In 2007, it took me 12:14 (as a sweep, but I still couldn’t have run it any faster).

In 2008, 8:42 and 21st place overall.

In 2009, 8:11 and 13th place overall.

And this year 2010, 7:40 and 5th place overall.

Interestingly, in both 2009 and 2010, I shaved exactly 31 minutes off the previous year’s time.

If I can keep this up, by 2012 I can go sub-7 at this beast.

As hard as Laurel Valley is, I can’t even imagine that…

On a quest to become a better, faster, stronger running athlete

I say “running athlete” because I’m not “just a runner.”

I feel like I came to the ultra world sorta back-ass-wards.

Because I was exposed to ultramarathons via Dean Karnazes’ book, UltramarathonMan, I started running with the ultimate goal of running a really long way. It just came at a time in my life when I could identify with the same frustrations that ultimately brought the author back to running, and I wanted to change my life in many of the same ways he changed his.

But Dean had been a runner before, and was returning to the sport – I think I forgot that I was just a fat ass behind a computer who had never been a runner to begin with.

Smelling the roses

When I first started running, and eventually participating in ultramarathons, I accepted the fact that I was fat and slow, AND not exactly getting younger. I fell into the mindset of running ultras for the camaraderie and the “day in the woods.”

At first, I didn’t care about times, I was just in a total honeymoon phase with distance running and all the cool new people I was meeting.

I ran my first marathon in way over 5.5 hours. By the time I got there, the race officials were tearing down the scaffolding and my wife and step’fella were the only people left still milling around.

Dead last in my age group.

But I was happy.

I then ran the SweetH20 50K, a challenging 31-mile race in west Georgia, six months after the marathon and it took me well over eight (8) hours to do that, as well.

I was slow, but I was happy.

“Plenty of people run ultras with a purpose” — Gary Cantrell

Then today, I read the above statement on an ultrarunning email list and it’s an attitude that has resonated with me for some time now.

Somewhere in the middle of all this running, something changed.

I started to lose weight.

I started to become stronger, healthier, and fitter.

By 2008, a full year as a runner had passed, and I found myself attempting the same races for a second time; but this time, I really wanted to do better than before. In races under 100-miles, it was no longer acceptable to me to say, “my goal is to finish.”

And if I did, it was a lie, because in my heart I really wanted to do better than the last time I ran the same course.

All brawn, no brains

Problem was (and still is, really) I had all these goals of improving, but no plan. I wanted to get faster and move up from the back of the pack, but I had absolutely no idea how.

I wasn’t really a runner. At least, not a knowledgeable nor experienced one.

It wasn’t (isn’t) for lack of information, advice or experienced guidance. I had that all around me then, …and especially now.

It’s simply a lack of being mature enough to listen and to put the good advice to practice.

I once scored a phenomenal score on some kind of Coast Guard military entrance exam when I lived in Hawaii. I had no idea what I was doing, but I had just graduated from college, moved out there to surf, and admired the Hell out of an older surfing buddy in Waikiki that was in the Coast Guard and got to surf every morning, go to the Coast Guard base for the work day, and then surf all night. He even got to travel to Somoa a bunch – and surf there, too!

Sounded perfect.

But, when I told my grandfather, who knows me better than anyone else on the planet, that I killed the test and would be accepted in the Coast Guard as some kind of officer dude, he didn’t say anything at first. I thought he’d be so stoked since he was this kick-ass fighter pilot flying P-51 Mustangs all over Asia in WWII, but instead he just cautioned me over and over to reconsider… …saying that I was “not good at being told what to do” and that “bucking people in the service is no joke” and “I would need to learn to listen more and talk less.”

It scared me away from the gig, and I took the job as a fine dining waiter at the Prince Kuhio Hotel instead, walking around Waikiki with sandy feet, ass-cracked baggy shorts, still immature and still just surfing all day.

My grandad was right.

For better or worse, I’m a “do it my way” kinda dude.

Back to basics

Then, one day it just sort of dawned on me.

To be a better runner, …I need to be better at running.

My first move was to gain a better understanding of running mechanics and what kind of running was most efficient for me. I took POSE classes, CrossFit Endurance training (which teaches POSE), and migrated to a more minimalist shoe.

Right or wrong, it just makes sense to me that minimalism makes a stronger foot, with stronger support muscles, equating to better performance and less injury overall.

I then began to strengthen my core and continue to focus on not-so-much just general weight loss, but weight “redistribution.” And I continue to work on this today, …and will most likely continue into the future for a very long time. Body weight is an issue for me.

All the while, I continued participating in events, and started to improve, but still felt like something was still missing…

Then along comes speed work

And boy do I love me some speed work.

Remember the whole “back-ass-wards” thing above? Well, It was becoming clear to me that I should have probably started running 5Ks, 10Ks and half-marathons before diving right into marathons and ultramarathons.

I had trained myself to go long, but not without significant suffering and a serious lack of speed.

So I set some goals to become a stronger runner at shorter distances. I believe that if I can get faster at 5Ks and 10Ks, and half-marathons and marathons, this increase in speed will produce a stronger runner, capable of further improving in ultramarathons (or any other athletic endeavor)

Since 2009, I’ve brought my 10K down from 51 minutes, to 47 …then 47 to 45 …then 45-43, before finally hitting a 41:47 at the end of the year and qualifying for a sub-seeded spot in the Peachtree Road Race.

In the 5K, I brought my times down from 27 minutes to 19:44, also, all in one year.

For long-time runners, 41:47 and 19:44 is most likely pretty slow; but for a dude who put in the work and transformed himself from a sloth, to a sub-seeded athlete, it was truly a feeling of real honest to goodness accomplishment.

I now have goals of becoming a top-seed in the Peachtree Road Race. It requires shaving another 3:47 off the 10K (sub-38) and another 1:24 (sub-18:20) off the 5K, but I am 100% convinced that I will get there because I believe it, want it, will train for it, and most of all love every second of the intense training.

Good boy, but what does this have to do with Laurel Valley?

Oh snap, I went on a crazy tangent and forgot I was writing an LV report.

Naw, the reason for all that rah-rah above is to illustrate my belief that the best thing I could have ever done for my running was to go back to basics and work from the bottom up. Build a better foundation. Try to become a stronger, more knowledgeable and aware runner.

Because when I hit that humid, root-covered trail at Rocky Bottom at 6:00 a.m. Saturday morning, I felt ready.

I don’t think I have ever been as focused for an ultra as I was for Laurel Valley. I didn’t fear the distance, nor the lack of support, and I hit that trail with a new found sense of who I was as a runner.

I suppose I should have gone on about the beauty of the course, the awesome RD, the great time I had running with some of my ultra heroes and friends; but, that’s not how it came out today.

Sorry.

Still have a lot to learn

I know I’m not the most humble man, but I speak how I think and how I feel and what consumes my focus at the time. I’m ADHD, so it might be different by the time I hit ‘send’, but I’m really really happy right now.

I’m happy with the sport.

I’m happy running faster …both short and long.

I’m happy with my training and my progress and freedom to run events whenever I want to.

I’m happy with the people who I have around me and who support me and who push me …and who also tell me when I’m going a little crazy.

‘cuz I am a little crazy.

Rock on runners …and otherwise. That’s my LV report this year.

MT101 picks up where the MT100 left off

The MT101s are the follow-up to the MT100 trail shoe. As a huge fan of new Balance minimalist trail shoes, I was very excited to learn more about the newest release from the company, and better yet, put them to test on some good ol’ rugged trail.

Thanks to a really cool dude at New Balance, I got my hands on a pair of pre-release MT101s just in time for the Laurel Valley Whitewater Run in the Foothills of South Carolina. Laurel Valley is a self-supported, 35-ish mile trail race and is known as one of the most rugged, toughest trail races in the Southeast – the perfect venue for putting the kicks to a serious test.

What’s different in the MT101?

In an email from New Balance product manager Bryan Gothie, he offered a summary of the shoe modifications:

The 101 is an upper only update that incorporates a ton of Anton’s [Anton Krupicka] feedback.  He was looking for more stability in the upper, especially on the downhills, and some added lateral support as well.  We also added a little more protection to the tongue and found a way to manufacture the heel EVA collar so that it finishes with a cleaner lip.  Those are the big functional updates, cosmetically we decided to step it up a little.  There is a little more pep to the materials on this version and the color choice, as well as the amount of, is also enhanced.

And once my pair arrived, I found all of this to be true, …along with a few other surprises.

The MT101 seems to be a wider shoe

The pair of MT101s that I received are exactly the same size as all of my MT100s (10.5) but the 101s are noticeably wider and roomier, and especially in the toe box area. Check out the comparison below between a pair of MT100s and MT101s, both size 10.5 — by the way, {click} any of the images in this review for a larger, 900px screen-filling view.

The MT101s are green, and the MT100s are the gray shoes. It’s tough to really see the width difference, but notice the different positioning of some of the support pieces, including the additional upper support at the bottom of the laces. The toe tip has also been changed to a tougher material that softens the blow when kicking a nasty root or rock. I welcomed this improvement often during the Laurel Valley race.

More side upper support doesn’t mean heavier

Notice a complete restructuring of the side support, and especially the upper. The material used for the lateral support feels like a tougher, more rugged plastic, as opposed to the cloth-like support materials in the MT100s; however, that new “fanned-out” support piece does utilize a sort of firm cloth and feels really snug around the top of the foot.

Here on the outside of the New Balance shoe you can see stronger attention to support in the upper. Again, {click} for a larger view on any of the shoe images.

Who doesn’t like a little more tongue?

Ok, that was bad, but I bet it got your attention. {wink}

The 101 has a slightly thicker tongue. Why? I really don’t know. The change is so slight, so I really can’t tell whether it matters or not. Still, the tongue is very lean and as minimalist as I’ve ever seen in any other shoe, and is still one of my favorite features of both models.

What about the achilles issue of the shoe back?

For one, I’ve never experienced the “digging” issues that others have reported. I believe this has a lot to do with heel striking, but regardless what I think, it’s a popular complaint in the comments of my MT100 review. New Balance has lowered the back a little (as you can see in the side comparisons a couple of images above). I thought the rubber might have come back a little softer this time, but it seems to be the exact same material.

Still smells bad. Hey New Balance – why the stinky rubber?

Putting the MT101s to the test at Laurel Valley

Let me just say right now that I am sold. I love the shoe.

Because of the new width, I probably could have tightened them down a bit more for the race as I found my feet jamming into the toe box during steep descents and I slid around in the shoe when negotiating some gnarly rocky sections. I didn’t get any blisters, though, so it must not have been too bad.

I ran Laural Valley hard, chasing some time goals, and the shoes  performed perfectly, carrying me to a PR on the course.

The good:

• So very, very light. Under 7 oz.
• Good grip on the climbs. We got caught in a couple downpours and the shoes handled muddy climbs beautifully.
• Quick-dry. There are lots of water crossings at LV and the shoes excrete water very quickly.

The bad:

• Like the 100s, the shoes let in more dirt and debris than others. I found myself having to stop and pull crap out of them from time to time.
• Those lame laces. I’m just not buying into the New Balance sure lace™ concept. The laces come untied more frequently than, say, my road racing flats which are just simple, thin light laces.

The bottom line – the MT101 is an excellent minimalist trail shoe.

Period.

It’s light, rugged, grippy and fits like a glove. The new upper support feels nice and snug, and the increased attention to rock and root protection is noticeable and makes a real difference out on the trail.

I’m proud to report that I had one of my best days ever at Laurel Valley, scoring a 31 minute PR and 5th place overall, and I attribute much of this success to the MT101.

Would love to hear other’s experiences, so comment away!

Bust.

My Western States ended abruptly at the Rucky Chucky aid station, 79 miles, and 22 hours into the race.

Officially, the medical staff pulled me, refusing to allow me to cross the river towards Green Gate; but deep down, I feared my race was over before we even got to the Rucky Chucky medical check-in.

I was severely dehydrated, down 16 pounds from the start of the race, peeing (more like, dripping) blood, and wheezing from a bout of exercise-induced asthma.

All racers wear a medical bracelet with their weight, blood pressure and heart rate stats so that medical check points have a benchmark for which to gauge a runner’s hydration throughout the event and help them to make smart adjustments as the day and night go on.

Weight gain can mean a runner is drinking too much and needs to adjust down by emptying the bladder, while significant weight loss usually means the runner is not drinking enough.

Clearly, I wasn’t drinking enough.

And while all this might sound horribly traumatic, the entire Western States experience turned out to be far more than I ever expected it would be, and I found myself less disappointed and more focused than ever before.

