tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19083033946128012602024-03-13T15:17:53.503-05:00Thru-Hiker in the makingGear and trip ideas from a long-distance hiker-to-be.Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.comBlogger257125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-54853820657110659972017-08-04T08:06:00.000-05:002017-08-04T08:06:08.057-05:00Superior 100 cometh, v5.0Five weeks - thirty-five days - is all that sits between me and my fifth attempt at the Superior 100. A finish gets me a third buckle, a 60% finishing rate at the race, and like every 100 miler, catharsis from a year of training that has had its great highs and miserable lows.<br />
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The good of the 2016-2017 running season is my great training in December 2016, January 2017 and the first two-or-so weeks of February 2017 when I put the treadmill in my basement to good use and did hikes at various inclines, 3 min interval sets, and 8-10 min threshold sets.<br />
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And then the week of February 13 came. I was reading a bedtime story to my then-four-year-old, and swung my right leg off his bed when I was done. The inside of my right ankle struck the top of a white wooden step-stool, and it shot instant pain through the inside of that ankle.<br />
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My training cratered after that, with two doctor visits and starting a course of PT providing the answer: I likely hit a nerve on the inside of my foot - my best guess is the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Medial_calcaneal_branches_of_the_tibial_nerve">medial calcaneal nerve</a> - and it set off a chain reaction that messed with that right foot and ankle to some degree even to this day, even as the symptoms slowly lessen. The impact irritated the nerve, causing a protective muscle spasm of the muscles in the area. That muscle spasm - an involuntary tightening of any surrounding muscles - then slightly angled my foot with the inside (medial) side feeling slightly raised as the muscles pulled one side of the ankle, but not the other. This imbalance then caused other issues, such as swelling on the front/top of the ankle to compensate (which started in earnest in early May 2017, in part forced my withdrawal from Bighorn, and has since gone away without returning). Add in my imbalanced pelvis that every once in a while needs to pay a visit to my PT and you get a recipe for no training. That was the bulk of April, May, and June.<br />
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But running resumed, slowly, with doctor OK, at the end of June and I slowly worked my way back to a more normal mileage of 50 mpw. July was 202 miles in a month in 24 running days, with four zero days forced by work obligations an stress, and I am on track for and aiming at 250 miles in August. I've had a pair of PT visits so far, two more on the calendar before Superior 100, and two more after the race to deal with the inevitable issues that will rear their head post-event.<br />
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Which leaves me looking at Superior.<br />
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Unlike in past years, I don't have the bulk of training I would desire or even a bare minimum I would prefer. What I have are my <a href="http://trainright.com/4-truths-ultrarunners-need-accept/">past experiences on the trail</a>, the visualizations and memories of what I should see and feel, and when I should see and feel it. The thought of rounding the corner on the top of Mystery Mountain, seeing the group campsite, and hearing the Poplar River knowing that the finish is a mere 1.5-or-so miles away still makes me tear up. I know I can finish this, I know a smile and positive attitude will be what gets me there, and I know that I will do whatever it takes once 8 AM on Friday, Sept. 9, 2017 hits to get to Lutsen before 10 PM the following day.<br />
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Expectations are a mere outcome goal: Finish, preferably in the daylight (Goal A) but I'm not picky (Goal B). I'd like to feel as comfortable as possible under the circumstances of the race, a process goal, knowing that I don't have the training I would prefer and don't want something to go haywire despite that fact that <a href="http://trainright.com/4-truths-ultrarunners-need-accept/">I know, we all know, something will at least once and likely more</a>.<br />
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And when in doubt, go into grind mode and manage <a href="http://edwardsandor.blogspot.com/2014/10/100-mile-lessons.html">a brisk walk and minimal aid station time to get it done. </a><br />
<br />Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-62576036870716690402017-05-14T16:56:00.002-05:002017-05-14T16:56:35.714-05:00Withdrawing from 2017 Bighorn 100 - best option out of several bad choices<span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I am withdrawing from the Bighorn 100. Withdrawal is the best of a series of bad options. Withdrawal is discretion over valor, the desire to live and fight another day. </span><br />
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There are two interrelated, but at this point, independent reasons for this. </div>
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First, I sprained the posterior deltoid ligament on the inside of my right ankle in mid-February. Since then, I have potentially re-aggravated it twice, once by running Zumbro and withdrawing after tweaking it going down Ant Hill (after getting medical clearance twice to run the race, the second time agreeing to pull the plug at the slightest change in ankle circumstances). The second aggravation came on May 5 after I had run a couple days to test the ankle - a kind of "if you're going to run Bighorn, you need XX many hours/wk for X weeks before race day" mentality to see what I could do physically. After 3 days of slow 90 minute trail runs, the ankle did not appreciate me and had swollen in the front - a new location - and I decided to shut training down, do only ankle exercises, and wait for the sucker to heal. </div>
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Second, I have not run consistently since about mid-February. This was caused by issue number one, but I did try several times to consistently hike or otherwise be active. I eventually shut this down on May 5 after a series of three runs left my ankle swollen and stiff in areas not initially injured. </div>
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My plan was before today to shut down training for the rest of May, and see how I felt and wait as long as possible to make the decision to start or DNS. But doing that shows no respect for the course, other runners, or the race directors and their volunteers. Bighorn is a mountain 100 that starts a 3,000 feet and spends much of the race at or above 7,000 ft. I live and train at 900 ft above sea level. It is a qualifier for Hardrock - the board of which having tightened their standards in recent years - for a reason. I have not paid my dues to run this race in 2017. </div>
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Regardless of the condition of my ankle now or on any day for the next five weeks, I am in no shape to attempt toe the line at Bighorn. I lack the requisite physical fitness and preparation my mind demands of me, and that is but one more hole in a 100 mile racer's armor that the course and conditions will exploit with every step. I will not subject myself or my family to a race I have no expectation of finishing (of course, excepting the Barkley Marathons here...). </div>
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What other options were there? 1) Do nothing and race if it felt good on our departure day, the Sunday before the race; 2) Do nothing and pick an arbitrary other day in June or perhaps May by which I needed to make this decision; 3) Train more and risk re-injuring the ankle? None of these are particularly palatable. Throw in my planned family vacation to coincide with this (going to Mt. Rushmore and Black Hills, and in/around Sheridan and the Bighorns etc. in the week before the race), and you add more complexity to this - my decision affects myself and my family, and I don't want them left holding the bag for a DNF. It is a long drive back from Dayton/Sheridan, Wyoming to the Twin Cities metro area.</div>
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What other potential outcomes were there? 1) start and finish the race with no ankle complications. This outcome was not viewed as likely; 2) start the race, DNF for ankle injury, or even finish with an ankle injury. This outcome was viewed as much more likely, and it risks throwing out my entire season, or worse, putting me in this same situation for Superior 100 - being healthy, or believing I'm healthy, but without a summer's worth of training to show for it. None of these options was good. </div>
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What's next? Back to the doctor, me thinks after I have taken four full weeks off of this ankle. I fear he'll either a) tell me to do nothing until I can do certain movements without discomfort, however long that takes; or b) send me for an MRI and then who knows what the radiologist will say.</div>
Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-56677625963406517762016-10-16T07:28:00.001-05:002016-10-16T08:01:53.870-05:00Oh fer cute, Strava<div dir="ltr">
I started using Strava and Training Peaks, having found the charger for my gifted-to-me Garmin Forerunner 405. With one fell swoop I stopped logging my runs in <a href="http://logyourrun.com/">logyourrun.com</a> (which requires a manual upload of gps-watch data) and just let Garmin's Connect app sync with Training Peaks, Strava, and my employer's get-fit incentive program handle my data/training logging and uploading.<br />
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I'm using both apps' free versions right now, but Training Peaks gives you an initial free trial of its premium edition ($119/year). There is tons to love about the premium version - making it easy to dive into maps, data, its proprietary fatigue/fitness/taper graphs and algorithms (which I loved to view). Planning workouts is wonderful - it's the first app I've ever seen that will allow you to see a) what you planned to do; and b) what you actually did - in a single spot. It's something that I never really figured out how to do well within a single Google doc, for example. And a web app like Logyourrun doesn't allow for such capabilities - it's data entry only, no analysis or planning. </div>
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The basic/free edition of Training Peaks is very stripped down. Gone are the proprietary graphs and algorithms (except their TSS - training stress score) that showed your acute and chronic training load. Gone is the ability to plan workouts in the future (my favorite feature of the app); you can still enter them same-day, but that defeats the purpose of using it to plan out a week, month, training cycle, or an entire season. For some reason I really miss their proprietary graphs, etc. - it was a nice analysis of what I was doing for training. I had been given something which I never had (or really needed?) before, but now it was gone and I wanted it back ROAR!</div>
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Strava is an odder duck. It is like Twitter for athletes with its activity feed. It asks users to be and create content in the form of segments, like Facebook. And it contains some analysis tools (at least in its free version) that look similar to Garmin and Training Peaks - mostly maps/graphs of distance, pace, elevation, heart rate, etc. But most of its analysis tools and its propriety measure of run difficulty (Suffer Score - a ridiculous, clickbaitable term) appear in the premium version. </div>
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My biggest gripe is with Strava's segments, however. When used properly, it allows athletes to compare themselves to others in a "who can run from X to Y faster" type of setup. It also allows a runner to compare progress overtime. </div>
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But. </div>
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And it's a big but.</div>
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The comparison tools are only useful if we're comparing apples to apples - take any athlete, and compare how they run a certain segment at a given intensity, to another athlete running that same segment at the same intensity. I may appear lower on a Strava segment leaderboard - not that I'll ever top one - because I run easy or endurance-pace runs on areas where someone else was doing an interval/tempo/threshold workout. My efforts on those segments will seem artificially low. </div>
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And then there is the constant competition aspect of segments. My twitter exchange with runner Devon Yanko below illustrates this. </div>
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<a href="https://twitter.com/fast_foodie">@fast_foodie</a> you have articulated my biggest critique of <a href="https://twitter.com/Strava">@Strava</a> segments and the leaderboards. Don't need to run hard/fast all the time.</div>
— Matt Lutz (@crazyrunnerguy) <a href="https://twitter.com/crazyrunnerguy/status/787129214021410816">October 15, 2016</a></blockquote>
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Finally, you have the people who through ignorance or intent, screw with Strava leaderboards. There is a whole Twitter feed dedicated to these shenanigans: <a href="https://twitter.com/stravawankers">@StravaWankers</a>.</div>
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StravaWankers is an attempt to point out, ahem, publicly shame, those who log workouts/runs/etc. while commuting to work via airplane, those who leave their workout on "run" when they hope on the bike. But one example: </div>
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<a href="https://twitter.com/stravawankers">@stravawankers</a> The 9th place on this segment runs a 2:15 marathon and made the Olympic trials. 1-8 don't know how to set the type to "ride". <a href="https://t.co/0lZ1RnzzGI">pic.twitter.com/0lZ1RnzzGI</a></div>
— David Fusfeld (@fusfeld) <a href="https://twitter.com/fusfeld/status/783314512493568000">October 4, 2016</a></blockquote>
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Oh, fer cute, Strava.</div>
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Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-79527596104853097672016-09-16T14:06:00.000-05:002016-09-16T15:13:53.458-05:002016 Superior Fall 50 mile: By the numbers<div dir="ltr">
First the data: my 13 hr pace chart and my splits for the same race, plus analysis is at <a href="https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1gUUwtMHp6hsnQ6eH7qhfW7B91TiR2YvNVzPnm_WzhdU/edit?usp=sharing">this link</a>.<br />
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A couple notes of the chart. This pace chart was initially created so that I would spend 45 percent of my time in the first half (or so) of the race and 55 percent in the second half (or so) of the race. The aid station at Cramer Road is at mile 26.7 of the 52.1 mile event, so its 0.65 miles past half way. Based on that, I was trying run a 5:51/7:09 split between the halves. </div>
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My actual splits and elapsed time are in the ACTUAL (ELAPSED) and ACTUAL (SECTION) columns. The DIFFERENCE (ELAPSED/SECTION) columns compare my actual elapsed and section times, respectfully, with my estimated elapsed/section times. Negative numbers indicate I was under my estimate, positive means I was over. </div>
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The three columns to the right are a feeble attempt to compare how difficult (in-race, not had each been run individually on fresh legs) each section is by comparing my actual race times as a percentage of the finish time to the section distances as a percentage of the total distance. A negative number means I took less time in a section that its proportionate distance, a positive means the opposite. Note the limitations of this data, as it does not control for elevation changes or terrain. </div>
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With that, some observations: </div>
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I ran a more even race than anticipated, with a 47.7/52.3% split front to back as a percentage of total time. Looking at the first half data, this was primarily a function of my effort to get to Cramer, which was off by a full 15 minutes (almost three minutes per mile slower than anticipated). I went through a rough patch in-race during this section, and hiked more than I would have liked. </div>
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I was about 0:45/mile slower than anticipated in the Crosby/Manitou section, and was pleasantly pleads with that effort. No issues there. </div>
