Kami's Blog

Did you see the back on that pig? Yeah, but check out the thighs on that chicken… Illegal substances and other food hazards in the China food system

2011-11-17T00:52:00.000-08:00

Steroid loading?

I just ate a chicken salad at a local café down the street from my apartment here in Hong Kong. Now I’m wondering if I’m going to test positive for steroids. And there is a possibility the lettuce was laced with heavy metals. Oh the woes of eating in China.

One of the things that I looked forward to the most when moving to Hong Kong was the chance to immerse myself in a new food world. Already a fan of Dim Sum and Cantonese cooking, I was excited to take my taste buds to a new level while living in China. I imagined the plethora of various mushrooms, greens, squashes and cabbages that are a large part of the Chinese diet. Fish, Chicken, Pork - - it all sounded great to me. Then I opened the newspaper shortly after arriving and paused.

"Toxic Vegetables"

"Illegal Steroids in Meat"

"Health Warning: Pollutants in Fish"

"Hong Kong Athlete Banned because of low levels of Clenbuterol in her system"

As one friend best described it, China is the “Wild West” when it comes to industrialized farming. Very few standards are in place, and there is very little, if any, government oversight. So it’s eater beware.

Steroids in Meat, Athletes Sanctioned

Spanish cyclist Alberto Contador and Hong Kong badminton player Zhou Mi have something in common. They both have tested positive for Clenbuterol. So have five footballers from Mexico and a Danish Cyclist. But the levels in their bodies have been so low that it would be impossible to have any performance benefit. Specifically for Zhou Mi, her levels were 50-100 pg/ml (picograms per millilitre). For Contador, I believe the levels were even lower. According to the experts, less than 100 pg/ml is not enough to have any sort of performance benefit. The culprit is most likely not performance enhancement. The culprit is in the food.

Clenbuterol is a steroid that creates a higher yield of lean meat in animals, and is a banned substance for use in animals in most countries, even China. Clenbuterol is also on the list of substances banned by the World Anti Doping Agency (WADA). Any amount of Clenbuterol found in an athlete’s system would constitute a doping infringement. Which means a two-year ban on competing for the athlete.

Looks yummy, but is it tainted?

But just because it’s illegal doesn’t mean it isn’t being used in China (and Mexico and Spain). In fact in China, it’s known to be commonly used in beef and swine as a way to get to lean, bulky animals. A recent article in the South China Morning Post (SCMP), Hong Kong’s English newspaper points out that the problem is wide spread in China.

According to the SCMP, in an article from November 12th, “The famous German Sport University Cologne issued a warning to athletes in February regarding clenbuterol use in China. An investigation presented at the Cologne Workshop on Doping Analysis analysed urine samples of 28 travellers returning from China to Germany. There were low concentrations of clenbuterol in 22 of them.”

The university warned of "risks of inadvertent doping with the beta2-agonist clenbuterol when travelling to China".

WADA just re-instated the Danish cyclists and the five Mexican football players basically saying that their athletic federations have provided enough evidence to show that the steroid came from tainted meat. Zhou Mi is not so lucky. Even though the levels of Clenbuterol found in her system were minuscule, and couldn’t possibly affect her performance in a positive way, she doesn’t have the voice or the clout to get the decision overturned. Contador’s case is coming up November 21st. So we’ll see what happens on that front.

But in the meantime, what’s an athlete in Hong Kong to do? Outside of owning your own farm (which it is reported the Tianjin judo team does), should athletes here be vegetarians?

Toxic Vegetables

Turns out, vegetables from China have tremendous risks too. The Guangdong region, home to the Pearl River Delta, is one of the fastest growing sectors of wealth in the world. Home to an exploding industrial area, Guangdong is also one of the most polluted areas of the world. The area is also where the farms are located that feed much of the Guangdong province, and the nearby Hong Kong area. And, if the rivers that are irrigating the farms are polluted, then you can guess that those same rivers that flow into the ocean create a toxic hazard for the marine life.

Hong Kong's source of meat and produce

Regarding the Marine life around the Guangdong (Pearl River Delta) area, the SCMP recently reported:

“The Guangdong Oceanic and Fisheries Administration reported that more than 40 per cent of waste water discharged into the sea last year was excessively polluted. It found that eight rivers flowing into the sea off Guangdong carried 1.08 million tonnes of pollutants, including petroleum, nutrients, heavy metals and arsenic. The area of polluted inshore seawater was 4,153 square kilometres.

"Guo Pengran, a Guangdong-based expert on hazardous chemicals, said there had been abundant research showing that the water and sediment of the Pearl River Delta contained many heavy metal and organic pollutants.

"'The pollutants will build up in marine animals,' Guo was quoted as saying by the Yangcheng Evening News. 'What's more serious is that the toxins are multiplied through the food chain and can eventually damage human health.'”

From the GreenPeace website regarding the Pearl River Delta area:

"In 2009, Greenpeace researchers sampled and analysed wastewater discharges from various companies, finding a diverse range of hazardous chemicals, including heavy metals such as beryllium, copper and manganese as well as high levels of organic chemicals. These substances are associated with a long list of health problems such as cancer, endocrine disruption, kidney failure and damage to the nervous system as well being known to harm the environment."

Ninety percent of the food in Hong Kong comes from Mainland China. Although the pollution issue is not just isolated to the Guangdong area, it is notable that over thirty percent of the vegetables sold in Hong Kong come specifically from the Guangdong area. Additionally, over 30 percent of the seafood in Hong Kong comes from the oceans near Guangdong. The problem is determining what thirty percent.

Can you pick out the produce with toxins?

In the first few weeks I was in Hong Kong, I had been buying an organic brand thinking that there was some safety in buying organic. After reading an article about hazardous chemicals in the food system in the SCMP one morning, I did a little research on the brand. The farms where the “organic” vegetables come from are squarely in the Pearl River Delta area. Looking at it on a map, it’s obviously squarely in the midst of the pollution.

What is an athlete (or anyone) in Hong Kong to do?

After talking with some friends, both expats and local, the general consensus is to not trust anything from China. The risks are just too high. It’s possible to have that level of control when eating at home; it’s just darn expensive. The choice is: pay the equivalent of $4US dollars for an “unlabeled” chicken (most likely from China), or pay $20 US dollars for a chicken flown in from Australia. I can pay $1US for a head of local broccoli, or I can pay $4 US for a head flown in from Australia.

One Pricey Chicken...$175 HK = @ $20 US

Ok, so go broke eating at home is an option. What about eating out? Well, the advise from the Hong Kong Anti Doping Committee is to "only frequent reputable restaurants and stores." What does reputable look like? How do I figure out who is using non-tainted meat and vegetables? With the cost of food rising, how can I ensure that the Thai place down the street that I love, or the western café where I often grab a sandwich and coffee are making the decision to pay double or triple for their meats and produce than simply purchasing readily available meats and produce from China?

I don’t have answers. But what I have found is that we are paying double or triple our normal grocery bill. I buy only non-local, non-China vegetables, and most of my protein comes from overseas. Nice carbon footprint – but it’s that or roll the dice with my families health and my reputation as a clean athlete. When we eat out, we have to avoid the hole in the wall place where people are lined up around the corner for a bowl of something that smells really good.

Interestingly, after the warning in February from the German Sport University Cologne regarding clenbuterol use in animals, although China officially denounced the study, apparently in March China started cracking down on farmers using clenbuterol. So maybe that's what it will take to further clean up the food system. We just need a bigger voice. I can get angry and blog about the toxins in the food system, but truth be told is that I will also pay extra to circumnavigate the Chinese food system. But others less fortunate do not have that choice. Almost fourty percent of the Chinese population lives without access to a safe source of drinking water. They eat what they can afford. And what they can afford is likely highly toxic.

Snakes Alive!!!

2011-10-11T02:49:00.000-07:00

Not in Oregon any more ...

Alright, confession time. When I finally confirmed our family was moving to Hong Kong Island from Bend Oregon, I was somewhat excited to see that there were no predatory animals on the island. Snakes, yes, but from what I read, snake sightings are VERY RARE, and besides, they tend to run away. Although the snakes that are on the island can be venomous (with the two to worry about being cobras and a small green snake that can be aggressive), the other snakes such as pythons and giant rat snakes are non-venomous. The bite may hurt but they will not (likely) kill you. But no mountain lions, bears or other large animals that can lurk in the minds of runners, and occasionally show themselves during the most unexpected time of a run. Don’t read this to mean that I don’t like and appreciate these animals and their place in the ecosystem, I have just had enough interactions to give a quiet cheer knowing that I probably wouldn’t have to worry about them while exploring the trails of Hong Kong.

Thinking back to the words that I read that snake sightings are “VERY RARE” I should have known that that applies to the person who spends most of their time in the shopping malls (seemingly the preferred way to spend time off for the average Hong Kong worker), versus the ultra-runner who seeks out interesting, unpopulated trail on a regular basis.

We moved to Hong Kong mid-August. My first three weeks in Hong Kong were hot and humid – ugh – I’d come back from a run more drenched than if I had stood in a shower with the water on full blast. Living in the high desert of Bend, I never had to worry about sweating so much I couldn’t keep my shorts up. Now I finally know why shorts have the waist cord – that little cord is all that keeps me from certain jail time for indecent exposure. But, no snake sightings…to that point.

The green in this map of HK island is all park with trails!!

