Simplicity

The town of International Falls has been informed of the race (though the start day is wrong)

It may seem a bit odd a title for a post about a race that has me pulling a sled filled with a gear that includes a -40 sleeping bag, a stove to melt snow, 1000s of calories of food and clothing options to deal with a variety of weather conditions. However, there is a certain simplicity of purpose that comes with participating in events that require a degree of self-sufficiency.

I'm looking forward to being out on the trail for the better part of 3 days, my main focus simply moving forward, eating and staying warm. Given the current weather forcasts, that last is going to be much less of a concern than in most years. The latest upates call for the coldest temps only in the teens with highs dipping up above 30. In some ways that can complicate things a bit more than sub-zero temps where all that matterss is warmth. If it dips above freezing, it can mean slushy snow and the potential for rain. It also means that I will need to figure out the right balance of layers to keep from building up too much heat and sweating.

My sled is all packed, though I'll still make some minor adjustments today. I ditched some of my wamest clothing options, but I am still probably keeping more than I need. My Gore-Tex jacket and thicker rain/snow paints may stay in the sled the whole time, but if the wind kicks up or the icy-rain mentioned in some of the reports comes to fruition then I may need to swap some of my planned outer-layers. Also, I can't bring myself to dispense with my expedition-class down jacket. Even if it is 20+ degrees at night, that can still be damn cold if you're standing still. It may also allow me to take a nap in one of the trail shelters without pulling out my monster sleeping bag.

No matter what, it is going to be an adventure, life ditilled down to its necessities. I'll have my SPOT tracking device on so people can follow along (link is below). I just need to remember to reset it every 24 hours so nobody thinks I was eaten by wolves. I have until 7pm on Wednesday to finish the race. With any luck I will finish the race earlier in the day though I expect to take at a minimum 50 hours to find my way from International Falls to Tower, Minnesota.



SPOT link here

And now...

...for something completely the same.

Ah, January, the time of year when amateur athletes everywhere review their accomplishments over the past year and lay down their plans for the coming one. Why should I be any different?

Last year was such a major life transition (our second son off to college, selling the house, moving across the bay, leaving my job in the corporate world for an independent consulting company) that its almost insane how many and the caliber of races I ran. Something had to give and the whole idea of training sort of fell by the wayside. For the first time in 5 years, I ran fewer than 2,000 total miles, coming up just short with 1,946. However, I set a PR in terms of the number of those miles that were run in races at 932. That's nearly half my total miles!

I started last year with my first foray into winter racing, running a snowshoe race as prep for the epic Susitna 100. I ended the year with a couple of international events at TDG and Racing the Planet: Nepal (both of which I owe completed reports). I ran five 100-mile races, one 200-mile race and a 130-mile, 6 day stage race. I went into many of these, over-raced and under-trained, but once again, managed to finish everything that I started, though not always in the best of condition. It was a banner year in some ways and a bit unsettling in others. This year will be a bit different.

On paper, it may look like I am planning a repeat of last year if you look at the few events I have confirmed on my schedule. In fact, the bookends appear as slightly more extreme versions of last year's events. I head to International Falls, MN in 5 days for the Arrowhead 135. 35 miles longer than Susitna, significantly more hills and the potential for just as much cold. Considering it took me nearly 37 hours to finish "The Su", it is a safe assumption that this will take at least 2 full days with the possibility for a 60 hour finish. As it has been all over the lower-48 states, winter has been fairly tame in Minnesota thus far and one of the concerns for the event was a lack of snow. Things have started looking up (so to speak) recently, with significant snowfall and a number of sub-zero temps (a seasonal low of -26F thus far). It's still too early to tell what race day may bring, but it is certainly going to bring a challenge for this California racer.

