The next 100 miler after Plain on the schedule is my perennial (3rd time) trek to Phoenix, AZ for the Javelina Jundred. Other than both being listed as 100 miles (and both being longer than said distance), these two races share very little in common. There are so many ways in which Plain stands alone in my racing experience, but none so much as in the preparation that was required. In different ways, preparing for Plain was both more and less than other races. The "more" part seemed almost overwhelming at first.
Weeks out from Plain, I felt like a complete and total newbie. It was to be my 9th 100 miler, but I felt more like I was tackling my very first ultra. The logistics seemed so daunting. My initial focus was on the maps and directions. Packing was just too much to consider until I could glean at least a basic understanding of the course. I am generally pretty good with directions and, for the most part, the times when I've missed turns in races were from lack of focus. There would be no cruising past intersections in this one; zoning out on the run was not an option. Still, I wanted to obtain as much of a feel for the route as possible from the topographical maps. As I followed the contour lines, I imagined the bits where I'd be climbing or descending for long periods and took special care to note the distances of all turns.
Harry sent me a copy of the GPX tracks for the course, allowing me to view it in Google Earth and the obsession was taken to a whole new level. I walked through the entire virtual tour of the course multiple times. The climbs and descents became more real. While I, obviously, couldn't see an exact image from the trail, I could stop at points and rotate the view to see surrounding peaks and valleys. Mainly, I just tried to get an image of the whole thing in my head, envisioning when I would be headed north or south, memorizing prominent features or landmarks. This was as close to a course preview as I was going to get. Once I felt there was a reasonable imagine fixed in my head, I turned my focus to the written directions.
The Plain 100 website supplies detailed instructions on all the trail intersections for the course including warnings about any potentially confusing bits. The directions supply the micro-view to the map's macro version. I divided the instructions into sections and pasted them into an electronic document formatted as a table. Each rectangular cell contained the text describing a single stretch between trail intersections or turns. I then added the mileage estimates at the below the text (overall and segment totals for the second loop). My intention was to cut these up like "flashcards" and put them into a Ziploc bag. I would then keep the current section at the front facing out. When I printed the whole thing out, I discovered that I could actually fold the paper in such a way that a simple unfold/re-fold operation would put the right section in front without the need to deal with dozens of bits of paper. It's a little hard to explain, but if you've ever seen someone read the Times on a NY Subway, you get the general idea.
I could only occupy myself so long with the course before I had to face the fact that I wasn't going to be able to avoid packing until the last minute like I usually do. At other 100 milers, say Javelina with its aid stations every 5 miles and two drop bags per 15 mile loop, you can just throw all the stuff that you might possibly need into a few sacks, plan your water needs between aid and figure it out later. The idea of having to fit everything I would need for somewhere between 55-59 miles--as much as 17 hours--into a single pack, left me more than a little fearful. I'd already decided to stick with my UD Wasp.
I wanted to have at least some "real food" and I knew from my experiment pacing at Headlands that bean burritos worked well for me. I also wanted to have some stuff that I knew I could handle and so Clif Bars and some gels also easy choices. Beyond that, I went in search of foods that were both compact, but calorie dense. It was weird to be counting calories on the back of packages, but looking for the highest values possible. Bonk Busters were a good choice and would replace my PB&J staple. I also added in some Promax bars, flattened bananas from Trader Joes and some beef jerky. This last is actually not very calorie dense, but I knew that sometimes it is exactly what I need late in a race. I didn't make a list of everything I took and now I wish I had. My goal was to carry around 3000-4000 calories for each loop.
My UD Wasp was about as fully packed as it can be. I filled all of the front pockets with food and other immediate needs (electrolytes, etc.). I attached an external storage pouch to the back with more food. I stuffed my lightweight shell and gloves into the mesh pocket on the back and strapped a second water bottle to with the cinch straps. I filled the back compartment with some more reserve food and backup supplies (extra batteries, etc.), but that space was limited by the 100oz bladder I was going to need to fill with water for the long stretch. I had another handheld I would carry for my NUUN mix. Basically, the pack was stretched to the limit. I only planned to completely fill the the bladder once at mile 30 so I figured some of the supplies would move from the pack to my gut by then.
For a drop bag it was a bit easier. In fact, easier even than for a standard 100. If I couldn't survive on what I could hold in my pack for the first loop, there was no point having much more in the drop bag for the shorter second loop. The drop was basically a resupply of what was in my pack with a few extra options. I threw in a change of clothes including a few warmer options if needed. I also figured to put in some special items that I would eat during the break. Beat and I agreed to split a pizza and I figured I'd make it my one risky food items. I'd had mixed results with pizza, but couldn't think of any other real food to put in there.
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Well, that about sums up the prep I did for Plain. I started this post some weeks ago and, due to a busy work schedule, am just finishing it now that Javelina is less than a week away. I'm back to my usual procrastinator self. I'll put it all together some time before Thursday night. I'll also make sure to post something about my race goals such as they are. It seems such a casual race after Plain. Which is probably why I'm having a hard time getting motivated for serious goals. Well, that and the fact that my training has been, to use the vernacular of my father's homeland, complete shite. No matter, it's gonna be a load of fun.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
Plain
As the pain seeps slowly from my memory, the image of this race and what it means to me will continue to take shape. It's been a full week since I was traipsing about the North Cascades with a pack full of food, taking water from mountain streams. The Plain 100 is a different type of race. It's difficult to be sure--a course that measures somewhere between 106 and 108 miles, 21,000+ feet of elevation gain/loss, no course markings, no pacers and a single aid station after the first of two different loops, somewhere north of mile 55. Everything else is only what you carry with you including map and directions because, despite a few Search and Rescue checkpoints set out on the course, only your fellow runners are allowed to help you figure out which way to go.
My schedule is pretty busy right now so I'm not sure when I'll find the time to write up a full report, but I would like to give some sense of the race and how I feel about it after being one of only 10 people to finish this year (out of 32 starters). The course itself is difficult enough what with the added distance, very technical trails and three major climbs up and over 6500+ft peaks. However, it's the format that adds another level of complexity and more than just a little bit of time to the trip. Course directions must be checked at each intersection (doubly or triply so during the night) . Filling up water and diffing food from one's pack are additional sources of time. Finally, there are the almost inevitable mistakes to be made in terms of managing hydration, nutrition or both. There is no next aid station where some kindly volunteer will suggest and then hand you "just the thing" to help turn your low around. Certain foods, such as fresh fruit or hot soup, are pretty much off the menu. If you don't like what you packed, you need to just deal with it.
While it may sound a bit miserable--and, indeed, it had its moments--I also found it quite wonderful. The area where Plain is held is absolutely gorgeous. In my personal race experience, it's natural beauty is rivaled only by Bighorn. Despite the fact that the trails are shared with motorcycles, they are narrow, challenging and surrounded by a pristine alpine environment. The guys who ride here are absolute experts and probably as passionate about the outdoors as any trail runner. The course traverses streams, runs alongside crystal clear lakes, through expansive meadows, into deep forests and over mountains that provide 360-degree views of the surrounding summits. Even with all this, what really sets Plain apart from other races has little to do with its setting. There's something I find just immensely satisfying about being able to traverse great distances through remote areas with only the pack on my back for support. It strikes at the core of why I fell in love with trail running in the first place. It's why many of my long training runs in the hills often best my race accomplishments in supplying fuel for the soul.
There's more than one tale to tell about a race that took more than 34 and half hours to complete. I sincerely hope I will find the time and inspiration to unfold at least some of them here. But, there are a couple moments that are key to explaining how special this race was to me. Some time during the second loop I remember saying that I was motivated to finish just so I would never have to return and do loop 1 again. I was thinking of that loop's pinnacle climb up Signal Peak--an arduous beast that goes up 4600ft in total with the initial 4200 ascended in about 4.5 miles all while carrying enough water to last 15 (for me this meant 145oz). However, even as I was saying it, I felt that it wasn't quite true. Confirmation came hours (and hours) later upon finishing. Despite the immediate feeling of having completed perhaps my most difficult race to date, I was never more certain that I would be returning to do it all over again. It usually takes at least days, if not weeks, before I want to give an event another try. Plain, however, I knew to lay in my future as well as much as my past even before I'd finished my first post-race drink.
My schedule is pretty busy right now so I'm not sure when I'll find the time to write up a full report, but I would like to give some sense of the race and how I feel about it after being one of only 10 people to finish this year (out of 32 starters). The course itself is difficult enough what with the added distance, very technical trails and three major climbs up and over 6500+ft peaks. However, it's the format that adds another level of complexity and more than just a little bit of time to the trip. Course directions must be checked at each intersection (doubly or triply so during the night) . Filling up water and diffing food from one's pack are additional sources of time. Finally, there are the almost inevitable mistakes to be made in terms of managing hydration, nutrition or both. There is no next aid station where some kindly volunteer will suggest and then hand you "just the thing" to help turn your low around. Certain foods, such as fresh fruit or hot soup, are pretty much off the menu. If you don't like what you packed, you need to just deal with it.
While it may sound a bit miserable--and, indeed, it had its moments--I also found it quite wonderful. The area where Plain is held is absolutely gorgeous. In my personal race experience, it's natural beauty is rivaled only by Bighorn. Despite the fact that the trails are shared with motorcycles, they are narrow, challenging and surrounded by a pristine alpine environment. The guys who ride here are absolute experts and probably as passionate about the outdoors as any trail runner. The course traverses streams, runs alongside crystal clear lakes, through expansive meadows, into deep forests and over mountains that provide 360-degree views of the surrounding summits. Even with all this, what really sets Plain apart from other races has little to do with its setting. There's something I find just immensely satisfying about being able to traverse great distances through remote areas with only the pack on my back for support. It strikes at the core of why I fell in love with trail running in the first place. It's why many of my long training runs in the hills often best my race accomplishments in supplying fuel for the soul.
There's more than one tale to tell about a race that took more than 34 and half hours to complete. I sincerely hope I will find the time and inspiration to unfold at least some of them here. But, there are a couple moments that are key to explaining how special this race was to me. Some time during the second loop I remember saying that I was motivated to finish just so I would never have to return and do loop 1 again. I was thinking of that loop's pinnacle climb up Signal Peak--an arduous beast that goes up 4600ft in total with the initial 4200 ascended in about 4.5 miles all while carrying enough water to last 15 (for me this meant 145oz). However, even as I was saying it, I felt that it wasn't quite true. Confirmation came hours (and hours) later upon finishing. Despite the immediate feeling of having completed perhaps my most difficult race to date, I was never more certain that I would be returning to do it all over again. It usually takes at least days, if not weeks, before I want to give an event another try. Plain, however, I knew to lay in my future as well as much as my past even before I'd finished my first post-race drink.
Pacing and Chasing
The week after Skyline Beat, Harry and I got together for dinner. This is where Beat put the hammer down in his efforts to recruit us to join him at the Plain 100 this year. Despite my totally slacker month of July, I was easy to convince. Plain's ethic of self-reliance has always attracted me. Harry was a bit harder sell as he was still beating himself up over his DNF at States. By the end of the meal, we were all in. I did have one condition. I wanted Beat to let me pace him for the last 50 miles of Headlands the following weekend. I wanted to get a 50-miler in before I signed up for another 100. Since Harry was already pacing someone at the same race, we would all be out there on the course together.
Truth is, I had a twinge of guilt about being a pacer for someone who really didn't need one. It was almost as if I'd be sneaking into the race for free. Not only would I get to run the loop course once in each direction (the full race repeats each twice), I could sleep in Saturday, get some weekend errands done and run all through the night (which I love). To assuage my conscience I decided I would not partake of the aid stations. Harry and I had discussed how carrying our own food for the 50 miles would be good training for Plain where we would have to carry our own supplies on loops of 55 and 45 miles.
Saturday afternoon and I'm tired of waiting around so I call Harry to see if he wants to carpool to the race. After a little bad decision making, a lot of traffic and some more time spent waiting for an accident, we finally made it to the race. We missed the 50-mile race leaders coming in, but would still have plenty of time to wait for our mid-pack 100-mile runners. Or so we thought.
There was Beat standing around at the start/finish area. Only one possible scenario would have him there at that time in the race. His off-kilter walk and immediate attempt at explanation confirmed that he had dropped from the race. His knee had been giving him some trouble since his finish at Hardrock. When it started to act up during the race, Beat opted to not push it. He decided that making it to Plain in one piece was more important than hobbling to the finish of Headlands. I was bummed, but knew he'd made the right choice. Besides, I figured I'd be able to find someone else to pace if I just hung out for a while.
Jon Burg is someone I have known casually for a couple of years. He's generally quite a bit faster than I am so I don't see him much in races. For example, he ran Headlands as his first 100 the same year I did, but finished more than 3 hours ahead of me in 23:33. When he came in at the 50 mile split this year I went over to say hello and see how he was doing. After a brief conversation and explanation of my situation, he invited me to join him for the second half of the race. Like Beat, he certainly didn't need a pacer, but welcomed the company. I'd be heading out a little earlier than planned and also pacing a bit faster than expected.
The new course is a 25 mile loop that is repeated 4 times, twice in each direction. Like Javelina Jundred, the "washing machine" style loops add variety to the repeats. Reversing directions each lap turns climbs into descents and vis-versa. Then, as day turns into night, the familiar once again takes on a another new dimension. The modified course is very nice, covering most of the best trails in the Marin Headlands. As challenging as it is beautiful, the modifications add significantly to the overall elevation gain/loss. However, the familiarity and increased contact with other runners on the trail help to distract from the difficulty.
It was nice joining someone with whom I wouldn't otherwise get to run. Jon is a really nice, down to earth guy as well as a fairly talented runner. He's an even more talented walker. Pacing is always a unique challenge as it forces one out of the comfort zone matching someone else's cadence rather than running your own. It is generally compensated for by the fact that your runner is overall much slower during the second half of a race. While this was definitely true for Jon, I could tell right away that his long legs and ability to walk at a running pace were going to become a challenge for me as the night went on and miles accumulated.
With a 9:47 50-mile split, Jon was on pace to easily beat his sub-23 hour goal. However, as we headed out on the first loop after an extended aid station stay, he expressed some concern over how he was feeling and then complained of some stomach issues as we later on. Of course, this is a guy who can walk 15 minute miles uphill and 12 minute miles on the flats even when he isn't feeling well. I found myself constantly shuffling or jogging to keep pace with him. The weather was perfect and we had some very enjoyable conversation getting to know one another. Despite his issues and continuing to slow throughout the loop, Jon still knocked it off in a little over 6 hours.
Jon's stomach started feeling better during the final loop. About half way through he started upping the pace again (or at least it felt so). A key scene for this loop was when we were coming out of Muir Beach. Jon was striding up the steep climb while I was fell behind. A couple runners heading down the hill gave me a "good job" encouragement. I immediately responded by explaining "No, I'm a pacer trying to catch his runner. I need to do a better job." I managed to catch him, as expected, on the next downhill and pushed to keep up with him the rest of the loop. Jon ran a great final stretch passing one final runner in the last 2 miles to capture a top-10 berth in a time of 22:46.
I am very grateful to Jon for allowing me to "pace" him as I think I may have gotten more out of it than he. I bagged a 50 mile run for my training, managed my own food supply for the full course and, while I was hoping for a little more time on my feet, I definitely had a good workout covering the distance in well under 13 hours. After congratulating Jon and watching a few more runners come in, I hit my car for a nice nap. I spent the rest of the day hanging out at the finish line, cheering in runners and waiting for Harry. He ended up getting "the full meal deal" as his runner struggled with some problems. However, she was one tough woman and ended up giving Harry a lesson in the fine art of never giving up.
