MILES TO GO BEFORE I SLEEP

2011 - Don't Let The Door Hit You On The Ass

2012-01-16T13:37:00.002-06:00

In terms of running, there are few years I'll be less sad to see in the rear-view than 2011. Now, numbers don't tell the story every time. But this isn't one of those times. 876 miles over 173 days, for a pedestrian 5 mile/run average. Vast swaths of time off with various injuries. Two whole organized "races" - a nice Bandera 50K last January & a slow (but very enjoyable) Cactus Rose relay. But the end of the year saw more consistency in my training, a trend that needs to continue in 2012. Miwok and some other good races are on the radar this year, so motivation is high. 2012 - bring it on.

2012 Goals

2011-12-14T12:51:00.004-06:00

Almost forgot that I have a blog! When last I wrote, I was in the midst of a fantastic streak of running. Nothing very long, mind you, but I was out there every day without fail. This streak continued through much of July (all told, 64 days in a row). But what turned out to be a neuroma between the 2nd and 3rd metatarsals of the right foot ultimately undid the streak and led to an August where the only streak was zero days. After some fruitless visits to the doctor, I slowly began to realize it was something I could run with, as the initial ache tends to numb out after a mile or so. And I slowly began working my way back into shape.

In October, I managed to make it out for a 25-mile leg of the Cactus Rose 100 Relay and had a wonderful time. Somehow, my seriously undertrained body made it up and down and over those rocky trails without any significant issues. After Cactus Rose, the training picked up with Bandera 100K as my goal race. In all likelihood, this wasn't a reasonable goal given the tight time frame, and when I suffered a pretty painful calf strain recently, it provided a good reason to reassess my goals.

After bailing on Bandera (and watching a few cool vids from the North Face 50 out in the Marin Headlands), I decided to throw my name into the Miwok lottery. In an un-Western States turn of events, I was actually selected. So the new goal is the Miwok 100. My previous run out there in 2007 took a hair over 16 hours. Obviously, the goal is improve on that crappy time. With a bit over four months until the race, I'll be able to put together a reasonable, conservative training plan that may include Nueces and/or Hells Hills earlier in spring. If things go well at Miwok, another 100 miler may be in the picture for the late-summer/early-fall. Until then, I'm just going to enjoy the newfound motivation and hope the body will match the attitude.

May and June

2011-06-30T15:07:00.004-05:00

I ran 103.75 miles this month. Hardly all that impressive. I mean, it's only 1.75 miles more than a bunch of people ran last weekend in the Sierra Nevada mountains in one day. And it's well short of even my own (relatively pathetic) best month ever. But it was a gratifying month of running nonetheless for a couple of reasons. First, I was running again after a horrible injury-filled spring. Second, and more importantly, I am running consistently. Arguably more consistently than ever. The 103.75 miles arose out of 26 runs. Throw in 4 active-rest Friday walks for another 11.6 miles, and you have 115.35 total miles spread out over every day this month. Average running pace was 9:35, with most of the weekday road runs in the 8:15-8:40 range - not terribly quick, but not embarassing. Fairly certain I've never gone 30 straight days without a zero day. Add to that the last 13 days of May (where I walked every day), and I couldn't be happier with my consistency. If July brings the same success, I may actually find some genuine running fitness again!

No Running - Week 3

2011-05-11T09:24:00.004-05:00

Fat. That's how I feel today. Deep into my third week of zero running, following on the heels of some less-than-impressive mileage in the preceding weeks, and a sense of full-on slothfulness has overcome me. I've been pretty good about working the hips and core, and have started some focused work on the tibialis muscles, all with an eye toward making the return to running more successful. But other than a couple of bike rides, the need to sweat has not been fulfilled lately. Hopefully a return to some short walking next week, followed by some longer walks in Week 5 will help take the edge off. Because right now . . . bleh.

Not So Fast

2011-04-29T13:17:00.002-05:00

So much for the "Return to Running." Just when I'm able to finally put the near-chronic hip and abdominal issues behind me, the left shin rears its ugly head again. Man, this is getting so old (like me, I suppose). I tried to run through it, a strategy that's had some success in the past, but it wasn't going to work this time. The level of discomfort pretty much erased all of the joy of running - when the entire focus of a run is on how much your shin hurts, it's time to stop.

The plan? Five weeks off. Maybe six. No running AT ALL until the beginning of June, and then a very conservative ramp up (in the dreadful heat of summer). Between now and then, a lot of work on the core and hips, followed by tibialis-specific exercises. I'll get out on the bike a bit, just to remember what it's like to break a sweat, and in a few weeks (if all goes well) start to mix in some walking.

Not running sucks. That's a fact. But running injured, day in and day out, may even suck more. The 5-6 weeks off will be well worth it if I can just get out there one day and run a few miles where nothing hurt. I've pretty much forgotten what that feels like (save for the time months ago when I was on a course of steroids for a non-running issue).

Return to Running

2011-03-07T07:50:00.003-06:00

Over the past couple of weeks, I've returned to running. Short, relaxed stuff (on the trails as much as possible). After a month off, I was hoping to see more relief from my chronic hip and abdominal issues, but they linger on. Definitely not as pronounced as before, but still nagging. Actually, these issues are probably more annoying in my non-running life (sitting at work, doing crap around the house). Over the past few weeks, I've become fairly dedicated about core and hip work - planks and hip ab/adductor band exercises (which can be pretty tough for such a short workout). Got a couple of extraordinarily painful sessions in with my muscular therapist, but doing this on a weekly basis is simply cost-prohibitive right now. As for my running plans - nothing exciting. A slow buildup with no target races right now. Toying with the Rocky Hill Ranch 25K (ok, "Hells Hills") next month, if I can get a solid base in over the next few weeks and at least one run of 2 hours or so. No biggie either way. Just happy to get out there again. Injury time off always reinforces the fact that being healthy enough to run day in, day out is far more important to me than any specific racing goals. At least right now...

Park Road Rocks RR100

2011-02-07T15:21:00.017-06:00

(The kick-ass Park Road Saturday morning crew)

Anyone who tells you that running an aid station at a 100 mile trail race is a thankless job is . . . well, wrong. I can't tell you how many times during the day and the night that runners (and pacers and crew) expressed their thanks to the 2011 Park Road Aid Station gang. And, let's face it, our little outpost isn't a bad spot to watch the unique drama of a 100 miler unfold, from the genetic freaks at the front of the pack, to the ultra-tough runners bringing up the rear - you get a front-row seat to the full range of human emotions: SHOCK ("dddd...damn, it's cold!"), DENIAL ("feeling good - this isn't going to be that bad"), ANGER ("son of a &*%, my hydration pack is frozen!"), BARGAINING ("okay, if I can just get back to the start/finish, I'll let myself sit for a few minutes"), DEPRESSION ("I've run 60 miles. I'm exhausted. There's no way I can run another 40 miles."), TESTING ("I can't run anymore. My legs are shot. But I can still walk and make it with plenty of time to spare, so that's what I'm going to do"), and finally ACCEPTANCE ("this was much harder than I thought, and I'm not going to finish even close to my goal time/at all, but I'm going to finish/live to run another day, and that's okay"). And it's compelling stuff.

Planning

Planning for this year's Park Road probably started as soon as we were tearing down last year's version. Making mental notes of what was good (traffic flow, Lynnor's generator) and what wasn't (stock of water scattered everywhere, poor lighting, cramped quarters at night with runners seeking a respite from the cold). A couple weeks before this year's race, Mariela and I hit Arne's for the Margarita/Tropic Paradise theme supplies - always a fun time. We discussed how chafing dishes would be nice this year, staffing issues, candles for the porta-johns, etc. Keeping the same team intact this year kept formal planning needs to a minimum, and before we knew it, race day was approaching.

Execution

Last year, I drove up to Huntsville on race morning to pick up supplies from Joe and Joyce and haul them to the aid station. Frankly, that sucked a great deal. This year I decided to take Friday afternoon off to pick the supplies up early and deliver the non-perishables to the tents the day before. Fortunately, Chris graciously agreed to come up with me and help. Braving the frozen highways & byways between Houston and Huntsville, we arrived in the park at about 1:00 and headed straight back to the Dogwood site. Joyce loaned out her pickup (cuz my Subaru wasn't going to cut it, even with the back seats down) and in no time we were able to ferry the supplies (including quite possibly the largest box of ramen noodles on planet earth) over to Park Road. Chris and I then spent another couple of hours doing set up work - organizing the 300 gallons of water, setting up tables, hanging the lighting, assembling and testing the propane heater, and generally trying to make the next morning as stress-free as possible. This year we also put up my EZ-up tarp and thought it might make a nice spot for the heater and cold, tired runners during the evening.

Saturday morning came much too early and the ride up to Huntsville was a bit groggy. As we approached the park, my car thermometer bottomed out at 19 degrees - YIKES, it was going to be a cold set up. When we arrived, we found Julie Monte (who brought a ton of awesome supplies) and a couple other folks already ready to roll, and a frigid set up began in earnest. Other volunteers filtered in, Lynnor arrived with the generator (HTREX is forever beholden to Lynnor for this annual gift of life) and it was rolled out, power cords were strung, and in no time, we had electricity! By 7:15 or so, all that was left was finishing the decorations, cutting oranges, making some pb&j sandwiches, and waiting for our guests. The Park Road crew was ready to rock. But first we had to enjoy our front-row seat to the race at the front.

