Matt's Guest Post

[I asked the crew if they would be willing to share some of their individual thoughts, feelings and experiences from the race via their own person guest blog post.  Here is Matt's guest post...]

“JP?”

“Matty!  I’m in the one on the end,” he announced as I approached the row of porta potties at the Twin Lakes aid station.  Through the cracked-open door I handed him the bag of wet wipes.  “Awesome, can you also get me the butt lube?”  Uh-oh I thought, this can’t be good, he has 40 miles to go with a chafed bung.  To be expected I guessed from ingesting twenty or so packets of Gu in the first 60 miles of the race.  “Gu in, Gu out” I chuckled to myself as I trotted back to our makeshift camp to retrieve the butt lube.

I was in awe when he ran over to the camping chair Molly had waiting for him.  He was all smiles and showed no signs of having run 60 miles including the two crossings of Hope Pass in the last 4 hours.  The last remnants of daylight were fading fast, and I was anxious to get started, knowing the long night that lay ahead of us.  We donned our gear, checked our headlamps, took a few hero shots, and off we went up the steep initial climb out of Twin Lakes.

60 miles in -- checking our lights

Off we go...

Settling into a comfortable pace of running when we could and hiking when we had to, the miles started clicking away nicely.  The banter between the crews was fun and always inspiring, despite the constant uphill terrain in the dark, moonless night.

I was actually having a good time when disaster struck, or so I thought.  In slow motion, I watch as JP spots the plank that safely crosses a creek slightly up and to his left, but his muscles are slow to respond, and his momentum carries him stumbling through the creek, almost ending up face down.  “$#%*!  I think I broke my big toe, and my feet are wet.” 

Oh great!  I can’t believe I have been on the job just one hour, and I manage to let him break his toe and get his feet wet.  “Is it really broke?”  After a few tentative steps, “Nope, just  hurts a bit.”  And off he ran, oblivious to my guilt-induced, panicked state of hyperventilation.  The roles would reverse about an hour later when I twisted my right ankle and ended up on my hands and knees.  “Matty, don’t do that again, because I can’t carry you off this mountain.”

And so it would continue for 6 more hours, with JP surprising me at every turn with his presence of mind, lucidity, focus and determination.  I would try to keep his mind off the pain by singing all six verses of Uneasy Rider and anything else that came to mind, and he would bring his pacer back to reality by asking, “Hey, how are we doing on the pace?”  Oh yeah, right, sorry.

16 miles into my leg of pacing we leave Fish Hatchery aid station with our batteries recharged, and JP announces, “OK bro, this is why you’re really here, to get me over Sugarloaf Pass.”  Oh, really?  As if the first 16 miles were a mere walk in the park.  False summit after false summit we plod along with my set list growing thin, and the verses coming out in raspy gasps of breath.  We finally crest Sugarloaf only to realize that the downhill run into May Queen hurts much worse than the previous climb.  We’ve long since stopped running, and haven’t seen a single crew run for miles.  “Dude, we’ve gotta run into the aid station.”  Why?  For cool points?  Even before I can verbalize this disagreement, he is trotting ahead as if 86.5 miles is nothing.  

“JP!  Matty!”  I hear them, before I can see them.   Three beautiful women, and one of them is waving a ridiculous pool noodle that looks like my legs feel.  Shannon runs up and plants a big, wet one right on the lips, before I can get out, “JP needs a shitter real bad.”  After 26 plus miles and 7 hours 53 minutes, my pacing leg ended as it began, with JP in the loo, asking for wet wipes and butt lube.

Rewind to Ken’s motivational speech the day prior: I know what’s coming, I’ve read his speech before.  He gives it every year, but hearing it in person is another matter.  After his signature, “You are better than you think are,” Ken utters something that stops me in my bleacher seat – “Inside each of you is an inexhaustible well of strength…”

Did I hear right?  Did this quirky old cowboy just say that?  He knows.  Of course he knows, he’s run this race 14 times.   I dimly recognize what he speaks of, I’ve read similar descriptions many times before in different spiritual writings, but have I been there?  Have I reached into that inexhaustible well where I suspect that we are all truly One, truly connected.  I don’t think so.  Not yet.  But I witnessed my brother JP do exactly that on August 21^st, 2011.  Congratulations brother, and thanks for sharing.

Shannon's Guest Post

[I asked the crew if they would be willing to share some of their individual thoughts, feelings and experiences from the race via their own person guest blog post.  They were all willing, and some more eager than others, to share.  So...

Mile 99.5

 ...here is the first guest post from Shannon, seen above with her Rally 'Stache.]

Zero to Thirteen point Five – Ode to JP

So after JP not only successfully completed his first try at the LT100, but well under his goal of 28 hours, he asked his crew if we would write a personal post of our individual experience.  He said it could be about anything along the way and as long as it had a shred of truth, it was fair game.  I started writing and it quickly became apparent that I could write a book (or at least a small pamphlet) about my experience.  I can’t really focus on any one thing or event to write about, so to abbreviate, I tried to write it somewhat like an outline in poetic form.  Most of all, I hope it’s clear that I am proud of my friend JP who set, worked hard at, and accomplished this amazing goal.  I am thankful he asked me to participate and trusted in my ability.  I am proud of my husband who so enthusiastically jumped on board and worked through plantar fasciitis to help his friend, and thankful he wanted to share this experience with me.  I’m thankful for the organizational skills of our crew chief, Molly, who kept us on track.  And for Denise, our new friend and pacer, that so joyfully got JP up and over Hope Pass, the turning point for a lot of runners.

Without further adieu, my Ode to JP…

The last leg, the easiest leg.  I want to, but I’m unsure if I can do. 

Two months of internal debate; then comes March 27, my commitment date.

20-week training plan.  From zero to 13.5, I think I can.

As I start, tender knees and shins so sore; so off I go to the running store.

Proper shoes to alleviate; how my foot strikes with an over-pronate.  

Tender knees fixed, but shins still a bitch; how am I ever going to fix this?

Memphis heat too hard to beat; so off to the gym with my two feet.

Treadmill, oh treadmill, how I love thee - let me count the ways; legs, lungs and shins bless your soft, revolving ways.

Scolded for treadmill use, off to find trails; for that will be my course.

Tour de Wolf, IH Managerial and Herb Parsons Lake; why haven’t I found you sooner, for Christ sake?

Increased mileage, shins still sore; so off again to the running store.

Compression socks, ice, castor oil and tape; again, why haven’t I found you sooner, for Christ sake?!

Memphis is sea level but Leadville is not; so let’s add some stairs to the mix, however calves like it – not!

Yoga, run, stairs, run, yoga, run, run – 4 weeks out this was my training week. 

Surely I’ll be ready; for my short leg, of the trail 100, Leady.

Two weeks out I have my longest run yet; 12 miles (2 laps) of trail around my fav Herb Parsons Lake. 

7 mile run, 5 mile walk; with the last 2 miles, just in socks. 

Shins now under control; but now I have turf toe!

Before I know it, in Leadville I am; riding the wave of energy, I know I can.

2 days until race day, JP is galloping in the living room of our skantuary to the William Tell Overture; we’re sipping Tension Tamer tea to Bolero; somehow the shag carpet, wood paneling, and last inspected in 1973 fire extinguisher, just seem to go.

1 day until race day, Molly’s spaghetti dinner extraordinaire; just seemed to calm the nervous energy in the air.

Early to bed, but with little sleep; for the thunderstorm outside was just too great.

3am wake up to send JP on his way; for it has arrived, the race day.

The energy, the heart, the dedication of everyone there; really, nothing can compare.

Shot gun sounds and the runners are off; so it begins, the 30 hours or less of going non-stop.

Off to bed for a 2-hour nap; then Fish Hatchery aid station where the action is at.

23.5 miles and JP is looking good; just 4 ½ hours in and he’s nearly ¼ done.

Quick turn to Treeline and still looking good; Bob Seger and the great outdoors seem to be JP’s food.

Off to bed again for another quick nap; Denise and I swap duties as she arises, and I protract.

2 fitful hours down, I may as well get up; can’t force the sleep, although that’s all I want.

Matt getting ready to go; his enthusiasm and preparedness in his aura, aglow. 

Twin Lakes inbound, 60.5 miles done; here come JP and Denise with energy like it’s just begun.

A change of pacers and a pit-stop for pooh; off are Matt and JP with pockets full of gu.

Back to the skantuary for yet another nap; Molly and Denise are off for the aid station backtracks.

2 more hours of sleep, at 12:30am, I awake. 

Feeling amped and ready to go; I tape my shins listening yet again, to Bolero.

Molly and Denise settle in for a brief nap; as I finish getting ready for the last lap.

2:30am off to May Queen we head; with JP the last leg, I am ready to tread.

Just before 4 the boys roll in; and after yet another pit-stop for JP, we’re ready to begin.

Just past 4, JP and I head out; for me, this last 13.5 is what it’s all about.

15 min water sips, ½ hour gu and electrolyte hits, keeping a 16:50 mile I am told to maintain; but can JP’s body and knees handle all this, at this time and terrain?

So in the dark we set out; sleepy eyed yet energized, I have no doubt.

30 hours allotted, yet 28 hours his goal; for his first time out, no time for just a stroll.

We power hiked through early morning and dawn, JP never making a fuss.  In fact, when his knees were screaming, he screamed back – this feels fantastic! sans any muss. 

An Irish jig he did at the bottom of the 2^nd power line hill; telling his body he will not be stilled.

When we saw mile 95, we knew we were close; just over 1 more hour, until we could toast.

Several signs posted along those last, long miles.

The first sign I read aloud said “Dig Deep” and he said, “I am!” with smiles.

The second sign said “You can do it” and I read “You ARE doing it.”  He liked my version better.

Trail met pavement and the last mile was underway; we knew he would meet his goal on this day.

Quick change of roles as runner paced his pacer; for my lungs were not quite ready to be a racer.

Rally staches donned; JP, Molly, Denise, Matt and I jogged on.

As Team Blister brought JP in to finish in 27:40; we all knew we all had completed our parts, job well done!

Now JP wants to know who’s next, Matt or me?  As of now, maybe neither, maybe both…

Regardless of what the future holds; this experience will affect us all for years untold.

Commit not to quit!

You are better than you think you are, and you can do more than you think you can!

With gratitude for the Rally Stache Gang (a.k.a. Team Blister) and our experience together,

Shannon : )

LT100 Start to May Queen -- A Runaway American Dream

After the 4 AM start, Tim and I ran together out of town through the darkness as part of the long conga line of bouncing headlamps.  The energy from everyone around us was one of anticipation and adventure.

Tim just a few minutes into the race

Within a few minutes, we came upon a scene that I had been eagerly anticipating for almost a year.  I had heard stories about this one house on the road out of town that throws a raucous front lawn party every year to send the runners off with the proper motivation, and this year was no different.  We came upon this group of crazies partying in front of their house, dancing in their bathrobes and other assorted sleepwear.  We could hear their music blasting well before we could see them -- but the thing is they play only one song, and they play it over and over for every runner who passes by.  And it happens to be one of my favorite songs, from one of my favorite albums, by one of my favorite artists of all time -- The Boss' Born to Run.


I trust you'll excuse a guy who grew up in Jersey in the '70s and '80s for getting a little emotional when he heard that particular song in the middle of the Rocky Mountains as he himself was "stepping out over the line."  That moment marked one of my private highlights of this entire past year, and I won't soon forget it.

Soon after the pavement turned to dirt road, Chris Sullivan (my friend/hotel-mate from the Leadville Training Camp) and Philip (buddy from the Denver Taco Run) caught up with Tim and me and ran with us for a while.  A couple miles later, Tim stopped for a quick nature break, telling me he’d catch up in a few.  He never did, and other than crossing paths near the halfway turnaround point at Winfield, I didn’t see him again for the next 28 hours.

I slowed down a bit to wait for him, but he never caught up.  I was convinced that he ditched me intentionally.  I thought he could tell that, due to my rookie eagerness, I was champing at the bit to let out the reins out just a little, and it was hard for me to keep the pace so slow for that first 13.5-mile section into May Queen Aid Station.  We both knew that the wise runners resist the temptation to go out too fast too early, or they pay the heavy price later in the race, but Tim was much better at obeying that rule.  I figured he ditched me because he didn't want to get lured into a risky faster initial pace and he didn't want to keep telling me to slow down -- it was his polite way of saying "Go for it, you idiot."


It turns out, luckily, there is no "going for it" on the way into May Queen, and ultimately, that's probably a good thing for someone like me.  The trail around Turquoise Lake is a winding, rolling single track that is beautiful but too narrow to allow much passing at all.  So, I had no choice but to settle into my spot in the conga line and plod around the lake at whatever pace the herd was running.  Because I started near the very back of the pack, I found myself stuck behind hundreds of runners who all seemed to be comfortable at a pace slightly slower than I had planned.  


I told myself that being stuck in that line going so slowly was a gift -- it guaranteed that I wouldn't waste energy or burn out from an overly aggressive start.  With that thought I was mostly able to relax and just enjoy the cool morning, but as the pack's pace slowed even further, I got a little antsy as I felt myself falling farther behind my planned May Queen arrival time.  So, I started passing people where the trail allowed as long as it didn't cost too much energy to do so.  One guy, apparently annoyed by my passing him on the narrow trail, reminded me that I still had 90 miles of open trail to pass whoever I wanted.  I knew he was technically correct, but I didn't see it that way.  I didn't want to get too far behind my race plan and find myself stressed out from playing catch-up all day.  So, I mentally dismissed him and continued working my way forward where I could.


I'm glad I did because I ended up being only five or six minutes behind schedule at May Queen (6:27 AM arrival), and while I knew that was no big deal, it was more annoying than I would have liked.  I felt like I could have been there 10 or even 15 minutes earlier with almost no extra exertion.  Next time (if there is a next time) I will start a bit closer to the middle of the pack so as to be surrounded by folks running closer to my pace on the way to May Queen.


My pit stop at May Queen was quick, maybe one or two minutes tops.  I drank about 10 oz of Clip energy drink, dropped by headlamp, kept my cool weather gear (hat, gloves, sleeves and buff) because I was still chilly and forgot my sunglasses.  Molly was there crewing that aid station by herself, and she was easy to find because she was waving a huge green pool noodle over her head.  That was our system to help me find her, and it worked great every time.  We had whistles too, but the noise of the aid stations made them less than effective.


For those who care about such details (maybe you'll be running this race yourself next year!), here's the pacing/timing chart I created and carried along for the race.  I wasn't sure how it would work, but now that I've tried it, I found it invaluable for keeping my head in the game.  I would definitely use it again (with maybe a couple small changes).

Pacing/Timing Chart

Chart folds up to about one inch square

You can see this chart contains:  the segment (Start - May Queen); the segment distance (13.5 miles), the segment cut-off elapsed time (3:15) (unnecessary info, I think); total cut-off clock time (7:15 AM); then it has three different timing options (fast, planned and slow, corresponding to 25, 28 and 30 hour finish times, respectively) each with the elapsed segment time (2:15...), the arrival time (06:15...) and the required pace (10...).   The middle option is in a larger font because that represents my goal time for that segment.

The view climbing out of May Queen

After the quick stop at May Queen, I was back out on the trail to start the climb up Sugar Loaf.  At this point, with the sun rising, I was feeling fantastic, like the 13 miles I had just completed was barely a warmup, and I was just now settling into my groove.  As I started that climb up the mountain, the first real climb of the day, I felt absolutely alive with a curious swirl of emotions -- physically strong and spiritually lighthearted.  I thought "THIS is what I've trained for."


TO BE CONTINUED...

LT 100 Final Preparations (including Lubrication Report)

Friday afternoon, before the pre-game meal we shared with Tim and his crew, my crew did a walk-through of our race plan.  We all gathered in the wood-paneled living room, turned down the record player (a vintage hi-fi turntable on which we continuously blasted Bolero and The William Tell Overture, after having determined that none of the other classic 1940's LPs were suitably motivational ("Burl Ives' Ballads and Folksongs") and walked through the race.

Friday Crew Meeting
(Matt, Molly and I)

We spent about an hour working through the final logistics -- my expected timing for each section, who would get picked up when and what gear/food I would need at each aid station.  It was very elementary stuff, but I'm glad we walked through it because it seemed to eliminate or at least reduce any ambiguity or confusion about expectations during the race.

I went to bed pretty early Friday night, but sleep was impossible.  Between the excitement/nervousness and the raging thunderstorm that rocked Leadville throughout that night, I didn't sleep a wink.  The storm was almost comical, it was so violent.   Just when I thought it couldn't get louder or closer or angrier, a lightening bolt would strike directly above the house and light up the bedroom through the windows.  The associated thunder would immediately crackle loud enough to shake ground under the house, literally.  It felt biblical, like the Leadville gods were displeased with our audacity to challenge their mountains.  On a practical level, all I could think about was how we were ever going to make it through the next night, which was forecast to have similar weather.

I got out of bed at 2 AM Saturday morning to get ready for the 4 AM start.  Getting up that early really helped reduce the morning's stress because I had plenty of time to take care of everything without rushing.  Sticking to my normal routine, I had a banana, some oatmeal, a cup of coffee and some coconut water.  I taped both my heels and achilles (using Kinesio and KT tape over benzoin tincture), hoping that the tape would provide more than just psychosomatic relief.  Then before I got dressed, I lubed all my sensitive spots -- Glide for my armpits, Hydropel for my toes and feet and Bag Balm for a couple unmentionable areas.

Heel Taping and Injinji Toe Socks

Regarding the efficacy of the taping, while I don't think my results are necessarily conclusive, I can report that I had almost no heel/achilles pain the entire race -- maybe an intermittent 1 or a 2 on the discomfort scale.  And three days later, my heels still feel better than they have in months.  I have no explanation for this.

Likewise, I think my lubing worked as well.  No armpit chaffing -- not that this was ever a big problem for me in the past, but occasionally during training runs of over 30 miles or so I would get some minor irritation where my triceps would come in contact with my latissimus dorsi near the back of my armpits.  I think this problem progressively resolved itself as the muscles in my upper body slowly atrophied and withered away over this past year.  I lubed it up anyway, just to be safe.

The Bag Balm worked wonderfully too.  I had absolutely no irritation in any of my unmentionable areas.  I reapplied the stuff just one time at around mile 60 after a particularly eventful nature break and never thought about it again.

The Hydropel worked great on my toes and feet.  After the initial application that morning, I reapplied the Hydropel only once when I changed my wet socks/shoes at Twin Lakes after the second river crossing.   At the end of the race, I was somewhat surprised to discover that I had no blisters at all.  I barely had any hot spots.  There were a couple spots where my feet were a bit wrinkled and pale from long-term moisture exposure, and the tip of my left big toe was numb for a day or so after the race, but that's it.  I don't know what kept my feet so healthy, but I suspect the following factors played a part:  proper hydration/electrolyte balance to minimize swelling, good comfortable shoes, Injinji toe socks, Hydropel and gaiters.

By the time I was done taping, lubing and getting dressed, the whole crew was up and ready to go.  The energy was unique -- in the air there was a palpable mix of anticipation and excitement that was somewhat muted by a crusty-eyed exhaustion caused by the early morning wake up and the stormy sleepless night.

When we arrived at the starting line on 6th St., just a few blocks away from the house, the crowd was small but growing.  The fire truck was there as usual, as was the grand stand (where the mayor would announce the start) and the big "START" banner.  I knew the opposite side of that banner said "FINISH," and it seemed to me at that moment that 100 miles was a long way to travel to get back to where I started.

We took some hero pictures, met up with Tim and his crew,  and at 4:00 AM sharp, Ken Chlouber fired his shotgun sending us all into the darkness down 6th Street to start our adventure.

Ready to go, more or less

Denise -- fired up and ready to go,
even though she had about 12 hours
to wait until her run over Hope Pass

The only picture in existence of Molly
smiling before 4 AM

Matt and Shannon with matching Rally 'Staches --
which became the theme of our adventure

Me, Charles Bybee (26:49 finisher) and Tim

TO BE CONTINUED...

LT100 2011 Results -- One Hundred Miles

I will give a full "race report" as well as my reflections soon, but for now I wanted to let my friends and family know generally how the race went.

About 875 people signed up for the race, and about 650 or so showed up at the starting line.  Of that, 347 people finished the race.

Tim and I both finished the race well within the allotted 30 hours time limit.  Tim ran a very strong race and was in command of himself and the course the entire time.  He absolutely crushed both Hope Pass crossings, which must have been some kind of psychological pay-back for the way Hope Pass treated him last year.  In his words, he has redeemed himself from last year's 76.5-mile DNF.  I would say he has done so with a huge exclamation mark.   He finished in 28:35.

I know he had a great time with his crew.  So did I, as we got to hang out together quite a bit before we got down to running on Saturday morning.  Friday night, my crew and Tim's crew got together for a magnificent pre-game feast that Molly prepared for all of us.  Getting to see my sister Nancy ("Family Liaison" on Tim's crew) and my cousin Roy (Tim's "Hope Pass Pacer") were two of the highlights of my whole weekend.

My race went well.  I had such a sublime experience that I am actually more "inspired" now than I was a year ago.  In the next post or two I'll share the details of the highs (such as my getting to listen to Matt sing the entire Neil Diamond catalogue; the lows (such as my accidental fall off a footbridge into a stream in the middle of the night); and the downright funnies (such as being scolded by my sleepy-eyed, over-worked and under-rested crew chief for showing up 30 minutes earlier than expected at a checkpoint in the middle of the night, thus interrupting the precious few minutes of sleep she was to get Saturday night).  Plus, I'll include some of the technical details (race plan, what worked, what didn't), for those folks who care about that sort of stuff.

Our Crew Shirts 

For now,  in short, I am very pleased with the way my race went.  My crew and I stuck very close to the race plan (pacing, food, water, supplements and gear), and it seemed to work.  The training I've put in over the last year paid off well.  In fact, during several challenging climbs during the race, I had flashbacks to the hill training I have done around Fort Collins, and picturing myself on my hometown hills created this strange familiarity that immediately calmed me and reduced my perceived effort.  I've already thanked Alene for her training advice because I can honestly say that had I not made Horsetooth Rock one of my bread and butter runs (as Alene suggested) I probably would not have finished this race.

My only real issue was my left knee (surprising not my feet or heels!).   It started tightening up around 65 or 70 miles into the race.  It slowly progressed from mildly unpleasant to significantly uncomfortable, and it reached a point where I could not run downhill or even on level ground without a stabbing pain.  Fortunately, it did not affect my uphill ability at all.

I could not have picked a better crew.  Molly was motivated, organized, driven and directive ("Eat this now...  NOW.").  Seeing her at every aid station was like a B12 shot that really pushed me forward.  She could write a book (or at least a pamphlet) on How To Crew a 100-Mile Race.

Starting Line at 3:45AM Saturday
(Matt, Shannon, me, Molly and Denise)

Denise got me up and over Hope Pass like it was nothing.  The only time it seemed like a little more than "nothing" was when she had to do this crazy sprint up the absolute steepest section of the entire 100 miles to catch up with me after her little nature break.  After that, we powered up the entire climb with practically no breaks.  We ran the entire downhill all the way to the river crossing, barely pausing to frolic with the strange horses up at Hopeless Aid Station.

55 miles into the race I offered some guy $100
to let me ride his horse down the  mountain,
but he just looked at me funny and told me to keep running.

Matt took me through the whole night, and he was fantastic.  His energy was strong and positive, both physically and mentally, and he made what could have been a long painful night into a fun time -- really.  It's worth noting that he completed his first ever marathon that night while pacing me.

Shannon brought me in to the finish for the final 13.5 miles.  We were all business by then because I was really focused on making my 28-hour goal time, so Shannon and I pretty much just put our heads down, kicked in our afterburners (more literally than you know) and locked onto the required pace for three and a half hours or so, pausing only to notice the rising sun creating a beautiful glow on the hills across Turquoise Lake.

Now, for those of you who have asked (or are asking now), "Who won???  You or your brother?" I adamantly say to you, "This was NOT a contest; this was NEVER about me versus Tim."

The truth is WE BOTH WON.

The Finisher's Buckle

But since I finished in 27:40, you might say I "won" fifty-five minutes before he "won."

Pre-race Jitters and Philosophizing

[I wrote the following post a couple days before the race, but due to lack of internet service in my Leadville rental hovel, I was unable to post it until I got back to civilization]

The race is in two days.  I am ready for the final leg of my one-year journey from zero to one hundred miles.  I'm optimistic -- after all, I've done everything that is required to become a serious Colorado ultra-runner:

• I've put in the miles, including the hills, but more importantly
• I've stopped shaving and
• I've started a blog.

These things practically guarantee success, it seems.

But I am a little more anxious and nervous than I expected.  I think it's the good kind of nervousness, but over the last few days, it's starting to feel like it's bubbled up a little beyond that point.  Having Matt and Shannon up here in Leadville with me helped on Thursday night.  They are motivated and ready to go, and that fuels me.  Then when Molly and Denise arrived on Friday, with laminated checklists (Molly) and irrepressible enthusiasm (both of them), I felt like my nervousness had stabilized at an appropriate level.  I'm grateful for my crew because they are both light-hearted and fun while at the same time laser-focused on our goal (28 hours).  I hope they get as much out of the weekend as I do.

My nervousness centers around my concern for my feet and heels.  Both heels have been slightly tender for months, and even though the reduced training during my taper has improved their condition, I know they are still not 100%.  After my 50-mile run a few weeks ago, both feet hurt quite a bit, and I can only assume that that pain won't go away when I add another 50 miles to that total.

I'm not nervous about the pain itself.  I am confident that I can compartmentalize that and continue moving forward.  I'm more nervous that the increasing pain may signify an actual debilitating injury that physically prevents me from moving forward.  The only thing I can do about this possibility is to stick to my race plan, which forces me to "baby" my feet as long as possible (at least 50 miles if I can) by running conservatively and gently.  I will not pound any downhills during the first 50, and I'll be careful not to overextend my achilles during the uphills until I am fully warmed up.

I guess, if I'm being candid, I'm also a bit anxious about the unknowns that lie ahead.  For example, I have no idea how my body will react to:  the full distance itself, the sleep deprivation, the weird diet  for so long a time(50+ GU's, boiled potatoes, bacon, pita/hummus, BLT's, sports drinks, etc.), possible extreme weather, and so on...  But I keep telling myself that I've trained for all these variables as much as you can (short of actually running a 100-mile race in the mountains), so I'm as prepared as I can expect to be.

Finally, I am very excited to be here completing the final step in the journey I started exactly one year ago.  Regardless of what happens this weekend, I am glad that I took on the personal challenge and stepped so far outside my comfort zone.  The risk of failure is real -- every year about half the folks who start this race don't finish it, and that's not counting the twenty percent or so who sign up but don't show up at the starting line.  Now, there's no shame in not finishing (unless I quit), but there is something noble about stepping out on this limb and taking that risk.

I am 100% sure I won't quit, so I'll just have to trust that my training, my plan and my crew will take care of any of those "unknowns" that try to get in my way.

The Taper

I didn't run last Sunday.  It was the first Sunday I've taken off from running in about a year.   I slept in, sipped some coffee, ate a big leisurely breakfast.  It was not easy to do.

Now, don't misunderstand.   I love sleeping in.  It's actually been a challenge for me to get out of bed every Saturday and Sunday before dawn (especially during the winter) to go running.

But still, it was even harder to not get up and go running this past Sunday.  My legs felt great, my energy level was high, my feet/heels are feeling okay.  With less than a week until the big race, it was only natural to want to get on the trail and tear it up, to really push it, like I've tried to do all year.

This, I've found, is the real challenge of the taper -- throttling back for these final couple weeks when all I really want to do is run hard.  Plus there's a nagging voice in my head whispering "Don't slack off now... you've got to step it up... you're losing all the training gains you've made... don't be such a %*#ing @$#@... and so on...."  The voice has been persistently badgering me during this taper; it questions my commitment; it sometimes calls me names; I don't think it likes me.

Luckily, the other voice in my head (I'm not quite Sybil, but there are a couple voices in there) is much more reasonable.  It listens to the sage advice I've been getting from experienced ultra-runners, who consistently have told me to take it easy, really easy this week.  They tell me with only days left to go until the race, there is nothing I can do to improve my performance come Saturday, but there are dozens of things I can do to degrade my performance, and over-training is near the top of that list.  They say my body needs at least a couple weeks to heal from the year of training.  So, after a good solid run on Saturday up Towers Road and along Mill Creek through Lory Park, I took Sunday off, and I'm glad I did.

The Saturday run was great -- about 11 miles with some decent hills just to remember what that feels like.  Near the end of the run I paused for a quick swim in one of the coves off of Horsetooth Reservoir just for fun.  The water was cool and perfectly refreshing on a hot day.

Mill Creek view of Horsetooth Reservoir

East Valley Trail

Arthur's Rock 

Swimming in the Res

The other thing that was refreshing, as you can see from the pic above, was the lack of hair on my head -- I shaved it off (well, mostly).   Last Friday, before I drove home to Fort Collins, Molly came over to my Denver apartment, and after some brief hesitation, and a failed attempt at shaving a "100" into my head, she obligingly buzzed my head down to fuzz.

Taming of the 'Fro

The first cut is the deepest

This has got to make me faster

My neighbors below probably didn't appreciate all my clippings drifting down to their patio grill and seasoning their barbecued chicken with that fragrant charred-hair smell.  Oh well, that's a sacrifice I'm prepared to have them make in my quest for Leadville glory.

The Rally 'Stache

After our run over Hope Pass on Friday, Matt and I drove back to Fort Collins to spend the weekend at my house and hang out with my daughter Michal, who hadn't seen Matt since she was a little girl in Alaska.  Because it had been over a decade, Michal had only the vaguest recollection of Matt, his wife Shannon and the late, great Jake, their old dog, but to be fair to Michal, Matt currently looks a lot different from his usual self.

You see, Matt has grown what he calls a "rally 'stache" to get us fired up for the upcoming race.  This is no ordinary mustache -- this is a thick, multi-colored 70's fu that makes you swear you can hear a bow-chicka-wow-wow soundtrack in the background.   It's the kind of mustache that scares old ladies, prompts cashiers to check IDs and immediately takes 50 points off of the wearer's IQ.  It's the kind of 'stache that most women denounce as repugnant even as they are being irresistibly drawn to it like bugs to a zapper; and most men dismiss as low-rent, while secretly imagining how they'd look with one and privately coveting their own.  If the mustaches of Tom Selleck, Burt Reynolds and Chuck Norris created a love child, and that love child took steroids, it would be this mustache.  See for yourself:


The Rally 'Stache

 To get in a little more training while in Fort Collins, Matt, his mustache and I did a night run along the trails through Soderberg and Lory Parks out by Horsetooth Reservoir.  Matt's quads were pretty sore from all the vertical (~7,000') we ran the day before, and he's not accustomed to back-to-back long runs, so we did a relatively flat ten-mile run under a beautiful half moon.  Because Matt will be pacing me all throughout the night during the race, this was a great opportunity for him to get accustomed to the weirdness of night running.  He also got to test out his headlamp (verdict:  he's exchanging it for one with more lumens, whatever those are).

The night run was great, other than our being constantly assaulted by a horde of Angry Birds.

Every five minutes or so, some crazy birds would flit about our heads then land on the trail directly in front of us.  In the dark, all I could see was the eery orange glow of their beady eyes reflecting my headlamp up ahead in the darkness. The spooky little buggers would refuse to move until I was inches away and about to step on them.  As we got closer, I could make out that they were dark little round birds, about the size of a tennis ball, faintly whispering, "Nevermore."

At first I thought these birds were Darwinian abberations -- choosing to land on the exposed trail versus any of the ten thousand bushes or trees all around us -- but after the behavior revealed a consistent pattern, Matt hypothesized that they were protecting their nests by acting as distractions and attempting to entice us to chase them, presumably in the opposite direction from their nests.

Obviously, Matt was wrong -- clearly the birds were instinctively attracted to the bushy magnificence under his nose in the hopes of finding a safe nesting place for their entire flock.

The run was great.  The pace was controlled so it was not physically taxing, but because night running requires a fair amount of concentration to keep from face-planting, it was still mentally tiring.  After a couple hours of running we both were happy to get back to the car and the four-pack of Guinness that awaited us.

Which reminds me, I apparently have been neglecting an important part of my training/nutrition regimen:  Guinness and Jameson.  Matt informed me that all the top ultra-runners back home in Memphis regularly drink both of these beverages to hydrate or carb-load or something.  So, not wanting to miss out on any cutting edge nutritional advances, I modified my diet accordingly.  Over the course of the weekend hanging out with Matt, I drank more of both than I've had in the entire past year.  If he's right, I'll be in great shape for the race.

To cap off the training weekend, on Sunday night Matt, Molly and I went to the Botanical Gardens to see Keb' Mo'.  As usual, the show was great, especially from our vantage point standing right in front of the stage.

Keb' Mo'

Matt and I in the Mosh Pit

Afterwards, we pit-stopped at Sancho's on Colfax to "hydrate" and "carb-load" then came back to my condo, where Matt and I took turns playing guitar and forgetting song lyrics and chords until after one in the morning, just like the old days.

Training with the crew at Sancho's
(note Jameson hiding behind water)

It was an all-around great whirlwind weekend, and I'm definitely starting to get fired up for the race -- the rally 'stache seems to be doing its job.

Hope Pass Humbler

Thursday night, Matt (my pacer from Twin Lakes to May Queen) flew in to Denver so he could get in some high-altitude training before the race on August 20th.  Denise (my pacer over Hope Pass) and I picked Matt up at DIA, and we all drove up to Leadville to stay at Charles Bybee's house Thursday night.  There were seven of us total staying there (Charles, his pacer Jurney, Adam, and Carol), and we were all planning on running/hiking the section of the LT100 course from Twin Lakes over Hope Pass to Winfield and back, which I figured would be hard enough to be a good workout, but short enough to fit into my taper.  The more ambitious of the group (that is, everyone besides me, Matt and Denise) planned on continuing past Twin Lakes to Half Moon after crossing the pass.

Neither Matt nor Denise had run at such high elevation before, so they wanted some running experience up in the thin air before race day.  They both did great with the elevation, and I'm sure they erased any apprehension they might have had about pacing me at altitude.  Denise got to see the entire section that she'll be running/pacing, and she did it twice without really breathing too hard.  She had some hamstring cramping-type issues that made the second climb a little annoying, but the cramps must have gone away because after the second summit she flew down the mountain on the final four-mile descent like a cross between a mountain goat and a race horse.  She quickly disappeared ahead of us down the trail, and Matt and I didn't catch her until we reached the bottom of the mountain.

Reading my mind, she assured me she wouldn't ditch me during the race.

Matt and Denise near Hopeless Aid Station 

Second climb over Hope Pass

Although Matt didn't get to run on any of the sections that he'll be pacing during the race, the Hope Pass double crossing gave him a good flavor of the nature of the LT100 course.  The fact that he never stopped talking the entire time is a good indication that he is aerobically prepared for the race.  Typical scene:  I am wheezing my way up a particularly steep section of the climb, and Matt is casually chatting away about the subtle variations between various sects of Buddhism, the origins of Led Zeppelin or the wisdom of Beavis' over-caffeinated alter-ego Cornholio.  Denise and I glance at each other, silently asking, "When does he breathe!?!"  In fact, other runners on the trail were amazed to find out Matt was from sea-level when they saw how effortlessly he rambled up the mountain.

Matt running up the final stretch 

12,600' without breaking stride

Catching my breath on the Pass

The fun part about running from Twin Lakes outbound is that you get to wade through a half dozen shallow ponds and then do a river crossing at Lake Creek, which was running fast, thigh-deep and obviously a bit chilly.  I might have forgotten to mention all these water crossings to Matt and Denise because they seemed somewhat surprised when five minutes into our seven-hour day we were wading through icy water.  Denise tried to keep her shoes dry by removing them for every water crossing, but eventually she accepted her wet fate and just plowed on through the water, shoes and all.

Shoeless Joe still with dry shoes in the morning

"Man, these are brand new shoes!"

I don't think anybody really enjoyed all that cold water so early in the run.  Interestingly, what was icy torture early in the morning became a siren's call to our tired feet and legs later that afternoon.  Both Matt and Denise said the main thought that motivated them onward and upward on the second climb was the sweet anticipation of soaking in the icy river again.  And when we got back to the river, they did just that.  We must have hung out in the river for twenty minutes until every submerged inch of our bodies was marvelously numb.

Not sure what's happening here...

... or here. 

The fine line between pleasure and pain

Ahhhh...

After the run we had a big lunch at The Grill in Leadville then drove back down to Denver.  Overall, it was a great day for all of us.  I'm looking forward to running with them again in less than two weeks.

Towers Road -- "24 H.o.T."

The Fort Collins Trail Runners group billed Saturday's epic event as "24 Hours of Towers" -- probably not expecting the event's acronym to be so appropriate and prescient.  The day was HOT.  It had broken 100 degrees in town, and with no breeze, it wasn't much cooler up on Towers Road.

Still, despite the record-setting heat, starting at 7 am Saturday about 75 local runners turned out over the course of 24 hours to run one or more laps up Towers Road.  The route was a seven-mile out and back, or more accurately, "up and down," starting at the campground next to the Soderberg trailhead and going up to the radio towers at the top of the mountain.  After a half mile warm up on level single track, the road gains almost 1,700' over less than three miles, with several sections that are no-kidding steep.

The distance and the grade make Towers Road a great training run, such that it has become a bi-weekly staple of the Fort Collins Trail Runners group.  Unfortunately, because I'm in Denver during the week, I have never been able to join the group for their Thursday assault up Towers Road, though I try to add this particular climb to most of my Fort Collins weekend solo runs.

That has been a trend all summer -- the Fort Collins Trail Runners plan some great group run that I can't join for one reason or another, so I run the same route by myself on the following weekend.  In fact, I've gotten all my ideas for interesting runs from these folks:  Lumpy Ridge, the "Crosier Triple," Round Mountain, to name a few.  Saturday's 24 Hours of Towers marked the first time I've been able to actually run with these fun and friendly folks.  It was a great time and a great workout.

I ran a little over four laps on Saturday, giving me 30 miles, 6,600' vertical gain, and a touch of heat stroke.  At 7 am, on my first seven-mile lap, one water bottle was sufficient, but by the time I finished my fourth and final lap in the early afternoon, three water bottles wasn't enough, such was the heat.

The climb up to the radio towers gives great views of Horsetooth Rock, which sits right next door:

The radio towers at the top of
Towers Road

Horsetooth Rock

Halfway up with Horsetooth Reservoir in the background

After 30 miles, I was hot and tired, but generally I felt pretty good.  I would have liked to continue for one or two more laps, but I had to get home.  I had a second "workout" scheduled at home that I wanted to finish before my daughter Michal got home from work, so we could hang out that evening.  I know that as a seventeen year-old she likes nothing more than chilling with her Dad on a Saturday night.

Saturday's second workout:  The Front Lawn 5K

Michal, presumably thinking how cool it
 is to hang with her Dad on a Saturday night

The next morning I did a 20-mile run around Horsetooth Reservoir.  As I ran past the campgrounds near Soderberg trailhead, I saw Brian Walter (the organizer of the 24 Hours of Towers) as he was packing up after the group breakfast he prepared to celebrate the completion of the event.  He estimated that as a group we ran over 200 laps up that mountain covering over 1,450 miles.

Compared to Sunday's hill-fest, Saturday's run around the reservoir was fairly mellow and relatively flat, giving my quads a break.  Although, as if to punish my whining about Saturday's heat, Sunday pushed the mercury even higher.  So, with two days of unplanned heat acclimatization, I'm a little more prepared for Leadville's midday sun.

Sunday's temp on my car's dashboard

My bottle of salt tabs melted in my car

The trail on the west side of Horsetooth Reservoir

One of the many secluded coves in Lory State Park

The road climbing up past the dam on south end of reservoir 

Horsetooth Reservoir 

The reservoir and one of the few hills on the east side

Overall, it was a great weekend to cap off one full year of training for the LT100.  This was my final serious training week before the race.  For the next three weeks, I will gradually taper my running so that I can fully recover and heal prior to August 20th.  For those that care about the fascinating details of my taper plan, I will follow the traditional schedule of running a reduced volume of 75%, 50% and 25% over the next three weeks with little running the few days prior to the race, and see how that goes.

In an poetic turn of events, on my final real training run on Sunday, I unintentionally created the perfect bookend to my first training run in August 2010.  If you recall, a year ago, I spent all twenty minutes of my first real trail run wandering through the roadside grass on the east side of Horsetooth Reservoir unable to find any actual trail.  Well, fast-forward one year:  Sunday, as I rounded the south side of Horsetooth Reservoir and made my way up that same east side, I again mindlessly wandered away from the beaten path and ended up bushwhacking about a half a mile through knee-high grass unable to find the actual trail.  Even with my sun-cooked brain, or maybe because of it, I was able to chuckle at the irony of the situation -- even though I've come pretty far in the past year, some things haven't changed at all.