33 And Counting

To travel, hopefully, is a better thing than to arrive-Robert Louis Stevenson

As I get ready to move into my 34th year on this earth, I found some time to look back on the past 12 months that made up 33...
I turned 33 in Indianapolis, on the road trip with the MN Lynx.  We got to Indy and were told we had to meet in the Coach's room for film and that we (the support staff) were to be there too as there was an issue with the baggage we were responsible for.  I showed up ready to throw the skycap guys under the bus for taking so long but it turned out they had a cake for me and sang happy birthday, a much better surprise than getting yelled at for the baggage being slow.
Later that month my buddy Cano came into town from Florida, we headed up to Duluth and ran the Voyageur 50 mile race, running through 48 degree temps and pouring rain for at least 8 of the 12+ hours we were out there.  Covered in mud, sliding down the power line trails, on our hands and knees trying to get back up the other side, it was a trip and one of the most fun races I have run.  During it I remember thinking, I wish this would never end, I don't want to go back to a normal life, I love being out here tasked with just moving from one place to another under my own power.  It was a beautiful thing being a part of nature and really just being, no phones or internet, people pulling you in different directions like at work just moving and focused on one thing and doing it to the best of my ability. 

Earlier that year I had become an ambassador for the Patagonia International Marathon, in September I flew to Chile and spent 10 days on my own in Santiago, Punta Arenas and Torres Del Paine.  I got to see places I never thought I would, met some great people, learned a lot about an area I didn't know much about and fell in love with the landscape there.  The whole trip was amazing, learning how to communicate without being able to speak the language, and listening.  Really having to listen to what people were saying to decipher something, rather than listening distractedly like we do here. 

8 days after the Patagonia 63K, I made it home to run the Twin Cities marathon with my bro (or at least start it with Alex and run the 1st mile before he took off)
Not sure how I got my body to point where it was able to do that, but I just dialed in and was able to summon a focus I didn't know I had and plow through 26.2 miles from Mpls to St. Paul in under four hours and then head into work game one of the WNBA Finals. 

And the Finals...Lynx swept through the playoffs capturing another WNBA Title and Alan and I got to be a part of it, riding in the parade (and getting confused looks from all the spectators 'who are they??' haha) and hosting the trophy presentation was amazing, the energy of the crowd and being on stage like that was a blast. 

A week later Sparky came to town and we blasted up to the Cabin, his first visit and now he's hooked (and how couldn't you be, it's the greatest place on earth) the following week I met up with Mitch and we ran the Surf the Murph 55K, starting in the dark and running by headlamp for an hour or so, my 3rd marathon + distance in 5 weeks...the following day I met Ali and remember her asking me about running the 63K in Patagonia she said 'Will you ever run another ultra?' to which I replied 'I did one yesterday...' haha

Wolves season started and I started to ski, pounded out the Double Loppet in January-February, 26.2mi City of Lakes Ski Loppet one weekend followed by the Mora Vasa Loppet with Matt (35K) the following weekend then up to Gunflint with Johnny, Ted and Stephen. 

Throughout this time Mitch, Greg and I were planning our trip to the Grand Canyon to run the Rim to Rim to Rim, a 46mile run from the south rim of the canyon to the north and back...what an adventure that was.  To prepare Greg and I ran the Trail Mix 50K in April, then we flew out May 1st, ran May 2nd and then Ali and I spent another 7 days touring the Southwest, seeing the red rock of Sedona, the canyon lands of Zion and southern Utah and then back to the Grand Canyon to hike down to the river and back up  in one day. 

The WNBA season started upon my return from the Southwest and I found myself tagging along with the team for their trip to the White House to be honored for their Championship, and getting to see Paul, Adrianna and Lil B out in Seattle.

Along the way, Big Tom and Little Sue both retired, Alex made it through his first season at Hamline and Paul and his family came for Thanksgiving, a very fun and eventful year...can't wait for 34...

