42 Mile Run on MD Segment of the Appalachian Trail - The Run Itself (Solo Adventure Series)

During the pandemic, I set a goal for myself of finally checking off a ultra running bucket list run. For a few months, I trained by myself to run the entire stretch of the Appalachian Trail in Maryland. What an absolute adventure this run was. There were highs and extreme lows. I thought about quitting more than once, but my mental training carried me through to the finish line. I dedicated this run to the City Kids Wilderness Project, and raised over $700 to give kids from DC get rad outdoor wilderness experiences while learning leadership skills.

Read on for the whole experience!

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My alarm went off at 4:15am. I rolled over, and waited for my next alarm to go off, at 4:20am. I sighed, stretched, and made my way to the kitchen. Water first, then coffee. While the coffee brewed, I took a bit of peanut butter and honey sandwich I had made the night before. I wasn’t hungry yet, and set the sandwich down.

My aid station box included a lot of my favorite things: pretzels, tailwind, animal crackers, red bull, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I packed hand sanitizer (pandemic was still a thing), bandaids, tylenol, and more.

I sat with my coffee at the kitchen table, illuminated only by the dim light of our microwave oven light. It was too early for real lights. I peered at the box next to me, going through the mental checklist of supplies I knew I needed. Tailwind – check. Honeystinger waffles – check. Tylenol – check. Bandaids – check. I finished my coffee, drank another glass of water, and headed back upstairs to get dressed.

We pulled out of our driveway at 5:30am. I was driving, as my husband is nocturnal, but only in the late at night, not early in the morning sense. No one was on the roads at this time of day, which made our hour and a half drive to Thurmont, Maryland a breeze. Our first stop was the local Sheetz gas station. I would use the bathroom. Chris would buy a breakfast burrito and coffee. Then we’d turn up the mountain road headed towards Penmar and the Mason Dixon Line.

At just about 7:20 we pulled into the gravel parking lot. A few other cars were already there, including what appeared to be another trail runner, about ready to take off on his own adventure. I took my slippers off and traded them for trail shoes. I assessed the weather, second guessing my gear, but going with my gut of not having too many layers, despite the chilly air. I put my pack on, turned my watch on, and guided Chris and our dog Sam towards the start line, half a mile down the trail.

After a few quick pictures, a kiss (for the husband) and a pat on the head (for the dog), I turned south and began to run. It was 7:40am, and I had just about 12 hours of sunlight and 42 miles ahead of me to make it from Pennsylvania border to the West Virginia border.

Start to Aid 1 – 8ish miles

The first two or three miles of this section are deceptively nice. The trail is smooth, there are not major climbs. It tricks you into a false sense of security, until you stumble upon the boulder field. Having run this section a few weeks prior, in conditions considerably worse, I was mentally prepared for the descent and ascent of the boulder field. The downhill portion isn’t all that bad when it’s not covered in snow and ice, and once you know how long the uphill climb on the bolder section is, that too is manageable. I had an added boost in this early section – I came upon an older guy who was hiking at quite a fast clip right as I dropped into the boulders, and his pace kept me accountable (if not pushed me a little too fast) through this section.

I emerged at the top of the boulder climb excited because I knew this next section was relatively flat, and, missing the ice I experienced on my training run, likely a lovely experience. And so it turned out. I glided along this section, keeping my pace steady and working to conserve my energy. I had a long day to go, and many tough sections ahead of me.

I arrived at Raven Rock and began the descent to the river, making sure to watch my footing so I didn’t bust my ankle too early. At the base, I crossed the road, crossed the river (much more confident than the last time I was there), and kept moving. I eventually caught up with the runner I saw at the Penmar parking lot – he was clearly out for a long day too, as we were already probably 5 or so miles out from the parking lot and he showed no signs of stopping. I passed cordially, and continued running.

I chose aid station 1 where I did because there was a small car pull off section and a big open field. Perfect for my parents and husband to set up my aid box and water jug. I emerged from the tree line feeling really confident and happy, and made my way down the field to where they were waiting. Sam, our german shepherd, was with them and he was quite excited to see me.

