I have never been in such a morose mood during a race as I was around Mile 26 in my first 50-miler, the October 9 Dick Collins Firetrails 50. The race starts at Lake Chabot in Castro Valley, traverses the glorious East Bay Regional Park District greenbelt, turns around at Tilden Park’s Lone Oak picnic area in North Berkeley, and heads back to the lake, with 7800 feet of elevation gain along the way.

See the middle part of this elevation profile, where the course plummets between the two peaks? That’s where my spirits plummeted too:

My body felt like a punching bag with every step on the descent to the turnaround point. My toes erupted with blisters that felt as big as cherry tomatoes. I kept looking at my watch and obsessing about how I was missing my goal — I wanted to reach the turnaround in as close to 4 hours as possible, and it was, what, 4:17? That’s not what I was hoping for. And I had to take a break at Lone Oak to spend a couple of minutes in the portapotty. I felt physically lousy and mentally wrecked, the polar opposite of the share-the-love-and-grasp-the-meaning-of-life runner’s high I felt during recent running events. (more…)

Tomorrow at 6:30 a.m., I’ll take off with nearly 300 other runners at the start of the Dick Collins Firetrails 50. Right now, I should be getting ready to run 50 miles tomorrow — which is exactly 20 percent farther than I have ever run before. I have errands to run, gear to gather, bills to pay, a story to edit, a chapter to finish, email to answer, laundry to fold, an iPod to update, two kids to pick up, one dog to walk, logistics to coordinate. But I have accomplished virtually none of that yet today because I AM FREAKING OUT. Not the head-spinning, hollering kind of behavior that those all-cap words might suggest, but the caving-inward, desperately quiet kind that freezes me to this chair and erases from my mind all — wait, where was I going with this? See, that’s what I mean: I can’t finish a thought, much less a task. (more…)

Anyone who’s ever run a trail race while listening to an MP3 player on shuffle mode probably knows the feeling of hoping that a Rocky-esque song infused with deep meaning will start to play in the final stretch toward a summit. The last thing you want to hear as you push to the top is a saccharine duet by Zac Ephron and Vanessa Hudgens. My preteen daughter’s pop tunes tend to wind up in my music library, so that experience — the audio equivalent of having a nice walk ruined by stepping in dog poop — happens to me from time to time.

Thankfully, this is not about one of those times. (more…)

My legs feel as heavy as the stack of textbooks my daughter lugged home on her first day of 7th grade last week, and when it comes time to run, I want nothing more than to curl up with my novel and eat an entire bag of peanut-butter-filled pretzels.

September and the start of school should mark an end to the Dog Days of Summer — the months plagued by heat and a lack of productivity, or a period generally marked by stagnation and lethargy — but I have felt mired in the dog days of training. (I always thought they were called “dog days” because dogs lie around with tongues out panting, but in fact the name comes from the position of Sirius in the night sky during summer; Sirius, the brightest star, is known as “the dog star” because of its position in the Canis Major constellation. But I digress …)

I don’t know why I’m feeling sluggish and negative; I can’t blame the weather, which mostly has been mild, or my schedule, which has been manageable. If someone asks me how I’m running, I say “slowly” or “not enough.” I feel thick and heavy and nightly give into cravings for beer and cheese. My head buzzes with negative self-chatter about how I’m slacking off and not putting in the effort to do my best at the upcoming race.

And then, all of a sudden, a couple of things slapped me on the side of the head and knocked me out of the running doldrums. (more…)

(Please read the Week 1 post if you’re wondering what this post is all about.)

I intended to post a weekly training recap on Sunday or Monday of each week, and already I’m behind. Blame it on the transition back to home and moving back into our house. Routines get put on hold when dozens of boxes await unpacking, furniture needs moving, Internet and phone don’t function and the house doesn’t feel at all like a home (yet). Here, belatedly, is the journal of the previous week. (more…)

In four months, on October 9, I’m going to become an ultrarunner when I attempt to run 50 miles.

Me on my 41st birthday last month, running a 40K through mountains above Tuscany.

There, I said it! I wasn’t going to. I wasn’t going to graduate to that distance, and I wasn’t going to turn this blog into a personal training log — the kind of painfully dull and obsessive narrative that chronicles miles run, blisters taped and gels digested. But now I’m doing it. Here’s why I’m going public with my plan and will track the progress here: (more…)