Race Report: Prospect Mountain Road Race

I've been trying to get to Lake George for the Prospect Mountain hill climb for the past few years.  I like hill races, even those on pavement, and this one, less than two hours from my house, has been on my radar for some time.  The race has a long tradition; this year marked the twenty-sixth running, and several top-flight competitors have taken on the climb, most notably New England mountain running legend Tim Van Orden.  I didn't know who would be in the field this year, though I wasn't sure it would matter.  The race fell at the end of week of five of my final six-week push before Cayuga Trails; with 550 miles run in the previous 5 weeks, I doubted I'd be able to put up much of a placing if anyone of note showed up.  I was looking forward to racing, though; with only a pizza race to my name since Mount Mitchell, I was getting a little antsy.  And I've been feeling good, running some decent-to-solid workouts on both the track and the roads to go along with my 110-mile weeks.  I wasn't fresh, but I was fit; maybe I could sneak out some kind of result if the day went well.


This seemed unlikely as I finished my warmup and saw Mike Slinskey getting out of his car.  Mike is a bit of a local legend in our parts.  A three-time Olympic Trials qualifier in the marathon, Mike holds many of the course records for local races in the Hudson Valley, and is an accomplished (if less prolific) mountain racer as well, having placed highly at Whiteface and Mount Washington in the past.  At 45, he's not quite the indomitable force he once was, but he remains a tough competitor, still one I've never beaten in a race.  His presence alone meant I was probably not in the mix for the win.  Oh well.


I felt a bit sluggish overall on the warmup--likely the result of my 5am alarm--and my stomach didn't feel great, but as far as I could tell my legs felt strong enough.  No tightness in my Achilles, which has been bothering me to varying degrees for several months, and no real residual soreness from the hard track workout two days previously, or the 119 miles of the previous seven days.  Not raring to go, exactly, but as best as I could hope for as we stood on the line.  There were a few other fit-looking folks lined up near the front, so we'd have to see how everything played out. 


The Veterans' Memorial Highway that runs from Lake George to the summit of Prospect Mountain is just under 5.7 miles, climbing 1600 feet in elevation.  If everything went well, I thought I might be able to run near seven-minute pace, close to the 40-minute mark which, based on previous years, would put me in the mix for the top two or three.  The first mile is mostly flat, and I started fairly aggressively, following a fit-looking runner about my height to the lead immediately after the gun.  I checked my watch after a couple minutes of hard work and saw that my GPS had me running 5:55 pace--probably not sustainable.  I backed off a tad to a slightly more relaxed tempo and allowed a small gap to open; I came through the first mile in 6:05, five seconds back of the lead, not sensing anyone from behind.


The climbing started in earnest immediately after the mile mark, and the pace slowed considerably as we started uphill at a 6-8% grade.  My cadence seemed a little quicker than the leader's, and I caught him within about half a mile, moving in front and opening a small gap.  I couldn't completely put him away, but it was still early; I resolved to keep the pressure on as best I could.


After a steady mile and a half of climbing, the road leveled off near the 2.5-mile mark, and he came back up on my shoulder.  I picked up the pace in response, and we dipped down under 6-minute pace as I started to open the gap again.  I was feeling strong, though I knew I was probably going too hard.  I passed three miles in 20:17, about five seconds in front, as the climbing started again.


From that point on there would be no respite from the climb, but we were already past halfway and there was no looking back now.  I started to pay the price a bit for my aggressive start.  My legs got heavy and my cadence slowed a bit.  I could feel the rubber band stretching between me and my rival behind me, but I couldn't get it to break; I could still sense and hear him back there from time to time, and at four miles (27:53) the gap was still only around five seconds.  Keep pushing, keep pushing.


The fifth mile became a slog.  The tempo dropped drastically, and I fought to keep my pace under 8:00/mile.  Slowly I could hear him coming back on me, and inevitably the negative self-talk crept in.  You can't do it, you can't shake him.  You'll be lucky to hold on to second.  I could hear him drawing closer, very slowly, with each step.


Stop it, I told myself.  If you can get to the five-mile mark with the lead you've got a chance.  I had very little left in the legs, but we were only about a mile from the finish.  Make him work for it.  See what he's got left.  With about two hundred meters until the five-mile marker, I could feel him right behind, and I knew I was going to get caught; I eased off the pace the tiniest bit, regrouping, gathering myself for one more move in the final half-mile.  Just relax.  Recover a little bit.  Maybe he's through, maybe you can come back on him at the end.


Sure enough, as he caught me, I felt him relax a tiny bit, content to latch onto my shoulder and not pass me and force the pace.  An opening, maybe.  I took a deep breath and kicked the pace down a notch, getting immediate separation.  Two strides, three, four.  Past the five mile mark, a three second gap.  Two hundred meters later I could feel the gap getting even bigger.  I was locking up, but there was less than half a mile to go, and it felt like I had finally put him away.  Around a big sweeping left turn with two hundred meters to go, I felt and heard nothing.  I chanced the tiniest glance over my shoulder and saw nobody.  Don't let up, I told myself.  You can't have more than a few seconds' lead.  Keep pushing.  Finish line in sight now.  The bored, tepid applause of scattered spectators.  Keep pushing, come on.  A hundred yards.  Fifty.  OK, nobody's there.  Nobody's cheering.  I eased up five yards from the line and, of course, out of nowhere, got blasted from behind by a tall gangly runner in an orange singlet whom I hadn't seen since the start.  No!  Too late, no time to react.  Half a second and it was over.


I slumped to the curb at the end of the finish chute, kicking myself. After leading from the nine-minute mark on I lost the race in the final stride.  I was angry with the spectators and the finish line officials--no heads-up?  No warning?  Not a single "hey, he's closing on you" or even a blip of excitement at the prospect of a sprint finish?--but of course I was mostly angry with myself.  Even three days later I'm still kicking myself.  Sure, it was a good effort, a good training stimulus, a solid run at the end of a huge mileage block, a nice result for a race I hadn't been aiming toward at all.  But still.  Two more hard strides would have done it.


The disappointment does not wash away easily, even for an otherwise well-executed "C" race.  I guess when I stop being disappointed about being pipped on the the line, I'll know it's time to hang up the racing flats; the fact that it still rankles me so much is probably a good sign.  And again, I'll take mostly positives away from the rest of the race.  For one thing, I beat Mike Slinskey for the first time in my life, so that's something.  In terms of my overall fitness level and my response to the heavy training, I feel like I'm right on track for Cayuga in three weeks' time.  And it's silly to pretend that anything's wrong or that I'm not race ready when, if I had run one second faster, I'd feel completely confident and pleased.  But it's hard not to let the teeniest bit of self-doubt creep in.  It feels like I bought a new car which I love but a week after I bought it it's got a big ding in the side panel.  The car runs great and maybe nobody even notices there's a dent and the paint's a little scratched.  But I still know it's there.


Of note, this was the first race I've run in the Salming Race flat, so check back in a few days for my review of the shoes.

Race Report: Spring Dual Against CF Kid's Race

The Spring Dual Against CF is the unofficial opener of the local multisport season, and this year both Lexi and Dylan decided they were going to take part in the kids' race. (The fact that I offered them pizza, ice cream, and chocolate-chip pancakes may have had something to do with it.)  The kids' race is a 0.5-mile run, a 2-mile bike, and a 0.3-mile run.  It's open from ages 7-17, and I was very proud of them for competing against a field of kids who were generally much older.  They both tried incredibly hard and really made themselves suffer, which is both awesome and horrible to watch as a parent.  But again, very proud.  Both managed to medal in the 7-10 year-old age group, so despite the suffering, the story had a happy ending.  Take it away, girls!

****************************************************************************

This is the story of the duathlon:

This was my first big race. It was my second big race, but still big. It was so awesome! They handed out timers to put on our ankles. I liked the beginning, but at the end I was out of breath. I liked the biking better than the running. So did I. At the end, my legs felt like rubber and I was breathing funny. I am pretty sure that I was literally the youngest person there, so I thought that I was going to be nowhere near 1st, 2nd, or 3rd place. But to my surprise, I got 2nd place! I never would have guessed that I came in 3rd place! That race was awesome! I was pretty relieved when the race was over. Me too. :) ****:) :)*****:) :)*****:)

--Lexi & Dylan

First Annual New Paltz Pizza Challenge

Logo courtesy of Vinny Sickles

"This is the first time I'd rather be running than eating pizza."

--Chris Regan, co-founder of Team Pizza Racers, while eating slice #6

As most running/eating stories begin, this one starts in college.  At Cornell, we had six "all-you-can-eat", buffet-style dining halls, spread out across the 750-acre campus.  Our meal plan would allow you to visit as many of these dining halls, as many times as you wanted, within each specified meal period (generally a 2-3 hour window).  Naturally, it didn't take long for the cross-country team to decide that a race between the six dining halls, consuming a meal at each, was a great idea.  The 2.5-mile Dining Hall Classic started in 1991 (predating the famous Krispy Kreme Challenge by over a dozen years) and was won by this idiot.  The race was held every December, following the end of XC season, until 2002, when one of the greatest ultra runners in the world ended his three-year winning streak--and the race itself--by reportedly running through a glass door.

Gathering at the start. Photo: Jodi Friedman

I ran the DHC one time, my senior year, placing an unimpressive 11th, and I have no particular affinity or aptitude for such events (as anyone who has followed my beer mile career well knows).  But upon moving to New Paltz in 2004, I was struck by the density of pizza shops in our small town.  Our quiet little hamlet, barely a mile in length, with a population of less than 7000 people, housed no less than eight pizzerias (no doubt supported mostly by the 6000 or so full time students at SUNY New Paltz). My love for pizza knows no bounds.  Slowly an idea began to percolate--a brilliant, stupid idea.  A one-mile race through town incorporating a slice at each pizza shop.

Mike Selig, food-racing visionary. Photo: Tara Siudy

This brilliant idea lay dormant for several years.  I envisioned an official race, necessitating closure of Main Street, a near-impossible task, and so the event did not seem possible.  But in 2013 I mentioned it to Mike Selig, a former college teammate who had just moved to the area.  Aside from being a top-flight mountain runner, Mike has some experience organizing food races.  He had hosted a fast-food challenge in Boulder and was the originator of the Mighty Mile in Buffalo (think beer mile, but with tacos), which in its sixth year was drawing 40-60 runners annually.  He encouraged me to follow my "dream" in a, shall we say, less conspicuous capacity.  And so the New Paltz Pizza Challenge was born.

For our first event, I wanted to keep it small.  I didn't want any issues with holding up traffic, upsetting the NIMBY-leaning element of our town; I also didn't want to make any of the pizzerias feel as though we would harm their business on a busy spring Friday evening.  I reasoned, we'd put it on once, small-scale, and show everyone that it was not only possible, but low-impact and fun.  Not wanting to call undue attention--or have someone give me a flat-out "no"--I notified only the pizza places where I knew the owners.  I did no publicity.  The field was invitation-only and capped at 16 people.  (For ease of ordering.  Two pies, get it?)

Dylan and her first-grade teacher, Matt Elkin Photo: Jodi Friedman

Unfortunately about a month before the race, one of the longtime pizza shops in town closed their doors, so we were down to seven slices, but that was OK.  I assembled the field and stationed volunteers at each "aid station," whose job it was to order the pizza, make sure it was ready for the runners, and serve as the referees, enforcing the rules at each stop (no running indoors, no vomiting indoors, must finish each slice completely before leaving, etc.).  I came up with a 5K+ loop to emphasize the running aspect a bit more, and established a menu.  And on Friday evening, May 1st, we gathered behind the Water Street Market and took off.

I started off fast, leading Selig and Brian Oestrike by just a couple of seconds through the first half mile down the rail trail to Village Pizza, where we settled in for a cheese slice.  I'm not much for eating fast, but did I mention I really, really like pizza?  Plus, since I've become a bit wedded to the LCHF thing, my pizza consumption has dropped precipitously.  I scarfed down my first slice in over a month like a ravenous hyena, leaving in second place, about 30 seconds behind Brian.

The leaders at AS1: Oestrike, Selig, yours truly Photo: Tara Siudy

The stretch from AS1 to AS2 is the longest uninterrupted running segment on the course, about 1.25 miles of mostly steady uphill running.  It took me about a mile, but I caught up with Brian about two minutes before we reached Rocco's Pizzeria, where we attacked a cheese-less slice of Grandma's pizza.  I was feeling good, both running and eating well.  I left in second again, only about 5-10 seconds back this time, with Selig, Mike Halstead, Brian Hickey, and Mike Siudy all eating vigorously, less than a minute behind.

Chris Regan, founder of Team Pizza Racers, ran the whole race in costume. Photo: Tara Siudy

The next two stops--Pasquale's and Rino's--are just across the street from Rocco's, making for three slices in less than 200 meters.  I started to find my rhythm.  Pasquale's was a half-slice, pepperoni for me, jalapeños for the vegetarians; Brian maintained a slight lead, but we dashed across the parking lot into Rino's and sat down basically together for slice #4: a Caprese slice, stacked with chunks of tomatoes and mozzarella.  The eating was starting to get a little slower now, but Rino's Caprese is one of my favorite slices in town, and I was simply loving life.  I crammed the last of the tomato in my mouth and left AS4 a few seconds in the lead.

Brian caught up on the half-mile stretch to La Bella, where we entered together for slice #5; a half-slice of cheese for me and eggplant for Brian.  (I felt the need to handicap the vegetarians a little bit, given, what was coming on the last two slices.) Once again, we left within seconds of each other and ran the next downhill half-mile together.  Two slices remained, only half a block apart.

Hickey struggling at Gourmet. Photo: Courtney McDermott

Gourmet Pizza was where the wheels started to come off, fortunately not just for me but for everyone else.  To this point we had run about 2.9 of the 3.3 miles, and just about everyone reported reaching this point feeling good, but the menu was about to take a turn for the disgusting.  I ordered up a cheeseburger pizza for the carnivores--ground beef, mozzarella, cheddar, mayo--and a broccoli-wheat pizza for the veggies. The slices were enormous, and with four full slices already on board, it was getting hard to choke down more.  For the first time, I was worried I might vomit.  But we had slowed the eating pace enough that I was able to recover a bit and got out in first place while Brian still had several bites left--my first real gap.  Only Halstead and Hickey had arrived by the time I left, so I knew my lead on the rest of the field was widening as I jogged the few feet down to Jordan's, the final stop.

Jodi and the girls were part of the volunteer team at Jordan's, and the girls surrounded me giddily as I settled into my chair with slice #7.  "Did you puke?  Who puked?  Did anyone puke?"  After about three minutes of listening to this, I finally blurted out, "Nobody say the word puke again!," which mercifully shut them up.

At Jordan's.  Nobody is happy. Photo: Jodi Friedman

The final slice is one of my all-time favorites--Jordan's "CBR," shorthand for "chicken, bacon, and ranch."  I knew it would be murder at this point though, and it was.  I tried to be as methodical as possible.  I felt as though my lead was slipping away, but a couple of minutes passed before anyone else made their way in; by the time Oestrike and Halstead arrived together, I was halfway through the gigantic slice, and knew that neither of them would be making up too much time on this monster.  (Brian, one of the vegetarians, had no real advantage with his assigned pesto-peppers-onions combination.)  I staggered out the door several minutes later, as Hickey and Selig both arrived, but everyone looked about as bad as I felt.

