Week prior:
I received a couple emails regarding a "Fat Arse 50" on 12/26 at Pinckney recreation area trails, home of races such as Run Woodstock and DWD Hell. There's an 18 mile loop and a 13 mile loop, which for runners works out perfectly because if you do the 13, that's a 1/2 marathon; do the 13 twice, that's about a marathon; do the 18 and 13, you've got a 50k; do two 18's and a 13 and you've got about a 50 miler, etc. etc. And the email stated clearly that it did not matter in the slightest how far you chose to run; just show up & run as far as you'd like. In a way this was bad, because in the week leading up I would literally change my planned distance every hour or so, based on how I felt. (Feelin' old; I'll just do 13......Feelin' pretty good, I'll do the 50k......Feelin mediocre but still pretty decent, it would be cool to do a "marathon" in January in Michigan.....Feel awesome, I'm doin' 50 miles.....etc. etc.) Apparently I need structure in my life; in hindsight it probably would've been better if I had a specified distance that I was told to run. On one of those emails it indicated how we, um, really weren't supposed to be there, and if the DNR asked us, we should just say we were there for a run with some friends, not an official or unofficial Fat Ass run, otherwise they'd turn us all away. (I didn't see any DNR folks, so that was a non-issue) In other words, it wasn't an Official Fat Ass race; but then Fat Ass races by their very nature aren't really Official, so I guess it all made sense. There was no race director, no entry fee, no prizes, no trail markings, it was basically just a free-for-all. My kind of "race".
Day of:
I got up late, made a last minute decision to actually do this, left the house a little later than I wanted to, drove for an hour & once I got down there I got a little bit lost, meaning I wouldn't arrive at the unofficial 9am "start" of the "non-fat arse 50" until about 9:05. As I drove down the park entrance road toward the parking lot I saw two people coming at me hanging onto each other for dear life as they crested the top of a hill, and then 3 other folks all holding onto each other for dear life at the base of the same hill. The road had a Lot of ice on it, but for some reason I didn't really notice as I drove. I surmised, from seeing this, that the entrance road was maybe the early part of the trail (the other race I'd done in this area started at a different location, so I was a little lost at the start). But then I thought those folks probably tried to get started on the regular trail, the start of which was closer to the parking lot, but since the condition of said trail was such a disaster, they decided to head up the road a bit and jump on the trail there. They were hanging onto each other for dear life, on the Easier route of the two choices. This would be a test of survival, not endurance; the word of the day was ICE.
The previous day it was windy and very rainy all throughout Christmas Day, and then apparently overnight, before any of that rainwater had a chance to drain into swamps, rivers and/or lakes, it suddenly, dramatically froze. Right there, in the middle of the trail, in the middle of the hills, in the middle of everywhere. I would've had to camp out the night before in order to know for sure if the ice was the result of freezing rain or a hard freeze upon completely saturated woods, but I didn't, it didn't matter and I would soon learn that a dangerous amount of the trail terrain was a whole new level of treacherous, insane and diabolical.
It was like a luge course for squirrels with usually (but certainly not always) runnable shoulders on one/both sides littered with no-leaf-plants, no-leaf-mini-trees, fallen leaves and every possible mixture of mud, frozen mud, ice, snow, roots, leaves, rocks, frozen leaves, frozen rocks/roots, frozen slippery muddy leaves with a combination of ice and varying amounts of slippery snow, etc......but back to the squirrel luge phenomena. You know how on trails, there's kind of a dug-out 1 foot wide track right in the middle of many trail sections that's sunken in a little lower than the rest of the terrain, and it's kinda U-shaped? Well, imagine that part with 1/2 to 1 inch of SOLID ice running all along it. That was the running conditions for at least 25% of the entire trail. The only possible way to cover ground in many sections was to run on the elevated "shoulders" of the trails, where there was crunchy snow and some semblance of traction. I regularly did a kind of "slalom" running where I'd take a few steps on one side of the mini-luge, then a couple-few steps on the other side, then switch back for a few steps, etc. Of course, even on some of those raised, crunchy-snow "safe" areas it got slippery. I haven't been running very long, but I've never seen anything like it and never thought I ever would.
Of course, I spend a lot of time reviewing the Forum pages of RWOL, and in the past month or so I kept reading things like, "Drill screws into the bottom of your shoes," and "buy some yak traks", yada yada but I figured hey, who needs it? Me in my infinite wisdom thought for some reason that Michigan trails for some reason never freeze, at least not with solid ice. I figured they would either be covered with enough snow (crunchy or fluffy) that provided decent footing, or would just be wet with leaves, debris & etc. so that they would provide some semblance of traction and be passable. This day, however, was kind of a nightmare scenario of solid ice masked with a layer of 1/2 inch of fluffy snowcover to make for all-but-impossible conditions. I would only be able to tell if ice was coming up by long-streak-tracks made by prior runners who had slipped and/or fell thus exposing the solid ice below the newly fallen snow.
