Yeah, so about that...

Nothing kills a blog/journal of thoughts like inactivity. Be back at it soon for my own self-indulgence. After an injury-ridden winter, big things (at least on my scale) to come.

Cheers.

(Not a) Review of the Suunto Core Crush

Over the years, I've become overly obsessed with my GPS watch's average pace. But as most trail runners will tell you, pace per mile during a 5-hour training run in the mountains becomes far less important due to steep climbs and descents. So in an effort to break my nasty habit of obsessing over splits and pace (and being the King of Impulse Buys), I ordered an ABC (altimeter/barometer/compass) watch: the Suunto Core Blue Crush. I wanted an ABC watch because, as I get more and more into trail and mountain running, I want to know the total elevation gain and loss during my more adventurous runs. Critical information? Maybe not (especially considering the terrain of my normal running routes). But cool and kind of helpful? Absolutely.

When I got home from work at lunchtime yesterday, there it was sitting on my doorstep. I stared at the glorious package as I pulled into the driveway and briefly weighed the option of hitting the pedal then mashing the brakes so I slid sideways across the grass toward the porch in an effort to get to my new prize in the quickest (and most fashionable) way possible. During my daydream, I nearly took the garage door down and parked in the mudroom. Luckily, I snapped out of my trance before that happened, safely set my clunker down in the garage, and walked over to retrieve my package from the front porch like a normal human being.

Once I was inside and gently pushed aside the perpetually starving beast of a cat, I ripped open the package and found.... a set of colored pencils and a bookmark Kate ordered. Just kidding. It was my watch! After ripping open the package and pulling out my glorious new timepiece, I turned it on and quickly discovered I had no idea what I was looking at. But before I get to some of the cooler functions, here's a very brief overview of what the "ABC" of an ABC watch are:

Suunto Core Blue Crush

Altimeter: measures altitude

Barometer: measures atmospheric pressure

Compass: determines direction (duh)

For day hikes and camping trips, I knew the altimeter, barometer, and compass would be useful to have. And while I also knew what an altimeter was and how I wanted to use it, I didn't know how useful the barometer function would be as a day-to-day running watch. So after a few Google searches about altimeters and barometers, I found my answer. As a day-to-day running watch, the barometer won't be all that useful, but it'll sure be neat to have!

Side note about the barometer: A really cool feature the Suunto Core has is the weather trend indicator. With this feature, you can check previous weather patterns and predict future weather through changes in atmospheric pressure. The barometer function shows you how the atmospheric pressure has risen or fallen in the last few hours. (This is especially helpful on backcountry adventures.) There's also a storm alert function that warns you if the pressure is steadily dropping, which is a good indicator that heavy rains are coming. Pretty cool.

So after getting the basic gist of how my fancy new arm weight worked, it was time to put the Sunnto Core into action. Although my usual trail route around Lake Williams doesn't have much in the way of elevation gain or loss, I knew it'd still be fun to track during and review after my run. Yesterday was a cold and windy day (upper twenties and 25 mph wind gusts), and there was a fresh dusting of snow on the ground which dissipated quickly with the shining sun. After nursing a sore knee for the previous five days, I was anxious to test out both my watch and my knee. So I drove to the park with intentions of getting in a good, long trail run. But sometimes you have to *cliché alert* listen to your body and adjust your plans accordingly.

To get a more accurate reading, altimeters need to be calibrated frequently. As I learned from my brief Googling, the more you calibrate, the more accurate your readings will be. Once I got to the parking lot and was ready to start my run, I looked up the most recent atmospheric pressure reading for my location (found on The Weather Channel website), input the reference value into my watch, and off I went. When in the altimeter mode, the watch can record your activity, and you can view live stats during and after the activity. Since I didn't know what the elevation gain and loss of this route was, it was interesting to see. (I'm anxious to try it out on more mountainous terrain where the results will be much more intriguing.) While many websites can show elevation gain when you connect your GPS watch after a run, I wanted to A) get a more accurate reading and B) see my total elevation gain and loss throughout my various runs. Here's what I found during my maiden run:

Total Ascent: 1,148 ft
Total Descent: 1,161 ft
Highest Peak: 774 ft

Whoa! You're probably thinking, "How'd he breathe up there without an oxygen mask?!" Yeah, like I said, we're not talking monster elevation gains or losses by any means, and I certainly didn't incur any altitude sickness as a result. But for me, it was definitely cool to see what I was working with.

