1,000 miles to Boston

2012 was a great year for me and running. I completed my first 50 mile race. Then I completed my first 100K + (I say plus because, frankly, it was 65 miles due to a fire re-route, “bonus” miles AND elevation…thank you Waldo!). I ran the most I have in any given year (just shy of my goal of 2,000). And I fell in love with Ultra Running and trails, having been fortunate enough to land in Ashland, Oregon. I ran 11 races last year of marathon distance or longer, and managed to stay healthy. Truly, 2012 was a great year. Looking forward to 2013, I’m setting my sights higher. I’m going to run multiple 50 milers, another 100K and attempt my first 100 miler. I didn’t get into Western States as I hoped I would, nor did I get into any of the other lotteries that I entered (Miwok and Way Too Cool), but I’m determined to make the best of it…and the one MAJOR perk is that I will be running my first 100 miler in my own backyard…Ashland (Pine2Palm). It’s worth noting that this race boasts 20,000 feet of climbing and the same amount of descending. Yeah, it’s going to be a long day (or more). But I’m excited about it, and I’ve already started focusing my training on the goal of finishing it and finishing it strong. I’ve also built a fairly stout (for me) race schedule and training run combination to hopefully get me to the start as ready as I can be. As of now, my 2013 calendar looks roughly like this:

January: SOFA run (roughly 50K)
February: Ray Miller 50 miler
March: Gorge Waterfall 50K
April: Sonoma 50 miler (have you seen the entrants list for this? EPIC RACE!!!)
May (early): Gold Rush 100K
May (late): Rim to Rim run (fun run) somewhere around 40-50 miles
June: No races (yet) but working an aid station at Western States (motivation!!!)
July: S.O.B. 50 Miler
August: Arc’teryx 50K
September: Pine to Palm 100 miler

That’s what I have listed so far…I may take a bit of time off (racing at least) after September, but definitely not stop running. The trails and mountains here just call to me. They bring me peace, calm and happiness. Keep checking back, I will be reviewing every race I do and trying to write more in general about my running adventures.

Ok, so I”ve been a horrible slacker when it comes to blogging, I’m going to set a New Years Resolution a month early and try to get back on track with this. Please, no one go through my old posts and tell me how many times I’ve said that…I’m just going to try. First order of business, a posting about my race this past weekend (perhaps some reflections on races not yet blogged about will be forthcoming, but for now, this will be a good starting point). When I signed up for the North Face Endurance Series Trail Championship Race (what a long title, huh?) I was a bit bummed out that the 50 mile distance was already sold out, so I settled on the 50K. Reflecting on the weekend, I couldn’t be happier that I “had” to settle on the K distance. For anyone that doesn’t know, the weather in San Francisco this weekend was awful. Pouring rain, flooding, and a trail race in the mountains does not equate ideal running conditions. I’ve done several “mud” themed races, just none of them 30 miles long. The conditions were bad enough that they had to change the course, making this the second race this year to be change days before the event that I’ve run in 2012. Not that it really matters that much to me, since I don’t study maps all that much, but worth noting.

The morning of the race came, it was pretty much pouring buckets of rain and a bit cool (not freezing by any stretch, but definitely enough to be noteworthy). I took the shuttle bus over with my friend Rich, and on the walk to the starting area we slipped and slid all over the place. I quickly determined that my vest over short sleeves would likely not be sufficient, so I switched to my new Craft rain resistant jacket. We were about 45 minutes early for the start, and the weather was too bad (windy and rainy) for there to be any temporary shelters set up. We found the trucks to put our bags in for the finish, and realized it was one of the few dry areas near the start, so we took shelter and tried to stay as dry as possible. We holed up there until about 5 minutes to start, then we made our way toward the start and huddled around one of the fire pits to try to stay warm. There we ran into our friends Timothy and Krista Olson and Carly Koerner staying warm as well. We chatted for a few minutes, commiserated about the conditions and joked about what we were all about to begin. Shortly thereafter, the countdown to the official start began and we shimmied over to the line, getting there just about perfectly time to start running when they said “go.”

From the onset, we were relatively miserable. The rain was steady, the wind pushed it at you from just about every direction, and the course was muddy and flooded in several spots. It didn’t take too long to for us to realize that it was going to be a very long day, and that we were going to be drenched. I tried as hard as I could to make the best of it, laughing and trying to be as positive as I could be given the horrid conditions. Every time the rain would let up a little, I could feel myself settling into a groove a bit, and I remembered how much I used to love running in the rain back in my road running days. Then the rain would pick up, the wind would whip in under the bill of my hat, and I’d forget the glory days and wonder why in the hell I thought this was a good idea. The first chunk of miles clicked away very much like that, good moments peppered into the misery. I told myself this was trail running. This was ultra marathoning. I’ve been spoiled, really. A few ungodly hot races, one pushed off course by wild fires, but this is the first time I’ve really had to run in rain and mud. So, I figured I was due, and accepted my fate.

About the time I made my peace with the idea, we started a wicked climb. Nothing like some of the hikes I’ve done in other races, really, nor does it touch some of the training runs I’ve done locally here in Ashland, but given the rain and mud, it was almost like running on a treadmill, legs churning away but not really going anywhere. And it just kept going and going. When we finally crested the peak, the descent wasn’t a whole lot better. Muddy and slippery, I quickly realized that my shoes were not really made for descending in slick mud. I lost my balance several times, but managed to keep myself upright (thankfully, since my new Craft jacket was white, after all). I tried to stay to the edge of the trail, thinking the grass might help be grab some traction, but quickly realized it was slicker than the mud, so back to the grooves in the trail and a slow slip and slide down to the bottom followed. At this point, we were right near the beach, and the fog had lifted just enough to make the view enjoyable (as much as one can enjoy a view in these conditions). The happiness in the moment quickly abated, though, by the upcoming climb to get back out of this beautiful vista point. Another slow, steady and slippery climb really took it’s toll.

Approaching the next aid station, the trail started to even out, and I picked up my speed to what I thought was a respectable pace, until I was passed by an elite doing the 50 miler (the courses overlapped frequently). He blew by me as thought I was standing still. Humbling, really. A few minutes after that, I realized my stomach was screaming for food…something that seldom happens. Going into the aid station, I mentioned to Rich that I was starving, and he said exactly the same. We managed to devour (I’m guessing) the equivalent of 1,000 calories each in about 4 minutes. It was glorious. Coming out of the aid station, though, my stomach was now full with a huge climb in front of us…so we speed hiked up to allow the food to settle and not destroy ourselves only 18 miles deep. Around this point I realized my hips and lower back were really sore, stabilizing muscles seldom used, exhausted from trying to keep my body upright (the perks of running with an anatomy professor, I get to learn about physiology when I gripe about being sore). The course started to blur a bit, looking slightly familiar, and we settled into a bit of a groove again to the next aid station.

Coming out of that aid station, something strange happened. Rich was somehow possessed. I was grabbing a handful of chips to eat while I start walking (my routine leaving an aid station…walk a few steps to get the legs moving again while I devour one last handful of grub), and suddenly Rich was gone. There was a descent that was muddy and slick, one we had done once already, and apparently Rich wanted to get down it ASAP. I found myself bombing after him just as hard as I could, and barely keeping up with him. This lasted easily a mile or two of muddy down hilling, we were passing quite a few people that were gingerly trying to keep themselves out of the mud as we had our first trip down this path. And, much to my surprise, it worked. We blew down the hill, and neither of us fell (although there was plenty of slipping). At the bottom, I asked him what happened, and he simply said “I dunno, I had a mud zen moment…” whatever it was, I’ll take it any race. Shortly after that, we came to another aid station and were pointed toward the road. Arg…pavement. Yes, I’m spoiled, and maybe even a bit dramatic or overly sensitive, I can absolutely feel the difference pavement makes on my running. And it was a climb at that. So away we went, up and away. We realized at this point we were getting close to the finish line, although I knew we had not logged nearly enough miles. Getting closer, we saw a volunteer who pointed to the finish line and said “straight ahead and through the gate” which was flattering given the time we got to that point, but in checking my Garmin (which I hate doing in a race) I realized we had over 7 miles to go, and informed her of, at which point she said “oh, ok, then go down to the bottom and turn around.” So we ran to the start/finish line and were about to turn around (how much does that suck?) when the marathon relay began. So now we were turning around and found ourselves behind about 80 fresh runners. And had to run back down the road with them. Arg.

