Up for air

Not much to report on the "Jill Outside" front this week. But sometimes when about a week goes by without an update, I feel I should post something on my blog lest my family begin to believe I've disappeared into another adventure, or disappeared altogether.

Nope. I've been here all this time, and for the past 36 hours my activity mostly involved sitting quite still. This week has been a bemusing slump through a trifecta of infections that seem to be unrelated to each other. The sinus pressure and cough I accepted as penance. After all, it was my idea to get a flu shot last week, which is what I decided to blame when I felt slightly off but not quite sick for days afterward, and then I went for a hard bike ride and a 31-mile run. Then I really did get sick. Okay, I deserved that. But then I quickly slipped into a world of discomfort that culminated when a mysterious rash spread across my neck, arms, lower back, and hips. It flared up rapidly and then clamped down like a vice, making it painful for me to move my upper body.

Like the hypochondriac that I can sometimes be, I trolled the Web and convinced myself I had a systemic candida infection and I was either going to die or spend the rest of the week lying in bed slathered head to toe in diaper rash paste. But like the stubborn person I am, I resolved to self-treat my rash through the weekend and call my doctor if it wasn't better by Monday. I effectively didn't fall asleep until dawn broke Friday morning, and then resisted Beat's efforts to rouse me out of bed at 10 a.m. I was awake; I just didn't feel like moving. "Call the doctor," he urged. "This is what doctors are for."

The doctor told me I was likely experiencing a plain old allergic reaction, probably from either laundry detergent or food, or really any number of things that a person can suddenly become severely allergic to. He gave me a prescription that quickly downgraded my symptoms from "morphing into a statue" to "mildly itchy and uncomfortable." Yay prednisone. But it does leave me wondering ... if it is an allergic reaction and not a immune system hiccup as I previously suspected, what am I so allergic to?

I have friends who have banged their heads against the wall for years regarding allergies. One friend battled crippling skin outbreaks that kept her home from work, and eventually cut her diet down to about six different items of food. My own diet is simple and satisfying, and remains effectively the same foods I've eaten since my childhood, but it reads like a laundry list of typical food allergy suspects — raw vegetables and fruits, dairy, a whole lotta grain, some lean protein and legumes. And of course sugary energy foods. I tend to be defensive about my eating habits because they're so out of fashion right now (it's very much a 1990s low-fat, high-calorie marathon runner diet.) But I don't really enjoy eating meat or many foods with high fat content, because both upset my digestive system, and can't imagine how any low-carb diet wouldn't disrupt my endurance lifestyle. But if you'd asked me at 3 a.m. while I was lying awake and marinating in my own misery, I would have happily agreed to a diet of grass and twigs if I thought it would make the rash go away.

I remain optimistic that this was just a one-time occurrence or perhaps the fault of my compromised immune system that's been dragging me around all week. But experiences like this do make me wonder ... good health can be lost so easily and randomly. Just how much control do I have?

I'm happy Beat talked me into acquiring steroids before the weekend started. I feel so much better already, and hopefully I can get back outside and go for a run and maybe even the long bike ride I'd been planning on Sunday. The weather has been gorgeous, and it's true that even short dips into minor illnesses exponentially increase my appreciation of health.

On running tired

All week I felt like I was on the verge of getting sick, although I could never be sure. On Wednesday I set out on what has to be my worst run since I took up running. I went to Rancho park for my favorite ten-kilometer loop, ran the first mile feeling winded at normal speed, and started to seriously lose steam in the second mile. By the end of mile two my whole body ached and my stomach was lurching, so I took a five-minute break laying on a bench overlooking the valley. It felt so nice to lie down but too chilly to stay there. I decided to cut my run short and take the easiest route back to the ranch in case my stomach really started to rebel. But I was so nauseated and dizzy that I could only run for short intervals, and when I walked it must have been slowly because I finished my shortened run a full 90 minutes after I started, with less than five miles distance. I felt wrecked.

"I'm getting sick," I told Beat, but then on Thursday I woke up and felt not any worse. So I proceeded with my plans for a evening mountain bike ride with Leah. Again I battled low energy and muscle aches, but not the extent I had on Wednesday. Still, I was certain some virus was settling in for a long stay. I admitted to Leah that Beat and I had signed up for a 50K trail race on Sunday. She shook her head and said, "No racing on Sunday," to which I whole-heartedly agreed. But then I woke up on Friday and felt not any worse, and had a relatively successful run on at Rancho on Saturday, so Sunday morning I set out to run the Steep Ravine 50K.

