Sunday, December 6, 2009

Winter Running Achievements

A season shouldn’t be defined by the final race. A few jaunts in the winter woods have both humbled me and provided confidence for the upcoming year. The final race of the Pikes Peak Road Runners Fall Series was in Palmer Park just after a major snow. What was normally a 7+ mile loop was reduced to about 5 miles due to icy conditions on the rocks. My race started a tad aggressively since I expected to enter trails immediately. Instead, ¾ of a mile later, we were still going uphill on the long park road. By the summit I was gassed, and continued to go backward from there. Rather than pass people, I was the victim as many runners cruised by. I struggled to the finish line barely able to hold on to a top 30 placing. My buddy Steve was under a minute behind me, indicating a very excellent race on his part, and a not-so-good race by me.

A few weeks later we ran the Turkey Trot Predict the Saturday before Thanksgiving. This race had runners predict their time, and leave the starting line when their time posted, thereby having everyone (theoretically) hit the finish at the same time. I put 19:36, having not raced a 5K in years. When my time came, my name was announced and off I went. It was like the Tour de France with people cheering as you rolled out on the course. Almost instantly I caught the people who had left ahead of me and all idea of pace was out the window. I rolled up on Steve who had more than 1:30 in hand, and by. The end was chaos as hundreds of runners approached the finish. I crossed in 19:06, surprised I was able to run the pace with no speed work. I was way off the time! Sarah rolled in just under 3 seconds off for 8th place. Our friend, Susan, took home 2nd and a turkey!

Deciding to test my ultra skills, I went to the infamous Incline in Manitou Springs. Just enter "Manitou Incline" into Yahoo! Images search and see what the hype is about.  This one-mile long trail of railroad ties rockets 2000’ into the clouds at an average gradient of 41%. I started strong and soon started a suffer slog of lactic-acid in my teeth and death in my legs. The maximum incline is 68% requiring the use of all four appendages. It was a nightmare! But I crossed in 25:40, an excellent time and a desire to try it again in better shape and without snow on it! But the real kicker is the 4-mile bomb down Barr Trail. After falling once on the ice and nearly dying, I was glad to be done.


I joined Matt Carpenter’s Incline Club for some trail training. Rather than embarrass myself the first week, Steve took me up the route the week before. The run up Ute Pass trail was gnarly and required a lot of walking. But ultimately you gain the trail to Waldo Canyon and are rewarded with amazing views before looping back. I ran out of fuel and struggled all the way in. This was a really hard run taking 2:44 for 15 miles!

The following weekend I invited Michael Trahan down for the Incline Club. We started with 135 other trail runners up the road and out the trail. Our goal was to pace well and we slowly gained on those ahead of us. We made a game out of catching those ahead of us and staying ahead. The Waldo loop was very icy and it was cloudy. We ran very solid and finished back at the car in 2:16, nearly half an hour faster than the previous week! Only Matt and one other guy finished the route faster than us.

The next weekend I entered the Rock Canyon Half Marathon in Pueblo. It was amazingly cold leading up to the race (below O), but I still stripped down to shorts for the gun. The pace went out pretty fast, dropping from 6:30, to 6:20 over the first three miles. I thought this was too fast given my sub-1:30 goal for the day, but I just tucked in the pack. It blew up at three miles so I took over chipping at the field ahead of me. I was in about 23rd place and kept running in the 6:30s. People just kept coming back. I ran with experience and was never passed in the whole race. At mile 10 I came up on a guy with his arms flailing and legs twisted. As soon as I went by, he surged to stay with me. “Fine,” I thought to myself. “Burn yourself out.” But 30 seconds later he was still there. I figured if I wasn’t going to shake him, I might as well help him. So I told him to stand up more, relax the shoulders, and stop surging. He did and stayed with me. When he faltered, I would correct him. After all, he was only 18. He had been on the state championship XC team and was off to Arizona State in the fall. We rolled past people left and right in the final miles, going 6:22 and 6:16 uphill into the wind. He urged me to go with him as we passed a runner, but I just laughed knowing that I only had one gear. Soon I caught him anyway and had to push him on. At the end of the monstrously hilly 13th mile (which we ran in 6:31), I told him not to let two old men out kick him and he was gone. I maintained and crossed in 11th place with a time of 1:24:59, winning my age group. I was ecstatic with the pace (6:29 per mile) since I had only run 6:09’s for my 5K. Due to the stomach, I hadn't run more than 3-4 days a week for about three months. Now I am up to 6 days a week, yet only about 35-43 miles a week. With no speed work this early in the season, good things will come.

I have a fast half marathon under my belt, a good time on the Incline, and some excellent trail experience. 2010 should provide some excellent races.

Sunday, November 29, 2009

Dude! So What’s Up with Your Stomach?





Time to talk about what has been going on. It started at mile 42 of Leadville. BAM! Instantly I couldn’t run anymore. The next two week s were filled with frustration from a DNF, mild nausea, and some discomfort. Then I went to the American Discovery Trail Marathon. Despite being on-pace for my goal at mile 21, I was crippled to a jog with stomach shut down.

I took a week off of running and scheduled a doctor’s visit. He thought I had a gastric ulcer. After sticking his finger in a place where no man should touch me, I was put on ulcer medication. That night was spent doubled over in pain with no sleep. I had cramping, sharp pains, and fullness. For 11 weeks, I could not eat a reasonably sized meal without feeling completely stuffed. I was never hungry anymore. A glass of beer would spoil my appetite for the entire evening. Many nights I would just skip dinner all together.

I went to the Denver Marathon with a goal of taking a Boston qualifier home. Everything was fine for about 20 miles, then it got hard, as marathons should. But at about 22 miles, I was throwing up stomach acid and slowing. The last mile killed me and I missed my time by a mere minute and 30 seconds.

Eventually, I was seen for an endoscopy to confirm the ulcer, but it came out clean. I was referred for an ultrasound to check gall stones, gall bladder lining, and other gastrointestinal structures. Again, it was clean. So I continued on the medication for a few more weeks. Then it ran out.

My dad recommended Probiotics to help set the digestive system straight. I was skeptical but I was looking for anything to change this feeling. I don’t want to jump the gun, but so far, so good. I haven’t had the full feeling, I am able to eat reasonably, and although I haven’t run a marathon since starting treatment, I haven’t puked or had stomach problems. I am looking for things to improve gradually on this treatment and return to the doctor if there isn’t a significant change. 2010 looms with a lot of tough runs and I need to be set straight.

Saturday, October 3, 2009

28 miles of Xterra…

….Or, how to run a marathon on three days a week.

No, this is not the standard marathon distance for Xterra races. But by the end of the day, this is what most GPS watches would read. The day started well enough – perfect temps for a marathon. In fact, there might not be a better place to run. Colorado in fall is marked with changing colors of leaves on trees, crisp air, and snow-capped mountain peaks. Clear skies and cool temps are a given. It was going to be a good day.

Shockingly, Brooks Williams was with me for the first couple of miles of the race. Each time I have run with him he prefers to be more out in front. But this time he was back with me, chatting about his most recent race (a 50 miler where he took 6th). It made sense why he wasn’t up front. Brooks has an amazing story and you can read about him here. He would finish 4th today and cap an amazing ultra season. Congrats, Brooks!