Like Nicaragua, I had a true experience.

I met people who have had a profound impact on my life in the past, and new friends who would help shape my future as an ultrarunner.

I knew coming in I was out of my league, but I wasn’t going to pass up possibly the once-in-lifetime chance to run with some of the greatest runners in the world – no way!

After you read my story, tell me YOU wouldn’t do the same thing.

Meet G-Mac

I arrived in Sacramento, California on Wednesday three days before the race, with an excitement that was impossible to contain. Somebody said I was like a kid at Christmas and I found that to be an excellent analogy.

It’s WESTERN STATES, man! The grand-daddy of them all, and I, Christian Griffith, was in. It was the kind of excitement that is so intense, it’s almost surreal – like you’re watching it through someone else’s eyes or on TV.

My pacer, George McAlister, whom I had never met before, not only offered to pace me from mile 62 in the race, but also pick me up from the airport, let me stay at his house, drive me 2 hours to Squaw Valley the next day, and then after the race, stay at his house yet again as I recovered for my trip home. After it was all said and done, he ended up doing far more than even all that and I am forever grateful beyond words.

George (or G-Mac as his son-in-law calls him) is a man’s man. A 61-year old Vietnam veteran, experienced mountaineer, camper, runner and survivalist ( incidentally. he ran the challenging American River 50-miler from Sacramento to Auburn this year in an impressive 9:27 at age 61 – solid.)

He’s a father of two beautiful, professional daughters with a 40-year marriage to a uber-wonderful woman. While he could easily be retired, he chooses to work, and not behind a desk, but with his hands. He drives a humble truck, crops the hair down low, and carries himself with a unique vibe of “tough-as-nails” combined with a genuine kindness and politeness that is impossible to ignore and commands respect all on its own. Many times I found myself thinking, “I hope someday I’m just like him.”

I learned a lot about how to be a good man from George McAlister.

SacTown chillin’

George snatched me up from the airport, later telling me his first thoughts were, “does this guy think this is a 100-mile race or a weight-lifting contest?” (this theme will run through much of my Western States experience as you’ll see if you don’t get bored reading.)

We shook hands, hopped in the truck, and I knew immediately I’d like George when we both opted for windows instead of air conditioning, while we both shared stories of our “crazy wives” always wanting to crank down the air. Instant bonding right there.

George took me to Auburn , CA where we hiked small tid-bits of the Western States trail and talked trail running. He drove me all over to Foresthill, Robie Point, and stopped at various places along the highway to point out river junctions along the American River and teach me about the area and the history of the Sierra foothills.

In Auburn, near Robie Point and Placer High School, we saw deer and wild turkey roaming the hillside neighborhoods without fear or concern. Unlike in the east, the turkeys are not a bit skittish. They roam around like they are supposed to be there. Like squirrels. Same with the deer. It’s a really cool visual representation of man and animal living together in a seemingly harmonious existence and as an animal lover it had a profound impact on me.

Squaw Valley and the Olympic Village

Thursday, George and his buddy Dennis (another cool west coast outdoor enthusiast) drove me up to Squaw Valley where I  had a reservation at the Squaw Valley Lodge. Once again, I got an education from the knowledgeable local duo as we drove deeper and deeper, higher and higher, into the Sierra-Nevada mountain range.

Old railroads, tons of snow, ragged, jagged mountain peaks – it was very cool. I was staring out the window like a kid rolling into Disney World.

“Cool!”

“Wow!”

“What’s that?”

“Whoa… Why are those people rappelling down the rocks?” (it was CalTran conducting rescue training exercises)

The boys got me to the lodge, we shook hands, and promised to meet again at mile 62 where George would jump in to pace me for the rest of the race.

Hangin’ with Team Genova

So, ok – now what?

Here I am at the lodge, but I don’t really know what to do with myself. I wanted to walk around and meet people and see who was here, but doing so alone seemed a little creepy.

Just then, I get a text from Jeff Genova:

“We’re leaving for dinner, wanna come?”

Cool!

And I spent the rest of the day Thursday, and most of the Friday, hanging out with Jeff and his crew Tom and Ryan. It was almost freaky how much I had in common with Ryan – both of us have a 15 year old in the house, both boys, both play guitars …and both play METAL. We both share a love for the creative side of life, and both work in marketing/advertising.

We spent a lot of time yapping and probably boring the other two to tears with our discussions of our teenage guitar players and our mutual love of fonts and design.

As a group, we rambled around Squaw Valley, hitting race check-in together on Friday, hooking up with “The Sherp” and taking photos with other ultrarunners – generally just running around avoiding all the pre-race jitters.

Big chair at Squaw

photo: Goofing off in the Squaw Valley Olympic Village

Krissy Moehl

photo: since I can never run as fast as elites, this is the closest I’ll get to Krissy Moehl

Kilian Jornet Burgada

photo: Getting a shot with Kilian Jornet Burgada who ended up finishing third place at the Western States in a sick, sick 16:04

After gathering all kinds of cool stuff at race check-in, skarfing some quality food in Tahoe City, and sitting through the mandatory pre-race meeting, it was all starting to hit me like a ton of bricks – nerves began setting in – and I started thinking about finding a pillow.

As usual before a big exciting race, I got zero sleep at all. (and seemingly, whoever was in the room above me didn’t either…)

At the start of the 2010 Western States 100

There we stood.

Ready. …as we’d ever be, for the 2010 Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run.

Excited.

I was literally jumping up and down.

Then, a 10-second countdown, and before I could take it all in, we started the race up the long 4-mile climb up the gut of Squaw Valley. Me, Jeff, Sherpa John, and DC Lundell – grinding out the crawl to the top.

Squaw Valley to Escarpment

Climbing, baby!

Good, ol’ fashioned climbing. I actually started running up the climb until I received a warning from DC Lundell to forget about that. He was right, but as the grade got steeper and steeper, I would have had to start power-hiking anyway.

As we approached the top, I broke out my camera and started shooting video of the snow-covered trail on top of the mountain.

(unfortunately, I cannot share these photos and videos as I somehow lost my camera at Rucky Chucky with my waist pack. I’m hoping someone has it …anyone?)

For about 1/2 mile we trudged through mild snow, then gnarly steep snow, before finally cresting the climb.

It felt to good to have this section completed.

I was ready to run.

Down to Poppy Trailhead

The first part of this section was, without a doubt, my absolute favorite part of the course.

There was a ton a snow, and snow-melt mud, to run through for miles and miles and I really excelled here. While many people struggled with slipping and sliding all over the place, I tore through the snow, calling on my skateboarding/surfing background and charging through the gnarly single-track with wild abandon.

It was fun. A “hoot” as they say here in the South.

But, as soon as we hit the gate that would send us on the official “snow route”, I started getting passed by all those same people that I passed above in the snow.

{damn}

I seem to have a blast and go crazy on the technical stuff, but when it opens up and people with real speed can take advantage, I always get dropped like I’m standing still.

I still was able to complete the first 20 miles (well, ok, 19) in 4 hours, so everything seemed to be moving along nicely.

Duncan Canyon

I’m not sure what it’s called (maybe the “poppy trail?”), but after the Poppy Trailhead aid station, we hit some beautiful, soft single-track that rolled slightly along a beautiful lake. This might be “French Meadows”, but I don’t know for sure.

It looked like something on TV. Giant, thick pine trees all along mountain sides as far as the eye could see, with a big beautiful turquoise lake, and all draped in bright sunshine and big blue skies.

I felt so alive!

…until we became exposed.

I caught up to Jeff Genova (who hammered the earlier snow even harder than me) and found myself in a pack of runners being led by Zombierunner online running store owner, DC Lundell.

(And yes, if you’re wondering, I do buy from them – not everything – but they provide super-fast shipping, great customer service, and TONS of running knowledge; he and Gillian are true class acts in the sport. Give ‘em a try!)

The climb to the Duncan Canyon aid station was my first taste of canyon heat.

Trees? gone.

Dusty, rocky single-track that winded back-n-forth, slowly climbing to a ridge that would eventually carry us to the Duncan Canyon aid station which was slammed with people and crews …and some excited dude on a microphone, who announced, “here comes a guy that can bench press more than me,” as I made my way to the check-in table.

This got a laugh out of the crowd, but I was hot and tired, so all I could do was grin slightly, and carry my big ass to the food.

And as I stuffed my face with watermelon and peaches, I hear the mic dude, “Christian, how about dropping for a set of push-ups for the ladies?”

Ok, dude, I know – I get it.

Duncan Canyon to Robinson Flat

Woo Hoo! Back on the original Western States course now. Snow route, no more.

The descent was mild, rocky single-track that crossed a few small creeks, and kept us covered up with thick tree cover; but the ascent, into Robinson Flat was almost in complete 100% contrast. There were periods of coverage on the climb, but for the most part it was exposed and hot. There were lots of burnt-up trees here that appeared to be lopped-off about 35 feet high.

I’d love to know more about this section of burned trees as it was very weird.

(I’d show you a picture, but alas… camera is MIA)

Once we got a bit higher into the climb to Robinson Flat, the trail got very steep, snowy and treacherous. Much of the trail was suffering from snow-melt and we did a lot of climbing up a trail-turned-mildly-rushing creek.

I caught some folks here on the climb, but also got passed by John Holt, who was powering up the climb, but out of water.

Now, I have to take a second to SHOUT-OUT to the uber-nice little redhead aid station volunteer that stuck by me from the minute I entered the station, until I left. She filled my bottles, escorted me through the food line, secured my drop bag, helped me with clean shoes and socks AND EVEN HELPED CLEAN MY DIRTY-ASS FEET before I put on clean shoes.

She fetched me more food while I struggled with my shoes, and even found me some real food – turkey sandwiches!

Thank you – whoever you were – you were a dream and blessing for someone who just ran 30 miles.

Almost 1/3 of the race completed, and I felt great!

Robinson Flat to Last Chance

Once again, like a broken record, I loved the early part of this section, too!

Exposed, winding single-track that was dusty, dirty, rocky and rugged and reminded me of what I expected a western trail to be like. There were about three of us, spaced well apart, for this entire descent, so I really got to enjoy some alone time descending this section.

The views of the Sierras were immense and I found myself saying “damn!”, and “wow!”, every 25 seconds.

I felt so lucky to be there – to be experiencing this epic adventure, and so early in my running “career.”

…but at the bottom we hit some really, really fine dust.

The trail became a sort of double-track jeep road and I’ve decided I don’t like jeep roads, gravel roads, or anything like ‘em — well, at least not nearly as much as I enjoy rugged single-track.

The dust was harsh and it was the beginning to one of the medical problems that would eventually equate to my being pulled late in the race. As someone who experiences exercise-induced asthma, dusty conditions or excessive cold can really cause me problems and make me wheeze.

I started wheezing.

I caught up to Alan Geraldi (who also hammered the early snow sections) and he was starting to have some foot problems. No doubt, you will read about this in his report, so I’ll let it go for now, but it was nice to see him – too bad I couldn’t chill with him though, but instead had to duck into the woods to do as the bears do.

Did you know that there are no leaves in the Sierra’s?

Seriously. I’m running along, about to explode, and cannot find a single, normal tree leaf.

All pine.

Try wiping with pine branches someday. It’s an experience.

I rolled into the Last Chance aid station feeling less-than-fantastic. It didn’t help that I heard the old dudes in lounge chairs discussing how I looked more like a rugby player than a runner.

I felt a lot of fatigue instantly, and I was beginning to develop this odd problem where I’d feel like I had to pee, but when I’d hang him out, it would just dribble.

This would get worse later on… and by the time I arrived at the next aid station, I was starting to see blood in the dribbles.

{sigh}

But, I charged into Last Chance as best I could and immediately got called over to step on the medical scales.

“204,” said the medical lady. “let me see your bracelet for your starting weight”

“214!” she gasped. “You’ve lost 10 pounds”

…and with that, they all started whispering to each other and stuff.

“We might need to keep you here.”

“please don’t,” I begged.

And with that a really nice medical volunteer walked with me, got me some soup, and told me to drink more, take more salt and see where I’m at once I get to Devil’s Thumb.

The Canyons – The dirty, nasty evil canyons

Wow.

The descent to the bridge before Devil’s Thumb hammered my quads, but I ran the whole way, determined to suck it up and then take my time on the climb.

Like I had a choice…

Climbing Devil’s Thumb was a brutal experience for me – all 36 steep switch-backs of it.

Clearly, I was not alone.

Throughout the series of switch-backs, it looked like a war zone, with people sitting on various rocks along the climb puking, resting and/or nursing some kind of problem. I saw a woman throw up violently, then get up, and push her way up the climb and out of sight.

