Rouge-Orleans…If you’re not from the South, it takes you a minute to realize the significance of the name. But when you tell someone from, say … South Dakota or Idaho … that you’re running from Baton Rouge to New Orleans, even without any frame of reference, their first reaction is, “Dang, how far is that?” The same reaction comes from most Louisianians – folks who have only driven from Baton Rouge to New Orleans (and who are not especially fond of the drive).

Then…when you tell them that it is 126.2 miles and that you have 42 hours to do it – after they get past the “Are you nuts?” look – their next question is, “Do you sleep during any of that?”

I live in Boise, Idaho, now, but I spent the first 34 years of my life in Shreveport, Louisiana. So, when I found out about this race, I knew I had to do it. Plus, I told my husband Mark, “Since I’ve already run a couple of 100s, this is the next logical step.” We had a few discussions about the word “logical,” but to those of us who love to do these things, we understand perfectly the logic of it. You can’t succeed beyond your wildest expectation unless you have some wild expectations to begin with. I think this race qualified.

So, I signed up, assembled my crew (friends from Idaho, Ohio, Indiana, and South Dakota), and taught them all how to say “Laissez les bontemps rouler!” One of my friends – Joan, from Indiana – also signed up for the solo event, so our crew was in for double duty.

In addition to never having run this far before, neither had I ever started a race at 8 pm. While there was some degree of anxiety about running 126.2 miles, the main stream of anxiety stemmed from the idea of running through 2 nights. This was definitely going to be an adventure. But…I told myself that everything is hard before it is easy. However, on this occasion, it ended up being the other way around.

John Steinbeck defines traveling is “the urge to be someplace else.” But in this case, true traveling was starting out at 8 o’clock at night, knowing the miles ahead would be brand new and consist of people, places, and experiences unpredictable and unknowable.

And so it began at 8 pm on Friday … What a bizarre beginning to a weekend that got crazier by the hour.

Joan and I had decided to stick together for the first night, and we kept our pace at regular intervals of run 10 minutes, walk 2. That worked for the most part except for the sections where the levee was apparently being worked on, and we had to run on the sloped sides. Joan managed to stay on both feet, and I only slipped down once, hitting my face on my watch and getting a fat lip.

“Fall down 7 times, get up 8.” – Chinese proverb

The first night seemed to go by rather fast, and as it is with other events where you run through the night, the sunrise rejuvenated us. A couple hours after sunrise, Joan and I split up to do our own thing. That was the last I saw of Joan until she crossed the finish line, but I was getting regular updates on her progress.

The day was cold and windy, but beautiful. And, again, it doesn’t seem like 10 more hours have gone by when you’re out “in it.” Everything up to this point had been going pretty smoothly – and rather uneventful. Lori made sure that she worked her Ki-Hara magic on me every 4 hours, and I was feeling good. Just out there running, eating, drinking, talking to other runners, and stopping every 4 hours for my treatment.

At one point during the day, I decided I would call my son Daniel – I think I was around mile 65. I told him that I was past the halfway mark, but I had many miles to go. His immediate response to me – simply the reiteration of something I have said to him for SO many years – was, “How do you eat an elephant?” It came out so naturally that it seemed he had been waiting for the perfect time to give it back to me. His “one-bite-at-a-time” reminder came back to me over and over in that second half – especially in that never-ending trek around the park to the finish line.

Then the 2^nd night fell, and the game changed. It was dark and cold, and I was getting tired.

Still…I kept telling myself: Once you make an unequivocal decision to cast off mental limitations and put your heart into accomplishing a goal, your success is guaranteed. As long as you don’t quit.

I rolled into the 80+ mile aid station around 6 pm where Sparkle, my pacer, was ready to go. Lori worked her magic – again. By this time, it was getting really cold, so I added a few extra layers, ate some warm food, and headed out for ONLY 46 more miles.

It was somewhere around 27 or 28 hours that things started to get a little crazy. My brain started telling me that people are just not supposed to stay up 2 nights in a row. The caffeine would work for about 20-30 minutes after I drank it, and then I would feel like I was sleepwalking. Sparkle was telling stories, talking, and keeping me awake. But after awhile, she also started feeling the effects of sleep deprivation.

