Sleeping Bear Marathon Recap

I know I promised a pre-race post, but I ended up getting sick with a sinus infection. Sick enough that I managed to binge-watch a whole season of BBC Robin Hood in three days. (If you can re-create this feat while both healthy and sober, I will give you my marathon medal.)

I guess I just missed the part in the original story where Brother Tuck was black.

Obviously, I didn't get in any of the pre-race prep I was hoping for. I did feel rested, but I also felt extremely stiff: even riding my bike to class got to be uncomfortable. And, of course, because it was a bacterial infection I had to start an antibiotic regime, aka all aboard the train to Upset Stomach City. The only silver lining in this cloud was I discovered the secret to not gaining any taper weight is to lose your appetite and barely eat. I was lucky enough to start feeling better two days before the trip.

Michael and I left for Empire on Saturday morning, just in time as people starting swarming into the parking lot for a color run. We missed most of the rain and had an uneventful drive. We went to the Empire Village Inn for lunch and to watch the start of the MSU game. The pizza was okay, but the restaurant did have a giant TV visible from the booths, so we didn't have to awkwardly sit at the bar with the locals.

If you pronounce his name so that it rhymes with squeeze, we can't be friends.

We stayed through the first half and then moved to the nearby beach. (It is not a part of the National Lakeshore, so it was still open, thankfully.) We borrowed Eager Feet Dad's beloved ancient classic radio to listen to the rest of the game.

Many judging looks were received.

It was surprisingly comfortable down by the water with a jacket. This trip made me really appreciate how nice having a statewide sports radio network is, but I have to say it takes a ton of focus to listen to George Blaha call a game. It's not that he's bad, quite the opposite, but he keeps his tone and volume so consistent that we usually had to do a double-take when a big play happened. (Honestly, he makes a one yard gain and a pick-six sound identical.) We laughed because the few other people on the beach seemed to think we were having a nice romantic day while we were actually freaking out about football the whole time.

After the game (which we magically won), we went for a quick two mile run around Empire. I finally lost some of the stiffness that had been building up all week. It was also helpful to really get a feel for the weather. It was in the low 60's and cloudy, so it felt cold on the beach, but the humidity was over 95%, so we found we were way too hot about two seconds after we actually started running. The weather prediction for Sunday was for similar conditions; if we hadn't run Saturday, I think we both would have bundled up way too much for the race.

Pictured: half the people at the marathon the next day.

We then went on an epic quest to find some ice cream in a semi-closed city. (The place Michael originally found was closed and had creepy smokers out front.) Because the Google Map directions to the hotel were hilariously unhelpful, we ended up in Glen Arbor on accident and found a place there that was still open. I had their special flavor - Pirate's Treasure (vanilla with caramel, Oreo pieces, and crushed M&Ms), while Michael had Raspberry Shortcake.

I then put on two jackets to keep warm while I ate it.

We then set out with the Google Maps app to find our hotel. Our printed directions neglected to mention that by Dorsey Road they really meant Welch Road, and the sign visible from the road just said "Motel" in giant letters, even though it was actually called the Maple Lane Resort. We did eventually make the proper turn and checked in. Our room was really spacious, except for the bathroom, where even I had barely enough room to turn around.

After unloading the car, we headed back into Empire for packet pick-up. It was extremely laid-back, and I think we waited less than a minute for our packets, even though there was only one line for marathon bibs. We ponied up some money for the pasta dinner too, though I was disappointed almost no one else was participating, so we didn't get to meet any other runners.

Seriously, all this was $8. Where was everyone eating instead? The soup kitchen?

Besides our shirts and bibs, we got the most adorable drawstring bags at packet pick-up. Inside were some Traverse City-made potato chips, as well as ads for Hammer Nutrition's coffee. (I'm choosing to not imagine what this must taste like. You know it's not coffee.)

I want to put that bear on most other things I own.

After dinner, we fell into the trap of watching "just one more quarter" of the OSU Northwestern game. Thank God we gave up after the 3rd; I would have died if we stayed up even later just to watch a heartbreaking loss. During the game, we kept checking if the rain was leaking into our room because it was so loud, when the sound was just actually being amplified by the window A/C. In either case, it was bizarre trying to sleep when it sounded like a torrential downpour was coming down on my head.

The next morning came early at 6 AM. We held out some hope as the rain had let up overnight, though we were mainly praying it didn't thunderstorm and cancel the race. We again made the quick drive to Empire and found the field commandeered for parking, perhaps after making an illegal turn to get there. (Honestly, I have no idea what the half-marathoners did. The field was mostly full when we left, and twice as many people signed up for the half than the full. Since they were almost all finished before us, I never found out.)

It was surreal walking to the start line and realizing I was actually about to run 26.2 miles after training for four months. It was strange passing the 26 mile marker and wondering how I would feel the next time I saw it. (Spoiler alert: awful.)

And sometimes my sport is my sport's punishment, too.

There were plenty of port-a-potties, and the race started exactly on time. We went through a small residential area for about a mile, followed by a dirt road, before we were on our way to Glen Arbor. I was bummed that very few leaves along the course had changed colors, especially since it's already started in East Lansing. It was still very scenic to run through the woods, and there was almost no traffic that early in the morning. We passed the dunes and got a glimpse of Lake Michigan before turning off.

After we passed the initial hills, my pace was in the low 10's, with a few sub-10's, through the half-marathon mark. The rain really picked up for awhile, and we were soaked early on, but it was humid enough to keep it comfortably warm. I did feel my left foot start to blister on the cambered roads, but there was nothing I could do. Traffic picked up in "downtown" Glen Arbor, which made me a little nervous. Lots of people were parked in the street (legally), so it was hard to move out of people's ways.

I did PR my half, and I started to get nervous about keeping my pace up the whole way back. After leaving Glen Arbor, there was a giant hill, and I really slowed at that point. Thankfully, another woman offered to run together for a few miles, and the conversation kept me distracted to about the 21 mile mark. She was still feeling good, and I lagged behind as we hit the hills again.