Hong Kong Island is the most densely populated island in the world. Some 1.2 million people are squeezed onto this island of 31 sq. miles. So how is this so livable? Thanks to the visionaries who planned the city development, almost 40% (I've also heard this quoted as 70%, but I'm not sure) of the island is dedicated to green space. The green space is divided into multiple major parks which encompass the central part of Hong Kong Island. Pretty much from anywhere on the island, one can be on trail or a connector to trail in a matter of minutes. The trail might be paved, but at least it is car free and usually surrounded by greenery. Trail running here is a mix of asphalt, stone, stairs, single-track dirt, and technical rock and root running. And very hilly. I think last week in my 90+ mile of running, I managed over 17,000 ft. of gain, and that’s without trying to get in hill repeats.

Once we found a permanent apartment, I started frequenting the trails on the north east side of the island. Since I hadn’t seen any snakes in my first three weeks, I was growing bolder in choosing my routes. One morning I spied a marked but not well maintained trail going up a large stream towards the top of Mount Butler. After about a quarter of a mile off the main track the trail turned into rock hopping up stream. Water, rocks, sun. These are the three things I think about back in Bend when I am in rattle snake territory. It usually is the recipe for snakes sighting, especially in the morning when snakes are out warming up their bodies. But is that the same in Hong Kong? I shouldn’t have been surprised when I jumped on a rock, and out of the rock one step ahead moved the largest snake I had seen to date. Five to six feet long, and with a circumference of my lower forearm. I think as soon as it felt the vibration of me landing near a rock where it was sunning itself, it decided to get out of the way. So it moved, faster than I’ve ever seen a snake move, in a direction away from me. My snake radar was on extra high for the rest of the run…

Similar to first snake I saw - probably Chinese cobra

Three days later, and still with a little extra hop in my step from my snake sighting from a few days earlier, I was out on a longish run. In my mind, there were two areas to be weary of snakes in Hong Kong, one was rocky terrain next to water, and the other being the very dense rocky, rooting overgrown trails where I would imagine a snake would be happy hanging out under the leaves or terrain underfoot, or better yet, in the trees which are overhanging the route.

This is the type of terrain I thought I'd see a snake...but I was wrong

In my three hours of running, I had made it through what I thought was the snakiest terrain, the rocky rooty overgrown stuff, and was congratulating myself on not seeing any snakes. I let out a sigh of relief and checked my watch, thinking I had only about 20 some minutes before I was done. As I glanced at my watch, I heard what sounded like a large animal moving through the brush on the hillside to my left. As I turned my head left to see what it was, I saw the mid-section of a snake, the circumference of my calf, shooting out of the brush on the hill about an inch behind my left shoulder. Three thoughts came to mind in that instant:

1) This was a very different snake than what I saw three days earlier – dark greyish green with a light belly versus the solid black color of the other snake, and HUGE;

2) It was moving really fast;

3) If the body was at my shoulder, the head was somewhere around my legs…

SPRINT!!! I had just had a snake conversation with an Aussie friend who recalled an incident from his boyhood in Australia where a cobra chased his friend on the beach.

Can't get this image to load right, but look at it with your head tilted right...this is where the snake came in - from the left side at shoulder height.

Similar to the midsection I saw near my left shoulder. Snake I saw was darker - olive/grey with light belly.

I didn’t know if this particular snake was chasing me, or if it was chasing something else and I got in its way, or worse, something else was chasing it…but my feet reacted before anything else, and I sprinted.

About a minute further down the trail, I came to an intersection where there are always people. I really really wanted to see people. But there were none. I stopped, and just stood there, shaking and laughing because I really wanted to cry, but I can’t because I live here now and I can’t just leave tomorrow. WTF!!!??? was all I could think. My husband is dying to see a snake, and I can’t keep away from them. And a huge snake…HUGE…how are the citizens of Hong Kong not terrified???

I still had about a mile and a half of trail before I hit the road that led to home. To say I shook the rest of the way is an understatement. I jumped 10 feet at any rustle in the brush. I finally saw other humans, and they had the look of complacency - - even happiness. How could anyone on this trail be …just be… with monsters lurking in the brush??

I’ve told this story to really anyone who will hear it here in Hong Kong. I just want to know if anyone has had something similar. Is this a regular occurrence – giant snakes coming out of the brush?? Two large snake sightings in three days? Here is the general consensus of those locals who I have polled:

1.       The snake was likely a giant rat snake or a python. If it was a python I should be “happy” because sightings are very rare.

2.       Large snakes don’t really chase down their prey; they wait for the prey to come to it. Therefore, the snake was probably spooked by something, and moving in the general direction of downhill. I was just unfortunate enough to cross the trail at the exact moment it came hurling out of the brush.

3.       These big snakes will bite when spooked/cornered. I’m probably luckier than I think I am.

My general conclusion is that I have used up all my snake karma for my time in Hong Kong; therefore, I should not see another snake for a really really long time. Although this theory was tested, only a week later, when I was out running with a new friend from Hong Kong, Claire Price (ultra runner extraordinaire – keep an eye out for her results). We were in a dry and sunny section when my foot almost landed on a small snake. The little snake (6 inches??) was confused and couldn’t figure out how to get away. My brain registered the snake a second before Claire yelled “snake!”   Then she said she “never” sees snakes in this area. Her other comment was that my shoes – which are bright green – might be a part of the problem. She has been running the same trails for years, and has had a few snake sighting, but nothing like my experiences in such a short time. I have since changed to different colored shoes. And haven’t seen another snake…

Western States - a Bearish Ending

2011-06-27T20:23:00.000-07:00

I was in Northern California last weekend for Western States 100. Nature handed us a beautiful day as we headed out from Squaw Valley at 5am on our 100 mile journey.

Everything was going to plan – start conservatively, have a solid middle and then hold on for the end. Except the end threw way more at me than I planned.

I had passed Tracy Garneau for the lead around mile 90 at Browns Bar Aid Station. We exchanged pleasantries, and then my pacer, Prudence L’Heureux, and I, set off for the Hwy 49 Crossing (93.5) where we would see our crew for the last time, then onto No Hands Bridge (mile 96.8). I had been battling stomach issues since the trail from Forest Hill down to the river, so although I was still moving forward, and close to hitting the sub 18-hour time frame, I wasn’t feeling especially spiffy. But I didn’t think I needed to feel spiffy, as I knew I was extending my lead over Tracy, and we had less than 5 miles to go. So when I heard what sounded like a big guy charging the downhill around 95 miles, I shifted aside and waved him through. Well the him was a her, and it was Ellie Greenwood. “That” I thought to myself “is impressive.” I tried to respond for all of 10 feet, but knew I just didn’t have it in me to challenge her pace on the downhill. But, I thought that there was a chance that she was going to blow up, and I still had the ability to run, and was able to run the hills. Knowing we had our last big climb ahead of us up to Robie Point, I didn’t think I was out of the game. And once I hit the pavement of the last mile, I knew I could fly.

“Stop!” Prudence my pacer had stopped in the middle of the trail as we were about ½ mile from Robie Point (98.9 miles). “Bear.” I wasn’t that concerned – just yell and clap and a bear is supposed to run away. The bear was going up a tree overhanging the trail, and Prudence was sure she saw a cub with it. Mom and cub, now that is a little more concerning. We paused for a few seconds, then decided to make some noise to scare if off. We clapped our hands and waved our arms and yelled as we moved forward. The bear dropped to the trail and started towards us hissing. The thought flashed in my mind “I didn’t know bear’s hissed.” We yelled some expletives as we ran back down the trail. We stopped after a couple hundred feet, sure that the bear wasn’t fully charging us, and gathered ourselves. What the hell do we do? There was no way to “go around the bear” as the trail is cut into a hillside, with thick brush and rock on both sides. We considered running back down to No Hands to get some help, but I ruled that out. We could see the aid station lights at Robie Point, so we started yelling for them. No response. We yelled louder, flashed our lights. I couldn’t believe that another runner had not come up the trail yet. Finally we saw a headlamp moving down the trail from Robie Point. Wanting to make sure the person knew what to expect, I yelled “be careful, it’s a bear with a cub”. The headlamp turned around and went back up.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only 10 or so minutes, Tracy and her pacer showed up. According to the splits, they were 7 minutes back at Hwy 49 crossing, and add another few miles to that, we were probably 10 or so minutes ahead. Our conversation went something like this: “Why are you stopped?” “Bear and cub, and she’s angry.” “Oh bear, we have those in Canada, let’s go.” So as Tracy and her pacer lead the way, the bear once again drops out of the tree and starts for us. We all run back down the trail. “Oh shit, you were right, she is angry” “Yeah, that’s why we’ve been standing here for TEN MINUTES!!”

As we all contemplate the situation, we see another set of lights coming up the trail. Another runner, male, and a pacer. “Why are you stopped?” “Angry bear with cub.” “FUCK THE BEAR, I WANT TO FINISH!!” “We don’t want to see you get mauled.” He flashes his lights up the trail and sees the bear in the tree. “Shit, we should all just stick together, walk slowly, stay as a group.” Thinking there is safety in numbers, we all start up the trail, sweet-talking the bear “Please let us by, we just want to fin…”, Bear drops out of the tree and it’s all elbows and high knees. I am ashamed to say that my only instinct was to make sure that I am not the last person. There is no camaraderie when you’ve got a bear chasing you uphill. At least we had gotten past the fulcrum and were able to go up the trail instead of down. After about a hundred yards, we realized the bear let up, we all slow down. Shaking our heads and still affected with temporary Tourette’s, we make our way to the aid station.

