Finding my Stride in Okushinano

After a spring season of lackluster running by my own standards, though not for lack of trying, I was starting to wonder if something’s up. Have I peaked? Have I checked out? Am I in a different headspace? A new chapter? Was the past a fluke? The more I race and have things not go as hoped, the lower my expectations get and the more I wonder about what I want.

After letting go of the Virginia AT record pretty early into the attempt, I got to spend a lot of time thereafter hiking and thinking about what I would like in the broader sense. I could organize the experiences of that trip into several categories–meaningful, superficial, overcoming, surrendering. It might be that the special sauce of any pursuit of endurance, for me, contains a balance of all of these things.

Meaningful–the human element. Leaning on friends, family, and community for support. Sharing the experience. All of the interactions along the way, small and large. Continuing on for something bigger than oneself.

Superficial–the simple pleasures, when sprinkled in just right. Hot food. Shower. Bed. Dry, clean clothes. Things that make one feel more human and less gremlin. The danger is leaning on these things too much, or mistaking them for being necessary.

Overcoming–going beyond what you thought was possible, because you’re willing to try.

Surrendering–letting go of control and adjusting expectations. This does not have to mean throwing in the towel when things don’t go as expected, but it might mean adapting.

Going into the Okushinano 100k, I felt really open. I felt zero pressure in terms of my performance, and I felt mentally prepared to be on my feet for a long time, up to 21 hours for 3mph, to do whatever I needed to do to get to the finish. I had confidence in my ability on the terrain based on my time spent in Virginia, and really nothing to lose expectation-wise.

I started the race pretty gingerly and tentatively. It was a warm day with many miles ahead. There was a long stretch of pretty easygoing trail and I made fantastic time without trying. It was a little deceiving. How hard could this race be? Then came the first big climb up Mt. Kosha, around 2,000ft of climbing in two miles. I had been left in the dust by many runners at this point, but somehow the uphill climb came easily. All those miles in Virginia while carrying a full hiking pack paid off! I sailed up the mountain with relative ease. Being on a single track trail, I got caught behind a line of runners and there was really no way to pass a runner unless they stepped aside to let me go by. I remembered being stuck in a similar situation in the Black Canyon 100K last February. I knew from experience that there would be plenty more miles and opportunities to pass, and no use using up my energy early on to gain a few places. I also felt unsure of the cultural norms of trail running in Japan and didn’t want to be arrogant in the way I ran. Even with that in mind, many runners heard me coming and allowed me to pass, so I sputtered the little bit of Japanese I knew (sumimasen, “sorry, excuse me” and arigatou gozaimasu, “thank you”).

The closer we got to the top of the mountain, the more bunched up the runners became. The trail became more steep and technical, and soon we reached a ridge with drop offs to either side, the terrain undulating with some quick ups and downs before we reached the top of the mountain. There was collective cheery energy at the top. The views were gorgeous and the sun was fully out. First checkpoint accomplished!

The way down from the mountain was treacherous, with very steep built-in steps. Most runners danced their way gracefully down the steps, and I felt zero desire to follow suit. The consequences of tripping and falling would have been too dire. Just that morning I had received an offer for a staff pianist position I’d been interviewing for (yay!). The last thing I needed was to risk tumbling down a mountain and breaking a limb.

Many of the runners I’d passed up the mountain continually passed me on the way down, and then some more. The treacherous steps were followed by a steep decline down a grassy ski slope. I no longer felt in danger of tripping and falling, but I worried if I blasted down the mountain that I would destroy my quads for the rest of the race. So I tiptoed down the mountain, getting passed by a countless amount of runners in the process.

I noticed that in the humidity my legs were beginning to chafe, which worried me–this could be a long, painful day if I didn’t address it. At the second aid station I approached the medics. I showed them the red, irritated skin on my legs and they brought me inside a close-by building, had me sit down, and gave me a popsicle stick with vaseline that I could apply to my legs. Arigato gozaimasu! I also took advantage of the aid station amenities including a drink labeled “citric acid” (it tasted like unsweetened lemonade), barley tea, buns with red bean paste, rice balls, and bananas. Perfect!