(Anton Krupicka, approaching Park Road)

After an obscenely short amount of time, the Mutants started to fly by. Gingerich, Sharman, Krupicka, Koerner, Jurek, Howard . . . huh, what, Howard? Seriously, not a few minutes after Scott Jurek (Scott Freaking Jurek) cruises through, here comes our own (as in Texas' own) Liza Howard, bounding by like a deer. WOW. JUST WOW. If you haven't checked out her blog, you should. Wonderful, hilarious stuff: http://lizahoward.wordpress.com/ This is some sort of special runner. Some other top folks breezed by and then slowly but surely the actual humans started appearing. Unlike the X-(Wo)Men, they actually stopped and wanted stuff. Early on, it was mostly PB&J's and pancakes. A number of runners had frozen hydration pack tubes and needed them thawed. The early visits are always nice - people are happy, chatty, funny. Of course, the most entertaining part is that you know it's going change. But you don't say anything other than "good job" or "you look great." All the while your inner monologue goes something like this: "Yeah, smile and yuk it up now buddy, cuz in 20 or 40 or 60 miles, your existential crisis is gonna come."

By about mid-morning, the day had warmed up enough to melt the snow and ice that had collected on the tent, and inside the weather went from cold and dry to chilly and wet, as water began to drip everywhere: into the Cokes, the M&M's (which melted in the bowl, not in your mouth), the sandwiches, you name it). One of Joe's volunteers who had come by to check on our supplies suggested opening the southeast end of the tent to let the sun in - an excellent idea, as the combination of sun and air circulation dried things up amazingly fast. Our fantastic group of volunteers (about whom I cannot say enough) handled every rush with ease and good humor. Runners came and runners went, and as the morning moved into afternoon, a sizeable crowd of crew lined the course leading up to Park Road. The area took on the feeling of a small party or picnic. One of the best parts about our location is the accessibility and the buzz that the crowd brings.

Late in the afternoon, Mariela appeared with a bounty of wonderful Costco goodies: blueberries, apple pies, avocados - the nighttime runners were in for a treat. As my shift came to an end and the night shift got started, I knew everything was in good hands. My return Sunday morning confirmed that. The overnight traffic had put a dent in the tables, but there was still plenty of sustenance to go around. As the back of the packers straggled in, most beat down to their core (the best misery viewing is always Sunday morning), their needs continued to be tended (although often that meant a gentle prod to get going). Soon the last runner came through and the breakdown began in earnest. Once everything was packed away and Joe's crew had started disassembling the tents, Mariela and I stopped for a few minutes and enjoyed a couple of beers, some Pringles, and the now-mild sunshine. Another successful Rocky Raccoon in the books and a most gratifying way to spend the weekend. Let the planning for 2012 begin!

Yearly Stint On The IR

2011-01-22T09:05:00.003-06:00

Why can't I get injured in July? It seems that my down time always ends up happening during Houston's prime running season. Oh well. What can you do? Anyway, after a visit to my sports medicine doc, I've decided to take 4-6 weeks off and see if I can't shake the abdominal/hip/low-back issues that have plagued me for much of the better part of a year now. That wasn't exactly my doctor's recommendation. He wanted me to get a MRI to rule out a pelvic stress fracture. And while I wouldn't mind doing that if it was like, you know, free, it most definitely isn't free. At least not under my crappy insurance. Plus, I really don't believe this is a stress fracture (just not that much pain). So, the plan is lots of rest, repeated trips to my muscular therapist, at-home stretching, and eventually some strength work. In a month or so, if the issue hasn't resolved at all, then I'll consider the possibility of a sports hernia or a stress fracture. But given the fact that I haven't tried significant rest in the last year (I think 5 days was the most I'd taken off), I think a conservative approach is the logical first step.

Right now, though, I'm looking forward to co-captaining the Park Road Aid Station at this year's iteration of the Rocky Raccoon 100. Should be a nice handful of excellent runners up front (rumor is that Tony Krupicka is coming down), and helping all those runners behind the top guys and gals reach their goals is tremendously gratifying. Really looking forward to it. I'll try to do a preview post closer to race day.

Bandera Rocks

2011-01-11T07:09:00.015-06:00

This year's Bandera 50K was going to be a test of sorts. I've been bothered for the better part of the last 9 months with what I initially thought was an abdominal strain, but know believe is a sports hernia. We'll let the sports medicine doc figure out what's truly wrong, but suffice it to say that running, particularly long distances, hasn't always been pleasurable. So heading into Bandera this year, I had little in the way of expectations. Like many runners, I'm sure, I set multiple goals for races: best case, solid day, minimal. In shorter races this usually translates into some set of goal times (e.g., slow, slower, slowest). In long races, the minimal goal may be simply to finish within the time limits. For Bandera 2011, a finish in any time would go down as a solid day.

Chris and I made the easy drive up from Boerne Saturday morning and arrived at the park about 40 minutes before the start. Joe and his volunteers had parking down to a science – just as the three races (25, 50, and 100K) each had separate starting locations, so too the parking. We checked in, dropped small bags in the Chapas truck, hit the bushes for a quick restroom stop, snapped a photo with a few TREX members, and headed up the road to the 50K start line. The weather was perfect – in the lower 40’s with a beautiful, nearly-cloud-free dawn breaking. A few minutes later we were underway.

Despite following Chris’s instructions to remind him to “slow down,” it wasn’t long at all before he was out of sight, not to be seen again until the finish. Ran much of the first two climbs (Cairn’s and Boyle’s) surrounded by plenty of folks. Not a conga-line or anything like that (choosing a pace wasn’t a problem), but hardly alone. By the time we came off Sky Island, I found myself running with a couple of TREXers, Kevin and Michael, and we generally stayed together until the halfway point at Chapas. Throughout this first half, I was feeling really good. My abdominal issue certainly let me know it was there, but it never became much of a problem. Stomach, legs, etc – all of it was working just fine. In seemingly no time, we pulled into Paul Stone’s wonderful Chapas aid station, at almost exactly the 3 hour mark. Seeing as I initially wondered whether I could finish at all, hitting 15.5 in 3 hours was a pleasant surprise.

After scarfing down an absolutely delicious waffle with melted peanut butter and a bit of syrup (just brilliant ultra food!) and changing my socks (a few spots felt hot), I ambled out of Chapas, content to take the second half as it came. Initially it came slowly, as I walked for a bit to allow my breakfast to settle, but soon I felt like running again and I managed to make fairly good time in this mostly flat-ish section leading into Crossroads (a big, bustling aid station you visit twice in a row). My energy flagged just a little coming into Crossroads, so I grabbed a Coke and a couple of warm cheese quesadilla quarters (delicious!) and walked out down the wide path toward the next technical climb, The Three Sisters.

After a few minutes of walking, I pushed myself to start mixing in more running, and by the time I hit the Sisters a couple miles later, I was feeling pretty solid again. The climb up the first Sister is the longest, but after having done it a number of times now, it didn’t strike me as all that significant. Took in the wonderful view at the top of the second Sister, and eventually descended down the nasty, nasty trail off the last Sister quite slowly, as I was caught behind some runners who were definitely playing the descent safe. In no hurry, I was happy to pull back as well.

Off the Sisters, I made my way to the hidden, outcast slutty forth Sister (aka #6 Trail climb). The first couple of times on this course, this climb caught me by surprise – you think when you’re done with nos. 1-3, you're done with all the technical stuff. Wrong. This time, I knew what was coming, and that knowledge makes all the difference in the world. Soon enough I hit the final descent down into Crossroads (maybe my favorite descent of the course – not too steep, but enough rocky nastiness to keep you on your toes).

Coming out of Crossroads, I ran into Mary, deep into her successful 100K effort. She was fishing something or another out of a drop box at least twice her size(!) and shortly thereafter we ran close to each other for a bit. I could sense she wanted her own space – a feeling I totally understand from many long races – and I bid her good luck and ran out ahead for a while. Couple miles down the trail, I ran into Michael, who I had not seen since Chapas at 15.5 miles. He said he was having a bit of a struggle with dehydration and he looked a bit down mentally. We walked for a ways and after a short time, he was happy to start running again – back in the game. We hit probably the nastiest little up & down on the course, Lucky Peak, grunted on up and picked our way down the crazy bust-your-ass descent.

Hitting the last aid station (aptly named Last Chance) seemed to take forever, but eventually we came around a gentle bend in the trail, and there it was. Michael moved through without stopping. Me, well I needed my sip of beer. See, every other year I’ve been doing the 100K, and on that course Last Chance is nearly 5 miles from the Finish. On the 50K course, the finish is a mere ½ mile away. So I took a small cup of Shiner and was happy to walk down the trail and drink my beer for a few minutes. Yeah, I know, definitely not “racing.” Once I could hear the crowd at the finish, I started running again and crossed the line in a very satisfying 6:36:06.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent lounging near the finish line, watching folks come in and out and waiting for the winner. Beer, jerky, and folding chairs with footrests - not a bad deal at all. Soon enough, the 100K winner, Dave Mackey, cruised across the finish in an absolutely stunning 8:16, slicing about an hour off the course record. In all seriousness, he didn't even look tired. Amazing stuff. Shortly thereafter, we packed up and bid Bandera goodbye. Already looking forward to a return to my favorite Texas trail run in 2012 - hopefully healthy and ready to race.

