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By the time you read this, I will have begun the biggest athletic adventure of my life. This post will self-publish at 5:00 AM on Saturday, July 26, about the same time that I'll be heading up the Signal Ridge Trail on Mount Carrigain. It's my declared intention to visit all 48 peaks over 4,000 feet in my home state as swiftly as possible. A team of family and friends will be monitoring my progress as well as providing food, road transportation, and moral support over the next three days. My plan is to stop the clock at the Mount Kinsman Trailhead sometime on Tuesday the 30th after covering nearly 200 miles, and 68,000 feet of elevation gain if everything goes according to plan. (Ha!)

I’m not the first person to pursue the Fastest Known Time (FKT) of the Four Thousand Footers. Others have blazed this trail before; the Fitch brothers, Ted "Cave Dog" Keizer, Tim Seaver, Sue "Stinkyfeet" Johnston, Cath Goodwin, my friend Ryan Welts, and Andrew "Traildog" Thompson. I've drawn years of inspiration from these people and now it's my turn to try and stand on their shoulders. I've researched and planned and trained enough that I'd like to think I'm going into this with open eyes despite the fact that it's far beyond anything else I've done. It's going to hurt and my resolve will be tested in ways I can’t yet appreciate. The lows will be low and the highs will be high. Failure is deliberately a possibility. 

So why do it? For one, I get to spend four days trying to break new ground in the mountains I love. The deeper answers are hard to articulate, but I will say this: I've collected an unusual set of skills and capabilities over the years as a hiker, climber, and runner. These mountains in particular have been burned into brain over the last twelve years and I strongly feel that I'm as qualified to do this as anyone has ever been. Simply put, I’m doing this because I want to and because I can.

Tim Seaver tells me that when he broke the record in 2003, he was sure it would be lowered again in short order, but attempts on his time have been few over the last decade. Just this summer, Andrew Thompson managed to trim 51 minutes off Tim's time, lowering the record to three days, fourteen hours, fifty-none minutes. Coincidentally, I feel like I’ve been on a collision course with the Four Thousand Footers record since 2003, I just didn’t know it for most of those years. Since the day I discovered a list of the Four-Thousand Footers in the back of an old copy of the AMC White Mountain Guide, I've been unable to sit still. The mountains got me off my sedentary ass and fundamentally changed me. They put me in control of my own life, and blessed me with new experiences I never would have imagined. This adventure will be another one of those experiences, succeed or fail, in a relationship with the Whites that will continue long after this is over.

The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy. - Albert Camus

Manitou's Revenge - 6/21/14

"THIS IS NOT LIKE ANY OTHER ULTRA YOU’VE RUN BEFORE!"

So proclaims the Manitou's Revenge web page. They put it in capital letters so's you won't miss it, even if you're only semi-literate like I am. Hyperbole is a bit of a cliche in ultrarunning but, that being said, I'm going to put my next statement in it's own paragraph just so you don't miss it:

This race delivers.

I'm a believer in frame of reference. I once caught some flack for calling a Massachusetts 50k "flat and fast" and I suppose if your only experience was on roads then you might have felt sandbagged too. My benchmark has always been the White Mountains and few courses I've run have been able to match them for technical trail running and long steep climbs. I'll admit the possibility of some personal bias there, but I've always wanted to have a competitive race in my own personal brier-patch. Alas, the Man puts up red tape and we can't have such nice things... until Manitou's Revenge came along.

The Manitou's Revenge course is remarkably similar to the Hut Traverse in the Whites. It's a little over 50 miles long, has a solid 14000' feet of climbing, and features gnarly, rocky terrain over the Escarpment Trail and the Devil's Path in the Catskills of New York. Because it's on state, rather than federal land, the race director and his crew were able to work out a deal where the race would be permitted to take place. I think this makes a good example of what such an event can be. We as runners got to participate in a unique and challenging event with minimal impact on the natural resources and other users of the area.

To top things off, not only was the course what I've been looking for, but so was the competition. Denis Mikhaylov was returning after his win last year. Brian Ruseiki, one of the best ultrarunners in the northeast, would be starting as well. Additionally, the last four FKT holders for the Pemi Loop would be there; Ben Nephew, Jan Wellford, Ryan Welts, and myself. Credentials go deeper than that all around, but I'd like to think that any one of us six could have taken the win. Personally, I felt rather outgunned but held out hope that the difficult course would play to my strengths and my hundred miler experience would let me be a contender in the later sections of the race.

