Why You Aren't Sleeping

Here is my guide to sleeping. The problem can be summarized thusly:

I have a lot going on in my life.

I have two young kids and a wonderful wife.

I have a great if demanding job.

I really like training.

When I train a lot, I don't sleep well. And when I don't sleep well, I'm not happy. And when I'm not happy, it takes a toll on my family and career (and training).

I think I've finally figured out how to fix the problem. I'm posting my conclusions in the hopes that others find them useful. I'm not a doctor or a scientist, and I have only a basic understanding of some biological processes. I encourage you to correct my explanations, but please don't just comment that something is wrong. At least come up with a different theory that goes beyond placebo effect.

How are your electrolytes? I've found this to be the biggest problem with trying to sleep after running. Your body is fatigued, but you can't seem to get it to calm down when you lie down for bed. You are too hot so you take the blankets off, then you are too cold. Maybe you fall asleep for a thirty minutes and then wake up like you just finished your run.

Assuming you got enough to eat after your run, you probably got enough sodium back in your system (unless you had a really low sodium dinner, which is hard to do). Potassium and possibly magnesium are your culprits here. Try this: before bed eat a banana, a big glass of orange juice, or a bowl of applesauce. Finish it off with a big glass of cool water. With the orange juice you should notice a pretty quick effect. You temperature will get back under control. With the others it may take a little longer. You can also put a couple of tablespoons of lemon juice into a glass of water if you are out of options. You can try adding a magnesium pill if you think you're deficient there. Sports drinks don't seem to work well.

My theory as to why this works: Sodium, potassium, and the other electrolytes are important for all kinds of bodily functions. When you exercise and hydrate you tend to wash them out. It seems like there is something to the ratio of potassium to sodium as well, which is why I think sports drinks don't work well (because you get sodium from your food, plus more sodium and potassium from your drink, leaves you with too little potassium).

How is your protein? This seems to be a problem when trying to sleep after lifting weights or doing crossfit. Either you can't fall asleep, or you fall asleep and about three hours later you're wide awake and your heart is pounding. And your spouse is wearing pajamas and under 4 blankets while you are in your underwear without even a sheet and you're still too hot.

You may not have enough available protein in your system. If you can't fall asleep, try eating more protein right before bed. The guideline among athletes who are trying to build muscle mass and strength is one gram of protein for every pound of bodyweight per day. I like to have a healthy serving of meat at dinner and then a protein shake with 20 ounces whey protein right before bed every night.

I find that after a heavy lifting day, even with this I will wake up three hours later with the same symptoms. If I have another protein shake or protein bar then I can go back to sleep for the rest of the night. Alternatively, if I also have a casein protein shake before bed, that lasts me through the whole night. Casein protein has been a great find for me.

My theory as to why this works: When you lift heavy weights your body incurs significant muscle damage. It then repairs the muscle damage as part of the recovery and adaptation process. Your body needs amino acids to do this. Amino acids come in protein. When your body needs protein and doesn't have any available from food that you eat it goes into a catabolic state where it starts breaking down your existing muscles (that you worked really hard to attain, by the way) and uses the byproducts to repair and adapt the damaged muscles. I think that the pounding heart and overheating is a symptom of this catabolic state. Also, your body gets through the protein that you had for dinner (and any whey or egg or soy protein) in about 3-5 hours, and then it wakes you up screaming for more. Casein protein takes a long time to digest, so it will slowly enter your system all night and keep your body happy.

It's also worth noting that one of the amino acids involved is tryptophan, a.k.a. as the thing that puts you to sleep on the couch at thanksgiving (tryptophan shows up in most animal proteins including turkey). So it's possible that there is something else going on with by body, but the tryptophan is just knocking me out.

How is your hydration? Once you're sure that your electrolytes are good, you should check your hydration. This can show up with similar symptoms: difficulty regulating temperature, pounding heart. Make sure you take your 20+ ounces of water before bed. If you wake up in the middle of the night with these symptoms, especially if you've been out drinking, take a nother 15 or so.

My theory as to why this works: Your body needs water to function, but if you don't have your electrolytes dialed in you will only exacerbate the problem by washing out more electrolytes. So take care of those first. I think the racing heart may have to do with low blood pressure due to a lower volume of fluid in your system. When your blood pressure is lower your heart has to beat harder and faster to keep up with the body's needs.