I had spent the majority of the race running very well, despite having run a solid track workout the night before, but the final few hundred meters to the finish was a death march designed to move me forward at the fastest rate I could tolerate without vomiting.  My legs still felt fine, though, and I had enough of a lead to relax through the finish in 33:39, the inaugural NPPC champion.

Yay, I guess. Photo: Tara Siudy

Sprint finish for second. Photo: Tara Siudy

The race seemed to be a success.  The volunteers were awesome and logistically everything went off without a hitch.  Everyone complained incessantly about the final two slices, which is how I know I got the menu right.  And several of the pizzerias were enthusiastic about the idea once they saw it in action.  There's already talk of an Ithaca Pizza Challenge possibly on tap for later this year.  We'll tweak things a bit for 2016, and hopefully open the race up to the general public.  In five years we'll be Krispy Kreme big.  (Probably not.  But a guy can dream.  About pizza.)

In the pain cave. Photo: Tara Siudy

RESULTS
1. Jason Friedman 33:39
2. Brian Oestrike 38:40
3. Michael Halstead 38:42
4. Mike Siudy 43:40
5. Mike Selig 43:53
6. Myron Baker 45:50
7. Mike Bakker 47:19
8. Phil Vondra 48:17
9. Vinny Sickles 49:32
10. Christopher Regan 54:30
DNF/DQ
Brian Hickey 43:09 (did not finish slice #7)
Natalie Thompson 48:16 (skipped a few slices)
Scott Field 1:04:01 (did not finish slice #7)
Greg Cecere 1:16:21 (did not finish slice #7)
Matt Elkin 1:16:21 (did not finish slice #7)

Shoe Review: Salming Trail T1

BOOM.

I've been ramping up my training recently, trying to get ready to throw down with the big boys at the Cayuga Trails 50 in four weeks.  I had a bit of a struggle recovering from Mount Mitchell, and didn't bounce back quite as quickly as I'd hoped.  The mileage came back pretty quickly--it usually does--but it took a few weeks before I started really feeling my oats again.  We took a nice trip to Puerto Rico at the end of March, jumping straight from 30 degrees in NY to 85 degrees, and man did I feel sluggish!  But since returning I've been on a bit of an upswing.  The past three weeks have totaled 317 miles, with a couple of unspectacular but solid track workouts and some decent longer quality runs (what I like to call "Lydiard" runs, which are more or less marathon-pace efforts or a bit slower).  Last week I ran my usual 10-mile Lydiard course (which in reality is probably about 9.6 miles) in just under 63 minutes and felt pretty relaxed most of the way, so that's a good sign.

It's HOT in Puerto Rico.

Anyway, nobody likes to hear about other people's workouts.  It's boring.  So, I figured I'd share my thoughts on the newest offering from Salming, the Trail T1.  I've been putting in about 65% of my miles since Mitchell in the T1s, so I've probably run at least 300 miles in them so far, and to this point they have not disappointed.  Of course, I'm running for Salming this year, so I tend to think their stuff is pretty great.  But you should too!  Here's why.

First off, they're damn good-looking.  I know nobody buys shoes for that reason (actually, as a former shop owner, I know nobody ADMITS they buy shoes for that reason), but let's be realistic--it doesn't hurt.  The men's T1s are a snazzy electric blue with a red outsole, which is a great pairing.  The women's model, with a deep purple upper and a yellow midsole, is even better.

Women's T1: also hot.

OK, ok, what do they feel like?  The upper is nice and breathable, but not too loose that you're sliding around.  The platform is fairly basic, true to Salming's natural running ideals.  No medial post, no transition zone, no outer lugs--just a single density midsole with a 5 mm drop, perfect for mid-foot striking.  I found the toe box to be surprisingly roomy.  They're not extra-wide, and not wide enough for my funky foot to actually accommodate its real-life length, but they do not pinch at all, and the upper is snug enough without being cramped to hug the foot pretty well.

I felt like the midsole was a bit stiff at first, but after the first two weeks the shoe loosened up quite nicely on impact.  The transition through foot strike from rear- or mid-foot to toe off is very smooth and natural.  The outsole is not especially aggressive but is grippy enough in light mud and on mildly technical trails.  It's a versatile enough shoe that it's comfortable for moderate stretches on the road, which is great for me on days where I'm running on pavement for the ten minutes from my door to the nearest trailhead.

There's not a lot of downside to the T1.  They are on the heavier end of the Salming spectrum.  At about 10 ounces, they're still pretty light but the heaviest shoe Salming offers, which is a bit of a turn-off for racing purposes. At that weight, I'd prefer a bit more of a cushioned ride, but that's just nitpicking, really.  It's been a little while since I ran in something I could compare the T1s to; in recent years I've been wearing a lot of inov-8s, which are not a great comp, and have been dabbling a bit too much in "minimalist" shoes, which also aren't in the same category.  I would say they feel a bit like the Brooks Cascadia--lower stack height, less controlled, a bit lighter, but a similar ground feel and versatility.  Maybe a lighter, less clunky version of the Salomon XR Mission.  Probably what the XR Mission wishes it felt like.

The other shoe I've been enjoying quite a bit is the Salming Race, but I'm saving a review for a couple of weeks from now, after I've had a chance to actually, you know, race in them.

Team Mountain Peak Fitness/Red Newt Racing

I'm extremely excited to report that I've been invited to join the Mountain Peak Fitness/Red Newt Racing Trail Running Team.  This team is born out of the marriage of two amazing companies.  Mountain Peak Fitness is a coaching, training, and adventure company based right here in the Hudson Valley.  The group's founders, Elizabeth and Joe Azze, are both coaches and personal trainers who have grown this business out of their love of the outdoors and of endurance sports.  MPF offers coaching and personal training services, as well as leads adventure groups for runners, cyclists, and hikers. 


Red Newt Racing is the brainchild of Ian Golden, the owner of the Finger Lakes Running and Triathlon Company and the race director of the Virgil Crest Ultras and the Cayuga Trails 50.  Red Newt is Ian's race management company, which has recently expanded to include not only those two races but several other gnarly trail races throughout New York, including the first stop of this year's US Skyrunning Circuit at Whiteface Mountain.  Red Newt will also provide their expertise and support for Charlie Gadol's races: Manitou's Revenge, possibly the toughest 50-miler in the country, and the inaugural Cat's Tail trail marathon.  Ian is a fantastic race director who puts on a world-class event and has hosted the US 50-mile championships at Cayuga Trails, and Red Newt is quickly growing into a major player on the trail running scene.


The MPF/RNR team is supported by the FLRTC and also Run On Hudson Valley, a new specialty running shop in Croton-on-Hudson.  Both shops are excellent and you should definitely check them out.


I was a bit taken aback when Ian asked if I'd like to join, as I'm not quite up to the caliber of most of the other athletes in the group, and I'm humbled to be included on a team with such luminaries as Cole Crosby, Iain Ridgeway, Ben Nephew, Carlo Agostinetto, Ryan Welts, and many others.  Hopefully I can put up some performances this year that justify my inclusion.  Please, check out Mountain Peak if you are considering a coach, and if you're looking for a great race this year, pick at least one of the Red Newt events.  I'll be running in at least three of their races, including Cayuga, so hopefully I'll see you out there.

Race Report: Mount Mitchell Challenge: the Paralysis of Indecision

Long considered of the toughest races in the country, the Mount Mitchell Challenge presents runners with obstacles before even reaching the starting line--and I'm not referring to the September entry lottery, which fills the race to capacity on the day it opens.  The unpredictable and ever-changing course conditions tend to destroy the best laid pre-race plans.  Many of us associate North Carolina with Tobacco Road and year-round warmth, but western North Carolina is without a doubt mountain country, and February in Black Mountain can be as harsh as winter in the northeast.  Deciding what to wear and what to carry for a 40-mile mountain race with 9000' of elevation change in the heart of winter presents unique difficulties, even in a good year.

This was not a good year.

The ten days that preceded our trip down to NC this year--my third try at this race, after finishing fifth in 2011 and sixth (fifth male) in 2014--was filled with a whirlwind of texts between myself and the four friends I'd be heading down with, most of them variations on the theme "Do you believe this fucking weather?"  Reports from the course painted a picture of a mix of snow and ice, with high temps in the 20s-30s.  Race director Jay Curwen, who usually downplays any sort of reports as hyperbole, was warning us that traction devices would be necessary; coming from him, this was a shocking admission.  By Tuesday before the race, it became clear that the alternate "snow route" above the Blue Ridge Parkway would be utilized, shortening the course by about 2-3 miles and making the latter stages of the summit ascent a road race--albeit at a 7% uphill grade.  Thursday brought another 4-6" of snow to the course.  I packed two large duffel bags with clothing, four pairs of shoes, two different hydration vests, Nanospikes, and Microspikes.  I was about to pack a pair of Dion snowshoes before I decided that if it was going to turn into a 40-mile snowshoe race, I'd simply skip the race and drink a whole bunch of beer.

Decisions, decisions...

Upon reaching Black Mountain on Friday afternoon, I drove out to Montreat, where the course leaves the pavement after the first few miles and enters the trails.  After a short scouting run with different devices, I decided on the Microspikes, which would provide the most traction in the several inches of loose, unpacked snow that was covering the course; I planned to carry them until the trailhead, then to strip them off again after the trail for the run to the summit on the Parkway and the summit access road, and use them again for the descent back down to Montreat.  At the pre-race meeting that night, though, Jay reported black ice on the summit roadway.  Now worried that I'd need traction for the roads as well, I started to think Nanospikes might be the way to go; they'd be more versatile, I could run with them on pavement if necessary (unlike the Microspikes), and they would provide some help on the snowy trails as well.  The agonizing over this and many other gear decisions--long sleeve shirt or arm sleeves?  Cap or winter beanie?  Regular trail shoes or gaiters?  Handheld bottle or vest?--occupied our conversations, not only for several hours that evening, but even at breakfast on race morning.  We sounded like a bunch of fifteen-year-old girls getting ready for prom.  Having myriad options didn't help; in fact, it simply left me feeling much more vulnerable to second-guessing myself.

The weather seemed reasonable, though: high 20's at the start, little wind, no rain.  I was actually pretty comfortable as we gathered on Cherry Street for the start.  I had felt a little sluggish the day before, but our short jog to the start told me that I was primed and ready to go.  Training had gone very well.  I had a six-week, 600-mile block behind me, with tons of hills and several strong tempo workouts mixed in; after switching up my diet in early January, I was at my lightest weight in fifteen years.  I knew the field was as strong as I had ever faced at Mitchell, but I couldn't wait to get going.

Ready to go! Photo: Mike Siudy

The opening pace was suicidally fast.  Several people fairly sprinted off the line, as if starting a 5K.  The marathon division has become more competitive in recent years, and this has contributed to some fairly insane starts for those of us in the 40-mile division.  In 2011, I ran in the lead pack for most of the first 15 miles; of the first ten people to reach the marathon turnaround on the Parkway that year, only one of them was actually a marathoner.  This year, however, several of the marathoners came to hammer, and they strung out the rest of the 40-milers as well.  I found myself exactly where I wanted to be pre-race: running with Shaun Pope (the Challenge runner-up in 2014 and this year's favorite) and Matt Roane (the 2014 marathon winner), though our small pack of about six runners was not at the front of the field but back in about seventh, over a minute behind the leaders by the time we reached the two-mile mark in Montreat.  Our pace was fairly aggressive, though, and we were banking on some carnage among the fast starters later in the race.  (We were right, kind of; five of the top eight finishers came out of our group, although Daniel Hamilton, the race winner, was one of the guys off the front who managed to hold on.)

After a very gradually uphill first couple of miles, the race climbs steeply for about 3/4 of a mile on pavement before entering the trail; I powered smoothly up this section, leading our group and feeling great.  I stopped at the trailhead to slip on my Nanospikes, losing about thirty seconds.  As soon as I stepped onto the trail I regretted my decision to leave the Microspikes back in my room.  The snow was mushy and loose; the Nanos offered minimal traction, and I was sliding all over the place.  I hemorrhaged time and places, giving up three additional spots within the first mile on trail.  I had already lost track of how many people were ahead of me--10?  15?  My legs felt great, but I was running in quicksand; it felt like every race anxiety dream I've ever had.

My man Brian, seventh in the marathon Photo: Asheville Citizen-Times

By the time we reached the first aid station at Sourwood Gap, about an hour into the race, I had all but given up.  Beyond this point, the conditions improved a bit; the trail had been traversed by snowmobiles and ATVs at this point, and so was somewhat packed, allowing for stretches of decent running, but never for more than a few minutes at a time.  I stopped losing spots, but I wasn't making up any ground either; instead, I was in a back-and-forth with an unknown runner for a place in the mid-teens.  I was awash in negative self-talk, mostly directed at myself for, after all that agonizing, making the wrong decision on my traction device, which was clearly costing me minutes.  My only saving grace was that I still felt good, and that I knew an 11-mile stretch of pavement--when traction devices would hopefully be irrelevant--was approaching.

I reached the Parkway after a very frustrating 2 hours and 10 minutes--ten minutes slower than ideal conditions in 2014, when I had felt like shit; and nearly twenty minutes behind my opening pace in 2011.  I dug out a GU Roctane with my frozen fingers and gulped it down, vaguely registering that this was the first nutrition I had taken since breakfast.  I started up the access road with my Nanos still in place but ditched them after about a mile; the road was pristine, without an icy patch to be seen.  I was all alone, but periodically caught glimpses of Matt Roane about a quarter-mile ahead of me, locked in his own solo battle with the hill, and though it didn't look like I was making much headway, I tried to dig in and go after him.  About 1.5 miles from the summit, the road leveled out somewhat, and I pushed through the burn in my legs and started to finally gain some ground.  It took several minutes to reel him in, but finally I caught him with about 800 meters left in the climb.  Shortly afterwards the leaders started making their way down and we could see where we stood--we were sixth and seventh, about ten minutes off the lead but only about five minutes out of fourth and 2-3 minutes back from fifth.  The road remained clear until the final 400-meter push to the summit, which is a paved pedestrian path that in previous years has been plowed but this year had six inches of fresh powder on it, forcing a final hike to the top.  I paused momentarily to take in the view from the highest point east of the Mississippi, took a deep breath, and headed back down.

Matt is a wonderful downhill runner--he won last year's marathon with an amazing charge to overtake Mike Halstead in the final eight miles, himself no slouch of a descender--and I fully expected to get caught within minutes, but tried to push that out of my mind and instead tried to focus on the spots in front of me.  Cid Cardozo, an excellent masters runner and triathlete from North Carolina, held on to the fifth spot, and I set about employing my limited descending skills trying to catch him.  Which I did, somehow, and we ran in lockstep down the pavement for several miles, reaching the parkway aid station together where we stopped to re-apply our spikes one more time for the snow-covered trail.

