Last week (7/19-7/25) shaped up into an excellent week of training for the Leadville Trail 100-Mile Run. I left behind the baggage of a poor showing at the July 18th Barr Trail Mountain Race and refocused on the big goal I've been after for four months--getting ready for Leadville.
It was a near-perfect week because it blended high mileage, quality and a key element of training many of us too often overlook--recovery. This was my third consecutive triple-digit week, with a nice 67-mile binge over a three-day period (Friday-Sunday). Here's how the week shook out:
Monday: Rest/recovery
Tuesday: 11 miles
Wednesday: 11 miles including some intervals at the Legend High School track--elevation 6,193 feet. I did 1x1600 at 5:46, 1x1200 at 4:24 and 1x800 at 2:57. Not bad for 6,193 feet. If I decide to go after a new marathon PR in Vegas on December 5, these times are going to have to improve!
Thursday: 11.1 miles
Friday: 21 miles in over 5 hours on a critical section of the Leadville 100 course--from Twin Lakes (9,200 feet) to Hope Pass (12,600 feet) and onto Winfield (10,200 feet) and back. This out-and-back brought 16,400 feet of climb and descent and involved a very enjoyable double-crossing of the Arkansas River. More on that later.
Saturday: 24 miles
Sunday: 22.5 miles
Total: 101 miles
Along with the miles, I'm continuing to focus on core strengthening and push-ups, since successful hundreds often come down to more than just your legs. Obviously, this was a very solid week--and it came at just the right time. Although my mileage wasn't that high (101), I spent a fair amount of time on my feet, especially during Friday's run in Leadville with my friend of literally 30 years, Matt, who is also running in the race.
I've run more miles and hours preparing for Leadville than for any other hundred I've done. That includes the 2007 Burning River 100 (6th place), the 2008 Mohican 100 (4th place), and the 2009 Mohican 100 (1st place), as well as the 2009 24-hour national championship in Cleveland (131 miles/9th place).
Unfortunately, it's really hard getting to the mountains as much as I'd like. With a toddler who keeps us quite busy (and happy!), Anne often working long hours (and every other Saturday morning), and a full-time job that keeps me occupied Monday-Friday from 8-5, I'm able to get to the mountains only about once and, at most, twice a week. On the other days I try to make the most of my surroundings. I go into the Parker hills and run on dirt and gravel roads at over 6,000 feet. I go to the track and pound out some intervals. I do what I can.
My goals for Leadville are as follows:
1) Finish--always the main goal in a 100-miler
2) Under 25 hours for the cherished belt buckle
3) Under 20 hours
4) Placement
In my mind, the course is more or less divided into three sections:
Miles 1-40--Start to Twin Lakes with the Sugarloaf Pass crossing and a few other nasty climbs and descents.
Miles 41-61--Hope Pass double crossing--more than half of the race's total elevation change occurs in these 21 miles.
Miles 62-100--Sugarloaf Pass crossing and more nasty climbs and descents.
I still have a few sections of the course to cover. Team CRUD is holding a night run on August 7 that I may attend if my ankle is doing well. It will take us from the Fish Hatchery to the finish, crossing Sugarloaf Pass. Many say this section is the crux of the Leadville 100.
Friday's run in Leadville with Matt was critically important because it allowed me to experience what will likely be the hardest section of the course. As previously noted, the 21-mile stretch from Twin Lakes to Winfield and back brings more than 16,000 feet of climb and descent--a little over half of the total elevation change in the entire race. From Twin Lakes, you cross the (incredibly cold) Arkansas River and then climb 3,400 feet to Hope Pass, traversing some pretty runnable trail. There will be a manned aid station near Hope Pass, but it won't provide crew access and there are no roads to it. In fact, I've heard the aid station supplies are brought in via llamas! The weather up on Hope can be very unpredictable. In the past, runners have encountered hail, rain and even snow. We're not in Ohio anymore!
After Hope Pass, you drop 2,600 feet, running on a fairly rocky, technical and sometimes very steep trail that intersects with an approximately 2.5-mile, uphill dirt road leading into Winfield, a ghost town. On race day, I think many runners (maybe myself included) will feel great discouragement descending the backside of Hope Pass as we'll be unable to escape the thought that we have to climb that damned mountain again after leaving the turnaround point! For many, Winfield will likely be a place of carnage. I'll be tired and my legs will likely be beaten, but I'll be so glad to see my pacer, Michele. She's a veteran Leadville 100 pacer and I'm glad that she's with me for the toughest part of this journey.
Through it all, I'll have an outstanding crew consisting of my mom, my brother Will, and Anne, who will be with Noah. Everytime I see Noah during a race I experience a lot of emotion. I'll need to harness that emotion in just the right way, so as to propel me. Almost every mile I've run over the past two years has been about Noah--setting a good example, putting your heart and soul into something meaningful, and showing him that it's good to tackle big goals. But there is no way any of this would be possible without the love and support of Anne. Preparing for a hundred-miler takes commitment and sacrifice not only from the runner, but also from his or her family.
Fortunately, I have enough experience with hundreds to know that you go through good and bad patches. The key is to stay hydrated and ahead of your caloric needs, and to keep putting one foot in front of the other. You can't get ahead of yourself--just stay focused on getting to the next aid station. This outlook, I think, will be particularly beneficial on that 21-mile stretch from Twin Lakes to Winfield and back.
Of course, after returning to Twin Lakes, you have Sugarloaf Pass and a series of other nasty climbs and descents to negotiate. But you can take comfort in knowing the vast majority of climbing is now behind you. The last forty miles will be a game of survival. You can't give up regardless of how badly your legs are begging you to surrender. Sugarloaf, Powerline and other challenges in the last 40 miles can be overcome!
This is the final big week of training, and then I enter a three-week taper. There are those who would scoff at a three-week taper, saying it's too long. I believe in the three-week taper for 100-milers. Three weeks out, I'll drop the mileage 15-20%. Two weeks out, the mileage plummets to about 55, and then the week of the race I do very little except walk, maybe go for a swim or two and generally focus on rest. My hope is that during the taper I can get the plantar fasciitis in my left heel cleared up and allow my right ankle, which I re-sprained on Friday going down Hope Pass, strong and healthy.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
I have a problem...and it's downhill mountain running
Good news/bad news to report.
Good news: I logged another quality 100-mile week. That bodes well for my training for the Leadville Trail 100-Mile Run, which is now just a month away.
Bad news: I had a very poor showing at Sunday’s Barr Trail Mountain Race, a 12.5-mile run on Pikes Peak that I finished in 2:03. You run from Hydro Street in Manitou Springs up to Barr Camp (10,200 feet) and then back—all on the Barr Trail except a short paved section at the beginning and end. You gain 3,630 feet. My sense (and I could be wrong on this) was that the BTMC didn’t attract a lot of ultrarunners of the 100-mile variety. Most of the runners out there were very fast, shorter-distance mountain runners with highly developed technical trail running skills. The talent was very strong. Let’s put it this way: the greatest mountain runner in recorded history, Matt Carpenter (who is a very accomplished ultrarunner and Leadville 100 record holder), finished third. His Barr Trail Mountain Race record fell to 24-year-old Ryan Hafer, who finished with a mind-blowing 1:29.
My time on the up—1:15—wasn’t great but it wasn’t bad either. My time on the down, however, was hideous. If it takes you 48 minutes to descend, you’re going to get passed and lose a lot of ground. And did I ever get passed. It was discouraging and embarrassing having runners blow past me when I was giving the downhill what I thought was my all. I have never been so discouraged in a race. But I also had 100 miles on the legs that week.
It is clear from my Barr Trail Mountain Race and Leadville Trail Marathon results that my downhill running skills are very poor. On the ascents, I’m strong. I have good endurance and excellent mental and physical toughness. The problem is that my downhill running is so poor that it negates my strengths and actually costs me quite a bit of time. I should have EASILY broken 2 hours on Sunday.
Out east, the hills are so short (yet they can be very steep) that if you’re a poor downhill runner it’s not going to affect your performance too badly. Out west, where the descents can be several miles in length, poor downhill running skills will kill you regardless of how strong you might be on the climbs. This is what we’re seeing with me.
It is said that the first step in solving a problem is acknowledging the problem in the first place. I obviously have a problem with downhill running. I need to find someone—a coach?—who can help me improve in this area. If I can become even an average downhill runner, I think I would still be a reasonably successful Colorado ultrarunner since my climbing is so solid—and the desire is obviously there.
My hunch is that my downhill mountain running problems come down to over-striding. Because the trails are often littered with loose rocks, I think it’s critical that you have quick turnover, let gravity take over, and avoid over-striding. If you over-stride—a problem that has plagued my running for a long time though my form has improved some—you’re going to be less in control and pull back just a little as a precaution. I also think confidence is a huge factor. Experience is a huge part of confidence. I’ve been running mountains for only three-and-a-half months.