On a much less fun note, I also found that my knee was OK during the first four miles, hurt a fair amount once the trail plateaued after a short climb, and became manageable for the remainder of the loop. So my long run turned into a fairly uncomfortable 7.5 miles. Certainly not the news I hoped for if I still want to run the C&O Canal 100 in a month, but we'll see.

Less than thrilled about my stupid knee

Anyway, this post wasn't intended to be a review of the Suunto Core Crush. Actually, I'm not really sure what the point was. But if I had to sum the watch up, I'd rate it "sweet" to "pretty sweet." (I'm still working on review verbiage.)  I guess I was just excited about the watch and this was an excuse to write about it. On a final note... this morning, Kate began asking me a few questions about my run yesterday and my fancy new watch. Nice! But after 15 minutes of nods and okays, she asked, "So why do you need it?" Not so nice. After debating whether to answer with a hopeful or snarky reply, I opted for factual and said, "I don't. It's just cool to have."

2014 Graveyard 100 Race Report

“I hate running,” I thought, and my mind had tricked me into believing it. I looked down at my watch and saw I was 76.23 miles in. The sweeping light circling the top of the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse was searching the perimeter in the distance, corralling runners in like the Eye of Sauron. But it was still over 10 miles until I would get there. The fog was eating each step I took, and the blackness of the night mirrored the loneliness I felt. The exhaustion in my legs hung like barbells, and each step felt as if my shoes were strapped to the road with a thousand rubber bands. I tried to shake my legs every so often as if that would bring them back to life. I shook them like you would a lobster trap when pulling it out of the water, trying to shake off the unwanted crabs clinging to the wire cage. The thought of being one of those crabs falling from the cage back into the deep, bottomless ocean was incredibly appealing. It would have felt so good to be suspended in the black water, hovering in nothingness. I glanced down at my watch: 76.24. The Graveyard 100 was burying me.

                       *                 *                 *                 *                 *                 *                 *

Race Week: I signed up for the GY100 just a few days after completing the Rocky Raccoon 50 Mile Trail Run on February 8th. Although my true passion lies in trail running, when it comes down to it, I truly love running for the pure essence of being out there in it, just my feet hitting the ground, shouldering whatever Mother Nature throws my way. And I knew that the Mother Nature-Outer Banks team was a volatile and spiteful pair that could not be trusted. Sounded like the recipe for the perfect first 100-miler, right? But other than just "being out there in it," there was another reason I chose to run the GY100. My wife, Kate, and I (briefly) called OBX home, and I knew nostalgia could help to carry me through the difficult times I was sure to encounter during the race. (We had an "it's now or never" moment at the start of 2012 and moved down to Nags Head from York, PA. We loved our time there, but a job opportunity back in York sucked me in, so we moved back home later that year.) Having run over 40% of the GY100 course, I thought the familiarity in terrain (even though it's flat pavement for miles) and landmarks were just the positive mental push I would be happy to have on my side. The restaurants, store fronts, and street signs would become my makeshift crew, but unfortunately my inanimate crew was only with me for a short stretch and left me to fend for myself for the better portion of the race. As I learned, nostalgia can only carry you so far.

Kate couldn’t take any more days off from work for this race, so I made the 7 hour drive alone and ran the race uncrewed, which I was a little too eager and excited to do (see "About Me"). After I got to my hotel in Kill Devil Hills, I grabbed lunch at Fuji, a sushi place we went to a handful of times before, and got edamame and a few avocado rolls. I drove to the trail in Nags Head Woods, thought back to the happy times I had spent on those trails, and ate my lunch in beautiful silence.