That's all I got. Hopefully this was helpful. Put any other tips you have in the comments.

50 Miles Is a Long Race; 100 Miles Is an Adventure

Catching up on some old posts. Here is my race report from the San Diego 100 in 2011:

I just finished my first hundred this weekend at the San Diego 100. Now I get it: 50 miles is a long race; 100 miles is an adventure

This was going to be an abridged report, but the more I wrote the more it all came back. It's more a chronology than a report, but here you go:

I probably went out a little aggressively, but not too bad. I came into Meadows (7.4 miles) at 8:20 AM (start was 7:00). I normally hit a brief wall about 80 minutes in, and this was no exception, but I couldn't shake it and it kept getting worse and worse. I was eating and drinking but I felt like I just couldn't get any energy to my muscles, and it felt like there was a brick in my stomach. I had really slowed down by Red Tail (13.8).

By mile 15 I was doing the death march. I would have dropped at Todd's (18.6) except that I was worried about the logistics of getting back to my crew and figured I could march to Penny, so I did. In the miles before Penny (23.6) I felt worse than I've ever felt in any run ever, and I swore to myself that I would not let my crew talk me in to continuing. Thankfully my crew is more stubborn than I gave them credit for.

They and the Penny Pines aid station staff, including one wonderful nurse, convinced me to waylay my decision for a bit, sit down, have some food, water. I hit the can a few times, they forced me to stuff down the bananas. Ultimately it was the motivating words of my wife and of the nurse, and the obstinance of my dad, who gave me the strength to keep going. I told my crew that I loved them and I hated them, and I departed.

I was feeling so much better, and happy to be on the section of course that I had most looked forward to (the long descent to and subsequent climb out of Pine Creek. The descent was good and uneventful. I had gotten passed by so many people during my death march that I was passing a lot on the way down.

The loop at Pine Creek (31.3 to 36) was hot. I drank 70 ounces of water in less than 4 miles.

Back at Pine creek one of the aid staff was able to help me with my blisters, which I was thankful for. But I also realized that I was getting close to cutoff times. I couldn't believe it... I was expecting a 26 hour finish, and I had lost so much time in the first 23 miles that I was racing against cutoffs. That said, since I had come within a hair of dropping before I considered everything else as gravy, so I said I would just keep going until I got cut.

The aid crew told me to get moving up the climb, so I did. That's when I encountered the rattlesnake. It was stretched across the pavement, smelling the air (me) and left only about two feet on either side of the road to pass (and it was not feasible to take a detour around). I chose the rattle end to go around, and it didn't seem like the snake was poised in any position to be able to suddenly strike at me (but seriously, what do I know about that sort of thing?)

I was allowed to pass without incident.

I killed the climb up to Pioneer. Everyone says that this is the hardest part of the run, but in this race I learned that the longer the climb is, the stronger I get. When I got to Pioneer (44.1) I told my crew it was go time and I wanted to be out of there quick. They delivered.

It got dark on the way to Sunrise (51.3), and at some point I got lost. I ended up on a dirt two-track between Sunrise Hwy and the trail. I have no idea how I got there, and even when I retraced the trail on the way back the next day, I still don't get it. Once I realized I was lost I started backtracking. Someone from the race staff was driving down Sunrise Hwy and saw my headlamp going the wrong way. He stopped and asked what the heck I was doing and I tried to explain it to him over the wind. He gave me the strange advice to, instead of backtracking, bushwack away from the highway to the trail. I thought it was strange because that direction pretty quickly turns into a steep descent down to the desert, but I took it anyway and it worked. I picked up the trail and moved on, but I was demoralized at having gotten lost.

At Sunrise I spent 15 minutes or so under a blanket drinking soup. I took some advil, and my first pacer (my friend Ben) and I got going. We moved at a pretty good clip along the flats to Stonewall (58.9), arriving about one hour before the cutoff. The climb over the mountain to Paso was hard, but the closer we got to the top the stronger I felt. Still, we arrived at Paso (64.2) with only 30 minutes to spare (it was 2:00 AM)

I picked up my second pacer at Paso (my dad), and we started the next section in the deepest part of the night. I'm so glad I had my dad for this section, as he is an experienced backpacker. For a long stretch the trail was not well defined, we were trudging through what seemed like marshes, I was exhausted. I'm pretty sure I would have gotten lost on my own on that leg. In any case the whole thing was slow. I was pretty sure we had missed the cutoff at Sweetwater (72.3) but to my surprise we made it by nine minutes (it was 4:51 AM).

