Monday, October 27, 2014

Bad Apple Ultra 12 Hour--RR


If I was going to do the 12 hour race, I’d have to leave my house by about 3:15am so I could do the 2 hour drive, sign up and start at 6am. If I was going to do the 6 hour race, I could sleep in and not have to leave until 9am, which would get me there by 11am so that I could start at noon. I set my alarm for 3am, got to sleep early, and would see how I’d feel in the morning. I’d be a game time decision.

I woke up at 2:45am, and thought, “Well, I could try and sleep for 15 minutes, get up at 3, leave and do the 12 hour. Who am I kidding? Sleep for 15 minutes? No, if I’m going to get up and do this, I might as well get up now. Although, I’m really super comfortable, and warm, and tired, plus I can sleep in, still do the 6 hour and have a fine day of running, complete a marathon, it's all good. I’m not really in ‘12 hour’ shape anyway; heck I’m barely in 10k shape! Besides, I haven’t had any exceptionally good Long Races all year. On the other hand, if I did the 12 hour, am ‘just not feeling it’ and want to quit early, I’d have the flexibility of being able to quit whenever I wanted. Still, this is crazy, getting up this early to drive 2 hours to spend the money and do a race I’m not anywhere near adequately trained for? No way, I’m going back to sleep.”

Which meant that I was now wide awake at 2:50am, so there was no point in lying awake for the next hour hemming and hawing about why I should’ve gone ahead and left so that I could start at 6am for the 12 hour. Such is the mind of an ultra-marathon runner. So I got up, ate some yogurt, packed, made a bullet coffee and hit the road. The highways are blissfully free and clear of cars between 3am and 5am. Obviously there was a serious concern about deer and I did see one on the side of the road, but there were no incidents. I arrived, signed up, geared up and prepared to go. A last minute sit in the men’s room was critically important but I had to sprint to the starting line and everybody was just taking off as I arrived. Off we went into the dark.

The course was a 4 mile loop consisting of a combination of dirt roads, 2 track ‘roads’ through apple orchards and pumpkin fields, and a couple sections of single track. I’ve had plenty of experience running in the dark, but for some reason, I’ve not had too many problems seeing. Wearing two little headlamps, I thought I’d be ok…but between the unfamiliarity of this course, the clouds blocking any moonlight and just the seeming dimness of my lights, I couldn’t see worth a darn. Had to take it slow, feel my way through (especially on the single track section) and try not to get lost.

I got lost, but it wasn’t for very long. I basically missed a turn and ended up on a road to nowhere, but since I didn’t see any additional flag markers I had the wherewithal to turn around fairly quickly and get back on track. Only added about ¼ miles to my day. It was a relief when I finished my first loop, but it was still very dark when I headed out for my second loop. Legs felt good, energy was decent.

Second loop I got lost, in the woods. I missed a sharp turn and for a brief moment thought I might be seriously in a dead zone where I’d have to wait an hour for daylight. A brief pit-in-stomach moment passed before I was back on track. Either my headlamps were getting dimmer or I was getting blinder. Really hoping for light at this point. Finally light came on the third loop and I was able to start seeing the footing, the flags, the course, the apples and pumpkins.

One thing I really tried to do right from the start, since I was concerned about being woefully undertrained, was to walk even just the slightest uphills and only run slowly, lightly, on the flats and downhills. The longer I kept jogging (and not walking), the better I thought I might do. The goal was somewhere in the 40 mile range, around 10-12 loops. 48 miles would be a very good day.

The fall leaves were on full display, the clouds parted mid-morning and it became a sunny, beautiful day…except for the wind. When we were running with the wind at our backs, it was perfect and even got a little warm. Running into the wind was brutal. All morning and all afternoon. Loop after loop. And every loop finished with an uphill section dead into the wind. Yes a little wind is nice to help keep you cool and dry, but fighting it for hours and hours got really old for me.

The orchard soon became a bustling hub of activity with all kinds of folks all over the place—out in the fields, on tractor rides, at the pony rides, in the parking lots, young, old, medium, everywhere. They pretty much all had the same bemused, uncertain curiosity looking at us, like we were a strange native species that they’d never really seen before (which we were).

Just as I was starting to hit 22-24 miles or so I struggled a bit, but it was short-lived and I kept going along nicely. My slow and easy start must have been paying dividends. One drawback to the morning was my shoes, which were no good, so I changed them out with a different pair and almost immediately my feet felt better. Simply going to a different model/year of the same brand of shoe can make a big difference. After passing the marathon point and approaching 50k the 6 hour starters assembled, began and joined us on the course. They all looked so clean, fresh, virginal without any signs of sweat or fatigue. It was cute. I thought about how my fellow 12 hour competitors and I probably looked exactly like that 6 hours ago when we started, but it would’ve been too dark out to notice.

Seemed like I saw a lot of folks over and over, either blowing by me or who were walking while I passed. Every single chance I got I said “Hi”, “Good job”, “Looking strong” etc. Karma may or may not be a real thing but in a race like that you need all the help you can get and besides, they were saying the same things right back to me. We’re all fighting the same battles and are on the same team, no matter what loops we were on. A lot of really wonderful people out there.

