Had a very solid race on Sunday at the NORAD Trail Marathon at Cheyenne Mountain State Park in Colorado Springs. Put on by Mad Moose Events, it's a figure-8 course with 4,000 feet of climbing that you run twice. Cheyenne Mountain is where NORAD is located--hence the race's name. So a pretty cool location.
I know the course quite well as I've run several races there over the years (including the Cheyenne Mountain 50K and the Xterra Trail Marathon), meaning going into Sunday I knew where to press it hard and where to take my foot off the gas pedal. Experience was on my side in spades. That said, I've kind of tired of the course over the years--there's just nothing on it that is new to me. But it is beautiful and on Sunday I really tried take it in.
My decision to enter the race was pretty last-minute...as in I registered at the table the morning of the event. I had checked with the race directors a few days earlier and they confirmed I could register on-site. That said, when my alarm went off at 4:30 on Sunday morning, I decided right then and there to bag the race and get some more sleep. It had been a busy week at work and I needed more rest. So I turned off my alarm and closed my eyes.
But then regret crept over me and I got out of bed and went through the motions of getting ready. I ate breakfast and had my coffee and then out the door I went, driving to Colorado Springs with very low expectations and, quite honestly, not a great attitude. The temperature on the drive down was in the high 30s. That's what I call "no excuse racing weather."
In truth, what was really holding me back was my flagging confidence as a runner. It has been a tough two years, and the last thing I wanted on Sunday morning was to drive down to Colorado Springs and endure a 26.2-mile death march where I hated every step because I can't race the way I used to race.
I am so glad to ran the race! Right out of the gate--trying to use my experience to my advantage--I opted to keep my effort at MAF and only allowed myself to exceed MAF if I was toward the top of a climb and knew I'd soon be on a descent. I was quite strong over the entire race, actually running the second loop stronger than the first. I lost no strength; in fact, I got stronger with the miles. I was especially strong on the descents and I was quite surprised by my climbing. My average heart rate for the entire race was 138. On a few climbs, I allowed by HR to get into the 150s but only near the top when I knew I was able to level off.
Running the whole thing at MAF was a good decision. Back in my 30s and early 40s, I had the fitness to go out hard and know I could hold it. I am still fit but not like I was in my 30s and early 40s. So it's better to go out conservatively, hold the effort at MAF and let the race come to you--which is what I did on Sunday. I passed several runners during the second loop.
I finished 6th overall out of only 38 starters, with a time of 4 hours and 20 minutes. Not bad for a course with 4,000 feet of climbing on rocky trails! I even got a 90% finish on Ultrasignup! Good to be back into the 90s!
Just like that, I'm feeling good about my fitness with the Burning River 100 now about two months away. I just put in my second consecutive week of 70+ miles. I just started Optygen and it seems to be kicking in. I am confident that, going into June, a couple of weeks of 80+ miles and at least one week at 90+ miles is all feasible. Hell, I might even be able to squeeze in a 100-mile week if I play my cards right (not counting on it).
That should set me up nicely for a Burning River 100 that I can run with confidence...and at MAF :-).
Showing posts with label Race reports. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Race reports. Show all posts
Monday, May 20, 2019
Monday, October 17, 2016
Rock 'n' Roll Denver 1/2 Marathon
On Sunday, I lined up for the Rock 'n' Roll Denver 1/2 Marathon. I can't explain why, but I was pretty keyed up going into this race. That's a nice way of saying I felt nervous. Although 2016 has been an epic year in that I finally got my chance at Western States and earned my fifth big buckle at Leadville, my results have left me quite dissatisfied. So on Sunday, I felt nervous because deep down I wanted a result I could be happy with but I worried this race would bring more disappointment.
I actually considered skipping Sunday's race but, after pacing my son in a 5K on Saturday (he finished in 28 minutes!), I felt inspired to line up and give it a go. As a reminder to dig deep and go hard, I found my old Cleveland Southeast Running Club singlet and wore it on Sunday. It's hard to explain, but when I put that thing on my mentality changes and I want to go hard. I wore that singlet in some exciting races in my mid-30s, including a few of my sub-3-hour marathons and a 3:46 50K. Here's a photo of me in it at the 2008 Columbus Marathon, where I eked out a 2:59 on a blown-up hamstring:
As far as how Sunday's Rock 'n' Roll race went, turns out it wasn't too bad of a day. I finished 70th overall out of 6,667 (top 1%, which I like!) with a time of 1:27:40. In my age division and gender, I ended up 7th out of 390 and 57th out of 2,552, respectively. Not bad.
It's up for debate as to whether or not the course was a bit long. Some results from Strava showed that the course was anywhere from 13.1-13.4 miles. My watch read 13.3 miles. Whatever the case, I ran hard! My splits from the day were:
5K: 20:27 (6:35 pace)
10K: 41:15 (6:39 pace)
10 mile: 1:06:38 (6:40 pace)
Overall: 1:27:40 (6:42 pace)
So, overall, pretty consistent. As I look at my result from Sunday, I am well-aware of the fact that I'm slowing down with age, though I also know that I wasn't really specifically trained for a fast 13.1 miles. My half-marathon PR is 1:22 but that was run at sea level. So I figure if Sunday's race were at sea level, the result might have been 1:25-1:26. Not a huge drop-off but I'm aging and that's OK because there's nothing I can do to stop it.
I really enjoyed going "fast" on Sunday. I have always loved the road and feel in my element when I'm pounding the pavement. Going fast on the road introduces a level of pain that's hard to achieve on the trail, unless it's up the backside of Hope Pass! By mile 10 on Sunday, I was fighting tooth and nail to maintain 6:35 pace and had to suck down a VFuel gel to hold it together. There is something about the anguish of holding pace in a road race that draws me in. In a race like a half-marathon or marathon, every second counts. I love that.
Rock 'n' Roll races are often the target of ridicule among "serious" runners. While some of the criticism may be warranted (especially criticism of the "sag wagon"), I really liked the energy of Sunday's race. There were runners of all abilities and a festive atmosphere from start to finish. The course was interesting, meandering through downtown Denver and through City Park and back downtown, well-marked and safe. The number of police officers securing intersections for safe passage by runners was impressive.
I have never been a huge believer in prediction calculators but I think Sunday's result indicates that I'm in about 3:03-3:04 shape for the marathon.
I actually considered skipping Sunday's race but, after pacing my son in a 5K on Saturday (he finished in 28 minutes!), I felt inspired to line up and give it a go. As a reminder to dig deep and go hard, I found my old Cleveland Southeast Running Club singlet and wore it on Sunday. It's hard to explain, but when I put that thing on my mentality changes and I want to go hard. I wore that singlet in some exciting races in my mid-30s, including a few of my sub-3-hour marathons and a 3:46 50K. Here's a photo of me in it at the 2008 Columbus Marathon, where I eked out a 2:59 on a blown-up hamstring:
As far as how Sunday's Rock 'n' Roll race went, turns out it wasn't too bad of a day. I finished 70th overall out of 6,667 (top 1%, which I like!) with a time of 1:27:40. In my age division and gender, I ended up 7th out of 390 and 57th out of 2,552, respectively. Not bad.
It's up for debate as to whether or not the course was a bit long. Some results from Strava showed that the course was anywhere from 13.1-13.4 miles. My watch read 13.3 miles. Whatever the case, I ran hard! My splits from the day were:
5K: 20:27 (6:35 pace)
10K: 41:15 (6:39 pace)
10 mile: 1:06:38 (6:40 pace)
Overall: 1:27:40 (6:42 pace)
So, overall, pretty consistent. As I look at my result from Sunday, I am well-aware of the fact that I'm slowing down with age, though I also know that I wasn't really specifically trained for a fast 13.1 miles. My half-marathon PR is 1:22 but that was run at sea level. So I figure if Sunday's race were at sea level, the result might have been 1:25-1:26. Not a huge drop-off but I'm aging and that's OK because there's nothing I can do to stop it.
I really enjoyed going "fast" on Sunday. I have always loved the road and feel in my element when I'm pounding the pavement. Going fast on the road introduces a level of pain that's hard to achieve on the trail, unless it's up the backside of Hope Pass! By mile 10 on Sunday, I was fighting tooth and nail to maintain 6:35 pace and had to suck down a VFuel gel to hold it together. There is something about the anguish of holding pace in a road race that draws me in. In a race like a half-marathon or marathon, every second counts. I love that.
Rock 'n' Roll races are often the target of ridicule among "serious" runners. While some of the criticism may be warranted (especially criticism of the "sag wagon"), I really liked the energy of Sunday's race. There were runners of all abilities and a festive atmosphere from start to finish. The course was interesting, meandering through downtown Denver and through City Park and back downtown, well-marked and safe. The number of police officers securing intersections for safe passage by runners was impressive.
I have never been a huge believer in prediction calculators but I think Sunday's result indicates that I'm in about 3:03-3:04 shape for the marathon.
Tuesday, August 30, 2016
Grit, Guts and Determination: 2016 Leadville 100 Race Report
The frustrating thing about 100-mile races of late is that my legs are capable of so much more than my stomach will give over the distance. Almost anyone who saw me run the Leadville Trail 100-Mile Run, which took place Aug. 20-21, would tell you my legs are good for 21-22 hours on that course but my stomach just won't have it. And so it was with this year's "Race Across the Sky."
First and foremost, I want to express heartfelt gratitude to my family and friends who were on hand to support me. This included my wife and our son, my father-in-law, AJ Wellman and Chuck Radford as my pacers, my boss and her husband, esteemed co-workers, and many others. Even if you weren't able to physically be there, you were in my thoughts--especially if you're family. Everyone's support meant so much to me and I am deeply grateful for it. Thank you.
When I came into Twin Lakes outbound (mile 39.5) in one of my best-ever splits for that aid station (6 hours, 46 minutes), I felt so good. I had run the first 13 miles with my buddy, Mark, in a conservative 2 hours, 4 minutes (we had great conversation the whole way, which made a huge difference) and then really opened it up from Outward Bound to Twin Lakes. As I descended into Twin Lakes, enjoying those spectacular views, I remember thinking that I'd had a good taper and my recovery post-Western States had been much better than expected (thank you, Ultragen!)--bringing me to this almost euphoric point. Nearly 40 miles into the race, things were looking up.
Upon arriving at TL at 10:46am, I looked at my family and crew and said something along the lines of, "it's too early to tell but this could be a magical day." My UCAN, Larabars, Fuel 100 Bites and water infused with peppermint oil seemed to be working. My wife was shocked by how good I looked. Off I went toward the meadow en route to Hope Pass, ready to get after that big climb, taking you up to 12,600 feet.
I got into the Hopeless aid station (mile 45) two hours later. There, I took stock of the llamas (they always catch my eye) and recharged with some delicious potato soup before heading off for the crest of the pass. The section from Hopeless to the crest is always such a grinder for me, especially those last few steps before you hit the top, which affords the most spectacular views you could imagine.
Finally, when we got to the top, AJ and I started running that buttery trail and we had a good stretch going into Half Pipe (mile 70), then Pipeline (73), and then--to a somewhat lesser extent--Outward Bound (76). AJ told me I needed to average at least 15-minute miles and for most miles I was moving at about 10-11-minute pace. Although I'd gotten down a few Fig Newtons, I was mostly depleted as my stomach had never restarted as we'd hoped it would at Twin Lakes. Basically whatever I put in my stomach just sat there. I'm not sure how I kept going except to say it was raw endurance and fat burning at work!
About a mile past Outward Bound, you're greeted by the Powerline climb. Arriving at the base of Powerline, I wasn't quite as optimistic about this gnarly section as I usually am. Powerline has traditionally been a strength of mine--I can get up and over it pretty fast and in good spirits. But this time I didn't feel quite as confident because my climbing legs just weren't there. We nonetheless grinded our way up the climb--about 1,800 vertical feet with some legitimately steep sections. AJ told me it would take about 85 minutes to get to the top, and he was right. I took a few breathers along the way and then finally we got into the "surprise" aid station. Only a few steps before the aid station, Mark had caught up with me. I hadn't seen him since Mayqueen and he was looking so good. He would go on to finish sub-24 hours and third in his age group! As for me...I wasn't looking at good as Mark.
As I reflect on this latest Leadville finish, I realize that I'm experiencing decreasing dissatisfaction with my 100-mile finishes. Am I super proud that I got another big buckle at the "Race Across the Sky"? Oh yeah. But I know I can run the distance so it's no longer a question of, "Am I up for this?" Yes, I'm up for it. The de-motivating aspect is that, again, my stomach keeps undermining everything even as I've tried so many different things in 100s. I know on legs alone I can cover that course much faster. But my stomach won't have it and that's sapping my will to want to keep going back to Leadville.
When I came into Twin Lakes outbound (mile 39.5) in one of my best-ever splits for that aid station (6 hours, 46 minutes), I felt so good. I had run the first 13 miles with my buddy, Mark, in a conservative 2 hours, 4 minutes (we had great conversation the whole way, which made a huge difference) and then really opened it up from Outward Bound to Twin Lakes. As I descended into Twin Lakes, enjoying those spectacular views, I remember thinking that I'd had a good taper and my recovery post-Western States had been much better than expected (thank you, Ultragen!)--bringing me to this almost euphoric point. Nearly 40 miles into the race, things were looking up.
 |
| Coming into Twin Lakes, mile 39.5 |
Alas, I felt quite labored on the climb up the frontside of Hope, ultimately coming to the realization that my climbing legs were compromised...maybe from Western States itself but likely from limited trail running in the past several weeks as I recovered from my adventure from Squaw Valley Ski Resort to Auburn. But I didn't let it get to me too much because, even with sub-optimal climbing legs, I knew I was in good pure running shape.
I got into the Hopeless aid station (mile 45) two hours later. There, I took stock of the llamas (they always catch my eye) and recharged with some delicious potato soup before heading off for the crest of the pass. The section from Hopeless to the crest is always such a grinder for me, especially those last few steps before you hit the top, which affords the most spectacular views you could imagine.