I grabbed some water, had some pretzels, said hello to my parents and prepared to leave. I only spent about 5 minutes at this aid station, just enough to say some hellos and take a quick rest. While I was there, the runner from the morning passed by us. My parents offered him some water, but he declined and kept moving. I pulled out about 3 or so minutes behind him.

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Aid 1 to Aid 2 – 12ish miles

Ahead of me was a section I wasn’t looking too forward to. I was heading towards Washington Monument State Park, but in order to get there, I knew there was a section ahead of me that was absolutely full of rocks. I also knew there generally was going to be a big climb within the first few miles of this section. I wasn’t 100 percent certain on how big the climb would be or how long the rock section would be, because I hadn’t actually run a good portion of this stretch.

As I got going, the first two miles were great. But as soon as I passed Tumbling Run shelter, I crossed the road and immediately began to climb. And climb. And kept climbing. I’m not sure exactly how long the climb was or how steep it was, but it was definitely the real deal with switchbacks. About a quarter of the way up, I caught up with the runner I had been seeing on and off all morning. I ended up passing him, and as I passed, we struck up a conversation. I was surprised how far out he was, given I knew he was likely on an out and back, so I asked what his plan was for the day. He said he was aiming for 26 miles, which meant he had about 3 more miles to run from where we were before he would be turning down. I told him I was running to West Virginia and he was floored. I shuffled past him after a few more niceties.

At the top of the big climb, the trail was actually really nice. Smooth trail, few rocks, no elevation gain. That lasted for just a little while, and then I entered the rock section. To be fair, the rock section wasn’t as long as I thought it was. I had approached this section several times in the past from the opposite direction (running from Annapolis Rock) and usually given up after about five minutes of hop skipping over rocks and not actually running. After a handful of minutes on the rocks, I emerged, and was in very familiar territory at this point. I had trained for my first 50k on these trails, and memorized their quirks like the back of my hand. I wanted to go into autopilot, but my body had other plans for me.

Just after the rocks is a steady downhill section. The trail isn’t really technical, it’s just a lot of water bars and really consistent downhill, for maybe a mile. My knees at this point decided that they, specifically the right knee, really did not want to be doing what I was doing, and put up a huge fit. My right knee was cracking, and a sharp pain was setting in. NOT GOOD, considering I wasn’t even at the halfway point. ‘What was going on’, I thought to myself. I still don’t know what was happening, but I wasn’t pleased, and had to suffer through knee pain the rest of the run (an ill-advised suffering, I reflect on now).

Typically, steady downhills are my bread and butter. I cruise downhill, flying fast and gaining back any slowness I may have built up in the climbing phase of my runs. Unfortunately, I had to slow myself down here, nurse my knee, and take it easy. This got to my head, and starting planting seeds of doubt, which amplified over the course of the remaining 7 or so miles I had on this section.

I eventually passed Annapolis Rock, tenderly made my way down to the Route 70 overpass, and headed in to the last 3 or so miles to Washington Monument State Park. Half a mile in to this last section, I completely lost it. I was climbing a small little hill, nothing major, but my mind just said ‘NO’. I didn’t want to keep going. I found a stump to sit on, and had a good cry. I texted my husband one word: ‘struggling’, and then had another little cry. I sat there for a few minutes, just collecting my feelings, resting my body, and building up the motivation to at least finish this section.

Reflecting back on this moment, and the moments leading up to it, I think I can narrow down the mental and physical collapse to a lack of nutrition. I failed to onboard electrolytes at Aid 1, and hadn’t consumed any salt or electrolytes in the first 21 or so miles. My body just wasn’t having it. And I suffered the rest of the run because of it.

I eventually made it to Aid 2, after walking those long three miles from my stump. I told myself there was no reason to push myself at this point, especially if I wanted to finish. I just needed to get to Aid, get some salt in my body, take a rest with my family, and let everything else go.

Aid 2 to Aid 3 – 10ish miles

I sat at Aid 2, in the parking lot of Washington Monument State Park, for probably 25 minutes. I chugged Tailwind. I at half a peanut butter and jelly. I drank half a red bull. I used the rest room. And I just sat. My mom tried to talk to me and check in, but I wasn’t mentally available to have conversation. I just needed to rest. And reset. And figure out my plan.