As the afternoon started to age I noticed something extraordinary; I was still running pretty much just as strong as when I’d started. Thanks to my very short stops at the aid stations I was also doing well on time, and as the loops ticked away I started to see 48 miles as a very realistic goal, with plenty of time left over in case I hit a rough patch and needed to walk a lap or two. I was having a good day.

4 miles is a good distance for a loop ultra because on the one hand there is plenty of distance and variety so that things don’t get monotonous, while on the other hand you’re regularly returning to the home base so there’s the frequent sense of consistent accomplishment. After 8 laps I thought, “Heck, Richie, only 5 more loops and I’ll have 52 miles. I definitely think I can break the 50 mark. Maybe I really am having a good day. Although I sure am getting sick of that wind. Ugh. I mean, man, come on, give it a rest already…”

For a bit I was concerned about dehydration, but then I got my fluid intake back up a bit and was fine. My food intake was less than it’d been at past races but this day it didn’t seem to be an issue. By now the 3 hour people were on the course were with us. A couple of them just flew by, it was quite a sight. And still I was running, even during loop 10, 11, 12. By this point it was no longer just a good day; I was having an epic day, one of the best races of my life. 13 loops would now be assured, and I was even entertaining thoughts of 14.

But I was also hurting. My hips, right ankle, feet, back, shoulder, IT band, all the usual suspects. And I knew I would have to drive all the way back to Flint after it was over. If I quit at 13 it would mean I’d have 52 miles which was still awesome and a very successful day. I could be on the road by 5:45pm, get home with plenty of time to clean up, relax, have a victory scotch and reflect on my day.

But…56 would sound so much better! Such is the mind of an ultra-marathon runner. Besides, how many more opportunities would I get like this? I literally was flying along effortlessly, figured I had another 30 or 40 miles in me if the need arose, and days like this just don’t come along very often at all. And most importantly, if I didn’t head back out for that 14th loop, I’d regret it for the rest of my life. That settled it. This was my day and I would not be denied. So I refilled my bottle and headed back out. Last lap was the most enjoyable, and the perfect ending to a dream day.

Final tally was 56 miles in about 12:15. I give it an A+. Maybe I was just delirious from the endorphins and sugary gels/beans/chews, but wow… If everyone felt like this during every run, every single person on earth would be a runner. This was my version of a BQ, sub 4:00 mile, summiting Mt. Everest or dating Katy Perry. Kudos to the race director(s) and volunteers, they did a spectacular job. I don’t know if I’ll ever go back to this race because I’d hate to tarnish the memory. For once in my short ultra life, it all came together. I spent the day running on magic legs.  

Sunday, September 28, 2014

Hungerford Games Marathon--RR


INTRO

This would be my 19th race of marathon distance or above. And once again, distance running found a way to be humbling.

The race was The Hungerford Games in Big Rapids, MI. I planned on staying at Nirvana, a “town” 30 minutes away where I have use of a cabin on the bank of the Pere Marquette river. It’s late September so the salmon are coming upstream to spawn, rot and die. I saw at least a couple dozen. It’s heart-racing as a fisherman to see 10-15 pound king salmon swimming by in 1 foot of water.

My prior race was the 100k at Run Woodstock 3 weeks prior, where I had a great race, finished strong and felt invincible. About 10 days after that race I went for a run and proceeded to sprain my ankle. It wasn’t a devastating sprain, but it was of the high-ankle variety and I was limping for several days after. So, zero running, zero walking in the 8 days leading up to this race. In fact, really just a single 3 miler in the 3 weeks leading up. Probably not good, but apparently you only lose 1-2% of your training if you take 3 weeks off. I’d be fine.

On my drive up I saw a semi overturned on it’s side. Part of the payload had broken through the roof and spilled out. It was trying to pull into a business but cut the turn too close, back wheel went in the ditch next to the entrance and down she went. Not something you see every day.

The weather was beautiful, mid-70’s and sunny, leaves were starting to turn, it was Pure Michigan to make Tim Allen proud. Hadn’t rained in at least a week, so everything would be nice & dry. I went to bed unusually early after setting the alarm on my phone, which, it turns out, was set to PM instead of AM, so I overslept by about an hour. Fortunately I woke up at all, got moving and got to the race with plenty of time to spare.

 

RACE

They bused us out to the start, about ½ a mile from the finish. It was cute, my first school bus ride since I was a teenager. There were about 40 runners on the bus; we launched spit wads at each other, worried about the quiz in 3rd hour biology and talked about what we would do at recess today. I decided to do this race without music, which I ended up regretting. However it was such a beautiful day, birds were chirping, plus I’d be able to hear cars coming which is always nice when a race is 100% on roads.

My “A” goal was sub 5:00, B goal was sub 5:30, C goal was just finish, but I felt good so the initial plan was the A goal. We lined up, gun went off and off we went. A short way in we came to an uphill. This would become a recurring theme; I figured there would be some hills, but in fact there were WAY more hills than I thought there would be. I should’ve started hiking the ups at the start, but I didn’t think there would be that many. Plus this was my 19th Marathon-Or-More, I was invincible and thought I would try to run the whole thing and be a tough guy.

