Running with (not from) Anxiety…

I’ve been debating for a while whether or not I should post what follows, but if any of this helps even one person, then I’ll consider it having been worth the effort. The purpose of this post is to provide a few resources that people may not be aware of when it comes to dealing with anxiety, depression, or PTSD, while also sharing a little about my own experience. Please note: none of this is intended to be a substitute for seeking out professional medical advice. They are just resources and random thoughts.

Backstory: In July 2020, I had an “event.” It included four episodes of an extremely rapid heartbeat; close to, if not at, my maximum heart rate. As a distance runner who trains rigorously, it felt like a set of four all-out interval repeats lasting several minutes, with a couple minutes rest after each repetition. During the rest periods, my heart rate dropped to around 110-120 beats/minute, so not really resting. When the fourth episode began, I told my wife that it was time to call for help. I thought I might not be alive for much longer.

According to the first doctor I met with, blood work indicated the possibility of an N-STEMI heart attack, so I was admitted to a Critical Decision Unit and put under observation for 24 hours. During my stay, I went through a battery of tests, including an EKG and echocardiography stress test. At the end of the day, tests revealed that my heart is about as healthy as possible for someone my age, and that I did not have a heart attack. After being released, I wore a heart monitor for two weeks. Data extracted from the monitor revealed both Asymptomatic Nontransient Supra-Ventricular Tachycardia and a rare extra beat in my atrial chamber. However, my symptoms from these conditions are mild, and neither explains what actually happened to me. In a follow-up appointment, my cardiologist eluded to the fact that being an endurance athlete may have saved my life.

So: physically I’m healthy…so end of story, right? Not quite…

Since the episode in July, I have been dealing with PTSD and the anxiety that goes along with it. Along the way, I have discovered a few resources, mostly by luck. And I thought I would share a few of those here, and also toss out a few random thoughts…

Therapy in a Nutshell

“Therapy in a Nutshell” is a website created by Emma McAdam, a licensed therapist who has created a lot of online content. Her home page is here. One of her offerings is a free online course focusing on the basics of anxiety, depression, and PTSD. She also has an extensive series of videos, with new content being made available frequently. One video that I use quite regularly is…

Another of McAdam’s videos that I found particularly helpful for my own situation is…

I was previously aware of the fight, flight, or freeze response, but her video also includes a brief discussion about those situations where you don’t know if what you are encountering is actually dangerous. Why does this matter? For my own situation, I have not been given an explicit explanation for why the attack in July happened. Physical explanations have been ruled out, and what I am left with is the notion that my attack was caused by stress. Or maybe not…I just don’t know. So, when I start to feel my heart rate or blood pressure rise, my brain revisits that Saturday morning when I wondered if I would live to see the afternoon.

Because of this, I have had to figure out how to begin to rewire my brain, and if you’re not familiar with how all of that works, the above link is actually part three of her series on this topic. Part 1 is here…

Knowing your triggers

One of the things I have had to figure out is what triggers my anxiety, and then how to systematically go about reducing the impacts of those triggers. For me, most, if not all, of my triggers are associated with not being in a completely relaxed state physically, or not feeling mentally that I am in complete control of my situation. Before July 25, 2020, none of the items in this list bothered me in the slightest.

My triggers have included:

-running

-hunger

-being cold

-having to go to the bathroom

-going to the grocery store

-alcohol (not talking large amounts here…sometimes just a sip of wine, but not every time)

-caffeine (I haven’t started tackling this one yet, but let’s just say that I used to drink at least a few cups of coffee per day, and since July 25, 2020, I have had two cups of coffee in the past four months.)

-having to multi-task, or being pulled in more than one direction

-distractions when I am trying to focus on a specific task

-needing to “perform”

-having strict time constraints that put pressure on me to finish a task at a faster pace than I would like

-not getting enough sleep

-anything else that puts me in a situation where I might feel even the slightest bit out of control of my situation.

Once my triggers were identified, I decided to start working on them, one at a time. The first trigger I tackled was running, because it is such an important part of my daily routine, and ultimately, it also reduces my overall stress level. The first time I ran after the attack, my heart wouldn’t slow down to normal levels when I stopped running. It would drop to around 110-115 beats per minute, and then fluctuate, because my brain was telling me that I was going to have another attack.

I didn’t know if I would make it home that first day, and wound up sitting in the grass for a while, waiting for my heart rate to return to more normal levels. It took about 10 minutes for my heart rate to drop to around 80, and then I slowly made my way home. (Note: as an endurance athlete, my resting heart rate is around 36 beats/minute, so sitting with a heart rate of 80+ is not normal for me.)

The next day, I decided to try an experiment. The experiment consisted of running a short distance, until my heart rate went above roughly 130 beats/minute. At that point, I stopped and walked slowly, until it went below 100. Once it went below 100, I started running again, and allowed my heart rate to increase slightly with each repetition until on the last two repeats, it was in the upper 150s.

While it may look somewhat insignificant, a few of the downward ramps indicate that my heart didn’t smoothly drop below 110 beats/minute every time. Particularly in the second repetition, once my heart rate dropped to about 115 beats/minute, it fluctuated for a while before getting below 100, and I had to consciously tell myself to give it time, that it would eventually drop. After 12 repetitions, I called it quits for the day, and hoped this would begin to convince my brain that when I run, my heart rate will return to normal when I stop running. And for the most part, it worked. Sometimes it took a little longer than I would have liked, but a few months later, I am now running my normal training schedule again, mostly without incident. And this means that running is no longer a significant trigger for me. This doesn’t mean that my anxiety never happens when I am running, but that it is usually tied into something else, such as being cold, or getting hungry.

From a practical standpoint, the solution here was relatively straightforward. Go out and run, and let your brain experience stopping running repeatedly, until it has been rewired such that it no longer triggers a “you’re going to have an attack” response. Most of the other triggers I experience are more complex. As such, the rest of my list of triggers continue to exist in my world right now, but they occur less frequently than they used to, and the anxiety I experience is less severe. Clinical psychologist Nick Wignall, who Ms. McAdam interviews in this video…

…discusses how the approach to things matters, including the need for curiosity. “Why does my brain react as it does to certain situations, and what, if anything, can I do to change this?” I don’t think you necessarily need to find an answer; just remain curious.

Dr. Wignall’s website contains articles that may or may not prove to be helpful, including several on stress and anxiety. To be honest, I discovered his articles fairly recently, so they haven’t been a significant part of my own progress. However, they do contain some pertinent information that might be useful to others.

Engaging the Parasympathetic Response

One of Emma McAdam’s more recent videos discusses the importance of being able to activate the parasympathetic response. Rather than explain it, a link to her video is below. I will add a quick comment that this is something that I have been working on for my own situation. In the weeks/months since my attack, and as I have worked on my own anxiety, I have noticed that there are moments where my body seems to be starting to take over, initiating the parasympathetic response without me consciously working on it. For example, I sometimes find myself yawning excessively; perhaps one indication that my parasympathetic response is becoming more instinctively engaged.

Reaching out

Another important aspect of dealing with all of this is reaching out to people who exist in various capacities in your world; those you live with (parents, spouses, roommates), and those you don’t. I am fortunate to have support from a few different people, including, of course, my spouse, but others as well. Some of that support is direct support, while much of it is indirect.

One of those individuals is Jo Verdis. Jo’s story is as unique as she is, and she is in the late stages of publishing On Earth I Am Safe: Finding healing, comfort, self-expression and love through creativity. The book explores Jo’s experience with “creativity revelopment,” a term she uses to describe the acts of finding peace and healing trauma through the process of creativity. Her website is…

https://www.joverdis.com/

While she grew up with a focus on music (piano and composition), her creative energies now explore anything and everything: song-writing, drawing, painting, rug-making, sculpture, writing a book; you name it, she’s either done it or will likely be doing it soon. Probably one of the most important aspects of her approach is that creativity is primarily about the process of the creative act, not the result. It is an act where judgement is left behind in the spirit of freedom and playful expression. Having seen a draft of her book, I know it has the potential to impact the lives of many who struggle with PTSD, anxiety, and depression, regardless of the cause.

Forget About Stigmas, Know that You are not Alone, and Seek Out the Help You Need

As a faculty member at an institution of higher education with more than 20 years of experience, I used to believe that when I looked at my room full of students, there was a likelihood that a small percentage suffered from some sort of trauma. Over the past few years, that impression has changed to where I now believe that there is a good chance that 50% or more are struggling with depression, anxiety, or PTSD. I have no data to back this up; it is just my impression. But it goes without saying that believing that you are alone in your struggle, that you are the only person in the room who deals with anxiety, is likely not true. We all do a wonderful job of trying to hide our imperfections. Unfortunately, that doesn’t necessarily help overcome trauma.

Lastly, don’t hesitate to seek professional help. Ms. McAdam’s website is, in my opinion, a wonderful resource, but at the end of the day, it is just that — a resource. It is no substitute for personalized care from a mental health professional.

Black Canyon 100K: the 2020 version…

Perfect weather for a run through the Black Canyon.

This was my second running of the Black Canyon 100K, having first run it in 2017:  a very wet year, my “Date in the Desert with Mark.”  This year, the weather was absolutely perfect:  a cool morning, highs in the upper 60s, a cool evening, and all kinds of sun with a slight breeze.  It was exactly what I was hoping for when our plane left from Minnesota with temps well below freezing, and a windchill well below zero.

Training

This was my second training cycle as a member of McMillan Run Team, which I joined in July 2019, as a way to find my way back into the fitness I lost when I tore my meniscus.  As such, I was hoping to build off of the previous cycle: The Fall 50 in Door County, Wisconsin.  The primary focus of this cycle was to increase my training time, and to increase the amount of hills, both up and down, even if they were all on an incline trainer/treadmill.  At the end of the day…

•weekly mileage increased from 46.4 to 48.2 miles/week
•weekly training time increased from 6.8 to 8.1 hours/week
•weekly elevation gain/loss increased from 745’/476′ to 3129’/1707′ per week.

Those numbers would have been a bit higher, but I missed two important 20+ long runs in the peak phase:  one due to illness, the other due to a blizzard.

