Terms with conditions

Well overdue full MMT report

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Recovery from Massanutten took longer than usual, both physically and mentally. I really didn’t feel my body was back in full swing until running my next race at the Mt. Diablo 50K, three weeks later. It was the first truly warm weekend in the Bay Area which promised the usual hot temps heading up the mountain. Perhaps having been bested by the heat at MMT helped me out since I ended up having a relatively good race. In fact, due mainly to others suffering or dropping out from the conditions, I placed much better than expected.

Emotionally, things were taking even longer. Coming to terms with my finish was proving difficult. It’s not that I’m so performance driven as to be overly upset with my actual finish time and it certainly wasn’t the first time I’d slogged to the end of a long race. Whether out of sheer bullheaded stubbornness or a prideful unwillingness to quit, I should have at least been able to find some small joy in crossing the finish line. Instead, I felt only relief that it was over. In retrospect, I think it was a result of the low mental state I’d allowed myself to get stuck in, walking those long final miles. The self-doubts, the lingering questions, the specters of epics past whispering retractions in my ear, all worked to further degrade my sleep and calorie depraved brain.

It started out as do most such adventures with an appropriate mix of cautious optimism and fear. I’d come up with a fairly aggressive time goal to test my fitness, but reminded myself that big summer plans didn’t allow me to kill myself chasing splits in this first major race. When I stopped on the way to the Friday race check-in and felt the thick hot air flow in through the door of my rental car, I should have tossed any thoughts of a strong finish right then and there. Humid 90s were certainly not something for which the unusually cool west coast spring had prepared me. Just walking around, dropping my bags, chatting with the surprising number of people whom I knew at my first race on the other side of the country, I was sweating profusely. However, after returning to my hotel, clouds and a cooling breeze had moved in.

My renewed hopefulness went unexamined as other concerns came rushing in from home. Some work “emergency” had me on the phone sitting outside the hotel – the only place I had coverage – until about 9:30pm. Any hopes of taking advantage of my late-afternoon (PST time) energy lull and get some early sleep, were shot. In fact, by the time my 3:30am wakeup call came round for the start at 5, I think I’d have managed all of 2 hours sleep. As I drove the winding roads to the start, my only hope was that the good rest I’d managed two nights previous would be enough to make up for how out of sorts my body felt.

Stressed, sleepless and constipated, weren’t exactly how I had imagined feeling at the beginning of the race. Furthermore, the forecast for mid-80 temperatures weren’t going to help matters either. Nonetheless, I started out well. I took things very easy in the early miles along the fireroad. I walked many of the slight inclines, watched plenty of people pass me and enjoyed some time getting caught up with Olga. As we left the road and entered the first climb, I continued my moderate pace. In previous years, this climb up Short Mountain came much later in the course and I heard many a tale about how much easier it was to be taking this section early on.

We hit a few short downhills at the top of the climb and I was eager to test myself on these super rocky, technical trails. I passed a few folks and had one near miss trying to stop quickly coming up on a slower party. While I managed not to hit ground as I slid along the leaves, it was my first hint that it wasn’t the rocks that were the true source of this place’s well-deserved reputation. After a bit, I caught up with Andy Kumeda who I know is typically a fast started so I was probably being a bit over enthusiastic. Still, I knew a big downhill was ahead leading to the Edinburg Gap aid station so I wasn’t too concerned.

Andy caught me on the next climb out of Edinburg and then I him on the downhill after the peak. We stuck together for a while after that, departing and rejoining depending to which of our relative strengths the course played. I pulled over to empty my bladder letting Andy go ahead and it was quite some time before I caught him again at an aid station. My explanation for where I went was quite simply to show him my cuts and bruises. Very shortly after we parted, I had set back out along the relatively flat terrain. I let my mind wander for only the briefest passage of time and immediately found myself down on the rocks.

I would have 3 such falls in the coming miles. Handling technical downhill only to trip on flatter trail, is nothing new for me. However, Massanutten raised the stakes quite a bit. There really was no place along these trails where it was safe to let down the guard. The flat sections and uphill sections required the same diligence as anything heading down. For me, it seemed they required an even more concerted effort. Time and again, I would fly down a big hill and my natural tendency was to automatically relax my focus only to be reminded by the rocky course of what a dangerous habit it was. I, literally, had to tell myself over and over in my head to “focus, focus, focus” as I moved along these trails. At times it became stressful and it was certainly one of the least enjoyable aspects of those early miles even though my race seemed to be going quite well.

I hit the 32 mile aid station at Elizabeth Furnace more than 45 minutes ahead of my set split. While the heat was picking up, I continued to feel good and continued to stay on the sharp side of the pace chart. A couple of days before the race, I’d been asked what it is I think about during a 100 miles. Normally, the answer would be almost anything and everything. In this race – and especially in these most technical early miles – all thoughts were diverted to watching my feet. This over-focus on my every step is why I don’t have a particularly strong recollection of the miles leading up to Habron Gap. It also might help explain why I continued to gain time on my plans.

I don’t want to belabor the point, but not being able to really look around and enjoy the course, I was actually happy to be heading out onto the road. Hebron Gap, mile 53, was a major checkpoint for my status. I was 1 hour and 15 minutes ahead of schedule. If ever there was a point in this race for a wakeup call, that was it. But, the lies we tell ourselves at the half-way point aren’t the ones we need to hear much later in the race. I was feeling great.

I knew the conditions had taken their toll, I knew my pace was too fast; I told myself I had it under control. The next section was a long one starting with a steep grind of a climb. Trying to conserve energy on a steep climb is a bit of a lost cause. I could feel the heat built up in my body. Cooling down at night has always been an issue for me in these races. I tried squirting with occasional water on my head, neck, back, even directly on my stomach. I slowed. I promised myself to spend more time at the next aid station.

There’s a saying amongst those that run 100-mile races that the 100K and not the 50-mile point is nearer halfway. Camp Roosevelt was at mile 63. I was happy to be there. It would have been a good place to spend some extra time, to cool down, recoup, and prepare for the night. However, MMT has a sort of consolation prize that they give to those who drop out at this point in the race. They call it the Visitor’s Award. I didn’t want to be a “visitor.” I pulled out the miniaturized copy of the course profile I’d printed out. The next section was about 5 ½ miles with one sizeable climb.  It gave me slight pause, but the idea of being closer to mile 70 held a significant lure.

I tried to cool down as much as I could; I poured ice in my Buff and grabbed some more to munch along the way. I marched out onto the next trail. Night was descending and there were rumors floating round about cooling temperatures – perhaps even some rain. Hiking up yet another rocky, tree-covered ascent, I felt none of it. I don’t remember a lot about this section. I remember the night and realizing that it was actually easier to see the rocks by flashlight than through the sun’s scattered rays from the canopy above. I remember trying to cool myself with equal amounts of water dripped on my shirt as in my mouth. Mostly, though, I remember being OK.

I arrived at Gap Creek pretty much intact.

Mile 68.7 and I am only 16:20 into my race. Ten hours to go 33 miles. It still seemed within reason. I was feeling pretty good, but what is it I've said before about 100-milers? "Nothing you do in any shorter race can prepare you for what may happen after mile 70." However, the night always brings a renewed sense of wonder for me and I still held hope that the promised cool night temps would sweep in to offer a bit of respite

My only real concerns at the time were trying to cool down and a bit of constipation. Shortly after leaving the aid station, the course turned onto a gravel road. I decided to duck into the trees on the right side to see if I could take care of at least one of my worries. With little success, I popped out a short while later and continued on down the road. I was feeling good on the easy, rolling, non-technical terrain. I didn't see any course markings, but since I hadn't seen any side trails, I figured there was no need.

After a while, it occurred to me that someone should have caught up given my little break. I started to get worried and did my first of three stupid things; I sped up. Since I was feeling strong, my thinking was that I would either be putting some time in the bank that I could use on the upcoming climb or it would help me find out sooner if I'd missed a turn. When I first entered the road, there was another runner ahead of me. Surely he would be heading back by now if we were on the wrong path. I put my worries aside and kept pushing.

The road ended. No flagging. No reflective strips. No trail, just a dead end. I won't commit into writing all the various curse words, but, believe me, I said them all. At that point I did my second stupid thing. I ran back, hard. I did check my GPS so I could see how many bonus miles I was logging. When I reached the missed trail-head it had been 1.8 miles from the end of the road –3.6 for the round trip. To add insult to injury, the trail was exactly on the opposite side of the road from where I’d ducked into the trees. What kind of dumb luck was that? And, speaking of dumb, I then went on to complete my trio of stupid things; I continued pushing the pace as I headed out onto this trail.

Once I reached the climb, I was forced to slow down allowing a couple of runners to pass me and providing me opportunity to regale with my tale of stupidity. I eventually hooked onto a couple of them and made it to the Visitor's Center aid station, mile 77. Despite what the official chart says, I actually did those 12 miles (should have been 8.4) at an 18:20 pace. According to my calculations I still believed I could target something in the 27 hour range. So, I went ahead and topped off all my stupid acts with one final display. I sucked down an Ensure, took some caffeine, ate bit more and then grabbed some chips to go for the steep climb to come.

