"Confidence: the food of the wise man, and the liquor of the fool" ~ Vikram, The Office*
(*Uttered, I'm sure, by someone else prior to him...)
Ultra marathons are scary.
No, really.
Yes, all races are "scary": you train hard, you want to run your best, you're nervous. You toe the line and hope your shoes don't come untied. You hope it doesn't hurt too bad. You worry that, when you try to run your goal pace, that all works out.
As a road and track runner, those things worried me. But they weren't frightening. In my first marathon, I hurt so bad that I laid down in the grass along London Road for several minutes (at the 1997 Grandma's Marathon - coincidentally happening this weekend, in Duluth, MN). Track miles can feel awful. 10Ks are the worst pain. But none of this was scary.
But ultras can be truly terrifying. When bad things happen in an ultra, two things frequently happen that rarely, if ever, happen in road races.
First, when you're hurting and stop....you're in the middle of the wilderness! When I laid down for my "restie" during Grandma's, I was within sight of the "DNF School Bus" that luxuriously transported all my fellow road-kill to the finish line. It was tempting, but before I could pull the trigger, I was strongly encouraged to get up and keep moving - either from an enthusiastic spectator, or from the homeowner whose lawn I'd extemporaneously squatted upon.
When you're hurting bad, you can be in some scary places in an ultra: a 13K' ridgeline with blustery winds and sleet at Hardrock, or in the bottom of a searing hot canyon at WS, with no way out but up. You could be the only one around for a two-mile radius, even in the middle of the race. Decisions to quit or keeping going in ultras must be carefully weighed, knowing that once you leave that aid station, your next opportunity for respite might be an hour away.
Second, when you're hurting and stop...the hurting often doesn't stop! Even in the most intense track races, the pain lasts only a score of breaths before relief arrives. In ultras, the body pain, dizziness, and nausea can last for hours.
Ultras really are scary. Some of the most frightening, gut-wrenching moments I've ever experienced have occurred amongst ultra running and racing, including:
Shuffling along the shores of Folsom Lake, in full suffer-mode, with 22 miles to go, at American River 50 (April, 2011)
Sitting in the Porta-Potty outside Green Gate, trying to get it together for another twenty miles at Western States (June, 2011).
Hobbling along Quarry Road in the pitch darkness at mile 91, unable to discern up from downgrade - also at Western States (June, 2011).
Doubled-over in gut-rot in desolate wilderness in sub-50 F and damp conditions with twenty miles to go and fading sunlight, solo on my Three Sisters Circumnav (October 2011).
Sitting at The Pump at Robinson Flat, too tired to yell or wave for a ride back down the Divide, with a full marathon of canyons to go, during our Squaw to Michigan Bluff run (October 2011)
Staggering along Lithia Park with Jimothy, completely cashed of carbs and unable to run another step, in Ashland, OR (February 2012).
Those were scary moments: to feel that down, and to be so far away from "home". None of these scary moments resolved quickly; but eventually they all turned around. And nearly all had a successful finish:
AR50: A strong rebound for 10th place; my first "resurrection experience"
Ashland with Jimothy: a well-timed Vanilla GU and a water fill equals a successful "Prickly Pete" sighting!
Ultras are scary, but perhaps that's their draw. The degree of risk equates to adventure; the ability to rebound can be as exhilarating as a fast, problem-free race. But they're still scary. And risk management -- as well as fear management -- play a huge role in preparation and execution, especially for hundreds.
AJW has written several pieces on mental factors and preparation on iRunFar. What he says is true: we train the brain as much as the body to race. We train for pain, so that when problems arise - as they invariably do in ultras - we are able to cope. Moreover, training harder lessens the likelihood severity of trouble. Right?
Not really. If anything, the opposite can happen.
I'm enamored with the book, "Deep Survival", about which I've written a pair of articles with its relation to hundred mile racing. One of the many points author Laurence Gonzales makes is this: We take risk relative to the degree of safety we feel. That said, if we feel safer, we'll push the envelope farther - or faster - than if a particular activity was risky. In many cases, perceived safety causes more trouble than if these safety factors didn't exist.
Examples include:
Running shoes. The more heavily cushioned and structured, the harder we land. This has been proven in lab settings.