I guess it helped.

I saw a couple of dudes, head in hands, just trying to catch a breath.

In fact, every now and then, I’d disassociate from the climb, lean a little too much back, and almost fall ass over tea kettles down the mountain.

I really had a rough time on this climb.

But I eventually got to the top, 12:20 into the race, and was happy to see that I was on about 25-hour pace.

Alan arrived and we shared some laughs with the volunteers, skarfed some Popsicles and started to the very long and dusty descent to El Dorado Creek where we would again cross a bridge and make a mean-ass climb …this time, to Michigan Bluff.

Running with a savior

A long time ago (well 3.5 years ago), when I first decided I wanted to become an ultrarunner, I reached out to Catra Corbett for some much needed personal advice and she proved to be the most helpful and influential person to me at that time. I told her that WHEN I got to the point in my weight loss and running where I was running 100-milers, and I saw her at a race, I would thank her personally for all of her kindness and consideration.

I finally got that chance at race check-in.

Then, descending this long dusty series of switch-backs and looking behind me, who is it…?

Yup, Catra.

What a treat this was for me. In my eyes, Catra is as legendary to ultrarunning as they come. I *think* she’s completed 72 one hundred mile races, and countless of other 50Ks and 50-milers. Like me, she obviously seems to like attention; but she is also a tremendous ambassador for the sport of the ultrarunning, as well as, strength-training, CrossFit and any kind of solid health and nutrition.

I’ve followed her for years (just like you, admit it) – and it was an absolute honor to spend trail time with such a character in our big, worldwide family of crazy runners.

…however, I eventually lost track of her on the climb to Michigan Bluff, and once again it was me and Alan Geraldi – huffin’ and puffin’ up Michigan Bluff.

Fixing my Feet

That’s right, at the top of Michigan Bluff I was treated by none other than Dr. Jon Vonhof, author of Fixing Your Feet, as he ripped off the shoes, and treated me to a real foot education and some preventative taping.

It was the first we’ve met in person and we chatted a bit about Internet Marketing, foot care and general business. It was cool.

I was damn stoked to be spending quality time with legend after legend – it was just the coolest thing ever.

It chewed up a lot of time, 23 minutes, but it was worth it to meet John and feel secure with a job done right.

Found Alan again, waved to some friends in all the crowd madness, and headed down the road sweatin’ the time and stuffin’ my face.

Yet another impact person

Rolling out of Michigan Bluff, standing on the side of the dirt road {trying} to pee, I hear “Is that Christian Griffith?”

“yup,” I said as I quickly packaged things back up since I saw it was a female coming.

“It’s me, Linda.”

“Cool!”, “Killer!” …and I ran up and gave her a hug.

You see, back in what, 2008, I toyed with the idea of running a hundred-miler. I knew I wasn’t ready, and I knew it was far out of my league, but I wanted to anyway, and Linda Dewees sent me the most profound email, personally, encouraging me to “just do it.” – Most specifically, I remember her telling me, “if a 50-something housewife like me can do it, you can do it.”

It was specifically at her encouragement that I man’d up and signed up for my first 100-miler – now, with over 35 ultras under my belt, here she was, strolling right along next to me.

So crazy…

Are you catching the vibe yet?

Are you understanding why this race meant so much to me? Can you see how much of an impact this personal interaction has on me?

I love it, man…

The people? The legends? Putting faces to names and emails, and making new friends.

This is ultrarunning. This is one reason why the sport is so addictive and why I love it!

Through Volcano Canyon, to Foresthill

I was excited to see my pacer, George. Remember George from waaaay earlier in the story?

I knew a pacer would help a bunch as I started a pretty rapid decline with dehydration, fatigue and the pesky bloody stage-fright pee problem.

Alan told me to run on ahead as his foot was really getting crazy and I was feelin’ some downhill, so I took off.

I had a pretty good section through Volcano Canyon. For one, I really liked that section, and two, I rolled into yet another friend, Kate whom I only knew from the “the ultralist” and through various email correspondences.

Each time I made contact with someone that I wanted to meet, it made me happy and lifted my spirits long enough to get a burst out of it.

Where were all y’all from miles 70-79?

I ripped through the Volcano Canyon, climbed out to the Auburn Running Company aid station at the bottom of Bath Road, and was actually feeling ok – not great – but, good enough.

It’s George!

At the top of Bath road I heard someone announce my number over the walkie-talkies. I think they do this so the microphone announcer-dudes at Foresthill can let the crowd know who’s coming and runners’ pacers can get prepared for their approaching runner.

As I ran into Foresthill, George saw me, called out and started running with me into the aid station.

People were giving me lots of attention and it felt really good. I felt like a superstar …like what it must feel like all the time for the elite runners.

It felt so good, I forgot my good headlamp and ended up being stuck with my little bitty small one from Michigan Bluff; and even worse, I had a clean, long-sleeved shirt for the cooler nights and a fresh pair of shoes and socks in the drop bag …and I forgot all that, too.

I’m such a sucker for the attention, that I get caught up in it, waving and thanking everyone, and I forget to think.

Can I blame my parents?

Anyway, we didn’t stay at Foresthill long, only 4 minutes, before we blazed out to California Street to hit the Western States trailhead once again.

I had 13 hours and 13 minutes to go 38 miles.

…piece of cake, right?

Like a couple of gazelles

George and I started off great!

We started passing people left and right and we were moving really well.

At one point George said, “reel ‘em on in, Christian, reel ‘em on in”

Some bitter irony.

Because once we got to Dardanelles (Cal 1) aid station, I tanked in the most horrible way ever…

This was to begin my complete collapse.

Dropping deeper and deeper into Hell

You know things are starting to go badly when not only are you being passed by those you just passed a few miles back, but now people are passing you who you haven’t seen all day long.

My bloody pee problem was becoming very problematic and I didn’t know what to do.

For one, I respected George so much and looked up to him and didn’t want to disappoint him, so I tried to keep it low and downplay it a bit, but I knew it was going to become a serious factor soon.

Running made it worse.

Walking was ok, but with all the bouncing, especially when running downhill, I would constantly feel like I had to pee like crazy, but nothing would produce but drops of blood.

DAMN IT!

I finally could no longer hide it from George as I had to stop constantly, like every couple o’ hundred yards, and try to pee; and of course, constantly rubbing my shorts to the side to get “the man” out was starting to chaff me.

Downward spiral on 78 speed.

I went from running like I was somewhat fresh, to walking entire stretches. I could walk pretty fast, but even a fast walk was slower than a slow run, and I knew it was only a matter of time before my problems began to cut into my walk. Once you can’t even walk, as I learned in the Keys 100, you’re pretty much outta’ mobility options.

The walking dead

This went on for miles.

I felt like complete shit.

Not only physically and for myself, but for George. This man opened his home to me, picked me up from the airport, fed me and showed me around town. Not only that, he offered to let me recover for a couple o’ days at the house until my flight.

Plus, a good friend recommended me as a tough runner and convinced George to run with me, but instead of a tough runner, he was getting an asthmatic, blood-peeing, dehydrated fool of a runner who was staggering around in the poison oak with a weak little dribbling johnson in his hand.

Let me reiterate, I felt like complete shit!

He was out here in the middle of the night FOR ME, to help me get my Western States buckle, and here I was just walking in pain and unable to keep up. Each time he stopped to wait for me, I felt worse.

Like a loser.

When your physically sick and mentally trashed, everything bad is magnified 1000%.

Now I was emotionally coming unglued as I do not handle failure well at all.

The End

About two miles from the Rucky Chucky aid station, I knew I had to come clean with George. He knew I had the pee problem …how could he not with me stopping every 3 minutes to “try to go”; but I don’t think he knew the severity of how I felt with all the various problems compounding upon themselves.

My breathing was now a full-on “wheeze” – both inhale and exhale.

I couldn’t pee, which most likely was what was preventing me from drinking enough, and when I did dribble it was bloody and neon.

Little did I know I was about to get the biggest shock of all at the aid station…

…but, I did come clean.

I told George that I was worried. That I have exercise-induced asthma, but that it doesn’t always bother me, and no, I didn’t have an inhaler. I explained that there was no way I could run because the shaking made me feel like I had to pee a river …only to produce droplets.

I told him I was scared to tell the medical peeps about the pee because they would almost for sure pull me.

He suggested we get to Rucky Chucky, see the medical team, and evaluate from there. …which we did.

But when I got there I just could not get my head together. The medical team had to balance me on the scale and I simply could not make my body do what I wanted it to do.

Then came that shock – 198 pounds – I was down 16 pounds from the start of the race.

More medical team whispering ensued, lotsa questions tossed at me, George looking concerned, more runners coming into the aid station and leaving the aid station…

I started to get cold sitting there but feared the blanket knowing it would almost surely be my nail in the coffin.

I had some grilled cheese and soup, stood up, and tried to make my way to river crossing but it wasn’t happening so well.

A doctor came up behind me with a stethoscope, put it against my back, and that was it.

After hearing the wheezing again, he said, “you’re not going anywhere.”

And my race was done.

(but I already knew it – just needed someone else to say it)

A snip that cuts my heart in half

I laid on a cot under a furniture moving blanket, being petted and attended to by the nicest of nice volunteer-lady, a woman who really did make me feel better as she talked about how much she liked my writing and wittiness on the ultralist, and reminding me how far I had come. I sure wish I knew her name because I want to thank her again.

Some people are just genuinely good people. I wish I was that “good.”

But like the grim reaper, the medical station captain came over, knelt beside me and said that he had to cut-off my medical bracelet to make the drop official.

*snip – and it was over.

That snip went through me like a bolt of lightening and I’ll never forget it.

I’ll have to cross my fingers for next year, and this time, train like my life depends on it.

No excuses.

So now what?

I was so crushed after my Keys 100 race, I’m sure people are bracing for hateful Christian to appear, but that’s just not the case.

YES, I wanted a buckle, but Western States for me ended up not being only about the buckle. It became about the experience.

I may not have my buckle – yet – but I developed and nurtured new friendships and relationships that will only blossom over my time in this sport. I thrive on the sociology of ultrarunning and I took that up a notch at Western States.

I love ultrarunning.

I love training.

I love suffering for personal satisfaction and reward.

I’m a fighter and I’ll be back.

Becoming consistent at 100-milers is proving to be the most difficult thing I’ve ever faced in my life of self-imposed challenges and I’m not about to give up now.

Another shout-out…

Thank you Raj for your wisdom and strength and counseling as I lay on the cot a defeated, dejected loser – your words have stuck with me profoundly and have provided me with a much greater sense of not only what I want to be, but what it takes to get there. I realize you most likely never intended for me to make such a fuss over what you said, or even the fact that you said it, but I want you to know that you have a gift for uplifting people and I thank you.

I’ll be back.

I’m not finished.

I will recover and I will use this experience, just like my Keys 100 experience, to grow and become a better ultrarunner.

I’m only 3 years in to ultrarunning and I’ve got a long way to go.

Watch out!

——————————————————————————————–

The following are just some of the contacts I made, faces I met, and people who have had an impact on my Western States experience: Shaking hands with Anton Krupicka, chatting with MoeBen Shannon, photo with Krissy, catching up with Devon, friending with Jill, cutting up with “The Sherp”, chilling and bonding with Team Genova, getting lengthy trail time with Catra, wishing Hal good luck, meeting Gordy, Cow-man, building a true friendship with Alan, learning from George, the little redheaded aid station angel, meeting Linda, and Tropical John, and Hao, and Rajeev, the Brocks, Kate, and the nice aid station lady who filled me with compliments, and the med dude that walked with me outta’ Last Chance, and the girl that invited me to suffer with her through the dark night, and chatty tiara girl, and “Dave?” in Vibrams, and the Euro dude who after 3 “huh’s” I still didn’t understand his name …and seeing Charlie Crissman again and all his band of Pacific NW Cascade Crest alumni runners. DC Lundell, the king of straight-forward succinct advice. Super-fit Claire, despite being Type-1, and although I never got to speak much to him, Andy Kumeda. Oh, and the local Georgia girls that cheered for me at every station even though they were there for another Georgia runner. And yea, that other Georgia runner was Susan – Way to finish Susan.

I sure hope I didn’t forget anyone, but as you can see my heart is filled, man – I had a truly great experience.

Next time, it’ll be with a buckle.

Friday afternoon, May 28, 2010

me: “Babette, can I please go to Fernandina Beach and swim in that 5K ocean race?”

Babs: “Where’s Fernan.. where are you going?”

me: “FernanDINA …beach,” I said. “It’s in Florida.”