Coming downhill, trying to find that rhythm Photo: Asheville Citizen-Times

I was fairly certain Cid had left the aid station before me and started charging as hard as I could, but could not see him, so I settled into a solid, steady pace and focused on making my way to the next aid station.  The trail was now much more packed from having had hundreds of runners follow us up, and I was able to run the downhill at a nearly normal pace, avoiding marathoners all the way.  My energy levels still felt good; small cramps seemed to disappear after swallowing a couple of salt tablets.  Almost before I knew it, I was back on the pavement, hammering down the painful descent back into Montreat, not flying but moving better at this point than on any of my previous attempts at this race.  I left the spikes on for the last three paved miles back through Black Mountain, tiring but still moving well; I had given up hope of catching Cid, who I couldn't see anywhere; but I didn't see any Challengers closing behind me, and was fairly sure I had sixth place locked up.  I crossed the line in 5:22:26, about four minutes slower than 2011 and 22 minutes faster than 2014, on a shorter but infinitely more difficult course.  It was a nice surprise to find out a few minutes later that I was actually fifth and that Cid had been behind me the whole time!

In retrospect, I was quite pleased with the way the race turned out.  It was a frustrating day, made more difficult by my own second-guessing and ultimately wrong decisions on gear, and in the first half of the race I did a terrible job mentally, allowing my negative thoughts and frustrations to limit my performance.  But ultimately, I was as fit as I had hoped, and that fitness allowed me to regroup and salvage a satisfying performance.  Mount Mitchell is a difficult race on a good day, and given the conditions, I think this may have been the most difficult race I've ever run.  The second half of this race was very gratifying; outrunning a strong descender like Matt by several minutes was the sign of a strong performance for me.  It was a bit disappointing not to improve on my placing from previous years, but with the Microspikes, maybe that would have happened; overall, I had to take away mostly positives from this day.

In terms of the new diet, I have to report that unfortunately, it worked very, very well.  I took absolutely no nutrition for the first two hours of the race; I did the entire race on five gels and one bottle of GU Brew.  I did not stop once at an aid station except to put on or take off my spikes.  My energy levels were great; I rarely cramped and never bonked.  Whether I'm doing this whole LCHF thing correctly or not, I really have no idea, but for my first race as a purportedly "fat-adapted" athlete, it was an unqualified success.  Which is annoying; now I have to keep eating this way.  I took a little dietary vacation this week--impossible not to, in Beer City USA--but will be starting back on it tomorrow, so I'll have to crack open a few tonight.

Gear report: Orange Mud HydraQuiver Single Barrel (no bounce hydration, worked brilliantly) and trucker cap; Yard Owl race shirt from Verge; Pearl Izumi shorts; New Balance MT110 Winter shoes (the gaiters worked great).  Can't wait for the Salming Trail T1s to arrive.  Nutrition: GU Roctane and GU energy gels; GU Brew.

This is not nutritional advice

If you're a regular reader (and if you are, my apologies), you'll know that I try to leave the nutritional side of things to Lexi.  Nutrition is of course a huge facet of ultrarunning, both during races and in terms of daily consumption.  Many of us, myself included, tend to focus most of our time and energy on workouts and mileage, and give short shrift to eating, recovery, and the mental aspects of the sport, all of which are arguably more important than the actual training itself.  In the past, when I have concerned myself with nutrition, it is generally to examine my in-race intake--tweaking salt, fluids, and everything else to find that magic formula that leads to GI-distress-free racing.

Of course, our daily diet is paramount if we're looking to realize our potential.  Speaking for myself, I tend to neglect "eating right" because it's a pain in the ass, and the delayed gratification of doing it is hard to make up for the reward of eating whatever you want.  And of course, when we're young, we can get away with a lot.  But as I near masters status, I really feel like by not paying attention to my diet, I'm doing my athletic career a disservice.

Now, this is not to say I eat terribly; my wife is a very good cook, and I think my regular diet is generally pretty healthy.  I tend to eat out more than I should, particularly lunch during the week when I have days off, or late-night dinner working overnight shifts.  Obviously my IPA consumption is higher than might strictly be considered "beneficial."  But for the most part I eat fairly well.  I know, however, that I'm certainly not using my nutritional intake to my advantage, not molding what I eat to benefit me athletically.  I follow lots of sports, and the more I read about athletes as they age, the more I find that they are turning to different nutritional strategies to gain an edge and combat the effects of getting older.  It might be eliminating sugar, or eliminating fat, or going vegan, or eating more protein.  Whatever.  It's clear that athletes who pay attention to their diet have an advantage over those of us who don't.

So as I approached this year and this racing season I started to consider my diet more critically, particularly with an eye toward weight control.  Obviously the lighter we are, the easier it is to run fast over long distances.  Keeping my weight in an optimal range for racing has become progressively more difficult in recent years.  In college, I raced at around 135 pounds, with a BMI of about 21.5.  (Most elite US distance runners have BMIs in the 19-21 range.)  In the past few years I've tried to keep my weight under 145, which I've generally been able to do, and to sneak down near 140-142 for racing when possible, which has gotten much harder.  I've had to resort to significant calorie restriction, or brief bouts of eating nothing but fruit, or--heaven forfend!--completely eliminating beer.  All of which will work, in the short run at least.  But none of that has proven sustainable for me, and my weight has kept creeping upward (aided by my lack of willpower), kept in check only by copious mileage.

Like everyone else in the ultra world, I've heard a lot in the past few years about low carb diets.  If you're outside this fairly insular community, several ultra runners have had significant success with switching to high-fat, low-carb diets (LCHF), both at the recreational and elite levels.  One of the most well known is Zach Bitter, the WR-holder for 12 hours and the AR holder for 100 miles, who follows the Optimized Fat Metabolism (OFM) diet, a LCHF variant. Intrigued by the success of Zach and others, as well as reports from friends of mine who have successfully switched, I did some reading on the subject.

Basically, LCHF diets work by retraining the body to preferentially burn fat instead of carbs.  Since we have nearly twenty times the fat calorie stores than those of glycogen, if we can tap into those stores efficiently, we can perform much longer in a relatively carb-depleted state (as would occur during a long ultra), and therefore would need to take in much fewer calories over the course of a race--a huge advantage.  Unfortunately on a standard diet, the body can't access those fat stores with enough efficiency to make it viable.  But by restricting carbs and suppressing insulin release, we can, in time, ourselves to metabolize fat at much faster rates.  The FASTER study, performed at UConn last year, has yielded some interesting preliminary results along those lines. (The investigators aren't exactly neutral observers, having been LCHF proponents for some time, but the data looks reasonable.)

So I decided to try it.  Starting the day after RFTH, I started severely limiting my carbs.  I'm not keeping close count, but I'm estimating my carb intake to be comfortably under the 50 grams/day that Phinney and Volek suggest; probably closer to 20g a day or less, with very few exceptions. My experience has been consistent with most of what I've heard/read on the subject.  Without sugar, my energy levels have stabilized throughout the day; I rarely have intense crashes and keep a much more even keel.  For the first several weeks--probably the first month--I ran like shit.  I could do the mileage without a problem, but nothing fast; any attempt at a hard effort was pitiful.  But after those first four weeks I feel like my running has returned to normal, and I've been able to add in tempo work, MP running, and some progression runs with good results.  And for sure, the weight has come off.  I've dropped nearly 15 pounds in the last eight weeks, back down to 137 and a BMI back near 21.5, which has helped the running immensely.  It's certainly not for everyone, and as I've indicated above, I'm not suggesting that anyone try it themselves.  The jury on LCHF--the jury on most dietary advice, believe it or not--is still most definitely out, no matter what the ADA would have you believe. I'm just reporting a cool thing that happened in my life for the past two months, which maybe you find interesting. 

Will I stick to it long term?  I don't know.  It's not easy, and I do love my pizza and beer, both of which have basically been eliminated.  Right now I'm in Black Mountain, NC, getting ready for another crack at the Mount Mitchell Challenge.  This will be my first "fat-adapted" race, so we'll have to see how it goes.  Certainly I don't think I'll be as religious about the diet after this race is over, but I may use it from time to time, or continue with it long term with some "cheat days" thrown in to maintain my sanity.  A lot will depend on how it goes tomorrow, as well as the results of the bloodwork I'm having drawn next week.  (Most anecdotal reports indicate that, perhaps counter-intuitively, LCHF helps your lipid panels substantially, but we'll have to see.)  Check back next week for a report on Mitchell and pictures of the all the pizza and beer I plan to consume immediately afterwards.  

Salming: No Nonsense!

I've been lucky enough in my running career to receive support from some great shoe companies: from Nike, in college; to Brooks, when I ran for the Haddonfield Running Company during medical school and residency; and as part of the Inov-8 pro deal team in 2011.  And I'm thrilled now to announce a partnership with Salming, which entered the US market last year and is making great strides on the running, triathlon, and trail running scene.

The great Borje Salming.

Salming was started by hockey legend Borje Salming, the first Swedish player named to the NHL Hall of Fame and widely considered one of the greatest Swedish players of all time.  Like many industry giants, they make products for multiple sports: hockey, as you can imagine, but also floorball, handball, squash, and running.

The running shoes are borne out of Salming's holistic approach to evaluating running form, exemplified by their innovative RunLAB in Gothenburg, which incorporates real-time stride analysis, motion capture, and video to measure individual biomechanics and then derive coaching plans aimed at increasing performance and decreasing injury risk.  Salming's running shoes have garnered multiple awards overseas and debuted in the US late last year.  While the RunLAB has not yet reached US shores, the brand is committed to bringing the insights gained there to their shoe design.  Specifically, they focus on producing light, flexible shoes that allow for a "natural" foot strike and greater ground feel and proprioception.

Now, let's not get into a huge thing here.  Few things polarize a friendly running discussion more than the debate over "natural" running, heel-striking vs. forefoot striking, barefoot running, minimalism, maximalism, and Born to Run.  (BTW: They're making a Born to Run movie!  With Matthew McConaughey!  Tell me you're not gonna watch that.)  It's my blog, so I'll tell you what I think (and feel free to comment below) and then we'll move on: I think that the minimalist movement, although it got co-opted and taken too far, spurred some of the best advances in shoe technology and design in the past thirty years.  Whether or not you run in minimalist shoes, you've benefitted from the impact it had on the industry.  Without people talking about heel-toe drop and foot strike, you never see Hoka One One, Altra, Scott, or a host of great shoes from New Balance, asics, and the rest of the shoe giants.

So where does Salming fall on the spectrum?  They are certainly committed to the "natural" movement in shoe design, but in actuality the shoes do a nice job of walking the line between traditional and new-wave.  They have no zero-drop models; all Salming shoes (at least to this point) have a 5mm heel-toe drop, which is significantly less than the standard 10-12mm seen in most traditional designs, but obviously a big difference over the zero-drop offerings that have proliferated in recent years.  (For reference, that's right in line with many of the Hoka models--the Stinson and the Bondi are both around 4mm; the Conquest and the RapaNui are in the 5-5.5mm range.)  This does help to promote a more midfoot/forefoot strike, but without some of the strain on the calves and Achilles people notice with zero-drop models.  They are all light; the heaviest shoe, the new Trail T1, checks in at just over ten ounces.  Stack heights are low, which does increase the ground feel and responsiveness, to some extent at the cost of cushioning, but not overwhelmingly so.  They are modern shoes with a classic feel.  Overall, they embody the brand's tagline, "No nonsense."  These are no-nonsense running shoes.

The Distance A2.

So far I've been putting in miles in the Distance A2, which I've been enjoying a lot.  I tend to like low, light, flexible shoes, and these certainly fit the bill.  Salming hasn't quite yet mastered the "anatomic toe box" they talk about; the last is still fairly traditional, and it is certainly not up to Altra standards in terms of really expanding the toe box, but hopefully they will get there in subsequent models.  The Trail T1 hits the US in about three weeks, so I'm very, very stoked to check those out.

I couldn't be prouder or more excited to be representing Salming in 2015 with a fantastic group of athletes (including local legends Bec and Laurel Wassner!), who are all much, much more accomplished than I.  I'll be sporting the gear starting at next month's Mount Mitchell Challenge and throughout the rest of the year.  Please check them out and hit me up with any questions you have about the shoes or the brand.  Gonna be a great year!

Guest Blogger! A Race Recap from Joe Puleo

One of the biggest influences in my running life has been Joe Puleo. I first met Joe when I was a medical student in Philadelphia and he was the owner of the Haddonfield Running Company, a specialty running shop in Haddonfield, NJ. I started taking the PATCO train out to Haddonfield on Wednesday nights to join their group runs and Joe and I became good friends. He was my coach through residency and for several years afterwards, guiding me to some of my best performances, including my marathon PR and my first few 50Ks. Joe is a fantastic coach, both for private clients and at the high school and collegiate levels; he is also the coach of the elite marathon team for the US Marine Corps. He is also the author of Running Anatomy, which is a must-read if you are a runner looking to build functional and core strength (and if you're not, you should be).

Joe has a long competitive history as a collegiate and post-collegiate athlete, including having been one of the top amateur triathletes in the country, and can still drop a sub-5:00 mile when he's fit, but until this year has always considered ultra running to be pretty stupid. However last week he ran his first ever 50K, and when he asked if he could commandeer the blog to share his experience, I was only too happy to say yes. I'd like to invite anyone else who has a story to share to take over the blog as well, as long as you also happen to be one of the ten most influential people in my life.

Anyway, here's Joe's race report. He sounds just like a real ultrarunner! But he probably still thinks it's stupid.

*********

On December 19, 2014 I began to think about my New Year’s resolutions.  I decided that besides losing a few pounds, doing bikram yoga, and incorporating more high fiber foods to my diet I would also run an ultra marathon.  All of the previous statements are false except for the final one.  The final is just plain stupid. I had averaged about 14 miles/week for 2014, and I had a long run of eleven miles in early November, yet I felt pretty good about my fitness.  So, why not run an ultra!  A lot of my friends do them, and two athletes I coached just finished JFK in approximately eight hours.  They reported it was not miserable. Why not run an ultra?

I reviewed a list of ultras on some website devoted to the silliness of running hours and hours, eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, m&m’s, and licorice, (also Oreos) until I found the perfect race: The Frosty Fifty. Four 7.75 mile loops of a mostly flat hard-packed trail.  I don’t enjoying running on any hard surface, my 48 year-old body has about 45,000 miles of jogging on the odometer. Also, the temperature would be 45-50 degrees, not 75-80 degrees. After burning my hair (I think that is what I did. It smelled like it) in a race in the early 1990’s, I have an aversion to running in the heat, unless it is dry heat like in Sacramento where I ran last summer when it was 101 degrees.  Then, the heat is ok.  An added bonus was the race was in Winston-Salem, NC so I could visit two of my closet friends.

Perfect!  

So I signed up, and started planning my training.  I decided to run a few, easy, five mile trail runs and race a 5k (roads) as my prep.  I did not do a long run because it would unduly fatigue me for my race, which was two weeks away.  