I believe that in time my downhill mountain running skills will develop and improve. It may be that 2010 is going to be a year of learning. But I need to learn from someone who can help me.
I am taking today off to rest and recover from yesterday’s race, which I supplemented with an additional 7.5 miles for a total of 20 for the day.
This Friday, I’m going to Leadville to run the critical Twin Lakes-to-Winfield-and-back section with a few others. This will involve a double-crossing of Hope Pass.
I wish I could say I’m in good spirits, but I’m not. I am very frustrated by what happened at the Barr Trail Mountain Race (and the Leadville Marathon) and think it’s time to ask for some help from someone who excels at downhill running but perhaps had to work hard to achieve success in this area.
Good news: I logged another quality 100-mile week. That bodes well for my training for the Leadville Trail 100-Mile Run, which is now just a month away.
Bad news: I had a very poor showing at Sunday’s Barr Trail Mountain Race, a 12.5-mile run on Pikes Peak that I finished in 2:03. You run from Hydro Street in Manitou Springs up to Barr Camp (10,200 feet) and then back—all on the Barr Trail except a short paved section at the beginning and end. You gain 3,630 feet. My sense (and I could be wrong on this) was that the BTMC didn’t attract a lot of ultrarunners of the 100-mile variety. Most of the runners out there were very fast, shorter-distance mountain runners with highly developed technical trail running skills. The talent was very strong. Let’s put it this way: the greatest mountain runner in recorded history, Matt Carpenter (who is a very accomplished ultrarunner and Leadville 100 record holder), finished third. His Barr Trail Mountain Race record fell to 24-year-old Ryan Hafer, who finished with a mind-blowing 1:29.
My time on the up—1:15—wasn’t great but it wasn’t bad either. My time on the down, however, was hideous. If it takes you 48 minutes to descend, you’re going to get passed and lose a lot of ground. And did I ever get passed. It was discouraging and embarrassing having runners blow past me when I was giving the downhill what I thought was my all. I have never been so discouraged in a race. But I also had 100 miles on the legs that week.
It is clear from my Barr Trail Mountain Race and Leadville Trail Marathon results that my downhill running skills are very poor. On the ascents, I’m strong. I have good endurance and excellent mental and physical toughness. The problem is that my downhill running is so poor that it negates my strengths and actually costs me quite a bit of time. I should have EASILY broken 2 hours on Sunday.
Out east, the hills are so short (yet they can be very steep) that if you’re a poor downhill runner it’s not going to affect your performance too badly. Out west, where the descents can be several miles in length, poor downhill running skills will kill you regardless of how strong you might be on the climbs. This is what we’re seeing with me.
It is said that the first step in solving a problem is acknowledging the problem in the first place. I obviously have a problem with downhill running. I need to find someone—a coach?—who can help me improve in this area. If I can become even an average downhill runner, I think I would still be a reasonably successful Colorado ultrarunner since my climbing is so solid—and the desire is obviously there.
My hunch is that my downhill mountain running problems come down to over-striding. Because the trails are often littered with loose rocks, I think it’s critical that you have quick turnover, let gravity take over, and avoid over-striding. If you over-stride—a problem that has plagued my running for a long time though my form has improved some—you’re going to be less in control and pull back just a little as a precaution. I also think confidence is a huge factor. Experience is a huge part of confidence. I’ve been running mountains for only three-and-a-half months.
I believe that in time my downhill mountain running skills will develop and improve. It may be that 2010 is going to be a year of learning. But I need to learn from someone who can help me.
I am taking today off to rest and recover from yesterday’s race, which I supplemented with an additional 7.5 miles for a total of 20 for the day.
This Friday, I’m going to Leadville to run the critical Twin Lakes-to-Winfield-and-back section with a few others. This will involve a double-crossing of Hope Pass.
I wish I could say I’m in good spirits, but I’m not. I am very frustrated by what happened at the Barr Trail Mountain Race (and the Leadville Marathon) and think it’s time to ask for some help from someone who excels at downhill running but perhaps had to work hard to achieve success in this area.
Monday, July 12, 2010
102 miles; taper 3 weeks away
I just wrapped up another tiple-digit week--102 miles to be exact. I'm now three weeks away from my taper for the Leadville Trail 100. I took a nasty spill last week and fortunately didn't do any serious damage. It was on a sidewalk (!) and the culprits were a) tired legs and b) an uneven block. (I normally never run on a sidewalk but have to on this particular section of my route.) I sprained my right big toe and bruised the hell out of my back.
My mileage since early May has been very solid and consistent--on average, about 90-95 miles per week. Plus, I established a great 70-80 mile-per-week base starting in December (when finally I was over my North Coast 24-Hour injuries) and going through April save about two weeks during the move. At that time I was training (hard) for the Boston Marathon but, with the life-changing move to Denver literally two weeks before Boston, that race was aborted. Turns out my Boston training was great base-building for the Leadville 100.
With three weeks to go, I think this is the hardest part of the training cycle. It's akin to mile 70 in a 100-miler. You're 70 percent there, and yet you still have 30 tough miles in front of you. The key is just focusing on each step toward the big goal.
There is no denying it; Leadville is going to be the hardest race I've ever run. It's not the Hard Rock 100 or the Wasatch 100, but it's nonetheless a huge challenge, run between 9,200 feet and 12,600 feet with only 11 aid stations. Many 100s have 20+ aid stations. Next Friday I'll be in Leadville running a critical section--from Twin Lakes to Winfield (a ghost town) and back. That's about 24 miles and it includes a double-crossing of 12,600-foot Hope Pass. Hope Pass will be a great opportunity to test out my new Black Diamond trekking poles, which I bought at Backcountry.com. They're light and they fold up.
I've trained hard and I'm feeling strong. I'm pounding out 100-mile weeks and am often running at a strong pace when many would be struggling just to put one foot in front of the other. The question isn't whether I have the strength for 100 miles; I have it. The question is whether I'm acclimated enough to handle 10,000 feet for 100 miles. We'll see. Experience with 100-mile racing and mental toughness may make the difference.
I have the Barr Trail Mountain Race this Sunday. It's a 14-mile run up Pikes Peak to Barr Camp and then back. I'm not really going to taper for it, and so we'll see how I do. The plan this week is 90-100 miles.
Run hard. Run happy.
My mileage since early May has been very solid and consistent--on average, about 90-95 miles per week. Plus, I established a great 70-80 mile-per-week base starting in December (when finally I was over my North Coast 24-Hour injuries) and going through April save about two weeks during the move. At that time I was training (hard) for the Boston Marathon but, with the life-changing move to Denver literally two weeks before Boston, that race was aborted. Turns out my Boston training was great base-building for the Leadville 100.
With three weeks to go, I think this is the hardest part of the training cycle. It's akin to mile 70 in a 100-miler. You're 70 percent there, and yet you still have 30 tough miles in front of you. The key is just focusing on each step toward the big goal.
There is no denying it; Leadville is going to be the hardest race I've ever run. It's not the Hard Rock 100 or the Wasatch 100, but it's nonetheless a huge challenge, run between 9,200 feet and 12,600 feet with only 11 aid stations. Many 100s have 20+ aid stations. Next Friday I'll be in Leadville running a critical section--from Twin Lakes to Winfield (a ghost town) and back. That's about 24 miles and it includes a double-crossing of 12,600-foot Hope Pass. Hope Pass will be a great opportunity to test out my new Black Diamond trekking poles, which I bought at Backcountry.com. They're light and they fold up.
I've trained hard and I'm feeling strong. I'm pounding out 100-mile weeks and am often running at a strong pace when many would be struggling just to put one foot in front of the other. The question isn't whether I have the strength for 100 miles; I have it. The question is whether I'm acclimated enough to handle 10,000 feet for 100 miles. We'll see. Experience with 100-mile racing and mental toughness may make the difference.
I have the Barr Trail Mountain Race this Sunday. It's a 14-mile run up Pikes Peak to Barr Camp and then back. I'm not really going to taper for it, and so we'll see how I do. The plan this week is 90-100 miles.
Run hard. Run happy.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Leadville Trail Marathon report
I ran the Leadville Trail Marathon on Saturday, 7/3. Going into the race, my strategy was...to race it. But about 7 miles into the race, as I was running 14th, a volunteer inadvertently misdirected me, sending me down the wrong trail. About a quarter-mile down the trail I realized I was off course and had to run back up a hill to the aid station, where the volunteer apologized and got me back on track. I had lost about 5 minutes and any hopes of decent placement were dashed. This is all a part of trail races! No worries!