The volunteers at Robie Point were sparse with their words. We said “There was an angry bear on the trail.” “Yes.” “Did you hear us yelling at you?” “Yes.” That was it. Granted there is probably nothing in the volunteer manual on “angry bear containment,” but I found it interesting at mile 99, I had more words than they did.

With a little over a mile to go, I am emotionally done with the race. Prudence and I start jogging in, both still dumbfounded about the bear experience and all the time lost. With about a half-mile to go, we hear fast moving feet and see lights coming from behind. Then I hear the voice of my friend, Nikki Kimball. My first reaction is “Nikki is feeling better and having a great race.” Then I realize it’s me she’s racing. “Nikki, did you see the bear on the trail?” “No bear, just a rattle snake” “Your not going to make me race you in, are you?” With that, she did not respond, only accelerated. Honestly, had the tables been turned and it was me catching up to the second place person, I would race too. So, it was game on. Half a mile to go and we are approaching 10k race pace. We hit the track with me in front, and I hear my sister yell “she’s catching you!” So I shift gears once again to put a little more cushion in between us. As we cross the finish line, all I can think is “Really?” Did this last 5 miles really just happen? (video of the sprint finish)

Comrades 2011

2011-06-04T11:24:00.000-07:00

I returned to South Africa last week to run the historic Comrades Marathon race. The specifics: 86.97 kilometers (54 miles). This year was an “up” run – starting in Durban and ending in Pietermaritzburg. The first marathon climbs about 2200 ft, with very little decent. The remaining 28 miles rolls, gaining about 3500 ft and losing about the same. 20,000 people entered the 2011 race, and I think I read 14,000 showed up at the start.

As I talked about in my post about last year’s experience, South Africa has a complex political and social environment. Granted huge amounts of progress have been made since the end of apartheid in 1990, but coming from the United States, it is difficult to not feel a little out of step with the surrounding environment. South Africans live in a very “on guard” state. Durban itself can be very unsafe. Daytime safe zones dot the city map, and security guards are in place 24/7 to ensure these areas stay safe. At night, movement is extremely restricted, and day and night, taxicabs are scrutinized to ensure they are “safe” before taking a ride. That being said, there are only a few bad eggs that make it an unsafe environment. But it is the vast majority of the people of South Africa that are the grounding force and make the overall experience wonderful.

This year I ran for NedBank, a South African based running club. The athletic system in South Africa is organized around a club system, which comes into play in major events such as Comrades. Serious contenders run for a South African club which gives the runners access to crew points along the course as well as club incentives and other perks such as transportation and accommodations.

I chose to stay at a small Bed and Breakfast versus staying with the team at a large hotel. It was important to me to be able to prepare my own food and to distance myself from the pre-race commotion. At the recommendation of my friends from Bend who were also running Comrades, Geof Hasegawa and Tonya Littlehales, I booked a room at the Rosetta House, which is located in the “safe” neighborhood of Morningside in Durban. Being at the Rosetta House allowed me to be able to walk to a local grocery store, chill when I needed to chill and to have a wonderful, home environment from which I could prepare myself for the race. Bill and Lee, owners of the Rosetta House, were over the top in helping to accommodate my needs. Their hospitality and the quiet location was exactly what I needed in order to recover from the travel and get myself mentally prepared to race.

The race started at 5.30 am. In order to avoid the anxiety from last year where we arrived at the start only 5 minutes before the gun, we left the B&B at 4 am so that we would have plenty of time to navigate the congestion and arrive without raising my heart rate.

It maybe funny to read, but the race went by in a blur. One would think that running for six and a half hours would be tedious with a lot of time to think and take everything in, but I really don’t remember much. The first half seemed dark, and the second half I was uber focused. The highlights for me – the first third I didn’t feel snappy. In fact, I thought I was going to have a mediocre day. So this reinforced my mantra to conserve in the first half so that I could run the second half. By the halfway point, I felt my energy start to flow, and I started pulling away from the people around me. The last quarter of the race, I was in full flowing mode. I felt like I was running solidly, and assuming that I could keep a steady flow of calories coming in, I was going to be able to hammer to the end. I think I was six minutes back from the Russian twins at the halfway point, and was able to pull in four of those minutes in the last 27k.

The stats: 7.10 per mile pace through 42.96 kilometers; 7.08 pace for the remaining 44 kilometers.

One surprise that I had was how long and steep the final climb, Polly Shortts, was with less than 12k to go. It’s proof that you can study something on a map, and even run it from the other direction (down) and neither does it justice for hitting such a long, steep climb almost 50 miles into a fast road race. Most people around me were walking up the hill. I remember mentally thinking “oh good, no one is running this hard, so I’m just going to do a plodding run up it.” And plod I did, but I managed to pass a handful of runners along the way. In fact, the video of me coming over the crest of Polly Shortts says it all - - I can see how heavy my legs felt and how it took a good 400 meters to get rolling again.

Once again, the crowds along the way were phenomenal. It's hard to express the complete joy I felt in the second half all due to the people who came to watch the race and who put so much energy into cheering and encouraging each and every runner. How can I ever repay that? Thank you, once again, South Africa.

Comrades Results:

Men

Stephen Muzhingi (ZIM) 5:32.45

Fanie Matshipa (RSA) 5:34.29

Claude Moshiywa (RSA) 5:42.05

Jonas Buud (SWE) 5:42.44

Gift Kelehe (RSA) 5:43.59

Women

Elena Nurgalieva (RUS) 6:24.11

Olesya Nurgalieva (RUS) 6:24.35

Kami Semick 6:26.24 (US)

Ellie Greenwood (GBR) 6:32.46

Farwa Mentoor (RSA) 6:35.49

Heading back to South Africa for the Comrades Marathon

2011-04-29T15:35:00.000-07:00

Since I am only three weeks away from departing once again for South Africa to run the 56 mile Comrades Marathon, I thought I would publish the write up I did from last year. Enjoy. Also, here is the video from The North Face that also tells the story.

- - - -

Here I am, two days before running what has been called “the greatest footrace on earth”, steadily making my way up the hills of Polly Shorts, an infamous section of hills within the Comrades race course, and my head is filled with negative thoughts. I’m running with my teammates Nikki Kimball and Lizzy Hawker. We are scoping out the Comrades course, running small sections, and primarily trying not to be killed in the process. The air is filled with dust and smoke. We are running into a strong hot and humid headwind. Cars are zooming past seemingly unaware that their tons of steel are inches away from our bodies. There is no shoulder. We jump into the hay or ditch on the sides when we can.

I spy a rare side road that seems to have no traffic. I can’t bear another minute of our current situation, so I say “let’s get the hell off this road” as I point to the side road. Although we are ditching our ride up the road, we are certain they will come back to find us. We all breathe a sigh of relief as we lightly jog on this small slice of heaven. No cars, shielded from the wind, we are momentarily happy. We discover that the road leads to the Imvelo Ranch, home to an endangered species of antelope. The sign and locked gate marking the entrance to the Ranch are our first signs of any wildlife in between the urban jungles of Durban and Pietermaritzburg. We snap some pictures, hooked up with our ride, and are off to preview the remaining sections of the Comrades course.

In front of the Imvelo Ranch

But my head is still filled with conflicting feelings. When we arrived at the Hilton in Durban the Monday evening before the race, we were warned to not go outside at night. After thirty hours of travel, I settled for shaking out my legs on treadmill as hard as concrete. The next morning, we inquired where we could jog. The helpful concierge gave us very specific direction on the “safe” route to get to the security guard lined boardwalk, where we were then free to jog back and forth. Since the Hilton is positioned close to downtown Durban, we found that simple things like going to the grocery store two blocks away required us to be handed off from security guard to security guard as they guided us to the store. If we wanted to eat out at night, we needed a cab ride to a safe street lined with restaurants, which had invested in security guards for tourists and locals looking to eat in safety. Returning from dinner called for a thrice over of the cab and driver to make sure we were stepping into a safe taxi. Every local who we interacted with had their own story of car jackings, robberies, etc. Locals have seemed to figure out how to live with the ever-present fear of violent crime, and as tourist, we were learning the same.

But it wasn’t just the security issues that were bothering me. At the core of my discontent was the discovery process we were involved in, peeling back the layers of what seemed like a very modern society – fast and efficient airports, eight lane highways, luxury accommodations for the most discerned traveler, creature comforts for all needs, and some of the best, freshest food I’ve encountered away from the farmer’s markets of Oregon. What we were uncovering was a conflicting view of this seemingly modern society.

Primary mode of transportation

On the four lane highways, autos would zoom past people walking on the sides of the highway, with their feet as their only form of transportation. Shantytowns could be found right outside of the urban areas. The constants smell of smoke lingered in the air from both the burning of fields and the fact that a large part of the population still uses fire for cooking and heating their home.

Home in Chesterville

The region surrounding the Comrades racecourse, KwaZulu Natal, has the highest rate of AIDS infections in the world. Nearly forty percent of the women in this region are HIV positive. It also has the highest rate of orphans in the world, with one quarter of the estimated two million children orphan by AIDS in South Africa found in this region. And it goes on…South Africa also has one of the highest rates of rape in the world. According to the South African organization People Opposing Woman Abuse (Powa), a woman is raped in South Africa every 26 seconds. Shockingly, only one in nine rapes that takes place in South Africa is ever reported - out of the reported cases, only 7% lead to a convictions. (Powa).

