There is only so much you can do to prepare for an FKP. Over the last two weekends, we had studied the route meticulously, taking our time to note as many details of the trail as possible. I could find no mention, even hypothetical, of our objective in all the usual forums . The weather window was holding and schedules seemed to line up. On Wednesday, I got the text from Dan, “You in for Friday?” Absolutely! I had been crushing it at work trying desperately to free up enough time to sneak in this late season effort.
To say the Upper Rumble Lake FKP had been on our minds for a long time would - in truth - be an overstatement. Dan pitched the idea late in the day after a long bushwhack and tough scramble that had dumped us at the lake. He and his brother John fished for Upper Rumble Lake for hours, developing a good feel for the water, its inhabitants and shoreline accessibility. On the descent he declared, “I’m gonna paddle that thing!” Game on.
An FKP would require the right technology - a board sturdy enough to handle a high alpine lake, but packable enough to be transported the 3 miles and 3,400 vertical feet to shore. Dan had recently obtained an inflatable SUP from HALA ATCHA and thought it was up for the challenge. Upon initial inspection, I was skeptical, but anyone who knows Dan, knows Dan. I dared not doubt.
We specially modified an UltrAspire Omega to fully integrate with the (rather primitive) HALA ATCHA haul bag - note the absence of a hip belt. This configuration is roughly the equivalent of bolting carbon fiber bottle cages to a Huffy. Clunky, but a rig to facilitate optimal hydration, if nothing else.
After about a half a mile of flat strolling, the primitive climbers’ trail tilts up, and stays steep for about the next 2 miles. It is treed, dusty and loose, but Dan trudged up it with remarkable aplomb, nary slipping an inch on the bountiful golf-ball sized pebbles.
I stayed a safe distance behind, on call to un-foul the paddle shaft from low-hanging branches and offer intermittent support fueled by sarcasm and ridicule. Soon, the trail relented for a minute or two and then dropped steeply for a few hundred feet, emptying into a broad avalanche chute. Prime grizzly space. As I scanned the meadow for furry friends, I felt secure in recalling the parable of the two hikers, the grizzly, and the running shoes. With Dan hauling 40+ lbs to my mere 5, I figured outrunning him would take little effort. That said, I figured Dan could use the paddle to make quick work of any predator foolish enough to challenge him.
You can see the ultimate objective in the picture above. The rock shelf visible below the Holland Peak summit ridge forms a natural dam, holding the vast turquoise water of Upper Rumble Lake and all of her fishes. Between us and the rim of that dam lies about 1000’ of scree and boulders and one or two Class 4 moves. Child’s play at this stage of an FKP attempt.
Dan adroitly navigated the scree and made quick work of the scrambling, gapping me in the process as I stumbled up the ridge in awe. Once in the lake basin, I think Dan finally allowed himself to grasp the magnitude of his impending accomplishment, dumping the haul bag and taking a moment to enjoy a sandwich. Before too long, however, he was pumping up the SUP (UPSUP?) and then setting out into the pristine and previously unpaddled waters of Upper Rumble Lake.
As I watched from the shore, I managed to scare away several fish and loose 2 of Dan’s flies. A full service adventure partner am I. Dan managed to land two fish, however, adding to the already impressive paddling record.
Although I did no work other than walk, witness and document, Dan was gracious enough to allow me a paddle, pushing us well past our agreed upon turn-around time in the process. That was a risk worth taking…
Once I had my fill, we quickly struck the board, stowed the rods and began the arduous decent. I kept offering to share the load, but Dan would have none of it. Bagging this FKP was all him and he sliced through the scree with super-smooth style.
All joking aside, this was a super fun outing and an incredibly impressive effort from Dan. It’s also just the sort of adventure that mends the mind and spirit, particularly during forced time off from focused training. That training for ultramarathons takes us deep into the mountains and allows us to cover long distances light and fast is hugely inspiring, but there is a fine line between training and enjoying. In recent years with life becoming more and more complex, my time in the mountains has been more limited and that little time has been spent with less presence of mind. I’ve struggled to stay in the moment, distracted by turn-around times, when I need to get home and what I’ll be walking into. That distraction undermines one of mountain adventure’s fundamental benefits - escape. Projects like this silly little FKP bring balance back to the equation and are going a long way to reset my mental approach to time in the mountains. The proverbial roses smell great and must not be ignored!
No running…no problem. This forced hiatus has opened up the mind to more thoughtful journeys into the mountains. Without worrying about training goals, pace, distance, vertical, etc., I’ve been able to soak up the terrain, connect with great friends and gain a new appreciation for the incredible natural beauty immediately accessible from Missoula. Here are some of the recent highlights:
Point Saint Charles Sramble-Bushwhack: This began as a reasonable shuffle out to Turquoise Lake with Dan with the goal of fishing. Well, the lake looked pretty sterile, so we decided to scramble upward until we could no longer. That lead us to the top of a really cool peak - Point Saint Charles. From the summit we had amazing views deep into the Missions, including Glacier Peaks, McDonald Peak, and many others.
