XTerra Trail Run: San Tan Half-Marathon

/ Ashley Wingert / 4 Comments

Almost five years ago, I tried my first half marathon, the PF Chang’s Rock-N-Roll. I finished, but it wasn’t pretty — but what should I have expected from minimal training, and a fitness level more suited to saddle time than foot time? I also — not surprisingly — managed to break myself along the way, finishing with a foot that was either very heavily bruised or stress fractured (no, I never went to a doctor to confirm either way…it has to involve arterial spray or dangling limbs for me to go to a doctor). So I finished, but I didn’t feel like I had finished well…there was the satisfaction of having done so, but it sure hadn’t been a whole lot of fun.

Fast forward to this season of trail running. My goal has always been to keep increasing the miles. I finally, finally managed to do this running thing right in gradually building up and not letting my enthusiasm get the better of me, and I’ve felt amazingly good with how I’m doing.

I’d signed up for the XTerra San Tan way back in the summer as a way to have a goal on the calendar to train for. Doing the back-to-back races last month in Cave Creek was a good physical and mental boost — the two combined would add up to the same mileage as the half marathon — the difference would be smashing them together without a multi-hour break in between.

Part of why I was excited about a race at San Tan was these are my trails. After riding down there for so many years, I know pretty much every dip, turn, and rock in the area. I know there is an end to the awful sand washes, I know where I can speed up and where to conserve for what’s still to come, and the chances of getting lost were essentially impossible.

sunrise on my familiar mountains

This race was being put on by XTerra, another trail running organization that puts on multiple races a year. I did my packet pick-up ahead of time — Sole Sports is close enough to justify me driving to it, plus I needed a restock on some supplies. Got my number and shirt, and they had a “create your own goodie bag” set up where you could grab PowerBar gels and bars.

Saturday morning, I was up even before the alarm went off — I guess that’s what happens when I go to bed early. I left myself lots of time to get ready, which was good when my tumbleweed cloud of hair would not cooperate into anything other than my standard pigtail braids. I also had time to stop in at the McDonald’s drive-thru on the way down to the San Tans and grab a sausage biscuit — the lack of egg means it’s something I can actually stomach that early in the morning.

all taped up and ready to go…using kinesiology tape for extra
support in areas I know could be potential weak spots
Yes, those are nuclear warning symbols…
yes, I have a sick sense of humor

Phoenix weather has now gotten to the point where it’s kind of chilly in the mornings, so I had worn sweatpants and a hoodie for the drive down, and changed into my race gear once I got to the park. This time around, I used:

geared up, complete with “what was I thinking?” look

Race start was at 7:30, and people started shuffling over to the starting line a few minutes ahead for the pre-race briefing. Course markings were red arrows on laminated signs attached to either small wooden stakes in the ground or existing trail markers. The race director warned that this was a tough course.

start line madness

There was a good-sized entry field — 112 in the half marathon. I had one fairly large concern about this particular race, and that was the time cut-off. Course closed at 11:00AM, which meant a 3-1/2 hour time cut-off for finishing. I’m not a fast runner. In my sign-up sheet, I gave a predicted 3 hour and 15 minute finish time, with my “if it all goes really well” goal in my head of finishing in 3 hours.

Just based on the cut-off time and large entry field, I sort of predicted this would be a fairly competitive race, so I hung way to the back at the start. 7:30 on the nose, they released the pack, and I shuffled out at the back at my typical slow start pace.
It usually takes me about a mile to warm up, get control of my breathing, and settle into a comfortable pace, so I sort of like courses that are slow and technical at the start. Unfortunately, this wasn’t one of them. The first several miles are extremely runnable — a gradual, smooth uphill on mostly-doubletrack trail — and this is the kind of course that, if it’s runnable, you need to be running, because there are plenty of other parts where you will not be running (at least if you’re me).
Examining my split times, turns out that first mile was actually my fastest pace, but it felt really good. A very pleasant surprise awaited me on this section of the trail — since the last time I had been to the San Tans, they had installed a new single-track section on the hillside above what had previous been a wash trail. This was exceptionally nice, and the trail itself was this very gradual uphill with some little dips and twists that made it very fun. With that much nice trail at my disposal, I ran the first several miles non-stop.
views forever
this is a short climb up before the trail descends towards the flat,
and has traditionally been a “pause for a breather and photo” stop
with the horses…had to keep with tradition, of course

There was another short section of re-routed trail — another wash avoided! — and then there was an aid station at three miles. I grabbed a cup of water and cup of gatorade, chugged both, then began the dreaded Malpais section, which is several miles of sand wash, broken up partway through by a climb up to solid service road, more climbing on rocky service road, and then a descent back into the wash.

ugh, this wash
not a fan on horseback, not a fan on foot

And most of the wash is the deep stuff that you slog through. Ironically enough, I discovered that it was actually easier to jog it — sort of a snowshoe effect — versus walk it, where you sank deeper into the sand and went even slower.

