Friday, February 10, 2012

The wonder of candy

I've lived away from cold weather just long enough that I'd forgotten just how disconcerting it can be when I'm outside in the extreme cold, wearing all the clothing I have with me, and develop a chill. During a New Year's Day hike with Anne and Beat in the Shell Hills of Alaska, this kind of chill set in so quickly that I had no time to react. One minute I was working hard and generating heat as I broke trail through the bottomless powder with my snowshoes, and the next I was shivering. I had fallen behind Beat and Anne at that point, I couldn't find the power to keep up with them. I was pushing what felt like a maximum effort, drifting farther back from my friends, and involuntarily shivering as a stiff crosswind blasted 10-below-zero air against my body.

The wind-chill was likely near 30 below, but I had experienced colder just days before, for a much longer period of time, wearing the same clothing. Still, my core temperature was too low, and dropping.  Panic began to creep around the periphery as I mined my memories for a solution to this obvious onset of hypothermia. The flash of inspiration was sudden and simple — oh yeah, I'm bonking.

I pulled a Peanut Butter Twix bar out of my coat pocket, ripped open the wrapper with my teeth because my fingers were becoming too numb to work properly, and stuffed the whole frozen stick in my mouth. Within minutes, the sucrose entered my bloodstream and stoked the flickering coals of my internal furnace, which flared into a flame of burning glucose, which quickly spread through my cells with pleasant feelings of energy, and, more importantly, warmth. After that, I was fine for the remainder of the hike. I hadn't changed anything about my clothing or pace; the only thing I needed was a Twix Bar.

Like throwing dry kindling on a dying fire, sugar is one of the quickest and therefore most effective sources of energy. Proteins and fats — both nutritional fat and body fat — are more like hardwood logs — slow burning but long-lasting. Great if your fire is going strong, but much more useless if you've already fallen into a hypothermic bonk. From a nutritional standpoint, this analogy is much too simplistic, but you get the idea. A steady stream of sugar ensures a steady stream of energy, and in my experience burns so quickly that I never experience the dreaded "sugar crash" unless I stop eating all together. Most sports nutrition companies are essentially selling scientifically formulated versions of simple carbohydrates. For my purposes, I like good, old-fashioned candy.

I'm not claiming this is a sound, high-performance sports nutrition strategy. But here's my problem. Most of the time, I am an intelligent 32-year-old woman. I've read the studies, tried different products, and strive to follow what I've concluded is a healthy lifestyle. But when I immerse myself into these intense ultra-challenges, my mind devolves into something more suited to a 4-year-old girl. Suddenly I'm driven not by rationality and experience, but instinct and emotion. My thoughts swirl and flutter in senseless directions. I'm easily confused; I overreact, throw embarrassing temper tantrums that if I'm lucky no one else sees, then reluctantly continue moving forward because the adult in my immediate past has told me this is what I need to do, and children usually do what they're told.

Usually. But not always. This adult, in previous challenges, has also tried to make sound nutritional decisions. But the 4-year-old I become will have none of this healthy-eating nonsense. The internal conversation often goes something like this:

32-year-old adult who planned the menu and packed the food: "Here, eat this 100-percent organic, gluten-free, electrolyte-enhanced flaxseed oil and coconut energy glob."

4-year-old: "Ew, no."

Adult: "But you need this energy glob, it will keep you moving. It will keep you strong."

4-year-old: "Gross. No way."

Adult: "But you're going to bonk, you're going to wish you ate it. Mmm, yum yum energy glob."

4-year-old: "NoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNo!"

Adult: "Fine. Go ahead and starve, then."

Since I am both the adult and the defiant 4-year-old, I have learned the hard way that nobody wins this battle. The 4-year-old will hold out to the point of energy crisis, and fall into holes that are very difficult to extract myself from. I now know to just give in to my more primitive cravings.

Adult: "Here, eat a big handful of peanut butter cups."

4-year-old: "Yay! I love peanut butter cups! I love this! I wish every day could be hundred-mile-slog peanut-butter-cup day!"

And I have learned, in these situations, everybody wins. The 4-year-old version of me stays relatively content, warm, and fueled, and thus has a better chance of finishing the race, which makes adult me happy.

