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.

Leadville Training Camp Days One and Two

I'm back in Denver after two days up in Leadville at the LT100 training camp.  I dropped Tim off at the airport early Monday morning, so he's on his way back home to Michigan for only about 24 hours with his family before he has to get back to work (pilot for American).

The camp was fantastic.  The mountains were magnificent, the running was challenging and rewarding and the people were fun, friendly and very motivating.  In fact, I had such a great time up there over the last two days that I'm considering driving back up tonight for the final run of the camp -- a four-hour night run from Twin Lakes inbound to I-don't-know-where.  I was planning on skipping this run because I couldn't stay up in Leadville all day Monday, but then somebody put the idea in my head that I could just drive back up after work today, and now that the thought's in my head, I can't get it out. We'll see how I feel this afternoon.

Saturday was a great day as we ran from May Queen to Twin Lakes, about 26 miles with about 3,200' gain and 3,900' loss.  It took just under six hours.  I ran with Tim and Chris Sullivan most of the day.  Chris is a buddy of mine from Denver who needed a place to stay during the camp, so he crashed on the floor in the tiny hotel room with me and Tim. 

Chris Sullivan in the thin air

I think it's fair to say, after spending two days in very tight quarters with me and Tim, Chris will never ask to share a room with us again.  I won't get into any of the details as to why I think this, but I will say that my brother has what some might politely call an irreverent sense of humor, and Chris saw things that, despite his growing up in Jersey, will leave scars on his retinas for years to come. 

Still, we had a great time on the trail on Saturday, and I learned a bit about what that section of the course is like.  For example, there's a several mile flat stretch of road (pavement then dirt) coming out of the Fish Hatchery that I had heard people complain about in the past.  I remember doubting these complaints and thinking that I would probably enjoy a nice flat stretch of road after all the ups and downs on the course.  I figured it would be a good place to relax and maybe even make up some time, if needed.  I was wrong.  There's nothing relaxing or fun about that road.  It's flat, straight and, I don't know, somehow annoying.  My plan for that stretch of road during the race will be to put on some music, go to a happy place and just wait for it to be over -- kind of like ________ (you can insert your own joke here).  

I also got to experience the run down Power Line, which was a bit steeper and a bit more of a sustained downhill than I expected.  The lesson for me is to control that particular descent.  I could easily bomb down that hill -- it's got a decent fun-factor to it -- but I would pay a heavy price for it in terms of my quads and feet later on in the race.

Tim at the bottom of Power Line

 Same goes for the descent into Twin Lakes, which was beautiful, by the way:



Twin Lakes



After the run, we had an hour or so to kill before the spaghetti dinner the camp was catering.  Tim, Chris and I were so hungry that we couldn't wait that long, so we went out for a pre-dinner dinner at the Grill -- two enchiladas, beans, rice and Fat Tire to tide me over for an hour til the real dinner.

Between that pre-dinner and the spaghetti dinner, I lost $20 to Chris in a bet.  Earlier in the day, I had learned that there's a tradition at the Silver Rush 50 (a 50-mile race in July in Leadville) that the first man and woman to make it up the short, steep hill at the very start of the race each wins a coveted silver dollar.  I'm planning on running that race as a long training run to prepare for the LT100 because many sections of the run climb above 12,000'.  So when I heard about this silver dollar thing, I started thinking maybe I should go for it (since, as Tim reminded me, it's about the only thing I conceivably could ever win during a race like that).  So, to check out this hill more closely, the three of us drove over to it so I could climb up and see what it was like. 

Tim and Chris stood at the bottom of the hill while I, with my belly full of green chili and beer, scrambled up this very steep hill, which I later learned is used as a ski training slope for what must be incredibly brave kids.  I got half way up and I started to feel my heart thumping in my ears; three quarters up and I could tell the green chili was considering staging a revolt; nearing the top, I felt my heart's palpitations in my eyeballs, and my lungs burned as I imagined my alveoli bursting like bubble wrap.

I stood on the top of the hill, hands on knees, gasping for air for a few minutes then stumbled back down to Tim and Chris' jeers and taunts.  I told them I would rather re-run the 26 miles we had just finished than hike up that friggin' hill again.  Their mocking continued, so to shut them up, I told them I'd give either of them $20 if they could run up the hill without stopping.  Chris leaned his head back to look up the slope and asked, "Does it count if I puke?"  "Sure, it'll still count as long as you don't stop running," I answered.  So, without another thought, Chris took off up the hill.  I watched in awe (don't tell him) as he motored up that hill with barely an effort -- only a slight falter or two on some loose rocks near the top, which unfortunately didn't cause him to stop running.  He reached the top breathing casually, struck an Arnold-pose, then scrambled back down to collect his $20. 

For the next day and a half, about every two to three minutes, Chris found a way to casually mention, to whoever would listen, his newfound wealth, his hill climbing prowess, and my corresponding wimpiness.

Day Two of camp, Sunday, was one of those days I won't soon forget.  Tim, Chris and I, though we didn't run together, did repeats up the Winfield side of Hope Pass, which represents to many people, one of the most heart-breaking sections of the LT100 course -- it's about 2.5 miles with about 2,700' of gain topping out at 12,600'.  It definitely loomed large in my psyche as one of, perhaps the, main hurdle on the course.  Recall that it was on this section last year that my brother, while I was pacing him, collapsed on the side of the trail and announced he was "done."  

Well, Tim didn't collapse yesterday.  Not even close.  In fact, he ran up and down that mountain twice without stopping.  He was doing so well that -- to use his words -- he was able to give out his excess chi to other runners who were struggling up and down the mountain.  If you don't understand what that means, ask Tim.

Me on Hope Pass

Chris did great on the mountain too.  He summited twice, and we ran into each other at the top on our second trip up.  We hung out at the top for a few minutes with race founder Ken Chlouber, who had hiked up to the pass to paternalistically tell each runner individually how proud he was of him/her.  Frankly, it was nice to hear.

To me, the best part of the camp was doing those repeats because it took a good bite out of the mythical aura of that mountain.  I'll probably run it again soon, and when the snow clears some more, I'll include the Twin Lakes side too.

By the way, that fleeting concern I had when we first got to Leadville on Friday ("who am I kidding, etc...") is under control.  It'll probably try to pop into my head a few more times, but I'll be more ready for it.  After this weekend, I feel much better about running my own race and more confident in my training so far.  Though, with less than eight weeks to go, I have a lot left to do.  

Inspired

I’m not a runner.  

Until about ten months ago, I’d never run more than about six miles in a row.  Sure, I’ve jogged through a recreational BolderBoulder 10k or two, but that was my max distance.  It never occured to me to run any farther, and my 42-year-old body was just fine with that. 

Despite this, I now find myself a mere eight weeks away from running 100 miles through the Rocky Mountains in the Leadville Trail 100.

The short explanation for this unforeseen turn of events is I'm running it because my older brother Tim ran it last year.  Tim would say that I'm doing it because every time he tries something new, I have to try it too, and see if I can do better.  For example, when he tried to be a cowboy, I just had to be a cooler cowboy with a sweet vest and scrunched hat.


The Wild West circa 1971.

While there is a sliver of truth to his pet theory -- he is after all an accomplished ultra-marathoner and I am undeniably a coat-tail-riding neophyte -- it certainly doesn't capture my motivation in this case. 



The longer explanation is this:  Ten months ago, Tim assigned me the duty of pacing him for 10.5 miles over 12,600’ Hope Pass in his first attempt at the Leadville 100 last August. 


LT100 2010: Paul, Erin (pacers), Skyler, Spencer, Laurie (crew chief), Tim (runner) and me (pacer)

Note, he didn’t ask me, like he asked his other pacers, Paul and Erin; he merely told me my assignment.  He assured me that the three-day backpacking trip I’d done a few weeks prior was sufficient training, and I believed this lie.

So, last year, on August 21, 2010, I found myself climbing up Hope Pass with my brother, carrying his hydration vest and food and lying right back to him – “Not much farther…” “I can almost see the top…” “You’re looking great…” etc.  Of course, none of that was true.  In fact, after 50+ miles of running, he wasn’t looking all that great.  The altitude had taken its toll on him (a flat-lander from MI) causing his body – both his stomach and his quads – to rebel ferociously. 


LT100 2010:  Tim lubing some tender spots 30 miles into the race

Finally, at one point during the climb up the pass, with his leg pain becoming intolerable, he decided he’d had enough.  I sensed it coming for the previous couple miles based on his constant grimacing with every step, his audible moaning and grunting and the occasional knee-buckle and collapse.  He plopped down on the side of the trail and announced, through gasped breaths, that he was "done."  He said he simply could not continue up the mountain.  It was too much.  He just couldn’t get his legs to work.  Everything hurt intensely.  And even if he could move, he would never make the strict cut-off time at the Twin Lakes Aid Station. He told me he appreciated that I was trying to motivate him, to keep him going, but it was no use.  HE WAS DONE.

Tim’s not a quitter.  So for him to plop down and say “No mas” after all his training, all the money he’d spent, all the people who had travelled a long way to support him, AND to do this in front of ME, his younger (sweet-vested, scrunched-hatted) brother, of all people, he must have felt like he had reached the utter bottom of his well.  Dried up.  Nothing left.  Done.

I let him sit there on the side of the trail for a couple minutes (30 seconds really, but I told him it was two minutes), fed and watered him, and then explained to him that even if he wanted to quit right there on the mountain, he still had to get to the aid station where he could quit more formally.  So, he might as well keep moving forward.  And that’s what we did. 

We made it up and over the pass eventually, and Tim began to feel better.  The thought of quitting seemed to grow dimmer, like we left it on the other side of the mountain.  I knew we were up against the clock, so we upped the pace accordingly.  With a heroic final effort, he made the cutoff at the Twin Lakes Aid Station with no time to spare, and rather than quit there as he had planned, he changed shoes, fueled up and continued on into the dark night, as I knew he would, with Paul pacing him. 

And he kept going for about 24 more miles and nine more hours. 

Unfortunately, due to a miscalculation in distances, he eventually missed the cutoff time at Fish Hatchery (mile 76.5) by only a few minutes and was dropped from the race.  But to me, despite this disappointment, the real message was loud and clear:  His well was A LOT deeper than he realized.  

In my head, all I could see was the image of him moaning on the side of the trail announcing that he was “done,” but somehow finding it within himself to continue on for almost an entire marathon’s worth of mountain running through the middle of the night.  I tried to imagine a runner toeing up to the starting line at, say, the Denver Marathon, and before the gun even went off, feeling utterly spent, like he couldn’t take even one more step, yet somehow finding the strength to run the marathon anyway.  That level of mental toughness seemed inconceivable to me; an entirely new concept. 

And the really wild thing was… I saw many runners who had the same experience my brother had – the necessarily painful but rewarding experience of finding out that their respective wells were much deeper than they knew.  At some point during that race, almost every runner doubted whether they could go on, whether they would finish.  But they pressed on anyway.  The word I thought of that night, the word that still continues to resonate in my head today is “inspiring.”

No, I’m not really a runner, but I am curious to find out how deep my own well is.  That night I was inspired to find out how far I can go after I think I can’t go any farther.  

On August 20 (and August 21), 2011, I hope to find out.