Thankfully, just past the next aid station at the bottom, the relay runners were routed one way and we were sent back up a now familiar loop. This time, however, we were equipped with the knowledge that running downhill in the mud actually works to stay up. We churned the climb, walking some tough sections but grinding out where we could. We both just wanted this race over, although much to our happiness, the rain had stopped by this point. Getting to the same aid station where Rich began his “zen mud” phase, I asked if he had another one in him, and he said he wasn’t sure, so I said I’d try to lead the charge. After fueling up, and knowing it was pretty much one downhill to bomb, a flat section, one last aid station and then the road to the finish, I tried to let it go as best as I could. I think Rich set a better, faster and more fluid pace, but we were still passing people as we (relatively) bombed down the trail. At one point, while bouncing from one foot to another (this was actually becoming fun, really!) my left foot started to slide while my right foot was in the air, so I skied for what felt like 10 feet but was probably only about 2-3 seconds of one footed surfing. We got to the bottom and got into a rhythm on the flat section. My legs were tired, my hips and back were screaming at me, but I was still trying to make the best of it and live in the moment. We passed the final aid station without stopping and made our way across the road for one last road climb up to the finish. About halfway up the climb, I told Rich I didn’t know if I had this last climb in my legs, and may have to shuffle up. I snuck a peek at my watch to make sure we were done this time (at or around 30 miles) and noticed - accidentally - our time. We were just past the 5 hour mark…which I shared with Rich. We were both stunned. I knew I was having a decent say given the conditions, but my PR (not counting the very flat Omaha 50K I ran two months ago) was 5:10 ish. Granted, this was cut short by a mile (the reroute made it a 30 mile race), but given the conditions, I was stunned. Shocked is more like it. Rich and I both were at a loss - we agreed we both thought it was going to be closer to a 6 hour finish. Fueled by this newfound information, we powered up the hill to the finish.

It was a day that started off with me wondering why on earth I would do this (aside from bragging rights of having run in these conditions maybe) and it ended with me extremely happy with my time, finishing well ahead of of where I would. Great way to finish off the year (this is most likely my last race of 2012). But for what it’s worth, this is the sorest I’ve been after a 50K all year. By far - but it is well wroth it. I ended up finishing 29th overall out of 346. - a spectacular day for me.

This past weekend I had the privilege of running the inaugural Enchanted Forest Half Marathon, put on by some friends of mine here in the Rogue Valley. The course boasted of running through a vineyard and then some amazing singletrack trails that the owner of the winery had put in. While I don’t normally get amped up about running a 13 mile course, I have been extremely excited about this since I heard about it. I listened to my friend and one of the race directors, Timothy Olson’s interview (on UltraRunnerPodcast) recently, and it only fueled my excitement. They asked him about this race, and one of the things he said that really resonated with me is that he wanted to have an event with distances that were more approachable to newer runners than an ultra would be, and would also mirror distances that road runners are used to – thus providing an opportunity for people that may never race a trail race to feel comfortable giving one a go. As we pulled up to the race start, I noticed the SUV in front of me had a URP sticker on it and California plates, and knowing that Eric Schrantz (co-host of URP) was coming up, I guessed that it was him. I was right, and we ended up chatting for a bit before the race – really nice guy, super easy going and obviously excited about the event and running in general. As we checked in and got our bib numbers, I noticed I was given bib #2 (they had reserved #1 to keep themselves, this being the first ever). When I mentioned to Krista that she really set me up to disappoint with a number usually reserved for a top runner, she informed me that they assigned numbers based on registration time, and I was apparently the first. Much less stressful than thinking I was expected to kill the course – it was designed (at least in part) by Timothy, who likes his climbs (as evidenced by the turn around in the S.O.B. 50 Miler he help to put on, which was an absolute monster of a climb). The people working the event were in costume, as were a number of the runners. You can check out the photos here to see some of what I’m talking about – well worth a look. As we started toeing the starting line, I was trying to stay relaxed - but I had decided I was going to adopt my friend Pete’s strategy, to go as hard as I could and see if I could blow up in a half marathon. After some instructions and words from the race organizers, we were off. I jumped to the front of the group, settling into a quick pace (for me) but running well enough to keep the leaders in my sights. From the very beginning, the scenery was pretty fantastic. We were, after all, running through a vineyard. All the while I was running, I was trying to keep my eyes peeled for the mushrooms hidden throughout the course - anyone who found one would be rewarded with bonus schwagg from the sponsors (Pearl Izumi jackets were on my mind!). It was a tough balance to strike, running hard while searching high and low for little magic mushrooms…admittedly I was much more intent on finishing strong, but the lure of schwagg is something I really struggle to let go of.
A few miles into the run, we dipped into some singletrack that really is borderline indescribable. The course ran through some woods that, as the name of the race implies, is really Enchanted. I was thoroughly enjoying myself, which was fueled and aided by seeing quite a few of my friends on the course, both running and working the aid stations/cheering us on. There were definitely some rollers on this course, no single climb that struck me as exceptionally stout, but there were some grinders and plenty of elevation change for a half marathon course. We completed two loops of one section, one of the heartier climbs of the course was in the middle of this loop, so the second time around we knew what we were going to be up against. Before the second loop, though, I was just starting a bit of a climb when I spied one of the sought after mushrooms - this being one of the hats (there were two on the course). There was another runner hot on my heels, so I ran that little climb as hard as I could, jumped up and grabbed the mushroom (it was hung in a tree) just to hear a disappointed sigh behind me - followed by a laugh and words of congratulations on my find. I stepped off the trail to get the hat on my head (I really wanted to embrace this competition within the race and show off my find!), and was a bit surprised when I checked my watch to find we were only about 6 1/2 miles into the run (I wanted to mark approximately where on the course I found the hat). It felt like I had run nearly 10 of the miles already, 6 is usually my sweet spot when I settle into a run, but because of my efforts to run this course hard, I was definitely feeling it sooner than I normally would. But, I was energized by finding the hat, told myself to stop thinking about the milage and to just run (a lesson I learned at S.O.B. and has been confirmed numerous times in many races since). Back at it again, I tried to enjoy the scenery as best as I could while still running as hard as my legs would let me (and believe me, they were definitely protesting just a little bit). Before I knew it, though, I popped out of the woods back onto the little bit of road we ran on, which headed back to the main vineyard and the finish line (not to mention the wine at aid station at mile 12). I got caught by a few friends and realized I must be slowing down. I tried to step it up, run a bit harder and finish strong, but I wasn’t really gaining any ground back. I ran through the final aid station (I had not stopped at any yet, and despite the temptation of wine, I knew there would be plenty at the finish line and I wanted to try to make up ground), back into the winery and hammered as hard as I could. It was the best effort I would muster at that time, but I simply couldn’t make up the ground on the people that passed me in the last mile. It turns out (looking at the results) I probably gave up 3 spots in that last mile, but still finished 10th overall, and had an absolutely amazing time. When I crossed the line I was exhausted, feeling a slight bit of nausea and simply had to sit down. It was a very hot day, I had run hard and finished as hard as I was capable of. Like most good runs/races, I learned a bit - and have decided to really work on my closing. This is a race not to be missed, and if it is on again next year I simply cannot recommend it enough. I’ve talked it up with my friends here in South Dakota (where I am as I write this), and already 3 of them have said they intend to make it next year. I sincerely hope they do, no one could possibly be disappointed with this race.