We started at a reasonable pace and it didn't take long for a lead pack of about eight guys to form, most of whom I expected with a couple unfamiliar faces. No sign of Denis, though. I was excited to finally check out the Escarpment Trail and it didn't disappoint. The running was technical and stimulating but nothing too crazy and we were periodically rewarded with views of the Hudson River Valley from clifftop overlooks. Denis had made it to the start late and must have been pushing pretty hard to catch us. He came barreling through kamikaze-style like he was running a 5k, made a few sketchy passes off-trail in the bushes, and was soon out of sight. Ben and Brian made a move to pick up the pace and I and a few others took the chance to follow.

 2014 Manitou's Revenge, leaders on the Escarpment Trail, mile 17 from MountainPeakFitness.com on Vimeo.

I lost contact with the lead group shortly after we passed through North Lake Campground at mile 17 and was surprised to pass an ailing Denis so soon on the long descent into Palenville where I joined up with Jan Wellford. It was nice to spend a few minutes with him in person after a couple years of sporadic email contact, though the conversation ended when Jan pulled away from me on the climb up Kaaterskill High Peak like I was standing still. At that point, around halfway through the race, I figured the finishing order was all but settled, with Brian and Ben being long gone. Picking my way along the muddy and rooty trail I was happy to have Ryan catch me and we ran together into Platte's Clove at 31.5 miles.

Up next was the infamous Devils Path. There were root ladders and numerous thirty foot ledges to scramble up and down, along with boulder fields to hop across. The rocks here are different than the Whites; much flatter with a smooth texture and they all move and shift underfoot. Ryan and I started catching glimpses of someone running up ahead of us through the trees and I thought it must be Jan. Imagine my surprise to discover a seventy year old man from New Jersey absolutely hauling ass down some difficult technical sections. Ryan and I professed our admiration for his strength and skill when we finally did feel ready to pass. I want to be like him when I grow up.

By the time we'd reached Mink Hollow at 38.5 Ryan had pulled away from me and I came into the aid station less than thirty minutes behind the leaders. This was something of a low spot as I was struggling with my usual mid-day bonk and my ankle that's been problematic this year was acting up. It wasn't painful but after eight hours of uneven footing the joint stiffened up and I had a limited range of motion. Strange how my ankle could be perfectly fine over seven hours on the Pemi-Loop but after hour eight it becomes a problem. I'll admit to feeling a little discouraged but it turns out I was not nearly so far behind as I thought at the time.

Despite slowing down, I was hoping to maintain my position in fifth but was caught by by Carlo from Italy just after Silver Hollow (mile 44). We were finally off the Devil's Path but my condition seemed to keep me at the same slow pace. Carlo tried to get me to stay with him, and I did for a while, but when we hit the Warner Creek crossing I stopped to cool off a little and he kept going. After that it was a long lonely walk up the final climb to the fire tower on Mount Tremper. Just before the top I heard some commotion off to the side in the woods and caught a glimpse a of a black bear crashing through the brush. I haven't seen a bear in the woods in a long time.

The last major aid station made a good excuse to sit down and indulge in a couple handfuls of Skittles, something I don't normally eat. Chatting with the volunteers, I was surprised to learn that Jan had come through in first place with over a fifteen minute lead. It sounds like he ran a smart race all day, hanging back early on and making his move in the later stages to earn the win in 10:50:34. I jogged slowly down the final descent into Phoenicia on an old jeep road to cross the finish in 12:28:15 for sixth place.

Manitou's Revenge as an event turned out to be everything I'd hoped it would be. It's the exact kind of course I've been wanting for a long time and I think it has a bright future. Superlatives are overused in ultrarunning, but I'm going to go ahead and call this the hardest race course of it's length that I'm familiar with.  It easily outdoes the Pittsfield Peaks 50 in Vermont, which has similar elevation gain but easier footing. Wapack 50 in New Hampshire would be next in line but it doesn't have the same kind of gain and the difficulty is not nearly as sustained. As for comparing Manitou's to the Hut Traverse, I think the Hut Traverse has the edge with its greater gain, bigger climbs, and footing that cuts you even fewer breaks. And then there's the elephant in the room, the race I've been invited several times to compare Manitou's to; Hardrock. All things considered, I'm going to call it about even with what a Hardrock 50 would be like. Sure, it's a crude comparison as the character of the landscape is totally different but based on finishing times I'm going to say they're in the same ballpark.

As for my own performance, I'm left a little disappointed. There wasn't much I could have done about the ankle issue, but fueling and pacing remains a persistent problem for me. I've been taking in 200-plus calories per hour in gel and I still run out of gas in most races. My muscles seem to be up to the challenge, I had no soreness in the following days, but I just couldn't seem to get them the energy they need. This weakness is probably the greatest barrier to improving my performance and I'll likely be looking into improving my fat metabolism rather than relying so much on carbohydrates, to gain an edge.

