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.

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.

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 . . .

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.

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 . . .

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