This race report is long overdue, and as such, I fear that my memory of the event isn’t as good as it should be. That being said, here is my version of the Flagline 50K I ran near Bend, OR. I got an email a few weeks back from a friend of mine, Justin, asking if I knew anyone that was racing Flagline. I told him I didn’t, but maybe I’d tag along with him and run it. Minimal planning or preparation, but having recently come off my first successful 100K (Waldo) I felt I had the foundation miles and training in to pull it off. I looked over the elevation profile really quick and decided it was probably similar to our own local S.O.B. 50K (I ran the 50M of that race, but it was on the same course). So with that as a backdrop, we decided to sign up and just go for it. Literally, we did about as little research as I’ve ever done for a racing event – best portrayed by my texting Justin Friday afternoon (the day before the race) and telling him “I’m on my way to pick you up – do you know where this race actually is?” We sorted it out more or less on the way there, all the while with the intention of camping out at/near the race start. We didn’t know if we actually could (again, great planning) but figured we would simply set up and see if anyone told us to move. After finding our way to where we assumed the start was (it was closed, likely due to the fact we got there at around 9:30 p.m., Justin set up his tent and I decided to be lazy and just sleep in the back of my Jeep. We shared some beers, stories and even had a few creepy moments when I Park Ranger (I presume) drove by, shined his light into my Jeep (we were in the back with the gate open) and started at us for about a minute…then he drove off only to return a few minutes later and shine his headlights directly into my Jeep, again for about a minute and then simply leave. No words exchanged. I decided I had seen a horror movie that started that way and would now DEFINITELY be sleeping in my Jeep, with the doors locked, and that I would likely not find Justin in the morning. Thankfully, I was wrong about that last part, we awoke both alive, Justin packed up his tent and we drove up to the check in.

We saw a few people we knew, chatted for a bit and then proceeded to the starting line. I opted to stay in my friend’s SUV with the heat blasting until it was pretty close to “go” time, since it was freezing and I was without sleeves. The race started on single track, and I realized a bit too late that I was way too far out in front – up there with the fast people. I tried not to get sucked in, but as I always used to do, I allowed myself to simply latch on and match pace with people far better at ultra running that myself. This only lasted a few miles, when the trail opened up a bit and I felt comfortable dialing my pace back to let people pass me without having to go wide around. A fair amount of the first few miles were literally sand, which made the going a bit tougher than I’m accustomed to on my manicured trails in Ashland. The course was a bit hilly and challenging, but the scenery quickly took my mind off of the difficulty and replaced it with pure enjoyment of being on a new trail. The first 8 or so miles clicked off pretty quickly, and I was surprised to find myself pulling into the first aid station in what felt like only a few miles…so much so that I actually ran completely through it without stopping. I had plenty of water with me, had pounded down some grub just an hour or two ago, and was feeling fine. The next few miles were a bit slower, but I was still feeling pretty good. I chatted up some of the other runners on the course, and we settling into a comfortable pace for what I was ultimately considering an organized training run with aid stations (given the impromptu nature of our registering, I wasn’t expecting anything spectacular on this course, just to enjoy myself). There were many different places that the views were breath taking, there were a few water crossings that I thoroughly enjoyed hopping on the rocks to get across (and am proud to say I kept my feet dry!). The second aid station felt much further than the first, largely due to the fact that I skipped the first, so when I got there I was eager to fill my bottles with cold water and graze on the food. Much to my happiness, they even had Red Vines. Those of you that know me well know my personal affinity to them, so needless to say I had several of those (chased by boiled potatoes dipped in salt – a combination of sweet and savory that probably sounds aweful, but was actually perfect). Coming out of the aid station we started a long descent, gradual and rolling, but all the while I was thinking that I had to get back to that last aid station (not only for the Red Vines, but because the course actually does loop around to it again). Therefore, all this descending only meant that much more climbing. About the time I’m thinking this, another runner comes by and more or less reads my mind – verbalizing my very thoughts. Crap. I had been feeling alright, but by the early 20s worth of mileage my legs were starting to feel the effect of my fast start, and possibly the 8-9 hours of pacing I did the previous weekend for my good friend Richard in the Pine to Palm 100 miler. They were heavy, sluggish and simply much less cooperative than normal.

When I made it back to the Red Vine station I saw my friend Mike (whose SUV kept me warm at the start, and whose wife, Heather, was also running the race). He was sitting in a chair, comfortable and reading. I asked him how Heather and Justin looked, and he said they were both looking strong – which was great to hear because Justin was, and still is, battling an IT injury – and he commented that I was making good time and looking strong. If only he had seen me a few miles back, I thought to myself. Mike, incidentally, also ran Pine to Palm the previous weekend. It was his first 100 miler, and he came in second. Overall. He closed the final 40 miles by making up roughly 45 minutes, give or take, on the overall leader. The man can close, and I tried to think of that as I pulled out of the aid station and began the final miles to this race. I love that I have such supportive and inspiring friends, both locally and across the country (I’m pacing a friend on his first marathon in early October, which I always think is an amazing experience…taking someone through something they have never done). Unfortunately for me, while Mike’s words and recent performance were truly inspirational to me mentally, my legs didn’t seem to care much. I definitely shuffled the last few miles much slower than I would have liked, and was somewhat defeated to find about a mile stretch (likely less than a full mile, but it sure felt that way) toward the end that was extremely sandy, my feet sinking as though I was running on a beach. My calves joined my hamstrings in the protest against my master plan of running this 50K. Stupid legs and their stupid revolution. Alas, the finish drew close, I hit what gas I had left and finished about 5 minutes off my PR, which I set earlier this year on a much flatter and faster course, so despite my finishing struggles I am happy with my overall time. Mike met me at the finish, grabbed me a chair and kept me company while we cheered in the rest of the runners, getting especially loud for Heather (who set a PR – beating her time from a few months ago on a very similar course) and Justin (who fought tooth and nail through a nagging IT band issue to finish – perhaps not the best idea as he is still limping a bit, but at least he’s taking time off now). All and all, I enjoyed the race. It’s a very well organized, well marked event (no chance of getting lost despite my having never been on these trails). The aid stations were well stocked, the volunteers were great and the course was quite runable. I will likely do this again, perhaps not next year (I hope to run Pine to Palm myself, which would mean I’ll be taking some time off around the time of this event next year), and would definitely recommend it to anyone who asked.

First off, I have to thank my friends that paced and crewed for me, as well as my friends on the course. Each and every one of them should take credit for some of what you are about to read, I have no doubt I would not have had the day I did without each of them.

A little over a week ago, I set out to run my first 100K. Up to that point, my longest race was a 60K. A strange distance, I must admit, and it was boring as ever (9 laps around Central Park). I’ve lived in Ashland for over a year now, and I guess you could say I’m complete sold on the idea of running substantially longer than a marathon. Having knocked out a few 50Ks (starting last year and continuing into this one), I decided to push my first 50 mile attempt last month. The registration for Waldo opened the same day as S.O.B., and after watching it filling up fast, I somewhat impulsively signed up for my first 100K attempt. Going into the race, I was feeling ok about it - about as good as I could staring down the prospect of running nearly a half marathon further than I ever have, on a course that boasts more elevation gain then I’ve ever even considered. Getting to the area a few days early, I was limited by poor cell reception - which normally is a blessing but since there was fires literally right on parts of the course (and the race itself was in question), I was not happy about the lack of signal. Stupid AT&T. The day before the start I got word from a friend (who was also running it) - the race was on, but they had to modify the course. Not to undermine the race’s reputation as being quite challenging (seriously, check out the website for how they word it) they opted to add miles to it (about 3-4) and with additional elevation gains. Just what I needed to hear going into the race.

