What I Think About When I'm Not Running

What do you call a runner who doesn't run?  It's not a joke; its a question.
The question probably started in February.  Early in the month I ran the Rocky Raccoon 50 mile race.  I gave myself some recovery time...or thought I did...before I started thinking that it would be cool to get into speed work and make an attempt to qualify for Boston.
March came and I found myself running a 50K, followed by a half marathon (that turned into a 15 miler) in April.  And in early May I did a 27K (about 16 miles).  These last two were full out sprints.  By the time I crossed the finish line of the 27K, I knew something wasn't right.  A couple days later, when it still hurt to walk, I admitted it: STRESS FRACTURE.

Unless you are a corporate sponsored athlete with a $500,000 budget devoted to your training there is only one cure for a stress fracture: rest.  Eight Weeks of NO RUNNING.

What do I think about when I'm not running:
1.  I wish I was running.
2.  I want to do something great with my running: I know I'm not going to the Olympics but maybe I can still do something that means something...qualify for Boston, run 100 miles...I don't know exactly what but these are two goals I want to work towards.
3.  BQ.  These two letters might mean more to avid runners than H2O means to a marine biologist.  Boston Qualifier--It comes
to this: Go Fast for a Long Time.  26.2 miles in my case in just over 3 hours.  I'm not really even close right now, which makes the goal all that more appealing.  If I can do it--it will represent dedication, hard work, effort and a huge improvement.  It will mean (in my mind) that I can set a goal and become something more than what I am today.
4.  100 Miles.  Its not as easy as it sounds.  While BQ means 3 hours of lactic torrent, 100 miles mean 24 HOURS of effort, endurance, pain management, hydration and nutrition monitoring, and relentless forward progress.  If I can do this, it will mean setting a goal and sticking to the task until it is done.

I the grand scheme of things--these two goals may not be of great importance...but if I can accomplish one or both of them, at least in my mind, it would be great.

Outrun 24 Results Tracking

UPDATE: Sorry that link below was a bust.  I should have linked the facebook page because the director posted periodic updates on there.  Anyway, here is a link to the final results, a link that actually works.
OUTRUN 24 FINAL RESULTS
Full race report coming soon.

Attention all stalkers!  For those of you interested in tracking my progress (or lack thereof) during my 24 hour run this weekend here is a link to the results page that will be periodically updated throughout the race.
Outrun 24 2013 results page
The race starts at 8am (eastern time) Saturday and ends at 8am Sunday.  You may think I'm crazy for attempting this.  I would have to agree with you.  But my name is on the list so I guess I'll show up and see what happens...  Wish me luck.  I'll need it.  24 hours is a long time to run.

Making sense of Tragedy

It is 5:46 in the morning.  I haven't slept most of the night and I just finished what turned out to be a pretty fast tempo run.  The following facts my be fuzzy...but the story is true.

4:18.  It is four o'clock in the morning.  I lay, staring back and forth from my clock to the ceiling.  Why?  Thoughts race through my head but it is all chaos.  Nothing makes sense.  4:19.

Tuesday night, I came home from work to national tragedy.  In an act of stupid sadism, someone had planted what appeared to be two homemade explosive devices at the finish line of the Boston Marathon.  Why?  Having spent a great deal of time with runners, I find that there are few people more sincere in their passion for life and love for others than runners.  There is something about running that connects one with his/her surroundings and environment and brings out the best in people.  Why would someone intentionally try to hurt such a group?
And at Boston...Boston is one of the most famous marathons, prestigious because not just anyone can enter. In order to run (officially) the Boston Marathon, you must qualify by running a sanctioned marathon under a certain time.  Many runners work for years to qualify for Boston.  I, myself, have ambitions to someday qualify for Boston.  It could easily have been me running that road when the bomb exploded.
And at the finish line...where hopes and dreams become reality. Where effort and dedication and all the STUFF you work for and sacrificed for and prayed for come together...where family gathers to hold you up as you cross the determined point that says in an indescribable way: "I DID IT."  For some, this dream--what should have been a moment of great triumph--was literally blown away in an act of hate.
Why?

I grab my shoes.  There is no point in laying in bed right now tossing and turning.  I dress and step into the cold night air.  Texas in spring is very unpredictable.  Temperature this week ranged from 90 to 30.  This morning, it's closer to 30.  The cold air feels fresh against my skin and I run.  I run into the darkness trying to make sense of the chaos.