I want to express my huge thanks to my wife and daughter who crewed me, the race volunteers, and especially to Charlie Gadol who saw this race through. Charlie, if you ever do go through with that 100 mile version you mentioned, I'll be the first in line to sign up.

GPS track on Strava: http://www.strava.com/activities/157753279

All photos courtesy of Joe Azze at Mountain Peak Fitness.

So Close I Can Smell It: Pemi Loop FKT Attempt - 6/8/14

For me, running the Pemi Loop is an exercise in excessive optimism. I suppose it needs to be. I'm much stronger than last year, surely I can shave off twenty minutes. This thought, a good trail condition report, an excellent weather forecast, and the realization that I hadn't made a visit to the Pemi Loop in over two years led me to make my return. For perhaps the thirteenth time I ran the 50k-ish, 9000 foot course on June 8th with the aim of going as fast as possible and maybe regaining the FKT.

On my last attempt in 2012 I had the benefit of frenzied mountain training for Hardrock, but only managed to shave a token two minutes off my 2011 time. This go 'round, I reasoned I had the benefit of my marathon training for greater leg speed. Plus, I would go lighter than ever before. I'd wear 8-ounce New Balance trail shoes with sticky-rubber outsoles, rather than 12-ounce Brooks Cascadia cinder blocks - feared for their poor grip on wet rock. I finally found a pair of running shorts with good pockets so I could cram in 10 ounces of gel, a small headlamp, and an ultralight windshirt rather than actually carrying a pack. This would force me to use hand bottles for water, with a reduced overall capacity, but would make it easy to refill out of wild water sources on the move. After some research, I've become more comfortable with selectively employing this practice (lots of good information here at Far North Endurance). I'll also say that I wouldn't take such a minimalist approach on a day with any credible threat of poor weather but I then wouldn't be attempting an FKT on those days anyway.

The shoe, Minimus Zero V2

On Pemi-day conditions didn't turn out to be ideal, much more humid and warm than I would have liked, and I struggled more than usual in the final miles. Right now, over a week later, I can recall the damp composting smell of late spring on the Garfield Ridge Trail. It's a little strange to me, but during a hard effort like this I'm left with short, vivid snapshots in my memory from a few particular places and they're not always visual. This one is kind of a distinct Pemi-Loop smell; rotting leaves and moss mixed with B.O. and a whiff of ammonia. Maybe the sound of trickling water and my own labored breathing on the background. That's what I have associated with the the route.

To make a long report short, I cut almost five minutes off my personal best time but came up eleven minutes short of the FKT in 6:38:21. What's spooky to me is how utterly consistent my split times have been, something that can bee seen with a little bit of analysis.

I was nearly dead-nuts on my last two attempts until Galehead Hut, where I pulled ahead of my old times a little. Some time was lost dilly-dallying on Franconia Ridge but I gained it back on the descent of the Osseo Trail from Flume (remember that leg speed thing?). If this were a three-way race I'd have been almost always within sight of my 2011 and 2012 selves for much of the route. This despite several factors in my favor (lighter wight, greater experience) and several factors against me (heat, the generally deteriorating condition of the Bondcliff Trail). Another notable point is that my time to the the junction between the Garfield Ridge and Franconia Brook Trails is a very good indicator of final finishing time, halfway by the clock and accurate to within a five minute margin.

As for the whole water capacity thing, I could have comfortably made it to Garfield Spring with only a single hand bottle. I filled up once on the way up the Bondcliff Trail, then again at the spring where I chugged a bottle and was able to ration my 40 ounce capacity for the rest of the day. I did finally run dry on Mount Flume but at that point I was only 45 minutes from the parking lot and could tolerate a little bit of cotton mouth.

And now I'm left searching for those remaining 11 minutes. This is the best kind of challenge, difficult but feasible. I feel more or less tapped out as far as flat ground and descending speeds go, so I'll need to get stronger on the climbs and improve my stamina. This will mean lots of easy base-building aerobic activity as well as a focus on hill repeats and the like. That combined with a cool, dry day (perhaps this September) and maybe I can get back in the record books, however fleetingly.

What is somewhat gratifying to me is the realization of just how much I've improved since my first Pemi Loop in 2005. If I were to race my 2005 self, I'd be rolling out of my own bed right around the time my slower self left the Lincoln Woods parking lot in the dark. I'd have enough time to make coffee and eat breakfast at home, make the ninety minute drive up North, then pass my old self somewhere on the Twinway. From there, I'd steadily pull away and be home with enough daylight to drink a beer and mow the dandelions on my horribly neglected lawn, all well before dusk, while 2005-Adam would stagger the final few miles down the Wilderness Trail to the car and probably stop at McDonald's on the way home in pathetic desperation. Progress is beautiful thing, regardless of how it relates to the cutting edge of your sport.

