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February 27, 2007
Stage 6: Endings and Beginnings
Route: Playa Junquillal to Bahia Salinas
Estimated Distance: 19k
Stage 6, the final stage, was scheduled to start at the leisurely hour of 9am. Race officials told us that the late start aligned with a low tide, which was necessary to navigate a portion of today's route. Joyfully, this meant we could wake up whenever we wanted, without an alarm. I woke up somewhere in the moments around dawn, sat up, and looked out at a nearly mirror-calm Pacific Ocean.
For the past 5 days, my first thoughts each morning had focused on the race and how my body was feeling. Looking back at this morning, I can only recall feeling the strong senses of stillness and peace. Even though the race wasn't over, I felt secure in my position as the third woman, unless something entirely accidental and out-of-my control occurred. Even though we still had a distance to run, I felt my body would carry me to the finish without difficulty. This morning's calm perspective was refreshing and welcomed.
Shortly after I awoke, a few people were studying something on the beach nearby my tent. I climbed out of the tent to see what they were fussing about. There were 3 baby turtles, not more than 3 inches long each, making their way down the beach to the ocean! (Sea turtle nests are typically burried well above the high-tide line and several feet deep in sand on the beach. When the baby turtles hatch, they climb a few vertical feet through sand to the beach's surface, then they crawl to the ocean. Each sea turtle nest contains hundreds of fertilized and incubating eggs. From this very large batch, typically only a few turtles will survive to adulthood.)
The turtles' progression to the ocean was painfully slow and obviously arduous. One baby seemed to go out of its way to climb a small sand hill. It struggled and writhed and eventually summitted the hill, but then it layed motionless in exhaustion for a minute or so before continuing on. Another turtle reached the water, was carried away by a wave, was washed high ashore by another wave, layed on the beach resting, scurried to the water again, and was washed away a second and final time. I felt honored to witness all 3 of them reach the water and float off into the ocean. For me, this day was a very big ending; for them, it was a huge beginning.
The stage start was wild and crazy. Well, as wild and crazy as you can get when you put a lot of very tired but excited people together! A race official said "Go!", and we took off down the beach with some great whooping and cheering. For a kilometer, we ran down the beach. Then we headed back into the hills, away from the ocean.
Today's route remains quite vague in my mind. Instead, I can vividly recall certain moments from the stage. Here and there throughout the week, I'd run a bit with a nice guy from India. He and I chatted our way through a kilometer or so today. I'd also spent some on-course time with a jovial Irish fellow who always managed to say something funny. We, too, ran and laughed a bit together during this stage. I recall a most beautiful section of "coasteering" and beach running. The "coasteering" involved navigating a long, black, slippery, barnacle and algae-covered section of rocks exposed from the ocean at low tide. I remember a short stretch of dirt road that was perfectly shaded and lined on both sides with a wild array of blooming bougainvillea. I ran perhaps 8 or 9k with Oscar on a hot, dusty, hilly dirt road. Today he was dousing both of us with water from a bottle as we ran.
Here's what I recall of the finish: After the bougainvillea-lined dirt road, the route wound through a few little farms, and then through a tiny village. Over the tree tops to the left, I saw the peak of a large thatched roof, and I knew it must be part of the resort where the finish line was. The route turned down a path that ended at the ocean. From there, the route twisted past a tall spire of rock jutting out into the ocean and then onto the manicured green grass of the resort property. From there, it was a straight line to the finish. The finish was ambitiously decorated; there was upbeat music playing; the crowd at the finish line cheered heartily. I recall a stiff wind blowing white caps on the ocean. I recall that the color of the sky and the ocean matched perfectly. I recall the flags of all the nations represented by runners waving in the wind. I recall my sweetie, who had finished before me, flashing me a big smile. I recall "breaking" my own tape at the line.
Then, there I was, just standing there at the finish line. I had no idea what to do next. Anyone know the song, "I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself " (most recently covered by the White Stripes)? In those moments, I had no idea what to do with myself. Even though the race had gone on for days, it felt like it had ended so quickly. Finally, my sweetie walked me away from the finish line and to our hotel room at the resort.
A short time later, I stood in a real shower (none of that burlap-doored crap), and felt warm water (none of that tepid stuff) pour over my insanely dirty body. In those moments, emotions began being to flow once again. First, I felt relief. Then, elation. And, finally, pride. The Coastal Challenge was complete and I placed third! I had executed my race strategy perfectly and I had met my goal. I was experiencing my very own story book-like happy ending.
We didn't do much that afternoon. We ate (Surprise, surprise. At this point, if I never saw food again, I would be very happy. My appetite fortuitously returned in full force the next day, however.). We soaked our weary legs and feet in the resort's pool. We chatted with all the other racers and race officials. We stared at the Pacific Ocean. We gazed at the mountains across the bay, which we were told were Nicaraguan mountains. More than once, we commented, "I don't feel that bad. I could run again tomorrow."
In the evening, there was a final dinner, slide show, and awards ceremony of sorts. It was awesome to see that the Costa Rican contingency had dominated the podium slots; Costa Ricans were first and third in the men's race and second in the women's race. Beverly Anderson-Abbs put on an awesome display of female finery out on the course; every single day that woman was on fire. My sweetie finished just off the podium for the men, but, damn, he put up a helluva fight!
It seemed this was supposed to be a night of conclusion and finality. The race itself was over. The window of life that contains the training for and racing of this race was closing. New friends were parting ways. I was restless with these thoughts, however. Indeed, by the end of the day, I was ready for this specific race to end. Beyond this race, I instead felt rather transitional.
At this moment in my life, my universe continues to expand. That is, with reference to running, the realm of that which interests me and that which I am able to do (and do well) grows in direct proportion to the new things that I try. In the same way that this morning's baby seas turtles completed one journey and began another as they floated into the wild Pacific, finishing The Coastal Challenge today to me equated with the beginning of the next life experience.
Posted by Meghan at 8:50 PM | Comments (7)
February 26, 2007
Stage 5: Running With Oscar
Route: Cuajiniquil to Playa Junquillal
Estimated Distance: 32k
In Stage 4's description, I left out (because there was simply so much to write about) the running I did with a Costa Rican named Oscar. It seems that during Stages 1 through 3, Oscar and I leapfrogged several times. During Stage 4, I ran with him during the ultra-hot, white-road section between CP3 and CP4. We also ran together for much of Stage 5 and a good portion of Stage 6. Our communication was limited because he knew little English and I knew little Spanish. We formed some sort of bond, though, by running together through those tough times.