The early part of the course went from pavement to dirt road to seasonal road. It got a little rough in a couple spots where the ruts in the seasonal 2 tracks were deep and sometimes muddy. I can’t imagine what they get like after heavy rains. Still it was all pretty negotiable, sandy but not too bad.

Then we came to a stretch of powerline two-track, where the sand went from sandy to deep & mushy. This was the hardest part of the course because it was all hills, and all mush. With footing like that you trash your feet more than you might expect, tweaking the tendons/joints/ligaments a little with each step. Amazingly I didn’t re-sprain my ankle. However, when I got done with that stretch I had to reassess. No more running the whole course. In fact I was already pretty beat-up with still 19 more miles to go.

More seasonal road followed, then a long stretch of flat dirt road through the countryside. This was where I wished I wasn’t so beat up, because it was very runnable and I could’ve made some nice time through here. But I was beat up & beat down, and only just heading into the halfway point. This is where I missed a turn, the volunteers yelled at me & got me headed the right way, then I missed another turn about a mile later. Thankfully one of the other runners behind me yelled to me and got me back on track. Some days it’s just not your day, I thought to myself, and today was one of those days. I tried to enjoy the countryside, enjoy the weather, enjoy the damn birds chirping but it was hard to do because all I thought about was the pain. I wanted to stop, quit, go back to the cabin and play with my phone or something.

At mile 16 I thought to myself ok, 10 more miles to McDonalds, since there was a McDonalds on the way back to the cabin. A buddy of mine wrote a song many years ago called “One More Mile To McDonalds”, and for the next two hours that song was stuck in my head. Each time I passed one of the mile markers, “8 more miles…” etc. Then I got a different song stuck in my head: “I’ve seen better days, I’ve been the star of many plays, I’ve seen better days” and then the Game Over riff. Over and over. It’s always a good idea to wear headphones and have music available to listen to for this very reason.

Leaving a seasonal road to enter a regular dirt road I saw a pickup truck that tried to take a turn into a campground, but he cut it too tight and had slid into a ditch a little. 7 or 8 people standing around, coming up with a plan to get him unstuck. I thought, wow, that’s twice in two days that I’ve seen the end result of a badly negotiated turn. ½ a mile later I saw a third minor disaster, where a pickup pulling a horse trailer had it’s trailer in the ditch. He tried pulling it out but he’d spun his wheels so bad it just dug ruts in the road. Thankfully there weren’t any horses in the trailer. Still, 3 separate 1 vehicle accidents in 24 hours.

I was starting to feel like a car wreck myself as I plodded on past mile 20, 21, 22. Couldn’t run any of the uphills at this point, had to walk them. My feet were on fire, my IT band was flaring up badly, my hip was bothering me a little, it was getting hot out. I’m a little embarrassed with myself for all of this whining and self-pity but it’s an accurate depiction and it was all I could think about. I felt like one of those salmon, rotting and withering away, dying a cruel and painful death as I swam/ran uphill/upstream to seal my fate and succumb to an unceremonious death that would finally put me out of my misery. At last, the final mile. “One more mile, to McDonalds…”, I’ve seen better days…”. Finished in 5:25, got my awesome finisher’s medal, so glad it was over.

When driving back to the cabin I missed my exit.

All of those 19 races were hard, but this one felt like one of the hardest for some reason. Maybe it was the course (fear the mush!), maybe it was the completely staying off my feet for all of that time leading up to the race. Maybe I went out too fast. Maybe I should’ve walked some of those early uphills. Maybe I should’ve walked more in general early in the race. Maybe I should’ve listened to music. Maybe it was all of those things. It was a stern reminder that these races can be very humbling, and that it is never, ever a good idea to go into one of these events with a tough guy invincible attitude. I’ll give myself one day to lick my wounds, reflect, watch the salmon…and then figure out when & where the next long race will be.

Sunday, September 7, 2014

Run Woodstock 100k--RR


When I showed up for this year’s Run Woodstock race in Pinckney, MI and started feeling the vibe and getting into the experience of the race, I almost immediately felt a twinge of disappointment because I was ‘only’ doing the 100k and not the 100 mile. Now, don’t get me wrong, 62 miles is a no little baby joggie; it’s a plenty long ways. But for an event like this, it’s a 100 miler, and everything is geared towards those 100 milers, as it should be. They’re the main attraction, and I lamented not being a part of that main event like I was last year. Fortunately it was still an ‘ultra’, and had all the ingredients necessary for a good ultra experience—humor, danger, religiosity and hallucinations.

11 days prior, I registered for the race. One day later I looked at the 10 day forecast on the Weather Channel website; it called for upper 80’s and thunderstorms on race day. So I checked back pretty much each day until race day and it continued to say the same thing, day after day, culminating in a high of 90 (hottest day of the year) and pretty much a 100% chance of storms, rain, etc. Clearly things would start ugly and stay ugly out there.

I did this race a few years ago when they got the epic monsoons that literally flooded certain parts of the trail in as much as a foot or more of water. That year I was attempting my first 100 Miler; the rain broke my spirit and I ended up dropping to the 50 mile. The difference this year was that I would “only” be doing the 100k, so I could endure any storms and finish.

