Friday, September 30, 2011
Sunday, September 25, 2011
THE BEAR . . . got me . . .
DNF at the BEAR 100 . . .
went out too fast, my stomach turned, I wobbled into the Logan River aid station, tried to recover, and failed . . .
obviously not the best of days in terms of final results, but I feel like I gave it my all and that finishing was less important than the realization that for the first time in a long time (perhaps really ever) I was truly bold at my approach to the 100 mile distance . . . ever since dropping out of Wasatch a couple of years ago, I have run with this almost handicapping determination to never drop out again.
Obviously, I am not glad that I dropped out; I am, however, glad that I finally really tried to push the envelope all the way open at Bear this year . . . even at Western States earlier this year, and Wasatch last year, I always made sure that my pace was sane and sober -- sure the wheels may have temporarily come off, but in each case I knew I would get to the finish line. I made sure that my pace, my strategy, my attitude left enough in the reserves that I would get to the finish line one way or another.
I think that is probably a fairly wise way to attack ultras, but I also know that Bear was the first race in quite a while where I truly risked -- I knew I was in danger of dropping out a few times during this race and could have (maybe should have) backed off the pace to make sure that every thing worked out o.k., but I wanted to know what my body/mind could do when pushed to the limit . . . yeah, I made some mistakes and backing off the pace would have given me the chance to recover, but until it was simply too late I kept finding myself eager to push, eager to feel a new sense of danger in how I was attacking the course . . . all these things are relative but for me I was running as close to threshold as early and for as long as I ever had at any distance beyond 50 miles . . . the only bummer for me in some ways is that I still don't know what would have happened had my fickle stomach been able to keep things under control -- but that was part of the deal. I knew the pace and the caloric intake were pushing my digestive system (the calorie-source thing still needs to be worked out for the future) and should have maybe listened to some not so subtle messages that were coming my way; however, I felt like if I was serious about pushing the pace long term I needed to keep pushing the calories down . . .
here is the actual day . . . I made it to Logan Pk. (Mile 10) about 5-7 minutes ahead of schedule and this was despite a couple of annoying shoe moments along the final climb . . . Leatham Hollow (Mile 20) 10+ minutes ahead and running with a fun group of people . . . Cowley (Mile 30) 15 minutes . . . Temple Fork (Mile 45) almost 25 minutes ahead of schedule and starting to really think that my new pace goal was starting to gear itself closer to 22:45 than 23:45 . . . obviously from these splits you can see that I lost focus in terms of maintaining the relatively smart race that I had designed in my mind's eye prior to start and was starting to really think this was going to be my day to go FAST (again a relative word) . . . the climb from Temple Fork was the first sign that things might not be moving quite as well as I had thought -- in fact minus a little bit of the climb out of Right Hand Fork everything had felt pretty easy until Temple (don't get me wrong -- I knew I was moving faster than a smart safe race needed me to go and I knew that I was 40+ miles into the day, but I felt good) . . . coming out of Temple Fork I noticed my heart rate escalate and backed off the pace for a little while to get things back to "normalcy" but still found myself at Tony Grove campground on target to go under 23 and foolishly thought I had things under control physically and mentally . . . then coming out of the aid station my stomach completely revolted and I threw up 3 times in the matter of 10 steps . . . despite this being a pretty bad sign of things to come (and way too early in the day for such nonsense) I kinda thought there was still hope that my stomach wasn't completely gone -- in fact as I walked out of this moment I ate some ramen and put down some more calories . . . but the end was near . . . I gave up on putting things in my stomach and found that even drinking water was difficult to say the least . . . but I slowly worked through some chomps and kept drinking (I was after all still way ahead of pace and wasn't feeling completely thrown yet) . . . but this is where a bit of common sense would have told me to slow way down, get things under control and be happy with finishing another 100, but I still wanted to find out if my body could fix itself without me slowing things down too much . . . I continued to fight to Franklin (mile 62) and though I had slowed down, I was basically running 24 hour pace between Tony and Franklin at least close enough to pretend things were still repairable and that I could without too much insanity probably pull off 23 hours . . . I might have been better off had the wheels come completely off because when I got to Franklin, despite needing to take a break, I pushed off in too much of a hurry . . . this is where I really should have sat down, put in some calories, and let my stomach settle -- but instead I accidentally found myself on a death march to the next aid station . . .
I sat down on the side of the trail in the dark and nearly went to sleep at one or two points during this stroll . . . I threw up for the final time -- the bile from a ginger chew that a passing runner gave me in the hopes that it might help rescue my stomach . . . and wobbled along at a pace so slow that the night cold was definitely starting to take over . . . if it had been a bit warmer I am pretty sure I would have simply curled up and passed out but instead I decided my best bet was to just do the one foot in front of the next routine till the next aid station where I would work to get warm and give my stupid stomach one more shot at bouncing back . . .
Logan River (Mile 70): fire, sleeping bag, tent . . . I spent over an hour (maybe two) it's all a bit hazy in my head . . . trying to motivate for a march to the next aid station (about 6 miles away) but never got myself to the point where I was willing to walk out of there . . . I have done the death march to the finish before, it's better than a DNF but it's not much fun and I honestly felt like I had risked everything I could on the day . . . there were moments heading into the logan river aid station where I was afraid I wasn't going to make it that far and without sounding too dramatic felt like I knew my limits had been reached on the day . . . I had given it 100% and despite sincerely considering spending the night in a tent at Logan River before marching towards the finish in the morning decided a DNF was the right decision . . . If I hadn't already run 6 ultras this year including 100 miles at Western, I probably would have pushed on to the finish (and more importantly I probably wouldn't have pushed so hard so early) . . .
so here's the deal: I am bummed I DNFed but I would do it again and by it I mean the whole thing -- run hard and fast early, keep pushing when the signs first materialized, and then when I went too far to continue: drop . . .
