tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74038348369010065982024-03-02T11:39:27.397-06:00The Lazy UltrarunnerI'm lazy. I run. That pretty much sums it up.Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.comBlogger51125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-11722249646348272692024-03-02T03:11:00.021-06:002024-03-02T11:38:53.638-06:00That Time Chris Got Kicked Out of a Race<div class="separator"><p style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <br /></p></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFi7jVhb075yAJ9tgkcRjXmbtmdz-Wi-QJXoIBGX-LVkNpQ1NxlinmDcBzPW06EhayBmVkhQUfRT915Gj0c3M5q7bKwDKPv4ppWRhYyRWcDMNpYMZnBVa6RJbusb_1ddGiXozIfdVrLpetKXzyDlRKFTNm1_bvMtxwihy3WM8ROs56RkojEVhCY1BQ-FE/s2048/423472455_775514804465834_7883002514861641925_n.jpg" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFi7jVhb075yAJ9tgkcRjXmbtmdz-Wi-QJXoIBGX-LVkNpQ1NxlinmDcBzPW06EhayBmVkhQUfRT915Gj0c3M5q7bKwDKPv4ppWRhYyRWcDMNpYMZnBVa6RJbusb_1ddGiXozIfdVrLpetKXzyDlRKFTNm1_bvMtxwihy3WM8ROs56RkojEVhCY1BQ-FE/w640-h360/423472455_775514804465834_7883002514861641925_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sad Chris (PC: Rick K, in his awesome 2017 Grindstone Top Finisher jacket!)<br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p> </p><p>I was just kicked out of a race.</p><p>Not just any race, a Backyard Silver Ticket race, an auto-qualifier for The Big's Backyard World Championships. How the heck did that happen?! Well, here are ALL of the details!</p><p>Grab a drink and find a comfy place to park your rear for an eternity, cuz this is going to take some time to unpack.</p><p><br /></p><p>Nobody:</p><p>Chris: <i>"The world needs a 30 minute blog post about a silly race!"</i></p><p><i> </i> <br /></p><p>Instead of running through the night and catching 5minute cat-naps in my awesome Backyard tent set up, I'm spending untold hours writing an unnecessarily long blog post. But I'm doing it all for posterity! <br /></p><h1 style="text-align: left;">So Why Did I Want To Run This Race?</h1><p>I love the Backyard format (I also hate the Backyard format). 4.1666 miles per hour, every hour, until you can't go on. Simple. Elegant. Brutal.</p><p>The Backyard Community is like nothing else I've ever experienced. The longer the race goes on, the more everyone bands together. Crews are helping crews, runners are helping other runners, runners that tapped out long ago (and their crew) jump in to give whatever support they can to those still trying to survive. I've been on the receiving end of this multiple times. It's awe-inspiring. It's humbling. It's everything you want "Sport" to be -- folks coming together so athletes can find their limit, and so a special few might push the bounds of human endurance, together. It's inclusive, supportive, uplifting. It's humanity at its finest. <br /></p><p>For the past 3 years, I've qualified for The Big Show in Laz's delightful Tennessee backyard each October. The finest multi-day runners in the world, coming together to run laps until they decay into frail little shells of a human being. The first year, I was The Assist, with 84 hours, to Harvey Lewis. I crapped out because of a progressively deteriorating knee issue ... I ran and hobbled until I could hobble no more. The next year I crapped out, literally, when I partially tore my achilles standing up after, ahem, doing my business in the treeline during a night loop. Only 60 hours that go-around. For 2023 I gave up my spot to prioritize representing my country at the 24 Hour World Championships -- I'm no Harvey, I'm just a human, and I knew my body wouldn't be able to go the distance at Big's and then run competitively for 24 hours a mere 6 weeks later.</p><p>My 84 hours "expired" as a qualifying mark, and my 60 hours from 2022 isn't good enough to secure 1 of the 15 Big's Team USA slots for this year's World Team Satellite Championships. So I needed to re-qualify. You do that by running a Silver Ticket race. You win and you're in (or you go to the hyper-competitive Capital Backyard Ultra where a couple runners might go far enough to snag an At-Large spot). Guess what! There just so happens to be a Silver Ticket race 10 minutes from my house in St. Louis this go-around: The Queeny Backyard Ultra.</p><h1 style="text-align: left;">Story Time</h1><p style="text-align: left;">(be patient, it'll all come together, eventually)</p><h3 style="text-align: left;">COVID Sucks<br /></h3><p style="text-align: left;">In the Summer of 2019 my family and I moved from DC to St. Louis. Wanting to dive head-on into the local ultra scene, I was looking forward to signing up for a lot of local races. I signed up for the Ozark Foothills 100, 20 minutes from my house. I ran the trails around that race course all the time and couldn't wait to give it a go. The race was scheduled for April 2020.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Anyone remember what happened in the Spring of 2020?</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiLYLvHtsU3npNRGECy1VHkuPReVvUm_n9qhAo0Ch9pgB3DuZua2bDANjpMMtY_DNWDhDnmoV1JRDxmeivw-Od0D95PhAVs5fROnQXpFxaDuQLAeX4-7rEtiU5NpLE57R06hFg0B8uX2pwQ0tpZLU3STRf4oobyQzjuVY_3dyxTGYsv9hF6k5zMtIR4ZQ/s640/PP_2022.03.03_geo-covid_00-01.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="553" data-original-width="640" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiLYLvHtsU3npNRGECy1VHkuPReVvUm_n9qhAo0Ch9pgB3DuZua2bDANjpMMtY_DNWDhDnmoV1JRDxmeivw-Od0D95PhAVs5fROnQXpFxaDuQLAeX4-7rEtiU5NpLE57R06hFg0B8uX2pwQ0tpZLU3STRf4oobyQzjuVY_3dyxTGYsv9hF6k5zMtIR4ZQ/w400-h346/PP_2022.03.03_geo-covid_00-01.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">COVID sucks<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p><br />The Race Director kept trying to find ways to host the race, hoping a solution could be found and permits could be secured. It sucks. It was a tough break. So many elements of "normal" life were upended, with folks struggling mightily to keep carrying on.</p><p>Everywhere around the world was going into lock down. Schools were shuttered. Races were getting cancelled left and right. Parks were getting shut down. People were wearing latex gloves to the grocery store and washing produce in bleach (and ... drinking bleach? ... sigh), and then they disrobed in the garage for fear of contaminating their house. Folks were dying and getting seriously sick. We were all clueless and had no idea what the hell was going on. Seriously. Do you remember Spring of 2020? It was absolutely insane.<br /></p><p>I wasn't comfortable with the Race Director trying to put on the race. After the Virginia Happy Trails Running Club (VHTRC) Board announced the cancellation of all their events, and their reasoning behind doing so, I spoke with a number of East Coast runners with clout in the sport, whose opinions I valued. They suggested I contact the Race Director and voice my concerns.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;">The Deferral</h3><p style="text-align: left;">On May 1st, 2020, the Race Director sent out an email, explaining the situation. They had COVID protocols in place. They were still trying to host the race and were working with the County Parks Department on possible dates outside of the current lock-down orders, to include Memorial Day weekend. I'm not going to post the entire email or the protocols ... if this were a senior thesis, it might go in an appendix somewhere.<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Within the email was information about deferring until 2021:<br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigyAZbr29Y84KVLd0eSBP3g7GkYKPTpacEDl1263yWk943lLHL-NBodCtKg1npZTbCe5zyR6Su0xXBwK8_KA7mQng4IFeVu3XGggPOCQyWEAe7H3MmW8F0WLBtz4XmbtEy0ihtrgOEniystX847teSh18jGq8u0KedQq3xgs8Wshh2o_KNvd7qeJWjDrY/s1080/Screenshot_20240301-185822.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="1080" height="115" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigyAZbr29Y84KVLd0eSBP3g7GkYKPTpacEDl1263yWk943lLHL-NBodCtKg1npZTbCe5zyR6Su0xXBwK8_KA7mQng4IFeVu3XGggPOCQyWEAe7H3MmW8F0WLBtz4XmbtEy0ihtrgOEniystX847teSh18jGq8u0KedQq3xgs8Wshh2o_KNvd7qeJWjDrY/w400-h115/Screenshot_20240301-185822.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snippet of May 1st, 2020 race update email<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>I didn't think it was wise to host the race. I felt that I'd be able to run the whole thing without any aid or race support (it was 4x25mi loops), not interacting within 6 feet of anyone. But I also felt that'd send the wrong message. So I chose to defer my entry. While doing so, I took the opportunity to privately share my concerns with the Race Director about the COVID protocols and what I believed to be bad optics for the running community if the race were to still take place.</p><p>Below is my email, from May 5th, 2020, in full:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKcBBvIHJrb13Ji_fatkzPEIFr6rqx7bqo0d4e4zlb1PQ8LM968vlMcPpo26xgYisY8LEpMyjxnOMeQovv4w0_TAVBQeAgWKgKkw53xeccyZ9a0NaMG2eoKDLLZ2_Jgzy1iwk4YG8K_W_tWff8U2_rvDz1FMn05FMAu4D4DEK9y4sL60w6jKrvq7NXIKo/s1268/Screenshot_20240301-185902.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1268" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKcBBvIHJrb13Ji_fatkzPEIFr6rqx7bqo0d4e4zlb1PQ8LM968vlMcPpo26xgYisY8LEpMyjxnOMeQovv4w0_TAVBQeAgWKgKkw53xeccyZ9a0NaMG2eoKDLLZ2_Jgzy1iwk4YG8K_W_tWff8U2_rvDz1FMn05FMAu4D4DEK9y4sL60w6jKrvq7NXIKo/w546-h640/Screenshot_20240301-185902.png" width="546" /></a></div><p></p><p>I think I start out really well! Sympathetic, referencing the decision-making process of another running group. Great job, Chris!<br /></p><p>I then listed my concerns. Again, I think I start off on the right foot. Towards the end, perhaps I get a bit ... snarky and punchy. But I wanted to drive home the absurdity of it all.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVJa1J0OoG_ZFtR78XLZzRKTQbkCW7voEXuPAv_FXhEu7aNsvfd8AxJYJ2rakVj_kH9LIgD_aCEdTXViR4XXoadP2uDK1lmR1E7Rp8C_ZgTvAeJ9mPTVrWvtrnwoXcOpBUYEtgUo0J0LbacYGJFA2KPQj4fNTVCj2E_PAgxSfFQ31Qd3SOj0XQicbIh2M/s1534/Screenshot_20240301-185936.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1534" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVJa1J0OoG_ZFtR78XLZzRKTQbkCW7voEXuPAv_FXhEu7aNsvfd8AxJYJ2rakVj_kH9LIgD_aCEdTXViR4XXoadP2uDK1lmR1E7Rp8C_ZgTvAeJ9mPTVrWvtrnwoXcOpBUYEtgUo0J0LbacYGJFA2KPQj4fNTVCj2E_PAgxSfFQ31Qd3SOj0XQicbIh2M/w450-h640/Screenshot_20240301-185936.png" width="450" /> </a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p>I then tried spitballing some alternative ideas. Remember the Quarantine Backyard Ultra? That was a HUGE hit. Let's think outside the box and come up with a solution that satisfies the runners AND keeps the community safe.</p><p>I then closed with a post-script photo of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. Was that a bit much? Yeah. But, in my defense, I didn't even come up with the idea, and I ran it by 2 other runner friends who were basically like "well, you're not wrong".<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyoNmNm1-V-24V3H53PnyrkWGzJJVnmxtY_x3nhUQ90gI4AbAOBK7eyva_mkxMicFeTjd1GRcnr8QZfeGYAetE4wJ-VTCYtczyJ-njCLDo7YV4mk6pithltOGI91nOrVNiVMg37RS-uUKwdWvMdQA3PZQke0ZBUziAETzMb2XblOZEV6OAeThbhwAfbCA/s1226/Screenshot_20240301-185952.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1226" data-original-width="1079" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyoNmNm1-V-24V3H53PnyrkWGzJJVnmxtY_x3nhUQ90gI4AbAOBK7eyva_mkxMicFeTjd1GRcnr8QZfeGYAetE4wJ-VTCYtczyJ-njCLDo7YV4mk6pithltOGI91nOrVNiVMg37RS-uUKwdWvMdQA3PZQke0ZBUziAETzMb2XblOZEV6OAeThbhwAfbCA/w564-h640/Screenshot_20240301-185952.png" width="564" /></a></div><p></p><h3 style="text-align: left;">The Deferral Response</h3><p style="text-align: left;">I immediately received the following response from the Race Director.<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKODLhLZ42k64rpErQNWkuFfi__X3DUvdYw77r848BkkUQ3B9y5SiZThxRx7pwOiWKYLJl5mbCygsBgYKVkiDmHu2Vcx6SxqkYYI365CN41AnzO5DacEi7EFVueIw7YLa6fO8FAOsbviu6lrm3eCmASUx2sOWCLVdAhZ8P5z5e752x6fAcPBCFXB8Oe4s/s1080/Screenshot_20240301-190054.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="844" data-original-width="1080" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKODLhLZ42k64rpErQNWkuFfi__X3DUvdYw77r848BkkUQ3B9y5SiZThxRx7pwOiWKYLJl5mbCygsBgYKVkiDmHu2Vcx6SxqkYYI365CN41AnzO5DacEi7EFVueIw7YLa6fO8FAOsbviu6lrm3eCmASUx2sOWCLVdAhZ8P5z5e752x6fAcPBCFXB8Oe4s/w400-h313/Screenshot_20240301-190054.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Race Director response to deferral request and voicing of concerns<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> And then I deferred my entry, as instructed.<br /><p></p><h3 style="text-align: left;">Things Get Weird</h3><p style="text-align: left;">That October, I went to roll my registration over to 2021. Surely by then we'd have some of this COVID crap sorted out. We were learning more about transmission. The vaccine was just around the corner. Some events were testing the waters with rolling starts and what not. So let's do this!</p><p style="text-align: left;">Except, Ultrasignup wouldn't let me sign up for the race and recommended I reach out to the race organizer. Maybe something was wrong with the deferral/rollover process and I somehow missed a step in the process buried in the race cancellation notice or something. So I reached out...<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdKpEBQAE9Vnd2qZKR0pEJ7j8mwskZTZChji-9p3SiIgxEjZK9QbJMvXFHhNNVpu8bCUPUPbUB95J3QLkOHAJRhR0XdMpt4bxms_xJdhzj4h_1CyUNewLKvz1mF2oDgTsU2AjErp2CTZpgvHxHjREJBdBLnbwxo4h6GvBREW0fPJqbQGoOOa5yYFCa3ks/s1522/Screenshot_20240301-190120.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1522" data-original-width="1079" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdKpEBQAE9Vnd2qZKR0pEJ7j8mwskZTZChji-9p3SiIgxEjZK9QbJMvXFHhNNVpu8bCUPUPbUB95J3QLkOHAJRhR0XdMpt4bxms_xJdhzj4h_1CyUNewLKvz1mF2oDgTsU2AjErp2CTZpgvHxHjREJBdBLnbwxo4h6GvBREW0fPJqbQGoOOa5yYFCa3ks/w454-h640/Screenshot_20240301-190120.png" width="454" /></a></div><p></p><p>And here was the email response, in full:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgELFBE0N4u4RuHykkG50-S5wynOwE9gJUIG_ePRDl6VBb-s_nI3v1zdUSB7oW0rVE_rpVBNjE9IEtEq0UETaRzIgwu3gJDLVb-BqONBUBKa8XkCLN1e0JCnEYQK49yrewUO2g7SUybe3kswjd4OnaQWwQDQz_JqUS3Uudkc7GzvD-6IAndapGYslHWZ0/s1712/Screenshot_20240301-203000.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1712" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgELFBE0N4u4RuHykkG50-S5wynOwE9gJUIG_ePRDl6VBb-s_nI3v1zdUSB7oW0rVE_rpVBNjE9IEtEq0UETaRzIgwu3gJDLVb-BqONBUBKa8XkCLN1e0JCnEYQK49yrewUO2g7SUybe3kswjd4OnaQWwQDQz_JqUS3Uudkc7GzvD-6IAndapGYslHWZ0/w404-h640/Screenshot_20240301-203000.png" width="404" /></a></div><br /><p>Did you catch that?</p><p>Here it is again: <b><i><span style="font-size: medium;">"as a result of [the deferral request and COVID concerns] email I received from your end your race registration was placed on hold without deferment for 2021."</span></i></b></p><p>In the May 1st, 2020 email she says we can defer our race entry to 2021. Now, I didn't use the exact language she requested: <i>"that you would like to defer your 2020 race entry to 2021"</i>. But I did say: <i>"I would like to be removed from the 100M starter's list for 2020." </i>And her response gave no indication that I would somehow be prevented from using my deferral, my money that I'd already paid for the race, for 2021.<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">I had had no correspondence from or with the Race Director between the deferral request and this moment. So she had made the decision to prevent me from using my deferral for 2021 without ever telling me about it or reaching out. That seemed ... very unusual.</p><p style="text-align: left;">So I went back to Ultrasignup and tried to register for another one of her races. And wouldn't you know, I couldn't do that either. And then I tried another. Same thing. Did she ever, once, notify me that I was not allowed to sign up for any of her other races, or provide reasoning for that action? No, no she did not.<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">At this point, I could read between the lines. This Race Director was clearly pissed off at me because I privately ... PRIVATELY ... shared my concerns about hosting the race during a pandemic that was scaring the holy hell out of the entire world. I criticized her race management decisions. I should be punished. She was so pissed off that she kept my race entry fee and blocked me from signing up for her races. Again ... without ever telling me that she was doing this, or why she was doing this.<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">And yes, she was <i><b><span style="font-size: medium;">"happy to reinstate [my] deferment credit for 2021 race registration"</span></b></i>, but I saw what was happening here. And it was reinforcing a number of things I'd heard about this Race Director from other runners in the community -- a reputation that did not seem to embody the inclusive, supportive, and uplifting qualities I valued. <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">So I did not respond. I dropped it. I forfeited my race entry fee and went on my way. I'd come to St. Louis in 2019 excited to run her races all year long, year after year. And a year later, I chose to cut my losses and go elsewhere. And I never brought it up publicly, except for some eye-rolling amongst friends if the Race Director or her races came up in conversation.<br /></p><p>One final point that I must drive home. Never. Ever. Ever. Did this Race Director ever tell me that I was "banned" from her races. What you see above is all of the correspondence between me and the Race Director. Nowhere in there is the word "banned". Nowhere in there is any mention of me not being welcome at her races in the future. Nowhere in there is any valid justification for banning me. Nowhere.</p><h1 style="text-align: left;">Queeny Registration</h1><p style="text-align: left;">So let's jump ahead to the summer of 2023, where I give up my spot at Big's and realize I'm going to have to re-qualify for 2024. Queeny Backyard Ultra is put on by Terrain Trail Runners and the previously-discussed Race Director. It had been around for a couple of years. It's mere minutes from my house. I never bothered to try and sign up before because:</p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li style="text-align: left;">I'd already qualified for Big's in the past and if my goal is to go to Big's, then why would I torture myself with unnecessary Backyards?!</li><li style="text-align: left;">I only wanted to do Backyards that had deep talent pools (no offense to anyone that signed up for the race in the past, but the point of a Backyard, for me, is to find my limits, and I was unlikely to do so in any race that historically ends before 48 or 60 hours ... yeah, that sounds a bit smug and cocky, but it is what it is) ... and</li><li style="text-align: left;">I didn't want to support the Race Director</li></ol><p>But ... it's a Silver Ticket race for 2024, so the winner auto-qualifies for Big's! Huzzah! And guess what, the Race Directory pays for the winner's entry into Big's! Double Huzzah!</p><p>An auto-qualifier Backyard that I don't have to spend 2 days traveling to and from, 10 minutes from my house, with the opportunity to "earn back" my lost 2020 race entry fee if I win?! Alright, sure. I'll suck it up and register.</p><p>Except. Well, that's right. I can't.</p><p>I tried registering, thinking, hoping the Race Director had somehow only blocked me for 2020 and 2021 ... cuz of COVID or whatever. But deep down I expected this would happen.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;">The Pseudonym</h3><p style="text-align: left;">So to run the race I'd have to reach out to the Race Director and get un-blocked from registration. Even though I had seen through her ridiculousness, I could play dumb and do the whole "hey, this registration isn't working" thing again. Because ... again ... she never, ever, ever banned me from her races. At least, she never <i>told me</i> she <i>banned me</i> from her races. Or I could be an adult and be somewhat confrontational and be like <i>"did you ban me from your races, what gives?! let's fix this please!"</i> </p><p style="text-align: left;">Very briefly, the thought occurred to me to go running to Laz and whine that he take care of it for me. But that's like having a parent deal with two annoying kids that are bickering with one another ... he has better things to do and it's not his responsibility.</p><p style="text-align: left;"> </p><p style="text-align: left;">Chris: <i>"Laaaaz! The Race Director won't let me play with the Silver Ticket! It's not fair!"</i></p><p style="text-align: left;">Race Director: <i>"Ugh! That's just cuz he called my COVID protocols stupid. He's stupid!"</i></p><p style="text-align: left;">Laz: <i>"Good god, figure this out yourselves and leave me alone. All I wanna do is come home after a long day and watch Love is Blind without being interrupted. Is that too much to ask?!"</i></p><p style="text-align: left;"><i> </i><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Either way, I'd basically be begging the Race Director for the privilege of being allowed to participate in her events.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Except! Wait a minute! Laz ... laz ... laz ... Lazarus Lake ... Gary Cantrell! Oh my god! Genius!</p><p style="text-align: left;">I'll come up with my own "Running Name" and use that for registration. I'd recalled a point in the past when, maybe it was Jim Walmsley, or one of the "Coconino Cowboys", used an alias for a race. Granted, it was done purely in jest, I assume, and had nothing to do with trying to get around a, umm, what should we call it exactly, a <i>silent ban</i>?</p><p style="text-align: left;">At any rate. I had my amazing non-confrontational solution in the form of an homage to Laz.<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Now, to pick a name.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Christopher. Chris. <b>Topher</b>. Boom, annoying first name (I was sometimes called Topher in high school). And now for a last name. Let's make it something to do with running, or speed, or something. What's that on spotify right now? Taylor .... <b>SWIFT</b>!</p><p style="text-align: left;">And that's how <b>Topher Swift</b> was born. The not-nearly-as-cool ultraruning cousin of Taylor, or something like that.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I perused Ultrasignup's website and Terrain Trail Runners website, and couldn't find anything that explicitly banned the use of an alias/pseudonym. So I set up an ultrasignup account and registered for the race. Avoid awkward confrontation and get the chance to re-qualify for Big's. That's a Win-Win.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;">The Conundrums</h3><p style="text-align: left;">Okay. I was registered. But there were some problems.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Even though I feel a runner in a race should be able to face whoever else enters the race, I did feel a bit bad for folks signing up for Queeny, a Silver Ticket Big's auto-qualifier, not knowing a genuine superhero of the sport would be in their midst (that's obviously sarcasm guys). But seriously. I don't think anyone that signed up had ever gone past 48 hours. And I'd never run under 48 hours.</p><p style="text-align: left;">So I privately reached out to a few of the "top contenders" and let them know that I'd signed up for the race under a pseudonym ... and that I was looking forward to sharing all the miles with them. So at least the folks who had the biggest right to be mad at me would be notified in advance. When none of them did anything other than go <i>"that's awesome!" </i>my mind was at ease.</p><p style="text-align: left;">But my wife started getting in my head as the race drew near. <i>"What are you gonna do if she kicks you out of the race?" </i>I honestly didn't give it any consideration, but now I was trying to play out what the heck I was getting myself into.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I was effectively forcing the Race Director's hand. Assuming she viewed me as <i>banned</i> ... though she never, ever, ever told me I was <i>banned</i> ... she would have to decide if she was willing to take action against me.<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">If I won the race, the jig would be up and I'd ... <i>unmask</i>. At which point she'd have to decide if it was worth disqualifying the race winner and thereby completely give up the auto-qualifying spot into Big's ... or it'd be no big deal and we'd all go on our merry little ways like adults.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Or at packet pick-up she'd recognize me and kick me out ... or it'd be no big deal and we'd all go on our merry little ways like adults.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Or at packet pick-up I'd tell them I signed up under a pseudonym and she'd kick me out ... or it'd be no big deal and we'd all go on our merry little ways like adults.<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Or mid-race she would figure out that Topher Swift = Chris Roberts and she'd have to decide if it was worth it to kick out a runner mid-race ... or it'd be no big deal and we'd all go on our merry little ways like adults.</p><p style="text-align: left;">On my end of things, I felt like I hadn't done anything wrong. I didn't deserve to be disallowed from registering. I had a right to run the race. I signed up for the race. And yeah, the pseudonym thing was a bit of an issue with respect to deceiving my fellow runners, but I felt that I took some steps to mostly mitigate that concern.</p><p style="text-align: left;">You can say I was being deceptive, or childish, or non-confrontational. That's fine. That's valid. But on the Race Director's end, she'd have to decide if I really was <i>banned</i> and if she was willing to enact that <i>ban</i> and prevent me from running the race and having the chance to re-qualify for Big's ...</p><p style="text-align: left;">... which would allow me the opportunity to publicly explain precisely why I was <i>banned</i> ...</p><p style="text-align: left;">... the core reason being that the Race Director likes to hold grudges against people who privately question any decision she makes.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I was entering into a game of chicken.</p><h1 style="text-align: left;">Race Day</h1><p style="text-align: left;">And then it was race day!</p><h3 style="text-align: left;">Yard One <br /></h3><p style="text-align: left;">I ran the first yard/loop with Dave Kwiatkowski (solid East Coast runner that I'd shared many hours with at Hellgate in December) and we started to catch up. I missed chatting with Cody Eubanks (fellow 2022 Backyard Team USA alum) but figured I had all the time in the world to catch up. And I was looking forward to talking to a handful of other runners I'd been hoping to meet and hang out with.</p><h3 style="text-align: left;">Well, That Was Quick <br /></h3><p style="text-align: left;">Only, as I came into the start/finish after the first yard, I read off my bib number and then immediately was confronted by the Race Director. Right there. At the corral. In front of everyone.</p><p style="text-align: left;">This is roughly how the conversation went. Not exactly because my memory is a bit foggy and I was feeling ambushed, but you'll get the idea:</p><p style="text-align: left;">Race Director: "Chris, I need you to leave."</p><p style="text-align: left;">Me: "What? Why?!"</p><p style="text-align: left;">RD: "You know why. Topher Swift? Come on! You signed up with a fake name!"</p><p style="text-align: left;">Me: "Okay, and that's why you're kicking me out?"</p><p style="text-align: left;">RD: "That's against the rules. You used the fake name because you're <b><u>banned</u></b> from my races. You know you're <u><b>banned</b></u>. You're not welcome here. I need you to vacate the premises now."</p><p style="text-align: left;">aside: this is the first time that the Race Director has ever, in any conversation, used the term "banned" towards me<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Me: "Are you serious? You're kicking me out because I signed up with a different name?!"</p><p style="text-align: left;">RD: "I'm kicking you out because you're <b><u>banned</u></b> from all of my races. Remember? That COVID email!"</p><p style="text-align: left;">Me: "Can we talk about this?"</p><p style="text-align: left;">RD: "No. I'm done talking to you. You need to get out of here." <she starts walking away></p><p style="text-align: left;">Me: "You're not going to talk to me?"</p><p style="text-align: left;">RD: "Please leave." <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Me: "So I'm not allowed to run because I privately voiced concerns about your COVID protocols four years ago?!"</p><p style="text-align: left;">RD: "I'm not having this conversation. You know what you did. I have all the emails. I'm reporting you to Laz. I'm telling him everything."</p><p style="text-align: left;">Me: "Alright then. I'll be contacting Laz, too."</p><p style="text-align: left;">another aside: below is the closest thing that Terrain Trail Runners has in their policies as it pertains to this situation...</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8kmuFM4nFaWhOJMGkl80xjR-9do-pmrMsNJAcqWYZQVr-y0RRt6fd2BbdQzVIX4WJ3Vqyo-hw7h8jA_GIiyr5JioVy8KHCIKSlwRZnhfawTrEaqYoS0wRiRmmZTFdusIR06uOZPTBAu4fT2IzzI7M9e8qpS3Lkw_sI59GNQJEPQN3-ARunAAdEXHKmPE/s1080/Screenshot_20240302-013542.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="936" data-original-width="1080" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8kmuFM4nFaWhOJMGkl80xjR-9do-pmrMsNJAcqWYZQVr-y0RRt6fd2BbdQzVIX4WJ3Vqyo-hw7h8jA_GIiyr5JioVy8KHCIKSlwRZnhfawTrEaqYoS0wRiRmmZTFdusIR06uOZPTBAu4fT2IzzI7M9e8qpS3Lkw_sI59GNQJEPQN3-ARunAAdEXHKmPE/w400-h346/Screenshot_20240302-013542.png" width="400" /></a></div><p>You could argue that I, the physical personage legally known as Chris Roberts, did not have the permission of the race directors. Though, I did officially register as Topher Swift and was given my bib (again, I know of no policy that explicitly requires the use of legal names) and I did not use another runner's bib. I do technically violate the "but is not limited to" catch-all either way (as does every runner for that matter).</p><p>Oh, and it's also worth mentioning that actual race bandits get a 1 year ban according to the Terrain Trail Runners policy, yet I somehow had been "banned" for going on 4 years now just for, well, you know why. <br /></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizxMHtjzFLDTPhVy0Xv1QPUcEX8ZEp1PiQ5nC1AV-NWt1WLo3IBJ4MKVt96ZjLC-K4vIlvcKbFPHzh_7OTYc455I6hxegpmLZ7ftymRoTeGVrQAouxHfQztvQqaKUJQIYU_G30PVwcjlMiBUQd6g5XhvEGY2lczsrvlIkshhXDTRLssge9FVZmtrcSIn8/s1119/laz_ultrasignup.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="861" data-original-width="1119" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizxMHtjzFLDTPhVy0Xv1QPUcEX8ZEp1PiQ5nC1AV-NWt1WLo3IBJ4MKVt96ZjLC-K4vIlvcKbFPHzh_7OTYc455I6hxegpmLZ7ftymRoTeGVrQAouxHfQztvQqaKUJQIYU_G30PVwcjlMiBUQd6g5XhvEGY2lczsrvlIkshhXDTRLssge9FVZmtrcSIn8/w640-h492/laz_ultrasignup.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just gonna leave this right here for some random reason<br /></td></tr></tbody></table> <p></p><p>At this stage of the game I do believe that the Race Director reserves the right to ban anyone she wants from her races so long as it complies with State and Federal anti-discrimination laws (though, I do also believe if I had reached out before the race and she'd not allowed me that Laz would have stepped in and corrected that, given that it is a Silver Ticket race and all). So I fully accept this ban, this new ban, that was just now placed upon me. The previous <i>ban</i>, the <i>silent ban</i>, the blocking of registration of all races that I was never given the courtesy of being notified about ... I do not accept that <i>ban</i>.</p><p>So here I am. Laying it all out there.</p><p>Am I perfect. Of course not! This could have all been avoided if 1) I'd never signed up for the race, 2) I'd attempted to amicably resolve the situation ahead of time, or 3) the Race Director chose to rise above her petty grievances and just let me run. That 3rd one certainly did not take place. Just as I chose to go down this path, the Race Director chose to stick to her guns.</p><p>And because of her decision, I feel compelled to explicitly detail everything that transpired.</p><p>Some folks are gonna walk away from this and say "good god, Chris, you should have just reached out to her before the race." Which, yes, fair point. Very fair point. Excellent point! But this evidence hopefully makes clear just how awful of a road that might have been to go down. This Race Director <i>banned</i> me without logical cause, failed to inform me of the <i>ban</i>, and then, effectively, kicked me out of her race because of the <i>ban</i>. I could've grovelled ahead of time. But I didn't. I guess I chose some kind of weird pride over the chance to get my auto-qualifier.</p><p>Even so, it is my hope that a majority of the 4 people who actually read (let's be honest ... skim) this whole stupid blog post are going to walk away thinking "that Race Director does not embody the values of the trail, ultra, or Backyard communities".</p><h3 style="text-align: left;">Rest of the Day</h3><p style="text-align: left;">Despite being told to vacate the premises immediately, I was in no hurry to spend an hour packing up my gear that I'd just set up a mere hour before (cuz the Race Director, I have inferred, did not secure a permit for the prior day to make it easier on the runners to set up the tents they'd be living in for multiple days straight).<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">So I spent 15 minutes haphazardly writing an email to Laz letting him know about the situation. I didn't want the Race Director to "control the narrative" and shit-talk me. I didn't ask for anything to be done. I didn't whine like a baby. I just wanted to make sure he knew about the situation (in a much more succinct manner than is presented here!).<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">And then I hung out with Dave Kwiatkowski's parents for a bit, did my best to dish out any worthless Backyard wisdom I had, and give away any perishable food I had.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I chatted with a number of folks. Including one dude who was crewing and this was his first time even being at a Backyard or hearing about it (he was just there to help out his runner buddy that he'd recently reconnected with). I explained the whole Big's qualifying concept and other things, and he wanted to know about my running history. When we discussed why I wasn't <i>"still out there, man"</i>, this dude got genuinely worked up. He straight-up said that the Race Director soured his whole view of Backyards, a newbie to this whole world ... how she's supposed to be an ambassador for the race format, for this awesome thing that's supposed to bring out the best in people, and instead she was on a power-trip, excluding people just because she doesn't like them. It was a strikingly clear and focused argument he made to me, and I walked away feeling pretty confident that I wasn't in the wrong ... this time around.<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Then I went on a little jaunt of the race course because it's a public park and I have that right. And I made sure to cheer on all of the other runners along the way. Because they're all awesome, and they're all out there doing awesome things, and they deserve to be supported by people who care.<br /></p><h3 style="text-align: left;">Oddities</h3><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p style="text-align: left;">I observed a couple of race format irregularities -- rule violations relating to the corral -- as well as some race management decisions that were ... <i>sus </i>(kids these days with their ridiculous lingo). There's video evidence out there of some of it, and a Backyard Race Director that was there also noticed these things, among other folks. I'm not going to detail that crap here at the risk of looking petty. But such concerns will be passed along to those entrusted with protecting the integrity of the Backyard format or whatever. I'll happily comment if others bring it up in a public forum and want my confirmation.<br /></p><h1 style="text-align: left;">Why In The Hell Did I Write This?<br /></h1><p style="text-align: left;">(from 10pm to 3am)</p><p style="text-align: left;">I needed to clear my head, and that meant putting it all out there.</p><p style="text-align: left;">But mostly, I want to make sure that anyone out there that cares about Backyards and what went down at Queeny has as much information as possible so that they can make their own informed decisions. I'm not looking for retaliation against the Race Director. I am now 100% done with her. And I'm not looking for folks to go out and ban her races or whatever. But if someone out there reads through this and starts to think twice about what races they sign up for and what race directors and race companies they want to financially support with their race entry fees or give up their time to as a volunteer, well then it might have been worth it.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I've already been productive with this new-found free-time, spending hours writing a stupid blog article. I guess it's cool that I won't have to miss my daughter's first ever violin concert. Maybe I should go file my taxes, too.<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">...onwards... to Ohio Backyard Ultra??? (nope, it conflicts with spring break plans, but <i>that</i> Race Director is salt of the earth).</p><p style="text-align: left;">So then Capital Backyard Ultra??? (not sure I can swing 6 days away from the family for a silly race, no matter how much I admire and respect <i>that</i> Race Director and the super-human cadre of runners that'll be showing up there in May)</p><p style="text-align: left;">Or Bob's Big Timber??? (nope, conflicts with the family summer vacation) <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"> </p><p style="text-align: left;">Finally...behold, all my unused crap: <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXXMnpVOeGU7Gb2GOvcdcTSddHDfAcLEo61OxuqpZ-MvpYR623UT5BQs3elq66uwboBMQMwvwkpbVu9PvU17iroNq9ppa5Z4cUzhsjF9t6VHGdA57tay0csIgW5bE3cYsqPLwZmb_uBtv1fDjniYjoywaxoCfR-CgMdyEjQabMVodizD95ZpN_wU6DKVU/s4032/PXL_20240301_153011328.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXXMnpVOeGU7Gb2GOvcdcTSddHDfAcLEo61OxuqpZ-MvpYR623UT5BQs3elq66uwboBMQMwvwkpbVu9PvU17iroNq9ppa5Z4cUzhsjF9t6VHGdA57tay0csIgW5bE3cYsqPLwZmb_uBtv1fDjniYjoywaxoCfR-CgMdyEjQabMVodizD95ZpN_wU6DKVU/s320/PXL_20240301_153011328.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0CsdkXw0BGGwOLBDPRPvpbVcWQ3-wv7DtDUtbnpXdMDgC02OJW0walG7tCHx0kyf7A_5vKVPnH7QRpZ0dRe2ZX8lnpx_A2mn6rJsMe3Pldo892V_qL5AT_zri9O0FTogkXxLHJjigxvawxCCSaVK25DMwFgMFCE-2m7Etjj5sSjWOu52v3JLye6vbycg/s4032/PXL_20240301_170922232.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0CsdkXw0BGGwOLBDPRPvpbVcWQ3-wv7DtDUtbnpXdMDgC02OJW0walG7tCHx0kyf7A_5vKVPnH7QRpZ0dRe2ZX8lnpx_A2mn6rJsMe3Pldo892V_qL5AT_zri9O0FTogkXxLHJjigxvawxCCSaVK25DMwFgMFCE-2m7Etjj5sSjWOu52v3JLye6vbycg/s320/PXL_20240301_170922232.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6FH9Qgn7lvxPKay_nuWQnZ1QcwUdgPMSlBpkWU9Ihoci4K7HDl-45FuYr-cG2dou1f83BhylfvsBmjzgxcSVKEroydfThPr_PRHSKWoyURVEykI2L5sxTC3h8jGbgAF6YOcpHIsvH-WOl9rESmeYZAVrnVk6WfmgylLJV56Jc_jr3Tk8LXO9SDa2vUS4/s4032/PXL_20240301_170935090.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6FH9Qgn7lvxPKay_nuWQnZ1QcwUdgPMSlBpkWU9Ihoci4K7HDl-45FuYr-cG2dou1f83BhylfvsBmjzgxcSVKEroydfThPr_PRHSKWoyURVEykI2L5sxTC3h8jGbgAF6YOcpHIsvH-WOl9rESmeYZAVrnVk6WfmgylLJV56Jc_jr3Tk8LXO9SDa2vUS4/s320/PXL_20240301_170935090.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVRbPaLv4GcQtE2rgx2Y5LmSufUCMIHhEeG5exsEZ0kqEojJWuQWlnVeGH6jel-1AIpPuTLb8TXjjSJUI3Mgyq-xnTJqXytOC-I_RtvvInpNlXIHeo1oCiUQgjyS2CsjLEmO79Q1gMqXZumKuEw4cQLnCb_6V9E_CcTMftpRIe826uW2WqIlNfdMGwpUc/s4032/PXL_20240301_170939003.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVRbPaLv4GcQtE2rgx2Y5LmSufUCMIHhEeG5exsEZ0kqEojJWuQWlnVeGH6jel-1AIpPuTLb8TXjjSJUI3Mgyq-xnTJqXytOC-I_RtvvInpNlXIHeo1oCiUQgjyS2CsjLEmO79Q1gMqXZumKuEw4cQLnCb_6V9E_CcTMftpRIe826uW2WqIlNfdMGwpUc/s320/PXL_20240301_170939003.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4XEoREnMweYMLmKhmNz6U4UsQJCcpINDDNcuEuukcv4Sb_ivIfhOS7a3fxzNwOU3LdnujklpfLeiNxH4d8VQ5xu3iq5QH1Q4jGsHI4VCEZuKiylG97wgz9ab6hjSyoQWc0oSejn3K2AyFjhXYeLhVhnaRYtuRGVU9B97iNzGgLL_ppDnoPIArQSd980/s320/PXL_20240301_192343540.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p> <br /></p><p></p><br /><br />Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-57170480085408141162023-12-19T14:00:00.004-06:002023-12-19T14:13:49.344-06:00Scenes From A Rivalry<h1 style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Scenes From A Rivalry: A Brotacular Ultrarunning Love Story</span></span></b></h1>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<h1 style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">The
Meet-cute:</span></b></h1><div><b><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">2015.
2nd Saturday in December. The Glenwood Horse Trail.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">It
was my first Hellgate. I knew nothing about Hellgate. At the finish line of my
first 100 miler 2 months before, some weird old dude handed me a sheet of
paper: 2015 Hellgate 100K Application.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">So
I figured, why not.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">I
knew I wanted to take it easy. It was my first year of ultra running and I
wanted to simply use this race as a way to celebrate how far I'd come. A couple
of miles in, I found myself running alongside a chatty dude.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">"Hi,
I'm John Andersen. I'm kind of a big deal."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">This
loquacious fellow gathered up a few more runners into a posse and proceeded to
fill every second with chatter. I kept up for a while, but somewhere on the
climb up to Petite's -- or was it all the way at Camping? .. No matter -- I
lost connection and never saw him again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">In
the succeeding weeks, I started planning the next 6 months of training. I'd
gotten into Western States on my measly 1 lottery ticket and was going to cram
as many races into the Spring as possible to try and get my legs ready. I
signed up for the Beast Series, and then pored over race results from the
previous years. I immediately identified 1 runner whose race times I thought I
might be able to emulate…if I could run his times, I knew I'd be well on my
way. The runner, none other than John Andersen.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">At
Terrapin 50K, near the top of the first climb, I found myself in the vicinity
of a chatty cathy. And, of course, it was John. A bit awestruck at his
effortless running ability, I did my best to keep up with him. We proceeded to
run together, chatting along the way, as I mostly let him lead me through the
race course. He was the well-worn veteran, and I, the ingenue. By the end of
it, it was clear we were both running comfortably at similar abilities. There
was … a connection. Neither of us wished to part the other's company, so we
cruised into a tie for 3rd place, literally holding hands across the finish
line. That was it. I knew. I had found the yin to my running yang.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<h1 style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">The
Courtship:</span></b></h1><div><b><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">We
raced a total of 5 races together that year, sharing well over 100 miles of
trails with one another. 4 of those races ended with us tied or finishing
back-to-back. For all of our differences, our age, our training, it seemed as
if the universe wanted us to be together, to support one another through the
tough times, each time we ventured out into the deep, dark woods. We shared in
multiple Top 10 finishes together, collecting matching swag along the way. Each
race was a chance to reconnect, to share with one another -- stories of who we
were and where we came from, of our families, and of our hopes and dreams.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">At
Bull Run, we ran together in the pouring rain. At Promise Land, John cheered me
on as he passed me near the top of the final climb, and welcomed me to the
finish mere seconds after him. The end of the year was Hellgate again, and this
time, we ventured together for the first 4 hours. I fell behind, but nearly
caught back up at the finish. And again, there he was to welcome me in, 4
minutes after his finish. It was my first Top 10 at Hellgate. We were so proud
of all that the other had achieved. Throughout the year, we went back and forth
in wins and losses, and by the end, our special rivalry was flourishing … a
relationship built on mutual respect and admiration, with, dare I say, a hint
of disdain and contempt.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQflciNkOHO9q0NDpY7D7J9X-zRXpReHPuKpZRDY-x0VtpMSqbcO0IF6EQ1gGnWzT7zczOqTNOKRa1yRBiwKdv1eyje2BOntvv5KPNpux7JDUInnuydNOlQ1Yy01B6ZY0-oZRwHH9FlSztpvcaKoQH9vn11LHtfxCN8YTXMV4-H6JR_psSlyRhMuCqTiI/s960/hellgate2016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQflciNkOHO9q0NDpY7D7J9X-zRXpReHPuKpZRDY-x0VtpMSqbcO0IF6EQ1gGnWzT7zczOqTNOKRa1yRBiwKdv1eyje2BOntvv5KPNpux7JDUInnuydNOlQ1Yy01B6ZY0-oZRwHH9FlSztpvcaKoQH9vn11LHtfxCN8YTXMV4-H6JR_psSlyRhMuCqTiI/w640-h426/hellgate2016.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2016 Hellgate. Happy beginnings.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<h1 style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Equal Partnership:</span></b></h1><div><b><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">We
only raced each other 4 times throughout 2017 and 2018. I took 3 of the
victories: a solid trouncing at Promise Land and slim victories at each
Hellgate. For those Hellgates, we spent many a merry mile together. In 2017 we
separated mid-race but rejoined by Mile 53, and then lazily walked it in
together because we falsely believed we'd be unable to secure our desired
sub-12 finishes … furthering our special bond. The next year, we worked
together to crush our expectations and went well under 12 hours. We worked
together for nearly the entire race, only for me to pull away in the final
miles.</span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">It
may seem as if I were beginning to secure the upper hand … the full-length
tights, as it were, in our relationship. And to add fuel to the fire, I
outperformed expectations at Western States in 2016, whereas my success gave
John a false hope, inevitably leading to a very embarrassing implosion when he
had his shot in 2017. And yet, the scales remained even, as John absolutely
annihilated me at Grindstone in 2018. His run was epic, and he trounced me by
over 90 minutes. I truly believe that he was happy for my success, just as I
was happy for his … for a time.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFmasxN4D6umH5IzjDNGB96OkMZgExA-gPMlJ6XbGX4ZBPFR8yWw3l5JBIA820MZTVeZK9GYu2ryl4Cb5gtNmvgUYk1zmfGWrzjBsU-qWyZpwkvDN_Z9j8xd23ZfwhzPJkd7VYIDOJHcbJCh-4g2ibFShCC1L_RKeG-CepfJ2p4SdK9BzKjAnLPqlzmGU/s960/FB_IMG_1703012435304.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFmasxN4D6umH5IzjDNGB96OkMZgExA-gPMlJ6XbGX4ZBPFR8yWw3l5JBIA820MZTVeZK9GYu2ryl4Cb5gtNmvgUYk1zmfGWrzjBsU-qWyZpwkvDN_Z9j8xd23ZfwhzPJkd7VYIDOJHcbJCh-4g2ibFShCC1L_RKeG-CepfJ2p4SdK9BzKjAnLPqlzmGU/w640-h480/FB_IMG_1703012435304.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2018 Hellgate. The Golden Years.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<h1 style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Strife:</span></b></h1><p style="margin: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></b></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">In
2019, I p</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">ursued a better quality of life with my family by moving from the East
Coast to St. Louis. The tough decision was made for John and I to pursue a
long-distance rivalry. I made a promise to John that we would still have our
annual Hellgate together. And I had hoped that would be enough. I came back to
Camp Bethel and reigned victorious, again, the third Hellgate in a row. Not
only that, it was the largest defeat yet at Hellgate as I persevered through
hellish cold rain to beat John by over 7 minutes. With distance between us and
my continued success, the seeds of division were sown.</span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXd5IJgAdkpP96LglxBfsnq3jNakCvR9gxK2wg576ZWS6GUtOiliWcBuc5BcodSiu7qGtG-06fcZkqbeVv6El445VMc5cE2E-1ik4M2cCeiQ5X0XYve_kRSquaednmfjhf-L5J4lD8urwqlQlzdKc89gcYRTHjU6Wx-pPq4Vw_cEMkwaya7NyNThziljg/s960/FB_IMG_1703012381170.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXd5IJgAdkpP96LglxBfsnq3jNakCvR9gxK2wg576ZWS6GUtOiliWcBuc5BcodSiu7qGtG-06fcZkqbeVv6El445VMc5cE2E-1ik4M2cCeiQ5X0XYve_kRSquaednmfjhf-L5J4lD8urwqlQlzdKc89gcYRTHjU6Wx-pPq4Vw_cEMkwaya7NyNThziljg/w640-h480/FB_IMG_1703012381170.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2019 Hellgate. Hoodie puffies for everyone!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">It
pains me to admit, but I truly believed I was the more important one in this
special thing we had together. But 2020 was a wake-up call. At the 2020
Sissygate, John and I found ourselves together, yet again, leaving Bobblets Aid
Station. But John left me and by the next aid station he was out of sight and I
was lost in self-doubt and misery. In my moment of weakness (needing to take a
dump at Mile 55), John abandoned me and he never looked back. As a result, his
course PR to this day is better than mine. I should have been happy for him,
but I felt betrayed, humiliated. To add fuel to the fire, John expertly
ridiculed me in his race report that year with a parody of Taylor Swift's
'Exile'. The balance of power had shifted.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPsAPtHoUnftz6RXrCPb9vVkgwJrY9N_sv9K8sRSdp7OabYNkfZMQi2a1JbEbKGUvRMbfbhXaxRVxnKXi4aO9Sc-nf7PNZMUBwfchS_sOAGCggk5Xl0FqCQrHtXeYUxj1VkNmvofznV2lfk9xN_RO6CXLTN6thistrZKG7cB4X6tt-_pXxltsnPGcap5U/s1091/Screenshot_20231219-125302.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1091" data-original-width="799" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPsAPtHoUnftz6RXrCPb9vVkgwJrY9N_sv9K8sRSdp7OabYNkfZMQi2a1JbEbKGUvRMbfbhXaxRVxnKXi4aO9Sc-nf7PNZMUBwfchS_sOAGCggk5Xl0FqCQrHtXeYUxj1VkNmvofznV2lfk9xN_RO6CXLTN6thistrZKG7cB4X6tt-_pXxltsnPGcap5U/w468-h640/Screenshot_20231219-125302.png" width="468" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2020 Hellgate. John Andersen is an asshole.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyIZEy_XY0luTldITCf80UZg_6HCtbNaD6mBxSEwwLm7ZtDREugbWLhe1YWZfWUDC9leGcDh3A_-IuIr86VPQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">In
the summer of 2021, we tried to move past our petty fighting. Couples therapy,
if you will. We ran the Black Hills 100 together, every step of the way. We
cheered one another on, we waited for the other when necessary, and we looked
out for one another during an overnight rain storm. Our reward was a matching
pair of podium awards: badass bison skulls. Rather than bonding through
competition, we worked to rekindle the flame that brought us together at the
beginning of it all … recognizing each other's value as a runner through the
most admirable of race outcomes, a selfless tie.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmC17MfCC86QG3r5P6G1lKUXc0VTtI_u1N9LMrUTNSQ7aqNF_C1yRgYYMCLJfrMMWZImzDD66Vg_aFkiDCInJBcrU3YkR80WsSmtITtHEycgcH_kz5c7m9NUjx8k_XmXXVPvwBost9nE_dkhlvRWAklI45vDVx6GkLP0FodQMrHpXEBQe-6efo7PYiWsQ/s1080/FB_IMG_1703011623125.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1079" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmC17MfCC86QG3r5P6G1lKUXc0VTtI_u1N9LMrUTNSQ7aqNF_C1yRgYYMCLJfrMMWZImzDD66Vg_aFkiDCInJBcrU3YkR80WsSmtITtHEycgcH_kz5c7m9NUjx8k_XmXXVPvwBost9nE_dkhlvRWAklI45vDVx6GkLP0FodQMrHpXEBQe-6efo7PYiWsQ/w640-h640/FB_IMG_1703011623125.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Black Hills 2021. Bison Skullz.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">But,
I must admit, I began to grow bored. I sought to strut my colorful feathers in
the Backyard arena, seeking out the attention of others. By October, a whole
new world was opening up to me, a world that was so much bigger and brighter
than little John Andersen of Crozet, Virginia. I was becoming so much more than
simply John's rival, his nemesis, his frenemy. I never meant to hurt John. But
his jealousy grew exponentially, and he got back at me the only way he knew
how, in the most painful of ways, by abandoning me on Hellgate's grassy road near
Mile 16, and running away with a 15 minute victory. I had begun to dream big,
to find value in my own achievements, apart from him. And he put me right back
in my place. It was, dare I say it, textbook emotional abuse.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXQ6RssB2if05lRB8YEImi2_vyRAa5l2q3zi1NUYe1Fo9u1ZBICRUN14tRfeAM6XtwBgM02geYdzE1rqm1QH8VEaSVJtuEXVhgO2dXCbEX5MWhcAEVg7blBcXOMjPnpQLGFYuGK8o6UlVywDIr-N0aOVuWr328u4tbCxECamS8cHgsg-04m4PFeVDe6eg/s2048/project_20211212_1501000-01.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXQ6RssB2if05lRB8YEImi2_vyRAa5l2q3zi1NUYe1Fo9u1ZBICRUN14tRfeAM6XtwBgM02geYdzE1rqm1QH8VEaSVJtuEXVhgO2dXCbEX5MWhcAEVg7blBcXOMjPnpQLGFYuGK8o6UlVywDIr-N0aOVuWr328u4tbCxECamS8cHgsg-04m4PFeVDe6eg/w640-h640/project_20211212_1501000-01.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2021 Hellgate. Look at that smug son of a bitch just standing there, well rested.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">I
knew that I was not yet strong enough to leave him, so instead, for 2022, I
vowed revenge. 2 straight years of losing to John, and by the widest margins in
our Hellgate rivalry. It was more than I could stomach. Any mutual respect in
this relationship was long gone by now. All I wanted in life was to hurt him,
to make him suffer! October rolled around and I ruptured my achilles at Big's,
threatening my chance for redemption. But I played it smart at Hellgate and
took care of my body and minded my pace. John and I came into Bearwallow
together, like so many times before. But this time, I chose to lay down the
hammer and crush his soul. When the dust settled, John was so broken he
couldn't even finish under 12 hours, whereas I had been waiting patiently at
the finish for nearly 30 minutes. Never has there been a victory as sweet as
this!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6UDT86Wj8kKf5Dl4tcekmbS6pfwRpyBNdXHHpj8wSyw8StKplvByMZWZkaEXYFLcvNy-oMAkeyJeyPiJAhw65r9CpzlQyhyphenhypheniYrHUxh_1f21eFPtXWbZblagxvNvnIfKpX8Md1fAvb12Jzq2mQg7ahBOt3x2Zvg5fkwhjrDcfai_khl-dfFvQSSORGsvY/s1080/FB_IMG_1703011387257.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="916" data-original-width="1080" height="542" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6UDT86Wj8kKf5Dl4tcekmbS6pfwRpyBNdXHHpj8wSyw8StKplvByMZWZkaEXYFLcvNy-oMAkeyJeyPiJAhw65r9CpzlQyhyphenhypheniYrHUxh_1f21eFPtXWbZblagxvNvnIfKpX8Md1fAvb12Jzq2mQg7ahBOt3x2Zvg5fkwhjrDcfai_khl-dfFvQSSORGsvY/w640-h542/FB_IMG_1703011387257.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2022 Hellgate. Suck it, loser!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<h1 style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">The
Last Dance:</span></b></h1><p style="margin: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></b></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">By
2023, it felt like it was the end of the line for our special little rivalry.
My trajectory was upwards, still in my 30s and with bright possibilities on the
horizon. John, on the other hand, could feel the cold, unflinching grasp of old
age dragging him down. Everything just felt harder for him. A DNF at The Bear,
3 months before Hellgate, was the universe's way of telling him to let go, to
finally concede that his best days were in the past.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">But
we both still had our one shared goal for Hellgate: 10 straight Top 10s.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">It
was a silly, random goal, but it drove the two of us for years. John was
already at 9. This year was going to be his crowning achievement, after which
he could limp off into the sunset with his head held high. I was at 7 and had
spent the past 2 years racing terrified of losing out on my Primary Running
Objective due to the physical toll the ridiculous Big's Backyard race took on
my body every Fall. To make matters worse, exactly 7 days before Hellgate this
year, I wrapped up<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the 24 Hour World
Championships, half a world away from Camp Bethel, in Taiwan. 7 days to travel
and recover from a 24 hour race, to find the will to eek out yet another Top 10
at Hellgate. The task felt insurmountable, perhaps Quixotic. Though, to be
fair, no less so than John's own quest -- with each passing year, his dream
felt closer and closer, but creeping old age kept reducing the likelihood of
achieving that dream.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Could
I Top 10? Could I crush John, yet again?...Should I? How would it all shake
out?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">As
I reflected on our near decade-long rivalry, the movie Marriage Story came to
mind (but who is Adam Driver, and who is ScarJo?). The special thing we had
together was coming to an end. Deep down, I believe we both knew it. In a
divorce, there's effectively 2 paths to choose: a hippy-dippy "conscious
decoupling", and a knock-down drag-out legal battle, dragging each other
through the muck and mud. Consciously or not, we took the high road together.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">As
in the merry early days of Hellgate, we ran together all the way to Bearwallow.
Most of the time, John led with confidence. Whenever I wavered mentally, afraid
my body would crap out on me at any moment, John was there to support me.
That's not to say it was all kumbaya vibes. Elements of our rivalry inevitably
cropped up: when I stopped to go to the bathroom and then had to spend an hour
desperately trying to catch back up because John refused to take it easy, or
when I made a power move to sprint into Jennings Creek just ahead of him. But
we ran together through the night in search of our common goal.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">After
dawn, we were at Bearwallow together. How fitting. How poetic. Our shared years
of experience told us breaking 12 hours was in the bag, yet again. In the
history of Hellgate, no one had ever broken 12 hours and not been in the Top
10. And yet, 12th and 13th place. We'd been praying for carnage all day long
and it never came. Our chances of Top 10 were effectively dead. Lifelong dreams
shattered. All because Horton invited too many damn young, fast kids.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">The
bickering started. I bungled the drop bag stop. John left me behind. Horton
ridiculed me. Enraged, I took off. Soon after, I caught back up with John and
rapidly left him in my wake. Perhaps that was it then, the unceremonious end to
years of battle, right there, on an insignificant turn, amongst the
rhododendron of Hellgate's Pretty Trail.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">I
pushed, desperately trying to crack the Top 10. But a Top 10 without John?
