What's Got Two Thumbs and is a Mountain Half Marathon Finisher?

THIS GIRL!

August 17th, a date that will live in infamy, as it's the day I finished my first race ever.

Ok, so technically I had 10 hours to finish, but it was 21k with an incline of just under 1400 meters and it was my second race ever and I finished. Booyah.

The course had a little bit of everything: flat road surface, narrow mountain trails, breath-taking views, technical descents, mud, thorns, barbed wire, steep gravel ascents, and cows. Lots of cows:
 

This cow fell over right in front of us. That's right. This cow. FELL. OVER. Just like that. It was 'a-mooo-sing'. See what I did there? Ok, I apologize for that dad joke. That was just awful. I hope you can forgive me.

A majority of the course was along the Schlierengrat Trail leading up to Mount Pilatus:

The trail also ran along some pretty steep drops. Not to worry though, the organizers had this covered by putting up some impenetrable plastic tape to keep the runners safe from a painful and imminent death...

But there's no denying the views were pretty ausgezeichnet. That's German for "amazeballs".

There was some mud... at least, I hope it was mud...

I really hope it was mud.

At the 10k point , after a few rolled ankles down a pretty gnarly downhill descent, the trail flattened onto a road surface. This is where I got my running legs back and was able to make up time from slow climbing and photo stops. I ended up passing a few people here too, which always helps the confidence.

At the 15k mark the course turned up towards Mt Pilatus. As I approached, I saw a group of people applauding and telling me to "hop hop". I was so busy basking in the moment that I completely missed the giant sign that read "Mountain" with an arrow pointing left (not to mention the fact that I missed a mountain). So I carried on running straight, requiring one of the bystanders to chase me down, stop me, and explain that I missed the giant sign that read "Mountain" and had to turn around. FAIL.

Once I was back on track the course got steep:

Then it started to get really steep:

That guy you see there in the front is Bachmann Beat - he passed me on this hill and went on to win the Mountainman Marathon. This guy started an hour earlier than me, had run 20k more than me - and just passed me - uphill. I had to stop and give him applause as he passed. Respect.

Then it got even steeper:

Finally, the toughest part of the course was revealed - the last climb to the finish line:

See that building up there? Yeah - that's the finish line. One last push! But not until after my photo op:

Funny enough, the man who took this picture was a hiker who stopped me to ask if I wanted him to take a picture of me. After this photo, he tried to carry on a conversation with me about the weather and the view - clearly not understanding that despite my slow pace and agreeing to stop for a photo, I was actually running a half marathon... the words, "I'm sorry, but I really need to finish this race now so I'm gonna start running again" actually came out of my mouth as I turned to continue on the course.

The course zig-zagged its way up to the finish line while right next to you the world's steepest cog railway chugged along, transporting tourists to the top the easy way. Yes, that's right, the course followed the same path as the steepest cog railway on all known planets in the universe. Google it if you don't believe me.

However, I did not dwell on that thought as I was working my way up. I was too busy focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and not being sick. This was largely due to the fact that everyone is at the top of the mountain watching you come up - the timing for being sick could not have been worse.

This chick here almost made me cry, but in a cool way. As I was coming up, she was heading down. It was pretty clear I was struggling for this last leg and she just stood in that spot and started cheering me on, telling me I was almost there and to not give up, to "push push push, you got this!!". That's one of the most amazing parts of these races - the camaraderie and support everyone gives each other. It's not like the team sports I grew up playing where you are in competition with each other and try to psyche-out the other team. In these races, everyone's cheering each other on because we're not in competition with each other, we're in competition with ourselves. And I'm pretty sure anyone who's ever done a mountain race has, at one time or another, felt like they were about to blow chunks in front of throngs of spectators at the finish line...

Getting closer...

Getting closer... 

And 4 hours and 23 minutes after leaving the starting line, this happened.

BOOM!

I crossed the finish line and was handed my finisher's prize - a running cap (which I mistook for a Gerardo 'Rico Suave' circa 1990 style doo-rag - here's a reminder) and a non-alcoholic beer (which I didn't even know was a thing?!). I blame the altitude and exhaustion for making me think this was a good look:

But nonetheless, I finished, along with my fellow Yak Packers, Alicia and Katie:

I'm the filling in an awesome sandwich

Less than a month to go until the Jungfrau Marathon - WHOOP WHOOP!

 

Glaciers A Go-Go?

More like "Glaciers a No-No" for me. See what I did there? If not, then clearly we're not friends on facebook. This saddens me greatly.