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The second half was run remarkably faster, with two consecutive sections being run a full 11 minutes faster than anticipated, the sections to Temperance (1.5 min/mi) and to Sawbill (2 min/mi). Both of these sections have given me fits in the past. The Temperance section is split into three parts, with the second part traversing the Cross River and the third part climbing out of the Cross River and up and over the hills and down into the Temperance River. This second part is technical and hard to run quickly, and the third part is a climb and descent that is generally exposed and dusty. It crushed my dreams in 2013 when I came into the Temperance aid station incoherent. The section to Sawbill is relatively gentle, but contains the long haul up, around, and down Carlton peak. This section kicked by butt in 2015 because the climb up is exposed. </div>
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The section from Sawbill to Oberg is far and away the easiest section in the entire course (including the 100 mile course), but this year it was full of mud and muck, making the going slow. I was nine seconds off my goal time for this section nonetheless. Finally, the section into Lutsen felt slow in-race because getting up and over Moose Mountain felt like a slow slog, but again I was but a few seconds off (48) for the overall section time. </div>
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Race report coming soon. </div>
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Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-30656985499777707242016-05-30T07:15:00.000-05:002016-05-30T13:22:14.245-05:00Cup of stress<div style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 19.5px;">
I learned long ago that I can only have one hobby. Running is that one hobby, and it is the best of all possible choices. When I can't run, some other distraction percolates up from the recesses of my brain to take its place. Possibilities include chess, reading (which I should be doing anyway), writing (same, whether fiction or this blog, or something professional, like an article), a computer game I have dedicated hundreds (thousands?) of hours to since ~2001ish, or something else that my mind becomes obsessed with, etc.</div>
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I also learned long ago that I cannot have more than one hobby. I cannot maintain running while imposing other hobbies. There is only so much time in the day not already dedicated to family (primarily as husband and father - two separate, distinct roles, regardless of however intertwined they are - but there is also son and brother) and profession. </div>
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Occasionally I agree to take on additional roles. I recently was elected to the board of the alumni association for the staff of a scout camp that, in one role or another, I attended/worked at for 13 summers. Some of my closest friends are those who I worked on staff with; they were in/at my wedding, and I was in/at theirs. I threw my name into the hat at the election, time commitment be damned, because of how much the camp gave me. I can give something back to ensure that it is around in the future to do so much good for others like me. </div>
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Every one of these roles - husband, father, son, brother, attorney (trial lawyer), runner, board member, etc. - cause, in their own ways, stress. This is not a bad thing in and of itself. In running, training stresses the body to achieve a fitness response. That three-hour long run stresses every part of the body so as to improve overall fitness. A jury trial stresses the mind and makes me a better advocate. Being a parent and husband stresses every system so as be the best father I can be to my son, however taxing, and be the best spouse I can be to my wife. How the body responds to stress, and adapts to it - whether becoming a more athletic, responsible, or patient person, e.g. - is the benefit of this stress. </div>
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But the body can take only so much stress. We have a reservoir, like a cup, in which to put stress. We add volume to that cup by all of our activities. We take stress out by getting enough sleep, taking appropriate relaxation time, eating real minimally processed foods (not too much, mostly plants) and appropriately recovering from our stress. A banana and a glass of milk post-run does wonders for recovering from said run, for example. </div>
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The cup of stress can overflow. This happens because there is simply too much stress - another activity or stressor has been added, and the input into the cup of stress is too great - or with insufficient recovery - not eating well, not relaxing enough, not sleeping well. I get irritable, cranky. It tends to be a vicious cycle. When I am stressed at work, I tend to wake up in the morning with my calves balled up in knots. My sleep is less restful, and the recovery benefit I gain from it is reduced. My diet goes south, my weight and body composition changes. Etc.<br />
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The end result is that one of my roles gets dropped. More often than not, running gets dropped. Why? Without running, I sleep more. No more 4:45 AM weekday wake-ups, or earlier on the weekends if I'm going long at Afton, for example. No more quick runs post-dinner, or being exhausted in an afternoon after a 20-mile jaunt on a weekend. The time needs to be devoted elsewhere. </div>
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This spring, I broke the "one-hobby-at-a-time" rule, and my cup of stress overflowed. I was asked to teach a university course on very short notice, just a few days before the semester was to begin. The course was taught in the evenings twice per week, but given prep time and grading materials, most weeks I dedicated three or four evenings per week to it. Grades were due this past week, and I made a huge push to review submissions, final project sets, and grade finals.<br />
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Teaching caused my cup of stress to run over. Running was the casualty. I stopped running in the morning. My evenings were occupied with teaching, preparing, grading, or being a father/spouse to make up/ensure the quality time that I was otherwise missing on the evenings I was on campus or otherwise occupied. Or the non-teaching evenings were spent relaxing, again to make up for the time I was otherwise missing. </div>
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On Saturday, I will toe the line at the Kettle Morraine 100 for the second time. Last year, I dropped at mile 80 after chaffing badly for the previously 30 miles. I have no business starting this race. I have done only a handful of runs that could count as long runs. Two of those were races, each which I finished with relative ease under the conditions but knowing that I was nowhere near my regular fitness level. It reminds me of this: </div>
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Hundreds of podcasts about overtraining. Don't you think undertraining probably effects more people? <a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/UltraChat?src=hash">#UltraChat</a></div>
— douchebagultra (@douchebagultra) <a href="https://twitter.com/douchebagultra/status/729329536089862144">May 8, 2016</a></blockquote>
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That's where I am. Undertrained. What hangs in the balance is not just a DNF, but missing the WS lottery and having to re-set my ticket count back at one for the 2018 race (instead of having two tickets in 2017 and four in 2018, etc.). </div>
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I've faked my way through 50K and 50 mile races before, and I've been running ultras long enough to know how to get it done when the chips are down. So maybe I'll finish - time and ugliness be damned. </div>
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Maybe I won't. Maybe the fact that this is 100 miles will do me in. Hundred milers are completely different ballgames than their shorter cousins. They require purposeful dedication and the payment of one's dues in respect and adoration for the distance. Maybe my mind has written a check the body can't cash. </div>
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"This just is," Ed Sandor wrote in his <a href="http://edwardsandor.blogspot.com/2014/10/100-mile-lessons.html">100 Mile Lessons</a>. I read and re-read that list before almost every ultra, and also when it inevitably pops up in FB when someone asks for tips on finishing one of these endeavors. It calms the nerves, prepares the mind, and sets the attitude. These races are run in the gray matter between one's ears, not underneath one's footfalls.<br />
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This. Just. Is. </div>
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I'll finish, just you wait.</div>
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Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-7589715546946589672016-04-15T19:11:00.001-05:002016-05-29T07:17:31.007-05:002016 Zumbro Midnight 50: in a race without expectations, complete satisfaction obtained<div dir="ltr">
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This is not a report about suffering. Or injury. Or haste. My Zumbro was none of those things. </div>
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My Zumbro was not a race. It was a run. A run without expectations other than to finish. </div>
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My thoughts on pacing were low going in Zumbro. I had less than 400 miles on the legs year-to-date, and only about 700 miles season-to-date since I started running again around Halloween 2015 post-ankle sprain. I hadn't done many long runs - no trail runs over 20 miles or four-ish hours, and I did a single ~25ish mile pavement run with a friend a few weeks before the race. That run was about her, at her pace, and for me the benefit besides the company was the sheer time on the feet. Normally, I would have liked to have done a 50K trail run as prep for a 50 mile race. That didn't happen this year.<br />
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By comparison, when I started 2015's Zumbro Midnight 50, I had ~1,030 miles on the legs, my miles and number of runs/running days was much more consistent. Last year, I considered myself in the best ultrarunning shape of my life when I ran my first sub-five-hour 50K at Afton during a training run three weeks prior to Zumbro. I thought a finish between nine and 10 hours was doable last year, this year I was shooting for something between 10 and 11 hours. </div>
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I got to Zumbro late Friday morning and helped out at the start/finish aid station and as-needed throughout the day. <span style="line-height: 1.5;">The temps floated around freezing, and it had been snowy, windy, and cold. I walked around camp with long underwear on under my pants and four layers on top: long sleeve top; sweater; puffy vest; puffy hooded jacket. The evening drew near, temps dropped another five or so degrees and I threw on my softshell jacket on top of my jacket - to hell with compressing the insulation, I thought. I was also thankful I had my mukluks in the trunk of my car. The inside of my old inov8 Gore-Tex-lined boots were wet with sweat and they're really too narrow promote good circulation and foot warmth. So I put on my mukluks (still stored in the car from winter) and my feet were pleased. Several others were walking around in winter boots, too. </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 1.5;">After the sun went down, I was glad I was not running the 100 miler. As I worked the aid station Friday night, several of the runners that came in finishing their third loops started to look haggard and broken. They were cold and exhausted, their minds - and therefore bodies - beaten by the course, wind, and temperature. I told the race director that I expected carnage from the 100 milers at about 1:30/2 AM due to the cold temps. </span></div>
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The carnage started earlier than I expected. Once it was dark, three or four 100 milers walked in and immediately turned in their bibs. They could not be convinced. They could walk straight, talk coherently, and ingest food and fluids, but they refused to continue and offered up their numbers and bibs to someone, anyone, who would take them. I happened to be there.</div>
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My pre-race jitters started at about 11 PM. I paced around the dirt roads of the horse camp full of food, a warm-up of sorts. </div>
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Once the race started, it was uneventful. With a couple exceptions, I spent less than 15 seconds in each aid station. That time was spent deciding what to eat (answer: real, (solid) hot food of quesadillas, grilled cheese, noodle soup and non-hot food of lots and lots of PB&J's), deciding what to drink (answer: soup broth; Coke; coffee; and a single ginger ale, each as necessary), and walking out of the aid station food and cup of some liquid in hand. I drank less than a bottle of water on the first loop, but wasn't concerned about dehydration due to the cold temps. </div>
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Lap one was done in 3:20ish; I was out in less than two minutes after re-loading my pack with Clif blocks. The effort on this loop was consistent. I was constantly thinking about the small inclines throughout the course: Can you run this on the third lap, I asked myself? If the answer was "no," I wouldn't run it now. Occasionally I lead a train of runners, but mostly I ran alone. I passed numerous people as they loitered in aids. </div>
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Lap two was significantly colder - we were getting to the heart of the morning, and the loop took four full hours, despite feeling that I was traveling at a consistent effort. I wore my hat, a buff around my neck, and gloves plus mittens for most of the entire lap. Temps hit the mid-to-high teens, I estimated, and I only occasionally felt cold in my forearms (where I had a single long sleeve covering; my core temp was never an issue). In reality, the pace was so much slower in the first three quarters of the lap, as I started to see the light of the sun under the horizon as I ascended to the overlook after aid three. The pace started to pick up when I hit the road. It was full-on daylight now and there was just four miles between me and the final lap. By now, the necks and tops of both of my bottles had long-since frozen, and I was forced to get my fluids only at aid stations. I was not concerned about this; it just is, I told myself. You can run for a long time without fluids, and you'll make it to an aid eventually and be able to fill up. </div>
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I came into the start/finish at around 7:20 AM. I contemplated jettisoning my frozen bottles, but decided to melt the ice and go from there. I was glad I did, as the last four miles from the road to aid four to the finish was done under a warm sun. I swapped to two dry shirts (again, one short sleeve and one long sleeve, but the long sleeve was thinner here) and turned my wet fleece skull cap inside out. I still had the mitts, but the hat and mitts were soon bundled up and permanently placed in my vest. It was still cool, just above freezing for a long time, and I rotated with my gloves on and then off, and my buff on and then off, each as temps dictated. </div>
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I pushed hard on the that last lap, going as hard as I could, and not wanting to succumb to the distance or to any sufferfest. So I ran the flats and downs and as much of the gentle ups as I could, knowing that I needed to leave it all on the course. I passed Mark Smith and the 100 miler he was pacing as I ran down into aid two, and for the most part ran every runnable step of the race, and especially the last lap. Due to running hard, the elements of the course - I have now done 12 laps there - came quickly and without my constant gazing into the distance wondering when, for example, Carlton Peak would show up - something that I often look for when running the 50 or 100 at the Fall Superior races. I knew I had the race in the bag when I hit the road, and I pushed the pace to the pace where I was breathing hard.</div>
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I was passed by only a single person on that last lap - the winner of the 17 mile race - and finished in 11:02:31. I had done the last lap in approximately 3:40. I took 26th. </div>
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I was most pleased with the effort my body was able to put into the event itself. I was, from my perspective, undertrained. But I used my now-eight years of experience running ultras to run a smart, conservative race and push hard for an extended period of time (really, the last 20 miles). These things don't get easy, but they do get easier once one clears the learning curve that is running for hours and hours on end and dealing with sleep deprivation. </div>