Running vs Racing

Ever since I started running ultra-marathon's I have really struggled with the concept of racing...when I first got into this sport all I wanted to do was go fast.  See if I could beat my times, those of my friends or brothers, and during races pick out people who looked fitter than I was to beat.
But that competitive mindset doesn't really suit me, beating those people or times never really made my race feel better, or gave me a sense of accomplishment that lasted.
Moving to Ultra's allowed my mindset to shift from trying to beat the course and the other runners, to trying to survive in a sense.  How far could I push my body, my mind?  What is the breaking point?  It became less and less about them and more and more about me.
I learned about myself, what worked, what didn't...what my limits were, and how I could extend them.  As my Dad, Big Tom, always says when he comes to see me finish, 'It's not a race, it's a run.'  And for me it was.  It's a race in the sense that there is going to be a winner, but when you're pushing yourself through 50 miles of trails and hills in the pouring rain for over 12 hours, it becomes much less of a race and more a run, an experience. 
I also don't go into Ultra's with a mindset of winning, or placing or anything.  I go in with zero expectations except to finish.  When I was starting out and racing 5-10K's, Triathlon's, even marathons, I would always check the results right away to see where I placed in my division, how many people I passed and so on.  Now I just check my time at the end and say 'Hmm better than last year' or 'Hmm worse than last year' or 'Damn I'm glad that's over.'
But this past Sunday I actually gave myself a chance to race as I took part in the City-Trail Loppet, a 10-mile race combining paved stretches and trails around Minneapolis which ended at the Sculpture Garden.
Waking up that morning I was tired from a long week of work and travel, being just over two weeks removed from running the Grand Canyon rim to rim to rim, and just had the general soreness that accompanies someone who sits too much at their job. 
Ali and I arrived at the starting line and I had no idea what to expect, would I even be able to make it the full 10 miles or would I have to slow way down due to the variety of things cropping up in my legs/feet.
Ali was running the 10K so she had to wait a half hour for her start, as the horn sounded to signal the start of my race, I tried to settle in, letting the first mile or so work out the kinks.
I found a decent rhythm and some people who had a good pace I decided to hang with, slowly my legs working free of their knots.
Turning off the paved road onto the trails, got my juices flowing, letting my body flow over the rocks and roots, up the small hills, and down I felt my mindset shift from run to race.  My watch beeped after the first mile, 7:27, not a bad start; let's see what I can do.
It became tough to keep that pace as we moved into the single track and things got bogged down but whenever I saw an opening I would shoot past a few people to try and gain some ground.
Three miles in as I weaved around and over downed trees, still holding a steady pace, pushing myself when there was an opportunity.
Over railroad tracks, under bridges, along a dock that spans a lake and into familiar territory, knowing the terrain I decided to push even harder, attacking the downhill's, flowing over the rocks and roots, picking off runners in front of me, the goal becoming 'If I pass them they can't pass me back.'
Pounding across 394 and dropping down to Brownie lake, a route I have done a million times, over to the Cedar Lake Trail and into the woods towards Hidden Beach, catch the guy in front of you, move past, spot the next one, reel them in, pass, breathing heavy now, get behind a runner to slow the heart rate down for a minute or two, then pass and push.  Keep pushing.
We crossed under 394 and the end was close, less than a half a mile, push through some single track up a short hill, breath in short bursts, catch a guy in the 10K, pass him, keep him behind you, push harder now that you're on the pavement.
Entering the Sculpture Garden I was pushing pretty hard, turned the corner and ran through the finish line as the PA announcer mispronounced my name.
1:19:38, passed 21 people, got passed by 1, 44th out of 258, nothing spectacular but it wasn't about time, it was about mindset.  I could have taken it easy on myself.  It had been a long week, not much sleep due to travel and stress of starting a season, but I chose to push and never let up.  Very happy and proud of the effort, it wasn't expected but I find that often times the ones we surprise the most are ourselves.

