Thru-Hiker in the making

How to run Sawtooth (well).

2012-01-27T12:00:00.000-06:00

Steve Quick recently posted histake on training for Sawtooth. It’s a good read for anyone who is thinkingabout tackling what is likely the hardest race in the Midwest (Arrowheadnotwithstanding). I’ll summarize:

Marathon times do not correlate well to Sawtoothfinishing times, but you can try. Take your marathon time and multiply by8.5(!). Using that standard, I should be able to finish in approximately 29:45(3:26 marathon, ’08 TC Marathon). Conveniently, 30 hours is mybest-case-scenario goal for 2012.
Once a week, do a timed long run (4-5 hours). Do it often, don’t go too hard, andmeasure improvement by distance covered.
Once a week, do a long hill run (2.5-3 hours),and run it at an even effort. It will boost your strength to handle the 24K +/-of Sawtooth.
Run every day. For the other non-long, non-hillrun days, run one hour per day.
Don’t do speed work.
Mileage. With the easy runs, hill run, and longrun, that’s about 12 hours per week. For me, that would be approx. 80-100miles/week, depending on how fast the long and hills runs are.

I can’t speak ill of the plan, and it is simple, clean andfunctional. It is lots of easy runs at the magical 60-minute length, a hill runto boost strength, and a long run to stress your body and teach it to handlemoving for long periods of time.

I do have disagreements, and these show in my own trainingprogram. Namely, I like to have some speed work. It helps boost leg strength,condition your body to handle high-stress training, and increase leg speed andoverall speed. I like the hill run idea, even if it is slow, but I disagreewith its length. Two-and-a-half to three hours is a long run for me, and I canbang out 20 miles in that time while including hills into it. Finally, the longrun is too long to be done weekly oreven semi-weekly for me. Four to five hours is looking at 30 miles, and that’snot something I want to do in one shot every week. Maybe three hours at a time(remember, 20 miles at 8 min/mile pace is 2:40:00, plenty of distance for along run).

My plan

First, let’s look at the basics:

Runsix or seven days per week.
Divideyour runs into easy and quality runs. Do up to two quality runs per week, therest are easy runs.
Easyruns are just that – easy. Maintain a conversational pace.
QualityRun 1 (Q1): your long run. Distance is based on a percentage of your weeklymileage. In short, 25 percent early season and it bumps up to 33 percent bylate season.
QualityRun 2 (Q2): speed work, or a mini long run. Skip Q2 every fourth week.
Tryto do one trail run per week.
Runhills – up and down – during your easy and long runs. Run hills in Q2 if the workoutdictates it.
Geta good base weekly mileage down, and increase it slowly.
Runraces other than your peak racethroughout your season.
Don't just run.
Taper.

Breaking that alldown.

As with everything, the devil is in the details. Thesedetails mostly arise in choosing what speed work to do. As a primer, let mepreface the following with this: I follow Dr. Jack Daniels’s philosophy ofbreaking a season down into four phases: Base, early quality, transitionalquality, and final quality.

Each phase has its own goals throughout the season. The baseis designed to build strength and prevent injuries down the road. Early qualityis designed to introduce some faster running into the program by doing fast repetition-pacework and some cruise-type intervals. Transitional Quality, the third phase, isthe hardest of the four, and the workouts are designed to be specific to thepeak race of the season. The last phase, Final Quality, focuses on training inactual race conditions and includes a taper.

Dr. Daniels puts these phases in four six-week blocks tomake a 24-week, with the first phase lasting as long as possible and thuspossibly extending the season beyond 24 weeks.

The following summarizes my training plan, with referencesto the numbered points above.

1. Run six or seven days per week.

To adequately train for Sawtooth, you need to run asufficient amount of miles to build your endurance. Miles equates to time onyour feet, and at a certain point you must run more and more days per week tomeet those mileage goals. So run six or seven days per week. Take a rest dayhere and there if you need it, or just get out for a 30 minute jaunt.

2. Easy runs, quality runs, and how tosplit up your week.

Now that you’re running six or seven days per week, you needto determine what you’re going to do when.

Quality runs are those which are designed to develop thatwhich is of most importance based on where you are in your season. These runsare generally more structured, with a defined warm-up, workout with specificpaces and distances, and then a defined cooldown.

So how to break up the week? Start by filling in when you’regoing to run Q1 and Q2. The rest of the days are easy or rest days. Because Q1is your long run and will take up the most time of any of your workoutsthroughout the week, most runners do this on a weekend morning. Leave at leasttwo days between Q1 and Q2 workouts. Voila – you have a week (and a season)schedule.

Getting a set schedule is important to me and maybe for you.Last year, I didn’t have a set schedule and sluffed off 95 percent-plus of myplanned Q2 workouts. Missing one led to missing another, lather, rinse, repeatuntil they are just skipped all together. Discipline is key – start early, andstick with it.

3. Your easy runs

Your easy runs fill out the bulk of your week, and also thebulk of your mileage. Easy runs are used to build endurance, recover fromharder runs, and otherwise build of basefrom which all subsequent runs will flow. Their pace is conversational. Easyruns are the default – when in doubt, run at an easy pace.

There are two schools of thought on how to get in yourweekly easy mileage, especially when the mileage gets up there: singles,or doubles.I don’t think it matters which one you do so long as you’re consistent aboutit. I have heard that if you’re going to run doubles, do it three or four timesper week (although I can’t find the link telling that anecdote).

4. The long run.

This is your Q1 workout, every week, week and week out. Itis your most important run of the week and if you do nothing else, do your longrun. Much has been written on the importance of the long run (e.g. here) that I won’t belabor ithere. It is sufficient to say that you need it, and you will severely hamperyour chances of finishing if you don’t do it.

Your mileage is determined by where you are in your phases.The benchmark for a long run is 25 to 33 percent of your weekly mileage. Weeklymileage and the long run’s percentage are generally inversely proportional i.e.the less weekly mileage, the more percent of that mileage will be comprised ofyour long run.

Because as you go through the season your priorities change,early season long runs – phase 2, or Early Quality – are 25 percent. TheTransitional Quality phase – TQ – are more demanding, but the emphasis iselsewhere, so the mileage is bumped up to a semi-arbitrary 29 percent. Lastly,in the Final Quality phase, FQ, the emphasis is on long runs, so the percentageis raised to the highest bar, 33 percent or one third.

5. The second quality run.

Each week, except recovery weeks, do a second qualityworkout. This is were the most variation comes in, and it is where you as arunner need to determine what you need. Because I follow Dr. Daniel’s seasonapproach, I rotate my Q2 runs based on what areas need to be emphasized duringa particular phase. Dr. Daniels conveniently has a chart – one of many – to illustratethis.

During the Early Quality phase, the focus is onrepetition-pace running and short lactate-threshold runs. Cruise intervals – ifany – are short, no more than 20 minutes at a time. These types of runs doexactly what the EQ phase is for: build mechanics and introduce some fasterrunning to prep for the next phase.

During the Transitional Quality phase – again, the hardestphase – the focus shifts to long threshold runs and marathon-pace running.These are the most important workouts because they teach the body to handlebeing stressed for long periods of time while building endurance and power forthe final phase.

Lastly, the Final Quality phase moves to racing specificconditions. The emphasis here is long, slow distance and hill running (eventhough hills are incorporated into the easy-pace runs) and trail runs.

Incorporated into each phase is a back-to-back orback-to-back-to-back long runs. I have explained these at length here.Working backward from Sawtooth, I am running one every six weeks.

6. Try to get in a trail run.

Sawtooth is a trail run, al beit an extreme example of one.Trail running and road running require a different set of muscles and eachstresses the body in different ways. The effort required to run an 8-minute mile is vastly less than the effort required to run the same pace on atrail with the same elevation gain/loss.

To that end, unless you live in a place like Boulder whereTony Krupicka and Co. can run up Green Mountain (almost) every single day,you’re going to need to make time to get out on a trail and develop the skills.Learn to handle a technical, rocky downhill. Dodge rocks, watch your footplacement, and take three steps when you have the option to take one or two.Walk the up hills, pound the descents, and understand the effort it takes torun on a trail.

Now, when you run on a trail, keep track of your effort bymonitoring a couple variables. Time is likely most important because mileageand pace are more or less irrelevant for the reasons discussed above. Effort isimportant there, as is elevation gain and loss. The latter is less so if you’renot running mountains.

7. Run up – and down – hills.

Hill running is so important in ultras that I have focusedmy training this year to include it on a daily basis . Again, much has beenwritten about this subject: here,e.g. and the vast majority of runners who drop out of Western States do sobecause of blown quads.

I happen to live in the valley of the Minnesota River, andthat means everywhere around me are easily-accessible hills that lead out ofsaid valley. These hills provide everything from short, steep bursts to longand shallow descents. Some are long andsteep, and I have made friends with their inclines.

8. Develop a solid base from which tobuild.

A final point on this. For the most part, I didn’t run inhigh school over summer. When I hit cross country season, I can in on greenlegs and wasn’t ready for the 1,000 meter threshold repeats or other workoutsthat coach had planned for us. I did them, sure, but they weren’t nearly asfast as they should be and didn’t give me maximum benefit.

This year, my base building is going to be about four monthslong – November 2011 through the first full week of March 2012. Not a terriblylong time, but long enough to get a good 500 or so miles in prior to beginningsome reps come the second full week of March.

9. Run other races.

Run races other than your peak race. The feel of racing,especially when you are being competitive with the clock, another runner, or yourown time goal, changes how you run and what you do on that run. The pace isdifferent, the feel is different, and these are all things that need to betrained.

A final note on hydration and food: non-peak races are whereyou can pin down what you need for hydration and food for your peak race. Theearlier this gets sorted out the better – you don’t want to by trying somethingnew on race day and have it (or your stomach or intestinal tract) blow upbecause you didn’t know how you’d react to it.

10. Don't just run.

This year, I am re-dedicating myself to do some other strength-training-type items pre- and post-run. These are designed to strengthen essential muscle groups. A couple of examples:

11. Taper, and don’t go crazy doing it.

Tapering is the act of peaking your training a period oftime prior to your goal race and the running less and resting more so you willbe fully prepared for that goal race. I have heard that it takes three weeksfor a workout to realize its full benefit, so I like a three week taper.

In taper, I cut back my mileage and run less. That doesn’tmean run less days, just less duration and intensity. You’ll get jittery,especially if you’re accustomed to running twice each day. You’ll want to getout and run when you shouldn’t. Whatever you do, don’t. This is a planned rest,so enjoy it.

A closing note

If you’ve read all that, now read see the whole plan, gory details and all, completewith weekly workouts, monthly totals, and rolling averages. Let me know what you think.

The 20 Mile Run

2012-01-25T12:00:00.000-06:00

There is something to be said about The 20 Mile Run. Like the arbitrary 26.2, it has become more than itself. It has become the benchmark of training, the standard by which a single run is measured. The 20 Mile Run is the gateway to all which lies beyond it. And there is much that lies beyond it.

Epic trail runs, excursions that are told and re-told 38 miles into a race and on the back of an open Subaru, lie beyond The 20 Mile Run. Hands-on-knees climbs and scree-covered descents also inhabit the spaces for which completion of The 20 Mile Run grants access.

The 20 Mile Run is never conquered, only tamed. It cannot be faked, or done half-heartedly. It is too formidable for such trivialities. When it is completed, it tells you what and where you are.

It is for this reason that I do several 20 Mile Runs prior to an ultra. Consistent efforts, each closing in on three-plus hours (for 20 miles on road), tell me what whether I have any business running in so-and-so ultramarathon currently scheduled for so-and-so weeks off. (That is, if I listen hard enough. My DNFs at each of my first two attempts at 50 miles were the result of not listening closely or knowing thy self.)

That said, The 20 Mile Run is only partially about the 20-mile distance. At 20 miles, most marathon runners run out of glycogen in their livers and hit the proverbial wall, or bonk. That lack of glycogen makes the last 10K of a marathon a grueling experience. The worry of bonking post-20 miles makes The 20 Mile Run more that it self.

Of course, what The 20 Mile Run is to a runner is relative to his or her peak race. In ultras, The 20 Mile Run more about time on your feet and less about speed or distance. For example, marathoners will find a 20 mile run to be their The 20 Mile Run because of The Wall. Ultrarunners shouldn’t necessarily hit that wall because they are burning fat and protein instead of carbs and stored glycogen. This makes their 20 Mile Runs longer with an emphasis on time. Last year, I did 38 miles at Afton State Park a few weeks prior to Sawtooth. That run, a jaunt of 7.5 or so hours of running, was my way of finding out whether I had any business running 100 miles three weeks time.

So get out there. Find The 20 Mile Run for you.

Am I ready for a 50K in 2012?

2012-01-24T12:00:00.000-06:00

I had a running funk Saturday. I went out in an attempt to get ready for my upcoming 50K. It had just snowed a few inches, many sidewalks, etc. were not plowed, and the mercury was sitting just above 0 F. The wind was blasting - perfect to condition me to run in whatever the JD 50K can throw at me.

The plan: go out, take it really easy, and be out for two to three hours. Simulate the unpredictable conditions of the race, learn to deal with snow in your shoes and on the path.

I made it 70 minutes, and it threw my worldview into doubt.

It was rough and it made me question what I had planned to do in two weeks. Questions floated in my blood-sugar depleted mind. Am I really ready to run, let alone race, a 50K in two weeks? Will I make it through the inevitable post-holing? I hate running on sand, what if the race is like that? I'll get no traction and want to quit.

Those questions lingered until I got home and replenished. A cup of hot chocolate, a banana and an apple later, I felt better. Tomorrow will be another, better day, I thought. And that was all it took. I will have good workouts and bad ones. The goal is to make it through the bad ones to train another day and not get down on oneself because of a failed training run.

So the answer is yes - even if I'm really not - I just need to adjust my expectations. I'm not sure what to expect, other than to run five 10K loops in the snow as fast as possible. And try to not freeze my toes doing it.

Welcome to winter: two weeks in review

2012-01-23T12:00:00.000-06:00

Winter finally arrived - a few gnarly snowstorms, cold temps and colder wind. The numbers (sometimes) reflect this.

Jan. 9: 4.1; 33:28
Hill run.

Jan. 10 AM: 5.5; 45:53
Main/Glenwood/Monks/Warren. Solid hill run in the early hours.

Jan. 10 PM: 4.6; 33:39
Main/Division/Monks/Warren. Compact hill run way faster than necessary (7:20/mi), but it felt great. So this is how people run 10 miles/day with (relative) ease.

Jan. 11: 6.6; 54:31
Easy run on RJT out to Mount Kato on a cold morning.

Jan. 12-15: rest.
Went out on Jan. 12 and felt something twingy in my left knee. Looks like the fall I took at Seven Mile mildly sprained or did something and took the weekend walking around at scout camp. Rest, ice, elevation.

Week totals: 20.8; 2:47:31; four days rested/injured.

Jan. 16: 5.4; 45:00
Easy run.

Jan. 17: 7.6; 57:02
Hill run - Main, Glenwood, Warren, Stadium.

Jan. 18-20: Nothing
Work obligations took over everything.

Jan. 21: 7.6; 1:10:00
First real snowstorm of the year dropped 2-3 inches in 'kato. Slow, sluggish, lethargic run in 5 F temps and 20 mph winds. Started out with 2-3 hour run planned, and you see what ended up. Thinking that tomorrow must be a better day.

Jan 22: 15; 2:06:39
Like I said, tomorrow would be a better day. Epic long run with friends, 7.5 miles out into the wind and 7.5 miles back. Set the pace pushing hard but controlled on ups and downs. Had an odd pain near the back right of my right hip. Weak glute/hamstring? Not sure, but it worked its way down my right handstrings and made the last few miles a little difficult. Taking the rest of the day off to work that out so I can hit it hard tomorrow AM.

Week Totals: 35.5; 4:58:41
YTD: 90; 12:34:44.

Next week: Another 40-mile week, and the second week of week 1 of Hundred Pushups. I'm doing each week twice to extend out the program into middle of my second phase of training.

A simple trail-running goal: don't fall

2012-01-18T12:00:00.000-06:00

It's not the fall that hurts, its the sudden stoppage.

I generally go into races with a few goals in mind. They generally surround finishing, a time or pacing, and running smart. But I forgot to mention one: don't fall. Or if you like positive thinking, keep the rubber-side down. (The latter is an HBE reference: Todd told us to keep the open side up.)

I have run in eight ultras, finished six of them, and fallen in five of the six I've finished. Quick math: I've finished one ultra in which I haven't fallen. I can't remember whether I fell in the two I DNF's from, and frankly, I don't care.

And falls hurt - at Sawtooth, I felt like I could have broken a finger. At Superior 50K 2011, I sprained my ankle for a second time in the same race due to a fall. At Afton Alps, I could have slid down a ski hill when I foolishly stepped on a tuft of grass instead of the dirt trail while rounding a hill. At Surf the Murph 2010, I fell into the mud and came up a mess. End result: the consequences of falling may one day put me in the same crowd as Tony Krupicka's 2011 season - hobbled and rehabbing for several months all while blowing up the remainder of the season (and maybe part of the next). So it's best to avoid that whole falling thing.

So many things come together to ensure that you keep your soles facing down - foot placement; footwear; roots, rocks, and ruts; terrain; speed; level of exhaustion; etc. I fell once at Sawtooth when I got cocky, and almost fell several other times when I hit the aforementioned roots, rocks, and ruts.

This year I won't fall. I will run smart, place my feet well, and take three steps when I could take one or two.
You watch me. I won' fall, despite the miles and the surfaces and my choice of footwear (I'm wearing sandals at Afton, you just wait.)

(h/t Meghan Hicks)

The "something" that drives us

2012-01-11T12:00:00.000-06:00

In every ultra, no one's race or finish is guaranteed. That goes for everyone - elite, non-elite, mid-pack and back-of-the-pack runners. So what happens for those that do manage to cross the line, come home safe and stand tiptoe above all the rest?

There comes a point during every race when ‘something’ kick-starts the lethargy out of you and drives your brain, heart, and body toward the finish-line.

Duncan Callahan, on recapping 2011 and his Hardrock 100 finish.

I wholeheartedly agree,and can't say it any better. If get that "something," hold on to it and let it push you to wherever you want to go.

The ice storm relaxes: Jan. 2-8, 2012

2012-01-09T12:00:00.001-06:00

Lots of good running this week as my base continues to (re)build.

Monday: 7.5; 1:10:00
Up and down some hills slowly due to last week's ice storm.

Tuesday: 5.2; 44:00
Up and down Glenwood with a lollipop added at the top. Again, ran gingerly due to ice.

Wedneday: 5.8; 48:00
Stoltzman Drive out-and-back. The hill is a strong competitor for the longest hill in Mankato. Ice still present on shoulders.

Thursday: 7.6; 58:00
Ran across the river to N. 'kato and went up Lookout, around and down Lee via Commerce. Pushed the hills hard, especially the downhill on Lee.

Friday: off
Slept horribly, didn't run in the AM, and evening was unavailable due to house project and guest. I know, results and excuses are mutually exclusive.

Saturday: 4.6; 37:30
Main/Glenwood lollipop. Solid time, pushed up Main easily and took Gledwood at a relaxed pace.

Sunday AM: 3; 30:00
Short trail run at Seven Mile Creek. On the way out, one of the other park visitors warned me it was icy. He was right - I took a fall on the top of a hill on the way down and slid to the base of said hill. My knees broke the fall and I rotated and slid down the hill on my butt. Rest of run went OK, just had to run around icy spots. Drove home with intent to run further, but was stiff, sore and left knee was in pain. So here I sit, a hot bath finished and an ice pack on my left knee and contemplating whether I can/should run again today.

Sunday PM: Zero.
Yeah, I'm not running on sore knees. Best to rest for the remainder of the day.

Week/YTD: 33.7 miles; 4:48:32

Up next: another 40-mile/5 hours running week with some almost guaranteed early AM trail running next weekend.

In my concern for my fitness in preparation for Zumbro, I am taking a serious look at doing the John Dick Memorial 50K out near Waukesha, Wisco. on Feb. 4. Looks like the course - which is determined on race day and depends on weather conditions - is fast (the course record is sub-4:00:00).

But it will all depend on conditions. Last year, the winning time was 5:37, and the guy who won it in 2011 also won the 2009 edition in 4 hours. Microspikes or something similar may be in order to handle a race known for its crusty course conditions.

By the numbers: last week and 2011

2012-01-03T12:00:00.000-06:00

And so the year ends.

Dec. 26: off

Dec. 27: 5.5; 45:00
Main Street, Glenwood, Monks, Warren. Only missing Stadium Road and that's all the big hills in 'kato. Maybe the most compact hill-run around.

Dec. 28: 4.6; 38:00
Up Main Street, down Glenwood.

Dec. 29: off.

Dec. 30: 4.6; 38:00
Up Main Street, down Glenwood, again.

Dec. 31: 15.5; 2:57
Afton State Park 25K loop, slow and easy with Steve S. Planned on doing two, but left Achilles said otherwise. I'm still feeling it two days later. Also, lost my hat from 2011 Voyageur 50 Miler and a glove. Likely fell out of waistband of shorts. If you find them, please comment below. I'll pay shipping from you to me.

Jan. 1, 2012(!): off
Ice storm the evening before froze everything. Running outside was a little too dangerous for my liking.

Miles: 30.23
Time: 4:58
(YTDs below)

And with that, 2011 is in the books. Here's what it looked like:

Running days: 207

Days injured: ~ 75 (ankle sprain in May; hip flexor one weekpost-Sawtooth)

Miles: 1,703

Time: 272:52:54

Miles/running day: 8.23 (skewed about a half-mile high due to by races)

Time/running day: 1:19:05 (skewed about for minutes high by races)

In short, I ran ~600 miles more this year than I have in any other year. I also raced more, knocking down ~210 miles of races (2x 50k; 50M; 100M). I stayed relatively healthy. I had one acute injury, a sprained ankle in May during the Superior Trail Races Spring 50K, and one semi-chronic injury, the pulled/strained/etc. right hip flexor post Sawtooth. I ran through the former, and rested through and after the latter.

I am heading into 2012 with high goals in mind. I'm going to do two 100 milers, likely doing the FANS 24-hour run in early June (with a tentative goal of 100 miles), and the Afton 50K. 2012 will also be the first year I will be carrying forward a significant level of fitness from one year to the next. Last year, I carried only ~250 miles from 2010 into 2011 - this year I'm carrying a much more significant base forward even though I was off for eight weeks post Sawtooth. Once the hip issue cleared up, I was free to run long and hard and have done so.

I'm pleased with the 2011 stats. I didn't run as many days as I wanted to - who does? - and I'll work to improve that. I'm not a fan of running streaks because sometimes you just need to rest, but I value consistency.

Next week is another ~40-mile week. Obviously I fell a little low this week and did 30 miles in four days, but I'll pick it back up. This week has already started off on the right foot.

Finally, Minnesota runner Steve Quick has posited the question: how do you finish Sawtooth (well)? I'm going to tackle that question with a look back at 2011 and how I'm going to train to finish Sawtooth (well) in 2012.

Training through Christmas: Week of Dec. 17-25

2011-12-27T12:00:00.000-06:00

The holidays are always hard. Time running is time away from relatives and in-laws (or out-laws, if you prefer). Nonetheless, I managed 40 miles this week, and six days of running. The week left me feeling solid about my fitness and current base.

I also realized this week that I am only ~15 weeks until Zumbro 2012. At 15 weeks prior to Sawtooth this year, I was sitting in late May/early June and had ~650-700 miles of base built up from that year alone, plus some of the speed work I did as part of that base. I don't have nearly that many post-Sawtooth-break miles built up, nor am I to the point where I can easily do speed work. Minnesota winters are a little harsh for intervals, as is the footing. At this point, I feel a little unprepared, but this will really be the first year I am taking a bulk of training from one year and really carrying forward into the next. Hence the solid feeling about my fitness and current base.

Monday: 4.2
New route today: up Glenwood to Monks Avenue to campus and down Stadium.

Tuesday: 3.5
Early morning slog through Sibley Park. Slow, sluggish.

Wednesday: 4.6
Up Main Street hill, down Glenwood.

Thursday: 5.7
Red Jacket Trail out-and-back. The path was clear until the ski hill.

Friday: 8.1
Shicoton, Wisco. /w the in-laws, set I. I didn't get lost this time.

Saturday: 3.25 and 10
Treadmill runs /w the in-laws, set II. Two runs with programed incline/decline and automatic pace adjustments. Did jump squats and paid for it the next day.

Sunday: off
With my parents. 5.5 hour drive to their place, with family remainder of day. No time for a run.

Miles: 39.35
Time: 5:36:30
Miles, YTD: 1667.9
Times, YTD: 266:42:44

Up next and coming soon: another 40-mile week, a look at my cross/strength training plan, and the hills of Mankato.

100-Up: teaching running form and proper foot strike

2011-12-26T12:00:00.000-06:00

I'll let McDougall explain what the 100-Up is.

In short, the 100-Up is a simple exercise (in both its Minor and Major components) that forces a person to run with proper form. Upper body straight, with a slight lean forward. Arms at side, swinging appropriately. Knee up, to hip height, and then foot back down, landing on your forefoot. Lather, rinse, repeat 50 times per leg. Eric Orton, McDougall's coach, teaches a similar drill - but simply calls it running in place (do watch the whole clip, but this drill starts at 3:10).