Bandera 50K - Quick Summary

2011-01-09T19:30:00.002-06:00

Went into this race with about as low expectations as possible. Best case scenario - I'd finish. With my abdominal / hip / back issues really flaring up over the last few weeks, and pretty pathetic training in general, I figured I'd be lucky to muddle through in 8 hours or so without dropping. I think the low expectations were responsible for my almost total lack of pre-race nerves, as I was about as calm as I can recall ever being before a race. Some 6:30 or so later, I crossed the finish line, most pleased with how the day turned out. I'll do something more detailed in a few days or so. For now, it's time to rest.

Palo Duro 50

2010-11-02T13:24:00.003-05:00

There was a single goal coming into this year’s Palo Duro 50 Miler: finish under 11 hours for a Western States qualifying time. To be sure, my history with gaining a Western States entry has been somewhat tortured. Unsuccessful lottery entries for the 2008 and 2009 races meant that with the so-called Two-Time Loser (“TTL”) rule, my spot would normally have been assured for the 2010 race. Except that there was no 2009 race. Cancelled due to wildfires. With the folks originally entered in the 2009 now guaranteed entry in the 2010 race, the backlog of TTLs had to be split into two groups – half get in the 2010 race, the other half (my half) in the 2011 race. It was just as well, because I was plagued with injuries through much of 2009 and early 2010. By last spring, I had managed to become reasonably healthy and started training in earnest, with my sights on either Dick Collins Firetrails or Palo Duro as my qualifying race (Palo Duro won out). Thus began a long training slog through our horrendous Houston summer. As anyone who logged many miles through the summer can attest, it was utterly miserable. But train I did. And, in some ways it was the most consistent and satisfying training cycle I’d ever had. By the first weekend in October, I had notched something approaching a 70-mile peak training week, with plenty of solid weeks leading up to it. I felt fit and strong and ready to roll. Still, I knew going into Palo Duro that there would be little margin for error.

I’d never run Palo Duro before, and coming into Amarillo and driving down to the town of Canyon (home of West Texas A&M University – whoop!), it’s easy to see how this race might be overlooked. I mean, seriously, there’s NOTHING but flat, empty space. Then, when you’ve almost made it to the park entrance, you get your first glimpse of the canyon, and a quarter mile later, the entire vista opens up before you, utterly shocking in its sudden beauty. But as I looked out across the canyon from the scenic overlook Friday afternoon, the excitement of running through such a gorgeous environment was tempered with the realization that it was hot. Really hot. Not Houston hot, mind you. But bone-dry hot. Clearly, heat management was going to be a huge part of race day.

When I stepped outside of my hotel early Saturday morning, it wasn’t nearly as cool as the forecast originally called for. Instead of 47, it was 55. By the time I parked inside the canyon, it was 57. It was obviously going to be a long day. Race organization was excellent – quick parking, easy check-in, convenient spot for drop bags right along the course, no-frills start. All things I’ve come to value in races. Found Les, then Kevin W., and finally Kim. We tucked in toward the back of the combined 50M/50K pack and in no time we were off. Well, sort of. Probably should have started farther up, because almost immediately we were funneled onto deeply-rutted single-track in a molasses-slow conga line. We’re talking walking for much of the first mile or so. Very frustrating. Once we broke free, I felt the need to make up for lost time, and probably put the hammer down a little too hard. Despite a solid perceived effort, my first loop split was close to 2:25, which put me a bit behind the eight ball.

The second loop was pretty forgettable. With a general idea of where the aid stations fell on each loop (3.5 miles, 6.3 miles, 8.8 miles, 10 miles, 12.5 miles), I recalculated my splits and was hitting them pretty well. I recall spending a little more time enjoying the views on this loop, particularly the section between the 2nd and 4th aid stations, which was just phenomenally beautiful (and completely exposed). Toward the end of the second loop it all of a sudden became hot. Not the kind of hot that immediately overheated the system, but definitely the kind of heat you couldn’t ignore. Back at the start-finish in just under 4:55 total, I quickly grabbed my iPod, downed an Ensure, snatched a few extra gels and headed out in just under 5:00 total elapsed time. It was absolutely clear to me that loop 3 would be the crucible. For any chance at finishing sub-11:00, I needed to cover this loop in no more than 2:45-2:50.

And things started okay. My legs were feeling the accumulated miles, and it was hot, but I was holding together. There were no acute problems. A little cry from the left Achilles every now and then was about it. Stomach was pretty solid, hydration and electrolytes were in order, no hot spots on the feet…. Not too bad. But it was getting much more difficult to run for long stretches. The little uphills were the first to go and I made the decision to begin walking most of them as an energy-conservation strategy. Figured I had at least enough cushion to do that, as long as I ran all the downs and most of the flats. Made it through the first aid station in okay shape timewise, but coming out of that aid station I found myself unable to run any of the gentle, long-ish uphill toward “The Lighthouse” formation. I soon caught up to Bobby Keough, an incredibly nice guy who has run about a million of these, and was content to follow his lead. Walked all of the ups, no matter how slight, ran all the downs, and mixed on the flats. For a little while, a high, thin layer of clouds took the edge off the heat and there was a nice breeze. Alas, that didn’t last and it soon became really hot. The water in my bottle quickly became nasty warm, and for the first time I could feel my system begin to overheat (sloshy stomach, too-quick exhaustion from even minor running efforts). At this point, there was little to do but mix in more walking and hope for some sort of miracle re-birth.

I recall pulling into the second aid station (Dos Loco Senoritas) a couple of minutes ahead of my top-end (i.e., slowest) splits and thinking I was still in the game. Grabbed some nice cold water, a little Coke (which all the aid stations had!), and moved out at a brisk walk while trying to force down a Gu (Chocolate Mint – not just for the holidays anymore). My thoughts were 100% on splits at this point and my mental outlook was still pretty positive. But this 2.5 mile stretch to the next aid station (which always seemed at least a mile longer than that) was both the most scenic and most exposed of the entire race. The sun was merciless and the heat radiated off the nearby canyon walls like a convection oven. It became increasingly difficult to move at a decent clip, and although I had only fallen behind my splits by about 10 minutes, by the time I finally made it into the next aid station, I was cooked and somewhat dispirited. Some cold water, some ice in my cap, and more Coke helped clarify my thinking a little (I was definitely getting a bit woozy), and as I walked into the only shady stretch of the entire course, I began running the numbers again. It was then that the reality hit: I was going to need a huge effort to finish this loop in 3 hours, an effort that - even if I had it in me – would likely leave me with nothing at all in the tank for the final loop (which I would have to do in exactly the same time, if not less than #3). I knew – I mean absolutely KNEW – that this wasn’t going to happen. And at that moment, in the blink of an eye, the little life I had left in me just drained out. My day was done. My only goal evaporated and with it all of my motivation. Made it back to the start / finish in about 8:30 elapsed time & told one of the race officials I was done (to his credit, he didn’t try to talk me out of it).

Where does that leave me? For a moment, I entertained the thought of entering Cactus Rose for one last try at sub-11. I’m feeling pretty good physically. With runs of 32 and 37.5 miles over the last 3 weeks, I’m trained up. But my chances of running a sub-11 at Cactus Rose would have been exceedingly slim given the finish times from last year (it would have taken a top-10 effort this year). I know that course fairly well, and for all its charms, it’s not built for speed. Anyway, I think it’s time to reassess what it is I want from running and where racing (particularly the ultra distances) fits, if at all. I love running. It is without question an important part of my life. But racing 50 miles, 100K, 100 miles? I’m not so sure anymore. So, for now, I think I’ll be content to keep running 40-45 miles a week, maybe focusing on regaining some long-lost leg speed, staying healthy. I’d like to go back to Bandera, because I love that race, but strictly for the 50K (leaving much quality beer-drinking time afterwards). We’ll see. Finally, for anyone looking for a great 50K or 50M race next fall, I can’t recommend Palo Duro enough. Just a terrific race in a magnificent setting.

Endless Summer

2010-08-15T20:30:00.002-05:00

It hit 100 today in H-town. Heat index: 112. Given that it's mid-August, this shouldn't really be news. But, in what has to be one of the more meaningless statistics of the summer, it was the first 100-degree day this year. Why meaningless? Because even without a 100-degree day, the first two weeks of August have been really, really hot. Like the hottest on record. By 4 degrees. The other day, the LOW temperature was 83. Eighty-friggin-three. The highest low ever in August. Global warming is a hoax, my ass. Do these facts make me feel any better? Yeah, right. In fact, I've become almost numb to the heat. Sure, I'm tired of running in it, but there's no use fighting it. With every run I bank, I'm one day closer to fall (known in Houston as "Not Summer").