Once on top of PSC, we saw some lakes we had passed early on in our climb and immediately thought,”yeah, let’s make a loop of it,” Well, it was some rough terrain and a monster bushwack through prime grizzly terrain, but it lasted just long enough to make it quite enjoyable.
Holland Peak: This outing occurred in two installments. First was a “failed” attempt at the summit with Dan, John, Chris and Tyson. An early navigation error led us up the wrong ridge and into a long bushwhack. I put failed in quotations, however, because our error led us to course-correct into a fantastic off-trail ascent, climbing a steep river chute to two hidden alpine lakes before eventually regaining the proper route. Rather than summit, we fished…and the fish were biting big time. Another great day up high.
Hanging out at Upper Rumble Lake (the one at which we fished) for so long, directly under the shadow of the Holland Peak Ridge, Dan and I decided we had to return the following weekend to bag the summit. Chris joined the party. Though the climb is less than 5 miles, it gains over 5200’ and includes some exposed Class 4 terrain just before the summit. I was on the edge of my comfort zone, but we made it up and off safely. Holland Peak is a beast and she’s been quite good to us.
Vermont was a total bust. I felt flat from the start and was completely empty by mile 45. I walked for 15 more miles and then unceremoniously pulled the plug. Beyond sad, beyond defeated, beyond frustrated, I was hollowed out. Utterly finished. Sick of feeling like shit, sick of being in pain, sick of not being able to run and race like I once could. In that moment, I resolved to stop pushing this string and figure out what the heck has been ailing me. What the hell happened to this guy who was at one point a decently mediocre runner?
The Short Story:
I’m in a ditch, have been in it for a while, and have finally decided to stop digging.
The Long Story:
My intent is not for this to be some sort of melodramatic “Woe is I” story. I share this not for your sympathy, but more in the hope that what I have learned over the last two years might resonate and aid others who have experienced similar frustration. In general, life is great and the ensuing story firmly belongs in the category of First World Problems. And so be warned, this isn’t a short story, but I hope it’s one to which you or someone you know can relate.
Outside of one major injury setback in 2009 (sacral stress fracture), my ultra running career had followed a steady and respectably improving trajectory, peaking in 2011 with 4 wins and several other strong races. I was feeling strong, building miles and learning how to mange my body effectively. Along with this, Maggie and I were growing our family and I was working toward my doctoral degree. The stress was consistent and non-trivial, but it felt manageable. Let’s face it, life was good and sure there was stress, but it was positive stress. We were working hard at what we love and making steady progress.
2011 closed with the birth of our second daughter, Charlotte. Charlotte was named in honor of Maggie’s father, Charles, who had been suffering with dementia and other associated ailments. Shortly after Charlotte’s birth, Chuck was diagnosed with stomach cancer and passed away 9 days later. The family rallied around Ruth, Maggie’s mother, and for a few months we were spending several nights a week going back and forth to Mercer Island from our home in Seattle to be with family, mourn together, and heal. Through these unstable times, I dove into training. It was something I could control, something I could escape in.
As endurance athletes, we exist on the edge of sustainability, pushing ourselves to the limit, and then relenting just enough to recover and push again, extending that limit further. Sometimes we go too far and there are normal mechanisms designed to clip our wings: overuse injuries, sickness, malaise, etc. Through the spring of 2012, I was managing a lot, but seemed to be handling it well. My dissertation was on schedule for a successful defense and publication, the kids were doing well, Maggie was wrapping up her work at Swedish, I secured a faculty post at the University of Montana, and was prepping for our move with the sale of our home and the purchase of a property in Missoula. Through this I maintained a respectable training load of 80-100 miles per week, along with some solid early season results. I did notice, however, that I was I slower to recover than in previous seasons. What I dismissed as the effect of age, I should have recognized as a warning sign.
If at this moment I could have stepped back a bit – zoomed out – and examined my life holistically, I would have seen the Wall approaching. That Wall being the limit of my limits.
In May I defended my dissertation, completed our real estate transactions and ran a to a strong 2nd place at the Sun Mt 50-miler. In retrospect I was now right at the base of that Wall. 3 days after Sun Mt, I travelled to Bend for two days of Patagonia product development meetings and associated trail runs, followed immediately by Scott’s bachelor party in Las Vegas. After a day of transition at home, I left for a 2-day Patagonia video shoot deep in Olympic National Park. After a first day of running back and forth in 45-degree weather wearing very little, I started to feel impending illness. See if you can detect it here, in my voice over for the video we produced…
The shoot wrapped and I travelled home, stuffing myself with every homeopathic, anecdotal and superstition-based remedy I could find. No way I could get sick now! Graduation was approaching, as was the meat of my Angeles Crest 100 training. But the Wall had other ideas. I tried to climb it, but it knocked me down – flat on the couch for 2 solid weeks. The doc thought it was mono, but since I had had mono in high school, he said it was probably something similar and would run its course in due time. “Tincture of Time” was his catch phrase; something I now realize foretold my current reality.