The morning of the event (which would start later in the afternoon at 4pm and goes all night, mostly in the dark) I bought a rain jacket and a newer headlamp, both of which proved to be poor purchases. The jacket was really just annoying, and the headlamp wasn’t nearly bright enough. 18 lumens is nowhere near adequate for trail running. I recall seeing a 90 lumens option at the store, which would’ve been much more effective.

So we had our pre-race meeting at 3:00pm, then starting at 3:05 we all had to sit there and fidget, worry, wonder, look at the radar on our phones, take selfies, prepare and wait around to start. They should have their pre-race meeting at 3:45. Just a thought.
 

Finally we lined up, started at 4:00 and I just started roasting. 90 degrees with a heat index of 98 is too hot for running, period. Unless it’s the Badwater 135, which is a small field of mostly elite runners that have rolling crews available to help runners in trouble during any part of the race and has since been banned from existence for being far too dangerous to human health because of the heat…but that’s off-topic. So I was dehydrated an hour into the race, cooking like pork tenderloin and despite otherwise well stocked aid stations, for the first three hours I couldn’t get any ice. If a race is going to be held on a 90 degree day, every aid station needs to have ice. Just another thought.

Because I was literally baking on my feet, the first loop was unusually unenjoyable, even though it was my fastest loop by far. It was appropriate that I was wearing an orange hat, orange shirt and orange calf sleeves (a.k.a. “calf panties”) because I literally felt like I was a 170 pound campfire chugging through the forest. Barbecued Ultrarunner. Alright I’ll stop with the descriptions. Eventually I did get some ice, in my hat and in my hydration pack. There is nothing on this earth better than ice cold water when you’re on the verge of heatstroke. It saved my race, and maybe my life.

As I was reaching the end of that first loop, the cold front came through. Winds of up to 70 miles an hour swirled, trees were falling, dust was flying, branches were dropping, I may have seen a small partial tornado, it was a wild environment. A tree branch about an inch in diameter bashed me hard square in the mouth (I actually caught the branch with my hand after it hit me in the face, that’s how I know how big it’s diameter was). It didn’t break the skin or give me a fat lip, which strangely almost disappoints me. What a badge of honor that would’ve been, coming into the home camp with blood all over my face, right?

Between loops 1 & 2 at the base camp, with enormous wind gusts bringing down campers’ tents and furiously flapping the tarp walls of our drop bag area, I chugged Powerade and Ensure like there was no tomorrow because I was desperately…lacking, in electrolytes and nutrition and fluids. Overall I don’t think I’ve ever drank more at a race than this one. I was also hitting the Gatorade at almost every aid station. Another check of the radar on my phone revealed that the storm didn’t look too terribly bad for us in the immediate future, but it didn’t look good for later. Afterwards the newspapers would claim it was the 10th most “impactful” storm in the past 111 years because of those winds and the power outages in created all over the state. Nice.

Darkness didn’t take long to settle in after the start of the second loop. The rain never came in a deluge, but it came. Basically it rained on & off for the next 8-9 hours or so. I was already drenched from sweat so I’m not sure why I was trying to keep myself dry with a raincoat. More than dryness, I was expecting the temperature to plunge so I thought I’d need it for warmth. You always try to plan for possibilities; this was one thing I kind of got wrong. I should’ve just run in my shirt the whole time.

I’ve always run these long races with music. However, something was different this time for some reason. What I found was that I simply didn’t want to listen to anything on my iWalkman thing. Plus I wanted to listen for thunder in case the skies were about to open up, but mainly I just found that music blaring into my ears was strangely upsetting and unsettling. So I started running this loop with no music, and whether it was a result of this or not, I settled into a wonderful, blissful running “flow”. Fellow runners who’ve been there will know why I say it’s hard to describe, but basically it was a zen-like purity, like I was running for God or something. Of course the old familiar “ultra-ache” was still there, I acknowledged it, worked within it’s confines and just ran. There was a profound yet understated magic to it. All of my problems, my anxieties, my job, my failures, any and every thing about my entire life faded and dissolved into nothing. I was left with nothing but my body, the moment, the rhythmic steps, the trail and surrounding environment, and breathing. It was beautiful beyond words, but the beauty of it wasn’t the point. I was completely living in the moment, but I also was transcending the moments and the reality of the situation. See? It’s hard to describe. All I know is, at one stretch I did an hour that felt like 5 minutes, and then another 2 hours that felt like 5 minutes. This was despite the nagging, incessant rain which, at the time, did not matter at all to me. Even the mud wasn’t a problem. I felt like a shaman, or the Dali Lama. I was Buddha wearing Brooks Adrenaline GTS running shoes. Granted I’ve “only” been running for about 7 years, and they’ve been productive years resulting in 4 marathons, 13 ultras and countless shorter races and runs. But never, in all of that time, have I felt this ‘flow’ in quite this way.

