tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-286057662024-03-07T14:52:04.588-08:00Mountain Man SteveThe moniker comes from my kids who coined the term after I returned from a backpacking trip sporting a full, bright red beard. Since I love the outdoors and actually grew up living on a mountain (at 3,849ft Mt. Diablo just barely qualifies), the nickname sorta stuck.Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.comBlogger267125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-43988659286543052242017-02-25T22:36:00.001-08:002017-02-25T22:36:23.356-08:00Loss and Hope<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I just finished re-reading my <a href="http://mountain-man-steve.blogspot.com/2013/03/enough.html">thoughts after my first finish at the Iditarod Trail Invitational</a> in 2013. While the theme of "enough" was partly metaphorical, it would not be difficult to conclude that perhaps I should have taken it more literally. The next two years, first my father and then my wife passed away while I was out on the same trail. It's difficult enough to explain why such an event attracts me in the first place, let alone the reason I'm returning to Alaska and an event associated with some of the most painful events in my life.<br />
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In truth, I have more than just a bit of ambivalence about being here right now. On top of that, these past couple of years have seen my enthusiasm for long-distance racing on a continual decline. Looking back at the two major events I entered last year, Hardrock 100 and Ultra Fiord, I enjoyed the time around the events—training and hiking in Colorado and Chile—much more than I did the actual races. In many ways, I feel like I'm ready to be done with ultrarunning. Looking back, I've accomplished everything I wanted to in the sport. Looking forward, there aren't any races for which I feel motivated to sign up. I still like running for it's own sake and will always love the trails, but long-distance racing seems to be losing its draw for me.<br />
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However, the ITI is different and it's different in a myriad of ways. While it is a race, I never think of it as such, not even in the sense of a race against the clock. Certainly, it takes great effort and there are times when I have to push to make it to a checkpoint before I sleep, but there is almost no actual running in it for me. Walking for up to 16 hours a day, I'm able to enjoy and take in my surroundings in a way that I cannot during other events. Even when the trail is bad and I struggle to gain ground, I am still surrounded by immense natural beauty in a remote and disconnected environment. Of course, I do have to stay aware out there, but there are also long periods of time absorbed in nothing but simple forward motion. In the remotest sections there is an almost unbelievable quiet and tranquility; hours can pass, even days, without encountering another living being.<br />
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In the stillness of the Alaskan wild there are mental landscapes to be explored as well. Going on foot provides more than ample time and space for introspection. In 2015, before I learned of the tragedy awaiting me—before my life fell apart—I had started a mental journey that parallelled my physical one. At some point out there on the trail I hit on the idea of looking back. Beginning with my very earliest childhood memories, I started "walking" through my life. Year by year, I reviewed what I could recall about events, people, things I did and, more importantly, what it felt like to be the person I was at that time. I found myself connecting different points in time, things that had happened, decisions I'd made and their effects on my life over time.<br />
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The most surprising thing was not any big self-revelations or discovery of changes I wanted to make in my life, because neither of those were the goal. The goal was simply to understand and accept that life and those choices that had brought me there, walking the Alaskan tundra. The most surprising thing was just how engaging this process became. Normally, I occupy much of the long days on the trail with my headphones on listening to music, comedy acts or audio books. Somehow, I didn't need any of that. My mind was completely engaged in the review and telling of my own story. It was a mental state that I can't imagine achieving in any other place, or time.<br />
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I never did complete that mental review. In the end, it didn't matter. In the end, I would learn that the life I was reviewing was, in a sense, no more. I realize that may sound dramatic, but it's nearly impossible to convey what it's like losing someone with whom you've spent the greater part of your adult life. So much of your individual identity becomes intertwined with that other person, the relationship you had and the life you built together, not to mention expectations for the future. When that person is gone, and especially if it happens suddenly and unexpectedly, it really is like losing a part of your self. What I've learned over the past two years is that the only way to begin healing from such a loss is to accept that, in many ways, you are starting a new life.<br />
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I don't expect or even plan to try and pick up my "life story" on the trail again; I've spent too much time focusing on the past as it is. So the question still remains as to why I am returning to this race. Part of starting a new life entails being open to seeing yourself in a different light and letting go of certain things from your past even, sometimes, things that seem part of your self-identity. Letting go of mountain races such as Hardrock isn't quite so difficult, especially when your body is telling you that maybe you aren't cut out for them anyways. But, like I said before, the ITI is different. In many ways, it is the sort of challenge that motivated my getting into endurance events in the first place, being able to complete an epic adventure under nothing but my own motive power.<br />
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So, if I am beginning a new life of sorts then I need to see what part, if any, adventures such as this might have in it. I've no expectations for the race other than to see what the trail brings me. I'm undertrained and not feeling 100% so I'm actually fine if I end up having to stop well short of the finish. I've also no expectations as to how I will feel about being out there. My first trip to McGrath was an overwhelmingly positive event. I'd love to recapture some bit of that initial feeling. If this does end up being my final time here, I'd for it to be on my own terms. Of course, I am well aware that part of the lure of this trail is that you don't get to set the terms.<br />
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If I enter this with the attitude of simply being happy with one more experience of the Iditarod Trail's vast expanse then there is no reason to come away disappointed with whatever that experience may be. </div>
Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-67071311887565474342016-08-20T13:43:00.002-07:002016-08-20T17:52:49.241-07:00Seeking Simplicity<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I'm an engineer. I like to measure, track, record and analyze. I almost always wear a watch when I run. Usually I have a GPS as well which tells me not just time, but pace, distance, altitude climbed and descended. All of this data goes into my running log which I have maintained for more than 16 years.<br />
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I'm not especially strict about planning my training, but in terms of measuring and tracking it, I can be downright OCD. I've been known to make an extra trip around the block at the end of a run to round out to a specific mileage number or hit an extra hill in the middle in order to pad my climbing numbers. If I forget my watch, I can use an app on my phone. If I don't have that, I can be found pouring over maps to estimate the distance of my run.<br />
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After the DNF at Hardrock, my motivation was close to an all time low. Not that it mattered much as I was relegated to near complete inactivity for a full two weeks due to my lungs. I finally braved a trial run after that. I put my watch away and headed out with only the vaguest of plans. I headed towards one of my normal 8 mile routes with lots of options to cut short. I was prepared to turn round even after the first mile if necessary.<br />
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Overall, the run went well. My lungs were definitely not at 100%, but then neither was anything else. I finished with tight legs, with a nagging hip and walking. The walking was partially by intent. I wanted to make sure I didn't push too hard and also to take a bit of recovery time. I'm not exactly sure what I was expecting going into this first run back and I finished with no better understanding. I enjoyed the run, I felt mostly relaxed and—it being August—I partook of some trail-side blackberries along the way. However, I can't say I was particularly inspired.<br />
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My runs over the next few weeks were about the same. A few plodding runs on my standard routes, one wandering run/hike on some uncommon trails in The Headlands and an unusually short run in the redwoods with friends. My legs and hips started feeling better and I became more accustomed to not wearing my watch. My runs no longer felt like an obligation, but I still felt like, in some ways, I was just going through the motions...until, that is, last weekend.<br />
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On Saturday I set out towards the Golden Gate Bridge, but made a last minute decision at the beach to head out onto the sand. Sand running is generally something I only do during the winter months when training for races on snow. I was just looking to shake things up and maybe take some impact off a foot problem that had been developing. However, the feeling of pointlessness—like running in place—brought a smile to my face.<br />
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The next day, I drove to the Headlands. I figured only to be out for an hour or so, heading out of Rodeo Valley and up the Bobcat Trail with the intent of doing a short loop using the Alta Trail back to Rodeo. However, I was feeling good so continued all the way up Bobcat and onto Miwok and the high point of the area. Not only was I able to run the whole way, but, more importantly, I was able to do so while going easy and feeling relaxed. On the way back I took a single-track connector trail to Alta and then opted to continue onto the SCA trail rather than heading down.<br />
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It was a typical cool, cloudy Headlands day and the running felt effortless. From SCA, I ran up the Coastal Trail then down and across McCullough Road to the intersection with Conzelman. As I ran down the trail back towards the valley, I even considered turning left at the bottom to continue extending the run. I didn't want to stop. However, I reasoned it was getting close to two hours and I did have things to do in the afternoon so I headed back to the car.<br />
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In the end, I finished feeling good, like I could have kept going. I think that this is what I was ultimately looking for, to simply finish a run wanting more.<br />
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It's been a long time since I've felt that.<br />
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That simplicity.</div>
Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-38226151586034529822016-07-30T22:24:00.001-07:002016-07-31T11:06:38.286-07:00Schemes Unlaid<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Part of the attraction to long endurance events is that so many things can (and oft' do) go awry. The ability to adapt to the unplanned is a big part of the challenge. However, finishing is never a certainty and that too is part of the lure. This I have told both myself and others on numerous occasions. But, I've also been keenly aware that if I was forced to stop a race before I finished, none of those words would really hold any weight. I expected the looking back to be full of self-analysis and doubt. What I perhaps did not expect was that acceptance may come more easily than anticipated, leaving the forward gaze to hold the greater questions.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ipZGOEx9uB0/V51LvsTvNxI/AAAAAAAAfa4/N2_RyxNX1_gFCJQkE_aFmogWTvXLvqWFgCKgB/s1600/P1010513.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ipZGOEx9uB0/V51LvsTvNxI/AAAAAAAAfa4/N2_RyxNX1_gFCJQkE_aFmogWTvXLvqWFgCKgB/s640/P1010513.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Early morning light looking back during the initial climb</td></tr>
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My Hardrock race began well enough, I suppose. I set myself appropriately in the back to start. I took it very easy in the initial miles, but passed a few people on some short downhill sections. Then we started the long, gradual climb and something didn't feel quite right. Neither my heart rate nor, especially, my breathing were where I wanted them to be. I wasn't pushing the pace, but I was in a "conga line" of people making up the final 1/3 of the runners. I'm quite adamant about going my own pace and like to feel as if I am preserving rather than expending energy in the early miles of a 100. Sometimes even a 1/10th of a miler per hour faster than your body wants to go, is enough to slowly drain the reserves. I slowed down.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mxjRJ5iyPGk/V51LvpyOfHI/AAAAAAAAfa4/gBZVPSTrfpkrdjBZHaabn1GFthiUukOgACKgB/s1600/P1010516.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mxjRJ5iyPGk/V51LvpyOfHI/AAAAAAAAfa4/gBZVPSTrfpkrdjBZHaabn1GFthiUukOgACKgB/s640/P1010516.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John coming up behind me after I slowed my pace.</td></tr>
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I let a number of people pass me and tried to find a pace that seemed effortless (or at least less effortful). My friend John caught up to me and I matched pace with him for a while. John was one of the oldest competitors in the race, but had also trained and planned meticulously for this event so I knew I was in good company. There was a bit of route confusion as we approached and then crested the final climb, but I got myself back on course for the downhill and then passed a number of people before finding myself in a comfortable position, nobody pushing from behind and no one in front to chase. My natural downhill ability just sort of took over and I let gravity do the work. The terrain was perfectly suited to my strengths and the KT aid station was in view before I knew it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-26USyZgCTnY/V51LvpKjNlI/AAAAAAAAfa4/MALJk-XL3Xsh9boPWkLpxCmCKwrWGxwcgCKgB/s1600/P1010521.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-26USyZgCTnY/V51LvpKjNlI/AAAAAAAAfa4/MALJk-XL3Xsh9boPWkLpxCmCKwrWGxwcgCKgB/s640/P1010521.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking back towards KT after departing</td></tr>
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I felt pretty good at the aid station and knew that the Kamm Traverse would offer some easier terrain for a while before it started to climb over the first serious pass. I had put a bit of a gap behind myself on the downhill so I caught up to and chatted with a few runners including one guy who had flown almost directly from Ireland and was already struggling with the altitude. Not that I like to take pleasure in other's suffering, but it does sometimes help to put things into perspective when you aren't feeling quite as well as you'd like yourself.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Traverse</td></tr>
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But, just as others may be feeling worse than you, the perspective can be shared from the other direction as well. Watching a woman run past me as we started to climb was fairly sobering. However, I would see her later and we would do a bit of yo-yoing in the coming miles as she couldn't run much on the downhills. To each his (or her) strength. The climb continued, winding up past Island Lake.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Island Lake completely thawed which is unusual</td></tr>
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Then, as usual, the steepest bit of climbing came just below the pass. I slowed my pace letting people catch and pass assuring myself that my time would be made on the other side.<br />
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I was petty happy at the top.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R-kJwyGweoQ/V51Lvp50BrI/AAAAAAAAfa4/bqH5bXTw8WQkJP0Pt3ksBHTAQLnV1l2-ACKgB/s1600/P1010528.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R-kJwyGweoQ/V51Lvp50BrI/AAAAAAAAfa4/bqH5bXTw8WQkJP0Pt3ksBHTAQLnV1l2-ACKgB/s400/P1010528.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smiling at the top of Grant Swamp Pass</td></tr>
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However, my demeanor changed pretty quickly once I got a glimpse of the "route" down. (Those scare quotes are there to indicate actual fear.) It was basically a near vertical descent down a scree slope. The picture can't do it justice, but if you lean over your computer screen facing down you may be able to simulate what it looked like.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This passes as a trail at Hardrock</td></tr>
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I chose to find the most continuous sections of uncleared scree and use my trekking poles to ski down, occasionally stopping to gingerly move across the barren dirt and find the next skiable section. Some people slid down on their behinds which seemed unwise to me, but then I guess they didn't have the constant paranoia of falling and breaking an ankle or imagining that their shoes were completely shreading beneath the dirt and rock.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fEVbUFrHfaU/V51Lvu6nGKI/AAAAAAAAfa4/0T0Hs630kG4XPwD3Swb9Hnb9Y3N4V2LSgCKgB/s1600/P1010531.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fEVbUFrHfaU/V51Lvu6nGKI/AAAAAAAAfa4/0T0Hs630kG4XPwD3Swb9Hnb9Y3N4V2LSgCKgB/s400/P1010531.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shoes intact, but filled with trail</td></tr>
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Looking back up, I was glad to have made it down without any mishaps and everything in place minus maybe a bit of skin here and there.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X-iZ_f3hNko/V51LvqpIqSI/AAAAAAAAfa4/YDaki7OvY2wFKZTBR0s05TrSzpfiFQAfwCKgB/s1600/P1010532.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X-iZ_f3hNko/V51LvqpIqSI/AAAAAAAAfa4/YDaki7OvY2wFKZTBR0s05TrSzpfiFQAfwCKgB/s640/P1010532.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you look at this in full size you get a bit of perspective on how people descended</td></tr>
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I put my camera away for the remainder of the descent to Chapman. What I recall was cruising down, taking it easy and running out of water. The day was warming up and I knew that Chapman was in the midst of a dense and swampy area. I tanked up and headed out knowing that the climb up and over Oscar's Pass was NOT going to be fun. In fact, it was downright brutal. It went from hot and humid in the woods to steep and exposed on top of rocks, rocks and more rocks.<br />
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I went slow vowing to keep a pace that felt sustainable. I kept telling myself that any progress was better than no progress and actually passed a couple of people mid-way up. They were making no progress. Ahead of me was a series of steep switchbacks and a line of people trudging along. I felt like I was going so slow, but the gap in front remained the same. I looked back and no ground was being lost there either. At that point I simply went heads down, utilizing all of my mental games to try and make time disappear. Eventually, the pass arrived.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TfYbpn_JGe8/V51LvgLYoaI/AAAAAAAAfa4/ffyhc6PfPWQtXz18Ug_zohE4sE7AUnmSwCKgB/s1600/P1010533.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TfYbpn_JGe8/V51LvgLYoaI/AAAAAAAAfa4/ffyhc6PfPWQtXz18Ug_zohE4sE7AUnmSwCKgB/s640/P1010533.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">May not look it, but I was very glad to be over Oscar's</td></tr>
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After that, I enjoyed the run down to Telluride. I worked hard to keep the descent as casual as possible and tried to enjoy the view as much as I could. It was late afternoon and warm. I caught up with Jonathan Shark (Shark Man!) whom I'd shared some miles with last year. I asked him "Who is this Oscar guy and why does he hate us so much?" We shared a laugh and a few more trail miles before he decided to stop for a soak in one of the creek crossings. It sounded like a nice idea, but I had my sights set on the aid station.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wWofdUiIDh8/V51LvrZtA8I/AAAAAAAAfa4/rOS_mr62QiA-r6qqSECrSbzzxJE1hGrpQCKgB/s1600/P1010534.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wWofdUiIDh8/V51LvrZtA8I/AAAAAAAAfa4/rOS_mr62QiA-r6qqSECrSbzzxJE1hGrpQCKgB/s640/P1010534.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading down to Telluride</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The rest of the descent went well and I was feeling fine upon arrival. Harry was there along with Heather who was waiting for John. They both told me I was looking good, better than most. Jill was also there and said that Beat had left about 1/2 hour prior. Seeing all my friends and taking a bit of time I was in good spirits heading out despite knowing it was going to be a solid climb in pretty warm conditions. I once again focused on keeping my own pace and was glad to be in the shade for a while.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AxnaoqNKPrU/V51LvtEEWaI/AAAAAAAAfa4/3LLnudqiIs4ayjSDX0ouqvMTajbR7rAcQCKgB/s1600/P1010535.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AxnaoqNKPrU/V51LvtEEWaI/AAAAAAAAfa4/3LLnudqiIs4ayjSDX0ouqvMTajbR7rAcQCKgB/s400/P1010535.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking back on Telluride as the climb started</td></tr>
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<br />
I had to take a pit stop at the edge of the woods and found myself within a larger group of people as we headed up above treeline. The exposure, temps and altitude slowed me quite a bit after that and all I could think about was making it to Kroger's. I remember coming down from there last year and it seemed a fairly gradual descent. Memories can be deceiving. The climb was unrelenting, but at least I wasn't the only one struggling.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwIQk10a2ogHy6XPhPda8s1hhyphenhyphenqvrVM-FnGwjvu_8edLg3a31YjOF0k5F2F3L1Afao6PrLqHU_HmVN4hAhMRwJ3Be_1Lrr2Qc7HOEej_GGXyWPMRmJt3a4MaxPvgPU1aguiC8PZw/s1600/P1010538.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwIQk10a2ogHy6XPhPda8s1hhyphenhyphenqvrVM-FnGwjvu_8edLg3a31YjOF0k5F2F3L1Afao6PrLqHU_HmVN4hAhMRwJ3Be_1Lrr2Qc7HOEej_GGXyWPMRmJt3a4MaxPvgPU1aguiC8PZw/s640/P1010538.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Often seeing how long a climb goes on makes it worse.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Kroger's Canteen is an ionic aid station. It is set at 13,100ft right at the top of a pass. Everything has to be hiked in up a steep snowfield on the other side, but somehow they manage to have some of the best support on the course. There is even a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P5e7pr2Z6ZU">movie about it</a>. I couldn't wait to be there, but I also couldn't move any faster. As I ascended slower and slower, it finally came into view.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HwqM77e7zbs/V51Lvnhz8PI/AAAAAAAAfa4/TDZd3xExmkg7yzUYkRTJDLxB9aTLA37XACKgB/s1600/P1010541.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HwqM77e7zbs/V51Lvnhz8PI/AAAAAAAAfa4/TDZd3xExmkg7yzUYkRTJDLxB9aTLA37XACKgB/s640/P1010541.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So close, but so not</td></tr>
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The last, rocky switchbacks are so steep it still seemed like forever. I remember on that section reminding myself that this is what Hardrock was. You struggle up each climb, certain that you won't make it, but somehow you do. Then as you make it to the other side and start down, you begin to feel better. You fill yourself with the knowledge that you are in a place and having experiences that are possible to only a few people in the world. You try to just take it all in, hold onto it and hope that it's something you can retain when the struggle begins on the next climb.<br />
<br />
Arriving with these thoughts in mind, I'm have to say I welled up a bit as they welcomed me with a ringing bell and a cheer.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-x49vrLFdly8/V51Lvg5Re_I/AAAAAAAAfa4/ydEV1tJn8VMqLIbFdxXU6aJLfbqSsknIACKgB/s1600/P1010542.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-x49vrLFdly8/V51Lvg5Re_I/AAAAAAAAfa4/ydEV1tJn8VMqLIbFdxXU6aJLfbqSsknIACKgB/s640/P1010542.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kroger's. No place I'd rather be.</td></tr>
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Leaving Kroger's is done by a fixed rope down a snowfield. It was now dusk and the snow was mush. I put my poles away and donned my gloves for the descent, but the rope was the easy part.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ksVmDuPSfEiaLgKs-kUb-d_x4NUsDiF4eMHIQuaA-KBD-iAjDK51UMiKDrOeL6s0o8ukIUGZ8FEWsl02mLfzUbRQwQW2n2od8Ft0Dp9y5v0kYrEwxACOdC3pUhcnQuc_i6EUdA/s1600/P1010543.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ksVmDuPSfEiaLgKs-kUb-d_x4NUsDiF4eMHIQuaA-KBD-iAjDK51UMiKDrOeL6s0o8ukIUGZ8FEWsl02mLfzUbRQwQW2n2od8Ft0Dp9y5v0kYrEwxACOdC3pUhcnQuc_i6EUdA/s640/P1010543.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">End of the line</td></tr>
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After the rope, things got messy. Then they got worse. The remainder of the descent was pretty much a sh*t-show of slushy, punchy snow, loose dirt and streaming water. Everyone just made it down however they could which was a combination of slipping, skiing, butt-sliding, glissading and the most dangerous of all, carefully stepping over unstable footing.<br />
<br />
Eventually I made it to the fireroad that would finish the descent into Governor Basin. I was tired and took it as a combination of walking and easy running. The basin is a pretty amazing place, but I don't think any photo could do it justice as you really have to be down in it looking up and around to appreciate it. It was also starting to get dark.<br />
<br />
