Let's Talk About Drugs

Whenever the discussion of doping comes up, it is overwrought with passion. Runners as a demographic, and particularly ultrarunners, are generally well-educated and socially liberal people in favor of such social adjustments as prison reform. In two conversations about a week apart, a friend of mine supported pardoning non-violent drug offenders and then argued in favor of lifetime bans from sport at a doper’s first offense. What?

Of course, doping is a more personal topic within this community, likely making it easier to discuss standard drug law and ethics in the hypothetical, keeping passion and any personal affectation out of the discussion. Perhaps the majority of the issues regarding any real conversation about doping come from ambiguities and arbitrarity found in all aspects of doping, from substance control and banning lists to enforcement and follow-up on the parts of both athlete and federation.

I went on a run this winter with two good friends, both scientifically minded and generally logical people, one of a front-of-mid-pack guy and the other a sponsored athlete. This was not long after a previously-busted athlete entered The North Face 50 Mile Championships in San Francisco in December 2015 and The North Face made a vague, placid statement opposing drugs in sport. As occasionally happens on long runs, the conversation turned to drugs in sport. My sponsored friend emphatically proclaimed (and, to be clear, rightfully so) that dopers are taking money from the pockets of clean athletes and should be banned—a fair, though simplistic point.

But then, who is a doper, and how should they be both caught and punished? Let’s  define a doper as someone who uses a substance banned by the governing body of their sport, just as a criminal is someone who commits a  crime--this removed ethics and hypotheticals from the equation to focus on reality. Generally this governing body is regarded as the World Anti-Doping Agency (WADA) as well as, through some overlap of governing abilities, the IAAF (International Association of  Athletics Federations).  But, to further bureaucratic confusion, all of the IAAF’s subsidiaries such as the USATF, which then has its own brother anti-doping agency, the USADA, which is best known for its aggressive handling of the Lance Armstrong scandal.

Okay then, fine, what is WADA in charge of? Basically, any IAAF-sanctioned event, and this works effectively (relatively) at the international high-stakes level of track and field, marathons, and the like: The Diamond League in Europe, the Olympics (which is technically run by the International Olympic Committee, an entity that can veto an IAAF ban if they choose), the World Marathon Majors, the various ultra-distance world championships (which are separately governed by the IAU [International Association of Ultrarunners]), Comrades Marathon, and so forth. These all are subjected to criteria to maintain IAAF-sanctioned status, and with that stamp comes the support of those entities with regards to drug testing.

Watch the winner come through the finish line of any major marathon in the world, and you will see them swiftly handed a bottle of water and then followed around the finish area by an entourage that contains as least one anti-doping official there to keep an eye on the athlete until the athlete pees in a cup for them, as they watch. Then the athlete has to—as was well documented by Ellie Greenwood on her blog following her 2014 IAU World 100k victory—provide their whereabouts every day for at least the following year so that their assigned anti-doping official can surprise them—within an athlete-chosen hour window each day—at work, home, on a date, or at their mother’s funeral with a follow-up test for which the official stays by the athlete’s side until the athlete provides another urine sample.

Well, that is a doozy. However, it does bring us to the inherent issues of anti-doping control trail and ultrarunning, two sports which are, even with all their recent growth, fringe. Even if many of us glue ourselves to Twitter the last weekend every June, to be blunt the IAAF simply does not care about the Western States Endurance Run. UTMB recently had its first experience with true, confirmed doping by one of the race’s competitors and, because of the apparent delay in issuing a statement, I have a feeling the UTMB race organization was somewhat taken aback by the  doping, unsure of what their next step should be. The athlete in question, Gonzalo Castilo, placed 5th at UTMB in 2015 and received a 2 year IAAF ban the following Spring due to a positive test result from his finish line blood test at the 2015 UTMB--a ban that will end on March 17, 2017 (which is not actually 2 years from his infraction). Following the incident, the UTMB race organization released a statement revoking Gonzalo’s race finish.

Aside from those few high profile events that take anti-doping measures seriously and have the resources to back it up, such as UTMB, doping is such a small blip on the radar for the entities that govern competitive running with enough power to actually make a difference that no difference is made. The majority of hundred mile races, regardless of public notoriety, simply do not have the resources to implement any form of doping control, let alone a process that would actually be effective.  When I, considering starting a race, looked at the financials of a grassroots but consistently sold-out ultramarathon in the same area as mine to assess viability for myself, I noticed the director netted (and subsequently donated) barely more than $2000 from 200 entry fees; this shows we are a sport of passion and one where the money to implement doping control is nonexistent. The only company, or at least the first company to come to mind, that could financially implement drug control in the United States is The North Face to their series of races, but then athletes with something to hide could simply pass over these races in favor of a payday elsewhere. We are a sport where notoriety does not go hand in hand with financial incentive; I am sure plenty of athletes would choose Hardrock’s vistas over possibly winning Run Rabbit Run’s $12,000 first place paycheck.

A secondary issue of doping control comes with definition and ambiguity; even if all ultra-distance athletes out there believes themselves to be clean, they could still end up with a ban. The WADA ban list has 147+ substances on it that are prohibited at all times, and another list of comparable substances banned in competition only. This is a list all athletes entering appropriately-sanctioned races are expected to know and adhere to. The big offenders are easy to pick out (erythropoietin, testosterone, human growth hormone, etc.). However, if you delve below the surface, there is a lot more confusion in substance profiling (DHEA and beta alanine for example). The simple question: why are certain substances banned and other ones not? From my simple second list above, DHEA will be discussed later. Beta Alanine is itself an amino acid that the human body can derive from animal proteins. When supplemented, it has been clearly shown to boost athletic performance—specifically VO2 Max [1]. If you’d like, you can order beta alanine in large quantities from your online retailer of choice.

