfblmd-MB3ZasuBd8ko9n/s200/IMG_0250.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334357713724358722" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Meatballs, meatballs, meatballs!</div><br /><div>The pre-race dinner and meeting Stacy Sheridan was awesome! I'm not sure God could put more positive energy in one woman. Muddy hug! Oh I love that lady.</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>A fun positive to being so RIDICULOUSLY far behind on my blog is perspective. Here's one. Take a look at Laurie Euler's plate of meatballs. Paired with her race report peppered with self deprecating humor that she couldn't poo. That's a lot of blockage. Her dear boyfriend Nick (the garbage disposal<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig16s83FEDXVPx6kpqvjOiRjhJiCRLpyddw9xaJAhOcrysPwAHaG9L8pQyWkVlwJg5lyOzHkggddZwkQc3BXz8b04_OVwKJ1pszs-2qM1QkAkQ2IUmMBhMPmVyrEG9dAHUvbRwOKIUb_1s/s1600-h/IMG_0283.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig16s83FEDXVPx6kpqvjOiRjhJiCRLpyddw9xaJAhOcrysPwAHaG9L8pQyWkVlwJg5lyOzHkggddZwkQc3BXz8b04_OVwKJ1pszs-2qM1QkAkQ2IUmMBhMPmVyrEG9dAHUvbRwOKIUb_1s/s200/IMG_0283.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334358709414871570" border="0" /></a>--eats like Michael Phelps) had stopped in and partook at our firm invitation of our breakfast spread. Watermelon, displayed in the ice container (presentation is so important) and peanut butter bagels. </div><br /><div><br />"Hey does Laurie want anything?"</div><br /><div>"Not a fan of mornings."</div><br /><div>She was already in the Nick's car. Next time take us up on the peanut butter Laurie! It works wonders. No promises... but maybe it would help with the Poo!</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>Shane and James pop into our room, on time-- thanks guys. We start shoving food in their faces. Coffee coffee! I'd hopped across the street and gotten some marginal brown brew from the convenience store.</div><div>"I'm not too good in the morning." Shane.<br /></div><br /><div>boom chicka boom chicka la la twang.</div>"I love this song! This is my favorite song right now!"CMT was on the television. Yup, while other runners were catching up on the latest weather forecast for the day, Debbie and I were tuned into the Country Music Channel. "I will run to you-oo -oo. I will run to you."We sang and danced in unison.<br /><div>"Sorry, I don't think it's that great a song."</div>Shuddup Shane. (teasing)<br /><div> </div><br /><div>On the way to the race we discussed our post race strategy.</div>"Shane why don't you run with my key fob since you'll finish WAY ahead of all of us."<br /><div>We all concurred this was the best plan.</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>boom chicka boom chicka la la twaaaang.</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>"What? wait? not this song again?"</div>I turned around to Shane.<br /><div>"We bought the CD at Target so we can hear it whenever we want. C'mon it says "run" in the chorus!"</div>"ugh."<div>Even James seemed a little irritated.</div>"I will run to you!" We sang at the top of our lungs.Played it twice.<br /><br /><div>Radio after that. Hard dude rock. This time everyone was singing. </div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>THE RACE:</div><br /><div>Fear. For this race, I knew I had to follow all the rules. Respect the distance, respect your body, listen to the signs. I can't even say I was on the Megerson constant taper. (25-30 miles per week max, year round). I was quite simply out of shape. January and February had been total running busts. I hadn't raced since November. Would my body remember what to do?</div><br /><div> </div><div>"Ben, what should I expect for a time on this one? I am so undertrained."</div><div>5:30 to 6:30. Ben knew the course and has run it in several different fitness levels. I looked down at my "new," watch and wondered what it would read at the end of the race. </div><br /><div>Anxiety. I shared it with Debbie.</div><div>"I can't make any mistakes. I am going to have to be militant about salt, food, water, wardrobe.. everything." I packed a drop bag for the first time ever. Mostly I wanted a labelled place to leave my Mizuno stretch crew in the middle of the race so I could start out warm and comfy at the beginning. I threw in my inhaler. (Performance enhancing drugs according to Mr. Megerson!)</div><br /><div>"We are making a mistake right now."</div><br /><div>Debbie and I were chatting away like school girls on a slumber party. But somehow it worked out. We were relaxed and at least slept well for the few hours we got.</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>Before the race, Stacy Sheridan came a lookin for me.