This week I’m taking the first week off in probably over a year. I’ve definitely had lighter weeks, but doubt that I have gone more than three days without some form of exercise in that time.
Things have sort of come to a head for me in the last two months training wise. Since I was recovering from an injury and decided to focus on power lifting and biking in the interim, I figured this would be a relatively low period. But I soon felt compelled to spend as much time biking as I had been running, and once I healed to a point I moved back to running anyway. Then I made some commitments to my wife to go for walks in the mornings a couple of days a week. And Dr. Ho, my sports rehab doctor, started me on high-intensity work in conjunction with my treatment. Between the power lifting, the running, the walking, and the rehab work, I’m doing eleven or twelve workouts a week! My body needs a break.
Most articles I’ve read about long-term training recommend rest weeks and even rest months to give ones body time to recover and avoid the effects of overtraining, and it all seems quite sensible. But I’ve found it’s surprisingly difficult to convince yourself to do this.
For one thing I’ve grown accustomed to thinking about my next workout or next couple of workouts, always somewhere in the back of my mind, wondering if I’m going to feel light and strong or heavy and slow, making sure I’m eating and resting so as to be prepared. I think about the last time I’d done that workout and what was hard about it, or think about the area where it might take me if it’s a new running route or trail. It’s strange not having that next workout in mind.
The hardest thing is the nagging thought that if I miss a workout I’m going to incrementally lose some fitness. And missing a whole week is a lot of incremental losses. This is a pretty common feeling… I suspect it’s responsible for the day-to-day motivation for many runners. I guess I just have to have faith that whatever I lose I will gain back and more if I give myself time to rest.
The most annoying thing is probably going to be trying to not eat too much. I still follow the paleo diet, although my caloric intake has ballooned over the past few months to support muscle growth in conjunction with power lifting. I’ve been eating a large breakfast, two full lunches, and two full dinners every day. I’ve gained about 6-8 pounds of muscle, but have gotten used to this huge appetite. A week isn’t very long, but if I gain an extra 3 pounds of fat this week before I start training again, that’s an extra 3 pounds of dead weight I have to carry up the mountains, and if I keep consuming all of these calories without burning them off that’s exactly what will happen. It doesn’t help that this is the holiday season, though most of the usual culprits are off the paleo list anyway.
But it’s important to break habits if for no other reason than your body has to adapt to the change (which I generally view as a healthy thing). I recognize that the exercise is a bit of an addiction, as is the supporting lifestyle. I hope that a week off will give me a new take on things, get me fired up about upcoming races.
Speaking of which, I’m almost certainly going to do the Woodside 50K in February (the spring version of the race that I just volunteered for, it’s a twice-annual event). After that I have no plans, though maybe after this week off I’ll put together my general strategy for next year.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Calling All Volunteers
There is a television show called "Man Vs. Wild" in which a guy named Bear Grylls shows viewers how to survive in various wilderness locations. I watched it a few times when it first aired, but the only lesson I took away from the show is that burpees are a good way to warm yourself up quickly. A burpee is an exercise where you start from a standing position, squat down and put your hands on the ground, kick your legs out behind you into a plank position, do a pushup, bring your legs back under you so you're in a full squat, then jump as high as you can. Basically quickly getting your center of mass from the lowest possible position to the highest possible position without any sort of equipment. I did lots of burpees yesterday because I was freezing my butt off working at an aid station.
Given my current injured state (update: I'm running again, but not very hard), I decided to volunteer to help out at the PCTR Woodside races this weekend. What a fun experience!
I requested to work at the King's Mountain aid station because I had thought that my friends were running in the 17 and/or 35K events, and I would get to see them here. Unfortuneately they both backed out, but I decided to volunteer anyway. I joined two ultra running veterans John and Martin (not sure on last names), as well as two uninitiated, Song(?) and Avitica(?).
Manning an aid station is mostly a pretty straightforward task. You keep the bowls of food and candy filled, keep cups of water, electrolyte, and soda available, fill bottles for folks, help people cross the road, look for potentially dangerous situations with runners (dehydration, etc.) and generally try to be a positive and encouraging force for the runners. Occasionally someone must deal with an injury (not me, as I'm not trained for that).
One thing I've always appreciated as a runner at an aid station (and wished for when it wasn't there) was someone telling me what to do. When you're out on the trail for awhile, especially when you're alone, arriving at an aid station can be an overwhelming and confusing experience. What was I supposed to do here? Get water? Should I eat anything? What should I eat? Oftentimes folks pass through completely forgetting the things that they had reminded themselves to do for the last hour. So I decided to tell folks what to do once I figured it out for myself. "17K turnaround is here, food and drinks over here, who needs a bottle refilled, let me get that for you".
I think people appreciated it. One woman told me I was really nice. At the time I wasn't sure if she was being sarcastic or not, because I felt like I was barking more than being nice, but I think she meant it, insomuch as I was being as helpful as I knew how to.
There are a few things that I learned that I think all future volunteers (and race directors recruiting volunteers) should take note of:
Learn the job before the first runner shows up.
The first runner to show up is the lead runner in one of the races. He or she is arguably the person you most want to get through as efficiently as possible, there may even be a course record on the line. I felt like an idiot trying to figure out which cups had water and which had electrolyte, how to work the water cooler nozzle, as seconds ticked by. Next time I will go through a dry run before the first runner gets there.
Scope out the possibilities for going off-trail in the vicinity of the aid station and figure out how to get people going in the right way.
There were two potentials for this at King's Mountain, both on the way back. First, folks would see the aid station and head directly across the road to get to it, running through potential traffic for about 200 feet. Second, folks leaving could miss the trail turnoff and head up a private driveway. We should have figured out how to more clearly mark both of these.
Read the course description ahead of time.
Runners are going to ask you how long they've been running for, how far they have to go, what color ribbons to follow. Pretty fundamental info for a runner, but the guy at the aid station doesn't know? Horrible. Next time I will take it upon myself to read this and educate any of my fellow volunteers who do like I did.
Think about how what you say might be interpreted by a runner.
After one fellow near the end of the race was leaving, he visibly picked his pace up to a jog and John commented that he was saving it for the end. Then I made the joke "well, you don't want to peak too soon". I hope the runner didn't hear me, it would have sounded like I was making fun of him, but it was just a stupid comment.
Two pitchers
You really need at least two pitchers to work efficiently, one for water and one for electrolyte. I will likely bring at least one of my own next time in case the station is short. Waiting in line to fill up a bottle sucks.
Don't forget the essentials
In my mind the must-haves are water, electrolyte, potatoes, cliff blocks, sandwiches, and salt tablets. I think a runner will forgive anything else that seems to be missing, but these are must-haves.
That's about it. I'm not going to walk through the whole day at the aid station, but a couple of notable highlights:
I had a great time talking to John and Martin, who both had lots of stories and ultra running lore to share.
Mark Tanaka came through the stations, running the 50K. I've never met Mark, but his is one of the first ultra running blogs I started reading. I said "Is this the famous Mark Tanaka?" when I recognized him, and got a "yeah". Me: "I love your blog man!" Mark said something like "I don't have a blog", which I didn't understand, but in hindsight he probably thought I was a stalker and trying to distance himself :)
One poor girl face-planted on the trail somewhere and Martin cleaned her up. I heard from another runner that she was coming, and as she approached I only had a profile view so she looked fine. Then when she turned the corner I saw the extent of her injury. Ouch! She kept running though, one tough cookie that one.
On guy came through running the 50K with no water bottle. He was dying by the time he hit our aid station the second time. I hope he made it okay, John made him take a lot of salt before he left.
The last guy through, didn't make the cutoff, but quite bravely finished the race. What a great attitude! Hope to see him again and making the cutoff.
In short, I really enjoyed this experience and I encourage anyone to do it. But make sure you're either dressed for it or have your burpees dialed-in.
Given my current injured state (update: I'm running again, but not very hard), I decided to volunteer to help out at the PCTR Woodside races this weekend. What a fun experience!
I requested to work at the King's Mountain aid station because I had thought that my friends were running in the 17 and/or 35K events, and I would get to see them here. Unfortuneately they both backed out, but I decided to volunteer anyway. I joined two ultra running veterans John and Martin (not sure on last names), as well as two uninitiated, Song(?) and Avitica(?).
Manning an aid station is mostly a pretty straightforward task. You keep the bowls of food and candy filled, keep cups of water, electrolyte, and soda available, fill bottles for folks, help people cross the road, look for potentially dangerous situations with runners (dehydration, etc.) and generally try to be a positive and encouraging force for the runners. Occasionally someone must deal with an injury (not me, as I'm not trained for that).
One thing I've always appreciated as a runner at an aid station (and wished for when it wasn't there) was someone telling me what to do. When you're out on the trail for awhile, especially when you're alone, arriving at an aid station can be an overwhelming and confusing experience. What was I supposed to do here? Get water? Should I eat anything? What should I eat? Oftentimes folks pass through completely forgetting the things that they had reminded themselves to do for the last hour. So I decided to tell folks what to do once I figured it out for myself. "17K turnaround is here, food and drinks over here, who needs a bottle refilled, let me get that for you".
I think people appreciated it. One woman told me I was really nice. At the time I wasn't sure if she was being sarcastic or not, because I felt like I was barking more than being nice, but I think she meant it, insomuch as I was being as helpful as I knew how to.
There are a few things that I learned that I think all future volunteers (and race directors recruiting volunteers) should take note of:
Learn the job before the first runner shows up.
The first runner to show up is the lead runner in one of the races. He or she is arguably the person you most want to get through as efficiently as possible, there may even be a course record on the line. I felt like an idiot trying to figure out which cups had water and which had electrolyte, how to work the water cooler nozzle, as seconds ticked by. Next time I will go through a dry run before the first runner gets there.
Scope out the possibilities for going off-trail in the vicinity of the aid station and figure out how to get people going in the right way.
There were two potentials for this at King's Mountain, both on the way back. First, folks would see the aid station and head directly across the road to get to it, running through potential traffic for about 200 feet. Second, folks leaving could miss the trail turnoff and head up a private driveway. We should have figured out how to more clearly mark both of these.
Read the course description ahead of time.
Runners are going to ask you how long they've been running for, how far they have to go, what color ribbons to follow. Pretty fundamental info for a runner, but the guy at the aid station doesn't know? Horrible. Next time I will take it upon myself to read this and educate any of my fellow volunteers who do like I did.
Think about how what you say might be interpreted by a runner.
After one fellow near the end of the race was leaving, he visibly picked his pace up to a jog and John commented that he was saving it for the end. Then I made the joke "well, you don't want to peak too soon". I hope the runner didn't hear me, it would have sounded like I was making fun of him, but it was just a stupid comment.
Two pitchers
You really need at least two pitchers to work efficiently, one for water and one for electrolyte. I will likely bring at least one of my own next time in case the station is short. Waiting in line to fill up a bottle sucks.
Don't forget the essentials
In my mind the must-haves are water, electrolyte, potatoes, cliff blocks, sandwiches, and salt tablets. I think a runner will forgive anything else that seems to be missing, but these are must-haves.
That's about it. I'm not going to walk through the whole day at the aid station, but a couple of notable highlights:
I had a great time talking to John and Martin, who both had lots of stories and ultra running lore to share.
Mark Tanaka came through the stations, running the 50K. I've never met Mark, but his is one of the first ultra running blogs I started reading. I said "Is this the famous Mark Tanaka?" when I recognized him, and got a "yeah". Me: "I love your blog man!" Mark said something like "I don't have a blog", which I didn't understand, but in hindsight he probably thought I was a stalker and trying to distance himself :)
One poor girl face-planted on the trail somewhere and Martin cleaned her up. I heard from another runner that she was coming, and as she approached I only had a profile view so she looked fine. Then when she turned the corner I saw the extent of her injury. Ouch! She kept running though, one tough cookie that one.
On guy came through running the 50K with no water bottle. He was dying by the time he hit our aid station the second time. I hope he made it okay, John made him take a lot of salt before he left.
The last guy through, didn't make the cutoff, but quite bravely finished the race. What a great attitude! Hope to see him again and making the cutoff.
In short, I really enjoyed this experience and I encourage anyone to do it. But make sure you're either dressed for it or have your burpees dialed-in.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Mostly Half Empty
Most pessimists think of themselves as realists, or maybe pragmatists, myself included. I don't think of myself as being a downer all the time, and I certainly know the value of believing believing that something can be done in order to make it happen. But I think on the glass-half-full, glass-half-empty spectrum, I lean more towards the latter.
I'm always telling myself that something is going to suck, that it's going to hurt, that I might not finish. So much so that I'm embarrassed to share these thoughts with others because they seem irrational (and, well, pessimistic). I mean, you never hear Lance Armstrong or Dean Karnazes talk like this. I even feel a little superstitious about it, in that I worry I won't do well unless I purposefully worry that I won't do well (if that makes sense).
But I found this article about Jenny Barringer's (failed) bid at the NCAA Cross Country Championships particularly insightful to my disposition. Specifically the author's assertion:
Reading the above article makes me think that there is a good reason for my worry, that it's really just my brain and body getting all of the dials adjusted to prepare for suffering. In the end, hopefully I suffer less because I think I'm going to suffer more.
I'm always telling myself that something is going to suck, that it's going to hurt, that I might not finish. So much so that I'm embarrassed to share these thoughts with others because they seem irrational (and, well, pessimistic). I mean, you never hear Lance Armstrong or Dean Karnazes talk like this. I even feel a little superstitious about it, in that I worry I won't do well unless I purposefully worry that I won't do well (if that makes sense).
But I found this article about Jenny Barringer's (failed) bid at the NCAA Cross Country Championships particularly insightful to my disposition. Specifically the author's assertion:
If Barringer had simply gone into the race expecting it to be extremely painful, and expecting her victory to come with great difficulty, she would have won. As her rebound at the end of the race demonstrated, there was nothing physically wrong with her. Yet her meltdown was not “all mental,” either. The subconscious brain is in the driver’s seat during races. When it decides to make you bonk, you bonk. A runner can no more overcome fatigue caused by the subconscious brain through “mind over matter” than a person could jump off a building [or] fly by overcoming gravity through mind over matter.
Reading the above article makes me think that there is a good reason for my worry, that it's really just my brain and body getting all of the dials adjusted to prepare for suffering. In the end, hopefully I suffer less because I think I'm going to suffer more.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Running Home Cookie
Another post I've been meaning to get to.