She had never run through the night before, nor had she ever gone over 43 miles! She had run 6 miles earlier in the day with Joan, so she was definitely going to get her PR on this trip.

The combination of sleep deprivation, general fatigue, the “devil wind” and the tricks of the lights all made for a sort of crazy, fun-house experience. The wind especially was relentless. Earlier that week, I had read in one of Brian Tracy’s books: “In any new or difficult venture, the roads are all uphill, and the wind is always in your face.” Ha! Five days earlier it was a metaphor – that night, it was both literal and figurative.

Sparkle ran just a ways ahead of me and would turn around every few minutes to make sure I hadn’t wandered down the side of the levee into the river. The lights were playing tricks on me, and though not true hallucinations (I realized I didn’t know what I was looking at, but I knew it wasn’t what it looked like – make sense?), I was seeing all sorts of strange things.

I saw exotic animals (that is, animals you don’t see along the Mississippi River) like elephants, lions, and bears – which turned out to be hedges in front of a building. (I still think they were topiaries, but Sparkle says no.) I saw little animals skittering across the running path, but the only animal we actually saw was one possum…and he took the stairs down to the water – which was a little weird. (We both saw that so I know it was real.) I also thought I saw my husband Mark, but as it turned out, it was a tree with a light pole behind it. It did look like a person…

It was around 2 am when we thought we saw Mark…and, all of the sudden, Sparkle runs across to the other side of the path and says, “Did you see that man run and jump in the river?” I thought, “Oh, Boy, my pacer is losing it.” Clearly, no one jumped into the river, but that laugh kept us awake and going for quite awhile.

About a half hour later, we’re running along, being rather quiet, and Sparkle says, “How do they keep that balloon suspended in exactly the same place without it moving?” Yikes! Another “moment” for my pacer: It was a water tower!

Night finally turned into morning, and once again, we were renewed. Just as darkness gave way to light, sleepiness turned to wakefulness, and everything just started to look and feel better. Thank goodness that everything in life goes in cycles of up and down, better and worse, progress and regress. Nothing continues indefinitely in the same way.

Sleepwalking gave way to general fatigue, and my singular focus was to get to the finish line. I was going to finish this thing – with plenty of time to spare. Even as we entered the park, nature provided one final “persistence test” just to see how much I really wanted it … I had to practically PASS the finish line and go – I don’t know how far – on that seemingly “never-ending” path to the finish line.

Our crew had been with us from the beginning – some 38 hours earlier. Mark was waiting at the finish line; Sparkle was still with me and had been all night; Mike, Karen, and Lori were still out there with Joan. All the course volunteers, the race director, and various other folks had been available to aid us in any way they could. Although no one can run your miles for you, no one does an event like this alone.

I never doubted that I would finish; however, I also never imagined how hard it would be. Ultimately, nature is kind to us – she never lets us see too far ahead. If we knew what was coming, we might never embark on such an undertaking.

Crossing the finish line, I felt joy, satisfaction, relief, and gratitude. All the bits of wisdom and sayings and words that I strive to live by on a daily basis had come to me in various forms in the past 38.5 hours. All the things I tell other people came to me in the precise moments when I needed them.

Leap and the net will appear. Failure is not an option. Act as if it were impossible to fail, and it will be. It’s not the events, but your reaction, that determines the quality of your life. What is the opportunity in this? Anything worth doing is worth overdoing. Change the way you look at things, and the things you look at change. Never wish for things to be easier – wish to be stronger and better. How you do anything is how you do everything. It doesn’t have to be FUN to be fun. And, of course, how do you eat an elephant?

It was truly a triumph for me to cross the finish line. The more important thing, however, was not the triumph, but the struggle. The triumph lasts but only a few seconds; the struggle lasted for 38.5 hours.

Every test we pass prepares us for something harder. Difficulties never end – they only change and get tougher as we grow. To succeed in the face of a difficult task, we must become someone we’ve never been before.