In the end, I think the race was a success for us all. Well, maybe not for Beat, but I guess he didn't have to learn about his knee problem somewhere in the Cascade mountains in the middle of an unmarked course. How much this run will help with Plain, I'll have to see. My training over the weeks that followed it wasn't exactly what I had hoped...
Truth is, I had a twinge of guilt about being a pacer for someone who really didn't need one. It was almost as if I'd be sneaking into the race for free. Not only would I get to run the loop course once in each direction (the full race repeats each twice), I could sleep in Saturday, get some weekend errands done and run all through the night (which I love). To assuage my conscience I decided I would not partake of the aid stations. Harry and I had discussed how carrying our own food for the 50 miles would be good training for Plain where we would have to carry our own supplies on loops of 55 and 45 miles.
Saturday afternoon and I'm tired of waiting around so I call Harry to see if he wants to carpool to the race. After a little bad decision making, a lot of traffic and some more time spent waiting for an accident, we finally made it to the race. We missed the 50-mile race leaders coming in, but would still have plenty of time to wait for our mid-pack 100-mile runners. Or so we thought.
There was Beat standing around at the start/finish area. Only one possible scenario would have him there at that time in the race. His off-kilter walk and immediate attempt at explanation confirmed that he had dropped from the race. His knee had been giving him some trouble since his finish at Hardrock. When it started to act up during the race, Beat opted to not push it. He decided that making it to Plain in one piece was more important than hobbling to the finish of Headlands. I was bummed, but knew he'd made the right choice. Besides, I figured I'd be able to find someone else to pace if I just hung out for a while.
Jon Burg is someone I have known casually for a couple of years. He's generally quite a bit faster than I am so I don't see him much in races. For example, he ran Headlands as his first 100 the same year I did, but finished more than 3 hours ahead of me in 23:33. When he came in at the 50 mile split this year I went over to say hello and see how he was doing. After a brief conversation and explanation of my situation, he invited me to join him for the second half of the race. Like Beat, he certainly didn't need a pacer, but welcomed the company. I'd be heading out a little earlier than planned and also pacing a bit faster than expected.
The new course is a 25 mile loop that is repeated 4 times, twice in each direction. Like Javelina Jundred, the "washing machine" style loops add variety to the repeats. Reversing directions each lap turns climbs into descents and vis-versa. Then, as day turns into night, the familiar once again takes on a another new dimension. The modified course is very nice, covering most of the best trails in the Marin Headlands. As challenging as it is beautiful, the modifications add significantly to the overall elevation gain/loss. However, the familiarity and increased contact with other runners on the trail help to distract from the difficulty.
It was nice joining someone with whom I wouldn't otherwise get to run. Jon is a really nice, down to earth guy as well as a fairly talented runner. He's an even more talented walker. Pacing is always a unique challenge as it forces one out of the comfort zone matching someone else's cadence rather than running your own. It is generally compensated for by the fact that your runner is overall much slower during the second half of a race. While this was definitely true for Jon, I could tell right away that his long legs and ability to walk at a running pace were going to become a challenge for me as the night went on and miles accumulated.
With a 9:47 50-mile split, Jon was on pace to easily beat his sub-23 hour goal. However, as we headed out on the first loop after an extended aid station stay, he expressed some concern over how he was feeling and then complained of some stomach issues as we later on. Of course, this is a guy who can walk 15 minute miles uphill and 12 minute miles on the flats even when he isn't feeling well. I found myself constantly shuffling or jogging to keep pace with him. The weather was perfect and we had some very enjoyable conversation getting to know one another. Despite his issues and continuing to slow throughout the loop, Jon still knocked it off in a little over 6 hours.
Jon's stomach started feeling better during the final loop. About half way through he started upping the pace again (or at least it felt so). A key scene for this loop was when we were coming out of Muir Beach. Jon was striding up the steep climb while I was fell behind. A couple runners heading down the hill gave me a "good job" encouragement. I immediately responded by explaining "No, I'm a pacer trying to catch his runner. I need to do a better job." I managed to catch him, as expected, on the next downhill and pushed to keep up with him the rest of the loop. Jon ran a great final stretch passing one final runner in the last 2 miles to capture a top-10 berth in a time of 22:46.
I am very grateful to Jon for allowing me to "pace" him as I think I may have gotten more out of it than he. I bagged a 50 mile run for my training, managed my own food supply for the full course and, while I was hoping for a little more time on my feet, I definitely had a good workout covering the distance in well under 13 hours. After congratulating Jon and watching a few more runners come in, I hit my car for a nice nap. I spent the rest of the day hanging out at the finish line, cheering in runners and waiting for Harry. He ended up getting "the full meal deal" as his runner struggled with some problems. However, she was one tough woman and ended up giving Harry a lesson in the fine art of never giving up.
In the end, I think the race was a success for us all. Well, maybe not for Beat, but I guess he didn't have to learn about his knee problem somewhere in the Cascade mountains in the middle of an unmarked course. How much this run will help with Plain, I'll have to see. My training over the weeks that followed it wasn't exactly what I had hoped...
Skyline Byline
As I hinted at in my previous post, I decided to jump into a 50K race in order to kick-start myself back into training mode. Similar to last year, I was able to add the Skyline 50K to my schedule at the last minute. In fact, I added it at the very last minute signing up on race day. It sort of felt old school handing over a check and signing the waiver that morning--well, except for the fact that I had contacted the RD on Facebook the day before to make sure there were openings.
Skyline is a classic race that has been around in one form or another for 28 years held on the 1st Sunday in August. It was originally a point-to-point course starting from Tilden Park in Berkeley, but now begins and ends at Lake Chabot in Castro Valley. It travels through Chabot and Redwood parks sharing as few trails on the out and back sections as possible making it more or less a loop course (really a figure-8 to be exact). It has a lot of similarities to the beginning and ending sections of the Dick Collins' Firetrails 50. In fact, it is probably an excellent training run for that race if you are approaching it as your first 50 miler.
Despite all of this as well as the fact that it is part of the PA/USATF Ultra Grand Prix, the race does not fill up. I think that this has as much to do with timing as anything. By August, most experienced ultra-runners are just recovering from or preparing for their big summer races. Most people in the area new to the sport have chosen one of the popular early season 50Ks as their first race and/or may now be focused firmly on the 50 mile distance. It is popular among long-timers in the sport--long being a preferable adjective to old now that I am closer to 60 than 20. At my count there were 15 (of 122) finishers over the age of 60 at this year's race and one finisher, Bill Dodson, finishing 74th at the age of 74. With a finishing time of 5:52 he bested a few folks half his age.
My personal goal going into this race was not much more ambitious. In fact, since I hadn't run longer than 14 miles in over a month, I stated that anything under 6 hours was fine with me. Just as I did last year, I started out slow on the rolling paved section along the lake. In fact, I continued keeping the pace easy just cruising and chatting. Starting my races at an easy pace is something I have been working on. Ohlone was a good test earlier this year as I noted that each year I have run it, I have tried to go slower up the initial ascent, but always ended up reaching the peak around the same time. It is difficult to convince oneself of it mentally, but the fact is you loose so much less time taking it easy in the early miles of a race than you do if you are forced to slow down in the latter miles.
I look at it this way. Slowing just 30 seconds per mile during the initial miles can feel like an easy jog yet will only add an extra few minutes to the first hour or so of running. However, late in an ultra, the difference between an easy pace may and a solid one may end up being many minutes per mile. Not only will this eat up much more time, but it the mental impact of being forced (rather than choosing) to slow down creates a cumulative effect. This fact becomes more important the longer the race. However, it is still difficult to slow youself abnormally when everyone around you is blazing out of the gates. It takes practice.
This strategy paid off well for me in this race, as I ran well behind my normal pace at start hanging way back in the field. As the race went on, I passed more and more people, but my paced remained as close to constant as possible. A look at the splits reveals some interesting facts. At the first aid station there were more than 20 people ahead of me who would eventually finish behind me. By the last aid station, there was pretty much nobody behind me who finished ahead of me. My average pace at the first aid station was just over 9.5 minutes per mile, my average pace at Skyline Gate (mile 14.4) was 9.86 and my final average for the race was 9.79. I believe that is as consistent a race as I have ever run.
Once again the Skyline 50K was an excellent addition. I went in just planning a training run, but came out with my third fastest 50K time at 5:10:28. It was a beautiful day with cool, cloudy conditions for all but the final 2 miles around the race when the sun came out and stuck around for the BBQ. I had a great time and the race topped off my first 60+ mile, post-States week. It definitely served its purpose of putting me back on the training track.
Skyline is a classic race that has been around in one form or another for 28 years held on the 1st Sunday in August. It was originally a point-to-point course starting from Tilden Park in Berkeley, but now begins and ends at Lake Chabot in Castro Valley. It travels through Chabot and Redwood parks sharing as few trails on the out and back sections as possible making it more or less a loop course (really a figure-8 to be exact). It has a lot of similarities to the beginning and ending sections of the Dick Collins' Firetrails 50. In fact, it is probably an excellent training run for that race if you are approaching it as your first 50 miler.
Despite all of this as well as the fact that it is part of the PA/USATF Ultra Grand Prix, the race does not fill up. I think that this has as much to do with timing as anything. By August, most experienced ultra-runners are just recovering from or preparing for their big summer races. Most people in the area new to the sport have chosen one of the popular early season 50Ks as their first race and/or may now be focused firmly on the 50 mile distance. It is popular among long-timers in the sport--long being a preferable adjective to old now that I am closer to 60 than 20. At my count there were 15 (of 122) finishers over the age of 60 at this year's race and one finisher, Bill Dodson, finishing 74th at the age of 74. With a finishing time of 5:52 he bested a few folks half his age.
My personal goal going into this race was not much more ambitious. In fact, since I hadn't run longer than 14 miles in over a month, I stated that anything under 6 hours was fine with me. Just as I did last year, I started out slow on the rolling paved section along the lake. In fact, I continued keeping the pace easy just cruising and chatting. Starting my races at an easy pace is something I have been working on. Ohlone was a good test earlier this year as I noted that each year I have run it, I have tried to go slower up the initial ascent, but always ended up reaching the peak around the same time. It is difficult to convince oneself of it mentally, but the fact is you loose so much less time taking it easy in the early miles of a race than you do if you are forced to slow down in the latter miles.
I look at it this way. Slowing just 30 seconds per mile during the initial miles can feel like an easy jog yet will only add an extra few minutes to the first hour or so of running. However, late in an ultra, the difference between an easy pace may and a solid one may end up being many minutes per mile. Not only will this eat up much more time, but it the mental impact of being forced (rather than choosing) to slow down creates a cumulative effect. This fact becomes more important the longer the race. However, it is still difficult to slow youself abnormally when everyone around you is blazing out of the gates. It takes practice.
This strategy paid off well for me in this race, as I ran well behind my normal pace at start hanging way back in the field. As the race went on, I passed more and more people, but my paced remained as close to constant as possible. A look at the splits reveals some interesting facts. At the first aid station there were more than 20 people ahead of me who would eventually finish behind me. By the last aid station, there was pretty much nobody behind me who finished ahead of me. My average pace at the first aid station was just over 9.5 minutes per mile, my average pace at Skyline Gate (mile 14.4) was 9.86 and my final average for the race was 9.79. I believe that is as consistent a race as I have ever run.
Once again the Skyline 50K was an excellent addition. I went in just planning a training run, but came out with my third fastest 50K time at 5:10:28. It was a beautiful day with cool, cloudy conditions for all but the final 2 miles around the race when the sun came out and stuck around for the BBQ. I had a great time and the race topped off my first 60+ mile, post-States week. It definitely served its purpose of putting me back on the training track.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Looking back, catching up
I intended to have written some further thoughts about Western States by this point.A busier than normal work and personal schedule combined with the fact that I find it difficult to write about running when I am not actively doing so, have left this space rather silent. As might be expected, the weeks after my race have not been especially active. I am focusing on recovery. July, like December, is a month when I generally "plan not to plan" as far as my running goes. I still hope to do some sort of retrospective on the different phases of my Western States race at least before my next race--whenever that might be. However, I'd first just like to get back in the flow of running and writing. Below are some of the "opportunistic" runs that I've managed to fit in over the past few weeks.
Lodge Run
I took the full week off after States. The next weekend was the 4th of July. With no plans, I started looking for last minute trips near the end of the week. I discovered that the Tenaya Lodge just south of Yosemite National Park was available so I booked a room for my wife and myself. We had no plans other than to relax and enjoy the weekend in a beautiful setting.
There really isn't much to tell about the trip, but I did get in my first run since the race on the fireroad (and a bit of single-track) behind the lodge. I wore my Vibram FiveFingers and clicked off about 7.6 miles. I have been using the Vibrams for my recovery runs and to see if they can help with the plantar fasciitis that I've been fighting most of this year. This was the longest run I've done in the them and was terrifically enjoyable.
The fireroad behind the the hotel went for quite a ways, but a few miles up there was a nice little singe-track trail that led to a small waterfall. In an uncharacteristic turn, I actually remembered to bring my camera on this run and snapped some photos along this section of trail.
Birth of a Trail Runner
Edgewood Park is an unassuming bit of open space especially given that it sits within one of the greatest expanses of publicly accessible land around. Between the 17 San Mateo County Parks and the 26 Mid-Peninsula Regional Openspace Preserves there are more than 72,000 acres of land and countless miles of trail available on the southwest side of the bay. However, it is within the relatively small expanse of Edgewood park where my love affair with trail running began.
I believe I've told the story here before, but to be brief, it was during my time working at an Internet start-up company in Redwood City. I had switched from mountain biking to running as my main form of fitness. Mostly I would just run on roads around work, but discovered the idea of trail running and wanted to do more of it. Mission Peak is my local park, but with an initial mile that climbs more than 700ft, it wasn't exactly beginner friendly. Besides, being in start-up mode, I was spending more time at work than at home. Discovering a local park with a variety of trail options was just the thing I needed to get me off the pavement back in touch with my love for the outdoors.
For various reasons, I've recently found myself back in the neighborhood of my (literal) old stomping grounds. My first Edgewood Park run in more than 6 years was a Tuesday evening romp wearing the Vibrams. The first thing I remembered was how much I used to hate the initial 1/2 mile of uphill. While it is still a bit of a climb, relative what I am not used to I actually had to keep myself from pushing the pace during this initial warm-up. The other memory that came back was the first time I was actually able to complete the 5-1/2 mile loop. I was set to repeat it on this day, but on the way back I decided to add a little bit more climbing going around one side of the Ridgeview Loop. Finally, on my way down I was reunited with my final (and perhaps fondest) memory.
The switch-backing singletrack trail in this park has just enough twists, turns, rocks and roots to be considered moderately technical for a new trail runner. I remember how I used to try and take the final downhill mile faster and faster each time I ran here. I remember learning the practice of scanning the trail up ahead of me, anticipating my foot placements and the excited, staccato breathing pattern following my footfalls along the uneven surface. This is where I learned that trails are run with the entire body, using arms and torso to control both speed and balance allowing me to eventually glide easily down trail where I had previously only tentatively tread.
Running this trail again in my nearly-bare feet was like a return to those days as I felt much more in touch with the ground and had to relearn how to move fearlessly at speed without the extra support of a traditional running shoe. Of course, I am a much more skilled trail runner now so it really was like the best of both worlds; a renewed sense of excitement and discovery combined with the confidence of experience.