On October 18 my friend Natalie (a.k.a. "Cookie") completed her first 26.2 in the Nike Women's San Francisco Marathon. Jen and I came to support her and to run her in the last few miles.
We drove up to the city the night before to meet Cookie and her older sister Christine for dinner. We ended up going to an Italian place in the Mission district. It was a little frustrating because while we had made reservations it was awhile before they were able to seat us, and they seemed very disorganized about the whole thing. Normally I wouldn't mind that much, but the night before someone's first marathon stuff like that is annoying.
The dinner was pretty good but our waitress was flakey as hell. She forgot to put Cookie's order in, and didn't even realize the oversight when she brought our dishes out and was one short. I had to ask her when it was coming before she corrected it, then another few minutes for them to prepare it. As the only veteran marathoner at the table I felt a special empathy and responsibility to make sure everything went correctly, and I just about lost it (kind of silly, I know). But Cookie was remarkably composed and I made a personal note to try to stay more levelheaded in the future.
The next morning Christine and Cookie woke up at some ridiculous hour to take Cookie to meet her team at the start. She was running with the Team in Training program, which raises money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. It's really quite an incredible program, both providing funding for a good cause and supporting novice athletes in completing their first marathons/triathalons/century rides/hiking adventures. Cookie planned to run with two friends with whom she had trained.
Christine came back and Jen and I woke up at a far more reasonable hour, got some breakfast and coffee, and drove out to the Outer Richmond district to intercept the race. We had decided to pick Cookie up around mile 17. I would run from there to the end, whereas Jen would run to mile 19 or so, and then wait for Cookie and I to complete the loop around the lake, and then finish with us. We waited on the side of the road, looking for our runner.
Waiting for Cookie
Jen, Cookie, and me
Cookie at the end of her first marathon
On October 18 my friend Natalie (a.k.a. "Cookie") completed her first 26.2 in the Nike Women's San Francisco Marathon. Jen and I came to support her and to run her in the last few miles.
We drove up to the city the night before to meet Cookie and her older sister Christine for dinner. We ended up going to an Italian place in the Mission district. It was a little frustrating because while we had made reservations it was awhile before they were able to seat us, and they seemed very disorganized about the whole thing. Normally I wouldn't mind that much, but the night before someone's first marathon stuff like that is annoying.
The dinner was pretty good but our waitress was flakey as hell. She forgot to put Cookie's order in, and didn't even realize the oversight when she brought our dishes out and was one short. I had to ask her when it was coming before she corrected it, then another few minutes for them to prepare it. As the only veteran marathoner at the table I felt a special empathy and responsibility to make sure everything went correctly, and I just about lost it (kind of silly, I know). But Cookie was remarkably composed and I made a personal note to try to stay more levelheaded in the future.
The next morning Christine and Cookie woke up at some ridiculous hour to take Cookie to meet her team at the start. She was running with the Team in Training program, which raises money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. It's really quite an incredible program, both providing funding for a good cause and supporting novice athletes in completing their first marathons/triathalons/century rides/hiking adventures. Cookie planned to run with two friends with whom she had trained.
Christine came back and Jen and I woke up at a far more reasonable hour, got some breakfast and coffee, and drove out to the Outer Richmond district to intercept the race. We had decided to pick Cookie up around mile 17. I would run from there to the end, whereas Jen would run to mile 19 or so, and then wait for Cookie and I to complete the loop around the lake, and then finish with us. We waited on the side of the road, looking for our runner.
Waiting for CookieSuddenly there she was, and looking really strong! Jen and I started running with her and her two friends. We left Jen and mile 19, and then at mile 20 or so Cookie's friends had some support runners join as well, so Cookie and I started running on our own.
Jen, Cookie, and meI know that at this point in a race, most folks want anything to take their minds off the pain, so I was trying to think of any humorous/edgy/off-the-wall story I could come up with to entertain her, adding as much hyperbole as I could manage. The one thing I did not talk about was the pain that I had felt the previous week at my 50 miler... I thought that would just make things worse.
Hopefully it helped. Cookie was looking so strong that I couldn't really tell. She was continuing to drink and eat, and had just as many stories to tell as I did. She was really putting in a great performance.
For me it seemed like the miles were just flying by. As strong as she was, I don't think Cookie was feeling the same way. I would say "Wow, mile 22 already!" and Cookie would say "Only mile 22?" I guess that's the difference between feeling fresh and nearing the end.
We soon picked up Jen again and made our way to the finish. Cookie just kept getting stronger and stronger, and she really wanted to get in under 5 hours. So we picked up the pace and I related all of the end-of-race visualizations/actualizations I could think of. When we got within the last quarter mile she took off and we couldn't weave throught the crowds fast enough to stay with her. We also didn't want to get in the way of other people who were actually trying to finish the race, so we hopped off the course and walked around to the finish line
The San Francisco Nike Women's Marathon is unique in a few ways. While I don't think the event is closed to men, it definitely focuses on women running. The finish is an interesting spectacle where finishers are presented with Tiffany's necklaces, by tuxedoed SF firefighters no less, designed specifically for the event (the necklaces, not the tuxedoes). Talk about race schwag! It's a pretty great souvenir for a woman.
Cookie finished under 5 hours, and is already thinking about the next one. Congratulations! It's always fun to see someone complete their first, and to be able to support them in the effort.
Hopefully it helped. Cookie was looking so strong that I couldn't really tell. She was continuing to drink and eat, and had just as many stories to tell as I did. She was really putting in a great performance.
For me it seemed like the miles were just flying by. As strong as she was, I don't think Cookie was feeling the same way. I would say "Wow, mile 22 already!" and Cookie would say "Only mile 22?" I guess that's the difference between feeling fresh and nearing the end.
We soon picked up Jen again and made our way to the finish. Cookie just kept getting stronger and stronger, and she really wanted to get in under 5 hours. So we picked up the pace and I related all of the end-of-race visualizations/actualizations I could think of. When we got within the last quarter mile she took off and we couldn't weave throught the crowds fast enough to stay with her. We also didn't want to get in the way of other people who were actually trying to finish the race, so we hopped off the course and walked around to the finish line
The San Francisco Nike Women's Marathon is unique in a few ways. While I don't think the event is closed to men, it definitely focuses on women running. The finish is an interesting spectacle where finishers are presented with Tiffany's necklaces, by tuxedoed SF firefighters no less, designed specifically for the event (the necklaces, not the tuxedoes). Talk about race schwag! It's a pretty great souvenir for a woman.
Cookie finished under 5 hours, and is already thinking about the next one. Congratulations! It's always fun to see someone complete their first, and to be able to support them in the effort.
Cookie at the end of her first marathonInterestingly, I found out later that the event was won by ultra marathoner Caitlin Smith. Caitlin has really been killing it in the trail running world lately, and she keeps a very well written blog that I recommend you read.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Fighting Through "Fight Gone Bad IV"
I've finally got some time to catch up on a few posts I've been meaning to make. This one is about something called "Fight Gone Bad", an event in which I participated back in September.
Fight Gone Bad is a international fundraising event. On one day Crossfit athletes from around the world compete in one brutal workout to raise money for Althetes For A Cure and The Wounded Warrior Project. You can find more information about it on the FGB4 website.
In order to enter you simply find a participating affiliate (a Crossfit gym), sign up on the website, and then ask your family and friends (an whoever else you can wrangle) to donate money. You then show up at the gym on the designated date (September 26th) prepared to endure 17 minutes of torture, along with the thousands of other athletes around the world who all do the same workout within 24 hours of one another.
I became interested in doing this because my friend Troy is opening a new Crossfit gym (Prometheus Crossfit), and hosted FGB4 in conjunction with his grand opening. What could be better than punishing yourself with good friends for a good cause? So I signed up, not really knowing what I was getting myself into.
The "punishment" comes in the form of a truly brutal workout. I won't go into details, except to say that if you don't think you can hurt in 17 minutes, you should try it (or any of the other benchmark Crossfit workouts for that matter), it will likely be the hardest workout you have ever done. An explaination of the workout and the scoring system is here.
Jen and I drove up on Saturday and helped Troy and his family set up some last minute things. Once everyone arrived, my Crossfit coach Martin led us through a warmup and we divided up into heats. I ended up in the first heat.
Troy's son pulls away in the warmupI had never done the FGB workout before, but I estimated I could score about 300 points. After talking to some veterans I began to suspect that this was a bit optimistic, but I decided to go for it anyway.
Round one felt great, I hit all of my targets. Round two was rough. By round three everyone was falling apart. What had been so easy in the first round was simply impossible in the third. We nonetheless kept pushing as the seconds ticked by, straining to lift that bar, throw that medicine ball, jump onto that box, pull that rower just one more time. When we thought we could do no more we eked out one, two, three more points.
Me trying for one more push pressAt the end of the proscribed seventeen minutes we collapsed onto the ground. I was straining for breath and could not focus my eyes. I learned later that I had scored 263 points. Not what I was shooting for, but a great score for my first attempt, and I knew that I had given it everything.
Carnage after FGB4
Free massages from Massage Envy afterwards!All in all it was a great time. I'm really happy for Troy and his new gym, and it was really fun work out out for a good cause. Our team raised over $4000, and collectively FGBIV raised over $1.08 million! Pretty amazing. I'm already looking forward to next year.
The Prometheus Crossfit FGB4 teamSaturday, November 7, 2009
Injury Strikes Back!
I'm currently on the bench as far as running is concerned.
About four years ago, while training for 10Ks, I managed to get Achilles tendonitis in both heels. I'd never had a tendon injury before, so at the time I didn't realize how frustrating these can be. It effectively put a halt to my training and by the time I was ready to run again (more than six months later) I had lost so much of my fitness and didn't want to risk another injury that I effectively gave up serious training.
Since then I have learned to work around this injury through weight training and lots of stretching and application of heat. My heels actually flared up a little durnig Skyline, but I was able to get past it and finish the race.
After Firetrails, I decided to take a few months off from ultras and focus on shorter races. During that time I also planned to work on two things that I think will really help my ultra performance. The first was to develop some serious leg strength to help me on long downhills. The second was to start running more in the new five fingers shoes from Vibram to develop my technique and strengthen my calves, ankles, and feet.
Everyone you talk to and every recommendation from the manufacturer says that you should ease into your five fingers shoes. I had done warmups, a tabata workout, and a 2-mile run in them in the past and figured I was ready to start using them for full workouts. A friend and I did a ladder of the following two Thursdays ago:
One minute on, one minute off, one minute on, fifty seconds off, one minute on forty seconds off... one minute on ten seconds off, one minute on twenty seconds off... one minute on, fifty seconds off, one minute on, done.
This is a fun little speed workout that I'd done before (but not in five-fingers). I was feeling great, but in the third-to-last work set my right heel started to feel weak. In the second-to-last set I was limping, and I skipped the last set and went inside and did it on the rower. In hindsight my body was not ready.
Over the next couple of days I realized that I had re-injured my old condition. Damn!
I decided to address the injury head-0n this time.
I have received several recommendations for sports chiropractic and rehab practitioner Dr. Harry Ho. Dr. Ho has a great reputation and has treated several high-profile athletes for various sports related injuries. He himself is an iron man triathlete (and in fact was unable to see me the end of this week so as to travel to Florida and compete in the 2009 Ford Iron Man, which I took to be a good sign).
Over the last few days Dr. Ho and his associates have employed on me novel and sometimes tortuous techniques to break down scar tissue, loosen muscles, and increase circulation in my heel. I really feel like things are improving, and that I am actually healing (and heeling) rather than just working around the injury. After this one is fixed I'm going to ask them to do the other one too.
When my friends get injured I always counsel them by saying that successful athletes are not successful because they never have setbacks, they are successful because they work through the setbacks, and that's what I keep reminding myself now. And truthfully this could not have come at a better time; I don't have any big races planned, I had decided to focus my crossfit training for the next few months on strength more than conditioning anyway (which means lots of squats, deadlifts, presses, and eating, and no jumping or running), and I am in a position financially to be able to afford proper treatment.
In the meantime I am biking on days when I would normally run, sticking like I said to heavy lifting and not dynamic movements for crossfit, and soon I hope to be able to start taking walks with Jen. In a way it's kind of nice to have a change, albeit a forced one, and I know that it will make me enjoy running all the more when I get back to it.
About four years ago, while training for 10Ks, I managed to get Achilles tendonitis in both heels. I'd never had a tendon injury before, so at the time I didn't realize how frustrating these can be. It effectively put a halt to my training and by the time I was ready to run again (more than six months later) I had lost so much of my fitness and didn't want to risk another injury that I effectively gave up serious training.
Since then I have learned to work around this injury through weight training and lots of stretching and application of heat. My heels actually flared up a little durnig Skyline, but I was able to get past it and finish the race.
After Firetrails, I decided to take a few months off from ultras and focus on shorter races. During that time I also planned to work on two things that I think will really help my ultra performance. The first was to develop some serious leg strength to help me on long downhills. The second was to start running more in the new five fingers shoes from Vibram to develop my technique and strengthen my calves, ankles, and feet.
Everyone you talk to and every recommendation from the manufacturer says that you should ease into your five fingers shoes. I had done warmups, a tabata workout, and a 2-mile run in them in the past and figured I was ready to start using them for full workouts. A friend and I did a ladder of the following two Thursdays ago:
One minute on, one minute off, one minute on, fifty seconds off, one minute on forty seconds off... one minute on ten seconds off, one minute on twenty seconds off... one minute on, fifty seconds off, one minute on, done.
This is a fun little speed workout that I'd done before (but not in five-fingers). I was feeling great, but in the third-to-last work set my right heel started to feel weak. In the second-to-last set I was limping, and I skipped the last set and went inside and did it on the rower. In hindsight my body was not ready.
Over the next couple of days I realized that I had re-injured my old condition. Damn!
I decided to address the injury head-0n this time.
I have received several recommendations for sports chiropractic and rehab practitioner Dr. Harry Ho. Dr. Ho has a great reputation and has treated several high-profile athletes for various sports related injuries. He himself is an iron man triathlete (and in fact was unable to see me the end of this week so as to travel to Florida and compete in the 2009 Ford Iron Man, which I took to be a good sign).
