Western States 2018

I'm frustrated, but I see the light at the end of the tunnel... When it comes to this climb anyway. I'm about 55 miles into the Western States 100, finishing up the climb out of El Dorado Canyon and heading toward Michigan Bluff. I'm hot, I'm tired, and I'm pissed that I am so far behind pace. I dread the top of this climb because I know my family is there. They've been waiting all day and I am way behind pace. I presume Jeremy is going to be the first person I see, and I'm right.

"Alright, what are you going to need?"
"Gels. Ice. Water."
"Got it. You're behind, but we can make up a lot of time on Cal Street."
"I know I'm behind. But I want sub 24, and I'm ready to fucking bleed for it."

I have been dreaming of Western States for the last 6 years. My first exposure to the race being JB Benna’s film on the 2010 running of the race, Unbreakable. 6 years of qualifying and missing out on being drawn in the lottery for one of the coveted spots. I'm not fast enough to race my way in, so I had no choice but to be patient, qualifying and re-qualifying, paying my dues in blood, sweat, tears, and lactic acid. Finally, on 12/2, my name was finally called, 257 names into the lottery with 261 names being drawn. I watch the webcast over and over again to make sure I heard my name correctly. I look at the website displaying the result, to make sure they didn't call Greg Norris instead. Sure enough, my time has come. I'm not nervous, but I know the pressure that comes with being gifted with this opportunity. Unless you're elite, this is easily a once in a lifetime opportunity. I will not slack in training. I will not take this for granted. I will work hard. I will make sacrifices. I will do this. And by "this", I mean that I will finish Western States in less than 24 hours.

A goal like this has inherent demands. Sure, your quads need to be tough, as if they were carved from slabs of granite. You have to be able to survive the heat of the course, and you have to have a stomach that will put up with you ingesting 50 gels, potato chips, quesadillas, watermelon and pickle juice and still keep asking for more. That is the physical, and it is the easiest to prepare. What is left is the mental side of things. Learning how to emerge victorious in the brain game I would argue is the hardest thing in ultrarunning. It doesn't matter how hard you train, what your pedigree is, or how much money you can spend on gear. If you can't figure out how to get back up after being knocked on your ass and cramp so hard that you simultaneously puke and shit your pants, then chances are, you won't ever get the best of yourself. Sure, this is a bit of an exaggeration, but the truth is that your mind will always act just like the governor in a car. Your body can always take more, but only if you can override your mind. Running an ultra hurts. Bad. If you can manage to get comfortable with being uncomfortable, you can accomplish so much more than you realize. But it's harder to develop this facet of your game than anything else.

I trained hard. Damn hard. Tons of running of course, but core workout after core workout. Hours of hiking in a 40lb weight vest at 15% incline. Often in three layers of winter running gear with a space heater blowing in my face. Thousands of step ups. Multiple training camps in areas that simulated the course, and even on the course itself. On race day, only the first 30 miles were a mystery to me. And I mean mystery in a very subtle way. I did my homework, studying the course description, profile, and dozens of race reports, all with the purpose of upping my brain game. I would be the strongest I've ever been, both physically and mentally.

It's race morning and I am up 3am. Eating, drinking, and typical bathroom visits come and go. I had laid all my gear out the night before, so I found myself ready to go quite early. I had an almost eerie calm overtake me as I walked to the start line with my family. It was awesome to stand there in that moment with Christy, Scott, Linda, Jeremy and of course with Sis once she arrived. After some quick "I love you’s" and well wishes, I worked my way into the crowd, ready to get this thing under way. Once the gun sounded, we were off, starting the 2500 ft climb up the escarpment. With a mix of running and walking, I made my way up to the top, almost let down. I had expected the climb to be worse, but after all of the time trials and workouts up Mt. Hamilton, what could that climb throw at me that I hadn't crushed dozens of times over the past 6 months? Pump the brakes there pal, we're just getting started. As I crested the summit, I turned to take in a breathtaking view of Lake Tahoe before starting the downhill into the high country. I was just easing into a steady run when I pick my head up to look at a videographer when I tripped and face planted right in front of him. I rolled on my back and muttered "awesome". Yeah, there was no way he didn't catch that, and of course there were several runners behind me who couldn't have missed it either. Well, someone had to fall sometime I guess.


Shaking off the fall, I focused much more intently on the trail as I worked my way to the first aid station at mile 11, Lyon Ridge. I didn't need anything, so it was a quick "274 in, 274 out". The next 5 miles rolled by easily, without anything noteworthy occurring. I remember thinking that I needed to be sure to be cautious and not to get behind on anything early. Keep the calories coming in, keep drinking, and stay cool. As I came into Red Star Ridge at mile 16 and change, I decided to get started with ice in my bandanna. Some fruit and bottle refills and I was out.

With 16 miles down and feeling good, I started to think about how fast I could get this done. Everything from Jeremy's seemingly crazy predictions to the drop-dead time of 23:59:59. I shook that off just in time for my body to start giving me some problems to solve. I felt a bit of a pain in my left hip flexor for really no reason at all. This pain would come and go for the remainder of the day. Despite the mellow and controlled effort so far, I started cramping in my left hamstring and calves. For the next few miles, I would stop and stretch out a bit, trying to keep the cramping at Bay. At around mile 22, Dean Karnazes comes rolling up behind me and we exchanged a few words. Dean was needing to regroup, and I believe he was cramping a bit too. I suggested we work together to get to the next aid station at Duncan Canyon and it was cool that he agreed. I offered Dean some S-Caps, and he accepted. If I was smart, I would have taken some myself. In training, I had started using E-Gels which have a significantly higher amount of sodium and potassium than other gels. In training, I rarely needed any salt to supplement. In hindsight, my opinion is that I got behind on salt early. Live and learn, I guess. Getting to run with Dean was cool. We talked about a lot of random things and made our way into Duncan where we essentially parted ways for the rest of the day. I spent very little time in Duncan Canyon aid, and got out of there before Dean, assuming I'd see him down the road.

The next 6 miles to Robinson Flat were awful. The heat was on, and I felt like I didn't have much to give. It was slow going, and I was trying to be patient and save my efforts for the big downhill that was looming. I had deliberately avoided looking at my watch much until this point, and was highly disappointed when I looked down and found I was around 2 hours behind the projections I gave to the crew. This was such a huge mistake, because in that moment, I needed inspired, not thrown on the ground and kicked in the stomach. I worked to shake those thoughts out of my mind and focused on the grind up to Robinson. Robinson was my reset button. I knew everything that the course had to throw at me from that point on. If Western States was my title fight, I was down 4 rounds with 8 to go. I came here to fight and I was going to turn it around at Robinson.

I rolled in for a quick resupply and visit with my crew. I was already 7 hours into the race and didn't want to waste a lot of time. Jeremy was quick to work, packing my vest with gels while Christy filled my bandanna with ice. I grabbed a handful of chips and got down the road. I remember Jeremy saying at some point that any deficit could be erased on the downhill if I just ran smart. Just then, I was hit with a cramp that was legendary. Instant debilitation. My calf seized so hard, I thought it was going to split in half. Crippled and writhing on the ground I was caught between a rock and a hard place. As I reached for my calf, my quad began to seize. Quickly, I bent my leg and my hamstring threatened to reduce me to a blubbering mess on the trail. I tried to think about what to do, and I just threw 3 S-Caps in my mouth and started chewing. Still, the cramp would not give an inch. In my moment of desperation, a fellow runner stopped and picked my leg up, holding it steady until the cramp finally relinquished the stranglehold that it had on the success or failure of my race. I don't know the name of the runner who helped me out, but if you ever read this, please reach out. I owe you a beer, pizza, burger, high five, or whatever is your poison. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

With the cramp gone, I got to my feet and started easing into a walk, carefully testing the waters with this sinking feeling that my calf was injured after that episode. I took a couple of gels and much to my delight, I started running down the trail. Stringing together some consistent running, the cramp was left in my dust. Down the way somewhere near Miller's Defeat at mile 34.4, I nearly ran right past a turn as I was watching two runners ahead of me. The trail marker had fallen and those runners had missed the turn. I yelled out to them and motioned them back to the turn. I stopped and fixed the markings and kept moving. For the first time in several hours, I was feeling good and starting to cut into the deficit that I had created earlier.