Graduation came and went - too sick to enjoy it and in too much of a rush to celebrate in any meaningful way. Maggie pushed to have some sort of celebration, urging me to recognize the significance of the accomplishment. But there was no time for that…I had to get back to training…AC was just around the corner and we had to get ready for the move. I felt like the additional stress of scheduling, planning and executing a party - a party for me - was just too much. Think about that for a moment. Sure, I really don’t like attention and any recognition I do get makes me a bit uncomfortable, but the fact that I couldn’t step out of my downward spiral long enough to celebrate the completion of a 7-year project, a project for which Maggie (emphasis on Maggie) and I had made significant sacrifice, should have been troubling.
Once I thought I had kicked the bug, I stuffed my schedule with as many miles as I could, cramming for the impending exam that was Angeles Crest. I felt pretty crummy, but I figured I had to work through the setback of the illness in order regain form. The schedule for race week was crazy tight, but seemingly (naively) manageable: pack the house, fly to Boulder for Scott’s and Jenny’s wedding, then on to LA for Angeles Crest, race, then back home for a going-away party, followed by the move to Missoula. It didn’t take me long to realize the absurdity of this plan and describing it now feels ridiculous. What on earth was I thinking? The wedding was a blur, AC was a disaster from the start, and I went into the move deeply fatigued. Again, the Wall had stopped my feeble effort…
Once in Missoula, I thought I had hit the reset button. New town, new job, new training buddies and running on fantastic trails every day. Not learning a thing from the preceding months, I took off to Japan just two weeks into my first semester for the Shinetsu 5-mountains 110k. Another disaster. 5 days away from home with 48+ hours of total travel time. Not a formula for success, at least not for me. The Wall won. Super smart way to start a new job, my first as a university professor.
At that point, I said enough was enough. I took a few weeks of rest and resolved myself not to race again until I was ready. I checked in with the doc, got some blood work, and everything looked pretty good. A bit of rest and I should be fine.
A few weeks later, I began to run again and felt pretty terrible. That said, I was now running regularly with an insanely talented tribe of great guys: Foote, Wolfe, Swanson, Yates, Kollar… Whenever the trail tilted up I was instantly under pressure and could not hold the wheel. I didn’t give in to this feeling of getting my ass kicked daily. Sure I felt flat, but maybe that was just because I was chasing some elite dudes. But I also ignored the fact that I felt pretty bad whenever I ran alone. Before too long, feeling crummy morphed into the new normal. Endurance pursuits are about dealing with discomfort and I was caught in this mental limbo of wondering whether I was tired all the time from too much training, or just older, out of shape and in need of more training. I chalked it up to transition, family, work, and sleep deprivation - all reasonable and important ingredients in the cocktail of my malaise.
In spite of this, I managed a strong day at Chuckanut, a 3-min PR. I followed that with a respectable 3rd place at Pocatello. In the late stages of that race, however, I could feel that Wall again. After about 6 hours I really began to struggle. And were it not for the fact that after 40 miles the rest is pretty much all downhill, I wonder if would have finished. Fumes and gravity got me to the barn. This late-stage weakness was troubling and felt eerily similar to how I felt approaching the halfway mark at AC, as well as throughout my short day in Japan. With Vermont quickly approaching, I decided to back off the training by 15-20%: fewer miles, but more quality. The intervals and tempo work were a struggle, but I figured my clumsiness at pace was just another thing I needed to push through. “Sluggish” had become an all too regular adjective in my training log.
I was set up for success at Vermont, arriving at my folks’ place in NH a full week before the race. Plenty of time to adjust to the climate and catch up on sleep. As race day approached, the normal pre-100 mile nerves were there, but I was having trouble getting excited about the race, perhaps a manifestation of eroded confidence. After walking from mile 45-60 I dropped. I had no interest in walking 40 more miles; I didn’t want to do that to Maggie and my family. I’ve stared deep into the abyss in a few 100-milers and found a way out. This was not that. This was a sense of disturbing emptiness. I couldn’t summon the energy to care and that felt really shitty.
But in that moment of weakness and failure and humiliation, I resolved to stop digging. Figure out this Wall, whatever it is, and find a way over it, whatever that takes.
In the weeks since, I’ve been seeing some docs and running some tests. Two complementary theories as to my struggles have emerged, one from a naturopathic doctor and one from an MD.