This is where everything really started to fly off the rails. I was way too overconfident in my time goal and had pushed too hard in the beginning. I didn't have much left for the final hills. I stopped during mile 22 to use the guard rail to stretch, and I nearly cried when I stopped because the cramps got much, much worse when I stopped moving. I honestly don't know if the stretching helped or made it worse.

The aid station shortly after that did have grapes, and they were the most delicious things ever. I literally contemplated stuffing the whole bowl into my cheeks and continuing on, except I didn't because I was so slow at this point, the volunteers could have caught me without much effort.

I was mostly glad at this point there were no spectators because I just needed to be angry on my own at the end. Marathons were stupid, and I was stupid for running one, and hills were stupid for being not flat, and the rain was stupid for destroying my feet, and civil engineers were stupid for making cambered roads. I nearly had a meltdown when volunteers had left a turn unmanned, and I nearly missed it. If I hadn't been glaring at the side of the road, hoping for the mile 24 marker to finally appear to take a walk break, I would have run past the small signs on the opposite side of the road.

 

Those two miles were the hardest I've ever run. I just had nothing left and wanted to be done. I did a lot more walking at this point than I would've liked. 

1.2 miles of shuffling left!

I forced myself to run it in, with a very loose interpretation of "running". I was disappointed in how anti-climatic the finish was. I had to pass two social half-marathon walkers in the chute, and the music playing was soft oldies. The only person waiting to tell me good job was the volunteer giving out medals.

Time: 4:56:13

The medals weren't race-specific, but the lanyards were.

I was immediately freezing when I stopped running and took shelter in the pavillion. Michael went back to the car to get his shirt to exchange for a smaller size, so I had to wait awhile for him to come back with my jacket. I must've looked even worse than I felt, because random people kept coming up to me to offer me blankets. I finally figured out that a guy sitting off behind a counter would make hot cocoa, and I felt a lot better once I could get my core temperature back up.

I wandered over to see how awfully I had done in my age group when I saw the results get updated. In some crazy turn of events, three out of five people in my AG DNSed. Which meant, despite my late-race explosion, I still technically placed. (Two out of two, awwww yeah.)

But the awards are so amazing I don't even care.

Michael also placed second in his age group, though he had the distinction of actually beating other people to do so. We ate a little more food and got a quick finisher picture before waddling back to the car.

"I do what I want" is my hair's personal motto.

Obviously, this wasn't 100% the experience I was hoping for. It's now a couple days out and I finally feel a sort of "satisfied" runner's high. I'm proud of myself for finishing (even if I took my sweet time at the end), and I'm still excited for Mount Desert Island. But it's still crazy to know I'm really a marathoner now.

Though exactly zero people noticed my shirt the next day.

One state down, 49 to go!

Totally an Expert Now, or Five Things I Learned Training for My First Marathon

When I woke up this past Sunday in the early afternoon at a totally reasonable hour, it really sunk in that, barring any sort of awful tragedy, in two weeks I would be done with my first marathon. (Hopefully eating in the finishers' tent and not lying on the ground in agony.)

Of course, I've always had the race at or near the front of my mind these last 16 weeks, but now it's knocking on my door. I'm planning to do a pre-race post in about a week, but suffice it to say I'm currently vacillating between complete confidence bordering on hubris and an impending sense of utter doom. Sometimes I even feel both of these at the same exact time.

Even though I'm not ready to hammer down my race strategy enough to blog about it, I've been doing a lot of reflecting about my training. Without further ado (and in no particular order), five things I've learned while preparing for my first marathon:

1. Compression socks are amazing.

I had seen various sources of running information, including Runners World and bloggers, tout compression wear, especially socks, for quite some time. Usually it seemed runners used them to boost performance. I don't remember when or how, but I became aware that they could also be used for recovery. In the past, I had only used my trusty Stick and the legs-up-the-wall pose to ease my tired legs. I thought I might treat myself to some new gear, but I almost backed out because of sticker shock. $30 for one pair of socks?

And then I paid extra so I could get purple instead of black.

I'm so glad I made the investment! Whenever my legs feel tired, I put these on and within 20 to 30 minutes, I can feel a significant difference. My Stick works great on tight legs, but my compression socks are better suited to fatigued legs. I also have discovered an hour power nap while wearing them makes me feel like I can conquer the world.

2. Active recovery days feel even better than rest days. 

I was a little nervous going into training without any complete days of rest. At the beginning I definitely felt like I was over-training (read: I turned into an insufferable cranky monster), so I did skip one run. However, after that initial week or two, I never really noticed. Two days out of the week I only swim and strength-train, so they're certainly no- to low-impact workouts.

I wouldn't want to run every single day, but I've started looking forward to hitting the pool or the gym. They give me a nice endorphin high and keep me from feeling like a lazy blob without beating up my legs.

In fact, the day before the fall semester started, I was stressing out getting ready for class and thought about skipping my run. I had pretty much committed to this decision, but I got so antsy that I ended up going out late to get it in. Even though I got a little less sleep than I would have otherwise, I felt so much better. I'm now sort of terrified for next week when I have three whole days of complete rest. I may have to impose a sequester on myself so that no one (very understandably) murders me.

3. Strength-training is a great way to round out my running.

Over the summer I went to a strength-training class twice a week. It was definitely targeted at women, most of whom were out of shape. In the beginning it was great; they had plenty of light dumbbells for me to progressively work through, and I got good explanations and demonstrations on proper form. I knew it was time to move on, however, when our instructor warned us we would do a "killer" leg day, and I wasn't sore at all the next day, even though I used the heaviest weights of anyone in the class. They were still pretty light, but when everyone else hobbled in two days later, I knew I was ready to move up.

At the beginning of August I started following the New Rules of Lifting for Women program. I really like it because it lays out each workout for me exactly. I've obviously no expert in the gym, so having clear instructions helped me transition from having an instructor to being on my own. While it feels strange almost always being the only woman on the floor, I actually haven't had any awful experiences. (Though I will pay you if you can explain to me why gym bros are apparently allergic to wicking fabric.)

Two weeks ago I finished Stage One, which is six weeks long and meant to build fitness. It kicked my butt in a good way. I'm really pleased with how much I improved over that time.

