It’s hard to describe with words, but I’ve changed as a
runner over the past few months. It used to be that I liked the attention I got
as a runner. The “oohs” and “ahs” of what I did with my running kind of felt
good deep down even though I've always tried to act humble. But recently it’s gotten uncomfortable. I’ve reached the point in my
running life where I don’t need to really “feel good” about it, and I don’t
need external validation or adulation. It’s not that I ever needed validation—I
didn’t. But on a certain level I enjoyed it when people complimented me on my
endurance, and I do believe people who run ultras have a real feather in their
cap in terms of workplace advancement (running shows discipline, grit, determination,
goal-setting and commitment—qualities that most employers like). Nowadays, with
over a decade of “serious” distance running under my belt, I find myself more
and more uncomfortable with people knowing what I do in my spare time. Running
is part and parcel of my personality and I’m finding that it’s nice to be known
for something other than the miles I log. I run not only because I enjoy it,
but also because I need it and it’s just what I’m supposed to do. Does that
even make sense?
Back to 2013…. It started off on a shaky note when I ran a 3:04 at the Rock ‘n Roll Arizona Marathon in January. That whole experience in Phoenix
revealed a great deal to me. Hitting the wall big time at mile 21, I learned
that I need volume. For my Phoenix training, I was hitting about 65 miles a
week, but logging a lot of really good quality. Though certainly the heat
played a role (it was over 70 degrees and sunny when I finished), clearly I’m a
runner who needs volume and not just quality. So, for my next big go at the
marathon, my mileage will be up in the 80s and the volume will be there, too.
Incidentally, a lot of people assume I would find the marathon
easy. You may hear the same thing in your own circles. I tell people that it’s not the distance that’s necessarily hard (though I
wouldn’t call 26.2 miles easy); it’s running those 26.2 miles at a good clip
that’s freaking hard as all get out. I truly believe that the road marathon is
the hardest distance of all, with the possible exception of 50 miles and 100K on the road;
you have to perfectly pace the event. Every second counts. Whereas in an ultra
you can stop to pee or whatever and not really lose ground, in a road marathon
if you stop for anything you’re losing precious time and that PR becomes harder
to achieve.
Anyway, after Phoenix, I hit the weights and ran at MAF for
three months. Those three months helped me recover and establish a solid aerobic
base and the strength to hold up through the racing season. I credit MAF and
weights for my being healthy and injury-free (save a sprained ankle) throughout
the year.
Then in April I ran the Cheyenne Mountain 50K, really struggling throughout the race but still managing a respectable finish. I had no trail strength and bonked big-time 20
miles in. I managed to pull things together, after getting a few Hammer gels in
me, and finish decently strong. That whole experience revealed to me that there’s
a huge different between road legs and trail legs. Going into Cheyenne, I had
the former, but not the latter (yet). And so I hit the trail in the weeks and
months to come trying to get my trail legs back.
A week after Cheyenne, I suddenly found myself out of work
and with loads of free time. So, when I wasn’t applying for jobs, networking
and hanging out with my son, I was running trails every day. I ran at places
like the Barr Trail (Pikes Peak), Grays and Torreys Peaks, Elk Meadow Open
Space, both Green Mountains (the one in Boulder and the one in Lakewood), Roxborough
State Park, and of course Mount Falcon and Deer Creek Canyon. I even managed to
set a new PR on the Incline with a 26:04. It sure felt good tallying up the
numbers at the end of each week and seeing huge vertical!
It all paid off big time at my next race, the Leadville Marathon
in late June. I ran a 4:19, despite no real taper, being sick with strep throat
and losing 3-4 minutes after severely spraining my ankle on the descent into
town at the end of the race. My time was a full 20 minutes better than my PR,
signaling that I was getting in really good shape for the Leadville 100 thanks
to all the MAF, weights and trail running. The problem was that I could barely
walk on my mangled ankle. After taking it easy for a few days and getting the
swelling down, I got back on the trails and was pretty compromised for a few
weeks as my ankle improved. Prior to the sprain, I was running hard down rocky
trails and my confidence was sky high. When I sprained it coming into town, I
was hammering it down the trail. In retrospect, that ankle sprain really put a
dent in things, even as I continued to log huge miles and vertical going into
the Leadville 100. I just wasn’t the same after the sprain.
And then there was the 100 in mid-August. The race can be
summed up quite easily. The first 65 miles were horrendous. I puked 15 times on
Hope Pass on the return trip and just ran flat. I think the 2012 DNF was really
playing with my mind. But then not far out of Twin Lakes inbound I got a burst
of energy that carried me to the finish in 22:40. The last 35 miles were amazing—I ran
almost every step, including the Powerline climb, and passed dozens of runners.
Coming into each station, I was howling like Billy Idol and totally pumped up.
I credit my wife for giving me a huge 20-ounce Coke at Pipeline—it really got
the juices flowing. I feel like in many ways I made a mental breakthrough at
Leadville, and I can honestly say I enjoyed the entire experience. While the physical training is critical, so much of successful
100-mile racing at altitude is about the mental game.
The year ended with really solid efforts at the 5K and half
marathon distances.
I’m now ready to close the book on 2013 and think about
2014. The year will once again revolve around the Leadville 100. Though I
expect I won’t be able to get in the trail miles I did this summer due to
limited vacation time and work, I do think I’ll be mentally stronger and the
overall volume will be there. I’ll certainly be able to log some quality miles
on the trails, but not on a daily basis. I’ll make do with what I have and just
enjoy the experience.
***
In closing, I want to make a plug for Zack Bitter’s recent100-mile time at Desert Rats. To run under 12 hours for 100 miles and, in the
process, set a new American record and go on to beat Yiannis Kouros’ 12-hour
world record is just crazy. Though I’m not big on awards, I really hope Zack
wins Ultra Performance of the Year honors—because he deserves it. And I say
that knowing that what Tim Olson did at Western States this year was almost
just as crazy, as he held off two monsters in Rob Krar and Mike Morton.
***
A final note: As many of us already know, the Badwater
Ultramarathon and other Death Valley races face an uncertain future due to the
new superintendent of Death Valley National Park instituting a "safety evaluation" that
means no permits for events, even long-standing events like Badwater, will be
granted. No good reason for the review was provided, and no prior notification to
the Badwater organizers was made--which is patently absurd. Such a situation is totally unacceptable, given
Badwater’s track record of good organization and runner and crew
safety, and it reveals the very frightening nature of what government is
becoming. Then there's this disturbing perspective on what's really going on--high radiation levels in Death Valley.
Whatever the case, if runners want to race 135 miles across the desert in the dead of summer, then so be it (unless, of course, there are grave safety issues stemming from deadly radiation, which at this point is pure speculation). My hope is that an organization to challenge this edict by some appointed bureaucrat will quickly emerge--or at the very least we'll get some answers--but sadly the clock is ticking on Badwater and other events. All of us in the ultrarunning world should be alarmed by this situation, because it could set a dangerous precedent for other national parks in which races are held.
Whatever the case, if runners want to race 135 miles across the desert in the dead of summer, then so be it (unless, of course, there are grave safety issues stemming from deadly radiation, which at this point is pure speculation). My hope is that an organization to challenge this edict by some appointed bureaucrat will quickly emerge--or at the very least we'll get some answers--but sadly the clock is ticking on Badwater and other events. All of us in the ultrarunning world should be alarmed by this situation, because it could set a dangerous precedent for other national parks in which races are held.
