sleeve under a short-sleeve with my windbreaker over that, mittens, visor and sunglasses. Finally it was time, very few people at the starting line (runners or spectators) we bounced up and down steam pouring out of everyone's mouth/nose with every breath. After a moment of silence for those who lost their lives not only in the Boston Marathon Tragedy but also the West Texas explosion, we were off.
The footing on the first loop of four was brutal, constantly breaking trail, punching through the top layer of snow, slipping, sliding, looking for any slice of packed down snow, waiting for feeling to come back into my fingers and toes.
The sun was shining though and there was a beautiful sunrise which kept my spirits up as we trudged on through. Eyes trained on the ground, totally focused on your next step, it was hard to look away from the trail to enjoy the scenery.
The trail had been changed from years past, putting us on a bit more pavement due to the snow (the danger of falling much great this year) so after slipping around for a few miles in the snow it was quite a relief to come out on pavement for a little bit before ducking back into the snow.
First lap seemed to take forever, right as we made the turn into the second I fell into pace with a guy running in a Paul Bunyan flannel shirt, we were about the same age and talked music, and books and running for the second loop (footing much easier than the first as now the 25K people were also on the course and it was still cold enough that the snow hadn't started to melt)
By the time we moved on to the third loop the guy I was running with was slowing down, running through snow is sometimes compared to running through sand but it's really different. With every step in snow you slide a little, you need to use your ankles and calves quite a bit, as well as muscles you don't normally use in your glutes and quads, and that took its toll the guy I was running with so we parted ways.
The third lap is always the worst. You have run the same loop already twice, you know what's coming up, you know you have another lap & you just want to get that one over with so you can get to the last loop. This lap was made worse by the fact that now the 25K people plus the relay runners were on the course and much of the trail was single track, so you could get stuck behind a huge column of people with nowhere to go.
That's when my motto kicked it, pack a lunch boy, it's gonna be a long day. I was already slowed down by the snow and terrain, and mentally just had to realize it was going to be a long day. I had nothing else to do that day, might as well just enjoy it. And that's exactly what I did.
I passed some folks when I could, running through the snow to get back up on the packed down stuff ahead, but for the most part just settled in and went with the flow, finally making it around to the start/finish again.
This is always a tough part, the people in front of me were 25k runners, so they were done, I still had another lap to go, people are cheering, everyone yelling 'You're almost there!' well not really but thanks.
You run through the finish line and then just keep going. It's quite a mental challenge to not just stop and sit down and say "I'm done"
I made the turn and started up a hill feeling pretty tired at this point. Decided to walk this hill and when I got to the top made the decision that I will only walk the big hills (hadn't walked at all up to this point) and since I was on my 4th lap I knew where every hill was and forced myself to keep running knowing that there was a break coming soon.
At one point I attacked a hill, finding the right footing and bounding up it, surprising the first aid person at the top who said 'Oh my goodness you're like a little billy goat!' cracked me up.
Head down, intense focus, body in a flow despite the inability to get any sort of a rhythm to my stride due to the snow. Finally I made the last turn and in cruel irony, had to go up a hill that was a combo of snow and sand having been beaten down by all the runners at this point and made it to the finish.
There was no fanfare, most of the spectators were gone, it was still quite chilly, a medal was placed around my neck, I sat down for the first time in over 5 hours, drank a bottle of water, stretched a bit, threw on my sweats and then ate that lunch I packed...
Monday, April 22, 2013
Pack A Lunch
Ooweee it's cold, I thought as I fired up the Silver Fox at 545 Saturday morning. The temp on the dash read 25 as I scraped the windows and wondered what the Trail Mix 50K course was going to be like that morning.
The previous Sunday I had gone out to Hyland Park in the rain, sleet, snow, wind to hike for an hour or so to test out my new backpack and some rain gear for my upcoming trip to Isle Royale and that day the trails were full of snow making walking quite difficult, since then we had gotten another 3-4 inches of snow packed on top of that...oh and it was April 20th.
Well at least the sun was shining.
After picking up my race number and timing chip I retreated once again to my car where I blasted the heater and got ready. April 20th and I have yet to run outside in shorts, today was no exception, tights, trail shoes, long-
sleeve under a short-sleeve with my windbreaker over that, mittens, visor and sunglasses. Finally it was time, very few people at the starting line (runners or spectators) we bounced up and down steam pouring out of everyone's mouth/nose with every breath. After a moment of silence for those who lost their lives not only in the Boston Marathon Tragedy but also the West Texas explosion, we were off.
The footing on the first loop of four was brutal, constantly breaking trail, punching through the top layer of snow, slipping, sliding, looking for any slice of packed down snow, waiting for feeling to come back into my fingers and toes.
The sun was shining though and there was a beautiful sunrise which kept my spirits up as we trudged on through. Eyes trained on the ground, totally focused on your next step, it was hard to look away from the trail to enjoy the scenery.
The trail had been changed from years past, putting us on a bit more pavement due to the snow (the danger of falling much great this year) so after slipping around for a few miles in the snow it was quite a relief to come out on pavement for a little bit before ducking back into the snow.
First lap seemed to take forever, right as we made the turn into the second I fell into pace with a guy running in a Paul Bunyan flannel shirt, we were about the same age and talked music, and books and running for the second loop (footing much easier than the first as now the 25K people were also on the course and it was still cold enough that the snow hadn't started to melt)
By the time we moved on to the third loop the guy I was running with was slowing down, running through snow is sometimes compared to running through sand but it's really different. With every step in snow you slide a little, you need to use your ankles and calves quite a bit, as well as muscles you don't normally use in your glutes and quads, and that took its toll the guy I was running with so we parted ways.
The third lap is always the worst. You have run the same loop already twice, you know what's coming up, you know you have another lap & you just want to get that one over with so you can get to the last loop. This lap was made worse by the fact that now the 25K people plus the relay runners were on the course and much of the trail was single track, so you could get stuck behind a huge column of people with nowhere to go.
That's when my motto kicked it, pack a lunch boy, it's gonna be a long day. I was already slowed down by the snow and terrain, and mentally just had to realize it was going to be a long day. I had nothing else to do that day, might as well just enjoy it. And that's exactly what I did.
I passed some folks when I could, running through the snow to get back up on the packed down stuff ahead, but for the most part just settled in and went with the flow, finally making it around to the start/finish again.
This is always a tough part, the people in front of me were 25k runners, so they were done, I still had another lap to go, people are cheering, everyone yelling 'You're almost there!' well not really but thanks.
You run through the finish line and then just keep going. It's quite a mental challenge to not just stop and sit down and say "I'm done"
I made the turn and started up a hill feeling pretty tired at this point. Decided to walk this hill and when I got to the top made the decision that I will only walk the big hills (hadn't walked at all up to this point) and since I was on my 4th lap I knew where every hill was and forced myself to keep running knowing that there was a break coming soon.
At one point I attacked a hill, finding the right footing and bounding up it, surprising the first aid person at the top who said 'Oh my goodness you're like a little billy goat!' cracked me up.
Head down, intense focus, body in a flow despite the inability to get any sort of a rhythm to my stride due to the snow. Finally I made the last turn and in cruel irony, had to go up a hill that was a combo of snow and sand having been beaten down by all the runners at this point and made it to the finish.
There was no fanfare, most of the spectators were gone, it was still quite chilly, a medal was placed around my neck, I sat down for the first time in over 5 hours, drank a bottle of water, stretched a bit, threw on my sweats and then ate that lunch I packed...
sleeve under a short-sleeve with my windbreaker over that, mittens, visor and sunglasses. Finally it was time, very few people at the starting line (runners or spectators) we bounced up and down steam pouring out of everyone's mouth/nose with every breath. After a moment of silence for those who lost their lives not only in the Boston Marathon Tragedy but also the West Texas explosion, we were off.
The footing on the first loop of four was brutal, constantly breaking trail, punching through the top layer of snow, slipping, sliding, looking for any slice of packed down snow, waiting for feeling to come back into my fingers and toes.
The sun was shining though and there was a beautiful sunrise which kept my spirits up as we trudged on through. Eyes trained on the ground, totally focused on your next step, it was hard to look away from the trail to enjoy the scenery.
The trail had been changed from years past, putting us on a bit more pavement due to the snow (the danger of falling much great this year) so after slipping around for a few miles in the snow it was quite a relief to come out on pavement for a little bit before ducking back into the snow.