As for my actual running, June and July were not quite everything I had aimed for. After a solid May, I was hoping I could take a step up in June. Wasn't to be. 118 miles over 17 runs - not what I was shooting for. July was slightly better - 137 miles and 19 runs. Wouldn't have been a bad month had I not completely burned out a couple weeks in. Just couldn't bear to get out there anymore. So, I took a solid week off - Summer Break - in hopes of refreshing the soul. Worked okay and I closed out the month solidly. The first couple of weeks this month have gone decently as well. High hopes for finishing it out strong and positioning myself for a solid peak in September before Palo Duro. Keep telling myself that running through this horrific heat can't help but make me stronger come this fall.

And now, in the tradition of music-posting-running-bloggers, a terrific video from someone who deserves far more attention than he receives:

May In The Books

2010-06-01T14:40:00.004-05:00

[Trail in the Hood - Memorial Park]

Time for a progress report. If the goal for May was consistency, then I'd have to say the month turned out pretty good. 24 runs and 131 miles. The long run was 10 miles and it was early in the month. The last couple of weeks nearly all the runs were in the 5-8 mile range. The idea was to see how the hip/back/shin would react to moderate, nearly-daily effort. Although the physical issues are still around (some days fairly achy, others hardly an issue at all), I've been able to keep running without any significant problems or setbacks. And on the whole, everything is clearly moving in a positive direction. Just really nice to lace them up almost every day and keep one foot moving in front of the other.

So, what's the goal for June? More consistency and a bit more volume. Consistency plus. By the end of June, I'd like to be somewhere in the low-to-mid 40s for weekly mileage, with another 24-25 days running for the month. Plus more stair climbing and strength work in the much-hated gym. The week of Western States will be an outlier of sorts, but I'm still going to try to keep that week in the 40-45 mile range, even with a couple of longish treks planned for that weekend. A 160-mile month, while hardly all-world stuff, would mark the biggest month I've had in well over a year. Fingers crossed.

Consistency

2010-05-20T15:30:00.004-05:00

One of the reasons I maintain a running log is simply for sheer quantification. How many miles was I able to run this week? This month? What sort of pace did I maintain on a given run? Another reason is to track progress through the short narratives I draft. Was I feeling stonger this week than last? Am I getting better at dealing with the heat? That sort of thing. Only recently, however, did I begin to use it to highlight what's been missing in my running for the last 16 months or more: consistency. Looking back over 2009 and the first 4 months of this year, a disturbing pattern emerges. First, the spotty build up to a race. Some weeks are pretty decent, others not so much. Relatively shorter and faster runs during the week, followed by longer and slower weekend runs. In and of itself, a pretty standard approach. Nagging injuries here and there, followed by extra days off, as needed. The taper, then the big race. Bandera (good), Rocky Raccoon (not so good), El Scorcho (good), Where's Waldo (not so good). Each of these runs understandably followed by radically reduced mileage - sometimes just out of a need to rest, other times because of injury.

The overall view, however, was disheartening. In 2009, it appears I logged 129 days of running. While it's possible I failed to log a few days, much of this anemic total was due to various injuries. My most consistent month in 2009 was May, where I logged 19 runs (most were much worse). So, while 2009 was memorable for finally finishing Bandera and having a wonderful time (DNF notwithstanding) at Waldo, the reality is that I spent far more days not running than running. Not running makes me not happy. For that reason, my current focus is on running 6 days a week in a sustainable, healthy fashion. For the next couple of weeks, that means logging 6 - 6.5 hours a week, with no runs over 1.5 hours. The goal is to increase this time in small increments through the summer, until I'm hopefully logging 8 - 8.5 hours a week, with long runs in the 2.5 hour neighborhood. If all goes well, I should be running around 45-50 miles a week by the end of August, putting me in solid shape to peak at 65 miles a couple weeks out from Dick Collins Firetrails (Oct. 9). Most important, though, by the end of the summer, I'd like to be able to look back over my log and see some . . . consistency.

While I'm sure I'll write about it in an upcoming post, the one concession I'll make to this plan will happen in late June, when Chris and I travel out to California to witness the 2010 Western States 100 in person. The race promises to be an epic showdown at the front between some of the sickest 100-mile talent around. The trip will also give us the opportunity to check out parts of the trail before my return as an actual entrant in 2011. A Friday jaunt will start at the Finish and run back to the Highway 49 Aid Station, before turning around and experiencing the course in the normal direction coming back. About 13.5 miles. After Saturday's race viewing and beer-drinking break, on Sunday the plan is much more ambitious, as we intend to drive out to Michigan Bluff and run/walk/saunter a key part of the course, down to the Swinging Bridge across the North Fork of the Middle Fork of the American River. After a soak, we'll turn around, make the fabled climb up to Devil's Thumb and eventually make our way back to Michigan Bluff - just short of a 20-mile roundtrip. Very slow, very relaxed. Lots of photo breaks. More to come...

[At the bottom of Deadwood Canyon, on the WS course]

The Long Road Back

2010-04-19T07:55:00.004-05:00

As I wrote in my last post of any length, life after last year's Where's Waldo 100K has been a challenge. I'm now about 8 weeks into my very slow, very conservative return to running after 9 weeks on the shelf. A glance at my Attackpoint log tells the story - some short runs during the week (generally at a decent pace for my slow ass) and some slightly longer, much slower stuff on the trails each weekend. Is the body 100% healed? I wish. Fact is there are still mysterious things going on with my left leg, pretty much from hip to ankle. I now believe that the root of the problem is my back and that much of my discomfort is nerve-related. I've tried sprinkling lots of off days between my runs, but to little effect. So time for a new approach: run more - not necessarily mileage-wise, but more consistently. Like 6 days a week consistently. And for now, to limit the maximum time of my runs to around 2 hours (the point at which the left-side demons usually start to pop up). Kind of the same approach taken by this guy (who knows something about injuries): http://antonkrupicka.blogspot.com/2010/01/green-mountain-project.html Except without the ridiculous vertical climb. Or speed. Or grace. But with way more heat! Point is, the basic idea is the same. Be consistent and build a strong base. Come June, I'll reassess and maybe start to stretch out the long runs a bit. Still plenty of time before Palo Duro & that's all that matters right now.

PARK ROAD AID STATION

2010-03-08T13:00:00.008-06:00

Laissez Les Bon Temps Roulez!

Rush Hour at Park Road.

The Witching Hour.

ROCKY RACCOON 2010

2010-03-08T12:52:00.002-06:00

Been meaning to write something about running (with Chris and the incomparable Mariela) the Park Road Aid Station at this year's Rocky Raccoon 100 (and 50). First off, major thanks to everyone who came out and volunteered. Hope it was a good experience for everyone. Second, a quick observation: it's f-ing hard work to run an aid station at a 100, especially one at a huge (5-loop) race like Rocky Raccoon. By my rough estimates, that's well over 2500 runner visits. Keeping things running relatively smoothly is a full-time job for all the volunteers. Finally, kudos to Joe and Joyce Prusaitis, and Henry Hobbs, and all the other folks who put on this race (and so many other great races) - best outfit in the business IMHO. A couple of photos from Park Road (with its totally tacky Mardi Gras theme) to follow.

The Long View

2010-01-22T07:35:00.003-06:00

Time to blow the dust off the old blog, I suppose. A perfect storm of insanity has kept me away: work, aging parent headaches, injuries. The first two problems would be more manageable but for the last one. After my last visit to the doctor some time ago, I decided to attempt to run through my left leg issues (shin, calf, quad). After all, the doc said he thought the root of my problem was my lower back - so the whole thing was just nerve-induced pain. No biggie. Right.

Well, I ran for a while and it was good for my mental wellbeing (I didn't want to kill anyone on a daily basis). But there was never a run without some sort of leg pain. Sometimes the shin was fine, but the calf was a problem. Other times my quad was tender. Other times it was the same old shin issue. Then, three weeks ago, after a nice weekend of trail runs, my shin hurt in a new and disturbing way. In fact, there was this redish / bruised spot right at the site of the pain (which was now localized rather than diffuse). And the tibia, well it was extremely pressure sensitive. Bad combination. After some in-depth online research, I felt reasonably certain that if I didn't have a stress fracture before, I had one now. Rather than shell out more money for doctors and imaging studies, I made the decision to simply treat it like I would treat a stress fracture. That means no running or other significant weight-bearing exercise for 8-10 weeks. So, come early March, we'll see where we are.

This decision was certainly easier to make three weeks ago when the shin still hurt. But now that it feels pretty good, I'm starting to get antsy. Knowing that I'd quickly devolve into a grumpy tub of goo if I didn't do something, I held my nose and . . . yes, joined a gym. You see, I hate gyms. It's just not my scene. But I had to do something. And, actually, I found a pretty good one - small, just down the street from work, not crowded, reasonably priced (no contract either!). And, did I mention that it shares a building with a modeling agency? Sweet.

For now, it's dull-as-dirt sessions on the stationary bike and some work on the weights. In a couple of weeks, maybe I'll mix in some time on the elliptical. Yea. Come early March, the plan is start walking again, then mix the walking with some short bursts of running, then all running. Baby steps. And a completely new race schedule. Nothing until late-spring / early summer, and no serious races until next Fall. Intrigued by Joe Prusaitis's Gila Gundred in September. No details posted yet, but that part of New Mexico is supposed to be rugged and beautiful. We shall see.