Two days after arriving in Durban, we had the opportunity to visit Chesterville, a township along the Comrades course. Because we knew about the orphan crisis prior to our trip to Comrades, our team from The North Face had created a partnership with a local charity, Starfish Greathearts Foundation. Formed in 2001, Starfish has been working with the people in community based organizations of South Africa, to fund, train, oversee and empower them to deliver quality care to children who are orphaned and vulnerable due to HIV/AIDS. Our team has been working to fund a project in Chesterville called Vukukhanye. Knowing what we knew about the tidal wave of orphans in the region surrounding the Comrades course, we could not think of Comrades without thinking of the orphan crisis. The two are inextricably linked in our minds.

Preschool in Chesterville

Vukukhanye was formed in 2002 in response to the serious threat to child and family welfare caused by the HIV/AIDS epidemic within the township of Chesterville. The program focuses on the provision of care, support and counseling for abandoned, abused, neglected, orphaned or homeless children. Vukukhanye links in with the community and other relevant organizations to promote family stability and improve the social environment of children within its area of operation.

“We must look to the future and try our best to find ways to help the increasing number of children who will be without parents – both orphaned and abandoned …We are on the path to a catastrophic situation and need to make the best use of the available time to arrive at ways of caring for these children” (Ross Halkett, National Council for Child and Family Welfare, South Africa)

Vukukhanye loosely translates to “Arise and Shine” in Zulu. It reflects the communities optimistic hope that they will show the world that they can rise above their circumstances. What really struck me about the visit to Chesterville was how proud and optimistic the people are. Living in a one-room hut with on and off electricity and water, the people of Chesterville are proud. Their houses are tidy and their clothes are clean.

Mother and daughter in their tidy, tiny home

We visited a preschool, afterschool sports program (Sports for All), three different houses/family set ups, and a Foster Home. Vukukhanye is involved in all, supporting in various ways. The social workers are amazing people, but it really is the spirit of the community helping individuals in their community that is so strong. It is the grandmothers in the community who are taking in the children without parents. As Jenine, one of the social workers involved in Vukukhanye pondered, “What will we do when the grandmothers die?”

Sports For All Program

One question that had been on our minds, and on the minds of others as we went about talking to large and small groups in the United States about raising money for Starfish Is: “Why such a high rate of AIDS/HIV infections?” What we learned is that sex education starts at the ages of seven to eight. But the cultural beliefs run counter to HIV/AIDS education. Culturally, the male is very empowered. It is not manly to wear a condom. Rape is common and unreported. There is a belief in the townships that a man carrying HIV can rid himself of the disease if he has sex with a virgin. But few of these rapes are reported because the rape laws favor the criminal, not the victim.

We also learned of the concerns about child trafficking with the coming of the World Cup. Borders and border control are opening and becoming lax to invite the World Cup spectators in, leaving the most vulnerable citizens, the children, open to being smuggled across the border and sold.

We met a 15-year-old girl, who was abused by her alcoholic father. Her mother and father have since died of AIDS. She had just given birth to a little girl. She had to drop out of school because of the infant, and is living in her house taking care of her infant daughter and her 11-year-old sister. She's HIV positive. Because of Vukukhanye, she was able to take anti retro viral medications during her pregnancy in hopes of protecting her unborn baby from HIV. She was to learn the results of her daughter’s HIV test a couple of days after our visit. As soon as her daughter is old enough to go to preschool, She plans on finishing her education. Vukukhanye also provides her with food parcels and moral support and guidance.

Teenage mom and baby

After our visit to Chesterville, in the two days we then took to preview the course, I kept wondering how I would see the “magic” of Comrades, as others have called it. Why was I participating this “great race” when a large part of their society was in need of help. The hype and commotion surrounding this race seemed inconsequential compared to some of the social issues the country was dealing with. My questions to myself were “Isn’t all of this energy, time and money that is being put into the race, much less the World Cup, misdirected? How can a country invest billions of dollars, currently estimated at $15 billion between South Africa and FIFA (soccer's international governing body), into the upcoming World Cup, while ignoring a large part of their constituents? How can this seemingly modern society not protect their women and children?”

Race morning started with all the normal pre race rituals - - an early wake up at 2.45am, quick breakfast and coffee, then a ride to the start. All was going smoothly until we and all the other 20,000 participants tried to go through the highway toll at the same time. With the rush of people, we also were exiting the one exit to Pietermaritzburg at the same time. What seemed like a nicely cushioned timeframe to get to the start ended in a dash out of the car before our predetermined drop off point, a “warm up” jog/sprint to the elite starting area, and then a sigh of relief when we realized we had an entire five minutes to spare.

As we lined up in the elite start corral, we were packed shoulder to shoulder. Any last minute adjustments, such as re tying of the shoes were impossible. Nikki, Lizzy and I ended up in the middle of a sea of dark men. We quickly assessed that we would be stampeded by the masses going out at a five minute pace, so we tried to shuffle our way toward to sidelines, explaining to all who were willing to listen that we were “trying to save our lives.”

And then the magic of Comrades started. Five minutes before the gun, we were led in the song “Shosholoza” a traditional Southern African folk song. The song was traditionally sung by all-male work gangs in a call and response style. The word Shosholoza means go forward or make way for the next man. Every single person around me, save Lizzy and Nikki, was singing in a strong voice. By the third time through, I was getting the hang of the lyrics and attempted to join in. It was a beautiful and moving moment, and a wonderful way to calm the nerves.

As soon as the gun went off, I knew I was a part of something much bigger than just a race. In the dark of the 5.30 am start, crowds lined the street. As the mass of humanity swirled through the streets of Pietermaritzburg toward Durban, we passed families huddled around open fires, cheering on the runners. Hundreds of thousands of spectators. Mostly black.

“Ladies! Ladies!” “USA” “Obama”

On one hand, this race seemed so unimportant relative to the poverty and social issues that surround the area. On the other hand, most of the people that we met in Chesterville knew of the race and were excited to have met runners participating in Comrades. Running transcends the social class and economic lines and becomes something that anyone can participate in and rally around. Running is free, it’s empowering, and it can unite a country, if only for a day.

I had some very strong emotional feelings running this race, thinking about the women who live in fear, the grandmothers who are taking care of large numbers of children in their communities. How strong and proud these women are, but how the system, from the government to the cultural norms and values around them pushes them down, it doesn’t lift them up. Racing Comrades in the sea of men, I made it a point to connect, smile and make eye contact with the women spectators. One black woman spectator who I waved to ran beside me for as long as she could cheering me on. I cheered back to the young girls lining the route. I high fived the kids, which sometimes almost brought me to a dead stop because their hands formed such a strong grip on mine.

running along...

In all of my years of running, I’ve never had the entire route of a race covered with spectators, sometimes ten deep. I’ve never felt such a connection to the people, and such a lift of energy from the crowd. I can honestly say I ran with pure joy the entire route. For once I was completely unconcerned with time and place. I was in the moment. Races like this don’t happen often, if ever. This is the magic of Comrades.

A huge thank you to the corporations (Workday; The North Face) and individuals (too many to name) who enabled me to raise over $20,000 for Vukukhanye. The children of Chesterville thank you.

World Trail Challenge 2011 - The USA needs YOU!

2011-04-13T18:57:00.000-07:00

Connemara, Ireland site of the 2011 World Trail Challenge

The Mountain/Ultra/Trail Council, which is a council under USATF, is looking for 5 qualified men and 5 qualified women to go to Ireland to compete at the 2011 IAU World Trail Challenge in Connemara, Ireland. This approximately 50 mile trail race takes place on Saturday, July 9, 2011. Read more about the race here.

USATF is NOT sponsoring a team, meaning you will not receive any monetary support from USA Track and Field. But, the IAAF or IAU will provide transportation within Ireland and accomodations. Seems like you just need a plane ticket and some pocket money. So if you’d like to see what a real stout tastes like while actually in the home land of

Ireland

, consider putting this on your list.

In order to see if you qualify, send your resume to Howard Nippert at howardnippert@yahoo.com. Howard is on the Mountain, Ultra Trail Council and will be receiving and reviewing resumes. He will let you know if you qualify for the team. Click here for more specific on qualifying for the team.

As of right now, Howard has only received 6 resumes from men and only one resume from a women. So let’s step it up, especially the ladies!!

Running...Baja Style

2011-03-30T13:32:00.000-07:00

The family and I recently headed down to the East Cape of Baja, Mexico for a little bit of much needed sun during the long winter in Oregon. I picked the East Cape because it wasn’t highly developed, was somewhat easy to access from the West coast, and has a good offering of fly-fishing opportunities for my husband. Running always seems like a second thought for these short winter get aways. I always figure that I can find somewhere to run for an hour or two – even if it’s just up and down the beach.

In planning this trip, I used Google maps to look at the terrain. I picked a somewhat secluded simple fly-fishing lodge about 45 minutes north of the Los Cabos San Jose airport for our five day stay. On the map I could see the main “highway” leading north from Los Cabos, a short dirt road leading east to the lodge on the beach and then to the west, a series of what looked like jeep tracks leading up into a mountain range. Looked good on the map…

After landing at the Los Cabos airport, we drove northeast toward the East Cape. After about ten minutes of driving, the clutter of the tourist area of Los Cabos faded away. Then it’s just desert and a simple two-lane highway. Every fifteen minutes or so we would pass a single house or restaurant along the highway. From the car I spotted packs of dogs off to the side of the highway. Note to self, many stray dogs around the area. Then I noticed the cattle, usually unattended, on the side roads. Second note to self, grazing cattle wandering in hills. Already on my check list of things to watch out for were rattlesnakes and drug dealers. The former are easy to jump over, you just have to keep your eyes open. The latter, not so easy to identify.