In an hour of reading on the WADA website, I could not find a clear definition of why substances in general are placed on the prohibition list—and to be clear I mean specific statements, not a list of vision statements; the ‘Q&A’ page gives a thorough breakdown of certain substances, but honestly I have no idea why these substances were chosen over others. So, let’s make our own clear reason, one that hopefully we can all agree on: the basis for prohibition is (or should be) simple: a substance provides an unfair competitive advantage and/or unnecessary health risk to the athlete; I include the second portion due to the risks inherent in use of certain PEDs outside of their intended use. For example, outside of sport (in its intended medical uses) erythropoietin (EPO), a hormone produced by the kidneys to promote red blood cell production, supplementation is common for severe anemia and various diseases that cause issues with blood filtration such as Crohn’s disease. Supplementation, however, is meant to bring depleted levels back within normal limits, not to increase them above normal. Supplementing EPO within the realm of performance enhancement—to boost red blood cell levels above normal for enhanced performance has significant associated health risks such as myocardial infarction, stroke, and venous thromboembolism [2]. Basically, the human body does not like having too much EPO. Athletes, at least at the elite level, likely attempt to eschew these risks by using the boost of red blood cells to increase training load to a level that would otherwise lower their count to an unhealthy low, effectively forcing their own anemic and subsequent normalized state, similar to the dip and spike found in medical patients utilizing EPO.

Interestingly, in my reading across the WADA website, the second question on the ‘Q&A’ page caught my eye, which is regarding plasmapheriesis (plasma transference—both donation and reception—in which they state that “for the donor, plasmapheresis is prohibited under M1.1 because the donor’s own red blood cells (and other blood components) are being reintroduced into the circulatory system after the plasma has been separated.” A friend of mine, who is a reasonably competitive athlete, donates plasma as often as he is allowed--plasma is often in shortage and many people do not want to donate plasma, as the process is more involved than simple blood donation and takes quite a bit more time. I know he is not doing this for any competitive advantage, and I am confident he is not even aware that he is now banned from any WADA-supervised competition—oh no!

Though I do not believe my friend would qualify for the following, this is a good segue to the only way around the prohibition list: therapeutic use exemptions (TUEs). These were made famous in particular by Galen Rupp and other Nike athletes’ usage of prescribed thyroid medication over the last several years--thyroid medication is sometimes argued as preventing endocrine fatigue common in endurance running. However, let’s look at the other side of the coin. In 2014, the United States Anti-Doping Administration (USADA) disqualified Kristi Anderson, a 51-year-old woman who won her age group but then failed her post-race drug test. The disqualifying substance? DHEA, a natural over-the-counter supplement any of us could drive to a pharmacy and purchase in large quantities right now. Kristi was recommended DHEA by a medical doctor following a visit and bloodwork that showed “low DHEA, practically nonexistent testosterone and low estrogen,” all of which is in line with her complaints of adrenal fatigue and menopausal symptoms. Technically, Anderson should have been aware of this substance being banned and should have either not taken it or applied for a TUE with the USADA, which seems strange because by her own admittance, Kristi is not even a member of the USATF [3]. Why should she care about all of these acronyms anyway? Kristi, and anyone else with a USADA ban, can run most any race—trail or road, ultra-distance or shorter—they please (at that race’s discretion of course) as the USATF’s reach is short and most races do not fall under its banner.

Up until 2004, caffeine was considered a banned substance by the WADA. A common series of arguments I’ve heard for defining performance-enhancing drugs is they are designed and created in a lab, they are not commonly taken (meaning daily-type supplementation) substances, and they are not natural. The first and third go hand in hand, and without (I hope) opening Pandora’s box I reject both of them with the changes regarding marijuana: a substance once fully banned by the WADA, marijuana is now only banned in-competition. The second one--that substances are not commonly taken--I can empathize with but have to reject, and caffeine is a great scapegoat for this thought experiment. Caffeine is a previously banned substance. This is a stimulant that is such an afterthought to modern society that there is not even an age-restriction on its purchase or use. A five year old can walk down to the corner store and get hopped up on 40oz coffee before kindergarten, and yet at until 2004 international sport deemed caffeine to provide an unfair advantage or be unsafe for sport.

For a minute, I ask you to forget all your prejudices against EPO. Just bear with me, this will be over soon. Imagine that we lived in a society that highly valued running long distances. EPO usage was so common that the majority of Americans make sticking that needle in their ass a part of their morning routine—right before they pour themselves some coffee. Everyone runs a 2:10 marathon, but they have to check in with their doctor ensure they are not close to stroking out from their morning EPO shot. Once a year, some teenager makes national news for taking a little too much and ending up in the hospital, but other than that, there is little repercussion to this rampant, doctor-aware usage of EPO.

That doesn’t sound too terrible or scary, right?

The point all of this is supposed to make is: where is the line? What should and should not be banned from sport? And my answer is: regardless of everything I just laid out, I have no fucking idea. But I do know that the current list and the current system are in need of serious reform.

References:

[1] https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3429803/
[2] http://www.fda.gov/Safety/MedWatch/SafetyInformation/ucm267698.htm
[3] http://masterstrack.com/kristi-anderson-oh-god-go-oprah/

Hellgate 2014: Drive

I decided a year ago, nearly to the day, that regardless of circumstance I would run Hellgate in 2014.  It is a very special race--this gets said quite a bit in the weeks surround the event but that may just be the best way to describe Hellgate simply.  I skipped last year in order to crew Rudy and end my year a little earlier than normal after my focus on the Mountain Masochist 50 Mile in November.  Watching the race unfold that night and day, driving along the parkway with good friends, I decided I would come back this year, and possibly every year from then on. Hellgate simply has some special atmosphere about it that is nothing short of intoxicating.

The course is the brainchild of Dr. David Horton, and in trying to describe it to some friends (of varying levels of attachment to the sport and even just mountains) I came to the following few conclusions:

• Years after he could not create the exact Mountain Masochist course he wished (The gnarly Appalachian Trail section from the James River to the Tye River, he discovered the subtly brutal Glenwood Horse Trail
• The entire event is designed to be as difficult as possible. It starts at midnight. The climbs are road; the descents are tight, rocky trail barely visible through the thick of leaves strewn across it. You hit the highest, coldest, windiest section of the course (Camping Gap through Headforemost Mountain) at 2-5 a.m., the coldest part of the night.
• The course becomes extremely runnable after Bearwallow Gap, but is so mentally jarring (see "Forever Section") that it takes whatever will you can muster after so many hours of forward travel to do so.

That describes the thing pretty thoroughly.