Could I do that to him? It felt wrong. In the end, I approached Day Creek with
no one in sight. Watson was there and told me 10th was 9 minutes up. 9 minutes
in 6 miles, on legs that had covered more than 200 miles in the past week?
Impossible. I pushed hard, for a time. But climbing Blackhorse Gap can be
brutal, and my body was done. And so my attention drifted from what was ahead
of me to what was behind. My lifelong dream of 10 straight Top 10s had died. I
repeatedly looked back for a sign of my rival, my friend. I was in need of
solace, and, likely, so too was John. But he was nowhere to be seen. So I
ventured on, slowly, with dead legs carrying a deadened soul, to Camp Bethel,
all alone, amidst a cliché of cold rain.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">I
crossed the finish in a blur and was whisked inside to crash on a couch. My
body and mind on the verge of failure. 5 minutes later, John approached. I
stumbled outside to greet him. As was the case last year, he laid himself bare
before all in attendance and humbly kowtowed to my superior athletic prowess.
His presentation felt genuine. I was conflicted. Unequivocally, I reigned
supreme in our rivalry. But this rivalry had now reached its natural
conclusion. There was nothing left to prove to the world. John is only getting
older and slower, and I just beat him a mere 7 days after running a 24 hour
race. If this thing drags on any longer, it will only continue at John's
expense. It has to end. This is the end. And I must take the bitter with the
sweet. I will miss our rivalry. I will miss him. I will miss … crushing him.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGemC7q5jPt05vQxIq7xGHLYhHa5mwpOn4oufyx1_jJaGcwsYF5RT1j2dHsmUugDOwP-zFNxMyJDoQiC5i69b07Q39snFzf_QWJmKtF5ODJUqde2_t6rrNTmPHoZboHqoM-duawXtDFrslAAWLGODbjx181OSMFzqOJVFPB_xYIS6ckeYa6wW0qaboXUY/s1080/FB_IMG_1702432612361.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGemC7q5jPt05vQxIq7xGHLYhHa5mwpOn4oufyx1_jJaGcwsYF5RT1j2dHsmUugDOwP-zFNxMyJDoQiC5i69b07Q39snFzf_QWJmKtF5ODJUqde2_t6rrNTmPHoZboHqoM-duawXtDFrslAAWLGODbjx181OSMFzqOJVFPB_xYIS6ckeYa6wW0qaboXUY/w640-h480/FB_IMG_1702432612361.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2023 Hellgate. I will always be better than you, John. Always.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Will
John return to Hellgate to nab that 10th Top 10 at Hellgate? Perhaps. I sure
hope so. If he does, we will undoubtedly share some miles … early on … before
he runs out of steam, falls behind, and openly proclaims to everyone in his
vicinity that he wishes he were half as talented as me. And I will cherish
those shared miles. But it won't be the same. Our rivalry has ended. This
chapter of my life has concluded, of our lives has concluded. And so we must
each move on; I, inevitably, to bigger and better things, and John, to
consolation age group awards and arthritis. I'd like to believe I can find
another rival to duke it out against, to share with in suffering. But it's
unlikely. There will never be another rivalry quite like ours. There will never
be another John Andersen. … unless I get fast enough to start keeping up with
Jordan Chang again …<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjV_MvtI4-03Ovazxz_t-BC2vXKGO77ANHjfVibnF4IC196AwMetGlmIYkGDAziScMMZPQe1KId4I4M6CAvN71VCxXxJhmL8qLj3eBezilQ-qXHBQdyJwOHkjn3EBNYEp9RmGXtrhuJIUK2xBLqOafvZdiQZH9qvz8Xc-1vW3Rw3PQ-zchDewE48Y3dqgo" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="603" data-original-width="705" height="547" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjV_MvtI4-03Ovazxz_t-BC2vXKGO77ANHjfVibnF4IC196AwMetGlmIYkGDAziScMMZPQe1KId4I4M6CAvN71VCxXxJhmL8qLj3eBezilQ-qXHBQdyJwOHkjn3EBNYEp9RmGXtrhuJIUK2xBLqOafvZdiQZH9qvz8Xc-1vW3Rw3PQ-zchDewE48Y3dqgo=w640-h547" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Rivalry, in numbers. (Note: 2015 Hellgate omitted because the rivalry had not yet begun, despite John frequently adding his "win" to the tally)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></span></p>Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-16342673379193131262023-12-12T17:24:00.002-06:002023-12-12T17:36:50.454-06:00Chris Goes to Taipei<p> </p><w:sdt contentlocked="t" id="89512093" sdtgroup="t"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 1pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><w:sdtpr></w:sdtpr><w:sdt docpart="5ECFDDDE668444BBA57C27D9413D62E7" id="89512082" storeitemid="X_5F329CAD-B019-4FA6-9FEF-74898909AD20" text="t" title="Post Title" xpath="/ns0:BlogPostInfo/ns0:PostTitle"></w:sdt></span>
<p class="Publishwithline"> </p></w:sdt>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4wRnTTEJbd1VR29HFpATHBlzY1joaGCIF9yf1kZ3vhz2nD7-54xiPP6s-v8LwxhtbxxNg-Hv5qAZjgz_rmeknp78A6VoPz77ROnxsN6nIQL7e88O35J9WLHK1X4oViMySU0N37gN-E_ozNqyBFEq4Mt06tT3pMWHdG3ceDxkohrMDAXRZW5f3ZR1Q5BU/s975/FB_IMG_1701547036559.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="975" data-original-width="975" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4wRnTTEJbd1VR29HFpATHBlzY1joaGCIF9yf1kZ3vhz2nD7-54xiPP6s-v8LwxhtbxxNg-Hv5qAZjgz_rmeknp78A6VoPz77ROnxsN6nIQL7e88O35J9WLHK1X4oViMySU0N37gN-E_ozNqyBFEq4Mt06tT3pMWHdG3ceDxkohrMDAXRZW5f3ZR1Q5BU/w400-h400/FB_IMG_1701547036559.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">America! PC: Senor Stern</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Disclaimer:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">There's a
short(er) report at the beginning, and then A BUNCH of crap at the end. It
wasn't just a race, it was a week-long trip, so I had to document a bunch of
pointless crap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moving on…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlBuET7eME4JfafxETNKo5znq52atmZDLUsFZrNrW4kVkYoWCcOSjIBoYxrlGoBSKHff7Y_0zGE7N5JLBv77kmCvWtyZwrmOkbp4iVe_A4CedOTUw_BFJ7YGYl46owrKlr1WyYGdK9DvnFn4ouOnQ9MTJKYTjzrofnIqSF_sRniNEMZlHe3wXtKK46rl4/s1852/IMG_20231202_132613.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1852" data-original-width="1290" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlBuET7eME4JfafxETNKo5znq52atmZDLUsFZrNrW4kVkYoWCcOSjIBoYxrlGoBSKHff7Y_0zGE7N5JLBv77kmCvWtyZwrmOkbp4iVe_A4CedOTUw_BFJ7YGYl46owrKlr1WyYGdK9DvnFn4ouOnQ9MTJKYTjzrofnIqSF_sRniNEMZlHe3wXtKK46rl4/w446-h640/IMG_20231202_132613.jpg" width="446" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Howie has a knack for capturing the essence of Chris Roberts.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<h2 style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Race
Report:</span></h2>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Halfway
around the world, there I was, over 17 hours into a race. Not just any race.
The 24 Hour World Championships. Little ole me, representing the United States
of America.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I limped my
way around yet another 2 kilometer loop, resigned to speed walking most of it.
As I dragged my non-responsive legs around the final few hundred meters of that
loop, I started tearing up. Then I stumbled into the Team USA tent and
immediately broke down crying. No. Not crying. Sobbing. Uncontrollable sobbing.
Without a solid performance from me, Team USA was completely screwed. I just
lost any chance of a podium for the team. I fucked up. I let everyone down. I
let my country down. I don't belong here. I'm a fraud.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Grief,
despair, self-hate … absolutely overwhelmed with every shitty feeling
imaginable. I can only think of 1, maybe 2, other moments in my life that I
have been that far-gone emotionally. It sucked. IT SUCKED!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Pam Smith
and Bob Hearn, our team coaches / leaders / unifying forces of awesomeness,
immediately came over to figure out what was happening, and then quickly
transitioned to consoling me. They did their best, as I worked to regain some
semblance of composure. I was laid bare emotionally, bawling into my hands, and
they were there for me, immediately, kneeling beside me, wrapping their arms
around me -- I could <i>feel</i> them holding me, protecting me, caring for me
-- I can't quite put into words how truly meaningful that was. A kindness, a
compassion, that I will never forget.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Blergh…anyways…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> </span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Within the
weird running sub-culture of ultrarunning, there is this tiny little niche
corner for timed events. The grand-daddy of that microscopic sliver of the
running world is the 24 Hour event … run as far as you possibly can in 1 day.
Simple. Straightforward. Dare I say: elegant. But also: unrelenting and cruel.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Oddly
enough, there is a bon-a-fide World Championships for 24 Hours, typically held
bi-annually, where some of the best (dumbest) runners from all over the world
come together to act like hamsters in a cage in representation of their
country. It's kind of like the Summer Olympics … in much the same way dual
credit from a community college is kind of like getting a PhD from Berkeley.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">The latest
24 Hour World Championships were just held in Taiwan, and somewhat
miraculously, I found myself there, representing Team USA. 5 years ago I tried
qualifying for the team -- basically, you post one of the 6 best men's or 6
best women's 24 Hour distances during a 2 year qualifying window and you're in
-- but I failed miserably (<a href="https://www.lazyultrarunner.com/2018/05/you-cant-always-get-what-you-want.html" target="_blank">here</a> and on a black track in the middle of summer). This time around, I eeked out a performance good
enough for the 6th and final spot on Team USA (<a href="https://www.lazyultrarunner.com/2023/06/team-america-application.html" target="_blank">at The Dome</a>). It should be noted that by
making the team, I kicked off Harvey Lewis. Take that, Harvey! You may have
bested me (and my janky knee) at the Big's Backyard World Championships in
2021, but who's got the last laugh now, huh!?!! (oh, it's you? With the
backyard world record? And it's, what, a full 24 hours more than what I did?
Damn it….)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghCGCJ2AOQXt6DIHccpGkQwDbGSBUdAK6A1gU1Hc3LsUOkYeQ1SGilFk13mNdtCvOBsPFwD954QgfXAUYSnk0rh0S8N8qabdyQHqpVOeV0LXjh5anitVu-DFWDw2zz2nEdmIJ-lb5O6RT9zjcmF3VeR_BqrWQKVr93GQi4pn8DeNXP2awDNCu-R03YHzM/s2048/IMG_20231127_062716.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghCGCJ2AOQXt6DIHccpGkQwDbGSBUdAK6A1gU1Hc3LsUOkYeQ1SGilFk13mNdtCvOBsPFwD954QgfXAUYSnk0rh0S8N8qabdyQHqpVOeV0LXjh5anitVu-DFWDw2zz2nEdmIJ-lb5O6RT9zjcmF3VeR_BqrWQKVr93GQi4pn8DeNXP2awDNCu-R03YHzM/w300-h400/IMG_20231127_062716.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can't wait to abandon these kiddos for a whole week!</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I've been
known to rail against flat running (honestly, if a 100 Miler has less than
20,000' of vert, why bother?!), and I have practically zero experience with the
specialty, but I was beyond elated to have the opportunity to represent my
country in international competition. I don't have the skills, mentality,
dedication, or genetics to be an Olympian. And race distances for the World
Mountain Running and Trail Championships are too short (aka: I can't keep up
with young, fast whippersnappers). So my only options to compete with a big ole
"USA" across my chest were to give it a go at 24 Hours or, I dunno,
go work on my mini-golf skills (World Minigolf Sport Federation, it's a
thing…). And so, I was off to Taipei to run around a 2 kilometer loop over and
over and over again for the Red, White, and Blue.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaJEmNGhiJlc17HKNle1uwOzaGudi39WRUaA1MNHWfCZ-fiSe5W2Ob1jzKbA2_nzM5reISKifbikqpdn4iB8qsNaOACttoOjPBAM0TZd5_kxtk0agMwyj3Z9Z3nsrQYkh04h-85w2kTJHkO5R5KHozi9hwfDi6_2XwbXy7XrO4rLTNTkhCiu80rUjpjdI/s4032/PXL_20231126_184316427.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaJEmNGhiJlc17HKNle1uwOzaGudi39WRUaA1MNHWfCZ-fiSe5W2Ob1jzKbA2_nzM5reISKifbikqpdn4iB8qsNaOACttoOjPBAM0TZd5_kxtk0agMwyj3Z9Z3nsrQYkh04h-85w2kTJHkO5R5KHozi9hwfDi6_2XwbXy7XrO4rLTNTkhCiu80rUjpjdI/w360-h640/PXL_20231126_184316427.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I joined Team USA for all the Nike swag.</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">The whole
experience was beyond anything I could have imagined. For me, it was all about <i>being
a part of the team</i>. I had the chance to meet and get to know an amazing
group of runners, and, when the going got tough, bond through our dedication to
and support of one another. Plus … sightseeing adventures! Plus Plus … the
guilt of abandoning your spouse with your two progeny for an entire week!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">When the
race ended I honestly wasn't sure if I wanted to try to be a part of the team
again. I'm just not sure I will ever have the right skills to succeed at a flat
24 Hour race in a way that is needed to help the team compete for a podium
position at Worlds. But the camaraderie and the memories of Taipei have me
convinced that I owe it to myself and to the team to give it another go. So
we'll see if I can get some good training in, and put together a better race
plan, and secure a position for 2025. Bonus: it's in France next time around!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW457BX5YPzT7AoMJTOJH1eCgNltjO1QmIzHWU8ACcq7QzoiKWSxAdV9UeSVpahyphenhyphenYbHkMvI5BmO60XjB2qmfiFUJTux1Sr6CtWUpfIOojZxPOWeXRRnxQlEicKOo59YUPxDKOCkrf3Nk9S5jyCs0X79RGDYW2xz7WlqVdbPkpr8L6wN-a1JsCLHMzCMjM/s1600/IMG-20231204-WA0007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW457BX5YPzT7AoMJTOJH1eCgNltjO1QmIzHWU8ACcq7QzoiKWSxAdV9UeSVpahyphenhyphenYbHkMvI5BmO60XjB2qmfiFUJTux1Sr6CtWUpfIOojZxPOWeXRRnxQlEicKOo59YUPxDKOCkrf3Nk9S5jyCs0X79RGDYW2xz7WlqVdbPkpr8L6wN-a1JsCLHMzCMjM/w640-h480/IMG-20231204-WA0007.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Freezing my butt off after the race, with Chad and Stella. PC: Bob Hearn?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj5UtWOp25d6QDm1As6TbvWLD-RiYEOdhXxkZKvQcCsmNWB9DA5SNsOzp97raTa-79k9ynJotz9UO2PqzabRYsBb70pHw9WUeqqSIAwOPdmpyXvcoFfKyPvFRtNcKgQPbdOlv3qFzKBS921Vj3K0eBFj1uA3wYRS1aautDP8n5aoVS45LvTzWRwOxtIdY/s3264/PXL_20231204_004441271.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1836" data-original-width="3264" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj5UtWOp25d6QDm1As6TbvWLD-RiYEOdhXxkZKvQcCsmNWB9DA5SNsOzp97raTa-79k9ynJotz9UO2PqzabRYsBb70pHw9WUeqqSIAwOPdmpyXvcoFfKyPvFRtNcKgQPbdOlv3qFzKBS921Vj3K0eBFj1uA3wYRS1aautDP8n5aoVS45LvTzWRwOxtIdY/w640-h360/PXL_20231204_004441271.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post-race team bonding, crammed into an Uber, desperately trying to get to the airport on time.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I just
wrote a bunch about how I cried a lot in a race, so that should suffice for an
obligatory race report. But for people looking to waste more of their time,
here's a somewhat random run-down of my 24 Hour World Championships Experience
(aka: that time Chris abandoned his family for an entire week to fly halfway
around the world so he could eat weird food and run in circles while
continuously shouting "America! Fuck Yeah!")<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">But before
that, the thank you's:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">First and
foremost, to Kristin, for supporting me in pursuing this silly little
dream of mine. I truly do not know what I'd do without you by my side. You
should probably go book yourself a week-long solo trip to Europe, you've
earned it!<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Thanks to the
family and friends who reached out about donating to support the team
financially. It really meant a lot, to everyone on Team USA.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Thanks to my
nutrition sponsor, Hyle Hydration. Man, whoever came up with that product
is a genius!<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Thanks to
Squirrel's Nut Butter for keeping me well lubed.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Thanks to my
teammates for their incredible support and for making the trip an
all-around awesome adventure that I'll never forget!<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Pam and Bob,
you guys were incredible. We were beyond lucky to have you leading the
team.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Nicole, thanks
for taking care of my poorly conditioned muscles and tendons and for being
such a cool person to chit chat and explore with!<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Howie! Thanks
for the awesome shots, and for being a cool dude that puts up with me.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Bill! It was
so great getting to spend some time with you away from an oval. Thanks for
all of the nutrition hand-offs!<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Tracy and
Dobies – hanging out with y’all is so much different than when I’m feeling
like crap at Big’s. It was a welcomed change of pace!<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ul>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGJ8kSseKoeqk5gN9EC7FDATe56amRTzgGHnotj1Al44-J3PDGxkYO-FHhuzK9qEo3BoDhgMN0b8AvI1fSvLY4h58pYcnEqUHOb_DS1-r5gPsUMv5rpM-BJKFlI-j_eBBD99GKVpsVj1scTvEfvj9riIm_mMAX6YPKn7x-vWlUyoIo5E93n69g5R3lYZY/s4032/PXL_20231129_042251953.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGJ8kSseKoeqk5gN9EC7FDATe56amRTzgGHnotj1Al44-J3PDGxkYO-FHhuzK9qEo3BoDhgMN0b8AvI1fSvLY4h58pYcnEqUHOb_DS1-r5gPsUMv5rpM-BJKFlI-j_eBBD99GKVpsVj1scTvEfvj9riIm_mMAX6YPKn7x-vWlUyoIo5E93n69g5R3lYZY/w225-h400/PXL_20231129_042251953.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Behold, the Jade Cabbage!</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit8CRvZOLUEC1mQFasGA3bUDEQ7XR2P9HUf24Gs4l2OXn3V72RJFyboLMPJK5pqzrxJuHWmn_HFECebH5ruSgV7MDuRozc4vzmhohJXmjyEk_uuVlmjkVxA4LprKpbDmqSjaxTFCJogDyKZZcIs2g7gE8t6um5CbjbDE0gdb3IpuI-S_7keZBD4giM5K4/s4032/PXL_20231130_012954164.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit8CRvZOLUEC1mQFasGA3bUDEQ7XR2P9HUf24Gs4l2OXn3V72RJFyboLMPJK5pqzrxJuHWmn_HFECebH5ruSgV7MDuRozc4vzmhohJXmjyEk_uuVlmjkVxA4LprKpbDmqSjaxTFCJogDyKZZcIs2g7gE8t6um5CbjbDE0gdb3IpuI-S_7keZBD4giM5K4/w225-h400/PXL_20231130_012954164.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seeking out dirt, prerace. I'll take the one on the left, thank you very much.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ5GmAUy8D5d5bJRbPTTKtBGRIi1HUwjEgw4Z_WimhdVqz8VlGQyik7SqSCbutEF6QiQ4BkXpbExPMybxwFQyBAA6dp6TJXecpFtmsNBBICe4YS7og9Oixne_fwzyWGjoQ7GyhAPYC7leWz33NWJxHEpUEUtO96UT1ODs4BatXYTHWhmEqn5DtcoyiCWQ/s4032/PXL_20231203_071357536.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ5GmAUy8D5d5bJRbPTTKtBGRIi1HUwjEgw4Z_WimhdVqz8VlGQyik7SqSCbutEF6QiQ4BkXpbExPMybxwFQyBAA6dp6TJXecpFtmsNBBICe4YS7og9Oixne_fwzyWGjoQ7GyhAPYC7leWz33NWJxHEpUEUtO96UT1ODs4BatXYTHWhmEqn5DtcoyiCWQ/w225-h400/PXL_20231203_071357536.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Temple lanterns.</td></tr></tbody></table></div><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>
<h2 style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Randomness:</span></h2>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Something like
10 of the Team USA members were on the same flight from SFO to TPE. That
felt pretty cool, all hanging out in the airport terminal with our team
gear on!<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">The team race
kit is sponsored by Nike and USATF, so it's literally the same stuff
"real" athletes wear at the Olympics and whatnot. Pretty freakin
cool. Well, not getting financial support from USATF is pretty freakin
un-cool, but I digress…<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I backed out
of Big's to make sure I was "fresh" for Worlds. I still feel
that I have unfinished business with the backyard format, but my next
backyard failure will have to wait another year. Also, my favorite race in
the world, Hellgate 100K, was 7 days after Worlds, so I gave up any chance
at a good performance there, all for the glory of the U S of A. I just
need you, dear reader, to know how much I sacrificed for my country. It
should bring a tear to your eye. And if you'd like to acknowledge my
sacrifice with a tiny violin, then so be it.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I grew a
mustache for Worlds, as one should. My mustache was 20x better than
Harvey's Big's mustache. This is a fact.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="circle">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l3 level2 lfo2; tab-stops: list 1.0in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">In the lobby
of our "hotel" (it was a youth hostel), Andrii Tkachuk of
Ukraine (eventual 3rd place finisher) pointed to my mustache and said
"You look like a Ruski". Interpret that however you'd like.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ul>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">A majority of
the 250+ runners were staying in this crappy youth ho(s)tel, and they
served breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But it was fun cuz our food options
were either bland "Chinese food" (fried rice, noodles, soggy
vegetables) or a super fun spin on Western Cuisine (who doesn't love
spaghetti and chicken nuggets for breakfast?!). Most of the westerners
complained voraciously about the food situation. One day, I broke down and
went to a nearby Subway for a <i>mostly</i> normal sandwich. And the beds
were basically just a sheet of plywood. Yeah, it was so awesome!<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I got all
Cultured As Fuck out there. 2 days before the race, I went with some of
Team USA to the National Palace Museum to check out buddhas and
calligraphy and what not. Then I opted to be a loner and walk back to the
ho(s)tel by myself. Along the way I stumbled upon a massive Chrysanthemum
Flower Festival. In the days after the race, I checked out some more
sights with the team, happened upon a random Reading Festival, and also
got to see a parade in honor of some god's birthday at a temple (I think).<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">The day before
the pancake flat race, I had to scratch my itch, and went for a hike up
along a ridgeline in the city to seek out some dirt trails and good views.
Specificity be damned.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ul>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg29XFKrrwc-PQaCx3KqKBJf0iZj-6Tv-Qx00kUb5kLhklmytVSqnBxukQX4Ab0b83vleUJ87n8UykmyJNMy1T6xrAn12ff5W1ag07piop6unq_YEIPCBY8EaZjRX5eD168xDSeE9DNo3zLYT0xYZodi5UU54GDHxLreMDieM-shKtH4vi5htO9zHJKYZE/s1024/IMG-20231129-WA0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg29XFKrrwc-PQaCx3KqKBJf0iZj-6Tv-Qx00kUb5kLhklmytVSqnBxukQX4Ab0b83vleUJ87n8UykmyJNMy1T6xrAn12ff5W1ag07piop6unq_YEIPCBY8EaZjRX5eD168xDSeE9DNo3zLYT0xYZodi5UU54GDHxLreMDieM-shKtH4vi5htO9zHJKYZE/w640-h480/IMG-20231129-WA0001.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Team USA Shakey Shake. PC: Pati Coury?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></p>
<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDAtTqI4uvsdsT5tKHBs0UJoqK5hvv-eVxGnEJKLyv8_LydBeU3NdNshyphenhyphenkeBDdB9z8aKsz0k6ZPu5AxEraBzkwyJ4TOeT797rli61GXDHQY3p2nUcZ6AXEDp4L2LfEnzjxJgVGcumRKETPBYc_M13EMpo4sRCwaS7U4YMQxqCqa9kB_PempAk34zFe0JM/s4032/PXL_20231203_113023106.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDAtTqI4uvsdsT5tKHBs0UJoqK5hvv-eVxGnEJKLyv8_LydBeU3NdNshyphenhyphenkeBDdB9z8aKsz0k6ZPu5AxEraBzkwyJ4TOeT797rli61GXDHQY3p2nUcZ6AXEDp4L2LfEnzjxJgVGcumRKETPBYc_M13EMpo4sRCwaS7U4YMQxqCqa9kB_PempAk34zFe0JM/w225-h400/PXL_20231203_113023106.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beautiful Palace Hotel behind our youth ho(s)tel... some of us did book a room there for the final night of the trip, and it was glorious!</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>
<h2 style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Race Stuff:</span></h2>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">As the 6th
place qualifier for Team USA, I fully anticipated being in a supporting
role -- racking up miles for as long as possible to serve as insurance
since team scoring only accounts for the total distance ran by the top 3
runners. I had no real race goals other than to help the team, but I
settled into a somewhat comfortable groove that I thought might get me
somewhere between 152 and 155 miles.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Somewhere in
the evening, everything changed. 2 teammates -- Jake Jackson and Jeff
Urbanksi -- had resigned to the tent after problems arose for them. I came
into the tent for a minute and dawdled around, then asked how Scott Traer
was doing. I got a look of sheer confusion from Coach Pam, who then
informed me that Scott also ran into trouble some time ago and was
sleeping in the back of the tent. I was now a scoring member of the team.
A sense of panic came over me and I hastily shot out of the tent, awkwardly
apologizing for pissing away a couple valuable minutes.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I soldiered on
for some time, but had really weird stomach issues between 12 and 15
hours. My body seems to want a different nutrition plan for these flat
races than what I've typically utilized for trails, and I still don't have
that locked down. Or … maybe my body hated whatever the heck I'd been
eating at that weird ho(s)tel buffet lately. At any rate, I got to spend
quality time with the port-a-potties -- some of which were "Turkish
style", which was fun!<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">After I got my
gut back under control, I cleared 100 miles unceremoniously and felt like
I was plodding along pretty well. But then the wheels came off. In the
span of an hour I went from feeling perfectly fine, to having multiple
joints aching in pain, to having full-on quad failure. And somewhere in
there I got really queasy too … I faintly remember having a half-coherent
discussion with Nick Coury's crew about mashed potatoes, maybe…<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I then limped
around the course and cried like a baby for an eternity, but you, dear
reader, are already well aware of that scene.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Once I
composed myself, I could see and hear Nick in the tent, discussing whether
he should continue or not, due to problems he'd spent hours failing to
remedy and with genuine concern he was on the verge of limping his body to
competitively meaningless result at risk of prolonged injury.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Basically,
Jeff joined Nick and I in a fun little self-pity circle now that there was
only 1 remaining American dude still out there doing his job. Then I had
our amazing team doc, Nicole Yedlinsky, give me a bunch of random drugs
and try to "fix" my quads. Then we sat around some more. Then
Nick and Jeff said "screw it, let's go mall walk!", so I threw
on some warm clothes and joined them for a very, very sad lap of slow
walking where we all complained about how awful we'd done and blah blah
blah. Then we sat down in the tent for an eternity, ate a bunch of warm
food, and continued the parade of self-pity. We ventured out once again
onto the race course for another sad stroll in the middle of the night.
Only, this time, at some point I decided I would try to shuffle jog. And
I'll be damned if my legs didn't feel normal again. A miracle!<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">So I ventured
on for the rest of the race, about 4.5 hours, logging a somewhat
respectable pace, doing my best to let Chad Lassater know that he wasn't
the only American out there suffering anymore. My mileage was nothing
stellar, and without a 3rd runner out there putting in consistent miles
too, we were completely unable to compete for a good team position.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">But I'll be
damned if it wasn't amazing to be out there in the final hours of that
race. It was something special to be a part of.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Chad Lasater
was grinding, putting in the work. He ended up with 155+ miles and 2 age
group national records.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Nick, Jake,
and Jeff frequently popped out from the tent to walk more laps and cheer
on Team USA, and when they were in the tent they were helping with
nutrition and cheering.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">In the final
hour or so, Jake even got back out there to help pace for a couple laps,
which was friggin awesome to see.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Scott,
honestly, looked like a bombed out shell of a human being, but when he
arose from his mummified state, he did his best to provide emotional
support for the team.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">And the women.
Good grief, the women! Absolutely inspirational!<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Marisa Lizak
flew half way around the world to be a part of the team, despite having a
stress fracture and hobbling around in a boot. She put in a couple of
ceremonious laps in the beginning and end, and spent the rest of the 24
hours up front in the tent being the world's most supportive teammate:
cheering, crewing, working problems.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Mandy Holmes
was dead and gone in the tent after her day went south. But then she
revived in the final hours and started blasting out laps left and right.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Jenny Hoffman
just finished running a transcon in record time and still found a way to
pull her body to nearly 140 miles. Honestly, not a one of them looked
easy. But she was persistently grinding it out, hour after hour.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Stella
Springer was working her ass off towards the end. I finished the race
pretty close to her and had the pleasure of seeing one of the most
adorable scenes ever when her kids ran up to greet her with great big
hugs.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">And Aly Allen
was on fire! For the first 18 hours of the race she just kinda seemed like
she was doing her thing, nothing special. But at some point in the final
hours, watching her go around those laps, it became apparent that she was
really putting in the work and racking up the miles. She ended up with 148
miles and 10th place. Awesome!<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ul>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIcWqA7ziAs4abbNoDRv5q_qCdkiOXtn6eO1BdkzBXyJ4wFDJZj6SOlCC1RN1oud7gZopcXkdXXXC-yxgky_DufkDR8r1IzBB9dynchi5rFj47wmt1VVVfBZqagnyyw0HA3RWyO-974H8whOIaSh7bjL2hMB1CAkueHESUGg70CHAZemZTVtTJ4USD-6c/s4032/PXL_20231203_081302673.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIcWqA7ziAs4abbNoDRv5q_qCdkiOXtn6eO1BdkzBXyJ4wFDJZj6SOlCC1RN1oud7gZopcXkdXXXC-yxgky_DufkDR8r1IzBB9dynchi5rFj47wmt1VVVfBZqagnyyw0HA3RWyO-974H8whOIaSh7bjL2hMB1CAkueHESUGg70CHAZemZTVtTJ4USD-6c/w640-h360/PXL_20231203_081302673.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post-race temple explore.</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>
<h2 style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">More
Non-Race Stuff:</span></h2>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo4; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Some of us
were still in Taipei the day after the race. We made Chad and Aly walk up
and down a bunch of stairs. Like, A LOT of stairs. They looked so
miserable…1st time marathoner miserable.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo4; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I got to meet
Laura, a member of the Canadian team, who lives a couple hours away from
me in Missouri. I hope I can carve out some time for a long run with her
one of these days.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo4; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Stinky Tofu
smells like rotting garbage that's being cooked in an oven. That smell
will haunt me for the rest of my life.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo4; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Bob tried
ordering "drunken chicken" at lunch, but was forcibly told
"no, you want the duck!" instead. Post-race duck … delicious!<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo4; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">After a week
of salty, cliché chinese food, I was dying for a fresh fruit smoothie. The
night before our flight out, I had to make due with sharing a few rounds
of daquaris and margaritas with the team. That was pretty freakin awesome.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo4; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I upgraded to
"bougie seats" on the 11hr flight back stateside. United calls
it "Premium Plus" or something dumb like that. I didn't realize
until I got on the plane that it was legit 1st class -- not business class
fancy, but fancy enough that I immediately felt guilty for splurging when
I've never, ever shelled out for first class seats for my wife. That guilt
quickly receded after I slipped on my complimentary slippers, noshed on my
superior meal, and stretched my legs <i>all the way out</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
</ul>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlDrNumncVlgw_bJasUOGsjTwF9AyOEV_yAP9TSXNFYJW4Wxm5KSiQ76PIV1R7EFbNLTYZEC0sqUZsZRu6AP_gwlv_gIHmcUkunE758EW5v1AzzGfbS40sSQ0NxuNLDNh-D26SjmijHlDWyzdNH3K2Kw4ZChyNUFC3iy_cj7y8dIBuJo5ZjHDDHDtyP7A/s4032/PXL_20231203_053444541.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlDrNumncVlgw_bJasUOGsjTwF9AyOEV_yAP9TSXNFYJW4Wxm5KSiQ76PIV1R7EFbNLTYZEC0sqUZsZRu6AP_gwlv_gIHmcUkunE758EW5v1AzzGfbS40sSQ0NxuNLDNh-D26SjmijHlDWyzdNH3K2Kw4ZChyNUFC3iy_cj7y8dIBuJo5ZjHDDHDtyP7A/w360-h640/PXL_20231203_053444541.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tracy knows *exactly* what he's gonna get. Bob thinks he's getting chicken...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwGQ4jLQIQHxSvmmxToWD2OZ4ctUtdSTlpDUYgrCZAnW3dC6t4FuSu2LgJDB_d8ZEm7dOhbjesLUwZYlCpwqVsuzb7zyVM7XzIfhKU9SzCrnUyFQEt0OAYWNKD_cso9WxH_oGOFEyY1PhoK-jddikEzZMujqUyS6umobt0OeH67PlvMupa6bXp2B7ec80/s3264/PXL_20231203_042133133.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="1836" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwGQ4jLQIQHxSvmmxToWD2OZ4ctUtdSTlpDUYgrCZAnW3dC6t4FuSu2LgJDB_d8ZEm7dOhbjesLUwZYlCpwqVsuzb7zyVM7XzIfhKU9SzCrnUyFQEt0OAYWNKD_cso9WxH_oGOFEyY1PhoK-jddikEzZMujqUyS6umobt0OeH67PlvMupa6bXp2B7ec80/w360-h640/PXL_20231203_042133133.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teammate selfie at Liberty Square.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ml5zIU1c4SRsws2qXN32XdJGJzCw2Q9lu_7A3yKumcmxuPntNgA6s7oPRto6CXHqZ0hy8WBAKYbrXt_1hPsLvX8GqRn-A5lckZL11x-DClCMdwUMcxjM6QT5UaygeZioen3bPp_GDLttQalacSCJBhYJHsURGd8GYy4NeG6aHk_dMIn6M5IA2AOpv4k/s4032/PXL_20231203_041931721.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ml5zIU1c4SRsws2qXN32XdJGJzCw2Q9lu_7A3yKumcmxuPntNgA6s7oPRto6CXHqZ0hy8WBAKYbrXt_1hPsLvX8GqRn-A5lckZL11x-DClCMdwUMcxjM6QT5UaygeZioen3bPp_GDLttQalacSCJBhYJHsURGd8GYy4NeG6aHk_dMIn6M5IA2AOpv4k/w360-h640/PXL_20231203_041931721.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chang Kai-shek doing his best Lincoln impersonation.</td></tr></tbody></table>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<h2 style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Final Etc:</span></h2>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo5; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I called an
audible and went with a new pair of shorts for the race. I've worn
Patagonia Strider Pro's for years. I wore a pair of Rabbit FKTs for like 1
hour a week before the race and thought, "hmm, maybe I like
these…". For about Hour 2 through 12 I repeatedly thought "these
shorts don't feel right, they're going to ruin my race!" But they
ended up working out just fine. I dunno…<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo5; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I've only ever
worn 3 types of shoes in races: Altra, Topo, Pearl Izumi (obligatory Rest
In Peace). I went with Saucony Endorphin Pro at Worlds. I've worn them for
most of my speedwork in the past year, but never tried them on long runs.
I was afraid the toe box was too small, but that fear was more than made
up for by the 8mm drop to support my achilles -- I've pretty much given up
on Altra because I'm now convinced they've wrecked my achilles at Big's.
The Sauconys definitely required a bit of a biomechanical change at slower
paces while tired, but I mostly figured it out. Pretty sure I'll be using
them or Topos in any flat races going forward.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo5; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Bidets with
heated seats!<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo5; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">It’s possible
to fit 3 people and 4 full-size suitcases in a compact sedan.<o:p></o:p></span></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo5; tab-stops: list .5in; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I'm forgetting a bunch of stuff. Oh well...</span></li>
</ul>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 27.0pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 27pt;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNtMKDQYmoNqz-faHhwqpFluFd2yjxRCwJp-v_dIx-3l73Wj4GnbZOOep8-Wk7y3lT4vLtjSUBElybJ63yyIx3guCkYh6UhmHv13_UzjDi1XRb2zAg8hXdcu3knzqAUTlMGnIr9E9cL-pFoJQwtrBVzF_zx7sSuBnARj_d07OACEkBLXy1p26WRzNvAtM/s4032/PXL_20231203_224837824.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNtMKDQYmoNqz-faHhwqpFluFd2yjxRCwJp-v_dIx-3l73Wj4GnbZOOep8-Wk7y3lT4vLtjSUBElybJ63yyIx3guCkYh6UhmHv13_UzjDi1XRb2zAg8hXdcu3knzqAUTlMGnIr9E9cL-pFoJQwtrBVzF_zx7sSuBnARj_d07OACEkBLXy1p26WRzNvAtM/w225-h400/PXL_20231203_224837824.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fancy toilet!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfjlc-U4bD6nAFu2dLgGyD8t9OAzWs6IirqKuXa2jtH4Lx2C1YY-GewcDRIoW1Ft_dghuT4QYjleuRnnSozoMOGvSe63qyUnUK0n-Wt83O7rg89UyRUiHSZjA6nybvRmL-Mz-hNTXWoFc3ChIQqRR0KW5k6HyPb_NzexyKX-imLb3OXvj3sn0Yib6TeYA/s4032/PXL_20231203_092641693.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfjlc-U4bD6nAFu2dLgGyD8t9OAzWs6IirqKuXa2jtH4Lx2C1YY-GewcDRIoW1Ft_dghuT4QYjleuRnnSozoMOGvSe63qyUnUK0n-Wt83O7rg89UyRUiHSZjA6nybvRmL-Mz-hNTXWoFc3ChIQqRR0KW5k6HyPb_NzexyKX-imLb3OXvj3sn0Yib6TeYA/w225-h400/PXL_20231203_092641693.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fancy balcony view.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0hgbH70SZJ-i31PLeErPNqsy1R2q8vR2JlHnSUa34-Vk3GSgjVWERNL86UTSAiIcpu3Cr9iKbE9qsRKYruxwvdtKqsdO7pALFAgPZW4CRTTEFl1K1dNrOLOGIf7ti2LPe6yeG6b6K8SlfjAb5mI_41o_EZ8D4gJCkShjUPxPAop2Ss5pTPLitEEapFRA/s4032/PXL_20231203_112301638.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0hgbH70SZJ-i31PLeErPNqsy1R2q8vR2JlHnSUa34-Vk3GSgjVWERNL86UTSAiIcpu3Cr9iKbE9qsRKYruxwvdtKqsdO7pALFAgPZW4CRTTEFl1K1dNrOLOGIf7ti2LPe6yeG6b6K8SlfjAb5mI_41o_EZ8D4gJCkShjUPxPAop2Ss5pTPLitEEapFRA/w225-h400/PXL_20231203_112301638.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Forcing teammates with trashed quads to walk up and down stairs for no reason.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyljH0KSbXPnqLBvAD9oys9amel6NBVmOjhbCJx9gfysEmXxojy0O1WxGp5QxLNe2Qiqt5elbHA8Q1sjgvSHA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxWL2dppCGJsOYvYCfYEfzE1VeXqyAihhchsClXXPuwT6o2XX4sQm0ydntnV_5hWKZFy6y82apdo19Asqn0Dg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwDFc75dY1nwJQdrcmxD4ssPqLposdAC4Q0JJTGwfsrOp3wtaNN4_2XBLlD_EYkD_4RQCXB8qelUkW4xzSUxg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-64952053286975175472023-06-21T16:08:00.001-05:002023-06-21T16:13:56.831-05:00Team America Application<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmrkG_RU_VQ3LtLqLxzFp9xjsazqjOUvoxdoyr8FS5asJ8cjUKpqLCL3JrvAiWnxQl_kSN3EiXWmSTZKkmpc_XhFGCukcVqvD43JDNeRm5DV5pYSjU_PrwQ93SStIoREUttLMn2TdRUEXNymb7Z7w4M2vgNruXDLGkUC4_ZjUrO9AK8rhr8LD63-GoawA/s2048/354046154_670495301555661_8027708495104929823_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmrkG_RU_VQ3LtLqLxzFp9xjsazqjOUvoxdoyr8FS5asJ8cjUKpqLCL3JrvAiWnxQl_kSN3EiXWmSTZKkmpc_XhFGCukcVqvD43JDNeRm5DV5pYSjU_PrwQ93SStIoREUttLMn2TdRUEXNymb7Z7w4M2vgNruXDLGkUC4_ZjUrO9AK8rhr8LD63-GoawA/w426-h640/354046154_670495301555661_8027708495104929823_n.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; text-align: left;">(PC: Tuan Nguyen)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="color: #222222;">What Would Joyce Do? …</span></p><p><span style="color: #222222;">That was a precept offered up to the friends and family of my wife's Aunt Joyce less than 24 hours before I was to start my ridiculous day-long journey on a track around an indoor ice rink. Joyce was a singular character, full of life and love and happiness and acceptance. I can't say that I knew her well, primarily due to the fact that at family get-togethers I have an almost perpetual need to melt into the background so as to not be overwhelmed by the inevitable cacophony of livelihood and fun (yes, I hate fun, I am a curmudgeon). But in the multitude of get-togethers and holiday parties over the years, she always made me feel welcome. Aunt Joyce's sudden, unexpected loss, days before my race, sent shockwaves of sorrow through my wife's family. The memories of her hugs, her smile, and her laugh will be cherished by all who knew her.</span></p><p><span style="color: #222222;">In the days before my race I had the opportunity to run with my wife's uncle (who often cruises the magical trails of northern California), my brother-in-law (a former D2 stud), and Aunt Joyce's grandson (a local high school runner). Though the circumstances were far from ideal, I felt a strong sense of honor and belonging to share time on the roads and trails with them. I rarely run with others, maybe only a handful of times a year. Yet here I was, twice in one week, being brought together with family, to share in something that I love to do, because of Aunt Joyce.</span></p><p><span style="color: #222222;">So … What Would Joyce do? I mean, she sure as hell wouldn't go running around an indoor track for 24 hours straight … she wasn't an idiot! But I am pretty sure she'd follow her own path, put her best foot forward, and find joy along the way. So that's what I sought out to do.</span></p><p><span style="color: #222222;">… But first, there was the family fellowship, a glass or two of wine, and then a 6 hour drive from St. Louis to Milwaukee, to crash in a hotel bed after midnight, mere hours before my attempt to knock out a bunch of miles around a boring indoor track. Why do this? Well, in the hopes of being added to the USATF 24 Hour Team so that I could don the Red, White, and Blue and represent my country at the World Championships in Taiwan in December. And yeah, there is an official USA Track and Field 24 Hour Team … yes, it's a thing … and yes, it is very weird and very random … but whatever.</span></p><p><span style="color: #222222;">In 2018 I was in really good shape and I tried qualifying for the team. Twice. The first time, it was 40 degrees and raining and I probably had a bit of hypothermia before tapping out. The second time, it was 80 degrees and sunny on a black track, so, yeah, you can guess how that turned out. If I was gonna finally do this, I needed to mitigate the biggest uncertainty: weather. And that's what brought me to a 443.4552 meter indoor ice rink in Milwaukee in the middle of June.</span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiuW2G7i1NtbLcvKLbuLpb2VvTrOHbA59woprtUf-fhF3FxsMdxmyln5EnegnOZj1mO2zm3hxmF6VA3rOLMgqmXEWd6T35JKzXZh_RNjY8QGePGWNeOMpKEv2Oq4oyurompuXDNwgc5336sDOBznfQ5JRq6ss9oIo5WQiJDB8L8HQUKk3z52DzBXFxOZGE" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="224" data-original-width="939" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiuW2G7i1NtbLcvKLbuLpb2VvTrOHbA59woprtUf-fhF3FxsMdxmyln5EnegnOZj1mO2zm3hxmF6VA3rOLMgqmXEWd6T35JKzXZh_RNjY8QGePGWNeOMpKEv2Oq4oyurompuXDNwgc5336sDOBznfQ5JRq6ss9oIo5WQiJDB8L8HQUKk3z52DzBXFxOZGE=w640-h152" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Team USA Qualifying List</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="color: #222222;">After a good bit of research and a conversation with Mike Dobies (timed ultrarunning data extraordinaire), I crafted a plan for 154 miles. Team USA consists of 6 members, and 153+ would put me firmly in 3rd place right as the qualifying window drew to a close. Technically, 148 miles would be enough to get on the list for this go-around, but I wanted to have a cushion, especially since I only planned for a couple hours of light crewing by my wife and kids (they have better things to do than watch me circle a track for a day straight, like explore Milwaukee, or go to urgent care for an emergency prescription of erythromycin). Also, despite my lack of structured training in the past 6 months (or 16 months for that matter), I felt mid 150s was in my wheelhouse if there were no major hiccups.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX5tb2WisEJEHeqyIs3rQMXDJd4p34PPsP2k_OiUprKNdmfYPTN1FeG_kLUx1Y68NBydB99xuA5edOCGz-UVkzhA14BQtZuS15O86cvzAA4lWZnB94N7wWJeHJemxX0216w99DdUMKFtoZEHuLFlPNfCAqOx4OXPH-fUYSslYV9MBVl0xOLkmP-uNVhZM/s4032/IMG_0239.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX5tb2WisEJEHeqyIs3rQMXDJd4p34PPsP2k_OiUprKNdmfYPTN1FeG_kLUx1Y68NBydB99xuA5edOCGz-UVkzhA14BQtZuS15O86cvzAA4lWZnB94N7wWJeHJemxX0216w99DdUMKFtoZEHuLFlPNfCAqOx4OXPH-fUYSslYV9MBVl0xOLkmP-uNVhZM/w480-h640/IMG_0239.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Race Plan</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="color: #222222;">The "race" began much as expected. I settled into a smart pace of ~8:40/mile as I watched others feverishly lap me again and again and again. Despite some random stomach discomfort -- too many dark chocolate oreos? -- I hit the 12 Hour mark spot-on my plan: 80.75 miles, 3.75 miles "banked" ahead of a 154 mile finish.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG250iTYKoC1AQhJDPljhePpbYdevHiBBv3DH6YXW4FcW4EDfJgcXWUAhOKQVs54FgPXzRizlZuicwVnXeGxFvjax4qafNq7NVR7RMX5Xk1rRkBCnVb_2WNEo0cZtwVGgdDtTIXFZ6UGRRec9gSYAn0YFZa1_vw7Z_x6X-1Ftr93ncd4cFIJwEsuvwJtM/s4032/IMG_0249.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG250iTYKoC1AQhJDPljhePpbYdevHiBBv3DH6YXW4FcW4EDfJgcXWUAhOKQVs54FgPXzRizlZuicwVnXeGxFvjax4qafNq7NVR7RMX5Xk1rRkBCnVb_2WNEo0cZtwVGgdDtTIXFZ6UGRRec9gSYAn0YFZa1_vw7Z_x6X-1Ftr93ncd4cFIJwEsuvwJtM/w480-h640/IMG_0249.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; text-align: left;">My simple Aid Station setup</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="color: #222222;">At 100 miles, things got … weird. Not long before, I'd started sweating profusely. Which was odd because I was doing relaxed 9:00-9:30 miles in 50 degree temps. I don't know if it was adrenaline or what, but the lap after I cleared 100 miles, I stopped to go to the bathroom in one of the on-track porta potties and then nearly passed out inside. For a minute or more, I leaned my head against the plastic wall, trying to make sense of what the heck was going on with my body. Once I stumbled out, I walked for a couple laps and sucked down a few fruit cups and cold water to try and right my body. About an hour later, my stomach went haywire and I had to go to the real bathrooms (in the building's lobby) twice in 1 mile. Instead of gently slowing down, as planned, I'd suddenly ceded over 2 miles of my banked mileage.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigsP4zA0KnQ0pLbq12CFnjepZ1cLLGb5Xkge5JTQNxP4-AlMR0XPs1vc-zuIQX2Tu3M8ioPB-uTosNs0H8TlwO0nl51UcDZYApa-L-Uc2NbBR-qUkjcC_pOeluLOQyALFWwBEE7Gd0MPt1e1GSgHDerDp95xHXhNXX9z7AphSVvT3sodgAl8FitpsVq9w/s2048/IMG_0364.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigsP4zA0KnQ0pLbq12CFnjepZ1cLLGb5Xkge5JTQNxP4-AlMR0XPs1vc-zuIQX2Tu3M8ioPB-uTosNs0H8TlwO0nl51UcDZYApa-L-Uc2NbBR-qUkjcC_pOeluLOQyALFWwBEE7Gd0MPt1e1GSgHDerDp95xHXhNXX9z7AphSVvT3sodgAl8FitpsVq9w/w426-h640/IMG_0364.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; text-align: left;">Action shot (PC: Tuan Nguyen)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="color: #222222;">I was able to compose myself and carry on for a couple more hours. As with latter stages of my Backyard races, I temporarily reduced my liquid intake and focused on dry solid foods (cheese-its, nilla wafers, bread, etc.) … along with a helping of imodium and tums … to shore up my randomly failing gut. Sadly, it did not work, and I found myself drifting into The Shit Spiral stage of my race. I stopped 3 times in 5 laps to visit The Porcelain Throne. I travelled less than 1.5 miles in nearly 40 minutes. Each time that I stumbled into the bathroom I'd sit there, do my business, then keep sitting there … completely exhausted, drained of energy, and 110% regretting my poor life choices. If I fall asleep in here, that'd be an awesome excuse for my inevitable failure! All the while, my banked mileage completely disappeared and I found myself 6 miles off pace and in extreme jeopardy of not hitting a qualifying distance.</span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="color: #222222;">For the next hour or so I pretty much resigned to failure and accepted that I might not even clear 145 miles. I stumble-walked some stretches. I stopped at my table when I didn't need to. I was making progress, but with no haste, and without any determination. But my stomach stabilized and I felt comfortable enough to suck down my Hyle Hydration and nosh on solid foods again. It was time to find some joy. It was time to secure that qualifying spot!</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxRmEw5eP7kSpGyuoprWgHNLw8wGifa_PWRNTgtxgU3JWPbNZ5zHqZ1ihNyvDO9ltHfQC3e_YkmixIIdleVqiLUPOlwrblOCcPyGXpWHid-dH6PrYNDdzdqNFHe44d_YNbiatmlcCXgGrFDy8MztxSBF_ZrzFhkdqarVv73MYpv6IyhwH_kvH08jSzwwk/s4032/IMG_0232.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxRmEw5eP7kSpGyuoprWgHNLw8wGifa_PWRNTgtxgU3JWPbNZ5zHqZ1ihNyvDO9ltHfQC3e_YkmixIIdleVqiLUPOlwrblOCcPyGXpWHid-dH6PrYNDdzdqNFHe44d_YNbiatmlcCXgGrFDy8MztxSBF_ZrzFhkdqarVv73MYpv6IyhwH_kvH08jSzwwk/w480-h640/IMG_0232.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; text-align: left;">Random pre-race photo, failing at taking a cool SNB shot.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="color: #222222;">So with a little more than 3 hours to go, I started playing around with "intervals". I did the math and wasn't confident I could maintain the stable, focused pace required to break 150 miles … it just seemed way too daunting. I would need to run around 23 miles in 3.5 hours, despite my race plan only calling for about 20 in that same time frame. But I thought, well, hoped, that periodic pickups might help me claw back some mileage and still give me time to rest/recover. So I'd run a mile-ish at or faster than my beginning-of-race pace, then cool it back down and recover. These little intervals of hard efforts and recovery time helped me mentally break down the remainder of the race into manageable chunks. 4 laps, each 40 seconds faster than planned pace, that's a quarter mile I just reclaimed! With each successive hour, I was clawing back at least 1 mile on my race plan. And before I knew it, the end was in sight and I was all but assured a 150+ day.</span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="color: #222222;">As the time wound down, folks all around the track offered their support, my wife was there to ensure I had whatever I needed to accomplish what I set out to achieve, and even my kids were cheering me on (well, they were playing Minecraft or something, but close enough). As I rounded the track for the final time, I shouted words of encouragement to the next day's cohort of runners, "Good luck! But you better not beat my distance!", then stopped a few seconds early to watch the clock tick over with my wife by my side.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt3LLYWe2zFCYWr-BYbgWboFse--aiTTJH9VPsvYikoFEHX8XEwoDhkXA1VrNyrX0pUbhss0w9ofo1UGo_Ezc_yrV4bclBPlXva7J5U5Ywxyg8lothnUKA5T9TPcxa9xGSiYrwtqTuwBvHWwn-ZXOK5ekUKtLpKuTneXO8rI3SwWFYuX6WfyvoE7GfVs8/s4032/IMG_0333.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt3LLYWe2zFCYWr-BYbgWboFse--aiTTJH9VPsvYikoFEHX8XEwoDhkXA1VrNyrX0pUbhss0w9ofo1UGo_Ezc_yrV4bclBPlXva7J5U5Ywxyg8lothnUKA5T9TPcxa9xGSiYrwtqTuwBvHWwn-ZXOK5ekUKtLpKuTneXO8rI3SwWFYuX6WfyvoE7GfVs8/w480-h640/IMG_0333.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; text-align: left;">Before we get to the end of the story, enjoy this disgusting photo. Friends don't let friends become ultrarunners</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="color: #222222;">I ended up with 150.48 miles and rose to 5th on the qualifying list with 2 weeks to go for the qualifying window. There's always the chance that a couple stout runners could come along in the last minute and bump me, but right now I'm feeling pretty confident I'll have the opportunity to represent the USofA at the World Championships. Despite fashioning myself more of a trail and mountain runner, and despite the fact that I never really had an elevated heart rate, I can honestly say that this 24 hour effort is the hardest thing I have ever done. Flat running is not my thing, mentally or physically. I dreamed of endless climbs that I could hike, and long descents that I could cruise down. Instead, I was on the clock for a day straight, plodding one foot in front of the other in the exact same motion, lap after lap after lap, being greeted with my lap split over 500 friggin times. The mental stress of it all was absolutely overwhelming.</span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="color: #222222;">But here I am! I didn't pass out in the porta potty. I managed to escape The Shit Spiral. And I finally achieved something I'd been dreaming of for the past 6 years … putting in a running effort worthy of a super sweet Team USA race kit! It was hard. It sucked. I'm exhausted. My achilles is jell-o suspended in pounds of inflamed tissue. My calves and quads are completely wrecked. But, I put my best foot forward, I forged my own path, and, somewhere along the way, I was able to find a bit of joy.</span></p><p><span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="color: #222222;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTS6oxpH0Zim_oeQBJfwA6KByx_KZw32MLg0vXQsPNRd_l6c-uCd5JVpzlUoX9BVv7P-f1XDJ0eragZDxQky67Ws5Ui7ctns_UOE_fduTtSi1UDl2bI8RzdFnKm6ECczWZM_hwNL9VzvvT_9oVBG4tcxwfhP9KY-NvB1hhHBMTwsjYMgbLkYbOip_Gjr0" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="491" data-original-width="955" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTS6oxpH0Zim_oeQBJfwA6KByx_KZw32MLg0vXQsPNRd_l6c-uCd5JVpzlUoX9BVv7P-f1XDJ0eragZDxQky67Ws5Ui7ctns_UOE_fduTtSi1UDl2bI8RzdFnKm6ECczWZM_hwNL9VzvvT_9oVBG4tcxwfhP9KY-NvB1hhHBMTwsjYMgbLkYbOip_Gjr0=w640-h330" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; text-align: left;">"Dobies Curves", showing planned race vs actual, with a 150 mile baseline</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="color: #222222;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #222222;">As always, I could not have done this without my wife, Kristin, by my side. She elected to go on this stupid "vacation". She drove there for 6+ hours after spending a day mourning with family. She had to occupy our kids' time while I ran (which included a random kiddo pink eye flare up). She had to sit alone in the hotel room at 3am and worry about me, seeing my splits deteriorate, having no idea what was going on with my Shit Spiral. She had to help me remove and patch up multiple blistered toenail beds post-race. And she had to spend the next 2 days of "vacation" watching me hobble around, wholly incapable of providing any meaningful parenting contribution. What a saint!</span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="color: #222222;">A huge shout-out to my Hyle Hydration concoctions which, as always, get the job done.</span></p><p><span style="color: #222222;">And thanks to SNB for always keeping me properly lubed!</span></p><p><span style="color: #222222;">Thanks to Mike Melton and Bill Schultz for the wonderful race atmosphere. Thanks to all the folks who followed along. And thanks to those of you who gave me words of encouragement and support while I was crafting this idea to qualify for Team USA.</span></p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2mK6WQVz3jnqtb8PjrIlSWUhnyQfAwJMXFTO3ipg6OM7-yvE-64QxjaheqShUl8diU2doaFF3IJOPtqiN9F3hqzhsJbCqVw0C-6fPYtqVwE7PjmxVi_cdcr9WrwbNbZLKtQqu-zQBVvUTOEyVmDUkfPPUeHjccEDrT62B3PAxy0Va_CIv8Nuf6YuSIIY/s4032/IMG_0355.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2mK6WQVz3jnqtb8PjrIlSWUhnyQfAwJMXFTO3ipg6OM7-yvE-64QxjaheqShUl8diU2doaFF3IJOPtqiN9F3hqzhsJbCqVw0C-6fPYtqVwE7PjmxVi_cdcr9WrwbNbZLKtQqu-zQBVvUTOEyVmDUkfPPUeHjccEDrT62B3PAxy0Va_CIv8Nuf6YuSIIY/w480-h640/IMG_0355.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #222222; text-align: left;">Post-race at the Brewers game. #PoorLifeChoices</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><p><span style="color: #222222;">Random Stuff:</span></p><p></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="color: #222222;">A few weeks before the race, my Morton's Neuroma flared up. Nothing builds pre-race confidence quite like being unable to walk without hot, stabbing pains in your foot! Luckily a cortisone shot did the trick, along with wearing a ball-of-foot pad for the whole race.</span></li><li><span style="color: #222222;">My legs got sore and stiffy after 2-3hours, likely due to my lack of real training. But over the course of the day they got better and better. I'd like to think it's due to the slow drip of amino acids from my Hyle Hydration Endurance Fuel and the occasional protein bombs of my Recovery Formula. (News Alert: Product Designer Claims Product Is Miraculous!)</span></li><li><span style="color: #222222;">I always dream of a poop-free hundo. A couple of times I've come close. If I didn't have so much random stomach issues at this race, there's a chance I could've cleared 156 miles. On a good gut day, after a few months of real training, I don't see why I couldn't clear 160.</span></li><li><span style="color: #222222;">My left hip is total crap. My wife says I should stretch and do yoga and stuff. Whatever. Well, after only 2 hours of going counterclockwise at the start of the race, my TFL was a dense ball of pain. The moment we switched to clockwise at the 6 hour mark, the pain immediately went away.</span></li><li><span style="color: #222222;">I noticed that I instinctively curl/grip my toes slightly during the toe-off phase. I think it's from uphill trail running. Totally unnecessary during a flat race around a track. After 6-8 hours I could tell I was building up toe blisters from all of that unnecessary movement. I ended up with 2 "toenail blisters" -- where the entire nailbed becomes a blister and the whole toenail is just sitting there, wiggling around like a ring of pineapple on the top of a 1970's jell-o mold.</span></li><li><span style="color: #222222;">I had planned on 12-13oz of liquid per hour, given the 50 degree temps. But I ended up closer to 10oz.</span></li><li><span style="color: #222222;">Factoring in time periods where I was trying to avoid food to right my stomach, I only took in around 4500 calories instead of a planned 6500. That put me at a roughly 12,000 calorie deficit for the race.</span></li><li><span style="color: #222222;">We went to a Brewers game afterwards. The race ended at 9am. The first pitch was at 3:10pm. The parking lot was 15 miles long. I bought upper deck seats 5 rows from the top. I am an idiot. But. In my defense: cheese curds and a brat at a ballgame is a hell of a way to celebrate a race.</span></li><li><span style="color: #222222;">My Topo Specters worked like a charm. They're a newer high-cushioned trainer. They have the fancy foam but no carbon plate -- I'm of the opinion that pebax foam provides 80% of the benefit in the new-fangled race shoes and that carbon plates are pointless at slower speeds (and can even cause gait issues). These shoes will definitely be my go-to for any future backyards or the World Championships.</span></li><li><span style="color: #222222;">If I go to Worlds, Hellgate is exactly 1 week later. I'll have to find a way to get fit enough to run well in international competition, then fly halfway around the world, recover in under 7 days, and miraculously drag my ass to an 8th straight Top 10 at Hellgate. My #1 Running Goal is 10 straight Top 10s, but I honestly think I'm totally screwed. I'll never hear the end of it from John Andersen...</span></li></ol><p></p><p><span style="color: #222222;"> </span></p>Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-8938259122929097372022-10-22T16:59:00.000-05:002022-10-22T16:59:14.880-05:00Big's Backyard Ultra 2022<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJGRY4n7vCWJQsMtlSskwLVb1uLQGbX1c4k_caVabAEnmMrQc7_g__NuktTzdc84RPkGQ3JSWjEZh5QksirrC5ZFiNWjBTwzdRykHqF-Up7yTTt_PrkrBAbudxZ2VW7StF07DVA1JJT2HipcSkSzW0od7RS9g_hOgaAVYYRsCGO79y91I3MalZBI4b/s1080/Screenshot_20221021-165055.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1037" data-original-width="1080" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJGRY4n7vCWJQsMtlSskwLVb1uLQGbX1c4k_caVabAEnmMrQc7_g__NuktTzdc84RPkGQ3JSWjEZh5QksirrC5ZFiNWjBTwzdRykHqF-Up7yTTt_PrkrBAbudxZ2VW7StF07DVA1JJT2HipcSkSzW0od7RS9g_hOgaAVYYRsCGO79y91I3MalZBI4b/w400-h384/Screenshot_20221021-165055.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sweh photo! PC: Howie Stern</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p><p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">Have you ever torn
your achilles while taking a dump? Well, I sure as shit have! … At a world
championship sporting event no less. I'm really working on that Legendary
status in the world of ultra running. ... We'll get to that in a moment ...<br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">First and foremost,
I want to give a shout-out to the rest of the Team USA runners, their crew, the
timing staff, the Jeer Squad, the various behind-the-scenes folks like the
media organizers and photographers, the other teams and organizers around the world,
as well as everyone at home who followed along. As a Team Championship event, I
was so incredibly proud to be a part of Team USA, grateful for the opportunity
to represent my country (even though it was for an oddball fringe sport), and,
above all, beyond ecstatic when we secured the Team Title.</p><p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p><p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTmQU7gl0wzbcywOjM9k5mgBPoh20z__CoGT8AT1Y3sU61u-EW8_CKy5WP9h_PqtwKcXBoNZe6X5ETwdRyXXFlsLocbsP2HmLhLBAAEF0OnXXNEch6QJ1_tR_1VYGZwdVCy5LsTuvDDB4CiDIQ9FEBKkVgWKBNsXKXAC0LPZGNm_2orcc0ngYhsVGa/s1080/Screenshot_20221021-164822.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1070" data-original-width="1080" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTmQU7gl0wzbcywOjM9k5mgBPoh20z__CoGT8AT1Y3sU61u-EW8_CKy5WP9h_PqtwKcXBoNZe6X5ETwdRyXXFlsLocbsP2HmLhLBAAEF0OnXXNEch6QJ1_tR_1VYGZwdVCy5LsTuvDDB4CiDIQ9FEBKkVgWKBNsXKXAC0LPZGNm_2orcc0ngYhsVGa/w400-h396/Screenshot_20221021-164822.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Early miles with one cool dude (Keith of the Island with Holes?) and one badass lady (Jennifer Russo). PC: Howie Stern</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">My 2021 exploits are
… infamous -- a failing knee somewhere around Hour 63 that eventually was held
together with random bits of sports wrap until I finally relented and quit with the assist
after Hour 84. After the race, I injured my "bad" hip and most of the
last year has been spent trying to keep that problem at bay, but at least the
knee got better. Training has been lackluster, races have been nothing but
failure after failure, I got COVID again, and also a chest cold that was just
as rough as COVID. Oh, and I got a Morton's neuroma flare-up a few weeks before the
race, and scheduled an emergency cortisone shot for the Tuesday before the race. So
yeah, not ideal conditions to compete at Bigs. That said, I think overall
fitness and speed aren't nearly as important as 1) prior experience, 2)
understanding how your body is affected by sleep deprivation, 3)
level-headedness, and 4) stubborn persistence. Despite the crappy training and
signs pointing to a possible shit-show, I still very much felt that I could
suffer my way to 100 hours if need be, and planned accordingly. That's right, I wasn't anywhere near tip-top shape and yet thought to myself <i>"400 miles? yeah, sure, that seems totally reasonable!"</i><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">My goals were fairly
simple:</p>
<ol style="direction: ltr; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; unicode-bidi: embed;" type="1"><li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;" value="1"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; font-size: 11.0pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">Team USA Victory</span></li><li style="margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt;">Go until my body quits</span></li></ol>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p><p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0i5SWuY91h5Bakdz_3RqXZqAxpkAcABFIXL4T8Q1sVQCaPlP-B3C5MzGvYvoLGMpCfBxIskczSVIEBO98yrp6bPQVLEFePh6lfA8Gd9DhNKixGEkKDcDlaVXIve9UTJ254bBG6xZVVp7MPrdbqJadPrAuTummPn4McG_PPTap5MDa-ylq8FZz5VuT/s1080/FB_IMG_1666473779075.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="772" data-original-width="1080" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0i5SWuY91h5Bakdz_3RqXZqAxpkAcABFIXL4T8Q1sVQCaPlP-B3C5MzGvYvoLGMpCfBxIskczSVIEBO98yrp6bPQVLEFePh6lfA8Gd9DhNKixGEkKDcDlaVXIve9UTJ254bBG6xZVVp7MPrdbqJadPrAuTummPn4McG_PPTap5MDa-ylq8FZz5VuT/w400-h286/FB_IMG_1666473779075.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Action Shot! PC: Keith Knipling<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">So lets cut right to
the whole body quitting part. During the 48th hour, while we were on our final
Night 2 road lap, I had the urge to go to the bathroom, but didn’t want to wait
30 minutes to get back to the portapottys at camp. So, like nearly all of us
have done on multiple occasions before (and since), I hopped into the ditch,
walked a few paces over to the tree line, squatted down, and did what needed to
be done. Afterwards, I started to stand up and heard/felt a sharp, painful pop
coming from my right achilles just above the insertion point into the heel.