(Endurance riding note here: I have a new appreciation for the difficulty level of sand, and a new respect for the proper conditioning a sand-based ride takes. That said, I’m glad to live in the desert and have the sand to train in, because I would rather train in it than try to take a non-sand-conditioned horse to a desert ride.)
This was one of those sports where knowing the trail come in handy — I knew that the wash actually did have an end. Mileage-wise, I was feeling a little discouraged, because they had signs posted at every mile, and I hadn’t seen mile 4 yet. So imagine my surprise, when right at the end of the wash, was a “mile 5” signed posted! Talk about a boost! Apparently I hadn’t been paying attention right around mile 4 or something.
Immediately out of the wash is a climb — about 150′ elevation gain in half a mile — but you’re so glad to be out of the wash and on solid ground, you don’t even care that you’re climbing. Unfortunately, once you’re on the other side of a nice downhill, it turns into more sand for another mile or so, but once you’re out of that, you’re done with sand for the rest of the course.
Another aid station at 7 miles — more water and gatorade, although my system started giving me some warning that it was not all that appreciative of the gatorade. 7 miles — over half way, and in 1:26!! 
This section of trail is one of my favorites — lots of up and down single track, and extremely runnable. Somewhere around mile 8.5-ish, I started paying the price for fun in that I had forgotten to bodyglide up thigh area when changing from sweatpants to shorts, and now was getting some chafing as a result of sweat + running motion. I tried sticking a piece of moleskin to my leg, but the running motion just peeled it up, so off it went and I ignored it. If that was the worst discomfort I was in, I could tough out a little bit of chafing. 
Another aid station at just about 9 miles — I grabbed just water that time. Supposedly, at least according to the website information, it was advertised that the aid stations would have water, gatorade, power bars, and gels. Unfortunately, that wasn’t actually the case, as the only thing I ever saw was water and gatorade. Disappointing, as I could have used some stuff to munch on. Fortunately, I was carrying gels and chews with me, and I went through two gels and a pack of chews, but I like my “real” food — even a power bar would have been good, but I didn’t bring any of those because I thought they would have them out at the aid stations.
The next section was one that was newer to me — a recent trail addition to the park that I had only ridden a couple of times. There was one uphill section that was exposed, in full sun, and a bit of a slog, especially since the trail was full of people out for a casual hike that I had to keep dodging as they would stop for their scenic photos.
The reward for the uphill was an awesome section of mostly-shady downhill for about a mile and half — all runnable — and into the aid station at 11.5 miles. More water, and then the part I was dreading…the climb up Goldmine Mountain.
elevation profile from my race

See the elevation profile above? See that part where the grey elevation thing goes way high in a very short amount of miles? Yeah…that would be the climb up Goldmine. Not only is it insanely steep, it is very, very rocky. The park actually has a “Warning: Hazardous Trail” sign posted.

I’m not going to lie: This part sucked. Halfway up, I started pausing every 30 seconds or so for a rest, because my quads were threatening a complete mutiny. I all but crawled up the last part, and was so happy to finally reach the top. Funny thing, running felt great at the top — actually stretched out the protesting quads and hamstrings.
I also had an epic near-wipe-out at the top when my tired feet didn’t lift high enough to clear a rock. I felt myself go airborne, and was prepared to totally eat dirt for the first time — something I’m dreading — but miraculously, I landed on my feet and kept going. That actually gave me quite the adrenaline boost, and I motored down as best as I could. The down was fairly technical as well, although it was mostly made up of large chunks of solid granite — my shoes clung to that granite face most excellently — but it still wasn’t a great place to make up time until it leveled out some.
It’s all downhill to the finish, and you can see it from a ways out, being up on the foothills of the mountain. When I hit the 13-mile sign, the finish was still a ways away. And while I may not be the greatest ever at judging distance, even I could tell that was more than 1/10 of a mile away. Hmmm. Well, the fine print had said distances may not be exact…
And then I hit the 13.1-mile sign. Well, there’s the official half-marathon distance! And I reached that point in 2:51, so I actually did hit my time goal that had been based on 13.1 miles!
And I still hadn’t reached the finish. I really hit a mental wall at that point — finish was visible, but I still had a comfortable time buffer, my legs were tired, and quite frankly, I didn’t want to break myself for finishing a couple of minutes faster or not. So I did a combo of walking and running the last 0.9 miles and crossed the line with a time of 3:06 for 14 miles!!!
I came in 105th out of 112, and 37th out of 41 for women.
They handed out medals to finishers, so that’s kind of fun, having an official race medal.
They had a small food spread, so I grabbed some orange slices, a piece of muffin, and half a banana and nibbled on that as I headed back to the suburban. I ditched my race gear, pulled on compression calf sleeves and flip-flops, then headed home where a shower awaited.
Afterthoughts
Two days later, I’m feeling really good. Both Monday and today, I took Artemis out for a walk, a couple miles each time. Low impact, but the stretch felt really good. My overriding goal, aside from just finishing, was to not get hurt. Historically, I haven’t had a great track record of this, which doesn’t inspire a ton of confidence in my future race goals (just keep moving up the distances).
This time, the only lingering soreness is some tight spots on my left quad and hamstring, which I can feel pulling on my knee a little bit, but I keep stretching and using the foam roller, plus I’ve been wearing compression tights during the day since Sunday, and sleeping in compression socks at night. Muscle soreness I can definitely handle, since everything else feels great. I don’t even have any blisters, and the chafed area was minimal and healed overnight after an application of aloe lotion.
I’m taking it easy this week — trying not to be the Queen of Overdoing It for once — so no Wednesday night group run, and will continue the morning walking through the week. I’m signed up for the Pass Mountain 10k on Saturday put on by my beloved Aravaipa Running group, and I think that will actually be a great leg stretcher since it’s a comfortable, easy course.