Less than 50% of the people who started the solo Rouge-Orleans did not complete the 126.2 miles. Yet no one failed. Success has many faces – all who started the race succeeded in doing whatever it was they were meant to do on that given weekend. They succeeded in running 50 miles or 95 miles or even 110 miles. We all achieved success when we toed the starting line.

One of the first things that comes to me – as a way to describe the experience – is that at camp, we “live deliberately.” I know that quoting Thoreau is cliché, but maybe there’s something about staying in a cabin by a lake that initially makes me think of Walden (even though Thoreau’s “cabin” was about a mile from where he grew up).

And, living deliberately is what we do at camp.

Because we are in such a remote place, we have spotty cell phone coverage, limited wi-fi, and no cable tv in our cabins. We are not totally cut off from the outside world, but for 6 days, we are pretty much unconcerned with what’s going on outside Rainbow Resort.

We immerse ourselves in the actual experiences.

Our first run of the week was an easy 4-mile jaunt through the woods on a grassy trail. It had rained the night before, and there were still a few puddles in some low spots. Our first inclination when we encounter a mud puddle is to try to avoid it. I remember thinking as I plowed through the mud puddles – you don’t really experience the puddle unless your feet get a little wet. And, as I felt the water seep through the toe of my shoe, I actually felt a little more energized.

Later, that night, we were treated to “Dick Beardsley In Concert.” Although Dick probably won’t be taking his concert “on the road,” he writes and sings songs from his heart; and courageously, he shared some deeply personal experiences with us as we sat and listened … totally immersed in his music.

Our second run was a “quality workout” with Coach Bill. Although not an “active” Marine, Bill will tell you that there’s no such thing as an ex-Marine. And, his workouts remind us of his point. Warming up with lunges, squats, pushups, and hovers (to name a few things), we then head out to a flat stretch of road where we warm up again with stride outs before running a timed mile. But that’s not all. After the timed mile, we jog down the road about a mile and a half to “learn how” to and practice hill repeats. Talk about “sucking marrow from the bone” – Thoreau would definitely approve of Coach Bill’s workouts.

Thank goodness for the principle of hard-easy workouts. Our next run was a recovery run – it was back on the serene trails for an easy fun run. You might think that with a group of runners – who “paid” to come to a running camp – that it would be a little difficult to run easy and take walk breaks and chat with their new running partners. But there’s something about being surrounded by people who, like ourselves, not only love to talk about running but also love to experience it. And, I think that even some of the hardcore runners were able to “experience” their runs more deeply in our easy group trail runs than they had before they came to camp.

Since we had a half marathon coming up on Saturday, we didn’t schedule a Friday run. However, in a rare historic event, Joe Henderson led a group of campers on a truly special early morning run.

Friday was especially fun as we had Kathrine Switzer, pioneer and champion of women’s running, spending the day with us. Kathrine was the “legend” this year at the “Running with the Legends” Dick Beardsley Half Marathon.

Race day dawned, and the constant rain from the day before gave way to blue skies and cool temperatures. Campers and coaches all piled into cars and drove 45 minutes to Detroit Lakes for the Dick Beardsley Half Marathon and 5K. We had runners in both events – with one camper running his first half marathon and one running his first race ever! Uplifted by a week of positive energy, camaraderie, and good health, we all “experienced” a gorgeous run around the lake. As each runner finished, we gathered at the sideline to cheer on every single runner who crossed the finish line.

As it came time for camp to end, we started feeling the pull of reality. Six days in the Minnesota woods is a perfect amount of time to spend at a running camp, but it was time now to go home to jobs, families, friends, and running in our own town. Amid hugs and farewells, we know we’ll see each other again this time next year.

One of our former campers aptly said of Dick’s camp…”We came to camp to become better runners; we left camp better people.”

Elinor Fish, editor of Trail Runner magazine, was the camp director, as well as an accomplished trail runner herself. In fact, she is running her first 100-miler in a few weeks at Leadville! Nothing like starting with one of the hardest 100s around (I would know a little about that). She had two additional people on staff: Tam, a personal trainer and Xterra champion; and Wendy, a yoga instructor and trail runner. Elinor and her “team” did a spectacular job of planning and executing the camp.