Swelling in the ankle was almost instantaneous and my calf seized up. Teammate
Jason Bigonia was running by right as it happened and commented that it looked
like I was trying to "lift a bathtub" by myself. I started clunkily
running to the turnaround point, and was somehow able to get back to camp in a
decent time.</p>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXWtDDAYxDBqq__WJ0JQJ_5CWVFiP5WfvzixQeC_TVXSkBKvBsX2inNHUX0grXWFlXHco7mH_99502RhXy66ZYgJdiSyM1iDyr4qXB3aOFC9dI1IIKjbBTYErryETFi1GS1V5eiCruCQxf9YNfBmGSzr_g2Elroo2LkXBpHxwColdsH-dcVdg2Kwbf/s1080/Screenshot_20221021-164906.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1052" data-original-width="1080" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXWtDDAYxDBqq__WJ0JQJ_5CWVFiP5WfvzixQeC_TVXSkBKvBsX2inNHUX0grXWFlXHco7mH_99502RhXy66ZYgJdiSyM1iDyr4qXB3aOFC9dI1IIKjbBTYErryETFi1GS1V5eiCruCQxf9YNfBmGSzr_g2Elroo2LkXBpHxwColdsH-dcVdg2Kwbf/w400-h390/Screenshot_20221021-164906.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Is Howie trying to snap a pic of me? Better look away like I'm too cool. PC: Howie Stern</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">My crew chief, Jack,
did a hell of a job wrapping the ankle up to keep it secure, and then he sent
me off to begin the first trail loop of Day 3. I was noticeably slower, but
found the right effort-level to get in just before the 3 minute warning for the
next lap. This was repeated another 10 times. The effort-level slightly
ratcheting up each time just to pump out the same nail-bitting attempt at a
56-and-change lap time. Usually, another 4 or so team members were in my
immediate vicinity the whole time, and I did my best to keep hitting the same
checkpoint times so we could all keep making it in hour after hour.</p>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkG8MngiqO6T-rChtQCVurUnJ1RxjaGUj5EhLwUPhGXjyg9OOwyyhAHXnegbFh1YQuDFe6w1nUuTdzsiUQyjfjgn30ITm-bC7u6LGwKpbAVDqXmrhOn2KOdTpujwGWiUnEFqgIRB1TpkcO7Dv9Y528JwVtl4qwo2Btq28RQ01PZf4ouvekFn_d9eBp/s1315/Screenshot_20221021-165218.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1315" data-original-width="1079" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkG8MngiqO6T-rChtQCVurUnJ1RxjaGUj5EhLwUPhGXjyg9OOwyyhAHXnegbFh1YQuDFe6w1nUuTdzsiUQyjfjgn30ITm-bC7u6LGwKpbAVDqXmrhOn2KOdTpujwGWiUnEFqgIRB1TpkcO7Dv9Y528JwVtl4qwo2Btq28RQ01PZf4ouvekFn_d9eBp/w329-h400/Screenshot_20221021-165218.png" width="329" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Lubin' up them toes. There's your money shot, Squirrel's Nut Butter! PC: Howie Stern</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p><p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">Then I went out on
the first Night 3 road loop and started to mentally prep for chasing down 72
hours. But that 60th lap was incredibly slow, and the achilles area was in a
good bit of pain. The footfall and stride pattern for the road was much
different than the trail, and it was really aggravating the popped achilles.
What should've been an easy 48min loop was a 55minute struggle. Pain in my left
MCL was starting to appear -- a very similar feeling to the dead right knee of
2021, and something that briefly popped up during Night 1 -- likely due to the
slight limp/hobble caused by the achilles injury. So I had Jack wrap my knee to
stabilize it, just to be safe. He helped me out to the corral and when he let
go of my arm, I nearly collapsed, unable to bear weight on my right foot. I'm
not sure if he caught me or I somehow caught myself, but I genuinely thought I
was going to fall straight to the ground mere seconds before the bell rang.</p>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p><p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Z3N4ujG4B5KDTy2SUI2GwuMBL2b8E42165oswAWW4FccTpVUVkdj9IQoJSI59Ij9tDevLPZXRSgMKOS1BNmfH6aeYhP8MkpGfP43NVTiwcCv-wQLW3Vnq7P3fvuobigeLsWzs7fzJye9slMRXl5mYMDJQtSDrpGNCWHDlAcfzzRe9jKhoshDZe_P/s1080/Screenshot_20221021-165006.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1054" data-original-width="1080" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Z3N4ujG4B5KDTy2SUI2GwuMBL2b8E42165oswAWW4FccTpVUVkdj9IQoJSI59Ij9tDevLPZXRSgMKOS1BNmfH6aeYhP8MkpGfP43NVTiwcCv-wQLW3Vnq7P3fvuobigeLsWzs7fzJye9slMRXl5mYMDJQtSDrpGNCWHDlAcfzzRe9jKhoshDZe_P/w400-h390/Screenshot_20221021-165006.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">"Howie, I'm exhausted! Leave me alone and stop trying to take pics of my sweet mustache." PC: Howie Stern </span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">I slowly hobbled out
of the corral and started the turn away from camp and down the road. I tried to
shuffle into a jog but my right foot just wasn't doing anything. I couldn't
jog, I couldn't even power walk. I hobbled for a few moments, then broke down crying
as I watched the rest of Team USA journey on into the night. In 2021, I was at
peace with throwing in the towel after 84 hours of running -- Harvey and I had
broken new ground and the future was full of potential. When the realization
that I couldn't go on washed over me this year, I felt a deep mix of sadness,
loneliness, and despair. I wanted more from myself. I wanted more for my team.</p>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">Once I composed
myself, I tried to get down the course as far as I could, in a last-ditch
effort to keep going. I had a goal to make it to the 1 Mile marker as fast as I
could, check my time, and assess from there. But at 0.5 Miles I got
disheartened and checked my watch -- over 15 minutes had flown by. I sat down
and proceeded to rip the wrapping away from my knee and my ankle, hoping that
would give me more mobility somehow. I peeked at my ankle/achilles area and the
entire ankle was engulfed in fluid. I limp-hobbled another 100 yards, stared
off into the distance where the 1 Mile marker was, then sat down again in
frustration.</p>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">After a few more
tears, I picked my sorry ass up off the asphalt, turned around, and headed back
to camp. When I got to the top of the hill near the final turn back into camp,
I stopped and laid down, then patiently waited for the remaining members of the
team to stroll by so I could cheer them on. Once the next lap started, I stood
outside Laz's driveway and greeted everyone that remained, offering well-wishes
with a lump in my throat. Then it was off to the timing tent to hand in my
tracker.</p>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p><p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieFPOFug54giGw4qegc9Jz2gXmob-mf9GyJOCBgu4f1ixe4pIfIEruSoMaIXfPQQ53SZRqRn6gf1rO30cTrWdAmFIvr6-F8BFU1zGASbhEkb8MoCMCs6mtXH-XvGiBseLVSR06vBPAHeqsGZhUgn8_d3HFzJVvt9wo8JRb5MgqGhnOaYLSLsHoBRBY/s1080/FB_IMG_1666473787710.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="772" data-original-width="1080" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieFPOFug54giGw4qegc9Jz2gXmob-mf9GyJOCBgu4f1ixe4pIfIEruSoMaIXfPQQ53SZRqRn6gf1rO30cTrWdAmFIvr6-F8BFU1zGASbhEkb8MoCMCs6mtXH-XvGiBseLVSR06vBPAHeqsGZhUgn8_d3HFzJVvt9wo8JRb5MgqGhnOaYLSLsHoBRBY/w400-h286/FB_IMG_1666473787710.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Receiving my Quitter Coin. PC: Keith Knipling</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table> </p>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">After everything was
said and done, I went to my foot doc within an hour of getting home, and he
confirmed there is a divot in my achilles where it presumably burst. An MRI is pending,
but we're expecting it to show roughly 50% of the tissue torn -- enough for an
extended stretch of recovery and rehab, but not enough to warrant the added
complications of surgery. So I'll be hobbling around in a boot for the next 4-8
weeks and working through an absurd amount of physical therapy to encourage
proper regrowth of the tendon and build back functional strength. Maybe I'll
progress fast enough to make it to Hellgate in December -- my all-time favorite race -- but then again, maybe
I won't. It's undoubtedly safer to just plan to miss it. But coming to accept
that is … devastating.</p>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p><p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf0gZCIy6AaaqI0QGwiKmB6v28HlTZJWaDYSR_HoLeQ2RrO9hZLFcSVBqSfRv3oGkr-txhaPOeJCbwjyeWjvXeQr4jh5Y6x2pMwtpjUmPjCvY1Tgb_UYHXZ7YC4LZck6_pJyw6w56HvW0f91Z6P2xJcxIjEB8oGcMRTrBpOXQZnvrvB4MPtwT82gCh/s4032/PXL_20221019_220429078.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf0gZCIy6AaaqI0QGwiKmB6v28HlTZJWaDYSR_HoLeQ2RrO9hZLFcSVBqSfRv3oGkr-txhaPOeJCbwjyeWjvXeQr4jh5Y6x2pMwtpjUmPjCvY1Tgb_UYHXZ7YC4LZck6_pJyw6w56HvW0f91Z6P2xJcxIjEB8oGcMRTrBpOXQZnvrvB4MPtwT82gCh/w400-h225/PXL_20221019_220429078.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">This is what happens when you get old and don't incorporate enough strength and stretching into your training...</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">If I said I was
satisfied with how Big's turned out this year, I'd be lying. But I was honored
to be a part of Team USA, and thankful to have made meaningful contributions to
our team victory. I'll happily take team success over an individual PR. So, perhaps,
I am content with how things shook out. It feels good to be World Champions
alongside those other 14 incredible athletes whom I shared endless miles with
in that little corner of the world known as Laz's Backyard.</p>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p>
<p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">Thanks to my wife
for holding down the fort at home and juggling, quite frankly, an unfair share
of work and parenting duties. Thanks to Jack for being in my corner yet again.
And thanks to the handful of VHTRC folks at the race who made it feel like the
good ole days of racing in Virginia.</p><p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"> </p><p style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBOiF7XdYhz21tQhD8Pfjv-j-4EkiTTAgG7ucZQjosGdyV5ul8daW3AxK35LL9M2Lcx-ZMrmXYr1hi1NPnQQz782xG4ny5yXl2PAA2bHva7Dp0I0ol1Kr9405yg47fFgE5vFAzXiMED9SJTVP5JxAOMUPuoXG3olNaYDnOuNMFWxdOEVk03VOADbxf/s1080/FB_IMG_1666389434967.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="772" data-original-width="1080" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBOiF7XdYhz21tQhD8Pfjv-j-4EkiTTAgG7ucZQjosGdyV5ul8daW3AxK35LL9M2Lcx-ZMrmXYr1hi1NPnQQz782xG4ny5yXl2PAA2bHva7Dp0I0ol1Kr9405yg47fFgE5vFAzXiMED9SJTVP5JxAOMUPuoXG3olNaYDnOuNMFWxdOEVk03VOADbxf/w400-h286/FB_IMG_1666389434967.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Relaxing in the early hours of the race. PC: Keith Knipling</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF5umncBMDpz1BLHykBe7tSbkfxCk6-JCQawcxG0gjEjXQ-8JTZirWF3RZcecN_abYHjpDT7OPu9eStN776ukYebbP5R0_uXK9DXRTa92KlKyuG8QNJcPNBgQj6bISC31ncO_BwvedFrjT7w7eypz6L1BK1tuC2xvieo2Lh5A53IUAIdjfjC59mwGB/s1080/Screenshot_20221021-161413.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1053" data-original-width="1080" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF5umncBMDpz1BLHykBe7tSbkfxCk6-JCQawcxG0gjEjXQ-8JTZirWF3RZcecN_abYHjpDT7OPu9eStN776ukYebbP5R0_uXK9DXRTa92KlKyuG8QNJcPNBgQj6bISC31ncO_BwvedFrjT7w7eypz6L1BK1tuC2xvieo2Lh5A53IUAIdjfjC59mwGB/w400-h390/Screenshot_20221021-161413.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Showing eventual winner Piotr Chadovich how it's done. PC: Howie Stern</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1rJeG8A6prjOPlE9kOa8aH7IATRnuB7oPatxuRF1TzMAGkdj6I8NLZUKLzLyQlCMcT4uE3_FMyQvm6NcY9nEsfWdniQJohrIr5efaelhIg3Hvu7SdqJ6HOwIQNTFN7m-6M5Z-GP5fQH8CNeIK5AjEZgHVjHFWKQF7LEcH-kcbup_FjS5ByFVktzRG/s1319/Screenshot_20221021-165134.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1319" data-original-width="1079" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1rJeG8A6prjOPlE9kOa8aH7IATRnuB7oPatxuRF1TzMAGkdj6I8NLZUKLzLyQlCMcT4uE3_FMyQvm6NcY9nEsfWdniQJohrIr5efaelhIg3Hvu7SdqJ6HOwIQNTFN7m-6M5Z-GP5fQH8CNeIK5AjEZgHVjHFWKQF7LEcH-kcbup_FjS5ByFVktzRG/w328-h400/Screenshot_20221021-165134.png" width="328" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Confab with the crew chief (probably me bitching about how I don't want to eat anything). PC: Howie Stern<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihffZ9Qnd3UUmFzpoBlJfnVF8hoy7KAfULl2ZcsPRFsIKX1AQeZjy4Lsjh4o0e-91lnp-nTb-Q5XSss-rurHZCj1VRTdHbTQfj8LxbqcTPWcxrL6BSCkuOZzrtiGoqmiFxSBM2TOAQFzi_DFZo2r5-ekk7NOWqwJU24t0VH_AetjGszHYuEspE8kOL/s1080/FB_IMG_1666389387581.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="772" data-original-width="1080" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihffZ9Qnd3UUmFzpoBlJfnVF8hoy7KAfULl2ZcsPRFsIKX1AQeZjy4Lsjh4o0e-91lnp-nTb-Q5XSss-rurHZCj1VRTdHbTQfj8LxbqcTPWcxrL6BSCkuOZzrtiGoqmiFxSBM2TOAQFzi_DFZo2r5-ekk7NOWqwJU24t0VH_AetjGszHYuEspE8kOL/w400-h286/FB_IMG_1666389387581.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So afraid of cutoffs with the janky achilles that I donned a hydration vest to run multiple hours non-stop if need be. PC: Keith Knipling<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOmYNaHDPQyCI-DSfeMNwp-vfRPw-pJjVXfFL04fQFdifADVO4B-OR_IJzKPObln1y5vJOTtALMvzxWxEOKfZkNTyuJrwijRGEm_UhKo2QqKH0x7WNvk2MeM44Z3tYb-_wsxXuOzARsSRxUrIWKr9kJOGt0ANmzj3i_3Fy6emyebXX9180FXBeoWXT/s4032/PXL_20221018_160625862.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOmYNaHDPQyCI-DSfeMNwp-vfRPw-pJjVXfFL04fQFdifADVO4B-OR_IJzKPObln1y5vJOTtALMvzxWxEOKfZkNTyuJrwijRGEm_UhKo2QqKH0x7WNvk2MeM44Z3tYb-_wsxXuOzARsSRxUrIWKr9kJOGt0ANmzj3i_3Fy6emyebXX9180FXBeoWXT/w225-h400/PXL_20221018_160625862.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just a couple of photography nerds shooting the shit by the shitter. PC: me<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p>
Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-12534004757138551582022-07-29T15:19:00.002-05:002022-07-29T15:45:19.414-05:00Bighorn Bungle<p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;">Choking on green phlegm with bits of chewed up ramen noodles. This is how I will remember Bighorn 2022. Yummy!</span></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT0BrkbP3bW8URUfLmeWG2cJTKrpLARFijyLeqAu9NBj1t-ntsikrwUebiWxBa8kGvE4KvtB7jGxUprlNzXaDuVtFSv91ky_nJyYSpnRSrXcP7OAMOIzO5XTmuy8HqJ3fIM3xzSf1Ol8UNlD9hmH_AvMV2KQncT5rhajunXx0kjRuLiFyTAIx2tpRQ/s4032/PXL_20220617_234341559~2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT0BrkbP3bW8URUfLmeWG2cJTKrpLARFijyLeqAu9NBj1t-ntsikrwUebiWxBa8kGvE4KvtB7jGxUprlNzXaDuVtFSv91ky_nJyYSpnRSrXcP7OAMOIzO5XTmuy8HqJ3fIM3xzSf1Ol8UNlD9hmH_AvMV2KQncT5rhajunXx0kjRuLiFyTAIx2tpRQ/w640-h360/PXL_20220617_234341559~2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful Bighorn scenery. Not pictured: me, on the verge of death.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <u></u><u></u><p></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">My training had been lackluster ever since Big's, 8 months prior. A hip issue had a lot to do with that. But so did life, and my predilection towards sleeping in and skipping workouts. So dreams of a podium evaporated well before race day.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">Then there was the heat. 98 degrees for a high in Sheridan, WY. I did zero heat training ahead of the race.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">And the altitude. I've never really "felt" the impact of altitude below 10,000', but there's a first time for everything!<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">So, I was going into a mountain 100, at altitude, in the searing heat, with sub-optimal training. Not ideal!<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">Oh, and the days before the race I had a sore throat which developed into a wet cough the night before the race, forcing me to get up multiple times in the night to hack phlegm into the bathroom sink. So … yay!<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">On the one hand, I really had no business being at Bighorn. Everything pointed towards a sufferfest. But, on the other hand, I DNF'd Hellbender 6 weeks prior (attempting to run in a post-migraine haze) and it'd been 3 friggin years since my last Hardrock Qualifier, so I really needed a finish both to boost my morale and to keep alive my Quixotic quest for a Hardrock start, hopefully before humans land on Mars.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">I had no real expectations for the race given everything being stacked against me. Really, I just wanted to enjoy the mountains, the meadows, the views, and hang out with VHTRC folks. I got what I asked for, and a lot more.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVU2xLNqL7gWZ_G7k5bE3MWZARZyI2T4ZB-q3nogCybhnOna64LFhGgDYZogdlzlwdfuvP34szgHh_mRF98TYfbPsAtjrobll0c_qOr5PrmI5K1JhULxi7qD8pmQPbvXXM-f6szG7DVes6yW4KDR3uVqg5WkWsLvqfPNJelr0KD4eePgSS6VfG00HQ/s3000/Bighorn-2022-KM-9922.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVU2xLNqL7gWZ_G7k5bE3MWZARZyI2T4ZB-q3nogCybhnOna64LFhGgDYZogdlzlwdfuvP34szgHh_mRF98TYfbPsAtjrobll0c_qOr5PrmI5K1JhULxi7qD8pmQPbvXXM-f6szG7DVes6yW4KDR3uVqg5WkWsLvqfPNJelr0KD4eePgSS6VfG00HQ/w640-h426/Bighorn-2022-KM-9922.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy Trails peeps!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">As a sign of my commitment to not really giving a shit about my performance at the race, I brought along my phone for the very first time in a race, and made sure to snap copious pics of the incredible scenery along the way. Sadly, the few minutes wasted snapping pics did not account for the infinitude of time I spent on course.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">We got started at 9am and it was already fairly toasty. I donned cooling arm sleeves for only the 2nd race of my life, the other time being Western States. They made a huge difference throughout that first day. I played it fairly conservatively up the first climb, but somehow still found myself ahead of Jordan Chang. At one point, I realized he and Will Weidman were right behind me, so I stopped for them to catch up. Moments later, Jordan took off. Between that and the pre-race briefing where he tapped me on the back but then kept on walking, I'm starting to wonder if I've somehow done something to offend him. At any rate, Will and I plowed ahead for a time, but then even he separated from me. I was on my own for the rest of the race.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoTTfld-C1NYc9Dy_Km2BDGw83FRuisrz65Vutsh-d-5z4TWAkH_3qV5z1ECZTME-E38RKXoBG4X7ARkHcSW_5TiKz1ub3dt4oNGhcdpzol5Apg-I608ti5aCN-AJyyLlwtYIssarHbFs5v48LBwszu45Cr7tebSACCjir24vqAgsCbM7T8g0vCfND/s4032/PXL_20220617_210013265.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoTTfld-C1NYc9Dy_Km2BDGw83FRuisrz65Vutsh-d-5z4TWAkH_3qV5z1ECZTME-E38RKXoBG4X7ARkHcSW_5TiKz1ub3dt4oNGhcdpzol5Apg-I608ti5aCN-AJyyLlwtYIssarHbFs5v48LBwszu45Cr7tebSACCjir24vqAgsCbM7T8g0vCfND/w360-h640/PXL_20220617_210013265.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Despite unusually dry course conditions, I still somehow managed to lose a shoe to the mud ... and then waste time snapping a pic, cuz why the hell not!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">Oh, so remember how I said I developed a wet cough the night before the race? Well what I failed to include was that by race morning I had also developed an, umm, loose stomach. Good news: in the early miles I wasn't hacking up a lung, yet. Bad news: between miles 11 and 18 I had to jump off the trail THREE times.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">I soaked in the scenery and got stuck in some conga lines for a few hours until dropping into Sally's Footbridge at Mile 33. By then, my quads had been totally shot for at least 2 hours. It'd taken an inconceivable 6:40 to get there. If I were feeling good, I would've expected about 5:40. It was hot down there, and a bit of a shit show. A dozen runners were either over-heating or frantically figuring out what they needed for the upcoming 18 Mile climb. I quietly found an ice chest and filled up my sleeves and ice bandana, trying hard to avoid the pestering aid station questions about my health -- <i>are you dizzy, have you been peeing, do you regret signing up for this race?</i><u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5-7N3FFZcnRoqepXXICgwAfQkOJz4nlza4PYEMehVKGDEQmdWllaIKEIyRvviS1MwW2IlPBDdwWbphwoByMJd-BXnNUiyuLRT6Oc_dc-67z1rqiwNVJ3efRmIfcpA2v-LldJbBIU1_qPgMPxGQKjphFerf19_mtcpIeXLlUn4GKbii6tOjEGtrEwK/s3000/Bighorn-2022-JK-0052.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5-7N3FFZcnRoqepXXICgwAfQkOJz4nlza4PYEMehVKGDEQmdWllaIKEIyRvviS1MwW2IlPBDdwWbphwoByMJd-BXnNUiyuLRT6Oc_dc-67z1rqiwNVJ3efRmIfcpA2v-LldJbBIU1_qPgMPxGQKjphFerf19_mtcpIeXLlUn4GKbii6tOjEGtrEwK/w640-h426/Bighorn-2022-JK-0052.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before my race turned into a complete train wreck. PC: The awesome folks at Mile 90 Photography (Kansas City represent!)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><i><br /></i><p></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">Moments after starting The Climb, I encountered rock fields and rock walls that had been baking in the sun. The searing feeling on my flesh forced me to stop and cover my body in a toxic dose of zinc oxide.</p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">5000' of climbing in 18 miles doesn’t seem that bad, and I fully expected plenty of running opportunities, but in actuality they were in rather short supply. More often than not, I found myself keeled over, hands on knees, panting, struggling to control my breathing, and inevitably trying to convince the chick that was passing me that I wasn't dying and that I'd be fine. Above 6500' of altitude, this became a fairly common occurrence as I slowly worked my way up to the turnaround.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">In the final miles before the turnaround, it got fairly muddy and mucky, with good stretches of rotten snowbanks. At one point, I had to jump off into the woods again. Having exhausted my supply of TP, and being at too high an elevation for broadleaves, I was forced to test out the usefulness of pinecones. I'd score them at 3 out of 5, not ideal but useful in a pinch.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">As dusk approached, I got to see Jordan on the return journey. He looked solid! Then Will, who also complained of early-mile quad seizures. I was finally starting to feel a bit better, and optimistically hoped I'd be able to pick up the pace and catch up with Will, who was maybe 30minutes up on me.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">A few minutes later, trudging across another snowfield, I sank about 2 feet through the snow … and then rapidly descended another foot through freezing cold water below. As it was happening, I tried, in vain, to lunge forward and avoid the Watery Hole of Despair. Instead, I pitched forward hard, right into the snowfield with my face and hands. As I tried to extract myself, my calves seized up. I was stuck! My mind immediately flashed to those LifeAlert infomercials. <i>Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!</i> I laid there for at least a minute, my lower half stuck in snow and freezing water, my upper body unable to secure enough grip to pull myself out. Trail running … so much fun …<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">After my Herculean extraction from the snow, I plodded on to the turnaround at Jaws aid station. I had a great view of the sunset on the meadow at 9,000'. Ahh, serenity! The aid station, however, was anything but serene. There were at least 10 runners in there, hunkered down in chairs, in various stages of duress, lulled into complacency by the coziness of the giant tent complete with doting aid station workers and a friggin modified home furnace. I raided my drop bag and got out of there as quickly as possible to begin the long journey to the finish, leaving somewhere around 12:30 into the race.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3_TYu14Y5iHtw05-aLIX_KlzMiwNoSlaipw3agdBe6JnPwKlK_1h6u4OmVWt6pYLIlGTvqnhBzVEyzVR1Up14cL3ojOp3FKnDGdauDMaIUaHLZ6jqTFqhAMzgWkQQo3vGvPEJRexx5hMdpKOjNjuIFhlimreKjwpApCUFiWY7q9WosAn3-MfkaZuW/s4032/PXL_20220618_025452600.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3_TYu14Y5iHtw05-aLIX_KlzMiwNoSlaipw3agdBe6JnPwKlK_1h6u4OmVWt6pYLIlGTvqnhBzVEyzVR1Up14cL3ojOp3FKnDGdauDMaIUaHLZ6jqTFqhAMzgWkQQo3vGvPEJRexx5hMdpKOjNjuIFhlimreKjwpApCUFiWY7q9WosAn3-MfkaZuW/w640-h360/PXL_20220618_025452600.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Worthwhile sunset after the 5 Billion Hour Climb</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">Not long after the turnaround, darkness descended, and so did my gut, again. I hurried off the trail, dredging through 3' snow piles, to eagerly test out the Eskimo Method for the first time in my life. And I've gotta tell ya, wiping your ass with snow is a solid 5 out of 5! I highly recommend it!<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">Right afterwards, I hopped back on the trail immediately behind a merry band of runners, one of whom was lubed up in about 37 pounds of Bengay. The putrid smell laced the woods and I temporarily dropped back as far as possible to avoid vomiting. When that didn't work, I resolved to charge ahead through the clouds of Bengay and on to the fresh air ahead.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">I came into the next aid station, Camp Upper Whatchamacallit, complete with a cast iron oven and stove, and decided to slurp up a healthy dose of ramen noodles. Earlier, I'd eaten a granola bar which severely aggravated my sore throat so I decided 1/3 of my nutrition plan was out the window for the rest of the race -- no more stroopwaffels, Bearded Bros bars, granola bars, etc. I needed "soft solids" that were easy to take down and I figured I was likely limited to noodles and rice from here on out. Not ideal, but whatever.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">I started feeling good on the 18 Mile descent, passing a few folks, cheerily chastising every single person wearing unnecessary Kogalla chest lights (they're dead set on burning the retinas of every competitor they come across!). As I descended, the sinus pressure from my cold slowly died off as the altimeter wound down. Pheww! I did some math and thought I had an absurdly small chance at still securing a sub-24 finish, so I picked up the pace and continued my smooth descent.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">After a few hours (yes, a "few" hours) of downhill escapades, the wheels started to come off. My quads tightened back up, and pain developed in the ball of my foot. It felt like I was stepping on a pebble that I couldn't dislodge. I tried making it back to Sally's to optimize time, but finally relented a couple miles up the trail and took off my shoe to dump it out. This did not work, which meant I likely had maceration from the sloppy trail conditions near the turnaround. So I was forced to strip off my socks and shoes at Sallys, Mile 66, diligently clean them with the help of an aid station volunteer -- wash, rinse, clean and dry with rubbing alcohol, etc. -- and then slip on new socks and shoes. The whole ordeal took nearly 15 minutes, but the maceration receded and the dirt and gunk was cleaned out of the skin folds, which meant the rest of the race would be considerably less painful … assuming I could keep my feet dry.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjGpd2zUl88m-Pkcnb3ZYa1_UpM3PEAMG-AjcxCMrG7yuu5KWzxQ26BXVfMSjREXjiDSQhzkC89FpVLezxm_G2qlg_EndiSwbUJZ9ueNdcpY79lFN9tLriUa4rshvEdgZPsJ5KP1PGTUtW5XHCodn-AwIu8UwI-yuu2DsOV3eRAg5Ryry7MrcI5n8y/s4032/PXL_20220617_214100591.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjGpd2zUl88m-Pkcnb3ZYa1_UpM3PEAMG-AjcxCMrG7yuu5KWzxQ26BXVfMSjREXjiDSQhzkC89FpVLezxm_G2qlg_EndiSwbUJZ9ueNdcpY79lFN9tLriUa4rshvEdgZPsJ5KP1PGTUtW5XHCodn-AwIu8UwI-yuu2DsOV3eRAg5Ryry7MrcI5n8y/w360-h640/PXL_20220617_214100591.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The rushing river at Sally's Footbridge</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">By that point, there was no chance in hell of making 23:59, so I slow-hiked my way up the 2500' climb to Bear Camp, all the while making sure to keep my feet as dry as possible. Along the way I started to get … sleepy. It didn't last long, but it was definitely weird considering I've never felt sleepy in any 100 Miler before, much less within 18-20 hours of starting a race.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">The sun rose and I rolled into Kern's Camp and wolfed down a piping hot cup of noodles. Then the fun began! A few yards outside of camp I gagged and tried mightily to no vomit. I succeeded, but had to hack up a considerable amount of bright green phlegm mixed with bits of chewed up ramen noodles. I officially had a full-on chest cold and could no longer take in solid food for fear of gagging on blobs of phlegm and vomiting all over the place. Yay running! But at least I had my trusty Long Haul sports drink for calories. … Except, well, without any solid foods to help moderate my "loose stomach", taking in only liquids was a dicey proposition, and over the next couple hours I paid the price with multiple jaunts into the woods. Well, not so much the woods as, well, just right out there in the open meadow. Wildflowers, piles of grass, some excellent velvety wildflower leaves … we became intimate friends.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJbkwGZjmzowCY_mMflKrr91NQ_-BStmK2hDx5bz0RlR9F35MVkM2qxZz3-Y-1FRUFyolfBrV72-vhw9gGj27ihQQJEsdHUNDVLGfH14uvg7jkMvGAiRLd2BnCXPiWdRw9a5DXQ8VZ3gOPqLlLmEDTY_QMUn5ko8gJcAe5KcKXPmYjWPuBe4pnq0Q-/s4032/PXL_20220617_210325778~2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJbkwGZjmzowCY_mMflKrr91NQ_-BStmK2hDx5bz0RlR9F35MVkM2qxZz3-Y-1FRUFyolfBrV72-vhw9gGj27ihQQJEsdHUNDVLGfH14uvg7jkMvGAiRLd2BnCXPiWdRw9a5DXQ8VZ3gOPqLlLmEDTY_QMUn5ko8gJcAe5KcKXPmYjWPuBe4pnq0Q-/w640-h360/PXL_20220617_210325778~2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wildflowers! (aka: TP)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">By the time I had to venture up the long, easy-grade climb to Dry Fork at Mile 83, I simply had no energy to do anything but slow hike the whole damn thing. I arrived to the Aid Station at about 22:30 and immediately thought <i>I should be done by now, and friggin Jordan Chang is definitely chilling at the finish right now!</i> I was exhausted. But, I still had work to do.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">I'd hoped to crest out after Dry Fork and ride the long descent at a good clip, but without any real calories, and practically no liquids either, my quads were not up to the task. And I got so frustrated that I refused to stop and put my cooling sleeves or hat back on, or dose up on sunscreen. The sun beat down on me and I slowly lumbered down about 4,000' of altitude, roasting along the way.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">After a lifetime of "running", I finally made it to The Dreaded Fire Road. Only 5 miles of painfully flat, exposed running to go! I checked my watch and realized I'd at least be making it in under 27 hours, and then proceeded to knock out some 9minute miles, willing my depleted, dehydrated body down that godforsaken road.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd00iiJtyPHG8k_GrUpD9YWQqeb51OaPnnot8KgsgoBj3WhQVLW_sIjdBgAVelCzDBlZA4EQAWwZlsVz5LtUMWGG1tgRjtPsxkPEZZc-5T5ASVKTqSbpBPlqsE58ToDHM7bJwXiaQNxvXvf9w_7UA9Ot3ZM1fAoIZMOhdmyBvJWTG1n0_uehm0QLv5/s3000/Bighorn-2022-KM-2568.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd00iiJtyPHG8k_GrUpD9YWQqeb51OaPnnot8KgsgoBj3WhQVLW_sIjdBgAVelCzDBlZA4EQAWwZlsVz5LtUMWGG1tgRjtPsxkPEZZc-5T5ASVKTqSbpBPlqsE58ToDHM7bJwXiaQNxvXvf9w_7UA9Ot3ZM1fAoIZMOhdmyBvJWTG1n0_uehm0QLv5/w640-h426/Bighorn-2022-KM-2568.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crying, or coughing "lung snot" into my hand? (PC: Mile90)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">Once I finished, I met up with Will Weidman, who'd been hanging out for over 2 hours at this point, and proceeded to spend, I dunno, a solid 40 minutes just sitting there, hacking up green goop from the depths of my lungs. But, I was done. I had my stupid Hardrock qualifier, and I finally got my stupid Bighorn buckle.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">Blergh!</p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">Did I mention I abandoned my family for like 5 days for this miserable experience? Man, I am a horrible husband and father.</p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpqpu7Kb0ObmTcsoPylkeeHdSEeB-0lhlv3YLRysfjTJaZpVjMQI71Yue3uS61DACncsMZ5DSXnPzJ5U80wXslK4HmEYtjJUs5GfF347MjxhuFlftyjbr-uFTPiqNIcphz8gHxC6FUCe_1KjE41IxXshJQX-D4m2iDTYfy9YbMH_9HzgbgQNk-OScD/s4032/PXL_20220618_205716288.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpqpu7Kb0ObmTcsoPylkeeHdSEeB-0lhlv3YLRysfjTJaZpVjMQI71Yue3uS61DACncsMZ5DSXnPzJ5U80wXslK4HmEYtjJUs5GfF347MjxhuFlftyjbr-uFTPiqNIcphz8gHxC6FUCe_1KjE41IxXshJQX-D4m2iDTYfy9YbMH_9HzgbgQNk-OScD/w360-h640/PXL_20220618_205716288.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All that suffering for a stupid hunk of metal...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">PostScript:</p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">I'm finally posting this after 6 weeks while holed up in my home office, recovering from COVID. Feeling sick the days before Bighorn, and with my travel partner Will getting a call that his kid might have been exposed, we both took COVID tests in the parking lot of Sheridan's Albertson's grocery store out of an abundance of caution. We both tested negative. That said, my current COVID infection came with the *exact same* symptoms I had at Bighorn -- most notably the sore throat followed by buckets of neon green chest goop. I've never had crazy chest congestion like this before, so I find it a bit ... unusual ... that I've now had it twice in 6 weeks. So did I have COVID at Bighorn and somehow tested negative? Who knows! All I know for sure is that Bighorn was the most god awful exhausting race experience of my life and it took my body 3 weeks to get over whatever illness I had going into the race. And then I got the same damn symptoms again a few weeks later! I'm starting to believe I'm cursed and I should just give up running altogether. Now, if you'll please excuse me, I have to run to the bathroom and cough up some more crud into the sink...</p>Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-49524258578134431602022-05-16T12:37:00.001-05:002022-05-16T12:47:38.218-05:00Aint Nothin Wrong with a DNF<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">Three years ago I had an amazing time at the Hellbender 100 in the mountains outside of Asheville, NC. That kind of race is my jam! Long, slow, unrelenting. 100 scenic mountain miles and over 20,000' of climbing? Hell yeah! The moment I finished, I knew I would be coming back, and it's not just because I was awarded a bottle of vodka at the finish line. I signed up for 2020, but yeah, we all know how that went. And out of an abundance of caution, the race was cancelled again in 2021.</p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">By the time 2022 rolled around, I'd turned into a completely different runner. I no longer live within close proximity to the mountains. And in the last year, my focus on the Backyard format had transformed the way I'd been training. Then throw in trying to juggle a brand new side business (<a href="https://longhaulsports.com/" target="_blank">Long Haul</a>), a full-time job, and parenting two young kids with my hard working spouse. At the end of it all, 2022 Chris is simply much different than 2019 Chris -- less mileage, more stress.</p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">I'd run four 100 Mile trail races in 2019, but only one since. I was itching to get back into the mountains for a fun, tough 100 Miler. I knew I didn't have peak mountain fitness, but I ran for 84 friggin hours straight at Big's, so I figured I could, at the very least, casually stroll through Hellbender, enjoying the fantastic trails and scenery. And that was my plan. No hard racing, no stress, no worrying about a top place or solid finishing time. I just wanted to get out there and enjoy an amazing race with an amazing course, put on by an amazing race director and amazing volunteers. Simple.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">But things didn't turn out that way. When, by all expectations, I should have been strolling to the finish of my umpteenth 100 miler, I was instead passed out in a cheap motel room 3 hours away. There were no broken bones, there was no heat exhaustion or hypothermia, nothing of the sort. My body just felt … empty. Depleted. Sluggish. Right from the start. So I quit. I gave up. I DNF'd.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCY9h7_kZdZy_yy-weEmKGXPvU7Tr7hKNUzEYQCcorl9jbaAtu6DSkoouMLJX9pBCPJGAYnk-E5gJSjidJv7wvnPtGsyTsUhGGDYTzp-eU7EMuHyfVfmmlVBuskhI-ROifn_1Q63L6lrFfQSeUKKaqCu6BRSp7UjJcFGB6257hLsL51mWOofndypK1/s4032/PXL_20220506_202030561.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCY9h7_kZdZy_yy-weEmKGXPvU7Tr7hKNUzEYQCcorl9jbaAtu6DSkoouMLJX9pBCPJGAYnk-E5gJSjidJv7wvnPtGsyTsUhGGDYTzp-eU7EMuHyfVfmmlVBuskhI-ROifn_1Q63L6lrFfQSeUKKaqCu6BRSp7UjJcFGB6257hLsL51mWOofndypK1/w640-h480/PXL_20220506_202030561.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I ran by this cool sign ... and then I quit</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">There's this underlying thread in ultrarunning, a machismo-fueled point of view, a finish-at-all-costs attitude. Many brag about having never DNF'd, others take pride in gutting it out through some genuinely sketchy conditions, and there are some who push their body so hard they spend post-race in the hospital. So much ego. I've never understood it. For 99.99% of us, running is a hobby, an enjoyable aside to the daily grind of normal life. It's not a war, or a deadly disease we must fight, it's supposed to be fun and freeing and enjoyable. And yes, at times it sucks, and there's a good deal of character-building to be had in gritting it out and overcoming obstacles. But there always needs to be an awareness of the difference between pushing yourself to achieve amazing things, and fighting against yourself.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">I drove 10 hours to get to the race, battling a headache most of the day, then at bedtime I went into a migraine that nearly caused me to throw up. I maybe had 2 hours of restless sleep before waking up to pouring rain at 2:45am. Then it was time to get ready for the 4:30am start. Race morning adrenaline warded off the headache and provided me with about 90 minutes of decent running to begin the day. Through the pre-dawn rain, I led the race with a buddy, eventual 2nd place finisher Will Weidman. I was intentionally slow and collected. The objective: have fun, revel in the joy of a full day of mountain running. But by the 2 hour mark, that comfortable pace felt exhausting. I slowed. Still exhausted. I randomly lost my breath. Downhills were klunky and lumbering. I was walking flat sections of trail because I could not get my legs to propel my body forward. I was tripping over rocks and roots I had no business tripping over. 12 miles into a 100 mile race. If it had been halfway through the race, I might've muscled through -- maybe it would pass, just another race day obstacle to overcome. But I was hit with whole-body fatigue right from the start. Honestly, I felt hungover. It was clear that something was wrong. I probably could have powered through, spent a good deal more hiking than I'd wanted, and still finished in a somewhat respectable time. But at what cost? If this were an ordinary weekend long run, I would've skipped it and slept in, given the migraine. Or, if I were starting the run and felt sluggish and empty, I probably would've cut it short to focus on rest and recovery, to live another day.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">There will always be another race waiting for us. Another chance to test our limits. Another opportunity to prove to ourselves we've put in the work and that we can do great things. To have staying-power in the sport that you love, you've got to listen to your body. Every race I've ever run, my wife has told me beforehand, without fail, "be safe, and listen to your body." I love ultra running, I love the trails, I love the grind, I love the process. 40 years from now, I want to be that old geezer, fighting cutoffs and loving every minute of it, showing those young whippersnappers how it's done. But I can't get there if I don't listen to my body, if I ignore it when it's clearly telling me that something isn't right.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">After the first climb and descent, I just knew my day was over. I elected to lazily hike and jog the next climb and descent in the off-chance my body turned things around. And so I strolled into the aid station at Mile 33, after 5 hours of, quite simply, not feeling like myself, resigned to quit. I instinctively went to my drop bag and started pulling out nutrition for the next section of the race, then stopped, looked around somewhat confusedly, collapsed to the ground and sat for a moment, then leaned over and rested my head on the grass. It felt good to give up. It felt like the right thing to do.<u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0in;">Listen to your body! Are you injured? Do you need more recovery time? Did you bite off way more than you could chew? Know the difference between pushing yourself and fighting yourself. Do that and you'll have staying power. Perhaps I'll see you out there on the trails, 40 years from now, loving every minute of it!</p>Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-3050398081024635452022-03-14T11:27:00.002-05:002022-03-14T12:18:16.792-05:00Chris Tries to Not Suck at The Barkley. Chris Fails.<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhRBq14plbP8avJEmLYNa9dNNxj5ecYTkw6KWdjsRRpnj_pozLrjirR7l-Gp4mskaTSh7nwxH2SmgI-SrgpNWbGSOFysP13h7PQd9VmP1V60QpsEbCYrD6qGCw2yKYqtbAUrzcS8Z3SJJTRURQyy1T503bEtcSdXjB8p6IwUuDcwl30MnwqGKgGZ_PK=s1440" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhRBq14plbP8avJEmLYNa9dNNxj5ecYTkw6KWdjsRRpnj_pozLrjirR7l-Gp4mskaTSh7nwxH2SmgI-SrgpNWbGSOFysP13h7PQd9VmP1V60QpsEbCYrD6qGCw2yKYqtbAUrzcS8Z3SJJTRURQyy1T503bEtcSdXjB8p6IwUuDcwl30MnwqGKgGZ_PK=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who's excited for failure?! This guy! (PC: Sarah Smith)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><p></p><p>From the moment I was born, I was destined to become a Barkley finisher…</p><p> </p><p>…Just kidding.</p><p> </p><p>I can't say when exactly it was, but by 2018, after a few years of feeling like I was nailing 100 milers, I decided I wanted something more challenging. When you look to The Next Level in hard, competitive US ultras, there's basically 2 options:</p><p></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>Hardrock</li><li>Barkley</li></ol><p></p><p>Now, I'd love to run Hardrock, and I've presently been waiting in the lottery for something like 8 years. But Barkley always held the highest level of intrigue. It's a tremendously extreme type of event designed to probe the limits of human endurance. And technically, anyone who's good enough to belong there has a path to get to The Yellow Gate -- do awesome stuff to impress Laz, apply, get on the "weightlist", and patiently wait your turn. So I set about that path. Barkley was now my Primary Running Objective.</p><p> </p><p>In 2019 I cranked out HURT, Hellbender, and Old Dominion in 5 months with solid top placings, and then nailed Grindstone in the fall. I decided I had gained enough fitness to have a shot at finishing a Fun Run. So I finally applied for Barkley and received a spot at the bottom of the weightlist, happy to wait a number of years as I slowly rose up. But in 2021 I decided to explore an accelerated route. I had a sense I'd be good at Backyards and I figured that race format would allow me to explore limits of sleep deprivation and fatigue, and it didn't hurt that Laz created the event style. I eventually wound up at Big's, the world championship for the format, right in Laz's backyard, and made a decent show of things. But I didn't win, so no automatic entry for Barkley. Nevertheless, by January I received my condolences. I was headed to The Yellow Gate!</p><p> </p><p>But there was a bit of a hitch. My training since Big's had been complete crap due to aggravating the labrum in my bad hip. I was largely limited to steep hiking and spending each night diligently stretching. Descending was de-prioritized to limit impact forces and allow my hip to heal. As a result, I felt that my climbing would be okay, but my descending at Barkley would be pedestrian at best. So no lead packs for me. I tried to not worry about what veteran I might work with, and instead focused on learning the course and gaining experience. I was now transitioning from my Primary Running Objective's multi-year Phase 1 -- Get into Barkley -- to (hopefully) the multi-year Phase 2 -- Not Suck at Barkley.</p><p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiuc87ozBg42HKgCb154m-_z34x0iv3G0SbfsgKn8Gq2U077y-9V490chvgPnz8Vf3X8WAlsdlRm3jz2t1-WECaftME9Fk_3Gu2Jiz8BrUDkNXfWsvqivD7kgsADWI1Y4ACWhP31HT9JbGgIFpZdtVIzc7CxS23IGb491omc5FaBED9eJJgQpPWVWPU=s1001" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="678" data-original-width="1001" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiuc87ozBg42HKgCb154m-_z34x0iv3G0SbfsgKn8Gq2U077y-9V490chvgPnz8Vf3X8WAlsdlRm3jz2t1-WECaftME9Fk_3Gu2Jiz8BrUDkNXfWsvqivD7kgsADWI1Y4ACWhP31HT9JbGgIFpZdtVIzc7CxS23IGb491omc5FaBED9eJJgQpPWVWPU=w640-h434" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The 2022 Barkley Course Map!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>I drove down to Frozen Head from STL a couple days early, jamming out to Dua Lipa and Taylor Swift. I made the astute observation that Tswift is a fan of The Barkley. If you listen to Treacherous, it becomes pretty obvious. <i>This slope is treacherous. This path is reckless. And I, I, I like it.</i> I'm guessing she heard about The Documentary when it was first coming out and wrote the song for her Red album, but the music execs made her change some of the lyrics to make it sound like a standard relationship song. But the timeline lines up, and the chorus lays it all out. So yeah, Treacherous was the official race song of The Barkley this year. Awesome!</p><p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHOBhJfo1PMEygEwW5bN80jCb9WT352GpnLgzWxboj8n3-g2Ot3WNMkF5X1Nr_z4Df1t1eIs9l7DYi5RNMeIT2vYg0Awh7cveFnCrXmlCzOIXzwzhAjtOXOUt4PMDYZ8J11sXrkfEpXAeGzGGrYD3uIm39BGGnimEZuPf84tc97FeKaWQ5peGNjqsG=s1920" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHOBhJfo1PMEygEwW5bN80jCb9WT352GpnLgzWxboj8n3-g2Ot3WNMkF5X1Nr_z4Df1t1eIs9l7DYi5RNMeIT2vYg0Awh7cveFnCrXmlCzOIXzwzhAjtOXOUt4PMDYZ8J11sXrkfEpXAeGzGGrYD3uIm39BGGnimEZuPf84tc97FeKaWQ5peGNjqsG=w225-h400" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm sure even Jared Campbell would agree that Taylor Swift wrote a song about The Barkley.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p>Jack, my crew chief at Big's, met up with me at the start and we set up camp in the cool kids spot right next to the gate. Our site ended up housing runners Greig Hamilton, Harvey Lewis, Karl Sabbe, and myself, with Mike Dobies, Keith Dunn, and Sarah Smith hanging out there as well. Monday was spent finishing setup and organizing gear. And, obviously, checking out the map and handing in my virgin license plate. I spent a couple hours copying the map, reviewing the course description, and chit-chatting with folks. Then it was time for some tossing and turning. The conch blew around daylight on Tuesday, and things got real. I was genuinely nervous to start a race, for the first time in years. I had no idea what the next day+ was going to be like, but I was ready for the adventure. All I knew for sure was that I was going to keep going until I got timed out. As I walked to the gate, everything became a bit of a blur. And then, the cigarette was lit.</p><p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhncsfELEuZffTVPEXWv_HFbFcT00ZpSg2_Z-XHg4_tp-qRKjx9t_fzA93_YLc818poMdKpyMl172VKJ3pSjkXLpzTg2u76pY8Y3t7XlzXNxfg0QDQqw5mJLEk9wsXBCv-oMYEPktObhmJDORR3UrIRGdlxlQuRmik_A5BcA0mPtD2BJCA914vtkqNl=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhncsfELEuZffTVPEXWv_HFbFcT00ZpSg2_Z-XHg4_tp-qRKjx9t_fzA93_YLc818poMdKpyMl172VKJ3pSjkXLpzTg2u76pY8Y3t7XlzXNxfg0QDQqw5mJLEk9wsXBCv-oMYEPktObhmJDORR3UrIRGdlxlQuRmik_A5BcA0mPtD2BJCA914vtkqNl=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home sweet home.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh8QMiCCON3HbHH3YlDFBV1m0-93z5T8g21_3uE_O7xKzqnYdhX73FjrU7H0_TqBsVfTzAlfPN4r1SXq8bqzO4wsrFphmN3g9cYndhq8szRDFwx4m8R7HjHqHAKafGPt26dvqLq8fLHpSAWpBRI6jnxV1D32KoUwdEJgqtho4mMjnqkONJ3WlHW6o_8=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh8QMiCCON3HbHH3YlDFBV1m0-93z5T8g21_3uE_O7xKzqnYdhX73FjrU7H0_TqBsVfTzAlfPN4r1SXq8bqzO4wsrFphmN3g9cYndhq8szRDFwx4m8R7HjHqHAKafGPt26dvqLq8fLHpSAWpBRI6jnxV1D32KoUwdEJgqtho4mMjnqkONJ3WlHW6o_8=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Race gear -- 90% of which will go unused!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh5oR6lpFwGg0yjCSTlulhUfHs2-KO-2ZNXKly4PsOJz3qAonDwW1hxR6yj1nAqvwnZsQ-YKM3A0SaCy_sG-VNMCEM_oVuaxtl8OPcMdvdjR6oaz5V0ASXhufvcf9iHjBm--u7n5aXJxKZImfAR9CIqYmHyVIL4QEF7QaHPQjI8zBvEywCKxK75WgvN=s2185" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2185" data-original-width="1576" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh5oR6lpFwGg0yjCSTlulhUfHs2-KO-2ZNXKly4PsOJz3qAonDwW1hxR6yj1nAqvwnZsQ-YKM3A0SaCy_sG-VNMCEM_oVuaxtl8OPcMdvdjR6oaz5V0ASXhufvcf9iHjBm--u7n5aXJxKZImfAR9CIqYmHyVIL4QEF7QaHPQjI8zBvEywCKxK75WgvN=w289-h400" width="289" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pre-race action shot (PC: Jack Kurisky)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>The first climb, a completely new section, started out battering my legs like a Tonya Harding hit job. Instead of a chill jaunt up the typical Bird Mountain Trail, we immediately met off-trail slopes as steep as anything I'd dealt with in training. Many people flew up hard and fast, but I focused on warming up my calves for the entire first climb. The first book was a breeze, then it was on to the first descent. I quickly linked up with Jodi Isenor's group, including Alyssa Godesky. I figured this would be a good place to hang out. The early miles of The Barkley is basically a form of speed dating where virgins desperately seek out a veteran date to show them the ropes. Jodi was on my pre-race list because of his experience and his sweet, sexy past Fun Run. I fully trusted Jodi to navigate the course in a time respectable enough for a fun run finish.</p><p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjoa7n4IjoeffyZxt8BCNENsK7Aq-RdETaTG60yBo-IwrCF6aAJMWrWR1NIW1YlmEXrSFlVIwJzvJlFMvrYezNFvwocO1gTV-_vpnX7vVI5SmkddWnM2bFLqU2tv77bxFwnZwu8uirHnUVdCii3Qxee8c3_vhGvPmPWH-9uLc6WQ6Qv2wvOUExBrJw8=s1080" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjoa7n4IjoeffyZxt8BCNENsK7Aq-RdETaTG60yBo-IwrCF6aAJMWrWR1NIW1YlmEXrSFlVIwJzvJlFMvrYezNFvwocO1gTV-_vpnX7vVI5SmkddWnM2bFLqU2tv77bxFwnZwu8uirHnUVdCii3Qxee8c3_vhGvPmPWH-9uLc6WQ6Qv2wvOUExBrJw8=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Jack at The Yellow Gate.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p>After the 2nd Book we climbed up Jury Ridge, starting on the easy North Boundary Trail. The pace was calm and patient and I felt like the whole group was being smart about effort and I was looking forward to working with them for the first loop. At one point I joked that I was just going to follow Jodi for a whole lap and then drop him hard. Later in camp, Dobies had to explain to Jodi that I was being sarcastic, and not a "real asshole". My wife warned me about that kind of behavior, but when it's something you're born with, it's just really, really hard to not be sarcastic 24/7. Sigh…</p><p><br /></p><p>Anyways … towards the top of the climb I stopped to pee and get a quick bite to eat, then again to tighten up my shoes. When all was said and done, the group was out of sight and I was left close to Katie Wright. I was comfortable just chilling with her for a bit and had zero intention of hightailing it ahead of the gal who stepped in to help crew me on my 4th day at Big's. We easily grabbed the 3rd book and then departed down to the next one.</p><p> </p><p>Katie and I took a less than stellar line starting down and it was slow going. We ended up on a minor ridge too close to the drainage on our right and kept drifting down towards it and its healthy supply of boulders. There was a "road" higher up to our left and we kept trying to intercept it while skirting the drainage, but had little success. Eventually we were passed by a couple of freewheeling Euro chicks who basically blasted down the drainage and we kinda sorta followed suit. At some point along the way, I was using my poles on the descent to control my direction and one pole slipped between two rocks and quickly learned a painful physics lesson. The carbon fiber pole snapped like a twig. Fan-freakin-tastic. We ended up coming down to the book location, but it took way too much effort and time. As we arrived, folks already had the book in hand, and I was not the last one to pull a page. As a result I impatiently failed to make a mental note of precisely how the book was hidden, which came back to bite me big-time on Loop 2 in the dark.</p><p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjaFMgvTwG1pOWxyjdA1KLsMqSPFvnqC4TmE0v9Fxn1G1P5yXpy8gTAbYJ1A09Vk4GPUD8a-Yz3wXpDB1vEiLCOmtU5mOjvyxcKIYjbfKxHEuR3e1_RBxHjSQOJrAqKWYJIV4hEm5Qpzl5qRIQMYP2fktDnL_-s8FNS9jsSRSe0Rhkei9wA9YSJPJQU=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjaFMgvTwG1pOWxyjdA1KLsMqSPFvnqC4TmE0v9Fxn1G1P5yXpy8gTAbYJ1A09Vk4GPUD8a-Yz3wXpDB1vEiLCOmtU5mOjvyxcKIYjbfKxHEuR3e1_RBxHjSQOJrAqKWYJIV4hEm5Qpzl5qRIQMYP2fktDnL_-s8FNS9jsSRSe0Rhkei9wA9YSJPJQU=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheater sticks aren't supposed to look like that.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p>I took off on the next climb, easily following the ridge and separating from the others. At one point I picked up a stick -- Old Hickory -- that worked well as a replacement pole. The Barkley is a fickle beast … it takes away your brand new carbon fiber cheater sticks, only to offer up bespoke walking sticks, complete with ergonomic knobs to cradle the edge of your hand. The next book was the first one I found all on my own, which came with a pretty awesome sense of accomplishment, even though it was just a simple rock on the top of a mountain. Then it was easy work getting up to the Garden Spot, and as I approached the Water Drop I saw Jodi's group heading out.</p><p> </p><p>I had a patient water fill and stripped down to a t-shirt. Because it was getting warm and sunny, I mixed up a bottle of my Long Haul Ginger Peach Tea to sip on in the afternoon hours. It was so delicious! (blatant company plug, go buy my sports drink) I figured I was about 5 minutes behind Jodi and Company and so I started running down the Coal Road a bit hard in an attempt to catch up to them before the next off-trail section. I failed. And then I wasted a couple minutes trying to decide on what the right line should be to cut through a horseshoe bend in the road. My line was not good enough and I cliffed out and had to tear through the woods until it was safe to descend. Then it was time to jump off again into the next drainage. As I wasted another couple minutes contemplating where to jump in and what my line should be, another runner came zipping down the prior descent. It was a virgin named Ivan, and he had a boatload of intel from a veteran on what to do. So the two of us virgins hooked up to fool around in the woods for a while. <i>Bow chicka wow wow!</i> We wandered on down the Coal Road a bit as he attempted to count strides to the jumping off spot. I don't think we hit it precisely, and we didn't have the cleanest line down the drainage, but eventually we made it through and proceeded on to Bobcat Rock and Leonard's Buttslide.</p><p> </p><p>LBS was a real treat! Those upper slopes were the first time I just capitulated and allowed my feet to be swept out from under me and ride down sections on my ass. About 1/3rd of the way down I bumped into Alyssa coming back up with the rest of Jodi's group. I figured I went from maybe 2-3 minutes back to nearly 30 minutes back now, entirely a result of not knowing the best lines through a 1 mile stretch of Stallion Mountain coal roads. Ivan and I hit a good line down to the bottom and came upon the book in no-time-flat. Then it was back up. Pretty easy cruise control until the absurdly steep upper slopes where I was clinging to roots and trees to hoist myself up. Then onwards through the cave and up to the next book. Ivan crested and started to look around on the verge of wandering, but the moment I got up there I knew exactly what was up and went straight to the book. <i>I'm getting pretty good at this whole Daylight Barkley stuff!</i></p><p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjkM1VQVcHp2meysTKD7-xfRU0_bkyMhZVM8w2iyHT7X9UjdmNRWU_VnO0b-9SQ_DADZxoF-W4PJMtA74E4Dzsta41A5KmtJilwWwYUYEgDG4zPWA9esXGYhiuf3H1Y4MBjgwMAyrBMeV0g9cQ2EGrjYMvcHwg6b8gETK_bbklE6WPYYNdSwKNr8o4h=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjkM1VQVcHp2meysTKD7-xfRU0_bkyMhZVM8w2iyHT7X9UjdmNRWU_VnO0b-9SQ_DADZxoF-W4PJMtA74E4Dzsta41A5KmtJilwWwYUYEgDG4zPWA9esXGYhiuf3H1Y4MBjgwMAyrBMeV0g9cQ2EGrjYMvcHwg6b8gETK_bbklE6WPYYNdSwKNr8o4h=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Irrelevant to the storyline, but this was my pre-race breakfast. My son was so freakin jealous!