The Event

Everything about the organization of this event was amazing, with the single exception of live tracking, which only mattered when it came to family being able to track my progress or lack thereof.  Aravaipa Running clearly has things figured out when it comes to handling an event like this.  The volunteers were amazing at every aid station, quickly asking what I needed, and when I said things such as “Where are the drop bags?”, I would typically get a response that went something like “What is your Bib number?  OK, let me get that for you,” while someone else was busy filling my water bottles and/or letting me know what the food/beverage options were.

Speaking of food, the options were plentiful – PBJ sandwiches, bean roll-ups, cheese quesadillas, a few varieties of cookies (Oreos became my race-day favorite), gummy worms, GU Roctane, Gatorade, Coke/sodas, water, and later in the day, hot chicken broth and Ramen.  I’m sure I am missing a few options here, but hopefully you get the idea.  And GU gels were available to pack for the next segment.

I also appreciated the lone dude at the last of four water crossings, just hanging out at the opposite bank, waiting for runners to cross, congratulating them on doing so well, and then pointing out the barbed wire on the ground that we needed to step over.  A very small but important detail that didn’t go unnoticed.

Lastly, the trail was impeccably marked, making it nearly impossible — even in the dark — to get lost.  So…a gigantic kudos to Aravaipa Running.  In 2017, they did an awesome job in spite of the weather and having to alter the course.  This year, the race went off without a hitch, at least from my perspective.

The Race

I’m not going to try to recount my entire day:  I don’t have a good enough memory to keep track of things, but I did take a few photos along the way to capture a few memories.  Having said that, I opted to take the shuttle from Anthem Outlets to Mayer High School.  We arrived a little after 6am, and with a temperature right around freezing, I headed inside the high school to keep warm and to go to the bathroom.  Unfortunately, the school bathrooms were locked, so I had to venture back outside to get in line for all of ten porta-potties (for 700+ participants in the 100K).  Umm, OK, so this probably isn’t so good.

I was probably in line for 15 minutes, and after I was finished, headed back inside, only to discover that the indoor bathrooms were now open, and there was a long line for those as well.  I typically have to go through this routine twice before a race, so I just jumped right back in line, and waited.

It was roughly 6:50 before I got to the front of the line…just in time to take care of things and head out to the track for the 7am start.  When I got outside, I debated on wearing a jacket for the first few miles, but made a last-minute decision to just wear my short-sleeve tech shirt and go without a jacket or gloves (I live in MN after all, this is warm, right?)  I headed up to the track, and heard the announcer counting down from about 7.  So, I quickly made my way to the starting area, jumped in, and we were off.  No time to stand around and get cold.  That worked out well…once we started running, I warmed up pretty quickly.

The race started with a lap around the school’s dirt track, followed by heading out of town, briefly on paved road, then on dirt/gravel.  After a few miles, we turned onto what became the bulk of the rest of the day:  a mix of single track (primarily) and jeep road (occasionally).

So this is what the jeep road looks like when it’s dry.

In the 2017 version of the race, the course was significantly altered due to high river levels, so more than half of the 2020 course — the regular route — was new to me.  I felt pretty well prepared to finish this race in 13 hours or less, with an A goal of under 12 hours, but what I didn’t know was just how rocky the course would become as time went on.  The early miles were pleasant, easy running, and when we first got onto the single track, I tucked in the middle of a pack, and just ran contentedly for a while, knowing that if the pace was a little slower than I probably would have run if I were on my own, I was saving myself for the more strenuous hills to come after mile 37.

A single-track portion of the route, early in the day.

By mile 10, I began to feel hot spots on my feet (what, already???), and it wasn’t long before every step included a small amount of pain.  I thought my feet were going to be in horrible shape, even by the halfway point, so at the next aid station, I gave them a quick check:  no blisters, no redness…yet.  But apparently there was a little lateral freedom in my shoes, and my feet were sliding around just a little, especially in the rocky portions of the route.  This only got worse over time, and for much of the last two thirds of the race (so probably at least 40 miles), every step included some amount of pain in each foot.  It’s one of those things that just had to be dealt with:  “block it out…things could be worse.”

It was also somewhere in the first 10-12 miles that I took my one and only fall, tripping on a rock and careening off the trail.  I’ve gotten pretty good at protecting myself, letting less important body parts take the brunt of the impact, and I was lucky that there wasn’t a prickly pear cactus or a pile of rocks in my landing area.  My ankle did smack up against a rock, but it wasn’t nearly as severe as I anticipated.

One of the reasons I appreciate ultra marathons is to experience moments of quiet and solitude:  those moments when there are no other runners close enough to you to be bothering you with their conversation with a fellow runner, when you can’t hear someone breathing behind you or feel their feet practically on your heels (even if in reality they are 15+ feet away), when you don’t have to worry about asking someone in front of you to let you pass.  Because of the increased number of participants in Black Canyon, those moments didn’t begin for at least a couple of hours.  But, gradually, I began to find myself somewhat isolated on a winding trail, and managed to take a few photos along the way.

Did I mention it was a gorgeous day?

One of the water crossings (in the shadows), and the increasingly rocky trail heading to it.

I arrived at Black Canyon City — mile 37.4 — at approximately 2:30pm.  With 25 miles to go, I thought perhaps I could finish in five to six hours, giving me a total time of 12.5 to 13.5 hours.  That quickly went out the window, for a few reasons…

1. The last mile into Black Canyon City is an out and back, and BCC is also where the 60K finishes.  By the time I was heading back out, 60K runners were more and more frequently barreling down the trail to the finish, expecting those of us coming back up to step out of the way.  That’s fine, I get it, but it meant stepping off of the trail a lot to make room for runners.

If I remember correctly, this is looking back at Black Canyon City.

2.  It was getting warmer, and at times, the canyon seemed to hold in the heat.

3.  Rocks…so many rocks!

In the second half of the route, this is what I would classify as a “moderately easy” portion of the rocky trail.

The rest of the afternoon was spent just making progress as best I could.  After the last water crossing, I eventually made it to the Table Mesa — the last aid station that allowed drop bags (mile 50.9) — right around sunset, where I changed my shoes, put on a long sleeve tech shirt, a buff in place of my cap, and gloves.  In addition, I grabbed my handheld flashlight in the event that I needed more light than my headlamp supplied.  This turned out to be a crucial decision.  While my headlamp is fine for smooth trails where footing isn’t an issue, it did little to illuminate the rocky trail.

The last water crossing.  The tiny figure in the center of the photo, on the far bank, is a volunteer just hanging out and letting runners know there is barbed wire underfoot.

Upon leaving Table Mesa, darkness quickly fell upon the canyon, and with a few exceptions, as runners passed me or vice versa, I found myself mostly alone on the trail, in the dark.  And despite the pain in my feet, and knowing that I wasn’t anywhere close to the time I had hoped to achieve, I discovered the joy of night running (I use the term “running” loosely here).

Last time I ran this event, Mark and I finished in the dark, in the wind, in the rain, freezing our butts off, hoping to just survive to the finish after that mud-filled jeep road, before hypothermia overtook us:  in other words, not so much joy in that experience.  This year, I found myself thinking that if I was going to be out this long anyway, I might as well be running a 100M, not a 100K.  Not that I was disappointed to see the finish line, but there were a few moments where, if only my feet weren’t ready to kick me in the head for my inappropriate treatment of them, I wouldn’t have minded going a bit farther.  Hmm…

Finishing time:  15:16:40
Overall place:  311th (of 510 finishers)
Age group place (M50-59):  21st (of 99)

Next up:  once recovered, this spring and summer will include a return to shorter races and a fair amount of speed work, before entering into a marathon cycle in preparation for the Twin Cities Marathon in October 2020.

As always, thanks for reading!

Old Pueblo 50M, 3/2/2019

So this was my first race following knee surgery – partial meniscectomy of the medial crown – in April 2018.  Since then, it has been a slow buildup, not a lot of fast running, trying to get some aerobic fitness back, which is taking longer than I would have hoped.  But with nearly 7 months – January through July – without steady training, much was lost.

As such, the plan for the Old Pueblo 50M was in part to test my knee, in part a test of my endurance, and primarily just to finish.  I had a distant hope of finishing before dark; sunset was at 6:21pm, and the race started at 6:00am, so that meant 12:21 for a course that wound up being about 51.8 miles long — 14:18/mile.

Old Pueblo starts at the Kentucky Historic Mining Camp, northwest of Sonoita, AZ. The course is a 25-mile loop, run counter-clockwise, then clockwise, and was a mix of well-maintained dirt road, unmaintained jeep road for off-roading, and singletrack on the Arizona Trail.  As advertised, I found it to be a tough race.  The unmaintained jeep road included a lot of loose rock, and due to recent weather and runoff, significant ruts.  The singletrack also included a lot of rock, some of it loose, some not.  In addition, some of the singletrack was partially covered by the long grass on the side of the trail, bending over the trail itself, making visibility of what was underfoot difficult at times.  Combine all of that with the terrain, which included a significant amount of climbing/descending at 12-20%, I wound up hiking quite a bit, especially in the second half.

For me, the weather was pretty ideal, but hot at times (probably in the 60s with sun).  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining.  The Minnesota winter has been a brutal one, and I was happy to be outside and sweating.  Plus, just a week prior, the temperature in Sonoita had dropped to 14 degrees F, and the area had received a significant amount of snow.  Apparently a portion of the course was covered in ankle- to calf-deep snow, most of which had melted by race day.  The camp had lost power and had to have generators brought in in order to make the race happen.  Several trees had fallen across the trail, most of which were cleared by race day.  In at least one area, the trail had to be altered slightly to avoid flooding from snow melt.  Kudos to the race director and everyone who had a hand in that…it all came off without a hitch.