First lap seemed to take forever, right as we made the turn into the second I fell into pace with a guy running in a Paul Bunyan flannel shirt, we were about the same age and talked music, and books and running for the second loop (footing much easier than the first as now the 25K people were also on the course and it was still cold enough that the snow hadn't started to melt)
By the time we moved on to the third loop the guy I was running with was slowing down, running through snow is sometimes compared to running through sand but it's really different. With every step in snow you slide a little, you need to use your ankles and calves quite a bit, as well as muscles you don't normally use in your glutes and quads, and that took its toll the guy I was running with so we parted ways.
The third lap is always the worst. You have run the same loop already twice, you know what's coming up, you know you have another lap & you just want to get that one over with so you can get to the last loop. This lap was made worse by the fact that now the 25K people plus the relay runners were on the course and much of the trail was single track, so you could get stuck behind a huge column of people with nowhere to go.
That's when my motto kicked it, pack a lunch boy, it's gonna be a long day. I was already slowed down by the snow and terrain, and mentally just had to realize it was going to be a long day. I had nothing else to do that day, might as well just enjoy it. And that's exactly what I did.
I passed some folks when I could, running through the snow to get back up on the packed down stuff ahead, but for the most part just settled in and went with the flow, finally making it around to the start/finish again.
This is always a tough part, the people in front of me were 25k runners, so they were done, I still had another lap to go, people are cheering, everyone yelling 'You're almost there!' well not really but thanks.
You run through the finish line and then just keep going. It's quite a mental challenge to not just stop and sit down and say "I'm done"
I made the turn and started up a hill feeling pretty tired at this point. Decided to walk this hill and when I got to the top made the decision that I will only walk the big hills (hadn't walked at all up to this point) and since I was on my 4th lap I knew where every hill was and forced myself to keep running knowing that there was a break coming soon.
At one point I attacked a hill, finding the right footing and bounding up it, surprising the first aid person at the top who said 'Oh my goodness you're like a little billy goat!' cracked me up.
Head down, intense focus, body in a flow despite the inability to get any sort of a rhythm to my stride due to the snow. Finally I made the last turn and in cruel irony, had to go up a hill that was a combo of snow and sand having been beaten down by all the runners at this point and made it to the finish.
There was no fanfare, most of the spectators were gone, it was still quite chilly, a medal was placed around my neck, I sat down for the first time in over 5 hours, drank a bottle of water, stretched a bit, threw on my sweats and then ate that lunch I packed...
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Thoughts On The Boston Marathon
To the person, or persons who planted the bombs at the Boston Marathon this week.
I hate to say it but I think your plan backfired. Whatever your plan was, I don't think it worked.
All you ended up doing was making an already inspiring event, even more so.
Every marathon, ultra-marathon, triathlon, heck every 5K and race of any distance is full of inspiring stories.
Stories of people who used running/walking/biking/swimming to get through tough times, to lose weight and become healthy,
to push themselves to new limits, to learn what they are capable of.
There are stories of runners stopping mid-race to help others who are having health issues, recently there was the story of a Doctor
at the Twin Cities Marathon who was on pace for a personal best, when someone near him suffered a heart-attack, and the Doc stopped
running and immediate went to work on saving their life, and he did. Once the person was stabilized the Doctor went on and finished the race.
And the Boston Marathon has more inspiring stories than any other, whether its what people put themselves through to qualify for the race, or
the long history of amazing races run there.
Add another chapter of inspiring stories. Stories of spectators rushing on to the course, pulling off their shirts to make tourniquets for runners and
other spectators effected by the blast.
Stories of runners running from the finish line to hospitals to donate blood, first responders running into the blast, pulling back fencing and carrying victims out.
An already inspiring event just added another layer of inspiration and show of the human spirit. Runners train their bodies and minds to be able to complete
the 26.2 mile race, first responders, paramedics, police & firemen train their bodies and minds for situations such as this and all came up big on Monday.
All became Heroes.
So on Saturday morning as I toe the line at the Trail Mix 50K, preparing to run through the snow, sleet, wind, slop and cold that is a Minnesota spring, I will
run not for the victims of the Boston Marathon Tragedy but for the heroes. Those who were injured or killed by the blast, those who ran to the blast to
help, those who ran to the hospitals to donate blood, and all of those who made it to the starting line, and for those who didn't have a chance to make it
to the finish line.
Monday, April 1, 2013
Buffet Of Races
Much like an Easter Sunday brunch buffet, when it comes to running sometimes my eyes can be bigger than my stomach (or stronger than my legs as the case may be)
Every year I try to plan out a running schedule that will allow me to test myself with a number of events, pushing the distance and hopefully still allowing for recovery in between. The goal is to get to a certain level of fitness, maintain that level with different distances and events throughout the summer.
Sometimes it works out great where I maintain that level and excel, other times I get too excited and add in too many events, not allowing for proper recovery and totally gas myself.
Last summer things were moving along quite well, I posted a person best in the 50K in April, did an Olympic Tri in June, missing a PB by a few minutes, beat my time at the Mount Hood 50 by nearly an hour in July, and then ran my 2nd fastest time at the Twin Cities Marathon in October and two weeks later limped to a 7:36 finish in the Wild Duluth 50K, clearly showing that with little recovery time between racing a marathon and attempting the up & down tract of the Superior Hiking Trail was not my smartest idea.
But I loved it, in fact as much fun as the Mt Hood race was, the way I literally felt like I flew through parts of it, the cheering and support of my family, the beauty of the course and the struggle of the last three miles. That Wild Duluth 50K was my favorite race of the year. It was the one that I thought about least and hadn't even planned on doing it until the week leading up to it. I worked late Friday night, got up at 3am drove through the fog to Duluth, challenged myself to the brink, nearly quit with three miles left only to dig down and find something I didn't know I had to not only finish but finish strong. Then hop in my car and drive back to the cities to be at work the next day.
I love that feeling of pushing to the brink, being on top of Duluth in an absolute mental battle and looking down at the City going on as if nothing was happening in the hills above. It reminded me that Ultra's are not about glory or prizes, but about challenging yourself and finishing. Two weeks prior I finished Twin Cities to a crowd of thousands, crossing the finish line while being shown on a big jumbotron, my name was boomed out through the speakers. A medal placed around my neck, every sort of food and drink available as I limped to find my family and drop bag.
In Duluth it was me and another guy not racing to the end, but helping each other get there. There was no jumbotron to announce our finish, in fact there were barely any people at the finish line (and we didn't really know when we were actually done)
There was no medal, I was handed a soup cup/bowl as my finishing prize (much more useful than a medal I must say) I laid in the grass a few feet away from the guy who I crossed the finish line with. I thanked him for helping me when I was mentally crushed, he thanked me for the same. We shook hands, I got in my car and left.
This summer I have decided that is what I want more of, the simplicity of that challenge, pushing to the brink, surrounded by good people, and connecting with nature. It starts again with the Hyland 50K, the next week I plan to spend some time on the Superior Hiking trail, hiking, then a 100 Mile bike ride back in the Cities. After that, a trip to Isle Royale to hike it end to end, in July a 50K to start the month and a 50miler to end it. Hoping for a 100K in October.
I may have bitten off more than I can chew, the eyes may be too big for the strength of my legs, but nothing makes you feel as good as knowing that and yet finding a way to finish.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
One of those days...
Today I woke up around 8am the sun was leaking into my room through my crappy shades, I laid there for a few minutes letting the fog fade...got up and made coffee and a kale/fruit smoothie, drank my coffee and read for a bit while listening to Paul Simon, then threw on my running gear and dialed up the podcast 'dirtbag diaries' and headed out down to isles around the north end, dipped over to cedar, the air was cold the sun bright and warm when I was out of the shade, very little wind just perfect. I passed a professional photo shoot on the ice in the middle of cedar lake, hopped the railroad tracks to run in the snow around brownie lake headed west past the JCC and then got back on the cedar lake commuter trail to head into the city. Podcast over at this point switched to railroad earth, rolled down the trail in a state of empty minded bliss towards downtown. Crossed under 394 towards the sculpture garden, turned around and headed back towards hidden beach. Realizing as I was running how peaceful I felt not a runners high but a sense that I could run forever, I couldn't help smiling and felt like I was floating...mind clear, body strong, stress gone, It felt (and I know this is corny as hell) spiritual in a sense.
Negative thoughts floated into my mind only to be whisked away quickly, I made it back to the greenway and turned towards home sun now warm upon my face even hot under my winter hat. Legs pumping like pistons but not feeling like they were working everything in sync.
Made it back home having run over 11.5miles and loved every minute of it...
Gotta head to work in an hour so glad I had an opportunity to take advantage of my morning.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Mt Hood 50
'You're crazy!' 'What are you nuts?' '50 F-ing miles? That's insane!' those are just a few of the phrases I have heard since I decided back in January to run the Mt. Hood 50, a 50 mile trail run in Mt Hood State Park in Oregon.