We got separated on some hills and I ran alone. My goal was to be ultra-conservative for the first 18 miles. The course was quite hilly and I figured that I need to be cautious. After my last disaster of a marathon, I took a week off and had only been running three days per week for the last month due to the repeated stomach issues. I wasn’t ready to hammer and a challenging course only made it worse. But what a beautiful run it was. Never was there a flat spot. Even the sustained downhills had rollers in them every 30-40 meters. Any uphill came with an array of switchbacks. Boulder fields complicated even the flattest of sections. It was a killer through and through.


Despite the challenges of the course and my fitness level, I cruised through the half marathon point in 3rd place, and crept up on 2nd just after the line. I was very pleased with my positioning because, let’s face it, the split of 1:59 was nothing to write home about. With the good pacing thus far and the fact that my stomach was still good, I was excited about the prospect of negative splitting and attacking 1st place, who just rolled past in the other direction. The hunt was on.

I moved past 2nd and up a hill. After cruising down a nice rolling hill, I came to an intersection and was directed to the left by a volunteer. That didn’t seem right. “Left?” I shouted. He nodded. “Even for marathoners?” I verified and again was told to go left. Well up the hill I went and around the corner but instinctively I knew I was going the wrong way. We didn’t go up this hill this early the first time (it was a two ‘loop’ course, essentially). And there went the 8 and 21 mile mark. I was at neither at this point in the race so I stopped and waited for the guy I had passed to come by. A 5K women was next up the trail. I asked if this was right and she looked at me like I was speaking Russian. I then asked where the other guy was. She had no idea. So I turned again up the hill looking for an intersection before cursing, turning, and rocketing down the hill back the way I came. “It’s the wrong way, God Damnit!!” I yelled, whipping back around the corner onto the correct trail.

Interestingly enough, my wife stood at the intersection in a heated argument with the volunteer. She had been waiting for me at an intersection and when people that I was ahead of earlier went by, she became worried. She started asking the guy how to get me back after he directed me the wrong way. He had no idea what she was talking about. Then I came around the corner complaining and off in the other direction. She was relieved until the next racer approached. Again the guy tried to direct him up the hill. Sarah yelled at him to turn and he was obviously more afraid of her because he obliged despite what the official volunteer had instructed.

What frustrated me beyond belief is this: First, the 1st place runner had just come through. Why the guy thought I should go a different way baffles me. Next, the 3rd place runner argued with the volunteer and followed the path of 1st. So did 4th. I came back cursing and complaining about being sent the wrong way and followed the competitors. So why he thought the 5th place runner needed to go up the hill makes me want to recommend this guy for testing. Granted, it was a difficult intersection that was crossed 4 times (in two different directions) by marathoners, 2 times by half marathoners, and once by 5k runners, but still, be aware. At 2 hours, I am not at the 8 mile mark nor the 21st. So it would be a fair assumption to send me off in the other direction. Apparently, all of the runner volunteers were working aid stations. They would be much better suited on the course making judgments.

I estimated that I lost 3 minutes by making this turn. Now I was doing exactly what I had planned not to do – run hard in the early part of the 2nd loop. I was flying, hammering, and trying to get back in contact with the runners I had already passed. The only problem was that the course was all uphill. I made little gains and expended maximum effort. Three miles later, I finally caught and passed 3rd place, a runner I had passed before the half marathon mark. I continued to press the pace but saw no one ahead. Ironically, as I approached the 8 and 21 mile mark (the same intersection that I was misdirected at), I caught 2nd place again. It took me 8 miles to make up the 3 minutes I had lost and I was bushed. The next 5 (or so I thought) miles were going to be brutal. I was soon stumbling over boulders and twisting around switchbacks. My pace on the long uphill portions had started to resemble a shuffle. A huge mistake had been to convince myself that most of the last three miles was downhill. In fact, from mile 22-25 was nearly all uphill. My stomach had done wonderfully, but now I was crashing from lack of calories (largely avoided Gatorade as to not piss off my gut). I popped a Gu at 24 miles for calories, something I normally never would have done, but it seemed to help.


After finally cresting the summit of the climb, it was literally all downhill from there. The last aid station with about a mile to go allowed me to see that 3rd place was only about 200m behind me. Judging from the pace I passed him, I had just given back a ton of time to him. I knew first was out of reach but I kept on under the chance that he might have just been walking on the trail ahead of me, even more exhausted that I was. I clipped down the final descent at about 6:30/mile pace and crossed the line in much better shape that I had felt four miles previously. A conversation with the race director ensued and she offered me free entry next year. I was upset about being misdirected but I understand these things happen so I didn’t make a big deal of it. Ultimately, I don’t know what would have happened. I could have paced better over the harder parts of the course if I hadn’t lost that time. I may have been able to catch first, maybe not. He may have dusted me if I did. You never know. But I would have liked to have made a race out of it.

Regardless, I have to be pleased. It was a long course anyway, and I ran even longer than the rest. Stomach problems, 3x/week running, and getting lost equaled 2nd place. I know I could be in better shape and own this race. It was a crazy day and totally forgettable but for that it will probably be remembered more than most. But my mind is already on next year’s ultra races. This is my sport, and my chance to do it well.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

A Brew Per Mile


Ever wondered how to fit trails, hill work, speed work, and a long run into your busy schedule? Just do what I do and combine them all in to a single run! That is how I manage. After two weeks of a very volatile stomach, and good solution to the stress was burgers and beer with friends. So after large amounts of both, I agreed to run the PPRR Pony Express the next morning. What I didn’t consider were the following factors:

1) It was late
2) The race was early
3) It was an hour away
4) I had a bunch of beer as my pre-race meal (unless you count cookies, burgers, and brats)
5) I had only run 2 of the last 14 days.

But early to rise and a long drive to Rampart Reservoir north of Woodland Park left me few other options. First, it was too cold to stand there so I needed to run. Next, it was a loop, so it was pretty much all or nothing. The only setback was my emergency dump in the woods moments before the start. Itchy butt equals an unhappy runner. But even pamper fresh, this run was going to have challenges.

As a side note, if you have never been to Rampart Reservoir in the morning or evening, it is absolutely worth it. The trail is excellent (props to groups who maintain such a remote trail and the views are unbeatable. Pike Peak sits high above in the backdrop of a crystal blue lake, Aspen trees going yellow, and beautiful rock formations.

I decided to run with a friend since I had no real ambition to go for a fast time on beer-filled, ulcer ridden stomach. It was a prediction run, anyway, so the overall winner didn’t receive any more than anyone else. I put down 2:04 b/c the guy I was with had run 2:07 last year. He walked up and put 2:15 complaining that he didn’t drink the night before last year’s race. We started out smart and bombed downhill to the lake. I was pretty happy with the pace as we were working through and relaxed. The trail in the early morning was amazing and it reconfirmed my love of this sport. But soon Steve started to have some stomach issues. Since I had come up to run with him, I stayed with him, chatting sparsely but mostly enjoying the run. That is until the girl behind us ate dirt hard and screamed in pain. We tried to help her but she told us to go on. A mile and 3/4s later we reached the dam.

