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.

Wishful Thinking

With less than a week before I run the Green Jewel 50k I've been checking the weather constantly to see what the forecasters are predicting for race day.  I suppose I should have known better than to sign up for an ultra in Cleveland in March but it's too late to back out now.  Weather, in Cleveland is always a concern, especially in early "spring."  Spring, I'm afraid, is some weeks away here. 

My hope when I forked over the $55 to get myself entered was a partly cloudy day with high temps around 40 degrees.  Not too bad for running and a reasonable expectation for March in Cleveland...or so I thought.
The actual forecast? (you're dying to know, no doubt):

"Snow showers at times. Highs in the upper 20s and lows in the upper teens." Estimated  high of 27 degrees with NW winds at 12 mph.  (that's from weather.com)

Could be better.  Could also be much, much worse.  All I can say is...it will be fun.

Otherwise I feel decently prepared for the race.  Weather has been an issue for training too, somewhat, but I just finished a 42 mile training week capped with an 18 mile run at 8:05/mile pace that felt really good.  I'll call myself cautiously optimistic at this point.  I just need to manage my race well and not obsess too much over the weather.  Change the things you can, right?  And accept what you can't change.  It sure would be convenient to be able to change the weather sometimes though.

You Never Know How Strong You Are Until Being Strong Becomes Your Only Choice

"Why?  What goes through your mind when you sign up for these things?"

I sat in a chair sipping hot soup and enjoying the immense satisfaction of knowing that I had run a good race and finished.  Despite hurting all over, I felt good.

The question was posed by the spouse of a fellow ultra runner who was still out on the course.  It was a fair question, not uncommon, and yet difficult to answer.

"Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time," I laughed.  He laughed too, and didn't press the issue.  My wife already told me I was incoherent and I'm sure he didn't want to stress my already fritzed out brain.

It wasn't until the next day I read this little saying:

You Never Know How Strong You Are Until Being Strong Is Your Only Choice.

That's it, I thought.  That's why I run ultras.  There comes a time during each of these 30 plus mile runs where your body screams "Stop" but you don't stop; you can't because the finish line is still a good 20 miles away and you made a commitment to cross it.  And even though it seems daunting, even impossible, to think of the miles that lie ahead you keep putting one foot in front of the other, step after step, mile after mile.  Sure your mind wigs out (its not uncommon for ultra runners to hallucinate) and your body may collapse occasionally, but time after time, you rise again and somehow find the strength to take another step and go another mile.  Proving that you are stronger than you ever thought and that the impossible is only unattainable when you cease to strive for it.

Rocky Raccoon 50 Mile Endurance Run

The weather was perfect.  I feared that running in February would pose all sorts of discomforts (I hate to run in the cold) but race day dawned with temps in the low 50's and the promise of 60 to 70 by mid afternoon.

The course was perfect.  Rocky is set in Huntsville State Park, about an hour north of the Houston Area, in a wooded park.  The trail is mostly soft dirt with a few roots here and there ;).  It is relatively flat and has a reputation as a fast course.  Many a PR was set at Rocky.

The aid was perfect.  As many ultra runner know, the life of a race often lies with the volunteers and the aid stations.  Rocky's aid stations and volunteers were OUTSTANDING.  On a scale of one to ten, they get eleven.

I was less-than-perfect.  Coming out of the New Year's Double where due to illness, I was forced to drop from back to back Marathons to a Marathon followed by a half marathon, my confidence may have been a little shaken.  I had also intended for Rocky to be my first 100 mile run but was forced to drop to the 50 miler due to scheduling conflicts.  To simplify a complex situation--I was not 100% going into the race.

Mindi took it upon herself to be my crew.  For anyone who hasn't had the privilege of "crewing" before, it is an extremely dull and unrewarding job that is usually done out of sheer love.  Crew's wait for hours while their runner plays in woods.  At the aid station, the crew attempts to see to the needs of an often exhausted, glycogen-depleted runner who usually thinks his/her needs are the only thing that should matter.  Runners are not always as kind and appreciative of our crew as we ought to be.

At 7:00AM, an eiery cry rose from the woods and over 300 runners began what would be a full day of running, walking, eating, puking, bleeding, limping crying, and more running.  An additional 300 runners had left an hour earlier on their way to run 100 miles.  We call ourselves "Ultra Runners," the rest of the world calls us "Crazy".

The 50 Mile course consisted of three 16.67 mile loops with 5 aid stations along the way.  Mindi was able to be at the first (Mile 3), second (Mile 7) and last (Mile12) aid stations.  The fourth and fifth aid stations were too far off the main road to be accessed by crews.

