Nationals Fever, part one

Note: this will be more like a short book I'm afraid. But I'm developing a few stories ideas, and am trying them out here. Please forgive my diva-ism. This is about my first year snowshoeing, in 2013.

Ever since I saw the movies “The Other Side of the Mountain, and “Ice Castles” as a kid back in the 1970’s, I’ve wanted to compete in a national championship. It didn’t matter what sport, or what place I got, only that I was there representing my town and state. And heaven forbid, if I ever won a medal, I wouldn’t care what color it was.  I was also inspired by my late uncle placed 4^th in the National Skeet Shooting Championships, and proudly wore the hat he got there.

But how would I accomplish this when I was a fat kid who didn’t care for guns and could barely do a figure one?  I “figured” it just wasn’t in the cards.  (Speaking of cards, I could forget the World Series of Poker too: I’m a terrible liar.) Life does take its twists and turns though, and eventually this couch potato found distance running at 39. I am a back-of-the-packer who may lack speed, but not stubbornness. I average about 50 road races or trail runs a year, and am a member of the Half Fanatics, with 40 half marathons under my hydration belt. I started racing to stay healthy and help some good causes, and I truly enjoy it.

But let’s face it. A 3:06 HALF marathon personal record will qualify me for the Boston Marathon when I’m approximately 137. So I forgot about national championships and just enjoyed running for fun in tiny Wisconsin hamlets like Eland and Navarino, and made some new friends.

As the leaves began to fall a few years ago, my new buddies started speaking in tongues, about strange things like Northern Lites, Redfeathers, and the Braveheart Series. They were snowshoe racers. I had been intrigued by the sport years before as I sat on my couch, so I decided to join them.  That first race in Rib Lake, Wisconsin was an utter disaster. I felt totally off balance and kept tripping over my loaner Northern Lites snowshoes. I was sure I’d end up breaking something vital. I cried at the top of my first sort-of steep hill. The race director pointed to the short cut back to the lodge, and assured me I’d still get a bowl of chili even if I didn’t finish. But I guess I had developed a reputation on the running circuit for strong finishes and never giving up, so I literally tripped over the finish line a little too close to the fire pit. That was it, I was done: this sport was too dangerous for me.

My friends continued on to the next races in their series, and I did a memorable winter run on a golf course south of Green Bay. It was very cool event benefiting Iraqi war veterans, but it got awfully lonely out there by myself. I tried a few more races and felt comfortable enough to buy my own snowshoes the night before the race in Tomahawk. It was an epic fail. I had put my new shoes on the wrong feet, and was making a tough course of powdery snow that much harder for myself. I took so long in this rugged area, my gang was getting ready to call the sheriff’s department.

I was not going to quit again (perhaps due to Tomahawk’s excellent chili), but something had to be done. I got so wound up about it I must have made myself sick. I missed the race in my hometown the next weekend, a place where I had fallen twice in trail runs, and where I really had something to prove. As I recovered from the flu, I started examining what was going wrong here. I was trying too hard to keep up with the Joneses so to speak. I was putting too much pressure on myself on the race circuit. I really needed to take my time, and not worry about speed and just go at my own pace.

Turns out the perfect opportunity was coming the very next week. The local Catholic high school was holding a non-competitive snowshoe hike fundraiser for their cross-country ski team at 9 Mile Recreation Area (or 9 Mile Swamp, as us locals call it.) The very course that I wanted to conquer! While I did get the shoes on the right feet this time at least, they were still a bit loose. A nice lady helped me tighten them, and although I was slower than one of the turtles in the swamp, I actually started to relax and enjoy myself just a little bit. I got back to the chalet unscathed and uninjured: I had told 9 Mile who was boss! I enjoyed my bowl of wild rice soup, and then they gave me my “medal:” a small bag of soup mix to take home. I was so proud of it I posted it on Facebook. (Unfortunately, I didn’t quite cook it long enough and the rice was a little hard, but my cooking skills are another story for another day.)

In the end, I discovered I had missed earning the beautiful handcrafted Braveheart Series award by the one race I missed due to illness. I hated unfinished business, and was determined to earn one the next year.  Also, a developing personal situation with one of the snowshoers also inspired me to earn the award and perhaps earn a medal the next season...