Wednesday night, I sat outside with the kids gathered around, reading scriptures like we try to do every night as a family.  I love my family more than words can express.  My greatest fear is that one of my loved ones will someday suffer in a way that I am helpless to prevent or alleviate.  I pray that God doesn't put us through that...
Without warning thunder rocked the house.  The kind of thunder that literally ROCKS the house.  Windows rattle and the whole Earth is moved slightly.  I knew there were storms in the forecast but the sky didn't look ready to rain.  I didn't understand.
What I didn't understand was that while I sat with my kids, a fertilizer plant in the town of West (about 20 miles away) exploded.  I won't go over details of what is now national news.  I have friends there.  It is very close to home.

Still shaken by the tragedy of Boston which, while not close to home, was close to my heart, I was forced to face yet a more devastating tragedy.  West, a town that is as much a part of my community as the local Wal-mart, had gone up in smoke.  No one could comprehend.  Friends missing...some dead.
Why?

I intended to fall into an easy pace and stretch the legs but was the night air filled my lungs my legs turned faster.  I needed to FEEL.  I needed my lungs to burn and my heart to burst.  I ran into the darkness--into the unknown being swallowed by the night feeling that somehow if I ran long and hard enough the confusion would melt into order.

The stars flickered above.
I ran on.
Why?
I ran on.

I wanted to pray.  To thank God that I was safe...that my family was safe.  But wouldn't that be like saying, "Thank you, God, for making others suffer...and not me."  People lost loved ones in Boston and West.  Parents lost children...children lost fathers...How could I thank God that it was them and not me?

I ran on.
Why?
Faster...Harder....Make it make sense....
Why do some die?  Why not me?  It could have been...What if it was my child...What if it was me....Maybe next time it will be...
Faster...make it make sense...

Most of those killed in West were first responders.  Firefighters, police, medical personal who were trying to save the lives of others.  The type of people you want to keep around were the ones who gave their lives.

Faster...Harder...
But no matter how fast I run, no matter how hard I push, I can't turn back time.  I can't change the past.  No one can.  And everybody dies...
I turned down the road, still running and looked to the stars.  They seemed to form an arrow pointing down the road towards home.  "This way," they beckoned.  Like the firemen.  Like the first responders.  You can't change the past; everyone will have to give their life at some point.  You can live it for yourself and lose it in the end...or you can give it to those around you.  In some heroic cases, brave men and women give their lives saving others.  You can be a hero too, the stars seemed to say.  Whether or not your life is taken in tradegy or in old age...it will someday be taken, this is certain.  And all that will be left when that day comes is the legacy you leave behind, so...
LIVE with purpose.  LOVE with passion...and GIVE your life to those who will appreciate it the most.  Spend time with family, teach those who will learn, share with those in need, Give your life away one day at a time, hour by hour, minute by minute and maybe, just maybe, it will make sense in the end.
I won't pretend to have all the answers.  But I think it's a start.

And never forget those who have already given their lives.

"Running Still Matters"

Just thought I'd share an article about running, considering Monday's horrific attack in Boston.  It's a good read, and definitely worth your time, but if you don't get around to it I'll at least share this one paragraph:

"As the numbness starts to wear off, we owe it to ourselves, to each other and to the immediate victims of the bombings to get out there and run. Even if you weren’t in Boston, have never run Boston or aren’t a marathoner. Run easy. Run hard. Run short. Run long. Run alone. Run with a group. Just run. The familiar feeling of running — even the fatigue and achiness — will help each of us return to normalcy, even if it is a decidedly new normal. Focus on the good, not the bad. Spread the joy and freedom of running and indulge on endorphins."
Here is the link to the article: "Let the Healing Begin: Running Still Matters," by Brian Metzler.

Chisholm Trail Half Marathon...and Then Some

Every once in a while, you have a great race.  Once in while, the weather is perfect, the course is fast and your body is rested, ready and willing.  Once in a while you run the perfect race.

And then, every once in while, the conditions are perfect...but it is not meant to be.

I was looking forward to running a half marathon.  It had been over a year since I raced one and I figured I was primed to break my personal record.

I tried not to think about the pain it would take to set a new PR as I ate pre-race oatmeal and laced up my lucky Inov8s.

I learned long ago the importance of a good warm up so I put in my time stretching out the legs and doing some striders.