I finished my first loop in under four hours.  I had two concerns: I was sweating a lot--which meant I was losing a lot of fluids and electrolytes, and my knee hurt.  A given amount of pain is expected during an ultra...but I hadn't expected to hurt this bad until 25 or 30 miles.  I changed my knee brace and added some extra athletic tape for additional support, drank as much coconut water as my stomach could handle and headed back out for more. 

By the time I reached the first aid station on my second loop, I knew I was in trouble.  The new knee brace, despite the extra athletic tape, was not helping my knee at all.  Every step sent shocks of pain through my leg.  I could deal with that..yes, but could I deal with that for another 30 miles...

I sat down on a log and tried to evaluate the situation.  I had run 20 miles (roughly).  My pace was good (I hadn't set any particular goal because I had planned to run the 100 mile race).  I was sweating a lot, but I was still peeing which meant I was sufficiently hydrated.  All was well...except the knee.  I tried to adjust it and winced in pain.

"What do you need?" my beautiful crew captain asked. 

I had to admit a hard truth to myself: I could handle some pain...but this would be too much.  I would not be able to continue running for 30 miles with this pain.  The way I saw it, there were two options:

1.  DNF: Drop out of the race, go home shower, lay down, enjoy the weekend and hate myself for the next six months.  OR

2.  Take an Ibuprofen.

I chose the lesser of two evils.

"When I see you again, will you bring some vitamin I?" I asked.  Mindi looked at me dubiously for a moment, knowing that I hate to run on drugs because it can do major damage to your kidneys and it prevents your body from strengthening itself naturally.  But the look in my eyes must have explained the balance between pain and determination because she nodded, helped me up and pushed me in the right direction.

Rash from the knee brace

I would still have to run close to ten miles before I got any relief.  I found that my knee hurt just as bad walking as it did to run, so I ran.  Step by step, mile by mile.  I reached the aid station affectionately named "Damnation" where crews could not  get.  The aid station volunteers were everything a runner could ask for.  I got some food and some salt pills.  By this time, my muscles were starting to cramp due to lack of salt (I think).  I drank as much water as I could and filled my water bottle.  I needed to get a TON of water down if was going to take those pills.

I made my loop and headed back towards towards the fourth aid station.  The cramping had increased despite the extra salt (I don't think it had hit my system yet) and I wanted to slow my heart rate some so the medicine I planned to take would be effective and not just burn off.

As I limped to the next aid station, God blessed me with another gift.  My good friend and training buddy, Ace, ran up behind me.  Ace was running 100 miles in this race.  He was also experiencing some difficulties so we ran, walked and limped along for several miles.  Running with Ace took my mind off the pain and monotony of running over 30 miles.  We didn't keep a fast pace but we kept moving forward.

As we moved through the Damnation Aid Station for my final trip, Ace split off to follow the 100 mile course and I cut across, following the 50 mile course.  I refueled as best I could and trudged on toward my last aid station. 

An ultra is an adventure.  There are a lot of ups and downs.  I came up on a racer who was literally crying.  Its always a little awkward to see a girl crying...
"How's it going?" I asked.
"I tore my (ok, I honestly don't know what exactly she tore, but it sounded really painful and judging from the tears, it probably was).  I'm going to have to drop out out at the next aid station," she sobbed.

What do you say to that?

She had run close to 40 miles and would not finish the race.  Another friend of mine ran 71 miles (of the 100 mile race) before having to drop out due to injuries.

I had been struggling with knee pain for the last 30 miles.  Fortunately for me, the pain did not seem to be getting worse.  "Its only pain," I told myself.  The scary-make-you-drop-out-of-a-race pain is that which leads to permanent and serious injuries.  I was lucky to struggle with only pain.

It was just over 4 miles to the finish line.  I had run almost 46 miles.  It was time to finish this thing.  I kissed my beautiful wife/crew chief goodbye and told her I planned to pick up the pace a bit.  I grit my teeth and ran out of the aid station.  The pain in my knee was still full force.  The Vitamin I I had taken had all but worn off.  "Its only pain," I told myself and ran.  I lengthened my stride and pumped my arms.  My garmin said I was doing an 8:30 mile average.  My goal was to not let anyone pass me during these last 4 miles.  Not that I'm a jerk (ok, I'm something of a jerk) but I wanted to finish strong--and put the last bit of myself into this race.

I came up on and passed several runners.  Each time I passed one, I tried to increase my pace, knowing that it would be so disheartening to be passed by someone flying along at that stage that the runners being passed wouldn't have the heart to try and keep up.