Race morning came (starting at 5 a.m.) and as I stood around the start, talking to my crew and eventual pacer, I was trying really hard not to think about the daunting task I was about to undertake. Once we were off, we started straight uphill. I guess you don’t gain 11,000 feet without starting out with a bang. So we hiked up the first of many, many climbs. It was cool outside, dark and extremely dusty (accentuated by our headlamps). Once we leveled off and started heading back down, I got into a bit of a groove - while maintaining a comfortable pace - and remembered why I loved running in the dark…there is something inherently exciting about cursing through the dark and seeing the sun just start to push some light over the horizon. The first section of the course had many runnable sections, the crowd I was running along with was talkative and the miles clicked off fairly comfortably. About 8-10 miles in, I was surprised by my crew waiting for me (we had discussed our plan, and I wasn’t expecting them until about 20ish). It was refreshing to pop out of the woods to a road crossing and see my friends there, cheering and encouraging me (and to take my headlamp now that the sun was up enough to light the trail). I was feeling good and seeing them only boosted my spirits and made me want to run harder.

Coming out of that aid station, I latched on to a small group of runners that were pretty close to my pace and comfort zone. We started climbing up Fuji, the first of the three peaks I would have to get over to finish this race. Just at the beginning of the ascent, I saw one of the elites flying down the path and quickly side stepped to let him by. Within a minute of that (give or take), I saw my friend Timothy Olson (who would eventually win the race, a nice follow up to his win and record setting run at Western States). I couldn’t help it, I let out a holler of “Get ‘em Tim, great running!!!” - or some such thing. It is amazing to watch these elites run, it’s more like floating up and down the mountains, seriously magical. He saw me and yelled back and me, and threw me his trademark smile. We bumped fists in passing, and I was again energized a second time. I tried not to let the spike in my adrenaline push my pace, but I couldn’t help but climb a bit faster. Continuing up the climb, I crossed paths with my friend John, who was looking really well and just missed a top 10 overall finish (but I believe may have won the Master’s division) who also encouraged me up toward the peak. Not long after that, my friend Carly was making her way down, running strong and not missing an opportunity to pass along supportive words. Needless to say, the climb up Fuji went quick and felt much easier than I know it was. I loved seeing my friends out there, and the whole community of runners on the course were all so supportive and encouraging. I’ve never had so much fun climbing up thousands of feet.

After peaking Fuji, it was time to turn around and start the descent. With the images of Timothy, John and Carly floating down the same path I was just about to head down myself, I felt light and fast. I didn’t really notice the views as much as I would have had it been a fun or training run, but what I did see really took my breath away. The next 10 miles or so went by very on and off again, I latched on to a new friend named Steve that was running his 5th Waldo that day. I thought latching onto him would be a huge benefit, which in many ways it was, however his talking about how the race keeps getting harder and harder with the worst of it at the end was far from what I wanted to hear. Somewhere along this stretch, it dawned on me that this course, start to finish, was literally two and a half marathons long. Something about that was really ominous…probably the fact that I used to be of the mindset that running 2 marathons within a month of each other was a bad idea, now I was trying 2 in the same day…with an extra 13+ miles tacked on. But I quickly pushed those thoughts out of my mind and focused on one aid station at a time.

Around 30 miles into the race, I picked up my pacer and training buddy (not to mention great friend) Rich. We slogged along for a while, talking and telling jokes while trying to avoid to conversation about the upcoming parts of the course - Rich had run it last year and warned me about it prior to the race start. Somewhere a few miles into running with my pacer, when things should be a bit easier because you have a friend to share the suffering with, the darkness really settled in. It was getting warm, I was getting very tired and was honestly experiencing substantial doubts. I recall several times thinking that there is no way my legs have more than another marathon in them, especially with the elevation factor. It was really beyond a tired I’ve felt before, not just the physical part, but the mental part was really weighing me down. I had listened to enough ultra runner interviews and talked to enough other runners to know there is some mysterious “dark place” that many of them had gone through, pushed through and bounced back from. I kept thinking I was just going through that and had to keep on trucking. Rich helped by assuring me that he hit a very similar place and roughly the same part of the course…so I pushed on.

After cresting the Twins (the second climb) and just starting the true descent, we came into an aid station where my friends were waiting for me with all the food I had asked them to have. This was me when I got to the aid station:

I ate a properly named “Bonk Breaker” bar, a popsicle, drank some gatorade and was misted off with cold water. After the aid station volunteers filled my water bottles with ice water, we were off. On the descent, I started feeling better - slowly but surely. We shared some laughs and my friends really did a LOT to lighten my mood and spirits.

I started to pick up the pace on the next section, and was really starting to find my groove again. I started catching a few people, we were running through some gorgeous single track and amazing forest, and Rich was pushing my pace just as much as I needed. As we pulled out of the next aid station, we began to approach the climb to Maiden Peak. I had had several friends (both old and people I met on the course) warn me about the last climb being simply indescribable - especially since it starts at mile 50 or so. Needless to say, this was going to be a hike to the top, but I knew that I couldn’t back off too much if I was going to finish strong…so I did my best power hiking up toward the peak. It was brutal beyond words, and endless. And then it got longer. I managed to catch several other people on the climb, and was grinding along. Just when I crested the top and saw someone taking bib numbers, I announced my number (with a hint of pride in getting up to the top) only to hear, “ok, I’ll get it on your way back down” - and he points to a trail going higher. More hiking, this time up loose rock. The summit of Maiden was well worth the work, and on a clear day (no fires) and a day when I wasn’t so exhausted, I could easily see myself spending a day up there in the peace and beauty of the 360 degree view. But, this was a race, and while I was only trying to do my best, my best didn’t allow for a break.

Then, something strange happened. I no sooner turned around, and my legs felt the freshest they’d felt in hours. I would guess it was largely due to the fact I had been climbing for what seemed like hours, so using different muscles, and heading in a different direction was really refreshing. Or maybe it was that I knew I was (more or less) done climbing for the day. Whatever it was, once I got past the loose rocks, I started running. And I mean running. I actually told myself to see if I could possibly drop my pacer. I let it all go on the descent, really cutting loose. I was jumping over logs that were as wide as I am, and bouncing over rocks like I was just starting out on a quick 5 miler. I we feeling spectacular. We got into the last aid station, I asked for more water and barely slowed down, realizing as I was leaving the station Rich didn’t have his pack on yet. Oops, that was probably rude since he WAS playing the part of my sherpa, carrying all my food and what not. The split from the last aid station to the finish line was literally my fastest of the day, by a rather large margin. I have no idea what came over me at the top of Maiden, but it was the type of finish I previously had only dreamed about. I set out with one major goal - finishing. My second, less important goal, was finishing in under 15 hours (the cut off to qualify for the Western States lottery) and I had managed to run the entire day without once checking my Garmin. As soon as I could see the finish line, I allowed myself to look. Only then did I figure out I was going to finish in under 14 hours, fast enough to qualify for LAST year’s Western cut off (which was more strict). Overall, I finished 27th overall, and am beyond happy with my finish. This course was extremely challenging, but I will run it again. Just probably not next year.

Here is the overall elevation profile:

Two weekends ago was the Mt. Ashland Hill Climb, a race that starts here in Ashland and runs up to the peak of Mt. A. It’s about 13 1/2 miles long, and about 6,000 feet of climbing (or, as the RDs like to say, 13+ miles long and one mile up). Since I first heard of this race (last year) I wanted to run it - something about a half marathon mostly uphill was enticing. This year, with the way it fell in my race schedule, it was a good training run for the Waldo 100K I’m running this coming weekend (more on that later). The morning of the race I rolled out of bed plenty early and made a fresh juice (my latest addiction), ate my PROBAR and leisurely got ready. The race started at 8, and it was only about 7:15. Dog was walked and fed, I was fed, so I decided to take an easy jog to the start - it was about a mile, so I had plenty of time. By the time I got out of the door it was about 7:35, so I figured a slow jog/warm up would put me there about 15 minutes before the start, giving me plenty of time to find my friends and loosen up my vocal chords and funny bone for what was going to be a long, uphill day. As I rounded the corner to the starting line, I was rather surprised to see not a soul there. Just as I’m taking this in, I see some of the race officials getting into their car and one says to me “running a bit late are we?” - I responded without thinking “yup, guess I better catch up” and looked down the road. Not a single runner in sight. As I’m trying to think about what happened (I’ll spare you the suspense, despite multiple emails clearly spelling out the start time, I was late - it actually started at 7:30). The race starts on road, relatively flat, so I started hammering (for me) at close to my road marathon pace. I flirted with the idea of cutting through the park, knowing the route I knew I could make up some time, but I decided quickly that I would never forgive myself for intentionally cutting a course. I simply had to run harder to make up for my mental mistake.
About the time I got to the reservoir (I don’t know the distance, to be frank, I’ve stopped looking at my Garmin in races) but I’d guess a little under a mile into the race, I saw the first walkers. As I passed the next volunteers on the course I asked how far back I was, and heard “about 15 minutes.” Not insurmountable, I told myself, but I would likely not see my friends until the top. Shortly after this, the climbing started, so I backed off my pace to more the “uphill gear” - slower and steady. The one perk to starting late was that I got to pass a fair number of people, and got to see several people I knew along the way. There was the occasional person who would speed up as I passed them, or step on the gas as soon as we hit a flat section to catch up to me, but the steady pace I was maintaining made sure none of them got too far ahead (and that most of them got dropped). As I came to the Four Corners aid station I saw my neighbor and friend, John, volunteering and refilling people’s water bottles. I was carrying two - and both were over half full, so I pressed on without stopping (and unfortunately, as I ran past he had his back to me so I didn’t even get to say “hey!”). Just above Four Corners, the climbing gets a bit tougher. I started to struggle with this section, and about that time my friend Carly came gunning down the hill, and when she saw me she hollered “get after it!!” (she’s running Waldo too, and is a great inspiration and motivator!) so I tried to step it up. Tried being the key operative. A little way further and the trail started to flatten out, so I stepped on the gas knowing the flats are my strength and any chance I had to catch my friends would be making up ground on these sections. I tried to push as close to my marathon pace as I could (I don’t know if I was actually close - but it sure felt like it). On the last climb up to the Lodge, the incline got really steep - and I started talking with some of my fellow runners. I told them how while this part sucked, I was much more nervous about the climb after the lodge much more than this section. A few weeks ago several of us ran “America’s Friendliest 5K” which starts at the Lodge and goes up to the peak. It boasts 1,000 feet of gain in less than a mile - and this was what we finished the Hill Climb with. At the Lodge I took my first aid station stop, chugged some Gatorade and started the most wicked climb I have done to date (wicked enough on a good day, horrific after the run up to the Lodge). About halfway up the hike to the peak, my calves started cramping. Badly. So badly I couldn’t really toe off on the climb - so I had to keep my weight on my heels - a great idea when you hiking up a steep climb that is virtually straight up. It was brutal beyond brutality. And I loved every minute of it. I only caught a handful of people I knew, but when I subtracted the approximately 15 minutes I started late, I finished pretty close to the time my friends did. All and all, I get pretty good about the race. So much so, my friend Richard and I decided to run back down. After some food and a beer, of course. I felt sick at the start of the descent (my stomach was in knots) but I pushed through it - and I think it was arguably one of the best things to help me prepare for Ultras that could have happened.
This past weekend, my last weekend before Waldo (the race that’s scaring the crap out of me - 100K long and 11,000 feet up and another 11,000 feet down) I decided I needed to test my climbing legs. Let me back up a bit, first, though. In the past few weeks, I’ve been paying much closer attention to my diet. Make no mistake - a vegan diet is not necessarily synonymous with healthy eating - and mine could have used some fine tuning. I’ve dropped some extra pounds (not a ton, but let’s face it, 8-10 pounds lighter over a 62 mile run is a HUGE difference on the legs and feet). I’ve also started taking Vega Recovery Accelerator which is supposed to help muscles repair themselves quicker (I’ve seen similar products to this for years, but this is the first vegan specific one I’ve come across. I’m not sure if it’s the decreased weight, the supplements, my training or a combination of all three, but Saturday I ran up Hitt Road to Ostrich Peak, and it was by far the best climb of that trail I’ve done to date. By far. We used to do this almost every Saturday, and it was always a struggle for me to just keep my friends in sight. This past weekend, I ran strong the entire way up, and I felt great at the peak. We descended fast but comfortably, and I felt even better. The next day, on somewhat tired legs, I decided to test myself even more and ran up Jabberwocky, a trail that always destroys my self confidence as well as my legs. Not only did I get up to the top substantially faster and easier than I ever have, I kept climbing up Lithia Loop Road (and it was scorching hot). It ended up being nearly a 25 mile weekend (I’m supposed to be tapering about now, I think), with two very challenging climbs, and I felt really good about both. I’m not sure if this is a great sign, but I don’t think it hurts. Honestly, I couldn’t have hoped for a better few weeks going into Waldo. Finishing S.O.B. last month was the first major step in my feeling I could actually do this, everything written here was the next. Hopefully, my next entry into my blog will be a positive race report. My goal is simply to finish - ideally in under 15 hours to qualify for the Western States lottery next year, but I’ll take any finish in this race.

The descent back down the rock slide that was trail was much easier, of course, than trying to scramble up it. My legs, much to my own surprise, felts pretty good. I was making it a point to not check my watch the entire run, so the only real gauge I had about my distance was the turn around (and roughly how my legs felt of course). I was enjoying the feeling of going down rather than up, which I had been doing for a while. I tried to give words of encouragement to everyone that was headed up while I was on my way down, telling them they were getting pretty close to the turn around, and to stick with it. About a mile after the turn around, I saw a friend of mine who quickly said to me “aw, man, I just got Chick’ed!” - it took me a minute to get it, but as soon as I did I broke into laughter. Here I was, a marathon into my day, laughing. I knew then it was going to be a good day. I caught up to the guy I had been running with earlier, and we started pacing off each other again. A few miles into the descent, we hit the aid station I had earlier seen Skaggs stopped off at (with his ankle injury) and he was busy filling water bottles and helping runners out. It was really cool to see that - one of the potential winners (top 3 for sure) who had his day end early due to an injury jumping in to help people out. Tim was also there, also filling water bottles and getting food for people. It felt pretty cool to see these elites giving back and working an aid station. It sparked me a bit, and I decided to push myself a bit. I asked Tim how far ahead of me my friend Shahid was (knowing that I would likely never catch up, but I got caught up in the good vibes and strong feeling legs). Tim told me he had me by about 5 minutes - with around 20 miles to go, and I knew I couldn’t and wouldn’t catch him. I quickly reminded myself that I was supposed to be running my race and enjoying the moment, and that’s what I did.
Coming out of that aid station was a 6 mile climb, so it didn’t take too long for my feeling of being energized and ready to really go to diminish. Despite the climbing a full marathon into my race, though, I didn’t feel too bad. I was shuffling more than running, but on the flats I’d pick the pace back up, and surprised myself that the next two aid stations clicked by relatively easily. I was running the distance from aid station to aid station, so the entire day consisted of 4-8 mile runs, back to back to back. Coming into the aid station that had my drop bag, I decided today was the day I found out how Red Bull works on a long run (I had it in my bag at the last 50K I did, but the aid station volunteers didn’t set the bags out so I missed it completely). I scarfed down a “Bonk Bar” and chased it with said energy drink, hoping for some wings. Before leaving the station, one of the volunteers offered me an ice cold sponge for my head, which I quickly accepted. I think it may have trumped the Red Bull, I was reinvigorated and started off down the road, feeling 100% fresh, and happy that my stomach had still not reacted all day (and hopeful that the food/energy drink combo wouldn’t put me over the edge).
At some point along the way my new found friend dropped me and pulled ahead, and I found myself running down a gravel road, completely alone (I didn’t see a single runner in front or behind me), and I started wondering if I had missed a turn. I saw a mountain biker inching up the road (I was descending) and asked him if he had seen any other runners - and he reported there were a few just over the next hill. Relief swept over me as stories I’d heard from a few different friends about getting lost on an ultra washed away. Sure enough, as I crested the next hill, there were a few runners on the horizon. I stayed on my own pace, not trying to catch anyone, not trying to keep up, just running the way I wanted to. It actually felt great, and my body was not rebelling one bit. Coming out of the next aid station the course crossed the road and went around Red Mountain, a rather rocky, extremely exposed and beautiful trail. I was completely solo at this point, I saw no one in any direction. Just me and the trail. It was honestly one of the best feelings I’ve had on a run - I felt completely in the moment, it was truly peaceful and serene. Once that trail caught back up with the “out” part of the course (hence, out and back) my legs started to get heavy. I knew this part of the course better than any other, having worked on it and run it a few times, so I was somewhat comfortable knowing what was coming (as comfortable as one can be 40 miles into a 50 mile race). My pace was definitely suffering, and it actually took conscious effort to NOT look at my Garmin. I started playing mental games with myself, doing the math from the starting time to 4:20 p.m. (the runner to cross the finish line closest to that time of day would win a prize) - but still refused to allow myself to even peak at the elapsed time. Throughout the day, whenever my mind would start to wonder, I would simply say “get in the moment” to myself - a few times I actually said “moment” out loud. It worked. I got passed by a few more people, caught up to one or two, and was feeling increasingly tired but energized by the approaching finish line. I could hear footsteps behind me, and decided that I wouldn’t get passed one more time. I ran as hard as I could that deep into a race, it felt like a sprint but probably passed for a light jog. I crossed the finish line, looked back and realized I had about 300 yards on the next runner - but I swear it sounds like he was inches behind me.
I won “Most Ashland” - because I was running in my NoMeatAthlete jersey - and scored a new pair of Smith sunglasses to go along with all the awesome swag they handed out. It honestly was my favorite race I’ve done to date, it was hard, but I never thought I wouldn’t finish. I struggled, but I stayed in the moment and did not think about how far I had to go, I wasn’t obsessively checking my watch, and I finished pretty much right on my target time. All and all, a perfect day, and perfect race. I can’t wait to run this again next year. Great race directors, volunteers, course and even the weather was spot on perfect. I can’t wait for Waldo (100K) in a few weeks - I’m hoping for a day 1/2 as good.