The women at the camp represented 7 states – Idaho, Colorado, California, Washington, Kansas, Nevada, Indiana – and all came with different backgrounds, experiences, and inspiring stories. Many of the women had never run at altitude like we encountered in the Rockies. Our first run was a little challenging, but by day 2, we had somewhat acclimated, and our run was much more comfortable (or at least manageable).

The scenery was breathtaking (and not just because of the altitude), and the comraderie was uplifting. We had healthy meals, yoga sessions, massages, and amazing trail runs – indeed, a magical weekend retreat.

As we all became friends, we already have plans to meet up at trail runs across the country and open invitations for places to stay as we travel to run.

Thanks to Elinor, her team, and to all the other campers for a great mountain trail experience.

I wish that there were a way to capture the scent of the sage and other flowers that carpeted the mountain side. As we ran through waist-high vegetation getting wet from the dew still on the leaves, we inhaled the freshness of the plants. You can capture the scenery in photos, but the smell is something you obviously have to experience.

Originally, we had planned to just run the 9-mile loop, but we took a little detour and added a few miles in the middle to the top of Shafer Butte to take in the even more spectacular views.

I’ve run on the trails at Bogus Basin a number of times, but this was my first trek around the back side of Mores Mountain. I know I sound like a broken record, but we are so fortunate  to have trails like this practically out our back door. It just doesn’t get much better than this.

It started out a little over a week ago when my friend Christie proposed that we go for a long trail run to support Randy who is running his first 50-miler in July. She posted it on Facebook, and about 8 of us got together for a run in the nearby Boise foothills. Our only “live” meeting for some of us was a couple of months ago when we all ran the Weiser 50K. Prior to that, most of us didn’t even know each other. This was the first time this particular group had ever run together…and what a great run it was. The speedier ones ran ahead and waited at various spots while the rest of us caught up to them. This was not a race – it was a group trail run – so no one was truly concerned about time.

Later that week, my friend Donna who is training for the WIFKER (Wild Idaho Fifty Kilometer Endurance Run) asked me if I wanted to drive up past Crouch, Idaho, and run part of the WIFKER trail. Sure, I said, so we recruited Sparkle, and the 3 of us headed out about 430 pm and drove 2 hours to do a 9.5 mile run. We were lucky enough to see a rubber boa on the trail within the first 5 minutes and got its picture. We later learned that this a seldom seen snake – and the sighting was something very cool.

My next run for the week took a hardy group of 6 of us up to the Boise National Forest NE of Idaho City…about a hour an a half from Boise. What a spectacular run it was. We climbed 2 summits up to the Fire Tower lookouts – for a total of 4000+ feet of climbing in about 18 miles. The views were unbelievable (as you can see from the photos).

And, finally, as is tradition of the 4th of July, the Boise Y Striders get together for a trail run up to Stack Rock above Bogus Basin. About 20 of us hit the trails above Boise and trekked 8 miles to see Stack Rock.

So what’s the big deal, you wonder. They’re just trail runs. Yes, the scenery was some of the best Idaho has to offer close to Boise. But it was the people who made the runs special. It wasn’t about who was the fastest, or who can run a 3-hour marathon or a 6-hour marathon. We are all just folks who love running on trails, and in every instance that is what brought us together.

Sure we had some fast runners, but no one cared who ran or walked, and people who might not ordinarily run together were running on the trails side by side…stopping to take pictures and marveling at the sights.

Although I love solitary running, last week was one of the best weeks of running I’ve ever had in a long time.

To all my trail running friends – Thanks.

Last weekend,  my daughter Kelly came in town (to Boise) from Los Angeles. Her running usually consists of street running around her neighborhood. I understand that – until I came to Boise, that’s what I did. So, when I told her that we were going to drive 45 minutes to get to a trail I’ve never run before, she wasn’t overly enthusiastic. She wondered why we couldn’t just drive 5 minutes and run on the trails around my house. My answer was that I’d never run these trails, and I wanted her to experience something really special.

And, we were not disappointed.

We went with Michelle, my other daughter who is a Boise trail runner, and my friend Ben, who is a hardcore ultrarunner. (He has been tapering this week for a 50-miler so he figured he could run easy with us on a short run on the trails.)