A few years ago on a family trip to Sayulita, which is on the west side of the mainland of Mexico, I had found what I thought was a fabulous stash of trails north of town. No signs, just a little double track off a hidden beach that went up into the coastal hills. I had run there three days in a row, and could not believe my luck at finding this beautiful gem – no people and great views. Well, my illusion of safety quickly came to an end when on day three, I was the furthest point out and preparing to turn around to head back home. On the only cross road, I saw a jeep coming toward me. The hair on the back of my neck immediately came up, but I just continued to run, waiving hello at the same time. The jeep screeched to a halt and a man started yelling at me in Spanish. Since my Spanish is limited to greetings and ordering food, I had no idea what he was saying, but he was obviously fired up. Wanted to disarm his anger, I just said “hola” and tried to indicate I was just there to jog. When he realized I was a naive tourist, he said in broken English “You are on Drug Lords Property. They will shoot you if they see you.” Great, only five miles of Drug Lord trail in between home and me. I indicated to him that I would get out of there and never come back. Talk about seeing an area with new eyes.

So, Day 1 running on the East Cape, I had my checklist of things to watch out for – primarily one’s with two legs. I asked at the lodge if it was safe to run in the area. A pause, a bit longer than I would have liked, but then “Yes, no problems “ was the reply. I received directions to an overlook, which involved crossing through private property, so I decided to just explore on my own. I crossed the highway that we drove in on, and headed west on a sandy double track that I had seen on Google maps. All was going well and I was amazed at how this series of double track might be a great place to run if I could adjust to the sandy footing and the steep climbs. As I was headed back after a short check out jaunt, I heard a loud grunt and something as fast as lightening went running in the brush on my right side. It was low to the ground, black and moving faster than any animal that I had ever seen. So I jumped around to face what I was sure was an ambush from behind. A second animal about two feet high, probably 40 pounds and moving like a bullet, shot past behind me. What the hell?

Knowing most wild animals will not attack unless either cornered or the chase instinct is invoked, I stopped and listened. Then I walked very slowly for about half a mile. Figuring whatever it was that I spooked was gone, I did a slow jog back to the lodge.

“Javalina” is what my animal expert husband deduced. “They don’t attack people do they?” I asked. The reality is that they don’t unless cornered. That was day 1. The remaining days I encountered angry cows blocking my route home on one memorable run, hundreds of vultures eating something very dead right off the trail on another, and a stray dog, who I decided to not bother, on yet another.

Regarding the cows… don’t laugh; of course I have a couple of running and angry cow stories in my running history. I’ve been charged by an angry heifer once because my dog was taunting it’s calf, and then the dog ran to me for cover. Cows can match Usain Bolt off the line. Zigzagging really does work. I’ve also been stranded on top of a tractor by an angry bull. He wasn’t going to let me get by, so I had to head for the highest ground around, which was a tractor. Yes, I was on private property, thus my aversion to cross fenced lines any more.

Anyway, I’ve determined family trips to Mexico and running aren’t for me any more. I refuse to go to highly tourist areas, but is seems like the fringe is too fringy for me. I’d rather get my heart rate up by running, not anxiety.

Born to Run…with child…in backpack??

2011-02-26T12:59:00.000-08:00

I remember the phone call I received from Chris McDougall, before his new book “Born to Run” was distributed to major retailers. Chris introduced himself and gave me a little background on himself, including that he was living in rural Pennsylvania in an Amish community. He then launched into the purpose of his call. He had written a book about the Tarahumara Indians, the evolution of running, and had included me in the book. Interesting, I thought. But first I wanted to learn more about his time in Pennsylvania, and then we would get to the other stuff.

As the call progressed, I gathered that my inclusion in the book had something to do with me carrying my daughter around in a backpack. Chris told me he drew the comparison to that aspect of my mothering and the nomadic tribes where a woman had a baby, then basically attached the baby to herself and continued journeying forward with her tribe to follow the movement of the herd the tribes was tracking.

I could really connect to this concept of attaching your child and then moving your life forward. In fact, I lived it. I was never a stroller mom. I much preferred to have my daughter attached to me in some form. Around the house, I would carry my daughter in a sling, and then when we were out, that would transform itself, depending on her age, weight, and our activity, to a front pack, back pack or side sling. For example, when she was just an infant, I used the sling for grocery shopping and general errands, but when it came to hiking, I would switch to a front pack. Once she turned a year old, the front pack progressed into a backpack. The sling progressed to a side pack. I simply found that we were both happier when she was connected to me. Obviously, as she progressed into crawling and walking, I would only use the carrying devices when I was out on the move.

I’ve always had a love for being outside in nature. Having a child did not interrupt that connection to the world for me. When my daughter was only days old, we were out exploring. Of course, I would get “the look” or some comment from well meaning others who may or may not have had children, who would say “My, that baby looks just days/weeks old…and you have it out???” I would just smile politely while thinking about the many children whose early lives are limited to the surrounding of their house, breathing that same air, no sunshine, all to “keep them safe” from the infectious diseases that are going to leap from the outside air into their bodies. And heaven forbid that a child is interrupted from a nap to get them out in nature… to then once again fall asleep.

Top of Black Crater, Central Oregon

Granted, I did a lot of breastfeeding in the parking lot of trailheads, or on the trail itself. Sometimes it was just 30 minutes in between feedings in the very very early days. But to me, it was so much better outside than inside, more natural. So when Chris explained how I fit into his book, I thought, Great! I had friends who were also new moms, and had witnessed the depression that many women go through after childbirth. The wall of their house they see as their prison. Not that a daily walk in nature with your infant is going to solve everything, but it will get both mother and child further down the road in many respects. So I applauded Chris’s efforts to explain how natural it is for a woman to move forward with her life, in a very literal way, even during the very early years of raising a child.

I was, however, surprised a few days later after I had initially spoken with Chris, when I opened up the e-mail he sent me of the book excerpt, which had already been sent to the publisher. Oops. I knew immediately that people would read a literal interpretation of Chris’s comments that I “run mountain trails…with my four year old daughter in a backpack.” It is true that every day, my daughter and I were out exploring nature with her in a pack. But run…well, honestly, I would run every once and a while, for a very short distance, just to make her laugh. She would love the rhythm and bounce of it. But can I recommend truly going for a run with a child in a backpack? No I can’t. I think it would stress not only the carrier’s system, but also expose the child to danger. Carrying a 20-50 pounds of anything makes it more difficult to pick up your feet, and tripping while running becomes a real issue. Tripping on your own, so what, you scrape your knee and maybe bloody your hands…but tripping when you have a child on the front or back of you??? Disaster...as well as irresponsible.

I believe Chris McDougall’s book, Born to Run, has done a great deal of good in promoting a more natural form of running. But just to clear up any misconceptions about running with kids on your back, here are my specific answers to questions that I have received over the years:

Q. How did your run with your daughter in a backpack?

A. I didn’t. I hiked with her everyday. If I did run, it was only for a few yards at a time to make her laugh. Then I would return to our normal hiking pace.

Q. What backpack did you use?

A. I invested in a Madden backpack (Note, Madden was aquired by Sherpani Alpina). I chose the Madden because it is an internal frame pack, versus an external frame pack. An internal frame pack holds the weight closer to the body, which gives the user more stability. For me, stability was important because I did not shy away from steep terrain. Also, the advice that I received was to keep a child in a front pack until 12 months. The backpack can stress their spinal system, and parents need to wait until it is developed enough to hold their weight before going to a backpack. Typically that milestone is one year old.

Q. How did you manage to carry her when she was four years old?

A. Since I carried my daughter every day, as she put on weight, I became stronger. I would also time our hikes for nap time, so that she would hike the first mile by my side, decide then when she was tired, she would get into the backpack, take a nap. Also prior to having a child, I did quite a bit of backpacking and mountaineering. So going for hours at a time with a heavy load was not new to me.

Q. Any other advice on how to hike with kids?

A. Start them early! Since we hiked every day, it was a natural rhythm that we settled into. As she grew older, we would hike together until she would tire, then she willingly would take a ride in the pack. I also always had snacks and a sippy cup ready for when she needed calories.

Dad flyfishing with daughter

Treadmill Miles

2011-02-17T16:41:00.000-08:00

I'm not proud of it, but I've piled up almost 40 treadmill miles in the last two and a half days. The weather here in Central Oregon has given me a real head fake. Normally, I don't plan to be in "marathon" shape as early as March, but with the lack of snow (read: good skiing) in the Cascades since early January, it's been easy and fun to start to build up (ok, for us ultra marathoners, it's build down) to the marathon. I've had my eye on Napa Valley Marathon, being held March 6th this year. Everything was going great until the weather karma changed from west to east, and a huge dump of wet snow arrived on Tuesday morning, about a foot at our house and three feet in the mountains. The storm was enough to cut the power - which is not that common in our area because most of the power lines are underground. For my house the power was out only the day, but for others, I think they are still without electricity.

As if it wasn't bad enough...the snow plows pile it on parked cars...(photo from the Bend Bulletin)

I would gladly trade no power for clear roads and trails. The porch can serve as a refrigerator, candles and headlamps work fine, and toilet flushing, well we won't talk about that. My priorities being what they are, I can not train for a marathon on snowy and icy roads. Thus the treadmill. During the power free time, I had to head to a gym and suffer the embarrassment of trying to get in an interval workout surrounded by others trotting along on the treadmill. Intervals are never pretty. There is plenty of heavy breathing, possibly some other bodily sounds, and then the stop and go nature of going hard for a couple miles, taking a recovery, then going hard again. Anyway, I suffered through it.

