Simply crossing the finish line has rarely been so gratifying for me. About 1/4 into the Cougar Mtn 13 miler (which I later heard by a few reliable sources to be more along the lines of the “Cougar almost-14 miler”), I was feeling lethargic & heavy (expectantly) and, upon changing from flat/downhill sections to uphill sections, rather nauseous (unexpectedly). Absence of nausea is something I’ve taken for granted over the years. When reading about ultras and other intense workouts/races, I have come across many instances of people unable to keep food down (in the case of ultras, where you’re eating during the race) or working so violently hard that their body tries to remove some of its insides. This however has never happened to *me* (discussed here, somewhat) other than that one time I drank untreated creek water at Tiger Mtn like a dumbass.
Saturday on Cougar Mtn it almost happened, multiple times. So uncomfortable was this feeling that on a couple brief instances in my head I contemplated just taking myself out of the race. During those moments though I almost immediately thought of my “Low and Behold” racing season and how excited I was only a few days earlier that White River had not incapacitated me and I would actually be able to COMPLETE IT. Was I really ok with getting a DNF here, and therefore NOT completing it, because of a “tummy-ache”? No, so I did my best to ignore the nausea during each hill climb and finally, after a “Scott McCoubrey-certified” final 1.2 mile section that took me 18 minutes, I crossed the finish line. 10th place overall in 2:00:29. Isolated from everything else this summer, this was not a good race for me. But as the final piece of a six-race puzzle, I was and am quite pleased. I recall a couple runs back in late May, before Ski to Sea, where I had terrifying thoughts that not only would I not be able to do all six races, but I’d likely wind up injured again for the remainder of the year. I was 75% certain Ski To Sea (only race #2 out of 6) would break my brittle shins. I’d have moments of wanting to back out of that race, but never did out of obligation. During those unhelpful moments of self-doubt, it wasn’t a question of if my legs would rebel, but when. Maybe not DURING Ski To Sea…but surely after, right? Would I even make it to the starting line of race 3, the Cougar 7.5 miler?
Despite lingering notices that whatever was there around my shin is still there…like a dormant volcano of sorts, it stayed below the surface. I took today (Tuesday) off, mainly because I can feel it a bit stronger than usual, and we’ll see how goes from here. One extended plan I had for the fall/winter was to perhaps gear up for one more road marathon, a race I have not attempted since finally getting under 3 hours in Portland back in October 2008. Wanting to keep everything low key this time (no magazine interviews), I figure if I do it (injury I think will be the only deterrent), the race will be the Seattle Marathon on the Sunday after Thanksgiving. In 2005 that’s where I made my first ever attempt (look at that head of hair). In between now and then I might do a half-marathon and perhaps a 10K…if for no other reason than to make it so my 10K PR is not something I achieved in the first 10K of a half marathon. While I *know* I’m a better runner all-around now, it’ll be interesting to see what’s happened to my marathon “ability” since over two years ago.
Took to the track tonight for a relatively easy speed workout (at least that was the intention), the first one in awhile. The soccer games—and sad rugby guys who want to practice on the field but can’t because of the soccer games–have been replaced by what looks to be 3 different sets of pee-wee football teams and a potpourri of various-aged cheerleaders. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen an overweight 35 year-old has-been barking at a group of 10 year olds that their pushups “stink!” And why do these teams require 12 assistant coaches? To ten of you, beat it! They’re 10 years old! Take off your stupid sunglasses, climb back into your SUV, and wait for your kid’s practice to be over. You can even put on your blue-tooth headset and pretend to be “running one by your coworker” if you feel insecure and lonely.
Anyway, I was trying to decide between a half dozen 800s or some mile repeats (4)…and as you might expect I opted for the choice with less mileage. I wanted to take these a notch below 100% since who knows just how recovered I am from White River. I estimated something in the 2:50-2:55 range would be a good place to start. And to top it off, on the warmup jog I decided I’d do the final rep barefoot.
Encouraging signs, I suppose I have more speed than I anticipated after a summer of mostly training for longer, slower stuff. I really didn’t feel like I was pressing at all on these. Of course, I’m sure if I ran each rep just two seconds faster I would have been sucking wind in a fetal position after reps 4, 5 & 6, so I probably can’t say I did these any easier than maybe 98% effort. The barefoot one was surprisingly fast while not feeling any harder than any of the reps before it. For some reason I figured this one would be the slowest of the six. I even had to dial it back a bit after hitting 1:18 in the opening 400.
Saturday is the final race of the “Low and Behold: The 2010 Joe Creighton Racing Season, starring Joe Creighton“, the beautiful 13 miler at Cougar Mtn. This one’s got prize money for the first time (of which I am not eligible, but that should not be an issue as I’m guessing there will be many mighty runners there competing for it, pushing me back from 2008’s 3rd place finish and the runner-up status I’ve achieved at the 5 and 7.5 milers*) so it will be hopefully a very fun and competitive race. I don’t know how competitive *I* will be, but in all honesty I’m just pleased I will be able to race it at all after last year’s debacle, and that I will be successfully completing my “summer racing season.”
