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.

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.

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.

Thirty-ish to Fifty Miles

I just finished the Silver Rush 50 up in Leadville.  The good news is I survived my first 50-mile run.  The less-good news is I'll have to run twice that distance next month, as my daughter Savannah so helpfully pointed out to me all the way from Australia.  As an aside, she also noted that I could improve the aesthetics of this blog by posting pictures of her:

Savannah in Prison

Her crime:  This Sock Monkey outfit.

Anyway, I spent last Saturday, the day before my 50-mile run, volunteering at an aid station during the Silver Rush 50 Mountain Bike Race, a 50-mile mountain bike race along the same course as the next day's 50-mile run.

Sampling the Aid Station menu

It made for a long day right before my race, but it was well worth it because I learned a lot by helping the riders.  The riders stopped at my aid station twice:  outbound after thirteen miles and then again inbound after thirty-four miles.  Because I saw them early and late in the race, I was able to notice the effects the increasing fatigue had on their thinking and functioning, and it was enlightening.  By the return leg, many of the riders didn't know and/or couldn't communicate what they needed as they rode into the aid station:

Me, to incoming rider:  "What do you need?" 

Typical rider:  "Gasp... nothing, man, I'm good... I'm good.  Gasp... I just need a break for a minute."

Me, after I realized their brains were malfunctioning:  "How's your water?"

Rider:  "Oh...uh... I'm out.  I really need water."

Me:  "Have you eaten anything?  Here, eat a banana."

Rider:  "Uh... no, I haven't eaten in a while... Yeah, I really need some food."

Me:  "How's your salt/electrolytes?"

Rider:  "I'm out and cramping pretty bad.  I really need some salt."

Me:  "Do you have enough GU/gel for the next section?"

Rider:  "Oh...uh... I'm out.  I need some more."

The lesson for me (and my pacers and crew chief) was clear:  at some point during the 100-mile race, I will need my team to do most of the thinking and decision-making for me.  This lesson was confirmed the next day as I felt my own brain starting to get mushy during the 50-mile run.

I spent Saturday night at Charles Bybee's house in Leadville.  He's a friend from Denver (and a soon-to-be FIVE time "Leadman") who spends so much time training and competing up in and around Leadville that he bought a house up there last year to cut down on his travel expenses.  We had a great pasta dinner with some of his running/riding/triathlon buddies who were in town for various competitions and/or recreational activities.  They were an impressive, but unassuming and humble group of folks, and I had a good time getting to know them (even though I had to go to be early because my early race the next morning).

My race on Sunday was great -- beautiful course, good weather (even the 20-minute rain/hail shower felt pretty good on a hot day) and great folks (I ran into a dozen of my training camp friends on the course).  The course was an out-and-back to the south and east of Leadville through several old gold and silver mines with four distinct climbs up to 12,000'.

Silver Rush 50 Course Map

Silver Rush 50 Elevation Profile

Here are some pics from the course:

Ready to go, more or less

Sunrise over the mountains

Perfect morning

Keep on Keepin' on

Steady climb up the pass

Great views of Leadville and Turquoise Lake

One of the many old mines throughout the course

Done

Overall, the race went well and was a great learning experience for me (and for Crew Chief Molly who practiced crewing for me at the aid stations).  I set a very conservative goal of 12 hours because I knew that whatever goal I set, I would undoubtedly try to reach it, even if that meant pushing myself too hard (recall my efforts to reach my seven-hour goal at the Dirty Thirty).  With less than five weeks to go before the 100-mile race, I didn't want to risk injury, so the 12-hour goal was intended to force me to slow down.

Well, that plan didn't work too well because I finished the race an hour and a half faster than planned in 10:34. 

I'm not disappointed that I came in faster than I wanted because I don't feel like I really pushed it at any point during the whole race.  My pace and effort were fairly consistent throughout.  In fact, it only took me about 15 minutes longer to run the second half than it did the first half.  That's a pretty good sign, I think.

One big problem I had was my stomach.  Right from the start, it didn't feel right, like it didn't seem to want to digest anything.  I spent the first six hours of the run trying to get it to settle down.  Finally, I figured out that the problem was probably over-hydration resulting in a mild case of hyponatremia (more ominously known as "water intoxication").  I think I drank way too much water the afternoon and night before the run and flushed my system of sodium and other electrolytes.  I didn't realize this initially because my urine was dark and festively-colored all morning until about four hours into the race -- which, I now know, was the result of some pre-race vitamins/minerals I ate and not the result of what I mistakenly thought was my increasing dehydration.  However, not knowing that at the time caused me to pound water throughout the first half of the race to fend off my "dehydration."  This, coupled with my under-consumption of electrolyte pills, put my system way out of whack and essentially shut down my digestive system.