Two weeks!  

That is normally the duration of a marathon taper, not the length of an ultra training program.  Actually, I think Dean Karnazes claimed in Runner’s World and Vanity Fair that he ran for two weeks straight.  No sleep, no solid food (just yak urine fortified with manna from the Gods), and no shoes (Christopher McDougall wrote the article), so running about ten miles a week for the two weeks leading up to the race made total sense to the contrarian side of my personality.

I re-read all of Jay Friedman’s blog posts to see if I could glean “magic” insights that could help me master the distance and enjoy the experience.  The most cogent piece of information was actually from Lexi , “Then I ran around a corner and there was the finish line.  Everyone was cheering for me and that felt embarrassing but good.”  

I couldn’t wait for that feeling.  It would be worth enduring running two weeks worth of mileage in one morning.

I packed my bags with my planned racing gear.  

Nike Air Pegasus 10.5

Open Eye Café’s Defeet AirEator socks md.

Hind wind briefs xl

Puma short tights lg

Nike clima-fit running pants md

Patagonia short-sleeve base layer md

Puma singlet-md

Saucony Razor jacket (water-proof) md

EMS sports liner gloves

PearlIzumi water shell gloves

Sugoi Waterproof jogging cap

(I felt a bit like Homer, in the Iliad, listing the roster of ships, but Jay Friedman describes all his clothing choices, so I figured that is what we ultra runners do).

I brought five GU’s of various flavors, a handful of saltstick caps, and a packet of Skratch to mix with water as part of my hydration plan.  The rest of my hydration plan consisted of water, Mountain Dew, and Coke at the aid stations during the race, and sampling a lot of the microbrews and coffees in Asheville after the race.

I flew to Raleigh on Friday, January 2nd, arriving at 11:20 am. A driver sent from the race picked me up at the airport (actually it was my best friend, Scott Conary, owner of Carrborro Coffee Roasters, the Open Eye Café, and Caffé Driade in the Chapel Hill area of NC.).  We had lunch at Mama Dip’s Kitchen.  I had the chicken potpie, cornbread and greens.  After gathering ourselves, we had dinner and then drove to Mocksville, NC to stay with friends, Dave Salmon, the former food service director at my alma mater Elizabethtown College, his wife Diane, and their daughter Amy, who lives next door.

Scott, Dave, and I ran together while at Elizabethtown, and our friendship has endured for thirty years.  Scott was planning to bike on the trails during the race, and Dave was planning to run with me for a loop.  At 72 years old, he still can muster up the energy to help me.  We caught up until 12:30am and I woke at 5:15am, but felt totally rested.  Diane, per usual (we ate at their home regularly after long runs or races while in college), fed us a hearty breakfast (oatmeal, eggs, toast, fruit, coffee) that I ate whole-heartedly (I was about to run 31 miles), and at 6:15 we began the: 45 drive to Salem Lake in Winston-Salem.

I get to the lake at 7:15, check-in, get dressed, and sit in the car until 7:50 am.  I walk down to the start, use the port-a-john, and join the 250 or so runners (about 125 in the accompanying 25k).  At 8:00 am the race director wishes us luck, starts the race, and off we go.  I immediately start jogging.  Unlike shorter races which I am competitive in (age-group wise) I have no interest in racing an ultra.  There is only one goal: finish the race, and enjoy the emotion Lexi felt upon completing her triathlon.

I naturally settle into a 9:35-9:45/mi pace.  Slower than my training pace for endurance runs  (8:35-9:03), but I feel comfortable, and my stride feels natural.  I spend the first five miles of the loop talking with a nice man from Winston-Salem who trains regularly on the loop we are running.  He describes the whole course and tells me that he wants to break 2:30 for the 25k.  I ask what pace that is.  He says, “I don’t know, but I want to break 2:30.  As a running coach I find that to be a strange approach to pacing.  But what do I know.  I still have three loops to go before I am an ultra marathoner and can make judgments on others race strategies.

The second loop starts and I find myself running with Jill Baulieu, a fifty-three year-old female 25k runner who began running approximately four years ago.  When I walk up the hills she scoots ahead and I reel her back in on the flats.  We are averaging 9:40-9:45 miles, and I feel fine.  Not cold, not hot.  No real fatigue despite passing 11 miles, my longest run in over two months.  She is a genuinely nice woman and the loop disappears in conversation about our life stories.

As Jill runs up the last hill in preparation to finish her 25k, I eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and walk gradually up the same hill.  I think of how proud all my ultra friends would be of me, keeping my heart rate down and eating “fat-ass” food.  I am getting this ultra thing.

For the third lap, Dave, my 72 year-old friend jogs along side of me.  He has just come from leading a beginning runner’s group run where he ran four miles.  I forget that Dave is pretty old.  I am transported back 25 years ago when we ran together pretty much daily, a time when roles were reversed and I paced him through 18 miles of the Northern Central Trail marathon. As we pass an aid station a volunteer yells congratulations to Dave for being the top 70-74 ranked age group runner in Davie County.  Dave mumbles something back, Dave is good at mumbling, and then we march on through miles 19, 20, and 21.

We talk about how our lives have changed the past 25 years, but in so many ways we are doing exactly what we were doing then.  Running long and talking about the circumstances of our lives.  I stop at the aid station at mile 6.5 (approximately mile 24 of the race) and drink some Coke and Mountain Dew.  I don’t eat any more peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  They are nasty.  I peel off my jacket in preparation for my last lap.  I am planning to run fast to get this over with!  Dave and I have been running 10-minute miles, and I am hoping to drop down closer to 9:00/mi.

Dave asks if I want to have him continue with me and I say, “No, I need to do the next few miles on my own.”  Big mistake!  As soon as I start the last lap my natural desire to run fast takes hold.  My best event is the mile.  I have fast twitch fibers that love to be used.  I had fought the desire to listen to my “natural” instinct to run fast by relying on my “wise” instinct to be patient (sort of like not succumbing to the siren sound, Homer again, of the fourth microbrew when three works perfectly well).  Why the hell at mile 24 would I change my mindset?  I admit it I am weak, a man of sin, I can’t control my impulses, but by mile 28 I find myself no longer able to lift my knees.  And as any runner knows if you can’t lift your knees, you can’t lift your feet off the ground.  If you can’t lift your feet, you invariably trip over pebbles and twigs on the course.  Anything higher than an inch becomes a steeplechase barrier.  I do not hurdle well, so I shuffle, walk, amble, meander, and sidle my way to the final hill, which I charge up like a champion!  Actually, I do nothing of the sort.  I whine like a sissy as my psoas muscles totally give out and I am reduced to a stiff-legged walk up the hill as my glutes join my psoas in picketing the endeavor of the final climb.  

Finally, with the finish line in sight I switch gears and remember the joy that Lexi described upon finishing her triathlon.  I can’t wait for the adulation of the adoring crowd.  I turn to Scott and Dave, and say I will see them at the finish, take pictures.  I throw them my running pants and t-shirt so I can triumphantly straddle jog down the hill, wearing a singlet and short tights, which I hope, make me look good in the post-race pictures.  They don’t.  I look tired and old which is exactly how I felt.  I forget to look at the clock, it is not relevant to my performance, but later learn that I ran 5:22:00, and finished 40th.

My takeaway from the race is that 50k’s are not difficult if you run slow enough.  I would not have changed from my 10:00 pace on the last lap if I had a do-over.  Also, I would have run a few runs of two plus hours in preparation.  Not in the two weeks leading up to the race, but probably in the two months before the race.  My psoas and glute muscles gave out because they were not trained enough (read, at all).

The rest of my body felt pretty good, and after soaking in a 40 degree creek in Black Mountain, NC the next day I went mountain biking in the mountains around Asheville the following morning.  I had some lingering glute pain on Wednesday when I went for a jog, but I don’t think it is an injury, just a welcome soreness.  It means that I ran well, and that my muscles are firing correctly.

Unfortunately, unlike Lexi’s experience at the kid’s triathlon nobody was cheering for me when I finished, but it didn’t matter.  I got handed a handmade pottery Christmas ornament that says I finished an ultra marathon, and that is pretty cool.

Will I do another one?  Not that the universe or anyone reading this cares, but the answer is a definite, “we’ll see.”  I have a desire to run JFK and Comrades for the experiences, so I need to qualify, but I also have many other challenges I want to take on, so I am not sure of how much a priority revisiting ultra running will be. For now, I am proud to have completed one, and to have joined the great bunch of people who have earned the moniker ultra marathoner.

Orange Mud: Ultralight Hydration

Photo: Joe Dean

Let me start by saying: I really like gear, but I don't often use it.  I love having stuff, but when I run, I'm usually a minimalist.  I generally race with only a handheld, unless the race is unsupported; in training, I won't usually carry anything if I'm running for less than three hours, unless the heat dictates that I carry water.  But last year I started using the Ultimate Direction AK Race Vest on some of my longer runs and unsupported FA-style events.  Honestly, it's a great product.  You can carry a fair bit of gear and two 16-oz bottles without any significant bouncing, and it's incredibly lightweight.  I had very few complaints; on longer efforts I did feel like I was adjusting the chest straps a little too frequently, and the sternal strap can be a bit limiting, but all in all, a huge improvement (from my perspective) over Camelbacks, waist belts, and the like.

The Orange Mud handheld

Last year a friend turned me on to Orange Mud, a small hydration company based out of California.  I first found their handheld, which is one of the better examples on the market that I've found: quite light, very adjustable, with a much more comfortable strap that my previous handhelds, and enough room for a few gels or small packable items.  It wasn't until the end of this year, however, that I discovered the HydraQuiver, the flagship product in the Orange Mud line, and fell in love.

The HydraQuiver is a vest, but unlike the UD vests, the hydration has been moved from the front to the more traditional alignment on the back.  At first, I was concerned with bouncing, as I was under the impression that the elimination of bounce in the UD line had come from shifting the weight to the front.  But the HydraQuiver, instead of distributing the weight in the small of the back, as you'd expect with a Camelback, keeps the weight centered in the upper back, between the shoulder blades.  The result is a completely bounce-free ride, with easy access by reaching behind you.  If you can scratch the back of your neck, you can pull out the water bottle.

When I first put on the Orange Mud HQ, it felt much too tight in the armpits.  But as soon as I started running and my arms came up into their normal carriage, all the tension vanished.  The pack rests comfortably with no bounce and no tension (and no sternal strap).  I have yet to tug on a strap to adjust it during a run.  As great an experience as the UD line provides, the Orange Mud HQ is better; I literally forget that I'm wearing it, and have started taking it on shorter runs of 60-90 minutes, just because it's so comfortable.  The back is padded for comfort, and there is a pocket that will easily accommodate a phone, some nutrition, keys, and other small sundries. It's my go-to choice for running hydration right now, and I anticipate racing with it this year, even in supported ultras, which I never would have thought possible before.

I'm proud to announce that I've joined the Orange Mud team as one of their ambassadors (or "am-badass-adors" as they like to say) and will be happily promoting their gear.  There are several other products worth checking out in the Orange Mud line.  The HydraQiver Double Barrel is the same idea, with two rear bottles; the VP2 has extra space for more gear, during longer efforts.  There are several new products launching this year, including a gym bag which looks very well-planned.  They also have some cool logo gear (including the super-hipster trucker hat, which almost never leaves my head now) and they also make a neat towel/car seat cover.  It's definitely worth checking them out.

How to be a Vegetarian

Hello.  It's Lexi.  You haven't heard from me for a long time.  Sorry about that.  I would like to tell you all that the reason that I have recommended foods to you is that not only do they taste good, but they are a healthy (and delicious) choice for you to make.  I hope you find them delicious too.

I also wanted to say that I became a vegetarian.  One difficulty with being a vegetarian is that I have to get enough protein.  I have some recommendations of foods that have protein in them that I find good:

• beans
• dairy, especially cheese
• tofu (I love tofu corn dogs)

--Lexi

Race Report: Recover from the Holidays 50K

Looking UGLY at the beer mile finish. Photo: Mark Eisenhandler

Ack!  Haven't blogged in a month.  I've been thinking about blogging a lot, though; "New blog post" has been on my to-do list for several weeks now.  I wanted to throw up a post (haha, I just saw that pun while I was re-reading this, now I'm totally leaving that in there) about our recent beer mile, but there wasn't much news to report: I was sick, felt terrible the whole way, blew chunks at the 1200 mark and wound up running the extra lap, coming in DFL in 16:31.  A really horrendous showing.  The four-man race was won by Dr. Mike in 8:05, pretty excellent for a debut beer mile!

I had one last race in 2014 after the Wagathon, which was the Rockland XC Alumni Race, a 3-mile cross-country race I've run every year since 1993.  This turned out to be a big year, as my CHSN Rams won our record ninth men's team title.  But I also maintain the blog/website for that race, so just go there to check it out.  It's a fantastic race with a great tradition that I've tried to capture/enhance with my site.  But it didn't seem to make sense to post about it here too.

2014 Alumni Run Champs! Photo: Brian Marks

I have some really exciting sponsorship news as well, which is going to be popping up on the blog in the next few days.  And believe it or not, some food stuff too, which we haven't seen here for quite some time, will be coming from both myself and (hopefully) Lexi as well in the next couple of weeks.

So I've been kind of putting things off on some of these posts, but it's a new year, and I'm ready to get back into it, especially because I've been feeling pretty good physically and I'm getting excited for running and racing in 2015.  I kind of unofficially kicked off my season with the Recover from the Holidays 50K last weekend, so I'm kicking off my blogging season as well.

Calling this a "Race Report" might be a bit of a stretch; RFTH is definitely fat-ass style.  You can start whenever you want, and run as many of the ten paved out-and-back 5K loops as you care to; of the seventy or so folks who turn up, maybe one in four are planning on finishing the whole thing.  But I'd argue it's less of a Fat Ass than a no-frills, minimalist race.  Sure, there's no entry fee, no numbers, minimal aid, no t-shirt.  But Pete Colaizzo and Charlie Sprauer count every lap and log every split; there are race results and records that go back twenty years.  Full results get published in Ultrarunning magazine.  A glance at the past champions reveals some true giants of the  ultra world: Bob Sweeney, Byron Lane, Brent Backus, Rainer Koch.  And yes, you can start early if you want, but if you plan on competing, you show up at the 9 am start and get ready to roll.

Stupid watch... Photo: Charlotte Kopp

In my first two attempts, I had run to basically uncontested wins in 2011 and 2013, but I knew this year would not be easy.  I lined up with two good friends and training partners who I knew were ready to run.  Brian Hickey is a two-time RFTH champ himself (1998 and 2012) who has been logging some big miles and strong hill climbs as we gear up for Mount Mitchell in February; and Phil Vondra, despite this being his first "official" ultra, is a triathlon stud who regularly makes me hurt on our long weekend runs.  In addition, three-time race winner and former US 24-hour team member Byron Lane would be putting in an appearance.  This would be no cakewalk.

