my musings on nothing in particular

you’re not hardcore unless you live hardcore...

Wed, 21 Jul 2010 11:32:31 -0700

While most were watching the front end of Stage 16 yesterday to see if Ol’LA could pull off the stage win, the truly inspirational stuff was going on at the back. After being gapped on the first climb of the day, Jens Voigt was chasing hard on the descent to rejoin the group. He crashed at high speed - battered and bloodied. His team cars had gone ahead and his bike was in pieces. The race doc patched him up and the sag-wagon offered him a ride.

“No way!” says Jens. He’s not gonna quit, not this way, not today. Not happening.

So he borrows some kid’s bike and chases back, eventually regaining his proper spare bike and finishing before the elimination time.

Note the old fashioned toe clips!

So the next time thoughts of quitting creep into your head, think about Jens!

WS 100 - the good and the bad

Fri, 2 Jul 2010 07:05:18 -0700

It’s funny how the reports from good races come out much faster than those from bad races. When you succeed, it’s easy to write about it and you’re motivated to document the success and share with others. Plus, the story is usually straightforward - I trained hard, felt prepared, and then I executed.

When things don’t go so well, it’s harder to find the words. Yes, I am quite disappointed with my race at Western States, and it actually feels good to write that. For some reason people are reluctant to allow me to feel disappointment. They immediately rationalize the situation and insist that I should be happy with the day. Now I do certainly understand that perspective is important - yes, I was able to run the Western States 100 and finish in decent style and that is something I should be happy with and proud of. I get that. I’m one of the fortunate ones. That said, I fell two hours short of my goal and felt pretty poor for the majority of the day. My body failed me after hours and hours of training. That fact is disappointing, and rightfully so, no matter how you slice it.

So on with the gory details...

Racing in Northern California affords me the pleasure of squatting with the Barnes clan in Placerville. Matt and April graciously open their doors to me and I love reconnecting with them and spending time with their three great kids - Jackson, Molly, and Elliot. Yes, the atmosphere is a bit chaotic, but I find a strange peace in that chaos. We watched some World Cup, took in a few of Jackson’s swim team practices, and enjoyed some fantastic Barnes cooking. On Wednesday afternoon, Matt and I did a run on the Hwy 49 section of the course - down to the river, toward Brown’s Bar and back. I felt horrible during this run. It wasn’t the heat, although it certainly felt hot, but rather my breathing. I felt like I couldn’t get air down deep into my lungs - everything was shallow. I walked a few times to settle down and see if I could get my breathing more relaxed, but no luck. I finished the run a bit demoralized, but I shook it off as jet lag or nerves or just a bad day. Nothing to worry about...better to get it out of the system today than deal with in on race day.

On Thursday afternoon we loaded up the Tundra and headed for Squaw. I sprung for a nice condo within walking distance from the start. Bill and Tom arrived and Neal and Steve joined us Friday morning. A great group. I was stoked to have so much support from good friends who know me well. We got all the gear and grub and bottles organized and I hit the sack for some relatively decent sleep.

I woke at 3:30, ate some tortillas, PB and banana and we made our way over to the start to fetch my race number and timing chip. Lots of folks around and a strange mix of nervous energy and sleepiness in the air. I pinned my number and headed toward the line ready to go. A few niceties with various friends and then we were off. Climbing Squaw I felt pretty good and settled into a nice rhythm a few strides behind AJW and in the Ian Torrance vicinity. Soon we summited and took the plunge into Granite Chief Wilderness. I enjoyed this snowy section and stayed relaxed moving across and down large snowfields. The footing was mixed and wet, but not unpleasant and I found myself near Rod and a few other familiar faces.