I knew I hated the next section of trail. This section is the section I cried on during my training run a few weeks before. It’s not that the section is physically horrible, I just had a bad mental day when training on that section, and that set the tone for the trail for me.

I eventually sucked up my feelings and got going. I eased down the trail, and set myself on the path to making it to mile 30ish. I knew at the next aid, I’d have my husband joining me for the last section, and that alone was what helped movitvate me to keep going. I knew he was waiting.

I moved through the first few miles of this section, no problem. I got to the place where I had my meltdown before, and was feeling ok. I knew just shortly ahead of me was a flat and fast section, and I was excited to reach that spot. It felt like it took forever to eventually get there though, and my mind started playing tricks on me again. Placing seeds of doubt in my mind.

I started to tell myself that 30 miles was enough. It was my 30th birthday. I didn’t need to run 42 miles, I just needed to run my age. I could stop at the next aid, and claim victory by ‘running my age’. I nearly convinced myself that that was what I was going to do.

About a mile and a half from the end of this section however, my watch beeped at me. Battery was dying. I needed to make sure I finished this section before my watch died. I started running faster. And faster. I felt great all of a sudden. I was ripped out of my ‘woe is me’ mentality for a few minutes, and was purely racing against time at that point.

I made it to Gathland State Park and met my mom and dad at the picnic pavilion. They had my aid set up and told me my husband was at the car getting ready to run with me. I grab some tailwind, refresh on water, and just take a beat to check in. Would I tap out at this point? I really wanted to, but I had effectively convinced myself that I never wanted to run this section of trail ever again, and if I tapped out now, I’d have to come back and do the whole thing over again.

So I kept my quitter’s attitude to myself, linked up with my husband, and forged ahead for the last section.

Aid 3 to Aid 4 – 12ish miles

As we started moving, I told him very explicitly that I was essentially glorified hiking at this point. The pace was crisp, but we were walking all uphills, most downhills, and when I had the motivation and my knee wasn’t hurting, shuffling on the flats. Our pace was slow, and deliberate. I had one motivation at this point: finish before the sun goes down.

The section between Gathland and Weaverton is actually not too bad. I hadn’t really trained on this section, except a few out and back miles a few weeks before. I didn’t really know what to expect here, but looking at maps, I didn’t think it would be all that bad. With my husband by my side, I was able to keep moving because I knew I had another human with me.

I did yell at a lot of rocks at this point in time now. I told my husband all about how angry I was at the rocks. How stupid they were. How I never wanted to see another rock in my lift. How they were the worst invention on earth. He probably thought I had lost my mind at that point, and I’m pretty sure I was on the verge of it, if not fully crazy. I was delirious, tired, and just wanted to be done.

We made it to Weaverton with no real issues, and wove our way down to the C&O canal for the last few flat miles. I could tell the sun was starting to get close to the horizon, and I knew we needed to pick up our pace. I started a fartlek effort – I chose a tree, and ran to it. And then we would walk to another tree in the distance. And then I said we would run to the bridge far off in the distance that crossed the Potomac, about half a mile or so away. And we made it, and then we walked to another tree. And so on and so forth. We did that all the way to Harpers Ferry, ultimately running probably half of this stretch of flat and fast trail. I was so excited to be done that I had actually found some strength buried deep in the reserves of my mind and body.

We climbed up the stairs to cross the railroad bridge to Harpers Ferry and I was elated. Running across the bridge, we saw my parents standing and waving at us. I was so close. I was almost done.

We finished crossing the bridge, shuffled over to my parents, and in that moment, I felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off of me.

I did it.

I did something I honestly didn’t think I could do. I ran from Pennsylvania to West Virginia on some of the hardest technical trail I have ever experienced. I did it essentially alone (no other runners around me like in a race, and I ran over 30 of the 42 miles absolutely solitary). I had no other runners with me. I had no medal waiting for me. I had not finish line feast waiting for me. I had my parents (and my biggest running supporters) and my husband. And a bunch of tourists who probably thought all four of us were crazy.

Reflections

When I initially set out to do this run, I had no goals at all. I didn’t tell anyone I was doing it besides my husband until about two weeks out. I didn’t have faith I would actually get it done. It was scary, daunting, and the biggest running challenge of my life.