I was a few hundred vertical feet below the top when Max King, followed by eventual winner Ian Sharmin, came blowing past me (obviously in the opposite direction as this is an out and back course). Watching Max, I immediately thought back to the 2010 Leadville in which Anton Krupicka was at about this point when I saw him...only to blow up (and DNF) on Powerline (I have always been a big Anton fan). Turns out Max would also blow on Powerline, but credit to him for his gutsy finish a la Matt Carpenter in 2004 (as we know, Carpenter returned the next year, setting a legendary course record that still stands).
The descent down the backside of Hope Pass was slow and goofy. I am not a good descender of steep trails. I got into Winfield (mile 50) in 10 hours and 4 minutes, on pace for a time of about 22 hours. This was about 10 minutes behind pace.
Entering Winfield, I was a bit upset with my poor descent and compromised climbing legs but the stomach was still solid and that was a huge plus. I made a point to stop at the creek before the aid station and dip my hat and Buff scarf in the cold water. Entering Winfield from the Sheep Gulch Trail, it was much, much hotter than the forecasted 65 degrees! When you're at 10,000 feet and the sun is out in full force, 75 degrees is quite warm. I needed to cool off and the stream provided some needed relief.
At Winfield, I picked up my friend and pacer, Chuck Radford, who placed fourth at Leadville last year. We decided to take my trekking poles as they'd help me on the climb up the backside of Hope. Chuck and I walked out of the aid station and up the little spur and then began running on the mostly downhill Sheep Gulch Trail, which goes on for about 2 miles until you come to the based of the Hope Pass climb. I tried to get in some calories in advance of the big climb up Hope but then it hit me...sudden nausea. I leaned over and vomited and then dry heaved. Not an ideal situation before a horrendously difficult 2,600-vertical-foot climb with grades of 30% in some spots, but in a situation like this one--which I've experienced more times than I care to admit--all you can do is get it out of your system and keep going.
Even such, I was worried, confiding to Chuck that I didn't know if I'd make it up the mountain with my legs feeling so unresponsive on the climbs and now my stomach turning on me. Chuck was a steady hand, encouraging me to take it step by step. "We'll get this done," he said. And, deep down, I knew I would. Onward!
The climb up the backside of Hope wasn't pretty and it involved a few more puke breaks, including one very bad episode above treeline. But, step by step, we got to the top and then started slowly making our way down. By then, I was completely depleted and we were very low on water. Poor Chuck had to give me almost all of his water. I told Chuck that the plan for Hopeless inbound (mile 55) would be to recharge with some of that delicious potato soup and come into Twin Lakes ready for the final 40 miles.
This is where I became my own worst enemy.
It was good that when I got into Hopeless I sat down and started going to work on the soup. It was not good that I ate the soup--all two cups--entirely too fast when my gut had shut down sometime right leaving Winfield. Sitting in the tent, I practically inhaled it and then--wouldn't you know it?--vomited it right back up as we departed the station. So, leaving Hopeless inbound, there I was again...depleted.
Fortunately, Chuck had the good sense to leave Hopeless with a bottle of Roctane that I nursed during the long descent back down to Twin Lakes. I told Chuck that I felt my gut might just restart at Twin Lakes, which is "only" 9,200 feet, and that between here and there I just had to grind it out.
Fortunately, Chuck had the good sense to leave Hopeless with a bottle of Roctane that I nursed during the long descent back down to Twin Lakes. I told Chuck that I felt my gut might just restart at Twin Lakes, which is "only" 9,200 feet, and that between here and there I just had to grind it out.
Making matters worse was my left knee. Descending the mountain, I felt pain under my kneecap but it didn't stop me in my tracks. I'd just have to endure it...for 40something more miles. As of this writing, my knee is improving.
Finally down in the meadow, we forded the stream and various water crossings and mostly ran into Twin Lakes inbound (mile 60), where my crew awaited me. It was here that I also saw my boss and her husband--a nice lift to be welcomed by so many people who care about me and I care about as well. I told the crew what had happened on the mountain with my stomach but I felt determined to keep grinding it out, though--yes--I felt dejected that it had taken me a little over 7 hours to clear the Hope Pass section...yet again. Seven hours. Unbelievable.
I picked up my friend, AJ Wellman, at Twin Lakes, where I changed shoes and socks (so nice!), and we left at about 5:30pm, with our headlamp as the sun would be setting in a few hours. I had fueled just a bit in the aid station but we left with some calories, including Fig Newtons, Skratch, and a few other items. The climb out of Twin Lakes was tough, especially the lower section on the steep rocky dirt road. AJ and I both agreed that we'd hike this section and then start running once it topped out in about 1,500 vertical feet, when you're greeted with a nice, long section of trail that's buttery smooth and mostly downhill. "That's your kind of trail," AJ said to me.
 |
| In the meadow, with Twin Lakes in sight, with Chuck. |
 |
| Being attended to by Chuck, AJ and the crew at Twin Lakes. |
Finally, when we got to the top, AJ and I started running that buttery trail and we had a good stretch going into Half Pipe (mile 70), then Pipeline (73), and then--to a somewhat lesser extent--Outward Bound (76). AJ told me I needed to average at least 15-minute miles and for most miles I was moving at about 10-11-minute pace. Although I'd gotten down a few Fig Newtons, I was mostly depleted as my stomach had never restarted as we'd hoped it would at Twin Lakes. Basically whatever I put in my stomach just sat there. I'm not sure how I kept going except to say it was raw endurance and fat burning at work!
 |
| Leaving Twin Lakes with AJ. |
After downing a few cups of Ginger Ale (as did Mark), which one might assume would settle a shaky stomach, I was once again hit with nausea and began vomiting right there at the aid station. Only this time it was mostly dry-heaving since I'd been running on empty for 25 miles. But this time, it wasn't just vomiting and dry-heaving; I was hit with the chills and told AJ I felt hypothermic here at 11,200 feet in the middle of no where. So I did what seemed to be the best thing to do: I took a seat in front of a raging campfire to the side of the aid station. Let me tell you, the folks at that aid station were having fun. One guy got up and started massaging my shoulders while he told me what a badass I was. After about 3 minutes of that, I felt inspired to get out of my seat and get going. I was still shaking a bit but AJ and I both agreed that the best bet was to start running down from the pass and hope to warm up versus hanging out at the top of Powerline in the middle of the night. Staying at Powerline, there in front of the fire, was a destination to no where.
What else to say about the descent down to the Colorado Trail via Hagerman Pass "Road" except that it's dark and technical. But I'd been there a few times before and knew what to expect. You have to watch your step here, but at the same time let gravity do the work. And then when you enter the Colorado Trail, a section that traditionally takes me about a half-hour to clear, the name of the game is staying upright because that section of the course is littered with rocks. We nonetheless got it all done despite a few stumbles.
Coming into Mayqueen. (Mile 86.5) at nearly 1am, I knew I needed some downtown. This was for a few reasons. First, I could barely keep my eyes open. If all I had in front of me were 5 more miles, then I'd have kept trucking along. But we're talking about a half-marathon to go. Second, I had started hallucinating on the Colorado Trail. Yep, just like at Western States coming into Brown's Bar, I started seeing basketballs to the side of the trail. So, when AJ and I got into Mayqueen, we agreed that I'd get in one of the cots and close my eyes for 10 minutes. Which is exactly what I did. I've been doing 100s long enough to have confidence in myself that, yes, I could take a short nap in a warm cot and, yes, I could get up on time and start running again.
Man, was it cold at Mayqueen! Waking up 10 minutes later, I quickly changed into warm clothes, realizing that the stretch from Mayqueen to the finish can be extremely chilly, especially as you're coming off the lake and into town. By chilly, I mean the temperature can drop to the mid-20s. If you are ill-equipped for these cold temperatures, they will take you out of the game. I'm not even kidding.
Rejoining with Chuck at Mayqueen (the plan was for AJ to pick us up at the finish), we power-hiked most of the final 13.5 miles, with some stretches of decent running. By this time, my knee was jacked and I was totally running on empty. I did manage to get down a few more Fig Newtons but by this time the damage had been done. I didn't need a few hundred calories; I needed thousands of calories. I so desperately wanted to be hungry and indulge at Mayqueen but even then my stomach was still shut down. So the trek from Mayqueen to the finish was a grind fest.
I ended up finishing in 24 hours and 25 minutes, earning my fifth big buckle. Where does that rank among my finishes at Leadville?
- 2010: 24:47
- 2011: 22:35
- 2012: DNF (knee)
- 2013: 22:40
- 2014: 24:09
- 2016: 24:25
So, yeah, I'm getting older. Had I run a bit more in those final 13.5 miles, I feel confident I could have broken 24 hours, which would have been nice. But at Leadville they give you that bonus hour for the big buckle, so it was hard to convince myself to go sub-24 when sub-25 was all I needed.
As I reflect on this latest Leadville finish, I realize that I'm experiencing decreasing dissatisfaction with my 100-mile finishes. Am I super proud that I got another big buckle at the "Race Across the Sky"? Oh yeah. But I know I can run the distance so it's no longer a question of, "Am I up for this?" Yes, I'm up for it. The de-motivating aspect is that, again, my stomach keeps undermining everything even as I've tried so many different things in 100s. I know on legs alone I can cover that course much faster. But my stomach won't have it and that's sapping my will to want to keep going back to Leadville.
So will I return to Leadville? I don't know. I have the five big buckles and am battled-tested up there. What else is there to prove? Would I love to have ten? Yes. But that would require a level of commitment that I'm not sure I'm ready to make--not when the wounds from this year's Leadville are still fresh.
Next up: Some shorter, faster races. I just signed up for the Denver Rock 'n' Roll 1/2 Marathon, where I'll be gunning for a fast time.
Next up: Some shorter, faster races. I just signed up for the Denver Rock 'n' Roll 1/2 Marathon, where I'll be gunning for a fast time.
Sunday, June 5, 2016
And That's a Wrap on Western States Training
Well, just like that, the taper for the Western States 100-miler is here. May was a very strong month, and I was able to go into my 3-week taper with a huge (for me) 7-day stretch where I ran 102 miles and climbed and descended a combined 24,400 feet. May saw 370 miles (not including miscellaneous walking). Most importantly, I felt good through all the volume and still feel fresh and alive.
It all ended with Saturday's North Fork "50K." I quote "50K" because it's really a 32.5-mile race--and one of the best such races in Colorado with its friendly, down-home feel, great organization and tremendous post-race picnic food complete with tall cold ones. It seems the Golden Gate Dirty Thirty, which was also on Saturday, is the "in" 50K for this time of year but I'll take North Fork any day of the week as it suits me better. It's a beautiful, fairly fast course, passing through some of the burn areas from the 1996 Buffalo Creek Fire as you climb about 4,800 feet (which is a lot less than Golden Gate). Plus, it has some nice descents that are perfect for conditioning the quads.
Except for the fact that I saw a dead motorcyclist on US 285 going home, it was a great day at North Fork. I finished in 5 hours and 21 minutes, good for 8th overall out of 128 finishers. Going into North Fork, the strategy was to run it very conservatively (as in all-day pace) and essentially use the race as an aided long training run. I was able to hold to that strategy through about 21 miles, getting passed by quite a few runners, and then it fell by the wayside a bit when I "decided" to amp up the pace and see how many folks I could reel in.
As we entered one of the burn areas in the late morning, I had a nice view of several runners in front of me. It was at about that time that my iPod turned to Bob Seger's "Shakedown," a great tune from the eighties (I've always been a Seger fan). With the competitive juices flowing and the legs suddenly alive, I picked up the pace and by mile 23 was running sub-7s, absolutely hammering the downhills. I passed, by my count, every single runner that had overtaken me in the first 20 miles and was looking for more. And I was feeling good despite the heat starting to pick up. My legs, after feeling tired in the first 20 miles from a lot of running in the past few weeks, all of a sudden felt light and my turnover was solid. My quads were in great shape. It was time to run.
So in the last 10 miles, I was able to gain a lot of ground and even passed a runner about a 1/3 of the way from the finish line, crossing feeling quite fresh. Zero stomach problems. I continue to wonder at the effects of my sharp reduction in sugar, which I began earlier this year.
Today, all feels good--just some minor soreness in my hips and ankles but otherwise the ship is sturdy. I put in an easy 7-miler this morning, followed by weights and my fifth sauna session. I'm looking to put in 10-12 total sauna sessions. Not really interested in any bank robber suit runs, though I admire the commitment quite a bit. The taper plan is to cut mileage by about 35% each week going into Western States, with very little the week of the race as I super-hydrate.
I've been running ultras for 13 years and it's not every day that you can go into a race feeling solidly good about your training. I feel like this has been a hell of training cycle and so I can line up at Western States feeling confident that I can finish and ideally go sub-24 hours...or much better. My quads are there and the heat training is progressing.
The word that best describes this whole process--from start to race day--is simple: Gratitude. I am grateful for this opportunity.
It all ended with Saturday's North Fork "50K." I quote "50K" because it's really a 32.5-mile race--and one of the best such races in Colorado with its friendly, down-home feel, great organization and tremendous post-race picnic food complete with tall cold ones. It seems the Golden Gate Dirty Thirty, which was also on Saturday, is the "in" 50K for this time of year but I'll take North Fork any day of the week as it suits me better. It's a beautiful, fairly fast course, passing through some of the burn areas from the 1996 Buffalo Creek Fire as you climb about 4,800 feet (which is a lot less than Golden Gate). Plus, it has some nice descents that are perfect for conditioning the quads.
Except for the fact that I saw a dead motorcyclist on US 285 going home, it was a great day at North Fork. I finished in 5 hours and 21 minutes, good for 8th overall out of 128 finishers. Going into North Fork, the strategy was to run it very conservatively (as in all-day pace) and essentially use the race as an aided long training run. I was able to hold to that strategy through about 21 miles, getting passed by quite a few runners, and then it fell by the wayside a bit when I "decided" to amp up the pace and see how many folks I could reel in.