It's difficult to imagine a harder marathon. A good case could be made that the Pikes Peak Marathon is harder, as it does travel 7,300 feet up a 14,115-foot mountain. But on the way back it's basically all downhill and it does start at a manageable 7,000 feet. Starting at 10,200 feet, the Leadville Marathon isn't all downhill on the way back. It brutalizes you in both directions, bringing 13,000 feet of gain and loss and plenty of thin air the whole way, with two passes on 12,000-foot Ball Mountain and a turnaround on top of the very rocky 13,185-foot Mosquito Pass--the summit being above treeline. These passes make the Boston Marathon's Heartbreak Hill, which many consider the "toughest" hill of any marathon, look like a parking lot speed bump. In fact, the Leadville Marathon is far harder than any 50K trail race I've ever done. Ask me again in a year or two what the hardest marathon or 50K I've done is and my answer may be different than it is now. For now, it's the Leadville Marathon.
Throughout the 26.2-mile course, you're in the historic mining district east of Leadville, which is the highest incorporated city in the U.S. The course consists mostly of old mining roads and trails, as Leadville has quite the mining history. You pass by old abandoned mining facilities that are quite spooky. These are the reminders of the good 'ole days that have long passed and left a city with an extraordinary history to tell (and show) and a desperate reliance on tourism and racers. The city sure knows how to put on a good race. That's what has made events like the Leadville 100-Mile Run legendary, and it's why Lance Armstrong and others come to town every year for the 100-mile mountain bike race.
First, the basics: I finished 28th overall with a 4:55. Very disappointing. My goal was 4:20 or better. However, the conventional wisdom has it that a finish of better than 5 hours at the Leadville Marathon is very respectable.
Going into the race, I had tapered for the previous six days--wracking up just 34 miles--on the heels of a 94-mile week. So I thought I was fresh enough for a good effort at Leadville.
When the shotgun (yes, shotgun) went off at 8:00 a.m., we were off, heading down 5th Street and eventually making our way onto the mining roads going up to Ball Mountain. The first six miles were basically all up hill, topping out at around 12,000 feet. I felt pretty solid on this section and let it rip on the downhills going into the second aid station at 7.1 miles. My confidence was quite good.
But after the debacle at the second aid station--losing 5 minutes and more than 10 positions after being misdirected--the air had been let out of my sails. No matter, I still let it rip on the mostly downhill section from the 7.1-mile aid station to the foot of Mosquito Pass (about 10 miles into the race). I picked off a few runners, but it was obvious to me that I'd lost a lot of ground in those 5 minutes and the best approach now was to just do my best. If I tried to make up the time, I might blow up.
The three-mile climb up Mosquito Pass starts at about 11,200 feet and ends at 13,185 feet. It's on very rocky ATV road with three switch-backs. Only a third of the way up Mosquito Pass, with half-marathoners flying down the mountain (they'd run an abbreviated course to Mosquito and were thus way ahead of the marathoners), I was humbled by the realization that I still have a ways to go before I'm fully acclimated. Don't get me wrong; I didn't have any meltdowns and I was always pushing ahead hard. But I did a lot of power-walking up Mosquito when I really should have been running. I was breathing pretty hard. My legs were tired. My back was aching from too much leaning foward on the uphills--and probably the 70-ounce Camelbak that I should have left behind. I felt discouraged, especially during one mile that I covered in 19 minutes.
In Ohio, I could power up the hills. I won a 100-mile race--the Mohican--notable for its hills. And here, despite the fact that I'm knocking off weeks of 90-105 miles in preparation for the Leadville 100, I'm just a guy struggling up huge-ass mountains when in my mind I should be running up those things. I saw Matt Carpenter run all the way up 14,115-foot Pikes Peak, gliding along the Barr Trail, and, even though I'm no where near the the super-freakish talent he is, in my mind I too should be able to run up a mountain. To this, a line from "Top Gun" most certainly applies: "Son, your ego's writing checks your body can't cash!"
Well, I finally got to the top of Mosquito, marking the half-way point but really for me 13.6 miles--2:35 into the race. Yowzers! Up top, the temperature was at least 25 degrees colder--the upper 30s, I'd say--and the wind was howling with gusts of over 50 miles per hour. With nothing but some shorts and a singlet on, I was cold and quickly slipped into my Under Armour shirt, which thankfully I'd packed in my Camelbak just in case. And then I was off!
Have you ever been on top of a 13,000-foot mountain? If you have, you know that at such elevations you are mentally not there. Still foggy in the head, I powered down Mosquito as best as I could, running fairly aggressively for a guy still learning how to navigate very rocky mountain trails and warding off gusts that felt like I'd encountered an invisible brick wall. I quickly stopped to help a half-marathoner who had fallen hard. I was moving quite well down the mountain but was still in a stupor when I arrived at the 16.4-mile aid station. The route split--marathoners this way, half-marathoners that way. I was so mentally fried that I didn't even notice the sign telling you where to go, and so I had to ask. As I ran off, I heard the aid station worked tell another, "It's the elevation--does them in mentally." Well said.
Miles 16.4 to 22.4 could be described in one word--uphill. At mile 20 you're back up over 12,000 feet--yes, Ball Mountain again. By now I was running at about 9-10-minute pace. I was never really out of breath. I was just really working hard on the uphills. At 12,000+ feet, it's like you're deflated. At 13,000 feet, it's like you're completely flat. At 14,000 feet, you are in slow-motion, working hard just to put one foot in front of the other.
After the 22.4-mile aid station, I was home free, basically running with an open stride downhill for the next 3.8 miles, losing about 2,000 feet until you arrive in downtown Leadville, elevation 10,200 feet. I wasn't in the greatest of shape by the time I was back out on 5th Street and making my way to the finish, but I was nonetheless moving at about 7:30 pace, having flipped the switch to "autopilot." A storm was gathering overhead, with a light sprinkle coming down. I didn't see any lightning, but I thought about the many behind me who were going to get whacked by the system.
So I crossed the finish line in 4 hours and 55 minutes--good for 28th place. My time was more than a half-hour off my goal. Had I not gotten misdirected, I might have run a 4:49 or 4:50--still way off my goal.
Yes, I was humbled by the Leadville Marathon, but I'm going to try hard not to let it discourage me as I prepare for the Leadville 100. When I look at the numbers, I see a marathon with nearly 13,000 feet of gain and loss over its 26.2 miles, and with three mountain passes and a high point of 13,185 feet. The 100-mile run has about 30,000 feet of gain and loss, with four mountain passes and a high point of 12,600 feet. That means that the ups and downs of the Leadville 100 will be more spread out, allowing for some "recovery."
***
Bottom line is this: By August 21, having lived here for about 140 days, I still might not be fully acclimated to the Leadville elevation, but I'll be ready to give it my all. Between now and then, I think it's critical that I spend as much time as possible way up there. On July 18, I have the Barr Trail Mountain Race, which goes up to 10,000-foot Barr Camp on Pikes Peak and back--a total of 14 miles. That day I'll work in some extra running at Pikes Peak, trying to get to 20+. Sometime soon thereafter, I want to return to Pikes Peak for a second summit. I might even spend a few nights up near Leadville, sleeping in my truck. With the understanding that family needs always come first, here are my mileage goals from now through Aug. 1, when my 3-week taper begins.
7/5-7/11: 100+ miles
7/12-7/18: 110 miles (Barr Trail Mountain Race)
7/19-7/25: 90 miles
7/26-8/1: 110 miles (hopeful Pikes Peak summit)
Before signing off, I have some great news to share. My mother and brother and maybe my dad will be coming to Leadville to crew for me--as will Anne and Noah. I also have a pacer, Michele V., and hopefully I can pick up a second pacer. I think asking 50 miles from Michele would be asking a lot. I am very excited about my family being there to crew for me and take part in their first 100-mile race. I'm a little worried about them going from sea level to Leadville with an inadequate acclimatization time in Denver, but I'm sure they'll stay hydrated and there will be opportunities for rest since we'll have a crew of 3 or more.
Run hard. Run happy.
It's difficult to imagine a harder marathon. A good case could be made that the Pikes Peak Marathon is harder, as it does travel 7,300 feet up a 14,115-foot mountain. But on the way back it's basically all downhill and it does start at a manageable 7,000 feet. Starting at 10,200 feet, the Leadville Marathon isn't all downhill on the way back. It brutalizes you in both directions, bringing 13,000 feet of gain and loss and plenty of thin air the whole way, with two passes on 12,000-foot Ball Mountain and a turnaround on top of the very rocky 13,185-foot Mosquito Pass--the summit being above treeline. These passes make the Boston Marathon's Heartbreak Hill, which many consider the "toughest" hill of any marathon, look like a parking lot speed bump. In fact, the Leadville Marathon is far harder than any 50K trail race I've ever done. Ask me again in a year or two what the hardest marathon or 50K I've done is and my answer may be different than it is now. For now, it's the Leadville Marathon.