Over the last few days Dr. Ho and his associates have employed on me novel and sometimes tortuous techniques to break down scar tissue, loosen muscles, and increase circulation in my heel. I really feel like things are improving, and that I am actually healing (and heeling) rather than just working around the injury. After this one is fixed I'm going to ask them to do the other one too.
When my friends get injured I always counsel them by saying that successful athletes are not successful because they never have setbacks, they are successful because they work through the setbacks, and that's what I keep reminding myself now. And truthfully this could not have come at a better time; I don't have any big races planned, I had decided to focus my crossfit training for the next few months on strength more than conditioning anyway (which means lots of squats, deadlifts, presses, and eating, and no jumping or running), and I am in a position financially to be able to afford proper treatment.
In the meantime I am biking on days when I would normally run, sticking like I said to heavy lifting and not dynamic movements for crossfit, and soon I hope to be able to start taking walks with Jen. In a way it's kind of nice to have a change, albeit a forced one, and I know that it will make me enjoy running all the more when I get back to it.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
You can survive on Clif Bar products: Dick Collin's Firetrails 50 Miler Race Report
Finally, I'm rested and I have some time to do a race report.
A little background on the race: This event is named for ultra running legend Dick Collins, who as I understand it created it back in 1981. According to his profile , Mr. Collins has run over 151 ultra marathons, has done a sub-8:00 50 miler, and has completed the ultra running grand slam (comprised of 4 famous 100-mile races, done all in the same year). Already a serious ultra marathoner in 1981, he contacted the East Bay Regional Parks District about organizing a running race through their park system. They assumed he meant to put together a 5K or maybe a 10K. When he proposed a 50 miler, they decided they needed to create some special rules for this unlikely event. The rules were: aid stations at least every 5 miles, and every racer must wear shoes.
Last Saturday, I showed up at the starting line with my shoes, uncertain of what I was getting myself into. When I had finished, I was uncertain of what exactly had just happened. I'm only now beginning to put the pieces together.
First, the race by the numbers:
Time I had to wake up: 3:50 AM
Number of starters: 234
Miles run: 50
Elevation gain/loss: 7800'/7800'
Ounces of water I drank: ~312 (2.4 gallons)
Total Clif Shots + Clif Roks eaten: 112 (58 + 54)
Calories ingested: 3400
Est. calories burned: 5400
Mile at which I learned about sponge baths: 37
Number of sponge baths taken in the last 13 miles: 4
Finishers: 219
Winning time: 6:30:34
My time: 10:04:58
My place: 113
The alarm went off at 4:00 AM (actually that clock is 10 minutes fast, so I really woke up at 3:50 AM). I got up early to give myself enough time to eat (2 eggs, 2 bananas, 1 glass orange juice, 1/2 scoop protein powder, some almond butter), take care of a few personal things, draw the course profile on my left arm, with aid stations, and write instructions for myself for the drop-off point halfway through the race on my right arm.
Jen was good enough to go with me to the start. The signin was in exactly the same spot as the Skyline 50K, which was nice in that it saved some concern about finding the location, especially because it was still dark when we arrived. I lubed up with some body glide, donned my socks, shoes, shirt, threw on my new running hat, and pulled on some arm warmers as it was about 53 degrees F. I packed my pockets full of energy, 24 Clif Bloks and 24 Clif Roks in plastic bags, plus another 6 of each in the pocket of my water bottle hand strap.
All runners are required to sign in so the race organizers can keep track of who is still out on the trail (you can imagine how easy it would be to lose someone on 50 miles of trail), and milling around I recognized a few folks, though I didn't say 'hi' to anyone. I think I was a little nervous, and I deal with anxiety by not talking (unlike Jen, who does the opposite when she is anxious... makes for some very one-sided airplane trips!).
Lots of activity at sign in
Just before 6:30 we were called to the starting line. We were related the above story about the organization of the first Firetrails 50 Miler, and moments later we were off! I didn't try to work my way to the front, sticking to my plan to start off slow. I regretted this a little because I had to run exceedingly slow in the beginning because the road is pretty narrow. On the other hand, it was still dark and it was easier to just follow the person in front of you than it would have been to blaze my own path. I struck up a short coversation with one woman who's goal it was to qualify for the Boston Marathon next year, and she was pretty certain she was going to make it.
Somewhere between the second and third mile there is a bridge that's only wide enough for one person, so everyone backed up there. But after that it started to get lighter out, and things opened up a lot more so I could really get my pace dialed in. I was trying very hard to stay at a relaxed pace, walk on steep hills, and just stay calm. One big climb and we hit the Marciel Road aid station at mile 3.2, and I topped off my water bottle. I had missed my first 20 minute feed interval because I didn't want to risk dropping all my food in the dark, so once I started off again I caught up on that.
Running was pretty easy up to this point. I was feeling good, eating a lot, drinking a fair amount. That's when the gas started. It may be a little gross, but it plagued me through the rest of the race. I wasn't uncomfortable because I had no trouble passing it, very audibly, but I felt bad for the folks running near me. I had to make several apologies over the course of the day. How embarrassing.
Soon we arrived at Bort Meadow, mile 7.9. We were back on familiar trails, as the Skyline 50K covers this same ground. Out of Bort Meadow is a reasonably big climb and then a short but steep descent to Big Bear Gate, mile 10.5.
I hit my first low point just before Big Bear. I was happy that I had nearly knocked off the first 10 miles, but was seriously questioning the sense in being out here. I knew I had many hours in front of me, and I wasn't looking forward to it. I had hit a short low point at about this time into Skyline as well, so now with two data points I know that that's just something that happens with me, so I can expect it next time. My theory is that around this time my body determines that this is going to be a long run and is transitioning from burning pure glycogen to burning fat as well, and the disruption throws some things out of whack. But I kept to my eating and drinking. and after Big Bear I started to feel better.
After Big Bear is a long gentle climb up to Skyline Gate, mile 15.0. I met a fellow named Eric on this climb, who was coming off of a DNF at the unseasonably hot (over100 degrees!) Sierra Nevada 100K from a couple of weeks prior. From what he said it was a warzone there, folks overheating all over the place. Firetrails was his event to get back on the horse, as it were. We ran together for a few miles and split up around Skyline Gate.
Skyline Gate had been the turnaround point for the Skyline 50K . Upon leaving the aid station I had the sense of stepping into the unknown. I had run this far before distance-wise, but since this was an out and back course, each step until the Firetrails turnaround would take me farther from the finish than I'd ever been.
The next aid station was Sibley Park, mile 18.4. There was an awful lot of confusion here. My goal at every aid station is simple: get my water bottle filled with water. That's it. I carry all of my fuel with me, so I don't need to spend time trying to figure out what to eat at the stations and normally I breeze right through. I'm not sure exactly what the problem was, but it seemed to take me forever to get my bottle filled.
To begin with it was crowded, and my brain was a little cloudy, so I just walked up with my water bottle open and said "water please". It seemed that everyone standing around with a pitcher had Gu2O, or some other energy drink. So I looked for a cooler with which to fill my own bottle, but I didn't see one. I kept looking back and forth between the table and the volunteers, and kept saying "water please". I think at some point I got confused because I saw a fellow who previously only had Gu2O, so I kept pulling my bottle away from him when he reached to fill it. He must have exchanged pitchers, or maybe he had always had water, or maybe it was a different person... I really have no idea. Things just seemed so confusing. Eventually I got my water and was off again.
I think what had happened is this: The Firetrails is held in conjunction with the Golden Hills Marathon. The marathoners start from the Firetrails turnaround point and run to the Firetrails start. What this means is that the 50 mile runners run past all of the marathoners going the opposite direction. I started noticing these folks just after Sibley, so it stands to reason that the lead runners in the marathon had arrived at Sibley just seconds before I had, and the aid station was focused on getting them through rather than on the middle-of-the-pack 50 milers. That seems like the right decision to me, but boy was it perplexing at the time!
I left Sibley right behind a guy named Jay with whom I went running with a few months ago at Coe. He wasn't in my sights at all prior to the aid station, so he must have gotten similarly delayed. Anyway, Jay and I ran together for a couple of miles. He too had a DNF at Sierra Nevada a few weeks before and was trying to get back on the horse. It was nice to talk to someone I had met before, and it seemed to energize me a bit. I left Jay and pressed onward.
After Sibley there was a lot of single track. This was problematic because the marathoners were coming through more frequently now. I don't know what the ettiquite is in this case, but I assumed that whoever seems to be going the fastest has the right of way, though I tried to get as far to the side as practical for everyone who went by. It was nice to get and give words of encouragement from so many people in such a short time.
As I got close to the next aid station (Steam Trains, mile 21.7) I recognized Chikara Omine flying towards me in the other direction. The leaders in the 50 miler had already made the turnaround and were coming back the other way. Chikara ended up taking second overall. I don't know if I didn't notice Dave Mackay (first overall), or if he was still behind Chikara at that point (I don't know what Dave looks like), but it's always impressive to see the leaders go by. I also recognized Victor Ballesteros with his characteristic beard, who took third. Pretty cool.
After seeing these guys I encountered the hardest part of the race, the long slog down the hill after Steam Trains to the turnaround at Lone Oak, mile 26.0. The slope was steep enough that it was a little hard to descend, and it just kept going and going and going. I would think I saw the bottom again and again, but no. I was really down at this point. I knew I had to traverse this hill and the rest of the course in the opposite direction, and I was upset that I was still out here. My hips and knees were hurting, I was tired, my food was getting very unappetizing. It was bad.
Finally, I heard someone ahead of me say it was almost there. Thank God. I was so happy to get to the turnaround. I had assumed that the turnaround was exactly halfway, or 25 miles, but turns out it was at 26 miles. For some reason this made me exceedingly happy and pulled me out of my depression.
I made it through the turnaround very fast. I went through the checklist I had written on my arm:
Fill bottle
Lose arm warmers? (yes)
Sun block
Get rid of empty bags of food
Get full bags of food
Extra water bottle? (no)
I was gabbing to myself like an idiot the whole time, but I think that really helped me keep it all together. When I was finally ready to go I announced to the aid station "All right, now for the fun part!"
Climbing back up that long hill was tough, and my knees and hips were starting to hurt a lot. Hell, my whole body was starting to hurt a lot. I popped a couple of ibuprofin. About that time Eric, the guy who I had met earlier, caught up with me and we climbed the rest of the hill together. We talked about how strange it is that you can hit such dramatic highs and lows during the race, and it happens to everyone. That was right about the time the ibuprofin kicked in, so I had the gumption to expound upon this subject. Hopefully he didn't get too sick of it.
When the hill finally levelled off, I picked up the pace a little because I wanted to get to Steam Trains, mile 30.3, for the second time. Getting into the 'teens for miles remaining felt like a psych0logical milestone to me, so it was great when I got there. It was also great because I ran out of water on this leg and went the last mile and a half without.
After Steam Trains, I went through Sibley Park again (mile 33.6) and there was much less confusion this time. 17 miles felt very doable at this point.
A little background on the race: This event is named for ultra running legend Dick Collins, who as I understand it created it back in 1981. According to his profile , Mr. Collins has run over 151 ultra marathons, has done a sub-8:00 50 miler, and has completed the ultra running grand slam (comprised of 4 famous 100-mile races, done all in the same year). Already a serious ultra marathoner in 1981, he contacted the East Bay Regional Parks District about organizing a running race through their park system. They assumed he meant to put together a 5K or maybe a 10K. When he proposed a 50 miler, they decided they needed to create some special rules for this unlikely event. The rules were: aid stations at least every 5 miles, and every racer must wear shoes.
Last Saturday, I showed up at the starting line with my shoes, uncertain of what I was getting myself into. When I had finished, I was uncertain of what exactly had just happened. I'm only now beginning to put the pieces together.
First, the race by the numbers:
Time I had to wake up: 3:50 AM
Number of starters: 234
Miles run: 50
Elevation gain/loss: 7800'/7800'
Ounces of water I drank: ~312 (2.4 gallons)
Total Clif Shots + Clif Roks eaten: 112 (58 + 54)
Calories ingested: 3400
Est. calories burned: 5400
Mile at which I learned about sponge baths: 37
Number of sponge baths taken in the last 13 miles: 4
Finishers: 219
Winning time: 6:30:34
My time: 10:04:58
My place: 113
The alarm went off at 4:00 AM (actually that clock is 10 minutes fast, so I really woke up at 3:50 AM). I got up early to give myself enough time to eat (2 eggs, 2 bananas, 1 glass orange juice, 1/2 scoop protein powder, some almond butter), take care of a few personal things, draw the course profile on my left arm, with aid stations, and write instructions for myself for the drop-off point halfway through the race on my right arm.
Jen was good enough to go with me to the start. The signin was in exactly the same spot as the Skyline 50K, which was nice in that it saved some concern about finding the location, especially because it was still dark when we arrived. I lubed up with some body glide, donned my socks, shoes, shirt, threw on my new running hat, and pulled on some arm warmers as it was about 53 degrees F. I packed my pockets full of energy, 24 Clif Bloks and 24 Clif Roks in plastic bags, plus another 6 of each in the pocket of my water bottle hand strap.
All runners are required to sign in so the race organizers can keep track of who is still out on the trail (you can imagine how easy it would be to lose someone on 50 miles of trail), and milling around I recognized a few folks, though I didn't say 'hi' to anyone. I think I was a little nervous, and I deal with anxiety by not talking (unlike Jen, who does the opposite when she is anxious... makes for some very one-sided airplane trips!).
Lots of activity at sign inJust before 6:30 we were called to the starting line. We were related the above story about the organization of the first Firetrails 50 Miler, and moments later we were off! I didn't try to work my way to the front, sticking to my plan to start off slow. I regretted this a little because I had to run exceedingly slow in the beginning because the road is pretty narrow. On the other hand, it was still dark and it was easier to just follow the person in front of you than it would have been to blaze my own path. I struck up a short coversation with one woman who's goal it was to qualify for the Boston Marathon next year, and she was pretty certain she was going to make it.
Somewhere between the second and third mile there is a bridge that's only wide enough for one person, so everyone backed up there. But after that it started to get lighter out, and things opened up a lot more so I could really get my pace dialed in. I was trying very hard to stay at a relaxed pace, walk on steep hills, and just stay calm. One big climb and we hit the Marciel Road aid station at mile 3.2, and I topped off my water bottle. I had missed my first 20 minute feed interval because I didn't want to risk dropping all my food in the dark, so once I started off again I caught up on that.