I was cruising along pretty well as I made my way into Dusty Corners, mile 38. Here, I stopped for a bathroom break and got cooled off by the volunteers at the station before heading off toward Last Chance. I had to tell myself to chill out a bit, because I didn't want to feel smoked when I hit the canyons. There was still 8 more miles of downhill, and I needed to stay smart. Remember, Frank - survive the day, go hunting at night.

Running through this section is awesome. It was really cool to see the old and rusting machinery that remains from years past. Running through this section during the training camp and during the race, I couldn’t help but think about how much my Grandpa and my Dad would enjoy seeing the equipment. They had both done some work in this area in the past and as unlikely as it seemed, I couldn’t help but think that I was stepping on the same ground that they had stepped on years before. Thinking of my Grandpa – alive and as a younger man with his signature “walk like you’ve gotta get shit done” walk, working harder, longer, and faster than everyone else helped give me some perspective (and inspiration) on my current situation in the race. Grandpa never let anything get in his way of getting the job done, and I wasn’t about to let anything get in my way of finishing this race.

As I made my way down to Swinging Bridge, I was feeling really hot. At this point, it was already around 230pm and I was getting cooked. Sure, I was icing at the aid stations and drinking and dousing myself with water, but it felt like being in an oven. I would employ some mental tricks like convincing myself that I would cool off by running faster, or making bargains with myself. The main one being if I could run every step down to the bridge, I would lay in the water for 5 minutes to cool off. 5 glorious minutes of nothing but cold water and time off of my feet. I wasn’t fooling anyone really. I was going to lay in that water no matter what. I needed it. My heart rate was elevated and I needed to get my shit together before heading up Devil’s Thumb. The minutes and miles clicked by and I was elated when I found myself standing at the edge of the water. I stripped my pack off and got in. One look at my watch to check the time and I completely submerged in the water. I remember floating on my back thinking, “Oh shit! What if I fall asleep?” So, I kept my eyes open and watched the bridge for anyone passing by. Just then I saw Dean Karnazes cross over the bridge with another runner in tow. They were both making their way down to the water to cool off and I got it in my head that I wanted to do my best to stay ahead of Dean. So, I got up and got moving, certainly not using all of the 5 minutes I had planned.

I made my way back up the path and crossed over Swinging Bridge and began the grind up Devil’s Thumb. I knew it would be awful and just resolved to give it an honest effort up to the top. I didn’t run a step, but I hiked with purpose and gained motivation each time that I saw someone sitting instead of making their way up to the top. I wasn’t heartless – I asked each person if they were ok and needed anything, but tried to keep the interaction brief as I just wanted to get up and over. I kept thinking back to the Canyons 100k and having to go up and over the thumb twice. Each time I would think about stopping for a rest, I would tell myself that I was stronger now than when I ran Canyons 2 years ago, and there was no reason I couldn’t make it up this climb once without stopping. It wasn’t pretty, but I did it. And damn… it took forever. My pace in the section from Last Chance to Devil’s Thumb was 21:21/mile. It was certainly my slowest section, but hey… I got it done.

I’m pretty sure I didn’t spend a great deal of the time at the aid station, but I know I enjoyed the hell out of a popsicle. I also took one for the road and put it in my water bottle, thinking it would be nice to have a little flavor from time to time. Yeah, no flavor there. I ran solid down to the bottom of El Dorado, working off of Karl Hoagland and trying to make a little time up after giving so much back on the way up Devil’s Thumb. Karl was telling me to go past, but truthfully, I was having a hard time keeping up. As I was struggling, I tried to draw inspiration from the training camp when Ian Sharman FLEW by me on the downhill like I was standing still. At the camp, I was running super hard trying to keep up as he floated down the hill effortlessly. Ian had given me some advice about the climb ahead and my mantra for the moment became “Be Like Ian”. As Karl and I started the climb up to Michigan Bluff, I shared that Ian had told me to hike the entire climb as it would be really important to have legs to transition with at the top. Ian warned me that he had seen many people push too hard on the relatively gradual climb up to Michigan Bluff only to find themselves smoked at the top. We trusted his sage advice and hiked nearly every step, with the exception being the last quarter mile or so. Karl wanted to hang back with Diana Fitzpatrick and I was ready to run. I eased into a jog, wished them luck and got moving. I knew that time wasn’t on my side, and with the hardest parts of the course now behind me and only the most familiar sections remaining, I needed to get my mind right for the battle ahead. I wish I could say that that part was easy. I wanted to be much further ahead than this. I wanted to feel better and stronger. There was disappointment. Then there was sadness. Then there was defeat. Then… there was anger. I waited too long for this race to go down without a fight. What is it Jeremy said? Something about how shitty it would feel in the heat and how I would have to find something deep inside to pull from if I wanted to answer the bell. Alright. Fuck it. I’m upright, I’m moving, I can deal with the pain, and the sun is going down soon. Let’s get to work. Michigan Bluff is right there.

"Alright, what are you going to need?"
"Gels. Ice. Water."
"Got it. You're behind, but we can make up a lot of time on Cal Street."
"I know I'm behind. But I want sub 24, and I'm ready to fucking bleed for it."

“Whoa! Did you just take some caffeine or something? That got me all hyped up!”
”Nope. Saving it. I’m ready to fight.”
“Alright. I’m picking you up in 6 miles. I can meet you at Bath Road. You’ve gotta get there in an hour and a half.”

“Let’s do it.”

I was in and out of the aid station in 5 minutes. I was committed to making it to Forest Hill within the hour and a half that Jeremy gave me. In the end, I made it there in 1:11, passing 17 people along the way. That was motivation enough, but knowing that I would be picking up Jeremy was even stronger. I knew I was nearing Bath Road and knew that picking up Jeremy meant running even harder, so I took a gel. Unfortunately, it didn’t quite sit right and I almost puked. Of course, this was right as Jeremy came into sight. I told him I need to walk for a few minutes to settle, but I was ready to do work.

Coming into Forest Hill is awesome. I really wish I could have enjoyed the cheers and the hype around that station, but I didn’t have time for it. I spent 90 seconds getting water in my bottles and eating a few pieces of fruit. I also took a few more moments to change my socks and shoes. I knew that after having wet socks and shoes all day, fresh kicks and socks would make me feel like a million bucks. Plus, would be good in the transition to the dry and dusty conditions of Cal Street. Having a little extra cushion wouldn’t hurt for the next 16 miles of downhill too. As we took off, I was surprised to see my Mom and Dad at the end of Forest Hill before turning onto Cal. It would have been great to stop and visit, but I was on the clock. Truthfully, I still feel a bit guilty for not stopping and spending more time with them. It was great to see them.

It was awesome to run with Jeremy. Movie quotes, words of encouragement, and just good friendship was exactly the boost I needed to start turning this thing around. Overall, things went really well until Fords Bar at mile 73. Well, with the exception of my face plant somewhere around Dardanelles. I joked that I hadn’t fallen since mile 4 and I was overdue. At Fords Bar, the cramping that had stayed at bay came back with a vengeance. I asked for some pickle juice but there was none. Fortunately, Jeremy gave me a HotShot which absolutely saved my ass. I know the rule is not to try any thing new on race day, but I’m glad that I did. And let me tell you… I will absolutely have a few of those HotShots on hand when I race in the future. Call it placebo if you will, but it was magic for me.