I crossed the finish line after running for 10 hours and 58 minutes.  It was bittersweet; I planned to run 100 miles at this race.  It wasn't possible and frankly, if I was forced to admit it, I probably couldn't have finished it if I had tried.  I sat down, ate some soup and enjoyed the feeling of knowing that I had run a good race (and PRed by more than an hour and qualified for WS100--if I had the resources and luck to get into it).  I sat visiting with Mindi and a couple other people whose spouses had psycosis similar to mine.

"Why?  What goes through your mind when you sign up for these things?"

Sometimes you need to find out if you're strong enough.

Dropping

Dropping, not to be confused with Lance Armstrong and "Doping", is similar to the feeling you get when walking down a flight of stairs and you think there is one more step but when you step down you bottom out and your stomach smashes against your spleen...

And you drop.

I took the phone call about two weeks ago.  It was my boss and one doesn't generally ignore calls from the boss if one desires to keep one's job.  "I need you to attend this conference in Austin.  You'll have to be there on Sunday, February 3rd at 1:00pm."

And I dropped.

To understand the significance of this, you must realize that my whole YEAR has been leading up to Saturday, February 2nd (Happy Birthday, Mom).  Rocky Raccoon was to be my first 100 mile race.  No small task in the undertaking; no small feat in the preparation.  To run 100 miles, I planned on spending at least 24 hours on the trail.  Although it was very likely and even probable that I would be out for more like 28-30 hours.  The race begins on Saturday, Feb. 2nd at 6 am.

What my boss told me essentially was that I would have to start running at 6AM on Saturday.  Run all night.  Finish (assuming I did) the race in 28 hours or so.  Shower and change clothes.  Then make the 3 hour drive to Austin in about an hour and a half to check into the conference and spend the rest of the day (on NO sleep) going over financial statements on loan compliance.

Impossible, you say. 
Maybe for others. 
But for me.............................................................Impossible.

And I dropped.

I contacted the race director, who happens to be a very understanding man, and despite the fact that the refund deadline had already passed, he allowed me to drop from the 100 mile race to the 50 mile race.

I will still run, I will still ache when it's over.  I will still hold my head high and proudly cross that finish line and display my finishers medal on my wall...but I will have to wait for my first 100 miler.

Failure's not Flattering

The day dawned bright and sunny.  There was a slight breeze and just a hint of a cloud cover.  62 degrees and PERFECT for running.  I never felt better.

I wish I could start my post this way.  I wish it was true.  But if you've come looking for an inspiring post about the perfect Marathon...you, my friend, will have to keep looking.  It is my sad but serious responsibility to record the truth, no matter how unpleasant.  And the unpleasant truth in this case is that the day was anything but bright and sunny.

Grey clouds hung low overhead, so thick that at times you felt as if you were walking through them.  You could be the optimist and say, "At least it didn't rain."  But you would be sadly mistaken.  For it did rain.  It rained for most of the day.  Not the pleasing "I love the smell of rain" rain, but the bitter "My wedding day is cursed" rain that Hollywood so aptly applies when the Hero dies.

The optimist may venture to say, "We need the rain, and as long as there is no wind the rain can be dealt with."  The optimist, in this case, is correct.  Unfortunately for the runners, there was wind.  Cold wind.  The kind of wind that cuts though your layers of technical clothing and pierces not only your skin but your very heart.

When all has failed my "the Glass is Still Half Full" friend may attempt the never failing, "Well, at least you have your health" line. 

WRONG AGAIN!

Sucking down my special prerace drink

This race was supposed to be a training run for my 100 miler next month.  It probably wasn't the perfect scenario anyways but it was what I wanted to do.  I was signed up for a marathon on New Years Eve and a second Marathon on New Years Day.  2 Marathons in 2 Day.  It was not the craziest race I've ever signed up for.  In fact, I hadn't really given it much thought.  I would show up, run, run some more, go home and keep running to get ready for the Big One.

The week before the race, I ran 26 miles to let my body feel what it was like.  Then all hell broke lose.  The flu ran through town and found it's way into our home.  Colds, allergies and bronchitis ran through town as if they were training for a Marathon also.  I worried about the minor aches and pains that I had dealt with for months.  Would they flare up in the middle of the race?  Had I over trained?  Had I trained enough?  Was I fit enough and mentally prepared for this?

I started coughing a couple days before the race.  No big deal, I thought, as I chewed on Vitamin C as if it were Skittles. 

I set two objectives going into this race: (1.) Finish a Marathon in under 4 hours and (2.) Finish two marathons in 2 days.

