WOW!
I am not sure mother nature could have worked things out any more perfectly for some pretty top notch scenery: fall colors at their peak, a full moon for the night hours, and the weather was downright perfect. Definite awesomeness . . .
Heading into this race, I pretty much had one goal -- finishing . . . I avoided all the normal temptations to create pace charts, figure out who else was there, do some speed/tempo work, and trained less than normal heading into the couple of months preceding race day . . . since the Black Hills in June I hadn't run more than 80 miles during any given week (hit 80 twice) and only had a couple of runs -- including El Vaquero -- that hit or went beyond the 30 mile mark . . . and as race excuses went, the week or two preceding had found me dealing with a cough and sore throat . . . hell, I only decided about a month ago to run this race for certain.
Anyhow, I went into the starting line way mellow and felt genuinely relaxed (kinda unusual for me when it comes to 100s since I tend to get myself too wound up and all gooey-eyed about the distance and the race, which is kinda silly for a middle of the pack runner anyhow). My relatively calm mood was probably helped by the fact that I missed the pre-race meeting and such because I worked late thursday night finishing up parent-teacher conferences at school . . . and boom the gun went off . . . oh, wait there was no gun . . . I think it was a more typical Bear 100 start, "You guys might want to start running now."
I had a lot of fun on the climb up to the first aid station at about mile 10 hanging out with a number of familiar faces from the Salt Lake area and just kinda enjoyed being in the mountains while my legs/body warmed up . . . shortly after the summit is when the basic story of the first 52 miles (Tony Grove Campground) started to get written as some decent running/hiking got mixed in with a lot of time dashing off towards the bathroom at pretty much any aid station, forest service campground, and/or trailhead toilet I could find along the way . . . I don't know if it was how the bug that had been traveling around inside me decided to manifest itself for the race or if it was something I ate but despite the toilet issues I thoroughly enjoyed the first half of the race and found myself at Tony Grove campground mentally fresh and pretty much smiling. The next 10 miles of running from Tony Grove to where I met my pacer Ed at mile 62 were equally awesome as the scenery continued to be lights out beautiful and I finally found myself able to simply run (despite being pretty conservative and not being too aware of pace, I actually think my time at Franklin -- mile 62 -- wouldn't be an entirely crazy way to shoot for a sub-24 on a different kind of day) . . . anyhow it was nice to meet up with Ed since I had spent most of the miles between 25 and 62 pretty much solo . . .
The night was pretty typical of a race gone rough: I had a hard time getting much of a pace going and seemed to cycle from bad to worse for most of the last 25 miles. I set a personal record by only throwing up twice (well at least only 2 cycles) mixed in with a little bit of dry heaving and was able to keep eating from time to time although strangely enough drinking water wasn't working as well. Despite the fact that my time for the night section might suggest otherwise, I was able to run a decent amount of the flats and most of the gradual downhills -- steeper sections were proving too much for my legs -- but I did find that whenever the pace started to pick up my stomach would get pretty sour and/or I would become dizzy . . . in fact I had a couple of dizzy spells that were a bit overwhelming and even took to sitting down from time to time when things became too swimmy. Anyhow the night was good-ole fashioned plug along running-hiking with existence being simplified to the next step forward and the mantra became make forward progress whenever possible. Yeah, in that sick twisted way memory fuzzes everything and despite my rational side reminding me otherwise, I kinda liked the darkness of the night both figuratively and descriptively.
But the highlight of the race came at about mile 98 when looking out at Bear Lake I took in the world around me and simply perceived as much of the pain and beauty as possible.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Mind
I wanted to jot down an idea about running and awareness before I lost it once again in the haze of my brain . . .
Perhaps I want to call this concept, the "emptiness" of consciousness. There are a few races (and of course training runs) in which my mind has been able to become more intimately connected to my body and escaped for at least a period of time the narrative of individual consciousness. It's almost like in the sensation of running (and realization of breath) my mind becomes temporarily aware of the whole. I remember experiencing this almost accidentally during the Salt Lake City marathon a few years ago, but the point of this entry is to explain the purposefulness of finding that (dare I say) zen kinda place during El Vaquero over the past weekend.
Early on in the race, I was way too inside my own head and wasn't letting myself enjoy the race as much as I wanted. In fact part of the spinning going on inside my head focused on the question: Why am I not enjoying this race more? I could see how beautiful everything was and wanted to enjoy it completely, but instead I was focusing on the miles ahead, the competition around me, the training both behind and in front of me, and finally the struggle of climbing and descending. If I couldn't get out of the "race" and into the experience of the mountains, why in the world was I here? Might as well be at home on the couch, or running on a treadmill somewhere . . .
Finally, I decided I wanted to experience the race differently and made a conscious decision to shut everything else out and simply focus on each step as it took place -- not the next step, this step. Well, not really each step, rather it was as if I focused on each breath. The inhale-exhale relationship of each breath became my necessary focus point. Lacking discipline, flexibility, and belief I am pathetic at things like yoga; however, I found myself swallowed up at this point in the race by the process of breathing (a concept I recall from my very limited, sporadic, half-hearted attempts at things like yoga. And through the act of consciously breathing, I discovered a wild awareness of the race going on around me. It was almost like I found myself running (and only running). There was nothing else going on in my consciousness. I wasn't daydreaming. I wasn't contemplating. I wasn't analyzing. I wasn't rejoicing. I wasn't complaining. I was simply running.