Naturopath: Dr. Jamison Starbuck is a naturopath in Missoula who has been practicing for many years. She comes highly recommended from several people I trust. Dr. Starbuck thinks I probably never quite killed off the virus that I caught in June of last year, and that that virus is likely Epstein-Barr. Apparently Epstein-Barr can linger and thrive in a body under consistent stress. In periods of acute stress, whether a result of intense training and/or life stress, the resultant depletion of immune system resources gives the virus the green light to multiply and preserve itself. This constant pressure on my immune system explains my fatigue and the fact that I seem to have a head cold about 2 out of every 6 weeks. Dr. Starbuck also ran a saliva-based cortisol test. We took samples 4 times in a day to measure how that system was functioning. Cortisol is a stress-management hormone and under normal circumstances the body should produce it in a pattern that tracks the stress we encounter in a typical day. The normal curve of cortisol production usually spikes in the morning, calms down as the day progresses, and often has another smaller spike in the afternoon before calming down again in the evening. My cortisol levels are well below the normal range at all times of the day, and perhaps more concerning is the fact that there is very little change, if any, in my levels over the course of the day. These results suggest significant dysfunction in the adrenal system. The system has simply been overloaded for too long and is shutting down. Not good. The long-term effects of low cortisol can include some bad stuff – autoimmune diseases and a host of other things I don’t want. Furthermore, the accumulated stress has caused my gut to produce less acid that it should, leading to suboptimal digestion of proteins and fats. This has led to elevated liver and kidney enzymes as well as rising cholesterol, not to mention the effect of associated mal-absorption of nutrients on my recovery and performance.
Sports Med Doc: I’ve also been seeing Dr. Rob Amrine, an excellent sports medicine and family practice doctor in Missoula. Dr. Amrine is my primary care doctor and the one I saw initially back in September when I was feeling run down. He is concerned about the cortisol, although pointed out that since we only have a single test, albeit with multiple observations, we don’t really know what normal is for me. He agrees that the blood work is suboptimal but wasn’t quite willing to connect some of the theoretical dots that Dr. Starbuck was linking. On the prospect of Epstein-Barr virus, he was open to the possibility, but pointed out that testing for it is problematic because most adults have had some exposure to it (it’s the virus that causes mono) in our lifetimes. In sports medicine, Epstein-Barr has become a bit of a catchall diagnosis for the cocktail of overtraining/overstress. This makes good sense. Although I can track my demise to that severe illness of last year, perhaps this is just a mental construction. Maybe the virus is in there, maybe it’s not, but the reassuring news is that the treatment for my condition is the same either way.
On balance Dr. Starbuck and Dr. Amrine might differ in the specificity of their diagnostic views, but they agree that I am pretty fried and in need of significant rest and regeneration before I can return to any sort of training. The prescription: 3-6 months of rest, with limited (< 60 min/day) activity. Eliminate caffeine, which I have already done. This was actually easy since caffeine was having no effect on my non-responsive adrenal system. Reduce life stress and prioritize sleep. Eat more. Dr. Starbuck prescribed some hormonal and liver support supplements and though Dr. Amrine pointed out there was no hard scientific support for their effectiveness, he conceded that they couldn’t hurt and might help.
So there you have it. I’ve found the bottom of the ditch and am now digging my way out. I can see the ladder over The Wall and now just need to rebuild the tools to climb it. The few folks with whom I’ve shared this little sob story have been very supportive. The frustration with ending another lost season is overwhelmed by my excitement in the prospect of coming back strong again, regaining – no, exceeding, previous form.
If you read this far, there is likely something in this story resonates with you. Perhaps you have struggled with consistent flatness or have arrived at some sort of plateau, unable to move forward. With the proliferation of blogs, social media, Stava, irunfar, etc., there seems to be a glorification of the mountain ultra lifestyle. Big miles and big vert day in day out in the big mountains. It’s easy to feel like you aren’t doing enough. What those external influences do not account for, however, is the reality that each of us has our own set of life stresses, our own career-family formula to balance, and –perhaps most importantly – our own individual capacity for handling all of it. Mine is a story of continuing to push my training and racing to new levels while the demands on other areas of my life were multiplying exponentially. It was a formula for failure and that’s exactly what happened. The cliché is true, however. Our failures teach us more than our successes. Now I just have to learn from the failure of the last two seasons and come back stronger and smarter. Time will tell…
A couple of months ago, Koichi contacted me through Facebook and asked if I might be interested in pacing Tsuyoshi Kaburaki at the Bighorn 100. Pace a Japanese running legend though the wilds of the Bighorns? Why not!?! I had never met Kaburaki, but I remember watching him battle to a dramatic 2nd place finish at Western States in 2009, crushing the Masters course record in the process.
I jammed out to Sheridan on Thursday afternoon, recalling my journey along that stretch of road in 2008 with Scott - Mason and Regina providing the bulk of the musical entertainment. We connected at the hotel and enjoyed an early dinner during which Kaburaki and I assessed what little vocabulary we shared. I offered some thoughts on the course and Koichi and I dialed in the crewing plans. After that I connected with Matt Hart and Ellen Parker and watched them eat their dinner…which looked considerably better than ours. Great peeps that I’ve been missing. We finished up and the night was young, so I headed west on 14 up into the Bighorns in search of a place to camp. Scott, Mike and I spend a great few nights on the Bighorn plateau in 2008…I didn’t quite get that same spot, but I found another one equally spectacular. The only interruption to a great night of sleep was a rather intense hail storm that rolled through at about 1:00 - kind of exciting. 5:00 sunrise, some yoga, coffee and a very casual start to the day. The 11:00 start at Bighorn is kind of nice for that.