I want to thank my crew for being there in my race of foolishness: Cara and my dad . . . Once again Cara rocked it by knowing how to kick me in the ass when I needed it and when to have some surprise in store at crucial moments to make me smile (she even knew to tell me to slow down, but also knew me well enough to keep it to herself) . . . Doug had a rocking map of the course that was way cool to look over the night before and it was once again cool that he drove all the way down to Utah for another race . . . anyhow my biggest bummer for the day was that I couldn't join all the other runners in finishing -- there is a part of me that feels like I let down other runners by not finishing, but in a strange sense I feel like the act of pushing the pace and pushing my limit (to the point of going beyond my limit) was in fact what the sport is actually all about . . .
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Western States
I just got back from a recovery week in Mexico and have filtered through some personal reflections regarding WS . . . and here goes . . .
I still don't know if I am a 100 mile runner or not?! I had some great moments between the start at Squaw and the finish line at Auburn; however, I also suffered through some moments that once again had me swearing off ever running another 100 mile race (and this despite the fact that I have already thrown down some hard earned change to run Bear in September). A little over a week later and a foggy memory has me not only thinking about the training that lies ahead for Bear, but in moments of pure stupidity considering other races -- other venues -- that might be worth dreaming about running someday . . . I think this is a good sign.
The Race started the night before with one of the worst nights of sleep I have ever endured pre-race. I flipped out waiting for sleep to grab hold of me on Friday night and started panicking as the clock counted down the hours of sleep I was not getting. My wife figures the problem was that we had arrived on Thursday so I was already in race mode 24hours ahead of my normal schedule -- this may be true, but given the schedule at Western I don't see how this could have been avoided . . . it may in actuality be a simple case of getting anxious and winding myself up into a ball of foolishness pre-race (my medical check on Thursday certainly showed my pulse and blood pressure measurements way higher than typical -- higher than they were in fact measured at the finish line) . . . anyhow I woke up from not sleeping in time to go through my pretty standard bathroom cycle of nervousness, but this time I had the advantage of a private bathroom in our hotel room as opposed to the more typical outhouse lineup so common at ultras.
I started Western with a tremondous amount of patience (perhaps too much patience at times considering that this was after all a race) and was hell bent on simply running the first half of the race as opposed to getting caught up by the fact that I was running 100 miles -- the one thing I remembered from all the pre-race jazz at WS was a comment made by somebody during the pre-race meeting about just taking some time to enjoy being out in the mountains and ironically (considering my nerves the day before) found myself being there in the mountains without gettting trapped into the race for a long time (perhaps the first 30 miles or so felt more like a training run than any other 100 I have run in the past -- and by training run, I don't mean I was slacking, I simply mean I was running for myself and ignoring the come and go of runners surrounding me).
It helped that the views during the initial climb were amazing. Western is definitely front-loaded with some out of this world beauty and I forgot about the missing sleep, the nagging issues with some soreness in my feet, and simply ran. On the other side of the climb -- the long descent out of the high country -- the snow running was simultaneously fun and ridiculous. I had been looking forward to running in the snow, but found that the combination of ice and people falling all over the place made it a bit more taxing than I anticipated. I could have run this section a lot faster, especially if I had been on my own in the mountains, but I am trying to change how I deal with the rest of the world and simply kept things mellow during the wierder sections and resisted for the most part passing people who were obviously uncomfortable sliding around on top of unbreakable crust . . . this part of the day actually reminded me of the single track climb at Squaw Peak 50 a few weeks before when everything got jammed up and I was able to simply smile and patiently enjoy the reality of trying to put 400 people on a technical single track course all at the same time . . . a crucial race moment happened as we hit the flats around (mile 15?). During this pretty easy period of dirt road running I ended up talking to a local runner (John Nelson) for a couple of miles who gave me a lot of information on both the pace of the race and the later sections of the course that proved to be way helpful to me later in the day. The next 30 or so miles of the race were relatively uneventful, but generally pretty positive in terms of being in the mountains . . . because of the modified snowcourse though we kinda had a wierd looping moment at one point where I realized just how slow I was running in terms of the competition -- I still can't decide if the field at Western really was that deep this year, or if I simply failed to compete?! Scott Jaime and Michael Foote both finished right in the same area as me, which blows my mind cause they are for real runners; however, other people I have beaten in other races (typically at 50 miles) finished sub-20 quite a long ways ahead of me . . . go figure. Maybe it would be best to stop worrying about anyone else on course and simply worry about myself . . . I am trying!
I thought the canyons section of the course was simply put -- EXCELLENT! The descents were technical at times, but 100% runnable and once again just out of this world beautiful. The climbs were solid enough, but they weren't crazy tough and I actually enjoyed the shift in gears they provided (you could even run parts of them without feeling like you were pushing the needle too far) . . . admittedly on a hot year this may have all gone very differently . . . As I came into Forest Hill aid station (mile 62) I felt good and was stoked to see Cara for a couple of minutes as I tried to take care of things before heading out on the long descent to Rucky Chucky . . . this is one of the few aid stations I think I could have handled a little bit better in terms of both speed and refueling not too mention attitude -- I may have been a little grumpy with both Cara and the whole set up of getting my drop bag and too many people asking me what I needed when all I really wanted was to keep running. In all honesty, I just realized what I didn't like about this aid station: all the civilization. It was like this sudden burst of activity after having been away from everything for so long and I wasn't mentally prepared for the shift . . .