Simple City
As the crow flies, Club Sport is about a mile and a half from my house. Driving generally takes about 3 miles, but on foot has required something more along the lines of 5 as the only pedestrian passable roads have required going far out of the way. That is, until they finally finished the 880 overpass. Now my gym is exactly 2 miles from my house by car, bike or on foot. As soon as it was open, I of course had to give it a try. The convenience of being able to run to the gym and back is great. It also puts the Baylands trail within accessible distance if I want to hit up a nice flat piece of dirt. Mostly, I just like the idea of using my feet as my vehicle of transportation. It is probably the only type of road running that I really enjoy.
Legs and Feet
A new road route is fine, but nothing is more satisfying than discovering new trails. Two weeks post States and jonesing for a real trail run, I found myself once again heading to the other side of the bay. I wanted to get in at least 12 miles or 2+ hours to test my legs so was looking for something more than Edgewood could offer. However, none of my mainstay openspace preserves were really enticing me. Then I noticed Pulgas Ridge. It was literally right across the street from Edgewood Park. I could do a run there, fill my water bottle at my car and then head across the street for some more miles in Edgewood.
New trails and old combined with a checkpoint in the middle to see how I was holding up. Aside from running more in my Vibrams, I had recently switched from my venerable Brooks Adrenalines to the more neutral Defyance shoes. A podiatrist on a mailing list had mentioned that he puts people in neutral shoes after they have been fit with custom orthotics. I have been wondering if getting "too much support" has been part of my foot problem. Besides, I never liked the idea of pronation control when running on trails. The stop in the middle would also let me see how my feet were holding up as well.
To make this short, I will just say that the trails in Pulgas were a blast. It started on an uphill, but after attaining the ridge it was about a mile and a half of fun rolling hills before the descent. I then went back up on a paved road and down another single track before heading back to the car. I got in about 6 miles and covered just about every bit of trail in this wonderful little park (skipped half of the Hassler Loop if you must know). I would definitely recommend this place with one caveat. If you don't like dogs, stay away. They have an off-leash area here and, for the most part, it extends de-facto throughout the park. This means there are a lot of people with a lot of dogs out there on the trails. After Pulgas, I headed over to Edgewood and did my standard loop with an option of going all the wait to the peak of Ridgeview trail. Came out with just under 14 miles and everything feeling fine, though my foot would start hurting later.
And, Now...
Since weeks have now past since I started this post and I am actually considering a race this weekend to kick myself back into training mode, I will just give a quick summary of the rest of the weeks. That second week summed up to a grand total just over 25 miles. The following week I was in West Virginia with my son for a few days for a basketball tournament, but still managed to get in a 38 mile week that included 12.5 miles of rail-trail and a 14 miler on Mission Peak once I returned home. Last week we were in Vegas for a tournament and between basketball, staying on the strip and temps that bested 105 degrees, I managed all of two whole treadmill runs for an 11 mile total.
Finally, this week, I feel like I am back into some sort of a routine. Back at work. Running in the evenings and my foot feeling better. Still, with just barely 100 miles for the entire month and a longest run barely over 14, it may not be the wisest thing to jump into a 50K. We'll see how I feel when Sunday morning rolls around. It's not like I am diving into a 50 or 100 miler on a whim. Then again, Headlands is next weekend...
Lodge Run
I took the full week off after States. The next weekend was the 4th of July. With no plans, I started looking for last minute trips near the end of the week. I discovered that the Tenaya Lodge just south of Yosemite National Park was available so I booked a room for my wife and myself. We had no plans other than to relax and enjoy the weekend in a beautiful setting.
There really isn't much to tell about the trip, but I did get in my first run since the race on the fireroad (and a bit of single-track) behind the lodge. I wore my Vibram FiveFingers and clicked off about 7.6 miles. I have been using the Vibrams for my recovery runs and to see if they can help with the plantar fasciitis that I've been fighting most of this year. This was the longest run I've done in the them and was terrifically enjoyable.
The fireroad behind the the hotel went for quite a ways, but a few miles up there was a nice little singe-track trail that led to a small waterfall. In an uncharacteristic turn, I actually remembered to bring my camera on this run and snapped some photos along this section of trail.
Birth of a Trail Runner
Edgewood Park is an unassuming bit of open space especially given that it sits within one of the greatest expanses of publicly accessible land around. Between the 17 San Mateo County Parks and the 26 Mid-Peninsula Regional Openspace Preserves there are more than 72,000 acres of land and countless miles of trail available on the southwest side of the bay. However, it is within the relatively small expanse of Edgewood park where my love affair with trail running began.
I believe I've told the story here before, but to be brief, it was during my time working at an Internet start-up company in Redwood City. I had switched from mountain biking to running as my main form of fitness. Mostly I would just run on roads around work, but discovered the idea of trail running and wanted to do more of it. Mission Peak is my local park, but with an initial mile that climbs more than 700ft, it wasn't exactly beginner friendly. Besides, being in start-up mode, I was spending more time at work than at home. Discovering a local park with a variety of trail options was just the thing I needed to get me off the pavement back in touch with my love for the outdoors.
For various reasons, I've recently found myself back in the neighborhood of my (literal) old stomping grounds. My first Edgewood Park run in more than 6 years was a Tuesday evening romp wearing the Vibrams. The first thing I remembered was how much I used to hate the initial 1/2 mile of uphill. While it is still a bit of a climb, relative what I am not used to I actually had to keep myself from pushing the pace during this initial warm-up. The other memory that came back was the first time I was actually able to complete the 5-1/2 mile loop. I was set to repeat it on this day, but on the way back I decided to add a little bit more climbing going around one side of the Ridgeview Loop. Finally, on my way down I was reunited with my final (and perhaps fondest) memory.
The switch-backing singletrack trail in this park has just enough twists, turns, rocks and roots to be considered moderately technical for a new trail runner. I remember how I used to try and take the final downhill mile faster and faster each time I ran here. I remember learning the practice of scanning the trail up ahead of me, anticipating my foot placements and the excited, staccato breathing pattern following my footfalls along the uneven surface. This is where I learned that trails are run with the entire body, using arms and torso to control both speed and balance allowing me to eventually glide easily down trail where I had previously only tentatively tread.
Running this trail again in my nearly-bare feet was like a return to those days as I felt much more in touch with the ground and had to relearn how to move fearlessly at speed without the extra support of a traditional running shoe. Of course, I am a much more skilled trail runner now so it really was like the best of both worlds; a renewed sense of excitement and discovery combined with the confidence of experience.
Simple City
As the crow flies, Club Sport is about a mile and a half from my house. Driving generally takes about 3 miles, but on foot has required something more along the lines of 5 as the only pedestrian passable roads have required going far out of the way. That is, until they finally finished the 880 overpass. Now my gym is exactly 2 miles from my house by car, bike or on foot. As soon as it was open, I of course had to give it a try. The convenience of being able to run to the gym and back is great. It also puts the Baylands trail within accessible distance if I want to hit up a nice flat piece of dirt. Mostly, I just like the idea of using my feet as my vehicle of transportation. It is probably the only type of road running that I really enjoy.
Legs and Feet
A new road route is fine, but nothing is more satisfying than discovering new trails. Two weeks post States and jonesing for a real trail run, I found myself once again heading to the other side of the bay. I wanted to get in at least 12 miles or 2+ hours to test my legs so was looking for something more than Edgewood could offer. However, none of my mainstay openspace preserves were really enticing me. Then I noticed Pulgas Ridge. It was literally right across the street from Edgewood Park. I could do a run there, fill my water bottle at my car and then head across the street for some more miles in Edgewood.
New trails and old combined with a checkpoint in the middle to see how I was holding up. Aside from running more in my Vibrams, I had recently switched from my venerable Brooks Adrenalines to the more neutral Defyance shoes. A podiatrist on a mailing list had mentioned that he puts people in neutral shoes after they have been fit with custom orthotics. I have been wondering if getting "too much support" has been part of my foot problem. Besides, I never liked the idea of pronation control when running on trails. The stop in the middle would also let me see how my feet were holding up as well.
To make this short, I will just say that the trails in Pulgas were a blast. It started on an uphill, but after attaining the ridge it was about a mile and a half of fun rolling hills before the descent. I then went back up on a paved road and down another single track before heading back to the car. I got in about 6 miles and covered just about every bit of trail in this wonderful little park (skipped half of the Hassler Loop if you must know). I would definitely recommend this place with one caveat. If you don't like dogs, stay away. They have an off-leash area here and, for the most part, it extends de-facto throughout the park. This means there are a lot of people with a lot of dogs out there on the trails. After Pulgas, I headed over to Edgewood and did my standard loop with an option of going all the wait to the peak of Ridgeview trail. Came out with just under 14 miles and everything feeling fine, though my foot would start hurting later.
And, Now...
Since weeks have now past since I started this post and I am actually considering a race this weekend to kick myself back into training mode, I will just give a quick summary of the rest of the weeks. That second week summed up to a grand total just over 25 miles. The following week I was in West Virginia with my son for a few days for a basketball tournament, but still managed to get in a 38 mile week that included 12.5 miles of rail-trail and a 14 miler on Mission Peak once I returned home. Last week we were in Vegas for a tournament and between basketball, staying on the strip and temps that bested 105 degrees, I managed all of two whole treadmill runs for an 11 mile total.
Finally, this week, I feel like I am back into some sort of a routine. Back at work. Running in the evenings and my foot feeling better. Still, with just barely 100 miles for the entire month and a longest run barely over 14, it may not be the wisest thing to jump into a 50K. We'll see how I feel when Sunday morning rolls around. It's not like I am diving into a 50 or 100 miler on a whim. Then again, Headlands is next weekend...
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Short Report
Apparently, I am a mid-packer as much in writing about my races as I am in running them. A week out from Western States and I've not even started on anything resembling a race report. A quick look at the results will verify that it didn't go quite to plan. However, with a finishing rate just under 60%, I believe those triple digit temperatures helped to soil more than a few plans.
In my case the numbers tell the tale. Not only was I on target, even ridiculously so, all the way to the top of Devil's Thumb, but my pre-race statement that I may need to toss my pace chart at the bottom of El Dorado Canyon turned out to be prophetic. The chart below shows my planned times along side the actual results as well as the differences between. The finishing data comes mostly from the event webcast with gaps filled in from my GPS data. The early anomaly of Miller's Defeat is due to that aid station being moved back 0.8 miles to 35.2 on race day.
Here's the brief summary of events. I felt as if I ran the first part of the race well, running my own pace, putting forth a strong but sustainable effort. I felt surprisingly strong going up The Thumb and felt bad for the number of people I saw in trouble there, especially since most were much faster runners than I am. Despite the heat, I never actually felt hot which I believe is a testament to my training. However, heading into El Dorado, definitely was warm and, while I felt fine, the temperature clearly had a cumulative effect on my pace. Even though I was only 15 minutes overtime at Michigan Bluff, I'd pretty much given up on my sub-24 effort. I knew my early times were tight and I would've needed to be well below these limits in order to make a go of it. I decided to take the pressure off myself and just enjoy the rest of the race.
At Foresthill, I was still not too far behind pace. Even if the night cooled significantly, I didn't think making up 20 minutes down to the river was feasible. After that, the course wouldn't favor my particular skills and making up additional time would be near impossible. However, rather than taking my earlier advice to just go easy and enjoy the rest of the race, I got it in my head to see how long I could keep pushing. A sub-25 seemed a good goal. That's 24-something, isn't it? After a bit too much time in the aid station, I headed down California Street looking forward to crushing some more downhill singletrack. I continued making good time down to Cal 1 though the visibility of dusk and a slight feeling of dizziness slowed me some.
My mind was set on the river's cooling waters as I continued reminding myself to focus, dusk giving way to dark. As mile 70 approached, I felt myself struggling a bit and just as I could hear Peachstone aid station approach, it hit me. Not more than a couple hundred yards out, a sudden wave of nausea stopped me in my tracks. Leaning against a tree, I began retching uncontrollably. Nothing ever came up, but each time I tried to get going, my stomach would go into spasms. It was a number of minutes before I was able to pull it together and stumble my way in. Kate Morejohn was there waiting for me having been warned by a couple of runners who passed me.
I spent close to 20 minutes sitting in that aid station being waited on by amazing volunteers while I waited on my stomach to get back in order. I was eventually on my way, but the next 10 miles would be the same story over and over. I would get myself moving for a bit, but eventually too much effort would put my stomach over the edge and I would be forced to stop and then go easy for a while. Between mile 70 and 80, I lost over an hour's time both on the trail and in aid stations. The cooling waters of the Rucky Chucky seemed to help a bit and by the top of Green Gate my stomach felt somewhat better. However, I don't think I kept my nutrition up to what it should have been and was hit with one or two final convulsive spell along the Auburn Lake Trails.
I didn't feel close to normal until around Brown's Bar by which point I just wanted those final 10 miles done. I think the section between Highway 49 and No Hands Bridge was the only part of the final leg that I actually enjoyed. With nothing left over mentally from that tough night, I just had no push in me to do anything but just walk the final climb to Robie's Point. As I was finishing (and relatively enjoying) the last big downhill, I remember thinking that the difference between 26:10 and 26:30 no longer held any meaning. There would be no sprint to the end just a nice easy jog with a big smile for finishing and for being finished.
As usual, I bit longer than originally planned. I will probably still write some more details later as inspiration comes to me. There is still plenty of post-race analysis and interesting bits to ponder. The only thing I will say is that I am very happy and proud of how I ran this race. I pushed myself like I wanted to and managed to race hard for a good solid 70 miles. In the end, I may have just run a 100 mile race at a 70 mile pace or I may have been done in by a heat that took more than I realized. Like all of these races, it was a great learning opportunity and a unique experience that will always be mine.
In my case the numbers tell the tale. Not only was I on target, even ridiculously so, all the way to the top of Devil's Thumb, but my pre-race statement that I may need to toss my pace chart at the bottom of El Dorado Canyon turned out to be prophetic. The chart below shows my planned times along side the actual results as well as the differences between. The finishing data comes mostly from the event webcast with gaps filled in from my GPS data. The early anomaly of Miller's Defeat is due to that aid station being moved back 0.8 miles to 35.2 on race day.
 |
| From Western States Prep |
Here's the brief summary of events. I felt as if I ran the first part of the race well, running my own pace, putting forth a strong but sustainable effort. I felt surprisingly strong going up The Thumb and felt bad for the number of people I saw in trouble there, especially since most were much faster runners than I am. Despite the heat, I never actually felt hot which I believe is a testament to my training. However, heading into El Dorado, definitely was warm and, while I felt fine, the temperature clearly had a cumulative effect on my pace. Even though I was only 15 minutes overtime at Michigan Bluff, I'd pretty much given up on my sub-24 effort. I knew my early times were tight and I would've needed to be well below these limits in order to make a go of it. I decided to take the pressure off myself and just enjoy the rest of the race.
At Foresthill, I was still not too far behind pace. Even if the night cooled significantly, I didn't think making up 20 minutes down to the river was feasible. After that, the course wouldn't favor my particular skills and making up additional time would be near impossible. However, rather than taking my earlier advice to just go easy and enjoy the rest of the race, I got it in my head to see how long I could keep pushing. A sub-25 seemed a good goal. That's 24-something, isn't it? After a bit too much time in the aid station, I headed down California Street looking forward to crushing some more downhill singletrack. I continued making good time down to Cal 1 though the visibility of dusk and a slight feeling of dizziness slowed me some.
