It has taken me a while to get back into what I would consider real training for Wasatch; however, I feel like I am on pace to be where I need to be when I need to be there. My legs have gradually come back and my mind seems to be fairly fresh and the running pretty good. I took basically a week off from training, then a healing week at 60 miles, and finally last week was back up to about 80 miles . . . the next couple of weeks should be fairly mileage intensive weeks as I will try to build up to 100 miles per week by the end of this month. Enough with mileage . . . though I have noticed that my legs are doing proportionally better with short to medium distance runs right now and then seem less interested/motivated in functioning during runs at the 25 to 30 mile point . . .
One of the things I am trying to do this summer is run at least one new peak a week and have found this both physically and mentally enjoyable as well as challenging -- I think being on new terrain is making the vertical more honest vertical. I am not sure if it is simply an illusion of my mind or not, but I sometimes worry that running the same climbs over and over almost becomes like cheating because I know what to expect. Anyhow one of the cooler aspects of this has been seeing new parts of Utah's mountains and trails that I wouldn't ordinarily head out to for something as quick as a one day run -- I am not sure if I will really summit a new peak this week because of a couple days planned for running and camping at Alta, which isn't my everyday running grounds but I tend to make it up there a few times every summer as well as a non-running trip planned for later in the week . . . my basic point of this ramble is that by running fresher terrain so far this summer, I seem to be approaching my training in a relatively sane and fun manner.
Race plans for this month involve Speedgoat, which I hope to do as the second day of back-to-back 30 mile runs. I won't really be worrying as much about speed or competitive performance as much as simply handling loads of vertical while exhausted!
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
BigHorn 100
Good Times! What a beautiful and challenging course! I ended up finishing in 24:39 and taking 14th place. The account here is a general summary of what went right/wrong at different points along the way.
During the earliest miles (until the climb really starts around mile 4 or 5) I ran quite conservatively and simply worked my way comfortably through the line with Naoki (an old friend who flew in from Japan to run Big Horn) -- this started a process that lasted most of the early miles where I simply judged my pace on breathing levels and kept from passing people whenever in doubt about my pace. As the course became steeper and worked its way through the first real climb I settled into a nice groove and was able to do enough mental/physical self-checking to realize that at least my body was in working order for the day. After the first real summit, I found myself starting to fall in with a small group of strong runners and was able to take advantage of a positive group-think running for a large chunk of the early miles. At the first drop bag aid station, I saw my wife and the rest of my crew for the first time and was happy to let them know that despite the race only having started I was having a pretty good time. One of my favorite sections of the race started here at mile 13.5 and lasted all the way until mile 30. I ran within myself, socialized when possible, made a couple new friends, and tried to soak in the amazing scenery. Almost the entire middle section of this out-back was runnable in this direction and allowed me to take advantage of a rising theory of mine that it is almost more restful to run at a slow pace than walk at a fast pace. I ran into Naoki again at the Footbridge aid station (mile 30) and we started the long climb to Porcupine running together again despite the fact that his pace was going to be faster than mine as the climb went on. The first real stress of the race hit me during the early parts of the climb up from Footbridge and I would have maybe been better off purposely holding myself in check here (I kept struggling with effort/pace wisdom during the miles from about 33 to 45 and probably wasted both some mental and physical energy trying to focus on the climb) . . . Around mile 40 my stomach pretty much told me that it was tired of ingesting Clif Shots and the like -- I am trying to figure out what exactly went wrong in terms of my stomach but am suspicous that my body/mind simply starts to reject the sugar overload of sports-energy foods around the 8 hour mark. Despite my stomach turning, I tried to keep getting calories in me whenever possible and probably wasted too much mental anxiety on the issue and should have just kept taking advantage of the aid stations and not stressed so much about eating more shots. The two things that seemed to work the best in terms of eating during this period were liquids (soda, heed, whatever) and high sugar fruits. At one aid station I was able to get some peaches in syrup which totally rocked. I am not sure when or where, but I remember seeing Mike Wolf fly downhill on his way to the course record as if the rest of us were standing still . . . finally I made it to Porcupine right at the limit of what might count for 24 hour pace and was once again revived by my crew. Cara had prepared some vegan Ramen for me, which was an awesome surprise and one of the best meals I have ever had midway through a race. Calories! Calories! Calories!