Forest Hill is where I in theory began racing -- at least this is where I had stashed my watch. After blowing up at Wasatch last fall, I decided that one thing I wanted to do was run by listening to my body rather than a clock and when putting together my drop bags I figured 62 miles of not knowing how fast I was running was pretty good . . . I would like to do the next section of the race over -- I think I got too obsessed with my watch during the run down to the river. Ironically, not in terms of pace. I was running pretty much within myself as far as the pace went, but I started worrying about caloric intake, liquid intake, sodium intake (mental jetsjam intake) and was no longer simply listening to my body. Instead, I kept telling myself it had been 30 minutes I better eat this much or drink this much or whatever -- during the first 62 miles I simply ate and drank as I pleased, now all of the sudden I started listening to my watch instead. Long story short, at mile 70 my stomach told me to piss off and I ended up losing my cookies pretty good. I am so jealous of runners who can hurl once and then hit the restart button. In my case, it seems like once my stomach goes it really likes to stay gone for quite a while. I generally kept moving all the way to the river crossing, but my mood went to complete hell. And the ugliest part of the run for me was from just before the crossing until about mile 82 . . . These 4 or 5 miles temporarily destroyed me -- I totally lost track of how many times I threw up, how many times I thought about simply saying goodbye to the sport forever and how many times I simply wanted to quit. I made promises to myself that if I ever got to Auburn I would be smart enough to throw away my running shoes and that if my stomach would just stop turning over I would never make it go through this nonsense again. (A definite Wasatch flashback, but this time I kept moving and moving with relative strength) Unfortunately, I took a good chunk of this drama out on my wife who was foolish enough to meet me around mile 79 and walk a little ways with me . . . she is awesome and really helped me put things back into perspective as night fell but she probably didn't really need to deal with my poutiness. The great thing about being whiney during an ultra is that the only person you have to blame for your predicament is yourself, so the whining is pretty much pointless and inevitably falls on deaf ears.
Gradually my stomach sort of turned around -- for a long time I kept trying to force whatever calories I could into it (generally soda and GU at the aid stations) then sip on water and/or electrolytes until the next aid station. Finally, at mile 93 I was able to eat some vegan pudding and drink an Odwalla, which were probably the best calories I had gotten into my system in quite a while -- I know this sounds crazy, but I am starting to think that it's almost better to not eat than to eat and hurl immediately afterwards: WHATEVER.
I still don't know if I am a 100 mile runner or not?! I had some great moments between the start at Squaw and the finish line at Auburn; however, I also suffered through some moments that once again had me swearing off ever running another 100 mile race (and this despite the fact that I have already thrown down some hard earned change to run Bear in September). A little over a week later and a foggy memory has me not only thinking about the training that lies ahead for Bear, but in moments of pure stupidity considering other races -- other venues -- that might be worth dreaming about running someday . . . I think this is a good sign.
The Race started the night before with one of the worst nights of sleep I have ever endured pre-race. I flipped out waiting for sleep to grab hold of me on Friday night and started panicking as the clock counted down the hours of sleep I was not getting. My wife figures the problem was that we had arrived on Thursday so I was already in race mode 24hours ahead of my normal schedule -- this may be true, but given the schedule at Western I don't see how this could have been avoided . . . it may in actuality be a simple case of getting anxious and winding myself up into a ball of foolishness pre-race (my medical check on Thursday certainly showed my pulse and blood pressure measurements way higher than typical -- higher than they were in fact measured at the finish line) . . . anyhow I woke up from not sleeping in time to go through my pretty standard bathroom cycle of nervousness, but this time I had the advantage of a private bathroom in our hotel room as opposed to the more typical outhouse lineup so common at ultras.
I started Western with a tremondous amount of patience (perhaps too much patience at times considering that this was after all a race) and was hell bent on simply running the first half of the race as opposed to getting caught up by the fact that I was running 100 miles -- the one thing I remembered from all the pre-race jazz at WS was a comment made by somebody during the pre-race meeting about just taking some time to enjoy being out in the mountains and ironically (considering my nerves the day before) found myself being there in the mountains without gettting trapped into the race for a long time (perhaps the first 30 miles or so felt more like a training run than any other 100 I have run in the past -- and by training run, I don't mean I was slacking, I simply mean I was running for myself and ignoring the come and go of runners surrounding me).
It helped that the views during the initial climb were amazing. Western is definitely front-loaded with some out of this world beauty and I forgot about the missing sleep, the nagging issues with some soreness in my feet, and simply ran. On the other side of the climb -- the long descent out of the high country -- the snow running was simultaneously fun and ridiculous. I had been looking forward to running in the snow, but found that the combination of ice and people falling all over the place made it a bit more taxing than I anticipated. I could have run this section a lot faster, especially if I had been on my own in the mountains, but I am trying to change how I deal with the rest of the world and simply kept things mellow during the wierder sections and resisted for the most part passing people who were obviously uncomfortable sliding around on top of unbreakable crust . . . this part of the day actually reminded me of the single track climb at Squaw Peak 50 a few weeks before when everything got jammed up and I was able to simply smile and patiently enjoy the reality of trying to put 400 people on a technical single track course all at the same time . . . a crucial race moment happened as we hit the flats around (mile 15?). During this pretty easy period of dirt road running I ended up talking to a local runner (John Nelson) for a couple of miles who gave me a lot of information on both the pace of the race and the later sections of the course that proved to be way helpful to me later in the day. The next 30 or so miles of the race were relatively uneventful, but generally pretty positive in terms of being in the mountains . . . because of the modified snowcourse though we kinda had a wierd looping moment at one point where I realized just how slow I was running in terms of the competition -- I still can't decide if the field at Western really was that deep this year, or if I simply failed to compete?! Scott Jaime and Michael Foote both finished right in the same area as me, which blows my mind cause they are for real runners; however, other people I have beaten in other races (typically at 50 miles) finished sub-20 quite a long ways ahead of me . . . go figure. Maybe it would be best to stop worrying about anyone else on course and simply worry about myself . . . I am trying!