And after finishing it, I am still hearing those phrases...hahaha
Saturday morning I rolled over to the sound of my phone alarm going off, which was followed seconds later by the beeping alarm of my watch. I exhaled a deep sigh of relief that they both worked and woke me up. We camped just a few minutes from the Clackamas Ranger Station which would serve as the start of the race.
Paul and I got here Thursday, found a great campsite and spent the night there claiming the spot as our own. Friday we drove an hour back to Portland packed up the rest of our gear and picked up my Mom and headed back out. The night before the race was spent around a beautiful fire built by Paul. I took down a meal of quinoa, beans and veggies while Paul and Mom cooked brats, beans and corn in the open fire.
I sat up in my sleeping bag feeling the cool air creeping in and began to eat my peanut butter bagel and banana trying to wrap my mind around the challenge ahead. I emerged from my tent to a brisk, foggy morning. A very typical Oregon morning, massive trees towered over our three tents (after burritos Thursday and a night sharing a tent with me Paul wanted no more of that and brought his own and my mom, maybe having the foresight Paul lacked, claimed 'I snore too loud and will need my own tent' so we were set up like a small village) the fog obscuring the tops of the pines.
We got up and over to the start of the race, water bottles were filled, people were milling around, unlike marathons and road races where the energy crackles through the air, at the start of an Ultra there is a different energy, its there but its tempered quite a bit because you have to be patient and ration out your energy over the course of a full day rather than a few hours.
Finally it was time to go, Paul and I two-belled, gave Mom a hug, adjusted my fuel belt, visor and sunglasses and we were off.
We wound our way down a path towards Timothy Lake, the trail was soft dirt and pine needles, rocks and roots jumped up from time to time but it was early, I was fresh and had no trouble bounding over them. I went slow trying to find a pace I could keep for possibly 12 hours and let a lot of people pass me in the first few miles.
At one point early in the first 6 miles we came up a pretty steep rocky hill and the view of Timothy Lake took my breath away. The water was a mountain green color, and it was so smooth it looked like glass. There was mist rising from the water while the trees surrounding the lake were shrouded in fog, it didn't even look real.
After a while I fell into step with a group of 4 people, Rick (a mexican guy from Houston, built like a fire hydrant, earlier this year he finished an ironman and a 50 miler on a beach in FL) I was behind him and behind me was Marylin (in her mid to late 50's from Washington, owner to 2 Harley's and had run many 50 milers including this one a few times) and bringing up the rear was Kim from Quad Cities.
The 4 of us swapped stories for 8 miles, when I took the lead for a bit and we came up to a ridge with the most beautiful view of Mt Hood I have ever seen. Our ridge dropped off into a valley of trees that lead straight up to the mountain, in the morning sun with a cloudless, bright blue sky behind it the mountain looked equal parts inviting and with its snowcapped peak menacing.
Rick had a small video camera attached to his belt and pulled it out to capture the view and all of us were silent for a bit just walking and taking it in.
That group was moving a little slow for my tastes after that so I picked up the pace to find something that felt good, and for a bit was on my own just enjoying the solitude of trail running. It may sound corny but I truly believe that trail running is as close to a Zen type of experience as I can get. You have to stay totally focused in the moment yet at the same time be looking one step ahead and your mind doesn't wander the way it does at a road race. You need to be taking stock constantly of your surroundings, your footing, where are you going to step next, your body, do you need more water, food etc. It's like your mind goes blank and all the little nonsense thoughts you get during a regular day just leave and you are focused only on one thing.
I fell into that world for quite a while before another runner came behind me and we began to chat, he was from Denver and a big Nuggets fan, our conversation carried us to the mile 14 turnaround when I got to see my Mom and Paul for the first time. It was so nice to see them, I pulled into the aid station and chatted with Paul while Mom took pics and I got to tell them about the views and figure out when I would see them again.
After a few minutes it was time to hit the road, I once again fell into a good pace and eventually ended up behind an older guy on the ridge. We didn't speak for a bit, all I could see of him was his back and then a guy coming the other way saw him and got a big grin and said 'Hey man awesome beard!' the guy in front chuckled and said 'Thanks!' then he shouted over his shoulder to me 'I get a lot of compliments on my beard...mostly from men, never from women!' and he turned around so I could get a look...it was like Brain Wilson, the closer for the Giants, beard! Fierce, long, aggressive...I too was impressed.
His name was Steve, nice guy who was working in Bellingham, WA. We chatted for a bit, then came upon the view of Hood again. I turned to look, stubbed my toe on a rock and almost went down. Laughing I said 'Boy I am going to kill myself trying to catch a view!' and a voice behind me started laughing and said 'I keep doing the same thing!' It was Kim from Quad Cities, she was back.
The 3 of us made it to the 18 mile mark where I got to see Paul and Mom again, our visit was brief as we needed to hit the 28 mile mark by 1230 in order to continue onto the 2nd half of the course.
As the 3 of us set off from the aid station, I was leading when I heard Steve make a sound like he was in agony. I stopped to see if he was okay and he mumbled through his beard about his knee being 'Wonky' we walked for a bit to see if that would help him but he was still struggling and looked at the two of us and said goodbye. He walked back to the aid station and dropped out. It was crazy, I didn't know the guy at all but felt terrible for him.
So Kim and I continued, this part of the course was an easy downhill and we were booking, I felt great mentally and physically. Kim and I would talk for a bit then go silent and just enjoy the woods around us. At one point I looked at my watch around mile 25 and saw that we were doing 9 min miles which was pretty fast, and I just thought 'Man this is so great I feel so good I just love life!' and took my eye off the trail leading to me heading back to earth at top speed.
My toe slammed into a tree root and I was going down, it was at that moment all the years of playing army as a kid came back, I tucked my body in tight ball and turned so that when I hit the ground I was in mid-commando roll. I rolled once, my water bottle flew out of my back and I was back on my feet all in one motion! Not sure how I did it but Kim grabbed my water bottle and said 'That was impressive!' we laughed about it and checked, I wasn't bleeding, just really dirty and nothing hurt which seemed amazing.
We walked a bit and then picked up the running again and caught up and passed some folks before falling in behind Lynn and Habeebee who were setting a good pace and the 4 of us made it to the mid point where I got to see Paul and Mom again. I took down a turkey wrap and chatted for a few, I was still feeling good, I had been taking in water and Gu on a regular basis and at mile 28 was in good shape mentally and physically but this is where the true battle would begin. For the next 22 miles I would not get to see Mom or Paul (it's amazing how just seeing them and talking for a few minutes could boost spirits and just make me feel refreshed) not only that but (and I didn't know this at the time) there would only be 3 aid stations over those 22 miles not to mention some of the most aggressive hills I have ever seen.
Leaving the aid station I wanted to make sure I hung with Lynn and Habeebee they were running a smart race and I didn't want to do anything stupid like go out too fast. As I left Kim jumped in behind and we caught up to the others about a half mile into the woods.
The 4 of us talked a lot in those first few miles, I had heard the next aid station was 3-4 miles away (turns out it was more like 6.5) and we battled the gradual incline together. It was hard, hot and frustrating not knowing where the aid station was and that feeling of uncertainty killing me.
As some of you know, I hate to be lost or not know where I am going. It gets in my head and can make me angry and frustrated. I was battling it at this point (and would again later) I dropped to the back of our little group and tried to get my mind right. I stopped talking, and just tried to focus on the run and enjoy the moment but I couldn't get into a groove because of the hill and how slow they were running. Finally we decided to take a bathroom break and I told them I was just going ahead.
I reached the aid station in much better spirits using those few miles alone to refocus and get back to having fun. I was hoping to grab some food/drink and get moving alone again, but first I had to get the rocks out of my shoes. I sat down and took off my sock (only the right one, my left foot had taken a beating and I didn't want to look at my toe fearing that it would be a disaster and would force me to quit. As I put my sock back on and got ready to leave, Kim from Quad Cities was there and got right behind me again. A little frustrated I just took off in silence and she chirped from behind 'Is it okay that I keep following you? I like the pace you are setting but if you don't want me around I understand.' I said it was fine, knowing that at some point conversation would come in handy when we were battling tough times.
The two of us went down a massive hill, Kim's quads were screaming, my knees felt wobbly by the time we got to the bottom. Went through really hot, miserable rock field with no tree cover (sun was high in the sky by now, it was around 2pm and that patch was not much fun) then down again over a beautiful, cool mountain stream and then up, up, up.
We started walking up the switchbacks, tried running but it was pretty steep and we both decided to enjoy the walk and wait till it leveled out to start running again.