GPS Track: http://www.strava.com/activities/151147360

Spring Training Part 1: Disappointment

The Massanutten 100 in Fort Valley, Virginia was supposed to be my Spring 2014 focus race. I've run it twice before in 2010 and 2011 with finishing times of 28:50 and 23:17, respectively, and I was looking forward coming back to what was a personal breakout for me three years ago. 2011 was my first time in the top-ten of a major ultra and I've not finished outside the top-ten in the eight 100-milers I've done since then. There was alot of potential unlocked at Massanutten in 2011 and my hope was that I could use some of the things I learned from marathon training to dig even deeper.

As such, I began to ramp up my mileage this spring and included more quality workouts than ever before, culminating in a peak five week period that would include four 50K races before a short taper. There are plenty of April and May 50Ks to choose from in New England and I pretty much decided to run them all. I'd used them to boost my weekly mileage, get some quality long runs in, keep my enthusiasm high, and have some fun.

The Cape Cod Trail Race came first on April 6, with five 10K loops on conservation land outside Otis Air Force Base. It was a good opportunity to get out on some dry trails while everything in the woods back home in New Hampshire was still locked under snow and ice. The course was a little slower than I expected with some notable elevation gain, tight singletrack, and rock gardens to run through, but that's a good thing. I barely squeaked out a sub-four hour finish in 3:59:21 for second place to Eric Ahern. With lap times of 45:00, 45:42, 47:00, 49:55, and 51:43, I could have run a more evenly paced race but I was never really in contention for the win and I just chalked it up to a learning experience.

On April 19 was the Traprock 50K in Bloomfield, Connecticut. This course has a reputation for being very technical, and it is in places, but there are quite a few easy miles were one can stretch their legs and open up their stride a bit. I find that people tend remember the hardest parts of any given course and, combined with a tendency towards exaggeration across the board in ultrarunning, this makes most races sound more fearsome than they really are. In any case, Traprock has many similarities to Massanutten and I enjoy it enough to return for a third go. My last time here in 2013 was something of a disaster as I'd picked up a stomach virus from my daughter that decided to rear it's ugly head on the third and final loop. It put me on my knees with vomiting and other unmentionable digestive indignities and put her in the emergency room.

I was in the lead for a while on the first lap (1:24:46) with some enjoyable conversation before deliberately throttling back and falling to fourth place on the second lap (1:31:20) in an effort to be more conservative. On the third and final lap (1:37:31) I moved up to second and was hunting the leader, my good friend Ryan Welts. I drew within a few minutes of him, close enough to shout out a warning that he'd better move his ass when we passed by on an out-and-back section. He must've listened because I was unable to catch up and finished five minutes back in 4:33:42.

Next was the TARC Spring Classic on April 26 in Weston, Massachusetts, which I'd be running for the fourth year in a row. The race is well organized with a good community of regulars. It's also a fast course as far as legit trails go with negligible elevation gain and easy footing for 90% of the 10K loop. Every time I come here I've set a new 50K personal best and I was hungry to improve further. This year the weather could only be described as atrocious; the temperature hovered around 40 degrees all day with a heavy rain. My long sleeve shirt was quickly saturated and clung to my body. Making a fist would wring out my gloves and make water trickle onto the ground. I was able to maintain a hard pace throughout, largely because I needed to fend off hypothermia.

I shared the first lap with Sam Jurek who was less than a week separated from a fast time at the Boston Marathon. He must have been recovering well because he steadily pulled away throughout the race to finish ten minutes ahead of me. I didn't worry about him too much and instead focused on staying as even as possible, which paid off. My lap times were 43:14, 44:04, 44:57, 47:23, and 46:50 - far more consistent than ever before and earning me a 3:46:21 finishing time. While this is only a minute faster than last year, the pace was more even and I felt better at the end; more like an intense training run than an all-out race effort. Oh yeah, and good for second place (again!)

Lastly came the race that would prove to be the hardest of them all, the Big A 50K on May 3rd at Mount Agamenticus in Kittery, Maine. This one was the most low-key, having an old-school fatass feel; just a guy with a watch and a clipboard next to a table of pot-luck junk food at the start/finish line. Agamenticus isn't very tall but when you run up and down the mountain several times on each of the three laps, the gain starts to add up. On top of that it was the most consistently technical course of the spring with legit boulder-hopping and treacherously slick wet slabs near the summit. The views were unmatched as well; visibility stretched from Cape Ann jutting out into the Atlantic on one horizon to snow-capped Mount Washington on the other. A very cool place to have a race indeed. I suffered a minor setback on the first loop when I took a fall and lost my gel flask out of my shorts' pocket, but I was able to improvise with Coke and aid station food until I got my gel back in time for the final lap. My final time was 4:59:28 which I'm told is a course record or something. Of all the races this spring, Big A was my favorite.