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p>The next stretch to get down to the New River Valley started off a bit slow and confusing. It seemed easy enough -- just follow the ridge -- but Ivan was more concerned about certain visual indicators along the way. We hit a couple of choke points and a small cliff that we had to work around, but it wasn't too bad of a job. Then we came upon an old road, something I'd call a road and not Laz's idea of a" road". I wanted to cross it and continue into the woods on the ridgeline. But Ivan's intel described going down the road. I wasn't too comfortable with this idea, but there were shoe prints heading down the road, so I reluctantly went that way. After a couple bends, we jumped into the final hollow to reach the valley. We got down there and then there was a good bit of confusion trying to find one of these "roads" Laz says to follow upriver. After a while I just said screw it and forged off into the woody river bottom, knowing at some point we’d get to where we needed to go. Eventually Ivan found "the road" and we followed it upriver. Ivan nearly ran past the next book but I immediately noticed two rocks on the ground that were suspiciously regularly shaped. I kicked the moss and it was obvious I was at "the columns", so I yelled to Ivan to stop and look for the next book. The moment I did that, a group that was right on our rear gleefully shouted that they'd found the ziplock bag with the book hanging out, up on the bank to my left. Truthfully, I was pissed. I found the stuff Laz described in the course description and was about ready to see the book, but was bested by someone else who just happened to see some plastic bag reflecting light in the afternoon sun. So I got up there and impatiently waited to get my page. Then it was off to tackle Little Hell.</p><p> </p><p>The group that caught up to us had a veteran, but they were jibber-jabbering about compass bearings so I just took off ahead of them. We climb a ridge, the ridge, the only damn ridge. Just go up! After a couple of stupid decisions on the ridge -- why not just head straight up into this coal reservoir between two minor ridges, what could go wrong?! -- and trudging my way through dense sawbriers, I grabbed the next book and went on to Rat Jaw.</p><p> </p><p>On the descent, Ivan and I did not know about an upper rock ledge and barreled right off the trail into the briers. I felt like I'd flung myself into a net filled with spikes. It took a couple minutes to realize we'd missed a turn off, down, and around the ledge. Good Times! But the rest of the descent was fairly clean, with little bits of skating and butt sliding. Then through the tunnel and to the Prison Book.</p><p> </p><p>Ivan and I started working our way up to the next book and I feel like we followed the directions and the ridgeline we were supposed to, but we ended up too far down the line of capstones. I was 99% sure we needed to be at one particular end of the capstones. He wasn't positive about that, but he started off to investigate. After a few minutes he trudged back. No Dice. I wasn't buying it, but I figured it was a great chance to familiarize myself with this area. So I hightailed it all the way to the other end of the capstones just to feel the area out. Then I backtracked and eventually clambered above the capstones to scope everything out. As I was doing so, I saw The Compass Crew passing through the capstones. Jackpot! I yelled to Ivan and we were back in business. Another 20 minutes wasted on the course, but lessons were being learned!</p><p> </p><p>We took a quick compass bearing then started down the Zipline to the Beech Tree. The line was a disaster in spots, bumbling into boulder fields, but we quickly overtook the other group and then I spotted the Leaf Churn from other runners and cruised on that all the way down to the Beech Tree.</p><p> </p><p>I quickly dropped everyone around me on the last climb. I was feeling good and figured even with the 60-80 minutes of accumulated delays from not having a veteran holding my hand, I was still going to roll into camp in under 11 hours, with a solid shot at a 40 hour Fun Run. After I collected the final book page I continued congratulating myself and inadvertently turned the wrong way on the Chimney Top Trail that leads back to camp. You're supposed to go left when you hit the trail. But when you hit the trail you're coming out of the woods so it's not like there's a junction sign or anything. So I intercepted the trail at a slight right-ward angle and smack dab in front of me was green Chimney Top double blazes and a distinct left. Boom! I rode that awhile and started to feel confused. <i>I didn’t know we passed by all the chimney rocks on the way back to camp, hmmm. This descent doesn't feel as steep as it's supposed to. What's the deal with this flat section.</i> Then I look at my watch. Shit. Nearly 30 minutes has gone by since the last book. This isn't right. I should've dropped down to the Rough Ridge climb by now. Then I saw the Fireplace just before Mart's Field off in the distance. FUCK! I just went 3 miles in the wrong direction. Oh well. I turned around and high-tailed it back to camp to sneak in just under 12:00.</p><p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhOSi_cNrqFCQAuI-edzAcCSrWQvFXyyOqvs5_VezcrkqR5j0f1xElQCNIJHaUsMTMG6WeFmFQjYZ4vzd82aiGL_pZh9HNUC8BSrsERC0q76jLydRnYyEjHyM0lARYHgXjlEi_e8asqL7_VkwyYgOLiVn4vkq2zrd6faToCIcWsq_z9zpgg_Yf26Hka=s640" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhOSi_cNrqFCQAuI-edzAcCSrWQvFXyyOqvs5_VezcrkqR5j0f1xElQCNIJHaUsMTMG6WeFmFQjYZ4vzd82aiGL_pZh9HNUC8BSrsERC0q76jLydRnYyEjHyM0lARYHgXjlEi_e8asqL7_VkwyYgOLiVn4vkq2zrd6faToCIcWsq_z9zpgg_Yf26Hka=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's dark, why am I just now arriving at the gate?! Oh yeah, cuz I'm an idiot.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p>The interloopal wasn't spectacular, but my crew chief Jack got me all ready to go with an assist from Sarah Smith. I ended up wolfing down nearly 1000 calories to drown out my embarrassment of making the Furtaw Fumble on Chimney Top. In the middle of it all I distinctly remember uttering "I think I just fucked up my Fun Run." Such is life. I proceeded to head back out for Loop 2 into the night, knowing a long dark night of very cold rain awaited me.</p><p> </p><p>The first climb was a doozie. I wasn't tired, but man was I slow. I stopped twice, to throw on my rain jacket and then rain pants. On Loop 1 I got to the first book in maybe 33 minutes. This time around it was more like 85. Pathetic. I'm pretty sure I simply took in too many calories in camp and my body was all like "Bruh, chill on this stupid hiking pace, I gotta digest all this damned food you just ate." At the top I realized that Barkley had just stolen 2 hours from me between 2 books. A Fun Run was not gonna happen. For some reason I decided I didn't want to turn onto Jacque Mate until I'd identified the old Book 1 rock. I rounded a turn and started veering away from the ridge and knew I'd somehow passed it. Instead of just accepting that and going down to Book 2, I turned around to keep looking. A runner came up on me -- I'd passed him as he struggled to find Book 1. It was John Clarke, one of the folks from The Compass Crew that Ivan and I passed earlier. I explained my stupid activity and he was like "come on, lets go". I followed him for a minute and then it was very clear he didn't want to run Jacque Mate like we were supposed to. I politely inquired: <i>what the hell are you doing?</i> He said we had to cross over the ravine. I was all like, <i>umm, why the hell would we do that?!</i> Then he went on about some kind of stride counting after the ravine and taking some kind of compass line. He said it was a cleaner line than Jacque Mate … but he was a virgin, too, so how he came up with this cockamamie idea is beyond me because the course description is painfully clear. I was in the learning mood though, and I didn't want to backtrack, so I let him lead me down a ridiculous line -- <i>let's keep checking that compass as we trudge through godforsaken rocks and deadfall to maintain the sacred azimuth!</i> The whole time I bitched about how stupid it was and how much easier it would have been to simply follow the Jacque Mate ridge like we were supposed to. We eventually got spit out on the NBT about 150 yards above Book 2. I checked my watch -- about 2:28 on the loop vs 1:06 from loop 1. More time lost. Son of a bitch!</p><p> </p><p>I hiked up to Book 3 and then made note of the compass bearing to try and ride the ridge down to Book 4 that Katie and I undershot the first time around. I stumbled through some rocks and such, but it was a good deal cleaner than in the daylight, and I finally found "the road" down. Once I got to the confluence I struggled to find the book. I spent like 10 minutes checking a dozen trees. I couldn't find the damn thing. It was pitch black, raining hard, and every drainage was flowing like crazy. Am I at the wrong confluence? This looks right, but where the hell is the book?! I decided it was time to go on an adventure. I'm not sure of what all I did, but I effectively explored both upstream and downstream, trying to make sense of the terrain and the drainages – in the dark, in the middle of a downpour. After a while downstream I became convinced I was firmly in the river bottom, so with knowledge that there was no confluence below that original one, I hopped onto the other side of the stream and backtracked up "the road". When I got to the original confluence I looked at every damn tree trying to find the stupid book again. And then, all of a sudden, there it was, right where it should've been. I firmly remember looking for a book behind 2 rocks leaning against a tree instead of a book between 2 rocks on a bank behind a tree. Catch that distinction? Oops! Either way, that was an exciting 90 minutes of my life I'll never get back. But, now I have a very firm notion of how to approach that book and exactly where it's located. I'll not be bungling that in the future.</p><p> </p><p>I hightailed it up to get to Book 5, climbing fairly well. Around this point, I snapped Old Hickory and had to find a less awesome replacement. In the dense fog I accidentally crossed over the NBT where we were supposed to turn, and just kept going on the ridge. The ridge quickly flattened, which was odd, but I kept going for a few more minutes. I eventually pulled out my map and quickly realized what happened. But instead of turn back, I was intrigued by an odd flickering in the distance. I continued on to a big round fence, and just beyond it a sign that said something to the effect of: Feral Hog Pen, Stay Away. <i>Awesome! Did I just find a new Book location for Laz?</i> I noticed I should be close to the Cumberland Trail so I continued on my line to confirm. Sure enough, maybe 100 meters later I bumped into the Cumberland. Now being 100% sure of my whereabouts, I took a hard line back over to the NBT to reacquire the proper course. Climbing to the top of Bald Knob was a real treat. The winds were howling like crazy, with bitterly cold rain. The fog was so bad you couldn't see park boundary markers. I almost got blown over a couple times near the top. That was the only time all night I felt genuinely cold. At the Book I engaged in my new ritual of pulling off my sopping wet gloves, securing my page, wringing out as much muddy water from my gloves as possible, then throwing them back on, downing some calories, and shooting off to the next part of the course.</p><p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgX2OmHD9gw2oQuQFfhcu8wIqTBNyEMzcN2IhDYtAHTmIMyud-Us8Rps1_dgCoEa_1WYGuCMOuw47rFsSR6jm_OEwFcnoagjsbjYlSRj0Top9n_4b9FnJ3XtuQ_j7w85IwvPBnUAB_Ip5EdDgx6WMnuANyGKPHulth4jz5oaIg18bUbVovEKuBXhOkU=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgX2OmHD9gw2oQuQFfhcu8wIqTBNyEMzcN2IhDYtAHTmIMyud-Us8Rps1_dgCoEa_1WYGuCMOuw47rFsSR6jm_OEwFcnoagjsbjYlSRj0Top9n_4b9FnJ3XtuQ_j7w85IwvPBnUAB_Ip5EdDgx6WMnuANyGKPHulth4jz5oaIg18bUbVovEKuBXhOkU=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Randomly throwing in a pic of my Loop 2 pages (drying out in the garage).</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p>The NBT that was taken over to the Garden Spot was a pain in the ass. The ground was so wet that the single track was like pudding. And it's nearly all on a slight camber. So a majority of your steps resulted in a slide to the downslope. 12 minute miles was about as good a pace as I could muster without risking slipping off the trail. I reached the Garden Spot in 8 hours, it'd only taken 4 on the first Loop. Oh well. I popped down to the Coal Road, made a turn, and was greeted with a bright headlamp shining in my face. A runner had his map out with a quizzical stare and blurted "we're going the wrong way". <i>No, we're not.</i> "We should've taken that left back there." <i>No, that's the Cold Gap cutoff.</i> He seemed out of it and miserable, and unconvinced. He wanted to quit. I asked him why he'd do that, it was like a 3 hour hike back to camp so why not keep going. I told him I was going to run ahead for 10 or 15 minutes to confirm it's the right way, just to coax him along. He followed along behind me, muttering about it being the wrong way. At one point I looked back and his headlamp was still there. Then I rounded a corner, and nothing but darkness. On I went. I took a lot of time assessing the dropdown to the next ravine. I wasn't gonna Fun Run anymore, so why not waste some time trying to be sure of where I should go. I eventually decided I'd found the right spot and then I thought <i>it's just a 300' descent so go tear ass down to the next coal road, it'll be a piece of cake!</i> So that's what I did. Only, in a matter of seconds I nearly ran off a 50' cliff. I looked around for 5 minutes to the right. No dice. Time to backtrack. Then off to the left. After another 5 minutes I finally found the edge, and a convenient Leaf Churn indicating the proper route. So much wasted time!</p><p> </p><p>I figured the worst was over. LBS would be simple. It was a piece of cake in the daytime. Boy was I wrong. I started off just fine and I thought I was coming up close to the proper confluence. Then I got cliffed out near the bottom. Which was odd cuz that didn't happen the first time around. I couldn't see a way down. I thought I was too close to the confluence so I ventured to the left for aways. No luck. Scramble up aways for a better vantage, go this way, go that way, no way down. I finally found a light game trail, which I soon realized was actually "the road" that travels through the valley. After more failed attempts to get around the cliff, I started to entertain the idea of extracting via "the road", but was afraid the river would be raging too much downstream to cross over. An hour had already been wasted, so I figured why not keep plodding along, trying to solve the problem of Book 7. I then realized I was looking at the wrong confluence. In my descent I'd veered off slightly and wasn't looking at the correct New River confluence, but was actually downstream a short bit looking at the New River's confluence with a drainage on the other side of the valley. Bingo! Now I know what to do! I backtracked up "the road" until I could find a way past the cliffs and down to the river bottom. I got all the way down and approached the proper confluence. But still, no dice. Another 10 minutes of searching and still nothing. So I started to climb out to try for a better vantage. As I did so, I popped up on an upper flat, and right there, staring me straight on in the face, was the rock foundation with Book 7 sticking out. Another thrilling 90 minute adventure exploring drainages!</p><p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjXXohVPOuij4FNUl53JurQrXFv0Tu36F8mcggTh40mXni2E2Ks_eMjXwXJy3WOKoMrxX1Xrc1YWxvaI9WyA-yHmTiXLPqGp8_mFu9PyE364NRYThASJUu7OS9ZtizspY6egKGKTeL_G3-yg9QYxALQqZG4KfDEtWlpEPD6MhEgM0Kyad49SV3rkn82=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjXXohVPOuij4FNUl53JurQrXFv0Tu36F8mcggTh40mXni2E2Ks_eMjXwXJy3WOKoMrxX1Xrc1YWxvaI9WyA-yHmTiXLPqGp8_mFu9PyE364NRYThASJUu7OS9ZtizspY6egKGKTeL_G3-yg9QYxALQqZG4KfDEtWlpEPD6MhEgM0Kyad49SV3rkn82=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Random pic of my gear drying out.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p>Dawn approached as I came up LBS and on to Book 8. Then it was off down Fykes into the New River Valley. I was a bit faster this time than with Ivan and I did a pretty good job staying with the Leaf Churn. At the lower road, I wanted to stay true to the intent of the course and decided to stick with the ridge line instead of the road. But I couldn't find the Leaf Churn and didn't have the best line down. I think as I was coming down, Karel Sabbe was coming up on the other side of the ridge on his 3rd Loop. I got down to the valley and spent some time deliberately trying to follow "the road". Sometimes I saw Leaf Churn, then I'd lose it. It woulda been faster to just tear through the woods, but I was trying to learn the course as best I could. I finally ventured over to the Skillet Book and then proceeded up Little Hell. Halfway up I crossed paths with Greig on his 3rd Loop. We exchanged pleasantries. He seemed stoked that I wasn't quitting, but then again, he's a happy-go-lucky Kiwi so he's probably always stoked about everything. </p><p> </p><p>At the Fire Tower there were some photographers waiting for the Loop 3 runners. I asked that they let camp know I'd arrived and would finish the loop after the cutoff, then I dove down into Rat Jaw. It was a slip-slidey mess and I skated on my shoes and ass whenever possible. Halfway down I crossed John Kelly. More pleasantries exchanged. Then I hit a steep stretch and slid like 30 feet and lost grip of my Old Hickory #2. I contemplated trudging back up to retrieve it, but opted not to. And there it remains, to this very day, abandoned and alone on Rat Jaw.</p><p> </p><p>I took my sweet ass time at the Prison, snacking, swapping out soaking wet gloves, finally removing my rain jacket, and stripping off my waterproof pants whose entire ass section had been torn away from all of the butt sliding. Then I went up to Indian Knob, trying to replicate the line Ivan and I took, but trying to see if there was a way to not drift so far down the capstones. I found Old Hickory #3 along the way. At the end of the climb, I still ended up roughly where we'd hit on Loop 1 and then wasted 10 minutes tramping over to the proper capstone. On the map it still seems like the right line, which has me utterly confused. Next time around the park I'd really like to run with a seasoned veteran to see what they do and to find the Leaf Churn.</p><p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTfs9OrFLQbrh1QzeAfcI2BbpgD4A44l870M4Aa8KkdTAmRjfX-Xd1bfEN2830CGjHl7nR22vxyVkML1FLRALoENVwA-4H3k8dGIn8W21w-PhRVf8mXfLqXm8cKS_9DR-7OYLV7ihz-XnC1t5oLBYBv6P3b6JqaoHIvmPam6d8yUMD9oyLpleI8Pu1=s1440" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTfs9OrFLQbrh1QzeAfcI2BbpgD4A44l870M4Aa8KkdTAmRjfX-Xd1bfEN2830CGjHl7nR22vxyVkML1FLRALoENVwA-4H3k8dGIn8W21w-PhRVf8mXfLqXm8cKS_9DR-7OYLV7ihz-XnC1t5oLBYBv6P3b6JqaoHIvmPam6d8yUMD9oyLpleI8Pu1=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These pants were not meant for butt sliding!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p>Then it was on down to the Beech Tree. I followed some Leaf Churn here and there, but there was still a decent bit of drifting into small boulder fields and hitting inefficient lines. Eventually I hit "the road" and flew down to Book 13. Then it was a final climb back up to Chimney Top, a proper turn, and an easy cruise back to camp to finish in, I dunno, 30:40 or some ridiculous time.</p><p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYF9kLLOV_qMhYUcCmyhepHUte-idJxDVO2NLKwH74NPoC4D2Cicr5H1Pomc1pj1imTB9opB6cCX3AYp-h3r2RZQRgf3Yf0QAZkrnQiCuJvsZQ7wCCTUezDR_ArpVFIvL9FtLKR7Kyz6wNLwFYb069GQZ1RRNhJhIIIAxTIigV6dM78HZBsVZq_i82=s1080" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1080" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYF9kLLOV_qMhYUcCmyhepHUte-idJxDVO2NLKwH74NPoC4D2Cicr5H1Pomc1pj1imTB9opB6cCX3AYp-h3r2RZQRgf3Yf0QAZkrnQiCuJvsZQ7wCCTUezDR_ArpVFIvL9FtLKR7Kyz6wNLwFYb069GQZ1RRNhJhIIIAxTIigV6dM78HZBsVZq_i82=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Chris Finally" arrives at camp. (PC: Sam Hartman, I think)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p>It was a disappointing romp through the woods in the sense that I thought I had Fun Run fitness, but it slipped away. If I'd tried harder to reconnect with Jodi's group, I may very well have gotten in 3 Loops. But whatever. I thoroughly enjoyed cliffing out and getting confused by the raging drainages in the dark. Going alone gave me so many opportunities to make mistakes and learn lessons for the future. I walked away feeling I'd learned enough to have an honest go at starting a 4th loop if I'm ever invited back … assuming I team up with a solid veteran at the beginning and my training doesn't get bogged down by another stupid injury.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Here's a brief accounting of my lost time on the course -- mistakes I've learned from and will hopefully avoid in the future:</p><p>Loop 1</p><p></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>Bad line down to Book 4 -- 10min</li><li>Unfamiliarity with Coal Road Jump Offs before LBS -- 15min</li><li>Slow going down Fykes -- 10min</li><li>Is this Lickskillet Road? -- 10min</li><li>Indian Knob Adventure -- 20min</li><li>Furtaw Fumble -- 60 min</li></ol><p></p><p>Loop 1 Noteworthy Errors: 2:05</p><p>Adjusted Loop 1 Time: 9:50</p><p> </p><p>Loop 2</p><p></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>Interloopal Binge slowing me down -- Let's say 30min</li><li>Not Jacque Mate -- 30min</li><li>Book 4 Explore -- 90min</li><li>Feral Hog Pen -- 15min</li><li>NBT slip-n-slide laziness -- 15min</li><li>Ravine Doublecheck -- 10min</li><li>Ravine Cliff Out -- 15min</li><li>Book 7 Cliff Out and Drainage Confusion -- 90min</li><li>Seriously, is this Lickskillet Road? -- 10min</li><li>Prison Picnic -- 10min</li><li>Another failed Indian Knob -- 10min</li></ol><p></p><p>Loop 2 Noteworthy Errors: 5:25</p><p>Adjusted Loop 2 Time: ~13:00</p><p> </p><p>So yeah, if I had a tour guide the whole time going at a good pace that aligned with my current abilities, I'd confidently say a Fun Run was on the table. But I was a virgin doing his own thing. I have to believe that with a good bout of healthy training, if Laz invited me back for 2023, I'd have a damn good shot at a 40 Hour Fun Run, and a half decent shot at starting Loop 4. I'll happily take that confidence and ride it through my training for the next year!</p><p> </p><p>All in all, Barkley was one of my favorite experiences in the sport thus far. There's just nothing else like it. The climbs were so gnarly and so much fun. I truly believe that the race format accentuates my strengths. It wasn't very apparent this time around, though. That hip injury after Big's really cramped my style. And not having a vet from the start led to a good bit of wasted time. But I'd like to think sticking it out through the overnight rainfest showed a bit of fortitude on my part, considering most everyone else dropped on Loop 2. I never felt gassed on the climbs, I prepared well for the elements, and I never once felt the slightest bit sleepy.</p><p><br /></p><p>I’ve got to thank my wife for holding down the fort as I disappeared for 4 days to go aimlessly wander in the woods. And thanks to my in-laws for helping out with kids’ school duties. Jack was amazing again as crew, I just wish I’d given him more loops to help out! Sarah and Dobies and Keith were great company at camp, too.</p><p><br /></p><p>Here’s hoping I get to take another crack at The Barkley next year!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEguW4MPFoj8FbX0l5L25UbKWSM4IqyiWiMzf_2KZ53c7E7Tk4OpA2wKjRhLVrJsZAe-EuYgmHXJQEwsvUDyyiLs_4MEeVogmWKhccrPtWOzQwcnlW-KVvvZpx5aDCQZ3YhET13nv5nY_vabaVmHSBAqK_KpwK29v39AxKMnzyV-7WZUeR6sf9Jp20Rj=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEguW4MPFoj8FbX0l5L25UbKWSM4IqyiWiMzf_2KZ53c7E7Tk4OpA2wKjRhLVrJsZAe-EuYgmHXJQEwsvUDyyiLs_4MEeVogmWKhccrPtWOzQwcnlW-KVvvZpx5aDCQZ3YhET13nv5nY_vabaVmHSBAqK_KpwK29v39AxKMnzyV-7WZUeR6sf9Jp20Rj=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-44584251545862533702022-01-01T12:01:00.004-06:002022-01-01T12:11:23.293-06:00Another year down -- 2021<div>Running-wise, 2021 was a pretty big year for me. So I wanted to take some time to reflect on how the year went, and what I look forward to in 2022.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>2021 Accomplishments, TLDR Edition:</b></div><div>✅ Lose my mind from sleep deprivation at a Backyard</div><div>✅ Kick ass and have fun at Black Hills 100 with my nemesis</div><div>✅ Watch people suffer at The JIM</div><div>✅ Lose to Harvey Lewis at Big's</div><div>✅ Impress an old dude who wears flannel shirts</div><div>✅ Impress another old dude who lives in Virginia</div><div>✅ Get embarrassed by Andersen at Hellgate</div><div>✅ Start a sports drink company (<i>…Another, really? Are you sure that's a good idea?</i>) in the hopes of experiencing crippling bankruptcy in the near future</div><div>✅ Fail to hit 2600 miles in a year, for the billionth year in a row</div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div>More than anything 2021 was a year of almost-injuries. Post-Hellgate 2020, I developed peroneal/ankle problems and took it easy the first 2 months of the year. Then I got back at it in March only to jack up my MCL on some gnarly SDR™ trail in the middle of the night. The middle of the year was fine. Then there was the infamous knee problem at Big's. And finally, messing up my "bad" hip just before Hellgate. All in all, I probably had 14+ "down weeks" of crap mileage due to these random problems. Luckily, some of that well aligned with post-race recovery. But still, there was a lot of lost time, most of which could've been avoided if I simply stretched and did yoga.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>Racing this year was fairly low-key, and I really enjoyed it. I had my first-ever Missouri ultra at the Berryman 50 back in May that I used as a tune-up long run before Capital Backyard. It was nice to finally meet some local runners after 2 years of living in STL, and I'm excited to become more active in the local scene, in the land of painfully flat and runnable races.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>The backyards I ran this year were, simply, incredible. I had a gut feeling I'd be pretty good at a race style that rewards patience, easy effort, and the ability to go long stretches without sleeping. But at Capital, I far exceeded my expectations. It was an amazing experience getting the chance to go back to DC and see so many Happy Trails folks and test my limits. Towards the end, the race was a crazy sleep-deprived roller coaster, but I learned a lot about how to manage that style of race, and I learned how hard it is to succeed at that race format while attempting to go it alone.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>Big's was hard to put into words. 1% of me walked away bummed that my knee just wasn't having it towards the end. But the other 99% was filled with gratitude -- for the experience, for my body's ability to do something that had never been done before, but most of all for the support both at the race (JACK!, Andrew, Katie) and from everyone that followed along. I can't wait to experience it all again next year.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>Hellgate simply is what it is. After 7 straight years of running it, Hellgate has become embedded into the annual calendar, a certain kind of holiday, one that can be frustrating at times, but mostly joy-filled. Hanging out with folks at Camp Bethel, especially after the race, is my absolute favorite thing to do in the sport of running. #HellgateDeepInMyHeart</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>That said, my favorite running memory in 2021 was the Black Hills 100. I signed up out of spite right after Hellgate 2020, with a goal to ruin John Andersen's day. It turned into a week-long family road trip, and one of the best race experiences I've ever had. John and I ran practically every step of that race together. And, if I might brag for a moment, we put on a friggin clinic in patient running. I've never had a pacer, or paced anyone, in a race before. And while we've shared literally hundreds of miles racing each other over the years, getting the chance to run Start to Finish with my "nemesis" is something I'll never forget. It was like a chill 108 mile training run, with a dash of frantic stress thrown in as we desperately tried to secure podium positions for coveted Bison Skull trophies.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>On top of that, Kristin and I have started a company, Long Haul Sports. After a year+ of tinkering and testing a sports drink formula designed specifically for endurance athletes, we decided to take the plunge. We started accepting a limited amount of pre-orders just before Thanksgiving. Our garage is currently filled to the brim with machinery, packaging, ingredients, etc. We move into our manufacturing space in January, and then we'll truly set out on this crazy little business idea, building up inventory, taking orders, making deliveries, and trying not to go bankrupt! All in addition to raising 2 young kids, our other full-time jobs, and feeble attempts at training. It's gonna be a lot of work, but I keep reminding myself that if John Andersen could do all that with Crozet Running, then how hard could it really be, right?</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>So after much / some / a little reflection, here's what I'm looking forward to in 2022:</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>More St. Louis ultrarunning engagement</li><li>Hellbender 100 and Bighorn 100, complete with VHTRC reunions</li><li>100+ hours at Big's</li><li>A lot more stretching</li><li>A lot less sleep (so long 9hr nights)</li><li>A super secret running endeavor</li><li>The JIM</li><li>Living up to my potential at Hellgate</li><li>Hopefully making it back to Capital Backyard, but definitely not to run</li><li>Growing back my 7 missing toenails</li><li>Supporting local races and awesome athletes with Long Haul</li><li>Not going bankrupt</li></ul></div><div><br /></div><div>Cheers to everyone in 2022. May we all be blessed with abundant free time to continuously explore endless miles of steep, technical trails!</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_BV5KLxAtOySMJWWrFYysrCLEVvKeZMsfHW4RT05_hST3SS6hOw3-Tm7_9gpl0Cn4hiQoiuo4Zv086_Mgrlqu9D4F_gbD_SHIJiRLfMHxIhevSPA8Y6mOL0an3Ch9pejISAYE6AHqWGZwblpKT654-Z7iCcDTcxfuFi5QP_i-U_PrU8cV_Sb9hDDH=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_BV5KLxAtOySMJWWrFYysrCLEVvKeZMsfHW4RT05_hST3SS6hOw3-Tm7_9gpl0Cn4hiQoiuo4Zv086_Mgrlqu9D4F_gbD_SHIJiRLfMHxIhevSPA8Y6mOL0an3Ch9pejISAYE6AHqWGZwblpKT654-Z7iCcDTcxfuFi5QP_i-U_PrU8cV_Sb9hDDH=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">My favorite non-race moment of 2021 ... feeling like I was going to get blown off a crazy steep ridge on Oahu.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-54304570162266294552021-12-17T10:04:00.002-06:002021-12-17T10:29:54.208-06:00Hellgate Is My Happy Place<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBGYqf7yXGDlLLbTDLuIQetWi9c27b3P8ftIbZqHRI1vDD1kaYo2ADJ7mwM7UlAxa8G1T9kAi93Bg8KUjYqaJh0OSFdbRvOa_K9OpooBSIJHAWyZ3B1MMioRG3jZr0SWoYddWBbh0Yw9vgCBacgl3Arry9MIZAt9LQHEwYPEsbfbpPOaUuwYYLLJzf=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBGYqf7yXGDlLLbTDLuIQetWi9c27b3P8ftIbZqHRI1vDD1kaYo2ADJ7mwM7UlAxa8G1T9kAi93Bg8KUjYqaJh0OSFdbRvOa_K9OpooBSIJHAWyZ3B1MMioRG3jZr0SWoYddWBbh0Yw9vgCBacgl3Arry9MIZAt9LQHEwYPEsbfbpPOaUuwYYLLJzf=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I bow to your superior Hellgate skills. (PC: Michelle Andersen)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p>Let's dispense with painful reality of the race: I lost to John Andersen. Again. For the 2nd year in a row. By 15 minutes. Shameful. It was supposed to be a battle for the ages. Instead, he separated 16 miles into the race and I never saw him again. And now he has a 4-3 lifetime head-to-head record over me … though his Top 10s average time is 12:07:21 to my 12:06:12 (and Jordan's 12:04:24).</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgyDEbk5VklmLYaSQECrsyaLcPbcCJtOja2Iqx_XcgBAxlonptzepQ-hHAw_tIJof8p2TCKRsJFViOnWlY4nB96Fm8ba7dolScc9ZkL97C4djQXQa3CVQVtV-Ox2s_w5VSK_9fE9Y4I6S1nypcsVB6re3zWfURVNEI7YHL25eQoAFB6Z8CP67YxxOAc=s8534" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="8534" data-original-width="8534" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgyDEbk5VklmLYaSQECrsyaLcPbcCJtOja2Iqx_XcgBAxlonptzepQ-hHAw_tIJof8p2TCKRsJFViOnWlY4nB96Fm8ba7dolScc9ZkL97C4djQXQa3CVQVtV-Ox2s_w5VSK_9fE9Y4I6S1nypcsVB6re3zWfURVNEI7YHL25eQoAFB6Z8CP67YxxOAc=w400-h400" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This year's title bout was a bust...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p>Heading into Hellgate this year was … weird. I didn't feel residual fatigue from <a href="http://www.lazyultrarunner.com/2021/11/bury-my-guaranteed-barkley-entry-at.html" target="_blank">350 miles at Big's</a>. That was late October, and then I took 3 weeks off from running, and then I piddled around with 30 mile weeks right up to Hellgate while trying to battle a messed up hip. I really didn't stretch after Big's, like, at all.<i> I just ran 350 miles, what if I try to stretch and EVERYTHING tears?!</i> I'm notoriously tight even on the best of days. So when I started feeling searing pains in my bad hip (torn labrum a few years back) after a week in which I did 8+ hours of "leaf lunges" cleaning up the yard, well, I knew Hellgate 2021 wasn't going to be all unicorns and puppies.</p><p><br /></p><p>Aside from the obvious goal to Beat Andersen, I was just looking to have a comfortable night of running, and rely on my overall fitness to eek out another Top 10 and a Sub-12. Dreams of an 11:15 and a massive PR were just going to have to wait for another year.</p><p><br /></p><p>The early miles were calm and collected, but there was no denying that my hip was painfully tight. I took the downhill from Petite's deliberately easy to lessen the stress on my hip, running in the neighborhood of Rachel Spaulding.</p><p><br /></p><p>After Camping, I caught back up with John and ran alongside him for a couple miles before dispensing with some stomach contents in the woods. I hoped to catch back up soon, but instead I took it painfully easy on the downhills all the way to Overstreet. I figured I'd rather run a slower race and survive, than limp into Jennings at Mile 30 with a totally shredded hip. And the fog was further complicating matters. So I lazied my way along, continuing to bleed time, all alone in the dark, for hours on end. I guessed I was outside of the Top 10 and might never break back in, and I spent a good couple of hours trying to come to terms with the fact that one of my Lifetime Running Goals -- Ten Straight Top Tens at Hellgate -- was disappearing before my eyes.</p><p><br /></p><p>Approaching The Devil Trail, just after Little Cove, Cole Crosby came flying by like a happy-go-lucky bullet train, bemoaning an earlier wrong turn in the fog, and clipping off miles that were 90-120 seconds faster than mine. A few miles later, approaching the final depths of The Leaves, I caught back up with a crashed-and-burned Cole -- no energy, nutrition issues, etc. He's a super fast runner, so I'd hoped for his sake that he'd be able to spend some time resetting and then get back at it; and that seems to be what happened. It's always great to see people overcome race problems and fight back rather than capitulate.</p><p><br /></p><p>I lumbered into Bearwallow a full 30 minutes late, and 20 minutes behind John. But by then, all the hip babying had seemed to do the trick -- it finally declared that I was the winner and it would stop being such a pain in the ass. I did some quick math and realized I had a tiny shot at Sub-12, but it meant I'd have to equal my 2018 effort when I banged out an 11:34 after my first-ever Bearwallow By 8. Michelle and Annie were there to get me situated; it was nice to see some friendly faces after nearly 6 hours of underachieving and mentally beating myself up over it. As I was leaving, Horton let me know I was in 9th Place … and then Rachel came storming into the Aid Station. Knowing she'd also be targeting Sub-12 for a Course Record, I took off, on a mission to not have the day be a total bust, and with the hopes I might be able to rabbit Rachel a little bit.</p><p><br /></p><p>I still couldn't open up my stride quite like I wanted, especially on the ins and outs of The Pretty Trail -- my favorite section of the course -- but I could feel I was at least as fast as I'd ever been before. I rolled right on through both Bobblett's and Day Creek, afraid ceding even 30 seconds at an aid station might keep me from getting that Sub-12. Rachel nearly caught up to me in The Forever Section, but it seemed like I kept outclimbing her any time a hill appeared.</p><p><br /></p><p>After a solid bout of climbing to Blackhorse Gap, I could finally breathe a sigh of relief as I had more than enough time to get in under 12:00 and had another Top 10 in the bag. Though my hip wouldn't let me really fly, I still took the final miles pretty hard. I rolled into the finish thoroughly exhausted and collapsed, right at the feet of Andersen, well rested and patiently awaiting my labored arrival.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjYtOS2komPcmzzQKIwORIffF13Bbhffi83fIZYJhqE89eo03bNhq9eVECMol24KofLh20SXEd5If3fYmjVsYohwwUKkAv_yYfxBQN7azjSA7rJNKyd1XWi--5SJeoZv67baMpvbDt-64REYsQKBY65vAESftA27yxEKAr96ZPiY8ztKerC9kbZKqXU=s1874" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1250" data-original-width="1874" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjYtOS2komPcmzzQKIwORIffF13Bbhffi83fIZYJhqE89eo03bNhq9eVECMol24KofLh20SXEd5If3fYmjVsYohwwUKkAv_yYfxBQN7azjSA7rJNKyd1XWi--5SJeoZv67baMpvbDt-64REYsQKBY65vAESftA27yxEKAr96ZPiY8ztKerC9kbZKqXU=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Describing leaf piles in The Devil Trail? (PC: Jay Proffitt)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p>And then the attention of everyone at the finish quickly turned to the clock and the camp road, awaiting Rachel's arrival. She came cruising in at 11:59 for a new CR and the first female ever to go under 12. It's one of the coolest moments I've ever experienced at Hellgate. Between Rachel's Sub-12 and Dubova's absurd back-to-back CR's, it feels like there's been a phase shift in what's possible at this race. 3 years prior, John, Jordan, and I had rolled into Bearwallow at 8am, simply hoping we could find a way to break 12, something John and I had never done, and Jordan had only achieved once before in nearly a dozen attempts. And now … well, the men's CR had dropped by a full half hour, a woman broke 12, Jordan's gone Sub-11, and both John and I have gone Sub-12 3 of the past 4 finishes. The floodgates have opened!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhQ6W3lQ7sCpz9mj0pMKRRGhnS7J5lIOfKJZuGHarVjO4MHzpBhnjwvFAw2PFD422svZXIIlTn570vk2bbT2Lg1si26pTL1umWbKl9Nu9yiMCUNcbre7ccG2sZUkEInBGyBAGBNBkgr49Rh0_hcAccqADJipDmFHFckkPShRVfXgTW25yE_bcNLPve8=s1440" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhQ6W3lQ7sCpz9mj0pMKRRGhnS7J5lIOfKJZuGHarVjO4MHzpBhnjwvFAw2PFD422svZXIIlTn570vk2bbT2Lg1si26pTL1umWbKl9Nu9yiMCUNcbre7ccG2sZUkEInBGyBAGBNBkgr49Rh0_hcAccqADJipDmFHFckkPShRVfXgTW25yE_bcNLPve8=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Men's Top 10, in awe of a laydeh sub-12. (PC: MA, Jay Proffitt, somebody...)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p>On paper, the race was a bit of a bust -- barely breaking 12, losing to Andersen by an ungodly 15 minutes, nearly getting kicked out of the Top 10. But I knew my body wasn't in top form. I listened to my hip and took care of it when I needed to, and was somehow able to run Bearwallow to the Finish 5 minutes faster than ever. So overall, this was a pretty good confidence boost for future years. And more than simply attending a race, I had another weekend of chatting with running friends that I rarely get to see more than once a year. And I got to spend some time chatting folks up about <a href="https://longhaulsports.com/" target="_blank">Long Haul</a>, which worked flawlessly for me yet again. So all in all, a pretty excellent weekend. And … and … I got to fly out instead of drive 11 hours each way … no more sleeping in random truck stops for this guy!</p><p><br /></p><p>Thanks to:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>My wife for looking after the kids and letting me go on yet another running adventure this year</li><li>Will for the ride to and from the race, and for your family's incredible hospitality</li><li>Michelle and Annie for your helpfulness and kindness at Bearwallow</li><li>NOT Danton and Jimmie, for tricking me into riding with them to the start, effectively imprisoning me in a car for 2 hours with a loudly snoring Dubova</li><li>Helen for your tireless support of this race, especially the now infamous Helen's Water Stop</li><li>Squirrels Nut Butter for your support and for your sweet, sweet lube</li><li>Myself, for creating Long Haul Sports Nutrition and agreeing to sponsor me</li><li>And obviously David Horton, for everything.</li></ul><p></p><p>It was great seeing and chatting with so many other runners out there at the pre-race, on the trails, and afterwards. I look forward to those encounters all year long, and like always, I cannot wait until next year.</p><p><br /></p><h3 style="text-align: left;">An Aside: The Three Amigos Status Update</h3><p>Jordan Chang just finished his 15th Hellgate, and his 9th overall Top 10 finish. Next year he'll be going for his 10th! He also just hit 7 consecutive Top 10s. His overall Top 10s average is 12:04:24, and his consecutive Top 10s average is 11:48:55.</p><p>John Andersen just completed his 9th finish and 8th consecutive Top 10. He currently averages 12:07:21 in his Top 10s.</p><p>I'm still bringing up the rear, with my 7th finish and 6th consecutive Top 10. My Top 10s average is 12:06:12.</p><p>From 2016 through 2020, for 5 years, the 3 of us were never separated by more than 4 places (the worst was a 6-9-10 in 2017). 3 years in a row we went back-to-back-to-back. This year I brought shame to the Three Amigos, bringing up the rear for a 5-place-spread (3-6-8). My 8th place was also the worst place by any of us since 2017.</p><p>I'm excited for the next four years. There's a lot more anniversaries and Top 10s that still need to be achieved!</p>Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-63907980413009193702021-11-09T12:44:00.001-06:002021-11-09T14:14:33.627-06:00Bury My Guaranteed Barkley Entry at Wounded Knee<p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Wow! So I really don't even know where to begin.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">I'm going to have to start with a long round of Thanks:<u></u><u></u></p><ul style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 15px; vertical-align: middle;">To my wife, for allowing me to disappear for 6 days while juggling care of the kids and your demanding teaching responsibilities, I couldn't have done this without you and your continued support and belief in me.<u></u><u></u></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 15px; vertical-align: middle;">To my mom, thank you for coming in and looking after the kids for a couple days<u></u><u></u></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 15px; vertical-align: middle;">To my crew chief Jack, well, words can't adequately describe just how grateful I am to call you a friend and to have had you by my side during this race.<u></u><u></u></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 15px; vertical-align: middle;">To Katie and Andrew, I wouldn't have made it far into the 4th day if y'all hadn't come around to help out with the crewing, because, man, I definitely needed all hands on deck in those exhausting hours. I mean, honestly, how incredible is this community, where folks you never really knew before are suddenly, selflessly committing themselves to a fellow runner, to massage their legs, to shovel food down their throat, to support them and look after them.<u></u><u></u></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 15px; vertical-align: middle;">To my fellow runners, thank you for letting me share some miles with you. And thanks for putting up with my snark and sarcasm … it can be endearing once you get used to it, at least that's what I tell myself.<u></u><u></u></li><li class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 15px; vertical-align: middle;">To Laz and Sandra, thank you for sharing your home, errr … yard, and for providing a stage that allowed me to achieve far more than I could have ever dreamed.<u></u><u></u></li></ul><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">Let's jump right into the fray, when things got dicey!<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">Night 3 at Big's, the World Championship for the Backyard Ultra race format. Over 60 hours of running already complete. That's where things got … interesting.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">After a few hours of night running, my right knee started to feel weird. A couple hours later I had stabbing pains around the MCL with every footfall. It got to the point that I could no longer run more than a few strides at a time without wanting to collapse in pain. So I started power walking the road course, which was fast enough to get me through each loop with a few minutes to spare. But then around hour 66, even power walking was too painful. So I had to devise a new method of dragging my body down the road.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">I realized that as long as my right knee was fully locked, I had no pain, there was just a very dull ache from ground contact rather than a knife being stabbed into my knee. So I spent the next few hours working through various iterations of a sideways straight-legged skip-hop-thing. To get into an upbeat frame of mind around this time I ran with headphones for my first and only loop, jamming out to Dua Lipa's Future Nostalgia album. It was exactly what I needed to maintain focus as I worked out the kinks in my new "running" form.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">I would forcefully use my good left leg and arm to propel my body up and forward, and while in the air I would swing my dead right leg forward to prepare for a straight-leg landing, then I would rock my body forward again while balancing on the straight-leg and proceed to the next stride. Sometimes my body was facing almost forward, other times I was facing nearly perpendicular to my direction of travel. It was a crazy amount of effort to drag my body down the road and I was barely making it back in time for the 3-minute warning bell.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwdL4iqhSqvjtOCNN7k27_Rk6LyFVb90HcWtv5IGbQRxF7UPVW4UE3y6MohHItgLa7mrVGkqjI2cdD94x48gA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">Going into the race I had a few goals, one of which was to time out and not quit. It was a pretty big goal for me to write down because it implies a more competitive spirit than I'm typically comfortable assuming during a race. Basically, I wanted to keep going until my body quit on me. That goal was at the forefront of my mind during this 8+ hour dead-knee period of the race. Not once did I consider quitting. It was more about finding a way to survive to the next hour. I was hyper-focused the whole time. And going through a 3rd night without adequate sleep, I was surprisingly lucid and didn't even need caffeine.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">That said, I knew with absolute certainty that my knee would not get me through the day loop, the trail was just too rocky and slow. So, by killing myself to get to dawn, I could effectively "give up" without giving up -- by taking what would likely become a 70-90minute stroll through the woods on the 73rd loop and timing out with my head held high.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">When I finished Hour 72, I came into camp and a flurry of folks helped Jack tape and wrap my knee, and then push me back out to the corral. The first half mile of the day loop is a road out-and-back and man did it hurt. I limped back through camp to start the trail section, with Harvey and Mori out of sight. I was appreciative of everyone's effort to get my knee in shape, but fully aware of the fact that I was 100% screwed. Just outside of camp I fell for the first time all race. It was a hard fall. I saw stars. My knee exploded in pain. I got back up and could hardly drag my leg through a rock-hopping section of the course. I slowly hiked the first hill and tried to manage the following descent. I lost control again and slammed hard into a tree.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">And then, magically, I pushed off of my dead right leg and the stabbing knee pain was replaced with a manageably uncomfortable ache. As I hobble-jogged into a flatter, straighter section of the course, I started pushing the effort, madly swinging my good left leg and arm to propel me, and gingerly pushing off with my dead right leg. As I found that I could start bending my right knee and pushing off of that leg, I transitioned from sad, pathetic, injured walk-jogger into a rabid animal. Quite simply, I said "Fuck it, I'm finishing this loop!" Instead of hiking the uphills I sprinted them, sometimes even clawing with my hands. My pace felt absolutely uncontrollable. I was redlining, hard.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">And then, towards the end of the loop, at the base of the final hill, I saw Harvey and Mori off in the distance. And I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I was back in the game. Never before in a race have I felt so utterly overwhelmed, both physically and emotionally. That hour of running was a whirl of pain and emotion and struggle that I can barely remember, but that I will also never forget. I don't know what the future holds for me in this sport, and I may never achieve anything as big as the record-breaking Assist at Big's ever again, but the 7am hour to start the 4th day at Big's in 2021 feels like an inflection point, a phase shift in how I view myself as a runner and what I believe I am capable of. It was the most rewarding hour of running I have ever experienced.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">That's it. That's the obligatory poetic, inspirational blog post.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">…But if you care for some more details about the race, here they are…<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><h2 style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">The Leadup:</h2><div><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">I qualified for Big's with an at-large slot from my 56 hours at Capital back in May. My downfall then was a combination of sleep deprivation and caffeine mismanagement. So this time around I had a formulated plan for how to handle each.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">For sleep, I had a cot and a zero-gravity chair, I had headphones and a sleep sounds app, I had an eye mask, I had plenty of blankets and even a weighted blanket to make me feel instantly cozy.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">For caffeine I had 50mg dissolvable strips that I could carry with me and drop the moment I got cloudy or sleepy.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">All the rest of my planning remained much the same as with Capital, but I felt the focus on sleep and caffeine would pay dividends. Despite most of the international qualifiers not being able to make it to the race, there was enough talent in the starting field to take the race well into Day 4, and possibly even into Day 5. Now, I don't consider myself an elite runner -- my training and mileage are crap, I don't have a single notable win on my resume -- but I'm pretty good at staying level-headed and I don't mind the grind of longer races, so I fully expected myself to be mixing it up with the big kids right up to the end.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">I drove down from STL and picked up my crew chief, Jack, at the Nashville airport before continuing on to Bell Buckle to set up our tent. Then it was a low-key dinner of delicious McAlister's Deli and early to bed. I tossed and turned all night, only getting a few hours of sleep despite downing what felt like dozens of melatonin. In the morning, while I wasn't rested, I felt ready to tackle a few days of running. NBD.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixVgDBJOHE1GD1G_LzcUOHv7AUgQbt0gggA7PqmVvRA5TN_0vy_5lqn4N4ZsxXDBMSgN0Pa4OwP71v45MV6xOKZZvQwy0FrU6jiPdt_FsC_2oQxdGum0b0QlWdkocmLXj6COXJbCIEjgU/s4032/PXL_20211021_132049960.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixVgDBJOHE1GD1G_LzcUOHv7AUgQbt0gggA7PqmVvRA5TN_0vy_5lqn4N4ZsxXDBMSgN0Pa4OwP71v45MV6xOKZZvQwy0FrU6jiPdt_FsC_2oQxdGum0b0QlWdkocmLXj6COXJbCIEjgU/w400-h300/PXL_20211021_132049960.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Did I bring enough crap?!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD-CgHOR_IF5reKFtM6AOocTcIkx_DzdU0eJNw7yi66OtGwhev5YhWhZ036ePmNCsrjf7yGOG77OAttIB3zRIg8j2Xhw9gCBW3SBSXURlyAQNRbffMvrpFEPsR9GLFm99Gj385XkrDzTo/s1200/IMG_20211021_100704.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD-CgHOR_IF5reKFtM6AOocTcIkx_DzdU0eJNw7yi66OtGwhev5YhWhZ036ePmNCsrjf7yGOG77OAttIB3zRIg8j2Xhw9gCBW3SBSXURlyAQNRbffMvrpFEPsR9GLFm99Gj385XkrDzTo/w400-h300/IMG_20211021_100704.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Prepping the tent, and wearing my obligatory pre-race t-shirt.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiFEkvZYg1AhCggY3nguciixCiHJGdNJtLvt7e4zca56uQt50I3exf8s39YFdlJ542VvLCiNPx93NG8LCfG0tdna_ovyudzK9lwBGbnTnunkBjqJQq2rj6_b-RwpLZ2ClDA0QZnmYMlOo/s1200/IMG_20211021_100935.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiFEkvZYg1AhCggY3nguciixCiHJGdNJtLvt7e4zca56uQt50I3exf8s39YFdlJ542VvLCiNPx93NG8LCfG0tdna_ovyudzK9lwBGbnTnunkBjqJQq2rj6_b-RwpLZ2ClDA0QZnmYMlOo/w400-h300/IMG_20211021_100935.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Using a secret incantation to bless my pillow for successful catnaps in the days to come.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAfTCjK4JAbbZ1xhgM9TFMmbjRRmwcovuFwqyDa5OhvQ44yb5JK9CMi4Azq4Fay5dHyOP5rNT3LP8g6vI8haOppOzVlpWe27M01d9CbktCAFzu4N-01oeV-3MCe2fmK7qbIgUbKNOhDbY/s4032/PXL_20211016_112819623.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAfTCjK4JAbbZ1xhgM9TFMmbjRRmwcovuFwqyDa5OhvQ44yb5JK9CMi4Azq4Fay5dHyOP5rNT3LP8g6vI8haOppOzVlpWe27M01d9CbktCAFzu4N-01oeV-3MCe2fmK7qbIgUbKNOhDbY/w400-h300/PXL_20211016_112819623.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Team kits?</td></tr></tbody></table></div></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9K5ARmKnyOXBoqj4DWsNBDfJXs_FIFX3VB3k952w5L-GHWSgUSrF4bjdOh7eCEEHXqPRwmfmQ7LQuxrAlIjFabYMDiPaSMk5bkQ8pYsHjOQX2m1EhFv34MgEOczqV4xMWAt0rN6EQWE8/s1600/IMG_7790.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9K5ARmKnyOXBoqj4DWsNBDfJXs_FIFX3VB3k952w5L-GHWSgUSrF4bjdOh7eCEEHXqPRwmfmQ7LQuxrAlIjFabYMDiPaSMk5bkQ8pYsHjOQX2m1EhFv34MgEOczqV4xMWAt0rN6EQWE8/w300-h400/IMG_7790.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is gonna be fun, right?</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"> <u></u><u></u></p><h2 style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">Day 1:</h2><div><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">The first 24 hours were super low key. I ran comfortably, I chit-chatted other runners, and I introduced some runners to my obnoxious sarcasm.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">I stayed calm between loops with breathing techniques, and made sure I was on top of my calories. I started out trying to take in 200 calories of my <a href="http://longhaulsports.com" target="_blank">Long Haul</a> drink each hour and then supplementing with 100 calories of gels, chews, or some kind of quick snack. I think I wore an old pair of Altra Timps for the trail and Altra Torins for the road.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">Most importantly in this first day, I built up the courage to have a couple of random conversations with Maggie and Courtney. Did the words coming out of my mouth make any sense or was it incoherent jibberish … who's to say?! But I was running and chatting alongside two "famous athletes" I look up to more than anyone else in the sport. So, yeah, it was a good day!<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibmREonBeYlmLsccd_vDUJDAPuTOJ4fVMQ_Ywg9I0aeP1mQ6g_c9dGY9Yqi84Ic-mxt_dVWW7yieMlWhpR0eQmzG7Hgg12h0V3PS_LKZUpCVAzpDnLpQlgnJxUoStwLZQO3pJcAzReo3E/s1600/IMG_7805.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibmREonBeYlmLsccd_vDUJDAPuTOJ4fVMQ_Ywg9I0aeP1mQ6g_c9dGY9Yqi84Ic-mxt_dVWW7yieMlWhpR0eQmzG7Hgg12h0V3PS_LKZUpCVAzpDnLpQlgnJxUoStwLZQO3pJcAzReo3E/w300-h400/IMG_7805.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Proof that Maggie and Courtney are my new BFFs.