A lofty tome--Western States 100

Miles 0 to 29.7 (Robinson Flat)--The Decline

The day started as everyone tells me hundreds should--frustratingly mellow. I spend the first mile searching for someone I knew (of) to settle in with for the first four mile climb.  I was hoping for a lead woman, figuring they know well what they're doing here.  Initially I foolishly picked Emily Harrison, a mistake that immediately remedied itself as she sauntered up ahead weaving her way through the crowd. At this same time I noticed Stephanie Howe vanish somewhere behind me. With no other women nearby, I heard the bellowing of Andy Jones-Wilkins a bit up the hill and ran up to meet him. I followed him and Scott Wolfe up toward the pass and the three of us, along with a varying group of 8-15 others, made our way all the way to Duncan Canyon (mile 23.8), the first crew point.  I felt fine through here, albeit sleepier than I would have expected. I still hadn't woken up, but I did not want to start taking caffeine for at least fourteen more miles so I could keep it better balanced late in the race. I saw Rudy/Wyatt/Darren, dropped my bottle and picked up my pack. I headed out and regained my general forward momentum, but didn't really feel right.  I felt a refined combination of sluggishness and forced restraint--I did feel as if I was holding back but at the same time that I couldn't really speed up any if I had wanted.  Then, not even two minutes from Robinson Flat, my right hamstring cramped, bringing me swiftly to a halt.  Fuck. I took two salt tabs before even getting into the aid station, where I was 4 lbs down before the heat of the day.  I topped off my pack, downed some light soda (7UP I believe) and was on my way.

Miles 29.7 to 55.7 (Michigan Bluff)--Ebb and Flow

I left the aid station in dichotomous spirits.  I wanted to pick things up and try to make some ground before my hamstring got any worse.  I wanted to take it easy in hopes of the hamstring turning around.  I chose the latter.  The miles into Dusty Corners (Mile 38) were unfocused but uneventful. I meandered through the woods, moving well but still with forced restraint.  Another salt tab here kept the cramps at bay, but I had freaked myself out enough by the cramp and weight loss at Robinson Flat that I drank nearly 70 oz during these eight miles and ended up behind on calories, regardless of the soda I pounded at both aid stations. I shifted the equilibrium enough that I was nearing the end of my  day's gel use already.  At Dusty Corners I took time to fill my pack with ice and water (in that order), reapply bodyglide, and douse myself with cold sponge water.

As an aside, I also had my biggest frustrations out of this aid station. A crotchety old man in a volunteer shirt (who was not actually doing anything productive) yelled at my crew to move while they were helping me with my pack well within crew limits and immediately before the sign designating those limits, which we showed him.  Then he growled something at me about sunscreen after I was already 30 feet out of the aid station.  The whole thing left a bad taste in everyone's mouths.

Anyway...
I left Dusty Corners with a plan of simply surviving the Canyons. The heat never presented its notorious self, but I did not rebound until mile 50, well out of the supposedly hot sections.  I grunted along, fighting the downhills rather than working them as I had planned.  My quads weren't blown, but my energy was low enough that I didn't have it in me to to get real turnover going.  MY body finally gave up on gels about five minutes up the climb to Devil's Thumb--stellar timing to not get any food in my system. I fumbled my way up that hellacious climb (I actually don't think it would be that bad with any energy).  I sat in that aid station for a minute to put down four cups of ginger ale, again fill my pack with ice and water, apply sunscreen, fill a bag with potatoes and pretzels, and again douse myself with water.  Half a mile later, knowing the real heat to be done and recently watering some trees, I finally took two ibuprofen. In retrospect I should have kept with my standard schedule regardless of any heat worries; 48 miles is longest I had run without ibuprofen in maybe two years, and I never take very much. At about this same time, I met up with another youngster, James Bonnett at a poorly marked intersection and ran a mile or two with him until my ibu kicked in.  Then I had the best stretch all day. I finally RAN a descent--not just trotting but an actually higher cadence downhill gait.  Feeling so rejuvenated, I stayed the El Dorado aid station only long enough to get more salt tabs, pretzel/potato goodness, and another dousing. I worked my way up the climb to Michigan Bluff, the first time all day at which I had energy enough to work up a climb rather than simply survive.  I did have a number more hamstring cramps and a couple calf cramps through this section, but a salt tab after each instance seemed to keep them from getting worse.  From working my way up the climb to Michigan Bluff, I developed a light strain in my big toes from excess work on toe-off. John Vonhoff was working this aid station, so I could not turn down the suggestion of having him work on my feet.  He filed and taped some calluses, and the PT working with him re-taped my inflamed left anterior tib. New socks and shoes on and having spent the better part of ten minutes chowing down while getting pampered, I left here hungry.

Miles 55.7 to 79.8
Heading to Foresthill was uneventful. I was rejuvenated and felt like making some progress; I at least feel as if I ran well here; meeting Wyatt (Earp) at Bath Road 60 miles in. At Foresthill, the staff weighed my yet again, which had held steady for the fourth straight weight check.  This aid station was, however, overwhelmingly busy even though there were only a couple other runners around me.  The sheer number of staff members far overpowered and hindered their abilities, and not letting my crew go with me to the food tables (what?) severely limited what we could do here.  After pitter-pattering around for a minute, Darren snuck in, grabbed food for me and they all kicked us out.  I truly stretched my legs out on the next couple miles of road and buffed trail.  However, somewhere around Cal 1 (I honestly do not remember if it came before or after the aid), I hopped aboard the barf train, which I would ride for quite some time.  Usually I look forward to puking--puking means a fresh start, and usually it means being able to wolf down copious amounts of food and liquid and run hard for a little while. That didn't happen.  This puke meant the end of coherence. I dove head first into a several mile decline into full zombie mode. The immediate effects came as very tender quads and radiant pain from my tweaked ankle. At Cal 2 I just took what Earp gave me, sat for a minute to force down what I could, and then we stumbled our way to the river.  People talk about Michigan Bluff or Foresthill being a time-suck, but I'd wager that the river-Green Gate strip tops it with its three aid stations in under two miles. I stopped at each of them. Weight check held us up on the near side, then so did drying off on the far side as the water felt rather cold late at night.  At Green Gate I succumbed to a ten minute nap, giving a final attempt at turning my race around.  I couldn't even fall asleep.