And through the act of running, I was experiencing the trail, the mountains, and ironically enough the race.
Don't get me wrong this section of the race didn't last forever -- can't really say when I went in and out of awareness -- but even when the feeling faded away there was a piece/peace remaining.
Perhaps I want to call this concept, the "emptiness" of consciousness. There are a few races (and of course training runs) in which my mind has been able to become more intimately connected to my body and escaped for at least a period of time the narrative of individual consciousness. It's almost like in the sensation of running (and realization of breath) my mind becomes temporarily aware of the whole. I remember experiencing this almost accidentally during the Salt Lake City marathon a few years ago, but the point of this entry is to explain the purposefulness of finding that (dare I say) zen kinda place during El Vaquero over the past weekend.
Early on in the race, I was way too inside my own head and wasn't letting myself enjoy the race as much as I wanted. In fact part of the spinning going on inside my head focused on the question: Why am I not enjoying this race more? I could see how beautiful everything was and wanted to enjoy it completely, but instead I was focusing on the miles ahead, the competition around me, the training both behind and in front of me, and finally the struggle of climbing and descending. If I couldn't get out of the "race" and into the experience of the mountains, why in the world was I here? Might as well be at home on the couch, or running on a treadmill somewhere . . .
Finally, I decided I wanted to experience the race differently and made a conscious decision to shut everything else out and simply focus on each step as it took place -- not the next step, this step. Well, not really each step, rather it was as if I focused on each breath. The inhale-exhale relationship of each breath became my necessary focus point. Lacking discipline, flexibility, and belief I am pathetic at things like yoga; however, I found myself swallowed up at this point in the race by the process of breathing (a concept I recall from my very limited, sporadic, half-hearted attempts at things like yoga. And through the act of consciously breathing, I discovered a wild awareness of the race going on around me. It was almost like I found myself running (and only running). There was nothing else going on in my consciousness. I wasn't daydreaming. I wasn't contemplating. I wasn't analyzing. I wasn't rejoicing. I wasn't complaining. I was simply running.
And through the act of running, I was experiencing the trail, the mountains, and ironically enough the race.
Don't get me wrong this section of the race didn't last forever -- can't really say when I went in and out of awareness -- but even when the feeling faded away there was a piece/peace remaining.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
El Vaquero Loco - 50km
Quick Results - 3rd place in just under 6 hours.
GREAT RUN! What a beautiful course! Wildflowers were in full color and the mountain scenery was world class awesome. I am not sure if I can remember a race with so much high quality running and so little in the way of junk running . . . this was the first time I had really done much more than travel through Wyoming's Star Valley and this gave me an entirely new appreciation for the area. It is definitely spectacular.
I felt like I had a good day out on the trails in terms of actually running, but what really stands out for me is how beautiful the whole day was -- waterfalls, snowfields, creeks, springs, mountains, lakes, glaciated valleys, and cool single track. Not sure it gets much better. Oh, yeah, on top of everything else the course was mostly runnable despite having almost 9,000 feet of climbing. Good times!
GREAT RUN! What a beautiful course! Wildflowers were in full color and the mountain scenery was world class awesome. I am not sure if I can remember a race with so much high quality running and so little in the way of junk running . . . this was the first time I had really done much more than travel through Wyoming's Star Valley and this gave me an entirely new appreciation for the area. It is definitely spectacular.
I felt like I had a good day out on the trails in terms of actually running, but what really stands out for me is how beautiful the whole day was -- waterfalls, snowfields, creeks, springs, mountains, lakes, glaciated valleys, and cool single track. Not sure it gets much better. Oh, yeah, on top of everything else the course was mostly runnable despite having almost 9,000 feet of climbing. Good times!
Grandeur Peak Sunset Run
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| Glancing back on the way to the summit - went up and down from Rattlesnake Gulch via Church Fork. |
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| Actually made the summit on time (well I had to hang out for a moment or two). |
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| The descent. |
Friday, July 13, 2012
A String Cheese Run . . .
The morning after seeing String Cheese Incident play up in Deer Valley, I decided the best way to return to Salt Lake would be via the trails . . . so after shaking out the cobwebs and attempting to rehydrate from a night of dancing, I made my way into the mountains.
I slowly worked my way through the ski area in search of a trail/service road that would connect me to the Mid-mountain trail that traverses pretty much the entirety of the Park City side of the Wasatch. My basic plan/idea was to run along the MMT until crossing over to either the Wasatch Crest or one of a couple of trails that seem to do a decent job of connecting upper Millcreek to the Canyons (no need to build any more chairlifts). About 6 or 7 miles into the MMT I came across a sign pointing me in the direction of the Wasatch Crest and was able to climb on a fairly mellow trail all the way to a point just beyond Scott's Pass. I hadn't been on this section of trail before, and think it would be a great way to work out some solid loops combining a decent chunk of the Wasatch 100 course with the Park City trail system . . . anyhow once I got on top of the crest it was pretty self explanatory running the rest of the way to Millcreek.
I ended up coming down via Baker Springs and into the Terraces picnic site in Millcreek -- this was basically a water-need determined decision so I could fill up at the spring after going a decent chunk of the way dry -- and found a pretty quick hitch-ride into town. In total I went just over 30 miles and was able to kind of plan out/scout a more demanding route for the future. Anyhow, this was a fun way to turn a concert into a bit of an adventure . . .