The good news is that I was able to touch foot to asphalt this afternoon. Not dirt - that is a long way off right now, but at least asphalt. The sun has come out and is nicely warming up the roads. Sometimes you take what you can get, and the roads are looking pretty good to me right now.

Headed back to Comrades for the Uphill Run

2011-02-07T20:53:00.000-08:00

Making my plans for 2011, I've decided to head back to Comrades for the uphill run.

Here is a link to the video, thanks to The North Face, as a recap of 2010.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kb9R9-ofvXs

One of my main objectives was to raise money for the children in the area surrounding the Comrades race course that have been orphaned by AIDS. I partnered with Starfish Charity to identify a township close to the race course that had been hard hit by AIDS.

I will post my write up on the 2010 race in the next blog.

TNF 50 Mile Championship - San Francisco; Mind over …Flu?

2010-12-08T17:43:00.000-08:00

The Universe is out of balance…I want to know who out there is getting all the good karma while I on the other hand am being dealt rotten bananas.

It all started with what was probably a dreadful split second decision in the San Francisco airport the Saturday after Thanksgiving and after a three-day whirlwind tour of visiting both my family and my husband’s family spanning both Northern and Southern California. I saw the “flu shots” sign. I knew I needed to tick “flu shot” off my list, and with The North Face Endurance Championship race a full week away, I thought I would be safe in getting a shot. For the record, my husband said “Are you really sure you want a shot this close to your race?” I’ve never had a reaction from a flu shot before, so I thought I was in no danger.

Sunday night, a freight train of a headache hit me. By Monday, it was tearing through my body. Wednesday was a low point, with little energy to function, I could feel the universe tilting to one side and I was hanging off the end of it. I found out my pacer for the TNF 50 mile Championship, only three days away, wasn’t going to be able to make it. And that the shoes I ordered for the race somehow didn’t find their way to Bend. Thursday some energy was coming back as I traveled down to San Francisco. But by Thursday night, stomach cramps started. Friday night, lying in bed in the host hotel, I tried my best to meditate the pain in my head and stomach away. It worked, if only to put me to sleep for a few hours.

Race morning my alarm went off at 3.20 am. I figure if I actually have to be woken up by an alarm, it means I’ve been sleeping soundly. I took it as a good sign. As I made coffee, I noticed that my stomach was grumbling, in a good way, hungry for some calories. I took this as another good sign as my appetite had been off with the stomach pains. After a couple packets of oatmeal and a cup of Peets in my hand, I met up with some other runners from The North Face to ride to the start.

Regardless of the distance of the race, I always run a little warm up. On this morning, I jogged lightly for 10 minutes and did some strides and dynamic stretching. Ugh, the stomach was a little sloshy. I dismissed it as maybe one too many packs of oatmeal. Think positive.

The first 5 miles of any race, save a 10k, it is impossible to know how the day will go. I tried to stay conservative, but to keep the lead runners in sight, which included Lizzy Hawker (my TNF teammate from Great Britain via Switzerland) and Anna Frost (New Zealand). But within 7 miles my stomach was talking to me. I stepped off the course to double over with cramps. When I stepped back on, I lost sight of Lizzy but could still Anna. On the way down the Old Springs Trail into Tennessee Valley, I had to stop again. This time I turned off my light for some peace and quiet and watched as headlamps zoomed by. Too many headlamps. By the time I was ready to step back on the course, I didn’t care what place I was in. I just wanted to make it to BootJack and then see how I felt. If I still felt crummy, I was going to stop.

Into Tennessee Valley, I saw my crew and grumbled about my stomach. They looked stoic. No sympathy. Fortunately, heading out of Tennessee Valley I heard a familiar voice and turned to see Jason Hill, a friend and shoe designer from The North Face. Yeah, something positive to focus on. In the spirit of no whining, I mentioned my stomach pains, but said I was going to channel health and positivity. Although I had to grunt with some discomfort on the road down to the Coastal trail, Jason seemed happy to be out running 50 miles and his positive outlook became mine.

We ran together all the way down through Stinson Beach. On the climb out of Stinson, I noticed something missing – stomach pain. I actually felt good. So I started to run hard. Between the climb out of Stinson to the finish, I rarely walked, except for the steepest sections of the Steep Ravine Trail, and the unbelievably muddy sections before and after Muir Beach. I felt strong and was hoping I was catching somebody.

I received reports along the way…8 minutes back at BootJack (2^nd time through); 4 minutes back at Tennessee Valley (2^nd time through); and 3 minutes back at the final aid station. In back of who…I didn’t know. But at least I was gaining. I ended up finishing about 2.5 minutes behind Lizzy. Anna finished some 15 minutes in front. Well done. Wishing the course was longer, I feel like I may have been able to make up some of the early mile time loss. But it is what it is. I’m incredibly happy to have finished, glad the season is done, and ready to start some serious skiing.

By Sunday night, the flu demon came back full on. I can’t remember the last time I couldn’t get out of bed or had at least one gulp of fresh air in a day. I didn’t have any positive energy to throw at it, and knew I just needed to let it run its course. Maybe next year the universe will tilt my way and I’ll get a chance to really run.

Heart Rate Variability: The New New Training Tool?

2010-10-15T20:31:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago I downloaded a new app on my phone that I am using as another tool in my tool belt for training. In fact, I changed phones from a Palm to an iPhone just for this app. It’s called ithlete, and it measures Heart Rate Variability. It cost me a little under $70 for the app, and ithlete then sent me a device that plugs into the headphone jack of my iphone. Every morning right after I get out of bed, I strap on a heart rate monitor and try as best as I can to stand and breathe deeply to measure my Heart Rate Variability (HRV).

HR monitor and ithlete plug in

Heart Rate Variability is not your resting Heart Rate, nor is it a measurement of your blood pressure. Heart Rate Variability (HRV) has been around since the sixties. Basically it is a measurement of the time interval in between heart beats. The key to this tool is that it gives you an indicator of the state of your nervous system, which will show signs of overtraining or readiness before it registers in your resting heart rate.

Screen shot from iphone ithlete app

Read out from ithlete

Top athletes have been using HRV but the commercial products are really outside the reach of most everyday athletes, costing between $1,000 to more than $20,000. Under $70 seemed like quite a bargain.

According to an article published in 1996 by the American Heart Association, HRV became a relevant measurement in a clinical setting when doctors discovered that the time increments in between heart beats for a fetus were a precursor to fetal distress before any change in heart rate.

HRV was then used in the seventies as a bedside tests for diabetics. In the eighties, HRV became a measurement tool post heart attack to predict whether or not a patient was going to recover. In each of these clinical settings, the less variability in the time increments between heart beats, the greater the chance of sudden death.

It seems counter intuitive that the less variability in time intervals between beats, the closer one is to mortality. Why is this? An understanding of the function of the nervous system helps to explain this phenomenon. The heart rate and the rhythm of the heart are among some of the body functions controlled by the nervous system. The nervous system is broken down into two functions: sympathetic and parasympathetic. The sympathetic and parasympathetic division of the nervous system works in “opposition” to one another, but in a complimentary way. The sympathetic increases the heart’s action and the parasympathetic work more like a brake by slowing the action of the heart. Together they moderate the heart rate. The higher the “variability” of the time in between heartbeats is an indication that the sympathetic and parasympathetic actions of the nervous system are working well. The lower the variability of time in between heart beats means that the nervous system is working hard to manage heart rate, and it is an indicator of fatigue, and taken to an extreme, mortality.

Therefore, HRV is an indicator of how well rested your nervous system is…and monitoring HRV can give you a warning before you notice changes in your resting heart rate.

How does this apply to athletes?

As runners, we aren’t really thinking about mortality, in fact, we are often thinking we belong squarely in the opposite category. But we are also thinking about how hard we can push our bodies in training. How much is too much and when do we know we should back off training? We all go through phases where it seems like our bodies are able to absorb the training we are handing it, and other times we feel like we somehow stepped off a cliff into a giant abyss with really no warning sign.

Before I knew about HRV, if I ever suspected I was teetering on the edge of the abyss in training, I would take my resting Heart Rate (HR) before I got out of bed in the morning. I know many athletes and coaches use this simple test as an indicator of whether or not your body is prepared to go hard. A rule of thumb is that if your resting HR in the morning is 10% above your normal resting HR, then take a day off. Multiple days at an elevated HR along with fatigue and trouble sleeping are a sign that the body is not recovered from training and that the athlete could be on the bring of overtraining. But sometimes once the HR has elevated, it's too late to take corrective action. Enter Heart Rate Variability (HRV).

What can impact HRV?

In well-trained athletes, over the course of a training cycle (hard work, recovery) there will be a reflection of that training in the HRV. After a hard workout, HRV is going to decrease. But after the appropriate rest period, HRV should go back up indicating the body has recovered from the stress of the previous workout. Too many hard workouts in a row without the proper recovery will lead to a chronically low HRV, which indicates the nervous system is not properly adjusting to the stress, and left unchecked, the athlete will then experience overtraining.

Same as an interval workout?

Other things that can negatively impact your HRV are physical and emotional stresses such as not getting enough sleep, alcohol, smoking, even day-to-day tasks like raising children. All of these can have a negative impact on HRV, and depending on the level of stress, the nervous system can treat these stresses the same as a hard workout.