I pushed my way to the front of the starting line.

Within seconds of the gun, I tucked comfortably behind the lead group.  I didn't want to get sucked into someone else race but the pace felt manageable   I was a little surprised to find myself in fourth place as we passed the first mile marker.

6:36.  That was fast.  But I didn't feel to horrible.  I honestly didn't know what to expect.  I was well rested, for a change, after a year of training for Ultras.  I racked up more than 1700 miles last year but most of them were done at a slow pace.  In December I set a new PR for my 5K time.  But then again I really hadn't run a bunch since my 50 mile race in February.  I figured the 6:36 pace wouldn't hold up for 13 miles but I would hold onto it as long as I could.

I found myself running alone.  I could see two of the three runners ahead of me but they were about 100-150 yards ahead.  Chances of catching them were slim but if I could just keep them in sight, they would pull me to a great time.

At three miles I knew this was my race.  I still felt strong and was easily holding a 6.47 minute mile pace.  I grabbed some water from my wife, who was working that water station, and carried on.

At about 5.5 miles I reached the turn around point.  This course was a little different from most out and back courses in that you went out and back 5.5 miles and took a 2 mile detour on the way back to end up with the 13 miles of a half marathon.

 

 As I did the turn around and headed back, I saw where I stood in the race.  There were a few runners relatively close behind me, but not so close that I was worried about being passed.  The leaders still had a good distance on me but I wasn't really running to catch them.  I was racing myself and if I could hold on--I was about to smash my previous record.

I also saw several friends and fellow Striders as I turned around.  I made it a point to cheer on the runners as we passed each other, often giving a high 5 or shouting words of encouragement.  It would cost precious energy to call out and cheer them on, but there was an emotional high that came with trying to encourage others that I knew was worth the effort.

In no time, I was back at the water station.  A huge group of runners was coming into the station, so I grabbed a cup of water to drink and one to dump on my head (it was warming up by now) and tore off down the road, rocking out to the music in my earphones.

I kept my pace strong and tried to find that balance between focus and oblivion where I could float along at a good pace with minimal effort.  I stared at the sky and inhaled the fresh air.

It was a short time later that I came upon my wife's aid station again.  I was still averaging a sub 7 minute mile pace but it required quite a bit more effort than when I last saw her.  The kids slapped my five and handed me water.  I hadn't seen the lead runners for a little while now and I was worried that my pace had dropped more than it should have.
I wasted no time at the water station but flew out barely gasping a quick "Thanx" as I followed the road.

It was then that I met my fate.

A large, white sign ahead read "10 Miles".  I knew that I had not covered 10 miles at this point.  I checked my Garmin--it confirmed.  Something was terribly wrong.  Panic flooded my brain...Surely not, I told myself, but the white sign ahead of me told no lies...I had missed a turn.

The Waco Striders hosted an Awesome race including face painting for the kis

I spun around, expressed my feeling with some choice expellatives, and ran back up the road.  I wasn't sure where the turn was that I had missed.  A small part in my brain hoped it was only a short distance, that I could still make up the lost time and with only a small amount of extra effort stay on pace to break my PR.

Such was not the case.  I had, in fact, run over a mile past the turn.  There was no alternative than to run back ANOTHER mile and pick up where I went wrong.

Well, there was an alternative: drop out.  Call it quits.  Admit I messed up big time and throw in the towel.  After all, there would be other races.  Just because I quit one race, didn't mean I was quitter...right?  Or I could have continued...I would have crossed the finish line LONG before the lead runners.  The race director and others would most likely have known that I did not run full distance...I wouldn't have tried to lie about it...I'd still get a good work out--but I would not be able to count it as a half marathon finish.  I would have to decline the finishers medal (if it was even offered)...

And that is NOT how we do things in Runner-land.  I signed up to run a half marathon...and I was going to run every step of the course even if it meant running 2 extra miles to correct my stupid mistake.  My PR was shot...not a chance in the world.  So I should shrug off the effort, run a good half and look for another opportunity to break my PR.

But that is NOT how we do things...I might not break my PR.  I might not place in my age group.  I might go from being in 4th place overall to dead-freakin-last, but I would do it at race pace--which means ALL OUT!