Throughout the 26.2-mile course, you're in the historic mining district east of Leadville, which is the highest incorporated city in the U.S. The course consists mostly of old mining roads and trails, as Leadville has quite the mining history. You pass by old abandoned mining facilities that are quite spooky. These are the reminders of the good 'ole days that have long passed and left a city with an extraordinary history to tell (and show) and a desperate reliance on tourism and racers. The city sure knows how to put on a good race. That's what has made events like the Leadville 100-Mile Run legendary, and it's why Lance Armstrong and others come to town every year for the 100-mile mountain bike race.
First, the basics: I finished 28th overall with a 4:55. Very disappointing. My goal was 4:20 or better. However, the conventional wisdom has it that a finish of better than 5 hours at the Leadville Marathon is very respectable.
Going into the race, I had tapered for the previous six days--wracking up just 34 miles--on the heels of a 94-mile week. So I thought I was fresh enough for a good effort at Leadville.
When the shotgun (yes, shotgun) went off at 8:00 a.m., we were off, heading down 5th Street and eventually making our way onto the mining roads going up to Ball Mountain. The first six miles were basically all up hill, topping out at around 12,000 feet. I felt pretty solid on this section and let it rip on the downhills going into the second aid station at 7.1 miles. My confidence was quite good.
But after the debacle at the second aid station--losing 5 minutes and more than 10 positions after being misdirected--the air had been let out of my sails. No matter, I still let it rip on the mostly downhill section from the 7.1-mile aid station to the foot of Mosquito Pass (about 10 miles into the race). I picked off a few runners, but it was obvious to me that I'd lost a lot of ground in those 5 minutes and the best approach now was to just do my best. If I tried to make up the time, I might blow up.
The three-mile climb up Mosquito Pass starts at about 11,200 feet and ends at 13,185 feet. It's on very rocky ATV road with three switch-backs. Only a third of the way up Mosquito Pass, with half-marathoners flying down the mountain (they'd run an abbreviated course to Mosquito and were thus way ahead of the marathoners), I was humbled by the realization that I still have a ways to go before I'm fully acclimated. Don't get me wrong; I didn't have any meltdowns and I was always pushing ahead hard. But I did a lot of power-walking up Mosquito when I really should have been running. I was breathing pretty hard. My legs were tired. My back was aching from too much leaning foward on the uphills--and probably the 70-ounce Camelbak that I should have left behind. I felt discouraged, especially during one mile that I covered in 19 minutes.
In Ohio, I could power up the hills. I won a 100-mile race--the Mohican--notable for its hills. And here, despite the fact that I'm knocking off weeks of 90-105 miles in preparation for the Leadville 100, I'm just a guy struggling up huge-ass mountains when in my mind I should be running up those things. I saw Matt Carpenter run all the way up 14,115-foot Pikes Peak, gliding along the Barr Trail, and, even though I'm no where near the the super-freakish talent he is, in my mind I too should be able to run up a mountain. To this, a line from "Top Gun" most certainly applies: "Son, your ego's writing checks your body can't cash!"
Well, I finally got to the top of Mosquito, marking the half-way point but really for me 13.6 miles--2:35 into the race. Yowzers! Up top, the temperature was at least 25 degrees colder--the upper 30s, I'd say--and the wind was howling with gusts of over 50 miles per hour. With nothing but some shorts and a singlet on, I was cold and quickly slipped into my Under Armour shirt, which thankfully I'd packed in my Camelbak just in case. And then I was off!
Have you ever been on top of a 13,000-foot mountain? If you have, you know that at such elevations you are mentally not there. Still foggy in the head, I powered down Mosquito as best as I could, running fairly aggressively for a guy still learning how to navigate very rocky mountain trails and warding off gusts that felt like I'd encountered an invisible brick wall. I quickly stopped to help a half-marathoner who had fallen hard. I was moving quite well down the mountain but was still in a stupor when I arrived at the 16.4-mile aid station. The route split--marathoners this way, half-marathoners that way. I was so mentally fried that I didn't even notice the sign telling you where to go, and so I had to ask. As I ran off, I heard the aid station worked tell another, "It's the elevation--does them in mentally." Well said.
Miles 16.4 to 22.4 could be described in one word--uphill. At mile 20 you're back up over 12,000 feet--yes, Ball Mountain again. By now I was running at about 9-10-minute pace. I was never really out of breath. I was just really working hard on the uphills. At 12,000+ feet, it's like you're deflated. At 13,000 feet, it's like you're completely flat. At 14,000 feet, you are in slow-motion, working hard just to put one foot in front of the other.
After the 22.4-mile aid station, I was home free, basically running with an open stride downhill for the next 3.8 miles, losing about 2,000 feet until you arrive in downtown Leadville, elevation 10,200 feet. I wasn't in the greatest of shape by the time I was back out on 5th Street and making my way to the finish, but I was nonetheless moving at about 7:30 pace, having flipped the switch to "autopilot." A storm was gathering overhead, with a light sprinkle coming down. I didn't see any lightning, but I thought about the many behind me who were going to get whacked by the system.
So I crossed the finish line in 4 hours and 55 minutes--good for 28th place. My time was more than a half-hour off my goal. Had I not gotten misdirected, I might have run a 4:49 or 4:50--still way off my goal.
Yes, I was humbled by the Leadville Marathon, but I'm going to try hard not to let it discourage me as I prepare for the Leadville 100. When I look at the numbers, I see a marathon with nearly 13,000 feet of gain and loss over its 26.2 miles, and with three mountain passes and a high point of 13,185 feet. The 100-mile run has about 30,000 feet of gain and loss, with four mountain passes and a high point of 12,600 feet. That means that the ups and downs of the Leadville 100 will be more spread out, allowing for some "recovery."
***
Bottom line is this: By August 21, having lived here for about 140 days, I still might not be fully acclimated to the Leadville elevation, but I'll be ready to give it my all. Between now and then, I think it's critical that I spend as much time as possible way up there. On July 18, I have the Barr Trail Mountain Race, which goes up to 10,000-foot Barr Camp on Pikes Peak and back--a total of 14 miles. That day I'll work in some extra running at Pikes Peak, trying to get to 20+. Sometime soon thereafter, I want to return to Pikes Peak for a second summit. I might even spend a few nights up near Leadville, sleeping in my truck. With the understanding that family needs always come first, here are my mileage goals from now through Aug. 1, when my 3-week taper begins.
7/5-7/11: 100+ miles
7/12-7/18: 110 miles (Barr Trail Mountain Race)
7/19-7/25: 90 miles
7/26-8/1: 110 miles (hopeful Pikes Peak summit)
Before signing off, I have some great news to share. My mother and brother and maybe my dad will be coming to Leadville to crew for me--as will Anne and Noah. I also have a pacer, Michele V., and hopefully I can pick up a second pacer. I think asking 50 miles from Michele would be asking a lot. I am very excited about my family being there to crew for me and take part in their first 100-mile race. I'm a little worried about them going from sea level to Leadville with an inadequate acclimatization time in Denver, but I'm sure they'll stay hydrated and there will be opportunities for rest since we'll have a crew of 3 or more.
Run hard. Run happy.
Monday, June 28, 2010
6 more weeks of hard training for the Leadville 100
I think this is the toughest part of the 100-mile training cycle. I have just six more weeks of getting ready for the Leadville 100 before the well-deserved taper begins. The taper officially begins Monday, 8/2, when I start to gradually reduce mileage. Two weeks out, the mileage takes a big dip and then the week of the event the mileage is non-existent as I emphasize rest, hydration and colories. But right now I'm not really thinking about the taper--I'm thinking about what I need to do in the next six weeks.
On the heels of a very tough March and April when we were in the process of ripping up our roots in Ohio and planting new ones in Colorado, things are going well. I think those two months had to be about making the transition, not about running--and so my running output dipped a little (but not a lot). My training log clearly indicates that by early May, when I finished 5th overall at the Greenland Trail 50K, I had it going again. Here's what the weekly mileage since the week of 5/3-5/9/2010 has been: 90.2, 95.2, 102.9, 90.6, 84.3, 90.1, 105.1 and 93.4. I plan to top out at 110-115 miles by the end of July and will hopefully go well over 400 miles for the month. Between now and then, I have the Leadville Trail Marathon on 7/3 and the Barr Trail Mountain Race on 7/18. This week, having done 93.4 miles last week, I'm tapering for the Leadville Marathon and trying to get this nasty case of plantar fasciitis under control. I can't say what my expectations for the Leadville Marathon are as it's run entirely at elevations of 10,000-13,000 feet. I'm going to go pretty hard and see what happens.