</div>"Sophia..Sophia there you are!" great big hug. "ooops I forgot I had to sign in. I'm here."<br /><div> </div><div>Then I was running. Running in the breathtaking splendor of Kanopolis State park. I felt free at last. I came up upon Coleen and Deb Johnson after taking a break to water a bush. Btw, an interesting experience with 40 mph winds and little to block it. </div><br /><div> </div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBfvSKNSOq9HO6eO5_s0fjnFsbP9UkO8buun6OLu5pOPlt2vS8hXhq8icFx9CLkRiQvf-Kjq7e7RNU1eQ85x-uWojrFF2xlMBD4pMDu9EY3n0mm5hLrXM_UgYcnuh_TgCtJBHRbRvVLOA1/s1600-h/IMG_0320.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBfvSKNSOq9HO6eO5_s0fjnFsbP9UkO8buun6OLu5pOPlt2vS8hXhq8icFx9CLkRiQvf-Kjq7e7RNU1eQ85x-uWojrFF2xlMBD4pMDu9EY3n0mm5hLrXM_UgYcnuh_TgCtJBHRbRvVLOA1/s200/IMG_0320.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334361889234039858" border="0" /></a><div>I chimed in a hello and tried to make conversation, but there was also very little to block the angry hostility and seething silence of Coleen. I can't tell you how many tears I've shed for the loss of this friendship. It was a friendship based on discovery of ultra running, laughter, watermelon and oranges. I loved having her as a friend. I miss her. In the past few months, sometimes we'd end up on the same group run and chat and chat. Tap dancing over the rocks and the taboo subject. Not<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht78Q-UoM3voXrBdQDHex1LuPtsc5SXHkp50zxflu4UoRjxIIngwASZE84N9tSnHAewFWK-0Z70C7AKHdSJJI76kAidqX_Tbad8IMpW7ruqLUckSR0zsjTpq9Rwhdvjz5qZjRijakglWGd/s1600-h/IMG_0308.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht78Q-UoM3voXrBdQDHex1LuPtsc5SXHkp50zxflu4UoRjxIIngwASZE84N9tSnHAewFWK-0Z70C7AKHdSJJI76kAidqX_Tbad8IMpW7ruqLUckSR0zsjTpq9Rwhdvjz5qZjRijakglWGd/s200/IMG_0308.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334360888337239138" border="0" /></a> anymore. Hardly a hello. Glares. Daggers. Hurtful taunting. Accusations. Gossip. Denial. It is truly painful.</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>The tears would fill a small tub if they ever made it there. Instead their salty stream burns and stings the wounds, many of which are 9 months deep. I hate to even have this passive mention here, but each time I think we could be approaching repair, something happens. The knife turns, the wound is exposed, the tears sink deep within.</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>On this day, the salt is from sweat, not tears. Instead of crying, I will run. And if I'm to run in silence, I'd prefer it be pure. I charge ahead and run alone. </div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>13.1 Coke, Mountain Dew. Ah, blessed aid station. Oranges. Shane???</div><br /><div>"Shane what are you doing here."</div><br /><div>"Look at that? I feel like quitting."</div><br /><div>I'd caught up with Shane who was grumpy because Kyle and Tony were 5 and a half brutal miles ahead of him.</div><br /><div>"c'mon run with me!"</div><br /><div>I was so excited. Seeing Shane truly energized me, because it meant I was running pretty well. I should have grabbed the key though. I actually finished a few minutes ahead of him. </div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>This is where the race got interesting. Serious climbs. Ran into Willie from Great Plains Running. Muddy hug. Trotted along. Took pictures. Made a little video interview with Willie. Got back to the aid station. Dropped of the shirt. Took my performance enhancing drugs, and carried on.</div><div> </div><br /><div>pa-thunk--- pa-thunk. Yup. That's the sound your running makes when you're being blown sideways. A first. And with a step up because of the deeply rutted horse trail. But it didn't bother me. Many have described the wind at soul sucking. Instead it was like Narnia, with Aslan breathing trail running life back into this emotionaly weary Mud Babe. </div><br /><div> </div><div>I took it all in. Deeply. Honestly. Forever. I was back in my beautiful world. Completely.</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>Around 21 I caught up with a fellow named John from Minnesota. We couldn't talk much because the wind was so loud. I didn't get a chance to talk to him after either so I want to thank him here. I was tired of running alone. Thanks for waiting for me at the top of a hill at mile 22. I was ready just to drop back. It was nice to know someone wanted to run with me. Even just for a few miles.</div><br /><div> </div>Finish line: 5:31. More hugs from Stacy Sheridan who I promise a mud tattoo at Free State.<br /><div> </div>Shane finished.<br /><div>Coleen, Debbie and Deb J. finished.