Today I wandered around Trader Joe's to choose items for my "rocket fuel" mix. This is "rocket fuel" in the Voyager 1 sense. It won't make me fast, but my rocket fuel will enable me to motor slowly into deep space (or at least backcountry Alaska) on a single generator. I plan to carry six 500-calorie bags for refuel at each checkpoint, along with 1,000 calories of salty snacks and 1,000 calories of straight-shot-sugar gummies. Right now I'm thinking about mixing mini-peanut butter cups and chocolate-covered peanut butter pretzels (for crunchy peanut buttery deliciousness), chocolate-covered espresso beans (for slow-drip constant caffeine), and roasted pecans (to trick myself into some protein and slow-burning fats.) The salty snacks will likely be Combos or some kind of cheesy crackers. For gummies, right now I'm really into Sour Gummy Life Savers. The Susitna 100 also requires 3,000 calories of emergency food that we're not allowed to consume until after we leave the last checkpoint, the final 15 miles. For this I'm planning on carrying the old standby of king-sized Snicker Bars, in case the rocket fuel becomes unappealing. This totals 8,000 calories, 5,000 of which I intend to consume over 36 to 48 hours. And of course everything will be supplemented by checkpoint meals, of which I'll probably have access to three or four, and which tend to be carby and salty. I'm also carrying electrolyte tablets.

It's a junk food feast that's far from nutritionally sound. But when it comes to nutrition, there's food that keeps you healthy, and there's food that keeps you alive. I have learned that sometimes, these aren't necessarily the same foods — and the latter is more important.


Thursday, February 09, 2012

This and that

I try to avoid bullet-point blog updates, but right now life is tugging from several directions. I have been making progress on writing projects, just as my 2011 tax forms have started to trickle in from the publishing world at large. The numbers are more encouraging than discouraging, and I'm trying to leverage that into motivation to increase my production, send out more queries, and try not to derail my progress with thoughts such as, "I could really benefit from spending the whole day reading articles about eBook formatting" or, "I wrote this bullet point blog post today, and that was almost like being productive." No ... no it wasn't.

• Publishing. Both of my books have been enjoying decent sales for the past few weeks. It has been interesting following the trends in online book sales. It seems bike bloggers now regularly land spots in the list of Amazon's top twenty best sellers in cycling.  There are still many bike books I have yet to read (my Kindle is choked with unread books right now), but one I have been browsing with much amusement is Elden "Fatty" Nelson's "Comedian Mastermind." It helped that I received a paperback copy (does anyone else suffer from Kindle guilt? It's like looking at a stack of overdue library books every day.) Elden even personalized the book with the inscription, "For Jill, who routinely does what I never would even consider. Ride on!" I wasn't sure if this was a compliment or a veiled insult, but the "Ride On" sweetened the sting enough to continue reading.

I have been a regular reader of Fat Cyclist's blog since 2005. He lives about ten miles from the town where I grew up, and I rode with him several times during the spring of 2009, while I was staying in Utah and training for Tour Divide. So I feel like I know the guy; of course, many of the thousands of Fat Cyclist readers probably feel the same way I do. Fatty comes across as personable and friendly, the kind of guy you would like to ride with on a Saturday afternoon. He's also a prolific writer who can be poignant and funny at the same time. "Comedian Mastermind" covers the best of his blog from 2005-2007, printed with introductions and footnotes so you feel, as the back-cover-blurb describes, like Fatty is "standing behind you, reading over your shoulder, and telling you what he was thinking while he wrote and why he wrote it, all while eating a sizable sandwich." It actually does read like a personalized collection — as though Elden compiled this book specifically for me, the girl who regularly does things he never would, so I can laugh along with his self-inflicted misery, two-wheeled triumphs, and keen observations about cycling's often absurd culture.

Of course I'm going to like the book, as a long-time fan. I also tried to look at it as an objective reader, someone who's never heard of Fat Cyclist's blog. Although there's a peppering of inside jokes, thanks to Fatty's informal writing style, you don't have to be a regular reader to get it. For the non-fan, it's a compilation of humorous cycling essays and epic ride stories. For the Fat Cyclist fan, it's a nicely organized digest that's enjoyable to revisit. And if you're like me and enjoy uploading light and short reads on your Kindle for easy consumption at airports and other places of wait, this is a great book for that. Recommended read. (On sale here.)

• Readers. Thanks to the recent post-holiday increase in book sales, I have been hearing from more readers recently. I received an e-mail from a man who is headed to UTMB this August, who told me that he was enjoying the book to the extent that "as a non-bike-rider, the (Tour Divide) is now on my very long term bucket list." Other readers have told me the book inspired them to ride more or plan a bikepacking trip. Next week I will likely join some kind of live chat to answer questions for the Women's Adventure Magazine book club, which is currently discussing "Be Brave, Be Strong." I wanted to say thank you to those who reached out to me (although I suspect many of them are not readers of my blog.) It's definitely motivated me to keep writing.