I felt fine at the Governor aid station, but didn't tarry as I was mostly interested in the proximity of the nearest outhouse. I couldn't really run until business was taken care of, but after I continued my pattern of walking the flats and letting the downhills dictate my pace. It was a long road down to Ouray and I didn't want to tax my legs as we approached the halfway point of the race.<br />
<br />
I remember feeling fine, but I also remember being quite unhappy about the amount of dust that was kicked up everytime a car went past on the dirt road. It's possible that was the start of my slow degradation, but as I said at the start of this, so many things are possible in a race of this length. A runner from Texas caught up with me as we headed into town and we chatted a bit as we found our way to the aid station. Harry was waiting to pace me here and he also helped me sort myself to get going into the night.<br />
<br />
It was later than I'd hoped and I didn't feel as good as I would have liked. Ouray is the lowest elevation of the course and I was so hoping that it would feel like it. The air was certainly thicker, but nothing else felt much better. After gathering myself and fueling up, Harry and I departed the aid station and walked through town. As we headed up into the longest climb of the race, it was clear things were not quite right.<br />
<br />
We were barely above 8000ft and my breathing was labored. My lungs felt constrained and congested. I recognized this feeling. It was exactly what I had felt the year before when departing Telluride, but that was at mile 73. This was mile 48. It wasn't good.<br />
<br />
There isn't much to tell about the climb up through the canyon. It's not all that steep, but we moved slowly. We took breaks and people passed us. I kept waiting for the even steeper climb to begin as I knew there'd be an aid station stop before it became really bad. We eventually made it there and sat by the fire for a spell. It felt good to sit there, but did nothing for my feeling once we left.<br />
<br />
I wasn't relishing the even steeper climb up to Engineer Pass. However, I did tell myself that there was a nice long road down the other side and morning would be on its way. It was cold and I was moving very slowly, In fact, I felt like I was barely moving. As Harry is generally colder than me and route finding was a bit of a challenge here, we settled on him pushing ahead to keep some warmth in his body and then waiting for me after finding the way.<br />
<br />
It seemed excruciatingly slow, but we made it to the road and I was still trying to think good thoughts about going down and the sun coming up. Unfortunately, neither of those things seemed to help my condition. The road felt like a pretty gradual downhill and running felt like an effort that strained my breathing and started me coughing which got my heart racing. So, we descended slowly.<br />
<br />
About halfway down we saw a runner coming behind us who was moving very well. He looked familiar. As he approached we realized it was John and he looked great. I felt like crap. We chatted for a bit and then he continued down. He wasn't running, but I still couldn't keep up with him. I know that he was at least an hour behind at Ouray so I was definitely losing quite a bit of time. It didn't matter. I just had to make it to Grouse Gulch and then reassess. I couldn't even think about what was to come after that.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AiKl2_peLh0/V51LvizvquI/AAAAAAAAfa4/5AG4QfO89-k6KlNs0jZu0DSjncB3yjGNQCKgB/s1600/DSC09829.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AiKl2_peLh0/V51LvizvquI/AAAAAAAAfa4/5AG4QfO89-k6KlNs0jZu0DSjncB3yjGNQCKgB/s640/DSC09829.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harry and I coming into Grouse. I felt (and looked) awful. [photo Jill Homer]</td></tr>
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I sat down at Grouse and didn't know how I would continue. I wanted to try and sleep, but I knew that wouldn't be possible at such a busy aid station. I ate what I could which wasn't much, but mainly I was worried about my breathing. Even resting there I couldn't get a full breath in. What would it feel like going over Handies, the high point of the course over 14,000ft?<br />
<br />
Jill was there and offered to let me try her inhaler. My symptoms sounded pretty much like what she experiences with exercise-induced asthma. I gave it a couple tries and it did seem to feel better. Maybe that was it? Maybe that's what I needed? Jill insisted that I take it with me arguing that I needed it more than her at this point.<br />
<br />
So it was, tentatively, we departed and headed up towards American Basin. As soon as we started the steeper climbing my symptoms immediately returned. More attempts with the inhaler didn't really change much and I felt bad for taking it.<br />
<br />
I have to give Harry credit, because he was amazing at this point. I'd never used a pacer before and never felt I needed one, but Harry and I have done enough of these long events together that we know each other pretty well. Rather than sit behind making me feel pushed or right in front of me worrying about setting the pace, Harry just continued to go a bit ahead and wait. I couldn't talk anyways so this was pretty much the best thing. It gave me continuous itty, bitty little goals of about 50 feet at a time.<br />
<br />
I don't know how, but somehow I made it to the top of Handies. It was extremely windy up there so Harry had to go up and over the peak to wait for me to make it. He did however capture the summit photo.<br />
<br />
65 miles in. Feeling completely wrecked. Somehow—I don't know how—still moving...<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z5GzlgTIwpA/V51LvlFV29I/AAAAAAAAfa4/pmtW9Ycg-2crkA9M0muYrTiViz-USjoPQCKgB/s1600/Handies.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="452" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z5GzlgTIwpA/V51LvlFV29I/AAAAAAAAfa4/pmtW9Ycg-2crkA9M0muYrTiViz-USjoPQCKgB/s640/Handies.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Top of Handies, 14,058'</td></tr>
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The initial descent was rocky and rough. The remainder disheartening. I still could barely run though my legs felt fine. It was clear my lungs were holding me back. It was warm. No, it was hot. The descent seemed endless. It was going to amount to more than 6 hours total up and over Handies to the aid station at Burrows Park and I wasn't speeding up at all. There was, however, still a small bit of hope.<br />
<br />
Harry reminded me that I wasn't moving any slower than the other people around me going over the peak. In fact, strange though it seemed, he claimed I wasn't really moving any worse at 14,000ft than I was at 10,000ft or even 8000ft. Of course, the problem is that I wasn't really moving any better either. I thought that maybe we could get through Burrows to Sherman at mile 72 and then maybe continue on to Maggie Gulch. Though, even if we could make it that far, I doubted that my speed would let us do it before cutoff.<br />
<br />
Burrows is followed by about 3 miles of dirt road that's gradually downhill before the final mile descent to Sherman. It isn't long, but it was around 90F at that point. This road is also a popular drive for Jeeps and ATVs. The vehicle traffic was continuous and even the most considerate of driver filled the air with dirt and dust as they passed. I kept putting my buff around my face, but it didn't help much. Breathing that in for an hour was the last straw.<br />
<br />
I was hot, I was tired and I couldn't breathe. I was basically stumbling and falling asleep on my feet. My pace was at a crawl. Even when we left the road for the short trail descent I was barely moving. I walked into Sherman and simply uttered, "I need to lie down".<br />
<br />
The aid station volunteers were awesome. They found me a tent, set down a couple of pads and I flopped onto them face down. It was steamy in the tent, but I dozed off for a solid 15 minutes or so. When I awoke I rolled over onto my side and coughed uncontrollably. I stumbled out of the tent, hacked up a bunch of junk and then made it over to the aid station to sit down in a chair.<br />
<br />
Everyone was encouraging and I didn't want to admit it, but I think I already knew I was done. I asked someone how far it was to Maggie's and they said 18 miles. As Harry described it my "face dropped."<br />
<br />
The volunteers continued trying to encourage me, telling me I could continue, asking if I was certain. I remember just looking at them as if they were speaking across a void. None if it made sense to me. Didn't they see how I felt? I couldn't breathe just sitting there. Even if there was some way for me to manage 18 more miles, I knew that it would be at the cost of my health.<br />
<br />
My race was over.<br />
<br />
We had to sit there to wait for a ride for a long time and then the ride itself took hours. I thought that I would be anguishing over my decision, but acceptance sank in pretty quickly. I just wanted to get back, get some sleep and then...what?<br />
<br />
---<br />
<br />
I've been checked out by the doctor with no real conclusions which is not a surprise. She prescribed a rescue inhaler because it did help a little and it can be a useful diagnostic tool. However, if I only have problems after 50 miles spent at an average altitude of 11,000ft, it's not really something we can diagnose in my backyard. I don't know why I have this specific issue at Hardrock. I had no problems training up to 13,000ft. It isn't linked to being at a specific elevation. Maybe it's cumulative time at altitude or some specific allergen in the area or the dust or dry air or some combination of these or something else altogether.<br />
<br />
Though I've never been one to think of it this way myself, some people like to say we do ultras to discover our limits. Maybe this is mine.<br />
<br />
I'd written a fairly <a href="http://mountain-man-steve.blogspot.com/2016/07/fading-passions.html">somber pre-race piece</a> and maybe that mood was foreshadowing. However, I really don't feel that "down" about the race overall, more reflective than anything.<br />
<br />
I did say that I was looking forward to the experience.<br />
<br />
It certainly was an experience.</div>
Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-44531590707915040992016-07-14T19:31:00.001-07:002016-07-14T19:31:06.691-07:00Pre-pics<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
On a less solemn pre-race note, I thought I'd post some pictures from our training and acclimation runs during our visit to Colorado.<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tSOqlxWnW9A/V4cfkWl2yFI/AAAAAAAAe-w/eFAGx-7pT4so926jE5oOenTgId8DLWLRgCKgB/s1600/P1010431.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tSOqlxWnW9A/V4cfkWl2yFI/AAAAAAAAe-w/eFAGx-7pT4so926jE5oOenTgId8DLWLRgCKgB/s640/P1010431.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It all started rather awfully with Harry, Martina and I arriving from sea level on Saturday, July 2nd to stay at Beat and Jill's place only to be cajoled into a 26 mile "run" the next day. The Pawnee-Buchanan Loop starts at 10,500ft and has over 7,000ft of climbing crossing three high passes (12,500ft, 11,800ft and 11,300ft). Needless to say, it was quite the "shock to the system" for us flatlanders.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1_mtEj5bQj0/V4cfkZZX4CI/AAAAAAAAe-w/u8OxBseMTfY2iHsKI949js8-8ZKaKIoxQCKgB/s1600/P1010433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1_mtEj5bQj0/V4cfkZZX4CI/AAAAAAAAe-w/u8OxBseMTfY2iHsKI949js8-8ZKaKIoxQCKgB/s640/P1010433.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harry looks very happy up here at 12,000ft</td></tr>
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However, at least the loop offered no shortage of awesome scenery to distract us from the misery of low-oxygen adventures. Once over the first pass, the views were pretty much continuous<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OCWKT4t86CE/V4cfkWqFg7I/AAAAAAAAe-w/WZ4VsbmAekUCnxqPhq27ngoeoUgnO__FACKgB/s1600/P1010434.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OCWKT4t86CE/V4cfkWqFg7I/AAAAAAAAe-w/WZ4VsbmAekUCnxqPhq27ngoeoUgnO__FACKgB/s640/P1010434.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It also had numerous waterfalls<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DHbR-mm8x7M/V4cfkdNu7XI/AAAAAAAAe-w/zl9wrwESVj4lyJpg8mHQ8qmRVUZhFeaggCKgB/s1600/P1010444.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DHbR-mm8x7M/V4cfkdNu7XI/AAAAAAAAe-w/zl9wrwESVj4lyJpg8mHQ8qmRVUZhFeaggCKgB/s640/P1010444.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
and more than a few snow fields to cross<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0zqOZcGKcqI/V4cfkXXDC6I/AAAAAAAAe-w/sLwikOcJx3oxTs2mQy08V8D_FKUMczF3gCKgB/s1600/P1010445.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0zqOZcGKcqI/V4cfkXXDC6I/AAAAAAAAe-w/sLwikOcJx3oxTs2mQy08V8D_FKUMczF3gCKgB/s640/P1010445.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
We managed to finish the loop, very slowly, and not without a bit of drama trying to make our way over the final pass. Despite the struggles it was probably a pretty good way to kick-start our systems into getting used to the altitude.<br />
<br />
We made the 4th of July a pretty relaxed day with our only adventure being a stroll around part of Beat's 35 acre property. By "stroll" I mean bushwhacking and near crawling up steep slopes. I've had to work remotely during my time here so getting out for anything significant during the week was hard. However, where Beat lives up above Boulder, there are no shortage of trails right out his door so hitting a couple of peaks during the week wasn't too much trouble.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mafbv0IorhY/V4ckC1frNlI/AAAAAAAAfE4/ZEWy148R-8EOBzo1QWUhw_8jp52Rg0BvACKgB/s1600/P1010452.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mafbv0IorhY/V4ckC1frNlI/AAAAAAAAfE4/ZEWy148R-8EOBzo1QWUhw_8jp52Rg0BvACKgB/s640/P1010452.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Flatirons</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
We headed up Bear Peak via the Fern Canyon trail which only went up to around 8,300ft, but first dropped down to 6,300ft before making the 2,000ft climb to the summit in 1.4 miles.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Start of the run goes by a sign that says no "jogging" which was funny</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBEk8wUjmjrAX7cUlUJBICWMfoGy6ijxW_Z2SxdANZ6kaK0yzBLe1alruhEHvLZSPqFsli6IWO8ECVFTMVfr9sZvt6PKdu7S_CvSN4qWJ4s_e3wFocHh6xu4v7ciCbMhnstaVeWw/s1600/P1010453.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBEk8wUjmjrAX7cUlUJBICWMfoGy6ijxW_Z2SxdANZ6kaK0yzBLe1alruhEHvLZSPqFsli6IWO8ECVFTMVfr9sZvt6PKdu7S_CvSN4qWJ4s_e3wFocHh6xu4v7ciCbMhnstaVeWw/s400/P1010453.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harry and Beat discussing something before the big climb</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wC22_gloBcw/V4ckCyamRGI/AAAAAAAAfE4/tWXhRCKo4NUjH_DZL4FE51G8M58O_t4kgCKgB/s1600/P1010456.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wC22_gloBcw/V4ckCyamRGI/AAAAAAAAfE4/tWXhRCKo4NUjH_DZL4FE51G8M58O_t4kgCKgB/s400/P1010456.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beat chilling at the top</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KeJpYAuDEdc/V4ckC2ImyCI/AAAAAAAAfE4/At5cycPvFb8JeCd0P5VB0r45fptj7LzpQCKgB/s1600/P1010457.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KeJpYAuDEdc/V4ckC2ImyCI/AAAAAAAAfE4/At5cycPvFb8JeCd0P5VB0r45fptj7LzpQCKgB/s400/P1010457.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Obligatory summit selfie </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K3jzo1X2hag/V4ckCze3D1I/AAAAAAAAfE4/yjCX-9bg8DApcnFRlpo86XShl7_JrTurACKgB/s1600/P1010460.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K3jzo1X2hag/V4ckCze3D1I/AAAAAAAAfE4/yjCX-9bg8DApcnFRlpo86XShl7_JrTurACKgB/s640/P1010460.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harry making his way to the peak</td></tr>
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We hung out at the peak for a bit, but I did have to get back to Beat's to work so I headed down before all five of us made it to the top. The next day I joined Jill in the evening heading up Green Mountain so we could meet Beat on his run home from work. It was a bit more mellow and shorter run, but I have to say that it is a pretty sweet commute that Beat has.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QrBsj5B8CnY/V4g5ZDxWjKI/AAAAAAAAfMM/N5UAr_58GS8wla8PqXpmPm22qvFYQPQ0wCKgB/s1600/P1010463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QrBsj5B8CnY/V4g5ZDxWjKI/AAAAAAAAfMM/N5UAr_58GS8wla8PqXpmPm22qvFYQPQ0wCKgB/s640/P1010463.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Didn't take any pictures from the run, but it's the peak on the left in this picture from Beat's house</td></tr>
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We did another very short run at Walker Ranch which is a beautiful little trail less than a mile from Beat's house. After that we took some rest until Saturday where the plan was to do around 15 miles round trip hitting James Peak at just over 13,000ft. Beat had come down with a bit of a stomach bug so it was just Jill, Martina, Harry and I on this run. It was a more mellow trail and a lot more mellow pace as Harry and I stuck together and then took multiple long breaks waiting on Jill and then Martina. Spending rest time at 11, 12 and then 13,000ft was probably pretty good for our acclimation and didn't beat either of us up too much. We bounded down the final bit of trail back to the car which was rocky, rooty and loads of fun.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z5PSkBtW_IA/V4cjlA-Mh4I/AAAAAAAAfE4/hZtEx718QpA5l2zeXO2WOhhU040S_ebFACKgB/s1600/P1010466.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z5PSkBtW_IA/V4cjlA-Mh4I/AAAAAAAAfE4/hZtEx718QpA5l2zeXO2WOhhU040S_ebFACKgB/s640/P1010466.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We waited by this nice alpine lake as our first stop</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LtiC5jdsUgs/V4cjlD09m5I/AAAAAAAAfE4/Lz6cHPLeqx4XYEJTQLox3mxo0QSxoF4OwCKgB/s1600/P1010472.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LtiC5jdsUgs/V4cjlD09m5I/AAAAAAAAfE4/Lz6cHPLeqx4XYEJTQLox3mxo0QSxoF4OwCKgB/s640/P1010472.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We waited for Martina at the top of a very steep climb then Harry went and met her for the final bit enabling this photo op</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodiIaKrPUpjWXvvig0GFQ4f-FdVV8OMaqn2-t_3XkN0Sed9g86Fu3WxOPN0ERK_xHVJ7djCwXDOtcU2nKeFbRUdsUPUgrzNLJZQHyKlTfos208mlE6jxDT7L31Hu1WOOS_96v6A/s1600/P1010483.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodiIaKrPUpjWXvvig0GFQ4f-FdVV8OMaqn2-t_3XkN0Sed9g86Fu3WxOPN0ERK_xHVJ7djCwXDOtcU2nKeFbRUdsUPUgrzNLJZQHyKlTfos208mlE6jxDT7L31Hu1WOOS_96v6A/s640/P1010483.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The peak isn't especially spectacular, but the views in the distance were excellent and the weather perfect</td></tr>
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Sunday morning we had an early morning wake up to drive back to Denver and catch flights, Martina for home and Harry and I down to Silverton. For the days leading to the race we would stay at 9,300ft where the race starts. We met up with a few other friends doing the race on Sunday, but mostly rested and got used to the air a little higher up.<br />
<br />
On Monday we decided to do a short (but steep, everything here is steep) hike part-way up the final climb of the race. This started at Cunningham Gulch (around mile 90 in the race) in the race and gained 1000ft in the first 0.8 miles. We continued on up to around 12,500ft and hung out for a bit before returning to the car.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tsSYPf8NX2E/V4clmci4RMI/AAAAAAAAfGo/A9LEOlOgWc4LDDsDP36k5SpXEVgCSjdIACKgB/s1600/P1010488.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tsSYPf8NX2E/V4clmci4RMI/AAAAAAAAfGo/A9LEOlOgWc4LDDsDP36k5SpXEVgCSjdIACKgB/s640/P1010488.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I like this shot where Harry appears to be sitting on a flower!<br /><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_AtidFAAjmU/V4clmRMGEZI/AAAAAAAAfGo/kvJu22SLkucZhMQrlN_-fNcuyUm5cY2KQCKgB/s1600/P1010494.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_AtidFAAjmU/V4clmRMGEZI/AAAAAAAAfGo/kvJu22SLkucZhMQrlN_-fNcuyUm5cY2KQCKgB/s640/P1010494.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The pass behind my head is what will come over first before making this climb sometime late Saturday</td></tr>
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I was still trying to get as much work done in the week before the race as I could and we also didn't want to push ourselves too much so we only planned one more real jaunt up to higher ground. On Tuesday we headed out to Grouse Gulch which is close to mile 60 in the race and the start of the climb up to Handies Peak over 14,000ft. We will likely be doing this sometime early Saturday morning (hopefully very early). We decided not to go all the way up to the summit, but headed over the 13,000ft pass into American Basin where we sat and enjoyed our lunch.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WS2V1L19H3g/V4cjKYfG9oI/AAAAAAAAfEA/wrpzEdSnI54nB0dXsK9woTSyxoE6hr8TgCKgB/s1600/P1010511.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WS2V1L19H3g/V4cjKYfG9oI/AAAAAAAAfEA/wrpzEdSnI54nB0dXsK9woTSyxoE6hr8TgCKgB/s400/P1010511.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View heading up</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harry coming up the trail</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake part way up</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IJ_hyu3xOP8/V4cjKWARkFI/AAAAAAAAfEA/9floGLOGmks0bqWMAfHL6E9sTrBfwG2VwCKgB/s1600/P1010507.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IJ_hyu3xOP8/V4cjKWARkFI/AAAAAAAAfEA/9floGLOGmks0bqWMAfHL6E9sTrBfwG2VwCKgB/s640/P1010507.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We had to share our lunch spot</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pw_IO6pPvKo/V4V_rYBnhDI/AAAAAAAAew0/iOf5pOzCDSkXK6L31ar0qKBVisLZSmPOgCKgB/s1600/IMG_20160712_151511.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pw_IO6pPvKo/V4V_rYBnhDI/AAAAAAAAew0/iOf5pOzCDSkXK6L31ar0qKBVisLZSmPOgCKgB/s640/IMG_20160712_151511.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It really was a pretty nice lunch spot</td></tr>
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We spent the next couple of days just resting in town, taking care of pre-race business and getting more work done (for me). It's now the night before the race and whether the preparation I've done is enough will play out over the next couple days. The weather has warmed up which generally isn't good for me, but the evenings have been quite cool. I will just try to take it as easy as possible during the warmth of the day and try to move well in the cooler temps. No matter what, I will try to enjoy my time in the mountains and make the best of this experience called Hardrock.<br />
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<a href="http://www.hardrock100.com/">Race web site link</a><br />
<a href="http://trackleaders.com/hardrock16">Tracking website to follow my progress (#46)</a><br />
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Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-57722373017760913802016-07-13T22:40:00.002-07:002016-07-13T23:00:31.264-07:00Fading passions<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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In the days before, my thoughts sometimes turn inwards...<br />
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I'm sure it may seem a bit odd that I'd be sitting here a couple days before the start of the <a href="http://www.hardrock100.com/">Hardrock 100</a> writing about something that may sound the exact opposite of pre-race excitement. It isn't that I'm not looking forward to the run. It's just that there's been a growing ambivalence in my feelings towards more traditional ultramarathon races over the past few years. Perhaps it can be traced back to <a href="http://mountain-man-steve.blogspot.com/2013/03/enough.html">my thoughts after my first finish of the ITI 350</a> more than 3 years ago. So much has transpired since that time and there are other areas of my life that need a bit of focus.<br />
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With that said, I really cannot say that my enjoyment of traveling long distances on foot, spending time in wild places and undertaking challenging adventures is any less than it's ever been. I am signed up in <a href="http://iditarodtrailinvitational.com/2017_race_roster.php">ITI for next year</a>, but I do put that event in a category by itself. Also, my motivation for that race is something I will probably spend the next 6 months examining. I suppose what I'm saying is that this seems somewhat of a turning point and Hardrock feels, in some ways, more a bookend than a progression.<br />
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However, Hardrock itself is unique in it's own right. It stands alone not only in ruggedness, beauty and challenges, but—more than any other 100 miler in the US—it feels like a journey rather than a race. Just spending time out in these mountains feels pretty special and being able to complete such a journey is a privilege as much as it is an accomplishment. Last year's run was a bit of a downer both for the mental state in which I entered and the illness that overtook me during the last 25 miles. It was an emotional journey that should have culminated in feelings of either elation or somber contemplation, but instead I just felt sick.<br />
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Yet, I did finish as I seem to do more often than I probably have any reasonable right to and somehow I managed to be selected to give it another go. So, I'm going to make the best of this journey that I can. I even managed to do <a href="http://mountain-man-steve.blogspot.com/2016/05/scrambled-legs.html">something resembling training</a>. I'm in my second week in Colorado acclimating. After a week staying with my friend Beat at 7,200ft and taking a few trips up higher, I've been in Silverton since Sunday getting a bit more altitude before the start. Last, but certainly not least, Harry is with me. After around 100 ultras and at least 30 of those 100 miles or longer, I am going to have a pacer for the first time. I obviously don't <b>need</b> a pacer, but I do want my friend to experience these trails and, frankly, I want to share the experience.<br />
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So, despite all the seemingly contradictory emotions smouldering about inside me, I am actually pretty excited to get out there.<br />
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In the waning light of my desire, perhaps a new spark can be lit.</div>