It was very hard to move when the alarm went off this morning. I was sore, real sore. Finally, the racing during the day and the sleeping on hard earth at night was catching up to me. My body seemed to take forever to get moving. Added to the morning list of things-to-do was foot care, as my feet were finally becoming torn up. My left big toenail had fluid build-up beneath it which needed to be drained. I had developed a blister beneath a callous on my left big toe which apparently was located in close proximity to a nerve ending, causing discomfort. My left 4th toe and right pinky toe were each losing an entire layer of skin. It was if they were peeling like sunburned skin. They didn't hurt at all, but I taped them so that the friction of running wouldn't rip the skin off prematurely.
I have to mention the huge spider that walked by our tent this morning; it was about 5 inches in diameter, including its legs. What a surprise in those ungodly, pre-dawn hours! It paid us no attention, so we just watched it wander back off into the dark. During the rest of our stay in Costa Rica, we would interact with many more huge spiders. But this was certainly an interesting introduction.
After the morning routine, we loaded on a bus for a short transfer to the starting line for Stage 5. Our camp's location was on the east side of the insanely trafficked Pan American Highway and the Pacific Ocean, today's destination, was on the west side. For some reason, race officials didn't want us to run the gauntlet of trying to cross this crazy highway on foot. I appreciated the ride!
The bus arrived in the village of Cuajiniquil (which I still don't know how to pronounce) about 45 minutes before the 7am starting time. We runners were presented with a logistical challenge: there was no place to go to the bathroom. The town was still all quiet at this hour, so there were no stores or restaurants to visit. It was a town, so one couldn't exactly find a tree to hide behind. All kinds of creative solutions were reached by runners, and I probably shouldn't elaborate further! Myself and a few other runners were fortunate to find a man in his front yard down, and we asked to use his restroom. After this unique experience, I will never again compain about porta-pottie lines before a race in the United States!
The starting line atmosphere was rather subdued today. We all were still smiling and good-natured about the journey ahead, but we were all just a bit quieter. As we stood there, I thought about my plan for the day. At this point, I felt confident that, as long as I didn't fall off a cliff, vomit my intestines, get bit by one of Costa Rica's many venomous snakes (a couple of which had been seen along the course already), break my ankle, or fall victim to any other race-ending situation, I would maintain my place in the cumulative race rankings. Thus, my plan was simply to run smart and run even keel.
At 7am when we started, it was wicked humid and already warm. We weren't far from the Pacific Ocean now, and we could feel its affect on the climate. Stage 5 began in the town square and we headed out of town on a flat dirt road. After about 1k, we enountered a road junction and CP1 was perched at this junction. Since it was way too early to reach a CP, we wise runners deduced that were were running a 10k or so loop that would bring us back by CP1.
This loop was the most pleasant portion of this stage. It was shady and rolling, past little farms, eventually out into the wilderness, and then back to CP1. In this area of Costa Rica, livestock roam free, but in proximity to their farms. I ran within a few feet of many cows, goats, and chickens today! I felt slow and stiff for the entire loop. I can honestly say it took me at least 10k to warm up. I ran most of this loop with the woman who was now in 4th place (the woman who finished 30 seconds before me yesterday) and parts of it with some men. It made the time pass quickly, and it made me forget about the stiffness.
At CP1, I was surprised to see that I had drunk much of my 2 liter Camelbak! I filled it with more fluid, grabbed 2 handfuls worth of watermelon, and headed on. The route wound its way back into the unpronouncable Cuajiniquil, past today's starting line, and out into the wilderness again along another rolling dirt road. The sun was already fierce; there was no wind; the air felt thick with humidity. I kept thinking I could hear the ocean, or that I would finally see it around the next corner. Apparently, not just yet.
Here is where I caught up to and began running with Oscar. We greeted each other like old friends, since we ran about 10k together yesterday. As we were climbing a hill, I asked him when we would see the ocean. A few seconds later and before he could answer, we crested the hill and were greeted with our first ocean view. And it was gorgeous! Several hundred feet below us, a white sand beach met a turquoise ocean in a brillant display. From our vantage point, we could see but not hear the surf breaking just off the beach. Mother Nature managed to induce adrenaline surges in both of us at the sight of the ocean, and we cruised the next few kilometers to CP2.
Again, my Camlebak bladder was nearly empty when I arrived at CP2. I was amazed by the amount of fluid I was drinking in such short periods of time. I refilled, drank a bunch of water, and doused myself with some as well. Between CP1 and CP2, I had been leapfrogging with the 4th place woman. When I left CP2, she was still there, and that was the last time I would see her during the stage.
Oscar and I left CP2 together, and the route headed away from the ocean and into the hills. We were quite disappointed that we were headed away from the ocean. The further we got into the hills, the hotter, drier, and dustier the conditions became. This was also the only portion of the race in which I struggled to stay on the route. We crossed dry stream beds repeatedly, and they looked very much like dirt roads, with vehicle tracks and all. These intersections were unmarked and quite confusing. It was very handy to be running with Oscar; at such umarked junctions, we worked together to find the correct route.
I don't recall the distance between CP2 and CP3, but I do recall it seemed to go on forever because the heat was downright opressive. Oscar and I worked well as a team in this section. He would pull me along the downhills and I would pull him on the uphills. We'd share brief words of encouragement here and there. Mostly, we just ran silently, side-by-side. I can recall distracting myself by trying to match the sounds of his and my footfalls. We both ran out of water well before the next checkpoint. To our happy surprise, the race officals had placed roving aid along this section, and soon a vehicle came by and gave each of us 12 ounce bottles of water. We both finished this water before reaching CP3 as well.
Oscar and I arrived at and left CP3 together, and set out on the last portion of the stage. I'll stop whining about the heat, but it really sucked. We wandered around a dirt road for another seemingly interminate amount of time until finally, finally, finally, the dirt road emptied us out onto the beach at the Pacific Ocean. From there, it was about 1k down the beach on firm sand to the finish line. Somewhere before we arrived at the beach, Oscar and I had swept another guy into our forward motion. The 3 of us ran down the beach together. They eventually took off in a mock sprint to the finish, one in which I didn't care to participate. (Want to see what I'm talking about? Click here, then click on the third update down from the top that's titled, "Costa Rican Juan Carlos Zuniga and American Beverly Anderson-Abbs Win the Coastal Challenge 2007." Oscar is on the right in the top photo, wearing a white shirt. Scroll down to see another photo of just him. Also, I'm the blurry figure in pink in the top photo.)