How does this relate to my running? In the last week or so, I've noticed my easy pace has improved without feeling any harder. The first time it happened, I was completely baffled, but I realized I must have added some muscle. I have no problem with speedwork, but so far this seems almost like a "cheat" way to get faster.

4. Food is amazing.

Or, as Michael lovingly put it, I "really put it away when I eat." (I promise this was actually a supportive comment in context!) I have a sort of "make better choices" weight, where, if I hit it, I really think about my food choices aka I stop eating so much crap. I've heard and read a lot about the marathon munchies and how weight gain can easily creep up on long distance runners. I've always been extremely fortunate to have a fast metabolism, but it's slown down a lot since puberty, so I assumed this would still be an issue for me.

Since the beginning of June, I haven't even gotten close (in relative terms) to my MBC weight. And I have been putting it away and then some. I sometimes feel bad having people over because then others are witnessing my constant eating. I don't mean this in an eating disorder/I feel ashamed way, but more in that, as an adult, eating every hour is not necessarily socially normal.

I refer to myself as a hungry hippo on a regular basis. True fact.

I was still worried that during taper I would gain some weight but decided not to worry about it. While I eat a lot and don't always make the healthiest choices, I do try to insure I get enough protein and I eat to my hunger. I might eat a piece of candy if I'm stressed, but I certainly don't binge. These fears also seem misplaced as I've actually lost weight. I know it's early into taper, but I'm going to keep an eye on it. (I secretly hope I was eating too little so that I can justify even more food next training cycle.)

5. Running is so much more mental than physical.

This is one of the standard axioms that any runner worth their salt can spit out, but some hard workouts really emphasized this. Before this training cycle, I had never gone past six miles in a tempo run. (I've run longer training runs and races, but that's the farthest I had ever pushed the pace really hard.) The whole week leading up to my first eight mile tempo run, I felt physically nervous. I knew I could slow or even stop the run at any time, it was all a mental fear of failure. 

This saying is cute until you're in pain.

I went slower than I would for a normal tempo run just in case, but it actually felt great. When I had to run another one later on in the training cycle, I wasn't nervous at all. In this same way, my first 20-miler sounded scary, while the second didn't really phase me. (Not to say it wasn't hard, but I knew I could crank it out.)

While I might actually be more worried about the Mount Desert Island Marathon because it's hilly in a way I can't replicate in training, I think I am/will be less nervous for it overall because I'll already have one (knock on wood) marathon under my belt. I'll have pushed through that barrier already.

I guess none of these revelations are earth-shattering. Re-reading this post, I realize I've heard them all before. Still, it's completely different to live these things for four months rather than just read about them.

Now it's time to read a million last-minute advice articles while making unhealthy choices.

Playmakers Classic Triathlon Recap

I find waiting two weeks to blog about a race really insures the memories will be fresh in my mind. Also, my usual hilarity that entertains all of about three people is lacking because I'm the throes of my biannual sinus infection. Yay fall.

 

I signed up for the Playmakers Classic Tri in order to have a second individual tri on my schedule for the season. Unlike a lot of tris, it was within a reasonable driving distance. It was also the last day before my semester started, so I thought it would be a fun way to end my summer. I was a little uneasy because the website lacked some information and was a little sketchy, but I hoped all would be well since it was sponsored by Playmakers.

Michael was tricked volunteered to come with, and we were out the door before 6. I also got to introduce to Michael my method of transporting my bike, which basically involves jamming it into the trunk until it can close. Not only will my next car have four doors, I will make sure it can handle a bike rack. 

The drive was sort of eerie, since we had to drive through cornfields before the sun was up. The race was at a relatively new county park. I'm not sure why they chose the location they did, but it is in the middle of nowhere. There would be no chance of finding of it without knowing where it was. 

Not pictured: anything.

The park was pretty nice: it had a lake (I assume man-made) and probably 30-40 picnic tables, each of which had their own grill. Playmakers had warned that parking was inadequate for the number of athletes coming (I said it was a bit shady), but we got there early enough that we didn't have a problem. People who came later were directed to park on the sides of the road along the course. Not well organized at all.

I had no problem with packet pick-up and went to transition. I'm not sure if this is common or not, but I thought it was clever that they used the helmet stickers to also mark our transition spots; once you racked your bike, you could take your helmet sticker with you. 

I then had about an hour to kill. I spent some time trying to scope out the competition (I'm hardcore like that). Last year, only two people were in my age group, so I was hoping I would be able to place. I spotted one girl body-marked as 20. (This fact is important for later.) Otherwise, I didn't see anyone. I almost got excited, but then I realized I probably would get second out of two, so I just let it go.

We had a brief, pre-race meeting, at which we were warned that we could not grab onto the boats if we needed assistance in the water. I was confused since that is against USAT policy, but apparently the stand-up paddleboarders on the course didn't want to be dumped in the water. This seemed incredibly selfish, and I felt uncomfortable that the RD was okay with this. 

If the watercraft makes it hard to assist in the water, maybe you shouldn't use it. Pro tip.

I lined up with my wave three minutes before we went into the water, and it was surprisingly small. The one girl in my age group was also in the back of our wave, so I started to wonder if I had a slim chance of actually earning an AG award. 

I started out in the swim way too fast. I'm not sure why I thought I could magically sprint 600M, but obviously I cannot. I struggled to get into a rhythm and kept swallowing water. Eventually, I settled down, but our first swim leg was into the sun, which made sighting very difficult. I nearly took out a paddleboarder. (Question: Did I feel bad? Answer: Not at all.)

I was a little nervous not having a wet suit, but I was very comfortable. Another shady event happened when the RD kept emphasizing there would be no penalty for wearing a wetsuit, although the temperature was warm enough participants wearing them should have been excluded from AG awards.

I was surprised how slow the swim was when I started passing people. I thought maybe I had transported into an alternate reality. I know these people weren't exactly setting Olympic records at the speeds they were going, but it was a nice surprise confidence booster. 

Look, there are men behind me!

