Adventures in New England

Thursday, September 15, 2011

2011 Wasatch 100

The Wasatch Front 100 Mile Endurance Run; my first western race and (almost) the most challenging course I've encountered. As a runner from low (but not flat!) New Hampshire, I really didn't know what to expect. With 27,000 feet of elevation gain, altitudes of over 10,000 feet, and steep climbs and descents called intimidating things like Chinscraper, the Grunt, the Dive, and the Plunge how would I, as an east coast lowlander fair? As it turned out, this race was right up my alley.

As with all hundred milers, a lot of people went into the race with big dreams of running a sub-24 hour pace and I knew that the majority of them would be humbled. I had those same dreams, but realized they were one hell of a stretch goal. Even more ambitiously, I secretly coveted a top 10 finish. I just hoped that my training, preparation, and planning would let me be one of the lucky ones.

The race started with little fanfare from East Mountain Wilderness Park in Kaysville, Utah. The first few miles were on the rolling double track of the Bonnevile Shoreline Trail and I found myself expiencing the same familiar feeling I get at the start of all my hundred milers. Aren't we going too fast? Why are there so many headlamps in front of me? Maybe sub-24 isn't in the cards today. Should I be worried about that little twinge in my hamstring? Do I have rocks in my shoes already? It always plays out the same way and I can do nothing but let the race come to me on it's own.

The trail we were running on was very dry and so much dust was being kicked up by the hundreds of running feet that it looked like fog in the beam of my headlamp. The dust began to cling to my skin, already damp with sweat and I was glad when we turned onto the first steep climbs of the day and the pace slowed. Just like the start of a Presidential Traverse, we went up over 4,000 feet in only a few miles, and I felt right at home.

By the time we topped out on Chinscraper it was fully light out and we were treated to a gorgeous panorama of the Salt Lake City valley below. I tried hard balance gawking at the view with running the winding singletrack through an open grassy sagebrush area. The trail was overgrown by thigh-high brush at times and I had to tolerate a lot of scratching and scraping on the bare skin of my legs. I lost a bit of blood through here but no worries, I told myself, all this dust will help things clot right up! Despite all this, I was able to make good time to the first water stop at Groebben's Corner at mile 13.

Onward to Francis Peak, where a stiff breeze made it tricky to make meaningful forward progress and I was often blown off the side of the trail. Things got a bit chilly and I was glad to have brought a thin pair of fleece gloves along. Descending the peak was a long and steep dirt road that I had been forewarned about. Many people hammer down this section in an effort to bank time, but end up frying their quads instead. I made an effort to take it easy and arrived at the bottom in good shape, having lost a few positions in the process. Oh well, it was still much too early in the race to worry about that. Quick aid station visits and some more fast singletrack would help me move up through the ranks soon enough.

The section leading up to the Boutiful B station (mile 24) was a bit of an adventure. Much of the course was on rough and overgrown deer trails. Often the brush was over my head and there were many blow-downs to clamber over, around, and under. While there was a lightly beaten footbed to follow, this was clearly an unmaintained section and some route finding skills were helpful. Again, my experience bushwhacking in the White Mountains served me well and I was able to push through without losing much time.

I reached Big Mountain aid station at mile 40 still feeling strong. This would be the first station my support crew could get to due to extensive construction and storm damage to access roads on the early part of the course. The atmosphere at the station was full of energy and noise. There were so many cowbells, airhorns, and other noisy things that it sounded like a one man band falling down a few flights of stairs. I was happy to see my family who'd flown out to Utah for vacation, but only for a few moments. Not lingering long, I was soon on my way and passed the eventual women's winner Becky Wheeler on a small uphill. Shortly afterward I caught up to Jared Campbell who I'd leapfrog with for the next 15 miles or so. He offered me some valuable advice about being conservative in the heat of the day, the layout of later parts of the course, and even saved me from taking a wrong turn at an unmarked junction on the way into Lamb's Canyon. Overall, with a few exceptions, I found the course markings to be sparse but adequate. This was rather refreshing, rather than having a glut of paper plates or surveyor's tape every few hundred yards, only trail junctions and a handful of confidence markers were set up.

From Lamb's to Millcreek Canyon was a tough climb for me over Bear Ass Pass. I hit a bit of a low spot here and ended up walking much of the paved road on the final approach to Millcreek (62 miles) not feeling so good. How could I be walking such a shallow uphill on pavement? Fast people don't do this. I'm slipping off a 24 hour pace, aren't I? When got to the station station I was surprised to learn that I was up to 8th place and over a half hour ahead of schedule. I realized I was being a bit tough on myself and I was still doing quite well.