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<b>Stray observations</b></div>
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Starting a race on a looped course in the dark and running about one-and-a-half loops before sunrise does weird things to the mind. When I hit the pine tree tunnel on the third loop between the start/finish and aid one, I realized that while I had run through the area twice before (because I remembered what the dirt looked like), I had no idea on laps one or two that I had gone through the tunnel. Headlamp-induced tunnel vision. </div>
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My iPod gave out at the last aid station, and I didn't start it until about 10 minutes into the race. I listened to podcasts from NPR (Fresh Aid; Dinner Party Download; Radiolab; Embedded) and one decidedly not (Dan Savage), and the intellectual nature of them was a nice way to keep my brain focused on something else other than the running. Last year, the iPod was filled with rock and thrash metal and it gave out when I hit the road on the third lap (with about four miles/one hour to go).</div>
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I have now done 12 laps of the 16.7 mile Zumbro course. </div>
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The Ant Hill did not suck on any loop, and I did not break a toe going down it this year. </div>
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Five of my toenails have evidence of trail running. Five do not. </div>
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The toenail on my right big toe was not injured, a rarity for races of 50 miles or more. The toenail on my left big toe did have blister underneath it, and it may have partially separated from the bed. I pulled it off today. </div>
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I was going to use Atra's removable rockplates in my Superior 2.0's, but decided not to about an hour before the run started. Nothing new on race day, I thought. I'm glad I didn't. The course is not rocky, save the Ant Hill, and the plates, however thin (<1mm) take up valuable vertical space in the shoe. </div>
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I ate a lot of cheese during the run via quesadillas and grilled cheese. I don't think I've ever eaten dairy during a race (maybe once on a hamburger?) prior to this. </div>
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My stomach was mostly solid, save one time coming into aid 3 on loop 2. I had been putting lots of acidic things into it - Clif Blocks, mostly, plus Coke and the jelly on PB&Js - and needed to eat something that wasn't acidic. Ended up grabbing some M&M's and a quesadilla and walking out. </div>
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Bacon, eggs, and sausage at the finish line hot off the stove was the most amazing immediate post-race meal I've ever had. Kuddos. </div>
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Gear:</div>
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<li>thin fleece skull cap -> put in pack during loop 3</li>
<li>RSR buff (x2 or x3?) (used one as neck gaiter loops 1 and 2; used dry one as primary headgear loop 3)</li>
<li>Patagonia Capilene 1 short-sleeve shirt (loops 1 and 2)</li>
<li>Patagonia Capilene 2 Quarter zip long sleeve short (loops 1 and 2)</li>
<li>Patagonia Forerunner short-sleeve shirt (loop 3)</li>
<li>Patagonia Capilene 1 long sleeve shirt (loop 3)</li>
<li>Patagonia Houdini windshirt (in pack not used, but glad I had it)</li>
<li>Timex Ironman watch</li>
<li>iPod shuffle</li>
<li>Craft winter running boxer briefs /w strategically placed windproof panels from TCRC </li>
<li>Patagonia running tights</li>
<li>Fitsox Isowool Trail Cuff socks x3 (wore one pair throughout; had two more in drop bag)</li>
<li>Altra Superior 2.0 (2016 model)</li>
<li>Black Diamond lightweight fleece gloves</li>
<li>Scott winter running mitts, size L/XL (for over gloves)</li>
<li>Ultimate Direction AK 2.0 vest /w UD bottles</li>
<li>~8 sleeves of Clif Blocks</li>
<li>Tic Tac container /w Endurolytes (only had one)</li>
<li>Black Diamond Spot headlamp (original model) /w extra (4x) AAA batteries</li>
<li>Body Glide</li>
<li>In drop bag at start/finish and not used (and not already mentioned above): Altra The One's; Montbell synthetic insulated hooded jacket; Patagonia Strider Pro running shorts; Patagonia Capilene 1 stretch long sleeve. </li>
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Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-81683527242208767572016-01-17T13:25:00.001-06:002016-01-31T13:48:14.656-06:002016 Plans<div dir="ltr">
My tentative race plans will be:<br />
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<li>Zumbro Midnight 50, April 8, 2016</li>
<li>Spring Superior 50K</li>
<li>Kettle 100</li>
<li>Fall Superior 50</li>
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Context is important. My little guy will be a big brother some time in late July. This means running will be effectively shut down once kiddo no. 2 shows up. A couple notes on each race and my plains for them.</div>
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<b>Zumbro</b> is there for the overnight training, and the potential to run in adverse conditions. I've raced there twice (2012 and 2015) and dodged the 2013 and 2014 years of nasty weather. We'll see what the weather brings in 2016. </div>
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I also ran this race poorly early on and got hurt half way through last year. This year, the run will be smart and even. I have score to settle with the course, if you will. With ideal conditions and smart running, I think sub-ten hours is doable.<br />
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1/31/16 EDIT: I will also be running be running that <a href="http://www.runnewprague.com/">New Prague Half-Marathon</a> (I know! A race shorter than 50K.) on May 7. It's part of the Kettle-specific training to run fast on dense terrain (asphalt), see below.</div>
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<b>Spring Superior 50K</b>, if the lottery gods favor me, will be a final training run for Kettle. I have a long-term goal of running this (and Afton, for that matter) sub-five-hours, but again this race needs to be run smooth and even. My PR here is a 5:19 or so, and I am confident I can best that. EDIT: 1/31/16: The lottery smile upon me, and I will be running this race. </div>
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I have a score to settle with the <b>Kettle 100 </b>as well. This will be my "A" race this year, and I need it to qualify for another round of the lottery for Western States (for the 2017 race). I'm going to train as specifically for this as I can, identifying two portions of the course that kicked my butt last years: the heat; and the hard-and-flat first section that you go over four times. I'll do what heat training that I can, and do some quality workouts on the road to best simulate the conditions of that concrete-stiff surface. The grass running and dirt sections can be trained at Afton and Lebanon, and the single track can be trained at Afton and on the SHT. Goals: 1) Finish; 1.5) Finish with consistent effort and nothing left in the tank; 2) Sub-24; 3) sub-22; 3) Sub-Matt Patten's 2009 6th place 19:35:16. </div>
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<b>Fall Superior 50 miler</b> will be run with whatever is left in the tank. I don't expect a good time, but I do expect a finish. I'm running this and not the 100 because the new kiddo is more important, and if I'm going to run a 100 miler - particularly this one - I need to put everything I have into it. And I can't run do that with a newborn taking priority over everything: sleep, training, etc. Running the 50 also means that my time away from the new one and my wife will be ~30 hours (Friday afternoon to late Saturday evening at the least) instead of something close to double that (Thursday afternoon to Sunday AM). This race will be run on my residual remaining fitness from earlier in the year, and so I don't expect something hard or fast, just a finish please. </div>
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What comes after this 50 miler will likely depend on whether I finished Kettle. If not, I may need to look to Western States qualifiers in October and November. I'd rather avoid that, but I also don't want to miss a year of qualifying. </div>
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Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-35728841354856485822016-01-12T18:52:00.001-06:002016-01-12T18:52:40.071-06:00Altra Superiors 2.0, 2016 model year - initial impressions and comparison<div dir="ltr">Apparently I missed that Altra was<a href="http://www.irunfar.com/2015/11/best-new-trail-running-shoes-from-the-2015-summer-outdoor-retailer-show.html#Altra_Superior_2_Update"> tweaking the Superior 2.0 </a>for model year 2016 to fix <a href="http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2015/11/altra-youre-fired.html">the exact problem</a> that plagued both of my original 2.0 pairs. <div><br></div><div>Here's the update, per iRunFar.com: </div><div><ul><li><span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:Arial,Tahoma,Verdana;font-size:12px">Altra has made an incremental upper update with height added to the toe box as well as a lengthening of the men's shoes by about a half size. The midfoot and forefoot uppers receive some internal reinforcement to lessen mesh blowouts.</span></li></ul></div><div>The new versions, model 2.1(?) it could be called, hit my local running store today and I tried on a pair. Photo comparison below. Old are black/green, new is green/blue. </div><div><br></div><div>My 2.0's are size 8.5, my 2.1's are 8.0. The new 8.5's were simply too long and my foot badly slid forward. The width at the balls of my feet was a little tight, but it's very similar to my New Balance MT10v3's that I now run in and have in their prior iterations. I imagine this will relax a bit as I run in them. </div><div><br></div><div>The toe box is indeed slightly higher. This was an issue in version 2.0 with the reinforced toe protector on the upper pushing down and putting pressure on the toenails. </div><div><br></div><div>The upper is indeed reinforced. The upper is stiffer throughout, but particularly in the forefoot. There is a large grid-like middle layer (shown in a pale blue in the upper, most noticeable around the heel) to the main parts of the upper, in what appears to be a three-layer construction. The padding around the heel appears to have lessened, something that was annoying and unnecessary in the 2.0s - it made it harder to tighten the shoe down to get a solid heel lock. </div><div><br></div><div>The lacing is also different, as you can see the 2.0's have six eyelets, all in line with the tongue, where as the 2.1's have five eyelets adjacent to the tongue and one angled down and away (that one you never ever use but is useful when you need to lock your heel down). The laces are too short to effectively use the sixth eyelet on the 2.1's, so if you need those plan on getting some different laces. </div><div><br></div><div>The shape of the heel appears to be narrower, and I am pleased on first impression of my ability to lock my heel in. </div><div><br></div><div>The outsoles are the same, and appears to be the same material. If so, this shoe will be great on everything but hard, even ground and wet rocks. </div><div><br></div><div>More later after I've put in some quality runs with them. </div><div><br><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivK3uGw7xsGUJ-Xp5XogiJBh35-50pNLsYqpQA1znHH7RFqjOR0nHa0YphABXWKiOcMvIF4RHpnxm6O6Y54p0WN-LtQPghNhsOVt-HLSC8Wk6bluNU5QxuH3OiYgChDoyWMZ6m05q5-jhK/s1600/IMG_1351-760072.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivK3uGw7xsGUJ-Xp5XogiJBh35-50pNLsYqpQA1znHH7RFqjOR0nHa0YphABXWKiOcMvIF4RHpnxm6O6Y54p0WN-LtQPghNhsOVt-HLSC8Wk6bluNU5QxuH3OiYgChDoyWMZ6m05q5-jhK/s320/IMG_1351-760072.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6239068608962869378" /></a></div></div> Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-8004740299767337782016-01-03T11:53:00.001-06:002016-01-03T11:53:47.060-06:00Confident training week<div dir="ltr">"Don't get cocky, kid."<div><br></div><div>---Han, to Luke, Episode IV: A New Hope</div><div><br></div><div>'scuse the reference, but Star Wars is on the brain. I spent part of Saturday afternoon taking in Episode VII and was extremely satisfied. I'll see it again, if only to look for more, for lack of a better term, Easter eggs, that I didn't pick up on second viewing. </div><div><br></div><div>I ran a solid 60 miles over eight runs this week and had a good long run at an actual 25 percent of total mileage for the week. The runs were generally slow(er) than normal, as they tend to be in the winter's cold and darkness (floating from 8:30 to 9:00 min/mi, or slower, vs my usual 8:15 +/- 15-or-so seconds. </div><div><br></div><div>Other good parts about this week's mileage. It occurred during a holiday week and I avoided the usual gluttony (I did eat (more?) than my fare share of cookies, etc. I was well rested, for the most part, and the body was not sore at any point. I was tired at the end of the days, but that is usual. Getting up at 5 AM tends to beget going to bed, or wanting to go to bed, around 9 PM. Two more weeks of this volume and then I jump into doing some faster quality workouts, instead of just a long run with strides on my easy days. I just can't get cocky and need to trust in the plan.</div><div><br></div></div> Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-7785789701350270952015-11-29T18:04:00.001-06:002015-11-29T18:04:51.966-06:00Altra, you're fired<div dir="ltr">I fired the Altra Superior 2.0 as my trail shoe last week. <div><br></div><div>And until they get their problems with the upper's durability fixed, I'm not going back. </div><div><br></div><div>This was my second pair of Superior 2.0's. The first pair failed two weeks before Superior 100 at my 30K birthday run. Both shoes were torn on the inside and outside next to the balls of my feet. The fabric when shredded looked like a flimsy woven tarp with its crinkled threads. No biggy, I thought. Those shoes ended with just under 220 miles on them. They'd had a good go, but the outsole was still in wonderful condition. But for the tears, they had lots of good life still in them. </div><div><br></div><div>I was frustrated and wanted to look elsewhere, but the proximity to Superior 100 and minimal miles between that Saturday and the race in 13 days meant I couldn't adequately ensure that a never-before-raced-in shoe would cut it. Cardinal Rule #1: nothing new on race day. And so I dutifully got a second pair, this time a half-size smaller (to my usual 8.5) with the thought it would minimize side-to-side movement in the toe box and eliminate one potential for lateral stress on the fabric. </div><div><br></div><div>The shoes performed admirably at Superior 100 - no (new) blackened toenails and the soles looked great considering how rugged that course is and how much I walked. But there was a similar hole on the inside of my left shoe, just behind the ball - right in the same spot. It looked like there is stiff backing to the upper just behind where the hold was, like the stiffness is contributing to the tearing of the softer, more pliable fabric that comprises that portion of the toebox. </div><div><br></div><div>I wore pair number two one more time, at the Afton Fat-Ass race last week, and only because we were instructed to wear clothing that could sacrificed to the deer-trail god of the single track. I did as instructed, and made the hole bigger. The shoes were retired with 143 miles on them, ~103 of which was Superior 100 and eight were from the Afton FatAss.</div><div><br></div><div>I'm not the first person who has complained about durability that I'm aware of; those that I run with have anecdotes, either of themselves or personally, from these issues. The durability is a major issue, as a failure in-race could mean a DNF for lack of footwear. Runners have been forced to drop because of a shoe failure, and I don't want it to happen to me. </div><div><br></div><div>I'm not broken up about this right now either. The Superior 2.0 had some other non-major issues, mostly related to fit, and so I'm OK looking for something better. The padding around the heel and ankle was the biggest issue, as it was cushy and made it difficult, if not impossible, to really get a good lock on the heel. <a href="http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2015/05/summer-musings-and-mini-race-reports.html">Ginger Runner had a great review of the shoe</a>, and I agree with his praise and criticisms. Hopefully these issues get fixed if and when they issue version 3.0. </div><div><br></div><div>It's also the off season, and so I'll have plenty of time to test another trail shoe or three in time for the 2016 season. I also usually do plenty of running in dedicated trail shoes in the winter because of the snow conditions here in MN. The City may plow the paved public trail behind my house, but it doesn't - and can't - get everything. </div><div><br></div><div>What will I look for in a new pair of trail kicks? Lots of the same stuff that I did when I first went <a href="http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2015/05/summer-musings-and-mini-race-reports.html">searching after New Balance discontinued the 1010's</a>.