I stopped to empty rocks from my shoe and told the emergency staff about her dive. Then I hopped up and took off trying to catch Steve on the dam. After a few minutes of running, I realized he wasn’t ahead of me. He must have stopped to use the bathroom. Not knowing how long that might be, I kept on. The wind on the top of the dam was relentless and I soon found myself feeling very rough for the first time in the 9 miles since we started. Once back on the trail, I resolved to push the effort level up a tad.

I blazed past people in the last 6 miles and ran harder than I had in a while. It was hilly and I didn’t want to bonk like I did at Mohican from pushing too early, but I wanted to feel the pain again. Runners were sparse on the trail inbound but I worked hard anyway. When I ended the loop of the lake I knew there was roughly 1.5 miles to go. A quick glance at the watch said I had 10 minutes to make it back to hit 2:04. I remembered on the outbound that it had taken 9:53 to get here. I pushed it up to finish in time.

Then the wind came. Head on, strong. The trail loosened. Soft sand sucking up the shoes. Then it rose, and rose, and rose into the sky. What was all downhill on the way out was a nasty, twisting uphill road taunting me on the way in. Every minute or so I looked at the watch and charged harder, but it all came to an end. My legs would no longer respond. My stomach finally started to feel bad and it slowed me. But I never quit sprinting (if you can call it that). I must have looked ridiculous - covered in salt, surging and fading up the trail – but it was the first time in a long time I pushed to the line. I felt proud for not letting up and the clock showed I missed my predicted time by only 43 seconds…not bad for being off pace the first two-thirds of the race. I know I have something in me to run some good races and with the stomach performing better than it has been, I am optimistic for the future.
One of the coolest awards in running!

Monday, September 7, 2009

The Beginning of the End

It is no secret I am displeased with not finishing Leadville. Even worse, I got sick this week and barely ran. I wanted to come to the American Discovery Trail Marathon and squeeze a Boston Qualifying time out of the race. But something is going on that I cannot control and I need to figure it out.

Getting dropped off 26.2 miles from where you started in always a little overwhelming. ADT does it, so does Boston, Steamboat, Deseret Morning News in Salt Lake, the Colorado Marathon, and a host of others. There is something about sitting pre-race watching the landscape fly by at 60mph and trying to fathom that you have to run all of this back to your car. It really is disheartening. What makes it worse is when you are dropped off and the bus leaves. It was about 50 degrees and crisp. Why the bus couldn’t stay 30 more minutes and let us stay warm, I don’t know. It wasn’t like it could pick up more runners and return in that time. Plus, it was Labor Day so no kids were waiting.

Anyway, the race is predominately downhill, which means only one thing for marathoners: the race will go out too fast. I felt reserved while people pounded past, and in retrospect I was probably too fast to start. Not significantly so, but the smart start the better. I do have nice things to say about the New Santa Fe Trail as it is well maintained and very beautiful. We rolled out of Palmer Lake and down the front range, before entering the Air Force Academy. As much downhill running as the course requires, it is not easy, and many hills change the pace frequently. I won’t bore your with the details, but soon after the 15th mile, I started to get into a world of hurt.

With nearly two minutes and 30 seconds “in hand” to qualify for Boston, I should have been fine. But something was wrong and my stomach didn’t hold up. As each mile came and went, I slowed and suffered more. At 22 miles, there was no hope of making my time. I had been calculating how much I could slow and still make it. I watched as those milestones came and went. No matter how hard I pushed, I still couldn’t get my time. Done with the suffering, I backed off and literally jogged in. I somehow still pulled an age-group award out of the deal but I was beyond devastated with my body. Why I couldn’t run well anymore was beyond me.

I took the week off and went to the doctor. Boston would have to wait.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Leadville 100..... or so....

Even though I could barely sleep in the early hours of Friday morning, I missed my dad’s phone call at 5:30am. I soon found that my grandmother had passed away on the night of her 85th birthday. The news was both devastating and expected as she had been sick for some time. My grandfather, aunt, and mother were shouting encouragement over the phone to run hard for grandma. I choked back tears and agreed, but that isn’t what grandma would have wanted. She was “a tough old bird” and she would have wanted me to run for myself – for me to take pride in my effort and be strong over the long haul like she was recently and throughout her life. She fought for months- years- and now I needed to take that fighting spirit with me to the mountains. Her battle was over. Mine was about to begin.

There couldn’t have been a more perfect day for a 100 mile jaunt in the mountains. The air was crisp but not cold and the sky was a splatter of white stars on a black canvas. Tony Krupicka brushed past me in the final moments before the gun and took his place among one of the most competitive start fields ever assembled at Leadville.

The first several miles went by without a hitch, as they should. As one guy went bombing past me downhill in a way that reads DNF all over it, tape, pain killers, and other medical devices flew from his backpack. I scooped them up and yelled to him but his headphones blocked all efforts. Not wanting to sprint early in the race for this guy who was violating several of my fundamental beliefs, I was about to huck his gear into the woods. But I slowly reeled him in and tugged hard on his backpack to which he finally realized other people were out there with him.

The fantastic Jamie Donaldson breezed by me just before the power line climb and I was shocked to see her back here at this point in the race, but she was soon out of sight, in pursuit of the great Darcy Africa who I had finished just in front of here in 2006. Once we gained the lake trail, I was in awe of the beauty of this course with the shimmering lake reflecting the trees and stars that surrounded it. It is truly frustrating that the most picturesque section of this race is completed both out and back in the dark.

Approaching the boat ramp on the outbound is always one of my favorite portions of the run. The headlamps are bouncing along in a line around the water’s edge like a string of fireflies in the night and all the while a dull roar grows louder as you approach a seemingly worthless crew point (mile 7). Yet, at 5am, hundreds of crew members were packed along the narrow trail 3-4 deep on both sides yelling and creating a tunnel of emotion as we rocketed through. Most people don’t stop here or take aid, but it is a nice boost just the same.

The next portion of trail was very challenging. Small rocks dot the otherwise smooth trail and narrow passages meet larger boulder. All of this runs along a narrow ridge and the trail is often muddy. People were far too eager and ran every little ridge of this trail. Trips and spills occurred just ahead and often behind me. It is always the same: A thunk, a loud swear, and someone is in the dirt. I just never saw the advantage of charging up hills and hurting yourself at mile 9 of 100. But to each his own. I rolled into May Queen (13.5mi) 6 min slower than 2006 and very happy. I had expended no energy. A new camelback, a toss of the headlamp, and I was gone up the road in mere seconds, as was my goal.

The next few miles of the course, I believe, are responsible in the end for more DNFs than any other part, and here is why: This section is early in the course and mistakes are made. Hours later it isn’t Hope Pass that ends people – it is Hope Pass with this mountain in your legs. First, you climb the Colorado Trail which you would run any day of the week, but not race day. It is just steep enough to burn you out if you run the whole thing. Then you gain Hagerman Pass Rd. and you think you can run to the top of the mountain. Well, it will destroy you. I hooked up with Brooks Williams on this section and started talking. We watched people continue to run up the hill but never pull away from us as we walked and drank. It was pointless. On top of the peak you can run forever down, but pushing too hard will leave you destroyed for the flattest and easiest part of the course. In 2006, I blazed up and hammered down this 10 mile section and it cost me physically and mentally later that night. I was casual, and came in only 4 minutes behind 2006, meaning I made up 2 min (probably in the aid station) while chilling out on the climb and descent.