Before I even got started, as I first approached the trailhead I came upon 6 people that were debating on where Else to go, because the running conditions at this place were so impossible, they had decided they wouldn't even try it and were going to leave. Then, in Only the first 1/2 mile of my run I saw 4 other people running in the opposite direction of me, basically returning to the parking lot & giving up because the trail was so un-runnable. And I still hadn't decided on whether to go 13, 18, 26, 31, 36 or 49 miles yet. It was snowing at a fairly decent clip, and while I had been hoping to see some tracks to follow, in fact there were only two sets of foot prints in front of me. Now, 13 hours later, I realize that the "official" start of the trails was probably up that road near where I saw those few folks hanging onto each other for dear life as I drove in. But I didn't realize it at the time; I just figured they got an early start and they didn't leave any tracks because they were somehow miraculously running on sold ice.
During my first mile I came upon a very nice lady who had a map and gave me some instruction regarding the differeing 13 vs. 18 mile trails (there was no map at the trail head). Between her showing me where to go, my one pit stop and the tentative stepping on the early trail terrain, my first mile took, oh, just over 20 minutes. Uh boy. This could be a long day. It had been snowing at a fairly decent clip earlier in the morning, and by now it was coming down a little heavier. I mentioned to this gal that it would be great if we got at least an inch or two of snow becuase that could make running a lot easier. (At which point I thought about the fact that to non-runners this last sentence might sound like an attempt at sarcasm, but runners in snow-friendly regions would appreciate the sanity and rationality of this comment)
I caught up with another gal who stepped aside on the trail because she must've thought I was actually a good runner or something, but about 5 minutes later she then blew by me easily & I never saw her again. Then a few minutes later there were a group of about 6 people who came up, passed me, and then disappeared with little or no apparent effort, while, quite frankly, I really wanted to run with and talk to these fellow lunatics. I felt like I was flyin' & haulin' just to try to keep up, to no avail. Man, am I old and slow and not fast.
Shortly after this I came to the spot where, if I wanted to go 18 I'd need to go straight, whereas if I wanted to go 13 I should turn right. Based on those people going up the road holding onto each other for dear life and just an inkling notion, I figured that I missed a loop somewhere and if I went in the direction of the 18 mile loop, I'd make it back to the parking lot in significantly under 18 miles. So, I went straight, which meant the 18 mile loop. There were stretches where I was almost trailblazing as I proceeded about 4 or 5 or 6 feet right and/or left of the main trail area, and there were sections where I would take a couple/few steps on the right side of the trail, and then 2-3-4-5-6 steps on the left side, and then a few steps on the right side of the trail, etc. etc. It was simply impossible in many places, but runners just seem to find a way, which is what I did (as did others out on those trails on this day). Some guy came up on me from out of nowhere, checked to see if I was alright and then just as quickly passed me & disappeared. Another person effortlessly running way faster than me.
Despite the un-runnable running conditions, despite the cold & snow & Christmas waist-fat, I actually felt pretty darn good running during the runnable stretches. The fuel-for-the-day that I was experimenting with was FSR, which I started taking every 1/2 hour after the first hour of the run. Throughout I seemed to have a mix of really light foot falls (especially on the flats, uphills & icier spots) and heavier traction-creating footfalls on the downhills. And I still had plenty of legs at least 12 miles into my run. I fell hard 3 times (well spaced-apart throughout the run; appx. at 1 hour, 2 hours and 3 hours), and all three times it really didn't feel pretty good because I was falling on solid ice. I dreamed up a brand new idea for a shirt:
***************************
RUNNER
FALLER
***************************
As I closed in on the imaginary "finish line" which was basically the parking lot, I decided to be thankful for what I got out of this day and quit while I was ahead, so to speak, so I decided to not do a second loop. I figured if I kept going, I was only one mildly faultly footstrike away from a bashed knee cap, fractured hip, broken arm, concussion or worse. As a result of either not starting up the road a bit (instead of at the trailhead) or missing a turn early on, that 18 mile loop only worked out to 15.25 according to my Garmin. The time was 3 hours, 30 minutes on the nose. It wasn't an ultra, or a marathon, but still it was a good solid weekend long run, a 25k I guess, it was a hard run (these are very hilly trails), my feet & ITB's and hips and especially my back were all very sore and tired, and I still had to get back to Flint an hour away to return Christmas gifts. So now, forever more, no matter what kinds of running conditions I find myself amidst, I will always be able to say, "Well, I've run in worse conditions", because although I've run in all kinds of rain, snow and bitter coldness, I don't think anything will ever compare to this.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
OPSF 50 50--Race Report
Prologue.