My mind was set on the river's cooling waters as I continued reminding myself to focus, dusk giving way to dark. As mile 70 approached, I felt myself struggling a bit and just as I could hear Peachstone aid station approach, it hit me. Not more than a couple hundred yards out, a sudden wave of nausea stopped me in my tracks. Leaning against a tree, I began retching uncontrollably. Nothing ever came up, but each time I tried to get going, my stomach would go into spasms. It was a number of minutes before I was able to pull it together and stumble my way in. Kate Morejohn was there waiting for me having been warned by a couple of runners who passed me.
I spent close to 20 minutes sitting in that aid station being waited on by amazing volunteers while I waited on my stomach to get back in order. I was eventually on my way, but the next 10 miles would be the same story over and over. I would get myself moving for a bit, but eventually too much effort would put my stomach over the edge and I would be forced to stop and then go easy for a while. Between mile 70 and 80, I lost over an hour's time both on the trail and in aid stations. The cooling waters of the Rucky Chucky seemed to help a bit and by the top of Green Gate my stomach felt somewhat better. However, I don't think I kept my nutrition up to what it should have been and was hit with one or two final convulsive spell along the Auburn Lake Trails.
I didn't feel close to normal until around Brown's Bar by which point I just wanted those final 10 miles done. I think the section between Highway 49 and No Hands Bridge was the only part of the final leg that I actually enjoyed. With nothing left over mentally from that tough night, I just had no push in me to do anything but just walk the final climb to Robie's Point. As I was finishing (and relatively enjoying) the last big downhill, I remember thinking that the difference between 26:10 and 26:30 no longer held any meaning. There would be no sprint to the end just a nice easy jog with a big smile for finishing and for being finished.
As usual, I bit longer than originally planned. I will probably still write some more details later as inspiration comes to me. There is still plenty of post-race analysis and interesting bits to ponder. The only thing I will say is that I am very happy and proud of how I ran this race. I pushed myself like I wanted to and managed to race hard for a good solid 70 miles. In the end, I may have just run a 100 mile race at a 70 mile pace or I may have been done in by a heat that took more than I realized. Like all of these races, it was a great learning opportunity and a unique experience that will always be mine.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Sitting, waiting, wishing
Well, I am finally packed up and ready to go.
This morning, I turned this:
Into this:
After a few last minute charges to the store, I am ready to head up to Squaw Valley. I have a couple of hours until my ride shows up.
In other news, the weather looks like it will not be giving us the respite that recent days may have led us to believe. The current weekend forecast is for 102 in Auburn on Saturday. People in the know have said that it is generally a few degrees warmer in the canyons. I've been heat training in the sauna and by bundling up for my runs, but I still have no idea how my body will respond on race day. I may just be figuratively tossing my time goal into one of the rivers along the course while I literally toss my pace chart.
Here is the chart as it stands today:
If you want to follow along and see how close (or how far) I manage to get from these once hopeful goals, you can access the webcast on the race website. Apparently, you can even sign-up for email alerts that will send a notice every time I arrive at one of the checkpoints. It's kind of funny to think that I can be running through an area designated as "wilderness" and, yet, people can receive an email telling them exactly when and where I am.
Oh, and for inspiration, I'll be singing this in my head. It should probably be "Run" rather than "Swim", but it's an awesome song nonetheless.
Swim - Jacks Mannequin
Have a great weekend. See you on the other side.
This morning, I turned this:
 |
| From Western States Prep |
Into this:
 |
| From Western States Prep |
After a few last minute charges to the store, I am ready to head up to Squaw Valley. I have a couple of hours until my ride shows up.
In other news, the weather looks like it will not be giving us the respite that recent days may have led us to believe. The current weekend forecast is for 102 in Auburn on Saturday. People in the know have said that it is generally a few degrees warmer in the canyons. I've been heat training in the sauna and by bundling up for my runs, but I still have no idea how my body will respond on race day. I may just be figuratively tossing my time goal into one of the rivers along the course while I literally toss my pace chart.
Here is the chart as it stands today:
 |
| From Western States Prep |
If you want to follow along and see how close (or how far) I manage to get from these once hopeful goals, you can access the webcast on the race website. Apparently, you can even sign-up for email alerts that will send a notice every time I arrive at one of the checkpoints. It's kind of funny to think that I can be running through an area designated as "wilderness" and, yet, people can receive an email telling them exactly when and where I am.
Oh, and for inspiration, I'll be singing this in my head. It should probably be "Run" rather than "Swim", but it's an awesome song nonetheless.
Swim - Jacks Mannequin
Have a great weekend. See you on the other side.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Western States Race (p)Report
After running a 100-miler, I am inevitably beset with a certain level of ennui. Having just accomplished a big goal, it generally takes me at least a couple of weeks for any sort of inspiration to work its way back into my psyche. That, combined with the time it takes to recall, sort and make coherent the myriad of fading memories from the race means that my race reports are generally late, long and rambling. So, with Western Sates less than 4 days away, I came upon a brilliant idea. Why not write my race report BEFORE the actual race?
I know, it's a bit unconventional to "report" on something that has yet to actually happen, but think of all the advantages this approach has. Not only will people be able to read it immediately after I finish the race, but they could read it section by section as I am running. The report itself should be much more entertaining as well, unburdened by all those pesky memories. Some may lament the lack of authenticity of an account that precedes the events of which it reputed to tell, but, really, most of the best race reports are mostly fiction anyways. Heck, that whole fact/fiction distinction really looses its meaning somewhere around mile 82.347 anyway. I've even heard rumors that some famous books about ultrarunning might contain one or two truths that were slightly stretched, bent, contorted or at minimum received a small session of massaging.
Finally, think of the great boom writing this report now, days before the race, has for me. Not only will I be freed from the burden of recounting every excruciating detail of yet another event where I beat the crud out of myself for some time goal that will land me yet another entry in the annals of obscurity. I will also have a bit of insurance should my race produce less than desirable results. In such an event, I can just drag my beaten and battered body in front of a computer screen and pull up this report. Then, upon reading it, I can simply imagine that the ideal results described herein were the actual events that took place. Given my typical mental state at the end of a 100-miler, I can probably make a darn good go at convincing myself that the description below is actually what transpired. At minimum, I will a nice detailed account of the race I'd hoped to have run.
So, without further adieu, I give you my 2009 Western States race as it could and aught to (and hopefully, to at least some small extent will) be.
----
I headed out of the Bay Area with Harry and Martina who had scored us a condo right in Squaw near the race start. Thursday night was spent lallygagging about meeting up with people, Friday was more of the same with the pre-race briefing, check-in, weigh-in, etc. [Wait, why am I putting all this mundane detail in here? Certainly not in the name of completeness.]
Saturday morning, 4:40am, Olympic Village enshrouded in darkness, the climb up to Escarpment looming over us like a gathering storm. [Oh, that's good!] The runners are all huddled together near the start, a quivering mass of anticipation, like a single, giant organism held together by some unseen force, ready to break apart at any moment. [OK, now I think I've overdone it a bit.] Suffice it to say, the race eventually started. The front-runners took off in a howl, the rest of us an overexcited jog.
I have a rather complex spreadsheet that I used to calculate my splits. It breaks each section down into the major climbs, descents and rolling/flat sections. It allows me to estimate paces for each, add in time spent in aid stations and then it calculates the race time and time of day I expect, plan or at least hope to arrive at and depart form various locations. I'd given myself a pretty decent amount of time to complete the initial climb. Despite every effort at constraint, I was ahead of schedule at the first aid station. Its always difficult for me to hang back too much in an initial climb because I know that I tend to be faster on the downhills than 98.6% of the people who are the same speed as me on the uphills. That would probably be a more impressive figure if I wasn't such a piss-poor climber.
The whole initial section of the trail before Robinson Flat was new to me so the descent down to Lyon Ridge was a special treat. [Hmm, I just realized that there may be some difficulty providing a compelling description of a section of trail that I have never seen. Oh well, give it a go...] I flew down that narrow (or broad) section of smooth (or rocky) trail as it descended strait (or switch-backed) down the exposed (or densely forested) mountain. The scenery was amazing in the early morning light [I can safely say that, right?]
I had to pass a lot of people on that descent and I figured I would be ahead of my estimated 7:25am arrival time. I have...er, had [watch those tenses] splits for all of the aid stations, but for the early section my focus was just on getting to Robinson Flat before my reasonably conservative 11:45am time.
I knew the next section to Red Star Ridge was a place to really try and keep my enthusiasm bridled. [hey, if it can be unbridled it can be bridled, right?] It's all rolling terrain, but it is also at 7000ft which makes a good recipe for toasting ones legs early on. My idea of restraining myself to around 12 minute miles (1:05 split) might have been a bit much to ask given that it is right around where I would be warming up. But, I never do that well at altitude and this race would be no exception. I lost a little time here.
I was still within my zone as I headed into Duncan Canyon with my slightly aggressive 1:22 estimate. However, it's downhill and trying to bridle [there's that word again] my downhill early on generally hurts more than letting myself go a bit fast. From there, I had a well-padded 1:42 to make it to the bottom of the canyon and up to Robinson. I was on target here and well in time for lunch, but worked hard to not use the full 5 minutes I had allotted myself at this aid station. I knew the next section from the training camp and was looking forward to all the downhill as well as getting out of the high country.
Miller's Defeat (12:45pm), Dusty Corners (1:25pm), Last Chance (2:30pm), the trail was familiar, but some of the aid stations new. I focused on running easy, smooth, effortless and fast on these downhill sections. Properly run downhill not only gains you time, but can also let you recover at the same time. I came upon the descent into the canyon well ahead of splits and reminding myself to try to keep my abandon just short of reckless on what was my favorite section of trail in the training camp. Reminding myself over and over that I didn't have 38 miles on my legs last time I ran this section. Also reminding myself that the climb up to Devil's Thumb was waiting...wanting...in deep anticipation of yet another soul to devour.
The focus on the climb was simple. Step, step, drink. Step, step, drink. This worked during training until it turned into: step, step, suck...suck...dry! On race day, I made sure to have plenty of water up this climb especially since this was the hottest part of the day. I had myself arriving at the Thumb at 3:45pm, but with all the downhill and having handled the climb well, I was well ahead of target. I knew the next descent was going to be just a blast. Not only was it perfect running terrain down El Dorado Canyon, but the lure of getting to 50 miles was pulling me hard. So, I let it go, stayed focused and prepared my mind for the climb up to Michigan Bluff as I arrived at the creek.
This climb was actually easier than I expected during the training run. Often that ends up meaning that I underestimate it and fluck [that's right, I said "fluck"] it up on race day. I had until 5:30pm to arrive at Michigan. On the climb I just worked on a steady hiking pace and didn't let myself slack on any section that flattened out even a bit. This would be a mantra for the second half of this race. If I lose time anywhere it is in slacking on those gradual climbs late in a race. I also told myself to get in and out of this aid station quickly. It is such a nice locale, but there is no time to daly. Spending more and more time at later aid stations is also a race killer in these long events.
I was still looking very good on my time splits and looking forward to the next descent. However, that climb up and over to Volcano Creek is a bit sneaky and just the sort of thing that gets me. And, so, get me it did. This is where the padding in my splits came in handy. I made some time back up on the descent, but then there was that last climb up to Bath road and the road itself. Aaargh! I really wanted to be ahead of splits coming into Foresthill, thinking that if I beat 7:00pm, to the 100K mark it would be a huge boost. There I was coming into the school and my watch read exactly 7:08pm, just as it was writ in my spreadsheet. I knew from past splits that most sub-24 hour finishers are in and out of here before 7. I figured that the ones who weren't were much better at the flat, runnable stuff that would be coming than I was.
So, for me, this was all about making up time down to the river. Harry and I had run this section like mad men in training including pushing hard on all the rolling sections. With 62 miles on my body, it would simply be up to my indefatigable quads to carry my as fast as possible on all the downhills. I would just have to see what I had available for hte rest. I just focused hard on hitting those splits: Dardenelles (7:56pm), Peachstone (9:08pm) and then arriving at Rucky Chuky at 10:47pm.
I gave myself 10 minutes to get across the river and start heading up to Green Gate. This was again new territory and staying focused here was going to be key. I knew that there were two main dangers as far as my race goal was concerned. This climb and then the section along Auburn Lake Trails. The climb because I could totally smoke it and fall way off my splits, trunching my spirit and then just slag my way to the finish. [I am trying to add some authenticity here by making up stupid sounding words to represent my mental state this late in the race. It's not really working.] My goal was 11:33pm. I'm generally a strong finisher, but even that was going to be cutting it close. So, close cutting it would be as I pulled in right around my target.
Next was a bit of up and down to get to ALT. The small downhills after Green Gate were small respite. As the rolling terrain hit, I knew I was going to have to push and resist that temptation to walk the small uphills. Where's my shuffle? Where's that granny gear? With struggle, I arrived at ALT just before 1:00am. This was going to be tough. The rolling section to Brown's Bar was net downhill, but it sure didn't feel like it. This was the section where fatigue and the desire to just walk were like chocolate cake to a diet. [Boy was that a lame analogy] The impetus to give in was almost irresistable, but giving in was giving up. Leaving Brown's at 2:10am, I was hoping to recover something on the downhill. I knew there was a climb up to Highway 49 and I was not looking forward to it. I slugged it out making it to the road in an hour.
From there, I just had to make it up another short climb and I could run my ass off to No Hands Bridge. My ability to run hard downhill, all day, all night, is the only advantage I really have. Arriving at No Hands at 4:00am meant that it was really going to come down to the wire. I was going to have to really push it hard up that final climb. I called on everything I had, recallng every training run, every race, even the time spent on the treadmill. I tried to find the most painful memories to remind myself of what I had pushed through.
I arrived at Robie Point breathing hard. I paused only breifly to ask someone how far to the finish even though I knew it was 1.3 miles. I didn't know if I had the time. I didn't know if I had it in me. I put my head down and just ran, litterally, with my eyes closed. When I opened them again, I don't know how long it had been. I don't know how I had gotten there. I was entering the Placer High School track and somehow my legs were still moving. However, the last minutes before 5:00am were ticking down. Oh gawd! Was I gonna be one of those people who misses the finish time by seconds? My legs were burning, but I called on my latent sprinting ability and ...
----
Of course I'm going to leave you in suspense! Do you really think I was going to let someone else know how my race finished before I do? If you want to know how it turns out, your gonna just have to show up at the finish, with a little luck and a lot of hope before 5:00am, with a little less of each not too long after. I have no idea if the race I will actually run on Saturday will be anywhere near as good as the above. However, you can rest assured that the description you just read [assuming anyone actually read the whole thing] is the race I will be running in my head, over and over, until then.
OK, now I really do have to start packing...
I know, it's a bit unconventional to "report" on something that has yet to actually happen, but think of all the advantages this approach has. Not only will people be able to read it immediately after I finish the race, but they could read it section by section as I am running. The report itself should be much more entertaining as well, unburdened by all those pesky memories. Some may lament the lack of authenticity of an account that precedes the events of which it reputed to tell, but, really, most of the best race reports are mostly fiction anyways. Heck, that whole fact/fiction distinction really looses its meaning somewhere around mile 82.347 anyway. I've even heard rumors that some famous books about ultrarunning might contain one or two truths that were slightly stretched, bent, contorted or at minimum received a small session of massaging.
Finally, think of the great boom writing this report now, days before the race, has for me. Not only will I be freed from the burden of recounting every excruciating detail of yet another event where I beat the crud out of myself for some time goal that will land me yet another entry in the annals of obscurity. I will also have a bit of insurance should my race produce less than desirable results. In such an event, I can just drag my beaten and battered body in front of a computer screen and pull up this report. Then, upon reading it, I can simply imagine that the ideal results described herein were the actual events that took place. Given my typical mental state at the end of a 100-miler, I can probably make a darn good go at convincing myself that the description below is actually what transpired. At minimum, I will a nice detailed account of the race I'd hoped to have run.