As we entered one of the burn areas in the late morning, I had a nice view of several runners in front of me. It was at about that time that my iPod turned to Bob Seger's "Shakedown," a great tune from the eighties (I've always been a Seger fan). With the competitive juices flowing and the legs suddenly alive, I picked up the pace and by mile 23 was running sub-7s, absolutely hammering the downhills. I passed, by my count, every single runner that had overtaken me in the first 20 miles and was looking for more. And I was feeling good despite the heat starting to pick up. My legs, after feeling tired in the first 20 miles from a lot of running in the past few weeks, all of a sudden felt light and my turnover was solid. My quads were in great shape. It was time to run.
So in the last 10 miles, I was able to gain a lot of ground and even passed a runner about a 1/3 of the way from the finish line, crossing feeling quite fresh. Zero stomach problems. I continue to wonder at the effects of my sharp reduction in sugar, which I began earlier this year.
Today, all feels good--just some minor soreness in my hips and ankles but otherwise the ship is sturdy. I put in an easy 7-miler this morning, followed by weights and my fifth sauna session. I'm looking to put in 10-12 total sauna sessions. Not really interested in any bank robber suit runs, though I admire the commitment quite a bit. The taper plan is to cut mileage by about 35% each week going into Western States, with very little the week of the race as I super-hydrate.
I've been running ultras for 13 years and it's not every day that you can go into a race feeling solidly good about your training. I feel like this has been a hell of training cycle and so I can line up at Western States feeling confident that I can finish and ideally go sub-24 hours...or much better. My quads are there and the heat training is progressing.
The word that best describes this whole process--from start to race day--is simple: Gratitude. I am grateful for this opportunity.
Monday, November 2, 2015
Reborn at the 2015 Javelina Jundred: My Race Report
Now in my twelfth year of running "long distances," I've read a lot of race reports. I've come to the place where I realize that brevity is king. So, without further delay, here are some thoughts about how things went down at the 2015 Javelina Jundred (100-mile run) in the Arizona desert. I don't want to do a blow-by-blow as that's boring. Instead, I just want to provide some highlights and keep it real. I'll try to be succinct but we'll see how it goes.
First off, I can't say enough about how well-organized and executed this race is. The Coury brothers have built an incredible event. It's a trail running festival with music, dancing, drunk emcees, crazy-good food, lots of alcohol, a huge tent city with a "Burning Man" look to it, and all the fixings you could ever want. From the pre-race communications to the race itself, it's a world-class experience as far as ultras go. The ice in the aid stations was plentiful and a God-send!
My only suggestion is that runners need to be reminded pre-race of the need to stay single-file on the trail. Late in the race, after it was dark, I was hit by approaching double-file runners (usally running as a group of friends) four times. It got old fast. I also found the amount of "running-while-texting/talking" on the course quite distressing. Really? If you need to talk to someone, get off the trail. Better yet, do what I did--leave your phone in the car.
I'm very satisfied with my result: 20 hours and 13 minutes, which was good for 24th place out of some 465 starters. My lap times were 2:27, 2:34, 3:04, 3:29, 3:26, 3:15, 1:58 (final "short lap). I rallied on the sixth and seventh laps (more on that below). I'm proud of the fact that I had no crew or pacers, though I did have plenty of friends on the course, such as AJ Wellman, Chuck Radford, Jon Ahern, Mike Mizones (who was crewed by his lovely wife, Heidi), Scott Schrader, Trevor Emory and others. In the absence of crew and pacer support, I "talked" to myself a lot. I reminded myself to take in salt, eat, drink, etc. And that was the perfect situation for me in this particular race. I'm now wondering if I need pacers at all in hundreds.
Another thing I want to note: I didn't turn on my iPod until mile 54 and I think that made a huge difference. The music really resonated with me in the last 48 miles because, by then, I really wanted to listen to some tunes. "Foreplay/Long Time" by Boston really got me fired up--I listened to that song probably 30 times.
I was gunning for a sub-20-hour result but it fell by the wayside when I found out that the course was actually closer to 102 miles. It didn't really matter much to me--that was two more miles of fun.
As far as shoes, I wore my newest pair of Hoka One One Cliftons (second generation) the whole way. The Clifton is the greatest shoe I've ever worn. I also wore Thorlo socks--the thick, heavily cushioned kind. Thorlo isn't "cool" among ultrarunners but I've been wearing them since day one. They work for me. I wore a North Face singlet and TNF shorts, my trusty CWX compression shorts, and my Outdoor Research Badwater-style hat with flaps, which held plenty of ice and kept me pretty cool when it was wet. Other equipment included Oakley sunglasses and my well-worn Ultimate Direction AK vest (first generation).
I have not said this to anyone--not even my wife--but after my Bighorn DNF, and really after my 2014 Leadville 100 (which I finished but it was ugly), my confidence as a runner was shattered. I didn't know if I could finish another 100. I questioned not only my gut but also my mental toughness. Had I lost it? I wasn't sure. If I lost it, I seemed to have found it at Javelina, where I ran every step of the last 27 miles, passing scores of runners because I had a deep desire to perform at my best. I thought about my wife and our son every step of the way in those final 27 miles. I wanted to make them proud--and I wanted to prove to myself that I can still run 100s and be a good "closer."
Javelina is harder than advertised. The 600-foot climb on each loop wasn't terrible but it was just enough to wear you down over the course of the 102 miles. The trail has some sweet smooth sections and a few fairly technical stretches. There are some stretches where you can really open up the pace. That said, living in Colorado, nothing on the actual course scared me at all.
What really makes Javelina challenging is the heat and the distance between some of the aid stations, like the 6.5 miles from Jackass Junction to Coyote Camp. Although it got to "only" 80 degrees, we were totally exposed to that famous Arizona sun and by 2pm I was fairly hot. At around mile 54, I puked. I ran the next 6.5 miles not in the best of shape but in good enough shape to keep trailing Pam Reed. When we got to the mile-60 aid station, Coyote Camp, I was in bad shape and started puking again--likely from being over-heated. "Here we go again," I said to myself as I barfed in the trash can. But I quickly put away negative thoughts and instead focused on fixing the situation, starting with some broth and water. Thankfully, I was able to regroup and finish strong with no more gut issues.
My strong finish came down to sheer determination to have a good race, but also to some really good fuel. The last 40 miles were fueled by water, boiled potatoes with a heavy dose of salt, Mountain Dew, and broth. I found that if I chased the Mountain Dew with plenty of water, I was OK. I just cannot handle big doses of sugary stuff.
Simply put, I was on fire in the last 27 miles. I haven't run that well in a 100 since the 2013 Leadville 100. When I do Billy Idol-like howls coming into aid stations, as I did as Javelina Jeadquarters at mile 77, I'm pumped. And boy was I pumped. So, all in all, this was a great race for me. I got my confidence back and I know I can keep racing 100s because the mental toughness that propelled me for so long is still there.
But it wasn't all mental toughness. I trained right. I put in good volume. I ran hill repeats. I lifted weights. I came into the race having had an exceptional taper and was in good shape. I was very well-hydrated going into Javelina (proper hydration prior to a race, I have found, is a week-long process). I think all the weight training I did in the mid summer up to Javelina paid off in a huge way--even as it resulted in me "gaining" a few pounds in muscle weight. I cannot stress enough how important resistance training is as we age. I'm now a believer.
It was so awesome to share the trail with such a wonderful group of runners. Everyone seemed to have a good time, even amid very tough conditions with the heat, and the aid stations were full of happy, helpful volunteers just there to assist where they could. The entire atmosphere was one of celebration. It's clear the love, friendliness and compassion you feel in this race starts with the guys who run the show.
While I'm not one to get star-struck, I will admit that it was quite a thrill to see Karl Meltzer in action. Even as we're very different runners (obviously), I've always admired the "Wasatch Speedgoat." He has so much mojo and it's easy to see why he's an intimidating runner. He's a big guy (like me), and yet he moves fast and he just has a presence on the trail that's difficult to describe.
I also greatly enjoyed running with Pam Reed. We didn't say a word to each other during the race, as we stayed within about 100 feet of each other for maybe 30 miles, but the day before we chatted it up. Pam is not only a wonderfully friendly person but also an incredible runner. She's like a metronome in that she never stops and she keeps moving at the same pace regardless of the grade of the trail. I was in awe of her. It's easy to see how she became the first woman to win the Badwater Ultramarathon outright.
Finally, how awesome it was to chat briefly with Ann Trason. I have always considered Ann the greatest ultrarunner to ever live. Although Yiannis Kouros is no slouch, he was never the well-rounded runner that Ann was in her prime. Ann, like Scott Jurek (and Ellie Greenwood to some extent), dominated on the road and trail and at just about every distance, setting course records and world records along the way. She's a warm, humble person and I simply relished the 2-3 minutes we ran together as she was making her way into the 100K finish. She will not admit what a great runner she was in her prime. Running next to Ann was a moment I'll never, ever forget. It was like shooting hoops with Michael Jordon or throwing the football with Joe Montana.
I also have to say how cool it was to see Gordy Ainsleigh out there. As we passed each other the first time, I thanked him for founding 100-mile racing. You could say Gordy's had an impact :-).
Congrats to all my buddies who finished a great race. That includes Chuck (11th overall in the 100-mile), AJ (8th overall in the 100K) and Jon (27th overall in the 100-mile). It was a fun, rewarding day and I had nothing but a great time while in the Scottsdale area.
Now, it's time to rest a little and enjoy the ski season. Oh yeah, I also need to enter the Western States lottery now that I'm qualified for 2016!
OK, so that wasn't very brief. Sorry!
 |
| Pre-race photos with the guys. Left to right: Steve, AJ, me, Mike, Chuck and Jon. Photo by Heidi Mizones. |
First off, I can't say enough about how well-organized and executed this race is. The Coury brothers have built an incredible event. It's a trail running festival with music, dancing, drunk emcees, crazy-good food, lots of alcohol, a huge tent city with a "Burning Man" look to it, and all the fixings you could ever want. From the pre-race communications to the race itself, it's a world-class experience as far as ultras go. The ice in the aid stations was plentiful and a God-send!
My only suggestion is that runners need to be reminded pre-race of the need to stay single-file on the trail. Late in the race, after it was dark, I was hit by approaching double-file runners (usally running as a group of friends) four times. It got old fast. I also found the amount of "running-while-texting/talking" on the course quite distressing. Really? If you need to talk to someone, get off the trail. Better yet, do what I did--leave your phone in the car.
I'm very satisfied with my result: 20 hours and 13 minutes, which was good for 24th place out of some 465 starters. My lap times were 2:27, 2:34, 3:04, 3:29, 3:26, 3:15, 1:58 (final "short lap). I rallied on the sixth and seventh laps (more on that below). I'm proud of the fact that I had no crew or pacers, though I did have plenty of friends on the course, such as AJ Wellman, Chuck Radford, Jon Ahern, Mike Mizones (who was crewed by his lovely wife, Heidi), Scott Schrader, Trevor Emory and others. In the absence of crew and pacer support, I "talked" to myself a lot. I reminded myself to take in salt, eat, drink, etc. And that was the perfect situation for me in this particular race. I'm now wondering if I need pacers at all in hundreds.
Another thing I want to note: I didn't turn on my iPod until mile 54 and I think that made a huge difference. The music really resonated with me in the last 48 miles because, by then, I really wanted to listen to some tunes. "Foreplay/Long Time" by Boston really got me fired up--I listened to that song probably 30 times.
I was gunning for a sub-20-hour result but it fell by the wayside when I found out that the course was actually closer to 102 miles. It didn't really matter much to me--that was two more miles of fun.
As far as shoes, I wore my newest pair of Hoka One One Cliftons (second generation) the whole way. The Clifton is the greatest shoe I've ever worn. I also wore Thorlo socks--the thick, heavily cushioned kind. Thorlo isn't "cool" among ultrarunners but I've been wearing them since day one. They work for me. I wore a North Face singlet and TNF shorts, my trusty CWX compression shorts, and my Outdoor Research Badwater-style hat with flaps, which held plenty of ice and kept me pretty cool when it was wet. Other equipment included Oakley sunglasses and my well-worn Ultimate Direction AK vest (first generation).
I have not said this to anyone--not even my wife--but after my Bighorn DNF, and really after my 2014 Leadville 100 (which I finished but it was ugly), my confidence as a runner was shattered. I didn't know if I could finish another 100. I questioned not only my gut but also my mental toughness. Had I lost it? I wasn't sure. If I lost it, I seemed to have found it at Javelina, where I ran every step of the last 27 miles, passing scores of runners because I had a deep desire to perform at my best. I thought about my wife and our son every step of the way in those final 27 miles. I wanted to make them proud--and I wanted to prove to myself that I can still run 100s and be a good "closer."
Javelina is harder than advertised. The 600-foot climb on each loop wasn't terrible but it was just enough to wear you down over the course of the 102 miles. The trail has some sweet smooth sections and a few fairly technical stretches. There are some stretches where you can really open up the pace. That said, living in Colorado, nothing on the actual course scared me at all.
What really makes Javelina challenging is the heat and the distance between some of the aid stations, like the 6.5 miles from Jackass Junction to Coyote Camp. Although it got to "only" 80 degrees, we were totally exposed to that famous Arizona sun and by 2pm I was fairly hot. At around mile 54, I puked. I ran the next 6.5 miles not in the best of shape but in good enough shape to keep trailing Pam Reed. When we got to the mile-60 aid station, Coyote Camp, I was in bad shape and started puking again--likely from being over-heated. "Here we go again," I said to myself as I barfed in the trash can. But I quickly put away negative thoughts and instead focused on fixing the situation, starting with some broth and water. Thankfully, I was able to regroup and finish strong with no more gut issues.
My strong finish came down to sheer determination to have a good race, but also to some really good fuel. The last 40 miles were fueled by water, boiled potatoes with a heavy dose of salt, Mountain Dew, and broth. I found that if I chased the Mountain Dew with plenty of water, I was OK. I just cannot handle big doses of sugary stuff.