Trying not to "burn baby burn"

It's no secret that many endurance athletes have addictive personalities. In many cases they substitute the seemingly healthy pursuit of exercise for alcohol, drug, or food abuse issues. But at some point, too much of this good thing overwhelms the body physically and emotionally, leading to burnout.

My story is the Hollywood cliché' from central casting: the lifelong mouse potato who started exercising to get healthy at 39, and fell in love with the alliance between feet and the earth. Before I knew it, I'd been at it nearly 5 years. 54 races in 2011, then 60 two years in a row. Like many runners, I always had an off-season where I kept up my fitness with the elliptical, Zumba, and outside running when possible. But there were few finish lines with hot chocolate and a banana waiting for me.

But this past winter was brutal. As the snow got deeper, it became dangerous just to step outside for the newspaper. So I turned to trail running's challenging northland cousin, snowshoeing. I joined the Braveheart Racing series, and strapped 'em on for eleven races from January to March. While it kept me in shape and gave me an excuse to see my buddies every week, stomping around with big paddles on my feet while trying not to fall in a ravine did not come easy to me. After our last race in the Lake Superior snowbelt (serious snow country) my friend and I did nothing at the host resort for two days. As someone who’s always on the go, this was unheard of for me.

No doubt, I was fried. When I passed up a St. Patrick's weekend run at an Irish pub a week later, I knew I was becoming a burnout victim. I had burned out of several hobbies before by overdoing them (concertgoing, eBaying…) but I really didn’t want to lose this one. I couldn’t. I had several health problems that were kept under control through exercise. Doubt had already been creeping in. I wondered if I should even keep racing, as a back-of-the-packer who places every once in a blue moon.

Since I had been so busy snowshoeing, I didn’t notice that I had missed a few deadlines for races I normally did every year. I used that extra time off for a little self-examination, and learned a few tidbits that can help anyone on the verge of burnout.

-Don't let the fear of falling back into your old habits drive you past your personal point of endurance. I thought that if I missed the Birch Breakout 10k once that my fitness would be gone, I'd quit exercising and start eating the refrigerator again. I happily discovered that it didn’t happen, when my formally stagnant times started going down a little now that I wasn’t using my body for a battering ram. Which lead to the next point…

-Give your body a rest and boost your confidence with cross-training.

In June, my local pool started aqua Zumba. It was a great break for my joints, but an even better one emotionally. Here I wasn't the turtle that had to keep jumping off the trail to let faster runners go by, but was one of the better athletes. All that kicking under resistance made those snowshoeing legs even stronger, and along with the extra rest, I PR'd a few weeks later.

-There's no shame in admitting you're not Superman or Woman. It’s just another variation of the ole’ keeping-up-with-the-Joneses syndrome. Just because other runners can do back-to-back 50k's every weekend, you may have a a tougher work week, more family obligations, etc. Consider all these factors when looking at potential burnout. Also, don’t forget to include travel and race preparation time as well, and try to rotate between destination races and the run on your local trail.

-Perhaps the most important key to avoiding burnout is balance. I know people became concerned that I was too obsessed when I’d skip dinner with friends or family to sneak in a second race of the day. I decided I didn’t want to become one-dimensional either. So instead of reading shoe reviews every night, I’d read something totally off-beat on my Kindle, like beekeeping, or how to join the French Foreign Legion.   

Because of the snowshoe series, my total number of races for the year will be the same, but foot races will be down slightly. I skipped a few to go to aqua Zumba, and to go to a jazz festival. Last week, I bailed out for a craft show. I must admit the best handiworks there were the medal racks with 7 pegs and a bib holder. So the runner didn’t run off entirely. But hey, it’s a start.

Lessons learned in the past five years

I just celebrated my fifth anniversary of my first race with my first marathon (albeit a walking marathon.) I have grown a lot since 2009, and have learned many things, most the hard way.