Ultimately, I set an internal and an external goal for this run – timewise. Anyone who asked me how fast I planned to run it, I would tell them I wanted to finish in 12 hours or less. Internally, I told myself if I was a good runner, I’d get it done in 10 hours or less. Turns out, my external goal was way more on point than my internal goal.

I started at Penmar at 7:40AM and finished in Harpers Ferry at 7:30PM. 11 hours, 50 minutes. I succeeded.

As someone who suffers from a lot of self-doubt, negative selftalk, and general distrust in my own abilities to achieve anything of significance in my life, I’m really freaking proud that I was able to finish this run.

There were so many moments on trail where I could have simply called it quits. I could have dialed my parents up, dropped them my GPS location, and had them meet me at the nearest trail crossing. Demons were whispering in my ear the whole time, made worse by the fact that I had ended up telling LOTS of people about my run. But I didn’t listen to any of it, at least not for too long.

As a distance runner, 80 percent of the run, in my opinion, is all mental. It is telling your mind that your body is capable of what you’re trying to get it to do. It’s convincing your inner self that you can finish, and hushing away the negative self-talk that anyone rightfully would have after hours of trudging through the woods, destroying their body.

I struggled with negative emotions through the training process for this run, and throughout the entirety of the run. And I’m really freaking proud that I was able to recognize that negative self-doubt, check-in with myself, and find the motivation in some deep reserve of my soul to keep going. This run reminded me that I am strong, I am capable of anything I put my mind to, and I can do so much more than I really ever thought I could. I’m really proud of myself.

I also had A LOT of help along the way. My parents and my husband literally drove from location to location for 12 hours, all for me. They never complained once. They were exactly where I needed them to be each time I met up with them. They helped fill my water. They helped ease my mind. I could not have done this without them.

Running for Good

I decided to raise money for City Kids Wilderness Project as part of this running effort. I posted about my run idea on Facebook, noting that I wanted to raise money to help kids from DC gain their own life changing experiences in the outdoors. Growing up, the outdoors shaped who I am. My love for the outdoors was spurred by hiking and camping as a kid. I figured if my hobby now was shaped by those own personal outdoors experiences growing up, I should leverage the power of my hobby to help others potentially have their own life changing experiences.

I ended up raising over $700 for City Kids Wilderness Project, and that is what I’m the proudest of out of all.  

Learn more about City Kids Wilderness Project: https://citykidsdc.org/

Race Review: Blues Cruise 50k

As I rounded a turn at the base of a downhill section, corn fields stretching to my left and woods to my right, I felt a twinge on the back of my right leg. “Ouch!” I thought. I felt a second twinge. Grabbing at my leg, I batted away the attacker, a bee with an inferiority complex. Just my luck.

The Blues Cruise 50K ultramarathon this past weekend was full of highs and lows – an incredible race, well-marked and well organized, with environmental factors outside of any race directors control dictating the general commentary of the race this year.

It was ‘hot’ and humid – 80 degrees in early October, with 100% humidity at the start. I went into the race with the mindset that I had trained in much worse throughout the summer, so I was prepared for whatever might be thrown at me. What I wasn’t prepared for was a bee sting, and how that sting would shake my entire race plan early on in the race.

The Start

Chris and I stayed in a hotel about 15 minutes from the race start the night before, so that we didn’t have to make the 2.5 hour drive the morning before. We feasibly could have done that, since this race starts at a very comfortable 8:30AM. I haven’t started this late for a race in a very long time. Based on the day’s weather, I wish we had a bit of an earlier start to avoid the heat of the early afternoon sun, but I can’t complain about leisurely waking up at 6AM and extending out my morning race prep routine for a full 1.5 hours, which included a lot of extra hydration and caffeination.

When we got to the race start area, we headed straight to packet pick-up, which didn’t have any line when I showed up! We grabbed my bib and race swag and headed back to the car to drop it off. I made a pitstop at the bathroom, and then headed up to the starting line to get ready. A 8:30, we were off to the races.