</div><br /><div> </div>I had watermelon left over from breakfast. Maybe, just maybe Coleen would like some? Nope. I try to walk up to the group and offer. But get the side of the head. Laughter to all the other women and exclusion. Female bullying.<br /><div> </div>It's ok. While it's more fun to share delicious watermelon with a friend, it still tastes good running alone.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXwcG-oqcYjsvK6N893rQetELi_4EcMvVC7AZQx__RJgLzw_U7Snn9OXUVr6PyddGsQXzOuBpTF6nhnOIkBQrankvNVrEyPlGI5s4AxiEl_dMGPuNObkg58XC5wMZ3GdY7BreJUXGs7LDe/s1600-h/photomecol1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXwcG-oqcYjsvK6N893rQetELi_4EcMvVC7AZQx__RJgLzw_U7Snn9OXUVr6PyddGsQXzOuBpTF6nhnOIkBQrankvNVrEyPlGI5s4AxiEl_dMGPuNObkg58XC5wMZ3GdY7BreJUXGs7LDe/s200/photomecol1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334363913030176994" border="0" /></a><div> </div><br /><div>Muddy Hugs,</div><br /><div>Sophia</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div> </div><br /><div> </div><br /><div> </div><br /><div><br /></div>sophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-980345944389605576.post-65983209545074350682009-04-08T12:21:00.001-07:002009-04-08T14:38:35.433-07:00Personal Day!I was dragging. It was as if no amount of sleep could ever be enough. Monday two weeks ago, it was a slow start to my day. Very slow. I had an appointment at noon in Topeka, and I just couldn't seem to get going.<br /><br />Then the phone rang.<br />"Sophia, I'm on my way over to Nieman."<br />My friend Cindy. Ben calls her "Strap-on Cindy." She's beautiful, energetic, and somewhat confused. Today she was overwhelmed as well.<br />"Cindy, I'm already late, I'm on my way out the door."<br />"Sophia, please just go in to the office and get my records. Scott (the apartment manager) hates me. I'm trying to prove residency for Missouri plates."<br />Cindy used to live at Nieman, and left on bad terms because her dog Tucker, peed all over the carpet. After a quick heart to heart about accountability, she admitted the dog had in fact made quite the stinky mess, and that they did have a right to be upset. I really like our apartment management, so that was important. She apologized, when she got there to Dayna. Scott wasn't working.<br /><br />Unfortunately, the records were no where.<br />"I have had two meltdowns today."<br />Cindy pulled out 4 pages of instructions from different courthouses, she'd had to visit to get the proper documentation for the plates. A four course meal if you will?<br />"Hey do they require a rectal exam, too?"<br />Cindy didn't think it was funny.<br />"That would probably feel better, and less time consuming. Seriously Sophia, I've taken a personal day because this is impossible." And here comes meltdown number three. I went to college with a friend who used to say "sometimes tears are your only defense." The release didn't seem to be making Cindy feel better.<br />"I'm just going to call KCPL."<br />"You can get it online," Dayna, the property manager offers a voice of reason.<br />I cancel my appointment in Topeka.<br /><br />I want to emphasize again how tough Cindy is on a regular basis. She tears around all day like a white tornado with relentless energy. She volunteers. She helps her sisters who both have kids. She's watched Puccini, a lot. Today it was clear she needed an emotional boost from me. Borrowed energy. Kind of funny, considering my near narcoleptic state, but I rallied.<br /><br />"Cindy, let's just go over to the apartment and use my computer."<br />Over at the apartment, her phone rings.<br />"Oh my gosh, it's KCPL.. they are CALLING ME."<br />She gets the necessary info and has it faxed to the Nieman office. Again, it was important she mended that creaky bridge.<br />"I want a beer! " Cindy's been over before and knows there are 3 beers on tap. She just loves Ben and his homebrew.<br />"There's some in the regular fridge, Cindy, but we drank the rest. There are two in secondary in the spare room." (yeah so much for office space, we have a nano-brewery in our spare room. Smells better than company, and makes a lot less noise.)<br />"where's Ben? The hottest man alive. A good match for you, Sophia."<br />"In Texas, he'll carbonate the Brown when he gets back. Go grab a bottle of Single Wide."<br />She settled in with some hummous and sirachi instead, while I did an errrand. After all it was a personal day.<br />"Will you go with me downtown to finish this? I'll take you to lunch and for beers."<br />I agreed to the errands and food.<br />"I promised Debbie I'd run Kill Creek later, so I can't drink."<br />We went to the post office and mailed Trail Nerd T-shirts.<br />We went to Pet Smart for food and to get our pups nails trimmed.