Here is a random sample:




-Sometimes it's nice just to turn off the iPod and just listen to birdies hooting, pecking, or singing.
-There is no shame in leaning on your friends, as long as your shoulder is there for them as well. Cherish these friendships, for they will truly see you at your best and worst.
-More can definitely be less. You are not invincible, and need your rest.
-Thank the volunteers at any event you're at, and don't get greedy and take too many granola bars (unless the organizers say it's all right.)
-Beware of drunken snowshoers.
-If you are slow real runners will understand that you are out there doing your best. Unfortunately, there are some uber-competitive types that only run for the medals, and don't have a clue why you are out there when you rarely win. Feel for them, because they are missing out on A LOT.
-Respect the methods and training of other runners, and what works for them. The Galloway method may not be for everyone, but it's worked for many, many people. Just because an ultra may not be for you doesn't mean others shouldn't do it.
-Starting off too fast is rarely a good thing.
-Don't do a tough trail run a week before your first half-marathon (or other major race) due to risk of injury.
-Stay until after the awards if possible. Sometimes you can get a second chance at a door prize.
-Try not to let weather mar your opinion of an event. It's the one thing the organizers absolutely can't do a thing about.
-On that note, don't be afraid to leave polite and constructive feedback to the race directors if you feel strongly about something, good or bad. I let it be known that the shuttle system was a mess (they changed the race to an out and back the next year) and told officials at a university that yes, they really do need a water stop when it's 87 degrees. I also told a course marshal that a first-year half marathon was one of the best races I ever did, and got a huge hug from the race director.
-You will see many very fit people out there. Don't compare yourself to them, just be the best you can be. Incidentally, sometimes it's best just to cheer on a fine looking runner of the opposite sex from the sidelines, and not get more closely involved (especially if they have a significant other waiting at home or the finish line.)
-Learn by watching people who know what they're doing. Ask their advise, and don't be afraid to give a less-seasoned runner a hand.
-You don't need all the latest and fanciest equipment. Stay within your means, and keep an eye out for good deals on gear. Last year's model of running shoes might work for you better than the current model.
-Find fuel that works for you. If you don't like GU, don't use it. If you like real food, pack a little along.
-Be prepared with extra gear in case of changing conditions, and a change of clothes for afterward. Don't let your friends give heck about this: remember it wasn't raining when Noah built the ark.
-Check the weather forecast for where you are RACING, not where you live, because even seventy miles can sometimes make a difference.
-While you might not want to give a play-by-play of every training run on Facebook (though this is certainly a matter of personal choice) don't be afraid to share your accomplishments with your runner and non-runner friends. You've earned it!

The five year plan non-plan

I am not a big goal-oriented person, but I guess I had a five-year workout plan in mind without knowing it. It was May 2009 and I had only been working out since March, and had proudly ridden my bike 8 miles to the Dime and Dollar thrift store. Even before I ever competed, I’ve had a strange thing for medals. I have one for my 700 series (yeah right) and for my third place showing on the uneven parallel bars at the YMCA gymnastics meet in 2004. As it turns out, I have had to use the ribbons off of a few of these, so my little fetish hasn’t been so useless after all.

 But this one was different. It wasn’t earned through hurling heavy objects down oily lanes or risking paralysis.  It had a red ribbon that said Walk Wisconsin Half Marathon 2005, and the medal had people walking on it (duh!) They give a medal for just walking I thought? Really!?! I had moved outside from my stationary bike and could now walk a few miles, instead of practically keeling over at Target. Maybe I should consider that. It turns out the event was actually just a few days later, and I wasn’t quite ready for the shortest distance yet, 6.55 miles. And I hadn’t even done my first race yet. But the seed was definitely planted, and for 59 cents I purchased my motivation.

That weekend I did my first race, a 3.7 miler that I got to ten minutes late, but still managed to pass about a dozen people, albeit most were families with strollers. I really enjoyed it, especially since proceeds went towards childhood obesity, a cause near and dear to my heart.

By the end of the summer I had 15 races under my belt, and actually earned a medal in Neillsville my third race. Hey, even a blind eagle catches a fish sometimes! I still try to do that race every year if I can, and Neillsville is also where I won my first snowshoeing medal this year.

Over the winter I kept working out, and started thinking that I should continue this unexpected vocation. That Walk Wisconsin medal beckoned. Could I possibly earn one with a red ribbon that said Walk Wisconsin 2010?