The first half of the race had found me running in a position where I was almost always in contact with people I knew either from this race itself or from other races run over the past few years, but the miles from 48 to 82 would find me alone on the trail for long sections and would allow me to discover how well I could manage my running in the night hours on relatively unfamiliar terrain. One nice thing about the out and back format of races like Big Horn and Leadville is that you see everyone else on the course at some point, which in my opinion provides a feeling of community and helped motivate me to run without a pacer for the night section because I knew that I would be on the course with lots of people moving along the trail. The miles from 48 to about mile 60 found me descending through the crowd of runners climbing uphill to Porcupine and I was able to both give and receive a lot of positive feedback. I was happy to recognize Brian Kamm during this section despite the fact that we were basically headlamps blinding one another in the dark. During the run back to Footbridge I was able to keep getting calories in and for the most part my stomach seemed to settle down a little. The biggest concern I had was that my pacing seemed to fall apart in the dark and I let myself slow too much -- in retrospect I wish that I had been mentally stronger through this part of the race and need to work more on pushing hard during the sometimes difficult hours of the night. Despite running this section relatively poorly I think I was only passed by one runner (who I passed back at Footbridge) and probably passed two or three in my own right; however, there is no question that I lost any real shot at running sub-24 during the descent from mile 48 to 66. As goofballish as it sounds, I really preferred the return climb out of Footbridge more than any section I had since going through Footbridge the first time. I got back into a pretty positive groove of running and climbing during the last third of the race and had some of my best mental periods during the pre-dawn hours leading to Cow Camp (about mile 75?!). Ironically, despite some pretty good running during this part of the race, I threw up shortly after the Cow Camp aid station which may have simply been a product of overeating (again in my mental stress about getting enough calories). Again the miles before and after Cow Camp were some of the most enjoyable of the race especially in terms of terrain and overall experience.
The last section of the race was from Dry Fork to the finish . . . thankfully Cara came down and met me about a half mile out of the Dry Fork aid station and paced me into the station and got me back into the positive realization that I was indeed going to finish. It was cool at Dry Fork when all the runners standing around there were giving me some pretty positive support and even cheering me on by name, the only problem was that in my mental state I figured these people must all be waiting around to pace their runners into the finish and I was wondering how in the hell I was going to keep from being overwhelmed by so many racers. (Turned out the runners at the station were in fact waiting for the start of the 50km race, which made a whole lot more sense once my brain was able to process it all a little). I was glad to have Cara with me leaving the aid station, especially since I felt strong enough to run a lot of the remaining uphills and needed somebody there to make sure I didn't start slacking. One of the hardest parts of the race for me in terms of physical pain was the long and relatively steep descent going from mile 88 to 96. I was simply tired of the pounding and was so glad when the descent mellowed out around mile 93 so I could run without pain again. The section of dirt road from the original start of the race to the finish line (the 4 miles that make the course 100 miles and bring runners into the awesome finish area at the park in Dayton, Wyoming) was simply a footrace with Cara running besides me the whole time. I wimped out a little at the final aid station (mile 98.5) and turned down the somewhat twisted somewhat kind offer of wine -- I am after all a beer drinker -- and simply kept on running toward the finish and the promise of rest . . .
Like I said: GOOD TIMES. I am glad to be getting in a week long break from training and hope to start refocusing on a return to Wasatch in September where hopefully I can redeem myself a little after last year's collapse there.
During the earliest miles (until the climb really starts around mile 4 or 5) I ran quite conservatively and simply worked my way comfortably through the line with Naoki (an old friend who flew in from Japan to run Big Horn) -- this started a process that lasted most of the early miles where I simply judged my pace on breathing levels and kept from passing people whenever in doubt about my pace. As the course became steeper and worked its way through the first real climb I settled into a nice groove and was able to do enough mental/physical self-checking to realize that at least my body was in working order for the day. After the first real summit, I found myself starting to fall in with a small group of strong runners and was able to take advantage of a positive group-think running for a large chunk of the early miles. At the first drop bag aid station, I saw my wife and the rest of my crew for the first time and was happy to let them know that despite the race only having started I was having a pretty good time. One of my favorite sections of the race started here at mile 13.5 and lasted all the way until mile 30. I ran within myself, socialized when possible, made a couple new friends, and tried to soak in the amazing scenery. Almost the entire middle section of this out-back was runnable in this direction and allowed me to take advantage of a rising theory of mine that it is almost more restful to run at a slow pace than walk at a fast pace. I ran into Naoki again at the Footbridge aid station (mile 30) and we started the long climb to Porcupine running together again despite the fact that his pace was going to be faster than mine as the climb went on. The first real stress of the race hit me during the early parts of the climb up from Footbridge and I would have maybe been better off purposely holding myself in check here (I kept struggling with effort/pace wisdom during the miles from about 33 to 45 and probably wasted both some mental and physical energy trying to focus on the climb) . . . Around mile 40 my stomach pretty much told me that it was tired of ingesting Clif Shots and the like -- I am trying to figure out what exactly went wrong in terms of my stomach but am suspicous that my body/mind simply starts to reject the sugar overload of sports-energy foods around the 8 hour mark. Despite my stomach turning, I tried to keep getting calories in me whenever possible and probably wasted too much mental anxiety on the issue and should have just kept taking advantage of the aid stations and not stressed so much about eating more shots. The two things that seemed to work the best in terms of eating during this period were liquids (soda, heed, whatever) and high sugar fruits. At one aid station I was able to get some peaches in syrup which totally rocked. I am not sure when or where, but I remember seeing Mike Wolf fly downhill on his way to the course record as if the rest of us were standing still . . . finally I made it to Porcupine right at the limit of what might count for 24 hour pace and was once again revived by my crew. Cara had prepared some vegan Ramen for me, which was an awesome surprise and one of the best meals I have ever had midway through a race. Calories! Calories! Calories!