Since I was running the race solo, I had to prepare a drop bag for each of the four aid stations that could only be accessed once during the race. Planning my drop bags began a few weeks earlier, so all I needed to do was confirm my choices. That turned out to be the hard part. This was my first 100-miler and first race over 50 miles, so there were a bunch of unknowns surrounding what I'd need throughout the race. I knew I would have access to a bag at mile 21.4, 42.4, 62.9, and 87.3, but I had to figure out what time of day I’d arrive at each aid station so I could determine what I’d need access to at each bag (food, first aid, clothing, gear, etc.). So I made time goals on when I thought I’d arrive at each drop bag:

GOALS	AS1 Bag	AS2 Bag	AS3 Bag	AS4 Bag	Finish
Mile marker	Mile 21.4	Mile 42.4	Mile 62.9	Mile 87.3	Mile 100 (ish)
Mi. to next AS	21 miles to AS2	20.5 miles to AS3	24.4 miles to AS4	13.1 miles to Finish	-
Time 'tween AS	4:16:48	4:17:15	4:16:15	5:11:06	2:50:18
Elapsed time	4:16:48	8:34:03	12:50:18	18:01:24	20:51:42 or less
Time of day	9:17 am	1:34 pm	5:50 pm	11:01 pm	1:51 am
Average pace	12:00/mile	12:15/mile	12:30/mile	12:45/mile	13:00/mile

After obsessing a little bit more and third-guessing my choices, I finally committed to my choices, sealed the latches (I used clear plastic storage bins), and drove over to the Kitty Hawk Pier House at 3 pm for the mandatory race brief.

Kitty Hawk Pier House, Friday afternoon

Making my way across the groaning pier toward the house-on-stilts, the water hissed and snarled below my feet. The ocean performed a relentless give-and-take, throwing debris onto the shore and sucking it back in as the water receded. Once safely inside, the rain tapped loudly against the glass, and the floorboards creaked uncomfortably as Brandon Wilson (the Race Director) gave his final tips and instructions regarding the race. It was an amazing few moments to be able to share space and time with some truly remarkable ultrarunners. (Check the names on the leader board, and you'll see what I mean). After the race brief concluded, I drove back to Kill Devil Hills, picked up some pasta at Sal’s, then hunkered down in my hotel room to prep my clothing and gear for the morning. While I got ready, I watched Unbreakable: The Western States 100 for the thousandth time. All of those guys are remarkable athletes, and it's a beautiful thing to watch them in action. Since finding ultrarunning and trail running, I've become (slightly) obsessed with Anton Krupicka's minimalist approach to running and life. (Perhaps I've gone a little overboard with Krupicka gear...) But the dude's an inspiration, and watching that film always gets me pumped. I fell asleep a little after 9:30 pm to the sound of the wind still howling outside and blowing the American flag sideways. Luckily, it was still pointing dead south.

My phone’s alarm quacked loudly at 1:45 am and it was show time. I put on my gear, packed up what was left of my remaining clothing and food, grabbed my breakfast (Nutella and peanut butter on tortillas), and drove 15 minutes north to catch the shuttle to the start line. After a quiet ride and dodging a few deer that scampered across the road in Duck, we arrived at Currituck Heritage Park in Corolla. I checked-in, filled my CamelBak with water and 10 oz. UD bottle with Gatorade, then sat on a park bench until it was go-time. A few minutes later, I joined the other runners at the start. After the National Anthem and the epic beginning of U2’s “Where the Streets Have No Name” played, we were off. Boom. It had begun.

The Course: The GY100 is a point-to-point race that starts where Highway 12 begins in Corolla, NC and travels south, ending over 100 miles later where the highway ends at the Graveyard of the Atlantic Museum in Hatteras. The track is almost exclusively run on flat asphalt with very minimal elevation gain. But don't let that fool you. There are definitely parts where, after running 70 or 80 miles, it feels like you're running on a steady incline for hours. Since the weather can go from pleasant to angry in a matter of minutes, runners need to be prepared for the worst. Fortunately, the violent storm that came and went on Friday left clear skies and a calm tailwind for the first half of the race. Unfortunately, a violent storm would again sweep through late Saturday evening, but this storm was in my head.