So, with all that out of the way, I was feeling pretty confident in my preparation for Massanutten. Possibly in the best shape of my life, which is always a good feeling. And then disaster struck. On a simple mellow run in Bear Brook State Park, my home training area, I turned my ankle on a rock. It wasn't a particularly demanding section of trail, but there was a rock lurking under some dead leaves just the same. I turn my ankles pretty frequently, usually with so little consequence that the term "ankle yoga" gets thrown around among my friends, but this time was different. It hurt badly and before I'd even come to a stop I thought to myself "there goes Massanutten". It took a few minutes for the pain to subside enough for me to think straight but I was able to walk, though not run. I evaluated my options and chose to slowly limp a couple miles to the nearest road where I was able to flag down a ride home.

There was only a week left before the race and while a few days of rest did improve things, I knew that even if I could run at a tolerable pain level, Massanutten's distance, footing, and night running just wasn't a smart move. I emailed the race director and my pacer a few days ahead of time and withdrew my entry. And just like that, after all the preparation I'd put in, my spring and summer changed.

To be continued.

Racing the Sun - AMC Huts Traverse - 6/16/2012

Gain is the name of the game. With the Hardrock 100 only four short weeks away, my training is going well but needs to be capped off with a couple long days in the mountains with plenty of power hiking. Running around town on lunch break or spending all day zooming around Bear Brook State Park is all well and good, but there's no substitute for specific training. While I could just run repeats up and down Mount Madison, racking up elevation gain 4,000 feet at a time, actually traveling somewhere is much more fulfilling (and the reason I like to do this stuff in the first place). The Hut Traverse, running East-West across the White Mountains for about 50 miles and 17,000 feet of gain, fit the bill perfectly. You can read more about the route here, here and here. While the variation I chose is considered to be the slightly easier "minimal" route, I find that it's the much more aesthetic of the two and I don't feel the need to include Pinkham Notch Visitor Center as a hut. Seriously, why would I spend less time above treeline in exchange for Pinkham, which has powerlines and a parking lot? Sounds like a raw deal to me.

So with the route chosen, I decided to make things a little more interesting. On my previous traverse back in 2010, I started at 2 am (in the dark) and took almost 17 hours to finish. Around these parts in June, the day is about 15 hours long. Why not start at Carter Notch Hut at dawn and race the sun West to Lonesome Lake Hut, trying to finish before sundown? This would allow me to start later (and get more sleep) as well do all of my running on the rocky trails in the daylight. Perfect! With a favorable forecast and a suitably novel plan, my weekend was set.

After a restful night under the stars, I set off on the Nineteen Mile Brook Trail to Carter Notch at 2:35 am, being careful to hike at an easy pace and save energy. It's always kind of cool being in the woods at this time of day; things are very quiet and I have the trail to myself. The sky begins to lighten and I'm left wondering why the birds seem to sing the most at dawn; I don't really notice them as much during the day or in the evening. After reaching the hut I lingered around for a little while, listening to the mice scurry about while a couple Appalachian Trail thru-hikers snored on the floor. I had intended to start at 5, but by 4:30 it was light enough to see well, so I signed the guest book and quietly slipped out the door.

The run back down to Route 16 passed by in a brisk 40 minutes and I was soon jogging up the Great Gulf Trail. This time around I decided to take the Madison Gulf Trail, which is very steep and winds its way up a drainage filled with boulders as big as trucks, then over a few third-class scrambles to emerge above treeline in the col between Mounts Madison and Adams. I took a second to look back toward Carter Notch, where I started, just right of the sign:

I hit Madison Hut at 2:23:36 (1:43:44 from Route 16), signed in and topped off my water. Whatever was being served for breakfast smelled really good, but I needed to boogie onward.

The next stretch on the Northern Presidentials is my favorite part, so I stopped now and again for a few pictures. The view to the north from Thunderstorm Junction:

The Gulfside Trail stretches ahead from cairn to cairn to Mount Washington - my route will then follow the descending ridgeline to the right:

The Cog Railway leading away towards Washington's summit:

Adams and Madison framed by the trestle - what a gorgeous day to be out!

My next stop, Lakes of the Clouds Hut (reached at 4:11:42 elapsed, 1:48:06 from Madison), seen below Mount Monroe in the left side of the picture. My final destination for the day is beyond the high point (Mount Lafayette) on the horizon, with many peaks, ridges, and valleys to cross in between:

The Westside Trail is always a pleasure and makes for some mighty fine runnin'.