Simply put, I was on fire in the last 27 miles. I haven't run that well in a 100 since the 2013 Leadville 100. When I do Billy Idol-like howls coming into aid stations, as I did as Javelina Jeadquarters at mile 77, I'm pumped. And boy was I pumped. So, all in all, this was a great race for me. I got my confidence back and I know I can keep racing 100s because the mental toughness that propelled me for so long is still there.
But it wasn't all mental toughness. I trained right. I put in good volume. I ran hill repeats. I lifted weights. I came into the race having had an exceptional taper and was in good shape. I was very well-hydrated going into Javelina (proper hydration prior to a race, I have found, is a week-long process). I think all the weight training I did in the mid summer up to Javelina paid off in a huge way--even as it resulted in me "gaining" a few pounds in muscle weight. I cannot stress enough how important resistance training is as we age. I'm now a believer.
It was so awesome to share the trail with such a wonderful group of runners. Everyone seemed to have a good time, even amid very tough conditions with the heat, and the aid stations were full of happy, helpful volunteers just there to assist where they could. The entire atmosphere was one of celebration. It's clear the love, friendliness and compassion you feel in this race starts with the guys who run the show.
While I'm not one to get star-struck, I will admit that it was quite a thrill to see Karl Meltzer in action. Even as we're very different runners (obviously), I've always admired the "Wasatch Speedgoat." He has so much mojo and it's easy to see why he's an intimidating runner. He's a big guy (like me), and yet he moves fast and he just has a presence on the trail that's difficult to describe.
I also greatly enjoyed running with Pam Reed. We didn't say a word to each other during the race, as we stayed within about 100 feet of each other for maybe 30 miles, but the day before we chatted it up. Pam is not only a wonderfully friendly person but also an incredible runner. She's like a metronome in that she never stops and she keeps moving at the same pace regardless of the grade of the trail. I was in awe of her. It's easy to see how she became the first woman to win the Badwater Ultramarathon outright.
Finally, how awesome it was to chat briefly with Ann Trason. I have always considered Ann the greatest ultrarunner to ever live. Although Yiannis Kouros is no slouch, he was never the well-rounded runner that Ann was in her prime. Ann, like Scott Jurek (and Ellie Greenwood to some extent), dominated on the road and trail and at just about every distance, setting course records and world records along the way. She's a warm, humble person and I simply relished the 2-3 minutes we ran together as she was making her way into the 100K finish. She will not admit what a great runner she was in her prime. Running next to Ann was a moment I'll never, ever forget. It was like shooting hoops with Michael Jordon or throwing the football with Joe Montana.
I also have to say how cool it was to see Gordy Ainsleigh out there. As we passed each other the first time, I thanked him for founding 100-mile racing. You could say Gordy's had an impact :-).
Congrats to all my buddies who finished a great race. That includes Chuck (11th overall in the 100-mile), AJ (8th overall in the 100K) and Jon (27th overall in the 100-mile). It was a fun, rewarding day and I had nothing but a great time while in the Scottsdale area.
Now, it's time to rest a little and enjoy the ski season. Oh yeah, I also need to enter the Western States lottery now that I'm qualified for 2016!
OK, so that wasn't very brief. Sorry!
Thursday, October 1, 2015
Training Update / Hot to Trot 10K Race Report
With the Javelina Jundred now a month away, my training is going well. While my overall mileage hasn't been quite as high as I'd like (my ideal comfort zone has always been 90-105 miles a week but I don't have time for that anymore), I'm feeling good and my confidence is in a good place. Based on the course profile, Javelina delivers what I like in an ultra. It's all runnable and has just ~6,000 feet of vertical gain. I'm not a hiker. I don't particularly like hiking in races. I like to run. So, in that regard, Javelina is right up my alley. And yet it's far from easy! Last year, less than half of starters finished--probably due to the heat and poor pacing.
Javelina Jundred from Project Talaria on Vimeo.
One thing about Javelina that does get my attention is the potential for hot, dry weather. Situated in the Arizona desert, the course offers no shade. Fortunately, with a full summer behind me, I should be decently heat-trained. The keys will be to pace it well and stay cool and hydrated--all things that are firmly in my control.
I have a few races coming up, including the Xterra Trail Marathon in Cheyenne Mountain State Park and a 5K on the road, that will take me right into my Javelina taper. The Xterra race will be a training run and will come with zero taper.
Last Sunday, I lined up for the Hot to Trot 10K race in Pueblo, Colorado, which is about 100 miles south of where we live. I was down in Pueblo for work as my employer, Delta Dental of Colorado, once again sponsored the annual Chile & Frijoles Festival, where tens of thousands of people enjoy a fun three-day street party of sorts. I figured that while I was there I might as well run in their 10K race, which I saw in action last year and regretted not entering. This was to be my first-ever 10K, which is hard to believe as I've run in almost 75 races in my life.
Based on the 2014 results, I knew there was a shot that I could break the tape in this year's 10K. But then when we lined up on Sunday morning in downtown Pueblo, I noticed a few fast, young guys around me. Turns out they had entered the 5K. Once the 5K and 10K split off, I found myself in the front. I hadn't found myself in the front of a race in a long time. A really nice guy on a bike led me out to the turnaround on the path they have along the river, allowing me to see who was behind once I zipped around the cone. I was reminded of how stressful it is to be in the lead of a race. Not that it happens much with me (hadn't happened since 2009), but it's stressful. That said, I had every intention of winning this thing!
Long story short: I was able to hold the lead and finish back in town first overall in the 10K with a time of 38 minutes and 35 seconds. I was deep in the pain cave in the last 10 minutes. That's not a terribly fast winning time for a 10K but it was fast enough to get me the W on that particular day. So, in that respect, I'll take it. It felt really good and it gave my confidence a little boost. Plus, I had a great time. This was a fantastic, low-key community race and they even fed us a hot breakfast at the Gold Dust Saloon afterward! Plus, I won a pumpkin and walked away with a nice 1st-place medal. Other things I liked about the race:
After the race, I got to thinking about my time. Five or six years ago, I thought, my time would have been 2-3 minutes faster. While that may potentially be true, it's also true that Pueblo is at about 4,700 feet. So, I figure at sea level I might be 30-60 seconds faster. I would love to enter a sea level 10K and find out for sure!
I really like the 10K distance. The 10K pushes you into the pain cave. You can run it super hard and then wake up the next day with minimal soreness. I think one of the bad habits ulrarunners can develop is not going into the pain cave enough. Ultras, while really hard, usually require lower intensities. I think it's a good idea, at least for me, to rev up the engine now and then and taste blood. It keeps the knife sharp (nothing like mixing metaphors).
Now, go run!
Javelina Jundred from Project Talaria on Vimeo.
One thing about Javelina that does get my attention is the potential for hot, dry weather. Situated in the Arizona desert, the course offers no shade. Fortunately, with a full summer behind me, I should be decently heat-trained. The keys will be to pace it well and stay cool and hydrated--all things that are firmly in my control.
I have a few races coming up, including the Xterra Trail Marathon in Cheyenne Mountain State Park and a 5K on the road, that will take me right into my Javelina taper. The Xterra race will be a training run and will come with zero taper.
Last Sunday, I lined up for the Hot to Trot 10K race in Pueblo, Colorado, which is about 100 miles south of where we live. I was down in Pueblo for work as my employer, Delta Dental of Colorado, once again sponsored the annual Chile & Frijoles Festival, where tens of thousands of people enjoy a fun three-day street party of sorts. I figured that while I was there I might as well run in their 10K race, which I saw in action last year and regretted not entering. This was to be my first-ever 10K, which is hard to believe as I've run in almost 75 races in my life.
Based on the 2014 results, I knew there was a shot that I could break the tape in this year's 10K. But then when we lined up on Sunday morning in downtown Pueblo, I noticed a few fast, young guys around me. Turns out they had entered the 5K. Once the 5K and 10K split off, I found myself in the front. I hadn't found myself in the front of a race in a long time. A really nice guy on a bike led me out to the turnaround on the path they have along the river, allowing me to see who was behind once I zipped around the cone. I was reminded of how stressful it is to be in the lead of a race. Not that it happens much with me (hadn't happened since 2009), but it's stressful. That said, I had every intention of winning this thing!
Long story short: I was able to hold the lead and finish back in town first overall in the 10K with a time of 38 minutes and 35 seconds. I was deep in the pain cave in the last 10 minutes. That's not a terribly fast winning time for a 10K but it was fast enough to get me the W on that particular day. So, in that respect, I'll take it. It felt really good and it gave my confidence a little boost. Plus, I had a great time. This was a fantastic, low-key community race and they even fed us a hot breakfast at the Gold Dust Saloon afterward! Plus, I won a pumpkin and walked away with a nice 1st-place medal. Other things I liked about the race:
1) They had just one aid station and all it had was...water. I like that.
2) At no point in the race did they offer bacon, sports drinks, Big Macs and other items now offered at ultras to athletes who have become entirely too spoiled.
3) It started with "ready, set, go!"
4) It was perfectly marked.
After the race, I got to thinking about my time. Five or six years ago, I thought, my time would have been 2-3 minutes faster. While that may potentially be true, it's also true that Pueblo is at about 4,700 feet. So, I figure at sea level I might be 30-60 seconds faster. I would love to enter a sea level 10K and find out for sure!
I really like the 10K distance. The 10K pushes you into the pain cave. You can run it super hard and then wake up the next day with minimal soreness. I think one of the bad habits ulrarunners can develop is not going into the pain cave enough. Ultras, while really hard, usually require lower intensities. I think it's a good idea, at least for me, to rev up the engine now and then and taste blood. It keeps the knife sharp (nothing like mixing metaphors).
Now, go run!
Monday, August 17, 2015
Pikes Peak Marathon Race Report
When we moved to Colorado in April 2010, I couldn't believe my good fortune that there in my own "backyard" (an hour away) was the legendary Pikes Peak. Within two months of arriving in Parker, I drove down to Manitou Springs and summited Pikes, accidentally going off trail (by a lot), over icy ridges (again, off trail) and through waist-deep snow en route to the top (the date was June 6, 2010). I didn't realize at the time that what looked like only a little snow on the mountain was actually a lot of snow. It was an incredibly grueling experience, but one I'll never forget because it introduced me to the Colorado Rocky Mountains.
Fast forward five years. This past Sunday, I ran in my first Pikes Peak Marathon, which I was told is the third oldest marathon in the USA (behind Boston and Yonkers). Someone also told me that in the early years it was a challenge between smokers and non-smokers. This was the sixtieth running of this iconic race, which takes you from the streets of beautiful, charming Manitou Springs (elevation 6,300 feet) up to the summit of the hulking 14,115-foot mountain. Very few mountains anywhere offer the absolute gratuitous vertical that Pikes does--almost 8,000 feet of gain from the starting line of the marathon to the top. But that's only half of the challenge. Once at the summit, you run back down--an abusive pounding of your legs and hips. As my friend Mike Wilkinson says, "it's two races--one to the top, one back down." How true.
Although I've summited Pikes on two occasions (the last one being October of 2010), it's been almost five years since I was last at the top by my own power. In my last two or three summit bids, the weather forced me to turn back. Happily, I know the trail from the base up to A-Frame (which is right at treeline) quite well, so going into Sunday's race I felt comfortable with the thought of running to the top of Pikes and then back down. I had also made a point to read the many race reports George Zack has posted over the years to his blog. What I wasn't sure of was how the actual race would transpire for me. This being my first Pikes, I decided to be humble and let the race come to me, instead of jetting out of town and then crashing and burning from oxygen debt by Barr Camp--a trap many runners, even the good ones, fall into.
Before I go any further, I'll just put it out there: I finished in 5 hours, 39 minutes and 23 seconds--good for 71st out of almost 800 finishers. Not bad for a guy who's 42-years-old. As I've aged, I'm come to gain such a deep appreciation for being out there in these races and giving it a go. I'm grateful for the gift of running. No longer do I fixate on my times, though time is important to me. What I fixate on now is just the joy of doing these crazy races, and I try to maintain the deepest gratitude for the fact that my 42-year-old body still lets me run up and back down a 14,115-foot mountain with no issues at all--my quads were steel. My stomach also held up beautifully, which was such a confidence-booster after the Bighorn debacle. I think the key to my good stomach was that I'd hydrated really well in the week leading up to Pikes. I drank a lot of water. I also think my pacing on Sunday was smart. I needed a race with no stomach issues and got it on Sunday.
I also want to say that when I think of this race I think of Matt Carpenter. In his prime, Carpenter operated on a level I think we've never seen since. To do what he did on Pikes, at the Leadville 100 and at many other races is just crazy. People will say Kilian is just as good, if not better. Having seen Matt in action at the Barr Trail Mountain Race in 2010 (and heard lots of stories about his course record at the 2005 Leadville), I can say that the guy knew how to drop the hammer and crush his competition. Whereas Kilian has been known to wait at aid stations and kind of lolly-gag en route to new CRs like at Hardrock, Carpenter's MO (from what I've heard) was to just put his head down and hammer it from start to finish, living in the pain cave the whole time. I'm not sure Kilian could mentally deal with Carpenter if you put both athletes on the same course with Carpenter being in his prime, but maybe he could? Having said that, on Sunday I was looking for the now-retired Carpenter--thinking he might be spectating--but never saw him. I wanted to tip my cap to him (not that he'd care). The dude is a legend and I simply don't understand the times he put up back in the day.
So, in the final analysis, my result on Sunday was respectable but not great. I know that. With the benefit of some experience, I feel I could take off at least 20 minutes if I went back next year. The thing about Pikes is that it exploits so badly my big weakness as a runner. I'm not a good descender at all. If you put me on a hilly course with lots of ups and downs, then I'm pretty good. But if I have to descend a mountain for 13 miles, it's going to be tough for me. I spent the first almost 37 years of my life at sea level. My confidence on rocky mountain trails just isn't great. In the summer of 2013, having spent every day on trails, my confidence on descents was good. It's really a game of repetition. I wish I had rocky trails closer by. That's a long way of saying I'm OK with my result on Sunday because I understand who I am: A guy who works a full-time job, has a family, and lives in the suburbs. I think I could improve on my time by a good bit, but I'm happy and content with what I did on Sunday. Like I said above, I'm just grateful that my body lets me run in these races. A lot of 42-year-old men are broken down and sit around talking about the gold old days. Not me. I'm living the good old days now.