</div><div><br></div><div>What that is, I'm not sure right now. </div><div><br></div></div> Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-54393267515068915172015-11-08T19:17:00.001-06:002015-11-08T19:17:46.141-06:00A cross country race?<div dir="ltr">I ran the Rocky's Run 6K today. It's on the women's course for the Roy Griak Invitational at the U of M's Les Bolstad golf course. The race is fundraiser for the family of Rochelle "Rocky" Racette, who died in 1981 in a car accident. <a href="http://www.gophersports.com/sports/w-xc/spec-rel/110515aaa.html">She was damn fast</a>, for lack of a better description. Proceeds from the race fund a scholarship in Rocky's name. Her sisters were on hand today and dolled out baked goods to finishers. <div><br></div><div>I ran it on the open invite from John Storkamp. I've never raced the course myself, as I was an alternate (our number eight guy, usually, for a seven-man team) if my memory serve me right one of the years my high school CC team ran there. </div><div><br></div><div>I was an odd trail runner among much thinner, visually sinewy specimens of the human form. As Storkamp, BJ Knight, Steve Quick and myself joked while we were on the light, the four of us had some huge trail runner calves. Everyone else was tall, lanky, and waif-like. I felt grossly out of place. <br></div><div><br></div><div>I thought on a really good day I could put down a 24:00, which is essentially a 20-minute 5K just extended out another kilometer. That mean going out in a 4:00 first kilometer and about a 6:26 mile, which is what I thought I was capable of knowing that I have had a sub-6:40 tempo/threshold pace from earlier in the 2014-15 running season. That said, I had no predilections about running well. This was a run-like-you-stole-something, an effort that was long enough to require endurance but fast enough that it's going to hurt to push hard. I also thought I could keep the last member of the U's women's team in sight. Sure thing, boss. </div><div><br></div><div>I was tight and sore from this week's all-to-jittery runs, but loosened up plenty in the low 50's weather with 15 mph winds after I put down a solid 4K on the course at an easy jog.</div><div><br></div><div>I went out in a 3:57 first kilometer, and felt pretty proud of myself for letting the huge pack go. This was going to hurt, but I didn't want to implode.</div><div><br></div><div>But I knew it was going to get harder, and that 240-second per kilometer pace wasn't going to hold. The first mile was 6:35, 2K in 8:20, 3K in 12:45, two miles in just 13:55 ish (meaning I ran a 7:20 second mile?). Things got better consistent after than, and I ran mile three in 7:19 for a 21:12 or so.</div><div><br></div><div>It was in this last 1,200 meters that I felt like I had plenty of gas in the tank, and that I could have run another kilometer or three at that pace, but couldn't go much/any faster. As I described it earlier on <a href="https://twitter.com/crazyrunnerguy/status/663424420296331264">Twitter</a>, I felt like I was a two-cylinder car that had a 25 gallon gas tank that got 45 mpg at the Indy 500. Low top speed, but the ability to hold that speed for a hell of a long time. I guess I need to do some 1,000 meter repeats (again) in training this year. </div><div><br></div><div>I came in at a 27:06, approximately, about 20 seconds behind the last member of the U's women's team. All in all, it was a damn good day. </div><div>---</div><div><br></div><div>2016 race plans are up in the air. Like many, my schedule will firm up on Dec. 7 when Western States holds its lottery. I put in for the race this year, my first ever entry, and so my one ticket and pitiful chances is only there to help me in years to come. Also on the radar: Zumbro Midnight 50; spring Superior 50K; Bighorn 100 (need a hard rock qualifier); and Superior 100; etc.</div></div> Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-49203158978411247052015-09-19T13:28:00.000-05:002016-01-31T13:45:21.681-06:002015 Superior 100: Mechanical redemption<div dir="ltr">
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My four attempts at the Superior 100 have now produced to two buckles. After one finish rooted in sheer dumb luck and two ugly DNF's for separate reasons, I am redeemed. Two Thousand Fifteen's race was executed with a mechanical calmness. Buckle now firmly around my waist, the monkeys from 2013 and 2014 are off of my back.</div>
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<b>My village</b></div>
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These races are never accomplished alone. Everything takes a village, and 100 milers are no exception. </div>
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My <b>wife</b> deserves top billing for granting me the early mornings, late nights, toddler nap times, and not sleeping in on weekends that have allowed me to get in runs of hours and hours upon end. She hears me chatter, type, and brainstorm. She checks in on me, making sure that I run if I tell her I am going to do so. She plans birthday runs, attends fatass events, and does it all with a supporting smile. </div>
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She had company in this race from one of two best friends from college, a woman who now calls Duluth home. <b>Lauryn</b> kept her company from CR 6 through the rest of the race, and she opened her house to us as base camp for the weekend. </div>
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I had two pacers. <b>Kevin</b> pulled the overnight shift, running/walking/hiking 20-plus miles in eight hours from 9:10 PM at Finland to 5 AM the next morning at Sugarloaf. It was his first time at an ultra and his second trail run ever. He performed admirably. </div>
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<b>Mark</b> finished the 100 last year, and he took over pacing duties when we left Sugarloaf. He was cool, calm, and collected. He always kept me in good spirits. He made sure encouragement came in light, appropriate doses, advised the (faster) runners in the shorter distances to give me a wide berth when they tried to pass. He and Kevin listened incessantly as my watch's timer went off, and each prompted me to plug away on my calories and fluids when it did so. He took care of himself and needed little, if anything, from my crew or the aid stations when we arrived at each oasis.</div>
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<b>How it played out</b></div>
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I ran with Rob Henderson from almost the beginning to CR 6. He graciously let me lead for most of those 43 miles. My ultra shuffle is slower than his, we agreed, and it allowed me to run my race and allowed him to take it nice and easy, thereby allowing him (particularly later) to run his. </div>
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On a few occasions, we separated - I tended to be in and out of aid stations faster. I got out of Silver Bay first, and he caught me a few miles in before we got to Bear and Bean Lakes. We left Tettegouche together, and separated at again CR 6 when I was ready to roll and couldn't find/see him. He caught me again shortly before the Sonju aid station with his pacer Peter Schnorbach. And when he and Peter came by just before Sonju, Kevin and I let him go, his natural cadence faster than mine. We performed the same swapping of places after Sonju because we cleared the aid station faster than they did. </div>
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Kevin and I ran functionally solo for the balance of our time together, save a few times we passed a runner or were passed. We plowed down into the Manitou Gorge and marched firmly back up. That wasn't so hard, was it? The issue with Crosby is that the first six-or-so miles is very tough to run consistently, the section as a whole feels longer than its already-long 9.4 miles reveal. Add to that me forgetting - again, for likely the fourth time - that the Caribou River must be crossed before the swamp and birch forests are reached. </div>
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Mark and I did the same, only I started out too jittery when leaving Sugarloaf. The Coca-Cola was setting in, me thinks, and I broke a cardinal rule: nothing new on race day. I took my poles, thinking that they would be helpful as I marched more. I was wrong, if only because they didn't have mud baskets. The trail was full of mud, and pushing down/back on the poles to make effective use of them required more energy that I anticipated. I abandoned them at Cramer Road. </div>
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And with the exception of a few difficult sections - particularly getting up and down Carlton Peak and the slow march the followed it to Sawbill, Oberg, and finally Lutsen, everything went smooth with a cool and cold mechanical precision to it. Minimal drama, just consistently putting one foot in front of the other until I was done. Oh, and eating consistently to the sound of a watch's beeper. I ran continuously and hard in every section, including bounding down the hill into Temperance, and I never experienced muscle soreness or tightness in-race. Any soreness I did have was gone by Tuesday following the event. When I could not run, I was still able to power hike at a good clip. </div>
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I do not know the source of this calmness. I can only chalk it up to experience and attitude. I went into this race with a positive, confident attitude bolstered by adequate rest in the 90 prior days, a solid eve-of relaxation (of Karnazes's account of his first Western States finish and Trason's battle with the Tarahumara at Leadville a la Born to Run plus some single malt to enjoy), and the sole goal of finishing. Solid weather, good training, and excellent company made for a perfect race. </div>
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<b>Mark Smith saved my race</b></div>
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A good pacer can save your race. Mark Smith saved mine on the climb to Carlton Peak.<br />
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I knew something was wrong. I was exhausted, hot, dizzy and starting to fritz in and out. I was drinking, eating, and walking. But I was wearing down, withering under the coming heat and blasting sun. I confirmed the same when I spurted water on by back, and perked up briefly while it dried. </div>
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Mark realized my issue and took action. He grabbed his Buff and soaked it in water. Where that water came from, I don't know. He called my name and told me to put it around my neck.<br />
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It was too wet, and my mind flashed to the dripping red bandana Matt Patten donated to my cause at Kettle. I would not repeat that experience. Like my mile-48 breakdown at Kettle, my core body temp was too high. But I needed to control it without dousing my shorts or causing collateral damage. And so I squeezed Mark's offering, and brown water flowed out. I put the moist tube of fabric on without comment. I felt like Ian Sharman, only slower and mortal.<br />
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This cycle repeated as we slowly humped up, around, and down Carlton Peak. I walked slowly, methodically, head down not saying a word, just alone in my head and what was five feet in front of me. </div>
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But for Mark, I may not have been able to save myself. The death march from Sawbill in to Lutsen would have been uglier than it already was (going to be).</div>
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<b>What matters in 100 milers is what goes on between your ears</b></div>
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Ed Sandor's <a href="http://edwardsandor.blogspot.com/2014/10/100-mile-lessons.html" target="_blank">Lesson for 100 Milers</a> put me in the right mind frame for this race. Go read it, right now, especially numbers 2, 3, 6, 7, 8, and 12. How did I apply them? </div>
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I promised my wife that I would be cheerful and smiling the entire day - numbers 7 and 8. And save a brief snap at my wife when she, not knowing my mental status, went against my train of thought - see next item - I was happy, cheerful, and grateful. Even when my head was down and all I could do was walk and push, I was present and could crack a smile if asked. I also learned just how hard and exhausting smiling is when you've been running overnight. </div>
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Each section was a point-to-point run to the next aid station - number 3. I never allowed myself to think about the race in its totality. I talked myself, often out loud, out of thinking about the whole race. I had a minor freak out at Sawbill when my wife said that I had only 15 miles left. "Don't say that!" I snapped. "You're 75 percent done," she replied. "<u style="font-weight: bold;">Don't</u> say that. I have 5.6 miles to the next aid," I replied. My wife took my two bottles and walked away to fill them, something she hadn't done all day. </div>
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Everything that happened in the race was accepted as it was - number 6. "This just is," I said to myself over and over again. Nothing on-course got to me, even when I banged the crap out of my toe and yelled loud enough the next day's marathoners could hear. It just was. It's sunny and we're exposed. It just is. Deal with it, get over it, keep moving on. </div>
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And when the going got tough and I could barely run, and realized I may have to walk it in, I knew that was enough - number 2. "Only one-hour miles to go," Brian Woods said to me as we refueled at Oberg at 3 PM. </div>
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Lastly, I refused to allow myself to do math - number 12. I never tried to calculate my pace, and I kept splits on my watch only to give myself an idea of how long a section took (or how much likely remained). </div>
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<b>Other amazing performances and random observations</b></div>
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John Mass <u style="font-weight: bold;">walked</u> the entire course, and finished in 31:33:XX. Walked. He started way in the back, and was in 209th place at the first aid station. He finished 54th, having moved up steadily all day - and making a big jump of 46 places to 73rd between Finland and Crosby. Of all of the runners there, John may the only one who has the discipline to attempt such a feat and the physical fitness and walking cadence to pull it off. He caught me on the Cross River and we stayed together until he passed me on the climbs toward Temperance. I passed him again while bounding toward the aid station, and he passed me for good on the climb up to Carlton. </div>
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Harry Sloan created the Superior 100, then called Sawtooth 100, in 1991. He modeled it after Western States, where would rack up 12 finishes. He ran this year's Superior 100 well, and sported his silver buckle - how gorgeous they are in person - at the pre-race meeting. He finished in 37:58:32, a mere 88 seconds before the 38-hour cut-off. It was his first finish in what was his first attempt at the course (regardless of iteration). You can't make this stuff up. </div>
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A marathoner passed me on the climb up to Carlton Peak. "Hundred miler? I'll say a Hail Mary for you," she said as she passed. A quarter mile up, she stopped and put her stuff on a bench - likely while she was relieving herself. She passed me again. "Matt? Another Hail Mary!"</div>
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I won the "Fastest Matt" division. </div>
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At least two wolves treated Mark and I to their howls at 5:20 AM shortly after we left Sugarloaf. </div>
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I actually saw - noticed? - very few volunteers at aid stations. At most aid stations, I needed to sit down for one reason or another. Early on, it was to handle foot issues. Later, it was just because I needed to get off my feet to more effectively pound calories. And all of this occurred at the chair my crew set up for me. Where did I notice who was volunteering at what aid stations? Lisa Messerer (Wild Knits) drove up the gravel hill toward Crosby as I was marching and running forward. I introduced her to Kevin, told her I was feeling awesome, and most importantly, relayed that I wouldn't need her to scrape me out of an aid station. She was pleased and drove on. </div>
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I also overheard <a href="http://thesethingshappentootherpeople.blogspot.com/2015/09/2015-superior-fall-100-50-and-marathon.html?m=1" target="_blank">Robyn Reed's voice at Sugarloaf</a>. "Is that Robyn?!?" I yelled. "Yes!" she replied. Nothing more, but I was pumped to get that brief reply. </div>