I entered with the intention of doing my first 50 miler, but failed miserably/spectacularly, and only finished the 50k. It's fitting how I spent much of my time typing this ode to 'failure' while, across the room on my TV, Matthew Stafford was in the process of throwing 5 interceptions in order to will the Detroit Lions towards a loss to the 2-5 Seattle Seahawks.
Taper.
I sent in my money & order form for the OPSF 50 50 in early October. About 3 days later, which was 3 weeks prior to the race, I did my final long run in preparation for it--an epic 28 miles of trails during peak fall colors time in Michigan, maybe the best run I've ever done, felt like a million bucks, sun shining, nothing hurt, magic. I'd been reading about how the 'braking' action of going down hills was the thing that really trashed quads, so I practiced doing a sort of super-rapid-turnover shuffling down the hills (to minimize the braking action) and that seemed to really help...but I also felt like I was going too fast on a lot of those downhills, kinda reckless & out of control, but that was ok because I wasn't trashing the quads anymore. The morning following this epic run I had a little problem with the outside of my left foot, a twinge or niggle as the vernacular goes, curiously in the same spot where I had a broken foot as a teenager some 22 years prior. No problems the day prior while running, almost seemed to show up overnight. Didn't go away after 3, 4, 5 days. Big uh-oh. The next weekend on Saturday I tried a run for a few light, easy miles but the foot was still nagging me (not a sharp pain, but felt like it was one good tweak away from Castville). So Sunday I just did a hike on a set of horse-trails (foreshadowing), with short little jogs here & there, merely to try to keep some level of fitness. Beautiful area, but the foot was still bothering me just enough to matter. Then the weekend before the race I did nothing but stationary bike, 5 miles Saturday, 10 Sunday. So my total running mileage in the three weeks leading up to this big race was about 7 miles. The good news was, in that last pre-race week my foot really started to feel a lot better, pretty much 100%. I was a pill-popper those last two weeks taking Calcium & Vitamin D twice a day, and I like to think it might've helped (doctors, nutritionists & the like may collectively roll your eyes at this point).
Trip.
On the trip down from Michigan to Spencer, IN I noticed that the northern half of Indiana was nice & flat...but south of Indianapolis it started getting hilly in a hurry. Uh oh. I stopped in a Denny's for lunch (lots of salt on everything), and afterwards when I was about 10 miles down the road it hit me that I forgot to tip my waitress! Bad Karma? I sure hoped not, and I vowed to catch her on the way back. Gotta remember exit 34. I got to Spencer, checked into my hotel, left & got my packet (heard about 3 inches of rain in past week or so, muddy course, hard course, hilly course, about 1/2 the 50 milers would drop to the 50k, and the comment "there are some runnable parts" stood out somewhat), grabbed a spaghetti dinner from a locally-owned italian restaurant & threw 2 dollars in the tip jar (start getting my karma turned around), returned to my hotel room & got to bed by 8ish.
Race.
Up by 4am, made a couple of Chia mini-bagels for when I'd be passing by the bag drop area, headed out & got to the course by 6:15, made final preparations and dropped my bag at the start (left the chia bagels in the car in the parking lot 150 yards down the road). The course would be a 5 mile 'powerline' loop, then two 13.2 mile horse trail loops for the 50k; tack on a third 13.2 loop and another 5 mile loop for the 50 mile. The race director gave a short intro, talking about how muddy the course was and mentioned how there were several river crossings and one part was basically a butt-slide (I didn't sign up for this?! No mention on the website?!), and then off we went. 300 yards into the race I was running at 9:40 pace and was in last friggin' place! During the beginning 5 mile "powerline" loop I saw a kodak moment of a runner at the top of a hill framed as a silhouette against the myriad colors of a sunrise sky, thinking how lucky we are to get to see stuff like that. The course wasn't too bad at first but then we got to that butt-slide spot, which was a steep downhill with the consistency of refried beans...shoes were instantly muddied, all bets were off, game on, etc. The good news was, my problem foot was holding up nicely. Maybe I had a chance.
Struck up a couple of great conversations with some folks early on (one guy claimed he would be doing like six ultras, one every other weekend, just during November & December; I still don't believe him), but soon I found myself settling into my own little race. After the 5 mile loop we began the longer horse trail loop, which started out hilly and then got worse. There was a layer of leaves about 3-5 inches deep on the trails, which did a fantastic job of hiding rocks, roots, tree branches, and muddy spots. Pretty much every step along the entire course was anybody's guess; when you're running/hiking/shuffling/slogging for hours & hours on end, apparently you quit worrying about what you'll hit with each step & just hope for the best. Still, when you're first figuring this out it's a little unsettling.