Only after the vitamins/minerals cleared through my system and my urine turned as clear as the Rocky Mountain spring water they use to brew Coors beer did I figure out that I wasn't dehydrated at all.  I was over-hydrated and flushed of electrolytes.  Immediately, I upped my supplementation of electrolytes and cut my water intake dramatically.  Within about an hour, my stomach settled, the swelling in my hands and feet decreased, and I was able to run the last part of the race without that annoying feeling of wanting to throw up with every step.  Here I am after I finally started "feeling pretty good":

However, I quickly realized that my now-relieved stomach discomfort had been a valuable distraction from the pain I now noticed in the achilles tendon/heel area of both my feet. With my stomach settled, my mind was free to register the heel stab I felt with every step.  So, I spent the final few hours dealing with this issue.  This heel problem had been bugging me for several months, but it had been hovering only around a "2" or "3" on the pain scale.  It grew to about a "5" during the race, but stabilized as a dull ache.  Eventually, it became such a constant throb that it almost went kind of numb, thankfully, so I was able to push on with only mild discomfort.

That pain is undoubtedly caused by some minor achilles tendinitis (between my increased volume over the last eight months and my hill focus for the last four, it's no surprise).  I'm hoping some NSAIDs will help, and I'm going to try some prophylactic taping to see if that will reduce the stress.  I actually tried taping my achilles last night during my weekly Taco Run, and the initial results are very promising. 

The major drawback to this is that in order to tape my lower legs effectively, I'll need to shave them, which means for the next few weeks, I'll look like one of "those guys."  You know, the guys who meticulously shave every inch of their bodies, who insist that their lack of body hair measurably improves their performance (at such big events as their recent family reunion's three-legged race), and who deny (without solicitation and a little too zealously) that male body shaving is any indication of suppressed non-hetero tendencies.  Well, these are my people now.

So, after my first 50-mile run, I feel paradoxically both more confident and more apprehensive.  I mean, I felt pretty good after 50, like I could have gone farther.  I didn't necessarily want to at that moment, but I could have.  That gives me confidence.  But at the same time, those 50 miles were not easy.  And I know that a 100-mile race is far more challenging than just two 50's put together.  So, after feeling the effects of 50 miles on my body and mind, I'm more than a little apprehensive about the unknowns that lie in those uncharted final 50 miles. 

Then again, that's the whole reason I'm doing this.

(Almost) Vomit-Free

One of the first things I learned about ultra running is that it's not so much about running over long distances as it is about eating over long distances.  So, as soon as I was able to break into distances in the high single digits on my runs (late September last year), I began practicing eating during my training runs.  It sounds silly to say I was "practicing eating," but I was (and still am).  The purpose, of course, is to train your digestive system to effectively and efficiently take in calories (read:  to not puke) while multiple other systems in your body are being stressed by the running.  I won't bore you explaining the purpose of or science behind eating while running (because I can feel my kids' eyes rolling) except to say that, for me, that notion of "not puking" was very appealing.  So, that became my goal:  vomit-free running.       

Last month, on June 11th, I was planning on doing a big training run up and down Horsetooth Rock with Alene.  This was a big run for both of us, and we had been planning on it for over a month.  It was to be her final big training run before her Badwater double.  The plan was to run ten repeats up to Horsetooth, taking all day, covering around 43 miles and climbing over 11,000' -- my longest and most challenging run to date.  I was very eager to test my legs and feet on this run, eclipse my formerly-inconceivable mark of eight repeats and be a part of Alene's capstone training run.     

I'll save the suspense.  I never even came close to finishing the run.     

The afternoon before the run, I ate something rotten, really really rotten.  But I'm not exactly sure what -- it could have been a moldy bagel, which I ate for a snack, not noticing the white peach-fuzz growing among all the seeds and things (they did say it was an everything bagel) until I was about half-way done.  Then, upon seeing the fuzzy fungi blanketing the remaining half bagel, I did what anybody (of my gender) would do:  I wiped off the mold, took two or three more test bites then threw it away because it still tasted funny.  You see, I can be sensible and prudent sometimes.      

Or it could have been some soup I ate that day.  I went to an Asian restaurant in downtown Denver for lunch with some buddies, and we received some complimentary soup.  I remember thinking, upon smelling the soup, that it smelled vaguely, I don't know, human-based.  But even worse than that – it smelled as if whatever human ingredients were in the soup had, I don't know, decayed.  I took a small sip of the soup and discovered its smell was merely a gentle foreshadowing of its actual taste.  So, again, I did what anybody would do:  I added hot chili sauce.  A lot of hot chili sauce.  Enough to almost mask the fetid odor and taste.  Then I ate it because who turns down free soup?     