We started off on a fairly frigid morning in a pack of five, including me, Brian, and Phil; Byron hung back, but we had two people with us immediately, one chatty and one silent.  It's tough when you're not sure who is racing and who is just out for a Saturday morning run, so I was a little more aggressive than I would've liked.  Brian and I wanted to run about 7:30 pace, and Phil figured he'd hang with us through halfway and see how he felt.  But the presence of the other two spooked us a little bit, and Brian and I alternated leading the opening couple of miles in the 7:15-7:20 range.  Right at the start of the second lap, Phil and our chatty companion dropped back just a little bit, and our silent partner made an enormous move, suddenly running near six-minute pace.  Brian and I let him go immediately; by the turnaround halfway through lap two, he had already put over a minute on us.

At this point we figured he was either just doing a workout or was going to run near the course record of 3:21, which neither of us were prepared to do, so we didn't feel particularly bothered either way, just kept clicking off 7:20s.  Brian stopped to use the facilities after the second lap, and I slowed down to 7:30 pace to have him catch up.  Halfway through lap four he had caught and passed Phil and his shadow, and had closed within 30 seconds of me or so; I stayed relaxed and looked forward to him catching up so we could run together.  But he needed another pit stop shortly thereafter and fell further behind.  I was finding the 7:30s very comfortable and just continued to run them very evenly, coming through halfway in 1:53:50; with a pre-race target of 3:50, I was very pleased.  By this point, the breakaway leader had finished, after running three or four laps at 6:00-6:30 pace, and Phil's companion, who apparently was prepping for an upcoming marathon, finished up at 25K as well.  Suddenly I was in the lead, by about two minutes over Phil and maybe 3-4 over Brian, with fourth place another few minutes back and being stalked by Byron in fifth.  I asked Phil to catch up with me in the middle of the fifth or sixth lap, but he said he wanted to ease off the pace a bit, so I kept running my solo 7:30s.

It didn't look like I was going to have too much company, so I needed another mental game.  I decided I'd run 7:30 pace through lap seven, then run two hard laps and jog the last one.  Starting lap six I grabbed my Orange Mud handheld and focused on taking in some fluids over the next 10K, which worked well; finishing lap seven I was a bit tired but ready to try some hard running.  I dropped the bottle, grabbed my iPod, and immediately dropped down to sub-7:00 pace.  I put my external game face on, hoping to convince my brain that it was time to go; instead of smiling and exchanging high-fives with my friends as we passed each other on the laps, I simply grunted and gave them my best "I'm focused" look.  And it seemed to work!  For the eighth lap, at least, my legs responded quite well, and I banged out a sub-21:00 5K; following it with my second-fastest split on the ninth lap, though that was certainly a struggle.

By then, though, I had a ten-minute lead, and I was happy to go into cool-down mode, feeling as though I had really put a good effort in; I ran the last lap in about 24:00, finishing up in 3:48:05, right in line with my goals/expectations, and happy to run almost perfectly even splits (1:53:50/1:54:15).  My GPS screwed up something awful, so I needed to reset it during the first half of lap 3, but you can see my data for the last seven laps here:


Overall I was very pleased with the effort.  I accomplished my time and place goals, I ran a decent enough time with a well-controlled effort, and I confirmed that my fitness, while not up to the 3:32 standard I set two years ago, is at least where I need to be two months away from the big date with Mount Mitchell.  Mentally, I didn't really have any opportunities to go into the tank, so it wasn't much of a test from that perspective, but I felt like I did a good job holding my focus over what turned out to be a mostly solo effort.  Brian unfortunately struggled after his second pit stop as the effects of running on three hours' sleep took hold (that's another story), and he dropped after 40K, but Phil did a fantastic job keeping his pace pretty steady and running an excellent 3:56 for second place in his first ultra.  The race has been going for twenty years now, and Phil popped the #17 performance all-time on his first attempt.  As they say where he's from, "Good on ya!"  Or is that Australian?  I forget.

Quick gear report: I ran in the Salming Distance A2, a new road shoe that I'l have a lot more to say about in the coming days.  Clothing-wise: an old pair of tights; a long-sleeve base layer from 32 Degrees, which I think is technically long underwear but is my favorite running base layer; and an Orange Mud tech shirt and super-hipster trucker cap.  Hydration with the OM handheld; more details on that stuff coming as well.

WAG X!

As I mentioned in my post on the Shawangunk Ridge Trail Run, the Wagathon is my favorite fat ass run.  "The Wag," named after the rock-climbers' club Westchester Alpine Group, was started in 2005 by climbing legend Felix Modugno and was, in its early years, exclusively a climber's deal; the first three years featured fields of about 3-8 people, all climbers, none of whom ran with any real regularity.  But somehow people started to talk, and in my first year, 2008, we suddenly had almost 30 people at the start.

The start of Wag IV, 2008

The first four years, the course didn't vary much; starting in Sam's Point Preserve, the trail passed Verderkill Falls and Mud Pond on its way to Lake Awosting, Millbrook Mountain, and down to Trapps Bridge; after that, we followed mostly carriage roads up to Skytop at Mohonk Mountain House and then back down through the Preserve into the town of New Paltz, finishing at the Gilded Otter Brewing Company, a distance of about 30 miles.  I "won" the fourth edition in 2008, running a basically solo 4:07, and had a great time.  In 2009, the course changed slightly, adding the beautiful but difficult Gertrude's Nose trail and finishing outside town at the climber's haven, the Mountain Brauhaus.  By this time plenty of runners had joined the hardcore climbing contingent, and from that year on the run became more runner-dominated than climber-dominated.  I ran most of the 2009 race with Scott Willett, an elite triathlete and the founder of the Tri-Life training group, and we tied for the "win".  In 2010 the course changed again, now finishing in Rosendale at the northern end of the Shawangunk ridge; I dropped out with an injury halfway through, but returned in 2011 to share the win with Glen Redpath, my third "win" in four tries.

By this time, organizational duties had passed from Felix, through local ultra runner Joe Brown, and on to Mike Siudy, a climber in his past life who now passes his time running insanely difficult ultra courses through the Catskills.  Mike standardized the course, which had started to fluctuate quite a bit from year to year, and basically codified it into what it is today: a nearly 30-mile trip from Sam's Point to Rosendale, covering single track, carriage roads, and five rock scrambles, including the infamous Giant's Workshop, Lemon Squeeze, and Bonticou Crag.  Also starting in 2012, the structure of the event changed.  While it was always a fat ass event--no entry fee, no support, no awards, few rules--the run had, for the first seven years, had a mass 9 am start.  While the vibe was decidedly friendly and relaxed, there was certainly a mild competitive undertone, and part of the fun (for me at least) was trying to lay down a fast performance and be one of the first people sipping beer at the Red Brick Tavern at the end.  But after seven years in this style, people wanted a change--specifically, some of the faster finishers wanted to share drinks with some of the slower folks, but didn't want to have to wait several hours for everyone to get in.  So starting in 2012, the run became completely non-competitive: start whenever you want, just try to time it so you finish between 4 and 5 pm, so we can all eat, drink, and be merry together.

Phil and Brian at Verderkill Falls

I liked the thought, and admired the impulse toward mass drunkenness, but losing the competitive aspect did kill some of my interest in the event.  The logistics of the run aren't easy--Sam's Point is a good hour's drive from the finish in Rosendale, and it was hard to justify the headache of planning everything out for what now amounted to a long run on most of the same trails I run on every weekend.  Plus, I'm not exactly what you'd call "great" with heights, and some of the more exposed, tricky rock scramble sections are really not my cup of tea.  I never like feeling like I'm about to fall to my death, especially not 25 miles into a 5-6 hour effort.  So for a few years, I was out on the Wag.  But 2014 marked the 10th anniversary of this venerated event, and two of my good friends and training partners, Brian Oestrike and Phil Vondra, were excited to run it for their first time.  Glen was coming up from the city as well, running half the race as his longest run since Achilles' surgery in July.  Phil and I had the seemingly brilliant idea to stash a couple of beers out on the course, which we did the night before, and by 10:45 Brian, Phil, and I were heading off toward Verderkill Falls with the goal of finishing by around 4:30.

"W" is for Wagathon--at Castle Rock

We wound up with a near-perfect day of weather and had a great time chatting it up as we navigated the tricky single track past the falls and out to Lake Awosting.  From there, we followed carriage roads over Castle Rock and headed out toward Millbrook Mountain.  On the way, we caught up with Josh Burns, who had started a few minutes before us, and the four of us kept up a pretty solid pace to Trapps Bridge, 15 miles into the run and the site of our first beer stop.  We dropped a few hints to Josh about the beer, but as we approached the bridge, he announced that he was going to keep going up onto the ridge, and he was gone before any of us could say, "Hey, wait, there really is beer here."  Phil had left us a nice 750ml bottle of Aria from Perennial Brewery, which took us a good 15 minutes to plow through before heading back out on to the trail.

Beer stop #1.  Photo: Phil Vondra

From there, things got a bit wobbly.  The next few miles are a tricky traverse along the top of Trapps Cliff, and while we were pretty pleased with ourselves for having had the forethought to have a beer stop, we were clearly moving rather slowly and stiffly along.  After a few quiet minutes of slogging, Brian commented, "Man, we are really in the doldrums."  Apparently beer with 8% ABV is not a performance enhancer.

In the doldrums, at checkpoint #3.  Photo: Phil Vondra

The course gets worse before it gets better--we slogged our way through Giants' Workshop and the Lemon Squeeze, which Brian negotiated easily with his alpinist background, but I suffered quite a bit until we got past Skytop tower and started running again back downhill.  We hit a nice rhythm, though, and had cranked out a good couple of miles before we reached beer check #2, hidden behind the Mohonk Golf Course: a nice Yard Owl Dark Wheat:

No caption necessary.

There were no two ways about it after that: I was basically drunk, and Phil and Brian kept a pretty close eye on my on the scramble up to Bonticou Crag.  By the time we made our way back down the Northeast Trail and through the swamp at the bottom of the Widowmaker, I was almost back to normal, and all that was left was the final few miles racing the sunset.  We finished up in just over 6 hours, including the beer stops, with about 5:15 of actual running time--not too far off what we had planned, actually.  It was Phil's longest run ever, and all in all, we had a really fun day out.  I have to admit, it was fun seeing everyone at the finish, though I do miss the competitive aspect of it a bit.

Quick gear report: I used the Montrail Rogue Racer, the shoe I've been putting in the vast majority of my miles for the past few months.  They're only 9 oz, and billed as a racing flat, but they have a 9mm drop and a fair bit of cushion, and I've been very happy with them for many miles and several long efforts.  I wore my Pearl Izumi Ultra Split short which is a brilliant piece of clothing.  The pockets in the back of these shorts are actually sewn into the liner, which comes all the way up to the top of the short, so you can carry gels or your phone (the main pocket zips and holds an iPhone 6) with virtually no bouncing.  They're quite expensive for shorts but a fairly indispensable item.  And, as on most long unsupported efforts I used the Ultimate Direction AK Race Vest for hydration.  Though the day after this run I received in the mail the Orange Mud HydraQuiver, which may replace the UD vest as my go-to hydration system for longer runs.  More details to come!

Race Report: Tesla Hertz 50K

photo: Happily Running

This year did not exactly go as I planned, particularly from a racing standpoint, but one race that was on my calendar basically all year long was the Tesla Hertz Run.  I was drawn to this race from its founding last year, though I was unable to run it in 2013 as it fell just a week before Tussey Moutainback (which didn't turn out all that well).  But I was intrigued by the idea of a runnable trail race not too far from home, and a positive review from Brian Oestrike (third in the 50K in 2013) sealed it for me.  After struggling through much of the summer, but having a fairly productive fall, I made Tesla the focal point of my fall racing season.

Tesla Hertz is actually a festival of races taking place concurrently on a mostly flat, 10.4-mile singletrack loop.  The 100 mile, 100K, and 50 mile starts all preceded the 8 am start of the 50K, so that we were the last of the four races out on course.  As the fields were all relatively small, this was pretty fun, giving us the opportunity to see other runners (however briefly) all in various stages of their own races.  The forecast called for rain, and did not disappoint; it was raining steadily at 5:30, when I woke that morning, and did not let up at all until about 15 minutes after I finished, nearly seven hours later.  This made for some rather soggy conditions, though the course held up pretty well.  The loop, in Rocky Point State Preserve in northern Long Island, runs through a dense forest of pine barrens, which meant soft, sandy trails with plenty of pine needles.  We ran into a few puddles, but very little mud, and the footing was generally quite good, though certainly not fast; the ground was too soft to get any real return of energy, and it was hard to forget you were generally running on hard sand.  Still, though the course was almost exclusively twisting singletrack, there were minimal rocks and roots, and there were certainly long stretches of rhythmic, steady running over the course of the day.

Given the small field, I started the day with the goal of winning the race (this sounds silly--don't you always start with the goal of winning?--but in reality, I don't have a chance of winning the overwhelming majority of races I enter).  In the first few strides of the race, it became pretty clear it would be a two-man battle, as local stud Joe Marinaccio and I broke away and were immediately on our own.  Joe let me set the pace, which I did gladly.  I had been feeling great in my training for at least the past ten days, and as I set a relaxed but quick tempo, my legs responded quite well, and I was happy to establish the rhythm.  We ran together for the first mile or so, Joe right behind me, and I started to think about strategy, even at this extremely early stage.  The obvious thing was to relax and run easy, as we obviously had a long, wet day ahead of us, and there was no reason to do all the work and let Joe draft off me for the next few hours.  I could let him pass and follow his pace for awhile, turn the brain off, and worry about making moves later on.  But for some reason, I wasn't trusting myself with this strategy; I had a nagging feeling that, if I gave up control of the race, I might not be able to respond when the big move came.  Better to stay in front and dictate how the race was going to go.  And if I was going to lead, there was no point in letting Joe just cruise along for the ride; I'd have to make him earn it.  So, ten minutes into the race, I made a rash decision--I was going to try to run away with the thing.

Joe hung close for quite awhile, at first sticking on my shoulder and then slipping back by no more than a few seconds.  The course is basically a continuous loop with a short out-and-back spur, about half a mile each way, just past the halfway point, which led to the only aid station other than the start/finish area.  I turned around here without stopping, spotting Joe only about five seconds back, and continued to push on.  We got back onto the main loop without seeing any other 50K runners, meaning we had at least a one-mile lead at this early point.  By now I couldn't hear Joe breathing, so I continued to keep a steady, even tempo.  On a couple of long, straight stretches I checked over my shoulder and saw him about 30 seconds back, but by the time I finished the first loop I couldn't see or hear him at all.  I headed out for the second loop without stopping; I planned on taking off my arm warmers at this point, but it was still raining steadily and I was still a bit on the chilly side.  I kept rolling, trying to push my advantage.  I started doing some math in my head; if I could build a four or five-minute lead by the next time I saw Joe at the 15.8-mile turnaround, I could feel pretty comfortable over the last half of the race.  I hit the turn at right around the 2:02 mark, feeling pretty strong but starting to tire just a bit.  I knew the course record of 4:13 was within reach, but pushed that to the back of my mind as I focused on holding off Joe.