The phantom sickness stayed in the shadows. But like they have on every occasion I've run here, the steep trails of Mount Tam thoroughly kicked my butt. I put in what felt like a valiant effort in the first half, knowing that if it went bad (and I partially hoped it would) I could just quit after the first 25-kilometer loop. My legs couldn't produce much power, but I didn't feel nauseated, so I tried to combat my low energy by stuffing down as many Clif Shot blocks as I could stomach. They did nothing for me, absolutely nothing. Beat passed me several times on the out-and-backs, and when he asked me how I felt, I said, "bonky." I felt as though I had low blood sugar, even with a dozen Shot Blocks churning in my gut like rocks in a cement mixer.

I went out for the second 25K lap anyway and soon slipped into an endurance fog, a hazy yet happy place that is something of a guilty pleasure for me. When I'm not injured or hurting, just dog tired, the fog settles in and fills my often overdriven thoughts with sparkling lagoons and white clouds — a meditative emptiness that I can't readily achieve under normal circumstances, but comes automatically when my body feels spent. And because of the natural buildup of endurance training, I rarely experience this state during "short" efforts like 50Ks anymore. It's like any drug that one builds up a resistance to — I need more miles, and then more, and then more, until some future cracking point when I hit my endocrine system's limit, and then I will check myself into rehab and that will be that.

Okay, that last paragraph was partially in jest. This question has been on my mind recently ... the question of limits ... the question "Is there enough?" There has been a lot of chatter in the endurance community about adrenal fatigue and other longterm physical maladies caused by overtraining. Participants in the conversation include people I know well, so I've followed along with a mixture of concern, personal interest, and natural skepticism. Endurance athletes comprise such a tiny percentage of humanity that few scientific studies have been conducted on their behalf, so much of the evidence linking chronic fatigue and overexercising is anecdotal. I don't dispute the evidence, but I will say that I'm skeptical of how closely these two are really linked versus a multitude of other factors that contribute to shifts in physical health and motivation. I've read quite a few books about unintentional endurance — prisoners who walked across Siberia, polar explorers who were stranded in ice and fought for their survival for months and years, people in labor camps during the Holocaust. People who weren't trained, who weren't prepared, who weren't even willing participants, but who did amazing things anyway. People who, if they came out today and said "I did this" without any proof, would immediately be discredited. Because in the modern world, we've erected so many boundaries that it's become impossible to see beyond them.

I lean toward the belief that modern humans haven't even come close to exceeding the potential of human endurance. But the route to discovering our limits certainly isn't a direct one. It's difficult to reconcile the wishes of the mind with the needs of the body, and no rational person wants to take unknown risks with their own health. Acute overuse injuries are a concern for everyone, and I've had my share. But in my case these injuries were a result of misuse and mistakes, not much different than if I crashed my bike and injured myself in the fall. I've experienced weeks and even months of low energy and malaise after hard endurance efforts, but I've also experienced very similar symptoms after personal crises that had nothing to do with physical effort. I can't help but wonder if any physical limit I've perceived is more about a tired or fearful mind than a weakened body.

But yes, back to running the Steep Ravine 50K with a phantom illness. I was tired and began making mistakes. Less than three miles from the finish, I picked up speed on the steep descent down the Dipsea Trail. My leg muscles ached, I thought I had a blister from my new shoes, and I was ready to be done. Just as I started running at what felt like my fastest pace all day, I caught my right foot on a root, threw my left foot down too fast and at a bad angle, and in the process launched myself into the air. As I flew toward a landing that I knew was going to end horizontally several feet down the trail, I tucked in my arms and legs and made myself into a little ball, so that when I hit, I bounced. It actually worked. I slammed into the dirt with my shoulder and the side of my knee, but then rolled over to settle on my back, rather than skid into lots of bruises and trail-rash. It was still a hard hit and it took me several minutes to compose myself and pick up jogging again, but it was perhaps the most graceful fall I have ever taken. I am learning, I am.