I thought the canyons section of the course was simply put -- EXCELLENT! The descents were technical at times, but 100% runnable and once again just out of this world beautiful. The climbs were solid enough, but they weren't crazy tough and I actually enjoyed the shift in gears they provided (you could even run parts of them without feeling like you were pushing the needle too far) . . . admittedly on a hot year this may have all gone very differently . . . As I came into Forest Hill aid station (mile 62) I felt good and was stoked to see Cara for a couple of minutes as I tried to take care of things before heading out on the long descent to Rucky Chucky . . . this is one of the few aid stations I think I could have handled a little bit better in terms of both speed and refueling not too mention attitude -- I may have been a little grumpy with both Cara and the whole set up of getting my drop bag and too many people asking me what I needed when all I really wanted was to keep running. In all honesty, I just realized what I didn't like about this aid station: all the civilization. It was like this sudden burst of activity after having been away from everything for so long and I wasn't mentally prepared for the shift . . .
Forest Hill is where I in theory began racing -- at least this is where I had stashed my watch. After blowing up at Wasatch last fall, I decided that one thing I wanted to do was run by listening to my body rather than a clock and when putting together my drop bags I figured 62 miles of not knowing how fast I was running was pretty good . . . I would like to do the next section of the race over -- I think I got too obsessed with my watch during the run down to the river. Ironically, not in terms of pace. I was running pretty much within myself as far as the pace went, but I started worrying about caloric intake, liquid intake, sodium intake (mental jetsjam intake) and was no longer simply listening to my body. Instead, I kept telling myself it had been 30 minutes I better eat this much or drink this much or whatever -- during the first 62 miles I simply ate and drank as I pleased, now all of the sudden I started listening to my watch instead. Long story short, at mile 70 my stomach told me to piss off and I ended up losing my cookies pretty good. I am so jealous of runners who can hurl once and then hit the restart button. In my case, it seems like once my stomach goes it really likes to stay gone for quite a while. I generally kept moving all the way to the river crossing, but my mood went to complete hell. And the ugliest part of the run for me was from just before the crossing until about mile 82 . . . These 4 or 5 miles temporarily destroyed me -- I totally lost track of how many times I threw up, how many times I thought about simply saying goodbye to the sport forever and how many times I simply wanted to quit. I made promises to myself that if I ever got to Auburn I would be smart enough to throw away my running shoes and that if my stomach would just stop turning over I would never make it go through this nonsense again. (A definite Wasatch flashback, but this time I kept moving and moving with relative strength) Unfortunately, I took a good chunk of this drama out on my wife who was foolish enough to meet me around mile 79 and walk a little ways with me . . . she is awesome and really helped me put things back into perspective as night fell but she probably didn't really need to deal with my poutiness. The great thing about being whiney during an ultra is that the only person you have to blame for your predicament is yourself, so the whining is pretty much pointless and inevitably falls on deaf ears.
Gradually my stomach sort of turned around -- for a long time I kept trying to force whatever calories I could into it (generally soda and GU at the aid stations) then sip on water and/or electrolytes until the next aid station. Finally, at mile 93 I was able to eat some vegan pudding and drink an Odwalla, which were probably the best calories I had gotten into my system in quite a while -- I know this sounds crazy, but I am starting to think that it's almost better to not eat than to eat and hurl immediately afterwards: WHATEVER.
Some props to WS 100 course -- I probably should have looked at the elevation profile for this section of the course -- it finishes strong. There were 2 decent climbs in the last few miles of the course with some good up down tendencies thrown into the mix. Once again, the climbs were not crazy tough and the descents were fully runnable even in the dark, but considering where they were on the course they were definitely there . . . good times.
The Auburn Track was good times . . . a giggling Cara met me for the last hundred yards and I got to full on collapse into a chair at the finish for a while . . . 21 hours 32 minutes . . .
Western exceeded my expectations! Good course, well organized, fun people, crazy Boston like history and competitiveness mixed with sincere support for the whole, and a full on solid race . . . I told myself going into this race that it would be a one time gig -- that I wouldn't throw down that kind of cash twice, that I wouldn't hassle with that particular lottery again . . . I am not so sure anymore. I could definitely see lining up for this one again some day . . .
A quick last thought on not having a pacer: I think this was a positive choice. I would be somewhat concerned to run without a pacer on a course that wasn't well marked, but the silence and stillness of the last 15 or 20 miles in the dark were truly special soul searching self reflective moments and being alone forced me into myself during these final miles . . . and Western was a good place to feel simultaneously alone and supported . . . even my paranoid route finding self could typically spot a flag or glowstick within 30 seconds of starting to worry that I had missed some hidden turn . . .
A thousand thanks to my crew . . . for Cara to throw this down on her own was a big deal and since there were only 3 places to meet me over the whole course it was definitely a long day and night for her . . . I promise to crew her during her first 100 -- I'll even crew her at a 50 miler:)
The Auburn Track was good times . . . a giggling Cara met me for the last hundred yards and I got to full on collapse into a chair at the finish for a while . . . 21 hours 32 minutes . . .
Western exceeded my expectations! Good course, well organized, fun people, crazy Boston like history and competitiveness mixed with sincere support for the whole, and a full on solid race . . . I told myself going into this race that it would be a one time gig -- that I wouldn't throw down that kind of cash twice, that I wouldn't hassle with that particular lottery again . . . I am not so sure anymore. I could definitely see lining up for this one again some day . . .
A quick last thought on not having a pacer: I think this was a positive choice. I would be somewhat concerned to run without a pacer on a course that wasn't well marked, but the silence and stillness of the last 15 or 20 miles in the dark were truly special soul searching self reflective moments and being alone forced me into myself during these final miles . . . and Western was a good place to feel simultaneously alone and supported . . . even my paranoid route finding self could typically spot a flag or glowstick within 30 seconds of starting to worry that I had missed some hidden turn . . .