Until then, going to focus on helping put together a truly first-rate aid station for Rocky Raccoon 100 this year. HTREX is sponsoring the Park Road Aid Station (at roughly miles 15, 35, 55, 75, and 95). Turnout should be HUGE - closing in on over 700 runners in both the 100 and 50. We'll have a Mardi Gras theme, a great group of volunteers, top-notch food and drink, and beads. Laissez les bon temps roulez!

Down Time

2009-09-04T09:40:00.003-05:00

In light of all my post-Waldo aches and pains, I've decided that some down time is in order. Although I'm thrilled that my sport medicine doc said he didn't "think" I had any sort of stress fracture in the left leg, a little break from running seems not only prudent but appealing. Saturday will mark two weeks of zero running. Plan to give the legs at least another two weeks off before starting back up. So far, only minor irritability and feelings of lardassishness. I'm sure the next couple of weeks won't be quite as easy. In the meantime, I'll do a little riding, a little walking, lots of hip & shin strengthening exercises, a little more blogging (maybe), and somewhat less eating. Any other suggestions for maintaining some small level of fitness would be welcome.

Waldo Photos

2009-08-28T15:36:00.017-05:00

Mt. Hood from the plane. We're not in Houston anymore.

The Best Western Oakridge. View from the room doesn't exactly suck.

The Waldo Course Profile. If you aren't going up, you're going down.

The Mt. Ray Trail. Sweet cruiser singletrack (assuming your legs aren't trashed).

Speaking of trashed legs....

Charlton Lake. Very inviting.

Coming into the Charlton Lake Aid Station. I'm the one without the smile.

Misty and Me at Road 4290. Funny, I can't recall smiling the whole time I was there.

Sign approaching The Twins aid station, where I found sympathy without bleeding.

At The Twins AS. Fitting wardrobe for such a masochistic exercise.

Where's Waldo 100K

2009-08-27T15:03:00.014-05:00

Each of the entrants to this year’s Where’s Waldo 100K received a white bandana silkscreened with a full-color map & elevation profile of the course. It turned out to be an amazingly useful bit of swag. I tied it around the shoulder strap of my hydration pack and would refer to it at least a dozen times over the course of the day. It wasn’t that I was lost (the course was impeccably marked), it’s just that I liked knowing where I was and what was coming up. It also served as a handy “white flag of surrender” (hat tip to Sarah Palin) at mile 44.7 – the end of my race. These ultras are hard nuts to crack sometimes. One day it might be nutrition problems that drag you down. Another day it might be hydration. On this day, the nutrition and hydration were both dialed in. The heat training throughout this hellish summer definitely paid dividends. But in the end, my body was simply done in by the climbing and descending, something for which I was not adequately trained. And so as I staggered in to The Twins aid station for the second time that day, I did the one thing I’m exceedingly talented at in ultras: I quit. How did it come to that? Well, this is that story. . . .

Where’s Waldo takes place in the Cascade Mountains of central Oregon, about an hour’s drive east of Eugene. The scenery is jaw-droppingly gorgeous. Lush beyond belief. Steep mountains. Dense forest. Pristine, cerulean lakes. Just wow. With my trusty crew, Chris and Misty, we arrived in Portland late Friday morning, immediately picked up the Pontaic G6 (with a "NeverLost" GPS feature that was always about two minutes behind) and headed south to Eugene, then east to Oakridge (pop. 3300), our base for the weekend. After a brief rest at the hotel, we headed out the race site at the Will-am-ette ("Willamette, dammit") Pass Resort (elev. 5120 ft.) for packet pick up and a quick look around. The plan was to grab dinner at the Lodge, where they offered a $10 pasta buffet, but the behind-the-counter kitchen scene didn’t exactly inspire confidence, so we headed back to Oakridge for some perfectly acceptable pizza (followed by a little DQ softserve, of course). Back to the hotel for a little last-minute organizing and then off to bed super early. Did I mention that I had signed up for the 3:00 a.m. start?

Shortly after 1:00 a.m., the alarm goes off and I immediately make my way to the coffeemaker, knowing that if coffee isn’t ingested within 10 minutes, I might find myself back in bed. Chris and Misty (bless them) tap lightly at my door around 2:15, and we’re off into the cool darkness, heading back to the Lodge. The plan is for the crew to head back to Oakridge for a little more sleep and some breakfast, before meeting me at the Mt. Ray aid station (mile 20) around 7:45 or so. After that, the plan was to meet up at Charlton Lake (mile 32), where Misty would join me for the next 12 miles or so. At the Twins aid station (mile 44.7), Chris would replace Misty and join me for the final 17 miles.

After a quick restroom break at the Lodge (actual clean restrooms – nice touch), I mill about with the other 3:00 starters (maybe 40 of us altogether), until we’re called outside to the start line. It’s gorgeous outside (low/mid-40s), but after a summer where a humid 78 is considered “pleasant,” it feels downright chilly, so I start the run with a light GoLite jacket and gloves. The rest of my gear includes a short-sleeved tech t-shirt, my soft ball cap, Nathan hydration pack, compression sleeves on the calves, gaiters, Wrightsocks, and (feeling daring) my New Balance MT790’s. At 3:00 a.m., co-RD Curt Ringstad says “go,” and we’re off.

Start to Mt. Ray (mile 0 to mile 20.5). This section of the course sports a nice initial climb of around 1200 feet right off the bat. We ran for maybe 100 feet and hooked an immediate left up the ski hill. The climbing was more or less continuous, but at a pretty good grade – the 1200 feet was probably covered in 2 miles or less. During this section, I concentrated on sticking with folks because I was unfamiliar with the course, it was pitch-dark, and I really didn’t want to make a wrong turn early on. I fell into a sustainable (i.e., slow) climbing pace and after 35 minutes or so, the pitch became increasingly gentle, then flat. In no time, I found myself heading into a long, very runable downhill stretch into the Gold Lake aid station (mile 7.4). For the first half of this downhill, I remained in a pack that was moving very conservatively. My legs were definitely ready to run and the trail was oh-so-sweet singletrack, but I played it safe and stuck with the group for a bit. After a couple miles though, I got tired of holding back and broke free, something I probably should have done sooner. Much of the final 2.5 miles into Gold Lake I ran alone. At one point I stopped to pee, turned off the flashlight, and was overwhelmed with the darkness and silence enveloping me. Amazing stuff. Shortly before Gold Lake, you pop out onto a gravel road. I soon came up on a runner slightly ahead of me and without saying a word to each other, we both clicked off our lights and looked up into a clear, magnificent sky bursting with stars. As if on cue, we both said “wow.” There was really nothing else to say. At Gold Lake, I grabbed a couple of PB&J quarters, some GU2O, some water, and headed out quickly across a fire road and up the Mt. Fuji trail.

The first couple of miles or so of the trail climb pretty steeply, taking you from roughly 4700 feet to nearly 6000 feet. The trail wasn’t very technical however, and the 790’s were proving to be wonderful climbing shoes. Descending, well, that was another matter. But we’ll get to that shortly. Pretty soon, the first suggestion of dawn could be seen to the east. Not enough to shut off the flashlight, but I could tell it was coming. I was glad too, because around this point, I really started having the urge to see what was around me. I could definitely hear what was around me though – what must have been enormous swarms of mosquitos. Their buzzing was nearly deafening at times. Fortunately, as long as you kept moving, they didn’t pose much problem. Stop, however, and they were on you in a heartbeat. Excellent motivation to keep moving! The trail flattened for a bit, allowing some running, before turning uphill once again. Soon enough, I pulled into the Mt. Fuji aid station (miles 12.4 and 14.9). Grabbed a cup of GUO2, asked to be sprayed head-to-toe in DEET, and immediately pulled out with a small group of about 6 other runners to tackle the final ~700 feet to the Fuji summit. At this point, the trail became increasingly rocky, narrow and technical. My lungs were burning and my legs were tired, but I was really looking forward to making the summit because I had been told the view was spectacular. From time to time, we’d stop and move over to allow the downhill runners right of way (this section was out & back), and I began to realize that the coming downhill might be some of the trickiest running of the day so far. Just when the climb had taken nearly everything out of me, we rounded a rocky corner and . . . “Holy crap!” Finally at the summit, in the early morning glow, seemingly all of central Oregon spilled out around me in an achingly-beautiful 360-degree panorama. Still trying to catch my breath, co-RD Craig Thornley gave us all a high-five, before sending us back on our way down. On a course with a bounty of fantastic views, this is the one that will stick in my memory. Magnificent stuff.