I think when all is said and done, I will have run more miles and many more hours preparing for Leadville than I did in preparing for my win at the Mohican 100 in 2009. And these are far tougher miles. I think that when you're training at elevations of anywhere from 6,000-12,000 feet (with the potential for 14,000 feet), running 100 miles in a week is no easy task.
I'm seeing signs that I'm in good shape. While I don't feel super fast, I do feel quite strong. Yesterday, after a 16-mile morning run, I did a second afternoon run--a 5.25 miler on a treadmill at 6,000 feet. I ran a third of a mile at a 0% grade and then abruptly moved the grade to 7.5%. Over the course of the next 4.5+ miles, I increased the grade until finally I ran the last mile at a 10% grade. I was running anywhere from 6:58-7:30 pace--and I felt very strong though I was working hard. Again, this was at 6,000 feet--more than a mile in the sky.
I know I'm training hard because it's obvious in my hunger. I'm eating all the time! Yesterday for lunch I had a huge (homemade) salmon and spinach salad with balsamic vinaigrette that hit the spot. Lately we've been having to eat a little more red meat than I'd like to (once a week now versus the previous once a month) because Noah's iron level is a tad low. But, honestly, I think training at elevation requires more iron in the blood and so maybe red meat isn't necessarily a bad thing?
With six more weeks of hard training, this is where the rubber meets the road. I've put in a lot of hard work up to this point and now it's time to amp it up even more and have my mind and body totally ready for Leadville.
Fortunately, I'll have a crew! Some members of my immediate family will likely make the trek to Leadville to crew for me. Anne will also be there but her top priority will be Noah (as he should be). I don't yet know who in my family is coming to Leadville, but I do know maybe two will be coming--either my mom, my dad or my brother. They have never seen a 100-mile race and will be in for a treat. Leadville and Western States are the two premier 100-mile races. I've heard Leadville could have upwards of 800 runners. As far as a pacer, a local runner has reached out to me and she and I are going to connect soon. I'm very excited that she's offered to help.
Run hard and run happy!
On the heels of a very tough March and April when we were in the process of ripping up our roots in Ohio and planting new ones in Colorado, things are going well. I think those two months had to be about making the transition, not about running--and so my running output dipped a little (but not a lot). My training log clearly indicates that by early May, when I finished 5th overall at the Greenland Trail 50K, I had it going again. Here's what the weekly mileage since the week of 5/3-5/9/2010 has been: 90.2, 95.2, 102.9, 90.6, 84.3, 90.1, 105.1 and 93.4. I plan to top out at 110-115 miles by the end of July and will hopefully go well over 400 miles for the month. Between now and then, I have the Leadville Trail Marathon on 7/3 and the Barr Trail Mountain Race on 7/18. This week, having done 93.4 miles last week, I'm tapering for the Leadville Marathon and trying to get this nasty case of plantar fasciitis under control. I can't say what my expectations for the Leadville Marathon are as it's run entirely at elevations of 10,000-13,000 feet. I'm going to go pretty hard and see what happens.
I think when all is said and done, I will have run more miles and many more hours preparing for Leadville than I did in preparing for my win at the Mohican 100 in 2009. And these are far tougher miles. I think that when you're training at elevations of anywhere from 6,000-12,000 feet (with the potential for 14,000 feet), running 100 miles in a week is no easy task.
I'm seeing signs that I'm in good shape. While I don't feel super fast, I do feel quite strong. Yesterday, after a 16-mile morning run, I did a second afternoon run--a 5.25 miler on a treadmill at 6,000 feet. I ran a third of a mile at a 0% grade and then abruptly moved the grade to 7.5%. Over the course of the next 4.5+ miles, I increased the grade until finally I ran the last mile at a 10% grade. I was running anywhere from 6:58-7:30 pace--and I felt very strong though I was working hard. Again, this was at 6,000 feet--more than a mile in the sky.
I know I'm training hard because it's obvious in my hunger. I'm eating all the time! Yesterday for lunch I had a huge (homemade) salmon and spinach salad with balsamic vinaigrette that hit the spot. Lately we've been having to eat a little more red meat than I'd like to (once a week now versus the previous once a month) because Noah's iron level is a tad low. But, honestly, I think training at elevation requires more iron in the blood and so maybe red meat isn't necessarily a bad thing?
With six more weeks of hard training, this is where the rubber meets the road. I've put in a lot of hard work up to this point and now it's time to amp it up even more and have my mind and body totally ready for Leadville.
Fortunately, I'll have a crew! Some members of my immediate family will likely make the trek to Leadville to crew for me. Anne will also be there but her top priority will be Noah (as he should be). I don't yet know who in my family is coming to Leadville, but I do know maybe two will be coming--either my mom, my dad or my brother. They have never seen a 100-mile race and will be in for a treat. Leadville and Western States are the two premier 100-mile races. I've heard Leadville could have upwards of 800 runners. As far as a pacer, a local runner has reached out to me and she and I are going to connect soon. I'm very excited that she's offered to help.
Run hard and run happy!
Monday, June 21, 2010
This is what ultrarunning is all about
My misadventure at Pikes Peak really changed me--I think forever. Although I successfully summitted the peak, it was a very hard journey (thanks to the snow) that left me pretty humbled and hobbled from a badly sprained ankle (that is improving). Unless you've been all by yourself above treeline on a huge mountain with snow more than waist-deep in areas, it's hard to describe what the experience of summitting a 14,000-foot peak is like. That high up in the air--well above the clouds--you come to learn a lot about yourself and what's really important in life. I now know what's important and I'm trying to walk the walk.
This past week (6/14-6/20) was one of my better weeks in a long, long time. I logged 105 miles, covering 64 miles from Friday to Sunday. That included 26 miles on Friday on part of the Leadville 100 course with Jason R. and Matt C., both of whom are doing Leadville. Matt is a childhood friend--we've known each other for nearly 30 years and our parents are very close.
As far as the Leadville course, all I can really say is that it's very challenging, as the sign above would indicate. We ran from Twin Lakes to the Fish Hatchery, basically staying above 10,000 feet the whole time. In a few weeks I intend to do the Hope Pass and Sugarloaf Pass sections, which constitute the course's four mountain crossings. There was a point on Friday where I was cruising along at 11,000 feet and it hit me--I'm running strong at over two miles in the sky, not really breathing hard up the hills. I'm getting into good shape and, while Leadville will be the ultimate challenge to date, I feel like I'm doing what I need to do to be in shape. This was especially apparent on Sunday as I was in the midst of a ferociously intense 17-mile tempo run in the Parker hills (elevation 6,000+ feet).
I've seen enough of the Leadville 100 course to know it commands your full attention and focus. As I look at what I'm doing runningwise for the next 6 weeks, all roads lead to Leadville. Both races I have coming up--the Leadville Marathon on 7/3 and the Barr Trail Mountain Race up Pikes Peak on 7/18--are about getting ready for Leadville.
I think one of the most important components of successful training for a 100-miler is knowing who you are as a runner and person. As a runner, I know that while I have decent speed, I'm not a super-fast guy with optimal efficiency of stride. At 6'2", 168 lbs., I'm a big, strong runner with a powerful stride and maybe not lightening fast turnover. I'm going to use my strength and power at Leadville, just as I did for my Mohican win. This is not a course where you let it rip. This is a course requiring strength, fortitude, gobs and gobs of endurance, and courage. Courage is who you are as a person, and it's what carries you to the finish line of a 100.
***
I want to recognize a very good friend of mine, Ted Friedman, who is doing something amazing. I've known Ted for a long time. We met through our wives in 2005, shortly after Anne and I moved to Cleveland. When I first met Ted, he'd done a few races and enjoyed running. I sensed a distance runner in him and over time we became better and better friends. I learned a lot about Ted, including the fact that in high school he and a friend biked across Ohio. He was a good friend throughout the very painful process of moving from Ohio to Colorado.
Ted paced me at the 2007 Burning River 100 (my first 100) and the 2008 Mohican 100, where he helped me get through severe knee and GI problems to finish 4th in a race I was winning when disaster struck. He finished the Mohican 50-Mile in 2009, when I won the Mohican 100, but he and his wife, Tami, were of course there with Anne, Noah and me to share in the moment when I collected my winner's plaque. Ted has been a big part of my running life and a good friend for five years and counting. I really miss running with him, Tim and the others at South Chagrin Reservation on Saturday mornings.
