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.