In summary, I feel like I ran a smart race. Here's how it broke down in sections:
Start (6,300 ft.) to Barr Camp (10,200 ft.): Right before the gun went off, I had the pleasure of talking for a short bit with Jeff Valliere (who I'd never met but whose blog I check now and then), JT, and Brandon Fuller. I also had the pleasure of meeting Jonathan Reed, who I know through my work. It was good to chat it up a bit with the guys. But we all had work to do! Starting in wave two, I ran this section mostly at or below MAF. I was never breathing hard and kept my heart rate under control because the last thing I wanted was to go into oxygen debt. I got to Barr Camp, which is about halfway up the mountain, in 1:38 feeling fresh and good. A lot of people around me were breathing very hard. This being my first Pikes, I felt it was important to get to Barr Camp in good shape and then let it all come to me. The weather thus far was great, which was a relief because the forecast called for scattered thunderstorms.
Barr Camp (10,200 ft.) to A Frame (11,950 ft.): Again, I felt good in this section and stayed in an aerobic state. I hiked a few sections but ran much of this stretch. I got to A-Frame, which is an emergency shelter right at treeline, in 2:23. A-Frame is at mile 10.2. It could be said I was sandbagging it a bit as I was aerobic at nearly 12,000 feet, but I really wanted to save "something" for the section above treeline because I knew it would be terribly difficult. I noticed that the sky started getting cloudy but I saw no immediate threats from Mother Nature. All good.
A Frame (11,950 ft.) to the summit (14,115 ft.): From A Frame to about 13,000 feet, I felt reasonably good. At one point, I even teased JT about hiking when this was a running race. JT went on to have a really strong race, besting me by 14 minutes. But then above 13,000 feet it got really hard. That high, the trail is rocky; the frontrunners are coming back down (meaning you have to yield to them); and you're operating at about 50% mental capacity. It's really a game of just putting one foot in front of the other and remaining calm. I got passed by a few runners in the last mile to the summit but I didn't let it get to me. I finally reached the summit in 3:29--not bad. I remember thinking when I took my first step back down, "Overall, I'm doing OK because I've run a smart race so far. My legs are tired but they'll give me what I need for the next 13+ miles. Let's do it." I also knew a sub-5 was probably not going to happen. So my new goal was sub-5:10.
Summit (14,115 ft.) to A Frame (11,950 ft.): In a word, bad. The crowded trail as I was descending really got to me. Or, I should say I let it get to me. There were hundreds of runners coming up (about 700 coming up) as I was going down and it was difficult to dodge folks even as the vast majority yielded (as you're supposed to do). Still, a few didn't yield and we bumped shoulders. I found the section from the summit down to about the Cirque to be maddeningly congested. Some runners can deal with this quite well; for me, it was a slog. After the Cirque (13,300 ft.), the trail got a bit less congested and my pace picked up. Still, my quads were a bit weak and I started to worry. I decided the weakness wasn't about a lack of strength or shot quads; it was about the thin air! I got into A Frame in a piss-poor 4:08. Sub 5:10 was now doubtful. Maybe sub-5:20?
A Frame (11,950 ft.) to Barr Camp (10,200 ft.): The crappy descending continued though my speed had improved a little. The trail was far less congested so I had no excuse for my slow descent other than it plain sucked. I'm just a really crappy descender. The mental fog that had come over me above 13K was now mostly gone and my legs started to feel better. I got into Barr Camp in 4:36. I looked at my watch and knew a sub-5:20 would be tough. But I remember thinking to myself, "Let's see what we can do in the next 24 minutes and then we'll take it from there." As I got two waters (one to drink and one to pour over my head), an aid station volunteer looked me in the eyes and said, "You can do this, Wyatt." She meant it and I appreciated her encouragement. That's how the volunteers at Pikes work; they show a lot of love. When you're the man in the arena, it means a lot.
Barr Camp (10,200 ft.) to finish (6,300 ft.): This is where I really opened things up by my own standards and felt good about my pace. I got some relief from a nice rain now coming down (which also kicked up the humidity a ton). My legs were singing a little but overall my quads were there for me and never let me down. I was in the pain cave but I knew I could stay here for a while and that I faced no threat of bonking, etc. between here and the finish. I wanted to catch that SOB, JT! A few times I glanced at my watch and saw that I was at sub-7-minute pace and it felt good. My visits at the aid stations below Barr Camp were very short and a few I ran right by. Once five hours rolled around, I did the math and realized I was probably looking at a time of 5:40-5:45. I was going to take it into the finish as hard as I could. I passed a few runners (most of them much younger than I), especially on the handful of sections where the trail flattens out and even goes up for a bit. They were walking in these sections and I just blew right by them. While the speed was iffy on Sunday, the endurance was totally there. When finally at the top of Ruxton (the street that takes you into the finish), I felt so glad that the end was near. I was happy. That steep hill down Ruxton that takes you past Hydro Street was tough but once at the bottom I was able to keep it about 7:10-7:20 pace. I had incorrectly thought the finish was where the start was but I was wrong. The finish was a lot closer; it was just off the roundabout and actually startled me a bit. What a sight!
The 1.5-mile walk back to my car wasn't so much fun.....
So there you have it. This was a phenomenal race. The organizers have every detail dialed and the volunteers were wonderful. I even got a beautiful jacket and medal. What more could I ask for?
Because I plan to return to Leadville next year, I have no idea when I'll toe the line for Pikes again, but when I do it'll be to double (Ascent on Saturday, Marathon on Sunday). I can honestly say this was one of the best-run races I've ever participated in and I would highly recommend it to anyone.
Now, go run.
Fast forward five years. This past Sunday, I ran in my first Pikes Peak Marathon, which I was told is the third oldest marathon in the USA (behind Boston and Yonkers). Someone also told me that in the early years it was a challenge between smokers and non-smokers. This was the sixtieth running of this iconic race, which takes you from the streets of beautiful, charming Manitou Springs (elevation 6,300 feet) up to the summit of the hulking 14,115-foot mountain. Very few mountains anywhere offer the absolute gratuitous vertical that Pikes does--almost 8,000 feet of gain from the starting line of the marathon to the top. But that's only half of the challenge. Once at the summit, you run back down--an abusive pounding of your legs and hips. As my friend Mike Wilkinson says, "it's two races--one to the top, one back down." How true.
 | |
| The beautiful 60th anniversary jacket and finishers medal they gave me on Sunday. |
Although I've summited Pikes on two occasions (the last one being October of 2010), it's been almost five years since I was last at the top by my own power. In my last two or three summit bids, the weather forced me to turn back. Happily, I know the trail from the base up to A-Frame (which is right at treeline) quite well, so going into Sunday's race I felt comfortable with the thought of running to the top of Pikes and then back down. I had also made a point to read the many race reports George Zack has posted over the years to his blog. What I wasn't sure of was how the actual race would transpire for me. This being my first Pikes, I decided to be humble and let the race come to me, instead of jetting out of town and then crashing and burning from oxygen debt by Barr Camp--a trap many runners, even the good ones, fall into.
 |
| The Barr Trail sign at the base of Pikes. Taken in June 2010. |
Before I go any further, I'll just put it out there: I finished in 5 hours, 39 minutes and 23 seconds--good for 71st out of almost 800 finishers. Not bad for a guy who's 42-years-old. As I've aged, I'm come to gain such a deep appreciation for being out there in these races and giving it a go. I'm grateful for the gift of running. No longer do I fixate on my times, though time is important to me. What I fixate on now is just the joy of doing these crazy races, and I try to maintain the deepest gratitude for the fact that my 42-year-old body still lets me run up and back down a 14,115-foot mountain with no issues at all--my quads were steel. My stomach also held up beautifully, which was such a confidence-booster after the Bighorn debacle. I think the key to my good stomach was that I'd hydrated really well in the week leading up to Pikes. I drank a lot of water. I also think my pacing on Sunday was smart. I needed a race with no stomach issues and got it on Sunday.
 |
| I took this photo on my first summit of Pikes in June 2010. Impressive, eh? |
I also want to say that when I think of this race I think of Matt Carpenter. In his prime, Carpenter operated on a level I think we've never seen since. To do what he did on Pikes, at the Leadville 100 and at many other races is just crazy. People will say Kilian is just as good, if not better. Having seen Matt in action at the Barr Trail Mountain Race in 2010 (and heard lots of stories about his course record at the 2005 Leadville), I can say that the guy knew how to drop the hammer and crush his competition. Whereas Kilian has been known to wait at aid stations and kind of lolly-gag en route to new CRs like at Hardrock, Carpenter's MO (from what I've heard) was to just put his head down and hammer it from start to finish, living in the pain cave the whole time. I'm not sure Kilian could mentally deal with Carpenter if you put both athletes on the same course with Carpenter being in his prime, but maybe he could? Having said that, on Sunday I was looking for the now-retired Carpenter--thinking he might be spectating--but never saw him. I wanted to tip my cap to him (not that he'd care). The dude is a legend and I simply don't understand the times he put up back in the day.
So, in the final analysis, my result on Sunday was respectable but not great. I know that. With the benefit of some experience, I feel I could take off at least 20 minutes if I went back next year. The thing about Pikes is that it exploits so badly my big weakness as a runner. I'm not a good descender at all. If you put me on a hilly course with lots of ups and downs, then I'm pretty good. But if I have to descend a mountain for 13 miles, it's going to be tough for me. I spent the first almost 37 years of my life at sea level. My confidence on rocky mountain trails just isn't great. In the summer of 2013, having spent every day on trails, my confidence on descents was good. It's really a game of repetition. I wish I had rocky trails closer by. That's a long way of saying I'm OK with my result on Sunday because I understand who I am: A guy who works a full-time job, has a family, and lives in the suburbs. I think I could improve on my time by a good bit, but I'm happy and content with what I did on Sunday. Like I said above, I'm just grateful that my body lets me run in these races. A lot of 42-year-old men are broken down and sit around talking about the gold old days. Not me. I'm living the good old days now.
In summary, I feel like I ran a smart race. Here's how it broke down in sections:
Start (6,300 ft.) to Barr Camp (10,200 ft.): Right before the gun went off, I had the pleasure of talking for a short bit with Jeff Valliere (who I'd never met but whose blog I check now and then), JT, and Brandon Fuller. I also had the pleasure of meeting Jonathan Reed, who I know through my work. It was good to chat it up a bit with the guys. But we all had work to do! Starting in wave two, I ran this section mostly at or below MAF. I was never breathing hard and kept my heart rate under control because the last thing I wanted was to go into oxygen debt. I got to Barr Camp, which is about halfway up the mountain, in 1:38 feeling fresh and good. A lot of people around me were breathing very hard. This being my first Pikes, I felt it was important to get to Barr Camp in good shape and then let it all come to me. The weather thus far was great, which was a relief because the forecast called for scattered thunderstorms.
Barr Camp (10,200 ft.) to A Frame (11,950 ft.): Again, I felt good in this section and stayed in an aerobic state. I hiked a few sections but ran much of this stretch. I got to A-Frame, which is an emergency shelter right at treeline, in 2:23. A-Frame is at mile 10.2. It could be said I was sandbagging it a bit as I was aerobic at nearly 12,000 feet, but I really wanted to save "something" for the section above treeline because I knew it would be terribly difficult. I noticed that the sky started getting cloudy but I saw no immediate threats from Mother Nature. All good.
A Frame (11,950 ft.) to the summit (14,115 ft.): From A Frame to about 13,000 feet, I felt reasonably good. At one point, I even teased JT about hiking when this was a running race. JT went on to have a really strong race, besting me by 14 minutes. But then above 13,000 feet it got really hard. That high, the trail is rocky; the frontrunners are coming back down (meaning you have to yield to them); and you're operating at about 50% mental capacity. It's really a game of just putting one foot in front of the other and remaining calm. I got passed by a few runners in the last mile to the summit but I didn't let it get to me. I finally reached the summit in 3:29--not bad. I remember thinking when I took my first step back down, "Overall, I'm doing OK because I've run a smart race so far. My legs are tired but they'll give me what I need for the next 13+ miles. Let's do it." I also knew a sub-5 was probably not going to happen. So my new goal was sub-5:10.
Summit (14,115 ft.) to A Frame (11,950 ft.): In a word, bad. The crowded trail as I was descending really got to me. Or, I should say I let it get to me. There were hundreds of runners coming up (about 700 coming up) as I was going down and it was difficult to dodge folks even as the vast majority yielded (as you're supposed to do). Still, a few didn't yield and we bumped shoulders. I found the section from the summit down to about the Cirque to be maddeningly congested. Some runners can deal with this quite well; for me, it was a slog. After the Cirque (13,300 ft.), the trail got a bit less congested and my pace picked up. Still, my quads were a bit weak and I started to worry. I decided the weakness wasn't about a lack of strength or shot quads; it was about the thin air! I got into A Frame in a piss-poor 4:08. Sub 5:10 was now doubtful. Maybe sub-5:20?
A Frame (11,950 ft.) to Barr Camp (10,200 ft.): The crappy descending continued though my speed had improved a little. The trail was far less congested so I had no excuse for my slow descent other than it plain sucked. I'm just a really crappy descender. The mental fog that had come over me above 13K was now mostly gone and my legs started to feel better. I got into Barr Camp in 4:36. I looked at my watch and knew a sub-5:20 would be tough. But I remember thinking to myself, "Let's see what we can do in the next 24 minutes and then we'll take it from there." As I got two waters (one to drink and one to pour over my head), an aid station volunteer looked me in the eyes and said, "You can do this, Wyatt." She meant it and I appreciated her encouragement. That's how the volunteers at Pikes work; they show a lot of love. When you're the man in the arena, it means a lot.