For something to do I should've counted exactly how many muddy/swamp areas there were on that 13.2 loop, but I didn't, so to the best of my recollection there were about 30-40. And I'd end up navigating every one of them twice. Whenever I reached one I cautiously tiptoed around on the right or left (hardcore purists may now collectively roll your eyes, & I know I probably should've just bombed right through them), still got muddier/muddyish at many, and they always kept slowing me down, just enough to aggravate a little each time. I also stubbed my toe a couple times and took three spectacular, full-out yard-sale tumbles. I'd only ever fallen once during a run previously, but I fell hard 3 times during the first 13.2 loop (each time going downhill, shuffling my feet too quickly in order to not trash the quads as mentioned earlier, but it appears that falling/tumbling is the tradeoff to this running technique). Curiously, I came out of each fall invigorated & refreshed. Nothing like a fall to wake you up. Another little aggravation was, about 10 or 15 times my right heel bashed the inside of my left ankle where there's zero muscle/padding. Each time it hurt, a lot, and the area would be red & sore afterwards.
Weather was exceptional for a November Midwest race, maybe too nice--low 50's at the start, mid-sixties in early afternoon. I think the warm, dry conditions helped turn those muddy areas from muddy to, um, fudgey? Since the entire course was normally horse trails, each muddy area was basically a collection of deep hoofprints, and as the day went on it was determined that sometimes you'd sink (and get wetter feet), sometimes you could run along the more solid top edges around the hoof prints. Again, pure guesswork, and just a really weird way of traveling throughout those 7+ hours. The director was right--there were runnable parts, but they were surprisingly few & far between. Everything seemed to be up a steep hill, or down a steep hill. Trying to describe the landscape was tough--I felt like I was a flea on the back of a huge dog or porcupine; every tree trunk was like a hair follicle, all the fallen leaves made all of the ground seem uniform (like a brownish skin) and since all the leaves had fallen, there was really no shade. As long as the ground didn't heave or breathe I'd be alright. One pleasant surprise was the river crossings, which were more like creek crossings, no up-to-your-knees soakers.
Fuel.
At 18 miles I went the extra 150 yards to my car to eat a mini bagel with peanut butter & filled with about a heaping tablespoon of chia seeds...and other than fill me up, I'm certain it did me absolutely no good whatsoever. I'm not sold on chia; maybe I need more, or I'm simply immune, or it doesn't work.
For some reason, I decided to overly concern myself with salt before, during & after this race. Though I ate salty foods leading up to the race, ate salty foods at every aid station, and even took salt tablets throughout the race, I had salt residue on my forehead for the first time ever...and thought I still wound up being low on salts because my fingers were noticeably swollen at the finish line, but this might've been from swinging my arms more energetically towards the end to keep my tired, old, beat-up self going. I can't help wondering, does consuming lots of salt lead to salty-sweating and, as a result, salt depletion? This may warrant further investigation.
Quitting.
Since I fell so far behind on time (took an hour longer than I thought it would to do the first 50k...looking into whether the course was long...heard one guy mention it measured out to almost 34 miles, but this is unconfirmed), I decided to just do the 50k. In addition to this reason/excuse, my feet were significantly damaged from being confined within shoes that wound up becoming too small for the last 10 miles of running I did. When I started the day my shoes felt perfect; when I finished they were at least 1/2 size too small. I also had some weirdness on the top of my left foot, towards the inside, I think the Extensor Tendon along the top of my big toe, due to the hills I'm sure. Didn't want to make it worse, so I had that excuse too. And if I would've replaced my shoes/socks (which I did have time to do, but barely), I still would've ended up having to navigate at least 2 hours of leaf-covered muddy/rocky/rooty trail that I could barely handle with full sunlight using a mediocre headlamp, mediocre flashlight, no cellphone, no pacer, no sunlight, almost certainly insufficiently trained legs and enough hydration/electrolyte issues to make my head spin literally, if not figuratively. It's a tough irony--on the one hand I was really disappointed in failing and not being able to go the distance, but looking back I'm glad I had the sense and maturity to recognize it wasn't my day, salvage a 50k out of it, not risk more serious injury or getting lost out there overnight, and live to fight another day. I may occasionally think what if, but more importantly it was a good learning experience and a great training session. I obviously have much still to learn and many more miles to train.
P.S.
I stopped at exit 34 on my way back, found that same waitress, apologized & gave her a nice tip. Thinking karma maintenance is worth the effort & feeling good about being a decent customer, I continued north, proceeded to miss a turn on my way home and, in my half-delirious day-after-race stupor, went about a half hour out of my way, thus adding an hour to my 6 hour drive home...which nudges my attitude about karma more towards the Skeptical end of the belief spectrum.
I entered with the intention of doing my first 50 miler, but failed miserably/spectacularly, and only finished the 50k. It's fitting how I spent much of my time typing this ode to 'failure' while, across the room on my TV, Matthew Stafford was in the process of throwing 5 interceptions in order to will the Detroit Lions towards a loss to the 2-5 Seattle Seahawks.
Taper.
