A Peace of Taper

Well, it's done. I put in a full summer of chunky training.

Next weekend, I am running my second-ever 100-mile race, the Hell Creek 100 in Kansas, of all places. It's a relatively hilly and exposed course at Wilson State Park. Runners take on a 20-mile loop five times to complete the full 100. The race has 20-mile, 100k, and 140-mile race options, too.

It's now time to taper: the two-ish weeks before a big race effort when the feet release from the gas pedal, the miles drop down into lighter digits, and the mind has extra space to make up stories about what's to come.

Taper time is a chance to practice ease. Ease in mind and body.

Easing my body and mind toward that start line, for me, means I must create a sense of peace about this go-round. Can I get to race day with a sense of excitement, a willingness to commit to the full distance, and a sense of peace running through me?

Where does pre-race peace come from anyway?

Tapering is filled with labels like "taper tantrum" and "pre-race jitters" and all kinds of messages from the mind that everything is about to fall apart. Last year, before running my first-ever 100 at Leadville, my 2-week taper was chock full of nerves, uneasiness, and A LOT of downtime. This time feels just different enough. This time -- my second rodeo -- feels steady, sure, and surrendering.

It feels like peace.

In part, this comes from experience. Good ol' fashioned confidence from the mere DOING of the thing. This year, I competed in a Backyard Ultra and won a mountain 100k. I paced a friend through the night of her 100 miler in the Wasatch mountains and soaked up the inspiration of the Leadville 100 (with a great round of training up Hope Pass and at Red Rocks!). I clocked many miles along the Mississippi and neighboring bike paths/trails in the Twin Cities. I integrated Track Tuesdays and Mountain Leg strength routines and tempo runs, along with steady slow long runs.

Good work has been done. Good sleep and recovery was had. There's no need to rip it apart and consider what I could have done differently. It's merely time for me to trust what I got and thank my body for bringing me this far.

My peace also comes from my sense of love and support. Other runners in the community who knocked out their workouts and ask me about mine. Yes, even the kudos and comments on Strava and Instagram. Friends who know I do this silly thing called ultrarunning and beam with pride for me. Family who check in and colleagues who offer a stunned-but-supportive comment in a meeting. A partner who asks regularly how my run felt and makes room for all my running shoes at the front door. The mornings I spent journaling and meditating, celebrating the barefoot & wild-eyed little girl in me who will always love the outdoors and the feeling of wind in her hair.

Finally, it comes from the willingness to let it all go. Letting go of the expectations of a certain time or pace. Letting go of the press for social media clout or attention. Letting go of the need for this race experience to be anything other than what it is going to be.

Rest and recovery before the crazed surge of race day is a perfect feeding ground for mental upheaval and doubts. But maybe, just maybe, it can be a place to breathe, let go, and surrender to the wonder of the whole damn thing.

100 miles, here we go.

Now, let's go pack some drop bags.