At the end of this stage, I had increased my lead over the 4th place woman by another 30 or 40 minutes. Barring the disasterous and horrible, I was very safely in 3rd place. I couldn't imagine a more beautiful place for a finish line! Imagine, immediately after finishing a race, eating fresh pineapple while gazing out into a blue Pacific abyss. That really happened!
This beach was also our campsite, which I immediately decided was about the most perfect place on earth to spend the night. All of the pain and discomfort of the previous 5 days melted away when I dropped my body into the ocean. The water was cool and calm, absolutely soothing to the body and the mind. In the evening, the sun set itself right over the water. Exactly as this was happening, dozens of fish were jumping out of the water along the shore. I envisioned the fish giving Mother Nature a jumping ovation for her fine sunset display.
The mood in camp was quite jovial this evening. Somehow, a quantity of beer was produced and light imbibing ensued. People were realizing that the end of the race was close enough to begin the celebrations. We didn't participate, though it looked like fun. My sweetie (My sweetie was having quite the race of his own. It's not really my place to tell his story here. However, Stage 6 was to be a pivotal stage for him.) had a big day coming up, so we rested in our tent.
This was probably our most comfortable campsite of the race. The sand underneath our tent felt downright soft in comparison to the other surfaces on which we had been sleeping. The ocean, about 100 feet away, made quiet lapping noises against the shore throughout the night. A light ocean breeze fluttered through our wide open tent, making it cool for sleeping. Under such perfection, my tired body was asleep almost instantly.
Posted by Meghan at 6:36 PM | Comments (6)
February 25, 2007
Intermission
Hee, hee! It's an intermission!
Of note:
1. It has been SO fun writing these entries, recalling (or trying to recall) the details of each stage. Funny, things are already starting to grow hazy. I find myself staring at the computer screen, trying to remember how things went out there. It was only a few weeks ago! Corrado, there are just 2 stages left! Thanks, everyone, for reading!
2. In other news, I'm sick as a dog, and it's miserable. It seems that my body just plain crashed as soon as I got back into the United States. I'm telling everyone, "My body is protesting my return to the real world and things like, gasp, my job." Could it be that, after a 6-day race and a 10-day vacation, my body is finally worn out? Probably the most likely explanation. I'm on Day 4 of The Cold From Hell. I suspect I've got to feel better soon. Reprieve, please?
3. There has not been much running going on in my life. I'll eventually post the weekly stats. Let's just say I didn't break 20 miles for this last week! However, I've had a lovely 2 weeks of recovery and I'm excited to train again. I was planning to ramp back up again this coming week, but I guess that will only happen if The Cold From Hell decides to finally leave me alone.
4. I'm too skinny. I lost a lot of weight during the race (5+ pounds, a lot for me). In the first place, I don't have a lot of fat to give away, so I'm pretty sure that my body ate up muscle tissue. Thus, the weight thing has been a conundrum in the last 2 weeks. I need to work out to regain the muscle mass, but recovery time is equally important. I don't want to over-eat and end up with fat mass, just to regain the correct number of pounds. I've been craving protein (another reason I suspect I've lost muscle mass), all kinds of it, so my diet has been high in protein. I'm hoping this has been slowly helping the issue. This is another reason I'm looking forward to training again, to rebuild my desperate-looking frame! If anyone has any tips to share in this arena, I'd love to hear them!
5. I'm readjusting the altitude of my home, 6300 feet. Being at lower elevations for the last 3 weeks is requiring my body to make some red blood cells again. I hope the readjustment is easy. I went for a snowshoe run today and nearly killed myself. It doesn't help that The Cold From Hell is doing a wonderful job of blocking most of my respiratory passages, but I know the elevation had an affect as well. Oh well, I'll take this repercussion of lying on a beach for 10 days in Costa Rica any day.
Alright, back to the show!
Posted by Meghan at 8:42 PM | Comments (6)
February 24, 2007
Stage 4: Seal The Deal, Yo.
Route: Rio Chiquito to Curubande
Estimated Distance: 50k
There is no other way to say it: Stage 4 rocked. Yes, there were moments that were intensely uncomfortable.Yes, there was a moment in which my good judgement lapsed. Yes, my feet were officially tore up afterwards. By the end of this day, none of this mattered. Not one bit. This was a very good day.
Rio Chiquito, the little town that served as Stage 3's finish line, last night's campsite, and Stage 4's starting line, sits perched on the lowest foothills of 2 big, extinct volcanoes (I think. It's not as if I ever saw a map of the area. They just looked like volcanoes.). We knew that we must be going over these big guys. Indeed, we did.
This was going to be a hot day. We had officially entered into the hottest, driest region of Costa Rica, the Guanacaste area in the northwest portion of the country. Because today's stage was long, we started early. The stage was scheduled to start at 5:30 am, but the officials delayed it until 5:45 am for more daylight. This morning's 4 am wake-up was painful; it just felt early.
I woke up feeling so much better than I had felt for over 24 hours. In particular, my quad muscles, though still a bit sore, had made a miraculous recovery. I was astounded. My body felt tired, but I think it was from the early hour, rather than genuine physical fatigue. We did all the necessary morning preparations that had, by now, become routine, and lined up for the 5:45 am start. Again, it was a boisterous start on a dirt road that headed steeply uphill towards the volcanoes. They said, "Go!", and the whole field started powerwalking. Everyone. It really was rather comical, but the terrain mandated it.
I don't know how much elevation we gained, but we climbed steeply uphill for about 45 minutes. I think I might have run a total of about 5 of those minutes. The climb seemed to top out at the pass between the 2 volcanoes. Then the dirt road fell off the other side of the mountains steeply, and a screaming descent ensued. Again, it was rather comical to watch runners with all kinds of ailments trying to get down the descent. There were the blistered people trying to land on their feet a delicately as possible. There were the trashed-quads people, trying to descend without bending their knees. There were the blackened-toenail people trying to descend by not pointing their toes downhill. My quads hurt on the downhill, but I was feeling so greatful for yesterday's work-up on them, because they were actually functioning.
During the climb and descent, I could feel the presence of the woman who had beat me (the current 5th place woman) yesterday. She was right there, close behind, the whole time. I knew she was pacing off me. Part of me was inclined to work harder, to try to drop her, but I just reminded myself to run my own race. CP1 was at the bottom of the descent and I stopped to refill my Camelbak there. After yesterday's disaster, I exercised a lot more caution today with reference to fluid and electrolyte intake. The 5th place woman didn't stop, passed me, and then picked up the pace.