My stomach was sloshing and I still felt warm despite the cooler temps, but I pressed on. Given what I’d been through and the food, I should have let digestion take its course. This peak was the top one of the course and I had visions of mostly downhill for the final 20 miles. The climbing became difficult and a few people passed me as I stopped for a couple of breathers. I was feeling a little dizzy. After clearing the rockiest section and heading onto a bit wider trail, I checked my elevation to see that I was nearly done with the hill. I stopped once more to catch my breath before the final push.

That's when it hit me.

I went from hands on my knees, to on my hands and knees. First, retching, then gagging, then vomiting my guts out. I know there were at least a few people who got to enjoy the display as I answered the "you alright?" question more than once. After--I'm not sure how long--I finally got the convulsions to settle, but I had gone from being too warm to now shivering and chattering teeth. I got up and put on my jacket and headed up the trail. In shades of Western States, anything beyond a slow walking pace sent me right back over the edge.

I sat down on the side of the trail. Then, I lay down and closed my eyes. As if to punctuate my condition, it began to rain. Wallowing in self-pity, I knew my race was over. I eventually got to my feet and started the slow slog to the next aid station, the beginning of a longer, slower slog to come. My "race" was over, but the epic had just begun.

The rest of the night is mostly lost in a haze of dizziness, nausea and convulsions in response to even the smallest exertion of effort. It really was a repeat of last year’s Western States, only worse. I do recall arriving at Bird Knob and trying futilely to get some small bit of food down. I remember being back on the side of the trail starting down the first hill. I remember throwing up half a Gu. I also remember thinking how long the remainder of the night was going to be if I had to walk the entire downhill section at a pace slow enough to keep my stomach from revolt.

Somehow, I made it to the next aid station. I can only piece together the path from the evidence, but things must have degraded pretty badly. I was, surprisingly, still only 1 hour 15 over pace at Bird Knob. That had stretched to 2:25 at Picnic Area. As I sat covered in a Mylar blanket trying to see if the salt and fat from a few nibbles of bacon would settle, I pondered why in the world I would want to go on. It was 8.5 miles to Gap Creek, back where my whole ordeal had started.  I knew if I made it to mile 95.4 that I would force myself to finish the race no matter what. However, the time and effort it would take to make it there seemed totally unfathomable to my calorie starved brain sitting miserably at the 86.9 mile marker. I sat for quite some time.

Nearly four hours. That is both how long it was until I arrived at the next aid station as well as how far I was off my pace chart once I was there. My pace chart seemed a distant fantasy of a past life at that point. Though they did nothing to help my stomach overall, I found that ginger candies would stay put. I took some more ginger and managed a bit of soup here. I was in no big hurry to leave Gap Creek as the volunteers were taking such good care of me. I wanted to see if there was any last chance of salvaging my stomach for those final miles. Numerous people came and went as I sat watching myself slip further back in the pack. I knew this was a trend that would continue as I trudged it “on in” so I eventually just came to terms with it and headed out.

As I headed back up the bit of trail that I’d missed the night before, I shared my tale with a few fellow travelers trying to smile at the misdeed and all that followed. The story just felt stale. I put my head down and focused on just getting through the final miles. I had one small glimmer of hope at getting it done sooner during the first bit of downhill. Alas, it was short-lived as my stomach immediately let me know that the final payment for my transgressions would be doled out to the bitter end.

Like so many 100 mile races, Massanutten’s last miles are road miles – long, arduous road.

If earlier in the race I had been pining to be able to think or just let my mind wander, I now had opportunity aplenty.  In fact, I had too much of it. I’d struggled through the final miles of a race before. Bighorn came to mind. However, in that case, I was hobbled by a strained Achilles and managed to maintain sufficient motivation to go as fast as pain would allow. Here, I was down with a complete inability to push. What’s worse, I allowed my emotional state to follow down the deteriorating path of my physical condition. Whether from exhaustion, lack of calories, self-reproach or some combination of all these, I completely lost touch with any sense of motivation.

I kept moving forward because I had no other direction to go. I had no interest in talking to passing runners. At this point, my story just sounded like so much excuse. I hadn’t run a tough 70 miles only to push myself over the edge. I had run a stupid race; fooling myself into thinking I had ability beyond my means.  I was a 30-hour finisher arrogating himself into running a 26 hour pace. Past and future doubts came creeping into my psyche. Western States, C2M, and every other finish off the mark were evidence of my self-deception. And what of my future plans? Redemption at Bighorn, three 100s in three months, repeat at Plain, another PR at Javelina: what was I thinking?

All perspective was gone. The final single track trail – a victory lap for some – was simply one last slap in the face for me. Crossing the finish, I felt only relief to be done. I don’t know that anybody has look as dejected as I upon accomplishing such a challenging task. I felt a tiny bit better, cheering in other runners though talking about my own race still rung hollow. I couldn’t really eat yet and I had to make it back to Dulles, so I opted out of the awards ceremony.

I drove back to town and stopped at the frozen custard stand before heading onto the freeway. As the first swallow of cool, sweetness reached my stomach, a sliver of light penetrated my gloomy outlook. It’s not that I felt any better about my race, but it was the first hint of knowing that I eventually would.

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Massanutten is a unique event. While I didn’t quite approach it as one should a new experience, I can, at least now, embrace what it had to offer. Much like living at sea level and taking on my first race at significant altitude, coming from the west coast, and tackling this race presented many new challenges. From the time difference to the early start to the weather to all the inherent difficulties of the course itself, every aspect holds a lesson. I’m not sure if I’ll return for a repeat attempt any time soon, but I will certainly look back over this one many times in the coming years.

Coming Attractions

I hope to write a full report next weekend, but wanted to get the highlights (or lowlights) out while still fresh. If you don't like spoilers then you'll have to wait, but the results are already posted including my personal splits. From those splits, you can clearly see that something happened between the Gap Creek and Visitor Center aid stations. However, the real story started just below Bird Knob.

Despite being totally unprepared for the warm temperatures and, especially, the humidity, I was running well. Oh, I'd taken a few spills; nothing out of the ordinary from what I was told. The super technical trails were a blast on the downhills, but on this course, you can't just let your mind wander once it levels out. On the plane, I'd put together some splits for a 26 hour finish. It seemed aggressive, but Beat had finished this race in 26:22 so I wanted to see what it would look like. I certainly wasn't planning to kill myself for the time goal given my 2 upcoming 100's in the next two months.

I didn't think much about time until Habron Gap, just before mile 50. I was supposed to arrive around 6pm. I was an hour-fifteen early. I took it easy on the next long section as I could feel the heat build-up in my core. I still ended up at the next aid station an hour ahead of schedule. I iced myself a bit and then tried to take it easy some more on the way to Gap Creek, hoping that the promised cool night temps would sweep in to offer a bit of respite.

Mile 68.7 and I am only 16:20 into my race. Ten hours to go 33 miles. It still seemed within reason. I was feeling pretty good, but what is it I've said before about 100-milers? "Nothing you do in any shorter race can prepare you for what may happen after mile 70."

My only real concerns at the time were trying to cool down and a bit of constipation. Shortly after leaving the aid station, the course turned onto a gravel road. I decided to duck into the trees on the right side to see if I could take care of at least one of my worries. With little success, I continued on down the road. I was feeling good on the easy, rolling, non-technical terrain. I didn't see any course markings, but since I hadn't seen any side trails, I figured there was no need. After a while, it occurred to me that someone should have caught up given my little break. I started to get worried and did a stupid thing; I sped up. Since I was feeling strong, my thinking was that I would either be putting some time in the bank that would come out on the upcoming climb or it would help me find out sooner if I'd missed a turn. When I entered the road, there was another runner ahead of me. Surely he would be heading back by now if we were on the wrong path.

The road ended. No flaggings, no reflective strips, no trail, just a dead end. I won't put the curse words here in writing, but, believe me, I said them all. I then did another stupid thing. I ran back. I checked my GPS so I could see how many bonus miles I was logging. When I reached the trail head it had been 1.8 miles from the end of the road (3.6 round trip). The trail was exactly on the opposite side of the road from where I had ducked into the trees. What kind of dumb luck was that? And, speaking of dumb, I continued to push the pace as I headed out on this trail.

Once I reached the climb, I was forced to slow up allowing a couple of runners to pass me and allowing me to regale in my stupidity. I eventually hooked onto a couple of them and made it to the Visitor's Center aid station, mile 77, mostly in tact. Despite what the official chart says, I actually did those 12 miles (should have been 8.4) at an 18:20 pace. According to my calculations I still thought I could target something in the 27 hour range. So, I went ahead and topped off all my stupid acts with one final display. I sucked down an Ensure, took some caffeine, ate some and then grabbed some chips to go for the steep climb to come.