Unfortunately he was only 1:30 back at the turnaround, which started to play with my mind a bit.  This is the problem with talking yourself into a big lead--when you find out you don't actually have the lead you anticipated, it can be a bit depressing.  The next several miles were a lonely, depressing stretch: I was starting to fatigue, I didn't have the lead I had hoped for, and I was still an awfully long way from home.  I finished the second loop still in front, but as I left the aid station after refilling my bottle and dumping my arm sleeves, I heard cheers for Joe coming in.  My lead was holding but barely, and I still had ten front-running miles to go.

Still, I now had only one lap left; mentally, the game had just gotten a lot easier.  I was certain I was going to get caught, so I focused on the mantra of "Make him earn it."  If he was going to catch me, I was going to make him work his ass off.  This kept me going through the turnaround.  Every time I felt myself flagging mentally, I came back to that, and pushed the pace a little bit more.  I cruised through the turnaround again without stopping, glancing at my watch to gauge my lead.  Joe came by sooner than I wanted, looking very strong, and I looked down--still 1:30.  I couldn't lose him!

I now had two competing mental narratives.  My initial, negative thought was that no matter what I did, I couldn't shake my pursuer, and that being overtaken was simply a matter of time.  But I was able to quickly see the flip side: I'd been running off the front for a marathon, and had held the same lead for the past 10+ miles without giving up even a second.  Now, there were only five miles to go.  I had a cushion of nearly twenty seconds per mile; if I could maintain anything close to 8:00/mile pace, I could make it awfully difficult for him.  So that's what I did.  I ran scared, just like had had for the past two hours, and I must have checked over my shoulder ten times in the past thirty minutes, certain each time I'd see Joe charging up behind me, but it never happened.  I crossed the line first in a course-record 4:08:20.  Joe came in just about six minutes later; I had been able to add nearly a minute per mile over the final five miles.

All in all, it was a satisfying end to my ultra racing season.  Running from the front was a new and somewhat frightening experience for me, but I think it helped focus me mentally and really brought out the best in me on this day.  I was a bit bummed not to hang around afterwards, but I was very wet and couldn't wait to get back to Jodi and our weekend away in the Hamptons (and some dry clothes), so I hightailed it out of there pretty fast.  But I have to complement Vinny, Nichole, and the crew at Happily Running, who put on a great event that hopefully will continue to grow and flourish in the coming years.

I took an easy week last week and am trying to get back in the flow now.  Racing is probably done for the season; I'll run my high school XC alumni race after Thanksgiving, as I do every year, but otherwise I'll be focused on building back up for next year.  I'll come back in a few weeks to outline my plans for next season, which will start with a return trip to Mount Mitchell and hopefully go from there.

Race Report: Shawangunk Ridge Trail Run

I'm not sure at what point I realized it--maybe at the start, maybe five miles in, maybe after four hours--but at some point last Saturday, it dawned on me that running a technical ultra at the end of the highest-mileage week I've had in over a year was maybe not the smartest idea I've ever had.

I knew going in the that inaugural Shawangunk Ridge Trail Run would be a tough day.    Race organizers Ken Posner and Todd Jennings love their technical trails, and looking at the course map beforehand, it was clear that the race would encompass some of the most technical trails the area has to offer.  I love running point-to-point courses, though, and as the race was vaguely following the course of the Wagathon, one of my favorite fat-ass events, I figured I'd give it a try.  Plus, I liked the idea of a self-supported "adventure."  The date was pretty good as well, falling three weeks before my main focus for the fall, the Tesla Hertz Run, so I went in to the race looking for a good, long, hard effort.

As mentioned, the preceding week was the longest one I've had in some time.  I ran a nice long cool down following the Whiteface Uphill Race the week before, getting in about 17 miles for the day, and wound up getting in 16 on Sunday.  Monday was my friend Brian's 42nd birthday; in celebration, he decided he wanted to run 42 miles over two days, so we ran 21 miles both Monday and Tuesday.  Thursday I met up with tri-geek Mark Eisenhandler and inov-8 stud Laura Kline (who would win the SRT 20 mile division) for a track workout; while it went quite well, it was certainly the toughest workout I'd done in months.  Needless to say standing on the starting line in Sam's Point two days later I wasn't quite feeling my freshest.

Photo: Tom Bushey

The Shawangunk Ridge Trail is not a new trail per se, but is a new blaze by the NY-NJ Trail Conference that links up a series of pre-existing trails that, all together, run the length of the Shawangunk Ridge, from High Point, NJ, to Rosendale, NY, a distance of 74 miles.  Ken, the first person to run the entirety of the SRT, organized three divisions: a 74-miler over the full length of the trail; a 32-miler from Sam's Point Preserve to the finish; and a 20-miler, that started in Minnewaska State Park.  Only five intrepid souls took on the full beast this year (and only one finished), but the 50K+ had about 30 starters, and the 20 miler almost fifty.

Photo: Ken Posner, I think

As I mentioned, the course generally mimics that of the Wagathon, a local fat-ass which will see its tenth running this November.  In fact, the first five miles, from Sam's Point to Lake Awosting in Minnewaska SP, are identical.  After an uphill opening mile on an old carriage road, the course turns into a rocky, difficult single track for the next two miles to Verderkill Falls, then two more somewhat technical miles on an exposed rock ridge before passing Mud Pond and entering Minnewaska.  Generally, in the Wag, I will tolerate these opening miles, looking forward to reaching Awosting and running a majority of carriage trails the rest of the way.  The SRT, however, sticks almost exclusively to little-used single track and ventures onto the carriage roads for brief, interrupted stretches only.  I led the opening few miles but was passed by the eventual race winner near Mud Pond, about four miles in.  I was looking forward to reaching Awosting, but upon getting there, remembered that I had to negotiate the rock scramble over Castle Point and then down the tricky descent to Rainbow Falls.  I run those trails very infrequently, and got lost two or three times, once for several minutes, needing to bushwhack back though some thick undergrowth and up a dry stream bed to get back on trail.  Each time, I'd be caught by a group of three or four runners behind, only to pull away again almost immediately.  Finally I finished this section, only to be rewarded by starting the descent down Jenny Lane, one of my least favorite trails in the Gunks.  And then, after negotiating that, things improved only slightly, as the course then took us over the High Peters Kill Trail.

I won't bore you with the details.  It was just a very long, uneventful day.  I basically ran solo for the last six hours.  I had a nice stretch from Coxing Kill to Chapel Road on Undivided Lots Trail, a nasty little bit of single track that I actually don't mind too much; and the eleven miles or so from that point were, while hilly, pretty runnable.  But, by that point I was already 4.5 hours in to the day, and the final couple hours were no picnic.  I was able to manage 7:30 pace over the final five, flat miles along the rail trail and hang on for second.  It was a long end to a long 116-mile week, but the goal was to get a long, hard day out, so I guess I succeeded.  I guess I looked pretty crappy at the end, as Jodi seemed pretty concerned for about twenty minutes.  But once I pounded a couple of Diet Cokes and some chocolate milk, I was able to settle down and enjoy my reward:

So good.

Race Report: Whiteface Uphill Footrace

I tend to fancy myself a bit of a hill runner, though recent evidence seems to indicate that I may overestimate my abilities going uphill.  Maybe it's just that I'm so bad at going downhill that my climbing seems impressive by comparison.  But I do enjoy hill racing and though I have yet to try one of the big championship races, I anticipate that sort of thing in my future.  For now I've contented myself with whatever hill climbs I've been able to fit into my schedule.  I was able to fit Whiteface in this year and couldn't pass up a chance to head up to Lake Placid, one of my favorite places on earth--even if it was for just 24 hours.

As I've mentioned before, the summer was kind of a wash training and racing-wise, but I did get a few decent weeks in during August, building up to about 80 mpw by the end of the month.  I even got out onto the track for a "workout"--6 x 400 with my brother-in-law while we were on vacation in San Diego.  Never thought a 74-second 400 could hurt that much!  I haven't been running a ton in the way of long hill climbs, so I wasn't sure what kind of performance I could put in, but for once I was excited to be back on the starting line of what felt like a real race.

I first ran Whiteface in 2012, placing second to Duncan Douglas, a two-time US Olympian in biathlon (that's XC skiing and rifle shooting for all you tri-geeks out there).  The course is a paved, 8-mile uphill climb that averages about an 8% grade, pretty steadily the entire way up.  In 2012 my strategy was to stay as relaxed as possible through the first 6 miles and then try to make a move at the end.  This didn't work one bit.  I was about a minute behind Duncan throughout the race and when the time came to make my move, I couldn't get any closer, losing by just over two minutes.  I knew this time keeping contact would be essential.  Of course, I forgot that right away.

The weather at the start was perfect: mid-40s, overcast, no wind.  I felt a bit sluggish when the gun went off, immediately moving into fourth place behind the lead pack of three, including Duncan and Jacob Malcolm, the 2013 winner.  That was the first of several mistakes I would make on the day.  The three leaders wound up not running too much faster than me over the next few miles, but I gave them a 20-30 second gap right away which would prove very difficult to close back down.  I came through the mile mark right at 8:00, which was about 30 seconds slower than I remembered from 2012 and a little concerning, as the first mile is without question the easiest one on the course.  I was caught just before the mile mark by another runner (Jay Niederbuhl) from behind, and we would wind up back and forth for the next couple of miles.

Shortly before the three-mile mark, Jay had moved out a few seconds on me, but I forced myself back down to 8:30 pace and caught up quickly--in fact, my momentum carried me right past him, so I pressed the pace a little bit into the 8:15-8:20 range to see what would happen.  Sure enough, I opened up a little gap.  Then I noticed something surprising--I was starting to gain ground on Duncan, in third.  By this point, Jacob was long gone, on his was to an impressive 1:04 win, and the second-place runner was about 20-30 seconds ahead of Duncan, who--was it my imagination?--looked like he was laboring just a little bit.  The pace was challenging but sustainable, so I pressed on to see if I really was closing.  Within a few minutes I had him in my sights, and by four miles, I was only a couple seconds behind and closing fast.

Here's where I made my second mistake.  After doing some pretty solid work to catch up, I really only had two choices: (1) tuck in just behind Duncan, latch on, try to feed off him for awhile; or (2) make a good, hard pass, try to get a little gap, and keep pressing the advantage, really trying to make him hurt.  As I approached, I chose option (1), and prepared to tuck in and ease off the pace a little bit.  But I closed the last few seconds of the gap much quicker than I expected and surprised myself by suddenly running right next to Duncan, who didn't have he same turnover he had displayed earlier.  So I mentally tried to shift gears to option (2), except I wasn't ready, and would up somehow going with option (3), which was, pass him and immediately ease off, allowing him to latch on to me and follow me for the next mile.  It's been nearly six months since my last race, and I just don't think the racing instincts were sharp enough.  Race strategy is a skill, and just like any other skill, it needs to be practiced or it gets sloppy.  Lack of practice really hurt me here.

Anyway, we climbed together for the next mile or so, me setting the pace, and somehow we closed down the 30 second gap to second.  By the five-mile mark, we were within five seconds of second place--and yes, that's where I made another mistake.  Instead of completing the catch, I hesitated when Duncan surged; he bridged he gap up to second, and I was left alone in fourth, five seconds behind.  And now, as the grade kicked up to around 10% in the godforsaken sixth mile, I started to crack.  The two of them pulled away quickly, and I really started to struggle.  A headwind kicked up as we came into some exposed areas above the treeline.  The only thing that kept me from walking was knowing that the hill wasn't getting any easier and that if I started walking now I might as well just walk the whole rest of the way.  And then, right around the six-mile mark, Jay--who I thought I had left for dead--caught me, and did it right.  He saw me struggling, put in a nice, solid pass and immediately had a gap of a few seconds.

I held it to about a 10-second gap through mile seven as I watched Duncan pull away in second place up ahead.  Just past the seven-mile mark the road actually flattens out around a switchback for about 300 meters or so, and amazingly, my legs felt pretty refreshed by being able to climb at a 3% grade instead of 9-10% for a couple of minutes.  I charged back up to Jay, closing to within two seconds before the grade kicked back up and I went back into my death march.  We climbed the final half mile within a few seconds of each other.  As we reached the last stretch I was trying to figure out how I was possibly going to find the strength to make some sort of final challenge when he suddenly stopped, bent over, and started vomiting.  I felt a little bad taking advantage...but just a little.


My 1:10:25 was about 45 seconds slower than my run from 2012, which, given the summer I've had, wasn't too bad.  I certainly felt as though I had competed well, especially the stretch from 3-5 miles where I was able to basically run down second and third.  Unfortunately I wasn't able to make that stick, partly due to fitness and partly just to underdeveloped racing instincts, both of which should hopefully improve. All in all, a relatively solid performance; not an A+ effort by any means, but not a disaster either for a "first race back".  With some more robust fitness I think something in the 1:06-1:07 range is possible for me (Duncan ran 1:07:14, almost exactly his winning time from 2012).  The third-place finisher is a good, solid runner, but his PRs do not approach mine (from what I could find online); I'm not trying to be a jerk when I say that he's probably someone I should be beating, especially in a discipline (uphill road racing) that I would consider a "strength."  If I'm going to try to be competitive next year in some higher-profile mountain races, I'm going to have to be significantly better than that.

July: Training Blues and OCR

Since Mount Mitchell in February, this has been almost a lost six months for me on the training and racing front.  My fitness level has been consistently mediocre.  I ran a very uninspired race at the Mount Penn Mudfest in April and otherwise have only two "races" to my name: a two-mile road race on St. Patrick's Day that I ran only for the chance to win a year's worth of free beer (which I lost by one second); and the Montrail Uphill Challenge at Western States.  I had plans to race the Prospect Mountain Hill Race, the Ice Age 50K, the Loon Mountain race and the Cayuga Trails 50M, none of which actually happened.  More upsetting is the fact that I've just felt consistently poorly for at least several weeks.  There are a lot of factors.  The weather, for one, has taken its toll on me.  I generally run poorly in the heat and am notoriously slow at acclimatizing; the past few months have been particularly tough for me in that regard.  Not helping that has been my so-so fitness level and the fact that I'm about 10 pounds heavier than I'd like to be, due to a terribly stressful May and June that saw me running must less and eating much worse than normal.  Even taking all this into account, though, I haven't been able to explain the lack of pep and the absence of motivation I've encountered in the past several weeks. Part of it might be related to canceling all those races, which has a de-motivating effect.  But I can't tell if it's a combination of all these things (pretty likely), or if there is something underneath everything.  I went to my doctor two weeks ago for a panel of blood tests, which all came back pretty normal, so that's good, and the past two weeks or so is probably the best stretch of training I've had in two months.  So maybe the worm is starting to turn.  [UPDATE: You can skip to the bottom of this endless, pointless post to find out what the problem is!]

Two weeks ago I jumped into the Survival Race, one of the myriad obstacle course races (OCRs) that are currently infesting the country.  I had a brief fling with OCRs a few years ago at the Warrior Dash, and since I've been a little light on the blog, I'll regale you with my interminable Warrior Dash story before I wrap this up here.