Miles 79.8 to 100.2
At Greengate, after my poor nap attempt, Darren stepped up during his first ever 100 mile crew/pace gig.  He took off my wet shoes/socks, wiped off my feet with his T-shirt, and then gave me his socks. That is going above and beyond. After some light snacking, off we went into the abyss. This is where I just shut down and did everything I could to put one foot in front of the other.  As we left the aid station, I put my headphones in and shut out everything aside from Darren's feet; feet that I would follow unconditionally for the next fourteen miles.  Occasionally I would have to stop hunched over and heave either from my ankle or from my stomach.  Darren and I actually made really good work the first six or seven miles out from Green Gate, passing a number of people and running most of the section. I was not by any means coherent though--I may as well have been black out drunk frankly. Apparently Hal Koerner was working Brown's Bar (mile 90) and helped me at the aid station for a couple minutes.  I had and still have no recollection of this whatsoever.  These last few aid stations following Green Gate went as follows: Hunch over table, groan in pain, stare at food, grunt at aid station workers, pick up pretzels and soda, stumble out to looks of real concern on everyone's faces.

At Highway 49 I switched Darren for Rudy, fresh off his hundred debut eight days prior. I nearly broke down when, as I tried to sit in a chair to take weight off my ankle while I ate, Rudy forced me out of there.  Given how close I ended up being to 24-hours, I am glad he did.  I have a distinct feeling the aid station crew did not want me to leave.  We stumbled along, working very hard to go very slow, and after half a life time ended up at no hands bridge. I finally started smelling the barn here and even jogged a little of the climb up to Robie Point.  I was so elated to hit Robie Point that I started shutting down a little early.  Hitting the pavement rippled emotions through my body as well as new waves of pain from my ankle. I groaned and grunted and hobbled my way through Auburn; Rudy, Wyatt, and Darren in tow mirroring just how slowly I was moving at this point. Aside from a few steps here and there, I did not truly run until I hit the track, at which point I ran every step to the finish line.

After finishing I really did shut down.  I felt, and apparently looked, like I was going through withdrawals after my swift collapse onto a cot in the med tent.  However, a 90 minute nap later and I didn't feel nearly as awful. I needed help to walk all morning, unable to put pressure on my ankle, but I ate three breakfasts and slept whenever I pleased.  That morning was nice.


What worked:
-Simple Bottle dedicated for pouring water over my head
-Hot Weather Drymax Socks--not a single blister into Michigan Bluff (where i then switched socks)
-Pack--I filled it with ice and then water, and this kept me cool inside and out.
-Salt Pills--I rarely need them in races, and as such I didn't even think about taking any until it was too late.  I had planned to start them as I headed into the canyons; I should have been taking them all day.

What didn't work:
-Crew set-up at aid stations--My crew was world class, but they were hindered far too much from doing their jobs.
-Starting slow*
-Not wearing sunglasses--I never like them while running, but the dust had me wishing for eye protection.
-Shoe order--I should have worn my trail shoes for the high country and then switched into my cushioned road shoes for the second half.

*Western States is a deceptively straightforward and easy course (for mountain races).  Thinking about this going in, I intentionally restrained myself from the start rather than simply running.  Next time, I won't let the ease of the course trick me and I'll just go.

Conclusions:

I think my biggest take-away from Western States is to have faith that I can go the distance in one piece.  Having only completed three now, I still get overwhelmed, however subconsciously, by the distance and that in itself holds me way back from performing how I know I can at the distance and also actually hurts me.  I am now a week out from possibly running Hardrock; and if I do get in, I plan to just go.


Edit:
I realized in some post-writing speculation that this may come off as a negative review.  On the contrary, I simply had a bad day on a gorgeous course.  Even the volunteers were phenomenal overall, with only the few hiccups mentioned above.

Some Last Ruminations

I finally had the moment this morning when everything became real.  Trying to set up crew directions with four tabs open for various bits of information regarding the logistics of crewing in the high country at Western States, I had the near electric feeling of excitement pulse through my body that the day is finally here. Well...in twelve days it is.  I have had that feeling a few times over the past month now; when I get into a distinct rhythm of hard work late into workouts.  Excitement that physically manifests itself outward until I cannot help but smile and work just a little harder.

Yesterday wrapped up my final real training week leading up to the Western States hundred on June 28th.  I have been working with the venerable States veteran Andy Jones-Wilkins whom I met last year after his move to Virginia.  This is the first time I have had a coach--or gotten any real coaching advice--since high school cross country and track several years ago.  Admittedly, he is also likely the only person I know who coaches whom I feel trusting enough to have as a coach for Western States.

He has trained me rather differently than I would have done on my own--the most notable shift being not only the number of workouts down (36 since we started in January) but the inclusion of a weekly post-long run tempo.  That is not something I would likely have done on my own; I have followed the standard back-to-back(-to-back) long run approach in my past hundred mile build-ups, but the workouts have left me feeling strong and improved my closing speed in my spring tune-ups and I know they will do the same in California in a couple weeks.  I can get the legs turning over easier thinking that I have run hard under much more uncomfortable conditions (like hammering out 8 miles the day after Promise Land and again three weeks later after a 40 mile long run).

I have been in Colorado for nearly a full month now, and that has also had an immensely positive effect on my training, an effect especially shown in my running up Pikes Peak in 3:18 (including pit stops) on Saturday morning.  A pretty uninspiring time--I have always been a bad uphill runner--but I was able to run uphill comfortably the entire way; only taking occasional short hiking breaks instead of long stretches.  Being here has balanced out my training as well.  The past five weeks have all been above fifteen hours, with the past four weeks above sixteen.  Of those five weeks, only the first has been below ~16,000 feet of gain on the week; which while somewhat low by the standards of hundred mile training needs to take into account the low-gain days inherent to doing road tempo runs and track workouts.  The past two weeks in Colorado have both been above comfortably 20,000 feet.