Once again the unknown was pissing me off, the mileage on the course all day had been off. My GPS watch was having trouble staying connected and was around 2 miles off the total mileage but the aid station mileage was what was really wrong. The distances didn't make sense and were totally inaccurate which was disheartening at times.
I ran out of water but was lucky when the path finally leveled enough to run that we were only a mile or so from the turnaround point. We pulled in and again I emptied my shoe of rocks and dirt, took in as much water as I could (I was done with the Gu Brew by now, it was too sweet and starting to mess with my stomach) stretched a little bit and then Kim and I took off again.
That was mile 39 and all things considered I felt good. We were running, like actually running not shuffling, I am sure it wasn't really fast but it was a normal stride and I was amazed at how my body was still working. We wound our way back over the stream (saw a runner in front stop and jump in) then through the hot rock field, stopping to take walk breaks every once in a while and then we got to the beast of a hill.
We had gone down it and it was painful, but now we had to go up. No switchbacks just up and up and up. A person in front of us said it was 2 miles yet it seemed like 20.
Kim and I made our way up the hill, every time I looked up I couldn't see the top just bodies moving slowing up in front of me...everyone seemed to be struggling just like I was.
This was the first time all day that I didn't feel good. My body was starting to get beat up, and mentally this hill was killing me. A little over halfway up my left hamstring cramped and I had to pull off to the side to stretch it. Kim stopped to wait but I waved her on, knowing my body this was not something that would go away anytime soon. Kim said she would wait but again I said 'Trust me just go I will catch up' (knowing that was not true)
She left and I was on my own. This was a dark spot, mentally I was struggling, physically I was struggling and my frustration of not knowing where I was started to boil over. Finally I reached the top of the hill and dropped a few F-bombs on it and then looked around for the aid station but it wasn't there. I had no idea how much further I had to go and without being able to run constantly because of the hamstring I was moving really slow.
My stomach started to hurt too, one minute I was really hungry and the next I felt like puking. My feet hurt, my leg hurt, my head hurt. I was done. Then I would pull out of it and feel good again and run a little bit only to get blindsided by it again. I stopped and sat on a log telling myself to puke but couldn't do it, washed out my mouth with water but the taste of Gu was still there. I didn't know what to do, could I go on? Would seeing that aid station boost my spirits enough to finish? Where the F was that aid station?
Through it all I kept moving, my stop on the log lasted less than a minute and I kept moving forward finally coming to the aid station, mile 45 roughly.
As I walked into that aid station I decided that I was going to quit. If anyone asked if I was done I would say yes and just call it a day. I sat down on a chair waiting for my stomach to settle and someone to come to me. But no one did. I looked around and all the volunteers were busy helping folks out. I gave it another minute, nothing. So I stood up and said to myself 'F-it let's go' filled up my bottle with water and started walking. The only thought in my mind was 'Relentless forward progress' just keep moving.
I walked, I ran a little till the hammy cramped, felt like I rolled down the hills. I stopped and got the rocks out of my shoe.
I was passed...a lot. Lynn and Habeebee caught up, asked if I was okay and then kept motoring, two women bounded along behind me shouting to each other 'You're awesome, no you're awesome!' I was stretching on the side of the trail as they passed and one tapped my back and said 'You're awesome too!' I kept moving, my watch battery died, I had no idea how many miles were left, the woods all looked the same.
I got pissed, I felt great, I repeated the phrase 'Who am I? I AM A CHAMPION!' I bitched, I whined, I ran, 5 fat women on horses overtook the path. I stopped to stretch and the horse started freaking out and the people did too.
Later I pulled off to get the rocks out my shoes and was passed by an old guy in a cowboy hat, I called him Waylon Jennings and the song 'Momma's don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys' was stuck in my head.
I kept moving, looking for landmarks but finding none.
Then a kid appeared on the trail, he looked like Notorious (it was a real kid there are campground around) his lone clap filled the woods and he said 'Keep going you're almost there!' I said I'm trying buddy and he replied 'Just finish that's all that matters!' brought a tear to my eye.
I thought about Paul, Mom, Dad, Alex, Sarah, all my friends and family who have been so supportive of this adventure, I wish I could tell them how much I appreciated it, how much it meant to me. How I am sure they were sick of hearing me talk about it, or miss things because I was spending 90% of my weekend training or recovering.
I kept moving forward.
Finally I saw the road and my spirits lifted. I had just enough energy to get on the road and run to the end, hamstring tightening with every step, stride so short you could barley stick a penny between my feet.
Mom and Paul snapping pictures, Kim from Quad Cities who finished a half hour in front of me and hung around to see me finish. It was one of the coolest experiences of my life. A bunch of people on the road were walking to their cars and began to cheer. I was the only one out there, they clapped, shouted and helped me get to the end.
Finally I made it...it was over...50 f-ing miles...and I would do it again in a heartbeat!
And after finishing it, I am still hearing those phrases...hahaha
Saturday morning I rolled over to the sound of my phone alarm going off, which was followed seconds later by the beeping alarm of my watch. I exhaled a deep sigh of relief that they both worked and woke me up. We camped just a few minutes from the Clackamas Ranger Station which would serve as the start of the race.
Paul and I got here Thursday, found a great campsite and spent the night there claiming the spot as our own. Friday we drove an hour back to Portland packed up the rest of our gear and picked up my Mom and headed back out. The night before the race was spent around a beautiful fire built by Paul. I took down a meal of quinoa, beans and veggies while Paul and Mom cooked brats, beans and corn in the open fire.
I sat up in my sleeping bag feeling the cool air creeping in and began to eat my peanut butter bagel and banana trying to wrap my mind around the challenge ahead. I emerged from my tent to a brisk, foggy morning. A very typical Oregon morning, massive trees towered over our three tents (after burritos Thursday and a night sharing a tent with me Paul wanted no more of that and brought his own and my mom, maybe having the foresight Paul lacked, claimed 'I snore too loud and will need my own tent' so we were set up like a small village) the fog obscuring the tops of the pines.
We got up and over to the start of the race, water bottles were filled, people were milling around, unlike marathons and road races where the energy crackles through the air, at the start of an Ultra there is a different energy, its there but its tempered quite a bit because you have to be patient and ration out your energy over the course of a full day rather than a few hours.
Finally it was time to go, Paul and I two-belled, gave Mom a hug, adjusted my fuel belt, visor and sunglasses and we were off.
We wound our way down a path towards Timothy Lake, the trail was soft dirt and pine needles, rocks and roots jumped up from time to time but it was early, I was fresh and had no trouble bounding over them. I went slow trying to find a pace I could keep for possibly 12 hours and let a lot of people pass me in the first few miles.
At one point early in the first 6 miles we came up a pretty steep rocky hill and the view of Timothy Lake took my breath away. The water was a mountain green color, and it was so smooth it looked like glass. There was mist rising from the water while the trees surrounding the lake were shrouded in fog, it didn't even look real.
After a while I fell into step with a group of 4 people, Rick (a mexican guy from Houston, built like a fire hydrant, earlier this year he finished an ironman and a 50 miler on a beach in FL) I was behind him and behind me was Marylin (in her mid to late 50's from Washington, owner to 2 Harley's and had run many 50 milers including this one a few times) and bringing up the rear was Kim from Quad Cities.
The 4 of us swapped stories for 8 miles, when I took the lead for a bit and we came up to a ridge with the most beautiful view of Mt Hood I have ever seen. Our ridge dropped off into a valley of trees that lead straight up to the mountain, in the morning sun with a cloudless, bright blue sky behind it the mountain looked equal parts inviting and with its snowcapped peak menacing.
Rick had a small video camera attached to his belt and pulled it out to capture the view and all of us were silent for a bit just walking and taking it in.
That group was moving a little slow for my tastes after that so I picked up the pace to find something that felt good, and for a bit was on my own just enjoying the solitude of trail running. It may sound corny but I truly believe that trail running is as close to a Zen type of experience as I can get. You have to stay totally focused in the moment yet at the same time be looking one step ahead and your mind doesn't wander the way it does at a road race. You need to be taking stock constantly of your surroundings, your footing, where are you going to step next, your body, do you need more water, food etc. It's like your mind goes blank and all the little nonsense thoughts you get during a regular day just leave and you are focused only on one thing.
I fell into that world for quite a while before another runner came behind me and we began to chat, he was from Denver and a big Nuggets fan, our conversation carried us to the mile 14 turnaround when I got to see my Mom and Paul for the first time. It was so nice to see them, I pulled into the aid station and chatted with Paul while Mom took pics and I got to tell them about the views and figure out when I would see them again.