A thousand thanks to my crew . . . for Cara to throw this down on her own was a big deal and since there were only 3 places to meet me over the whole course it was definitely a long day and night for her . . . I promise to crew her during her first 100 -- I'll even crew her at a 50 miler:)
Friday, June 17, 2011
Spring Season (Pre-Western)
Western States is just around the corner and I have finally decided to update my blog . . .
Races:
I ran Desert Rats 50M down in the Grand Junction area over spring break and had a good time running in relative heat for the first time this season (It was only around 70 degrees, but considering SLC had been barely able to break 50 prior to the end of April it felt warm) . . . I ran the first 25M way conservative trying to make sure my legs could handle the whole 50 since I had run back-to-back 30 milers the weekend before. On the back half (or 2nd loop in this case) I was able to move into the top 10 and felt pretty good about the race considering that despite the small field it seemed pretty competitive (a lot of people from the front range) . . . would be fun to do the 25 mile race on Saturday and then the half marathon on Sunday some year . . . would probably be more productive than all the drinking I decided to do on Sunday instead. Some props to Grand Junction as being a nice little western town with some decent bars and beautiful trails along the Colorado Plateau.
Squaw Peak 50M was a bit of a strange day and that's not even counting the fact that over half of the top 50 runners got lost for a good mile despite knowing the turn was coming. My intentions were to keep the day slow (a time on feet training day 3 weeks out from Western States) and I certainly pulled this strategy off during the first 25 miles, but given the fact that I finished 10th in a field of about 200 runners I suspect I may have gotten a bit caught up in passing people during the second half (it may not have helped that I knew a lot of the people I was passing and certainly wasn't going to let them pass me back later training run or not). In all honesty I am still not sure how hard I pushed it at SP -- I only felt like I was "racing" a couple of times during the day. Once during a short section around mile 35 when I made myself run with a small group of faster runners for a while instead of dropping off the pace; however, this was more of a decision to stave off boredom during the shoreline section of trail than a concern about pace. And then a couple of times during the last 7/8 miles I kind of got caught up with the idea of the end being near, but even here I remember consciously backing off the pace once or twice when I would have typically pushed it a bit harder to gain one or two additional spots. It may be that my finishing results/place had to do more with even running the whole day than having worked harder than I intended (makes me think that learning how to properly pace myself at the 100 mile distance might be wise). In either case, I was happy with the race from both a personal and competitive standpoint. NOT sure I am in love with the snow route, but I definitely enjoyed going over the Squaw Peak Overlook section of the course twice. I still consider this part of the traditional course to be pretty special (one of the coolest mountain views to be had anywhere) and it was nice to get to see it from both directions this year. Since we saw so little of the course this year, I am even considering adding Kacina Mosa to my schedule . . .
Training:
I have gone through some really good spells of running this spring and have also had a couple periods of somewhat painful and/or sluggish running. Especially towards the end of ski season a few aches and pains bothered me more than normal including some generally sore feet -- especially along the midsole -- and some stiffness in my knees from pushing it a couple of weekends in terms of skiing hard and running hard. There has also been a general tendency on my part to hurt a bit too much for a couple of days after speed work, which may I suspect be a sign of old age creeping up on me. YIKES! At least it should be a good excuse to minimize my time at either the gym (treadmill) or track in the future . . .
The best part of running this spring has definitely been the time spent running in the foothills while winter slowly worked its way up the mountains. All the snow forced me to refocus my running on the trails right behind the University instead of heading to higher trails and I rediscovered/discovered an even greater appreciation for the foothill trails. I also loved the fact that dry fork (dry creek) ran pretty much the entire spring giving me that sense of being in the high country despite being just a quick jaunt out of town . . .
Western States (preview):
I hope I am ready for this thing . . . don't know that I feel as healthy as I did last June heading into Big Horn, but I feel like my training has been pretty similar in terms of overall mileage and vertical -- I have raced a little more this spring than last year, but hopefully I have raced smart. Perhaps most importantly, I feel more experienced than a year ago. Despite what is happening with the elites at the front of the sport, I continue to be in awe of the distance itself and am hopefully becoming better at knowing my own pace. I certainly pushed my personal envelope last year at Wasatch in terms of pushing hard (too hard, too early) and it should be interesting to see how my mind/body react this time around. I am still waiting for that first 100 mile race where everything just clicks: strong/fresh legs, good mental mindset, quick/efficient aid station fueling, and a healthy stomach . . . I can't wait to get this thing on! 100 miles of totally new terrain!
Races:
I ran Desert Rats 50M down in the Grand Junction area over spring break and had a good time running in relative heat for the first time this season (It was only around 70 degrees, but considering SLC had been barely able to break 50 prior to the end of April it felt warm) . . . I ran the first 25M way conservative trying to make sure my legs could handle the whole 50 since I had run back-to-back 30 milers the weekend before. On the back half (or 2nd loop in this case) I was able to move into the top 10 and felt pretty good about the race considering that despite the small field it seemed pretty competitive (a lot of people from the front range) . . . would be fun to do the 25 mile race on Saturday and then the half marathon on Sunday some year . . . would probably be more productive than all the drinking I decided to do on Sunday instead. Some props to Grand Junction as being a nice little western town with some decent bars and beautiful trails along the Colorado Plateau.