As we made our way down the trail nearing Rucky Chucky, I thought about how I had passed so many people in that section and tried to quantify how much time I made up since Foresthill. In hindsight, it was 17 people and maybe 10 seconds of cumulative average time. As we crossed the river and started making our way up to Green Gate, I tried to remind myself that the remaining 20 miles were fairly flat and easy. It would be my third time running that section, and I knew exactly what to expect. Jeremy did his part in reminding me of all the “pointless” 20 mile runs that I had done in training leading up to this day. I moved pretty well through Auburn Lakes Trail to Quarry Road, but then started experiencing a feeling that I hadn’t encountered before. If I stopped moving and slowed, I would get incredibly dizzy, and feel like I was going to pass out. I suddenly found myself in a “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” situation. I was tired. Damn tired. Pushing and fighting all day had taken a toll, so running for any extended period of time felt impossible – almost like I was going to pass out. Couldn’t do that, and couldn’t stop to rest, because I felt like I was going to pass out just the same. So, I did what I could, when I could.

With less than 10 miles to go and working hard to maintain my average pace, I kept wondering when my mind would get out of my way. Sure, my legs were wrecked and I was dealing with this weird dizziness situation, but I knew that my body had more to give. I mean, there had to be more, right? I wasn’t in excruciating pain and the cramping had long subsided. I set to work, trying to sharpen my mind and work out a plan. Ok. What’s left? Aid station at Pointed Rocks. How many miles? About 4. Easy and flat running after that until No Hands Bridge. What did Tim Tweitmeyer say in that video? No Hands is the gateway to the finish. Probably can’t run the whole section up to Robie Point. Wait a minute. Don’t get too far ahead. Get to Pointed Rocks, get your ass through the aid station, and run as hard as you can for as long as you can. Time for the last stand. Fuck it. I felt the fire being lit and I just needed to stoke it a bit more.

Approaching Pointed Rocks, I knew it was time. I needed some water and a gel or two. We were in and out of the aid station really fast, barely saying a word to Christy and Scott who had walked into the aid station, hauling all of our gear, only for us to need absolutely none of it. It wasn’t the first time that we had done this. Sis had walked all the way down to Green Gate with our gear, and we also didn’t use a thing. Sorry guys! OK – All systems go. With one full bottle and a gel in hand, I just needed to get it down and will my legs to bring my home. Easy, right? Wrong. So wrong. Generally, I take in half a gel at a time, add water, swish it around and swallow. Repeat for the second half. Goes down easy, doesn’t mess with my stomach, etc. So why in the world, would I choose to take the entire gel at once with no water? Beats the hell out of me, but that’s just what I did. And I was punished. I choked on the gel, gagged and then went into an epic puking bonanza. I collapsed in a heap, legs cramping, retching, stomach knotted, and well… you get the picture. I was completely immobilized. Jeremy was up a head, yelling at me to get up and get moving. Once there was nothing left for my stomach to give back to the world, I slowly got myself to my feet and started slogging along. I felt defeated, but really from that point on, I did nothing but simply put one foot in front of the other. Sometimes I ran, sometimes I jogged, sometimes I walked. So much for my plan of a triumphant charge down to No Hands and then up to Robie Point.

No Hands Bridge came and went. I ran across it, not really feeling the joy and elation that I was expecting. I didn’t need anything, so I ran straight through, likely saying nothing more than “274 in, 274 out”. I thought back to Unbreakable to the scene where Anton Krupicka is chasing Geoff Roes and runs through No Hands, doesn’t say a word, drops his bottles and leaves Jenn Shelton running behind him trying to keep up. I wanted so badly to mimic that scene, and did so for a bit, but ultimately (and ashamedly) resolved to walking. Jeremy did his best to push me, but I simply wasn’t having it. He reminded me of the sacrifices I made for this race. The years of waiting, the qualifiers, the training camps, sacrifices at home, sacrifices at work… all to no avail. He didn’t want me to look back on this day and the experience and have regrets. Still, it didn’t matter. I was done.

Jeremy and I hiked together up to Robie Point and talked about a variety of things. Some things serious, and others not. We passed through the aid station and started running. We ran through the neighborhood, down to the white bridge, every step bringing us closer to the track that I had seen a number of times in the past but refused to set foot upon. Glory was mere minutes away, and for the first time during the run, I had a smile on my face. I entered the track and did my best to fake a strong stride as I ran my victory lap. Rounding the final corner, I saw the finish line ahead, and listened to John Medinger announce my name as a finisher of Western States. I crossed that line in 23:19, in 85th place.





It’s now 6 months after the race. It’s been a long road to get here. I wish I could say that recovery went well and that after my typical 10 days of rest post 100, that I was back running, happy again. As per usual, I took my 10 days off. I slept a lot, ate even more, and generally was a lazy ass. I watched some movies, played a bunch of video games, started playing darts, and sat down many times with the intention of writing this blog. After 10 days, I tried to run for the first time. I barely made it down the street and over to the water tower and back. I took 3 days off, and tried again. Still, something was wrong. I took another week off. Still struggled. This has gone on, off and on until October when I finally managed to run 5 days a week for the entire month. Not huge miles, but finally back to some form of normalcy. I’m still not happy with where I’m at, but I’m taking it one step at a time, aid station to aid station. I’m operating under the assumption that I just went too deep in the well. I asked a lot from my body, specifically over the last year. Opening the new hotel, the training, the race itself… I guess I just need more time.

So, what does the future hold? I’ve had a lot of time to process this all and I have come up with 2 points:

1.) I didn’t enjoy my experience at Western States. It pains me to say it. I stressed way too much about finishing because of how damn hard it is to get into the race. I treated it like there would never be another chance for me to run it again, and while I promised myself that I wouldn’t squander the opportunity, I did. I trained my ass off and didn’t slack in that arena. I went into the race stronger than ever, and able to run significantly faster than I ended up doing on race day. I didn’t fight hard enough in the first 30 miles, and I didn’t fight hard enough in the last 15 miles. Not squandering meant that I should have had to crawl over that finish line. Should I ever get in again, I will remember that.

2.) I’ve proven all that I need to prove in running. I raced my dream race and finished in less than 24 hours. However, I ran scared. I always run scared. I play it safe and seek to just get to the finish line. That ends now. When I race again in the future, I’m either going to crush it, or I’m going to blow up spectacularly. I have nothing left to prove, and now I want to see just how fast I can be. I’ve prided myself on minimizing DNF’s, but I’ve realized that it’s not hard to do that if you just play it safe all the time. What’s hard is putting yourself out there and overcoming the fear of failure.

I’m going to continue training, and inching closer to where I was before the race. I’ve got some ideas for next season, but there isn’t anything totally finalized. I am going to test myself. As much as my body will let me.

Tribute

In 7th grade, I was asked to write an essay as part of some standardized testing.  The theme was essentially to be write about someone that I admired the most in the world.  As with most of my writing, I sit down, put my pencil to the paper (or fingers on the keys) and stare at the surface, waiting for inspiration to take hold, like staring at a pumpkin at Halloween trying to decide what to carve.  (If you've seen me at Halloween, then you know this to be true.)  You ask a 12 year old kid who they admire most in the world and you will get a litany of responses: celebrities, famous sports figures, political figures; the list goes on.  On that day, as I stared at the sheet of paper on my desk, sharpened pencil in hand, the person who I admired the most was simple.  It was my Uncle Dan.

My upbringing wasn't traditional.  I didn't have one set of parents.  In fact, I probably had a combination of 8-10 parents.  Mom and Dad were in and out of my life yet not forgotten, Grandma and Grandpa opened their home to me and taught me about family, hard work, empathy, and sacrifice.  Uncle Carl taught be about art and always reminded me to "Be good."  Uncle Earl taught me how to shoot hoops and let me hang out with him while he re-painted Grandpa's Truck in the back yard.  Aunt Virginia taught me to use my brain and the value of a dictionary.  Aunt Mary inspired me with her singing and taught me how to cook eggs.  They all taught and cared for me far more than this, but this are seemingly insignificant moments that have always remained ingrained in my mind.