At the time I signed up for this race, I didn’t know who the different companies were that put on these races. Aravaipa put on the first three races I’ve done, and I have to say, I really like their style. XTerra put on a good race in that it was a well-marked course, and they seem competent and professional, but their emphasis is obviously on faster racing. I was disappointed by the lack of well-appointed aid stations, and honestly, it just didn’t have quite the family-like, welcoming atmosphere that I feel at the Aravaipa races.
I also saw an extreme disregard for trail care and littering — there was a constant trail of dropped gel packets along the trail, so much that I wouldn’t have even needed course markers to follow. :(
The whole thing reminded me a lot more of road race mentality than ultrarunning mentality, and ultrarunning is what I gravitate to — it’s not just about the race, but about enjoyment of the trail and the experience.
Aravaipa is putting on their own San Tan race in January — I’m going to sign up for the 26k, which is only 3k longer than what this one ended up being. And while the Aravaipa course goes up over Goldmine, they don’t use the Malpais section, which means my quads won’t be already trashed from the sand before having to do that climb. Plus, it’s a multi-loop course, so the Goldmine climb happens earlier in the race as part of the first loop.
With the total mileage being 14 miles, that’s officially the longest I have ever run. And I ran a lot of it. I’ve finally gotten to the point that I’m not even really thinking about it…I just run. Back in the spring, I could barely run 1/4-mile non-stop on flat ground. And now? Now I’m finally finding my stride.
(Yes, I’m aware my horse blog is turning into a running blog…but the horse life is being uncooperative at the moment, so this is very much a real-time reflection of how to cope with “not everything goes according to plan.”)

reality check

/ Ashley Wingert / 4 Comments

Lest I get too full of myself post race success…there’s always a reality check gremlin lurking just around the corner, ready to make my acquaintance.

In this particular case, it was Wednesday’s group run, which was another vertical rock climb that was more hike than run…and completely demoralizing. There was a part of my brain that argued that I maybe I should have stayed home and given my body that had just done 21k over the weekend and a still-sore foot a break…but the part of my brain that jumps into the deep end with anything new wanted to prove how serious I am about being a part of the group and this running thing didn’t want to miss a week. And I had a new pair of more-cushioned shoes to test out — nothing like a good run as an acid test, right?

(Hey, I never said I made smart decisions.)

Bottom line? As good as I felt after Saturday, I was equally humbled after Wednesday. Not only was there a ton of climbing, but the trail was incredibly technical and very rocky. My new shoes have quite a bit of cushion on them, which I suspect I need for the support…but the trade-off is lack of ground feel, and I felt like I was wobbling all over the place as I’d hit rocks and random uneven surfaces.

Not my finest moment…and in retrospect, I didn’t exactly set myself up for success. Let’s see: a still-sore foot that I was altering my running gait in an attempt to protect, new shoes that I’d never tried on trail, in the dark, still-recovering body from race weekend. How was this supposed to end well???

Needless to say, runs like that do nothing for my self-confidence levels, especially when I start thinking ahead on the topic of moving up in distances. Over the weekend, I was all cheerful and gung-ho about my future race plans, full of confidence, bombing down the trails without a second thought or care. Last night, the gremlins were all pointing and laughing at me, my confidence shattered, straggling along at the back of the pack, and the only thought in my mind being “I don’t wanna get hurt.”

Maybe this is all part of the process? Some sort of a self-governor that keeps the ambitions to a sensible dull roar? It’s certainly not exclusive to running, I know that much…I can’t begin to count how much roller-coaster ups and downs I’ve experienced in horses themselves, not to mention distance riding specifically, and the personal, non-horse-and-running life is certainly not excluded by any means.

I’m not expecting cloud nine all the time…I’m not that unrealistic…but it would be nice if the roller coasters would coordinate among themselves sometime…I gotta have something to fall back on to maintain my functional levels of sanity at most points in time.

I have to remind myself of this…everything has ups and downs,
good times and bad…but if it means something, it’s worth it.
So much of what I do and who I am involves serious head games
and a certain level of mental toughness.

On the bright side? Even on my worst day, I’m still faster than a zombie, so have a decent chance of surviving the inevitable zombie apocalypse. 

Cave Creek Thriller 11k/Thrasher Night Run 10k

/ Ashley Wingert / 2 Comments

I totally know how to Do Everything Right before a run, including: a very technical, brutal hike/”run” three days ahead with lots of tricky footwork, babying along an already-sore foot/ankle caused by who-knows-what, and a Friday evening emotional meltdown followed by a round of whiskey and ice cream. Yep, sounds like a great taper routine.

the rock pile, otherwise known as the Holbert Trail at South
Mountain — the trail is visible in the lower left-hand corner of
the photo, and goes up from there…

runner fuel???

Questionable decisions about what constitutes an ideal taper aside, I had an awesome run weekend as I attempted my first double header races: the Cave Creek Thriller 11k in the morning, followed by the Thrasher Night Run 10k less than 12 hours later, both held at the Cave Creek Regional Park over virtually the same course, both put on by Aravaipa Running.

(I have to take a moment here and proclaim the awesomeness of Aravaipa. I am completely spoiled by the three races I’ve been to that have been put on by them, in addition to also participating in their weekly group training runs. The events are top-notch, well-organized, have amazing run swag, and attract a fun bunch of people, and I’m really enjoying the social aspect of the weekly group runs.)