I'm doing the Minor, and if I can do it properly, the Major, every day. Why? Because I don't pick my knee up very high when I run - I do what many ultra runners do in the later stages of a race. I shuffle, keeping my feet close to the ground, not driving my knee up and forward. My high school CC coach, who crammed biomechanics and efficient running into our heads (although not necessarily our legs), would not look kindly on my form.

Neither exercise is a slouch, and both are difficult in their own respects. But they will teach you to pick up your knees, drive yourself forward, and take the longest stride you can for the speed you want to travel. The ability to take a longer stride will help when you need to run fast. Lets hope it works for me. Initial tests have put some serious strain on my quads and hip flexor muscles.

2012 will be different

2011-12-20T12:00:00.000-06:00

2012 will be different. It will be structured, consistent, and stronger. Winter will will give me more miles, up and down long, steep hills. Power will be built; power begets speed and endurance; endurance begets finishes; speed begets podiums, etc.

I'm not going to reveal my 2012 program yet - a couple of folks have it (you know who you are). But it looks a little like this. A couple hard runs per week, one speed, one trail, one long. Hills incorporated into easy runs. Each run will be longer, perhaps 60 minutes or more. I most likely won't do doubles. Long runs will be long. I really benefited last year from the 20+ mile long runs and the 38 mile trail run in the upshot to Superior/Sawtooth 100. The idea for this training structure came from this Running Times article. Basic premise: longer single sessions build more strength, endurance, speed, etc. than two shorter (if staggered) sessions which equal the same time. Throw in some trail-specific work, something to teach speed, and viola! I'll be in better shape as this year rolls through.

My 2012 race schedule is at right. I'm going to hit it right away with Zumbro - a four 25-mile loop course which is sure to produce a faster time than my Superior finish. Sub-30 hours is the tentative (and arbitrary) goal, but I'm going to hold off on that until I see the revamped course and elevation profile.

From there, a couple shorter races thrown in - a seven mile trail race at an appropriately named local park, Afton 50K. I'd like to get a 50 miler in at the end/beginning of July like I did this year, and Sawtooth will be my peak race again. I'll plug a time goal in there as it approaches, but I'll take a finish and a smarter run. So long as I don't nose-dive overnight, I think both of those will be accomplished.

Finally, note on mileage. It looks like I'm going to end up somewhere around the 1700 mark for the year. It's not the ~2K+ goal I set for myself, but it was sufficiently more than my other years (max ~1,100) that I am a much stronger runner for it. Next year's goal is similar, and I'll work harder to achieve that by the date planned (Sawtooth).

Three days of running? Eh.

2011-12-18T18:01:00.001-06:00

Lack of discipline this week. Pure and simple.

Monday: nothing.

Tuesday: 10.5
AM run over crusty snow. Flat, cold, etc.

Wednesday - Friday: nothing
Again x3.

Saturday: 7.6
Established new route up and down two of the biggest pavement hills in N. Mankato.

Sunday: 13.1
With the group. Thought run was at 7:30 AM, really was 6:30 AM, left house at 6:17 to blitz 2.2 miles uphill to meeting location. Clicked off ~10.5 /w group at good pace. Did the downhill on CR 90. Thought about a PM run, but hamstrings a little destroyed from Saturday/Sunday pushes.

Mileage: 31.2
Time: 4:11:14
YTD: 1628.5; 261:06:14

Up next: another 30-40 mile week, hopefully with more consistency.

Week of the treadmill: 11.21-11.27.11

2011-11-27T18:22:00.002-06:00

Due to traveling for work and holidays, along with the deer hunting season going on in Wisconsin, I drove ~1,350 miles this week and ran inside twice.

11.21.11: Off
Travel day one, 5.5 hour drive.

11.22.11: 7.3 miles
Treadmill no. 1, progressive run. Travel day two, 5.5 hour drive

11.23.11: 7.6 miles
Hills in the early AM. Travel day three, 5.5 hour drive (not including stops).

11.24.11: 11.3 miles
Two wrong turns - one my fault, the other Google Maps's - turned my 8 mile run into this mess.

11.25.11: 10 miles
Treadmill no. 2, hill run.

11.26.11: Zilch
Travel day three, five hour drive.

11.27.11: 5.5 miles
Travel day four, two hour drive. Trail run ftw.

Miles, week: 41.65
Time, week: 5:46:16
Miles, YTD: 1,564.6
Time, YTD: 252:12:20

Up next is another ~40 mile week, and a lot less driving.

Running again, post-Sawtooth

2011-11-20T20:01:00.002-06:00

I'm running again, finally - two months post-Sawtooth, and way too many stir-crazy days later.

11.14.11: 3.8 miles
The first of several 15-minute out-and-back runs this week. The -back is always faster.

11.15.11: 3.8 miles

11.16.11: zip.

11.17.11: 3.8 miles

11.18.11: 4.1 miles
Up the steepest, gnarliest hill in town. It and I will be good friends by next season.

11.19.11: 13.2
12.4 mile progressive run with the group.

11.20.11: 5.4 trail run
First run in New Balance MT10s - maybe the best shoes ever.

Distance: 34.09
Times: 4:36:20
YTD miles: 1522.9
YTD time: 246:26:04

---

This was my first real running week since Sawtooth. The week after the race, I twinged something in my right hip walking around a festival. It became tight and stiff, and it felt like I was dragging a peg leg. The stiffness transferred down into my right quad, and I functionally took two months off. About ever three weeks or so, I would test it and the tightness would return.

Hence the two months off. During the middle of last week, I stubbornly started running again. Through the stiffness and soreness, and it dissipated. And then it went away. Something happened - it was like my right hip had been weakened or otherwise damaged, and a little bit of running was all that was needed to tweak it back into shape. Counterintuitive? Yes. Effective? I'll take it.

2011 UTMB, in all its glory

2011-10-02T12:00:00.001-05:00

I'm a little late on getting to this, but I finally was able to watch the video footage from the 2011 UTMB. (It's really only 25 minutes long, not the 55+ it says it is.)

UTMB 2011 by Eurosport - in English by UltraTrailMontBlanc

A couple of observations:

Watching Kilian and his two countrymen run top three for the majority of the race reminded me of high school cross country and the pack mentality that we are taught to race with. Those three stuck together until the end and just dominated the field. Who says this can't be a team sport? (That said, my crew and pacers are my team, and there are no pacers allowed in European races.) Kilian may also be the best male ultra runner in the world this year, winning Western States and UTMB this year is an impressive double.

The UTMB racecourse is breathtaking in its beauty and corresponding difficulty. Ultra running is not a spectator sport and is not spectator friendly, but the folks who put this race together had excellent coverage at the aid stations and remote areas, by helicopter no less.

Just one year I'd like to see the race have decent weather throughout, with no route changes or late starts. With the unpredictable nature of mountain running - where no person's finish is guaranteed - that may never happen.

Finally, the joy on all runner's faces - especially the amateurs - as they come into the finish chute and cross the line may be the best explanation as to why we do this - it is that single moment of euphoria and the accompanying cascade of emotions. Although limited in time, that moment stays with us forever. I have anticipated it in all of my ultras, and I finally felt it when I finished the Superior 100. It calls us back, and makes us beg for more.

Reflecting on the 2011 racing season

2011-09-26T12:00:00.001-05:00

I'm at my year-end as far as racing goes. I'll still run to keep my base built and ready for next season, but I told my wife I wouldn't run another ultra for last six months. Little did she know that such a deal only takes me to March 10, 2012...

Looking back, I ran about 600 miles less than I had hoped to during those first 8.5 months. I also was woefully inept at doing planned speed work. Next season, I'll set those workouts in stone, to be done on a certain day or days and not to be missed. In my defense, however, I ran more trails and started to read more into Geoff Roes's no-speed-work mentality. So I justified my lack of speed work after I failed to do said speed work.

What worked and/or went well.

As of the end of Superior, I have run ~1400 miles this year, and I have three months of running left. That's a significant increase from years past, and it would have been more had I not taken so many unintentional days off, sprained my ankle post-Superior 50K, or had an impacted wisdom tooth removed in May, had a toenail yanked earlier in the year, yadda, yadda, yadda.

I also ran some pretty significant weekly mileages (for me) this season. I hit the mid 60s several times, when normally my actual peak outside of race weeks is in the mid 50s. Along this same line, I ran a solid stretch of long runs as I got closer to Superior - 50 at Voyageur, then 20, 28.4, 38.1 (trail) on each of the following Saturdays.

I did not DNF this year. That's a great result considering how hard Voyageur was in the latter miles and running my first 100 on one of the most rugged courses in the US.

What didn't work

My training plan. I built this semi-elaborate training plan based on what has worked for me in the past and my ambitious goals for the year. But it never really panned out. I ended up running when, where, and how fast and far as I wanted to and didn't stick to it. Perhaps it was a bit overwhelming, and I didn't have the reinforcement I had when was doing such running (back in high school, when the coaching service came with the activity fee, the reinforcement was there, for example). I'm going to change the plan up next year to simplify it and give it more structure.
I'll do two or less quality workouts per week - one speed work, something like long tempo runs, Yasso 800s, or marathon-pace runs - and one long run of several hours. Throw in a trail run midweek and add some strength training on the off days and I'll be set to go.

My pacing schedules. I fell far short of my pacing goals this year for one reason or another. For this I'm not going to be hard on myself. I ran each race like I gave it everything I had and left nothing out on the course - the problem was that I generally started out a little too fast (despite my confidence in my pace and other advanced planning) and let myself fade a little too much. This is more an issue of experience and racing intelligence than anything, and it will get better over time. I want to repeat my fairly-even splits from Surf the Murph last year and do it on a tough course (Superior 50K, for example).

What's next?

I'm working on my 2012 training plan, but won't publish it for a while. I haven't determined what races I'll be doing next year or which race I'm going to peak for, and until I figure that out and get those dates set in stone, I'm not going to be able to effectively put together a complete schedule. I'm in no hurry - although stir crazy at the moment - because I don't need to figure out the mileage and speed work until March. That's when the snow melts and I can shift out of base-building.

Rugged 100 milers can be run in minimalist shoes

2011-09-20T21:00:00.001-05:00

This is what your shoes look like after you ran 103 miles on them through the rocks, roots, and ruts of the Superior 100.

Prior to running Superior, these Asics Gel-Hyperspeed 4's had ~175 miles on them, almost all of that on pavement/sidewalk/asphalt/etc. Now, the bottoms are shredded and I lost a chunk of the heel pad on the right shoe. The white material - the part that is covered up and protected by the red weave on the forefoot and the black pad on the back - is much softer than its coverings and will likely begin to wear quickly. I'm not sure how much longer these soles will last.

The Superior 100 stressed my shoes more than any other race I've participated in, even the 50K I ran on the Superior Hiking Trail earlier this year. The rugged course chewed up my flats. Now they look like they have 500+ miles on them and are ready to be retired.

Even with the damage to the shoes, I stand by my footwear choice. The lightness of flats is invaluable over such a long distance where even a minimal decrease in shoe weight can (should) reap benefits when compared with something bulkier and heavier. There are also the additional benefits of a lighter, more efficient and economical stride and the lack of running-related injuries which were not caused by acute trauma.

Who is to say whether my feet would have taken the pounding they did had I run in other shoes? My guess is that the level of discomfort I faced would have been the same. I lost my toenail on my right big toe post-Superior (again) as a result of slamming it into various roots and rocks on the course, and I did the same thing back in 2009 when I ran the Superior Trail Races Spring 50K for the first time. And that race I wore bulky trainers, also from Asics. Those shoes were bulkier in the soles and had similar protections on the front. Despite the potential additional protections of the bulkier shoe, the trauma I experienced in both races - at least toenail related - was the exact same.

When other runners learned I was planning on running this race in flats (or sandals, and thankfully I jettisoned that idea), several informed me that the race caused their feet - and toes especially - felt like they had been struck repeatedly by a ball peen hammer. I never experienced this feeling. The soles of my feet were tender from blisters and the general pounding (they eventually numbed around mile 65 or so), but outside of the trauma from the to-be-lost toenail, my toes stayed relatively happy in my flats. The tenderness was similar to the feeling I had when I hiked the trail in 2008; at that time, I wore Salomon trail shoes, and my feet at the end of the day felt like someone had tapped my soles with the pointy side of a meat tenderizer for the past 12 hours. Again, who is to say that I would have felt better in a bulky road shoe or even a so-called "trail shoe?"

I ran in what was comfortable to me, and I have experience on the trails with this type of shoe. No shoe is going to allow you to slam into rocks or roots and come out unscathed. Similarly, over a long enough timeline one's feet are going to hurt. Some runners swear by the marshmallow shoes that are Hokas, but I have already established that such cushion does not work for me.

In sum, my flats where the best choice for me, and I can't imagine the stress the race put on my feet would have been any less had I chose different shoes.

Race report: 2011 Superior 100

2011-09-18T18:52:00.007-05:00

Before I ramble too far, there is one important task which shall be addressed. Grand thanks are in order to all who helped me get to Lutsen, whether you were on the North Shore that weekend or not. Here are some, in no particular order except the first.

My wife, pacers Kurt and Russ, crew Tim, Carrie, and Caitlin, everyone who has run with me in Mankato, but especially Becky, Russ (again!), Clint and Chris, Cindra, everyone from Runner’s Edge and Mankato Multisport. Without all of these people, I may not have finished. Each of you has been there at some point in this journey, and I thank you all.

Do you know what it feels like to be alive?

You’re damn right I was excited. 37 hours, 28 minutes and 21 seconds after leaving Gooseberry Falls, there I was, standing at Lutsen and being cheered on for simply finishing. Time and place be damned. I finished, and I was alive.

Sawtooth was a race in three stages. Each had its plot lines, but there were clear delineations. And so the story will be told that way.

Prologue

This year was a changing of the guard. Former race director and current oracle of the Superior Trail Races Larry Pederson was stepping down and handing the reigns to John Storkamp.

In a sense, Storkamp got a raw deal. He had agreed five or so years ago that he would volunteer in a big way for Larry at the fall races, and on the sixth year, he would get to participate and run the course. Well, last year was the fifth year of the deal and this was Storkamp’s turn to run it. Little did he know that “running it” meant running it as race director.

Closer to my end of things, my wife could not be with me this weekend. Her first week of classes was set to begin, and she could not miss those sessions lest risk losing hear seat in the course. She was crushed that she couldn't be there. "It felt like I'm missing your graduation," she often said. So my friend Tim graciously agreed to take time off and accompany me through all hours of day and darkness.

Tim knew me well, but did not know my running style or how to handle things if I walk into an aid station ready to pass out. I already knew I wanted a pacer, and my wife suggested Kurt, a friend from my days working at Many Point Scout Camp and ultrarunner, would be perfect to carry me through the overnight.

Pacing was also convenient for Kurt. His family - him, his wife Carrie and daughter Caitlin - were running aid station two at Beaver Bay. When their aid station closed at 3 AM, they would join Tim at the aid stations and crew for me. Carrie and Caitlin were pros at crewing runners, and masters of aid stations. Carrie is also the queen of enthusiasm and reviving runners.

Kurt and I, shoulder brace and all.

It's never a good thing when your pacer sends you an email the week before the race informing you that he separated his shoulder, but that's exactly what happened. I was nervous that the pain would keep him out, but with his Dr.'s OK, he toughed it out. Apparently the only way to injure his shoulder like he did was to a) fall on it; or b) have someone strike it hard with a blunt object. So long as neither of those happened, he would be good.

While I was waiting for information on Kurt's shoulder, I decided to pick up a second pacer to bringing me into the finish. Russ, a friend from the Mankato running community, agreed to shoulder that burden and bring me in from the marathon start to the finish.

Stage 1: Start to County Road 6 (mile 42.8)

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. For he who sheds his blood with me today shall be my brother…. For he who outlives this day, and comes home safe, shall stand tiptoe above all the rest.

So there we stood, herded together at the Gooseberry Falls visitors’ center. Storkamp had called the racers to order. I stripped off my sweats and jacket, donned by earbuds and posed in the sunshine.

A few words, a few thanks, another reminder about the trusted Donnie Clark marking system, and we stood at the ready. Some weren’t entirely sure which way we went at the start (Raises hand. I knew we had to cross the river via a path under Highway 61, but how to get there?) We were told just to follow Adam Schwartz-Lowe.

Also, Storkamp had clearly not thought out how he was going to start the race. Should there be a countdown? What about if he just said “Go?” (Which he did at Afton.) The gathered demanded a countdown, and we chanted together, “Five. Four. Three. TWO. ONE. GO!”

Here’s a modest suggestion. Next year, find something, anything, inspirational. And read it. Just a few sentences, or maybe a paragraph. Stoke the emotions and tap into that which will keep your racers going when all else fails. Make us remember. And then send us off.

With “GO!”, we went. Slowly. On pavement first, under Highway 61, then on over-grown and single track through Gooseberry Falls State Park fire roads.

The trip through Split Rock was refreshing. I was on new legs and encouraged by my easy pace. We ran up and down the river and glided over the crushed rocks of the trail. Runners were partially packed up, not yet separated by the miles and trials that would befall us later.

About a mile after I crossed the river, a group of runners came charging down a trail toward the river. Thinking it was the aid station trail, I turned up until those approaching screamed at me to turn right instead of left. Instantly, I was leading a group of eight or so runners and controlling our collective paces. We would hang together until the first aid station.

I got cocky running down to the first aid station. The path had widened to about 10 feet, and the woman in front of me was going slowly down the hill. Wanting to beat her and the pack to the aid, I jutted left to pass. Just then, a spillway carved by a run off opened in front of me, my foot got caught on something, and down I went into the dirt and the rocks. THUD! I slid a little.

I got up, quickly and without embarrassment. My neck felt like it was off center. I thought of the soccer player who played with a fractured neck, not knowing it until his teammates told him his neck had a jog in it. No, I couldn’t have done that much damage. I assessed the rest of the damage. A couple scrapes on my legs and left hand, and the remainder was just dirt. My forearms were the same way. My left index finger had jammed and started to swell. But nothing major.

At the aid station, I filled up my bladder and made the conscious decision right then and there to always fill it up regardless of how much water I have or how far it is to the next aid. I wiped down my forearms with a wet paper towel, drank HEED, had a banana, and was off. It was about 10 AM, and I came in around my goal 24-hour pace. A little fast perhaps, but I was encouraged by how controlled I felt throughout Split Rock.

The next section was 10.l miles long, although I had only an inkling of that thought at the time. Had it been later in the race, I would have been demoralized by the distance. Now I wasn’t so concerned.

That is, until the heat started to kick up and I ran out of water – all 70+ oz. of my carrying capacity – with 2.5 miles to go. I sucked at my hose again. Nothing but drops and a gurgle. By now, the air temp had increased significantly. It was turning out to be a perfect day, not a cloud in the sky, sun radiating overhead, but the terrain boosted this weather pattern something unexpected.

That section is predominantly on top of rocky, exposed mounds. The grass was pale brown, long-ago burned lifeless by drought and sun. The rocks absorbed the radiation and bounced it back to us, and the vegetation did likewise. It was like feeling the heat reflect off a glass-like lake on a calm day. The lack of breeze didn’t help the situation.

Several runners were having fits over the temperature increase, and of those that weren’t doing so well, most of them were carrying a single handbottle and nothing else. A bottle, mind you, that likely couldn’t carry more than 24 or so ounces. If that was my bottle, I would have consumed all of that by mile two or three and would be in their same situation.

About eight miles in, I saw a runner sitting on a rock in the shade. He had his left knee up, and his left hand draped over his patella onto his shin. His other arm was limp, resting on the rock, a single bottle in hand.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

“I’m fine,” he responded. Without turning his head, he immediately vomited a stream of yellow liquid. He was not fine. A few hundred yards later I would see a woman in a 2011 canary yellow Superior Trail Races shirt walking south on the course and carrying a bottle of water. I assumed it was for the runner. A few under yards later I saw Donnie Clark.

“Do you know anything about a runner down?” he inquired.

I relayed his description, location, and problem and let Donnie take care of him. I would later find out that runner eventually hobbled to the aid station, and spent a significant amount of time there. And then he dropped, a mere 19 miles into a 103-mile ultramarathon. Several runners would drop there that day, presumably because of the heat.

At the Beaver Bay aid station, things were going smoothly as they could under the circumstances. I relayed to my crew that I had been out of water for the past 40 or so minutes, and I pounded two glasses of HEED, had a banana or two, and kept going. Silver Bay and my favorite section of the entire Superior Hiking Trail was a mere 4.9 miles away.

And so I left. I ran past the makeshift campsite I had spent the previous evening. Then a twinge appeared and it didn’t go away immediately. I stopped, looked down. I was cramping and felt tightness on a muscle in my inner thigh. My world crashed down for a brief second. Nothing had gone wrong to that point, and now something was going wrong. I did what I could – I massaged it, pressing the heel by my hand on that which was tight. It didn’t go away, but I couldn’t just stop moving. So I pressed on, took an Endurolyte and kept moving.

The section to Silver Bay carries the same exposed rock hilltops as its predecessor just a few miles in. Like its processor, the same heat issues arose. But this time, there was no collapsed runner vomiting beside the trail. And it was much shorter.

It is generally good to see people walking on the trail in the opposite direction of the race. When I saw a man with a camera while I was on top of what I thought was the final mound, and he told me it was a steep drop down the hill and I knew I was close.

Coming into Silver Bay, ~2 PM Friday.

I descended the mound and dropped into an area of welcoming shade. I crossed Penn Boulevard and entered the Silver Bay Aid station. Tim greeted me with an entire banana - too much for me at one time – and handed me glass upon glass of liquid. I complained about the heat again and asked for ice in my hat. Once refueled, I left with some beef jerky in hand.

The section between Penn Boulevard in Silver Bay and Highway 1 is the best of the entire trail, let alone the race course. It takes runners up on the cliffs above Bear and Bean Lakes, on top of Mt. Trudee and the overlooks the hill inspires, and through the muddy cedar forests of Tettegouche State Park where roots choke the trail like interlaced fingers and ferns grow rampant in the damp soil.

I ascended the climb up to the hills surrounding the lakes, gnawing on my dry jerky, and eventually met up with Joe Boler. He wasn’t looking so good. He was red, and moving slowly. I finally passed him around Penn Creek as I ran down the hill into its small valley and power walked up the other side.

Bear and Bean Lake were gorgeous as always, and Donnie Clark had me stop for a photo op. while we overlooked Bear Lake. The sun radiated down upon us and we moved with inspired speed.

Sometime after I left the lakes, I came upon a man sucking on a single water bottle. He was moving forward, but I passed him easily. From there, he stuck on my tail. Three times he asked me how far it was to the next aid station. The first time I said it was just a few miles up. We needed to go over Mt. Trudee, then through Tettegouche, and then it would be there, I said. The second time I said was just before Mt. Trudee, and I said I wasn’t sure anymore. The third time I shrugged it off, and said that it was as far away as it was. We didn’t talk after that.

I tried to drop him, but he mirrored me. When I ran, he ran. When I walked, he walked. Soon we ascended Mt. Trudee as we slogged up its side. He sucked at his long-empty bottle and I tried to take in as much water as I could. Gasping, I moved on and started my descent.

We hit the top of the Drainpipe in Tettegouche having just passed a group of hikers. They were huddled at the top of this monstrosity of a trail section and just let us by. I maneuvered down the first part of the Drainpipe – the part with the handrail – with great agility. This trick was old-hat by now.

But when I turned the corner and released from the handrail, both calves cramped simultaneously and I fell to ground.

“OUCH!” I screamed with reckless abandon. “Release!” The hikers, who had to have heard me, did and said nothing. I looked down and watched a wave of contractions roll through my right calf. I touched my right calf. It felt like a 2x4. I pushed on it and extended my leg in an attempt to relieve the discomfort. Gradually, the cramps released and I slid down the remainder of the obstacle on my butt. Never have I felt such excruciating pain, and I do not look forward to the next time I do.

I recovered well enough. Standing at the bottom of the Drainpipe, I sucked down some water and had three salt tablets. With that, we left its view and negotiated the remainder of the trail to the aid station, negotiating the cedar roots and mud-hopping boardwalks.

The aid station was at a spot just west of the river at a trailhead I was unfamiliar with. I knew from there I had to cross the river, ascend the mound where I camped last year, and then bolt down to Highway 1. From Highway 1, however, the remainder of the 8.6-mile section to County Road 6 was unknown to me. It was a section I had only hiked once, on my thru-hike, and I had no memory of what it entailed.

At the Tettegouche aid station, I downed the entire banana that Tim had peeled for earlier. And then ate another, and pounded liquids. I had urinated only once up to this point, and I had been running for over eight hours. I didn’t feel dehydrated, but given the gallons upon gallons of water I had been consuming, it didn’t sit well with me.

After leaving Tettegouche, I crossed Highway 1 soon enough. I entered the forest on the other side unsure of what was to come. My post-race memories are fuzzy, too. What I do remember is ascending Sawmill Dome and Picnic Rock, a gigantic hill in the middle of a low-lying bog. When I hit the rock’s north side, I could see County Road 6 and hear the cheers of the crowd. Looking down the side, I realized that even though I could see the oasis that I sought, it was a long way down.