My stomach was sloshing and I still felt warm despite the cooler temps, but I pressed on. The climbing was becoming difficult and a few people passed me as I took a couple of breathers, feeling a little dizzy. After clearing the rockiest section and heading onto a bit wider trail, I checked my elevation to see that I was nearly done with the climbing. I stopped once more to catch my breath before the final push. That's when it hit me.

I went from hands on my knees, to on my hands and knees...retching, then gagging, then vomiting my guts out. I know there were at least a few people who got to enjoy my display as I answered the "you alright?" question more than once. After--I'm not sure how long--I finally got the convulsions to settle, but I had gone from being too warm to now shivering and chattering teeth. I got up and put on my jacket and headed up the trail. In shades of Western States, anything beyond a slow walking pace sent me right back over the edge.

I sat down on the side of the trail, then I laid down and closed my eyes. As if to punctuate my condition, it started to rain. Wallowing in self-pity, I knew my race was over. I eventually got to my feet and started the slow slog to the next aid station, the beginning of a longer, slower slog to come. My "race" was over, but the epic had just begun...

Black Rose for my taper

I’m not the biggest fan of the whole back-to-back weekend long runs. I prefer one big push followed by sweet spoils savored in a day of rest. However, this year's build-up has been all about more consistent running and a reduction of "zero" days (only 4 total in April and 2 of those were before/after our 100K effort). Thus, when the suggestion for dual long runs for the coming Saturday and Sunday was shot across the ether by friends, I thought it sounded like the perfect way to top off my last week before tapering for Massanutten.

Black

All weekend runs begin with a strong dose of caffeine and chin-wagging. The caffeine is the host's responsibility; we each supply our own fuel for the bull session--a sort of BYOBS, if you will. Saturday's plan was to start from Beat's place. Beat makes an excellent cappuccino.  The intent was to head through Ranch San Antonio up and over Black Mountain. Heather came over from Modesto to join us on this trip. As well as being a Black Mountain virgin, she was also nursing a chronic leg injury. Or, rather, she wasn't nursing it though she probably should have been. Either way, it was all the excuse we needed to temper our plans which had grown more ambitious over email exchanges throughout the week. That is the usual trend: leading up to the weekend, the mileage goals wax large, then, we meet in the morning and exchange our excuses for doing something a bit more moderate with final adjustments being made out on the trail.

The original goal was to repeat the start of our 100K route from the previous weekend. Instead, we took the more direct route up and agreed to decide on a final distance after reaching the peak. Upon seeing Heather limp off the singletrack, it was agreed that she and Martina would head immediately back after Black Mountain while Harry, Beat and I would continue on to Page Mill Road to get in at least 20. The rest of the run was fairly uneventful except that Harry was complaining of not feeling well – some stomach distress. Apparently, in Harry-speak this means that he will push the pace up the hills. I figured it was my last big weekend so I worked to keep up and then took the lead as we headed back downhill. It was a nice warm day bringing hope that the much-belated California warm season might finally be on its way.

I continued to push all the way back, arriving alone at Beat's apartment. I called upstairs expecting Heather and Martina to have arrived well ahead. No answer. This was unfortunate as they had Beat's keys. As Harry and then Beat arrived, we began to worry. We were also all a bit toasted from the 21 miles of warm-weather running with a bit less fluid than required. Luckily, a call to Martina verified that they were fine and on their way back thanks to a ride from a friend. Heather was expectedly bummed especially knowing that she was going to have to suffer stern words from the lot of us, most of which were various expressions of "rest, rest and more rest." Sometimes a person's innate toughness tends to work against her.

Rose

Sunday, the coffee was my responsibility. We were going to head out to Sonol and see how close to Rose Peak we could make it before turning around. Since Harry and I ended up turning back around ¼ mile short of the top on our trip earlier this year, I was focused on getting there. In order to better our chances, I offered that we should take the shortcut fireroad from Backpacker’s Camp on the return. That would also allow us a dip in the water at “Little Yosemite” on a day that was expected to be a bit warmer than the last.

In her usual fashion, Martina insisted that Harry, Beat and I go on ahead of her. The plan was to turn around after about 2½ hours of running regardless of how far we had gone. Inspirations were waning so after Backpacker’s we started to separate, going each at our own pace. Harry took his normal position up front as we climbed the initial hills. I managed to catch up to him on a short downhill during the mostly-uphill route to the peak. On this final long run, I decided another day of pushing the pace was warranted.

I felt pretty strong on the climbs so I turned my hike into more of a shuffle. A cool breeze sweeping the hills fueled me to press on. The more I pushed, it seemed, the better I felt. Not long and had surprisingly dropped Harry. We had discussed turning back just before the steep downhill that marks the beginning of the final grind up to Rose. However, by the time I arrived there I was committed to the full trip. Since I was going to be missing the Ohlone 50K the week after Massanutten, I knew this would be my last opportunity to summit for a while.

I could see Harry arrive at our agreed turnaround from across the vale. I tried to beckon him on, but he waved me off. A few more hills and I could see Beat arrive to meet him. It appeared he was up for the final trip, but I was not in a waiting mode. It was one of those rare days where I felt I could climb forever. I was either hitting my stride in training or simply peaking 2-weeks too soon for my race. Only time would tell. I figured I’d hit the peak and then meet Beat on the return. My made it at 2:15 in. When we met, Beat convinced me to join him on a second trip up which we timed right on target for our original goal of a 2:30 turnaround.

The trip down, I led us a bit astray trying to take an alternate route which caused us to have to crawl under a couple fences and shoot across some private land. After that, I had a blast cruising back down the route we came up. I caught Martina just after the camp heading to the fireroad. A mile later we found Harry waiting for us under a nice shady tree. We played in the water for a bit and then all headed back to finish up together. I came out with 19.5 miles for the day, 40 total for the weekend and 75 weekly miles to top out my 100-mile buildup. I felt good.

Taper

With a satisfying final weekend, I was mentally ready for a nice easy week. I just played it by ear and came up around 30 miles. Work was extremely busy and it was very tight taking this time off. The past week has been a mad rush to tie up loose ends. I guess the advantage is that it has kept my mind completely off the race, helping to minimize that dreaded “taper madness”. The down side is that the lackadaisical spell that always seems to settle in the final few days before a big event has been even further pronounced. As I sit typing this on the plane, I’m not even sure of all that I threw into my bag late last night. My shoes, a pair of socks, shorts, shirt and two water bottles are all safely in a sack above my head. My checked luggage is basically one big armful of “here’s what I usually bring to a 100” thrown into a duffel.

I guess I’ll stare at the map and elevation chart for a while to try and get my head in the game. In the end, I guess it doesn’t really matter because it’s all about being out there. Sure, my obsessive nature loves the process of visualizing the race, estimating splits, and analyzing past results. However, more than anything else, I enjoy most the experience of figuring it out on the course, making adjustments and taking whatever the day has to offer.

50/50

The days until my first 100-miler of 2010 ticking down and I hadn't a single run over 50K. I generally like to peak with a 50 miler in the final month leading up to a 100. Poor scheduling conspired with a bit of bad luck to have me facing April without opportunity to cover such distance in an organized event. I skipped the Miwok lottery altogether this year, but was excited about finally being able to fit the Diablo 50 in my schedule. Unfortunately, by the time I learned that the event had been cancelled due to state budget cuts, my scramble to find another local 50 miler of substance was too late. The Lake Sonoma 50 had filled both race and wait-list before I even checked the website. I briefly considered either American River or Ruth Anderson, but all that road left me feeling uninspired. That's when I hit on the idea of a Skyline-to-the-Sea double.

My original idea was to drive out to the race-finish at Waddell Beach in the wee hours of the morning and then make my way up to the start following the main trail. When I tried to recruit friends Harry and Beat to join along in my little adventure, they suggested another idea. Beat lives in Los Altos a couple of miles from a trailhead that could easily be used as a starting point to link a series of trails and bring us to the race start. It wasn't long before a route was devised and plans were firmed up. We settled on the goal of completing a full 50K in advance of the race start. Harry wasn't quite "all in" for this plan, but with three people, only two have to really agree on the route if everyone is going to stick together. While I agree that hitting the big, round 100K number was ultimately arbitrary and offered no significant training effect over slightly shorter mileage, it did offer a bit of field leveling amongst the three of us. Harry is definitely faster than Beat and I, but the difference tends to diminish over greater distances. Besides, we thought it would be funny to be able to answer anyone who asked one of us during the race whether we were running our first 50K with: "no, it's my second...today!"


Roll forward to the night before the race when Harry and I show up early at Beat's with the ill thought out plan to try and catch a few hours sleep before our agreed upon 1:30am start. I'm pretty sure that I almost, sort of, dozed off for at least a couple of minutes before it was time to get up. With the addition of sleep deprivation, it appeared that this might offer some additional training effect for a 100 miler beyond just the miles. Beat brewed up a couple of rounds of double-espresso laden cappuccinos for each of us before heading out. The wisdom of that particular choice would be questioned shortly after hitting the trails, but nothing about this little stunt of ours had anything to do with wisdom in the first place. Add jitters and frequent bio-breaks to the list of the evening's festivities. 