But, having a dip in HRV reflecting stress on the system is not a bad thing. What is bad is not taking the appropriate recovery to allow your body to adapt to the higher level of stress. Without recovery, we can not become stronger. Leaps in fitness come during recovery from training stress.

HRV in practice

I’ve been experimenting with ithlete's HRV tool for the past 12 days. Granted, it takes a couple of weeks of data to really build a baseline, but I’ve gleaned some really valuable information already.

At one point, I needed help interpreting the results because I received some conflicting HRV readings after the Portland Marathon. So I sent an e-mail to ithlete. In less than a day, I received an e-mail back from the founder himself, Simon Wegerif. He wrote a very thorough response and provided me with multiple documents backing up his conclusion. Many of his insights come from hundreds of research papers he has poured through as well as many of the athletes with whom he has worked. You can learn more about HRV here on the ithlete FAQ page.

You can also request the full User's Guide, which is packed with information not only about HRV, but also about training and the symptoms of over training.

I paid for ithlete; I am not in anyway sponsored by them. I’m definitely a fan of the tool. While there is no silver bullet out there for becoming a better athlete, I believe information is key, and having ithlete in the tool belt definitely provides specific, actionable feedback on a daily basis.

Pickle Juice: A study with a sample size of one

2010-09-30T17:06:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I bought two jars of pickles. And not just any pickle. I bucked up and paid for the “all natural, no preservatives” kind that set me back $7.99 a jar. I am not really a fan of pickles, but that doesn’t matter. Pickles and specifically pickle juice seems to be all the rage of the ultra running world as a way to “instantly relieve” muscle cramps.

I first hear about using pickle juice to alleviate cramps while I was at an ultra in Montana, Old Gabe (beautiful course, one to put on the list!). At the finish, the RD, Tom Hayes, kindly offered me some pickles. “No thanks, sounds terrible” is what I said. But curious, I asked why there would be pickles at an aid station, as it seemed like an unlikely food to offer. Salty yes, but there is where the cravings would appear to end. Tom told me that there have been studies showing that pickle juice immediately alleviates muscular cramps. Must be the salt, I said. But he countered that the research is showing that the pickle juice works at the nerve level, somehow inhibiting the impulse to the muscle to contract. But since he didn’t have the research paper in hand, this is where speculation started.

Since then I’ve been bouncing the idea off of other athletes – professional mountain bikers and triathletes, fishing for some info and to see if anyone has tried it. One speculated maybe it’s the vinegar that acts as an alkalizing substance in the body. Another, because he had heard of using mustard to alleviate cramps, thought it might be a shared ingredient such as turmeric. But 0 for about 10 on test subjects.

So, being the smart ultra runner that I am, and knowing I had the Vermont 100 coming up three weeks after the Montana race, I did nothing to either research or test out the pickle juice theory until the day before the Vermont 100. Although I usually don’t have any problems with muscular cramps during races I knew that the conditions at Vermont would be humid and possibly quite hot, I thought pickle juice might be a nice back up strategy.

With temperatures in the 90’s and the air feeling like you could cut it with a knife, I went to the store in Vermont and stocked up on jars of pickles (dill, not sweet). I then disposed of the pickles and put all the pickle juice into one large left over orange juice container and instructed my crew to offer a cup at every crew point with my theory being “Why wait for cramping to set in if I could potentially head it off.”

On race day, temps hit a high of 91 with 65 percent humidity. I stuck to my normal electrolyte routine, but then I added in the pickle juice. At 40, 50, and 70 miles I managed to get down two, maybe three ounces of pickle juice. I can’t say it was a pleasant and sought after taste experience. Then at mile 80 my taste buds revolted. I took a swig and then immediately spit it back up. There was no way I was getting any down. But, I was also not experiencing any cramps. And I ran a course record on a very hot day with an un heat conditioned body. Interesting. I have to say though, I have never vomited during or after an ultra, but after Vermont, there was profuse vomiting. Don’t know why. But pickle juice was definitely a suspect.

So, I forgot about pickle juice until this week. Since my race in France, my legs have not been their normal self. They have felt heavy and full, even though they seem to be able to run well. I surmised it must be some level of depletion from my hypothermic episode. But no amount of hydration or electrolytes seems to address the issue. To top it off, in Flagline 50k, even though I was following my normal hydration and electrolyte strategy, I experienced some muscle spasms – something that has never happened to me in a race.

So, I bought two jars of pickles, saddled up to my laptop and started doing research by googling “Pickle juice cramping.” Frankly, the mystery is still unsolved. Many articles point to a recent study done on 10 healthy college aged males at Brigham Young University in Utah. You can read about it here in a NY Times blog.

Basically the subjects cycled until they lost 3 percent of their body weight through perspiration. Then one big toe was hooked up to a device that sent an electric impulse, which induced a cramp. In the subjects that drank pickle juice, their cramps were relieved in 85 seconds. For the poor souls drinking only water, their cramps lasted 134 seconds.

But apparently scientists are at odds at what in the pickle juice is responsible for the relief of cramping. After further exploring the issue, there are also many varying points of view as to what actually starts cramping – is it tired muscles, is it dehydration, is it a loss of electrolytes?

I found one article to be very interesting and in my unscientific mind, maybe a building block for the pickle juice mystery.

According to Health 911 “Cramps are sometimes caused by a deficiency in acetylcholine, the neurotransmitter that stimulates your muscles to work. Mustard and pickle juice both have acetic acid which helps the body make more acetylcholine. ” A quick search on the web identifies vinegar as also having acetic acid. Looking up acetylcholine confirms it is involved in the function of muscle contractions through the nervous system.

In my grand study of one (myself), I decided to see if maybe my body was lacking acetic acid – again in my mind, tied back to my hypothermic experience in France. So five days after Flagline 50k, I planned on doing a track workout. I bought the pickles with the intention of drinking the pickle juice the day before the track workout. My muscles were still funky, so I thought what do I have to lose?

As I opened the jar and smelled the smell of pickle juice, I had flashbacks to Vermont. I realized I couldn’t just drink the juice, so I ate two pickles. A couple of hours later, my stomach wasn’t right. I felt nauseated and thought I’d have to cancel the workout the next day. A good nights sleep seemed to help out, but I still could not bear to drink the pickle juice with my breakfast. So I reached for the apple cider vinegar. I figured one teaspoon of vinegar was more palatable than two ounces of pickle juice. So I added some water and down it went. Horrible. My eight year old daughter asked me why I didn’t like the wine I was drinking, and I quickly corrected her to tell her it was vinegar, not wine. I could just see her telling her playmates that I drank some bad wine for breakfast.

The nastiness of the vinegar didn’t linger too long in my mouth and didn’t cause the nausea that the pickles seemed to cause. I headed out to the track about an hour later. Warming up I kept assessing my legs…do they feel normal?…do they feel heavy?…I wouldn’t know until I actually got on the track. And a pleasant surprise it was. My legs were back to normal!!! Solid track workout, no muscle spasms, just smooth contractions. Very unscientific, no placebos, no control group, just me. Could it have been coincidence? Or did the vinegar really work? Being cautiously optimistic… I vote for the vinegar.

Flagline 50k - USATF National Championships for 50k Trail

2010-09-27T16:57:00.000-07:00

The last thing you want to hear someone say at mile 28 of a 31-mile race is “you’re going the wrong way.” “Shit” really is the only proper response. Which is exactly what I said when I ran into Jeff Browning on his mountain bike when he uttered this simple, factual yet annoying statement.

I was really looking forward to finishing with no drama.

I asked what the lead men had done, and Jeff said they just continued on, which is what I also chose to do. Although the altered course would take us almost an extra mile out of our way and require more climbing, it seemed better than the anguish of retracing our steps, adding two miles to the course. In my mind, I rationalized that a course official had sent me on this route, which is where the mix up was for all the leaders. Apparently he had received some incorrect information and was routing runners down the wrong trail. Only one other runner was routed the wrong way, and then the race management changed the flagging to the correct route.

The Flagline 50k started under a beautiful cloudless blue sky near Mount Bachelor, about 20 miles south west of Bend, Oregon. Last weekend I ran a half marathon under dark clouds and occasional drizzle. This was enough to give me flashbacks to my France hypothermic debacle (see previous posts), so I was happy and smiling at the 50k start. Although not quite warm, with temps around forty-five at the start, the day warmed up beautifully into the seventies by the finish.

This was the inaugural run of the Flaglane 50k, and it was also playing host to the USATF National 50k Trail Running Championships. From looking at the course profile, I thought the race would be decided on the second major climb at around 20 miles. Starting at around 6,000 feet, the climb ascends “only” 1,000 feet total. But as I found with the entire course, it was hard to get into a rhythm on the trail because of dips in the terrain, numerous turns, and creek crossings.

I believe most of the trails in the area were built by Central Oregon Trail Alliance whose primary membership for it’s formative years were in mountain biking but is quickly expanding their membership to include runners and hikers. Some of the race proceeds were going to COTA because COTA is the foundation for trail building in Central Oregon. It seems mountain bikers generally don’t like to ride in a straight line, thus swervey curves in the trail. It’s fun to run on this type of terrain, but it requires constant shifting of gears for runners and takes us out of the rhythm of the just running in a straight line. But that is what roads are for, and why we love to trail run, right?

The course hit some of the best trails that the “high country” in the area has to offer. Runners and mountain bikers alike revere the Flagline trail because it is closed until August 15^th every year for elk calving. Not taking a pounding for the full season means the trail is covered with a soft base of pine needles. It’s not rutted out like the lower trails, and it has beautiful rock formations lining the route. The second trail favorite that the race covers is a pristine section of the Metolius Windigo Trail. This is the trail that climbs out of Happy Valley at mile 20. And this is where I tend to excel in races, feeling comfortable grinding into the next gear and getting up the hill while most of the runners around me are trying to survive the climb.