Over time, I have seen Ted undergo an incredible transformation as a runner that reminds me a lot of the transformation I underwent in the spring of 2007. Like me way back when, he was a guy who ran 40-50 miles a week. And then, with a few marathons and 50Ks and a 50-miler under his belt, he set his sights on the ultimate test of one's strength and endurance--the 100-mile race. Ted is running in the 2010 Burning River 100 on 7/31-8/1. He has been bitten by the ultrarunning bug.
Ted has taken the challenge of the Burning River 100 very seriously, gradually building up to weeks of 80, 90 and 100 miles. He just completed his first 100-mile week and is holding up very well. He is not content to just finish the BR100. If he were, he'd just do 60 or 70 miles per week. Ted wants more than a finish and a buckle. That's why he's training like a crazed man. In fact, his commitment has inspired me to train even harder for the Leadville 100. This past week he completed 101 miles. I, too, was at 101 miles when he shared the news of his first triple-digit week. Inspired, I went out and ran 4 more miles to end the week with 105. That's not rivalry; it's friendly inspiration.
Ted's drive to train hard may appear to be about a man taking a challenge as seriously as could be and putting his whole heart and soul into it. But it's about more than that. Ted lost his dad, Howard, to cancer in May 2000. This year marks the 10-year anniversary of his dad's passing. By all accounts, Mr. Friedman was a very good man and a devoted husband, father and member of the community who taught for a living. Ted is honoring his dad's legacy by raising money for The Gathering Place, a renowned cancer-support community, through the Burning River 100. You can learn more about Ted's "100 Miles for Life" and contribute to The Gathering Place by clicking here. The last I heard, he's close to $5,000! Anne and I have committed to a gift and I hope you will, too.
Ted has taken what is often a selfish endeavor--training for a foot race--and turned it into a vehicle for helping a lot of people in the community. I admire Ted and believe he represents what is so good about ultrarunning. Good job, Ted!
***
As a final note, I have been thinking a lot about my next writing project. You may remember that my last publication was an article about my experience at the 2007 Burning River 100 that ran in Marathon & Beyond magazine back in 2008. It's time to start work on another story--maybe about the Leadville 100 and my experience in acclimating to elevation here in Colorado. I'm giving it some thought.
I think people are fascinated with long-distance running--even people who aren't runners themselves. Our society admires runners because running is about dedication, never giving up and laying it on the line. There is a reason books like "Born to Run" and the Karnazes tales are national best sellers. It's because so many people today feel empty inside and long for adventure that will help them feel alive again. You can't experience adventure on the TV. You have to live adventure, and this takes effort and time. There are many people out there who are sitting on the sofa and don't even own a pair of running shoes, much less realize they are runners deep within. If I can make even a small contribution in turning people into this great sport, then I feel like I've done at least a little good in this world.
If you're a hardcore ultrarunner, here's a video to leave you inspired (as it's inspired me many, many times since Yiannis is one of the ultrarunning heroes):
This past week (6/14-6/20) was one of my better weeks in a long, long time. I logged 105 miles, covering 64 miles from Friday to Sunday. That included 26 miles on Friday on part of the Leadville 100 course with Jason R. and Matt C., both of whom are doing Leadville. Matt is a childhood friend--we've known each other for nearly 30 years and our parents are very close.
As far as the Leadville course, all I can really say is that it's very challenging, as the sign above would indicate. We ran from Twin Lakes to the Fish Hatchery, basically staying above 10,000 feet the whole time. In a few weeks I intend to do the Hope Pass and Sugarloaf Pass sections, which constitute the course's four mountain crossings. There was a point on Friday where I was cruising along at 11,000 feet and it hit me--I'm running strong at over two miles in the sky, not really breathing hard up the hills. I'm getting into good shape and, while Leadville will be the ultimate challenge to date, I feel like I'm doing what I need to do to be in shape. This was especially apparent on Sunday as I was in the midst of a ferociously intense 17-mile tempo run in the Parker hills (elevation 6,000+ feet).
Jason, Matt and me at Twin Lakes. Matt and I have known each other for literally 30 years--since we were kids.
I've seen enough of the Leadville 100 course to know it commands your full attention and focus. As I look at what I'm doing runningwise for the next 6 weeks, all roads lead to Leadville. Both races I have coming up--the Leadville Marathon on 7/3 and the Barr Trail Mountain Race up Pikes Peak on 7/18--are about getting ready for Leadville.
I think one of the most important components of successful training for a 100-miler is knowing who you are as a runner and person. As a runner, I know that while I have decent speed, I'm not a super-fast guy with optimal efficiency of stride. At 6'2", 168 lbs., I'm a big, strong runner with a powerful stride and maybe not lightening fast turnover. I'm going to use my strength and power at Leadville, just as I did for my Mohican win. This is not a course where you let it rip. This is a course requiring strength, fortitude, gobs and gobs of endurance, and courage. Courage is who you are as a person, and it's what carries you to the finish line of a 100.
***
I want to recognize a very good friend of mine, Ted Friedman, who is doing something amazing. I've known Ted for a long time. We met through our wives in 2005, shortly after Anne and I moved to Cleveland. When I first met Ted, he'd done a few races and enjoyed running. I sensed a distance runner in him and over time we became better and better friends. I learned a lot about Ted, including the fact that in high school he and a friend biked across Ohio. He was a good friend throughout the very painful process of moving from Ohio to Colorado.
Ted paced me at the 2007 Burning River 100 (my first 100) and the 2008 Mohican 100, where he helped me get through severe knee and GI problems to finish 4th in a race I was winning when disaster struck. He finished the Mohican 50-Mile in 2009, when I won the Mohican 100, but he and his wife, Tami, were of course there with Anne, Noah and me to share in the moment when I collected my winner's plaque. Ted has been a big part of my running life and a good friend for five years and counting. I really miss running with him, Tim and the others at South Chagrin Reservation on Saturday mornings.
Over time, I have seen Ted undergo an incredible transformation as a runner that reminds me a lot of the transformation I underwent in the spring of 2007. Like me way back when, he was a guy who ran 40-50 miles a week. And then, with a few marathons and 50Ks and a 50-miler under his belt, he set his sights on the ultimate test of one's strength and endurance--the 100-mile race. Ted is running in the 2010 Burning River 100 on 7/31-8/1. He has been bitten by the ultrarunning bug.
Ted has taken the challenge of the Burning River 100 very seriously, gradually building up to weeks of 80, 90 and 100 miles. He just completed his first 100-mile week and is holding up very well. He is not content to just finish the BR100. If he were, he'd just do 60 or 70 miles per week. Ted wants more than a finish and a buckle. That's why he's training like a crazed man. In fact, his commitment has inspired me to train even harder for the Leadville 100. This past week he completed 101 miles. I, too, was at 101 miles when he shared the news of his first triple-digit week. Inspired, I went out and ran 4 more miles to end the week with 105. That's not rivalry; it's friendly inspiration.
Ted's drive to train hard may appear to be about a man taking a challenge as seriously as could be and putting his whole heart and soul into it. But it's about more than that. Ted lost his dad, Howard, to cancer in May 2000. This year marks the 10-year anniversary of his dad's passing. By all accounts, Mr. Friedman was a very good man and a devoted husband, father and member of the community who taught for a living. Ted is honoring his dad's legacy by raising money for The Gathering Place, a renowned cancer-support community, through the Burning River 100. You can learn more about Ted's "100 Miles for Life" and contribute to The Gathering Place by clicking here. The last I heard, he's close to $5,000! Anne and I have committed to a gift and I hope you will, too.
Ted has taken what is often a selfish endeavor--training for a foot race--and turned it into a vehicle for helping a lot of people in the community. I admire Ted and believe he represents what is so good about ultrarunning. Good job, Ted!
***
As a final note, I have been thinking a lot about my next writing project. You may remember that my last publication was an article about my experience at the 2007 Burning River 100 that ran in Marathon & Beyond magazine back in 2008. It's time to start work on another story--maybe about the Leadville 100 and my experience in acclimating to elevation here in Colorado. I'm giving it some thought.
I think people are fascinated with long-distance running--even people who aren't runners themselves. Our society admires runners because running is about dedication, never giving up and laying it on the line. There is a reason books like "Born to Run" and the Karnazes tales are national best sellers. It's because so many people today feel empty inside and long for adventure that will help them feel alive again. You can't experience adventure on the TV. You have to live adventure, and this takes effort and time. There are many people out there who are sitting on the sofa and don't even own a pair of running shoes, much less realize they are runners deep within. If I can make even a small contribution in turning people into this great sport, then I feel like I've done at least a little good in this world.
If you're a hardcore ultrarunner, here's a video to leave you inspired (as it's inspired me many, many times since Yiannis is one of the ultrarunning heroes):
Monday, June 7, 2010
Pikes Peak kicked my ass
Note to Reader: What you are about to read is a personal account of my Pikes Peak summit adventure on June 6, 2010. I'm sure in areas there are factual inaccuracies. Please be assured these inaccuracies are unintentional. This is a personal accounting.