One lesson that I learned from my completed 100 miler last year was: MIND YOUR FEET. When I packed my stuff for this race, it seemed like overkill but without really thinking I packed three pairs of running shoes and like 5-6 pairs of socks; this ended up being the smartest thing I did.  Since I don’t run with gaiters, I always get sand gathering between my socks and feet. Combining sand with heat and moisture and friction from running is a recipe for disaster. So between loop 2 & 3 I cleaned up my feet, switched socks and switched shoes. Went through a lot of shoes but so what. This was huge.
 

Loop 3 was not particularly good for me, but it was also maybe the most interesting, or at least eventful. When your lighting is bad, and you’re running through the forest from midnight to 4am, your eyes can play fun little tricks on you. At one point I saw a catfish which, upon closer inspection, had a striking resemblance to a curved rock embedded in the trail. I also saw a nice trout swimming downstream/downtrail. Perhaps the fish sightings were a side effect of having spent the past several hours running in rain, puddles and mud. But then I also saw a cat (plastic bag), a mini statue of Frankenstein and a goat (tree trunks) so maybe not.

If you run ultras long enough, you’ll see someone throw-up. Just past one of the aid stations, this poor girl didn’t just retch a little dry heave; it was projectile, a massive purge. I was hoping it would help her be able to start fresh (a good barf can do wonders for your race) but when I passed her again a few hours later she did not sound good at all. That was during loop 2; on loop 3, in almost the exact same spot, I saw a guy doing a standing/squatting dump next to the trail. This is a very Human sport, and being human is not always pretty. I heard numerous farts, probably because I was running without music. My excessively “human” trait is that I belch, loudly and often. If any of my fellow competitors end up reading this, I hope it didn’t bother you too much.

My Flow on loop 3 wasn’t nearly as religious or nirvanic but I was still able to run fairly well and made decent progress. Normally I have no issues with my stomach but on loop 3 my belly was not feeling good at all. Nothing looked appealing; salty, sugary, gels, any kind of drink, all of it was gross to me. Fortunately I got down enough to keep me in the game, but it was a definite concern at this point.

A stretch of the course is on dirt road. Because it was wet already and with the help of many hours of rain, the consistency of the road became something like diarrhea on top of firm dirt. The sound of running was a high-pitched splat splat splat splat. In comparison I definitely preferred the trails. At least the road only looked like fecal matter and didn’t smell like it, right?

Because of the many hours of rain, there was significant deterioration of trail conditions as well. If the trail was sand-based, it was fine; if it was clay-based, it was like the roads, almost an oily wet poo consistency and especially since it was dark those areas became very difficult to navigate. I never completely biffed but came close several times. I also stubbed my toes on roots about two dozen times. That always gets old.

When I got back to camp between loops 3 and 4 I changed shoes/socks again, chugged more Ensure, had some soup and wondered how I was going to get through that last loop because I was feeling extremely weary. But I didn’t have to wonder for long, since almost immediately upon starting loop 4 I got a second wind and suddenly felt invincible. The “Flow” was still there but now it was also combined with a new-found strength. I was churning up some of the uphills, running for long stretches, completely reborn at 4:30am. I tried to be conscious of how I was feeling, keep in mind that this was 62 friggin’ miles and not get too reckless, keep eating/drinking (my nausea was now gone) and hopefully not blow my race with this new confidence, but damn it was hard because I literally felt amazing.

Once daylight finally emerged it became much easier to run because I could now see all the nuances of the trails, the mud, the branches and roots, and navigate them much more effectively. It also stopped raining, the temperature was cool with a nice little breeze, conditions were perfect. It’s genuinely surprising how much you can run, and run Hard, on exhausted, beat-up, tired, sore, pulverized legs. My feet and hips were in pain at this point, but it was a very manageable pain and they weren’t getting any worse from the hard running. Again, the between-loop shoe/sock changes were just critical in keeping my feet from having the hotspots develop into full-blown Blister Hell.

For each distance in these races there is a uniquely colored bib. For the 100k, it was a light yellow. So as I was in the second half of my final loop, I started looking out for 100k bibs, seeing if any guys in the 40-44 age range were around and looking strong. I did see one. The Competitive Gene kicked in at this point and it was game on; there was no way I could let him beat me. Ridiculous, I know, but I couldn’t help it. So I started pressing a bit more, which was ok because I still felt great. Despite my increased efforts, he never really fell back. Maybe he was 51, or 36, didn’t matter. He was hanging tough. But so was I.

I drank a little more, ate a little more, kept running all of the runnable trail and hiked fast on the uphills. When I’m running like this I feel like my potential is way beyond the level I typically run at. Normally I always run easy because I don’t want to get hurt. But this day, I felt almost immune from injury. So on I pressed, felt great, fast, invincible, fantastic, my pursuer was getting further behind and I knew I had him beat. Unofficial time was in the 16:22-16:24 range, 1st place age group (out of like 3-4 people). I know I shouldn’t, but now I’m wondering and playing the what-if game: what if I went on and did the full 100 miles? As good as I felt, I’m sure I could’ve done it, and probably much faster than I did it the year prior. Or, I could’ve crashed & burned, especially since I ran out of running shoes. I don’t know. What I do know is, I need a nap. Maybe I’ll find the answer there.