So, without further adieu, I give you my 2009 Western States race as it could and aught to (and hopefully, to at least some small extent will) be.
----
I headed out of the Bay Area with Harry and Martina who had scored us a condo right in Squaw near the race start. Thursday night was spent lallygagging about meeting up with people, Friday was more of the same with the pre-race briefing, check-in, weigh-in, etc. [Wait, why am I putting all this mundane detail in here? Certainly not in the name of completeness.]
Saturday morning, 4:40am, Olympic Village enshrouded in darkness, the climb up to Escarpment looming over us like a gathering storm. [Oh, that's good!] The runners are all huddled together near the start, a quivering mass of anticipation, like a single, giant organism held together by some unseen force, ready to break apart at any moment. [OK, now I think I've overdone it a bit.] Suffice it to say, the race eventually started. The front-runners took off in a howl, the rest of us an overexcited jog.
I have a rather complex spreadsheet that I used to calculate my splits. It breaks each section down into the major climbs, descents and rolling/flat sections. It allows me to estimate paces for each, add in time spent in aid stations and then it calculates the race time and time of day I expect, plan or at least hope to arrive at and depart form various locations. I'd given myself a pretty decent amount of time to complete the initial climb. Despite every effort at constraint, I was ahead of schedule at the first aid station. Its always difficult for me to hang back too much in an initial climb because I know that I tend to be faster on the downhills than 98.6% of the people who are the same speed as me on the uphills. That would probably be a more impressive figure if I wasn't such a piss-poor climber.
The whole initial section of the trail before Robinson Flat was new to me so the descent down to Lyon Ridge was a special treat. [Hmm, I just realized that there may be some difficulty providing a compelling description of a section of trail that I have never seen. Oh well, give it a go...] I flew down that narrow (or broad) section of smooth (or rocky) trail as it descended strait (or switch-backed) down the exposed (or densely forested) mountain. The scenery was amazing in the early morning light [I can safely say that, right?]
I had to pass a lot of people on that descent and I figured I would be ahead of my estimated 7:25am arrival time. I have...er, had [watch those tenses] splits for all of the aid stations, but for the early section my focus was just on getting to Robinson Flat before my reasonably conservative 11:45am time.
I knew the next section to Red Star Ridge was a place to really try and keep my enthusiasm bridled. [hey, if it can be unbridled it can be bridled, right?] It's all rolling terrain, but it is also at 7000ft which makes a good recipe for toasting ones legs early on. My idea of restraining myself to around 12 minute miles (1:05 split) might have been a bit much to ask given that it is right around where I would be warming up. But, I never do that well at altitude and this race would be no exception. I lost a little time here.
I was still within my zone as I headed into Duncan Canyon with my slightly aggressive 1:22 estimate. However, it's downhill and trying to bridle [there's that word again] my downhill early on generally hurts more than letting myself go a bit fast. From there, I had a well-padded 1:42 to make it to the bottom of the canyon and up to Robinson. I was on target here and well in time for lunch, but worked hard to not use the full 5 minutes I had allotted myself at this aid station. I knew the next section from the training camp and was looking forward to all the downhill as well as getting out of the high country.
Miller's Defeat (12:45pm), Dusty Corners (1:25pm), Last Chance (2:30pm), the trail was familiar, but some of the aid stations new. I focused on running easy, smooth, effortless and fast on these downhill sections. Properly run downhill not only gains you time, but can also let you recover at the same time. I came upon the descent into the canyon well ahead of splits and reminding myself to try to keep my abandon just short of reckless on what was my favorite section of trail in the training camp. Reminding myself over and over that I didn't have 38 miles on my legs last time I ran this section. Also reminding myself that the climb up to Devil's Thumb was waiting...wanting...in deep anticipation of yet another soul to devour.
The focus on the climb was simple. Step, step, drink. Step, step, drink. This worked during training until it turned into: step, step, suck...suck...dry! On race day, I made sure to have plenty of water up this climb especially since this was the hottest part of the day. I had myself arriving at the Thumb at 3:45pm, but with all the downhill and having handled the climb well, I was well ahead of target. I knew the next descent was going to be just a blast. Not only was it perfect running terrain down El Dorado Canyon, but the lure of getting to 50 miles was pulling me hard. So, I let it go, stayed focused and prepared my mind for the climb up to Michigan Bluff as I arrived at the creek.
This climb was actually easier than I expected during the training run. Often that ends up meaning that I underestimate it and fluck [that's right, I said "fluck"] it up on race day. I had until 5:30pm to arrive at Michigan. On the climb I just worked on a steady hiking pace and didn't let myself slack on any section that flattened out even a bit. This would be a mantra for the second half of this race. If I lose time anywhere it is in slacking on those gradual climbs late in a race. I also told myself to get in and out of this aid station quickly. It is such a nice locale, but there is no time to daly. Spending more and more time at later aid stations is also a race killer in these long events.
I was still looking very good on my time splits and looking forward to the next descent. However, that climb up and over to Volcano Creek is a bit sneaky and just the sort of thing that gets me. And, so, get me it did. This is where the padding in my splits came in handy. I made some time back up on the descent, but then there was that last climb up to Bath road and the road itself. Aaargh! I really wanted to be ahead of splits coming into Foresthill, thinking that if I beat 7:00pm, to the 100K mark it would be a huge boost. There I was coming into the school and my watch read exactly 7:08pm, just as it was writ in my spreadsheet. I knew from past splits that most sub-24 hour finishers are in and out of here before 7. I figured that the ones who weren't were much better at the flat, runnable stuff that would be coming than I was.
So, for me, this was all about making up time down to the river. Harry and I had run this section like mad men in training including pushing hard on all the rolling sections. With 62 miles on my body, it would simply be up to my indefatigable quads to carry my as fast as possible on all the downhills. I would just have to see what I had available for hte rest. I just focused hard on hitting those splits: Dardenelles (7:56pm), Peachstone (9:08pm) and then arriving at Rucky Chuky at 10:47pm.
I gave myself 10 minutes to get across the river and start heading up to Green Gate. This was again new territory and staying focused here was going to be key. I knew that there were two main dangers as far as my race goal was concerned. This climb and then the section along Auburn Lake Trails. The climb because I could totally smoke it and fall way off my splits, trunching my spirit and then just slag my way to the finish. [I am trying to add some authenticity here by making up stupid sounding words to represent my mental state this late in the race. It's not really working.] My goal was 11:33pm. I'm generally a strong finisher, but even that was going to be cutting it close. So, close cutting it would be as I pulled in right around my target.
Next was a bit of up and down to get to ALT. The small downhills after Green Gate were small respite. As the rolling terrain hit, I knew I was going to have to push and resist that temptation to walk the small uphills. Where's my shuffle? Where's that granny gear? With struggle, I arrived at ALT just before 1:00am. This was going to be tough. The rolling section to Brown's Bar was net downhill, but it sure didn't feel like it. This was the section where fatigue and the desire to just walk were like chocolate cake to a diet. [Boy was that a lame analogy] The impetus to give in was almost irresistable, but giving in was giving up. Leaving Brown's at 2:10am, I was hoping to recover something on the downhill. I knew there was a climb up to Highway 49 and I was not looking forward to it. I slugged it out making it to the road in an hour.
From there, I just had to make it up another short climb and I could run my ass off to No Hands Bridge. My ability to run hard downhill, all day, all night, is the only advantage I really have. Arriving at No Hands at 4:00am meant that it was really going to come down to the wire. I was going to have to really push it hard up that final climb. I called on everything I had, recallng every training run, every race, even the time spent on the treadmill. I tried to find the most painful memories to remind myself of what I had pushed through.
I arrived at Robie Point breathing hard. I paused only breifly to ask someone how far to the finish even though I knew it was 1.3 miles. I didn't know if I had the time. I didn't know if I had it in me. I put my head down and just ran, litterally, with my eyes closed. When I opened them again, I don't know how long it had been. I don't know how I had gotten there. I was entering the Placer High School track and somehow my legs were still moving. However, the last minutes before 5:00am were ticking down. Oh gawd! Was I gonna be one of those people who misses the finish time by seconds? My legs were burning, but I called on my latent sprinting ability and ...
----
Of course I'm going to leave you in suspense! Do you really think I was going to let someone else know how my race finished before I do? If you want to know how it turns out, your gonna just have to show up at the finish, with a little luck and a lot of hope before 5:00am, with a little less of each not too long after. I have no idea if the race I will actually run on Saturday will be anywhere near as good as the above. However, you can rest assured that the description you just read [assuming anyone actually read the whole thing] is the race I will be running in my head, over and over, until then.
OK, now I really do have to start packing...
Monday, June 22, 2009
Mind. Set?
A decade of dreaming.
Fantasies of something that seemed so unreachable. But, dreams beget inspiration and inspiration, desire. With the wanting comes the choice: take those first steps and then the next. Years of building the endurance to even consider the distance. Years of turning myself into something I thought I could not. Eventually, the unfathomable seems almost conceivable. Step upon step, plodding the trails for hours, days, months, more and the dream grows legs, becomes a goal. The well-tempered goal inevitably spawns a plan.
The original plan was modest, perhaps too much so. Year one, a 50K, 50 miles the next. Perhaps with a 3rd year's experience I'd make a 100 by my 40th birthday. Western States was dropped into that cloudy bucket labeled "someday." Momentum is a marvelous thing; add a bit of energy, it becomes acceleration. I qualified for the lottery running a 50-miler my first year in the game. The second year, I ran 2 hundreds and was back for the draw again. Year three, I ran 4 and would be an "automatic" for States the following year based on the two-time-loser policy, perhaps among the last to be granted such honor.
With the 2008 fires, the plans, goals, dreams (and perhaps even a few hopes) of a couple hundred runners went up in more than just proverbial smoke. Then cancellation spun into postponement and those of us who'd expected to run the following year knew what it meant. Back to dreams it was. The original source of inspiration would, in all likelihood, have to wait another year, maybe two. A small handful would be given respite to fill some vacancies, but never did I imagine myself among them. Well, imagine is a bit of a strong word. Certainly, I didn't allow myself to fully believe until I sat at my desk, staring at the acceptance email.
Suddenly, plans became schedules--months of training plotted out. Schedules were executed. Base building, heart-rate tracking, long runs, tempo runs, all of it logged and analyzed. Races were run; one building upon the next. My biggest mileage ever, completed just in time for a proper taper. Now, with the big day finally looming near, times are being estimated, past results studied. Fiddling with an elaborate spreadsheet calculating splits and aid-station arrival times has become a near obsession. The final pieces are being snugly pressed into place.
Something that was once only a thought will soon become real. A decade of dreaming, years of building, months of training, and weeks of planning to execute on a well-devised strategy.
Yet, for some inexplicable reason, I will still, most likely, pack at the very last minute.
Fantasies of something that seemed so unreachable. But, dreams beget inspiration and inspiration, desire. With the wanting comes the choice: take those first steps and then the next. Years of building the endurance to even consider the distance. Years of turning myself into something I thought I could not. Eventually, the unfathomable seems almost conceivable. Step upon step, plodding the trails for hours, days, months, more and the dream grows legs, becomes a goal. The well-tempered goal inevitably spawns a plan.
The original plan was modest, perhaps too much so. Year one, a 50K, 50 miles the next. Perhaps with a 3rd year's experience I'd make a 100 by my 40th birthday. Western States was dropped into that cloudy bucket labeled "someday." Momentum is a marvelous thing; add a bit of energy, it becomes acceleration. I qualified for the lottery running a 50-miler my first year in the game. The second year, I ran 2 hundreds and was back for the draw again. Year three, I ran 4 and would be an "automatic" for States the following year based on the two-time-loser policy, perhaps among the last to be granted such honor.
With the 2008 fires, the plans, goals, dreams (and perhaps even a few hopes) of a couple hundred runners went up in more than just proverbial smoke. Then cancellation spun into postponement and those of us who'd expected to run the following year knew what it meant. Back to dreams it was. The original source of inspiration would, in all likelihood, have to wait another year, maybe two. A small handful would be given respite to fill some vacancies, but never did I imagine myself among them. Well, imagine is a bit of a strong word. Certainly, I didn't allow myself to fully believe until I sat at my desk, staring at the acceptance email.
Suddenly, plans became schedules--months of training plotted out. Schedules were executed. Base building, heart-rate tracking, long runs, tempo runs, all of it logged and analyzed. Races were run; one building upon the next. My biggest mileage ever, completed just in time for a proper taper. Now, with the big day finally looming near, times are being estimated, past results studied. Fiddling with an elaborate spreadsheet calculating splits and aid-station arrival times has become a near obsession. The final pieces are being snugly pressed into place.
Something that was once only a thought will soon become real. A decade of dreaming, years of building, months of training, and weeks of planning to execute on a well-devised strategy.
Yet, for some inexplicable reason, I will still, most likely, pack at the very last minute.
Sunday, June 07, 2009
May, I
Its the last day of May. I'm laying on my bedroom floor, feet propped up on the dresser, staring at the ceiling. The buzz of exhaustion still coursing through my body, I watch idly as my mind creates patterns in the acoustic texturing. I love this feeling. Eventually I will get up, clean up and perhaps cool off in the pool, washing away the last evidence of Ohlone trail dust from my legs. I've just capped off my biggest month of running to date.
The race itself went well. I entered on very tired legs, with no intention to push the pace, but still likely to attain a PR for the course. I'd run the Ohlone 50K two times previously, last year in the oppressive heat and 2006 as my very first ultra. I fared better with the heat than the lack of experience. Running a personal best was not really the goal. I was much more interested to see what sort of load my body could manage as the four week countdown to the big race begins. To assure I didn't start the race with too much enthusiasm, I'd done 12-1/2 miles the day before with about 2200ft of climbing, covering the first few miles of the course. I told myself that if I ran all the initial hills Saturday afternoon, I wouldn't be tempted to do so Sunday morning. Those previous day's miles as well along with the many miles preceding them weighed heavily on my legs throughout the race. A good chunk of those were done at the Western States training camp the weekend before.
I haven't yet written about the training camp. It was definitely a worthwhile experience. I drove up Friday afternoon with Harry Walther and stayed in Auburn. I'd been fighting a bit of a sinus cold so I wasn't sure how the first day's run, which started at 7000ft, would feel. Luckily, after an initial hike up through a snow field, it was a downhill start. The first day covered about 32 miles and included the canyons infamous for their climbs/descents as well as their their tendency for race-day heat. Harry and I would spend Saturday night up at Donner Lake, trading the full camp experience for a real beds, returning to Foresthill Sunday for the second run. Day two was around 20 miles and covered the part of the course from that descends to Rucky Chucky river.
I don't have time for a detailed report, but I will give my general impression. Basically, the downhill, especially the single-track into the canyons, was excellent. In fact, I would rate them up there with some of my favorite downhill trails anywhere. The climbs weren't nearly as bad as I expected. I think I had Coyote 2 Moons in mind and put myself into the mindset of "climbing for hours" once we headed up. None of the major climbs are that long or steep. Devil's Thumb is a good grind. I was handling it really well until I ran out of water. The training runs had only half the number of aid stations as the race. Most of those in the know filled up at the falls before the climb. I was not in the know. Other than the crazy downhills, I tried to take it easy, even took a dip in the river at Duncan Canyon for a spell. Overall, the canyons weren't too daunting. Of course, with triple-digit temps it would be a very different story.