Football helmets. Adding padding and technology to helmets have made football collisions more violent -- and serious head injuries have risen.
As such, going into a race such as Western States - especially buoyed by excellent preparation and good health -- it is easy to feel overly confident or, just as dangerous, under-estimate relative risk. You run harder, sooner; or you ignore vital information about yourself or your environment. And trouble is right around the corner. Indeed, then, to be confident without being wise can have severe consequences.
Consider: looking back at more recent Western States races from 2006 to 2011, if you arrived at Robinson Flat* at mile 30 in the Top Ten, you had a 30-50% chance of...not finishing! In a deeper look at 2011 -- a mild (82F in Auburn) and snow course (no 7k' ridgeline) year -- you had five DNFs in the top 11. In addition to that, you had anotherthree "blow-ups", or those who ran >21 hours, when they were in at <17-hour pace at Robinson.
(*or in 2011, Mosquito Ridge)
Why does this happen? Are these runners unprepared or weak? Not likely. Most were strong, talented runners. Some were inexperienced. But that represents a rate of DNF that roughly 2-4x that of the race, at-large.
Did they go for the win and quit when it was out of their hands? Maybe a few. Or maybe they pushed big and got in big trouble.
Perhaps they simply didn't manage risk - or fear - well enough.
Managing risk, as Gonzales points out, involves perceiving ever-changing reality -- fitness and pacing, nutrition, competition, trail conditions, temperature, one's own psyche -- and making constant adjustments. Ultimate success rests not in making perfect adjustments all the time; rather, it may just be the recognition of your new reality, accepting it, and being willing to adjust in some way with the least delay.
Geoff Roes ran low on calories at the foot of Devil's Thumb in WS 2010. His choices included: pushing onward with Tony and Killian, ignoring the building misery in his legs; or backing off and taking care of himself. He chose the latter. As he told iRunFar, post-race: "I must've taken nearly a thousand calories in the next two-and-a-half hours" in response to the change in his body feel. This made his second-half surge possible.
But managing fear is just as important. I've read of fear being referred to a "a bear in a cage", and that one must learn to dance around it - neither avoiding or ignoring it. Running hard and fast early - or before the finish is within reach - can be scary. So can simply taking another step when you can barely stand. But indeed, there are times to identify risk and back away, and a time to embrace it. To "wrestle fear to the ground!"
Fear has a face. And it is Mose.
My follow-up survival article offered several strategies for both risk and fear management. Giving the brain something to do is an important factor. For me, there's a reason I've embraced "Top 40 Pop" in the Brain iPod during races. These songs aren't scary. They're fun, if not outright silly: there's nothing sinister or scary about Ke$ha spitting lyrics about getting ready to go to a club ("Maybe a Night Club!"), or of Nicki Minaj craving a Bud Light. And for me, these songs help offset the weight and fear of the task at hand.
My hope for me -- and the rest of my competitors next week -- is that I can effectively manage risk, and ultimately fear, for a successful race. I just hope that I can do it better then the rest of 'em! :)
So without further ado:
I’ve got that glitter on my eyes!
Stockings ripped all up the side!
Looking sick and sexy-fied!
So let’s go-o-o
First shot in the Sunsweet Duds. Photo: Bob/Drymax
Pre-Race Before the race, Timothy Allen’s
wife, Krista, asked me if I had a goal for the race. My response, was, “No.”
This was due to a couple factors: firstly, my fitness and mechanics
were so inconsistent that it kept my expectations low. As such, my only
two goals for Sonoma are the same for most races:
1.) To take only what the course will give me.
2.) To take only what my body will give me.
Beyond those, I had no lofty
performance goals for Sonoma – neither time, nor place truly loomed
large. But deep-down, my primary goal was to find and maintain efficient
mechanics – the ones that allowed me to run fast at Bandera – that I seemed to
lose over the winter.
The other factor driving my relaxed
approach was logistical: The weeks between Chuckanut and Sonoma were
tumultuous; I’d been so busy over the past month, I was truly living
day-to-day: just trying to get through the work day, get in my run, and hope
the rest falls into place. I got huge help from Tim and Krista, who
generously allowed Britt and I to travel with them for the weekend, thus
avoiding having to engage in such fundamental race tasks, such as getting a
hotel room, or…figuring out where the starting line is.