Running was pretty easy up to this point. I was feeling good, eating a lot, drinking a fair amount. That's when the gas started. It may be a little gross, but it plagued me through the rest of the race. I wasn't uncomfortable because I had no trouble passing it, very audibly, but I felt bad for the folks running near me. I had to make several apologies over the course of the day. How embarrassing.
Soon we arrived at Bort Meadow, mile 7.9. We were back on familiar trails, as the Skyline 50K covers this same ground. Out of Bort Meadow is a reasonably big climb and then a short but steep descent to Big Bear Gate, mile 10.5.
I hit my first low point just before Big Bear. I was happy that I had nearly knocked off the first 10 miles, but was seriously questioning the sense in being out here. I knew I had many hours in front of me, and I wasn't looking forward to it. I had hit a short low point at about this time into Skyline as well, so now with two data points I know that that's just something that happens with me, so I can expect it next time. My theory is that around this time my body determines that this is going to be a long run and is transitioning from burning pure glycogen to burning fat as well, and the disruption throws some things out of whack. But I kept to my eating and drinking. and after Big Bear I started to feel better.
After Big Bear is a long gentle climb up to Skyline Gate, mile 15.0. I met a fellow named Eric on this climb, who was coming off of a DNF at the unseasonably hot (over100 degrees!) Sierra Nevada 100K from a couple of weeks prior. From what he said it was a warzone there, folks overheating all over the place. Firetrails was his event to get back on the horse, as it were. We ran together for a few miles and split up around Skyline Gate.
Skyline Gate had been the turnaround point for the Skyline 50K . Upon leaving the aid station I had the sense of stepping into the unknown. I had run this far before distance-wise, but since this was an out and back course, each step until the Firetrails turnaround would take me farther from the finish than I'd ever been.
The next aid station was Sibley Park, mile 18.4. There was an awful lot of confusion here. My goal at every aid station is simple: get my water bottle filled with water. That's it. I carry all of my fuel with me, so I don't need to spend time trying to figure out what to eat at the stations and normally I breeze right through. I'm not sure exactly what the problem was, but it seemed to take me forever to get my bottle filled.
To begin with it was crowded, and my brain was a little cloudy, so I just walked up with my water bottle open and said "water please". It seemed that everyone standing around with a pitcher had Gu2O, or some other energy drink. So I looked for a cooler with which to fill my own bottle, but I didn't see one. I kept looking back and forth between the table and the volunteers, and kept saying "water please". I think at some point I got confused because I saw a fellow who previously only had Gu2O, so I kept pulling my bottle away from him when he reached to fill it. He must have exchanged pitchers, or maybe he had always had water, or maybe it was a different person... I really have no idea. Things just seemed so confusing. Eventually I got my water and was off again.
I think what had happened is this: The Firetrails is held in conjunction with the Golden Hills Marathon. The marathoners start from the Firetrails turnaround point and run to the Firetrails start. What this means is that the 50 mile runners run past all of the marathoners going the opposite direction. I started noticing these folks just after Sibley, so it stands to reason that the lead runners in the marathon had arrived at Sibley just seconds before I had, and the aid station was focused on getting them through rather than on the middle-of-the-pack 50 milers. That seems like the right decision to me, but boy was it perplexing at the time!
I left Sibley right behind a guy named Jay with whom I went running with a few months ago at Coe. He wasn't in my sights at all prior to the aid station, so he must have gotten similarly delayed. Anyway, Jay and I ran together for a couple of miles. He too had a DNF at Sierra Nevada a few weeks before and was trying to get back on the horse. It was nice to talk to someone I had met before, and it seemed to energize me a bit. I left Jay and pressed onward.
After Sibley there was a lot of single track. This was problematic because the marathoners were coming through more frequently now. I don't know what the ettiquite is in this case, but I assumed that whoever seems to be going the fastest has the right of way, though I tried to get as far to the side as practical for everyone who went by. It was nice to get and give words of encouragement from so many people in such a short time.
As I got close to the next aid station (Steam Trains, mile 21.7) I recognized Chikara Omine flying towards me in the other direction. The leaders in the 50 miler had already made the turnaround and were coming back the other way. Chikara ended up taking second overall. I don't know if I didn't notice Dave Mackay (first overall), or if he was still behind Chikara at that point (I don't know what Dave looks like), but it's always impressive to see the leaders go by. I also recognized Victor Ballesteros with his characteristic beard, who took third. Pretty cool.
After seeing these guys I encountered the hardest part of the race, the long slog down the hill after Steam Trains to the turnaround at Lone Oak, mile 26.0. The slope was steep enough that it was a little hard to descend, and it just kept going and going and going. I would think I saw the bottom again and again, but no. I was really down at this point. I knew I had to traverse this hill and the rest of the course in the opposite direction, and I was upset that I was still out here. My hips and knees were hurting, I was tired, my food was getting very unappetizing. It was bad.
Finally, I heard someone ahead of me say it was almost there. Thank God. I was so happy to get to the turnaround. I had assumed that the turnaround was exactly halfway, or 25 miles, but turns out it was at 26 miles. For some reason this made me exceedingly happy and pulled me out of my depression.
I made it through the turnaround very fast. I went through the checklist I had written on my arm:
Fill bottle
Lose arm warmers? (yes)
Sun block
Get rid of empty bags of food
Get full bags of food
Extra water bottle? (no)
I was gabbing to myself like an idiot the whole time, but I think that really helped me keep it all together. When I was finally ready to go I announced to the aid station "All right, now for the fun part!"
Climbing back up that long hill was tough, and my knees and hips were starting to hurt a lot. Hell, my whole body was starting to hurt a lot. I popped a couple of ibuprofin. About that time Eric, the guy who I had met earlier, caught up with me and we climbed the rest of the hill together. We talked about how strange it is that you can hit such dramatic highs and lows during the race, and it happens to everyone. That was right about the time the ibuprofin kicked in, so I had the gumption to expound upon this subject. Hopefully he didn't get too sick of it.
When the hill finally levelled off, I picked up the pace a little because I wanted to get to Steam Trains, mile 30.3, for the second time. Getting into the 'teens for miles remaining felt like a psych0logical milestone to me, so it was great when I got there. It was also great because I ran out of water on this leg and went the last mile and a half without.
After Steam Trains, I went through Sibley Park again (mile 33.6) and there was much less confusion this time. 17 miles felt very doable at this point.
Between Sibley Park and Skyline Gate I decided to try a time-saving technique that I had read about. Mark Tanaka calls it the "duck walk". I won't describe it in detail, except to say that it's a distinctly male skill. After a few false starts I was able to employ this technique, but it took a lot of concentration, and while focusing on just executing I neglected to realize that I was messing the single track for whomever came down the trail next. Sorry about that! I even heard people behind me trying to decipher the meaning of the trickle of liquid in the dirt, and they eventually reached the right conclusion. Again, how embarrassing. I promise to be more considerate next time!
Anyway, Skyline Gate (mile 37.0) held a new surprise for me. I was really looking forward to this aid station because 13 miles to go seems infinitely easier than 17 miles to go. When I arrived I asked for a little water to splash on my face to wake myself up a bit, and one fellow suggested a sponge bath. "A sponge bath? What is that?" Well let me tell you, it's amazing.
Sitting at the end of the food table was a plastic bucket with two sponges and water that looked like it hadn't been changed since the first runner came through. I didn't care. I grabbed a sponge and rubbed its refreshing goodness up and down my arms. I felt like a new man coming out of that station.
After Skyline Gate the trail is a gentle downhill for awhile, which suits my style. Invigorated from the bath I picked up the pace quite a bit and really started eating up the miles. Before I knew it I was at one of the marathon aid stations and picked up some more water, and soon after I was at Big Bear Gate again (mile 41.5), though after a serious bout with gas (ugh!). This was great news: just one hard climb left and only 8.5 miles to go. I walked up the last climb, and noticed that I got passed by quite a few folks. I really need to work on my power walking. One of the people I got passed by was the race's youngest competitor, a 17-year-old guy. What an accomplishment! Once the grade levelled out I was able to catch back up with him and a few others as well.
At Bort Meadow (mile 44.1) I went for another sponge bath, and one of the volunteers got my neck too. Ah, it was energizing! I really kicked it up into high gear with less than six miles to go. I decided to break open the caffiene chews since I was close to the end. Suddenly all of the pain and suffering of the last 45 miles was erased.
At Bass Cove (mile 47.0) I was feeling great, joking with the volunteers and went for another sponge bath. I realized that if I could put together a fast 5K I could finish in under 10 hours! That was motivating, so I really took off.
I soon learned that they make you earn those last few miles. Right after Bass Cove is short but nasty little hill that kills your stride. Then another little hill. And another. It never really lets up until the very end. I was still going fast, but a sub-10 hour finish was no longer a possibility. Oh well, I wasn't ever tied to any specific time anyway. I still felt great and was passing several people.
The last 1.5 miles or so are marked in quarter-mile increments on the paved trail. It felt so good to knock those quarter-miles off. I kept popping caffiene chews and using up my water by spraying my head and face. Coming around the corner into the marina I saw Jen waiting for me, and boy was it a good feeling to be done.
Running into the finish!
My finishing time was 10:04:58. I told Jen that I didn't think I wanted to run any more long runs, as this one was so hard. Nevertheless I was very happy with my performance and it felt good to finish so strong.
At the end of my first 50 miler
I came out of this race in remarkably good shape. Only a couple of minor blisters on my big toe, quads, hamstrings, and knees a little sore. I did a crossfit warmup the day after and felt pretty good. The soreness was all gone by Wednesday. The only lingering issue is that I think I left my feet in a pretty fragile state, as I went for a 2 mile run on Thursday and got 4 blisters (granted I was running in 5-fingers shoes, the farthest I had ever run in them).
Where does this leave me now? I am going to take a break from ultras for at least 3 months. Some friends are doing some of the PCTR Woodside races this December, one of which is a 50K, and I felt obligated to do that one. I don't want to feel obligated to run. I want to run because I love it. So I definitely plan to volunteer for that race so I can see my friends compete.
I'm really looking forward to doing some shorter races, like a few 10Ks or half-marathons. Jen has signed up for the Big Sur Marathon, and I am very excited to support her in that. So lots of exciting things coming up. I expect to get back to the ultra marathoning in January or February.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
After my first 50 miler: Day Five
The race no longer seems like it could have been that hard. I'm fantasizing about myself running 100 miles now. I mean, I'm sure it was difficult, but I finished, and I finished strong. So the next logical thing is to go farther, right? It's very strange how easily we forget.
Looking forward to putting together a real race report this weekend. Stay tuned!
Looking forward to putting together a real race report this weekend. Stay tuned!
Sunday, October 11, 2009
After my first 50 miler: day one
Feeling somewhat better today, both physically and mentally. I took a cool bath last night, slept for 12 hours, and got a massage this afternoon, all of which helped with the former.
As for the latter, it probably has to do with a few of things. First, I think there is a relationship to the physical aspect: your body is no longer screaming at you to stop doing whatever it is you've been doing, which your brain translates into a strong sense of aversion.
Second, it feels like the brain tends to forget about the bad parts more easily than the good parts. I don't know why that would be, but yesterday I remembered my feelings during the race that I never wanted to run an ultramarathon again. Today I can only remember remembering those feelings.
I trust my memory, so I'm still not chomping at the bit to sign up, but I'm guessing that with each passing day I'll probably forget a little more. Eventually the sense of accomplishment will outweigh the memories of pain (or my brain will convince itself that those were actually good memories). I'll again throw better judgement to the wind and fork over a good amount of money for the privilege to suffer for hours on end, subsisting on the most contrived and dubious foodstuffs, and in the company of like-minded masochists.
This process seems to be pretty common among endurance athletes. Again in my bag of shwag from the race I received a copy of the lastest issue of Ultrarunning (this one October 2009). In this issue Susan Farago covers the Leadville Trail 100, specifically the story of 15 Austinites who put together an informal club targeted at training for this event. When Susan asked club member Joseph Moore about his finish:
I suspect this will mirror my thoughts pretty closely. Better not to think too much about it now though.
One thing that did lift my spirits today was this: every issue of Ultrarunning includes a list of finishers and times from the prevoius month for every official ultra marathon in the United States, and some international ones as well. It's amazing to me that there are so few ultra marathons and ultra marathoners out there that this is even possible (consider that the complete results listing for a single big "standard" marathon would take an entire issue by itself). Anyway, my previous ultra was the Skyline 50K, and low-and-behold, there I am on page 53, right smack in the middle of the pack. Pretty cool!
As for the latter, it probably has to do with a few of things. First, I think there is a relationship to the physical aspect: your body is no longer screaming at you to stop doing whatever it is you've been doing, which your brain translates into a strong sense of aversion.
Second, it feels like the brain tends to forget about the bad parts more easily than the good parts. I don't know why that would be, but yesterday I remembered my feelings during the race that I never wanted to run an ultramarathon again. Today I can only remember remembering those feelings.
I trust my memory, so I'm still not chomping at the bit to sign up, but I'm guessing that with each passing day I'll probably forget a little more. Eventually the sense of accomplishment will outweigh the memories of pain (or my brain will convince itself that those were actually good memories). I'll again throw better judgement to the wind and fork over a good amount of money for the privilege to suffer for hours on end, subsisting on the most contrived and dubious foodstuffs, and in the company of like-minded masochists.
This process seems to be pretty common among endurance athletes. Again in my bag of shwag from the race I received a copy of the lastest issue of Ultrarunning (this one October 2009). In this issue Susan Farago covers the Leadville Trail 100, specifically the story of 15 Austinites who put together an informal club targeted at training for this event. When Susan asked club member Joseph Moore about his finish:
"The first thing I said when I crossed the finish line was 'That was the dumbest f***ing thing I've ever done. I'm never going to do that again.' That was three days ago. Today, I'm already thinking about next year's race."
I suspect this will mirror my thoughts pretty closely. Better not to think too much about it now though.
One thing that did lift my spirits today was this: every issue of Ultrarunning includes a list of finishers and times from the prevoius month for every official ultra marathon in the United States, and some international ones as well. It's amazing to me that there are so few ultra marathons and ultra marathoners out there that this is even possible (consider that the complete results listing for a single big "standard" marathon would take an entire issue by itself). Anyway, my previous ultra was the Skyline 50K, and low-and-behold, there I am on page 53, right smack in the middle of the pack. Pretty cool!