(ETA) *By “runner up” at the 5 mile, I obviously meant to say “3rd runner up.” Heh.
calves smelled like burning
hoped i could do it in eight
one climb too many
Moments after crossing the finish line at the 2010 White River 50 mile, about 8:25:32 after I started, RD Scott McCoubrey handed me my stainless steel water bottle and asked how it went. Or maybe Greg Crowther asked me. I dunno. It was kind of a blur. But I do remember my response was "the course has one climb too many." A little self-depreciation hardy-har-har…since the race only has two (big) climbs. But that was really all there was to it. A lack of significant hill training was my ultimate undoing in the 2nd half of the course, and I believe it was the only thing holding me back from accomplishing my ultimate goal of sub-8 hours. I was probably better suited for a 50 mile race that had only ~5k feet of climbing, not 8,819 feet. Still, I cut 22 minutes off my time from 2009, and all of those minutes came in the 2nd half. So progress was made. I also didn’t twist my ankle at all, so we’re hoping this means no cankles this August.
With the aid of raccoon-scented Patrick Niemeyer, whose broken blog is linked over there on the right if you’ve got absolutely nothing better to do, I had a brain full of aid station splits I would want to hit or be around if I wanted to be in the hunt for 8 hours. Combining the splits from Uli’s 2004 then-course record, Anton Krupicka’s 2009 CR, and Susannah Beck’s 2008 womens’ CR, he extrapolated a pace *I* would want to hit for 8 hours. And the day before, on the drive down from the city, I memorized them with help from Claire and can still recite them with ease:
Aid Station Miles H:Min
Camp Shepard 3.9 0:34
Ranger Creek 11.7 1:56
Corral Pass 16.9 2:47
Buck Creek 27.2 4:18
Fawn Ridge 31.7 5:11
Suntop 37.0 6:14
Skookum Flats 43.4 7:01
Finish Line 50.0 8:00
As it did last year, the race started off under cool clear skies and I was without nerves. Despite a guy behind me rapping along out loud to his music and running through tree branches like a pyscho, the 4 miles to Camp Shepard came and went effortlessly and without incident. I did arrive in 0:31:07, a few minutes fast. Instead of fretting over this, I looked at it as a welcome to not have to push too hard on the first climb.
About halfway to Ranger Creek I came upon Ashley Arnold and Meghan Arbogast, the womens runner-up at Western States and favorite to win this race. Ashley is young, the same age I was when my hair was only just starting to fall out. Meghan is 49…but looks no older than 39. Knowing I was in good company (meaning the top women…who tend to be smarter racers than the men I’d find around me), I decided to stick with them and ignore what the guys were doing. We hit Ranger Creek nice and easily in 1:54:35, and after a brief water bottle refill and watering of the shrubs, I quickly caught them again as we methodically made our way to Corral Pass. Compared to how I would run this race if I was alone, Meghan, who was leading most of the time, seemed to take the climbs slower and the descents a bit faster. I just remember thinking to myself "easy, big fella" on the climbs and having to go just a tad harder on the downs to keep them around than I might otherwise.
We all came in together again to Corral Pass [photo], right on cue in 2:47:13. To this point really nothing had felt difficult yet. We resumed our train on the trip back to Ranger Creek (another body or two now with us), but during the last short climb before the loooong descent, I couldn’t help myself and took the lead. I told Meghan she’d get me back on the downhill surely, and soon found myself all alone. I caught a guy or two on the descent to Ranger Creek but did not hear or see Meghan or Ashley gaining back on me (3:32:45, for the record). The all-downhill switchbacks to Buck Creek commenced and aside from passing one or two guys, I was completely alone. My spirits were high here. I knew danger lay ahead in the 2nd climb, but throughout the race I was comparing how 2010 me felt versus 2009 me at this same point, and 2010 me was always coming out smelling like roses. I felt like I was running easy yet the train of better downhill runners were not running over me at all.
Buck Creek welcomed me at exactly 4:18 as I felt seriously zoned in on my splits. I left my hydration belt with Claire (thing would *not* stay put on my waist and instead was slowly rotating around me as I ran) and left with a couple extra gels, now holding both bottles. Last year at this point I came into the aid station around the exact same time, but much more wrecked from the long descent and spent a few minutes sitting, getting a blister treated and taking extra time to eat. This time I was in and out pretty quick and felt relatively okay. Back of my legs were feeling a little sick of it all but I felt more confident than I did a year ago.
Then, after a brief flat warmup, the second climb started, and I said goodbye to 8 hours.
The fall from grace didn’t happen nearly as quick as last year, to my legs’ credit. We were what I would call "mostly running" all the way to the Fawn Ridge aid station, and I refused to look at my watch until I got there. I didn’t want the bad news until then, and if it was good news then hey all the better. When I arrived, I looked down and saw I was 3 minutes back (5:14:22). Close…but I took this a little hard, since I didn’t think I’d be able to ramp up the effort to get back to (or exceed) the pace needed from Fawn Ridge to Suntop, a much more difficult stretch in my opinion, since I felt I was already giving "max effort." Best case I felt was I’d be about 3 minutes FAST to the aid station due to overestimating the pace. This did not happen. And as a nice kick in the balls to top it off, as I was leaving the aid station, I saw Meghan Arbogast just arriving. Ccccccccccrap. It wasn’t just the thought of getting "chick’d"–she’s a legitimately badass runner and I’m sure we had similar time goals–it was just the inevitability of it all. A reminder that I while things were *better* than last year, I once again wasn’t doing what I needed to do on this climb. And did she have to look so damn strong coming into the station?