I met up with Matt and Ellen and Kaburaki and Koichi at the start line. It was still fairly cool, but sunny. Kaburaki seemed cool and calm and he cruised into our first crew point - Dry Fork, 13.4 miles - in about 6th place and looking comfortable. Next was the long drive out to Footbridge (Mile 30 and 65) that takes you into Montana, through the Crow Indian Reservation, and back into Wyoming on quite primitive roads…the sort of roads that are faster to run than drive. We arrived just as Kaburaki was fixin’ to take off, but we got him his stuff and he seemed quite calm amidst a small bit of chaos. I noted how little this phased him and was optimistic that poise would serve him well in the miles ahead.
From Footbridge runners head uphill for 17 miles to Jaws and then back to Footbridge. Since I was set to pace starting from this spot, I could not join Koichi for the drive to the Jaws turnaround as we would not make it back to Footbridge in time. That meant a 6 or 7 hour hang-out for me. I quickly befriended the Sheridan Search and Rescue folks as they typically have the best set up for staying warm, nourished and comfy. These folks did not disappoint. Sure it was a long wait, but they made it fun.
At about 10:25 Zach Miller rolled through in the lead looking really alert and solid. Great, positive energy. Nikki Kimball (there to pace Gary Gellin) and I helped Zach through a shoe and sock change, got him refueled and reloaded and off into the night. Kaburaki had left Footbridge on the way out in 3rd behind Zach and Matt, but managed to get through Matt at some point and strode back into the aid station at about 11:00. Pretty quick transition and we were off into the night. From Footbridge, the course climbs rather steeply for about 3 miles. Koichi had told me Kaburaki prefered the pacer to follow, so I just settled in behind him and tried to communicate the gap to Zach and the distance remaining…35 minutes and 58k.
After the steepest sections, the course then rolls - mostly up - for next 15 miles or so to Dry Fork. There are a few remote aid stations in between and we were getting information indicating the gap to Zach was closing. During this section, Kaburaki asked me to take the lead and push the pace. We were moving very efficiently through the cold night (25-degrees?) with the only hiccup being a moment of belly upset during the final climb to Dry Fork, at Mile 82.
Dry Fork is the last major aid and the gap was reported at 15 minutes. Kaburaki’s only words were “fast, fast” as we reloaded with Koichi and got back on course. Ellen indicated Matt was doing well in 3rd place and we could see his light making it up the slog to Dry Fork.
It was now clear the hunt was on and Kaburaki was moving very well with intense focus. Next aid station; gap = 10-12 minutes, then 8, then 5. We were closing and Kaburaki was getting stronger and stronger. Dawn was close and as we grinded up the final steep climb, I really wanted to catch a glimpse of Zach’s light to give some confirmation of our progress. Few things are more motivating than seeing a light in your sights in the later miles of a 100-miler. As we crested the hill and began the descent into the Tongue River Valley, we got that impetus, seeing Zach’s light several switchbacks down the hill. We were inside of 10 miles to go and my thoughts oscillated between concern over running out of distance versus pushing him over the edge to make the catch. This descent is rugged and beautiful with some nasty steep sections. Kaburaki was moving quite smoothly and I pointed to Zach’s dark jersey in the distance.
Once it was clear Kaburaki would make the catch, I dropped behind to get out of the way. This was a moment for these two to sort out and as a pacer, a third-wheel in many ways, I did not want to interfere. Kaburaki tucked in behind Zach for a couple minutes and we soon hit the mile 93 aid station. Zach stepped off to get some aid and Kaburaki hit the gas. Over the next two miles of rolling valley trail, Kaburaki crushed any descent and kept an honest effort on the climbs. We hit the final aid station at the road terminus just as they were setting up…always nice to catch the peeps off-guard.
The last 5 miles of Bighorn are a real drag - a seemingly endless dirt-road slog straight into the morning sun. Kaburaki soldiered on, not saying much. I tried to keep the mood light and looked back a few times to make sure no one was catching us. When we finally made the turn into Scott Park, Kaburaki smiled and allowed some emotional release. An incredible finish to an inspirational effort. It was indeed an honor to be along for the ride. Kaburaki is a class act - a wonderful soul and tough as nails.
Bighorn is a great event, low-key, no frills, yet tough and superbly organized. Check it out!
Well, that was a long drive just to race against my local training buddies…
Missoula dominated last weekend’s Pocatello ultra races, sweeping the top four spots in the 50-miler (Wolfe, Kollar, Angle, Hahn) and winning the 50k (Schlarb). It was great fun to mix it up with good friends on a great course. Luke Nelson does a fantastic job with this event. It doesn’t get the same hype as some other (relatively) early season 50-milers, but it delivers a challenging and beautiful mountain course, first class organization, and a quietly competitive field of runners.