Barr Camp (10,200 ft.) to finish (6,300 ft.): This is where I really opened things up by my own standards and felt good about my pace. I got some relief from a nice rain now coming down (which also kicked up the humidity a ton). My legs were singing a little but overall my quads were there for me and never let me down. I was in the pain cave but I knew I could stay here for a while and that I faced no threat of bonking, etc. between here and the finish. I wanted to catch that SOB, JT! A few times I glanced at my watch and saw that I was at sub-7-minute pace and it felt good. My visits at the aid stations below Barr Camp were very short and a few I ran right by. Once five hours rolled around, I did the math and realized I was probably looking at a time of 5:40-5:45. I was going to take it into the finish as hard as I could. I passed a few runners (most of them much younger than I), especially on the handful of sections where the trail flattens out and even goes up for a bit. They were walking in these sections and I just blew right by them. While the speed was iffy on Sunday, the endurance was totally there. When finally at the top of Ruxton (the street that takes you into the finish), I felt so glad that the end was near. I was happy. That steep hill down Ruxton that takes you past Hydro Street was tough but once at the bottom I was able to keep it about 7:10-7:20 pace. I had incorrectly thought the finish was where the start was but I was wrong. The finish was a lot closer; it was just off the roundabout and actually startled me a bit. What a sight!
The 1.5-mile walk back to my car wasn't so much fun.....
So there you have it. This was a phenomenal race. The organizers have every detail dialed and the volunteers were wonderful. I even got a beautiful jacket and medal. What more could I ask for?
Because I plan to return to Leadville next year, I have no idea when I'll toe the line for Pikes again, but when I do it'll be to double (Ascent on Saturday, Marathon on Sunday). I can honestly say this was one of the best-run races I've ever participated in and I would highly recommend it to anyone.
Now, go run.
Thursday, June 25, 2015
Bighorn DNF
I DNF'd at Bighorn last weekend. This was my second-ever DNF (DNF="did not finish" or, to some folks, "did nothing fatal"). Here's the overall score of me versus 100s:
Me: 8 finishes of 100+ miles
100-mile distance: 2 (Leadville 2012 and Bighorn 2015)
I decided to withdraw from Bighorn because I could not stop vomiting and I couldn't keep anything solid or liquid down for more than a few minutes. In the wake of the DNF, I would be lying if I said I'm not hurting badly deep down (I am).
I vomited in two aid stations going up to the turnaround point--a 4,500-vertical-foot climb--and it got so bad in one that they kind of hid me from the others so as not to kill morale. Yes, that really is true, but I want to emphasize that the volunteers were compassionate and helpful. Let me also state now that I want no pity and this post isn't here to get people to comment and tell me all will be OK. No pity needed, please.
Me: 8 finishes of 100+ miles
100-mile distance: 2 (Leadville 2012 and Bighorn 2015)
I decided to withdraw from Bighorn because I could not stop vomiting and I couldn't keep anything solid or liquid down for more than a few minutes. In the wake of the DNF, I would be lying if I said I'm not hurting badly deep down (I am).
I vomited in two aid stations going up to the turnaround point--a 4,500-vertical-foot climb--and it got so bad in one that they kind of hid me from the others so as not to kill morale. Yes, that really is true, but I want to emphasize that the volunteers were compassionate and helpful. Let me also state now that I want no pity and this post isn't here to get people to comment and tell me all will be OK. No pity needed, please.
Over the past few days, I've done some reading on why we vomit in endurance races. I think my issue has a few different layers. First, I probably have a sensitive stomach. I have very valid reasons for believing that and there's no need to go into details as to why. Second, I think I have a tendency to let myself get under-hydrated in races, which can have a domino effect (including GI distress and mental and physical fatigue). I also think I went out too fast at Bighorn. It was very hot when the gun went off at 11am. I made lots of mistakes on Friday but it does no good going into all of them. I think I know much of what I did wrong, like under-hydrating and going out a bit too fast. But what perplexes me is that I used to not puke in 100s and now I'm puking in all of them, with onset of symptoms happening earlier and earlier in each race.
Recently, I heard a prominent ultrarunner who I greatly respect say that puking in an ultra is akin to hitting the reset button and that we should embrace it. That may be true for some people, but what happens when you can't stop puking? What happens when you completely bonk because you can't keep anything down? That's where I was on Friday. And, frankly, it's why Bighorn in 2016 (next year) may be my last ultra. I'm planning to go back to Bighorn next year and, come hell or high water, I will finish it--even if it means a 33:59:59 result and hundreds of vomit stops. I cannot let a race beat me without me hitting back. But I also can't keep putting myself and my family through this. I like running long distances and I expect to suffer along the way, but I don't like losing huge chunks of time to vomiting and genuinely worrying about my own health and safety. Last year at Leadville, I lost easily two hours to vomiting and related issues.
After withdrawing at the turnaround at Bighorn, I went back to our cabin and slept. The next morning, I felt resolved that this was probably my last 100. But then we went to the finish to cheer on my two pals, Mike Wilkinson and Mark Thompson, who ran the first half of the race together. Quick background: When I withdrew at the turnaround, I asked my pacer, Scott, to pace Mark into the finish, which he did (Mike already had a pacer lined up). So we got to the park in Dayton on Saturday afternoon and watched both Mike and Mark come into the finish within 15 minutes of each other and both under 28 hours--very solid times for Bighorn. I was so proud of these guys, and watching them cross gave me a little unexpected fire to come back to Bighorn next year and "get revenge." Plus, it just hurts knowing my son cried at the turnaround when he heard I was dropping. I have to come back and show him that you can't give up without a fight--even though I did DNF this year, I feel I must confront Bighorn next year and close the deal the right way. And then that may be it for me.
Where is all the fun in this? I love being in the wilderness and running. Bighorn is probably the prettiest course I've ever seen. There is a section ("the Wall") where you're surrounded by towering canyon walls--breath-taking. But it's hard to have fun when you're puking going up a 4,500-foot climb. I also think I'm now psychologically damaged from all these vomit episodes in 100s. I honestly think early in the race I was just waiting for the nausea and puking to start--and then it did. A self-fulfilling prophecy? Quite possibly, yes. I guess that means my confidence as a runner is gone. I used to take it for granted that I'd finish a 100. In the very early days, I wanted to win or podium. I no longer take it for granted that I'll finish.
We celebrate elites in this sport. And they are amazing. But let me say this: I have more respect for the folks who run their own races and those amazing souls who grind out the 30-hour 100s. Because finishing 100s is super hard. It's easy to forget that.
We celebrate elites in this sport. And they are amazing. But let me say this: I have more respect for the folks who run their own races and those amazing souls who grind out the 30-hour 100s. Because finishing 100s is super hard. It's easy to forget that.
Having said all of that, what I'm about to write may seem contradictory. Here goes.... On the one hand, I'm not sure I'll do anymore races for the rest of the year. Right now, as I type this, I have no desire to race. That would mean no Pikes Peak Marathon and no Western States qualifier, which means my WS dream will likely come to an end because I'd then go back to zero tickets. And, honestly, that's OK because all it does is create pressure. And I need no pressure right now.
On the other hand, what I need is a good, drama-free finish in a 100. So, while I am considering taking the year off, I am also considering lining up at Javelina in late October and going for that WS qualifier and having a good experience on a course that, while far from easy, doesn't involve mountains. I'm not sure yet what I'll do. At this point, the thought of running an ultra is enough to make me start vomiting again. I need some down time. I need time to think, reflect, lift some weights (I love lifting), joy run, camp and bike with my family, get some home improvement projects done, and generally have no races to think about. I see this is a rebuilding phase, or perhaps the end of the line in terms of ultras. In 2012, I was burned out but came back quite inspired in 2013 and 2014. So it's possible this will pass and desire will return. Only time will tell.
On the other hand, what I need is a good, drama-free finish in a 100. So, while I am considering taking the year off, I am also considering lining up at Javelina in late October and going for that WS qualifier and having a good experience on a course that, while far from easy, doesn't involve mountains. I'm not sure yet what I'll do. At this point, the thought of running an ultra is enough to make me start vomiting again. I need some down time. I need time to think, reflect, lift some weights (I love lifting), joy run, camp and bike with my family, get some home improvement projects done, and generally have no races to think about. I see this is a rebuilding phase, or perhaps the end of the line in terms of ultras. In 2012, I was burned out but came back quite inspired in 2013 and 2014. So it's possible this will pass and desire will return. Only time will tell.
Again, please, no pity. I'm not looking for it. We need to save our pity for people in this world who really need it. But please do chime in if you have any helpful advice.
Now, go have a good run.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
The God's Honest Truth: Leadville 100-Mile Run Report
Note: These are some post-race thoughts that could be characterized as "raw." I'm still processing the entire experience.
I have no idea how I finished the Leadville 100 this past weekend. Between non-stop vomiting from Winfield to the finish, severe leg cramps (the likes of which I've never experienced in my life) and the horrible consequences of those cramps (totally trashed legs), I don't know how I got it done, much less crossed the line in 24:09--three hours slower than my goal time--to earn another big buckle. I think it came down to what race founder Ken Chlouber told us on Friday afternoon at the pre-race meeting: "dig deep."
Leadville is a very hard race as the course is between 9,200-12,600 feet, with two crossings of Hope Pass. The sheer challenge of this event is not appreciated the way it should be. That's partly because a few self-absorbed, elitist, chest-beating mountain ultrarunners, who think Hardrock and UTMB are the end-all, be-all and everything else is "meh," enjoy publicly describing the course as "flat" and mostly road (both of which are untrue) even as Leadville has done in plenty of great athletes over the years. When these ridiculously false statements are made in public spaces like podcasts, people form an impression of the course, and then some of these people, who are now suckers, show up in mid-August and get their asses handed to them. Moving on....
Unless you're super human, it's difficult to put up consistent performances at Leadville every year because the mountains are so fickle. On Monday night, I looked at several regular Leadville athletes' times over the years and they're mostly up and down. That high mountain air sometimes isn't too bad, and then other times it tries to destroy you. Over the weekend, I was stripped down to nothing; the course and terrain tried to hurt me, and they did. But I refused to give up.
When I look back on it, things went to hell in a hand basket when I was on the way to Twin Lakes outbound and experienced at about mile 35 what was without question the most painful leg cramp I've ever had in a race. It was in my left quad and it happened when I stopped to pee. My quad seized up and I just fell to the ground screaming in pain. I couldn't put any weight on my leg for 3-4 minutes. It was awful and a few concerned runners asked me if my leg was broken. One runner put his arm around me, which I really appreciated. It was such a delicate moment that I thought about my mom and dad.
Eventually, the cramp let up and I was on my way to the lakes, only to have another wicked cramp after crossing the very cold, refreshing river and preparing for the big climb up Hope Pass--a climb of 3,400 vertical feet. My legs never recovered from those cramps. The best way I can describe the aftermath is that it felt like my legs had been wrung dry. They had nothing in them--at all. They were drained. Every step hurt. I had been taking Salt Sticks but maybe I hadn't taken enough...or perhaps I was dehydrated? Or maybe my muscles were starved for oxygen?
Despite it all, the climb up the frontside of Hope wasn't too bad. I ran into my friend, Scott Schrader, who would go on to finish the race shortly after I crossed--his first 100-mile finish, which is just awesome. And I had some amazing mashed potatoes at the Hopeless aid station. But then when I began to descend the backside, things turned bad. My quads were gone. Nothing. So it was an incredibly slow, morale-killing descent. Despite my dejection, it was amazing watching Mike Aish (with pacer Nick Clark) and Rob Krar (solo) climb the backside as I was going down. Krar looked to be in the zone and he went on to win with the second-fastest time in the race's history. Just want to point out that despite being in the lead and having Krar on his butt, Mike high-fived me and wished me well. I also slapped hands with Nick.
Winfield was a tough spot. I got into mile 50 hot and dehydrated (like most other runners), apparently down 15 pounds (which I still don't believe), so I got right to work with refueling...only to puke it all up right there next to the tent. Hardrock legend Diana Finkel, who is a stalwart volunteer at the turnaround point, was there (once again) to help me through the moment. I cannot say enough good things about Diana. She's supportive in every way and a truly wonderful person. I would hug her if she was here now.
After about 15 minutes of sickness, I was on my way-with my pacer and good friend, Mark T. (who I also work with at Delta Dental), eating some Fig Newtons and a gel before that nasty 2,600-vertical foot climb up the backside of Hope. All in all, I handled the climb fairly well, having to stop and take a few breaks now and then. It was just after cresting Hope on the return trip that a horrible case of puking and dry-heaves happened--episode number two. I lumbered back down to Hopeless and got in some calories, thinking maybe I could turn things around. The descent from there was slow. The quads wouldn't cooperate. I stopped and hugged a woman who was crying as she climbed up the frontside, likely because she knew she'd miss the cutoff. Or maybe because the mountain had crushed her.
It never got better. At Twins Lakes inbound (mile 60), after refueling in the hopes, once again, that I could turn things around, I began vomiting and dry-heaving before crossing the timing mat--right there in front of hundreds of onlookers. After vomiting and dry-heaving easily a dozen times in front of the mat, the lights went out. I fainted, falling to the dirt road. My brother later told me seeing me go down like that scared him. I came to quickly and heard the doctor say, "you're going to need to drop; I gotta put an IV in you," to which I said, "I'm not dropping from this race; I intend to finish." He was irritated, I could tell, but that was how I felt--dropping wasn't an option. As I left Twin Lakes, still tasting puke and my nostrils burning from the vomit, I saw Tim "Footfeathers" Long and Shad Mika and said, "It never always gets worse" (a well-known saying in the sport). And, honestly, it didn't get worse; Twin Lake was the bottom.
Under no circumstances would I drop. I remember the pain of my 2012 DNF all too well to ever drop from a race again unless permanent damage is a real consideration. So I more or less ignored the doctor and went on my way with my other pacer and friend, Scott W., by my side. I left Twin Lakes with zero calories in me. Scott later managed to get some Fig Newtons in me, but they were too little, too late. The magic I experienced in 2013 in those last 35 miles wouldn't happen this year.