What is really funny is the next 4-6 miles are about the easiest on the course. Pavement, flat, lots of aid before and after. But for some reason, this section really sucks. I think people who push too hard in the first 24 miles really pay starting here. The paved part is slightly uphill and you can see all of your competition up the road. This year I just set a good tempo and rolled. People came back naturally. Although I wasn’t in pain by the end of these 4.6 miles like 2006, it was still tough. But I was moving and not even remotely struggling.

Due to a military helicopter crash during the week, the course had been rerouted. The new section was welcomed – the approach to the Colorado Trail was more gradual and mostly on dirt road. I was still being ultra conservative by walking most sections that even resembled an incline. After all, I was only at about 30 miles. It was a pleasure to run some of this section with Lynette Clemons, the eventual women’s winner. I pulled away from her in an aid station and continued to be conservative, catching a few people anyway but also giving back a spot or two. I came up Jamie Donaldson who was really struggling. She looked like she had been throwing up so I walked some hills with her. Later she would recover for 2nd place. I wish I were that strong.

The descent into Twin Lakes is difficult, painful, and scary. I was begging for the end of the rocky slope and my wish was finally granted. A quick check of the watch proved I was about 30 seconds ahead of 2006 at 40 miles despite all of my conservative pacing! I couldn’t have been happier. Unfortunately, my luck was about to change.

After changing shoes, I elected to go with a single water bottle for Hope Pass. It was a long section but mostly shaded and I had some stomach issues that I was chalking up to too much Gatorade. So I went with water, and it was a mistake. But before disaster struck, I plowed through the open meadows and the river crossing at the base of the mountain. I was passed by Lynette and a group of guys as I emptied out my shoes. Then I started the climb. I would not be back.

The first step up the hill was terrible. Instantly I felt a pain in my stomach and could barely manage to keep going. Hoping that it would pass, I continued walking up the mountain as runner after runner went by. It was like watching myself in slow motion. I could see one foot go in front of the other but I could not get the message from my brain to my legs to go faster. There was a blocking wall in the middle of my stomach that would not let me run. I struggled significantly for more than an hour and felt blessed to finally come upon Hopeless Pass aid station. I sat on the ground drinking soup and Coke like it was going out of stock. The medic had me come to the tent where my pulse, oxygen level, and blood sugar were all checked and were all perfect. Yet my first few steps out of the aid station proved that I was no better off than when I arrived 20 min previously. Brooks gained the summit and shouted in triumph. Tony and Tim Parr both had gone past on the inbound while I was sitting on my butt.

There are few things less enjoyable than the descent of Hope Pass. The trail is narrow and full of switchbacks so getting a rhythm is impossible. If you aren’t in the top 10 then your entire trip down the mountain is halted by frequent people and their pacers coming back up. The sun is beating down and you are at a point of dehydration and exhaustion that makes the mere thought of going back up and over this beast in a few miles seem impossible. My trip down was all of these things. No momentum was gained because my stomach actually hurt more going down than up. My water bottle had half Powerade and half water (as refilled at the aid station) and none of it was going in. I shuffled down the entire path, stopping every 50 meters or so to let people pass me going up. I figured they had a shot to make a race out of this. I was looking to survive.

The dirt road into Winfield is miserable. It is all up hill and you are constantly reminded by how far back you are by the number of people on their way back toward Leadville. The worst part is the many cars of crew members coming and going on the dirt road. There is only one route into Winfield and it gets very crowded.


I staggered along the road running sparingly but not feeling the need to push any kind of pace what so ever. The long uphill road was unwelcomed as my water bottle yielded only hot Powerade. Upon finally reaching Winfield, I knew things had gone horribly wrong. I was about an hour behind where I should have been after leaving Twin Lakes. The sit down with Sarah and Michael was depressing. The urged me on like a good crew but I was reluctant to proceed. I figured that I could take some water, start walking, and eventually drop out. There was no need to prolong the inevitable. But stubborn as Michael and Sarah were, I walked about a quarter of a mile. It was depressing realizing that even if things did improve, hours had already been lost. I turned back dejected and frustrated. Getting your bracelet cut off is one of the lowest moments in ultrarunning.

Later that evening at dinner, the lack of calories final took their toll. I was dizzy and nauseous as I struggled to munch a taco with my head rested on the table. It was miserable. My hydration was low but came back fairly quickly and my legs were surprisingly strong the next morning. I just could not figure out what the problem had been. I have paced brilliantly and my legs felt perfect. Something deeper had gone wrong and it would take me another 3 months to get it together.

50 miles for you, grandma. 50 miles for each of the times you woke me up at 5am for hockey practice, fed, me, and pushed me into the frozen car. 11 hours for each year you sat on hard bleacher seats to watch me play hockey. You were a classy chick, and we love you. I wish I could have done more for you. Rest in peace, grams.

Saturday, June 20, 2009

The Race I Should Have Won - 2009 Mohican 50

How do trails hold up after three days of torrential downpours? That is one of the many questions we were going to have answered at the Mohican Trail Race on June 20th, 2009. Although the rain continued until the start of the race, no additional precipitation contributed to the strong humidity of central Ohio in June. Having driven the first 10 miles the day before, my buddy Rod and I resolved to take it pretty easy to start. Monster hills dominated the first two sections of the course, even though the path was all-road for 10 miles. While others pushed up the hills early, we continued to drink and walk whenever the mountainous terrain reared its ugly head.

The next 10 miles were on horse trail. It was fun to get into the woods (since I was wearing trail shoes that hurt on the roads) but we spent more time jumping the large puddles caused by hoof prints then relaxing. I stopped three times to take off my shoes and socks because I was feeling some irritation on my heals. I was convinced that a small pebble in there would cause me blisters later on. 27 miles later, I would see just how bad that would be.

Rod and I were rolling. We were in 2nd (and 3rd) place and we couldn’t have been running easier. The pace was perfect and we were feeling excellent as we moved from aid station to aid station eating and drinking what we could. Everything was looking up and then at mile 20, so was I. Just before an aid station there was a large root on the trail. The bark had been scrapped away by years of hikers, but the root was about 8 inches tall and I didn’t want to jump it. Instead, I stepped right on it. The root was wet and my trail shoes weren’t going to prevent a slip here. My feet went out from under me, there was a moment of weightlessness, and I came crashing down to earth, knee first. My kneecap landed squarely on the root and the next thing I knew I was laying face down in the mud. Reality came back with the pain and after letting go a fairly loud obscenity, I stood. I thought for sure my day was done. The first few steps were hell. I hobbled for the next few hundred meters, cursing and grunting, but by the aid station, the pain has been reduced to a dull throb. But not more than a few minutes later I was down again from slipping on a root. Things were starting to go bad.

We basically ran up a river by scaling logs, hopping on rocks, and skirting along rock walls. The infamous Lyon Falls climb proved interesting but not nearly as difficult as assumed. A few hand-over-hand moves on the wall and we were over. But at the top the trail went two ways and we had to choose. After much debate, Rod discovered a faint chalk mark on the trail. Even though the other direction was better groomed, we decided that a route with a faint marking was better than one without. So up we went. It wasn’t long before we were standing at another intersection debating where to go. We would wander one way and then the other hoping to see markings. Rod yelled into the woods asking where the trail was, but no one responded. After pushing through the trails, we finally descended down to the trail leading out, completely uncertain that we had taken the right path. As a compromise we slowed to a walk, ate some food, and hydrated. We arrived at the aid station in first place (but we didn’t enter the loop in first and hadn’t passed anyone).