Anyway...

I had my first race ever on Saturday, 10th of August. The Glacier 3000 Run was 26k with an incline of 1900 meters from the gorgeous ski resort town of Gstaad to the top of a glacier in Les Diablerets.

At the starting line I was feeling nervous, but also excited...

With these guys rocking out on the alpine horns (in front of Louis Vuitton no less), you couldn't help but be pumped for a day of running in the mountains.

And with a multilingual countdown (in German, French and English), we were off!

The running bit was fantastic (you will see why I specify 'the running bit' shortly). The whole time you could see the Les Diablerets getting closer and closer. I wanted to make the absolute most of this race, so I kept my phone close at hand with the plan to capture some actions shots, so long as it didn't get in the way of the actual running!

At the 10k mark I came across these guys... not only did they quite like having their photo taken as they shook their ginormous cow bells, but this photo also serves as photographic evidence of me ahead of someone. Booyah.

The locals were out in force, cheering on the runners with chants of "hop hop!", the Swiss equivalent to "go go!".  Because you have your name on your race number, the more daring and forward Swiss would even cheer your actual name.

These kids were awesome - hearing them chant "hop hop Yen-nee-fair!" in their Swiss French accents and giving them high fives was possibly the highlight of the race - and this was only in the first 7k.

I reached the 17.5k point and heard a booming voice chime in. "Is that you, God?" I thought. But then I realized there was an announcer telling all the runners they only had 10k to go and to "hop hop!". The announcer then proceeded to tell everyone that my name was "Yen-nee-fair" and this was my first race. Maybe she was God after all...

"Thanks for the water - okloveyoubyyyyyye!"

So remember earlier when I said I would shortly explain why I specified "running bit"? Here's where I explain that. Right beyond this very shed the course changed entirely, going from rolling trails to a pretty gnarly incline with switchbacks that carried on for around 2.5k. Here my strategy was to conserve energy (for the glacier, obvs!), so I took it down a gear from a slow run to a brisk hike. I decided to send a text message - it unfortunately didn't send, but here's what it said:

"The good news: I'm not in last place. The bad news: there's an octogenarian hot on my tail!"

At the 20k mark the trail changed once again, and not in my favor: from dirt switchbacks to loose moraine rocks and an even steeper incline. All race long I had felt fantastic and genuinely amazed at what this old bag of bones I call a body was able to do with 4 months of training. However, with one look up and the realization that nowhere on the remaining course will it flatten out, I started to lose my mojo a bit:

"Is that a chairlift I hear, or circling vultures?"

The next 6.5k would be just like this, with the runners having to zigzag their way over rocks hand over foot. Even if I was still capable of running, I wouldn't be able to because all the loose rocks underfoot meant you had to strategically place each step or risk rolling an ankle and sliding back down the mountain. Shortly my "brisk hike", was gradually turning into a drunken stagger.

And then my calves gave out.

And then I started to cry.

And then I started to hyperventilate.

And then I started to vomit.

By 21k I was stopped by a race volunteer who made me sit down and take a few breaths. He kept telling me "piano... piano"... which in Italian means "take it easy". He gave me a pat on the back and stayed with me until I caught my breath. Then I asked him in a wretched mix of German, French, English and Spanish (the closest thing my warped mind could come up with) where the finish line was. He said it was just ahead, 20 more minutes to go. So I got up and carried on, staggering, occasionally falling to my knees, or going off course to vomit again. I came across the crest of the moraine, hoping to see the finish line, but instead found this:

More climbing. The shed at the top, which I thought was the finish line, was actually the 23k marker. It was still 3k short of the actual finish line. Slowly I crawled to the top, with spectators still chanting "hop hop Yen-nee-fair hop hop!".

Me coming up to the 23k station, closely followed by First Aiders and my Italian savior.

As I reached the station, another volunteer came up to me and literally ripped off my microchip (HARSH!) and told me I was done for the day. When I asked how far the finish line was, and if there was any chance I could just try to cross, he gave me "the look" (which I'm sure you can imagine) and pointed here:

The finish line is that tiny speck sticking up over that peak. On a good day, it would take me just over 20 minutes to run 3k. But there was no way - NO WAY - I was going to make that in my current state. I accepted defeat, handed over my microchip and went to go sulk in a corner.

Of course I was pretty devastated for a while, but then I looked back over the ground I had covered:

When I realized I couldn't even see the starting line village of Gstaad, I felt a wee bit better.

And when I looked at a map of the course, I felt even better:

Kinda puts it into perspective, doesn't it?