An easy climb to Dog Lake on the Upper Big Water trail led to some more singletrack, this time through beautiful groves of aspen. I encountered a few mountain bikers, all of whom were very polite, out for an evening ride, as well as a moose off in a meadow, munching on his dinner. Mmmm... dinner. Lately I've been using GU Chomps to break up the monotony of gels, but was craving solid food. A cup of chicken noodle soup and a handful of salt and vinegar potato chips from one of the aid stations hit the spot. Popping out once again on an open ridge line, I was rewarded with a crimson red sunset over the mountains beyond the Great Salt Lake. I could see Antelope Island in the middle of the lake, as well as all the lights beginning to come on in the valley, revealing the straight grid pattern of streets that's peculiar to the west. Past a rather extensive collection of antennas, transmission towers, and maintenance sheds and I followed a long downhill jeep road, turning to pavement, which led me to the lodge at the Brighton ski area at mile 75 and 10 pm.

I departed Brighton in the dark with fresh socks, an MP3 player, and some warmer clothes. Climbing up to Catherine Pass and Point Supreme, the high point of the course at over 10,00 feet, it got a bit chilly out and I could see my breath in my headlamp. I'd been running alone for quite some time and wouldn't see my family again until the finish, so it was nice to have music to keep me company. For this race my pacer would be the soft, soothing sounds of the Dropkick Murphy's, Agriculture Club, and Tool.

The last 25 miles of Wasatch are characterized as the hardest, with relentless ups and downs on loose, eroded ground. I struggled up the Grunt which was quite steep, even with switchbacks, and made my way to the top of the Dive and the Plunge. Dropping hundreds of feet down a series of steep ravines, these "trails" were horrendous. Imagine an eroded trench about a foot deep and a foot wide filled with fine sand and potato sized rocks and you'll get the idea. Thick brush on either side ruled out running anywhere but actually in the trench where it was impossible to get into a good rythm. Each step sprayed sand and gravel into my shoes and my already sore toes were constantly banged into the rocks. I knew I was doing damage to my feet and felt both my big toe nails start to wiggle loose. Occasionally I'd stub my toe (harder than usual) and the pain would make me howl out loud.

Soon enough, the trail flattened out a bit and I was approaching the last aid station at mile 93. But what's this? A set of lights behind me? They were perhaps a quarter mile back and despite my best efforts, gaining fast. I tried to drop them by blowing through the aid station but they continued to close. I'm not sure I can run like this for another 7 miles. Hammering down slopes I would have only cautiously walked a few miles earlier, I felt like I was redlining, and I continued to bleed ground. They're catching you too fast, just let them have it. But still I ran, even when I could hear footfalls close behind me and saw my shadow stretching out ahead from someone else's headlamp. A few flooded sections of trail came up and I didn't bother looking for a dry way to cross, I just splashed through carelessly. And then the we hit an uphill. I flew up it faster than I'd run any hill all day and the lights finally began to fade a little. Rounding a slight blind corner, I shut all my lights off, playing tricks and trying to convince my pursuer that I was farther ahead of them than I really was. It seemed to work until I tripped on a log and landed on my face. I fall a lot, but I don't remember ever getting dirt in my mouth before this. No time to worry about that, I got got back on my feet and was soon spit out of the woods and onto the final mile of pavement with no one else in sight. There was a strong moon to see by, I kept running hard with the lights out until I hit the finish line at the Homestead in Midway where my wife and family were waiting for me.

Success!

22 hours 45 minutes and eighth place on one of the hardest mountain hundred milers in the country; a result that I could have hardly dreamed of a day earlier. About two minutes later, ninth place came in and we congratulated each on other on putting up a good fight.

After a good night's sleep, I came back to the finish area to cheer the remaining finishers in. My good friends David and Norm both finished and completed a summer long series of hundred milers known as the Grand Slam. I was happy for then both.

With all that behind me, and a few days to reflect, I have to say that Wasatch has become my favorite course so far. While the Hundred Mile Wilderness was more difficult, it'll be hard for any race to make up for Wasatch's scenery, and the sheer pleasure of running for miles on open ridgeline singletrack. That being said, I sent in my Hardrock Hundred application today...

Sunday, August 7, 2011

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.