As expected, the downhill is tricky business. I find myself caught between a desire to let the legs run and make up for the slow time thusfar and a desire to, well, not kill myself. So I run until the momentum carries me beyond my comfort zone and I pull back for minute. Let loose, pull back. Let loose, pull back. That’s the rhythm of my descent back to the Fuji aid station. Oh yeah, did I mention that not two minutes into that descent I come upon Erik Skaggs (the eventual winner in 9 hours and change) and the other front-runners nearing the summit. They started two hours after me. They caught me by mile 14. Mutants. (For an idea of the toll such an effort can exact, check out this story: http://tinyurl.com/l4474j). Back at the Fuji aid station, I grabbed a couple of PB&J wraps, more GUO2, and continued my descent toward the Mt. Ray aid station, nearly five miles away and 1500 vertical feet down. Had the 1500 feet of drop been spread more or less evenly over the next 5 miles, it would have been a delightful section. It wasn’t. Heading out of the Fuji aid station, the trail fell away hard and fast, about 500 feet in less than a mile, and my lower legs were starting to feel the pounding. Shortly thereafter, the trail split to the left and rolled gently for another couple of miles, offering a nice break in the descent. But as I rounded a corner, totally unexpectedly the descent resumed, this time at a ridiculous pitch. I let the legs turn over as fast as I could, but I was having trouble controlling my speed and my quads were being pummeled. Moreover, my 790’s, which had been so light and responsive on the uphills and flats, were no match for my lack of finesse and a 165-pound frame bearing down on them. My footplants felt sloppy and unsure. This continued for at least a quarter mile and made for some of the most insane running I did all day. The pitch eased a bit and the last 1.5 miles was actually a blast. Then, about a half-mile away from the Mt. Ray aid station, I felt a sharp pain on the inside of my calf about 3 inches above my left ankle. Son of a bi%$&!! Something stung me, but I’m not sure what. Must have pissed off some bee. Wouldn’t be an issue if they’d just stay off the trail! The pain would persist off and on the rest of the day and the swelling wouldn’t die down until later in the week.

Mt. Ray to Charlton Lake (mile 20.5 to mile 32):

As I pulled into the Mt. Ray aid station, I was very happy to see Chris and Misty, cheering my arrival and ready to provide aid. First thing I did was ask for my Asics Gel Attacks. I shed my jacket, grabbed a little food, got another shot of DEET to keep the beasties away, took a minute to sit, and then bid my crew farewell. My mood was okay at this point. I was a little more beat up than I would have hoped after covering only 1/3 of the course, and there was a long 6.5 mile stretch to the next aid station at The Twins, but the map and elevation profile suggested that the 1200-foot climb up to The Twins aid station wasn’t too severe. Further, after The Twins, there was only about another 500 feet of climbing before a 3.5 mile downhill stretch into Charlton Lake, where my crew would meet me next. In a nutshell, this was a long, long section. The ball of my left foot was hurting terribly when I climbed, a victim of landing square on a root coming down off Fuji earlier. My shin was achy. My legs were tired. And I was falling into a bad place by allowing myself to think about the enormity of the entire course rather than just focusing on getting to the next aid station. By the time I rolled into The Twins aid station at mile 27.1, all I wanted to do was quit. In fact, I had already decided I would do just that at Charlton Lake (where Chris and Misty and the car were waiting). The wonderful volunteers at The Twins sat me down, waited on me hand and foot, and offered lots of suggestions to ease my suffering. Like the seasoned volunteers they were, none of the suggestions was to quit. Also, the fact that they were all dressed like some odd cross between punk rockers and vampires helped lighten my mood as I headed out to tackle the final 500 feet of climb and the final 3.5 or so downhill miles into Charlton. As so often happens in these things, I started to think that instead of quitting, maybe I’d keep going a bit after Charlton Lake and see what happened. After all, Misty was set to keep me company, and I didn’t want to disappoint. I felt like crap, my ability to climb was shot, and my downhill legs were fading, but there was still a little left in the tank. May as well use every bit of it and get my money’s worth. So after an interminable last 3 miles, I finally spied the deep blue waters of Charlton Lake through the trees and in no time was at the aid station.

Charlton Lake to The Twins (mile 32 to mile 44.7):

Chris and Misty were once again there to take care of me. I ate. I drank. I sat for a bit. I complained. But I didn’t quit. After maybe 5 minutes, I pulled myself up and followed Misty down the trail. I told Chris to try to make it to the next aid station at Road 4290 (mile 37.2) because I might not be able to make it beyond that. He promised he’d try (the road is sketchy and access wasn’t easy) & that was good enough for me. After walking the first few minutes out of the Charlton Lake aid station, Misty prodded me into running a bit – short bursts at first and then a little longer. We still walked the uphills, but we managed to keep moving fairly well, especially considering how wasted I was feeling. Much of this section is gentle downhill and we made pretty decent time, but this part of the course also ran through newly-planted forest and was very exposed. Coming from Houston, it didn’t remotely approach being “hot,” but the direct sun and the moderate altitude made conditions a little more challenging. By the time we made it to Road 4290, I was thoroughly worked, both physically and mentally. Looking back, I’m amazed I didn’t quit right there, particularly since the next section was long (7.5 miles) and uphill (1700 feet or so), knowledge that weighed on me heavily as I staggered out. From that point on, it was a death march. Misty kept moving out ahead in a mostly-fruitless effort to get me to perk up, but I was completely cooked. The climbing was painfully slow, the flats were no more than a shuffle (at best), and worst of all the few short descents revealed that my downhill legs were utterly fried. It was this last issue that basically ended my race. To finish in under 18 hours, I would have needed to maintain a little more than 3 miles an hour from The Twins #2 (mile 44.7) to the finish. With the most difficult climb of the course still to come, I knew it would be necessary to make up time on the downhill sections. Without being able to run downhill, it would be a fool’s errand (even more so than entering the race in the first place!). And so as I sat in the chair at The Twins a second time, I announced that I was done. As one aid station volunteer pointed out, this was the place to quit because it was only a 1.5 mile hike out to the road. After The Twins all the way to the finish, there was really no good way out – the course was that isolated.

As I reflect on Where’s Waldo, I don’t feel too much disappointment. It’s a tough mother of a race – tougher than I expected. I knew going in that finishing was going to be a real challenge with my lack of hill training and off and on shin issues over the summer. Sure, I would have loved to cross the finish line (and get one of those super-sweet Sporthill finishers hats), but I made it 44.7 miles (46.2 if you count the hike out) with wheels that were on the verge of completely falling off over the last 20 miles – much credit here has to go to my fantastic pacer/crew, Misty and Chris. No way I would have made it that far without their help. Other than about two dozen mosquito bites, a bee sting, and a sore shin, I seem to have made it through okay. No falls. No turned ankles. We grabbed burgers and beer back at the Lodge, watched some finishers make it in, and made our way back into Oakridge and the hotel. After a much-needed shower, I was in bed and asleep before 8:00. I was, in a word, beat.

The next day brought a leisurely drive back to Portland and our 12:25 a.m. redeye, via some phenomenal Willamette Valley wineries – Pinot to die for. But that’s a story for another time. A whirlwind weekend to be sure, but a ton of fun. For anyone looking for a challenging, gorgeous, meticulously-organized summer ultra, Where’s Waldo can’t be beat. First-rate in absolutely every way. I’ll definitely be back next year for some unfinished business.

In Love

2009-08-06T16:30:00.004-05:00

The new kicks make me happy. Super-light, low-profile, all-around cool. Not sure they'll work for Waldo, but I'm willing to give 'em a try.

El Scorcho 50K

2009-07-20T08:15:00.003-05:00

Ten 3.1-mile hard, flat loops through a city park. At midnight. In July. As RD / race-creator, Ryan V. reminded me a number of times, "you get what you paid for." Given that my entry was comp-ed, truer words were never spoken. Seriously, though, El Scorcho gave me plenty. A chance to get outta town for a bit. A chance to visit with some nice (and equally crazy) folks. A chance to log 31 miles and pocket some nice swag for doing so. All good.

Got up to Fort Worth around 3:30 or so and met Ryan at his lovely new casa. He was kind enough to drive me to the Fort Worth Running Co. for packet pick-up (nice shirts!) and then off to Mellow Mushroom for an early pre-race dinner. Also got a quick tour of the course (there's the crushed-limestone path, there's the basketball court, there's the concrete path, don't trip on the miniature RR tracks...) and a very useful primer on where to park. Made it back to the hotel by 6:30 and was in bed by 7:00 for a couple of hours of fitful napping. Although I've run into and even through the night before, I've never started a race at midnight, and I had no idea how my body would react.

Made it to Trinty Park and the start line by 11:15-ish. Grabbed my timing chip and ran into Jay from HTREX (hope your race went well!). Saw Lynnor briefly, but not a lot of other familiar faces. I suspect a majority of the runners were local road runners (judging by the number of cups and other trash strewn across nearly the entire course - ugh). At midnight, Ryan and crew gathered the 50K-ers (25K started 10 minutes later) and sent us on our way.

Not knowing how dark parts of the course would be, I started with my little Petzl e+LITE, but after a loop I realized that there was enough light and the footing was good enough that I'd be fine without a light. During the early loops, I ended up running with John Sharp, a guy I'd run into at a number of races but never had the pleasure of talking with. John made the first 4-5 loops go by almost painlessly. Just a week removed from a hugely-impressive 82 miles at Hardrock, it was fascinating to hear John talk so passionately about that amazing race. At some point around loop 5, John said he was feeling a bit tired (wonder why) and he dropped back a bit.

Don't recall anything about loop #6 except that I think it was around this time I ran into Shelly Grahmann. At the end of loop #6, I was definitely beginning to feel the miles and the heat (a very warm but dry start to the race, but increasing humidity throughout night) and for some reason decided to grab an Oreo. Mistake. My stomach wanted nothing to do with it and I spent a good chunk of the loop walking and hoping not to vomit. All from a single Oreo. Shelly had pulled well ahead by this time, and when I made it back around for the start of loop #8, I was feeling a bit better but had made peace with the notion that I'd be running the last 9+ miles alone. My mood was also boosted by the presence of Coke (with ice!) at the aid table. How I love Coke late in races.