I had every intention of doing a reconnaissance run at Cave Creek ahead of time…but time got away from me, and my knowledge of the course ended up being maybe half of it that I had hiked a couple of years ago. Better than nothing, at least.

Cave Creek Thriller 11k

True to my overly-prepared form, I had everything packed and ready Friday evening: clothes laid out, extra clothes packed, hydration pack filled, water bottles filled, snacks sorted and packed. Good thing, too, since I accidentally set my alarm to go off on weekdays versus the weekend. Oops. Fortunately my reliable, four-legged alarm clock squeaked at me and I only slept in about 15 minutes past when I was supposed to be up.

There’s also virtually no traffic at 6:00 on a Saturday morning, so the hour-long drive up to Cave Creek was smooth sailing. I was still up there later than I wanted to be in that I had to park a little ways from the start/finish area…but it at least made for a nice walking warm-up. I checked in, got my number bib and awesome race t-shirt, then headed back to the truck to finish getting ready.

Gear Used: (morning edition, top to bottom)
Funky Cowgirl Bands Sugar Skull headband
Oakley Minute 2.0 sunglasses
Columbia Total Zero Tank Top
Victoria’s Secret Standout sports bra
Kerrits IceFil sleeves
New Balance running shorts
Smartwool anklet socks
Newton BocoAT trail runners
Dirty Girl Gaiters in “Day of the Dirt” (matches the headband!)
Ultimate Direction Ultra Vesta hydration pack

I somehow manage to turn this into just as much of a stuff used ordeal as riding. :)

Once I was all ready, I had about 15 minutes before the start of the 11k, so I took advantage of the permanent restroom facilities, then made my way over to the start line. There was a quick “follow these ribbons and these signs on these trails” briefing, then the countdown was on, and we were off!

There were 81 people in the 11k, so it was a slow-moving cluster at the start. I headed out in approximately the last third of the pack as basically stayed there. Going out too fast is something I am very cognizant about and deliberately make myself hold back and start slow.

let’s do this thing!

a lot of the trail was quite runnable…some
uphills that were best walked, usually followed
by downhills that more than made up for it

The course also had an aid station at just over the halfway mark — my first real trail running aid station! I ran in, drank a cup of water and cup of gatorade, ate a couple of boiled potatoes dipped in salt, and grabbed a couple of ginger cookies to nibble on my way out.

Immediately after the aid station was the Worst Climb Ever to the top of the saddle on the Go John Trail. Aside from a couple of short flat sections, it was a climb best hiked.
we’re supposed to end up in that saddle on the left side of the
photo, after climbing and switchback basically across the span
of the pic

immediately out of the aid station

 Fortunately, I’m a good hiker. I’m actually a stronger hiker than I am runner, so I just set to hiking/slogging/grumbling my way up that climb.

just the beginning of the climb

oh-so-attractive middle-of-the-climb faces
a patented Ash “what was I thinking???” moment

It was so worth taking my time in the beginning, though, because I ended up passing people on the climb up. And at the top, the climb was rewarded by a fabulous stretch of smooth downhill that you could fly.

all downhill (mostly) from here…

I’m usually not a super brave downhill runner — if I’m gonna wipe out, it’s most likely going to be on a downhill — but apparently I have a somewhat reckless side that came out to play over the weekend, and it showed up in the form of going tearing down anything that was even vaguely runnable, and hurtled the rough stuff that wasn’t.

This part was the most fun ever, and the fact it was all exposed with no shade just provided good inspiration for keeping my feet moving and getting back to the finish (and shade) that much faster.

on the home stretch, less than a mile to go
photo courtesy of Aravaipa Running

I finished with a time of 1:27:53, 54th overall out of 81, 20th place female.

finish swag! beverage jar w the race logo
roadkill runners r us

Thanks to the weekly group runs I’ve been doing, I actually know people now, so I had friends to hang out with afterwards, and cheer on people coming in on the 24k and 50k. Since Cave Creek is an hour away, I planned to just stay up there all day versus drive home and drive back again.
My post-run reward to myself was a pizza lunch from Freak Brothers Pizza (also run by the Coury brothers that are behind Aravaipa Running):
fresh, homemade, wood-fired pizza!

Once traffic from the morning races cleared off, I was able to move to a closer parking spot as well, and I took the opportunity to lay down and rest. (Yay for SUVs with lots of space and fold-down seats…love my suburban.) An actual nap didn’t happen…a bit too warm, even with windows open for cross-vent and breezes…but I was at least able to lay down, get off my feet for a while, and read a book before the evening fun began…

Thrasher Night Run 10k
The only spot of concern was my still-sore foot and ankle. I still don’t know what I did to make it sore (wondering if I stepped wrong/hit a rock at the Dreamy Draw group run a week and half prior…it had some rocky/technical parts, and then the South Mountain rock scramble certainly didn’t help), but there were some rocky parts of the trails that were giving me some “ouch” feedback if I stepped on a rock too hard.
I did some preventative “taping for sore spots” with KT tape and hoped for the best on the evening race…
Remember the change of clothes I mentioned packing? I didn’t actually bother to change. I was kind of sweaty and dirty from the morning run, but nothing was rubbing, everything was comfortable, and I just didn’t think it would be worth it. I did change my socks, as clean socks make everything better, and I had been feeling like my toes were bumping the seam of the sock against the front of the shoe, and I re-braided my (messy) hair and changed headbands.
Gear Used: (evening edition, top to bottom)
UV Half Buff (less bulk than the original Buff, because I only use it as a headband)
same tank/bra/shorts
Wrightsock anklet socks
same shoes/gaiters
same hydration pack
earlier races getting ready

another desert sunset

The best part about the night run was that one of my endurance buddies was also going to be there! I ended up running into K in the parking lot about 20 minutes before the race started, so we had a chance to chat. We met up a couple times out on the course, but for me at least, running is a deliberately solo activity for the most part (with the exception of my Wednesday group runs, and even those, I run by myself within the group), so I may chat with someone for a couple minutes, then drift off on my own again. But it’s awesome to have someone to hang around with before and after the race!