And it was. I struggled down the hill on my sore quads. Once it flattened out, I came to the road and realized I was 200 yards down the way from the aid station. Running on asphalt is quite a pounding after doing 42-plus miles on trails. But the cheers pushed me on, running into the aid station strong and with confidence in my waning stride. Little did I know it was some of the last running steps I would take that day.

Stage 2: County Road 6 to Sugarloaf Road

He who suffers remembers.

I knew the night would be hard, so hard in fact that I made sure I had an experienced ultrarunner with me who knew my running style and what to do when crap hit the fan. Yet I grossly underestimated the depths of suffering I would endure.

We left County Road 6 with the best intentions. Headlamps were donned and illuminated, and slowly I explained the last 42 miles to a friend that would spend the next 14-plus hours toiling with. It was not 8 PM. We began into the woods at my usually jogging pace, and then the sun went down and we started the climb up to Section 13. And we started walking.

I would not run again for another eight hours, and not run meaningfully for another 14 hours. The first part of that last sentence was part of my plan – to power walk and hike the overnight, conserving my energy for the daytime – but the slow speed at which I strained to maintain took me by surprise.

I wanted to quit twice during the overnight and entertained the thought on several other occasions. When I got to Finland, I plopped lifeless in the chair, tilted my head back and rolled it to the side. I had lost almost two hours on my 30-hour pace. Would I pass out from exhaustion? Please. That would end this race, and give me an out, something I could point to and blame for stopping. And I would be happy for a brief, fleeting moment before the depression and disappointment would set it. But that moment would be glorious. And then it would be over.

If you want to know how a race is really going, hang out at an aid station. You’ll see all sorts of things – runners who handled the ups, downs, heat, roots, rocks, ruts and those who didn’t. And those who didn’t are in rough shape. That was me at Finland and at Sonju Lake.

At Finland, I needed some serious work. I changed shirts, grabbed a hat, changed socks, dropped my compression socks, and received a much-needed leg massage. It was here that I first realized that chicken soup broth was the nectar of the gods. Its power to refresh runners is like no other. It contains all of what runners need – liquid, a high salt content, fats, and the noodles, carrots, and chicken provide carbs and protein that goes down easy enough.

I left Finland feeling refreshed as I could be. It was 11:45 or so, and I was over two hours under cut off when I left. The freshness didn’t last long. The next aid station was at mile 58 at Sonju Lake, and it was not accessible by crews. It would be the darkest, hardest stretch of trail.

My steps en route Sonju struggled throughout, but the last hour or so was the worst. Kurt kept referring to a bridge – once you’re there, the aid station is but a half mile past. My mind reverted to looking for that damn bridge. And I slogged until I met it. My time cratered as a result, and I another two hours off my 30-hour pace.

I repeated my aid station flop at Sonju Lake. I threw myself down in a chair in front of the fire and received a blanket and my fleece hat. I tried to flood myself with food in an effort to revive myself. HEED, Coke, three cups of soup, a salty mixture of salt tablets and water, banana, nothing. Nothing I did perked me up. Runners came and went, passing me while I sat and commenting on my general state of disarray.

I put my head in my hands, and solemnly asked Kurt to let me quit.

He wouldn’t let me. You can’t, he said, because you’re still going to have to get to the next aid station anyway because this one is inaccessible. Either you quit and walk to Crosby, or you walk to Crosby and stay in the race, he said.

My choice was simple, and my addled brain believed his logic that we couldn’t get a vehicle to me – even though there was a truck to my left the entire time and I was aware of its presence. So I forced myself up, declared that I was leaving, and walked on. It was only 4.2 miles to Crosby, and I had to make it there.

So I left, and we started walking. Slowly at first. And then faster. My arms began swinging, and the power returned to my power walk. And then one foot started running. The other followed and I was jogging through darkness at 4:30 or so in the morning. We passed everyone that moved ahead of my while sleeping. Congratulations ensued, I was back, alive, and moving forward with a full head of steam.

We ran in the darkness, dodging roots and rocks until we reached the road into Crosby. The road up is a gradual incline. We walked it fiercely, arms in full swing as we moved closer to the next oasis. There was no official cut off at Crosby, but for some reason I thought it was somewhere near 7 AM. We had pulled in well under an hour below my imaginary cut off.

I announced my presence with pride. “34, in!” I told the volunteers. I plopped down in the chair and repeated what worked so well at Finland. Leg massage. Soup broth. Coke. HEED. Tim awoke from his nap and came over to congratulate me for working my way through the night. It would be light soon, and I grabbed a hamburger with bacon on it as I left.

We started walking, still riding the high of the previous miles. This next section through the park would tax me like no other before. The section was long – 9.4 miles – and started with a treacherous, rocky descent into the Manitou River valley. As always, what goes down must go up, and the climb out of the Manitou it straight up, has several false summits, and is generally a struggle. At least we had company. Several other 100 mile runners had joined me for the climb, and we suffered together. My strength was still with me, and Kurt and I ascended the summit as fast as we could.

Shortly after we attained the peak of the climb out of the Manitou River, the wheels began to come off. My steps became shorter, and I could not run even though I wanted to. I plodded and stumbled, and fell over once on an incline simply because I could not maintain my balance. We were passed by a multitude of runners.

Just prior to the Caribou River the first three 50 milers blazed past us. Now the demoralizing would begin. Athletes on fresh legs, running a different race, would begin passing me with ever more frequency. I stepped out of their way, and they congratulated me on still moving forward. A half-mile later, Andy Holak passed me at the Caribou River. From there, it was 1.2 miles to the campsite at Silver Creek and who knows how long until Sugarloaf.

The goal was Sugarloaf Road. It had attained it two years ago when I blitzed the SHT from Section 13 to Sugarloaf and back in a single weekend, a push of ~61 miles over the course of 20-some hours of hiking. Familiarity started to set in. As I remember it, the path would meet an ATV trail, and from there hit the side of a ridge. Once on the ridge, it is a flat push past the Silver Creek campsite and to the road.

Like my running stint in the last section, something clicked in my brain and I started moving faster. I overcame whatever was holding me back and I instructed Kurt to get moving. He got excited and onward we went, running inclines that I would have needed to walk just an hour before. We ran, jostling Kurt’s separated shoulder in ways it didn’t want to be jostled. I was running again, and all was right with the world. We passed runners who had long-since walked past me in my lower times, and blazed into the aid station running strong and proud. It had taken me nearly five hours to do those 9.4 miles, but I was back at it and looking stronger than ever. From here on there was never a doubt that I wouldn’t finish.

Stage 3: Sugarloaf Road to Lutsen

I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

I was running again, and that was all that mattered. I took it as a high, something to crash down from. But the crash never came. Russ and I left Sugarloaf intending to run as much as we could until the finish, and damn it we did. We ran lengthy stretches, stopping only when we needed to walk up a hill or accommodate tricky footing. It was a kind of rhythm, and miles floated by like a blur.

We were caught by a local runner, Scott Rassbach of the St. Peter/Mankato area, as we pulled into the aid station at Cramer Road. He had passed me during my troubles in Crosby-Manitou, and apparently I left the Sugarloaf aid station five minutes ahead of him. We ran together into the aid station, each congratulating each other from pulling ourselves back from the brink of failure.

The section to Temperance River contains the single largest decline by elevation drop on the entire race course, and correspondingly, the climb out of the river – as gradual as it is in parts – up to Carlton Peak is the single largest climb by elevation gain and distance on the entire race course.

By now, I had been re-setting the gel-notification alarm on my watch every time I hit an aid station. So when we got 30 minutes out from the Cramer Road station, I realized I had forgot to reset it. I slammed a gel, and have no memory of the next 30 minutes.

I think I fell asleep while running. Apparently I kept up logical, lucid conversation during my daze, and I managed to maneuver over and around the roots and rocks quite nicely. The spell broke 30 or so minutes later when I asked Russ what we had been talking about. He explained, and I couldn't remember any of the information he relayed to me. Had I really been sleep-running? Possibly.

The heat started to set in as we pushed our way to the peaks above the Temperance River. It as déjà vu, all over again; it was hot, oppressive, and the rocks heated up just like they had the day before between Split Rock and Silver Bay. And the climb never ended. My reading the elevation profile, a few things must be noted. What goes down, must come back up. And before you go down, you may need to go up. Sometimes way up.

This was my experience climbing to the top of the descent into the Temperance River. The trail mocked us, always initiating a climb immediately following a descent. And then a person with a dog came ambling up the trail. Seeing people on the trail who do not look like hikers – read: over burdened backpacks that run contrary to my hiking philosophy – are always a good sign. They are like light houses – they tell you the harbor is near, but not necessarily how far.

When we saw that person on our way down, we knew we were clearly on the descent toward the aid station. As we turned down the slope and dirt enveloped our footprints, a faint sound of rushing water tickled our ears. A sure sign that we were getting close. The trail pulled us down and flattened out. The oasis appeared, now at mile 84.3, just over 18 miles remained until my goal. It was 3 PM; the cut off was 4 PM.

We blasted out of the aid station and ran down the flat, sandy trails of Temperance River State Park. The path up to Carlton Peak was about 3.5 miles long and 2.2 miles remained on the other side of the Peak to the aid station. We needed to be there by 5:30 PM. Plenty of time.

The climb up Carlton Peak is deceptive. Once you cross the Temperance River, the climb starts gradually. The trail remains sandy and expansive, so you run the shallow incline. And then you leave the park and head until the more unknown, the woods and wide-open birch forests that surround and precede Carlton Peak.

And then you climb in earnest. First you remain upright, then lean forward to accommodate the incline. Soon, I was full-on, hand-on-my-knees plodding, gasping with every other step. Such a climb so late in the race destroys momentum and does an appreciable amount of damage to your pace.

Finally, we reached the edge of Carlton Peak and trail started to curl around the mound of rock that stood before us. I sat down behind a boulder and all-but collapsed right then and there. I had attempted to put myself in the shade, but my head remained exposed. I lacked the energy to do anything about it. I sucked down gel, some Endurolytes and stood up. From here, it was 2.2 miles of well-trodden path to the aid station at the base of Britton Peak.

We trampled around Carlton Peak and began our descent. As we rounded a corner, Kurt appeared. He was wearing khaki shorts, his maroon FANS 24-hour shirt. And he started yelling and running.

“Get going! You don’t want to get dropped at Oberg!” he warned. “This is the best running you’ve had in a long time.”

“I can’t go any faster,” I replied as I picked up speed down the dirt trail. “My feet hurt and I can’t go faster.” Although my feet had gone numb long ago, pain sensors still reacted to pressure when I put just a little more effort into my stride.

“I don’t care if your feet hurt, you don’t want to get dropped Oberg!”

“I’m not going to get dropped at Oberg.”

We hit the boardwalks that guided through the lowlands around Carlton Peak, Kurt pushed for a fast transition. I needed gels, salt, a banana, and soup. My water needed to be refilled, and then I would get moving. I was not allowed to sit down, time was too precious. Beware the chair.

We passed a handful of people on the boardwalk. They stepped aside. Kurt was in front, and running full-steam ahead. He was pulling away from Russ and me. And Russ was in the middle, running, and pulling away from me. I languished in the back, running as hard as my legs would carry me after 90 miles of the roughest terrain in the state. My knees must have been coming up only a few inches as I shuffled along.

It’s just around the corner, just over the road and then you’re there, Kurt prodded us. By this time, I knew that when Kurt said something was just around the bend, he was being purely motivational and the destination was not indeed just around the bend. Russ, however, didn’t know that and just kept pushing. But there was nothing else to do.

We came into Britton Peak aid station at mile 90 at 4:30 PM – an hour under cut off. Kurt had lit a fire in me, and put the 7 PM cut-off at Oberg at the forefront of my thoughts. All energy would be focused ahead on this time. The transition was smooth, under a minute or two. Kurt and I barked my needs, stressed by the time pressure, and Russ and I were off.

The trail through Britton is surprisingly runnable. There are no major climbs, no major declines, just a section or two that require serious walking. And the section is mildly familiar to me because of my Superior 50K races. I remembered landmarks, like where top woman in the 50K, Christy Nowak, passed me near the boardwalks. And then a pine forest with its gravel-coated path, where earlier in that same race Christy had her feet slide out from under her, and in wearing nothing but shorts and a sports bra, put some serious scrapes on her side. (Christy had crushed the 50 miler that day, taking second overall (at least three of the top men dropped, but regardless) and demolishing second place by 72 minutes.

Still strong, coming into Oberg Mountain at mile 95.5.

Finally the trail turned right and I jogged down the ramp that led to the Oberg Mountain parking lot. A full-on party was ensuing. Kurt was there, headlamp around his head, ready to carry me in.

TC Running Crew had their camper out, and they were manning the aid station. I threw my race vest at a volunteer to fill, and he clumsily filled the bladder while it was still in the vest.

Kurt left Oberg with us. This final push would be a testament to our triumphs that day, and he deserved to share in the final glories. When I left the aid station, by butt was soaked. I couldn’t be from sweat; the time had long-since passed when I was sweating enough to soak my clothing. Could it be a leak? I had Kurt pull my bladder out of my vest and check. Nope. The aid station worker had dumped water on by vest, which was now soaking my shorts and irritating already-chaffed and sensitive areas.

Little items that like that can derail a race because they are so taxing mentally to address. The physical aspect is not problematic – the problem will address itself eventually. But the mental toll grinds slowly and is not so easily remedied.

It was 6:30 when we left Oberg, and we had until 10 PM to travel 7.2 miles. On fresh legs, I had run this section in under an hour. Today, I guestimated it would take us 2 hours and 40 minutes and bring us in right around 9:10 PM. Well past dark, but also well before the final cut off. Under no circumstances would I permit myself to not meet that 10 PM cutoff.

Like the push through Britton, the singularity of our goal focused my strength. We pushed up the initial climb to Oberg and dodged the spur trail that would take us to the peak and trudged on. The trail from here would first take us up Moose Mountain, and the climb up was steep and lengthy. I trudged up, hands on knees, refusing to stop moving until I reached the peak. During this melee, I gasped and turned my headlamp on to get a better view of my steps.

At the top, I sat down and hit reset. Gel. Salt tablet. Espresso beans. And I was up again. We ran across Moose Mountain as best I could. Night was starting to come, and the sun was red on the western horizon – a sure sign of the smoke in the air from the fires near the BWCA just a hundred or so miles from us.

We started the descent down Moose and watched our footing closely. The trail was steep and covered in a fine sand. We slid, and recognized the runaway runner spots where the trail cut off for a brief part and flattened out. Runners who got out of control (on the way down) or needed a rest (on the way up) could park themselves here and wait out the discomfort.

The temperature dropped as we descended into the valley between Moose and Mystery. Now completely dark, I was relying on my headlamp for all illumination. And somewhere in there I lost time in the doldrums of that valley. Did I fall asleep again? Perhaps.

It was in this period of time that the preceding 100 miles started to show on my body. At one point, I was running on a flat bit of ground, and hearing my increased footsteps, Russ started running too. Soon, he pulled away from me, and when he couldn’t hear me anymore, he looked back. I was still running, and Kurt was keeping up with me simply by walking.

Soon the unmistakable climb up Mystery Mountain began. Unlike its cousin on Moose, this climb is long and steady, the trail wide and even without rocks and roots jutting out to alter the terrain. But the climb is lengthy.

At the top of Mystery, we saw the unmistakable sign of the Lutsen resorts. This is a false hope, however. Once on top of Mystery, you need to go down and around its backside in an elongated horseshoe. It is only when you see Lutsen for the second time that you are getting somewhere. During this time my focus waned. My speed had slowed and the time, and my thoughts turned to disbelief.

“Did we miss [the campsite]?” I asked my pacers. No, they replied. We couldn’t have. There would be markers everywhere, logic concluded, and we’d be descending into the river by now if we had. We weren’t near the river, and so not at the campsite yet.

I looked at my watch frequently. Now more than ever I fretted about the cut offs. With my life confined to my headlamp, I once again could not accurately judge distances. Minutes stretched and the rolling hills would not give me any reprieve.

And then a clearing appeared on the left, underneath a single pine tree and I knew we had made the campsite. Reflective ribbons confirmed my memories, and the larger main site showed its character. Welcome to the homestretch. I sighed relief, and knew I was almost done.

With that, we descended down Mystery and its set of switchbacks. We crossed the campsite’s water source, a small stream that was beset on both sides by thick mud. We hit the ATV trail and the sound of the river grew more and more. And then we hit the rocky truck path, and started to run, we started to run. Only a few elements remained. The bridge over the river left us sprayed by mist. A final climb to be run simply because it was the last, and I told my pacers to make it count.

And then the road. Gravel road on a gradual decline. Then pavement. Never have I been so happy to run on asphalt. A man on a bicycle, lamp on and pointed at us cheered. We pulled onto the sidewalk, then turned onto the final trail, an incline of a dirt road and a turn parallel to the hotels. I ran faster, and my pacers released me. I was almost there, so close I could hear the crowd and their party.

I felt like I was running as fast I could on fresh legs, but I know I wasn’t. It just felt that way. I hit the edge of the fence around the pool and then turned toward the finish line. Cheers exuded from the gathered. This was the moment I had worked so hard for, and the euphoria set in.

I cocked my arm and pumped my fist into the air and unleashed a barbaric yawp. Storkamp was there and handed me my buckle in one hand and tried to shake my other. I bear hugged him instead.

The finish, immediately drained of all the energy it took to get here.

Kurt didn’t cross the line – in his words, it wasn’t his to cross. Russ did, not thinking, and I gave each of them high fives and screamed a few more times.

Bill Pomerenke was there, and congratulated me for finishing in races flats.

“You did what you came to do,” he said. I only half-responded, thanked him, and stood there in the daze.

Pictures were taken, more congratulations ensued. One man, who had long, black hair and dark skin, was sitting on one of picnic tables. He was absolutely floored that I came in just over 30 minutes under cut off – his implication was that it was absolutely amazing that anyone was still coming in. I took from his wonderment that there was a magical finishing time during which finishing is no longer amazing. Too fast, and you’re speedy, on the podium, and your performance goes beyond mere mortals. Too slow – i.e. me and those that followed – and your grit and determination puts you in a like category. Come in somewhere in the middle of the bell curve, well, you simply finished, a task in its own right.

The runners: Kurt, myself, Russ (L->R).

Aftermath and afterglow

I paced around immediately after the race. Photos were taken of the runners, the prize, and then food took over my brain. Without it, and clean clothes, I would start shivering and plunge into hypothermia.

I ambled my way inside, managed to walk up two flights of steps – always a good sign – and was taken to our hotel room. First priority was to get clean. I sat down on the bathroom and removed my shoes and socks. I was horrified as to what I saw.

My flats were shredded, and looked like they had several hundred miles more on them than the ~250 that they did. Part of the heel on my right foot separated from the softer under sole underneath it. So much of the sole is was that I may just need to replace them outright.

My shoes being racing flats with inlets in the soles, my feet were covered in a fine layer of dust. The toenail on my right big toe was toast, and a blister had developed over the cuticle. My podiatrist would get a call on Monday for a Tuesday toenail removal. Blistered abounded. 11 on my right foot, three on my left. But the ones on my left were far more severe. Two on the left foot were heel blisters – one of those was popped and covered with tape. When the tape was removed, it left a line of clean that demarcated where the tape was (skin-colored) and where it wasn’t (dirt-colored). Another blister or two had formed between my big and second toes on my left foot. And some time ago, they had popped. What I had suspected long ago when I took off my shoe to remove what felt like an acorn between those two toes had now been confirmed. It was a blister, it had popped, and it needed to be dealt with.

I ran my feet under the bathtub faucet. Too hot at first, stinging the open wounds. Then gently, with soap this time, the dirt gradually flushed away. Even at this early stage, I knew dirt would be embedded in my toenails for weeks.

I couldn’t shower – my feet hurt so much from blisters that standing was out of the question. So I laid down, turned the showerhead on, and did the best I could. Frequently I put my head under the stream of steam and just breathed in, working the dirt-covered mucous out of my nose (they don’t tell you about that one when you sign up).

I sent my crew out to the car three or four times during my attempt at a shower. First for shoes, then for bathroom supplies, then for clothes. While I stood there in a towel drying off, I started to shiver. I dried off again and it did no good. My crew arrived with dry clothes, and recovery officially began.

I hobbled over to my bed. My hiking backpack was sitting on the end, and I laid down and propped my feet up. I got cold, and had my pacer pull an insulated jacket out and thrown over me. Here I was, in a resort hotel, refusing to use any of its amenities to accomplish the same task.

We had some sandwiches and then my need to sleep promptly took over. I took some pain medication to ease the inevitable cramping which eventually set it and deprive me of much-needed shut eye, and repeated the same when muscle tightness awoke me at 4:45 AM.

The walking wounded gathered informally at the resort’s restaurant for breakfast the next morning. I had steak and eggs and black coffee. My body and taste buds had now been deprived of fat for over 48 hours, and I devoured the butter-soaked eggs as if I was ending a planned fast. The coffee, thick with its natural oils, added unnecessary and tasteful lubrication to the whole event.

With breakfast finished, there was but one thing left to do. I congratulated the runners still gathered and walked out to the car, ready for the world and forever changed. I had run 103 miles, finished in the allotted time, and came home safe.

The prize.

SOME FAQS

Did you really run 103 miles?

Yes. Here’s the (preliminary) race results to prove it.

Did you ever stop?

No. I took extended breaks at aid stations, and sat down a handful of times during each section, but otherwise no. The name of the game is continuous forward motion.

Did you sleep?

Not voluntarily. I did sleep while running/moving at least twice. One time occurred at about mile 79, the second around mile 100.

What did you eat?

Between aid stations, I figured I ate somewhere around 60 gels, 65 salt tablets, 30 or so espresso beans. At aid stations, I ate lots of bananas, homemade chocolate chip cookies, two sticks of jerky, veggie chips, a couple oz. of coffee, and lots and lots of HEED. I can’t venture of a guess as to how much water I consumed, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was close to 10 gallons.

Wasn’t your body just destroyed afterward? Another variant: how are you even walking (pick your day)?

Yes, I was pretty destroyed. My legs were severely tight for a day or so, and slowly eased up. But my immediate muscle recovery has been drastically reduced from my first completed marathon in 2008. Like my previous races, my muscles were fine on Wednesday or Thursday after the race. Racing and training begets a speedier recovery.

What’s next?

I told my wife I would take six months off of racing. This puts me at the beginning of March 2012, so no races that I would otherwise run will be missed. I will be volunteering at Surf the Murph on Oct. 29, 2011 and have yet to set race plans for next year. I’m qualified for Western States 2012 and for Hardrock for the next three or so years, and I’ll get to those eventually. Right now, I’m resting and waiting to return to running form. I’d like to run some courses that are a little less rugged and hard on the feet.

With one epic, run, I am ready for Sawtooth

2011-08-21T15:00:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I wrapped up my training for the Sawtooth 100 with an all-day run at Afton State Park; my tapering starts today. Myself and a handful of runners got together to run a few loops of the Afton Trail Run course. The idea was to put a get a lot of easy time on my feet in preparation for the task that is Sawtooth. My plan was to run up to three laps (75K, or 46.5 miles), time allowed. I ended up going 38.1 (~61K) miles in 7:25, about a 11:51/mile pace.

The run was a great success. We ran slow and easy, taking our time and walking more than I would if I was only running 50K or racing the course. After each loop, we took an extended break to eat watermelon, drink coffee, and otherwise re-fuel.

This morning, I have minimal soreness. This is a testament to two or three things: we did not push the pace or try to thrash our muscles, we adequately drank water and consumed food whilst running and during breaks, and hopefully, my level of conditioning now only three weeks out from the hardest race of my life thus far.

With that said, there are some lingering thoughts in my head as I prepare for this race.

I really don't know what to expect

There will be a distance after which I do not know what to expect from myself. In my two completed 50 milers, life got very difficult after about mile 40 or so. I distinctly remember telling my wife at mile 45.5 or so at Surph the Murph that I was dying - I meant I was fading, but you get the idea.

This weekend's run is encouraging - it demonstrated that I can run 40 miles without feeling like I want to give up. Fatigue was starting to set in, but it had occurred later than it normally would.

I don't exactly know how to run this race

This is my first 100 miler, and other than starting slow, I don't exactly know how to run this race. Give my inexperience and singular goal of finishing, my run will be about the basics:

Eat and drink early, often and in large enough quantities to protect myself later in the race
Start slow and run with an even effort
Always continuing moving forward
Never, ever, ever give up

During the run at Afton, one of the runners said it was also the hardest 100 miler in the Midwest - i.e. you'd have to go to Leadville or Hardrock just to get a harder race. Now, I don't have the race experience to be able to evaluate that statement, but the statement is pretty bold in itself.

My run at Afton did much for my race psyche. It told me that I can run 40 miles at a fairly easy pace and maintain that pace for a long period of time. Only when we got north of 35 miles did the stress from the distance start to set in, and by then it was minor and manageable. Our pace also set my mind to how I need to start out.