I slowly worked my way through the ski area in search of a trail/service road that would connect me to the Mid-mountain trail that traverses pretty much the entirety of the Park City side of the Wasatch. My basic plan/idea was to run along the MMT until crossing over to either the Wasatch Crest or one of a couple of trails that seem to do a decent job of connecting upper Millcreek to the Canyons (no need to build any more chairlifts). About 6 or 7 miles into the MMT I came across a sign pointing me in the direction of the Wasatch Crest and was able to climb on a fairly mellow trail all the way to a point just beyond Scott's Pass. I hadn't been on this section of trail before, and think it would be a great way to work out some solid loops combining a decent chunk of the Wasatch 100 course with the Park City trail system . . . anyhow once I got on top of the crest it was pretty self explanatory running the rest of the way to Millcreek.
I ended up coming down via Baker Springs and into the Terraces picnic site in Millcreek -- this was basically a water-need determined decision so I could fill up at the spring after going a decent chunk of the way dry -- and found a pretty quick hitch-ride into town. In total I went just over 30 miles and was able to kind of plan out/scout a more demanding route for the future. Anyhow, this was a fun way to turn a concert into a bit of an adventure . . .
Rejuvenation in the mountains of British Columbia
Spent about a week in northern Idaho and southern British Columbia running trails -- loads of vertical and new sights . . . this is what running is all about . . .
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Black Hills
the long and the short of it is that I had my second DNF at the 100 mile distance in a row - this makes 3 total (each one different, but each one a bummer) meaning that I am now 4 for 7 in finishing at this distance . . .
i suspect that the reason I run the 100 is that there is no guarantee on race day as to what will happen, but I need to get this distance figured out. I will be honest, I went through a couple of days of melodramatic depression about dropping out and even threw down a temporary retirement - as my wife would say, I have a tendency to be a drama queen . . . anyhow here is the report . . .
HOT, HOT, HOT! Temperatures were in the 90s and the humidity was higher than I have run in for a long time (I am sure by non-Utah standards the humidity was just fine) . . . but I felt like I handled the heat well. I drank early and often (half water and half elixir water), I grabbed ice whenever possible, dipped bananas in salt, slowed the pace and really didn't think the heat was causing me too much undo stress . . . I wonder . . .
The first section of the race went by without too much pace as I simply tried to keep myself moving at a slow enough pace to focus on a strong backside to the race (the only time the pace felt too fast was in the first 10 miles when everyone seemed to be in race mode already, but I purposely dropped off this pace as soon as I realized what was happening). During the first 30 miles I felt like I was climbing well, but without any hurry, and was doing well on both the flats and the downhills (too many of these miles were runnable and if I had been running the 50 mile race I would have probably run just about everything). I was trying my best to eat and drink -- I can't quite figure out what happened in terms of gels but I was putting them away and in reflection think I was eating too much (2 an hour plus other random stuff at aid stations).
As an example of how patient I was trying to be, I remember on two or three different occasions between miles 15 and 35 slowing my pace down despite having company and being able to keep up relatively comfortably with the people around me - the pace just seemed a little too aggressive given my main goal for the day (finishing) and the heat. Besides at least one or two people at aid stations told me I had already worked my way into the top 10 or thereabouts - this was a small race and a lot of people had already slowed to full on survival by mile 30.
The first issues I can remember having came as I moved toward the mile 38 aid station - I can remember feeling a little fatigued (nothing too weird for this point in the race though), but more importantly I remember having a stitch in my side. I can't remember the last time I had an actual stitch or cramp in my side when doing any kind of long run and I did think it was odd but just tried to run/work through it. I even slowed the pace down a bit more to make sure I was keeping things conservative enough for the day.
But all of the sudden, in the next couple of miles, everything went to complete nonsense: the stitch in my side returned more aggressively and with almost no warning I found myself throwing up what seemed like a gallon of water all at once. At first I thought this was going to be a quick one time event and felt relieved when the stitch in my side disappeared after throwing up. But I had lost a lot of water. I don't know if the water I had been drinking ever got into my system or had simply been hanging out in my stomach waiting for this moment, but in either case I found my race going downhill in a hurry. I would guess, I had lost over an hour or possibly even two hours worth of drinking water in this singular moment, which obviously on such a hot day wasn't the best possible result and tried to focus on rehydrating. I was able to start drinking again pretty easily and even ate another gel, but in time I ended up throwing up a couple more times and was never going to catch up in terms of hydration.
At mile 43 aid I took a few minutes to sit down, drink some coke, and try to get my head back in the game. I would have stayed here longer, but the guy sitting next to me was on an obvious tailspin toward dropping out and I felt uncomfortable sitting there so I left -- this was probably my first real mistake of the day. The next mistake came about 2 minutes later when I threw up again and started having abdominal and back spasms to the point of needing to sit on the side of the trail for a couple of minutes - I should have returned to the previous aid station right then and waited as long as it took to feel normal (well ultra marathon normal again) but was afraid that it would mean I was disqualified. I know some races disqualify you, if you return back to an aid station you have already left (others don't) and my guess in retrospect is that if I had been thinking clearly I would have simply asked before checking back in to the aid station. In either case, I hate going backwards. After regrouping a little bit, I decided I would simply walk (flat, down, up, whatever) until I felt better. Or until somebody caught up to me . . . I was shocked nobody caught me. And shocked nobody ever came at me from the opposite direction. I just kept walking. Unfortunately, it was a real struggle at this point to even drink water and my mind went into a tailspin. Obviously, I need to become mentally stronger. At one point, I started to wonder if the race had been cancelled and I was simply caught between aid stations with nobody else out on the trails . . . yeah, I was not functioning very well. Case in point, I had this moment of doubt about the trail - I hadn't seen a marker in a while but just kept going reminding myself that the course directions said there weren't "comfort" flags.