Start to AS1 (mile 0 – 21.4): Like most race starts, there was a distinct feeling in the air that I was part of something pretty neat. The morning was filled with the excitement and sounds that only exist at the starting line of a great race. The temperature was in the low 40’s with a light wind coming from the north. We made our way out of the park and ran north for a short stretch before quickly turning around and heading south for the remainder of the race. After my watch beeped to signify the first mile was complete, I thought, “Only 99 more to go!” Similar to my hydration plan at the Rocky 50, I planned on sipping water from my CamelBak often and drinking Gatorade about half as much. To eat in between each of the four aid stations, I brought three flavors of tortilla sandwiches (hummus, PB&J, and Nutella & jam), two Clif bars, and two GU gels. What I should have known is that this was an amateur mistake because A) I definitely needed to take in more fat and calories and B) after 15 hours of running, the last thing I wanted was more GU and Nutella. After the sun came up, I settled into a rhythm, filled up my 10 oz. UD bottle with Gatorade at a water station in Duck, and arrived shortly after at Aid Station 1 in 3:45:51. My man Mike Bailey filled up my CamelBak with water and my 10 oz. UD bottle with more Gatorade.  I swapped any uneaten tortilla sandwiches, Clif bars, and GU gels with all new ones and changed into my favorite plaid Columbia Omni-Wick/UPF 30 button-up shirt, and hit the road again.

Swapping out gear at Aid Station 1
(photo courtesy of Mike Bailey)

AS1 to AS2 (mile 21.4 – 42.4): Once I left the Southern Shores aid station, I got back on the road and took a left onto the long stretch on Beach Road through Kitty Hawk, Kill Devil Hills, and Nags Head. The sun was beating down, and it was easy to stare into the flat stretch ahead and feel overwhelmed. But the crashing waves from the still-choppy surf lulled me into a peaceful zone as I ran on. And on. After about 8 miles, I was looking for the water station that I knew would be approaching soon. I saw a group of crewed runners’ cars parked on the right, but didn’t see a water station, so I trudged forward. Within a mile, I knew I had missed the water stop. My CamelBak was still sloshing slightly on my back but was beginning to make the dreaded death-gurgle. After a few more sips, I was sucking air. My 10 oz. UD bottle was also empty, and I hadn’t eaten anything since leaving Aid Station 1. I knew trying to eat any food, especially a GU, wasn't possible without water. By this time, the temperatures were in the low to mid 50’s. Although I was desperately thirsty and needed to take in calories badly, this was my favorite stretch of the race. Partly because the Kitty Hawk/KDH/Nags Head area is the most populated area (restaurants, stores, etc.), but these were my old stomping grounds. Just two years earlier, I logged countless miles along these roads. As I ran by each street and recognized the names, the nostalgia I knew would give me a boost hit me, and I was happy. I thought of Kate and the wonderful times we shared there. Then I passed our old house and looked to the left at the beach access where, just over the stairs, I imagined Kate sitting at our spot, drinking in the sun, reading Bukowski. It’s moments like that you wish lasted forever, and I wish I could have lived in that memory for the remainder of the race. But I still had a lot of miles to cover and had no chance of making that nostalgia last for hours upon hours. Hopefully I could cash in on a memory or two later in the race. I finally arrived at the next water station and the amazing volunteers cheered me on and filled my water. The volunteer let me know it was only 5 miles to the next aid station. So I chugged a few cups of water before I left and made my way to Aid Station 2 in 7:31:27. I exchanged (what I thought to be) witty banter with the awesome volunteers at the aid station, but I'm guessing they were probably just being nice and trying not to break my spirits since I still had about 60 miles left. I applied sunscreen and more Body Glide, had a cup of vegetable broth with noodles, topped off my fluids, then emptied my fluids, and exchanged my old food for new food. Then, after spending way too much time sitting, eating, and chatting (what a lively bunch!), I gave my thanks and hit the road again.

Running into Aid Station 2
(photo courtesy of Anna ZK)

AS2 to AS3 (mile 42.4 – 62.9): Heading back out onto Highway 12, I felt revitalized and ready to tackle the next 20 miles. Up to this point, I had no issues with blisters or chaffing. I felt I was doing a good job fending off all of the big issues that plague many ultrarunners. Unfortunately, there were a lot of miles left for those issues to pop up, but I felt confident I wouldn't have any such problems. This stretch was the hottest of the day, and I was happy to see Bonner Bridge in the distance. I knew once I crossed over the narrow two mile bridge, I'd be halfway done. Before approaching the bridge, Frank Lilley was waiting to snap a few pics. Anytime you see someone on the course, it gives you an immediate boost. I gave Frank a thumbs-up, he threw one back at me, and I continued forward.