Warrior Dash is one of the first OCR series and arguably one of the most successful, at least from a numbers and financial standpoint.  They started with one race in 2009, grew to about ten in 2010, and now have 35 races spread throughout the year, many of which are two-day affairs.  Each site will see between four thousand and ten thousand runners for the weekend, split into 500-person waves, cover a 5K course with 10-14 obstacles.  Nowadays Warrior Dash is viewed with some contempt by "serious" obstacle course racers who deride it for being too short, too easy, or not electro-shockey enough, and it seems that Spartan Race and Tough Mudder have drawn away a lot of these uber-competitive Crossfitters; but Red Frog Promotions certainly doesn't seem to mind cashing the millions of dollars laid out by the less discerning members of the species.

ANYWAY, when Warrior Dash first came to New York in 2010, I ran it with a bunch of friends from New Paltz.  Several things attracted me that first year.  First, it seemed like a fun idea--obstacles, mud, beer.  Whatever, looked like a good time.  Two, it was at Windham Mountain, which is only about an hour away and would actually set up pretty well for me as a race course, given that it would involve climbing up the ski slope for the first half of the race.  But the part that really had me excited was the helmet:

The top three is each age group received small helmet-shaped trophies, which were pretty cool, but the top three overall got actual, full-on, life-sized metal viking helmets.  I was all in.  Top three in a race with over 9,000 people seemed unlikely, but I figured the race would attract a lot of non-competitive people out for some good time and beer, and with the uphill start, maybe I could pull it off.

Long story short (too late!): That first year, in 2010, we rented a slope-side condo with some friends, hung out until late drinking the night before, and then woke up to run the first heat of the day, when the course would be clear and we'd have the best chance of a fast time.  I won the wave by about 45 seconds and then stood around all day waiting to see if the time would hold up; it did for several hours, until I got knocked back into third at around 1pm, and then into fourth at around 4:30, just before the end of the day.  The next year was a similar story: won the first wave of the day; waited around to get knocked off the leaderboard late; wound up fifth overall; went home with an age group trophy for the second year in a row feeling very disappointed.

In 2012 I was ready to swear it off, but the lure of the helmet was too much to resist.  Rather than subject myself to the ultimate torture of running early and then waiting around all day watching the leaderboard, though, I decided to drive up late in the day and just run the last wave.  The course would be crowded, but at least I'd know right away where I stood.

The course was packed from about the one-mile mark on, but I navigated my way quickly through some very crowded obstacles without losing too much time.  When I crossed the line I had a pretty good idea that I had done it, and within half an hour or so I confirmed it: I had won!  I couldn't believe it.  After three years of trying, I was going to have a viking helmet.  I sipped a beer, waiting for the awards ceremony, trying to contain my excitement until my name was called.  And I reached the podium, and was handed...a crappy plastic mug and a keychain.  Those cheap fucking bastards had gotten rid of the helmets.

There's a great scene in Jerry Maguire where Rod Tidwell tries to tell Jerry his Reebok story, which he eventually boils down to: "Fuck Reebok."  That's my Warrior Dash story.  Fuck Warrior Dash.

So, obviously, that was it for me and OCR.  The nurses at work were awesome, they pitched in and bought me a real helmet for my birthday:

So when they asked me to join their team for the Survival Race this year, I kind of had to do it, to pay them back if nothing else.

Obstacle course races are pretty stupid.  They are ridiculously contrived, and they are all pretty much the same, and for every 500-person wave they send off every thirty minutes, there are probably three people that can actually run.  But, if you're going to do one every two or three years, I guess they're pretty fun.  The Survival Race obstacles were fairly similar to those I was familiar with from Warrior Dash, with a couple of difficult exceptions--a rope climb, a tire carry, a couple of tougher walls.  The water crossings were disgusting and the mud pit was VERY disgusting and I probably should be on antibiotics afterwards.  But even in my half-fit state I was able to overtake all of the fast starters within the first mile and win the first wave, which stood up to win the day:

Home > Results > Survival Race New Windsor

  ^PDF

5K Run M
BIB#	NAME	LOCATION	AGE	M/F	OA	AG	FINISH
1532	Friedman, Jason	Ny, NY	38	M	1	1	00:26:35.1
7545	Manza, Christopher	,	27	M	2	1	00:27:29.7
7056	Bell, Mitchell	,	15	M	3	1	00:27:56.9
7945	Sullivan, Sean	,	28	M	4	2	00:28:16.5
1597	Wiles, Joe	Ny, NY	40	M	5	1	00:28:23.5
5K Run F
BIB#	NAME	LOCATION	AGE	M/F	OA	AG	FINISH
1645	Libutti, Veronica	Ny, NY	21	F	1	1	00:30:37.4
7439	Judge, Carolyn	,	23	F	2	2	00:34:29.8
7024	Angell, Kylie	,	24	F	3	3	00:34:30.3
7533	Magill, Kimberly	,	26	F	4	1	00:35:03.9
7905	Somma, Liberty	,	37	F	5	1	00:35:52.9

UPDATE: So, my aforementioned lab work?  Lyme disease.  I'm about a week into the antibiotics and feeling significantly better, so maybe the fall racing season won't be a total wash after all.

Western States Weekend in Review

OK, I didn't accomplish all of my goals for my trip to Squaw Valley.  In fact, if you want to be technical about it, I accomplished one of five.  I did get to meet some awesome folks, including some of the world's best ultrarunners, and got a couple of leads on how I might move forward with my little side project.   But no, we didn't get Glen into the top 10.   No, I wasn't a contender in the Montrail Uphill Challenge.  No, I didn't PR in the beer mile.  I didn't even drink any Russian River!  (Though I did get some.  More on that later.)  A bit disappointed?  Maybe a little.  Bad weekend?  No way.

I reached Sacramento Wednesday evening, grabbed a quick hour on the roads, and a quick dinner before bed.  Thursday morning I suffered through the agony of US-Germany game on the cracked screen of my iPad, as the hotel's ESPN was out of order.  I walked to the gas station next to the hotel to grab a six pack of Budweiser, which I needed...for later.  Then I met Glen, his dad, and his son for the drive to Squaw, where we would meet up with his mom, his brother Mike, and his brother's SO, Anne, completing our six-person support team for the weekend.  

We reached Squaw Valley around 3 pm, about a hour before the start on the First Unofficial Unsanctioned Western States Beer Mile.  For those not familiar, a beer mile is a one-mile race, usually run on a track, that requires the "athlete" to drink one 12-oz beer before each quarter mile.   I won't get into all the myriad rules and regulations that govern this event, but please rest assured that they are numerous and very specific.  There is no track in Squaw Valley, so some genius decided the best way to do this would be to hike the first mile of the Western States course--again, for those not familiar, a switchbacking uphill dirt road at about a 12-15% grade--leaving our beers every quarter-mile, then race back down.  To me, this sounded like the worst idea I've ever heard, but nobody seemed to care what I thought, so our little three-man field hiked up the road, beer in tow.  Eventually, we picked up a fourth runner; none of these guys were over 27, and all of them, as it turned out, could drink me under the table.  It didn't start out too bad;

Beer #3 photo: Jamie Lynch

after two beers and half a mile, I was still in good shape to break 10 minutes, and was at least keeping contact with the other guys--we were generally drinking together--but by the fourth beer, things started looking like this:

And this:

Oh no. photo: Jamie Lynch

We had decided beforehand that the usual penalty for puking--an extra lap--wasn't applicable, since we didn't know where we would turn around to get that done, and we figured running downhill with a belly full of beer was enough of a handicap/punishment.  The Facebook page that had organized the event expected 35-40 people, which made the field of four a little surprising, but it turned out all those people just wanted to show up and watch us be stupid, since we were greeted by a sizable, if slightly bemused crowd, including Grand Slam record holder Ian Sharman, and a bunch of people with video cameras.

As you can see from my Garmin data, I ran an 11:56 (the final split is an error of me re-setting my watch), not a great showing.  But I was clearly on sub-10 pace until the final beer--actually I was through 1200 meters and three beers in under 7 minutes.  Looks like I spent right around 6:00 actually running and about 6:00 drinking and puking.

So needless to say I went to bed Thursday night not feeling my best.  I woke up on Friday morning not feeling any better--stiff, tired, with a pounding headache.  I attributed it partly to the altitude (about 6500') and partly to the hangover, though honestly, most of the Budweiser was in the dirt four hundred meters up the left side of the Western States Trail.  Part of the point of the trip was to run the Montrail Uphill Challenge, though, so I forced myself out to the starting line.  It's a pretty cool event; Montrail is the presenting sponsor of Western States and they basically put on this free event with a bunch of swag, including t-shirts, pint glasses, and of course, something for a bunch of antsy ultra geeks to do while we're all waiting around for the big race to start.

The race is run on the first 6k of the WS course itself, which climbs about 2500' to Emigrant Pass--about a 13% grade. (How the runners go another 97 miles after doing this on race day, I'll never know.)  I like uphills, especially runnable, non-technical ones, so I was pretty excited and thought maybe I could be up front in the top 10 or so.  What I didn't take into account was that the entire ultra world is in Squaw Valley for states, and that there are a TON of incredible runners who are there to crew or pace for other incredible runners.  I don't know who exactly was there, but I saw sponsored athletes from Hoka, Altra, adidas, and Salomon.  Didn't see them for long, of course.  It was a hammerfest, and was an absolutely brutal mix of running and power-hiking.  I was hoping to run under 45 minutes, and actually ran 39:33 (the course was a little shorter than I thought, as we didn't run the final few hundred meters to the monument atop the Pass, but that stretch is mostly very gradual and I think I would have been about 43 minutes had we gone the whole way).   But in that field I was barely in the top 30.  (Yes, I got chicked, just once.)  All four of us beer milers ran the race.  Perhaps not surprisingly, we finished in reverse order of the previous day.  Our late starter, who had organized the beer mile (and who would have won it easily had he not spotted us at least a quarter mile), crushed us wearing an honest-to-god pair of huaraches; but I saw my other two new best friends on my jog back down.

My headache had abated during the race, but it returned after lunch, as we organized our bags and made our plans with Glen for the next day.  By that evening I couldn't wait to get down from the altitude.  I got about 6 hours of sleep before waking up around 3:30 to get ready for the 5am start.  We headed over with Glen, who seemed in good spirits, and spent a few minutes chatting with Dylan Bowman near the starting line before the gun went off.

DBo, Speedgoat Karl, and the other leaders at the start. photo: Mike Redpath

We walked back the the hotel, packed, and left quickly.  I felt a little bit better on the drive out of the valley, but when we stopped to buy sandwiches for the long day ahead, my headache was in full force, and I was feeling pretty nauseous.  I bought some extra ibuprofen at the grocery store, which helped some, and took one of the Zofran pills I had brought along in case Glen ran into some stomach problems during his race.  We drove out to Robinson Flat, the 30-mile mark and the first aid station accessible to crew members.

Crewing an ultra is pretty fun, but it is a LOT of waiting around, and let me just say thank you to anyone who has ever crewed me in the past.  Basically, you rush to the aid station, spend some time unpacking all your stuff and getting ready for your runner, and then you just sit around waiting for them to come, which can be several hours.  Then they come, and unless you're doing a crappy job or they're really having a problem, you see them for about 90 seconds before they start running again.  Then you pack up and race to the next point so you can wait for another few hours.  It sounds awful, but it's actually pretty cool, especially at a huge event like WS where you can watch the best ultrarunners in the world.  I wish I had been feeling better and could have read a book or something, but I spent many of the next eight hours feeling awful, so that was kind of a bummer.

Getting support at Robinson Flat. photo: Mike Redpath

ANYWAY, Robinson Flat was awesome.  The drugs had kicked in and I felt pretty good; it was still early on in the race so the wait wasn't too long.  The front runners showed up about an hour after we go there, a who's who of the sport--Max King, Rob Krar, Dylan Bowman, Miguel Heras, Karl Meltzer, Ryan Sandes, Scott Wolfe, Nick Clark, Yassine Diboun, Ian Sharman, Brendan Davies, Pam Smith, Kaci Leichtig, Nikki Kimball, Meghan Arbogast, Emily Harrison, Stephanie Howe....you get the picture, sorry.  For a fanboy like me it was heaven.  I won't go into details of the elite races, there is a ton of coverage out there and you can read at your leisure, but it was super-exciting.   We were expecting Glen at around 10:15, but he was about half an hour behind that, which didn't bode well for the rest of the day.  Given the stacked field, we knew going in that getting Glen a fourth top-10 finish was pretty unlikely; however, we thought a strong, smart race in the 18-19 hour range might sneak into the top 20.  Already, though, his pace was more in line with a 19:30, and his place was in the 70s; moreover, he didn't look great, already struggling a little bit as the morning was starting to heat up.  We were anxious as we headed off to Michigan Bluff, the 55-mile mark.

Michigan Bluff is one of the largest and busiest aid stations on the course.  Also, since most people are there in the middle of the day, and since there is very little shade, it is also one of the hottest aid stations, except for those deep in the canyons, which are not accessible by crew.   We got in about 12:30, now expecting Glen closer to 3:30 than the 2:30 we had initially planned.   We also met up here with Christian Fitting, an elite ultrarunner from the Bay Area, who would be pacing Glen from Foresthill, mile 62, to mile 80 at Green Gate, where I would take over.  By this point, though, my participation was in doubt.  The drugs wore off, my headache came back along with my nausea, and then I started having chills, to the point where I was leaving one of the few shady areas to sit in the sun so I would stop shivering.  Before he left to get set up at Foresthill, Christian looked at me and offered to pace my 20-mile segment as well.  I told him I'd be fine, but secretly I was pretty worried.  My only saving grace was that with Glen struggling I knew I wouldn't have to run too fast; I figured I could stumble through a bunch of 20-minute miles even with a fever.

Glen and I at Michigan Bluff, mile 55. photo: Mike Redpath

I took another dose of ibuprofen and some Tylenol and slowly started to feel better.  Glen made it in at 4:30--now on pace to run about 22 hours.  He didn't look great, but I didn't think he looked any worse than he had at Robinson Flat six hours before, and after a brief two minutes moved his way back out onto the trail.  We packed up and rushed over to Foresthill.  By the time we got there, around 5 pm, I was feeling much better, and thankfully from that point on whatever I had been dealing with for the past few days seemed out of my system.  Glen rolled through at 6 pm on the button, starting to look a little better himself, and he and Christian headed down Cal Street; we wouldn't see them again until mile 80.  I went over to the Ultrarunner Podcast tent and dropped off some Yard Owl beer for Eric Schrantz, who pulled a couple of these out of his cooler for me:

I almost kissed him.

We replenished our supplies and headed over to Green Gate, the aid station at 80 miles where I would take over pacing duties from Christian.  Tracking the runner updates on my phone, it seemed that Glen and Christian had found a nice rhythm, running 12-minute pace for a nice stretch of miles between 62 and 70; but by the time they reached the American River crossing at mile 78, he struggles had resumed, and Glen hiked the steep uphill from mile 78-80 in about 45 minutes.  He reached us still in relatively good spirits, though.  The pressure was off, and Glen is experienced and strong enough to know that he would be able to finish, and could likely hike most of the way in and still finish in under 24 hours.  But for the first time in three days, I was feeling good and ready to run, and I wasn't about to let him off the hook that easily.  I strapped on my Ultimate Direction AK hydration vest and we headed down the trail.