As such, when Tropical John Medinger
sounded the start-horn, it was the most relaxed I’d felt in weeks...
Race Day
It was a perfect day: cool, but not
cold; a very light breeze, and darkness that ceded to twilight just as we
arrived. I did a light kilo jog into the woods to warm-up (running into Fast Ed in the process!), strapped on my gear
and toed the line. The field was relatively small in number, but stout up
front. I nestled between Clark Bar and Mackey while Tropical John gave us some final
instructions. And, characteristic of the entire day and event, the sun
rose precisely when the horn sounded to start the race - perfect execution.
The 2011 course took us on 2.5 miles
of rolling pavement in order to let the field disperse. As such, with no
reason to hustle, the guys up front kept it very easy, as if the day was merely
an enjoyable jog in the woods (aren’t they all?). Mr. Palko took on the
rabbitting duties, per usual, and gapped the field over those first road miles
– the steep, paved downhills having seemingly no effect on his legs that
covered 50 miles at American River just a week prior.
The road helped me concentrate on
the “Tall-Arms-Hips” mantra, and the stride felt its best in
weeks. And with the relaxed opening miles, I found no problem rolling up
front with 2012 WTC Champ Gary Gellin, while the rest of the field hung
behind. I took what the course gave. When the road ceded to trail,
I felt reasonably comfortable as we descended lakeside.
The Sonoma course is a majority
out-and-back (other than the tail-ends) along the mountainous reservoir, known
for being up-and-down and packing a stout 10K of vertical gain. However,
I was pleasantly surprised to find several stretches of fairly flat running
over smooth singletrack. It was a beautiful course. Gary and I
traded off the pacing duties, including leading the pack into a 4-foot deep
creek crossing, before finally reeling in Jady to take the lead, out-right.
Despite the easy pace and forgiving
terrain, I was a bit uncomfortable leading. With the talent behind me, I
knew it was only a matter of time before things heated up. It began
slowly; first by Jorge Maravilla coming up from behind to help out, around mile
six or seven. I hung in behind him for a bit as the course pulled away
from the high-and-tight banks and inland.
After a good hour-plus of running
and the field inching along in a conga line (or as Hal put it, “The Pain
Train”), Tim gave us a solid Killian impression by charging out front to take
the lead. And just like that, our leisurely Saturday run became a
downhill stampede: within a mile, I went from first to twelfth. But I was
insistent on sticking to “The Rules”, and my body made it known it was far too
early to be pounding down the jeep road that led to our second creek crossing,
and first aid station at Warm Springs Creek (Mile 11.5).
After an aid fill, it was a majority
climb upward over the next 4.5 miles. It took no more than that aid fill
to completely lose sight of the entire lead pack, save a few: Gary and Dan-O, and Fast Ed in the rear. I
worked a bit to reel in the pack, but once there, I settled in. There was
no use in hammering; instead, I devised a new goal: to run the second half as
hard as I could to pace it as evenly as the outbound.
Gary helped that a ton.
Wearing a heart rate monitor, he kept things very chill on the climbs, so an
efforted pace became total relaxation as the four of us chipped along, chatting
and otherwise enjoying the sunny morning.
Before we knew it, we were within
meters of the Wulfow AS (Mile 16.8) But I had an issue brewing; so I stepped
off trail and took advantage of lush grasses for my “business”. Shortly
therafter I rolled into the AS and got a quick bottle exchange from Britt and
Krista, and I was down the trail.
I thought the fellas would be right
ahead, but it took me a good two miles to catch up, on the first of three
substantial (>500’) climbs of the course. We climbed along a gravel
road up the bank away from the lake, the four of us rolling into Liberty Glen
AS (Mile 19.6) together. Another quick fill – this time from “Royalty”
(The Lord and The Queen) – before descending once more to the lakeshore.
Gary and the crew kept things sane
on the descent. As we bounded down, I noticed some discomfort in my left
foot – a blister? Since using Drymax socks, I
haven’t had a single blister – that’s nearly a year of racing. But the
issue laid more in the fact that my shoes, saturated for over two hours, had
loosened in the toe box and my left foot was sliding around. It was
tolerable, but I knew I would have to address it somehow.