Because of the conditions, we were told before the start of the race that the cutoff for the first 25 miles would be extended an hour, from 1:00 to 2:00pm.  We started promptly at 6:00am, climbing up out of the camp on the jeep road.  I brought a GoPro camera with me to take pictures along the way, most of which occurred in the first portion of the race.   The first is from the race start, lit via portable generators…

Kentucky Camp  to Melendrez Pass (the first 9 miles)

The first leg was 9 miles of mostly uphill running, on a mix of maintained and unmaintained road, plus some singletrack trail.  I tried to capture a few photos of the sunrise, but I wasn’t holding the camera steady enough to capture that.  This was a short time later, on more runnable singletrack, as the countryside began to lighten up…

 

Another photo from that same section…

I was running in the vicinity of a guy doing the 25M race, and he volunteered to take a photo of me if I wished.  At first, I said no, but then a short time later changed my mind.  This was around the 4 miles into the race, and I had already taken my one and only spill on an embedded rock.  It was a good reminder that I’m not on a treadmill and need to pick up my feet!

Most of the unmaintained jeep road was not in this good of condition…

…but when it was, it made it easy to enjoy the view…

Melendrez Pass to Cave Creek (6 miles)

The second leg was probably the toughest, regardless of direction.  Not long after the Melendrez Pass Aid Station, we were back on singletrack, beginning a steep climb on a trail through the snow.  This was followed by a very long descent (which became a brutal climb on the return loop).

I think the next photo was taken shortly after reaching the highest elevation on the course, just before the long descent.

Eventually, we returned to jeep road.  If you hadn’t already noticed, the mountain in the background was almost always in view…

Cave Creek to Gardner Canyon to Kentucky Camp (the rest of the first loop)

I sort of went on auto-pilot after leaving Cave Creek, and wound up not taking any photos, or at least not successfully.  I finished the first loop — roughly 25.9 miles — in about five and a half hours, well ahead of schedule for a pre-sunset finish.  Beyond the spill early on, dropping my headlamp before the first aid station (thanks to the runner who picked it up and arrived at the first aid station before I left), forgetting to apply sunscreen at the first two aid stations, and probably not drinking quite enough, the first half went well.  There were numerous water crossings — runoff of melting snow.  (I tried to take a photo of one, but it didn’t turn out.)  The water crossings reminded me of swimming in Lake Superior on a hot day, where for the first minute or two, it feels great.  Likewise, running through a water crossing was refreshing on the feet…the first time.  However, if there were multiple crossings in close proximity, it was numbing to the point where except for feeling the center of my arch smack against the orthotic in my shoe, I lost most of the feeling in my feet for a while.  This happened on numerous occasions.

After the last water crossing, the last four(ish) miles of the first loop were mostly singletrack in the open country or jeep road, and I quickly longed for those water crossings again.  By the time I completed the first loop, I was rather hot, to the point where aid station volunteers were asking me if I was OK.

Loop #2:  Same as the first, except in reverse…

I took a little extra time before beginning the second loop, knowing that the first four miles were going to be the hottest.  Getting back to the first water crossing was a blessing on my feet, as was the snow alongside the trail that I could put in my cap to help keep cool.

After passing by those completing the first loop, most of the second half was run without seeing anyone beyond a group of people riding dune buggies on some of the unmaintained road, and a few hikers enjoying the Arizona Trail.  I enjoy the quiet and solitude, so the dune buggies were a bit annoying, but probably a good distraction from how tired my legs were.  The climbs and descents on the second loop seemed much more difficult than they did during the first half, so when I got to the highest point in the race, I stopped to take a photo before the steep descent to Melendrez Pass Aid Station.

When I got to the aid station, I asked if they thought I would be able to finish before dark.  They were doubtful, so I grabbed my headlamp and a flashlight, put on a long-sleeve shirt as the sky had turned cloudy and a cool breeze was becoming more and more present, and headed out behind a guy who arrived at the aid station shortly after me but left before I was ready to continue.

The portions of the last nine miles that included maintained road were welcome, as running on a more even surface was less painful than the ascents/descents.  A ligament/tendon in my left knee was acting up by this point, especially on the steep descents, and running anything more than slightly downhill was no longer an option.  But the flatter and well-groomed jeep road was runnable.  I fairly quickly caught up to the other runner and passed him, before heading out on the last section of singletrack.  And somewhere in there, I made a wrong turn, heading up a hill that wasn’t part of the course.  The runner behind me, who had long disappeared from view while on the jeep road, followed me about halfway up, and when I got to the top, he asked if I saw a ribbon.  When I said “No,” he turned around and bolted back down the hill.  I, on the other hand, could barely walk the steep descent.  That climb/descent probably cost me at least 20 minutes, which made me think that getting to the finish line before dark was no longer possible.  When I returned to the trail, I was surprised to see two very obvious ribbons indicating that the trail I had taken was not the direction I was supposed to go.  How did I miss that???

I cursed during much of the rest of the singletrack — not so much the trail itself, but my missing the blue ribbons, and the unecessary added wear and tear on my legs.  The jeep road that meant four miles to go couldn’t come soon enough.  They had placed a bin full of bottled water at that intersection, so upon arrival, I restocked, took a bathroom break, and got ready to head out.  Just then, another runner — only the second I had encountered on the return loop — appeared off the trail, running quite well.  Knowing that my jeep road running was better than my singletrack limping, I had hopes of catching him.  Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen, but it helped motivate me to the finish.

The sun began to set while I was on the jeep road, and I stopped to take a photo of both the guy in front of me (barely visible at the righthand curve) and the sun setting behind me.

Not long after taking the last photo, the race photographer passed me in his jeep.  A couple minutes later, I discovered that he had stopped on the road, and got in position to take my photo with the sunset as a backdrop, yelling something like, “If you run through right now, the backdrop is amazing!” I turned to look, and he was right.  So, I put on my best 45+ mile race-face, and tried to pretend I am a runner.  I’ll be curious to see how that photo turns out.  I’m normally not into purchasing race photos, but this one may be a bit special, as I was possibly the only runner he captured with that backdrop.

Not long after, I reached the end of the jeep road, or at least the point at which the course goes back onto singletrack (wait, this wasn’t what we started on!) to the finish.  It was getting a bit darker now, and the long grass covered the trail, so I briskly walked most of those 0.7 miles.  As the finish line approached, I broke out into a run, finishing somewhere around 6:30pm…still light enough to not need a light, and somewhere around 12 and a half hours.  I buckled over for a bit, and was quickly descended upon by volunteers, asking if I was OK, if I was hot or cold, needed a beverage or a trip to the medical tent.  Mostly, I was just exhausted and ready to be done, and after resting a bit, to eat.

Post-race food included (for me) a burger and turkey chili, which was amazing.

I have to give a special shout-out to the race workers and aid station volunteers.  Due to high water, race crews were not allowed at any of the aid stations beyond Kentucky Camp, which subsequently put a lot more pressure on volunteers.  They were wonderfully attentive, and aid stations were well-stocked with a wide variety of options. For me, that mostly meant peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cheese quesadillas (never thought I would want to eat those during a race!), and one or two strips of bacon.

Well done, Old Pueblo Endurance Runs!  I had a fabulous experience!

Results:

Time:  12:34:15
Overall Place: 24th
Age Group Place: 2nd

 

Arthroscopic Partial Medial Meniscectomy and Chondroplasty

Warning for those who faint at the sight of 1) shaven knees or 2) surgical procedures!  What follows are photos from my recent knee surgery (APMM&C).

First off, the post-shave photo, after the surgeon has initialed the leg he is going to operate on.  I didn’t know they did that, but it’s probably a little comforting to know going in that they’ve marked the proper area.  Otherwise, who knows what might have happened while I was asleep!  The wrong leg, or perhaps the surgeon mis-read the chart and took out a k(id)ney instead?!  Ha!

On to the good stuff…

The procedure was to remove a partial tear of the medial meniscus by the posterior horn.  X-rays also showed some rough edges on my patella, and perhaps the beginning of a bone spur, so the surgeon indicated that he would also do a little clean-up work since he was going to be in there anyway.  So, this first photo is the “before” photo of my patella.  Unless I had seen the after photo, I wouldn’t know what this is supposed to look like, but in hindsight, it’s pretty rough!  And I think that little “tornado” coming down from the patella is the bone spur the surgeon mentioned.

To smooth out the rough edges, they basically “shave” the patella.  I’m not entirely sure how that works, but here is a photo of the shaving “in progress.”

And here is the “after” photo, once the shaving process is complete.  Oh yeah…that WAS pretty rough!

As for the meniscus, here is a photo of the tear…

…and a couple more photos, while the removal is “in progress.”

And finally, here is the “after” photo…

In all, I think the procedure itself took roughly a half hour, and the surgeon was correct when he said that I probably wouldn’t need crutches later that evening.  Not that I am running around in the snow or anything, but less than 12 hours later, I was able to put full weight on my leg and walk unassisted.

Crazy…

Valgus Knee, the Gluteus Medius, and Hip Mobility…

Under normal circumstances, this would have been a race report for the 2018 Black Canyon 100K.  However, these are not normal circumstances.  Instead, due to some pain around my knee, I wound up on the sidelines for most of both January and February.  So instead of a race report, this post is mostly about the things listed in the title, my investigation into them, and links/documentation I found on the topic, so that if I ever want to locate them again, I know where to look.  (And maybe someone out there will find this to be a shortcut to finding information.)

So first, a bit of the backstory about my injury, followed by a few links…

Valgus knee:  If you’re reading this, you probably already know what valgus knee is, but if you don’t, it is when your knee moves medially (aka, “knee cave”) when running or walking.  It’s potentially a bad thing, because it can wear down cartilage in the knee joint, cause chronic issues, etc.

When I first started having issues, I was running around 70 miles/week, and this wasn’t new territory for me.  (In fact, in comparison to prior training cycles, it’s pretty low, as I’ve peaked at over 95 miles/week more than once.)  I thought I’d just take a week off from running – shifting to the elliptical and some uphill walking on the treadmill – and then resume training.  After a week, the knee was no better, so I tried another week of rest, continuing elliptical work.  Still no improvement.  One more week, and it wasn’t any better.

OK, so let’s try a week off of everything…just rest.

Nope…

Around the same time, I wound up having a conversation with my physical therapist (without an appointment), and he didn’t think anything was structurally wrong, so I made a few appointments.  At the first appointment, he watched me run, and immediately noticed that my left knee was caving in, and it only made sense to him that this was the reason for my pain.  Although he started with the IT band, over time, we both came to the conclusion that a lot of the muscles in my left leg and hip area were tight, and perhaps more importantly, that my Gluteus medius was significantly underdeveloped.