 Swim Time: 15:59 (avg. 2:40/100M)

I ran up the sand and grass to transition. This race was much better than the Oswego Tri, where my bike couldn't fit under the bike rack. I had plenty of room here, which saved me some time and energy. I took some extra time to clean and dry my feet, figuring preventing blisters would be worth it. 

T1 Time: 3:03

I then headed out for the out-and-back 18 mile bike course. It was on paved roads through the countryside, though I did not appreciate having the mount line part-way up a hill. I settled in for a steady diet of being passed by people 50 years older than me. Don't get me wrong, I think it's fantastic they're out there, but it stings a little when someone in their 70s tells you to keep up the good work as they blow your doors off. 

I felt like I was flashing back to Oswego, as I biked mostly through cornfields. The course was open, but there were volunteers at every intersection and all the cars were respectful. I also got to see some cool wildlife, including a hawk swooping right overhead and some turkeys that gobbled very angrily when I nearly ran them over. 

You think it's not seasonally relevant, but I'm sure my Spartans will make me weep bitter tears soon.

I also got to check out an abandoned apple orchard. (It's for sale! I should make a bid. Forget accounting, I'll become Johnny Appleseed when I graduate.) There were also active mining sites, which made me feel uncomfortable. I don't know what there is to mine in Maple Rapids, but it's probably unhealthy to inhale.

There were also mile markers every five miles on the course, which was nice to compare my bike computer with. I also had a great volunteer moment, where I was told I was at mile nine when I was really almost at mile 10. I'm so glad I have a bike computer and a Garmin for these situations. I know it might seem petty, but it's really awful to be told you're in the wrong spot, especially by a whole mile.

The one thing I really noticed with this bike was how uncomfortable I got in the saddle after going for so (relatively) long. A few times near the end I coasted just to be able to stand up for a few moments. I also managed to wrangle my water bottle, which helped make it less miserable. I'm definitely jealous of the people with the front-mounted bottles with straws.

I tried to power until the end, but I just wanted off.

Bike Time: 1:20:18 (avg. 13.4 mph)

I then ran down the hill with bike back to transition. I think it must be a secret USAT rule that transition must be at the bottom of hill so that there can be a fun suicide run on bike legs.

I took some fluids and ran out. It was a little unclear where to go since I shifted so far back in the pack on the bike, but I found it.

T2 Time: 1:17

The run was five miles total, mostly on gravel roads, with the final mile on grass. (I can't escape this new found running friend, it seems.) Again, the course was open, but the volunteers had everything under control. I was just happy to be off the bike and out running. Just like Oswego, even though I did approximately zero bricks, I felt fine taking off on the run. I felt a little blah, but I think that was mostly heat-related.

I pushed myself to run until the first mile marker and then assess. I was pleased with my pace but felt strange on the different running surface, so I just focused on passing other runners one person at a time. I felt especially vindicated when I passed a guy wearing cargo shorts that I remembered from the bike because of his BMX-style helmet. 

This is what the Tour de France actually looks like.

Then, to my total amazement, I spotted the other person I knew was in my age group.  I lost her on the swim and had almost forgotten about her. She was walking, but I wasn't sure if this was part of a planned strategy or not. I debated drafting her until the end and trying to fly under the radar, but I felt surprisingly good, so I went for it. Shortly after I made my move a volunteer asked her how she was doing, and her response was pretty garbled. I checked her results afterwards, and she might have walked the last three miles, I felt pretty sorry for her.

Obviously, I don't think I'm some amazing athlete for passing her, but I've never overtaken someone in my age group before and held a lead for a substantial period of time. The shot of adrenaline felt great, and it made me feel good about how my speed has really improved over the last year.

The turnaround was staffed by angels who gave me a cold towel. It was into the 80's at this point, without shade, and I really was able to keep pushing with their help. I didn't know what to do with it, so I ran with it in my tri top for awhile, before dumping it in a pile of towels along the road.

A little after four miles I hit the grassy section.

Off to the magical land of pain!

To my great surprise and joy, the grass was much more hard-packed dirt and singletrack type running than deep grass. I passed a few more people on this stretch and felt strong. We looped around the lake, and when I looked back, the girl from my age group was nowhere to be seen. It hurt, but I pushed myself to the end.

I know running through this was probably supposed to be fun, but it just stressed me out because I didn't know what to do with my tiny arms.

Run Time: 48:17 (avg. 9:40 min/mile)

Overall Time: 2:28:52

Little did I know, it was time for the culmination of the shady events. I checked the results and saw one person kicked my butt placed ahead of me, so I would be second of three. If there are only three people in my age group, I hate being last because accepting the "award" feels so lame. I enjoyed my banana and tiny cup of water with ease. (Yet another major oversight - I can't believe there were no water bottles at the end of the race.)

In any event, the awards began shortly thereafter. The third place finisher from the females 14-19 was still on the course, but I didn't think anything of it. While they were announcing the males 20-24, the girl I passed went up the RD. I rolled my eyes, thinking she had finished and was too antsy to realize they hadn't done our age group yet.

Her parents went with her, too.

But then she got a glass. Because she was third for females 14-19.

My head nearly exploded. She was clearly body-marked as 20. I had totally cleaned her clock on the run, but I wasn't going to get credit for it. I lamely took my glass, but it felt embarrassing.

I tried to give Playmakers the benefit of the doubt at first, even though they had already messed up other basic USAT rules. However, I checked my age on the results, and I was listed as 20, even though my racing age is 21. I'm obviously aware of the rule, so I would've put 21 for my age during registration. However, we must have entered our birthdays instead, which mean Playmakers messed up and used our race-day ages, not our racing ages. In the case of someone bridging to the next age group, this actually makes an important difference.

I know I can get arbitrarily angry at times, but there's absolutely zero excuse for an athletic store that sponsors their own tri team to completely miss the boat on racing age.

Nice to meet you, I'm Playmakers.

I would not recommend this race at all. While it was their first year in this location, it was their fourth year organizing it. These rookie mistakes shouldn't happen. It makes me sad to give it two thumbs down because I love Playmakers, but this was just a bad bad experience.