That first climb up Mt. Kosha paled in comparison to the next one. From mile 19 through 26 we climbed nearly 4,000 feet, this time largely on a very new single track trail along a creek. It seemed as if we had entered a rainforest with the rushing creek and lush green vegetation. You could tell it was newer trail, because it didn’t have the telltale signs of being tread upon by countless hikers and runners over time. The dirt and rocks were loose, rather than packed down, making the footing difficult at times. The race organizers created this race with the goal of establishing, or reestablishing connecting trails in this region, so it made sense to have newer trail. They did a great job clearing the trail of overgrowth and making it easy to follow with lots of flags. The uphill was steep and seemingly unending. Many runners were able to put a lot of distance on me easily on the downhill ski slope earlier, but for the runners that were still relatively close to me, I was able to catch up and make some ground during this section. But wow, the uphill was relentless!

Here is an elevation chart of the course. You can see the first steep climb up Mt. Kosha at mile 14 or so, and the next huge climb beyond that!

Once we made it to the top of the climb in the Kayanodaira Highland, which happened to be in a beautiful Beech tree forest, my legs felt like jelly. I knew I ought to “go go go!” as soon as the terrain allowed, but I needed to catch my breath and recover. So I walked-jogged this flatter section until my breathing calmed down and my legs had a chance to stop throbbing. I also had a mini-celebration to myself, because one of the hardest parts was over. The course would be net downhill from this point on.

I felt so wiped out from the climb that I wondered if I would ever recover. The wondrous and exciting thing was that I did eventually find my legs again. I was unfamiliar with the course and had no idea how the rest would be. Would it be technical terrain? Would the remaining mini-climbs be steep? Would my legs hold up? Now that I know the answers to these questions, it makes me want to return to Japan in the future and run this race again. Because the rest of the course was, in fact, quite manageable and enjoyable. The trails were beautiful and well maintained, a lot of the course was comprised of soft single track trail, wide forest roads, and even some paved sections. The name of the game from that point on was maintenance and consistency. Keep fueling, keep drinking, keep politely asking for globs of vaseline from the medic teams at the aid stations (and next time bring my own stick of anti-chafe balm).

As you can see on the elevation chart above, there is a literal 10 mile long section that is all downhill, with a loss of 3,000 feet in elevation. This is another section where I got passed quite a bit. The downhill was almost all on dirt/gravel forest road–graded, not too steep. In past years, I think I could have made great time on this downhill. This time, however, I’m coming off of two years of lower-volume running while in grad school, and I am noticing a difference in what I can handle. My quads and knees are just not conditioned for pounding downhill on a harder surface like that right now. So, I ran a very gentle jog downhill the whole way. The runners were more spaced out at that point. I got passed by maybe four women in a row, exchanging encouraging words and smiles every time. At this point, I had completely lost track of how many women were in front of me, but I knew the number was high at that point. But that was okay–I was doing my best. I told myself to just run my race, ultimately that’s what mattered.

After making steady progress downhill and passing through an aid station, the course turned uphill. I had been conserving my energy, and was feeling really good. I took some extra time to eat at the aid station, including some chicken soup, and reapplied some more vaseline to my legs. I glanced down at my watch and it showed that I was already on the last uphill (it has this neat feature where you can see your location as a dot on the elevation chart of the race). Holy cow! Knowing that my strength was in the uphills, and that this would likely be my last chance to catch anyone and put some distance on them before the last downhill to the finish, I charged uphill like a maniac. We were on a paved road (which would turn to gravel) and it wasn’t so steep, and I felt great. I passed several women that I had been going back and forth with earlier in the race. I told myself to just get to the top of the hill then maintain to the finish.

Well, I glanced down at my watch again, and my heart sank. The little dot representing where I was on the course changed position, and showed that I was on the second to the last hill. It turned out, we were on an out-and-back section of the course, and my watch was confused. And clearly my brain was foggy, because of course I logically knew that there were two uphills left, not one. It was right there on the map for me to see. But 45 miles into a 62+ mile race, I was just not thinking straight. So, good for me being queen of the second to the last hill! Ugghh. A wave of exhaustion and dejection hit me, and all the work I’d just put in was lost as I got passed again by everyone I’d just passed on the next long downhill. I was back to my gingerly downhill run, doing my best to preserve my knees and joints on the harder, rocky surface of the forest road.

There were runners spaced out coming from the opposite direction, they were also 100K runners that were approximately 10 kilometers ahead of me, on their way to the finish. How I envied them! It would be a while until I’d be in their same position.

At the bottom of the hill, the course took us out of the forest and onto some paved roads through a village and an aid station. The sun was beginning to set, and I ran by some flooded rice paddies, the sky mirrored in the still water. Beautiful! I continued a steady jog toward the aid station. As I got closer to the aid station, someone with a fancy video camera ran alongside me and filmed me running into the station. I knew they had a livestream going on YouTube, so for those ten seconds or so I got to feel like a superstar. So fun!