The climb back to Sunrise (80.3) started out okay but quickly fell apart. I just couldn't shake the sleepiness and the chill, and I think I was paying for the caffeine I had taken during the night to keep going. I was again pretty certain we would miss the cutoff, and I was okay with that. I had given it everything. Then suddenly I felt alive. I kicked it into high gear, and again the farther we got on the climb the stronger I got. By the time we topped out on the flats I was running again, my dad cheering the whole way. We made Sunrise by 10 minutes.

I picked up my third pacer here, my best friend Tim. Tim had been training his ass off for this and he could not have been more fired up to go. And now I was starting to really believe I could finish. All I had to do was maintain a 20 minute/mile pace for the next 20 miles, which is a moderate power-walk. It was all pretty predictable from there (albeit stressful, flirting with the clock like that). The only mistake was that Tim convinced me to run into Pioneer (87.5), which was unnecessary and demoralizing because it sapped my energy. But I recovered, especially with Tim's great support.

We made Pioneer by 15 minutes. We made Penny (91.5) by 15 minutes, and I got to see the nurse again who helped me back at mile 23 (68 miles ago!), which really boosted my spirits.

We made Rat Hole (96.2) by 30 minutes. And made the finish by just 9 minutes. I crossed the line second to last!

I've never been so overwhelmed to be done with something. I never expected to be so happy with such a late finish. I earned that buckle.

I'm fiercely independent, and I've never really used a crew before. I absolutely would have failed without them... that's a really touching experience for me.

Whoever the nurse was who helped me at Penny, I heard your encouraging words in my head throughout the entire race, Thank you thank you thank you. [Edit] I found out later that this was Annie Harvey.

And thanks to the race organizers and the ultra community in general: Thank you for the greatest adventure I have ever experienced.

2501 Burpees

Just finished the 100 day burpee challenge. The challenge is to start with one burpee on the first day, two on the second, and so forth until you do 100 burpees on the hundredth day. All told that's 5050 burpees in 100 days. I actually did a variation on this where I combined it with the 100 day situp challenge... on odd days I would to burpees and on even days I would do situps. So I actually only did 2500 burpees, plus I added one on the last day to make it 100 for a total of 2501.

The situps were no big deal, but I have grown to hate burpees. The goal of course is to get them done as quickly as possible every day and it's amazing how much you start to worry about it.

My first goal was to do them continuously without stopping. I was able to do that until day 33. My next goal was do not go over 6 seconds per burpee (on average). I was able to do that until day 67. And my final goal was to never go over 10 minutes for my total time. I was able to do that all the way to the end, just barely. My worst performance was on day 89, which took me 9:51. Day 91 was my next worse at 9:45, and day 99 (100 burpees) was my third, at 9:44.

Below is a plot that shows my time per burpee through the whole challenge.

Performance for the 100 day burpee challenge

My technique gradually improved until day 27 or so, then I started to reach my limits for continuous effort. After day 33 I had to start taking rests. I had a few bad days (notably day 73 and 81).

I'm sick of burpees, but glad I stuck it out to the end.

River City Marathon Results

Final results were posted this morning. Turns out the official time was correct, 3:41:20, 43rd overall (out of 296 finishers), 10th in my age group (out of 25 finishers). Not a strong showing by any means, but still happy with it.

I'm also happy because I don't have to run for awhile. As I mentioned before, Jen is pregnant, and my responsibilities over the next few months are going to change dramatically, meaning that I won't have enough time to train seriously for any kind of race. It's actually kind of a relief... all these long races, while rewarding, do take a lot of emotional energy for me, and I'm feeling a little burned out. I'm looking forward to putting this on the back-burner for awhile and coming back when it's fun again.

I don't know what that means for this blog. I'll probably post from time to time about Crossfit stuff, and other random things tangentially related to running, but for the time being this isn't going to be a focus of mine.

Thanks to those of you who've followed me on this forray. I hope to come back someday :)

River City Marathon Race Report

Somehow I got it into my head that I am in good enough shape to run a Boston qualifier (a marathon on a certified course faster than 3:10:59 for my age group) and so I started today with that intention.