R2R2R

The task ahead of you is never greater than the strength within you-

Waiting for my alarm to go off, that's what I was doing instead of sleeping that morning.  After a night of tossing and turning, running over the logistics and the glimpses we had seen of the Canyon that afternoon, I was keyed up.  Nervous, excited, but mostly just trying to prepare my mind for the unknown, not knowing what we might stumble upon the next day and trying to make sure I was mentally prepared for whatever.

Finally it went off and we all got up, Greg, Mitch and I have known each other for a long time.  Mitch and I went to grade school and high school together while I met Greg in 6th grade playing football and we also went the same high school.  Both those guys, along with myself, had a number of Ultra marathons under their belts, but none of us had attempted a self-supported run like this, across the Grand Canyon to the North Rim and back again, a grand total of around 45 miles and 21,000 feet of elevation change.

In the hotel room we loaded our hydration packs with water, food, sunscreen, gels, and tape for blisters whatever we could fit in there that wouldn't make them too heavy and then we headed out.  It was chilly and dark as we arrived at the visitor's center and hopped on the first shuttle of the day.  At the back was another group, dressed somewhat similar to us, who were attempting the R2R2R but they were doing more of a fast-pack hike, not a run.

We chatted with them at the trail head, and then dropped into the inky black of the canyon, following the bob of our headlamps as we skipped over the awkwardly placed logs that dot the first set of switchbacks down South Kaibab trail.  The darkness was complete, wrapping us in it and swallowing the light of our headlamps but the path was wide enough that we had plenty of room to maneuver as we made our way down to the first landmark, Cedar Ridge.

Here the sun was just making its way above the Northeast Rim of the canyon and we stopped to gauge its progress before moving on, following the light of our lamps another mile or so we stopped at O'Neill's butte to shed our jackets as the sun had already risen enough to warm our skin.  Jackets and headlamps put away we followed the ridge along the butte to Skeleton point where Mitch realized he had cell service and gave his wife a call to say we were on our way.  The service didn't last long (as would be a running theme throughout this adventure) and we were off, winding down switchbacks on the side of this mesa.

After a series of long switchbacks we rounded a huge plateau and caught a glimpse of the Colorado River far below.  Its bright green color standing out in contrast to the dark brown rock it flowed through.  From here we looked up to see where we had come from but couldn't even see the top of the canyon due to the number of buttes and mesas we had passed that now loomed large blocking our view.  We left the viewpoint and ran into the sun for a few minutes before dipping once again into a series of switchbacks that led down to the river.

Greg had gotten ahead of Mitch and me as he ran down the switchbacks and was waiting at the river when we arrived; we passed through a short, dark tunnel and on the other side were standing on the suspension bridge, the Colorado passing strongly beneath our feet.  We walked across, jaws dropping as we took in the scene around us.  The river still bright green, the walls of the canyon rising up, a beautiful white sandy beach, the colors of the upper canyon walls as the sun hit them, it was almost too much to process.

From there we made it to Phantom Ranch, everyone feeling good and refilled with water and some snacks.  I had tried to send a text before we took off but it wouldn't go through so at Phantom I tried to make a phone call to let everyone know we were off and well but the phone was not working so we just loaded our packs and took off for the longest stretch without a landmark of the run. 

From Phantom Ranch to Cottonwood Campground it's about 7.5 miles, from the map we had been using it looked very runnable.  We moved into what is known as the box, a tight canyon with walls stretching straight up and tight curves that wrap around Bright Angel Creek.  Greg set a good pace out from Phantom, it was too quick for me this early in the run so I dropped back, taking photos and trying to find my rhythm after 7 miles pretty much downhill.  The path, which looked relatively flat on our maps was actually at a gradual incline and had a number of rolling hills.  After trying to run hard the first few miles we all fell into a routine of running what we could and then power hiking up the hills to save our energy.