We came to Road 96 and took a left onto the snow re-route. This long road section felt pretty solid, although I was aware of the altitude and thought perhaps I was going a touch too fast. Soon I was back on the single track edging French Meadows and I began to feel weak. The shallow breathing was back and it continued to worsen as I started the climb to Duncan Canyon. It wasn’t as bad as it had been Wednesday, and I kept telling myself it was just the elevation and things would get better as soon as I started heading down. I got to the DC aid station only to find that Bill, Tom and Matt had yet to arrive. Bummer, but no big deal. Shit happens in 100-milers and I needed to roll with it. I grabbed some aid station gels and hit the descent into Duncan. Soon I was running with AJW and Mark Lantz feeling pretty solid on the long climb to Robinson Flat. I was glad to be feeling better, but perhaps should have noticed that feeling better as the course climbed back into the snow meant that altitude was likely not the factor affecting my breathing...

Again, no crew at Robinson. Krissy helped me get through quickly and AJW’s family graciously gave me a couple of vanilla PowerBar gels. I was beginning to wonder what the hell the boys were up to...perhaps a leisurely brunch in Truckee, or manicures in North Lake? Not to worry, I set out on the climb to Little Bald Mountain feeling quite good and running almost every step. Once we began to descend back into the forest and dust, the lousy-weak feeling started to creep back in. It seemed to take forever to get to Miller’s Defeat and the steep down into Dusty Corners at mile 38 was tough. At Dusty, I got a boost out of seeing Bill, Tom, and Matt and executed a quick shoe change. The next section is a beautiful segment of single-track track with grand views of Screwauger Canyon. I had looked forward to this section, but on this day, I was empty...no jazz...I sucked so bad I had to walk some flat sections. Soon the trail tilted downward again and I managed to roll the steep descent to the swinging bridge with a little better speed. But again, as soon as I started climbing, I struggled to breathe deeply and put one foot in front of the other. I staggered over the top and moved through the aid station without delay. In 2006, they sat me here for 20 min and I wanted to avoid that this time around. The next couple of miles to the pump and Deadwood were not pretty. It’s downhill and I tried to coast, but the legs didn’t want to turn over.

I felt a bit better once I turned left onto the main descent and headed down El Dorado Canyon. I began to roll at a respectable pace and actually passed a couple of folks. About 1/2 a mile before the base of the canyon, however, the rig seized up and I very quickly felt exhausted. The 2.5 mile climb out of El Dorado took me a pathetic 1:15. I had to sit, I had to lay down, I had to puke...I did everything I could to get up that climb except the only thing I wanted to do - RUN. It was during this time that I decided I was done when I got to the aid station at Michigan Bluff. DNF. For the last 20 miles I had been staring into the abyss, clinging to the edge, but now I had fallen in and there was no crawling out. Many runners powered past me and all I could do was step aside meekly. I walked the short down into the aid station, completely defeated.

Bill, Tom, Matt, Neal and Steve greeted me. They were fired up and wanted to get me out of there quickly, but they could tell from my appearance that things were not going well. I got out of the aid station and then collapsed in a shady spot between two cars. It was a beautiful piece of calm and quiet amidst the chaos of Michigan Bluff. I had never been this low before in a race - absolutely committed to quitting. The boys gave me some time, but there was no quit on their schedule. This constellation of great friends came together to press some buttons deep within me. Neal put on his PT hat and focused on my body, urging me to elevate my legs a bit and massaging an energy point at just below my knees. Bill used his usual humor to inform me that yes, I did look bad, but lots of others looked much worse. Getting me to laugh was a non-trivial achievement. Tom got in my face, gently but firm, and told me I wasn’t done. Not today, not like this. Matt spoke the truth, looking me in the eye and asking me how I wanted this day to end. His question hit deeply. I’ve long admired Matt’s example of parenthood and his question made me think of my relationship with Ainslie. Sure, she cannot yet speak, but I imagined she could and there was no way I could stomach telling her that her daddy quit.