To that point, the aid stations had been pretty much self-serve, but this time, several volunteers ran over to help me get in and out as quickly as possible. They refilled my water bottles and helped me get my headlamp out of my running vest. Their support gave me a lot of energy, and made me think, “I’m still in this!” I had about ten miles to go, including the actual last uphill of the race. Time to let’er rip!

This time I didn’t charge uphill with quite the same gusto as the one before, but I did make steady progress and managed to catch up to a few runners. Eventually the course rejoined with the out-and-back section, and this time I was one of the returning runners that I had been so envious of before. There was a steady stream of runners still on their way out. Many runners called out, “Ganba!” to me, and I exclaimed it right back even though I had no idea what it meant (I learned later that it’s essentially “keep at it/go for it”). One runner called out to me in English, “Fight! Fight!”

Cresting the final hill and seeing a sign for the 90K mark was huge. Night was falling and my energy just continued building. I was tired but felt motivated and excited. Just a short downhill to the final aid station. The aid station was buzzing with tons of runners. I realized, I actually didn’t need much in terms of food/water considering we were so close to the end. This could be an amazing opportunity to make up some time! I quickly drank a cup of cold tea and rushed out of the aid station like a bandit.

Something came over me in those last several miles. I flew down the paved road, passing seemingly gobs of runners. It was fully dark at this point. The course continued onto a single track trail in the forest. It was a section that we had crossed a couple times already in the race, so I knew what to expect. The surface was soft and pretty flat, which made it easy on my legs to run fast. Most runners heard my quick footsteps approaching and stepped aside to let me pass. One of the women I had gone back and forth with during the race gasped something along the lines of, “Oh, wow!!” as I ran by, and I said something like, “Let’s go, almost there!”

The more runners I flew by, the more motivated I felt to see just how many places I could move up in the final moments of the race. The final few hundred yards were straight up a ski slope, as the race started and ended at a ski resort. I ran up the ski slope, which seemed ridiculous, but I was almost to the end, and could still pass a few more runners. I thought I heard someone chasing behind me, so I continued to run scared, then I realized it was my own pack jangling around making the sounds. With relief, I switched to a fast hike, and just before cresting the hill I gave it one final push from there to the finish line. My A++ time goal for this race was between 15-16 hours, and I crossed the line in 15:15:40. Right on! My time from the last aid station to the finish line was second fastest only to the 1st place woman. I finished 12th among women overall. Of course I wonder how I could have fared if my legs were better prepared for the downhills. But also, I don’t think I could have done as well as I had without all those Virginia AT miles, as I was more than prepared for all the uphills! After stumbling around in a bit of a daze and hugging my partner who had run the 25K race earlier (his first race!) I walked back toward the finish line to exchange some relieved and happy hugs with some of the women I had shared some miles with. That was a tough race, and we did it! One of the runners shared that she had run the race last year too. I can see the allure of coming back, because immediately I’m thinking of ways I can improve next time.

What can I say? I’m so happy with how everything went. I think I was as prepared as I could have been given life circumstances, and it makes me feel motivated and excited to see what else I can do in future long distance endeavors. It’s been a little over a week and I feel like an obsessive little endurance monster, already planning for the next thing. While my spring running season didn’t go totally as I hoped, having a good race in Japan made me feel like all the work hasn’t been in vain.

Speaking of the next thing, supporting members of this newsletter know, but I’m excited to share that I’m planning to backpack the Kungsleden later this summer in a self-supported FKT attempt! The Kungsleden is a hiking trail that passes through the mountains and over rivers (with boat crossings!) of northern Sweden between Abisko and Hemavan. There is currently no women’s self-supported record, and the women’s supported record is held by Swedish mountain runner Emelie Forsberg at 4 days 21 hours. I’m excited to go into this adventure with an open mindset and “no limits” approach. I’ll share more about the route and my preparation in future newsletter editions.

In the meantime, if you haven’t already, check out my new YouTube channel where I’ve been sharing daily vlogs from my Virginia AT section hike, as well as my Thru-Hike Gear Check video which somehow has almost 10,000 views after a few weeks. I’ve been blown away by the positive response to a video of me rambling about gear that I thought would be quite boring to most!

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Thank you for reading and supporting! ~Liz