At 5:18:37 I reached Mitzpah Hut, back below treeline, in 1:06:55 from Lakes.

Dropping down into Crawford Notch, I could see that I was on a pretty good pace with 5:52:43 elapsed and 34:06 from Mitzpah. While this is roughly the halfway point by distance, it certainly isn't by time. There are several big climbs and many miles of tough trail left go and I think the second half of the Hut Traverse is the harder section.

My roadside stash of goodies  - a smorgasbord of tooth decay!

Just like last time, the steep climb over the Willey Range was a hands-on-knees struggle in the heat of the day. I'd developed a bit of a headache and a couple times was reduced to leaning against a tree while my head spun. Finally cresting over the top of the ridge by Mount Tom, I could switch back to a run down the A-Z Trail and over its rotting bog bridges. It looks like they're planning to replace these soon, as a pile of chopper-delivered lumber was waiting off to the side.

I reached Zealand Hut, with it's nicely framed porch-view, in 7:29:40 and 1:36:57 from Crawford Notch:

The Twinway is another tough section for me and it took 1:26:05 to reach the trail junction on Mount Guyot, in 8:55:45 total time. I stopped for a quick picture of Galehead Hut from South Twin Mountain's summit. I'll need to navigate the tortured ridgeline over Mounts Garfiled (center-right) and Lafayette (center-left):

I finally arrived at Galehead in 9:51:44 and 55:59 from Guyot, quite a bit slower than when I run this section on a Pemi Loop. It was mid afternoon by now, hot and humid, my still head hurt, and I was losing focus enough that fooling around with the camera felt like a good idea:

The view from on top of Mount Garfield, sizing up the route to Lafayette across Garfield Ridge, the trail I love to hate:

Only a steady stream of sugar, salt, and water kept me moving up the last big climb to the crowded summit of Lafayette. Luckily, there was a cool breeze and I started to feel a bit better. Looking back to the East, I'd come so far I couldn't see where I started. Mount Washington was now in the clouds on the horizon:

And looking ahead to the West, over Greenleaf Hut (12:41:27 elapsed, 2:49:43 from Galehead), to my final destination at Lonesome Lake:

I plummeted down the Old Bridle Path, navigating around scrambly ledges and the Levis-and-Reebok-crowd alike, forgetting to hit the split button on my watch as I crossed under the highway in Franconia Notch. By this time it was quite obvious that I'd have no trouble getting to the last hut before sundown, but if I kept pushing I should be able to come in under 14 hours. That seemed like a good goal to focus on, so I alternated between running and hiking on the last section of trail, with a final sprint to reach Lonesome Lake Hut in 1:11:49 from Greenleaf. My final time was 13:53:16, a new personal best by almost 3 hours!

The Lonesome Lake Hut croo was busy preparing dinner and generously offered me a hot heaping helping of turkey and vegetables with a half loaf of bread that I ate so fast I got an upset stomach from not chewing enough. I ended up getting so wrapped up in eating and thinking back on the day that I forgot to take a finishing picture, or any pictures since Lafayette for that matter. After walking back down to the highway, my wife picked me up and we were able to begin the long, tired process of retrieving my car and ammo box before the drive home.

So, I ended up getting exactly what I wanted out of the day. It's one hell of a feeling standing on an open summit and knowing that the horizon is within reach, and a fix I keep coming back for. Additionally, the run was a fun way to engage with the mountains that are a huge part of my life - as well as great preparation and a confidence booster for Hardrock. I'm not too sore and should be able to continue training hard for another week before tapering for the race.

Wapack 'n Back 50 Mile

You wouldn't think of southern New Hampshire as the kind of place that would be home to one of the toughest fifty mile ultramarathons around. The hills and mountains don't really stick out on the horizon all that much and most attention gets paid to the more prominent Mount Monadnock to the West and the much taller White Mountains to the north. However, running along the ridgeline divide between the Merrimack and Connecticut River watersheds is the Wapack Trail, a 21.5 mile hiking trail that's surprisingly rugged. The Wapack and Back 50 mile course does an out and back along the entire length of the trail, with an additional 7 mile leg thrown on at the end for good measure. Despite the fact that there are no sustained climbs over a thousand vertical feet, runners will have racked up about 12,000 feet of cumulative elevation gain by the time they complete a full 50 miles as result of the relentless steep ups and downs. To make things even more interesting, much of the footing on the Wapack consists of open ledges, shattered rock, mud, and roots that the Massanutten 100 would envy.

For the last two years I've volunteered as an aid station worker at Wapack, but for 2012 I figured it was about time for me to take a turn to run it myself and see what I could do. The course record of 9:57 had stood since 2008 and I figured that that was just about long enough. With a decent amount of training on the course, I figured that I had a good shot at going well under 10 hours. At the same time, I'd be using the race to test out a few equipment options for Hardrock, get my longest training run of the year in, and try not to push so hard that I'd have to seriously interrupt my training schedule for recovery.