The first half of the race had found me running in a position where I was almost always in contact with people I knew either from this race itself or from other races run over the past few years, but the miles from 48 to 82 would find me alone on the trail for long sections and would allow me to discover how well I could manage my running in the night hours on relatively unfamiliar terrain. One nice thing about the out and back format of races like Big Horn and Leadville is that you see everyone else on the course at some point, which in my opinion provides a feeling of community and helped motivate me to run without a pacer for the night section because I knew that I would be on the course with lots of people moving along the trail. The miles from 48 to about mile 60 found me descending through the crowd of runners climbing uphill to Porcupine and I was able to both give and receive a lot of positive feedback. I was happy to recognize Brian Kamm during this section despite the fact that we were basically headlamps blinding one another in the dark. During the run back to Footbridge I was able to keep getting calories in and for the most part my stomach seemed to settle down a little. The biggest concern I had was that my pacing seemed to fall apart in the dark and I let myself slow too much -- in retrospect I wish that I had been mentally stronger through this part of the race and need to work more on pushing hard during the sometimes difficult hours of the night. Despite running this section relatively poorly I think I was only passed by one runner (who I passed back at Footbridge) and probably passed two or three in my own right; however, there is no question that I lost any real shot at running sub-24 during the descent from mile 48 to 66. As goofballish as it sounds, I really preferred the return climb out of Footbridge more than any section I had since going through Footbridge the first time. I got back into a pretty positive groove of running and climbing during the last third of the race and had some of my best mental periods during the pre-dawn hours leading to Cow Camp (about mile 75?!). Ironically, despite some pretty good running during this part of the race, I threw up shortly after the Cow Camp aid station which may have simply been a product of overeating (again in my mental stress about getting enough calories). Again the miles before and after Cow Camp were some of the most enjoyable of the race especially in terms of terrain and overall experience.
The last section of the race was from Dry Fork to the finish . . . thankfully Cara came down and met me about a half mile out of the Dry Fork aid station and paced me into the station and got me back into the positive realization that I was indeed going to finish. It was cool at Dry Fork when all the runners standing around there were giving me some pretty positive support and even cheering me on by name, the only problem was that in my mental state I figured these people must all be waiting around to pace their runners into the finish and I was wondering how in the hell I was going to keep from being overwhelmed by so many racers. (Turned out the runners at the station were in fact waiting for the start of the 50km race, which made a whole lot more sense once my brain was able to process it all a little). I was glad to have Cara with me leaving the aid station, especially since I felt strong enough to run a lot of the remaining uphills and needed somebody there to make sure I didn't start slacking. One of the hardest parts of the race for me in terms of physical pain was the long and relatively steep descent going from mile 88 to 96. I was simply tired of the pounding and was so glad when the descent mellowed out around mile 93 so I could run without pain again. The section of dirt road from the original start of the race to the finish line (the 4 miles that make the course 100 miles and bring runners into the awesome finish area at the park in Dayton, Wyoming) was simply a footrace with Cara running besides me the whole time. I wimped out a little at the final aid station (mile 98.5) and turned down the somewhat twisted somewhat kind offer of wine -- I am after all a beer drinker -- and simply kept on running toward the finish and the promise of rest . . .