So from Twin Lakes inbound on I was running on empty, as my stomach could keep nothing down. It was a game of burning body fat. I actually ran a fair amount, albeit slowly because my legs were shot. And that's how the rest of the race unfolded--eat a little, puke it back up. You may be wondering: What was my nutrition? I had water and VFuel gels for the first half, along with some Carbo-Pro starting at Pipeline. I supplemented all of this with things like Coke, Fig Newtons, potatoes, and Ramen. None of it stayed down. I even puked up watermelon and soup at Mayqueen (mile 86.5). It was one of those days.
I am so thankful for the support my pacers, Mark and Scott, provided every step of the way. They were amazing. I don't even know what to say to these two guys who gave up time from their busy schedules to help me run Leadville. I am eternally grateful for the love and support of my wife, Anne, and our son, Noah. Without them, I couldn't have finished and that's a fact--they inspire me to be the best man I can be. It was a thrill having my brother, Will, and sister-in-law, Gretchen, there with me. They showed love and support from start to finish, attending to my every need. I thought often about my mom and dad; I knew they wanted to be there. It's humbling to get that much support.
I want to thank my coach, Andy Jones-Wilkins, for his support and encouragement along the way. AJW had me in very good physical and mental shape going into the race. Unfortunately, shit went down despite the great condition I was in. AJW's training plan gave me not only a higher level of physical fitness but also the requisite mental fortitude. In short, I had the tools to grind it out when the shit hit the fan.
I also want to thank the many runners, crew members and volunteers who were out there working hard on Saturday and Sunday. It's just an awesome display. Several people told me how helpful this blog was in their preparation. I appreciate it all. Whatever I can give to others, I will give...moral support, a hug, words of advice, a gel, whatever I can give.
Josh Colley, his team and all of the volunteers nailed it. This was a spectacularly-run race. Every detail was well-executed, though I wasn't a fan of the new Outward Bound grass field, which was laced with random holes (these holes just need to be filled in before next year's race). I loved the surprise aid station atop Powerline (amazingly, I actually ran a little of Powerline). It was obvious Josh and his team took all of the feedback from last year's race and made some major improvements. To those who sought to throw the baby out with the bathwater--in this case, one of the original 100s and a race with more history and legend than 99.9% of other ultras--after last year's troublesome Leadville, I say this: I hope you are now satisfied. Leadville has turned it around. What say you now?
As for me, I'm not sure I'll return to Leadville next year. I have already booked our cabin, in the event that I do return, but at this point it's 50/50. If I get into Western States, there will be no Leadville for me in 2015. This race has more or less vexed me since I began this adventure five years ago, when I was coming off a win at the Mohican 100 that made me think I was talented but, in reality, out West I'm just a schmuck. I've never figured out fueling at Leadville--what works one year fails the next--and to this day I'm unconvinced I've run my own perfect race there. Maybe I never will, or maybe I will. The altitude and my stomach seem to do me in every time. I am seeing a nutritionist specializing in fueling in ultras next week. I need help. My daily diet is pretty clean; it makes me think that I'm just not used to the sugary crap I consume on race day, though this summer I did train with VFuel and had pretty good results.
One lesson learned: The next time I run Leadville, I will wear Hokas for every mile except the Hope Pass section. I'm getting old and I need the extra cushion. This year, I wore New Balance 1210s for the first 60 miles and they didn't do me any favors. I needed my Stinsons. I didn't switch to my Stinsons until mile 60; by then, my legs were shot from the cramps, though my feet were in good shape (one small blister) and I had no joint pain whatsoever.
Huge thanks to all who made the weekend a special one.
I have no idea how I finished the Leadville 100 this past weekend. Between non-stop vomiting from Winfield to the finish, severe leg cramps (the likes of which I've never experienced in my life) and the horrible consequences of those cramps (totally trashed legs), I don't know how I got it done, much less crossed the line in 24:09--three hours slower than my goal time--to earn another big buckle. I think it came down to what race founder Ken Chlouber told us on Friday afternoon at the pre-race meeting: "dig deep."
 |
| Noah and me coming into Pipeline outbound (mile ~27) |
Leadville is a very hard race as the course is between 9,200-12,600 feet, with two crossings of Hope Pass. The sheer challenge of this event is not appreciated the way it should be. That's partly because a few self-absorbed, elitist, chest-beating mountain ultrarunners, who think Hardrock and UTMB are the end-all, be-all and everything else is "meh," enjoy publicly describing the course as "flat" and mostly road (both of which are untrue) even as Leadville has done in plenty of great athletes over the years. When these ridiculously false statements are made in public spaces like podcasts, people form an impression of the course, and then some of these people, who are now suckers, show up in mid-August and get their asses handed to them. Moving on....
Unless you're super human, it's difficult to put up consistent performances at Leadville every year because the mountains are so fickle. On Monday night, I looked at several regular Leadville athletes' times over the years and they're mostly up and down. That high mountain air sometimes isn't too bad, and then other times it tries to destroy you. Over the weekend, I was stripped down to nothing; the course and terrain tried to hurt me, and they did. But I refused to give up.
When I look back on it, things went to hell in a hand basket when I was on the way to Twin Lakes outbound and experienced at about mile 35 what was without question the most painful leg cramp I've ever had in a race. It was in my left quad and it happened when I stopped to pee. My quad seized up and I just fell to the ground screaming in pain. I couldn't put any weight on my leg for 3-4 minutes. It was awful and a few concerned runners asked me if my leg was broken. One runner put his arm around me, which I really appreciated. It was such a delicate moment that I thought about my mom and dad.
Eventually, the cramp let up and I was on my way to the lakes, only to have another wicked cramp after crossing the very cold, refreshing river and preparing for the big climb up Hope Pass--a climb of 3,400 vertical feet. My legs never recovered from those cramps. The best way I can describe the aftermath is that it felt like my legs had been wrung dry. They had nothing in them--at all. They were drained. Every step hurt. I had been taking Salt Sticks but maybe I hadn't taken enough...or perhaps I was dehydrated? Or maybe my muscles were starved for oxygen?
.jpg) |
| Between Pipeline and Twin Lakes outbound, about where I got hit with that first cramp. Credit: Lifetime Fitness |
Despite it all, the climb up the frontside of Hope wasn't too bad. I ran into my friend, Scott Schrader, who would go on to finish the race shortly after I crossed--his first 100-mile finish, which is just awesome. And I had some amazing mashed potatoes at the Hopeless aid station. But then when I began to descend the backside, things turned bad. My quads were gone. Nothing. So it was an incredibly slow, morale-killing descent. Despite my dejection, it was amazing watching Mike Aish (with pacer Nick Clark) and Rob Krar (solo) climb the backside as I was going down. Krar looked to be in the zone and he went on to win with the second-fastest time in the race's history. Just want to point out that despite being in the lead and having Krar on his butt, Mike high-fived me and wished me well. I also slapped hands with Nick.
 |
| Descending into Twin Lakes outbound (mile 40). |
Winfield was a tough spot. I got into mile 50 hot and dehydrated (like most other runners), apparently down 15 pounds (which I still don't believe), so I got right to work with refueling...only to puke it all up right there next to the tent. Hardrock legend Diana Finkel, who is a stalwart volunteer at the turnaround point, was there (once again) to help me through the moment. I cannot say enough good things about Diana. She's supportive in every way and a truly wonderful person. I would hug her if she was here now.
After about 15 minutes of sickness, I was on my way-with my pacer and good friend, Mark T. (who I also work with at Delta Dental), eating some Fig Newtons and a gel before that nasty 2,600-vertical foot climb up the backside of Hope. All in all, I handled the climb fairly well, having to stop and take a few breaks now and then. It was just after cresting Hope on the return trip that a horrible case of puking and dry-heaves happened--episode number two. I lumbered back down to Hopeless and got in some calories, thinking maybe I could turn things around. The descent from there was slow. The quads wouldn't cooperate. I stopped and hugged a woman who was crying as she climbed up the frontside, likely because she knew she'd miss the cutoff. Or maybe because the mountain had crushed her.
It never got better. At Twins Lakes inbound (mile 60), after refueling in the hopes, once again, that I could turn things around, I began vomiting and dry-heaving before crossing the timing mat--right there in front of hundreds of onlookers. After vomiting and dry-heaving easily a dozen times in front of the mat, the lights went out. I fainted, falling to the dirt road. My brother later told me seeing me go down like that scared him. I came to quickly and heard the doctor say, "you're going to need to drop; I gotta put an IV in you," to which I said, "I'm not dropping from this race; I intend to finish." He was irritated, I could tell, but that was how I felt--dropping wasn't an option. As I left Twin Lakes, still tasting puke and my nostrils burning from the vomit, I saw Tim "Footfeathers" Long and Shad Mika and said, "It never always gets worse" (a well-known saying in the sport). And, honestly, it didn't get worse; Twin Lake was the bottom.
Under no circumstances would I drop. I remember the pain of my 2012 DNF all too well to ever drop from a race again unless permanent damage is a real consideration. So I more or less ignored the doctor and went on my way with my other pacer and friend, Scott W., by my side. I left Twin Lakes with zero calories in me. Scott later managed to get some Fig Newtons in me, but they were too little, too late. The magic I experienced in 2013 in those last 35 miles wouldn't happen this year.
So from Twin Lakes inbound on I was running on empty, as my stomach could keep nothing down. It was a game of burning body fat. I actually ran a fair amount, albeit slowly because my legs were shot. And that's how the rest of the race unfolded--eat a little, puke it back up. You may be wondering: What was my nutrition? I had water and VFuel gels for the first half, along with some Carbo-Pro starting at Pipeline. I supplemented all of this with things like Coke, Fig Newtons, potatoes, and Ramen. None of it stayed down. I even puked up watermelon and soup at Mayqueen (mile 86.5). It was one of those days.
 | |
| With Mark at the finish line. We were friends before the race; now we're even closer. We went through a lot together. Scott unfortunately missed this photo. |
I am so thankful for the support my pacers, Mark and Scott, provided every step of the way. They were amazing. I don't even know what to say to these two guys who gave up time from their busy schedules to help me run Leadville. I am eternally grateful for the love and support of my wife, Anne, and our son, Noah. Without them, I couldn't have finished and that's a fact--they inspire me to be the best man I can be. It was a thrill having my brother, Will, and sister-in-law, Gretchen, there with me. They showed love and support from start to finish, attending to my every need. I thought often about my mom and dad; I knew they wanted to be there. It's humbling to get that much support.
I want to thank my coach, Andy Jones-Wilkins, for his support and encouragement along the way. AJW had me in very good physical and mental shape going into the race. Unfortunately, shit went down despite the great condition I was in. AJW's training plan gave me not only a higher level of physical fitness but also the requisite mental fortitude. In short, I had the tools to grind it out when the shit hit the fan.
I also want to thank the many runners, crew members and volunteers who were out there working hard on Saturday and Sunday. It's just an awesome display. Several people told me how helpful this blog was in their preparation. I appreciate it all. Whatever I can give to others, I will give...moral support, a hug, words of advice, a gel, whatever I can give.
Josh Colley, his team and all of the volunteers nailed it. This was a spectacularly-run race. Every detail was well-executed, though I wasn't a fan of the new Outward Bound grass field, which was laced with random holes (these holes just need to be filled in before next year's race). I loved the surprise aid station atop Powerline (amazingly, I actually ran a little of Powerline). It was obvious Josh and his team took all of the feedback from last year's race and made some major improvements. To those who sought to throw the baby out with the bathwater--in this case, one of the original 100s and a race with more history and legend than 99.9% of other ultras--after last year's troublesome Leadville, I say this: I hope you are now satisfied. Leadville has turned it around. What say you now?
 |
| The big buckle--my fourth El Plato Grande buckle. |
As for me, I'm not sure I'll return to Leadville next year. I have already booked our cabin, in the event that I do return, but at this point it's 50/50. If I get into Western States, there will be no Leadville for me in 2015. This race has more or less vexed me since I began this adventure five years ago, when I was coming off a win at the Mohican 100 that made me think I was talented but, in reality, out West I'm just a schmuck. I've never figured out fueling at Leadville--what works one year fails the next--and to this day I'm unconvinced I've run my own perfect race there. Maybe I never will, or maybe I will. The altitude and my stomach seem to do me in every time. I am seeing a nutritionist specializing in fueling in ultras next week. I need help. My daily diet is pretty clean; it makes me think that I'm just not used to the sugary crap I consume on race day, though this summer I did train with VFuel and had pretty good results.
One lesson learned: The next time I run Leadville, I will wear Hokas for every mile except the Hope Pass section. I'm getting old and I need the extra cushion. This year, I wore New Balance 1210s for the first 60 miles and they didn't do me any favors. I needed my Stinsons. I didn't switch to my Stinsons until mile 60; by then, my legs were shot from the cramps, though my feet were in good shape (one small blister) and I had no joint pain whatsoever.
Huge thanks to all who made the weekend a special one.
Monday, June 16, 2014
2014 Leadville Trail Marathon Report
Saturday marked my fifth Leadville Trail Marathon. It seems like yesterday when, one Saturday in early July 2010, I lined up in front of the Sixth Street Gym full of excitement as I was about to take on my first Leadville race.
The scene on Saturday morning was exciting. The marathon kicks off of the annual Leadville Race Series, which includes the always-competitive Leadman and Leadwoman competition. I can't possibly describe the excitement I felt as I drove into town for the race, knowing I'd not only run an awesome race but also camp out at 10,000 feet above sea level.
One might look at my result on Saturday and mistake it for a "bad race," especially given my time last year of 4:19 (which placed me 12th overall). Here's how the numbers on Saturday shook out:
On the week, I got to 80.1 miles and logged almost 12,000 feet of vertical. So, it was a good week and the Leadville Trail Marathon and my Powerline/Sugarloaf Pass adventure the next day helped get me there.