My thinking was something along the lines of this: a month or so ago I ran a 10K in training at the requisite pace (7:15/mi). I've been training pretty hard for a month. I always perform better on race day than I do in training (for road races), mostly because of adrenaline and tapering. I've learned how to properly fuel for longer races. After a few ultras I'm now comfortable tackling distances in excess of a marathon.

It all seems to add up right? Well, if you've run a marathon before you probably see where this is going.

I was more nervous for this race than I have been for any in a long time. In hindsight I think I was nervous because I was setting out to do something that in my heart I knew I was physically incapable of doing. When I woke up at 4:00 am this morning said heart started racing immediately. I badly wanted to go back to sleep and forget about the race, but that's not how one does these sorts of things, is it?

The logistics of getting to the starting line were somewhat complicated. Wake up, eat, get dressed. Then drive to the finish line by 5:30. Then sit on a bus while the stragglers are accounted for. Then travel on the bus to the starting line (26.2 miles on a bus takes quite awhile!). Disembark at 6:30 and wait until the race starts at 7:00.

All of this was done in 48 degree temperatures, meaning that I needed to bring an extra sweatshirt to stay warm, which would be discarded prior to the start (as it was too hot to run in). Jen had such a sweatshirt that she was planning on giving to goodwill (which is where discarded race gear typically ends up anyway). It was her race sweatshirt from the Big Sur Marathon, which she ended up skipping because she is now pregnant (very exciting), and wants to get rid of it as it reminds her of something she has to give up for a bit. It really was a nice sweatshirt, and it pains me to discard such things, but at least it will go to a good cause.

In my warm ups I was feeling out a 7:15/mi pace and it felt pretty comfortable. I know a 7:15 pace because for me it's the pace just short of pushing- I have to push myself for a 7:00 pace, but a 7:15 just seems to flow.

So, with start I settled nicely into my stride. The only two hills of note on this course are in the first three miles, so I felt if I could stay strong through those I had a chance of hitting my target.

My first mile was a 7:20. A little slow, but not to worry. Three of my next four miles were sub 7:15, and the slow one was 7:17. After 6 miles my average pace was 7:16 and I was on target for a 3:10 finish.

As fantastic as that was, I realized at this point that I would be unable to maintain the pace for the entire race. So I moved to goal "B", which was to beat my marathon PR of 3:17:58. Such a feat would require the more leisurely average pace of 7:30, which definitely seemed doable, especially given the first 6 miles that I had squeezed extra time from.

By mile 12 my average pace was 7:24.

During mile 13 everything started to come apart. I was feeling horrible. I had more than half of the race to go, I was exhausted, and I could hardly bear the thought of continuing. I very seriously considered the possibility of abandoning at the half-marathon mark.

In running races people usually refer to quitting as a "DNF" (Did Not Finish), as that's what is listed on the results for racers who don't cross the finish line. I prefer the term "abandon", at least for what I was considering. Abandoning suggests the failure to honor a responsibility, in this case one that you've assigned to yourself. And in fact this thought was one of the few things that kept me moving forward... a "DNF" sounds like no big deal, and should in my view be reserved for injuries or emergencies. This was neither, but I wanted it to end so badly.

It was a classic quit-point: the race staff were there to send off the half-marathoners, I could have easily persuaded one of them to drive me to the finish. I even started working out what I was going to say to the person I talked to. I would happily relinquish my timing chip and my bib. I would talk about how it just wasn't a good day for me, and I didn't have anything to prove by finishing as I'd already missed my two goals and this would just be another marathon for me.

NO! That's not me! I signed myself up to do this race... paid good money and challenged myself to achieve a goal. I had bravely pursued that goal, and it didn't work out today, but just because I made some miscalculations didn't mean I could or should throw in the towel. Damn it, I've run 50 mile races before. I can't hang on to this one for 13 measly more miles of slightly downhill pavement? NO!

I took what I've learned from ultra marathons, slowed the pace down, continued eating and drinking, and broke the remaining distance into manageable chunks. I decided that goal "C" was that there would be no walking (I've walked in every single marathon I've run, even my 3:17 PR run).

My outrage at myself was validated when I saw one of the race staff at the 13.1 mile mark. I laughed at the idea of explaining my story to one of these folks. Silly.

Despite slowing down, I still finished the first half-marathon in 1:37 (7:26/mi).