I'm learning every day. I don't know what my personal limit will be. I hope I never find it, but if I do, I want to look back on the long adventurous process and think, "well, that was worth it." Or, maybe I will look deeper inside my own over-analytic mind and say, "Now now, you're just feeling scared."

Steep Ravine 50K: 31.2 miles, 7,088 feet of climbing, in 6:56. I've run slight variations of this butt-kicker of a course four times but this was the fastest. Maybe the phantom illness really was a figment of my imagination. 

2013 dreams, spring and early summer

Daylight is beginning to creep back into Leah's and my evening bike rides in the Marin Headlands. On Thursday we got out for our favorite loop from the bridge, watched a beautifully hazy sunset, listened to coyotes howl as burrow owls swooped through our headlight beams, and remarked how warm it was because 45 degrees and moonlight sure beat the pouring rain that was happening at my home only forty miles south. It was a typically beautiful ride, and we topped it off with some fantastic Chinese food from this unique fusion place in the Mission.

As we buzzed with endorphins and chili sauce, we schemed possible bike tours for the spring or summer. The adventure planning reminded me that I'm still making my wish list for 2013. Spring and the first part of summer are bound to be the time for a bike tour and micro-adventures, but there are a few endurance challenges that I hope to include as well:

May 11: Quicksilver 50-miler. Fifty miles is the one major ultra distance I haven't tried, and honestly, it's the distance I'm least likely to enjoy. Fifty kilometers is just short enough that I can savor a challenging run without it degrading into a slog. A hundred miles is so hard that I can embrace the slog and let it take me to all of the magical places that it will. A hard hundred kilometers or seventy miles offers some of the flighty fun of a hundred miles with less of the pain. But fifty miles — that's a tricky distance. Much longer than a "fun run" 50K, but not quite long enough to venture into ultraendurance mindgame territory. So there it is. I'm going to give fifty miles my best shot at the Quicksilver 50 in San Jose. The course has 8,500 feet of climbing, promises to be an inferno of oppressive heat, and enforces the trails' consistent runnability with a twelve-hour cut-off. Can you tell I'm looking forward to this? But I need a long training run for:

May 31: The Bryce 100. A hundred miles of high desert alpine and otherworldly redrock formations on the outskirts of Bryce Canyon National Park. May 31 is Beat's birthday, and this is how he wanted to celebrate. The course rings the rolling hills of the Paunsaugunt Plateau, ranging between 7,800 and 9,400 feet. The altitude is harsh for a sea-level dweller, and judging by some of the breathing problems I had in the Bear 100, Bryce promises to be a hypoxic struggle amid some of Utah's most breathtaking scenery. The total elevation gain is something over 14,000 feet. My goal for this race is to not pass out, be gifted with great photo-taking weather, and finish before the cut-off. My sights for the summer are set on multiday adventures, so I don't want to run myself into an injury by trying to push my speed limit. (Last month I wrote an article previewing the race.)

June or early July: Sierras fastpacking adventure. This is something I've been dreaming about since I moved to California. I hope I have a chance to pull it off this year. The grand out-there dream would be to hike/run the 220 miles of the John Muir Trail in seven or eight days. Whether I can leverage the time and planning to pull this off is the question. Eight days is lot of time in itself, and the effort will require significant recovery after a full week of going as strong as I can for twelve to sixteen hours a day. I've also received conflicting advice about how to apply for permits, so I have to spend more time looking into this. Also, I need to figue out how to actually *become* an ultralight backpacker rather than just covet their cool gear from afar while I imagine them shivering in space blankets and gnawing on twigs and moss. The John Muir Trail is realistically too much to bite off for a first-time fastpacking adventure. But I still want to plan some kind of multiday endurance challenge on foot. A three- or four-night loop in Yosemite National Park or part of the Pacific Crest Trail would be great possibilities as well.

I'll get to the rest of summer in the next post. I will say that it won't include the Tour Divide or any big bikepacking race, this year at least. As I mentioned earlier, 2013 is the year I want to test my limits on foot, because there are so many incredible places in this world that I can't access on wheels. But the wheels still hold the first spot in my heart, and I'm sure after this year's for-fun bike adventures, I'll be looking for something more challenging once again.