Meghan along with two other guys passed me maybe halfway to Suntop, as my fears were realized and my legs slowly became mostly worthless on the uphill. The false summit downhill provided no real relief, only supplying me with new side cramp pain that I would love to blame on the cup of soda I had at Fawn Ridge but was more likely my shitty downhill form. I ran/hiked up the final climb to Suntop [photo], the watch reading a depressing 6:29:04. Little did I know Anton had finished the whole race nearly four minutes earlier.
The 6.6 mile downhill from Suntop was miserable and not at all what I was needing at the moment. My poor form once again brought back the side cramps and the back of my legs, not properly hill trained for a downhill this severe, this late, were not in great spirits. The 2nd place female, Amy Sproston, passed me about halfway down. Luckily nobody else did and I arrived at Skookum (7:22:24) being told I was in 23rd place. This I found bittersweet. My secondary goal was only determined the night before with help from Claire…that being sub-8:30 and/or top 25. I was 32nd last year. So I was in line for both of those barring anything tragic happening in Skookum. That was sweet. I found bitter though just how dumb those goals sounded at the moment. "Sub 8:30…what does that even mean?" I asked myself. Secondary & tertiary goals are usually very uninspiring.
I noticed I was "passing" a guy who was sitting in a chair at the aid station, so in my head I figured I was now in 22nd. "Gotta hold this place…for The Thrill," I told myself in unsuccessful attempts to push myself through this 6.5-7.0 mile stretch that felt about twice that. One thought I had as I consoled myself shortly after my watch turned over to 8:00:00 was that "well, at least this year no one’s gonna beat you by over two hours!" Again…inspiration was hard to come by on Skookum Flats.
About an hour later I finally hit the road that led to the finish line and I mustered up all I could for the spectators. There were a ton of kids at the race, all formed into small little posses of trouble. I like to think that I got them to stop throwing sticks at one another for at least a couple seconds and watch, admiringly, as I brought it home. Someone said I was 21st place…not 22nd. At first a little dismayed I wasn’t in fact running for The Thrill, Terry put it all back in perspective via txt message later that evening. “OH YEAH! 21×2=42 WWWWOOOOLLLLFFFFF!!”
Unbelievably happy to not have to run anymore, the disappointment was short-lived. Scott McCoubrey handed me my stainless steel water bottle and……
********
Anton wound up crushing his year-old course record…posting a 6:25:29. Seven days after completing a 194-mile week. The mathematicians in the room might notice he did in fact beat me by 3 seconds more than 2 hours. I’m too in awe to be that ashamed.
A few days have passed and I’m amazed at how quickly I’ve recovered. Not only should there be no cankles at all, but I think the Cougar Mtn 13 miler is definitely a go (not a fast go, but a go), and I should be able to average a bit more than the 10 miles a week I was able to average in the Aug-Dec months of 2009. I gingerly walked around Sunday, but Monday I merely felt "sore" and walked normally. Today I ran for almost an hour, feeling merely "very tired."
The lesson learned THIS TIME is "more hills." It sounds a little pathetic as I type it, but it’s true. Everything else was great…but in the back of my mind I knew I didn’t put in the trail hills I needed to put in. I hoped I could escape. I was wrong. There was one hill too many.
Here are some other race reports I’ve come across (and the time they ran).
Anton Krupicka (6:25, crushed course record) Greg Crowther (6:58…this was Greg’s 4th attempt to break 7 hours after running 7:34, 7:07, and a 7:01 last year. I was only maybe a minute past crossing the finish line when I found out and it was a huge lift. Gives me hope someday for 8 hours.) Yassine Diboun (7:02) Amy Sproston (8:22) Scott McMurtrey (9:34) Joel Ballezza (10:28)
Yesterday in the mid afternoon I received an email from the fine folks at SRC alerting me and all others on their email list that if we wanted to, in the next 2 hours we could submit our top 10 choices for race numbers (between 1-300). First come, first serve. A neat little idea. Since I was at work, I had nothing better to do and IM’d my brother (also at work and likely bored) for a little brainstorming session.
One might think the obvious choice is #1, a race number I’m actually not unfamiliar with. But one would be wrong. Unless you are in the running to win the race, looking down at your bib halfway through the race and seeing "1" serves more as a reminder that you are in fact very far from #1 in both that race and surely other aspects of life. What one wants with a number, if they have a choice, is something they can glance at or think of in a moment of hunger and feel either strength or pure happiness/amusement. Either a tonic to climb over the pain or a pill to help forget it if only for a few moments.
Before I get to my top 10, I’ll relay some of the poor numbers that had to be axed. At first, under pressure of time and with literally millions of options before me, I panicked and just started picking numbers almost at random, starting with athletes I admired (Will Clark, Scottie Pippen, Zack Greinke) and then moving on to even less inspiring choices, like my birthday and my cat’s weight converted to ounces, but cooler heads eventually prevailed thanks to my brother, who felt not the pressure I did and casually started dropping winners left and right.
In numerical order, here are a few he and eventually I was able to bump:
#8 – Steve Young…plus my ultimate goal of 8 hours – Montana was the man when I was a kid, but Young was at the helm when I started religiously watching NFL Primetime at the Carmichael’s house Sunday evenings. Plus he was left handed. And Mormon. And hot.
#9 – The age at which I started shaving.
#19 – Top 20! – By mile 10 I’d probably forgot what 19 meant and get upset.