As I sit here, shocked and saddened at the news of my Uncle Dan's unexpected passing, I am reminded of so many moments that I experienced with him. I remember seeing him and saying "Hey Uncle Dan!" and he would respond by calling me Uncle Frank.  I remember watching the final scene in Last of the Mohicans over and over again so that he could listen to "Promentory" by Trevor Jones and point out the goofs in the filming and compare some of the characters to members of our extended family. There were of course the times when he taught me about drawing in perspective, how to tie knots and make shelter in the woods, but there were moments in my life that meant a great deal more than that.  My earliest and most profound inspiration from him came from his decision to quit drinking.  I can't recall how many years he remained sober after making that decision, or exactly when the decision was made.  I just know that as a child in a family riddled with drug and alcohol abuse, I chose his example of sobriety over the other alternatives.  (That, and I also promised Grandma that I wouldn't go down that path)  There was the time that he and Dad were working together in Nevada and Dad was crushed by a Caterpillar SC-727 scraper.  Uncle Dan was the only one that remained calm that day and saved Dad's life.  There were the countless times over the next 2 years where he would open his home to me to make sure that I wasn't all alone, and had food in my stomach.  Years later, he would again open his home to me and while the end of that arrangement was not good and I'll not discuss with anyone, that final conversation was the single most important and powerfully driving factor in creating my will power and determination.  Any success that I have had in my life or will be fortunate enough to have in the future is due in part to Uncle Dan and that specific conversation.

Thank you Uncle Dan, for being a friend and father figure in times of need, not only for me, but for our entire family.  Though I mourn the loss of you today, I'll keep in memory the best times and teachings and pass them on to the best of my ability.  I love you.

Mary's Peak 50 Miler

Moving back to the Pacific Northwest has been a little bit of everything.  On one hand, it means being close to family and friends again, a new (and huge!) challenge with work and of course, the opportunity to spend hours upon hours in the mountains.  On the other hand, it also means that because of the challenging expectations with work, my racing will get put on the back burner until I can manage to get the hotel up and running.  Trying to find a race that would fit in with what little remaining time I had left proved to be challenging.  I foolishly assumed that the races in the PNW would be plentiful and easy to choose from.  However, while there are plenty of races, they sell out seemingly very quickly.  Fortunately, I found one last ultra to cram into the 'ol schedule before I turn all of my focus to the hotel for the year.

The Mary's Peak Trail Runs offer 3 different distances - 25k, 50k, and 50 mile.  I snagged a spot in the 50 miler and started some focused training.  The race is held west of Corvallis, only a 2.5 hour drive from the Portland/Vancouver area, so it's really hard to beat the convenience factor there.  Training overall went reasonably well.  I managed to get in some longer efforts than normal over consecutive weekends, and focused on getting some quality improvements on my uphill and downhill running.  A focus on fueling was also critical, as I seem to have been really hit or miss during recent races.  After finally burning through my stockpile of miscellaneous gels, I picked up a bunch of VFuel products (gels and drink mix) and hoped that maybe it would give me less stomach distress, and provide enough fuel to feel strong though an entire race.  In training, I had nothing but success with them, so I toed the line feeling confident that the success would continue into a race situation.  Just prior to starting, we got a bit of a briefing from the RD, and there seemed to be a common theme.  Don't get stupid and blow everything before the second half of the race.  Aside from that, the only thing I remember him saying was that there would be only one gate that you have to go around the entire day - at around mile 48 or so.  Liar.  More on that later.

I lined up at the front of the small group of folks who wanted to do a double summit today.  Off we go, and I started cruising, with only about 6 guys in front of me.  The first 7-ish miles of the race are a gradual climb and on fire roads.  Not knowing anyone, and generally not being social enough to strike up a conversation, I have a habit of eavesdropping on conversations.  I overheard a runner talking about running IMTUF this year and kind of just butted my way into the conversation, having an opinion on the race after running it last September.  This runner was Cary Stephens, someone that I would end up spending several hours with that day.  For the first few miles of the race, we shot the shit, and just cruised along talking about our running histories, plans for the year, jobs, etc.  Somewhere around mile 6 there was group of folks cheering us on, and I got separated from Cary as he peeled off for a short break.  Shortly thereafter, I pulled onto the trail section (finally!) in something like 4th or 5th place.  While I was happy to get on trail, I also felt really out of rhythm as it was fairly windy and overgrown in some spots.  It took me a bit, but I started to find my groove and just worked my way up the hill.  I ran mostly everything, with only a couple of tip-toeing over some of technical spots.  All in all, I was feeling very solid.  Climbing was easy, stomach was good, energy was high, and I had no pains anywhere.  Just keep working.  Cresting the summit of Mary's Peak was nice.  I was hoping to see the ocean, but the clouds were doing a good job of keeping it hidden. 

It felt fantastic to open up and put the gas on a bit through the descent.  I was feeling great, and started to encounter other runners who were part of the 50k and 25k races.  Shouting and receiving words of encouragement was nice, and hearing that I wasn't all that far behnd other 50 mile runners was inspiring me to push and close the gap.  However, I reeled it in a bit, not wanting to get too far ahead of myself.  At this point, only 20 or so miles in, I chose to play it safe.  No stomach issues, staying cool, and feeling strong.  Then, I popped out of the trail and onto a fire road... and, and a choice to make.  To the right, a black and yellow sign that very clearly said NO.  To the left, a gate.  Thinking about the pre-race briefing, I stood there for a second worried if someone had messed with the course markings.  I chose to go past the gate, and for the next mile, I ran...  hesitantly.  Hoping to see a flag confirming I was on the right path, I felt more and more disappointment and concern that I was off course.  I stopped in the road and stood there for a few seconds and decided to head back in the other direction.  As I worked my way up the road, pissing and moaning, I encountered Cary Stephens again running toward me, who confirmed that I had originally been going the right way.  Awesome, I just gave up a few minutes and a wasted a lot of energy.  Oh well.

Cary and I cruised down the road, not saying much and started to encounter the 50 mile leaders who were starting back up the trail.  Everyone looked pretty good, and I was starting to feel a little less than.  We reached the aid station where we could access our drop bags.  I spent a while here, restocking with gels and mixing some Black Cherry VFuel into one of my flasks.  Cary left before I did here as I focused on being patient, making sure I had all I needed.  Turning back up the road, I was alternating hiking and running.  Probably quite a bit more hiking, if I'm being honest.  I was in a bit of a mental funk, and it was starting to feel hot.  Fortunately, I had soaked a bandanna and had it around my neck with was helping.  Stomach was good, and energy was still ok.  Making the turn back onto the trail, I encountered a runner who was worried that he was off course.  I assured him that he was good, and made him aware of the turn at the gate.  Probably like a bit of a smart ass, as I was still a bit salty about what had happened earlier.  Time to put that behind me.  I was starting to struggle with cramping somewhere between miles 26 and 28 which slowed me up quite a bit.  I was hiking more and more, but just wanting to get the last summit behind me.

Nearing the 2nd summit at around mile 29, I was informed by a guy that someone (Chris Concannon) had dropped and that I had moved into 5th place.  That gave me a jolt, and I run well for the next mile to the aid station where I wasted little time filling my bottles and getting going.  The descent was fairly uneventful and  I was moving reasonably well, but I was having to be quite careful to avoid my legs cramping.  This was kind of the theme for the majority of the remaining race.  Run some, feel good, cramp, stop, stretch, cuss, walk, repeat.  At some point I caught up with Cary and we ran together to the next aid station.  We were passed in this aid station by another runner, and I followed after him, hoping not to let him get too far ahead, but still feeling like If I pushed the effort, I was going to cramp and have to stop anyway.  So, I remained patient.  mixing walking and running in as I navigated the "worst" section of the race.  Truth be told, I didn't find it all that bad.  Sure, the ups were steep, but they were fairly short and manageable.  The downs seemed to be less steep though, so it seemed like I was keeping a fairly consistent time, even if it was a bit slower than I would have liked.  The cramps were starting to fade, as I was chewing S-Caps at this point (yes, chewing) hoping that my brain would get the hint that help for the cramps was on the way, and maybe, just maybe, would quit fighting me and let me finish the race strong.  Eventually, I came upon the final aid station with about 4.5 miles to go.  I was relieved.