Like I said: GOOD TIMES. I am glad to be getting in a week long break from training and hope to start refocusing on a return to Wasatch in September where hopefully I can redeem myself a little after last year's collapse there.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
World Cup
I do not like tapering . . . thank goodness for the World Cup. Work ended for the school year last Friday so the past few days have been 100% about getting ready for my departure to Wyoming tomorrow and my conclusion is that I am starting to get antsy. It is time to hit the trails! I think it is a good sign, but I always worry about over resting and since I have been neither running nor working these past couple of days my mind's only occupation has been watching countless soccer games . . .
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Taper Begins
It has been a long time since my last post; however, I have been busy running. I have been running between 80 and about 95 miles a week the past 2 months and am just now starting my taper for BigHorn, which is in two weeks. I feel good about this last cycle of training . . . here are some of the highlights:
I put in a couple of really good 40 mile mountain runs through the foothills surrounding SLC this spring, which were both in the 8,000 feet of vertical range (I calculate vertical pretty roughly simply looking at major climbs and not worrying much about smaller up-downs). Both of these runs brought me to the top of Little Black Mountain and consisted of some decent amounts of variety in terms of technical terrain. These ended up being my longest runs since Antelope Island -- I had planned on completing another 50 miler at Pocatello last week, but the conditions forced the race to be shut down by the RDs at mile 32.
I have been way impressed with sunrise moments on top of Black Mountain this spring -- on two or three occasions in May, I ended up at this point in my run just as the sun rose above the peaks further east . . . there is something special about this summit since it reaches towards both natural and urban spaces. It is kind of like a summative view of the foothills where so much of my running takes place (especially in the non-summer months).
And there has been some speed work . . . for a while I was actually doing traditional speed work on a track and everything . . . it seems like I generally found myself in a 3 week on 1 week off pattern with speed work of some sort or another happening this spring although that seems to have kind of run down . . . I will try to do a fartlek or tempo intense run one day next week to make sure the cardio intensity doesn't fall too much during my taper. I am once again avoiding the start-stop nature of traditional speed work. Not sure if it is a rational thought or merely one of those coincidence makes evidence things, but I am generally suspicious of traditional speed work and injury . . . besides being on the track is one less run done on trail.
The most important thing in terms of running this spring has been the overall good time I have had. I have not experienced much in the way of mental burnout, which sometimes happens to me as I peak for longer races. My theory has been that a more gradual increase in mileage has allowed not only my body, but also my mind to become accustomed to the stress of training . . .
I put in a couple of really good 40 mile mountain runs through the foothills surrounding SLC this spring, which were both in the 8,000 feet of vertical range (I calculate vertical pretty roughly simply looking at major climbs and not worrying much about smaller up-downs). Both of these runs brought me to the top of Little Black Mountain and consisted of some decent amounts of variety in terms of technical terrain. These ended up being my longest runs since Antelope Island -- I had planned on completing another 50 miler at Pocatello last week, but the conditions forced the race to be shut down by the RDs at mile 32.
I have been way impressed with sunrise moments on top of Black Mountain this spring -- on two or three occasions in May, I ended up at this point in my run just as the sun rose above the peaks further east . . . there is something special about this summit since it reaches towards both natural and urban spaces. It is kind of like a summative view of the foothills where so much of my running takes place (especially in the non-summer months).
And there has been some speed work . . . for a while I was actually doing traditional speed work on a track and everything . . . it seems like I generally found myself in a 3 week on 1 week off pattern with speed work of some sort or another happening this spring although that seems to have kind of run down . . . I will try to do a fartlek or tempo intense run one day next week to make sure the cardio intensity doesn't fall too much during my taper. I am once again avoiding the start-stop nature of traditional speed work. Not sure if it is a rational thought or merely one of those coincidence makes evidence things, but I am generally suspicious of traditional speed work and injury . . . besides being on the track is one less run done on trail.
The most important thing in terms of running this spring has been the overall good time I have had. I have not experienced much in the way of mental burnout, which sometimes happens to me as I peak for longer races. My theory has been that a more gradual increase in mileage has allowed not only my body, but also my mind to become accustomed to the stress of training . . .
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Recovery
Ran my first run since the race on Saturday . . . just 4.5 miles of flat trail in the park. The run was basically a body check -- wanted to make sure everything was in working order. I had spent the last 2 days bicycling, but it was good to be back on my feet. Good times! So far this week, I am enjoying my break from training and racing. The rest has been good for both my mind and body. I am glad to see that my legs seem to have come through the first race of the season in pretty solid shape with no injuries or overly exhausted weakness. Can't wait til next week when training starts up for the Big Horn - Pocatello combination.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Antelope Island 50 Miler
GOOD TIMES!