I have spent my time in Colorado in the great company of Rudy and Darren, both of whom are on top of their game and ready to WIN their races this weekend--Rudy at Bighorn 100 and Darren at San Juan Solstice 50.  They are both extremely focused, well-trained, and healthy right now; a combination that has had them unabashedly kicking my ass up mountains day in and day out for several weeks now and forcing me to find a few extra gears.  Spending the last couple weeks camping has gotten us all poised to strike.  The days have been filled with nothing but running and resting. We have already read a small library's worth of books this summer in between naps. I will definitely be channeling some energy from crewing and pacing Rudy this weekend when I grunt my way through the canyons a week later.

The more I study Western States, the better I feel about the race and that it will most definitely play to my strengths.  The only true unknown for me is the heat.  I have not run an ultra above the upper 80's with high humidity that happen at Iron Mountain.  However, I will have nearly three weeks of heat training done, most of which has consisted of sauna sessions.  I have another week or so of sauna training and I am already up to 45 minutes without intense distress.  The rest of the course variables, well outlined in Joe Uhan's recent iRunFar article, play to my strengths.  The way of the game is start easy and then begin working after halfway.  That's how I always run races, and in a hundred miler there is actually real estate at the end to keep hunting for a long time.  I see myself sitting comfortably in the top 50 heading into the canyons, and then picking people off for as long as I can.

Even the canyons hold a nice advantage for my style.  As I said earlier, I am an admittedly terrible uphill runner. As such, I know how to hike--I have to in order to not completely fall of pace.  The climbs out of the canyons are just my style and what I got extremely used to running in Blacksburg the past several years: under 2 miles and steep. Walls.  We have them all over our little training grounds in the New River Valley.

Virginia Tech Ultrarunning has finally made the pilgrimage out west, and we are here to tear it up.



------

In case anyone is curious, and since I already have things set; here is what I'll be using for gear, etc. at Western States

Shoes: Nike Lunaracer 3 (with Salomon Sense Pro's on hand just in case)
Socks: 2 pairs of Drymax warm weather
Shorts: Patagonia Strider Pro 5" Shorts
Shirt: ultraVT Patagonia Air Flow Tank jersey
Hydration: 2 Simple Hydration bottles tucked in my shorts and sometimes a Mountain Hardwear race vest with bladder with one of the simple bottles in the front pocket.
Food: I have a lot of salted caramel, salted watermelon, and various Roctane Gu's on hand, as well as grape Roctane drink (which is delicious).  Aside from that, I plan to enjoy the Western States buffet!

Synchroblog: Why do we run?

What role does running play in your life?

Honestly, a larger role than it probably should! I've met some of my best friends through running.  I looked at schools for next year based in large part to the running scene and scenery available nearby.  Being able to get out the door for an hour or two helps keep me focused the rest of the time on whatever work needs to get done.

When did you start running and why? 

I played soccer competitively from the time I was 5 all the way through high school. I quit my traveling team in middle school because of team politics though, and signed up for 8th grade cross country to get back into shape for high school soccer after a very fat year off.  Little did I know that over the next few years my goals would shift completely; to where by my senior year I was mainly going to track practice over soccer practice and focusing much more on running.  So it has been almost 10 years now!

8th Grade Cross Country--I bet you can't recognize me!

Qualifying for state in high school. No shirts ever, who cares if it was October?

If you could only run one last run, where and with whom would it be and why?

This is a loaded answer, but it would be a long trail for sure.  Either the PCT or the AT; just so I could drag it out and relish in the act for as long as possible.  If I took one person, choosing right now probably Mr. Rudy Rutemiller--we've spent so much time in the mountains together the past few years, he seems the best person with whom to share a send-off like that.

Which is better, trail running or road running?  Why? 

A year ago, I would have said trail running without hesitation.  However, each have their merits.  I love trail running to get off the regular grind and as a great method of exploration.  Road running can be fun for how different it hurts.  I still vote trails though!

Groups or solo? Pick a side (for both) and defend it, or rather, advocate for it!

That really depends on the goal.  I've got a very specific answer though.  I love solo runs after a group run.  Those are the runs where we get to be alone with our thoughts, reflection really comes in and one can appreciate having the group, but still enjoy solitude.

Speaking of solitude, since I guess people actually read my blog, my favorite author, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, died last night and everyone should immediately go read One Hundred Years of Solitude. You won't regret it.

Iron-rich Recovery Curry

I'm going to mix things up a little bit and post something completely different.  FOOD!  I cook a variation of this curry at least once every couple weeks, sometimes once a week and it always lasts me a few days (even with how much I eat in a sitting).  This is also the first time I've written a recipe so bear with me:)  Some of the measurements aren't clear, they are just based on how Kroger sells produce.

Prep time: 20 minutes

Cook time: 25 minuetes

The two overlap though!

Ingredients:

• 1 ~8 oz. strip steak* (I buy SimpleTruth Grass Fed)
• 1 large sweet potato
• 3-4 carrots
• 1/4 lb dry lentils, any variety (I use what I have on hand usually)
• 2 Broccoli heads
• 1 bunch of kale
• 1 medium sweet onion
• 1 Package Golden Curry, at your preferred heat level
• Olive oil
• 1/2 cup dry rice, your preference of grain**

*I've tried various cuts of beef as well as ground beef and bison, and feel like strip steak comes out the best.

**I have a rice cooker, and Nishika rice generally finishes at about the same time as my curry if I put it on between steps 5 and 6.

1.  Warm a large wok (I love my non-stick for cleaning purposes) over medium heat, with a liberal amount of olive oil in the pan.

2.  Dice the onion and at to the pan, sautéing until the onion begins to become translucent.  At the same time, cut the steak into 3/4 inch-across cubes.  Add the steak to the pan once the onion is nearly done.

3.  Chop the carrots 1/4 - 1/2 inch long pieces, and cut the sweet potato into roughly 1/2 inch pieces. Set aside the broccoli and kale for now. 

4. Once the steak has begun to brown, add the carrot and sweet potato to the pan and toss until all ingredients are well-mixed.

5. Pour  3 cups of water and your lentils into the pan (I use a full water bottle, and then add a little extra so that the veggies are nearly covered) and bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer for 10 minutes, stirring regularly.

6.  While all of that is simmering, go ahead and cut your broccoli into florets and dice up the kale into small pieces.  I generally pile all the kale up, cut the stems off just above the start of the leaves, then slice 5-6 times up the stem and 2-3 times across length-wise.  Have this ready to go!