Well, about eight hours later I realized the huge mistake(s) I'd made by eating that bagel/soup.  Propriety prevents me from sharing too many specific details of that horrible night, but here is what I can share:  the bagel/soup came back with a bi-directional vengeance, I spent the entire night fetally curled on the bathroom floor, and I didn’t sleep at all.  The abdominal pain came in waves, and I alternated between wondering how I’d be able to tell Alene I couldn’t do the big run the next day (I didn't have her cell number) and wondering if I should go to the hospital.     

When 5:00 a.m. rolled around, the most recent pain wave had just ebbed back to a dull ache, so I decided that since I was awake anyway, I might as well drive over to the trail head to tell Alene that I wouldn’t be able to run with her.  I definitely didn’t want to just  no-show and leave her hanging.     

On the drive over to Horsetooth, I was able to hold down a few sips of water, so I optimistically tried half a banana, which stayed down too.  When I got to the trail head and saw Alene all motivated and ready to go, I decided rather than bail on the run, as long as I was already there, I might as well just try one lap (only 4.25 miles, 1,100’ climb)  and see how I felt. 

Well, that lap felt pretty miserable.  I had a fever, my heart rate was through the roof and I was queasy and light-headed.  But Alene politely kept the pace slow so I was able to hang in there.  So, when we got back to the bottom, having survived that first lap, I decided I might as well do another lap and see how I felt.     

On that second repeat things got rough, and I spent most of the time fighting off waves of nausea.  About three quarters of the way up, Alene told me I looked green, which didn't surprise me because I felt green.  We summited and started back down as the bile inched up my throat.  I almost made it back to the trail head, but with a few hundred yards to go, I couldn't hold back any longer.  I wretched prodigiously, paused for a minute, walked a few steps towards the trail head, then stopped to repeat the whole process until my tank was completely empty.  My noble and ambitious goal of running ten repeats up Horsetooth was now reduced to just trying to keep the vomit off my shoes (to paraphrase ultra runner Ephraim Romesberg).     

Eventually, I made it back to the trail head where Alene prepared a salty concoction for me to drink from her handy medical supplies (she's a nurse and has been a medical staffer at Badwater).  As I sipped the swill,  I felt the wave of nausea pass, and within a few minutes, my condition was upgraded to exceptionally unpleasant.  So, I did what anybody would do in this situation:  I decided to run another lap to see how I really felt.    

This, I now admit, was probably a mistake.  That third lap was the worst.  The nausea wasn't so bad, but I started to feel like I might pass out any minute, and my heart was beating wildly.  I knew I pushed it far enough.  When we eventually finished that repeat, I just laid down on the grass at the trail head and immediately fell asleep for 45 minutes.  When I woke up, I forced myself to urinate to check my hydration, and I was shocked because I had never seen my urine so dark and viscous.   I have never been so dangerously dehydrated in my life.  It took another 30 minutes before I felt like I could drive home.  Once home, I didn't get out of bed until the next day.       

Alene, after making sure I had some more to drink, headed back up the trail.  She completed over nine repeats (40 miles) that day before it got too dark to run.        

In the end, I have decided that this particular experience doesn't really count against my goal of no puking while running because this episode was induced by moldy and/or putrid food versus the stresses of long-distance running.  So, while my journey to the Leadville 100 has not been technically "vomit-free," I think it's fair to say it's been "(almost) vomit-free."  And I plan on keeping it that way.

Two to Thirteen Miles (and Free Tacos)

Last night was the weekly "Taco Run."  Every Tuesday evening, Wahoo's on Grant (in Denver) sponsors a run out to City Park and back and then gives out free tacos to all the runners.

Taco Run!

This little arrangement had been going on for quite a while right under my nose (my apartment is right next door to Wahoo's), but I was oblivious to it.  In fact, last fall, when I was just starting to train with some regularity, I would run to City Park on my own (purely by coincidence around the same time the Taco Run was going on), then run back to Wahoo's for dinner (paying for my tacos), not noticing all the other sweaty people around me or realizing that they were eating for free.  This went on for weeks before someone noticed that I was the only fool paying for free tacos and clued me in to the deal.  Since then, the Taco Run has been the single most consistent part of my training schedule (even if it is primarily a social run versus an actual workout).  Such is the power of free food.  Also, I've met some fun and interesting people through this group.

The Taco Runners (Fil is Chris Sullivan's LT100 pacer, and Denise is my pacer)

Last fall, back around the time I was still paying for free tacos, I was brand new to trail running (obviously, with all of ten months experience, I'm still a novice) -- I had finally figured out where a couple of the Fort Collins trails were, and I had discovered White Ranch in Golden, but I knew I needed some real trail experience before the November registration date for the LT100 in order to make an informed decision whether to register or not. 