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And of course, Maria Barton's tiki-bar-inspired aid station that was Crosby was something I was looking forward to all weekend. I told Doug Barton that I was beating him, and he said something appropriately snappy back. </div>
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(Shout-out to Brian Klug here. The dude took third, ran sub-24, and was at Oberg at 1:50 PM when I showed up. He was wearing Luna Sandals and his feet (or just his left foot?) were (was) taped. An outline of red something poked around the tape. In my exhaustion, it looked like a fist-sized blister had been popped, exposing the delicate layers beneath the immediate epidermis. It looked like it hurt but I could not focus on it any more. In reality, I was merely looking at a tattoo.)</div>
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Finally, when I ran out of Oberg, Ed Sandor gave me a high-five so hard my hand hurt until I hit the trailhead. The man exudes positivity and happiness, and I was excited to see him when I rolled out. </div>
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<b><u>Training</u></b></div>
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I had a semi-elaborate training plan this year, and I more-or-less followed it until Zumbro. Zumbro whalloped my ankle, and it took longer to recover than I expected. I probably began running again too early and I was in great shape for Kettle, but the time between the two races isn't really enough to recover, do some training, and then taper for a 100 miler.</div>
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Post-Kettle, <a href="http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2015/08/im-ready-for-sawtooth-2015-edition.html" target="_blank">my training was spotty</a>: I ran about 48 times over those 90 days and racked up approximately 310 miles. I would have liked to have run more than twice that. I think the result of this lower mileage is that my body had time to recover from running-related issues from Zumbro and Kettle so that Superior could really be run well - even though it sure didn't feel like it at the time. The downside is that I couldn't properly peak or periodize for Superior 100. Whatever it was, hindsight is 20/20.</div>
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The end result is that since 10/19/14, I have done the following: </div>
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<li>Ran 257 times</li>
<li>Ran in 235 out of 327 days</li>
<li>Ran about 1,875 miles</li>
<li>Ran for 306 hours and 25ish minutes</li>
<li>Finished three ultras and DNF'd from a fourth</li>
<li>Volunteered at three ultras</li>
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Of course there is room for improvement. I'd like to boost the number of running days up in 2015/16 season and get closer to a 1:1 run/day ratio. I also felt that I was gaining a tremendous amount of fitness when I was consistently running 60-plus miles per week. I'd like to get there more often next year. </div>
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Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-42186045545168586942015-08-30T08:00:00.001-05:002015-08-30T13:51:22.121-05:00I'm ready for Sawtooth, 2015 edition<div dir="ltr">
The body is ready, the mind is willing, and every cell of me is looking forward to the annual reunion of what can best be called a tribe of those persons so crazy they spend hours on their feet suffering, fighting their personal demons, and seeking only a moment of shared catharsis when it is all said and done.<br />
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My goal is to finish. Nothing more, nothing less. No time goals - I have them, yes, but won't say or publish them publicly. My wife and her best friend are crewing, and a good friend of mine from high school is taking me through part of the overnight. I may be joined by a second pacer for the last marathon or so, and we'll see what kind of train we can make fro Oberg to the finish. </div>
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My training since Kettle has been spotty at best. June was spent in recovery from Kettle. July and August were for the most part full of work-related stress. The body can only handle so much stress regardless of source: work, running, or family/home. When the cup runs over, bad things happen. Sickness and fatigue sets in, tempers get short, etc. I had a couple weeks of these symptoms caused by preparing for, conducting, and coming down from an out-of-town trial. Then a ramp up and down from a vacation, and then a brief to the court of appeals caused a couple more weeks of the same. Each required me to set my practice on hold for a week or more, and address one specific thing. And the work doesn't stop while in that state - I can't just tell the world to stop calling or emailing me. </div>
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But the pleasant side of that is once the work that caused the stress is completed, the body rests and relaxes and returns to its state of fitness. I was concerned earlier this month - I've got the draft post to prove it - that my stress was a sign that I hadn't fully recovered, wasn't carrying fitness forward, or that my training since Kettle had been insufficient. One fitness-affirming run changed that, and my confidence has been restored. </div>
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Finally, I turn 30 on Tuesday, and several runners shared a 30K birthday run with me yesterday. I've wanted to do a run like that since about 2010 - one mile or kilometer for every year of age - but with Superior fall races, whether the 50 or 100, has always been too early in the year and my birthday too far from a weekend to really pull it off. This time, the run was held 13 days from the start of the 100 miler, a sufficient time to run an 18.5 gentle trail run. Thanks again to all who came, provided birthday goodies, and shared the trail. You all are the reason this community is a tribe of runners that keeps us all coming back. </div>
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Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-70533538429066602342015-07-03T08:39:00.001-05:002015-07-03T08:39:17.216-05:00Can any other sport do this?<div dir="ltr">In what other sport is the crowd of spectators larger, and their resulting cheers louder, for the last finisher than any other finisher, including the first? <div><br></div><div><a href="http://www.npr.org/sections/thetwo-way/2015/06/30/418897517/with-just-seconds-to-spare-70-year-old-finishes-100-mile-endurance-race">Gunhild Swanson finished the 2015 Western States 100 with six - six! - seconds to spare before the 30-hour cutoff.</a> </div><div><br></div><div>And this phenomenon is not unique to Western States, 100 milers in general, ultras, or marathons. It happens at all levels of competition, with supporters, spectators, and loved ones cheering on every finisher, in every race, from junior high track and field to professional races. </div><div><br></div><div>Maybe it it is the party atmosphere that exudes upon the gathering of a tribe of runners. Maybe it is the knowledge that any finisher is a champion (hell, any starter is too - there is no getting to Western States or the start line of any ultra without paying your dues). </div><div><br></div><div>But I've been in Gunhild's spot, or at least close. I finished the 2011 Superior 100 with less than 32 minutes to go before the 38-hour cutoff. Here's what I wrote of one man in the crowd at my finish, where the party was in full swing: </div><div><br></div><div><span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:Georgia,serif;font-size:13px;line-height:20.799999237060547px">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 </span><i style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:Georgia,serif;font-size:13px;line-height:20.799999237060547px">anyone</i><span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:Georgia,serif;font-size:13px;line-height:20.799999237060547px"> was still coming in. I took from his wonderment that there was a magical finishing time during which finishing is no longer amazing. </span><br></div><div><span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:Georgia,serif;font-size:13px;line-height:20.799999237060547px"><br></span></div><div><font color="#333333" face="Georgia, serif"><span style="line-height:20.799999237060547px">I have been Gunhild Swanson. We all have, or we all should. It is a humbling experience, and brings a runner closer to the essence of sport. And we should be grateful to those who stuck it out to bring us home, and we should exude love, support, and adoration for every finisher - including the Gunhilds among us.</span></font></div></div> Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-61431808278387404422015-06-22T20:14:00.001-05:002016-01-31T13:50:40.760-06:00DNF/RTC from 2015 Kettle 100 - chafing sucks, man<div dir="ltr">
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At about 1:45 AM on Sunday, June 7, somewhere near mile 79 or 80, I refused to continue the Kettle Moraine 100. I turned around and hobbled back to the Highway 12 aid station, intent on returning the timing chip that had been strapped around my ankle for the last 20-or-so hours. This is the story of that decision.</div>
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At around 4ish PM the previous day – 10 hours and 49ish miles into the run – the switch that had kept me going for all of the morning and afternoon abruptly shut off. The outage came not long after I had left the Emma Carlin aid station inbound at 75K. The next section should have been a gentle 5K to the next aid, an unmanned table at Horse Camp – a nice 50.5 miles into the race – and another 2.5 miles to the next manned aid station at Bluff Road.</div>
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When I arrived at Emma Carlin, I had just come inbound through the meadow, a 7.5-mile-or-so section of wide grass trails which traversed rolling open prairie. Shade was sparse, and I had turned to tactics usually reserved for Afton 50K in July to keeping myself cool. I was dunking my hat at every aid station, using sponges with cool water to wipe down my arms and legs, and filled my hat with ice. Finally, I was also strategically alternating running and walking, four minutes run, one minute walk, in an effort to keep the overall exertion (read: heat production) down. I thought it was doing an excellent job, and when Bill Pomerenke volunteered to rub down my quads with ice at Emma Carlin, I thought it was unnecessary – my thighs weren't sore or beat up on the almost pancake-flat course and while I was sweating (or looking back, at least I thought I was), I was reasonably comfortable under the circumstances. I had been pounding down water, draining a 20-oz bottle between every aid station (about every 35 minutes), and my stomach was still accepting non-acidic food. Nevertheless, I was grateful for the assistance.</div>
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But a mile or mile-and-a-half after leaving aid, I shut down. I went into full-on, tunnel-vision, heat exhaustion and could do nothing but plod along, eat, and drink. I recognized that I was in a bad patch, and that I must keep moving. That I stayed aware of my condition was amazing enough.</div>
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Several minutes later, Matt Patten came up from behind me just before we hit Horse Camp. Patten saw that I was in a dark place and graciously gave me his bandanna, which his wife had folded in half and sewn 90 percent of the fold to create a pocket for ice cubes. Matt filled it, tied it around my neck, and then we went. He ran. I plodded.</div>
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I walked, head down, for what felt like time immemorial. Runners passed me, concerned for my well-being. And I marched on. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.</div>
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And then I snapped out of it. The switch had turned back on. My core temp had returned to manageable, and I was back in the game.The change was as abrupt as the descent into my current state.</div>
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Except now my torso was now cold. And my shirt was soaked. And my shorts were soaked. The now-wet brief of my shorts had begun to chafe and cut into my inner thighs and undercarriage. I recognized the problem. I stopped, rid myself of the bandanna and its wet and icy contents, and channeling Hal Koerner's 2013 UTMB race experience, took an inside-out plastic bag, coated my chafed areas with Vaseline, and used the plastic bag – opening rolled over for protection – as a barrier between me and the cold, slicing shorts. I was proud of myself in the moment. I talked to myself, stating out loud that I had been presented with a problem, had devised a creative solution, was able to continue. I probably looked like a wreck.</div>
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At nearly every manned aid station after that, I re-filled the bag with Vaseline. Aid stations workers were generally confused why I was asking for a spoon and Vaseline at the same time. I thought you were going to eat it, one worker said. A large shiny grease-colored stain developed in the middle half my shorts. I was able to get back to the start/finish reasonably well, although I cursed the seven-and-a-half miles of wide, hard-packed ski trail that took me back to the 100K mark, and double cursed them when I power-walked them whilst traversing them a third time after heading out into the darkness. I had spent a good 20 minutes at the start/finish, and Lisa Messerer and Bill Pomerenke stuffed food, old coffee, and other goodies in me as I talked out the day and gathered strength to venture out. (I'd like to thank Ed Sandor for his list of things to think about when running a 100 miler - remember, a brisk walk will get you to the finish, I repeated over and over. Mantras work.)</div>
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Life got real when I turned off of the familiar path after leaving Bluff Road and ventured onto the second out-and-back section that was reserved for 100 milers and the persons competing in the 38-mile fun run. The course was now all single track and had a fair amount of roots and rocks, despite being more or less flat after an initial descent. It was Superior-lite.</div>
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By now I was wearing both of my shirts, and had been since I left the 100K mark at the start/finish. My fluid intake had stayed reasonably constant, as I was still taking in a fair amount of calories from bars, blocks, and aid stations. My stomach had returned from the mid-afternoon heat, and it was accepting Clif blocks again. Under the circumstances, all felt right with the world. A brisk walk will get you there, I thought, despite knowing that I was slowing down. </div>
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And likely due to the constant and necessary fluid intake, the decreased air temperature and the long-set sun, my fluid output kicked up. With each emptying of my bladder, I had to adjust the Vaseline and bag. Each time, it hurt more and more to replace and reconfigure the bag, and then to get moving again while the bag re-adjusted to its surroundings. After I left Bluff Road for the third time, it was 2.5 miles to the next unmanned aid station, and 4.5 miles to the next manned aid. Seven miles is a little more than an 80 to 90 minutes on fresh legs, but I was moving somewhere in the 20 to 25-minutes per mile time frame. It was a good 50 minutes to that unmanned aid, and another 100 minutes to Highway 12 at mile 78. Woof.</div>
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The aid station at Highway 12 looked like a war zone. There were people sitting in chairs, wrapped in blankets. One younger woman was trying to coax one of these sitters, obviously a runner, to consume <i>something</i>. An older woman was doing her best to ask incoming runners what, if anything, they needed. But mostly she looked in shock by the suffering, and had an almost helpless look on her face. There were other aid workers handling what appeared to be organizational issues. Everyone appeared stationary, dazed by what lay before them.</div>
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I sat down, got some luke-warm broth and a Coke, and started to shiver. John Storkamp's voice came to me, and I recalled him talking about why runners collapse in races. They're spent. They don't get in calories. Their exhaustion incapacitates their ability to generate body heat. They are moving so slowly that what heat they do generate is insufficient. It's a vicious cycle. Etc.</div>
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His words lit a fire under me. I stopped feeling sorry for myself and did something about it. I put on my windshirt and pulled down the sleeves of my stretchy long sleeve shirt. I put my hood up, stood up, and ambled toward the food tables. You have to help yourself, I thought. Bill isn't here, he isn't your crew, you need to take care of yourself. No one is going to do it for you.</div>