I am guessing I went off course by as much as a mile, although it was probably much less -- maybe only a half mile one-way. When I came to a road - definitely not part of the course - I considered hitching to the 50 mile turnaround where I could DQ myself. However, another runner made the same mistake a few minutes after me and we were able to walk back to where we had gone off course. I guess, part of me was still game for the fight. Part of me. I had some really strange moments on the trail between here and my eventual finish at the turnaround -- these moments lay somewhere between delirious and simply foolish. In either case, at mile fifty I sat down and started sipping liquids. I got sick again while sitting, but in retrospect think I should have been able to fight this down with a bit more sturdiness. I don't know how long I should have sat there trying to nurse myself back to health. I was worried about myself at this point. It scared me that water still wasn't settling without a fight and even soda didn't seem secure . . . I hadn't gone to the bathroom in a long time, maybe 4/5 hours (but I had gone a couple of times on the day) . . . anyhow I sat there for a while trying to regroup, but was unable to ever really start rehydrating.
When I got to the hotel, maybe 2 hours after officially leaving the race, I was finally able to start really getting liquids down -- orange juice seemed to do the trick -- and a while later I even ate some noodles and broth. Most importantly, I eventually went to the bathroom again and aside from spitting up some of the juice my stomach gradually returned to sanity.
Finally, the night was an adventure in cramping as my legs and feet kept freaking out to the point of sheer weirdness . . . ah, to fight another day.
In conclusion, I am still unsure what went wrong - I understand that I got dehydrated but this didn't seem to happen until my stomach blew up on me. I'm not sure why my stomach once again went on me, but wondering if it had to do with eating too much given the generally weak state of my stomach especially in the heat. And I still haven't figured out if I should have kept running or if I would have gotten into real trouble eventually . . .
i suspect that the reason I run the 100 is that there is no guarantee on race day as to what will happen, but I need to get this distance figured out. I will be honest, I went through a couple of days of melodramatic depression about dropping out and even threw down a temporary retirement - as my wife would say, I have a tendency to be a drama queen . . . anyhow here is the report . . .
HOT, HOT, HOT! Temperatures were in the 90s and the humidity was higher than I have run in for a long time (I am sure by non-Utah standards the humidity was just fine) . . . but I felt like I handled the heat well. I drank early and often (half water and half elixir water), I grabbed ice whenever possible, dipped bananas in salt, slowed the pace and really didn't think the heat was causing me too much undo stress . . . I wonder . . .
The first section of the race went by without too much pace as I simply tried to keep myself moving at a slow enough pace to focus on a strong backside to the race (the only time the pace felt too fast was in the first 10 miles when everyone seemed to be in race mode already, but I purposely dropped off this pace as soon as I realized what was happening). During the first 30 miles I felt like I was climbing well, but without any hurry, and was doing well on both the flats and the downhills (too many of these miles were runnable and if I had been running the 50 mile race I would have probably run just about everything). I was trying my best to eat and drink -- I can't quite figure out what happened in terms of gels but I was putting them away and in reflection think I was eating too much (2 an hour plus other random stuff at aid stations).
As an example of how patient I was trying to be, I remember on two or three different occasions between miles 15 and 35 slowing my pace down despite having company and being able to keep up relatively comfortably with the people around me - the pace just seemed a little too aggressive given my main goal for the day (finishing) and the heat. Besides at least one or two people at aid stations told me I had already worked my way into the top 10 or thereabouts - this was a small race and a lot of people had already slowed to full on survival by mile 30.
The first issues I can remember having came as I moved toward the mile 38 aid station - I can remember feeling a little fatigued (nothing too weird for this point in the race though), but more importantly I remember having a stitch in my side. I can't remember the last time I had an actual stitch or cramp in my side when doing any kind of long run and I did think it was odd but just tried to run/work through it. I even slowed the pace down a bit more to make sure I was keeping things conservative enough for the day.
But all of the sudden, in the next couple of miles, everything went to complete nonsense: the stitch in my side returned more aggressively and with almost no warning I found myself throwing up what seemed like a gallon of water all at once. At first I thought this was going to be a quick one time event and felt relieved when the stitch in my side disappeared after throwing up. But I had lost a lot of water. I don't know if the water I had been drinking ever got into my system or had simply been hanging out in my stomach waiting for this moment, but in either case I found my race going downhill in a hurry. I would guess, I had lost over an hour or possibly even two hours worth of drinking water in this singular moment, which obviously on such a hot day wasn't the best possible result and tried to focus on rehydrating. I was able to start drinking again pretty easily and even ate another gel, but in time I ended up throwing up a couple more times and was never going to catch up in terms of hydration.