The next 13.1 miles were miserable. Every mile was literally "just make it to the next mile without walking". Mile 14 was an 8:03. Mile 17 was 8:58. Mile 23 was the slowest, an appalling 10:03.

I had forgotten how bad it feels to finish a marathon on which you've gone out too fast. It's agony. Literal agony.

And it was getting hot. Another miscalculation I made was in selecting what to wear. I had planned to finish around 10:10 AM, at which point the projected temperature was about 62 degrees. When I actually finished, it had soared to about 68. The hat and arm gaiters were not the right attire for 68-degree weather.

And I was dehydrating. The aid stations were spread out a little farther than a typical marathon, but I didn't want to carry my own bottle for a race like this. I couldn't seem to get enough water though, despite taking two cups from every station.

But I didn't walk. I had to stop for a few seconds five or six times to stretch out a cramp in my hamstrings, and I walked at the last aid station so I could down three cups of water without wasting a drop, but besides that I was always running (well, jogging at this point). I was going to make it at goal "C".

My finishing time was about 3:37 (an 8:23 pace... but it's actually not quite clear what my time was, because the official time said 3:41, but my watch said 3:37).

I started off too fast, I wore the wrong clothes, I didn't stay hydrated. I missed my target time by almost 30 minutes. By most measures this marathon was a disaster.

But for some reason I'm really happy about it. I was in more discomfort in this race than I have been in a long time, and I was certainly closer to abandoning than I ever have been before, but I managed to push through all that and make it to the end.

I'll post final results when I get them.

Woodside 50K Race Report

While drinking a cup of coffee this morning I finished reading the book Once a Runner. Coupling this excellent novel with yesterday's memories was an immensely gratifying experience.

Yesterday... yesterday was the Woodside 50K, and it was pretty darn cool.

In northern California we've been getting hit with storm after storm this winter, bringing rain to the lowlands and snow to the mountains. I've been doing the bulk of my training indoors mostly because I can't be bothered on the weekdays with the inconvenience of getting my shoes all wet, and running around the San Jose suburbs in the rain just isn't all that fulfilling. And on the weekends the idea of sloshing around in ankle-deep mud doesn't sound enticing.

If it sounds like I'm being a little soft about the whole thing, I am. Or I was. All week I was watching the weather hoping that we'd get two rain-free days for the trails to dry out enough that they wouldn't be sloppy messes. On Thursday I realized that this wasn't going to happen, and then I realized what a wimp I was being. Some of my best runs have been in the worst weather.

In fact, my first run after deciding to get into ultra running was a ten mile point-to-point on the Bay Area Ridge Trail (a five-hundred plus mile trail system that mostly circumnavigates the San Francisco Bay) on Skyline Ridge. It was raining on and off through the whole run. The trail was muddy, shoe grabbing muddy in places. I was unprepared for the challenges of trail running. But I remember coming out of the forest at one point on the west side of the ridge, the clouds cleared, and I had a beautiful view of the giant valley below me, blanketed in mist. I loved every minute of it.

So at 5:30 am yesterday I awoke (the 8:30 am start time is mercifully late), gritted my teeth for a day of inclement weather, and went through my usual routine. My biggest concern was whether or not to wear a raincoat. No coat in a downpour can wind you up soaking wet, and possibly at risk of hypothermia in cold weather. And a raincoat when there is no rain can be like carrying a sauna around with you, as raincoats (not surprisingly) don't breathe very well. I took clothing for both eventualities and deferred the decision till the start.

Jen rode with me to Huddart Park prior to the start. As soon as we turned on to King's Mountain Road, the torrent started. We pulled into the parking lot and any misgivings I had about a raincoat were quickly dashed when she stepped out to use the bathroom and came back fairly drenched.

I tried to get all of my gear on while sitting in the driver's seat. Unfortunately I had just stuffed everything into my backpack and in the process of emptying it out lost a running sock. I got out of the car to get a better view of the seat and the floor, and started getting drenched myself (no raincoat on yet). After a few embarrassingly frustrating minutes I found my missing sock and several other items that I lost in the process of looking for the sock. Next time I will remember to organize things a little better.

In addition to the rain coat, one extra piece of gear I brought on this race was a second bottle. There is an 8.5 mile stretch between aid stations in the middle of the race that I didn't think one bottle would get me through.