The Box would eventually open up as the canyon walls moved back from the river and the sun began to shine down.  We were still in the shade but you could tell this next stretch was going to be hot on the way back.  The sky was so blue it was dizzying to look at, the sun hitting the red rock walls of the canyon made it look like it was on fire in certain spots and we plodded on, chatting and listening to the sound of the creek moving down toward the Colorado.

At Cottonwood we stopped to fill our water and ran into a couple from Breckenridge, Colorado.  They were out backcountry camping and we shared a quick snack with them before we headed out to our next water stop, the Pumphouse.

We crossed what looked like an old railroad bridge to get to the pump house, by now the sun was shining brighter and hotter, as we stopped in the shady yard of the Pumphouse Mitch sat down and said 'Guys I'm beat.'  He looked gassed too; the heat and the fact that from Phantom we had climbed nearly 2,000 feet had taken its toll.  Greg and I waited while he took in fluids and ate some food, and then the three of us formulated a plan for the next 5 miles to the North Rim.  We would power hike it, as it was too steep for us to run, and use it as recovery time. 

When Mitch was ready we leaned into the climb and within a mile or so he was back, faced down the darkness and came back stronger than before, it was really impressive.  We climbed and climbed, the walls of the canyon looked like layer cake.  Each layer a different color, some of the rock had been around for nearly a billion years and each era clearly marked by the line of rock, each a different color. 

As we climbed to the North Rim, I began to not feel great.  A belly full of water, climbing nearly 6,000 feet, sun beating down and despite the beauty surrounding me I wasn't enjoying it at the moment.  I stopped off in a shaded area and took down a gel, sat for a few minutes to get my breathing under control, turned on the Grateful Dead in my headphones (which were attached to my pack not in my ears) and then began to feel better as I leaned once more into the climb.

I caught up with Mitch and Greg and the three of us got some great news from some hikers we passed.  The Park Service had turned on the water at the North Rim, something we hadn't been expecting.  It allowed us to stop trying to ration our fluids and take down as much as we wanted during the climb knowing that we could refill there and not have to wait until we got back to the Pumphouse.

Eventually the red rock and scraggly trees gave way to white rock and Ponderosa Pines and looking up I could finally see sky behind the trees not more trees and then we were at the North Rim.  We met some people up there, chatted for a bit, and took some time to make sure we had all the fluids and food we needed, but didn't spend much time there.  The bugs were really bad, and the trees so tall there was nothing really to see.  I drank two bottles of Nunn water, refilled my pack and ate some food realizing that after nearly 8 hours of running we were not quite halfway done.  Our trip out was 21 miles, while the trip back up Bright Angel was 24 miles, but the climb out of the Canyon was less steep and featured water stops nearly every 1.5 miles.  We decided that Greg would run ahead at his own pace and hopefully get back in time to catch the shuttle to our car, and Mitch and I would stick together to get to the end.

Greg took off and then it was my turn...I love running downhill's, just attack them, trying to let my body flow over the trail, trusting my eyes to see obstacles and my feet to act on them and roll down like water to the bottom.  As I got ready to drop in I felt like a snowboarder must at the top of a half-pipe, a smile on my face ready, excitement tingling through my body.  Off I went, eyes scanning the ground a few feet in front of me, legs hopping over logs and stones, mind totally clear and focused only on what I was doing, totally in the flow, whipping through the switchbacks, feeling free and unleashed for the first time during the run.  I would stop at a few major landmarks and wait in the shade for Mitch, the adrenaline coursing through my veins until it was time to jump down the trail again.

What took us over 3 hours to go up took just over an hour to go down and suddenly Mitch and I were back at the Pumphouse.  We filled up with water, sat on the benches and chatted a bit before embarking for Cottonwood, the sun was at its peak now and the canyon was hot, we made it to Cottonwood, filled up again and realized the next 7 plus miles were going to be a challenge.  Neither of us was real good in the heat and considering it had been above 60 twice in the past 9 months in MN, running in temps nearing 90 degrees was going to be difficult.  We headed out, I turned on Wilco's Kicking Television on my headphones and we made the best of it. 