So I got off the mat and trudged up the hill and back on the course. During my 25-30 minutes of self-pity at Michigan Bluff, I did mange to down a good amount of food, including a couple cups of soup. About midway up Chicken Hawk Rd, I started to feel the benefits of this fuel and salt and began to run again. Breathing was much better now and as I ran down into Volcano Cyn, I felt better and better. A quick dunk in the creek to cool off and I then proceeded to run much of the climb up to Bath Road. Bill met me at Bath and could tell I was a different person. He got me to down 300 more calories on the run into Foresthill and delivered me to Tom feeling optimistic.

From Foresthill to the River was by far my best section of running. Tom pushed me hard here. We ran the downs fast, managed a decent shuffle on the flats and shallow climbs, and did all we could to power-hike the steeps. He had me on top of my calories, fluids and salts and we made it to the river in about 2:40. A solid split, but perhaps a small bit too solid as I probably tried to get back too much too quickly. After the boat crossing, I let myself sit in the river for a wonderful few moments. The boys then cracked the whip and got me headed up to Green Gate. We actually ran about 90% of this climb and I felt pretty good all things considered. This was perhaps another mistake, however, as a little more hiking and a lot more eating during this segment might have allowed me to recover a bit better from the hard run down to the river.

At Green Gate, I bid farewell to Tom and Bill, and Matt took over the reigns. This next 16 miles of trails is his backyard and he got me through each phase like a first class tour guide. I made steady progress to ALT, but my belly was starting to fail me. Coke and soup was about all I could muster, although I would force a gel whenever I had the courage. Between ALT and Brown’s Bar, I could feel the wheels starting to come off again - the highs and lows of the day were catching up to me. After Brown’s, I struggled. Legs had nothing on the downs and my feet were a disaster. It seemed to take forever for Hwy 49 to come and when it finally did, my stomach gave out. I made sure my crew didn’t see me puke....I didn’t want them to overreact. At this point I knew I was going to finish, but there was gonna be nothin’ pretty about it. Full-on survival mode.

Matt was patient with me up the climb and we stepped gingerly down to No Hands Bridge. Bill took over at this point, bringing me up to date on the incredible finish of the leaders. It was zombie work now. One step at a time...just make it to the line before the body completely fails. After what seemed like a lifetime - several lifetimes, actually - we made it to Placer High. Krissy gave me a boost, running in that last mile with us.

The finish is a complete blur. In a matter of minutes I was on a cot getting a blood draw and a bunch of other attention. Over the next 5 hrs, I received some combination of sodium interventions and intravenous fluids and massage. Thankfully, Neal stayed with me and managed communications with the docs. I was completely out of it. Deep in a hole. Bill later told me my eyes looked “like two piss-holes in the snow.” But we made it. We were done. We didn’t quit.

So I think it’s OK to be disappointed. I am bummed I didn’t run the way I was hoping to; the way I felt prepared to run. This disappointment is important. Tt hurts, but it fuels the fire to try again, to get it right. On the other hand, I can be pleased with the day in a number of ways. At many times over the last two years I questioned if I would ever run 100 miles again. In fact, I questioned that notion for a large part of this day too. Never before had I been so empty with so far still to go. Bill, Tom, Matt, Neal, and Steve turned this certain DNF into a respectable finish. This finish was a team effort and what’s more is that these were the same guys who stuck with me every step of the way during my long, slow recovery from the depths of 2008. Thanks for bringing me back, fellas! We didn’t do what we came to do, but we can live with the outcome, learn from it, and grow stronger.

Gear was spot on for the day, thanks to fantastic sponsors:

Clothing: Patagonia Cap 2 Tank, Long Haul Running shorts, Endurance Socks, Airius Hat (2003).
Shoes: Inov8 Roclite 295 and Brooks Racer ST.
Nutrition: Powerbar Gel, PowerBar Endurance Drink.
Hydration/Electrolytes: Nuun - Orange-Ginger, Banananuun.

And as always, great thanks to my presenting sponsor, Maggie. You put up with a lot these last few months and I appreciate your patience, support, and sacrifice. I was bummed you and Ainslie couldn’t be there, but that’s just another reason I have to try this race again.