The other event confirmed for the end of August is La Petite Trotte à Léon. This is sort of the "big brother" race of the famous UTMB. For UTMB's 166km (~103mi) distance and 9500m (~31,000ft) of climbing, PTL offers up a total 290km (~180mi) and 22,000m (~72,500ft) of mind-bending ascent! It is slightly less on both counts than the Tor des Geants that I completed last year, but with 12 fewer hours allowed. Oh, and there are no course markings and no aid stations along the way. You get a map and a GPS to find your own way around those rugged mountains through 3 separate countries. You can purchase food (and rest) at refugios along the way, but no other assistance of any kind is allowed. Travel is in teams of 2 or 3. Based on our success sticking together at TdG, Harry and I will be attempting this as team "Quit is a 4-letter Word". My good buddy, Beat  will be out there on a team of his own as will Chris Marolf, whom I haven't seen since he moved back to Switzerland. It promises to be the most epic event I have ever attempted. The best part of it all? It's not really a race as they only track twho classifications: "finished" and "not finished". I can't wait!

I basically have very little else on my plate at this point except I am going back to the SBER 100 in Santa Barbara. I am limited both by finances and time to focusing on more local events. However, I waffled too long to get into San Diego 100 and I have no intention of repeating at TRT 100 after last year's race. Right now I am thinking that I want to focus on more self-supported efforts and am hoping to spend some significant time up in the Sierras above Tahoe and Yosemite this summer. In other words, my plan right now is to actually train for the major event on my schedule.

I hope everyone else out there has exciting and inspiring events on their schedule. Happy running!

Seriously?

The Epiphany Run is an annual tradition here in the Bay Area commemorating Ultrarunning Magazine editor John Medincamp's birthday. It is a traditional Fat Ass style run with no bibs, course markings or even an official start time. You take a map, go at your own time, choose the distance you want to run and then write it down when you are done. It's a good way to jump-start the season, kick your training into gear and see lots of familiar faces in the process. That was my plan.

I wasn't going into this into this in the best condition. I'd done little running since Nepal, fought off a cold and was operating on reduced calorie intake since New Years in an attempt to send those holiday pounds back from whence they came. The 5am wakeup call after a poor night of sleep didn't help either. All pre-run excuses aside, I was still excited upon meeting Harry and Martina at the Park-n-Ride anticipating a fun day on the trails. I'd try to ignore the fact that the Arrowhead 135 was looming on my calendar only a few short weeks away.

Evidence of having fun along the way (photo courtesy of Martina Koldewey)

Fun. That was the order of the day and a beautiful day it was, perhaps even too beautiful if that's possible. By the time I reached the turnaround at the Chabot Marina a little after 9am, the sun was warming the air and I was already sweating much more than expected. An hour and a half later, along the exposed ridge, I was starting to cramp. I bummed a salt tab off another runner since I hadn't brought any of my own. The temps were probably just reaching low 60s, but for the remainder of the run back to Skyline Gate, I felt as though I was in a mid-summer run. On the final climb, I was hot, dehydrated and even dry heaved once. This was pretty much the antithesis of training for a race across snow-covered trails in northern Minnesota.

I stopped at 25 miles, foregoing the ultra distance to keep my cramping legs from getting worse. It's pretty paltry as a longest run before such a serious undertaking, but if my experience at Susitna last year is any indication, running for 5 miles straight in those frozen conditions will be more than I'll do. With the extremely mild December and no snow in the mountains, race-specific training has been impossible. With the arctic air being hogged far north of the border all month, Minnesota hadn't seen much snow either. I was beginning to think that I'd be dragging a sled across the grass for 135 miles. The new year has seen snow and a few sub-zero temps reaching International Falls, so things are looking up, so to speak. It looks like I'll be heading in under-trained and ill-prepared, just like I like it.

Out from under

Immediately upon return from Nepal I was tossed into the throws of work and the holidays. While its only been 2 weeks, it seems ages have passed since the trip. Blogging and running generally go hand-in-hand with me and I've had neither time nor focus for either. However, I have finally imported and sorted my photos from the trip and I'm committing myself to just a single post covering only the very highest of highlights. My TdG report still sits in draft and I've other thoughts to share before 2011 comes to close. At least I have started to think about training more consistently and its a good thing since my next planned adventure is only 6 weeks away!