Stopping in the shade of rocks and trees when we could find it, but basically just moving as best we could.  I got out in front as I kept attacking the downhill's, using them as momentum to propel me further and eventually waited for Mitch at the start of the Box.  Here there was solid shade but we had been running for a while and I was getting low on water.  We headed out and I took off, hoping that I could make it to Phantom Ranch before I went dry, but the walls of the box kept popping up, one after the other and it was like being caught in a maze.  Sometimes it would open up and I could see the South Rim, thinking I must be getting close to the river but then I would turn a corner and bam, another canyon wall.  Finally I was totally out of water and my running was reduced to a walk as frustration began to build.  I tried to keep the darkness at bay but with each turn, another wall and without water I was losing the battle.

Finally I made it to Phantom Ranch, ran into a guy we had been leapfrogging with all day, he said Greg was doing great and had passed him a while back.  I sat down, in need of fluids and food, hoping that Mitch would come along soon in good spirits to pick me up.  I finally got the phone down there to work and called home to tell my parents that it was going to take a while longer than we had anticipated.  I sat back down and drained two more bottles of Nunn, some almonds, a cracker or two and for the first time in the run felt exhausted.  We had been at it for nearly 13 hours at this point and that last stretch left me feeling really depleted.  I turned to Mitch and said 'I think I can get us a room here...' Mitch looked at me and said 'If we sleep here, there is no way I am gonna be able to walk out tomorrow.'
I agreed and we got up and began to walk out of Phantom Ranch.

Everyone we met there was so nice, offering food to us, wanting to hear all about it and as we shuffled out of there a whole group cheered us on, it was really touching.  We followed Bright Angel creek to the bridge and crossed over as the Canyon walls began to block out the sun.  I was trying to take in more food and fluids on this stretch to get caught up and it was nice to just walk along a somewhat flat path that followed the Colorado while Mitch kept up a steady stream of conversation behind me.  We eventually passed the ranger station at the river and turned to head up the slot canyon that Bright Angel trail followed, my body pretty shot, just picking up one foot and putting the other down, moving and nothing else.  Mitch asked at one point 'Do you want to keep talking or just focus?' Just focus I said and he replied 'Wow never thought I would see the day when John Focke didn't want to talk' we laughed but I had to just keep moving and taking in fluids at that point.

The sun went down and we took our headlamps out, following the beams along the switchbacks as we began to climb.  The stars were amazing, the silence total, it seemed like Mitch and I were the only ones out there, chatting, looking up from time to time only to see nothing but darkness then stars, knowing that darkness was what we had to climb.  We made it to Indian Garden and ran into some folks we had seen before; they offered advice and said we were doing great.  We filled up and headed out, now looking up we could see a string of lights moving down through the darkness...people starting their hikes at 10pm as we moved to finish ours.

Past three mile rest house, then to 1 1/2 mile rest house, my feet feeling like ground beef as rocks punch up into the bottoms of them.  Knowing we were close but also realizing that a mile and a half of this was nothing like a mile and a half we were used to.  One foot in front of the other, a chilly wind whipped up, forcing us to put our coats back on, stopping on rocks to rest.  Literally falling onto them as our quads were so shot we couldn't lower ourselves down.  Through one short tunnel, not knowing how many more there would be, then finally a long switchback brought us around so that wall was on our right and I knew we were close.  One more tunnel and then there it was the end.  We walked up and out of the canyon, to nothing.  No fanfare, just a few security lights on, we stopped our watches, high fived and then went to find Greg.  He had been following our headlamps progress from the South Rim and when he saw us said 'Man it's good to see you guys' we felt the same way.

18 hours and 53 minutes for Mitch and I, Greg made it in around 16 hours, the next morning we were moving slow, really slow but we had all made it and were in good shape outside of moving at the speed of smell.  Can't thank Mitch enough for keeping me moving at Phantom Ranch and having such a great attitude when I needed him on the climb and for Greg for blasting through and getting the car so we could pile in and head straight back to the hotel.  It was a team effort and we had a great team, can't wait for the next adventure.