A great opportunity awaits

Thu, 17 Jun 2010 09:29:22 -0700

This has been a long journey, an Odyssey, in many ways. As I look forward to Western States, a mere 9 days from now, I must reflect on the winding and bumpy path that got me here. Let’s begin at AC in 2007. This was was my 4th 100 mile finish, but my first in which I began to figure some things out and feel more good than bad. I ran steady and managed a respectable 4th place.

I entered 2008 with ambition and confidence. I was figuring out the distance and approaching competitiveness. Although running looked somewhat bright, I was dealing with some deep personal struggles at home. Maggie and I had begun our efforts at family in the summer of 2007. By December she was pregnant and the excitement was palpable. At our first doctor’s appointment in late January, the boom lowered mercilessly. We learned that Maggie had miscarried without knowing it. We were shocked, but we didn’t have time to process the loss because some complications of the miscarriage put Maggie in the hospital with massive blood loss. Terrifying stuff, and it took her months to recover. I was distraught. The pain of the miscarriage was overwhelmed by the fear of losing my wife and best friend. The pain was too hard to face, to random, too without reason. So...I ran. I ran away from it. I used running as therapy. Training hard was a way to manage pain. The harder I ran, the more I felt I could control it. I made all sorts of excuses for why entering this and that race would be smart for the training plan...but really, I was just wanting to escape and punish myself in the process.

I ran the Coyote 2 Moon 100 and had a decent day. Within a week, however, I was back at it, training hard for Bighorn. Far more miles than ever before. And I was getting lean too. It felt great going uphill, but if I had truly looked in the mirror, I think the gaunt form looking back at me would have made an obvious point: you are on a dangerous path. Bighorn went well. I ran second to Jeff Browning and felt reasonably satisfied. My one complaint, however, was that I could never find the high end gear I needed to attack. I couldn’t get aggressive. I ran numb, or perhaps empty.

Again, I rolled back into training almost immediately. During this phase I logged many miles with Scott. He, too, was dealing with some well-documented personal struggles. Multiple trips to the Columbia River Gorge, huge back to backs and a meager existence. Run, eat (not nearly enough), sleep, repeat. Simple and elegant to some, but hollow in many ways. My buddy Tom was running is first 100 at Cascade Crest. We took a weekend in late July and ran the first 35 miles of the course on Saturday and the last 35 on Sunday. About a mile before the Silver Creek Aid Station area, I completely wrecked my ankle in a momentary lapse of concentration. I took my eye off the trail for a split second and then BAM, big roll. Rather than let the guys go ahead and get the car, my anger drove me to run on it. Pound the last 5 miles of pavement. Make it hurt and when it hurts, make it hurt more. With AC a mere 6 weeks away, I was being reckless at best, completely stupid at worst.

By now Maggie was healthy enough to start trying again. In August, we got a positive test, but Maggie didn’t feel right about it. I was convinced it was in her head, that she wasn’t allowing herself to get her hopes up. I allowed mine, however, to run rampant. A baby would cure all. It would erase the pain of the first loss and subsequent trauma. It would be our re-set button. Then it happened again. We lost the second baby. Maggie knew it and was prepared. I was crushed and again, turned to running to deal with the pain. By this point, friends could likely see something wasn’t right. My sarcasm was growing more biting, more dark, and my training style was getting more competitive. Not only did I want to make myself hurt, I wanted to inflict pain on those training with me. To meter it out like some sadistic blackjack dealer. If you were gonna run with me, it was gonna be a little faster than you wanted to go. I appreciate my friends putting up with me during this time...it was likely no picnic.

I had a good race at AC, but ran out of gas at the end, falling 8 minutes short of my goal time. 8 minutes doesn’t seem like much, but that’s the point, I couldn’t summon the courage to push hard in the closing stages. Perhaps I had used up all of my pain tolerance training like a crazed idiot...