• Training. I think my taper is going well. I am actually tapering, which means I have noticeably reduced the amount of time I spend exercising each day. This has also proved to be problematic, because if I'm "only" going to run for an hour, I want to make it count. Not because I believe "making it count" will help me next week, but because running hard feels so good and if I only do it for an hour, it won't even hurt. Issues arise because I never did any speed work in training, so running hard inevitably leads to much soreness the following day. This is hardly confidence-inspiring for my hundred-mile snow slog in just over a week. But I try not to think too hard about what six-mile aches implicate for something seventeen times as long.

UTMB. The Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc sent out a news release full of interesting statistics. It appears 10,000 people put in for the lottery for the 2012 race. The 2,000 entrants represent 75 nationalities. It didn't specifically say what percentage of participants are from the United States, but it seems only 8 percent of entrants are women. This surprised me; I expected to see something closer to 20 or even 30 percent. This low number makes me want to finish this race even more, and I do plan to work for it this summer. I envision lots of long, steep hikes in the mountains. Yes, it's a tough life, but someone has to do it. We are the eight percent.

• Awesome women. I wanted to congratulate Eszter Horanyi for scorching the course in 2012 Arrowhead 135, setting a new women's bike record at 18 hours and 18 minutes. I've only met Eszter briefly, at last November's 25 Hours of Frog Hollow, but I do read her blog and regard her as a kindred spirit of sorts — possibly what I would be like, if I was fast.

• The Susitna 100. I can't wait for February 18, which has now officially reached the ten-day weather forecast. Right now, the weather looks good, but I am feeling optimistic regardless of what the weather does. Even if it's 35 degrees and raining, I will put on my Juneau Super Suit and snowshoes and slog this thing out. I am genuinely excited about it. My friend Danni and I have been discussing food and strategy. I will probably make a Su100 gear post in the next week.

• Bulleted blog posts. I'll try to avoid them in the future, I promise.

Monday, February 06, 2012

In between adventures

I am, at my core, a lazy person. I often tell people that the reason I aim for big expedition-style races is to establish an iron-clad excuse to pursue hours of adventure training. But sometimes I realize that the opposite is also true — I "train" so I can justify big adventures. Remove the adventure factor — either adventure as training, or training for adventure — and I start to display disconcerting impassivity for the hobbies I claim as passions.

I'm beginning to realize that adventure might just be my only motivation for exercise. Physical fitness? Small improvements in my mediocre athletic abilities? Better overall health? Looking good in a pair of jeans? Boring. Okay, I'm only joking about the boring part, and lying if I try to pretend that I don't care about these things at all. The truth is, adventure only motivates me on that superficial psychological level; biologically, I'm so addicted to endorphins that I'd happily run up and down the same flight of stairs at an airport before I gave up more than a couple days of exercise. But the promise of adventure is what drives me up and down those stairs. Without it, the more boring aspects of exercise likely would have crushed my spirit long ago, and I would have succumbed to my lazy side.

I have been looking for reasons why I've been in a bit of a funk this weekend. I think part of it sparked when Beat and I talked about a trip to Yosemite that couldn't happen for various reasons. I was fine with it because I'm already set for another trip to Alaska in two weeks, and I have all of these exciting adventures planned — endurance sled dragging, visiting friends and climbing mountains, watching Beat start the ITI, snow biking. Why feel disappointed about a little trip to Yosemite? I've been spoiled by jet-setting adventures for months now, and yet, and yet ...

Beat wanted to go mountain biking on Saturday. I wasn't sure why, and didn't admit it to him because I had no good reasons, but I didn't really feel like riding. Angelo the miracle worker massage therapist had realigned my wonky knee on Friday. Where the joint felt weak and rubbery on Thursday, it felt stronger and better tuned after the massage. The thought of being "fixed" filled me with optimism, and I had a great ride later that afternoon on my singlespeed — cranking hard up 2,700 feet to Black Mountain and feeling great on what should be a knee-crushing bike. But when the weekend came around, laziness crept back in. With just two weeks until the Susitna 100, there's not a lot I can do now to physically improve my chances in that race. So fitness training is in a period of limbo. At the same time, it was a beautiful clear day, and so warm that Beat's friend Liehann asked if we had any sunscreen. What was wrong with me that I couldn't get more excited about four-plus hours of care-free mountain biking? Beat suggested that I ride the Fatback. "That's right!" I said. "It's about time I start training for the White Mountains 100." Motivation found.

Our home trails are pleasant and enjoyable, but admittedly not the adventure they used to be. I did experience small shots of adventure when the rear Endomorph tire nearly washed out on the loose rocks of a few hairpin turns. But those particular rushes of adrenaline don't count as the good kind of adventure given it's so close Su100, and also not really enough scary fun to justify pedaling that beast of a bike on a ride with close to 4,000 feet of climbing. Still, I did enjoy myself once I got my lazy butt out the door, even if the ride did involve four hours of chasing two boys who were constantly locked in an unspoken race with each other.