Monday, June 20, 2011

Pemi Loop - 6/19/2011

The Pemi Loop is a 31 mile enchainment of hiking trails that circumnavigates the Pemigewasset Wilderness in New Hampshire's White Mountains. Some consider it a three to four day backpack, while others complete it in substantially less time. With 9,000 feet of elevation gain and heinous footing, the Loop is a popular test piece for New England mountain runners and hikers.

I've completed the Loop five times over the last five years, with times ranging from 14 hours to 8 hours. Summer, winter, fast and slow - I like it all. Lately, my running abilities seem to have exploded; nearly every race I enter is better than the last one. Nearly every "reach goal" I set for myself is achieved. With that in mind, I decided to run Pemi Loop number six as an all out-out race effort - leave nothing on the table. I figured that this would get me into the low 7 hour range and breaking the 6:47 "fastest known time" was a fantasy. I respect those who've come before me, bit it seemed a bit too audacious to announce any intentions of competing with their times, so I largely kept any record setting ambitions to myself.

At the Lincoln Woods footbridge I stood around for a little bit, I was nervous and had to take a few minutes to gather myself. When my watch said 7:50 I started my GPS and my wrist watch, stepped on to the bridge and started running. The Wilderness Trail is flat and easy and I was able to maintain a 7-8 minute mile pace all the way to the Bondcliff Trail, which I reached in 35:25. From here, the trail mostly takes a gradual uphill with a few stream crossings before steepening higher up. One thing I knew I could do better than on previous runs here was to jog all the shallow uphills. Often, rocky technical footing makes these sections mentally difficult to run, despite their grade. But if I focus on jogging instead of hiking them, there's much time to be saved.

I broke out above treeline to clear skies and a stiff breeze, reaching the Bondcliff summit at 1:37:29. My main strength in mountain running is technical downhills and it felt good to stretch my legs a bit on a gorgeous section of trail before resuming the uphill grind to Mount Bond. Over the top and down the other side brought me to the Twinway junction with 2:12:58 on the clock. From here, much of the trail to South Twin Mountain is runnable and I made sure to keep my effort level up. I reached South Twin's summit at 2:36:13 and then bombed the steep and rough descent to Galehead Hut, arriving at 2:50:09.

I refilled my two liter water bladder in the hut and unpacked a fresh gel flask with only a couple minutes wasted. I knew that I was in a very good position for a strong total time but the hardest section, Garfield Ridge Trail, was ahead. The initial downhills went very fast and I was pleased to find relatively dry trail conditions. On the uphills though, my hamstrings began to twitch and cramp. It was pretty humid and I was sweating alot, with salt starting to feel gritty on my face. I quickly took some more electrolyte pills and was able to fend off any severe cramping. Garfield's summit arrived at 3:46:41.

My time over to Lafayette was a bit slow as I struggled up the steep slabs that lead to the summit, arriving at 4:47:41. Fortunately, I had all the major climbs behind me and I got some physical and mental rest running above treeline on the Franconia Ridge Trail. No matter how many times I go through this place, I still get a boost from the commanding views. I reached Little Haystack in 5:09:11 and dropped back into the trees. Here, my pack began to feel awfully light as I had very little water left.

Late in an intense running effort, my mind tends to get fuzzy and I have a hard time doing math in my head; I became convinced that it was going to take me several hours under the best conditions to get to the end. I felt like I would be lucky to finish in under 8 hours which, combined with some urinary troubles, severely disheartened me. I let my mental discipline slip and began walking on flat sections and shallow uphills that I could have run. Liberty Springs Junction came at 5:39:20 and on the way down Mount Liberty my water ran dry.

I finally reached the top of Mount Flume at 5:58:53. My time was looking a bit better but I thought sub-7 hours was out of reach even though I only had downhill left. My mouth was dry and parched but I bombed down the Osseo Trail knowing that the faster I went, the sooner I could get water. The descent down this trail is the main reason I prefer to do the Pemi Loop counter clockwise, once it joins an old logging road the grade and footing are perfect. It feels almost effortless to go fast here, I just move my legs as fast as I can and let gravity do all the work. Lucky for me, my wife was on her way down from Mounts Flume and Liberty and I took some unplanned support from her in the form of a few gulps of her water.

Much sooner than I expected, the trail began to flatten out. The next thing I knew, I was back to the Wilderness Trail and my watch said about 6:35. Wait... what!? I was under the impression that the Fastest Known Time for this loop was set by Jan Wellford at 6:43. Though that seemed out of reach, I knew I could come close with only a mile of flat trail remaining. I didn't try any heroic efforts on the homestretch and I crossed the footbridge, stopping both watches when my feet hit dirt on the far side. My GPS said 6:46:08 and my watch said 6:46:10. Since I accidentally hit the stop/start button on the GPS at one point, I decided the slightly slower time was most accurate.