Nepal

There is much to be said about the race and the entire experience of the week surrounding it. Pictures will be uploaded and a report written. I don't know that any of it can begin to convey what I have felt at times being in this place. Despite the obvious struggle to retain its values as its fate intermingles with the developed world, there is, in both its people and its natural beauty, a certain character to Nepal that stands apart from any place else I have been. Perhaps the best I can do to explain is to share a thought I had upon first seeing it's awe inspiring peaks. I've been an avowed atheist since the age of 13, but I'm fairly certain that were I ever to find religion it would be here at the foot of the Himalayas.



namaste

Waking up in Kathmandu

I'd intended to have completed my TdG race report before this trip, but here I sit in our hotel room in Nepal after a 15-1/2 hour flight followed by a 12-hour layover in Hong Kong and another 5-1/2 hour flight to Nepal. Unfortunately, the other statistic for the trip thus far is a grand total of around 5 hours sleep in the last 48. We've an internal flight to Pokhara today and another day before race check-in; 2 before the start. It's a foggy morning so there isn't much to see outside our hotel window save for a great mass of noisy birds that appear to be playing out a scene from Hitchcock's famous film. All is being made right with the consumption of my morning caffeine and I'm looking forward to the coming adventure.

I won't have internet access once we are out at the campground, but I believe you can follow the race in some form at the event website:

Racing the Planet: Nepal

Given my lack of training and the 24+lb pack I'll be carrying, my goal is for just finishing, enjoying and taking in the scenery. The camera will be in hand.

Darkest before dawn

Top of the relatively easy Col Lazoney (only 2700ft climbing) on a nice warm day.

We came into Gressoney feeling good, maybe even too good. The term "loopy" comes to mind. We'd made it through the dreaded "section 4" and managed a little sleep in Niel before completing a short climb in the heat of the day. This was followed by a long gradual downhill where we got in a bit of running and I even took time to soak my legs in a creek. Conversation died down as we strolled along the road happily approaching the 200K mark, our trekking poles scratching along the pavement. Harry started tapping his in time. Tap....tap....tap, tap, tap. I joined in watching Harry fall into a march, bobbing his head. The silliness continued to grow, culminating with Harry planting his poles at his sides and kicking up his heels as if performing a jig. We both burst into laughter and I regretting not whipping out my camera to video it as there is no way our other friends would be able to properly envision the scene.

Baby lamb during our relaxing descent

The goal was to shoot for 2 hours sleep. Harry wanted to clean up, but I headed straight for the cots after eating. Within 40 minutes I was wide awake. I tried futilely for another 15 minutes, but it was useless. Harry was sleeping soundly and I didn't want to wake him. However, I knew laying around for an hour was not going to do me any good. I tried to explain that I could go on ahead and we would most certainly meet up later, but Harry would have none of it. He'd do with only an hour. We headed out just before sunset feeling mostly OK.

Just as we we were leaving town there was an intersection along the path with no course markings. In retrospect, it was probably quite obvious which was the correct way, but we hadn't quite fully gathered our diminishing wits so were overcautious. We stopped to check the map and our GPS programs. As we stood there, we noticed a couple of blonde women walking towards us from the opposite direction, one wearing a race number. It was all a bit confusing in our stunted state so we didn't recognize that it was Anne from Alaska along with Jill. I'm sure Jill thought we were completely out of it. When she told us of the steep section ahead, we tried to explain that we weren't too worried if it was "only steep" (i.e. not "steep and covered in boulders" or "steep and lined muddy" or...). I think the poorly executed humor was lost.

The course took us through some town that seemed deserted before starting the climb. Of course, the climbing was steep as promised, but nothing too extraordinary for the course. At Alpenzu we enjoyed cappuccinos before heading over Col Pinter in the dark. The climb was unremarkable, but the descent was another of those that began steep and then seemed to stretch for ever before reaching the next checkpoint. We were tired and planned another nap once we reached Refugio Crest. Of course, this made the section seem even longer. It didn't help that upon arriving, the check-in and sleeping quarters were separated by a bit of distance. At any rate, we had a decent little sleep followed by more cappuccino.