Babs: “When…?”

“…right now?”

me: “Yea.”

Babs: {sigh} “so…uh…you’re just gonna go by yourself?”

“to Florida…?”

“to swim…”

“…again?”

me: “uh huh.”

Babs: “ok… whatever”

And just like that, I’m off to Florida.

A visit to the Jacksonville Wal-Mart

Since it’s almost six hours from Atlanta, I didn’t have enough time to go home and pack or get swim gear or anything. Instead, I’d just leave from the office and head south and take my chances at a local Wal-Mart or Target in Florida.

That’s a cool thing about open water swimming – it doesn’t take much to play: a pair of trunks, some goggles and you’re good to go.

I rolled into Jacksonville kinda late, but Wal-Mart was still open. I scored a pair of tighty little wicking underwear things to swim in and a pair of baggy shorts to wear over them until the very last second.

Grabbed some cheap-ass goggles (mistake) and some High Protein Boost for breakfast in the morning.

I’m ready to swim.

Ed Gaw Open Water Challenge

This was the 10th year for the Ed Gaw Open Water Challenge.

I showed up, registered, got written on, secured my #536 bright green swim cap and walked out to the beach to check the water conditions.

Choppy.

Much more choppy than the Pensacola Bay during last week’s 5K swim along the three-mile bridge. That race had perfect glass conditions, but out here on the East Coast “open ocean” side, we had about 1-2 foot chop.

I walked around, eavesdropping on other competitors conversations who had experience with this race over the previous years. Some were concerned with the chop, some not, but everyone agreed that the water temps were perfect (78 degrees) and the current almost non-existent.

I mean, come on… It’s 7:00 a.m., already 80+ degrees with bright sunshine, light breezes, the smell and the sound of the ocean. It was my idea of total and complete perfection. I was so happy to be on the beach.

I’m always happy to be on the beach.

The mental torture of buses

In these 5K swims, it seems the organizers are always sending swimmers to the start on buses, letting them “swim back” to the finish area. This is always a mental mind mangler because as you bounce around on the bus, goggles and cap clutched tightly in hand, you really get an idea of just how far you are going to have to swim to get back.

The longer the bus rides, the longer you stare out at the ocean and wonder.

Open ocean vs. the Bay

This event was much different than the Pensacola Swim.

For starters, in open ocean swimmers start on the beach, and when the horn blows everyone dashes out into the water. The clock has started, but you really haven’t begun the actual race distance yet.

Swimmers must first fight the surf for about 100 yards out, swimming diagonally towards the starting buoy. Once you get out there, you round the buoy and begin your 3.1 mile trek parallel to shore.

Unlike the Bay race, there were no buoys every .25 mile or so. Instead, they had one starting buoy, one 2.1 mile buoy and a finish buoy. (nothing is a beautiful as a finish buoy)

This made it tough for a newbie dork like me. I bet I swam twice the distance with all the side-to-side swimming I was doing. I couldn’t stay in a straight line for anything – I had waves knocking me around, complete lack of ability to sight anything to keep me swimming straight, and an obsessive, yet unintentional, automatic attraction to heading towards the beach.

A couple of times, the kayakers had to point to me further back out to sea.

Because we were swimming south-to-north and because I breath to my right, the swells were constantly in my face when I’d turn to breath. I chaffed my neck by constantly turning my head excessively to the side to get a clean breath every now and then.

And, because of the swells and my constant attention to trying to swim straight, my rhythm was difficult to set and never really “got there.”

I had a couple of panic moments where I wondered if I was perhaps out of my league on this one. I felt like the pack was way ahead, swimming along fine, while I was constantly just trying to get something happenin’. Some kind of rhythm flowin’.

Clarity

But, then there was this one moment during the race where a feeling of contentment just smacked me in the face like a fishtail.

“I’m swimming in the ocean!”

My love. The ocean.

I’ve never been more content in my life than I am when I’m at the beach. Life surrounds you 360 degrees everywhere else on the planet, but not on the beach. You’re only surrounded by “life” 3/4 of the way — 1/4 is the infinite expanse of the sea.

The ocean calms me.

Its my playground and my serenity.

The smell of the sea, the sand in my shorts, the sticky humidity… it’s all heaven to me.

I all-of-a-sudden didn’t care if it took me six hours. In fact, let it take me six hours, or 12, or all day and night.

Fatiguing or not, one thing was for sure, it would end. And when it did, I’d be right back to normalcy having to deal with the everyday things in life that we all have to deal with all the time.

I didn’t want normalcy. I’m sick of normalcy.

But in the water, it was just me and the jellies, cold-chillin’ on a Saturday morning without a care in the world.

That last buoy

And, just like that, all the uncertainty of finishing disappeared. All the worry about swimming too close, or getting too far out, went away.

I could see the last buoy.

I swam and I swam, rounded the last buoy, and I didn’t stop swimming until I could see the sand below me.

I stood up. Jump-hop-ran through the surf, up the cone-lined beach and past the clock.

2:07 …again.

Same as last week.

Actually, 2:07:26 which is about 20 seconds faster than last week; AND, I’m happy because we had the extra distance(s) from the start and finish to negotiate plus choppier waters.

* Update: official results say 2:03, …cool.

3rd place, 35-39 – but most likely there were only a few 35-39 year olds, but a place is a place and I have the certificate to prove it.

{wink, wink}

Seeing as how I just sorted jumped into this sport, I’m pleased as punch.

So Chris Gaw, you have a great race there in li’l ol’ Fernandina Beach. I learned that Ed Gaw is your deceased father and I’m honored that I got to share in the experience of a little sliver of your annual family tribute to your dad.

Thanks to you, the dude named Scott, all the volunteers sportin’ mad food at the finish and that great lady in the peddle-able kayak who kept a watchful eye on me and offered lots of words of support as I half-drowned down the coast.

I hope to get back there next year – and be a lot faster.

I really enjoy swimming. I’m happy I have this sport as yet another ingredient in my adrenaline junkie lifestyle.

Get some!

Cool! …I found something else to love.

And even better, swimming 5K was all it took to shake off the Keys 100-miler DNF and gain some confidence back.  …well, that, and losing my big toenail this morning which pretty much allowed me to equate some mental and emotional finality to the Keys event.

All focus is now firmly on running Western States 100 in exactly one month (June 26).

Can I even swim three miles?

I was a little intimidated when Kid Kahrs and I rolled into Gulf Breeze, Florida, Saturday afternoon.

First of all, as a long distance runner, visualizing 5K in my head seems easy and is much less intimidating than actually seeing it laid out in front of me in a straight line, and second, 90% of the competing athletes that we saw looked like Olympic swimmers with shoulders like coat hangers and abs like TV commercials.

Driving across that bridge really put the distance into perspective for both of us and I think we were both a little sketched at first.

Lots of, “dude,  that’s a long way, man…”

See, I’m not really a “swimmer.” …let alone an “ultraswimmer”

I can surf. I grew up in the ocean and I absolutely LOVE the water …especially, the ocean.

Lakes? eh…not-so-much, but even a lake is better than grinding out laps in a pool.

I spent a couple of years as an ocean lifeguard; but, I’ve never swam competitively or with any goal or focus in mind. Swimming was just something fun to do.

About a month ago, I started feeling beaten and battered from all the back-to-back ultrarunning races and decided to start swimming more since my YMCA has a decent pool and the low-impact cross-training would be easy on the joints.

Matt “Kid” Kahrs, a good friend, super-fast ultrarunner and easy athlete to look up to, had been swimming almost exclusively since he can’t run due to a long-standing injury, and I knew that he had planned to try an open water swim somewhere.

I didn’t know where, how long, or really anything about it, but it sounded kinda cool.

All it took was a phone call…

It was on!

The Pensacola 3-Mile Bridge Swim and Aquathon

photo: look how small those boats are, now picture a person swimming from land mass to land mass… then, imagine the 10Kers who same that out-n-back — damn!

The Pensacola 3-mile bridge swim and aquathon had four events:

1. 1 mile swim
2. 5K swim (3.1 miles)
3. 10K swim (6.2 miles)
4. 5K run, then 5K swim

5K swimmers got in the water at one end of the 3-mile bridge that starts in Pensacola. Swimmers then swim the length of the bridge, crossing the Pensacola Bay, into the ritzy li’l town of Gulf Breeze, Florida.

One added challenge of the race came once you made it to the other side of the Bay. Once you made it 3-miles along the bridge, you weren’t quite finished as you still had to circle a boat dock and small marina for about .1 mile, before making your way to the beaches of the Bay Beach Resort.

The 10K swimmers (which blows my mind by the way) did it out-n-back. Thats a shocking distance to swim to me, but I’m going for it next year!

The 5K run, then swim, would have been cool, but my feet were still all jacked from the Keys 100 foot fiasco, so no running for me.

Um, so, I swam

A swimming race report is tough to write. There is little-to-no interaction with anyone during the event, and you spend the entire time with your face buried in the water, trying to scope out buoys in foggy goggles, and trying not to get kicked in the face.

Actually, once the field spread out, it was rare to have to worry about running into others – or them running into you.

What I loved most about the event was being “in my element.” – I love mountain ultrarunning, trail running and even road running – but they are all stand-ins right now for my true love of surfing.

And with a love for surfing comes a deep desire to be in the water.

When I was swimming that channel, I felt like I was home. I got into a smooth rhythm where I felt like I could just cruise like that forever. Not until the last .1 did I even try to vary my stroke in any way. It was all about making sure that I could both complete the distance, and enjoy myself doing it.

I loved every single second.

The smell of the ocean. The sticky saltwater, the rhythm of stroking and breathing and sighting.

Every time I turned my head to take a breath, I saw blue skies, bright white clouds and the occasional seagull.

The water felt cool and refreshing on my skin, and I could feel my body cutting through the water.

I felt like a dolphin.

When I was out there …like, waaaay out there, I felt so vulnerable but so self-sufficient. It was me against the elements. Against mother nature …but not really against her, just experiencing her gifts for individual challenge and personal satisfaction.

In ultrarunning we talk about “respect the distance,” and I don’t think there’s any stronger situational example of such as with swimming. You can’t just stop when you’re in the middle of a channel. It’s tough to “regroup”, and you certainly cannot “grab a chair for 20 minutes.”

Some people get freaked out in open water, because its dark, you can’t see the bottom, and its very possible to “bump into” various sea life; but I couldn’t have been happier in my element.

I didn’t worry at all. I just smiled.

Beautiful, warm sunshine, plus 79 degree water, and light, cool breezes, with half-naked people everywhere is just a flat-out great mix for a wonderful time.

Period.

Just get to the halfway point and take it from there

My goal was to simply cruise as easily and rhythmically as possible to the halfway point. From there, I would know if I could complete the distance.

For safety, kayaks followed along, and should swimmers need to bail, they would wave their bright yellow swim caps in the air. Kayaks would then take them to a larger boat for assistance and transportation back; and of course, like an ultramarathon, immediate disqualification.

I didn’t want this to be me, but I was glad the kayaks were there just in case.

I got to the halfway point feeling terrific. I wasn’t tired, but I naturally could feel that I had been swimming for 1.5 miles.

I was no longer concerned about the ability to finish, but I wasn’t going to try to push it either and end up making a fool of myself, so I continued the same cruise-y stroke.

I knew if it got me here, it would get me to the end.

I started to wonder where Matt was and how he was doing and how everything was going for him. I wondered if he was having as much fun as me.

I’m proud to say that I now know that he was doing great and loving it every bit of it just as much as me. It’s always great when both “travelers” feel good and have a good day – makes for a comfortable ride home. {wink}

And there’s the marina

After almost two hours of swimming, I spotted the marina far off in the distance.

I knew I was going to finish, so I kicked it in a little, passing three other swimmers as I pushed around the boat docks and into the beach area.

The clock read 2:07 when I ran under the red finish awning, and I was more-than-pleased as I had expected somewhere around 2:30.

When I swam 1-mile in the pool (which was a mental nightmare counting those laps), I did it in 40 minutes flat, so being able to carry just a blip over that (40:52) for 3.1 miles in open water was a big win for me.

In contrast, Kid Kahrs? …1:34 kids… just like ultrarunning, he’s most likely gonna be a swim phenom, too. He crushes everything he touches and I knew he’d do well. Right on, Kahrs!!!

Oh, to be 29 again…

So, you know what’s next…

Yup, I’m after more of these.