The second day also started with a downhill section, including some narrow singletrack. We started in the back and it was a bit tough being caught behind lines of runners, not being able to run my normal pace. It almost always hurts more going slow downhill as I'm forced into continuously braking. Eventually the trail leveled out a bit, but it was obvious there was going to be more ups and downs so I pushed to get ahead. As I was heading up a gradual hill I thought back to a conversation Harry and I had the day before. I'd mentioned that there was a lot more flat or gradual slope trail on the course than I expected. Knowing myself, one of the biggest challenges to a good time in the race will be continuing to run these sections late in the race when I am tired. Since I wasn't going to run on Monday, I decided I would push during this training run.
After catching Harry on the last big downhill, I mentioned this to him. From there on out, the two of us stuck together running hard on the rolling hills. He pulled me up the hills and I, him, down. We cruised along making really good time. In fact, we made it down to the river in about 2-1/2 hours including the slow start. Probably an hour or so more than I expect to do on race day, but it was good to practice pushing on tired legs. The funny thing was that when we went down to take our dip in the river, it was pretty much all front-runners relaxing and cooling off there. I felt like I had snuck into a private party where I didn't really belong.
The last part of day 2 was just a climb out of the valley that isn't part of the race. Most people just treated it as a good hike with a nice BBQ at the end. We headed back to Donner after that and just chilled the rest of the day, feet up, enjoying the sensation of tired bodies. I ended up driving home that night in order to catch my son's tournament in the morning. They lost the game, but I got to spend the day at home with my wife until she had to be dropped at the office that evening. I got in a little 3-miler recovery run. I continued the tired leg running the next two days and then had to take a day off on Thurs. Friday I knocked off an easy 6 and then the aforementioned 12.5 Saturday. The Ohlone 50K would top off the week around 67 breaking my streak of 3 straight 70+ weeks. Still, it ended May as my biggest month ever. I was still just a smidge under 320mi for the month so, despite being wiped from the race, I did one more little two miler with my wife Sunday night. I really am a slave to the numbers.
Perhaps 320 a month isn't huge by some people's standard, but for me it represents very big numbers. With 5 weekends in May it was a bit easier to obtain especially since I don't get in a lot of weekday miles. For me, it's mostly about the weekends anyway. I managed four straight with 45 miles or more. The totals (with long runs in parens) were as follows: 50, 48(32), 52(32), 45(31). In fact, going back further, I've maintained a streak of weekend long runs of at least 29 miles for six weeks: 31, 29, 50, 32, 32, 31. Actually, since its taken a full week to finish this post, I've extended the streak an extra week finishing the Mt. Diablo 50K yesterday. I ended up taking two full days off last week so its clear the cumulative mileage is having an effect. The body's tired, but holding together. I'll do a recovery run today and then figure out how to structure the next 20 days.
May is done. June is here. I'm ready to start my taper. I'm ready to focus on the race. I'm ready.
The race itself went well. I entered on very tired legs, with no intention to push the pace, but still likely to attain a PR for the course. I'd run the Ohlone 50K two times previously, last year in the oppressive heat and 2006 as my very first ultra. I fared better with the heat than the lack of experience. Running a personal best was not really the goal. I was much more interested to see what sort of load my body could manage as the four week countdown to the big race begins. To assure I didn't start the race with too much enthusiasm, I'd done 12-1/2 miles the day before with about 2200ft of climbing, covering the first few miles of the course. I told myself that if I ran all the initial hills Saturday afternoon, I wouldn't be tempted to do so Sunday morning. Those previous day's miles as well along with the many miles preceding them weighed heavily on my legs throughout the race. A good chunk of those were done at the Western States training camp the weekend before.
I haven't yet written about the training camp. It was definitely a worthwhile experience. I drove up Friday afternoon with Harry Walther and stayed in Auburn. I'd been fighting a bit of a sinus cold so I wasn't sure how the first day's run, which started at 7000ft, would feel. Luckily, after an initial hike up through a snow field, it was a downhill start. The first day covered about 32 miles and included the canyons infamous for their climbs/descents as well as their their tendency for race-day heat. Harry and I would spend Saturday night up at Donner Lake, trading the full camp experience for a real beds, returning to Foresthill Sunday for the second run. Day two was around 20 miles and covered the part of the course from that descends to Rucky Chucky river.
I don't have time for a detailed report, but I will give my general impression. Basically, the downhill, especially the single-track into the canyons, was excellent. In fact, I would rate them up there with some of my favorite downhill trails anywhere. The climbs weren't nearly as bad as I expected. I think I had Coyote 2 Moons in mind and put myself into the mindset of "climbing for hours" once we headed up. None of the major climbs are that long or steep. Devil's Thumb is a good grind. I was handling it really well until I ran out of water. The training runs had only half the number of aid stations as the race. Most of those in the know filled up at the falls before the climb. I was not in the know. Other than the crazy downhills, I tried to take it easy, even took a dip in the river at Duncan Canyon for a spell. Overall, the canyons weren't too daunting. Of course, with triple-digit temps it would be a very different story.
The second day also started with a downhill section, including some narrow singletrack. We started in the back and it was a bit tough being caught behind lines of runners, not being able to run my normal pace. It almost always hurts more going slow downhill as I'm forced into continuously braking. Eventually the trail leveled out a bit, but it was obvious there was going to be more ups and downs so I pushed to get ahead. As I was heading up a gradual hill I thought back to a conversation Harry and I had the day before. I'd mentioned that there was a lot more flat or gradual slope trail on the course than I expected. Knowing myself, one of the biggest challenges to a good time in the race will be continuing to run these sections late in the race when I am tired. Since I wasn't going to run on Monday, I decided I would push during this training run.
After catching Harry on the last big downhill, I mentioned this to him. From there on out, the two of us stuck together running hard on the rolling hills. He pulled me up the hills and I, him, down. We cruised along making really good time. In fact, we made it down to the river in about 2-1/2 hours including the slow start. Probably an hour or so more than I expect to do on race day, but it was good to practice pushing on tired legs. The funny thing was that when we went down to take our dip in the river, it was pretty much all front-runners relaxing and cooling off there. I felt like I had snuck into a private party where I didn't really belong.
The last part of day 2 was just a climb out of the valley that isn't part of the race. Most people just treated it as a good hike with a nice BBQ at the end. We headed back to Donner after that and just chilled the rest of the day, feet up, enjoying the sensation of tired bodies. I ended up driving home that night in order to catch my son's tournament in the morning. They lost the game, but I got to spend the day at home with my wife until she had to be dropped at the office that evening. I got in a little 3-miler recovery run. I continued the tired leg running the next two days and then had to take a day off on Thurs. Friday I knocked off an easy 6 and then the aforementioned 12.5 Saturday. The Ohlone 50K would top off the week around 67 breaking my streak of 3 straight 70+ weeks. Still, it ended May as my biggest month ever. I was still just a smidge under 320mi for the month so, despite being wiped from the race, I did one more little two miler with my wife Sunday night. I really am a slave to the numbers.
Perhaps 320 a month isn't huge by some people's standard, but for me it represents very big numbers. With 5 weekends in May it was a bit easier to obtain especially since I don't get in a lot of weekday miles. For me, it's mostly about the weekends anyway. I managed four straight with 45 miles or more. The totals (with long runs in parens) were as follows: 50, 48(32), 52(32), 45(31). In fact, going back further, I've maintained a streak of weekend long runs of at least 29 miles for six weeks: 31, 29, 50, 32, 32, 31. Actually, since its taken a full week to finish this post, I've extended the streak an extra week finishing the Mt. Diablo 50K yesterday. I ended up taking two full days off last week so its clear the cumulative mileage is having an effect. The body's tired, but holding together. I'll do a recovery run today and then figure out how to structure the next 20 days.
May is done. June is here. I'm ready to start my taper. I'm ready to focus on the race. I'm ready.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
3-peats
This is my 4th year of running ultras, but I don't have any streaks going. It's not as though I've tried particularly hard, favoring new experiences over repeated events. However, of the 4 races I entered that first year, I have returned to 3. Firetrails, being my birthday run, is the only one where I actually made the effort to return each year. I generally try to balance my obsession with those other activities often collectively referred to as "having a life." Even for those races I've tried to repeat don't always make it into the final schedule.
Big Basin wasn't on my schedule this year, but it is one of my favorite places to run. With the weekend after Quicksilver open, I jumped at the opportunity to sign up for this race. It would also the first race where to which I would be returning for a 3rd time. However, some trail closures required Sarah and Wendell to modify the course. So, for the 3rd time it would also be a different route. On paper it looked like it might actually be a course improvement, shortening the 17K loop to 15 and running the other loop in the alternate direction putting the single track on the downhill. The shortened loop would be especially nice given the heat that was expected.
There's not that much to say about this race that I haven't said before. It's beautiful running through between the excellent trails, the redwoods and, of course, Berry Creak Falls. The new course was definitely an improvement and, best of all, there were absolutely no yellow-jackets! The heat, however, was there in droves. The first 25K wasn't too bad and I was definitely not trying to beat my previous sub-6 hour finish. I hit the half way point around 3:10. Given that I had run 3-1/2 hours in the heat the day before along with the fact that the new course had more climbing and measured a little long, I was moving pretty well.
The second half did not start off quite so well. Felling like I know these trails, I was on auto-pilot heading down the Skyline-to-the-Sea trail towards the creek. I knew there wasn't supposed to be much uphill on this section so as I cruised along the gradual grade, I became a bit suspicious. However, there was another runner up ahead in front of me so I assuaged my fears and just focused on catching him. I came upon him just as the trail dumped out onto a broad fireroad. I knew this was wrong. He was ready to keep going up the fireroad, but I insisted that we were off course.
Heading back down seemed like forever. Questions and doubts entering my mind every few yards. Eventually I arrived at the well-marked intersection we had both missed. As I ran back up trail to let my fellow wanderer know I had found it, I noticed what had probably lead us both astray. There was a yellow flag marking a downed tree that looked just like a course marking. It seemed like much longer, but in the end I had probably only added an extra 1/2 mile. However, given the heat and the nearly 10-mile loop, I really didn't need any bonus miles. I ended up draining both my water bottles before I had even finished 2/3 of the loop making this one very painful trip.
I came back into the aid station dehydrated and more than a bit off balance. While the volunteer filled my water bottles, I drank about 4 cups of sports drink and ate. I took a little time, but was not about to drop. Apparently, there were quite a few who had. Not only had the heat gotten to a lot of people, but heading out with the 15K and 25K runners always gets some people burning too much too soon in this race. The final loop was tough, but I had plenty to drink so it wasn't horrible. I just put my head down and focused on getting through the uphills. Once I made it to meteor, I knew I could cruise the rest of the course. I passed one person on the downhill and then caught another running in the final rolling miles.
This last guy was surprised to see me behind him as I had been in front of him the last time we met. I explained about getting off course and after a little conversation he decided he was motivated to kick it in. I opted not to give chase as I was already going to finish well over an hour above my PR for this race. I let him go and just took it easy on the final mile. I came into the finish in just over 7 hours and 20 minutes after the start. Its wasn't a PW (personal worst), but it was close. Given that I was actually the 6th finisher it was obvious that the race had taken quite a toll on many. In the end only 15 of the 37 starters finished the race. Some times a brutal race is just as rewarding as a fast one.
In the end, this race was an excellent training run as it was intended to be. My 3rd running of this event was as unique as the first. In my schedule there are two more potential 3rds coming up in my schedule. This weekend is the Ohlone 50K which was my first ultra ever. Next weekend is the Mt. Diablo 50K which would be my first 3-in-a-row race. As with Big Basin, I will try to keep each of these at the "training run" effort level. Diablo will be my last long run before tapering for Western States.
Big Basin wasn't on my schedule this year, but it is one of my favorite places to run. With the weekend after Quicksilver open, I jumped at the opportunity to sign up for this race. It would also the first race where to which I would be returning for a 3rd time. However, some trail closures required Sarah and Wendell to modify the course. So, for the 3rd time it would also be a different route. On paper it looked like it might actually be a course improvement, shortening the 17K loop to 15 and running the other loop in the alternate direction putting the single track on the downhill. The shortened loop would be especially nice given the heat that was expected.
There's not that much to say about this race that I haven't said before. It's beautiful running through between the excellent trails, the redwoods and, of course, Berry Creak Falls. The new course was definitely an improvement and, best of all, there were absolutely no yellow-jackets! The heat, however, was there in droves. The first 25K wasn't too bad and I was definitely not trying to beat my previous sub-6 hour finish. I hit the half way point around 3:10. Given that I had run 3-1/2 hours in the heat the day before along with the fact that the new course had more climbing and measured a little long, I was moving pretty well.
The second half did not start off quite so well. Felling like I know these trails, I was on auto-pilot heading down the Skyline-to-the-Sea trail towards the creek. I knew there wasn't supposed to be much uphill on this section so as I cruised along the gradual grade, I became a bit suspicious. However, there was another runner up ahead in front of me so I assuaged my fears and just focused on catching him. I came upon him just as the trail dumped out onto a broad fireroad. I knew this was wrong. He was ready to keep going up the fireroad, but I insisted that we were off course.
Heading back down seemed like forever. Questions and doubts entering my mind every few yards. Eventually I arrived at the well-marked intersection we had both missed. As I ran back up trail to let my fellow wanderer know I had found it, I noticed what had probably lead us both astray. There was a yellow flag marking a downed tree that looked just like a course marking. It seemed like much longer, but in the end I had probably only added an extra 1/2 mile. However, given the heat and the nearly 10-mile loop, I really didn't need any bonus miles. I ended up draining both my water bottles before I had even finished 2/3 of the loop making this one very painful trip.
I came back into the aid station dehydrated and more than a bit off balance. While the volunteer filled my water bottles, I drank about 4 cups of sports drink and ate. I took a little time, but was not about to drop. Apparently, there were quite a few who had. Not only had the heat gotten to a lot of people, but heading out with the 15K and 25K runners always gets some people burning too much too soon in this race. The final loop was tough, but I had plenty to drink so it wasn't horrible. I just put my head down and focused on getting through the uphills. Once I made it to meteor, I knew I could cruise the rest of the course. I passed one person on the downhill and then caught another running in the final rolling miles.
This last guy was surprised to see me behind him as I had been in front of him the last time we met. I explained about getting off course and after a little conversation he decided he was motivated to kick it in. I opted not to give chase as I was already going to finish well over an hour above my PR for this race. I let him go and just took it easy on the final mile. I came into the finish in just over 7 hours and 20 minutes after the start. Its wasn't a PW (personal worst), but it was close. Given that I was actually the 6th finisher it was obvious that the race had taken quite a toll on many. In the end only 15 of the 37 starters finished the race. Some times a brutal race is just as rewarding as a fast one.
In the end, this race was an excellent training run as it was intended to be. My 3rd running of this event was as unique as the first. In my schedule there are two more potential 3rds coming up in my schedule. This weekend is the Ohlone 50K which was my first ultra ever. Next weekend is the Mt. Diablo 50K which would be my first 3-in-a-row race. As with Big Basin, I will try to keep each of these at the "training run" effort level. Diablo will be my last long run before tapering for Western States.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
The Quickening
My plan was to recover from C2M and then build my training up through April towards a big mileage month of May. April didn't go quite as I'd hoped. I had wanted to be at consistent 60-mile weeks, but, then, I can't even claim these plans to have been best-laid. Now that May is here things actually seem to be coming together--coming to life as it were.