#23 – Zack Greinke – Maybe last year this would have worked…this year it’d just make me sad and reflexively cause me to drop down and start doing some girl pushups.
#29 – My % body fat and reminder that finishing this race will surely drop it to 28.6 or something much more respectable.
#33 – Scottie Pippen – Would not inspire me or amuse me…would probably only remind me of all the acne I had in 1992. Also possibly the number AC Slater wore on the Bayside football team?
#34 – Bo Jackson – His Tecmo Super Bowl persona is legendary, but at mile 37 I think the last thing I’ll need is a reminder that I am in no position to comfortably sit and play some TSB w/an ice cold glass of Rockstar, nor will I be for at least a couple hours.
#69, #169, #269 – I was once 26, I won’t deny I had a cruddy sense of humor and not all of it has left me.
#80 – Jerry Rice – Obviously the greatest WR ever, but why did he have to go and end his career with the Raiders and Seahawks?
#98 – The year of my high school graduating class. Because nothing inspires me more than the thought of myself at the age of 18, a full head of really bad hair, few friends, and only heroic (COUGHwiffleballCOUGH) greatness in my future.
#103 – A production company I started with Mark Montgomery way back in high school…we eventually had a business license and everything! I think our total gross profit was minus eleventy hundred dollars, so in hindsight maybe not all that inspiring. Fun, but uninspiring.
#187 – Murder was the case that they gave me!
#214 – My birthday! What better motivation to grind through those final miles than the reminder that…my birthday is in 6.5 months?
(and then there were a few we bandied about despite being past the 300 barrier)
#420 – Terry was once 26, but he won’t deny that he had a cruddy sense of humor and not all of it has left him.
#530 – The zipcode to my hometown of Chico, CA. When I stated this one, Terry responded with “ha, loser!”
#619 – Terry’s preference for a zip code number, which points you to San Diego…hometown of one pro wrestler Rey Mysterio, who also has a awesomely retarded move called the “619″. This brought on a potpourri of wrestling-related numbers and got us sidetracked for about 20 minutes.
711 – Their slurpees were once post-run staples on the high school XC team, back when we’d loiter outside by our hot rods and plan the evening’s events…usually N64 parties, donuts, soda, and zero women.
So those were cut. After about 20 minutes I had a list of 10 I was willing to submit. I’ve tried not to think about this since I hit “send” since I knew I’d obviously come up with better ideas once the pressure was gone.
(drumroll)
1.#42 – Teen Wolf – Terry’s first idea that got me off the “real athlete” kick and begot a flood of inspiring/hilarious character athletes, none more inspiring/hilarious than Teen Wolf himself. The body hair, the 73″ vertical leap, the ladies, the marketing campaign, the good grades, the jealous teammates, the breakdancing in the high school halls, the pissed principal, biting into beer cans after games, etc etc. Suffice to say that Teen Wolf would not only set the course record at White River, he’d do it with style. And head lice.
2. #3 – Kelly Leak – Speaking of head lice, I’d place Kelly 2nd only to WWWWWWWOLF! in terms of sheer badassery and dominance…plus he was a 12 year old who smoked, rode a Harley, and wasn’t afraid to approach adult women in a ballet class, rattle off his little league stats, and still seem to possess a shot at actually bagging the broad. “I’m hitting .841…I’m on the Bears. You live around here? I got a Harley Davidson. Does that turn you on? A Harley Davidson?”
3. #00 – Misc – I know it wasn’t between 1-300, but I had to include it just in case it was possible. Follow in the footsteps of Jeffrey Leonard, Robert Parish and…most importantly, Willie Mays Hayes. Also, I’m just guessing but I wouldn’t be surprised if Chubby from Teen Wolf also wore double zero. (nope, i was wrong…he wore 55)
4. #71 – Bill Goldberg – One of the stars from the heyday or pro wrestling’s comeback in the late 90s and the name I always drop when I want to make my brother wince and/or laugh. Terry’s over-the-top impersonations of Goldberg are always gold. The mere thought of them makes me laugh. So why not use his number from when he sporadically played 3 seasons in the NFL before donning the ol’ fanny pack and climbing into the squared circle?
5. #12 – Tanner Boyle – The yin to Kelly Leak’s yang on the Bad News Bears, Tanner never backed down from anybody, even going toe-to-toe with Kelly Leak himself before a game when Kelly dared call him a “runt”. He might fail at White River, but not for lack of trying and not for lack of swear words on the course or fisticuffs with fellow runners.
6. #99 – Ricky Vaughn – Wild Thing from “Major League,” a movie that should be thought of more highly than it is…which is pretty damn high to begin with. Rick Vaughn’s badassery has been hampered by the 80s-era cheese “Major League” expels when trying to get “cool,” but it’s all worth it for the scene early on when he, Willie Mays Hayes and that boring Jake Taylor guy go to dinner at a nice restaurant. Vaughn wears a sleeveless leather vest with a tie, lamenting that “I look like a banker in this.” In my head, had I gotten this number, my opponents on the White River course would be the douchey guy that Jake Taylor’s ex is dating, and I’d be Vaughn in my banker suit. “You want me to drag him outta here…kick the shit out of him?”
7. #13 – Pedro Cerrano – Pedro from “Major League” was a little too religious, relying a bit too much on superstition for my tastes, but his ensemble when arriving to Spring Training (full length open black trench coat…no undershirt), and his practice of shaving his head with a bowie knife, is the kind of mind frame I would want to have when the chips are down at mile 7.