Soon I had all of my stuff together and was ready to register. At the desk I saw Martin, one of the guys with whom I worked the aid station at the same Woodside series last December. We chatted for a bit about races, and I was reminded that he had won a spot for Western States this year. I'm really looking forward to hearing about his adventure, hopefully I see him again.

Is there a race around here?

Soon we were being called to the start, and at 8:30 sharp we were off. I didn't know the trail, but I could sense that soon after the gun the stampede that was moving across the meadow would need to collapse to a queue, so I tried to place myself so as to not get delayed for too long. After a tight turn around a fence we were on fast fire roads. I was trying to keep a good pace but not get too excited. I knew after a short downhill comes a six mile climb, so I was steeling myself for that.

Once on the climb it seemed that things were moving a little too fast. But I felt pretty strong and just tried to keep pace with those around me. Near the top most of us started to tire and there was a lot of walking, even on sections that weren't very steep, so I regretted pushing on the early parts of the hill. On the other hand, everybody was walking so I wasn't really losing time to anyone.

Which brings me to my strategy: Don't lose too much time on the uphills, put the pedal down on the flats, and keep pace on the downhills. The biggest challenge was going to be the downhills, as one can lose a lot of time there and it's been a weak spot of mine in the past. But I've been working hard on getting my legs stronger for this very purpose so I was excited to test myself.

Going through the King's Mountain aid station (mile 6) I was a little bothered at having to get in line for water. This was no one's fault, it was just that several runners arrived at roughly the same time and I was last of the bunch. Had I thought about it before hand, I might have skipped this aid station since two bottles would probably carry me to the second one, but for now that's just something to remember next time.

It was nice to see the familiar territory of the King's Mountain station- this was the one that I had volunteered at last time. There are a couple of tricky trail directions leaving the station and I was glad to have them already mapped out.

After King's Mountain the trail flattens out. We were running along a section of the Bay Area Ridge Trail that I hadn't seen before. The trail is invariably well maintained, and I was excited to be checking another segment off my list. I put the hammer down... so did everyone else around me, and so did the clouds as they opened upon us. I was very happy for my raincoat.

I had passed a few folks at the aid (I carry my own food so I don't have to agonize over such concerns while the clock ticks away), and only one or two of them passed me on the flats. I overtook a couple of people who were dealing with technical problems, but mostly we all stayed together. We were in a good rhythm.

At the Bear Gulch aid station (mile 11) I got my water quickly and found myself in a new group starting the big descent into Bear Gulch itself. Stay smooth, stay light, let it coast. That's what I told myself. Not an easy feat when negotiating 2 inch-deep mud puddles.

Mud is strange. Most of the time it's best to just charge through the puddle. The ground seems to be the most stable there. Except for the rare step that grabs your shoe and muddy water pours in over your ankles. I had nabbed a couple of these on the flats earlier, and while my shoes are good at draining water, they're also good at filtering out the suspended dirt in the process, leaving a fine grit against which to grind your macerated piggies (i.e. an invitation for blisters). I felt the beginnings of a blister around mile 12, but decided that it would be best to just tough it out.

Near the bottom of the descent the trail forks off in a loop around which runners go before returning on the same trail that brought us here. I was really hoping to get to the fork before seeing the leaders. I hadn't worked out the distances, but intuitively I figured I would be doing pretty good if I managed that. I didn't quite make it; I saw three guys and one girl before splitting off. But I do always enjoy seeing the leaders, so it wasn't all bad.

The trail bottoms out about halfway around the loop, stays flat for awhile, and then starts to climb again. Once I hit the uphill I realized my legs were spent from the descent. But I didn't panic. My scant two ultra marathons previous have at least taught me that a lot changes over the course of a race, and as long as you're still moving you're fine.

So I walked a bit. Some fellows caught up with and passed me in a slow jog, so I picked it up for a minute or so and then started walking again. I decided to employ a technique whereby I would run for a minute-thirty or so, and then walk for a minute. This seemed to allow me to recover sufficiently and I found that I could comfortably run up the gentler sections out of Bear Gulch and power walk the steeper ones.

About halfway up I started to feel good again. At first I was happy about this. But then I asked myself, do you want to look back and know that at mile 18 you could have picked it up and didn't? I didn't. So I started pushing the pace again.