Life had been a bit thick coming into race day. The crescendo of Spring semester coupled with some Charlotte sleep challenges left me feeling a little flat, but eager to get out for a long adventure. I slept quite well in the van and my legs felt good during a short warm up. Ready to roll! After the gun I soon settled into about 4th position. Wolfe was loaded for bear from the gun and Kollar gave chase. I could tell Mike was ready to uncork one and that he did, running wire to wire for a huge course record. Awesome to see!
I managed a respectable pace, staying within sight of 2nd and 3rd coming into the first aid station. Next came the off trail scramble. This sort of terrain is not my strong suit, but I stayed patient and positive and kept a consistent effort. Topping out I was unsure where to go. I saw Chris and gave chase only to soon realize that we were off course. It took us about 10 minutes to get back on as we saw Jared’s bright green T- shirt in the distance…a rock solid confidence marker on the proper route. So a little diversion, but apparently all of the top 4 made the same or similar error. The extra credit pumped be up a bit, as it were, and I ran pretty hard down into City Creek and up the second climb. I was now in 3rd and wanting to consolidate that position. After the second climb, the course runs gently down for a long, long time, with only a 1/2 bump to slow the momentum. I felt strong on this segment, though the heat was creeping, and a rolled into mile 32.5 about 20 minutes back of Wolfe and “a few” minutes back of Chris.
The climb up Scout Mountain was a bit of a head game. It’s long and gradual and you are staring at the objective most of the time wondering, “when the hell are we gonna get up that thing?” The endless flirtation got to me a bit, as did the grade. I was not able to find a poppy enough gear to motor up, but walking felt really lame. Not my best section but I finally made the summit and after a rugged and awkward drop off the peak, loose rock gave way to sweet singletrack and I found a nice rhythm into the last aid station at mile 47.
I chatted with Karl and Cathrine a bit and got out of there with a bottle full of ginger ale to get my near-the-edge guts back in order. This last 5 miles is a bit of a drag, with a 700’ climb out in the sun. I was sleepy tired and unable to find the motivation to push. I was feeling pretty comfortable in 3rd…and as I approached the line I realized this comfort was startlingly unwarranted as Keifer was closing fast and Jon Robinson was not far behind either.
Bottom line: 8:49 for 3rd place overall and 3rd place Missoulian! Happy with the day - a good checkpoint on my fitness and an indicator I need to make sleep and recovery a priority in the weeks ahead.
Gear was perfect today:
Shirt: Patagonia AirFlow Tank
Shorts: Patagonia Spring 14 Strider Pro
Hat: Patagonia Spring 14 Duck bill cap (the legend returns!)
Socks: Patagonia Ultra-Light merino
Shoes: Saucony Kinvara 3
Bottles: UltrAspire Isomeric Pocket
Nutrition/Hydration: PowerBar Gel, PowerBar Perform Drink and Nuun
Many thanks to Luke for a flawlessly organized event. First class all the way! I continue to enjoy the generous support of some outstanding sponsors - Patagonia, PowerBar, UltrAspire, Barlean’s (see forthcoming post), and Nuun. Great thanks for the help. And of course many thanks to my biggest supporters, Maggie, Ainslie and Charlotte.
Chapter I: Getting Back on the Horse
In spite of my deep familiarity with the race and the course, uncertainty defined my approach to this year’s Chuckanut 50k. The latter half of 2012 was a running disaster for me with two ignoble drops in 2 months time - drops that that more likely should have been DNS’s. Life in Missoula is fantastic, but I’ve been running in a new climate, with new folks (great folks who happen to be exceptional and even world class runners), with a new job, and on top of that, the last 4 months have been almost exclusively run on snow and ice. Hard to know what’s in the mind and body. I’ve also been investing considerable time and effort in strength training, logging two hard circuit sessions per week at the now infamous Momentum Athletic Training. One of the most thrilling aspects of running is entering the unknown. Most often that experience takes place during the 100-mile distance, but as I toed the line for this “mere” 50k, I had no idea what to expect.
I’ll spare you the typical race report drama as there really was none. I felt strong, steady and positive all day. Peeps go out way fast at this race and I rolled into aid station 1 in about 30th place. From there I just clipped along, never feeling too good or too bad, and worked my way up to about 15th by the last aid station. The final 10k was my strongest segment and I worked up to 12th, finishing in 4:06, a 3-min PR (first time I’ve negative split the Interurban Trail segments). This race just gets faster and faster! Huge congrats to David and Jodee and all the other runners who toed the line and had the courage to push themselves. Well done. A huge thanks to Krissy, her Ma and Pa, and the incredible crew of volunteers. This is a soup-to-nuts first class event, but more on that in Chapter II…
Great thanks to Patagonia (especially George and Mark) for supporting me for so many years. The best gear, made in the best possible way. Also thanks for PowerBar, UltrAspire, Rudy Project and Nuun. And no report would be complete without recognizing the enduring support of my most important sponsor, Maggie. Thank you!
Gear List: Patagonia Gamut Short Sleeve, Patagonia Strider-Pro Shorts, Patagonia Ultralight weight Merino anklet socks, Adidas Adios, Buff coolmax headband, UltrAspire Isomeric Handheld bottle.