I sent in my money & order form for the OPSF 50 50 in early October. About 3 days later, which was 3 weeks prior to the race, I did my final long run in preparation for it--an epic 28 miles of trails during peak fall colors time in Michigan, maybe the best run I've ever done, felt like a million bucks, sun shining, nothing hurt, magic. I'd been reading about how the 'braking' action of going down hills was the thing that really trashed quads, so I practiced doing a sort of super-rapid-turnover shuffling down the hills (to minimize the braking action) and that seemed to really help...but I also felt like I was going too fast on a lot of those downhills, kinda reckless & out of control, but that was ok because I wasn't trashing the quads anymore. The morning following this epic run I had a little problem with the outside of my left foot, a twinge or niggle as the vernacular goes, curiously in the same spot where I had a broken foot as a teenager some 22 years prior. No problems the day prior while running, almost seemed to show up overnight. Didn't go away after 3, 4, 5 days. Big uh-oh. The next weekend on Saturday I tried a run for a few light, easy miles but the foot was still nagging me (not a sharp pain, but felt like it was one good tweak away from Castville). So Sunday I just did a hike on a set of horse-trails (foreshadowing), with short little jogs here & there, merely to try to keep some level of fitness. Beautiful area, but the foot was still bothering me just enough to matter. Then the weekend before the race I did nothing but stationary bike, 5 miles Saturday, 10 Sunday. So my total running mileage in the three weeks leading up to this big race was about 7 miles. The good news was, in that last pre-race week my foot really started to feel a lot better, pretty much 100%. I was a pill-popper those last two weeks taking Calcium & Vitamin D twice a day, and I like to think it might've helped (doctors, nutritionists & the like may collectively roll your eyes at this point).
Trip.
On the trip down from Michigan to Spencer, IN I noticed that the northern half of Indiana was nice & flat...but south of Indianapolis it started getting hilly in a hurry. Uh oh. I stopped in a Denny's for lunch (lots of salt on everything), and afterwards when I was about 10 miles down the road it hit me that I forgot to tip my waitress! Bad Karma? I sure hoped not, and I vowed to catch her on the way back. Gotta remember exit 34. I got to Spencer, checked into my hotel, left & got my packet (heard about 3 inches of rain in past week or so, muddy course, hard course, hilly course, about 1/2 the 50 milers would drop to the 50k, and the comment "there are some runnable parts" stood out somewhat), grabbed a spaghetti dinner from a locally-owned italian restaurant & threw 2 dollars in the tip jar (start getting my karma turned around), returned to my hotel room & got to bed by 8ish.
Race.
Up by 4am, made a couple of Chia mini-bagels for when I'd be passing by the bag drop area, headed out & got to the course by 6:15, made final preparations and dropped my bag at the start (left the chia bagels in the car in the parking lot 150 yards down the road). The course would be a 5 mile 'powerline' loop, then two 13.2 mile horse trail loops for the 50k; tack on a third 13.2 loop and another 5 mile loop for the 50 mile. The race director gave a short intro, talking about how muddy the course was and mentioned how there were several river crossings and one part was basically a butt-slide (I didn't sign up for this?! No mention on the website?!), and then off we went. 300 yards into the race I was running at 9:40 pace and was in last friggin' place! During the beginning 5 mile "powerline" loop I saw a kodak moment of a runner at the top of a hill framed as a silhouette against the myriad colors of a sunrise sky, thinking how lucky we are to get to see stuff like that. The course wasn't too bad at first but then we got to that butt-slide spot, which was a steep downhill with the consistency of refried beans...shoes were instantly muddied, all bets were off, game on, etc. The good news was, my problem foot was holding up nicely. Maybe I had a chance.
Struck up a couple of great conversations with some folks early on (one guy claimed he would be doing like six ultras, one every other weekend, just during November & December; I still don't believe him), but soon I found myself settling into my own little race. After the 5 mile loop we began the longer horse trail loop, which started out hilly and then got worse. There was a layer of leaves about 3-5 inches deep on the trails, which did a fantastic job of hiding rocks, roots, tree branches, and muddy spots. Pretty much every step along the entire course was anybody's guess; when you're running/hiking/shuffling/slogging for hours & hours on end, apparently you quit worrying about what you'll hit with each step & just hope for the best. Still, when you're first figuring this out it's a little unsettling.