After changing out of our sweaty shirts and grabbing food, we were off. Rod urged me to go ahead. I was reluctant because we were on a great pace and I felt good. 25 miles alone was a long way to go. But we discussed the night before that he would tell me to go when he was unwilling to keep the pace so I reluctantly set off solo. I left feeling very upset about the last section. I was concerned we had cut the course and I was pissed about that and what it might mean at the end, not to mention that I was now alone out there. In retrospect, this is the section I would do over again. Although I felt like I was being conservative, I arrived very quickly at the next aid station. The downhills were too fast and I walked when I could but it wasn’t often enough. I resolved to take the next section of 6.6 miles - the longest between aid stations on the course - more slowly. The problem was: there were very few hills. I backed off the pace and tired to be smart. After a series of switchbacks down a hill (where I kicked a stump, messed up my toe, and nearly tumbled down the hill), I came out of the woods for the last time on the course. But my troubles were just beginning.

I was met by a group of people setting up tents. They yelled that I needed to go straight and that where I stood was not the aid station. Sure enough, orange plates marked a path through the spongy grass. I hooked a left under the overpass and came to a parking lot where spectators were in chairs. But this wasn’t the aid station either! On up to the road again and I saw a plate pointing strait and one to the left. Utterly confused, I stood at the highway crossing with my arms raised in a shrug. The people I met coming out of the woods waved me back across the road. They told me to follow the sign to the trailhead. I stopped to confirm that I was supposed to go up there and was told yes. I asked again that this is where I, a 50 miler, was supposed to go. Again I was urged on. But I knew that the trail ended at the road and I needed to check in at the Grist Mill. This trail likely went back to the Covered Bridge aid station. I turned back against their advice and hit the road.

Nearly a mile later I arrived at the correct aid station extremely hot, tired, and frustrated. I yelled my number but when I asked where my drop bag was they pointed to it in a pile! I couldn’t believe they were having dehydrated, delusional runners go find their bags. I took off my shoes in order to change into road shoes and found why my Achilles hand been hurting. Both of my ankles were scraped raw from my trail shoes. As I gingerly put on new shoes, I had words with the aid station marshal. After explaining to him three different times that people were sending me the wrong way, he finally got on the radio. I took off disgruntled and tired.

After flying down the road in my new shoes for a few minutes, the hills started again. What started as a nice morning of overcast and wind, the sun now beat down. I was running a bit slower than before and certainly walking the hills, but things were still moving forward despite the presence of cramps. When I reached Landoll’s Castle, the next aid station, the castle was deserted. I remembered cars there in the morning. I yelled into the woods and shivered at the thought of moving on without water. I stumbled on and then realized the aid station was BEFORE the castle on the way out. It was just spectators I had seen earlier at the actual castle. The nice old folks at the station cheered me on, “Just 9 miles to go.” I laughed and stumbled away.

For another mile, things went forward. But then the cramping really started. At first, I would get a tight knot in my calf. I would jog till it pulled, then walk till it stopped. This ritual was repeated for a while but soon my tendon on the outer part of my lower leg would pull causing my foot to supinate to the point where I couldn’t take a step. So I would stop till the spasm ceased. Then I would jog again but the cramps kept coming. I would pull the right calf muscle, stop, run, pull the left, stop, run, pull the right outer shin, stop, run, and then the left outer shin, stop, run. This cycle went on for a mile or two and I kept looking back thinking someone would come up but no one did. What was worse was that I was also getting a cramp in the ribs from the shallow breathing and one in the collarbone. These cramps left me hobbling down the road in the hot sun. Vultures circled overhead and I felt a sense of doom but they were only interested in the road kill ahead. However, I felt like road kill and my pace meant that I was still going to be out here for some time. I would convince myself to run to the start of the next hill and then walk but the body kept deteriorating and I found myself unable to jog more than 40-50 meters without seizing up. Walking was faster overall than feebly jogging for a bit only to stop dead while my body shut down. So I walked mostly, managing to run the final 400 meters downhill to the Last Gasp aid station. They told me I was the first one but I thought I would be lucky to finish in fifth.

Some sadistic race director thought that instead of letting runners cruise about a mile and a half up a paved road to the finish, they would instead turn them up a rutted dirt road with a series of climbs that would humble any runner in the first mile. This was mile 46. I struggled up the hills and found that the body would no longer respond. It was over. At the summit of each hill I would glance over my shoulder expecting to see someone. At 47.5 miles, there she was. Struggling up the hill behind me finally came a runner. I applauded her and as she drew near, asked her what had happened since she had been ahead of me. She had gotten lost on the purple loop. We chatted and jogged for a moment and then I had to let her go. No sooner had she pulled away then another guy came up. He said he was going to vomit but I urged him to catch the first place runner. Again all alone, I went over the final hill only to hobble in pain down the monstrous slope that lead back to the road. What normally would have taken two minutes took me ten. But I was back on the road, waddling to the finish which I reached in 3rd place. At 25 miles I was on pace for 7:40. I ran 8:40 so I know how much damage I did in the 2nd half. But I finished, and that was goal number one today.

After chatting with people, I started vomiting at the finish line. Ice water tasted good but I couldn’t keep it down. I wasn’t at all disappointed to find that the top 2 runners had all expenses paid to the national race in California. I didn’t feel like I had earned it. Rod finally came in and we talked about various parts of the course. But soon I was in the grass again barfing. The next thing I know I am laying in the fetal position in a pool of my own spew. I just couldn’t keep the water down. Rod went to get his lunch and I barely cleared the pavilion before letting it fly again. Something was very wrong. My legs were cramping badly as was my back and arms. I decided I needed to get some help. So we asked the director to radio for a medic. About an hour later, I was still sitting on the ground. They told us the medic was at the Covered Bridge, the furthest aid station from the finish. We had a drop bag at the Grist Mill so they told us to meet the medics there. After handing us some papers to deliver and asking us if we would bring back anyone that dropped out, we were off. At the Mill, they had no idea what we were talking about regarding the medic and directed us to another aid station. But the medics at that station said they were not allowed to hang IV bags. They said they could “sit me in the shade and encourage me to drink.” Rod argued that a runner would likely die getting out of a cool car to sit in that environment. Very frustrated with this poor treatment, we headed to the hospital a half hour away.

I used a drop bag to barf in again on the car ride over and finally I was in the emergency room. After waiting for a while, Rod mentioned that the last time I struggled with this I ended up passing out and seizing. The nurse hurriedly checked me in. After answering the same questions for about five people, I finally had a tube in my arm. My blood work was very bad and they wanted me to take 2.5 liters in. After 3 hours, I was sent home. The IV brought me right back, ended the nausea, and eased the cramps.

If I just hadn’t pushed from 25-30 miles I might have been fine. I might have held on to win or I might have stayed out of the hospital. There was no reason to take off that fast when I was already winning. But I learned some very important things. When there is heat and humidity, I can run well if I take it very easy in the beginning and don’t push too hard, too fast. This race really helped me see how I need to run Leadville 100 this year. For that, I am thankful. But I am quite disappointed that I lead a race for 22.5 of the last 25 miles only to be passed just at the end. I can run better and smarter than this.