The month started off with a much needed solo run of 29 miles a week after a 50K race. Then, my schedule opened up and allowed me to run a 50 miler last weekend. That topped the week of at over 73 miles and a 7-day (Sun-Sat) total of 102. My goal for this month has always been to put a big load on my legs before the June taper.
I didn't want to let up too much this week, tired though my legs were. I ended up missing Tuesday due to a busy work schedule, but then managed a rare mid-week 12-1/2 mile run that included a jaunt part-way up the peak. I had descent mileage coming into this weekend when my schedule opened up again. I made a last minute decision to sign up for the Big Basin 50K on Sunday. If I could get at least 14 miles in on Saturday, I could get another 70+ mile week in. With the Western States training weekend to come, I could target 3 in a row which would definitely be a record for me.
We're having a heat wave. My 15-1/2 along the Ohlone trail today was done at an easy pace. However, with temps in the 90's nothing felt easy at the end of 3-1/2 hours. Temps aren't expected to drop much and that 50K is going to hurt tomorrow. It's all good heat training to me. It may be too early to start acclimating, but not for the mental adjustments of paying attention to how the body is responding to the temperature. If I can execute on these next few weeks, I'll be feeling pretty good about June. My only risk is injury. But, pushing that envelope is what it's about.
---
Speaking of quick, I mentioned a 50 miler above. It was the Quicksilver 50. I have too much going on to write a full race report, but I'll try to say a few words here. Quicksilver is one of the Bay Area classics, but it has been too close to Miwok for me to consider the past two years. Some people didn't think so this year including Jean Pomiier who took 2nd and Victor Ballesteros who took 3rd (after finishing 2nd at Miwok). The real story of the day was Chikara Omine who crushed the course record finishing in 6 hours 15 minutes on a course with 8500ft of climbing!
I didn't know too much about this race heading into it. In fact, I'd never even been in the park before. It's been compared to Firetrails 50. It claims quite a bit more elevation gain/loss than Firetrails, but you'd never know it from the early miles. This race seemed totally runnable. In fact, I figured I was going to pay for my morning exhuberance. Quicksilver offers many smaller ups and downs to Firetrails bigger climbs and descents. That is, until you come into the 50K mark. The ups and downs continue, but suddenly they've become sharp. It's the same heading back out.
I'd had a good race to that point. I hit the 31.5 mile mark right around 5:45. As I headed back out I was thinking about how good I was feeling and that I hadn't really had any lows. The afternoon was going to be warm so I grabbed a second water bottle which I would use mainly to spray myself with icy water. I knew from experience that keeping the legs cool really helps. Once I was over the steep hills and through the aid station, I felt good and decided to push it.
If I made it to the Sierra Azul feeling good, it was less than 9 miles left and most of it downhill. I shuffled on the gradual hills leading to this aid station and caught up with Cecil Baumgartner, a 3-time Western States finisher. We chatted and headed into the turnaround together. We stuck together on the way back until the descents steepened up a bit. As I've said before, gravity sets my pace and I picked it up. It is also around this point that I realized I could break 9:30. I didn't really have a goal coming in and would have been happy with 10 hours. However, late in a race...
I pushed pretty much all the final miles and made quick time through the aid stations. I caught and dropped a couple of people and just kept on pusing. I knew there was some good downhill followed by a few of those steep rollers at the end. I was going to shuffle everything, but the steepest hills and power those downs no matter how steep they were. If I trashed my legs, all the better. You gotta feel the burn to get the results.
I was just about on the final downhill when a couple of runners were standing still on the trial. As I started to accelerate, the woman stepped out and said "Stop! There's a huge rattlesnake on the trail!" I had some familiarity with these locals. I slowed down as I approached. When I saw it stretched out on the far side of the trail, I just gave it a nice wide berth yelling back "they can't strick when they're not coiled, just give it space."
I pounded the final downs and came in at 9:22. Pretty happy with that.
The month started off with a much needed solo run of 29 miles a week after a 50K race. Then, my schedule opened up and allowed me to run a 50 miler last weekend. That topped the week of at over 73 miles and a 7-day (Sun-Sat) total of 102. My goal for this month has always been to put a big load on my legs before the June taper.
I didn't want to let up too much this week, tired though my legs were. I ended up missing Tuesday due to a busy work schedule, but then managed a rare mid-week 12-1/2 mile run that included a jaunt part-way up the peak. I had descent mileage coming into this weekend when my schedule opened up again. I made a last minute decision to sign up for the Big Basin 50K on Sunday. If I could get at least 14 miles in on Saturday, I could get another 70+ mile week in. With the Western States training weekend to come, I could target 3 in a row which would definitely be a record for me.
We're having a heat wave. My 15-1/2 along the Ohlone trail today was done at an easy pace. However, with temps in the 90's nothing felt easy at the end of 3-1/2 hours. Temps aren't expected to drop much and that 50K is going to hurt tomorrow. It's all good heat training to me. It may be too early to start acclimating, but not for the mental adjustments of paying attention to how the body is responding to the temperature. If I can execute on these next few weeks, I'll be feeling pretty good about June. My only risk is injury. But, pushing that envelope is what it's about.
---
Speaking of quick, I mentioned a 50 miler above. It was the Quicksilver 50. I have too much going on to write a full race report, but I'll try to say a few words here. Quicksilver is one of the Bay Area classics, but it has been too close to Miwok for me to consider the past two years. Some people didn't think so this year including Jean Pomiier who took 2nd and Victor Ballesteros who took 3rd (after finishing 2nd at Miwok). The real story of the day was Chikara Omine who crushed the course record finishing in 6 hours 15 minutes on a course with 8500ft of climbing!
I didn't know too much about this race heading into it. In fact, I'd never even been in the park before. It's been compared to Firetrails 50. It claims quite a bit more elevation gain/loss than Firetrails, but you'd never know it from the early miles. This race seemed totally runnable. In fact, I figured I was going to pay for my morning exhuberance. Quicksilver offers many smaller ups and downs to Firetrails bigger climbs and descents. That is, until you come into the 50K mark. The ups and downs continue, but suddenly they've become sharp. It's the same heading back out.
I'd had a good race to that point. I hit the 31.5 mile mark right around 5:45. As I headed back out I was thinking about how good I was feeling and that I hadn't really had any lows. The afternoon was going to be warm so I grabbed a second water bottle which I would use mainly to spray myself with icy water. I knew from experience that keeping the legs cool really helps. Once I was over the steep hills and through the aid station, I felt good and decided to push it.
If I made it to the Sierra Azul feeling good, it was less than 9 miles left and most of it downhill. I shuffled on the gradual hills leading to this aid station and caught up with Cecil Baumgartner, a 3-time Western States finisher. We chatted and headed into the turnaround together. We stuck together on the way back until the descents steepened up a bit. As I've said before, gravity sets my pace and I picked it up. It is also around this point that I realized I could break 9:30. I didn't really have a goal coming in and would have been happy with 10 hours. However, late in a race...
I pushed pretty much all the final miles and made quick time through the aid stations. I caught and dropped a couple of people and just kept on pusing. I knew there was some good downhill followed by a few of those steep rollers at the end. I was going to shuffle everything, but the steepest hills and power those downs no matter how steep they were. If I trashed my legs, all the better. You gotta feel the burn to get the results.
I was just about on the final downhill when a couple of runners were standing still on the trial. As I started to accelerate, the woman stepped out and said "Stop! There's a huge rattlesnake on the trail!" I had some familiarity with these locals. I slowed down as I approached. When I saw it stretched out on the far side of the trail, I just gave it a nice wide berth yelling back "they can't strick when they're not coiled, just give it space."
I pounded the final downs and came in at 9:22. Pretty happy with that.
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Mud Fest - Plant Pest
With no running on Saturday, I needed to get a long run in Sunday. Furthermore, Meredith had given me her bottle of Miwok beer after the race since she was flying home. I have a strict "no long run, no beer" policy so there was extra incentive to get out on the trails. Besides, watching all those brave runners battle the elements on Saturday had me inspired. I was ready to head out into whatever mother nature could throw at me. However, she is a fickle one and never seems to give exactly what you expect.
For various reasons, I have felt a bit uninspired lately. Illness, schedule shifting, my runs lacking, heck, blame it on the bad economy. I really needed to head out on what one could call the trail running equivalent of "soul surfing." One description of which could easily be applied to time spent out on the trail:
"...the man upon his board who shuts out the world and its clamor, for the silence of rolling green passageways of bliss and beauty."
Exactly what I needed. Just head out on the trail unconstrained by the specifics of route, distance or even time. Just run, letting the terrain dictate my pace, choosing trails as they appear before me and returning only when my spirit has been fulfilled. Truth, however, is that I am not quite such an unfettered soul. I had some ideas to at least spend 4-5 hours and I did have to pick some place to run.
My original thought was just to head out from home and spend time out on the Ohlone trail. However, as I was going to drop my wife at work, I realized that heading to Chabot would offer a much broader range of options. I also had a vague idea of trying to explore some new trails such as Chabot-to-Garin or Chabot-to-Las Trampas. I was not going to be constrained by a plan, though, and when I arrived, I simply headed out on the west side of the lake. Based on what I'd seen the day before, I was prepared with jacket and gloves. As usual this assured that the rain stayed away, the gloves in my pack and the jacket around my waist for my entire run.
I had decided to head out to Bort Meadows and back to get some basic miles under my belt and then return around the lack and search for those trails on the other side. However, as I approached Bort, I was drawn to the MacDonald trail heading out to Redwood. I figured out what I was craving and it was something a bit more comitting than wandering around looking for new trails. The plan was then set to head over to that park and complete the full East/West ridge loop before heading back to Chabot. It's not the most beautiful route, but I knew it would give me the miles and hours on my feet that were what I really needed. I switched my GPS to not show pace or distance and simply focused on "being out there" and letting my mind wander. There would be no pushing on this run.
While it didn't rain, the evidence of recents storms was everywhere. The singletrack trails were littered with plenty of tree branches and other debris and all was wet and muddy. Running the East Ridge firetrail was like treading through something between the texture of wet glue and a swamp. While I was taking it easy, my hips, right knee and left foot felt a bit worked as the day crept towards dusk given all the slipping sliding and balancing I'd been doing. At one point I was thinking back to a discussion I'd had with Rick Gaston at the Miwok finish line. He said that, displite the wet conditions, the mud on the course wasn't that bad. We both agreed how much stickier things always seemed over on the east side of the bay. It's a conversation I probably should have recalled before chosing my route for the day.
In the end, I had a great run. I covered 29 miles and spent about 5 hours and 45 minutes out on the trail with the sun breaking through the clouds just as I finished. While the trails were a mess, the day itself was quite nice. Warm. Humid, even. Slipping into my nubby sandles and cooling down while walking around the parking lot, I had that glorious feeling of exhaustion that comes from a good, long run. I'd had my fill. I was happy.
After a refreshing shower at home, the night was completed with a Chipotle burrito and that Lagunitas IPA with a Miwok label on it. All good.
Well, all except for the next morning when I awoke to a bitter reminder of something I'd neglected the night before. A certain common west-coast shrub lined many of the single track trails I'd been running. Sporting its bright-green spring coat on each of its characteristic 3-leaf clusters, it wasn't difficult for me to recognize Poison-oak having grown up in California. What was difficult was remembering to dig out my Technu before hopping into the shower. Strangely enough, my exposed lower legs and arms seem to have avoided the leaf. It must have been transferred from my clothing. The big patch beneath my right eye is perhaps the most obvious, but certainly not the most uncomfortable location where I am currently displaying the tell-tale rash of my body's attempt to fight off the plant's toxic urushoil.
A small payment for a much-needed trip through "the silence of rolling green passageways of bliss and beauty."
For various reasons, I have felt a bit uninspired lately. Illness, schedule shifting, my runs lacking, heck, blame it on the bad economy. I really needed to head out on what one could call the trail running equivalent of "soul surfing." One description of which could easily be applied to time spent out on the trail:
"...the man upon his board who shuts out the world and its clamor, for the silence of rolling green passageways of bliss and beauty."
Exactly what I needed. Just head out on the trail unconstrained by the specifics of route, distance or even time. Just run, letting the terrain dictate my pace, choosing trails as they appear before me and returning only when my spirit has been fulfilled. Truth, however, is that I am not quite such an unfettered soul. I had some ideas to at least spend 4-5 hours and I did have to pick some place to run.
My original thought was just to head out from home and spend time out on the Ohlone trail. However, as I was going to drop my wife at work, I realized that heading to Chabot would offer a much broader range of options. I also had a vague idea of trying to explore some new trails such as Chabot-to-Garin or Chabot-to-Las Trampas. I was not going to be constrained by a plan, though, and when I arrived, I simply headed out on the west side of the lake. Based on what I'd seen the day before, I was prepared with jacket and gloves. As usual this assured that the rain stayed away, the gloves in my pack and the jacket around my waist for my entire run.
I had decided to head out to Bort Meadows and back to get some basic miles under my belt and then return around the lack and search for those trails on the other side. However, as I approached Bort, I was drawn to the MacDonald trail heading out to Redwood. I figured out what I was craving and it was something a bit more comitting than wandering around looking for new trails. The plan was then set to head over to that park and complete the full East/West ridge loop before heading back to Chabot. It's not the most beautiful route, but I knew it would give me the miles and hours on my feet that were what I really needed. I switched my GPS to not show pace or distance and simply focused on "being out there" and letting my mind wander. There would be no pushing on this run.
While it didn't rain, the evidence of recents storms was everywhere. The singletrack trails were littered with plenty of tree branches and other debris and all was wet and muddy. Running the East Ridge firetrail was like treading through something between the texture of wet glue and a swamp. While I was taking it easy, my hips, right knee and left foot felt a bit worked as the day crept towards dusk given all the slipping sliding and balancing I'd been doing. At one point I was thinking back to a discussion I'd had with Rick Gaston at the Miwok finish line. He said that, displite the wet conditions, the mud on the course wasn't that bad. We both agreed how much stickier things always seemed over on the east side of the bay. It's a conversation I probably should have recalled before chosing my route for the day.
In the end, I had a great run. I covered 29 miles and spent about 5 hours and 45 minutes out on the trail with the sun breaking through the clouds just as I finished. While the trails were a mess, the day itself was quite nice. Warm. Humid, even. Slipping into my nubby sandles and cooling down while walking around the parking lot, I had that glorious feeling of exhaustion that comes from a good, long run. I'd had my fill. I was happy.
After a refreshing shower at home, the night was completed with a Chipotle burrito and that Lagunitas IPA with a Miwok label on it. All good.
Well, all except for the next morning when I awoke to a bitter reminder of something I'd neglected the night before. A certain common west-coast shrub lined many of the single track trails I'd been running. Sporting its bright-green spring coat on each of its characteristic 3-leaf clusters, it wasn't difficult for me to recognize Poison-oak having grown up in California. What was difficult was remembering to dig out my Technu before hopping into the shower. Strangely enough, my exposed lower legs and arms seem to have avoided the leaf. It must have been transferred from my clothing. The big patch beneath my right eye is perhaps the most obvious, but certainly not the most uncomfortable location where I am currently displaying the tell-tale rash of my body's attempt to fight off the plant's toxic urushoil.
A small payment for a much-needed trip through "the silence of rolling green passageways of bliss and beauty."