Trying to waste little time in the aid, I mixed some VFuel into my flask, took two gels, and left just before the 7th place runner.  From this point, I never looked back, trying to focus on running with good form, and not allowing myself to walk a bit.  The cramps were being kept at bay, as I found kind of a sweet spot in my effort.  With about a half mile to go, I caught sight of Cary, who seemed to look back at the same time.  We were both pushing hard, and I tried to close the gap, but ultimately, ran out of real estate, crossing the finish line at 9:51, about 45 seconds behind Cary.  That was good enough for 6th place.  I also managed to put about 4 minutes on 7th place over that last stretch, so I think I was moving pretty well, all things considered.

So, having the last week to process this race performance, I have decided to rate how I feel about different factors with hope that it will help me remember to focus on specific areas between now and whenever the hell I get to race again.

Course Prep: 5/10.  I read a couple of reports and looked at some strava segments, but stupidly forgot the course details that I had printed at the office in my haste to leave work on Friday.  This would have probably allowed me a fighting chance to gain 2 spots in the placing.

Climbing: 7/10.  I trained well during the block leading up to this race.  I could benefit more from a few extra time trials rather than focusing on slow grunts up long climbs, however this should be a supplement, and not in place of those longer ascents.

Descending:8/10.  I'm very happy about how my quads held up during this race.  My technical footing has improved as well.  I could have pushed a lot harder and still would have been safe.

Flats: 4/10.  I didn't feel like I had much "top end" speed.  I think I could have taken advantage of the 7 miles of fire roads at the beginning if I was comfortable running faster.  

Fueling: 6/10.  I'm grouping both eating and drinking into this one.  Gels and drink mix were good, but I think I should always have a bottle for water, and one for mix to supplement the gels.  My stomach held up fine, with little GI distress when compared to previous races.  I'm beginning to think that I don't drink enough water and should probably try to do more than drinking to thirst.  My guess?  I get behind early, and never quite catch up.

Race Execution: 6/10.  I should be more sore than I am.  I believe that I could have finished top 3 in this one, had I gotten a little balsy early on.  In hindsight, I stayed pretty relaxed all day, when I could have suffered a lot more.

Comparing this race to other 50 milers that I have done is a bit challenging.  I ended up about an hour slower than I wanted.  I'm always looking to PR at a distance, regardless of the terrain.  With a 50 mile PR of 8:40, a finish of 9:51 is initially disappointing.  However, considering this course had 3 times the elevation gain of my PR course, I would say all in all, it was a success.  A link to the activity is below, though, it seems to be a little inaccurate in the data until you actually go to Strava.

Black Canyon 100k - Slippery, Sloppy, Shiteree.

Reppin' YRC.
Miss those guys and gals.

I've got a busy year ahead of me. With the hotel opening scheduled for early summer, I am unsure about what the year will hold for me racing wise.  I only know one thing. If I do nothing else, I need my qualifier for Western "Lottery Hell" States. 

Something about IMTUF damaged me. I took basically the rest of the year off after running in September.  The stress of the training volume, living on the road for half a year, or just being burnt out on running left me with very few runs to feel good about leading up to the end of the year. Some additional exploring of the McCall area with Jeremy served as those favorite runs, and unbeknownst at the time would also provide the long run base that I would pull from for the Black Canyon 100k in Arizona. I signed up for the race a whopping 2 weeks in advance after rarely completing a run greater than 7 miles, and having a long run of 18 miles. Cashing in some airline miles, a quick search of employee discount rooms and one decisive click on ultrasignup and I was locked in. What was I thinking?

Well, I was thinking that I've got 17 hours to suffer my way through the race and get the damn qualifier out of the way early and leave myself with outs in case I had to drop. I truly don't expect to race again until the end of the year, but I'll be damned if I am giving up all my tickets.  Plus, sometimes I can pull a decent race out of my ass just by being willing to suffer. Turns out this would be one of those days.

Still Reppin'.

Usually, Black Canyon is a point to point net downhill race. Typically hot, and mirrors Western States in terms of profile, only scaled back. Not the case this year. (Take another look at the post title and have a look at the picture below) Heavy rains and a sketchy looking forecast prompted Aravaipa Running to go with an out and back alternative course for runner safety. So much for the heat training I crammed in. However, I often claim to run better in the worst conditions, since I'm not all that fast. At least I can suffer and keep moving forward. Well, this time that claim was put to the test.

Muddy AF.

7am comes rolling around on Saturday morning and we start off with a lap around the Mayer High School track and proceed down the road for a few miles to trail. Immediately, we are presented with a combination of soul sucking mud, that awful clay that sticks to your shoes and adds like 40 pounds to each foot. Can you say, efficient? I hear a gripe or two over my music, and can't help but smile and keep moving. Next up were the puddles in the ruts on the trail. The soil off to the side of the trail looked appealing, but in reality it was far worse. Some people would try to run between the ruts, but I knew that if I wanted to keep my Altra Superiors at their natural weight, (or close) then running directly in the puddles was the way to go. Fortunately, I covered my feet in Trail Toes prior to the start and that made this crazy idea feasible. 

Eventually, the rain let up a little and the trail hardened back up. Time to roll. Coming into the first aid station at mile 7.8, I had no need for fluids or fuel. 246 in and out.  Having fallen into my typical no man's land of race position, I had the trail to myself. I made a decision that I wasn't going to run this race concerned about leaving enough in the tank for the return trip. Not knowing how my body would feel beyond 18 miles, I just decided then and there to remove the worry from the equation. Don't look at the watch, just listen to the alert to eat every 30 minutes. I tried to take full advantage of the roughly 30 miles of gentle downhill and make best friends with gravity.  This worked well as I came to the turnaround in 4:56, actually feeling really good. Not wanting to waste time in the aid station, I get right back to work. Suddenly my legs spoke up and said "Listen here dumbass, we are going to cramp up so bad that you remember who is in charge here.  Now simmer down."

And simmer down I did. I reached into my pack for salt and was supremely disappointed to find that my pouch of S-caps had gone AWOL.  How far to the next aid? Oh yeah, 7 miles and change. Trying to make the best of it, I told myself it would be best to recharge a bit and bounce back for hopefully, a strong finish.  In hindsight, I should have just asked another runner if they had any to spare. Instead, I marched on, knowing I left a drop back at the Gloriana aid station, mile 37.7.  My first drop bag ever.

The aid station was an oasis. I took advantage and restocked my pack, changed my shoes and had a cup of soup or two. I also left one of my layers here, thinking I wouldn't need it any longer as the sun popped out to say what's up.  Big mistake. I eased into a walk to bring my locked up legs back to life and shortly thereafter, I was back to running. I looked at my watch a time or two and saw some sub 10 minute miles and just kept taking what my legs and the course would allow. This kept up until around mile 51 where I was treated to a bonk of epic proportions. I was dizzy, nauseous, and I couldn't see straight. I recognized this feeling from a run at Rapid River with Jeremy just as I collapsed on the side of the trail. I dug into my pack and found a Bonk Breaker bar, 2 gels and a caffeine pill and ate all of them, willing my stomach to keep everything down. After spending maybe 5 or 10 minutes sitting there, I slowly began walking and eased in to a run, seemingly back in it.