Yesterday, as many of my friends and family are well aware, was the Siskiyou Out and Back race here in Ashland. The race historically consists of a 15K and a 50K, and this year they added a 50 mile race, which I decided (in my seemingly infinite wisdom) would be my first attempt at the 50 mile distance. I’ve lived here just over a year, and I think I’ve officially been drinking the Kool-Aid. Alas, I was signed up, I trained (as much as I felt necessary and my schedule allowed) and I talked with quite of few of my friends - being very candid about my anxiety and concerns. Fortunately for me, quite of few of my friends out here are seasoned Ultra runners, so my anxiety was met with advice, votes of confidence and calming words. Anyway, all that being said, Saturday morning I found myself standing next to the lodge on the top of Mount Ashland at about 5 a.m., wearing bright orange shorts, a tank top proclaiming I “run on plants” and sunglasses (despite the sun not even being up yet). All that was left to do was simply run 50 miles, across the mountains, from Oregon to California and back. I felt somewhat fortunate, as I had several opportunities to run a few miles of the actual course and work on much more of it as a volunteer with the local trail association. There is something calming about knowing what is in store, even if it’s just from walking on it and swinging a mcloud.
From the very beginning, I told my friends I would not be running with them, they are all fitter and faster than me, and I knew if I went out quick I would pay for it later. It was really difficult, but I watched as my friends slowly pulled away right out of the gate. The race started out with about a mile of fire road that was flat/downhill, and quickly hopped onto the Pacific Coast Trail (PCT) which would be our home for the majority of the race. It’s a very well manicured trail, single track which made passing difficult, but thankfully we had mostly shook out into our respective places based on pace by then. The first roughly 5-10 miles were pretty comfortable, I was maintaining a pace that I knew I could stick with (for the most part) for hours, I was eating and drinking well (I’ve had hydration and stomach issues in races many times before), and I was feeling pretty good about things up to that point. I am currently reading Eat & Run by Scott Jurek and decided to apply some of what I’ve picked up throughout my race, the first of which is to try to stay in the moment. I felt I was doing a good job of that. Step one, check. I also was running off the advice of many of my friends when it comes to running this kind of distance, don’t think about the entire distance, think of how far to the next aid station. Step two, check.
I knew from my trail work that there was a steep climb of fire road approaching that would take us to the 50K/50M split in the course (around 15 1/2 miles, give or take). WIth an hours head start over the 50K runners (we started at 6 a.m., the 50K kicked off at 7) one of my honest goals was to get to the split before the elite 50K runners caught me. One in particular, who I anticipated would win (and did), Max King - easily could have. This is a guy who nearly made the Olympics this year in the Steeplechase, tried out for the Olympic Marathon team, and last year won not only the World Mountain Championship and the U.S. Trail Marathon Championship. So yeah, he’s fast. And I was running at a sustainable pace for 50 miles.
Shortly before this climb started, another runner caught up to me and asked if I had run Boston this year (I was wearing shorts from the marathon), he had as well. We instantly had plenty in common (running related, obviously) and it turned out that Dave and I would be pacing each other for roughly 30 miles of the course. He ended up being just about a perfect running compadre, he helped me keep my pace where I wanted it, push myself on the climbs just enough and the conversation was a very welcomed distraction. At the split there was an aid station, and after scarfing down some food and refilling both my water bottles, I asked if it was, in fact, the split. After being informed it was, I caught a snicker from a few of the volunteers when I happily proclaimed I didn’t get “Max’ed” - they obviously knew what I was talking about.
At that point, we headed out to what was to me, uncharted waters. It took about 1/4 of a mile for that “unknown” to become a factor. We came up on a snow drift literally the size of my Jeep. And that would be the smallest of the 3 we had to cross. The worst part about it was that it was that half melted, slushy snow on top of packed snow (translation = it was slick, and high enough that sliding down it would not end well). After hiking over those, the running resumed with a nice, gentle downhill that seemed to go on for miles - because it did. It was some of the most runnable, beautiful trail I had experienced all day. We were making good time, but knowing the course as I did I was quite surprised that the elites on the course had not come by yet (it’s and out and back course, hence the name). About that time, almost on queue, came Ryan Ghelfi, a local runner who is extremely fast. I starting telling my newfound friend, Dave, that any minute Eric Skaggs would be clicking at his heels. Minutes went by, more runnable, fast trails but no Eric. Odd, I thought, but I was out to run my race, to live in the moment where I was.
At the next aid station, I found out where Eric was. He was sitting in a chair, nursing an injured ankle. His race would be done, which is unfortunate, as he is one of the (many) elites we have here in Ashland. My run would continue, of course, and my spirits were really lifted by him talking to me while I was in the aid station and encouraging me with a lot of kind words. I knew coming out of that aid station it was about a 3 mile climb to the appropriately named Big Rock. I had been there once before, when doing trail work, and one of the Race Directors was kind enough to point out to me, while I was enjoying the view, that that teeny, tiny white dot way over there on the horizon was Mount Ashland, where I would be running back to. And the climb to Big Rock, after the three miles of climbing trails, was largely rocks, insanely steep and a jagged landscape. So much to look forward to as I headed out of the aid station. As I was working up the hill, I started seeing more and more runners coming down the hill, some of which I knew. Several of my friends and training partners popped out next, one of which proclaiming I was only about 1/4 mile behind him (which I knew to be fairly accurate, given where we were and the proximity to Big Rock). Another good friend of mine asked how I felt, and I told him I actually felt great (which I did) and that I think I had found my pace for this distance - and was surprised that I had somehow not lost miles to them already. After half hiking, half scaling the climb to the turn around point, I was asked if I wanted to get lei’ed, which of course I said “sure” to. So now I had 25 more miles to go and a Hawaiian lei around my neck.