As you can see from the photos, the trail was spectacular. A few miles into the run, we descended into a canyon where we ran along a rushing creek and also ran into some rain. I added some time on to our run by stopping to take pictures. (These days I don’t leave home without my camera.) When we climbed out of the canyon, the rain stopped, and we were greeting with blue skies.

We trudged through a couple of miles of deep sand (which wasn’t my favorite part of the run), and finished on a gradual downhill back to the car. Michelle, Kelly, and Ben climbed one more mega hill when we finished as I took video of their trek to the top and back.

I suppose I take the pictures for myself because pictures can never truly capture the trail experience. We all loved our run in Wilson Creek, but I think Kelly especially loved it. Maybe she’ll seek more trails around L.A. now…even if she has to drive to get there.

For the “normal” person, the answer to that question is, “Heck, no!” But to ultra trail runners looking to finish (not even win) a 100 or 50 mile trail run, the answer might be quite different.

I’m here to tell you … There’s no such thing as an “easy 100.”

Last weekend, with the support of a terrific crew, I completed the Rocky Raccoon 100 Mile Run in Huntsville, Texas, in 28 hours 38 minutes – my first 100-mile finish. The time limit was 30 hours – I had 1 hour 22 minutes to spare.

Rocky Raccoon consists of five 20-mile loops inside the Huntsville State Park. To some, that may sound a little boring, but to me, every loop was different. Starting out at 6 am in the dark, we couldn’t see the first hour of the root-covered course. What was so cool was to see a continuous line of head lamps snaking down the path – that is, when I could look up and see it. My eyes were focused primarily on the ground in front of me. Evidence that I can’t run on a rooty trail and look around at the same time is that I fell down twice in the first 4 miles. Right off the bat, I thought, “This is going to be a long day.” The good news is that I only fell down 4 more times in the next 96 miles!

Still energized with it being so early in the race, the sunrise continued to add to my energy and excitement. I settled into a nice easy pace and started meeting the other runners around me. It was Keith from Kankakee, IL, who threw out a hand to pull me up on my second fall. Later in the day, I had the opportunity to pass along a helping hand to several other runners who tripped on the roots.

My 2nd loop went great – still feeling strong when I got to the 40-mile aid station. I thought I was feeling a couple of hot spots on my feet where I might be getting a blister or two, but I didn’t want to take my shoes off and look. I heard a Navy seal say, “Pain is only pain if you acknowledge it.” I’m no Navy seal, but that came into my head at that moment, so I refused to acknowledge it, and guess what? It went away. Back out for loop number 3.

I knew that it would get dark on this loop, so I flipped my hat around and strapped on the head lamp. I think it was around mile 50 when it started to get dark…and it was really dark. I was pretty much out there by myself as the field had spread out a lot over 20 miles. But I loved it. I have discovered that night running is a quite peaceful experience. I had actually been looking forward to this part of the run. As it got darker, I heard the sounds of some deer (I think) running through the woods. And, when I got around to the lake, I heard the coolest animal sounds, especially the frogs (I think) who sounded like they were laughing at us crazy runners.

I had only one little episode during loop 3 that caused me a little distress – I got off course. I was following the glow sticks along the course and at the turns, but there was one place where I was supposed to go straight following an arrow sign. At that intersection, there were both glow sticks and the arrow, but I totally missed the arrow because I was so focused on looking for the glow sticks. I ended up about a mile out of the way and had to back track to get to the next check point. Thank goodness it wasn’t a bigger miss than that.

I rolled into the 60-mile aid station around 9:20 pm a little stressed for getting off course, but still feeling strong. I traded in my shorts for long pants knowing that the night temperature would probably be in the upper 30s or low 40s and threw on a long-sleeved shirt. I also picked up Chuck (son-in-law), my first pacer. Originally, I had thought that I wouldn’t need a pacer until around mile 75, but with it being so dark out there – and getting off course – I figured a pacer would be a smart move. Although really prepared only to run about 12.5 miles with me, Chuck was thrilled at the chance to put in some more miles, and happily came to my assistance. He ran the whole 4th loop with me – 20 miles more than he had originally planned on. Now that’s a great crew member.