Ok, so now that the pity-party is well and truly over, there's only one question left:

When's the next race?

STOP: Taper Time

Ok so some of my readers have informed me that my last post turned me into a bit of a Debbie Downer, so here's a new post with good news: I'M TAPERING!

"Tapering" refers to reducing your exercise and training in the days leading up to an important competition. Typically, an athlete will taper following their hardest work out. In my case, I did my longest run so far in the course of my training, 17 kilometers, on Sunday - injuring my foot in the process. Yesterday I did a great 6.5 kilometers (in 33 minutes, my fastest yet). I have now decided to quit while I'm ahead and start tapering today, 4 days before my first competition, the Glacier 3000 Run.

I will still do my yoga each morning, but instead of running I'll be cycling and swimming to get in my exercise. My main aim is to rest Madam Foot in the hopes that by Saturday morning, she will be healed and ready to rock that glacier. Let's face it, no work I will do in the next 4 days will better prepare me for what's to come, so I may as well take it easy and let my foot heal as much as possible in the lead up to the race, right? Right.

Like the old adage goes: "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Then sit back, relax and sip that lemonade while it lasts before you have to run 26k up a glacier and sweat it all out".

Madam Foot

Knock knock

Who's there?

Madam

Madam who?

Madam foot's KILLING ME!

(it's funnier if you say it out loud)

But, all joking aside, my foot is killing me and it's really starting to get on my nerves.

Yesterday I was aiming for a 3.5 hour run over all kinds of surfaces to prepare me for Saturday's Glacier 3000 Run. After 2 hours I was feeling great - the sun was shining, my shoulders were relaxed, my legs were feeling fresh, and I had just learned how to introduce members of my family in German whilst listening to a German lesson podcast: <<dies ist mein Vater, Hans>>

That's when my old nemesis, plantar fasciitis, reared its ugly head.  I had been feeling a bit of a twinge in my arch for a few kilometers, but as I've had plantar fasciitis for just under 2 years I am kinda of used to ignoring it and powering through - or at least that's what I thought. It was this moment, in the middle of the woods 15 kilometers from home that I realized I wasn't 'ignoring it', I was actually running on the side of my foot to avoid aggravating it. The side of my foot then decided it had had enough of this abuse and quit on me. So I was stuck just a little over half way through my run with a searing hot spike through my arch and an achy swelling on the outside of my foot, and a sharp pain through my knee added for good measure. Each step was agony and after another 2 kilometers I realized that I wasn't able to run any longer.  I begrudgingly starting the long walk home, limping and crying with frustration the whole way.

I spent the rest of the night like this:

This whole situation has got me very flustered. In 5 days - 5 DAYS - I am meant to be running the Glacier 3000 Run - 26 kilometers uphill. How will I be able to do that when I can't even get to 20 kilometers without limping and crying like a giant, sweaty baby?

As I mentioned, I've had plantar fasciitis for just under 2 years now. I first noticed the pain back in Brighton when I would run along the seafront before work. I thought it was my shoes, so bought a new, more cushioned pair. It only got worse, so I saw my GP who gave me a brochure about the symptoms, told me there is no cure but offered an injection of cortisone in my foot to ease the pain. I was so excited that there was some kind of relief from the pain that I ignored the part where she said, "but it's one of the most painful shots you will ever have". And believe me, it was. Essentially, it is jabbing huge needle into your arch, right above the heel, in one of the most sensitive parts of your foot, and injecting it with a thick, milky substance that then needs to be harshly massaged around your heel to disperse it. Without anesthetic. Yeah. Ouch.

And the WORST part - it didn't even work!! I was off my foot for 4 days to let the healing do its thing. And then - nothing. No pain relief, no cure. My only other option now - constant stretching and wearing a rather fetching plantar fasciitis boot on my foot while I sleep to keep my plantar fascia ligament stretched at night. H-O-T!

I have since changed my shoes and my running technique, which has definitely helped, but the pain is still there and after yesterday's run, I don't see it shifting anytime in the near future. Gutted.

It's LOG!

What rolls down stairs

Alone or in pairs,

And over your neighbor's dog?

What's great for a snack, 

And fits on your back?

It's log, log log!

It's log, it's log,

It's big, it's heavy, it's wood!

It's log, it's log,

It's better than bad - it's good!

Everyone wants a log!

You're gonna love it, log!

Come on and get your log!

Everyone needs a log!

Log log log!

(photos courtesy of Hillseeker Crossfit - HOOYAH LOG!)