My Pikes Peaks summit adventure on June 6, 2010 was a disaster. It was a disaster because I expect so much of myself and I push myself very hard, and I am often able to will myself to achieve an objective, and yet on Sunday at Pikes Peak I fell far shot of my goal. A lot of people might be very proud to summit this incredible 14,115-foot mountain and call it a day. Not me. Yes, I am glad I made it to the top, grateful I had the opportunity to embark on this adventure, and blessed to have experienced such beauty (I mean, it was at Pikes Peak that "America the Beautiful" was written). But I feel very defeated knowing it took me 4.5 hours to summit the mountain and, with a bum ankle, I had to take the Cog Railway back down.
Have you ever gone into an adventure just kind of having maybe not the best feelings, like maybe this isn't your day? That's how I felt when I went to sleep on Saturday night and was driving in my car on Sunday morning down to Manitou Springs. Maybe it was due to a lack of sleep. The night before, we had a vicious thunderstorm that had our dog, Sophie, barking late into the night with every clap of thunder and every lightning strike. Then Noah woke up at 2something in the morning and it took us a lot of time to comfort him and get him settled back down. I woke up at 4:20 and was in the car by 4:50 a.m., zipping down I-25 south groggy but pretty excited. My goal was to start running by 6:15.
For the most part, everything went really well all the way up to treeline (about 12,000 feet). I started at 6:25 a.m., wearing a tight base layer shirt and a singlet, along with compression shorts, my Raceready shorts (for the pockets in which to store food), my Salomon Speedcross 2 trail shoes, a hat, and my 70-ounce Camelbak which I also had packed with extra Cliff bars, gels, etc. I also carried a water bottle and sported some protective gloves. I got a couple of delicious pancakes at Barr Camp ("paid" for via a donation), about 6 miles up, and went on my way, trudging along and enjoying the many incredible views that Pikes Peaks offers.
About 2-3 miles beyond Barr Camp--elevation of about 11,500 feet--I encountered a huge amount of snow that either covered a switchback or was beyond the trail--I'm still not sure. It took me about 20 minutes to get back on course and I'm not even certain how I found the trail. I was pissed--I had wasted precious time trying to find the trail.
After getting back on the trail, I realized that snow was going to be factor in my summit bid, and I knew that I had to pay very close attention to the trail or else I risked missing one of the many switchback you encounter on your way up. I kept trudging along, hitting all the switchbacks, and then finally came to the treeline elevation at about 12,100 feet. By now I was above the clouds and had just passed the famous A-frame house (photo below), which offers shelter.
When you get above treeline, you're at an elevation where the oxygen is definitely very thin. I mean, trees can't grow here! At Pikes Peak above treeline, there's tundra, huge boulders, rocks and unGodly deep snow all around you. But at this point in the journey the most profound thing you see is the peak itself--a mammoth rocky mass with huge patches of snow all around it right there in front of you. It's gargantuan, and the summit is still so far up there. As you're now confronted with the specter of oxygen deficit, you don't know how you're going to get there. I think the Skyrunner, who passed me at about 13,000 feet to my amazement, is right--in a very profound way--when he says he doesn't look at the summit as he's going up; he just takes it one switchback at a time. If you focus too much on the summit with all those switchbacks and snowy areas in front of you, you're going to lose.
The snow above treeline was brutal. It was in isolated areas, making it kind of bizarre. When you weren't trudging through icy snow that felt like razor blades cutting through your skin, you were running in a stream caused by the snowmelt on the trail. You'd be running along a nice rocky section of the Barr Trail and then come upon a huge snowy patch you have to traverse. In some areas it was beyond waist-deep. My legs are very cut-up from the icy snow. It was also in the snow that I sprained my ankle. It didn't feel like a terrible sprain at the time, but as I was navigating the snow it hit me that I sustained a decent sprain. I wished I had trekking poles for this part of the journey.
Going across snowy ridges on a huge mountain that reaches nearly 3 miles into the sky is a little on the frightening side. The photo above doesn't do the amount of snow on the mountain justice. The peak in the photo looks small. But it's huge and heavily textured with rocks and boulders and if you've been there, especially in May or June, you know EXACTLY what I mean. It's hard for me to admit it because I like to think I have some mojo, but there were areas above treeline where I was scared. I don't think I'd have been scared if there was no snow. The struggles through the snow unnerved me. At one point my phone came loose and tumbled down the snowy mountain. I nearly panicked because I was going to call Anne when I got to the top, and if I had no phone she wouldn't hear from me and might get worried. Then she'd start calling and would get no answer. What would she think then...that I was dead? I thought about how worried she'd be. I slid down the "hill," looking for my phone, and finally saw what I thought was my LG. It was just the leather case. I searched for my phone for about 5 more minutes--again, time wasted--and finally gave up. I crawled back up the snowy, icy "hill" to get back on the snow-covered trail and by some miracle found my phone in the snow on the way back up. I brushed it off and put it in my Camelbak, where it would be safe. Rookie mistake: When wading through snow at Pikes Peak, don't have your cell phone exposed. Pack it up!
I felt better when I came upon another runner who was also struggling mightily. He had bonked and was also having a hard time in the snow. This was his third Pikes Peak summit. I asked him how he was getting back down and he said he was hitchhiking Pikes Peak Highway (the road that traverses the mountain all the way to the summit). By now I'd figured I'd run down the road, thinking it was just 15 or so miles. I felt that the trail was too snowy to get back down with my bum ankle and that the road was the safer, more doable option. But, in the more immediate term, I had to focus on getting to the top and then I'd worry about getting back down. By this time, Skyrunner was long gone, but I'd seen that he too had to stop and navigate carefully through the snow.
(In case you're wondering where photos of the snow are, I didn't take any. I was too busy trying to keep going and stay safe to stop and take photos. Also, by this time my camera was in my Camelbak and not possible to grab without taking off my pack--a risky proposition in high altitude situations where you're dizzy and your head is spinning, as mine was.)
Sitting in the comfortable confines of my house, it now occurs to me what the biggest factor was during these final 2 miles of the adventure. Snow was a factor, indeed. But the biggest factor was the elevation. The elevation is what made the snow possible in June, and it also totally messed up my mind. I was lightheaded and not thinking straight. The snow seemed almost insurmountable, and it was hard to navigate, but in a more lucid state I would have done much better. I mean, I'm from Chagrin Falls, Ohio, where it snows 100-150 inches a year! I've gone on 20-milers in snow 12-18 inches deep. But Colorado isn't Ohio. At over 13,000 feet on a huge-ass mountain with more than 1,000 feet to go, it's hard to think straight and you can get rattled easily.
I stayed with this other runner, whose name escapes me, for the final half mile. We "waded" through snow that went up to my armpits and used the rocks to pull ourselves out of it. On one occasion I got stuck in the snow. I pulled on a boulder and got myself out. Coming out of the snow, we'd encounter a clear section of trail and feel pure joy. Then, boom, more deep snow! It was exhausting. I think the last 2 miles took me 2 hours.
Finally, at about 11:07 a.m., we were at the summit. There the summit house stood--at 14,115 feet. The Cog Railway, which had just sounded its horn, was about to leave and I realized then, with my bad ankle, that I might need to inquire about the train, but I also thought I could handle a 15-mile run down on a dirt road. The ticket guy told me the road down was 20+ miles. A ticket on the railway down would cost $20. I had the money and they had a seat, and so I paid my way onto the train. This marked the first time ever I've aborted a major run. But I felt like I had no other choice. I had a sprained ankle that was popping with every step, the trail the last two miles was treachorous to say the least, and this was a mountain where you could lose your life if you weren't at your best. Pikes Peak is no joke, and it is to be respected and even feared.
Riding the train down, I felt like I'd failed. I've always loved challenges and usually come out on top. Not today. Pikes Peak kicked my ass. Yes, I made it to the top and, yes, I summitted my first 14'er, but not without great struggle and a defeated spirit.
It wasn't until later in the day that a friend told me I'd summitted Pikes Peak too early in the year. The best time to summit is July or August, when the trail isn't covered with snow.
So there you have it. Without doing enough research, I summitted the mountain too early in the year and paid the price for it. I can barely walk right now from my bum ankle and I feel like I got my ass kicked by a big mountain. I need to focus on getting my ankle healed before the Leadville Trail 100 on August 21. Lick your wounds and then get back in the fight.
I'm a warrior and always will be. Pikes Peak beat me on Sunday, but it will not beat me again. I will return and achieve my goal of summitting and running back down from that mountain in one piece. But next time I'll wait until July or August. July is only a few weeks away....