</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">I ran into some frustrating troubles that could never be resolved fully over the succeeding days -- despite having repeatedly tested my new headphones which I'd primarily planned to use for rain sounds to help me sleep, we had connection problems with my phone and one of the buds straight-up had no charge and never charged up throughout the race. Turns out, the rubber/foam attachment was too big and was popping the bud off the charging pins … despite the fact the attachments were made by the same company. So a good number of overnight hours were spent trying to figure out the best way to get me my Pavlovian rain sounds response and also effectively block out the rest of the noise going on in the camp. Run of the mill running problems, right?!<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifXVsyAcZ0Mbz9E-CtzLlLWC1ddnAEK1XH55zf15m87AXeTVstfDM2Hv2aLfB69MF54YA5W02JFanvsYWdfb_3E5hCZg7g6qFgd_6f3Fdrfi4t5YSS-NdP5iYheXzXFTCyk_d7PtxSxYo/s1200/IMG_7824.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifXVsyAcZ0Mbz9E-CtzLlLWC1ddnAEK1XH55zf15m87AXeTVstfDM2Hv2aLfB69MF54YA5W02JFanvsYWdfb_3E5hCZg7g6qFgd_6f3Fdrfi4t5YSS-NdP5iYheXzXFTCyk_d7PtxSxYo/w400-h300/IMG_7824.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Running is soooo hard.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"> <u></u><u></u></p><h2 style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">Day 2:</h2><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">Physically, Day 2 was a breeze. Another great day to be out on the trails with perfect fall weather. Hours 25-35 made it clear to me which runners out there came prepared with trail legs and which ones did not. The transition from overnight road miles to the sometimes-technical daytime trail miles looked very uncomfortable to some. But I found it to be a great opportunity to change up muscle groups and get into a relaxed running groove.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">Acid reflux reared its head, something I had never experienced before Capital. And while I kind of expected it to happen at some point, my nutrition plan was woefully inadequate to properly accommodate the new problem. I knew that temporarily shifting to water instead of Long Haul would help, but the hundreds of dollars of food I'd brought along were not very useful -- lots of chocolate, salt, and baked goods (baking soda/powder). Even something as bland as a banana was often too acidic for my throat. We mustered through, but it got a bit testy at times, with me unable to effectively articulate how much I now thoroughly despised every single piece of food in my tent, and with my crew chief unable to do much of anything about it. I dreamed of the blandest foods imaginable -- unflavored oatmeal, white rice, cream of wheat. Luckily, I snagged a bag of rice from Steve Slaby, and while it was absurdly over-salted for my taste, it went a long way to helping me keep my nutrition on track.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">In the overnight hours on Day 2 I finally figured out the most comfortable way for me to lay down. I'm a stomach/side sleeper and the cot was just not working out how I'd hoped, but my body was finally tired enough to pass out laying back in the zero-gravity chair … that is, once I yelled at the neighboring tent in the middle of the night to shut the heck up cuz I could hear them through my noise cancelling headphones.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTu43SA7BpFWd9w8HvXXGRmrydeeAA9iAUFtYcK16Key0m_ht2TIBd3wiAdbWro6L5I4hSW_v7bYQpIpG_tZjsDfro-CowADDHKIOxvRZmSj6mFCrp0f7_e-wApR8Y1B-cfq8d8SIfLOE/s1600/IMG_7835.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTu43SA7BpFWd9w8HvXXGRmrydeeAA9iAUFtYcK16Key0m_ht2TIBd3wiAdbWro6L5I4hSW_v7bYQpIpG_tZjsDfro-CowADDHKIOxvRZmSj6mFCrp0f7_e-wApR8Y1B-cfq8d8SIfLOE/w300-h400/IMG_7835.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me failing at passing out on the cot. And yeah, that's a superhero cartoon duvet for my weighted blanket. Again ... running ... hard stuff.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">I believe I started dosing caffeine in the overnight hours of Day 2. I'd originally planned to keep at 50mg/hour once I started, but I quickly found that a 50mg pick-up was gentle enough to not overwhelm me but also enough to support 3-4 hours of alert running.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">The biggest problem with the overnight hours came from my shoes. Since 2015, about 90% of my mileage comes from Altra shoes. I love them. They fit great, the work great. But lately their shoe design has been, well, spotty. For years I could take any pair of Altras and wear them right out of the box, no break-in necessary. I thought 20 miles of pre-race running in a brand new pair of Torins would've been more than enough, but I quickly found on Night 2 that the tongue is atrociously designed. The tongue is too short and also too stiff, and it continually jabbed into the bend in my foot with every single stride. I likened it to the feeling of a credit card edge being jammed into my foot non-stop for 12 hours. It was so frustrating that I had to abandon those shoes for Night 3, and at the start of Night 4 I even took to hacking the tongue off altogether, literally the first time in my life I've had to make alterations to a shoe. So yeah, I dunno, Altra, maybe you can work on that and lemme know when you fix the problem. K Thanks!<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"> <u></u><u></u></p><h2 style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">Day 3:</h2><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">I'd wanted to go with a brand new pair of Altra Lone Peaks for Day 3. Like the Torins, I'd put 20miles on the new Lone Peaks to break them in, but they felt wildly different than the previous model. The structure of the toe box was both rigid and flimsy, the material kept rippling into a U-shape that receded into the toe box space and would put pressure on my toes, and the stitching area that formed the toe box felt rigid and stiff and was rubbing my big toe like crazy. This was the first time in 6 years I'd donned a pair of Lone Peaks and didn't enjoy them. So after the first loop, I had to rip them off in a panic and abandon them for a pair of Altra Timps, which felt fantastic.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">After a few hours of daytime running, the hallucinations started. The accumulated sleep I'd bagged the past 2 days certainly helped here because my mind was strong enough to write off the hallucinations for what they were rather than freak out like I did at Capital. It started off with a gorgeous multi-million-dollar cabin in the woods that I'd somehow never noticed before. Tucked away in the trees, it was tall and boxy with dark green metal siding and tall, narrow windows, and there were a couple of small balconies on the second floor. It was the kind of modern aesthetic you might see profiled in Architectural Digest. After rounding a turn and still being able to see it, I stopped momentarily and walked briefly into the woods to get a better look, but it kept disappearing on me. It was then I realized it was a figment of my imagination. I hollered back to Harvey, who was right behind me, to confirm that what I was seeing was not, in fact, real, and he happily let me know I was losing my mind.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">A couple laps later I saw a mint-condition early 90s black Mercedes sedan abandoned in the woods … it was just a big rock.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">And throughout the day and into Day 4, I continued to see more houses and cabins.<u></u><u></u></p><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXVeKu-HCfjh-_L0qo2tnRYCEwsKxGVfWL5gkAY310kZWNir2nUglLlXoZOezZRJXwKZDGzJCGDp9f_D8sZL10nBEpkuRaHbsnQ2jMMAYTri6m72iU4tIEi7-naCND_YwG9rQGYMcO4No/s1200/IMG_20211021_101457.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXVeKu-HCfjh-_L0qo2tnRYCEwsKxGVfWL5gkAY310kZWNir2nUglLlXoZOezZRJXwKZDGzJCGDp9f_D8sZL10nBEpkuRaHbsnQ2jMMAYTri6m72iU4tIEi7-naCND_YwG9rQGYMcO4No/w400-h300/IMG_20211021_101457.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deep into the Night of the Fucked Up Knee.</td></tr></tbody></table></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"> <u></u><u></u></p><h2 style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">Day 4:</h2><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">After my miracle hour, I settled into a groove. I was hitting decent splits on the course, my knee was mildly cooperative, and I was getting pampered like crazy in camp. Each time I came in, Jack was toweling me off and prepping an ice bandana; Andrew Moore had come over to shovel food down my face and torture me with a percussive massage gun; and Katie Wright, fresh off her own 28 hour effort at Big's, helped prep nutrition for the next hour and tended to my knee. It was absolutely unbelievable. I mean, in the moment, I was sometimes incoherent, sometimes a sassy pain in the ass, and sometimes uncomfortably silent, but after the race was over, I was able to wrap my head around the fact that people I didn't really even know had come over to prop me up and keep me going for over 12 hours. "Grateful" doesn't even begin to describe how tremendously indebted I feel to Andrew and Katie for their assistance.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0WDql0CvFHQ-nVHMxcBG_df4PwYPhYmRBhO2YDxdW0rTqWhmUyc196Fg7-wo2BzWErckKXmZu3CPub4baNWdnJ3AF8KcZoT2u4GfyYVwMI3cIgYheoM4dyr6shXyL5dJORfySXw0EH6Q/s1600/IMG_20211021_101356.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0WDql0CvFHQ-nVHMxcBG_df4PwYPhYmRBhO2YDxdW0rTqWhmUyc196Fg7-wo2BzWErckKXmZu3CPub4baNWdnJ3AF8KcZoT2u4GfyYVwMI3cIgYheoM4dyr6shXyL5dJORfySXw0EH6Q/s320/IMG_20211021_101356.jpg" width="240" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4OT84EfYmVhXHgysy-5uyX3DQ4G0TrblJzIzIy4pvj6POQVDTSAfq03UQzqXmTtr94HVJNeR1kTpIcNdZEYjo-c61kXEKDRfOqDEZupx86DGwmpmedwujfZw155etFEdAQMNBluWIJjc/s1600/IMG_20211021_101413.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4OT84EfYmVhXHgysy-5uyX3DQ4G0TrblJzIzIy4pvj6POQVDTSAfq03UQzqXmTtr94HVJNeR1kTpIcNdZEYjo-c61kXEKDRfOqDEZupx86DGwmpmedwujfZw155etFEdAQMNBluWIJjc/s320/IMG_20211021_101413.jpg" width="240" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqrKW69z52rs0_nqm87DjTTQk4zRbKlH7knITYlQlcxyD-yr3xveHhsxjqTnQ-oj-FPR9VRQSLwKfs6jtQ1dj3rYMJ-gBsxeIiBCTkXJ76GLpojCD4v_B9TLXXrQf9zkTls1FJFrBPWh0/s1600/IMG_20211021_101347.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqrKW69z52rs0_nqm87DjTTQk4zRbKlH7knITYlQlcxyD-yr3xveHhsxjqTnQ-oj-FPR9VRQSLwKfs6jtQ1dj3rYMJ-gBsxeIiBCTkXJ76GLpojCD4v_B9TLXXrQf9zkTls1FJFrBPWh0/s320/IMG_20211021_101347.jpg" width="240" /></a><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiClREZCUiKCh0mTtWFOG6Sv2H4OyfVgmvHUEirl_UvP2iv5MjEjXP7Oby-QedpzvVxwFSwDqg2QF0KXD9-yXm6JQw3kcMRdX0ayrlTYskh339oSOzqaBOdygIkqQ8cqy3wrbm1_UEe_tg/s1600/IMG_20211021_101437.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiClREZCUiKCh0mTtWFOG6Sv2H4OyfVgmvHUEirl_UvP2iv5MjEjXP7Oby-QedpzvVxwFSwDqg2QF0KXD9-yXm6JQw3kcMRdX0ayrlTYskh339oSOzqaBOdygIkqQ8cqy3wrbm1_UEe_tg/w240-h320/IMG_20211021_101437.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mid-race action shots ... eat, foot care, eat some more.</td></tr></tbody></table></div></div></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">Honestly, much of Day 4 felt pretty routine. But then, in the last few daytime hours, starting around 79 or 80, my knee started getting iffy again. I had to be very careful about placement. The right leg wasn't allowed to be the lead leg for any turns or to get around any obstacles, and I was spending more and more time at the start of each loop trying to warm the knee back up. Every few minutes of sitting down between loops would cause stabbing pains in the knee at the outset of the next loop.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">As night approached, I wasn't sure how long my knee would be able to hold out on the road. For our first night lap, I high-tailed it so I could get into camp early and take care of my feet, which had been in an old pair of Torins for 100 straight miles now, and the odd side-skipping action I was doing earlier had both torn up the shoes and caused a slew of blisters. My knee wrap was also proving problematic and needed to be readjusted.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">I hopped out of the chair with new socks and shoes and a newly wrapped knee, ready to tackle the 85th hour. But from the first steps, I could tell my knee was toast. I gingerly walked a quarter mile to the bottom of the hill and I just knew that I was done. I'd already spent an entire night hobble-jogging and side-skipping, and I had absolutely no confidence that I'd be able to make it to the turn around in under 30 minutes. And most importantly, with the resurgent stabbing pains, I had no idea if I was just suffering from some run-of-the-mill overuse injury or if I was causing real structural damage to my knee. And while I had the goal of timing out, my wife and I always have an understanding that I will listen to my body, and my body had made it painfully clear that my right knee was toast long ago and that I'd been running on borrowed time. So, I turned around to hand in my timing chip and happily accept The Assist.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWO7Isze5oF5DBBe2srGsoJixy2v0MaFvco3O9slYq1diFrrVVabFLcaaaeyPKXLnTLIeUHy14MA2qGGwNKvUxnkvBKjL7GTw4GJngBwyf7oFqEddIg0t_VJvyMRRcPcq5ltCPLGik2Pg/s1200/IMG_20211021_101601.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="899" data-original-width="1200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWO7Isze5oF5DBBe2srGsoJixy2v0MaFvco3O9slYq1diFrrVVabFLcaaaeyPKXLnTLIeUHy14MA2qGGwNKvUxnkvBKjL7GTw4GJngBwyf7oFqEddIg0t_VJvyMRRcPcq5ltCPLGik2Pg/w400-h300/IMG_20211021_101601.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No caption required.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyRWKH5JCwcQuDBHJ1z-8nytiPwi2hGsMQJ5wK1oLyb6NSH9M3lrBs3jSkIAdLU7g02FTwhcEvn0fdlFaLEdvMao8jK3ac9-jcPPlP_dWUyFuM46ps9L27MGq_53AqSQgrtQIsKI9_gkE/s1200/IMG_20211021_101612.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="899" data-original-width="1200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyRWKH5JCwcQuDBHJ1z-8nytiPwi2hGsMQJ5wK1oLyb6NSH9M3lrBs3jSkIAdLU7g02FTwhcEvn0fdlFaLEdvMao8jK3ac9-jcPPlP_dWUyFuM46ps9L27MGq_53AqSQgrtQIsKI9_gkE/w400-h300/IMG_20211021_101612.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, Jack, and Laz. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><u></u><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><h2 style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">Post-op:</h2><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">I didn't go to a doctor to check out my knee, but it took 7 days post-race to be able to walk without pain. Inflammation finally went down after a few days, but there was still a lingering heat coming from my MCL after 10+ days and the wrong motions while walking or navigating stairs sometimes produced moderate pain. 14 days post-race and things were finally feeling "normal" enough to go for a short, easy jog.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">I lost 2 toenails, in what was the easiest toenail removal process I've ever dealt with as a runner. Blisters formed under each nail and grew so big that the nail literally rested on top of the blister. Once I popped those suckers, the nails practically fell off my toes. So yeah, if anyone out there has problems with damaged toenails during ultras, I highly recommend just extending your run for a couple hundred more miles to make the removal process a piece of cake!<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDxiOIsLx3J3eeuLCLTe9-4XE23FJrIyqdxWqCJRugUD1sB7toJCNNr_ezdOqibB4oreRZgbNs6LR8eO9REd71ofTuej-mcg3nJ_ebhu399720sNk6DfesUZF1YBhziU84n36fxA3u2Vs/s4032/PXL_20211023_150038105.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDxiOIsLx3J3eeuLCLTe9-4XE23FJrIyqdxWqCJRugUD1sB7toJCNNr_ezdOqibB4oreRZgbNs6LR8eO9REd71ofTuej-mcg3nJ_ebhu399720sNk6DfesUZF1YBhziU84n36fxA3u2Vs/w400-h300/PXL_20211023_150038105.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The world's easiest toenail removal!</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">I temporarily held a share of the Backyard world record for 3 hours. That's insane! That's something I could not have fathomed even a year ago, when I wondered if my body could go much more than 48 hours. So I feel like I definitely earned a few weeks off from running, the first extended break I've had in years.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"> <u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">As for what's next with this race format … well, my ultimate goal with Backyards has been to explore my limits of fatigue and sleep deprivation to better prepare myself for whenever I'm gifted with the opportunity to start Barkley. With this last effort, I've gained the confidence I was looking for to know that I can handle the potential mental and sleep-deprivation effects of running Barkley. So, technically, I don't think Backyards have much of anything left to offer me when it comes to my Primary Running Objective. But I'm guessing my 84 hour effort will be enough to qualify me for Team USA at the World Team Championships in 2022. And while it's not quite the same as, say, an official USATF kit for the 24Hour national team, it'd be an honor to represent the United States at next year's Big's. So, expect to see me there, with tons of other incredible athletes, seeking out Day 5 and Hour 100. Let's just hope my knee holds up for the next go around!<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"> <u></u><u></u></p><h2 style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px; text-align: left;">Gear List:</h2><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">Shoes: Altra Torins, Timps, and Lone Peaks<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">Clothing: Patagonia Strider Pros (every run, every race, for ever), and random shirts<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">Lube: Squirrel's Nut Butter, which worked like a charm for 84 hours straight<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">Socks: Injini (every run, every race, for ever)<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">Caffeine: I found some caffeine strips on Amazon -- 50mg caffeine, 25mg theanine. They worked like a friggin charm.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">Nutrition: <a href="http://longhaulsports.com" target="_blank">Long Haul</a> sports drink, SIS gels, Clif blocks, and a bunch of random food.<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">Sleep: cot, zero-gravity chair, blankets, eye mask, earphones and ear plugs, weighted blanket<u></u><u></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px;">Confidence: love and support from family and friends.</p><div><br /></div><h2 style="text-align: left;">Random Photos:</h2><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggBgZGeluzKj9FroGeVHh3SfsULJUV0NxUYgPoVnMmqKrhpedaWS3PoxVA9bJckPZRz9mTHQymlPAiwZDz6HPhuMuyI1np1YdYRm7bJn-nt_ZycihyJJdzRO8iKuZcxqcihFCDKMmio1g/s4032/PXL_20211030_192234581.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggBgZGeluzKj9FroGeVHh3SfsULJUV0NxUYgPoVnMmqKrhpedaWS3PoxVA9bJckPZRz9mTHQymlPAiwZDz6HPhuMuyI1np1YdYRm7bJn-nt_ZycihyJJdzRO8iKuZcxqcihFCDKMmio1g/w300-h400/PXL_20211030_192234581.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking a knife to a poorly designed tongue that literally bruised my foot.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOjxRlknKDX3VA_uby5CwUcdIgk6sFb2KMwHH27V029TlcIuqFXVQVB7-KfK3OwiqaarIMdXiEfb9sAilSZIUpyBxlgnNJKtEGn3Bu56bet3v28jzDq2iEBqolzmoKAuPiuGncRIlzofw/s4032/PXL_20211030_191513836.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOjxRlknKDX3VA_uby5CwUcdIgk6sFb2KMwHH27V029TlcIuqFXVQVB7-KfK3OwiqaarIMdXiEfb9sAilSZIUpyBxlgnNJKtEGn3Bu56bet3v28jzDq2iEBqolzmoKAuPiuGncRIlzofw/w400-h300/PXL_20211030_191513836.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Night 3 side-skip-hop demolished my shoes.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6mWrvxVhB-0Yt9-Bb0D-fe_D_JzoKrAcIMoeIGe3JK7empERko9dplPqnnurNCcr6vCWCZmj_P7oKXb_zTB-iv9nyCtgLxoFFi8WpUOdnzpCpikltEb4oogVG4qSF6_g3H0Hjvz8BImg/s4032/PXL_20211021_024729652.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6mWrvxVhB-0Yt9-Bb0D-fe_D_JzoKrAcIMoeIGe3JK7empERko9dplPqnnurNCcr6vCWCZmj_P7oKXb_zTB-iv9nyCtgLxoFFi8WpUOdnzpCpikltEb4oogVG4qSF6_g3H0Hjvz8BImg/w400-h300/PXL_20211021_024729652.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post-race feet and ankles so swollen they couldn't slide into my amazing, glittery sandals.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgci2svKJ4n6sPna0XUnrEHBdFPvIUybPcWPUgCLElmnn64G8XIuVosrt7CXNPEdARVL4DNls7rVlmKiPrWJxRJLVReP1ySBcTDIUdWQvAGpgP1gKrJXnYxV1QH5CgF-MBBT4CPoVfVDzw/s1200/IMG_7787.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgci2svKJ4n6sPna0XUnrEHBdFPvIUybPcWPUgCLElmnn64G8XIuVosrt7CXNPEdARVL4DNls7rVlmKiPrWJxRJLVReP1ySBcTDIUdWQvAGpgP1gKrJXnYxV1QH5CgF-MBBT4CPoVfVDzw/w400-h300/IMG_7787.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tent city at Big Dog's Backyard Ultra.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWKmd4Rmupo0BnG_KyYk6W4R45aVsSq19bS6ItRx05IfH8Ekg_FXgNGaETBFspoSQxZg0UfGg0GB8yqK0nZ_lND3bbQSHi5L3qgCe0FtnHT4zl_hC18cJnlJ_bvgOhFe85ZXv4-plWTH4/s1600/IMG_7829.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWKmd4Rmupo0BnG_KyYk6W4R45aVsSq19bS6ItRx05IfH8Ekg_FXgNGaETBFspoSQxZg0UfGg0GB8yqK0nZ_lND3bbQSHi5L3qgCe0FtnHT4zl_hC18cJnlJ_bvgOhFe85ZXv4-plWTH4/w300-h400/IMG_7829.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Action Shot ... to prove I did more than eat and sleep and lounge around for 3.5 days.</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioccm0YMKw2A0sf4ZXDsPs0OsD0FNBVqiAJdLKV49ktfzTB8QTwvWeDPrgu6vYok5D_TDXVLML63Z3mazyz_ETYOQV7bXzAQnQdOL6cztix8yTLch6XRtHA-9TX1TGSZ-ns62CVbF8s2M/s1024/IMG_7842.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioccm0YMKw2A0sf4ZXDsPs0OsD0FNBVqiAJdLKV49ktfzTB8QTwvWeDPrgu6vYok5D_TDXVLML63Z3mazyz_ETYOQV7bXzAQnQdOL6cztix8yTLch6XRtHA-9TX1TGSZ-ns62CVbF8s2M/w400-h300/IMG_7842.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hell is a 4 mile long stretch of flat pavement that you're forced to run over and over again.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh0_HXqB5Q030GuIU1DvRYElsmTP-Wkn-7Wg2DzQyh9L8uw4Q6Ot60uRKf_M5hEriJnlyY2Y1-d6GAbe54JSPllRXfe8BhjucCIPEnNqqZ11TOS69xmGthzxkH3KcDChUcJVf875xHEBY/s1200/IMG_20211021_101557.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="899" data-original-width="1200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh0_HXqB5Q030GuIU1DvRYElsmTP-Wkn-7Wg2DzQyh9L8uw4Q6Ot60uRKf_M5hEriJnlyY2Y1-d6GAbe54JSPllRXfe8BhjucCIPEnNqqZ11TOS69xmGthzxkH3KcDChUcJVf875xHEBY/w400-h300/IMG_20211021_101557.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post-race interview? That was weird.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVSlif-66yqLvlj1rFdNt852De6YDRXwwihvXWElpsdFRDmlNYgPGPNbikn_BqLo5VJ6FnEwMD4pVXEOUfcWqiP-zklD5qxn6WTGj19c_U-6pzp91TKYTcvUQhQwTNDxTWhjzBC5NDXno/s4032/PXL_20211020_190952938.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVSlif-66yqLvlj1rFdNt852De6YDRXwwihvXWElpsdFRDmlNYgPGPNbikn_BqLo5VJ6FnEwMD4pVXEOUfcWqiP-zklD5qxn6WTGj19c_U-6pzp91TKYTcvUQhQwTNDxTWhjzBC5NDXno/w400-h300/PXL_20211020_190952938.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Got stuck in bad traffic on the drive home. Pulled over to nap. Forgot to turn off my lights. Oops! Ended up doubling my 5hr drive home.</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOXGKPyyU8j90vDwF0A9bykN-lZuI7DS3PsJ9IcHOw-TGyVi7dUIOVlnKezsNz7WFEV54QPfgvoADl6jL79On9lUbj_FsbbolpuorezTIuvoIVb3y9YpYNCq8jHvIgZTaiUCj-YYNIw5c/s4032/PXL_20211031_224641689.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOXGKPyyU8j90vDwF0A9bykN-lZuI7DS3PsJ9IcHOw-TGyVi7dUIOVlnKezsNz7WFEV54QPfgvoADl6jL79On9lUbj_FsbbolpuorezTIuvoIVb3y9YpYNCq8jHvIgZTaiUCj-YYNIw5c/w300-h400/PXL_20211031_224641689.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me dressed up as the Backyard World Champion for Halloween. I think I won the Most Obscure Costume award for my neighborhood this year.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><div>And finally, here are some more boomerangs of the side-skip-hop-thing in action:<br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxGBAc047n1Agw10bJTA3ybU20WsgT_MvZnsf67VIHDNzoByp6ZGaXuBoGwsrlLH9hP4quQ0LmYq-Mh1ng8aQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxxUOrpbuy-lqin_D-na0O6zSQpzJOSzPZHgc50CMG5rrCySKvMO3q3vmMNauXqozX9LkNScy9tCQI3jUEuFg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzM-g9JmRoJWnAPy8JNc5Si-l0tNG4vj7CePjhv2bPnc6J9a5ULOvFHWMnBwwBQERaLAUG0C2QZX0IhWeOKUA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-71558120028361695422021-06-04T13:54:00.000-05:002021-06-04T13:54:43.419-05:00Capital Backyard Ultra Prologue<h2 style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt;">Friends Don't Let Friends Run Ultras: A Cautionary Tale</span></h2><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"> </p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">Here's the thing. You don't talk about taking a dump in normal daily life. It's basically taboo. But get some ultrarunners together and it's a Top Ten topic of conversation, guaranteed. We run for a long time. At some point you just gotta poop. It's part of the sport.</p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">This race report "prologue" is about going Number Two. If you're not mature enough to handle an honest discussion of human shit, then, I dunno, go read something else.</p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"> </p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">We'd been running for something like 45 hours straight by now. Steve and I were all that remained of a starting field of 40+ runners. It was dark and cold and rainy. I had to poop. We were half-way through our 4.167 mile loop for the hour and had just passed a Port-a-potty. But we couldn't use it. A few hours early it was discovered that some person / rabid animal had previously dropped a turd *on* the toilet. ON, not IN. There was no way any human could sit on that crapper without also getting a giant smear of someone else's poop all down the back of their leg. And so, I continued on to find a nice place to poop in the woods.</p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">Steve stopped first, saying he had to pee -- the cold weather and low effort level made peeing an all too common occurrence during the race. I decided it was a great time to finally take that dump I'd forgotten to take care of during the "interyardal" time last hour. I ran another 20 yards down the trail, then hollered to Steve that I was gonna take a shit and that I'd catch back up soon. His response: "I decided to take a shit, too." So, there we were, just two normal run-of-the-mill running bros, doing what running bros do: take dumps in the woods within earshot of one another mid-race. Memories!</p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">After so many hours of running, I'd already fully utilized my supply of TP that I always carry in a baggie in my pocket. So, time to start selecting premium quality leaves I suppose! But, there was a problem. The ground was soaking wet so all of the leaves were damp and dirty. And to top it off, I'd managed to select a poop spot with a rather large supply of holly leaves. Sometimes you just gotta work with what you got. I did the best I could, then hopped back onto the trail around the same time Steve did. A variety of words were thrown around: "not ideal", "insufficient", etc.</p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">Finishing out the yard / loop, my first order of business was to sprint to my tent, grab a new pair of shorts, and dart off to the Port-a-potty to complete the cleanup task that no amount of soggy leaves would have ever been able to handle. Thus far I've been trying to avoid direct mention, but there's no sense in making you read between the lines … there was smeared shit in my shorts and my butt crack, and it needed to be taken care of.</p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">I tried mightily to resolve the situation with copious amounts of single-ply TP, but that stuff just wasn't up to the task. Wet wipes would've been great, but I didn't have any on hand. At this point, I need to mention, again, that I'd been running for 45 hours straight. Mental faculties weren't exactly in tip-top shape. I scanned the Port-a-potty for options. There was a mounted container of hand sanitizer. I contemplated using that 80% alcohol liquid mixture, but ultimately chickened out. I was not willing to subject myself to that amount of pain. Then, the solution presented itself! To the side of the toilet, on the wall, was a collection of condensation. Eureka! I'll MacGyver the hell out of this situation and blot up the condensation with a wad of TP for a homemade wet wipe! Lemme tell ya, it worked like a charm. My ass was clean and ready for endless hours of superawesomefuntimes!</p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">Except. Well. Okay. Here's the deal. Hindsight is 20/20. I'm 99% sure I was sopping up your everyday ordinary atmospheric condensation. However … it pains me to say this … but ... there is a very small but non-zero chance I cleaned my ass mid-race with a wad of someone else's sopped-up urine. There it is. There. It. Is.</p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">The real race report will be along shortly ...</p>Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-51566481129595869682020-12-15T09:53:00.001-06:002020-12-15T10:37:46.816-06:002020 COVID-gate 100KDear John Andersen,<br /><br />Did you beat me this year? Yes.<br />Did you crush my spirits in the Forever Section? Absolutely.<br />Is your Hellgate PR now better than mine? Sigh…yes.<br /><br />So … I dunno, congrats or whatever.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/#" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIFQWEO672w26sknKyGRyMiVnzyism-IJiQ2HY40xRU_i262hQ9FzTR2420Qw-g0Z4aLndQLW1ccOrpTZKCFFFZ7ZoHHwEUY5qCLRDhFk4kH3GWN-AgeZty4N8xSqGZhLm6UGLO1kAy4A/w300-h400/HG_finish_taunt.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I hate you so much, John Andersen. (PC: Becca)<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />But there are some things I need you to understand.<br /><br />This summer I was in the best running shape of my life. I had low-16 5K fitness. I could knock out 3K of vert day after day. I'm only 35 and you're, what, 50? I could've crushed you in a race and barely broken a sweat. These are facts.<br /><br />But then I (probably) got the 'Rona and missed out on nearly 7 weeks of prime training. Still, I knew I had a good base of fitness to rely upon. And the weather was going to be great. And you were getting older. I don't care how well you've been training. Honestly, how much longer can you expect to be able to run as well as the Miracle Year of 2018? Race Plan: Bearwallow by 8am, cruise to a sub-11:30 finish, handedly beat my nemesis. Simple.<br /><br />Except, we know that's not what happened.<br /><br />How did it come to this? How in the hell did I end up losing out on a podium position to you? How on earth did you beat me by 10 minutes?! TEN MINUTES!<br /><br />John, have you forgotten that I no longer live in DC? I had to drive over 700 miles to get to Camp Bethel. I had to sleep in the back of my SUV at a random rest area off I-64 in Eastern Kentucky. Have you ever run Hellgate after a poor night's sleep, huddled under blankets in the back of an automobile, semis whizzing past, parking lot lights flooding your car's interior? I didn't think so.<br /><br />You criticized me for going out too fast. But I arrived at Camping Gap only 1 minute faster than in 2018. I'm in better shape than I was back then. And this year, the running felt so effortless. You know that half my annual vert is on a treadmill, right? Smooth, constant climbing. What's that sound like to you? Yup. The Petite's and Camping climbs! And I didn't even have a watch, so it's not like I was chasing times or anything. Where were you? Were you walking? Yes, I was running with two people who would go on to break the course record, but the pace felt so easy. And when they started doing their thing on the Reverse Promise Land Section, I didn't chase. I wasn't being stupid! I was calm, cool, collected. I had no idea what pace I was running, but I had this feeling that something as crazy as 11:15 might be possible if I didn't run into any major problems. You'd roll into Bearwallow, struggling to beat the 8am time goal, asking about me, and then spiral into the depths of despair after learning just how far ahead of you I was. Someone would snap a picture of your sorrow. It would be incredible.<br /><br />But here's the thing I failed to realize until it was too late. I've been living in Missouri for over a year now and I never do sustained descents. The biggest hill in my area isn't even 400 feet high. And I've been too scared to prop up the rear of my fancy new treadmill for fear of obliterating it like I did with my previous one. I thought my legs were strong and durable, but by the time I started dropping down off Onion Mountain to Overstreet on that stupid, technical stretch of bullshit trail, I knew something wasn't right. My legs were heavy and my footfalls were clunky. It hadn't taken more than a few miles of early race descending to ruin my legs for the day. And if that weren't enough, my stomach suddenly went haywire with aches and stabbing pains. Going to the bathroom didn't help at all. So I lumbered down to Overstreet at a snail's pace and slow jogged my way over to Headforemost/Floyd's.<br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/#" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ73xo73nTjf_OjkKt6ZRsvYaIzwChxjVFnoiaB78FotoAc1mzLIRgMiKadjhqsrLKrTXLVUxv2KKEjzMHmuqfghyphenhyphenVR6MlrGg9QRapyU8VRTVLd0SeCSWa_u9nmt3HsUcfa3JscPpjg18/w400-h266/HG_Headforemost_RidgeRUNers.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apparently I said I felt "good" at Mile 24. That was a lie. (PC: Ridge RUNers)</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>You caught me not long thereafter. I was squatting in the woods, trying to resolve my gut issues, again, to no avail. But I was secretly glad you showed up, because I always run down to Jennings just a little bit faster when you're leading the charge. I left Jennings knowing my legs had betrayed me. My prerace plan was to attack the two climbs up to Little Cove, but we'd barely gotten started and you were already out of sight. The first climb was slow and pathetic. The subsequent descent was clunky and had no flow. We spotted each other's headlamps. I counted strides. Around 400. Over 2 minutes. Starting the climb up to the aid station, I figured you were nearly 4 minutes ahead of me. I chased you … slowly. On the approach to the aid station -- that long bend that takes 5 or 6 minutes to run -- I never once saw your headlamp. Either it was off, or you were way ahead by now. My spirits were crushed. I wasn't sure I'd be able to make it to Bearwallow by 8:15am, much less 8:00am. I was the most pathetic runner in the world.<br /><br />But after a quick stop-off at Little Cove, and a much needed pre-packaged nutella crepe (seriously, the most amazing thing I've ever seen at an aid station in my life), I was ready for miles of smooth running on the approach to the Devil Trail. I never saw your headlamp -- maybe I saw it once, but maybe not, I can't say for sure. My legs felt heavy. And I was easily running 20-30 seconds per mile slower just trying to keep my quads from failing. But I could sense that I was gaining on you. When dawn came, I could tell by my location on the course that I was actually ahead of Bearwallow-By-Eight pace. Catching you was inevitable. I finally spotted you on a switchback. I shouted. You shouted. I counted my paces. 150 strides. Less than one minute! Hell yes! But then you disappeared. And I worked harder and harder. And everything hurt more and more. Why did you do that to me?<br /><br />I rolled into Bearwallow, and you were still there chit-chatting Horton. Apparently the rule is if you make it in before 8am, there's no rush to leave? My dead legs somehow bridged the gap. I was elated! But then a drop bag snafu had you leaving seconds ahead of me. If only I could just catch up to you and let you pull me along. But no. You wouldn't allow it, because you're a dick. I just spent three damn hours, feeling like shit, trying to catch back up to you. And this is how you repay me? I thought we were friends!<br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/#" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4pWqt0f2T-BXGjptV9oPFx1M2uJdTQ7Plffr6hefOA5FjuyH_5C91fhzZQr7HywB3R4n0fmCbPHNp6NEDwuIeEjfbY6mV2tovV0PjQdXGF1grsdypGz8fLJFuBSwzyZLDBxklU4dr7C4/w400-h267/HG_Bearwallow2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: start;">Running is stupid. (PC: Ridge RUNers)</span><br style="text-align: start;" /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />My climbing wasn't terrible, but my muscles were toast. 10lb weights strapped to each quad. I kept counting my strides, keeping you within sight. I knew that if I maintained contact by the top of the climb, I'd catch up by Bobblets. The Pretty Trail is my jam. The In-and-Outs are where I crush people's hopes and dreams! Except, not today. As the trail flattened out I tried to pick up my pace, and multiple muscle groups revolted in stabbing pains and cramps. I was ready to crush you, but my legs wouldn't let me.<br /><br />I found you at Bobblets. How many damn times have we been in this exact same situation?! Except it's usually me casually waiting for you. This time, you darted off without waiting. God, what an asshole! I had to fucking sprint … SPRINT … to catch up. Do you have any idea how much that hurt? Two years ago we entered the Forever Section together, with so much pocketed time that our Sub-12 goal was a foregone conclusion. This year we were even better off. Last time around your gut betrayed you. You had to go scratch in the woods, and you never caught back up to me. I reigned victorious and all was right with the universe. As we made our way down to the Forever Trail this time, a thought entered my mind: <i>if I can just maintain contact to the Parkway, there's no way he can beat me today</i>. The Running Gods read my mind and immediately punished me for my cockiness. The gut pains that had subsided hours ago immediately came back in full force. There was no way I'd be able to ignore a jacked up stomach, spasming muscles, AND keep up with you. So, with circumstances reversed, I took a calculated risk and jumped off trail for one final poop … watching you dart off into the distance.<br /><br />In the middle of the 2nd Forever Hill, I spotted you. 270 strides. 90 seconds. A glimmer of hope remained. Then I heard a terrifyingly loud shotgun blast. As I rounded the corner I saw four hunters standing on the trail. I fully expected to see them staring down at your lifeless body … ensuring my victory. But no dice. Soon after, my legs totally crapped out. 2% rocky grades might as well have been minefields. Before I got to Day Creek I knew it was over. You put in just enough effort in the Forever Section to break me. Fuck.<br /><br />I estimated you were 3-4 minutes up on me when I rolled into Day Creek. Just far enough ahead to be out of sight. If my legs were in good shape, I would have attacked and ran you down in the final mile. It would have been glorious. The aid station volunteers said it was 10:33 as I left. With good legs sub-11:30 and a new PR was a guarantee, with an outside chance of catching you. But my legs had felt like crap for 7 hours straight. So, instead, I lazy hiked my way up the final climb to save whatever was left in my legs for a descent that wouldn't completely suck. I love that descent. I needed a good descent to console me. My climb may have been a train wreck, but my descent might still have been faster than yours. We'll never know since I didn't have a watch. But that's what I choose to believe, and it makes me feel a little better. You put 10 minutes on me in those final miles. Brutal. Call it 2 minutes from pooping. Another 2 minutes on the back half of the Forever Trail. And a solid 6 minutes on the final climb.<br /><br />It's depressing. I'm depressed, John. How did it end up like this? I want to be happy for you, I do. But your PR is 8 minutes ahead of mine now, and you ran sub-11:30, and you podiumed, and you made me look downright silly at the end. And now I have 52 damn weeks to stew over this. I hate you so much.<br /><br />But I am consoled by a few irrefutable facts:<br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>I ran those first 21 miles faster than ever before, and it felt downright effortless. You were nowhere in sight.</li><li>My time from Jennings to Little Cove was probably around 6 minutes slower than 2018. I could tell. I could feel it. That won't happen next time around.</li><li>In 2018 we crushed Little Cove to Bearwallow in 1:33. This year I felt like I was giving up 20-30 seconds per mile … and I probably covered that ground in 1:28-1:30. This is where I crush your spirits next time around.</li><li>I ran Bearwallow to Bobletts 2 minutes faster than ever before, with cramping legs. Imagine what will happen when I'm feeling good. This is where you completely give up next time around.</li><li>The Forever Section felt like a bumbling trainwreck, but when you adjust for the poop break, I ran it as fast as ever before. You'll never be able to catch me next time around.</li><li>My legs won't be shot next time around. I will attack that final climb and descend to the finish faster than you could ever possibly hope to run. You don't stand a chance against me.</li><li>I'm flying in next year. A full night's rest in a climate controlled room with a comfy bed.</li></ul><br />Your Nemesis,<br />--Chris Roberts<br /><br />P.S.: Next Sissygate, I'm breaking 11:15, maybe even 11:00. You're on notice.Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-90826857785008224952020-01-03T14:57:00.000-06:002020-01-03T15:20:35.374-06:00Ode to Becca's Rain Jacket<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">So I could go on and on and on and on about the joys of this year's Hellgate, but instead, I'll just give you a few random bullets and jump straight into a poem.</span></div>
<div>
<ul>
<li><span style="color: #222222;">I had part of my big toenail surgically removed earlier in the week.</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #222222;">I had to drive 11 hours to get to Camp Bethel, and slept overnight at a Kentucky rest stop.</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #222222;">I inadvertently switched my contacts right before the race, throwing me into a low-grade migraine. I didn't solve that riddle until 2 days later.</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #222222;">Mountain-Forecast.com failed me.</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #222222;">It was miserable.</span></li>
<li><span style="color: #222222;">I didn't die.</span></li>
</ul>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><b>Ode to Becca's Rain Jacket</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Camp Bethel for the fifth time,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">The Eagle Year!</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">I've known heat, frozen bottles, snow,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">And even a Sissygate.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">But never a Watergate.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">You know the kind,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Torrential, freezing rains,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Hell on Earth!</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">My will is stronger than other runners,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">My last long run confirmed as much.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">30 knot daggers of freezing rain to the face,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Sopping wet for hours,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Then bone chilling cold.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">That's what I wanted.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">That's what I prayed for.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Hubris? Sorry, I'm not familiar with the word.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Mountain-Forecast.com,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">A godsend most days.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">But not this day!</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Light rain?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Temps barely under 40?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Piece of cake!</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">I'll don my Houdini and be on my way.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Swishy-swish rain jackets are for suckers.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Along Onion to Overstreet, reality sets in.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">I strip down and upend my drop bag.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">New shirts, new gloves, new beanie, new jacket.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">No, not a rain jacket.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Patagonia Wind Shield Hybrid Soft Shell, Grecian Blue.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">But it's dry and warm</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">…for now</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">If the rain picks up, I'm screwed.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Down to Jennings I go.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Hubris rains down upon me,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">With an inversion layer to boot.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Soaked to the bone,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Low heart rate.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Frozen torso,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Cold and alone.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">I'm screwed!</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">At Jennings I hide under a canopy,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Shell-shocked.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Dan arrives, he says he's okay.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">But his voice betrays him -- <i>please end my misery!</i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">John is there, too, in and out like a pro.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">I hitch my ride to his rain-jacket-covered carriage,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Hoping companionship will fight off the cold.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">It doesn't.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">At Little Cove, Helen hands me a grocery bag,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">It's all she has.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">I contemplate an homage to John Kelly,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">But I could never pull off such an iconic look.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">John stays behind.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">I'm alone in the dark now,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">So cold and so terribly alone.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">How the hell am I going to make it to Bearwallow?</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">I arrive!</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Sound the trumpets,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Raise the banners.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">I'm demoralized, dejected, defeated.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Soaking wet, freezing cold, numb,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Starving and thirsty.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Barely able to eat or drink.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">How much farther to Camp Bethel?</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">And then, the Hellgate Miracle!</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Hark the Hellgate angles sing,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Glory to Becca Weast!</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">And her 20,000 HH Inov8 Stormshell Jacket.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Lightweight, waterproof, taped seams.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Now, if only I could use my frozen fingers.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Becca, would you be so kind as to dress me?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Thanks! That's better, much better!</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">And just like that, I am off.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Well, technically, after 15 minutes of standing around shivering,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">And Horton plying me with soup and broth until I nearly puke.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">But yes, I am off,</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Off into the cold, wet unknown.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">And I am warm and cozy and dry.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">Caringly wrapped in a 2.5-layer polyamide Pertex Shield.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;">I've never known an embrace so loving, so kind, so form-fitting and comfortable.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiDMP6y0PFyQq0JKqyR4UybIpPzLMvnUFzte3AhyphenhyphenYaPIvjkodrh1o9qWLpkz8XSHTiALjvL98Utj1c2ByQ-QC1alLROflNO1hQbKDgf43coRmD16HHWkuT-JghwXqibfpGvgJ4X9wNN3U/s1600/2019HellgateShivering+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="661" data-original-width="513" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiDMP6y0PFyQq0JKqyR4UybIpPzLMvnUFzte3AhyphenhyphenYaPIvjkodrh1o9qWLpkz8XSHTiALjvL98Utj1c2ByQ-QC1alLROflNO1hQbKDgf43coRmD16HHWkuT-JghwXqibfpGvgJ4X9wNN3U/s640/2019HellgateShivering+%25282%2529.jpg" width="496" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Photo Credit: The Lifesaver)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-77043797787558049842019-10-14T10:59:00.002-05:002019-10-14T16:35:37.258-05:005X Grindstone - More Than a Race<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">"<i>A
million suns won't fill you up if you can't see the wine flowing over your
cup.</i>"</span> -- Brand New</div>
<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPEmiMlDU3Wku2T4zY8hBUh9d3sxPMYAmcWS7UzJoHmvWUirQWjuujpb7yzk6TPn2nGFwMakVi3FptMtGNqaYw5hV71SCUbsYXGgy6BuKEMUBC4Etvh20YzxHs9rzzPksAV2bVceOwX4g/s1600/grindstone_profile.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="567" data-original-width="1104" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPEmiMlDU3Wku2T4zY8hBUh9d3sxPMYAmcWS7UzJoHmvWUirQWjuujpb7yzk6TPn2nGFwMakVi3FptMtGNqaYw5hV71SCUbsYXGgy6BuKEMUBC4Etvh20YzxHs9rzzPksAV2bVceOwX4g/s640/grindstone_profile.PNG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at that sexy elevation profile!</td></tr>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Some
races are just that, a race, an event, something you sign up for and then move
on from when it's over. Other times they're more, they're something special,
something you connect with. For me, the Grindstone 100 is a very special race.
The beautiful setting in the mountains of Virginia. Its 23,000' of substantial
and varied climbs and descents. Its sections of smooth and runnable trail, and
its other sections of rocky hellscape. The unique 6pm start on the first Friday
of October that forces some runners to spend 2/3rds of their race running in
the dark. There's no other way to put it, Grindstone is an incredible, classic 100 miler.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">For
me, personally, Grindstone is also something much, much more. It's family, it's
coming home after an extended absence, it's a weekend I look forward to all
year long. Grindstone is the race that made me fall in love with ultra running.
It was my very first 100 miler, and for the fifth year in a row I'd be towing
the line. This time was different, though. 5-timing at Grindstone awards you a
big honkin' buckle, something I was very much looking forward to finally
earning; in a way, it would signify I'd become a veteran, an elder of a race
that had come to define much of who I am as a runner. I intend to keep running
Grindstone in the future, but I knew coming into it this year that it'd be my
last time starting for a while -- there were other fall 100s to experience, and
I wanted to start spending time volunteering at Grindstone and helping other
runners achieve their goals. Moreover, after moving from DC to St. Louis a few
months prior, the mountains of Virginia were no longer in my backyard, and I
was very much looking forward to seeing them again. In a way, too, I was coming
to Grindstone this year not just to run it, but to say good-bye to trails that
I'd come to know and love, trails I was unlikely to run again for some time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Grindstone
weekend was everything that I hoped it could be, and more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After Summer had been stubbornly over-wearing
its welcome, Fall finally rolled in mere hours before the race start, and
runners were blessed with undeniably perfect race conditions. The daytime was
sunny and warm, but not too warm. Humidity was low. The mountain peaks and
ridgelines embraced runners with crisp, light breezes and the rustling of
leaves. The nighttime was cool and clear and pleasant. This was not a year of
soupy humidity or never-ending downpours, it was a year for PRs and a high
finisher rate.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKPLAwBecd_scvDBkEppIx8_WyG69GFqtUdsNcMMfSNIaHOv4-dZi8JotE-NkHtDQ1FWC8EMed6hK31gDfxbMzmF6DRntJbxAHUXXdz7lFq8_2mY7dUj0f3u8dcXNPsftIxo7wKVd1wcY/s1600/71482336_10156785320480172_5284026744473387008_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="562" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKPLAwBecd_scvDBkEppIx8_WyG69GFqtUdsNcMMfSNIaHOv4-dZi8JotE-NkHtDQ1FWC8EMed6hK31gDfxbMzmF6DRntJbxAHUXXdz7lFq8_2mY7dUj0f3u8dcXNPsftIxo7wKVd1wcY/s400/71482336_10156785320480172_5284026744473387008_n.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm Number One!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">As
one of the more experienced and accomplished returning runners, Clark Zealand
-- the RD -- honored me with my first-ever Number One seed. I viewed it mostly
as a joke, but I was nonetheless moved and appreciative of the distinction. There
was good, healthy competition at the front of the field, particularly for the
men. Positioning for the Top 5 runners was still being decided coming into the
final aid stations. And due to some nearly unfortunate luck on the part of this
year's winner, I was mere minutes away from stealing the victory. Despite
taking a wrong turn on an unmarked section of trail after the final aid
station, Paul Jacobs corrected his mistake in the nick of time and secured the
overall victory.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtzoAvBAi1ezV-mJlB7V5gMafBetXlw_Lk0MHuCc4kxQL8FwyZLKakcUTqTu1YfYpkSFFCpm2PHyNpCKG25rsa_UTKIMY4Ad9oTCGD_At1dnVfkulLn5Q8Q0CImt8J9LGo6GznztrDsT4/s1600/GS100_2019_Finishline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtzoAvBAi1ezV-mJlB7V5gMafBetXlw_Lk0MHuCc4kxQL8FwyZLKakcUTqTu1YfYpkSFFCpm2PHyNpCKG25rsa_UTKIMY4Ad9oTCGD_At1dnVfkulLn5Q8Q0CImt8J9LGo6GznztrDsT4/s400/GS100_2019_Finishline.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's a 19 on that clock! Photo Credit: No Clue.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Apart
from running, I soaked up my Grindstone weekend chatting with old running
friends and enjoying their company before and after the race. I was grateful to
see many friendly faces volunteering at the aid stations. I shared tales of the
trail. I cheered on other runners. I soaked in the atmosphere of one of my
favorite weekends of the year. And then, after I received my 5X buckle, I said
my good-byes, and began my 700 mile trek home from Camp Shenandoah. On the way,
I reflected on the weekend, finding myself nearly in tears, but also earnestly looking forward to spending
a long weekend next year manning aid stations and helping other runners achieve
their lofty dreams.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAx7F8mhQiwLxCrKyaTZ0eCdKpbCP6vR_VY2AIuhQgKFhIn4qPhwHXIzKRsiNctHqrtkVa7jFN3ez1ZKGSAWTlCgTODx0wfQI325Ai76qD5Lb7wXYaBqJ7az0n70qXdJOn6P-i1uGCp-0/s1600/IMG_20191005_205342.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAx7F8mhQiwLxCrKyaTZ0eCdKpbCP6vR_VY2AIuhQgKFhIn4qPhwHXIzKRsiNctHqrtkVa7jFN3ez1ZKGSAWTlCgTODx0wfQI325Ai76qD5Lb7wXYaBqJ7az0n70qXdJOn6P-i1uGCp-0/s400/IMG_20191005_205342.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The infamous Wicked Good Grindstone cookie. The real reason we sign up for this race.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<h4 style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Here is a more detailed accounting of my race for anyone interested:</span></h4>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">My
race was, all around, a fantastic experience. After coming so close to breaking
20 hours in 2017, I was laser-focused on achieving that goal this time around.