Even though the mountain bike ride was awesome, Sunday only renewed my battle of motivation with an afternoon trail run. Beautiful sunny day, narrow trails, wending through the woods and emerging on a rolling ridge. Boring. Okay, I really am just joking about that. I am a lucky person; I just need to remind my lazy side of this fact from time to time.

I could learn a thing or two from my cat, who spends all of her time in a small apartment. And still, she can get herself worked up in the most enviable frenzies from a rustling of leaves on the porch, a noise in the hall, or nothing at all. Sometimes I think it would be nice not to have to travel to farther corners of the world, seeking increasingly more challenging endeavors, just to renew that rush of excitement. But if I could somehow feel that way just hanging around my house, I would miss out on so much life.  
Thursday, February 02, 2012

Single, newly sexy

The Susitna 100 is just over two weeks away now: Cue the phantom pains. On Wednesday afternoon, I was carrying two big boxes of Beat's Iditarod drop-bag supplies when the weight of the top box shifted, I lunged to catch it, and slammed my pinkie toe into the couch leg, hard. I dropped to the ground, moaned, punched the couch, swore a bit. I convinced myself I broke my toe. It felt like I broke my toe. Before the white shock of pain even began to subside, my mind started racing: "&$@! Now I'll have to DNS Susitna. I wonder if I can ride my bike instead? But what if I have to get off and push? Maybe I can get one of those walking casts. But how will I keep my toes warm in a walking cast? %$@! frostbite foot. $&@! stupid clumsy couch box toe ow ow ow."

My pinkie toe wasn't broken. It did take a long time for the pain to mellow to an acceptable dull ache. I had been planning to go for a run after my errands, and even waited an extra hour until I didn't have the time to wait any longer. I popped a couple Advil and set out on my not-broken-but-still-achy toe for a 6.5-mile trail run. My toe was fine for the run, but as soon as I started downhill, my knee started to act up. It was the same problem I was having during my 50K race on Saturday — some kind of connective tissue that runs along my leg behind the outer edge of my right knee incurs a mild electric shock type of pain when my right leg hits the ground. It's not a bad pain but it's disconcerting. Even after I slow my stride substantially, the knee still feels weak, almost rubbery, as though there's less support for the joint. I call it wonky knee. I'm not terribly worried about it because there's essentially no downhill running in Sustina. Also, there's still plenty of time to recover in the next two weeks, and I can certainly lay off running until then. But the wonky knee was just concerning enough that I scheduled an appointment with Beat's massage therapist in hopes that he can set me straight. (The guy is very good.) Ah, pre-race phantom pains and panic.

On a more positive note, Beat's makeover of the Karate Monkey is complete. He's gone all-out since he figured out the singlespeed 29'er was his favorite bike in our stable. Just today, a new set of wheels arrived from Mike Curiak, the wheelmaster in Grand Junction, Colo. Beat also received new tires, a new chainring, a 21-tooth cog and bright blue chain. Before this, he installed a brand new Reba XX fork, RaceFace stem, blue handlebars, Chris King headset, Ergon grips, and a set of Formula K24 brakes that I received as a birthday gift a couple years ago before I owned a bike "nice" enough for such brakes. Now the only original part on this bike is the crank, and of course the frame. I think it's fair to say this is no longer my Tour Divide bike. In fact, it's not even really my bike anymore.

She does look good with her light new wheels. Beat is blessed (cursed?) with a deeper understanding of how things work, and thus has a strong appreciation for quality products and equal distaste for poorly made products. Since meeting him, I've been introduced to a whole new level of gear understanding. Personally, I've always been resistant to gear-mindedness. I have no issues with gear appreciation, even obsession; I can understand why people get excited about these things. It's just that the bike itself doesn't capture my imagination on the same level as the simple act of riding a bike. When my own bikes were plagued with mechanicals, I would invariably complain to my friends that "I don't even like bikes. I just love to ride them."

People who know me, know that I'll basically ride anything. My main (only?) criteria in a bike is that it works, and continues to work no matter how much I abuse and neglect it. I was proud of my generic, heavy, $79 wheel set that I bought used on eBay and rode untold thousands of miles all over the western half of the continent. But at the same time, being introduced to the finer details of quality has helped me see the world of gear in a new light. "Wow, this hub purrs like a kitten." The new wheel set is light and beautiful, and from everything I've heard, capable and strong. I'll never reach Beat's level of appreciation, but at least now I can say (and actually mean it) that, yeah, quality gear is awesome. It means that not only can I enjoy riding my bikes, but I can ride better and feel more comfortable in the process. Although I do feel more guilty about the neglect part ...