The distance between CP1 and CP2 was about 10k, and I kept close tabs on her for most of that distance. I stayed within about 200 meters of her. This was were my judgement lapsed, as I began to run her race. It took me several kilometers to get my wits about me, and return to running my own race. It was intensely difficult to watch her brightly colored shirt get farther away.
This portion of the course was a rolling dirt road that passed through a few small villages. Lots of people were standing in their front yards, watching runners go by. I'm sure that if I lived in rural Costa Rica, I would be watching this strange scene as well. CP2 was located in a good-sized town (with paved roads and everything) called La Fortuna (not to be confused with the La Fortuna from Stage 1). For me, this town and CP were high points, as there was a lot of energy. Most of the race staff was milling about the town, running errands and such. They cheered me strongly as I went by. The town locals saw all the cheering, and they joined into the fun as well. I was feeling a little bit down about the woman disappearing in front of me, but I was rallied by all the energy in this town. At CP2, I refilled my Camelbak and grabbed an absolutely huge chunk of pineapple to eat along the way. Really now, in what other endurance event would an aid station provide locally-grown, fresh pineapple?
From CP2, the route turned onto a miraculously flat but very windy dirt road that made a beeline towards the next set of mountains. The wind lessened the intensity of the heat, but it was clearly getting warm. When the dirt road hit the mountains, it just went straight up, and I began powerwalking. Once I had climbed into the mountains, the road leveled off and began to roll along. I was discovering that, in this type of race, I prefered running on rolling terrain because it called upon constantly changing muscle groups. In rolling terrain, no one particular muscle set gets overworked, and the overall fatigue factor resultingly remains low.
Way up in these mountains, I came across CP3. Again, a fluid refill. There were peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at this CP, and, for some reason, they looked great. I grabbed a handful. I asked the CP workers how far ahead the next female was, and they said 5 minutes. I ran on, wasting not a moment of time. This is where the going got tough. It was hot and there was no wind. The dirt road surface was strangely white in color. It perfectly reflected the sun and I could feel the radiant heat of both the sun from above and the road from below. This is where the bonkfest began for many people, and I began to pass people here and there. I still felt fine, albeit hot. I had mowed face on at least 500 calories of peanut butter and jelly (This was an odd occurrence. It was the only time during the week in which I desired solid food while racing. Most of the time, I turned my nose up to the consumption of anything but gel, fruit, and fluids during the race.), and I felt like my engines were well-fueled. I just ran and ran. Admittedly, though I felt I was running well, it was painful. Things just plain hurt. Most notably, my feet began to hurt. Hot spots were developing into blisters and my left big toenail was becoming painful.
I encountered CP4 just minutes after I ran out of fluid. I had consumed 2 liters of fluid in about 14k. I drank a bunch of water, refilled my Camelbak, grabbed some fruit, and pressed on. This CP told me the next female was, at the most, 15 minutes ahead of me. It seemed that I was losing ground. I ran on, trying to minimize the amount of damage she was doing to my cumulative lead over her.
We had been advised by race officials before the start of the stage that the distance between CP4 and the finish would include some "interesting terrain." At CP4, the route diverged from the dirt road and headed onto a trail in the woods. After about 1k or so, I found myself following the route off-trail down a steep embankment to a river. From there, the route actually went up the river! This river section last for about 20-30 minutes. It involved rock-hopping along the river banks, full-on swimming through pools, and using ropes to scamper across some steep surfaces. It was technical, and I loved it! The more technical the terrain, the more I seem to excel. I guess this comes from years of playing in the backcountry. Plus, it was so nice to get wet during the heat of the day. I was laughing, smiling, moving quickly, passing several people, and just generally having a great time.
The enjoyment factor shot into the sky when I came around the corner and saw her ahead of me. Yes, her. The woman who had passed me at CP1 (the current 5th place woman), was right there. An adrenaline surge of epic proportion landed me right on her heels in about 7 seconds flat. She heard some splashing, turned to look, and triple-took my arrival behind her. I could see that she was as shocked as I was. I could also see that she was moving slowly and carefully through this technical stuff, so I cruised right on by. The river portion of the route ended at a beautiful waterfall that I wish I had time to stop and look at.
The route climbed on a trail out of the river canyon and back onto a dirt road. I knew we had at least 5k more to run, so I set out with a strong but sustainable pace. A few minutes later, she came flying by. I wondered what she was up to. Did she wish to gain a few minutes on me in this last 5k? Did she think the finish line was close? Was she just plain fired up? She barreled on down the road and I continued at my pace. It didn't matter to me if she finished a few minutes ahead of me, I would still have a good hour or so on her in the cumulative race standings. Eventually, I began to reel her back in, but only because she began to slow down. I never quite caught her, and she finished 30 seconds or so in front of me.
I was absolutely elated! I ran my own race and got the job done. It worked so perfectly that I couldn't have planned it any better. I cautiously and humbly began to feel that Stage 4 might have sealed the deal on 3rd place in the overall race. I knew there was a fair bit of racing left, but I also knew that I held 3rd place by a good chunk of time. Interestingly, the 4th place woman was nowhere to be seen today. We later learned that she had a bad stomach day and had to run slowly. Resultingly, the 4th place and 5th place women swapped positions in the overall race rankings.
It was hot and I was tired and I didn't feel much like eating, but, wow, did I eat. I just ate and drank my way through the rest of the day. I began to feel truly disgusted by the sight of food. Normally, eating is a pleasurable activity for me. At this point, it was a job, and I was doing too much of it. However, I just kept on eating because I had to.
I cannot do justice to the description of today's stage without describing a few details of the campsite. The toilet facilities were hilarious, if you didn't actually have to use them. For us users, they were just plain crazy. There were 4 real, white, porcelein toilets encased in rock walls on 3 sides. The 4th side, or door, was a translucent piece of burlap that blew and fluttered openly in the wind. There was no roof either. It was like going to the bathroom in the outdoors, except that you used an indoor bathroom fixture. Weird, just plain weird. Incidentally, the showers were also lined up in this same outdoor, rockwall, burlap formation. Also fun to use while in the presence of dozens and dozens of people. Yessiree. Chalk this one up to a fascinating life experience.
I went to sleep on this night a very happy girl.