Squaw Peak 50M was a bit of a strange day and that's not even counting the fact that over half of the top 50 runners got lost for a good mile despite knowing the turn was coming. My intentions were to keep the day slow (a time on feet training day 3 weeks out from Western States) and I certainly pulled this strategy off during the first 25 miles, but given the fact that I finished 10th in a field of about 200 runners I suspect I may have gotten a bit caught up in passing people during the second half (it may not have helped that I knew a lot of the people I was passing and certainly wasn't going to let them pass me back later training run or not). In all honesty I am still not sure how hard I pushed it at SP -- I only felt like I was "racing" a couple of times during the day. Once during a short section around mile 35 when I made myself run with a small group of faster runners for a while instead of dropping off the pace; however, this was more of a decision to stave off boredom during the shoreline section of trail than a concern about pace. And then a couple of times during the last 7/8 miles I kind of got caught up with the idea of the end being near, but even here I remember consciously backing off the pace once or twice when I would have typically pushed it a bit harder to gain one or two additional spots. It may be that my finishing results/place had to do more with even running the whole day than having worked harder than I intended (makes me think that learning how to properly pace myself at the 100 mile distance might be wise). In either case, I was happy with the race from both a personal and competitive standpoint. NOT sure I am in love with the snow route, but I definitely enjoyed going over the Squaw Peak Overlook section of the course twice. I still consider this part of the traditional course to be pretty special (one of the coolest mountain views to be had anywhere) and it was nice to get to see it from both directions this year. Since we saw so little of the course this year, I am even considering adding Kacina Mosa to my schedule . . .
Training:
I have gone through some really good spells of running this spring and have also had a couple periods of somewhat painful and/or sluggish running. Especially towards the end of ski season a few aches and pains bothered me more than normal including some generally sore feet -- especially along the midsole -- and some stiffness in my knees from pushing it a couple of weekends in terms of skiing hard and running hard. There has also been a general tendency on my part to hurt a bit too much for a couple of days after speed work, which may I suspect be a sign of old age creeping up on me. YIKES! At least it should be a good excuse to minimize my time at either the gym (treadmill) or track in the future . . .
The best part of running this spring has definitely been the time spent running in the foothills while winter slowly worked its way up the mountains. All the snow forced me to refocus my running on the trails right behind the University instead of heading to higher trails and I rediscovered/discovered an even greater appreciation for the foothill trails. I also loved the fact that dry fork (dry creek) ran pretty much the entire spring giving me that sense of being in the high country despite being just a quick jaunt out of town . . .
Western States (preview):
I hope I am ready for this thing . . . don't know that I feel as healthy as I did last June heading into Big Horn, but I feel like my training has been pretty similar in terms of overall mileage and vertical -- I have raced a little more this spring than last year, but hopefully I have raced smart. Perhaps most importantly, I feel more experienced than a year ago. Despite what is happening with the elites at the front of the sport, I continue to be in awe of the distance itself and am hopefully becoming better at knowing my own pace. I certainly pushed my personal envelope last year at Wasatch in terms of pushing hard (too hard, too early) and it should be interesting to see how my mind/body react this time around. I am still waiting for that first 100 mile race where everything just clicks: strong/fresh legs, good mental mindset, quick/efficient aid station fueling, and a healthy stomach . . . I can't wait to get this thing on! 100 miles of totally new terrain!
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Last Night
Great run last night!
I put down 40 miles of relatively easy running yesterday. Since this was by far my longest run of the season, I kept the vertical fairly mellow and focused almost exclusively on patience. I ate well. I drank consistently. I walked the steepest sections and basically maintained an even pace throughout the day/evening. One of my main goals was to concentrate on good nighttime miles and was glad that despite minimized visibility due to a series of snow squalls my pace remained strong. Running at night is definitely a weakness of mine and in particular running into the night (as opposed to running toward the sunrise) seems to beat me up both mentally and physically. Hopefully yesterday was the beginning of solving this problem, rather than an aberration. I have recently wondered if part of the issue is the drop in temperature that typically happens after sunset, or if I simply let the little things get into my head because I worry obsessively about my pace slowing. In either case, if I ever hope to get stronger at the 100 mile distance, I need to keep working on running well during the darkness.
One of the best parts about last night was the ridiculous number of deer I came across -- it seemed every time I came around a bend another group of 2 or 3 deer started off to find better cover. Good times! Actually wanted to carry a camera, but because of the weather it seemed like I had already thrown everything but the kitchen sink into my nathan and didn't want another piece of the material world to hassle with for 7 or 8 hours so once again I am left with mental images only . . .
I put down 40 miles of relatively easy running yesterday. Since this was by far my longest run of the season, I kept the vertical fairly mellow and focused almost exclusively on patience. I ate well. I drank consistently. I walked the steepest sections and basically maintained an even pace throughout the day/evening. One of my main goals was to concentrate on good nighttime miles and was glad that despite minimized visibility due to a series of snow squalls my pace remained strong. Running at night is definitely a weakness of mine and in particular running into the night (as opposed to running toward the sunrise) seems to beat me up both mentally and physically. Hopefully yesterday was the beginning of solving this problem, rather than an aberration. I have recently wondered if part of the issue is the drop in temperature that typically happens after sunset, or if I simply let the little things get into my head because I worry obsessively about my pace slowing. In either case, if I ever hope to get stronger at the 100 mile distance, I need to keep working on running well during the darkness.
One of the best parts about last night was the ridiculous number of deer I came across -- it seemed every time I came around a bend another group of 2 or 3 deer started off to find better cover. Good times! Actually wanted to carry a camera, but because of the weather it seemed like I had already thrown everything but the kitchen sink into my nathan and didn't want another piece of the material world to hassle with for 7 or 8 hours so once again I am left with mental images only . . .
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Training
I ended up clocking about 70 miles for the week, which was actually a bit more than I planned on;however, it seemed like the right jump in distance and well within the 10 percent rule . . . more important than the distance was the fact that I got two days of good climbing in rather rough conditions: snow, mud, rain, ice, and a little bit of sun. In terms of distance I am hoping to bring my mileage up over the next 6 weeks and then pretty much maintain a 90-100 mile week-to-week training schedule until Western. I am never sure what is enough, what is too much, and what is purely slacker mileage; however, it seems like my perfect peak zone lies somewhere in the 90 - 100 mile range . . .
A couple of cool moments from the week included a massive elk clomping around in the snow just above me on the hillside, a bunch of deer kicking it on the side of the trail, and a good social run in the sun.