Pure insanity running a 50 mile course that pretty much involved running . . . without there being any real climbs, I found myself running nearly the entire course. Felt like a good place to be for this time of year. Despite a couple of mistakes -- getting lost for an extra half mile or so on the first out and back and miscalculating my pace during the first section of the race -- I felt like I finished a successful race. In fact, I am becoming more and more comfortable with the notion of racing 50 miles as opposed to my general survival strategy for the 100 mile distance.
Spent the night before the race camping out on the island and slept as much as possible . . . kept having dreams/nightmares about the tent blowing away in the post-storm winds that were still whipping off the lake most of the night. I definitely think that camping goes pretty hand-in-hand with trail racing, but in the long run there is something to be said for spending the night in a warm bed instead of a freezing sleeping bag.
As far as the race goes, my mind and body seemed to be in synch for most of the run. I took the first 20 miles relatively conservatively and only struggled a little with some strange twinge pains running up my knee and left quad. The shots of pain didn't necessarily seem to alter my pace or overly effect my race; however, they are the only real after-effects that I am feeling today. The hardest aspect of the race for me was simply committing to run, since I am used to more mountainous courses that generally involve walking the longer climbs . . . anyhow the flat course and the fast trails led to a PR at the 50 mile distance going under 8 hours for the first time.
WILDLIFE REPORT: Bison and antelope aplenty. The high point for me was watching as a small group of antelope ran free and wild across the trail in front of me -- a definite mental boost when I was starting to feel down on the long out-n-back that makes up the Mountain View Trail part of the course.
Pure insanity running a 50 mile course that pretty much involved running . . . without there being any real climbs, I found myself running nearly the entire course. Felt like a good place to be for this time of year. Despite a couple of mistakes -- getting lost for an extra half mile or so on the first out and back and miscalculating my pace during the first section of the race -- I felt like I finished a successful race. In fact, I am becoming more and more comfortable with the notion of racing 50 miles as opposed to my general survival strategy for the 100 mile distance.
Spent the night before the race camping out on the island and slept as much as possible . . . kept having dreams/nightmares about the tent blowing away in the post-storm winds that were still whipping off the lake most of the night. I definitely think that camping goes pretty hand-in-hand with trail racing, but in the long run there is something to be said for spending the night in a warm bed instead of a freezing sleeping bag.
As far as the race goes, my mind and body seemed to be in synch for most of the run. I took the first 20 miles relatively conservatively and only struggled a little with some strange twinge pains running up my knee and left quad. The shots of pain didn't necessarily seem to alter my pace or overly effect my race; however, they are the only real after-effects that I am feeling today. The hardest aspect of the race for me was simply committing to run, since I am used to more mountainous courses that generally involve walking the longer climbs . . . anyhow the flat course and the fast trails led to a PR at the 50 mile distance going under 8 hours for the first time.
WILDLIFE REPORT: Bison and antelope aplenty. The high point for me was watching as a small group of antelope ran free and wild across the trail in front of me -- a definite mental boost when I was starting to feel down on the long out-n-back that makes up the Mountain View Trail part of the course.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Off Day
I am taking today off from running, at least that is the thought as of right now. My wife has already suggested that I run with her later tonight and I may be up for a few miles to loosen my brain; however, I already bailed on running up in the mountains despite this being a beautiful day. I am simply put: TIRED.
I finished off last week with three pretty solid runs in a row: 15, 19, and 24. The easiest of these three runs in terms of milage was probably the best in terms of solid vertical and helped leave me fairly worn out by the time I headed out for my Saturday long run. The kind of running I was doing last week has left me once again pondering the role of terrain in training. I am always curious as to whether or not it's better to run on trails that let you "run" the entire time or if things like scrambles, periods of post-holing, glissading, sliding on your butt, and general mayhem aren't more productive. In terms of race productivity, it probably makes sense to mirror the courses you are planning to race. But in terms of sheer joy, and in terms of becoming mentally stronger, I tend to think that mayhem is a good thing no matter the "race plan".
Last week isn't really what's at issue right now. I am trying to figure out why I can't simply take today off and feel good about my decision. I know that part of my issue is related to a busy week coming up, but shouldn't I be able to take a day's rest without feeling guilt/apprehension regarding the rest. Yesterday was my easy run day, but I skied in the morning and felt pretty winded by the end of the evening's jog. Maybe it's simply the fact that the sun is shining. Why in the world, would I take a day off when spring is practically howling outside? I am almost certain to regret this decision later in the week, when winter decides to hustle back in to the picture for a laugh.