The First 9 Miles

The Blues Cruise is a 30.something mile race around Blue Marsh Lake in Pennsylvania. Each year, the course changes directions, with even years running clockwise around the lake. The clockwise direction is considered the ‘easier’ route, because you get the climbing and major hills out of the way in the first 20-miles, rather than saving all those hills for the final miles of the race, which the counter-clockwise years do.

I had an incredible race the first 9-miles. I was cruising along, crushing miles at a sub-11 pace, which is quick for me on trail. I felt strong, I felt relaxed. The first few miles were relatively flat with rolling hills that were completely manageable. I navigated around some clusters of crowding and found my groove with a handful of fellow runners, each trading off passing and leading the small pack.

As we came down the hill at mile 9, the course takes a sharp u-turn and prepares to send us back up another hill. As I rounded the bend and kicked into the flat straight-away before the next hill, I felt the bee sting me. It got it’s stinger straight through my running shorts, right on one of the seams near the bottom. I began to panic.

I haven’t been stung by a been in over a decade – and I had no idea if in that time I developed an allergy. My roommate in college developed an allergy for bees as she got older, and we realized it when she got stung an at ultimate frisbee tournament sophomore year. I got to ride in the ambulance with her to the hospital, where she was treated for said allergy. Needless to say, my mind was racing.

Once I was certain I wasn’t going to die from anaphylactic shock, a new concern set it. My toes were tingly, my leg was burning, and I could feel it swelling up.

Miles 10 through 20

I chose to ignore the bee sting as much as I could. I kept playing in my mind the several songs I had purposefully set in my head, focusing on the music in my mind to try and distract from the nervous pain I was feeling. I kept it up through mile 12, and then backed off the pace a bit to make sure I wasn’t overcompensating on my other leg.

The hills at this point were rolling and steeper – we had some solid climbs that required good power hiking. I was happy to have these moments to hike, and recollect myself and reassess my leg. All was going as OK as I could hope for, but certainly not as good as the first 9-miles. My race, in my mind, was slipping from me.

Tragedy struck me at mile 14. On a downhill, my leg all of a sudden gave out from under me. My right knee was experiencing some sort of strange discomfort and pain I had never felt before. I assume it was related to the swelling and pain from the bee sting – my leg was still tingling a bit and visibly swollen. I couldn’t run downhill anymore, the pain was too much. This was devastating to me, because my strength is in my downhill running. My mind started collapsing with my body – losing faith that I would even be able to finish at this point.

I texted my boyfriend as I was climbing one of the hills, and desperately asked him to bring Advil to the next aid station at mile 17, which he already planned to meet me at. I told him I was in pain and needed something to help with the swelling. Tears welled in my eyes for just a moment, then I shook myself off, knowing that relief was just a few miles in front of me.

I rolled into aid station 4, which was at the top of a hill, grabbed Gatorade, downed an Advil, kissed Chris, and got back to work. Right after the aid, we cross a road, and start climbing again. I took my time here, hoping that the medicine would do it’s job.

The stretch between Aid 4 and Aid 5 are arguably the hardest on the course, in my mind at least. This section is where we see our steepest climb. As we climbed to the top of the hill at Mile 20, all I could think about was the dread of going downhill – a foreign concept to me, except for in this race. I LOVE running downhill, but I had to walk this one – a long, steep section that was pounding on my knee. I could tell the Advil was setting in at this point though, as my knee wasn’t too bad but I was not willing to push it.

Needless to say, this 10-mile section was my least favorite of the course, though on any other day, I think I would have loved it. A great mix of hills and rolling fields that will challenge and entice any trail runner.

Mile 21 through 30

I saw Chris again at Aid 5 – he parked on the other side of the road and cheered me on as I crossed the bridge and headed into a flat section of the course.

From Mile 21 to Mile 26, the hills let up and allowed me to kick my pace back up a bit. The Advil was doing its job at this point, and I was feeling a surge of strength and hope that I thought I had lost many miles ago.

I kicked along the course, getting my speed back up to almost what it was on the first section of the course. I felt strong, I felt good.

From mile 26 through the end, the hills came back, and sections of the course opened up in corn fields, exposed to the sun and the heat. I honestly hated this whole section of the course – and desperately wanted to race to be over.