The run also was a test of running slow. We intentionally ran slower than our legs and minds permitted because we had the tremendous distance at the forefront of our thoughts. (There were times when we got over excited and ran a little too hard; these moments must be eliminated during the race.) During Sawtooth, going out too hard or trying to put time in the bank could be devastating later down the trail.

A final note

I ran the first 25K with a pair of original Luna Sandals, Barefoot Ted's sandal company. My intention is to run a portion of Sawtooth in them, if not the entire course. To my knowledge, no one has completed the race in anything but shoes i.e. no one has completed it in FiveFingers. In order for me to do that, I'll need the raw foot strength to handle the stress - in the past, I've gotten top-of-the-foot pain after about 10 or so miles. It occurred at Afton this weekend at some point during the loop, so perhaps I won't be able to rock the sandals for the race.

Unfortunately, something on the sandals failed because the suede top separated from the Vibram sole. I had gotten the sandals quite wet by running through dew-covered grass and I suspect the glue dissolved under the wetness. I have contacted Luna and asked for an return/exchange to a model without a suede top. I would like to get a pair of Leadvilles and use that at Sawtooth, for example.

The failure said, I still would recommend the sandals to people - I love running in them, and they do wonders for your efficiency because they require you to run light, smooth, and easy. Just don't get the top if you ever want to run in anything wet or during a rain - I was slipping and sliding all over the place when the sandals got wet. This did a number on the space between my toes where the strap went.

Another ultra under the belt: Voyageur 50 Miler

2011-08-10T21:14:00.002-05:00

Voyageur is over. I finished an ultra, and once again, that was all that mattered. Voyageur is a race I am glad I have now completed and it is one that I will never run again for the reasons below.

The way out

160 people were signed up, and it looked like a huge crowd for an ultra – the biggest ultra by the number of participants I had ever run in my life.

The pace started out fast, like it always does. I ran with a group of folks who seemed to be taking it how I wanted to – quickly over the early technical section, not letting up on the flats, all while recognizing that hills should be walked. This group splintered after the first aid station at mile 3.5 because people took more or less time getting their aid on, so to say.

After the first aid station, I put on a favorite race tactic: I skipped basically every other aid stations on the way out to get a jump on people. For the most part, it worked. I put 30 seconds to a minute on them each time and I just ran and ran and ran. Most caught me eventually as I slowed to a crawl in the latter half. More on that later.

The first 25K or so went as smoothly as a jaunt through the woods can. I felt good, was pushing comfortably, and did not feel like I was stressing my systems in dealing with the single track, muddy forest roads, or the Powerlines (more on those below).

Things started to go south in the two or three miles prior to the aid station at mile 18.6. Those miles were set to a long, gradual uphill and I had a pack behind me that put fear in my steps. The incline was minimal but noticeable – too shallow to walk, but just enough to make running difficult.

When I got to the aid station at 18.6, I was a little gassed. My wife asked me how I was doing. I responded that I was winded because of the uphill, but that I felt otherwise fine. I did not feel fine. She forced me to take some salt in the form of Pringles and get moving. “Pick up those feet,” became her mantra, practically shouting it as I left each aid station she met me at.

I left that aid station with water in one hand, Pringles in the other. I ate them slowly, one at a time, as I walked up the rural, paved road. It kept going and going, turning and still making its climb. I ran what I could and walked what I couldn’t. My decline started then and there.

Eventually I left the pavement and entered into muddy forest roads. Mud enveloped small depressions and slowed running to ginger steps, lest I lose a shoe in the muck.

No sooner than I saw the next aid station in sight did I see the leader passing me going the other direction. It was getting hotter now and I skipped aid like I had with alternating stations before. It was the first major unintelligent decision of the day.

Those three or so miles down to the zoo are just that – down. The course ran along a dirt road and later turned onto maintenance roads for Spirit Mountain. Eventually, you turned down the hill onto a road and toward the zoo. Which of course means you must go up it on the way back.

I got to the turnaround in terrible shape. The temperature had clearly climbed, and being exposed on the side of a hill did not help. I had seen all of the front runners ahead of me on their way up the hill, running what I knew I would later walk. Looking back, I was clearly dehydrated and needed some sustenance. Not that I recognized that at the time, however. My wife picked up on this at the turnaround and made me eat two cookies, two slices of watermelon, a salted potato, and I drank maybe 15 oz of water just standing there. I left with a full bottle, too.

The way back and going into ultra territory

From the turnaround on out I stopped at every aid station if only to fill my 24 oz bottle, for I had consumed all or nearly all of its contents since the aid station. Some of those were only a few miles apart – no more than two. Yet the fluids were consumed and refilled. I figure I drank close to 1.5 gallons of water on the way back (~100 oz on the way out, too) and still was dehydrated upon finishing.

The remainder of the day was a battle fought in the gray matter between my ears. Something clearly had gone wrong that day – whether it being I started out too hard (always a likely culprit), was dehydrated (most likely), underfueled (less likely; I had a gel every 45 minutes or so), or all of the above and now it was taking its toll.

At some point, fatigue set in. After about mile 33, I found it hard not to walk. This was a mental goal of mine going into the race. I was to do better than I did at Superior 50K this spring and run over technical sections. For the most part, I believe I succeeded. In the latter stages of the race I could not run the technical roots and rocks, but that was based on pure exhaustion and not mental fatigue. Perhaps they are similar, but the feeling was different. When I was exhausted and confronted with a technical section, I took it easy so as to protect myself. I felt assured that I was doing the right thing. In contrast, when I walked out of mental fatigue at Superior this spring, I felt like I failed that test.

Ultras are mind games because the brain lasts longer than body, and my body had started to fatigue. My muscles were not sore, but my legs do not want to be picked up. My knees cannot rise like they once did, and I started to shuffle. With physical weakness comes mental doubt, and it s vicious, reverberating cycle. Many things crossed in my mind, but the Sawtooth 100 was chief among them. Should I run it? What was this run saying about my ability to do twice this distance? Could I even finish it?

At some point I banished those doubts. Maybe it was somewhere around mile 41, when I finished the Powerlines the second go around. That was the hardest part. But I had survived, and that was all that mattered. I would finish, the issue now was when.

Those last 8.5 miles were hard fought. I was passed by a handful of runners who were moving much more cleanly than I. But I had given up on place at that point. It was about finishing.

The last stretch is a cruel 3.5 miles. The first 2.5 or so are the most technical of the entire course. Those trails take you along a river and over and around rocks, boulders, and exposed cedar roots. The last mile or so is pavement. Painful, endless pavement with only two turns, both 90 degrees to the right.

I ran hard through the finish, and yelled as I crossed the line. My time, long since irrelevant, was 10:42:15, a full 100 minutes (2 min/mile mind you) slower than my previous 50 mile finish. Terrain and weather do matter, and today was living proof of it.

The Powerlines

The infamous Powerlines. What are they? Not what I thought – they were much, much more. I was under the sorry impression that there were two ups and downs to get to the top of a set of powerlines. Of course, this is what is depicted in the race photo. But of course, it is not the whole picture. After you get to that peak, there is a quaint jaunt through the forest until you reach a second, longer, steeper set of lines.

When I came around to the Powerlines on the way back, the dusty inclines demolished me. The sun radiated down, unfiltered by clouds or obstructions. I could do no more than be in full-on hike mode, plodding one step after the other up and down repeated hills. But I did not stop or enter into a mountain-climbing lock-step. In that, the hills were a success.

The Powerlines are one of the reasons I will never run this race again. Simply put, the Powerlines are dangerous. I fear the day it rains the night before or the morning of the race. The clay-like mud would make getting up nigh impossible. Similarly, the trail itself it too rutted and steep to descend with any safe speed other than a reserved, plodding trot.

Saying this, I will retreat slightly. There is nothing wrong with ridiculously steep hills repeated over and over or placed in succession on a course. The issue here was one of surface – potentially slippery, rutted and technical, and steep. All three made for a bad combo.

Post race and recovery

I slept that evening, something I was surprised enough about to be writing it here. After Surf the Murph, I rolled in agony that night as muscles cramped and complained from the toil I had put them through just a handful of hours before. But that was not the case with this race.

Instead, I was just sore in a few joints, my ankles mostly. There appeared to be very little muscular soreness. Most of any residual pain was gone by Tuesday or Wednesday, and I felt good enough that week to log 39 miles, including 20 miles with some steep hills just a week after the race.

The plan. Oh, the plan. The plan right now is to run those 20 milers every week for the next four or so weeks and then take two weeks of easy running. Then run 100 miles in one day. Easy, right?

The Lesson

My father asked me what I learned. What is the Lesson, he asked, like it was some sort of epiphany I was supposed to experience with each venture beyond 26.2. At the time, I told him that I didn’t know. I hadn’t had the time to digest the whole process and what I had just done. But the next day it came to me: eat and drink early and often.

When I was sucking wind at the later aid stations, food and liquid rejuvenated me. At the turn around, I spent a considerable amount of time eating watermelon, potatoes with salt, a cookie or two, and as much ice water as I could pound down in those few minutes. And I felt better. I still had a hell of a climb back up to Spirit Mountain and its respective aid station, but felt I felt better. It was the Lesson.

The Lesson echoed what John Storkamp had told me just a few weeks before Afton. In a nutshell, with the stomach goes the whole run. If you can manage the eating and drinking, and appropriate the care and feeding of yourself during a run, the rest is easy.

A final note

I did not fall during Voyageur. It is a historic occasion – it’s the first time I have finished an ultra without falling.

Running on hallowed ground

2011-07-29T12:00:00.002-05:00

On Saturday, I will run in the 30th Voyageur Trail Ultra, a 50-mile jaunt through the woods from Carlton to Duluth. The race will be a final tune-up before the Sawtooth 100 just six weeks later. It fits neatly into my training program, too - I was set to do a back-to-back 30/20 weekend. A race is just so much more fun.

The course should be considered hallowed ground. None other than Scott Jurek holds the male and overall course record, and it is also the race where he got his start so many years ago when his buddy Dusty Olson nudged him into. He later would become the greatest ultrarunner this side of Yannis Kouros.

A few jottings and goals before the race:

This 50-mile race has about 1K less elevation gain/loss than the 50K at Afton four weeks ago (10K v. 9K).
Temps will be hot and humid. Joy.
There are nine aid stations, and you hit them all twice with the exception of the one at the turn around. That's an aid station approximately every 2.5 miles or so, if you count the start and finish as aid. I'm hoping only for ice, salt tabs, and water/HEED at each. Even if they aren't well stocked I should be fine.
Goal pace? Anywhere between 10 flat and 10:40 per mile. It puts me at about an 8:20-8:55 finish pace. My Surf the Murph 50 mile time was 9:04:00 for 50.4 miles on an easier course and with less training. My goal is to start slow, tap into my seven month base of endurance and hold solid. If I'm anywhere close to 4-4:20ish at the turnaround I'll be happy.
Goal place? There were 162 runners signed up when I checked last night; no idea on male/female divide, but there are plenty of runners here who have beaten me or have run similar times than me. Based on past Voyageur results, a top 15 or 20 (overall or male) would be great and not unreasonable (especially if I get into the low 8:00s). In contrast, UltraSignup.com has ~53 runners (37 men/16 women) ranked higher than me percent-wise. Those percentages can be and are deceiving if you do not look at each person's results, however. That's something I won't do for this race.

Minnesota heat wave

2011-07-20T12:00:00.000-05:00

I wilt in heat, but jealously wish for a precious few days so that I can run in it.

Minnesota and the entirety of the Midwest has been in a heat wave since Saturday. Temps have approached or hit 100, and dew points have been in the high 80s. Taken that combination and the heat index makes it feel like something north of 110 or 115. We've been under heat advisories and the old, young, and ill have been advised to stay home. Youth sports have been canceled, postponed, or moved earlier to the day. And it's not supposed to break until Friday.

What does this all mean? First, my glasses fog up when I walk outside. Moisture from the air condenses on the lenses because their temperature is less than the dew point. The same occurs on my windows. Second, it means heat training. Lots of heat training.

Running in hot weather puts tremendous stress on one's body because it limits our ability to dump heat via sweating and other methods. Heat builds up, and at a certain point other systems start to slow or shut down. And once your stomach stops processing calories, its all a downward spiral from there. Do too much damage and you're run into heat exhaustion and stroke. Eventually, you'll pass out and potentially die, your brain simmering in the pressure cooker that becomes your skull.

So what to do? I take is slow and easy; your training becomes more about time than miles. I ran a route yesterday that I under normal conditions would have taken by 35 or 36 minutes; I did it in just over 39 because I slowed down up to 50 seconds per mile to accommodate the temps. And you take ice water. I knew I was in for a hard run the other day when my ice was gone within 10 minutes.

How people run Badwater (held last week!) is beyond me.

Afton Trail Run 50K race report

2011-07-18T12:00:00.003-05:00

We pulled into a gas station in Hastings at about 5:45 AM, both decked out in Mankato Multisport green. Jacci needed some breakfast, and I needed the same. A banana or two would suffice for me, a fruit bar for her.

“Are you two running a marathon or something?” the clerk asked as we placed our goodies on the counter. “Or something,” my wife responded.

We arrived at Afton Alps to find pre-race goings-on in full swing. Packet pick up swamped, and the family of one of my running friends had been there since about 5 am staffing it. My friend’s wife and daughter were volunteering throughout the day and he was running the 50K. Naturally, he was still asleep while they doled out race numbers and swag bags.

My parents were coming down from St. Cloud to crew and watch. It was the first time they had been to one of my races since my first ultra in the spring of 2009, and my wife and I needed someone there because we were both running.

Eventually, we were herded to the informal start. There was no line, just a general understanding of where we all should stand. Race Director John Storkamp stood on a ladder and explained why we were here instead of at the adjacent state park. He advised us to stick to our proper switchbacks, and to not cross over onto another of the same. Then he commented that some of the volunteers who were flagging the route could not run one loop of a course of which we were about to run four.

No one had any idea about what we were to undertake. I could see the slopes to my right and scanned the hill for flags or course markers. I saw none. It never occurred to me that I might be going up to that peak three times that day.

Without warning, Storkamp said “Go!” There was no ready, set, etc. Just go. And we took off.

I jogged slowly in the front of the scrum, trying to find my place in the pack. The first few miles of an ultra are always weird. Inevitably, someone runs too fast, and I have been known to do the same on several occasions. It’s hard to pick a pace and stick to it when you’re going to be running for the next several hours and people around you are going at a certain comfortable speed. It’s even harder when their comfortable pace is comfortable to you, at least for the time being.

I tucked in behind the eventual women’s winner and one other person who was trailing her. I knew we were moving fast, but the pace felt competitive and sustainable. I knew that she was fast, and I usually place at or near the first woman, so I stayed with her as long as I could. The first 4.25 miles of the course was generally held on single track mountain bike trails, and there was a scaled-down aid station (water, gels, and ice were its only supplies) about two miles in.

I stayed with the eventual winner of the women’s race until the first big hill. She ran fast, fast, fast up the hill and jogged what reduced me to a walk. There was nothing I could do but let her go. I went back and forth with a runner I knew from other races. “The third lap is going to be a killer.” he said. I hope he wasn’t right.

I hit the first aid station and dumped all of my water, replacing it with HEED instead and added a little ice to keep my body temp down.

The latter chunk of the lap was almost the same as the first – single track on switchbacks and through wooded areas, or running from one trail to the next through mowed swaths of grass.

But the hills! The switchbacks went up, sure, but the climbs were a less dramatic, curving run. But the slopes went up, up and up some more. There were three major climbs, all of which took place in the last three miles of the loop.

The second and third climbs demoralized runners. On the second climb, you can see runners adjacent to you but on a separate path running down to finish. When you get to the top, you run down and realize that although you are 100 yards to the finish line as the crow flies, you need to climb up to the top again so that you can run down and see racers heading up that second climb.

I came across the first lap in approximately 1:15. I knew at that point that a 5-hour finish was likely out of the question - it was simply unrealistic given how difficult the course was.

I started to put ice under my hat at the start of lap two. At the aid stations, I grabbed a chunk out of the five-gallon buckets of ice water. Into and under the hat it went, and I ended up smashing it down and distributing it around the top of my head.

I never much felt the melting ice water trickle down my head. Much of it was wicked out onto the bill of my cap and escaped off the corners in non-stop drips. But I could tell that the ice was working if only because my head felt drier and hotter when the ice ran out.

The second lap went similar to the first, but this time the 25K runners had started just about 10 minutes before I finished my first lap. It would be struggle to get around them on the single track. Most obliged my requests to pass.

I came across the second lap in approximately 1:21. I had slowed a few minutes, but I felt good. I knew I couldn’t keep that pace, but I needed to try.

My parents were waiting for me at the aid station at the start/finish, like they always had been. They had been great about making sure I was getting gels and salt tablets in me, and they asked all the right questions.

It’s funny when exhaustion starts to creep in; it can add minutes per mile to your pace. It starts slowly and is most noticeable when one starts walking hills they ran up earlier in the race. Gradually it hits you on the flats. It gets harder to pick up your knee and get a long stride. The downhills are the last to go. Normally, they are free-wheeling affairs. When exhaustion sets in, you’re just doing your best not to a) fall on your face from going too fast for lack of control; or b) you fall on your butt or thrash your quads from going to slow (usually because of the fatigue).

All of that would set in on the third lap, and I knew I was going to be in trouble. That which I ran on laps one and two I walked, and my knees had a hard time rising to appropriate heights.

Just past the second aid station on lap three, there was a long stretch of gradually inclined single track. In prior laps, I had pushed this section to gain time and this lap was no different. But it was. About three-quarters of the way through, my right calf cramped while that leg was mid-stride and in the air. The pain was immediate and searing, like nothing I had experienced before. The rest of my leg froze with the shock of what had happened. With nothing to support me, down I went when my left leg tried to leave the ground during its natural stride.

My body rolled counterclockwise as I fell and I landed flat on the outside of my right upper arm. Upon impact, I rolled a little off trail and into the woods. The woman behind me, a 25Ker, was just shocked. "Are you OK?" she asked with deep concern. I told her that I would be fine, and I rolled back onto the trail and hoisted myself out of a fetal position and into a sitting one. During this entire time, my right foot pointed from the involuntary flexion.

I reached for my calf to work out the cramp. All I could picture was the image from my old Boy Scout handbook of a scout working out a calf cramp while swimming. My calf felt like a 2x4, and I could not cause it to relax. One runner came and offered me an S! cap. I happily obliged, sanitation be damned. He left, and a second runner offered the same but this time I declined. I sat there pounding fluids.

Shortly after I took that S!cap, my calf relaxed. I stood up, waiting for the pain to return. I walked. Then hobbled. I jogged, and then went into a full-on run. I had survived the ordeal.

The calf cramp likely saved my race. A prompt yet controlled adrenaline rush coursed through me as a result of the trauma and perked up my stride. I ran the rest of the loop hard. I came in at around 1:40, a full 19 minutes slower than my second lap. My friend was right - the third lap had been a killer. Now it was on to the last lap. I had to adjust my goals, the only time I consciously thought about doing so.

When I got to the end of my third loop, I was sitting at about 4:20. I asked for and got two more salt tablets, some gels, and repeated my sponged ice bath. I dunked my hat in the bucket and pulled out ice chunks. I switched to water instead of HEED, too. On I went. I wanted to finish, and I only had one lap to do it in.

Loneliness dominated the final lap. Gone were the 25K runners whom I was passing with great frequency. The 50K runners had spread out for the most part and put several minutes between each other. I had no idea what place I was in, but I was comfortable.

On that final lap, I took note to avoid the pitfalls of my Spring Superior Trail races 50K – I needed to run what I could, and not slow to a walk to manage difficult, technical terrain. For the most part I succeeded, even though many of those sections were taken gingerly.

When the big climbs came, the race became all about not giving up. I power-hiked them with as much gusto as a person who had just run 30 miles could. On the last and steepest of the three, both calves twinged – were they going to cramp up? – but the pain subsided. Such an event likely would have put me to the ground, and then rolling down the hill.

As I was coming down the final hill, more folks had gathered at the finish than there were on my last lap. I finished strong, with the obligatory arms up and promptly laid down in the hot grass. My parents, wife, and friends rushed over to me.

For the most part I was OK. Until a second cramp assaulted my right calf. Water, HEED, and two salt tablets, STAT! Oh, and some Coca-Cola. Gradually the cramp relaxed and I was ushered to the aid station, into the shade of a canopy and given more ice-soaked sponges than I knew what to do with. A cheeseburger soon arrived in my hands, and life that day was complete.

I ultimately finished in 24th place of 97 finishers, and I was the 20th man. Overall time was 6:02:17, an 11:41 average pace (unofficial as of 7.17.11).

Of particular note were the finishing times of the top runners. Only two runners managed to go sub-5 hours – the top finisher came in at 4:30 and change and the second place runner was at 4:52. Other runners, including folks who have placed high and run very fast times on the State Park Course were approximately 50 minutes to an hour off their top Afton times.

---

Overall, I was very pleased with my race. I was OK with my splits even though I tanked hard on the third lap - I think most folks did, as evidenced by the fact that I was only passed by two people on laps during the latter half of the race.

I successfully dealt with the heat, calf cramp notwithstanding. I learned a lot about what my body needed in order to successfully manage hot weather, and I managed to stomach gels with frequency.

Up next is the Voyageur Trail Ultra, a venerable 50-mile race from Carlton, Minn. to Duluth, Minn. and back. It is over some fierce, technical trail that forms the lower portion of the Superior Hiking Trail, and none other than Scott Jurek holds the course record.

I chose to run Voyageur because it is a full six weeks before the Sawtooth 100, and I am using it as a tune up for what will be my first 100-mile race. More on this later.

Race Report: 2011 SHT Spring 50K

2011-05-26T12:00:00.000-05:00

This is what mattered, and why I do what I do.

I was standing 10 feet off the line went Gretchen Perbix said "Go." Watches beeped and Donald Clark took off in his SUV to guide the lead runners to the single track. I started slow, trying to hold back from starting out too fast. Lessons of the past learned. But I still needed needed to get out ahead of a few folks. The single track is not kind to passing.

I hit the woods in front of the second chase pack.The first section is the hardest. The climb up to Mystery Mountain is high enough, and it is full of switch-backs. Coming down Mystery is a long, winding downhill - the longest incline of the race. Moose Mountain was littered with downed trees, rough roots and walk-arounds. The incline down Moose is technical and damn-near unrunnable.

I passed a chunk of runners on the downhill on the west side of Mystery Mountain. I was now running solo, and I never saw them again for a few miles. Somewhere about five miles in, I stepped oddly with my left foot. My ankle rotated outward, and I had immediate pain. Twisted, yes. Runnable? Yes. I kept going, and the pain subsided. About two miles from the Oberg aid station, the eventual winner of the women's race caught me, and her and I ran together to and past the first aid station. I came in at 1:08:09, a 9:05/mile pace - right where I wanted to be. I would learn later that I was running 10th of 100 or so starters.

I was indeed right where I wanted to be. I came into this race thinking I could average 9 minutes per mile, and my first mental barrier fell when I looked at my watch. "If I'm at 9 minutes/mile, now, what will I be toward the end? I'm surely going to slow down." And from there, I knew I was in for some trouble.

At the aid station, I dumped what was left of my water (most of it) and filled up with HEED. My wife handed me some jerky, a cookie, and some Pringles - all to be eaten in stride. Normally, I eat the Pringles in the aid station, but I was in a hurry. In and out. I had pre-arranged with my wife that I would not touch Coca-Cola during the first half for fear of a major sugar/caffeine crash later in the race between aid stations.

I left the aid station with the woman still on my tail. Before the single track hit again, one of her feet gave out on her and she slid down into and on the gravel. She was wearing only a sports bra and shorts at the time, and reportedly when she finished (still in first) her friends looked at her bloody side and asked her "Did you kill an animal?" To which she responded, "Yeah, and I ate it too."

Shortly after she fell, I took my first dive. On what I fell I do not know. But I fell forward, tucked and rolled, and was back on my feet almost without missing a step. The woman, still behind me, complimented me on my recovery. Just once I want to make it through a trail ultra without falling.

The fall did additional damage to my ankle. By the time I hit the gravel, the pain had subsided from my first fall. Upon standing, I immediately grimaced from pain on the ankle and resumed my stride.

The woman asked if I minded if she passed when we got onto the single track and starting running through marsh. I obliged on a wider part of the trail and then let her go. Again solo, I ran as hard as I could. I knew others were back there, and I didn't want to get caught. Getting caught should mean fear, adrenaline, and speed. But it didn't this time. When the woman caught me, I just ran with her. We ran hard, and she pushed me to keep up my pace, but I never got that scared-out-of-my-mind feeling like I did at Surf the Murph last October when the I got caught and battled against another runner for 25-or-so miles.

Sometime around when the woman passed me, my ankle pain subsided. But it didn't go away, it just moved. I began to have pain on my left shin. I couldn't tell what was going on through. My compression socks covered the epicenter of the pain. Throughout the remainder of the run, I thought of Jeff Browning - he ran, won, and set a course record at the 2010 Cascade Crest while running a on a bruised shin (race report; shin pic).