7.  After your mixture has been simmering for 10 minutes, break up your Golden Curry package and add to the mixture, STIRRING CONSTANTLY for ~5 minutes.  The curry will thicken as you go; and this style of curry is typically thicker than standard Indian curry. Once you see the cubes of curry begin to disappear, go ahead and add the broccoli florets and kale.  They cook very quickly, and the broccoli complements better when it still has a bit of crunch.

8.  Serve over rice and enjoy!

I came up with this ingredient list to get in some much needed calories, fat, as well as iron and other vitamins/minerals after hard races and training weeks.  This dish will keep in the refrigerator for 3 days or so, can be frozen, and goes well with rice, quinoa, or on soba noodles even.  When tweaking for yourself, adjust the amount of water you add.  So, if you cut out the steak to make it vegan, you'll add a little less water.

Feel free to comment if you have any questions or ingredient suggestions! 

See you in Squaw

With a poor Terrapin Mountain performance now a week past and my legs feeling springy again, this feels as good a time as any to write this.  This post is mostly a reminder to myself, but enjoy.

1.  Do what AJW says.  I got a coach, and in particular AJW because I trust him to know what is best.  Do not question.

2.  Hit workouts HARD and easy days EASY.  Generally I am happy to trot along easy on my easy days, but as training picks up, I want to emphasize it.  Easy days are for recovery, there's no reason to work on them. I'll be doing three workouts and a long run each week--I will need the easy days.

3.  Get my core routine up to 25 minutes.  I'm at 15 right now, slacking a little after taking a week off from it.

4.  Get to the mountains regularly.  In February it was far too easy to lace up my shoes and head straight out the door.  We're lucky in Blacksburg to have a myriad of wonderful trails and different styles of mountains nearby--take advantage.

5.  Believe I am capable of performing.  All spring various people have been telling me to go for top 10.  Regardless of whether or not that is a viable goal, it's time I start believing it is.

11. Recover. I'm lucky that I can get by (right now) working part time, living pretty simply.  I have a plum job too, and I do stretch in my cubicle sometimes.  I have a lot of time to dedicate to real recovery; I should make use of it.

12. Eat. Nonstop. All. Day.

13.  Make it to Colorado in May--and more so to the start line in Squaw Valley--in one piece and healthy.  I was teetering on the overtraining line last Fall leading into the Grindstone that never was. I was ripping a month later after a month shifted into short, faster running and away from mileage.  I should be better off this time around; with all the workouts the time on my feet should be lower but I am still going to monitor well.

14. Remember the main goal. I am signed up for only one more ultra prior to Western States because I have trouble doing races as training runs.  I love Promise Land--so there is no way I could not run again this year--but I have to make sure I keep it in its place and not overdo it there.

15.  Enjoy every minute.  I'm lucky that I get to do this and that my friends are going to be supporting me there.  I want to make sure I enjoy and relish every minute.

16.  Lastly, I will see you in squaw ;)

Synchroblog: ultraVT

Here we go!

How do you describe ultraVT to a stranger?

We are a group of students (and alumni), based in Blacksburg, who get together to enjoy the trails, kick each other's asses in workouts, and just have fun together. We enjoy easy runs, hard workouts, and racing each other every so often. 

When did you get involved with ultraVT?

From the beginning! Several students through the past 15 years or so complete ultras while at the school. I got into them separately, thanks to Eric Grossman, and after my first Holiday Lake 50k in 2012, I notices some guys around campus wearing the same race shirt. I started running regularly with the triathlon club, of which they were a part, and after some time we decided that there was enough interest at the school to branch off and establish our own team/club. Rudy and I put in the grunt work then, getting sponsors, doing promotion, etc. to get a good membership base and we just keep growing!

How do you see yourself within ultraVT?

Organizationally, I handle sponsors, orders, work on marketing/publicity like interviews, and usually manage trip logistics. I try to be the person with an answer to any question though. I've been at this for nearly 4 years now, and I love helping out the people just getting started since I've likely been through whatever they are working through right now. Jumping into ultrarunning definitely has a learning curve from high school cross country!

What's your favorite aspect of ultraVT?

Definitely the friendships.  We can push each other through a rough training run, and then get back to town and relax over a beer. We've all spent enough time together that our friendships are not simply running anymore.

What's your favorite trail run in the blacksburg vicinity?

Now that is a tricky question; everything has different merits.  Most likely either Dragon's Tooth or Butt Mountain.  I love Dragon's tooth because you push hard, go hand over foot briefly, take some risks, and you're done in <55 minutes.  Butt Mountain is really a classic Western-style run.  It is simple, uphill 5.5 miles to the top, check out the view, then turn around and run back down.  With brief tangents you go past both the Cascades falls and Barney's Wall.  

Any secrets you'd like to share?

London Underground has the best day-after-race breakfast in town.

Favorite post-race meal?

Curry! Or if I'm feeling lazy, steak & guac burrito (quesarito)

What do you want for ultraVT five years from now?

In five years, everyone currently involved should be graduated.  That time is when we will know if the team is established and here to stay.  I hope it has grown from its current state, and spread out even.  We are in an exciting time for mountain running and young people.  Sterling College followed us with their own ultrarunning team (that is fully endorsed by the school) two years after we established ultraVT, and with the newly established Collegiate Mountain Running Championship, I would not be surprised to see ultrarunning follow suit in the near future. I would love for Virginia Tech to be driving force in that level of competition.

New jams

Quandaries

I've become entirely too lax with this whole blog thing.  This post and the one to follow it should suffice to cover everything of note the past few months, and I plan in posting more regularly now that Western States training will be coming on full steam.

First, I got picked up for the Gu Crew for 2014 which is great.  I plan on going back to school in the fall without working, so any help to keep running is endlessly appreciated. Plus, getting a little support from a company definitely makes me feel as though I'm starting to do something right.

The year started with a truly epic road trip.  Epic is a tremendously overused word, but it fits the trip perfectly.  4500 miles in a car in two with two friends, plus another 600 on my own getting to and from Cincinati.  We hit a lot of mountains, a few canyons, and 15 different states.  Most of the trip was spent in Colorado, where we did a lot of vertical in a lot of snow.