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Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-65557556024687315372016-05-29T21:23:00.001-07:002016-05-30T08:20:01.556-07:00Scrambled Legs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Going up Miwok Trail from Rodeo Valley then left onto Wolf Ridge, just as you hit the road there's a trail heading steeply down to the right going to Tennessee Valley that I like to call "The Leg Beater". Not only is it one of the few trails that hasn't been "improved" in the area (so it still has lots of rocks and uneven terrain), it also descends 800ft in a little over a mile, most of that in a 1/2 mile section about mid-way down. I've gone down this trail numerous times as part of some of my normal Headlands' routes and Harry and I did a run that went up it a couple weeks ago. However, last Wednesday I did the run down and then back up it and decided it was going to be part of my Hardrock training, whatever that may be.<br />
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Anyone who knows me well is aware of my distaste for formal training. But, Hardrock is a beast. Aside from heading to Colorado 2 weeks before the race, some sort of "specific" training is probably prudent if I don't want to just squeak by with less than 45 minutes to spare like I did last year. There's still too much snow in Tahoe, so I can't really get any significant runs in at altitude yet. The only other thing I can do right now is try to work on my hill climbing (and hope some endurance carries forward from the Ultra Fiord).<br />
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Last week after the down-and-back to Tennessee Valley via "Leg Beater", I hit up the full PG&E trail at Rancho after work the next evening. I was heading to Tucson for the weekend to visit my son who just finished his undergraduate degree at UofA so I was limited for time. However, I endeavored to get up early while I was there and check out some runs in the mountains outside Tucson.<br />
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I got up early Saturday morning and drove up towards Mt. Lemmon. Since we were to spend the day car shopping I only managed a short run starting around 7000ft and topping out at 8000ft. It ended with less than 5 miles and was more hike than run including some scrambling and route finding which made it longer time-wise than expected.<br />
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After finally finish the car purchase at 10pm and doing a bit of celebrating after, it was pretty tough getting up Sunday morning, but I managed to drag myself out and head 45 minutes south to Madera Canyon. The run up to Mt. Wrightson goes from around 5400ft to 9400ft in 5.3 miles. Those miles were slow going and took me 2 solid hours, but at least I had fun making it back down the rocky, winding trail in 1/2 that time.<br />
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While the total miles for the week wasn't much over 30 miles, it did count for well over 9000ft of climbing which still makes it reasonable Hardrock-grade training.<br />
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It's hard for me to schedule in much trail time during the week other than Wednesdays when I work from home so I decided to try to make the best of it. I thought I'd give a shot at motivating myself to do some repeats on "Leg Beater". After the up and over from Miwok I manage to coax myself through three repeats up that middle bit. It is definitely a grind, but it is pretty nice to add 500ft to the total climb count every 1/2 mile. The run came out to just over 9 miles with 3000ft of climbing. Do that 11 times and you've got Hardrock....only at sea level...sigh.<br />
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The hills did seem to pay off as the ascents seemed a bit easier than normal on my two runs this weekend even if they only totalled about 6000ft over 30 miles. However, I did manage to hit 55 miles for the week which is around where I want to be at this point.<br />
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Hopefully I can get up to Tahoe at least once or twice in the next month. Either way, we'll see if I can mentally manage a few more repeats each week. Not much time left so I guess I better just get out the beater and scramble some legs!<br />
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Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-41578977806044423062016-05-07T11:35:00.001-07:002016-05-08T06:44:43.268-07:00A few words<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This is not a race report. I'm not quite sure what it is, or rather what it will become. I don't really feel a strong desire to "resurrect" this blog, but I do want to write some words about my time in Patagonia. However, given the focus of <a href="http://eudemus.blogspot.com/">most of my recent writing</a>, I cannot promise it won't devolve into self-indulgent navel-gazing.<br />
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Caveat lector.<br />
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I'll try to include some of the few photos I took. So there's something.<br />
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It's been over 10 years since I first visited Patagonia and I've always wanted a reason to return, especially to Puerto Natales and the region around Torres del Paine. The <a href="http://www.ultrafiord.com/">Ultra Fiord</a> race offered an attractive excuse. It was billed as wild, rugged and sparsely supported. Right up my alley especially since I've been feeling less and less inspired by races closer to home. Also, my friend Harry had never been to the area so we (Harry, Martina and I) decided to make a vacation of it. Harry and I planned to tackle the 100 miler while Martina would do the 70K.<br />
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Aside from the race and plans for some hiking/sightseeing the timing of the event coincided with an unhappy personal anniversary so I was also hoping for a bit of a diversion. This fact, more than any pre-race concerns probably explained my edginess during the early part of the trip (it certainly explains spending Wednesday afternoon in my room shedding tears). But, inevitably, as race day rolled around all concerns narrowed to just that one.<br />
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These days I tend to feel pretty calm once start time finally rolls around. It's not that I've become blasé about it, or think I've got it all "figured out". On the contrary, my experience has taught me to be keenly aware of all that can go wrong. It's more a feeling that the time for worry is past since all the preparation has (or has not) been done and things are going to play out as they will. My only job (over the next 30 hours or so) is to take care of those few things that <b>are</b> within my control: eating, drinking, staying warm and metering out my energy at a rate sufficient to keep me moving forward over the miles ahead.<br />
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Overall, the event went well enough for me. Anyone who has read about the event knows that a <a href="http://runningmagazine.ca/racer-dies-at-ultrafiord-100-mile-race-patagonia-chile/">runner died of hypothermia</a> during the event and I really don't have much to add of substance to all that <a href="http://trailrunnermag.com/races/ultras/2125-runner-dies-during-ultra-fiord-100-in-patagonia">has been written</a>. I felt "relatively" comfortable given my experience in remote regions and extreme conditions. I had the gear I felt necessary to manage the conditions as best possible. The only thing I can say is that while it is always easy to second-guess what might have been different after the fact, it is true that the race organization did leave itself open to much of the criticism that it has received. Though they did shorten the races, all went over the high pass in severe weather conditions, there was no checking of mandatory gear, checkpoints were minimal or even non-existent, and there didn't seem to be emergency personnel or contingency evacuation plans which seem prudent given the type of event it was.<br />
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However, during the race, we were not overly aware of all these issues. Harry and I have both done some pretty extreme and minimally-supported events. We did what we knew how to do. We started at the back with maybe 4-5 people behind us as everyone took off at a pace that seemed way to fast for 100 (or even 88) miles. We came into the first aid station after a short bit of course confusion even further back and then started passing people. We hooked up with fellow American <a href="http://trainingforsomeday.blogspot.com/">Kate Woodard</a> and came into the 50K aid station around 54th place (out of around 90 starters) and would eventually finish in 31st (out of 67 finishers). The course was tough and technical with lots of overgrowth, rocks, roots and steep climbs. The conditions were severe with high winds, snow, sleet and frozen rain over the high pass followed by miles of unavoidable mud and ankle turning peat bogs. Support was minimal especially after the first 30 miles and even more than advertized. But, it was–as promised–remote and amazingly beautiful.<br />
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With all that, probably the toughest part was the midnight start. We ran through the night, slogged through the day and then trudged and stumbled through the second night to the finish. Harry and I stuck together for almost the entire event which always makes it seem less like a race and more like a shared experience. However, after the last real aid station, the final 24 miles were easy dirt road, but mentally as brutal going as anything in the race. The second night without sleep is always unseemingly tough.<br />
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There was a missing aid station and the "sleep monster" had me by the throat. Harry was moving well and seemed motivated to get to the finish as he was very worried about Martina, this being a significantly tougher course than anything she had ever attempted. I finally couldn't take it so I dropped back, put on all my extra clothing and sat by the trail to take a 10 minute nap. When the crazed images had finished running through my mind, I forced myself up and stumbled on. I was still falling asleep on my feet, but apparently moving faster. I started to pass people. That finally woke me out of my zombie-like stupor. I moved even faster and even started to jog. Everytime I saw a light ahead of me I thought it might be Harry, but when it wasn't I reasoned that he had kept moving along due to his concerns and the fact that there was no real shelter from the 30-mph winds and near-freezing temperatures.<br />
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After stopping very briefly at the last aid station (basically a table with water and a couple of cookie packages), I was motivated to just get this thing done. I alternated running and walking for the final 12 miles. I probably passed 7 other runners all in various states of the infamous ultramarathon "death march'. The final miles were especially tough as you could see the lights of Puerto Natales from a long way off–too long a way off. I tried to run the whole way, but just couldn't manage it, mentally more than physically. Eventually I made it into town, wandered my way to the finish area and found the one person there recording times before heading back to our place.<br />
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I thought Harry was there at the gate as I approached, but it was some other random person outside at 6:30am. When I made it to our cabin, I opened the door to see Martina who was freshly showered. My brain wasn't working right in terms of realizing that she would have had plenty of time to finish and get back to town via boat/bus so I first asked if she finished. Then I immediately asked "where's Harry?"<br />
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Martina was certain I was joking and replied, "very funny, where is he? outside?"<br />
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I then looked at her concerned, "No! He should have finished at least 20 minutes ago."<br />
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Concern then worry set in, but I had already let my mental guard down giving my body permission to slipping into recovery mode. I was in no condition to go wandering around town. I showered while Martina went to figure out what had happened. Eventually, she returned with Harry in tow.<br />
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Apparently, he had actually tried to wait for me. He was probably even at the vicinity of the final aid station trying to find a sheltered place to sit when I (quickly) went through. True friend that he was, he must have sat waiting and worrying about both me and Martina even while we were both safe and warm in the cabin. It's especially unfortunate because Harry is generally a much faster runner than me, but I do tend to out last him in the really long stuff (i.e. 100+ miles). However, this is one where I thought he had–and he rightfully should have–finished before me.<br />
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In the end, as I said before, all went well in this race for me...and my friends.<br />
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OK, so this was already many more words than I had intended to post and I suppose there is actually something resembling a race report in there. So, as promised, here are some pictures from our time before, during and after the race down at the bottom of the civilized world.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-75PyvTmP27Q/VywWl6gr3qI/AAAAAAAAec8/OVFtbs7LENANuv_qqZUgGZKwlcZc_oa2wCKgB/s1600/IMG_20160411_160647.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-75PyvTmP27Q/VywWl6gr3qI/AAAAAAAAec8/OVFtbs7LENANuv_qqZUgGZKwlcZc_oa2wCKgB/s640/IMG_20160411_160647.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very cool forest on the hike up to Mirador Cerro Derrota a few days before the race.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rs22X8i9kHo/VywWl7MrXcI/AAAAAAAAec8/thpr5gNiby4NuGD3t2UoOH0rPbUQL12ggCKgB/s1600/IMG_20160411_160708.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rs22X8i9kHo/VywWl7MrXcI/AAAAAAAAec8/thpr5gNiby4NuGD3t2UoOH0rPbUQL12ggCKgB/s400/IMG_20160411_160708.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Martina coming out of the woods during Cerro Derrota hike.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LisdtXdNhtA/VywWl8Es2yI/AAAAAAAAec8/nJwe6AMr5WoEAlMGb_3pfCAve9xiCrfJQCKgB/s1600/IMG_20160411_161502.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LisdtXdNhtA/VywWl8Es2yI/AAAAAAAAec8/nJwe6AMr5WoEAlMGb_3pfCAve9xiCrfJQCKgB/s640/IMG_20160411_161502.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Mirador Cerro Derrota</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MJqoMTjhypc/VywWl-WrSRI/AAAAAAAAec8/Wu0HTjvRsrEJjhG6U0LsYzylCK2mWJ2FACKgB/s1600/IMG_20160411_161555.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MJqoMTjhypc/VywWl-WrSRI/AAAAAAAAec8/Wu0HTjvRsrEJjhG6U0LsYzylCK2mWJ2FACKgB/s400/IMG_20160411_161555.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harry and Martina at the top</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoR2iapomQFffaHUwqAp9zhlGLEU9pF4KCZ1P9CMkcSoJ5qbLnrGwYTv017zNygXrS8K_wE76aqVjdb7zU5byO062djTjeI1tbXEpnCcnAaX3AleUXGVdH1vEQqr_BKMrLgtpB8w/s1600/IMG_20160413_104109.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoR2iapomQFffaHUwqAp9zhlGLEU9pF4KCZ1P9CMkcSoJ5qbLnrGwYTv017zNygXrS8K_wE76aqVjdb7zU5byO062djTjeI1tbXEpnCcnAaX3AleUXGVdH1vEQqr_BKMrLgtpB8w/s640/IMG_20160413_104109.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from town looking out onto the water</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-f9_1MUFEI2I/VywXB3mpuPI/AAAAAAAAedM/B_D593YDdq0ofDqlDfR_pkzr1H2w8CThgCKgB/s1600/IMG_20160413_120058.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-f9_1MUFEI2I/VywXB3mpuPI/AAAAAAAAedM/B_D593YDdq0ofDqlDfR_pkzr1H2w8CThgCKgB/s400/IMG_20160413_120058.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Out the window of a coffee shop in Puerto Natales</td></tr>
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...and some other things around town:<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W5VUmVMbgNE/VywXB7CiooI/AAAAAAAAedM/oAS78tYr60cQc8jw0KnuqtkPpQtsI4QbACKgB/s1600/IMG_20160413_135949.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W5VUmVMbgNE/VywXB7CiooI/AAAAAAAAedM/oAS78tYr60cQc8jw0KnuqtkPpQtsI4QbACKgB/s320/IMG_20160413_135949.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Real Jeep"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lG4fQ4jPf2g/VywXB5X5YCI/AAAAAAAAedM/T7-foH8As0gxSBy6I6N7nZ-uJP_nYJL3gCKgB/s1600/IMG_20160413_135803.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lG4fQ4jPf2g/VywXB5X5YCI/AAAAAAAAedM/T7-foH8As0gxSBy6I6N7nZ-uJP_nYJL3gCKgB/s320/IMG_20160413_135803.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Martina's "place"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UBqN8ytBP-8/VywXB_HUVsI/AAAAAAAAedM/6EMZeEHD24kRpteE-L0qCxOaJ9hmbMAfwCKgB/s1600/IMG_20160413_141200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UBqN8ytBP-8/VywXB_HUVsI/AAAAAAAAedM/6EMZeEHD24kRpteE-L0qCxOaJ9hmbMAfwCKgB/s320/IMG_20160413_141200.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Homer?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kitty in the pet food aisle</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">H & M being cute!</td></tr>
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Here's what I have from the race it isn't much due to the midnight start, the weather, the technical trail and the amount of time spent in the woods:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglY_2SAz_NtLjI1HuLfMbqB6S1yl_DdPY57RNmXX2bSTJnzOVC10_n358lV9iuHvN4Junbq42jaWzhwFufluawm-4YrrhaDTJMwu6b-WPp6uexhCcGxydUWRJ8ogIkkNHV57nlMQ/s1600/RaceStart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglY_2SAz_NtLjI1HuLfMbqB6S1yl_DdPY57RNmXX2bSTJnzOVC10_n358lV9iuHvN4Junbq42jaWzhwFufluawm-4YrrhaDTJMwu6b-WPp6uexhCcGxydUWRJ8ogIkkNHV57nlMQ/s400/RaceStart.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Start picture from the race organization</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lots of fall colors on the trees</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6t3MosUI8eRft0hHnru4GABzFEfQCI6ONDt8ILysyR9w9nurJHRaWHZ9oLpO5HFTudv_jU2A75V2C10y7j3JwD0vx1ngZn_JG0X0l2OFYqTq5lq-NUt6ksiohZvorEO7TH0zQCQ/s1600/P1010333.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6t3MosUI8eRft0hHnru4GABzFEfQCI6ONDt8ILysyR9w9nurJHRaWHZ9oLpO5HFTudv_jU2A75V2C10y7j3JwD0vx1ngZn_JG0X0l2OFYqTq5lq-NUt6ksiohZvorEO7TH0zQCQ/s640/P1010333.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Approaching the high point as it starts to snow</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsO9eW1mPHQzvmVBXkKHIVQk_87W2FA27phqZPAHLIQleObYHHCyB_j7pYhpyPbfNBTvo3whwlBAF4FjF9aG3KSN7XXMwMdd_TP_zgJnkvh_0bT7EBCIlvteBP_0RVpnBGKQxp-w/s1600/P1010339.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsO9eW1mPHQzvmVBXkKHIVQk_87W2FA27phqZPAHLIQleObYHHCyB_j7pYhpyPbfNBTvo3whwlBAF4FjF9aG3KSN7XXMwMdd_TP_zgJnkvh_0bT7EBCIlvteBP_0RVpnBGKQxp-w/s640/P1010339.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful view up top just before heading into the storm</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKvOOPx_MMjhpQl_Euy3jlRc6GPDo-uF0vJVBIADiinM-iKO3ykm0-Xreqk5B637y1TGOzfiWe-1uyb1SHwSqvsI75H7gn-11BNM_Ct2FvrSiz-PLse1d2t4nabHnJ27Mxm8LkRw/s1600/P1010340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKvOOPx_MMjhpQl_Euy3jlRc6GPDo-uF0vJVBIADiinM-iKO3ykm0-Xreqk5B637y1TGOzfiWe-1uyb1SHwSqvsI75H7gn-11BNM_Ct2FvrSiz-PLse1d2t4nabHnJ27Mxm8LkRw/s640/P1010340.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Trail" looking back</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAD3CH79B8yycmTQcEXZHU6vNfi4FKFs_OReaeAsrYSS6fdMATRrtRiDOp_tYzeC4CCIf7RswhgWzvD2_IiTJCBgMcvNwnCvjI7lhpOlljCLr8bpHC00s5wsFH4WGMUrtWa5eIdw/s1600/P1010341.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAD3CH79B8yycmTQcEXZHU6vNfi4FKFs_OReaeAsrYSS6fdMATRrtRiDOp_tYzeC4CCIf7RswhgWzvD2_IiTJCBgMcvNwnCvjI7lhpOlljCLr8bpHC00s5wsFH4WGMUrtWa5eIdw/s640/P1010341.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Trail" looking forward</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_xl1-yx0Agj8JO3xpvlMNjrDyB1VOlqIVMZNKnj0jbeiypjznfiAIh_QlNzuuhni96W7z4pfVIsu3E-g4GJ9IZBpMXAsf0EpRk86CyGOEq_awJPPknWhVApfIbfGgX6ZfrVL-yA/s1600/P1010342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_xl1-yx0Agj8JO3xpvlMNjrDyB1VOlqIVMZNKnj0jbeiypjznfiAIh_QlNzuuhni96W7z4pfVIsu3E-g4GJ9IZBpMXAsf0EpRk86CyGOEq_awJPPknWhVApfIbfGgX6ZfrVL-yA/s640/P1010342.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not sure if this is the glacier we were supposed to come over or not</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBOe4QaA18ugL3b72wrsMId18UlPCwo8ctqIP_u2-aSKHZqWHGyRmA5Sap0kR99t653_3zIRyN6cOgUmjeTJpP2s3sWJsCZT7QchhSeCkH0K2d0wIeTB3PlKHfms4iqe2-RwGmFg/s1600/P1010344.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBOe4QaA18ugL3b72wrsMId18UlPCwo8ctqIP_u2-aSKHZqWHGyRmA5Sap0kR99t653_3zIRyN6cOgUmjeTJpP2s3sWJsCZT7QchhSeCkH0K2d0wIeTB3PlKHfms4iqe2-RwGmFg/s640/P1010344.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's not obvious, but the wind was blowing around 30 mph here at times</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9-idX8JZ1LWy0jVdkxfNBeJ_3KNp0Wk2EvPL3KNo8Pz5lmJCL0k4VlzvWEPOBoalhQtAd8GlFdRjxiO6m4-DTnTb5G5x1Fs6jelvwVz9RMGtEWSUZ9ymvHlTznLmyJ-ENL8QuHw/s1600/P1010345.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9-idX8JZ1LWy0jVdkxfNBeJ_3KNp0Wk2EvPL3KNo8Pz5lmJCL0k4VlzvWEPOBoalhQtAd8GlFdRjxiO6m4-DTnTb5G5x1Fs6jelvwVz9RMGtEWSUZ9ymvHlTznLmyJ-ENL8QuHw/s640/P1010345.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finally into the descent which was basically a mud-slide not shown here</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikxt5jlZ6n4JCbBEEaQzwusXejczXnxErUqLkJUG2qZDlqXjkGAF9TcEsA2b7BfBa63fsPtFYj-a0hWB3X8avwXSJhwSwP2aMsWKj9R24BdEZR7rN5c7b7JLstypnkpqr-1EWttQ/s1600/P1010348.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikxt5jlZ6n4JCbBEEaQzwusXejczXnxErUqLkJUG2qZDlqXjkGAF9TcEsA2b7BfBa63fsPtFYj-a0hWB3X8avwXSJhwSwP2aMsWKj9R24BdEZR7rN5c7b7JLstypnkpqr-1EWttQ/s640/P1010348.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cold, but pretty...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVa3nMMIX04p0PfpYqbxrnPNwP7DEU92vZUwfheshvHz7Dg3l_7CUsvzKbKUhfyJouoz0-Lf1vHdNDSd6kzl_uRF7wjH7DHttRvmIZasrgBuXZN9SXs1tRtHfGVbGISCHCkL11yw/s1600/P1010349.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVa3nMMIX04p0PfpYqbxrnPNwP7DEU92vZUwfheshvHz7Dg3l_7CUsvzKbKUhfyJouoz0-Lf1vHdNDSd6kzl_uRF7wjH7DHttRvmIZasrgBuXZN9SXs1tRtHfGVbGISCHCkL11yw/s640/P1010349.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...but, cold!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg76Vcek73aCCbif3SH0rpor5mlo02MIyrt9966sOUqw1ubHspfvtJut7fcVYHzCL87PNZMOPNwP7km5TO_ciPa2sH3MOaZmbkB3t4eimt8cpM2pz-6DVQEQ9G_liijPdqckvOPLA/s1600/P1010350.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg76Vcek73aCCbif3SH0rpor5mlo02MIyrt9966sOUqw1ubHspfvtJut7fcVYHzCL87PNZMOPNwP7km5TO_ciPa2sH3MOaZmbkB3t4eimt8cpM2pz-6DVQEQ9G_liijPdqckvOPLA/s640/P1010350.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harry just coming off the pass and into the woods which amounted to about 15 miles of mud</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwHjlzWHWO1H6BsZknSBDzHPmgFXtPw887xLYy9Dt_xHzLMYL7X3FJR0vEsnQf6CTRvZbwU8UflgSEdkI-S-D3ZqdiBVyF9KSmmeECIw7p92ZDakXM5knpxFYbd5qj7K_Tzr-kUQ/s1600/P1010353.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwHjlzWHWO1H6BsZknSBDzHPmgFXtPw887xLYy9Dt_xHzLMYL7X3FJR0vEsnQf6CTRvZbwU8UflgSEdkI-S-D3ZqdiBVyF9KSmmeECIw7p92ZDakXM5knpxFYbd5qj7K_Tzr-kUQ/s640/P1010353.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When there wasn't mud, there were these peat bogs that look innocent, but definitely were not. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQFVpmPDZV9PKbUohyxgysM0S4qC_gAw5DKm8fV3JPkJU5dAjl6Qp6UO-QR6dD0DiZuhKo6aSqlr4qbLbDyA0ckJgT7sOBLUY6gFSXsAfUMW8FmCcHu8vOnQ_64FDn8ol_srZPYA/s1600/P1010354.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQFVpmPDZV9PKbUohyxgysM0S4qC_gAw5DKm8fV3JPkJU5dAjl6Qp6UO-QR6dD0DiZuhKo6aSqlr4qbLbDyA0ckJgT7sOBLUY6gFSXsAfUMW8FmCcHu8vOnQ_64FDn8ol_srZPYA/s640/P1010354.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mostly, though, there was mud...so....much...MUD!!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
After the race, and a day of recovery, we headed out to Torres del Paine for a couple days. We stayed in a cool hotel on Lago Pehoé and then did the 12 mile classic hike up to the towers.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXTchZc8hb3ZHsqNq5V7pNddgkDLKicWZFSFue9AY0fNlHMd2lb0AMs5vJIklypHfDa1NeZ41C3yrQtvtTa3hsaCbgcGBcoySoJ38FDVVCvuRIvRp3oneH0SCN-976bu05JK0P-w/s1600/P1010356.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXTchZc8hb3ZHsqNq5V7pNddgkDLKicWZFSFue9AY0fNlHMd2lb0AMs5vJIklypHfDa1NeZ41C3yrQtvtTa3hsaCbgcGBcoySoJ38FDVVCvuRIvRp3oneH0SCN-976bu05JK0P-w/s640/P1010356.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Salto Grande near our hotel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5tHo75LeM-XGd8ai24_7hB2P3OnxCkUauUV1p5MiEz2vZNaABIRMjfwB9rYnNY96jtKTKQ0vn9GyTS3a1bnkhUkeF4P72Mriddt9nvfrJpcGFFn_nX3x514qwAWld8rfuAk-LVA/s1600/P1010363.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5tHo75LeM-XGd8ai24_7hB2P3OnxCkUauUV1p5MiEz2vZNaABIRMjfwB9rYnNY96jtKTKQ0vn9GyTS3a1bnkhUkeF4P72Mriddt9nvfrJpcGFFn_nX3x514qwAWld8rfuAk-LVA/s640/P1010363.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We did a short 4-mile hike, but the weather and views weren't great</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiYRy35KnM8bc_ZpQn9QIbuKP81CX97zdC8Bip6MEPdVMNgyIuGHxlpGdU5xpUJSLDIO8MQuzVHM_EbZkzsS2s_fbg6tHo3v9J39m2maDPrrwwaunndJ3D8fOau-Otnfz1C8AHGA/s1600/P1010364.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiYRy35KnM8bc_ZpQn9QIbuKP81CX97zdC8Bip6MEPdVMNgyIuGHxlpGdU5xpUJSLDIO8MQuzVHM_EbZkzsS2s_fbg6tHo3v9J39m2maDPrrwwaunndJ3D8fOau-Otnfz1C8AHGA/s640/P1010364.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wet and cloudy during our short hike to view Los Cuernos</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJkP_-vk94mkCJr1g5pR1Mv4vzaT2vndjmzktBOsv4c-_B9W50b89bQKrfUH9mPOxgYfGWQEZ24x_P3i4UVvdIGFKthQaRzuoDwZ7IXCpTT-5gC3rXKxazFZgFRjxjxU7m7dDWjg/s1600/P1010372.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJkP_-vk94mkCJr1g5pR1Mv4vzaT2vndjmzktBOsv4c-_B9W50b89bQKrfUH9mPOxgYfGWQEZ24x_P3i4UVvdIGFKthQaRzuoDwZ7IXCpTT-5gC3rXKxazFZgFRjxjxU7m7dDWjg/s640/P1010372.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our hotel on an island the next morning in better weather and a great view</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTkN9i4F603fWPVfbzO67abwKv1n6F82rGA5RKGkzp-Kqdi6N-AaLZZH7v9b2k2FN3WY4d9XEPRt5U9q2ugGLGDjiFwQfbqJ9fTsw6SlkWei0ACWvAO9Su1y9aaqHsxb0iXD5A3g/s1600/P1010373.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTkN9i4F603fWPVfbzO67abwKv1n6F82rGA5RKGkzp-Kqdi6N-AaLZZH7v9b2k2FN3WY4d9XEPRt5U9q2ugGLGDjiFwQfbqJ9fTsw6SlkWei0ACWvAO9Su1y9aaqHsxb0iXD5A3g/s640/P1010373.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lago Pehoé</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgApzBsOXNF-dkXCE2zH2FgY_BuWmtA7B4TMJ36nFn6-n8cKnY2g_p5MR0RgYiR1hdnC-Aij22efWMmujB9qrj14bObnvvbCZpk5U4-WnwjPow7mOOfln1UaLLLiD4MjklfmhFgw/s1600/P1010387.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgApzBsOXNF-dkXCE2zH2FgY_BuWmtA7B4TMJ36nFn6-n8cKnY2g_p5MR0RgYiR1hdnC-Aij22efWMmujB9qrj14bObnvvbCZpk5U4-WnwjPow7mOOfln1UaLLLiD4MjklfmhFgw/s640/P1010387.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Making the hike up to Los Torres</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxoOil0gDZ5KFFnZTG2Of93KUzPOC72Y0s7HD703nmGkGwQnLaTAKbJKjdFntkRgVYLhAvCQenTmZ-xmQsXlT4gIJDoIVMi3Z8Mu6GvnoBZ4dhyphenhyphenPxvnvndfKYVVZwcQiMCqnvZYQ/s1600/P1010391.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxoOil0gDZ5KFFnZTG2Of93KUzPOC72Y0s7HD703nmGkGwQnLaTAKbJKjdFntkRgVYLhAvCQenTmZ-xmQsXlT4gIJDoIVMi3Z8Mu6GvnoBZ4dhyphenhyphenPxvnvndfKYVVZwcQiMCqnvZYQ/s400/P1010391.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Through the woods...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgplaTbJG7Oks_x-e6ALpYRMUtTE-eEbVNBezRWOOMpsIv8OIcAsDLqT7Satyw_bwR33thYGkQbXrklR7XWEiCZ9o2PznqaYU2K2qvcifFeL0E5C96bb4dS38O9vo03X5zm4fn9WQ/s1600/P1010392.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgplaTbJG7Oks_x-e6ALpYRMUtTE-eEbVNBezRWOOMpsIv8OIcAsDLqT7Satyw_bwR33thYGkQbXrklR7XWEiCZ9o2PznqaYU2K2qvcifFeL0E5C96bb4dS38O9vo03X5zm4fn9WQ/s400/P1010392.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...past the falls...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlo7LNqZRx6qwQRuSXmuP8kYBMv13VadpV7B_fnLVxSyhn_gMtHlLa1UHbKovkSGk4gRc7ejFd5h4QyQVI9otAVw9BqYwL28BdRWVhaM-d3oc3ZG2nGrRSHDJERIWqqTWeuespuA/s1600/P1010396.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlo7LNqZRx6qwQRuSXmuP8kYBMv13VadpV7B_fnLVxSyhn_gMtHlLa1UHbKovkSGk4gRc7ejFd5h4QyQVI9otAVw9BqYwL28BdRWVhaM-d3oc3ZG2nGrRSHDJERIWqqTWeuespuA/s400/P1010396.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...and through meadows with the first hint of the towers.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH3PYt5DtV34no4xwln-fOWi1osvvy5KbffljY_lNrfL6xN21xE0cVONRl_LpxpQ2hKaEwHU6ykkRhz_8EO_pI9YQARSj4dxHFRG_eOuaZBfJmQLQRf8Lfk73YTGeFXbWa9SDTtQ/s1600/P1010404.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH3PYt5DtV34no4xwln-fOWi1osvvy5KbffljY_lNrfL6xN21xE0cVONRl_LpxpQ2hKaEwHU6ykkRhz_8EO_pI9YQARSj4dxHFRG_eOuaZBfJmQLQRf8Lfk73YTGeFXbWa9SDTtQ/s640/P1010404.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Martina and Harry in front of Lago Torres</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeGscTQ3lclGR5-bxX6lUPrQ-O4lGubi66BJZM3aG1o6gEEUXyHElm0llBJKziH6gde01H_IpX-mGr-xNPpB8oATLuHgOTmMZ-7mPJtbqBsoC_4XMm6Ul5JhmIxcHXTe_P6SXZRg/s1600/P1010403.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeGscTQ3lclGR5-bxX6lUPrQ-O4lGubi66BJZM3aG1o6gEEUXyHElm0llBJKziH6gde01H_IpX-mGr-xNPpB8oATLuHgOTmMZ-7mPJtbqBsoC_4XMm6Ul5JhmIxcHXTe_P6SXZRg/s640/P1010403.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Classic pic in the classic local</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRUiSRFDIZpkamhQdL4P1kyikih1d3eNzIYu4Zb_Z7O3zUqFOKvpXrMzJET11n1N_f2dtDDW_seRj8O4jAZefg6vsR7FujLAJZWJcWhzJUTir8tWIiNX00FOqaPc6TqAddlXX-Ew/s1600/DSC02534.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRUiSRFDIZpkamhQdL4P1kyikih1d3eNzIYu4Zb_Z7O3zUqFOKvpXrMzJET11n1N_f2dtDDW_seRj8O4jAZefg6vsR7FujLAJZWJcWhzJUTir8tWIiNX00FOqaPc6TqAddlXX-Ew/s400/DSC02534.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Similar spot, 10 years earlier</td></tr>
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Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-72235608097576877912016-02-25T21:44:00.001-08:002016-02-27T06:24:09.006-08:00The ITI Story, 2015 edition<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnedBjh309EHLSqjNlS8s7EwLZnKResgcIeTtr7iIQjJogL70EuJsWa83VCkGt-k2NSxvCnbMcV72iMelK2Kw6rqe8e2ghjlbpemDSCsqLi02U3EKTXpL_8B2J-j7CmV5LoZ2Fqg/s1600/P1010006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnedBjh309EHLSqjNlS8s7EwLZnKResgcIeTtr7iIQjJogL70EuJsWa83VCkGt-k2NSxvCnbMcV72iMelK2Kw6rqe8e2ghjlbpemDSCsqLi02U3EKTXpL_8B2J-j7CmV5LoZ2Fqg/s640/P1010006.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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The 2016 edition of the Iditarod Trail Invitational begins in less than a week and for the first time in three years, I won't be joining my friends up north. In fact, it's the first time since the 2011 Susitna 100 that I won't be participating in any northern winter events. Neither the sweetness nor bitterness of my feelings right now can be adequately put into words.<br />
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In many ways it's still just too difficult for me to walk through and share my memories of last year, but I do want to share something. If I cannot tell my story, I will tell someone else's--as best I can. And, it's a story worth telling.</div>
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Other than the very few of us who were out there, most people don't know how the race unfolded past the 350 mile point of McGrath after a storm had pushed through and wiped out the trail. Perhaps very few care. The event is about as far from mainstream as possible. However, <a href="http://www.adn.com/article/20150329/too-cold-too-snowy-too-much">some has been written about it</a>, mostly focusing on Tim Hewitt. This is certainly understandable. Tim's name is nearly synonymous with walking to Nome and he made a right adventure of last year's race.</div>
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However, the above article does get a number of small details wrong and leaves out most of the actions of the racer whom—to me at least—is the real hero of the story. Beat is the only one of us who had the presence of mind to take extra food and fuel from the resupply, he also did the bulk of the trail breaking and he was with me in the end when my world fell apart. But, I'm getting a bit ahead in the tale.</div>
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I was attempting the full 1000 mile distance. I thought that Beat would push ahead since, with Tim opting for the bike, he was a shoe-in to win the full distance. But, Beat always says the first 350 is a warm-up so he stuck with me for the early miles for the most part. We bivied together above "The Wall of Death", had a nice breakfast at Yentna Station and even had a really good bit of sleep at Skwentna Lodge. After that I started to fall behind. Coming into Shell Lodge just as Beat left. Then, on the long trek to Winterlake the air warmed up close to freezing and filled with moisture. So did my lungs.<br />
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I was having difficulty breathing and was unable to lie down without kicking into a coughing fit. By the time Beat woke up, I hadn't slept and felt certain my race was over. He encouraged me to start on my antibiotics and see how it goes as I had plenty of time and could spend a day (or even more) at the lovely Winterlake Lodge. However, in truth, neither of us expected to see each other again during the race. After Beat left, I managed to get some amount of sleep and miraculously felt better as Loreen Hewitt and Moses Lovstad came into the checkpoint.<br />
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Over the next 5 days my lungs continued to improve. I would get 8, 10, 12, 14 hours of feeling good. Unfortunately, I was walking around 16 hours a day. Beat remained pretty much around 1/2 day ahead of me. At each checkpoint I would find that he had left a few hours prior as I was ready to set down for some rest. I assumed that gap would grow once past McGrath, but the trail had some surprises for all of us after that.<br />
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I was hit pretty hard by a snowstorm crossing the Farewell Burn, but it was just a hint of what dropped further up trail. Beat was already in Takotna as Loreen and I were preparing to leave McGrath, but I don't think any of us expected to make it through. The trail we would be taking didn't see much traffic to begin with as the Iditarod dogsled race had opted to start from Fairbanks. Tim and another biker had gotten caught in the storm and the other guy had called for a snowmachine pickup from the on-trail food drop. Tim, being Tim, took advantage of the machine track and then went on to push his bike, breaking trail, past that. Beat followed on snowshoes.<br />
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Loreen and I headed out on trail expecting to make it only to the food drop and return. However, thanks to the technology of satellite phones and GPS trackers we were able to get relayed messages of what was happening up trail at least from Beat. Apparently, he kept waiting for us to catch up and share some of the trail breaking duties. Unfortunately, with temperatures now plummeting into the -40 range, Loreen and I were taking longer sleep breaks refusing to get up until the sun was overhead. These pretty much coincided with the times that Beat was waiting, hoping we'd make progress on him. In the end, it just meant that we all moved excruciatingly slow and Beat had to shoulder all the hard work himself.<br />
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Beat's a smart guy. He's also pretty meticulous in his planning so it's no surprise that he was the only one of us who thought to grab extra food and fuel from the re-supply drop. There was plenty there given the number of racers who had planned and then dropped from going to Nome. We all should have loaded up, but the going hadn't been too bad up until the food drop. The section between McGrath and Ruby takes about 5 days on foot during a good year. This was not a good year. The trail got bad. Then it got worse.<br />
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Loreen and I stuck together, at least at rest and bivy points. We came upon both Beat's and Tim's tracks and tried to discern the story as the bike track were doubled. As we'd learn later, Tim had been pushing his bike through deep snowdrifts, got off course, ran out of food and headed back towards the cabin. He met salvation on the trail by way of Beat who had extra food and fuel. They headed on together, but even with Beat breaking trail with snowshoes and sled, pushing the bike was just too slow and Tim fell back. Beat left some extra food behind for Tim after dropping him, but alas it was just ahead of where Tim decided to collapse for the night, digging a hole and building a fire right there on the trail.<br />
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I believe this is the situation in which Loreen and I found him a few miles outside the ghost town of Poorman. Loreen sat down to join her husband while I decided to push on ahead, invigorated by the idea of catching my friend. I tried to use his snowshoe tracks as best I could even with his strides about 1/2 again as long as mine, but the wind kicked up on the Poorman "road" and his tracks were filling in fast. My pace was a crawl as I entered my 6th night on the trail since leaving Takotna. As 9pm rolled around, I told myself I had to find whatever shelter I could and just bivy on trail again within the next hour. As that hour came and went and nothing presented itself, I saw up ahead what looked like some sort of structure, a dilapidated cabin of some sort. Then I noticed the tracks veering off towards the cabin and, what was that in front? A sled!<br />
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I crawled into the cabin and found an empty spot on the floor amongst the mass of junked mining equipment. After a few hours Beat awoke, but I told him I was in no condition to head out so he agreed to wait until first light. In the morning we continued together taking turns plowing through the snow at a crawl. We were more than 30 miles from Ruby and at the pace we were going that would take at least another night. Furthermore, I was low on food and running low on strength. I don't think I really held up my end of the trail-breaking bargain. Things were seeming pretty desperate and I could only imagine what Tim and Loreen were going through behind us. Loreen's hands were in bad shape and while temps had warmed now, the damage was done.<br />
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During one of our short breaks to switch leads, Beat went in front and put his headphones in. I was spending my trail time deep in thought so kept the music off which allowed me to hear it. I yelled "Beat! Beat" He took his headphones off and looked at me trying to figure out what I was on about. "Listen. Do you hear it?" There was a faint, distant buzz that seemed to be growing louder. I think neither of us wanted to name it for fear the disappointment if we turned out to be wrong. Eventually, I said it. "Snowmobiles" Then we saw them coming around a bend further up trail. I could have cried. There was no point continuing to waste our energy because once they got to us there would be a trail. An actual trail.<br />
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When the finally arrived, it was two guys and they were not just plowing a nice track, they had equipment behind them which laid it down even further. They were heading out to one of the cabins to do some mining. We told them to look out for Tim and Loreen, but mostly we were just excited to get moving again. It was amazing. The feeling of going from 1 mph to 3 mph felt like the difference between jogging and an all-out sprint. On top of that our spirits were lifted. I didn't have to keep rationing my food. We were going to make it to Ruby. A few hours later another snowmobile came by. This one had been sent by Bill, the RD to check on all of us. We told them we were fine and they should get to Tim and Loreen who might be in bad shape.<br />
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We continued towards Ruby and after a longer time than I would have expected, the snowmachine came back with Tim and Loreen in tow. A sight I never expected to see, Tim Hewitt being pulled off of the Iditarod trail. We wished them luck then continued on into the dark. We had different BnB's in Ruby, but Beat and I agreed to meet up in the morning and make our decision about continuing then. Food, more food and a good night's sleep can do wonders. We were both moving slow in the morning, but we agreed to keep on. Despite our exhaustion, time was tight. I knew I'd be moving slower so I told Beat that if I couldn't keep up, he should just keep going. I would be happy finishing up wherever I finished. If I made it to the coast I would be ecstatic. Beat would have none of it and started working on a plan to get us both to Nome.<br />
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"OK, tour's over, this is now a race." With those words Beat began explaining that we were just going to have to go as long as we could and sleep as little as our bodies would allow. There were 50 miles of Yukon River between Ruby and Galena. We were going to have to take it in a single push. The trail was better since we were now on track with the dogsled race for a bit. We just had to follow the trail of "poop" and discarded dog booties down the river.<br />
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With Beat's long strides moving him at a solid clip it meant even less rest for me as he would generally already have been stopped for some minutes before I caught up. We only took one significant stop on the river. It was perhaps 3am and laying on our sleds drinking coffee we were treated to the most incredible light show in the sky directly above us thanks to the northern lights. The rest of the night was much more of a struggle and I had an emotional break-down just before dawn. In the end, the anger propelled me to push hard until light, but I was exhausted when we finally made it to town.<br />
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We had some good food and rest in Galena along with collecting our re-supply boxes. I would have been happy to just stay in that comfy apartment for the next week. As it was, we spent too much time dallying around and had to kick ourselves out of there before the sun went down. It was going to be another night with little to no sleep. Once again, the going was rough as the route we would take veered back off the dogsled trail and so we returned to breaking trail and postholing along. It was a little better when we finally left the river and we found a good spot to sleep and agreed to set alarms for 2 hours. I woke, but Beat snoozed on. It was cold and so I stayed in my bag for a while longer, but eventually I managed to crawl out. Beat was sleeping so hard I had to kick him awake.<br />
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We made coffee and then geared back up to push through the wee hours and into the dawn. I could feel a general fatigue moving over me and my legs were tired beyond belief. We'd been in snowshoes for the better part of 250 miles. Our trail eventually merged back with the dogsled trail near the confluence of the Yukon and Koyukuk rivers and just outside the small village by the same name. It wasn't a normal stop on the route and we were trying to figure out how quickly to get in and out in order to make it to the next two villages at the right times of day. Timing would be key if we wanted to get our food boxes from the post offices. My quads had a sort of ache in them I had never felt and I was slowing down even as we took the well graded road into town. I was already having my doubts, but willing to push along following Beat as long as my body would let me.<br />
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Unfortunately, fate had already made other plans for me. I won't recount the <a href="http://mountain-man-steve.blogspot.com/2015/09/still-in-this-place.html">tragic events that followed again</a>. However, since I started this tale focusing on Beat I will say a few things about him. I don't know if we would have made it all the way to Nome, if we had enough time or enough strength. But, I do know that Beat would have stopped it nothing. Nothing that is, except staying with a friend in a time of need. I tried to tell him to go on and that I'd get home OK, but he knew better. He stuck with me that night and made sure I got back to Anchorage and onto my flight home.<br />
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Events like the ITI are not really about the finish line and, while there was no winner in the foot race to Nome last year, in my mind there was a champion.<br />
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Beat will be back at it again this year.<br />
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I won't be joining in body, but in spirit I'll be following my friend down that frozen trail...<br />
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...perhaps a few steps behind.</div>
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Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-62732481186968372872015-09-08T23:49:00.000-07:002015-09-08T23:49:01.894-07:00Still, in this place<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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If you've come here looking for a race report, I'm sorry</div>
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Unfortunately, there will be no telling the tail of my 600 mile adventure along the Iditarod Trail in Alaska last winter. I am writing this only as a brief explanation of how it ended and why a part of me is (and may always be) still out there. In my mind there exists some alternate reality where some version of me, frozen in time, is just outside the small village of Koyukuk, AK. He's still scheming and pushing to continue the struggle, hoping to complete the final miles to Nome<br />
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It's reality where I, ultimately, return home to share with the people I love the story of not just the physical accomplishment, but the spiritual journey I'd taken along the way. And, when I imagine it, I see myself standing beneath the massive cliff looking up, ignorant of what awaits me. Alas, I am still just grounded enough to not allow that reality's existence (tempting though it may be) to shield me from what did happen.<br />
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In the real world, I continued on into the village and was met by a local official on snowmachine first asking Beat and then me "are you Steve?" After which I was given instructions for contacting the Alaska State Troopers. A year earlier at mile 200 of this race, I'd been delivered the news of my father's passing. Now, 400 miles further down that same trail, I was to learn that I had lost so much more. The woman with whom I'd been married, helped raise two amazing boys and watch them grow into men--my best friend of <a href="http://eudemus.blogspot.com/2015/03/zane.html">20 years</a>--was <a href="http://eudemus.blogspot.com/2015/06/gone.html">gone</a>.<br />
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Six months now and I really don't have much more to say. These words have become no easier to write except, perhaps, that I am now able to actually write them. In all honesty, I am only doing so because it has become, in some sense, easier than not explaining or, rather, having to explain at random times and in unexpected situations. It's one of those things they never tell you about grief. The hardest thing is simply having to explain.<br />
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If I could wish for one thing, it would be for, somehow, the news to have been delivered in my absence into the ear of all but my closest friends so that I didn't have to be the one to do it. I'm not an especially social person, so having each of my infrequent interactions with casual acquaintance and family friends consist of the conversation-ending story of my personal tragedy is probably the most difficult part. That and the inevitable, but understandable flood of condolences that follow.<br />
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If I had a second wish, it would be to ask people to please, stop saying "I'm sorry". I understand the need to say "something" and maybe it is said more for them than for me. However, I just can't help thinking that, right now, sorrow seems to be this ever present theme smouldering beneath the surface of everything I do. Each time I hear that phrase along with the offers for "anything I need", no matter how well-meaning and sincere, it just seems to add more fuel to the fire. I've enough sorrow of my own, I don't really need more. The fact is, beyond my closest friends and family who have been and continue to be here for me, there really is nothing anyone can do.<br />
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With everyone else, though, I really just want some semblance or at least remembrance of "normal life." Simply knowing that you know is enough. There truly is nothing more I ask, but if you do really feel the need to offer something beyond the usual platitudes (and, since this blog's readership consists mostly of runners and other outdoor enthusiasts), then if we happen to meet, please just share with me your upcoming races, next adventure, hiking plans or anything that represents those values that we might have in common. Values really are the whole point of life and sharing them the point of friendship.<br />
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As for this blog, I'm not sure if it will be continuing. It's been mostly silent for more than a year as is. I did recently finish Hardrock, but don't expect to write anything therein. I have been doing more writing on my other, older, even less-read <a href="http://eudemus.blogspot.com/">blog</a>. It's filled with random, sometimes philosophic musings and the occasional wine-inspired bit of poetry. I don't expect to garner readership there as its contents will likely seem foreign to even some of my closest friends, let alone those only casually acquainted with the extents of my thoughts and ramblings.<br />
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Thanks for reading. Happy trails.<br />
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Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-52381359323874540122014-08-11T23:22:00.005-07:002014-08-11T23:22:59.965-07:00Second look<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
For my second preview of the course, there weren't many options that offered easy logistics. The <a href="http://www.mountainmadness.ca/fat_dog_documents/Leg_1_Cathedral.pdf">first</a> <a href="http://www.mountainmadness.ca/fat_dog_documents/Leg_2_Trapper.pdf">two</a> sections of the course were either too far away or offered pretty poor access. My friends would arrive on Monday and we agreed to check out the final section no Tuesday. That left either doing part of <a href="http://www.mountainmadness.ca/fat_dog_documents/Leg_5_Skagit.pdf">Leg 5</a> which was listed as the easiest section or some of <a href="http://www.mountainmadness.ca/fat_dog_documents/Leg_4_Heather.pdf">Leg 4</a> which would represent the final descent from the climb I did on Saturday. I opted for the latter<br />
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Since I would be going opposite the race direction, I was to head up the Hope Pass trail and then hook up for a bit more climbing on Grainger Creek Trail. I planned for a shorter day so I wouldn't be hitting the steeper bits of the trail near the top.<br />
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If the Bonnevier Trail was a single-lane country road, then Hope Pass was like a two-lane highway. Though the soft ground made it feel more like a wide, padded track. In reality, it's actually a historic wagon trail.<br />
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Again the trail was in deep tree cover, but this one much more reminiscent of something you might see in the Tahoe area. Big coniferous trees, lots of shade, but with a more open feeling.<br />
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It was also a much more popular trail as I passed at least a half dozen backpackers heading in from one or other of the trail camps. However, as soon as I turned off the wide path around 4-1/2 miles in, I didn't see another soul.<br />
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Grainger Creek was a more narrow single-track trail winding its way up the side of the mountains. Where the previous day's path didn't follow any obvious topographical feature (in fact, it appeared as if someone just decided to make their way through the woods), this trail contoured along the side of the hill slowly climbing above its namesake creek (though it might be considered a raging river in California right now given our drought).<br />
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Many offshoot streams crossed the trail feeding down to the creek often creating short muddy bits to step over.<br />
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This well maintained trail, included bridges built over any longer sections of muck.<br />
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Of course, this meant for lush and green surroundings and an all around enjoyable hike up the trail.<br />
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While there once again was very little view due to the dense cover, I was always aware of it teasing just beyond the curtain of trees. I kept expecting to come out into a clearing at some point. This is probably why I ended up going further up trail than planned. In the end, I only ended up with one brief view of the surrounding area.<br />
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When I finally turned around after 8-1/2 miles (a mile longer than intended), I couldn't help myself. This trail was pretty much just the sort I love to bomb downhill. A soft, easy surface, but with just enough rocks, roots, twists and turns to keep it interesting. I did manage to reel in the proverbial reins, forcing myself to walk anything that was flat or slightly uphill. I also kept the downhill pace in check, but felt light on my feet the whole way.<br />
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With the two days combined, I'd covered well over 1/4 of the race distance. Unfortunately, though, since I had to do everything as an out-and-back, I'd only seen around 1/7 of the course. I'm also a little worried that I picked sections that were a bit easy, building a little false confidence. No matter, it will give me something to look forward to as I grind through the first couple climbs.<br />
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Also, I wouldn't want to have the race completely devoid of surprises (as if that would be possible in an event this long).</div>
Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-66657529986710595892014-08-09T23:28:00.000-07:002014-08-09T23:28:44.985-07:00First Impressions<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm up in Canada a week before the <a href="http://www.mountainmadness.ca/fatdog.php">Fat Dog 120</a> mile race. Since I'm typically under-trained, I thought I would come up a week before and at least get a bit of a preview. I haven't done a mountain 100 since Bryce last year and have only managed a few trips up to the Sierras this summer. Luckily, the altitude isn't a huge issue (high point around 7500ft), but it does have plenty of climbing (28,000ft) and there's that extra 20 miles. While there's not much I can do in terms of training at this point, I figured seeing some of the course and getting my head in the right space might help.<br />
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My friends who are also doing the race don't arrive until Monday and we agreed to check out the last section of the course (purportedly one of the most difficult) together. So, I looked for another section for my solo preview today. I chose the <a href="http://www.mountainmadness.ca/fat_dog_documents/Leg_3_Bonnevier.pdf">third section labeled Bonnevier</a>. It was accessible right off the highway and starts about 41 miles or so into the race. With a 10am start time, that puts it squarely into the night hours for my pace. This would give me a chance to see some of it in the day and also give me some familiarity with trail that I'll be doing just as fatigue and sleepiness become part of the race experience.<br />
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The first 2-1/2 miles are on a forest service road and mostly (almost*) all climbing. Then you take a sharp left off the road and onto trail that narrows down to singletrack in the next 1/2 mile.<br />
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This is "real deal" singletrack. In fact, with the significant overgrowth in parts, the path nearly disappears altogether. I would venture that this trail sees less traffic than even the least visited trails in most of California's mountains.<br />
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The trail was quite good. Beneath the overgrowth there were a few roots, but it was not super technical. There weren't many rocks nor downed trees across the trail. This last, apparently, due to the heroic effort by some volunteers. In numerous places along the trail there was evidence of recently cut trees that would have lain cross the trail. The area is quite ripe with downed trees.<br />
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The other thing that made the trail pretty mellow was the ease of navigation. The GPX track I downloaded (and Harry edited) was excellent, but almost completely unnecessary. The course was already marked and the markings were beyond superb. Almost excessive, even. If this section is any indication, if I don't see a ribbon for more than 2 minutes, I should turn around and go back.<br />
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Overall, the climb was not especially steep, accumulating just under 2000ft in the first 4-1/2 miles before dropping down a bit and climbing another 1200ft before I turned around after about 10 miles. Of course, that's on fresh legs in the middle of the day. We'll see what story those legs tell in the middle of the night after 40+ miles that include two of the biggest climbs on the course.<br />
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The views from up top were quite wonderful. However, the vast majority of the miles I did were completely contained within a thick forest with little in the way of grand vistas. I guess that's appropriate for a section that I'll be starting at night.<br />
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Overall, I took it pretty easy, treating it more as a hike than a run. Anyone who knows me knows that I am pretty much incapable of not running downhill, but even on the downhills I kept it constrained and conservative. Keeping things easy a week before the race was obviously part of it. However, I was also running solo and I was the only person on the trail. In fact, after leaving the road, I didn't see another single human being in the 5 hours I was out there. Amazing to be just 10 miles from the road and feel completely isolated.<br />
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Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com2Hope, BC, Canada24.206889622398009 -172.617187524.206889622398009 -172.6171875 24.206889622398009 -172.6171875tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-29079501520315936862014-03-05T08:40:00.000-08:002014-03-05T10:01:56.917-08:00Frozen Tearsicles<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The Iditarod Trail is an ephemeral thing, lasting for just one season each year. It is also essentially perpetual, renewed again the following winter after inevitable spring thaws. Unfortunately, the continuity of our own lives is never quite so certain and none of us knows exactly how many seasons we will have.<br />
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I arrived at the final checkpoint of the <a href="http://iditarodtrailinvitational.com/">Iditarod Trail Invitational</a> to learn that my father had passed away the previous night. He'd been dealing with a number of health issues with significant degeneration over the past couple years, but I did get to spend time with him before departing for Alaska. He had just been released from the hospital and we were hopeful to see this as just another minor setback. It was, apparently, not to be.<br />
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Encouraged by my family to finish the race, I knew I would not be able to get much sleep at that point so I headed back out into the night. Walking the frozen trail, watching the northern lights and, eventually, falling asleep in my bivy beneath the star-filled Alaskan sky, I thought about my dad.<br />
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The next morning, I continued down the remainder of the final 50-mile stretch with a lifetime of memories as my companion. There were some difficult moments and one near-complete breakdown, but I'm glad that I was able to spend this time "with him" on the trail.<br />
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Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-55021316000189394902014-02-20T18:13:00.001-08:002014-02-20T18:13:43.509-08:00North<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Well, it's been another winter of fits and starts. Since the "Fear and Loathing" race, I've had a setbacks on a number of fronts. With almost no training at all the rest of December and a single 50K race in January, I decided to go ahead with my plan to attempt a repeat at the <a href="http://www.arrowheadultra.com/">Arrowhead 135</a>.<br />
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It went well enough for the first 24 hours or so, toughing it through temps down into the -40s. Leaving the 72 mile checkpoint Tuesday afternoon my lungs weren't feeling great, but I managed to convince myself it was just the lack of sleep and it would work itself out if I could sneak in a bit of rest the next night. However, it didn't take long to realize that my hacking and coughing was not going to clear up so easily especially given that I only had a single hour on the cutoff time. After 2-1/2 miles I made the decision to turn back rather than risk a potentially more serious illness along with my plans for returning to the <a href="http://iditarodtrailinvitational.com/">Iditarod Trail Invitational</a> 350 mile race less than 4 weeks hence.<br />
<br />
Given my past history, friends of mine have always predicted that my first DNF would either be because I was dragged kicking-and-screaming from the course or carried off in a stretcher. In the end, it was actually a fairly easy decision. Every now and then I like to make the smart choice, but I don't generally make a habit of it. After around 90 ultra-marathons and 27 of them of 100 miles or longer, it was inevitable that I would eventually not finish one.<br />
<br />
And now, since my main motivation for accepting those three letters was for a larger and more fulfilling goal, I am about to head north to Alaska. I don't feel at all prepared and trail conditions (though quite the opposite of what we experienced in Minnesota) are not looking great. Alaska experienced a significant melt down in January followed by a re-freeze the course is more ice and frozen ground than snow. However, the Iditarod trail is never the same any two given years anyways so one simply has to take it in stride.<br />
<br />
Despite significant reservations, I'm looking forward to being out there on the trail, moving forward through the last great frontier. At least the time pressures won't be what they were at Arrowhead and I'm excited about returning to the "expedition mentality" that is an integral aspect of this event.<br />
<br />
Updates will be infrequent, but available here:<br />
<a href="http://iditarodtrailinvitational.com/">http://iditarodtrailinvitational.com/</a><br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-74275906197996807212014-02-18T08:01:00.000-08:002014-02-18T08:01:13.642-08:00Fear and Loathing in the dead of night<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The <a href="https://sites.google.com/site/hstfnl/">Hunter S. Thompson Fear and Loathing 50K/50M</a> is one of those classic ultrarunning events that's been on my "to do" list for some time. It's been <a href="http://www.run100s.com/hst.htm">around for around 30 years</a> and follows the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/49-Mile_Scenic_Drive">San Francisco 49 mile Scenic Drive</a> as it winds it's way through the city. Running 50 miles on roads certainly doesn't sounds like it fits in my wheelhouse. However, I really love events that have a certain "organic" aspect to them and the idea of a long race that tours the city I've lived near most of my life, is simply irresistible. Now that I live in the San Francisco and the route goes right by my place, I had no excuse not to join the fun.<br />
<br />
Well, I actually did have one excuse. I wanted to run the entire course, but I had some things I wanted to do in the afternoon and didn't want to kill my entire Sunday. Not only would it likely take at least 9 hours to run the course, but I would have to travel to and from the start at <a href="http://sfrecpark.org/destination/twin-peaks/">Twin Peaks</a> which is about 5 miles from my house and an hour by public transit. So, rather than opting to just run the 50K route, I hit upon the somewhat crazy idea of starting my run in the middle of the night from home so I could finish there the following morning.<br />
<br />
Leaving my house near Fort Mason right around midnight, it was interesting to be running such common paths while dark and empty. Coming out of the Presidio I saw a coyote running in the middle of the street with something in its mouth. Further on the path in a residential neighborhood heading towards Ocean Beach, I was surprised by a group of raccoons that came tumbling around a corner in the midst of a fight. A bit more wildlife than I expected especially since I wasn't even in the park.<br />
<br />
The path along the beach and up and over The Great Highway was quite peaceful with nary a bit of traffic which would be impossible in the daylight. After that it was out and around Lake Merced and then on towards Golden Gate Park. The normally-crowded Sunset Blvd also devoid of vehicles in the wee hours of the a.m. However, once the route took me into the Park, the solitude turned from pleasant to creepy. Its one thing to not see another living thing that isn't scavenging for leftover morsels. It's quite another to be continuously haunted by the thought that that emptiness might just be an illusion and you may just wake someone sleeping in those bushes next to the path. I opted to run in the middle of the street instead.<br />
<br />
I was glad to finally be leaving the park and heading up towards UCSF Medical, but looking at the route to the "start" had me a wee concerned. The official race began at 7:00am. It wasn't even 5 yet and I was only a few miles from the base of the final climb up Twin Peaks. It was around 5:30am when I arrived at Portola Drive. It was Sunday and I imagined myself cowering in a doorway for the next hour. Then I noticed the Starbucks across the street with a light on and someone going in the door. I hustled across and smiled as I headed inside. A much better venue to spend my waiting time.<br />
<br />
Despite overnight temps in the 30s, I hadn't really been cold for the entire run. Taking over an hour break and then heading back out took care of that. I cowered at the top of the hill with everyone else anxiously awaiting the start. It was good to get caught up with old friends though once we were underway, the extra miles on my legs kept me far in the back of the pack. No problem. I was still enjoying running solo as the morning came upon us and we headed mostly downhill through Dolores Hights to Cesar Chavez and towards the bay.<br />
<br />
I knew the night was taking a toll when I was running along the Embarcadero and needed to use a bathroom. I stopped at one of the little public stalls, but then read the sign reading "vacant", uttered a "damn it" to myself and ran on. It was about 1/2 mile before I realized that my brain had translated that to "occupied". Of course, every other one I came upon either was occupied or out of order. Figures.<br />
<br />
Just as I was really starting to feel the fatigue, I was lucky enough to hook up with another runner, Billy McCarty, who is a really interesting guy and helped pass the time as we wound our way through the shopping district, Japan Town, China Town and then up to Coit Tower before descending down to Fisherman's Warf and then back towards home.<br />
<br />
I finished up about 11 hours after I started with my GPS registering around 48 miles for the full 49-mile Scenic Drive. I'm not sure if I'd do it again, certainly not in the same fashion. However, it was probably the most fun I've ever had running that many miles on road. My legs definitely felt like they do after a normal 50 miler, but my feet hurt much, much more.<br />
<br />
In the end, the goal was accomplished. I got in some solid miles and made it back home in time for a nap before the start of the 49ers game :-)<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-43092434432894361532013-12-16T21:53:00.001-08:002013-12-16T21:53:14.224-08:00Tales From the Frozen Trail: The Real Story<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Tales about gear choices, what I ate and where I slept are all well and good, but not what I imagine most people <b>really</b> want to know about a week spent dragging sled along the Iditarod Trail. The questions are myriad: Are you alone the whole time?, Do you get bored? Aren't you scared? What do you think about? Don't you go crazy? How do you keep it together? Ultimately, they boil done to this: Just what the heck do you do out there dragging a sled across the snow all day?</div>
<br />
The simple, if slightly apocryphal, answer is that I've never had trouble being alone. Spending quiet time living in my own head while out on the trail enjoying nature's beauty is one of the best things there is. The full truth, however, is that it does get a bit weird out there (or inside there) at times.<br />
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<br />
<b>It started with music</b>.<br />
<br />
I don't run with headphones except on the rare occasion where I am relegated to the treadmill. However, for this event I brought an MP3 player loaded with both music and audio books along with a portable charger. I was especially interested to see how the audio books would work out, but I wanted to save those until later in the race. Slogging in the middle of a wide expanse of the Yentna River on a sunny afternoon, my mind started taking a wrong turn. In some ways, the early miles were toughest. With too few miles behind, any thought of the vast distances ahead would quickly become disheartening. Once I had a few days under my belt, I could try to find some sort of routine, but in this first full day on the trail, I was struggling just to keep focused on the immediate.<br />
<br />
I put on my headphones and tried to find some fitting music for the stillness and beauty that surrounded me. I tested a few options, but nothing really seemed to match my mood. I tried some motivational music then something pensive then upbeat. For some reason, nothing resonated. Nothing seemed appropriate. I put it on random play for a bit until an odd thought hit me. Maybe I should try something wholly inappropriate. What music would one least expect to fit into a romp along the frozen Alaskan wilderness?<br />
<br />
So, that was it, bopping along the Iditarod Trail to C+C Music Factory's "Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now)". It may not fit the mood you'd expect to accompany an adventure of this sort, but it certainly got me moving. In fact, I was pretty much "bustin' moves" across the trail when a bunch of snow-machines came whirring by bringing me back both to my senses and a sense of where I was. The dance music stayed on, but I kept the actual dancing a bit more contained as I marched my way into Yentna Station.<br />
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<br />
As the third night deepened and my long, difficult trek towards Winterlake Lodge began, I once again turned to the Dance/Electronica genre. I'd finished off some audio-book content during the day, but as the sun went down, I held my own little dance party on the tundra with my trekking poles as my partner. I listened to that album on repeat making it through three full rotations before reaching my destination. As the hours crept on and the checkpoint seemed no closer I began to dread the start of each new song. There was no more dancing, but the music became like a lifeline and I desperately wanted <b>not</b> to finish another set before arriving at the cabin.<br />
<br />
Looking back, I'm not sure why that seemed so important at the time, but when my battery drained before finishing the album again, it seemed actually seemed worse. I stopped in a little stand of trees and just knelt beside my sled. It was probably the forth or fifth time that I assured myself the checkpoint must be just ahead. I contemplated just setting up camp there, but my experience spending a night just a half mile before a cabin the previous night drove me forward. The silence dragged on in those final miles to the lodge.<br />
<br />
Though I recharged my battery, that would be the last time I spent listening to music for a long while. I would, however, make some of my own out there on the trail later on.<br />
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<br />
<b>On Books</b><br />
<br />
If my music choices seem a bit questionable then consider my book selection. It was right around dusk when I decided to test out some spoken word content. As the sun went down, I put my headphones on and sampled a selection of Vincent Price reading the poems and short-stories of Edgar Allan Poe. Choosing "The Master of Macabre" may seem a bit dark and uninspiring especially relative to my musical selections. However, the intrigue and plot twists of Poe's tales kept me engaged. Besides, I've been a fan since I was young; I'd read most of the stories, but not for some time so it was a nice little dose of reminiscence along with my entertainment.<br />
<br />
The only downside of this particular audio book collection was that it wasn't very well organized. Some tracks covered multiple stories and/or poems while others stories spanned multiple tracks. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the time listening to "The Gold-Bug" and "The Fall of The House of Usher". There was occasional talk-back and I did make a rather futile effort to recite along with poetry favorites "The Bells" and "Annabel Lee" when following some of the stories became difficult. My only wish was that it had been easier to scan back and catch any bits I missed when my mind ran off on its own.<br />
<br />
My second foray into audio books out on the trail was even more epic. I saved my longer selection for the longest unsupported section of trail in the race and it turned out to be nothing less than brilliant. Homer's classic The Odyssey was another favorite from my youth and I listened to the entire recording between the Rohn and Nikolai checkpoints. I knew the framework of the story, but the details stood vague in my memory. It was a bit like listening to an old friend recalling a story I hadn't heard in years. I so enjoyed it that it left me with a bit of lingering sadness once it was over.<br />
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<br />
<b>Things that go bump in my head</b>.<br />
<br />
When not listening to music or stories, my mind worked on its own to keep my head filled. Most of the time I spent just trying to enjoy the moments either letting my thoughts wander or directing them towards one meaningless train or another. Sometimes, my mind would just seem to decide on its own where to go. And, occasionally, it got a bit odd.<br />
<br />
It was only the second morning and I was on my way to Skwentna. I had just taken a caffeine pill to wake me up when it started. It just popped into my head as some random syllables at first. Then I started playing with the consonants and making non-sensical rhymes. Finally, I found myself chanting it out loud.<br />
<br />
I-YA, HI-YA, HA-LA, TA-LA, TY-YA, NEE-DUL<br />
<br />
Meaningless. Over and over. Rearranging the order, altering the intonations, it went on for the better part of two hours. This simple chant, repeated in my head followed me, off and on, throughout the remainder of the race. It would disappear and then reappear in my mind. I would think that I had lost it and then it would return out of nowhere. I would sometimes struggle to recall the original order even though it didn't matter as I would just as quickly change it once I remembered, deciding that I preferred another sequence. I would play games in my head where the final "nee-dul" would try to sneak in early and then the other syllables would rebel and try to keep it from vocalizing at all. Epic battles were held.<br />
<br />
Strange though this little incantation was, it kept me occupied and moving along the trail for countless hours even helping me through a few rough patches along the way. Some how it managed to wend its way into my psyche. Even now as I write this, I can hear its echoes.<br />
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<br />
<b>Funny things</b><br />
<br />
Traveling up and down the Happy River steps, things went in different direction. I mentioned before how much I really enjoyed this section. Perhaps it was the variety of the hills, perhaps the contrast to the bad night I'd had before or maybe it was just that it felt a little like being in a wooded Christmas-y setting. I'm quite certain that must be the origin of my starting to sing carols. It started with the chorus of "Jingle Bell Rock", but it was "Winter Wonderland" that really got me going. It was just the bridge and chorus from the actual song (or at least something approximating it):<br />
<blockquote>
In the meadow we can build a snowman,<br />
then pretend that he is Parson Brown.<br />
He'll say 'Are You Married?' We'll say 'No man,<br />
but you can do the job while you're in town! </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Later on, we'll conspire,<br />
As we dream by the fire<br />
To face unafraid, (sang as: "dum dum da dum")<br />
The plans that we've made, ("da dum dum da dum")<br />
Walking in a winter wonderland.</blockquote>
However, after singing it a few times, it began to warp into something completely different and even bizarre. The words took on a rather perverse and even pornographic bent. A strong desire not to incriminate myself keeps me from writing the entire lyrics to my "F*#king in a Winter Wonderland" XXX-mas charol here on this blog, but needless to say, it provided endless hours of entertainment as I marched up and ran down those hills. Nothing helps the hours go by like laughing at oneself. And, for me, there is apparently no better way to do this than to just let the twisted side of my personality run bat-ass crazy, free.<br />
<br />
This became even more evident as I headed out for two long days in the wild. Holiday jingles just weren't going to cut it for the vast barrenness of the Farewell Burn. So, what else was there to do than to start composing limericks? It started simply by playing with names. In the end, I covered most of my close friends and work colleagues composing poems running the gamut from just silly to downright raunchy. Again, I'm not going to fill this blog with the perverse language that occupied my brain after 5 days out on the frozen trail.<br />
<br />
I will share one of the most tame one's since it is very timely given the subject's recent stint in the desert (or was when I started writing this).<br />
<br />
There once was a girl named Jill<br />
Who rode her bike up a hill<br />
Again and again<br />
She just wouldn't come in<br />
Even when she took a bad spill<br />
<br />
Things went pretty sharply downhill from there as you may imagine. For example, Beat's name is actually pronounced "BEH-awe-t" but most people tend to say it like "beet" which happens to rhyme with "meat". I'll let your imagination fill in the details. As for my imagination, it ran wild as I repeated these little inventions out loud, using a variety of voices. Occasionally, I would send myself straight into fits of maniacal laughter. So much so that I would have to stop to keep myself from stumbling off trail or falling over. Had someone seen me out there, I'm certain they would conclude that I had escaped the asylum and would eventually be found as a frozen corpse with a perma-grin stuck on my face.<br />
<br />
But, of course, there was nobody out there to see.<br />
<br />
Nobody.<br />
<br />
For two full days, I don't think I saw a single living thing that wasn't rooted to the ground beneath the snow.<br />
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<b>The emotional stuff</b><br />
<br />
Up until now, I've written primarily about my thoughts, but little about the feelings accompanying them. One of the reasons for undertaking challenges such as this is to experience a breadth and depth of emotions beyond what may hit you in the course of a normal week. Many people may assume that a certain amount of fear might accompany a journey that involves wondering over remote mountains, through empty woods and across frozen lakes in the dead of winter. However, I can't really say it was any significant part of the experience except in minor moments when crossing some glare ice or a snow-ridge over a river. It certainly wasn't as integral to the experience as was the case back in my rock-climbing days.<br />
<br />
There were times, such as heading up Rainy Pass in the dark with snow blowing in my face, where I was filled with a sense of urgency. It wasn't the feeling of being in a full on emergency, but more just being impressed with the immediacy of my situation. In such inhospitable environments, you're made acutely aware of the need to keep moving and not make mistakes. People often describe a rush of "feeling alive" directly after some life-threatening event or upon completing an adrenaline-filled challenge. While not with the same intensity, an aspect of that feeling stuck with me as a sort-of driving force, prodding me forward along the trail.<br />
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<br />
As the days went on and I became comfortable with the long hours alone pulling sled across snow (or at lease became comfortable with the discomfort), the range and intensity of my emotions varied. Despite the fact that I travelled by myself for nearly the entire race, I didn't feel lonely. I've never had trouble being alone and, at times in my life, have even felt almost too comfortable with it. However, I can't claim to have been completely untouched by the isolation. No matter the distance of the event, as finishing became a conceivable, everything seems to become accentuated. Somehow my psyche always seems to be "set" for the particular duration of my undertaking such that the final miles, hours or days are often the most difficult, the most rewarding and always beset with strong emotions.<br />
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Nikolai was the last stop before the final 50 mile stretch. Arriving there is pretty much knowing that you are going to finish the race. After two full days alone, I can't say that this fact was forefront in my mind. I'd had a fuel failure during my attempt to melt snow earlier in the day and was considering giving it another go when a sign indicating 10 miles spurred me on. Those miles did not pass quickly, especially after dark as the wind swept up the trail while crossing what seemed an endless series of small lakes. I'd donned my outer layers and goggles for protection, but was having a terrible time keeping them properly together on my face. My frustration grew as I'd adjust my goggles and my hat would slip. I'd fix my hat and my balaclava would become misaligned. Eventually, I just couldn't take it any more.<br />
<br />
I snapped. I ripped the goggles from my face and threw them to the ground, screaming at them, my voice cracking. "WHY CAN'T YOU JUST DO WHAT I SAY!"<br />
<br />
I collapsed onto my poles, hanging my head. After finally catching my breath I propped myself onto my feet and looked up at the perfectly clear night sky. A billion stars met my gaze. And, there, foremost among them, just above the horizon, shone the Big Dipper, the symbol of the very land across which I was traveling. I stood there in the center of the frozen lake, tears in my eyes, repeating to myself "look where you are, just look where you are."<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Finishing before you're done</b><br />
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<br />
The race ends in McGrath, but in some ways, making it to Nikolai felt like the biggest accomplishment. At that point, I knew I would finish even with one last, very long, day ahead. Having been on the trail for nearly a full week, there was a part of me that just wanted to stop and revel in "being out there' before it was all over. What better place to do so than in this tiny village populated with people whose ancestors have called this land home for 1000s of years? One of the negatives of these types of events is that, while you get to spend a long time covering a vast range of amazing locales, there still isn't much time for pause and reflection in situ. So it was, with a certain ambivalence, that I headed out for my final slog an hour before dawn.<br />
<br />
As the sun rose over the Kuskokwim, my spirits were up. It was a beautiful, crisp morning. I could feel the many miles on my legs, but I was happy to be moving. Despite my growing weary of the river travel earlier in the race, I was happy for the wide expanse and obvious trail allowing my mind to wander. As I approached more "civilized" locales, and as the dogsled race began to approach from behind, there was increased activity along the river. This wasn't to say it was busy. I was still pretty much completely alone taking the time to amuse my addled brain with a Braveheart yell of "Freedom!"<br />
<br />
The day was uneventful and dusk arrived before I knew it. I tried to pick up the pace hoping to get off the river before dark. I was rewarded coming upon a "10 mile" sign as I headed into the woods and then the 8 mile hand-written one specifically for our race that could not have been 2 miles from the previous one. Little did I know they were both bald-faced lies.<br />
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I was ready to "kick it in" and get this thing done, but the course went up a long and gradual climb so it was more slow slogging. Biding time and dreaming of a long night's sleep in a warm house, my mental strength began to waver. This is when the trail made a sharp turn and headed in the direction of a single red light in the distance. Like the proverbial dangling carrot, the light never seemed to come any closer. Furthermore, I could't tell whether it lay just a little ways in front of me or atop a distance hillside. It seemed to be wavering back and forth taunting me, or so I imagined. It so played with my psyche that I simply refused to look up as I ground my way up the trail, mumbling nonsense under my breath.<br />
<br />
After what seemed an eternity, the trail finally came to a "T" at a road. An actual road! Right at the intersection was a hand-written sign lying that the finish was only 2 miles away. Of course, they could have included an arrow indicating which direction to go. It was probably obvious, but in my addled state, I ran back and forth, up and down the road looking at the less than specific track on my GPS. Eventually, I noticed what looked to be some tracks in, of course, the direction of the red light. When I finally passed that blasted thing (some sort of radio tower or something), started to run.<br />
<br />
I ran on, but after more than a mile ticked off my GPS, still was not anyplace resembling a town. I slowed back to a walk. As I passed the 2 mile mark, I let a bit of frustration into my head, frustration that eventually turned to resignation. Upon finally reaching the edge of town, I dragged on expecting the finish anytime soon, but the dragging just seemed to continue. It's always the case that the last mile is the longest (especially when its much longer than a mile). Finally, just as I began to entertain images of not being able to find the finish and setting up bivy in the middle of the road, there it was.<br />
<br />
I stood for a while in front of the house in silent contemplation. How fitting that this race where I'd spent nearly every moment on the trail alone would be finished in the wee hours of the morning, everyone else nuzzled quietly inside, sleeping.<br />
<br />
I gathered my things from my sled one last time and headed in to prepare to join them.<br />
<br />
<br />
---<br />
<br />
<br />
The next morning I awoke to see Beat off on his long, long continued journey to Nome, completely unimaginable in my state of mind at the time.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGXjg6VLRmgGmzEsM_HLq5UkTBv087i27nFEDj8Gze-8-x0vqM5E1ZpKyLTwGpPDM8GcB3pj2ulj4nJyoheL-5FpxCgbkJl2MJ24ZAW26Rn-3WEFHFFLBYq9-hIuhqLqEGwp6Emg/s1600/P1000299.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGXjg6VLRmgGmzEsM_HLq5UkTBv087i27nFEDj8Gze-8-x0vqM5E1ZpKyLTwGpPDM8GcB3pj2ulj4nJyoheL-5FpxCgbkJl2MJ24ZAW26Rn-3WEFHFFLBYq9-hIuhqLqEGwp6Emg/s400/P1000299.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
One of the best things about the Iditarod Trail Invitational was spending the next few days in McGrath. After most races, even the week-long events I'd done in Europe, the aftermath is basically crash, burn and move on home. After the ITI it was an enjoyable time spent with like-minded people, sharing tales of the trail, spectating the main event of the dogsled race and immersing oneself in the culture of small town in remote Alaska in the winter. I don't ever remember having a more enjoyable post-race experience.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VWsVbIKlOWE/UTvgU6xmZFI/AAAAAAAAHk8/xj-mTeF9-2k/s1600/P1000301.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VWsVbIKlOWE/UTvgU6xmZFI/AAAAAAAAHk8/xj-mTeF9-2k/s320/P1000301.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-10467947262859398372013-10-21T07:42:00.002-07:002013-10-21T07:42:25.239-07:00The Teeter Effect<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Once more this year, work and life put running and writing in the back seat. People often talk about finding balance in life, but that state can be reached in multiple fashions. The fine, level balance of maintaining equilibrium--all things in proper measure and perspective--will never be my own. However, finding an even rhythm as things swing up or down is a more feasible goal.<br />
<br />
Summer has come and gone with two long events under my belt, but even less training and fewer overall miles than in any recent years. I've scrapped my plans for one last 100-miler before the winter season. I'll try to kick my training at least up into maintenance mode while I await and plan for the coming cold. I've a pretty big winter planned so lets see if I can get myself focused in the next month or so. Time to totter.</div>
Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-57149099988803108742013-09-17T18:16:00.001-07:002013-09-17T18:16:57.713-07:00Tales From the Frozen Tail: Food Glorious Food<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1xX6s65tg44Sh_0OF6NDkxUE7j0G80W1cBafT3pUyu39-SHaGNJ-Pd9y1YtOafgkizd-TxZyjGFZyRpYQX76pg4apkIQqilNeUxsliW-Y5mj22MWXXk5kKQ9jclW6nxcArWpAzA/s1600/778826_10151225616941436_1255284689_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1xX6s65tg44Sh_0OF6NDkxUE7j0G80W1cBafT3pUyu39-SHaGNJ-Pd9y1YtOafgkizd-TxZyjGFZyRpYQX76pg4apkIQqilNeUxsliW-Y5mj22MWXXk5kKQ9jclW6nxcArWpAzA/s640/778826_10151225616941436_1255284689_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Health food need not apply!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
On top of the mound of gear piled on my sled, the other essential component to survival out there on the trail is, of course, food. You can always melt snow for water in a pinch, but for as many as 90 miles between checkpoints the only possible food source was what I carried. Early on there were lodges where a real meal could be purchased. Food preferences by those spending time out in the remote areas of Alaska tend towards the heavy side. While this is great for calorie intake, it isn't necessarily what one would normally choose to consume during an endurance event.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HSXxIT8p1OM/UTvgK7Do3MI/AAAAAAAAHk0/HfaznEbXei8/s1600/P1000108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HSXxIT8p1OM/UTvgK7Do3MI/AAAAAAAAHk0/HfaznEbXei8/s640/P1000108.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yentna Station around mile 60</td></tr>
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That said, I did enjoy the giant cheeseburger and fries at Yentna Station. It was excellent even if it did sit in my stomach like a lump for the rest of the afternoon. Then, the next morning, reaching the Skwentna Roadhouse (mile 90), I downed a pile of biscuits and gravy along with a large sweet roll. I was fortunate that my stomach only made minor grumbles about these heavy meals. I met an Italian racer at Skwentna who was having a great deal of trouble with his stomach early on. He was a fast guy who would otherwise have been well ahead of me. The good news is that, in a race this long, there's plenty of time to deal with issues such as these. He went on to finish the full 1000 mile race.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_KeDG24g6xc/UTvgKwQZXHI/AAAAAAAAHk0/73qDF0EvjWw/s1600/P1000118.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_KeDG24g6xc/UTvgKwQZXHI/AAAAAAAAHk0/73qDF0EvjWw/s640/P1000118.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Skwentna Roadhouse, mile 90</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
These early checkpoints are working lodges with paying customers so there's no guarantee what they'll have available especially for those of us on foot at the back of the race. Even so, one of my favorite moments early in the race was a short stop at Shell Lake Cabins. It's not an official checkpoint, but racers are allowed to stop in or even rent one of the cabins. The bowl of soup and can of Coke I purchased there along with a piece of homemade smoked salmon given to me by a native woman at the bar all helped fuel me through one of the most difficult nights.<br />
<br />
At mile 120 or 130 or so, we received our first drop bag at Winterlake Lodge. However, with all the support early in the race, I didn't really need to re-fuel much as I still had a fairly hefty food supply on my sled. I started with around 10 full pounds of food and had only tapped a few of my trail snacks by that point. That would change as we headed further away from even the minimal bits of civilization found along the big frozen rivers. Another drop bag was available at Rohn, mile 210 just at the edge of the Farewell Burn. I probably should have utilized more of that one as from that point on there's only the generosity of the Petruska family as support for the remaining 140 miles of trail. Unfortunately, the items I most wanted at this point in the race were more plentiful in my initial drop. So it goes.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pyjo6DQVdVg/UTvgRIgh0rI/AAAAAAAAHk4/LCUa7m40Ul0/s1600/P1000215.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pyjo6DQVdVg/UTvgRIgh0rI/AAAAAAAAHk4/LCUa7m40Ul0/s640/P1000215.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gummy Bears Galore!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The question of what one eats during a race like the Iditarod is a common one. My food choices were driven by 3 essential factors:<br />
<ol style="text-align: left;">
<li>Calorie density - The need to pack as many calories into as little weight as possible. I found myself scouring food labels for items with maximal calorie per weight.</li>
<li>Edible while frozen - While it was possible to carry a few items unfrozen inside my clothing layers, the vast majority of my food was on the sled and therefore exposed to sub-freezing temps.</li>
<li>Quickly digestible - Food that digests quickly, gets converted into energy quickly which keeps the body generating heat; continually fueling the fires is essential.</li>
</ol>
<div>
What these 3 add up to pretty much amounts to a whole lot of junk food. Oh, I tried to have a few more "nutritious" items in my bag such as fruit leather and turkey jerky, but anyone seeing me in the checkout line when I purchased this stuff would never believe I was preparing for an athletic endeavor. While moving, my primary consumption consisted of Peanut M&Ms and Gummy Bears. Frozen Snickers were another favorite, but not as convenient to just grab and toss in the maw whenever the fancy struck. I also really enjoyed Pringles later in the race, but had some problems with them burning my mouth. Constantly sucking on foods to defrost them eventually took its toll. Tiny little abrasions along my tongue had formed and would come alive whenever I ate something salty. Not that I let it stop me.</div>
<div>
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<div>
Meeting with other racers two days before the start, I'd heard a lot of tips. One of the best was the idea of using a climbing chalk bag attached to your harness for snacks. This was nothing short of brilliant. As I mentioned above, food pretty much translates to warmth out there and keeping a steady flow of fuel coming in is the best way to keep a consistent furnace going. As the race went on, I made a concerted effort to stop and take "lunch" or "dinner" breaks. I got into a rhythm of moving for 4 hours at a time. I would find a convenient spot to stop, throw on my big jacket and sit on my sled for a 10 minutes or so while eating a slightly larger "meal". This allowed me to take in a few extra calories, as well as give my fatiguing legs a small bit of respite. It also helped provide a bit of "normalcy" to days on end dragging sled.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcxowXOQaAT4oe8gg5kZbmvFFERtXzXI3OYD_QiTmmNVNOKUzhPHDy4i3b6maOs-PSXuNTkJw4gFi00jpyVCTNEGOilLonu3ewQva1_PF8a_2CBJD22b0igU6Mws_dzVMXjYmoZw/s1600/63961_4668882395962_1730658929_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcxowXOQaAT4oe8gg5kZbmvFFERtXzXI3OYD_QiTmmNVNOKUzhPHDy4i3b6maOs-PSXuNTkJw4gFi00jpyVCTNEGOilLonu3ewQva1_PF8a_2CBJD22b0igU6Mws_dzVMXjYmoZw/s640/63961_4668882395962_1730658929_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mancakes! (photo courtesy of Tony Covarrubias)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Finally, no tale of food during the Iditarod Trail Invitational would be complete without mention of the famous Mancakes. The ITI really is a wilderness event. However, one of the things that makes it so special beyond just the remoteness is the amazing people you meet and the hospitality they show you. Nobody represents this fact more than Peter and Tracy Schneiderheinze. Not only do they house all of the racers at the finish for days at a time, but they supply them with a seemingly unending array of food. Mancakes are a sort of amazing giant, berry-filled pancake that must have been specifically designed for calorie-deprived racers having just traversed 350 miles of frozen trail. I could probably write an entire post about the few days I spent after the finish of the race and I will definitely try to cover it in later writing. However, nothing I can say will fully express what it is like being able to hang out with other racers after the finish and being taken care of the way that Peter and Tracy do.<br />
<br />
Quite frankly, the warmth and hospitality received at the finish is one of the reasons I don't feel inclined to follow this guy:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-F9N5WTZT4nQ/UTvgUzsSqaI/AAAAAAAAHk8/tPniJJ-C6FQ/s1600/P1000298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-F9N5WTZT4nQ/UTvgUzsSqaI/AAAAAAAAHk8/tPniJJ-C6FQ/s640/P1000298.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beat as he heads out from Peter and Tracy's house for another 650 miles! My race was just a warm-up for him.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</div>
Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-24142769509786570472013-08-31T19:37:00.002-07:002013-08-31T19:37:49.375-07:00Tales From the Frozen Trail: Gear<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Whenever someone hear's that I do races in Alaska during the winter, invariably, the assumption is that I must be impervious to freezing. In truth, I certainly do fair better at endurance events in the cold than in the heat, but success in an event like the <a href="http://www.alaskaultrasport.com/">Iditarod Trail Invitational</a> has very little to do with physical acclimatization. Surviving in the extremes of winter weather has much more to do equipment; having (and properly using) the right gear is much more critical to success than how your body handles the conditions.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GZ0B00rS5pw/UTvgK-s7Z7I/AAAAAAAAHk0/A1jwdw3mqSw/s1600/P1000078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GZ0B00rS5pw/UTvgK-s7Z7I/AAAAAAAAHk0/A1jwdw3mqSw/s640/P1000078.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Participants all geared up and preparing for the start</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><u>First, a word for my sponsor...</u></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.brooksrunning.com/"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfHX2aZtoAly82CvAIZqJWqfRKQGQoj3sQcR1zqiPnP3B96d0FtR9L4T3cVgDdNwbi44UpTazYeILkNd4OCK5zmoqx8XXtgtxEzde8wbdZDNHfR_L9QmqNYhIqShDN3Ocbq7LSdw/s1600/newBrooksLogo.png" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.brooksrunning.com/">Brooks</a> is a running company. Perhaps the only "pure" running company left among major sports shoe and apparel manufacturers. You won't find a pull-down menu for a list of other sports on their website. Running is all they do. I've been proud to be included in their Inspire Daily program for the past 5 years even as my passions have strayed further and further afield of the mainstream running community.<br />
<br />
The Iditarod Trail Invitation is not a running race. Towing a 50-pound sled of equipment 350 miles across the frozen Alaskan tundra, there were very few places where my pace even remotely resembled a run. However, just about everyone who attempts the race on foot opts for some form of weatherized running shoe. Beyond that, the brands of clothing and gear comprising most people's kit would be more familiar to those with a mountaineering rather than a running background.<br />
<br />
Brooks makes some wonderful clothing for running in most conditions, but they aren't a winter apparel company and certainly they don't design for the possibility of temps down to -40 fahrenheit. WIth that said, layering is a very important principle to grasp for these types of races and for me that meant my base-layers pretty much all sported the logo of my favorite running company. I actually wore up to 11 pieces of Brooks gear on my body at one time depending on conditions.<br />
<br />
The list of Brooks gear either on my body or on my sled consisted of the following (items worn for the entire race are marked with a *)<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>Adenaline GTX* shoes (1-1/2 sizes larger than normal to accommodate two pairs of socks)</li>
<li>Equilibrium Windbrief Boxer*</li>
<li>Utopia Thermal Tight*</li>
<li>Essential Run Wind Pant*</li>
<li>Silver Bullet Pant</li>
<li>ID Elite Long Sleeve*</li>
<li>Nightlife Essential Run Vest II*</li>
<li>HVAC Synergy LS 1/2 Zip*</li>
<li>Brooks Micro-fleece (this is very old and I wish they would make them again)</li>
<li>Silver Bullet Jacket</li>
<li>Utopia 2 in 1 Mitten (liner and shell)</li>
<li>Wanganui Fleece Hat </li>
<li>Brooks Balaclava</li>
</ul>
<div>
For the most part, my Brooks gear faired very well. It was often supplemented or replaced with more "serious" winter clothing when temps dropped down below zero (which wasn't too often this year). My trusty Adrenaline's held up for the full 350 miles and I loved all of my base-layer clothes. The super-light Utopia fleece inner-mitten was a particular favorite during the "warmer" parts of the race (i.e. when it got up into the teens).<br />
<br />
However, next time, there will be a few items I'll replace with more winter-specific gear. The Essential Run Wind Pant is simply not durable enough. It also requires me to carry a separate fully-waterproof rain pant in case things get wet. Also, the Silver Bullet pant is a bit heavy for the amount of insulation it provides. I will probably replace these 3 pants with a more durable rain pant and a light-weight down pant. I probably won't use the Silver Bullet Jacket again either as I prefer fleece. Unless Brooks decides to offer a micro-fleece again, I will need to go with another brand as I'm not sure my current one has another winter left in it. Also, I didn't use the light-weight balaclava as I preferred the versatility of the <a href="http://www.buffusa.com/">Buff</a> when conditions didn't require my full face mask. Other than that, I will stick with all my running gear for winter "sled-dragging" events.</div>
<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hxRxLQMHtnk/UTvgK3vHwbI/AAAAAAAAHk0/ToSWrL0XA3E/s1600/P1000126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hxRxLQMHtnk/UTvgK3vHwbI/AAAAAAAAHk0/ToSWrL0XA3E/s640/P1000126.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's good to have many gear options. This was a case were my face was cold, but my body was not.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I suppose I could go on, iterating the rest of the non-Brooks clothing I used as well as all the other gear and brands. I will try to at least go touch upon most of my essential items and how well they served me, but I prefer telling stories to making lists. So, I'll try to share a few tales related to my gear. There's a tendency to develop a certain relationship with some of your key pieces of equipment out there. Sometimes you love it. Sometimes, not so much. Sometimes, you'd swear the gear feels the same way back and is intent on letting just what it thinks.<br />
<br />
I'll start at the bottom. I mentioned in an earlier post that I started the race wearing my <a href="http://kahtoola.com/">Kahtoola</a> microspikes and left them on too long. My toes hurt after this. It didn't become a problem, but it was enough of a concern at such an early point in the event that I think it drove me to make some bad decisions later on. Instead of allowing my evaluation of the trail conditions dictate my footwear choices, I became reluctant to go with anything other than just bare shoes. I spent quite a bit of time in some mushy snow debating with myself whether I should don my snowshoes while moving became more and more difficult.<br />
<br />
Much later in the race, heading into the Farewell Burn it was very icy. I made it up one gradual ice slope without spikes and then on the next took a hard fall banging my knee and messing up one of my trekking poles that was already in tenuous working order. Then, again, after taking the spikes off, I hit a small ice patch, slipped and landed with my hand in a puddle of overflow. The only saving grace was that I had just donned my big <a href="http://www.outdoorresearch.com/en">Outdoor Research</a> Meteor Mitt shells which kept me from getting wet. The spikes really do work great especially in any sort of slippery conditions, but I just can't wear them for long periods of time without feeling some toe pinch.<br />
<br />