We had a couple of offers from other local ultrarunners to join our party, but we opted to keep it small both for logistic reasons and due to the fact that the first park through which we would travel was technically not open at the time of our entrance. Now some may question the morality and/or legality of traipsing through a county park in the middle the night that has signs clearly posted that it closes at sunset. I really don't want to dwell on this point, but you need to understand that I had the powerful tool of rationalization on my side. Sure one could point out that the intent of the posting clearly implied that the park was not actually open again until after the next sunrise. But the sign we ran past contained no mention of any sort of rising, it only said "sunset" and 2:00 in the morning is long, long before the sun would set on Sunday; it wouldn't even rise for another 4 hours.


We kept the flashlights off and nearly tip-toed along the first couple miles of fire-road. Not only were the trails of this park the closest we would be to civilization, but we intended to get a good portion of our miles done here by traversing a particularly non-linear route and even including an extra loop in the mix. By the time we passed out of this park, topped out over our highest point and hit the water stop, we had already covered nearly 17 miles. Not much longer and the sun came up, Shortly thereafter we acquired the ridge, crossing the Skyline Blvd. with about 10 miles to remaining of our planned distance. We were still feeling relatively good, but I think the lure of having the first part of our run complete and getting a little rest was starting to hit us. There were many options for cutting it short or making the run longer on the trails through the Skyline Ridge, Long Ridge and Saratoga Gap preserves. It became a sort of game that consisted of pitting our waning motivation against our best estimates of time and distance remaining. In the end we settled on one extra detour of about 3/4 mile and finished at the race just about a klick over 30 miles. Close enough to 50K for commercial grade GPS.


Timing-wise, our arrival at the check-in couldn't have been better. It took us just under 7 hours for the run which gave us a 1/2 hour before race start--just enough for a rest, but not too much. We even beat the bus by a few minutes so we didn't have to stand in line to get our numbers. Harry's girlfriend Martina was kind enough to bring us some extra snacks and we even convinced Sarah, the RD, to allow us each a can of coke before they headed off to the aid station. Standing around, socializing before the race we all felt good. Heck, we even looked pretty good considering.

(picture courtesy of Rick Gaston)

The hardest part was actually the last few minutes before "go" as legs were begging to stiffen. We lined further back than would normally have us, but didn't have to try too hard to take it out easy the first few miles. I focused on relaxing and just accept the slow moving "conga line" even on the downhills. However, about 3 miles in, on a steep section, I couldn't take it any more and shot past a row of people in my normal, nearly out-of-control fashion. I figured I would pay for it later. However, for most of the first half of the race, I still felt pretty good. I walked more uphills than I might have were I fresh, but I was having a great day.


Coming through the first section of the infamous Gazos Loop, I was a little less happy. The constant rollers combined with a lot of mud in this section added to my mental psych-out of knowing that I would be repeating it after another 5 miles or so. However, once I made it through the aid station and joked with all the friendly faces about how this "seemed like a good idea last night," I actually felt better. The big climb actually went fine as a just put my head down and resigned myself to just walk it at my own pace after Harry went ahead. Neither of us had seen Beat in some time, though he was chatting with some woman last I saw so he didn't seem in a major hurry.


The climb was not as bad as I expected, and before I knew it, I was heading down the steep descent to catch back up with Harry. We entered the aid station around the same time, but I wanted to get back out and up the last climb before the long descent to the Berry Creek Falls. I figured Harry would catch me going up, but I somehow mad it to the crossover first. From there, it was trails I know and love leading down, down, down to the creek. Over the creek, I knew a slog lay in wait. The final miles, while still downhill overall, were all on fireroad that was basically flat with some little ups-and-downs. I remembered how this section seemed to take a long time when I ran the race two years before so I tried to stay in the right mindset. The toughest part was about 5 miles out when I realized that, by this time two years ago, I was just finishing the race.


In an attempt to distract, I started a few conversations during those final miles, but most people were focused on the finish. It was hard to motivate myself with a time goal given that I was over 55 miles into a 31 mile race. After the final aid station they told me it was only a mile and a half. I saw that I could finish the official race in under 6 hours and that gave me just enough of a target to push through to the finish. I was especially happy to discover that the finish line had been moved a bit closer this year in order to have a nicer locale. I came in at 5:56, finishing the two runs in 12:54. Even with the total a mile or so short, I was more than satisfied.


In the end, I think it was a great training run. Starting at night and running through sunrise helped simulate the mental challenge faced in a 100 miler. Dozing off in the back of Martina's car (thank you for making the whole thing possible!), I definitely felt like I'd finished a one. Even though we often say that 100K--and not 50miles--is actually half of a 100 miler, this run with nearly 12,000ft of climbing and more than that of descent, certainly felt like more than half way.

Surprising

I didn't know what to expect from the Diablo Trail Challenge 50K. Despite it probably being the race closest to where I grew up, I was almost completely unfamiliar with most of the trails. It started in Round Valley, a preserve that didn't exist until after I graduated high school. It then travels through Morgan Territory Preserve-- which I'd run in a couple of times--before heading onto Mt. Diablo proper. Last year was the first for this race and I knew a few people who ran the inaugural event. However, the weather and trail conditions were such a major factor during the first running, that both their tales and the results were a bit misleading.

I stayed at my parent's house in Concord. I only had a 10 minute drive to get to the race. Unfortunately, I thought it was longer so I had a bit of a wait for the bus. No big deal. It wasn't too long until it showed up, loaded us all on and headed out for the long drive to the start. The first part of the drive was very reminiscent since it was basically the bus ride I took home from school every day from age 10 to 17. However, the start was much further down Marsh Creek road. The nice thing about a point-to-point course is that you really get a sense of the full distance you will be running.

It was a bit chilly at the start, but we could already tell it was going to be a great day. I mulled around chatting with friends and meeting new people, sporting my, very-identifiable, new Brooks ID uniform. You gotta love how the fluorescent sticks out in a trail race!

 photo courtesy of Brazen Racing

We didn't have too long to wait before the start and we were all off and running.

photo courtesy of Chihping Fu

In his usual style, Chihping raced ahead so he could turn back and snap photos of us all.

photo courtesy of Chihping Fu

A few initial ups and downs helped spread out the field. After ripping a couple of the short, steep downhills (because I can't help myself), I settled into a nice easy pace for the early miles. There were a few descent hills and then came the first big climb, about 1500ft in 2.5 miles. I worked on my power-hiking pace and it didn't feel so bad. I even managed to pass a few people. I am hoping to improve my climbing this year, especially my walking pace. I remember watching some people running the early hills and reminding myself of the math. I was walking these hills not much over 17 minutes per mile and could probably run them around 15. However, if I reserve the climbing legs I will still be able to shuffle the later hills at a similar pace, but if I don't they will turn into slogs of well over 20 minute miles, easily making up for any early hill speed.

The really nice thing about this race for me is that there were some nice long downhill sections were I could let myself go. I was really enjoying these sections even though the trail was pretty beat up with hoof-holes from the cows and the wet winter. It allowed me to move up through the pack a bit as I think they slowed me less than they did other folks. I also seemed to really be enjoying myself.

photo courtesy of Brazen Racing

I really tried to take the time to look around and enjoy the amazing day and excellent scenery of this race. There were a lot of new faces here including quite a few first timers--many making typical rookie mistakes. I ended up giving one woman half of the water from one of my bottles when because she only had one for the long 7+ mile stretch between aid. I spent some time chatting with a guy named Dan who is in States this year and was starting to ramp up his miles. Before we knew it we were coming into the half-way aid station.

photo courtesy of Brazen Racing 

A few friends were there volunteering and it was good to have a brief chat before heading for the next climb up onto the Diablo trails. Most of the climbs seemed fairly gradual and so I focused on keeping a solid, maintainable pace. As we went through three hours, I tried to take advantage of the rolling single-track. I also took advantage of a few peoples early race mistakes as there I passed a number of people who were definitely starting to slow.

Approaching the 23 mile aid station, I had passed a number of people and felt like I had opened a bit of a gap on some of the downhills. However, just as my bottle had been filled and I was enjoying a bit of grazing at the food table, a runner I hadn't seen all race came cresting the previous hill. Jim Winne handed me my bottles and told me not to let "that guy" catch me. I guess it was time to race. We were back out on big fire roads with more rollers. It was time to push a bit as I looked back and saw that the guy behind me hadn't wasted any time in the aid station as well.

I made my time on the downhills and even passed one more guy who seemed to be having difficulty on them. However, once we reached the flats and a few more climbs, it was clear that he was far from dead yet. There was a bit more single track before the final aid station, but none of the downhill was steep enough for me to let fly. In fact, coming into this aid station, running uphill, I could see the runner I'd passed working hard too.

photo courtesy of Brazen Racing

Lucky for me, after this aid station there were a couple more short climbs and then a big descent after which I wouldn't have a pretty good gap. Heading down the hills, I saw a red shirt a few switch backs below me. I recognized it as a guy from UC Berkeley with whom I had run for a bit early in the race. I thought it might be fun to try and catch him, but there was little chance of an overtake since the final couple miles were relatively flat. I had no illusions of keeping up with a young whippet on that sort of terrain. It didn't matter anyway because he saw me coming and having seen my downhill pace, worked hard to assure that we wouldn't meet again until after the finish.