I accomplished neither.  (My head hangs in shame)

The 30 degree temperatures and rain made the day cold.  The wind made it miserable.  But with my first goal in mind, I took off from the starting line like there wasn't a care in the world.  I averaged an 8:30 min/mile for the first 6.6 mile loop.  If I kept it under 9, I would break 4 hours.  I did a quick systems check: I was not cold only because my body heat kept me warm, my hands were a little cold because the rain had soaked my cotton gloves, my legs were pretty tired considering I was only a quarter of the way into this beast, my pace was good.

In retrospect, I should have focused less on my pace and more on all the other issues.  I didn't.  I kept the pace.  By 13.1 miles (halfway) I was at 1:54.  I was pushing hard.  Judging by the tax on my body, I would have guessed that I had run a 1:45, maybe even a 1:40 half.  Or that I had covered 18-20 miles.  My heart rate was up and I couldn't keep my breathing steady.  This was a very bad state to be in at the halfway point.

I allowed my pace to slow for the next loop and began to walk through the aid stations as I drank Gatorade.  Without the extra effort, my breathing came under control and my heart began to slow...I also began to shiver.  My clothing was now soaked through and through and the wind cut like a chain saw.
I tried to focus on the music I had, it didn't help.  I tried to focus on the racers around me; it didn't help.  I looked for my cheering section...they were wisely back at the hotel.

I passed a sign that said 16 miles.  I thought I would be elated when I passed the sign but all I could think of was, "Please, not another 10 miles in this crap."  But there was nothing to do but grit your teeth and run.

By the start of my last loop, breaking 4 hours seemed impossible.  I was already at 3:10.  The chances of my running a 50 minute 10 K after running 20 miles in 30 degree weather with wind was not likely.  But I found some small comfort in knowing that it was the last loop.  I told myself, "It's the last time I take this corner.  Last time I'll hit this aid station, last time I'll jump over that snake (or stick that looks like a snake).

By mile 23 I picked up my pace again.  I began hunting the runners in front of me.  One by one I would pick them off and pass them.  Each time I passed one, I would look ahead and pick a new victim.  My legs were cramping pretty badly by this point, but I knew I could muscle through it.

Just passed mile 25, my cheer squad was waiting.  There wasn't a lot left in the tank but I tried to push anyways.

As I rounded the 2nd to last corner, there was one person between me and the finish line.  It didn't seem likely, but I decided to try and catch her anyways.

My official finishing time was 4:21:57.  Not even close to my goal of 4 hours.  What was worse...I knew I was now full fledged sick.

As I tried to walk the 10 yards from our car to the Hotel entrance, I began to shake so violently that I could hardly stand.  My skin was hot and dry and my legs wouldn't cooperate with me.  And I had less than 24 hours before I had to do it again.

I ate, rested, stretched, rested and ate some more.  My body felt like it had been run over by a freight train (I don't personally know what it's like to be hit by a train...but I imagine it was like this.)  By the next morning, I could hardly move.  I knew I was running a fever.

I tried to jog a little to warm up/loosen up.  The weather man claimed that the rain was over.  He obviously failed to look out the window because it was still falling.  I ran about 20 yards on legs that felt more like broom sticks.  If I tried to run 26 miles in this weather again, I was sure I'd be in serious trouble.

Some would call it quiting.  Some may call it self preservation.  I did what I had to do.  I dropped from the full marathon to the half.  It may sound crazy, but the thought of 26 miles seemed impossible.  13 miles, however, was just a walk in the park.  So that's what I did. 

By the time the race started, I knew I could muscle through 13 miles and while I wasn't happy about having to drop from the Marathon distance, I felt like it was the right thing to do.

I ran an easy half and finished in about 2 hours 5 minutes.

3 Simple Miles

The Whitney Elementary Reindeer Run is a 5K put on by our local elementary school.  I had not run a 5k all year because I wanted to focus on Ultra and Marathon distances.  But I felt a responsibility to support running in my local community so I signed up.  I had a secret goal that I didn't really want to verbalize because I wasn't sure it was possible...a sub20 5K.

For those of you who don't speak Runner, let me explain.  First of all, a 5k is 3.1 miles.  It is a crumb of a bite sized race when compared to the 26 mile marathon (and let me state here a 5K is NOT a marathon and calling a 5k a marathon in the presence of a runner is equivalent to dropping the F bomb in a kindergarten class) or 50 - 100 mile ultra marathon.

Not to belittle the 5K.  It can be a REALLY tough race because it is so short compared to the marathon, a 5k is more like a sprint than a distance run.  Yeah, you try sprinting 3 miles and tell me how easy it is.  I have seen plenty experienced runners cross the finish line and lose their breakfast.

Sub 20 refers to time in minutes. 