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Me Watch Miwok
After Coyote Two Moons, where she was first woman in the 100K, Meredith and I were talking about our upcoming races and she through out the idea of pacing her at Miwok. I'd just finished a miserable race and so didn't give it much serious thought at the time. However, later, via email, she brought it up again and I let her know that due to my family schedule it would have to be a last minute decision. She was totally fine with me just showing up if I could since she wasn't planning for a pacer, but would be very happy to have me "kick her ass up the final climbs" (her words) in order to help attain her hopes of a PR on this course. With less than a week before the race, my schedule opened up and I let her know I would be there for at least the final 13 miles from Pantoll, but would try to get all the way to Bolinas for the full 20 miles. I was excited to be part of this race having run it the last two years, but didn't get in this time due to its popularity now requiring a lottery.
The term "trail carnage" is well known to ultrarunners and usually applies to a situation where a large number of runners drop from a race due to unexpectedly extreme conditions. Here in California it is commonly due to hot weather especially if we have an early-season heat wave. Diablo 50 is the traditional season opener for hot races and, from all reports, this year was no different. However, as the Miwok 100K rolled around two weeks later, the weather gods seemed to have something a bit different in store. A storm was rolling in to Northern California and set to hit on the very weekend of the race. As I headed up to Pantoll with Victoria, another pacer, in my Jeep, the rain continued to pick up. Standing around in the parking lot, it was clear the runners were going get drenched. In fact, we saw a few drop right then and there as the weather took its toll. It turned out not to be that cold at the start so many were unprepared for the much tougher conditions further out on the course. Meredith came in looking strong. However, I was a bit worried as she also looked cold having worn just a tank up to this point and not having a jacket with her at all. She grabbed a long-sleeved shirt and headed out on the ridge. I told her we were still looking for a ride, but were still hoping to be at Bolinas.
We managed to catch a ride with the crew of a runner that Victoria knew and headed out to Bolinas in a nice heated SUV. We had been joking about the impropriety of pacers coming down with hypothermia before they even start their duties. We were happy that our new friends had no problem letting us hang out inside the car after arriving at our destination. The rain was still coming down quite hard and this aid station looked to be in the middle of a growing swamp. A little after 11am I decided to step outside and see what was up. The leaders should have gone through on their return trip and Meredith should be heading out to towards turnaround 7 miles away. I figured I could get some idea how things were going before there were too many runners heading in both directions.
No sooner did I step up to the aid station than I heard a voice calling my name. I knew a lot of people at this race so I wasn't sure if it was someone running, crewing or volunteering. I looked around and then I saw her. Burried beneath a wool cap and blankets was Meredith looking cold and defeated. To make a long story short, she had come through Bolinas, but couldn't stop shivering from the cold. Somewhere along the muddy fireroad she realized that continuing would be putting herself at risk and wisely returned to the aid station. There was a guy sitting next to her covered in an emergency space blanket. We found a volunteer to give us a ride back to Pantoll where my Jeep was parked. We got in the car and were joined by a third runner.
Even with the heat blasting in a crowded car Meredith was still having trouble warming up, but her spirits started to lift a bit. I teased her that the problem being her 0% body fat. She was really just kicking herself for lack of planning; she knew the decision to drop was the right one. After a little while conversation began to flow and I asked if she knew who was leading the race. Meredith said that it was Geoff Roes from Alaska. At that, the guy sitting next to her leaned over and, in a voice both tired and hoarse, said "No, I'm not." A very awkward silence ensued.
We both felt terrible. I don't know if it was so much that we were embarassed for not knowing who he was or if we just felt bad that we'd put him in the situation of feeling the need to explain. We offered condolences, but tried not to pry. Geoff, however, was more than gracious and launched into his story of what had happened. Being an Alaskan, it certainly wasn't the weather that brought him down, but rather stomach issues. You can read the full account on his blog now as I don't know that I could do it justice. In the end, Geoff's would just be one story among many as this day would end early for people in the front, middle and back of the running pack.
Eventually we made it back to Pantoll. Meredith and the other guy (afraid I can't recall his name) hopped in my Jeep to head to Rodeo. Geoff hooked up with his crew. We arrived at the start/finish and awaited runners coming in. I told Tia, the RD, that she had an extra volunteer if she needed me. With that, I was immediately sent off to Starbucks to buy a big container of hot coffee for the deluge of freezing runners who would soon be coming into the finish area. Results have been posted online. Eric Grossman from Virginia came in first then local runner Victor Balesteros and then Scott Jaime from Colorado. On the women's side, it was Kami Semick taking her 4th win at this race though this time she took the lead with less than 2 miles to go. Anita Ortiz of Colorado came in second woman and then local phenom Caitlin Smith took 3rd in her first effort at this distance. She is definitely one to watch.
The rest of the day was spent watching runners come in and chatting with friends. I made another run to Starbucks for another 2.5 gallons of coffee as the first went rather quickly. With around 50 no-shows at the start and a DNF number that topped 60, this was one of the lowest finisher rates in Miwok history. There were a lot of very cold, wet runners at the finish, but also plenty of smiling faces on all was said and done. Miwok is one of the classics in the California ultra scene and I was happy to be a part of it no matter what role I got to play. Congrats to everyone who was out there on Saturday.
The term "trail carnage" is well known to ultrarunners and usually applies to a situation where a large number of runners drop from a race due to unexpectedly extreme conditions. Here in California it is commonly due to hot weather especially if we have an early-season heat wave. Diablo 50 is the traditional season opener for hot races and, from all reports, this year was no different. However, as the Miwok 100K rolled around two weeks later, the weather gods seemed to have something a bit different in store. A storm was rolling in to Northern California and set to hit on the very weekend of the race. As I headed up to Pantoll with Victoria, another pacer, in my Jeep, the rain continued to pick up. Standing around in the parking lot, it was clear the runners were going get drenched. In fact, we saw a few drop right then and there as the weather took its toll. It turned out not to be that cold at the start so many were unprepared for the much tougher conditions further out on the course. Meredith came in looking strong. However, I was a bit worried as she also looked cold having worn just a tank up to this point and not having a jacket with her at all. She grabbed a long-sleeved shirt and headed out on the ridge. I told her we were still looking for a ride, but were still hoping to be at Bolinas.
We managed to catch a ride with the crew of a runner that Victoria knew and headed out to Bolinas in a nice heated SUV. We had been joking about the impropriety of pacers coming down with hypothermia before they even start their duties. We were happy that our new friends had no problem letting us hang out inside the car after arriving at our destination. The rain was still coming down quite hard and this aid station looked to be in the middle of a growing swamp. A little after 11am I decided to step outside and see what was up. The leaders should have gone through on their return trip and Meredith should be heading out to towards turnaround 7 miles away. I figured I could get some idea how things were going before there were too many runners heading in both directions.
No sooner did I step up to the aid station than I heard a voice calling my name. I knew a lot of people at this race so I wasn't sure if it was someone running, crewing or volunteering. I looked around and then I saw her. Burried beneath a wool cap and blankets was Meredith looking cold and defeated. To make a long story short, she had come through Bolinas, but couldn't stop shivering from the cold. Somewhere along the muddy fireroad she realized that continuing would be putting herself at risk and wisely returned to the aid station. There was a guy sitting next to her covered in an emergency space blanket. We found a volunteer to give us a ride back to Pantoll where my Jeep was parked. We got in the car and were joined by a third runner.
Even with the heat blasting in a crowded car Meredith was still having trouble warming up, but her spirits started to lift a bit. I teased her that the problem being her 0% body fat. She was really just kicking herself for lack of planning; she knew the decision to drop was the right one. After a little while conversation began to flow and I asked if she knew who was leading the race. Meredith said that it was Geoff Roes from Alaska. At that, the guy sitting next to her leaned over and, in a voice both tired and hoarse, said "No, I'm not." A very awkward silence ensued.
We both felt terrible. I don't know if it was so much that we were embarassed for not knowing who he was or if we just felt bad that we'd put him in the situation of feeling the need to explain. We offered condolences, but tried not to pry. Geoff, however, was more than gracious and launched into his story of what had happened. Being an Alaskan, it certainly wasn't the weather that brought him down, but rather stomach issues. You can read the full account on his blog now as I don't know that I could do it justice. In the end, Geoff's would just be one story among many as this day would end early for people in the front, middle and back of the running pack.
Eventually we made it back to Pantoll. Meredith and the other guy (afraid I can't recall his name) hopped in my Jeep to head to Rodeo. Geoff hooked up with his crew. We arrived at the start/finish and awaited runners coming in. I told Tia, the RD, that she had an extra volunteer if she needed me. With that, I was immediately sent off to Starbucks to buy a big container of hot coffee for the deluge of freezing runners who would soon be coming into the finish area. Results have been posted online. Eric Grossman from Virginia came in first then local runner Victor Balesteros and then Scott Jaime from Colorado. On the women's side, it was Kami Semick taking her 4th win at this race though this time she took the lead with less than 2 miles to go. Anita Ortiz of Colorado came in second woman and then local phenom Caitlin Smith took 3rd in her first effort at this distance. She is definitely one to watch.
The rest of the day was spent watching runners come in and chatting with friends. I made another run to Starbucks for another 2.5 gallons of coffee as the first went rather quickly. With around 50 no-shows at the start and a DNF number that topped 60, this was one of the lowest finisher rates in Miwok history. There were a lot of very cold, wet runners at the finish, but also plenty of smiling faces on all was said and done. Miwok is one of the classics in the California ultra scene and I was happy to be a part of it no matter what role I got to play. Congrats to everyone who was out there on Saturday.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Winning in Vegas
OK, so it was actually about 30 miles outside and a couple of thousand feet above Vegas proper and I didn't win any money or anything, but I did manage to come in 3rd.
Having missed the Diablo 50 again and with plans to head to Las Vegas for my son's basketball tournament, I turned to the good old reliable run100s website to see if there might be a race to run in the area. It turned out I was in luck as I found a link to a local running series held by Calico Racing:
The very weekend I was planning to be there, they would be holding the Labor of Love 50K event (along with a marathon, 1/2 marathon and 10K). I signed up even though it was mostly run on roads. I needed a good long run to jump-start my plans to have a big month of May. Despite the course looking pretty tame (22 miles paved and 9 of dirt road, only about 3500ft of climbing, etc), it did start around 4500ft elevation and top out around 6800ft so at least I would be giving my lungs a good workout. While not exactly steep, the road was gradual uphill the whole way and I didn't plan to do much walking along the course. Finally, the location of the race was Lovell Canyon in the Spring Mountains which is sort of the back-side of Red Rocks Canyon. While not nearly as dramatic as it's neighbor over the hills, the high desert was definitely a beautiful setting for a race.
The 50K race started at 6am, but there was a short shuttle from the parking area to the start and we were asked to get there early to allow plenty of time. With the very early (3:40am) wake-up call and quick snack for breakfast, I was in the rental car and heading west towards the hills. As I began to climb, I watched the temperature gauge go from 50s to 40s to low 40s. I was glad to have packed my Moeben sleeves and Brooks gloves, though I was still thinking things could get warm later in the day. When I stepped out of the car, I was greeted by a blast of freezing wind that turned out to be foretelling of things to come.
The bus was waiting so I hopped on and soon a number of others did as well. This bus was all 50K runners and it wasn't long before conversations began. This is the first race I have been at in a long time where I didn't know anyone, but everyone seemed friendly especially given the size of the race. It was a very small group with a number of runners going for their first attempt at the distance. It was definitely strange to feel like one of the veterans. I guess we really are spoiled in the Bay Area having such a huge array of races from which to choose.
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| From Labor of Love |
Once we arrived at the start, it was clear that there was not going to be any sort of early respite from the cold. We would have to wait until at least the sun came up, but the clouds looming over the hills in the distance didn't give one much confidence. At the start, one runner took off like a rabbit at what looked to be around a 7-mpm pace. Pretty much everyone else went out much more casually. I was trying to take it easy, reminding myself that I was training and not racing. My only goal was to finish under 6 hours since I needed to make it to my son's game, but I figured something around 5;30 should be pretty easy given the course. However, the desire to keep warm meant that I was going a little fast than I should have. Besides, other than the one speedster, I was basically bunched with what could be called the frontrunners. A nice treat for a perennial mid-packer.
It never really seemed to warm up. In fact, as the day went on and we headed higher into the hills, it just got colder. At one point I was running along with another guy somewhere around mile 6 or 7 and I noticed these white things floating in the air. I thought to myself: pollen? Then one of them hit my face and melted. What the heck? I looked over at the guy running next to me and he just said, "Is that...?". Yep, snow. It was just a few little flurries, but we were about to head up about another 1000ft once we hit the dirt.
Eventually the final road aid station arrived and I was very happy to be heading off the asphalt. Many people stopped to change shoes, but I just filled my bottle, grabed some grub and headed on up. Suddenly, it seemed that the course was tying to make up for all that smooth road I'd been running. The firetrail was relatively rocky and it started to become steep enough to be considered a real climb. Finally, just as I began the final ascent to the peak, the snow came on for real. Between the wind and the snow, I actually had to keep my head down as I pushed up the slope. I could see white stuff accumulating on the hairs of mu legs and I started to feel the altitude for the first time. I was definitely pushing harder than I should have, but dang it was cold!
The snow let up just before the final peak which I was glad to summit. The last couple of downhill miles to the turnaround felt very nice. It was here that the leader passed me going to other way and he was still pushing hard up that hill. I estimate he was at least 4 miles ahead of me at this point and showed no signs of slowing. Nothing like a good reminder of where you stand in the world. As I came into the aid station, the second place guy was only ahead of me by about 5 minutes. However, I knew I was going to pay for the pushing I'd done to get through the snow and the climb back out would not be particularly fast. I ran what I could, but focused mainly on my powerhiking.
I was starting to let up and rest when I noticed someone behind me and ego got the best of me. I wanted to keep my 3rd place position and knew if that if I could just make it to the downhill, I could hold this guy off...at least for a while longer. I made it and had fun flying down the hill. Alas, it was back to the road and while it was mostly downhill, it was really too gradual to use gravity to my advantage. I figured that folly of holding my spot would disappear about 5 miles from the finish where there was a nice little hill upon which I would likely be passed. Ah, well.
The road was now filled with marathoners and 1/2 marathoners which helped distract from the pain beneath my feet. I chatted with a few people and was very surprised to come upon a runner who was actually from Fremont! He was running the marathon distance and came out to Vegas specifically for the race. I guess there's that whole "small world" thing for ya. At this point I was still in 3rd, but the hill was coming and I was pretty sure 4th place was not far back. As I hit the aid station before the climb, I was told that the guy in front of me had just left. Midway through the climb and I could see him just ahead of me. Then I turned around and saw the guy behind me. I turned to him and told him to "hurry up and pass me so I could stop pushing."
As expected I was caught, but we both passed the guy in 2nd who was beginning to stuggle with some fatigue. The two of us ran together a while. He was from Utah and running his first 50K. He took it very conservatively in the beginning and I told him how strong he looked. Eventually, I told him that 2nd place was all his and let him push on ahead. I would be more than satisfied with 3rd and really had no conceivable reason to push for a faster finish. The lead guy was at least an hour ahead of us. I was nowhere near a PR for the distance and I was supposed to be taking it easy anyway. I spent the last miles just working on my mental game as running the road, especially one where you can see a few miles ahead, can be really taxing on the mental state. I was ready to be done. With one last little "kiss goodbye" the course turned in the last half mile and presented a tremendous headwind all the way into the finish.
In the end it was a fun race and a different sort of challenge. The race organizers did a great job combining the best elements of a road marathon (frequent aid and support) with an ultra (decent challenges, snacks at key stations and a finish line buffet). We received some very cool technical shirts along with a medal for our efforts.
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| From Labor of Love |
Oh, and lest I forget, I received the most unique award for my 3rd place finish. I little bit of the desert to take home with me:
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| From Labor of Love |
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