We descended within feet of the
water’s surface, before the course took us up yet another jeep road to start
the largest climb of the race to the turnaround. I was beginning to feel
good, to “get warmed up”, as I seem to do after 20 miles in an ultra – and
wished to push it a bit, but when I began to pull away, Gary said, “Piano!”
He explained the meaning to the rest of the group, but my music background knew
what he was saying: “Quiet!”, “Easy!”. Perhaps an odd command to
say – or heed – in a race, but I did, knowing that at the turn around, I wanted
to go “Forte”, and have saved enough to go “Fortissimo” in the last ten
miles.
We hiked several segments and
crested several false summits as we neared the lollipop turnaround. Gary
posited that we shouldn’t see the leaders come back on us – given that the
lollipop was over a mile long. But no sooner the utterance did a kid in a
blue TNF Montrail jersey come flying down the hill toward us. Dakota!
We were at least 2K from the
turnaround when he blew by, and not a minute later was Tim, followed by Jorge –
the former two looking solid, the latter looking a bit cooked. Seeing
those guys so far out front (“20 minutes?”) got me antsy, so as the
course leveled out, I pumped the gas out front of our group and rolled into
No-Name Flat AS (25.2). I got the bottles filled, a ton of gels and, most
importantly, I stopped to lace my shoes tighter. I gave Britt some
instructions to ready the Cover Roll and Leukotape at the next AS, in the event
the blister worsened.
I grabbed a handful of gels and
bolted from the AS, pushing the pace up the singletrack, back to the Jeep road
with Mr Tropical was manning the lollipop. To my dismay, I found out that
both Gary and Dan-O had gotten far past me in the AS, so I pushed first to get
to Gary. He and I ran down the long descent to the lake, and when we got
to the flat, my stride was a bit longer than his (how could it not be? Is he
even 5-foot? :p), so I pulled away. Down in the valley, it had begun to
heat up – and the fatigue of the day began to sink in on the climb back to the
20/30 mile AS. Over that climb I saw two guys up front – Leigh Schmidt
and Thomas Crawford(?) -- and over the course of our climb to the AS, passed
them both, before setting eyes on Dan-O, who was ahead but clearly moving
well.
Dan-O and I rolled into the AS
together. I got a quick update from Mr. Media Mogul on how we were doing,
and were dismayed to find we were still losing ground to Mr Jones and the other
fellas. Damn. It was now legitimately warm: I got a double bottle
fill and reluctantly gave-up my newly-acquired Sunsweet jersey to LB. Being
a darker color and somewhat heavy, I was desperate to lose any heat or weight I
could -- like John Candy and "The Barnacle" in the 1980s movie,
"Summer Rental" (Anyone out there
remember that? When he raced a boat-restaurant versus a yacht, and they were
throwing frozen dinners overboard to speed up?)
(L to R) Dan-O, OOJ and Fast-Ed manning the ship around Lake Sonoma (Gary in the rear!)
I caught up to Dan-O again after
handing off my shirt, and we descended the Jeep road once more back to the
single track. We came across the remainder of the field -- I think this
is really great, to give each other encouragement, especially when there's room
for both parties to run! Back on the single track, I nestled in behind
Dan-O. He offered to let me past, but I said, "I need to get
comfortable". I felt a little taxed and, given that there was 19 miles to
go, wasn't ready to push hard. So he and I rolled along.
Within a mile of the Wulfow II AS
(32.9), we came up on...Dave Mackey? He looked a little off; I asked if
he tweaked something, but he said his stomach was having a bad day. We
passed him just before rolling into the AS, where I again got bottle fills and
gel refills from Britt. Going into the AS, I couldn't help but jam to this
song in my head, given that I was rolling into the AS,
shirtless! (Does PI make "Animal Print Pants"?...)
Though still 18 miles from the
finish, I felt stronger and more aggressive. I took over pacing duties
from Dan-O and pushed it down to Warm Springs Creek.
The stride mechanics felt awesome.