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Conquering the Wall - The Great Wall Marathon 2009

"Run when you can, walk if you have to, crawl if you must; just never give up."
Dean Karnazes

Sometimes the most successful races are a result of poor planning and preparation. After several weeks of long runs and being sick, it didn’t help that the best pre-race meal I could find within walking distance of my hotel in Beijing was Pizza Hut. I struggled through what appeared to be spaghetti bolognaise then managed a few hours of sleep. But just before 3am we were walking to the buses that would take us to the Great Wall of China.

If I had never been there before, I might have turned around and gone home. Nestled in the foliage high above the road, The Great Wall of China scales mountains and descends into valleys for more than 5,000 miles. It is truly one of the wonders of the world and it is a wonder anyone would want to run a marathon on it, let alone their first. Yet, there stood hundreds of souls hungry for the chance to ascend the mighty steps, not once, but twice over the course of 26.2 miles and some of them were going for their first marathon finish!

The horn sounded the start of the 10K, half-marathon and marathon races. Oddly, the race went out much like a 5K – very strung out with little packs of runners. Determined to take it easy, I was surprised at how well I moved down the road. But the first challenge – a 4.5 kilometer assent up a mountain road, emerged from the misty cloud cover. Being cautious, I hugged the turns to cut distance while others drifted across the road. One such runner I immediately identified as military due to his stride. They always run very rhythmically. We chatted for a bit and he confided that this was his first marathon. “We will probably be battling back and forth all day,” he told me. I simply smiled and pulled away. Another runner from Britain must have been sleeping at the gun judging by the pace he went by me at 5K. But it was no matter; the Great Wall loomed before us, the ultimate equalizer for climbers and pure runners.

For the next 3 kilometers, the Great Wall climbed and fell over the ridges high above the valley. Much of this section was restored, and the stones were congruent and smooth. Some of the path, however, consisted of various varieties of stone with random “steps” chipped out. Treacherous drop-offs slid for hundreds of feet on each side. Occasionally there was a rope for aid. A camera man told me I was in 10th place. I asked if that was overall or marathon, and he replied that it was overall. That was good news. I had taken this section relatively easy. Where others hammered up each step with pristine running form, I ran where I could and power-walked the stairs. After all, some of them were two feet high each! This portion of the course was only 7K in, so why waste it all early? For every 1-2 seconds others gained by running hard, I made it up on the flats and downhills, and conserved energy (and more importantly, muscle integrity) and was still passing runners. That is, until the final descent. A steep, dirt trail dropped into a section of terrible stone steps. Although I was ready to pick up the pace to make up for the slow ascent, a runner was just ahead of me blocking the trail, and I was forced to remain calm for a while longer.

The next several kilometers off of the wall took us out to the villages. I was in 5th with at least two half-marathon runners ahead. Whether there were one or two marathon runners among them, I could not say. But I could see 4th place ahead of me (a half-marathoner). Finally, I said, “What the hell are you doing? You are kicking down half-marathon runners at the 10K mark. Chill out or you are going to be on the side of the road.” So I chilled and started to feel better. I knew marathoners were just behind me but relax as I did, they didn’t get much closer. I was too busy to care anyway, because the local children would laugh and run next to me as I passed their homes. Some sprinted to keep up and others lasted for 400m or more. For a few moments, I could forget that this was a race I came to do on a weekend and remember that life is simpler than that. It was much needed 10 miles in to the race. Not everyone shared the children’s enthusiasm. I would sometimes come up on a group of police officers and a teenage volunteer who were all supposed to be directing me through a turn. They would stare motionless at me, and when I raised my arms in a shrug and asked, “Which way?” I was greeted with no response – just a blank stare. Other times, I would come upon couplets of girls, who probably had been standing there for hours waiting to “direct” runners, and I would smile, wave, and shout a greeting, only to watch them crumble with giggles. It was amazing I picked the right direction each time.

A long, steady climb forced me to slow even more, and glancing back over my shoulder I could see that a marathoner had gotten close (the half-marathon runners had since looped back to the finish). I figured if he was going to catch me because I refused to push this long hill so early in the race (we had just crossed the half-way point), then it was his. But catch he did not as the hill raised above the valley. At the summit, I looked down the river and could see more than a mile of winding road, all of it barren of racers. I knew then that I was either in first place with two men close behind, or in second, but more than seven minutes off the lead. I decided 2nd it was and pushed the downhill to put as much distance between me and the others as I could. On the decent I was greeted by on-coming runners as the road merged again with the out-bound course. “Great job! Only one ahead!” a guy shouted, confirming my suspicions. That was cool with me. This phantom leader had such a gap on me that I could only worry about myself and those coming up behind me.

Never have I been so surprised during running than I was one kilometer later when I rounded a curve and saw the leader on the hill above me. Having passed me before the Wall section some 22 kilometers ago, I thought he was gone, but the early pounding on the wall had ended him. He feebly jogged while local children circled him as vultures circle dying animals in the desert. I crept closer and he resorted to a walk, hands on his hips. Never one to be joyful over other’s suffering, I must admit I smiled when he stopped and hunched over. There is some self-satisfaction in knowing you have paced better than someone. I gave a pat on the back, shouted his name and some encouragement (names were printed on the bibs), and became the meat the vulture children circled as I continued up the hill. On the switchback, I saw that I had put several hundred meters between us in just over a minute and no others were in sight. My glory was short lived. The hunter became the hunted and I ran now not calm but anxious.

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!! Trying to put some time between me and the others on a downhill, some bee or wasp crash-landed into my jersey and stung my shoulder. I used the pulsing adrenaline to get down the hill. My pace was much faster than normal marathon pace, but I knew the time at the beginning and end of the race were slowed significantly by the wall. The road turned to dirt and eventually the path was so rutted that the lead motorcycle was almost tipping and I had to pass him up. It took him a mile to catch back up. The path then turned to a trail worthy of Colorado running and I was back in my element. Soon I was on the road again intertwined with half-marathon runners on the way to their finish. I tried to make a game of it, passing as many runners as I could, but the home stretch was very long, the heat was increasing, and I had one last obstacle left to conquer: The Great Wall of China.

Some sadistic race organizer 10 years ago thought that at 20 miles the best way to finish this race was to send us past the finish line and up and over the wall again in the much more difficult “backward” direction. Blazing through the square, the loudspeaker announced my arrival as the 1st place marathoner and cheers from spectators and those already finished (half, 10K, and 5K) were deafening. I gained the wall with the adrenaline pumping and a reminder from the MC that I still had 2600 steps to negotiate. But the wall was my reward for pushing the pace. I am a fairly decent walker (no sir name puns intended) and I figured if I could get to the wall in good shape, I could pace well and use the final downhill to finish strong. As my toes graced the first step, I realized instantly that I was sorely mistaken.