The Karate Monkey still holds on to remnants of her old life, the scars of the hard roads she won before all the bling. I'm kinda proud of the rust spots, too, which is why I don't buff them out. (Also, I am lazy and neglectful of my bikes.) With all this great new stuff, it will be hard to resist taking her out tomorrow afternoon for a ride. Yes, a long hill climb on a singlespeed. That is probably exactly what my wonky knee needs.

Monday, January 30, 2012

Tired legs 50K

The alarm rang out at 5:15 a.m., which was of course about three and a half hours after I finally fell asleep. I glanced over at Beat, hoping he didn't hear it, or maybe he would decide sleep was worth skipping the race today. No such luck; he groaned and rolled out of bed, so I made a move to do the same. My legs hit the carpet with an audible thud that seemed to say, "Um, you're not really going to go through with this, are you?"

"Look, it's only thirty miles. It will be over before you know it."

"We hate you. You know that, right?"

"I think hate is a strong word, don't you?"

"No. No we don't. You already overworked us with fourteen hours of biking and running this week. And 18,000 feet of climbing. Why are you doing this to us?"

"Look, we're all going to feel so much worse during the Su100. This will be good practice for the real deal. I need this kind of practice to stay mentally strong when the going gets tough. You two, well, you can do what you want. But I'm going to the Steep Ravine 50K."

"We hate you."

We drove to Stinson Beach with our friends Harry and Martina, who were also running the 50K (Harry placed in the top ten and Martina finished strong even though she wanted to quit just as much as I did.) It was an absolutely beautiful morning. Sunrise washed the sky in pink light, ocean waves rolled gently along the beach, and a thick film of frost coated the ground — evidence of a pristine clear night that carried the promise of a warm day. The fifty-kilometer course featured four huge climbs and equally huge descents, utilizing a lot of rugged redwood forest singletrack, with about 7,000 feet of climbing total. Easy peasy, right legs? Right? But my legs were no longer on speaking terms with me. The silence was deafening as we started the slow plod up the Steep Ravine Trail toward.

My legs weren't the only thing that felt awful on Saturday morning. My stomach joined the protest and lurched through the first climb. Including one restroom break, it took me more than an hour to knock out the first four miles. I took a short break at the aid station near the top of Mount Tam, and I'm pretty sure I was one of the last runners to leave. By mile five, I had already fallen into "epic mode," which is what I call my mind's semi-subconscious coping mechanism for dealing with hard efforts. Epic mode is actually — initially at least — a rather pleasant feeling, a sort of out-of-body sensation with tinges of bliss. I floated down Mount Tam, happily absorbed in a stream of shallow observations: "The ocean is so blue. The sky is blue, too. Wow, I can see San Francisco! That hill is pretty."

If only epic mode could last forever. Unfortunately, it can not, and mile five of a 50K is not a good place to use it up. By aid station two, about mile eleven, I had descended all the way into grumpy mode, and a long, flat, runnable stretch that made my hamstrings burn did not help. My mood darkened even more during the climb, where, while working at what felt like near-maximum effort, other racers started to pass me. See, where I fall in with the pack, people almost never pass me during ascents. I get passed like I'm standing still on the downhills, and still I often catch and pass these same people on the climbs. Climbing is the one thing I can do. Now my stubborn legs were even botching that task. I tried to motivate the limbs, but they had no sympathy; they just burned with anger and refused to do anything but the bare minimum.

During the second descent, I started to feel a strange electric shock of pain behind my right knee. I thought it might be a pulled or torn muscle, and I stopped several times to massage it. The sharp pains became frequent enough that I had to walk nearly backwards down a long series of stairs. I contemplated the wisdom of quitting at the next aid station. After all, this was just a silly training race. Then I met Beat about mile from the thirty-kilometer turnaround. "This is really hard," I whined. "My legs hate me." He urged me to take Advil. I mumbled a wishy-washy "soon." He said, "no, now," and pulled a few pills out of his pack. I never give Advil credit for actually working, but sure enough, my tight hamstrings began to loosen up at the turnaround. As a general rule, any pain that Advil can kill is not that serious. So I really didn't have a good reason to quit at 30K. Shoot.

Then I started to perk up. The next four miles of climbing on the Steep Ravine Trail felt significantly easier than it had the first time. "See, legs, this is what we need to learn. A little fatigue and pain is not the end and the world. We can go far on fumes."

My legs remained unconvinced. After a slow descent, the fourth and final climb brought extreme sleepiness. I had to shift the mental battle from the lead legs to my heavy eyelids. With fewer reinforcements, my feet succumbed to the fatigue and I shuffled my way into the wrong side of a tree root, tossing my whole body to the ground. Luckily no serious injuries, but afterward my shoulder ached and my right shin was smeared with blood. This was really not my day. But that's one of the purposes of training, isn't it — to go out and occasionally endure bad days just to remind yourself that not everything about your hobby is sunshine and rainbows. This is the only way to continually grow stronger in our hobbies, and subsequently in our lives.