Posted by Meghan at 2:36 PM | Comments (7)
February 23, 2007
Stage 3: Whatever You Do, Do Not Puke
Route: Tierras Morenas to Rio Chiquito (another village called Rio Chiquito, a different one from that which was passed through during Stage 2)
Estimated Distance: 18k
Let me just preface this entry by saying that this just wasn't my day. It wasn't good, at all. However, I now know exactly why it was a bad day, and I have learned from the experience. And, the day ended much, much better than it started.
I woke up on this morning feeling stiff and shaky. I knew I was stiff from all the running, but I didn't quite know why I was shaky. However, today was a short day, so I knew I would have the majority of the day to recover. I thought to myself, "I run 18k or more on many of my daily training runs at home, this will be easy." I ate the Costa Rica typical breakfast, packed up our camp, and got ready to race. I was excited to leave my Camelbak in my storage box. Today was short enough that I just carried 2 hand water bottles. What a lovely reprieve!
After milling around camp, I was still feeling stiff and my quads were pretty sore, so I decided to go for a warm-up run for about 10 minutes around the village. I still felt all shaky and just not right during this jog, but it really helped loosen my muscles. About 2 minutes before the stage start, in an effort to abate the shakes, I inhaled a Gu, which probably saved me from immanent despair on the course.
Because I didn't quite know what was happening with my body, and because I apparently wasn't thinking quite clearly, I decided I would run this 18k with a stronger effort. Looking back, I have absolutely no idea why I decided to do this. Stage 3 started at 7 am on that oh-so-windy ridgeline with as much gusto as the previous 2 stages. Runners are so happy in the crazy-early morning hours!
There was some gentle climbing from the get-go, and the majority of folks were jogging slowly, as if stiff and sore underfoot. I wonder why! For a few kilometers, I was only a few meters behind the second place woman. After the gentle climb, there were several kilometers of gentle descent. I continued to run hard on this descent, feeling better than I did at the start, and I remained within spitting distance of the second place woman.
Then, I crashed. Within just a few minutes, I went from being a moderately happy camper to a very sick one. Nausea hit me like a brick wall. It then, finally, occurred to me that my electrolytes were all off and they had been all morning. However, I was so nauseous that the last thing I wanted to do was to take in fluid. I slowed down and forced myself to sip fluid ever-so-carefully. It was all I could do to not throw up that liquid, as well as the lovely breakfast I'd eaten earlier. I would heave and feel stuff come up to my throat, and then swallow it back down. I needed those calories and fluids, and I didn't want to lose them! That's rather graphic and disgusting, but it's what happened out there.
I knew I needed to get my digestive system working, to absorb the food and fluid just sitting in my stomach, so I slowed to a walk to allow it to restart itself. After about 5 or 10 minutes of powerwalking, the nasty feelings began to recede. I also went through the stage's only CP during this walking bit, so I refilled my water bottles there. Slowly, slowly, I sipped fluid.
Right then and there, when I felt like I was at the bottom of my proverbial barrel, a woman (the current 5th place female) flew past me like I was standing still. Stupidly and before my stomach was working properly again, I took off after her like a bat out of hell. That didn't last for long (I may have even leapfrogged with her a time or two, but the details here are somewhat fuzzy.), and I slowed back down. However, I was able to at least keep running again. I continued to sip and run, sip and run. I never felt great, in fact I just plain felt lousy, but I was at least moving again.
By this time, the 5th place woman was about a half kilometer in front of me. I could clearly see her and it seemed like I wasn't losing ground on her anymore. My goal for the last several kilometers of the stage was just to keep running and not lose any more time on her. I was in pure, unadulterated survival mode.
Stage 3 finished in a little village called Rio Chiquito after one final, kilometer-long, tormenting climb where you could see the finish the whole way. I used whatever was left in me to push up that hill. I finished the 4th female for the day, about 4 minutes behind the woman who'd passed me, and about 4 minutes in front of the next woman (the current 4th place female). In the end, I still had about a 1 hour cumulative time cushion over both of these 2 women. Thank goodness I survived and didn't lose any cumulative footing in the race.
At this point, I had some serious work to do to recover. I sipped my Ensures, set up camp, and took a quick shower. It was only mid-morning at this point, and I spent the next 3 hours drinking and eating tiny bits at a time. My stomach was fighting this input the whole way. Finally, I gave up trying to eat and drink, and I just layed down in the tent and took a nap. After about an hour of immobility, I finally started to feel better. I returned to the food area, got some food and drink, and brought it back to the tent with me. As I layed there, I ate and drank slowly, and I began to feel like a new person.
In the afternoon, some people were going to take a short hike to a waterfall and swimming hole. I so wanted to go, but I knew I needed to continue the recovery process, so I stayed behind. Once I got control of my stomach/electrolyte/food intake issues, I began to eat and drink like a horse, and I continued to do so for the rest of the day. My body needed it badly!
Next on the recovery list was to work on my sore quads. They were usable, but the downhills were becoming very uncomfortable. There were massage therapists traveling with the race, so I got a massage. For $20, you get "worked on." I had never experienced the type of massage they do, and it was most painful. Basically, the therapist locates the sorest portions of your ailing muscles, and presses a finger or two sharply into those locations. It's intensely painful; lots of people, including me, were yelping and writhing in pain. Then, slowly the discomfort recedes, even though they are still presssing hard. Apparently, the technique is supposed to create endorphin flow through your body, which increases blood flow through and movement of toxins out of your muscles, which speeds muscle-healing time (In the middle of this massage, I couldn't fathom that this technique was actually going to help because it was so-damn painful. However, I'm now a believer because my quads felt like brand-new the next day!). The therapist worked on my quads for almost an hour. Afterwards, she attached electrodes to my quads and I spent 30 minutes having electricity shot through those muscles. Then, finally, I iced my quads for about 15 minutes.
At the end of the day, I was physically and mentally exhausted. Physically exhausted for all the reasons I've belabored in this entry. Mentally exhausted because I'd spent a lot of the day thinking about the race. I worried about the woman who had finished in front of me. I wondered about her race strategy. I pondered my own race strategy as well. As I assessed myself, I was confident that I had made real progression in my physical recovery, and that I'd be able to run strong tomorrow. I reminded myself over and over to run my own race, no matter what happens. I was learning that my strength was in maintaining the same pace, and even increasing my pace, as the race progressed. I needed to stick to this plan.