The miles drifted by. I passed Leveaux Mountain, thankful that the trail avoided the spur that went up and around its peak. The middle section is the most runnable of the three. It lacks major climbs, and the only walking that must be done is around some muddy sections when you don't want to lose a shoe to the a dirt-and-water vacuum that is the black goop. I kept pushing and pulled into the second aid station at 2:04:12. My pace had slowed to 9:39, and I had dropped one place, but I felt good. I refilled my bottle with HEED, passed on food, and kept running.

From aid station two is a 2.2 mile out-and-back up to Carlton Peak and the turnaround. I don't believe the mileage is accurate given my time, but I let is slide. Almost all of the way up to the turn around is runnable, with the exception of the actual climb. The entire route back to aid station three (in the same place as aid two) is runnable.

On the way out, the chase pack officially caught me. Their lead guy caught me on the boardwalk, and when I turned around to face my competition, two groups of three, four or five were less than 10 feet behind me.

I hit the turn around at 2:20:47, having run the 2.2 miles in 16:35, a 7:32/mile pace. I was on pace for my dream finish of 4:40:00. John Storkamp, one of the top ultra runners in the state and 3-time Arrowhead Ultra champion (foot division), was manning the turnaround. He recognized me from volunteering at Zumbro 100 a few weeks back and gave me a fist jab and I was on my way back. I ran hard down the peak and put distance on the pack, but the lead runner caught me just before the aid station prior to us crossing the road.

At aid three I started on Coca-Cola and declined food once again. My bottle of HEED was still reasonably full, so I skipped that too. My time was fast again - I made the 2.2 miles in 15:42, a 7:08 pace. I was three minutes under my dream pace, but my performance on the way out had slipped.

My wife asked me how I was doing. I told her that I was getting my ass kicked. She said, bluntly, "Yeah, you are." I meant that people were passing my and I wasn't able to hold on to them as they broke away. She meant something else.

I started to break down between aid stations three and four. A pain developed in my left foot. A sharp, focused pain. It happened only upon landing, and it sat right behind the ball of my foot. I could only conclude that a sharp something had gotten in between the rubber sole of my shoe and the last. And I couldn't get it out. This meant some (sharp) pain with every step. Not much, but noticable and only compounded by the shin pain I had now been running on for 10 miles.

My biggest breakdown occurred during those miles. Dark times. I started walking more on areas I would have otherwise run. Technical sections of roots were not run, and I took my time navigating them. I got passed, and passed some more. I slipped maybe eight or nine paces from my spot in 12th to somewhere close to 20th. It was a sluggish 5.8 miles, but somewhere I decided that when my wife asked me how I was doing, I would tell her that I was having fun. I was resigned to not finishing at a 4:40 pace, but I would finish.

I pulled into aid station four with a runner on my tail, pictured above. I managed the last 5.8 miles in 1:06:01, 11:22/mile. Cumulative time was about 3:42. I had slowed almost two minutes from the first time I managed through the section. But I was still on pace for another one of varied goals - finish under five hours. If I could manage about a 1:15 - 10 minutes per mile - I could do it.

With the phrase "beware the chair" in my mind, I asked for my wife's chair and to see if she could dig out whatever the sharp something in my left shoe was. She attacked it with a pen but was unsuccessful. I rejuvenated with three cups of Coca-Cola (about 6 oz) and rocketed out of there. I had spent about three minutes in the aid station between dealing with my shoe and getting fluids.

All that sat between myself and the finish was two big climbs and and one long down hill. The haul up Moose Mountain is just as difficult as the downhill, and you can only climb it so fast. Once on top, I ran what felt like a casual pace (from my normal base line), but it was as hard as I could go. Now on the homestretch, I saw plenty of 25K runners who had yet to make it to their respective turn around, and I passed a handful more who were traveling in the same direction as me (including a 10-year-old and his father who were doing the 25K together).

Somewhere on top of Moose Mountain a woman asked me to pass. I said nothing, and blasted down the hill that came before me. She ran with me for the rest of the race, and she kept my pace honest and spirits up. I never let her pass, and used the downhills.

The only dark point on this last section came on the long walk up Mystery Mountain. I was chasing two 25K runners who were walking up it, and I knew the woman was behind me. By now I had put some distance on her. So I walked hard and eventually got the top. I never heard the woman again. Once on top, I needed two landmarks for confirmation my location. One was the Mystery Mountain campsite. That signaled about 1 mile of downhill until the trailhead, and the trailhead meant maybe a half a mile until the finish.

I camp upon the campsite and my spirits lifted. I surged down the mountain and crossed the bridge over the Cascade River. My feet kept running up the final hill to the trailhead and then the gravel showed its face. From here on out it was a strong push to the finish. I crossed in 5:19:54.

---

Now 72+ hours post-race, I've dealt with the anticipated delayed-onset muscle soreness. It's most present in my lower calves (Achilles and north) and outside of my quads.

I also learned that my twist and later tuck-and-roll sprained a ligament in front of the outside of my left ankle, and likely strained a muscle or tendon on the outside of my left calve. On Dr.'s orders, I'm wearing an over-ankle compression sleeve (like a sock, but sans toes) and am taking 400 mg of ibuprofen two or three times per day. And I can run, al beit my usual post-race routine - slow, easy and short. I ran 10 minutes last night and will increase it slowly. Something tells me I won't be hitting my planned 13 miler this weekend, but no matter.

April stats and weekly totals

2011-05-01T19:32:00.003-05:00

Twenty mile runs are always something a little weird. It is a psychological barrier imposed by marathon-based thinking. It is the mile at which runners often hit the wall when running at marathon pace. Glycogen stores in the liver run out, and life starts to hurt. Which is exactly why we run 20 miles at marathon pace. Because it hurts. And we like it that way. And it helps us race. And racing is what we train for.

Week of 4.25-5.1.11

4.25.11: 6.8 miles
Still sore from Sunday's 23+ miles.

4.26.11: Zero
See 4.25.11 for explanation.

4.27.11: 7.1 miles
Trail run on 7 @ 7 course with coworker.

4.28.11: 1.1 mile warmup; 9.5 miles @ marathon pace.
Cruised at 7:20 minutes/mile.

4.29.11: 11.1 miles

4.30.11: 20 miles
Big day! Lots of miles at 7:30 minutes/mile or faster; mile 19 at 7:12, mile 20 at 6:54.

5.1.11: 5.1 miles
Calves still hurt. Still.

Miles: 60.57
Time: 8:35:38
April miles: 232.636
April time: 33:16:32
April days running: 22
Miles/April days ran: 10.57 miles
Miles, year-to-date: 673.906
Time, year-to-date: 95:01:31

Weeks in review: two weeks in one!

2011-04-25T06:33:00.003-05:00

My apologies for not posting last week's summary. Here is goes, with stories as always:

Week of 4.11.11

4.11.11: 7.2 miles
Trail run.

4.13.11: 7.2 miles
Trail run. Again.

4.16.11: 1.6 mile warmup; 5K race; 0.6 mile cooldown
First competitive 5K for three or four years? Took second in 19:55ish.

4.17.11: 15.5 miles
Trail run. I forgot how hard it is to run 25K on trails at a good clip.

Miles: 35.266
Time: 5:14:08
Year-to-date: 552.546

That week wasn't so great. No a lot of miles, and I should have run another 10 or so after the 5K. Downtime leads to an off week.

Week of 4.18.11

Big week! I ran more miles this week than I think I ever have in a non-race week.

4.18.11: 8.2 miles

4.19.11: 6.8 miles

4.20.11: 8 miles
Trail run with triathelete coworker. Nice and easy job on a new route.

4.21.11: Zilch
This goose egg would come back to haunt me.

4.22.11: 5.1 miles
Starting the day with a 4:30AM run just does the body good.

4.23.11: 14 miles
The weekend is here. That means putting on 37+ miles in two days! Here comes that haunting I warned you about.

4.23.11 noon: 3.7 miles
Trail run with wife. I'm teaching her how to handle the downhills.

4.23.11 1PMish: 8.95 miles
Trail run immediately after wife leaves. Tried to run at a decent pace. More or less succeeded.

4.23.11 8 PMish: 11.1 miles
Late evening stroll. Minus the stroll. My calves felt this the next morning.

Miles: 65.85
Time: 9:40:33
Year-to-date: 618.4 miles

A couple of notes: Even though I cleared my goal miles this week, I didn't get in my speed workout. The trails make up for it slightly - I run hard on all the down hills - but this is a repeated pattern that I need to address. Next week is 65 miles with a long run of ~16 and a running 13.1 at marathon-pace. The latter quality run should help me manage the stress of the last chunk of the upcoming 50Ks and the latter miles for my longer races.

Week in review: 4.4-4.10.11

2011-04-11T06:09:00.003-05:00

This week started excellent. And then I took Thursday off. Friday was a wash because I went directly from work an aid station at the Zumbro 100 from 9 PM to 9 AM. Saturday was spent recovering from my sleep deprivation, and I finally returned to running on Sunday. I had intended on pacing a friend for 20-30 miles on Saturday, but he DNF'd before I got there on Friday night.

Alas, this week was supposed to be a recovery week and I took full advantage of it. My long run on Sunday felt easy and slow despite its pace, and its hills came easier than they have in the past. Three consecutive, full days of rest will do that to you.

4.4.11: 6.6 miles

4.5.11: 3.6 mile warmup; 3 mile tempo run
Unintentional tempo run done on the spur of the moment.

4.6.11 PM 1: 3.5 mile
Trail run with my wife. Her first.

4.6.11 PM 2: 4.8 miles

4.7-4.9.11: zeros
See above. No excuses necessary.

4.10.11 AM: 13.5 miles
Long run for the week. Felt great.

4.10.11 PM: 3.5 mile hike
Same path as trail run above, but walking half of it.

Miles: 35 (does not include hike)
Time: 4:52:12
Year-to-date: 517.3 miles

Up next: 65 miles this week, more than I have ever run in a non-race week. Three quality workouts: long run, fartlek, and either hills or a trail run (likely the latter).

Also, I have added the Voyageur Trail Run, a 50-mile jaunt near Duluth, Minn. to my 2011 race calendar. It will be a tune-up for the Sawtooth 100 just six weeks later. More on that later.

Photo essay: wife's first trail run

2011-04-08T12:00:00.001-05:00

I took my wife on her first trail run on Wednesday. And she loved it. Why ever run on asphalt again?

The proof is in the smile and the mud.

Hers.

Mine.

Review: Zensah Compression Leg Sleeves

2011-04-05T06:37:00.002-05:00

I recently tested Zensah's Compression Leg Sleeves for the minimalist footwear site ToeSalad.com. My review is here. Enjoy.

Week in review 3.28-4.3.11: Switcheroo speed work

2011-04-04T12:00:00.001-05:00

This week was a switcheroo. Last week was supposed to be focused on lactate threshold work. This week was long slow distance with a short interval workout built in (16-24x 200 meter repeats). But last week didn't happen as planned; instead, I failed to complete my speed work and ended up doing back-to-back long runs over the weekend. So I swapped the two weeks. The swap left me with three quality workouts this week: long run, tempo run (37.5 minutes at threshold pace), and the mentioned interval workout.

I was skeptical of the plan. The last time I did the tempo run (35 minutes that time, scheduled only for 30), I was drained for the remainder of the evening. The 200 meter repeats is a personal favorite workout, but it is by no means easy.

The end result: I ran the tempo run and interval work hard and boosted by VDOT by a couple of points for future training. I skipped one day and ended up putting down another long weekend to compensate, including an 18 mile run on Sunday (my longest run this year). The numbers:

3.28.11: 5.1 miles

3.29.11: Interval workout: 1.7 mile warm up, 20x200meter repeats (2.5 miles), 1.7 mile cooldown (5.9 miles for day)
Personal favorite early-season workout.

3.30.11: 7 miles

3.31.11: zero...

4.1.11: Tempo run: 2.1 mile warmup, 5.5 miles @ threshold pace, 1.4 mile cool down (9 miles for day)
Sunshine and determination go a long way toward good runs. Results and excuses are mutually exclusive.

4.2.11 AM:11.75 miles
Good hilly course with Runner's Edge/Mankato Multisport folks.

4.2.11 PM: 2.5 miles
With my favorite person in the world.

4.3.11: 17.8 miles
Longest run year-to-date. Felt awesome.

Week Miles: 59
Week Time: 7:56:57
March Miles: 198.67
March Time: 27:35:30
Year-to-date: 482.3

This week is a different bag. It was supposed to be a low week before the boost to 65 miles/week, but I've already taken a few of those. On top of the usual long run, I'm planning a mixed long run/threshold workout that will surely show me my place. I'll also be manning Aid Station 2 at Zumbro 100 from 9 PM to 9 AM. Sleep deprivation, here I come.

On the benefits of back-to-back long runs

2011-03-31T12:00:00.001-05:00

If there is one golden principal I stick to when training for ultramarathons, it is this: at least once in your season and no later than three to six weeks before your peak race, you need to do back-to-back long runs.

What is a back-to-back (B2B)?

A B2B is doing long runs on consecutive days. I generally run these on weekends. The second run is usually 66 to 75 percent of the first run. Mostly, my B2Bs are 20/15, 30/20, or somewhere in between. By the time I'm done, I've probably run 50 percent or more of my weekly mileage in two workouts.

Why do a B2B?

As an ultrarunner, your bread-and-butter training run is your long run. You maybe run one every week, or two every three weeks. And it is usually a hefty chunk of mileage - 25-33 percent of your weekly total.

But the B2B is a different beast. The idea is to stress your muscles on day two in a manner you're not accustomed to - working them hard by running a long distance while your legs are already tired. The benefits are two-fold. The first is physical. You're introducing a new stressor into your training routine, and from this stress you will gain endurance. The second is mental. By running a long distance when you are already partially fatigued, you simulate the latter stages of an ultra. Your brain takes over, and you train yourself to handle the stress that comes with those latter stages.

If you choose to do a B2B, each run will count as a quality workout. I generally do one or two quality runs per week, and rarely I throw in a third. A week where you are going to crank out 50 percent or more of your weekly mileage in two workouts doesn't need another quality workout. So skip the tempo run and do it another time.

How often should I do a B2B?

I usually do a B2B once every six to eight weeks. In Jack Daniels' training schedules, he recommends using four six-week long training phrases. The latter three of these contain can contain a B2B. If you're following his training emphases, a B2B is proper on weeks where long, slow distance is a focus.

This year, my peak event is the Sawtooth 100. In anticipation for it, I will do a 30/20 B2B six weeks out, a single 20-miler each week for the next two weeks, and then I go into a three week taper where my longest run each week goes from 15 to 10 miles of slow-easy running.

Week in Review 3.21-3.27.11: The 36-mile weekend

2011-03-27T19:49:00.005-05:00

I only ran five days this week, both due to a bit of laziness on my part. A temporary lapse in motivation, perhaps. To make up for it, I inadvertently swapped next week for this one, and racked up 35 miles on back-to-back long runs on Saturday and Sunday. Needless to say, my thighs and hamstrings do not like me right now.

3.21.11: 6.8 miles
Fast 7:30 pace. A little too slow for a tempo run, but it was close

3.22.11: 3.8 miles

3.23.11: Zero
Goose egg #1.

3.24.11: 6.8 miles
Slow and sluggish.

3.25.11: Zero
Goose egg #2.

3.26.11 AM: 11.6 miles
With Mankato Multisport/Runner's Edge. Ran up a 2.5-mile hill.

3.26.11 PM: 9.6 miles
21.6 miles for the day.

3.27.11: 14.4 miles
36 miles for the weekend. Thighs ache, likely delayed-onset muscle soreness from Saturday's hills. A PM run wasn't going to happen.

Miles: 53
Time: 7:14:58
Year-to-date: 423.3 miles

Up next: 60 miles with three quality workouts, including a tempo run and a personal favorite: 200 meter repeats - 16 to 24 of them...

Race Plan: Superior Trail Races Spring 50K

2011-03-25T12:00:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago, I put down the money and signed up for the Superior Trail Races Spring 50K. I ran this same race in 2009 as my first ultra, and looking back, had mixed results. I am a wiser, faster runner now and have a better understanding of my body past the arbitrary 26.2 mark.

Like Surf the Murph, I have a few goals - in order of importance:

Finish
Race hard.
Bomb the downhills (and there are a lot)
Run even splits
Run sub-5 hours

These goals have slightly changed now that I have finished a 50 miler on rolling terrain. As always, finishing is tops, but a well-run race takes precedence over time. The second, third and fourth items go to the quality of the run and the skill by which it is raced. These goals are also in line with the competitive nature of the event. At some point, time becomes irrelevant and you are no longer running against the course or clock, but against competition.

My pace chart is here. Based on 2010 results (and partially 2009, now that I look back), a sub-5 hour finish is likely to put me in the top 20. This year, the races are capped at 250 between the 25K and the 50K and that number was reached last weekend on March 19. I also expect stiff competition near the top. This may push a sub-5 hour finish into the top 25 or 30 spots, but it is by no means shabby. Perhaps even a top-10 finish is possible if I can average 9-minute miles despite all those hills.

I haven't adjusted (nor will I bother to adjust) the paces to correspond to the elevation changes. The SHT travels in and out of valleys and up and over hills. I can't imagine that the elevation gain/loss is much different between the out and back portions. Either way, the start and finish is the same so the gain on one half is the loss of the other and visa versa. I'll run with consistent effort and deal with any differences that way.

I'll have a new crew member, also. A friend of mine from college (who happened to perform my wedding ceremony) will be joining my wife for the race. His support will be welcomed.

900 miles, meet zero miles

2011-03-23T12:00:00.000-05:00

I bought new shoes.

900 miles, meet zero miles.

They should look the same. Once again, I went with Asics Hyperspeed 3s. Why fix what ain't broken?

I purchased the shoes at Marathon Sports in Minneapolis, and I was lucky to get a pair. Asics recently came out with the Hyperspeed 4s, and drastic changes can occur between models rending the new version unusable.

The 4s eliminated the seams on the outsides of the toes. As far as I could tell, this was the only change that was made to the updated model and it was the only change the staff person mentioned to me when I asked about differences.

I went with a size 8 instead of a size 8.5. Two reasons - one practical, one functional. First, the store did not have 8.5s in stock; they only had 8s and 9s. Second, I have been running (almost) all of my miles this year in a thin liner sock. It is the only combination of running shoe and sock that I have found that does not give me blisters over any period of time. (Prior combinations elicited blisters in a certain spot and/or after 10 or so miles.)

First impression: the shoes are cushy, a lot more padded than I remember them being two years ago. Nonetheless, I took them out for their first run on March 14. They ran like flats do - midfoot striking and quick, light steps are mandatory. The sizing was a bit of a crunch at the beginning and I worried about toenail fatalities. But the shoes appeared to stretch a little bit as I worked them in and I expect no issues with normal road use. Trails are another story.

Eventually, the padding will flatten and a hard sole will emerge. Such is the state of my current flats, and at that point they will be fully broken in (some would say needing to be replaced.) I plan to run in them one workout per week starting this week, and add one additional workout each week after that. This gives me about 10 weeks or 55 workouts until they are taking over full-time, and by that time I should be running the Superior Trail Races Spring 50K and have 300+ miles on them.

Finally, I expect these shoes to last between 1,500 and 2000 miles - if not more. My current models have 900+ miles on them and the holes in the uppers only appeared in earnest after I ran over snow-covered trails. Compacted snow is sharp, and I believe some of my postholing steps did the damage. I won't be running any such trails with this pair, so I fully expect to finish the season with them.

Congested headcold week in review: 3.14-3.20.11

2011-03-21T12:00:00.000-05:00

On Saturday, I cheered my wife at the Irish for a Day 10 Mile. She had a fantastic race, beating her PR by several minutes despite running in cold conditions and 30+ mph winds. Smiles abound.

But in the two hours outside in the cold wind, I must have slightly compromised my immune system and/or picked up a bug from someone or something. Sunday the head congestion started in earnest after I returned from a 15 mile run. From that day forward,the week was a bust. I tossed and turned at night, drank water, tea, and consumed more cold meds than I knew what to do with. My mucous factory went into overdrive and shutdown my sense of smell, closed off my sinuses and turned everything else on its head. I'm still feeling a little off as I write this, and hopefully I can kick this thing before my mid-week threshold workout.

I don't regret taking the days off. Better to rest when it is needed than force workouts during illness and prolong the suffering.

3.14.11: 6.8 miles

[Big gap of no running due to head cold, general congestion, and overall miserableness.]

3.19.11: 10.57 miles
Run in sandals and at a good clip, too.

3.20.11 AM: 6.8 miles
Post-thunderstorm trot. No PM run due to congestion.

Miles: 24.17
Time: 3:14:58
Year-to-date: 370.3 miles

Week in review: 3.7-3.13.11

2011-03-14T21:09:00.003-05:00

Big week. 60 miles and my first real speed workout of the year.

3/7/11: 3.8 miles
Running with my wife.

3/8/11 AM: 5.1 miles
Sluggish.

3/8/11 PM: 5.1 miles
Same route, twice in one day.

3/9/11: 6.8 miles
1.9 warm up and 4.9 miles of threshold-speed tempo running. Into the wind.

3/10/11 AM: 3.8 miles

3/10/11 PM: 7.3 miles

3/11/11: 5.1 miles

3/12/11 AM: 0.9 miles
Ran the last section of my wife's 10-mile race with her.

3/12/11 PM: 6.8 miles

3/13/11: 15.1 miles
A true long run; One quarter of the week's mileage in one shot.

Miles: 59.75
Time: 8:33:27
Year-to-date: 342.35

Up next: 60 miles this week with three quality workouts (hill repeats; 10-mile fartlek; and long run).

Death of a shoe

2011-03-10T12:00:00.001-06:00

This is what shoes look like when you've put 865+ miles on them. The soles look remarkably good, but the uppers are shredding slowly. There are at least two holes on the left shoe where I can stick my little finger through. The tread is still there, and I can read some of the writing on the soles (in the heel area) never wore down.

When I bought these back in June of 2009, the salesperson told me that they would last about 150 miles. This back at a time when I was still wearing Asics GT 2140s and still believing that I needed shoes to correct my overpronation (or whatever it was), and that shoes needed to be replaced not when they were incapable of being run in again, but when the interior structure wore down.

And then sometime in 2010, something magical happened. I wore out my GT 2140s and Asics stopped making them. My shoes became the 2140s became 2150s. They got bigger, bulkier and more cloddhopperish. Begrudgingly, I bought a pair.

And I was not impressed. They caused pain in the base of my knee post-run, and my shins never felt right running on them. And for good reason. The shoes were overbuilt, sit many millimeters off the ground, and obnoxiously heavy.

I was forced to do something. I dislike shopping for new running shoes because I see the purchase as an investment. If I can't run in them, the investment was poor and the shoes may be used for general knocking around. But most likely not, because the pain associated with running in the poor investment often translates to walking. So the whole thing becomes a waste of money.

And thus, in the summer of 2010, I did something. I started running in my flats, full time. And soon the miles rolled away. My steps got lighter and quicker because I was no longer burdened with clunky footwear. My form improved, and the phantom knee pain caused by the 2150s went away. Those shoes carried by through my first 50 mile ultra, and I certainly get some weird looks running in tiny shoes all the time. With any luck, they'll last a few hundred more miles and get me through my next 50K.

But my flats are dying. The holes in the uppers will get bigger and shred the mesh. My foot will no longer be neatly encased in them. Feet will slide and cause havoc. They are inching toward retirement, with every mile decreasing whatever distance remains. As of this post, I have run at least 900 miles in them. Who knows how long they will last.

When they are ultimately retired, may they rest in peace.

Week in Review: 2.28-3.6.11

2011-03-06T20:27:00.004-06:00

2.28.11: 10.8 miles; 4.4 was up/down hills
First non-easy or non-long run workout of the year.

3.1.11: 4.6 miles

3.2.11: 6.8 miles

3.3.11: 4.6 miles

3.4.11 AM: 5.2 miles

3.4.11 PM: 3.8 miles
Unintentional but exhilarating tempo run. Perhaps a little too early for such speed.

3.5.11: 5.5 miles (approx.)
First trail run of the year.

3.6.11 AM: 5.1 miles
Slow and easy.

3.7.11 PM: 8.1 miles
More slow and easy. In a nice little snowfall.

MILES: 54.6 (goal: 55)
TIME: 7:40:55
Year-to-date: 282.6 miles

Edited 3.7.11 to correct year-to-date miles - ml

First trail run of 2011

2011-03-05T11:28:00.004-06:00

Saturday morning put me at Seven Mile Creek Park on US 169 between Mankato and St. Peter. In the spirit of Krupika running on snow-covered trails, I checked out the trails.

I found the trails well-packed by a season's worth of walkers and snowshoers. I even saw a man riding a mountain bike. The trail was mostly flat with small rolling hills and an occasional climb out of (and decent back into) the creek valley. I put on about five to six miles in about 55 minutes. The first annual 7 at 7 trail run is on May 21, and my wife is running it as her first trail race.

Using snow shelters for extra bonus warmth

2011-03-02T12:00:00.000-06:00

Until Saturday night, I had never slept in a snow shelter before. I made it seven winters working at a winter camp for boy scouts and supervised the building of umpteen such structures, but had never spent the night in one. Necessity has a funny way of changing such things.