Mile 48, just before crossing Bonner Bridge
(photo courtesy of Frank Lilley)

Bonner Bridge provided some beautiful scenery, with the Atlantic Ocean to the left and the Croatan Sound on the right. The slight breeze felt nice, and I felt great. But the wind changed suddenly, and I was running directly into it. (I told you the Mother Nature-Outer Banks team was a volatile and spiteful pair.) The wind would continue to blow in my face for the remainder of the day. After hitting a water station a few miles later, I made the long, hot, and sandy stretch through the dunes and Pea Island, and into South Rodanthe. Even with the hot sun pelting down and the sand kicking up into my eyes from passing trucks, I felt really strong. I passed a handful of people, exchanged “looking-goods,” and kept going. It was during this stretch that it first hit me. "Wow, my legs are pretty tired," I thought. Over the next mile or so, knowing how much ground I still had to cover, I incorporated some walking (run 10 or 20 minutes/walk 2 or 3). I knew I should have started earlier, but this was essentially a test run to get my proverbial feet wet in the world of 100-milers, so I was just out there figuring it all out. Just before getting to Aid Station 4, the road was completely flooded, so to avoid literal wet feet, I scrambled up the side of the sand onto a flat stretch where my feet sank into the sand every ten or so steps. After 200 yards of slogging through the sand, I slid back down onto the road and made my way into Aid Station 3 in 11:41:35. As I always do, I came into the Aid Station smiling and waving to anyone I saw. Just like every aid station before, the volunteers were amazing. They grabbed my drop bag, asked what I wanted to eat, and filled my CamelBak and Gatorade bottle. I ate a veggie burger, had a few slices of cheese pizza, and drank more vegetable broth with noodles. Then I took a few handfuls of BBQ potato chips, dipped boiled potatoes in salt, chugged half of a Red Bull, grabbed my Chewy Chips Ahoy!, and I was off! When I was heading back across the checkout mat, a few volunteers said, “You are the jolliest runner we’ve ever seen!” I said, "Well this is fun! I signed up for this!" So with lifted spirits from a full stomach and kind words from the volunteers, I continued on.

Photo courtesy of Mike Bailey

AS3 to AS4 (mile 62.9 – 87.3): With fading daylight and 24.4 miles until the next aid station, I began the toughest stretch of the race. After a few miles, the sun faded quickly, and I looked back ¼ of a mile to see a headlamp from a runner already shining back at me through the orange glow of dusk. So I put on my headlamp and prepared for the literal and figurative darkness. This portion of the race contained long stretches of nothingness, and it felt as if I was in one of those nightmares where you’re running but not making any progress. The temperature dropped significantly with the sun, and my view collapsed to include only what the light of my headlamp chose to show. I tried to think of anything but the miles ahead of me, but I couldn't look past the step I was taking and my cold breath floating up into the light of my headlamp. Everything below my waist hurt. There wasn’t anything in particular that stood out; it just felt like the pain melted into one blob that was my burden to carry to the finish.

It’s at this point in the race, at mile 76.23, where this race report began. The temperature was back down in the 40’s, and the wind was still blowing steadily in my face. There were periods where there were no headlights or headlamps in view, and I could look up at the bright stars in pure peace, forgetting where I was and what I was doing. In brief moments like that, I connected to the beauty surrounding me and was thankful for the pure fact that I was out there, by choice, with just my body and mind to carry me. But just like that, I snapped back into the moment, looked down at the dark road ahead, and my mind told me I should not be there. In the big picture, I felt very insignificant and foolish to be out there. I wasn't saving any lives by running 100 miles or doing anything remarkable compared to what others around the world were doing or going through at that very moment. "I did this to myself," I thought. It certainly put things into perspective but only provided a brief respite from the miles I still had to run. It was at that point, over the next 10 miles, where I began a more serious walk/run regimen than I had earlier. I know now I should have started my walk/run plan many hours before, but having never run a 100-miler, it was all uncharted territory for me. So when my watch beeped to indicate a mile had been completed, I walked for three or four minutes, then ran until I heard another beep. Repeat. Like many runners do during a race, I started in on some mental math and projecting my finishing time. “I could walk in from here and still finish under 24,” I thought. “Nobody would even know.” That was my cranky, jerk of a mind telling me to quit. I wasn't having it. I kept thinking, “You didn’t put in all of those hours and miles of training in the dark and through the snow just to walk it in.” There I was, out in the cold, dark night, having an epic mental battle. But I quickly realized the only person I would let down by walking in would be me. My family and friends would be proud of me no matter what, but I refused to let myself down. It was up to me to hold myself accountable for the actions I took when no one was watching. So I repeated my mantra: dig deep and keep moving. At that point, in order to avoid completely bonking, I had to slow down my pace but keep making forward progress. I pushed through on my walk/run routine until I saw a member of the race staff telling me to take a left and follow the road to the aid station. What a feeling. Unfortunately, I had to run another mile down a long, cold, and windy road toward Cape Hatteras Lighthouse before I hit Aid Station 4 in 17:28:51. This aid station was, by far, the toughest to leave. I spent over 20 minutes sitting by the fire, warming my legs, and sipping on coffee with chocolate milk. Like all three aid stations before, the volunteers were amazing and helped me with everything I did and continually asked what I wanted and brought me food. See why it was tough to leave? But, I knew there would never be a good time to leave, so I just had to do it. With some encouragement from the volunteers to get out there and get it done, I thanked everyone in the tent and headed out for my last half-marathon.