8. #11 – The number of tackles Bill Goldberg racked up in his three NFL seasons. Every time I looked down and saw “11″ on my bib I’d think to Bill Goldberg tackling somebody and doing that Bill Goldberg-thing he’d do in WCW after spearing/injuring some jobber…and what Terry did before occassional ABs in the wiffleball league.
9. #25 – Barry Bonds – Only two actual human athletes made the cut, and he’s one. The greatest hitter who ever lived, arguably the greatest all-round player to every play the game, inspiring me, the greatest runner–from Chico California–to ever grace this course. The amusing thought here…hmm…only thing springing to mind is Bonds acting all surly to fat sportswriters and their hawaiian shirts that are covered in mustard stains and diet coke. That’s never not amusing.
10. #22 – Will Clark – And the other human athlete. My first-ever athletic hero, I’d also find amusing the thought of him cackling at me in that voice of his to “gidder dun!” or spitting tobacco juice at me & calling me a faggot runner.
*************
I also plan to bring the ol’ iPod shuffle with me for only the 2nd time ever. I plan to merely use it at certain points when I find myself both a) in need and b) completely isolated. If I was guaranteed to have a fellow runner nearby at all times, I’d forgo this plan, but I distinctly recall last year’s race, when I saw WAY more people than I thought I’d see actually wearing earbuds, including a few elites, and I distinctly recall being alone for 90% of miles 27-50 and wishing I had some goddamn music to break up some of the monotony. The shuffle weighing about the amount of a standard-issue postage stamp, and being about as cumbersome, was the final straw. I have 7.5 hours on it, ready to go. I know I will not be alone for 7.5 hours of the race, but I also know my patience level will be less than usual and I will be skipping many songs if they don’t fit the exact spirit I’m jonesing for.
The 7.5 hours is led by the Three Kings of Peter Gabriel’s “Sky Blue,” 69 Boyz’ “Tootsie Roll,” and, of course, this:
(Oh yeah, this morning I found out I indeed got #42. Only a couple days to find myself a long brown wig and let my body hair grow back in.)
It’s all downhill from here. On the 4th of July weekend I clocked 42 miles (30+12), and this past weekend, the 17th and 18th, I clocked 40.9 (17.9+23), which is about as much a “peak” my sad little legs can handle. Today I sat in an office chair feeling sore but, thankfully, uninjured.
I have been dealing with a gimpy left calf these past couple months. Towards the end of hard runs and the hours thereafter, he wants to cramp…or sometimes he does cramp. Upon completion of hard runs, I spend the time before the next run icing and massaging. The next day’s run is typically on the easy side and after more icing/massaging, he seems to return to normal, just in time for the following day’s hard run. Rinse, repeat. It’s been going like this all summer. I figured I could get away with ONE last tough weekend before giving him a couple weeks of taper to be ready for White River. For mostly mental purposes, I wanted to clock 40+ miles one last time.
Saturday would be the “easy” of the two, as I did 17.9 road miles (plus a bit of Lincoln Park) at about a 7:30ish pace.
The 2nd run, the final “hard” run, which occurred yesterday, wound up being more a mental test of sorts. It was the 2nd of the two White River preview runs SRC puts on, 23 miles starting with the last 6ish miles of the course (miles ~43ish-50) and then taking us from mile ~27 of the course back to mile ~43ish. As I sat in the back of Adam Lint’s car on the drive there, I couldn’t really hear the conversation between he and Dustin up front, and even if I could, I was probably too concerned with my left calf to really be bringing much in terms of passenger entertainment. My calf was quite a bit more sore than I was anticipating after the plentiful but easy miles I’d completed 24 hours earlier. I didn’t have my massager, so I just used my hands as best I could (not very) and hoped for the best…being that my calf would miraculously be pain-free after 20 minutes of clumsily inept, last-minute massaging in the backseat of a cramped car.
I was also exhausted from a very non-fitful ~6 hours of sleep, and the constant drone of unintelligible voices in the front two seats was acting as a sedative of sorts. So zoned out I was, I forgot to ask if Adam could play my new Bret Michaels CD that I had bought for $18.99.
We got to the trail head around 9am, a sizable crowd ready to get after it. I transported my crap into Patrick’s car and readied my supplies, which included about 200 S-caps. I do not believe the cramping of my calf has anything to do with lack of hydration or salt, but being dehydrated and/or without sodium certainly wasn’t going to help matters.
Roughly a quarter mile into the 23 miles, I was alarmed at how much my left calf seemingly wanted nothing to do with running. I figured he’d give me at least a mile or so of moderate comfort. I grew despondent, almost sure I was going to have to cut the run short. If I could describe the physical feeling (I wouldn’t call it “pain”)…pretend you were at the gym last night and you did about 250 calf raises for no good reason…maybe insecurity. With a ton of weight on your shoulders of course. You’re wearing an Affliction t-shirt and board shorts because you want people to know that while you don’t fight professionally, you like watching those who do and you may have picked up some of their moves from watching lots of youtube clips and recent UFC, so they should approach you with caution and fear. You might also have shaved legs. Now picture yourself today, and the strain you feel when you do a standard calf stretch…perhaps while showering in the bathroom of your studio apartment. That feeling in your calf is what I was feeling during each step on my left leg. I told myself that I’d go until it cramped, at which point I’d turn around and head back. Eat pretzels for 3-4 hours until everyone returned.