At this point, my focus was more on the numbers than the runners even though I had been told, incredulously, that I was in 5th place. I was more interested in breaking 5:30. When I looked at the race, I figured 6:30 would be a reasonable time for me. However, the elevation gain on the site is high by nearly 1000ft by my estimate and I was also having a pretty good day. I was pushing the pace as best I could, making my way through the many creek crossings in the final miles.

"A mile and a half to go," I was told. I glanced at my watch and saw that I would have to do that in just about 12-1/2 minutes. OK, 8 minute mile it was and no slowing for the creeks!

photo courtesy of Brazen Racing

With less than a mile to go, I felt like I had it. I was on pace. Then, just one little climb. It was nothing really, less than a quarter-mile long. But, it was enough to slow me down when I had no margin for error. I started to sprint for the finish as soon as I saw it, but quickly saw the clock next to it tick over to 5:30. I crossed the line about 10 seconds later. I smiled. It's a good feeling to race the final miles even if you just miss a goal.

In the end, I felt surprisingly well and had a very surprising finish. 5th place is probably about as good a result as I'll see this year so I have nothing but good memories for this race.

Go Short

I guess only someone who run's ultras would think of an 18.6 mile race as short. My intent last Saturday was to run the Sequoia 50K. But, this is basketball season and my son's high school team is in the regional playoffs. His game for Saturday was scheduled for 2:45pm. It didn't take too much math to realize that I would have to break the course record and PR by over an hour at the 50K distance to run that race and make it to his game. Needless to say, I didn't quite feel up to the task.

After a quick email to the RD, I was able to drop my registration down to the 30K distance. With an 8:30am start, I figured I could finish between 3 and 3-1/2 hours and still have plenty of time to shower and clean up before heading down to San Jose. The only problem was that I really hadn't raced a distance less than 50K in a long time. I was wondering how I should pace myself. I was also wondering about the fact that in an ultra, I generally feel pretty bad somewhere around the 3 to 3-1/2 hour zone.

I figured that if I could stick with some 50K runner who would normally be a bit faster than me, I would be at the right pace. Luckily, Harry was signed up for the full distance and he is not only faster than me, but also a good friend. Race morning was clear, but major rains had dumped the night before so it was going to be another muddy race for 2010. Harry and I started a bit far back in the field, but passed a number of people running up some of the early hills. Running hard uphill early in a race was definitely not something I would not have done in a longer event.

Harry and I stuck together through the initial miles through Joaquin Miller Park, but after the course enters Redwood there is a nice steep downhill on which I knew I would loose him though the mud did keep me a bit in check. I expected him to catch me again on either the next uphill or the rolling section of French Trail, but either he wasn't having a great day or I was pushing hard. It turned out to be a bit of both.

I decided to see what I could do and worked my way up a bit, passing people on the downhills and trying to hang on to them on the ups. I ended up coming upon one guy that I couldn't pass downhill. He wasn't that great going uphill, but on the downs he was actually out pacing me. He even dropped me on the Golden Spike trail which I alway considered myself to have "wired." I've always known there were better downhill runners than me further up in the field. The interesting thing was that he wasn't that much better a climber than me. I guess others are just as lopsided in their abilities as I am, only faster at both.

When we reached the flats, I caught up with this guy and we chatted a bit. He was doing the 50K so had I ordered the full meal deal, I would unlikely be seeing him at this point in the race. It turns out that he was doing his first ultra. It also turned out that he was closer to my son's age than mine. I also learned that we went to the same college only separated by a decade or so. I didn't stick with him on the way back as I was just focused on getting the race done and seeing if I could keep the pace.

Running in the mud is actually much worse on the uphill. I could feel that extra bit of effort with every step climbing up to the West Ridge. Had I known at the time how close I would finish to 3 hours, maybe I would have pushed a bit hard once we reached it. I was already pretty far outside my comfort zone and, being an ultrarunner, I have sort of installed a permanent governor on my ability to push into the red zone before the final miles of a race, my inner voice echoing "not yet, not yet" inside my head.

From the final aid station it was just two miles to the finish, but I was already pretty sure a sub-3 was not going to happen since I knew the trails pretty well. I took a little breather on the climb up out of Redwood to let myself focus on the final downhills. I knew the descent down Cinderella was going to be a blast. At this point in the race, we'd already caught up with many of the 20K runners. I think I scared a few of them on my way down muddy technical trail. I wanted to believe that I could still break 3 hours. Unfortunately, I knew the final rolling bit of trail after the downhill was just long enough to keep that from a reality.

I watched 3 hours go by just as I was heading up towards the final little hill. My hamstrings were feeling it and there was no reason to push to the limit at this point. I was plenty satisfied with coming in just under 3:02. Finishing 15th was certainly better than I had expected at the start. I did get a tiny bit of excitement before learning my final place. When I finished they had only put up the first 10 finishers. There were only 2 others listed ahead of me in the Men's 40-49 category! I thought there was a chance that it was younger field given the shorter distance. Alas, 3 of the 4 people posted next ahead of me were all in my same age group. Oh well, back to my mid-packer ultrarunning status.

Sliding into first base

A start. An actual start. That's how I felt driving home last weekend after the Los Gatos Overgrown Trail Marathon. That fatass event topped off a week of 67 miles. Having run 15 the previous day from Mission Peak to Sonol and back, the marathon was a nice finale. I was quite satisfied having finished the 26.6 miles (and 6000ft of climbing) in just under 5 hours. My hip was not so happy on Monday after a weekend total of 10,000ft up and down, but I still managed a nice little recovery run to loosen up and some time on the foam roller. Tuesday, unfortunately, I awoke with a scratchy throat. Always some fits to go with those starts.

Luckily, I wasn't down too long. I eked out a meager 15 miles during the week and then got out for 10 miles of steep hill repeats with Harry and Beat yesterday. Today I sit inside snuggled in a lack of motivation, watching the rain fall outside. I really should get in at least 5 miles, but it's too easy to comfort myself with reassurances that I shouldn't push it based on how I felt this morning. I did sign up for the Sequoia 50K next weekend. So I am, at least, guaranteed more miles next week.

It's funny, I seem to be more paranoid of injury, illness and whatnot this time of year than when closer to my goal races. If I have my fitness where I want it and am laid up for a week or so, I know that it is just a matter of recovery to get back on track. However, if I am put out during my buildup period, I start worrying about failing to get into shape in the first place. I'm not sure if the analogy holds, but it's sort of like sliding into first base. Risking too much on a play so early in the game doesn't make sense. Well, it sounds good anyway.

Mudside 50K

A muddy mess! A sloppy, slippery, beautiful, muddy mess. That pretty much describes the Woodside 50K course that I ran last weekend. I signed up pretty late in the game based on my son having a game that night in a city not far from the park where the race is held. Besides, I wanted to start upping my weekly mileage and it is always so much easier to commit to a long run when you've already shelled out the cash.

The weather, like my schedule, had been sporadic the week leading up to the race. However, Saturday was calling for showers. The rain started almost right on schedule with my pulling into the parking lot in the morning. After check-in I mulled around, caught up with a few friends and tried to stay warm before the start. It wasn't raining hard so I stuck with my super-lightweight Brooks LSD jacket.

While it was my first time running this event, I had run most of the trails aside from the section through Wunderlich Park. Being on the peninsula, these its a beautiful course run through big redwood trees. It's probably a good race for a first-timer as well since it has less climbing than many PCTR events (4500ft in the 50K), its not very technical (some of the trails are essentially paved) and it doesn't have multiple loops.

Personally, I didn't have any intention to race this thing hard, but wanted to push myself a little bit and get in a brisk run. Less than 5000ft of climbing for me generally means I should be able to finish in the low-5 hour range. I thought something around a 5:15 would be a good target, but the weather was not calculated into that estimate. I tried to take it easy at the start, but in truth, probably should have held back a bit longer. The climb up to Skyline is so gradual and runnable that its hard to take it too easy.

I enjoyed the new section to the turnaround loop down into Wunderlich, but my calves were pretty tight on the climb back out. The cold wet weather wasn't helping and was probably sweating more than I realized since it was so cool. I took an extra salt at the aid station and looked forward to the final downhill even though it not being "real trail" didn't play completely to my strengths. First, though, I had to get through the rolling Skyline trail. I'd run this a number of times and it can seem long. I was hoping to just go on autopilot, but the trail was much worse than on the trip out. Not only had it been raining the whole time, but, between the 35K and 50K, a couple hundred runners had run through it. I went ankle deep a couple of times.