In the evening, during dinner, we received all of our "Shout Outs" from the last 3 days. I brought my 3-page printout of messages back to my tent and read them by headlamp just before I went to sleep. I had so many messages of support! As I layed there in my tent, I felt a renewed feeling of strength and confidence. I reassessed my race goal, and decided my new goal was to finish in the top 3 women. I went to sleep feeling good and ready to race Stage 4.
Posted by Meghan at 4:35 PM | Comments (4)
Stage 2: Water and Wind
Route: Rancho Margot to Tierras Morrenas
Estimated Distance: 65k
When I woke on on Monday (February 5th) for the second stage, I was stiff! My immediate thought was, "Uh oh!" However, after a few minutes of walking around, the stiffness receded and I realized it was camping stiffness (You know, the lying-immobile-on-the-ground-for-8-hours kind of stuff?) for rather than running stiffness.
I cannot recall what time we awoke for Stage 2, which was set to begin at 5:30 am. Immediately upon waking up, we went to the food tent for breakfast. Today's breakfast was just like all the others, what they call a Costa Rican tipical breakfast. Eggs, rice and black beans, fruit, coffee, and juice. Occasionally, a few other things like cereal and yogurt would show up as well. I ate heartily, wondering mostly how the beans were going to affect my digestive tract when we set out running (There were no negative affects.). Incidentally, the fruit was fast-becoming my favorite part of eating in Costa Rica. Pineapple, papaya, watermelon, and cantaloupe were the current in-season fruits, and they really are to-die-for. Oh yeah, also Costa Rican coffee is so very good. Smooth and thick, almost chocolately.
Alright, enough about the food. Before the beginning of the stage (and every morning), we had to disassemble our camp, make ourselves ready for racing, and jam all of our worldly possessions into our storage boxes. It was a lot of work for an ungodly hour of the morning, but we all quickly acclimated.
The stage start was delayed by 15 minutes because it was still nearly dark at 5:30 am. The stage began with gusto with lots of music and cheering, and we headed out a dirt road from Rancho Margot. I kid you not, less than 1k into the run, we forded a wide, lazily-moving river. The water came up to my waist! As the early kilometers ticked off, we all settled into a running groove along a flat-to-rolling dirt road which skirted the south side of beautiful Lake Arenal. We, like most days, were moving in a generally westward direction, towards the Pacific Ocean. Immediately, there were two women (Bev Anderson-Abbs and a Costa Rican woman named Ligia) in front of me, but no other women even near me. I ran in third place with men the entire day.
We had several other ankle-to-shin deep creek crossings throughout the morning as we ran along the edge of Lake Arenal. After something like 17k or so, I encountered CP1. It was situated at a dirt road junction, pointing us off the Lake Arenal road and onto another road. I refilled my Camelbak and added more Accelerade and Nuun, and I grabbed several pieces of fruit for the road. I was making it a habit to spend no more than 1:30-2:00 at each CP, just enough time to check in and refill.
For a few kilometers, we wandered gently along this new dirt road above a river and then through a tiny village called Rio Chiquitas. It was still very early, so people were just waking up in the village. They seemed pretty surprised to see a bunch of people running through their sleepy home. Immediately after Rio Chiquitas, the road shot into the sky for what turned out to be a several thousand foot climb. It was cloudy and cool, but still humid, nearly perfect Costa Rican running weather. I felt great, so I settled into a mixture of powerwalking and running, depending on the road's grade.
We were climbing through mostly grasslands, and the view was outstanding. I could see the course behind me very well, and I couldn't see any women close behind. I was somewhat surprised, but happy! It was impossible to know when the climb would end, as we eventually climbed into those same misty clouds from yesterday, and the route was obscurred. So I just kept moving along.
Somewhere out there, after some amount of time, in the middle of these misty clouds (Incidentally, the higher you climbed, the windier it got. It was really cool to see these clouds blowing past you at high rates of speed.), the route turned off onto a grass track. For kilometers and kilometers, I ran along this rolling livestock trail with shoulder-high green grass surrounding me. Sometimes, the grass was taller than me! This also marked the beginning of me passing people. From here on out today, I would slowly pick off people. I progressed steadily, while I believe that they dropped off their paces.
After a period of time, I topped out at a high point, CP2, at a series of radio towers. Again, I did the same Camelbak and fruit routine, and headed out. Through the misty, fast-moving clouds, I could see a big, big descent in front of me. It was a dirt road descent for all those thousands of feet I had climbed earlier in the stage. A few people who had seemingly blown their quads out on yesterday's stage were descending very slowly and cautiously. I kind of felt bad for passing them so strongly, but what can you do?
As I descended, the clouds and mist gave way to sun and heat. For the rest of the day, I ran under the hot Costa Rican sun. Eventually, the descent emptied into a town whose name escapes me now. It had a paved road, which made it a big town! We ran along the paved road for a couple of kilometers. I kept seeing signs that indicated a windmill farm ahead on the road. I couldn't see any windmills yet, but I wondered if that's where the route was headed. I didn't care for this pavement section at all. Crazy Costa Rican drivers passed by me at high speed way too close for my liking. The pavement section also featured a nasty, hot climb, which I powerwalked. I was feeling the heat, but less so than the person I passed along here.
Finally, the route, indeed, turned off the pavement and onto a dirt road in a windmill farm. I encountered CP3 here as well. CP3 was supposedly located at about 42k, or nearly a marathon into the day's stage. I recall arriving to CP3 at 6:10-ish into the race. The cutoff time was 7 hours for this CP. Those who didn't make it by that time were to be booted from the more difficult to the less difficult racing category. This was a stiff cutoff time! I was doing quite well, and I made it by only 50 minutes ahead of time (In the end, the race officials realized how stiff the cutoff was and relaxed it by 45 minutes or so. However, almost 20 people still missed this cutoff, even with its relaxation.) My Camelbak was nearly empty when I arrived, so I filled it and drank a bunch of extra water at the same time. It was hot! I took a few extra minutes at this CP to change my socks. By now, my shoes were finally drying and I thought dry socks might also help protect my feet. I think this was a wise use of 2 minutes or so.
The next 10 or 12k was a most bizzare, surreal experience. Part of it was the fact that I was finally feeling the effects of the heat and part of it was just very strange. During this time, the route ran along a ridgeline that held dozens and dozens of huge white windmills that were used to capture wind energy. It was so windy up there, the windmills were rotating at very high speeds. They were so loud! It was also so windy up there that I had a difficult time staying on the road. I was literally leaning hard into the steady wind, and barely able to stay on the road. I even developed a blister on 1 foot from altering my stride so much to lean into the wind. Also, it was very, very hot. I began to feel nauseous on the climbs, but better on the downhills and flats. I knew my electrolytes were off, so I just sipped ever-so-slowly from my Camelbak. I also knew it was only 10 or 12k to the next CP, and I was carrying 2 liters of fluid, so I could drink heartily. This sipping helped the cause a lot, and I even managed to pass 1 person and catch another before CP4.