For the next 3 and a half hours though, my calf stayed at that exact spot. It never cramped. It just stretched. It was one of the most exhausting runs, mentally, I’d ever done. For the first half, all I thought about was my calf. Every step. I tried to land at the most comfortable spot of my foot every step. I watched for roots or any uneven terrain every step, and forced my senses to focus on almost nothing but what my foot felt when it landed so as best to adjust if the calf whined. I dutifully took an s-cap every 30 minutes, some gel-form calories every 45. It was not a carefree jaunt on some beautiful trails. It was a regimented and disciplined march…on yes, some beautiful trails. On a beautiful day. But I was so distracted by not becoming injured that I couldn’t really enjoy it the way many of the others could and most definitely were. On the zig zag up the final climb to Suntop, where Scott’s van and Nuun tablets lived, I momentarily glanced up from my lifeguard duties and Mt. Rainier up & punched me in the face. I can say this as someone who isn’t moved very easily, but it actually pulled the words “holy fuck” out of my mouth. For a few seconds I actually forgot how god-awful this climb is after that cock tease of a false summit.
A short while later I headed down the mountain road with Adam & Patrick for the final 6ish miles. My calf was weary but holding on, and I was rejoicing that, thanks to no recent ankle twists or sprains, I could actually comfortably run down the mountain. I can’t say the same for Adam or Patrick…who were subjected to me sans shirt for the duration of our time together. They were polite about it all the way down though. Except for the multiple times Patrick ridiculed the quantity of my body hair and likened me to a silverback gorilla.
Two free Thai Globespun Gourmet burritos and a couple tales of 100 mile excellence later (both thanks to the awesomely inspirational Adam Hewey) and I was ready to call it a summer, training-wise. There’s not much left to do but spoil the shit out of this calf and bribe him for a workday’s worth of strength in about 12 days.
Only 14 more miles and I would have achieved what I thought impossible a few years ago: triple digits. It still seems daunting. Those last 14 miles would be the hardest (not unlike the 26th 6:52 in an attempt to break 3 in the marathon), but then I think back to that first marathon I did in 2005 and how I think I only topped 50 miles in a week a couple times, and those rare times only barely. My prior record was 78 miles, though 50 of those miles came in one go (White River 2009). This time the crux of the miles came on Sunday (17 miles), Tuesday (18 mile double day) and Saturday (30 miles at Cougar Mtn). That’s 65 miles already right there, and out of curiosity I looked up my mileage dating back to late 2007 to see how many times I’d even topped 60 miles in a full 7 day week. This latest week was only my 17th time in about 2.75 years. Or about 135 weeks. Maybe in another 5 years I’ll look at 85 weekly miles the way I now look at 50 weekly miles, with a snort of disdain and contempt. Considering I’ll be a 35 year-old with the body of a 63 year-old, I sorta doubt it.
The 30 mile run was obviously the big one, and I’m fairly satisfied with how it went. I formulated the plan earlier in the week, wanting to end the week on Saturday with over 25 trail miles that were respectably hilly, but with family in town I wanted to keep the preparation/commuting to a minimum, so I kept it near home (~25 minutes away) and on trails I already somewhat know (the Cougar Mtn 14 mile loop, which I’d do twice). Greg Crowther supplied me with his and Uli Steidl’s painfully detailed description of the loop, which included the sad information this was actually only a 13.6 mile loop. All week I’d been burning “28″ into my head. Now it was suddenly a precipitous plummet to 27.2. I figured if I simply *had to*, I could add 4/5ths of a mile afterward somehow.
As it was that was not necessary. Despite Greg’s handiwork, I found myself twice absentmindedly getting off the loop, adding 23:11 to my total time. Ignoring those detours, my loops were 2:08:44 and 2:10:17. I have no idea what I covered in those 23:11 but since it was all mostly flat, I just gave myself 2.8 miles so I could have the nice round 30. Sue me.*
*Please don’t sue me. I have no money, honest.
How the week broke down:
Day Miles Cmltv
Sun 17.0 17.0
Mon 6.5 23.5
Tue 18.0 41.5
Wed 8.6 50.1
Thu 6.0 56.1
Fri off 56.1
Sat 30.0 86.1
The Wednesday run was a PM track workout (4 x 6:00 at ~5:35-5:40 mile pace), but Monday and Thursday were very easy 6ish milers and Friday was a whole lotta me splayed on the couch, so maybe there’s room there for 14 more miles. Check back in five years. 86 miles, for many ultra guys, is packing peanuts. But considering I seem to always get injured when getting into the 70-75 range, I’m both happy with the milestone and terrified about what lies in the weeks ahead.
Tomorrow I leave for a long weekend in Dallas (wedding), skipping out on Seattle as it *finally* starts to behave like summer. I’d pass it off as “heat training” but I think it’s actually going to be hotter here, at least Thursday & Friday. Looking forward to tanning my chest hair though.
For the first time in my storied running career, I faced the downside of the low-rent, bare-bones trail ultramarathon scene when I “raced” the Sun Mtn 50k yesterday in Winthrop Washington. I technically finished 4th overall in 4:33 or so, though in my head I will consider it no worse than 2nd place in maybe 4:20-4:23. I spent almost all of the 1st half of the race running with the eventual winner, and I admit I felt good. I had no intention of leading the race or making any sort of move until maybe after mile 20ish, but his pace felt good for my pace and we covered the nice trails mostly together.