I commiserated with a fellow runner as we climbed a steep hill in this section. What happened to flat and easy!? My solace was knowing we only had a few more miles to go.

At mile 29, I kicked into higher gear, ready to be done. I felt the pull of the finish line in front of me. As my fellow runners hiked up the final hill, I surged past them, power hiking up to the top and then cruising down the road towards the finish. I saw Chris and then kicked in, crossing at 6:15, a solid 30-minutes faster than I have run an ultra before.

The Finish

With all the trials and tribulations of this race, it was an incredible experience and one I might consider doing again one day. As I passed through the finish line, I was informed I placed 3rd in my age group, and was handed a finishers paddle as an award!

WOW is all I can say to that. I knew going into the race that I had the potential to do well in my age group, but never thought an age group award was a possibility. How cool.

Chris met me with our camping chair and my change of clothes, and helped me stretch and get some fluids in me. I changed, washed the mud off my legs, downed a grilled cheese, and we headed home.

I can officially say I am a 3-time ultramarathon finisher now.

Race Report: Baltimore Marathon

One thing I’ve realized over the past few months is that when you are simultaneously working full time, going to grad school full time, and training for endurance running, things start falling by the wayside. Case in point: this blog. So much has happened in my life since I last posted, most importantly of which was a 30 MINUTE PR AT THE BALTIMORE MARATHON!

This, my friends, is quite possibly my greatest running achievement to-date. Why haven’t I posted about it yet? Well, right after my race I had a combination of a mid-term, 20-minute climate presentation, research report, launch prep for a website at work, comment letter for a piece of climate legislation (that would set us back decades in terms of clean energy solutions) and seeing my wonderful boyfriend every so often. Now, that’s not why you’re on this blog, but I felt the need to explain my lack of attention lately!

On to the race report!

On October 17th, I laced up my running shoes with one goal in mind: break 4 hours on my marathon. Back in March, I ran my first marathon in probably the worst manner possible. I had been injured, it was pouring rain, it was 30 degrees at the start line, and I hadn’t run more than 11 miles at one time in over 6 weeks. Still, I finished in 4:24 with tears in my eyes and pain in my knees knowing that ‘hey, I just did something that some people dream of doing their whole lives’. Well, this race just wasn’t good enough for me. I was embarrassed by my time, disappointed in my training (due to silly training practices that led to my own demise. Editors note: never ramp up training from 0 miles per month due to international travel in the Himalaya’s to 140 miles per month. Something will go wrong).

Anyways, this time I was smart about training, listened to my body, and was out for some blood in this race. I scheduled my summer race calendar in anticipation of this marathon, and successfully completed 20-miles at an 8:40ish pace, giving me the confidence boost I needed to push through Baltimore.

Baltimore, however, is a beast of its own. Mountainous it is not, BUT there are some serious hills in this race that could cripple a runner who had not adequately trained. I knew going in that there was 3-miles uphill right from the start, and that miles 16-20 were often compared to Heartbreak Hill in Boston. My weekly long runs therefore made sure to incorporate significant hills usually towards the end of my run to get my legs used to the fatigue. Again, this paid off.

I started the race with the 4 hour pace group, concerned with the rookie mistake of going out too fast and ruining the second half. I stayed slightly behind them the first 2 miles as we pushed up the hill towards the zoo. Around mile 3, I started to make a move, catching the pace group and then, once we crested at the zoo and began our 2 miles of rolling hills in the zoo, I passed them. I have always been a strong downhill runner, which makes up for my lackluster uphill climbing. I zipped past runners, feeling energized by the morning sun, our penguin friends that came to great us, and the beautiful vista overlooking the lake.

I knew Chris and my mom were going to be around mile 7 or 8, so I kept this pace up. Having motivation and knowing that I would have support at very specific points along the course kept my spirits high. When you know you will have a cheerleader, that little voice in your head really pushes you to achieve greater results.

Mile 8 came and went. I high-fived my mom, laughed at Chris as he struggled to get the camera ready, and zipped passed my loved ones with a sense of strength and determination. The next 5-miles were flat as we ran around the inner harbor. At mile 11, fear crept in as my ankle started having searing pain shooting up the tendon from my foot to my knee. What was going on, I still do not know. I slowed my pace, connected with a fellow pace group member about the pain, and agreed with him that I should adjust pace, shake it out, and save my ankle for the coming miles.