Between Chuckanut and race day, I realized I had totally locked up my pelvis
and wasn't using my hips at all. And more recently, I wasn't using my
arms to propel (rather, they were twisting wildly!). Heading back to the
finish, I had it all honed: good trunk and hip lengthening, and using my
shoulder blades to drive up hills. Moreover, I was doing an excellent job
of getting my foot beneath my body and avoiding braking. This was huge on
the downs, as I was able to let go and really fly.
Dan-O's a great downhill runner,
too, so he stuck right with me as we descended to Warm Springs #2 (38.2). I had
started to get my usual "pre-cramp blips", so I was certain to get
full bottles and lots of gels, especially knowing this was a 7+ mile length
between aid.
We crossed the creek together and
began the gradual, rolling ascent from lake level, climbing the Jeep track
where we'd stampeded down hours before. The pace was much lighter on the
inbound trip; though fatiguing and pre-cramping, I had no issue with the climb
and the effort felt measured. However, once we leveled off my body
turned: little sprinkles of gut rot and bonk haze appeared. Thankfully no
pit-stops were required for either, but I slowed and let Dan-O pass while I
fumbled in my tiny Zip-Loc for a couple S-Caps. I wasn't sure how
"down" I was, so I put one in each cheek and continued down the
trail. I bit into one and downed half of it with a bottle pull. It
tasted good, and within minutes I was feeling better.
The Jeep trail ceded to single
track, which opened into sunny, warm clearing through which Timothy Allen had
first broken things open. Dan and I shuffled up the wet, muddy footing
that led back into woods to drier, cooler singletrack. However, the
cramps-blips continued, so I went to down the remaining half-S-Cap when
disaster struck: as I tried to gulp the half-cap in my right cheek, the full
S-cap, which was nestled in the left cheek, got loose and burst wide-open into
my throat - coating every surface of my throat, including the top of my
trachea. HIUUUUUGH!
It stopped me dead in my track, like
being choked, or punched. I coughed and wheezed for several moments
before taking a bottle pull. This helped it wash down, and I was able to
begin shuffling down the trail. I coughed and coughed, shuffling and
shuffling, slowly recovering enough to reel in Dan-O after a good mile. "Welp...THAT PASSED!"
"...IIII think I'm gonna barf!..."
"...Welp...That PASSED!"
I coughed up salty phlegm for a
while as the course climbed up the high banks overlooking the southern shore of
Lake Sonoma. After expelling the irritant and feeling better (and, of
course, now fairly-well salted!), I took over pacing duties from Dan-O and
forged ahead.
My watch split read about thirty
minutes into the 7+ mile leg. Based on our collective fatigue and
struggles, we couldn't have been more than halfway to the AS (and likely 8
miles from the finish), but I shifted into "Get 'Er Done Gear", which
meant running aggressively. I grunted out the climbs, with quick feet,
saying aloud, "Killian Butt!" -- harkening imagery of
Killian's tighty-whities floating up Escarpment. I pushed the flats,
lengthening the stride with cues of "pelvis and hips", getting the
arms into action. On the downs, I asked myself, "What would Tim
do?" He wouldn't pussy-foot down these declines! I leaned
into the downs, and worked quick turnover, getting my feet quickly beneath me
to avoid any braking. And so it went, skirting through the horizontal
canyons and along the elevated shores, with just enough clearing (and just
enough good footing) to sneak a peek at beautiful blue water below.
I made good time, managed cramping
with ample S-caps and fluid, and generally enjoyed myself, seeing no one save a
couple hikers, until approaching the sidebar trail for the final AS at Island
View (45.5). As I past, one of the hikers yelled, "You're in
3rd!". I thought this was erroneous...but perhaps someone
dropped?
The final AS, unused on the
outbound, involved an extra quarter-mile+ running downhill to the aid, then
back up to the main trail. Just as I was turning off, I came upon Hal,
who was exiting. We exchanged brief pleasantries. I felt a drive to
get after him, but I knew he had at least a six or seven minute lead (given the
downhill/uphill half mile, +aid time) over me. But as I rolled down to
the aid, up came Jorge Maravilla, looking a little haggard. I flew past,
and into the aid -- gulping three colas, "Super-Trooper Style", and
getting the bottles topped off before rushing out.