Since the first appointment in early February, I’ve been doing strengthening/stretching exercises, and a month later, am just getting back into running.  There’s a link below to a video about Cross-over gait, and how that relates to all of this.  It is how I have been running for several years, due to a weak gluteus medius.  After spending three weeks just on strengthening and stretching, I am working my way back, focusing on a new gait, in the hopes of getting rid of the valgus knee.  It seems to be working, at least for now.  One week into it, my longest run without a rest break is 400 meters, and after about 2 miles, my gluteus medius begins to tire to the point where I can no longer maintain an appropriate gait.  But…it is a start.

With all of that said, here are some links, with brief descriptions of their contents…

Neil Asher has some interesting info on IT-Band syndrome, and this article discusses how the IT-Band usually isn’t the source of the problem, even though a lot of physical therapists will focus on it.  I’ll let him explain why.

N.A., part II:  If you prefer a Powerpoint presentation, this link offers that format to much of the same information.

N.A. Gluteus medius:  This link discusses how a weak Gluteus medius can be responsible for valgus knee (or lateral knee drift), and eventually, knee pain.

TFL stretching:  If your IT Band is “tight,” as mentioned above, it’s usually something else that is triggering the issue.  Often, it is the TFL that needs stretching.  This video shows how, but as mentioned in the comments for the video, some of the language may not be appropriate for small children or pets.

Sports Injury Doctor:  The link begins with the following premise:  “The gluteus medius should be considered in every running injury. So many athletes with running overuse injuries of the lower limb present with poor gluteus medius function that I have come to the view that the strength and function of this muscle is probably the most important active component in the achievement of a biomechanically efficient running technique.”

Valgus Knee Strength/Conditioning:  This link offers some strength/conditioning exercises, many of which were recommended to me by my physical therapist.

Yuriel Kaim:  More gluteus medius strengthening exercises…21 of them, in fact.

Gait Guys:  If you run and are not familiar with The Gait Guys, you might find them worth checking out.  This link is to a video (part 1 of 3) about Cross-over Gait, which is often due to a weak gluteus medius, and often results in valgus knee.

GMB Hip mobility:  This link offers a series of exercises for increasing hip mobility.

Biceps femoris tendinopathy:  Although I didn’t get a definitive diagnosis, this link resonates with many of my symptoms, so I thought it worth including.

If/as I find more information, I will try to remember to update this link.  In the meantime…I need to do some stretching!

Birkie Trail Run Half Marathon, 9/30/17

I think I’ve found one of my most favorite running events thus far:  a half marathon on the trails…

I signed up the Birkie sort of on a whim, when I noticed that Ultrasignup was offering a $30 discount on the registration fee.  So, it was a pretty cheap date:  I could get there by car, and I had a free room in Duluth the night before.  The timing wasn’t ideal, just two weeks before the Bemidji Marathon, but given that I am not in any type of PR shape right now, I felt there really was nothing to lose.  Plus, given that this was the site for the 2017 USATF Trail Half Marathon National Championship, I thought I might 1) see some elites, and 2) see how I stacked up against others in my age group.  One of those things actually happened – seeing elites such as Joseph Gray, Hayden Hawks, and newcomerAshley Brasovan – if only for a brief period of time.

All of the Birkie events begin in an open grassy area before heading into the woods a couple hundred meters after the start.  Once in the woods, most of the run is on groomed snowmobile trail:  roughly 15-20 feet wide, mostly smooth, level turf, with occasional sand and a few rocks here and there.  In other words, very run-able, and a low risk of a twisted ankle from a rut buried by the fall leaves.  The half also included a section of single track trail that was uphill overall but continuously rolling, somewhat rocky terrain with occasional tree roots waiting to catch the inattentive runner.  Following the race, participants get a free meal (chicken fajita, chips & salsa, and sangria soup) and a beer.

With an elevation profile that looked to be roughly 1300 feet of vertical, I really didn’t have a specific time goal in mind, but I was hoping to finish around 1:45 for the 12.4-mile route.

Upon entering the woods after the start, the first of several climbs began.  I found myself with a group of about 5-6 runners, and since I am not a great climber, I typically lost ground to them on the uphill while recouping at least some of it on the downhills.  To keep my heart rate under control, I walked some of the steeper sections, noting that those who were running near me were working a lot harder and not gaining very much ground – maybe a few seconds.  Around the 6-mile mark was the first of two longer sections of mostly downhill running, and the slope was about perfect for opening things up a bit, extending my stride and trying to stay loose but in control.  My Garmin showed some sections of that portion of the trail around 6:00/mile pace, and I was hoping to maintain my distance over those I had passed as we entered the single track portion of the route.

Single track isn’t something I am used to running, and this is probably the first “short” race (meaning not a marathon or ultra) I’ve run on it.  And it was an absolute blast, perhaps one of my favorite types of running.  Much of opening section was constantly rolling with short ups and downs of just a few steps, followed by a gradual incline to the highest point of the race.  A few of those that I past caught up to me here, and I let them go.  Although the incline work I’ve been doing on the treadmill seems to have improved my uphill running overall, it is still my weakness.  And by this point, my quads were getting wore out.

Upon completion of the single track, the remaining few miles return to the snowmobile trail. Being mostly downhill, I once again tried to open things up while power walking the uphills.  As opposed to the marathon distance (or longer), I didn’t have to worry about what my legs would feel like at mile 20.  There were two runners in front of me that I hoped to catch before the finish.  However, while I managed to hold my place using this strategy, I wasn’t able to gain any ground.

Results:

Time:  1:40:52 (8:08/mile)
Overall Place:  37th out of 231
AG Place (M50-59):  4th out of 31

USA Track & Field Result:  So apparently the 50-54 year old men who finished ahead of me weren’t signed up for the USATF competition, so I received a first place award.  Does that mean I can put “Old Man National Champion” after my name?  Hahaha…as it turned out – and I wasn’t terribly surprised by this – not many showed up or signed up for the USATF Age Group competition, as I was one of only two finishers in my age group.

Grandma’s Marathon 2017: How less than ideal training leads to less than ideal racing (this isn’t rocket science!)…

If you’re looking for a race report about all of the facets of the Grandma’s Marathon experience, this will not be it.  I’ve covered that in previous years (2014 being the last time).  The volunteers were, as usual, awesome!  I thought the event was well-organized, and the expo was too crowded for me, but there were free beer and wine samples, so OK.  About all that was different this year was that the train was much more crowded than I remember.  It was still a great way to get to the starting line, and I wound up having a chat with a younger man for whom Grandma’s was his first marathon, having not even run a half marathon before.  I made it a point to remember his bib number so I could look him up later.  He finished in roughly 4 hours, with a goal of just finishing.  Good for him.

Approximately a month before the marathon and frustrated by what seemed to be a never-ending series of what I will just call “events,” I stumbled across an article on Greg McMillan’s website entitled The Top 3 Reasons Runners Fail.  Reason #3 talks about having too much stress pie, and how runners need to balance both running and non-running stress.  I had plenty of the latter during this cycle, which impacted the former, but hey, it’s not like I get paid to run, right?  So, given the less-than-ideal training cycle combined with what I believed was prolonged recovery from the Black Canyon 100K in February, I concluded that it was probably best to not put a ton of pressure on myself heading into Grandma’s 2017, and to just accept that this one wasn’t going to go the way I would have preferred.  And it didn’t.

The cycle wound up being twelve weeks long, but it lacked a lot of things, including both mileage and consistency.  Weekly mileage wound up as follows:

75, 68, 72, 48, 70, 49, 96, 54, 73, 58, 63, 23 (not including the marathon itself).

After the second week, the cycle wound up being a week of training followed by a week of not training, and even the “training weeks” were significantly lower than I had planned (well, except for that one week in the middle).

Since I knew anything close to a PR was out of the question, I decided to experiment with the marathon itself.  So, rather than try to determine what finishing time seemed possible, I decided to run by heart rate instead.  As such, I set up an “interval workout” on my Garmin, as follows:

Interval 1:  20 minutes w/max HR of 148 bpm
Interval 2:  35 minutes…151
Interval 3:  35 minutes…154
Interval 4:  35 minutes…157
Interval 5:  35 minutes…160
Interval 6:  35 minutes…163
Interval 7:  to the finish…no upper limit

Not that I followed this strictly – I kept wanting to push myself harder early, and I let my HR climb a little on the gently rolling hills – but it was a guideline to start out slow and gradually let my HR climb over the course of a few hours.  The 35-minute intervals were created so that I would get a signal from my Garmin, indicating that it was time to take in some fuel.  The intervals resulted in miles, paces, and average HR as follows:

Interval 1 (0 – 2.65M):  2.65M, 7:33, 149
Interval 2 (2.65 – 7.30M):  4.65M, 7:32, 152 (included a bathroom stop)
Interval 3 (7.30 – 12.01M):  4.71M, 7:26, 155
Interval 4 (12.01 – 16.73M):  4.72M, 7:25, 157
Interval 5 (16.73 – 21.36M):  4.63M, 7:34, 161
Interval 6 (21.36 – 25.7M):  4.34M, 8:03, 158
Interval 7 (25.7 – 26.31M):  0.61M, 7:23, 163

In training runs, I typically aim for a HR of 155 (give or take a couple of beats) as “marathon pace effort,” and this seemed to be accurate with regard to how I felt in intervals 3 and 4.  In the latter stages, the HR rose due to heat, which I don’t handle very well.

As for the race itself, just a few highlights (or things that just stuck in my mind)…

–First, a photo of the lift bridge in Canal Park at roughly 5:00am, before boarding the train.

–I bumped into a former student in the starting area, so we got to chat for a bit, and we wound up running in the vicinity of one another for a while.  That was cool.

–In a significant portion of the middle of the race, I wound up running behind a guy who, for reasons that seemed obvious to me, must be a plumber in real life.