For something to do I should've counted exactly how many muddy/swamp areas there were on that 13.2 loop, but I didn't, so to the best of my recollection there were about 30-40. And I'd end up navigating every one of them twice. Whenever I reached one I cautiously tiptoed around on the right or left (hardcore purists may now collectively roll your eyes, & I know I probably should've just bombed right through them), still got muddier/muddyish at many, and they always kept slowing me down, just enough to aggravate a little each time. I also stubbed my toe a couple times and took three spectacular, full-out yard-sale tumbles. I'd only ever fallen once during a run previously, but I fell hard 3 times during the first 13.2 loop (each time going downhill, shuffling my feet too quickly in order to not trash the quads as mentioned earlier, but it appears that falling/tumbling is the tradeoff to this running technique). Curiously, I came out of each fall invigorated & refreshed. Nothing like a fall to wake you up. Another little aggravation was, about 10 or 15 times my right heel bashed the inside of my left ankle where there's zero muscle/padding. Each time it hurt, a lot, and the area would be red & sore afterwards.
Weather was exceptional for a November Midwest race, maybe too nice--low 50's at the start, mid-sixties in early afternoon. I think the warm, dry conditions helped turn those muddy areas from muddy to, um, fudgey? Since the entire course was normally horse trails, each muddy area was basically a collection of deep hoofprints, and as the day went on it was determined that sometimes you'd sink (and get wetter feet), sometimes you could run along the more solid top edges around the hoof prints. Again, pure guesswork, and just a really weird way of traveling throughout those 7+ hours. The director was right--there were runnable parts, but they were surprisingly few & far between. Everything seemed to be up a steep hill, or down a steep hill. Trying to describe the landscape was tough--I felt like I was a flea on the back of a huge dog or porcupine; every tree trunk was like a hair follicle, all the fallen leaves made all of the ground seem uniform (like a brownish skin) and since all the leaves had fallen, there was really no shade. As long as the ground didn't heave or breathe I'd be alright. One pleasant surprise was the river crossings, which were more like creek crossings, no up-to-your-knees soakers.
Fuel.
At 18 miles I went the extra 150 yards to my car to eat a mini bagel with peanut butter & filled with about a heaping tablespoon of chia seeds...and other than fill me up, I'm certain it did me absolutely no good whatsoever. I'm not sold on chia; maybe I need more, or I'm simply immune, or it doesn't work.
For some reason, I decided to overly concern myself with salt before, during & after this race. Though I ate salty foods leading up to the race, ate salty foods at every aid station, and even took salt tablets throughout the race, I had salt residue on my forehead for the first time ever...and thought I still wound up being low on salts because my fingers were noticeably swollen at the finish line, but this might've been from swinging my arms more energetically towards the end to keep my tired, old, beat-up self going. I can't help wondering, does consuming lots of salt lead to salty-sweating and, as a result, salt depletion? This may warrant further investigation.
Quitting.
Since I fell so far behind on time (took an hour longer than I thought it would to do the first 50k...looking into whether the course was long...heard one guy mention it measured out to almost 34 miles, but this is unconfirmed), I decided to just do the 50k. In addition to this reason/excuse, my feet were significantly damaged from being confined within shoes that wound up becoming too small for the last 10 miles of running I did. When I started the day my shoes felt perfect; when I finished they were at least 1/2 size too small. I also had some weirdness on the top of my left foot, towards the inside, I think the Extensor Tendon along the top of my big toe, due to the hills I'm sure. Didn't want to make it worse, so I had that excuse too. And if I would've replaced my shoes/socks (which I did have time to do, but barely), I still would've ended up having to navigate at least 2 hours of leaf-covered muddy/rocky/rooty trail that I could barely handle with full sunlight using a mediocre headlamp, mediocre flashlight, no cellphone, no pacer, no sunlight, almost certainly insufficiently trained legs and enough hydration/electrolyte issues to make my head spin literally, if not figuratively. It's a tough irony--on the one hand I was really disappointed in failing and not being able to go the distance, but looking back I'm glad I had the sense and maturity to recognize it wasn't my day, salvage a 50k out of it, not risk more serious injury or getting lost out there overnight, and live to fight another day. I may occasionally think what if, but more importantly it was a good learning experience and a great training session. I obviously have much still to learn and many more miles to train.
P.S.
I stopped at exit 34 on my way back, found that same waitress, apologized & gave her a nice tip. Thinking karma maintenance is worth the effort & feeling good about being a decent customer, I continued north, proceeded to miss a turn on my way home and, in my half-delirious day-after-race stupor, went about a half hour out of my way, thus adding an hour to my 6 hour drive home...which nudges my attitude about karma more towards the Skeptical end of the belief spectrum.
Woodstock 50k--RR (first ultra)
Run Woodstock 50k, Saturday Sept. 26
Pre-Game: I felt like I was coming into this undertrained (big surprise, I'm a rookie, only been running 2.5 years), but I had confidence from a big peak week--87.5 miles in 9 days over the week of Labor Day culminating in a 23 miler two weeks prior to the event. Prior to the peak week, I'd been averaging around 30 miles per week in August, 25 per week in July, 20 per week in June. My build-up was probably too short & too quick, and my peak week was WAY too much considering what the previous three months had been like...but I did the vast majority of my miles slow, with many walk breaks, so I came into the event healthy & chomping at the bit after a sharp two-week taper of minimal mileage (around 10 miles each of those taper weeks). Still, unlike the Detroit Marathon in '08 (where I came in overconfident, went out too fast & blew up bad), I was coming into my first Ultra humble and scared, which was a good thing. Respect The Distance, I kept telling myself. I also felt like the fact that I'd trained on dirt roads, and not on Trails, might hurt me. It did, but not in the way I thought.