Hal might've been too far up, but
Jorge was in my sights. I ran all the uphill out of the aid, back onto
the trail heading east. It wasn't long 'til I saw him ahead, and since he
was walking the hills, I was able to get around and past him within a
mile. He's a great guy, and very positive, even in the depths of
late-race suffering. I implored him to hitch a ride to the finish with
me, but he fell back as we once again climbed higher along the steep lakeshore.
The finishing four miles were
rugged, hilly trail -- as opposed to the rolling pavement on the
outbound. I dreaded this section, fearful of major climbs and
rollers. I was pleasantly surprised to find good, runnable terrain.
I ran all but maybe twenty seconds of this section, pushing and pushing the
flats and downs, repeating my new mantra: "Downhills are a
gift! Thank you!" and flying down, making the most of my gift.
Then, out of nowhere at a trail
fork, appeared Britt! She was running, carrying white cloth. "Craig
wants you to put this shirt on!". "OK!". It was
a whiter, lighter Sunsweet jersey. "How far to the
finish?" "Two-and-a-half!"
"Two and a half??"
I took the jersey and threw it on,
rolling down the trail. I reminded Britt not to run with me (as no pacers
were allowed) and pushed along.
A few more rollers before the wooded
canopy lifted to young growth and sunny skies. I could hear some
commotion - I was close. Then, a sign: "ONE MILE TO GO"
(another perfect touch by Mr Tropical and Co). I looked at my watch:
6:52:30ish. "Push it!"
I've had a fun habit of
incorporating my favorite LMFAO tunes into my "Brain iPod" over the
past few months. My favorite end-of-race tune is this one, my new blog namesake. it'd been playing
for several miles with enjoyment. Now, I sang a bit, and turned my
"shuffle" into a hard run, pushing the climbs hard to the road
crossing and final trail segment, within meters of the finish.
I was gonna be close, so when I
approached the parking lot for the penultimate turn, I hammered like mad --
legs driving, arms pumping, high-school sprinter style. As I turned to
the finish, I saw 6:59:4x, and threw it all down into the finish, punctuated
with fist-pump!
Final time: 6:59:55, good for 5th
place. I consider myself "3rd Human", with Dakota - and his
blistering 6:17 - being quite machine-like, and Tim being, well,
"half-Vulcan". That leaves Clarkie (6:52), and Hal (6:57) in 3
and 4.
Kicking it into the line. My arms were pumping like "The Bushwhackers"! Photo: Bob/Drymax
It felt great to be on the fun side
of seven hours. "They give out a lot less 6:59s than 7:01s!
It's NOT a time they like to give out!" Also, I feel great to have
finished "como NEEEEK, como HOOLLE...". Heavy company,
indeed.
Right behind me was Jorge and Dan-O
to round out the top seven, all of which snuck under Hal previous CR.
Post-Race
It was a terrific atmosphere
post-race: hanging out, cheering in the other finishers, and basking in the
sun. Mr Tropical had some incredible post-race refreshment, and the bulk
of folks hung around until the early evening, before cleaning up and
reconvening at various tap rooms in downtown Healdsburg.
On Sunday morning, some sore
ankles/shins and a sound mind prevented going on a beautiful ten-miler with LB,
Queen and Nick. Instead, I hung out and stretched in the hot tub with
Timothy, before packing up and heading out for one more stop: a wine-tasting at
Wilson Winery. There, we were treated to lavish sunlight, views of the
surrounding vinyard and hills, and generous "tasting" pours of some
excellent fare. What a great punctuation on a terrific weekend.
I must say: Tropical John Medinger
and Company nailed it for this race. Nailed it. Everything was
perfect, from the race field size (not too much traffic on the trails), to the
start time (a luxuriously 6:30 AM in the sunrise!). Trail markings were impeccable, and aid stations seamless and helpful. Post-race had the best
atmosphere of any ultra I've run, yet. The weather helped, but so did a
certain, how does Dan say it? "IBU-ey-ness".
I will definitely return, hopefully
in '13. And next time, I'll stay an extra day to enjoy more wine and sun!
******
Race Highlights (for those who don't
want to dissect all that prose)
Traveling down and back with the
Olson, including having a great pre-race run in Ashland with Tim on
Friday. Thanks again for your generosity!
LB asking me to be a part of Team Sunsweet! (More later...)