Moreover, I wanted to make amends for my disappointing 6th place slog-fest last
year and hopefully break into the Top 3. While my training leading into
Grindstone was nothing to write home about, I felt that after 5 years of running
I finally had a reliable base to hold me up in longer races.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">For
the first 100K, I diligently adhered to splits that would secure a 20 hour
finish, and my effort always felt calm and controlled. I unexpectedly moved
into first place around Mile 17, only realizing it after repeatedly being
gifted with spiderwebs to the face. But it didn't last long because I got
swallowed up by a hole soon thereafter -- sinking waist-deep into a leaf-filled
depression on the edge of the trail formed by a recently upended tree. I was
going downhill and travelling fast, so the experience was rather jarring. I
laid there, momentarily dazed, and a gaggle of runners flew by. Next thing I
knew, I'd ceded 7 or 8 places. After regaining my composure, I kept at it,
maintaining my own effort, and not worrying about the seemingly unsustainable
pace of those front runners.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Around
Mile 30, along the rocky, technical descent into North River Gap, my mind
flowed into a state of utter upheaval.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Usually, it takes more than 80 miles before I'm overcome with emotions,
sobbing while fast-hiking up an absurdly steep mountain trail. This time was
different. I had begun to reflect on how much Grindstone meant to me, on how
great it was to see so many of my East Coast running friends, on how this was
my final time racing Grindstone for a while and that it felt like I was
somehow, along every single mile of the course, saying good-bye to a close
friend. It became too much to bear. The emotions were too high. It was
nearly impossible to properly focus on my running. Despite being perfectly
positioned for a great race, I gave up all competitive aspirations. I'd be
happy to just phone it in the next 70 miles, taking it easy, enjoying saying my
good-byes to every stretch of trail along the way.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitVavgrzF2_CsozQS-D7nnrISxS5aTgthsB4TcOKxRonfK5IsS5jJ9kRpEM5MHcprmOi90u5c3n59cEhxFUu9XcW5aLS5MQlXUc6Ic0QFBGKmMysjk_-nVbvIfJcg-q66cclqEWEhkBTg/s1600/clairedanes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="578" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitVavgrzF2_CsozQS-D7nnrISxS5aTgthsB4TcOKxRonfK5IsS5jJ9kRpEM5MHcprmOi90u5c3n59cEhxFUu9XcW5aLS5MQlXUc6Ic0QFBGKmMysjk_-nVbvIfJcg-q66cclqEWEhkBTg/s400/clairedanes.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Accurate representation of me running down Lookout Mountain.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I
thought about how Horton would've called me a sissy and that I'd need to suck
it up and run, but I didn't care. Trying to cast aside those powerful emotions
would be to discredit them. I wanted my 5th Grindstone to be a "meaningful
experience", but how could I ever achieve that if I were to stubbornly
suppress all of those feelings that were welling up inside me? How could I
expect to look back fondly on this day if I spent the bulk of it fighting off
emotions that powerful? So there I was, stumbling down the trail, in the dark,
ugly crying like Claire Danes. It took everything I had to resist the urge to
just sit down and let it all out. After nearly an hour of this headspace, I
rolled into North River Gap, and at one point I just stood there, blankly
staring off at the drop bags, choking back tears. I found Clark, muttered
something about being a little emotionally overwhelmed, then reached for a
handshake as I fought off the urge to give him a hug and bawl onto his
shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">For
the first miles of the nearly 2 hour climb out of North River Gap, I was still
an emotional wreck. But then, in an instant, something changed. Just after the
top of Grindstone Mountain, I stopped and closed my eyes, focusing on the
feeling of the crisp autumn breeze against my face and the mesmerizing sound of
shaking leaves in the surrounding trees. I experienced a freeing fullness of
being. I was a part of the trail, and the trail a part of me. I was grounded,
focused. I didn't need to cast aside my emotions, I could embrace them and
still run with purpose. And, perhaps, too, I now fully understood Spinoza. But
no time to add philosophical musings to the fray, I had to get back to running!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I
calmly rolled into the Turnaround, feeling fresh and collected. I made note of
how far ahead the other runners were, but stayed the course and felt no urgency
to attack. I was on 20-flat pace and there was no way more than a couple of
those runners would be able to keep it up. Instead of frantically bombing the
3000' descent back into North River Gap at Mile 65 like I did two years ago, I
took my time and took care of my legs. And just before the aid station, after
more than 30 miles of solitude, I finally overtook a runner. I made quick work
of the aid station just before the break of dawn and energetically climbed the
technical trail back up Lookout Mountain. In years past, this section of the
course had always, without fail, crushed my spirits. But my legs felt great this time around
and I just floated along. Lyrics from Brand New and Janelle Monae danced in my
head and put a pep in my step. I went back and forth with 5th place for a bit,
before he flew down the next descent to Dowell's Draft at Mile 80, clearly at
an unsustainable pace. I didn't panic because I knew those legs would be
trashed by the time he got to the final miles. I rolled along, doing my own thing. And ... I felt amazing! Suddenly, Alicia
Keys was blaring inside my head <i>-- This Girl Is On Fiyaaaahhh! </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I
overtook another runner. Then I calmly cruised up and down Crawford Mountain
and stumbled upon two more runners at the Dry Branch Gap aid station at Mile
88. Less than a mile into the final four mile climb, I made my move and blew
past them. Despite the steep, rocky sections up Elliott's Knob, and the fact
that I was 90 miles into the race, I never stopped to hike. I was flying. I
went from dancing right on 20-flat pace to suddenly being 10 minutes ahead of
pace. As I turned off the top of Elliott's, I could see 2nd place -- the
presumptive dead legs guy -- no more than one minute ahead of me. I descended
with purpose, but remain controlled. I blew through the final aid station with
5 miles to go and knew without any shadow of a doubt that I was finally going
to break 20 hours at Grindstone. Now, I wanted to see how much lower I could
go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I
kept on charging, soon working my way into 2nd place. I didn't let up, all the
way to the final mile of the course. I normally run this section as hard and
fast as I can, but the way I was running was putting my old efforts to shame.
Then, as I turned onto the dam, mere minutes from the finish, I heard something
odd: cheering. I didn't know what to make of it since I was in 2nd place and
only two aid stations prior I was told the leader was 30-40 minutes up and
looking good. I rolled into the finishing chute at 19:47 elapsed. The emotions
of the day came bubbling up, but somehow I held off the tears, shook Clark's
hand, took my buckle, and had a well-deserved seat just off the finish line.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Paul
Jacobs was there, having finished literally 3 minutes ahead of me. I was 3
friggin minutes away from a victory at my favorite 100 Miler! Oh well! It
didn't matter. I was over the moon. I ran a perfect race, negative-split the
course like a beast, had an absolute blast, PR'd, demolished my sub-20 goal,
and secured 2nd place by passing three runners in the final 10 miles. I could
not have asked for a better race. It was the perfect end to my 5 consecutive
years at Grindstone. I will cherish the memories of this weekend for the rest
of my life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">My
cup runneth over…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpPgx1yyIHt6LLWR6vAqj4RcjitifkiiQug7Gb2LawFO31IU6zAqGZTvBaxgMweEiHXHEyfKwiraamFt7aG9iW5QUH8Pa1XanHPdY4C3UNr0Rzegp4jIOLbG3VeLJk73Fta-Pv6YYn3CY/s1600/download_20191006_150350.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpPgx1yyIHt6LLWR6vAqj4RcjitifkiiQug7Gb2LawFO31IU6zAqGZTvBaxgMweEiHXHEyfKwiraamFt7aG9iW5QUH8Pa1XanHPdY4C3UNr0Rzegp4jIOLbG3VeLJk73Fta-Pv6YYn3CY/s400/download_20191006_150350.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's okay, you can be jealous of my amazing buckle.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Top Finisher handshake!</td></tr>
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Muchos Gracias:</h4>
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An especially big THANK YOU to my wife and in-laws for letting me disappear for 4 days straight and for looking after my kiddos. I really missed having my wife and daughter crew me this year, but was so thankful to now live nearby Mimi and Poppy, who willingly shouldered some of the parenting responsibilities in my absence.</div>
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Thank you to all of the volunteers at Grindstone! This race wouldn't be possible without you. I am so excited to start volunteering alongside y'all next year.</div>
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And thank you to Clark, for always putting on a great race, hosting an incredible weekend, and giving hundreds of us runners memories that will last a lifetime.</div>
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As of last year, the Virginia Department of Game and Inland Fisheries disallowed trail markers on a 3 mile stretch of the course. Despite having run the course 4 previous times, I missed a critical turn off of a gravel road at Mile 4. It was badly overgrown and did not look like the picture I had in my head of the turn ... and Horton wasn't there like usual to help everyone out. So, really, it's like 50% VA DGIF's fault and 50% Horton's fault, with no remaining fault allocated to myself or my fellow runners! After a few minutes I convinced myself we'd missed the turn and I rounded up the front pack to retrace our steps. Along with another 2 or 3 groups of runners we picked up on the way back, I'd say 50+ people missed that turn. Ouch! All told, it cost the front of the pack 12 minutes, but had zero impact on the top finishers since all of us made the mistake together.</div>
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I negative-split the course in 10:02/9:45.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I was the only runner to go under 10 hours on the back half of the course.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I was the only runner to run the "Final 50K" from NRG under 7 hours (6:46).<o:p></o:p></div>
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This is totally not a thing, but I seem to now hold the record for fastest 5x finishes: 107:40:35 (21:32:07 average). The previous best looks to have been Keith Knipling with 111:11:41 (22:14:20 average). Who's gonna step up and better that mark?!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and fellow 5X-ers, Nelson Hernandez and Brian Hulbert.</td></tr>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">After
a couple years suffering through palate fatigue with my Huma gels, I had zero
problems with Science In Sport gels. I probably had 14 of those, along with 2
Huma gels early on, and a few Clif Blocks. The rest of my nutrition came from a
steady supply of Tailwind, aid station potatoes, and strategically placed
Starbucks Frappuccinos in my drop bags.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">As
always, I did my best Jeff Browning impersonation, dressing in Patagonia gear
and sporting Altra Lone Peaks. And I rocked a sweet pair of knee-high Injinji
stars and stripes socks, cuz 'Mericuh!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Also, I drove a total of 23 hours to and from the race ... the sub-20 hour race. Ugh.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">And finally, here's a homemade Flyby chart showing how, according to Horton, I "should have run faster!"</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUoJn17iIkVz1CHxn5CylMZNXOkgPaz167BqyZnlEPEChcpW1RmqzKQGScvk5cBDS3_R6YoSZokwmFMBgaJ8HC0tFnPs3Qg241UOdVnymZ5nwT3IflMVp3W8JrSNo0aHrlU_f9a_fbDbQ/s1600/GS100_2019_FlyBy.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="538" data-original-width="794" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUoJn17iIkVz1CHxn5CylMZNXOkgPaz167BqyZnlEPEChcpW1RmqzKQGScvk5cBDS3_R6YoSZokwmFMBgaJ8HC0tFnPs3Qg241UOdVnymZ5nwT3IflMVp3W8JrSNo0aHrlU_f9a_fbDbQ/s640/GS100_2019_FlyBy.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Race FlyBy.</td></tr>
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<br />Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-17243797290640590982019-06-20T15:43:00.000-05:002019-06-20T15:43:06.089-05:00Old Dominion<br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-size: 11pt;">Here's an answer to the question: "What do you think about when you run?"</span></div>
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WARNING: Much of this race report attempts to accurately convey my mental state during the 2019 Old Dominion 100. Know that I was pissy and moody much of that time, and combining that with my natural predilection for being a sarcastic ass yielded many thoughts that were perhaps comedically dark and possibly offensive. So … if you get easily offended or have no taste for dry, sarcastic wit, or find the occasional F-bomb to be in poor taste, then just click that little "X" at the top of this window and go on about your day. If you wanna know what really goes on in the mind of a runner mid-race, then read on!</div>
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Before you conclude that I'm a cranky, angry little man that hates everyone and everything, I have to say upfront that I am incredibly grateful to the race organizers, the volunteers, and all the crew/spectators I saw along the way. The Old Dominion 100 is a truly unique race with an incredible down-to-earth and family feel about it. Despite what you might read down below, I am thankful for having participated in the race and respect the hard work and dedication of everyone involved. Also, though I continually rail on the race for being flat and on roads, it does have a surprising variety of grades and terrain in the undeniably beautiful Fort Valley, which is nice … that said, they took the gravel and paved roads up to an 11 and I'd really like them to be way down at a 1 or 2. Personal preference, but there it is.</div>
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Okay, so why was I running Old Dominion? Well, it's the closest "mountain" 100 miler to DC. I wanted to run one of the old, classic hundred milers out here before I packed my bags and headed back to Missouri later in the year. Massanutten would've been a better fit for me, most likely (despite the ungodly amount of rocks), but it came only a few weeks after Hellbender's 25K feet of climbing. So, I opted for the tamer Old Dominion a few weeks later in the calendar. Plus, the buckle is downright glorious!</div>
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I knew heading into the race that it was unlikely to be my cup of tea. There's a lot of gravel and a lot of running and not nearly enough climbing and descending. The race claims 14 "significant" climbs over 14K total vert, but no, just no. There's maybe 6 or 7 non-hills, and even then only a couple of those are <span style="font-style: italic;">real</span> climbs. Having previously run Vermont, which also was not my cup of tea, I knew what I was getting into. Like it or not I was going to be doing a lot of flat running all day, so better get used to the idea!</div>
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My ultimate goal was to finish without a headlamp. I came oh-so-close at Vermont a couple years ago. Given that the last few miles of the race were in the town of Woodstock, I could comfortably achieve that by finishing somewhere in the vicinity of 9-9:30pm. That'd give me a 17:00-17:30 finishing time. It seemed doable. Secondarily, I wanted to podium, but really, I just wanted to run 100 miles without a headlamp. I ended up finishing in 18:06, with a headlamp, taking 3rd place. It wasn't what I wanted, but whatever. It is a bit of a dick thing to say I wasn't pleased with an 18hr podium finish at Old Dominion when plenty of people out there would give their swollen right nut to have that kind of performance. Oh, sorry, did that little turn of phrase catch you off guard? Well, it'll come up again in a little while, I promise!</div>
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I started the race at 4am, one of the few runners without a light. Despite there being no moon in the sky, it didn't bother me at all along the pavement out of town. As I crested the first climb of the day -- the Woodstock Tower road climb -- at roughly 5am, the day's first light was just beginning to creep into the mountains. My legs felt stiff and heavy and my stride a bit clunky, so I was hoping the next couple miles of trail would clear things out. Only, it was mere miles into the race and I already had an upset stomach. At the top of the second hill along the Massanutten Trail, I'd finally had enough and deposited my offering to the trail gods. Suck it, Orange Blaze! Sadly, this did not alleviate the pain in my gut and I spent the entire first 50K of the race with an uncomfortably tight lower intestines that was bad enough it noticeably impacted my stride, to say nothing of my general demeanor.</div>
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Somewhere around Mile 20, steps after a photographer snapped my picture, I sucked down a fly and it stuck to the soft tissue at the back of my throat. I spent 2 minutes standing there, hacking and coughing and gagging and downing an ungodly amount of liquids to try and clear it out. I've never thrown up in a race before, and that was a close one!</div>
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I lumbered along to Mile 32 running all but roughly 1/2 mile of the course thus far. My legs didn't feel right, my stomach was a mess, I was sick of running, and the gravel roads were starting to piss me off. One of the aid stations I lolly-gagged into had nothing but gatorade, fun size snickers, and pringles. God Damnit! What do I have to do to get some fresh sushi or organic pesticide free berries around here?! On to the next aid station.</div>
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Just before the first drop bag at Four Points -- Mile 32 -- my stomach had had enough again and I was forced to dive over a guardrail on Camp Roosevelt Road and relieve myself in what I later observed to be a small patch of stinging nettles. Excellent! At least I didn't wipe my ass with those leaves! Nevertheless, for the next half hour my butthole itched to holy hell. Ultra running! Huzzah!</div>
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I strolled into Four Points just before the 5 hour mark, over 20 minutes back of what I'd hoped for. My stomach accounted for some of that time, but it was clear that my legs just weren't up to the challenge today. I chugged a frappuccino and headed off to tackle the middle section of the race having already admitted defeat on the day.</div>
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I hiked most of the next hill as an FU to the race. <span style="font-style: italic;">Make me run non-stop for 50K, well I'll show you!</span> As I ran back down yet another non-trail section of the course I vowed that I would despise everything about this race from here on out. I came across a snake and instantly thought, "if that thing bites me, maybe I can quit, wouldn't that be nice." On the one hand, I was actually hoping for an excuse to be done for the day, and on the other hand I knew that my body was fully capable of making it to the finish of this candy-ass flat hundred. A ways down the road I straight-up kicked another snake so that it'd get off the road. You're welcome, fellow runners, I just saved your life with my bravery.</div>
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I then entered the Apocalypse Now section of the course -- the bombed out, fire-damaged, logged section of Duncan Hollow -- and began repeating the mantra: <span style="font-style: italic;">this is stupid, I hate this</span>. It was slow going, but at least I was on a trail for a little while. And, at some point my stomach finally stopped making me want to keel over in pain. The trail fucking sucked because it was filled with bullshit Massanutten rocks and there were 75 horseflies attacking me every step of the way. I fucking hate horseflies! It started getting warm enough that I was needing to douse myself with water at every creek crossing to fight off the heat. At some point I came up to one of the 752 aid stations along the course, which was literally a couple old folks and two mules with some cases of water bottles along the side of the trail. Bonus points for originality and for the dedication!</div>
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Then, it was back to the horseflies … and a healthy dose of taint chafing. Yeah, I knew you wanted to know about that. A little later on, I stopped for a legit two minutes because … my shoulder hurt. No, seriously. That's how much I stopped giving a shit. Somehow my shoulder -- it wasn't even my arm that was holding my bottle -- started hurting. Like, stabbing pains. I let it just hang there to try and minimize the pain. Every footfall, especially downhill, was excruciating. And so I stopped mid-race to massage my god damned shoulder. Fuck my life. Eventually the pain subsided, but the shame remains to this day.</div>
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After a long and not at all steep road descent back to Four Points -- Mile 47 -- I found myself 40 minutes behind schedule. Terrific. I knew that there was a quasi-climb up ahead but I had no real understanding of what it would be like. It ended up being an exposed 6 mile dirt road climb in the heat of the day. Right at noon I got excited because it was Jarmans O'clock and I was climbing a shitty exposed road. That excitement quickly dampened and I ended up just being plain sick of it all. It was a total "douche grade" climb, but I ended up walking entirely too much of it because I just Did. Not. Care. Around the 50 Mile mark I transitioned into my no-gels phase of running, where the mere thought of consuming a gel made me want to hurl. In the first 8 hours of the race I downed maybe 500 calories of gels and a few hundred calories of Clif Blocks. Afterwards: zero. Perhaps an epic calorie deficit was swiftly coming my way!</div>
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Around this point in the race I also started developing an odd hitch in my stride. Why? Because, my right testicle was painfully swollen. Actually, it wasn't the testicle itself, but rather the epididymis. Oh, you don't know what the epididymis is? Did you miss that day in 7th grade health class? Well, Google states that it is "a highly convoluted duct behind the testis, along which sperm passes to the vas deferens." Fun Fact: Epididymitis, inflammation of the epididymis, is often caused by a bacterial or sexually transmitted infection. You're welcome for that thrilling health lesson! But yeah, let's just stick with describing the situation as a <span style="font-style: italic;">swollen right nut</span> (I told you we'd be revisiting this subject!). It hurt. So bad. For miles. And miles. And miles. All told, I'd say there was about an hour of extreme discomfort, then another hour or so of much more tolerable pain, and then it just kinda sorta dulled out into nothingness and the inflammation went away. I'm really glad we had this opportunity to sit down together and talk about my testicles, it's been a lot of fun!</div>
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Anyways … I walked into the 51 Mile aid station, "Mountain Top", which is not at the top of the damned mountain, feeling cooked, and frustrated at having to look at green mountains yet being stuck on a glorified logging road. After downing a dozen strawberries and a bunch of coke the volunteers convinced me to take a freeze pop for the road. It was magical! That is, until a mile later when I couldn't get the sugary residue off my teeth. I was told I was 17 minutes back of the next guy, which I thought was Rich Riopel in 2nd place. I figured if I caught him then I caught him, but I wasn't going to bother myself with actually working hard to do so. My pity party was just getting started!</div>
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After cresting the mountain, I continued to run along a god-forsaken road for hours and hours. This bit was particularly frustrating as right fucking next to me was a trail. I literally ran along a road for multiple miles while staring off to a trail not more than 10 yards to my right. At one point a gaggle of dirt bikers putzed along said trail and I momentarily felt glad that I was on a road. Dirt bikers are the worst with their loud, obnoxious douchebaggy vehicles spoiling every decent quality about the natural forest they are riding in. Ugh!</div>
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At the next station, Edinburg Gap -- Mile 56 -- I downed an entire watermelon, then proceeded to the "ATV" section of the course. I knew I was going to hate this section before I even saw it. It was a 10 foot wide scar in the forest, meant for lazy ass losers to have "recreation" time in their dumb CO2 spewing vehicles. Scores of rednecks and bros, hobbling along in their Jeeps, thinking they're all cool as they replay images of decades worth of Jeep commercials in their minds. Whoever designed these trails put mountain bikers' absurd trails to shame.</div>
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At one point along the ATV, sorry "OHV", trail I came upon a freshly washed Faux-Jeep Baby Cherokee. It was so cute! It putzed along the 2% grade descent at a comfortable 5 mph. The guy literally had to stop and let me pass. He was going so slow. This runnable section of trail actually perked up my spirits a bit, but the prevalence of cars still had me feeling pissy and mean spirited. Right then and there, I decided to make up a story of how that cute little Baby Cherokee ended up getting passed by a runner in a national forest, and here is that gripping tale:</div>
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Dad: "Hey family, who wants to head to the forest for the day?"</div>
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Kid #1: "Me, me! Are we going to go hiking?"</div>
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Dad: "Nope."</div>
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Kid #2: "Mountain biking! Hooray!"</div>
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Dad: "Nope."</div>
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Mom: "Are we going to go on a picnic where you assume all responsibility of the kids and I can just sit in the shade and guzzle a bottle of cheap Rose and read a book?"</div>
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Dad: "No way. This is going to be so much better! Let's take our glorified crossover out on the trails and go off roading! Who needs to enjoy nature with exercise or a picnic when we can take our cliché suburban airconditioned non-SUV and pollute the beautiful forests of our National Parks System with our internal combustion engine. It'll be so much fun you guys! We'll roll along at a blistering 5 miles an hour, because I'm too afraid of messing up my delicate crossover suspension system. Then, eventually, a runner will pass us by, rendering me totally emasculated and insecure, eventually bringing about an era of familial discontent that will inevitably lead to divorce and the dissolution of our family. And I'll spend the rest of my days hanging out, alone, at Dave and Busters, getting shitfaced every night on Coors Light while trying to hit on college girls half my age and uncomfortably staring a bit too long at the bartender's breasts. Then I'll stumble to my depressing 1-bedroom bachelor pad, reeking of stale pizza and dirty socks, and cry myself to sleep and dream of better days. … So, who's with me?!"</div>
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Kid #1: "That sounds awful. I'd rather go over to Billy's house and play Fortnite. See ya."</div>
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Kid #2: "Yeah, you suck dad. I'm gonna go hang out in my room and do homework or something, anything to get away from you."</div>
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Mom: "Sorry, honey, but that's the stupidest idea you've ever had. But you feel free to go out there by yourself if you really want to. I'll just head over to my coworker Kyle's place and hang out. You remember Kyle, right? Tall, handsome, muscular. God, I could ride that all night long. … Shit, did I say that out loud?"</div>
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Ok, back to the running bits! I rolled into Little Fort -- Mile 65 -- actually feeling pretty good. I was still bleeding time, but I had actually spent some quality miles on trails. Granted, they were trails for cars, but whatever, I guess I'm at that point where I'll take what I can get. I'm an optimist at heart.</div>
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I spent some time lazily hiking up a lame 300 foot road climb, then ran along some more gravel roads that I'd seen earlier in the day and tried to not get run over by redneck families on their 4-wheelers.</div>
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I eventually popped out on the Mudhole Gap Trail. I was told by an anonymous source that Keith Knipling loves this section of trail and wants to have babies with it. It was like 3 minutes of real trail, and then a few miles of quasi-trail … but covered in bits of fucking gravel. With the Old Dominion, even the trails are gravel! So yeah, apparently Keith Knipling has atrocious taste in trails. Gross, Keith, gross.</div>
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Okay, I have this theory. The Botts family, that started and maintain the race, are secretly Virginia gravel kingpins. They have backroom deals with politicians all over the place to get their overpriced gravel strewn out throughout the region, even in the forests. Directing the Old Dominion 100 Mile Cross Country Run is all a ruse to prematurely wear out the gravel roads and trails they maintain so that they can come back in and lay more gravel at a hefty profit, compliments of John Q. Taxpayer. I'm sure there are plenty of off the books money exchanges with local politicians. These folks are raking in millions with their gravel racket!</div>
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At one point, dropping down the ridge above Elizabeth Furnace, I spied the Shenandoah Mountains off to the East. Look at those majestic sons of bitches! Real mountains! Two to three thousand foot climbs! The Real Deal. Not like this shitty midget Massanutten Mountain crap. Please, just get me out of here, I hate this place, I want to run over there!</div>
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After some more gravel trail, I finally hit the legit trail just outside of Elizabeth Furnace and rolled into the aid station -- Mile 75 -- nearly an hour behind schedule. However, it was now 5pm, the heat of the day was gone, and I had some real climbs ahead of me to look forward to. 75 miles of boredom and worthless running to finally get to the good stuff. In a way, the Old Dominion is a lot like this allegory that I whipped up whilst running:</div>
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Dad: "Hey sweetheart, do you wanna go catch that new movie you've been wanting to see?"</div>
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Daughter: "Gee willikers! That'd be great, dad. I love you so much! I'll go get my jacket."</div>
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Dad: "Well hold on there, sport. I didn't say we'd go right now! First, I need you to write a 5,000 word essay arguing that mountain bikers are objectively better trail stewards than runners and hikers. When you're done, we can go see that movie."</div>
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Daughter: "God damnit, dad. You're the worst! I hate you! I wish mom had given me up for adoption when I was born!"</div>
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Dad: "Me too, kiddo, me too."</div>
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Okay, so I was at Elizabeth Furnace, working through my drop bag, getting ready for the long anticipated fun part of the course, when who strolls over? None other than Jack Kurisky! I was doing the whole solo schtick but decided I'd allow him the opportunity to fill my bottle with some ice, you know, keep him busy, give him something to do, make him feel special. Good thing Old Dominion doesn't have a real Solo category, or else some stickler might've reported me … for a non-volunteer putting a handful of ice in a bottle. (Enter Hardrock joke here, if you're into that sort of thing). Anyways, it was great to see a friend after nearly 13 hours of not loving life. As always, he was extremely supportive and upbeat, and he sent me off in a much better mood than I'd come in with. And to top things off, I was told the guy in front of me "just left one minute ago". Oh man, I'm only a minute behind Riopel and I'm just now entering my comfort zone.</div>
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With a fresh state of mind, I hit the trails leading up Sherman Gap. I heard it was steep and a little gnarly, and that it'd be friggin awesome! Only, I had to run through 2 miles of bullshit rollers to get there. What the hell?! I want steep climbs and I want them NOW! Finally, I got to the gritty section of Sherman Gap and slow-hiked my way up for nearly 30 minutes. It was heavenly. No more running for me, just hiking up and falling down … the way it should be. I wish Shermans was twice as high!</div>
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As I flew down the other side of Sherman Gap, I quickly overtook Riopel. Only … it wasn't Riopel. It was some random old dude. Random old dude, where the hell did you come from? I could've sworn there were only 2 people ahead of me. Nevermind, you're going slow downhill, you must not be in the race. Moving on.</div>
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At the bottom, I hit a 2 mile stretch of rolling road. Ugh, more friggin road. But it leads to another steep climb. I'll take the bitter with the sweet right now. Life is all about compromise, that's what the Buddha says. I cruised into Veach East -- Mile 83 -- and exchanged some sass with the VHTRC volunteers who kept trying to push their idea of a fun time: soup and broth. It's 80 fucking degrees out dude, get that shit away from me! As I left I heard cheering. Damn it, random old dude is an actual runner. I really don't wanna race right now.</div>
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Random old dude caught up with me. We exchanged pleasantries. Then he went off ahead of me up Veach Gap. I, on the other hand, lazily hiked. Why? Because I'm a slow hiker. But most importantly, because I'd been running all damn day and I deserved this, so leave me alone! After the crest, I went flying down the hill. I quickly overtook random old dude, who was hobble jogging his way down the mountainside. Into Veach West -- Mile 86 -- I went. More coke, more fruit. More sass about broth. No, kind volunteer, I don't have a drop bag, it's friggin Mile 86, who has a drop bag this far into the race, leave me alone! Onward to more fucking gravel and pavement!</div>
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My legs were feeling good and by the next aid station -- Mile 91 -- I was ready for the final climb. I was going to no walk this non-trail bastard. I got to a stretch of road I'd already visited back at Mile 65. I'd lazily walked it that time, but the sun was setting now, the race was almost over, and I was feeling great, so I sprinted all the way up. Well, not a sprint so much as a shuffle jog, but you get the idea. I ran right on by the little aid station up there just as nautical twilight was beginning, begrudgingly turned on my piddly little Petzl Bindi, and started tearing ass down the mountain into Woodstock. It took me 61 minutes to get to the top in the morning and I'd be damned if I wasn't going to get back to the finish in less than an hour. I heroically flew down the pavement for 1000 vertical feet, crossed the North Fork Shenandoah River, sprinted at a blazing 10 minutes per mile along the rolling asphalt, kept running along the rolling asphalt, ran some more … still more running … Jesus Christ when the hell can I stop running … okay, sweet, Downtown Woodstock, only 2 miles to go … aaaand, FINISH!</div>
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Riopel was there. He finished less than 20 minutes before me. And he had this to say about the race: "I liked the roads!" God damnit, Rich, you're a disappointment. Also, there was no Top Finisher Patagonia schwag … what bullshit!</div>
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That first 75 miles was terrible. That last 25 was much better. I was faster than everyone else in that stretch, so suck it, fellow competitors! Never in my life have I had so little fun running a 100 mile race.</div>
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And for the record, no, I'm not coming back. I got my buckle, I'm done. Those valley roads and all that pavement and gravel will haunt my memories until the day I die. There's mountains right friggin there, so why in the hell are we running on these god forsaken roads?! Next time I get into States, you won't be hearing me talk about a Grand Slam, nope nope nope.</div>
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I'd like to thank my wife for solo parenting for 2 days, dealing with a sick kid, and for having to clean up kiddo car seat vomit all by herself. She puts up with a lot just so I can go run for a long time in an angsty, pissy mood.</div>
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The End</div>
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P.S.: Hugs and kisses, rainbows and unicorns!</div>
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Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-25337378493051323862019-06-05T13:32:00.002-05:002019-06-05T13:32:31.232-05:00Fare Thee Well, East Coast<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">As I
was driving to the airport at 4am last week, working on less than 4 hours of
sick-kiddo-interrupted sleep, I found myself tearing up. Why? Because I had
some dirt in my eye, duh. No. It was because the events of the next few weeks
were suddenly sinking in. And just like with my emotionally compromised state
at Mile 80 of nearly every 100 Miler, slightly salty water for some reason
began to form at the corners of my eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">In two
weeks, I'll be moving from DC, a region that I've called home for the past decade,
to St. Louis, in order to raise my children closer to family. I sat there, in
my car on I-95, with quick-fire images of my favorite trails popping into my
head. And then, more importantly, thoughts of all the folks I've met over the
past 4 years of ultrarunning, and all of the friendships I've found along the
way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">After
many years of hardly running, I finally <i>got off the couch</i> and
committed myself to the sport 5 years ago. By early 2015 I had finally run my
first ultra, and not long after that my first hundo. I started out knowing
nothing about the sport. I knew nothing about Happy Trails. I knew no other
runners. My initial ignorance is perhaps best exemplified by the fact that, for
my very first ultra, I chose the North Face DC 50 Miler over BRR.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Right
from the beginning I knew I wanted to run longer, harder races. Starting out,
though, I just thought that I'd be doing it all by myself, in my own little
introverted bubble. In that first year, I finally learned about VHTRC, and I
started to find "my people". Now, nearly every race I go to turns
into something more akin to a family reunion. In the years to come, as I
struggle to seek out the most rigorous 100 foot "climbs" that St.
Louis has to offer, I will no doubt longingly yearn for the comforts of Rock
Creek Park's endless miles of single track mere minutes from my front door, and
for the killer climbs and descents of Shenandoah. More than that though, I'll
miss the Virginia ultrarunning community -- the training runs, the
volunteering, hanging out at a race every couple of months. Sure, St. Louis has
its own ultra club, but it won't be the same.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">I've
met too many people to call out individually, but I'd like to take a moment to
call out some of the Beast Coast folks that have had a particularly strong
impact on me these past 5 years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">First
of all, I'd like to thank my favorite race directors: David Horton, Alex
Papadopoulos, and Clark Zealand. It's not by accident that over half my races
have been ones you've put on. Every runner is indebted to the race directors
and volunteers who make our favorite races happen, but the atmospheres that
you've developed and nurtured, each different in their own ways, are second to
none. Your races are clearly labors of love, and each of those races has
strengthened my love for this sport -- excluding Holiday Lake and MMTR because,
well, nevermind, I won't get into that here! Someday down the road I hope to
give back to the ultrarunning community and direct a race of my own, in no
small part because of the impact Horton, Clark, and Alex have had upon me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">You
don't have to look too far in this sport to find admirable runners and personal
heroes. You can have your Walmsleys and Dauwalters, but for me, two runners I
look up to most are VHTRCers. Though I'd never say it to their faces for fear
of turning bright red right there on the spot, you'd be hard-pressed to find more
admirable people than Sophie Speidel and Jack Kurisky. I look up to the two of
you more than anyone else in this sport. You are genuinely kind people who
strengthen this community of oddball athletes with your dedication to the sport
itself and to your fellow runners. And it doesn't hurt that you guys are
straight-up studs! You keep putting in the work, showing up, and killing it on
race day. It's clear that you guys love "the process" that gets you
to the starting line year after year after year. I wanna be like you when I
grow up!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">And
finally, I'd like to give a huge shout-out to all of the CRUT and C-ville
runners out there that I've bonded with at races, of whom there are too many to
call out individually. Right from the start I seemed to gravitate to y'all; and
not unlike an awkward new kid at school, you were kind enough to invite me over
to the lunch table where the cool kids sat. Half the fun of racing has been to
see you all, swap stories, and suffer together. Sadly, I was unable to convince
my wife that we should relocate to Crozet so that I could live out my days
blissfully running up and down Jarmans.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">And
though I may be moving, many might not even notice. I still plan to take the
700 mile drive down I-64 a few times a year for races and such. I have to
return to Grindstone this year to snag my 5X buckle, after which I'll likely
keep coming back to volunteer and to help many of you finish my favorite 100
mile race. And the only way I'll ever miss Hellgate is if the Race Committee
bars me from entering. I'll probably be at Promise Land most Aprils, and I hear
the first Saturday in August is a lovely time to visit Crozet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">If
anyone finds themselves in St. Louis, don't hesitate to reach out. And for
anyone that makes the trek west for the big mountain races, St. Louis makes for
a great pit-stop and I'll have spare beds ready to go! I'll also be that much
closer to those races, and with extra hands around to help with the kids, it's
all the more likely I'll be available for some crewing and pacing duties -- so
when you make it into Hardrock, please take me with you! Oh, and if anyone is
interested in a meet-in-the-middle group run, just know that my closest
publicly accessible 1000' climb is in Frozen Head State Park … it's 7 hours
away from St. Louis, but whatever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">It has
been an absolute pleasure to be a part of this community of runners, and I'm
counting down the days until I get to share miles and stories with many of you
again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-87330292080061159782019-02-07T19:47:00.000-06:002019-02-07T20:18:19.912-06:00HURT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY4wrsTY6QMX_2tWwKtuz9te5lZqleLD2P0ZwqY3vtcSz3uUJuDZs_SzMxJ2sFNQ1KFKBzVcB19YhlMxixK1kkcfrmM7QMdBnsx2wOrfkijUhBGVxeyQ2usAQcClQJyziGqPLfL0pjeCo/s1600/IMG_0791.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="592" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY4wrsTY6QMX_2tWwKtuz9te5lZqleLD2P0ZwqY3vtcSz3uUJuDZs_SzMxJ2sFNQ1KFKBzVcB19YhlMxixK1kkcfrmM7QMdBnsx2wOrfkijUhBGVxeyQ2usAQcClQJyziGqPLfL0pjeCo/s400/IMG_0791.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">So there I was. Standing at the finish of
another 100 miler. Panting, grasping for air. Hands on knees. Mumbling
semi-incoherently. Overcome with emotion. Pretty typical, right?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Well, not exactly. Those emotions, they
weren't your standard feelings of elation, pride in your accomplishment,
gratefulness that you don't have to take another step. No. I was overwhelmed
with a sense of intense shame. </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">How did it come to this?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">I'll spare you the intense details and cut right to the chase. But, for those interested in wasting an hour of your life, feel free to jump ahead so you can start from the beginning, and then retrace your steps to finish the thrilling tale of a guy that ran a race.</span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Anyways, back to that whole cutting right to the chase thing ...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I embarked upon my final lap at the HURT 100. I had secured 5th place and was fairly confident no one behind me was in striking distance. So I set out to enjoy myself and the peacefulness of the pitch-black jungle on the outskirts of Honolulu. My 24 hour goal, sadly, had slipped away, but I was confident I'd finish before sunrise / 25 hours, so I intentionally took it easy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Halfway down the descent to the first Aid Station of the loop (the Pirate hangout, Pirate Cove, Manoa, whatever other name it goes by), I overtook 4th place. He was hobble-walking. It was his first 100 miler and he said his legs felt shot. But he was upbeat and excited to walk it in for the finish. Kudos! I knew the top 3 runners had been battling it out all day and they were far ahead of me, so it seemed like 4th place was my destiny. Not too shabby!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD9VmA8ZPziigkUm_uaFg5OU8zJQhtf4-P7aXtpqsPGx1l8Pf52SOd8CycVNSfh-Cq5DwW9H25BUFpgafnd1cd7INWPmMvvnKT0bINJZdjGqh7efZot06-KQ44IJTYlBgeFIqdlcIoJk8/s1600/IMG_20190121_073157.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD9VmA8ZPziigkUm_uaFg5OU8zJQhtf4-P7aXtpqsPGx1l8Pf52SOd8CycVNSfh-Cq5DwW9H25BUFpgafnd1cd7INWPmMvvnKT0bINJZdjGqh7efZot06-KQ44IJTYlBgeFIqdlcIoJk8/s400/IMG_20190121_073157.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This has nothing to do with the race, but check out this view from my hotel room. Not pictured: primates in the zoo making adorable sounds.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">After exiting the Aid Station and heading back the way I came, I bumped into fellow DC area runner Keith Knipling. As this happened, a Japanese runner with poles came screaming down the descent. I was a bit confused because I didn't remember lapping him and he seemed to be rather reckless for a person only on their 4th lap. I made mention to Keith of how I just slipped into 4th, overtaking the shirtless 5th place guy with the jell-o legs who also just ran by us. Keith, completely confused, said "No, I'm pretty sure that was Tomo. He's really good." And so it was confirmed, Japanese pole guy, AKA Tomo, AKA Tomokazu Ihara, was hunting me down and my 4th place position was in jeopardy. He was maybe 10 minutes behind with 14 sloppy, muddy, rooty, dark miles to go. And he looked strong. Like, really strong. My reaction: <i>I can't compete with that, so yeah, I'm fine with 5th!</i> And I casually worked my way along to the next Aid Station, patiently awaiting the inevitable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I made it up the next climb and back down to the very, very, very sloppy 10-15 minutes of riverbank running before the Jackass Ginger (or Nu'uanu) Aid Station. Miraculously, I hadn't been passed yet. So I exited my final Aid Station of the day and kicked it into overdrive, busting my ass to slog back through the muck as quickly as possible and climb back up the hill I had just come down. I had my eyes peeled. 5 minutes ticked by, then 10. At 13 minutes without running into Tomo -- which would've amounted to a roughly 26 minute gap -- I was frustratingly confused. Not a moment later, I look back and there he is, right on my tail, levitating over the mud with his poles. We must've unknowingly crossed paths at the creek beside the Aid Station. We exchanged pleasantries for a moment and then he shot off like a rocket up the final climb. I, on the other hand, admitted defeat and resumed a more casual pace. 5th place. Good enough for me! Let's enjoy it!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">When I climbed up to the ridge, I sat down on a bench, gazed up at the full moon, looked out over the lights of Honolulu, and took it all in. Perfect running bliss!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">About 10 minutes later, and just before the final descent began, I finally lapped 12 time finisher and fellow DC area runner Alex Papadopoulos. I slowed to chat for a few minutes when he let me know "Tomo is 12 minutes up on you". For reasons that will become apparent momentarily, I now question the accuracy of that statement. It was nice to catch up with him and spend a few minutes sharing his <i>home turf</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNwYi2LGukuXk3BDrl3lleWFvsaz_k3Dc_-1X359asDIbbZEZq04GfJp2C011WiPoiImZUnTVAsWfiQDBU3LmZU_P8LgmcSmhRsMRue5ovHpEKTEOe4b5HQjMHkjhmVFp7Kj2uI-t-amU/s1600/IMG_20190121_210113.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNwYi2LGukuXk3BDrl3lleWFvsaz_k3Dc_-1X359asDIbbZEZq04GfJp2C011WiPoiImZUnTVAsWfiQDBU3LmZU_P8LgmcSmhRsMRue5ovHpEKTEOe4b5HQjMHkjhmVFp7Kj2uI-t-amU/s400/IMG_20190121_210113.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not relevant to the race either, but look at that bright moon!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">With my legs feeling rather sprightly after 23 hours and 40 minutes, I decided I was going to cap off this wonderful race with a no-holds-barred death-defying descent and utterly destroy my quads, because, well, why the heck not! I had no illusions of recapturing 4th place, I just really like hard downhill running at the end of a race. I recklessly flew down the muddy, rooty, rocky, often winding, and pitch black trail. I was having the time of my life. Towards the end, the skin on my feet felt like it was being shredded by the impact forces on the rocks. I didn't dare distract myself by trying to drink from my water bottle. I was risking death to simply blink my eyes. My breathing was uncontrolled and erratic. It was the fastest I'd run all day. I had no higher gear, this was as fast as my legs could possibly carry me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I careened into the Nature Center at full speed, crossed the small bridge that signified the start of the race, hit the few feet of pavement before a final hairpin turn on a handicap ramp that led to the finish and … WAIT … WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? A headlamp. A runner. The uncanny likeness of the runner that had passed me less than 2 hours ago. 4th Place turned his head, then seemed to try and pick up speed. Literally 2 seconds later we were both at the hairpin turn of the handicap ramp. 4th Place tried making the turn a split second before me. I lost control on the concrete trying to reach for the hand rail and make the turn myself. The full force of my body going at top speed collided with 4th Place, sending him reeling in the opposite direction he wanted to go, and me, the beneficiary of the madness, bounced perfectly into position. Overwhelmed with adrenaline, I secured my footing and shot down to the finish. I quickly kissed the sign, rung the bell, and turned around to watch the other runner jog in.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW95FEse0Mui6mryXrE78nQDXX1HVL_B6ixa-i8nvUAqJ_J4tZ_-3hHSJtcPTK-R9dgNKrk4I1xVEKm8TXMVgxHXJS0vPuEaK57ehVPDotCz_4SHy-Pznrp_L0d-bFMgGUPD-sn65JB6A/s1600/IMG_0890.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="592" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW95FEse0Mui6mryXrE78nQDXX1HVL_B6ixa-i8nvUAqJ_J4tZ_-3hHSJtcPTK-R9dgNKrk4I1xVEKm8TXMVgxHXJS0vPuEaK57ehVPDotCz_4SHy-Pznrp_L0d-bFMgGUPD-sn65JB6A/s400/IMG_0890.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The scene of the crime.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Instantaneously, I was overcome with shame. It just felt so incredibly wrong. A volunteer awkwardly handed me the finisher hat and belt buckle and stared at me with confusion as I kept mumble-panting.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><i>I ran into him. It was an accident. Oh my god, what did I just do? Is he okay? Why did I keep running?</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I literally felt like throwing up. The volunteer and my wife, from their vantage point at the finish, were completely unable to see what had just transpired and couldn't understand my incoherent rambling. Another volunteer had been manning the Ultrasignup tracking app at the bottom of the handicap ramp, and had the benefit of seeing half the story through an obscuring hedgerow. He came over to talk to me. There was pantomiming of Tomo being pushed out of the way, hands flung up in the air. Words were thrown out, like <i>unsportsmanlike</i>. Dizzy, exhausted, confused, on the verge of throwing up, and coming off the craziest adrenaline spike I've ever experienced, I tried to make sense of it all. And I could not shake the shame.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I went over to Tomo, grief-stricken, and apologized. He shrugged and said it was no big deal. <i>You were going faster. I wouldn't have been able to catch you anyways</i>. Did he really believe that? Was he just saying that to make me feel better? I have no idea. But I just felt worse and worse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I tried to compose myself. My head was swimming<i>: unsportsmanlike, impeded, accident, my fault, unsportsmanlike</i>. Do I hand in my buckle? Do I request to be disqualified? How did this even happen? I don't even like the notion of "racing" in ultras! After 24 hours of running, do I deserve to be disqualified for a panic-stricken, adrenaline-laced, piss-poor judgement clusterfuck of a finish? What would happen in a 1500m race? Yup, DQ.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghjcTowKNGYEByI7l3JKCnmsgaEOWaVK719dx9eawK181JOGjQYp_H5mPgyHsNlVVR_tee-wZ0bZlGlAaC3c1ilhtzEm6ZCBT9ZySDzDG5zKtUhZhQBJVYApxXXt_SvcgYG49UiFCWqmo/s1600/IMG_1065.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="1498" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghjcTowKNGYEByI7l3JKCnmsgaEOWaVK719dx9eawK181JOGjQYp_H5mPgyHsNlVVR_tee-wZ0bZlGlAaC3c1ilhtzEm6ZCBT9ZySDzDG5zKtUhZhQBJVYApxXXt_SvcgYG49UiFCWqmo/s640/IMG_1065.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Take a break from this sad story and check out this panorama of the beach from Lost!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I went over to the RD, John Salmonson. I tried to explain myself. I pled my case to have our places switched. All the while, I felt the shame continuing to wash over me -- <i>you just asked to have places swapped?! You should be DQ'd! Turn in your buckle! How are you going to be able to look yourself in the mirror?!</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I lost control. I ran into him. I <i>impeded</i> another runner. I <i>impeded</i> him! He deserves 4th place, not me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">John's response was quasi-apathetic. "I didn't see everything. It doesn't sound pretty. I know Tomo, he's a friend, he's not going to care." <i>THIS ISN'T ABOUT CARING, THIS IS ABOUT JUSTICE!</i> More half-explanations, more urging, more attempts to hold back a flow of tears. Eventually, he pulled up the Ultrasignup tracking app, looked at Tomo's finishing time, then went over to my time and rolled it back to exactly 1 second after Tomo's. And then, "There. Done." Which sounded more like, "Fine, anything to get you to stop harassing me!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I walked over to Tomo, let him know again how sorry I was, and that I had our finishing places switched. Then I hung my head and walked over to my wife so she could take care of her husband, who instead of being elated with a strong showing in difficult conditions at another big 100 mile race, had transformed into an angsty, moody adolescent.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoOf1ulI7Ke_OiszSW_j3QbuNM13fA0SnwzeNXByPIkIz5OYNWJU_IwTp72PhPqEQxkgos1n_1hf3yBd5gCmDlHEjJjlYFMS8WdQSPRJDrllJ3842g6avrNdfRgCq9jqBYTe2inbNuS68/s1600/IMG_0866.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="1052" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoOf1ulI7Ke_OiszSW_j3QbuNM13fA0SnwzeNXByPIkIz5OYNWJU_IwTp72PhPqEQxkgos1n_1hf3yBd5gCmDlHEjJjlYFMS8WdQSPRJDrllJ3842g6avrNdfRgCq9jqBYTe2inbNuS68/s400/IMG_0866.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This view from my pre-race dinner reminds me of a simpler time, a time before hulking out and tackling a fellow runner.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">The guilt, the shame, the disappointment. It stuck with me. I was in paradise and borderline depressed. The next day, a buddy texted me and let me know I'd made the pages of iRunFar and that they were seeking an explanation to the 1second difference between 4th and 5th place. I composed myself as best as I could, did my best impersonation of a PR Manager, and crafted an explanation. Most unexpectedly, it was quickly followed with praise, support, and various other attaboys. I pretended to be a linebacker at the finish line of one of the most difficult 100 mile races in the world, and now I was being applauded for my actions -- well, not my actions, but you know, rather, my attempt to save face and accept responsibility. Either way, it felt, and still feels, very odd.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Even now, weeks later, I can't help but feel the slightest twinges of those same painful emotions when I look at my hard-earned buckle. It's my 9th one. Some, I look at and beam with pride. Others, an ambivalent shoulder shrug. Not this one. Not my first HURT buckle. It has a unique story. And with it come emotions that will be forever burned into my memory. Emotions I'm still coming to terms with.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Many thanks to my wife for sitting around at a race aid station for 16 hours on her vacation, to the grandmas for looking after our kids, to my fellow VHTRC runners for their companionship, to the volunteers and all the other runners I bumped into over the course of my 24 hours and 21 minutes of jungle fun, and most especially to Tomokazu Ihara for his grace and civility (and for not tackling me in return).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">P.S.:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">While I do take 100% responsibility for the entire finish line fiasco, I'll just say it right now: that finish was stupid. Here's what it looks like on Google Maps (red line), complete with proposed "alternate routes":</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4y53voH6-fk83jVsCsElh6VJ0dY8jqU_8oB6-PIN8sz43F7-RThjbLfzKSo9RuPRB_1WELdILHfxm35P8IcoG4OOTUcWW9OvNVghyphenhyphenvw7khLoqAJd7imU_2zmSbCc3mJvrvakZnAn0-ZU/s1600/Hurt_finish.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="673" data-original-width="861" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4y53voH6-fk83jVsCsElh6VJ0dY8jqU_8oB6-PIN8sz43F7-RThjbLfzKSo9RuPRB_1WELdILHfxm35P8IcoG4OOTUcWW9OvNVghyphenhyphenvw7khLoqAJd7imU_2zmSbCc3mJvrvakZnAn0-ZU/s400/Hurt_finish.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That hairpin turn is stupid.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br />Granted, this isn't a World Majors Marathon or something. And there's only like a maximum of 70 people that even finish the race each year, across a span of 14 or so hours, so the odds of a tight finish are absurdly small. But still. Why is there a glorified finishing chute with a hairpin turn?!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">P.P.S.: Check out Paul Encarnacion's video to get a feel for the Hawaii gnar!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Oh, what's that, you wanted to waste away even more of your time?! Well then, here you go!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">The Full Story</span></h3>
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">I signed up for the HURT 100 kind of on a
whim. The race had intrigued me since I started running. Steep, muddy,
technical, rooty, slow. Sign me up! But flying 5000 miles for a race seemed
like a bit of a financial extravagance, not to mention the complications that
arise when you've got 2 young kids.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">The quirky lottery selection process is based
upon accumulating kukui nuts (points) that increase your chances, but let's be
honest, it's probably just <i>you are selected to run at the pleasure of the
race committee</i>. I made the mistake of name-dropping local DC runner / RD and
bajillion time HURT finisher, Alex Papadopoulos, in my lottery application. And
next thing I know, my wife and I are planning a luxurious kid-free Hawaiian
vacation!:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Chris: Hey honey, wanna go to Hawaii?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Kristin: Uhh, duh!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Chris: … to crew me in another 100 mile race?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Kristin: Damn it, Chris! I didn't sign up for
this crap when I agreed to marry you!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">I found out I made it through the lottery in
August, where I was midway through a disastrous training block, culminating in
<a href="http://www.lazyultrarunner.com/2018/10/the-humid-grindstone.html" target="_blank">a rather pathetic showing at Grindstone</a>. With the amount of time and money this
race/trip was going to eat up, I didn't want to half-ass it. I ended up putting
together the best 3 months of training of my entire life. Over 40 hours per
month while averaging over 60,000' of climbing per month. I even threw in a
couple of weeks where I <i>climbed Everest</i> (>29,029' in 7 days). Speed
was nowhere to be found, but my legs were strong, and ready to tackle whatever
Hawaii threw my way.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIYiTP1zTUzQxmLLob_lLdcenqXQwqI9RTBpmTqQRiO6Qs4hUTgaluLlRn8Bas4RtyE1xsBd3CMhxZR8XpWpESHtVbYO370xXNgTTb-W7JffHEqqNQjkIyx62U-QE7scQ9iE4ROg-qlko/s1600/IMG_20190118_194929.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIYiTP1zTUzQxmLLob_lLdcenqXQwqI9RTBpmTqQRiO6Qs4hUTgaluLlRn8Bas4RtyE1xsBd3CMhxZR8XpWpESHtVbYO370xXNgTTb-W7JffHEqqNQjkIyx62U-QE7scQ9iE4ROg-qlko/s400/IMG_20190118_194929.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Prerace fireworks, just for me!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span>
<br />
<h3>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Lap 1</span></h3>
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Lap 1 of 5 went off without a hitch. A group
of about 10 guys jumped out front and tore ass up the initial 0.7mi 20% grade
climb, and I quickly found myself in the gap between the frontrunner/morons
group and everyone else. 20 minutes in, the only sign that anyone was in front
of me was the unmistakably sad <i>click-click</i> sound of a scared little
runner extending their poles (it was Mike Wardian!). Much of the first climb up Hogsback was rather tame, though steep, and I spent much of it hiking to keep my energy
in check. After some rolling, rocky, windy running, and some more climbing, I reached the Pauoa Flats … a couple hundred yards of flat
ground absolutely covered with roots. My legs were fresh and the obstacles
didn't seem to daunting. Reader, file this away in your memory, okay!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Running down to the first aid station at Mile
7 brought about my real introduction to the HURT course -- perfectly runnable
stretches for like 300' and then roots, and uneven dirt steps held together
with slick bamboo or wood or metal, and 3-10' rocky "step-downs", and random boggy sections of trail, and literally climbing across a field of
tangled roots that formed a <i>trail</i> with a 45-degree camber. Oh, and
you're doing this in a friggin cloud so it's damp and humid and slick. After a
couple miles of this insanity, I was greeted by a beautiful waterfall. I spent
a moment oohing-and-aahing at it before cannonballing down the steep, rocky
trail to the Pirate Aid Station (Manoa).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>… and
then I turned around and retraced my steps all the way back up, ducking and
weaving my way through 120 of my fellow runners. One of them, oddly, was
Wardian who'd apparently made a wrong turn already (how? HOW?!) and lost an
impressive 40 minutes before the first aid station! Epic!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibnNk9CFRaJIdFAE4cI-yySmizjSXgbhHDJSgJ9xptdKkf1ihYyl1jzL_Lx7ev-98VIIqwpKnx2QT4K-Nb4gvf7szoKGpmK6qUBEzkkKNx9I2wMY2vNY33cuEGonWwvadkLPEx0vrv0ms/s1600/IMG_1047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="592" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibnNk9CFRaJIdFAE4cI-yySmizjSXgbhHDJSgJ9xptdKkf1ihYyl1jzL_Lx7ev-98VIIqwpKnx2QT4K-Nb4gvf7szoKGpmK6qUBEzkkKNx9I2wMY2vNY33cuEGonWwvadkLPEx0vrv0ms/s400/IMG_1047.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I ate acia bowls on my vacation. Yummy!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">After a couple miles of retracing my steps, I
hung a right and worked my way along a ridge to what would become my favorite
stretch of the entire course: a meandering, runnable segment that leads to a
high point overlooking Waikiki before painfully plunging <i>straight friggin
down</i>. It's so steep in places that some benevolent soul tried digging out
marginally useful <i>steps</i> in the dirt to help control your descent (and
handholds for the subsequent ascent?). You're literally staring off the edge
of a steep ridge, falling down the trail, using a couple of random trees on the
side of the trail to brace you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Then came a perfectly runnable, but steep,
downhill to the 2nd Aid Station at Mile 13 -- Jackass Ginger (Nu'uanu), and
back up the way I came. On the climb back up, I passed Alex and mentioned how
groomed the trails seemed. He said a lot of time was spent rehabbing this section
ahead of the race, and it showed. They had been smooth, runnable, not at all
technical. Runner, file this away in your memory, okay!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">I careened down to the main Aid Station to
complete my first lap in just under 4 hours, arriving at the tail end of the Top
10. Race conditions seemed pretty good and I cautiously believed I could score
my ambitious A-Goal of a 22:30 finish -- an ambitious goal I'd put together
after much research on prior top race times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<h3>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Lap 2</span></h3>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">I slowly hiked my way back up the rooty, steep
Hogsback climb, this time finding a relatively root-free path on the far left
edge and following that most of the way. The hill was dry and I kicked up
enough dirt that I regretted not having something to cover my mouth. But it had
me guessing that today might not get all that muddy, further reinforcing my
faith in a 22:30 finish. By the time I reached Puaoa Flats, I was singing a
different tune. The flat, rooty stretch of trail was coated in mud. The ground
was an array of boot-sucking mud pits. The roots, mud-slickened booby traps. I
walked nearly the whole stretch, going one mile an hour pace, maybe two.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">And things only got worse heading back down
to the Pirate Aid Station. After navigating 2 miles of muddy, technical trail,
I popped out to the beautiful waterfall and was greeted by an endless sea of
tourists. The foot traffic, combined with the water flying off the waterfall,
the moisture in the air, and the rocky ground, turned this section of the
course into a muddy slip-n-slide. I weaved through the <i>day adventurers</i>
-- bros in friggin flip-flops, women in friggin white jeans and heels, friggin
purse dogs yip-yapping and darting left and right, and even friggin babies with
pacifiers and soggy diapers stumbling around the muddy rocks. I frequently came
to a complete stop to get around people. It was … so weird. And slow … so
effing slow. And when I got down to the Aid Station, guess what I got to do
next?! That's right, turn around and work my way back through that mass of
humanity!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrYioO8iujZaS6mbx3Nc2L1-eSoDmo0w4kcXdiAq4aXD-iaMldqccWkNooZF2xtVBD3c1xoCLDjhw8Uy9b68p_18OZ-UHj2_UWIj8TEN7UV1DnHPIQ-AVgGfQDEWtBIWntobY2hCxlfE8/s1600/IMG_1062.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="592" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrYioO8iujZaS6mbx3Nc2L1-eSoDmo0w4kcXdiAq4aXD-iaMldqccWkNooZF2xtVBD3c1xoCLDjhw8Uy9b68p_18OZ-UHj2_UWIj8TEN7UV1DnHPIQ-AVgGfQDEWtBIWntobY2hCxlfE8/s400/IMG_1062.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flowers in Hawaii are pretty!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">… And then back through the muddy flats. But
the run down to Jackass Ginger was going to be awesome -- that groomed,
runnable descent!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only, nope! The trail
had slickened, and the bottom portions were mucky as hell. Oh, and there were
also tourists down here, too. Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Another tap of an aid
station and back the way I came, into the depths of muddy despair. Along my climb
back up, I ran into Alex again and instead of talking about how well groomed
the trails were, I got this: "The course hasn't looked this messy in a
decade."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">I finally strolled back into the main aid
station a full 30 minutes slower than my first lap, despite feeling like I had
worked harder. I met up with my wife and let her know to throw out the
timesheets -- I'd still try for sub-24, but who knows.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Oh, and it was 2:30pm and it was 80 degrees
out. My heat training seemed like it was taking hold, but I was surprisingly
not interested in eating any candy bars, sushi, sandwiches, or even having a
frappuccino. The heat had me only wanting easily digestible gels, blocks, and
simple liquids. Lap 3 was gonna be not only about surviving the mud, but also
making sure my calorie intake didn't nosedive. Another thing to deal with,
hooray!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<h3>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Lap 3</span></h3>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Lap 3 was pretty simple. Take the previous 2
laps, make them muddier and slower and that pretty much covers it!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">I moved along at a snail's pace, stuck in a
low gear. It frustrated me at first, but the heat and humidity wasn't bothering
me and it was clear that my legs could handle the steep climbs and descents, so
I just accepted the course for what it was and enjoyed myself. HURT had become
more of an adventure run than a race.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">At some point in the lap, I was finally able
to pass Paul Terranova. He'd been minutes ahead of me for nearly 30 miles.