It was only on the car ride home that I looked up the previous record time. Last year Jan Wellford ran the opposite direction and got a 6:47:04. I cut less than a minute off that time. Also worth noting is that this is less than half the time my first Pemi-Loop took me back in 2005.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Race Report: 2011 Massanutten Mountain Trails 100

The goals are always different, but the process remains the same...

This time, the goal was to cover one of the burlier hundred mile courses in less than a day. In a race where 25-50% of the field routinely fails to finish, and sub-24 hours is almost exclusively the domain of the top ten, this is no mean feat. For me, it would mean cutting at least 5 hours and 30+ finishing slots off last year's performance.

Hopes and dreams by themselves are not enough, so I began to train. Nearly 1000 miles of running since the new year, including races, back-to-back long runs, and seeking out the most brutal terrain accessible to me, left me as well prepared for any race I've ever done. Hours were spent making and adjusting a race schedule based on the splits of sub-24 finishers from last year. I fine tuned every aspect of my aid station strategy and nutrition plan. Since the moment I won the race-entry lottery, Massanutten crossed my mind at least once every single day. This may qualify as an obsession, because I never tired of sticking to the plan and every training run was tackled with enthusiasm, no matter the weather or my tired legs.

Twelve tiresome hours of navigating the from one end of the BOS-WASH megalopolis to the other got Miriam and I to the starting line in Fort Valley, Virginia. The day was finally here and I was ready, well trained, and injury free.

We started in the dark at 4 am, running across a field and up several miles of dirt road. My pace seemed fast enough and sustainable, but I couldn't help but notice how many headlamps stretched out ahead of me. Dozens of them. I reminded myself to ignore them and to do my own thing; they'll run their race and I'll run mine. I power-hiked up Short Mountain and ran across the ridge top, sometimes struggling to stay on the trail in the dark and heavy fog. It had rained the night before and conditions were extremely humid; all the foliage was dripping wet and I was soon soaked to the skin. I descended from the ridge with a group of four or five runners all going a similar pace and we arrived at the Edinburg Gap aid station right on time.

Miriam supplied me with a new water bladder, a fresh gel flask and a good luck kiss before sending me on my way. Feeling good, I worked my up and across the next ridge, through Powell's Fort and onto my favorite part of the course, a long gradual descent through a leafy green tunnel into Caroline Furnace.

Shortly after this, I began to hit a rough patch. Experiencing some mild nausea and concerned that I had not peed in a while, I upped my water intake pretty rapidly. I seemed to be sweating a lot, but wasn't experiencing any cramping, so I cut back on my salt-tablets in the hope that I'd stop retaining water and allow my body to flush some the ultrarunning nasties out of my bloodstream. Despite this, the water just seemed to stagnate and slosh around in my stomach. By the time I made it to an aid station, Indian Grave, I think, I was feeling terrible and accepted the volunteers' invitation to sit down and rest for a few minutes. I downed a cup of ginger ale and promptly vomited up the contents of my stomach onto the ground. The aid workers were very helpful and seemed to understand exactly what was going on. Within minutes I was back on my feet and feeling much better. Now armed with the knowledge that sodium depletion doesn't just cause cramps, it can also shut down your digestive system, I began taking more salt-tablets was able to continue on chasing my goal. The volunteers at this station may just have saved my race, and for that, I owe them.

Last year I arrived at Camp Roosevelt at dusk with blistered feet and limped out alone in the dark. This year there were hours to spare, my feet felt great, and I had a pacer. John, a complete stranger, responded on the VHTRC website to my pacer request and would help keep me moving for the rest of the race. I was certainly happy to have his help and we spent the next few hours getting to know each other, a welcome way to pass the time.

Rolling through the aid station at Gap Creek, we were still almost exactly on schedule. Up next was Jawbone and Kern's Ridge, one of the tougher parts of the course, and I was pleased to be in a position to do this part of the course before the sun went down. All of the abrupt twists and turns, ups and downs, and boulder hopping were far easier to do in daylight. As a bonus, we got some excellent views of the surrounding countryside as well as Bird knob up ahead.

I had some chicken noodle soup, my favorite, at Visitor Center and then were on our way up Bird Knob. By now it was completely dark and we found our way through the boulderfield here by headlamp and flashlight. Despite a difficult and swampy descent that felt very very slow, we arrived at Picnic Area with a bit of time to spare. My planning was working out, but I was also beginning to tire mentally and physically. My left achilles was making running difficult and, as it got later and later, I got very quiet. John did really well dealing with me and was attentive and helpful at all times. When I didn't want to talk, he let me just focus on chugging along. I didn't have a lot to say, but it was always comforting to have his headlamp beam behind me and hear his words of encouragement.

Both last year and this year, the most difficult part for me was the steep and muddy climb between Picnic Area and Gap Creek II. This section doesn't really stand out on the elevation profile of the course, but it has taxed me like no other area. In places, the grade was so steep I felt like I was going to stall out and fall over with every step. Unlike other notorious parts of the course like Short Mountain, Jawbone, Kern's, and Bird Knob, this part doesn't have a name that I'm aware of. It deserves one.

After much suffering, we crested the top and began the long downhill road back to Gap Creek, the last aid station. Because you pass through this station twice, we encountered quite a few other runners here and things were quite busy. After Gap Creek, the course re-climbs Jawbone before splitting off toward the finish. I remember passing other runners, knowing I was over a full marathon-distance ahead of them, and being vaguely embarrassed because my shirt stank of ammonia and BO. It was so foul, they might have able to smell me coming. On the way up Jawbone I passed Gary Knipling, a 14 time MMT finisher who offered kind words of encouragement that helped keep me moving strong up the last climb.

Once we were over the top it was, quite literally, all downhill from here. It began to rain and after a few miles of slippery trail we were dropped out onto the final road section with enough time in the bank that I could walk to the finish and still break 24 hours. Just as we exited the trail head and I was feeling sorely tempted to just mosey the rest of the way, a headlamp and a solo runner appeared right behind me. John and I just exchanged a look and took off running. I was currently in 9th place and didn't really feel like dropping down, not on the homestretch. I'm glad the other runner showed up when he did, because it kept me honest and I ran hard for every remaining step. It was an exhilarating feeling, running under headlamp in the rain in the wee hours of the morning, at a pace more appropriate for a short lunch break run than the finishing miles of a hundred.

Within sight of the finish I realized that this was the moment I'd prepared for for six months. It was finally a reality; I was going to run Massanutten in under a day and finish feeling strong. I enjoyed the sensation for the next few seconds before crossing the line in 23 hours and 17 minutes.

As with all my races, I owe a lot to the people who helped me along the way. My wife, the race volunteers, my fellow runners, and especially my pacer. I'm not sure if I could have done it without their help and for that I'm grateful.

All photos by Miriam Wilcox. the rest can be found here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/hockeycrew/sets/72157626613297143/with/5727944635/

Monday, April 18, 2011

TARC Spring Classic 50K.

Race Report: TARC Spring Classic 50K - Weston, MA - 4/23/2011

It's been three years since I ran my first ultramarathon, the 2008 Pineland Farms 50K. Despite the leaps and bounds I've made in running since then, my 50K personal best has stood at my original time of 5:34, mostly because I hadn't bothered to run another comparable race. In the last six months I've demolished my personal marathon, 50 mile, and 100 mile records - the time seemed right to bring my 50K record in line. Half the fun of racing, besides the intrinsic pleasure I get from pushing myself with friends, is the satisfaction of continuous improvement. I've found this to be the the case whether I was trying to run 10 miles for the first time ever, qualifying for the Boston Marathon, or pushing for a new 100 mile PR.

Being in the midst of a heavy training schedule for admittedly ambitious goals at the upcoming Massanutten 100, I can use any excuse for a structured long weekend training run. The Trail Animals Running Club (TARC) Spring Classic fit my schedule perfectly and let me scratch a couple itches at once...

Forty five degrees and overcast seems like pretty good weather for a trail race, not too hot and not too cold, but it's also supposed to rain today. As soon as that starts I know that ground conditions on the loop course we're running will deteriorate pretty quickly.

With five loops of roughly 6.54 miles in length, the course is a bit longer than 50k, but I'm told it's almost entirely flat and should make a great place for a personal best. I've decided to approach this race less like an ultra and more like an extended marathon. Instead of taking my time and saving energy, I intend to run every single step of this race. Hard. My fantasy goal is to break the four hour barrier, a tall order to be sure, but plausible given my 3:06 marathon time from last fall. I need lap times of 48 minutes or better to accomplish this.