A few thoughts on the race itself. First off, because of the deep snowpack up in the mountains (Ball Mountain reportedly has six feet of snow on it), we ran a modified course.This modified course was harder than the standard route and threw in an extra 800 feet of climbing, to bring the total on the day to about 6,300 feet. My climbing was solid; where I suffered the most (no surprise) was running downhill. I also felt the effects of the altitude at times. There was a nasty climb from mile 20 to mile 21 that got to me a bit more mentally than physically. Still, because this was an 80% effort, I didn't worry too much and instead focused on good practice at elevation. I even helped a few other runners out, giving them Salt Sticks.
My fuel of choice was VFuel gels, water and Coca-Cola. Except for a few swigs of Coke, I was entirely self-supported. Looking back on it, I probably should have had more aid station fare, but I really wanted to test out VFuel. So far, so good.
I was pleasantly surprised by how well I did on the Powerline/Sugarloaf Pass climb and descent the next day. This is a critical section of the return trip during the 100-miler and it can break you (not even joking there; this section can destroy runners). So, it was good for me to hit this section while up in Leadville. I had hoped to summit Mount Elbert but I didn't want to tangle with the snow, so Powerline it was.
In summary, LifeTime Fitness did a nice job with the race. It was well-organized and the modified course was a great fix.
My next race is the North Fork 50K in two weeks. That will be more a race effort.
The scene on Saturday morning was exciting. The marathon kicks off of the annual Leadville Race Series, which includes the always-competitive Leadman and Leadwoman competition. I can't possibly describe the excitement I felt as I drove into town for the race, knowing I'd not only run an awesome race but also camp out at 10,000 feet above sea level.
One might look at my result on Saturday and mistake it for a "bad race," especially given my time last year of 4:19 (which placed me 12th overall). Here's how the numbers on Saturday shook out:
- 5:04:51
- 55th overall out of 434 finishers
- 6th 40-49 male out of 104
On the week, I got to 80.1 miles and logged almost 12,000 feet of vertical. So, it was a good week and the Leadville Trail Marathon and my Powerline/Sugarloaf Pass adventure the next day helped get me there.
A few thoughts on the race itself. First off, because of the deep snowpack up in the mountains (Ball Mountain reportedly has six feet of snow on it), we ran a modified course.This modified course was harder than the standard route and threw in an extra 800 feet of climbing, to bring the total on the day to about 6,300 feet. My climbing was solid; where I suffered the most (no surprise) was running downhill. I also felt the effects of the altitude at times. There was a nasty climb from mile 20 to mile 21 that got to me a bit more mentally than physically. Still, because this was an 80% effort, I didn't worry too much and instead focused on good practice at elevation. I even helped a few other runners out, giving them Salt Sticks.
My fuel of choice was VFuel gels, water and Coca-Cola. Except for a few swigs of Coke, I was entirely self-supported. Looking back on it, I probably should have had more aid station fare, but I really wanted to test out VFuel. So far, so good.
I was pleasantly surprised by how well I did on the Powerline/Sugarloaf Pass climb and descent the next day. This is a critical section of the return trip during the 100-miler and it can break you (not even joking there; this section can destroy runners). So, it was good for me to hit this section while up in Leadville. I had hoped to summit Mount Elbert but I didn't want to tangle with the snow, so Powerline it was.
In summary, LifeTime Fitness did a nice job with the race. It was well-organized and the modified course was a great fix.
My next race is the North Fork 50K in two weeks. That will be more a race effort.
Sunday, May 4, 2014
Colorado Marathon - Just Another Day at the Office
Wow, what a great race. It all starts with Fort Collins, a gem of a town nestled in Northern Colorado right up against the mountains. Less than an hour from Denver, Fort Collins is the home of Colorado State University and many other major employers. Rarely will you find a town with such a bustling urban area--mom and pop shops, restaurants galore, walkable areas, bike shops, boutiques (if you're into that stuff), cafes, great pubs, etc.
The race started at 6:30AM but we had to be at the buses by 4:30. The ride up into the canyons took about 45 minutes and was relaxing as I talked with a runner from Albuquerque. The gun went off on time--always a good thing. After the start, it's mostly downhill via canyon roads for the first 16 or so miles, and then the course levels off, with a few little hills here and there. The biggest hill is at mile 19 but it's not bad at all. The race starts at 6,100 feet and ends at a little over 5,000 feet. The weather was mostly nice. When I finished just past 9:30AM, the temperature was probably 70 degrees and the sky was fairly clear.
I ran a 3:04:19, finishing 28th overall out of 1,086 finishers and second among the masters. In the last six miles, my pace slowed from about 6:50 per mile to 7:25-7:30. I didn't blow up by any stretch and never at any time was I "in trouble"; I just slowed down. I'm not sure why that happened because I did a good job of fueling; it just did. Fortunately, I kept running but at a slower pace and ultimately crossed the finish line proud of the result, especially given that I had not felt well all week and had a tweaked left lower calf. With a time that betters my Boston qualifier by more then 10 minutes, I am now virtually guaranteed a spot in Beantown next year if I decide to make the trek to the northeast (would be my third Boston).
Here's a photo my son took of me within a few steps of the finish this morning.
Yep, displaying good form, as always.
I'm still not convinced my days of sub-3s are over. I think I can break 3 again but it might have to be at a sea level race and it would need to be in the spring, when I'm fresh (versus the fall, when I'm usually a little hung over from the summer racing season).
This was my first race since last October--a 7-month layoff. I think it's really beneficial to take a true off-season. Too few runners these days take an off-season. It's the lack of an off-season, I think, that causes short "careers," burnout and chronic injury.
Next up: the Leadville Trail Marathon on 6/14!
This was my first race since last October--a 7-month layoff. I think it's really beneficial to take a true off-season. Too few runners these days take an off-season. It's the lack of an off-season, I think, that causes short "careers," burnout and chronic injury.
Next up: the Leadville Trail Marathon on 6/14!
Saturday, September 7, 2013
Making the Sport of Ultrarunning Something It's Not
First off, the combined numbers for the months of June, July and August:
***
Last Monday I ran the first annual Highlands Ranch Half Marathon. I entered the race to help raise money for someone we know who is undergoing treatment for a very serious form of cancer. But of course I didn't joy-run it (that's just not in my nature). I finished 11th overall out of 636 starters, crossing the line in 1:25--good for 6:33 pace. This was my first half marathon in more than five years!
Although 1:25 is three minutes off my half-marathon PR, I was pretty pleased with my result, given that I'd run the Leadville 100 two weeks prior and I didn't do much fast stuff over the summer. I passed easily 25 runners along the way and didn't get overtaken a single time except in the first few hundred feet. I definitely felt the 100 at about the mile 7 mark of the half. But fortunately I did a decent job of holding pace and finished strong. It's a downhill, point-to-point course but it gives you a decent climb at mile 12 to keep things honest. Personally, I think point-to-point courses are the best.
Interestingly, my average heart rate for the half was 148, with a max heart rate of 158 on that last climb before the finish. My MAF zone is 136-146, so I was pretty much right in it for the whole race. It seems to me that half-marathon pace should be 10-20 beats/minute above MAF.
For the past few years--and really since I've been running--I feel like there's been an imbalance between my aerobic fitness and strength, despite the fact that I've always done a good job with tempo runs. (Admittedly, this summer I didn't do as many tempo runs as usual since I was on the trail every single day.) My aerobic fitness appears to be very good, but for some reason my legs just can't seem to keep pace. I need to figure out the reasons for this imbalance and correct it. A big part of me thinks my tempo runs have been too hard. Maybe I need to relax the pace a bit and stretch it out longer.
Anyway, the Highlands Ranch half left me pretty sore. I'll probably do a few more races this year. I'm interested in the El Grito 5K next weekend, the Highlands Ranch Backcountry Half Marathon in early October and the Rock 'n Roll Denver Half Marathon in late October. I really enjoy the half-marathon distance and right now I'm just not feeling motivated to do any ultras.
***
And speaking of the Denver Rock 'n Roll, someone told me that if you drop out of any Rock 'n Roll race they'll give you a ride to the finish and you can get a finisher's medal despite the fact that you really didn't finish. I didn't believe this, since it goes against EVERYTHING I believe in and stand for, but then I heard another person say the same thing. Is that really true? I guess if this is true, then it's probably also true that they give finisher's medals to those who drop. In all seriousness, if it's really true, it's hard to believe a race would do such a thing--and it makes me kind of hesitant to take part in the Rock 'n Roll "trophies for everyone" circus.
***
That said, I'm not one of those ultrarunners who thinks the world revolves around the "elites." Recently, a new international ultrarunning series with points and sponsors (and lots of question marks, too!) was announced, and the series involves some pretty big races like the Western States 100 and Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc. This appears to be an attempt to bring some structure to the sport. Personally, I'm not a big fan of efforts to organize a sport that for decades has more or less functioned in the shadows. I'd rather ultrarunning remain low key and small enough so that everyone knows everyone and there's love out there on courses. Sadly, I think that's a pipe dream. I think there are folks who are pushing as hard as they can to make ultrarunning something I believe it was never intended to be. It's almost as if we're embarrassed that our sport is so grassroots and down-home. Be that as it may, I think efforts to organize the sport and bring more corporate participation to it will "work" for a few years, but I don't see them being sustainable as there's just not enough money to be made for sponsors and the sport just isn't that spectator-friendly. I believe that in almost every case where corporate interests and money can be found, there is corruption and greed. We'll see. It wouldn't surprise me if ultrarunning eventually implodes and then comes back as it once was.
If at some point I find myself dissatisfied with the direction of things, then I'll turn to other endurance endeavors, like multi-day, self-supported jaunts on the John Muir Trail.
***
At this point, I'm still undecided about returning to the Leadville 100 in 2014. It all depends on whether or not Lifetime Fitness addresses the problems we saw this year. I am definitely entering the Western States lottery and, if by some miracle I get in, then that would be my focus race in 2014. If I don't get into Western, then I may consider a few other races that would include Leadville. I had thought seriously about Wasatch, but it's pretty late in the summer and this whole debacle left a bad taste in my mouth. We'll see what happens.
- 1,027 miles
- 151,000 feet of vertical
***
Last Monday I ran the first annual Highlands Ranch Half Marathon. I entered the race to help raise money for someone we know who is undergoing treatment for a very serious form of cancer. But of course I didn't joy-run it (that's just not in my nature). I finished 11th overall out of 636 starters, crossing the line in 1:25--good for 6:33 pace. This was my first half marathon in more than five years!
Although 1:25 is three minutes off my half-marathon PR, I was pretty pleased with my result, given that I'd run the Leadville 100 two weeks prior and I didn't do much fast stuff over the summer. I passed easily 25 runners along the way and didn't get overtaken a single time except in the first few hundred feet. I definitely felt the 100 at about the mile 7 mark of the half. But fortunately I did a decent job of holding pace and finished strong. It's a downhill, point-to-point course but it gives you a decent climb at mile 12 to keep things honest. Personally, I think point-to-point courses are the best.
Interestingly, my average heart rate for the half was 148, with a max heart rate of 158 on that last climb before the finish. My MAF zone is 136-146, so I was pretty much right in it for the whole race. It seems to me that half-marathon pace should be 10-20 beats/minute above MAF.
For the past few years--and really since I've been running--I feel like there's been an imbalance between my aerobic fitness and strength, despite the fact that I've always done a good job with tempo runs. (Admittedly, this summer I didn't do as many tempo runs as usual since I was on the trail every single day.) My aerobic fitness appears to be very good, but for some reason my legs just can't seem to keep pace. I need to figure out the reasons for this imbalance and correct it. A big part of me thinks my tempo runs have been too hard. Maybe I need to relax the pace a bit and stretch it out longer.
Anyway, the Highlands Ranch half left me pretty sore. I'll probably do a few more races this year. I'm interested in the El Grito 5K next weekend, the Highlands Ranch Backcountry Half Marathon in early October and the Rock 'n Roll Denver Half Marathon in late October. I really enjoy the half-marathon distance and right now I'm just not feeling motivated to do any ultras.
***
And speaking of the Denver Rock 'n Roll, someone told me that if you drop out of any Rock 'n Roll race they'll give you a ride to the finish and you can get a finisher's medal despite the fact that you really didn't finish. I didn't believe this, since it goes against EVERYTHING I believe in and stand for, but then I heard another person say the same thing. Is that really true? I guess if this is true, then it's probably also true that they give finisher's medals to those who drop. In all seriousness, if it's really true, it's hard to believe a race would do such a thing--and it makes me kind of hesitant to take part in the Rock 'n Roll "trophies for everyone" circus.
***
That said, I'm not one of those ultrarunners who thinks the world revolves around the "elites." Recently, a new international ultrarunning series with points and sponsors (and lots of question marks, too!) was announced, and the series involves some pretty big races like the Western States 100 and Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc. This appears to be an attempt to bring some structure to the sport. Personally, I'm not a big fan of efforts to organize a sport that for decades has more or less functioned in the shadows. I'd rather ultrarunning remain low key and small enough so that everyone knows everyone and there's love out there on courses. Sadly, I think that's a pipe dream. I think there are folks who are pushing as hard as they can to make ultrarunning something I believe it was never intended to be. It's almost as if we're embarrassed that our sport is so grassroots and down-home. Be that as it may, I think efforts to organize the sport and bring more corporate participation to it will "work" for a few years, but I don't see them being sustainable as there's just not enough money to be made for sponsors and the sport just isn't that spectator-friendly. I believe that in almost every case where corporate interests and money can be found, there is corruption and greed. We'll see. It wouldn't surprise me if ultrarunning eventually implodes and then comes back as it once was.
If at some point I find myself dissatisfied with the direction of things, then I'll turn to other endurance endeavors, like multi-day, self-supported jaunts on the John Muir Trail.
***
At this point, I'm still undecided about returning to the Leadville 100 in 2014. It all depends on whether or not Lifetime Fitness addresses the problems we saw this year. I am definitely entering the Western States lottery and, if by some miracle I get in, then that would be my focus race in 2014. If I don't get into Western, then I may consider a few other races that would include Leadville. I had thought seriously about Wasatch, but it's pretty late in the summer and this whole debacle left a bad taste in my mouth. We'll see what happens.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)