Goodbye Old Friend

May you walk gently through the world, and know it's beauty, all the days of your life-Apache Blessing

On Monday I said goodbye to an old friend as the Silver Fox, my 2001 Volvo S40, was put out to pasture after suffering through one of the worst winters in recent memory.
The Fox joined the Focke clan as Momma Foke's car a while back...it lead a charmed existence, nights in the garage, weekly bath's, and really only driving down Summit ave to her work and back.  Momma Foke took great care of the Fox, parking as far away from other cars as she could in parking lots, washing and vacuuming, and not driving in bad weather.
But as sometimes happens in a relationship, Momma Foke needed something more exciting and the Fox, despite its sun roof, couldn't deliver the way the drop-top Saab could and with the Ghetto Sled (my car at the time) to the point where I carried an extra battery and jumped it every time to get it started, the Fox fell into my hands...
When the car first moved from St. Paul to Mpls it used the Moniker, A Boy Named Sue, she tried hard to make the adjustment (like dogs do) from being a house car (garage) to an outdoor car, and the adjustment didn't go all that well.
One of the first trips we took to the cabin ended when a bird, or as I thought at the time, a turkey, flew into the grill, smashing it and getting stuck there until I could fish it out with a stick.  After that it was like the car was a magnet for wildlife.  On a trip back from Colorado with Alex, she took out a giant snapping turtle that had found its way onto the South Dakota highway. 
Back in the Cities I was driving to St. Paul when again we took out a bird, this time it just missed the windshield, only to get clipped by the passenger side mirror.
Heading out of town one night to Mora, I took the exit north when a raccoon appeared out of nowhere and met its demise at the hands of the front passenger tire...
Despite its aversion to wildlife, I still tried to force it to be an outdoor car to no avail.  She endured a lot, there was the time someone smashed the front passenger window and stole my laptop right in front of my house.  Later, innocently parked on the side of the road, some guy going way too fast for the neighborhood lost an axel and sideswiped it taking off the mirror and damaging the whole driver's side.  I got that fixed up and she looked like new, but didn't always act like it.
The cold weather made the Fox temperamental, the locks wouldn't work below 15 degrees, you would have to unlock & open the door with the key still in it from outside, there was no chance the backdoors would unlock in that kind of weather and the heat could be on full blast only to stop...sit for a few moments, spit once, then start up again....
The past 9 months were the worst for the Fox, it was hit in my driveway by someone who left a fake  phone number, a headlight that was replaced began to flicker from time to time as if it were winking at you, during a blizzard a 'good Samaritan' trying to help me get unstuck decided to use the mirror as leverage and ripped it right off the side of the car (some silver duct tape later it was back on) and finally the potholes took their toll, one so deep the front bumper couldn't make it out unscathed. 

There were plenty of good times in the Fox, starting with as she somewhat ungracefully made her way into old age the nickname went from A Boy Named Sue, to the Silver Fox which was much more fitting.  The trip to Colorado to hike in the mountains, then to Mount Rushmore, driving 8 hours through driving rain, handling like a champ!
A jaunt out to Columbus to watch the Buckeyes take on the Ohio U Bobcats, and down to Dayton to see Grandma, the many trips to the cabin in the spring, fall and winter keeping me safe through all the elements.
And the trunk which doubled as a sporting goods store, want to play football, got one, basketball?  Indoor or outdoor, had 'em both, golf clubs, frolf discs, life jacket, five gallon bucket to sit on, bike rack, she held them all and more.

The Silver Fox always started too, no matter how cold it got (and it got really cold this winter but she always shook off the snow and fired right up) and I appreciated that more than anything.  She wanted to be an outdoor car, gave it her best but just may not have been cut out for it.
As we said goodbye Monday it wasn't as emotional as the last day with the Ghetto Sled, the Fox and I tolerated each other towards the end, but I will miss her quirks and wish her nothing but the best in her twilight years, hoping she lands to someone with a garage and takes nothing but trips to the grocery store & church.