Yeah, I better head out the door at some point . . .
I finished off last week with three pretty solid runs in a row: 15, 19, and 24. The easiest of these three runs in terms of milage was probably the best in terms of solid vertical and helped leave me fairly worn out by the time I headed out for my Saturday long run. The kind of running I was doing last week has left me once again pondering the role of terrain in training. I am always curious as to whether or not it's better to run on trails that let you "run" the entire time or if things like scrambles, periods of post-holing, glissading, sliding on your butt, and general mayhem aren't more productive. In terms of race productivity, it probably makes sense to mirror the courses you are planning to race. But in terms of sheer joy, and in terms of becoming mentally stronger, I tend to think that mayhem is a good thing no matter the "race plan".
Last week isn't really what's at issue right now. I am trying to figure out why I can't simply take today off and feel good about my decision. I know that part of my issue is related to a busy week coming up, but shouldn't I be able to take a day's rest without feeling guilt/apprehension regarding the rest. Yesterday was my easy run day, but I skied in the morning and felt pretty winded by the end of the evening's jog. Maybe it's simply the fact that the sun is shining. Why in the world, would I take a day off when spring is practically howling outside? I am almost certain to regret this decision later in the week, when winter decides to hustle back in to the picture for a laugh.
Yeah, I better head out the door at some point . . .
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Antelope Island
Over the weekend, I joined one of the "official" training runs for the Run with the Buffalo race coming up soon . . . in short: good times. It was amazing to get out of winter and seemingly fly along snowless trails. I was able to run just under twenty miles at a better tempo than I have recently been slogging along at during my long runs, which has given me a little confidence going into the trail racing season. I tend to be generally conflicted about racing, since theoretically the idea in my mind is to compete against myself; however, I find it enjoyable to compete against others from time to time and better yet it's fun to get to know other runners then compete against them. I think the majority of my top races have been those where the first third to half took place with a small group of people and then the "race" began almost accidentally.
My top race experiences in no specific order (ultras first):
Squaw Peak 50: I finished in the Top 10 the second year I ran this race, which still stands out in my mind as one of my most competitive finishes considering both the field and the conditions (decent number of good runners and loads of rain/snow).
Leadville 100: I finished! And even snuck in under the 24 hour mark! Brutal fun. ELEVATION!
Boston Marathon: The history and excitement of marathoning in the United States still resides in this old school east coast lesson in running as fast as you can in a crowd! Despite a mess of travel and general chaos leading up to the Monday start I was able to keep myself mentally together and finish in just under 3 hours (and I do mean just barely).
Salt Lake City Marathon: Despite planning on a rather conservative race plan I found myself with a chance to break the 3 hour mark for the first time and pushed hard through the second half to negative split and run a sub-3 PR and qualify for Boston.
Mid-Mountain Marathon: I finished in the Top 10 both times I ran this race, but the second time was the best. I almost never do well when I go out fast and hard from the beginning, but knew that I wanted to actively compete for a strong place so I started up in the Top 10 right from the first. As the race went on, I continued to move along the course well and found myself in a silent duel for the last 5 miles that ended with me finishing in 4th place.
There are other races, and I suppose technically stronger finishes but these seem to be the ones that come to mind when I started jotting ideas down. It has been a couple of years since I ran a road marathon and in all honesty I am not sure there are any/many left in my future. Even at Boston, I found myself bored in the middle of the race and the only reason I would run another full on the road would be to try and set a PR (I feel like 2:55 or on a perfect day and a fast course maybe even 2:50 wouldn't be a completely ridiculous goal but it would take a lot of speed training and doing the kind of running I generally fail to enjoy thus at least for the time being my focus is in on trail running and at distances beyond the marathon. I prefer mountains to just about any other kind of terrain and I believe the mental game of running requires me to be on my feet for at least five hours in order to think of the run/race as an adventure, which is generally what I am looking for in my running. As things stand currently, I have become fascinated by the 100 mile distance, and it is ironically a DNF last summer at this distance that has created the shift in my view of ultras -- I think the 50 is my best distance in terms of competing against others, but in terms of competing with and against myself the 100 sticks out as the challenge I need to learn how to finish with consistency so that one day I might be able to truly race the distance.
My top race experiences in no specific order (ultras first):
Squaw Peak 50: I finished in the Top 10 the second year I ran this race, which still stands out in my mind as one of my most competitive finishes considering both the field and the conditions (decent number of good runners and loads of rain/snow).
Leadville 100: I finished! And even snuck in under the 24 hour mark! Brutal fun. ELEVATION!