Photo by Coastal Trail Runs
Since my chosen games are mostly mental, I need the hard days to build mental strength. My legs didn't care. Legs don't have mental strength. They only knew they hurt and really needed rest, and why couldn't I just stop and rest? I finally stumbled into the finish after seven hours and sixteen minutes. My face and posture in this photo effectively tell the story, I think. I was one tired puppy. (GPS track here)

It was all just part of the plan for "peak training week." From Sunday to Saturday, I ran 70 miles with 16,500 of climbing, and biked 66 miles with 8,600 feet of climbing, for a total of 25,100 feet of climbing and 21.5 hours of time wasted completely wearing myself out. And I finished two ultramarathons. It was a good week.

I planned to take a rest day today, I really did. But it was a Sunday and a beautiful Sunday at that, and it didn't take much for Beat to coax his friend Liehann and I out for an afternoon mountain bike ride. My legs were still plenty angry, although not really hurting anymore, so I again had no excuse to stay indoors. I planned to whine and dawdle the whole way through the ride. But as luck would have it, we bumped into a couple at a stoplight who were interested in the Fatback, which Beat was riding. "My girlfriend rides it in crazy snow races in Alaska," Beat explained to them. The man looked at me and said, "Are you Jill?" Turns out we were chatting with Forest Baker, another fellow Tour Divide finisher (Forest raced in 2010.) Since only a few hundred people in the world have attempted this race, it was quite random to bump into one of them "just riding along." We all rode up Montebello Road together at a nice chatty pace, which was still close to my personal max. But it was fun to run into another endurance bike nut. He lives nearby in Sunnyvale and is planning to race the Arizona Trail 350 in April, so hopefully we will plan some long training rides together this spring.

Monday = rest day. I promise, legs. No really, I mean it this time. 
Thursday, January 26, 2012

Danni's playlist

I've been working hard this week to make my legs as tired as possible. I only took enough time off on Monday to work out some kinks from Sunday's 50K trail race, such as the minor calf strain. I was up bright and early on Tuesday for a three-hour mountain bike ride (30 miles and 3,500 feet of climbing) and again on Wednesday for a hard-effort road climb (18 miles and 2,500 feet of climbing.) I went for an eight-mile trail run today (1,700 feet of climbing) and am planning another road ride tomorrow before another 50K on Saturday. This is my big week and this is my strategy — push just to the edge of exhaustion, incorporating cross-training to avoid injury, before an adequate period of recovery. This way I re-learn what it's like to run far on tired legs, and hopefully my muscles do too, because that's what the Susitna 100 is going to be like — tired legs, really tired legs, for a really long time.

Luckily, motivation is running high right now. My friend Danni in Montana, who is also currently in training to run the Su100, recently send me a playlist of awesome music for training. She listed each song, a few lyrics that reminded her of the race and an explanation of why she included them. For "Sail" by AWOLNATION: "This song because we have ADD, which is in part the reason for doing things like the Susitna." And "Hey Hey" by Dennis Ferrer: "This song because I could blame you for my Su habit ... It's all because I walked your way, and I should have known to stay away."

As I was pedaling to the lyrics of this song, I almost yelled out loud, "Hey, Susitna was your fault!" Actually, it was the fault of one of Danni's playlists. It was the summer of 2010, and I was preparing for  TransRockies, a mountain bike stage race. Danni sent me a training playlist, and on it was the song "D.A.R.E." by the Gorillaz. I was already contemplating dipping my toes into the intimidating whirlpool of ultrarunning, and there was the song I had come to associate with my first-ever crazy endurance experience, riding my bike in the 2006 Susitna 100. "I should enter the Susitna and run it," I thought. "It will be so painful and so glorious." Afterward, I told Danni about my flash of inspiration and she admitted she had been contemplating the Susitna 100 for years. After several weeks of mutual goading between the two of us and another new friend of ours, Beat, we all signed up for the 2011 race together.

Now Danni and I are going back for the glorious and painful 2012 edition. I'm still digesting Danni's Susitna playlist (and she may not want me to share it publicly), but it did get me thinking about songs I would include on a Susitna-specific playlist. Songs with a good tempo, but not too manic, with lots of references to running and walking, self-punishment, and discovery. I also tried to keep the music more upbeat, as Danni's 2011 race took a turn for the worse when her melancholy playlist plunged her into an irreversible cycle of despair. "I've learned the hard way that my normal sad music is like poison to the weary and tired mind after a while," she wrote in her song notes.