The swag was at least nice. Most comfortable shirt ever.

I'm glad did this race, though. It was nice to round out my tri "schedule". It showed me I really need to work on my swim. Over the winter I'm going to go through the next five swim plans in my tri training book. I know swimming twice a week won't significantly increase my speed, but I'm hoping I can go into next season without needing to rest in a sprint or maybe even Olympic distance tri. (And unless someone gifts me a tri bike, I'm not going further than Olympic. It would just be no fun.)

I'm also happy with my results. My swim time was a tad bit faster, I did not spend an hour in T2, and my run pace was the same, even though the race was longer. My bike technically looks slower, but my bike computer registered the course as almost a mile long, so I believe my speed was actually better.

I'm really glad I added tris to my racing schedule. I like having a set plan for my cross-training, and the upper body strength makes a difference on my runs. I've only done two, but I think they'll push me out of my comfort zone for awhile yet.

Drown, ache, gasp for air.

The good news is that my first marathon is my next race, so I have nowhere to sublimate my worry anymore. One week until taper!

Island Lake Triathlon Recap

What's better than a triathlon? A triathlon where you trick your friends into doing the swimming and biking for you!

The day started with a 5 AM wake-up so that we could leave at 5:30. I had only managed about four to five hours of twilight sleep the night before, so instead of eating breakfast I tried to throw up to get ready of my exhaustion nausea. Glamorous, I know. I wasn't even successful, so the misery continued.

The race was about an hour away at Island Lake State Recreation Area in Brighton. The drive was pretty with fog all along the deserted highway. We parked near the end of the parking lot, Karin adjusted her bike, and then we went to packet pick-up. This is when we discovered almost no one understood the concept of a relay.

Wait...the three of you are competing...together?

The volunteer handing out packets at least was with it enough to check all our IDs, but when I asked where the relay exchanges were, she looked at me like a deer in headlights. We then went to get Hannah's swim cap. In order to increase the awkwardness of the race, the director had decided that all Olympic relay swimmers should start in the same wave as the Oylmpic men. When Hannah tried to get her Wave 1 swim cap, the poor volunteer looked caught between trying to be helpful and trying to be PC. (Don't worry, we explained the situation and she felt better.) She also tried to give us three swim caps, even after we insisted only Hannah would be swimming. The volunteer was still holding them out as we walked away.

While it had nothing to do with the relay, we did have a scare getting our timing chip. I showed the volunteers the bib number on our packet, only to have them say, "Oh, we don't have that number anymore. I guess we gave out another chip incorrectly!" Luckily, a different volunteer was just playing with our chip and eventually gave it to us. I was a little disturbed that apparently multiple chips had been given out to the wrong people and that people were just playing with them for fun. Getting ready for a race is stressful enough without having to solve the case of the missing chip.

The bodymarking situation was even more hilarious. A woman and her son were volunteering there, and they were extremely confused about how three of us could have the same bib number. Again, we explained we were doing the relay but got only blank stares in return. We must have really scared the mom, because she just wandered away before bodymarking Karin. I wanted to give her son a medal for actually doing the job. (He was also the only one of the pair to understand the concept of racing age. Oops.)

Finally, we were able to get into transition and go to the pre-race meeting, at which we got the most confusing course directions ever. I had looked at the run course before online (both as a written description and a map), and I left feeling even more confused. The bike directions were even worse: one of the landmarks was a dumpster.

We worried Karin would never come back from her leg.

We had just enough time to run to the car and make it back for the swim start. On the way back, we ran down the hill that would be part of my run course. It was incredibly steep and wet, and the director said there was an even worse hill later on. I tried to forget about it.

The only tri I've ever been to was my first one, so it was really fun to actually spectate one. It was surprisingly hard to spot Hannah among the men. It also didn't help she was wearing a red cap and the Olympic women were wearing orange caps. In the direct sunlight, they virtually looked identical. We had hoped to see her as she turned for her second lap of the swim course, but that was impossible.

While we were waiting, I noticed a guy off to the side who looked really familiar, but I couldn't place him. Karin agreed that she thought she recognized him, but she couldn't put a name to the face either. Once he started shouting for his teammate, it hit me: he was the really short Walmart Wolverine who had been on The Amazing Race. He and his partner were hilariously inept, and Eager Feet Dad particularly loved making fun of him. I never expected to see the guy, but he really is short in person.

I'm clearly super awesome at subtly taking pictures.

I obviously wasn't on the course, but I did have some problems with the swim organization. A few times, a swimmer went way off course and it appeared no one was redirecting them. It was also a shame the way the swim caps and waves worked, because the first woman out of the water was part of a relay, but almost no one knew the difference, so the true first woman only got a smattering of applause. 

Hannah killed her estimated swim time, so Karin hustled off to transition when we saw her come out of the water.

Karin was quickly off for two loops of the bike course. Hannah and I set up camp at the top of the hill. The course had a teardrop turnaround to tack on a little bit of final distance, so we would be able to see Karin four times. My stomach finally felt better, so I had one of Hannah's mom's homemade granola bar, which was amazingly delicious. I also thought I was being clever by waiting to use the bathroom until now, when there was no line, only to discover neither the port-a-potties nor the indoor park bathrooms had any toilet paper. Excellent.

I super failed at taking Karin's picture on the bike, but Hannah did a much better job. Karin always had a few other people by her, so it was hard to immediately pick her out, and both times she would come by on the loop was downhill, meaning she was going so fast it was hard to time the picture right. This means I got some nice shots of an empty bike course. Karin had a great bike time, but it was so strange without the sprint athletes on the course. We got really worried we had missed her.

When we saw her the third time (hooray!), I ran down to transition. Karin rolled in about one minute before they opened part of the fence for the sprint athletes, who were getting super antsy. Luckily, I was able to run out before the angry mob burst in.

Again, I wasn't on the course, but there seemed to be some organization problems. On the first loop, everyone coming by us was in huge clumped packs. I was trying to give them the benefit of the doubt and thought perhaps there was an unseen bottleneck that fed into the portion of the course we were spectating. However, Karin reported there were blatant drafting and blocking penalties the whole way, with no USAT officials in sight. (This also irked me - I paid my exorbitant $12, I would expecte there to at least be officials!)