Well, technically I guess 8, until SOB. My first 50 mile attempt. I’m still extremely nervous (see my last post, from far too long ago) but to be honest, less so than I was and probably should be. Two weekends ago I did a first for me, 45+ miles in two days, a 27 mile Saturday and a 19 mile Sunday. It hurt, of course, as it should when you run that far and you are in the type of shape that I am (or, more accurately, am not in). But, and here is where I really think that weekend really helped me out, I figured out that 1/2 way through the second day my legs were shelled (not surprising) but there came a point when it hurt the same to run as it did to walk. I finally reached the point when my body literally bounces back - that place I’ve heard of time and again, but never really experienced myself. Rock bottom and the bouncing back from it. I’ve run/hiked/worked on several segments of the course, and will do more work on it tomorrow. I’m also scouting the first 10 again Sunday, on an out and back run, mostly to help me feel comfortable with the beginning and the end of the course. My focus is on running MY race. I have a LOT of friends running all 3 distances of this race (50M, 50K and 15K), but I am going to do this for me. At my pace. My only goal is to finish it… preferably finish strong. Whatever time I cross that finish line in will be a PR at this distance. Hell, this is just a training run for next month’s Waldo 100K. :)

So, it’s about 5 weeks away from my first attempt at running a 50 mile race. In the mountains. And to be quite frank, I’m really starting to freak out about it. I’m really starting to have some doubts about if this is a good idea for me. Last weekend, I set out to run a “fat ass” (fun run) 50K with some friends. Nothing official, just a few guys, a parked Jeep aid station, and 30 miles of trails around Applegate Lake here in Southern Oregon. Well, the short version is that the elevator doors blew wide open (Joe/Rich speak for everything went wrong) at about mile 15. WAY too early to be suffering as much as I was. I want to say it was my still learning my nutrition and hydration, I want to believe that every bad run or horrible race is a learning experience (like I keep hearing), but I am starting to allow myself to have doubts about if ultra running is truly for me. This is really hard to admit, let alone type out in a public forum (if you are reading this, you found it on your own, there will be no FB or twitter links to this story). I love the trails. The outdoors. Tonight I went on a comfortable 6 mile out and back run, and it was actually fun. I found myself smiling on some of the descents, playing on the downhill like a child running home from school (or some such nostalgic metaphor). But that was only 6 miles.
This weekend, I’m doing double races, but neither of substantial distance. Saturday I’m running a Spartan Race, largely because my friend Karl wanted to assemble a team and the last few of these I’ve done I found very fun. I wouldn’t have signed up on my own, but with a bit of prodding from him, I’m in. It’s something like a 5K distance with a few walls to climb or other such atypical race things, but I’m sure there will be plenty of laughs and smiles had by all. Sunday I’m running Granite Man, a 10 mile trail run out at the same Applegate Lake that chewed me up last weekend. This was my first trail race out here last year, so I’m quite curious how much I’ve improved having trained in the trails and mountains around here. I posted a 1:53:xx last year, faster than I remember but a number I should be able to beat this year. Honestly, I’m kind of putting a lot into this race. If I don’t really see improvement over last year’s time, it will destroy my confidence (what remains of it at least) in doing this 50 miler in July. If I do see a jump up in my pace, which I expect to, I’ll likely have a bit more certainty about my abilities for next month. Incidentally, I don’t think doing the trail work on the turn around point last weekend helped. Seeing that climb, seeing the peak of Mt. Ashland WAY off in the distance and knowing that I need to start and finish there (and yes, I do realize it’s 50 miles…but SEEING it really can be quite a shock), well, let’s just say I was none to pleased with my choice to sign up for this race.
On the flip side, I’ve been finding inspiration in some new books I’ve been reading. I’m currently reading a book written by one of my long standing heroes (if you will), Scott Jurek. I’m finding it helpful right now, as he talks a lot about his less than superstar moments. This is a man who has WON Western States a record 7 times. One of the original rockstars of ultra running, and a long standing vegan. His book also has awesome recipes in it, all of which I hope to try at some point in the not too distant future. I have just finished reading Finding Ultra a truly inspiring story of a guy who overcame great obstacles (including alcoholism) and woke up one day and decided to change his life, one step at a time. On deck next is this gem from Bryon Powell, which I hope will provide me some additional insights and will aid me in feeling prepared and ready to go. I highly recommend all these books, and hope with them and some additional miles on the trails (and roads, since I’m traveling a lot in the next week or two for work), maybe I can get past this feeling of being scared out of my mind.

I’ve taken a break from posting, and recently, I took a break from running. Nothing huge, but my milage last week didn’t crack 10. Probably the lowest amount of miles I’ve run in a very long time for a week, and at the time I wasn’t happy about it, given that I’ve got a 50 miler and a 100K coming up this summer. However, today showed me just how valuable time off can be. Granted, my weekend off of running was spent drinking for hours and watching more movies then I’ve watched in the past 5 weeks combined probably - but today I figured out it was EXACTLY what I needed. Today, I ran the Lithia Loop Marathon course with some friends, and for the first time since pre-Boston, I felt great pretty much the whole time. Well, as great as one can feel running 26 miles, the first 8 of which are uphill. But alas, I feel like I’ve bounced back. My friends noticed. I got more than one “looks like you’ve recovered from Boston” - my recent struggles being obvious to all of them. I’m not going to lie, for a while there I was really wondering what I was doing, trying to run these crazy distances and simply sludging through my training runs, counting the miles until I could stop. I wasn’t enjoying my running like I once did. I was beating myself up for struggling so much. I was doubting myself and my ability to finish the races I’ve signed up for.
The timing of my unplanned week of rest couldn’t have been better. Last week, I downloaded a copy of Rich Roll’s “Finding Ultra” - his book about his struggles with alcoholism, his conversion to a plant based diet, and his tackling some crazy races (Ultraman, for example - a double Ironman that is invite only). The best part, he started in his late 30s. Granted, he had a base from his high school and college years of being a very strong swimmer, but about 20 years of being a couch potato took it’s toll, and he found himself unable to climb a flight of stairs without being winded. It’s an inspiring book, well written and frankly, you should really be reading that instead of this blog. Alas, back to my post. So during this impromptu week of lethargy, I read this book about overcoming obstacles, training right and eating correctly. I put it down with a renewed sense of purpose, and with a sharper focus. I am my own worst enemy when it comes to my training and my diet. So today, I ran renewed. The last time I tried this run the “elevator doors opened” (my new way of saying the wheels came off - homage to Cabin in the Woods, a must see and trust me, you’ll understand what I mean if you do). I crashed. Hard. Barely able to complete 16 miles without walking. I literally had to tell my friends to go on, and I had to basically limp home, my knee shot and my spirit crushed. That was about a month ago, probably less. Today, I kept a fairly comfortable pace (pretty much my ultra pace), I didn’t walk on a single hill, I pushed through some rather tough miles in the high teens, and was rewarded with a spike in energy that let me fly down the last 6-7 miles of downhill. It felt amazing. I feel like I reconnected with nature, with the outdoors, and with the reason I love doing this. I feel refreshed, energized and inspired. And, most of all, I feel capable of doing what I set out to do. Run further than I ever have, in about 6 weeks. Then add about 12 miles to that a month later.
All thanks to a great book and a much needed break to unplug, veg and recharge.