I printed out the little training schedule and diligently got at it. Unfortunately, I also got a very screwed up call from my doctor informing me I was diabetic. (That is another blog for another time.) The first question out of my mouth was “can I still walk my half marathon?” “That would be a good idea, she told me. So I kept at it, but not without a few bumps in the road. I decided to do a local trail run for training purposes (I had no clue what I was doing) and took a digger right at the end that screwed up my knee and elbow a week before Walk Wisconsin. To make matters worse,  the first aid tent accidently put bleach on my wounds, which naturally hurt like hell for my whole “taper” week. But I kept myself bandaged up, and set out for Walk Wisconsin the next Saturday  with all the equipment they advised you to bring.

Bug spray? Check. Sunscreen? Check. Raincoat? You betcha. When I was done putting all their advice in the little backpack they gave us it was a wonder I could walk. In fact, I think it threw me off balance, which lead me to another fall about 6 miles in, and yet another around mile 10, that totally blew off any healing that had taken place that week. Plus my blood sugar may have been a little low. Blood was coming out of my left elbow, but I kept it hidden from the Park Ridge first responders for fear they’d pull me off the course. In reality, they probably would have just patched me up. But I was determined to finish, in spite of the looks of horror from the little old lady walkers surrounding me.

It did actually start to rain in the last mile, but at that point I didn’t care. I made my way up to the stage at the finish and got my medal from the former mayor of the city. It wasn’t pretty, but I got it done and mom made me a steak that night too.

The next year I just did the quarter marathon, and in 2012 did the half again with my dear friend Michelle. We talked and ate and laughed the whole time. This was much different and more fun that being the “solitary woman” in 2010. We reprised it last year with the new ¾ Marathon: 19.3 miles. This was even more fun because we got to enjoy the famous pizza rest stop. We also got the slick yellow ribbon. So I now had 2 reds, a green and yellow ribbon.

One question I get is “so have you considered a full marathon?” It has always felt like unfinished business. I have no desire to do Ironmans or ultras, but I would like to get that much done. So this year, I decided I needed the coveted blue Walk Wisconsin ribbon on my medal (which are the same every year.) June 7 is the big day. I know this is just a walk in the park for many runner friends, but it sure would be an accomplishment for me. And even though it’s not running, I think I will have earned the 26.2 sticker for my car anyway.

Stay tuned in 3 weeks for an update, good or bad…

We're awfully proud of this one

I only yesterday realized the difficulty of what I had done. I finally was able to get a 9 mile training run in outside (in hopes I don't keel over during my first half-marathon of the year in Waukesha next week.) I felt pretty good throughout, but started to feel a bit gassed at mile 8. I said to myself, this is exactly how I feel after a tough 5K on snowshoes.


I started snowshoeing last year for that famous reason women do so many foolish things: a dude. I hated it. Every race felt like a trail run, where you have to watch every step to avoid going butt over teakettle. Too stressful. But somehow I managed to complete 4 races last year, and just missed winning a series award by one race. That bugged me: it felt like unfinished business. I had always wanted to be in a series, but aside from a few virtual ones, there weren't any running series in my area.


But things changed in the short period between winter and winter (it ended in late April, and began again in mid-November.) The dude and I parted ways, and then he was severely injured in a logging accident in October. There would be no snowshoeing for him in 2014. Then it starting snowing. And snowing. This year the trails would not have menacing roots hiding just beneath the snowy surface. Unless it was a spectacularly epic fall, the only thing you would hurt is your pride.


So I began the season with two goals in mind: to win an award from the Braveheart Snowshoe Series and to prove that life goes on without the man. I actually accomplished two more things I didn't think were possible.


I actually started practicing right after the first snow. The first time out was very similar to the previous season, but by the second snowfall, we had plenty of the white stuff. I found that if I could snowshoe on the street for less than half a mile, I could snowshoe right to the village park. I was quite worried that the residents in that area would yell at me for messing up the streets with my crampons (one neighbor especially) but they were all quite supportive. While on Christmas vacation, I did a candlelight snowshoe hike, and a daylight hike on Rib Mountain the next day. So I was prepared when the season started in Rib Lake, the site of my first ever (bad) snowshoe experience the year before. That first race went fine, and the next weekend I doubled with races in Rhinelander and Minocqua. Fresh snow made Rhinelander very tough, and the course in Minocqua had some technical stuff in it that would have had me bawling the year before. But I survived.