Downed some of that icy nectar of the gods and within minutes began to feel much happier. Started running again and less than a mile out, came up on Shelly who was taking a short walk break. We chatted a little and then began a pattern that would play out over the remainder of the race. We'd start running and since my normal pace was a little faster, I'd pull ahead. Then I'd decide to walk for a bit and since Shelly ran more (walked less), she'd catch & pass me. Inevitably, we'd come into the start/finish more or less at the same time & walk out together, nursing our wonderful Cokes. Finally, on the last loop, I was utterly sick of being out there and decided to simply run until I couldn't run anymore.

Crossing the line in 6:18 and change, I was bit woosy but pretty happy with my effort. I suppose I could have shaved 10-20 minutes off the time had I pushed a bit more throughout, but there would have been a price to pay. As it stands, it might not be my fastest 50K time, but it was a solid effort and a good way to get in 31 miles leading up to Waldo next month. Executive summary: 5 S-caps, 5 gels, one horrid little Oreo, lots of Coke, lots of water. Managed the heat pretty well, and (except for one section) no long periods without running. No blisters & only mild soreness in the legs and hips. Overall, not bad.

Finally, kudos to Ryan, Jason, and their compadres for putting on a meticulously-organized race. Great volunteers (and lots of them!), super-easy logistics (ample parking, plenty of spots to stow a drop bag or kick back), excellent swag, and Coke with ice for the 50K-ers. Couldn't ask for anything else. However, I will remember Ryan's mocking offers of beer late in the race. This will not go unpunished...

Return to Racing

2009-07-16T13:30:00.002-05:00

This weekend's El Scorcho 50K will mark my first ultra-distance race since February's Rocky Raccoon 60 (some people chose to run the full 100 miles; I chose not to). Meant to run the Rocky Hill Ranch 50K back in April, but then it got rained (rain. n. water condensed from atmospheric vapor and falling in drops) out & my stupid shin wouldn't allow me to run the June "make-up" version. But all the parts and pieces are feeling pretty decent now, and I'm toying with the idea of actually "racing" El Scorcho, rather than simply using it as a long training run. With a forecast low temperature of 67 during the race (practically frigid), and the excitement of running with 500 other idiots, the temptation will be strong push the pace early. We'll see. In any case, it's just nice to feel excited to run an organized race again. Report to follow.

"Heat Index"

2009-07-08T09:01:00.003-05:00

Honestly, is there any measure more patently absurd than the "heat index" (or "Real Feel" or whatever)? This morning I get up and, as I do every morning before I run, check the weather conditions. Gotta psych up (out) for those weekday morning runs. So this morning the actual ambient temperature at 5:20 a.m. was 82 degrees. Relative humidity was 86 percent. According the WeatherChannel.com, that made for a Heat Index of 88 degrees. How absurd is that? Ask yourself this: would I rather go out and run 7 miles when the actual temperature is 88 degrees (and the humidity is, say, 30 percent, and there's a nice breeze out of the northwest at 10-12 m.p.h.) or would I rather run when the Heat Index is 88 degrees and the humidity is 86 percent and the wind is "blowing" at 3 m.p.h. from the southwest? According to the weather geniuses, the latter "feels" the same as the former, right? What I'd like to see is the creator of the "heat index" get his or her ass outside one July morning and put in 6 or 7 miles and then contemplate the inanity of their creation. Until then, I'm going to create my own index - the Suffering Index. 1-10 scale. A "1" is a crisp, dry January morning. A "10" is, well, today.

My Left Shin

2009-06-11T13:46:00.003-05:00

Doesn't like me. I'm not sure what I ever did to it to make it feel this way. I never treated it any differently than my right shin. Never showed it any less affection. In fact, I baby it. If it wants rest, I give it rest. If it wants to be massaged, I massage it. And what do I get for all that love and attention? Nothing but grief, that's what. "Enough!" No more indulgent parent. It's time for it to get its act together. So recently, instead of babying it, I've sent it off to boot camp. 30 minutes a day of hard-core shin and ankle work with the band, followed by another 20 minutes a day of wretched hip exercises with the band. Plus lots of unpleasant core exercises. Taken as a whole, these exercises suck. But the shin is going to submit. Or else. "Or else what?" you may ask. Well, as any parent knows, the answer is: "Or else" [stated in a more threatening tone].

I'm a Trail Runner

2009-05-28T13:42:00.003-05:00

There's a scene in J.B. Benna's terrific movie, The Runner, documenting David Horton's record-setting 2006 journey along the entire 2700-mile Pacific Crest Trail where Horton is asked why he wasn't attempting his amazing quest in an unsupported fashion (i.e., why he was relying on friends to crew for him along the route rather than fastpacking alone). He responds without hesitation, "Because I'm not a backpacker. I'm a runner." I'm reminded of this scene whenever someone wonders why I avoid the roads like the plague these days. Sure, I live in Houston and I don't have access to endless miles of beautiful singletrack. And, yes, my meat & potato miles are flat or flatish loops around parks and a university campus. My mountains are concrete stadium steps. But it has less to do with environment than temperament. I'm not a road runner. I'm a trail runner. Why? This video (which has been cross-posted on many other sites) hints at the answer. [Note: if you aren't a fan of Coldplay's homage to U2, you might want to turn the sound down]

UltraRunning from Matt Hart on Vimeo.

It's Not The Heat . . .

2009-05-26T07:21:00.003-05:00

As I death-staggered through the final couple of miles of my Memorial Day "run," I reflected once more on that most unpleasant of distance running subjects, the bonk. Most of us have dealt with the classic calorie-deficiency bonk before. Whether at mile 19 of a road marathon or mile 60 of a trail 100, the symptoms are pretty much the same - epic energy crash and an inability to do simple things like move forward at more than 2 m.p.h. The solution to the calorie bonk is pretty straightforward as well - get calories. In a marathon, by the time you bonk, it might be too late in the game to fully recover. But in an ultra, there's usually time for multiple cycles of bonk-rebirth.

There's another sort of bonk, however. One that many a Houstonian knows all too well: the Heat Bonk. More accurately, the Heat & Humidity Bonk. Yesterday had all the elements. Heat? Check - between 83-87 degrees for the duration of the run (not July hot, but then I'm not July heat acclimated either). Humidity? Big check. There's a reason the Memorial Park trails have names like Laos and Ho Chi Minh. Poor run management? Check. Didn't feel like I was setting a very fast pace, but that's the challenge in dealing with the heat. You have to pull back on the reigns significantly and from the get-go, because unlike the calorie bonk, it's damn near impossible to come back from the heat bonk. Once you're cooked, you might as well cash it in. After about 2 slightly too fast hours, I was cooked. Every tiny uphill became a mountain, every short stretch of shuffling felt like speed work. A 5-minute stop back at the car (complete with electrolytes, ice water, and a gel) helped only temporarily. As soon as I tried running again, it became obvious there was nothing left. 10 degrees cooler and 20% less humid and I'm sure I could have churned out another couple of hours. But it wasn't the end of April, it was the end of May. And so I staggered back to my car, a little woozy and a bit nauseated. Not exactly a confidence-builder for Rocky Hill Ranch 50K in a couple of weeks.

Born to Run

2009-05-22T15:28:00.002-05:00

If you're looking for a great read over the holiday weekend, you can't go wrong with Christopher McDougall's wonderful new book, Born to Run. Not only is it hugely entertaining, but it might just change the way you look at the "advancements" in modern running. Two big thumbs up.

Hogs Hunt 2009 Photos

2009-05-18T14:16:00.004-05:00

Hog's Hunt 2009

2009-05-18T07:46:00.010-05:00

A couple years back, Mariela, the fearless leader of our running group asked for volunteers to help out with an aid station at Hogs Hunt, a local 50K/25K trail run at Huntsville State Park. I had run a few trail races at that point, but I'd never volunteered in any capacity & felt it was a good time to start. What an introduction. Mariela and I arrived at the park early that morning to a spectacular thunderstorm - thunder, lightning, and a torrential downpour. Enough to scare off a number of the crossover road runners who traditionally like to give this race a try. But, of course, not the idiot trail runners, who lined up and headed down the trail through the deluge. Mariela and I managed to get things set up in time once the weather broke, and it actually turned out to be a lovely day. Also, it was great fun. Ever since then, I've tried to come back to help out Mariela and HTREX, both at Hogs Hunt and RD Paul Stone's fall counterpart "little" Rocky Raccoon.

A month or two ago Mariela asked if I'd be interested in running the aid station because she would be off conquering the Jemez 50 Mile in & around beautiful Los Alamos, NM. I agreed without hesitation. I immediately contacted my buddy Chris to see if he was interested in co-captaining the aid station. Fortunately, I think he was even more geeked about it than I was. After a mad scramble late Friday to get everything together (tables, coolers, canopy, beer, cutting board, knives, beer, extra munchies, folding chairs, beer) it was off to bed for maybe 5 hours of sleep. Up at 3:00, organize and load up, pick up Chris, and hit the park shortly after 5:30.