The first two miles were a struggle.  Glen's main problem at this point was blisters, which prevented him from running downhill at any kind of reasonable pace, so we moved slowly through some technical downhill sections and covered the first two miles in about 34 minutes.  But as the trail flattened out and the running became easier, Glen seemed to recover some; I gave him a Zofran which settled his stomach and helped him get in a few more calories, and we started running 13-minute pace down into the Auburn Lakes aid station at mile 85.

The aid stations at WS are unbelievable: packed with volunteers, any kind of food or drink you could want, fantastic energy.  We blew through quickly, feeling refreshed, and found some great rhythm on some wonderfully runnable trails, resuming our 12-13 minute pace.  Before I knew it we had reached Brown's Bar at mile 89.9.  I was having a blast and feeling great.  Glen seemed to be recovering some strength.  "Born to Run" blasted over the loudspeakers and we stormed into the aid station and got refills of our bottles from two-time WS champ Hal Koerner.

We ran through the night.  Visibility with our headlamps was pretty good, and the trail was just the most gorgeously runnable singletrack you could possibly imagine.  West Coast trail runners, you have no idea how lucky you guys are.  Glen hung tough, not flying by any means, but clicking off solid miles and passing folks about every thirty minutes or so, particularly at the aid stations, which we moved through very efficiently.

At the finish, finally. photo: Mike Redpath

By No Hands Bridge (96.8 miles), I was really in Glen's ear about trying to break 22 hours.  It was a silly thing to care about at this point, but I knew I'd be more satisfied--and I had a feeling Glen would too--if we achieved this small victory.  And from the businesslike way he responded, digging deeper, pushing the pace, and using minimal walk breaks, it seemed he had begun to care about it too.  We dug our way up the steep, seemingly interminable climb through Robie Point and passed through the final aid station without stopping.  With one mile to go, I told Glen we needed a 10:30 to get in under 22 hours.  He grunted, dug deep, and started really running.  Finally we reached the Placer High stadium track, running near eight minute pace, and flew around the final 300 meters, getting him home in 21:58:48 for his sixth sub-24 hour silver belt buckle at Western States.  It may not have been the finish we had hoped for, but it was extremely satisfying nonetheless.  In a year that has been pretty frustrating for me from a running standpoint, this was one of the better days.

A man, his beer, and his buckle. photo: Mike Redpath

#realheroes photo: Mike Redpath

#seeyouinsquaw

Holy crap, I haven't blogged in awhile.  I've had some increased responsibility at work, blah, blah, which has cut into my free time a bit, but I mostly haven't written because I haven't had much to write about, running-wise.  (I've been trying to get Lexi to pick up the slack a bit, but softball kept her very busy this spring.)  I've raced only once since Mount Mitchell, running the Mount Penn Mudfest 15K outside Reading, PA in April.  This was I think my sixth or seventh time at Mudfest, a race which I absolutely used to love but which underwent a change in race management this year and, unfortunately, a complete revamp of the course.  Now, instead of a technical but joyously runnable course that I can absolutely hammer, it's yet another trail run in the northeastern US so choked with rocks it prevents establishing almost any rhythm whatsoever.  Rather than just go on another rant about how much I hate that crap, I'll spare everybody and just say that I did not enjoy the trip and won't be returning.  Oh well.

But that's been it from a running standpoint.  Even training has been mediocre at best.  I had a work situation in May that I'm not going to get into but that ate up a ton of time and energy, to the point where I took nearly as many days off in May (seven) as I did in all of 2013 (thirteen).  For the second year in a row I registered for the Ice Age 50K and then bailed last-minute.  I had plans to run the Prospect Mountain Hill Race in Lake George in mid-May but couldn't get out of work.  I considered trying to get into the Great Adirondack Trail Run and then remembered how much I hate shit like that.  When Jodi went to Orlando in mid-May for a conference, I was at pretty low ebb, trying to figure out when I might race again (July? September?).

And then Glen Redpath, a three-time top-10 finisher at Western States, said, "Why don't you come pace me at States this year?"  Now this is normally something I'll just answer "no" to right away.  It's not like I can leave Jodi with the kids for five days at the drop of a hat.  But this came at the perfect time; with Jodi just having finished a little "me time" of her own, I was due for a little trip.  And while my fitness isn't quite up to racing snuff, this was exactly the sort of thing I needed to get motivated again.

So I'm heading out in two days for Western States, the site of my first experience with ultra marathons ever (I was a medical volunteer in 2005).  The goals of the trip are: (1) pace Glen to hopefully another top-10; (2) run well at the Montrail Uphill Challenge on Friday, hopefully up front if I'm feeling good; (3) set a beer mile PR; (4) drink a shit-ton of Russian River; (5) meet a whole bunch of people and maybe make some contacts who can help me launch my top-secret ultra rankings project, which I'll reveal more about when it starts progressing some.  If everything goes well and I feel like my fitness is ok, I may head up to Loon Mountain the first weekend of July for the national mountain running championships the following weekend.  But I'll post some stuff from Squaw if I can stay sober enough at night to work the iPad.

Race Report: Mount Mitchell Challenge

As bucket-list races go, it may not be Boston, Western States, or UTMB, but for East Coast trail runners, the Mount Mitchell Challenge and Black Mountain Marathon is certainly on the list.  First run in 1998, the MMC is a 40-mile race to the top, and back, of the tallest mountain in the eastern United States.  The race starts in the small town of Black Mountain, about 10 miles east of Asheville, NC (aka Beer City USA), at an elevation of 2360', and climbs to the top of Mount Mitchell, at 6684'.  The companion race, or "fun run" as it's sometimes known, is the Black Mountain Marathon, which runs concurrently with the Challenge until reaching the Blue Ridge Parkway (5340') and then heading back down to the finish.

This was my second trip to Mount Mitchell.  In 2011, I had one of the best races of my life there, placing fifth in an elite field, running 5:18 for the rugged 40 miles.  Needless to say, the race carried some strong positive associations for me.  But it was not just the fact that I had run well there before that made me excited to return.  The course is about 80% trail, and has nearly twenty miles of climbing, but with very few exceptions, the trail is quite runnable, and the grade is gentle enough to be steadily climbed at a solid pace--right in my wheelhouse.

Me, Mike, and Alex at the start in 2011

Just like in 2011, I made the trip with my good friends Mike Halstead and Alex Sherwood, who had first attempted the Black Mountain Marathon in 2008 (Alex third, Mike eighth).  Mike had a fantastic race in 2011 as well, finishing second overall, but Alex started the race despite coming in with an injury and was forced to drop only five miles in.  That injury lingered for the next two years, and it's really only in the past six months that he's started running regularly again.  To say he was returning to the race with unfinished business in mind would be a hell of an understatement.  Also joining us was our frequent training partner Brian Hickey, who was recovering from an injury of his own but is a fantastic hill runner when healthy; two other local veteran ultra runners, Joe Brown and Charlie Gadol; and two friends and accomplished ultra guys from NYC, Glen Redpath and Brian Oestrike.

I came in to the race confident.  Training in the past couple of months has gone quite well.  I was able to get up to a peak of nearly 110 miles per week, with a four-week stretch before the taper of nearly 380 miles, and a ton of steady work on the local hills.  Unfortunately my legs were not quite 100% coming in due to our family's vacation plans.  Our itinerary initially called for us to ski in Park City, UT from the Friday through the Monday before the race (I know, tough life, right?) before traveling to Charlotte on Tuesday and making our way to the race later in the week. Five days to recover from skiing would have been perfect.  However, our flight west on Thursday got cancelled, and we were unable to fly out until Sunday, which meant we skied from Monday to Wednesday, three days before race day.  By Saturday morning, most of my ski-related soreness was gone, and my legs were feeling mostly normal, but pretty early in the day's climbing, I could tell I didn't have my usual pep, and the climb was not nearly as effortless as it had been in 2011.

RD Jay Curwen gives us last-minute advice

The race starts with 2-3 miles of flat to minimally uphill running on pavement, and I ran at the back of the lead pack with Alex, trying to stay as smooth and relaxed as possible.  Jason Bryant of La Sportiva, the 2008 Challenge winner and several times a member of the US team for the World Mountain Running Championship and the World Trail Championship races, set the early pace, followed by locals Shaun Pope and Paul Scouten, Pearl Izumi's Johnathan Allen, and Dane Mitchell from Colorado, who had been leading this race in 2011 when he fell and dislocated his shoulder near the summit.  Jason was pushing the pace, and by the time we hit the first steep climb and headed into the trails, we were strung out in single file, and I was losing ground quickly.  I struggled to find a comfortable rhythm and quickly found most of the pack pulling away from me.  Right around the 40-minute mark I caught a root and went down pretty hard, scraping up my elbows.  My handheld water bottle absorbed a lot of the impact, but the plastic strap fixing the cap atop the bottle was cracked in the fall, and for the remainder of the race I had to take the cap off the bottle with one hand and hold it while drinking with the other hand.

Just after I fell, Mike caught me from behind.  Not a great sign; while Mike is an awesome downhill runner, I am usually a stronger climber, and even though I was running 14 miles more than him this day, I still wasn't expecting to see him at any point on the uphill.  It was a blessing in disguise, though, as it allowed be to refocus mentally and finally find some kind of rhythm.  I wasn't feeling great by any means, but I was able to stick with him for the next twenty minutes or so, until he pulled away out of AS#2.

For the next hour or so I tried to climb as best I could.  The trails were wet, but at this point still mostly clear of snow and ice.  I stuck to what rhythm I could find and picked off a couple of marathoners, knowing now that only Alex, Mike, and the top 6 in the Challenge were ahead of me.  Then, about two miles from the Parkway, I started to catch brief glimpses of Paul Scouten up ahead of me by about a minute.  I hadn't seen any Challengers for nearly 90 minutes, so this was a bit of a lift, and I pressed on, trying to keep the tempo up.  I reached the Parkway only about 20 seconds behind Paul, and I got a huge mental boost seeing Mike and the Alex leaving the aid station at the marathon turnaround to head back down the mountain 1-2 overall.  Buoyed by their strong running, I put my head down and went after Paul.

I caught him about a mile later, just before we left the paved road of the Parkway and ducked onto the Buncombe Horse Trail, at 16.5 miles.  I was a bit distressed that my splits at both the Parkway at the BHT were nearly 10 minutes slower than my race from 2011.  But, there was nothing to do about that now, and I finally felt like I had some momentum.  At over 5500' of elevation, the BHT is a mostly gradual climb that still had significant snow and ice in between its numerous stream crossings, making for some slow going.  I felt like Paul was struggling to keep contact, though, so I tried to press my advantage and gain as much ground as I could.  It worked, a bit; I put about a minute on him over the next three miles.  But that gap disappeared almost immediately on the steep, extremely technical final 2K to the summit.  Paul blew by me and disappeared up the trail; I walked most of the final mile, jogging a few treacherous steps here and there and usually winding up flat on my back as a result.  Finally, after covering miles 19.5-21 in 30 minutes, I reached the summit in 3:18.  I was about eighteen minutes behind my 2011 pace at this point, but I was surprised to see Johnathan Allen leaving the summit shortly before I arrived, less than two minutes ahead, and I knew Paul would be just in front of him.  The knowledge that I was still within striking distance of them helped me attack the start of the long downhill as best as my tired legs would allow.  About a mile beyond the summit, I passed early leader Jason Bryant, moved into fifth, and pressed onward.

After 45 minutes of paved downhill, I made it back to the Parkway aid station at the marathon turnaround, now with twelve miles to go.  Brian Oestrike had dropped at this point due to a rib injury, so he led the volunteers in a bit of cheering and told me that I was only a couple of minutes behind Paul and Johnathan in third and fourth.  Hearing this excited me enough that I blew right through the AS without taking on any extra nutrition.  Probably not the smartest move, but I was finally feeling good and thought I might be able to reel them in.  Not to be, however.  I held a decent pace for the next four miles, holding about 7:00/mile despite some wet and nasty footing; but past that point I started to tire badly and moved into survival mode.  The amazing Aliza Lapierre blew by me with five miles to go on her way to a dominant victory in the women's race.

The incomparable Aliza Lapierre

I focused on sticking with my nutrition and just moving forward, limped down the insanely steep stretch from 36-37 with tears in my eyes, and filled by bottle with Coke at the last aid station for the final 5K.  About a minute further along, the pressure from the carbonation in the bottle built up enough to pop the cap off the bottle.  Unfortunately, the cap was no longer tethered to the bottle, so it flew up and smacked me in the face.  Cursing, I stumbled toward the finish, staggering past some of the marathoners and checking over my shoulder every few minutes to make sure no one was sneaking up behind me.  And then, as I reached the flat cinder loop around the pond, half a mile from the finish, someone was there.  He smiled at me when I looked over my shoulder and said, "Hey."  I thought, shit.  I couldn't believe that after five and a half hours of running I was going to have to sprint to defend my spot, but there it was.  I tossed my water bottle to Alex and took off.  It wasn't fast, and it certainly wasn't pretty, but it worked, and I held on to sixth overall, fifth male.

Ugh.

Chillin'.

All in all, I was relatively pleased with my performance.  I wasn't with my time; my 5:44:57 was nearly a half hour slower than my breakthrough race in 2011, and nearly an hour behind Dane Mitchell's dominant CR performance for the win.  And I was disappointed to know that if I had run up to my ability, as demonstrated by that 2011 race (and I think my fitness level this year was, at the very least, comparable, if not better), I could have finished third against a very, very solid field of athletes. On the positive side, however, I felt like I was able to gut out a solid, satisfying result despite clearly not having my "A" game.  I felt like my ongoing experiments with nutrition--mostly relying on GU and Roctane, GU Brew, and S! caps--served me well on the day.  In terms of mental toughness, I gave myself a solid B+.  And I beat my good friend Glen for only the second time ever, and the first time on a trail course--a small victory perhaps, but Glen is one of the best 100-mile runners in the country, so I'll certainly take it.

Alex with Sara, our beer goddess.

The rest of our contingent had an excellent day, other than Brian O.'s DNF.  Mike, Alex, and Brian Hickey hit the marathon turnaround 1-2-4 overall, which was amazing.  Of all of us, Mike is really the only great downhill runner, and he had himself another great race to finish second overall again, for the second straight time.  Alex and Brian hung tough, despite each only having injury-limited buildups to the race and not getting a ton of long runs in training; there were some struggles over the final 10K, but they held on to finish 9th and 12th, respectively.  Joe and Charlie had good days out as well, and there was tons of good beer at the finish courtesy of Mike's friend Sara.  As usual, RD Jay Curwen and his team did an amazing job of putting on a top notch event that truly is a bucket list race in an incredibly beautiful part of the country.  Great race, friends, beer: what more could you ask for?  A song from North Carolina's best band?  OK, fine: