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FOURmidable 50k – 2019 US 50k Trail National Championships

After a brief warm up and one last porta potty stop, I did a couple of strides and went to the start line. I chatted briefly with the lady next to me and then the countdown began. Strangely, I wasn’t nervous (unlike one of the ladies standing near me who looked petrified). I don’t know if it was because I have run so many races or because I knew my training hadn’t been ideal, but I knew I was as prepared as I was going to be and being nervous wasn’t going to change anything for the better.

As the race started, I reminded myself that I needed to run my own race. Generally one of my strengths, I didn’t do a good job of that at the 50k championships in August and I was determined to do so this time. Having been warned that people bomb down the first downhill and not wanting to blow my quads up early I kept things calm, but strong. This also meant I ended up being alone.

On the first climb, I caught up to and passed a few guys. Some of the guys and I ended up forming a pack for a few miles. During that time, the guys nicknamed me “The Little Climber.” It was fun to have a group, but I had hoped to be around some women and none were in sight in either direction.

The middle of the race was a jumble of things with none of it being particularly exciting. There was some mud, SO MUCH WATER, and still no women. I continued to play leap frog with one of the guys from the earlier pack. Every downhill he would eventually catch up and pass me and every uphill I would eventually catch up and pass him. It was nice to have that friendly face there, but still no women.

Shortly after mile 17 I was completely alone. Now it was even more important to keep pushing. I had continued to remind myself that I didn’t know what was going on ahead of or behind me. If I didn’t stay focused to keep pushing hard, I might not catch a lady ahead who I couldn’t see who was faltering. And I sure didn’t want anyone creeping up from behind!

This section was ridiculously wet. It had been wet earlier – including the creek crossing I had been warned about around mile 12-13 and the one I didn’t have a clue about that was thigh-high (and, fortunately for me, they put up a rope to hang onto by the time I came through– but that didn’t hold a candle to the amount of water we would encounter on the trails in this section. Every trail was a creek, flat sections were ponds, and there were bridges that lead you over water only to end in another “pond.” At one point (ok, this happened more than once), I exasperatedly said out loud to myself, “You’ve got to be kidding! No more water!” There was more water.

Just before the second-to-the-last aid station, there were people yelling to me that I was the 6th woman. “That’s impossible,” I said in response. I had been in 9th place since mile 2 and hadn’t passed, been passed, or even seen a woman since then. There was no way three women ahead of me had dropped out. They again told me I was in 6th and that the 5th place woman wasn’t too far ahead and she looked terrible. I didn’t think it was true, but if it was, the top 5 earn prize money and if the lady ahead was feeling like crap, I was going to hunt her down and pass her!

More water awaited on the trails, making it that much more difficult to pick up the pace. I was still alone and in some sections I could see 3 or 4 minutes ahead. No terrible-feeling woman was in sight. No man – feeling good or bad – was in sight. No one. It was just me and the creeks, er, trails. At one place, three people were standing next to the trail. I sarcastically asked, “Is it always this wet here?” “NO!!!!” they exclaimed. I laughed as I ran off, tromping through more wet trails.

During the last few miles of this hilly and wet 50k I reminded myself to keep on it because there were two pretty demanding uphills to go, so it was possible that “The Little Climber” could still catch someone. I also had no idea who was behind me and how close they were. I knew Bree Lambert was back there somewhere. She’s a fast, tough masters runner and I didn’t want to get caught in the last few miles and end up not defending my masters title from last year after being in the lead for so long.

At this point, I started to feel hungry and thirsty. The sun decided to show itself a bit and, having chosen to wear a black long-sleeve with tight arms, I couldn’t roll up my sleeves. Go away sun! This section was dry (yes, dry!), open, and I was nearing the end of a long race with steep climbing ahead. I didn’t need to get too warm now.

Finally, I saw a woman ahead! She is a crazy fast runner and was walking, so I knew she was feeling terrible (mad respect for walking it in). After I passed her I wondered, was I in 5th or 8th place now? Who knows? All I knew is that I was going downhill again. That meant the upcoming uphill section was going to be even steeper. And it was quite steep. At one point I tried fast hiking (which I never do) to see if it was more efficient. It wasn’t and it didn’t feel good, so I went back to “running.”

As I neared the finish line, there was a trail to the right and a trail going up. The lady I talked with at the start had told me that the end was convoluted and they made you run around the finish line before crossing it, so I thought I probably had to go to the right. I was trying to break 5 hours and my watch said 4:59, so I was getting close! Fortunately, two ladies were sitting there. “Which way do I go?!?!” “Go straight up!” “Thank you,” I huffed as I pushed up, crossing the finish line in 4:59:14.