 

Monday, July 14, 2014

Dirty Burg 50K 2014 – RR

 

 
Undertrained…as usual. My 2 “long runs” leading up to this
race were a hilly half-marathon about a month prior that was more like 14.5
miles (run at max effort, all hills), and a 20 mile trail run along a portion
of the North Country Trail near Baldwin, MI over 4th of July weekend
with almost no hills (at least no Large hills), at minimal effort. These
efforts apparently served me well enough, but still, I needed to be much
further along. Of course I’ve been undertrained ever since I first started
running 7.5 years ago. Whenever I try to train “enough”, I get injured. So in
that respect, I was in perfect shape, right where I needed to be. Night before…slept
maybe 4 hours, woke up at 1:15am. Could NOT get back to sleep. So I got up, ate
½ a bowl of cereal, grabbed my stuff and got on the road about 3am. Off I drove
for 2 long hours through the dark-but-brightly-moonlit night from Flint to Grand
Rapids, passing scores of deer that chose not to jump out into the road to
destroy my car & my morning.
Lucky.


I arrived about 4:45am, and was the first one in the parking
lot of Cannonsburg Ski Resort. Took a grainy picture of the moon & posted
it on Facebook, of course. Once the officials arrived I signed in, went to the
bathroom several times, wandered around a bit, we lined up and off we went. 30
seconds into the race I was about 7th from last place, of course. It
was good to know some things never change.

Despite my slow start, I still pressed it somewhat because I
was feeling good and thought that banking a little time while I felt good could
never hurt. The morning was warm and humid, the trail was sandy and not too
wet, and bugs were very light. I like this course, lots of twisty-turns and
very runnable single track. Only a couple of hills.

The race consists of 5 loops, 10k each. The only drawback
(in my mind) was, last year in 2013, you had to finish each loop with a hike up
to the top of Cannonsburg “Mountain”. Which made this an AWESOME race. This
year they took the easy route and went around the mountain instead of straight
up to the top. The problem this created (for me) was that because the course
was easier this year, I forced myself to go too fast in the hopes of hitting
some unrealistic PR. No mountain to climb to the top of, so no need to slow
down, right?

I soon found out I went out way, WAY too fast. My legs were
trashed by about mile 12. I decided this was good in some delusional way
because since this was a “training run”, I would have to go another 19 miles on
trashed/tired legs. Other ultrarunners might understand that because of this,
it would be a good training run because it would make future efforts seem
easier somehow.

Had one tumble/fall, rolled, almost bashed my face into a
tree. That was pretty cool. Apparently I should wear a helmet when I trail run.
For some reason I followed and ran with other runners a lot more than I
normally would, instead of trying to just run solo. Passed about 10 people
throughout the race.

I showed up to the race dehydrated, so after having drank a
significant amount throughout the race and eating every time when I should
have, I was feeling poorly. Like almost heat-stroke-ish.  The race started becoming more of a
self-maintenance event. I was on the verge of passing out a couple of times. I
drank a LOT of water, but still I ended up not going #1 throughout the entire
race. It was in the mid- or upper 70’s and humid early in the race, stayed warm
& got warmer, which didn’t help. Not good.

Got a hunk of Honey Stinger chewy running food stuck in my
sinuses somehow; ended up blowing a snot-rocket a few minutes later and
shooting that chunk of food right out of my nose and onto the side of the
trail. It was totally a highlight of my race.

During loop 4 I really started to hit a wall. No energy,
legs all beat up, had nothing left. Hurt all over. So I started having some
more of that running food, but eating it slowly. That was when the
food-snot-rocket happened. Still felt dizzy, trouble getting fluids and/or food
down. But then slowly but surely I started feeling better. Also started getting
some ice in my drinks. The ice was Huge. I’d been roasting all morning, and the
iced water was saving me.

Loop 5 I finally got past my “wall”. Started running more
and walking less. Felt beat-up-but-good. I was a new man. Kept trying to run
hard, seeing if I could break 6 hours for 50K but that just wasn’t meant to be.
Still I pressed on, trying to give myself something to be at least a little proud
of. Told some shirtless dude a few hours prior that my goal was to break 6:15,
having no idea how I would feel a couple hours later towards the end. Finished
in 6:14.

I was tired & beat up at the end, caked with sweat,
hadn’t brushed my teeth, complete disaster-area, knew I was severely dehydrated
and hungry so I soon hit the road, got some food & coffee, drove from
Lowell, MI back to Flint, MI. I was just so looking forward to a shower, a
sandwich and a nap before waking up, having a cocktail and then having a nice,
relaxing night. 

Got home about 2:30 in the afternoon, opened the front door
and found my house completely and totally destroyed by burglars. My home of 14
years had been broken into, probably between 3am and 5am. Every cupboard and
drawer had been opened, every closet door opened, every spot of floor space was
filled with stuff on the floor: upstairs, main floor, basement. Ridiculously,
the burglars didn’t take any of my valuables, only about $10 in spare change. Clearly they
were dumb, misguided kids. I even know where they live, as do the police and
our community watch group, but there’s nothing we can do about it, because the
system is broken.
Unlucky.

Saturday, May 24, 2014

Why We Run Ultramarathons

Why.

There are as many reasons as there are miles: Lose Weight! Feel Good! Fight addictions! Fresh Air! Connect With Nature! Get Away From The Spouse/Kids!