A million white hot needles pierced my quads and calf muscles which each step. Sweat poured off my nose and landed on my shoes. Each step was similar to that of a climber hunched over high on Everest. Step. Huff. Heave. Huff. Step. I kept glancing back to the bridge to see if the next runner had gained the wall. Vomit threatened to expel with each breath, and I wanted to sit down very badly. The climb never seemed to relent. Making it worse were the numerous tourists coming at me. Some downhill sections were so sketchy that you needed to slow and use the rope. I couldn’t do either because my legs were shot and wouldn’t brake and old Chinese men and women were using the only rope and footing available. Several times I teetered on the edge of plummeting down the mountain. A section of steps went skyward again and I contemplated stopping. Immediately I heard the voice of the great Dean Karnazes (a voice that, during a marathon, is somewhat spiritual like those hearing God during other trying times in their lives).

Run when you can. I did Dean, maybe too much, too fast.

Walk if you have to. I am walking, damn it!

Crawl if you must. I…ok. And crawl I did. One hand over the other, all fours on the steps. Now it seems captivating, but at the time I was certainly glad no members of the press were snapping pictures of me withering up the steps like a crippled dog. It was easy to see how this wall had repelled invaders for centuries. Dramatic as I am being, the steps eventually did relent and although there were several more significant sections of climbing, the worst was over. As I ran the down slopes and relatively flat portions, I justified my agony by saying that others were also struggling up the same wall at that very moment. A camera man sitting in the middle of the wall jumped up, apparently surprised to see a runner (it had been quite some time since we last went through here). “Good on ya mate! The first one!” he quipped.

“I guess so,” I muttered.

“Got quite a lead too, eh?”

My heart skipped. Really, could I still be ahead? I was certain that six hours had passed and I was the last runner left on the wall. I asked if he could see anyone else and he told me, “Not yet.” I ran on, inspired, glancing back more often than necessary and even though I could see much of the Wall portion of the course, I saw no runners. All that remained was a downhill section of road. If I could stay vertical, I could win. But alas, it was not so easy. Although my pace returned to a regular run, a knot in my stomach and fried legs prevented me from cashing in on the spectacular downhill. By 39k, I was praying for flat land again. I had been running some of my miles in the 6 minute range, yet I estimated that I would be over 8 minutes/mile for the whole race. That couldn’t be right, could it? Oh yeah, the Great Wall. It slows you down a bit. From one kilometer to go, I could see the bridge leading to the wall. If anyone had been able to see me, they would have caught me, and they would have deserved it. I was far too fixated on watching runners start the climb to the Wall. The thought of going over that part of the course made me want to hurl. Little did I know they would still be starting it more than three hours later.

The finish line noise was amazing. Cameras crowded in and not more than a couple of feet after crossing the line I was corralled by the organizer who choked me with a flower wreath around my neck. Reporters asked dozens of questions as I was pushed towards cameras and away from the line. It was a very unique experience and the questions blew me away. Was it difficult? Yes. What was the most difficult part? The Wall. Demographics, where do you work, etc. Then a Chinese man asked me if I thought the current swine flu pandemic (which was limiting the number of visas available) affected the race outcome. I paused, reflecting on what it meant to me and others to be here racing.

True, I had run my slowest time in an open marathon ever, but the course was challenging and I only pushed as hard as needed to win – it was more than 10 min to second place, which was awarded to an able trail runner from Colorado. If I put in more hill work and actually attempted a single speed workout in the last year, I think I could challenge the course record. But I was very pleased with my tactics at this point in the season and couldn’t have cared less if that time got me 1st or 5th. I decided to not draw more attention to his question by dignifying it with a straight response. “I come to a race not to win but to challenge myself. Winning doesn’t matter. Everyone gets a medal out here.” If you want to win this race, come on out next year. We can’t judge a race by a time on paper. You never know how you would have done that day in those conditions. I have looked up many races where I was certain my best would have won it and I have won races knowing full well that if some stud showed up I wouldn’t have been the victor. You just have to run your best and let the chips fall where they may. There are bigger experiences in running than crossing the line before someone else.

In some ways, the hour after the race was as trying as some portions of the race. The Subway sandwiches available to runners upon finishing were mocking me: Just out of reach. The questions from reporters relented but the pictures with other runners didn’t end for quite some time. I was thankful when a friend slipped me a bottle of water because I was starting to feel dizzy. When people found out I was living in China, I got even more pictures. I finally was able to change but couldn’t call home because of the awards ceremony. All I wanted to do was tell my wife I had won. The actual winning didn’t matter to me. She has won enough races for the both of us. But I didn’t want to tell her that I was beaten, that I had given up on myself. The thought of home and running for those who want to hear my story spurred me on when I otherwise could have slowed.

Every marathon I finish, I take the medal and I put it around my bedpost. It stays there until I complete my next race. Sometimes that is a week or two, and sometimes that duration spans a few months. This lets me remember the race, the course, the pain, the thrill. I respect it and it gears me for the next one. But this time, I think I am going to leave the 2009 GWM medal up for a year – 365 days to remember conquering the wall, even if just for a day.

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Running XC In China: Not For The Faint of Heart

If you have run one race in Asia, you have run them all, at least from a tactical stand point. There are no shortage of heroes at the front who blaze out the first quarter mile only to be humiliatingly passed in due time. The start of the Vasque XC races was no exception. After 15 min of announcements (all in Chinese), the horn sounded the start of what was to be the most difficult portion of running I have ever encountered. Sure enough, the pack was out like greyhounds at the track and we all struggled up a climb worthy of a hill repeat workout. At the top of the road, there was a hard left and we said goodbye to the last and only portion of pavement on the run.

What welcomed us was an all-fours climb up a trail that looked like as if had been cut out of the hillside that morning. Seeing this narrow path and the cutthroat climbing it entailed, I surged from the conservative pace I had maintained the first 400m and jumped around people to 10th place as I scaled the 30 feet of hand-over-hand climbing up to the trail. For the next several kilometers a single-track trail meandered up a ridgeline above the reservoir. Struggling to keep the turnover seemed like a petty and miniscule task when you are ever so slowly passing 40-year-old women carrying a stick across their shoulders with full pails of water on the ends, miles from the nearest road.


Ducking under trees and dripping with sweat, this shot was taken at about mile 3.

10 large climbs" said the course description, and I was anticipating 10 distinct climbs. I was sorely mistaken. When the seemingly never-ending assent appeared to peak out, there was often a false summit and the arduous journey wore on. Only when we broke into the smog-filled sky did the trail relent to gravity's pull and down it went. Each climb of multiple minutes was met with breath-taking descents. Normally, a downhill is a much welcomed aspect in a race. When the downhill consisted of 30 degree angles, loose gravel, and hairpin turns at top speed (with a slip here resulting in a 1500 foot plummet to the shores below), the change in course was anything but desirable. When I wasn’t ducking to avoid a limb (which at that speed would have killed me, or at the very least, left me unconscious for some time), I was shooting my arms out in a frantic attempt to grab a tree near, or in the middle of, the trail to slow myself down.



My friends Colin and Amanda also braved the course. Their pictures give some examples of the rough terrain. However, if a cameraman was here, it wasn’t nearly one of the harder parts of the course!!