K & A — endurance and running buddies!
bummer that we live on opposite ends of the Valley
The night group was smaller — 56 in the 10k — but for whatever reason, it ended up being more tightly clustered for a longer period, and it took me until three-quarters of the way through the race to get a space bubble where I wasn’t actively chasing someone or being chased down. That meant the pace felt faster — but that could also be because I already had done 11k earlier and was more tired. (Ya think???)
I have to say, I love running in the desert at night. There’s a unique feel that doesn’t necessarily translate to the daytime, and is difficult to put into words. Maybe it’s because my first trail run was at night, and I’ve been doing the group runs at night, but I don’t find it scary (especially with a good light). My favorite part was the last quarter of the race, where I was all alone in a perfect space bubble, and it was so quiet, like I was the only one out there. For someone who runs to sort out her head space and for “me time,” that’s about as perfect as it gets.
The course for the 10k was similar to the 11k, but the first part was reversed, with a small section cut out. I think it was actually easier this way — the uphill was longer, up shallow and off-and-on runnable, and the downhill was fast. Like, I look back on it now and wonder, “Did I really go flying down that section as recklessly as I did?” (Yeah, I did. Like I said, apparently my reckless side came out to play over the weekend. Maybe not a great thing for my physical health [if I wipe out], but for someone who has always approached physical activities with a neurotic level of caution and fear, this is a huge thing.)
The aid station was in the same location, and this time, I drank some gatorade, swiped a couple of potatoes in salt on the go, and started hoofing it up the Go John climb again, nibbling on potato chunks as I went. I used the same strategy as before — just keep hiking — and I ended up passing half a dozen people by the time I hit the top. From the aid station onward, the trail was the same as the morning, and I used it to my advantage. I hit that downhill and went absolutely flying down — not wanting to get caught by the people I just passed was a strong motivator.
And it worked. From the top of the climb all the way back down to the finish, I didn’t get passed by anyone. I also discovered that I’ve gotten to the point where, unless it’s an uphill, it’s just as easy to keep running the flats or downhills when I’m tired as it is to walk them, and I cover more ground. I never thought I would use the words “run” and “easy” together in the same sentence, but I’ve gotten to the point that running has definitely become easier. I’ve learned to find my rhythm, get past the initial discomfort, and settle into it. And after years of believing I would never be a runner, that feels really good.
you can never have too many finisher glasses —
my eventual house guests will someday all be
drinking out of run glasses

a little worse for the wear after a collective
21k…but all the better for it
Out of 56 in the 10k, I came in 27th overall, 13th female, with a time of 1:25:48. My pace was slower for the 10k, which was expected — night pace is usually a bit slower (owing to the lack of being able to see anything), on top of already having run. But overall, I did so much better than I had hoped!
K and I both finished — she was just a couple
minutes behind me

The finishing aid station buffet was wonderful as always — I chowed down on gummy worms (they’re a weakness), bean burrito wraps, cheese quesadillas, watermelon, and pumpkin pie — then wrapped things up with people I knew and headed home. The runner’s high kept me going on the hour drive home and long enough to shower before I crashed into bed.
run swag: water bottle and fold-on-itself backpack are the
sign-up goodies from the Thrasher 10k, with the mason jar
finisher’s glass, and the Most Awesome Logo Ever t-shirt was
from the Thriller 11k, with a finisher’s drinking glass
I could definitely feel the collective 21k by the end — my left foot was pretty sore on the outside top part, and a bit on the ankle, and my right leg especially was brewing up some pesky shin splints again, probably due to over-compensation for the left foot. My whole body was a bit muscle-sore a day or two later — sore upper arms from the fact I use my arms to propel me forward when hiking, sore abs/core form actually using my core, and of course, sore feet. The leg muscles themselves weren’t too bad, it was more shins and feet.
A couple of days later, as I write this, I’m pretty sure the foot is bruised — there’s just a small localized area of discomfort that I can usually walk out of, and feels better with support. I’ve been wearing my compression calf sleeves, which help the shin splints, and doing some aggressive applications of ice and arnica to the foot. My working theory is that my Newton shoes are a little too minimalist for me, especially in really rocky, technical terrain, and that I probably need something with more cushion and support, especially when I get tired and my form is sloppy, or I’m having too much fun flying down a hill to worry about how hard or soft my foot is landing.
To that end, I went a picked up a pair of Hoka One Ones today and am eager to try them out. They’re still a more neutral drop from heel to toe, similar to the Newtons, just with a lot more cushioning. I’ve got a trail half-marathon next month, so we’ll see how they work there. 
My plan was to do the back-to-back 11k/10k for a collective 21k, or 13.7 miles — just over the 13.1 distance of a half-marathon. Just like doing back-to-back shorter rides before moving up a distance, I figured this would be a good indicator of whether I could put the two distances together and succeed at the half marathon. I feel encouraged, so long as the new shoes work and the feet don’t hurt, and I keep at my training. The race is at the San Tans, so I can do the course in my sleep and know exactly where to make time and where to keep it to a dull roar.
Sadly, it’s not an Aravaipa race…but the next Aravaipa race conflicts with the McDowell ride — oh, well…can’t do it all, I suppose, but I guess having to choose between an endurance ride and a trail race is a good problem to have.