But really, why do we run? Especially the long, Superlong, multi-hour or multi-day distances? There has to be more to it than Exercise...and there is. After 7 years, 4 marathons, a half-dozen 50k's, couple of 50 milers, couple of 100k's and a lone 100 miler, finally, I found the answer in the unlikeliest of places--during a mere 1 hour-long, 4.5 mile non-descript jog on a moderately populated trail in a moderately populated part of the midwestern United States.

The story of why we run ultra-marathons starts at where we're coming from. We work 8am-5pm jobs, then have 5:30pm-7:30am families, live in lawn-mowed communities in the vicinity of paved cities, we shop for our wares within strip-mall settings and set advertisement-dictated goals; by that I mean we want the cars, the beer, the financial planning and the clothes that television or the Internet tells us we want. And all of it, 100% of it, is a lie.

I'm not saying your families aren't important. They are. Just bear with me.

When there is a planned ultramarathon race coming up, especially a big one (let's say a 100k), we don't just think about it fleetingly once in a great while. No, we Think About It. We obsess over it. We check the weather daily, check our gear, check our diets, check our schedules, check our poo, and suddenly everything in our lives will revolve around the fast-approaching race.

The last couple of nights before the race we obsess over how much we're sleeping. Any of the most minor little discomforts in the foot, knee, hip, leg, toe, ankle or ITB are given ridiculously careful scrutiny. Everything has to be perfect. There can be NO setbacks.

Then we get to the morning of the event. There's over a 99% chance you didn't sleep well the night before, which throws you off. As soon as you're awake on race day morning you start thinking about the race, the clothes, the weather, the gear, the food, and the hydration. Any minor imperfection throws you off. Bladder and bowels transition from unmentionables to Critically important factors which can make or break one of the biggest days ever. All of it has to be perfect.

On no other days of the year is this the case, only on race day. It's literally impossible for 100% of everything to go perfectly, so as you progress through the morning, you continue obsessing and end up at the starting line taking stock of just how far short of 100% you are for that particular race.

So you toe the line, somebody makes a somewhat-absurd attempt to yell "Go" and suddenly you're easing into a jog that will last for a long, long time. You get into a rhythm, enjoy the music you may be hearing, drink what you're supposed to be drinking, eat gels or real food or nothing, navigate the roots & rocks and/or paved turns & maybe the course markers/flags, maybe walk the uphills and run the flats & downhills.

You see other runners. Maybe you talk to them. It's a special, close-knit community. You're among your kin, your brothers & sisters, starting to feel the sweat, the oxygen, the air, the sounds, the life. You drink the water, eat whatever you eat, and start to feel that old, familiar, special, all-important "ache".

This is where we begin.

Remember that job we were talking about earlier? Me neither. After reaching about that 2-3 hour mark, all of those reports, emails, meetings and leveraged synergies suddenly have zero importance. The Neighborhood Watch, the shrubs, the lawn, the driveway, the porch furniture, the gossip, all are reduced to an importance-level of zero. Family still matters, that never goes away, but all the other less important stuff really starts to fade, little by little, mile by mile.

I'm kind of an idiot but despite this I've read some of the writings of people like Aldous Huxley, Friedrich Nietchze, Timothy Leary and Jim Morrison. Maybe none of these folks would agree with what I'm about to say, or they'd agree 100%, but as a result of their writings, during my little 4.5 mile trail run, I realized finally why Trail Ultramarathon running is such a profoundly spiritual experience.

Going back just for a moment to that typical morning in typical suburbia in whatever part of the world one lives in, when it's NOT race day, this is what we do: we wake up, put on a face that fits what we've spent our lives becoming, then we put on clothes that create a costume that fits what we've spent our lives becoming, then we head off to stores or jobs or places where we continue wearing those masks and costumes, and we play our parts in the great stage-play of life that we call everyday Reality. Society. Civilization. Get up, clean up, go do whatever it is we do, go home, go to bed, wake up the next morning and repeat.

Now back to the trail. We've run for a few hours, our clothes are now saturated with sweat, we've been drinking fluids and eating whatever we eat for some time now, the music we're listening to means less and less while the earth and sky and life around us means more and more. Little by little that mask we've crafted for ourselves starts to chip away. The costume that we wear starts to fade. The stage and props that help frame the play that is our lives all starts to disappear. Little by little, the "reality" that we've built for ourselves over the course of all of those years starts to vanish...and what remains in it's place is something far more organic, more true, more real than life itself. The entire façade of our lives becomes stripped away, replaced one mile at a time by that very thing we're running towards, which is, to be honest, Real True Actual Life.

Perhaps Alice In Wonderland was a fitting analogy. Start running an ultramarathon and see how far the rabbit hole truly goes. Once you've stripped away the mask, the costume and the stage of what has become "life", and bring to the forefront your true, actual Self, then you've finally started to really become Alive for the first time in months or years or ever.

Unfortunately, then you start to approach the final miles, then the finish line is in sight, you finish the race, hug your family, go back to you car within the paved parking lots, return to your homes within those lawn-framed communities, feel that creeping façade re-apply itself to your existence, and get back to normal. The dream of Reality is over, and you are back on that tired old stage playing the role of your "life" again.