–I noticed by mile 10 that people were already walking due to the humidity.  My guess is that most of those people were gunning for a BQ (most all of them were younger men probably trying to run a sub-3:05 or 3:15).  The number of people I passed continued to increase as the miles dragged on.  In the last 20 miles, I passed 344 runners and was passed by only 26.

–Shortly before the halfway point, I started to have problems with my hips.  I’ve always contributed this – a tightening of my hips, which seems to happen frequently in marathons – to cold weather (which also seems to be the norm for my races).  Clearly this has been a misconception on my part, because I was anything but cold this time.  So, one of the things I need to figure out/work on for future races is my hip mobility.  (Getting old sucks.)

–Somewhere around mile 18, I caught up to a young woman wearing a shirt that read “Defeat Stigma,” referring to the stigma of mental illness.  She was running behind a guy, obviously using him as a pacer, and after I passed them, she latched on to me instead.  I made it a point (in my own mind) to pace her for as long as I could, partly to motivate myself to keep pushing forward.  Occasionally, I would glance behind me to see if she was still there.  She was…every time.  She was relentless.  That lasted for a few miles, after which my scalp started to tingle a little.  I’ve learned in prior races/training runs that this is the first indication that I am getting too hot.  So, knowing that I still had a few miles to go, that I wasn’t going to get a PR, and that I had collected the HR data that I wanted, I decided to incorporate some walking rather than wind up in the medical tent.  I walked through all of the late aid stations in order to dump a couple of cups of water on my head or down my back, grab another one to drink, and then also some Powerade.  And then maybe grab a sponge if I could.  All of that helped for a minute or two, but that’s about it.  When I ran, I tried to run hard rather than plod along.  When I walked, I tried to keep it to 10 deep breaths, and then start running again.  I got passed by a few people doing this, but not many.

(I did get to see “Defeat Stigma” after the race, told her I wanted to pace her as long as I could, and congratulated her on a strong finish.  I was impressed watching her continue to push forward during my short walk breaks.)

–Thanks to the volunteers/spectators who chose to turn on their sprinklers (photo taken by my brother-in-law…from the looks of things, I wasn’t the only one about to take a quick shower).

–With about a half-mile to go, I encountered a momma duck with 6-8 fuzzy little ducklings, trying to cross the street amidst the runners, along with a gentleman trying to simultaneously steer the ducks out of the runners’ way and keep runners from stepping on the family.  In hindsight, I should have stopped and had someone take a photo of me with the ducks.  Oh well…hindsight is 20/20.

–As I approached the finish line, I thought I heard someone yell my name.  Dwave, was that you?  If so, thanks!

Stats:

Time:  3:19:29
Place:  546 out of 6439
AG Place (50-54):  19 out of 335

Take-aways

I’m not at all disappointed with the result given my training, even though it is a significant step back for me.  Conditions weren’t ideal, training was far from stellar.  The results are what they are, and I have some information about what I need to do to make another PR attempt, probably a year or two from now:

–get my base mileage up to 80+mpw, possibly for at least a year.  (PR fitness isn’t going to happen overnight.)
–incorporate more variety in my workouts, touching on more systems more routinely.
–incorporate a hip mobility routine.
–race more (distances from the 5K to the half marathon).

As always, thanks for reading!

Fargo Marathon 2017 — 10K Race Report

Yeah, so first, this is not a marathon race report, just a 10K.  But just in case anyone happens to be looking for a few details pertaining to any of the races as part of this event, I thought I would provide some pre-race information before getting to the actual report.  So…a few tidbits…

First, all races Saturday morning (the 10K, half, and full marathon) begin and end inside the Fargodome, where, among other things, the NDSU Bison play their home football games.  This has some wonderful advantages.  Probably at the top of the list is indoor plumbing.  No waiting for a port-a-john at these races, just hanging out in a line for any of the public restrooms available at the arena.  The only drawback to this is that you have to leave the football field to get to the restrooms, and given how crowded it can be to get off of the field, that can take a while.  And they start lining up the participants for the races about 20-30 minutes before each one begins, so some planning may be required if, like me, you have a small bladder.

Next:  a roof.  No, it wasn’t raining this morning, but if it had been, the runners have the luxury of waiting for the start inside.  So, at least to begin with, you are dry.  And if it is raining by the time the race ends, you return to that same dry place.

Another plus:  heat.  To be honest, the weather this morning was pretty ideal for a 10K – temps in the low to mid 40s, cloudy, and just a slight breeze – but waiting for the start would have been cool, and had I been waiting outside, I might have brought an old sweatshirt.  Nope…no need for that, or a garbage bag to stay dry.  And if you’re cold at the end of the race, at least you return to that same warm building, where your drop bag (if you use one) is stored.  So, becoming hypothermic due to standing/walking in the cold or rain after the race isn’t a concern.

As for the race itself (mile splits are based on my Garmin, which came up a little short because it wasn’t picking up a signal until we got outside the Fargodome – maybe 100-150 meters)…

Goal:  The main goal for this race was to get a reading on my fitness, so that I have an idea of what to expect for Grandmas Marathon in June.  Initially, I wasn’t going to taper at all for the 10K, but after feeling a bit fatigued from last week’s 96.4-mile training week, I decided to rest up a bit and see where I’m at.  Before today, I hadn’t run a 10K in nearly three years, so I decided to run this one mostly by heart rate, keeping it at or below approximately 167, until the push to the finish line.

Mile 1 (6:41) — The start for all of the races begins in a fairly narrow shoot up and out of the dome, and with over 2800 runners participating in the 10K, lining up is important, because it would be difficult to get around runners for a while if you’re at the back of the pack.  Based on last year’s results and my estimated fitness, I lined up about 4-5 rows deep, positioning myself behind faster runners, so that I was mostly unimpeded.  This worked pretty well…just a few runners to get past in the opening hundred meters.  Due to not getting a GPS signal at the beginning, I noted that my watch hit the mile mark about 8 to 10 seconds after crossing the actual marker.  Although I don’t know exactly where I was compared to other runners, I figured I was probably somewhere around 20th to 30th place at the beginning.

Miles 2-4 (6:36, 6:29, 6:33) —  Most of the first half of this race was run into the slight breeze coming out of the Northeast, so I was expecting my paces to be a little slower than they were.  By mile three, I found myself in a pack of four runners:  3rd female (3F), man with a slight beard (MWASB), and heavy breathing guy (HBG).  MWASB took the lead for most of this stretch, while I hung out in third, with 3F pulling up the rear.  After a while, I pulled up along side HBG, and every time I started to pull away from him a little, he would push to catch up.  I wondered how long this would last, because he seemed to be working too hard, and there was still over half the race to run.  I think he fell back around mile 4 or so.  In the meantime, 3F pulled alongside me and then passed fairly quickly.  She didn’t pull away, however, so I basically found myself running with a pacer.  I just hung out behind her, noting that my heart rate was pretty much exactly where I wanted it.

Miles 5-6.2 (6:36, 6:24, 1:01) — Somewhere between miles four and five, I pulled up alongside 3F again and slowly passed her.  Now it was down to MWASB and me, running side by side as we made the push toward the finish line.  Shortly after passing the marker for mile 5, my legs started to feel wonky, as though they just might stop working at any time.  Not cramps or anything like that…just “this feels weird, and I think I might fall over, and WHY are my feet slapping the concrete so damn hard?”  Probably fatigue from the last training week setting in.  Anyhow, before MWASB and I got to mile six, MWASB yelled something like, “Here we go!”  I’m not sure if that was directed at me or at himself, saying that it is time to put it in high gear, but I knew I wasn’t ready for that yet, because my floppy legs probably would have just fallen off entirely.  But even though he said that, he never really pulled ahead.  We kept running mostly alongside each other as we entered the dome parking lot and then turned right to begin the final few hundred meters…only two left turns to go now.  As we made the first left turn, which is the beginning of the descent back into the dome, I began my push.  My Garmin estimates the pace for the final 0.2 @ 6:04, with the final push getting down to around 5:40.  However, since the last 100 meters is back inside the dome, it is hard to tell just how accurate that is.  But, it was nice to have a strong finish, and I gained roughly seven seconds on MWASB in those final meters.  3F finished about ten seconds later.  I’m not sure what happened to HBG.

Overall, I thought I ran this race pretty well, even if it indicates that my fitness has taken a hit while dealing with job stress and a slow, seeming long recovery after the Black Canyon 100K.  (Only within the past few weeks have my legs started to feel as though they are getting their spring back.)  So, while it wasn’t a PR, and while it indicates I am not in PR shape for Grandmas, I was pleased with how it went, and given the less than ideal cycle, I can’t help but think a 10K PR is still possible someday, if I can maintain some decent training.  But, that will take a while…

Results:

Time:  40:39 (6:33/mile)
Overall Place:  15th out of 2684
Age Group Place (50-54):  1st out of 60

2017 Black Canyon 100K: “A Day in the Desert with Mark.”

There is a running – i.e. “somewhat continuous” – joke on one of the running boards in which I participate that Mark and I are the same person. Come to think of it, I think Mark is the one who actually started that rumor. I’m not entirely sure why, because when it comes to running, we really don’t have that much in common. For example…

• Mark is a veteran, having completed more ultras than I can count, and in the not-too-distant past attempted a 3 x 100M interval workout (yes, that’s miles, not meters) with three-week recoveries, also known as the California Triple Crown, in preparation for the Tahoe 200M. And that’s just scratching the surface. I, on the other hand, came into Black Canyon having completed only one ultra – the Door County Fall 50 Road Race – and limited trail running experience (the Eugene Curnow Trail Marathon).

• I am probably a bit faster than Mark when it comes to road running, but Mark makes up for it with his agility on the trails and a mental toughness that exceeds most people I know.

• Mark crushes the downhills, while I struggle holding things together, but I try to make up for it on the flats and uphills with my longer legs.

• Speaking of legs, mine are more like toothpicks, whereas Mark’s are more similar to steel rods. And I think I’ll stop the comparisons there, because we would eventually get into territory that involves things such as who has more hair, etc…and that never ends well.

My wife and I arrived in Phoenix on Wednesday, and on Thursday I had the pleasure of meeting Eileen and Alan, who also participate in an on-line running forum. We met at the location for the Gloriana aid station on Thursday afternoon, went for a 3-mile jog on the Black Canyon trail, and commiserated about our rental cars.