Usually, Chuck is the one driving me crazy (in everyday life), but on loop 4 the roles were reversed. After the aid station at mile 72.5, I started getting a little wiggy about getting off course again. I kept saying, “I know we’re on the wrong course…this is what I did last time.” I would suddenly stop running and turn around as if looking behind me might help me figure out where we were … in the pitch dark in the forest. As we ran along – following the signage on the path, to every runner that went by (for a total of 8 runners), I asked, “Is this the right way to the Park Road aid station?” to which they all replied “Yes”  we were indeed on the right path. I, however, didn’t believe them. It was not until we spotted the previously missed arrow on the trail and I recognized where I made my wrong turn that I could feel sure that we were on the right path. Sure enough, we soon reached the Park Road aid station. What a relief.

At mile 80, I gave Chuck a break and picked up my husband Mark, my 2nd pacer. Mark was fresh (at 4 am fresh?), and he kept me on a nice pace. Traded Mark for Chuck again at the next aid station. I ran into a bit of a rough patch here as I had been running in the dark for about 11 hours now. I felt myself slowing down a bit, but I knew I couldn’t afford to slow down much since there was a 30-hour cutoff.

Around 7 am, a miracle happened…the sun came up. Around 90 miles, I felt a sudden burst of energy…and I started running again. We passed a couple of guys we had talked to earlier. One man was going for his 5th Rocky 100 finish…to be awarded his 500-mile “jacket.” As we passed him, he yelled encouragement at us, “Go for it … it’s all about the belt buckle!” We were inspired to run on.

At mile 93 or 94, I started slowing down again, and by this time, my eyes were burning. I wasn’t really sleepy, but my eyes were dry and tired from staying open for so long. At least they didn’t hurt…because there were many other parts that were beginning to hurt. Namely my feet. Imagine that. Every time I came down hard on a root, I felt a shock wave shooting through my brain. Youch!

We made our way to the last aid station where I made my final pacer exchange…I picked up Mark to come in with me on the final leg of the journey. Again, fresh as a spring flower, Mark’s cheerful disposition gave me the needed energy to go the final 5 miles. I had told him on his earlier leg that he might want to be thinking of some motivational things to throw at me on this last leg because I might literally be on my “last leg.” He kept up the pace and didn’t allow me to slow down too much reminding me that we were actually going to do “this thing” and the faster we went, the faster we would be finished. That was dang good motivation. As much fun as I was having, it was time for this party to be over.

As we rounded the last turn, we could see the finish line. You think the finish line of a marathon looks good? Try imagining the finish line of a 100-mile race. Even without the fanfare of a marathon…It definitely ranks up there. No wild cheers from the crowd. No sprinting across the finish line. You just cross the finish line and you’re done. The race director handed me my belt buckle, and I hugged my crew. I just ran 100 miles.

 You never do anything alone. It’s possible that I could have run 100 miles without my crew…but I wouldn’t even want to try. There is one “regular” crew member who couldn’t be with us physically on this trip but who was there in spirit. How many times did we say WWLD…What would Lori do? We were a team, and my success is their success. I cannot begin to thank them enough.

Throughout the 100 miles, I thought of Nancy Lonnegan, my 10th grade English teacher…”If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs…” I do believe I kept my head.

But it was truly in the last 10 miles that I heard, “If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew to serve your turn long after they are gone…” and I said to them “Hold on!” It worked. I held on.

Tomorrow morning I head out to Huntsville, TX, for my 2nd attempt at running 100 miles. My running has been good. I’ve been cross-training and strength training. I’ve remained uninjured. So everything should be in place for a successful event.

Enter Sunday night (yes, 6 days before my race)…a stomach virus. Yikes! This same thing happened the week before I was to run the Bear 100 back in September. I haven’t had a virus in 20 years, and now I have had 2 in the last 6 months.

It’s not uncommon to catch a bug as you begin to taper after months of hard training. And, I figure I’ve actually been pretty lucky because this is only the 3rd time it’s ever happened to me in all my years of racing.