It all came to be because my sleeping system was woefully inadequate for the actual temperatures experienced.

I really have two sleep setups for cold (winter) weather: a -20F degree down bag and a 20F degree MYOG quilt that I put inside a 30F degree down bag. The former can be used in a tent, under a tarp, etc., while the latter is placed inside a bivy. I used this quilt and bag setup in Montana in 2009 and feel comfortable with it to take it down to single digits above zero when combined with insulated clothing.

This weekend, several forecasts said that the Sunday low was zero degrees, and the temp would rise into the low 30s later that day. Perfect testing for my setup in a controlled environment. And then the cold broke loose.

The weekend temperature plunge started Friday night continued into Saturday morning. It was -14F at sunrise on Saturday, and -9F when my crew left base camp a few hours later. I rarely put on my down coat before about 3 pm. This weekend, it was on by 12:45 pm - just a few minutes after getting to camp.

I assessed the situation - I needed to do something. At this pace, the temp would not get above zero during daylight. Once sunset hit, the temp would plummet 10 to 15 degrees until it bottomed out just before dawn the next morning. I did not want to shiver my way to dawn.

Even with wearing everything I had, I needed to get more insulation into my system. Snow was the only thing available. Inspiration hit. When I did the Hudson Bay Expedition in 2005, I bought Tom Brown's survival guide a few days into the trip and carried it with me. I paged through it in the evenings, making mental notes of interesting ideas.

Small is beautiful Brown advised. With that, I started to make a pile of snow. It was about 3.5 feet high and about six feet long. It rounded slightly at the top as most piles do, and angled off the back. I poked foot-long sticks into the sides for a guides later. And then I let it sit for a few hours. I was to make a quinzee, al beit slightly modified.

When the few hours passed, the snow had settled and digging began. With Brown's words in mind, I took a shovel and excavated a coffin-size tunnel out of my pile. I slid myself in to test: my feet were near the back and my shoulders were directly below the door. Perfect.

With that, I unfurled by bivy and in it went my two sleeping pads (full length and 3/4 Ridgerests). Then went my backpack (GG Vapor Trail) to its spot under my feet, the remainder of its contents sitting in the bivy. Sleeping bags were next: first the bag and then the quilt layered inside. The whole package slid neatly into my tunnel.

Nightfall came, and now came the test. I took off my boots (Steger Arctic mukluks) and changed into dry socks. I then removed the boot liners from the moosehide and canvas shells, and placed them on my feet. As always, the mukluks went into my compression sack (itself turned inside out) and into the bag. I slid into the bag, wearing everything I had with me except my damp socks and insulated mittens. I even put hot water in my camp-issued 16 oz Nalgene bottle and threw it in the bag. Up went by parka hood, and my bag hood went over that. There was minimal space between the top of my bivy and the roof of the tunnel, but my insulation was not compressed.

I have never slept so well in the winter as I did that night. As usual, I woke up to urinate twice (1 and 5:30 AM - right on schedule) but was never cold. My feet were sufficiently insulated, and my nose was never cold. Dawn came at 6:30 am and I rose with the sun. I would later learn that the temp bottomed out at -14F - an impressive 20 degrees colder than I had ever taken that sleep system before. I walked back to base camp comfortable and more knowledgeable than when I left just 24 hours before.

My bags paid the price for this knowledge, though. I did not use vapor barriers, and perspiration condensed in my bag, quilt and down parka. Moisture from my breath condensed on and in the shell of my bag in front of my face and collapsed and severely compromised the insulation there (Andrew Skurka faced a similar problem on his Icebox trek). If I had had to spend another night out, I would have needed to spend an hour or so drying my bag in the afternoon sun.

This was not a situation I intend to repeat, but it was inspirational and informative. I can't think of how I could have solved my problem any better, and I am for the wiser because of it. I do not intend to test this again, but its lessons will be used on many trips to come.

February running totals

2011-03-01T19:15:00.000-06:00

February is done, here are the totals.

February totals: 139.5 miles; 19:33:04 hours
Miles/day: 4.98 (February); 4.05 (year-to-date)
Time/day: 00:41:53 (February); 00:34:09 (year-to-date)
Year-to-date: 238 miles; 33:35:37 hours

Also, you an track my running stats on my 2011 training log (also linked in the sidebar at right).

Week in review: 2/21-2/27/11

2011-02-28T21:00:00.001-06:00

This was a week of excuses and correspondingly, no results.

2/21/11: 6.2 miles
The only run of the week.

2/22-2/27/11: nothing
An unintentional rest. Spending the weekend (last one for the winter season) working at a scout camp never, ever helps the running.

---

On another note, today marks day 1 of the second phase of training. This phase is highlighted by hill workouts, fast, short repetitions, some threshold runs and is designed to build strength for the harder, more demanding phase three. Phase 2 lasts eight weeks and ends the last week in April. Tonight I did my first non-long run quality workout of 2011. It was:

Warmup: 3.2 miles slow
2x hill repeats: 1.1 mile up and down (4.4 total); pace comfortably hard
Cooldown: 3.2 miles slow

Total: 10.8 miles in just under 90 minutes. I'll take that. My legs (quads mostly) are a little thrashed and my cooldown time slowed about 11 percent from the warmup.

On tap for the remainder of the week is 55 miles with a 14 mile long run on Saturday.

Challenging conventional wisdom: even/negative splits and steps per minute

2011-02-23T12:00:00.000-06:00

Two dissimilar thoughts compiled here together because they challenge conventional wisdom and everything I have ever been taught about running.

Is running 180 steps per minute the best stride rate?

Not according to Steve Magness at Science of Running.

His basic premise is that there are two ways to increase speed while running. You can either increase your stride rate (steps/minute) or stride length (inches/step). Conventional wisdom, dating back to Dr. Jack Daniels, is that you should only do the latter and run at a constant stride rate. That rate happens to be about 180, and is based on Daniels's personal observations.

However, Magness uses empirical data to demonstrate that runners increase both when they run faster, and runners who only increase length are artificially limiting themselves. Runners can also increase one factor to correct the other. For example, runners who wear big, bulky shoes are likely to overstride and strike the ground with their heels. They can increase their rate to shorten their stride and smooth out their form.

My take: I haven't done the empirical research like Magness has, but I'm buying what he says. I know from personal experience that when I run hard down a hill, my stride rate and length increase to compensate for the assist I'm getting from gravity.

Also, I happen to run lightly and step quickly. When I started running ultras, I transformed by running technique by increasing my stride rate (and the cost of stride length). I did this because the racing flats I ran in required me to take light, quick steps and running in them full-time reinforced this habit.

Is running negative or even splits the only correct way to race?

Not according to former 100-mile world record holder Cavin Woodward. Ian Sharman (new Rocky Raccoon 100 course record holder, who ran even 20-mile splits) gets the hat-tip for linking me to the 1975 Tipton 100 track race.

I'll just quote Ian:

In the race described, Cavin Woodward [. . .] set the world best time at that point for 100 miles in 11:38, but it's the way he did it that amazed me. He ran 2:31 for the marathon, 3:01 for 50k, a world best for 50 miles (4:58) and a world best for 100k (6:25)!

It's just nuts. Woodward finished at 11:38:54. He ran the first 50 in just under 5 hours, and the second 50 in six hours and 40 minutes. That's a huge pace drift, but he won the race and set three world records in the process.

The post at UltraLegends lists the 10-mile and 50-mile splits for the four fastest 100 mile times (including Woodward's race above). The format is not reader-friendly, and UltraStu put them into a table.

The table shows that it is not necessary to run even or negative splits to do well. You just need to go out hard enough to put up a good time and then taper off just enough to hold onto your time goal and hold off your opponents. The idea is that everyone slows down over time, so why not run hard when you're fresh? It makes a compelling argument, especially given Woodward's accomplishment above.

My take: I try to run even or negative splits in ultras, and I measure this by effort (and often, but not necessarily, pace). I do this because it feels better to me. I get a constant effort, and I don't feel like I went out too hard and lost it all in the end. Running even splits is more comfortable to me, and it is a goal I strive for in every race. Until that comfort level changes or I am looking for a speed boost, I'm going to stick with what works.

Week in review: 2/14-2/20/11

2011-02-21T12:00:00.000-06:00

This week saw lots of miles and record-setting blizzard on Sunday. We had 30+ temps several days this week and I wore shorts Monday-Thursday.

2/7/11: 6 miles
Two with wife and four solo.

2/8/11 AM: 4 miles

2/8/11 PM: 7 miles

2/9/11: 8 miles
Four two-mile runs (to and from wife's yoga class). She ran first and last with me.

2/10/11: 3.8 miles

2/11/11: 7.5 miles
With Mankato Multisport folks.

2/12/11: nothing
Blizzard! Running nigh impossible.

Miles: 41.4
Time: 5:50:42
Year to date: 206.3 miles

I'm not sure what to do about missing Sunday's run. I was going to do a double on Saturday, but was kept busy by other things. So I effectively missed a long run and was short about 13 miles on my goal for the week. Oh well.

Up next week is my last week of base building before training kicks in. Plan: 55 miles /w 14-mile long run (day?).

Week in review: 2/7-2/13/11

2011-02-13T18:47:00.003-06:00

Along the same lines as Tony Krupicka, I will be posting week-in-reviews as I progress toward the Sawtooth 100 in September.

2/7/11: 4.8 miles

2/8/11: 6.8 miles
AM run in -18F/-35F windchill!

2/9/11: 6.6 miles

2/10/11: 3.8 miles

2/11/11: 9 miles
Friday night fun run.

2/12/11 AM: 10.5 miles
5x loops around Sibley Park /w Mankato Multisport. Did some slight hill work on ups and downs.

2/12/11 PM: 3.8 miles
First two-a-day of the year, and in shorts no less!

2/13/11: 7.7 miles
Sunrise run spoiled by clouds.

Week total: 53 miles
Total time: 7:26:30 (h:m:s)
Year-to-date: 164.9 miles

---

I was supposed to run about 50 miles this week, the sixth week of the year. I have two more seeks of base building left (essentially the rest of this month) and then hill, repetitions and Dr. Jack Daniels's Phase II training kicks in.

Clothing Matrix

2011-02-12T16:41:00.003-06:00

In honor and with homage to Chris Crocker's (in)famous Clothing Matrix, I am putting together my own such list. My idea is to be able to recommend clothing combinations based on temperature and windchill (in groups of 5 degree increments lets say). It's a work in progress right now with only a handful of days of empirical data, so look for it toward the end of this month. I'll post it in Google doc form, as always.

Gear for winter running

2011-02-07T12:00:00.000-06:00

Winter running presents a challenge. On one hand, your body is a tremendous furnace. Stoke it with food, water, and start moving and you'll generate sufficient heat to keep you going in the coldest of weather. On the other, your need some amount of protection from the elements. Not insulation per se, but something. Too much and you'll overheat and sweat out your clothes; too little and you'll freeze. A middle is necessary. This is an easier task when you are moving slowly or sedentary, but it becomes much more difficult when you are generating so much heat from exercise.

Such is the issue with winter running. This post is an attempt to explain my clothing choices for winter running. It is not based on any scientific method; I never set out a hypothesis with the intent to prove or disprove it. It is (particularly) based on my experience running this past month and all of the cold-weather months before it.

Perhaps a ridiculous picture would best illustrate:

Top to bottom, here's what I have on:

Windproof balaclava
Thin fleece headband (for ears)
Windshirt, half-zip, hooded
Thin base layer top
Thin fleece gloves
Spandex compression shorts
Fleece tights /w gridded interior (Patagonia R1 fleece)
Wool socks
Marathon-style racing flats

The above was worn in ~10F temps with 15-25 mph winds. The windproof balaclava was an absolute necessity. When I returned, I looked like this:

The frost makes it interesting. When I fail to ventilate my windshirt enough, sweat condenses on the inside of the shirt and freezes in a thin layer of frost. When I open it up, the frost just falls to the floor and melts.

I tend to have a few other things in my closet that tend to take our running:

Hooded windshirt (worn when in lesser wind when I don't need to protect my
Hooded fleece shirt with thumbloops (for really, really cold weather)
Windproof ear muffs (for warn weather, with wind)
Baselayer tights (for ~20F and warmer weather)

With variations of what I was wearing in the photo and the ideas above, I can handle just about anything most days will throw at me.

How can you change from fall running to winter? The biggest change in clothing comes in the form of tights and the windshirt. Your legs have too much exposed skin and it is generally too windy in the winter to show off your runners legs. However, I have not found windpants necessary, and I use a pair of tights that are designed for warmth and ventilation.

Similarly, a windshirt is absolutely necessary in 95 percent of winter running conditions. I just so happens that I live on top of a river valley now and am surrounded by flat farmland in three directions. the wind picks up here and doesn't really stop. A windshirt helps prevent strength-sapping wind from freezing your core. With your core warm, you can generally wear less clothes on the rest of your body.

A friend of mine, Chris Crocker, has put together a matrix of clothing choices for weather that goes all the way down to a deep-winter -26F. Chris heads up Mankato Multisport, a local triathalon group in Mankato. I joined it (it's free!) for camaraderie during winter runs.

As a final note, please remember that winter does a couple weird things to your body: first, you are breathing in drier air and expelling moist air. Winter dehydrates you with every breath, so drink plenty of water. Second, everything takes longer in winter. Take it slow, especially around the curves (you could slip if you don't!) and run for time, not distance.

Enjoy.

Running Stats for January 2011

2011-02-02T06:27:00.003-06:00

Here are my running stats for January 2011.

Distance: 99.3 miles
Time: 14:02:23
Average pace: 8:29
Running days: 18
Miles/day: 3.2
Miles/running day: 5.51

This is about 30 miles less that January 2010. It is not something I can too concerned about. I have been able to get in my long runs on weekends because of my participation in Mankato Multisport, and have recently completed Day 2 of Week 4 (third column) of Hundred Pushups; day 3 is today and a progress test is on Friday. The mileage is also less than my average month goal to hit 2011 miles this year, but this month is for base building and not high mileage.

In February, I plan to run more consistently and seek to run closer to 120 miles.

Looking forwards and backwards, all at the same time

2011-01-02T13:00:00.001-06:00

2010 is over. In it, I devoted much of my time to non-running pursuits - like finishing law school, taking the bar exam, and getting married - yet I managed to finish my first 50 mile race all while running one of my lowest yearly mileages in recent memory. I also spent only a handful of nights outdoors and only went on one non-scouting camping/hiking trip.

I don't like resolutions. I prefer to make goals, and the start of a new year happens to be an excellent time to announce these goals. Here are my running-related goals for 2011 and beyond, listed in likely chronological order of completion:

Complete the Hundred Pushups program
Finish Superior Trail Races Spring 50K and run sub-5 hours
Pace at FANS 24 hour run: my wife for the first 12, and a friend for the rest
Finish Afton Trail Race 50K and run sub-5 hours
Finish Superior Trail Races 100 mile (Sawtooth 100) in the allotted time
Finish the Mankato Marathon and run sub-3 hours
Sign up for Arrowhead Ultra 135 (February 2012)
Enter (and win!) the lottery for Western States 2012
Run 2011 miles this year
Volunteer at various ultras in MN
Run as many miles as I can in sandals
See how many miles I can put on my racing flats before they need to be replaced (600+ right now and going strong!)
Finish Arrowhead Ultra 135 (February 2012)
Finish Western States 2012

How am I going to do this? I figure that all I need is more consistent training and then I'll be able to physically and mentally handle the longer races. I only ran about 840 miles in 2010, and it was really divided into two chunks: January and February, when I ran every day; and the 10 weeks or so leading up to the 50 miler during which I ran almost every day. That's only about 19 weeks out of the year, and I know I can do better. In the course of this running, I'll likely follow a self-made training plan like I have in the past.

Race Report: Surf the Murph 2010

2010-11-08T08:00:00.000-06:00

I finished Surf the Murph - a 50 mile footrace through the Murphy-Hanrehan Park Reserve in Savage MN. And the day after I was far less sore than I was last night.

The race started oddly enough. My wife and I, with friend in tow in a separate vehicle, left our apartment at 5:05 am. The race started at 6 am. Her directions took us (correctly) a different way than the directions I had pulled up the night before (mine were also correct). End result: We pulled into the parking lot at 5:55 am or so. Quick! Get my bag! Pin my number! Head to the start! Return to car for dropped headlamp! Start!

That morning I had a few goals, in order of importance: 1) Finish; 2) Finish in the daylight; 3) run even/negative splits; 4) run sub-9 hours; 5) bomb the downhills; 6) finish in the top 5.

The race was three 16.8 mile laps around the park. The course was generally wide horsetrails with some singletrack that went through fields and woods where there should be no trail. This latter part would cut up my shins and make my wife cringe when she put antibiotic ointment on them post-race.

Each lap was split into three sections because of the terrain. The first five or so miles were walk uphill, bomb down hill. There was an aid station at mile 3 of each lap, and it essentially marked the halfway point to this first section. The first section ended at the second aid station, a parking lot for the horse camp at the park. This aid station was complete with restroom facilities (necessary on the first lap to cure intestinal issues). The second section is more or less flat and carries the runners through fields of tall grasses. There is one gnarly spot, where the trail goes through what looks like knocked down thick vegetation. There is soft ground underneath, so the runners are forced to be light on their feet and run on the knocked down plants like they are planks over a peat bog. This section is about 7 miles long and there is a third aid station at about mile 9. This section ends with a return to the horse camp, al beit coming from another direction, at mile 12.4. The final 4.4 miles are a return to the rolling hills that must be walked up, and then the lap ends and the whole process starts over again. Sounds, easy, right?

Lap One

The first lap started easy enough. There was a crowd, and we were all eager to get going. I was mindful one lesson: start slow. I had intended to run even splits and wanted to come into the first aid station at about 30 minutes - 10 min/mi. Instead, I came in at somewhere between 27 and 28. That's when I took put one of my racing strategies into play: skip aid stations. If I didn't need to stop, I didn't. End result? I would spend less time not moving, carrying more fluids than necessary, or ingesting things I didn't need. The strategy worked, and I ended up skipping four of the 14 aid stations on the course and only spent 15 or so seconds each at the remainder.

I figured that I had put myself in about 7th or 8th place once the race really began a few miles in and the crowds thinned out. I was bombing down the hills and passing people in the process. Lots of folks did not run the downhills and I used the hills to get a few seconds on them. I then slowed down to my normal cruising speed (essentially the same speed as anyone behind me) and maintained my edge. As more and more hills came, I added more and more distance between me and the person behind me.

I came into the horse camp at about 56 minutes. I had slowed down enough to get into a comfortable pace and manage the nausea and intestinal distress that had been affecting me for since 5:30 that morning. When I pulled into the horse camp, I was behind three runners: a woman in a purple tank (a lot more on her later), a gut with forearm sleeves, and a man with a bike jersey on. I ended up using the facilities at the horse camp and lost a few minutes on those folks, but it was worth it. I loaded up my bottle with a 50/50 mixture of HEED and water.

I then started the flat section, and I turned my headlamp off at about 7:15 am. I intentionally skipped the third aid station (at mile 8.2 or so) and plunged into the singletrack-where-there-was-no-trail-before.

I caught my first runner, the man with the bike jersey, at about mile 15, just after the horse camp, round 2. I had seen the runner leave the camp and I was eager to catch him. He had passed me a while ago in the darkness. I worked hard to catch him, pushing the flats and working the downhills and finally passed him on a downhill about half a mile from the end of the first lap. I would never see him again. As a bonus for working to pass him and having fast transitions in aid stations, I also passed the man with the forearm sleeves. He was standing in the aid station while I motored out.

At the finish was my wife. She loaded me up with Pringles and a homemade chocolate chip cookies and I filled up with 75/25% HEED/water. I again pounded down a class of Coke and was off. I had finished the first lap in 2:50 and based on information I obtained later in the race, I was running in 5th place.

Lap two

The second lap started out the same as the first, only this time I could see the daunting hills I had run down with more clarity. Some of them were downright scary, reminiscent of the hills at Afton State Park and the race that is run there in July. I once again skipped the first aid station and plugged along the best I could with the hills. I was still running the downhills well and felt comfortable even though I was 20 miles in.

At some point, I had caught on the woman in the purple tank. I don't remember where it was, maybe at an aid station or when she was using the facilities, but either way, she caught me and passed me somewhere around mile 25 or so, right around the third aid station. And I panicked. All systems went haywire, adrenaline pumped through me, and my right hamstring, which had begun to give me problems, had relaxed. I came through the half-way point at 4:27.

I was so perplexed by her presence that I needed to pass her again. So I motored along and tried to drop her on the downhills. I was successful in that I passed her, but she did not go away.

When I pulled into the horse camp for the second time on lap 2, I was worried at how long I could keep up my strenuous pace. I had just killed the flat section and had 20 miles to go. I knew she wasn't going to go away and my confidence faltered.

She and I would go back and forth like this at every aid station until the final trip to the horse camp. The situation would go as follows: I would come into the aid station having been passed anywhere to one-half to a mile back. I would get Pringles, a cookie, HEED and drink some Coke like it was in a shot glass and blast out. I would pass the woman in the purple tank on a downhill, and try to drop her. The sugar and caffeine from the Coke would power me for about 3 miles and then I would slow down and I would get caught.

Final lap

On the final lap, I came into the aid station still panicking. My wife told me that I needed to put on new socks, and I refused. I didn't want to take the time and besides, neither my shoes nor socks were broken, so I refused to move them. If it ain't broke, don't fix it. She withheld Pringles unless I changed, so I loaded up on HEED, slammed some Coke and left without them. I had finished the second lap in 5:50 - I had slowed down only 10 minutes from first lap to second.

I came into the first aid station knowing that I needed to get something. A cookie, anything. I grabbed a store-bought chocolate chip cookie and met the woman in the purple tank once again. This time, I relayed some information to her: there was a man in a white shirt in front of us, about a hundred yards up. The aid station workers said he was 18.

I set my sights on him and took off down the hill out of the aid station. I passed him a mile or so later when I bombed passed him on a downhill. Unfortunately, he didn't go away.

I entered the horse camp in 4th. My wife was there again and the issue with the socks was over. My routine stayed the same and I entered the flat section. Here I suffered. I slowed down and got caught by the 18-year-old on a long flat section before we entered a field, and then by the woman in purple 1.5 miles from the horse camp. At this point, I was gassed - there wasn't a whole lot left in me.

I came into the horse camp and crouched to ease the muscles in the thigh. I got water from a bottle and gave my wife my gloves (which had lived in the waistband of my shorts since 8 am) and my bottle (in an effort to increase speed by decreasing weight). I took two cups of Coke and went out. When asked how I was feeling, I told my wife that "I'm dying." A better word choice would have been to say that I was fading, and fast. She told me that the next four miles were the easiest of my life.

She wasn't entirely wrong, though. I started to sputter on the hills and my mind lapsed a time or two in that last section, but I kept going. Another woman caught me shortly after I left the aid station and I fell back to 7th. Strange things happen during those long minutes. I turned onto autopilot, just trying to put one foot in front of the other. I couldn't zip down the hills anymore - my hamstrings were too shot handle the force.

Finally, I came down the final hill and saw my wife. She jogged in the last 100 yards with me and I had finished. Unofficially, I had come in at 9:04:00. I went over to the woman in purple, shook her hand, and told her that she ran a fantastic race. I then went and sat on a bench and tried to recover. The longer I sat, the more pain I experienced, until I said enough and told my wife that we had to go.

In the car, I drank water and coke, and ate what I could. That night the muscle soreness started to show and I tossed and turned throughout the evening. As the days passed, my soreness subsided and I was back at 100 percent five days after the run.

Training, etc.

Going into the race, I had put in about 10 weeks of training, counting 1.5 weeks or so of solid tapering. I ran about 50 miles per week, with one to three hard workouts a week. I did long runs on Saturdays, semi-long runs on Sundays, and I tried to fit in a speed workout on Tuesdays or Wednesdays.

I built my training program around the work in Dr. Jack Daniels's Running Formula. It is the same text that my high school CC coach trained me on back in my 5K days, and it worked beautifully then. Why not now?

I credit my success to a few key workouts. To quote ultrarunner and coach Matt Hart, "You can have excuses or results. Not both." I wanted results, so I knew I had to put the work in. First, I put in my time on my long runs. I did 22+ mile runs for three consecutive weeks before the race, starting six weeks out (week 4 in my log). Second, I did lactate threshold workouts. I did three of these, starting on about week 3 and another one every two weeks or so. Finally, I did treadmill walking as training for walking the hills. In short, I set the treadmill to a 15% incline and walked it for 25 minutes at speeds between 2.5 and 3.5 mph. I also did other miscellaneous workouts. Very early I did 16x200m repeats, a favorite workout of fine for early-season strength building. I also did gobs and gobs of lunges, plank-style ab work and participated in the One Hundred Pushups program. Biking 15 miles a day, five days a week to and from work helped, too.

What's next?

I don't have anything planned at this time. My next race will likely be the Superior Trail Races 50K in May and I intend to crack 5 hours. The big hairy goal for next year is to finish the Supeior Trail Races Fall 100 Miler.

Results: Survery of tarp users at BPL

2010-04-05T15:09:00.003-05:00

Survey of Tarp Users (with graphs!). I participated in this survey, and the results speak for themselves.