Finally, the route descended off the windmill ridgeline, and I got some reprieve from the incessent wind. However, without the wind, it was immediately hotter. I was not surprised to see that my Camelbak was almost empty when I arrived to CP4. Even though there was only 10k or so to run at this point, I filled my Camelbak entirely and grabbed some fruit for the road.
Most of the runners would say that this last section of Stage 2 was brutal, cruel, and that they hated it. It was brutal and cruel, but I actually enjoyed it. It was 10k or so, all steeply uphill along a hot dirt road. Lots of bonking was occurring around me (Not me, happily! I had also abated the nausea as well.). At this point, I encountered a really good male runner who should have been with the male race leaders. He was experiencing a bonk of exponential proportion. He looked bad and I pitied him. When I approached him, he took off running like he was fine. Then he nearly fell over from the effort. He didn't want to be chicked by me. When I approached him again, I asked him if he wanted to run with me, so we did for several minutes. He couldn't keep up so I proceeded on. It was at this point that I realized I could gain some time on my competitors on this portion of the course, because I was feeling so good. I pushed on at a hard pace. Looking back, I question this final hard pace a little bit. Maybe I didn't need to run as hard as I did. However, in the moment, it was quite empowering.
Stage 2 finished in a little village called Tierras Morenas, which was situated on a very windy ridge. I finished as the 3rd place woman. By the end of this stage, I had accummulated an hour or so of time over my next 2 closest competitors. I was also over an hour behind the second place woman. I was very, very happy with this day.
I was starving by the the time that I finished, just absolutely ravenous. I walked right up to the food area and just started eating. When I got my wits about me, I drank my 2 Ensures, took a shower, and got settled into our camp. I didn't eat or drink anything for about 30 minutes while I was showering and setting up camp, and I seriously nearly passed out. So I ate and drank some more. It was really rather disgusting how much I was consuming. We were camping in this tiny little village, so we went to a little store and bought Coca Colas. They were warm but I didn't care, what a perfect treat.
I spent the rest of the afternoon doing all the same recovery stuff as the day prior, laying around, stretching, massaging, eating, and drinking. I took a short break from eating (perhaps 1 hour) before dinner. As I stood in the dinner line, I thought I was going to pass out again from hunger. So, I ate and ate and ate. Again, it was really rather disgusting. Not surprisingly, about an hour later as I was laying in the tent, my stomach was growling already. I simply couldn't eat enough today!
During this time, I was so focused on eating (Looking back, I think I still ended this day in caloric depletion, though.) that I think I neglected drink and electrolyte intake. I didn't realize it at the time, but it would come back to haunt me later. (Was that a suspense-loaded statement or what?)
At the end of this day, I was whole-body fatigued and my quads were offically the sorest part of my body. Aside from my perpetual hunger, I felt exactly as I thought I would after a 65k-ish stage. I crashed into unconsciousness like a little baby. It was very, very windy in our camp all night. Some people's tent poles buckled under the wind. Other people said they were unable to sleep because the wind was so noisy. Me, my tent held up fine and I slept happily unaware of the wind.
Posted by Meghan at 1:34 PM | Comments (3)
Stage 1: "Welcome To The Jungle"
Route: La Fortuna to Rancho Margot
Estimated Distance: 26k
The lyrics for this Guns N' Roses song would be quite appropriate for this day. About 5k into this race, we were introduced to the jungle in an awesome bring-you-to-your-knees kind of way.
But anyway, back to the beginning. The alarm went off at about 3:30 am for a 4:30 am departure from the race headquarters hotel in San Jose. The scene outside the hotel was a crazy one at this early hour, a mixture of dozens of race-ready runners wandering around nervously, enough gear to support a Costa Rican Army if they had one, and an abundant race staff bustling around doing what looked like very important things. The racers piled into a big bus, the gear into 2 huge trucks, and race staff into a slough of 4x4 vehicles for the drive north from San Jose to La Fortuna, where the race would start.
3 or 4 hours and a few cat naps later, we arrived in La Fortuna with ample time to before the 10 am race start. It was a beautiful little town perched at the base of 2 volcanoes, Volcan Arenal (still active) and Cerro Chato (now extinct). We couldn't see much of the mountains because they disappeared into misty clouds. We knew that we must be going up there, somewhere.
By 10 am, the town's central plaza had been transformed into a well-decorated, noisy, boisterous starting line. There, we were able to read our "Shout Outs" from the race website, so I received some great last-minute git-er-dun encouragement from people like you. The race started and we jogged slowly out of the plaza and down a few paved roads toward the cloud-shrouded mountains. For a few miles, even the leaders jogged at a very slow pace. It was as if no one wanted to make the first move and head out hard.
The eventual no-contest-hands-down female race winner, Beverly Anderson-Abbs, finally made the first move, passing all the dudes and setting the pace as the group headed gently uphill, now on a dirt road. It was entertaining to watch all the guys react and move along with her. No one much wanted to get chicked from the get-go.
I passed Checkpoint (CP) 1 at about 5k into the race without stopping, a nearly full Camelbak on my back. Almost immediately after the CP, the route turned into trail that climbed straight up Cerro Chato. Within minutes I was deep into the jungle, now surrounded by those same misty clouds I was looking up at a little while ago. It was cool but so very humid. The trail was muddy, steep, and technical, a total blast to climb.
When I hit the steeps, I settled into a steady uphill pace. There was no actual running on this section. It was more like climbing giant, vertical, muddy steps while grabbing trees and roots to help pull you up! I had no idea how far we were climbing, so I wanted to find a comfortable pace that I could sustain for a few thousand vertical feet if I needed to. In this uphill section, I was passed by a lot of people. I started to worry, a lot! Those way-out-of-my-league thoughts danced through my head, as did other thoughts of chasing the several women that had passed me on this uphill. However, I told myself to run my own race, and so I stuck to my plan even though I was getting schooled.