Eventually I made it through and was actually not to bummed about the "paved" trail. I took every advantage of the downhill I could, passing a number of runners including a couple of 50K racers who I thought had dropped me on the previous climb. The final stretch is actually on road and it seemed to be much longer than I remembered. The 5:15 time went slipping on by so I set my targets on 5:20 to keep myself motivated. I ended up a little under 5:19 which was actually good enough for a top-20 finish probably with some help from the no-shows.

Running your first race is always good motivation for the upcoming season. I did a nice 6 mile recovery run the next day to top the mileage above 50 for the week. Sunday was also the Hardrock 100 lottery. My chances of being selected were pretty slim, but I was both hopeful and worried about the prospect. The laws of statistics held true and I was placed #74 on the wait list; basically, no chance I will get in unless over half the accepted runners decides not to run. I guess the good news is that I don't have to spend all my vacation days acclimating for the race.

I hadn't given too much thought to what I would do in exchange. I'd been considering perhaps a long through-hike. I've thought a lot about doing Bighorn 100 again (and finishing without having to limp the final miles). There were also a number of new races including an intriguing run in Montana called Swan Crest. Harry and Beat agreed to join me for Bighorn, but then Beat started talking about doing both. I should know better than to listen to him. When he sent me the note about having to carry bear spray and the mandatory watching of a video about what to do in the event you meet up with a grizzly bear, I was hooked. The 24 mile section without aid and the initial 4000ft climb were just gravy.

In my exuberance, I failed to check the calendar. I've just committed to run five 100 mile races in less than a 6 month span. I realize there are those out there who do much, much more, but I'm not generally one to race again too soon after a big event. The only good news is that the shortest time between is 5 weeks. I guess that's what I get for hanging out with a guy who is training for a 200 mile race in the Italian Alps this fall. I'm sure he'll be trying to get me to add something in August during our next run.

Run Together

I do most of my training runs solo. In fact, outside of races, I almost never run with other people. With a relatively sparse race schedule this year, I've a desire to change this situation a bit. I don't have what one would call a particularly rich social life--never have. About the closest I come is when Harry, Beat and I get together for dinner in order tell tales and generally BS after one of us has run a big race. Hanging out with two guys equally as running-obsessed and only slightly less anti-social than me probably isn't what most people would call progress in terms of my interpersonal development. I will admit that it is a bit funny that, since all we do is talk about running, it never occurred to us to just plan these outings around an actual run. When Harry recently suggested the idea in an email, it was sort of an enlightened moment of "duh!"

With Beat up north in Berkeley and Harry in the south bay, we decided the first group run would be near my place. After spending a week rehabilitating a sore hip from running Mission Peak during the previous storm, I decided that, after the recent rains, a different locale would be a better choice. I settled on Pleasanton Ridge due to it's facing the east-rising sun, easy planning due to the water access on the trail and the fact that it would be new trails for my two friends. In short, we had a great run. With Beat only two weeks out from his finish at the HURT 100, the pace was slower than I would have done along and that's a good thing since I usually end up going harder than I should when alone. We ran a little over 14 miles and conversation ran well beyond run, ranging from the latest technology to American colloquial malapropisms to the epistemological basis for the non-belief in God.

Post run, we headed out for lunch and then back to my place for some hand-brewed coffee and a bit more conversion before parting to our respective lives. Retrospect says that both the idea and execution were good. Don't get me wrong, I'm not about to start a running club or anything, but it is nice to step outside my reclusive ways every now and then. We will plan further runs together. It's good motivation and good training.

Shhh...

Impatience trumped frugality and I couldn't wait for my Brooks ID discount in order to try this new shoe. Besides, it was quite different from what I normally run in so I needed to try them on first. Green Silence: the name sounds like a super hero--some sort eco-ninja perhaps. The shoe's name comes from the post-consumer and biodegradable material used in its construction. While I'm probably one of the last to jump on the whole "green" bandwagon, something about these shoes attracted me and I'd been anticipating their arrival since I'd first learned of them.

I have odd-shaped feet, but Brook's Adrenaline shoes in EE width seem to accommodate my overly wide forefoot with mismatched, narrow heel. I was skeptical about trying a shoe that didn't come in width sizing. I was pleasantly surprised. Going up a half-size in order to compensate for width has, in past, resulted in slippage either just in the back or of my whole foot within the shoe. However, the unique design and lacing pattern of the Green Silence seemed to wrap my foot and eliminate the slipping. There was also an extra eye-hole to help secure my heel. Happy with the fit, I made the purchase. Thanks Don and Gillian!

Of course, the real test would be on the run. The soles of these shoes are almost completely flat so their use would be relegated to roads and relatively smooth trails. My plan for the day called for 4 miles of road and 6 on soft dirt and gravel paths. I was happy to find that my custom orthotics fit the shoes just fine without altering their extremely light and flexible they feel. Overall, the shoes performed great and I experienced no pain in either my feet or joints during the run. This was especially surprising because previous attempts to use a more neutral shoe caused some knee pain on my right side.

For someone used to a "support" shoe, it seems a little strange that this "racing flat" would work better than a shoe which originated as a spin off of my usual model. I haven't run enough in these to come to any solid conclusions, but I believe it has to do with the midsole height. The Green Silence has the lowest midsole (18mm heel, 10mm toe) as well as the smallest heel-to-toe ratio (8mm offset) of any shoe in Brook's line. Though I have no science to back this up, its possible this low-to-the-ground design doesn't give my foot as much space to overpronate through its range of motion. Having less cushioning also keeps me from striking too hard on my heel. It felt a little bit like barefoot running.

I've done a bit of barefoot running and also used the Vibram Fivefingers in the past. While nice training tools, I doubt I will ever dispense with my trusted running shoes. Going barefoot does help toughen the feet and works all those supporting muscles. However, when I run sans shoes for more than 5-6 miles or for a few days in a row, my calves become incredibly tight. It's possible that I just need to build up more slowly, but my training is so time-limited as it is that I don't need any more reasons to limit my mileage. With the Green Silence I felt similar to how I feel after about 3-4 miles running barefoot when, actually, I'd run much longer than that.

In the end, I guess that one fact pretty much says it all: I had planned only 10 miles for the day, but ran more than 12 simply because it felt good and I wanted to keep going.

Back and Forth

This is the part of the story where I;m supposed to wax poetically over the previous year's accomplishments and then blather on excitedly about plans for the new year. I finished off the final week of 2009 or the first week of 2010--whichever you like better--with the Epiphany Run, a fat ass run based loosely around the birthday of Ultrarunning Magazine editor John Medinger. Finishing the run with a little over 50K due to my own creative course creation, I then topped off my week with a short recovery run the next day giving me 76 miles. I definitely felt like I was in the flow of training, but my over-enthusiasm created some back issues the following week ending in less than 35 miles. The back is better, but training is still sporadic. However, mentally, I am in the right mode so plans is underway.

I'm only going to say a few words about last year; if I let myself think too much on it, I know there is far too much to say. In short, from a running perspective, it was my most accomplished year yet. As with the previous year, I finished 4 100-milers. Each of these races represented a milestone of one sort or another.

Looking back, here is how they stack up in my mind:

Coyote Two Moons
This was a repeat race for me and one that I didn't really need to repeat for any reason other than where it fell in the year and the fact that a couple of good friends were going. The course is tough, but the format of going through two nights makes it a bit ridiculous. It ended up being my most epic event yet. Starting at 11pm, I had about 8 good hours before I started feeling bad. The second day and night was one long continuous deterioration--physical, mental and emotional. The last few climbs were arduous and I kept telling myself and others that I was going to drop at the next aid station. Looking back, I still can't figure out what kept me moving through the night except maybe that my mind was too addled to come up with a convincing reason to stop. It's the closest I have come to a DNF yet. It made me realize that, for better or worse, I am unlikely to quit a race unless I am physically unable.

Western States
What can be said about this race that hasn't already been said. Like most people, this is the first 100 miler I ever learned about. I'd thought about it for years. I had good confidence in finishing, it being my 8th 100, but I really wanted to go for the gold--or silver as it were. I had a plan and I was totally on it, at least for 60-70 miles. After that, it became more about getting the mark on the checklist. I loved the idea of such a classic event with its history, but, ultimately, it wasn't really the type of race that moves my spirit. I enjoyed the early mountain miles much more than the more famous sections with big packed aid stations.

Plain
I don't recall exactly when I first learned of Plain. However, I do recall that it captured my imagination immediately. The adventure, rather than the competitive, aspect of ultras is what attracted me the most. The idea of traveling 100 miles under one's own power intrigued me, being able to do so while carrying all one's own necessities, drinking from mountain streams, following an unmarked course, that was a whole other level of self-reliance. I'd intended to write more about this race, but life got busy. All I can say is that it retains a distinct position in my memory. I'm sure there are plenty of low points whitewashed by time, but no other race has given me such a feeling of belinging out there.