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I ate peaches at first, and speared each with a plastic fork. No pickles this time, as there were only sweet varieties. Susan Donnelly had appeared, and awed at a (multi?) gallon-sized Tupperware container that was half full of blueberries. I hobbled out, dazed but knowing that only moving would carry me onward, upward, and out of this horrendous funk. I wandered slowly, a little off-step and off-balance, and a woman, likely an aid or rescue worker, asked me if I was OK and as I struggled toward her. I gave her an extremely blunt, truthful answer, and she let me go, realizing the depths of my suffering. I felt like Dean Karnazes when his father comes to him at Robie Point during his first go at Western States. I probably looked like I had been run over by a car, but at least I was on my feet and moving. </div>
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While I was sitting in aid, there was a sign for inbound runners that noted the cut off at the unmanned aid from which I had just come. It said 7:15 AM, a little less than six hours from now. Looking back now, there would no reason to list the <i>outbound</i> cutoff on a sign that was directed to inbound runners headed to the next aid station. The sign was likely in error, if it had even read what I thought it said. And then there may have been no one at that unmanned aid station to enforce the cut off.</div>
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But my mind couldn't process this. Math is hard during a race. Regardless of what the sign actually said, what I thought it said influenced my decision making process after I left aid.</div>
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I got about a half an hour out – it was maybe around 1:45 AM, likely later – and I had warmed up. My brain had cleared. And I started to do math. I figured I needed to go about a half-marathon – 13.1 miles, or so – from my current location to the turn around, to back to Highway 12, and then the 4.5 miles to the unmanned aid at Duffin Road – in about six hours. I figured I was now traveling somewhere near 25 to 30 minutes per mile, walking slowly, limping and dragging my right foot unintentionally in an effort to avoid the chaffing issues and resulting pain. Running had long since not been an option. I entered a clearing and started up the hill it crossed, and stopped. I put both hands on a nearby tree and leaned over, suffering, and realizing that I wasn't going to make what I thought was the cut off back at Duffin Road. I was only getting slower, the going was harder, and I was in more and more pain with each step. Resistance was futile, so to speak.</div>
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And then my mind quit, and I turned around and walked out at a slower pace than from which I came. Outbound runners congratulated me on my effort, reasonably assuming I was inbound and still participating. It was a weird feeling, and I didn't have the heart to correct any of them. Twice I asked runners how far the aid was, and got frustratingly vague answers on each occasion.</div>
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Back at aid, I peeled off my ankle strap, found the aid station captain, and dropped. He asked me why.</div>
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"It feels like my undercarriage went through a cheese grater," I said, or something similar.</div>
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"Can we use that on the official report?" he replied, seemingly amused and aghast at my blunt answer.</div>
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"Yes."</div>
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And with that, my Kettle experience was done.</div>
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<b>Aftermath</b> </div>
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Refusing to continue was <i>a</i> correct decision. It was not <i>the</i> correct decision.</div>
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I know because at the time I made the decision, I had a clear head on my shoulders and was not suffering from a malaise in brain function. I was not in a deep hole – the exact opposite was true. I had just pulled myself out of said state by getting out of an aid station where I had been shivering. I had put on my windshirt, ate, and got up, got moving, and got warm. To paraphrase <i>Catch-22</i> – my favorite novel – the concern for one's self in the face of dangers that were real and immediate is the process of a rational mind. I had a rational mind when I decided to turn around.</div>
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I know because with the information I had – the pain, swelling, constant issues given my increased urine output, and incorrect cutoff signage (or not) – the cost of continuing would have been extreme. It would have likely ended with blood loss, etc. and long-term healing (think several weeks, if not longer) for the wounds to recover enough where putting on a pair of shorts wouldn't cut or damage scabbed-over skin.</div>
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Could I have done anything else? Likely. I could have taken the plastic bag, tore the side seams out (to make a flat layer of plastic) and put that in the brief of my shorts like a plastic, Vaseline-soaked maxi pad. Would it have worked? I have no idea. Maybe the inner seam would have been an issue, or the edges. I just don't know. But it was something I only came up with on Monday, and something I'll have in my toolkit in case life hits the fan in this manner again. (Tuesday, June 22 edit: while running this morning, I could have found away to dump the shorts and fashion some type of kilt/skirt, perhaps with a plastic bag or by sacrificing my short-sleeve shirt. Dunno - just a random thought that came to me at 5:45 AM.)</div>
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What else did I learn? Running a 100 miler sans crew or pacer is damn difficult. You must be self reliant, independent, and capable of dealing with issues on your own. (Conveniently, Outside tweeted about <a href="http://www.outsideonline.com/1975656/jenn-sheltons-ultimate-ultrarunning-tips">Jenn Shelton's ultrarunning tips</a>, originally published May 1, 2015, shortly after my race as part of its continuous tweet-vomit of previously published articles – see tip number three.) I was helped at two aid stations by Bill and Lisa – once in small part at Emma Carlin inbound, at 75K – and once in a significant way at Nordic, at 100K. At Highway 12, mile 78 outbound, I remember looking around and almost calling out for Bill, but I knew a) he wasn't my crew; b) he wasn't there; and c) that I needed to put my big boy shorts on and get moving. That all said, no one gets through these races alone. Even taking out Bill and Lisa, I was still helped by runners I ran with, aid workers, and Matt Patten.</div>
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I also learned that I can be self-reliant, independent, and capable of dealing with issues on my own. I've run 50 milers solo before. Once I came out my heat exhaustion funk at about mile 52, I recognized I had an issue with chafing and devised a creative solution to address the problem. At other aid stations, I was generally able to fill my bottles, grab sustenance, and get help with items that needed assistance (i.e. soup broth). I needed help significantly at one aid station – 100K – and could have used it at one other aid – mile 78.</div>
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The race reminded me of how fickle 100 mile runs inherently are. No runner's finish is guaranteed. So much must go right to get a runner to the finish line, and very little needs to go wrong in order to torpedo the attempt.</div>
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I went out at an appropriate pace, although it was tough to gauge because the 100 milers were starting with faster 100K runners and also-faster 100 mile relate teams. How do I know? I was continually being passed by other runners – including other 100 milers – and I was not passing them. I did not start too fast. I also came into the 50K four minutes under my planned time. (I planned on being there between 5:45 and 6:15 into the race, and I got there at 5:41 and left four minutes later.)</div>
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Per my wife's suggestion, I will also be bringing a second pair of shorts to keep with my crew. A swap at Bluff Road, inbound at mile 55, likely would have prevented my issues. That said, I had never experience chafing issues with these shorts - now on my second pair - and thought I was sufficiently prepared with my tube of Vanilply. Being wrong hurts.</div>
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Would I run it again? Yes. The event well organized for such a large group of runners in numerous races. The tedium of an out-and-back course – I usually prefer point-to-point or loop courses – was mitigated by the sheer number of people around me at any given time. I rarely ran solo for more than a handful of miles at a time, even at night. </div>
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Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-24803438748254507982015-06-17T22:10:00.001-05:002015-06-17T22:15:23.022-05:00Lost in the Woods 50K - video<div dir="ltr">
Enjoy - this was a blast.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/Zd4AjrMPFsE/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Zd4AjrMPFsE?t=2m24sfeature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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(<a href="https://youtu.be/Zd4AjrMPFsE?t=2m24s">link</a> - starting on morning of run)</div>
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Sadly, the video was turned off right before I spiked the plastic bag that contained my map, course instructions, and pages. </div>
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Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-52123940057529141772015-06-09T19:50:00.001-05:002015-06-09T19:50:31.354-05:00No surprises in iRunFar's article of what elites do that mere mortals apparently are not<div dir="ltr"><div style="color:rgb(34,34,34);font-family:arial,sans-serif;line-height:normal">Not a lot of surprises on iRunFar's <a href="http://www.irunfar.com/2015/06/six-things-that-elite-ultrarunners-are-doing-that-you-are-not.html" style="color:rgb(17,85,204)">listicle today of items elites are doing that non-elites apparently are not</a>. </div><div style="color:rgb(34,34,34);font-family:arial,sans-serif;line-height:normal"><br></div><div style="color:rgb(34,34,34);font-family:arial,sans-serif;line-height:normal">First, run easy runs easy, run hard runs hard. It's a skill, and harder to learn than my trite tautology suggests. </div><div style="color:rgb(34,34,34);font-family:arial,sans-serif;line-height:normal"><br></div><div style="color:rgb(34,34,34);font-family:arial,sans-serif;line-height:normal">Second, pace for elites is relative. They're not only faster than the rest of us at top speed, but they are putting less stress on their bodies when running at the same pace i.e. on uphills. </div><div style="color:rgb(34,34,34);font-family:arial,sans-serif;line-height:normal"><br></div><div style="color:rgb(34,34,34);font-family:arial,sans-serif;line-height:normal">Third, running downhill is a skill that can be learned. There is definite technique to it, and it's one of the best ways - particularly with long descents - to make up ground. Not a lot of those here in UMTR's neck of the woods given our penchant for courses with rolling hills and lack of mountains, but the idea is the same. </div><div style="color:rgb(34,34,34);font-family:arial,sans-serif;line-height:normal"><br></div><div style="color:rgb(34,34,34);font-family:arial,sans-serif;line-height:normal">Fourth, good form (in this case, arm swings) begets speed. </div><div style="color:rgb(34,34,34);font-family:arial,sans-serif;line-height:normal"><br></div><div style="color:rgb(34,34,34);font-family:arial,sans-serif;line-height:normal">Fifth, run with only with what you need. An item is perfect not when there is nothing left to add, but when there is nothing left to take away. I quiver with this point on gear, as many of require more than a single water bottle to get from aid to aid on longer courses - I'm even hesitant to take my UD AK vest to Sawtooth without taking a third bottle for those 10-mile sections that can take two-plus hours. But again, the principle is the same. iPhones are heavy (and I saw a lot of them at Kettle this weekend, to my shock and surprise, and being used to fiddle with music, messages, making phone calls...) </div><div style="color:rgb(34,34,34);font-family:arial,sans-serif;line-height:normal"><br></div><div style="color:rgb(34,34,34);font-family:arial,sans-serif;line-height:normal">Currently working a race report from said my RTC DNF this weekend. These things take time and thought, you know. </div><div><br></div></div> Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-71789955005638425462015-05-30T19:23:00.001-05:002015-05-30T19:23:35.260-05:00Summer musings and mini race reports before Kettle 100<div dir="ltr">A long note before next week's Kettle 100: <div><br></div><div><b>Overall fitness</b></div><div>I am going into this race likely at my best ultramarathon fitness ever - even topping the lead ups to the 2011 Superior 100 and 2012 Zumbro 100. Since re-starting running from the sprained ankle that prematurely ended last year's Superior 100, I will have put in over 1,400 miles and 210 hours of running in the past eight-or-so months. I've hit new highs for peak mileage in a week (outside of a race week) and in a month, and put in four quality marathon-length runs or longer. One of those runs was a PR for the 50K distance at Afton State Park on the race course, and that was now over two months ago. I've also put down some solid tempo runs, and I'm probably in sufficient shape to run a 3:10-3:15 marathon. Taper is going well (that is, I can feel myself losing fatigue as the training runs get less stressful). </div><div><br></div><div><b>Zumbro Midnight 50</b></div><div>I went into this race coming off of that 50K PR at Afton. I thought that if conditions were right, I could run somewhere between nine and ten hours. I started out trying to set a nine-hour pace. It ended up being too fast, and my right ankle - the same one that I messed with at Superior last year - hurt again and I struggled through the second and third laps nightly. I finished in about 11:15, good enough for 23rd place of 100 finishers. Not too bad for being in 8th after the first lap and being injured. </div><div><br></div><div>The race was planned to test my overnight running skills, and I was pleasantly surprised by how well it went. My headlamp only needed to hold out for about 5 hours, which is sufficient on its batteries (the 9ish hours at Superior is a little more of a challenge, but hey). </div><div><br></div><div>I also went into the race trying to treat it like Superior in that I should play the aid stations in a similar position to where there are at Superior. Basically, Zumbro's aid stations are anywhere between three and four-ish miles apart, and if I could skip every other one, it would be a good simulation. The test did not go well. New rule: don't skip aid stations, even if you just breeze through and grab-and-go. </div><div><br></div><div><b>Lost in the Woods 50K</b></div><div>This was a 29.4 mi jaunt in the woods near Mankato at Nicollet County's Seven Mile Creek Park. The host lived adjacent to the park, and he ran us up and down deer trails (marked by his pink flags, thankfully) in a Barkley-esque run where we ripped out pages, got them punched once per loop, and there was a single aid station. I ran with the lead group until that group splintered halfway through the second of two laps, and then fought like hell to not get dropped. </div><div><br></div><div>I did, and pushed back in full-on #paincave mode. I moved from fourth to second when Ed Thomas and Farmer John Maas missed the third-to-last book and had to go back for it. I struggled to catch the leader but ended up losing time on him and only finishing up by about three minutes on John. He's fast on those dirt roads, he'll tell you. </div><div><br></div><div>The major difference between Zumbro and Lost was that I went out evenly at a steady pace in the latter. I ran functionally even splits (losing just 90 or so seconds on lap two) and was on pace to run negative splits until I got turned around a little bit en route to the last book (needed to make sure I took the right trail). Pleased I was with the result. </div><div><br></div><div><b>New shoes</b></div><div>New Balance has discontinued the 1010's, my go-to trail shoe. Its last season was this spring, and so it'll likely be unavailable (or from go-find-it outlet stores, a hassle I didn't want to deal with). </div><div><br></div><div>There was a lot to like about the shoe: it had NB's minimus last (i.e. no insole), had a stiff rock plate, had plenty of tread and a reasonably high stack height for a minimalist shoe, and its upper was basically bombproof. I only had to retire my first paid because I wore slits on each side of the ball of my foot and the forefoot gave me too much play. </div><div><br></div><div>Changing shoes is never a fun experience. We are experiments of one, whether we like it or not. And the 1010 worked for me. </div><div><br></div><div>I considered most manufacturer's minimal options. I tried NB's re-issued 101 and didn't like it because of the narrow toe box and 10 mm drop. I tried their Leadville 1210's, and disapproved for similar reasons I didn't pick it up last time: 8 mm drop; medial post; and when trying them on, it was too cushy. </div><div><br></div><div>I thought this would be a good time to consider Hoka's - their Challenger and Speedgoat look intriguing - but I thought it would be weird to run roads with a minimalist shoe and trails with a maximalist one. </div><div><br></div><div>The leading contender turned out to be Altra's Superior 2.0. It had a lot going for it on paper: zero drop; rock plate, al beit removable (essentially it's a stiff and dense 0.5 mm thick insole) wide toe box; secure heal; designed by trail runners for trail runners; flat treaded bottom (i.e. no exposed holes that a rock had pierce you through) etc. I tried it on and it was cushier than I perhaps would have liked - but that will be worn down with use. I picked up a size 9 (I normally wear 8 to 8.5) to accommodate thick socks and swelling in 100 milers, and with the inserteable rock plate, it fit wonderfully with plenty of room in the toe. They'll be my backup shoes at the 100K mark at Kettle (or in case my 1010's blow out, etc.) and will likely be put into rotation following Kettle in prep for Superior, regardless of whether the 1010's survive Kettle. </div><div><br></div><div>On the same note, that have continued my road shoe, the MT10. I've had two pairs each of versions one and two, and the v3 is the new iteration. We'll see if/how it is different. My current pair of v2's has just under 600 miles on them, and these things usually last about 700-800 miles, so we've got a probably less than a full month of training (meaning sometime into late July given the inevitable recovery post-Kettle).