If you had to start again, knowing what you know now, what would you do different?

2010-03-07T12:00:00.000-06:00

Facially simple question: If you had to start backpacking (and purchasing or making gear) all over again, where would you start?

First, a story: I discovered REI during my first year of college and I spent hours perusing its racks. My first purchase was a 4400 cubic inch backpack that weighed 4.25 lbs (a full 4 lbs more than my lightest backpack right now). I also bought an REI Halfdome 2, which also weighed somewhere north of 5 lbs (including footprint and stakes).

My lightweight epiphany came sometime after these purchases when a friend of mine showed me his homemade silynylon backpack that was designed on the frameless packs of Ray Jardine. I was floored. Here was a backpack that weighed in at 16 oz that had the same functional capacity as my heavy, overbuilt backpack.

So where would I start? I would read Beyond Backpacking first, and do it at a time before 1999 when I went to Isle Royale with my scout troop. And I would have thrust myself into the make-your-own realm. My mother is a fantastic seamstress, and I would have asked her for her assistance. Back then, my funds were limited and the thrifty nature of making your own appealed to that nature. Making my gear early may also serve to limit the consumerism pressure to constantly exchange and replace gear for lighter alternatives. This would have put me in a good position to develop my so-called "Big Three" (shelter system, sleeping system, backpack system) to somewhere near four pounds (1 lb tarp system; 1 lb backpack; 2 lb quilt + pad system). And the rest of the system would have developed from there according to the principles of lightweight backpacking.

Instead, I carried too much weight for too long and spent too much money and time on heavy alternatives that I thought were essential or necessary. I do not regret it, but I wish my epiphany had come earlier.

Sunshine and snow melt on the SHT

2010-03-06T12:00:00.000-06:00

I spent Feb. 26-28 on my favorite section of the Superior Hiking Trail: Beaver Bay to Highway 1. The weekend was fabulous - the weather was warm, and with the exception for Sunday morning, there was no cloud in the sky. The weather was so warm throughout the weekend, I hiked in my base layer top for most of Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning into the afternoon. Rarely did I have anything else on my torso besides my top and sunglasses.

I was the first obvious human visitor to the area between somewhere south of Penn Creek and Mt. Trudee in a while. The trail was obvious because of prior indentations (and subsequent snowfall), but there were no fresh tracks. The trail register at the east fork of the Twin Lakes Trail confirmed that what I thought: I was the first person to make an entry in the log since jan 2, 2010, a span of eight weeks.

I also saw only one person physically on the trail, and he was out walking his dog. I saw no other hikers. From my vantage point atop the adjacent ridges, I saw some persons icefishing on Bear and Bean lakes, and two cross country skiers on Bear Lake.

There were at least more recent visitors in the section between Penn Boulevard and Penn Creek. Unfortunately, some snowmobiles south decided to carve their path on the SHT. It made walking easy, but it does not lessen the intrusion. The SHT crisscrosses numerous snowmobile trails, and the trail clearly marked with "Foot Traffic Only" or "No Motorized Vehicles." Signs mean what they say: snowmobilers, stay off.

The trail section between Mt. Trudee and through Tettegouche State Park to Highway 1 was much more compacted, likely because of visitors to the park. The compacted trail pretty much started at the summit of Mt. Trudee and wound its way back through the park.

Somewhere in Tettegouche State Park in amid its cedar forests is a climb dubbed The Drainpipe. It is the toughest single climb on the SHT, and and it reminds me of the Hillary Step, a 40-foot climb on Mt. Everest only 269 vertical feet from the summit (although no where near as difficult). To climb up this section, I had to click up the heel bars on my snowshoes and take it one slow step at a time. This photo does not do it justice.

Because I did an out-and-back, I had the pleasure of going down and then up the Drainpipe. I can compare the two only as such: going down was likely more dangerous because my feet could have more easily slipped out from underneath me (landing me on my butt), but going up was harder because of the single-step/rest-step method I used to get up.

It was the second weekend out with my Betalight. I had initially wanted to modify the anchors by adding ladder lock buckles to the corners, but I did not get the chance to do that before I left. This would allow me to get a tight pitch, and to tighten the pitch throughout the evening should the silnylon sag or the snow shift. Instead, I pitched the shelter as tight as a could, then set up the shelter. My poles (115 cm Gossamer Gear LightTrek 3s) were too short to get a tight pitch, so I had to add rocks under the poles to boost them slightly. This tightened the pitch, and created vents along the base of the shelter because the pitch was not tight to the ground.

I spent Saturday evening on a hill just outside the park boundaries. The moon rose over the lake, leaving a glow over the lake and throwing shadows from everything. It was one of the best campsites I've been at in a while.

Being on top of a hill, it was breezy. I closed up the door to keep drafts off my chin and expected heavy condensation on the interior walls throughout the night. But when I woke up, there was minimal condensation on the interior walls, just some mild condensation directly above my face. The ground-level vents created by the pitching method created sufficient ventilation to prevent an icing, too.

Here is my Final 2.26-2.28.10 Gear List (Google Spreadsheet). You'll notice that I have not calculated my base weight. This was not intentional, but in hindsight it is less important in winter because your clothing system changes throughout the day - you're simply adjusting layers more often.

I made two last-minute gear-list changes: In my initial gear list, I cut out my SMC Snowstakes to save approximately 8 oz off my pack weight. But I added them back in out of sheer convenience. I also listed my sole base layer bottom as a pair of GoLite Stride shorts. But I brought along (and wore) my new Patagonia R1 Bottoms instead because I wanted to have a base layer over my knees.

Taking the snowstakes was the correct decision. I got into camp Friday night at around 12:30 am, and the stakes were convenient. I did not have to go searching for sticks, and the stakes sliced into the packed snow of the designated campsite. However, I should not have worn my R1 bottoms. The temperature was too high for their use, and I was sweating on my legs throughout the day. That all said, as soon as I stopped the bottoms dumped heat, just as the fabric is designed to do.

Because of anticipated weather conditions, I switched from my MSR Dragonfly, a white gas stove, to an MSR PocketRocket, a top-mount canister stove. Canister stoves are not traditionally used in the winter because the temperatures tend to be below the boiling point of the fuel in the canister. I use MSR canisters (almost exclusively), which contain a mixture of isobutane and propane. Isobutane boils at +10F, and propane boils at -43.8F (chart from BPL). Like white-gas stoves, the fuel for a canister stove must be in a gas form to burn efficiently. Thus, when the temps drop below +10F, the canister will start to burn propane almost exclusively, and when that fuel runs out, the stove stops dead. Now, take into effect Boyle's law (as pressure decreases (through using the stove), the temperature decreases) and the canister can cool below +10F and cause the stove to stop working despite the canister being two-thirds full.

The weather cooperated with the stove. The daytime temps were in the mid 20s to mid 30s. I also warmed the canister inside my jacket, and on Sunday (photo posted above) I kept the sun shining on the canister throughout the snowmelt.

It takes about the same amount of fuel to melt snow as to bring 40F water to approximately 180 degrees. According to BPL testing, the PR used an average of 8.3 g of fuel to bring 16 oz of water to a boil under optimal conditions. My testing is yields similar results.

I was surprised by the stove's performance: I used 93 g (of a full 227 g canister) to melt approximately seven cookpots of 25 oz water. I also boiled a small amount of water for oatmeal on Saturday; this amount is not included in the calculations below. I was using the MSR Titan Kettle, which holds 850ml/28.75 oz of fluid brim-full, and my melts were mostly full, but never brim full. Thus, I believe my fuel consumption and water melting data are conservative estimates. All total, I melted 175 oz, or approximately 11 pints, over the course of 48 hours. Running the numbers, I used approximately 8.45 g/pt.

Finally, I did have one major problem with my boots because my feet were wet from Saturday afternoon until I got to my car on Sunday. The snow was melting and despite the GoreTex liner in my boot, my feet were wet.

Problem diagnosis: I do not think snow got in over my boots because I was wearing over-the-calf gaiters. My pants were wet on the outside of the lower part of the gaiters, but this is from condensation on the inside of the packcloth of the gaiters. I do not think it was from excessive perspiration. I was wearing heavy winter socks (SmartWool Mountaineering), but my right sock was wetter than my left (on both days) and on Sunday afternoon (in the sunshine, temps well north of 32F) I wrung water out of my right socks. I think there is a failure of the Gore-Tex lining (similar to the hole I wore in my Saloman on the SHT in 2008), and I'm going to contact Innov-8 to see if it is a warranty issue. I love the boots, but this is unacceptable.

BACKPACKER's gear guide as a guilty pleasure

2010-03-05T21:55:00.001-06:00

"Yeah, but those [packs] are made for people who carry f***ing frying pans" - my fiancee's comment as to the packs highlighted by BACKPACKER's annual gear guide

That said, BACKPACKER's annual Gear Guide is a guilty pleasure for me.

I love it because of it nails its perceived purpose so well: it is a compilation of gear of all types, with data on each and spotlight reviews on selected products (more on these in a moment). It is information based on empirical testing. And I have no doubt they beat the crud out of the stuff they test. (Sometimes, they go way, way too far and impose unrealistic expectations on hikers.)

Two sections are most important to me: packs and tents (shelters). I generally ignore shoes because I believe they are so fit-dependent. I also focus less on bags because I have two bags I never intend to replace, and down fill and shell materials can only get so good. Also, last time I checked Western Mountaineering and Feathered Friends (along with Valandre and Integral Designs, and to a lesser extent, Marmot), build the best bags out there, or at least have the best reputations. There are others, too.

BACKPACKER did many things particularly well this year. In no particular order, they first included a listing of all of the Editor's Choice winners from 1993 to 2010 (all 193 of them) and ranked them for their longitivity. Their rankings were, from worst to first, "Seemed Smart at the time," "Casualty of bad sales or better design," "Gone, but not forgotten," "Thank god for eBay and Craigslist," "Still around but competitors have caught up," and "Still high on staff gift registry." I'm a big fan of the first and fourth.

Second, they put together a list of stuff that just lasts. A brief perusal of the list reveals some time-honored favorites from some of the most reputable companies out there: MSR XGK (now XGK-EX); Thermarest Z-rest pads; Patagonia Capilene and Regulator fabrics (which includes the R1 Hoody); a Western Mountaineering bag; and a Feathered Friends jacket. I'm a huge fan of this pull-out section because it demonstrates that buying gear that lasts is more important that constant upgrading and replacing when the latest and greatest comes out. And this cuts directly against the consumerism that is promoted on the surface of the Guide.

Finally, BACKPACKER included mini reviews in their database listing. This is an excellent way to add more information to their guide for items that do not necessarily warrant a spotlight review while keeping space to a premium.

However, each year, I have strong disagreements with the highlighted choices, particularly in the lightweight categories. Items are too heavy, too overbuilt, etc.

So lets start with the packs. From an initial standpoint, I disagree with dividing packs into daypacks, weekend packs, and weeklong packs. I disagree because when your distance goes up, the only thing that should change in your pack is food and fuel i.e. consumables. You shouldn't need to carry more clothes, or extra stuff that would fill up a 5,248 cubic inch pack (Here's looking at you Arc'teryx Altra). And necessarily, the packweight goes sky-high. Take the Altra again, which weighs in a a hefty 5 lbs. Other heavyweight winners: REI XT 85/75 and the Osprey Aether 70 (4 lb. 15 oz in medium).

Also, look a the testers carried loads in equal to or in excess of 40 lbs (Black Diamond Infinity 60 p. 64), 50 lbs (Altra, p. 64) or heavier (50-70 lbs, p. 66). The biggest load carried by a tester was 72 lbs. I would like to know what that person was carrying that it added up to that much weight. I also wondered how far they got with it. What is in these monstrous loads that pushes them that high? Are they carrying full-on winter gear or going three weeks without resupply? If not, then they are just reinforcing an idea that if you carry a bigger pack, you can and should carry big loads. It's a vicious cycle, too: carry a heavy tent and you need a heavy pack that can carry it, and then you need heavy boots to help support you ankles. And because you have all that space in the pack, you should just fill it up, too. Also, a tent shelf? Seriously Arc'yeryx. It's about the worst place to put something that dense because it will move the center of gravity of your pack (and you, too) down and behind you. (Lightweight Backpacking and Camping, Beartooth Mountain Press, 2006, Jordan, ed., p. 56-58) This forces you to lean forward more to compensate, otherwise you would fall over. (See Anatomy of a Gear Review, p. 9.)

And the ironic thing is that on the bottom of the Altra entry (outside the Editor's Choice awards section) is an interesting little tip: "Make your own ultralight pack. Trim too-long straps and cut off doodads you don't use; ditch the top kid and framestays." Ha! You can only cut out so much weight from cutting straps. I've cut two ounces off my Vapor Trail, which has notoriously long straps. But the pack itself still weighs in at 34 oz and change. The real weight is in the padding, frame and the fabric.

Another ironic statement, this time coming from the tent section (but applicable to the packs section, too): "Don't be seduced by 'Everest-ready' gear or features you don't use. Buy less expensive - and lighter - products made for what you really do." My argument goes as such: unless you're seriously hard on your gear (enter mountaineers, off-trail bushwackers, and others - you know who you are), you don't need the bombproof fabrics presented on these packs, or at least not all over the place. For example, I'm glad my Vapor Trail has a heavyweight Cordura fabric on the bottom, but it's even better that silnylon is used for the majority of the pack.

But enough about packs. Let's talk about shelters. I'd like to reiterate the "Everest-ready" statement, above. Here's what it means for tents: unless you're facing heavy snowloads, gale-force winds or other worst-case scenario situations, you don't need a tent designed for such. If you do, you know who you are.

Onto the critique: the winner for a "Roomy Ultralight" is a 47 oz, $350 shelter, the NEMO Meta 2P. This is not ultralight by any means. The TarpTent DoubleRainbow weigh in at less than this, plus it has vertical walls and is cheaper. The Meta 2P looks like a Black Diamond Betalight with a bug netting insert. The Meta 2P earned an Editor's choice, so the BACKPACKER eds. must like it, but I criticize their categorization.

Other two person shelters are variations on a two-pole dome tent design: Sierra Designs LT Strike 2 and Zolo 3, Kelty Gunnison Pro, Mountain Hardwear Skyledge 2 and Drifter 3, REI Cirque ASL 2. I could include the Hilleberg Jannu in this category also, but it has an additional pole above the door and Hilleberg is outside the category of the others (bonus points for being successfully used on a Seven Summits attempt).

Another issue: neither tarps nor floorless shelters were given spotlight reviews. The past year or so has been highlighted by the expansion of cuben fiber as a tarp fabric, and it was not presented in the gear guide. As for floorless selters, the Marmot Haven 2P looks like a floorless shelter, but its floor is removable. But there are no other shelters that lack a floor. What gives?

But I digress. If BACKPACKER knows their audience, and this is what their audience wants to read, then let them sell it. I'll continue to carry a 3 oz silnylon rucksack and like it.

Rab (corporate parent) acquires Integral Designs

2010-03-04T19:01:00.002-06:00

From Trailspace.com (which is a re-print of this press release): Rab's corporate parent, Equip Outdoor Technology, Ltd. has acquired Integral Designs. Check out the release for details.

Also, check out the BPL discussion (membership not required).

Imagine that: more down means a warmer sleeping bag

2010-02-23T18:01:00.004-06:00

No surprise: having 20 percent more down than other comparable sleeping bags means a warmer sleeping bag. Review of Sierra Designs Nitro 30 sleeping bag from BPL (membership required).

Update: other new products from BPL

2010-02-22T18:22:00.002-06:00

Just a link on this one: upcoming 2010 BPL products. I'm most excited about the Cocoon parka.

Would you pay $1,250 for this backpack?

2010-02-22T12:00:00.000-06:00

Enter the CiloGear NWD 75L. It's billed as a Seven Summits pack, and the cost is likely representative of the fabric, among other things. Dan McHale does packs in full Dyneema at an enormous cost, so I can't say that the price is out of line.

Cilo Gear is a small company and on my list of Cottage Gear Manufacturers. From everything I've heard, they build absolutely bombproof packs, too. That said, $1,250 is a bunch of change for a backpack. But if you need it, you need it.

New two-person cuben fiber tarp from BPL

2010-02-22T10:05:00.003-06:00

Introducing the Stealth NANO (see also, threaded discussion). The specs and features look fantastic, and may top out any other competitor out there:

Trapezoidal dimensions that (may) fit two people: 8.5 x 5.66 x 9 (head/foot/ridge)
Low weight and sold as a complete package : 4.95 oz, which includes tarp, spectra guylines, and titanium stakes
Stronger fabric: 0.8 oz/yd^2 cuben fiber
Catenary ridgeline
Bonded seams: no stitches at all

The Stealth NANO is a direct competitor to the likes of MLD Grace Solo/Duo tarps (cuben fiber), Gossamer Gear SpinnTwin (spinnaker), the Oware CatTarps in cuben, and cuben tarps from Zpacks.com.

Now what should take some pause: the cost factor. Its MRSP is $329.99/317.99 (public/member), but is out on an initial pre-purchase sale and down to $269.99/259.99. Thus, even with the pre-purchase sale, the Stealth NANO is at the higher end of the spectrum. Only the Oware CatTarp 1.5 in cuben $319 costs in the same realm. Next are the MLD tarps, and then the SpinnTwin and Zpacks tarp.

I imagine BPL is not worried so much about this. Ryan Jordan has publicly stated that he builds gear for the BPL members (discussion about upcoming BPL Absaroka pack) and not the general public. BPL's audience is the folks this kind of tarp is specifically made for. Also, the production run sounds small, so get it quick (which could boost the production cost that BPL then must pass on to its customers).

BPL's does not review their own gear, so we're just going to have to wait until someone ponies up the change for one of these, and then puts it through the test of a thru-hike for some real-world results. Knowing how Ryan Jordan likes to test gear (the initial concepts of the BPL Beartooth Hoody were in the 2006 Arctic1000, and it was released some two years later), this one has likely already been put through the paces.

Quick hitters from my last winter weekend with scoutsin 2010

2010-02-22T09:46:00.002-06:00

1. The BD Betalight is a massive shelter, easily capable of sleeping two people (maybe three with poles angled). I could sit up, move around, and use the area between the doorway and first upright pole as an effective vestibule. As expected, there is no ventilation other than the door and any gaps you leave at the edges and condensation condenses into ice on the interior walls.
2. Sleeping with your boots (mukluks in my case) inside your sleeping bag, stashed in my sleeping bag's compression sack, is an excellent way to keep them from freezing overnight. Unfortunately, it also melts any snow and ice on the boots, which the boots them absorb. Pick your poison: have frozen boots or warm supple boots in the morning (which may eventually freeze-up). I chose the latter in my continual winter education.
3. Patagonia's R1 fabric makes great base-layer bottoms (link to updated R1 bottoms). Just like the venerable R1 Hoody, it is tight to the body, warm when sitting and breathable during high-exertion. Only PowerStretch fleece could possibly be better for the function.
4. Tyvek is great for protecting a tent or bivy bottom from abrasion. But it is not waterproof, and should not be used as a ground cloth when one's sleeping pads may not be wide or long enough to completely protect one's sleeping bag.

Simple statement on the goal of clothing

2010-02-17T20:15:00.002-06:00

Every once in a while, I read through the Arctic 1000 expedition website for inspiration. Today, I realized once again the pure simplicity of the goal of gear.

"Clothing must be light and keep you warm. Beyond that, any features, such as 'keeps you dry', or 'pockets', or 'makes you look good whether in the backcountry or a bistro' are a luxury." - Arctic1000

Skurka's gear for four seasons of Alaska

2010-02-16T18:44:00.007-06:00

To make it short, Andrew Skurka is embarking on the Alaska-Yukon Expedition, a seven month, 4,500+ mile expedition around Alaska and the Yukon. And he's leaving in four weeks.

Please join the conversation about his gear: BPL Gear Discussion. As of this post, the forum is seriously considering Skurka's initial shelter choice, a MLD 2010 Alpine bivy. My comments are posted.

Also, given Roman Dial's response to use a 'mid throughout the whole thing, I'd like to posit this question for later discussion here and eventually on BPL: is a pyramid-style shelter, in some form or another, the be-all and end-all of shelters?

Problems with Montbell website, explained

2010-02-15T18:56:00.005-06:00

Montbell locked down their US website on Jan. 29, 2010 because of, as they call it, fraudulent access to their Japanese site. (There has also been criticism of Montbell's response: the company posted an explanation in Japanese on their US site (discussion at BPL).) However, Montbell recently updated their US website with an explanation in English. Montbell is sending the same posted explanation to inquiring customers.

I'll let the explanation speak for itself.

New toy: Black Diamond BetaLight pyramid shelter

2010-02-10T20:36:00.006-06:00

My BD Beta Light came in the mail today. It is, as my seller described it, a circus tent. The blue and gray alternating panels don't help that effect. The 30d silnylon is a lighter hand then the 70d SilLite GoLite uses in its pre-2010 Shangri-La shelters Poncho/Tarp, too). The total weight is 20.11 oz, with a stuff sack that is 0.46 oz (I removed some elastic straps and swapped out the cord for some Kelty Triptease). [edit: GoLite is now using 15d silnylon in their 2010 Shangri-La shelters and Poncho/Tarp]

I'm going to MYOG the corner anchors a little bit. At current, there is a short webbing loop on the corners and a longer cord wrapped around that. Although this creates a long anchor, it cannot be tightened once the deadman anchors are in the ground (or snow).

I plan to remove the longer cord and cut one half of the webbing loop. I'll then attach a ladder-lock buckle, and re-sew the webbing loop back on. Finally, I'll create a webbing loop that goes through the ladder lock. The purpose is to be able tighten the strap to tension the anchor, giving the tent better stability. This set-up is what GoLite uses on their Shangri-La shelters, and it is effective for a tight pitch.

The BetaLight has an elongated hexagonal floor plan that is interrupted only by its central pole supports. I have used a similar floor plan in winter camp in some mid-90's Marmot Haven mountaineering tents. The tents had a similar floor plan (wider, al beit), but because it's elongated hexagonal floor plan, it was a real three-person tent - and a palace for two. Contrast that with, say, a pure hexagonal shape, and you have a three-person shelter that only sleeps two. In practice, it is really a long rectangle with short and wide triangles on the sides.

The first run with the shelter is going to be in two weeks at scout camp. After that, it's going with me north to where ever my backpack takes me.

I. Will. Go. Snowshoeing. this. Winter.

2010-02-08T21:38:00.006-06:00

I haven't been able to get out on a non-scouting trip since October (gasp!). So I've carefully planned a trip to northern Minnesota the last weekend in February.

On my sidebar at right is my current winter gear list. Critique away. Most of the stuff has been used in some capacity or another for the past two or three seasons.

The major new addition is the BD Beta Light, which will be coming in the mail from a BPL guest. I have been drooling over pyramid shelters ever since Ron Bell came out with his Duomid, which when made of silnylon and combined with the mated net tent just might be the lightest, most versatile shelter out there.

I also was pretty convinced after Sam and I stayed in a GoLite Shangri-La 2 in Montana. It had plenty of room for two, cook space if necessary, and set up reasonable quickly. The only issue (this is not confined to mids, by the way) is set-up time for the stakes in the snow. Because the shelter is not free-standing, the stakes are necessary for the shelter to be supported. In Montana, we set the stakes in and the poles out and went and cooked dinner. By the time we got back, the stakes/deadmans were set up and the shelter was solid.

Stats from running everday

2010-02-01T10:49:00.004-06:00

Today is February 1, and I ran every day last month. Here's the statistical breakdown:

Distance: 129.91 (miles)
Time: 17:55:54 (hr:min:sec)
Average pace ~ 8:17 (min:sec)
Average daily distance: 4.19 (miles)

The distance, average pace and average daily distances are up for debate. One of my routes Mapquest calculates at 3.45 miles whereas Google has the same route at about 2.9 miles. I need to check it on my car to get another figure (assuming that's accurate, too). Since the Mapquest stat was the distance I entered in to LogYourRun.com, I'm going to keep it that way.

These stats do include a fair bit of days where I minimally ran just to say that I ran that day. These runs were rarely longer than 20 minutes, but they were refreshing nonetheless.

Looking forward, I have begun my last semester in academia and am just now adjusting to the schedule. This initially complicates running until I get into a routine. Tonight, I have a long run planned, for example. Normally, I hit those up on weekends were I can do back-to-back longer runs. But alas.

I do not (and will not) put in place a formal training goal for mileage, distance or other statistical number. I have thought about kicking around big round numbers like 1,000, 1,200, 1,500, 2,010, etc., or a percentage increase from my last year's running (Running 954.1 miles in 5:14:19:33 at an average pace of 8:30 min/mile). Whatever that percentage is, I haven't come across that number yet. All I will do is run every day. And that includes my wedding day.

That said, extrapolated out I will run 1,558 miles this year if I stay at my January mileage. However, as the winter months come to a close I will run more and longer and race more (ultramarathons are really good at boosting yearly mileage). Hence, I don't think 2,000 miles is entirely out of the question. Or more.