At mile 13, the pain started to subside. I pushed through cautiously, maintaining a steady pace, and hitting my goal time marks still. I had an old college roommate (hi Katie!) come out for mile 15 or 16, but I had no idea where she would be, so I was running faster, watching the crowds with excitement, and when I finally saw her, it was the perfect point in the race: just as the hills started. She high fived me, and I kicked it up the start of mile 16.

The hills were actually not as bad as I thought they would be! My training paid off, as I thought I would be facing massive uphill climbs with steep incline and knee busting distances. Much to my surprise, these hills were nothing like my training runs, and for the most part, the only factor that came in to play was that there were 4 miles of them. I kicked it up the hill, zipped around the lake, and headed for home.

As I crossed the finish line, I cried, but not in pain this time, in happiness. I crushed my goal and crossed the finish line in 3:54, a full 30-minutes ahead of my previous race and a sub-9 minute pace! Hard word, determination, and a little bit of guts got me to where I am, and I am so excited to see what comes next.

Maybe a Boston Qualifier :)

Race Report: National Capitol 20 Miler

On Sunday, I bagged another 20 miles, this time with the DC Road Runners Club along the historic C&O canal. Dragging my body out of bed at 5am, hopping in the car, and hitting the ground running at 7am was so difficult this weekend. The combination of working full time, taking 2 graduate level courses towards my MS in Environmental Science & Policy, as well as training for my marathon and ultra is starting to take a toll on me. Throw in house/landlord issues and its the perfect storm.

But you know what I learned this weekend? Hard work, determination, and a whole lot of mental willpower can get you through even the toughest of times and the toughest of races. While this was by no means a difficult course (lets be honest, elevation gain was barely even registering), I pushed my pace to 35-seconds beyond my goal marathon pace to a cool 8:40 per mile. That means, if I keep that pace at Baltimore, I could theoretically run sub-3:50, and shave 35 minutes off my current PR!

I'm feeling strong, just need to keep my head in the game as I quickly approach race day. T-19 days!

Random Musings: Fears of Failure

I had a moment at the end of a 5-mile race this past weekend where I let my fear of failing (or what in my mind I define as 'failure') overcome what should have been a celebration at the finish line with my amazing boyfriend. I went in to the race underprepared for a 'sprint'....I've been training for distances that are multiples of 5-miles, and didn't get my head in the game enough. I knew I was going to run back with my boyfriend as he competed in his longest race to date. What I wasn't prepared for was the wave of emotion at the finish, when we both surged to cross the line, and I remembered that I am terrible at sprinting and usually don't have much left in the tank to kick out the last 200 meters because I've left most of it out on the distance courses.

This was a huge learning moment for me. Instead of feeling disappointment in what I perceived as a failure (watching my boyfriend -- who by his own account would never say he is a runner --  surge ahead and toe the finish just ahead of me), I need to look at this as a training moment, a reminder that while I KNOW I can easily run 5-miles (probably in my sleep at this point) training really has an influence on your output depending on distances. I'm not training for short course running, not even training for half marathon distance (though I'm fairly certain I could crush my PR right now) but training for the long, slow, deliberate distances of 26.2 and beyond. 

Friends in the ultra community might still classify a marathon as a sprint, but for me, just breaking in to this super long distance category, everything is new to me. The emotions I feel every day on my runs varies, and its a reality check every time I lace up my shoes and hit the pavement (or more frequently, the dirt). 

In a consolation to myself this morning -- I ran 6.5 miles this morning and you wouldn't believe it, but I actually ran faster than my 5-mile race this weekend. Guess its really is all mental :)

Keep your head in the game everyone. Whatever your goals are, don't ever let a single race ruin what good things you have going for you, and the strong base you have been building in your training programs. We're all human. We're all competitive to some degree (either with ourselves or others....some way more than others too!) but we must remember that the running journey is inherently individual. Run. Have fun. Laugh a little.  

xoxo Kate