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Finished my first 50 miler
Race report to follow aftere I have recovered. The summary is that it was very, very hard, but I ran a strong race and am happy with my performance.
One thing I wanted write about is how I feel about running now and over the next few days because I think it will be interesting to see how it changes.
When I finished today, I told Jen that I didn't think I wanted to run any more long races. It was just too hard
Now, a few hours after that, I am feeling proud of my accomplishment, but I still don't think I'll be signing up for any more long races any time soon. There were a lot of low points in the race where I was asking myself why am I doing this? This hurts. I'm a little down about the whole ultrarunning thing.
More to follow.
One thing I wanted write about is how I feel about running now and over the next few days because I think it will be interesting to see how it changes.
When I finished today, I told Jen that I didn't think I wanted to run any more long races. It was just too hard
Now, a few hours after that, I am feeling proud of my accomplishment, but I still don't think I'll be signing up for any more long races any time soon. There were a lot of low points in the race where I was asking myself why am I doing this? This hurts. I'm a little down about the whole ultrarunning thing.
More to follow.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
New strategy: No strategy!
For my last race (Skyline 50K) I spent a lot of time figuring out my strategy for what splits I wanted to hit based on my previous performances, determining exactly what pace to start out at, doing test runs at the pace to get a good feel for it.
I think this was part of my way of dealing with the unknown. 50K was an unknown distance for me, especially given the fact that it was on trails. There was something psychologically daunting about an "ultra marathon". I hadn't trained anywhere near this distance, so I wasn't completely confident in my ability to finish. Breaking it down by the numbers helped.
This time I'm not going to do any of that. It just doesn't seem interesting to me to do all the analysis. My approach is going to be simple. Go out slow slow slow. For me that's nine- or even ten-minute miles. Walk more of the early hills than in the past. Don't kill yourself on the downhills. Take in 300 or 400 calories per hour. Try to stay strong through the entire thing (unfortunately the old addage "it's a marathon, not a sprint" doesn't really apply). I'm going to try to look at this as a grand tour of the east-Oakland hills rather than a race.
Nonetheless, there are a couple of things I plan on doing that I've felt to be invaluable in my last two races. The first is to draw the course profile on my forearm in Sharpie marker, along with aid stations. For me this is a huge psychological help in that I can see what's coming up and steel myself for it, rather than coming around the corner feeling strong and slamming straight into a huge climb.
The second thing is to carry as much of my own fuel as I can manage. I love breezing through the aid stations, asking only for water, rather than wasting time looking for something palatable. It arguably might be more efficient from a running standpoint to depend on the stuff at the aid stations for part or all of my fuel needs, but I think it's just too much to worry about (Will they have what I'm looking for? What if they're all out? Everything I see looks nauseating, etc.) , I don't like stopping for any longer than I need to, and to be honest by the second half of my last race my thinking was pretty muddled. In a confused state, making no decision and going without food is easier than making a decision about what to eat, but has obviously disasterous consequences.
Two new things I'm going to try are Clif Bloks and Roks (see my last post) and a hat. The former seem like a pretty appetizing and cleaner alternative to gels, and the latter is just something I want to try to get used to. In long, hot races, a popular thing at the aid station is ice, meant for placing in your hat to help keep you cool. I've never been big on hats, but if it's hot in this or any future race, I just don't see a good alternative. This will also save me from the annoyance of sunglasses, which just bounce around on my nose and get blurred with sweat. I picked up a pretty cool hat from Zombie Runner for ten bucks. It's white, and has a built-in headlamp (might be handy for an emergency on an overnight run if everything else fails). It also says "Western States" on it... I was leary of buying it for this reason (I am not in the same league of folks who have run the Western States 100 mile run, is it bad form to sport this apparel?) but I reasoned that the hat will be a motivator for me while I'm running (to self: "you think this hurts? Think about what it's like to run Western States, this is nothing! Suck it up!", and: "if you ever want to run Western States, you had better learn to push through this!").
Okay, so that's all great, but the elephant in the room here is the fact that the race is freakin' 50 miles long. Nineteen miles longer than I've ever run before. Proportionally similar to Skyline in terms of climb and descent. I don't know what to make of this. If you told me at the end of Skyline that I needed to go 19 more miles I might have cried (I mean this very literally). Imagine the most gruelling workout you've ever done and add another 60% on top of that (that's precisely what it is for me).
I suspect that part of the reason I'm not doing much planning is because it will force me to face the realities of a 50 mile race. It's sort of like when you get hurt very badly (e.g. a visibly broken bone or gaping cut), there's that little guy in the back of your head saying don't look at it, don't look at it. If you're smart, you listen to that guy. Otherwise you go deeper into shock, which isn't likely to improve your situation. I think that little guy is helping me deny what's coming up in two weeks. I don't think I'm being melodramatic here... subconciously this is serious stuff!
As an illustration of this point, I'm going to steal a page from Dean Karnazes's book Ultra Marathon Man. In one chapter he succinctly and dramatically demonstrates the difference between Western States and the Boston Marathon. The Boston Marathon is somewhat notorious among marathons for a trio of nasty hills near the end that, paraphrasing Dean, have broken more than one runner. While Dick Collins is no Western States, take a look at the same comparison of course profiles in the chart below:
Holy cow! Don't look at it, don't look at it :)
I think this was part of my way of dealing with the unknown. 50K was an unknown distance for me, especially given the fact that it was on trails. There was something psychologically daunting about an "ultra marathon". I hadn't trained anywhere near this distance, so I wasn't completely confident in my ability to finish. Breaking it down by the numbers helped.
This time I'm not going to do any of that. It just doesn't seem interesting to me to do all the analysis. My approach is going to be simple. Go out slow slow slow. For me that's nine- or even ten-minute miles. Walk more of the early hills than in the past. Don't kill yourself on the downhills. Take in 300 or 400 calories per hour. Try to stay strong through the entire thing (unfortunately the old addage "it's a marathon, not a sprint" doesn't really apply). I'm going to try to look at this as a grand tour of the east-Oakland hills rather than a race.
Nonetheless, there are a couple of things I plan on doing that I've felt to be invaluable in my last two races. The first is to draw the course profile on my forearm in Sharpie marker, along with aid stations. For me this is a huge psychological help in that I can see what's coming up and steel myself for it, rather than coming around the corner feeling strong and slamming straight into a huge climb.
The second thing is to carry as much of my own fuel as I can manage. I love breezing through the aid stations, asking only for water, rather than wasting time looking for something palatable. It arguably might be more efficient from a running standpoint to depend on the stuff at the aid stations for part or all of my fuel needs, but I think it's just too much to worry about (Will they have what I'm looking for? What if they're all out? Everything I see looks nauseating, etc.) , I don't like stopping for any longer than I need to, and to be honest by the second half of my last race my thinking was pretty muddled. In a confused state, making no decision and going without food is easier than making a decision about what to eat, but has obviously disasterous consequences.
Two new things I'm going to try are Clif Bloks and Roks (see my last post) and a hat. The former seem like a pretty appetizing and cleaner alternative to gels, and the latter is just something I want to try to get used to. In long, hot races, a popular thing at the aid station is ice, meant for placing in your hat to help keep you cool. I've never been big on hats, but if it's hot in this or any future race, I just don't see a good alternative. This will also save me from the annoyance of sunglasses, which just bounce around on my nose and get blurred with sweat. I picked up a pretty cool hat from Zombie Runner for ten bucks. It's white, and has a built-in headlamp (might be handy for an emergency on an overnight run if everything else fails). It also says "Western States" on it... I was leary of buying it for this reason (I am not in the same league of folks who have run the Western States 100 mile run, is it bad form to sport this apparel?) but I reasoned that the hat will be a motivator for me while I'm running (to self: "you think this hurts? Think about what it's like to run Western States, this is nothing! Suck it up!", and: "if you ever want to run Western States, you had better learn to push through this!").
Okay, so that's all great, but the elephant in the room here is the fact that the race is freakin' 50 miles long. Nineteen miles longer than I've ever run before. Proportionally similar to Skyline in terms of climb and descent. I don't know what to make of this. If you told me at the end of Skyline that I needed to go 19 more miles I might have cried (I mean this very literally). Imagine the most gruelling workout you've ever done and add another 60% on top of that (that's precisely what it is for me).
I suspect that part of the reason I'm not doing much planning is because it will force me to face the realities of a 50 mile race. It's sort of like when you get hurt very badly (e.g. a visibly broken bone or gaping cut), there's that little guy in the back of your head saying don't look at it, don't look at it. If you're smart, you listen to that guy. Otherwise you go deeper into shock, which isn't likely to improve your situation. I think that little guy is helping me deny what's coming up in two weeks. I don't think I'm being melodramatic here... subconciously this is serious stuff!
As an illustration of this point, I'm going to steal a page from Dean Karnazes's book Ultra Marathon Man. In one chapter he succinctly and dramatically demonstrates the difference between Western States and the Boston Marathon. The Boston Marathon is somewhat notorious among marathons for a trio of nasty hills near the end that, paraphrasing Dean, have broken more than one runner. While Dick Collins is no Western States, take a look at the same comparison of course profiles in the chart below:
Holy cow! Don't look at it, don't look at it :)
Sunday, September 20, 2009
My First Fifty-miler
Well, I did it. I signed up for Dick Collin's Firetrails 50 miler on October 10th. What am I getting myself into?
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Homebrews On Sierra Azul
I decided to start making my own energy blocks because I'm dissatisfied with what is available on the market, but it turned out to be a disaster. In the past I've been using Accelerade or Accelerade gels as my energy source while running, but the stickiness is just a pain. It gets your water bottles dirty, you end up spilling it on your shirt, your hands get all messy. And I bet that volunteers at aid stations don't appreciate being handed a gooey water bottle. Energy blocks are easier to deal with because it's like carrying around gummy candies, much easier to manage, and incidentally less nauseating after several miles on the trail.
Shot Bloks, made by the same folks who make Clif Bars, are the only energy blocks I've tried, and I really like them. The problem is that they have no protein. Studies have shown that protein taken with simple carbs both aids in the absorbsion of water and inhibits muscle damage from extended efforts. Accelerade is the only major sports supplement that contains the proscribed ratio of sugars to protein, but Accelerade only comes in powder, liquid, or gel (no blocks).
I started experimenting a few weeks ago with a gummi bear recipe I found on the internet. It's basically like Jello, only with more flavoring (Kool-Aid) and less water. These turned out pretty well. A little chewy for exercise, and protein only from the gelatin, but not bad.
Next I made Knox Blocks from the recipe on the back of Knox unflavored gelatin, only I used Accelerade instead of fruit juice. These also turned out well, and one step closer to getting everything in the correct ratio.
I reduced the water content and increased the Accelerate content until I got pretty close to the caloric density and consistency I was looking for. They tasted good (if a little chalky), but would be easy to carry and eat on the go. The recipe was as follows:
Sprinkle 2 envelopes of unflavored gelatin into a quarter cup of cold water. In a separate pan, bring three quarters of a cup of water to a near-boil, and add four scoops of orange Accelerade powder and stir until it's dissolved. Then pour the Accelerade mix into the gelatin mix and stir for five minutes. Pour this into a container with a flat bottom and flat sides, put in the refrigerator for 3 hours. Cut into pieces and Voila! Home made energy blocks.
There's one problem with this recipe, which you might have guessed.
On Saturday I met my friend and adventure racer extraordinaire Andrew for a point-to-point run through Sierra Azul. The plan was to do the ~11 mile section of the Bay Area Ridge Trail from Lexington Reservoir to Hicks Rd. by Mt Umunhum. I proudly packed up my energy blocks and we started off.
The first part of the trail is a brutal climb up out of the reservoir basin. It was pretty hot and I was struggling to keep up. On the bright side, my blocks were working well. I did notice that they seemed to be sweating a little bit, and were wet and sticky on the outside. I figured I could fix that in the next batch with some corn starch or something.
Andrew at the top of the first climb.
Me struggling to keep up.
About one hour in I pulled out my second pack of blocks, and my god, what a mess! I had a zip-lock bag full of blocky orange soup. I was able to rescue a few blocks that hadn't yet completely melted, but the next time I pulled the bag out it was hopeless. It could only have been eaten with a spoon. So much for avoiding stickiness.
Andrew on the downhills.
I decided to complete the run without fuel. We only had about 45 minutes left, so really not a big deal. But I was upset that my grand hope to mix my own energy had literally melted away.
On the way back I was thinking about where I would go next with my energy blocks. I just didn't have a next step, and was worried that without industrial equipment I wouldn't be able to make something usable. It was just so frustrating that with all these innovative products out there there were no gummy chews that included sugar and protein.
We went up to Zombie Runner in Palo Alto because Andrew wanted to look at some compression tights (for preventing blood from pooling in the legs during long events), and I came across a relatively new product from the Clif Bar Company, Clif Roks. Wow, these were exactly what I had been looking for, small protein "candies" in enticing flavors that can be used to supplement Shot Bloks.
It's funny how sometimes you have to go through a process before you find out that what you are looking for is right in front of you. Shot Roks have apparently been around since September, 2008, but I've never seen them, or did and thought they were something else. In any case, I have a deeper appreciation for the alchemists at these companies that create performance nutrition products. I was starting to believe that any jerk with a stove and the ability measure ingredients could easily make these things.
On a side note, I finished the run pretty strong, and the best news is that my IT band didn't bother me a bit. Which means I don't have any more excuses to not sign up for Firetrails (almost 5 times as long as this run we just completed!) Hooo boy...
Andrew used his GPS phone to create a profile of our run. Check it out here: http://bit.ly/ALOF8Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Cavemen Should Be So Lucky
I follow a pretty strict diet. Yesterday, I started with some chocolate covered espresso beans, a 3-egg omlet, a pastry, and a cappuccino. Later in the morning I had a chocolate croissant. For lunch I had fajitas with rice and beans, and a big cookie for dessert. I mean a really big cookie. It was really more of a chocolate chip pie. Later on I had a muffin and an ice-cream sandwhich. When I got home I had some chocolate b-bs, some walnuts, and then steak and asparagus for dinner. Then a rediculously sweet dessert bar, dripping in caramel. Finally some more walnuts, and then a bowl of raisin bran.
Yesterday was Tuesday. And Tuesday is special.