Javelina
I've spilled more words on this race than any other. It being a loop course and my most repeated 100, the 15.4 miles of this races main trail is as familiar to me as anything I run. This familiarity presents both a level of comfort as well as a certain pressure to perform. I've managed to beat my previous results upon each return, but I've no idea how long I can keep that up. I plan to return for at least 5 finishes. if I can keep my streak of sub-24s alive, perhaps I'll keep going.


That's about all I have to say about last year. This year is, again, focused around the 100 milers; perhaps even more so. It's not that I've lost any respect for the shorter distances. In fact, I often find them tougher; feeling the need to push myself much more than in a 100. I'm never going to be competitive in them and I'm not getting any younger either. The real motivation, however, has more to do with limited time and a desire to focus on events that fill my spirit with a sense of renewal. On that slightly melodramatic note, my plans for this year will again are really only set for the beginning of the year.

The first is a quest for a new experience. I have entered and been chosen in the lottery for the Massanuttan Mountain Trails 100. Any race on the east coast would represent new territory for me. This race has a reputation for toughness; a toughness very different from the mountain altitude or steep climbs that mark the hardest races in the west. Extremely technical trails and rocks galore will be the new order of the day.

Next, is another lottery, but with a fairly slim chance of selection. I will find out about Hardrock 100 next month. This is still the only race that really scares me. I haven't traditionally done well at altitude, suffering in anything above 8500ft. Elevations up above 10K are completely new territory for me. If I am selected, I will need to acclimate properly and it will still be a risky proposition. This race will be my new challenge. I am still thinking about what I might do in its stead in the likely event that I find July open in my schedule. I am thinking about some sort of fast pack, a long solo trek, perhaps.

I plan to finish the year with both Plain and Javelina again. Plain, because I want to see if I can repeat that most singular experience. Javelina, for all the reasons I mentioned before. I will fill in with other races as opportunity permits. I am also going to try to add in more long self-supported runs. I rarely go much beyond 25 miles in my training runs, but I'd really like to plan some 30+ milers of my own design.

That's it. Nothing particularly special this year, but a gradual progression, I think. There is a certain transition underway, but right now I'm not looking that far ahead.

Jump Start

Today's 16.5 miles marks five days straight running--first time in a few months--the past 4 all on trails covering 47.7 miles and over 9500ft of climbing. It's a little early, but I am going to declare this my first official week of 2010 training. I'll probably do something easy tomorrow and then take Friday off before the weekend. I'm not sure what I'll do this weekend. If I'm feeling ambitious on Saturday morning the Epiphany Run will mark the first official unofficial ultra of the new year. I mainly just want to log a good week of miles to start off the new year.

Today's run was one of those rare sampling of new trails. While looking for someplace to run before doing some errands over in Palo Alto, I discovered the existence of the Bay-to-Ridge Trail. It's an interesting idea even if it does require a start and initial miles on pavement. Once the path reaches Arastrodero Preserve it's pretty much all trail to Skyline Ridge. As a future project, I think doing a "Bay to the Beach" run continuing on from Skyline Ridge through Long Ridge and Saratoga Gap open spaces to link up with the Skyline-to-the-Sea trail would be pretty cool. I was slightly less ambitious today starting in Arastrodero and continuing up through Foothills preserve to Los Trancos. I'd run in this last park before, but the rest of the trails were all new to me.

Arastrodero is mostly open grasslands with wide smooth paths. There are some nice looking single track, but all were closed due to muddy conditions. Foothills is a true gem, but is only open to the public via Arastrodero. It has some excellent winding trails leading gradually up to the ridge through deep tree cover. Very nice. I had a great time on this extremely runnable trails. I took it pretty easy, however, since I had done Mission Peak the day before. I will definitely have to sample these places out some more as there were many side trails leading off in all directions and it isn't too bad a drive since it is right off Hwy 280. Best of all, the experience of cruising along new trails having to force myself to turn around and head back was just what I needed to rejuvenate my passion for running trails in the new year.

Happy New Year everyone!

Perspiration's Inspiration

94. That is the sum total running miles I logged during the month of November. I'm over 100 for December thus far, but not by much. I always take some down time at the end of the year to recover both physically and mentally. This year has been a bit more "down" than normal. A busier usual life on both the personal and professional front has conspired with the usual holiday hubbub to leave almost no time for any weekday running. Well, that, and a near complete lack of desire.

After Javelina, I was trying to figure out what to do with the following month. Given that last year I spent the two months after this race rehabilitating a torn calf muscle, I definitely planned to take it very easy. I didn't want to take the month totally off from running; however, I wanted whatever running I decided to do to be about something. Perhaps I would dig up the heartrate monitor and limit myself to only very easy runs. Maybe I would only run when I could to a trailhead. In the end, I decided it was to be about inspiration; I would run only when I was inspired to do so whether it be by some interesting route, a new trail or just the return of the internal desire to move my feet.

I did force myself to take a full week off. Even though my legs felt better than they had after the previous year's race, I didn't want to tempt fate. The following Saturday, my first inspiration run came to me. Eschewing my watch, I placed my personal journal in my pack, put it on my back and headed out the door. The legs felt heavy, but I just kept them at a very slow pace. I was headed towards the Mission Peak trailhead, given myself permission to walk the whole way back if necessary. I headed up the trail taking the immediate right fork towards the less populated route. I headed up the Horse Heaven single track, but went off trail upon topping the first hill. There, on a rock overlooking the Bay, I took off my pack and sat. I spent the better part of the afternoon enjoying the view and writing. I had no concern for time and decided that I should go without my watch for the remainder of the month. Eventually I shuffled on home.

The next day I had a very odd inspiration, if you can even call it that. I hopped on the treadmill for 2-1/2 miles while watching a football game. I think I mainly just wanted to loosen my legs up after the previous day's run. The next weekend I had to wait for my wife to finish some work and so I went on a "run of opportunity" around the bay trail in Foster City. It ended up turning into a bit of impromptu speedwork as I kept pushing more and more as I ran along the flat path. I had no idea of the pace since I was without watch. The next day's inspiration had me putting the GPS watch back on the wrist, but not for myself. I was planning to visit my parents for dinner, but wanted to get a run in first. Upon learning that they would be watching my niece and nephew, I invited my sister's 10-year old son to join me on his bike. We traveled the flat, paved paths that run throughout Contra Costa County traveling a full 24 miles in about 4 hours. We had a great time stopping for ice cream at the turnaround point. I was glad I brought the watch because I knew the return trip would be filled with questions of "how far?" and "how long?"

The third weekend of the month consisted of just a couple of mid-length road runs that would normally be considered quite uninspiring. However, in each case I simply ran when the impetus struck. The final weekend was, perhaps, a bit more interesting. Having the Friday after Thanksgiving off, I headed down to Grant Park in San Jose. I hadn't run there in a long time, but it was a favorite destination back when I used to mountain bike. With a bit of rain in forecast, I found the park nearly empty. I saw one set of hikers as I headed out and then had the entire 13+ miles of trail completely to myself for the rest of the afternoon. Saturday I did a little 4 mile shakedown and then headed up Mission on Sunday for one of my favorite routes looping around the back side and heading out to Monument before heading over the Peak on the return.

The monthly miles may have been small, but every one was quality.


I'd intended to kick things back into training mode once December hit, but a continued busy schedule along with my old nemesis called "inertia" has kept that from happening. I started off with a descent week of 47 miles including a 23+ mile long run starting in Redwood City and going up to Skyline Blvd which was followed by 12+ miles the next day at Purisima Creek. Unfortunately, once the holiday's got into full swing the only thing that's gotten much of a workout is my liver. I do have this entire week off so I am going to make an effort to get on the trails every day. I'm also going to write a second blog entry this week ruminating on the past year's accomplishments and the coming one's goals.

thr3ee

On various online forums I can be found posting under this odd pseudonym. It's proximate source is that I used it as my password throughout college until one of my friends (and fellow Unix hacker) snared me with a spoofed password program. Since it'd been made public, I decided to just use it as my public persona. However, its ultimate source goes back much further into my personal history.

I have always had a, I don't want to say fascination, so how about we call it an interest in the number 3. It's possible that it has something to do with being raised on things like this. But, my real appreciation of this integer came about much later. I was aware of many of its unique mathematical properties and an idea of the significance it played in various philosophic and religious contexts. Though, with no Internet back then, the scope of my exploration was much more limited than it might be today. In truth, I was really just a bored public school adolescent with a geeky mathematical fascination.

I made up some sort of "numerology" of my own based around the number 3. While it's possible some version of the full list is still written down on a scrap of paper someplace, lying at the bottom of a box buried in the back of a closet. I really don't know. I do, however, remember something about the initial bit:

1 = Existence (everything that has or will occur will happen at least once)
2 = Coincidence (a second occurrence demonstrates only that the first was not unique)
3 = Evidence (or perhaps even "proof" on my more optimistic days)

From there things went pretty far afield based on various mathematical operations beginning with these first few entries. This is not, thank goodness, a tale about the odd behavioral tendencies of my teenage years, so I'll just leave it at that.