Last Saturday, I ran my latest ultra - the Quicksilver 50K. I was more or less talked into this race by a friend of mine with promises of minor hills, very runnable trails and an all around good experience. It seemed like a good transition back into ultra marathons after Boston, so why not? Well, he was honest about all if it, except the hills part. Granted, I should be used to it living in Ashland, and the overall elevation change wasn’t tremendous, but there were enough significant climbs that it hurt. Especially since the last few were at the end. But I’m getting ahead of myself, so let me start again.
Last Saturday was the Quicksilver 50K, which I ran with two friends (one of which was doing the 50 miler, but it was the same course). Heading into the race, I did my routine of checking the weather forecast for about a week before - and was quite displeased to see projected highs of 90 degrees. Boston part 2. Thankfully, though, it started at 6 a.m., as opposed to 10 a.m. in Boston. Still, though, I knew that on a good day, I’d still be running after 11, so I was going to get some heat (depending also on how exposed the trails were). The first few miles clicked off smoothly and comfortably, I took the point and set a pace that I felt was comfortable (and checked in with the guys, and was confirmed that it was, in fact, a good pace). We got to the first “mini” aid station (just water) and I realized I had drained about 75% of both of my water bottles, so we stopped to top them off. It wasn’t too terribly far to the next station, but with that much water gone, and the lesson learned at my last ultra (American Canyon, where we beat the second aid station to where it was supposed to be) - we felt it was best to play it safe.
After our refills, we headed back out, with Richard taking the lead into some gentle rolling single track. The trails were beautiful, shady and soft on the feet. Perfect running trails, but perhaps a bit too early in the race - Rich stepped up the pace fairly significantly from where I had been maintaining it. The irony - usually I go out too fast and Rich has to reel me in, this time he jumps out and I’m just holding on. After several miles of this, we hit the first full on aid station. I had been trying to stay hydrated, taking a few salt tabs and at this station, dove into some potatoes (which turned out to be hands down the favorite among the three of us). After that we settled into a comfortable pace, found ourselves often in the direct sunlight getting slow roasted, but the views were spectacular and worth the suffering. The IT band issues I’ve been having have subsided pretty much entirely, but my hamstring started tightening up a bit about mile 10 - nothing excruciating by any means, but definitely uncomfortable. Nonetheless, I was settling into a groove with my friends and we were really enjoying ourselves.
Sometime around mile 15 or so, my stomach started acting up. Those of you that have been reading this for a while know this has been a reoccurring issue for me, which I thought I had worked out (no issues in my last ultra or Boston) - it came back with a vengeance here. The trails were quite exposed and a there was a LOT of people hiking - so simply ducking into the bushes was not an option. Thankfully, about 4 miles into this, we came across a port-o-potty, which was all I needed. Back on the trails, I quickly realized that this was a course that ran through the same aid station 3 times, which we had crossed through twice already, and the second was after a few miles of downhill running…I realized around this time that our last time through that aid station (mile 24ish I think) was going to take us right back up that same hill. Sometime shortly after this realization, during the climb back up to the aid station, the wheels started to come off and my legs began to protest. And by protest, I mean more or less quit on me.
I grabbed some ginger and a gu out of my drop back to try to calm my stomach a bit, popped a salt tab, some potatoes and topped off the water bottles. I even took a few minutes to reapply some sunscreen, and watched as one of my friends bounced up the hill looking fresh and like was just getting started…I looked at my other friend and realized he was in much better shape than myself as well, so I encouraged him to go and let me finish my race at my pace - I didn’t want to hold him back any longer. The last 5 miles or so were really a struggle for me. I more or less had to walk every hill (some were steep and long enough that were I feeling strong I may have walked them anyway), but I tried to push myself to run not the flats and downhills (which were few and far between), and took the time to try to talk to every runner than came by. I knew it wasn’t my day, but I was determined to finish as best as my body would allow, despite the pain and struggles. I’ve heard time and again that you learn something from every ultra you run, and my previous runs had taught me that if/when I get to this space, to stop checking my watch and just keep going as best as I could. It vibrated from time to time (signaling my passing a mile), but I refused to check it. I knew my time was off from my goal, I knew it was a battle for each mile and each step, but I also knew I would not accept a DNF. I also felt, somewhere deep down, that I needed days like this to make me a stronger ultra runner. I am disappointed with my run, but another friend of mine (having heard through the grapevine that I wasn’t happy with my race) called me during the BBQ/beers after (which I’ll talk about in a second) and reminded me I’m still new to ultra marathons. That I’ve only done a handful of them, and that it’s not simply adding a few miles to marathon running. I think back and remember how much my first marathons were a struggle, and how I learned to pace myself properly and how each one got easier. I know, somewhere inside this thick skull of mine, that races like this will be beneficial to my aspirations at some point.
But I digress…I managed to run the last mile or two, finishing feeling like I did leave it all on the trail, and immediately sat down in the shade to relax. I found my friend Kevin, who had finished ahead of me, and talked with him for a bit. I grabbed some veggie grub from the BBQ, and looked for the promised beer, only to hear it had not yet arrived. Kevin asked me if I found it, and my disappointment must have been obvious, as another runner walking by asked if I wanted a beer, and after hearing that I would run 5 more miles for one, she produced one out of her personal cooler for me. I ended up sitting with her and a few others from her running club while drinking a few beers (they were quite generous), talking about running and life in general. Despite the suffering, the disappointment and the stiffness, I was in heaven. There was even veggie burgers (although not many, I did manage to get one). I was pleasantly surprised at just how “famous” Ashland is - for such a small town, pretty much everyone there knew about it (and many were jealous that we lived here). A substantial number of them have run either the LIthia Loop Marathon or even the Pine to Palm 100 mile race (both in my backyard here). And just about everyone knew some of the runners here. I realized at this point just how small the ultra running community was, and I was being welcomed in by these complete strangers (at the beginning of the BBQ) as though I was a long lost cousin. I invited many of them up here for runs and races (I very honestly hope some make it!) and met a RD (Race Director) for several races down there, including the Diablo 50K in April - which I am adding to my calendar for next year.
Not my best race, but another great experience. Just two short months until my first 50 mile race. My performance at Quicksilver didn’t help me feel great about it - but it did point me in the right direction. I listed to a LOT of podcasts today (from this AMAZING site) that confirms it. I need longer runs. Back to back 20+ mile days. I need to teach my body to run tired. Run depleted. Push further than I ever have. And I’m down to roughly 60 days to accomplish this. Starting this weekend…we are doing another S.O.B. training run Saturday (I’m thinking between 18-22 miles) and I plan on following it up with at least 10 Sunday, and a bike ride. Time to start destroying my legs.

Last weekend, I did a long run with a few friends. Or what was supposed to be a long run. We intended to run the Lithia Loop marathon course, a full 26 mile training run, starting with 6-7 miles uphill. I struggled all the way up, more than I would have anticipated or expected (especially having done it more than once before). We started across the backside of the course, and the snow started getting deeper and the running less and less fun. About 11 or so miles in, we decided to turn around and head back…the snow was just too much. Around mile 18 (give or take), my legs simply stopped working for me. I bonked harder than I ever have in a training run. I am not going to lie, after my performance at Boston and this run, I really started feeling quite cashed. And to be candid, a bit concerned about my goals for the summer, and started really questioning my running in general. Sure, it’s one bad run, after one bad race, but it was enough to make me concerned. Couple that with the nagging IT band pain I’ve been struggling with (and that really flared up in the aforementioned long run), and I was genuinely second guessing my race next weekend, and my hopes of finishing a longer run than ever. Twice this summer.
I took the last week more or less off, save the traditional group run Wednesday (which I always love, and helps keep me motivated). I bought new shoes this week, going back to the first trail shoes I had after moving out here, the inov8s.

Today was the third official S.O.B. (Siskiyou Out Back) training run. For those keeping score, S.O.B. will be my first attempt at a 50 miler (in June). With Quicksilver rapidly approaching - it’s a week away - I needed a good run just to feel confident about running a 50K. Well, today was better than a good run. The climbs were a struggle, no doubt, but I felt I could and did push myself, and ran relatively pain free in my knee. I still am leery, but am going to ice and use KTtape on it this week after runs to try to help me feel recovered. It was a great run, for those local we ran up to Four Corners (up the Bandersnatch trail, then Toothpick and finally up Catwalk - where the real struggling came in) for a total of about 14 miles up and back. I definitely felt stronger than I have in the past few weeks, my legs actually felt fresh and the climbs were manageable. Given the elevation profile of Quicksilver I think today is precisely what I need. I’m using this run to help me transition away from road marathon (Boston) training back into ultra/trail running. It seems manageable. And frankly, all I have to do is finish ahead of my ride back, who is running the 50 mile course…hopefully that will be manageable. It’s good to be back, to feel strong and capable again. I actually got back to enjoying the running today, laughing, playing and celebrating being in the hills that I love so much. Precisely what I needed.