Did I finish in 5th or 8th? I had already prepared myself not to get excited. I’m good at counting what place I’m in. No woman had passed me and I had only passed one, so I must have been in 8th. Sadly, nothing was announced as I came in other than my name and that I was from Seattle. What place was I?! Didn’t I just win the masters national championship?! A woman put a medal over my head and I somewhat frantically asked her, “What place did I finish?!” “I don’t know.” Pointing to the lady to her right who was writing on a clipboard she said, “She should know.” I again asked, “What place am I?” “I don’t know,” she replied (what was on the clipboard then?). Finally, a guy I had met the evening before came out of a tent near the finish to congratulate me. He gave me a big hug and I asked him, “Do you know what place I finished?!” He said he didn’t and went back into the tent to find out. He came out quickly and told me I was 7th. 7th?! That wasn’t one of the options. Was he sure? Yes. Was I the first masters woman? Let me check…Yes. Yes!!

Shortly after finishing, Uli came over to me. He finished 2nd master and 13th overall. Walking into the finish area tent, I learned that my teammate, Evan, had finished 3rd overall. Awesome!!! What an incredible showing by SRC! Third place male overall, 13th place male overall and 2nd masters, and 7th place female overall and 1st place masters. Go Team Blue!

Here’s a link to my race photos: https://facchinophotography.zenfolio.com

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2019 Chuckanut 50k

Olin Berger at the 2019 Chuckanut 50kI now have three strikes at running a sub-4 at Chuckanut. Fortunately, ultra-running results tell you near to nothing outside of context. Times can’t really be compared across races of the same distance or even between different years of the same race due to changes in course routes and conditions. Not that you would know it by looking at the times of the fast boys in the top two podium spots, but there was a decent amount of snow on the course this year which made a couple miles of Cleator Road and the backside of the course less than optimal.

Near optimal, however, was how I felt I ran this year. I tend to set pretty high goals for myself and far too often let my efforts diminish when I know they become out of reach. This year I opted not to allow this by avoiding looking at my watch after the last aid station. Not allowing myself the chance to slack off by never knowing how close I was to my goal time. I finally had a strong push throughout the last 10k and managed to pick off a few runners in the process. Being ~20 seconds off of 4th and under two minutes off of the podium was tough, but it is much easier to shave off those seconds in a mental re-cap than mid-event. I’m about as happy as I ever expected to be after that race; perhaps most of all because I vanquished the ghost of many races past in which local Masters/Master runner Masazumi Fujioka crushed me in the final miles, painfully instilling lessons of pacing. I’m hoping not to repeat those particular lessons ever again.

I’m feeling confident after this one, heading into next month’s Canyons 100k.

Full Results

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Race Reports

2019 Bandera 100k

A new year; another shot to finally be that person you tell yourself you are if only the small issue of your repeated behaviors wouldn’t get in the way. No better chance to prove that you’re on the next level of that journey than surpassing your previous achievements and executing a great ultra marathon. It all started according to plan, I was 10-ish places back from the lead, allowing the hot heads to burn out early on so I could use them as stepping stones in the second half of the race. Cruising over a not-so-technical course with minimal (in ultra terms) climbing, I was not loving the amount of rocks underfoot, but felt ready to make it my day.

And yet here I am. Coming into the 50k mark and, not exactly dreading the second half, but knowing that it’s not going to be a battle for a podium place or pushing for a solid time, just yet another slog to the end. Finishing as its own reward. Ultra marathons certainly work over the body, but they can brutalize the mind. And at least the race finally ends and you can sit down, the brain keeps taking its beating for long after. So, that was the second half of my race. Five and a half hours of wondering if I’m just fooling myself about any real running ability, if past successes were just flukes or peaks not to be matched again, or if, even better, I actually could do it, but am just a quitter who can’t deal with a little hurt. Not like the champion of a runner (undoubtedly sent by gods delighting in torment) who passed me in the depths of this mood, rolling through the course with a prosthetic leg. So, I got to add “grossly unappreciative” to my list of character traits being dwelt upon.

But it’s a sport about not giving up and you always come away with something. Sometimes it’s as simple as “don’t eat strange pasta salad the night before a big race.” Other times, like this one, the lesson is harder to pin down. Though maybe that’s it. It’s hard. It’s always going to be hard, even on good days, especially so on bad ones. And I’m not sure that helps much at the moment. I don’t have a nice bow to tie on this one. I still think I could’ve done better, wish I had, and haven’t fully absorbed a lesson about appreciating the journey and being proud of the effort, etc. Though I do have a better-defined list of items to work on for 2019. It’s not what I was hoping for, but it’s a place to start.