At mile 43 aid I took a few minutes to sit down, drink some coke, and try to get my head back in the game. I would have stayed here longer, but the guy sitting next to me was on an obvious tailspin toward dropping out and I felt uncomfortable sitting there so I left -- this was probably my first real mistake of the day. The next mistake came about 2 minutes later when I threw up again and started having abdominal and back spasms to the point of needing to sit on the side of the trail for a couple of minutes - I should have returned to the previous aid station right then and waited as long as it took to feel normal (well ultra marathon normal again) but was afraid that it would mean I was disqualified. I know some races disqualify you, if you return back to an aid station you have already left (others don't) and my guess in retrospect is that if I had been thinking clearly I would have simply asked before checking back in to the aid station. In either case, I hate going backwards. After regrouping a little bit, I decided I would simply walk (flat, down, up, whatever) until I felt better. Or until somebody caught up to me . . . I was shocked nobody caught me. And shocked nobody ever came at me from the opposite direction. I just kept walking. Unfortunately, it was a real struggle at this point to even drink water and my mind went into a tailspin. Obviously, I need to become mentally stronger. At one point, I started to wonder if the race had been cancelled and I was simply caught between aid stations with nobody else out on the trails . . . yeah, I was not functioning very well. Case in point, I had this moment of doubt about the trail - I hadn't seen a marker in a while but just kept going reminding myself that the course directions said there weren't "comfort" flags.
I am guessing I went off course by as much as a mile, although it was probably much less -- maybe only a half mile one-way. When I came to a road - definitely not part of the course - I considered hitching to the 50 mile turnaround where I could DQ myself. However, another runner made the same mistake a few minutes after me and we were able to walk back to where we had gone off course. I guess, part of me was still game for the fight. Part of me. I had some really strange moments on the trail between here and my eventual finish at the turnaround -- these moments lay somewhere between delirious and simply foolish. In either case, at mile fifty I sat down and started sipping liquids. I got sick again while sitting, but in retrospect think I should have been able to fight this down with a bit more sturdiness. I don't know how long I should have sat there trying to nurse myself back to health. I was worried about myself at this point. It scared me that water still wasn't settling without a fight and even soda didn't seem secure . . . I hadn't gone to the bathroom in a long time, maybe 4/5 hours (but I had gone a couple of times on the day) . . . anyhow I sat there for a while trying to regroup, but was unable to ever really start rehydrating.
When I got to the hotel, maybe 2 hours after officially leaving the race, I was finally able to start really getting liquids down -- orange juice seemed to do the trick -- and a while later I even ate some noodles and broth. Most importantly, I eventually went to the bathroom again and aside from spitting up some of the juice my stomach gradually returned to sanity.
Finally, the night was an adventure in cramping as my legs and feet kept freaking out to the point of sheer weirdness . . . ah, to fight another day.
In conclusion, I am still unsure what went wrong - I understand that I got dehydrated but this didn't seem to happen until my stomach blew up on me. I'm not sure why my stomach once again went on me, but wondering if it had to do with eating too much given the generally weak state of my stomach especially in the heat. And I still haven't figured out if I should have kept running or if I would have gotten into real trouble eventually . . .
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Final Long Run Until BH100 . . .
Finished up 30 miles today (most of it with Brian, which provided a nice chance to catch up and get in some quality social time) . . . ran about 17/18 miles yesterday with a bit more vertical stress . . . and my legs are excited for taper time. I plan to taper for the next two weeks by dropping down to recovery mileage next week (about 60 miles) and then a pretty standard race week countdown -- like 6-5-4 or 5-4-3 . . . I have mentioned this before, but tapering is a stress for me; however, especially coming off of Squaw Peak and then running pretty solid miles all week this week, I know it is time to recuperate before heading to South Dakota.
Anyhow, the main thing I was trying to watch and/or keep track of this week was how well my legs would bounce back from SP50 and whether or not I could pull off a full week of training after running a bit harder than I planned last weekend . . . seems to have gone relatively well. I have had some general exhaustion all week, but was able to not only put in decent mileage but also got some good climbing in yesterday and did a modified tempo workout earlier in the week . . . so hopefully my body will use the next couple of weeks to recharge and my mind will keep from obsessing about racing and just enjoy having a bit of a break before being put to the test once again.
Anyhow, the main thing I was trying to watch and/or keep track of this week was how well my legs would bounce back from SP50 and whether or not I could pull off a full week of training after running a bit harder than I planned last weekend . . . seems to have gone relatively well. I have had some general exhaustion all week, but was able to not only put in decent mileage but also got some good climbing in yesterday and did a modified tempo workout earlier in the week . . . so hopefully my body will use the next couple of weeks to recharge and my mind will keep from obsessing about racing and just enjoy having a bit of a break before being put to the test once again.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Training Race?! or Race?!
Squaw Peak 50 Race Report . . . my intentions this past Saturday were to take it easy -- perhaps run a minute/mile or so off race pace and simply get some solid time on trail leading up to the Black Hills 100 which is in 3 weeks . . . well things went off plan somewhere on the way to Windy Pass . . .
The race started out fairly conservative for me as I found myself stuck behind a group moving up the climb to Hope Campground that were moving a little slower than I would've preferred be it training or racing. However, I remained patient and simply enjoyed the fact that I wasn't having to work too hard. It was a wonderful moment of single track imposed laziness. Skipping the first aid station, and passing this group without expending any extra energy, I was able to create a little space for myself and could start climbing at my own pace alternating between hiking and slow jogging on the way to the first real summit/pass. The first 7 or 8 miles of Squaw Peak include some of my favorite views anywhere in Utah -- the early morning light, the snowcapped mountains, the green valleys -- and I was able to soak it all in while letting my body slowly warm up. I had run fairly hard over the past few days and it was taking my legs a while to loosen up. And despite the slow pace, I wasn't necessarily in a place of joy early on in the race. In fact, I was actually starting to question my decision to train straight through this race and my legs kept asking me why in the world I had run alternating tempo miles on Wednesday night . . .