Every aid station I'd come in as he was coming out, and I'd make some sarcastic
remark about how he needed to slow down, or that I was gonna pass him and poach
his pacer, Nick Pedatella, whom I'd ran with a bit at both Grindstone and
Hellgate. Mind you, I'd never met Paul before, so I'm guessing he just kept
thinking to himself <i>who the hell is this annoying little kid?!</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">As I came out of the 2nd Aid Station, I
realized sunset was approaching, so I tried booking it to get to the top of the
ridge overlooking Waikiki. And lucky for me, I got up there right in time. I stopped to watch the sun set for a bit. It's not every day you get to perch
yourself on a ridge top to see a sunset over a beautiful ocean-side city in the
middle of a race! Definitely a moment I'll never forget.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLCeJ-2c9taXVO0DM-Ix9cLYLRhL1NkXBtfQdj_aFmVRVFht8_VzQ3OmzAfS3V5s43j7e_cl4rYRVBM95rLtOn-d-5mc_UEOC2SS0C83DySgL5QR37SmSGqdOElhzBpyddec8yIw-h6TA/s1600/IMG_1090.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="592" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLCeJ-2c9taXVO0DM-Ix9cLYLRhL1NkXBtfQdj_aFmVRVFht8_VzQ3OmzAfS3V5s43j7e_cl4rYRVBM95rLtOn-d-5mc_UEOC2SS0C83DySgL5QR37SmSGqdOElhzBpyddec8yIw-h6TA/s400/IMG_1090.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There are a lot of yard birds roaming around Oahu.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">And then, another moment I'll never forget.
As I methodically made my way down to the main aid station to complete Lap 3 in
the dark, I came to a road crossing and a race volunteer. He let me know "there's a runner just ahead of you without a
headlamp, but I can't help." I found this all very confusing. 1) the
race starts in the dark and there's only 11 hours of daylight before the sun
sets, so why the hell is there a runner out here without a headlamp? 2) Why can't
the volunteer help, isn't that what volunteers do?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">I couldn't recall if the volunteer even had a
light of his own … but why wouldn't he … he's volunteering at a race and it's
dark out. Weird. So weird. I was running with a back-up light (a Petzl Bindi)
since I was so close to the main aid station, where I'd soon dig out my legit
headlamp. I could easily make out the profile of a person slowly
staggering / weaving along the pitch-black trail. I told her she was going to
take my back-up headlamp and that she needed to get my main one out of my pack.
For about 6 hours, she tried and failed to unzip my pack, so I had to rip it
off myself and get my lamp out. Then onward I went.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">When I got back to the main Aid Station, it
had cooled down enough that I was in the mood for some frappuccino and various
solids. I checked my watch and saw it'd taken nearly 5 hours to complete Lap 3
-- another lap, another 30minute slowdown. I was bleeding time due to the race
conditions, but I was still making up ground, having recently moved into 6th
place. So I calmly took my time and prepared mentally for the overnight
hours … and then I took even more time to hit up a porta-potty … I got to poop
mid-race using a bon-a-fide toilet. Mud be damned, this was an amazing day!
It's the little things!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTebVjolVUJbRITsqyPvkov0n77ep4HTscNZM1xbM6i9CJi7jd-XYpWkkCzUcS-FON38fuZxn3hR6iRyXjHToCcsiA_MWvYD35DXBEQWnHenfsBQZLA1iE6qOGHOfa76oYAhjgPIlbXgY/s1600/IMG_0833.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="1052" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTebVjolVUJbRITsqyPvkov0n77ep4HTscNZM1xbM6i9CJi7jd-XYpWkkCzUcS-FON38fuZxn3hR6iRyXjHToCcsiA_MWvYD35DXBEQWnHenfsBQZLA1iE6qOGHOfa76oYAhjgPIlbXgY/s400/IMG_0833.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rainbows!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<h3>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Lap 4</span></h3>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">I spotted Paul and Nick in the Aid Station as
I started Lap 4. I was in no rush to climb Hogsback so they caught up to me
rather quickly. We hiked and ran along together for maybe 2 miles. When the
trail flattened out I seemed to be opening my stride up more than Paul, so I
took off into the night to finish my race alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Lap 4 saw the course conditions continue to
deteriorate. But there was one bright spot: no more tourists to dodge! I greatly
enjoyed this lap, just cruising along in the dark by myself. Aside from the
litany of technical hazards whose complications only increased in the dead of
night, it was a peaceful, stress-free bit of running. Well, except for some
folks' lights. I'm not sure what the deal is, but there's apparently a new
trend in trail running that includes strapping a row of 10,000lumen light bulbs
to your waist/chest. I saw entirely too many runners with these odd
contraptions, and as a result, I and dozens of other fellow runners are now
legally blind from the damage they've caused to our retinas. Every time I
encountered one of these over-illuminated weirdos, I'd freak out, avert my
eyes, nearly fall off the edge of a trail into the abyss below, and after
miraculously surviving each encounter I would promptly wish bodily harm upon
them and their entire family as I stumbled down the trail with half my vision
obscured by colorful halos that approximated the temporary searing of your
eyeballs you experience after getting absolutely drunk and on a dare attempt to
stare at the sun for 60 seconds straight (yes, in this hypothetical scenario I
am black-out drunk and it's midday … your point?).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Lap 4 clocked in at roughly 5:30 -- yup,
another lap, another 30minute slowdown! My big toe had been <i>sticking</i> to
my insole, leading me to think I had a burst blister of some kind, so I swapped
out my socks, yet kept the same mud-caked LonePeak4.0s. I found no blister so
it must've just been mud-saturated socks. I didn't need to change them out, but
I wasn't fighting tooth-and-nail for every second, so whatever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another frappuccino and I was off!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwBBAIajWJGnm6It8_mzDjfWsGZe8Gk_-jPl9WsIJmvyyEboY-gHsrX8PAugjHZaQbW1GE55Zh7JU6sd8LraTO7phg5F_MjdHSdzfKgBn8beuOhOZtoV-uyyq7NgDseJcgXJ9Dxqcn5OY/s1600/IMG_20190120_191303.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwBBAIajWJGnm6It8_mzDjfWsGZe8Gk_-jPl9WsIJmvyyEboY-gHsrX8PAugjHZaQbW1GE55Zh7JU6sd8LraTO7phg5F_MjdHSdzfKgBn8beuOhOZtoV-uyyq7NgDseJcgXJ9Dxqcn5OY/s400/IMG_20190120_191303.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I got to see a lunar eclipse, and I didn't even have to stay up late!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-2743798461121522082018-12-15T10:41:00.001-06:002018-12-15T12:07:50.308-06:002018 Hellgate 100K -- An Ode to Mountain Racing<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Note: This race report will make a bit more sense if you read <a href="http://crozetrunning.com/2018-hellgate-100k-an-ode-to-mountain-racing/" target="_blank">this</a> first. And apologies if the formatting is a mess ... there was a lot of copy-and-pasting involved.</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7403834836901006598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>"Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery ... or something like that."</i></span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I’m not very competitive by nature, but </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I love <s>a footrace in</s> the mountains.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Often, the term “trail running” is used to define the other side
of running – the one off the roads, off the grid, away from the cars and
crowds. I’m not so sure I am satisfied with trail running alone, as
I find myself more and more inextricably tied to the challenge and beauty of
running in the mountains. Whether using gravel roads to climb them,
single track to traverse and descend them, or no trail to explore and wander on
them, mountains become the ultimate test for the mind and body of any
runner. And mountain <i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">racing</span></i>…here is where
transformative magic happens.<o:p></o:p></span></s></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I decided to tackle the Beast Series for the 2<sup>nd</sup> time
this year. With Aaron Saft and Matt Thompson both out of the way, it was finally
my time to shine! After MMTR, I found myself well atop the leaderboard. And
after a certified disaster at Grindstone, I was looking forward to finishing
off the year on a high note.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Enter Hellgate 100k. Mountain racing. I
wish every runner could experience this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Three</span></s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Four</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> friends and I, <s>all of us</s> Hellgate veterans </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">plus one newbie</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">, entered this year’s Hellgate with the lofty goal of finishing
under 12 hours. <s>Make no mistake, we would all love to beat each
other too, but the time goal was paramount this year.</s> <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtUUIKq3CYCpSyptco-28fVQUH38wigG2IIDAz6SaPxZ8TE7N5EOcFIrMUHXMaqYo8yhIOQrKVqHcrFvk5dgIOD48ILUuZMXKvFhI1B9B4P4tZoVwlep5ox0ib-gNVecAkzbksrH6vG7w/s1600/hellgate2018_prerace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="768" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtUUIKq3CYCpSyptco-28fVQUH38wigG2IIDAz6SaPxZ8TE7N5EOcFIrMUHXMaqYo8yhIOQrKVqHcrFvk5dgIOD48ILUuZMXKvFhI1B9B4P4tZoVwlep5ox0ib-gNVecAkzbksrH6vG7w/s400/hellgate2018_prerace.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Hellgate PreRace at Camp Bethel (photo: Michelle Andersen)</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I <s>have</s> tried and failed at this goal <s>the last <i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">4 years</span></i>, getting as close as 12:06</s> last year, </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">pathetically giving up with John Anderson and
phoning it in the final 14 miles</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">. <s>I was truly beginning to doubt if I could do it</s>
</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I never doubted that I could do it, though,
because I knew that John once ran a 12:06 and I’m clearly a better runner than
him. </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Jordan Chang has gone
sub 12 just once in his 11 finishes. In his <s>three</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">five</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> finishes, <s>Chris Roberts</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">John </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">has not broken 12</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> (it’s worth repeating)</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">, nor had Nick Pedatella in his one finish
last year where he also got a taste at 12:09. </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">And speedy Dan Fogg
was here to get his very first taste of Hellgate.</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> At the prerace dinner, we all
discussed this goal, knew it would be difficult, and sorta kinda pledged to
work together<s>, i.e. beat each other</s>. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Hellgate is a perfect race because you never really know how
your day will turn out. It’s simply too hard, too long, and the
weather is just too unpredictable. It’s hardly worth making it your
A-race because it can be so soul-crushing, but you had better bring your best
A-game because it demands everything you have both physically and mentally.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I wish every runner could experience that feeling when you
finally get out of your warm car at 11:50pm on that second Friday of December
and shuffle over to the start line in the cold, in the middle of nowhere, doing
your final gear check as you prepare to run through the uncertain winter night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">You might think Hellgate is so hard because it is so long, at
66.6 miles, and has so much elevation, making you climb almost 14,000 feet
throughout the race (that is nearly half as high as Mount
Everest). But no, Hellgate is so hard because in order to do your
best, you have to start working on that very first mountain climb (1400’
starting at mile 4) and keep enough in the tank for that very last mountain
climb (1300’ starting at mile 60). Although the <s>four</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">five</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> of
us weren’t running together </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">(because John was too busy chatting up folks at the
start of the race, as he is wont to do)</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">, we all no-walked that first climb up to
Petite’s Gap, hoping to set a sustainable tone for the remainder of the night
and day. I wish every runner could experience the upper switchbacks
of the Petite’s Gap climb at 1am on a clear December night, looking down and
seeing a line of headlamps from all the other mountain runners making their way. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Jordan,</span></s><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Dan</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">, Nick, and <s>Chris</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">
all separated from <s>me</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">John</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> as we traversed those early hours of the
night. This is the first real test of any mountain race – is this a
good early effort? We don’t look at pace, but rather gauge our
progress through a subjective measure of our effort, something honed from
countless hours running in the mountains. What is a sustainable pace
when you are climbing 2000’ at 2:00am? How fast is too fast when you
are descending a rock-strewn, leaf-ridden singletrack by headlamp?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Climbing the single track by Hunting Creek on the Terrapin course, after
more than an hour of needing to go to the bathroom I finally relented and
hopped off the trail to dig in the dirt and do my business, leaving Dan and
Nick to forge ahead together. As I finished, John and his social club passed
by. I quickly jumped ahead, despite John sarcastically prodding me about how I
lost <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">so many places </i>and needed to
sprint to catch back up. I then passed Dan, who didn’t keep up with Nick and
didn’t seem willing to keep up with me, either. By the time I’d popped out on
the Hunting Creek Road climb, I’d caught back up with Nick. We entertained
ourselves together for awhile, watching a crazy person attempt hill sprint
intervals and intersperse intense-arm-swing hiking. As he sprinted his way off
into the night, Nick and I were comforted by our shared knowledge that he’d
eventually become carnage. (Side Note: “crazy person” ended up being Rich
Riopel, who finished ahead of us. I’m still unwilling to relent and declare his
climbing style as anything other than utterly absurd, but kudos on making it
work out in the end!). After another no-hike climb, we rolled into Camping Gap
for our first water stop of the day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I wish every runner could experience that inviting fire</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> that I barely noticed</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> at Camping Gap aid station (mile 14, at 3000’
elevation), and then run away from it into the cold, windy darkness, knowing
you may not see another soul until the next aid station, 10 long and lonely
miles away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Another runner passed us on the fire road descent past the Terrapin
Lollipop, on the Promise Land course. He seemed a bit too speedy on the downhills
for this early in the race. Nick and I discussed … perhaps some carnage for
later on?! (Side Note: Nope … that was Mike McMonagle, who finished ahead of
us)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I finally spy two headlamps, about ½ mile ahead of me, around
mile 19, 3:00am. I have no idea who they are, but I like that I am
seeing them. I am racing them. I want to catch up to them as
much as they don’t like to see a headlamp closing in on them.</span></s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> As we weave through the mountain
side trail, </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">we spotted a headlamp
behind us off in the distance.</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> You
can always tell when <s>one of them</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">someone ahead of you</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">
looks back to take a peek – their headlamp shines bright<s>. They</s>
</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">We </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">shouldn’t have peeked</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">, some might say. But we were confident in our pace, and that
stretch of trail can be long and boring so we really had nothing else to do if
we’re being perfectly honest</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Once we topped out on Onion Mountain, I sped ahead of Nick to find a
place to dig a hole … again. Nick passed me here last year doing the very same
thing, so this time around I wanted to build a little gap so I didn’t have as
much ground to make back up. Along one of the switchback turns descending down
to Overstreet Creek, I found my spot. I hate this downhill at the end of
Promise Land, it just hurts so friggin bad. But at Hellgate, you’re only a
couple hours into the night and feeling good, with no urge to tear ass down the
rock-strewn single track … and the bits of snow on the trail made it downright
magical looking. I wish every runner could experience the intense satisfaction
of casually taking a dump alongside a stretch of trail that has brought them
soo much pain and suffering in the past.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Nick ran ahead. Then John a minute later. By the time I made my way
all the way down to the road </span><s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Finally, around mile 22,</span></s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> I catch </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">back</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> up to them. <s>Its indeed Chris
and Nick</s>. <s>Jordan is somewhere ahead.</s> The
sub-12 hour pace group is coming together </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">(with Jordan not too far ahead and Dan not too far behind)</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">.</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">We all climb the gravel road up to Headforemost AS (mile 24</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">.6</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">) </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">comfortably </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">hard, knowing that even though we have <s>44</s></span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">42</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> miles left, a sub-12 effort starts with no-walking this
climb. There is a deal <s>you</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">some </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">make with <s>yourself</s>
</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">themselves </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">when <s>you</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">they </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">are climbing this hard so early in a race – I
shall eat like Frank Gonzalez (in other words, I’m gonna eat so much food!). </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I didn’t feel like I was working all that hard,
but my gut needed solid foods so I filled up on </span><s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Grilled cheese</span></s><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Potatoes</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">, <s>snickers bars</s></span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">tater tots</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">, cookies, <s>waffles</s></span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">more potatoes</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> – these are the things we are eating as we toil through these
mountains. It’s hard to eat while you’re breathing hard, it’s a skill
that comes with practice</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">, or so I’ve been told, I
wouldn’t know at this stage in the race because I was feeling good and properly
pacing myself</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">. </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">We rolled in at 4:05, exactly where I wanted to be
for a sub-12 finish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">John and I abandoned Nick near Headforemost as he hopped off the
road to do some business (the same place I did my business back in 2016 … yup,
I remember all the spots I’ve pooped on this trail!). The two of us ran
together, purposefully, on the descent into Jennings Creek. A fall on John’s
part (one of many on the day it seemed) and yet another poop break for me
separated us at one point, but we reconnected heading into the Aid Station,
with Nick still only moments behind us. Some volunteers were able to find some
Tums for me (no dice on the Pepto) and then I was off to the races as John
continued to hang around the aid station and get the royal treatment with his
unnecessary crewed stop … dude, we stopped at Headforemost literally 59 minutes
ago, man up! I rolled out at 5:04, a couple minutes ahead of schedule.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">There is a 2.5-mile climb as you leave the Jennings Creek AS
(mile 30</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">.7</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">). It’s still pitch dark and there
are a lot of switchbacks, and so</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">, for some,</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> the headlamp game
begins again. <s>Roberts has now pulled a little ahead of me and
Nick is now a little behind me</s>. </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Myself, John, and Nick are climbing within a couple minutes of each other.</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> None of us has a far enough gap to avoid
being seen as our headlamps traverse another switchback. <s>I keep
my headlamp focused down and hurry around corners but I know Nick can still see
me and he’s not letting up.</s> <s>Roberts is</s></span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I am</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> flat out out-climbing <s>me</s></span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">them<s>.</s></span><s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">,
but keeps</span></s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I keep </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">looking back and showing <s>me his</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">John my </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">full beam </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">… because I’m curious as
to why he hasn’t bothered to catch up, and I’m ahead of him and Nick, and I’m
bored and have nothing better to do</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">. </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">John
probably thinks </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">We are racing each
other<s>, but because no one is giving up,</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">but I’m not racing, I’m just nonchalantly cruising along, waiting
for them to stop slacking off and finally catch back up to me<s> </s></span><s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">we are working together to push each other up
this climb and</span></s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">so we can all get </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">to Camp Bethel before 12:00pm. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">We hit the top and start to descend. More
switchbacks, more headlamp games</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> (if you wanna call it that)</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">, but this time another headlamp is seen far ahead. This
ends up being Jordan. So here we are, the four of us, after 6 hours
of running just separated by a few minutes, a few headlamps around a few
switchbacks. I wish every runner could experience chasing and being
chased by headlamps on mountain switchbacks where even the stars and the town
lights below start to play in the game, throwing off your tired eyes.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7-zbmOt6pQ7cDSbZ5uE_CjvvT0dzxu3EkhtlEcNi5QdG1YzfzzsCfMr6C-z_gZql_KtKN1qPAneE-1RGU8vbCiMYEqszL5GN23qdC9rPqFvHDbbCx7Gn-_RU_58Sf05teCy56uYo5CbA/s1600/hellgate2018_deviltrail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7-zbmOt6pQ7cDSbZ5uE_CjvvT0dzxu3EkhtlEcNi5QdG1YzfzzsCfMr6C-z_gZql_KtKN1qPAneE-1RGU8vbCiMYEqszL5GN23qdC9rPqFvHDbbCx7Gn-_RU_58Sf05teCy56uYo5CbA/s400/hellgate2018_deviltrail.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><s style="font-size: medium; text-align: start;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Roberts</span></s><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Anderson</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> and I trudging through the Devil Trail (photo: Jordan Chang)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I know we’re approaching the Little Cove Aid Station. I’m
interspersing more hiking while climbing to save some energy before the Devil
Trail and to give John a chance to finally catch back up. </span><s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I catch up to Chris</span></s><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">He finally huffs and puffs his way up to me</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">, and we both catch up to Jordan, and the
three of us run together for the next 15 miles. We chat, we run in
silence, we take turns leading and we take turns hiding our suffering. </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Jordan nearly drops me for good on the climb right
before the leafy downhill stretch of the Devil Trail, but I manage to maintain
contact, and eventually due my duty taking over at the front when we get to the
worst stretch of trail.</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> I wish every
runner could experience just how deep and fluffy and maddening the leaves are
in the Devil Trail where sometimes you can’t even run downhill.</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> That said, I haven’t so much as missed a step on
this stretch of trail in the last 3 years … all you really gotta do is up your
cadence, shorten your stride, bound vertically a bit more almost like you’re
aqua jogging. John on the other hand … not exactly a picture of elegance in
motion out there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhowyeRHM1NrhOZ5ITpGJVXAKz6Y2rLY5Bw1Q6-NhtP-Stm6SGswQdRCtmqHMF1iLHsPuuFDA6Dt7tzAeYrNoMDJQ9Ou1Yr-5TE5PVxoGKSpJR6KI5XGYkIh3-yjSuJ-mOI4oXJEp2DzXY/s1600/hellgate2018_bearwallow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhowyeRHM1NrhOZ5ITpGJVXAKz6Y2rLY5Bw1Q6-NhtP-Stm6SGswQdRCtmqHMF1iLHsPuuFDA6Dt7tzAeYrNoMDJQ9Ou1Yr-5TE5PVxoGKSpJR6KI5XGYkIh3-yjSuJ-mOI4oXJEp2DzXY/s400/hellgate2018_bearwallow.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Getting aid <strike>with</strike> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><span style="color: red;">from </span><span style="color: #666666;">my arch nemesis/frienemie </span><s style="color: #666666;">Chris Roberts</s></span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> John Anderson's wife</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> at Bearwallow (photo: Sophie Speidel)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">We hit Bearwallow Gap (mile 46) at 7:59am. This is
the only split that matters </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">(not
true, see earlier mention of splits and subsequent mentions)</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">. If we can make it here by 8am and
we can stay tough, we can break 12 hours. There is still 20 miles of
running though and a lot of climbing. We all know this though and we
are all business as we fuel up one last time by our crews </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">(if you have a crew … I don’t because it’s only
100K, but whatever) </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">before the big climb
up to Bobblet’s Gap. </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I fall a minute behind John and Jordan because my windproof tights
are starting to limit my stride now that it’s daylight and I’m looking to move
more freely … I jump behind Michelle’s car and strip down bear-ass naked in
full view of the aid station workers and a handful of crew/spectators … off
come the tights and on go the Patagonia Strider Pro’s, and just like that ITS
GAME TIME! … well, after I chug a Frappucino, of course!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I quickly catch back up and </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">We are digging in as we start climbing the endless ins and outs
of this mountain. </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">This 2 mile climb murdered
my soul last year, but with Jordan leading the charge I easily conquered it
this time around. After cresting the climb we transitioned to </span><s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">This is</span></s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> the most beautiful part of the course. The trail is
old, with weathered moss and mountain laurel framing it as you are treated to
expansive views to the north. </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I love this stretch of trail, and I love running it hard. Jordan
didn’t seem to be of the same opinion so I moved to the front of our little
group and set the pace. </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I wish every runner
could experience what it feels like to hopelessly, then successfully chase
another runner through this section. True mountain racing. </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">(Side Note: I’ve never “hopelessly” chased another
runner through this section because I’m always faster than those around me in
this section, unlike Anderson who has been dropped by me twice in successive
years … humblebrag I suppose, but whatever)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">By the time we get to Bobblets (mile 52), we have
separated. <s>Roberts is</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I am </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">ahead </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">of John by a minute or so </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">and Jordan is just behind. We all
know Nick is not far back</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">, with Dan likely in the
mix as well</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">. Nobody is
giving up, we are still working together and by now everyone has a taste of the
reality of a sub-12 hour finish. </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">It’s 9:12am. In 2016 I raced my way back into the Top 10 right here
and proceeded to steamroll Barkley Boy John Kelly (shameless self-promo) with a
2:30 split to the finish. Sub-12 was inevitable!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcTWLAC2ZzNQcLbaydW9WKHZasBmArffacWEnf0DbLQmFspY8YhuajM-NU3Olf6aVfwJmeJeNyjZVvSALL_v4JjMARMUgYKsmTsPKKVtCBTFG7L5aBG5c4eOmr9XJzZzUYMu8YVkDRL9g/s1600/hellgate2018_johnbobblets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="768" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcTWLAC2ZzNQcLbaydW9WKHZasBmArffacWEnf0DbLQmFspY8YhuajM-NU3Olf6aVfwJmeJeNyjZVvSALL_v4JjMARMUgYKsmTsPKKVtCBTFG7L5aBG5c4eOmr9XJzZzUYMu8YVkDRL9g/s400/hellgate2018_johnbobblets.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">John </span>Finishing the climb to Bobblets Gap<span style="color: red;">. I was too fast for a photo op.</span> (photo: Kristen Chang)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I manage to finally catch Roberts</span></s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Knowing sub-12 was firmly in hand, I chilled </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">on the downhill just before the Forever
Section </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">to let John catch back up
so we could work together for as long as possible.</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> <s>and as much as he seems relieved to chat
and talk about our time</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I do
some quick math and let John know that if we buckle down, we can probably go
sub-11:40.</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> <s>he doesn’t</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I don’t </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">let up and it’s not long before <s>he pulls</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I pull </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">away again. Dammit <s>Roberts</s></span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">John</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">, would you just <s>slow down</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">man up and pick up the pace </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">a bit?! Nature finally calls</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> for John</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> <s>and I lose a few minutes on him that I’m sure I won’t regain</s>,
and so I run the rest of the Forever Section in that unique silence that
happens when you traverse this section alone. You are almost done
with Hellgate, but there is still one more cruel climb to come. And
then there’s all these leaves and rocks again, often reducing you to walking
and cursing on a 2% grade.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkcxWplBJX2rMgOtXeuIvoYuWPmz19PHf-eTtFjRJzXBNeNILSdmZ955iW2kcjhePbsbciaw3n3CmzhzkEuFsMtmQvYL_zt-MoC8Fnt5TEjjtZ0O3_XdLkwmGGM5wHdjrcOjvCqoPoyZ8/s1600/hellgate2018_foreversection.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkcxWplBJX2rMgOtXeuIvoYuWPmz19PHf-eTtFjRJzXBNeNILSdmZ955iW2kcjhePbsbciaw3n3CmzhzkEuFsMtmQvYL_zt-MoC8Fnt5TEjjtZ0O3_XdLkwmGGM5wHdjrcOjvCqoPoyZ8/s400/hellgate2018_foreversection.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Forever Section – note happy rocks and leaves under foot (photo: Marc Griffin)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I finally hit Day Creek Aid Station, mile 60, at <s>10:41am</s></span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> 10:37am</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">. Holy crap, this is actually going to
happen. At <s>42</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">33</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> years of age, <s>I am
becoming a bit more aware of age every year I race but here at Day Creek, I’m
crushing the 37-year-old who ran this race for the first time 5 years ago</s></span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> I am in the best shape of my life and oh so glad
I’m not approaching my mid-40s right now</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">. Figuring yourself out, pushing yourself, beating
your old self after 60 miles. Now <i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">this </span></i>is mountain
racing. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I decide to push</span></s><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I don’t push</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">, </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I know for a fact that I’m going </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">to make it up and over in less than an
hour. </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I’m savoring this climb
and saving my legs for some sweet 6-flat miles on the way back down to Camp
Bethel.</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> I can’t run for
long spells at a time without quickly redlining, so I just make sure I don’t
walk for long spells at a time either. Sometimes I’m running just 20
steps and walking <s>10</s></span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">20</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">, but I’m </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">not </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">pushing </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">all that </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">hard. <s>4 years ago I got to Day Creek with 61
minutes to spare before 12pm and I wasted that opportunity. I didn’t
realize how hard it would be to get here again with a similar opportunity and I
had already planned to climb this hill with heart.</s> <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">One last switchback to the right and up a few pitches, and there
is <s>Roberts</s></span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> John just behind me</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">. “Hey Buddy!” <s>I yell</s></span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">John yells</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">. He</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">
probably thinks I am</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> <s>is</s> not happy
to see <s>me</s></span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> him, but I think it’s
pretty cool he nearly catches up to me. I wave him on and tell him to catch up</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">. <s>He doesn’t have the legs to
run away from me, but I don’t really have the legs to catch all the way up to
him and so he gets</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">But I know he can’t catch
up and so I get </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">a head start crossing
the Parkway about <s>a minute</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">30 seconds </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">ahead of <s>me</s></span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> John</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> for the last 3</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">.5</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">-mile descent of the day to Camp
Bethel. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">There is <s>no</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">something close to a</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">
magic out-of-body experience on this downhill today – this <s>hurts</s></span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> doesn’t hurt at all, it’s just smooth and fast
downhill running, just the way I like to finish my races</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">. I lay into the downhill as fast
as I can go</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> without straining my
tired muscles and I look back about halfway down</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> but I never even catch a glimpse of <s>Roberts</s></span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Anderson</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">. Running full speed over leaves and rocks, I’m not
sure how more of us don’t just crash and die <s>and I’m seriously afraid of
ruining my sub-12 with such a fall</s></span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> but I’m confident in my abilities this time around (unlike 2 years
ago when I bit it hard, twice, trying to outrun John Kelly)</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">. Turns out Jordan had a nasty
ankle turn just a mile from the finish doing that very thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Finally the gravel road, then the beautiful “1-mile” mark on the
road. <s>It still hurts</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">My legs are finally starting to feel tired </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">but pain is being replaced by
emotion. I wish every runner could experience what it feels like to
finish such a journey, to battle doubts all day, for 65</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">.6</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">
miles, but finally be here, at the “1-mile” mark that Horton spray painted on
the road and know that your goals will indeed be met and even
exceeded. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Xqu59HByvdPYkeiMkjLBbPUjU8CEUuVIGVhkWVkhWyeqYdGt_JYLElGPp_uWxWX2vUSQ0wbgfxXBSwZuqTp6UAlCDITbjhyphenhyphenhyphenhyphenNbWr7fvwesQS7K1mM2AIkBVhDV5t7T_ueXaa5pONkI/s1600/hellgate2018finish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Xqu59HByvdPYkeiMkjLBbPUjU8CEUuVIGVhkWVkhWyeqYdGt_JYLElGPp_uWxWX2vUSQ0wbgfxXBSwZuqTp6UAlCDITbjhyphenhyphenhyphenhyphenNbWr7fvwesQS7K1mM2AIkBVhDV5t7T_ueXaa5pONkI/s400/hellgate2018finish.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finally in Camp Bethel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Chris Roberts is</span></s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I am </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">once again faster than <s>me</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">John</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> – 11:34:12, 4<sup><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">th</span></sup>place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I still have no idea how <s>I</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">John </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">ran an 11:37:30, good
for 5<sup><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">th</span></sup>. It was a magical day</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> for him</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Jordan was right behind – 11:44:55, 6<sup><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">th</span></sup>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">And Nick Pedatella was just behind him at 11:47:35, 7<sup><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">th</span></sup>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Dan succumbed to the Forever Trail and slowed to a 12:10:21, 9<sup>th</sup>.
But he beat old man Meltzer!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">All racing within a few minutes of each other for 66 miles.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN-Zd5UZjHEYCAVbO39Izh0ObMN-VpXfCKry7nk6Fzj-FaZb_4Nnb-v6rFgHhCjeIPsfitTKCFxvavG8zFkvgtxr7Fl49KL0xD2REVHrNmdMa4T6pRxuRo2W3dWDmvvjdPjPnQBIHG9os/s1600/hellgate2018_top10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN-Zd5UZjHEYCAVbO39Izh0ObMN-VpXfCKry7nk6Fzj-FaZb_4Nnb-v6rFgHhCjeIPsfitTKCFxvavG8zFkvgtxr7Fl49KL0xD2REVHrNmdMa4T6pRxuRo2W3dWDmvvjdPjPnQBIHG9os/s400/hellgate2018_top10.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mens Top Ten (photo: Michelle Andersen)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Turned out this was the most competitive Hellgate mens race
ever, with 7 men finishing under 12 hours (5 under 12 was the previous
max). Congrats to Darren Thomas on the win and Rich Riopel and Mike
McMonagle on crazy fast times!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">Also of note, John and I ran from Jennings Creek to the finish faster than Matt Thompson did when he won last year, and from Little Cove to the finish we were only a couple minutes off Ryan Paavola's course record splits ... maybe we shouldn't have taken it so easy at the beginning?</span><br />
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">2018 was the 2<sup><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">nd</span></sup>most competitive
womens race, just behind last year’s, with 5 women under 14
hours. Congrats to Anna Evans on the win (13:04!), Kelly MacDonald
and Shannon Howell for 2<sup><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">nd</span></sup>and 3<sup><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">rd</span></sup>, my <s>good friend and teammate</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">running acquaintance </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Becca Weast in 4<sup><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">th</span></sup>(<s>we made a
pre-race pact that we would both break our time goals and suffer a lot doing so
– we did it!),</s> and Sheila Vibert in 5<sup><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">th</span></sup>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Congrats to all the mountain runners who got it done at this
year’s Hellgate. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I have finished this race in over <s>17</s></span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">14</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">
hours, and now under 12 hours, and I can say that it takes all that you have to
finish, regardless of your time. We all climb those climbs, leave
those comfy aid station fires, play the headlamp games, toil through the rocks
and leaves, chase runners through the ins and outs, and follow ghosts through
the forever section. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Thank you to all of the selfless volunteers who staff the aid
stations, do the radio communications, medical, and timing. You are
so very appreciated. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Thank you to<s> my</s> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">John’s </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">wife Michelle for
being out there</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> and letting me get naked
behind your car at Bearwallow</span><s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">. I asked you not to crew, I told you not to come, that it
would be cold and miserable and you wouldn’t sleep. You wouldn’t have it
any other way and I’m not sure I would be as motivated to push if you weren’t
there with me.<o:p></o:p></span></s><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Thank you to Bob Clouston and Sophie Speidel for helping me find my
drop bag at Bearwallow, and for being friendly faces to see at a critical point
in the race.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Thank you to my wife for dealing with our two young kids without me
around for 27 hours straight!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguehiHTcnadH35XtKTQiW8VSMYV_HOCmP6Yoo6hJfsB6rhkq-a4i31QHrA7PxgqvmfeAaTfYMvTCMGIvvYSTQlpm83bwA01eFaz5UPdYTn23FhRs-75CagQywCSmud35sKRBTmn106_cE/s1600/hellgate2018_beasts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguehiHTcnadH35XtKTQiW8VSMYV_HOCmP6Yoo6hJfsB6rhkq-a4i31QHrA7PxgqvmfeAaTfYMvTCMGIvvYSTQlpm83bwA01eFaz5UPdYTn23FhRs-75CagQywCSmud35sKRBTmn106_cE/s400/hellgate2018_beasts.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beast Series champs with our bears. Note: Anderson has never even attempted the Beast Series.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">And last, thanks to David Horton. He loves this race,
loves to share it with us, and mostly loves to see what we have to give in
order to finish it.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhe_7SWtfO4kx7J63_WEWW-9_3wXtzIBoFHyHoFgJWj5btArt88TdxucYFeeOngUretezgZTwohsO9PjbC3WsIbMLgWewz2KEk-pooRpVYPThX8BwQW3BI6UeVM9p0K9vgGfccUCnB6hw/s1600/Hellgate2018_meandHorton.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="519" data-original-width="764" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhe_7SWtfO4kx7J63_WEWW-9_3wXtzIBoFHyHoFgJWj5btArt88TdxucYFeeOngUretezgZTwohsO9PjbC3WsIbMLgWewz2KEk-pooRpVYPThX8BwQW3BI6UeVM9p0K9vgGfccUCnB6hw/s400/Hellgate2018_meandHorton.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape
id="Picture_x0020_1" o:spid="_x0000_i1025" type="#_x0000_t75" alt="http://crozetrunning.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/12/IMG_0438-1024x768.jpg"
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</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--></span><s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Six</span></s><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Four </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">years of Hellgate thanks to this man. (photo: </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Not </span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Michelle Andersen</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">, because she hasn't sent me the finish line photo she took.</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-38216468364123786112018-10-12T19:07:00.002-05:002018-10-12T19:30:58.109-05:00The Humid Grindstone<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-9aea3b47-7fff-aab9-8130-7223f38313ff" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Pregame</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I won’t lie, it’s been a bit of an off year for me. The first half of the year I was building up my fitness and 50K – 50M race times were improving, despite prioritizing flat running over vert. By early summer, I thought solid training could produce a 19:30 at Grindstone with favorable race conditions. Then I had a disastrous outing at the Ethan Allen 24 Hour – I’ll spare you the details, but if you’re ever looking to try qualifying for the USATF 24 Hour team, I’d advise against running around a black track in the middle of July. After that, I caught a cold and had awful congestion for a month that had me severely limit training. I crammed in a few long, steep runs after July but couldn’t put together anything resembling a solid training block. And anytime I ran outside, my body had a lot of trouble with the heat and humidity. I'd be going into Grindstone very undertrained. But … at least I wasn’t overworking my legs … that’s gotta count for something, right?!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So fast-forward to Thursday, October 4</span><span style="font-size: 6.6pt; vertical-align: super; white-space: pre-wrap;">th</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. 24 hours before Grindstone. I check the local forecast and it’s saying a high of 71 and mostly cloudy. Overnight temps on the high side, but not terrible. No heat, no humidity! Phewww!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Apparently forecasts aren’t always accurate.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">By the time I arrived at Camp Shenandoah, it felt warm. And then it started to feel sticky. And then the sun poked through the clouds. And it felt warmer. And it felt stickier. And a little part of me died inside.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It Begins -- Miles 0 - 37</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I started at a comfortable pace in the 80+ heat, linking up with Neal Gorman for a few early miles. It was warm, and humid, and as the sun set the fog rolled in. As a result, the pace was slower than last year, and more closely resembled The Rainy Year (2016). I told myself it was smart to be calm on the climbs and cautious descending in the fog, where visibility was often only a couple of feet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As any betting man could predict, I linked up with John Andersen for a chunk of the early miles. I stayed up on my hydration (which required downing a good bit more liquids than usual) and took in a healthy amount of gels and candy bars, and taste-tested the potato offerings at every aid station. But somewhere near the top of Hankey Mountain (maybe Mile 25-ish), I started getting queasy feelings in my stomach and my body started to feel … </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">off</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. It wasn’t worth it to go all gung-ho up Hankey like I did last year, not with this humidity. It felt like my body was having trouble sucking down the muggy air while running uphill. I spent a few miles in a bit of a slump, but was certain it would pass.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Damn it! -- Miles 37 - 65</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I downed some calories at North River Gap 1 (Mile 37) and had high hopes for a comfortably hard climb along Chestnut Ridge to Little Bald conversing with John. I collected a cupful of tater tots to snack on along the way. I was excited! Then … I tripped and flung the spuds into the mud and dirt. John hopped by, laughing and soaking up the schadenfreude as I dejectedly muttered to myself and tried salvaging a few of the tots. Then </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">long haired dude</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> (Mike Cooper) came up, passed, and linked up with John. I tried to pick up steam again to catch back up, while simultaneously trying to chew the last of my dirt tots. I suddenly felt uncomfortably nauseous and began gagging. I slowed to a crawl and spent what felt like 5 minutes chewing those damn tater tots, trying to build up the courage to swallow. Finally, they went down. But John and </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">long haired dude</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> were out of sight. I was drained, and lacked the will to summon a hard hike or jog to reconnect. Instead, I told myself I needed to be patient, hike calmly, and work on getting rid of the nausea. I made a point to not run anything resembling an incline. Another dude (Travis Zipfel) caught me – apparently I’d leapfrogged him at the aid station – and we briefly discussed how he was just recovering from similar feelings of queasiness and nausea … then he bounded off into the foggy distance like a friggin gazelle.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I spent the next 3 hours alone climbing up Little Bald and running along the foggy jeep trails towards the turnaround. I even managed to not feel like death while jogging up some of the dirt road climb to Reddish Knob. After the tater tot debacle, I was reluctant to take in solid food, and was left forcing myself to choke down gels with giant gulps of water. I nearly gagged every time, but I was still getting those calories in.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Neal Gorman caught back up with me and we ran into the Turnaround together, coming in at 10:30, exactly what I’d run 2 years ago in the rain, but well behind last year’s pace. Neal and I were 6 and 7. John was maybe 10 minutes up, and 3 more guys were only a few minutes ahead of that. I figured if I could shake the multi-hour funk, I could still secure a respectable time, and maybe even break back into the Top 5. I took it easy with Neal for a couple miles after the Turnaround, but he was clearly itching to go chase down the other runners and my body didn’t feel up to the task. When I started going back downhill on the dirt road, my stride just would not open up. Any time I tried pushing the pace to make the most of the free downhill miles, my breathing would get erratic and my whole body would instantly feel fatigued. Just as I was overcoming the stomach issues, the soul-sucking humidity was digging its claws into me for good.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ugh! -- Miles 65 - 88</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I labored my way back down to North River Gap 2 (Mile 65). On the handful of inclines and flat sections of trails, I struggled every time I tried jogging. I was considerably slower than I hoped for, and despite the lackluster pace, I was feeling depleted. My wife and John’s wife, Michelle, tried pumping me up and convincing me to go chase down John, but when they said he had “just left” they were stretching the truth. I </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">knew</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> he had to be at least 25 or 30 minutes up on me at that point. And with Neal and the other dudes looking solid at the Turnaround, I was certain I couldn’t make the leap from 7</span><span style="font-size: 6.6pt; vertical-align: super; white-space: pre-wrap;">th</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> to 5</span><span style="font-size: 6.6pt; vertical-align: super; white-space: pre-wrap;">th</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> place.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I took my time at the aid station loading up on calories as best I could. And I gave everyone there a helluva show when my wife tried to help take off my shoe and inadvertently squeezed right down on a newly damaged toenail – my involuntary scream was a head-turner! I finally headed out to face the rest of the course … walking my tired ass down the short stretch of blacktop that would begin my most hated section of the entire course – the “run” up to Lookout Mountain. I transitioned to survival mode and planned to hike every incline to save my energy for the downhills and final miles. This could get ugly!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After close to a decade of walking, I finally emerged from the woods and happened upon the Lookout Mountain aid station. They had my potatoes ready to go for me, but by that point I’d lost all interest in solid foods. I took some time to down ginger ale and chat everyone up, but before I left, some other dude rolled into the aid station with his pacer. My body didn’t have the urgency or energy to race, but I figured I should at least fake an attempt at being competitive, so I lumbered on down the trail.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The sweet descent into Dowells Draft (Mile 81) was inviting and enjoyable. But it was also getting friggin hot out, and I still couldn’t convince my legs to open up or increase the cadence like I wanted. So I kept bleeding time. At the aid station, I was pampered by my wife, daughter, Michelle, and Frank Gonzalez. Was Horton there? I don’t know … I can’t recall any biting sarcasm or overeager words of encouragement. They finally kicked me out, beleaguered and fearful of how much The Crawford Climb was going to suck.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Miraculously, I managed to run the entire mile-plus of creek bottom before The Crawford Climb. The past 2 years I had finished much faster, but my legs were also close to the point of failure when I got to this rather benign stretch of trail, so it was rewarding to be able to cover that short section of the course without feeling like a shell of a human being. I kept myself accountable and calmly hiked the entire brutal climb. A couple times I shuffled to a jog just to convince myself that my body couldn’t handle it, and sure enough, within a few strides I’d feel like my lungs were being ripped out of my chest and I was getting punched in the gut … so … hooray hiking! After I crested the climb, I wanted to bomb the downhill into Dry Branch (Mile 88), but, again, I just could not get my stride to open up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Lazy -- Miles 88 - 96</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At Dry Branch I parked my lazy ass into a chair and snacked on some cookies and bitched about how I can’t get out of this low gear and how it's so hot out and how I hate humidity and running and life. Shannon Howell came careening into the aid station, clearly on course record pace (how? HOW?!) … and just like that, I’d been </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">chick’d</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. And I couldn’t have cared less. I eventually got up and mosey’d my way on down the trail … Shannon was well out of sight.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Just like Crawford, I took my sweet time climbing Elliott’s backside. I love grinding up this final climb, laying it all out there, nearly dying when you slip on the loose rocks, trying to squeeze fits of rage between painful gulps of air. But this time around was super chill. Humidity was the winner on the day, no sense in denying it. I couldn’t pick up my feet to run that stretch of trail if my life depended on it … but hiking it felt fan-freakin-tastic!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I got to the gravel road at the top of the climb and began to brace myself for a rough final 90 minutes to the finish line. I wanted to push it, squeeze everything I could out of my legs and body, freefall down to the final aid station like I usually do. But, again, my legs wouldn’t open up. I still made half-decent time, but it wasn’t anything to write home about.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<br />
<h3>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Too Little, Too Late -- Miles 96 - 102</span></h3>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After the last aid station, I calmly walk-jogged for a bit. And when the final mile or so of climbing came, I jogged. It was a laughable jog and I was panting like a dog. I finally ran up a decent sized hill for the first time in nearly 10 hours. As the trail turned flat, and then downhill, my legs started to pick up steam and finally open up. With 1.5 miles to go, I rapidly came upon both Shannon and </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">long haired dude</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. I slowed for a second to tell Shannon she was rocking it and to let her know that I wasn’t trying to be some douchy male, dead-set on running down a woman because getting </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">chick’d</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> would be more emotionally painful than the physical pain of running 100 miles. And then, somehow, I laid down the hammer. Firmly in 6</span><span style="font-size: 6.6pt; vertical-align: super; white-space: pre-wrap;">th</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> place, I cruised toward the finish line, and happily collapsed.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The day had drug on for nearly 2 hours longer than I would’ve liked, and my body felt utterly demolished. T</span><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">he humidity murdered my soul -- its tattered remains are still on the course somewhere, so if you come across it, please dispose of it properly for me. If not for the humidity, I might've run 60 to 80 minutes faster and snagged 5th place ... but there's no way in hell I would've caught John or Neal. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">In my 3 prior finishes, I was always able to call upon my legs to do what I wanted them to do – climb harder, pick up the pace, bomb the downhill. That wasn’t the case at all this time around. For nearly 70 miles my body ignored my requests, and yet, I was still able to grind it out and cross the finish line well under 24 hours. It wasn’t my fastest Grindstone, but it was certainly the most rewarding.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<h3>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Fu<span style="font-family: inherit;">n Facts</span></span></h3>
</div>
<ul style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<li dir="ltr" style="font-size: 11pt; list-style-type: disc; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Michael Owen's winning time was slower than my 5th place time last year</span></span></li>
<li dir="ltr" style="font-size: 11pt; list-style-type: disc; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Lookout Mountain and Little Bald Aid Stations tied for <b>The Best Potatoes!</b> Franks potatoes at Dowell's Draft were <b>The Losers</b> (undercooked). North River Gap gets kudos for the originality of the tater tots, but they don't take the win because of the painful associated memories.</span></span></li>
<li dir="ltr" style="font-size: 11pt; list-style-type: disc; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Temps at the start and finish were in the 80s, the low temps in the valley were 67, and humidity was over 90% all night long. Ick!</span></span></li>
<li dir="ltr" style="font-size: 11pt; list-style-type: disc; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Since I could never figure out how to get my legs to work, my major muscle groups felt fine 2 days out. Feet, calves, achilles, ribs, triceps, shoulders ... not so much.</span></span></li>
<li dir="ltr" style="font-size: 11pt; list-style-type: disc; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I planned on eating boatloads of candy bars, fig bars, and granola bars ... I had 1 granola bar and 1 Twix, all before 5 hours elapsed ... so much for that plan!</span></span></li>
<li dir="ltr" style="font-size: 11pt; list-style-type: disc; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Let me introduce you to <b>THE ONE AND ONLY SONG</b> stuck in my head for 22+ hours...</span></span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt;"> </span><iframe allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/9M_FlkAiTSo" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt;" width="480"></iframe></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre;">
</span>
<br />
<ul style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
</ul>
<br />Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-74816675082888406002018-09-18T11:09:00.001-05:002018-09-18T11:15:31.101-05:00Disordered Eating<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5mCGbIEikDp_VKy1JWyGT8mLg7pmuXaeBIn9QXDo6-mlPugMKwJwYKlAqw2aBLMqug_8NTm9eWXqZP6HVvHHguU0rJQ1qvHsMarJ4e9rUNyPZnLbdQJQLWrYda05_cHjER_89hN0iewg/s1600/scale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1100" data-original-width="1100" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5mCGbIEikDp_VKy1JWyGT8mLg7pmuXaeBIn9QXDo6-mlPugMKwJwYKlAqw2aBLMqug_8NTm9eWXqZP6HVvHHguU0rJQ1qvHsMarJ4e9rUNyPZnLbdQJQLWrYda05_cHjER_89hN0iewg/s320/scale.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: "arial";"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><a href="https://trailrunnermag.com/training/trail-tips/disordered-eating-male-athletes.html" target="_blank">A recent article</a> </span></span>by David Roche in Trail Runner Magazine highlights an issue that is all too often ignored: male athletes and disordered eating. In the spirit of being open, I wanted to take a moment to share my history with disordered eating, which, like the author's, would most appropriately be described as "subclinical".<br />
<br />
A combination of running and wrestling in high school kick-started a history of disordered eating for me. I was "little" but somewhat muscular when I joined the wrestling team as a sophomore. My natural weight in the 115-120lb range was too low for the 112lb weight class so I forced myself all the way down to 103. I have very distinct memories of this endeavor: sweatsuits and layers upon layers of sweat-saturated clothes, measuring out meals of plain yogurt by the 1/2cup, eating a muffin top for breakfast and being genuinely excited at the prospect of getting to eat the rest of the muffin for dinner. The race to lose nearly 15% of my body weight, and then maintain, was exhausting; but I also found the required focus and determination to be rewarding in its own twisted way.<br />
<br />
After 2 years of wrestling, my weight returned to normal, but a seed was planted in my brain. That seed has produced a disordered way of thinking that grows and withers from time to time, but is never truly eradicated. Scales, calorie-counting, estimating calories expended through exercise, hyper-awareness of a singular number that magically defines my health and happiness, looking in the mirror and seeing only fat deposits ... it all started becoming a common part of my daily life.<br />
<br />
By college I had grown a little, and so my natural weight ranged from roughly 123 to 130. I'm not sure how or why exactly it began, but I started judiciously logging my macronutrients in a spreadsheet. And then came absurdity. I convinced myself that healthy eating meant 1200 calories a day. Sometimes I was over, but that was always the goal. The quality of the food was generally unimportant. And occasionally, "for fun", I'd try to go stretches where I'd consume less than 10g of fat per day (a serving of peanut butter is around 16g). This was all while going to the gym routinely -- lifting weights, running, etc. Unsurprisingly, during this period I never got stronger or faster.<br />
<br />
I examined myself in the mirror: "I don't look skinny", "my ribs should be more prominent". I'd hit the stationary bike at the rec center, head down in silent focus, trying to burn off the calories I'd taken in. In a couple of months I was back down to the low-110s. After running a couple marathons -- without proper training -- I distinctly remember thinking "I could be faster if I were 107" ... never mind the fact that with adherence to a proper training program I could've been 30lbs overweight and still performed better. And why 107?! I was definitely on course for clinical disordered eating, and occasionally flashed signs of exercise bulimia.<br />
<br />
Magically, the head-on collision was avoided. But the troubling thing about it all is that I have no idea how I changed course. There's nothing specific that happened to keep me from going down the rabbit hole. No epiphany, nothing. Over the course of a couple months I just stopped worrying about weighing less.<br />
<br />
... Except, that's not really the end of it, because it never really goes away. To this day, nearly two decades after I was measuring out 1/2cups of yogurt, I still think about my weight and the calorie counts of the food I eat on a daily basis. All. Day. Long. Every serving of food I consume, I'm secretly adding up how much it <i>costs</i>, and whether or not I deserve it. I'm looking in the mirror and, like David Roche, "I'm pretty sure I see something different than what other people see."<br />
<br />
By all accounts, I'm healthy and fit. I average 200+ miles of running every month. And there's not a doctor in the world who'd say I was overweight. And yet, nearly every day I think, I wish, I know that I could afford to lose, at the very least, just a few more pounds. I'm comfortably around 135 to 140 now, and I find my body tends to throw out red flags when I drift much below that ... but in college I was the same height and 10lbs lighter ... and in high school I was 20lbs lighter and could run the 800m faster than I can now ... and Eliud Kipchoge is 5'6" and 115lbs and he's the world's greatest marathoner ... so I should definitely go on a diet and lose at least 10lbs right now!<br />
<br />
It's all bullshit. Somehow, my mind is able to recognize this disordered logic, and that keeps real problems at bay. For that, I'm lucky, and grateful. I hope to go on, for the remainder of my life, maintaining an active and healthy lifestyle and supporting myself with good eating habits (and the occasional cookie dough splurges). But I know, too, that there will always be guilt, the feelings of inadequacy, and quick-fire caloric math before, during, and after nearly every ounce of food I consume.<br />
<br />
Most days it's not a big deal. Other days it can feel a bit exhausting. But there are plenty of other folks out there dealing with much, much worse. Hopefully more open discussions about disordered eating can remove the stigma, let others know that they're not alone, and that it's okay to seek out help.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-46448070263538596042018-05-29T13:21:00.000-05:002018-05-29T14:17:53.027-05:00You Can't Always Get What You Want<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
On May 19th, I went to 3 Days at the Fair with one objective: cover
enough miles in 24 hours to effectively guarantee a spot on the USA 24 Hour
National Team. If I did that, I’d be able to compete at the
biannual World Championships held in Austria in 2019. For the 2017 team, 153
miles was enough to secure a spot on the 6-person roster. Assessing my fitness
and comparing against other successful 24 hour runners, I put together a plan
for 158 miles, something I felt I could achieve on a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">problem-free day</i>. That 153 to 158 window gave me about 5 miles of slack for a couple things
to go wrong. That could accommodate a 50 minute deviation from my race plan; something that extreme has never happened before – I take pride in my planning for
races at 100K and beyond. So yeah, I was feeling pretty good about my chances.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h3>
The Plan:</h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEietcH1B4GBctusJkq9VaK6o8KSlUWNIHFk0EPG_ecagAPqz0nDVSle_GScHDEJwWadPhR0yMbGD0Y1qPjXWOB6e4KgEUzgkSTecppYSdmK-jPWjnKtDXSCt20UnfRVKq6xplq5DNi_DJY/s1600/Fairgrounds+2017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1003" data-original-width="1600" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEietcH1B4GBctusJkq9VaK6o8KSlUWNIHFk0EPG_ecagAPqz0nDVSle_GScHDEJwWadPhR0yMbGD0Y1qPjXWOB6e4KgEUzgkSTecppYSdmK-jPWjnKtDXSCt20UnfRVKq6xplq5DNi_DJY/s400/Fairgrounds+2017.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's not all left turns!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The course is a flat loop, exactly 1 mile in length. That
meant for this race I didn’t have to worry about sorting out proper aid station
splits and accounting for vertical gain/loss. I knew from a couple races in the previous
year that I could run 50 miles on rolling, runnable trails at 8:20 – 8:30
average and not feel completely spent. I figured that pace was a good place to
start, and then plan to gradually get slower as time went on. I don’t like
planning to slow down, but I wanted to be mindful of the fact that I typically
train for mountain running which varies the way muscles are activated, as
opposed to sustained flat running which uses the same muscle mechanics mile
after mile – I know how to prepare for blown quads in a mountain race, but I
had no idea what would happen to my muscles after hours of flat pavement.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here was my plan:<o:p></o:p></div>
<table border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="MsoTableGrid" style="border-collapse: collapse; border: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-yfti-tbllook: 1184;">
<tbody>
<tr style="mso-yfti-firstrow: yes; mso-yfti-irow: 0;">
<td style="border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.8pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Hours<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
<td style="border-left: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.85pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Miles / Pace<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
<td style="border-left: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.85pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Simpler Pace Goals<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 1;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.8pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
0 – 4<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.85pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
28+ (8:20 – 8:30)<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.85pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
8:20<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 2;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.8pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
4 – 8<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.85pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
28 (8:35)<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.85pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
8:40<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 3;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.8pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
8 – 12<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.85pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
27 (8:54)<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.85pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
9:00<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 4;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.8pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
12 – 16<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.85pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
26 (9:15)<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.85pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
9:20<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 5;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.8pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
16 – 20<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.85pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
25 (9:36)<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.85pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
9:40<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 6;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.8pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
20 - 24<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.85pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
24 (10:00)<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.85pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
10:00<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 7; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.8pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
24 hours<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.85pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
158 miles<o:p></o:p></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 155.85pt;" valign="top" width="208"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
</td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Basically, break the day into 4-hour bins and plan to get
slower by about 20sec/mile every 4 hours. I also planned to stop at my personal aid station every 10
miles for up to 2 minutes. That, plus maybe 1 gear/shoe change, would put me
right at 155 miles.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h3>
The Race:</h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the race approached, it became clear that I’d be running
in the rain for a good chunk of time. If it were a normal race where all
competitors had to deal with the same issues, it’d be no big deal. But I
was racing the clock, and competing against efforts posted by other runners at
other races with likely better weather. I was concerned, but found it hard to
believe that bad weather would cost me upwards of 5 miles in 24 hours. 1 – 3
miles was more likely. So not a deal breaker by any stretch, it just meant not a
lot of other things could go wrong.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The race started at 9am and … well …<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
… At this point I would normally dive into an enthralling, captivating, action-packed play-by-play of my race. But I’m gonna take a little different route this time
around.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>SPOILER ALERT:</b> I didn’t hit my mark. I didn’t even run for
24 hours. I ran 100 miles in under 16 hours, and then called it quits.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here’s a graph of my splits:<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWnzyPm9VQRAO8uVxN8hI7MrM5ldxu4iyJnQ1fKzdz0reVNE0-WthZwbSGo0BVOeNKqDiP-MFFITSAYyrtfWw-issosAA1kWdBC5wRUFseScYH0MxwKTQxoAUw91CUONcL2KrJyYmpa7c/s1600/3datf2018_splits.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="883" data-original-width="1442" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWnzyPm9VQRAO8uVxN8hI7MrM5ldxu4iyJnQ1fKzdz0reVNE0-WthZwbSGo0BVOeNKqDiP-MFFITSAYyrtfWw-issosAA1kWdBC5wRUFseScYH0MxwKTQxoAUw91CUONcL2KrJyYmpa7c/s640/3datf2018_splits.png" width="640" /></a><o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Clearly, something went wrong and I gave up. So let’s walk
through the issues that led to my failure!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h3>
Weather:</h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The first 3 hours saw persistent rain with temps in the
mid-40s and the occasional 10mph winds. It wasn’t that bad; I actually would’ve
enjoyed this weather on the trails. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
knew the rain would pick up after 3 hours, so I had already planned to stop at
some point and put on a dry top and warmer rain jacket. I covered my first 28
miles in about 3:55, on perfect pace. I’d been running the last hour soaking
wet and decided it was time to dry off. The process took longer than I would
have liked, just to put on a new shirt and jacket. But no harm, no foul. I got right back to running.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The real problem the rain presented concerned my feet. Early on, I was obsessed with hitting the best lines, and ran
through puddles frequently. More puddles, wetter socks and shoes, and more dirt
and grime on my feet. I abandoned that tactic after about 2 hours. It may sound stupid to be
talking about puddles and how they can throw a wrench in your race, but going
around them probably cost me a couple seconds each lap, too. Anyways, the bigger
issue was that after 8 hours I knew my feet needed some fresh socks and shoes. The
3-hour downpour from hours 4 to 7 had subsided and a long stretch of limited rain awaited me. I
ran through Mile 50 just over 7 hours, feeling great and still hitting my planned splits
perfectly. But getting new shoes took FOREVER! My feet were sopping wet and
there was dirt and sand stuck in between my toes. There was no point throwing
new socks and shoes over dirty, wet feet, so I had to diligently clean and dry
them first. And just like that, 8 minutes disappeared! 8 MINUTES! Ugh!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since I was still feeling fresh and had just nailed my 50
Mile split, I wasn’t concerned.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Time eaten up by weather in the first 8 hours: 10 minutes</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWvAgaipDiWr6FqjDk_3JFGxX0gZKinUGfA6Ih0O2FnInH3Pqx_egQTYK3JPmKiTQX_dmZKWgojkP3rkqdvgpxdKIEA3MXNdSGjMcrJiyEaXZvT5c8JhP0sw-hVXU-nj3XQczvV68fl2w/s1600/3datf_bridge_emmy_stocker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWvAgaipDiWr6FqjDk_3JFGxX0gZKinUGfA6Ih0O2FnInH3Pqx_egQTYK3JPmKiTQX_dmZKWgojkP3rkqdvgpxdKIEA3MXNdSGjMcrJiyEaXZvT5c8JhP0sw-hVXU-nj3XQczvV68fl2w/s400/3datf_bridge_emmy_stocker.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(The Bridge! The rain made for this slippery, inefficient turn all day long. Courtesy of Emmy Stocker.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h3>
Gut:</h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>TRIGGER WARNING:</b> I’m gonna talk about pooping<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My <a href="http://www.lazyultrarunner.com/2015/10/grindstone-100-race-report.html" target="_blank">first 100 Mile race</a> in 2015 was, by all accounts, a
success. But I had to jump off the trail a half-dozen times in the final third
of the race to go scratching in the woods. I likely gave up 20 minutes because
of an upset stomach.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After that, I started taking Imodium before all long races.