By the time I reached the turn I had missed, the lead runner was back on the main part of the course, which meant I was about 2 full miles behind him.  The second and third place guys were not far behind.  All of the runners I had cheered on were now ahead of me (and cheered me on as I tried to pass them).  I tried not to think about my folly but rather focus on keeping a strong pace and doing the very best I could.

My crew this day consisted of two beautiful butterflies and a ninja turtle.

With poured my soul into the race.  Fighting to keep a strong pace.  Garmin made little sense now as I glanced at the various numbers on the small screen.  The sun was hot but the wind was strong.  It's cooling sensation was nice but the cost was a substantial amount of effort to hold the pace in such a strong head wind.

The occasional dream of placing in my age group popped up...that I was somehow miraculously faster than the Olympic distance runners and could still break my PR weaved in and out.  I tried to force such thoughts out before they could do any real damage.  My reality was this: I messed up.  I would be running at least 15 miles instead of 13.  It would take every ounce of effort I could summon to hold a respectable pace and even then, would hurt a great deal before it was all over.  Still, the optimistic side of my brain fought back, you've got a great pace going and it's not a really large field...you might do something amazing out here.

I ran on.

I passed the 10 mile marker for real this time.  It felt as it the course was a solid up hill climb with the wind blowing against me.

Miles 11 and 12 came and went.  I ran on.  My legs felt like lead.  Long hot spots burned on the edges of my feet.  It's only pain, I told myself.  My shoulders ached and my head was beyond reason.

Maybe I can still pull off a sub 2 hour time...I thought.  I had long since lost the energy and capacity to do the math but it seemed like a reasonable quest.  I decided to give it run (pun intended).

I rounded the last corner and knew the finish line was only about a quarter mile away.  I pumped my arms and willed my exhausted legs to go faster.  Even though it felt like I had been running through a pile of bricks, somehow they responded.  I felt the spring in my step and leaned forward to let it carry me to the end.

I crossed the finish line in 1:52 something.  Average pace was 6:47 for the first 3.4 miles and 7:37 for the next 11.7 miles.  Had I not missed my turn, I would have turned out a 1hr 38min half marathon and beat my previous record by about 5 minutes...probably more because I could have gone faster without the added miles.
But, there's no use crying over missed turns and extra miles.  I knew, when I crossed the finish line, that I was indeed a finisher.  And that is how we do things around here.

Oh, and I did get 3rd place in my age group.

Running in a Winter Wonderland

Green Jewel 50k -- March 2nd, 2013 -- Cleveland, OH
"What?  You're running an ultra in Cleveland?  In March??" everyone asked when I told them about the race.  I basically shrugged it off saying, "It'll be alright," although I knew winter weather was a very real possibility.  So why sign up in the first place knowing it could be miserable conditions?  Here are my 2 main reasons:
1) I knew I would have plenty of free time in February to train. It was just good timing.
2) I wanted to run one more race before moving and starting residency - a "last hurrah," if you will. Green Jewel was the closest race and also the cheapest so that's the one I chose.
The week leading up to the race I poured over the weather forecast, hoping and praying that it would at least be dry.  Friday was not.  Light snow fell all day but didn't really stick so I held out hope that Saturday would be clear.  Nope.  Snow.  Again.  All day.  Awesome.  At times the snow was very light and barely noticeable; other times it was big fluffy flakes that caught on my eyelashes and melted all over me.  It really was quite pretty when it wasn't hitting me in the face. I complain about it but it could have been much, much worse.  Regardless of weather, there were 31 miles to be run and I was not about to back down.

Grace was kind of wandering around before the start...




...and wandered into this group of strangers.
Needless to say she found her way back to mom and dad pretty fast.

The course followed the Metropark's "all-purpose trail," a continuous paved asphalt path that runs through the greater Cleveland area. We started northwest in Lakewood and snaked our way south and east to finish in Brecksville. I've never run an ultra so close to home so there was definitely a different dynamic to the pre-race preparations. For example, I slept in my own bed Friday night (instead of a cheap hotel) and actually got a good nights sleep.  The starting time was 9:00am, relatively late for an ultra (they usually begin sometime between 5am and 7am) so it was nice to sleep in.  Jenny and the girls were able to take me to the starting line and watch us take off. It was very cold and I'm glad they had a warm car to get back into after all us masochistic runners took to the snow-covered path in sub-freezing temperatures.
The trail ran very near a road the entire distance so Jenny was able to get lots of pictures before, during and after the race.  