Book review: Chris McDougall's Born to Run

2010-01-25T12:00:00.000-06:00

Chris McDougall's Born to Run has a simple premise: homo sapiens are on the top of the food chain because before we developed tools such as spears, atlatls, bow and arrows, we ran our food to death. As the title indicates, homo sapiens whooped the Neanderthals because what we gave up in top speed and strength, we gained in endurance. We did this by gaining specific advantages of running animals: Achilles tendons, a nuchal ligament to control our head movement, our ability to dump massive amounts of heat through sweating (unlike our furry prey), and our ability to disconnect our breathing from our stride. And butt muscles.

All of this takes place with the background of the Tarahumara people of Mexico competing in the Leadville 100 in 1994 and a 50 mile race on their home turf against the world's best ultramarathoners. These people are the best runners in the world, and have shown that running is the fountain of youth. Their culture lacks illnesses that attack modern societies: diabetes, heart disease, clinical depression, cancer, etc. And they don't get injured running all those miles. Which leads us to theme number three. And their diet lacks all the processed foods of modern society.

Born to Run also attacks Nike and every other shoe company out there. Modern running injuries didn't exist because people ran in thin shoes. Feet are meant to take a beating. The nerves in the feet are similar to those in your hands, face and genitals read: sensitive. They are constantly trying to find a hard place to land on because the foot is an arch. It gets stronger the more force push down on it. However, support an arch from underneath (like with a modern running shoe), and the arch collapses.

To summarize the argument, Nike created a market for a product and then created the product. And when the market needed shoes to correct the problems and injuries the market created, (read: over/under pronation, shin splints, etc.) Nike and co. created shoes to fit the market. And so on.

The upshot of this is that I am running in my racing flats and have been for about two weeks. My feet feel stronger, particularly in my toes. I am striking midfoot instead of on my heel. The only problems is that the shoes are not designed for Minnesota winters.

Down jacket construction confusion

2010-01-13T20:41:00.003-06:00

Lots of companies use narrowly-spaced parallel lines (as opposed to a grid pattern) to contain the down in their lightweight jackets e.g. Patagonia Down Sweater, Hoody and Vest; Rab Microlight jacket and vest.

Will Rietveld at BPL recently reviewed the MH Nitrous, which uses narrow lines of down. His conclusion? The jacket dumps heat and breathes well because the lines create cold spots on the stitching and within 1/2" of the stitching because down. What gives? I want a jacket to be warm. If I want it to dump heat or be breathable during "active pursuits," I'll get a fleece.

Running attire when mercury drops

2010-01-13T12:00:00.000-06:00

To answer a question, here's what I wear when it's -17F out and I'm running.

Patagonia Capilene 1 T-shirt and Crew
Patagonia R1 Hoody
GoLite Wisp or Ether windshirts
Black Diamond midweight gloves (Powerstretch)
Patagonia Capilene 1 boxer briefs
Patagonia Capilene 1 bottoms
Nike marathon shorts
SmartWool Expedition socks (heavy cushion)
Asics GT 2150 shoes
Ironman watch

And when its warmer out, I tend to drop things in this order: Cap 1 Crew; R1 Hoody (swap for Crew; add fleece skullcap as necessary); Cap 1 Bottoms and briefs; windshirt; swap for lighter socks; Cap 1 Crew (leaving me in shorts, shirt and shoes/socks).

In sum, I own very few running-specific items. Lets see: running shoes, three handheld bottles, running hydration vest. The rest is just my hiking clothes put to a similar use.

Lessons from a first winter weekend

2010-01-10T16:38:00.002-06:00

Just back from my first of three weekends at winter scout camp. Here's some quick-hitting lessons learned:

1. Over-glasses (yeah, those ones) are a great substitute for glacial glasses. And no one cares what you look like as long as you're warm.
2. Puffy vests are excellent. This was the first winter weekend that I used my Patagonia Micropuff vest during winter. And it performed beautifully. I wore it walking around camp over my baselayers and windshirt, and it kept my core warm. In turn, my arms and legs were warm. Excellent all around. Puffy vests are also great for taking up space underneath overparkas without making your arms bulky.
3. BD powerstretch gloves eventually die. Not a new lesson for me (this is my second pair I've killed, and my brother has gone through at least one pair), but I came to realize it more this weekend. I went into the weekend with a small hole on the inside of my left thumb, and the hole only got bigger as I used my hands. I also developed a small hole on the inside of my right thumb. These gloves are a little over a year old, and I used them in all seasons. Despite this durability shortcoming (again, expected), I will continue to use these gloves because I love the material and the leather palms.

New cottage gear manufacturer added: enLIGHTened equipment

2010-01-02T16:25:00.005-06:00

Tim Marshall's enLIGHTened equipment has been added to my Cottage Gear Makers list (at side bar).

Tim makes quilts high-quality insulation and shell materials, including 800+ down and Momentum 90. He also does custom work. He has also pioneered the use of 0.33 oz/yd^2 Cuben fiber in quilts, and has developed the so-called "World's Lightest Quilt" (WLQ), which he has named the Epiphany. Steve Evans of BPL got the original version, the WLQ-1, which uses 8 oz of 800+ down and weighs in at a paltry 11.01 oz. The link is to the now-lengthy forum thread about the quilt, its subsequent models and other ramblings. Tim's custom work has included making synthetic quilts for a child and toddler, which he did for BPL staff member Doug Johnson.

Tim's site also includes a downloadable Excel spreadsheet whereby you can get a good guess as to how much your custom beauty will weigh.

You can contact Tim via e-mail.

MLD's ~10oz Dyneema Pack

2010-01-02T09:18:00.003-06:00

Ron Bell at Mountain Laurel Designs will soon be releasing a sub 2100 cubic inch capacity UL backpack, code-named Newt.

This of course, gives Zpacks a direct competitor in the UL dyneema pack category. I wrote about Joe's new Dyneema pack in my recent post, New Zpacks in Dyneema.

What does this all mean? Joe has been criticized by BPL as using simple (but effective) construction techniques. However, Ron's gear has long been lauded for its quality manufacturing. I think only time will tell. Both packs are based on proven designs, and I expect both to withstand the beating of years of abuse or a thru hike. Bring on the testers.

2009 Gear picks

2009-12-30T20:48:00.004-06:00

At the end of every year, BPL editors put together a list of three of each of their favorite pieces of gear from the past year. It isn't a formal endorsement or an Editor's Choice award (a la BACKPACKER). Here's my entries, with one additional from my special lady.

Arctic mukluks by Steger Mukluks: My feet were warm and dry in a myriad of conditions with these muks on. For the UL hiker, they're 20 oz per foot of warmth. Try to get that out of any other full-on winter boot. You won't. Now I just need to figure out how to keep the laces from absorbing moisture and freezing at night...

Dixon Double Bivy by Oware (Dave Olson): I bought this for use with an Oware CatTarp 2 for the special lady and I, and we love it. The the Pertex has excellent water-resisting (almost water proof?!) capabilities and it kept us dry during a deluge in a poor camping site.

Z1 by Zpacks.com (Joe Valesko): Simple design with a full features made this frameless pack my go-to when I didn't need to carry a tent. Solo, I could probably go a week with the pack size and more if I didn't cook. The design only gets better with the use of Dyneema in Joe's latest iterations.

Honorable mentions: GossamerGear LightTrek3s; Integral Designs MK1 XL; Integral Designs VB socks; MYOG torso pad (hacked Ridgerest).

And the pick for women, written by my fiancee: the GoGirl. The GoGirl is an FUD (Female Urination Device) offered at the wonderful price of $6.00 a piece! Simply put: women use the GoGirl to pee standing up. No longer do I have to go 1/2 mile off trail to find a suitable tree to drop trou behind. I can stand aside the path just like my fiance. Of course, it takes some practice...and I recommend using it with a skirt. The GoGirl is made out of medical-grade silicone so it reusable and germ resistant. And the best feature for ultra-lite backpacking is it's ability to keep its shape after being shoved, squished, and compressed into the tightest places in my pack.

[edited 1/4/10 for for clarity]

New ZPacks in Dyneema

2009-12-26T12:00:00.000-06:00

Long time gone from the blog, but here goes a resurgence.

Joe Valesko of Zpacks.com is introducing a new line of packs out of Dyneema X fabric come January 2010. Dyneema X is the current gold standard for those looking for UL gear made out of bombproof materials. If you pay him enough, Dan McHale will make you a pack made out of nothing but Dyneema strands.

Dyneema X weighs about 4 oz/yd^2. This is about three times the weight of silnylon (post-impregnation). However, when the amount of fabric in the gear is so minimal (like that on a pack), the weight increase is proportional but not overly substantial. I'd be willing to guess that a stripped-down Dyneema X 26 will weigh in at about 9 oz. This is three times the amount of my stripped-down Z1.

Other pack makers use, or have started to use, Dyneema regularly in their packs. GoLite, Six Moon Designs and MLD all use Dyneema is some fashion or another. However, none of them weigh in as low as the anticipated Zpacks models. The MLD 2010 Prophet is about the closest you're going to get for a full-featured pack (defined as a rucksack with straps, size pockets and rear pocket). GoLite's Ion is about 9 oz pre-strip down, but that pack lacks external pockets.

I'm slightly biased in preferences, of course, because I love the simplicity of my Z1. But if you want a UL pack for that needs to be tough, Joe's new line should be fantastic.

Video: Parcour de Wild 2009

2009-11-08T12:43:00.002-06:00

Shameless eBay self-promotion

2009-09-20T16:35:00.002-05:00

I'm selling two of my original backpacking items on eBay: REI Morningstar 65L internal frame backpack; and REI Halfdome 2 (two person tent) with footprint. Thanks for viewing.

Blasphemy! Moving away from Smartwools

2009-09-03T20:28:00.002-05:00

I received two pairs of Darn Tough socks for my birthday. Finally, I have moved away from Smartwools socks and tried something else.

Darn Tough makes some high claims. They are, as the name suggests, tough. Ryan Jordan was tempted to take a single pair on the Arctic 1000, but took two full-cushion models (the spare was for mittens) instead.

My primary socks (five pairs) are Smartwool Adrenaline microcrews. The cushioning is still there, but the Achilles' area has been rubbed down to the lycra. That said, they are still excellent socks and have not died yet.

But when they do die, maybe I'll go to Darn Tough for good.

Montbell U.L. Inner down parka update

2009-09-03T07:37:00.003-05:00

Montbell just released specs for their updated U.L. Inner down parka, my current go-to 3-season insulation layer.

In short, the parka looks much improved. The down content is ramped up, the fit is tapered and and drawcord has been added to the hood - all good things. The cost is an additional 1.6 oz, but for more warmth, a tighter fit and desirable features (the lack of a hood drawcord on my model is a major objection), the weight is worth it.

However, Will Rietveld's objection to the parka still stands. Compared to the WM Flash jacket (3 oz down fill) and the Nunatak Skaha Plus (5 oz down fill), MB's 2.5 oz of fill (men's medium) looks puny.

Wilderness Trekking III is live!

2009-08-27T11:10:00.003-05:00

WT3 is live. E-mail correspondence hit inboxes last night, and planning and logistics will commence soon. Route start and end points will be distributed today. I already have a sample gear list developed from prior years (and no, I'm not linking to it right now).

The trip is not about ego or glory - it is about wilderness immersion and experience. And it is not for everyone. If you have to ask, WT3 is not for you. It's a sobering thought.

More later as details are released.

SHT 50 mile race plan

2009-08-23T14:33:00.002-05:00

I'm 20 days out from the SHT fall 50 mile. Not entirely prepared, physically or mentally. A minor knee injury earlier this summer really threw a loop in my training (by cutting out five weeks of it) and I haven't got up to near the mileage that I did for the 50K. I have only put in one week where I ran in excess of 40 miles since the 50K. Oh well.

I did some trail running this morning at Afton State Park. Just a single loop, about 11.3 miles worth. It took me about 110 minutes, or just under 10 min/mile - this includes walking up some hills, so my actual running pace was faster. This is with a fudge factor built in to compensate for my missing 0.3 miles of timing (about 3 minutes). Not too shabby, but it is not the SHT. Afton has too many small rolling hills and a long 1.7 miles of flat dirt near the river. On the SHT, I will have none of that.

Perhaps if I average 10 min/mile, and then add a fudge factor of 10 percent, that's 11 min/mile and a 550 minute race - 9 hours, 10 minutes. This puts as a top-four finisher for the years online results are posted. And thus it makes the pace look flawed.

But perhaps not. I ran poorly at the 50K, yet averaged 10:51 mile/min average. And that's with a lot of walking and slow, slow running. So perhaps somewhere between 10-11 minutes per mile is not that far off.

Of course I have no clue how this will play out. I can only sit back and enjoy the run. Stay out of the front of the pack and get settled early. Last time, I went out too hard and paid for it with pain and sluggish struggling. This time, I am better prepared mentally, and have been biking more and more to compensate for my lack of running.

Vests, part II

2009-08-16T19:44:00.002-05:00

So I got a vest, a Patagonia Micropuff. No, I did not pay anywhere near the list price, or even that sale price. It may not be the lightest, ,maybe not the warmest - but hey, I'll take it.

It layers well under my Thermawrap parka, and is warm as all get-out. I intend to take this layer with me to Bozeman for WT3, just in case.

Now enrolled in BPL Wilderness Trekking III

2009-08-02T19:18:00.004-05:00

I'm heading out to Bozeman, MT to participate in BackpackingLight's Wilderness Trekking III in October.

As an upshot, this trip will be one of my most extreme excursions to date, likely second only to the Hudson Bay Expedition of 2005. Prior years' WT3 trips support this statement. Last year, the hikers were met with harsh winter conditions and had to hike out because of the deteriorating weather. In 2007, gear was pushed to the extreme. Two pairs of trekking poles suffered catastrophic failure. Their trip report is here. In short, the group faces snow, near-freezing temps and difficult navigation for the entire trek.

Although gear requirements have not been released, in prior years, insulation has been all synthetic. This means insulated parkas and pants, along with sleeping bags or quilts. Other gear is specifically limited. The 2007 report gear report has a prior example list. Chris Wallace has also posted his 2008 WT3 gear list.

More information will be posted as I receive it.

Trip Report: Jardine was right

2009-07-27T21:00:00.000-05:00

The more I hike, the more I realize Ray Jardine had it right all along. From quilts to tarps to shorts, his methods just work.

Jacci and I hiked on the Superior Hiking Trail this weekend between Beaver Bay and Silver Bay, and skirted the edges of Bean and Bear Lakes. We got as far north as the two Palisade Creek campsites, and camped Friday night along the Beaver River and Saturday night at the rest stop above Bear Lake. The trip was spectacular.

When we hiked in Friday night from the Lake County 4 trail head, we hit a campsite on the Beaver River. Thinking we had passed the first of the two sites just a short jaunt from the trail head, we turned around and parked our shelter just off trail at a makeshift site. Come the following morning, I should have trusted my gut - the marked campsite we came to was the first of two, not the second. But it was occupied anyway, and solitude is something best shared with a good friend.

The shelter system we use is a CatTarp 2 and Dixon DoubleBivy, both from OwareUSA. The bivy is tricky to manage because of its tie-outs. To make it work, you need to use all three ties, and you need to pull the middle up high enough to get the Pertex at the head end vertical. This puts the silnylon bottom on the ground, and helps keep the mesh off the users face. Lightweight stakes work great to keep the bivy in place; titanium shepherd hooks work great.

Like all tarps, the best part about using one is the openness of the shelter experience. When morning comes, one can cock their neck all around and get a 360 view of their world.

Based on our packs, it was going to be a different weekend altogether:

At left is my Z1. At right is Jacci's school backpack, a Jansport model marketed for day hiking she got at REI. When she got it, she said she would take it out on a weekend trip. This was the first weekend of this long-set plan.

The trick was to take a single sleeping bag with a full-zip and use it like a quilt. The bag of choice was her WM Ultralight (short), which fit us well when we laid down underneath it at home. I carried the bag - in exchange, Jacci carried our kitchen (sans fuel) and our tarp. I got the bivy, Tyvek groundsheet, stakes and fuel canister. So shared gear was more or less even, with a tilt toward less.

At least five people in two parties confused us for day hikers. On Saturday evening, we shared a site with a woman named Sandy and her husband Mike. We had passed them twice on the trail. When we introduced ourselves, Sandy said she was initially confused by our pack sizes when she had seen us on the trail. She said she thought we had too much stuff for day hikers, but it looked like too little for an overnight. To her credit, this was her first time backpacking - she and Mike are kayakers and canoeists who are accustomed to taking whatever they want.

The weekend was also my first weekend our with my new torso pad. The pad worked great, but success with it is dependent on location. Closed-cell foam pads, in general, as less forgiving to roots and rocks underneath your bottom than inflatable mats. On Saturday night, I had two such earthly denizens that stubbornly rested beneath me.

As far as hiking goes, traveling between the Beaver River and the tailing pond/pumphouse Saturday morning was slow and irregular. A 10K trail race was going on and the runners were coming at us. Out of courtesy, we stopped, stepped off-trail and let them pass unbothered.

We could not have asked for better weather. Large cumulus clouds dotted the sky, and there was a stiff breeze that was best felt on the top of ridgelines. It kept the flies and mosquitoes away and kept us cool.

A sun shower came later Saturday morning in the form of misting. When we thought the mist would turn to legitimate rain, we donned our shells. I had a poncho while Jacci had a traditional waterproof-breathable jacket.

Hiking in the rain is always enjoyable. The air cools, and droplets hit your forehead and cleanse your face. But the sun was out, so temps stayed high. When the mist continued and stayed that way, we removed our raingear and hiked on in the mild mist.

Initially, the forecast said thunderstorms all weekend. Perfect. As it turned out, we got two downpours on Saturday night in addition to the mist. The first deluge came just after supper from a single pregnant cloud. The timing could not have been more perfect - we just finished making supper, a Lipton/Knorr noodle packet cooked over a canister stove.

But when the rain finally came, mud poured through the campsite.

Here's what was left of our bivy/tarp shelter after the rain passed. It looks much worse than it actually was. The rain came hard and heavy, and the sloped dirt we were on created a mini-mudslide that ran under the lower portion of the tarp. Add some splatter off the short end (which is the close end in the photo), wind-blown rain directly at said short end and a pool of water forming on the uphill side of your tarp on its edge hem, and you've got a recipe for mud.

Like I said, it looks much worse that it was. I was standing outside during the storm in my poncho/tarp and just observed what was going on. I rolled the tyvek up on the right side of the photo, and water ran underneath it. No water got into the bivy, although it did get between the Tyvek and bivy. The silnylon was waterproof and the Pertex's DWR held fast. All I had to do when it was all done was wipe it down with Jacci's skirt, which was still soaked from a washing earlier that evening. Sunday morning after the tarp was taken down, here's what the place looked like:
Had we been stealth camping or otherwise on a grassy area, this whole mess would have been averted. Again, Jardine was right - tarp camping is all about location, location, location.

It also rained Saturday evening, around 10 p.m. as we were going to bed and the last remnants of sun were disappearing. This time, the rain was much less severe, and the tarp protected us adequately. Sleeping with rain pattering the tarp is always comforting, like a calm soothing white noise.

Temps stayed mild both nights. The quilt had kept us warm and comfortable despite the low temps being at least 30 degrees warmer than the bag's rating of 20 degrees. We could adequately vent by raising an edge, kicking a foot out, or pushing the bag's head lower on our torso. I used all three of these techniques to manage my body temperature.

On Sunday morning, the early sun baked the rain-soaked forest and pushed the humidity to 110 percent with sunshine and clear skies to boot. I removed my pants and hiked in my spandex shorts for the remaining four miles. Jardine advocates hiking in spandex shorts and having a shell pant to deal with bugs and other nasties. I plan to take this clothing arrangement on future hikes.

On a final (gear) note, I cut off the waist belt and removed the (removable) sternum strap on my Z1 when I got home. I dropped almost two ounces off the pack, pushing its weight to 3.35 oz(!).

Yet another Ridgerest hacked in the name lightweight backpacking

2009-07-23T21:00:00.002-05:00

I'm slowly converting to Ray Jardine's philosophies - again.

The evening, I chopped up yet another Ridgerest closed-cell foam pad into a torso-shaped pad. This version weighed in at 103 grams - 3.63 ounces. The dimensions are similar to BackpackingLight.com's Torsolite, which a) will be back in stock soon; and b) has been selling like hotcakes recently on BPL's gear trade forum.

This is my second attempt at hacking down a CCF pad into a torso-shaped bundle. My first attempt still exists - it is rectangular at 29.5x19.5 and about ~5.4 oz. When I saw that BPL was going to get more TorsoLites in stock, I through about the unused pad on my sides, especially flanking by buttocks. So I hacked this one down and lost almost 2 oz.

It's going out for its first test this weekend, somewhere in Minnesota that lacks mosquitoes. When I return, I imagine I'll cut a concave curve into the sides near my true waist to chop out even more unused pad. Until then, the pad will stay nicely above 100 grams.

As a final note, the only company that sells torso-length pads is GossamerGear. Unmodified, these pads weigh in at 3.5-3.8 oz, and are also rectangular. Not too shabby.

New TarpTent from Henry Shires

2009-07-23T12:00:00.000-05:00

Continuing in his arched tradition, Henry Shires has introduced his latest in a continuation of single-arch shelters: the Moment, a one-person single-wall shelter requiring only two stakes.

The shelter is a continuation of Henry's Scarp 1 and 2, and the Hogback. A single arch poles goes over the width of the shelters, providing overhead and vestibule space. The design is also a direct competition to the Hilleberg Akto and the Terra Nova Laser Competition (along with TN's related designs).

BPL's initial commentary by Will Rietveld here. I trust Will's gear reviews as very thorough, and he's very excited to get at this one.

Ice Age Trail: baffled by shrubberies

2009-07-12T09:51:00.013-05:00

I pondered my predicament: do I hike in a given distance in the dark, or make camp adjacent to my car? I was at the trailhead of the Ice Age Trail on Highway 64 just outside of Medford, Wisc. Tired from the drive, but itchy to get walking. I chose the latter, after venturing into the woods by the light of a single LED bulb. Ferns and overgrowth hid the path; getting lost was not an option.

This would be the first night I would sleep in my new solo shelter system: a poncho/tarp and a bivy. Except parking lots rarely accept stakes easily. I jammed one stake under a tire, and hammered to others into the gravelly ground. During the whole process, a few rain drops started to fall. Just a few. "She's going to laugh at this," I thought. The hood was tied, and I slipped into the bivy. Rain came harder. Lightning. Thunder to the west at 10-Mississippi. The wind rushed, the air cooled. Then 15 was the count. Then it drifted away, to 20, 30 and 45.

I also set out to experiment with a new sleep system, one that leaves traditional bags and quilts at home, and to instead opt for insulated pants and parka. I started out resting my shorts and shirt. As I cooled, I slipped my long pants back on, and made damn sure my hips and shoulders were resting on my hacked down, torso-length pad. Then my fleece beanie went on, and I draped my jacket over my torso, quilt like. Then the jacket went on. Dawn came, and I stood up, warm and comfortable.

In my initial trip planning, I had been hard-pressed to find a decent map of the trail on such short notice. So I printed off a handful USGS topo maps (from 1980), grabbed the map at the trailhead and wandered in. The trail was woodsy and overgrown. No overlooks or vistas. Just woods. Ferns spilled over the footpath even at the trailhead, and dew-soaked grasses invaded any sense of path when I crossed over ancient beaver dams.

It was buggy, too. And I do not use DEET. I wore a windshirt in the morning and while moving, and kept the hood up almost at all times; my legs thanked me for wearing longs pants.

Around 90 minutes into the hike, I navigated down and around an old clear-cut via an access road. The trail then made a jaunt back into the woods and into a thicket of shrubberies and raspberry bushes. The trail then disappeared everywhere but at my feet. The bushes folding in front of me. Take a step in any direction, and they bent back to cover your path. The vegetation was taller than I, so I felt like I was walking blind through a cornfield without crop lines.

So I turned around. I already did not have a good picture of where I was going, and I was not interested in getting lost or wandering off-trail. To another trailhead? Maybe. That was a decision to make when I returned to my car.

With a mile or two to go, I could tell my knee was not 100 percent. The trail had been rolling, but not steep, and there had been now technical sections. Just cushy earth. But better safe then sorry, I headed home.

Because of the short nature of the hike, reviewing gear is sketchy at best. But I will say this. My pack was too large for a short jaunt such as this. This is caused by two factors. First, I did not take a full-size sleeping bag or quilt. Second, my food volume was low. Despite packing a cookpot, I could have easily fit many more days worth of food or packed bulkier gear. The pack carried well despite being underfilled. Also, as noted by Ryan Jordan in his review of the Blast 18, the side pockets were too short for my large, 1.5L Nalgene canteen (really ~63 oz). No matter, the bottle went in the rear pocket. My poncho/tarp took the place of the bottle in the side pocket.

Next on tap is a hiking trip for the weekend beginning July 24. Location is TBD.

Seeking happiness, one step at a time

2009-07-10T04:53:00.003-05:00

In a thread about recommended reading for simplifying one's life based on UL principles, Ben Tang dropped these words.

"Folks who get their 'highs' from new toys can expect to have a harder time avoiding clutter -- and self-inflicted complications."

The link has the full text of his post. Take that, materialism.