It suddenly hit me I had to compete, not just spectate. Starting out the run on the super steep grass hill was brutal. I knew there would be some grass, so I hoped that would be the worst of it. The rest of the first two miles was paved, with part of it on a boardwalk. Almost none of it was shaded and there were some hills, which made it relatively challenging. I skipped the first aid station, thinking I would be fine. Big mistake. The second aid station made a big difference - at least, it would have, if the final mile hadn't been all grass. I despise running on grass, partially because it really hurts my Achilles tendons. The grassy sections were also significantly longer than advertised.

I finally got to the final hill, which was even scarier than the director had described. It was a super steep downhill, ending at the edge of a cliff over the lake. I felt awful walking so close to the end of the loop, especially the second time, but I was legitimately worried I would have so much momentum I would fly into the water. Not only would it have hurt, I didn't think I would be able to climb out at the same spot, and I wasn't ready for an aquathon. 

Pictured: almost me.

I was super hot at this point and 1000% done with the grass, but I still had one more loop to do.

The second loop did feel better, even if I did know the grass was coming. I did hit both aid stations, though I got more confused looks when I requested a cup of Gatorade and a cup of water. So needy, I know. I couldn't figure out why the Gatorade (which is what the volunteers were calling it) tasted so weird. It seemed watered down, but the color still looked very vibrant. I realized afterwards the Gatorade was really Heed. I've read race reviews where people complain about how awful it tastes. They are completely correct.

It's me - Hammer Nutrition!

My watch showed the course to be a little short, but I think it was just because it was unclear were exactly to run in spots. They had cones out, but it wasn't obvious if we needed to run directly next to them. I also spent a lot of time dodging recreational runners and bikers using the path. I understand why they couldn't close it, but it would've been nice if they had put out more signs explaining that there was a race. Some non-race were getting really cranky. There also could have been officials here, several people with bibs were rocking to their iPods.

Run Time: 1:00:06

Team Time: 2:56:00

We ended up coming in 4/5 for the Olympic relay teams, but I think we were all happy with our performance. The three teams above us were made up of members of the UM tri team, and only one was made up of only women. In the end, we only lost to the third team by nine minutes, which I think means we kicked butt, considering our disadvantage. It was disappointing only in that the top three relays got awards, and last year only one team had done the Olympic distance. I hope this means I'll have enough karma built up to place at an upcoming race. 

The post-race food was really good, included tons of fruit and a selection of sandwiches. I had a fruit roll-up, which made me really happy for some reason. It was nice to wade in the lake afterwards; I only wish I had had my tri suit on so I could swim a little. The swim area was nice and large; I might consider it in the future if I want to do an open water swim.

I don't think I would recommend this particular race - there were just too many problems, especially the blatant rule violations at a sanctioned event. The race company hosts a tri on this course three times a year, so it's not as if they're new or had some unexpected events occur. I imagine if I had done this tri as a solo athlete, it would have felt even more annoying. 

I wasn't sure what to expect from doing a relay, but it was super fun! I haven't done any team sports since seventh grade track, when my specialty was placing consistently last in the 800. I was surprised how nervous I felt going into my leg to do well, even though I knew we were virtually out of contention to place. (My super secret plan to turn into Usain Bolt didn't pan out.) It was also really fun to spectate and to cheer on my friends. I would definitely recommend a relay to anyone even remotely interested.

Go team!

50 Shots in the Dark, or How I'm Picking Marathons without Having Run One

(Uh oh, time for some real content since I took last weekend off from racing and have nothing to recap. You have been warned.)

Lucky for you, accounting has left me with a small vocabulary.

When I started looking for my first marathon last fall, I became BFFs with Marathon Guide. I don't even remember having any sort of criteria; I just wanted a "cool" race. I found a race in Maine that involved a short section in Canada, which I eventually tabled in favor of the Bayshore Marathon. Again, I have almost no recollection about why I picked Bayshore, but I realized right before putting in my credit card that I had a wedding that weekend and couldn't go.

At some point, I pushed my potential race date to the fall. (In the end, I'm so glad this happened. If I had tried to train while working in the spring, I think I would have actually died of sleep deprivation.) I ended up finding the Sleeping Bear Marathon, and I was suckered in by the medal design. Seriously, it's adorable.

Please ignore that the mother bear is dead in the legend because then it's sad instead of cute.

Once I decided I wanted to do the 50 States, I started to read reviews for countless races. I started with states that have very few marathons (looking at you, North Dakota!) to make it less overwhelming. That's partially a lie; I ignored the Eastern Seaboard for a long time. For anyone who's not familiar with it, Marathon Guide makes a dot for each race proportionally sized to its number of participants. Nothing can escape the tyranny of a Major marathon blob.

They probably just got confused when the NYC Marathon swallowed New Jersey.

I didn't go into this search with any set criteria either. When a state has less than five marathons, it's pretty easy to decide which one will be the best. One or two will probably be bad to barely mediocre, and it's easy to compare the remaining ones mentally.

However, some states have a lot more choices with no clear-cut superstars. For example, I skipped the horror of California by choosing Big Sur based on its reputation, but Texas is still making me a sad panda. Because I'm an accountant, the obvious solution is to make spreadsheets.

Because the folder of marathon spreadsheets I've already made is clearly inadequate.

However, to actually set up a useful spreadsheet for my remaining states, I needed to suck it up and clearly define what was important to me. I've tried to separate these factors into three categories: Hardline Rules, Other Notables, and Red Flags.

Hardline Rules

1. No RnR or Disney races.

I wrote an entire post about why I will never do a RnR race. I hope it at least gave you one laugh, because I can't turn around without Facebook suggesting yet another RnR race to me. It causes me physical pain. 

I'll refrain from doing a whole rant about Disney races, but just imagine something similar to my RnR post, only with a little less hate. Suffice it to say that I loved Disney as a child and still have strong nostalgia for certain movies (I'll watch The Lion King if I happen to see it on TV), but I really don't understand adults who want to run a race to take pictures with the characters. I know the experience must be designed for adults instead of children, but I still think it's sort of creepy. 