Getting Out What You Put In

/ Ashley Wingert / 8 Comments

As a socially shy, somewhat introverted person, I find embarking on a new endeavor extremely intimidating, especially on my own. I will be the first to admit I am terrible at meeting new people and introducing myself. For a long time, I’ve struggled with just wanting to fit in and be accepted, worried that I’ll do or say the wrong thing. It’s an insecurity thing…but I’m recognizing it and while it’s not going to go away overnight, I’ve gotten better about being more confident in myself and trying to let go of so much of my worry over what other people think.

(What is this, Friday Confessionals?)

Anyway, that’s just a bit of background of me that is relevant to the topic at hand, which is getting started in a new sport/activity/venture/whatnot. Ahem.

So this past Wednesday, I participated in my first group trail run, organized and hosted by the same folks (Aravaipa Running) that put on the 7k I did, and next month’s runs I’m signed up for. It’s a weekly “open run” that invites people of all levels to come and run for an hour — distance varies on experience level, and the location rotates weekly. This week, the run happened to be fairly close to me — about as close as any real trails are — so that took away my “don’t want to drive the distance” excuse. So I signed up.

Read the first paragraph of this blog entry, and you can probably figure out my train of thought. “Oh, what am I doing? I’m going to be the slowest, most pathetic person there. I’m going to be surrounded by a whole bunch of experienced people who are way fitter and faster, and I’m going to hold the group up, and why am I doing this???” Staying anonymous and in the shadows would be easier — who actually holds people to Facebook RSVPs anyway? — so as a way to hold myself accountable, I posted a “Newbie Alert!” message on the Facebook group, letting people know that I’m slower than a herd of turtles in peanut butter, brand-new to this trail running thing, and rather nervous about my first group run.

If I go on the offense with advanced notice of all the things I’m going to do wrong, at least they have a heads up, right?

Responses I got were all positive and encouraging. The “Fun” Group — what would otherwise be called the “slow” or “beginner” group, but they put a positive spin on it — was touted as the place to be, so I headed out the door Wednesday evening, still nervous, but also excited. I’m not much of a groupie…but left to my own devices, I am a complete social hermit, and also a somewhat lazy runner, so I figured the motivation of going to new trails and staying with a group will be good training for me and my future running plans, and it’ll also help me be more social and interact with people in a positive, fun environment.

By the time I got to the trailhead, there were a dozen cars there, and people starting to cluster together. Running shoes, GPS watches, hydration packs…yup, I’m in the right place. I used the few minutes that it took to park and get my stuff (headlamp, water, phone) to gather my wits, scope out the setting, and start making my way over to the group.

This is the hardest part for me. I’m not good at initiating, and the socially insecure part of me wants to huddle back and be a wallflower, and wait for someone to notice me. I think, if my expectation had been having the red carpet rolled out for me just because I was a new face that showed up, I would have been sorely disappointed. Groups like these probably get new faces showing up every week — and many that probably never return. In a brand-new environment like this, people don’t know that I am shy and reserved. They’re not mind-readers — to them, someone that isn’t initiating or making an effort to be a part of the group may be stand-offish, or giving the impression they don’t care to be a part of what is going on.

You get out what you put in. For me, at least, this means having to make that first move, which is, at the very least, intimidating. (Apparently this is also Psych Eval Friday.) As I approached the group, I had scouted around for what looked like a friendly face and found one. Maybe it was a case of two newbies gravitating towards each other, but after I introduced myself, she also said it was her first time running with the group.

She was very nice — a recent college grad who had just moved here from the east coast, looking for the social aspect of running and meeting people in a new area — and we spent some time chatting. More people started showing up, then the run leader came over to meet the new faces. He welcomed both of us, then gave a brief rundown of the distances/approximate speeds each group was planning to do. Funny enough, where we had clustered was right where the Fun Group was gathering, so that was a chance to meet the woman who would be leading the fun group, and start talking with a few other people who were gathering around.

The run itself was a blast. As advertised, the Fun Group was exactly that — fun, energetic, encouraging. I was not the slowest one there, and even if I had been…it wouldn’t have mattered. No judgment on anyone or anyone’s pace — just enthusiasm for the fact that we were out there. Even a missed turn at a ‘Y’ in the trail that netted some of us a slightly longer reading on our GPS was met with a laugh and cheers of “Bonus miles!”

After the run, a group invasion of a nearby restaurant is held and all who can make it are welcome. I figured that would be a good way to further participate in a group setting, and food/drink tends to be a good icebreaker. It was a ton of fun — I sat with Sabrina, who had led the Fun Group run, and chatted with her quite a bit. I felt very welcome and included, to the point where I have decided that I will be doing the group runs weekly, even if I have to drive a bit. (If people from Phoenix could drive out to Mesa, I can do the same…it’s only once a week. And with luck, maybe I’ll find someone in the group who lives near me who might be willing to carpool.)