After a few minutes it was time to hit the road, I once again fell into a good pace and eventually ended up behind an older guy on the ridge. We didn't speak for a bit, all I could see of him was his back and then a guy coming the other way saw him and got a big grin and said 'Hey man awesome beard!' the guy in front chuckled and said 'Thanks!' then he shouted over his shoulder to me 'I get a lot of compliments on my beard...mostly from men, never from women!' and he turned around so I could get a look...it was like Brain Wilson, the closer for the Giants, beard! Fierce, long, aggressive...I too was impressed.
His name was Steve, nice guy who was working in Bellingham, WA. We chatted for a bit, then came upon the view of Hood again. I turned to look, stubbed my toe on a rock and almost went down. Laughing I said 'Boy I am going to kill myself trying to catch a view!' and a voice behind me started laughing and said 'I keep doing the same thing!' It was Kim from Quad Cities, she was back.
The 3 of us made it to the 18 mile mark where I got to see Paul and Mom again, our visit was brief as we needed to hit the 28 mile mark by 1230 in order to continue onto the 2nd half of the course.
As the 3 of us set off from the aid station, I was leading when I heard Steve make a sound like he was in agony. I stopped to see if he was okay and he mumbled through his beard about his knee being 'Wonky' we walked for a bit to see if that would help him but he was still struggling and looked at the two of us and said goodbye. He walked back to the aid station and dropped out. It was crazy, I didn't know the guy at all but felt terrible for him.
So Kim and I continued, this part of the course was an easy downhill and we were booking, I felt great mentally and physically. Kim and I would talk for a bit then go silent and just enjoy the woods around us. At one point I looked at my watch around mile 25 and saw that we were doing 9 min miles which was pretty fast, and I just thought 'Man this is so great I feel so good I just love life!' and took my eye off the trail leading to me heading back to earth at top speed.
My toe slammed into a tree root and I was going down, it was at that moment all the years of playing army as a kid came back, I tucked my body in tight ball and turned so that when I hit the ground I was in mid-commando roll. I rolled once, my water bottle flew out of my back and I was back on my feet all in one motion! Not sure how I did it but Kim grabbed my water bottle and said 'That was impressive!' we laughed about it and checked, I wasn't bleeding, just really dirty and nothing hurt which seemed amazing.
We walked a bit and then picked up the running again and caught up and passed some folks before falling in behind Lynn and Habeebee who were setting a good pace and the 4 of us made it to the mid point where I got to see Paul and Mom again. I took down a turkey wrap and chatted for a few, I was still feeling good, I had been taking in water and Gu on a regular basis and at mile 28 was in good shape mentally and physically but this is where the true battle would begin. For the next 22 miles I would not get to see Mom or Paul (it's amazing how just seeing them and talking for a few minutes could boost spirits and just make me feel refreshed) not only that but (and I didn't know this at the time) there would only be 3 aid stations over those 22 miles not to mention some of the most aggressive hills I have ever seen.
Leaving the aid station I wanted to make sure I hung with Lynn and Habeebee they were running a smart race and I didn't want to do anything stupid like go out too fast. As I left Kim jumped in behind and we caught up to the others about a half mile into the woods.
The 4 of us talked a lot in those first few miles, I had heard the next aid station was 3-4 miles away (turns out it was more like 6.5) and we battled the gradual incline together. It was hard, hot and frustrating not knowing where the aid station was and that feeling of uncertainty killing me.
As some of you know, I hate to be lost or not know where I am going. It gets in my head and can make me angry and frustrated. I was battling it at this point (and would again later) I dropped to the back of our little group and tried to get my mind right. I stopped talking, and just tried to focus on the run and enjoy the moment but I couldn't get into a groove because of the hill and how slow they were running. Finally we decided to take a bathroom break and I told them I was just going ahead.
I reached the aid station in much better spirits using those few miles alone to refocus and get back to having fun. I was hoping to grab some food/drink and get moving alone again, but first I had to get the rocks out of my shoes. I sat down and took off my sock (only the right one, my left foot had taken a beating and I didn't want to look at my toe fearing that it would be a disaster and would force me to quit. As I put my sock back on and got ready to leave, Kim from Quad Cities was there and got right behind me again. A little frustrated I just took off in silence and she chirped from behind 'Is it okay that I keep following you? I like the pace you are setting but if you don't want me around I understand.' I said it was fine, knowing that at some point conversation would come in handy when we were battling tough times.
The two of us went down a massive hill, Kim's quads were screaming, my knees felt wobbly by the time we got to the bottom. Went through really hot, miserable rock field with no tree cover (sun was high in the sky by now, it was around 2pm and that patch was not much fun) then down again over a beautiful, cool mountain stream and then up, up, up.
We started walking up the switchbacks, tried running but it was pretty steep and we both decided to enjoy the walk and wait till it leveled out to start running again.
Once again the unknown was pissing me off, the mileage on the course all day had been off. My GPS watch was having trouble staying connected and was around 2 miles off the total mileage but the aid station mileage was what was really wrong. The distances didn't make sense and were totally inaccurate which was disheartening at times.
I ran out of water but was lucky when the path finally leveled enough to run that we were only a mile or so from the turnaround point. We pulled in and again I emptied my shoe of rocks and dirt, took in as much water as I could (I was done with the Gu Brew by now, it was too sweet and starting to mess with my stomach) stretched a little bit and then Kim and I took off again.
That was mile 39 and all things considered I felt good. We were running, like actually running not shuffling, I am sure it wasn't really fast but it was a normal stride and I was amazed at how my body was still working. We wound our way back over the stream (saw a runner in front stop and jump in) then through the hot rock field, stopping to take walk breaks every once in a while and then we got to the beast of a hill.
We had gone down it and it was painful, but now we had to go up. No switchbacks just up and up and up. A person in front of us said it was 2 miles yet it seemed like 20.
Kim and I made our way up the hill, every time I looked up I couldn't see the top just bodies moving slowing up in front of me...everyone seemed to be struggling just like I was.
This was the first time all day that I didn't feel good. My body was starting to get beat up, and mentally this hill was killing me. A little over halfway up my left hamstring cramped and I had to pull off to the side to stretch it. Kim stopped to wait but I waved her on, knowing my body this was not something that would go away anytime soon. Kim said she would wait but again I said 'Trust me just go I will catch up' (knowing that was not true)
She left and I was on my own. This was a dark spot, mentally I was struggling, physically I was struggling and my frustration of not knowing where I was started to boil over. Finally I reached the top of the hill and dropped a few F-bombs on it and then looked around for the aid station but it wasn't there. I had no idea how much further I had to go and without being able to run constantly because of the hamstring I was moving really slow.
My stomach started to hurt too, one minute I was really hungry and the next I felt like puking. My feet hurt, my leg hurt, my head hurt. I was done. Then I would pull out of it and feel good again and run a little bit only to get blindsided by it again. I stopped and sat on a log telling myself to puke but couldn't do it, washed out my mouth with water but the taste of Gu was still there. I didn't know what to do, could I go on? Would seeing that aid station boost my spirits enough to finish? Where the F was that aid station?
Through it all I kept moving, my stop on the log lasted less than a minute and I kept moving forward finally coming to the aid station, mile 45 roughly.
As I walked into that aid station I decided that I was going to quit. If anyone asked if I was done I would say yes and just call it a day. I sat down on a chair waiting for my stomach to settle and someone to come to me. But no one did. I looked around and all the volunteers were busy helping folks out. I gave it another minute, nothing. So I stood up and said to myself 'F-it let's go' filled up my bottle with water and started walking. The only thought in my mind was 'Relentless forward progress' just keep moving.
I walked, I ran a little till the hammy cramped, felt like I rolled down the hills. I stopped and got the rocks out of my shoe.
I was passed...a lot. Lynn and Habeebee caught up, asked if I was okay and then kept motoring, two women bounded along behind me shouting to each other 'You're awesome, no you're awesome!' I was stretching on the side of the trail as they passed and one tapped my back and said 'You're awesome too!' I kept moving, my watch battery died, I had no idea how many miles were left, the woods all looked the same.
I got pissed, I felt great, I repeated the phrase 'Who am I? I AM A CHAMPION!' I bitched, I whined, I ran, 5 fat women on horses overtook the path. I stopped to stretch and the horse started freaking out and the people did too.
Later I pulled off to get the rocks out my shoes and was passed by an old guy in a cowboy hat, I called him Waylon Jennings and the song 'Momma's don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys' was stuck in my head.
I kept moving, looking for landmarks but finding none.
Then a kid appeared on the trail, he looked like Notorious (it was a real kid there are campground around) his lone clap filled the woods and he said 'Keep going you're almost there!' I said I'm trying buddy and he replied 'Just finish that's all that matters!' brought a tear to my eye.