Zen & The Art Of Letting Go Of Winter

The world has music, for those who listen-Shakespeare

I could feel the cold air seeping through the frosted window as I reached over to grab my phone and look at the weather.  Another day where the high might reach zero, wind-chills in the -25 range, the type of day we in Minnesota have seen far too often this winter.
The easy thing would be to roll over, cover up and go back to sleep, but having never been one to take the easy route, I once again suit up to take on Mother Nature.
Hitting the sidewalk the street looks off-balance, cars only allowed to park on one side of the street as the roads have become a mess of compacted snow and ice, narrowing to the point they have pretty much become one way streets, even with the cars only on the odd-sides.
The past few days have been the worst, trying to navigate the bumps, inability to see around the corners, ice so thick on all the roads that your tires spin a good thirty seconds before catching, launching you forward only to slam on the brakes as the car in front of you waits for theirs to catch.
Searching for parking turns an everyday task like running to the store into an afternoon as you finally find a spot blocks away, bundle up and have to hoof it back.
As I slip and slide along the sidewalk, trying to make my way to the path, the frustration builds...a cold wind cuts through the neighborhood, mocking my 'winter running gear' as I wait for my body to start to warm up.
Making my way around the lakes the path, like the roads, has begun to narrow, where normally two couples could pass no problem, now two people can barely walk side by side.  Coming up behind one must give a verbal warning, then be prepared to run through the snow anyway as there is nowhere for anyone to move.
Frustration, and anger build as the wind begins to pick up even more off the surface of the lake, whipping the drifts over the trail, covering the path and making searching for footing even more of a challenge.
The cold, steel-gray sky, feels oppressive, pushing down my head and shoulders as the snow, very much the same color, and plowed to about waist high, seems to push in from the sides until you feel like it could just bury you right there.
Somewhere on the south end of Lake Harriet, as the sky pushed down, the snow closed in and the wind whipped, something inside me snapped...not in a negative way...a realization that I was just pushing against a force that I couldn't change.  No amount of anger was going to make it warmer, stamping my feet harder into the snow wasn't going to make the footing any easier.  It was a classic case of trying to push a river, all it does is build frustration.
Instead as a heavy gust of wind slapped my face and feet slide out from under me, nearing bringing me down, I let go.  Why fight an un-winnable fight?  Why try to push the river, it was a fruitless task.
I let it go, no sense in getting mad at nature for doing exactly what it was put here to do.
The snow to make up for the drought this past summer, the cold to keep the lakes frozen to bring water levels up and slow down or stop evaporation, the wind to make sure that snow covered every surface is was intended to.
As I exhaled and let go, deciding instead to celebrate the winter for being perfect, my feet began to flow over the hard packed snow rather than rebel against it, and I became a leaf in the river rather than the rock....

When In Doubt Go North

As Scott Jurek once said 'When in doubt...go North' 