Trying to stay warm before the race starts

The race director was trying to give pre-race instructions
 but didn't have a megaphone and people wouldn't quiet down. 
I was straining to hear him but eventually gave up.

Just moments before they said "GO." I just wanted to get the blood flowing so my body could warm up.

I felt that my training going into the race would be adequate but not much more than that.  My spoken goal for the race was to finish in under 5 hours.  Based on last year's finishing times I thought that would be pretty good for me.  Secretly I was hoping to average 9 minute miles and finish in 4:41.  I thought that if I ran smart and pushed myself it was possible.  "Running smart" is always easier said than done.



And we're off.  I'm sure I was the only one wearing good old-fashioned sweat pants.  I'm just too cheap to buy the fancy pants and I'm not sold on the tights.

My plan was to think about the race as little as possible for at least the first 10 miles.  I just wanted to forget about what I was doing and jog along at a comfortable pace.  So at first I tried not to worry too much about pace or weather or anything that wasn't a serious concern...and I didn't have any serious concerns.  I met a really cool guy named Tim who said he was about to join the Navy; he was just waiting for medical clearance, a big deal for him.  As a child he almost drowned, suffered a resultant collapsed lung and was in a medically induced coma for several months.  Somehow he survived and was right here, running next to me in his first ultra-marathon.  Nothing short of miraculous and a testament to the power of mind over body.  Tons of respect for that man, and I wish him the best serving our country. 

Tim stopped for a breather after we passed through the first aid station and I kept going.  It was only mile 5, after all, and I was feeling fine.  I glanced at my watch and realized I was running faster than 8 minutes per mile.  But I felt absolutely fine so I didn't really worry about it.  I just wanted to breeze through the next five miles to the next aid station.  Aid station 2 was near the Rocky River Nature Center where Jenny and the kids would be spending their morning.  I'm very glad there was something close that was fun for them to do...because crewing for a runner certainly isn't any fun.

Here are a few pictures of the kiddos playing at the nature center while their crazy dad traipsed through the snow.

The plan was for my family to play at the nature center until I arrived at the aid station (mile 10).  They would come out, see how I was doing, if I needed anything before heading home to warm up until the last aid station at mile 24.5.  I told Jenny about what time I would be there and "Don't expect me faster than an 8 minute mile pace."  Problem was I was running a little too fast and actually beat Jenny to the aid station by a hair.  I looked around as I approached and didn't see her.  "Oh well," I thought, grabbed some pretzels and started to trot down the trail.  Just then I saw her parked across the street.  She had gotten both the girls out of the car and was trying to cross the street to the aid station.  Continuing down the trail I waved to her and yelled, "I'm doing good.  I love you." 
All I was thinking about was how fast I was going and how exciting it would be to smash my goal time.  A guy next to me said, "Wow, that's awesome that they all came out to see you in the cold."
"Yeah, they are awesome," I replied.  But then I started thinking and realized that I totally blew them off.  My wife came to support me in freezing temperatures, two toddlers in tow, and I didn't even have the decency to jog over, give them a hug and a kiss to say thanks.  It would have taken probably not more than one minute -- One minute when I was planning to be out there for 300.  I imagined how Jenny must have felt to see me just jog away, how Grace probably would've appreciated a hug too.  And, in hindsight, my body really could have used a break.  It was too late to do anything about it but I really started to get down on myself for blowing them off.  For the next few miles that's all I thought about and I resolved that the least I could do was to stick to my pace so they wouldn't be waiting long for me at our next rendezvous. Lesson learned: When you're running an ultra, take every chance you get to see your family.  Many races don't afford that luxury and you will always, always be bouyed up by their support.  Remeber that, Travis.
 