Once at the top of the climb, the route contoured along what seemed like a ridgeline. Who really knows, though, as we were surrounded in thick jungle and cloudy mist. The trail on top was also muddy and filled with roots. At times, I was ankle deep in mud. After a bit, the route fell off the mountain as steeply as it had originally climbed. It was equally muddy, root-filled, technical, and fun to play on. I easily descended this stuff, gaining ground on a lot of people who had passed me on the uphill, including 3 women. In the end, this was a traverse of the entire Cerro Chato.
After some undisclosed distance, the route emptied onto a dirt road which gradually rolled and descended towards Lake Arenal and into CP2. From CP2 (where I added water and a few Nuun tablets to my Camelbak and ate a few pieces of fruit), we continued to roll along and gently descend into a little village. All of this was runable with little effort. Down here, off the mountain and at lower elevation, it was less humid but much hotter. From this village near the edge of Lake Arenal, the route turned uphill steeply onto first a dirt road then a scarce horse/cattle track past said livestock. They were friendly and generally uninterested in our passing. This hill, too, was crazy steep and everyone was doing the ultra-powerwalk. I'm known for running a lot of stuff that most people walk, but I indulged in the easier powerwalk also.
Eventually, I topped out on the climb and ended the day by running down an equally steep livestock track into the day's finish line at a place called Rancho Margot. The route was so steep that you could look almost straight down on the finish line. I was elated to finish Stage 1 as the 3rd female.
About 50 meters from the finish line, there was a natural pool filled with cool water. I just jumped into it, my entire muddy, sweaty, dirty self. What a treat after 2 good climbs and descents! After that, I took a shower and, quite literally, spent the rest of the day resting, stretching, massaging, eating, and drinking. What a rough life!
In terms of nutrition, I had brought a stash of Ensure drinks for immediately after each stage (2 per day). After that, I relied on the food and drink provided by the race to reenergize and rehydrate. There was always ample food for snacking around whenever you wanted it! Additionally, the race staff cooked a gargantuan, buffet-style dinner each night where you could eat as much as you wanted.
I should also add that I relied on gels and a liquid mix of Accelerade and Nuun for calories and electrolytes on this day. I sampled a few bites of fruit from CP2 as well. I would quickly learn during this race that my body rejects solid food when running in warm temperatures. As the week progressed, this stuff would become my staples during each stage.
The finish line was our camping spot, and it was also the Stage 2 starting line. It, like every day, was a regular tent city, filled with tents and the bustle of runners doing their business. Though we camped in a most beautiful setting, the camp was anything but quiet and peaceful. I will say that it was fun, though, because it was filled with crazy runners hailing from all over the world.
At the end of the day, at the late hour of about 8 pm, we were stuffed into our little tent for a night of already well-deserved rest. I felt a bit of general physical fatigue as well as a little quad soreness from the 2 descents. I was mentally in a very good place. I was several minutes ahead of both the 4th and 5th place women, and very happy with my performance for the day. I fell asleep a happy girl.
Posted by Meghan at 1:34 AM | Comments (3)
February 22, 2007
Pre-Race
I had no earthly idea of what to expect in this race. I fully believed that there was a good chance I had gotten in way over my head. Despite these impending doom-like feelings, I prepared as well as I could for the race.
My race goal was simple (even though I had no idea if it was remotely possible): I wished to finish in the top 5 women. My race strategy was equally basic (but two-fold): 1) I wanted to run each day, from Day 1 to Day 6, steadily and evenly (I didn't want to peter out into exhaustion as the week progressed.); and 2) I also wanted to run my own race the whole way.
We left frigid Wyoming on early Friday morning (February 2nd) and we couldn't have been happier to take off. It was a ridiculous -12 degrees Fahrenheit on the car thermometer on the way to the airport that morning! After a long travel day, we arrived into San Jose, Costa Rica late on Friday night and crashed into the race headquarters hotel.
On Saturday (February 3rd) morning, one day before the race, we began the day with a short 30 minute acclimation run through the neighborhoods surrounding the hotel. It was only mid-morning, but we could already feel the heat and humidity of Costa Rica! What a difference from our winterized training grounds! However, we were so happy for the sun and warmth that we didn't much care about how much we were sweating.
We spent much of Saturday pretending to be in chill mode. However, it was most difficult to stay calm. Our hotel room's balcony opened into the hotel's courtyard, which served as race central. At any given moment, one could look out into the courtyard and see a slough of chiseled, muscly runner bodies that did nothing but send jolts of adrenaline through my body. And, anytime I left the hotel room, I would undoubtedly engage in conversation with another racer that would induce a similar adrenaline-surging effect.
Racer check-in was an obstacle course of signing one's life away on roughly 12 legal forms, talking briefly with the medical crew, taking photographs, and receiving the route guide for the race.
Immediately after check-in, we scampered to a little restaurant down the street from the hotel to eat and dive into the route guide. Prior to this moment, we had received little to no information regarding the race route, and we were excited to finally study our path for the next 6 days. When we opened the route guide, we found virtually nothing! Apparently, this was part of the fun of this particular race, not knowing much about what we would encounter each day! Alright then, bring it on!
On Saturday evening, there was an opening ceremony of sorts in the hotel. In all honesty, I don't think I paid much attention to the actual meeting. More like, I was scanning the crowd for women who I thought would become my competition out on course!
After the opening meeting, we had pizza for dinner (Pizza has become our pre-ultra dinner of choice for some silly reason.), put the finishing touches on our packing (Packing for the race turned out to be an art form of sorts. Each competitor was allotted only 24 gallons of storage space for all the supplies one would need for 6 days of racing and camping. Getting everything to fit in a 24 gallon box required ingenuity and patience.), and tried to tuck ourselves in early for the very-early race morning wake-up call. Believe it or not, I slept very well the night before the race.
Posted by Meghan at 4:53 PM | Comments (2)
Hello? Anyone Still Out There?
It's been a while, hasn't it?
First and foremost, THANK YOU ALL for the most amazing outpouring of support for me before, during, and after the race. I'm overwhelmed by the number of blog comments, emails, and race webpage "Shout Outs" that I received from all of you. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!
Secondly, I'm home! I had a most amazing time in Costa Rica, both racing and having a real vacation. I guess all good things must come to an end.
Over the next several days, I'll be posting write-ups for the race and also my vacation. There is so much to write about that it's going to take a good while. Despite this, I'm going to put most of what I remember into this blog. I may indeed bore my readers to death, but I wish to write down all the details so that when they become fuzzy in my own mind, I can recall them here on my blog. Stay tuned!
Posted by Meghan at 4:10 PM | Comments (4)