</div><div><br></div><div><b>Kettle</b></div><div>I don't know what to really think of this race. It has ~18K of cumulative altitude change on a relatively mellow course: for reference, Afton 50K has 9K and Superior has 42K. Lost in the woods had 14K over 29.4 miles.</div><div><br></div><div>I'd like to run it "fast," but I don't know what fast means. Matt Patten's 6th place finish in 19:30 a few years ago is sticking in my head as a "dream goal" time, and I think a good first tier time goal would be <24 hours, second tier <22 hours, third tier <20 hours. I think so long as I take the first 50K nice and easy (I have somewhere in the 5:45-6:15 range sticking in my head), the pacing for rest of the run will fall into place. </div><div><br></div><div>But really I want to finish, run evenly, stay uninjured, and everything else is just gravy. </div></div> Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-30683322794734006512015-03-08T19:10:00.001-05:002015-03-08T19:10:52.024-05:00Ultimate Direction Signature AK Vest, v2.0 - initial thoughts<div dir="ltr"><div><div dir="ltr"><font>I anticipation for next month's Zumbro Midnight 50 and June's Kettle 100, I added a new race vest to the family: <a href="http://www.ultimatedirection.com/p-628-ak-race-vest-20.aspx?cid=hp_sigseries-AK_flipper3" target="_blank">Ultimate Direction's Signature AK Vest, v. 2.0</a>. </font></div><div dir="ltr"><font><br></font></div><div><font>Why'd I buy this specific vest for these specific races?</font></div><div><font><br></font></div><div>I do not like carrying hand bottles during races. Long training runs, even on trails, OK, but during races with the frequent eating (formerly, gels every 30 minutes, now Clif blocks every 10 minutes /w gels every 30) meant that I only had a hand-and-a-half to do so, and gels in particular require two hands. </div><div><br></div><div>And my current race vest, the venerable and trail-tested Nathan #020, isn't well suited to races where aid is so close together and I may need to carry much of my own gear. Yes, I can carry plenty in the pack, but because all of the weight is on the back - and 70-plus oz of water is nothing to sneeze at weight-wise - the pack can pull on you, expending extra energy. </div><div><br></div><div>Hence the AK (now 2.0) comes into play. Bottles and some storage in front, gear in back. Simple.</div><div dir="ltr"><font><br></font></div><div dir="ltr"><font>Here's my initial thoughts after trying it on in-store and running on a treadmill with the pack empty, but bottles in, a 6.3 mi training run on roads, and a 17-plus mile trip around Afton. </font></div><div dir="ltr"><font><br></font></div><div><font>First, the bottles are surprisingly not in my way for running. They did not interfere with my arm swings while testing, but my left arm did occasionally strike the bottom of the left bottle when running on the short test run. I did not have this same problem while running at Afton. </font></div><div><font><br></font></div><div><font>Second, the vest's hex mesh is surprisingly stiff - much stiffer than the hex-type mesh that is used on my Nathan #020. </font></div><div><font><br></font></div><div><font>Third, the vest is very hard to initially size by yourself because the two side ladder lock buckles are small, the loose end points backward (meaning you need to chicken-wing your arm to pull it, and even then the stiffness of the strap doesn't feed smoothly at all. This is one feature that needs to be improved on if 3.0 arrives. It could fixed if the strap set was rotated so that the loose end points forward - just as it does on hip belts for hiking backpacks. It's simple to pull forward, very difficult to pull backward. </font></div><div><font><br></font></div><div><font>This feature concerns because of the item number next. </font></div><div><font><br></font></div><div><font>Fourth, the pack fits better and tighter when the backpack is fully loaded. It feels snug and less likely to bounce around. Whether the side buckles will require adjustment dependent on how full the backpack is will wait to be seen. If it doesn't, the issue with the buckles becomes a non-issue - one simply dials in the size initially and rarely if necessary, and goes from there. </font></div><div><br></div><div><font>As the volume of water decreases, there is less weight in the vest to help keep it firmly on your chest. I could feel the vest getting looser as I ran - maybe that is just natural slippage - which was no issue on my 17 mile test run. </font>But the bottles carry fantastically and firmly against my chest. They held solid in the pack, something that is unlike bladders. On a 50K, 50 miler, or 100 miler, we'll see if this becomes an issue. </div><div><font><br></font></div><div><font>Fifth, I will need to adjust how I accustomed to carrying everything I need during a race. I really missed at Afton not having a pocket large enough to hold my Body Glide. On my Nathan #020, it say in a zippered pocket on the left. There is nothing on the front of the best which is large enough - that also doesn't obstruct the bottles - to hold the BG. I guess I'll need to carry it in my shorts, or high in my pack so I can reach it. </font></div><div><font><br></font></div><div><font>I can reach things that are high in my pack, for the most part. This is a pleasant surprise, as I needed to take off the #020 if I wanted to get anything from the back. I'll still need to take off the pack to get something that slips down, but hey, I'll take it. </font></div><div><font><br></font></div><div><font>I also need to figure out where I am going to put empty gels. I normally put them on the outside of a mesh pocket on the front left of the #020, and I'm not there is a comparable pocket on the AK. Perhaps a pocket in my shorts? Not sure what to do here. </font></div><div><br></div><div>---</div><div><br></div><div>Who knows if I'll use this pack at Superior. I'm a little concerned that its 40-oz capacity is too small for the several lengthy (and traditionally hot) sections of the trail, and I have consumed all of that 70 oz capacity on a couple of occasions through some of those longer sections. Who knows - maybe I'll be fast enough this year that 40 oz to take me from Crosby to Sugarloaf is sufficient. </div></div> </div> Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-6651859640263786712015-02-07T13:26:00.001-06:002015-02-07T13:26:59.316-06:00On being ill.<div dir="ltr">Being sick is no fun. Going from 60-plus miles per week to ten is even less fun. Running twice in a week and then stopping because the body needs time to heal is a decision only based on experience. <div><br></div><div>I say this because I am in, hopefully, what is the last 24 hours of this year's annual head cold. It started last Tuesday, Jan. 27 with a sore throat and congestion. The sore throat left the following Thursday/Friday following a period of daytime when my voice was a full octave lower. And then the gunk sunk to my lungs and I started a nice productive cough that is still with me, nine-or-so days later. </div><div><br></div><div>I've taken seven zero days in the past 12 days, almost equal to the nine I have taken from just before I got sick back to Oct. 19, 2014. Seven-day and three-week rolling averages are paltry. And I need to once again adjust my peak weekly base mileage, dropping out the two final weeks of base period - current set for 80 miles - and replace them with 70 mile weeks. I'll still probably keep the peak at 80 for in-season training - I see no worry to cycling up to that high mileage a small handful of times throughout out the year. </div><div><br></div><div>The weirdest effect of being sick is that my motivation to run has been all-but nonexistent, like my body is telling me to not go run. For the most part I have listened to it. Morning runs are basically not happening. Evening runs are affected by how I managed through the day. And weekend long runs just didn't work. </div><div><br></div><div>And so it goes. Adjust training goals on the fly without changing racing goals. Just adapt to meet those racing goals. </div></div> Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-25395471506371304312015-02-01T22:00:00.001-06:002015-02-01T22:00:44.695-06:00Pronounce your goal. Plan for it. Work for it. Be accountable to it.<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_signature"><div dir="ltr"><font>Every Sunday, without fail, I tweet to the world and my FB friends two things: what I did this week in runs, mileage, time, and year-to-date and season-to-date (i.e. since 10.19.14 re-start) stats. Second, I tell them what I'm going to do next week. If I didn't make last week's goal, I state why. </font></div><div dir="ltr"><font><br></font></div><div>At the end of every month, I tweet monthly totals: runs, running days, mileage and time - plus year-to-date stats. </div><div><br></div><div>I keep elaborate spreadsheets to track my running progress (and I also use <a href="http://logyourrun.com">logyourrun.com</a> in addition to Google Sheets). Most importantly, I track rolling averages for mileage and duration for the prior seven days and three weeks. My runs and quality workouts are planned for every day from basically November 2014 to the finish line at Lutsen for the 2015 Superior 100. </div><div><br></div><div>Why?</div><div><br></div><div>I tell the world my weekly results and next week's goals to keep myself accountable, if only to myself. No one save myself will every get on my back for failing to meet goals. No one save myself will ever make sure I don't overtrain. But being public with a goal lets the world know you stand for something, and posting your results shows them that you're being accountable to those goals, actively working toward those goals, and achieving those goals. </div><div><br></div><div>Each day, I can look to my plan and see what I need to do. In the past, I simply set a weekly total for miles, picked a day for quality workouts, and let the rest sort it out. I ended up missing a lot of quality days and skimping on the daily runs and weekly mileages totals. I still ran well, but far from my peak potential. </div><div><br></div><div>Now, the process is simple. It is planned ahead, perhaps months prior, and adjusted accordingly as the season progresses. I know what I must do, and I then execute on that objective. </div><div><br></div><div>Results and excuses are mutually exclusive. </div><div><br></div><div>Nothing is free, everything is earned, and everything earned must be worked for. And all work toward that which you earn is hard work. Whether it is slow work - easy running must be easy enough such that it is actually recovery - or fast work - it must be fast enough such that you are achieving your training goals - it is hard work. </div><div><br></div><div>State your purpose. Go do the hard work. Be accountable. Achieve your results.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div></div> </div> Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-23534523675660434862015-01-18T19:14:00.001-06:002015-01-19T20:24:06.823-06:00Book review: Hal Koerner's Field Guide to Ultrarunning<div dir="ltr">Hal Hoerner's <i>Field Guide to Ultrarunning </i>is what you would write if you had a beer with Hal, asked him to tell you everything a runner who is just getting into ultra marathons should know, and just listened and took dictation. The tone is conversational, approachable, heavy on anecdotes and substance but light on details. For example, you will find recommendations for speed work (hill repeats, tempo runs up to an hour duration, and fartleks are all recommended) and weights (light weight, lots of reps) are important, too. But you're not going to find VO2 max tables or detailed speed workouts here. This is not <i>Lore of Running </i>or <i>Daniels's Running Formula </i>- it is a casual, practical explainer of everything one would want to know before training for and toeing the line at their first ultramarathon. <div><div><br></div><div>The relaxed vibe is the text's strength. Hal's matter-of-fact descriptions of topics and explainers what works and what doesn't sets out the basics with casual ease. For example, Hal himself idoes not follow any specific diet and is not burdened by any restrictions on his intake. His diet used to be burritos, bagels, and beer. He simply focuses on carbs before, during, and after runs. "If my meals aren't measuring up to my mileage, I know it from the first step, and this self-awareness helps me stay on top of deficiencies," he writes. As someone who credits his first 50 mile finish to a change in eating habits and has tried to run after eating something less-than-nutritionally optimal, I completely understand the statement. </div><div><br></div><div>Should you get it? Yes. </div></div></div> Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-5266320290279167242014-12-24T14:55:00.001-06:002014-12-24T14:55:20.549-06:00An actual injury - imbalanced pelvis<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_signature"><div><font>For several weeks - three or four, perhaps - I have had a nagging ache, very dull, on the back right side of my butt, perhaps in the pelvis area. It has been sore in runs and when bad, wraps around the outside of my pelvis and starts to radiate down the front of my right thigh. </font></div><div><font><br></font></div><div><font>I took that concern, and a request for a follow-up on my right ankle post-Sawtooth, to my new family physician, Dr. Bill Roberts with the University of Minnesota. He's a family physician, but is focused on runners and is the team physician for Team USA-Minnesota, is the medical director for the Twin Cities Marathon, and also works with the Minnesota State High School League for their track and field events. So yeah, he gets runners and doesn't think I'm crazy. </font></div><div><font><br></font></div><div>When I told him of my right-sided troubles, he said when someone has issues on one side of their body, he always looks to the pelvis first. And sure enough, the top of the rear of the right side of my pelvis is higher than the left. As a result, when I lay down one of my legs (right, IIRC) is appears shorter than the left, and it switches when I sit up. The difference is about the width of a thumb, and it was a little creepy when I was sitting there with my feet extended in front of me looking at how my left foot was closer to my chest than my right. </div><div><br></div><div>It's also possible that the ankle sprain, or whatever it was, that happened at Sawtooth was actually a foot drop caused or exacerbated by inflammation on or around the nerves that run on the front right of my lower leg and control sensation to the fourth and fifth toes. In testing with some monofilament, essentially stiff fishing line, the tops and bottoms of my fourth and fifth toes had less sensation (with more sensation in the fourth than the fifth) than the sensation I had in the big, second, and third toes. </div><div><br></div><div>The solution? A round of physical therapy, however many session the therapist thinks I need up to my referral limit (12), and Dr. Roberts was very optimistic that once this pelvic imbalance was taken care of, my other two issues would go away. I can still keep running as planned - 60 mpw this week and each of the next two weeks. </div></div> </div> Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-59096457352838635302014-12-10T20:22:00.001-06:002014-12-10T20:22:46.820-06:00Test<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_signature"><div><font>Test post; via email. </font></div><div><font><br></font></div><div><font>-crg</font></div></div> </div> Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908303394612801260.post-28642470590274359862014-09-09T01:52:00.002-05:002014-09-09T08:58:55.271-05:00Ankle sprain forces DNF from Superior 100<a href="https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.784508801588.1073741828.67700312&type=1&l=4d0415d9af">2014 Superior 100 photo album (captioned with mini race report)</a><br />