(A funny aside: When I completed the 50 at Man Against Horse in 2009, I sort of bemoaned the fact that the first place runner had finished like three hours ahead of me. [Even taking into account the almost two hours of mandatory horse hold times and no mandatory hold times for runners, that’s still over an hour faster than Mimi’s four hooves traversed the course.] Turns out that first place winner was Jamil, the group run leader and one of the Aravaipa Race Directors. Small world.)

photo snagged from the Aravaipa Group Trail Run
Facebook page…dusk on Wednesday night’s run

Reflecting on this got me thinking back to the last time I was embarking on a new endeavor: My first AERC ride. I had come out of the NATRC world, so at least had the “distance riding” experience…but there’s not a ton of crossover between the two organizations here in the southwest, so knew no one going into endurance. Going into NATRC, I had ridden on my dad’s coattails of meeting people — he’s a naturally social extrovert who can talk to anyone, so I sort of hung back, messed with my pony, and let him break the ice.

My first AERC ride, it was me and the pony. Dad drove/crewed…but it was just me and the little white mare traipsing around camp, checking and vetting in, and on the trail. It was my show, so to speak, and it was on me to step up and say “Hi, I’m new here.”

The first person I met at my first AERC ride (Man Against Horse 2005) was someone I still ride with today — Lancette. She was a friendly, welcoming smile as she pointed out a good place to park and the general lay of the land, and again the next morning as she passed me just a couple miles into the ride, making sure I was doing okay. To this day, she is still a friendly, welcoming smile who is now loaning me horses, making sure I’m still able to get some good saddle time and trail miles in, and someone I consider a good friend.

I don’t know if I’ve just been extraordinarily lucky to have had such positive introductions to breaking into new settings? I know I’m grateful that is has been so positive and welcoming…but I also don’t think it just happened that way. For me, at least, I feel like I was proactive in setting myself up for success…

  • Embrace the newbie status. I am an endless researcher and information gatherer. When I go into something, you can almost guarantee I’ve spent countless hours on the internet, scouring resources and finding out ahead of time as much as I can about what I’m getting into. But once I’m there, I am the newbie who knows nothing. The best knowledge and experience comes from doing, so until I’ve actually done something, I’m going to keep my mouth shut, no matter how much research I’ve done and how much I think I know, and learn from those around me who have done.
  • Low expectations (of yourself). I came into endurance with years of riding experience on my side…but the ability to execute a perfect equitation pattern doesn’t mean jack-all when your pony has just run through a prickly pear and is spinning circles around you as you try to remove the needles…
    • I figured we could finish our first 25…and that was my only goal. Just finish in time and both of us in one piece. (Surprise, that ended up being the fastest I’ve done that particular ride.)
    • My realistic goal for the 7k was just to finish and not break myself.
  • Low expectations (of others). I don’t mean that in the harsh, cynical way of “If you expect nothing from people, you’ll never be disappointed.” What I mean by that is I don’t expect to be treated “special” just because I’m new. Basic courtesies are appreciated, and anything beyond that is bonus points.
    • What got me thinking about this specifically is the topic of discussion that comes up on endurance newbies “not feeling welcome.” Playing devil’s advocate for the side of the experienced people: New people come into a sport or activity all the time that don’t stick with it. It is draining and disheartening on the experienced people to invest in someone who may or may not be committed to the sport.
      • People have been friendly and welcoming to me in NATRC, and endurance, and trail running. But in both NATRC and endurance, I noticed a shift in people’s attitudes after a season or two — I had put enough time and rides in to prove myself, that I was dedicated and I was serious, so now it was “safer” to put some of their mental time and energy into me.
      • I am fully anticipating the same thing happening with the trail running. Right now, I am a neon green newbie with nothing other than my word to say “I’m serious about this.” Actions really do speak louder than words, so I know it will take showing up at practice runs, putting in the training time, and toeing the start line of races to prove this isn’t just a passing whim.
    • Time and place. In a competitive race/ride setting, there is a lot going on. Very experienced people often have a lot going on with preparation, or are mentally keyed in to their own prep, so use discretion about when to ask a thousand and one questions. I know  people personally who are as nice as can be outside of a ride setting, but get very intense on ride day – it’s nothing personal, they just may not be the best person to consult as an on-site mentor. Same with management — on event day, they are juggling more balls in the air than they can count, and probably half a dozen crises on top of that.
      • If you’re very fortunate, you will have a mentor that has taken you under their wing and will advise you along the way. If not, try to research and find things out ahead of time. Some rides are now offering a “new riders briefing” that follows after the standard ride briefing, as a way for new riders to ask any questions that weren’t covered in the regular briefing.
        • Here’s something I noticed…blogs and bloggers are a good way to get information. Most of us bloggers write down our ride stories because we like relating our experience and are probably willing to talk about it. Question? Search out ride stories on a particular ride and post a comment. While I am in no way an official mentor, I am always happy to answer any questions I can that people post or email relating to endurance, a particular ride, trails, hoof boots, or whatnot. (See my little “Ask me about Endurance Riding” graphic on the sidebar?)
  • If you’re like me, and your default setting is “social wallflower”: Take the first step. (Again, this is the hardest one for me!) Don’t assume people will know you’re shy — maybe they are, too. Or they just figure you’re not interested in talking to people. Specialized settings — like ridecamp or a trail run — that cater to a specific activity are my favorite settings, because it tends to provide an automatic icebreaker of subject matter to talk about and get a conversation going.
Well, that went way longer than planned…and deeper into my own personal psyche than I usually provide on here. Doing more running is giving me a lot of think time, which in turn tends to result in blog posts…which I hope provide at least some food for thought somewhere along the way. The fine print disclaimer on all of this, of course, is that it has just been my own personal experiences…Your Mileage May Vary. 

riding and running crossover

/ Ashley Wingert / 3 Comments

My Google calendar is starting to look very interesting — and colorful. Potential endurance rides (if I can bum a horse) are marked in teal. Trail races are marked in lime green. Work stuff in orange, any other personal stuff in purple.