The next stop was around mile 15.  I was still feeling alright when I got there but I could tell I was starting to wear down.  The one thing I wanted at the aid stations was a banana but they didn't have any.  Oh well.  I grabbed something else, maybe more pretzels, refilled my water bottle and kept going.  For the most part I had been warm enough, dry enough (my feet were starting to get pretty wet, though) and relatively unfazed by the weather.  My body was starting to feel the effects of the distance though.  I kept running but I could feel my pace slowing and my head starting to fog.  The next aid station came and again I looked for that elusive banana. No luck; no fruit at all, actually. Instead I chose potato chips and they were very tasty.  I only ate a few because I knew how fatty they are and was concerned about nausea.  Probably should have had more to get some salt.  As I left the aid station I took advantage of a walk break and it felt very nice on my weary legs.  My prevailing thought was, "Man, I love aid stations."  I may or may not have said it out loud.  I couldn't wait to get to the next one.  My family would be there, and it would be the last stop before the finish.  Too bad it was 5 miles away. 
I kept moving, slowly but surely, hoping that the aid station would be around the next corner.  Then I looked up and saw the hill - the only notable hill on the course - and knew it must be at the top.  It was a big hill though and a long, hard walk to the top.  I was very tired and needed the boost of seeing my family.  I hoped they hadn't been waiting for me too long because it was cold and the wind had picked up a little bit since the start.  Jenny got an action shot of me dragging my body up the hill into the aid station.

Bethany was a trooper.  She was so cold just sitting there in the stroller

Grace rang a cowbell to cheer me on.

All the aid stations were awesome.  I never once refilled my water bottle because someone always did it for me.  So when I got to this one they had a lot of food that sounded good but unfortunately I didn't eat most of it because I knew it probably wouldn't sit too well in my stomach at this point.  They kept offering me stuff but I wasn't sure what would be best for my body.  Eventually, I settled on something salty and ate it while discussing the race with Jenny. 
I had made good time so far but was feeling pretty beat and I still had almost 7 miles to go.  The next stretch was on the road and Jenny was going to leap frog me and cheer me on at intervals as I went soI knew that would help.  This is where the "mind over matter" bit becomes important for distance runners.  I just had to use my brain to force my body to do what I wanted it to.  Because if it were up to my body I would have stopped or walked the rest of the way.

Just leaving the last aid station.
6.6 miles to the finish line.

Starting to run again...maybe.



My beautiful and talented crew captain, Jenny.  She had two pretty cute assistants too.

Leaving the aid station I walked for a little bit before starting to run (as seen in the pictures my beautiful wife was kind enough to take.)  This is where the cold really got to me.  While walking I was okay but once I started running again I was freezing cold.  Stopping at the aid station had allowed my body to cool off and running again created a bitter cold breeze that chilled me to the core.  My toes and part of my feet were completely numb and my hands felt like ice.  I pulled my shirt sleeve over my gloved hand but could only warm one hand at a time because the other hand held my water bottle.  My feet had slowly become saturated running through the snow all day and the wind made by running again completely numbed my toes.  The toe socks I was wearing did a great job preventing blisters but they didn't help my toes stay warm; if any blisters had popped up I wouldn't have felt it.  I was hoping and praying, literally, that I would finish the race without frostbite.  I don't know how long I froze like this but I knew if I kept running long enough things would start to warm up.  Sure enough, I did warm up but it took forever.
Jenny was able to take lots of pics of me along this last stretch because we were on the road where she could access us very easily.  It helped me to know that she was never too far.  I ran as much as I could but it was slow going.  Here are some pics.

 

 

There were a few other runners close by.  I'd like to say I was able to beat all of them but, truth be told, most of them finished ahead of me.  Not all, but most of them.  I don't feel too bad though because, as I'd later learn, one of the girls in the group ended up as the 5th female finisher.  

This last stretch included mile 26.2, the official marathon distance, and while it wasn't marked I knew a certain street would be roughly a marathon.  I've never run a marathon so I don't have a personal best time or anything but I couldn't help checking my watch as I came to the street.  4:06.  So with a little less time at the aid stations I may have been able to run a sub 4 hour marathon that day.  Not bad, I thought...even though the finish line was still 5 miles away.

After running on the road for almost 5 miles the course finally got back on the trail about 2 miles from the finish.  I picked up the pace because I was almost done...and because it was all downhill.  That helped.  I wanted to finish strong and knew I could.  I didn't know what my time was and didn't want to look.  Just. Finish. Strong. 

Jenny was able to get a few action photos here as well.

 

The sweet feeling when you near the finish line of a long race is hard to describe without experiencing it.  It's a mixture of emotions with the prevailing emotion dictated by how the race played out.  I felt good about my relatively strong finish, relieved that it was over and I could get warm, overwhelming gratitude to my amazing wife and kids, satisfaction about finishing in under 5 hours, and mostly victorious because I made it to the finish line and earned my finishers medal.

My official finishing time was 4:46:14, good for 37th place out of 134 finishers (Official results here).  Not bad at all.  