I loved it so much, and I’m built for swimming. I’m thick, with a strong upper body and decent stroke. I might not be fast, yet – or maybe never – but most likely will only improve once I have more than a month of training in the bank. {wink}

I will always love ultrarunning, but swimming is cool too and now I get have more toys in the chest to play with. …until that day comes when I again get to start my morning by checking the surf.

Get some!

Stupid is as stupid does

Any ultrarunner knows that DNFs happen. ** (DNF=did not finish)

But they really sting when everything is going right – Pace consistent, nutrition tight, body strong – and then one stupid mistake, or perhaps a series of stupid mistakes, comes together to bring your race to a screeching halt.

This is what happened to me at the 2010 Keys 100 ultramarathon from Key Largo to Key West.

Stupid mistakes. Poor planning. Lack of respect for the distance.

Cocky, …I suppose.

The setup

I came into the race a little concerned about my ability to run. Having spent over a week on the nasty, parasite-killing drug Flagyl, my body was feeling a little torn up inside. The fact that I hadn’t been running for two weeks up until the event proved to be a good thing as my legs were recovered and ready to go, but this general feeling of “blah” needed to disappear.

At packet-pickup the night before the race, I started to get excited and strongly believed I had not only a finish in me, but perhaps a solid sub-24.

I felt that good.

6:00 a.m. start in Key Largo

As all us 100-mile runners and relay crowd meandered to the start line, I got the opportunity to walk and talk with Monica Scholz. This was a real treat for me as I’ve been aware both of her past accomplishments, and her present goals. She has over thirty 100-milers planned for 2010.

And when we started, I got in a few chats with Beth McCurdy, a personal favorite, before she charged up front with the lead pack.

Within the first few miles, I was greeted by, and chatted with all kinds of people who either knew me from this blog (and the ultralist), or who I’ve run many races with in the past – Jenn Vogel, Cyndi Graves, Alan Geraldi, Scott Sanders, Bry Gardner, Joe Ninke, Bill Andrews …and more.

My goal was to take the advice given to me by DC Lundell and Rob Youngren – start easy, implement a run/walk strategy early, and see how it goes. This would be the first time that I can remember implementing a run/walk strategy BEFORE fatigue required it.

So, I’ll just go ahead and admit it – yea, ok, it works.

The first 25 miles | steady as she goes

Running through the islands of Key Largo, Tavernier and Islamorada were pretty damn nice. You don’t have as many of the water views as you have in the later miles when the land mass is thinner between the ocean and the bay, but it’s still tropical and pleasant.

But, the heat cranked up quickly.

I’ve heard reports from the Vogels and others of 100+ pavement temps, but there were also some people thinking it wasn’t as hot as a last year, so I don’t know what the true deal was; BUT TO ME it felt extremely hot. Hotter than last year for sure. Maybe more humid, I don’t know, but it felt really, really hot whatever was happening.

But, aside from all that heat, there were some really nice breezes. Unfortunately, you could only benefit from these breezes when crossing the bridges since much of the early running blocked most of the wind.

Per Rob Youngren, I implemented a run/walk ratio of ~25/5 (minutes). This worked out great for the first 25 miles and the run/walk thing allowed me to have almost identical splits for 0-25 miles, and 25-50 miles.

Mistake #1: during the first 25 miles is where dumb mistake #1 began happening. My crew and great friend Matt kept pouring ice cold water over my head about every 3-5 miles. While this kept me cool, and felt like the right thing to do, it wasn’t. My feet stayed wet indefinitely, and while I had yet to find out how bad it was going to get, I knew it might be a problem later.

Let it be stated that I DO NOT blame him in the least. I would have done it to myself and am known for drenching myself in cold water whenever I can.

Miles 25-50 | moving well, but going blind

I went through my first low point after the mile 25 check-in. Even though I knew I was doing the right thing with super slow pacing, 5:59 seemed like a long time to get 25 miles in the bank on the road.

And, the heat was catching up to me.

Then a really odd thing happened, I went blind for about 4 miles.

Mistake #2: Here’s what I think happened – I sprayed a bunch of Bullfrog sunblock on my face, but didn’t rub it in well enough. As I ran, I would spray my face with my water bottle trying to stay cool. I think some of the sunblock ran into my eyes. It was horrible. I could not open my eyes for more than a split second, and this went on for about 45 minutes.

I’d open them really fast to make sure I wasn’t running into US1 highway traffic, and then close them again for relief …all while I was still running!

It didn’t help that I was running without sunglasses, and I think the combination of the chemicals in my eyes + the bright glare of the mid-day sun = burned-out retinas. Luckily, Matt gave me his sunglasses to use and it helped a little, but I still suffered for quite awhile with burning eyeballs.

Once the eye issue cleared up a bit, we were directed onto this thin bike path bordered on both sides by thick, tall 15-foot mangroves. The 25/5 ratio thing was becoming too hard, but I was finding much success in a new run/walk ratio of pole-to-pole.

I’d guess that the power poles in the Keys are generally about 1/10 of  mile apart, so I’d run from one pole to the next, then walk to the next one, where I’d then run again to the next pole.

This pole game was awesome. I caught a lot of people this way – most of them who had seemingly already begun to walk-only, so it was cool to inch closer and closer to them until I’d finally pass.

I really liked this strategy and need to remember it.

Because I was running such short intervals, I could run them pretty fast and not get gassed. Then, the short walk would allow me to recover.

I kept this up from about mile 35-ish through the halfway check-point, and even across the 7-mile bridge. It not only helped me move up in race position, but it also helped gobble up the miles a lot faster.

I hit the second 25 mile split, at mile 50, in 11:53 with an almost identical split to the first 25 miles. I felt strong and according to the girls manning the table, I was now in 25th place.

I was shocked that as slow I was moving, there were still 75+ more people behind me.

Miles 50-60 | the surge

I declined water at the 50 mile check-in because I knew I’d be seeing Matt shortly.

Or, so I thought.

Somehow, he lost me, but later found me about 4 miles later, just before the 7-mile bridge. I was out of water and wondering “where the Hell is this guy?!” when I heard a beep and saw that apologetic smile.

I didn’t care that much. It was nice of him to be there, so I just jumped in the back and started eating everything in sight – Ensures, pepperoni, cheese, Oreos, and handfuls of fruit. I knew I needed to stock up for the trip over the 7-mile bridge since that’s a scary, hairy bridge with zero crew access.

I passed a bunch more people just before the bridge, and crossing the bridge I continued to pass other 100-mile runners.

Between miles 50-60, I bet I passed over 10 people and I was starting to feel really confident.

Sure, I was tired – but I wasn’t anywhere near beaten down and I could still run.

Miles 60-68 | The fastest decline in ultrarunning history

And then all Hell broke loose on my feet.

After the bridge, I continued my little sprint/walk routine. It was dark now, headlamp a-glowin’ and although it was still 87 degrees in the dark, the breeze was far more accessible.

Traffic died down a little, and every so often you’d get little glimmers of peace …until the next semi-truck came screaming around the corner in the black of night.

I was amazed that I wasn’t really sore nor all that tired. I started doing the math and thinking that if I could continue this pace, and complete that last 32 miles in under 8 hours, I’d guarantee myself a 25-26 hour finish…

…and then I felt the most painful skin-tearing ever in my life.

I sat on a bridge near Bahia Honda, threw off my shoe and sock, and looked at the pale, snow-white bottom of my foot. The skin had cracked open, kinda like “athlete’s foot”, in three distinct places and you could see dark blood oozing in the cracks.

Then, in the worst coincidence possible, as I limped along avoiding the right foot, the left foot starting stinging. Welcome to mistake #3…

Mistake #3: Earlier, thinking I knew what I was doing, I tried to tape a developing blister on my left foot. But since I’m such an idiot, lame-ass preparatory dude, I screwed it all up and made it too tight. I knew it was too tight, but chose to run with it poorly taped anyway.

What did this equate to? Well, the tape literally began to tear the skin because it was wrapped too tightly, so I took it off. This proved to be worse since I now had exposed flesh rubbing in my shoes at both the big toe and pinky toe areas.

Matt was cool when I expressed that my race might be over.

“Naw dude, come on, go one more mile and see what happens…”

So, I did.

It took me 22 minutes to complete mile 67 to mile 68.

I was dejected. I knew it was possible to continue on, just hobble-walking, but at what price?

I have Western States in just a bit over a month from now, and that’s my 2010 marquee event.

I just couldn’t risk shredding my feet further.

Just like that, my race was over.

So what did I learn?

I learned a lot in the race. Some things new, and some things that were “reinforced”

• Respect the distance: I came into the race with a haphazard attitude. Sort of a “whatever”-kind of thing that is completely the WRONG head space for 100-mile event.
• Steady pacing works: Starting out excruciatingly slow paid off, and would have continued to pay off had I not experienced foot problems. I want to ensure I can refine this strategy and not let ego eat me up when I’m at my healthiest.
• Gear planning is so important for 100-milers: I needed more shoes, more socks and a better understanding of what to do when the feet start to crack and/or blister.
• Problems can arise fast and furious: My total meltdown happened within a span of less than 10 miles. No matter how good you feel, it can change in an instant. Especially in the later miles.
• What happens in the first 50, shows up in the second 50: Early, stupid mistakes will come back to get you in the later miles. Be smart from the first 10 miles to the last 10.

This DNF really stings because I never saw it coming.

I ran well and got stronger as the race went longer.

My nutrition was great – I survived on a base of Vespa + Ensure and fresh fruit. For the occasional protein snack, pepperoni and cheese, which tasted great and satisfied my desire for “real food” in the later miles. Cokes and Oreos when I needed a spike.

Today is Tuesday, and I am not at all sore muscularity-wise. If it wasn’t for my jacked-up feet, I could easily run and train today.

But instead, I’m sitting here, trying to keep the bloody foot balloon from swelling past my toes while playing smear games with vitamin E oil, and antibiotic cream.

Like I said, “stupid is, as stupid does.”

Underestimating a Gary Cantrell race is just foolish and you’d think I’d know better – especially after popping my cherry on The Barkley this year – but sure enough, I went into this race thinking, “A nice little road race, good taper run to ease into the Keys 100 in two weeks.”

And then I got educated.

…once again.

Sean O is the man with the plan

I talked my buddy Sean O into running this race, and as I write this, I just realized it was his longest race effort to date  - so – damn good job Sean O!

Sean O is very smart, and he had already calculated all kinds of splits, read some reports, studied the race web site (of course I did none of these things), and had developed a pretty smart plan of attack.

I had no desire to hammer the course, so I wasn’t an eager strategy-beaver, but I did have my eye on a sub-7.

We planned to settle into a slow 9:30-10:00/mile pace until the halfway point where we could then evaluate the performance thus far, conduct personal inventories, and perhaps pick up the pace gradually until the finish.

I mean, “it’s just a road race, right?”

Sticking to a plan

Laz (Gary Cantrell) blew his famous conch shell, and 101 runners started off through the little country town of Wartrace. A short initial climb, round the corner, and we were instantly deep into rolling farm country.

Sean kept us on pace as I really wanted to go out harder. I’d start to push a little and he’d remind me to chill.

We still ran a little faster than we’d planned but never broke 9:00 miles except for rare downhill blasts.

photo: I forgot to turn of my watch after the finish…

Our goal was to run everything, but this is where I shout-out to Sharon Zelinski because this woman can power-hike some climbs, man. Even though, through the first 25 miles Sean and I ran all the hills, she ALWAYS caught us …and eventually passed us for good very early on.

I’m in awe of the people that can employ walk breaks as strategy. I can’t.

I only try to walk when I feel like I have to, and maybe that’s dumb, but I’m hoping it pays off as I continue to race.

This is not a hill

Some of the unique and comical elements of the Strolling Jim are the messages that Gary Cantrell paints along the course.

“This is not a hill” – when clearly it’s a hill.

At least he does concede “…but this is” – when runners do find themselves climbing something gargantuan.

“Only wimps walk here” – when it’s pretty tough not to walk.

“Big girls don’t cry”

You get the idea. Typical Gary. Harassing runners any way he can.

Happy cows

I have never seen so many happy cows.

I’m going to guess that it had something to do with the beauty of the area coupled with the fact that almost all of them appeared to be free-range, but they all appeared well-fed, happy and content on these humongous farms.

I remember specifically, a little after the marathon point, we made this turn and there’s this collapsed old farm house, sitting there in complete shambles, but begging for a picture, and surrounding it were over 200 big-ass cows.

80% of the cows were huddled very close to road and randomly “moo”ing as we ran by.

Made me smile from ear to ear.

Beauty beauty everywhere

That was pretty much the theme of the whole day.

Springtime in the south is like no other and it almost felt movie-like running down these long, rolling country roads bordered by wooden fences, green hills and the occasional small town.