It was an absolutely gorgeous day, and it was hard to believe that the weather forecast for Saturday included significant rains, cool temperatures, and possible flash flooding. It certainly didn’t seem as though a change of route was necessary, but Aravaipa Running was concerned enough about runner and volunteer safety that the course was altered to an out-and-back, avoiding crossing the Agua Fria. While that may have been a bit of a disappointment, it definitely turned out to be the right decision, and much better than the other option…cancelling the race altogether.

On race day, I woke up at 3:57 – three minutes before my alarm was scheduled to go off – took care of the usual pre-race things, and with my shoes and drop bags already in my vehicle, headed out for the one-hour drive to Mayer High School. It rained occasionally on the drive up, sometimes somewhat significantly, and the forecast was for afternoon rains after getting a bit of a reprieve in the late morning. Once I arrived at the high school, I put on my shoes, grabbed my over-prepared drop bags, and headed to the warm gymnasium. There I found Alan, Mark, and Eileen again, and chatted briefly before heading out to the starting line.

Black Canyon begins with a lap around the high school track. Once I got to the starting line, I bumped into Mark again, and we hung out in the same area for the start…somewhere in the middle of the pack. Shortly after we started, I asked Mark how fast he planned on going out, and when he said approximately 9:00-9:30/mile, I informed him that I was thinking the same. After completing the loop on the track, we headed down a paved road, then turned onto a dirt road, all of which lasted approximately 2 miles. We then headed left onto a single-track trail for roughly a mile, followed by a jeep road.

I can’t remember exactly who – it may have been Alan – but someone informed me before the race that the jeep road can be a bit slippery/muddy when it’s wet. Given the overnight and morning rain, that was to be expected, but on our arrival, we discovered something a bit more problematic. Not only was the jeep road slippery, but the muddy clay was at least two or three inches deep, with pockets of water sitting in the footprints of everyone who had run before us, and as slow as we were going, it seemed to last forever.  At times, the mud clung to my shoes in huge clumps, adding what felt like an additional five pounds.  It was an exhausting start, knowing that once we arrived at the first aid station, there were still approximately 55 miles left. At one point, Mark jokingly commented on what this might look like after several hundred runners had passed through (including the 60K, which started an hour later). I just didn’t want to think about it. And it was somewhere around here that I told Mark that beyond finishing under 17 hours, any time goal I previously had was out the window.

Upon arrival at the first aid station, a volunteer refilled my handheld, which I opted for rather than my racing vest, which I put in the drop bag at the Gloriana aid station. Since it was an out and back, I figured I could live on a handheld for a while, pick up the race vest at Gloriana (approximately mile 23 on the way out, 37 on the return). I grabbed a little to eat, thanked the volunteer for filling the bottle, and headed out again. A short time later I realized that the volunteer didn’t get the top screwed on properly, and there was little water left in it…the rest was on my already rain-soaked glove. I decided that I would just drop the handheld at the next aid station, and see how hydrating only at the aid stations worked out, knowing that a vest awaited me in a few hours.

There is always a lot of detail that I fail to remember about races – I just sort of get lost in the present and things eventually get jumbled in my mind – so a lot of what follows may be out of order or inaccurate in one way or another. Mark’s race report – linked HERE – is probably more accurate (I’m not going to read his until at some point after mine is finished). But in some way, what follows was the rest of my experience…

Somewhere around mile 18, while running along the single track with Mark setting the pace, my left leg started to cramp, in places I didn’t know existed. I had to stop for a bit, waiting for the cramps to release. Mark stopped as well, asked me where I was cramping, and when I told him where, he said something like “Yeah, that’s the mud.” There is always the moment of doom that sets in when cramps start, but I tried to remember what Mark had told me a long time ago, that in ultras, you have to expect bad things to happen, and you just have to deal with them and keep moving. Most of the time, if you do that, things will work themselves out. So, I walked for a bit while Mark pushed on ahead out of sight, and sure enough, after a few minutes the cramps subsided. My painful shuffle turned into a gradually faster and faster walk, until I could eventually get back to running. I caught back up to Mark a while later, I believe shortly after beginning the long descent to the Hidden Treasure aid station.

This section was probably my favorite part of the route; a long gradual descent on well-groomed single track trail, winding its way down into the canyon. I tried to look around occasionally, but every time I did, I nearly paid for it by careening off the trail. Once reaching the bottom, we ran on the desert floor for a while. The rain had stopped, and the temperature had risen to the point where I was a little warm at times. Anyhow, a quick refill at Hidden Treasure and we were on our way again, mostly together for the entire section through Bumble Bee to the Gloriana aid station (if I remember correctly). Once we got there, I told Mark I was going to change into a dry pair of socks. I felt as though I had a few rocks in my shoes, one rubbing on the back of my left heel. When I pulled off the wet sock, however, I noticed that my skin had rubbed completely off. I was puzzled – I never get blisters there – but I just changed socks, grabbed some food/hydration, and took off after Mark, who told me a few minutes earlier he was heading out. I left my race vest in my drop bag, knowing that I could pick it up on the return visit, so I just continued on without hydration.

Leaving Gloriana meant more single track, this time a bit rockier than the previous descent. Somewhere in here, I took the first of two spills, tripping on a rock that clearly was sticking about 10 inches out of the ground (or was it millimeters?).  I suffered a cut on one of my fingers, which bled for a while.  Eventually I caught up to Mark again, and we continued to head toward the turn-around. Before we got to the Soap Creek aid station, we had to descend on a dirt road that seemed to go on forever. I think it was at least a two-mile descent, and although we started down the hill together, Mark informed me that he was going to take advantage of the hill, and off he went. Before the aid station, there was more mud and a couple steep inclines. Eventually I pulled into  Soap Creek, where Mark was already finishing his food/drink and preparing to take off. I slammed down some soup, grabbed a few other things, encountered Alan who was not far behind us, and caught up to Mark not long after, around the time where we had to climb back up the two-mile hill. We walked up it together, agreeing that it was best to save ourselves for later.

When we arrived back at Gloriana, Mark informed me that he was going to make a pit stop, and that I should take off if I was ready. I was debating on grabbing my race vest, and wound up having a brief conversation with one of the aid station volunteers about the weather. I asked her if she knew what the temperature difference was between Gloriana and Hidden Treasure (the two aid stations where drop bags were allowed). She checked the forecast, only to inform me that they had taken snow out of the forecast for Mayer. Wait, what?!?! There was snow in the forecast???? But she also said the chances of rain would gradually increase from whatever it was currently to 100% at 6pm. I was trying to calculate in my mind if I had enough time to get to Hidden Treasure by 6:00, and decided to take off without changing any of my clothing or grabbing my race vest. It wasn’t long before Mark was in sight, and I tried to push ahead just a little so that he didn’t pass me again. Not that I was trying to be competitive; I just wanted something in my head to push myself forward as quickly as possible. Nevertheless, he eventually caught up to me.

As we arrived back at the Bumble Bee aid station (mile 42.2), Mark bumped into a friend who was crewing (coaching?) a few runners, and seeing the port-a-potties, I kept chugging along while he chatted so that I could get some GI relief before Mark left the station. I opened the first one, only to find that the floor was covered with…umm…stuff. “Wow, someone had a serious accident!” I thought to myself. I opted to try the next one, and lo and behold, the same thing. I didn’t want to go in there, so I closed the door, and a guy who was just hanging out said something like, “It must be pretty bad in there.” I said yeah, and then it dawned on me…that’s just mud, not what I was thinking it was. I told that to the guy, who chuckled, and then I headed in for a quick pit-stop. After, I headed to the food/drink, found Mark again, and once we both were ready, we headed out again, ready for the hike to Hidden Treasure.

(This section is the most fuzzy for me, so I am relying on Mark’s race report and comments to make this a little more accurate.)

I don’t remember the section from Bumble Bee to Hidden Treasure, but I think we spent much of that section with Alan.  At times, Alan and I would pull ahead of Mark, but never for too long.  Because Hidden Treasure was the last aid station that allowed drop bags, it was where I swapped my water-resistant running jacket for a water-proof windbreaker with a hood.  In hindsight, I should have just added the extra layer for warmth.

Upon departing Hidden Station, we started out with a bit of a walk, both of us agreeing that we needed to gradually warm up our legs before starting to run again. After a few minutes, we started running, and shortly thereafter I felt a strong pull in my right calf and had to stop. I couldn’t tell if it was cramps or a strain, but it hurt like hell, and I could not get on my toes. I tried limping forward for a bit, reminding myself what Mark told me about these things passing.  I waved to Mark to just take off, and he did that to a certain extent, although he never got all that far ahead. I didn’t tell him this, but I thought he was sabotaging his own race rather than leaving me there, and I was more than a little bothered by that.

Some time went by – maybe five minutes, but it felt like a half hour – and my leg gradually improved to the point where I could muster a brisk, albeit altered, walk, and this turned out to be the rest of my day. I tried running a few times, but couldn’t…so I just plugged along, just thinking about making the long climb up to Antelope Mesa, and worrying about the rest of the race after that. Somewhere on the climb, I tripped on another rock and got my hands up just in time to save my face from a large rock wall.  It was reminiscent of my encounter with a tree at the Eugene Curnow Trail Marathon last summer. Eventually I caught up to Mark, who apparently wasn’t doing quite as well as I expected.

As we approached Antelope Mesa, the final aid station before the finish, it started to get dark and Mark stopped to pull out his headlamp and (I think) add a layer for warmth. I kept plugging forward, knowing that soon enough, he would catch up with me. He eventually did, but it was a lot longer than I expected, and I was admittedly worried for a while.