DNF

Reach for what you cannot-

A strange thing happened over the weekend...according to the final results of the City of Lakes Loppet 42K classic ski race, I didn't finish.  First time I've started a race but technically not made it to the finish line.
The race began at Theodore Wirth Park, a crisp, overcast morning with a light snow falling.  Last year when I did this event (it was only 25K at the time) I was with my buddy Matt and his wife, we took our time, stopping to take pictures and relax at aid stations and ended up in the final three spots.  We didn't care we were just out for a full day of skiing through some of the most beautiful urban areas.
This year things were a little different, the Loppet was enforcing cut-off times, you had to be through certain areas by a certain time or they would pull you off the course because other races were starting.  Makes sense from a safety standpoint.
The gun sounded and we were off, double poling towards the grooves that we would follow for the next 26 miles.  I was towards the back of the pack as I am not a strong skier, I work really hard but I just don't seem to glide the way many other people on skis do, feel like it takes me three times the energy to go as far as they do with one little push.
But so far so good, the kilometers were ticking off and there were still people around me, some behind some in front.  I had skied more this winter than in years past and felt like my endurance was at a point where if I just kept plowing ahead I would be fine.
Around 5K the sun came out, warming up my face and making the snow covered course shimmer like we were skiing through a field of diamonds.
Up and down the hills of the golf course we went before finally crossing over towards Wirth Lake.  The first major cut-off was the beach, it was around 15K and had to be done in two hours, I made it with about 20 minutes to spare.  Grabbed some water and a banana and off I went hoping to stay on point.
The next section I had never done before, massive hills up and down, energy slowly being sapped from my legs, shoulders and back.  Poling up the hills, praying I would get some relief with a long downhill on the other side to bring my heart rate back down sometimes I got it, other times it was just a flat, slog to the next uphill.
Finally I crossed over the street to quaking bog, an area I run all the time during the summer, there were still a few people behind me and I wasn't far from the big clump of skiers ahead of me.  Smile on my face, sun warm on my back I just kept moving forward, passing a few people on the uphills, and for some reason getting passed on the downhills.  I knew every inch of this section and really enjoyed skiing through the woods, finally coming out by 394 to an Aid station with Pizza Luce.  I hadn't eaten much all day, banana and a Clif bar so far after 24K worth of skiing.  I crushed a slice of cheese as a reward for making the second cut off in time. 

Crossed 394 and headed to the Chain of Lakes, again an area I know well and finally some flat terrain to ski on.  Rounded Brownie, through the tunnel to Cedar, into the woods, big loop back out to Hidden Beach, across the lake to Point Beach, wrap around the south end, wind starting to pick up from the north, just keep moving, just keep moving, into the channel between Cedar and Isles, guy behind me lets out a painful sounding groan.  I ask him if he's alright 'Fine just...we've got 9 freaking miles left'
I leave his negativity in the channel, my only goal, get to the finish and enjoy a full day of skiing before I head into work.
Looping Isles, focus starting to narrow, I knew it was going to be close, I had slowed down as the Kilometers took their toll on my body.  Into Calhoun, chatting with a guy about the cut-off time, he seemed certain that if we made it this far they would let us finish.
South side of Calhoun, wind whipping hard from the north, sun reflecting off the snow starting to annoy me through my sunglasses, knew I was slowing down even more.
Hit the aid station that leads to the final obstacle, another golf course, which meant more hills.  Took a moment to recalibrate my attitude, smile back on my face, I knew I was close.  Sure enough first thing I come to once I am out of the woods and onto the course, a massive hill.  Slowly made my way to the top, pausing to look back and just rest, first time really I had paused except to grab water at the aid stations.
Still a long way to go, keep moving, up and down, follow the yellow flags, there was one guy in front of me I could see him when I got to the top of a hill, and behind me a few more, we were gonna do it.
Out of the golf course, just 2K left to the finish line, almost to Calhoun when a worker walks alongside of me.
"I am supposed to let you know that the course is closed for your race, you can take off your skis and walk to the finish line if you want."  Wait you have to be kidding me...you send me through that really tough golf course spot just to tell me I can't finish?
"Well, I don't think its right to pull people off the course so if you want to keep skiing you can but you have to watch out for the other races that are going on because they'll be coming right at you."
So that's what I did, one slow ski stride after the other, three of us snuck on to the final part of the course, plodding along in front of spectators there for the next round of Sprint races, having no idea that were still trying to finish.
We searched for the route, found it, crossed the street, two more hills and finally into the finishers chute, people confusedly cheering 'wasn't the classic race over?' not yet.  Finally we made it across the line right before the Sprinters did.
A worked gave me a pin for making it all 42K, but we won't show up in the final results as technically the course was closed, missed the cut-off by 7 minutes, finishing in 5:22, but still finishing. 

Up next, the Vassaloppet 35K Sunday in Mora, MN.