AS4 to Finish (mile 87.3 – 101.5):  As I trudged back into the dark and cold at around 10:45 pm, I knew I was on the home stretch. It was in the low 40’s at this point, but with the wind, it felt more like the 30’s. I ran the next three miles, without walking, at what felt like a sprint, but I was doing over 12 minute miles. Yikes. While running through Buxton, I passed a kid riding down the sidewalk on a bike. He asked, “Is there a marathon going on or something?” I said, “No, dude. 100-miler,” and he goes, “Day-umm. Good luck, man.” “Thanks, dude,” I shouted back to him. It’s amazing how something so small can lift your spirits tremendously. I hit the last water station, topped off my Gatorade for the last stretch, and kept going. Shortly after, I employed my “walk a few minutes, run until my watch beeps” routine through a lonely and foggy stretch of road through Frisco. After the road turned slightly to the right and began winding down through Hatteras, I started looking for signs that would lead me to the Graveyard of the Atlantic Museum. At this point, I checked my watch ad nauseum so I could see the digits flip from 99.99 to 100.00, and when it did, I dryly said, “Welp, there’s a hundred miles.” I continued to run and follow signs toward the museum. Once the road split and the route to the ferry curved to the right, I knew I was close. Then I saw a glorious gathering of lights in the distance and the unmistakable glow of red from a race timer. All of the pain, depression, loneliness, and despair that had chipped away at my sense of self over the last 20 hours disappeared, and I was whole again. After 101.5 miles, I crossed the finish line in 20:38:35, finishing 10th out of males and 12th overall. In that moment, a feeling of unparalleled accomplishment and pride swept over me. When I crossed the finish line and Brandon handed me my two-tone solo finisher’s buckle, I thought to myself, “I love running.”

GY100 Solo Buckle

Gear at the start:

• New Balance MR890
• Injinji toe socks
• Garmin Forerunner 310XT
• New Balance 3” Impact split shorts
• Under Armour boxer briefs
• Nike Pro cold weather long sleeve shirt
• Nike Dri-Fit long sleeve shirt
• Buff Anton visor
• Ultimate Direction AK 2.0 race vest (with one UD 10 oz. bottle)
• 70 oz. CamelBak reservoir
• Headlamp

Gear change:

• Nike Zoom Elite+ 5 (at mile 42.4)
• Injinji toe socks (at mile 42.4)
• Columbia Silver Ridge button-up shirt
• Under Armour ColdGear l/s compression shirt (at mile 62.9)
• Anker portable charger (at mile 62.9)

Hydration and Nutrition:

Pre-race                                             Start to AS1                                       AS1 to AS2

Coffee                                                  (2) GU Gels                                        (2) GU Gels   

20 oz. Gatorade                                   Clif bar                                               Clif bar

(2) Peanut butter on tortilla                  Nutella & jam on tortilla                       Hummus on tortilla     

                                                            PB&J on tortilla                                  PB&J on tortilla

                                                            20 oz. Gatorade                                 10 oz. Gatorade

                                                            60 oz. water                                       45 oz. water   

                                                                                                                      Veg. broth w/ noodles (@ AS2)

                                                                                                                      Banana (@ AS 2)

AS2 to AS3                                         AS3 to AS4                                         AS4 to Finish

GU gel                                                 Hammer gel                                        (2) GU Gels   

Clif bar                                                 ½ Clif bar                                            15 oz. Gatorade

Hummus on tortilla                               ½ Nutella & jam on tortilla                    25 oz. water   

PB&J on tortilla                                    20 oz. Gatorade                                 

15 oz. Gatorade                                   60 oz. water                                       

45 oz. water                                         Choc, milk in coffee (@ AS4)                       

2 slices of cheese pizza (@ AS3)          2 slices of cheese pizza (@ AS4)      

Veggie burger on a bun (@ AS3)         3 Chewy Chips Ahoy! (@ AS4)         

Handful of BBQ chips (@ AS3)             Veg. broth w/ noodles (@ AS4)

Boiled potatoes in salt (@ AS3)            Mountain Dew (@ AS4)

½ can of Red Bull (@ AS3)                

Lastly, thank you to Brandon, Heather, and the incredible staff and volunteers I met along the way. All of the hard work and time you all put into the GY100 was very clear and paid off. Thanks for helping to make my first 100-miler a successful journey. 

For information about the race, visit Graveyard 100 Mile Run

Tapering

I Should Have Checked the Weather

It was a Saturday morning, and I was hung over.  After a bottle or two of red wine with dinner the night before, followed by a microbrew or two nightcap, my head ached.  The best way for me to get rid of the “I overindulged feeling” is to A) lie on the couch and do nothing or B) hit the trails.  Desperately craving fresh air, I opted for B.  But how far should I go?  Follow my thought process that took all of 20 seconds to transpire: “I’ll do four or five miles around the neighborhood. Nah… ooh I got it! I should run down to the old golf course and run the cart path. Nah… ooh I got it! I'll head out to Pinchot Lake for a trail run!”  As kid, I spent weekends swimming and fishing at Pinchot but never ran the trails. So just like that, I was mentally committed to trying out the lake trail.

Now, I never take a phone with me on my runs; I enjoy the freedom of feeling somewhat unconnected to the city and connected to my surroundings. But my Garmin 310XT was out of batteries, and I was ready to hit the trails ASAP. So I strapped on my MT10's and drove out to the lake at Gifford Pinchot State Park. Like a kid on Christmas Eve, I could not wait to have a go at the lake trail. When you're out for a long run, changes in weather are a realistic concern, so I knew to check the weather before heading out. Of course on this morning, I did not. Once I arrived at the parking lot, I grabbed a map so I could get a quick idea of where to go. This was a pivotal moment in my day and the reason I got lost. “A quick look” was my downfall... The Lakeside Trail runs 8.5 miles around the perimeter of Pinchot Lake, and if you don’t want to get lost, you should constantly be on the lookout for the trail head since it crosses various parking lots, boat mooring areas, and campgrounds more than a few times. Foreshadowing, anyone?

After a fairly bumpy start (losing the trail and trudging through shoe-tongue deep mud puddles), I got into a rhythm. The kind of rhythm where, with each footfall, you feel a brilliant connection to the Earth, trees, and birds. It was overcast that day, but it didn't look like rain was in the forecast (oh, really?). About six miles in, I hit the camping area. It was like a scene ripped from a Hitchcock film. Just as my right foot collided with the pavement, the sky rumbled with thunder and a steady rain commenced. Rain doesn't bother me in the least when I'm running. In fact, it actually feels quite soothing. But on this particular day, my first thought was “protect my iPhone,” and my second thought was “get out of here!” Little did I know, I would spend the next few miles in a Hotel California-esque dreamland, scampering about the campgrounds like a cornered rabbit. I didn't care which trail I found; I just wanted to get out of there!

Why it didn't occur to me sooner, I'm not too sure (see the second sentence of this post for a touch of insight), but I had my exit strategy tucked into my waistband the entire time: I was tracking my run with the Nike+ GPS app, so all I had to do was check the map and I was out of there! With my new found hope, I clicked on the “View Map” button and found where I was in relation to my car. Ugh. Not as close as I had originally thought, but at least I knew where I was. Investigating the tiny electronic map further, I realized I still didn't know where the trail head was. Double ugh. After a hopeful, albeit brief, few moments, the panic once again set in. 