My fastest 5k to date was 20:04.  I ran that in July of 2011 on a perfectly flat course and after doing speedwork all summer.  I wasn't really sure that I could go any faster.  I felt totally wasted after that race and knew that I had give it my all.  The thought of tapping some unknown resource that would help me go even faster was unfathomable. 

Let's do the math: To run a sub-20 5k I would need to drop 5 seconds from my fastest time.  I knew from tempo runs I could run a 7 minute mile for at least 5 miles and feel pretty good...But if I carried three 7 minute miles, I was 1 minute over my goal.  My fastest miles were about 6:20.  If I could hold a 6:30 pace for 3 miles I would come in at 19:30 (plus 0.1 miles). 

Yeah, it sounds a lot easier than it is. I worked out several scenarios: 3 miles at 6:30; first mile at 7, second at 6:30, last mile at 6 flat (like that was going to happen); 2 miles at 6:30 and a 7 (much more likely but I would have to shave seconds off the last mile to keep it under 20 minutes). 

Two things I figured: 1--it was probably possible.  2.  It would hurt like crazy.

My training was mostly focused on Ultramarathon preparation.  I did a 50 mile race in October and had back to back Marathons coming up at the end of December.  Not to say that I didn't blast out a few fast miles, but for every mile of speedwork I did, there were about 20 miles of plodding along--teaching my body to keep going mile after mile no matter how slow.  Would the accumulation of all those slow miles do me any good in a 3 mile sprint?

In my favor were:
1. Weather: the weather was a cool 55 degrees.  Just about perfect for racing.
2.  I had a Batman Shirt.  Honestly, how can you go wrong with Batman?
3.  Pacers: I didn't have pacers but there were 2 kids from the High School Cross country team running.  I knew they would go under 20 Minutes.  If I could keep up with them, I would make it to.  (Before the race started I asked one of them what his goal was.  When he replied, "I'm going to shoot for 17 minutes," I decided keeping up with them might not be such a good idea.)

I jogged 3 miles to warm up then did striders to stay loose and get my legs ready for the real running.  I told myself (as all runners do) that the world wouldn't end if I didn't go under 20 minutes but (as most runners do) I didn't really believe it.

We lined up on the starting line.  I pushed my way to the front...not that I'm a jerk (maybe I am) but I was going for a RACE here; I couldn't afford to lose precious seconds behind the joggers and kids that hadn't truly paid the dues to be at the front of the starting line. 

The horn sounded; it was as if a gunshot rang out from behind us and the crowd surged forward with the momentum of a derailed freight train.  Four of us quickly dropped the crowd and it became painfully evident who the runners were.  Three of the guys were from the cross country team (the two I expected and one more).  I drafted behind the main group, knowing that I could not possibly beat them but hoping they might drag me to a PR.  At about a half mile I glanced at my Garmin and almost gasped when I saw that we were on pace to do a 5:34 mile.  I had never done a mile faster than 6 minutes...Don't think about the pace, I told myself, just follow those t-shirts.

And that's what I did.  It was shortly after the first mile that one of the 3 cross country kids slowed and I passed him.  The two that I knew were fast shared the lead.  It was about this point last year that I faltered and they dropped me.  This year I held steady until about mile two.  By this point I was totally spent.  I didn't even have the energy to flip my wrist up and check out time/pace.  The boys pulled up to a 10 then 20 yard lead.  I could her the PE teacher (who was riding in the vehicle leading the way) shouting at me to hurry, that I could still catch them.  I willed my legs to spin faster but nothing happened.  The best I could do now was hold on and hope it was enough.

We rounded the corner off the street into the school parking lot.  There was about 600 yard to go.  My brain shrieked, "ENOUGH ALREADY! Just coast in...there will be other races to set a PR."  I thought about the agony of the last 2.5 miles.  Was that all to be wasted?  No Way, Brain, I argued.  We go hard to the end--then you can kill me if you want.

I pumped my arms to keep my pace as fast as possible, gasping for air.  My vision blurred as I leaned into the last turn.  Just through the chute.  I grit my teeth and gave the rest of me over the race.

Someone was calling for me to come back...they needed my race bib or something.  It didn't matter.  The race was run and I needed to find a trash can to throw up in.  I waved my hand in acknowledgement and waited for my vision to come back, gasping for air and savoring the sweet, satisfying ache of having given it my very best. 

My time?  What was my time, I suddenly remembered that I had set a goal.  I looked at the clock.  Stared for a moment to try and register what I saw and then nodded with a pride I felt only a few times in my life.

19:05.
I not only set a PR, and broke the 20 minute barrier but KILLED my previous time.  It was enough to earn 3rd place overall, behind the cross country kids (and in front of a few).

So now there is question in my mind: what will happen next year when I focus on speed training?