A couple of cool moments from the week included a massive elk clomping around in the snow just above me on the hillside, a bunch of deer kicking it on the side of the trail, and a good social run in the sun.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Carbon Footprint
I am a hypocrite!
I bicycle to work for environmental reasons, but travel around the western United States (primarily the Rocky Mountains) to run in races that I have no chance of winning or even competing in as far as it relates to the elites. I keep telling myself that I will develop a local races only mentality and then find some new excuse to sign up for a more distant race (or I'll simply exaggerate the idea of local and take it to mean within the state or maybe even neighboring states) . . .
Beyond my personal hypocrisy, I have been wondering for some time now if travel distance could become a new handicapping factor in lotteries. Maybe RDs of lottery based races could add an extra ticket for in-state, in-region, or in-town applicants as a way of reducing the carbon footprint of ultras . . . not sure what in-town would mean for a race like Wasatch, but I think the idea is not completely absurd. It would preserve a sense of local community in some of the most desired races, but still allow runners a chance to race in more distant lands and gradually make it to all their desired venues.
Anyhow this is just a random rambling . . .
I bicycle to work for environmental reasons, but travel around the western United States (primarily the Rocky Mountains) to run in races that I have no chance of winning or even competing in as far as it relates to the elites. I keep telling myself that I will develop a local races only mentality and then find some new excuse to sign up for a more distant race (or I'll simply exaggerate the idea of local and take it to mean within the state or maybe even neighboring states) . . .
Beyond my personal hypocrisy, I have been wondering for some time now if travel distance could become a new handicapping factor in lotteries. Maybe RDs of lottery based races could add an extra ticket for in-state, in-region, or in-town applicants as a way of reducing the carbon footprint of ultras . . . not sure what in-town would mean for a race like Wasatch, but I think the idea is not completely absurd. It would preserve a sense of local community in some of the most desired races, but still allow runners a chance to race in more distant lands and gradually make it to all their desired venues.
Anyhow this is just a random rambling . . .
Monday, February 21, 2011
RED HOT
ran the red hot 55km this weekend: Good Fun. I had a good race . . . quick stats: 14th, 5:00.27 . . . ran well most of the day, although I never felt like I was running at 100%. Not sure what was going on, but my feet never seemed to be in the mood for the day (wondering in retrospect if I had simply tied my shoes too tight and my feet were a little bit asleep or at least cramped at the midfoot). After a relatively patient (too patient?) start, I moved through the pack pretty well until about mile 29 when I got lost for a minute or so and as I got back on the trail was passed by the person who eventually finished in 13th -- I was not able to respond at this point and was glad to simply keep him close for the remainder of the race as we worked through some slower runners from the 33km race as well as maybe 1 or 2 more runners from the 55km. My inability to respond was a bummer; however, the fact that I kept moving despite some negative mental and physical moments in the last few miles made me feel pretty good about the day in general . . . I am also glad to see that I seem to still have some speed in my legs and believe that if I ever want to give a sub-24 Wasatch another shot it isn't the speed issue that is keeping me from pulling it off. I simply need to learn how to run stronger for longer and to keep my wits and focus about me during long term suffering . . .
As far as the course goes, one of the coolest parts of the race was a series of quick up-downs on the slickrock around I'm guessing mile 27 or 28 where you could just fly downhill then crank up the next rise . . . the first part of the race had a little too much dirt road for my liking, but the technical sections later on made up for these early miles. And the excellent post-race spread definitely helped make this a race worth doing again sometime in the future: here, here to race directors that make the whole weekend a positive experience!
Oh, yeah, and I made it home in time for some good turns to still be had in the Wasatch before the sun totally baked the snow this afternoon!
As far as the course goes, one of the coolest parts of the race was a series of quick up-downs on the slickrock around I'm guessing mile 27 or 28 where you could just fly downhill then crank up the next rise . . . the first part of the race had a little too much dirt road for my liking, but the technical sections later on made up for these early miles. And the excellent post-race spread definitely helped make this a race worth doing again sometime in the future: here, here to race directors that make the whole weekend a positive experience!
Oh, yeah, and I made it home in time for some good turns to still be had in the Wasatch before the sun totally baked the snow this afternoon!
Sunday, February 13, 2011
first race of the season
Moab 55km+ (and yeah, I am throwin all the little kms into the measurement) is less than a week ahead and I am not sure what kind of race shape I am really in at this point . . . I have put in a couple/three 30 mile runs so far this year and my weekly average has been just a tad over 60 miles/week so far this year but the speed and strength don't seem to be there yet. I would like to run this race pretty much as hard as I can, since the only other race until Western States currently on my schedule is Squaw Peak and that looks to be more of a training run than a real race considering its place on the calendar (only 3 weeks before WS) . . . the weather may be as big a factor as anything else in this journey down to the desert -- rain/snow seems to be highlighting the upcoming week's pattern.
Anyhow, part of my reason for writing tonite is the icky feeling I got reading through some of the blogs about who did/did not get into Hardrock (more specifically comments made by readers). I am worried that the sport of ultrarunning is losing some of its innocence. I don't mean this as a knock on the elites or any other group I have actually run into on the trails, it is directed mostly at odd comments/commenters I have seen from time to time on race feeds or blog-comment sections. The first time I noticed a sort of nastiness directed at runners was during the Western States chatter last year when there were these anti-runner comments made by people sitting in their living rooms . . . maybe they were cheering on another runner but the number of negative comments directed at some of the runners surprised the hell out of me. One of the great things about ultrarunning's underground status has been the fact that the sport generally avoids the negative aspects of competitive sports better than most other sports but lately I feel like there are strange sounds on the outskirts of the sport . . . to be honest my guess is that this noise comes mostly from people who have never experienced a 100 mile race (if they have run any ultras at all) but it's just strange to see it out there at all -- if I was smarter/more disciplined I would simply avoid all the internet chatter and that would probably make me blissfully unaware . . .