I've spent nearly 5 months in Colorado now over the past few years.  Compared to natives, that is not much time but it is enough to provide a certain degree of confidence whenever I decide to go high.  However, no matter how much time one spends in the mountains, the mountains will always provide some new tribulation if you get cocky.

Patrick McGlade had a few days off work surrounding the new year holiday, so he served as our stellar guide for hitting new front range mountains [Rudy had never been to Colorado and Wyatt had only seen one 14er].  After turning down Grays Peak after losing too much of the morning to get down safely, we decided to hit Quandary a couple days later.  We shrugged off a snow forecast for Breckenridge, figuring the storm would hit in the afternoon as they so often do in Colorado.  Starting up the mountain was jovial and pleasant.  We played around and trotted up above treeline. But with about 1500 feet left to the summit, we entered another world.  Where below we enjoyed the sun with jackets unzipped and gloves off, we met an almost immediate shift in conditions that only got worse as we kept climbing.

Enjoying the climb before we reached the storm
Photo by Rudy Rutemiller

The path up Quandary from just above treeline is relatively simple, follow a ridgeline 2 miles until you top out.  With strong gusts of piercing wind and stinging snow, though.  Keeping to the path and avoiding the left edge was an interesting game.  Patrick and Rudy went off ahead as I struggled to keep upright, with Wyatt further behind me. I grunted my way up the mountain however, deeper into hell. Above ~13,500', the conditions were white-out.  The steady wind coming over from the right was enough to keep me braced for support, and the occasional gust was more than enough to blow me back a couple steps.  Step, step, pause, step, step, fall back two feet. Repeat.  At 13,800' I passed a man who knew what he was doing, dressed in a down jumpsuit with poles and mountaineering boots to keep himself upright.  Sometimes, I meet situations in the mountains that warrant laughing at the absurdity of it all--it was too cold for that here.  I kept a buff over my fast as long as I could, but before long that caused my breath to freeze both lenses of my sunglasses.  Pulling down the buff caused it to quickly freeze solid, rendered useless.  After this experience, I believe I know true cold.

Suffering on top of Quandary.  Note that I did not crop this--that white was up there.
Photo by Patrick McGlade

From here, there was only reason I kept pushing upward--Rudy and Patrick were up top and I had no way of saying "Fuck this, I'm turning back," which is all I had been thinking for the past several minutes as I continued grunting upward.  At 14,000 feet Rudy and Patrick came back down, and I thought, "Finally I can quit," but Patrick turned upward toward the summit again with only a few words of exchange and no time to argue.  I followed him.  I am glad I did, since it was only another 2 minutes to the top.  A couple quick photos and we turned downward.  The summit featured about 40 feet of flat, and the wind was so strong that I got blown off my feet mid-stride only a dozen steps from the summit post.  Terrified of worsening conditions, we bolted down the mountain.  Now came a new balancing act: avoid the drop-off to the right and the loose rock below foot. While trying to get blown over by the 60 mph gusts. While you can only see 5-6 feet down the trail.  I lost Patrick within a minute.  I saw him again 400' down the mountain, and I believe he was never more than 15 feet in front of me going down that stretch.  Not long after, we caught Rudy standing with Wyatt still on his way up.  Wyatt made the right call and turn back.

Rolling down the mountain near Wyatt

Not long after, I thought I was comfortable enough on terrain to open up my stride and hopefully get below treeline faster.  Almost immediately, I took what I felt like my worst fall every.  I landed square on on my front, with my forearm between my body and the rocks below.  I started screaming.  It took me nearly a minute to stop just screaming and try to do something.  I broke my wrist in middle school, this felt worse.  I rolled onto my back, hoisted myself to a seated position and tried to assess the damage.  The rock had at the least torn through my shell, which worried me about what lay underneath.  Standing up, I began walking downhill--running was too painful.  By the time we dropped out of the storm, I was able to run; my arm was not broken and I now attribute that pain mostly to the cold.  Again on the descent, we were met with a second world.  We descended out of the white-out storm into clear, sunny snowfields a few hundred feet above treeline.  We advised a few parties to turn back from their summit attempts--one of which did not even have crampons--and feeling safe again, took to playing in the snow.  We glissaded and postholed around on our way back down into the trees before trotting the rest of the way down to the cars.

Snow blowing off the mountain well below the storm.

Fighting the weather up high was the most harrowing experience I have ever had, and I plan to channel that suffering into every new adventure I have for quite some time. I have a new respect for the mountains--a respect that I think can only come with the outcome of underestimation and lucky success.

Recap and looking forward.

I wrote what is after the page break a couple weeks ago but didn't want to publish anything until after Hellgate.  I finished my season exactly how I wanted to crewing my ridiculously talented best bud and training partner Rudy to the crazy race at Hellgate I knew he had in him.  I think Rudy and I have shared something like 100 hours or more of trail time together since July.  I was so pumped to see him have the race he deserved.  I've been struggling with motivation to get back into more routing running, but that race gave me enough inspiration for the next six months!

I am also excited to be working with a coach for the first time since high school.  I'll be working with the master Andy Jones-Wilkins to make sure I am ready for the track meet in June.  I raced 10 Ultras in 2013 plus a myriad of fatasses and short races.  Cutting that out for 2014--it's time to get focused.

Oh yeah, I was in a magazine? Jess Daddio is a pretty stellar writer and it's great to see a semi-local magazine doing so well.
---------------

2013 was pretty awesome.  I ran in lots of places and just ran a lot in general.  PRs for every distance from half-marathon to 50 miles and I learned I can move for 40 hours if I need to.  I don't really feel like writing a lot, so here are the dirty details...

The numbers:
500,000 feet of climb reached on November 23th
I'll finish the year just over 3000 miles.