My car was already pretty full, so it was nice to run into Jaime (and his big, empty van) at the Lodge. With three sets of hands at this point, set-up goes pretty fast. Lynnor stopped by and dropped off her terrific exchange student, Feli, and shortly thereafter Mary and Denise pull up. With all this help, by 7:00 we were fully stocked and ready to roll. The 2 lead runners came blazing through at about 7:45 (the race started 10-12 minutes late, I think), and then there was a 5-10 minute lull until another group came through (including eventual chick's 50K winner, Meredith Terranova). It's just amazing how fresh all these lead runners look after pushing hard for nearly 13 miles in the Burmese-jungle-heat. Traffic sporadic until maybe 8:15 when the pace of visitors really picked up. I knew from past experience that the runners tend to come in waves and once the fast 25K-ers started mixing in with the slower 50K-ers, we were filling cups and bottles and making PB&J quarters at top speed.

A little later, Chris and I grabbed 5 gallons of water and trekked out to a back-course, unmanned water table Paul had set up about a mile before our aid station. This was our first real taste of warm-day carnage & it didn't disappoint. At least half a dozen people stopped us en route nearly begging for water because "there's no water back there." You don't say. It was indeed fortunate then that Chris and I just happened to be carrying 5 gallons of water on our stroll. When we made it to the table (now with maybe 4.5 gallons of water), it was a little disspiriting to see how many folks had not even attempted to throw their used cups in the easily-accessible garbage bag next to the table. Okay, it was more than a little disspiriting. [Note of trail running etiquette: put your f-ing garbage in the f-ing garbage bag.]

Once back at the aid station, beer-drinking and pain-watching began in earnest, as many runners staggered in as if they'd just crossed the Mojave in July. Appallingly, many of these runners (mostly 25K-ers but some 50K-ers!) weren't carrying any water bottles at all. Hello! It's a week before Memorial Day. In Texas. Might be hot, ya know. Oh well, I'm happy to report that we were prepared for such stupidity, er, oversights and loaded up with lots of ice and extra Coke & Mountain Dew. Needless to say, ice was a popular commodity. As the flow of runners slowed down, many started hanging around the aid station a bit longer before they went out to tackle the final 2.86 miles. As much as I enjoyed providing aid for the "racers" who wasted little time at the aid station, the dawdlers (with whom I share a common bond) are often very entertaining folks. A few took a seat for a few minutes but only a couple dropped.

By 1:45, our job was done and we managed to break everything down and clean up in no time. Dumped the remains of our provisions back at the Lodge with Paul and headed home, exhausted but with a definite feeling of satisfaction. If anyone is considering volunteering at a race, I can't recommend it strongly enough. Not only do you gain a valuable perspective on how much work is involved in making these things happen, but it's also a blast. More pics of The Aid Station That Was Formerly Site 174 (But Is Now Site 142, or something like that) below.

Wither Spring?

2009-05-08T09:14:00.002-05:00

Since I've lived my entire life in and around this part of Texas, this shouldn't really surprise me, but what the hell happened to Spring? You know, that season between Winter (such as it is in Texas) and our cruel, cruel Summer (bad song reference). Calendar says first week in May. Temperature says last week in June. Yesterday's late-afternoon 6-and-change around Hermann Park and Rice U was a nausea-inducing broiler of a slog. Thermometer in the car read 91. I believe it. Add to that the fumes wafting up from the rush-hour traffic around Rice and the nasty smell of a roof being tarred nearby that accompanied me for at least a mile, and it was a sucknomenal run. Note to self: running around Rice at rush hour is to be avoided. Found myself throwing in lots of little 30-second walk breaks, mostly to keep from passing out. Heat acclimation began in earnest. Gonna be a long summer.

Best of Times, Worst of Times, Part I - The Worst of Times

2009-05-07T12:11:00.015-05:00

American River 2006

Dude must have been at least 70. 75 maybe. I think he may have been using a walker. "What dude?" you may ask. The old dude who was passing me at mile 48 of the 2006 American River 50, that's who. He wasn't the only one. I'm reasonably certain I was also passed by a woman with no legs and large box turtle. It was one of the "worst of times" indeed. I was worked. Spent. I had nothing. Where did it all go wrong? Maybe it was because I let the first 26 flat, paved miles lure me into a too-fast pace. Maybe it was the next 20 miles of mud and ankle-deep water that comprised the "trail" portion of the race. Maybe my training sucked. Maybe it was all that and the fact that this particular race ends with a lovely 1000 vertical foot climb over the final 3 miles. Yep, 1000 feet, 3 miles. In retrospect, it certainly isn't the toughest climb in these sorts of races. Most of the vertical gain came in the first mile and the last 2 miles were pretty tame and on pavement. But at the time for this flatlander, it was definitely the hardest ascent I'd ever faced. And at mile 47 in only my second 50 mile race, it was an eye-opener. It was the hardest physical thing I'd ever done & I couldn't imagine feeling worse.

Miwok 2007

But feel worse I did. Much worse. For example, Miwok, my first 100K finish. At alternating points in the race I felt wonderful (even giddy) and then (sometimes just minutes later) . . . utterly crappy. But that's the nature of the beast. There will be ups. There will be downs. And they will be repeated and even amplified the longer the race goes on. So what makes Miwok special? Well, Miwok was where I first experienced the uber-bonk. If you've run marathons, you've probably had your experiences with "hitting the wall." 18, 19, 20 miles in, the energy is gone. Your glycogen stores spent, the body begins to feed on itself. It's hard to run. Maybe you walk a little. It sucks. Well, this was hitting the wall on roids. Hitting it and having it fall on top of you. My pacer Chris and I had just come off a long but fun descent (about 1400 vertical feet in 2 miles or so) from Pan Toll (Mile 49.5). I'd made it through some rough patches earlier in the race and was feeling pretty good, especially considering I'd already covered over 50 miles. Once the big descent is done, you've only got maybe 3 and half miles to the next aid station (Highway 1). Not far at all. Unless, that is, you've not been taking in enough (or really any) calories over the past few hours and your body sort of, you know, runs out of fuel. When that happens, especially 52 miles into a race, the hammer comes down shockingly fast and brutally hard. One minute you're okay. The next it's a struggle to put one foot in front of the other. And I don't mean one foot in front of the other running. Or even walking. I mean just managing to move the body forward at all becomes a monumental struggle. Any small roll in the terrain is magnified tenfold. The brain, deprived of fuel, begins to struggle too - the mind goes blank. Everything is fuzzy. You are reduced to your reptilian essence. There is no multitasking. Only singular thought.

In my case that thought was . . . Coke. Make it to the aid station so I can have Coke. Get aid station for Coke. AidstationCoke. Sure, Chris would do what good pacers do and say positive things. "We're close." "You don't look too bad." "Do you realize this is that longest you've ever run? That's awesome." At least I suspect he was saying things like that. I know his lips moved. But all I knew was . . . Coke. Here's the funny part. We knew the aid station was maybe only 3 miles away. Probably less. But in my frame of mind, units of measure begin to lose relevance. They become unmoored from the tangible, the known. To me, 3 miles was a loop around Memorial Park. 3o minutes on a bad day. But this 3 miles was not that 3 miles. Seriously, this 3 miles shared not one similarity with that 3 miles. Because, you see, this 3 miles NEVER FUCKING ENDED. At some point, even Chris's positive pacer demeanor failed as he began to wonder where the fucking aid station was, to proclaim profound thoughts like "3 miles my ass." And then hours (days?) later, when I literally was on the verge of passing out on the trail, we caught sight of it. The Highway 1 Aid Station. A shining beacon on the hill. Well, really just a folding table and a couple of dudes chilling out. The volunteers (saavy ultra veterans no doubt) would not let me sit down ("beware the chair"). Instead, they treated me to multiple cups of, yes, COKE, the miracle drug. And PopTarts (frosted, with sprinkles). And then they sent us on our way.

I felt only marginally better as we walked out to tackle the final 8 miles or so, but caffeine and sugar are God's gifts and they did not let me down. Soon, I was reborn yet again. Maybe we didn't run much during those final miles, but we ran a little. I finished. Called the spouse to let her know I was alive. Ate some real food. Got some swag. Cheered for the very few runners finishing after me. All was right in the world. That is, until a few months ago and the Rocky Raccoon 100 miler. But that's a subject for it's own post. For now, I'll let the picture at the top of this post suffice: Mile 60. The end of my day.

Why Not?

2009-05-06T14:59:00.003-05:00

Here goes. Been knocking around the idea of blogging about running for a while. Mostly because I enjoy checking out other (usually far more talented) runners' blogs & figured, while I couldn't run 100 miles in 13 hours, 32 minutes, and 20 seconds like certain freakishly-talented runners (not enough hair & too many clothes holding me back), I probably could reflect on running - my own and others' - reasonably well. Not sure what I'll do with the blog now that I've got it. To be sure, a little writing about my own training and racing. Maybe some reflections about the Texas trail running / ultra scene, which is richer and more diverse than many might imagine. Post a few photos. Link to some interesting crap every now and then. No doubt work my favorite late-race-vulgarities into my posts (e.g., "this climb is craptastic" and "fucking grilled cheese"). We'll see.