Upon the arrival to Antelope Mesa, I refueled quickly, telling Mark I needed to take off as soon as possible as I was getting cold. Mark agreed, and off we went, back onto that muddy jeep road we encountered some 11 hours earlier. I’m not sure if the conditions were actually any worse, but it seemed like the little known 8th circle of Hell – the one even Dante didn’t dare write about. Every step was a mixture of 1) submerging a shoe into muddy water, 2) slipping in an unknown direction to a resting point, and 3) hoping to not step on a rock or fall in. We encountered a woman who had turned around to head back to Antelope Mesa. Mark asked her if she was OK, and she just muttered something about needing to get back to the aid station. I said nothing, and we continued forward for what seemed like an eternity. Mark generally took the lead here. He had a handheld flashlight in addition to a headlamp, and while I found my own headlamp to be sufficient on single-track, it didn’t give adequate lighting to a 10-foot wide jeep road filled with mud. It was one of many times during the day where I felt fortunate to have a veteran with me, because it continued to get colder and windier, with the forecast of 100% chance of rain now having become a reality.

After the eternity of the jeep road, we finally found the single-track trail…just one more mile until the dirt road. Mark continued in the lead, until at some point he said he had to stop for a quick bathroom break. I told him I had to keep moving to stay warm, but that I would walk slowly. I probably didn’t slow down all that much, if at all, because it continued to get more and more difficult to stay warm. The wool shirt underneath my jacket, with an additional layer underneath it, was no longer doing the job it had done all day. Eventually, he did catch up with me, with maybe a quarter mile of trail still ahead of us. I asked him if he minded taking the lead since he had the flashlight, although in hindsight I should have demanded that he give me the light instead. He took over again, until we finally arrived at the dirt road…just three more miles.

The dirt road meant turning to the right, which meant that what was once primarily a tailwind was now a side wind. We picked up the pace as best we could, and at some point in all of this, I began to notice that Mark really wasn’t doing well. He told me he was getting delirious, and at one point, he sort of stumbled sideways into me (or maybe I stumbled into him, who really knows). I decided to pick up the pace just a bit to try to pull Mark with me, in the hopes that a brisker walk would help him stay warm. Perhaps this would be the one time that I would be the one pushing Mark forward, as opposed to the rest of the day, where he was constantly giving me motivation. We continued forward for those three miles, eventually arriving on the pavement, and ultimately having to make a hard right turn toward the high school track, heading directly into the wind.  I let out a scream, and at long last, we made the turn onto the track, where the finish line was just a few feet away.

The end was pretty uneventful. We crossed the line, were congratulated and given our buckle and barrel mug, and just turned around and headed to the high school. Once we got inside, we found our bags, got into dry clothes, and began the long process of trying to warm up. When I took off my shoes, I discovered exactly why my heel had blistered. After the Thursday run with Alan and Eileen, I took out the insoles to let them dry out, and I forgot to put them back in on Saturday morning. Ugh…

I lost track of Mark for a while, but he later informed me that he had a visit with a medic. He probably said this in his own race report, but when they first tried to take his temperature, it didn’t register on the thermometer. After forcing him to lie down for a while, they took it again. It was back up to 94 degrees, and they eventually let him go. We (Alan, Mark, and I) chatted for a while, and Mark said he wanted to head back to his hotel, and Alan departed shortly after.

I hung out in the gym for a while, waiting for my wife and her parents to arrive. I was planning on driving back to Phoenix after the race, but my right leg was in bad enough shape that pushing on a gas/brake pedal wasn’t going to happen. After getting home and getting undressed, I noticed that my calf was significantly swollen, larger than my thigh. Interesting…

One other thing I remember: somewhere during those last 13 miles, I recall Mark, who has run Western States, UTMB, and countless other ultras, saying that these were the most brutal conditions he had ever encountered.

I can’t imagine it could get much worse.

Results…

Finishing time: 14:10:06

Place: tied for 100th (don’t believe what the results say, Mark did NOT finish two seconds behind me!)

Status: Alive.

Hats off to Aravaipa and all of the volunteers at this event. It had to have become a bit of a nightmare, especially as darkness fell and the temperatures dropped. Weather aside, everything about this race was awesome, and I wouldn’t mind doing it again, although it would probably bring back some memories I may want to forget for a while.

Thanks for reading, and thanks to Mark for toughing it out with me on my first attempt at a trail ultra!

2016 Door County Fall 50 Race Report

The Backstory and Training

My experience with the DCF50 actually began in 2015, when I made my first attempt at running a race longer than the marathon.  It didn’t go well.  At first, it was cool and wet, then the sun came out and I dropped my warm clothes, and then a cold rain came in off of Green Bay shortly after I arrived at Aid Station #8.  Because I felt on the verge of hypothermia, with nothing in a drop bag – because I didn’t think I would need drop bags at any of the aid stations – I dropped out, or I wimped out, or I crawled into our car with my tail between my legs and spent quite a bit of time in a hot tub.  I really should have known better, that running a point-to-point course along a large body of water allows for the possibility of rather significant changes in weather, especially in an event that is going to last the better part of a morning and afternoon.

So:  I hadn’t necessarily planned on going back to Door County this year, but shortly after registration opened, I received an email from the race director, extending an invitation to all runners who did not finish (or at least the solo runners) to return in 2016, and as an incentive, he indicated that the registration fee would be waived.  Hmm…well, it can’t hurt to sign up, right?  So, I registered, knowing that if I wasn’t up for it later, I could always drop.  After all, the solo race isn’t one that fills up (unlike the relay, which fills up in less than a day), so I wouldn’t be taking a spot from someone else.

All in all, training went well.  After suffering a calf injury in April and having to pull out of the Lake Wobegon Marathon in mid-May, I made a couple of changes to my training.  First, I switched to a ten-day cycle rather than seven.  Second, I limited my speedwork to one or two days per “week.”  Initially, it was two, but as the mileage crept up, it dropped down to one, and in my peak week, I stayed away.

In the midst of the 16-week cycle was my first trail marathon, the Eugene Curnow Trail Marathon.  There’s a report for that elsewhere, but suffice it to say here that it was an absolute blast, and I think it may have gotten me hooked on trail running.  With a finish time of 4:40:44, it was a good test for my endurance, as that is longer than any prior race or training run.  It also tested my abilities on hills, which still needs some significant work.

Without going into the full details of my training cycle, my peak ten-day week came in at 137.5 miles, including my highest ever seven-day mileage total:  123 miles.  That was followed by a two-week taper, but since the weeks were ten days long, it was actually a 20-day taper.  I didn’t feel all that great throughout the taper, up until my last run, two days before the race, at which point I finally felt as though I had some spring back in my step.  This is about how I prefer my marathon tapers to go, to get that springy feeling in one of the last couple of runs.  So, beyond the taper niggles that I always get – this time in my left calf, which was sore for about the last week – I felt I was good to go give this race another shot.

The Race

I’ll begin by saying that this event is extremely well-organized.  The route was fairly straightforward, but at any of the less-than-obvious turns, there were volunteers (or police) controlling traffic or making sure you went the correct direction.  Solo runners have their own aid station so that the relay runners don’t gobble up all of the food/drink, and everyone was incredibly helpful.  The after-party features unlimited free beer (several varieties including more local brews) and pizza, and eventually extremely loud (umm, too loud for me) music and partying.  And although it is a road race that runs through several communities, it definitely has its charm, especially if the weather is accommodating and the leaves haven’t dropped off the trees.  So, a big shout out to the race director and all of the volunteers!  OK, having said that…

The DCF50 is a point-to-point course running mostly south along the western portion of the Door County Peninsula, with many views of Green Bay.  And because it is held in late October, there is at least a chance you’ll get scenic views with some fall colors.  Suffice it to say that this year, the colors were in full peak, so although this was not an ultramarathon on the trails in the mountains, the scenery was pretty spectacular.

The solo runners began at 7:00am, which is a little before sunrise.  My wife and her sister crewed me this year, so I/we got up a little after 4am, I took a shower, had some coffee and a bagel with peanut butter, plus some yogurt before leaving our hotel room in Sturgeon Bay to make the 1-hour drive to Gills Rock.  Parking at the start is extremely easy and convenient, probably no more than 50-100 feet from the starting line.  So, once we arrived, we hung out for a bit, I made the usual trips to the bathroom and got ready for the start, which looked something like this.  (The photo is borrowed from the DCF50 Facebook page.)

The weather was pretty ideal but a bit on the chilly side:  temperature in the 30s, calm.  I don’t do well in cold weather, and given what happened last year, I didn’t want to take any chances, so I opted for a singlet plus a long-sleeve tech shirt, shorts and calf sleeves, gloves and a cap.  To make up for last year, where I didn’t use any drop bags, I put a drop bag at all but the first aid station, each one including a long sleeve shirt, and fuel to put in my 10-oz. handheld in the event that my crew and I lost each other.  A few also included extra gloves, and two of them had extra shoes.  The fueling plan was to use Hammer Perpetuem as a primary fuel source, supplementing with gels, Clif Bars, or whatever was available at aid stations as needed.  As it turns out, I consumed only one gel the entire race, and at one of the rest stops ate a hunk of a Clif Bar.  Otherwise, Perpetuem seemed to sustain me throughout the race, supplemented occasionally with Gatorade at the later aid stations and half a Jolly Rancher.  I wound up not using anything I had left in any of the drop bags.  But, they were there if I needed them.

Leg 1:  (Miles 1.0 – 5.4)
Splits (miles 1-6):  8:12, 7:49, 8:04, 8:05, 8:01, 9:51

As is obvious from the photo above, the start is pretty simple and not at all crowded. I lined up a few rows back.  Once the gun went off, the guy in red/white striped shorts (on the right side) took off like a bat out of hell.  I learned later that his plan was to set a course record, so he was running 6:00/mile until somewhere in the middle, where he had to make a pit stop, and apparently had a significant enough injury to thwart his plan, although he still finished.  The guy front and center (Chase) was the eventual winner.

My strategy heading into this was to run by heart rate, keeping my HR in the low 130s for at least a couple of hours, and then at some point, maybe after mile 25 or 30 or who knows when, allow it to creep up into the 140s.  I checked it periodically in the first few miles, noted that it was high, and looking at the data post-race, my HR for the first mile averaged 144.  I initially attributed this to static electricity, which often happens when it’s colder, especially if I am wearing more than one layer.  So, I ran what felt easy, and waited for it to drop.  It never did.  So…change of plans…just run at what feels easy, and let’s see what happens.