Everything around us was thick, green and lush. Big, beautiful homes on giant plots of ranch land nestled in nicely with some of the more modest living folks. People waved as we ran by, took pictures and even offered food and drink.

Which reminds me – after running a long time down a seemingly endless country road with legendary Bill Keane, we came upon three churches at a sort of three-way crossroads, and Bill says to me “this one of my favorite parts of the course.” He continued, “The people around here couldn’t agree on a religious denomination, but they COULD agree on where to put their churches…”

And sure enough there were three churches packed together – a Church of Christ, a Baptist church and one li’l ol’ “community church” – all within 25 yards of one another and all without anything else around.

It was constantly little things like this along the way that made you forget you were in a race and felt more like a tour of unique Tennessee countryside.

Race report?

Ok, so I’m not doing very good at talking about the running part of the race, but if that’s how the experience comes out, then that must be how the experience went…

I guess I’ll wrap it up by saying that I truly enjoyed my experience at the Strolling Jim.

Yes, 41.2 miles on pavement is tough on the body.

Yes, it’s harder and hillier than Laz lets on.

But, it’s beautiful and it’s cool and the people rock and the food is good and the RD was good and running through the countryside like that is just special. If you think you won’t feel it, try it.

You’ll see.

Results?

Oh yea, ok, so no sub-7 for me.

I saw 6:56 on my watch with another 1.5 miles to go and I was already hobbling with a blown-out racing flat and sore joints, so that’s pretty much when we decided to just chill on in.

7:25 for 41.2 miles is still not horrible, and I’m happy with it for my first Strolling Jim (but, I will have that red shirt next year!)

Interesting tidbits

I like to lay down some interesting tidbits in my race reports that just pop into my mind, so here ya go:

1. It always rocks to spend time with Gary Cantrell (Laz).
2. …same goes for RayK. We love our legends.
3. Running the entire race, and finishing, with Sean O was the coolest. Long runs make for great bonding even when you aren’t talking a lot.
4. Catching Byron Backer was interesting and will probably never, ever happen again.
5. Tom “cold water dude” Wilson might just be the most incredible support dude to grace the ultrarunning scene ever.
6. The Alabama boys kicked butt yet again – Dink Taylor ran is 24th Strolling Jim this year.
7. Juli Aistars in the house!
8. Abi and TJ – cool mother/son vibe.
9. Spyder Tynes chills with her sister through marathon distance, then braves hella’ storms to complete the race.
10. Beth McCurdy showed off her Keys 100 training with a solid sub-7 and is fast becoming one of my favorite female ultrarunners.
11. …well, along with Kathy Youngren too – who slayed the course for the women (and who’s husband is chasing the Pinhoti record right freakin now!)
12. Brazilian Valmir Nunes cross in 4:44!
13. “The Walls” really aren’t that bad.
14. Not only did Sean O and I get passed by a dog with six inch legs in the latter miles, he finished sub-7!

Great volunteers. Great RD job by Mike Melton. Great race vibe. Great little town.

Easy to see why this is on the calendar for southern runners every year.

Now it’s on mine.

…and then I just stopped.

Woods Ferry 24-hour, …or not.

Li’l Weezy talked me into heading to rural, and I mean RURAL, South Carolina for a 24-hour event in the Sumter National Forest between Union and Chester, SC.

photo: Me and Li’l Weezy banking 20 miles.

The goal was for Weezy to get in some good time on his feet for 24-hours in preparation for the Pinhoti 100 – his first 100-miler. And, my goal was simply to stay on my feet with absolutely no mileage goals what-so-ever. So many people have been there to support me, so I thought I could do double-duty here with the “Weasel from Winder.”

I’m not trying to hate, and I’m from SC, so I’m not even going to get started on the little town of Union, the fact that there is not a single quality motel within 50 miles, nor its lack of even one single healthy place to eat, nor the excessive amount of personally irresponsible residents.

I know it sounds like I’m being very critical, but that’s not it – it really saddens me to see 300+ lb people, eating fried chicken and apple turnovers, ankles and wrists swollen from diabetes. It’s very depressing. Makes you want to help. Grab them and say wake up! educate yourself because you are dying. …and worse, your killing your kids.

Is there even gonna be a race?

Just before dark, we ventured to the start/finish at Woods Ferry Recreation Center inside the forest, and upon arrival listened to all the camping runners worry about the possibility of getting shut down.

The pavilion area where runners were to start/finish each loop had already been setup with a Hammer Nutrition banner and all the aid supplies and food, but apparently this was against the rules of the park. The ranger wanted all the food and supplies removed by dark . Plus, if it wasn’t removed by someone, most likely the animals would be “removing it” throughout the night.

I don’t know what the deal was. I heard musings of “no permit” and “canceled race” and “what if this, and what if that”, and it was all making me a bit uncomfortable. My early experiences in Union were already pretty weird, the race scene was looking weird and on top of all that, I was very, very sleepy.

We went to bed feeling very uneasy that night.

Smooth as silk

I don’t know if anyone removed anything, or what ended up happening, but packet pickup was mellow, the RD chipper, and come 7:30 a.m. everyone hit the trails for 24 hours of trail running.

…however, this would be unlike any 24-hour I’ve ever seen.

Aren’t timed events supposed to be flat?

Granted if you know Terri Hayes, the race director, you know she is always one to shake things up a little.

Woods Ferry was no exception.

If you’re not familiar with the 24-hour (timed event) format, this quote from suite 101 sums ‘em up well:

Most 24-hour races are “run as you please.” Runners run, walk, rest, or even sleep completely at will. Runners may also stop if they are completely exhausted or have reached their goal. All that counts in the race results is the total distance the runner covers. There is no penalty for stopping in less than 24 hours.

This format is a popular way to give runners the opportunity to experiment with different nutrition, hydration and other race-day strategies as typically, these races are low-key in nature and usually held on a short flat course containing somewhere between less-than-a-mile and 1.5 miles.

Not this race.

Purple to Blue to Yellow, and back

The Woods Ferry 24-hour consisted of a one mile approach trail, blazed purple, that carried runners to a sort of figure 8 loop connecting two interconnecting trail segments of ~4.5 miles each, making the entire loop 10 miles long.

Get all that? Here’s how it broke down:

• Purple trail: This section of trail was hacked-up, hard-packed dirt that gradually climbed for about a mile. The footing was a challenge because horses had torn it up wet and muddy, and then that mud dried with deep, hard divots.
• Blue trail: The blue trail starts out very runnable as gradual downhill, leading into a section of very steep downhill, before climbing out again about 500 feet. All the way to the yellow trail, this blue trail roller-coasters up and down constantly with lots of climbing and descending with some sections very steep.
• Yellow trail (I): This was easily my favorite part of the 10-mile loop. The yellow trail had a bit of everything with the early sections being nice, runnable pine straw covered single-track, some creek crossings, some short steep climbs and an aid station halfway through.
• Yellow trail (II): After the aid station, runners enter a power-line cut (some wimped out and took a graded gravel road outside the cut, but whatever). This cut section was pretty chewed-up, roller-coasting up and down, but I kinda liked it; and after a series of short hills, we entered some more nice, albeit technical single-track, and again roller-coasted throughout the woods. The final section of the yellow trail was very dry, very hard-packed and very mutilated by horses.

After the yellow loop, we had to redo the up-n-down sections of the blue-blazed trail before returning to the purple loop which took us back to camp.

That was one loop.

I sure would love to know the total elevation change of one loop. I’d guess 2000 feet of climbing and the same descending.

That’s a lot for a 24-hour loop race.

Quick recap

Although the course was much more challenging than I had expected, I really enjoyed running out there. It was a beautiful, sunny day crawling into the 80′s but never really got too hot.

I ran with Li’l Weezy for about 3.5 loops before he started to have a few foot problems and wanted me to push ahead. In a normal ultramarathon, this would be a given, but I was sorta out there for him, so I wasn’t sure what to do.

I pushed ahead, but it didn’t feel right.

I felt really good through 50 miles. I ran well, walked some hills in the later loops, and gained some additional confidence at that distance. In fact, Abi Meadows found me on the last mile of 50 miles, and we ran into the campground together at a strong pace.

But during the sixth loop, I found myself walking a lot.

I just don’t like that anymore. I know there are different camps in ultrarunning and walking is an accepted strategy, but for me and where I’m at with my training, I’m trying to walk less and less. I come to ultras to RUN, and I’m cool with walking severe inclines, but I want to run as much as I can – I believe it is the only way I’m going to continue to improve.

By the time I finished the sixth loop (60 miles), I learned I was in 2nd place overall, and first place male – all I had to do was continue for another 10 hours and I could win my first ultra race.

Around 10:30 p.m., I started the seventh loop, but found myself just walking the entire mile to the start of the blue trail.

Why do that?

1. My buddy who I came with had already stopped at 50 and was just waiting on me.
2. I was tired.
3. I had achieved enough miles for it to be good training.
4. I have an incredibly challenging race schedule coming up this summer.
5. I will get absolutely NOTHING out of walking for 10 more hours.

So, I simply turned around and walked back to camp.

Giving up the potential win (who cares anyway?) but putting an official 100K in the training bank.

I was happy with my decision. It felt like the right thing to do.

Gear

I ran the entire 62 miles in the Asics Piranha II racing flat. A 4.4 ounce racing flat that has replaced the New Balance 152 in my “flats” arsenal. I truly believe lighter socks and lighter shoes are the key to blister prevention – at least for me. Not one single blister or foot problem at all.

I carried nothing but water and Scaps.

Nutritionally, I took a Vespa every ~2.5 hours, added some BCAAs twice, and ate real food at aid stations. For whatever reason, I did not feel like using gels.

Personal Change in Ultrarunning philosophy

It’s been building all year, but this weekend really solidified for me that my approach to the sport is changing.

I am continuing to get more and more serious with regards to my running performance. I want to be able increase the amount of time I run during races, and this includes hills. I learned that depending on fatigue level, I ran 25 to 45 minutes faster, over the 10 mile course, when I ran hills as opposed to walking them. Over the life of a 50 or 100-mile race, that’s a big chunk of time.

The key is both being able to run more, but also being able to recover from those efforts faster, and continue with a solid pace on easier sections throughout the rest of the race.

I simply want to get faster. Both in ultras and the shorter stuff. No limits.

The training continues with my eyes firmly on a sub-24 hour at the Keys 100-miler.

One month away…

{huh?}

photo: Coming back for trip #2 across the river.

My fourth SweetH20 50K

The SweetH20 50K is one of my favorite races. Shockingly, I’ve run it four times now – more than any other ultramarathon since I started running back in ’06.

Wow – sittin’ here, I can’t believe I almost – almost – could be considered a non-rookie.

Nah, I’m still a rookie.

A few changes to keep things killer

You probably already know that the park was washed out from the 2009 Georgia floods, so Johnny and the DCRR crew had a bit of a challenge when creating the new course.

The hard parts didn’t change.

“Top of the World” was still “Top of the World” [TOTW]. A series of rollarcoaster climbs and descents ripping through a powerline cut. (minus the powerlines)

“Yellow loop” still had that nasty climb, straight-up a dry creek bed.

And, “Jack’s Hill” is still just a pain in the @ss.

But, to keep things continually changing and improving, the RD threw in a few “surprises” for the runners – just to make sure they knew they were running “rogue-style”. These changes included:

• Two trips up Jack’s Hill (a deceptively evil climb)
• Two rope-assisted trips across the river (yummy)
• A mental mind-bending, sun-infested, never-ending field approach to TOTW
• A short-n-steep gravel jeep-road
• And, a few extra miles to keep the runners guessing

Rough day from the get-go

Within in the first 3 miles, I knew I was running on dead legs.

Honestly, I hadn’t really recovered from my Barkley loop, which I did before recovering from the ING Georgia Marathon, which I ran sore from trying to chase 5 and 10K speed goals, which…

Whatever.

I just have a problem with rest; but that didn’t stop me from having fun.

At the start, I spent the early road section running and chatting with Abigail Meadows, stoked to see her at one of our local races, before ducking into the woods to tear through some of the “sweet” single track.

Down and across and up over the rope-assisted spillway, and I was moving pretty well.

Once you hit the blazed trails in Sweetwater State Park, you enter a series of rapidly changing trail sections that forces runners to pay close attention. Lots of blowdown branches, thick stumps, beachy soft sand, …but it’s mostly flat, so if you’ve got some skills, you can move quickly through here.

News to me

After crossing the bridge that leads out of the park, the course takes a different direction than years’ past, along some rolling, well-maintained and tree-covered trail.