And somewhere I have developed quite a power walk. In the past I've always been disheartened by folks speeding past me while we both trudge uphill. I couldn't understand how they could move themselves so much faster. But I think through a combination of strength training, ankle rehab, and determination, I can move at a reasonable clip now. I passed several people near the end of the climb, which I found quite satisfying.

Back at Bear Gulch aid the second time (20 miles) another quick fill and I was off retracing the Bay Area Ridge Trail segment. Time to put the hammer down again! The 35K race turnaround is at this aid station, so I was now encountering lots of people in that race, always uplifting to get and give encouragement.

I had to take it easy on the slight uphills, but I was feeling pretty good on the flats. But the fatigue was starting to take its toll. I didn't think I would be able to hold it together for another 11 miles (I thought it was 11 because I am have not gotten used to the miscalculations that my new GPS watch makes, especially over winding and wooded terrain), but I pressed onward anyway, continuing to push the pace. At some point I broke into the caffeinated Clif Bloks that I save for the end of a race, which allowed me to keep it going. But my strength I was flagging.

Before I knew it I was back at King's Mountain aid for the second time (26 miles). My watch suggested that I had about 7 miles to go, and I thought I had remembered reading that it was 6 miles from here to the finish. I asked the aid station volunteer how far it was, and she said 4 miles. I couldn't believe it! But when I thought about how far it must be given what I knew about the 17K course that follows this same section, I realized that she must be right. I was overjoyed. Just topped off the water and was off again.

After King's Mountain it is a slight uphill before a long downhill. Once I hit that downhill I kicked it into high gear. At one point I my watch showed me at a 7:00 pace, which I believed. I was feeling great (the caffeine helped), ready to run this thing home. There is a bothersome little climb in the middle of the descent, but after dispatching with it I knew I was home free. I kept pushing, pushing. I wasn't running against anyone else at this point (my nearest competitors were 1-2 minutes ahead and behind), just running faster because, well, that's what you do.

Soon I saw the parking lot and the typically confusing finish of trail races (literally across a path, around a parked car, through a parking lot, down a sidewalk, through a children's playground complete with spongy platform, across another section of the same sidewalk, through a meadow, into a foreshortened finish chute). Then I saw Jen standing on the side with the camera at the ready. I regretted having unzipped my jacket because I knew it would make for a crappy photo (I had unzipped it so the finish staff could see my number), but whatever.

Hammering down the hope stretch

Before I knew it I was over the line and breathed a sigh of relief. I was really happy with my performance, I knew I was fast compared with my previous races, and I had pushed myself the whole way.

My finishing time was 5:35:49. While only 6 minutes faster than my last 50K, I don't feel so bad about it for a couple of reasons. First, Jen and I heard many people complaining about slow times because of the trail conditions. Second, my overall place was 30th, but, more importantly I finished at the 30th percentile of finishers (my last two races have been at about the 50th percentile). So measured in raw speed I was not substantially faster, but measured against the field (a better measure in my opinion) I improved substantially.

That said, I'm excited for the next one. I'm forever wary of flukes, so I feel I need another performance to prove it to myself that I really have gotten faster. For now I have a week of soreness to look forward to, and a nasty blister to take care of. But I am very happy with my race. Best ultra so far.

New Toys

Jen got me a GPS watch for Christmas. It comes with a heart rate monitor and loads of other neat stuff. It's been fun to take it out on the trails and then come back and upload the data. I've never had that kind of visibility into my workouts before.

Today I decided to use it for a crossfit workout. The workout is called Barbara, which consists of the following:

5 rounds for time:
20 pullups
30 pushups
40 situps
50 squats
3 minutes rest

Below is a plot of my heart rate over the duration of the workout. I started the clock right when I started and stopped it right when I was finished, so the plot starts and stops at those instants. The workout took me 41 minutes and 31 seconds.

My heart rate for Barbara

You can clearly see the four rest periods. The sharpest peaks are at the end of the pullups; I can bang out twenty of those nonstop using the butterfly method (a way to recycle more of your energy from one pullup to the next, generally accepted in crossfit workouts). The other peaks are during the squats, as I can string together long sets of those as well. The lulls are during the pushups and situps. I have to stop several times per round for those exercises.

Downtime

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.

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.

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:

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.

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

Suddenly 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 me

I 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.

Cookie at the end of her first marathon

Interestingly, 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.

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 warmup

I 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 press

At 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 team

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.

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.

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.

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!

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:

"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!

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.

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 :)