This time of year it's just barely light enough to see well at 5:00 am, so that's when we started. I headed up Mount Watatic in the lead group of five runners before settling into a more comfortable pace as Josh Katzman and Eric Ahern boogied on ahead. Still, I kept up a decently strenuous pace with my heart rate in the 160s - running the downs, flats, and shallow uphills and hiking the steeper parts. Ryan Welts and Ben Thompson were with me over the open ledges of Pratt Mountain above Binney Pond where we enjoyed great views of the rising sun to the east and Mount Monadnock to the west. By the time we passed through the mile 9 aid station at Windblown it was down to just Ryan and I moving at a very similar pace. I've been running with Ryan for a couple years now and our abilities have always been closely matched, despite the fact that we both keep improving year after year.

When we rolled into Miller State Park at mile 16, I was surprised to learn that the leaders, Josh and Eric, hadn't come through yet - they must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. Before I'd finished filling my water bottles they both came into the aid station, having finally found the crucial turn off from the descent down Temple Mountain. Ryan and I took off up the rockiest section of the course to Pack Monadnock with Josh closely following. On the descent down the other side, Ryan fell back with a troublesome quadricep issue. I would later learn that he turned around and walked back to Miller in considerable pain to drop out of the race.

While I was able to hang with Josh on the technical downhills, as soon as we hit the steeps for North Pack, I felt a little over-strained for this point in the race and let him run on ahead. Still, when the turn-around appeared at mile 21.5 in 3 hour 45 minutes, Josh was just barely leaving the aid station. This would prove to be a pattern for much of the rest of the race - Josh would gradually pull away while actually running, only to have me catch up at the aid stations. While not realistically able to challenge Josh for the win, I was glad to make him work a little for it. On the way back over North Pack I got a good look at who was behind me and how close they were. I was happy to have a decent lead over Eric, Ben, and Justin Contois, but not so much that I could relax.

By now it was mid-day and the temperatures were reaching the upper 70s. Unlike the TARC 50K two weeks ago, I made sure to stay on top of my hydration and it seemed to pay off. While I did get some mild dizzy spells and nausea, it was only enough to be uncomfortable, not like some of the more serious symptoms I've had recently. To add a bit of insult to things though, I squeezed my gel flask a bit too hard while trying to eat and had the nozzle pop off in my face, leaving a sticky gel mess all over my chin and hands. Gross. The sad thing is that this is not the first time I've had this happen and I may just go back to gel packets to avoid it.

The hardest part of Wapack, I think, is the 7 mile out and back. Once you've returned back to the start/finish at mile 43, you still need to head back up over Mount Watatic for 3.5 miles, then turn around and come back a final time. With lots of food and an inviting car close by, it would be easy to call it day and relax. But, even though I was in second place, there was still over two hours left to go under the old course record, so back out I went.

By this time I knew there was almost no chance of actually catching Josh but I still put in an honest effort the whole way. There were a few opportunities to heckle my friends Justin Contois and Kristina Folcik, both on their way inbound, that I took full advantage of. It must have worked because I wasn't able to catch Justin before he hit the finish area (mile 43 for him). The trip back went by quickly and I ran around the gate that serves as the finish line in 9:20, 37 minutes under the old course record and about 15 minutes behind Josh.

I think the most enjoyable part of the whole day was just hanging out at the end chatting with friends, basking in the sun, and cheering people in. To top it all off, Ryan proposed to his girlfriend Kristina, which just added to the general feeling of happiness and contentment. This might not be the most high profile race around, but damn was it fun.

100 Mile Wilderness Run - Maine Appalachian Trail

The One Hundred Mile Wilderness; a name like that is seductive to a person like me. So, when I was invited to take part in an informal run on this remote section of the Appalachian Trail in northern Maine, I jumped at the chance.

The plan was depart from Abol Bridge at the foot of Mount Katahdin and run south for 100 miles to the town of Monson. While the term "wilderness" gets loosely used here, the area is quite isolated; we'd see no pavement of buildings aside from a handful of primitive backpacker shelters. Our support crew would use the private logging roads that criss-cross the area so we could be resupplied (and kept track of) every 20 - 15 miles. Looking back now, I underestimated the difficulty of this run and my time goals were... optimistic. Coming off a strong summer of mountain running, I figured that there was at least a chance I could pull this off in under 24 hours. In any case, I was physically and mentally prepared to slug it out for as long as necessary

From the start I teamed up with my good friend, Ryan.We'd look after each other and provide some measure of safety, as well as someone to bitch to. Misery loves company, and I doubt either one of us could have done it alone.