So, back in October 2010, to get that quick trail experience, I ran an XTERRA half marathon in Cheyenne Mountain State Park in Colorado Springs.  It was my first real race of any appreciable distance, and I (admittedly somewhat naively) viewed it as an early yardstick of my potential to finish the LT100.  I figured if this 13-mile race crushed me, then that would be a clear sign from above that I was deluded to think I could run 100 miles by the following summer.  In the weeks prior to the XTERRA race, I remember being more than a little intimidated by the distance and the hills on the course.  After all, I had only about five weeks to increase my endurance from two miles on flat terrain to 13 miles on some pretty decent hills.  I admit, that sounds like a fairly reasonable goal now, but at the time, it was a challenge.

Well, the XTERRA race didn't crush me, and I came away very motivated by it.  I ran the first half of the race at a very controlled pace with Molly (her first half marathon too) and the second half alone at a "less controlled" pace.  I don't recall my time (maybe 2:20-something), but I do recall the exhilaration of flying on the downhills on the verge of catastrophe (a habit I've reined in a bit).  And I distinctly recall, at the risk of sounding melodramatic, momentarily imaging myself a persistence hunter and feeling that faint, almost subconscious, flickering sense of being connected to the trail.

That rare feeling, more than any other I get while running, has motivated me through my long-distance training runs.  I haven't really talked to anyone about this (because I recognize how hokey it sounds), but it is a powerful thing -- kind of like a primal and preternatural deja vu.  Maybe I'll write more about it later ... after my good buddies grow tired of the mocking they inevitably will give me now that they've read about my persistence hunter fantasies.

Lost In Leadville

I admit that I am directionally challenged.  Streets, trails, large rooms, it doesn't matter -- I get lost easily.  I'm a few satellites short of an operational internal GPS.  But I've learned to cope, more or less.  Frequently, when faced with a directional choice, I play a little game in which I intentionally go in the exact opposite direction from that which my intuition insists is the right way to go.  More often than not, I find that my anti-intuition keeps me on track.

However, this past weekend, I foolishly let my intuition be my guide and ended up lost in Leadville.

I spent last Saturday and Sunday of the Fourth of July weekend up in Leadville in order to get in a few more high-altitude training runs. My plan for Saturday morning was to run from May Queen over Sugarloaf to Fish Hatchery and back -- a route I ran only seven days previously, so you might think I would be somewhat familiar with the trail.  You'd be wrong.

I can report that for the first 90 seconds of the run my intuition kept me on course.  But by two minutes in, I got that all-to-familiar feeling that I was going the wrong way.  Still, I pressed on for a few more minutes hoping I might see a tree or rock that I remembered from the previous week's run to assure me I was on the right trail.  Of course, that never happened.  By the time I accepted that I was going the wrong way, I was close enough to the crest of the climb that I just kept on going to the top.  After summitting, I turned around and ran back downhill to May Queen to start over. 

Reassuring myself that my five-mile, wrong-way jaunt up the mountain was still good training, I reassessed my directional options.  My intuition, after apologizing for its initial error, confidently insisted that it now knew the right way to go.  Again, I foolishly trusted it and set off on my second attempt to find the trail up Sugarloaf.

This time I went about three miles before I was sure I was lost again.  So, I did the only reasonable thing to do in this situation:  I climbed a tree, took a cell phone photo of the surrounding topography and texted it to my brother Tim in Michigan, with the words, "lost. sugarloaf?"



Actual pic I texted to Tim


Within a minute he called to tell me, based on his assessment of the photo, the sun/shadow angle and the time of day, that I was "an idiot."  I was on the exact opposite side of Turquoise Lake, 10 miles from where I wanted to be and heading in the wrong direction.  I immediately realized he was right on all counts.

So, I turned around again and ran back to the starting point at May Queen, cursing my intuition the whole way.  Figuring I still had over an hour to at least get to the top of Sugarloaf (having abandoned my initial plan of running to Fish Hatchery), I set off on my third attempt.  After getting lost one more time (though now that I was more oriented, I was at least heading in the right general direction, just on the wrong trail), I finally picked up the actual trail at my turn-around point near the top of the mountain under the power lines and was able to run the real trail back down to my starting point.  All told, I was out there five hours, and spent only about 35 minutes on the actual trail I was hoping to run.

Later that afternoon, after lunch, I took a hike with Molly up Hope Pass.  We got an eerie and tragic reminder of how unforgiving this area can be when we passed half a dozen police cars, an ambulance, a search and rescue truck and a FOX News van parked in the middle of nowhere just a few miles from our trailhead.  It turns out the two missing hikers from Boulder (Dad and daughter, missing for over a week) had just been found not far from where we went hiking.  They apparently died from a fall likely caused by high winds.

Sunday, I did a 15-mile morning run around the north side of Turquoise Lake covering the only remaining section of the LT100 course that I had yet to run.  It feels good to have seen the whole course now, even if it cost a few wrong turns on the way.