Impeccable planning and attention to
detail by Mr Medinger and his crew, starting with the 6:30 start time and
ending with the Winery tour on Sunday! Top notch!
Enjoying a beautiful and
consistently runnable trail along Lake Sonoma, on a gorgeous April morning.
Cool, refreshing creek crossings!
Running with a few terrific
masters: Gary, Fast-Ed and Dan-0
Excellent crewing from Britt and
Krista
Running hard with Dan-O in the
second half
Making a strong push over the last
six or seven miles to the finish.
Sneaking under seven hours with a
high-school caliber sprint!
Post-race hang-out in the sun, with
some suds, and some great folks.
Sunday afternoon at Wilson Winery --
one last bask before returning to The Grey!
*****
Split Analysis:
AID
Outbound
Inbound
Start to Island View*
31:42
43:30
IV to Warm Springs**
56:24
1:08:47
WS to Wulfow
49:14
45:54
Wulfow to Liberty Glen^
18:50
21:56
LG to No Name Flat
44:33
39:06
*Outbound was road, inbound was trail
**Inbound included extra 1/4 mile to AS; choked on S-cap!
^No idea what happened here (poor split?) - Out was uphill, In was downhill...
*****
THE GRADES
Pacing: A-.
Pretty damn good. I felt I was even most of the day, even when leading,
even when hanging back with the "Masters". I'm a little
dismayed at my inbound Warm Springs split (68 vs 56, outbound!), but I also
nearly choked to death. As Nick said in his blog, I felt this effort to
be more akin to a "hard long run". My body agrees: post-race, I
was not super-fatigued, and I had an energetic week of work -- both rarities
after a 50M+ race.
My next, maybe ultimate, goal is to learn how to really push. In
those final miles of the race, when I thought I was moving quickly, it occurred
to me that I was completely aerobic, no more. Yet I felt I
couldn't get into a simple "tempo" gear unless I was climbing.
I feel that's really what separates me from the guys who are beating me by 45
minutes in 50 milers...
Nutrition: B+.
Had gels at :25 intervals and good hydration, probably in excess, as I peed a
good 6-8 times. I took only a few pieces of fruit, and no other solids.
Negative points for choking on the explosive S-cap. I took a TON of S-caps at
the end, fearful of the cramps -- too many, I think, as I held onto fluid for
at least a day after that. That's another goal: to not be afraid to be
"low"...or to better titrate early so I'm not overloading, trying to
right the ship late-race.
AS transitions were solid, but again, Tim is my superior -- he literally
doesn't stop, only slowing to grab bottles and gear from Krista. Is this
feasible for me? We'll see...
Mental Toughness:
A-/B+. Strikes and gutters. Strikes for a
strong push over the second half. I don't know what it is -- but around
20ish miles, I sort of just "numb over" and can really start to
push. But before that? It's really a struggle to run aggressively.
Gutters: I came in with pretty low confidence in my fitness; as such, it was
not an option (mentally) to be aggressive early and run with the front pack
(this ultimately was a good thing, as I felt I "left some in the
tank" for the next nine weeks). It felt great to push the
second half (post- S-cap choke) and, once again, finish feeling like I
could go several miles (or hours more).
Mechanics.
A-. At Sonoma I "nailed it" more
than I ever have: I climbed really well, was able to push the downs
("getting the foot beneath"), and felt like I was really using my
pelvis and hips to get more speed and power from my stride, especially at the
end. My lateral shift was minimal (indicative by only a slight amount of
R adductor pre-cramp). NO soreness in either the quads or calves!
Awesome! And best of all: I was super-super-sore in the gluts, which is a
great indicator of efficient running.
The negative: I developed some R shin/ankle pain mid-race that was
significantly painful - and remained so, this past week. It's better now,
but I essentially have a defacto ankle sprain + tib anterior tendonitis. I'm not sure where that
came from...but I do recall some symptoms there in the week preceding the
race. I hope it gets better very soon...
*****
Check it out! Long-lost finishing footage of me at Lake Sonoma!