The other six days of the week I eat like a caveman. As rediculous as that may sound, eating like a caveman is the basis for the paleolithic diet (a.k.a. the caveman diet). I follow the paleo diet as described in The Paleo Diet for Atheletes. Essentially, most of the time you are allowed to eat anything that a caveman would have had available.
The foundation for the theory behind this diet is that humans evolved over 100,000 years or so to eat certain types of foods. It's only in the last 10,000 or so that foods requiring processing came into our diet (grains), more recent than that for sweets, and still more recent than that for synthesized oils (trans fats). Thus, many of the health problems that humans experience may be related to consuming foods that our bodies have not evolved to consume.
While it may not be obvious what a caveman would have had available, it's easy to identify lots of things that a caveman would not have had available. Tuesdays notwithstanding, I don't eat refined sugars (e.g. sweets, soda), grains (wheat, rice, oats, etc.), legumes (beans, peanuts), dairy (milk, cheese), or trans fats (e.g partially hydrogenated soybean oil). I only eat fruits and vegetables, meats (leaning towards fish and other lean meats), and nuts.
I do make a few other exceptions besides Tuesdays. I have a cup of coffee every day. I have maybe five alcoholic drinks a week. And if I'm out to dinner with friends or family, if someone has something that's especially good I will have a small bite so as not to miss out. Finally, the protein powder I use to complement my protein intake from natural sources is made from whey and is flavored with cocoa.
There are two things that are so bad (in my opinion) that I avoid even on Tuesdays. The first is trans fats. These molecules are very hard for your body to break down and cause all sorts of health problems with cholesterol. The second is peanuts. Peanuts and peanut oil cause big problems with atherosclerosis, which I understand as arterial plaque.
Those two things aside, why would I do all of this? We typically think of endurance atheletes as calorie burning machines who get to eat anything they want. And at 6 feet 1 inch and 170 lbs, I certainly don't have any concerns about my weight. The reason is twofold.
Yesterday was Tuesday. And Tuesday is special.
The other six days of the week I eat like a caveman. As rediculous as that may sound, eating like a caveman is the basis for the paleolithic diet (a.k.a. the caveman diet). I follow the paleo diet as described in The Paleo Diet for Atheletes. Essentially, most of the time you are allowed to eat anything that a caveman would have had available.
The foundation for the theory behind this diet is that humans evolved over 100,000 years or so to eat certain types of foods. It's only in the last 10,000 or so that foods requiring processing came into our diet (grains), more recent than that for sweets, and still more recent than that for synthesized oils (trans fats). Thus, many of the health problems that humans experience may be related to consuming foods that our bodies have not evolved to consume.
While it may not be obvious what a caveman would have had available, it's easy to identify lots of things that a caveman would not have had available. Tuesdays notwithstanding, I don't eat refined sugars (e.g. sweets, soda), grains (wheat, rice, oats, etc.), legumes (beans, peanuts), dairy (milk, cheese), or trans fats (e.g partially hydrogenated soybean oil). I only eat fruits and vegetables, meats (leaning towards fish and other lean meats), and nuts.
I do make a few other exceptions besides Tuesdays. I have a cup of coffee every day. I have maybe five alcoholic drinks a week. And if I'm out to dinner with friends or family, if someone has something that's especially good I will have a small bite so as not to miss out. Finally, the protein powder I use to complement my protein intake from natural sources is made from whey and is flavored with cocoa.
There are two things that are so bad (in my opinion) that I avoid even on Tuesdays. The first is trans fats. These molecules are very hard for your body to break down and cause all sorts of health problems with cholesterol. The second is peanuts. Peanuts and peanut oil cause big problems with atherosclerosis, which I understand as arterial plaque.
Those two things aside, why would I do all of this? We typically think of endurance atheletes as calorie burning machines who get to eat anything they want. And at 6 feet 1 inch and 170 lbs, I certainly don't have any concerns about my weight. The reason is twofold.
First, one's diet has a significant impact on one's performance. According to The Paleo Diet for Athletes, athletes who follow similar diets are able to recover faster, get sick and injured less frequently, can train at higher intensities, and observe improved results in controlled endurance tests.
Second, I believe that the effects of an unhealthy diet (and by unhealthy, I mean one high in any or all of grains, dairy, legumes, sweets, trans fats) have a cumulative aspect that contributes to health problems down the road. I am not aware of any studies that are conclusive on this in a comprehensive sense, but I think there are many partial results and this claim will be supported by ongoing and future research.
As an anecdote, I eat as much as I want of fruits, veggies, nuts, and meats. Probably about 3000 calories a day. I get roughly 30 percent of them from fat (nuts, oils, and animal fat). I eat a dozen eggs in a week, and eat some form of animal protein in every single meal. I'm somewhere between 6 and 7 percent body fat. My cholesterol is 114. My LDLs and HDLs are all well within the healthy paramaters.
I recognize that no small part of this is due to lucky genetics, but last time I evaluated these things I was training (and eating) for marathons the traditional way (i.e. lots of miles, lots and lots of carbs from grains). I was unquestionably in good shape by most traditional standards. But I was less muscular, my body fat percentage was about 2 points higher, and my cholesterol was about 15 points higher.
From a diet standpoint, this is what has changed: Now, on a typical day, I will have a glass of orange juice or some unsweetened applesauce with protein powder and some walnuts before my workout. If it's a particularly hard workout I might forgo this and eat a gel or drink some sports drink during my workout instead (not paleo, but okay during and immediately after exercise). After my workout I have two eggs with veggies, some juice, and a cup of coffee. For lunch I get a gigantic salad with spinach, peppers, broccoli, beets, sprouts, grilled squash, and fresh fruit. I liberally pour olive oil on top of it if I think of it, but dressing doesn't really matter to me anymore. I also get about 6 ounces of deli meat or tuna or lobster salad (technically deli meat is not paleo because of the salts added for preservation, but it's a very convenient option for me). I split my lunch into two, have half around 11:00 and the other half around 2:00. In the afternoon I'll have a piece of fruit if I'm hungry. For dinner it might be chicken, or beef, or occasionally fish (I'd like it to be fish more, but it's not always convenient or cost-effective), a vegatable, and some more nuts, and if it's the weekend perhaps a couple of beers or glasses of wine. For dessert a glass of orange juice, some protein powder, and some more walnuts. Maybe another piece of fruit or a carrot if I'm still hungry.
Since going on this diet I feel notably better in many ways. Occasionally in the morning I used to feel very lethargic for 15 minutes or so after waking. That's gone. I feel stronger in my workouts. I can do back-to-back workouts and even double workouts with less fatigue. If you've been doing crossfit with me you've probably noticed an increase in my performance over the last two months. And going from 8-9% body fat down to 6-7% just happened as a side-effect of starting this diet.
So given all of this, what's up with Tuesdays then? To be honest I find it too difficult/discouraging to follow the diet indefinitely. Sometimes I'll see something that's not on the "approved" list and the thought of never being able to enjoy that thing again seems unfair and makes it even more desirable. By giving myself one day a week to eat anything I want, not only is it easy wait x days to enjoy it, I can quantify the part of my diet that is not paleo. If you're just having a snack here and there you never really know how it adds up. One day of splurging a week allows me to get the benefits of the other six days.
Cavemen should be so lucky.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Getting Through the Rough Spots
One of the things I got in my bag of schwag from Skyline was a copy of the latest issue of Ultrarunning. I've never looked through one of these before so doing so was kind of interesting and pretty good reading.
One thing that stood out was a fantastic article written Gary Cantrell called "Quitpoint". Basically it talks about how running an ultra marathon is not a matter of persevering continuously for 30 or 50 or 100 miles. It's a matter of persevering through a finite set of rough spots, or what he calls "quitpoints". These are points in the race where quitting looks like an extremely attractive option when compared with not quitting.
As an example, unless forced to by serious injury or health concern, nobody quits a race out in the middle of nowhere, miles in either direction from an aid station. People quit at aid stations, where the volunteers are warm and helpful, their families and friends are present, food and drink is abundant, and a free car ride to the finish is available. Aid stations are classic quitpoints.
The article is strictly about ultra running, and that aspect of it resonated with me as I know that had my injury flared up just before or after an aid station, I would have had more options avaible, one of which would have been the aforementioned car ride to the finish.
But what I really enjoyed thinking about was how this way of looking at races might apply to other aspects of life. We all have many struggles that we go through, big ones and little ones. Challenges with work, school, relationships, family, friends, health. There are times when we think about throwing in the towel, and there are especially arduous times when throwing in the towel would be easy, or at least seemingly more attractive than the alternative. Success in a lot of areas isn't about working through problems day-in and day-out. It's about working through those few times when giving up is simple and means and end to the hardship, while forging on promises more pain and suffering.
But at the end is the gratification that one can only know after having suffered. That's why you thank the volunteers for their kindness, you wish your family and friends well, you take some food with you to go, and you push thoughts of a soft seat in an air conditioned vehicle out of your mind.
One thing that stood out was a fantastic article written Gary Cantrell called "Quitpoint". Basically it talks about how running an ultra marathon is not a matter of persevering continuously for 30 or 50 or 100 miles. It's a matter of persevering through a finite set of rough spots, or what he calls "quitpoints". These are points in the race where quitting looks like an extremely attractive option when compared with not quitting.
As an example, unless forced to by serious injury or health concern, nobody quits a race out in the middle of nowhere, miles in either direction from an aid station. People quit at aid stations, where the volunteers are warm and helpful, their families and friends are present, food and drink is abundant, and a free car ride to the finish is available. Aid stations are classic quitpoints.
The article is strictly about ultra running, and that aspect of it resonated with me as I know that had my injury flared up just before or after an aid station, I would have had more options avaible, one of which would have been the aforementioned car ride to the finish.
But what I really enjoyed thinking about was how this way of looking at races might apply to other aspects of life. We all have many struggles that we go through, big ones and little ones. Challenges with work, school, relationships, family, friends, health. There are times when we think about throwing in the towel, and there are especially arduous times when throwing in the towel would be easy, or at least seemingly more attractive than the alternative. Success in a lot of areas isn't about working through problems day-in and day-out. It's about working through those few times when giving up is simple and means and end to the hardship, while forging on promises more pain and suffering.
But at the end is the gratification that one can only know after having suffered. That's why you thank the volunteers for their kindness, you wish your family and friends well, you take some food with you to go, and you push thoughts of a soft seat in an air conditioned vehicle out of your mind.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Adding Up, Subtracting Down
It's hard to know what to take away from last weekend. There are the obvious things, like start a little slower next time, try stressing the downhills more and do other exercises to try to mitigate the IT band problem I suffered, come up with a different solution than gels (I've decided they are too messy and, after awhile, too nauseating to bother with). The harder part is the psychological part.
When you run a perfect race you know it. You can feel that you set the right pace, made the right decisions, and there's nothing you could have done to finish any faster. When you don't run a perfect race, you know that too.
While I'm obviously happy that I finished, I am a little disappointed that I didn't finish sooner. Given the circumstances (my first 50K, an unexpected injury), I think I should have expected to come up a little short, and most folks would tell me that I should be more than satisfied with completing my first ultra. I guess I'm not like that.
When I don't live up to my own expectations, when I feel I can do better, it sits in the back of my mind and gnaws at me. It bothers me. I start plotting. I want to go back and do it again, I want to show myself that I can meet certain challenges.
Maybe I should be more realistic with my expectations. Maybe I'm being a little too melodramatic and this is just the one-week low spot that occurs after big races.
Okay, so what's next? My plan was that if Skyline went well I would sign up for Dick Collins Firetrails 50 miler in October. While I think Skyline went well enough (despite my misgivings above), I'm worried that my IT band won't be back in shape soon enough to keep my workout intensity at the level it should be in time for October. I've decided that if I'm not doing hilly trails with no problems by the weekend after next, I don't think I can be ready and I won't sign up. Maybe I will volunteer for trail crew or something.
I still want to do a 50 miler soon, but I'll do a 50K if there aren't any 50 milers coming up after Firetrails. The San Jose Rock 'n' Roll half-marathon is coming up too, which might be a fun little diversion, especially since the only elevation change is when the road dips to go beneath an underpass (meaning that it won't aggravate my IT band).
It's funny that I've started to think of a half-marathon as a fun little diversion. I guess I have taken some things away from last weekend after all :)
When you run a perfect race you know it. You can feel that you set the right pace, made the right decisions, and there's nothing you could have done to finish any faster. When you don't run a perfect race, you know that too.
While I'm obviously happy that I finished, I am a little disappointed that I didn't finish sooner. Given the circumstances (my first 50K, an unexpected injury), I think I should have expected to come up a little short, and most folks would tell me that I should be more than satisfied with completing my first ultra. I guess I'm not like that.
When I don't live up to my own expectations, when I feel I can do better, it sits in the back of my mind and gnaws at me. It bothers me. I start plotting. I want to go back and do it again, I want to show myself that I can meet certain challenges.
Maybe I should be more realistic with my expectations. Maybe I'm being a little too melodramatic and this is just the one-week low spot that occurs after big races.
Okay, so what's next? My plan was that if Skyline went well I would sign up for Dick Collins Firetrails 50 miler in October. While I think Skyline went well enough (despite my misgivings above), I'm worried that my IT band won't be back in shape soon enough to keep my workout intensity at the level it should be in time for October. I've decided that if I'm not doing hilly trails with no problems by the weekend after next, I don't think I can be ready and I won't sign up. Maybe I will volunteer for trail crew or something.
I still want to do a 50 miler soon, but I'll do a 50K if there aren't any 50 milers coming up after Firetrails. The San Jose Rock 'n' Roll half-marathon is coming up too, which might be a fun little diversion, especially since the only elevation change is when the road dips to go beneath an underpass (meaning that it won't aggravate my IT band).
It's funny that I've started to think of a half-marathon as a fun little diversion. I guess I have taken some things away from last weekend after all :)
Monday, August 3, 2009
I Still Suck at Running Hills: Skyline 50K Race Report
Well this sucks, I thought. I couldn't run. I could barely walk. I was about 25 miles into my 50K. 2.5 miles in either direction to an aid station. I was moving along fine, a little slower than I had hoped, but otherwise fine. And then my left knee just stopped working. I could put weight on it, but taking a stride was excruciating. Conditions were great. I felt good. But I was here pondering what was starting to look like my first DNF.