At the beginning of the race, I made a vow to start smart and work hard throughout. After all, this day marked only the one-month anniversary of my return to running after taking time off for an injury. I knew that going out hard would be costly. I probably started a bit too quickly, but I wanted to keep people in sight to give me motivation. It wasn’t long before the line was draw between those who were racing and those who were just trying to survive this one. After about 15 min of climbing I was able to slip past 8th place and another endless hill brought me into 7th. Just as I was making my move on the next runner, I was derailed at a checkpoint. Throughout the course, four stations were positions to ensure runners passed and were accounted for (I don’t know where you would go, because getting off trail here might mean you were never found). Anyway, I worked a guy down on a long climb. He would feebly attempt to run up the hill but faltered every tenth step or so, either by slipping on the loose terrain or succumbing to physical exhaustion. I hung back, keeping the ultra runner pace of hiking up the hill and using my arms. I made a few noises, breathing and grunting, sometimes in response to a pulling muscle but often just to let him know I was there, trying to scare him into staying ahead of me and burning himself out. I was actually smiling as I compared the run to London's The Call of the Wild. I was Buck, an able dog and he was the moose, who was sprinting to stay ahead but burning his energy all the while. We crested the summit and I looked to take him on the reckless downhill, for someone spilling in front of me would have spelled disaster. My chance came at a rock garden which caused him to slow and me to close the gap. But just as I was about to catch up, the volunteers leapt out of their squatted positions and started yelling at me to stop. I had no idea what to do, but they finally stamped my number and sent me on my way. Frustrated, I charged down the hill, more recklessly than I would normally have due to the lost time. Although I caught and passed my adversary, I was flabbergasted by the inefficient way of checking to see if people came through checkpoints. (Miles later, drenched in sweat, the ink had faded from my number anyway).


Suicidal downhills caused the adrenaline to go skyrocket and my ankles to scream for days. I almost killed the cameraman who was standing in the middle of the trail and there wasn’t any way to slow fast enough to go around him. Check out the stump in the middle picture and the loose dirt. It was a recipe for disaster.

The next portion of the race was quite lonely. I could no longer see 5th place and I refused to run in a panic to stave off my recently passed friends. Just when hope of a top 5 finish had faded, there was a glimpse of blue cresting the next hill. It briefly crossed my mind to invest in a camouflage jersey for these races so as not to be seen as an object to focus on and pass, but I quickly dismissed this knowing that if anyone was within site of me, there was pretty much nothing I could do to stop them. I consciously kept the turnover high going up the brutal climbs and talked myself into transitioning over the top, despite what my lactic acid grueling legs had to say about it. Even the downhills were a bit more reckless than I usually run. Every once in a while, my slick bottomed road shoes would shoot out from under me and only by franticly grabbing for a tree limb or crashing into a tree trunk was I able to keep from tumbling down the hill at sprint pace. A few portions of the course had stone steps, which when going uphill provided a nice respite from the uneven ground. However, steps in China are not made with any consistency or safety in mind. On the way down these steep declines, one step may be half as wide as the step before it, only to be followed by a step twice as large as any before it. Over the course of 200 steps, this can lead to some very close calls in misjudging a foot placement, and the result of a mistake would be disastrous here more than anywhere else. Numerous hikers came up the course and very few recognized the out of control runner flying toward them. There were many smiles and cheers, a few stares, and more than one person who I don’t think had any idea how close they came to death as I blew past. A daunting stair section brought me in close to the next runner and I paced behind him for the next few hundred meters. On a steep rock section he took a glance back, grunted something in Chinese, and was beaten. I pulled along side and he yielded the trail to me, and I blew past with a mutter of thanks in my limited Chinese.

The climbs wore on, including several sections that realistically needed a rope. Occasionally, steps had been cut in the hard dirt, and by clinging to a root with one hand, the other hand in the dirt, and hoisting my legs 3 feet up and over a protruding rock to the next ledge, could I negotiate these portions of the route. These sections only slowed us tremendously, rather than halted our progress altogether. Some boulders were as high as houses and we had to pull and plant our way up through their cracks. Sinking in to ultra mode in my mind, I focused on keeping the heels down, arms moving, and never anticipating the end. In fact, I was so reserved that I was expecting to see the “10K to go” sign at the next checkpoint. To my great surprise, I grabbed my third and final cup of water from a volunteer at the station and saw that it was a mere 5k to the finish. I should not have been that excited.

For the next 2K, all hope of running was removed. A steep, winding single track - completely exposed to the sun and increasing heat – encompassed the next 20 minutes. The heat coming off my body was intensified by the sun which had started to break through the smoggy canopy of the Shenzhen sky. At the beginning of the day I figured there would be a high point of the climbing and eventually we would return to lower altitudes. But with under 3 miles to go we still climbed, and reached new heights above the city. Up here no air circulated. There was no breeze. There was just a runner and his pain; a dull, aching pain that occasionally flared to the level of searing, but then relented to chronic, never yielding discomfort. Finally, the “3K to go” sign welcomed me at the summit of what was to be the final climb of the course. But the next section was not forgiving or rewarding. Even if I had seen competition, I never could have caught them. The down section was so steep and so dangerous that any attempts to jog lasted only briefly before the butterflies in my stomach warned me to put the breaks on and stay vertical. Quads screaming from all the breaking, I finally emerged to a road, hung a left and joined a paved aqueduct for rain runoff. Completely dead legged, my last real challenge was jumping across the chasm of the drainage tunnel to the other side. If my muscles pulled on take off, I might have ended up face down 5 feet below on the pavement. But I made it, and cruised the last kilometer high on a cement walkway that lined the lake. One more turn and it was a mere 200 steep steps down to the parking area. Dodging Chinese tourists on their way to the top for a view, I lifted and ran in to the tennis courts which marked the finish.



Fifth place was the best I could manage as I broke the tape in 1 hour, 36 minutes. It averaged out to 8:35 a mile for 11.18 miles and I couldn’t have been happier with the place and time after only running for a month, and I certainly couldn’t be happier to be finished with that course. I was expecting a worse result on a course where only 20-30% of the trail was “runable.” Climbs lasted 10 minutes or more and never could I run more than a few minutes without being forced to hike or climb. Almost immediately upon finishing, the newspaper reporters and local television representatives as well as the race director were over to speak with me. Being the first non-Chinese across the line apparently got me a lot of attention. The questions were quite typical to start but expanded into things like, “Did you run harder because your family was here?” It was Easter and Sarah and Taelyn came to watch, as much as you can “watch” only 200m of an 11.2 mile race. The reporter told me I was a hero to my baby. If only it were that easy.

 

The Aftermath

Pizza and a beer was a good way to celebrate with a friend who finished her longest race ever, by double the distance. I am honestly surprised she didn’t slap me upon finishing, but she did curse at me a few times throughout the race. Going to bed that night, things were sore, but mostly my back hurt and I was afraid that I might have hurt it again.

Not to take the suspense out of the final words, but the back is ok. What I faced when I awoke was quad muscles that had no intention of responding to my requests to stand. I could deal with that, as races here are not forgiving, but the newest sensation was the incredibly weak ankles. You see, after that many miles of tripping, slipping, and breaking, my ankles had basically sprained over and over again. They brought tears to my eyes at the touch. I slothed through work on Monday and skipped lifting after school, only to head straight home where the evening went by in a blur. Tuesday didn’t go much better and with an obligation that lasted from after school till late at night. I wished I had iced but by Wednesday I could get back on the road and battle through a few miles. Back-to-back long runs the following weekend proved fitness is coming along.