Back to running -- I am tired of the ice. Generally I enjoy winter running, but a couple of runs in the past week or two have tested my resolve to enjoy slipping and sliding all over the place -- a half mile descent down an ice skating rink this morning may be the main reason for this sudden frustration . . . a half mile descent I could have avoided by using a little more common sense in choosing trailheads . . .
Anyhow, part of my reason for writing tonite is the icky feeling I got reading through some of the blogs about who did/did not get into Hardrock (more specifically comments made by readers). I am worried that the sport of ultrarunning is losing some of its innocence. I don't mean this as a knock on the elites or any other group I have actually run into on the trails, it is directed mostly at odd comments/commenters I have seen from time to time on race feeds or blog-comment sections. The first time I noticed a sort of nastiness directed at runners was during the Western States chatter last year when there were these anti-runner comments made by people sitting in their living rooms . . . maybe they were cheering on another runner but the number of negative comments directed at some of the runners surprised the hell out of me. One of the great things about ultrarunning's underground status has been the fact that the sport generally avoids the negative aspects of competitive sports better than most other sports but lately I feel like there are strange sounds on the outskirts of the sport . . . to be honest my guess is that this noise comes mostly from people who have never experienced a 100 mile race (if they have run any ultras at all) but it's just strange to see it out there at all -- if I was smarter/more disciplined I would simply avoid all the internet chatter and that would probably make me blissfully unaware . . .
Back to running -- I am tired of the ice. Generally I enjoy winter running, but a couple of runs in the past week or two have tested my resolve to enjoy slipping and sliding all over the place -- a half mile descent down an ice skating rink this morning may be the main reason for this sudden frustration . . . a half mile descent I could have avoided by using a little more common sense in choosing trailheads . . .
Monday, January 31, 2011
the time in between posts
FINISHED Wasatch last September (survived might be a better word): ran hard, but blew up around mile 70 -- kept to my strategy of sub-24 or bust, which gave me the excuse to run hard until I couldn't. I was on pace until things got ugly somewhere between Millcreek Aid and Deso Lake, guess they were already ugly at Mill in terms of throwing up when I tried to take in some food . . . after I blew up, I shuffled in to Brighton Aid tried my best to regroup and then just bit the bullet and gradually worked my way to the finish line: thank goodness for some patient pacers.
Ran a good number of miles between Wasatch and the New Year (though this was also my down time in terms of serious training). Loads of solid winter running lately with loads of wildlife sightings: the coolest being a mountain lion encounter last week just behind the University. I am starting to get back in the rhythm of good training (or at least training) . . . I am trying to gradually increase mileage and overall strength this winter-spring in a style similar to last year. I have put together a couple of 30 mile days in recent weeks and seem to be hovering right around 60 miles a week in terms of overall distance . . . And knock on wood -- thus far I am doing a little better job than last winter at making myself run up and down . . . been making sure I do at least 1 or 2 jaunts up Mt. Van Cott each week and hope to start increasing vertical by the end of this month.
2011 Race Schedule:
Moab Red Hot 55km -- February 19th
Squaw Peak 50m -- June 4th
Western States 100m -- June 25th
Speedgoat 50km -- July 30th
Bear 100m -- Sept 23rd
this is fairly similar to last year's plan, although the only repeat race from last season is Speedgoat (and this year I plan to race Speedgoat instead of making it the second part of back-to-back 30 milers) . . . my main goals for the season are to finish all the races on my list, to run fast at both Moab and Speedgoat, and finally I am hoping to have successful races at both WS and Bear.
I have come to the irrational conclusion that despite being stronger at the 50 mile distance, I find the difficulties created by the 100 mile distance to be the essence of my personal running journey at this point . . . this despite being pretty certain I swore off ever running 100 miles again somewhere near Ant Knolls last September. In terms of racing/running the 100 mile distance this summer, I am focused on learning how to move well despite suffering, how to better regulate my energy intake so as to keep my stomach from turning on me, and how to finally race the distance instead of simply trying to survive it. Of course, racing is a pretty relative word . . .
Ran a good number of miles between Wasatch and the New Year (though this was also my down time in terms of serious training). Loads of solid winter running lately with loads of wildlife sightings: the coolest being a mountain lion encounter last week just behind the University. I am starting to get back in the rhythm of good training (or at least training) . . . I am trying to gradually increase mileage and overall strength this winter-spring in a style similar to last year. I have put together a couple of 30 mile days in recent weeks and seem to be hovering right around 60 miles a week in terms of overall distance . . . And knock on wood -- thus far I am doing a little better job than last winter at making myself run up and down . . . been making sure I do at least 1 or 2 jaunts up Mt. Van Cott each week and hope to start increasing vertical by the end of this month.
2011 Race Schedule:
Moab Red Hot 55km -- February 19th
Squaw Peak 50m -- June 4th
Western States 100m -- June 25th
Speedgoat 50km -- July 30th
Bear 100m -- Sept 23rd
this is fairly similar to last year's plan, although the only repeat race from last season is Speedgoat (and this year I plan to race Speedgoat instead of making it the second part of back-to-back 30 milers) . . . my main goals for the season are to finish all the races on my list, to run fast at both Moab and Speedgoat, and finally I am hoping to have successful races at both WS and Bear.
I have come to the irrational conclusion that despite being stronger at the 50 mile distance, I find the difficulties created by the 100 mile distance to be the essence of my personal running journey at this point . . . this despite being pretty certain I swore off ever running 100 miles again somewhere near Ant Knolls last September. In terms of racing/running the 100 mile distance this summer, I am focused on learning how to move well despite suffering, how to better regulate my energy intake so as to keep my stomach from turning on me, and how to finally race the distance instead of simply trying to survive it. Of course, racing is a pretty relative word . . .
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