It's no irritable grizzly...

Well, yes, it is. She is. Jana is the 'bear' of our running partnership...she's the faster of the two when the hill slopes downward (there's been debate on whether that animal fact is correct, whether bears run faster uphill or downhill, but for the sake of this post, join me in Telleland and agree that bears run faster downhill). If the hill slants up, my stubborn little stubby legs make me the mountain goat of the partnership. So as she's pulling further and further away from me downhill, I yell, "go grizzly!", and when I pass her on the uphill, I give her an encouraging bleat. So who is going to pull ahead on Way Too Cool 50K? The outcome has been a topic among us for awhile. Remember those two annoying cartoon chipmunks that were overly polite?



-You first.

-Oh, no, you first.

-I insist. You first.

-No, no, no. Really. YOU first.

-I couldn't possibly. You go first, I insist.

ad nauseam.


This is our conversation about who will pull ahead in the 50K.


-You're going to win. You crank out the hills.

-No, really, you're going to win. You sprint downhill.

-No, I'm positive, you're going to win.

-You don't get it. I KNOW you're going to win.



and so forth.



So who's going to cross the finish line first, toss their timer chip in the bin, get in line for the free massage first? Here's our stats:



-I've been racing for about 5 years, and have been competing in ultras (any race longer than a marathon) for the past 3. Jana completed her first run last year - but it was a 20 miler trail run, and she beat me by 15 minutes.

-I can't match her on the hills. She's the 'bear' and I'm the 'goat'. So we leapfrog. As soon as she starts to walk the hill, I just call over my shoulder, see you on the other side. Sure enough, I'll pull ahead, start down the back slope, and listen as those Asics start pounding closer and closer behind me. She pulls ahead, and I watch despondently as she lengthens the gap. So the hills even us out.

-It's been a hard season physically for Jana; she's battled colds, stomach flus, sinus infections, other TMI stuff during our training months. Every practice run has challenged her body, already compromised by illness, on a physical level beyond just sheer mileage. Yet on the flat trail sessions, I'll look down at my GPS and she's cranking out 8-1/2 minute miles.

-She has accumulated far more weekly miles than I have. She has more discipline to go out for speed work or longer neighborhood runs between weekends. I'm lucky if I log 10 miles during the week.

-She has a sprint-stop-sprint-stop method to her running. We'll be a mile in, and she'll stop to stretch. Another few miles, time for a Gu break. I pull ahead as my legs stubbornly plod through cramps, dehydration, steep inclines, mountain lion attacks. But her faster pace when in sprint mode closes any gaps I open.

-Then there's the sheer determination. Anyone who's spent time with her has seen the competitive glint ... and I'm not talking about the sparkle from her nose ring. I affectionately call her Seabiscuit; if you try to pull ahead of her, she digs deep and pulls from some unseen reserve to leave you in the dust.



Our last trail run left us in pretty good spirits, and more convinced than ever that this will be a close call between the two of us time-wise. Yes, we could be more team-minded, stay side by side, cross the finish line arm-in-arm, running buddies forever. But there's a competitive spirit that is one of the cornerstones in our relationship, a commonality that draws us together as friends. And one of the most unique friendships you can have in life is to be able to beat your training partner and still go out for fries and marrionberry shakes at Ikeda's with a good attitude afterward. Thanks, Jana, for being that friend. And my money's on you, but only with a 5-minute spread.