Was my race perfect?  No.  Will I ever run a perfect race?  Probably not.  But I hope I get a little better with each race I run. And someday I'll have that dream race where everything goes perfectly.  But even if that perfect race never comes I'll keep racing for the challenge and adventure of pushing my limits.  After all, that's what ultra-running is all about.

TNT

T'N'T...the Toughest 'N Texas trail race was held on March 16th in Cameron Park, Waco Texas. 

Even with the strong running community that exists in Waco, there are few individuals brave (or crazy) enough to attempt to run 50 kilometers on the rugged and highly technical trails of Cameron Park. 

Two years ago, I did TNT as my first ultra.  It has a special place in my heart and I looked forward to running it all year.  The problem, this year, is that in order to run TNT I would have to make the 16 hour drive back from Colorado within a couple days of the race.  No big deal really, except for the 16 hours sitting...that's not really good for the muscles.  And the sleep deprivation (we left at about 9pm).  And the junk food (honestly, who doesn't eat crap on a road trip).  OK, maybe it wasn't such a great idea.

Like any night before a race, I stayed up late preparing my gear, pinning my bib on my shorts, gathering Gu's and such.  I set my alarm for 5:30 and laid down on a lumpy sofa bed at about 12am.  Ah...the sweet five hours of sleep.

It wasn't cold as I carried my drop bag to the starting line.  The weatherman predicted temps in the high 70's--maybe even 80's.  That's hot, even for Texas in March.  I was acclimated to 45-50 degrees.  But I would much rather run in the heat than the cold, so there was no complaint from me. 

I saw some friends doing the last minute preparations as I heard someone call over a loud speaker "Seven Minute to the start of the 50K!" 

I tried to decide how much I really wanted to see where I was going.  It was still pretty dark and a headlamp would be imperative to see what the trail looked like...but I also knew that it would be light in about 20 minutes.  If I took the lamp out, I would have to carry it 10 miles until I finished my first loop.

"Forget it," I told myself.  20 minutes of vision was not worth 10 miles of annoyance.  I stuffed the lamp back into my bag.

"Alright guys.  50K runners line up.  We have three minutes."

CRAP.  I still had my long sleeve shirt and sweat pants on.  I hurriedly stripped.
CRAP.  I might want to listen to music along the trail.  I should put my MP3 player...just in case.
CRAP.  I didn't have any GU's handy.  I should really carry some of those.  Where the heck did I put those...

"50K...Get ready...10...9...8...7..."

Forget the Gu's.  I jumped to the back of the starting line feeling that despite staying up too late I might could have prepared better for this.

"GO!!!!"

No matter how many times you do it, you never get over the thrill of pouncing off a starting line with a group of runners who are as dedicated and crazy about the sport as you.  I tucked in behind a group with bright lights.  These first 20 minutes would be rough.

By three miles the darkness dispelled.  The lead group was long gone...which was ok.  I wasn't getting sucked into someone Else's race.  I felt pretty good as I trotted up a hill and into the first aid station.  It was there I saw one of the lead runners sitting on the ground, his ankle swollen to the size of a cantaloupe.  I met him the day before at packet pickup.  He flew in from Colorado for the race.  I  expressed my condolences, pounded his fist and headed back down the trail.

I know these trails.  This is my playground.  I floated up and charged down the steep inclines...being careful to not overdue it too early.

10 miles passed like a fleeting dream.  I felt good and began to think I might do alright in this race.  I hardly paused at the aid station. 

The sun started to burn by this point.  I was thankful for the strong wind which kept me somewhat cool.  Still, I was concerned because my fingers were swelling.  I couldn't remember if swelling meant I needed more water or salt.  Not that it really mattered.   I didn't have any salt.
Trucking into the aid station, I asked for advice..."I'm swelling.  Do I need water or salt?" I asked.

"How much are you drinking?" the attendant asked.

"I drink one of these," I said, holding up my handheld water bottle (16 oz) "between each station (3 miles)."

"Get some salt."

I ate potato chips.  They were AWESOME.  Salt was my problem.  I also noticed that I was cramping...another sign of running low on electrolytes.  Not wanting to waste too much time at the aid station, I grabbed another handful of chips, expressed my thanks, and dove back into the bushes. 