I thought about Paul, Mom, Dad, Alex, Sarah, all my friends and family who have been so supportive of this adventure, I wish I could tell them how much I appreciated it, how much it meant to me. How I am sure they were sick of hearing me talk about it, or miss things because I was spending 90% of my weekend training or recovering.
I kept moving forward.
Finally I saw the road and my spirits lifted. I had just enough energy to get on the road and run to the end, hamstring tightening with every step, stride so short you could barley stick a penny between my feet.
Mom and Paul snapping pictures, Kim from Quad Cities who finished a half hour in front of me and hung around to see me finish. It was one of the coolest experiences of my life. A bunch of people on the road were walking to their cars and began to cheer. I was the only one out there, they clapped, shouted and helped me get to the end.
Finally I made it...it was over...50 f-ing miles...and I would do it again in a heartbeat!
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Ultra Long Post
"I want to thank everyone for coming out today, this is one of the biggest fields we have ever had at this race," said the tattooed race director Saturday morning atop a cooler in a grassy field at Afton State Park. It was around 6:30am, light dew was on the grass and clouds to the east were obscuring the early sun's rays.
"Just remember," He continued "Be safe, drink a lot of water because its gonna be hot. Run as hard as you can, as long as you can....and GO!"
And with that we were off, the first steps into a 31 mile journey through the hills and heat of Afton State Park.
The crowd of 150 people all seemed startled by the start of the race, many (myself included) were expecting a horn or starting gun, not a shout from atop a cooler.
But we began down the hill and for me into the unknown.
50K or 31 miles would mark the longest I had ever run; the previous high was 26.2 a feat I had accomplished 5 times prior to this. All of those had been on pavement and relatively flat, almost the polar opposite of what I was starting here.
I followed the crowd down the dirt path letting many people pass me, reminding myself to take it easy, this was going to be a long day and there is no point in crushing myself early on.
About a mile into the race I found a group to run with. They looked like they knew what they were doing; one was an older guy with crazy hair, no shirt and a flowing gray beard. I called him 'Father Time' he was lean and looked like a piece of twisted beef jerky. His loping pace was fluid and he seemed to float above the ground and he moved effortlessly over the rocks and roots.
Alongside him was 'Marathon Manic Guy' a younger kid in a shirt that said 'Marathon Manic' which I heard him say he earned by running 3 marathons in 15 days. Running behind these guys I copied their strategies, waking up hills, taking it easy on the downhill's.
The three of us never said a word, just moved in silence through the course, the canopy of trees coming together above us forming a shaded route which helped keep the temperature somewhat manageable.
After a few miles we emerged from the trees and into the prairie part of the race. Here the wind was whipping through the tall grass which was nice but there was no shade at all and the sun had cleared the early clouds and was now just pounding us as we followed the grassy trail, sidestepping leftovers from the horses that had passed the day before.
Around mile 10 I felt good enough to move ahead of Father Time and Marathon Manic, neither was carrying water and the heat seemed to be getting to them as their pace had slowed considerably by that point.
Ahead was another group of runners, and they looked like serious runners. There were 5 of them, 3 women and two guys. The guys were tall, skinny and shirtless in tiny running shorts; the women were in pretty much the same attire only with sports bras on.
Try as I might I could not catch this group. I could see them ahead of me on the straight aways, and would catch up to them as we walked up the giant hills but as soon as we got to the top they took off again and I was left in the dust.
It cracked me up, I felt like a fat, loser kid trying to hang with the cool kids at school. I would huff and puff my way up to them, try latch on but then it was like they would notice this bowling ball of a man in their midst and take off again. So I just kept plodding along, one foot in front of the other reminding myself, this shouldn't feel like work. At least not yet.
Watching this pack of 'Cool Kids' as I called them was fascinating. They ran like a pack of deer, everyone had the same type of stride, very fluid, they moved in unison and when the leader got tired they would switch places without a word. It was like they had practiced this before, the whole group moving as one.
And then there was Foke...nothing fluid about his movements, one foot in front of the other, taking in water as often as I could, stopping at the aid stations and pounding down a PB&J sandwich, walking out of the aid station to make sure all the fluids made it into my body and not on my shirt.
At some point the pack ahead of me broke up a bit and I found myself next to one of the guys, he was wearing these 'barefoot running shoes' called Vibrams 5-Fingers. I had read about them and even had a friend who ran in them so we chatted about that and he said this was his 4th 50K race so I picked his brain about what to expect.
Finally after 2 hours and 33 minutes we reached the mid-point of the race. I was in the midst of the 'cool kids' at this point and heard someone say 'Yay half-way there' to which I replied 'What I thought that was the end!' everyone turned (thinking I was serious) and started trying to explain a 50K to me. I told them I was just joking...they didn't think it was funny (but I did! Ha)
At the mid-point I took down a few orange slices, some water melon, grabbed more water for my handheld bottle and took stock of my body.
Actually felt pretty good, I had figured this would take me around 6 hours so according to my prediction I was ahead of schedule.
As I left the aid station and headed down the starting hill to begin loop number 2 I let myself dream for a second about finishing this thing in 5 hours...could it happen? Could I make the second loop faster than the first?
Somehow I managed to leave the aid station ahead of the 'Cool Kids' and now found myself all alone on the trail. I had pretty much been alone most of the time anyway but now there was no one in front of me to remind me to reign it in, or to look to for when to start walking the hills. I did my best not to push it too hard those first few miles into the 2nd loop and after a tough climb followed by a descent, pulled off into the woods to answer natures call.
(That was the best sign I had all day, strange I know, but the fact that I could pee 17-18 miles into a race as hot as it was and as sweaty as I was meant that I was not yet dehydrated, I almost jumped for joy when that happened...the little things I know!)
By the time I emerged, the 'Cool Kids' were surrounding me. At this point my shorts were quite sweaty (and I should mention I don't wear short runner's shorts. I wear shorts that come down past my knees, when they get sweaty and swish around they tend to make a lot of noise, and honestly at one aid station I stopped and was able to wring the sweat out of the bottoms of them)
The 'Cool Kid' with the Vibrams on said in a condescending tone 'Boy you have some loud shorts, why do you wear those?' my reply was 'It's all about looking cool buddy' which got a chuckle out of the group.
Shortly after that we hit the stairs for the second time and the group began to thin out quite a bit.
I found myself behind 'Red Shorts' (a tall, thin, younger, shirtless guy) and 'Girl in Blue' (big surprise here, a girl in a blue shirt and blue visor)
As we made our way up the steps I started laughing as I remembered that both elevators in my apt building were broken, not only was I crushing myself on the hills and steps of Afton but when I got home was going to have to hoof it up 10 flights of stairs to my un-air-conditioned apartment.
Red Shorts asked what was funny, so I told the two of them about my predicament and 'Girl in Blue' said 'Just put a tent up out front!'
These two had been running together for most of the race so I figured they were friends, but on the steps Red Shorts said to me 'Go ahead my legs don't have it' and I moved ahead of him and saw 'Girl in Blue' take off leaving him (and me) in the dust.
At the aid station at mile 20 I caught up to 'Girl in Blue' grabbed a sandwich and some water and began to head out. She had a Popsicle and left at the same time. We started chatting as we encountered a massive hill right away.
This was the longest stretch without an aid station. Roughly 4 miles, you go up one massive hill, down to the river then up another (very steep hill) level off for half a mile then back down to the river.
We talked the entire time and I felt great during that stretch, much better than I thought I would. Since it was the second go round I knew the terrain and knew when I could push and when to slow down, I knew what was ahead and just felt mentally dialed in.
Then I hit that second very steep hill. We made it to the top but once there I started feeling like this might not be the day for me.
My hamstring started to cramp a bit, so I took in more water, my stomach started to slosh around and I felt slightly sick...but 'Girl in Blue' reminded me that we were only a little ways from an aid station and that we would be there shortly to refuel.
Our pace slowed a bit while I worked to get myself back to normal and by the time we got to the aid station I felt good again.
Filled up my bottle with water, took down a gel, and eat some more peanut butter. Here we were at mile 26, about to run past my previous long distance.
As we got to the aid station there were two guys (tough, tatted, shirtless guys) sitting on the bench looking miserable. They both looked ready to drop out of the race, vacant stares in their eyes, elbows on knees, cups of water in their hands just sitting staring at nothing.
Well I thought, I think I look better than those guys!
So we took off, a long stretch of flat gravel along the river. The sun was high up now and there was not as much shade as there had been the first time through.
Girl in Blue and I set a pace of 9 minutes a mile and continued our conversation as the ground moved slowly under us. Then it hit me and my legs started to weaken, mentally I felt like I might be losing it. It was really hot and flat and just nothing. I said I needed to walk for a bit and she could go on ahead since she seemed in better shape than me.