Then a strange thing happened. I found myself actually enjoying it. Due to cold and snow, snowshoeing became the only way to get an outside workout. The peacefulness of the woods just did something to me. Jolly (ie drunken) locals made Perkinstown and Athens fun, and the beautifully groomed trails of Iola were a joy. While my friends were busy trying to qualify for the Nationals, I was busy having a few brewskis and collecting a few door prizes. I had given up on ever getting a medal, so I just tried to make sure I was doing better than the year before. Then word got out that because of the extreme cold, a person could qualify for the Nationals at the Phillips race with just a 5k (usually it requires a 10k.) I knew my chances of having enough $$$$ to go to Vermont were slim, but I thought, wouldn't it be a gas just to say I qualified for a national championship in ANYTHING?!?


The roads were bad the morning of that race, but thanks to a determined friend, we got there only a few minutes late. I was literally handing a gentleman my race form with one hand and putting the 'shoes on with the other. I had no idea if my qualifying information would go through or not. We finished the race respectably, and then we waited until Sunday night when the United States Snowshoe Association posted the "qualifying athletes" list on their website. Lo and behold, there was my name. Frankly, I was just overjoyed to be dubbed an "athlete." Even though it was a fluke, it was a redemption song for all the times I felt like my efforts were in vain.


The exact thing my mother predicted would happen did: I desperately wanted to go. But no rich benefactor came forward, and even a gambling junket didn't do the trick. Then we found out my mom was having surgery the day before the Nationals, so it was definitely out. Depression ensured, but I got through it thanks to the support of my friends. I got a t-shirt from the Nationals, which was very cool, and my friends even hugged a Revolutionary War monument for me (long story.)  By that Sunday, mom was recuperating nicely, so I decided to do a new race in Neillsville by my little lonesome. Surprise! My first snowshoeing medal.


It was at the awards ceremony that I realized I had gained even something more. I was now part of the snowshoeing "family." I could tell that the regulars on the circuit were happy for me, as they knew I don't get many medals. I also found out that the 2015 Nationals will be in Eau Claire, home of my college alma mater. I know it's going to be much harder to qualify, but I am determined to make it there, and will at least do the Citizen's Race if all else fails.


The following weekend we had our last race in Cable. This is in the Lake Superior Snowbelt, making it serious snow country. People were asked to wear their biggest snowshoes, and the race was shortened slightly. This was the site of the 2011 Nationals, so it was tough going. At the banquet that night, I won the second highest award for doing 11 races. I received two handmade trivets and two coasters, all carved from the woodlot of the series founder. If I had done 12, I would have gotten two additional coasters, but I missed one race due to a funeral (and because I had such a hard time there last year!) But in the end, it didn't matter.


Of all the awards I have won, I am proudest of these. I believe that snowshoeing 3 miles is the effort equivalent of at least 6 on the road These hunks of wood stand for the ultimate in strength, stamina, and will, physically AND mentally.  And for never giving up when you've stepped off the trail into snow up to your knees.

An unlikely inspiration

For awhile now I've observed and asked other runners who is your running hero? For many of course, it's Steve Prefontaine for his guts and heart. Others have more specific heroes based on their own interests: vegan runners look up to ultra marathoner Scott Jurek, the run/walkers adore Jeff Galloway.


Mine would be Terry Fox, the young Canadian amputee who attempted to run across Canada in 1980 for cancer research. He made it two-thirds of the way before his cancer recurred and forced him to quit right outside of Thunder Bay (he died about 18 months later.) I have been to this spot, which is memorialized with a statue of him heading west towards home in Vancouver, and it's very moving. Since his death, his goal of raising twenty-two million dollars (one dollar for each Canadian) has been surpassed many times over in North America and around the world.


As you may remember in my last blog, while I enjoy getting medals, many a time I have run a race for a good cause and received nothing but a wristband and a smile, and I loved it. The charitable aspect is very important to me, and one of my goals is to do a fundraiser on a bigger scale, like walk the eighty-mile Mountain-Bay trail for a wildlife rehabilitation center or something. So I greatly admire this man for his courage and positive outlook through great personal adversity.