Boston Marathon: The history and excitement of marathoning in the United States still resides in this old school east coast lesson in running as fast as you can in a crowd! Despite a mess of travel and general chaos leading up to the Monday start I was able to keep myself mentally together and finish in just under 3 hours (and I do mean just barely).
Salt Lake City Marathon: Despite planning on a rather conservative race plan I found myself with a chance to break the 3 hour mark for the first time and pushed hard through the second half to negative split and run a sub-3 PR and qualify for Boston.
Mid-Mountain Marathon: I finished in the Top 10 both times I ran this race, but the second time was the best. I almost never do well when I go out fast and hard from the beginning, but knew that I wanted to actively compete for a strong place so I started up in the Top 10 right from the first. As the race went on, I continued to move along the course well and found myself in a silent duel for the last 5 miles that ended with me finishing in 4th place.
There are other races, and I suppose technically stronger finishes but these seem to be the ones that come to mind when I started jotting ideas down. It has been a couple of years since I ran a road marathon and in all honesty I am not sure there are any/many left in my future. Even at Boston, I found myself bored in the middle of the race and the only reason I would run another full on the road would be to try and set a PR (I feel like 2:55 or on a perfect day and a fast course maybe even 2:50 wouldn't be a completely ridiculous goal but it would take a lot of speed training and doing the kind of running I generally fail to enjoy thus at least for the time being my focus is in on trail running and at distances beyond the marathon. I prefer mountains to just about any other kind of terrain and I believe the mental game of running requires me to be on my feet for at least five hours in order to think of the run/race as an adventure, which is generally what I am looking for in my running. As things stand currently, I have become fascinated by the 100 mile distance, and it is ironically a DNF last summer at this distance that has created the shift in my view of ultras -- I think the 50 is my best distance in terms of competing against others, but in terms of competing with and against myself the 100 sticks out as the challenge I need to learn how to finish with consistency so that one day I might be able to truly race the distance.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
recovery struggles
i have been struggling to recover this week from the past weekend:
Friday 9 miles and a good day of resort skiing (decent pow in the morning)
Saturday 40 miles mostly on trail
Sunday 10 miles too fast
In looking at the past weekend I realize that I ran too hard on Sunday. I meant to keep it slow, but ended up finding myself in an idiotic race against myself. The worst part of this day was that I ran on pavement and beat my body up way more than necessary. The repercussions have been felt all week as I have struggled a bit with both motivation and physical strength. The most annoying aspect has been the fact that my achilles tendonitis has flared up for the first time in a couple of months . . . I had been feeling very confident about my overall health recently, but since the run on Sunday my achilles has been nagging me with reminders of the risks involved in pushing limits . . . was able to throw together a moderate tempo run today, but am still waiting my first real trail run since the weekend -- hoping to put together a good double climb tomorrow or friday depending on the weather . . . should have generally done this run already but don't want to force the recovery period more than necessary.
Reading over what I have written the basic point seems to be a certain amount of laziness has crept in during this week . . . why is it that sometimes the hardest week for me is the recovery week . . . I am currently using a 4 week system that involves a minimal amount of increasing milage (for example from 70 to 80 during the 3 climbing weeks -- where the highest prior week to the cycle would have been 75) with a recovery week for the 4th (in the case of the above example 50) . . . my plan is to continue this base creation through the buffalo 50 . . .
Friday 9 miles and a good day of resort skiing (decent pow in the morning)
Saturday 40 miles mostly on trail
Sunday 10 miles too fast
In looking at the past weekend I realize that I ran too hard on Sunday. I meant to keep it slow, but ended up finding myself in an idiotic race against myself. The worst part of this day was that I ran on pavement and beat my body up way more than necessary. The repercussions have been felt all week as I have struggled a bit with both motivation and physical strength. The most annoying aspect has been the fact that my achilles tendonitis has flared up for the first time in a couple of months . . . I had been feeling very confident about my overall health recently, but since the run on Sunday my achilles has been nagging me with reminders of the risks involved in pushing limits . . . was able to throw together a moderate tempo run today, but am still waiting my first real trail run since the weekend -- hoping to put together a good double climb tomorrow or friday depending on the weather . . . should have generally done this run already but don't want to force the recovery period more than necessary.
Reading over what I have written the basic point seems to be a certain amount of laziness has crept in during this week . . . why is it that sometimes the hardest week for me is the recovery week . . . I am currently using a 4 week system that involves a minimal amount of increasing milage (for example from 70 to 80 during the 3 climbing weeks -- where the highest prior week to the cycle would have been 75) with a recovery week for the 4th (in the case of the above example 50) . . . my plan is to continue this base creation through the buffalo 50 . . .