But she said no, and hung back as we walked for a few yards then picked up running again and made it all the way to the 'Meat Grinder' hill.
Finally we could walk...but it was straight up a nasty hill! This was one of the harder things I have ever done, the hill didn't seem to end and every time it looked like there was a slight downhill, it went right into a sharp incline. It literally was a 'meat grinder' and when we made it to the top I felt like I had been chewed up and spit out.
At the top was more prairie, no shade, light wind, and the mid-morning sun pounding us. We wound our way through the prairie and finally could see the last aid station on the course. As we made our way there my hamstring started to tighten again, and so did my right calf (two things that have derailed a couple of marathons I ran) my pace slowed and stride shortened and I got nervous.
Almost at the same time I was tightening up, Girl in Blue slowed her pace and then started to walk up the final hill to the aid station. I couldn't have been happier not to try to push it at the moment.
This aid station was the last one on the course so I had to be smart. I took down two potatoes with salt, a couple of glasses of sports drink, and some water, stretched lightly, filled up my bottle and tried to wrap my mind around what I had left. Just over 3 miles, it was single track in the woods, shaded from the sun's rays; no more massive hills just a few little ones.
Girl in Blue and I took off knowing we had a chance to beat my goal time of 6 hours (she originally wanted to finish in 430 but after a calf injury a few months prior said her readjusted goal was 6 hours) We made it into the woods and I was starting to feel better (at the aid station I was somewhat of a mental mess I dropped two little potatoes on the ground and was bumbling around like Fred Sanford) Our conversation picked up again and the single track running was fun.
After a while she suggested a walk break (first time she suggested one until then it was all me...hahaha) and I accepted gratefully but at the same time I was saying 'sure' I kicked a root and went down in a heap! There was nothing I could do to break my fall and was laughing the entire way.
She stopped to see if I was okay and I just sat there in the dirt laughing at my misfortune! I suffered not a scratch just got dirty and soon we were up and running again.
We made it through the single track stuff and came out in the prairie again and had less than a mile to go. I was nearly out of water but didn't care, it was almost over. Then we came around a bend and saw the finish line, but standing between us and it was a small dirt hill. When I saw it involuntarily I said 'Oh you got to be f-ing kidding me!'
My hamstring was starting to tighten again, my right leg was cramping I was almost there and didn't want to crash before the end and there was this damn hill. (Not really a hill but a mound of dirt, at the time though it looked and felt like a massive hill)
Girl in Blue looked at me and said 'No walking get up it and let's get this over with!' She attacked the hill, I shuffled up it into the straight away to the end, she had gas in the tank and took off. I didn't have much left and let her go, opting to finish on my feet rather than hopping and howling in pain across the line.
But then it was over.
There was a small gathering of people who had finished and volunteers cooking burgers and dogs, a few tents set up with picnic tables. Someone put a medal around my neck, I high-fived Girl in Blue and thanked her for getting me to the end, then found some shade and dropped to the ground 5:33:12 after I started.
My parents showed up a few minutes later, they had missed me crossing the finish line, but to see them (and drink their cold Gatorade) was fantastic! There is something to be said about sharing an accomplishment with those closest to you and this was one of the moments I will never forget....
"Just remember," He continued "Be safe, drink a lot of water because its gonna be hot. Run as hard as you can, as long as you can....and GO!"
And with that we were off, the first steps into a 31 mile journey through the hills and heat of Afton State Park.
The crowd of 150 people all seemed startled by the start of the race, many (myself included) were expecting a horn or starting gun, not a shout from atop a cooler.
But we began down the hill and for me into the unknown.
50K or 31 miles would mark the longest I had ever run; the previous high was 26.2 a feat I had accomplished 5 times prior to this. All of those had been on pavement and relatively flat, almost the polar opposite of what I was starting here.
I followed the crowd down the dirt path letting many people pass me, reminding myself to take it easy, this was going to be a long day and there is no point in crushing myself early on.
About a mile into the race I found a group to run with. They looked like they knew what they were doing; one was an older guy with crazy hair, no shirt and a flowing gray beard. I called him 'Father Time' he was lean and looked like a piece of twisted beef jerky. His loping pace was fluid and he seemed to float above the ground and he moved effortlessly over the rocks and roots.
Alongside him was 'Marathon Manic Guy' a younger kid in a shirt that said 'Marathon Manic' which I heard him say he earned by running 3 marathons in 15 days. Running behind these guys I copied their strategies, waking up hills, taking it easy on the downhill's.
The three of us never said a word, just moved in silence through the course, the canopy of trees coming together above us forming a shaded route which helped keep the temperature somewhat manageable.
After a few miles we emerged from the trees and into the prairie part of the race. Here the wind was whipping through the tall grass which was nice but there was no shade at all and the sun had cleared the early clouds and was now just pounding us as we followed the grassy trail, sidestepping leftovers from the horses that had passed the day before.
Around mile 10 I felt good enough to move ahead of Father Time and Marathon Manic, neither was carrying water and the heat seemed to be getting to them as their pace had slowed considerably by that point.
Ahead was another group of runners, and they looked like serious runners. There were 5 of them, 3 women and two guys. The guys were tall, skinny and shirtless in tiny running shorts; the women were in pretty much the same attire only with sports bras on.
Try as I might I could not catch this group. I could see them ahead of me on the straight aways, and would catch up to them as we walked up the giant hills but as soon as we got to the top they took off again and I was left in the dust.
It cracked me up, I felt like a fat, loser kid trying to hang with the cool kids at school. I would huff and puff my way up to them, try latch on but then it was like they would notice this bowling ball of a man in their midst and take off again. So I just kept plodding along, one foot in front of the other reminding myself, this shouldn't feel like work. At least not yet.
Watching this pack of 'Cool Kids' as I called them was fascinating. They ran like a pack of deer, everyone had the same type of stride, very fluid, they moved in unison and when the leader got tired they would switch places without a word. It was like they had practiced this before, the whole group moving as one.
And then there was Foke...nothing fluid about his movements, one foot in front of the other, taking in water as often as I could, stopping at the aid stations and pounding down a PB&J sandwich, walking out of the aid station to make sure all the fluids made it into my body and not on my shirt.
At some point the pack ahead of me broke up a bit and I found myself next to one of the guys, he was wearing these 'barefoot running shoes' called Vibrams 5-Fingers. I had read about them and even had a friend who ran in them so we chatted about that and he said this was his 4th 50K race so I picked his brain about what to expect.
Finally after 2 hours and 33 minutes we reached the mid-point of the race. I was in the midst of the 'cool kids' at this point and heard someone say 'Yay half-way there' to which I replied 'What I thought that was the end!' everyone turned (thinking I was serious) and started trying to explain a 50K to me. I told them I was just joking...they didn't think it was funny (but I did! Ha)
At the mid-point I took down a few orange slices, some water melon, grabbed more water for my handheld bottle and took stock of my body.
Actually felt pretty good, I had figured this would take me around 6 hours so according to my prediction I was ahead of schedule.
As I left the aid station and headed down the starting hill to begin loop number 2 I let myself dream for a second about finishing this thing in 5 hours...could it happen? Could I make the second loop faster than the first?
Somehow I managed to leave the aid station ahead of the 'Cool Kids' and now found myself all alone on the trail. I had pretty much been alone most of the time anyway but now there was no one in front of me to remind me to reign it in, or to look to for when to start walking the hills. I did my best not to push it too hard those first few miles into the 2nd loop and after a tough climb followed by a descent, pulled off into the woods to answer natures call.
(That was the best sign I had all day, strange I know, but the fact that I could pee 17-18 miles into a race as hot as it was and as sweaty as I was meant that I was not yet dehydrated, I almost jumped for joy when that happened...the little things I know!)
By the time I emerged, the 'Cool Kids' were surrounding me. At this point my shorts were quite sweaty (and I should mention I don't wear short runner's shorts. I wear shorts that come down past my knees, when they get sweaty and swish around they tend to make a lot of noise, and honestly at one aid station I stopped and was able to wring the sweat out of the bottoms of them)
The 'Cool Kid' with the Vibrams on said in a condescending tone 'Boy you have some loud shorts, why do you wear those?' my reply was 'It's all about looking cool buddy' which got a chuckle out of the group.
Shortly after that we hit the stairs for the second time and the group began to thin out quite a bit.
I found myself behind 'Red Shorts' (a tall, thin, younger, shirtless guy) and 'Girl in Blue' (big surprise here, a girl in a blue shirt and blue visor)
As we made our way up the steps I started laughing as I remembered that both elevators in my apt building were broken, not only was I crushing myself on the hills and steps of Afton but when I got home was going to have to hoof it up 10 flights of stairs to my un-air-conditioned apartment.