Fuel: PowerBar Perform sports drink, PowerBar gel, grape Nuun, Base Amino, water.
Chapter II: The REAL Story of Chuckanut
Changing behavior is perhaps the most difficult thing we can do. If you doubt that, try changing your own and see how it goes. We are creatures of routine and get set in our ways. Regardless of your politics, belief or non-belief in climate science, or your religion, I’d hope we can all agree that trail races, though they present a wonderful opportunity to engage with nature, generate incredible amounts of waste. Trash. Many races have done a great job with recycling, composting, carbon off-sets and the like, but what Krissy has done with Chuckanut is currently beyond compare and deserves widespread recognition.
Again, changing behavior is difficult and often you have to force the change. At our UltrAspire retreat last year, Roch Horton floated the idea of improving the available options in portable cups - cups able to meet the mandatory gear requirements at races like UTMB. Bryce took the idea to the lab and came up with a fantastic solution, and Krissy decided the cup was so good that she could take the giant step of declaring Chuckanut, a race with 400 entrants, completely cupless.
Think about that…no cups at the start, no cups on the course, no cups at the finish, and most importantly, no cups in the trash! Carry this easy-to-carry cup and/or a water bottle, or you’re out of luck.
To keep the ethic consistent, Krissy also cut out coffee cups, plastic bowls, utensils and all such disposable supplies at the finish. A 50k, particularly one of the largest in the country, generates a lot of hungry folks. These folks tend to get grumpy when they can’t immediately get what they want - FOOD! And lots of it. Krissy had some great food, but you had to bring your own plate, bowl or mug to enjoy it. She gave fair warning and delivered on the promise/threat.
So if you were there, you did not see overflowing bins of garbage. You did not see volunteers struggling to keep up with that overflow. What you did see what runners changing their behavior. You want nourishment? Bring your own supplies. Behavior changed! That takes vision, commitment and guts and Krissy proved she has all three in spades. She put her race on the line for something she believes in and made a real impact. Let’s hope her leadership, innovation and courage can become a model for other race directors…and (dare-to-dream) policy makers as well.
Just back from 4 spectacular days in the Beartooth Mountains. I was lucky enough to be included in a Patagonia alpine design team retreat. Thought I am certainly not an expert skier, I do extensive testing of baselayers and shells that overlap significantly with the alpine line. Walker graciously extended the invitation and I jumped on it. So glad I did. Those mountains are spectacular!
We worked with Beartooth Powder Guides out of Cooke City, MT. Ben and Bo run a first-class operation and the center-piece of their offering is a beautiful high country cabin that the two of them hand-built last summer. It’s situated on an old mining claim within the Gallatin Wilderness and accessible only via human power.
Some wonderful times with fantastic people. I continue to be amazed and inspired by the dedication Patagonia has to making the best product. They are without a doubt “committed to the core.”
Check out some of the pics:
Woody Creek Cabin
Skinning up the Woody Creek drainage
Working up the ridge
Richard assessing the route
Refueling before the crux of the route
Randy, Evan and Walker ascending said crux…
Blowing like stink on the ridge…so we boot-packed.
Bo keeping us all in line
Best medicine for the caffeine DTs? Dawn patrol in the season’s first snow.
(Note: I started this post while sitting somewhere in the Narita Airport…then finished it today in Missoula)
I’m enjoying a brief gap in flurries of travel. I could catch up on work and writing and all that, but since the ups and downs of my last few days are consuming my thoughts, I figured I’d do some documenting.
This really should be two blog posts, so I will offer two separate reports of my experience with Japan and the Shinetsu 5 Mountains run.
Chapter 1: The Amazing Race No One Knows About
The Shinetsu 5 Mountains Race is a world-class event. The organization is spectacular and the attention to detail stunning. Hiroki and his crew, with a ton of support from Patagonia Japan and ART Sports, do an unbelievable job and offer a product that transcends any race I have done stateside. And very few have even heard of it! Patagonia has made a strong effort to change that, bringing Krissy over is 2010 and Jenn in 2011. Outside of that, however, few if any Westerners have any clue it exists.
But in the white-hot world of Japanese trail running it’s a big deal, with an emphasis on deal. For a mere $180 entry fee, runners get 3 exceptionally catered meals, a flawlessly marked course with 1 or more volunteer course marshals ON EVERY TURN, 8 well-run aid stations, drop bag service, transfers between start and finish and award ceremony locations, and a reasonable helping of race swag. Consider that value in the context of prices charged for US races. Makes you wonder a bit. There are even tents with chairs for the spectators at every aid station!
The course – at least the parts I managed to see – is beautiful. The mountains in and around Nagano are rugged, lush and surprisingly remote. It’s quite challenging and travels a winding path through the various peaks – mostly ski areas – in the Nagano region. It is a good mix of technical ups and downs, roots and rocks, flats, exposed, shaded, remote and developed: 110k and 4,000 meters of climbing. It always fascinating to think about how a trail system’s layout can reflect the agricultural and industrial development of a culture and this course offered plenty of that – rice paddies and terraces, remote shrines, train tracks, river dams, ancient irrigation systems, roads…you name it. Some really interesting stuff to look at and think about.