Looking tired at the top of Pinter

"What goes up, must come down." However, at TDG it always seems to go up again first. The short section (up and) down into Saint Jacques was tedious. We didn't stay long, but it was clear the race was taking its toll on many as we saw people being taped up and patched up here. The sun was about to rise and we'd another climb in front of us. Travelling along a stream in a protected valley at dawn, the temperature plummeted. Layer upon layer went on as I bundled up for the first time since the initial rain storm on day 1. 

Wasn't I just too warm yesterday?

Gran Tournalin was one of the most magnificent refugios. Large and accommodating, they offered a bit more than the standard race fare. After eating Harry and I both leaned back in our booth and dozed off for a few minutes on the wooden benches. It was just enough to feel refreshed and ready to brave the cold again. Like night and day, the minute we exited the shade of the peak, the layers were stripped off on the climb up Col di Nana.

Wasn't I just too cold a few minutes ago?

A brief descent...

another col...

and we were headed into Valtournenche...

...the second to last "Life Station."

For some reason, my memory of this place is a bit hazy. I don't think we slept as we headed up the next climb again during the hottest part of the day. It wasn't difficult, though I lagged a bit behind Harry here. In fact, he somehow managed to walk right past the first checkpoint causing much confusion and unnecessary stress when he informed the volunteers at the next stop.

After the initial climb, this section remained up high with short climbs over minor passes. Initially I'd been very concerned about the extended time above 8000ft, but we were quite acclimated by this point. I was also worried about a repeat of section 4, but it turned out to be quite nice here with plenty of easy trail. We managed most of it before sunset allowing us to enjoy the amazing vistas.

Part of Monte Rosa, I believe

Matterhorn from the Italian side

It was a bit warm.

Harry and the high, alpine cows

Sunset is coming.

We began the long drop into Close in the dark. Not only did it begin with one of the steepest descents on course, but the trail consisted of soft, loose gravel that slid beneath our feet at every step. We proceeded more by sliding than anything and remaining upright became a challenge. Indeed, I failed to do so on at least one occasion. I did't feel anything significant at the time, but I believe this is where the tightness in the front part of my lower leg was exacerbated into something much more. The steepness and loose dirt eventually subsided. It was replaced instead by a sudden lack of ribbons over a wet, marshy field. We'd been warned of the cows propensity to eat ribbons and had actually witnessed some of it on the high sections. I guess they had been through this field before heading up.

After wandering about for a while, Harry and I each pulled out our phones that contained the program Beat had written for just such an occasion. It found our location on the GPS, overlayed it on a map of the course and indicated where we were with respect to the proper path. Brilliant! In fact, we'd probably of gotten back on route even quicker, but we were joined by a couple of Hungarian racers. Explaining the situation to them took as much time as finding the next marker.

We entered Close on a short climb as the trail dropped below the level of town before reaching it. We were tired and a bit grumpy. We should have slept there. We only saw two beds in the checkpoint and, for some reason, I got it in my head to be closer to the top of the next pass before sleeping. Despite the fact that the volunteers weren't sure of the facilities at the next stop and despite the fact that we passed a big tent that seemed to have more cots in it and despite Harry's question as to whether we might be making a mistake, I pushed on. We walked like zombies up the steep climb through the woods. Stumbling and falling asleep on our feet. We didn't talk much, but I could feel Harry's frustration growing along with my own guilt. 

Bruson L'Arp was little more than a small camp around a fire. There was a single tent setup for sleeping and it was pretty full. The bottom of the tent seemed to be lined with some sort of corrugated tin. Wrapped in nothing but our jackets we tossed and turned for an hour. The worst "sleep" of the entire race was no way to end an already difficult night. Upon waking one of the Hungarians, a young lady I'd seen since day one, was sitting in the chair in the tent. I hadn't witnessed her taking a single picture on the course, but for some reason the sight of Harry and I in that horrible state moved her to record the moment. In broken English she uttered, "You guys can sleep anywhere."

At the top of the climb, I made my own record of my condition at the time. It wasn't pretty.

However, it was morning, we were moving and headed into Ollomont: the final of the major "life station" checkpoints and a name I'd set in my mind. After that, it was "only" 50K to the finish. For the first time in days the end actually seemed conceivable, but the challenges were far from over. With one last look at the sun rising over the valley, we crossed the pass and headed down.