The rain continued to fall along with my optimism:  rain + iPhone = dead (the phone AND me if I didn't figure this out soon). In times of desperation, we always go over worst-case scenarios in our heads. What if the rain kills my iPhone? What if I never find the trail? What if... BEARS! (Fright tends to coax hyperbolic thoughts from the most practical thinkers.) I realized then that running around in circles wasn't getting me anywhere. (A brilliant thought, right?) Even though I had a map, I only gave it a cursory glance thinking that's all I needed. Plus, I didn't want to risk the rain soaking my phone while I stood there like a caveman trying to get my bearings.

Before my phone was murdered by the rain, I needed to take a serious look at the map again. I realized I should just admit defeat, find the main roads, and get out of there. At least if I got on the main roads, I would avoid running around in circles for a few more miles.  Plus, at the time, it was the only option I felt like exploring. So I verified the route on my phone and started running. The route turned out to be two main roads that took me around the outskirts of the park back to the parking lot. But I was finally back in a rhythm and glad to be on the home stretch. The feeling of despair and hopelessness vanished, and with the help of the sun, the last bits of rain dissolved into a newly found bright sky.

I managed to turn the 8.5 trail into a 12.5 mile run for my life, but at least I was going to live to run another day. Although I normally take a minimalist approach to my running, I was really glad to have my iPhone with me. Without it, I could have (in theory) run around in that black hole of a campground for days, months, or even years! There I go again with the hyperbole...

Needed a bit more padding for a road 100-miler...

Nike Zoom Elite+ 5

TRAIN RACE BEER CapSac

To Race Fast,You Have to Train Fast

I finished reading Scott Jurek's "Eat & Run" yesterday. He mentions, on a few occasions, how his marathon time of 2:38 isn't all that impressive. Well, it's pretty impressive to me. But that got me thinking. I had to improve my marathon time if I wanted to consider myself a decent runner and move to the next level (mentally & competitively). When it comes down to it, a 3:35 PR is pretty pathetic for an aspiring ultrarunner.

So I signed up for the Bob Potts Rail Trail marathon which would take place on May 25th. I ran it in 2012 and completely bonked at mile 23 and finished in 3:36. I looked up Boston qualifying times for my age and decided that would be my goal. (Not that I'm even that interested in running Boston; my love for running has shifted to running longer distances through the woods. But I figured it would be a good time to measure myself against.) To qualify for Boston, I have to run under a 3:05. Totally doable, right?

I converted my goal time to a pace per mile and found I need to run a 7:03 pace for 26.2 miles to finish under 3:05. Yikes. I can't remember the last time I ran more than a mile at faster than a 7:30 pace. (Sometime last year, I resigned to the notion that I'm just not a fast runner and probably never will be. I'm built for distance, not speed.) But that got me thinking: why? Elite runners can run long AND fast, and that's exactly what I need to do.

After one last conversion (finding out what speed on the treadmill was around a 7:03 pace), I went downstairs to my treadmill to knock out my typical Wednesday 5-miler. I started at a 7:30 pace for the first 400 yards, then moved bumped up to a 6:59 pace for the next 4.25 miles. Then I went back to a 7:30 pace for the last 800 yards. Surprisingly, I felt awesome. Although it was a fast pace, I was surprised at how comfortable I felt. My average heart rate was around 165. It's higher than usual, but I'm not used to that pace (duh). Not too bad.

Today I went out for a 9-miler on the road and decided I wanted to run at or under a 7:03 pace. That's something I've never done so I was a little apprehensive. But once I got going, I fell into a rhythm. I ran my usual neighborhood route, an out-and-back route with a few uphills and downhills. I knocked out the first mile in 6:55. Mile two had a few uphills and finished in 7:15. Then I got into a rhythm and knocked out a 6:53 and 6:58. The next few miles rolled a bit and went into a steady uphill for 1/2 mile. After seven miles and knowing I only had two miles left, I really turned it on and finished with a 6:53 and 6:43 mile.

During my last mile, running faster and feeling stronger than the previous 8 miles, it hit me. I had a moment of clarity and pure hopefulness for my running future. I thought to myself: I might actually be good at this. I can say, without hesitation, that's the first time I truly believed I am (or could become) a pretty good and competitive runner. That's fastest I've ever run for an extended amount of time and felt like I could go even faster. Today's run made me hopeful for my running future and, most of all, made me happy,