Of course a lot of those teal and lime green marks are splashed across the same date. Of course. OTOH, having trail runs on my calendar keeps me from doing too much teeth gnashing during yet another “off” cycle of my on-again, off-again endurance riding career. And I have to say, I’m really enjoying diving into the deep end of my new-found trail running pursuit.

Coming into endurance, I only experienced the mental uncertainties and frustrations of embarking on a new horse endeavor. I wasn’t a new horse person, and I always had my riding and horse handling skills to fall back on and validate me. I know that if I had been new to horses and taking up distance riding at the same time, it would have been that much more difficult, frustrating, and intimidating.

Enter trail running. Running — on a regular basis — is definitely new to me. I’m participating in my first organized group trail run tonight — and I’m definitely nervous. I already posted on the Facebook group a “newbie alert” and the responses I’ve gotten have been very welcoming, but I can’t help but worry that I’ll be the slowest or worst runner there. I know we all have to start somewhere, but being in this position is giving me even more empathy for the new, green endurance riders just starting out.

Regular running may be a new thing for me, but there are definitely elements of trail — and ultimately ultra — running that I believe will crossover nicely with things I’ve learned from endurance riding.

— Mental discipline. This is is high on the list. You don’t get through any kind of endurance sport without it. Riding back-of-the-pack has taught me the value in pacing, controlling race brain, and not going out too fast. The longer the distance, the more time you have.

  • One of the reasons I’m looking forward to moving up in running distance is the idea of more time. I’m doing this for enjoyment, so I want to be able to pause and take in the scenery, or taking a photo. It also allows a pack of runners to spread out and have alone time — my only complaint about the 7k was it was too short in that I never got that space bubble, and needed to keep moving lest I get passed by all the people I just passed on the uphill.

— Body awareness. I’ve learned, through saddle time, how to identify what to push through, discomfort-wise, and what means “stop now before you break yourself.” Running will be a different set of muscles, joints, and aches, but the theory remains the same.

— Food/drink tolerances. I’ve learned what I do and don’t like when my body is working hard.

  • I hate Honey Stinger gels, but love the lemon-lime chews. 
  • GU Chomps are my least favorite chews — hardest for me to chew, and have some weird aftertastes. 
  • Gels are okay as a last resort, but I do best with real food. 
  • I’d rather have meat and cheese slices than a whole sandwich. 
  • Powerade is better than Gatorade, and both need to be cut with water. 
  • Succeed Amino and Clip2 are my favorite sports drinks out there. 
  • Succeed S!Caps are my favorite electrolytes.
  • Eating too heavy of a meal too soon before an activity isn’t good — but once I’m doing that activity, food is good.
  • Too much sugary stuff doesn’t help me. Real food.
  • Chocolate tends to make me queasy.
  • Ginger settles my stomach.
— Gear similarities.
  • Kerrits IceFil shirts make great running shirts. And tech race shirts likewise will be good riding shirts.
  • I suspect, come winter, my riding tights will double as running tights…just ignore the knee patches. (The same can’t be said for running tights — they all have inner seams.)
  • My current trail running shoes are also really good for riding. Ultimately, I don’t know if I will end up still using them as exclusive run shoes as I increase the miles…but it’s nice to know they’ll work “well enough” to be a crossover ride and run shoe so that I can comfortably get off and run with the horse. (I can’t run in Ariat Terrains.)
  • I’m just as fussy about carrying stuff for running as I am my packs on my saddle. (I’m a complete PITA about this.) I have a water pack, a waist pack, and a handheld…I suspect, like with my saddle, I will use multiple configurations for different purposes.
    • For LDs, I can get away with large front packs and boot bags. 50s, I have to either add a pommel pack or add a personal water pack.
    • Running, my plan is:
      • Handheld for runs that are 1-hour long or less, and when I’m running alone. When I run with Artemis, I need to carry water for her as well, plus I need my hands to hold her leash.
      • Hydration pack for longer runs or runs with Artemis. I can fit a 50-70oz bladder, plus two 10-oz bottles in my running pack.
      • Waist pack for walks only. Pressure on my abdomen over an extended period of time while jogging tends to give me cramps and/or GI tract complaints. The most I can comfortably carry is a tiny waist pack with my phone/keys.
  • Outdoor/camping gear — tent, sleeping bag, everything-under-the-sun-should-I-need-to-camp.
  • Already have a stack of good sports bras.
  • Already well acquainted with foul weather and gear that works (or doesn’t).
  • Already know merino wool socks are my best option. (And have a number of pairs.)
I’m eager to pick the brains of people much more experienced than I am…I have some race goals in the back of my mind of races/distances I would like to aim for and find out if that’s just way too ambitious, or just crazy-but-doable.
It might be on my own two feet rather than four hooves, but at least I’ve found a way to get out there on the trail.