Then around the 10 mile mark we took a wrong turn. In our defense, there was no marker. We guessed going to the right…which was wrong. Went down a quarter mile only to figure we probably had to go back (after jogging in place for a bit, looking for a flag or sign of some sort), where we were reunited with what I figured were the 3rd and 4th place guys, approaching the very spot where we took the wrong turn. “Oh well,” I glumly thought to myself, sort of annoyed that we lost all that time we put on them but thems the breaks. Through the next couple miles we’d slowly resume putting time on 3rd and 4th again, only to have to stop a couple times to uncurl the lightweight paper signs that had warped and curled up in the rain in order to see which way to go. Each stop got them back with us. Then, roughly a tenth of a mile after the mile 14ish aid station, we come to the most stereotypical of forks in the road, like midway up the letter “Y”…with no sign pointing left or right. And…here’s the 3rd place guy back with us. He has a map but it’s not as helpful as we hope. He wisely yelled back at the aid station “WHICH WAY DO WE GO?!” Not surprisingly, they didn’t know. So we guessed going left. Luckily, we eventually find out we guessed correctly, but the minutes leading up to that revelation weren’t great fun.
My spirits were a little down but picked up slightly as we went through some admittedly very nice single track trails, the occasional nice view distracting me from other, less-than-optimistic thoughts.
Around mile 16 or 17 or hell I don’t know, we started a decent little climb up to Sun Mountain Lodge, towards the end of which I was surprised at how much we’d put on 3rd place. We got to the top though with about 20 options on directions to go and absolutely zero clues on which direction was the correct one. No signs, no flags, just two teenage girls who had no idea where we should go or why we were running up that trail to begin with. While we stood around with our fingers in our noses, trying to formulate yet another educated guess, here comes 3rd place again with his map, once again tied for the lead. The map proved not all that helpful, so we put it away and just jumped onto a trail that was going in the general direction the map seemed to be pointing. Around here I went into “eff this, long-training run from here on out” mode, mentally. Who the hell knew if we were on the right trail and if not, who was choosing the right trail and getting in front of us? Though it was sort of amusing to wonder just what *would* happen to all those behind us…and the many directions they could all choose to go. I pictured Patrick turning 13 shaes of purple at each direction-less fork in the road and laughed, whimsically.
We continued on for another couple miles, glancing at trails breaking off for any evidence we’re on the right track, eventually finding something promising that soon lead to the actual trail we were supposed to be on. At this point I had no idea if we’d cut the course or we’d added miles, and I was afraid of eating because my water bottle was getting low and I had no idea when the next aid station was coming. First place and I put some more distance on #3 and I was asked to take the lead for awhile. I agreed, but soon felt the early signs of bonking coming on. No longer feeling very competitive, I told him this and relinquished the lead, so he started to slowly pull away. I gave in and quickly ate a 3rd Gu and some Gu blocks while sucking down the rest of my fluid, crossing my fingers that the aid station was nearby. I quickly felt a little better and just tried to keep him in my sightline.
A mile or so later, I finally see the 3rd aid station and I spend more time than usual refilling and eating. As I’m leaving I see #3 arriving, probably 60 secs or so back. I start the ~5 mile loop up/around Patterson Mtn about the same distance back from #1. Soon though, within 1/4 mile, I see two guys I recognized from much earlier in the race apparently already finishing the loop! I hear one of them remark about me as they pass, “that guy was in 2nd place…”
If I hadn’t already given up by that point, I gave up here. Who knew how many more men/women were already on that loop? I was now in no better than 4th and possibly as worse as what…10th? 15th? Were those two the leaders? How did they get 30+ minutes ahead of us?! Did I add miles or did they cut? Or both? I tried to keep a cool head but mile-23-at-the-base-of-a-good-climb was among the absolute worst parts of the race to be facing these frustrating thoughts. I could see #1 in front of me for awhile, eventually seeing him with another runner, adding to my certitude that there were many people now in front of me. There was another arrowless fork in the road (I mindlessly went the way that went downhill over uphill) and soon I was on the descent back to the aid station, maybe on the right trail, maybe not, whatever. The guy who was in 3rd for most of the race (as far as I knew) passed me a couple miles later as we approached the aid station (mile 27) and I let him go.
I stubbornly decided to take a mini-vacation at that aid station. Brian Morrison was there with his bloody nipples, Patrick was there, oddly calm about all the missing arrows on the course, Katie was coming into the aid station during her first ultra. I grabbed some delicious jelly beans and casually got back on the course, ordering myself to simply enjoy the final 4ish miles for what it was: a nice jog on a nice day on some nice trails. A good 31-32 mile training run for White River was almost complete and soon I could sit in my decrepit car on the four hour drive back to Seattle.
After what feels about an hour later, I approach the finish line, once more not sure which way to go. I decide to head towards the overweight guy in the chair holding a clipboard. When in doubt, go to the clipboard. The packed house cheers mightily but I can’t muster much of a finish. Almost immediately I find myself ambling up to the guy I ran most of the race with. Turns out he won. I’m incredulous and ask how he caught those guys were had half an hour on us after the 3rd aid station.