My Pikes Peaks summit adventure on June 6, 2010 was a disaster. It was a disaster because I expect so much of myself and I push myself very hard, and I am often able to will myself to achieve an objective, and yet on Sunday at Pikes Peak I fell far shot of my goal. A lot of people might be very proud to summit this incredible 14,115-foot mountain and call it a day. Not me. Yes, I am glad I made it to the top, grateful I had the opportunity to embark on this adventure, and blessed to have experienced such beauty (I mean, it was at Pikes Peak that "America the Beautiful" was written). But I feel very defeated knowing it took me 4.5 hours to summit the mountain and, with a bum ankle, I had to take the Cog Railway back down.
Have you ever gone into an adventure just kind of having maybe not the best feelings, like maybe this isn't your day? That's how I felt when I went to sleep on Saturday night and was driving in my car on Sunday morning down to Manitou Springs. Maybe it was due to a lack of sleep. The night before, we had a vicious thunderstorm that had our dog, Sophie, barking late into the night with every clap of thunder and every lightning strike. Then Noah woke up at 2something in the morning and it took us a lot of time to comfort him and get him settled back down. I woke up at 4:20 and was in the car by 4:50 a.m., zipping down I-25 south groggy but pretty excited. My goal was to start running by 6:15.
For the most part, everything went really well all the way up to treeline (about 12,000 feet). I started at 6:25 a.m., wearing a tight base layer shirt and a singlet, along with compression shorts, my Raceready shorts (for the pockets in which to store food), my Salomon Speedcross 2 trail shoes, a hat, and my 70-ounce Camelbak which I also had packed with extra Cliff bars, gels, etc. I also carried a water bottle and sported some protective gloves. I got a couple of delicious pancakes at Barr Camp ("paid" for via a donation), about 6 miles up, and went on my way, trudging along and enjoying the many incredible views that Pikes Peaks offers.
About 2-3 miles beyond Barr Camp--elevation of about 11,500 feet--I encountered a huge amount of snow that either covered a switchback or was beyond the trail--I'm still not sure. It took me about 20 minutes to get back on course and I'm not even certain how I found the trail. I was pissed--I had wasted precious time trying to find the trail.
After getting back on the trail, I realized that snow was going to be factor in my summit bid, and I knew that I had to pay very close attention to the trail or else I risked missing one of the many switchback you encounter on your way up. I kept trudging along, hitting all the switchbacks, and then finally came to the treeline elevation at about 12,100 feet. By now I was above the clouds and had just passed the famous A-frame house (photo below), which offers shelter.
When you get above treeline, you're at an elevation where the oxygen is definitely very thin. I mean, trees can't grow here! At Pikes Peak above treeline, there's tundra, huge boulders, rocks and unGodly deep snow all around you. But at this point in the journey the most profound thing you see is the peak itself--a mammoth rocky mass with huge patches of snow all around it right there in front of you. It's gargantuan, and the summit is still so far up there. As you're now confronted with the specter of oxygen deficit, you don't know how you're going to get there. I think the Skyrunner, who passed me at about 13,000 feet to my amazement, is right--in a very profound way--when he says he doesn't look at the summit as he's going up; he just takes it one switchback at a time. If you focus too much on the summit with all those switchbacks and snowy areas in front of you, you're going to lose.
The snow above treeline was brutal. It was in isolated areas, making it kind of bizarre. When you weren't trudging through icy snow that felt like razor blades cutting through your skin, you were running in a stream caused by the snowmelt on the trail. You'd be running along a nice rocky section of the Barr Trail and then come upon a huge snowy patch you have to traverse. In some areas it was beyond waist-deep. My legs are very cut-up from the icy snow. It was also in the snow that I sprained my ankle. It didn't feel like a terrible sprain at the time, but as I was navigating the snow it hit me that I sustained a decent sprain. I wished I had trekking poles for this part of the journey.
Going across snowy ridges on a huge mountain that reaches nearly 3 miles into the sky is a little on the frightening side. The photo above doesn't do the amount of snow on the mountain justice. The peak in the photo looks small. But it's huge and heavily textured with rocks and boulders and if you've been there, especially in May or June, you know EXACTLY what I mean. It's hard for me to admit it because I like to think I have some mojo, but there were areas above treeline where I was scared. I don't think I'd have been scared if there was no snow. The struggles through the snow unnerved me. At one point my phone came loose and tumbled down the snowy mountain. I nearly panicked because I was going to call Anne when I got to the top, and if I had no phone she wouldn't hear from me and might get worried. Then she'd start calling and would get no answer. What would she think then...that I was dead? I thought about how worried she'd be. I slid down the "hill," looking for my phone, and finally saw what I thought was my LG. It was just the leather case. I searched for my phone for about 5 more minutes--again, time wasted--and finally gave up. I crawled back up the snowy, icy "hill" to get back on the snow-covered trail and by some miracle found my phone in the snow on the way back up. I brushed it off and put it in my Camelbak, where it would be safe. Rookie mistake: When wading through snow at Pikes Peak, don't have your cell phone exposed. Pack it up!
Notice the reservoir.
I felt better when I came upon another runner who was also struggling mightily. He had bonked and was also having a hard time in the snow. This was his third Pikes Peak summit. I asked him how he was getting back down and he said he was hitchhiking Pikes Peak Highway (the road that traverses the mountain all the way to the summit). By now I'd figured I'd run down the road, thinking it was just 15 or so miles. I felt that the trail was too snowy to get back down with my bum ankle and that the road was the safer, more doable option. But, in the more immediate term, I had to focus on getting to the top and then I'd worry about getting back down. By this time, Skyrunner was long gone, but I'd seen that he too had to stop and navigate carefully through the snow.
(In case you're wondering where photos of the snow are, I didn't take any. I was too busy trying to keep going and stay safe to stop and take photos. Also, by this time my camera was in my Camelbak and not possible to grab without taking off my pack--a risky proposition in high altitude situations where you're dizzy and your head is spinning, as mine was.)
Sitting in the comfortable confines of my house, it now occurs to me what the biggest factor was during these final 2 miles of the adventure. Snow was a factor, indeed. But the biggest factor was the elevation. The elevation is what made the snow possible in June, and it also totally messed up my mind. I was lightheaded and not thinking straight. The snow seemed almost insurmountable, and it was hard to navigate, but in a more lucid state I would have done much better. I mean, I'm from Chagrin Falls, Ohio, where it snows 100-150 inches a year! I've gone on 20-milers in snow 12-18 inches deep. But Colorado isn't Ohio. At over 13,000 feet on a huge-ass mountain with more than 1,000 feet to go, it's hard to think straight and you can get rattled easily.
Probably the day's most dramatic photo.
I stayed with this other runner, whose name escapes me, for the final half mile. We "waded" through snow that went up to my armpits and used the rocks to pull ourselves out of it. On one occasion I got stuck in the snow. I pulled on a boulder and got myself out. Coming out of the snow, we'd encounter a clear section of trail and feel pure joy. Then, boom, more deep snow! It was exhausting. I think the last 2 miles took me 2 hours.
Finally, at about 11:07 a.m., we were at the summit. There the summit house stood--at 14,115 feet. The Cog Railway, which had just sounded its horn, was about to leave and I realized then, with my bad ankle, that I might need to inquire about the train, but I also thought I could handle a 15-mile run down on a dirt road. The ticket guy told me the road down was 20+ miles. A ticket on the railway down would cost $20. I had the money and they had a seat, and so I paid my way onto the train. This marked the first time ever I've aborted a major run. But I felt like I had no other choice. I had a sprained ankle that was popping with every step, the trail the last two miles was treachorous to say the least, and this was a mountain where you could lose your life if you weren't at your best. Pikes Peak is no joke, and it is to be respected and even feared.
At the summit house, a smiling though defeated man.
Riding the train down, I felt like I'd failed. I've always loved challenges and usually come out on top. Not today. Pikes Peak kicked my ass. Yes, I made it to the top and, yes, I summitted my first 14'er, but not without great struggle and a defeated spirit.
It wasn't until later in the day that a friend told me I'd summitted Pikes Peak too early in the year. The best time to summit is July or August, when the trail isn't covered with snow.
So there you have it. Without doing enough research, I summitted the mountain too early in the year and paid the price for it. I can barely walk right now from my bum ankle and I feel like I got my ass kicked by a big mountain. I need to focus on getting my ankle healed before the Leadville Trail 100 on August 21. Lick your wounds and then get back in the fight.
I'm a warrior and always will be. Pikes Peak beat me on Sunday, but it will not beat me again. I will return and achieve my goal of summitting and running back down from that mountain in one piece. But next time I'll wait until July or August. July is only a few weeks away....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)