It is a tale about my third time running the Javelina Jundred.

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A Charm
I was quite happy when my request for bib number 333 was granted. I talked a bit about my goals in previous posts, but the most important one came down to proving to myself that I really knew what I was doing out there. Despite my passion for events like Plain where I feel locked in that classic narrative theme of "man versus nature", I also like the idea of having a 100 miler where I can actually gain some sort of handle on the distance. Not that I will ever apply the term "easy" to running 100 miles, but the combination of familiarity and the relatively few inherent variables at Javelina allow me to experiment with the other aspects of such an undertaking that are (more or less) under my control. It is the only 100 miler where I've demonstrated success at meeting my time goals. This year was to be the test, the "evidence" as it were.

Pre-Race Haste
It was clearly going to be a bit different this year given that the field was about twice the usual size. They had already enlarged it before Angeles Crest 100 was canceled due to fires and they allowed even more entrants. The check-in, briefing and dinner all felt a bit less low-key than previous years. They even had a guest speaker. Unfortunately, they also had much smaller dinner portions so Beat and I didn't stick around for the talk. We headed right to the traditional giant Safeway for some more eats, snacks and breakfast foods. I probably ate too much and too late, but that was something I wouldn't pay for until very late in my race. The rest of the evening was spent in the traditional manner of last minute prep followed by the early morning wake up call. Apparently, it wasn't early enough as we were forced into the overflow lot due to the larger than normal number of participants. It just meant less time waiting at the start.

"It really is impossible to run that first lap too slow"
I'd given this advice to a first-timer in an online running forum the week before the race. I'd repeated it again a few times the night before. We lined up closer to the back of the pack, knowing that sage advice is rarely taken, especially as it pertains to an event that is all about experience. It's taken me some time to learn this lesson myself. It has only been very recently, where I have started to understand what it really means to go out slow. It's served me quite well at my last three races. However, at your first 100, there is really no way to know. Until you've felt it, how could you know that the gradual slope in lap-1, that feels excruciatingly slow at your sub-12 pace would require enormous effort during lap-5 to even approach 15 minutes per mile? Even after you have felt it, it is difficult to convince yourself that a 1 minute per mile slowdown during the first 15 miles, can actually translate into a 3-4 minute per mile speedup during the final 30. Even with such knowledge, and experience, I still finished the first loop faster than I intended. However, coming in slightly slower than last year, I had confidence it wasn't going to be an issue.

Spectacular Spectating
The great thing about Javelina is that you can be both participant and spectator at the same time. The "washing machine" style loops--changing direction each time--mean that you see everyone in front and behind you on each lap. In the early laps this means you can play a little guessing game about who's going out too hard, who's gonna "reel 'em in" and who's in store for a spectacular blow up. The front-runners always seem to start out at a blistering pace. With fast guys it's hard to tell who can hold it and this year was no different. I watched a couple front-runners who looked "worked" early on manage to hang to the finish. I saw a very experienced ex-winner drop from the competition. There was also some young gun, who'd been holding second place, sitting in a chair mid race with head hung low. Finally, I was privileged to be present for the most incredible crushing of a course record I have ever witnessed. Further back in the pack things are a bit more predictable.

"That should be a clue"
While most everyone finishes lap 1 too fast, it's lap 2 that can be the real game killer. It's possible to smoke the first 15 miles, yet back off enough during the middle section of the race to still finish strong. That is essentially what I did two years ago. However, if you come into the 50K mark and utter, as one guy did to me last year, that you just set a PR for the distance, well, there's only one appropriate response. Lap 2 is where I watched people making their initial mistakes. It's also where I watched myself closely to not do the same. Going up the gradual slope I noticed that I was able to maintain a walking pace of 13-14 minute miles. If I'm walking that well, there is really no reason to run. Beat was chatting with some young girl trotting up ahead. Eventually he backed off and hung back with me. Apparently she was saying how she didn't feel like she was going too fast, a common perception at that stage in the race. The thing is, in the first 20 miles at least, you should really feel like you're going too slow.

3rd
This is the transition. I think about this race in thirds of 50K--the final partial loop isn't factored in because it is run purely with whatever you have left. I set splits for each 3rd. The first was 6 hours, but the goal here was "no faster than." I missed it slightly, finishing just under. The next two splits would need to be under their targets. If I was to have a shot at 22 hours, I would need to hit the 100K mark under 13 hours and complete lap 6 within 20--I knew those final miles could be done in a bit over 2. Mentally switching from "stay under this time" to "have to hit this time" does not mean, however, that I had permission to start pushing the pace. Lap 3 is still a time for restraint especially given that it is run in the heat of the day. This year was the coolest of the three I have run this race, but the temps still managed to creep into the mid-80s on parts of the course. My goal allotted me about 7 hours for each of the next two 50Ks. This meant I would need to hit the faster clockwise laps in under 3:30. I finished this one in about 3:25.

"The race doesn't start until lap 5"
If lap 3 is the mental transition then lap 4 is the physical one. At this point, my focus turned to strategy. Monitoring my body closely, the mantra weaving through my thoughts was to stay within a "solid, but maintainable" pace. After catching up with a couple of runners about half way through this lap--just before sundown--I was discussing how lap 4 is where the urge to push can be very strong, but the need to hold something back is still important. The real race hasn't yet begun. As if to punctuate my comment, the two of them took off shortly after our conversation only to drop from the race after the next lap. As night settled in, I was feeling good. Leaving the last aid station, heading to the start/finish area, I could see I was coming in solidly below my 13 hour target. My mind drifted to lap 6. That was my critical slowdown last year. I began running that final loop over and over in my mind. I became fixated on it. So much so that I made my "big mistake" at the next aid station.

One can be "too focused"
As mental acuity dissipates late in a race, I begin needing to remind myself of what I need to do as while approaching an aid station. I usually have a list that I repeat in my head. I almost always end up forgetting something. My hope is just that isn't anything too critical. I had a strong desire to get out of the 100K aid station in less than 13 hours so I set a plan for super-efficiency: drop the bottles off to be filled, head to my bag, grab a few essentials, down the rest of my Frapuccino, quickly grab some eats on the way out and then get back on trail. I thought I'd hit everything on my list. A little over a mile into the loop I was reminded of what I had missed. I'd ran right past the row of porta-johns leaving the aid station. What would have been a quick 2-minute diversion eventually turned into a matter of urgency. I'm won't go into details, but my failure to "take care of business" meant that loop 5 took a full 4 hours with at least 15-20 minutes of it spent off trail. I did manage to get my GI system back in order before finishing the lap. I also switched to gels and soup for the remainder of the race.

2x3=6
As I mentioned earlier, last year lap 6 was my tough one. I don't know if my plan just hit right or if the slow lap 5 was a contributor, but this year I had a great lap 6. I decided to repeat what worked well during lap 4 which was to walk some of the early section out of the aid station, but then shuffle up the gradual slope. I was able to maintain the pace for pretty much the whole way. Not only was my pace great, but I actually enjoyed myself the entire time. So often, as ultrarunners, we have to resort to certain mental techniques in order to get through the more difficult aspects of these long events. Whether you call it dissociation, mind games or simply "phasing out", the effect is the same. You distract yourself and forget the present moments, letting time pace without record. While I've always found this an interesting cognitive phenomena, my most treasured times during an ultra are those where I manage the exact opposite, a state of total mindfulness. To be completely present, in the moment, observing both yourself and your surroundings when expectation would have you entrenched in pain and avoidance, is as close as anything to what I might label a spiritual moment. It's also the best I can come to explaining how I felt during this lap.

3 out of four ain't bad
I finished lap 6 in a just over 20:22. 22 hours was an impossibility, but I felt great and, besides, there were plenty of other goals from which to choose. Heading out 3 minutes later, I knew I could beat last year's time. It had taken me 2 hours and 10 minutes to do the final lap then and I knew it could be done faster. I started off easy preparing for the slow uphill grind. I decided that I was going to shuffle as much as I could, but still make sure I had energy to crush the final downhill. I reached Coyote Camp around 21:45, almost 15 minutes faster than last year. A runner and pacer had left just as I came in. I figured to catch them on the downhill. The first bit is not very steep so it doesn't quite play to my strength. I leaned into it and pushed just enough to keep the breathing heavy, but even. I passed them a mile or so in. I knew there was a short steep section just before it leveled out leading to the intersection. I was looking forward to it. I wanted to let go and put on some speed to help energize myself for the final stretch. Just as I hit this section, another runner/pacer pair appeared in front of me. I barely had time to call out "on your right" as I banked an outside turn to fly on by them. That was all I needed to kick it into high gear. Not only was I guaranteed my 10th 100-mile finish, my 3rd sub-24 hr and a PR for the course, but 22:30 had suddenly come into view. It was nothing but push the rest of the way.

By my reckoning, I ran the final 9.1 miles in under 2 hours and 2 minutes putting my finish time at 22:27:20. Hmm...that's an awful lot of 2's. Maybe it's time to pick a new favorite number?