There are several other races being held at the same time, from 10 to 50 kilometers, depending on how many loops you want to do. The 10K-ers are sent off early at 8:00 am while everyone else gets to leave at 8:15. For the first mile of so of the race this makes things a bit difficult to get a read on, somehow I'm running at the head of a pack of about a dozen people and I know that many of them are not going nearly as far today. I've never lead a race before and it's a good feeling, but when a handful of people pass me it's easy to let them go and focus on my own race. The goal today is to establish a strong 50K time - any finishing position is a bonus.

The course is indeed quite flat, except for one notable hill that's fairly steep. There's lots of winding single track with a pine needle footbed that's quite fast, it reminds me of the Rocky Raccoon course. However, to keep things interesting, there are several rocky and swampy sections that are not so easy. Mud is not too difficult to deal with, and rocks are manageable by themselves, but when combined things can get pretty tricky. There are plenty of places to

slip off a mud slicked rock and into puddle or stream crossing or ankle busting hole.

It's right around the first of these rough sections that I begin to catch the back of the 10K pack. A few of them are trying to very slowly pick their way around the sides of a muddy rock garden. I'm in a hurry so I blaze right through the center, working hard to tip-toe on the rocks without losing momentum. When I can spare the breath, I offer encouragement and "nice work" comments to those I'm passing. Positive comments have helped me since I first starting running, especially from the faster folks, so I try give people a boost when I can.

Lap 1 goes down in an even 47 minutes. As we head out for our second loop, I comment to my friend Ryan that we're just barely holding on to a 4-hour pace but if we work together and pace each other we might be able to sustain it. At this speed we're covering a mile in less than seven and a half minutes. I comment to Ryan that Ian Sharmin held this same pace for 100 miles to win this year's Rocky Raccoon 100 in under thirteen hours. I feel like we're insane trying to match that over a third of the distance. Ludicrous speed!

We complete lap 2 in 49:50, or 1:36:30 for about a half marathon, and are now 30 seconds behind schedule. With margins so tight, I'm appreciating my race strategy of a hydration pack and gel flask. I'm have everything I need to complete the race without stopping for any aid, saving a few minutes and precious momentum. As it turns out, the 2 liters of water and 6 GU packets are exactly enough to get me through all five laps.

Lap 3 passes by in 47:30, we've made a 30 second deposit back into the time bank, but now Ryan and I are both struggling. The field has begun to thin out as the 10K-ers and half marathon runners finish, and we've left many of the other distance runners behind. I know there's at least one person ahead of us, but I'm not concerning myself with him. It starts to rain and I'm glad I'm wearing a long sleeve shirt. I was hot on the first lap, but pretty comfortable now. Ryan has to stop and tie his shoe; I yell back at him to catch me, I need his help, but I don't end up seeing him again until the finish.

I complete lap 4 alone in 51:15, 26.16 miles in 3:15:25 overall. This is less than 9 minutes off my best marathon performance on a dry road. I don't really have the presence of mind to take note of anything but the fact my lap time has slipped badly. The rain has intensified to a downpour and things are getting sloppy. Normally a Brooks Cascadia man, I've chosen a pair of New Balance MT101s for this race; a mixed blessing. These shoes are feather light, easy to run fast

in, and I'm appreciating how well they drain water, but the shallow tread pattern is making things difficult. I nearly fall on my face on the one hill of the loop. Grabbing a tree I haul myself out of the pudding mud and keep going, this will be the only time I break from a running stride for the entire race.

By now I'm all alone, no one in front and no one visible behind. My only company are people who I'm lapping, some of them for the second time. I pass by a course worker who informs me that the only guy in front of me has dropped out and I'm now in first place. This lifts my spirits a great deal and I work even harder to keep my speed up. My legs are feeling like lead and the weather has gotten horrendous. There's a nasty chill trying to creep into my body from my saturated shirt and I'm sure that if I slow down I'll start shivering in short order. Making a fist, I can squeeze the water out of my fleece gloves, they're so wet. The swamps, puddles and streams are no longer a concern, I can't really get any wetter, it makes more sense to just run straight through them now. Why bother trying to step on rocks and logs that I might fall off of anyway?

Despite what feels like my fastest lap, I'm bleeding time pretty badly and it quickly becomes clear that sub-four hours won't be happening today. Still, I crank up my MP3 player and keep up an honest sprint for the last mile to the finish. Every section of trail seems to have gotten much longer than I remember from previous laps, but eventually I burst out of the woods and hammer across a field to the finish.

That's it. I've won with a final time of 4:07:51. There's no ribbon to break and only a few people hanging out in the rain. I didn't get my goal time, and to keep things in perspective I only won because several of the local speedsters weren't at this race, but it still feels damn good. I can't complain about lowering my 50K record, and I'm sure I'll try for an official sub-4 again.

Unofficially, however, the numbers tell a slightly different story. 4:07:51 over the official 32.7 mile distance works out to 7:35 per mile average pace. That same speed over 50 kilometers works out to 3:55:37, so had the course actually been 50k, I would have comfortably gotten a time starting with a 3. I'm not going to complain, I'll just have to run harder next time.

Monday, February 7, 2011

Race Report: Rocky Raccoon 100 - 2/5/2011

"How fast can I run a hundred miles under ideal conditions?"

That was the question I wanted to answer when I entered the 2011 Rocky Raccoon 100 Mile Endurance Run. Because no two courses are truly equal, hundred mile finishing times vary wildly from event to event. Normally, the more mountainous and scenic ultramarathons capture my imagination the most, but Rocky appealed to me on a different level. With 5 loops of 20 miles each on gentle, soft terrain, this race is billed as being "built for speed and comfort". The loop course would make it easy to run without a support crew, the location was accessible from a major airport, and I had never been to Texas. Combined, this all made this off season race perfect for a casual three day weekend trip; fly on Friday, race on Saturday, fly home on Sunday and stagger into work on Monday morning.

The race got even more interesting when I discovered that several heavy-hitters in the world of ultrarunning would be competing. Anton Krupicka, Scott Jurek, Karl Meltzer, Hal Koerner, and several others would all be attending; making for one of the more competitive 100s in the country this year. Being a loop course with many two-way sections, I'd get to share the course with many people I admire, as well a front row seat on the action at the front of the pack.

Joining me on this adventure were my friends Rob and Larisa, both running their first hundred miler. Our trip to Texas was a bit of a nail-biter, with a fluke ice storm disrupting air travel and causing major pile-ups on the highway outside Houston. Fortunately, luck was with us this weekend; all the major obstacles were cleared up just before our arrival and we made it on time. Others entrants were not so lucky and I heard of racers being stranded at airports across the country, ultimately missing out on the race.

Once in Huntsville, we discovered that Sam Houston is big in the area, figuratively and literally, with an enourmous statue by the highway as well as his name on everything from parking garages to a nearby national forest.

While 'gators may exist in the park, I didn't get to see any. I was also hoping to encounter an armadillo but I guess they all had better things to do this weekend, though did see one raccoon scurrying around.

At the start we all shivered together in the pre-dawn darkness. Temperatures were in the mid 20s and a dusting of snow still coated the ground. This wasn't quite what I expected when planning a February run in Texas but my New Hampshire winter training had me well prepared for these conditions. As usual, my mileage numbers weren't quite what I would have liked, but on the bright side I was well rested and injury free.

At 6:00 AM we were off and running. Early on, I struggled with my pace; torn between blowing off some pent-up energy and holding back for later. In the end, I just did what I normally do and settled into whatever speed seemed comfortable, allowing people to pass me and trying to stay within myself.

The course did indeed turn out to be quite smooth and soft, with minimal elevation changes, but there were roots protruding from the trail just often enough that they could catch you off guard. I watched one girl do a full-on face plant within the first mile. Even with my technical trail running experience, I still managed to stub my toe painfully every few miles, though I never tripped. One other course challenge came from the many wooden bridges still covered in a thin layer packed snow. Though not treacherous, the slippery planks could easily send you sprawling if you weren't paying attention.

I was surprised to reach the Dam Road aid station at mile 6 in exactly one hour; ten minute miles seemed like a pretty fast pace to sustain. By now the sun was up and the temperature was beginning to rise, but I'd spent enough time in the cold to have ice form on my beard. Despite my best efforts to back off, I still hadn't slowed down by the time I reached mile 12 in 2 hours. The first loop went by in 3:12, for an average pace of 9:36 per mile, but I was feeling good and decided to just go with it.

By the time I started the second loop, temperatures were creeping into the 40s and I decided to trade my long sleeves and tights for shorts and a singlet. I remember the first few miles of this loop being pure ecstasy; the sun was out, temperatures were comfortable, I felt very strong, and life was just generally good all around. I spent much of this loop running with a new friend, Brad, from Boston. An accomplished triathlete, this would be his first 100, and he was doing quite well. We traded stories, opinions on races and compared training notes. He did seem a bit surprised by my relatively low training mileage. Again, despite my best efforts, I was still moving very fast and finished this loop in 3:22.

Loop three was not much slower at 3:34. Though I was steadily and intentionally shedding speed, I was still afraid that I was going too fast and setting myself up for a crash later. My goal at the outset was to finish in under 20 hours, something that proved to be a bit too ambitious at Vermont 100 and left me with a stinging DNF from the summer. While confident that I could keep up this pace, I was also acutely aware that I'd had a similar feeling for the first 80 miles of Vermont. Was I fit and mentally tough enough to go even faster? Should I be conservative and ensure a 20 hour finish here, or continue on the same path and try to get an even faster time? In the end, I decided to say the course and keep running hard as long as I could.

Near the end of my third lap I was passed by Ian Sharmin, who went on to win the race and destroy the course record in a time of 12:45. This works out to an average pace of 7:38 per mile. That's my normal pace for a 5 mile lunch break run. Incredible. Not knowing who he was, I was left wondering who the hell just passed me going so damn fast.

Loop 4 was the hardest for me mentally. With 40 miles to go, my quads were already feeling beat up and my hip flexors were sore. I still wanted to run as much as possible, but with so few hills to provide natural walking breaks, it wasn't as easy to rotate between different muscle groups as on a hillier course. Heading out on this loop, I saw Scott Jurek in street clothes at the first aid station. Apparently he'd had some problems and was forced to drop from the race. I got a nice boost of enthusiasm when he offered me some words of encouragement as I passed by. It was on the Dam Road Loop where I was lapped by Anton Krupicka, followed closely by Hal Koerner. Both of these elites looked like they weren't under any stress at all and quickly disappeared ahead of me. With 8 miles left in the loop it grew dark enough that I needed my headlamp again and the temperatures began to drop. I came in to the start/finish area for the second to last time with 3:57 for the loop.

As I headed out for the last time, Rob and Larisa came in from their third loop. I was happy for them as they were both looking strong and I knew they would finish well. Departing this time I was glad to be back in long sleeves, a hat, and gloves as the night time temperatures dropped back into the low thirties and I tend to get more vulnerable to the cold when I've been out for so long. I was also enjoying the success of my revised nutrition plan. For a few years I've been struggling with blood sugar crashes in ultras. This time around, I was consuming as many easily processable calories as my stomach could handle, over 250 per hour. As a rule, I was going through 6 GUs, 1 pack of GU Chomps, and one bottle of Clip 2 per lap in addition to soup and pizza I got from the aid stations occasionally. While there were times that I thought my stomach might rebel, I think this level of intake is what I need to keep from bonking. My energy levels remained high throughout the race and I was limited more by muscle fatigue and soreness than by feelings of exhaustion.

Joining me for much of the last lap was a friend I knew from an online forum, Devin from Houston. We'd been posting to the same message board for a couple years, and it was nice to finally meet and spend some time with him in person. He was running his fourth lap while I was on my fifth and our pace matched up pretty well until I had to leave him behind while he took care of some things at an aid station.

Soon enough I had only a few miles left to go and didn't have to worry about conserving energy any more. I ran as much as I could and, despite the fact that I'd covered these trails sections four times already, I was feeling so good that I was sorry to be leaving them so soon. This entire race was fun and I didn't want it to be over. Rounding the corner for the finish, I did my best sprint down the homestretch to cross the line in 18:26 for 17th place overall. And that answers the question I asked of myself, "how fast can I run a hundred miles under ideal conditions" - just under eighteen and half hours. As always, there's room for improvement, but I'm content with that for now.

One of the cooler buckles out there.

Overall, I'm quite pleased with how well things went. I set a new 100 mile personal record by over five hours and placed in the top 20, despite having a very strong field to compete with. After a few hours of napping, I got back up in time to see Rob and Larisa finish just after dawn. The trip was a success for us all and I know we're already planning our next 100 mile adventures. While laying on the ground at the finish in my sleeping bag, I found out that my name was on the list of lottery winners to run this year's Wasatch Front 100 in Utah. With Massanutten coming up in May and Wasatch in September, I've got big things to prepare for and that's just the way I like it.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Madison Gulf Ice - 12/18/2010

It was mid-December and our options felt limited. Frankenstein Cliff and all the other usual crags were in marginal condition and neither one of us felt like dealing with the crowds in Huntington Ravine. Then Courtney suggested Madison Gulf. With five miles and 4000 vertical feet to cover on the approach, we could count on having the place to ourselves and, with its decent altitude, the Gulf seemed like a safe bet to find some fat ice. So, without a guide book or recent conditions report we set out on the Valley Way to have an adventure.

Now we're getting somewhere: