ievenranthisfar

Getting Healthy, Getting Confident, Getting Out There Again

Tue, 21 May 2013 13:45:40 -0600

I made a last-minute decision on Friday night to drive up to Bishop, CA, to pace Elan for the 20th annual Bishop 100K. It was his first 100K. Frankly, he didn’t need me—he’s a strong runner and would’ve been fine—but it was an excuse to a) get out of LA and b) test out the Achilles and give a yea or nay for Bryce less than two weeks.

Luckily, it’s a yea.

The town of Bishop is weird, and the surrounding scenery is wonderful. The race connects mostly dirt roads in and around Inyo National Forest, which is essentially nasty, dusty desert encircled by the spectacularly sharp and gray Sierras. It could be 90+ degrees on the floor of the desert, and 8,000 feet above you is very, very cold-looking snow.

Elan had a good race, coming through the first aid station where I saw him in first place. He kept up the intensity all day, but ended up dropping a few places by the time I picked him up. (Also, he just got off running Old Goats and Leona Divide a couple of weeks ago so who could blame him for feeling a little tired?)

By the time it was finally my chance to run him at mile 46, I was antsy. Antsy and a little bit anxious to see what my Achilles would do. But soon enough, my pacing duties and competitiveness took over, and I forgot about my heel entirely.

We ran from Highway 168, down to Tungsten City, turning left to head up a pretty brutal climb to Sage Summit. By now the sun was going full blast and trying to turn us into human jerky. I had been running for just 2 miles, and I was already feeling it. As we climbed up and up, what should’ve been a relatively short climb up just 1,000 feet turned rather nasty. I felt lucky that I didn’t have an extra 46 miles and 8:20 on my legs.

Suddenly I realized how all my pacers must’ve felt during my past races. It’s half a feeling of responsibility and another half gratefulness.

Up, up, up we went. Elan was losing his motor a bit, and we got passed by two other runners who were hot on his tail since before Buttermilk. No matter. That meant he could run his own race now.

We got to the aid station on Sage Summit, and then drop down, down, down the switchbacks to the floor of the desert. The drop wasn’t bad, but it meant a bad climb up. We hiked out way out to the turnaround point, grabbed a poker chip and then hurried back. On the climb back up to Sage, I prattled on about mindless thing, telling Elan about the episode of This American Life all about coincidences that I listened to on my drive up. Coincidences about a fiancée who discovered that her future husband’s father was once engaged to her own mother more then 30 years ago in Korea. Coincidences about mysterious coins appearing in the shower. I was basically talking about whatever I could that Elan didn’t have to respond to and would take his brain off the climb.

It worked. We made it back up to Sage Summit, passing another runner in the process. We stopped to get some solid food and then bring it home. From there, it was basically all downhill, in a good way.

We cruised down towards Millpond. After two false calls, Elan crossed the finish line in 11:23:23, earning him 5th place in his first 100K. And earning me my longest run since Zion.

I was happy to realize I had zero problems with the Achilles and hadn’t even thought of it the entire time. That was a huge confidence boost. I did feel somewhat tight and sore afterwards—definitely way more than I should after a 16-mile run—but I’ll chock that up to running about 10 miles total in the last month.

This morning I went out for my first Tuesday-morning Boys Only Club run in five weeks. Frankly, I felt like ass. I had to hike a lot of the climbs. But I still made it up to Green Peak in 42 minutes, which is maybe a minute off what I normally do. So, maybe Dom and Gui and the others were just flying. I stayed back with Jimmy who’s still recovering from his Salton Sea adventures. He pointed out that it was better to be going through my re-acclimation two weeks before Bryce and not during. I probably throw down a few sensible runs between now and then and just see how things go.

Onward.

Getting Back to Getting Back To Running

Fri, 17 May 2013 18:43:03 -0600

May 17, 2013

The morning after Zion 100 I remember thinking, “Damn, it sucks that I injured my Achilles, but I’m happy I only have an acute injury and everything else feels great.” Then I remember thinking, “I probably won’t feel like that in a month when I still haven’t run.”

And what do you know, here we are nearly month later, and my second thought definitely rings true.

I’ve been smarter recently. I was trying to get a little exercise on the tendon, a little hiking, just a little running. But in the few weeks I’ve realized that the fastest way to heal it is to just not aggravate it at all. Zero running in the last two weeks. Hot water and ice water soaking twice a day. It felt like it was working, but I had no way to know.

I’ve been feel like I’m floating lately. Just aimlessly drifting in the ether. No running. I’ve lost track of what day it is. My weeks are shapeless because they haven’t been defined by Tuesday morning with the boys, Solo Wednesday, Thursday morning Coyotes runs and long weekend adventures.

So when I realized yesterday was Thursday, I jumped at the chance to try out the leg. And you know what? It was awesome.

I just missed running with all my friends. I missed waking up every. I missed listening to Dom’s inane, usually offensive babble. I missed sweating. I missed the views. I just missed it all.

The cherry on top was that the leg felt really good. Zero pain, good movement. Still a little noticeable here and there, but it gave me a lot of hope for the Bryce 100.

I also saw Dr. Tosh at Chiropractic Bodyworks today for a painful but awesome session of ART. He had me feeling pretty positive about my chances to run at Bryce. And tonight I may or may not drive up to Bishop (depending on work) to pace Elan for the last 16 miles of the Bishop 100K tomorrow.

All good things. Just getting back to getting back to running. And not a moment too soon.

3.7 Recovery Miles on the Nazi Stairs

Thu, 02 May 2013 12:58:00 -0600

May 2, 2013

The recovery is coming along, slow and steady. I’ve been doing a lot of hot/colding on the Achilles a couple of times a day. A lot of auto-massage too (awkwardly while having conversations with co-workers). Generally things are feeling pretty good, but it will be another few weeks before I’m fully back. (Hopefully less than four weeks so I can hit Bryce Canyon.)

Last week, I was hoping to be running full-on with the Coyotes by today. Instead I did a sort of walk/run thing at Camp Josepho and the Nazi Stairs. (It’s amazing how easy the Stairs are when you’re just trying to walk and not run them.) I’m still happy that I was able to do nearly 4 miles. It just felt great to be moving again.

Hopefully there will be more of that soon. Onward.

RACE REPORT // Second Place at the Zion 100 in 17:55

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 13:41:00 -0600

April 19, 2013

A few days before the Zion 100, Vanessa Runs wrote a blog post about why she runs 100s. Naturally this got me thinking about my own reason, and I settled on one thing: embracing the unknown. In a 100, nothing is a guarantee. Over 100 miles any number of things can go terribly wrong (or terribly right). You can prepare drop bags, but you will inevitably forget something. You can memorize aid stations and mileages and turns, but nothing can prepare you actually being there at mile whatever on the course. You can write a race plan with all your splits, but that’ll last to the first aid station if you’re lucky. Running a 100-miler, to me, is about embracing the unknown and riding it to see where it takes you. I run them being I’m curious about what adventure they’ll take me on. And my experience at the Zion 100 certainly took me into the unknown.

There was something more on the line for this race too: meat. Two months ago, I had posted something on Facebook about eating vegan. One of my Coyotes compatriot who was planning to run Zion and famed meat-eater, Marshall, replied with some snarky comments. In the ensuing volley vegan-vs-meat comment volley we arrived at a beat: I beat him at Zion, he goes meatless for a month. He wins, I eat bacon four times a week for a month. This lead to a lot of good-natured ribbing and shit-talking beforehand. Apparently he was going to have a bacon cheeseburger waiting at mile 98. If he were behind, he’d eat it. If he were ahead, he’d carry it to the finish line and have it waiting for me.

All this talk had me pretty hyped up for the race. And as I learned at the Ray Miller 50, it’s good for me to have an enemy to run against. This time it would be Team Veegs vs. Team Meat Bucket.

Originally, my only goal was my first-ever sub-24. (I had picked Zion because it seemed like a speedy course.) But as we got closer to race day, I heard rumors of Marshall going out for a 21. I thought, There’s no way he’ll do that. But still, it scared me enough to cautiously add a best-case-scenario goal of 22 hours to my plan.

With my crew of vegans assembled, we made our way to Utah, ready to embrace the unknown.

The morning of the race, with everyone assembled, race director Matt Gunn made a quick speech. It had been less than a week since the tragedy at the Boston Marathon. He read off the names of all the dead and critically injured, along with their specific injuries. There was a pattern: Almost every single one had horrific leg damage. Matt had the idea to give hand out race batons, each one with the name of a different victim on it. We would carry them over the entire course and pass them off to other runners throughout the day. Matt would then send them to the victims, along with notes from us saying that we’d carried them 100 miles in their honor. He reminded us, “When you’re out there and thinking you can’t go on, just think of these people and what a gift it is to be out here and be able to run.” I grabbed a baton with the name William White on it. I didn’t know who he was, but I’d think about him often during the race.

It’s 4:30am and pacer Stewie sleeps while I get ready.

RD Matt reading the names of the Boston victims.

I ran for William White.

Marshall’s (game?) face.

The Coyotes: Marcus, Tiffany, Marshal, me and Jack. (Missing Schauman.)

Moments later, the 200 or so of us assembled at the starting line. And at 6:00am precisely, we were off.

In the darkness, we flew. I like using those pre-dawn hours to make up as much mileage as I can since mentally it never feels like the race starts until the sun comes up. A pack of us cruised along the winding singletrack of the JEM Trail. It’s a lovely section that remains relatively flat, save for the canyons that drop off the sides. I bet it’s even more spectacular in daylight. As we ran on, we watched the sun slowly drag itself up and over the towering mesas in the distance across the desert.

Course map, courtesy of Matt Gunn

We were going fast. Probably too fast. We hit the headlamp light drop at mile 5.6 in 45 minutes. Wow. We’re running 8-minute miles, I thought. But every time we hit a minor climb, my legs felt like lead. I thought about how undertrained and unprepared and unrested I felt for this race. I should’ve gotten more runs in. I should’ve gotten more sleep last week. I shouldn’t have done all those hill repeats with Dom a week ago. Damn you, Dom. It’s always the same feelings of doubt at the beginning of any race. I tried to quiet myself down and focus at just moving forward.

By the time we reached the first aid station at Virgin Dam (mile 10.6), I was feeling better. Our lead pack had thinned to just three: Anthony from Boston, me and Chris from Bozeman.

That’s when I saw it: Porta-potty! Wow! Yes!

I ducked in, did my thing quickly and took off again. In that short time, I had been hopped by a number of people, I just wasn’t how many. That uncertainty would persist for another 45 miles or so.

One of the great things about the Zion course is that has a lot of fast, smooth, flat(ish), dirt roads, punctuated by five big climbs up to the top of mesas. The climbs are pretty burly. But because they’re mesa, they’re very steep and very short. And we were headed towards the first one, the Goosebump.

My very favorite line in Matt’s course description was, “It’s hard to overstate the steepness of this climb.” We’d go up 1,200 in about 3/4 of a mile. It’s one thing to hear this; it’s another to climb it. It was impressively steep. Certainly one of the steepest things I’ve ever raced. So steep in fact, that no one was really at an advantage or disadvantage. You just had to get up the darn thing. But it was also remarkably short so before I knew it, it was over, and I could get back to the business of running.

At the top sat the Goosebump Aid Station (mile 19.1). I scanned the crowd for my crew. Nowhere. I looked down at my watch. It was 8:50. I was 1:10 ahead of my schedule. I guess that’s my fault. No biggie, I figured. I was feeling good and moving great. (I did the same thing at Grand Mesa last year.) I shrugged, grabbed an orange and shot off towards Gooseberry Point.

This section was brutal. The singletrack skirting the end of the mesa quickly turned into gnarly, twisted slickrock. The best way to describe it is this: Imagine that someone poured concrete over the top of the mesa and then right before it dried, they took a giant hammer and struck the underside over and over again. You get the thrashing of running on pavement coupled with the increased chance to twist your ankle with every step. You’re running over these bulbous rock formations, following mountain bikers’ white dots. It’s an extreme mountain biking course that you’re now running. But as tough as it is, it’s also incredibly fun. I was lucky to have had a little experience on the stuff thanks to the Slickrock 50 two years ago so I think it was less of a shock for me than it was for other runners.

Another four miles took us out to the Gooserberry Point aid station, with a half-mile out and back to the very point itself. Standing out on the exposed point across a narrow rock bridge was an old man with a Sharpie. There were a 1,500-foot drop-offs in every direction. The whole thing was pretty surreal. He took my hand and drew a “7” on it. Does this mean I’m in 7th place? I thought I had only counted two guys in front of me on the out-and-back. Oh well. I thanked him and sped off.

We were now skimming the south rim of the mesa, rolling over the same nasty, fun slickrock as before. I hammered what I could, but my legs were taking a beating. Had I gone out too fast? If my legs were feeling toast at mile 27, how could I expect to last another 73? My brain was feeling toasted, too. Following those white dots, paying attention to every step in the hopes of not falling and snapping a leg/breaking all your teeth/shattering your skull is extremely mentally taxing. I was ready to get done with these 12 miles.

Looping back to the Goosebump Aid Station at mile 31, I finally saw my crew. Matt and Derick loaded me up with water and a few new gels, then slapped my butt and sent me out across the mesa alone.

I don’t love long, boring, flat roads. (Who does?) They are always my lowest points of any race. There’s nothing to keep your brain stimulated or to fight against. You just have to gut out mile after torturous mile. And just like clockwork, I hit a little lull on those 6 miles out to Grafton Mesa. Luckily, my lows aren’t all that low, but it was still a little unpleasant. After Gooseberry, my legs had lost their spring. There had been two guys I was racing to stay in front of on that section. Now they chased me down and left me in their dust. Oh well, I thought, I’d still be happy with top 5 or something.

I looked down at the blue aluminum baton in my hand. I thought about William White in a hospital bed somewhere in Boston. I thought about all the incredible pain and heartbreak he and his family must be feeling. I squeezed the baton tighter, and suddenly my own pain seemed to melt away.

The Grafton Aid Station at mile 37 was a quick stop. I grabbed food and sped off down the road, looking forward to seeing my crew in a couple of short miles. The dirt road was now sloping quickly and turning into a mean, pockmarked drop. I just prayed that we wouldn’t be climbing back up this later.

At the bottom I found the Smithsonian Butte Water Station and my crew at mile 41. Stewie (Stewart aka Matt aka Matthew aka Stewball aka Dr. Little Biscuits) hopped in to run me up to the Eagles Crag aid station. We had a couple miles of pavement before the climb.

At this point, my stomach was really feeling the stress of the miles. I had been religiously taking my salt tabs (every 45 minutes) and eating gels/blocks/bars/whatever (every 30). But now I had to force myself to get something more substantial in, and my stomach was not happy about it. At the top of the out-and-back, Matt had me cram a bean burrito and some Gatorade down my throat. It didn’t feel good, but I knew my body would thank me later.

The out-and-back also afforded us the chance to get the lay of the competitive land. In front of us, we saw the Frenchman Pierre and the two other guys I had tried to stay ahead of on Gooseberry. So maybe 4th place? And by only a half mile or so. On the way down, we passed a few folks who were more than a mile behind me, but they were looking pretty ragged.

Stewie and I blew past Smithsonian for the section time and raced out across the asphalt, toward the old ghost town of Grafton.

A very rare picture of me running roads.

At the edge of town, we came across the small cemetery dotted with two dozen old headstones. I wondered to myself who these people were and why they chose this place, so remote, as their final resting place. They had marked this land as theirs

But soon there was no thinking, just climbing. We started our 1,000-foot ascent back up to Grafton Mesa via the old wagon trail. How wagons ever climbed it, I have no idea. It was really rugged, and I think I finally broke a sweat. (The temperatures had be perfect all day, hovering in the mid to high 60s but were starting to rise. Still, it was nothing like last year’s 90+ temps.) It was also here that we hit the halfway point of the race. I realized I had just run my 50-mile PR, in about 7:50. Hmm. Maybe I am going pretty fast.

Sweating the climb up to Grafton Mesa.

A Stewie selfie.

Sick views from the top of Grafton.

We topped out on the mesa and found ourselves plopped onto some really pleasant, twisting singletrack. I wish I felt better so I could’ve enjoyed this section more. This was probably the lowest/slowest I felt all day. I stopped to walk a few times to eat and drink. My water ran out here too. At one point, another runner blew past me. Luckily I caught his bib number and saw that he was running the 100K. But it was still mildly disheartening. I was looking mighty forward to getting to that next aid station.

After what felt like forever, we got there. I scarfed some potatoes, PB&Js and pickles. We were in and out and on our way, heading back to the Goosebump Aid Station for my third visit of the day. Six more miles of dirt roads. By now my right Achilles tendon was feeling a little tight, but I didn’t think much of it.

Dirty roads, speedy splits.

Six miles later, we rolled into Goosebump (mile 58.3) and came across Fuerst and Chamoun who were crewing and pacing Marshall. Sounded like he was doing OK, but was back quite a ways. Barring anything crazy happening, victory would be mine. I also asked about the runners in front of me. There was a little confusion among the aid station volunteers. No one quite knew what place I was in—somewhere between 4th and 2nd—but there was some good news. The two dudes who I’d been trying to keep up with were actually 100Kers. No wonder they had been going so fast.

Stewie and I shot down the Goosebump feeling more excited than ever. To rephrase one of Matt Gunn’s course descriptions, “It’s hard to overstate the steepness of this descent.” We were essentially falling down the side of a mesa in a marginally controlled state. But, just like that, it was over, and we were again racing across the desert and back towards Virgin.

Getting bumped on the ‘Bump.

Two miles later we were at Dalton Wash Water Station (mile 61.8) where Derick was waiting to pick me up for the next 21 miles. Even better, he confirmed that yes indeed, I was in second place. Suh-weet. I chugged some Vega Recovery plus a tall boy of coconut water, switched out some food, grabbed my headlamp, and we were off.

Once again we found ourselves on a long dirt road up to the top of Guacamole. It was mostly runnable, but I was certainly happy for the sections that necessitated walking. I was pretty beat.

But we quickly hit the aid station where we learned three things: 1) Pierre had been through 30 minutes ago; 2) The loop was supposedly mighty brutal; 3) There was no guacamole at the actual Guacamole Aid Station. I was probably most disappointed by the lack of guacamole, followed closely by the fact that Pierre was so far ahead.

Guacamole is similar to Gooseberry. It’s mostly covered in slickrock. And once again, we were wayfinding across gnarled, twisted rock that was pounding our feet. The difference is that Guacamole is covered with a forest of skeleton trees, left from a fire years ago.

We felt incredibly lucky to be doing the loop in daylight. I can’t imagine how hellacious this section must have been for everyone else at night. We heard the horror stories after the race. In the fading afternoon light we moved as quickly as we possible could. About three miles from the end, the trail was mercifully gave us some gorgeously soft singletrack. Thank you.

We cruised by into the aid station (mile 76.5 now) to some good news and some bad news. Good news: We made up 10 minutes on Pierre on the loop. He was now just 20 minutes ahead. Bad news: The guy behind us had arrived at the aid station just 10 minutes after we did. There was still nearly a marathon left in this race. Still plenty of time for something to happen.

We took off down the hill with a renewed sense of urgency. (It was more my paranoia about getting caught than trying to run down first place.) The hill turned fairly steep for a bit so I opened up. Derick yelled after me to save my legs. But I run downhills pretty well, and I don’t think most people use them as well as they could. I always see them as a chance to make up some speed. So, off I shot. On the way back to Dalton Wash I saw three Coyotes in a row—Marshall, Schauman and Neil. We exchanged high-fives and “nice jobs” as Derick and I barreled down the hill.

At Dalton Wash, something happened. I went crazy.

I don’t know if it was the fact that we suddenly had some fun singletrack/cross-country in front of us. Or maybe it was the fact that the sun had just set. Or maybe it was the fact that we decided to roll through Dalton and push on to Walsh Aid Station 3 miles away instead. Or maybe it was just the fact I was scared of getting caught. Whatever the reasons, I just shot off. Fast. Derick had just said, “Let’s have you take a break and walk this hill” when I shouted back, “Naw, it looks kinda runnable!” and took off and gunned it all the way to Walsh (and left poor Derick behind).

I think I was just suddenly having fun again. I was excited to get back on a trail. And I always get a huge second wind after the sun sets.

The sky was getting darker and darker, but I care to take out my headlamp. It was more fun to run in twilight. I turned it into a game. Could I make it to Walsh before it was 100% pitch black? It just made me run faster.

I crossed the creek and came flying into Walsh. Much to my surprise, Pierre standing right there. He looked up at me, shocked, grabbed a little more food and shot off into the night.

Holy crap. I made up 15 minutes on him. And I had come into the aid station so fast that I had dropped my pacer by about 6 minutes and my new one wasn’t even ready to go. He was still in street clothes.

But I smelled blood. Pierre scampered off while we rushed around getting my night gear ready and refilling my pack. I eyed the entire table of whiskey that the Walshes had set out and thought, I’ll see you later.

Stew and I took off across the desert once again. The monolith of Smith Mesa loomed in the distance against the dark sky. I must have scared Pierre pretty well because he was long gone. We could see his headlamp at the base of the mesa and climbing fast.

Then we hit the Flying Monkey Trail. “Trail” is sort of a loose term. It’s more like a directed scramble up the side of the mesa. Loose rock, huge drop-offs, climbing sections. It is one mean hunk of trail. I couldn’t believe how gnarly it was. At one point, there’s a huge, impassable rock face. I took several swings at finding footholds and pulling myself up, but each time I slid back further towards the ledge behind me. Stewie saw this and yelled at me to just take his hand, and he helped pull me up. I have no idea how people did that without pacers.

About halfway up, we looked down and saw a stream of lights racing across the desert toward us. We counted five, three runners and two pacers. They were only about 20 minutes back, and that still felt too close for comfort.

After more shenanigans on Flying Monkey, the trail proper disappeared and we had to basically bushwhack our way to the top of the mesa. Every time you looked up, you’d see another LED marker in the distance (or worse, a whole string of them). It didn’t seem to end. But finally, we were dumped out onto a dirt road. It felt like an enternity, but I think we made it from Walsh to here in about 45 minutes, which I was pleased with.

We turned our headlamps off and ran the rest of the uphill to the Smith Mesa Aid Station (mile 89.5) in the dark. It was both to not give away our position to our pursuers, and because, well, it was just nice to be running in the dark.

We snatched some potatoes and Mountain Dew at Smith and ran through. This was our final short out-and-back section. We’d get a good look at where we stood. Three-quarters of a mile later, we saw Pierre running towards us. We exchanged “awesome jobs” and flew off into the darkness in the opposite directions. Just then, we saw a sign that said “.5 miles to the turnaround.” Pierre was only a mile ahead of us. Sweet.

We hit the turnaround, which was a sign with a Sharpie attached to it. You had to mark your had to prove you made it. I was about to draw a dot when Stewie grabbed my hand and started to draw something elaborate on my hand. “Dude. Stop. We’ve got to go,” I shouted at him. He pulled the marker away, crackling. I looked down to see a big, blue penis on my hand.

Dick.

A Matt Stewart original.

On the way back to the aid station, we passed the third-place guy, Matt Cecill who was just leaving. We figured that gave us about a twenty-minute lead. Still, not super comforting.

At this point, I knew we’d never catch Pierre. He was about 10-12 minutes ahead and was running to keep a win. But as usual, my paranoia had me scared of getting caught by someone who was twice as far behind me.

I started thinking about my finishing time too. While leaving Walsh I thought, Man, a sub-22 would be really good. Slowly that had turned into, Dude, sub-21 would be totally crazy. On the road up to Smith Mesa, Stewie and I talked about how a sub-20 would be so fricking cool. Now we were talking about how a sub-19. I still couldn’t believe it.

That’s when we saw the sign: “5.2 miles to the finish.”

Five point two frickin’ miles. We started hooting and hollering. Then I looked down at my watch. It said “11:17.” I did a quick calculation.

“I think I might regret saying this,” I started. “If we start cranking, like, really, really running right now I think we can make it in under 18 hours.

“Yeah, dude. That’d be crazy.”

“Yeah, it would be.”

“Well, if you want to do it, I can run you in.”

“Uhhh… Yeah. I mean, if I don’t try I’ll hate myself even more, right?”

“Right.”

“OK. Let’s do it.”

“OK.”

And then we started to run the fastest I’ve ever run in my life.

I’m sure I’ve physically run faster than that before. But certainly not 95 miles into a race. We hit 2.5 miles of steeply descending, unmaintained pavement and began something more akin to falling forward really, really fast. The asphalt was cracked and crumbling, and we were totally out of control. I was terrified. One little catch on an upturned shard of road, and I would likely need reconstructive surgery from the forehead down.

I carefully glanced down at my watch. It said, “6:21 min/mile.” What? We’re running 6:20s? And 95 miles into a race? This is insane.

Every 10 seconds or so I’d make this awful retching noise. I’ve never puked from running before, but it certainly seemed eminent. This is was the hardest I have ever run.

But we were going to make it in before midnight, dammit.

We made it to the final water station at mile 98. I looked down at my watch. “11:39.” We had 21 minutes.

We turned off the road and onto sandy ATV trails, careening down steeper drops than were suddenly even more unpredictable. The LED markers seemed to stretch off into the distance forever. I was getting nervous. Maybe we won’t make it. Where is the damn highway? Then we started to hit a few rollers. What? Hills? Now? We sprinted up them, but each one sucked away some of my precious time. Where is the road? Why are we not there yet? These two miles were torture, both physically and mentally.

Finally, it seemed like we were close. We could hear the highway and a car whiz past. Then, cattle gate. Pavement. A highway. A neighborhood block. I remember this from this morning. We’re here.

I wish I could’ve been outside my body to see the look on my face as I hammered down those final three blocks to the finish. It must’ve had the biggest, craziest, most twisted grin plastered across it.

There it was. The finish. I sprinted towards the huge red digital clock.

“17:55:12.”

In my first-ever recorded fist-pump incident, I threw a huge fist into the air. I felt like I’d just won all the Olympics.

“Dude! The first place guy just came in 3 minutes ago! You were 3 minutes from first place,” Derick shouted at me.

In all my madness to try to sneak in under 18 hours, I had made up almost 10 minutes on Pierre by accident.

People asked me afterwards if I was mad that I got beat by just 3 minutes. Hell no. I had an awesome race. I spent the next day, replaying everything, trying to find 3 minutes I could’ve gotten back somewhere. And honestly I can’t find them. Maybe I could’ve gutted out a little more speed after the Grafton Mesa climb, and maybe we could’ve gotten out of the Dalton Wash Water Station a half a minute or a minute faster, but really, I squeezed every second out of that race. I left absolutely everything out on that course.

And because of it, I smashed my PR time by 7:21. I also managed to beat last year’s course record by 30 minutes (which was also set on an easier course, albeit a much hotter one too). And I widen my lead on third place to 47 minutes. (Matt Cecill had a pretty crazy story himself. He was feeling terrible going into Guacamole as 9th, drank a Starbucks Espresso Doubleshot and somehow he came alive and clawed his way up to 3rd.)

Lastly, I got to hand Matt Gunn the baton that I had been carrying all 100 miles. Later that night when I got home to my hotel room, I looked up William White, the man whose name was on my baton. It was a true honor.

Team Veegs: Stewie, me and Derick.

Literal Victory beers (and Derick’s red wine).

My custom-made belt buckle, made from flowers picked along the course.

Life-giving vegan broth at the finish.

We hung around the finish line for a while and watched other finishers roll in. People were coming in within minutes of each other. This thing was a legit race race

We heard that the other Coyotes would hit Walsh soon. We also remembered that Walsh had an awesome bonfire and table full of whiskey. So, we hopped into my Jeep and zoomed over there. If you haven’t met GW and Melissa Walsh yet, you’re doing it wrong. They were hilarious and gracious and kind to us all night, offering up drinks and food and laughs. In return, we taught them about picklebacks. (Super convenient at ultramarathons wjen you have giant jars of pickles at every aid station.) We ended up staying there until 4:30 or 5 in the morning, drinking, cheering on the runners still coming in and hanging out with old friends and new ones alike. Quite a way to celebrate my first sub-18 100-miler.

Zion gave me everything I’d been hoping for and way, way more. I’ve heard people say that they thought it was a really grueling course. Personally, I didn’t find it all that bad. There are three basic parts to deal with: a fair amount of fast dirt roads, five steep but short climbs and the fun but nasty slickrock on Gooseberry and Guacamole. The singletrack sections are all exceedingly pleasant. That combo leads to a fast and relatively easy course. I think it’s perfect if you’re looking to run a fast 100 or one of your first 100s.

Matt Gunn has put together one phenomenal race. Everything was executed nearly flawlessly. The aid stations were well stocked and staffed by wonderful folks. The course markings were the best I’ve ever seen, and those crazy solar LEDs + reflective tape + pink plastic night markings were brilliant. And the whole weekend is one continuous event so you can enjoy Zion for several days. You get sense all the passion and sweat Matt’s poured into this thing.

So I want to say thank you to Matt Gunn, first and foremost. Also, thank you to Stewie and Derick who did an amazing job crewing and pacing me. I couldn’t have asked for better help on Team Veegs. Thanks to Pierre for being my rabbit. (Someone told me this that you set the course record at last year’s Ozark 100, so double congrats.) Thanks to all the Coyotes for a) just being awesome and b) supporting me along the way. And of course, thanks to Marshall for making the bet with me. I’ve got plenty more kale, quinoa and seaweed at my place if you’re running low.

Full race results here.

Second-place, custom-made trophy.

I was considering amputating my right foot and replacing it with my new metal foot.

Epilogue

The next morning, I looked down and saw a massive, raised, red bump running the length of my right Achilles. And the ankle itself was swollen to the thickness of a whiffle ball bat. It hurt like hell. I guess that’s why it felt tight during the race. I also had a little pinpoint of a pain on the inside of my left knee, but that didn’t worry me as much as the tendinitis.

On the way home, I sat in the back seat of my Jeep soaking that sucker in Epsom salt. And I did so while looking over the course map for the Bryce Canyon 100 in a month. (I might have a problem.)

At work on Monday I was on crutches. It’s getting better, and I’m doing a lot of hot/cold therapy on it plus massages. I haven’t been running at all, which has left me a little antsy. But the most important thing is getting healthy first.

As much as it sucks to have an injury like this, I’m sort of glad that I just had an acute injury. Everything else felt great. My legs totally felt fresh the day after the race. So that gives confidence for the big year ahead.

Bring on Bryce.

Back-seat Epsom salt soaking on the way home from a 100-miler…

…while studying for the next one.

22 Miles on the Rugged Na Pali Coast

Mon, 29 Apr 2013 10:04:00 -0600

April 2, 2013

My run on the Na Pali Coast on Kauai, Hawaii, was a bit of a pilgrimage of sorts.

Four years ago, I had just begun running trails in Boulder. I had been out only a handful of times, but it was something I had decided I wanted to do. I remember standing at the checkout of Whole Foods and seeing a copy of Trail Running magazine.

“You should get it!” Liza said excitedly.

“I don’t know. I don’t feel like I’m an actual ‘trail runner’ yet.”

“Oh, just get it.” So I did. And suddenly, I was in trail running.

The cover story on that issue was about running in Hawaii, and the run that they featured was the Kalalau Trail on the Na Pali Coast. It looked spectacular. I thought, Eh, who knows? Maybe one day I’ll go to Hawaii and get to run. I tucked the magazine away and didn’t think much about it.

Then, at our holiday office party, Liza won two tickets to anywhere in the US. Of course we chose Hawaii and, after some researched, settled on Kauai as the perfect island to visit.

So here I was finally. About to run 22 miles out and back on one of the nastiest, most rugged and beautiful trails in the world.

I won’t try to go into many details because words really can’t describe how amazing this trail is. And sadly, the pictures can’t do it justice either, but at least they’ll give you a little taste.

Another thing that made the experience even cooler was that I got to share it was a random stranger. As I was pulling up to the parking lot at 7am, I thought I someone disappear onto the trail. I laced up my shoes, put on my pack and took off. As I was picking my way across the wet, gnarly rocks I past a man who was hiking.

He yelled after me, “You guys are bat-shit crazy!”

‘You guys’? It must’ve been another runner I saw.I caught up to the mystery runner at the river crossing two miles in. This big tall guy with a fro of curly blond hair spilling off his head.

“How far are you going today?” he asked me.

“The whole thing. I’m headed down to Kalalau Beach and back.”

“Oh cool. You mind if I run with you?”

“Not at all.”

And that’s how I met Spencer, the ER doctor. He was out there for a special reason too. It was his 40th birthday, and he wanted to run the whole trail to prove to himself that he could still do it. He had been a bigger runner before, running tons of marathons but hadn’t done a ton of trail stuff. His wife and co-workers weren’t quite as confident as he was though. They were worried that he’d get hurt or lost or something. (I didn’t think it was that likely, but then again, a fair number of people have died on this thing.) So he was happy to have someone to run with. As it would turn out, I was lucky that he had a water pump on him. It was really hot, and I drank my Nathan vest dry twice.

It was nice to share the trail with someone else. We ran the first half through gnarled, lush jungle. Then the second half becomes exposed, crumbling cliffs all the way down to the hippie settlement at Kalalau Beach. Then, of course, you have to run back.

It was absolutely some of the most spectacular landscape I’ve ever experienced. And quite a unique run too. If you ever find yourself in the neighborhood, get out and hike or run this trail.

Those are all warning signs telling you all the ways you can die.

That, believe it or not, is the trail.

Don’t fall.

I kept thinking of Shangri-La for some reason.

Yes, that is the trail too.

Spencer flying down Red Hill.

Throwing up a little 4-0 sign.

Red Hill was the most fun part of the whole thing.

Speeding down.

Arriving at Kalalau Beach.

Kalalau Beach with a disappointing lack of naked hippies

Sun-dried toad.

Spencer told me I was already a true Hawaiian. My lunch was a Spam and cheese tortilla (the only things I can manage at the general store).

You can’t see it, but there are two whales out there.

Besides chickens everywhere on Kauai, there are wild goats on the Na Pali Coast.

9.1 Mystic, Misty Miles to Far Peak

Tue, 26 Mar 2013 11:13:41 -0600

March 26, 2013

It’s quite possible that today was the best run I’ve ever been on in my entire life. That’s a mighty bold statement. But there’s a chance it’s true.

There’s something very mystic about running. It’s one of the only sports (except maybe hang-gliding?) I can think of that allows you total quiet and solitude while also connecting you so deeply to the nuances and harmony of the earth. Sounds like some hippie shit for sure. But this morning, I was into it.

Our standard Boys Only Club was crashed by Ms. Katie DeSplinter, which was a pleasant surprise. Also, the only other person who showed was Dom. So it was more like Two Boys and A Girl Club. We climbed up Temescal as we do almost every Tuesday. As we made it to the first lookout, we could a thick fog rolling in from the ocean and spilling down into the canyon. A taste of things to come.

Dom and Katie turned back, and I shot off alone up to the peak. I was running really well and feeling even better. I felt really good. I was thinking about how good I was moving and feeling. And then I realized, duh, I only ran 15 miles this weekend, not 50 like usual. Of course I’d feel pretty good. No matter. I’d enjoy it.

As I made it up to the ridge, I saw a pair of young deer in the trail. I don’t think I’ve ever seen deer at Temescal ever. I walked pretty close to them, and we just stared at each other before they slipped into the underbush. Two hundred feet up the trail, another deer stood watching me. I started running towards it slowly, and it turned and ran up the trail. For a few brief moments, we were both running along the trail together, in lock-step. All I could do was turn the word “venado” over and over in my brain. It felt like maybe for a moment we were connected. And then it slipped off the trail and disappeared.

I topped out on the ridge. This is always my favorite part because you get an exposed 360 view. And this morning it did not disappoint. The clouds had filled in everything in sight except the peaks around me. They were like green blads slicing through a see of cotton. All the way out to see, as far as you could see, it was clouds. They blanketed everything, the ocean, the canyons, even the entire city of LA. I was disembodied from the world below. We could’ve been anywhere. There was no sense of context or place. Just the sensation of solitude. “Solitude” is a funny word. In many ways, it’s the opposite of loneliness. Loneliness is the craves for companionship with another human. And I think solitude is an expansive clarity that only comes with being utterly alone and aware of the world around. It’s funny that we have an adjective for “loneliness.” We say “lonely.” But is there an equivalent adjective for “solitude”? “Solo”? It doesn’t really capture it.

I made it up to Green Peak, feeling amazing. This is normally when I turn around and head back, but this morning, why wouldn’t I keep going? I picked a peak that seemed about 3/4 mile away. I have no idea what it’s actually named, but I dubbed it Far Peak. Because, you know, it’s “that far peak over there.” So henceforth it shall be known as Far Peak. I ran along lightly worn single-track next to the fire road. Just as I was cresting the top of one peak, the sun broke free from the clouds and exploded into the sky. There was pure golden-orange light painting the ground. There’s no other light like that.

At the top of Far Peak, I stopped to breathe it all in, deep into my lungs. And then, it was time to speed down. As I ran the ridge in reverse, the warm orange light wrapped me up. I was running strong. That’s when I had a vision. This is how I would feel at Leadville. After running all day and all night, I’d be welcomed by the golden morning sun, and I’d be running strong. I tried to memorize this feeling, lock it away in amber, so I could bring it back at the deepest points of the darkest, meanest runs. It got me really excited.

The warm sun woke the rabbits up, and as I flew down the trail, they scampered everywhere, darting out of the way like some sort of furry brown-gray carpet.

Coming off Sunset Trail, I ran into Charlotte. Charlotte is an 88-year old woman who gets up every morning to hike up Temescal. Her say is, “If I’m strong enough to get out of bed, I’m strong enough to hike up a mountain.” And she does. And she has the sunniest, youngest smile you will ever see. She’s an amazing inspiration. We chat for a few moments, I gave her a hug and then darted off like so many of the bunnies I had just seen.

As I came down to the car, the sky was overcast, foggy and cool again. Down below the clouds you’d never know what was up there. And that’s when it struck me. I was the only person in the entire world that saw what I saw this morning. No one else was there. No one else saw the sun break over the clouds like that at the top of the peak or ran with the deer or saw a vision of mile 95 of a 100 mile race. Those were things that I alone got to experience. It’s hard for me to express how grateful that makes me feel. So, instead, I’ll just get up tomorrow morning to run again.

Squeezing in 14.9 on a Working Weekend

Tue, 26 Mar 2013 10:27:05 -0600

March 23, 2013

Had to work this weekend. All weekend. But I got out for a run before the sun went down. I was just going to do an out-and-back from Will Rogers (since it’s the closest trailhead), but once I got up towards The Hub I thought, Aw, what if I head down to Temescal and over Rivas to Will Rogers to make it a loop. So I did.

With fading light, I raced down across the fire roads and down Temescal. I was purposely not eating all run and really hadn’t had much all day so I started to blow up on the climb up Rivas. I pop half a stick of Cliff Blocks, instantly felt better and finished it off.

Beautiful sunset, lots of flowers out. It was no 50-mile weekend, but it was still a great, fast 15-mile one.

A B.O.C. Blowout, Up and Down Temescal Ridge

Tue, 19 Mar 2013 10:44:06 -0600

March 19, 2013

Barely made it out of bed this morning, but as usual, I was glad I did. Small crew for Boys Only Club, just Dom, Pedro and me since everyone else is either recovering or tapering.

Good climb up Temescal Ridge to Green Peak. I felt strong until the last 1/3 mile push to the top.

We flew down in one of the faster descents I’ve done on that thing. (I just about spilled twice; one time was almost a full Superman.) As Pedro and I were catch our breaths at the bottom, I looked down and saw that my beautiful Minimus 1010s had a rougher run than I did. No wonder I was feeling a little shifty left/right in them. All our quick turns ripped two perfectly mirrored tears down the sides (outsides too). I guess it means I’m not favoring one side.

I’ll probably burn them on a funeral pyre. Good shoes, but I’m not sure I’m going to get another pair until they fix some stability issues. Nonetheless, they had one last, glorious run.

Weekend Marathon #2: Angeles National Forest

Tue, 19 Mar 2013 10:04:00 -0600

March 17, 2013

I have yet to really explore the San Gabriels north of LA at all so today seemed like as good as day as any. I’d heard of Chantry Flats and Mt. Wilson so I headed there.

Parking: Total shitshow. So many people. I almost turned around and drove home. I had to park almost a half and a half away. Once I was actually out and running, I was on pavement and swimming through a mass of chubby, spaghetti-strapped bodies and their strollers. It was like Disneyland. All I wanted to do was punch babies.

But, as soon as I got out off that mess and onto single track, they evaporated. Suddenly it was just me alone on some pretty spectacular, fun trails. I was really surprised by the quality of trail. Lots of fun stuff to run, some technical sections. It suddenly felt like I was back in Colorado.

I climbed up past Upper Sturtevant Falls, up to Sturtevant Camp and up Sturtevant Trail to the top of Mt. Wilson at 5,713 feet. It was a pretty burly climb, but the exhilaration of being on brand new trails propelled me up.

Overlooking Angeles National Forest from up top, I plotted the rest of my route. Based on name alone, I shot down the Rim Trail, dropping fast along a super narrow, precarious track all the way down to Devore Camp.

Part of the creek feeding into Sturtevant Falls (and the masses) below

Pretty wonderful trails once you get past all the fleshy crap

Redwood ‘hood

The view from the vista point of Mt. Wilson

100-inch and 60-inch telescopes atop Mt. Wilson

The lower parts of Gabrieleno Trail (similar to Rim Trail)

As I hit the junction, a hippish man in his late 40s flagged me down. For context, we were absolutely in the middle of nowhere. I hadn’t seen another soul in 7 miles. I’ll spare you all his ramblings, but the basic gist was that his name was Christian, and he was from the East Coast and had been out here but was totally surprised by how rugged the mountains were. He hiked 23 miles the previous day and was out to see the stars comet (which one?). His friend was supposed to meet him this morning but he works at LA Memorial Hospital and couldn’t get out so he was just going to wait for him out here and meet him in the morning. He hadn’t really eaten anything all day (except a ketchup packet and two sugar packs), and he was pretty dizzy and getting lightheaded. Oh yeah, he also hadn’t slept at all for some reason.

So yeah, this dude was out in the middle of BFE with zero food waiting on his friend who had already shafted him once. This was really one of the dumber, crazier things I’ve heard. I kindly handed him my Peanut-Toffee Buzz Cliff Bar and Justin’s Nut Butter Almond Candy Bar (which I was just about to eat dammit). That left me with a couple of gels which I hoped would last me for the rest of the run.

According to Christian, the head ranger knew that he was down there. It all seemed suspicious, but when I asked if there was anything I could for him and or any message or whatever I could relay, he said he’d be fine. Just eat the food and then try to get some sleep.

Ummmm… OK.

This section was a little out-and-back up Shortcut Canyon so I told him I’d be back in half an hour to check on him. The trail crisscrossed the creek a dozen times, was littered with fallen and splintered trees and swarming with nasty little flying bugs. Definitely one of those situations when you want to move through it as quickly as possible but are impended by all the reasons you want to move through it quickly. It was slow going.

Luckily for my buddy Christian, as I was passing through the empty West Fork campground, I spied a smattering of oranges that had been discarded at an abandoned campsite. They were a few days old but still good enough to eat, and they’d give him a few more calories. I grabbed what I could carry and headed back towards Christian.

He was grateful for the oranges and said he was already feeling better thanks to the food I’d given him before. We talked a bit more, and I made sure he was OK (bodily at least) before I say goodbye and started my climb back up to Newcomb Pass.

Disturbing some deer in Shortcut Canyon

A carpet of flowers

Looks like it’s Christian’s luck(ish) day

From here it was a fun, easy drop back down to the Sturtevant Camp, followed by a little climb up to the summit of Mt Zion, followed by a drop down Lower Winter Creek, one final, nasty climb up to the parking lot and then down the pavement road and back to my car.

Once again, a perfect 26.2 miles for the second day in a row for a finish to one big, bizarre, fun weekend.

Hola, sol

Weekend Marathon #1: Kanan to Tapia and back

Mon, 18 Mar 2013 23:41:04 -0600

March 16, 2013

Today’s run was driven by five desires:

Run the section of the Backbone that I realized I had never run before
Run the hottest, most exposed section of the Backbone to prep for Zion
Run something near Malibu Café, where Liza and I had planned a rendezvous after my run.
Try out my new Ultimate Direction AK Race Vest that I got in the mail the other day
Run a marathon both days this weekend in honor of the LA Marathon.

Considering all these objectives, I decided to start at Kanan, climb up east to Corral Canyon and then drop down to Tapia.

Ultimate Direction AK Race Vest

A mile after leaving the Kanan parking lot, I found myself behind another running wearing SJ Race Vest. Of course we started chatting. Of course he was running the Coyote Cohorts Backbone Race/Run in two weeks. Of course we both ran the Ray Miller 50. Of course I had just run the Backbone three weeks ago. Of course he was running from Tapia to Kanan and back. Of course I was running from Kanan to Tapia and back. So I tagged along and we ran the 12 miles to Tapia together.

The day was hot and burly but having conversation helps immensely. As we started to come down from Bulldog towards Tapia, there was a sea of fog splayed out before us, rising over the pass and then flowing down into the valley behind it like dry ice. It was unbelievably spectacular and definitely cool to share with a random friend I had just made on the trail.

In bloom along the trail

David and I coming down from Corral Canyon

Crazy fog running down into the canyon all afternoon

At Tapia, I said goodbye Adam and thanked him for letting me run with him. The plan was to follow some trails up to the Tapia picnic area to get some water, instead of taking the fair simpler and safer route on roads. That was the plan.

If I’ve learned one thing about running the Backbone it’s that if there’s ever a doubt about your route, don’t try to be a hero. Just get on the road and take the most direct route.

That’s all to say, I ended up bushwhacking through trails up into the mountains that were horribly overgrown and eventually petered out into nothing, far away from my intended destination. Then, I thought I’d figured it out and followed another route, only to end in a barbed wire fence.

I have up 45 minutes later, scratched, bleeding and defeated. The road it is. That ended up being much simpler. Silly me.

Should’ve been a clue

Lesson learned

After a quite fill up and snack, I headed up the long 6-mile climb to the top of Corral Canyon. From there, it was more descents and climbs back to my car at Kanan. A perfect 26.2 miles.

The return—solo and without any chatting—was just mean. By the time I finished, I felt like someone had taken baseball bats to my legs. I was totally broken down. Not sure whether it was the heat, the hard-packed trail or my disappointment with my new Ultimate Direction pack (more on that later), but I was effectively tenderized.

Nearing the top of the awesome rock formations at Bulldog

Aliens?

Luckily, Liza and I plans to check out the magical Malibu Café up off Kanan-Dume Road. If you’re ever within an hour of Malibu, this place is absolutely worth the detour. It’s a little magical restaurant/bar/wedding venue/field/pond in the middle of nowhere. And I must say, the legs felt much better after a mint julep and a few beers. Marathon #1 down.

Malibeautiful

Outdoor chandelier above bar games

6 Miles on Marvelous Mesa

Mon, 18 Mar 2013 11:11:29 -0600

March 5, 2013

One last day on Boulder trails. I met triathletic friend and coworker Gene for a mellow jaunt on Mesa. (My previous week had 126 miles thanks to Backbone.)

The sun was coming up right as we started and made for one dern fantastic run along the Flatirons. Couldn’t ask for a more beautiful gift from Boulder.

The Flatirons

Morning glories

Treetastic

Gene catches some light

Getting Stomped on by My Old Stomping Grounds

Mon, 18 Mar 2013 11:11:06 -0600

March 4, 2013

I was in Boulder for two days and used it as an excuse to get out on my old trails. And bonus points for snow. I hadn’t gotten a chance to test out my New Balance 110 Winter Boots yet. It was the perfect storm of trail running awesome.

Of course, I had to climb up to 8,144 feet, having just been at sea level less 12 hours previous. Needless to say, it wasn’t the smoothest run I’ve ever had, but it just felt so good to be back on Boulder trails and back on snow again.

Mmmmmmmmmm.

Pristine 110 Boots, ready to go

I guess not

Misty mountain in the clouds

Snow, glorious snow

A hard-fought pic

The actual peak, just for posterity

RUN RECAP: Running the 68 Miles of Backbone for Fun

Mon, 18 Mar 2013 10:55:00 -0600

February 23, 2013

The Backbone captured my imagination the first time I ever heard about it. I remember I was in LA for a shoot about three years ago and snuck off one Saturday to find some soft dirt to run on. I discovered Will Rogers State Park, which led into Topanga State Park. And there—next to a sign warning about mountain lion attacks—was a sign that referenced something called The Backbone Trail. When I got back to my hotel, I looked it up, found a few jimmy-rigged sites and discovered to my amazement that The Backbone is a 68-mile trail system that stretches from Santa Monica all the way up through the Santa Monica Mountain range to past Malibu. And from what I could tell, it was relatively poorly maintained and extremely hard to follow. So in other words, an adventure.

I knew I wanted to run it. And even before I moved to LA, I started going out and running sections of it on spare weekends. I was already planning to run it this year when I got wind of a Coyote attempt at it on February 23. A number of Coyotes tried running it last year but tragically picked the same day as an arsonist did to set fire to part of the trail, and they were stopped around mile 30.

Erin Chavin did an amazing job of setting up this attempt, and a handful of very generous people came out to provide us aid along the way. As opposed to the way I’d always imagined it, we’d be running from northwest at La Jolla to southeast at Will Rogers. The drive up to La Jolla was bizarre mentally because you realize that you have to run back down everything that you’re now driving past. (And I think most people go south-to-north. It’s supposedly easier but also is an issue with parking cars at La Jolla which is gated off overnight.)

So it was on. We gathered in the La Jolla Canyon parking lot, had our finally bathroom visits and said a quick prayer led by my soon-to-be-new friend Balmore. I think it ended with something like, “Please keep us safe and everyone have a great day. Lez do it!”

And with that, we were off. It was 5:10am. And we had 68 miles ahead of us.

There were 12 of us attempting the full Backbone—The Dirty Dozen—plus a few extra folks who would be joining us for the first marathon-worth of it. A train of lights jovially marched up Ray Miller in the darkness. By the time we topped out, the sun was just starting to paint the sky ochre.

Ray Miller in the dark

Saying a quick prayer

The dark climb up

The aptly named Boney Mountain at dawn

From there, it was a quick jaunt down Overlook Fire Road, then Wood Canyon Vista to the bottom of Sycamore Canyon. It had been somewhat cold when we first started and had warmed up nicely, but it was all a trap. The bottom of Sycamore was absolutely frigid. The cold sea air pools in low-laying areas like that overnight, and waits to torture poor, unsuspecting runners in the morning. There was frost on the ground. C’mon.

I had planned for a warm day, and I wanted nothing to do with this cold so I sped up to get out of it as soon as I could. Normally the climb up Blue Canyon and Chamberlain would’ve been walked, but I was running it flat-out, just to escape the cold air.

At Butt Rock, I met up with the two folks who were in front of me (running the marathon). We stopped for obligatory pictures and chocolate-gel-consuming before pressing on to Sandstone Peak and the top of the climb. The peak was quiet for the first time ever. (It was only 8:30 in the morning.) We scrambled up and then glided down to Yerba Buena where we kicked around in the bushes for 10 minutes until Jeff unearthed the jugs of water that Erin has stashed the day before.

Butt Rock glowing in the distance

Shredding my sins

Butt Rock sacrifice

The view out to sea

Topping out on Chamberlain, headed towards Sandstone

Yeah buddy

The view from atop Sandstone Peak

Clearly stoked about Sandstone Peak

Jeff retrieving the hidden water stash from the bushes

Yerba Buena is a good 16 miles in so we waited for everyone to amble down before shoving off again.

The next section follows Yerba Buena on trails and is always longer than I ever remember it (no matter when I run it). By now the sun had decided to make itself known, and things were getting warmer. It was only around mile 20 when I first noticed my legs feeling a little tired.

My new buddy Catherine and I plugged away, traversing Etz Meloy Motorway. This is one of the only sections of The Backbone not technically owned by the parks. Supposedly it may or may not belong to Arnold Schwarzenegger. So that added an extra element of excitement and danger. (But otherwise that section is kind of boring.)

From the top of the Motorway, it’s a wind-y, bike-y, switchback-y drop Encinal Canyon, across Mulholland to our 26-mile aid station at the top of Trancas Canyon. The sun was baking by now, but I felt great. I’ve got to say, it’s nice starting that early in the morning because you can knock out a marathon like that by 11:00 in the morning so it doesn’t feel like you’ve really done much. I was up front with the marathon runners so I got into the aid station and had a leisurely bite to eat. Fistfuls of Kettle Chips, pretzels, Coke, it was awesome. We took things slowly and waited for more people to gather because we didn’t want to get too spread out across the course. It just becomes too unwieldy to coordinate aid stations and make sure everyone’s doing OK.

More people trickled in, and after a solid 40 minutes or so, a few people were chomp at the bit to take off. So off we took.

Jeff, Tiffany, Balmore and I dropped down into Trancas Canyon and then made the climb out and across a network of trails, private properties and fire roads. I’ve run this section a number of times before and gotten miserably lost. It blows. If you don’t know what you’re doing here, it can be very frustrating. Luckily, I did know what I was doing. Balmore and I dropped a few arrows for people and pressed on.

Flores

Food, glorious food

Which which is which?

We ticked off the miles. Trancas. Zuma. Kanan. Latigo Canyon. Thirty-odd miles in, and I was feeling really good. The legs were starting to show a little wear but nothing too bad.

Honestly, I was just having a blast—talking, laughing, just messing around. And that was kind of the danger. I realized that I was having such a good time that I wasn’t paying any attention to my nutrition. In a race, I’d normally be anally counting off the half-hours and 45s to eat and take salt tablets. But I was just having fun. Around this point I had to catch myself and start to focus a little bit more unless I wanted to drop dead in a few more miles.

Right around mile 36, I had a thought. If Jimmy and I decide to take on a Back-to-Backbone, it would be what I had just run, plus a hundred-miler on top of it. (Back-to-Backbone is our first of its kind scheme to run the Backbone from Will Rogers up to La Jolla and then back for a total of 136 miles.) And at the moment, it seemed totally doable.

At the start of Latigo, I waited on Balmore, and we slogged our way up to Castro Crest and our second real aid station planted atop Corral Canyon. The tough thing about Backbone is there’s really no flat. You’re either headed up a canyon or down one, because you’re traversing across the Santa Monicas, which spread their tentacles down to the sea. And you’re just running across their ridges and canyons. Needless to say, the climb was doable but draining (as I had expected it to be). But for our hard work, we were rewarded with a bountiful aid stations from the truck of Derick’s car.

This is where running the Backbone like this was really a treat. I’ve never run a distance this long as a fun run. It’s always been a race. So to be able to go out, have fun, goof around, lounge and enjoy it, it was absolutely heavenly. Instead of looking over your shoulder the whole time, you’re looking around and taking it all in. And instead of rushing stressfully through aid stations, I kicked off my shoes, ate oranges/chips/ginger snaps, drank water/Coke/whatever, spread out, chatted, basically just hung the eff out. It was wonderful. We must’ve spent 45 minutes or so there relaxing as everyone else came in. Finally, it was time to leave again. Once again, Jeff, Tiffany, Balmore and I took off.

I was 100% sure I had seen the entire Backbone in all my times running it, but apparently I was wrong. Just past Castro lay Corral Canyon and all kinds of amazing rock formations that I had never seen. Then, we dropped down into the canyon, which has spectacular views. Running a course that I thought I knew reasonably well, it was delightful to be surprised by new scenery.

Balmore powering up and out of Kanan

Más flores

Más Balmores

The best discovery of the day: nutellanana

Bulldog rocks and stuff

Mini Moab

Balmore striding up Bulldog

And down

Some hippie stuff

The view down into Corral Canyon, yum

Balmore and I pushed on until the parking lot at Tapia. This section is also very tricky with a combination of jumping on roads, off little side trails right off the road and more. I’ve gotten turned around here before as well running north-south. Running back south-north, it was clear that you have to scramble under a bridge, across some creek, up an embankment and come out on the trail. But to repeat, I got really lost going north-south, which happened to be the direction we were pointed today. It was likely a combination of my stubbornness and the wear of the 40-something miles on my brain, but I was convinced we had to find the trail under the bridge. Poor Balmore was pointing the way to get on the road, but I said we had to find the proper trail. In the tangle, we got mixed up and somewhat lost. We jumped on the road, off the road, scampered down an embankment, under a bridge and all kinds of stuff. Still, we seemed lost. Finally, we found ourselves on the right path.

It was really dumb. Probably 1/8 of a mile mix-up. And we probably burned a good 15 minutes on it. In the meantime, Jeff and Tiffany who had been behind us were now (maybe?) ahead of us. So back on the right track on Piuma Ridge, we tried to chase them down. My goal was to see the sunset from the top of Saddle Peak, the huge climb looming in the distance. But my new buddy Balmore had been slowing down a little bit, and I think all the silliness around Tapia wore him down even more. I picked up my pace to catch Tiffany, Jeff and the sunset and left Batlmore. (In retrospect, this was kind of a shitty move. I still feel bad.

In this direction, Saddle Peak is one big-ass climb. It’s actually the second largest of the day after Sandstone Peak. I sprinted up it to catch Jeff and Tiffany and reached them just as it hit the Golden Hour. We were tired and dirty, but the mountain was awash with gold.

Luscious Piuma Ridge

Sunset in progress

Tiffany and the Golden Hour

Almost done with the day

Deep twilight

And then came night. Twilight seemed to stretch forever until I looked up, and it was dark. By a stroke of luck (or perhaps planning), we were one night shy of a full moon, and the sky stayed bright. So bright in fact that we didn’t bother to turn on our headlamps. We merely plucked our way up and up and up to the top of Saddle Peak in the silly, magnificent darkness. And the rock formations atop Saddle Peak were all the more magical in the pale moonlight.

But as soon as we crested the peak and pointed down towards Stunt Road, things changed. We switched on our headlamps so pick down the rocky trail. And the air got meaner and colder. It picked up considerably, too. But the time we made it down to our final aid station on Stunt Road at Mile 50, the air was whipping around. My hands and legs were freezing once again.

Jeff had stocked his car full of food and supplies and stashed it on the road to act as the aid station. And on our descent down Saddle I jokingly asking him what kind of pizza we had. Ten minutes later as we trotted into the aid station, three shadowy figured asked us if we wanted pizza. Tiffany and I thought they were kidding. They insisted they weren’t. My mind is still blown by this. I’m still not sure the exact chain of events, but apparently Jeff heard my comment and then called the volunteers and asked them to get us some pizza. I’m still foggy on exactly how this is possible, but I did not care about the logistics at the time. We piled into the car and scarfed several slices of heaven.

This was probably my low-point of the run. Fifty miles in, and I was feeling pretty thrashed. The worst part was that it just had gotten really, really cold. (Thank God I had decided to bring my jacket and gloves along from my drop bag at mile 38.) The three of us were in semi-rough shape so we were worried that the others might not being doing too hot either. But much to our surprise and happiness, they came bounding up to the aid station just minutes after us, all in high spirits. Wonderful news. So, again, the three of us shoved off. This time we were joined by Marshall who had run up Hondo Canyon from Old Topanga Road. (This is very important as you’ll soon see.)

About a mile across Fossil Ridge and down into Hondo Canyon, I noticed that my light seemed kind of dim. It kept getting dimmer and dimmer until it was barely casting light at all. My headlamp with brand new batteries. Correction: My headlamp with brand new Korean batteries.

A few days before the run I remembered that I should get fresh batteries for my light while I was purchasing beer for Brian’s birthday beer run. I bought two packs off the liquor store. As I was leaving I flipped them over and noticed they were the imported Korean ones. I shrugged, Eh, probably not good but whatever. RIGHT. WHATEVER.

So now found myself barreling down Hondo Canyon without a light. Thank you, Korean batteries. We decided the best ideas was to sandwich me between Tiffany’s light in the front and Marshall’s in the back. So I had a little glimpse of the trail far in front of me and right at my feet, kind of. Miraculously we made it all the way down Hondo without me falling once. I still can’t believe that.

We made another little pit stop for hot chocolate at Marshall’s car at Old Topanga Road, and he graciously gave me his Black Diamond for the read of the run since that was all we was doing.

This was really the last of it. A long day with a long finish, but at least the finish was in sight. We trudged our way up to the water tank (the third and final place on the trail I’ve gotten terribly lost before), past the elementary school, through the nature trail, across the road and up to the creepily empty Dead Horse parking lot.

From here on out, it was just all the same. Miles to put in before we finished. Dead Horse always takes longer than a mile. Trippet Ranch. Musch Trail. Eagle Rock. The Hub.

By the time we made it to The Hub, the wind had picked up considerably and dust was whipping around everywhere. Things were getting pretty cold and lonely. This is one of those times where you just have to grit your teeth and gut it out. Bizarrely enough, it was just around 11:00pm at this point. If this were a 100-miler, we’d still have another 7 hours of night to get through. But luckily, we were just running 68 miles tonight.

Past The Hub is really familiar territory. But it was still windy and nasty. We wanted to be done so we moved as quickly as we could at this point. Two miles out, I glanced down at my watch and realized that if we started a flat-out sprint, we could slide in just at midnight.

Jeff and I took off sprinting. We were 66 miles in and pushing as hard as we possibly could. Down, down, down. I couldn’t believe how fast we were running this. And all for an arbitrary deadline. But at the same time, wasn’t this whole thing just an arbitrary adventure to begin with.

Two miles later, we blasted past the Topanga State Park sign. I looked down at my watch. 12:00:00. We had finished at exact midnight.

We made it home. We had started at 5:10am up at La Jolla Canyon, and 68 miles and 18:50 hours later, at 12:00am midnight, we had finished.

It was a really wonderful day and wonderfully put together. It was a delight to run that course and really have the chance to enjoy it at a leisurely pace. Oddly enough, instead of an introspective run or one where I learned something about myself, the biggest thing I got out of this run was camaraderie. I started running this trail with essentially 15 or so strangers, and I finished the day with a lot of new friends. We shared hours of conversation, laughter and moments with each other, and that’s what I loved most about it. We also had 11 out of 12 people finish the whole course, which is an awesome accomplishment.

Now I’m starting think dangerously about legitimately taking on a Back-to-Backbone. I mean, the name is so good, how could I resist.

One Backbone at a time, right?

Look, I'm in a Trail Runner article

Fri, 15 Mar 2013 15:17:13 -0600

Look, I'm in a Trail Runner article:

I was just clicking around Trail Runner yesterday and saw a little article about the Mt. Jemez 50 I ran last year. I scrolled down, and lo and behold, look who’s running down the Pajarito ski hill in the bottom picture.

Brian's Beery Birthday Run

Thu, 14 Mar 2013 23:35:29 -0600

February 20, 2013

“Celebrating my bday tomorrow with beers at sunrise at parker mesa. Let me know if you’re down. Easy jog up starting 5:45, probs stumble down the rabbit hole after.”

That was the text I got from Brian. How could I say no?

We met at 5:45 and had a nice climb up Los Liones to Parker Mesa as the sun was rising over the water. And then, beer! As we sat on the bench watching the sunrise, I took down a Golden Road Point the Way IPA. Brian elected for the burlier (and much more voluminous) Great Divide Espresso Oak Aged Yeti. (It says right on the label, “It’s official: You can now have Yeti for breakfast.” So it was totally OK.)

So, feeling a little more buzzed than I expected to be at 7:00 in the morning, we shot down the infamous Rabbit Hole. It basically cuts the 3.5-mile ascent into 1.5 miles down. So it’s very, very steep. And very, very overgrown. And somehow, miraculously, we made it down and back to our cars without injuring ourselves, despite Brian’s best efforts. (I was not going to be responsible for letting a birthday boy get killed on my watch.)

I think I may have discovered a new tradition. Happy birthday, Brian.

RACE REPORT: Redemption (and 6th Place) at the Ray Miler 50

Thu, 14 Mar 2013 11:53:00 -0600

February 2, 2012

I was ready for redemption. My last time out on a race starting from La Jolla Canyon was my ill-fated Santa Monica Mountain Run that ended 20K short. Today, I was ready to right that mistake.

In just two years, the Ray Miller 50 has grown into a mighty respectable race. With prize money and a sold-out field, it also boasted entries by top runners like Timothy Olson, Hal Koerner and Dylan Bowman. In fact, looking at the crowd on Ultra Signup a few days before the race, I was thinking I’d be happy just to get top 20. But really I had one secret goal that I didn’t want to say out loud but also admitted to myself: As long as I finished and either beat Jimmy Dean Freeman or Brian Fuerst, I’d be happy. A little friendly competition never hurt anybody (I don’t think).

So there we were, toeing the line at 6am, chomping at the bit to go. And bam! We were off.

Some of the 50Kers like Chris Price and Dom Grossman shot ahead. Us slow-poke 50-milers shot ahead too, just ever-so-slightly less quickly. As we made our climb up La Jolla Canyon Trail, Brian and I found we were running in lock step and settled into a comfortable but speedy pace. We’d remain together like this for another 35 miles or so.

Overall, the race was extremely well put-designed and executed. My one teensy annoyance was light. Since we were starting in the pre-dawn hours, it would’ve been awesome to have a light. But, with us not seeing our drop bags until mile 28, very few people (including Brian and I) wanted to carry lights for 5 hours when you only really need them for the first 30 minutes of the race. It would have been nice to have a box at the first aid station that you can simply drop your headlamp in with your name on it. I saw this at last year’s Mt Jemez 50.

But in the absence of such a box, Brian and I pirated light off a runner or two until we simply got ahead of most people and started running blindly in the dark. We were lucky to have done a preview run two weeks prior so we at least had an idea of turns and problem areas.

Finally, the sun appeared as we were rounding Point Mugu like a spectacular orange furnace on the horizon. From here, we pushed the tempo around the Point and across The Loop Trail until the first aid station at mile 6.

From here, I turned off on the Guadalasca Trail—the only section of the course I’d never been on but did know it ended up the infamous Hell Hill. I’d dropped Brian a bit at this point so I continued on, climbing slightly and eating for the first time.

The trail loops around and drops down on some serious switchbacks, which I pounded down since I was feeling good and trying to throw a good distance behind me. (I was something like 6th or 7th at the aid station.) As soon as I reached the bottom of the drop in a near sprint I heard footsteps pounding behind me. “Aw crap. How the heck is someone catching up to me?” A minute later, my chaser appeared: Brian. Phew.

We chatted for a bit until we hit what I could only assume was Hell Hill, a gnarly mile-ish-long climb back up to the first aid station at mile 6, which also doubled as the second aid station at mile 11. Just then, I heard an old familiar sound behind us: Jimmy’s blabbering mouth. It was a regular ole Coyotes fest on the trail. We also made friends with Mandy Hicks who would go on to win the women’s 50K.

After chugging up the hill, we left Jimmy at the aid station and started bombing down Wood Canyon Vista. A short section of connectors, and we found ourselves on the nasty Coyote Trail. This section will take you down a peg, all while it scrapes up your arm/legs/nuts. Luckily, I was still feeling strong (minus that first climb up Hidden Pond).

Coming down Hidden Pond and on the flats of Sin Nombre seemed like a good time to put some jets on, and I picked up some more speed and an extra place. (I figured I was about in 6th now.) After my first aid stop at Danielson, Mandy and I took off up Blue Canyon, the start of the 6-mile climb up to Sandstone Peak that everyone had be dreading.

Now normally, I’d power hike bits of this section, but I was feeling mighty fine and mighty brave so I just kept running. All the way. I bid Mandy farewell at the split for the 50K and continued up Chamberlain alone. The initial climb up there is definitely the worst of it, and I think a lot of people that were planning on doing the 50-miler so this as a chance to call it an early day and turned there.

After the Chamberlain split it’s all more or less runnable (save for one short section). So up, up, up I ran. I passed the crowd-pleasing Butt Rock and drained a chocolate Hammer Gel in its honor.

During that aforementioned steep section, I got passed by both a guy named Neil (who I passed on Sin Nombre) and Tom Nielsen (a SoCal legend). Bummer but I pressed on.

At the top of the climb, the sun was finally out in full force. I drank some water, took another salt tab, ate some Cliff Blocks and pressed on. One final push to crest base of Sandstone Peak, and I was flying down the other (very rocky) side.

Sharp right turn down Mishe Mokwa towards the Yerba Buena aid station

At the lovely Yerba Buena aid station at mile 28, I waved hello to surprise guests Vanessa Runs and Shacky (who looked terrifying in his beard and a big, red dress) before scarfing some goodies and refilling my water. It had almost completely dry on during the long climb up and over the Peak. I was also surprised to see Brian come flying in just a minute or two after me. I was happy to see him, and we exchanged a few grunts. Moments later as I looked up to leave, I saw the undersides of Brian’s shoes a couple hundred feet down the trail already. “Brian!” I shouted after him. “You jumped me, you asshole!” This reaction got a good laugh from all the volunteers.

So off I went, chasing him on the Yerba Buena/Backbone out-and-back. Normally out and backs suck, but when it’s not the whole race it’s really useful to have a section like this where you can get an idea of who’s ahead of you and who’s behind.

Zoom! Dylan shot past me coming from the opposite direction. Zoom! Tim shot past me, right on his heels. A few minutes later, zoom! Hal goes shooting past. I’ve got to say, it was pretty cool to be out on the same course as these monsters. (And hey, I was only four miles behind them.)

By the time I made it to the turn-around, I’d calculated I was in 6th place, with the next three guys all within a quarter-mile striking distance and no one for about three-quarters of a mile behind me. I kept expecting to see Jimmy at any moment, but he was nowhere to be seen. (Later I learned that he was having a bad day and made the decision to drop back at Yerba Buena.)

The sun was really beating down at this point, and the tendinitis in my knee was getting too great to bear. (Yes, the same damn tendinitis that cut my SMMR50K short a few months previous.) I was happy with how well my knee was doing up till this point, but for the last few miles the pain was growing ferociously. And worse, it was cause my gait to be impaired and stiff. I was running like Frankenstein’s monster. I don’t like popping ibuprofens, but there was no way I would’ve been able to finish the race. So, popped two and hoped that would do it.

My running became less labored, and soon I was back at the Yerba Buena aid station. I threw some more food in my pack and took off again.

The climb back up to Sandstone is not easy, and I quickly picked off both Tom and Brian. Brian seemed to be in pretty rough shape at this point. (It was his first 50 for God’s sakes.) The miles were just taking their toll, and he was running out of gas.

But now, in what I assumed was 5th place, I had more confidence to go out and pick off the next guy. Then, it’d just be Dylan/Tim/Hal/me. (Brain is going, “Holy crap” at this point.)

As I passed people along the trail, I kept hearing, “Oh, the guy in front of you is only two minutes ahead.” Two minutes?! I can close that. And I tried. And tried. And tried. I flew down Chamberlain with reckless abandon. Nothing. Then I got on Old Boney, flying. Nothing. Finally I made it to Serrano Valley—only 10 miles left to go. Nothing. I was running my brains out and couldn’t seem to catch this dude. Then, finally, I caught a glimpse of his white shirt just as it was ducking into Serrano Canyon. But he was still l two and half minutes ahead of me and moving really well. At this point, I more or less gave up hope of ever catching him.

But three miles later, as I emerged from the canyon, there he was, standing at the aid station. I quickly filled up my pack with enough water for the last, final climb, grabbed some oranges and Coke and gummy bears and took off. And so did he.

We were running, neck and neck, on Sycamore Canyon Fire Road. Really, it was more like sprinting. All-out sprinting. Awful, terrible, all-out sprinting. But this was it. We knew that one of us was going to beat the other. We couldn’t tie. With 5 miles left, I’d found myself locked in a death race (i.e. a intra-race race that would probably end in my death). We hadn’t even said a word to one another. We were just running as hard as we possibly could.

And then, we turned off onto Fireline. Fireline is a nasty little bitch of a climb—right under 1,000 feet in 1 mile. In any other situation (ESPECIALLY 45 miles into a run), I would walk it up. But this was a two-man race as far as we were concerned.

I jockeyed ahead of him on the single-track. I was going to try to break him.

I was going to out-muscle and out-will him and finally just drop him somewhere on this climb. A very bold strategy, I must say, since I had no idea how I was going to keep this pace myself. But onward we went, both totally miserable but not totally miserable enough to let the other guy win.

The problem is, an 1/8 mile or so before the trail dumps out on next fire road, it shoots up at an angle that I can only assume is a 300% grade. I valiantly tried to power hike it, but my short legs were blown on the hill till this point.

I watched him bound up the hill and knew that was it. The problem with trying to break someone is that you can sometimes break yourself.

Once I made it to the fire road, I started moving quickly again. Who know, with four-ish miles left, I could still catch him, right? Plus, after a glance at my watch, I knew that I had a chance to sneak in under the 8-hour mark. Assuming I gutted out a suicidal sprint down Ray Miller. Which, of course I did.

I’m really bummed about this section, only because my GPS watch died at mile 45, and I’d really like to see my splits. I’m pretty sure they were in the low 6:00s, high 5:00s.

Down, down, down, down the most beautiful stretch of single-track you’ll ever see in your life. Twisting, serpentine trails, soft ground underfoot and the expanse of the Pacific Ocean off to one side. It doesn’t get much better than that.

Down, down, down, down. And then, I heard cheering and could see the finish line. And they could see me. Someone yelled my name and howled. I howled back.

Down, down, down, down the shoot and under the banner. 8:01:34. A heart-breaking hair shy of a sub-8, but also my new PR for 50 miles by a whopping 26 minutes. The guy I’d been chasing, Neil, was just 36 seconds in front of me.

Crossing the finish line happy as I’ve ever been

I was absolutely elated. This was a huge race for me. Probably my best performance ever.

For some reason, my brain was a little mixed up and thought I’d gotten 5th, but in actuality, I’d miscounted and was 6th. Still, no matter. The top three places were taken up by Dylan Bowman, Tim Olson and Hal Koerner, so getting 6th place behind those guys, I was pretty damn happy.

I have to chock up my stellar race to three things:

Knowing the course. This was the first race that was on my home turf, and with the preview runs I did, I felt like I could visualize every section of the course at any time. That was huge.
Staying on top of my calories. I did a great job of eating very regularly. I was super proud of myself for that, and it helped me to never feel like I was losing steam.
Having some rabbits. Wanting to beat Brian and Jimmy, thinking I was up in the front, chasing down Neil for the last 1/3 of the race. That definitely pushed me to run faster than I’ve ever run before.

And perhaps #4: This was a great race. Almost every single foot of this course is runnable (except where noted) so you can just fly. That said, it’s still not an easy course. With about 10,000 feet of climbing and some deceptively hot sun, a lot of people got pretty beat up by the end.

But I was lucky to have raced my ass off and felt great all day. This was definitely a huge confidence booster going into the new season. I feel ready to get on some trail and tear them the eff up.

Consider myself redeemed.

Comparing notes with the other Coyotes at the Start/Finish

Ray Miller Preview, Part 2

Sat, 02 Mar 2013 19:18:00 -0700

January 20, 2013

Part 2. Brian convinced me to join him for the second half the Ray Miller course today. We started from the turnaround point at Yerba Buena Road, headed up over Sandstone Peak and down Chamberlain to Danielson Ranch and then turned around and did it in reverse. I know Brian was hurting a bit, but I felt pretty darn good. Ran all of the climb up to Sandstone.

As we were lounging around after finished he told me that he just realized he ran a 90-mile week, two weeks before his first 50. Ha. So, we’ll see how the race goes. But I feel mighty positive.

Ray Miller Preview, Part 1

Sat, 02 Mar 2013 19:14:08 -0700

January 19, 2013

Man, what a great day. I got out on the first third and last third (ish) of the Ray Miller 50 course with Brian Fuerst, Keith Yanov, David Villalobos and Brian Lhee.

We headed up La Jolla Canyon, around Point Mugu, down Wood Canyon Vista to Sycamore Canyon, over Two Foxes, up Coyote Trail to Hidden Pond, then across Sin Nombre, over and up Chamberlain, down Serrano Valley and Serrano Canyon, up Fireline and finally back down Ray Miller.

Woo. What a day. We were pretty beat by the end of it. Keith was pushing the pace all day and we just tried to keep up.

We finished off with some sea treats from Neptune’s Net. Pretty frickin’ great day.

13.23 Miles, 5:26 and 13,387 ft on Mt. Baldy

Sat, 02 Mar 2013 19:07:51 -0700

January 13, 2013

I’ve heard of the wonders of magic Mt. Baldy, but until today I had never known them (in the way that Spanish speakers use the verb conocer).

Ultra-running power couple and international superstars Katie DeSplinter and Dominic Grossman invited Marshall Howland and me along for a jaunt up to 10,064 feet.

First things, first. It was cool as shit. I haven’t needed my tights or Microspikes since Boulder, but they were a must today. (Although Dom somehow managed in shorts.) The snow as down to around 6,000 feet. The whole thing was pretty mind-blowing considering we were just an hour or so drive from LA. It was absolutely spectacular.

But it was also really slow-going. About 5 miles in, Dom and I were pushing ahead and realized we had dropped Katie and Marshall. We waiting on them for quite a while, but they never showed up. Finally a hiker caught up to us and said that they had turned back because it was too icy. (And it was. That section of the mountain had turned into a sheet of ice, tilted at about 40 degrees. We had a tough time making it through.)

So Dom and I kept on. We tagged the top, snapped a few pics and then got the hell off it because it was super cold and windy. (My poor toes were soaked and had lost feeling many hours ago.)

As we descending, we both started feeling a lot better and had some fun cutting fresh lines through the untouched powder.

We finally caught up with the rest of party less than half a mile from the bottom. By the time we had finished, we had been out 5:26 hours. For just 13.2 miles. That’s insane. But such is a day on a super snowy Mt. Baldy I suppose.

I’ll definitely be back soon (but with waterproof shoes).

10.68 with Trey

Sat, 02 Mar 2013 18:41:49 -0700

January 6, 2013

Got out with Trey for a short run up Topanga. Nothing much to speak of. He was hurting a little bit, and I had to get to Culver City Homebrew before they closed at 4:00 for an emergency airlock replacement for my first batch of IPA. Bummed it had to be cut short, but I was feeling a little restless anyway.