During the long descent toward Hobble Creek (once I worked through some GI issues) things started to loosen up and I kept surprising myself by recognizing a lot of familiar faces at aid stations -- it seemed like I would get to the aid stations just as people I expected to be further ahead of me at this point were just heading out of the stations -- guessing about a minute or two ahead of me. Anyhow, I told myself to be patient and simply enjoy the day in the mountains without getting caught up in the notion of racing (at least not this early -- Hobble Creek aid is now only about mile 20 so it was still early). By the time I got off the couple of miles of oven-baked pavement in hobble creek, I knew that once again a "training race" was turning into a race.
I was able to run with B.J. and John for a good chunk of the section leading to Little Valley, which I am certain had to be driving the two of them nuts since I have a tendency to alternate between jogging and walking on climbs more than most people which creates kind of a yo-yo pace. And it was especially necessary for me to jog the mellower sections of each climb because B.J. hikes like a beast and trying to hike that pace for too long would simply have destroyed me. Anyhow it was good to see both of them (last year we had chased one another around the course for a good 10-15 miles) and get a solid bit of social running time in during the middle of the race. Some pretty upbeat group running left me feeling relatively fresh as we reached the beginning of the Windy Pass climb where I accidentally pulled away from the pace everyone else was running. My first pseudo realization of how my race was going in terms of time came part way down the long (7 mile) descent from Windy when somebody told me the clock time -- ironically this made me run faster, because I couldn't figure out the math to make sure I was sub-10 and figured it best to just keep moving.
In either case -- this has definitely become one of those rambles -- I had a really good race (by my standards) and can't really understand why . . . shit, in complete avoidance of any kind of taper, I had actually run 10 miles in the heat of Friday afternoon finishing my run about 12 hours before Squaw Peak would kick off early Saturday morning. I do think that going into the race with no self imposed pressure helped me simply listen to my body and keep the pace totally sane . . . I never really felt taxed until I hit the last couple of miles and even felt like I was moving a little too slow in a couple of earlier sections. Part of it was simply having one of those days where everything worked, but I think a lot of it had to do with racing by not racing. I ate well, drank well, increased my electrolyte intake when it seemed necessary, and kept things pretty well balanced throughout the run. It would be great, if I could maintain the same level of common sense and luck while running in the Black Hills later this month.
9 hours 33 minutes for 6th place . . . this is a course PR by roughly a half hour and my best finish place wise by a couple of spots . . . it helped not getting lost (minus one little goof up on Windy - damn elk trails) and having the trail be almost entirely snow free this year. . . it was also my 3rd Top Ten finish at Squaw and continues a pretty nice streak of finishing in the Top Ten at the 50 mile distance . . . it helps of course to find races with only about 11 or 12 runners present . . .
The race started out fairly conservative for me as I found myself stuck behind a group moving up the climb to Hope Campground that were moving a little slower than I would've preferred be it training or racing. However, I remained patient and simply enjoyed the fact that I wasn't having to work too hard. It was a wonderful moment of single track imposed laziness. Skipping the first aid station, and passing this group without expending any extra energy, I was able to create a little space for myself and could start climbing at my own pace alternating between hiking and slow jogging on the way to the first real summit/pass. The first 7 or 8 miles of Squaw Peak include some of my favorite views anywhere in Utah -- the early morning light, the snowcapped mountains, the green valleys -- and I was able to soak it all in while letting my body slowly warm up. I had run fairly hard over the past few days and it was taking my legs a while to loosen up. And despite the slow pace, I wasn't necessarily in a place of joy early on in the race. In fact, I was actually starting to question my decision to train straight through this race and my legs kept asking me why in the world I had run alternating tempo miles on Wednesday night . . .
During the long descent toward Hobble Creek (once I worked through some GI issues) things started to loosen up and I kept surprising myself by recognizing a lot of familiar faces at aid stations -- it seemed like I would get to the aid stations just as people I expected to be further ahead of me at this point were just heading out of the stations -- guessing about a minute or two ahead of me. Anyhow, I told myself to be patient and simply enjoy the day in the mountains without getting caught up in the notion of racing (at least not this early -- Hobble Creek aid is now only about mile 20 so it was still early). By the time I got off the couple of miles of oven-baked pavement in hobble creek, I knew that once again a "training race" was turning into a race.
I was able to run with B.J. and John for a good chunk of the section leading to Little Valley, which I am certain had to be driving the two of them nuts since I have a tendency to alternate between jogging and walking on climbs more than most people which creates kind of a yo-yo pace. And it was especially necessary for me to jog the mellower sections of each climb because B.J. hikes like a beast and trying to hike that pace for too long would simply have destroyed me. Anyhow it was good to see both of them (last year we had chased one another around the course for a good 10-15 miles) and get a solid bit of social running time in during the middle of the race. Some pretty upbeat group running left me feeling relatively fresh as we reached the beginning of the Windy Pass climb where I accidentally pulled away from the pace everyone else was running. My first pseudo realization of how my race was going in terms of time came part way down the long (7 mile) descent from Windy when somebody told me the clock time -- ironically this made me run faster, because I couldn't figure out the math to make sure I was sub-10 and figured it best to just keep moving.