Chugging into the final aid station at mile 54, the weather became the worst that I had seen all day. The sun was setting and fog rolled in, leaving like 30 feet of visibility.  Pouring rain and some pretty stout winds had left me feeling like a boxer who had gone 11 rounds and faced a fresh opponent in the 12th. My torso was covered with my singlet, pack and Patagonia Whodini shell and it was doing nothing for me. My body was freezing and I knew that I had to run as hard as I could through those final miles just to stay alive. Ok, maybe a little dramatic there, but that is how I willed myself to the finish.

The puddles on the course over those last 7 miles were calf deep in some places. Only now, beneath the water, the mud was doing everything it could to suck my shoes off of my feet. I don't know how they stayed on, even now. After what felt like an eternity,  I exited the trail and back onto the road with an extreme sense of relief, knowing that it was an easy 2ish miles to the finish. With my head down, I focused on good form and ignored the soreness in my legs and gave what I had left. I was growing weaker by the second, because I hadn't eaten or drank since the last aid station, not wanting to risk being any colder by unzipping my jacket and gaining access to my pack below. Just then, I was surprised by another runner on my right who turned out to be Drew Adams, a fellow runner from Idaho. He seemed to be moving effortlessly, but we resolved to run it the rest of the way together. The last 2 miles took something like 18 minutes, but it felt much faster than that. Arriving on school grounds and making our way back to the track,  I was relieved to cross the timing mat in 12:10- a PR by nearly 20 minutes. A couple of pictures later and into the gym we went to get out of the storm.  I for one, had had enough for the day.

In the gym, I found myself in a hypothermic state. The EMTs brought me over to a cot and covered me with three sleeping bags. After some time, I relinquished my place to another runner and grabbed a hot shower in the locker room. Fortunately, I felt 10 times better.

There you have it.  A hell of a trip, a hell of a race, and a hell of a day in general. Shiny buckle in hand, and yet another qualifier under my belt, I'm free to do whatever I want (or am able to) with the rest of my season. I don't know what will come, so for now I'll enjoy this extra legroom from a welcomed upgrade and worry about it later. A slippery, sloppy, shiteree of a start  (or finish) to the season.

Upgraded on all flights.  My legs appreciated it.

IMTUF 100

If I really think about it, my journey to running IMTUF actually began back in September 2013. Back then, I signed up to run the Bear 100 with a lofty goal of cracking 24 hours on that beast of a course. I was humbled by the Bear that day, as it took me more than 33.5 hours to finish. To this day, I still don't know what happened to me that day. Altitude, weather, or maybe just being out of my league - in the end, I guess it doesn't matter. I just knew I didn't have what it took that day and it has haunted me ever since. I've shied away from mountain races (specifically 100 milers) and hid behind the fact that I live in an area that doesn't allow for proper training. I've dreamed about going back to the Bear to avenge that defeat, but have vowed to do it only when I live near mountains again. 

My mindset changed a bit this year as I stacked two mountain 100ks a month apart early this season, batting .500, with Gorge not going well, but Canyons feeling like a real breakthrough for me.  This lead me to selecting IMTUF as my sole 100 miler for the year. As a Hardrock100 qualifier With a course length somewhere between 100 and 110 miles, and gain somewhere between 17k and 23k, not to mention footing far more technical than Bear, this was not a race to be trifled with.  I expected the brutal climbs and descents to push me to my limits, and I eagerly wanted to discover if I was TUF or not.

Training for this had to be different than for races in the past. Training for Bear was spent largely on the treadmill hiking at 15% incline for hours at a time. That was fine for the ups, but I had no answer for the downhill specific training needed for the extended descents. My legs just weren't strong enough. This year had a big block of speedwork inserted after some solid volume early this season which helped to not only increase my cruising speed, but also to expose me to a different kind pain and suffering and ultimately toughen my legs up to the level they needed. After navigating that without injury, my focus shifted to adding more volume than I have ever done before. At my peak, I ran 300 miles in a month, with three consecutive weeks that had more mileage than I had ever had in a single week before. All while on task force for work, putting in 60-70 hours per week. Fortunately, my body allowed this all to happen.

In typical Frank fashion, I had to travel all over the country prior to racing. I flew from Cincinnati to Portland and back, then to Madison, and into Boise, all in the week leading up to the race. Praying that I didn't get sick, and trying to eat reasonably decent while also trying to eat food that I was so burnt out on after living out of a hotel for the past 2 months was brutal. The trip from Boise to Burgdorf was uneventful, just Christy and I rolling along, missing the hell out of the beauty that Idaho has to offer. After getting setup in our cabin and hanging out for the pre-race briefing, we drove back into McCall for some dinner before calling it a night.  430am came quickly, but I woke up feeling pretty fresh.  Typical breakfast came and went, and with a quick gear check out of the way, I headed for the start line, ready and confident to take whatever the course had in store for me. It was good to have a chat with Jeremy before the start, talking some strategy, but it was quickly time to toe the line and eagerly await the race tradition elk bugle to start the race. I ran the first couple of miles with old friends Emily Berriochoa and Jon Kinzer, but I didn't feel particularly social and as I eased into my comfortable pace, I found myself on my own. Typical. The scenery was awesome. Stunning, would be the best word to describe it. Fortunately, the first 20 or so miles are flattish and the terrain is forgiving, so I was afforded many opportunities to take in and marvel at the sights.  I'm still upset that I didn't bring along a camera.  Mile 17 was the first opportunity to see my crew,  and I was very happy to see Christy, Sis, and Jeb - even if only for a few moments. I didn't need much, only a couple of gels and one water bottle filled. A couple of quick words from Jeremy and I was off toward the first big climb of the day, up to Diamond Ridge. Knowing the climbs would be steep, I brought along my black Diamond z poles. I didn't want to have a repeat of Eastern States, where I struggled with the super steep grinds.  I practiced before with my different packs to be sure that I could store and access the poles as needed and it ended working fantastically for me in the end. In fact, I feel that like I was really prepared for the climbing and the poles were an extra bonus. Going up to Diamond Ridge, I kept moving steady, but I seemed to be going through more water than I had. Cruising on the downhill, the water drop couldn't come fast enough. Finally it did, and I drank 2 full bottles before refilling and heading out.  From this point until Duck Lake (mile 43.2) I basically felt like garbage.  I was nauseous with random puking spells.  Puking is not a usual thing with me.  In all of the races I have run, I've only thrown up once.  I tried not to let this get me down, so I dialed back the effort and focused on the rain that had been falling on us all over the last several hours.  I always look at the shitty weather and think of it as an equalizer.  Most people don't like it, but I feel better in it.  The worse the better.  Making my way into Duck Lake, I talked with Mike Blessing for a few minutes.  I got some broth down and started off toward the short climb leading to a long decent down to Snowslide Trailhead.  I caught up with Tony Huff and shared some conversation on the climb, but decided on the decent I was going to just let go and push hard down to the next aid.  I was dry heaving constantly, but I just kept on.  

I arrived into Snowslide Trailhead at mile (47.8) and spent several minutes trying to get my shit together.  I knew that the climb up Snowslide was nasty, and I had planned from early on that I wanted to crush the climb and then destroy the long decent that followed.  I enjoyed talking with my family and found myself staying longer and longer.  Jeremy was there pushing me to get moving.  I left there with the gear that I needed and feeling better than I had felt for several hours.  I fell into a rhythm, listening to Icky Thump by the White Stripes and pushing hard up the steep and rocky climb.  What followed, was an off trail grunt up to the top where I lost my steam, going off course.  Fortunately, I found my way again, and crested the high point just ahead of a few other runners.  We all stopped at the top and admired the view for a few minutes before starting the long decent down.  I took off, feeling pretty great and ran hard but controlled to the Lake Fork Trailhead at mile 60, where I would see my family for the last time before the long night section across the Crestline.  Jeremy had said in the pre-race briefing to be sure and get our mind right before heading out from this station.  I was still feeling pretty excellent and after hearing about how brutal the Crestline was all day, I couldn't wait to see what all the fuss was about.  The rain was still coming down, and the temp was dropping, but I was moving well.  The climbs didn't seem too bad after what we had already done, and the decents were fairly smooth.  Things seemed on the up for me, until my stomach decided to put the hammer down on me.  The vomiting returned, and with a vengeance.  I found that I not only couldn't stomach any more gels, but even water wouldn't stay put.  I sat on the side of the trail for a bit trying to work through this in my head before essentially walking the remaining miles to the South Crestline AId at mile 67.  I sat in this station for nearly an hour, nursing a small cup of broth and trying not to puke all over the floor.  The rain wasn't letting up and I knew I wasn't going to feel any better, so I grabbed a couple of quesadilla slices and walked on.  It was really slow moving from here to mile 74 where the next aid station was waiting.  While I still couldn't drink or take in gels without reversal, I was able to hike the uphills hard (ish) and jog on the downhills for short periods.  I sat by the fire at Box Creek for probably another 40 minutes, again sipping on a cup of broth.  I was feeling very weak and tired at this point, and feeling pretty disheartened.  All I could think of was back to 2013 at the Bear when I laid in the Beaver Lodge for an hour, broken and battered.  I decided that I wasn't going to go quietly, so I moved my sorry ass out of the aid station and through the rest of the Crestline section.  Despite feeling like garbage, I didn't find the Crestline to be as difficult as I expected.  I didn't mind the solace - maybe I was just distracted by the shitty weather or just focusing on moving forward without puking.  At the North Crestline Trailhead, I joined up again with Alexa, a Canadian runner that I had chatted with on the way up Diamond Ridge.  I don't remember much about what we talked about, but it was the first time I had run with someone since the first few minutes heading up Snowslide, so it was a welcome distraction.  The rain had become a slight drizzle at this point, but the difficulty was with the fog that had rolled in, making would would normally be a nice cruising decent down the road kind of difficult .  I was kicking rocks and trying not to roll an ankle for the next handful of miles down to the Terrible Terrance trail.  Alexa went on, and I walked every damned step of that trail.  I was dragging ass, and really at my lowest point.  I tried to focus on pressing forward, and knowing that when the sun would come up, I would get a huge boost.  After an eternity, I made my way into the Upper Payette Lake Aid at mile 89 and was so happy to see Christy and Sis there.  Again, I sat there with a cup of broth trying to keep warm and see if I had it in me to give a solid push and get this race finished.  Sis gave me some ginger ale and some candy and I began to feel some life coming back to me.  Sis got me some swedish fish for the road and told me it was 5 miles to Cloochman and a mile to the top, before a big cruise to the finish.  I hit the trail, ready to give it another shot.

I kind of broke down a bit as soon as I left the aid station.  It's always hard for me to put on a brave face around my family when I'm feeling weak and anything but brave.  I then felt what I had been hoping for for the last several miles.  I had been waiting for my mind to get out of my way and just let me do what I had trained my ass off for for the last several months.  I started to run, and suddenly, I wasn't tired and weak.  I was running uphill at what seemed like a pretty decent pace and I kept this up all the way to Cloochman at mile 94.  I still wasn't eating or drinking, so I spent no time there and moved through.  One of the aid station ladies told me it was 4 miles to the top and I kind of did a double take, expecting only another mile.  I sucked it up and kept moving.  The trip up to Bear Pete was a pain in the ass.  It seemed highly meandering and it felt more like we were circumnavigation the summit than making an ascent to the top.  The course markings were sparse, and I kept wondering if I was going the right way.  I started to lose my drive and found myself walking more and more.  Fortunately, I made it to the aid station and only stood there for a minute or two, complaining about the last climb.  I realized this wasn't getting me any closer to the finish, so I looked at my watch and decided I was going to push hard and try to finish before 11:30am.  I don't remember much, but I remember expecting the trail to be smoother on the way down.  Fortunately, I popped out of the trail and onto the road without taking any spill.  I finally knew that I was going to make it, and get the 100 mile monkey off my back.  I hadn't finished one since March last year after having to drop at Eastern States last August.  I ran as hard with what I had left and crossed the line at 29:35.  

A long story to get to this point. I'm disappointed.  Even 2 weeks post race, I am disappointed.  I should be happy that I finished 4 hours faster than at Bear, but I can't say that is the case.  I guess that is something I am going to have to come to terms with in time.  I keep focusing on the fact that I came away from this no longer feeling intimidated by mountainous courses.  Sure, I didn't have the finish time that I wanted, but I've recovered incredibly fast and as I think back and try to remove the stomach issues from the equation, I was very prepared for this type of race, and I did it still living in the Midwest where the terrain isn't exactly ideal for training.  Knowing that I will be living in the Pacific Northwest again shortly, and adding in that I recovered very quickly from this race only helps confirm that I have a lot left to give, and am capable of much more.  I'm very grateful for my family for making the trip up and for the support they continue to give me.  Thanks to Jeremy and Brandi for the continued support and also for organizing such an amazing race.  

I'm still pissed that I didn't take a camera....

Going Short

Throughout my time as a runner, my training and racing has followed a pretty consistent path.  When I first started, I progressed through distance very quickly, going from my first 5k to 100 mile in a little less than two years.  I never felt like I was very fast, but I felt like I could tough out finishes in the ultra distances and finish better than I could in the shorter distance events.  Because of that, I pretty much fell into a routine of training at more or less the same pace and racing slow and steady, just searching for that next finish.  My finishing times were improving, but this was more because I was getting better and more experienced at managing issues during each race, and less about getting stronger and faster.  I’ve worked on building a lot more strength through hill specific workouts and consistent core work over the past year, but one thing was missing – speed. 

Cruising

The approach to this year has been very different than previous years.  I started off with some of the typical big efforts; the annual 8 hour treadmill fundraiser, followed by two 100k’s a month apart.  After that, we switched things up and began working on building speed in the shorter distance races.  Fortunately, I have been able to keep most injuries down to little twinges here and there.  I first foray into short distance racing was at an open indoor mile race at U of M.  I hadn’t done any specific prep for the event, and was going in based off of fitness alone.  My buddy Luke said that he would run a 5 minute flat pace for the first half, and then see where things went from there.  True to his word, we come through halfway exactly at 2:30, and he waved me on.  With 4 laps to go, I stayed locked onto the pace that Luke had set, and with 200 meters to go, I ran as hard as I could to catch 1^st place, and ended up coming up a bit short while still finishing in 4:56 – a PR by 15 seconds or so. 

Next up was the Dexter to Ann Arbor Half Marathon.  I ran this race last year and pulled off a solid PR, but this year I was entering the event having tweaked my hamstring during a stupid string of track workouts the week prior.  I did everything I could during that week to rehab the hammy, but on race morning I really had no idea if I would have to bail mid race.  I started off the race at what felt like a pretty relaxed effort and was actually surprised to see 6:42 as the first mile.  Since the hammy wasn’t speaking up, I ran harder, running 6:29 for the second mile.  This seemed to be about the pace that my body was ok with that day, because each time I tried to drop the pace, the hammy would start chirping a bit.  I was frustrated because the effort felt pretty easy otherwise, but I was still happy to come out of the race with a PR, by 50 seconds or so.

Different events, but 1-2 for YRC

13 days later, it was time to attack the 5k distance.  I had a couple of confidence building workouts and was getting schooled on racing strategy by my training partner Sergei.  He would race the 10k that day and crush everyone.  I started off the first mile in 5:47 and found myself in 3^rd place.  Just then, a wall of 9 or so guys came FLYING by me as if I was just standing still.  I let them go on without feeling too discouraged and finished the second mile in 5:41.  At about the halfway point, the race entered a short trail section and it was awesome to feel at home and flying on the new surface while the guys who had passed me half a mile earlier got their turn to stand still.  I made my way into 3^rd place again just before the end of the trail section and really laid everything out there, trying to catch the remaining runners ahead.  A quarter mile later, I moved into 2^nd place and could see 1^st place just ahead.  With about a kilometer to go, I was maybe 10 yards behind him, and I made my move and moved into the lead.  We leapfrogged for the next quarter mile.  Then, with about 100 meters to go, I was passed by the eventual winner who made a tremendous kick in that final stretch.  Nonetheless, I crossed the finish line in 2^nd place in 17:28, a PR by 90 seconds or so. 