In the 18 or so hours before a race, I will take the
recommended daily maximum. Roughly 20 to 40 miles into a longer race, enough
pressure will build and I’ll need to poop, at which point I’ll generally take
another 1 or 2 doses. That usually keeps my gut in check for the rest of the
race. The process has become routine and predictable.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I did the same thing before this race. And starting at
roughly Mile 16, I felt the urge to poop. A little early, but whatever. Only, when I eventually tried to go, nothing happened. As time went on, the pressure
and pain in my lower abdomen kept increasing, but I still couldn’t go. I periodically tried going to the bathroom in the hopes I could finally clear
out my gut. When all was said and done, I tried pooping 6 times, and could
never go. Instead, I wasted at least 10 minutes and kept getting more
and more frustrated.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So what happened? Well, my initial urges to poop in a long
ultra are typically coincident with a long downhill stretch of running.
Bounding down a mountain shakes up my system and even though I dose up on
Imodium, I can still count on enough downhill running to force me to go scratch
in the woods. Only, 3DATF was perfectly flat, so no stomach jostling. I
basically overdosed on Imodium because I didn’t account for how flat running
might affect my stomach differently than mountain running.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Time eaten up by unsuccessful bathroom visits: 10 minutes</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyzQHrEOzINPlcLtnzX8QCvKYFRqdK2TTentSqKlUzIQbjotXG3RuEI1Sl9jNmk6eq8Y12b2v1kYG5BWDEyfiTAqhaOqyvEboWfrpkWPUbGoM5SaaNqb1iaiXSM35YS8glkN0b-OAq2K0/s1600/3datf_hour5_yoshiko_jo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyzQHrEOzINPlcLtnzX8QCvKYFRqdK2TTentSqKlUzIQbjotXG3RuEI1Sl9jNmk6eq8Y12b2v1kYG5BWDEyfiTAqhaOqyvEboWfrpkWPUbGoM5SaaNqb1iaiXSM35YS8glkN0b-OAq2K0/s400/3datf_hour5_yoshiko_jo.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Race schwag was a Marmot PreCip jacket. Serendipity! Photo courtesy of Yoshiko Jo.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<h3>
Nutrition/Hydration:</h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My nutrition plan was the same as always:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ul>
<li>Bottles of
Tailwind at a 200cal/20oz concentration, drinking around 16oz/hour</li>
<li>100cal Huma
gel every hour</li>
<li>random fruits, fig bars, PBJs, and potatoes to supplement
whenever I had hunger pangs or low energy</li>
</ul>
Also, I’d have apple juice, ginger
ale, tea, and chocolate milk lying around if I had a hankering. For the most
part, the plan worked. I never felt that nutrition or hydration was an
insurmountable problem.<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’d planned to swing by my table every 3-4 miles and grab a
bottle. I pictured it like those road marathon races – effortlessly swinging by
a table and grabbing my bottle. It was gonna be awesome!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With my table setup, the reality was that I had to put my
table about 5 feet off the course, and the rain turned that 5' stretch into a
muddy, slippery hell. Coming into and out of my aid station probably cost me 5
seconds each time. It adds up, but mile-by-mile it wasn’t noticeable, so I’m
not going to claim this had anything to do with me giving up. Still frustrating though.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The rain kept me cool and I quickly realized I needed much
less liquids than planned, which meant I had to supplement my calorie intake
with more solids from the get-go. This probably contributed to my gut problems a
little bit.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRbGxCczLniTB4RuPhoUwLN6wYZ_X4h_yxWSL6jRdpN7VKPHBw156JyFYyQ30uWcCQ3ImdPNpdthi2QXV4tV45l8VI38lY4I4DPz_nCc-r1fMYJEYZ28QrpCBtH3HY3rDB9NYk67FoOWo/s1600/IMG_20180519_084413.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRbGxCczLniTB4RuPhoUwLN6wYZ_X4h_yxWSL6jRdpN7VKPHBw156JyFYyQ30uWcCQ3ImdPNpdthi2QXV4tV45l8VI38lY4I4DPz_nCc-r1fMYJEYZ28QrpCBtH3HY3rDB9NYk67FoOWo/s400/IMG_20180519_084413.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(My Aid Station, before the mud took over.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h3>
Peeing:</h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I talked about pooping, so why not peeing?!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I overhydrated pretty quickly and felt the urge to pee
entirely too often during the race. Normally I don’t pee much in the first 8+ of a race, but for 3DATF I struggled to make it 6-10 mile stretches
before stopping. I did a good job adjusting my liquid intake accordingly, but
the urges to pee never subsided. Usually, by the end of most 100 Mile races I’m
reduced to peeing every 10-15 minutes for only a few seconds at a time because
my bladder won’t stop feeling painfully full. On a trail, it’s irritating but
not a big deal as it maybe slows me down by 1-2 minutes overall … maybe. But at
3DATF I either had to jump off course to hit up the restroom, or run completely
off a good line to hit up a nearby tree. Each time I did that was a solid 10
seconds of unnecessary running. Again, it adds up, but it’s not noticeable in
the splits so I won’t say it had any impact on my failure.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h3>
The Nail in the Coffin:</h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like I said earlier, at 50 Miles I was doing great. I lost
some time with a shoe change, but I never thought I wouldn’t be able to clear
155 miles.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I started Mile 60, all was good. Legs were fine,
nutrition was fine, and I was mentally in the game. A few minutes later, things
got scary. I have no idea what happened, and I can’t figure any way to
chalk it up to anything other than a random fluke of bad luck, but I felt like
I got hit by a ton of bricks and immediately felt woozy and dizzy. I started uncontrollably weaving along the course. My legs felt dead – my muscles
weren’t sore, it just seemed like my legs were incapable of moving. I looked at
my watch and thought to make it to 62 miles so I could claim 100K in under 9
hours, but as I passed by my tent I knew I had to stop immediately.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">It felt like I was suffering from vertigo, while drunk and
tired</span>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sat down, told myself I had plenty of time, and I just needed to take
a break, down some food, and relax for a few minutes. <i>Don’t press on until this
gets sorted out first.</i> I probably took in 800 calories – cookies, potatoes,
fruit, Starbucks Frappuccino, PBJ, you name it – in under 10 minutes. I felt kind of silly.
I kept picturing those old, beleaguered souls in pictures at Hardrock, etc.,
camped out in an aid station chair, looking totally wrecked and showing
absolutely no pressing urge to start running again. BUT, sitting down and
resting felt like it was just what I needed. After about 17 minutes, I hopped
up and was on my way again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For the next 10 miles my pace was exactly what I wanted and
my legs felt great. The gut issue was still present, but felt manageable still.
However, I kept getting distinct shifts in perceived effort. All of my miles
were roughly the same pace, but one would feel like a breeze and the next would
feel like I was racing a marathon, the next a breeze again, … At 70 miles I felt like
I needed to stop again, hoping that would get the weird effort swings under
control.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A little more than 10 minutes later and I was ready to run
again. Only, I knew that I’d effectively bled 40 minutes in a mere 20 miles.
Nearly all of my planned slack had disappeared.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
158 miles, out the window. 155
miles, extremely unlikely. 153 miles? Only if I could right this ship, and
fast.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next 2 miles still didn’t feel quite right, so did a
risk assessment and decided to abandon my goal of qualifying for Team USA.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since my muscles still felt fine, I wanted to continue on to
100 miles, but without any rush. I passed by Pete Kostelnick, who was walking
at the time, and decided that slowing to walk with him for a while was the
perfect way to force myself to quit. From then on out, my woozy/dizzy spell
never came back and my perceived effort slowly stabilized with the help of some
more excessive rest breaks.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Who knows, if I had a crew maybe I would’ve been coaxed into
pushing through, having a much shorter rest break, walking instead of sitting
in a chair, whatever. But out there by myself, experiencing something I
couldn’t explain that came out of nowhere, it rattled me and I opted to play it
safe and not put my body on the line for something that had an increasingly
small chance of working out.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Time eaten up by whatever the hell that was: 17+ minutes for
one break, 30 minutes before throwing in the towel.</i><o:p></o:p><br />
<i><br /></i>
PostScript / Fun Fact: Dizziness is a symptom of Imodium overdose...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h3>
The Rest of the Run:</h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After I gave up, the rest of my run was rather enjoyable. No
pressure, totally low key. I didn’t beat myself up or sulk. It was actually
quite fun. I still hit the paces I had expected to hit when I ran, but I took
extended breaks just for the heck of it, and chatted up some folks and walked
whenever I wanted.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The final 25 miles I could tell my feet were suffering from
maceration due to the wet starting conditions. That would’ve been rough to run
through and try to hit 150+ miles. The rain picked back up after 13 or 14
hours, but was fun to run in with no pressure remaining to perform well.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I eventually finished my 100 miles in 15:57, and that includes the
70+ minutes of time I wasted. I had to do 101 to get a buckle, so I took my
sweet time, got some tomato soup and a fresh grilled cheese sandwich, then
walk-jogged that last mile. Afterward, I hung out around the main aid station,
had a beer and a burger, kicked back, and relaxed. I took a shower, then headed
to my car to log a few solid hours of sleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I woke up with maybe 2 hours left in the race, packed all of my
stuff up, and then checked the standings. Somehow, with an hour left, I was still in 2<sup>nd</sup> place ... and they gave out awards to the top 3. And, there were 2 guys on their 101<sup>st</sup>
lap, running together looking to overtake me. Convinced by Pete that I should
go ask for my timing chip, I threw on some running gear and headed over to the
timing station. The RD, Rick McNulty, happily obliged and I went off to run
another 7 miles in less than an hour, ruining somebody’s day in the process!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHOioENNt96coPDRzKrX1ZbdPNdwr3aDkXrtm4VUrNNRvXd9qui_1iyAHOGbQUE-4DdNaSzVWluzEvYVeHI15ijZBLJwm9p5-HnBj-eSKWbs2kidPmLbdxt9CUy0Pz-Zu8unxxBuTuhns/s1600/3datf_awards_david_christy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHOioENNt96coPDRzKrX1ZbdPNdwr3aDkXrtm4VUrNNRvXd9qui_1iyAHOGbQUE-4DdNaSzVWluzEvYVeHI15ijZBLJwm9p5-HnBj-eSKWbs2kidPmLbdxt9CUy0Pz-Zu8unxxBuTuhns/s400/3datf_awards_david_christy.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(I'm such a jerk...)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mulling it over the past few days, I’ve found no reason to
regret bowing out. It’s probably for the best. The race conditions were less
than ideal, my gut was oddly uncooperative, and that dizzy spell scared the
crap out of me (well, I kinda wish it had…). I only ran 60 miles purposefully,
so my legs aren’t in bad shape right now. Not trying to push through has
probably given me back another 2 weeks of focused training. So now it’s on to a
couple months of more enjoyable trail running to focus on Eastern States 100 in
August … with the potential for an audible in mid-July to give this 24 Hour
thing one more attempt.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h3>
Lessons Learned:</h3>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My race schedule is packed until the end of the qualifying
window in December, but I might try to fit in a 24 Hour attempt one more time
in July. If I do that, I’ve certainly learned a bit about what it’s going to
take: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ul>
<li>S<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">tart out with less Imodium, or maybe none at
all until I poop for the first time</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Run on a track where my aid station table can be
right on the course</span></li>
<li>Get a crew. I like doing things on my own, but
with small margins for error, I need someone in my corner looking out for me as
the race progresses</li>
<li>Stick with the pace plan I devised. It worked
well for the first 50 miles and ignoring my excessive rest periods, it held up
through 100 miles.</li>
</ul>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<h3>
Additional thoughts:</h3>
<br />
<ul>
<li>There are few things in life as frustrating as
having to zig-zag around a line of zombie-like multi-day runners multiple times
every mile</li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Still not sure how my legs will handle flat
racing after 100 miles</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">My quads and hamstrings weren’t sore after the
run, but my achilles were stiff as hell and my ankles grew to the size of
grapefruit</span></li>
<li style="text-indent: 0px;"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">My body doesn’t feel wrecked at all, which is
leading to unnecessary guilt while I indulge in my typical post-race Week of
Crappy Eating</span></li>
</ul>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-79267248522046275172018-02-12T10:01:00.000-06:002018-02-12T10:03:58.910-06:002018 ICY-8To get the year started off right, I wanted to head back down to the <a href="https://athletic-equation.com/endurance-events/the-ultrail-series/icy-8/" target="_blank">ICY-8</a> race put on by Alex Papadopoulos at Lake Anna. While the race duration of 8 hours and roughly 50 miles is my least favorite type of ultra -- I just cannot figure out proper pacing in that type of race -- the format is one of my favorites. And the location provides a great opportunity for a weekend away in a cabin with the family, which is hard to pass up.<br />
<br />
For those not in the know, ICY-8 is an 8 hour loop format trail race on painfully runnable trails. It comprises two separate loops that runners can choose from: an 8 mile long loop and a 4.7 mile short loop. You can run any loops you choose and in any direction you'd like, but you only get credit for whole loops. So it starts getting interesting around halfway through the race when you start paying attention to your pace and how much time remains to try and sneak in as much mileage as possible. And for those intent on pushing the limits, the fact that the short loop is actually around 0.3 miles longer than advertised -- for which you get no credit! -- further complicates things. ... And if you're curious ... yes, of course I have spreadsheets to figure out my best strategies!<br />
<br />
I surprisingly won this race in 2016 and kind of figured I'd win it again this time around. But I just wanted to use it as a hard training run to kick-start my training to qualify for the 24 Hour Team USA. My objectives were pretty straightforward:<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Run a bit fast to start to tax my legs on the back end of the race</li>
<li>Get the course record by running 56 miles -- 7 of the 8 mile loops</li>
</ol>
<div>
If I could nail 7mph on the trails in an 8 hour race, I figured that'd be a good indicator of how well I could handle that same pace during a pancake flat 24 hour race on asphalt.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Overall, the day went pretty well. The temp was in the teens to start, so I willingly satisfied the role of The Weirdo In Shorts to start the race. I took it out at a comfortable pace with an effort that was borderline unsustainable, just under 8minute miles for the first 3 hours. At one point I started deciding if I should stick with the 56 mile plan or go for broke and push it for 57.4 miles. A couple hours later I was feeling the effects of that pace and began doubting if I could even achieve 56 miles. On the penultimate loop I took a hard fall and my hamstring seized up, which took a couple of minutes to sort out. It was just enough to make me uncomfortable trying for 56 miles, so I instead walk-jogged a short loop to close out my day with 52.7 miles. I still took the win (and a voucher for a free pair of Altras!), but that was more of a consolation prize. It was a solid, hard training run that didn't leave my legs shredded and, despite not hitting my goal of 56 miles, it was a good indication that qualifying for the 24 Hour Team is well within the realm of possibility.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Here's a run-down of my race, loop-by-loop:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Loop One: The Fast Loop (0-8mi, 1:02)</h3>
<div>
I went out front immediately in an assertive yet comfortable pace. I let the miles come to me, trying to strike a balance between a maintainable pace and something closer to a 50K effort. After a few miles I fell into a groove hitting miles in the 7:30 to 8:00 range. In the last mile or two of the loop, I think I got a little excited and pushed it into the aid station a bit faster than I should have. A quick swap of bottles and I was back out in no-time.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Loop Two: The Why-Am-I-Still-Running-This-Fast Loop (8-16mi, 1:02)</h3>
<div>
68 minute loops would get me 56 miles, and I had wanted to start out with some 64 minute loops. So having come in just under 62 minutes the first time around, I made a point to dial back the effort. Or at least that's what I thought I was doing. The slight downhill grades and the flats felt completely effortless. And the next thing I knew, I had perfectly repeated the first loop's pace. I was feeling good and already had 12 minutes of slack in my game plan. But I was a little mad at myself for going another hour at a pace I knew was unsustainable.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Loop Three: The Poop Loop (16-24mi, 1:05)</h3>
<div>
I wanted this loop to be a more manageable pace, but halfway through and I was still chugging along at closer to 50K effort. Oops! Aside from a jump into the woods, it was a fairly unmemorable hour on the trails.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Loop Four: The Hubris Loop (24-32mi, 1:05)</h3>
<div>
I started loop four in the reverse-direction to compare with the previous loops. I don't typically like this direction as much because there more low-grade uphill miles -- I'd much prefer to climb a steeper hill for a minute than run a slight grade for a mile. Towards the end I started doing some math, figuring if I could knock out this loop and the next two in about 67 minutes each, I'd have a chance at 57.4 miles instead of 56 ... <i>which course record should I go for today?!</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<h3>
Loop Five: The It's All Falling Apart Loop (32-40mi, 1:12)</h3>
<div>
I finished loop four on a high. I was 18 minutes up on even splits. All I needed to do was run 3 more loops at 75 minutes each. My previous 4 were all 65 and below. This was going to be a piece of cake!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then the struggle began.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Instead of hovering right around 8:00 miles, I was around 8:30 consistently, and putting in quite an effort to stay under 9:00. Then I finally broke 9:00 on Mile 39. My spirits were crushed! I stumbled into the Aid Station at 5:26, with a loop that was nearly 1 minute per mile slower than the previous. With hands on my knees I took a look at Alex, the RD, and vocalized my fears: <i>I don't think I can make two more loops!</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
I had 2:34 to complete 2 loops and 16 miles. 77 minutes per loop. 9:30 miles. It was still doable. Alex thought it'd be easy. But I had my doubts.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Loop Six: The Wheels Come Off Loop (40-48mi, 1:18)</h3>
<div>
I pushed on. But the slightest hill felt impossible to overcome. I stopped a few times in one mile to do some stretching and find an excuse to catch my breath in the hopes that'd jump-start my legs. It didn't work. 10 minute miles ticked by.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Halfway through the loop I had already racked up three 10 minute miles. If I could book the last few miles and manage to come in under 77 minutes, I'd be good. 77 minutes. 77 minutes. Just get this damn loop over with!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then I caught a rock (bye bye toenail!) and flew through the air. I tried getting up and my right hamstring seized. I collapsed back to the ground. I tried using the other leg, but it too started to seize up. I rolled to my back and tried getting up from that position, but was again thwarted by the right hamstring. After managing to get my upper body up, I slowly tried reaching for my toes to stretch the muscles. When they felt good and ready, I rolled into a side plank and then a regular plank position, and delicately walked my hands to my feet with my knees locked. I was up! Finally! After a bit of hanging and stretching, I hobbled on down the trail.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Tenths of a mile ticked by. The loop would never end! Every time I tried to pick up the pace I felt a sting in my hamstring. I finally finished the loop, checked the clock, and bent over in exhaustion. There was no way I'd be able to squeeze in another long loop without going to the well.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Loop Seven: The Lazy Loop (48-52.7mi, 0:55)</h3>
<div>
If you run in the reverse-direction, the first 3.3 miles of the short and long loop overlap. It gives you more time to gauge your pacing to decide if you can cram in those extra long loop miles or if you need to pack your bags and bail. So I decided to push for 3.3 miles and see if I could overcome my failing muscles. But first ... I just had to walk the short, steep climb out of the Aid Station. It felt like a walk of shame. Oh, and an 11 minute mile .. fan-freakin-tastic!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My watch beeped at 49 miles and I realized if I kept pushing I'd be able to clear 50 miles in 7 hours, something I'd never done before. At 6:59:30 my watch beeped and I immediately slowed down. 50 miles in 7 hours was enough satisfaction for the day. I was done. 52.7 miles and a short loop for me!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I killed the time over the final miles walking and chatting up a couple of folks, and then picked it back up for the final mile or so ... at which point my legs felt infinitely better already! I rolled in just under 7:40. It wasn't exactly what I wanted, but it was pretty damn close. All things considered, it was another fun day on the trails! On to Holiday Lake 50K in 2 weeks!</div>
Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-59640493805826706102017-12-16T13:54:00.002-06:002017-12-16T13:54:33.365-06:00Another Year, Another Hellgate!<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Special</b> </span>… yes, that
probably is the best way to describe Hellgate.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In my three short years of
ultrarunning, I’ve run roughly 20 different events. Not one of them compares to
Hellgate. It loses out on “favorite race” to Grindstone – which might cause
some to question my ability to effectively judge the merits of a race – but
when it comes to uniqueness, Hellgate takes the cake.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There’s no one solitary thing that gives Hellgate a leg-up
on other races. It has solid, but not unwieldy, climbs. None of the descents
are particularly excruciating. At times it has great, sweeping views. It’s a
healthy mix of gravel roads, double-track, and single-track. Just an ordinary
race, right?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But then you’ve got the 12:01am start. It’s likely the last
race on everyone’s calendar after a year of hard training and running. Chances
of showing up sick or injured, or both, are not insignificant. The weather is
drastically different from one year to the next. The course tests enough
different running skills that you’re bound to confront a weakness somewhere in
those 66.6 miles. The volunteers, braving the elements, are the best you’ll
ever come across. The limited entry gives the race a family feel – when you drive
into Camp Bethel before the race and when you run in at the end, you’re coming
home. And then there’s the leaves … oh god, the leaves … the endless piles of
knee-high leaves hiding untold numbers of nefarious rocks.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s an agglomeration of characteristics, an equal share of
wonderful and awful, all working to build you up, to break you down, to impart
what some might describe as self-shadenfreude, and, perhaps, to leave you with
the sense that, somehow, you will have left Camp Bethel with a better awareness
of who you are as a runner, as a person. Hellgate is Horton’s gift to us all.
Each year we think we know what we’re getting, what will be revealed when the
wrapping paper comes off – joy, suffering, a bond with others, aching muscles,
those damned leaves, and an incredible atmosphere. This year, I ended up with a
bit more: humility, affirmation, self-reflection, and an eagerness for next
year.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Enough with the poetic ramblings … on with the race report!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>***DISCLAIMER: What follows is as close to brevity as I'm ever going to get.***</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anticipating 20 degree temps and up to a foot of snow, I
opted for tights. I also opted to put on too many layers, nearly replicating my
clothing choices from last year’s single-digit excursion. I didn't feel warm. <i>Did I just make a stupid mistake?!</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The race started and
I immediately tagged along with Matt Thompson. I know he’s a better runner than
me, but the handful of times I’ve started out with him, I’ve never felt
overtaxed. I’d hoped John Andersen and Chris Miller would join us, but from the
get-go I could tell John was more interested in hosting a social hour to start
off the day, and I knew Chris would be somewhere nearby.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I ran in/around Matt and Frank Gonzalez for the early miles.
The pace was comfortable, but I was not! Within 15 minutes I knew it was
nowhere near 20 degrees … yet. I struggled to dig into my jacket and my long
sleeve shirt to grab and peel off my arm warmers by Mile 3 – they were drenched
in sweat. By the time we began Petite’s Climb I was stopping again to peel off
my jacket and throw it in my pack. There could be snow and wind up at 3500’
where I could need it again, but at 1000’ it was just too much clothing. Once I
was down to nothing but a long sleeved midweight I could feel the chill and the
slight breeze perfectly modulate my body temperature. I was finally comfortable
and it was time to get down to business!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had splits for a sub-11:40 finish which I figured would require
perfect trail conditions and a strong final third of the race. The slightest
difficulty – snow, nutrition lapse, a rough section – and I’d have to pivot to
a sub-12:00 goal. Early on, everything seemed to click. I was in the Top 5, my
effort level felt manageable, and I was hitting the climbs with ease. I ran all
of Petite’s and began gapping Frank as I made my way down to the Terrapin
section of trail. At the bottom, I saw the trail continue on, but also a trail
veer up and off to the right. I couldn’t spot any markers, so I stood around
for about a minute until Frank caught up. We took a couple steps on the
offshoot and saw a streamer in the distance, and we were back on our way!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQlRjLTWXx5zZ2yDl5V0g2xQHAyIeCq4NYGTcIjm0dPKDN8QsDVRzoUjHELWzplW3bzkClFrWUkk6tXP2p-1E3o8i-ij6cOBFZpIbTjb31v09c-NWMAhoddQ3VcbNuGIVmvHh2r42cAnA/s1600/Hellgate2017night_kk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQlRjLTWXx5zZ2yDl5V0g2xQHAyIeCq4NYGTcIjm0dPKDN8QsDVRzoUjHELWzplW3bzkClFrWUkk6tXP2p-1E3o8i-ij6cOBFZpIbTjb31v09c-NWMAhoddQ3VcbNuGIVmvHh2r42cAnA/s400/Hellgate2017night_kk.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(If I knew the pic would be this cool, I wouldn't have opted for a cheesy smile and thumbs up. Courtesy of Keith Knipling.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I pulled ahead of Frank again going up the Camping Climb –
those endless hours of 12% treadmill climbing were really coming in handy!
Jordan Chang finally caught up and rapidly gapped me. I stopped for some quick
power-hiking a couple of times, but for the most part it was run, run, run.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the Camping Gap Aid Station I caught back up with Jordan
and left ahead of him. I crested the climb and cruised along the grassy roads,
frequently looking back, waiting for Jordan to catch up. Matt and Brad Revenis
were well up on me, way out of sight. So I ran through the night alone in 3<sup>rd</sup>
place. Near Mile 20, well into the climb up Onion Mountain I was caught by Paul
Jacobs. Before we crested, I hopped off into the woods to take care of some
business for a few minutes. Two more headlights streamed by. Just like that, I
was in 6<sup>th</sup> place.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I finished the last few minutes of the climb, then headed
down the rocky, technical Promise Land trail to the temporary Overstreet Creek
Aid Station -- moved back from Headforemost because the Blue Ridge Parkway was
shut down because of the storm … the storm that still hadn’t produced a single
snow flake. I don’t like this stretch of trail in the daylight at the end of
Promise Land, so I certainly did not enjoy it in the middle of the night.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the Aid Station I caught up with Frank, who was one of
the headlights that passed me a couple miles earlier, and quickly jumped ahead
of him. As I rolled out of the station, I could hear John Andersen coming in –
man is that guy chatty. I yelled that I wasn’t waiting for the two of them, but
that they needed to catch up. I had imagined this race starting out with John
and I running together, and hopefully trying to break each other on the climbs,
so I was eager for him to catch up and start a stretch of hard, competitive
running. But I felt good on the climb up Headforemost and their headlamps
drifted off behind me more and more. I patiently chased a light ahead of me, no
more than a minute up at times, but I never caught up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I arrived at Headforemost, the ghost of an Aid Station, on
my splits to the minute – 4:07. I was pumped! <i>This is going to be a great day! </i>The temps had dropped, the snow
began to fall, and I was no longer concerned about ditching my tights at the
next Aid Station. It was turning into a perfect night out on the trail!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then things started to turn. A sense of nausea and a loss of
appetite had been building for some time. I reached for my 4<sup>th</sup> Huma
gel, gagged upon seeing that it was Chocolate, then just barely managed to gulp
down an Apple Cinnamon instead. My nutrition plan was now on the verge of crumbling
… and I still had over 40 miles of running left. Moreover, the newly falling
snow was messing with my visibility and it was starting to give me a headache –
light bounced off every snowflake and it was as if I were running through an
endless parade of white confetti.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I managed to make good time on my descent into Jennings
Creek while battling a whole-body fatigue trying to fight with the competing nausea
and hunger pangs. My spirits were lifted when I miraculously made it through
Miles 27.25 to 28 without getting lost for the first time in 3 years – the
forest thins out and any hint of a trail all but disappears. But a mile later,
on a rocky downhill I was startled by an owl, jerked my head around to look for
a headlamp that wasn’t there, tripped on a rock, and went skidding down the trail.
I tried to get up and buckled back to the ground. I gave up and laid there for
at least a minute, with my head resting on a fluffy pile of leaves, waiting for
John and Frank to come help me up. My knees took the brunt of it and a good
deal of flexing and rubbing was needed to get back up and head down the trail.
Surprisingly, I was still all alone when I worked my way back to a shuffle.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPNDWBOj-rPyTnekECAbMVeBiZ9tB7wrdN99mhC6JZ_sVhhyK9nki10vrDDOCUwCZvj_DaiF3SPMAhayskwsfwjQbMnXox2NNhrNcWc4cBkbl2GQhUv_AUkm99JIwB2jM8nj8vDV-3Piw/s1600/Hellgate2017fallen.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="609" data-original-width="797" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPNDWBOj-rPyTnekECAbMVeBiZ9tB7wrdN99mhC6JZ_sVhhyK9nki10vrDDOCUwCZvj_DaiF3SPMAhayskwsfwjQbMnXox2NNhrNcWc4cBkbl2GQhUv_AUkm99JIwB2jM8nj8vDV-3Piw/s400/Hellgate2017fallen.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Accurate recreation of my Jennings Creek fall.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The final mile into Jennings Creek Aid Station, I spotted
the guy in front of me and picked it up to an honest pace. Sophie Speidel and
Annie Stanley helped me with my drop bag. I let them know I’d probably be
puking when they saw me again in three hours, and then I was off. My pace was
slow as I started the next climb while battling to down another gel.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Somewhere between Miles 30 and 40 I also became tremendously
over-hydrated. I needed to down my Tailwind for calories, but it was cold
enough that my body was hardly sweating and retaining too much liquid. Nearly
every mile I had to stop and pee. At some point I found myself catching up with
4<sup>th</sup> place, who happened to be Nick Pedatella. I caught him over and
over again, like the friggin’ Groundhog Day of running. Each time I’d catch him
I’d immediately stop and pee. I can only imagine what he must have been
thinking to have a competitor repeatedly catch up and back off – <i>who the hell is this guy?!</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I felt good climbing up Little Cove Mountain and ran the
entire time. At one point I could see Nick making the turn to the Aid Station.
I checked my watch and chugged along. 5 minutes elapsed by the time I got up
there. I looked back down the mountain and didn’t see any other lights – John
and Frank were at least 5 minutes back. I was in No Man’s Land.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Aid Station was still getting set up when I arrived. I
desperately needed calories and asked for potatoes. A dude handed me a whole
potato, in foil, and freezing cold! Props to you, volunteer dude! The cold
didn’t bother me, but I felt bad taking a whole damn potato, so I asked if we
could cut it up to just take some of it. Fast forward through 2 minutes of an
entire aid station digging around to pull out a pocket knife and I was back on
my way with a handful of potato slices!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still in the dark and still on my splits, I made good work
of the smooth downhill before the Devil Trail. The snow continued to fall and I
was overwhelmed with a sense of calm. Snow, trails, solitude … this is why I
run!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdbBtzRFY1Qe0sgDgY3n3jNskNZNDyTdUof6l6qy_3UrC92we4NdyaMwgyGAWiQG3F4fvQQF9h8ci2yb3rU0TB6q4pNAtXoqXsajn-lQYIXYdkdaycsOLHWqcAD3ueBc2v7Sme0QAj5X4/s1600/Hellgate2017dayhappy_kk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdbBtzRFY1Qe0sgDgY3n3jNskNZNDyTdUof6l6qy_3UrC92we4NdyaMwgyGAWiQG3F4fvQQF9h8ci2yb3rU0TB6q4pNAtXoqXsajn-lQYIXYdkdaycsOLHWqcAD3ueBc2v7Sme0QAj5X4/s400/Hellgate2017dayhappy_kk.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Jazz hands! Courtesy of Keith Knipling.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My memory fails me, but if I hadn’t been catching up with Nick before, I
certainly was now. Daylight came as we entered the den of thigh-high leaves
that comprises the Devil Trail. I quickly found my rhythm, just like last year
– slow the pace to a recovery jog effort and throw a little bounce into your
step and you just might be nimble enough to make it out of the Devil Trail with
only a handful of falls! Nick was a fish out of water and I blew past him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I cruised into Bearwallow Aid Station a few seconds ahead of
Nick, perfectly on my splits at 8:10. I was again assisted by Sophie, Annie,
and others. Nick left ahead of me as I spent some time at the Aid Station,
gathering up tater tots and freshly made cheese quesadillas. I was way down on
my calories and this did wonders for my spirits. I was ready to blast through
the final 20 miles!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
… Then I started up the climb out of Bearwallow...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t
think this climb has a name. It needs one. I’m gonna start calling it Horton’s
Revenge. I always forget how long it is – 2 miles and 1000’ of climb – and how
technical it can be. Instead of cruising and catching up with Nick, he climbed
well out of my sight. The snow and rocks and leaves were killing me. I couldn’t
get traction. I couldn’t make progress. I was grinding to a halt. Most long
ultras will present at least one major challenge … this climb was mine … and I
wasn’t doing a very good job of overcoming it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD4Pvdy7uqjmMPQP1nJ4rclwdhx23xv-TEzyT7h2nIUp3auhq62Lk-zC6StpnjrHNv7gBGrdXOjZuzwtgMOGPDGvYCRUp8KSbx8tp_lfveOi8Q-QM-d0xRUSeCKQ5aeJUVb9mifCJSmZI/s1600/Hellgate2017daysucky_kk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD4Pvdy7uqjmMPQP1nJ4rclwdhx23xv-TEzyT7h2nIUp3auhq62Lk-zC6StpnjrHNv7gBGrdXOjZuzwtgMOGPDGvYCRUp8KSbx8tp_lfveOi8Q-QM-d0xRUSeCKQ5aeJUVb9mifCJSmZI/s400/Hellgate2017daysucky_kk.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Gonna go out on a limb and guess this is right at the low point of my race. Courtesy of Keith Knipling.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Close to the top of the climb I looked back to find John
Andersen’s smirking face. If I didn’t let out an F-bomb, I was certainly
thinking it. <i>How the hell did he catch
me?!</i> I wasn’t going to just stop and let him catch up, so I drove on. I hit
my stride through the ins-and-outs along the mountainside – it’s my favorite
stretch of trail on the entire course ... smooth, flowing, runnable, with tremendous valley views (that is, if you're not bogged down in a cloud of snow). Things began to look up. Moreover,
I had somehow dropped John entirely.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I rolled into Bobblet’s Gap Aid Station as they were still
getting set up, so they had no food (potatoes) to devour. I dilly-dallied to
let a volunteer help me grab some PB crackers out of my pack so I could get
some calories in. As I started to leave, I saw John approaching. I checked my
watch and did some math. It was 9:31. I probably lost 10+ minutes on that
climb! I was trucking it to the finish at this point last year and it still took
me 2:30 from Bobblet’s to Camp Bethel. I just had a terrible climb in the snow,
calories were becoming a problem, hydration was a mess. If the next few miles
of trail had snow, it would take a Herculean effort to break 12:00, never mind
the now impossible 11:40. So I waited for John to sort himself out and then
blurted out: “<i>I’m not sure we can make it
in under 12. Wanna just run in together?</i>” He happily obliged.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEq-qQn-PkVedGtPF1mNYRZ8c9KAHVGh_ZjMXTFRgtdx04BCtQD4X2NnelWTXs-3UU5YjuucM7dVPkLbUMVNrWZcPBk-oOtJtuibpYhr-TCYGt6Z2udb-7BNaI0ieTMEJYohyomHRFr6s/s1600/tenor.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="480" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEq-qQn-PkVedGtPF1mNYRZ8c9KAHVGh_ZjMXTFRgtdx04BCtQD4X2NnelWTXs-3UU5YjuucM7dVPkLbUMVNrWZcPBk-oOtJtuibpYhr-TCYGt6Z2udb-7BNaI0ieTMEJYohyomHRFr6s/s400/tenor.gif" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Trying to calculate my finishing time at Bobblet's Gap.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now let’s rewind for a sec…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Remember when I said it took me 2:30 to complete the final
stretch last year? Well that’s what I thought at the time. I was too mentally
defeated to pull out my time sheet from my pocket which had last year’s splits
written on it. And so I made the terrible error of thinking I might not make it
in under 12:00. In reality, I covered the final miles in 2:20 last year. I was
literally 1 minute per mile faster through 50 miles and if I’d just maintained
last year’s pace at the end, I could’ve finished in around 11:50. But my memory
failed me and I messed up my math. I’m an idiot!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyways, back to it…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Ultra Duo who shared literally 100+ miles in races last
year was finally back together! All it took was abandoning all competitive
desires and, well, kind of just giving up on life for a little while.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We jogged through the Forever Trail, walking entirely too
much of the inclines. At one point, Frank came barreling through. I briefly had
a mind to pick up the pace and run with him – I’d give my odds of being able to
keep pace at better than 50/50 – but my spirits were broken … I’d abandoned all
hope of a sub-12, and at that point a 12:01 meant the same to me as a 12:31
just so long as I didn’t slip out of the Top 10. And so, Frank disappeared into
the distance and I sauntered on with John.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jaunting into the final Aid Station, I had more than enough
supplies to make it the next hour to the finish – I’d consumed maybe 10 ounces
of liquid in the past 2 hours, still trying to fend off over-hydration. So I
was well stocked up. But I stopped to stick with John, who wanted some soup. I
don’t drink soup during races, I think it’s weird. But I asked for some because
I was done caring about this race. The muscles were fine, the mind and spirit
were toast. Another runner came right on through and both John and I just
shrugged our shoulders and kept standing around.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">¯\_(ツ)_/¯</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">(What's that? Somebody's passing me? Meh...)</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We eventually left, and did our best to keep to our promise
of walking Every. Damn. Step. of the final climb. There were a couple short
spurts of jogging in there, but we were largely successful in Operation:
Maximize the Laziness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the top of the climb, yet another runner passed us. I had
slipped from 4<sup>th</sup> to 8<sup>th</sup>/9<sup>th</sup> in 17 miles. Ouch!
My legs felt good so I tried to run just behind him. John wasn’t keeping up,
but was doing his best to ward off any other runners coming by. I eventually
took over the dude in front of me, but firmly let him know I wasn’t in the mood
to drag race -- if he could keep up, there’d be no race to the line from me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My legs turned over faster and faster. I was nearing sub-6
effort as I hopped onto the road that would take me down to the camp. In the
distance I saw the guy who passed me at the final Aid Station, so I picked it
up even more and quickly overtook him. My watch beeped: a 6:02 mile. I
maintained the effort with surprising ease and cruised into the finish in 12:21
for 6<sup>th</sup> place and an 18 minute PR. Not bad for practically
walk-jogging the final third of the race.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hellgate demands introspection and self-examination. Am I
satisfied with this year of running? Where have I improved and where have I fallen
short? What weaknesses in my skillset has the course exposed? Where will I find
motivation for next year and what goals shall I set for myself?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, am I satisfied with how Hellgate went down this year?
Yes. And no. ... And that’s okay.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The first 8 hours of the race I performed EXACTLY how I
expected … I put myself into a position to achieve what I knew I was capable of
achieving. More so than a great finishing place or a competitive race, I run to seek affirmation of my abilities, to test myself, to know
myself, to gauge where I am as a runner, where I came from, and where I might
soon go. And the first 47 miles of Hellgate gave me exactly that.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the other hand, I just plain gave up at the end. I hit
one snag in the race and refused to put in the effort to right the ship.
Instead, I sought comfort in complacency and a companion to drag down with me.
Don’t get me wrong, sharing trail miles was great, and I don’t regret it
this time around … but I was in a reinforcing duo of despair, and the next time John and I cross paths I’d rather agree to gut it out and push each other to the edge
of our abilities. We’re too talented to ask anything less of ourselves.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All told, I left 30 minutes on the course after Mile 53
compared with last year, to say nothing of the time lost climbing Horton’s
Revenge. I should have finished under 12:00. I should have been in 3<sup>rd</sup>
place, or even 2<sup>nd</sup>, at the end of the day. But I wasn’t. All because
I couldn’t adapt to a little curveball and I refused to embrace and tap into
what limited competitive drive I have. So next year I’ll be training harder,
getting faster, and working on harnessing a more competitive spirit. If I can
ho-hum my way to a 6<sup>th</sup> place finish at Hellgate, I owe it to myself
and to everyone else toeing the line with me to suck it up, grit it out, and
embrace a more competitive attitude.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7403834836901006598.post-91440917298965686282017-11-04T10:41:00.000-05:002017-11-04T10:41:37.185-05:00Western States Waitlist Odds<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
2017 was the first year that Western States instituted a waitlist to compliment their lottery system. At the end of the day, the most important question for anyone entering the lottery is: <i>How does this increase my chances?!</i></div>
<i><br /></i>
I conducted MonteCarlo simulations to answer that question.<br />
<br />
But first, some lottery and waitlist info:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>In 2016, 270 individuals were selected in the lottery</li>
<ul>
<li>To maintain the 369 starter average over time, the lottery was constructed to assume a number of these 270 (and other) runners would not actually start the race.</li>
</ul>
<li>In 2017, only 250 individuals were selected, but a 50-deep waitlist was drawn as well.</li>
<ul>
<li>By controlling this 250 individual set plus the waitlist, the race organizers vastly increase their control over 369 starter limitation.</li>
</ul>
<li>Due to increasing popularity, odds for lottery tickets went down across the board from 2016 to 2017</li>
<li>The waitlist ended up going 39 deep for 2017, so 250+39=289 individuals <i>had a chance to start</i> from the lottery, an increase from 270 in the year prior.</li>
</ul>
<div>
MonteCarlo details:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>I set up a simulation to replicate draws from a lottery that mimicked the actual 2017 lottery. Details of the lottery can be found on the Western States <a href="http://www.wser.org/lottery/" target="_blank">lottery webpage</a>.</li>
<li>I expanded my simulations to create a waitlist.</li>
<li>I created a 2016 simulation from the 2016 data, as well as a 2017 simulation with no waitlist and 270 draws to replicate what would've happened if no waitlist had been instituted.</li>
<li>I ran 10,000 iterations of the Monte Carlo simulations.</li>
<ul>
<li>My 2016 scenario reveals <i>slightly</i> different values from the Western States 2016 Monte Carlo results, but they're damn close -- our odds differed by only 0.06% on average. So you can rest assured that I know what I'm doing! (I have a Master of Statistics degree, trust me!)</li>
</ul>
<li>I looked at various Waitlist options to observe a range of possible outcomes:</li>
<ul>
<li>Drawing 39 deep -- what actually happened for 2017</li>
<li>Drawing 30 deep -- a reasonable estimate of how far the waitlist will go at a minimum</li>
<li>Drawing 50 deep -- fully utilizing the 50-deep waitlist</li>
</ul>
</ul>
</div>
<br />
<br />
<h3>
First Takeaway: Damn Popularity!</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
Here's a table of the odds for:<br />
<ul>
<li>2016</li>
<li>2017 if there had been no waitlist</li>
<li>2017 with the actual 39-deep waitlist utilized</li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<br />
<table border="1">
<tbody>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">
<td></td>
<td align="right">1</td>
<td align="right">2</td>
<td align="right">3</td>
<td align="right">4</td>
<td align="right">5</td>
<td align="right">6</td>
<td align="right">7</td>
</tr>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">
<td>2016 No Waitlist</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">3.66%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">7.16%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">13.86%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">25.73%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">44.89%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">69.40%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">90.75%</td>
</tr>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">
<td>2017 No Waitlist (270 draws)</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">2.69%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">5.30%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">10.35%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">19.58%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">35.40%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">58.18%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">82.37%</td>
</tr>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">
<td>2017 Pre-Waitlist (250 draws)</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">2.47%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">4.89%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">9.53%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">18.18%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">33.01%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">55.04%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">79.82%</td>
</tr>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">
<td>2017 39-deep Waitlist</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">2.89%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">5.72%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">11.08%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">20.98%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">37.49%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">60.95%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">84.89%</td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
As you can see, odds dropped across the board from 2016 to 2017 because the number of entrants increased.<br />
<br />
Note that the 2017 No Waitlist odds represent a draw of 270 participants. The odds of being drawn before the waitlist for 2017 were actually a bit smaller all around because only 250 runners were selected.<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
Second Takeaway: The waitlist itself doesn't seem all that helpful</h3>
<br />
This table indicates your conditional odds of being given a <i>chance to start</i> in 2017 <i>from the waitlist</i> ... that is, you didn't get drawn in the lottery, but you were one of the first 39 in the waitlist. Pretty meager, right?!<br />
<br />
<table border="1">
<tbody>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">
<td height="20" style="height: 15.0pt; width: 48pt;" width="64">Years</td>
<td style="width: 48pt;" width="64">Waitlist Odds</td>
</tr>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">
<td align="right" height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">1</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">0.42%</td>
</tr>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">
<td align="right" height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">2</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">0.83%</td>
</tr>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">
<td align="right" height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">3</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">1.55%</td>
</tr>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">
<td align="right" height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">4</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">2.80%</td>
</tr>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">
<td align="right" height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">5</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">4.48%</td>
</tr>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">
<td align="right" height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">6</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">5.91%</td>
</tr>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">
<td align="right" height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">7</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">5.08%</td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Third Takeaway: The waitlist value reveals itself!</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The value of the waitlist becomes much clearer when you contrast it with a scenario where 2017 had no waitlist at all.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This chart shows the relative gain in odds for the 3 simulated waitlist variants -- 30 deep, 39 deep, and 50 deep -- when compared against a 270-draw No Waitlist scenario for 2017.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If you were in the lottery for the first time and had just one ticket your odds without an instituted waitlist (scenario reminiscent of 2016) would have been 2.69%. But in reality for 2017, as per the 39 deep waitlist utilization, your odds of <i>having a chance to start</i> increased to 2.89%. While that 0.2% gain looks rather meager, it represents a 7.4% relative increase in your chances.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The longer you've been waiting to start Western States, the less the waitlist helps you. This is rather obvious because you have a higher chance of actually making it through the initial lottery draw. But for, say, folks waiting 1-4 years, in 2017 the waitlist increased the <i>chance to start</i> by 7-8%. For someone waiting 4 years (8 tickets), that represents a jump from what would have been 19.6% odds to 21.0% odds, a 7.1% relative increase; if the waitlist had gone 50 deep the odds would've increased further to 21.8%, representing an 11.1% relative increase ... every little bit helps!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLDSYA9rATVYIb6CnJhzIOtYLWgP4ifkUl4543AQaTo-jC3zXMJGKggfVWTpn1Z9TtEVgDMUsGoFHg7wqdrMbGilQOWcyZXaXoL2EMQppFeSRJDENPMP1At30EpwqVZBQIWWXA6qaZ6Ys/s1600/WS2017_lotteryoddsincrease.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="276" data-original-width="621" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLDSYA9rATVYIb6CnJhzIOtYLWgP4ifkUl4543AQaTo-jC3zXMJGKggfVWTpn1Z9TtEVgDMUsGoFHg7wqdrMbGilQOWcyZXaXoL2EMQppFeSRJDENPMP1At30EpwqVZBQIWWXA6qaZ6Ys/s400/WS2017_lotteryoddsincrease.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<h3>
Conclusion:</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Cutting back the lottery from 270 to 250 runners obviously makes it harder to initially get into Western States. BUUUUUUUT, it's more than made up for by the utilization of the waitlist. All in all, the waitlist implementation seems to have been an incredible success.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Here's a rundown of all the reasons to love the new Western States waitlist:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>It increases your odds of being given <i>the chance to start</i></li>
<ul>
<li>For most runners in 2016, the odds were on the order of a 6-8% relative increase</li>
<li>If the waitlist gets fully utilized, those relative odds shoot up even further, to north of 10%</li>
</ul>
<li>It makes it easier for the race organizers to fully utilize the 369 participant limitation each year</li>
<li>It makes for one heck of an exciting run-up to race day -- hello, John Fegyveresi!</li>
<li>Being selected from the waitlist gives you the <i>chance to start</i> but also leaves you the ability to decline without resetting your ticket count for next year.</li>
<li>It keeps the hope alive for 50 runners well past December!</li>
<li>It's a phase-shift in lottery strategy that helps to delay/reduce the inevitable creep of decreasing odds due to increased interest in the race.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
Once the lottery entrance period closes and entrants data is released for the 2018 event, I'll provide a follow-up analysis that looks at updated odds, expected wait times, and all that jazz.<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<h3>
All the data:</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Here's a table with all of the odds, if anyone is interested.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<table border="1">
<tbody>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">
<td></td>
<td align="right">1</td>
<td align="right">2</td>
<td align="right">3</td>
<td align="right">4</td>
<td align="right">5</td>
<td align="right">6</td>
<td align="right">7</td>
</tr>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">
<td>2016 No Waitlist</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">3.66%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">7.16%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">13.86%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">25.73%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">44.89%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">69.40%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">90.75%</td>
</tr>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">
<td>2017 No Waitlist (270 draws)</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">2.69%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">5.30%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">10.35%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">19.58%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">35.40%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">58.18%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">82.37%</td>
</tr>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">
<td>2017 Pre-Waitlist (250 draws)</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">2.47%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">4.89%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">9.53%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">18.18%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">33.01%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">55.04%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">79.82%</td>
</tr>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">
<td>2017 30-deep Waitlist</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">2.80%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">5.50%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">10.72%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">20.34%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">36.62%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">59.65%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">83.43%</td>
</tr>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">
<td>2017 39-deep Waitlist</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">2.89%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">5.72%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">11.08%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">20.98%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">37.49%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">60.95%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">84.89%</td>
</tr>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">
<td>2017 50-deep Waitlist</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">3.01%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">5.94%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">11.56%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">21.76%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">38.68%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">62.49%</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">85.73%</td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06337495165445238674noreply@blogger.com11