I also refuse to pay $160+ to get up at 2 AM to run on some service roads.

2. There must be a medal.

Okay, hear me out on this one before I get crucified for putting race bling second on my list. I'm not sure yet what exactly I'll do to showcase my 50 States races (because that involves using Pintrest and pretending to be creative, aka certain failure), but I do know that I would at least like to have 50 medals to work with. I might just get some simple medal hangers, but I want the option to do something really cool.

I'm willing to compromise on this if something could be made into a medal. I think one race I looked at gives small wooden plaques at the finish; I would be fine drilling a hole and getting my own ribbon to make a DIY version. I will try to be 99% nitpicky instead of 120%.

My only saving grace is other swag is unimportant. Great if it's there, fine if it's not.

3. The course should be scenic or unique.

On one hand, I can understand why people are drawn to easy courses, since most of them are chasing a PR or the all-important BQ. On the other hand, if I see another course described as "fast and flat", I think I might slam my head into the wall.

Please don't even think the phrase "net downhill" in my presence.

If I'm going to take the time and spend the money to travel around the country, I want to see really awesome things during my races. I'd much rather run significantly slower and have a cool experience, instead of setting a PR while being bored. (I have no plans to chase a PR during any of the 50 States; if one happens, great, but that's not my purpose.) When I'm narrowing down the field for a particular state, I really focus on what I'll be able to see, especially if it's unique to the state. For example, Sleeping Bear will showcase northern Michigan during peak fall foliage. I wouldn't want to do Detroit because the idea of seeing downtown isn't particularly appealing.

I'm also willing to accept a unique course, rather than a scenic one. States with few races don't necessarily have any scenic ones. My tentative plan for Oklahoma is to run Route 66. Reviews indicate, as you might expect, that it isn't exactly visually stunning, but it involves running on the historic Route 66 and offers a fun detour to the "Center of the Universe". 

However, there are some caveats. I want my races to be scenic (or unique), because that will make them fun. But there is not a 1-to-1 ratio of these characteristics. While I'm sure the Pikes Peak Marathon would blow my mind with natural beauty, I would probably die. I just have no way to adequately train to run up a mountain at altitude. Feeling miserable is not fun, and I don't want to become some sort of race martyr.

No.

Besides the scenic-not-stupid criterion, I only eliminate courses if they have weird nonsense I wouldn't run on in a shorter race. I read reviews for one marathon with three miles on gravel. At first, I thought, hmm, that's not a big deal, 23 miles wouldn't be on the gravel! Then I realized I would never run an all-gravel 5K, so I ultimately decided against it.

4. The information I need is easily accessible. 

There's not a lot to say here beyond the obvious. If your marathon doesn't have a website, forget it. If I can't find out basic things like the start time, a course map, or the time limit, that's also a big no. I'm fine to wing it a little in shorter races, but if I'm spending hours running your race, I worry what it will be like on race day if you can't even throw a website together.

5. The race is a reasonable size.

I haven't set a hard limit here, I just have a general concept in my head of what "too big" is. While I want medium to small races because they seem logistically easier and more in line with #3, I mostly want to avoid this.

File under: also no.

I have what I can only describe as people-claustrophobia. I'm not sure if there's a real term for this, but I feel extremely uncomfortable if I'm in a mass of humanity without a clear exit. It's not like I have a panic attack or something severe like that, but I certainly can't relax and have fun. (This is why I cry when people describe one of the Majors as being "fine, because it clears out after 10 miles.) I know some people worry about getting lonely at races, but I do almost all my running solo; I have no problem doing it at a race as well.

60% of the time, it's 100% true.

 6. The proceeds go to charity (or the race is a non-profit).

In general, I try to only run races that raise money for charity. This seems to be the majority of middle-distance events out there today. (Hooray for helping people!) I understand that isn't always possible for larger events that have huge costs, such as marathons. However, if that's the case, I would like the race organization itself to be set-up as a non-profit. It's your race, so you can decide if you want to break even or charge more in order to make a donation, but I don't want anyone in charge walking away with my money at the end. (And before anyone gets cranky, NFPs can totally pay their employees; the RD getting a salary for their work is completely different than a business trying to maximize profit.)

Magically delicious.

 Other Points of Note

Unlike my hardline rules, which are specifically ordered in terms of importance, this is simply a collection of other factors I pay attention to when finding races. They're still important, just much more flexible.

1. The race is actually a marathon.

Hang tight there for a second. I know that sounds incredibly stupid on the surface, but the Marathon Maniacs have rules about longer races "counting" as a marathon, i.e. you can still count a 50K towards your total, because it involves running 26.2 miles. I understand the rationale here, but it seems a little silly to me. If I run an ultra, you better believe I will tell everyone how I ran 31 miles (or more), not 26.2. My personal rule is going to be to define a race distance by how I would describe it to someone the next day. If I would use any other word besides marathon, it doesn't count.

For reals, if you do an Ironman, shout it from the rooftops.

2. Don't pick a race just because everyone does it.

I'll be the first to admit, I can be one of those people that doesn't like some very popular things. This is because I try to actively question something before falling in love with it, not (usually) because I'm secretly a cranky old person.

Cranky old person in disguise is much better than the alternative, though.

Off the top of my head, two states that suffer from this syndrome are Montana (Missoula) and Alaska (Mayor's). I was 100% honestly surprised to find these states had other well-liked options. I had assumed out of the limited selection, those must have been the only truly good races in those states, because I hadn't even heard of any others in passing. Come to find out Montana has some other really cool choices, and the reviews for Mayor's aren't all that fantastic. Now, I have no problem doing either of those races if I decide they fit my other criteria the best, I just want to make sure I look at all the other options for states where I have a preconceived idea of the "best" race.

