I am not sure how reliable my memory of previous springs stands up to reality, but I pretty much feel like this has been a tough one . . . injuries, being sick, and whininess have made the past six or seven weeks a roller coaster of pseudo-training, which wouldn't have me too freaked out except for the minor detail that the Bryce 100 is less than four weeks away . . .
In the early part of March, about 2 weeks before the Buffalo Run, the trail jumped up and tweaked my ankle while I was busy daydreaming about warmer weather -- I still had about 17 or 18 miles of running ahead of me and didn't feel like calling for help so I told myself that if I could run the rest of the way it would surely speed up the recovery process. Apparently my ankle did not agree with my "judgment call" and swelled up to the size of a bowling ball by the next morning -- bowling bowl might be an exaggeration, but suffice it to say I was pretty whiny and felt picked on by the running gods. I am not a fan of being injured. I bicycled, I rehabbed, I started running again. But in an effort to prove my world class intelligence, the night before Buffalo in an effort to make sure my ankle was going to be able to hold up for the full 50km I decided to run some technical trail with a bit of snow cover and eventually found myself hobbling back to the car . . . I was not as upbeat and positive the second time around -- Oh, why have you forsaken me!
A few weeks later, my running was finally coming back together. My confidence in foot placement and such was starting to return, and technical-vertical was rejoining my vocabulary . . . then a friend of mine gave me his bib for a road race . . . I know this kind of behavior is reprehensible, but I decided to run a local race for free. Let me explain my criminal behavior by explaining that I really did not have the money to spend for a last second registration and it was the weekend immediately following Boston and I needed to run something with other people and wasn't in any danger of accidentally winning some sorta age group award under the wrong name . . . well, the race proved to be a hypothermic experiment in drowning rats and I may have recovered with the wrong electrolytish beverage . . . so by the end of the week I was good and full-on sick, which has been lingering with me since . . .
On the other hand: the trails have been beautiful lately! I am whining about running, which means that life as a whole is going well and despite my general state of weariness with this cycle of training there have been some pretty solid moments of mountain time spent above the city. Struggling to get some good training in during the past couple of months has reminded me how lucky I am to simply be able to run and (knock-on-wood) I still have enough fitness and time to feel excited for Bryce . . .
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Reflections
At the end of December I wanted to take a few minutes to reflect on how my running had gone during 2012, but instead I procrastinated away all of January and am instead now fascinated by how pretty much wretched the winter has been for running in SLC. Smog, smog, and more smog.
We have been thrown into a perfect cycle of inversion style running this year, which seems to be all about running on snow and ice high enough in the foothills to avoid at least some of the bad air -- and ironically this means driving to trailheads and thus adding to the pollution levels in the name of getting some fresh air. I don't mean to sound whiny, but I have even gotten into the habit of running on a treadmill when the opportunity arises. Oh, world, please give me some wind to push all this gunk away.
Instead of reflecting on last year, and rather than continuing to grump about the reality of the past month, I am beginning to look forward to the next year of running. During the past few weeks my race plans have been shaped by a combination of lottery gets, lottery misses, and the fact that I can't surf the internet for more than about five minutes without looking at race calendars. In addition to running a handful of races, I am hoping to spend as much of the summer as possible in the high country. Ideally, I am going to spend the month of July running in the mountains of Colorado with my main goal being to not get struck by lightning.
Race Calendar:
Antelope Island 50km (March)
Double BoSho (April)
Bryce 100m (May-June)
Wasatch 100m (September)
Tentatively I am also thinking about running a 50 mile race toward the end of July -- perhaps the Grand Mesa 50 -- and may round out the year with a trail marathon in Moab.
P.S. It has once again occurred to me that I might be able to improve my running by reducing my beer drinking, but it has also once again occurred to me that it probably isn't worth it.
We have been thrown into a perfect cycle of inversion style running this year, which seems to be all about running on snow and ice high enough in the foothills to avoid at least some of the bad air -- and ironically this means driving to trailheads and thus adding to the pollution levels in the name of getting some fresh air. I don't mean to sound whiny, but I have even gotten into the habit of running on a treadmill when the opportunity arises. Oh, world, please give me some wind to push all this gunk away.
Instead of reflecting on last year, and rather than continuing to grump about the reality of the past month, I am beginning to look forward to the next year of running. During the past few weeks my race plans have been shaped by a combination of lottery gets, lottery misses, and the fact that I can't surf the internet for more than about five minutes without looking at race calendars. In addition to running a handful of races, I am hoping to spend as much of the summer as possible in the high country. Ideally, I am going to spend the month of July running in the mountains of Colorado with my main goal being to not get struck by lightning.
Race Calendar:
Antelope Island 50km (March)
Double BoSho (April)
Bryce 100m (May-June)
Wasatch 100m (September)
Tentatively I am also thinking about running a 50 mile race toward the end of July -- perhaps the Grand Mesa 50 -- and may round out the year with a trail marathon in Moab.
P.S. It has once again occurred to me that I might be able to improve my running by reducing my beer drinking, but it has also once again occurred to me that it probably isn't worth it.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
BEAR . . . the monkey is off my back . . .
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.
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.
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
 |
| Glancing back on the way to the summit - went up and down from Rattlesnake Gulch via Church Fork. |
 |
| Actually made the summit on time (well I had to hang out for a moment or two). |
 |
| 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 . . .
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