That 1-2 trend.  Dude is too fast.

2 weeks later, the 10k was my target.  Both Sergei and I would be racing this event, representing Ypsilanti Running Company.  We took off at the start and it was clear that Sergei would run away with this one.  I was behind in a pack of 3 or 4 guys, making our way through the first mile in just under 6 minutes.  I then got a big surprise, as it turned out that all of those guys were running the 5k and not the 10k.  Looking over my shoulder, I only saw one runner, and he was probably a quarter mile behind me, while Sergei was easily a quarter mile ahead.  I was in my familiar position of no man’s land, and this remained for the entire race.  I still ran a very solid race, finishing in 2^nd place in 36:48, a PR by 3 minutes and change. 

I’ve learned a lot over the past 4 months.  Racing short is awesome because it doesn't take much time at all to recover, and therefore you can mix in races much more frequently.  I’ve learned that I am much faster (or have the potential to be) than I ever gave myself credit for.  I’ve also learned that I need to stop feeling like I don’t belong at the front of the pack.  I’ve always played it safe and line up for my races regardless of distance in the middle or back of the pack.  It’s time to take some chances, and really see what I can accomplish, especially with my newfound speed.  I will likely get smacked around a bit, but I don’t want to be afraid to swing for the fences, so to speak.  So, where do I go from here?  I’ve picked my 100 miler for the year, and it is going to be IMTUF 100 on September 17^th.  5 weeks to go.  I will be ready.

imtuf100.com

Oh Shit.

Canyons 100k - Redemption

Earlier this year, I entered a drawing on ultrarunnerpodcast.com for a free entry into the sold out Canyons 100k.  Much to my surprise, I actually won.

This was pretty fantastic.  However, I had already committed to running the Gorge 100k only a month earlier than Canyons.  I've not attempted to run distances of this length this close together, so I was pretty concerned.  I figured that I could muscle through a finish at both, but expected to have a really shitty race at Canyons.  However, Gorge wasn't my best race, and I didn't face a very difficult recovery from it.  I did end up sick the week leading up to Canyons, and it lingered all the way through the race.  In fact, I still feel a bit of it as I write this.  I tried my best to put this out of my mind, because I didn't want to have any excuses for my performance at Canyons.  I was either going to do well, or not.

Legit.

Christy and I flew out to Sacramento on Thursday before the race and got to our hotel in Roseville.  (Gotta take advantage of my Hilton travel benefits)  We got in late, but were hungry, so we took a walk down to Mel's Diner for some grub.  I opted for the breakfast burrito.  A fine decision indeed.

Hoping to feel like Mega Man the next morning.

The next day was spent walking around Auburn, checking out shops, and just generally enjoying "The Endurance Capital of the World".  We had a bit of time to kill, so we tried to watch Captain America:Civil War.  Unfortunately, a power outage with about 30 minutes to go in the movie killed that idea.  After that, we met with one of Christy's childhood friends for dinner before getting some rest for the battle ahead.

I had decided that I wasn't going to let this race play out the way that mine typically do. I hate the idea of failing a race so much, that I often run too conservatively.  I decided on my motto as I lined up on the starting line: "equal parts smart and stupid".  I was going to go out and lay it out there, ready to fail miserably.  The first part of the race was fairly uneventful, as I was caught in a bit of a conga line heading up the first climb on the way out the Michigan Bluff.  After the group broke up a bit, I began running more aggressive than normal.  So much so, that I found myself in something like 25th place and running with Caroline Boller (Nike Pro) right after descending Devil's Thumb on the return back to Foresthill.  We chatted for a bit about how sloppy and awful Bandera 100k was in January 2015, but eventually, she stepped off the side of the trail and waved me on.  My first instinct was to slow way down because this must be stupid, right?  I kept on, and even pushed harder right up until about a mile to go to the halfway point, when Tim Tollefson (Nike Pro) blazed by en route to winning the 50k in course record time.  I cruised into Foresthill feeling pretty good and ready to hammer the descent down to the river.  I walked for a bit with Christy while I ate some soup.

Halfway in.  Time to go to work.

After polishing off my soup, I said goodbye to Christy and started cruising down the road toward Cal1.  Reaching the trail, I steadily picked up speed to see just how much trouble I was going to be in.  Surprisingly, my legs felt fine and strong, so I pushed...  hard.  I had heard from an aid station attendant in Foresthill that the next aid station would be 8 miles away.  I cranked up my music and leaned foward and let gravity give me a helping hand on down the hill. I was surprised when the aid station came up about 3.5 miles down.  I topped off my water bottle and kept pushing, afraid to slow up enough for my legs to realize that I was being stupid.  Again, to my surprise, there was no resistance from my legs.  Could this finally be the race where I could put it all together?  At this point, I was eating a Honey Stinger gel every 25 minutes, and sipping on a bottle of Tailwind.  In hindsight, I believe my success in this race came from the increased calorie intake.  I will certainly be testing this theory in depth as I build for a 100 miler sometime in September.

Hurting, but happy.

Still rolling, I began to finally catch glimpses of the river below.  I kept thinking that it had to be close, but like a carrot being dangled in front of a horse, it always seem JUST out of reach.  Everytime I would think, "the end is just around the next switchback", there would be a climb that took me away from the river.  This frustration helped me run harder and harder, and to my surprise, I began passing runner after runner.  I was going to ride this wave until the bitter end.  I finally reached the turnaround at Rucky Chucky, after figuring that I was somewhere around 15th place.  I wasted very little time at the aid, and got back on the trail, for the last 16 miles.  For some reason, I had got it in my head that the next aid was around 5 miles away.  Because I had been having success with the extra calories, I drank my Tailwind very fast, and to my surprise, I still had around 3 miles to go.  I started to feel weak and I started stumbling around on the trail a bit.  I searched in my pack for the caffeinated gels that I had stowed away "for a rainy day".  I remember taking at least 2, but maybe three gels at once.  I quickly regained my energy and alertness, and I ran with everything I could muster up to the next aid station.  I spent a few moments here, eating soup and drinking some coke or sprite.  (I can't remember which)  Suddenly, someone came into the aid station behind me, and I took off like a bolt and began running scared back up to the final aid station before the finish.  At some point, I was passed by a few runners who were running uphill much better than I was.  I still kept running as much as I could, and at this point I knew that I was going to finish this race in a personal best time, and I was overjoyed.  After one last stop at the aid for a refill on Tailwind and a cup of Sprite, I thanked the volunteers and took off.  I made it about a mile, before I felt some twinges in my right hip/glute area.  I told myself to start suffering, since I had made it the whole day without much to speak of.  With maybe a mile and a half to go, I couldn't push anymore.  I backed off the throttle, and hiked as well as I could up the final incline.  Once the paved road was in sight, I ran as well as possible, anxious to cross the finish line, and sit down for the FIRST TIME all day.  That's right, finally, a race where I didn't sit at all.  As the finish line drew near, I saw that I was going to cross the line in under 12.5 hours, a record for me by over an hour.

Repping Ypsi Running Co.,
and doing my best Sam Collier impression.

My final time was 12:29, and I finished as 18th male, and 21st overall.  Pretty damned good I think.  Finally, I was able to put together a solid race of mountain caliber.  With 14,000 feet of climbing, this race had 2,000 more feet of gain than Gorge, and I finished an hour and 4 minutes faster.  Perhaps Gorge served to shake of the rust, so to speak.  I don't know, and I don't care.  I'm just happy with the outcome.  I will now rest for a few days, and then focus on shorter, faster running for the first part of the summer before ramping up volume for a 100 miler in September.

Game on.