March was an odd month. Some highs, several lows. It's easy to get negative, so I'll try to balance my psyche:
Good: started the month with an excellent track workout with Dan-O, doing a fund-raising 16K track relay event. We did 8x800 and 4x400 with the only rest being while the other guy ran. We popped a great one: all the 800s between 2:27 and 2:31, and the 4s between 68-72.
Bad: might've blown a bit too much there. I was very flat for Chuckanut.
Good: had a solid training effort at Chuckanut, that included a strong (mental) finish.
Bad: my mechanics completely went to crap. Issues with trunk positioning and -- as it turned out, my pelvic mobility -- made the stride feel just terrible, slow, and sore. My back strain from February caused me to lock up everything to avoid pain.
Good: I ran 366 miles in March, a fairly stout value, considering my work demands.
Bad: I logged no Hardesty ascents, only one track session, and lost two days+ to a right foot issue, post-Chuckanut.
...but we'll end with the ultimate good:
Good: Last weekend, I took a trip down the The Promised Land for some excellent running with great friends. I had an excellent long run effort -- from Placer to ALT and back -- and most importantly, rediscovered my "Bandera Stride"! (The occassional flying elbow, notwithstanding...)
In my posts on iRunFar, I've talked about how "pain is the greatest teacher". For the past year, I've been dealing with residual motor control issues stemming from a R heel injury in 2008 and a L knee injury in 2009. But what ultimately fouled up my mechanics this month was my back sprain in February -- it made me completely lock-up my pelvis ("protect!") without realizing it. My R abs and trunk muscles have been so sore the past month+ from resisting motion there. This past weekend, with Jake's help, I was finally able to "let it go" and let it move -- to truly "run from the pelvis". And boy, did it feel great! I ran comfortably and fast! And a day after doing an aggressive 30M on the course, I cranked out a pretty easy 3M tempo on sloppy bark trail in 5:40/mile pace -- proof that I've regained some efficiency.
Mentally, last weekend was also important: to forge positive experiences on the last 20 miles of the WS course. My impressions:
- Green Gate to Brown's Bar is unbelievably runnable: there are maybe 3 hills -- all <1 minute of climbing -- and the track is smooth as a baby's bottom. To run very easy on it Friday night (Green Gate to the finish with Jake), then more aggressively in the morning fog and sunshine on Sunday was vital to my brain and psyche, to say: "If you take care of yourself, you can fly on this!".
- Here were my splits on the Inbound segment of ALT to Placer (with some intermittent stops, but mostly continuously timed): ALT to Brown's: 39m, Brown's to Highway 49: 33m, 49 to the finish: 56m (easy to the end of the railroad grade, then aggressively up to Robie and over to Placer. Robie to Finish: 10m0s). Again, the only real "hard" running was the last 15-18min of the run.
- Brown's to [just past] 49 is the real bear: a steep, rocky descent to Quarry Road, then smooth road to the trail climb. The trail climb is a total washout. On Sunday it was a "creek trail". Pretty gnarly rocks to the "water fall", then more gnarl and rutted trail until close to the summit, then fairly runnable. Past 49, there's more "trail creek" -- very rocky, rutted trail to the meadow.
- The Meadow to the Finish is pretty money: some wash-out on the early descent, but otherwise smooth and fast, fast running.
- The real bear is from the end of the railroad grade to the top of Robie: about 15 minutes of hard, hard climbing. It was tough to keep the feet moving, after "only" 4hr of running.
Some people might find it foolish to drive 1100 miles to run for three days, but this could turn out to be the most important training weekend of the year. A turning-point weekend.
Here's one final bit of excellent news! I have a sponsor! Drymax -- of which I have been a tremendous fan since WS 2011 -- has chosen to support me in 2012!
Since WS, I've used their Max Protect socks for all my races and long trail runs. It's a total no-brainer: no taping, and no foot issues. Zero. I ran 4.5 hours on the WS course on Sunday -- inundated with water and high creek crossings. My feet were soaking within 30 minutes of running, so much so that my shoes squeaked with every stride. No blisters, no pain, no issues. No brainer! I'm excited to see what else they offer in day-to-day varieties!
I'm also in discussions with some other companies, but nothing firm yet. But I'm grateful for any support thus far!
Here's one thing you can say about a month like March: at least I'm healthy, and I'll be ready to really pour it on in April and May!