The day started at 4:30 AM. I didn't sleep well the night before, which was strange because I didn't feel nervous or anxious. I couldn't seem to get my temperature under control, which I can usually solve by getting some magnesium, orange juice, and water into my system. But I was on the verge of sleep and I (foolishly) couldn't bring myself to get up and address it. Anyway, first thing to take care of was breakfast. 1 cup of unsweetened applesauce, 1/2 scoop of protein powder, 2 eggs, 1 banana, a few almonds (all based on recommendations from The Paleo Diet for Atheletes). Next was to complete the last few items on my pre-race checklist that I didn't do the night before. Recovery drink and cooked yams into the cooler; cooler, drop bag, and gear bag into the car. Jen got up at 5:00 and by 5:30 we were out the door.
It was an easy enough drive to the course. I was in a good mood, a little nervous but not the way I typically might get for a road race.
Arriving at Lake Chabot I took care of the last minute things: sunscreen, body-glide, pockets full of gels, popped one gel right before the start.
I've only done one other trail race (Mt Diablo 25K), and I thought I recognized some folks from there, but I didn't know anyone.
Jen wished me luck, and at 7:00 AM sharp we were off. The course starts with small rolling hills, then a moderate climb to some more rolling hills, then the first aid station (Grass Valley) around mile 4.5. A short descent and then an easy climb to the next aid station (Bort Meadow) around mile 6.25. My target split time at Bort Meadow was 56:31. My actual split was 56:05. Not bad, I thought! Next is a moderate climb to a flat area, to a steep descent, to the Big Bear aid station. Target split: 1:22:52. Actual: ~1:23:00. Looking good!
I feel like all longer races go through similar phases. In the beginning you tend to think about the folks around you, I'm going to pass this guy, I'm going to let this woman pass me because she's fast. It's almost like you're sizing them up. In the middle you become a little more introspective. You've been running around many of the same people for awhile, the nervous energy has burned off a little. You think less about the other runners as your competition and more as your compatriots. It's a nice transition.
In the rolling hills after Big Bear I got into a group that was a little too fast, and then my achilles suddenly flared up. I've suffered from tendonosis in both heels for a few years, but I've mostly got it under control, and they haven't bothered me on a run in awhile. This was a disturbing development. But I stopped to stretch and was happy that the problem seemed to go away (it would happen a couple more times in the race).
On the big climb up to Skyline Gate I spent some time talking to a guy who was training for the Golden Hills Marathon, just out for a training run. It was really nice to break up the silence a little. Shortly after I got passed by a woman near whom I had been running for most of the morning. I'd end up talking to her later.
At Skyline Gate Aid Station Jen was there to greet me! She had organized all of my stuff and filled my water bottle for me. I went through the station quickly, but I forgot to dump my empty gel containers, and I forgot to get a new bag for my soon-to-be-empty gel containers. I realized about 10 mintes later that I would be carrying these for several miles. Oh, and my splits: Target: 2:14:02, Actual: 2:16. Damn, I'm good!
Shortly after Skyline Gate (mile 15) I hit a low point. There are some tough technical descents, followed by climbs, eventually levelling out to a flat path. I was struggling to keep in touch with the folks I left Skyline Gate with, I was feeling bad, and I was not excited about continuing another 15 miles. I thought Look, this is stupid. You're not having fun anymore, and if you drive yourself into the ground you're not going to enjoy this race, which is the whole reason you're here. So I backed off, and a few minutes later I started feeling better. I realized how beautiful the path through the conifer forest was, and how lucky I was to be out here enjoying it.
Next the course goes down some switchbacks, and I worried for a bit that I was off-course, but then some guy with a number flew by me and I assumed I was okay. I arrived at Big Bear the second time (mile 20) in reasonably good shape. I had lost quite a bit of time off my target by slowing down, but I was okay with it. Target: 3:14:52. Actual: 3:23.
I walked up the steep climb out of Big Bear and popped my first caffienated gel. Boy, was I glad I saved those! In my improved mood, I realized that the hard terrain was all behind me, and I was beginning to believe that I was going to finish. I came into Bort Meadow the second time (mile 23), some more time lost. Target: 3:43:50. Actual: 3:57:45.
Disaster struck after I left Bort Meadow. The trail goes to single track down a wooded valley. I knew I had 8 miles left and I figured I would just bang out what I thought were probably 10 minute miles for the rest of the race and be done in an hour and twenty minutes later. I was congratulating myself on having run a smart race. At my 20 minute interval I decided to walk momentarily to give myself a little rest and pop another gel. Then my left knee seized up.
I tried stretching. I tried massaging. I didn't want to try sitting down and didn't think it would help anyway. I limped a few paces and stopped. I felt the seconds slipping away. More limping. Time passing. I found if I walked with a straightened left leg I could make forward progress. I've read that no matter what, in an ultra-distance event you need to force yourself to make relentless forward progress. So that became my mantra, and that's what I did. The knee seemed to get marginally better and I found that if I took really little steps I could run on it.
Some more experimenting: I could handle the uphills and the flats okay, but the downhills just killed me. Once I started the little climbs coming into Honker Bay I was getting passed (literally) left and right. I remember thinking that I had believed myself to be so clever in picking runners who gradually improved their places in previous years' results as a basis for my target split times, because the runners that were getting passed at the end were hurting and not running the race that they had wanted (see my "How Fast" post). And now I was that guy, slipping through the places. Honker Bay splits: Target: 4:35:29. Actual: 5:01.
But I was going to finish, darn it. On the downhills I did a straight-legged long strided walk, and on the flats I did a little jog, and on the uphills I walked or jogged. At the finish my parents and my friend Mark were waiting for me, so it was great to see them there. My final time: Target: 5:04:08. Actual: 5:40:46! Wow, lots of time lost at the end there.
The day started at 4:30 AM. I didn't sleep well the night before, which was strange because I didn't feel nervous or anxious. I couldn't seem to get my temperature under control, which I can usually solve by getting some magnesium, orange juice, and water into my system. But I was on the verge of sleep and I (foolishly) couldn't bring myself to get up and address it. Anyway, first thing to take care of was breakfast. 1 cup of unsweetened applesauce, 1/2 scoop of protein powder, 2 eggs, 1 banana, a few almonds (all based on recommendations from The Paleo Diet for Atheletes). Next was to complete the last few items on my pre-race checklist that I didn't do the night before. Recovery drink and cooked yams into the cooler; cooler, drop bag, and gear bag into the car. Jen got up at 5:00 and by 5:30 we were out the door.
It was an easy enough drive to the course. I was in a good mood, a little nervous but not the way I typically might get for a road race.
Arriving at Lake Chabot I took care of the last minute things: sunscreen, body-glide, pockets full of gels, popped one gel right before the start.
I've only done one other trail race (Mt Diablo 25K), and I thought I recognized some folks from there, but I didn't know anyone.
Jen wished me luck, and at 7:00 AM sharp we were off. The course starts with small rolling hills, then a moderate climb to some more rolling hills, then the first aid station (Grass Valley) around mile 4.5. A short descent and then an easy climb to the next aid station (Bort Meadow) around mile 6.25. My target split time at Bort Meadow was 56:31. My actual split was 56:05. Not bad, I thought! Next is a moderate climb to a flat area, to a steep descent, to the Big Bear aid station. Target split: 1:22:52. Actual: ~1:23:00. Looking good!
I feel like all longer races go through similar phases. In the beginning you tend to think about the folks around you, I'm going to pass this guy, I'm going to let this woman pass me because she's fast. It's almost like you're sizing them up. In the middle you become a little more introspective. You've been running around many of the same people for awhile, the nervous energy has burned off a little. You think less about the other runners as your competition and more as your compatriots. It's a nice transition.
In the rolling hills after Big Bear I got into a group that was a little too fast, and then my achilles suddenly flared up. I've suffered from tendonosis in both heels for a few years, but I've mostly got it under control, and they haven't bothered me on a run in awhile. This was a disturbing development. But I stopped to stretch and was happy that the problem seemed to go away (it would happen a couple more times in the race).
On the big climb up to Skyline Gate I spent some time talking to a guy who was training for the Golden Hills Marathon, just out for a training run. It was really nice to break up the silence a little. Shortly after I got passed by a woman near whom I had been running for most of the morning. I'd end up talking to her later.
At Skyline Gate Aid Station Jen was there to greet me! She had organized all of my stuff and filled my water bottle for me. I went through the station quickly, but I forgot to dump my empty gel containers, and I forgot to get a new bag for my soon-to-be-empty gel containers. I realized about 10 mintes later that I would be carrying these for several miles. Oh, and my splits: Target: 2:14:02, Actual: 2:16. Damn, I'm good!
Shortly after Skyline Gate (mile 15) I hit a low point. There are some tough technical descents, followed by climbs, eventually levelling out to a flat path. I was struggling to keep in touch with the folks I left Skyline Gate with, I was feeling bad, and I was not excited about continuing another 15 miles. I thought Look, this is stupid. You're not having fun anymore, and if you drive yourself into the ground you're not going to enjoy this race, which is the whole reason you're here. So I backed off, and a few minutes later I started feeling better. I realized how beautiful the path through the conifer forest was, and how lucky I was to be out here enjoying it.
Next the course goes down some switchbacks, and I worried for a bit that I was off-course, but then some guy with a number flew by me and I assumed I was okay. I arrived at Big Bear the second time (mile 20) in reasonably good shape. I had lost quite a bit of time off my target by slowing down, but I was okay with it. Target: 3:14:52. Actual: 3:23.
I walked up the steep climb out of Big Bear and popped my first caffienated gel. Boy, was I glad I saved those! In my improved mood, I realized that the hard terrain was all behind me, and I was beginning to believe that I was going to finish. I came into Bort Meadow the second time (mile 23), some more time lost. Target: 3:43:50. Actual: 3:57:45.
Disaster struck after I left Bort Meadow. The trail goes to single track down a wooded valley. I knew I had 8 miles left and I figured I would just bang out what I thought were probably 10 minute miles for the rest of the race and be done in an hour and twenty minutes later. I was congratulating myself on having run a smart race. At my 20 minute interval I decided to walk momentarily to give myself a little rest and pop another gel. Then my left knee seized up.
I tried stretching. I tried massaging. I didn't want to try sitting down and didn't think it would help anyway. I limped a few paces and stopped. I felt the seconds slipping away. More limping. Time passing. I found if I walked with a straightened left leg I could make forward progress. I've read that no matter what, in an ultra-distance event you need to force yourself to make relentless forward progress. So that became my mantra, and that's what I did. The knee seemed to get marginally better and I found that if I took really little steps I could run on it.
Some more experimenting: I could handle the uphills and the flats okay, but the downhills just killed me. Once I started the little climbs coming into Honker Bay I was getting passed (literally) left and right. I remember thinking that I had believed myself to be so clever in picking runners who gradually improved their places in previous years' results as a basis for my target split times, because the runners that were getting passed at the end were hurting and not running the race that they had wanted (see my "How Fast" post). And now I was that guy, slipping through the places. Honker Bay splits: Target: 4:35:29. Actual: 5:01.
But I was going to finish, darn it. On the downhills I did a straight-legged long strided walk, and on the flats I did a little jog, and on the uphills I walked or jogged. At the finish my parents and my friend Mark were waiting for me, so it was great to see them there. My final time: Target: 5:04:08. Actual: 5:40:46! Wow, lots of time lost at the end there.
Me at the finish of my first 50K!
I felt great at the finish, besides the knee. I got a chance to talk with the woman with whom I had run near the first half of the race. It was Terrie West, who took something like 30 minutes off her PR, and who incidentally hit my finish target time. She was hitting all of the splits I wanted to hit, which means she ran a smart (and fast) race. Great job!
All in all, I enjoyed my race. I didn't hit the times I wanted to hit, but I mostly had fun and it was so great to be outside on the trails in such perfect weather. My assessment of the injury is that my IT band really flared up. I've been rolling it out at night, and I think I'll know in a few days if it was that or if I need to go to the doctor to get it checked out. On one hand, I could say that none of the things that I was worried about and could have planned for impacted me. But on the other hand, it might be a problem with leg strength or just experience and endurance on hills, both things I may need to work on (and hills being something that I did cite as a concern prior to the race).
On a side note, today I feel fantastic. My quads are a little sore, my knees are a little sore, and my left knee is still hurting, but besides that I feel as good as the day after any workout. I even did a crossfit warmup today, and my situps and pullups felt exceptionally strong. I attribute my recovery to crossfit and to the paleo diet. I'll talk some more about my diet in a future post.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Finished Skyline 50K
Just got back home from the race. Didn't hit the times I was projecting, but I enjoyed myself and finished. I'll post a race report with pictures when I've rested up a bit.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Track Etiquette
Stay in your damn lane. It seems so obvious and intuitive to me that this is the right thing to do to me that it kills me when people don't do it. I was doing mile repeats the other day and two women were walking with iced Starbucks in lanes 2 and 3. The track rules posted by the school clearly state that slower runners should be in the outer lanes, but it wasn't that crowded and I figured perhaps they wanted an accurate measure of their distances, so I was just happy they weren't in lane 1. I came around on my second lap and they were in lanes 3 and 4, which I thought was strange but it didn't impact me. Then on my third lap I went into the first turn and realized that they had moved into 1 and 2. WTF? If it was just one person I wouldn't have minded going around her, but it really throws your stride off to suddenly have to look over your shoulder and then move out 2 lanes. They left the track for a bit while I was resting, but then came back on my second repeat and the same thing happened. This time I caught them on the straight. I yelled "track" as I was approaching and they assumed I wasn't talking to them, then I yelled it again. They jumped out of the way and looked pretty pissed off about it.
Afterwards I apologized for scaring them and tried to explain that they needed to pick a lane and stay in it, but mostly I just got blank stares.
Other things that bug me at the track:
People who bring their kids and don't teach their kids what to do. Little kids do stupid things at the track. It's not their fault, they just don't realize the danger they're in. Kids like to race you, which means they run in front of you in your lane. You have to be very careful when going around them because when they hear you getting close sometimes they make a 90 degree turn and cut across the track. Kids also like to run straight at you, head on, which wouldn't be horrible except that it's distracting and I'm terrified that one will trip before veering off and I have to fall to aviod trampling them. The worst is when there is an older and a younger sibling, and the older sibling is doing something stupid but knows what to do to avoid getting run over, and the younger copies what the older is doing, except for the part about avoiding getting run over.