Race Day: I showed up at 6:30am, it was pitch dark out, got my bib & t-shirt, headed back to the car to prepare and get nervous. I reviewed my planned strategy of taking a walk break appx. every 5 minutes (which I ended up abandoning almost from the start), couple gulps of water every 15 minutes, and alternate Gu or Sport Beans every half hour. I was able to stick with my fueling/hydrating routine for pretty much the whole race, but in this Trail race I quickly remembered something I'd read online--walk the uphills, run the flats & downhills. The trail itself would determine when I'd be taking my walk breaks, not a watch. The course was very hilly, so I had plenty of chances to perfect this new technique.
About 30 of us took off at 7:30am, and I was almost immediately about 4th from last place. Good grief. Fortunately there were 3 people ahead of me that I soon joined and ran with for the first 10 miles of the race. Really nice people, 2 first timers (1 was a triathlete) and 1 'veteran' from Ohio who had done a 50k and 60k. I felt like I was going too fast trying to keep up with these folks, but talking to people helped motivate me & kept me moving, I felt good, and I figured if I blew up later in the race, so be it. Wouldn't be the first time! Surprisingly my golf upbringing helped me here; I channeled the days when as a young kid I would take these long, fast steps to quickly get up to the elevated greens on hilly courses. Walking these trail hills in the midst of running was a little different and would get me somewhat winded, but those long/fast walking steps were very effective.
At an aid station around 10 miles I left my group behind, thinking I would fly off for a little while, get tired and they would catch up...but this was where I really had the best part of my race. My legs were starting to get a little sore & fatigued, but they had a lot of strength to them and a couple times during this stretch I felt I was getting stronger as the day wore on. For the first time in my life, 3 hours passed and it wasn't an epic landmark, merely a ho-hum moment as I continued on. The course was beautiful; forests, lakes, leaves turning--only thing missing was Tim Allen talking about Pure Michigan. Miles 10 through 20 were epic; I flew, felt strong, knew this was going to be my day. My legs continued to get a little more sore, had one little temporary hot spot on the inner top of my ankle but that went away within a mile, had a minor tweak with my right knee that was only momentary. What I started to notice at this point was the fact that all of these downhills were destroying my quads--when thinking about my lack of training on trails I'd been more worried about poison ivy, turning an ankle or maybe falling off a cliff. This quad destruction was something my dirt road training didn't appear to prepare me well enough for. Still, at this point I felt great and was well past the halfway point.
Around miles 21-25 I started to fatigue a little, but by then I'd been running for five hours--uncharted territory, as I'd never run longer than 4 1/2 hours previously. I was surprised I didn't have a "bonk" point; I didn't hit the dreaded Wall at a certain spot; it was more of a gradual deterioration. I kept the Gu and water coming, and actually switched it up at this point by starting to walk the downhills (had to--quads shredded) & running at least the gentle uphills. Then, things started to go a little further south through miles 26-28. My zest for life was waning, my race-day excitement dying a little more with each new hill. A thought popped into my head: "This running shit's gettin' old". Still I was able to churn along at a good clip, regularly thinking that the more ground I cover, the sooner I'll be done. Miles 29-31 were Rocky Balboa time, where I was digging deep, pouring every ounce of my soul into each new stretch of trail, willing myself past a slower runner here, a walker there, essentially just running for my life. When I started to hear the music at the finish line I got a new excitement and pressed through the last 1/4 mile, knowing I had done it. I crossed the line in 6:43, hugged the paramedic at the finish line (she was the only female at the finish, I wasn't gonna hug a dude) and then had to make sure I didn't pass out as I received my medal for finishing third in my age group. Overall in the 50k I finished 21st out of 30.
Still feeling like I would pass out, I then made my way to the food tent (at the top of a hill, are you kidding me?!) and got a banana, Turkey pita and water. As I sat down to eat, completely dizzy & dazed, in absolute agony and exhausted like never before in my entire life, the Rolling Stones song "Gimme Shelter" started blaring through the speakers. I took a few bites, listened to this uncannily perfect anthem for my state of being, looked far off across Silver Lake, and thought to myself, "I'm an ultramarathon runner."