So here is my Susitna playlist for Danni. The links will take you to a YouTube video in case you're curious and want to hear the song. I also included the lyrics that remind me of the Su. It's turned out to be a motivating mix, for me at least. I downloaded the playlist onto my Shuffle before my trail run today, and knocked out a by-far personal best on my usual Rancho route (Finishing in 1:20 what usually takes 1:30 to 1:35) Now I just need to figure out how to burn a CD and send it to Danni.

Jill's Susitna 100 training playlist:  

"The Sun"  The Naked and Famous
Here it comes ... the unavoidable sun ... weighs my head ... and what the hell have I done?

"Zero"  Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Try and hit the spot ... get to know it in the dark ... get to know whether you're crying, crying, crying, oh ... can you climb, climb, climb higher?


"You Do Run"  Cocktail Slippers
You're gonna run until you can not run no more ... You are still fighting, tell me what you're fighting for.

"Specialize"  Tor with Sufjan Stevens, Pete Rock and CL Smooth
I only use this type of style when I choose it ... I speak for the hardcore.

"Something Is Not Right With Me"  Cold War Kids
Something is not right with me! Something is not right with me! Something is not right with me!
I'm trying not to let it show.


"Walk"  Foo Fighters (Side note: This music video is hilarious)
To keep alive ... a moment at a time ... But still inside ... a whisper to a riot ... To sacrifice ... but knowing to survive ... The first to climb another state of mind.

"Alina's Place"  Fredrik
Silly old parade ... where food gets thrown away ... digestive ill behavior forming.

"Little Lion Man"  Mumford and Sons
Rate yourself and rake yourself ... Take all the courage you have left ... Wasted on fixing all the problems that you made in your own head.

"You, Me, and the Bourgeoisie"  The Submarines
It's time to be so brutally honest about ... The way we know we long for something fine ... When we pine for higher ceilings ... And bourgeois happy feelings.

"Higher Devotion"  Jimmy Eat World
The quiet should be nice but isn't ... I guess we're going to spend the day like this ... In psychic screaming.

"Gimmie Sympathy"  Metric
We're so close to something better left unknown ... I can feel it in my bones.

"Kilojoules"  Freelance Whales
Well I've been making ... Some cold calculations ... Regarding our body heat ... It's not easy, believe me.

"Wrecking Ball"  Mother Mother
I aim to break, not one but all ... I'm just a big ol' wrecking ball.

"History Sticks to Your Feet"  Modest Mouse
All those red marks ... on our shoulders ... self back patting ... homemade trophies ... well the path only exists as tiny bricks ... We burn to release all its memory ... I've had enough with rolling boulders ... I want more moss on me.

"Second Song"   TV on the Radio
Confidence and ignorance approved me ... Define my day today ... I've tried so hard to shut it down, lock it up ... Gently walk away.

"Not Like Any Other Feeling"  The Thermals
When you're ascending you glow ... When you hit a dead end you know ... It's not just a feeling you get ... It's a feeling that you fight against.

"Born This Way"  Lady Gaga
(I added this song as a joke for Danni, but it is an awesome song for injecting energy into drab situations.)
Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Favorite winter gear

Bella Vista Trail
Early this morning, Beat, Liehann and I rallied for a mountain bike ride before work. For me, it was a sluggish but beautiful ride. Every time I try to exercise first thing in the morning, it seems to take me at least two hours to warm up. Plus, my legs still felt mostly dead after Sunday's 50K run. But it was the most fantastic morning — calm, clear above the valley haze, and warm. Temperatures started at 40 degrees and inched close to 60 before we were done. It's the kind of beautiful, idyllic outing that could make a person forget about cold weather and winter for good — and yet I still think about winter, constantly. Recently, I've received several e-mails and questions about my planned gear for the Susitna 100. It made me think about a few unconventional items that I've discovered after years of trial and error. So for my blog today, I'm detailing my four favorite pieces of unconventional winter gear:

Camelbak vest: Preventing water from freezing is one of the toughest and thus widely-debated problems in winter recreation. Everyone has their own methods, and I've tried a lot of them — from bottles in insulated pouches to wrapping a hydration tube with aluminum insulation from Home Depot. None of these methods worked in the long term. Last year, I purchased a Camelbak Shredbak vest and removed the outer shell, turning it to a light vest with an integrated two-liter bladder. The vest is better than a backpack, because it fits snuggly against my back and there's no risk of chaffing. The hose initially came wrapped in a neoprene sleeve, which I promptly removed. I think those hose sleeves are worse than useless. They only actually insulate down to about 29 degrees, and after that they block access when ice eventually builds up somewhere inside the hose. At least with a naked hose, I can just stick the ice-blocked section in my mouth until it thaws out. I have actually successfully done this in the past with a completely frozen tube and valve. It took a while, but it was worth it.