A total of twelve runners started from Abol Bridge at 5 am, just as it was first getting light out. The trail was fairly easy, with decent footing and only mild elevation gain and we were able to cruise along at a 5 mile per hour pace that felt comfortable.

The trail wound it's way through mossy forests and over Rainbow Ledges.

There were a few outlooks from ponds and ledges, but we didn't get any views, as the humidity was high and the visibility low.

Just as we began to encounter our first hikers of the day, I felt a bug land on the back of my head, followed by a sharp stinging sensation. Swatting frantically, I let out a string of choice words which made the backpackers look at me a little funny. I haven't been sting by a bee in years, but was left with a painful welt to remind me what it felt like for the next few hours.

We reached our first checkpoint at Pollywog Gorge (mile 20) around 9 am. Things were going smoothly, except for my crew almost being run off the road by a logging truck. It's understood that these are private roads and that logging trucks have the right of way, but blitzing around a blind corner on the wrong side of the road is a bit reckless.

Photo: Ian Parlin

Next, we went up and over Nesuntabundt Mountain, our first real climb of the day, then along a river on soggy ground and past numerous lakes and ponds. Sometimes the trail went right along the shore.

By now, it was midday, the sun was out, and things were getting hot. As we ran by Jo-Mary Lake, I stopped to soak my shirt in the water. It was very tempting to go for a swim.

We hit checkpoint #2 at Jo-Mary Road (mile 41) a bit before 2 pm. After climbing over Boardman Mountain, we had a few minor river crossings to contend with.

The first 50 miles or so were a mixed bag of footing. Some sections were easy...

and some were a bit more difficult.

One of the many backpacker shelters we passed along the way.

We reached checkpoint #3, Logan Brook Road (mile 55), a bit after 6 pm. From there, it was up and over Mount Whitecap with the sun setting, then a rocky ridge run and back into the trees just as darkness fell.

After a wide, knee-deep river crossing we reached our crew again at Gulf Hagas, checkpoint #4, at 10:30 pm (mile 70). By now we were beginning to feel the miles we'd covered and we indulged in a longer than normal break to change into dry shoes and have some hot food. At this point I surrendered my camera, which I never remembered to retrieve once it got light out again. Looking at the map and elevation profile, it seemed all the remaining climbs were moderate and the hardest section was behind us. Oh, how wrong we were!

The next 15 mile leg would take us over 7 hours to complete and it would be daylight before we saw our support again. Here, we traversed the Chairback-Barren range on some of the the most rugged terrain I've ever tried to "run". The trail seemed to meander around in search of every bump on the ridge, while never really making any substantial forward progress. When the trail wasn't going up rocky, rooty ledges, it went through shoe sucking mud. To add to all this, we were both feeling the effects of sleep deprivation. While waiting for Ryan to take care of some issues, I shut off my lights to look up at the stars. For a moment I forgot how grueling things were and felt a profound appreciation for what were doing. It was a warm summer night, the weather was clear, the stars were out, and... I dozed off on my feet. Eventually the sun came up as we were making our way down the mountain to our fifth and final check point, Long Pond Stream (mile 85) at about 6:30 am.

The last 15 miles were no give away and we walked nearly all of them. Working our way up a climb that would have felt trivial the day before, I noticed a fun-size Milky Way bar on the ground, still in its wrapper. Without a second thought, I picked it up and devoured it. It was delicious. On and on, across a set of railroad tracks, another knee deep river crossing, and past more ledges and ponds. I had been hallucinating for some time now - not the trippy psychedelic kind, but I almost jumped out of my skin every time there was a root in the trail that looked vaguely like a big snake.

Eventually, we ran into Kristina, Ryan's girlfriend, who had come out looking for us, and we knew we were almost done.

With the sound of cars on the highway in the distance, we even managed to run a little bit.

And before we knew it, we had finished. Our final time was 30 hours, 48 minutes, and 30 seconds.

Some well-deserved rest.

In the end, only two other runners of the original twelve made it the whole distance. One came in about at 37 hours, and another in 42. My congratulations to both of them.

This was my fifth successful 100 mile run, and easily the hardest. I'm sure that someone will someday set a faster time, 24 hours isn't out of the question for an elite runner, but I think I've had my fill. I'm grateful to have had the chance for such an adventure and someday I hope to come back in a more leisurely style, ideally as part of a walk from Georgia to Maine. Special thanks to Miriam and Kristina for supporting us. It sounds like they had almost as much of an adventure as we did. And I also want to express my gratitude to Emma and Ian Parlin for their efforts in putting this whole thing together. It's an experience I'll remember for the rest of my life.