<br />But things were not running smoothly there. Worried that leaving the dogs there could mean death or permanent maiming, we nixed that, and got them to the dog park later.<br /><br />My phone rang.<br />"Sophia, it's Debbie. Do you want to run Rockin K on Saturday? It's full but Julie dropped and you can have her spot."<br />Rockin K is a very difficult marathon. I am grossly undertrained. I don't hesitate.<br />"Hell yes! It's our marathon annifuckinversary!!!"<br />About a year ago, we bonded running Boston together.<br />"Cindy, I'm not running tonight."<br />"PERSONAL DAY!" in unison. We high five, and crank up the tunes.<br />We went to Mc Coys and met up with Keith the brewer. His wife just had a little girl, Josie, and at 4 weeks premie (although a healthy 5 pounds 9 oz.) and was still in the hospital.<br />I chatted on the phone with one of Cindy's friends. The young lady said she was "dating," Cindy. I played it cool.<br />We sampled 6 of Keith's beers (mmm I love the IPA), 2 mixed drinks and nachos.<br />The dogs hung out in the car.<br />Dog park.<br />Our next culinary/lubricating stop, Japan. Sushi with Cindy's "boyfriend." They held hands, and exchanged an awkward hug.<br />Plaza next. We met up with some of her other friends. We chatted outside on the patio. The weather was perfect for our personal day.<br />We were hungry again.<br />Baby burger. I wanted baby burgers.<br />"I'm sorry miss, we don't have them."<br />"Well could you cut my burger in triangles? It's so much more cheerful."<br />It arrived in triangles. Presentation is so important!<br />We hit I-Hop on the way home. Extra bacon for the dogs. They were still in the car!<br /><br />Cindy has been a real rock of support for me, in a way I very much needed over the past 9 months. In August, I wrote a blog called "Shattered," about my crushed and scattered heart. She picked up the fun piece and took care of it. Today, I got it back, and I paid her back in spades. It was Funday Monday. Yeah, so much for crappy Mondays.<br /><br />Debbie's been holding a couple pieces, too. Hope being the biggie. Determination, not bad either. Remember her call? She wanted a friend for a tough marathon. Good time to pay her back. (Race report to follow.)<br /><br />I don't have children, my brother lives in New York, and my parents don't visit too much. So my friends are my family.<br /><br />Like Cindy, I had to take a personal day last October. I had gotten a hostile, hateful facebook message. I went home and my phone started ringing. My friends were reaching out, because they'd heard I was having "mascara issues," at work. S.O.S. "Save Our Sophia."<br /><br />However, I made one call to my friend and former photographer, Colton. We have a special connection, not just because of work, but because we both worked in State College, Pa. We have a lot of friends in common. I'm the only person he trusts with his beloved dog, Montana. At this point, for me, he was the only person who could give the emotional support I needed. He was there for me and understood.<br /><br />Back to the present... well sort of. Two weeks ago Ben and I were brewing his Uber Saison. It's always a jolly experience. I cooked brats in beer (So delicious) and some of our friends came over.<br /><br />The phone rang. Colton. Hmmm.. he works on Saturday.<br />"Hey Colton are you off? Come over, Ben's brewing!"<br />"Um, Sophia I'm in the hospital."<br />My heart stopped. Colton has an extremely rare form of hemophilia. Only 300 in the world and most are in India.<br />"Do you need blood?"<br />Ok. A little dramatic, he was in the hospital, but on a serious note, I was ready, if that's what he needed.<br />"No, but I have to be here for at least 2 days. Could you take care of Montana?"<br />I went to the hospital, got the key and brought the dog back to our apartment.<br />I've watched her a lot, but it was clear she knew something was wrong this time. She sat by the door a lot.<br />The phone rang the next night.<br />"Oh Sophia, it's Danielle, you have no idea what I went through to get your number."<br />Colton's girlfriend explained his phone had died in the hospital (don't tell hippa) and that she'd had to scour his old bill to find my number. I've had 5 numbers this year, and she had an old one.<br />"Can you pick me up at the airport? This is just so hard. We don't have any family in Kansas."<br />"Yes you do Danielle. I'm your family. Don't ever hesitate to call."<br /><br />Paybacks.<br /><br />Cindy.<br />Debbie.<br />Colton.<br />Danielle.<br /><br />Paybacks, oh yes, paybacks are Heaven.<br /><br />Muddy Hugs,<br />Sophiasophianchorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940111827482494526noreply@blogger.com3