As I was in the throes of “the bug,” I honestly thought to myself, “I am so grateful that this is happening now instead of the night before the race.” I’m better now, and I’ll continue to feel better as the race gets closer because I have chosen to focus on good health instead of illness. But I know that, once again, I was being tested.

We are all constantly being tested…physically, mentally, emotionally. Ed Foreman says, “All the water in the world can’t sink a ship unless it gets on the inside.” It’s all about what we allow to enter our minds.

My 10th grade English teacher, Nancy Lonnegan, used to make us memorize poems (among other things), and some lines from Rudyard Kipling’s “If” have stayed with me for the past 35 years…I can’t remember the whole thing, but what I do remember has often helped me keep my head when all about me are losing theirs:

“If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs…/If you can meet with triumph and disaster/And treat those two imposters just the same…/If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew/To serve your turn long after they are gone,/And so hold on when there is nothing in you/Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on’/If you can fill the unforgiving minute/With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run/Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it…”

This weekend I will be tested. My goal is to keep my head when all about me are losing theirs…

25 years and going strong … another successful Shaffer Butte 50-Mile Endurance Run. Race Director Frank Hanson put on a terrific 25th anniversary event despite his broken collar bone.

This was my first year to be involved with the run, and I started by being a volunteer crew member. Last weekend, my husband Mark crewed for me for 14+ hours at the Blackfoot Ultra 100K, and I figured it was my turn to do the same for some other runners.

The day started early with runners gathering for a 5 a.m. start. It was raining and chilly, and the rain continued for about half the day. It was totally foggy driving up to Deer Point where we were setting up our aid station. It was probably a good thing it was so foggy because I couldn’t see the dropoff on the side of the mountain in the dark and pouring rain. One after another the runners made their way to the Deer Point aid station, soaking wet … but all of them came up the road with smiles on their faces.

I was so inspired by this hardcore group of ultrarunners. Undaunted by the rainy, muddy conditions, they all were cheerful and having a great time…doing what they love to do…running the trails and hills.

I might have been new to this group of super ultrarunners, but they graciously welcomed me. Runners are like that…and ultrarunners even more so. Although I would have really loved to have been running with them, I think it’s good for all of us every now and then to volunteer for an event in order to fully appreciate the support crews that help us in our races.

Congratulations to all the Shaffer Butte runners! Next year, I’ll be out there running with them.

Two days ago, I ran all day – 13 hours, 42 minutes – to complete my first 100K (62 miles) trail race. Forty-five people were signed up for the race; 32 finished – 26 men, 6 women. The weather was perfect, the course was beautiful (plus extremely challenging), the volunteers were spectacular…and 62 miles is a long way to run.

The race consisted of 4 loops of 15.5 miles (25K) each. Although each loop was run over the same trail, no two loops were the same. There were very few flat sections on the course – you were either running up or down the whole time. And, when there was a short flat, the next hill was in sight. It was anything but boring.

The two elevation maps taken from my GPS are typical examples of the terrain – each is a one-mile segment of the course.

Although none of the individual climbs were brutal, total ascent for all 62 miles was about 12,000 feet. The total descent was about the same. We had to work the whole time – not too much relaxing and getting into a running rhythm.

But flat, easy paths do not build muscle. Flat, easy paths do not build character. Flat, easy paths do not challenge us. Flat, easy paths do not teach us life lessons.

Between us and anything significant, giants will be in our path. And each loop, the same hills seemed to get bigger. But there’s no going “around” the hills to avoid them – they have to be taken head on.

There was never a point in the race where I wanted to stop. That’s not to say there were not rough patches – there were many, and especially in the 4th loop, I could have sworn the number of hills doubled in both number and size.

I didn’t sign up for this race thinking it would be easy. And, it wasn’t easy. And, I didn’t go all the way to Canada to not finish what I set out to do. I was dedicated and passionate about reaching this milestone in my quest to run 100 miles this September.

Passion is what helps you when you have a great dream. Passion breeds conviction and commitment.  Passion is what motivates others to join you in your pursuit of your dream.

Thanks to all of you who have been with me in my pursuit with your good thoughts, good energy, and support. Thanks for helping me finish what I start.