What makes this event truly special, however, is the people. The runners, the race staff, and the volunteers share an inspiring passion for the outdoors, running, and this race. Everyone I encountered was incredibly kind, welcoming, and enthusiastic. I would 100% recommend the event to any runner. It’s got support, hoopla and prize money for the elites, as well as a top-notch experience and value for everyone else…. and it’s a fantastic way to experience a wonderful culture in an active, adventurous manner. Go check it out…I can’t wait to go back myself and have a better day…
Chapter 2: Lost in Translation
Well that’s a pretty cliché title, but it fits. When Josh and Fuji approached me in early July about participating in the Shinetsu 5 Mountains race - Hiroki’s race - I jumped at the opportunity. The chance to represent Patagonia, compete in a foreign country and experience a new culture was a no-brainer. A no-brainer, that is, when evaluated in isolation. But if there is one thing I’ve learned this year, it’s that no action or decision can be considered in isolation. Life is a complex system of interconnected decisions, actions, consequence and chance. In my younger days, this system was easier to manage, but as the equation of life has swelled to include an increasing number of variables, solving it has grown difficult. And to exacerbate this reality, the system’s capacity to endure strain seems to diminish with age as well. This isn’t just some verbose way of saying “I feel old;” It’s more of an admission, or confession really, that I’m coming to grips with my own limits.
I should have seen this season coming a mile away. The load of life stress was building steadily through 2011 and erupted over the winter. In the span of 6 months, we made the decision to move to Montana, welcomed the arrival of Charlotte, lost Maggie’s father, lost McMahon, engaged in two real estate transactions and defended a dissertation. A chance solid run at Chuckanut, perhaps fueled by the stress, tricked me into thinking I was gaining fitness. Then a win and CR at the podunk Squak Mt 50 reinforced this myth. What I should have listened to, however, was my own thoughts during the last 10 miles of the Sun Mountain 50. Running in second place, on PR pace, I felt empty. Apathy. That’s a shitty (and for me quite rare) feeling and it should have told me something.
At that point, I should have bailed on Angeles Crest. Instead, I not only persisted, but doubled down by making a half-assed attempt to attend Scott’s and Jenny’s wedding. AC was a junk show at the expense of both family and friends.
We moved to Missoula the weekend after AC. In many ways it felt like a system reset. We have a great spot in a super town and I love my new faculty position at UM. All great stuff. But I have not felt strong since moving to MT. I tried to fake my way through a couple of long runs with Seth, but I was struggling. 20 mile training runs should not feel like 50-mile races.
Then the wildfires came and with them, the smoke. Since 9/1 the air quality in Missoula has been marginal to unhealthy. All of us have felt sick…sore throat, burning eyes, and nausea after runs. And yet I persisted…running in the smoke like an idiot.
As the Japan trip approached, we decided to get Maggie and the girls (Ainslie 2.5 and Charlotte 9 mos.) out of the smoke. So instead of flying to Seattle, I drove the family over the day before flying to Narita. I rationalized that the 8 hours in the car were worth the benefit of a night’s sleep in cleaner air. Kind of like a couple of nights in the high altitude of Boulder would help me at AC. Kind of like the logic of an addict, really.
The flight to Japan was what it was. No way around that. The bigmistake was arriving the day before the race, but how else could I fit everything in? The life equation does not include variables for leisure time, adaptation or even rest. I played some mental tricks to get excited for the run. Easy to do with all the great organization and fanfare around the event. But once I was alone in the woods, the truth emerged. I was tired to the core. 10 miles of running felt like 50 and after 20 miles I was staggering as if I had run 80. Not normal. I tried to rally, but the tank was empty. After 30 miles, all systems were failing – legs seizing, back locking up, and guts exploding. Then I stopped, and in a similar fashion as my drop at AC, I didn’t even have the mental energy to get pissed about it. This is not a great place to be…
And so began the long process of unraveling the trip – 7 hours in the car back to Kamakura, a few trains to Narita, the long, sleepless flight to Seattle, a quick lunch with Maggie and the girls, and finally, the drive home to Missoula so I could teach the next day. (Note that it was just lunch with the family…with the poor air persisting, we decided to keep them in Seattle). It’s been a week and I am now finally starting to dig out of the hole.
So it’s time to reset and find equilibrium again. I’ll find it, but I suspect it will take some time and some looking…
It was truly an honor to be given the opportunity to try the Shinetsu 5-Mountains. My sincere thanks to Patagonia, Patagonia Japan, particularly Hoshi, Jiro, Taka, Seiji, Kenji, and Fuji, my family and my new employer for enabling and supporting this crazy trip. I greatly appreciate it.
Nana Korobi - ya oki: Fall seven times, get up eight.