Running on hallowed ground

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

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

A few jottings and goals before the race:

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

Minnesota heat wave

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

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

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

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

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

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

Afton Trail Run 50K race report

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Race Report: 2011 SHT Spring 50K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

April stats and weekly totals

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

Week of 4.25-5.1.11

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

4.26.11: Zero
See 4.25.11 for explanation.

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

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

4.29.11: 11.1 miles

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

5.1.11: 5.1 miles
Calves still hurt. Still.

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