In either case -- this has definitely become one of those rambles -- I had a really good race (by my standards) and can't really understand why . . . shit, in complete avoidance of any kind of taper, I had actually run 10 miles in the heat of Friday afternoon finishing my run about 12 hours before Squaw Peak would kick off early Saturday morning. I do think that going into the race with no self imposed pressure helped me simply listen to my body and keep the pace totally sane . . . I never really felt taxed until I hit the last couple of miles and even felt like I was moving a little too slow in a couple of earlier sections. Part of it was simply having one of those days where everything worked, but I think a lot of it had to do with racing by not racing. I ate well, drank well, increased my electrolyte intake when it seemed necessary, and kept things pretty well balanced throughout the run. It would be great, if I could maintain the same level of common sense and luck while running in the Black Hills later this month.
9 hours 33 minutes for 6th place . . . this is a course PR by roughly a half hour and my best finish place wise by a couple of spots . . . it helped not getting lost (minus one little goof up on Windy - damn elk trails) and having the trail be almost entirely snow free this year. . . it was also my 3rd Top Ten finish at Squaw and continues a pretty nice streak of finishing in the Top Ten at the 50 mile distance . . . it helps of course to find races with only about 11 or 12 runners present . . .
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Peak Training
80 miles and somewhere between 14,000 and 16,000 vertical in 4 days . . . good times. Ironically today's relatively mellow run of 7 miles and 1,600 vertical was one of the most enjoyable runs of the cycle and recent memory. There was something that simply felt natural about today's run -- little/nothing in the way of thinking about pacing, drinking, eating, or route finding. I was simply running. The foothills were beautiful. Clouds, wind, rain in the distance, and everything turned ever green . . . just one of those days when everything came together despite the recent miles and tired legs. As I crested the ridge in City Creek, it felt like my body/mind forgot all the running of the past few days and simply wanted to be free and move without thought.
In other news, I am nervous about the BH100. After last fall's surrender at Bear, I am nervous about how my mind/body will react when the push truly gets to shove -- this is probably in reality why I have suddenly started writing again after a rather long hiatus (to clear my head). There is something amazing about the connection between training and racing. There is also something amazing about what seems to be the disconnect between the two. Recently, I have been looking back at running logs from the past couple years in an attempt to find clues pointing to good/bad race efforts. Not sure there is much rhyme/reason. Signs of burnout? Signs of overtraining? Signs of undertraining? Reading it all in hindsight, the signs are obvious. But in reality, I am not sure how the info would all read if the results had been different. I was surprised to see that before both Wasatch a couple-three years ago (caused because of injury) and Bear last year (caused by burnout?) there were unusual drops in my training followed by and/or connected to random periods of overly intense training. In contrast, my more typical training follows a fairly gradual increase in terms of overall mileage (with mini-recoveries thrown in from time to time) until reaching peak training about 3 weeks before the race followed by a taper that goes 80, 60, race week. Shocker: it seems that consistency might be the closest thing to a key for me.
In other news, I am nervous about the BH100. After last fall's surrender at Bear, I am nervous about how my mind/body will react when the push truly gets to shove -- this is probably in reality why I have suddenly started writing again after a rather long hiatus (to clear my head). There is something amazing about the connection between training and racing. There is also something amazing about what seems to be the disconnect between the two. Recently, I have been looking back at running logs from the past couple years in an attempt to find clues pointing to good/bad race efforts. Not sure there is much rhyme/reason. Signs of burnout? Signs of overtraining? Signs of undertraining? Reading it all in hindsight, the signs are obvious. But in reality, I am not sure how the info would all read if the results had been different. I was surprised to see that before both Wasatch a couple-three years ago (caused because of injury) and Bear last year (caused by burnout?) there were unusual drops in my training followed by and/or connected to random periods of overly intense training. In contrast, my more typical training follows a fairly gradual increase in terms of overall mileage (with mini-recoveries thrown in from time to time) until reaching peak training about 3 weeks before the race followed by a taper that goes 80, 60, race week. Shocker: it seems that consistency might be the closest thing to a key for me.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
hello?!
If you forget your password, it has obviously been a while since you wrote anything . . .
Training is in full swing for the Black Hills 100 coming up towards the end of June. Today I ran around 3500 vertical in about 17 miles as a kinda BH100 simulation. My thinking goes and/or went as such -- I need to get used to quick bursts of up-down activity and the course I ran today simulated this idea by including about 9 climbs and descents in a rather short amount of running (each climb consisted of roughly 300 to 400 vertical feet and was followed by a similar descent). Although the BH100 doesn't look massive in terms of big time climbs, the elevations seems to be ever-changing and I felt the need to at least somewhat mimic that idea today . . . in terms of getting ready for the Black Hills, too much of my everyday running probably consists of big climbs and/or descents that come natural to the terrain around here.
Training is in full swing for the Black Hills 100 coming up towards the end of June. Today I ran around 3500 vertical in about 17 miles as a kinda BH100 simulation. My thinking goes and/or went as such -- I need to get used to quick bursts of up-down activity and the course I ran today simulated this idea by including about 9 climbs and descents in a rather short amount of running (each climb consisted of roughly 300 to 400 vertical feet and was followed by a similar descent). Although the BH100 doesn't look massive in terms of big time climbs, the elevations seems to be ever-changing and I felt the need to at least somewhat mimic that idea today . . . in terms of getting ready for the Black Hills, too much of my everyday running probably consists of big climbs and/or descents that come natural to the terrain around here.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Coyote Call
Great foothill run on shoreline trail -- basically Hogle to City Creek and back with a couple of zig-zags thrown in for good measure. Admittedly I cheated today by sleeping in and avoiding any "chance" to break trail after the first (maybe second if you stretch the definition a bit) storm of the season . . .