Red Shorts asked what was funny, so I told the two of them about my predicament and 'Girl in Blue' said 'Just put a tent up out front!'
These two had been running together for most of the race so I figured they were friends, but on the steps Red Shorts said to me 'Go ahead my legs don't have it' and I moved ahead of him and saw 'Girl in Blue' take off leaving him (and me) in the dust.
At the aid station at mile 20 I caught up to 'Girl in Blue' grabbed a sandwich and some water and began to head out. She had a Popsicle and left at the same time. We started chatting as we encountered a massive hill right away.
This was the longest stretch without an aid station. Roughly 4 miles, you go up one massive hill, down to the river then up another (very steep hill) level off for half a mile then back down to the river.
We talked the entire time and I felt great during that stretch, much better than I thought I would. Since it was the second go round I knew the terrain and knew when I could push and when to slow down, I knew what was ahead and just felt mentally dialed in.
Then I hit that second very steep hill. We made it to the top but once there I started feeling like this might not be the day for me.
My hamstring started to cramp a bit, so I took in more water, my stomach started to slosh around and I felt slightly sick...but 'Girl in Blue' reminded me that we were only a little ways from an aid station and that we would be there shortly to refuel.
Our pace slowed a bit while I worked to get myself back to normal and by the time we got to the aid station I felt good again.
Filled up my bottle with water, took down a gel, and eat some more peanut butter. Here we were at mile 26, about to run past my previous long distance.
As we got to the aid station there were two guys (tough, tatted, shirtless guys) sitting on the bench looking miserable. They both looked ready to drop out of the race, vacant stares in their eyes, elbows on knees, cups of water in their hands just sitting staring at nothing.
Well I thought, I think I look better than those guys!
So we took off, a long stretch of flat gravel along the river. The sun was high up now and there was not as much shade as there had been the first time through.
Girl in Blue and I set a pace of 9 minutes a mile and continued our conversation as the ground moved slowly under us. Then it hit me and my legs started to weaken, mentally I felt like I might be losing it. It was really hot and flat and just nothing. I said I needed to walk for a bit and she could go on ahead since she seemed in better shape than me.
But she said no, and hung back as we walked for a few yards then picked up running again and made it all the way to the 'Meat Grinder' hill.
Finally we could walk...but it was straight up a nasty hill! This was one of the harder things I have ever done, the hill didn't seem to end and every time it looked like there was a slight downhill, it went right into a sharp incline. It literally was a 'meat grinder' and when we made it to the top I felt like I had been chewed up and spit out.
At the top was more prairie, no shade, light wind, and the mid-morning sun pounding us. We wound our way through the prairie and finally could see the last aid station on the course. As we made our way there my hamstring started to tighten again, and so did my right calf (two things that have derailed a couple of marathons I ran) my pace slowed and stride shortened and I got nervous.
Almost at the same time I was tightening up, Girl in Blue slowed her pace and then started to walk up the final hill to the aid station. I couldn't have been happier not to try to push it at the moment.
This aid station was the last one on the course so I had to be smart. I took down two potatoes with salt, a couple of glasses of sports drink, and some water, stretched lightly, filled up my bottle and tried to wrap my mind around what I had left. Just over 3 miles, it was single track in the woods, shaded from the sun's rays; no more massive hills just a few little ones.
Girl in Blue and I took off knowing we had a chance to beat my goal time of 6 hours (she originally wanted to finish in 430 but after a calf injury a few months prior said her readjusted goal was 6 hours) We made it into the woods and I was starting to feel better (at the aid station I was somewhat of a mental mess I dropped two little potatoes on the ground and was bumbling around like Fred Sanford) Our conversation picked up again and the single track running was fun.
After a while she suggested a walk break (first time she suggested one until then it was all me...hahaha) and I accepted gratefully but at the same time I was saying 'sure' I kicked a root and went down in a heap! There was nothing I could do to break my fall and was laughing the entire way.
She stopped to see if I was okay and I just sat there in the dirt laughing at my misfortune! I suffered not a scratch just got dirty and soon we were up and running again.
We made it through the single track stuff and came out in the prairie again and had less than a mile to go. I was nearly out of water but didn't care, it was almost over. Then we came around a bend and saw the finish line, but standing between us and it was a small dirt hill. When I saw it involuntarily I said 'Oh you got to be f-ing kidding me!'
My hamstring was starting to tighten again, my right leg was cramping I was almost there and didn't want to crash before the end and there was this damn hill. (Not really a hill but a mound of dirt, at the time though it looked and felt like a massive hill)
Girl in Blue looked at me and said 'No walking get up it and let's get this over with!' She attacked the hill, I shuffled up it into the straight away to the end, she had gas in the tank and took off. I didn't have much left and let her go, opting to finish on my feet rather than hopping and howling in pain across the line.
But then it was over.
There was a small gathering of people who had finished and volunteers cooking burgers and dogs, a few tents set up with picnic tables. Someone put a medal around my neck, I high-fived Girl in Blue and thanked her for getting me to the end, then found some shade and dropped to the ground 5:33:12 after I started.
My parents showed up a few minutes later, they had missed me crossing the finish line, but to see them (and drink their cold Gatorade) was fantastic! There is something to be said about sharing an accomplishment with those closest to you and this was one of the moments I will never forget....
Monday, February 1, 2010
Remember The Pain
Last week I ran into John Gross, a well known videographer at KSTP in the Twin Cities. John is not just a cameraman, in his career he has been an emmy award winning journalist, camera man for NFL Films, producer etc. He is a jack of all trades and a master of them as well.
John is a great guy to chat with, I have known him since I was a senior in high school when I did an internship at KSTP and got to know him.
One of the best pieces of advice I have ever received came from John. We were sitting on a par three at a course in Mpls where KSTP was holding a closest to the pin contest. John and I spent the entire day at that hole filming the shots and interviewing whoever got closest.
As we sat there John asked me what I wanted to do in my career. I told him I wanted to be on air and in front of the camera etc. John stopped me and said 'Everyone wants to be on air and in front of the camera. You need to know how to work the camera and edit, and produce and then you can be on camera.' He went on to explain how the days of a news/sports anchor who only talk on air are over (and this was back in 98) now you need to be versatile and show that you are more than a talking head, that you can write and build a sports-cast rather than read what someone else wrote.
With that in mind; every time I run into John he has a great motivational story for me. He has been around so many inspiring sports stories he is just bursting with them. John is a great storyteller and gives speeches all over the country so its great to hear him tell one one on one.
On this particular day we were a few days removed from the Vikings falling in overtime to the Saints in the NFC Championship game.
John was on hand for the game and said afterwards he was with a group of reporters/cameramen who were talking to former Viking Cris Carter.
Someone posed the question to Carter 'What will you say to the guys in that lockerrom when you go in there?'
Carter's response according to John was simple. 'Remember the pain.' One reporter asked him what was meant by that and he responded, every time you are getting tired this off-season, remember the pain, every time you want to quit, remember the pain, put in one more sprint because of the pain. In everything you do remember the pain.
To me that was an interesting idea, in sports a lot of the time you hear the phrase 'Gotta have a short memory' guys try to put bad stuff right out of their mind rather than dwelling on it.
Guys talk about putting a bad performance 'In the rearview mirror' but here was Carter saying 'remember the pain'
Carter has a point, remember the pain, but I would amend it to say 'remember the pain but don't be consumed by it.'
Mistakes are made, failure happens, no one wants it to happen or is happy when it does happen but its a part of life.
When failure happens remember the pain for sure, but learn from that pain, use it as motivation but don't dwell on it.
After my first marathon (which was a colossal failure) it was all I thought about for a year. How to improve next year, what I need to do during the summer-winter to accomplish my goal the next year. Oh I remembered the pain but I was so wrapped up in it that I didn't enjoy my training or have fun along the journey. I was so focused on the end goal that I blocked out the things that make preparing for a marathon so much fun. It turned into work and the pressure I put on myself drove me crazy at some points.
It wasn't until I was on my way up to Duluth that I realized what I had done to myself. There was a moment on the drive up there that I said 'Just give it everything you have and don't hold back and then you can walk away with your head held high no matter what happens.'
That year I didn't accomplish my goal either (In fact I have never accomplished the goal I set for myself in Grandma's Marathon and while I think about it, I am able to move past it) but I had a great time doing it and learned about myself along the way.
Its always great to run into John, and I am glad that he told that story as I get prepare for the summer I have put together. Carter was right, its important to remember the pain in any situation (sports, job interviews, relationships etc) but keep it as a memory.
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