I would probably ditch the spikes and just use snowshoes if I could. The <a href="http://atlassnowshoe.com/">Atlas</a> Race models are great shoes: super lightweight, good flotation, and easy movement on both flat and moderately graded climbs. However, they are designed for racing which means for leaving on your feet. The bindings are pretty secure, but are not designed for easy on-and-off, at least not for me. I can barely fit the size 12 shoes I use for winter racing into these even with an extender for the heel strap. Going up Rainy pass I became so frustrated trying to get them on that I just strapped them back on my sled and didn't touch them again until hitting a patch of super-soft "sugar snow" in the final stretch. At that point I discovered that part of the binding was actually broken.<br />
<br />
Next year I will definitely look for a different system. If I could find a pair of snowshoes that are easy-on/easy-off and reasonably lightweight then I think I would go with that alone. Not everything on my feet faired poorly. As I said, the Gore-Tex on my Adrenalines kept them dry and my sock choices kept them warm. I always tend to carry too many pairs of socks for these types of events, but I'm sure if I ever accidentally get wet feet I won't regret it. I generally go with a 2-pair system using either <a href="http://www.injinji.com/">Injinji</a> or <a href="http://www.smartwool.com/">Smartwool</a> base-layer socks and thicker Smartwool socks on top. However, my friend Beat turned me on to using fleece socks and I am absolutely sold. Not only are the <a href="http://www.acorn.com/">Acorn</a> socks I used light and warm, they feel like soft, cushy goodness on your feet.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QDimnWp7N8A/UTvgKycXhyI/AAAAAAAAHk0/ad5lfdxmDQU/s1600/P1000166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QDimnWp7N8A/UTvgKycXhyI/AAAAAAAAHk0/ad5lfdxmDQU/s640/P1000166.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not all my gear worked out just right.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Other than my lightweight shell pants that tore around the crotch (and were brilliantly repaired with some <a href="http://www2.dupont.com/Tyvek_Weatherization/en_US/products/residential/resi_seam_tape.html">Tyvek Tape</a>), most of my clothing worked out well. However, none of it was truly tested in the extreme cold. The second morning in The Burn was, maybe, down to about -12F when I put on my thick pants, but they didn't last long as both I and the day warmed up quickly. Up top I wore as many as 5 layers with my trusty Outdoor Research Gore-Tex Pro shell on the outside when necessary. The thing is bomb-proof and has pit-zips that go all the way from arms to waist. It's an excellent feature, but one you need to be careful of if you're in the habit of stuffing other gear inside your jacket!<br />
<br />
The gear choices up top didn't quite work out as well. My <a href="http://www.mountainhardwear.com/">Mountain Hardware</a> Windstopper fleece cap performed great when it was too cold or windy for the lighter Brooks cap (or after it escaped out the back of my jacket pit-zips). If the wind kicked up harder, I needed to protect my face and I'd used the <a href="http://www.seirus.com/splash.html">Seirus</a> Ultra Clava in past, but seemed to have endless fitting issues during the ITI. Part of the problem was my own. My face tends to stay relatively warm, but my prodigious nose is fairly susceptible to frost burn so I tend to constantly adjust my face protection, pulling it down, putting it back on, etc.. I had an even bigger issue with my goggles, I simply couldn't keep them from frosting over or staying on straight. I even had a full-on melt-down with them at one point. I've been told by those more experienced that the best solution is a fur ruff sewn into the hood of my jacket. One racer gave me the scoop that if you don't want to buy a new, trapped-animal fur you can often find an old, used fur or jacket with a fur ruff. I may need start hitting up the <a href="http://youtu.be/QK8mJJJvaes">thrift shops</a>.<br />
<br />
My final bit of gear failure were my trekking poles. The <a href="http://blackdiamondequipment.com/">Black Diamond</a> Ultra-Distance Z-Poles are a mouthful to say, but are absolutely fabulous for rough trails. Super-lightweight and easy to fold and stow, they've become a mainstay in my kit when fast-packing or trail-running in Europe. They are adequate for use in the snow, but aren't the most sturdy poles. I actually went into the race with one pole in only semi-working order which was a bad idea. My ice-slide on The Burn left me with one working pole for the remainder of the race. There's a rhythm I tend to develop with my poles and losing one was a bit of a mental setback as well as a physical one. I will probably buy another pair of these poles if I can find them on discount. However, I was again given some advice from a race veteran. The added length of cross-country ski poles supposedly gives a bit more "kick" when dragging a sled. I'll be looking into that during my preparation leading up to next year's race.<br />
<br />
Finally, no report on gear use would be complete without talking about my sled. There is a sort of love-hate relationship you develop with your sled out there. Since it carries all your emergency equipment, food and extra clothing, your life basically depends on that piece of gear working right. At times, its like an anchor holding you back, at others its literally races you downhill. I used a 4' race pulk from <a href="http://www.northernsledworks.com/">Northern Sled Works</a> made of extremely lightweight and durable <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ultra-high-molecular-weight_polyethylene">UHMW</a>. This is about the best you can buy for this type of event, in my opinion. Some races acquire the material themselves and construct their own. This was attached to my body via a harness acquired from <a href="http://skipulk.com/">skipulk.com</a> via a custom-made pole system constructed by my buddy Beat. The harness needed some adjustment, but I liked the versatility. There aren't a lot of climbs in the ITI, but a chest-harness makes pulling uphill a breeze.<br />
<br />
There was a lot more gear on my sled that I didn't mention above and there's a non-exhaustive list below. The one thing I do hope to do next season is to spend more time training with my full gear setup in conditions closer approximating those of the race. For me, this means deciding if I want to sign up for the <a href="http://www.arrowheadultra.com/">Arrowhead 135</a> again as a "training race". It <a href="http://mountain-man-steve.blogspot.com/2012/08/white-line-fever.html">wasn't my favorite race</a> back when I did it and it is only a month before the ITI. However, it would be the best full test of gear and my own preparation.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8inph1Mk1rE/UTvgU8HAqEI/AAAAAAAAHk8/bEnhLPeHY9c/s1600/P1000294.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8inph1Mk1rE/UTvgU8HAqEI/AAAAAAAAHk8/bEnhLPeHY9c/s640/P1000294.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking back at my sled loaded with gear along the final stretch of the Kuskokwim River </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
List of (some) gear not mentioned above<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://marmot.com/">Marmot</a> Cwm Membrain -40F sleeping bag</li>
<li><a href="http://www.cascadedesigns.com/therm-a-rest">Therm-a-rest</a> Ridgerest SOlite sleeping pad</li>
<li><a href="http://www.rei.com/">REI</a> Minimalist bivy sack</li>
<li><a href="http://www.cascadedesigns.com/msr">MSR</a> Wisperlite stove</li>
<li>MSR canister of white fuel</li>
<li>Waterproof matches</li>
<li>Firestarter</li>
<li>Wistle</li>
<li>Red flashing light for sled</li>
<li>Reflective tape for sled</li>
<li><a href="http://www.fenixgear.com/">Fenix</a> HP20 Headlamp</li>
<li>Black Diamond Storm headlamp</li>
<li><a href="http://www.petzl.com/us">Petzl</a> E+Lite emergency backup headlamp</li>
<li>Medical kit</li>
<li>Blister kit</li>
<li><a href="https://www.2toms.com/sportshield/">2 Toms Sportsheild</a> foot powder</li>
<li><a href="http://www.julbousa.com/">Julbo</a> Sunglasses</li>
<li>Bungee cords to hold bag on sled</li>
<li><a href="http://www.eaglecreek.com/">Eagle Creek</a> No Matter What duffel XL</li>
<li><a href="http://www.leatherman.com/">Leatherman</a> Juice multi-tool</li>
<li>Duct Tape</li>
</ul>
Along with all of this (and whatever I missed), my sled was loaded with plenty of food, but that is a subject for another post. I never weighed it fully loaded, but when I had to fly back to Anchorage from the finish I did have to way my duffel which contained nearly all of my gear minus my food and it was well over 40lbs. I am guessing that the full thing was upwards of 50. I'd like to target a bit lower weight without sacrificing safety or too much comfort the next time I attempt this race.<br /><ul>
</ul>
Summer's not yet officially over, but I need to start planning my winter season soon.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-44627365542301083082013-08-09T18:22:00.000-07:002013-08-09T18:22:27.803-07:00Tales From The Frozen Trail: Sleep<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Anyone who's ever done a 100-miler knows that sleep can be a constant combatant. The rule of thumb for most is to just push through it perhaps sneaking a brief catnap. However, when participating in events that continue for multiple days on end, sleep becomes not just a necessity, but a crucial aspect of the plan.<br />
<br />
In the races I'd completed in the Alps the previous two years (Tor des Geants and Le Petite Trot du Leon), we basically got by with as little sleep as possible. 2-3 hours a night with an additional 20-30 minute nap trailside during the day allowed us to keep shuffling along and finish in a state of utter exhaustion. While these events occasionally delved into remote mountains, they were far from wilderness adventures. Also, we were generally travelled in teams or were near other participants the entire time.<br />
<br />
By its very nature, the Iditarod Trail Invitational includes a significant factor of objective risk. Simply being in that environment in the middle of winter requires maintaining one's wits. Skimping on sleep is not just a bad idea, it can be downright life-threatening, especially for someone new to the trail. With that said, it was pretty unlikely that I would be able to plan and execute my sleep schedule ahead of time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zR4Lmg2yQ4U/UTvgK7okG8I/AAAAAAAAHk0/-mHAiCZfWw4/s1600/P1000104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zR4Lmg2yQ4U/UTvgK7okG8I/AAAAAAAAHk0/-mHAiCZfWw4/s640/P1000104.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking sleepy early on, but it quickly faded at nightfall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><u>First Night</u></b></div>
<br />
After meeting my trail savior, Cookie, we travelled together for a little while, crossing Flathorn Lake and the barren Dismal Swamp. Cookie opted to take his night's bivy at the far end of the swamp where there was a small bit of woods offering shelter just before the famous "Wall of Death" descent onto the Susitna River. This was an excellent plan and there were a number of other racers, including my buddy Beat, already nestled warmly in their bags at this spot. I decided to keep going.<br />
<br />
I knew even then that this was not the best strategy. I also knew that there was no way I would be able to sleep if I stopped at that time on the first night. It was the middle of the night and I am almost always most tired just before dawn. The weather was still relatively mild and I was feeling good so I continued down onto the river. I figured I'd catch a bit of sleep later on if necessary then hopefully push to the first checkpoint at The Skwentna Roadhouse.<br />
<br />
I was enjoying the nice night on the expansive river. I remembered this section well from Susitna. Still, I managed to follow some bike tracks the wrong way back across river before realizing they were actually a shortcut coming from the other direction. It's at this point that I realized I was going to need to stop and rest soon. However, one of the rules of the trail is not to sleep on the river. It's exposed, generally the coldest spot around and, especially in these early miles, is travelled by fast-moving snow-machines. I was approaching the confluence of the Susitna and Yetna rivers where I hoped I might find some bit of snowy protection alongside the river.<br />
<br />
Shortly after turning onto the Yetna, I noticed two sleds with bags spread out next to them which I recognized as Tim and Laureen Hewitt, two of the most experienced foot racers in the event. If they had decided this spot was good enough then who was I to argue. I stopped a little ways past and setup my first bivy on the Iditarod trail. I managed maybe an hour's real sleep before sunrise. With the sun came other racers passing by and I even recognized Beat's voice. I made a sleepy, stumbling attempt to get my sled packed and head back out on the river.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CchUrwMjLp8/UTvgK5WeM6I/AAAAAAAAHk0/6vXhGXaHkW4/s1600/P1000106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CchUrwMjLp8/UTvgK5WeM6I/AAAAAAAAHk0/6vXhGXaHkW4/s640/P1000106.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chilly morning after the first night</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><u>Night 2</u></b></div>
<br />
I think the story of my sleeping during the Iditarod is ultimately one of timing. Regardless of my lack of sleepiness that first night, I would've been better off stopping earlier where the other racers were camped. As it was, I got maybe an hour of sleep, took too much time getting going in the morning and really didn't cover much distance through the night. I knew I'd be between checkpoints the second night, but there was a private cabin owner who opened her door to racers about 10 miles or so before the 3rd checkpoint. Leaving Yetna Station in the afternoon, I figured I'd be able to make it to the cabin. The problem was that I had no idea where the cabin was.<br />
<br />
In the relatively early miles along the river, there are many cabins along the banks. Relative to the more remote trails in the latter part of the race, the rivers are bustling with activity and life. To put this in perspective this basically means that you'd see a plane fly overhead or some snow-machines drive by once or twice an hour during the day. At night, it was basically empty, just me following snow-machine tracks along the white expanse of the frozen river. By the second night, I'd basically fallen into a gap between a handful of racers behind me and everyone else in front of me so I travelled alone. This would remain mostly unchanged for the duration of the event.<br />
<br />
The rivers don't offer much variety in scenery and can become a bit monotonous especially when sleepiness begins to creep in after dark. At one point I came to an offshoot in the tracks that led towards what looked to be a collection of cabins and/or lodges. There was a sign about food and fuel, but nothing indicating that the cabin we could use was in that direction. It was a significant detour so I continued along the river. As I went on, becoming more and more tired, I became convinced that I had passed the cabin. Eventually, staring at the snow-machine tracks beneath my headlamp became almost unbearable. I was having trouble keeping my eyes open so I started scanning the banks for a good place to set up a bivy. Eventually, I gave up looking for a good place and settled for an acceptable one.<br />
<br />
Off the main tracks and nestled in soft snow, I actually slept fairly well. I awoke at first light and managed a relatively efficient sled packing before getting underway. I probably could have used a little more sleep, but I wanted to make the Skwentna Roadhouse for breakfast so I could get a full day of travel towards the checkpoint after that. I was on trail for maybe 1/2 mile before encountering the sign directing towards the rest cabin. So, the first night I went to sleep too late, the second just a bit too early.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdXth4vOlmoOX7tddN_zzuhrDNlOWqhkXGRlXMiUjifr544_MZ-vbodyaN0SF6dJttX3Cr8HrIfs8YSc2hZl0bfVAN6K_7AxrESj1L38tR3gCUSJCU1S2j7J7RnkRAknJ2AIKW5Q/s1600/P1000116.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdXth4vOlmoOX7tddN_zzuhrDNlOWqhkXGRlXMiUjifr544_MZ-vbodyaN0SF6dJttX3Cr8HrIfs8YSc2hZl0bfVAN6K_7AxrESj1L38tR3gCUSJCU1S2j7J7RnkRAknJ2AIKW5Q/s640/P1000116.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><u>The Long Night</u></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I was determined to spend the next night in a cabin. Winterlake Lodge would be our first drop bag location so it was set in my mind. Unfortunately, for some reason, I also had a distance of 120 miles set in my mind. The Lodge was around 130. The day went well, the night did not. It dragged on. I kept checking the GPS over and over. It felt as though rather than my destination coming closer, my pace was just continually slowing.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
When I left Skwentna, I had imagined making the next checkpoint by midnight. I later re-assessed that estimate to 1am. Both those times came and went before I was anywhere near my destination. The waypoint on the GPS was labeled Finger Lake which is where the lodge is located. It seemed to be just a couple miles ahead, but the trail wasn't going in that direction. Inexperience paid its tolls here as I slowed more and more. Stopping multiple times, but continuing to push towards that dot on my GPS.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Eventually, I went past it as the GPS track is really more an approximation and a tool to keep from getting completely lost than an exact path to follow. I didn't know how much further to the lodge, but I knew it was close. By the time I rolled in it was somewhere between 3 and 4 am in the morning. Other racers were already preparing to head out as I prepared to sleep. I'd wasted a lot of time on the trail moving at a crawl. The only saving grace was that I had my pick of bunks as everyone but Loreen Hewitt had left the cabin by the time I crawled into my sack.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I didn't want to shift my patterns to be much later in the day so I knew I was only going to get a few hours sleep. From that point on, I resolved that if I wasn't within an hour of a cabin by 11pm, I would bivy on trail.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dvEVYhLOCLY/UTvgK3Ve9ZI/AAAAAAAAHk0/Gs5lQx0g1r8/s1600/P1000141.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dvEVYhLOCLY/UTvgK3Ve9ZI/AAAAAAAAHk0/Gs5lQx0g1r8/s640/P1000141.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">During the long night.</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><u>A Good Night ... sortof</u></b><br />
<b><u><br /></u></b></div>
As bad as my night drag to Finger Lake was, my day heading to Rainy Pass Lodge more than made up for it. Not only did I have a great time along the Happy River section which is traditionally one of the most challenging bits of trail, I also made excellent time. Late afternoon I passed the Hewitts napping trail-side when the thought of sleep was nowhere in my mind. As an aside, I must mention that being anywhere near "the master" Tim Hewitt on the trail was a privilege offered only because he was not just tackling the full 1000 mile trail (again), but also doing so self-supported, carrying all of his gear and food for the entire trip!<br />
<br />
At any rate, by nightfall, I was prepared to put my new rule about not pushing through the unknown miles to a checkpoint into play. I was pleasantly surprised to see the distance on my GPS to the checkpoint marked so close when it was still relatively early. I was even more pleasantly surprised when I could see a light in the distance right where the lodge was supposed to be. It was late enough, but not so late that I wouldn't be able to get a good amount of sleep. I planned an early start for the next morning as the rule was to get started up and over Rainy Pass before sunrise. We were about to head into the true wilderness sections of the course. Having bad timing and losing one's wits in "out there" was not just problematic, it was potentially life-threatening.<br />
<br />
Rainy Pass Lodge is a fully-functioning lodge on the edge of the Alaskan Wilderness. However, our cabin was a small, primitive structure reminiscent of an alpine emergency shelter. One consequence of making such good time over the section leading to the cabin was that I caught up to the bulk of people ahead of me. The cabin was overflowing with bike and foot racers. Every bunk was occupied, people were sleeping in chairs and on the floor. I thought about staying outside, but the toasty fire burning in the stove was just far too inviting. I pulled my sleeping bundle into the cabin and slide it underneath one of the beds where someone was sleeping.<br />
<br />
Lying on the hard wooden floor of a cabin packed with people beneath a bed with 3 inches of space above one's head is not a formula for a restful night of sleep. I would say that I tossed-and-turned, but there wasn't enough room for that so I just sort of twisted and slide through a couple restless hours. Luckily, I didn't have to wait too long for a bunk to open up. Even though I'd caught up, I was still clearly just "off the back of the peleton."<br />
<br />
All in all, it was a good night and allowed me to execute on the pre-dawn start up the pass.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDOm3XLODp_3dT52qGQPlOF9z-6wq3SVHceZSPLsCc43jXQTibz5PZWrs08MeEixuRjmYksoprah4v01I7SqmUrUcyEwo-z6PdXHQC5ipkz9bsC-YEoVMJm6RbvZdkAIs9Jb6qZg/s1600/P1000165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDOm3XLODp_3dT52qGQPlOF9z-6wq3SVHceZSPLsCc43jXQTibz5PZWrs08MeEixuRjmYksoprah4v01I7SqmUrUcyEwo-z6PdXHQC5ipkz9bsC-YEoVMJm6RbvZdkAIs9Jb6qZg/s640/P1000165.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading up Rainy Pass in the snow...Tim Hewitt up ahead.</td></tr>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><u>The Rohn Sanctuary</u></b><br />
<b><u><br /></u></b></div>
Going up and over Rainy Pass is one of the major highlights of the Iditarod Trail. This is where you truly head "into the wild" as the remote mountain pass is perilous even for travel by plane. There is so much I can (and will) share about this section, but it will have to wait for later posts. This is about sleep. As beautiful and remote as this part of the trail was, the last thing I wanted was to spend the night in it.<br />
<br />
Coming out of the canyon at the end of the pass, night was falling and temperatures were dropping fast. I felt as though I was making a narrow escape from an growing ice box. I turned onto the river just as things went dark and my headlamp died out. Not wanting to stop and deal with changing batteries I tried to use my somewhat awkward Knuckle Lights which didn't really work with my big gloves. Luckily, the river section didn't last too long and I turned into the woods leading to Rohn.<br />
<br />
Rohn really is just as described "just a spot on the map" with a cabin and an airstrip. I knew that it mainly exists for the dogsled race, but seeing the sign with instructions to "slow down" still gave me quite a laugh. The cabin is also for the dogsledders so our race had a canvas tent setup nearby. As I came in Beat and a couple others were heading out. There's limited space in the tent so people are kicked out as new people show up. These guys were going to bivy further up trail, but I was lucky as I knew there was a nice gap between me and the next batch of racers behind.<br />
<br />
There were two other people in the tent with room for four. It was primitive, but with a wood-burning stove and a sleeping area lined with pine boughs it both smelled and felt like absolute heavan. Climbing into my warm bag, I thought about how easy it would be to simply end the race right here. With the longest unsupported section ahead, it wasn't a thought I could afford to dwell upon. I tried to focused on the 200 miles already behind me and the incredible sense of coziness as I drifted off for the night.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MVrlshwHc3o/UTvgRLC8fWI/AAAAAAAAHk4/97pXqkrIQ24/s1600/P1000211.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MVrlshwHc3o/UTvgRLC8fWI/AAAAAAAAHk4/97pXqkrIQ24/s640/P1000211.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading out onto scary ice and into The Burn the next morning</td></tr>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><u>Nowhere</u></b></div>
<br />
I made an early, dark, cold and somewhat scary start out of Rohn, crossing a slick and creaky frozen river in the pre-dawn hours while my mind was barely out of dreamland. This was the beginning of the section leading into the Farewell Burn. "The Burn" is a desolate section of trail traversing land that was ravaged by Alaska's largest wildfire in the late 1970s. It's also the longest stretch we would cover without a checkpoint, 80+ miles of lonely wilderness trail. The only life I would encounter on this entire section consisted of a few planes flying overhead at random intervals.<br />
<br />
A shelter cabin was available about 50 miles after leaving Rohn and about 1 mile off trail. Even though I'd left before first light, I doubted I would be able to make it that far given the miles I already had on my legs. I was hours away when night fell so began looking for any sort of protection in which to set my bivy. Despite the decades since the fire, the woods were relatively small and sparse. I settled for a minimal stand of scraggly trees, bedding down just beneath the sign indicating 10 miles to the cabin.<br />
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The snow was a bit soft and uncomfortable as some tree-roots made for an uneven bivy-hole. However, I slept quickly and deeply. It was a lucky thing too since I would learn much later from some racers who were up ahead at the time that a pack of wolves was moving down trail in my direction in the middle of the night. As it was, I didn't wake until nearly light and I had to drag myself out of the bag. Not only was I sleeping well, but it was also the coldest morning of the race. Mild by Farewell Burn standards, -12F is still not all that conducive to crawling out of a warm sleeping bag.<br />
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<b><u>Last Night</u></b></div>
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On the far side of The Burn was Nokolai, an Athabaskan village that would be our last stop before the final stretch. In the village racers were welcomed into the home of Nick and Olene Petruska. It's impossible to explain how it felt to be invited into the warmth of someone's house after so many long and lonely hours on the trail. On top of that, this was the first time that I could allow myself to consider that I was actually going to finish. Suffice it to say that even thinking about it now, wells me up a bit inside.</div>
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After wandering the village following my GPS in order to find the house at the far side of the airstrip, I snuck in quietly as it was late. The main room was empty upon my entering, but a clothes line near the fire lined with racer garments indicated that others were inside. I didn't know what rooms were available for sleeping racers and I didn't want to disturb anyone so I just setup in the living room. Apparently, the Petruska's had a new puppy who, upon seeing me bounded in my direction to the edge of his leash. He then proceeded to whine while I tried to sleep as I had placed my bag just outside his reach on the floor.Eventually Nick got up to quiet the pup and welcome me before I drifted off to sleep.<br />