After AC, I tried to squeeze as many high country outings as possible. Keep the season alive. But soon the bottom fell out. I started having trouble sleeping and severe headaches set in. My doc ordered some blood-work and the story was clear. I had run myself into the ground and now had the blood of a 16-year old anorexic girl. My body was shutting down. I had pushed it to its literal limit. To make matters worse, I had this mysterious hip pain that wouldn’t go away. An MRI soon revealed that my sacrum was riddled with stress fractures. This was so completely appropriate. Not only did I now have an injury to match my blood-work, but the sacrum is somewhat of a cornerstone to your skeleton, a foundation. My shattered sacrum was symbolic...I was crumbling.

6 months of no running.

I wondered if I would ever be able to run again. A common comment was “Oh, I hear those are tough to come back from...some folks never run again...looks like you’re done with ultras, eh?” I tried not to listen. I road my bike, focused on school and Maggie, and dedicated myself to getting healthy. Thoroughly healthy. Major dietary overhaul, more sleep, more regular doctor visits, and a deep effort to become more self aware. I needed to understand emotion and deal with it in the moment, rather than saving it for the track, or Mt. Si, or some race. This time away from running and racing was difficult in many ways, but quite fulfilling in others. I was learning some very important things about myself. Growing and building. I began trotting a bit by mid-summer. 5 minutes a day, 10 minutes a day... The progression was slow and frustrating. I wasn’t able to run enough to figure out how I felt. But soon the runs got longer and within a couple of months I was back on the trail, logging an occasional Cougar 10.

Round about this time, we learned we were pregnant again. We were nervous...could it be real this time? As the summer progressed, we both grew more and more confident that this pregnancy would take that that our goal of parenthood would finally be realized.

By August, I thought I was healthy enough to join the crew on some high country runs, only the learn that I was horribly out of shape. They buried me, but I must say, I thoroughly enjoyed getting dropped and having to walk and struggling to find my legs. I paced for Rod at CCC and Tom at Hundred in the Hood. It was wonderful to get back into the ultra world and share in the efforts of two friends who were both very supportive during my struggles. I tried my best to hide it, but the 34 miles of CCC and the 40 miles of Hood pushed me to the limit, perhaps a little beyond.

Since then, I’ve endured a long and slow build up to Western. Over the winter, I said “no” to running on many days and instead used the bike to gain fitness without beating up my body too much too soon. Our beautiful daughter, Ainslie, came into our lives on 2/16 and every day since then has been full of love, life, and challenge. Maggie is a wonderful mother and I am trying my best to keep up. Fatherhood has added a depth to life both on and off the run. Runs become more meaningful in that time is under more pressure and I have to make each run count. They also become more meaningless in that there is so much more to life now with Ainslie. I can have a bad run or race and she doesn’t care, although I suspect that will change very soon. Judging from the crazy activity in her legs, she’ll have high standards for human powered endeavors.

I had a decent run a Chuckanut. A bit rusty, but was able to push hard all day and finish relatively strong. It was tough to swallow the 21st place, although the field was spectacularly competitive and I ran fairly close to my best there. By the time Capitol Peak rolled around in late April, I had hung up the bike and knew that some good form was coming on. A breakthrough day ensued, as I ran perhaps my best ultra in this nicely under-the-radar event.

Since then the last 8 weeks have been great. 6 weeks of over 100 miles, PR times on the track and hills, and some burly long days. I enter this taper from a place of strength. I am healthy in mind and body and excited for the “secular pilgrimage” that lies ahead. The journey from Squaw to Auburn is long and daunting - heat, mountains, snow, lots of crazy fast dudes, and history. But the journey TO Squaw has been an even deeper adventure. When I take the start line next Saturday, I will draw confidence from the bumpy road I’ve travelled these last few years. The journey back to healthy body, mind, spirit, and family has prepared me for whatever challenges await on the way to Placer High School. Great thanks to the many who have cared for, supported, tolerated, encouraged, and even doubted along the way. Chances are if you have read this far, you are one of those people.

A great opportunity awaits next Saturday. The opportunity to rise to the occasion and do something special. I am ready to be great.