I liked this trail, but it’s long. I was told a mile – but its a long mile.

And after that pleasant mile, it dumps you into an exposed single-track trail wedged into field of dry high-grass.

Honestly, I didn’t love the field. It was not my favorite addition to the course, …but remember, I was grumpy and running on dead legs. {wink}

Gravel-ling

Rats.

After that long field romp, racers were dumped onto a short climb up a gravel jeep road. It wasn’t so bad, but it was steep, and you knew it was taking you to “Top of the World” – just didn’t know when.

When.

Before I had a chance to recover from the climb, I turned a corner and BAM! – there they are – the roller coasters of “Top of the World”.

Every report ever written about this race drones on about TOTW, so I’ll just agree that, yes, it’s tough and nasty and gnarly and hot and exposed and slow and grueling - but, for some odd reason, it’s my favorite part of the course.

If you read my Barkley report, I suppose TOTW is just another example of me “loving that which sucks the life out of me.”

Water should be part of every ultra

The water crossings rocked! Both of them.

It was peaking into the 80′s by the time I got there, so I was ready for a li’l splish-splashin’… (say that 3 times, fast)

The first trip across was far more wild as I was tripping and falling everywhere trying to get across, but the water was cold and refreshing and it felt awesome on my quads.

There was a beach’s worth of sand on the other side, so I was given the chance to conquer the yellow loop, with it’s gnarly climb and fast descent, with plenty of soaked-shoe sandy goodness.

Clap your hands everybody 

photo: Glad to be finished!

After the water crossing, it was pretty much the same drill.

A second loop.

So, just take what I wrote, multiply by two, and there ya go – not much else happened on the second loop except for finding my good buddy Sean Oh dehydrating on the second crest of Top of the World and stuffing Fig Newtons in his mouth like a starving child.

I was also out of water, and hot as hell, So I figured I’d do pretty much the same.
(Biiiig shout out to Spyder Tynes for saving runners with ice cold water up there)

Sean and I chilled together through the next aid station, but he found a new awakening and dropped me like I never caught him.

Ultrarunning phenom, now injured-kid-swimming his-@ss-off, Matt Kahrs came looking for me about 2 miles from the finish and ran along with me for some much needed bro-catching-up-ing. I sure hope ol’ Matt heals and comes back to the sport. It’s too fun watching him rip it up

And after 33-ish miles and 6:35, I finally rolled up to the finish and put this one in the bank.

34th finisher out of about 175 runners.

I was not at all happy about that finish time, but felt a little better when I was told the race was long; and since I had plenty of ready-made excuses stemming back from all kinds of over-training and zero recovery, I felt well-armed with plenty of come-backs for “what happened?” should someone feel the need to test me.

…and yea, around mile 25 or so, I got “Schicked” …again.

Damn that Schick.
(but thanks Rich, for the Barkley chaps – mighty kind of ya)

Hanging around for the rest of the troops

But the highlight of my day was sitting on the finisher road with various other race finishers and volunteers cheering on all the other runners as they made their ascent up the last hill to the finish. Kate Brun and I spent a lot of time cheering on folks before being joined by Bryce Carlson, Dreama Campbell, Sarah Woerner and others both looking for their friends and cheering on strangers.

That lifted my spirits more than I can express.

I then hung-out to make sure that all but one of my local running group members crossed that finish line.
(Sorry, JR, but now you have a chance to get me back in our “contest.”)

Thanks all around

Thanks to the DCRR runners, Johnny Buice, all the aid station folks and all the positive people who shared the trail with me in the spring’s  first 50K scorcher.

Like I’ve said in all three of the other reports, SweetH20 is a the perfect 50K. Rocks, roots, sand, water, tough climbs, wild descents, gnarly gravel, sopping spillways, crushing concrete, open fields, dense single-track …and some stairs thrown in for completeness.

GET SOME!

(and yea, I’m gonna crank up the redesign on the SweetH20 web site next year. It’s due.)

I find myself getting really sick of talking about the Barkley …then, I just keep talking about the Barkley”
– Carl Laniak

An Emotional Mess

Sometimes it sucks being an overly-expressive, emotional dude.

Emotions swing from extreme to extreme as I try to make heads or tails out of what I just experienced at my first attempt at The Barkley Marathons in the burly Tennessee mountains.

Did like it?

Did I hate it?

Was I properly trained? Prepared?

Does that even help…?

And when I touched that yellow gate 12 hours and 20 minutes after the start, why was I one hundred percent sure that one loop was enough?

How come I wasn’t sad? Dejected? Defeated?

Sitting here now, I still don’t have any answers to any of these questions – but one thing I know for sure is that there’s a group of kindred souls reading this that knows exactly where I’m at with this overwhelming feeling of wishing I was still out there, wishing I wasn’t still “out there.”

photo: sort of a display of dreamers.

A Legendary Event

For those who don’t already know, here’s a quick summary of the Barkley (from Matt Mahoney’s Barkley web site):

The Barkley is considered one of the toughest 100 mile races in the world. It has 52,900 feet of climb (and 52,900 feet of descent), more than any other 100 mile race – more than the 33,000 ft. of climb at Hardrock, and more than the 45,000 ft. at Nolan’s 14.

Since the race began in 1986, only 8 runners out of about 700 have finished within the 60 hour cutoff.

No aid, no support, no pacers, no crews, no GPS.

You’re on your own.

Runners can expect tremendous climbs, most of time without any kind of discernible trail, along ridges covered in sawbriers, some of which are a couple of inches long, with very poor footing – a recipe for “falling on razorblades.”

You must complete a first loop in 12 hours for a shot at the hundred, or 13 hours (13:20) for a shot at a 60-mile “fun run”.

Rumor was that this year was sure to be the most difficult since “Laz” (Gary Cantrell, race director) had some secret plans for making sure that runners hit a whole new level of suffering.

The day before the race, runners are given a couple of pages of vague directions, a map to copy (don’t make any mistakes), and all kinds of useless statistics that make the course seem manageable …but that are also complete lies.

There is no definitive start time. Runners must camp out the night before and wait for Laz to blow the conch shell. This can come as early as 12:01 a.m. Saturday morning or as late as …well, as late as he wants (right, 2009 runners?)

When you hear the conch blow, you get one hour to prepare your gear and get to the yellow gate ready to start your adventure.

The race begins when Laz lights up a cigarette, and takes that first long draw.

Two Words – Human Sacrifice

photo: Some of my favorite UltraList characters: Matt Mahoney, John Price and Sherpa

Friday afternoon I learned what I had already suspected since I received my Barkley invitation – I was the designated Human Sacrifice. There’s always one, and this year it was to be me.

I did my best to copy the master map, shook a lot of hands, posed for (and shot) lots of photos, and retreated to my sleeping bag to read the directions, study the map …and perhaps find Jesus.

I had been super confident for two months coming in to the event, but by lights out, I was petrified.

What if I don’t hear the conch blow?

What if I forget something?

Being a navigational idiot, what if I get lost?

Man, I didn’t sleep at all.

I just laid there, in the dark cold night, waiting for the damn conch to blow.

6:13 a.m. – Thar’ She Blows

Shivering my sleeping bag and staring aimlessly at the ceiling of my truck, I heard a faint, hollow sound.

“Is that the conch?”

I shot up and looked around but the windows were all fogged up.

“Am I just imagining it?”

I sat up, turned on the heat, defrosted the windows, and starting seeing headlamps scurrying around tents and vehicles.

“Oh sh*t, here we go!”

…and I started gathering everything together – packing my food, filling my water bladder, sorting my gear – I was so excited I was sure I was going to forget something important.

As I made my way to the gate, Sherpa John popped up and we headed to the starting gate together – two eager virgins, ready for a thorough deflowering.

…when you get to the top of each climb, remember that the next one is worse than the previous”
– Gary Cantrell, race director

Book 1 | Run while you can

The quote {above} from Gary that morning would ring through my head all day long.

The first climb to Bird Mountain is actually acceptable. This is your typical trail climb similar to something you might experience along the rugged Appalachian Trail, but it’s still 1500 feet of “strenuous” climbing so you’re sweating right off the bat. Many runners were shedding clothes as they charged up this first mountain.

Once you peak here, the directions send you down a very technical, washed-out and muddy ridge trail – but you can at least run.

I was happy to cut loose and found myself running with a very intense, seemingly focused runner whom I recognized as the legendary Barkley participant Mike Dobies, known as the “scrape-meister” due to his ability to “shed” virgins like summer dog fur.

We were both running a solid clip over some pretty treacherous terrain, and hanging with the guy had me passing quite a few people early on …almost all of whom came back and got me later.

At the base of the wild descent we ran into a bit of crowd, all eager to get the pages from book 1.

That’s all I needed to calm the nerves a bit – just getting to that first book.

Book 2 | Chasing a legend

The next series of climbs and descents sort of run together for me since I don’t understand Frozen Head all that well, but we remained on what Gary calls “candy-ass trail” along the north boundary of the park.

I continued to stay near Mike Dobies – not too close to annoy, but close enough to make sure I didn’t make any mistakes.

But this guy started blowing me up.

He’s so steady on the climbs. Not super fast, just much more consistent than me and I found myself fighting to keep up with him on those long switch-back climbing sections.

And on the descents he continued to open up space between us. The footing was pretty crazy, but this guy charged it like a frickin’ bull.

By the time we hit SOBD (“son of a bitch” ditch), I lost him – and found myself wandering around the “coal ponds” wondering where to go and feeling less-than-confident about my abilities to navigate this race without someone to follow.

Luckily, I chose the right direction and found myself at the base of the 800 foot climb up to Garden Spot.

Problem was, I could see Dobies who was now ahead of a small pack, and all them seemed to be on some kind of switch-back trail.

But I couldn’t find any switch-backs. In fact, I couldn’t find any trail at all – but there they were – waaay up the ridge now, getting further ahead of me while I stood at the bottom frantic because I was about to lose them all and I had no idea where to go.

So I just went straight up.

I grabbed a stick to use as a climbing pole, and started up the VERY steep grade, expecting to eventually cross the trails the other dude’s were on and get back on track — but I never found the trail.

I ended up bushwhacking the whole way up the pitch to the old jeep road.

Lucky for me Zane Smith had just grabbed his page and told me where the book was – but then he was gone.

Cool, book two done, but now I’m all alone.

Book 3 | A navigational idiot

I tried to understand Laz’s directions from here but none of it made sense to me.

Because I’m an idiot, I missed the first water drop, and later found myself at an intersection of old jeep roads, some kind of trail to my right, and some kind of not-so-much trail to my left.

One of the European runners caught up to me while I floundered there and we argued a bit about the right direction to take. He thought we should take the “not-so-much” trail up the ridge to the south, and I thought we should stay on the old jeep road which started to descend (which by the way was also “to the south”).

He went with me, but we quickly realized I was stupid, and we cut left and climbed the pitch to the top of Stallion Mountain.

Two detours in a row, both being a bit more challenging than was necessary, but both of which eventually got me to where I needed to be.

Laz’s directions read something like, “you will see a tree with three trunks, and directly behind it is a tree with four trunks and a flat rock at the base…”

and I’m thinking “cool, cool, I see it” and kept reading…

“…that’s where the book was last year – it’s no longer here.”

{sigh} Good ol’ Laz…

But I was finally able to decipher Laz’s directional silliness and found myself on a beautiful bluff with incredible views, tearing out my page from book 3.

Book 4 | Now it gets crazy

By this point, I was pretty sure I was out of my league on the navigation side and committed to finding and staying with veterans who knew a majority of the course.

Just then, Frozen Ed Furtaw, author of “Tales From Out There”, a must read for any Barkley affection-ado or hopeful participant, came running up with New Hampshire’s Sherpa John Lacroix and a couple more Barkley veterans, Chip Tuthill and Steve Durbin.

Hell yes!

I hung in this foursome through the crazy sections of Stallion Mountain (and I think Fyke’s Peak).

Honestly, most of this race, I had no idea where I was at all. I just followed people and hoped they knew what they were doing.

One thing was for sure though, without this pack o’ dudes, I would have had ZERO chance of completing a loop. I had no clue where I was, no idea how to figure it out, and I was so panicked so as to not lose them, I never pulled out my directions from Stallion Mountain until loop completion.

Blind trust and faith.

This is when the Barkley starts to get really challenging – We were now descending INSANE pitches with thick briers, gnarly cliff-type drop-offs, hidden rocks, slippery slopes, slapping branches of thorns… you know – the real Barkley stuff.

photo: Ed Furtaw and I look for a way down amongst all the blow-down and massive thorns. This is straight down, literally, and total chaotic mayhem.