But before that entirely happens you get this far-off look in your eye as you think back to maybe mile 29 or 43 when you had finally shed the cloak of reality for a few brief hours and became, gloriously, truly, for once in your life, Alive. Really and unquestionably Alive. That's the real reason why we run ultramarathons: so that we can leave our lives in order to truly live.

 

Wednesday, April 30, 2014

The Trail Marathon 50k (2014)



FOREPLAY (Training, lead-up)

Coldest, snowiest, worst winter ever, in all of human history. Most diabolical conditions imaginable for running and training for a spring marathon. Fortunately I had a secret motivator, "The Winter Running Game", an online run-tracking pseudo contest that my friend and pacer Andy Johnston created. I had to log every minute of mileage, and the worse the weather was, the more points I would get for my runs. There were three groups; I signed up for the most hardcore group and finished in the top 5 in terms of total points. It was the most I'd ever run during a winter since I started running 7 years ago. Motivation comes in many shapes and sizes, apparently.

Once the thaw started I had limited opportunities to get in my long runs. I did a couple of 15's, one 17 and that was about it. Not great training for a 50k, but my last long race was the 100 miler in the fall so how hard could a 50k really be, compared to that? Never thought I'd see the day when I thought of a 50k as a "sprint", but alas, here we are. It makes sense: back when I could only run 2-3 miles at a time, I thought a 10 mile race was impossible. All a matter of degrees. Or perspective. Whatever.

The week leading up to the Sunday race was not an ideal setup; I flew to Vegas on Monday for 3 days of company meetings, flew back and fought back jet lag, then Saturday had to spend 5 hours on my feet for an inventory. Finally got home, had some Arby's and a couple of whiskey & cokes for my carb-loading meal and slept about 5 hours.

THE DEED (a.k.a. The Race)

About mid- to upper-30's at the start. Looking at the radar it showed what I thought was a big rainstorm coming, so I tied my rain jacket to my waist. Never rained a drop. Off we went and I felt great. Ran the uphills, flats and downhills, fairly easily maintaining about a 10:30 pace, which is way too fast for me. Part of the problem was in my ears...I was listening to the first 8 Black Sabbath albums which had recently been re-released as a box set and showed up on my doorstep just a couple weeks prior. I really need to listen to quieter, mellower music when I start a race like this, so that I don't go out too fast. Elliott Smith, not Geezer Butler.

Early on I was having a weird discomfort on the outside of my left foot near the pinky toe. Not the first time I've had this. Almost feels like I need to crack a knuckle in my foot...Which I tried to do a couple of times; got temporary relief, but it persisted. Also was having left Achilles issues. I wasn't crazy about having these problems so early in the race, but with it only being a 50k sprint I felt I could get through it maybe.

Finished the first 13.1 in 2:30, which was plenty fast and put me significantly ahead of my goal (wanted to finish in 7:00). So I made a decision to take the second 13.1 much easier, particularly by walking the uphills. Almost immediately my weird discomfort and Achilles issues went away. I found that second half marathon much, much more enjoyable. Finding your sweetspot pace and maintaining it through a long trail run creates a Zen, a flow that just feels so damn right. Hills don't really matter, flats feel effortless and the runner's high is felt, and appreciated, Fully.

I was drinking plenty, probably not eating enough but I didn't need a ton of food for a race this distance. Volunteers were super nice and supportive (was that one guy at the aid station really in a penis-and-balls costume?). Course was well-marked. I was a little concerned about muddy trails but the whole trail network was in great shape the entire way.

After finishing the marathon in about 5:27 there's a 5 mile loop that starts with a pretty brutal climb...however it didn't seem as awful as I'd remembered when I did this race a couple of years ago. It was still bad, but maybe my blissful, heavy-metal-fueled trail-zen made it more tolerable. Anyway that last loop is the best part of the race for me. Just feels more remote, separate from the rest of the race and the world, a chance to cap off a wonderful morning with just a few more solo trail miles set aside just for me.

PILLOW TALK (a.k.a. Looking Back)

Finished in 6:30. Not a Personal Best or Worst, very respectable for my ability level. (This is where you should think to yourself, "I thought he was calling this a 'sprint'? A 6.5 hour sprint? 12:30 pace?? Whatev." That's what you should be thinking at this point.) Those winter miles definitely helped. There's just no substitute for mileage. I had a salty forehead so I think I went a little heavy on the Endurolytes salt pills. It was in the low 50's when we finished but I was really cold, so I didn't stand around to bask in the glow. Maybe I should have because when I got to my car to sit and rest for a bit my right leg started to cramp up pretty badly.

In the days after my legs were sore but healed pretty quickly. I put the foam roller to my legs that night which, I'm sure, helped, especially with my IT bands.

This race was another great reminder of the importance of running MY pace, all the way through. I think we all have a sweet-spot pace. God I'm almost quoting the movie The Legend of Baggar Vance when he talks about how everyone's got their own golf swing or something like that. Ugh. Maybe I'd better throw in Sabbath Bloody Sabbath or Vol. 4 for one more listen.