I ran the next three miles alone, feeling myself slip deeper and deeper into a state of semi exhaustion.  It was at this point I ran though a clearing, looked up through the trees into the blue sky and thought once again how awesome it was to run through the woods.  To be so blessed with a healthy body and to witness the beautiful creations.  I felt the love of God singing to my soul though the trees and wind and rocks and dirt and...

Oh my gosh! Is that a BEAR?

A small part in my brain said, No way.  Bears don't live in Cameron Park.  But my eyes saw a HUGE, black, hairy, beast sitting not 20 yards away in the trees.  I tried to stop but my legs were on autopilot.

"Good Morning," a friendly voice called.

Surely bears don't talk, I thought.

I looked up to see a man holding a leash.  This was good.  I wouldn't have to out run the bear...just the other man...
But when I looked back to the huge, hairy beast, it had transformed to a small, friendly dog.  I think I just entered the phase of hallucinations.  I have run much farther than before with no hallucinations, although I knew it wasn't uncommon.  I never had attempted a run like this on 5 hours sleep in the last three days.  This, I had a feeling, was about to get interesting.

"Your in 5th place," the aid station attendant called out.  He was trying to help...let me know where I stood, encourage me and what not.  But I wish he hadn't.

Fifth place...Just pick off two more and you'll place, that competitive voice in my brain chirped, sucking me into someone Else's race.  Another fellow runner, who was doing a shorter race that morning pulled out of the aid station.  He was flying.  I had competed against this guy a few times in other races and knew we were pretty evenly matched.  I tried to keep up with him and we chatted for  a few miles (once he realized that I wasn't competition today). 

By twenty miles, I gave up hope of placing.  The goal would now be survival.  My exhausted body struggled to stay upright.  I stumbled more with each mile.  It was only a matter of time, I knew, before I face planted and just hoped I would make it out with all my teeth in tact.

At the next aid station, I was greeted with the sweetest sight. 
"Come on, Babe.  You're looking great!" Mindi called.  I knew she was lying, but it was good to see her.  I dropped to the ground and dumped some tiny rocks out of my shoes.
"I'm tired." I confessed.  But this was a crowd of no sympathy.  I knew what I was getting into when I signed up, they told me as I was pushed back onto the trail.

I pressed on, step by step, mile by mile.  I had run these hills a million times but I couldn't for the life of me remember them being so freakin' steep and challenging.  Try as I might, I couldn't run for more than a quarter mile without needing to stop and walk to catch my breath.

Step by step; mile by mile.  I rounded a corner and realized that I was less than a mile away from the finish.  I pushed on.  As I cleared the top of the hill my legs completely gave out.  I lay on the trail, summoning the strength and will to continue.

"Are you Ok?" another runner asked as he rounded the corner.

I mumbled something in Ultrarunner, "Gurgle garb."  (That means "If you don't see me cross the finish line in an hour send someone back for my body.")

He understood.

I tried to get up and follow him but crashed back down as the world spun out of control.  "I'll wait another minute."

I focused my breathing and braced myself against a tree.  Slowly but surely I made it to my feet.  Step by step.  My legs shook but stabilized as I increased speed.

The finial climb of our loop is a stair case known as Jacob's Latter. 

I climbed the first ten steps before falling to my hands and knees and crawling. 
"Are you tired?" a small child asked as he passed with his parents.  I laughed to myself, noting that comment as the understatement of the day.  The runner behind me (who I had just passed) elaborated, "We've just run 30 miles and climbed these stairs 3 times.  Yeah.  We're tired."

I crossed the finish line six hours and 34 minutes after starting...more than 10 minutes faster than my previous time.

T'N'T...the aptly named Toughest 'N Texas.  I didn't donate as much blood to the trail gods as other races.  I didn't suffer pain like other runs.  I did hallucinate for the first time (I think I saw big bird out there in addition the bear/dog).  It wasn't the farthest or the hardest.  But it was one heck of  a race.

My favorite part of this race was being on the trails I train on with friends.  It was awesome to see friends and fellow Striders out on the course and cheering each other on.  There are too many indiviuals to attempt to name them here, for fear of leaving someone out, but I want to say thanks to all the great people I met, saw, and ran with (or in a few cases, behind) on the trails. 

I also need to give a HUGE thanks to my wife and ever supporting crew, which consists on my 4 kids.  You guys give me the motivation I need to keep going step by step, mile by mile.