Pre-Game: I felt like I was coming into this undertrained (big surprise, I'm a rookie, only been running 2.5 years), but I had confidence from a big peak week--87.5 miles in 9 days over the week of Labor Day culminating in a 23 miler two weeks prior to the event. Prior to the peak week, I'd been averaging around 30 miles per week in August, 25 per week in July, 20 per week in June. My build-up was probably too short & too quick, and my peak week was WAY too much considering what the previous three months had been like...but I did the vast majority of my miles slow, with many walk breaks, so I came into the event healthy & chomping at the bit after a sharp two-week taper of minimal mileage (around 10 miles each of those taper weeks). Still, unlike the Detroit Marathon in '08 (where I came in overconfident, went out too fast & blew up bad), I was coming into my first Ultra humble and scared, which was a good thing. Respect The Distance, I kept telling myself. I also felt like the fact that I'd trained on dirt roads, and not on Trails, might hurt me. It did, but not in the way I thought.
Race Day: I showed up at 6:30am, it was pitch dark out, got my bib & t-shirt, headed back to the car to prepare and get nervous. I reviewed my planned strategy of taking a walk break appx. every 5 minutes (which I ended up abandoning almost from the start), couple gulps of water every 15 minutes, and alternate Gu or Sport Beans every half hour. I was able to stick with my fueling/hydrating routine for pretty much the whole race, but in this Trail race I quickly remembered something I'd read online--walk the uphills, run the flats & downhills. The trail itself would determine when I'd be taking my walk breaks, not a watch. The course was very hilly, so I had plenty of chances to perfect this new technique.
About 30 of us took off at 7:30am, and I was almost immediately about 4th from last place. Good grief. Fortunately there were 3 people ahead of me that I soon joined and ran with for the first 10 miles of the race. Really nice people, 2 first timers (1 was a triathlete) and 1 'veteran' from Ohio who had done a 50k and 60k. I felt like I was going too fast trying to keep up with these folks, but talking to people helped motivate me & kept me moving, I felt good, and I figured if I blew up later in the race, so be it. Wouldn't be the first time! Surprisingly my golf upbringing helped me here; I channeled the days when as a young kid I would take these long, fast steps to quickly get up to the elevated greens on hilly courses. Walking these trail hills in the midst of running was a little different and would get me somewhat winded, but those long/fast walking steps were very effective.
At an aid station around 10 miles I left my group behind, thinking I would fly off for a little while, get tired and they would catch up...but this was where I really had the best part of my race. My legs were starting to get a little sore & fatigued, but they had a lot of strength to them and a couple times during this stretch I felt I was getting stronger as the day wore on. For the first time in my life, 3 hours passed and it wasn't an epic landmark, merely a ho-hum moment as I continued on. The course was beautiful; forests, lakes, leaves turning--only thing missing was Tim Allen talking about Pure Michigan. Miles 10 through 20 were epic; I flew, felt strong, knew this was going to be my day. My legs continued to get a little more sore, had one little temporary hot spot on the inner top of my ankle but that went away within a mile, had a minor tweak with my right knee that was only momentary. What I started to notice at this point was the fact that all of these downhills were destroying my quads--when thinking about my lack of training on trails I'd been more worried about poison ivy, turning an ankle or maybe falling off a cliff. This quad destruction was something my dirt road training didn't appear to prepare me well enough for. Still, at this point I felt great and was well past the halfway point.
Around miles 21-25 I started to fatigue a little, but by then I'd been running for five hours--uncharted territory, as I'd never run longer than 4 1/2 hours previously. I was surprised I didn't have a "bonk" point; I didn't hit the dreaded Wall at a certain spot; it was more of a gradual deterioration. I kept the Gu and water coming, and actually switched it up at this point by starting to walk the downhills (had to--quads shredded) & running at least the gentle uphills. Then, things started to go a little further south through miles 26-28. My zest for life was waning, my race-day excitement dying a little more with each new hill. A thought popped into my head: "This running shit's gettin' old". Still I was able to churn along at a good clip, regularly thinking that the more ground I cover, the sooner I'll be done. Miles 29-31 were Rocky Balboa time, where I was digging deep, pouring every ounce of my soul into each new stretch of trail, willing myself past a slower runner here, a walker there, essentially just running for my life. When I started to hear the music at the finish line I got a new excitement and pressed through the last 1/4 mile, knowing I had done it. I crossed the line in 6:43, hugged the paramedic at the finish line (she was the only female at the finish, I wasn't gonna hug a dude) and then had to make sure I didn't pass out as I received my medal for finishing third in my age group. Overall in the 50k I finished 21st out of 30.
Still feeling like I would pass out, I then made my way to the food tent (at the top of a hill, are you kidding me?!) and got a banana, Turkey pita and water. As I sat down to eat, completely dizzy & dazed, in absolute agony and exhausted like never before in my entire life, the Rolling Stones song "Gimme Shelter" started blaring through the speakers. I took a few bites, listened to this uncannily perfect anthem for my state of being, looked far off across Silver Lake, and thought to myself, "I'm an ultramarathon runner."
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