How these guys were able to navigate us through here still amazes me.

It was all a blur – just frantic downhill running, through non-existent trails, across some streams, more climbing …and before I knew what was happening, Frozen Ed sits down and starts pulling pages out of book 4.

Cool, we’re at book 4…

No wait, DAMN! …we’re at book 4. …the base of Testicle Spectacle.

Book 5 | Let the beatdown begin

Yup.

Testicle Spectacle.

In my opinion, the first of the true beatdown climbs.

Everything to this point had been somewhat tolerable and I hadn’t really entered any kind of pain zone yet.

Yea, the thorns had torn me up already, and the steep descents were wild and hairy, but I had yet to get my ass kicked – until now.

Testicle Spectacle is a powerline climb. It starts as a significant climb, but by the time you get 3/4 of the way up, it becomes a wall – a rather short but slick wall with terrible footing, lovely thorns, and…man, it’s just hard.

I kept thinking about what Laz said to me two minutes before the start, “remember Christian, each significant climb is worse than the last one.”

And this was only the first killer one I’ve hit? Oh man…

After topping out at Testicle, the trail crosses a jeep road and then drops a looooong way down the other side of the powerline cut on some scree-like terrain that put me on my butt at least 5 times.

Somehow we lost Sherpa John, and Julian Jamison fired off ahead, but I stayed tight with Chip and Steve because they had run the Barkley numerous times before. I followed them down the butt-slide and back into the woods where we eventually found the 5th book in a tree next to Raw Dog Falls.

Book 6 | Caught in the jaws of a rat

I stopped here to fill my water bladder since I missed the water stop hours back and thought for sure Steve and Chip were gonna scrape me and I’d be alone again, sure to get lost …but they didn’t. I don’t know if it was on purpose or not, but I was thankful that they waited for me to fill my bladder pack and stumble up behind ‘em.

I then officially introduced myself to my new running compadres and off we went around Danger Dave’s climbing wall and up some ridiculously steep pitch to the road crossing.

Steve pretty much sensed I never had a clue where I was, so he’d bark out announcements to me when we hit landmark spots in the course.

We crossed the road and began a nasty, nasty climb with horrible footing, called Pig Head Trail. There’s a pig skull mounted on a stick at the entrance of the trail but I must have missed it because I was falling down the whole time.

This climb was kicking our butts. They call it a trail, but I never saw a trail – we just went straight up the wedge between two mountains – resting every 20-30 steps.

We caught up to Zane and Julian again, and as a group we pushed up this incredible, trail-less, straight-up-the-gut mountain crawl.

I don’t know the elevation of this climb, but it was harder than Testicle (of course, because they all get harder, right?) and the footing was the worse I’d seen yet.

YET… is the key word here.

But after the brutal climb up the Pig Head (no)Trail, we were blessed with about 1/4 mile of easy sloped jeep road and Steve and I got a chance to talk as he inquired how I met Gary (Laz) and what I thought of the race so far. He told me stories of the prison, and its association to all the mine ruins we came upon as we traveled this old overgrown mining road.

It was actually pleasant – but only for about a minute and a half – because, it wasn’t long before we found ourselves at the base of Rat Jaw.

Rat Jaw sucks.

And I loved it.

Why is it that I love that which sucks the life out of me?

Every possible horrendous challenge you can think of climbing a steep-pitched mountain slope, you’ll find on Rat Jaw.

Rat Jaw has the largest, thickest bed of thorns I have ever seen in my life. I wouldn’t be surprised if Laz planted extra ‘crops’ over the years somehow.

The first half of the climb is so steep, runners fall as far as they ascend. 10 foot up, 5 feet back, 12 feet up, 10 foot back.

Climb, fall, climb, fall. Stop. Rest. Cuss. Climb. Fall. Tear the skin. Yell. Climb. Fall.

You get the idea.

It’s long, tough, and everyone I saw going up this climb, and again coming back down, all looked like death.

This is where Matt Kirk introduced himself to me and that was cool because I read everything this guy does. He’s an incredible mountain athlete and getting to meet him face-to-face was a treat for a running nerd like me.

But anyway, somehow, I eventually made it to the top. (and immediately collapsed)

I’m not sure, but it might be the highest point in the park. I sat down, ate a sandwich from my pack, filled up my bottles, grabbed my page from book 6, and prepared myself to go back from which I just came.

Local Georgia runner, Jason Barringer was there taking some pictures and was encouraging me and laughing at me all at the same time. To people who really know what your going through, there’s great comedy in this event – and especially at the top of Rat Jaw.

Book 7 | Running to a prison just doesn’t seem right

Last year, the Barkley runners got a bit of a reprieve where they could run down a jeep road after ascending Rat Jaw.

Not us.

This year, Laz took runners right back down Rat Jaw – waaaay down – all the way down to the prison.

Like an idiot, I left the top of Rat Jaw alone instead of waiting for Steve. As I descended, eating my sandwich and living in mental la-la land, I somehow missed a turn where the descent took a sharp right.

I looked up and could no longer find “power lines”

“Oh sh*t!”

Far off in the distance, I could see the power lines perpendicular from me.

“No problem, I’ll just cut back and reconnect”

Yea, right.

This was the sketchiest part of the race for me and I was all alone. See, it wasn’t just as easy as “cutting back”. The slope was hella’steep, loose leaf-covered and slippery.

One wrong move as I crawled horizontally and I could end up sliding down, with nothing to stop me nor grab on to, tumbling right over a 100 foot drop-off.

Halfway across, I got spooked, but I was stuck – if I tried to go back, I might fall going back – but if I kept going forward, I still might fall as it just continued to get steeper and steeper to my left.

I was stranded.

But I figured if I have two chances to fall over the drop-off, I might as well move in the right direction rather than the opposite direction, so that’s what I did.

I made it to an area of less concern – phew!- and not a moment too soon – because off in the distance, waaaay down Rat Jaw, I saw Steve Durbin again and he had hooked up with someone else. (Dave Henn)

I took off, practically killing myself on the final descent, just to catch up with those dudes.

I caught ‘em halfway down, and the three of us (with me following way behind) descended all the way to the bottom of (uber) Rat Jaw – down to the abandoned Brushy Mountain Prison.

The prison was cool – perhaps the coolest section of the entire race.

This is the old prison that once housed James Earl Ray, killer of Martin Luther King, and escapee who’s escape effort became the inspiration for this entire event.

As part of the course, we had to drop down into this old tunnel that ran underneath the prison. The floor of the old stone tunnel was full of ankle-deep, ice cold water that stung the hell out of all my thorn-induced leg lacerations.

It was creepy and cool all at the same time. I felt like I was in a sort of horror flick.

Being that I remember Gary (Laz) telling me in an email that I’d “enjoy part of the tunnel with all my CrossFit stuff”, I decided to do it justice and crawl out of the tunnel through the 8 foot gap in the top rather than take the easier walk out the other end. This was pretty cool, and once I got out I found myself face-to-face with two prison guards.

Apparently, they have guards guarding an empty prison.

The guards were cool though as they pointed out Book 7 and told us a bunch of James Earl Ray stories. These were some good ol’ boy Tennesseans and I found them very comical.

One said to us, “Hell, I liked ol’ Ray – he was good ol’ fellar”

Then he says, “He didn’t do nutin’ none of us ain’t never done before…”

huh?

Didn’t he kill someone?

Anyway, we couldn’t stay and chat, we had “The Very Bad Thing” to climb – so we grabbed our pages and hesitantly headed towards the next ridiculous climb..

Gary has really outdone himself this year.”
– ‘Danger Dave’ Henn

Book 8 | The very bad thing is …very bad

This one killed me.

It was HORRIBLE.

This is the climb – the climb to Indian Knob – that crushed me to pieces. 1700 foot climb in less than one mile. According to Matt Mahoney, the climb has a 36% average grade, but I think it was more like 60%. I don’t believe ANY of the statistics. I know better.

It took us about 1:20 to conquer this climb and it had every one of us visibly falling apart all over the mountain.

More than once I laid in the fetal position on the trail, using my climbing stick as a pillow, and begged for it to stop.

Sherpa John hit the top first, and the three of us (Steve, Danger Dave and myself) crested soon thereafter. We all took a moment to grab a page from book 8, collect ourselves, and eat a little before heading down the incredible 1600 foot descent (over only .7 of a mile) of Zip Line.

Book 9 | The Danger Dave caravan

More butt-busting, thick thorns, and continued abuse…

but again, I loved it.

Zip line was a rush. We moved fast down this descent, but really didn’t have much of a choice since it was incredibly steep.

As usual no trail at all.

Nothing.

I was amazed how well Danger Dave knew this course.

Had I been alone, who knows where I’d have ended up.

He guided us PERFECTLY to where we needed to be – and once we hit the streams, we saw Julian J. sitting at book 9.

Julian hurried off before we got to the book, and the four of us sat down to grab our pages and refuel for the final major climbing challenge – the infamous Big Hell.

Book 10 | Light at the end of the tunnel

I was actually ok at this point because I knew my destiny was fulfilled at one loop. At the end of the story I’ll explain more about how I came to this realization, but just knowing that this was the last of the beatdown climbs was very encouraging for me.

But it’s very hard.

It’s only about 100 foot less climb than “The Very Bad Thing”, and has some pitches that are ridiculously steep, and depending on where you go up, requires a bit of rock crawling.

We rested the first 500 feet, then the next 200, then the next 200 – then one more time – before finally making that last push to the top of Big Hell, a spot called Chimney Top.

YES!

The 10th and final book.

photo: putting away my 10th book page!

We all had a mini celebration and I snapped a photo for Sherpa John as he tore out his tenth page.

The rest of the course was about (4?) miles of “candy-ass trail” back to camp.

…and Sherpa John and I ran the whole way back. I felt great to actually “run” after all that crazy trail-less climbing, bushwack descending, and sawbrier navigating.

The Yellow Gate

Running up the camp road, a few people starting cheering and yelling and I felt so happy to be back.

12:20 for loop one – giving me one hour to make a decision to go back out.

Laz had a grin a mile wide and I knew, that he knew, that I was a much more humbled man than I was twelve hours before.

He asked, “are you going back out?”

To which I replied, “there is no way in Hell I’m going back out there.”

People tried to push me to go, but I was done.

I was wiped out, but even if I had found the rest and energy to go after a second loop, I did not have the navigation skills to get it done on my own. It’s a 100% guarantee that I would have gotten lost.

The only times I found myself alone, I got lost, and at spots that aren’t really known for being confusing.

Stallion Mountain in the dark, alone? No way.

“The Very Bad Thing” again?” Nope.

If I finished a loop, I’d feel some semblance of success – If I found myself hopelessly lost all night on loop two, not so much.

I was smiling.

I was proud.

————————————————————————————————

After 60 hours, the 2010 Barkley ended sorta like this: (according to the Barkley web site)

• 6 runners quit before completing a loop
• 7 finished a loop past the cut-off of 13 hours and 20 minutes
• 16 runners completed one official loop
• 7 finished an official loop two
• 3 three-loop fun run finishers
• 1 Barkley 100-mile finisher – (way to go JB!) – in 59:18

My approach to this sport will never be the same

Life after Barkley is vanilla.

I sat around and thought and thought about the best way to sum up my experience …and this report – but nothing I can think of is as succinct and complete as an email I got from a fellow participant – and one of my favorite athletes in the sport - just days after the event.

It went like this:

…and now you know the real deal…the hype isn’t hype and the very bad thing is indeed very bad. There is no way to do Barkley justice with words, people just think one is exaggerating…but those who have done at least a loop know the extremity of doing another with each additional loop exponentially harder than the previous.

I look forward to your report, but most will still not completely comprehend. But now you know…now you will have that look in your eye when someone complains about some 50K being tough…thinking to yourself “tough, hmmp, I haven’t seen a hill since I left Frozen Head…”. There is tough and there is Barkley tough. I hope to see you “out there” again next year.

Everything now just becomes training for the Barkley.

I will continue to do races because I love running challenging events across a wide variety of terrains and distances – but the Barkley will now forever be a focus. Something that will gnaw at me and pester me until I obtain the strength, skill, talent, perseverance, toughness, hard-headedness, and flat-out “balls” to get it done.

Every time someone finishes it, it’s going to get harder.

Someday maybe impossible.

…but every year, you can bet the house that at least 35 brave souls will be standing at that yellow gate, sure that this is their year, and that the impossible will become possible for them.

Like a hundred others, I’m already planning my strategy for a return.