I didn't hit the trails until this afternoon and figured my only real goal was to stay relatively consistent on the snow and ice . . . good times. Thanks to the number of people who spent the early hours doing all the hard work, the running ended up being quicker/easier than I expected with the trail being packed almost the entire way.
Highlights: amazing sunset and cool coyote moment.
As I turned on my headlamp -- just before the descent into dry fork -- a couple of coyote howls echoed from the hills surrounding and the necessity of returning home sent me running toward them with a bit of extra adrenaline -- a better kick that the mocha clifshot I had saved for the last few miles. The next mile and/or mile-and-a-half were an awesome combo of music playing on my ipod (deak kennedy's, velvet underground, and the dead came in succesion), coyote howls, a group of deer rushing out of the way, a singular star, and more typical nighttime views of my headlamp reflecting off the snow. Good times.
I felt like this was the first run that really tested me in terms of distance and effort over a sustained period since Bear . . . and I have been happy to see how quickly I have recovered since getting home. A good start to the training ahead . . .
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
January
I have been digging the running as of late . . . I am still throwing down relatively light mileage (47 last week, with a goal of about 50 this week) . . . but the time on trails has felt good. It may all be an illusion, but it seems like the average pace of my runs lately has been fairly strong . . .
The past couple of weeks has been filled with some of the best winter running I can remember since moving back to Salt Lake almost a decade ago. The trails are fairly dry and generally pretty fast for this time of year, which has meant I have been able to do a decent amount of climbing and at least some of it at a strong-consistent pace. In addition, despite the lack of storms moving through the area, the inversion has been survivable (typically there has been enough wind to clean things out every few days and although there has been some pollution there have been almost no red burn days --- YEAH!).
Two of the best runs since the New Year in terms of running at a good-solid pace include a PR on the "mountain lion" run that connects the steepest route up Mt. Van Cott with some Red Butte trails and a new Red Butte-Shoreline loop that I am using as a time trail/tempo course for the next few months in preparation for running in the Black Hills. The loop is right around 6 miles and has about 1000 feet of vertical which is relatively close to the vertical-ratio listed for the Black Hills race. Both of these runs gave me a chance to push the pace over a middle distance . . . In more traditional training, I ended up running through the Buffalo of Antelope Island the other day -- 16 miles with no food or water -- and ran about 15 miles in one of the few storms of the season along the shoreline trails with what turned into a group of about 6 runners . . .
The one thing missing from my training so far this season is long runs. I still haven't gone much beyond 20 miles and am trying to decide how long I can continue putting in mostly shorter runs . . .
This has been a ramble of thoughts, but it's one of those nights where I simply needed to push out some ideas/memories about the past couple of weeks. My general feeling is that the year has started off well -- knock on wood.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Back into training
Obviously it has been quite a while, since the last time I wrote. After Bear, I went into a bit of a forced hiatus from training as a result of achilles tendonitis. Ironically the injury seems to have had more to do with yoga than running -- during my post-Bear training cycle I was experimenting with adding variety to my overall exercise routine and either caused or aggravated the injury. My initial attempts at simply suffering through the pain seemed to only make running and even non-running time miserable. Eventually I surrendered to the inevitable and decided to take about 10-11 days completely off from running. After the complete break, I started my training at basically zero again . . . last week was my first week back at the 50 mile mark and included my first run since September at the 20+ distance. I think it's relatively fair to say that I am back in at least winter training mode although a bit behind where I have been the past couple of years in January (and definitely a couple pounds heavier than my normal December-January weight) . . . despite the general setbacks of October and November, December turned out to be a fairly good month of running in the sense that the trails are frighteningly clear of snow and I have been running on dirt more consistently than sometimes happens in the winter.
General Reflection on 2011: I would say that overall the year was one of my strongest years, if not my strongest year of racing. The fact that I DNFed at Bear puts a damper on all this nonsense, but I raced more during 2011 than any other year and in further reflection I kind of believe that part of what happened at Bear might have been an example of mental/physical burnout leading me to take impatient/unnecessary risks. Thankfully, the rest of the race season went fairly well with the highlight being the fact that I finished 3 - 50 mile races in the top 10 and completed Western States well under the 24hr mark. In addition to these races, I thought my improved time and finish at Speedgoat was a good sign that my mountain climbing is getting a bit stronger or at least more stubborn. Unfortunately the exhaustion of August and September (and the subsequent injury in October) were a bit of a downer, but thankfully the year ended on a high-note and I have been sincerely enjoying running again during the past few weeks.
Race Goals 2012: Still taking shape is the best way to explain my race schedule for this upcoming season. I am currently signed up for the Black Hills 100 and Squaw Peak 50 in June. I am considering a couple of other races (ideally one more 50 and one more 100), but am planning to race considerably less this year than last. I am also uncertain of what my exact goals will be in June since the two races are so close together -- kind of hoping to run SP50 strictly as a training run, then race BH100 relatively hard with the number one goal being to finish and only start worrying about pace/time/place in the latter stages of the race. Beyond racing, I am hoping to simply make sure that I keep my training at an enjoyable although relatively high level. Most importantly I want to make sure that after June, I give myself a solid amount of time for mental/physical recovery before racing again. In fact, I may leave my race schedule as empty as it currently stands until after June and then decide on a couple of additional races dependent on how I feel . . .
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