This also got me thinking: who are the heroes from other sports that actually got you moving in the first place? I have told the story of Gene Kelly inspiring me to get off the couch many times. (You bet dancers are athletes!) I have always had great respect for Hank Aaron, and was thrilled to get his Bobblehead at the Brewers Mini-Marathon last year.


But who, who represents you as an athlete? The underdog, the misfit, the one who may seem like a joke to some, but who is out there training and busting their butt like everyone else? Why of course! The Jamaican bobsled team.


Back in 1988, they were considered a joke. C'mon, a bobsled team from a country with no snow?!? But they had guts, and hung in there longer than was ever expected. In reality, it wasn't so unbelievable, because of the great Jamaican sprinting tradition (exactly what you need to push a bobsled.) Sadly, they had not qualified for the Winter Olympics since 2002, until yesterday. Their 47-year old driver has come out of retirement, and they are ready for the Games next month. However, they are sledding on a shoestring budget (sound familiar?) and will have work to do before they even get to Russia. You bet I will be cheering them on.


Other than being painfully slow, I know I have some assets that others admire. The biggest would be heart and endurance. Just yesterday a lady said "you got some good steam going up that hill." But the looks I get sometimes when I pass people late in a race (sometimes dirty!) or come thundering across the finish line can be fun to watch. I'm not what you expect. I'm proud of that, and I'm sure the bobsled boys are proud of themselves as well.

A mile in different shoes

My car and I have been together for 10 years now, for thousands and thousands of miles for concerts and road races. Alas, it is wearing out, on 143,000 miles now. So almost every time I go out of town I hear the "your car is going to break down" chorus from my dad. I know he certainly has a point, but he has always specialized in paranoia. So I try to keep my out-of-town journeys to places my family is a familiar with.


So when some friends from my Zumba class asked me if I wanted to go to two snowshoe races on separate days about 70 miles away, I jumped at the chance to go along. While I am very grateful to be included, it certainly showed me a little different insight into the minds of some runners.


The lady that organized the expedition is 64, has only been running about two years, and is just naturally talented. She places most of the time, even in races of 1500. It seems, however, that is her almost her sole focus and motivation. She gets antsy during long award ceremonies.The minute she has the medal in her hand, she's ready to go home, as in grab your bag right now. She doesn't do fun runs where there aren't age groups and no medal and glory. Don't get me wrong, me and my buddies like hardware too. But we also run for enjoyment, and our own satisfaction. As I've spent more time on the circuit, I've learned myself to slow down and relax and just socialize with other runners. I did not enjoy being hustled out right after the race and not getting to talk to my buddies. This is a very nice lady, and I realize she was Captain of the ship, but time with these friends is something I don't like to give up.


But a more serious contrast of philosophy turned up on this trip, one I admit that I'm rather sensitive about. We had done two hard races on back-to-back days, and the Captain said "I don't know if I want to do that again." Maybe I was boasting a bit, but I said I've done it many times, even doing as many as three in a day, so I was used to it. And she said "yes, but we RUN the races!" she emphasized. I know for fact that the other lady that with us is also a run/walker like myself, but she is just faster than me. She also seems to share my attitude of just having fun with it and doing your best: in fact we are planning on walking (gasp, don't tell the "Captain!") a full marathon together in June. But that implication that I am less of an athlete for not running the whole thing bothers me. I know it is quietly there with some runners, but I truly think those that doing it for the love understand. I have extremely fast friends, and turtle friends like myself. \Most know that I am giving my very best effort, whether both feet are on the ground or not.


And that is what I politely told her. I know she is new to the game, and doesn't realize that you can't always run every step, and is probably not familiar with the Galloway method or John "The Penguin" Bingham." She may not know that Bill Rodgers won Boston one year with a four minute walking break, and that in the ultra-marathon game only the very elite can run every step. And that doing 30 half-marathons in 3 years, even if some were strictly walking, is an accomplishment worth being proud of.


She just recently did a 5-miler and wants to run a 10K this year. I wish her nothing but the best of luck. But I do hope she learns to run not just for the hardware, understand that others are not as gifted and will someday try a half marathon, even if she does have to walk part of it.