“They accidentally cut the course,” he states. “Cut a LOT of it.”
Ahh…by the way, what place did I get?
“You got 4th,” he says.
Turns out the guy I saw in 4th way back at our very first detour around mile 10 came in 3rd overall. I don’t remember him passing us, so either we went long or he went short, or both. I’m quickly reminded how little I care about the details and start a new quest that hopefully ends with pizza & soda in my stomach.
All in all, it was what it was. I stayed in a pretty swanky cabin for two nights and hung with some cool people (and Patrick)…driving my car is never a barrel of laughs, especially not for 8 total hours, but the scenery was pretty spectacular at times, and a 31-32 mile run on the trails is rarely a bad thing. Sure, I came unglued a bit on the course when the “racing” part of the race seemed to be less than ideal, but, again, thems the breaks. In my head I’m confident that had the course been sufficiently marked, I would have been able to go head-to-head with the eventual winner and it would have come down to the final couple miles. I’ve definitely had worse weekends. And those jelly beans *were* mighty tasty.
A few more pics:
In Winthrop the day before, saturated fat and sugar-loading.
Recovering from hard runs/races is always tricky when in the midst of training. Coming off a tough race that is NOT the goal race (like Ski to Sea for me, probably the furthest thing from a “goal race” on my calendar yet simultaneously one of the most demanding physically…and psychologically), you want to resume a normal schedule somewhat quickly after crossing the finish line, but you also have to be conscious of giving your legs enough time to recover. It’d be ideal if I could take Ski to Sea as nothing more than a hard 8 mile insane speed workout and, Monday or Tuesday, just keep the training ball rolling en route to the Sun Mtn 50k (June 20) and White River (July 31). But all that would do is render me motionless on the bed, legs elevated, cursing the fact that no race I’ve come across, including Sun Mtn or White River, give refunds in the occurrence of injury.
A week after a race like a marathon, or something ridiculous like Ski to Sea, the soreness tends to be gone and you sorta feel your age again. You feel able to ratchet the training back up to normal levels, which begins the tricky part. Because though you *feel* able, you probably still aren’t. Unless you’re Michael Wardian or something.
A couple days ago I headed up to Cougar Mtn for the 7.5 mile race (more like 7.75), #2 in the 4 race series, in all honesty just thankful to be back in the “win or lose, at least only it only affects ME” mode of thinking I’d taken for granted up to Ski to Sea. It was a very refreshing feeling, a tiny amount of euphoria washing over me anytime I remembered to remind myself of that. Though it had been nearly two weeks since that sprint down the mountain, I’ve learned the hard way in years past (Hood to Coast the weekend before the SJ&J half marathon a couple years back being a nice recent example), to not expect to feel fresh. During the warmup w/Dutch, not only did I not feel fresh, I had a very tight feeling in my left calf, like it was wanting to cramp but holding off out of learned politeness. I already figured I would not be painting a Monet out there on the course this day, but now I was hoping I could simply race without injuring myself. Though I did not feel cocksure, on the starting line I tried to maintain excellent posture, on the event someone may have been looking at me, trying to determine if, umm…I was in fact cocksure. Oh you better believe it, JACK!
The race started, its now-typical loop around the grassy field causing the obligatory separation before the single track began. A minute or two later I climbed into the single track, surprisingly in first place and noticing how odd and uncomfortable that felt. So uncomfortable, I didn’t mind at all when Michael Smith (3rd at the last race, one spot in front of me), took the lead soon thereafter. Immediately I felt better, chasing him, though he didn’t remain in my sight line for very long. A high school cross country coach, he employed the tactic all cross country coaches teach their kids…when you pass someone, PASS THEM. Don’t give me the option of going with you. Michael did this. He went past me hard, got about 50 yards in front of me, then backed off. On the back and forth switchbacks of Cougar Mtn, 50 yards is plenty, as I could only occasionally see him and soon found myself more worried about myself than him.
About 50 minutes later I crossed the finish line in 2nd place, final time being 57:56. Michael’s lead steadily grew to a final difference of 1:53, and 3rd place finished about the same distance behind me, so in essence I was, once again, completely alone for 97% of the race.
The course was probably the muddiest I’ve seen it outside of random Cougar runs in the pouring rain, though the actual weather at the moment was bordering on hot (damn near 70 degrees). I was fortunate I decided to go ahead and wear the new shoes I’d just gotten on Thursday and “broken in” with an easy 5ish miles the evening before. One two occasions I very nearly slipped while steepling a log, and may have eaten mud or worse had I been wearing anything with less than the large amount of tread my new shoes had. This, the isolation, and the “I’m not cramping but I want you to know I’m not happy about doing this race” calf are probably what amounted to what was an almost 4-minute drop in performance over last year’s race, where I was pretty fresh, I ran the 2nd half with the Swede, and on nice hard-packed trails.
Minutes after finishing I could feel my calf definitely cramping up so I tried to do a sort of cooldown which only delayed the inevitable, that being my limping around the rest of the day. Sunday I just biked for ~90 minutes and watched a bunch of meatheads play baseball near my house in between sets of icing and massage, and Monday evening I was able to do an easy 45 without any issue. Tonight I did an effortless 8.8 at 7:00 pace.
Only a steady diet of icing and massaging will allow me to keep the training ball rolling as Sun Mountain arrives in a mere 5 days.