Monday, March 1, 2010
IntroThoughts
I am simply trying to throw down and chronicle some of my thoughts about running and keep track of specific running related experiences. I have during the past few years come to the rather oddball conclusion that running connects us with the world both imagined and real . . . it is these moments where the two (reality and fiction) overlap that I am most fascinated with exploring. I tend to lean towards Zen-like notions of being within the now in terms of how one might ideally experience running; however, I also realize that I spend a good amount of time outside the now even when I am running close to the so-called zone.
Instead of rambling about my running history, which I am sure will happen at some other date, I want to explore a couple of recent runs before they leave my mind for too long . . . a couple of weeks ago while running a local trail for the first time this winter (right at snow level) I came across a herd of elk and had to marvel at my good fortune. Their wildness made me feel wild. I felt their existence, even if it was for only the briefest of moments, and was no longer civilized human. I was the visitor suddenly cut off from all the trappings of my life: it was an excellent moment. They simply watched me, took a few steps away, turned and watched me continue on my climb. There is something especially cool about experiences in nature when you are alone . . . I don't mean to sound anti-social, but there really is something magical about being caught within the experience of nature without the safety-net of other humans around.
I have lucked out in this general area of my running terrain a number of times in the past few months . . . just before the New Year I was running on a ridge in the same general area when I came across what seemed like 200 elk and noticed within their midst a couple of coyotes trying to find suitable prey. It was definitely a wow moment. Both me and the friend I was running with at the time (Ed) were thrown into jaw-dropping shock. There are certainly more adventurous spirits than I who may have these moments on a regular basis, but my city-slicker ways had to count this as one of the more memorable wildlife moments of my life. It was the kind of scene that connected our presence on that ridge with the history and pre-history of our ancestors: what a fantastic run! We started at about 3 in the morning with headlamps and winter gear at the ready and found ourselves transported by sunrise to another existence entirely.
The other run I wanted to scribble down happened this past weekend and is unfortunately much less romantic, but certainly in terms of the rigors required no less important in terms of my goals for the upcoming season. Once again I started before sunrise, about 5 in the morning, and made my way towards the trails and hills above the city. My initial optimism turned sour, as I realized how difficult the terrain would be for the course of the day. I had purposely chosen a relatively easy route that climbed and descended around 4,500 to 5,000 feet of vertical during the day's 40 miles, but the recent combination of snow, rain, warming, cooling, and general winter mayhem had left the trails a mess. In the morning, the trails were frozen over completely and at times simply painful. I only had a running partner (Joel) for miles 5 to 10 and planned on keeping a fairly easy pace throughout the run, but even the early miles were leaving me less than enthusiastic. I was in a negative place. I was mad at the mountains. I was mad at myself. I was angry at the trails for being tougher than I expected. Everything, both mental and physical, was moving at a pace slower than anticipated. This was not Zen. This was not cool. This was not fun. Around mile 13 or so I ran into a couple of other runners, including familiar faces, heading off in the other direction. They seemed to be doing much better than me. They were in tune with the day. The couple of moments shared as they went off in the other direction were the first truly positive moments of the morning. I was reminded of where I was. Don't get me wrong: I was still looking for a good excuse to cut the day short, but at least I knew there were other people on the trail and that my troubles were mostly inside my mind.
The real change in my run started a few miles later when I ended up sliding in behind a couple of runners for nearly a mile on what turned out to be one of the few sections of trail clear from snow, ice, or mud. I don't think I said one word the entire time I was behind these two runners who were busy rambling on about something or another. I simply enjoyed not having to think. Running behind them was almost like a vacation from myself. I only had to look at the ground immediately in front of me and run the pace they set. As I left them to head up another climb, I felt for the first time that the day was going to work itself out. I felt new energies start to flow into my legs and found that I was actually starting to enjoy the absurdity of the conditions. I should have thanked the couple for the relief they unknowingly gave me, but it didn't occur to me until miles later when the day had truly turned the corner . . . when I met them on the trail I was still in the darkness of my own spirit. It's strange how we can sometimes move through the widest range of emotions and sensations during a singular run, but as long as we keep moving our legs forward the journey is in full force.
2010 Race Schedule:
Buffalo Run 50 Miler
Pocatello 50 Miler
Big Horn 100 Miler
SpeedGoat 50km
Wasatch 100 Miler
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