I wear the vest over my base layer and pile any insulation layers I'm wearing over it, then thread the tube beneath one arm and up through the vest so it rests firmly against my collarbone. This way, the valve is easily accessible, even with mittens, but still well-protected from the cold. Last month in Alaska, even when we were outside for nine hours in minus 30 degrees, I had no issues with ice building up in the valve or tube. In fact, the water only cooled down to a tepid 60 degrees or so, which tasted wonderful (drinking ice water when it's extremely cold outside is about as fun as choking down hot coffee in 100-degree heat.) Two liters is plenty of volume for the Susitna 100, which has checkpoints about every twenty miles. The only drawback to this system is that I have to remove all of my insulation layers and the vest to refill the bladder. But in the case of going inside a race checkpoint, I usually do this anyway.

Sierra Designs Gnar skirt
Down skirt: During my final leg in the 2008 Iditarod, while riding my bike from Nikolai to McGrath, I got what I describe as "butt frostbite." It wasn't actually frostbite, but it was a crescent-shaped white blister surrounded by windburned skin just above my cheeks, caused by exposure to minus 20 degree temperatures and a 35 mph tailwind. When I was planning out my gear for that trip, I never considered the possibility that my butt was an at-risk region. In fact, butts are quite susceptible to the cold — if you're a woman.

It's a fact of nature: Women are built to carry more body fat than men, and this fat is concentrated in specific regions of our bodies such as butts, thighs, upper arms, and breasts. Fat is an insulator, but it doesn't insulate itself. When core temperatures drop, our body constricts blood flow to extraneous tissue — in this case, the junk in the trunk. And because fat doesn't generate its own heat the way muscles do, no amount of movement is going to warm it until blood flow returns to normal. Butts that get cold, stay cold. (Note: This is not a scientific explanation, just a theory.) But either way, just like fingers and toes, these parts need extra protection in order to stay warm when the body gets all stingy with heat distribution. Enter the down skirt.

I was not a convert until recently. But it makes so much sense. It snaps around your pants for easy application outdoors, and provides just the right amount of insulation exactly where you need it, while still allowing plenty of room for moisture wicking and movement. I have only used it running, but I believe the shorter skirts would be equally useful on a bike.

Fleece balaclava: This is perhaps the oldest piece of gear I own. I purchased it for snowboarding back in 1997 and inexplicably have not lost it yet. Because it's so old, I couldn't tell you the manufacturer or model, but out of all of the headgear I have tried, this piece remains my favorite. The important features of this particular balaclava are thick polar fleece, a loose fit so it can slide over hats and thinner balaclavas, and an adjustable face piece. I dislike neoprene masks because they're so constrictive, despise wearing tight balaclavas over my face because it's like breathing through a wet rag, and haven't tried any of those fancy air-circulation face masks. But why would I, when the simple solution works? The loose-fitting face piece creates a warm pocket that recirculates my breath and allows me to consistently breathe warmed air no matter how cold it is outside. The warmed air flows upward, which keeps my facial skin, nose and eyes warm. In extreme cold, the drawback is ice buildup. However, because the balaclava is made out of fleece, ice buildup doesn't seem to compromise its insulation value at all. The ice-lashes and snow-brows are annoying, and this system does cause goggles to fog to the point of uselessness. In windy conditions, I have no choice but to switch to goggles and a neoprene face mask.

VaprThrm high-rise sock

Vapor barrier socks: The concept of vapor barrier is simple — conserve heat by blocking evaporative heat loss. A completely non-breathable fabric creates a kind of micro-climate for the body part it's wrapped around, trapping moisture and heat in the thin layer of air between the fabric and skin. The jury is still out on how well vapor barrier systems work for jackets and pants, but I love my vapor barrier socks. I use the RBH Designs insulated sock on top of a pair of moisture-wicking Drymax socks and a pair of fleece socks. I believe the Drymax socks hold moisture away from my skin, the fleece both insulates and wicks moisture, and the vapor barrier contains moisture and heat so ice can't build up inside my Gortex shoes. I have no idea if that's what's really happening, but consider this: I finished the Susitna 100 last year, and trekked 90 miles in three days this year using this system without a single blister or cold feet. And I've had frostbite in the past, which makes my toes especially susceptible to the cold. So I think I'll stick with this system.

So there you have it, four pieces of gear that I may never give up (of course, I'm always waiting for something better to come along.) And just in case this post made you feel overly chilled, I have more photos from my mountain bike ride today:

Picking up speed on the Steven's Creek Canyon trail.
Ah, January.