People who walk or go slow in the inside lanes when there are faster runners out. I don't mind this so much as long as it's a concious decision. If someone wants to run a tempo run and is slower than me, I get that, and I don't mind it, I can choose another lane or go around them if it's crowded. It bugs me though when people run in pairs and take up two lanes to do this , especially when I'm trying to do a tempo run. But most people are happy to move outward if you talk to them.
People who take a lane that's obviously in use. There are 8 lanes. There are three people on the track. You're clearly not faster than me. Why are you trying to Bogart my lane?
Okay, enough complaining. Back from vacation, did my last full intensity workout today: 3 x [100m, 200m, 400m], resting as long after each interval as you took to complete it. Tomorrow I will do just a crossfit warmup, Thursday an easy 1.5 mile run at an 8:30 pace (to dial-in my starting pace), Friday a rest day, and Saturday a 3/4 mile run at 8:30, just to keep the legs loose. Sunday is the race! I'm starting to get excited.
Afterwards I apologized for scaring them and tried to explain that they needed to pick a lane and stay in it, but mostly I just got blank stares.
Other things that bug me at the track:
People who bring their kids and don't teach their kids what to do. Little kids do stupid things at the track. It's not their fault, they just don't realize the danger they're in. Kids like to race you, which means they run in front of you in your lane. You have to be very careful when going around them because when they hear you getting close sometimes they make a 90 degree turn and cut across the track. Kids also like to run straight at you, head on, which wouldn't be horrible except that it's distracting and I'm terrified that one will trip before veering off and I have to fall to aviod trampling them. The worst is when there is an older and a younger sibling, and the older sibling is doing something stupid but knows what to do to avoid getting run over, and the younger copies what the older is doing, except for the part about avoiding getting run over.
People who walk or go slow in the inside lanes when there are faster runners out. I don't mind this so much as long as it's a concious decision. If someone wants to run a tempo run and is slower than me, I get that, and I don't mind it, I can choose another lane or go around them if it's crowded. It bugs me though when people run in pairs and take up two lanes to do this , especially when I'm trying to do a tempo run. But most people are happy to move outward if you talk to them.
People who take a lane that's obviously in use. There are 8 lanes. There are three people on the track. You're clearly not faster than me. Why are you trying to Bogart my lane?
Okay, enough complaining. Back from vacation, did my last full intensity workout today: 3 x [100m, 200m, 400m], resting as long after each interval as you took to complete it. Tomorrow I will do just a crossfit warmup, Thursday an easy 1.5 mile run at an 8:30 pace (to dial-in my starting pace), Friday a rest day, and Saturday a 3/4 mile run at 8:30, just to keep the legs loose. Sunday is the race! I'm starting to get excited.
Friday, July 24, 2009
One Week to My First 50K
On vacation in Michigan now. Feeling reasonably good. A minor nagging chest cold that I hope resolves itself. I think going Paleo for the last month is really keeping it at bay. A little nervous.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
What I'm Worried About
Three weeks until Skyline. Here are the things that I think pose the greatest risk to my finishing:
Going out too fast
This one seems like a no-brainer, but in all the excitement of a race it's hard to not go out faster than your ability proscribes. You're in good shape, you're running at a pace substantially slower than you would run say, a 10K, you can't imagine that such a slow pace could possibly tire you. That's on mile 5 or so. By mile 14 you start to think that maybe it wasn't such a good idea going out so fast. At mile 18 you're cursing yourself, and at mile 20 you completely bonk, as in moving-faster-than-a-slow-walk-is-no-longer-possible bonk. That's happened to me before. It takes experience and/or discipline to stick to a realistic pace in the beginning. As this is a new distance for me (especially on dirt), I'm lacking in experience and will have to rely on discipline.
Fortunately there are a few things to help me out. In my armchair recon of the course I’ve learned that the first three miles are flat on pavement, and that every quarter-mile is marked. That will help me dial in my target pace early, and stay there hopefully until I get into a good groove. Also, in my previously pace-finding exercise (see my “How Fast” entry), I figured out that I should be targeting about an 8:30 pace over the first six miles. That includes some smaller hills, so I should be targeting a bit faster than that on the flats. But I’m going to hedge a bit, just to be safe, and go out at an 8:30 pace, maybe even 8:40. That’s about 2:08 or 2:10 per quarter-mile.
Lastly, I’m going to do my track warm-ups from now on out at precisely 8:30 so I get a good feel for the speed.
Heat
The average high in Castro Valley is 76 degrees in August. The 10 day forecast, which goes out to July 21 also shows a high of 76 degrees. If that holds I think it's pretty manageable. More than a few degrees hotter than this though and I could be in trouble.
I need to keep my eyes on the weather. If it's going to be a scorcher I'll lower my target pace by an average of a full minute-per-mile. I will run with two bottles all day instead of one in for the first half and wait-and-see for the second. Also, I've been trying to get some hot training days in, and days with an extra layer on to simulate more heat.
Injuries
Either now or before the race. I'm most worried about rolling an ankle during the race, or breaking a fall with my face or something. Neither one of those things has happened to me in a long time, so as long as I stay alert I think I'll be okay. As for getting injured training I think all you can do is listen to your body, make sure you're lifting safely, and don't be scared to take a rest day.
Digestive rebellion
I've heard this happens sometimes, though usually on longer races. I've continued my one gel every twenty minutes regimen for longer training runs, and that still seems to be treating me okay. We'll see if the same holds true with the sixteen-plus I plan to eat during the race. If I do start to get nauseous, my reaction will depend on how far into the race I am. In the last three miles you just suck it up. In the last fifteen miles, you spend some extra time at the aid stations trying to pick some things that you think you can hold down, and slowing your pace in hopes of recovery.
Destroyed quads
I would have ranked this higher a few weeks ago, but I've been working some downhill training in this past week and I think it will really help. I'm confident that if this happens it will be in the second half and I'll just need to walk all of the hills from there on out.
Blisters
Haven't really had a problem with this lately. I wear double-layer socks and put body glide between my toes. I don't have much experience with fixing blisters once you get them... I'm just going to put some duct tape and extra body-glide, neosporin and a needle in my bag. I've usually been able to run through minor blisters in the past.
That's about it I guess. There's always the chance of some freak incident, but you can't really plan for those anyway.
Going out too fast
This one seems like a no-brainer, but in all the excitement of a race it's hard to not go out faster than your ability proscribes. You're in good shape, you're running at a pace substantially slower than you would run say, a 10K, you can't imagine that such a slow pace could possibly tire you. That's on mile 5 or so. By mile 14 you start to think that maybe it wasn't such a good idea going out so fast. At mile 18 you're cursing yourself, and at mile 20 you completely bonk, as in moving-faster-than-a-slow-walk-is-no-longer-possible bonk. That's happened to me before. It takes experience and/or discipline to stick to a realistic pace in the beginning. As this is a new distance for me (especially on dirt), I'm lacking in experience and will have to rely on discipline.
Fortunately there are a few things to help me out. In my armchair recon of the course I’ve learned that the first three miles are flat on pavement, and that every quarter-mile is marked. That will help me dial in my target pace early, and stay there hopefully until I get into a good groove. Also, in my previously pace-finding exercise (see my “How Fast” entry), I figured out that I should be targeting about an 8:30 pace over the first six miles. That includes some smaller hills, so I should be targeting a bit faster than that on the flats. But I’m going to hedge a bit, just to be safe, and go out at an 8:30 pace, maybe even 8:40. That’s about 2:08 or 2:10 per quarter-mile.
Lastly, I’m going to do my track warm-ups from now on out at precisely 8:30 so I get a good feel for the speed.
Heat
The average high in Castro Valley is 76 degrees in August. The 10 day forecast, which goes out to July 21 also shows a high of 76 degrees. If that holds I think it's pretty manageable. More than a few degrees hotter than this though and I could be in trouble.
I need to keep my eyes on the weather. If it's going to be a scorcher I'll lower my target pace by an average of a full minute-per-mile. I will run with two bottles all day instead of one in for the first half and wait-and-see for the second. Also, I've been trying to get some hot training days in, and days with an extra layer on to simulate more heat.
Injuries
Either now or before the race. I'm most worried about rolling an ankle during the race, or breaking a fall with my face or something. Neither one of those things has happened to me in a long time, so as long as I stay alert I think I'll be okay. As for getting injured training I think all you can do is listen to your body, make sure you're lifting safely, and don't be scared to take a rest day.
Digestive rebellion
I've heard this happens sometimes, though usually on longer races. I've continued my one gel every twenty minutes regimen for longer training runs, and that still seems to be treating me okay. We'll see if the same holds true with the sixteen-plus I plan to eat during the race. If I do start to get nauseous, my reaction will depend on how far into the race I am. In the last three miles you just suck it up. In the last fifteen miles, you spend some extra time at the aid stations trying to pick some things that you think you can hold down, and slowing your pace in hopes of recovery.
Destroyed quads
I would have ranked this higher a few weeks ago, but I've been working some downhill training in this past week and I think it will really help. I'm confident that if this happens it will be in the second half and I'll just need to walk all of the hills from there on out.
Blisters
Haven't really had a problem with this lately. I wear double-layer socks and put body glide between my toes. I don't have much experience with fixing blisters once you get them... I'm just going to put some duct tape and extra body-glide, neosporin and a needle in my bag. I've usually been able to run through minor blisters in the past.
That's about it I guess. There's always the chance of some freak incident, but you can't really plan for those anyway.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
First Muscle Up!
Holy cow, I did my first muscle-up last night! A muscle-up is an exercise where you start hanging from gymnasts' rings, you do a pull-up to a dip and end up with your arms locked out and your torso above the rings, and it's a heck of a lot harder than you'd think it would be. It's pretty standard faire for gynmasts, but a significant accomplishment for us mere mortals. It's a big milestone for crossfitters. I'm stoked!
Friday, July 3, 2009
Henry W Coe State Park
My friend and coworker Brian (and incidentally the guy who talked me in into giving ultra running a shot) invited me to join him and his friend Jay up at Coe. Brian has done several ultra events and at least one 100M that I’m aware of. Jay is training for the Tahoe Rim 100M and Brian is going to pace him. It was cool to spend a little time with guys who have actually been doing this for awhile.
I hooked up with Brian and Jay after their first lap (about 8 miles in). I think I earned my keep by bringing out the chocolate covered espresso beans, they seemed pretty excited about that, and Jay related some Western States lore about how these potent treats saved Dean Karnazes one night. We power hiked together up Lyman Wilson Ridge Trail, a gnarly 1.5 mile climb with a 19% grade. I was thinking that they seemed a little tired, but I wouldn’t truly understand this until later.
After filling up with water and popping another gel (my secondary goal for today was to see how my stomach handled the three-gels-per-hour menu I plan to use at Skyline) I felt a little better and my run back to the base of Lyman Wilson Ridge Trail was a little faster. But on my second trip up the climb I understood why Brian and Jay had seemed a little tired. I was spent! I had anticipated running up most of this climb the second time, but I couldn’t manage it. But part of distance running is learning to keep going though the pain, so I power hiked it a second time, though with far less gusto than the first trip. When I got to the top I popped gel number four and started back down at about half the pace I had done the first time. The slog back to the car this time was, well, a slog. It was hard to keep going.
A couple of hours and two cups of coffee can do wonders for one’s perspective. I learned a lot today. First, I’m not nearly as strong a downhiller as I thought, and this weakness could jeopardize the rest of my performance at Skyline. Second, my body handles gels pretty reasonably, at least for an hour and a half of hard exertion. Third, I really need to remember to be sensible about my expectations. Why did I think I could run up a 19% grade? That’s just silly.
Their goal for the day was to get some miles and some heat training in… they planned on doing 3 different loops of downright nasty hills for a total of 30 miles. After spending some time on those hills myself I can only say that I’m very impressed.
My goal for the day was to answer the question of whether it’s the downhills or the uphills that are killing me (see my Almaden Quicksilver entry), so I planned to do a couple laps on a single steep hill, starting with the downhill first.
I hooked up with Brian and Jay after their first lap (about 8 miles in). I think I earned my keep by bringing out the chocolate covered espresso beans, they seemed pretty excited about that, and Jay related some Western States lore about how these potent treats saved Dean Karnazes one night. We power hiked together up Lyman Wilson Ridge Trail, a gnarly 1.5 mile climb with a 19% grade. I was thinking that they seemed a little tired, but I wouldn’t truly understand this until later.I was fresh, so the climb was an nice and easy warmup for me. At the top Brian and Jay continued on for their second loop and I popped a gel and started my descent. My approach to downhill running is to just go as fast as I can manage, which is pretty fast when it’s not too steep and my legs are feeling good. 19% is too steep, and I was surprised to see how quickly I got tired. I’ve been reading some tips online for how to run downhill efficiently, but nothing seemed to obviously help that much. By the time I got to the bottom I was running low on water and needed to go back to the parking lot to refill. While I was still going reasonably fast on the grade, I slowed to a pretty pathetic pace on the half-mile flat road.
After filling up with water and popping another gel (my secondary goal for today was to see how my stomach handled the three-gels-per-hour menu I plan to use at Skyline) I felt a little better and my run back to the base of Lyman Wilson Ridge Trail was a little faster. But on my second trip up the climb I understood why Brian and Jay had seemed a little tired. I was spent! I had anticipated running up most of this climb the second time, but I couldn’t manage it. But part of distance running is learning to keep going though the pain, so I power hiked it a second time, though with far less gusto than the first trip. When I got to the top I popped gel number four and started back down at about half the pace I had done the first time. The slog back to the car this time was, well, a slog. It was hard to keep going.I was a little despondent after I had finished. This workout really handed it to me. If I get destroyed so easily on 8 miles, how will I make it through 31 at Skyline? All of the excuses I could make about today, it was hot, this was a really steep hill, I got a nasty abdominal cramp on the second downhill, all of those things could be part of my race and it would be stupid to discount them.
A couple of hours and two cups of coffee can do wonders for one’s perspective. I learned a lot today. First, I’m not nearly as strong a downhiller as I thought, and this weakness could jeopardize the rest of my performance at Skyline. Second, my body handles gels pretty reasonably, at least for an hour and a half of hard exertion. Third, I really need to remember to be sensible about my expectations. Why did I think I could run up a 19% grade? That’s just silly. So, to sum it up, for better or worse I answered the question I wanted to answer today. Time to get some downhill miles in.
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