<br />
Somewhere around 9 PM a few miles from the Finland aid station, my right ankle became weak and floppy. It hurt on the front of my ankle when I pointed my toes, and the strength to support my weight on that ankle was waning. I was all-but sure I had suffered a <a href="http://www.irunfar.com/2014/05/its-not-about-the-tibialis-anterior-high-ankle-sprains-in-mountain-ultrarunners.html">high ankle sprain</a>. (If only because I had recently read the linked article).<br />
<br />
We had been running very well. The section from County Road 6 to the next aid has some of the longest, flattest, gentlest sections on the entire course and we had run them hard. Everything was going well - food, fuel, salt, pace, everything. I do not recall any specific, acute trauma that did anything to that ankle - no fall, twisting, or misstep. All was normal, and then the pain showed up out of nowhere. <br />
<br />
What to do now? We were 48 or so miles into the Superior 100, a rugged 103.3 trail race. It was three-or-so miles to the next aid station (Finland) at mile 51.2. I could still run on perfectly flat and gentle ground, but running on anything else was a no-go. So we marched on.<br />
<br />
I had taken a misstep and rolled my left ankle on the Tuesday before the race. That left ankle was supported with a compression sleeve on race morning, and I had been wearing it since Wednesday AM. Together with my pacer, we resolved to get a medical evaluation at Finland, tape the ankle, and continue. Barring that, we would move the compression sleeve over. The left ankle had been giving me no troubles and so I was comfortable with that plan.<br />
<br />
We rolled into Finland at 9:50 PM, the party in full swing. I sent my wife to find someone who could tape an ankle. The aid station did not have anyone. They also did not have any athletic tape. The only tape we had was Leukotape, which I use for blister prevention. It has no elasticity and was not something I wanted to tape an ankle with. I also couldn't carry the roll with me should I later change my mind between now and the next time I saw her in 11 miles - my pack was full and my pacer couldn't carry it either. And so we switched the sleeve over and kept rolling. We walked, gingerly, out of the rocky spur trail that had lead to the aid station. I chalked my uncomfortable footing up to the chill that I underwent after sitting in the aid station for 15 minutes eating, drinking, and determining what to do with my foot. I did have a fleece hat and two shirts on. Once we hit the dirt road off of the spurt trail that leads back to the main SHT trail, we were running. All was again perfect with the world. <br />
<br />
<b>To Sonju</b><br />
<br />
It lasted about four miles. The section to Sonju is notoriously rough, and it beat my feet into submission during 2013's event. And so we walked and maintained a decent clip. I expected to slow down if only because of the terrain, and we did. Whether the pain returned because of the terrain or not, four miles in I was back to the weak ankle and cringe-inducing steps. Again, how to fix it? I sat down on a rotted-out stump and laced up my right shoe to the top pair of eyelets - those one you never, ever use - and tightened up the laces as taut as I could comfortably manage. The additional lacing through those top eyelets provided additional downward pressure to the front of my ankle and stabilized the whole joint. And we kept moving.<br />
<br />
We pulled into Sonju aid station, mile 58.7 at approximately 1:20 PM. Larry Pederson and his daughter were there, as were several runners huddled around the fire. I asked for medical assistance with taping the ankle, and they did not have any. They also lacked tape. I asked for some ibuprofen. No dice (and was later glad they didn't have any). <br />
<br />
"You can't drop here," Larry said. Best to keep going to Crosby, they'll likely have medical staff and supplies there because, well, it's Crosby, we agreed. It had taken us 24 minutes per mile to get here, although my brain calculated our pace closer to 20 minutes per mile. That faster pace was sustainable at a walk, and running the math out - remember, it's dangerous to do basic math during a 100 miler - it was also a finishable pace, Larry and I agreed. <br />
<br />
<b>To Crosby</b><br />
<br />
And so we hoofed off at 1:24 AM. The 4.2 miles to Crosby is actually closer to 3.66 because you need to get out of the aid station (~0.2 miles) and then once you get to the gravel road, hike up that gentle grade into the aid station (~0.33 miles). It was an easy section. At my erroneous pace guess of 20 minutes per mile, even on my now-supported ankle, we were going to shoot for arriving at around 2:50 AM.<br />
<br />
But just like the compression sleeve, the relieve the additional lacing provided did not last and within a mile or two I started to hobble on the ups and down. I shuffled down declines sideways with my feet perpendicular to the trail. When the pain returned my pacer and I concluded that I was not going to
run another step. We determined that once we got to Crosby, we were going to get a
medical evaluation. If it was safe to continue, i.e. I wasn't running
the risk of a serious or permanent injury, we would tape up the ankle or
do whatever else was necessary and keep going at our power hike pace. I would hike to Lutsen if necessary. <br />
<br />
But the ankle only got worse with each step. By the time we hit the road, I was in a full-on limp on the flat and hard
dirt. For a third time, we had reached the question: What to do now? I grimaced as we plodded up into the aid station. For the first time during the race, I did not run to meet my wife. I hobbled.<br />
<br />
But there was no medical staff at Crosby. My wife asked the aid station workers for someone who could tape an ankle, and it got to Matt Patten - who was captaining party known as the aid station - who determined that he was going have to be the person, who despite a lack of medical training, upon whom the task would fall. He also lacked the medical supplies to complete the task.<br />
<br />
Somehow, a crew member of another runner heard my plight and came over. Jen was a physical therapist and graciously agreed to examine my ankle. With my shoe, sock, and compression sleeve removed, she wrapped her hands around the base of my ankle and squeezed, putting pressure with a single fingertip.<br />
<br />
"Does that hurt?" she asked.<br />
<br />
I moaned, reared my head and thought I was going to cry. She moved her hands, and squeezed again.<br />
<br />
I repeated my wincing, and announced to the world that I was going to throw up. The pain had sent me into shock.<br />
<br />
You've definitely strained the ligaments on the outside of your ankle, she explained - likely by rolling it - and you likely pinched a ligament on inside of your ankle at the same time when it rolled. She could tape the ankle up and that would brace it very well, but she was unfamiliar with the Leukotape we had.<br />
<br />
Now I have rolled ankles in the middle of races before. During the 2011 Superior 50K, I took a wrong step and a later fall <a href="http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2011/05/race-report-2011-sht-spring-50k.html">rolled my left ankle</a>. Obviously sprained, I could and did continue to run on it. I sprained the right ankle en route to<a href="http://crazyrunnerguy.blogspot.com/2012/05/zumbro-100-race-report-just-finish.html"> finishing the Zumbro 100</a> in April 2012. But none of those affected my ability to maintain forward progress like this injury.<br />
<br />
My wife asked the penultimate question. "Does he risk serious or permanent damage if he continues [with a taped-up ankle]?"<br />
<br />
Well, she said in a tone that told me I wasn't going to like the news, you're risking a longer recovery from continuing. You're looking at eight to 10 weeks of recovery if you stop now, and longer of you damage it further. You could also tear the ligaments and risk immobilization, she said.<br />
<br />
During the hike up and into Crosby, my pacer and also discussed the collateral effects of the sprain on other parts of the body. I would be compensating for the weakness and my gait was noticeably affected. It was all too easy to injure another body part as a result of my altered stride.; <br />
<br />
I knew the trail that was coming next, too. I would need to descend over boulders into the Manitou River gorge and then hike up and out of the same. If something went wrong, I was toast and could need professional rescue. And other hard parts of the course remained - the Cross River and the hike up and down the hill prior to the Temperance River and then up to, around, and down Carlton Peak were primarily on my mind. <br />
<br />
My pacer looked at me and all-but told me to turn in my number. You don't want to be out six, nine, 12 months because of this, he said. I knew he was right, and I told my crew, Jen, and Matt Patten that I was done. My wife removed my bib and took it to the radio operators and made sure I was properly DNF'd. I thanked Matt Patten, Jen, and sat there for a little while in warm clothes consuming soup and grill-fired pizza. I dragged my right foot as I walked to the car, dazed from the effort and what had just occurred.<br />
<br />
<b>Aftermath and evaluation</b> <br />
<br />
My injury-forced DNF has left me with an emotional emptiness, like a nagging Monday morning quarterback who has nothing critical to say about the prior day's performance. Just a shrug, a better-luck-next-time. <br />
<br />
Why? Because everything went right on this race <u><b>except</b></u> that ankle, and everything continued to go well <u><b>after</b></u> the ankle injury (except of course the ankle). And even with the ankle injury, I still cannot point to a specific event which caused it. I did not fall, and none of my stumbles over roots or rocks were out of the ordinary. I do not remember rolling my ankle (which is why I thought it was initially a high ankle sprain caused by running down hill), or any specific point on the trail or event that was occurring when and where it first gave out.<br />
<br />
So what did go well?<br />
<br />
<b>---Weather</b> <br />
<br />
How often do you get three perfect days in a row on the North Shore? Almost never, that's when. The days lined up to be mostly sunny, temps in the mid 60's, lows in the low 50's/high 40's and a nice breeze. Zero rain was in the forecast, although we did get about five droplets hit us by a passing cloud en route to Sonju.<br />
<br />
It did rain earlier in the week and so the trail was muddy in many spots, but that was manageable. I'd rather have water on the ground than it coming from the sky. <br />
<br />
<b>---Nutrition</b><br />
<br />
I went into the race planning on relying almost entirely on Clif blocks while taking a gel once per hour, salt tabs every 30 minutes, and taking two 225-calorie bars (<a href="http://www.drmomma.org/2010/08/major-milk-makin-lactation-cookies.html">made from this cookie recipe</a>, which I have used in cookie form at prior ultras) at each aid station, and then consuming bananas, other fruit, HEED, Coke, ginger ale, and PB&J sandwiches at aid stations. My watch was set to a 10 minute timer so I could take a block, and everything was based off of that. My world was confined to 10 minute increments, and I had the timer field showing all the time on my watch. I only looked at the time elapsed (or the actual time) at aid stations, but never in between. I can do anything for 10 minutes.<br />
<br />
In the end, I consumed 12 tubes of blocks (2,400 calories), four gels (400 calories), several bars, and other goodies at aid stations. I probably easily cleared 5,000 calories and felt great the entire time. When my brain did start to fritz out while walking to Sonju and then Crosby aid stations, I was easily able to recognize it, take a salt tab and get some calories in, and keep going.<br />
<br />
Gels did not work so great because they were so sweet (I had a couple of ones from Clif), but they were a good pick-me-up when I knew I was low on sugar. Mix with some water and take it slowly and all was fine. As the race was progressing, my plan for them was to keep a couple on me to get me through any low-glucose-induced rough patches.<br />
<br />
Fluids also went well, and was able to drink to thirst without worrying about draining my supply.<br />
<br />
<b>---Footwear</b><br />
<br />
I went to New Balance 1010v2's for additional support and protection in this race. And they worked. My feet did not get pounded to a pulp, although I did end up jamming my big toe on my right foot and will lose the nail on my right big toe again. I don't think this is so much of a shoe issue as it is my own tendency to use that foot as my initial stepping-off foot, i.e. it bears the brunt of any contact. The shoes themselves also held up very well, and only one lug became partially detached my the aggressive trail. I'd wear them again.<br />
<br />
Other issues with my feet I am chalking up to the loss of form caused by the ankle sprain. <br />
<br />
<b>---Pace </b><br />
<br />
I planned to take the pace slow an comfortable. Apparently my reputation - earned or not - of blowing up in races precedes me, and there are a few people who have scrapped my butt out of an aid station and pushed me to the finish. I chalk most of these prior errors up to plain inexperience, and I was going change that rep at this race.<br />
<br />
I hope I have. I arrived at Split Rock, mile 9.7, at approximately 10:10 AM. I had run with a group of people, the leader of which was taking the pace gently and making sure to walk and go slow over technical sections. The transition was quick, and later I shortly caught up with T.J. Jeannette as we walked out of the aid.<br />
<br />
T.J. and I ran to Beaver Bay together, again, going nice and slowly. We let a few groups go and T.J. kindly let me lead. We pulled into Beaver Bay, strong and comfortable, at 12:30. The exchange was quick, and T.J. later caught up to me after I stopped to urinate. We hit the dirt road and he left me, but I kept going slowly.<br />
<br />
Somewhere prior to Silver Bay Kevin Langton caught me and I told him we were going to hit Silver Bay at 1:45. I had been running 15 minute miles comfortably, and he gave me a Woo! as he passed. I hit Silver Bay right on time, 1:45 PM. I had passed Kevin during the transition, and he would later catch up to me just prior to the Drain Pipe in Tettegouche. <br />
<br />
Next was Tettegouche, a 9.9 mile section. That 15-minute pace would mean 2.5 hours on a generally difficult section. I pulled into the aid station at 4:30 PM, a 2:45 split for 16.5 minute miles. I was pleased, as I was still running very well and not slowing noticeably on the flats or down. I still had plenty of legs on the ups.<br />
<br />
I did forget to grab something solid to eat at Tettegouche, and by the time I realized it I had made sure I wolfed down half of a bar. The climb from Highway 1 past Tettegouche to Inspiration Point is slow and shallow, but it also is not runnable. I had my first bad patch here, and I fought through it with a gel and determination. I hit County Road 6 at 7:10 PM, again comfortably running everything runnable after I fought through the low spell. The section was done at about an 18:12 pace and I was in over 20 minutes ahead of where I had been been in the past. Of course things then went south after mile 48 en route to Finland with the ankle injury, but we did the next 7.7 miles in 2:20 (18:18 pace). Even after the ankle injury I was consistently moving at 24 minutes per mile for 12 miles. <br />
<br />
Had it not been for the ankle injury, I have no doubt that I would have finished.<br />
<br />
<b>Could I have finished, and if so, what would it have required?</b><br />
<br />
I doubt it. Looking back, it would have required the ankle to be evaluated and taped at Finland. I could have also taped it myself at Finland. I also think poles would have helped, although I made the conscious decision while packing for this year's race not to bring them because I felt I had relied on them too much with too little gain at last year's event. And even then, it was a big unknown.<br />
<br />
<b>What's next?</b><br />
<br />
Very simple. Recover, and recover well. Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation. I'll be back next year. <b> </b> Matt Lutzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11349371525627476283noreply@blogger.com5