The first couple miles were absolutely gorgeous, with the sunrise shining on leaves in full color.  This photo (taken by my wife at the first aid station) was a pretty typical scene in the early morning hours…

After everyone settled into their own pace, I counted the runners ahead of me, and figured I was in approximately 15th place.  Over the course of the first leg, a few more passed me, and by the time I got to the first aid station, I was probably around 20th.  I walked a bit of the climb to the aid station, and once I arrived, had to make a pit stop before swapping bottles with my crew and heading out for Leg #2.

Arriving at Aid Station #1. I wore the brightest tech shirt I own so my crew would have no trouble spotting me.

Leg 2: (Miles 5.4 – 11.6)
Splits (miles 7 – 12):  8:02, 7:45, 7:58, 7:37, 8:42, 8:52

Mostly downhill, these miles went by pretty fast – in hindsight, probably faster than they should have, but one never really knows that until later.  This was more of the same in terms of the views and how I felt, and I tend to forget details even in marathons, so much of the early/middle portion of this race escapes my memory.  But, here’s a photo my wife took not far from the Sister Bay Aid Station, which involved another pit stop (I was determined to keep my fluids as high as possible, even if it meant giving up time going to the bathroom).

Leg 3:  (Miles 11.6 – 18.8)
Splits (Miles 13 – 19):  8:45, 7:43, 7:39, 8:40, 8:41, 7:51, 8:57

One of the more difficult portions of the route, this leg included a few climbs that involved some walking, a long gradual descent, and a short, steeper downhill later in the leg.  It is also one of the more scenic portions of an already scenic route, arriving in Peninsula Park.  Around mile 13 or so, I noticed that I was beginning to gradually pass runners.  In this leg it included two of the female runners, the first with whom I had a brief conversation, only to discover that she won the women’s Masters Division last year with a time of approximately 7:40:00.  I asked what she hoped to run this year, and she commented that she didn’t think she had anything faster than 7:40 in her.  As I left her behind, I commented that we would probably see each other on the course later (hoping that we wouldn’t.)  By the time I arrived in Peninsula Park, it had become cloudy, so it still felt cool even though the temp was probably in the upper 40s to near 50, and I was glad to have my long-sleeve tech shirt and gloves, even though at times, I felt just a little warm.  And apparently I still had enough energy to stick my tongue out at my wife while she snapped a photo of my arrival at the Peninsula Park Aid Station.  And yes, it included another pit stop…the last one of the day.

Leg 4:  Miles 18.8 – 24.0
Splits (Miles 20-24):  8:15, 8:00, 8:27, 8:03, 8:44

As is probably evident by the mile splits for this leg (and the look on my face in the photo below – fyi, the tongue wagging never made an appearance after Peninsula Park), things started to get tougher here.  By this point, a South wind had made its presence known, even though it probably wasn’t more than a gentle breeze.  It was a double-edged sword, as it helped keep me cool while also forcing me to work just a bit harder.  After the beauty of Peninsula Park, I don’t recall too much of what this leg looked like, although it ended at Fish Creek, running on the sidewalk through the community.  Much of the latter portion was run with the two people in this photo – the woman in white and the man in gray, who were running together when I first caught them.  I could tell the woman was breathing much too hard to maintain the pace we were running for much longer, but the guy was holding his own, and it wasn’t until the aid station that I actually passed him, as he spent more time there than me.

Leg 5:  Miles 25.0 – 28.3
Splits (Miles 25 – 28):  8:15, 9:44, 7:51, 8:17

Leg 5 included the climb up Gibraltar Bluff Road, one of the last two difficult climbs on the route.  I took my time going up and enjoyed the downhill that followed, although by this time, my quads were feeling the effects of the first 26 miles.  I remember passing a sign indicating the full marathon distance, and looked at my watch to see 3:38:33.  By this point, my dream goal – which I knew was unlikely to begin with – of a sub7 finish was gone, but 7:30 wasn’t out of the question.

Umm…this isn’t getting any easier!

 

Leg 6:  Miles 28.3 – 32.1
Splits (Miles 29 – 31):  9:02, 8:01, 8:40.2

The downhill in the first half mile of this leg was steep enough that I practically walked it.  No time gained there, the short ascent that followed didn’t help, and I could tell my quads were beginning to suffer and the right one was getting tight.  Again, we were heading south into a headwind, and by this time, I started to have some pain in my right knee.  So, with sub7 no longer a goal, I decided to begin saving myself by alternating some running and walking, hoping the knee pain was temporary.

Leg 7:  Miles 32.1 – 36.2
Splits (Miles 32 – 35):  9:26, 9:00, 8:57, 9:16)

This leg ended with the arrival at the Murphy Park Aid Station (above).  Last year, this was where I chose to stop, as a cold rain moved in off the lake, I was stuck in a singlet and borrowed a small pink hooded sweatshirt owned by a gracious elderly lady who was volunteering in the solo runner tent, while my body began to shake uncontrollably as I waited for my wife.  That moment – one very long moment – entered my mind while drinking some water at the aid station.  Then it was time to go…so, from this point forward, it was unknown territory…

Leg 8:  (Miles 36.2 – 41.4)
Splits (Miles 36 – 42):  9:05, 11:24, 9:54, 10:01, 12:52, 10:41, 10:59

OK, so the elevation map for this leg (provided by the race website) isn’t accurate, as the route information indicates that this leg includes the climb up to Monument Point:  a 250′ climb in less than a half mile with a grade up to 14%.  I believe this may have been a route change from the prior year and the elevation map hasn’t been updated.  Anyhow, that climb happens in mile 37, and I gladly walked all of it, accepting the 11:00+ pace.  Once the climb was finished, I started to run and subsequently began having cramps in one or another hamstring.  So, the rest of the leg was spent alternating walking and running, as much as I was able.  In hindsight, this was probably beneficial for my knee, as it eventually stopped hurting during the running portions.  I spent quite a bit of time in this area trying to convince myself that I would finish, that I could finish, and that I just needed to take care of my legs while continuing to push forward as best I could.  Somewhere in here I was passed by a couple of guys, and at this point, there was no way I was in shape to try to keep up with anyone around me, so I just let them go.  When I arrived at the aid station, I was told by one of the volunteers that I was in 6th or 7th place.  WHAT?!?!  How is that even possible???  (As it turns out, I think I was actually in 8th.)

Leg 9:  Miles 41.4 – 45.7
Splits (Miles 43 – 46):  10:21, 9:39, 9:57, 10:29

Another significant downhill, one that I could not take advantage of due to the damage done to my quads.  (I should note here that I am completely aware of how flat this course is compared to most trail ultras…and it is something I am going to have to figure out for any future runs with significant elevation.)  I continued the run/walk strategy, gradually giving back time to a possible 7:30 finish.  But the hope was still there.  During this leg, I was passed by the eventual winner of the women’s division.  Once she passed me, I decided I would try to keep pace with her for as long as I could, alternating running slightly faster than her while walking occasionally to give my legs a bit of a break whenever they began to feel tight.  This seemed to work, and as we approached the next aid station, I passed her again.  And somewhere in this leg, I remember actually smiling for the first time in quite a few hours, as I was now confident that the end was achievable, that I would actually finish.  And in my mind, 7:30 was not yet out the window.  It was the carrot dangling in front of the bunny in my brain, and all I needed was to be able to push hard for maybe the last two miles.  So I tried to save myself as best I could while continuing forward.

Leg 10:  Miles 45.7 – Finish
Splits (miles 47 – 50 plus the extra stuff):  10:01, 9:44, 10:01, 9:36, 2:32

I left the last aid station as quickly as possible, as I wanted to put as much distance as I could between the lead female and myself.  At this point, there was a volunteer in a pickup who was controlling traffic on a somewhat narrow road.  He pulled along side me at one point and yelled, “It’s all downhill from here!”  I looked ahead of me to see the gradual incline of the first mile or so and wanted to yell at him, “Stop lying to me, dammit!”  I continued the run/walk strategy up the hill, and took a quick look behind me.  The lead female wasn’t in sight.  After cresting the hill – I think on the slight downhill before the 1.5-mile mark for this leg – my knee pain returned with a bit of a vengeance.  After continuing the run/walk strategy for a few more minutes, a woman on a bicycle – or was she walking her dog, I honestly don’t remember – tried to encourage me, and she pointed behind me and said something like, “Don’t let that woman pass you!”  Oh, OK, so she IS in sight…awesome.  Over the course of the next mile or so, she pulled up along side me, and I complimented her on the strong finish and wished her well, although in my head, my plan was to hang on as long as possible with the run/walk strategy, and when I felt as though I could finish without cramping, I would push as hard as possible and overtake her, or at least push her to the finish line.  Well…that never happened.  I just didn’t have the gear, and couldn’t maintain running for very long without having to walk.  So, with nobody in my rear view mirror, I just tried to chug along to the finish, making sure I wasn’t walking across the finish line.

After the race, I headed into the party tent for a beer and eventually some pizza, and headed toward one of the heaters to keep warm.  There were a couple of young guys sitting at a table, and one of them congratulated me on a fast run.  He turned out to be Chase, the overall winner with a time of 5:46:49 (umm, yeah, speaking of a fast run!).  The other guy was his crew.  Anyhow, we chatted for a while, and Chase said his legs were starting to loosen up (after only sitting there for probably close to two hours while I was still out there running?!).  After beer and pizza, we headed back to the hotel room so I could shower and warm up, and then returned to the party tent to see where I placed.  As it turns out, things went pretty well.

Results:
Time:  7:32:27 (9:03/mile)
Overall:  9th
Masters:  5th (which included a $100 cash prize, WHAT?!)
Age Group (50-59):  3rd

Note:  The second place finisher was also first master and first in the 50-59 age group, with an impressive time of 6:39:19.  Yikes!

The hoodie all runners receive, finishers medal that also functions as a bottle opener (top left), AG and Masters medals.

Lastly, it goes without saying that I had an awesome crew:  my wife and sister-in-law, who met me at every aid station with my handheld filled and ready to go, tossing out words of encouragement along the way, and both getting me to the start and waiting for me at the finish.  Incredibly happy to have had them there!

Thanks for reading!