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A couple hours later the other racers inside, including Beat, got up to head out and I moved into a bunk bed in what must have been a child's room at one time. I slept peacefully for a few more hours before rising. There was a computer in the living room where I logged in and briefly posted a facebook update before Nick was up offering to make me breakfast. I drank coffee while Nick searched around for bacon and I insisted he not go to any trouble. In the end, the simple matter of toast and egg never tasted so good. The hospitality he showed made heading out onto the trail both difficult and encouraging at the same time.</div>
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I headed out onto the trail after a bit more wandering (and retrieving a dropped trekking pole from the night before). It was a 50 mile stretch to McGrath and the finish, but I was going to make it in a single push no matter what. The finish line was ahead and, for once, sleep could wait.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The final stretch on a frosty morning.</td></tr>
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Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-35594657592477065622013-07-19T20:55:00.000-07:002013-07-19T20:55:03.177-07:00Tales From the Frozen Trail: Losing It<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The early miles of the race had a nice, familiar feel since it was not too far from the start of the Susitna 100. My sense of time was a bit off, but it didn't matter much as I was happy strolling along near the back of the race. The first checkpoint wasn't until mile 60. Starting in the afternoon pretty much guaranteed me a night on the trail. There was one option to stop at Flathorn Lake (mile 30), but I knew there was no way I would be able to sleep that first night until I reached exhaustion. Flathorn wasn't an official ITI stop (like it was in Susitna), but the owners were kind enough to put out some water allowing for a mid-point refill before our first checkpoint.<br />
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There were a few challenges in those first 30 miles mostly due to somewhat mushy trail conditions. I started in my microspikes and left them on a bit long. Then, later, waited too long to put my snowshoes on when the trail became really bad just after the Nome sign. I kept them on up through Flathorn as there was evidence of overflow around the lake. Overflow is one of the biggest concerns in Alaskan winter travel as getting one's feet wet in sub-freezing temperatures can be quite dire. My feet felt stayed dry, but I had just a slight soreness from the spikes earlier. I was happy for the opportunity to stop and sort a few things out while refilling my hydration bladder.<br />
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It was a beautiful night so I didn't have to worry about immediate freeze when removing layers to get at my hydration pack. I took my time filling and grabbing a quick snack from my sled. Then, as I swung the pack back onto my back a few things fell out of the side pocket. Apparently, I had failed to zip it up at the start. I gathered my things from the snow and proceed to put them away when I noticed something was missing. Something critical.<br />
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The Iditarod Trail Invitational has checkpoints along the way and you do get drop bags around mile 130 and mile 210. The rest of the checkpoints are at working winter lodges where food and rest are available for purchase. Also, you have to purchase a flight back to Anchorage after the finish or in the event you need to drop at one of the earlier checkpoints. As you might imagine, I am mentioning all of this because what was missing from my pack was the zip-bag containing all of my cash, credit cards and ID. Not good.<br />
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I searched all over near the water jugs, hoping that it had dropped out along with the other things as I was putting it on. No such luck. It's hard to explain how I felt upon realizing my mistake. To screw up so badly, so early on was just crushing. I tried to think what to do. I could simply walk up to the cabin at Flathorn, call it in at mile 30 and beg for someone to help me get back to Anchorage. But, was that any worse than just going on? Besides, there was the (slight) possibility that I'd left it at the start and someone could send it forward or the (even less likely) possibility that someone would find it on the trail and return it. The fact that there were only 4 people behind me in the race made this last change a pretty remote one, but desperate times call for desperate hope.<br />
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I thought if I could catch up to my friend Beat at the next checkpoint, he might lend me a little cash for food on the trail. At the finish, my situation would really be no different than it was right now. I'd have to find some way to pay for a return trip to Anchorage. The biggest immediate problem was just continuing on my massive undertaking with this black cloud over my head. I strapped on my sled and continued up trail, trying hard not to let my mood spiral too far down into the pit. It was hard. I imagined the responses as I'd have to tell my story over and over to other racers, volunteers and various lodge owners. I was certain they's agree with the sentiment that was filling my own mind which was that I had no business out here being so disorganized.<br />
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Not more than a few 100 yards up trail, I saw a light coming from the right out of the woods. There was another, more direct trail option that bypassed the water stop at Flathorn. I figured it was someone else in the race taking this option. It looked like, I'd get to tell my tale sooner than I thought. As the other racer descended onto the lake, I made my greetings. It was Howard "Cookie" Cook, an ITI veteran from the UK. He asked what was available at the stop I'd just left and I told him only water. Then came the inevitable question. <br />
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Cookie: "So, how are you doing?"<br />
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Me: "Well, I was doing pretty well until I just realized I lost my ID and all my money somewhere out on the trail."<br />
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In response, Cookie reached into his bag, pulled out a zip-bag and said: "You mean this?"<br />
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After a few moments of stunned pause, I blurted out "Don't take this the wrong way, but I could kiss you right now!"<br />
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And, so began my adventure on the Iditarod Trail. Beat often tells the story of his "good trail karma" when a dropped camera was returned to him by a snow-machine rider during last years ITI. However, I was pretty sure I'd topped that quite a bit with this. I only hoped that I hadn't used up all my good karma so early on. I hadn't even covered 10% of this race yet.<br />
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In fact, this wouldn't be the last thing I'd drop out on the trail. A fleece hat would slip from my jacket on the Happy Isle Steps (never to be seen again), a glove shell would be blown from my sled heading up Rainy Pass (also returned by another race) and I'd drop one of my trekking poles just outside the village of Nikolai (retrieved by me the next morning). Each time I swore and chastised myself for my clumsiness and lack of focus. However, at one point a very experienced veteran told me he'd dropped so much stuff in his first race that he felt like he was having a yard sale on the Iditarod. That made me feel a little better.<br />
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In the end, I guess it's all just part of the learning process of the Iditarod Trail Invitational, but the idea of losing a critical piece of gear on the trail stayed with me for much of the race. So much depends on having the right gear for the conditions that you really can't afford to lose it.<br />
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There are worse things to lose on the trail than your money I suppose...<br />
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Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-86481907690125662362013-07-17T18:30:00.000-07:002013-07-17T18:30:05.787-07:00Reset<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Here it is, the middle of summer and I've yet to make any progress reporting on my "Great Winter Adventure" beyond the initial outline I threw together right after the race. Such bold plans I had to whip it out and not turn writing the report into as epic an undertaking as finishing the race. Sure I've been through at least one major life event since then, but truthfully it is all settled now. I've no real excuse for my lack of progress. After recently re-visiting my initial draft, I think I know why I've had such trouble filling it in and it's not just because I'm a lazy bastard.<br />
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Despite my best effort to approach the report as "just highlights (and lowlights)", once I started the writing, it inevitably slipped into the standard race report format. Instead of diving into the interesting bits, I was mired in a linear telling of many mundane details guided by what photos I'd taken along the way. I find the standard race report format to be rather uninspiring and a completely inadequate structure to describe the most inspiring event I've yet to undertake. Of course, one could easily argue that attempting to provide any sense of what the ITI in writing is likely a doomed attempt from the start. Also, given my history with overly verbose race reports, it would likely take well beyond next year's event for me to complete.<br />
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This was precisely the situation I had hoped to avoid. All I want is to share some "tales from the trail," to give at least some hints of what I went through out there. So, here goes, I am going to restart without any constraints or expectations on myself, just a serious of stories from my Iditarod Trail Invitational race.<br />
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Totally incomplete, only vaguely linear, wholly inadequate, but hopefully somewhat entertaining:<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Tales From the Frozen Trail</span></b></div>
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To start things off, and to set the mood, I'm going to dump a few random thoughts and photos that started my draft report.<br />
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There were many things I had to learn when I first started runnin ultra-marathons such as focusing on just going from aid-station to aid-station rather than the full distance of the race.<br />
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In the Iditarod Trail Invitational the distances between checkpoints were each as long as an ultra, some close to 100 miles.<br />
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In ultras I also had to learn to stop counting miles and begin counting the hours.<br />
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In the ITI, I had to stop counting hours and begin counting the days.<br />
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Ironically, I discovered, the days were often measured in miles.<br />
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<b>It begins:</b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Starting behind "The Man" Dave Johnson<br /></td></tr>
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<b>Sharing the trail with some fellow athletes:</b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jill out to catch up with Beat</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amy out for a ride</td></tr>
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<b>Night falls and I make it to the famous Nome Sign:</b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vLBG8tYLQ5Q/UTvgK6NlhkI/AAAAAAAAHk0/LQX8Wkh6ckQ/s1600/P1000100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vLBG8tYLQ5Q/UTvgK6NlhkI/AAAAAAAAHk0/LQX8Wkh6ckQ/s640/P1000100.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheezin' and looking gruff</td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">. . .</span></b></div>
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Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-56684024438023387202013-05-28T19:48:00.001-07:002013-05-28T19:48:09.803-07:00Un-pause<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Between the tone of my last two posts and the utter lack of activity since, I can imagine this blog has appeared left for dead. In truth, I've made little progress on my ITI Race report, though intent is still there and I'm hopeful of posting at least a first chapter soon. Since the race, I've been in the midst of one of those major life changing events. As way of explanation, I offer the image above. In a few short weeks this will be pretty much the view I get to enjoy about 1/2 mile into my evening runs from my new home in San Francisco.<br />
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That's right. Mountain Man Steve is moving to The City! While I grew up in "the country," I've pretty much spent the entirety of my adult life in the suburbs. It's time for a change. My current residence does put me close to the vast trail options of the SF Peninsula, but I still generally have to drive to the trailhead and at home, it's basically the 'burbs.<br />
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I've never lived in a major city and I'm really looking forward to it: exploring the urban landscape on foot, taking public transit to work and--oh yeah--the awesome Marin Headlands just the other side of the bridge as my new playground.<br />
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Oddly enough, it was during the final stretch of the ITI, someplace between Nikolai and McGrath, Alaska dragging my sled along the frozen Kuskokwim River, where the decision was made.<br />
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I have managed to fit in some runs and races in-between the stresses of finding and purchasing a condo in a majorly heating real estate market. Granted, I've been completely under-trained and offered up pretty sub-par performances at both <a href="http://www.quicksilver-running.com/#!50k--50m-races/cp7p">Quicksilver 50m</a> and the <a href="http://www.coastaltrailruns.com/hl_horseshoe_lake.html">Horseshoe Lake 50K</a>, but neither of those are unfamiliar conditions for me. Good thing, too since these were essentially training runs for my next race which I'll enter with similar preparation and expecting similar results. <a href="http://bryce100.wordpress.com/">The Bryce 100 Trail Run</a>, starts at 8000ft and rarely drops much lower as it traverses 18,000ft of climb and descent. Since I'll be moving, quite literally, to live at sea level, sucking air at altitude seems like a good way to commemorate the event. It's also my good buddy Beat's birthday so I'll be joined by a group of friends to <strike>suffer</strike> struggle in camaraderie.<br />
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Oh, and there will apparently also be some pretty nice views there too.<br />
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Here's looking forward to all the new adventures to come!</div>
Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-9640255731936941222013-04-03T07:55:00.000-07:002013-04-03T07:55:21.197-07:00Stalled<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My motivation for running sits at an all-time low. Usually after a big event I take some down time after which the simple joys of running return to me, trotting along free from plans or expectations. In truth, I've had some good runs on the weekends enjoying familiar trails through the redwoods or along coastal bluffs. However, life has gotten busy for various reasons and squeezing in runs during the week has not just become logistically difficult, it has seemed almost distasteful. Running just to get in the miles or, even worse, the idea of "training" fail to provide the impetus to get me out the door even with the knowledge that I'll probably feel better after. There are a few events already on my docket in the coming months and I know they will be much more enjoyable the better shape I am in so I'll have to get off my butt just to avoid turning them into suffer-fests. Still, I am finding it difficult to contemplate any run that doesn't have something inspiring to offer me.<br />
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Perhaps what I need is just to go for a very long walk...<br />
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On that note, I have just sent out my application for the 2014 <a href="http://www.alaskaultrasport.com/race_info.html">Iditarod Trail Invitational</a>. At least I know, another "real" adventure is less than a year away!</div>
Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-21301433480469564212013-03-12T21:19:00.000-07:002013-03-12T21:28:28.187-07:00Daylight<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Daylight savings time coincided with my return from Alaska making my time adjustment just a wee bit more difficult. However, with the time shift comes later sunset making after-work trail running an option once again. It's been over a week since I finished the 350 miles on foot and my legs seemed to finally shake that "dead" feeling that had settled into them. I figured getting out on the trail for a little shake down would be good and it was about time to assess how my body was recovering. For most of us, long distance sled-dragging is not a running sport. In fact, other than on a few of the downhills and part of the final road, I hadn't run a step. I had images in my head of bounding easily over dirt, unfettered by harness and heavy gear. Still, I would take it easy.<br />
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I had planned just a short stint through <a href="http://www.co.sanmateo.ca.us/portal/site/parks/menuitem.f13bead76123ee4482439054d17332a0/?vgnextoid=407bc8909231e110VgnVCM1000001d37230aRCRD">Huddart Park</a> to <a href="http://www.parksconservancy.org/visit/park-sites/phleger-estate.html">Phleger</a> and back. In the first mile my legs felt tired, the bottom of my feet hurt, my left ankle winged, my right knee ached, my hip nagged and, despite being at my lowest weight since <a href="http://mountain-man-steve.blogspot.com/2012/10/failing-into-success-part-one-of-some.html">PTL</a>, I felt like a lumbering oaf plodding down the trail. It was amazing how unnatural and gimpy I felt. Eventually, I eased into it. The aching dulled and I stopped feeling like I was going to roll my ankle. It was almost 70 degrees out. The trail was soft, the ferns lush and the creek bubbling beneath the tall redwoods. I reminded myself that my slow pace was still probably twice as fast as I ever moved during the race. However, it did mean that the daylight which had driven me out there was waning on my return. Combined with running beneath the canopy, this turned my final couple miles int a shuffle in the dark back to my car.<br />
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All in all, it was a good run.<br />
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I have actually started on my ITI race report. In order to keep it from becoming the epic to end all epics and taking two years to complete, I have decided to distill it down to just the storied highlights (and a few lowlights). I am actually trying something new and I already have an outline in draft format. I just have to conjure up the prose to fill in the details and intersperse pictures here and there.<br />
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On that note, I have my pictures uploaded to Picasa and publicly view-able. If you want to look at the raw, and sometimes ugly, unfiltered photos the album is here:<br />
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<tr><td align="center" style="background: url(https://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/transparent_album_background.gif) no-repeat left; height: 194px;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/105812245049727806682/ITI2013?authuser=0&feat=embedwebsite"><img height="160" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-r-vXMeSGI3M/UTkZDlcI94E/AAAAAAAAHls/jBknWiOt1rI/s160-c/ITI2013.jpg" style="margin: 1px 0 0 4px;" width="160" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/105812245049727806682/ITI2013?authuser=0&feat=embedwebsite" style="color: #4d4d4d; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;">ITI 2013</a></td></tr>
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Also, I have uploaded my full GPX track from the race captured via the Garmin eTrex 30. I edited out some a few failures of backtracking and wandering on the trail (i.e. Nikolai in the morning). I also cleared up all the most gross cases of GPS bounce that occurred while I was stopped. Other than that, it is pretty much the course as I followed it even though I was off the main trail a few times. Given that the Iditarod trail exists only in winter and covers many rivers, lakes and swamps this is pretty much as accurate as anything you will find. You will notice that the full track is almost exactly 300 miles long (i.e. not 350). Take that for what it is. Again, the Iditarod is not a "real" trail, and races that "follow" it take the shortest route feasible to cover the particular distance.<br />
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The full thing is quite large with almost 20,000 track points. I also made a simplified version with 10% of the points in it. The waypoints I had for checkpoints and other significant trail locations are in a separate file also linked below. However, I haven't gone in and corrected some of those so some of the places are not quite correct such as the Shell Lake Lodge and the Skwentna Roadhouse. They are however, exactly what I had to work with while doing the race :-).<br />
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Enjoy!<br />
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<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><a href="https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B6_JDqS0ZEMRX18zRjAzekJVcTg/edit?usp=sharing">Full GPX track of my ITI 350 from Knick Lake to McGrath, Alaska</a> (2.4MB) </li>
<li><a href="https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B6_JDqS0ZEMRdkVlZC1hOHE2UGM/edit?usp=sharing">Simplified GPX of the above route with 10% of the track points included</a> (250KB)</li>
<li><a href="https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B6_JDqS0ZEMRTHRiOGRQa3RKWWs/edit?usp=sharing">GPX of Waypoints I used during the race</a> (30KB)</li>
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Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28605766.post-36597396557498849492013-03-08T16:39:00.000-08:002013-03-08T16:39:22.799-08:00Enough<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Despite the pithy tone of my last post, the true reasons for tackling something like the <a href="http://www.alaskaultrasport.com/alaska_ultra_home_page.html">Iditarod Trail Invitational</a> are a bit more elusive and much more personal. Without diving into some sort of psychological self-analysis, it's difficult to discuss the forces that drive me to take on such things. However, I can try to explain some of the feelings that come out of the undertaking, the lingering effects or "what I get out of it" -- so to speak. <br />
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When hearing of these types of races, I think that all most people see is the difficulty. Certainly, the raw physical and mental challenge is an important aspect, but it has to offer more to me than that. I tend to be turned off by events that are mainly just about a specific difficult challenge (i.e. timed events). Also, if a race feels like it has been made hard just for the sake of being hard, I find it detracts from the experience. For me, something intrinsic about the event itself has to capture my imagination in some way, to provide an experience that is both unique and compelling. It has to offer the possibility for a sense of fulfillment. 350 miles on the Iditarod trail seems to have done just that.<br />
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I will write more about the race itself. I've stories in my head to sort through and many photos to upload and organize. Right now, though, I am still engulfed in absorbing the experience. Going from running 100-mile trail races to 200-mile treks through The Alps to, now, a 350-mile "sludge" across frozen Alaska, may seem like the unending pursuit of ever longer and harder events, but that's not the perspective I have. For me, the specific events themselves are self-contained experiences that leave a lasting impression on my psyche. Each one, a place to which I can return again and again as a source of inspiration. <br />
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I'm sure even some of my closest friends may find it hard to believe when I say I've always believed that, at some point, one of these experience will turn out to be "enough". That's not to say, I'd be done with trail running or give up long, multi-day treks. It just means that I won't be driven to find something bigger, harder or "more" than what I've already accomplished. It seem to me that the unbounded pursuit of ever more difficult challenges can only end in a breaking point and I'm not really interested in finding where that is. I respect, admire and even, to an extent, understand those who are compelled to such a path. But, personally, I like the feeling of satisfaction that comes at the completion of an event with nothing more on the horizon than rest, recovery and reflection. If I can make that sense of completeness last, I'll embrace it as long as possible.<br />
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So, to the inevitable question that's been asked as to whether I'll go on to Nome "next time", I have to say, right now, the answer is "not any time soon." Though I think it unlikely that I won't want to, at least, return and repeat this event some time in the future. For the time being, walking the 350 miles to McGrath, the time spent alone on the trail, the hospitality of the lodges, the sanctuary of the checkpoints and people opening up their homes in the Alaskan bush, have all provided so much fuel for thought and imagination that I don't find myself wanting more. The part of me that needs these things is presently fulfilled.<br />
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It is enough.<br />
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Steve Ansellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18107967737535707878noreply@blogger.com8