I was happy to finally see the finish, especially since the reroute dealt me with a steady uphill climb for the last two miles on the Cascade Lakes Highway. Apparently not only did I win the women’s open, but I also was dubbed the fist old person (over forty) male or female, across the finish line. I never really think of myself as a Masters, but when I can be in front of all the over forty men out there, I’ll take that title too.

I then heard about the drama of the men front-runners. Apparently after being misrouted in the last three miles, the men disbursed and went separate ways because they were not within sight of each other. At the point of the misrouting, Erik Skaggs was about a minute and a half in front of Max King. But, since Max is from the area, he knew how to get back to the finish. When he arrived at the finish line, he realized none of the other misrouted runners had showed up, and he waited, something like twenty mintues, not willing to cross the finish line until the others found their way in. Then he graciously took second place, handing the win to Erik. First class move by a first class runner.

This was the first Ultra distance race put on by Super Dave’s SuperFit productions, and it was beautifully executed with only one hiccup being the misrouted front runners. Flagline 50k is definitely one to put on the list for next year.

Here’s a link to the top 25 finishers:

http://www.centraloregonathlete.com/race-results/results-flag-line-50k-2010-bend-oregon-national-championships/

Finishing the CCC: Hardest or dumbest thing I’ve ever done?

2010-09-23T17:39:00.001-07:00

It was a dark and stormy night in the Alps around Mount Blanc…really it was. The one hundred and three mile race Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc UTMB had been cancelled, and in a few more hours, the sixty plus mile race I was in the midst of running for the last 11+ hours was also going to be cancelled because of the extreme weather conditions. This would have been good information to have, as I climbed up and over the pass connecting the town of Trient to Vallorcine. A couple of hours earlier, I noticed I was getting a little cold on the climb over Bovine from Champex to Trient because of the relentless wind and rain. But, as soon as I descended the 2500 feet into Trient, I soon forgot about the chill on the ridgeline as the valley temperatures were closer to 50 degrees and the protection of the trees kept the heavy rain and wind at bay. Here is where I would make a critical mistake that would cost me the race.

I felt strong and confident that I could win this race. The course had taken us over four other major passes ranging from 7000 feet to 8500 feet, and then back down into the small villages that lined the valley that surrounded Mt Blanc, settling in at the valley floor around 4,000 to 5000 feet. I had run a solid 45 miles, and was ready to put myself into race mode and make my move on the final two climbs and descents that would bring me into Chamonix,. I felt confident that I could put distance on Maud Giraud, French trail running champion, who was my primary competition in the Courmanyer –Champex - Chamonix (CCC).

A quick in and out at the aid station in Trient proved to be that critical mistake. I felt a little sluggish on the downhill into Trient probably because of the chill on the ridgeline and the realization that I hadn’t been eating or drinking my normal amounts. The constant onslaught of the weather took me off my well-oiled race strategy of fluids, calories and electrolytes . I should have taken the time to change out of my wet clothes and put on a base layer, load up on food and drink but Maud was also in the aid station at the same time. I got caught up in the carnival like atmosphere that surrounds these key check points. It was a race to see who would exit first.

About an hour of climbing the pass out of Trient, I hit the ridge line around 7000 feet, right about the time the UTMB race, which started at 6.30pm, was being cancelled,. Rain drops the size of nickels were coming down in buckets. I quickly put on my waterproof coat, and struggled to stay on the trail as the wind gusts made it impossible to run a straight line. My body temperature was quickly dropping. I looked around for a place to stop and put on the extra layer I had stashed in my backpack, but there was not a place to get out of the rain and wind. The small chill that started turned into shivering as I realized I was in a dangerous position. Must find shelter. Typically at the top of each pass stood a stripped down checkpoint, maybe a tent or a tarp with no real supplies, just someone to scan in your number. I knew I must be close to one, so I put my head down and tried to move forward in the rain.

I had been in similar situations facing hypothermia twice before in my life – once in my twenties when I was on the swim leg of an Olympic distance National Championship Triathlon in Lake Mead, Nevada. A cold storm moved in the day before the race. I was one of the few racers who chose to go without a wetsuit, and found myself off course in the 3-foot swells, and fighting for my life. I was bordering on unconsciousness when a boat pulled me out of the water. I earned a ride in an ambulance, an IV and complete depletion for days afterward. I specifically remember my mental talk going from competitor to survivor. The only difference in this situation was that I wasn’t swimming, and wasn’t risking drowning although I was as soaked as I would have been swimming. While running, I took a moment to reflect on how thankful I was that I wasn’t swimming.

After what seemed like too long, I saw what I thought was a giant white tent. Stoked, I made my way toward it. Then it vanished, absorbed by the cloud and fog that made up this hallucination. Finally, after what I felt was a long spell, I saw a tarp set up that was open on three sides, but tilted in the direction that protected the volunteers from the driving wind and rain. As I approached, they looked at me curiously and asked a question in French. All I could say was “hot tea”. Thankfully they had a large thermos of warm sugary tea. I set myself down on the only chair and drank eagerly, my hands shaking as I tried not to spill the tea on myself. There were no other supplies, no blankets, and no food, only tea. I started to peel off my wet layers as best I could and struggled to get into my extra layers – leggings and a nylon jacket. Knowing that this post was no place to hang out as night descended on the ridgeline, I knew I had to get down to the valley where I would meet my crew and drop out.

Forever and a day is what it felt like it took me to go the five miles down to Vallercine. I could not get my legs to move. I was still chilled, but warmer than I was out on the ridge. My head was foggy and I struggled to stay focused on the trail. Night was falling, so I stopped and pulled out my headlamp. It seemed like people were flying by me. Most asked if I was OK, and I would nod, confident I would make it, but also looking forward to ending the race.

My running diminished to a plodding walk. I was about five minutes behind Maud on the ridgeline, but that then turned to 30 minutes as I sat in the shelter, pounding tea and then plodding down into Vallercine, the 50-mile point in the 61-mile race.

My crew of Ben and Sven, two product managers from The North Face Europe office, two all together great guys, were concerned but encouraging as I entered Vallercine. “I’m too cold on the ridgelines, and I fear the next two…I can’t stay warm” I said as I shivered in the aid station. “I’m wasted and can’t run.” “I want to stop” is what I kept telling myself, but I couldn’t say it out loud. “Let’s get you dry, let’s change your clothes, you’re so close, you can’t stop now”. I knew I only had somewhere between 10 – 12 miles to go…nothing really. I took off my soaking clothes, did a complete change, put on four layers on top, ate bread sausage, drank cup after cup of hot tea and grudgingly set out again. At least I had a chance of being warm and I was fed. Only a few more miles, shouldn’t take long, maybe I can warm up and start running again.

The second time I found myself in a near hypothermic state at an endurance race was a 100k race in the Marin Headlands with unusual driving wind and rain. I was staying on the edge of warm until the moment I ran through what appeared to be a mud puddle but turned into a deep pool. It went from ankle to thigh deep in one step, and I found myself face down and totally submerged. My “OK but wet” state quickly changed to “cold and starting to shiver.” Again, turning from a competitor to just wanting to survive, I was able to see my crew in about a mile. After clothing change and the addition of a heavy jacket, I trudged on. It took 20 miles to get my energy back, but when it came back, it roared back. And I ended up winning. So I knew it was possible to come back from a deep chill, I thought I just needed to be patient.

Four hours is what it took me to cover the last eleven miles. In that four-hour period, I saw an amazing almost full moon peek through the thick fog and clouds. I walked in what seemed like a river for a really long time. I followed the light of a headlamp which I thought must be a check point, up to the top of a ridge, only to find a man holding out a cup of tea speaking to me in French. As I reached for the cup, he pulled it away and said in English “the trail is down there” pointing with the now withdrawn steaming mug.

On the downhill I thought I could let gravity do it’s trick, and just let my legs roll. But they refused. The downhill’s turned into the same slow walk as the uphill, I was toast. At the last aid station, La Flegere, I took the time to change the batteries in my headlamp, not knowing how long it was going to take me to cover the last 7k of downhill. I must have looked as trashed as I felt. The ladies manning the station insisted that I drink a cup of chicken noodle soup. It sounded terrible, but I didn’t have the energy to refuse. So I drank it in one gulp, and then ended up re-experiencing it LIFO style - - Last in First Out after I crossed the finish line.

I keep asking myself why I became hypothermic…I’ve woken up in a 7 degree tent at 17,000 feet with a wind storm raging around me (Denali), I’ve been on the Alaskan Tundra pulling a 40 pound sled in minus 30 degree conditions in the middle of the night (Iditerod). I live in Oregon where a mid winter runs happen in snowstorms with temps can hovering in the low teens. But when it comes to heavy rain and running, or open water swimming in extreme conditions, I just don’t have the body fat to fight off the cold. Something I need to remember, and I know I won’t soon forget.

Although a disappointment, finishing third female in the CCC maybe one of my all time “hardest thing I’ve ever done.” Maybe dumbest too, as I was trashed for the next couple of weeks more so than any other endurance race I’ve run. But as any ultra runner’s mindset, maybe it was just good training - running after a hypothermic experience seemed equivalent to carrying a refrigerator on my back for the remainder of the race. Wonder how strong it made me.