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.
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