3. Are there other interesting things to do near the race?

Branching off the rule above, I discovered in my Montana research that the Two Bear Marathon has great ratings and is extremely close to Glacier National Park. I've taken almost all my vacations to National Parks since I was 7, and my family has always wanted to go there, but it's a long trip with nothing else around it. Two Bear would give me a great reason to invest the time to go out there for a week. I'm also leaning towards a race in southern Utah, even though the most popular races are around Salt Lake City, because it would give me a chance to go to the Four Corners region again.  

4. Only repeat races for good reasons.

This is the one rule that basically goes against ever other facet of my introverted personality. I happily eat at the same restaurants, watch the same movies, and listen to the same songs on repeat, but I have almost no desire to repeat races. I do my local turkey trot with Eager Feet Dad every year, but otherwise I don't think I've ever repeated a race.

There will obviously be some exceptions to this rule. Michael isn't coming to Hatfield-McCoy since it's for a bachelorette weekend, but he'll still need West Virginia. I know some people working on their 50 States go back to favorite races and take longer to finish, but I can't see spending tons of money to re-run a race if neither Michael or I need the state. I want to stay focused on my overall goal. Maybe when I finish I would consider doing a repeat.

5. Do I have to fly, or can I drive?

I have a set a relatively arbitrary limit of 10 hours as the time I'm willing to drive before I fly. I won't automatically fly if something is 10 hours and 5 minutes away, but I'm not up for any cross-country road trips either. This might have to change based on race dates and what PTO will look like when I start work full-time, but driving is significantly cheaper. 

Even if it does feel counter-intuitive.

I would hate to skip a race I really want to do because it falls outside the 10 hour zone, but I have to be realistic. If I can save hundreds of dollars in plane tickets and the other options sound good, it makes the most sense to save that money for when it's necessary. (Hawaii, you might want to really consider secession. Take Alaska with you.) 

6. Does it conflict with anything else?

Pretty self-explanatory. However, I need to remind myself to keep major events in mind, even if they are far in the future. Like with the wedding and Bayshore conflict, it's easy to forget about events months and months in the future.

Red Flags

As the name implies, the following are rules for what to avoid, rather than what to seek out. If a race violates any of these, it's almost always taken out of consideration. (The exception is small states where I might not really have a choice.)

I know your state is the size of a thimble, but is having three options too much to ask for?

1. An open course with little protection.

I'm certainly not opposed to races open to traffic. My first half was on open roads in a rural area, but I saw maybe two or three cars the whole time, and they had plenty of room to pass safely. However, I find the idea of fast cars not paying attention to be extremely stressful, especially if I'm trying to run a marathon at the same time. It doesn't help that long run brain kills my knowledge of traffic patterns.

This is your brain on long runs.

If anyone mentions feeling uncomfortable with traffic, especially if they define themselves as "slow", which honestly tends to be anything past four hours, I get out of there as fast as possible. I don't want to deal with the fear of getting hit during a race. If the definition of slow is left ambiguous, I assume it will encompass me, because, let's be honest, that's not exactly going out on a limb.

2. A confusing course.

While I will definitely be near the back of the pack at my marathons, there's a real chance some might be so small that I'll end up flying solo. I also have probably the worst sense of direction ever. If I haven't driven or run somewhere multiple times, it might as well be in China for all I know. (The only reason I know my cardinal directions now is because I can always orient myself to Lansing and East Lansing, not joking. I'm still clueless in my hometown.) Having to worry about running too far or getting totally lost makes my palms sweat just thinking about it. 

Just like above, any time a person says they had to spend significant time by themselves during the race to guess where to go, I flee as fast as possible.

3. A significant chance of awful weather.

I know there are people out there who want to challenge themselves at extreme races, but I'm not one of them. One blogger I follow did the Running with the Devil Marathon, meant to mimic Badwater in terms of heat and sheer misery, and reportedly spent a lot of the race crying because of the conditions. I'm sincerely happy she felt accomplished at the end, but I don't want to sign up for something that will automatically result in tears. Sure, it's hardcore, but like I said, misery is not fun.

They're wearing those hoods so you can't see how much fun they're actually having.

One marathon in Texas apparently suffers from chronic dust and wind storms, also no fun. I know weather is variable and might not be what I hope for when I register, but there's a difference between that and purposefully choosing pain.

4. No food at the end.

This seems to be a problem at races with a half and a full that run concurrently, letting most or all of the half runners hit the refreshments first. Considering how cranky I get without eating after a long run (or any other time, really), I might have a meltdown if I finished a marathon with nothing to eat at the end.  

I felt a profound sense of joy when I learned the word hangry.

Final Rule: Have fun!

I know this sounds horribly, embarrassingly cliche, but I do have a valid point here. I listed to a podcast interview with the youngest woman to finish the 50 States, and she mentioned how stressful it got. I know her situation was different because she was operating under a hard time limit, but there was nothing on the line but personal satisfaction; she always had the option to opt out with no repercussions. Awesome that she did it, but I can't imagine not going home for a whole month to fit in all my races.

Another blogger I follow has mentioned feeling a little tired and burnt out, and she only runs about one marathon a month. Yet another blogger talked about running through illnesses and injuries to fit in her races.

I'm way too Type A for my own good, so I want to be conscious of the fun factor. The whole reason I want to do the 50 States is to travel to new places and see new things. I don't want it to ever become stressful or cause unhappiness. Running is the one thing I can count on to always keep me sane, and regular doses of racing are a great supplement. I would hate to lose that joy.

In other words, I want to give myself the freedom to take a step back at any point, if I think it will make the whole thing more fun. Whether it's a month, six months, or a year, I want to keep this exciting and wonderful, not a chore or an obligation to anyone other than myself. There are other goals I want to tackle, like PRing my half marathon or tackling an Olympic triathlon. I don't want to give up everything for the 50 States, I want it to be an extension of what I already like to do. I want it to be a motivating goal, not a definition of who I am as a runner.

This all sounds great on paper before my first training cycle is even over. (But I'm more than halfway there! Scary and exciting.) I'd like to revisit this post after my first two races and see if the actual experiences change what I want in a race. I hope my previous racing experience and my self-awareness (introversion is really awesome, guys, I promise) mean I did a fairly decent job.

At least I hope so.