2014 Plans:

February: Holiday Lake 50k
April:  Georgia Loop FKT attempt and/or Promise Land 50k
May: train like a madman
June: WESTERN STATES 100
July/August: Hang out in Colorado, climb a bunch of mountains, drink some bourbon, attempt Nolan's 14 depending on WS100 recovery
December: Hellgate 100k

Sometime: Figure out a damn 2015 Hardrock qualifier

I'm at a crossroads in life in general.  There's a good chance I'll be living in Denver come August, so I can't think about races for the fall until I figure that out.  If I'm on the east coast, you can bet you'll see me at Mountain Masochist and Hellgate.  If not, then who knows what I'll be up to. Edit: Barring exams on Friday or Saturday that weekend, I will do EVERYTHING I can to get to Hellgate 2014... We have to go back

Wyatt Earp turned me back onto this guy over the weekend.  Serious talent.

Iron Mountain...better late than never

I wrote this after the race and apparently never posted it so it might need some editing...
After that four week block of great training, I was really stoked for Iron Mountain.  I wasn't planning to race, especially with the one week taper I did, but I wanted to run harder than what I thought was a 50 mile pace.  I wanted to test out my fitness.  That's what 50 milers are for in a 100 mile build-up right?  Well, I definitely proved to myself how hard I can run.

I took the sage wisdom of Eric Grossman, the man who knows that course better than anyone, and started easy.  A few people noted surprise that I was "only" running 8:20 miles on the 4 Creeper Trail introduction to the race. It felt right though. Turning up the climb from to the ridgeline and the Iron Mountain Trail, I turned on some Avett Brothers to mellow myself and talked with people as I passed them.  I kept myself reeled in all the way through Hurricane Gap 1 (Mile 22), passing people but hiking even a few easier grades just to keep the effort low.  In and out of Hurricane gap, downing two ibuprofen, I started rolling.  The course from her nets downhill, with some rolling along the way, for the next seven miles.  I carried the leg turnover I got on the first three mile descent across the single track Bartram Trail and all the way around to mile 29, the bottom of Rowland Falls, the biggest climb of the day.  At that aid station I did a cup of coke and a cup of mountain dew and was on my way.  Looking back, doing two cups of fluid and then immediately continuing to nip on my bottle should have been a clue to drink more.  I caught up to Jordan Chang, my friend, boss, physiotherapist, and all-around badass, along with Brian Pickett who was having a rough day.  Jordan joked that he'd been rabbiting me all day.  Apparently I was always 30 seconds to a minute back of him, though I never noticed until that climb.  I left them after I'd sucked down a gel and started running up the doubletrack into Hurricane Gap 2 (mile 33).   Brian followed my all the way up and left immediately before me.  However, a bad stomach held him back and i ran up the service road all the way to the high point of the course and started the long descent back to Damascus and the finish.  As soon as I hit the single track into Skulls Gap 2, I started flying.  I thought to myself several times "Is this seriously a 50 mile pace?"  I knew it was fast, but my system didn't feel taxed.  Skulls Gap 2 is a long aid station stop for me, grabbing gels from my drop bag and drinking a couple cups of water at the aid station.  Ann, the RD's wife, was working this aid station and told me Frank "The Tank" Gonzalez was only five minutes up.  13 miles of rolling descent to go.  Time to get going! 

I took off HARD.  And then I cramped.  My recorded pace for the last 13 was fast, but my running pace was even faster.  I likely lost 3-4 minutes into the final aid station and another 3-4 minutes from there to the finish from stopping to stretch and work out my cramps in my hamstrings.  Anytime the trail was flat I cramped.  Uphills and I could shift the work into my quads or glutes.  Downhill and my quads took the abuse.  But on those long flat sections, I cramped.  That should have been a bigger warning sign.  At the last aid station, Tammy, trail mom extraordinaire, told me I had four minutes to Frank, who was having a rough day.  Hm, maybe if he blows up.  This last stretch of trail is gnarly by any definition, and I knew Frank had never run it. I hung out enough to drink some water and get in some salty watermelon.  As soon as I climbed out of that gap though, the lightning storms came.  The trail turned into a flowing stream, through which I could not see rocks beneath my feet.  For a few sections of trail, I might as well have been running at night for how dark the sky became.  For a couple lightning strikes, I had a one second count to the thunderclap.  Exciting way to finish right? I blasted down 'mock holler'--the trail that isn't really a trail anymore and cruised into the finish for a Horton handshake. 7:56.

Horton handshake

Now for the slightly more graphic part.  Interestingly,  I did not feel spent at the finish.  I was glad to be done, but I really only felt slightly more worked than I normally do after these things.  I attributed it to the increased pace and wrote it off.  A delicious hamburger, a bottle of recovery drink, and a couple bottles of water later I felt that familiar sensation of my body coming down from the effort.  I headed to the toilets near the finish and after I few minutes of forcing it, I manage to pee a little bit what looked to be straight blood.  It wasn't that dehydrated dark-brown--it was dark red.  TIME TO GO GUYS.  I left, muttered something to the rest of the team about going to the hospital, and got in my mom's car for an evening at urgent care.  I was diagnosed (I actually think falsely) with Rhabdomyolysis. Maybe I got rhabdo with the lowest CPK value (964) I've been able to find, maybe the mere 800 mg of ibuprofen I took during the race seriously compromised my kidneys, or maybe it was something else.  Either way, a bag of saline and 5 bottles of water got things churning again, barely enough to be discharged Saturday night.  It is now the Thursday after the race, and I've run twice; and easy 4 and an easy 7.5 the past couple days.   Right now, I feel like I should feel that Tuesday after a race.  Skipping out on protein for a full day after a race is not a good muscular recovery plan, even if it was what my kidneys needed.

Updates!

I haven't posted on here in quite a while, so this will be a pretty comprehensive post.  Recovery from Cruel Jewel back in May was definitely the hardest I've had.  I didn't run a step until 12 days after I finished (2 full weeks after the start), and after that EASY eight miles, I went on to sleep about 18 of the next 24 hours.  From there, it took me another month to get back to running a normal schedule, 5-6 days per week and about 70 mile weeks.  But after those first few weeks of stumbling over my own feet, I felt good again.  I got invited to crew and pace Eric Grossman and Troy Shellhamer on their Colorado Trail FKT attempt, so I bumped up the miles in preparation for lots of running and little sleep.  Their attempt did not work out--these endeavors are logistical nightmares--but the trip was still a blast; I got to see the dark side of ultrarunning and be immersed in nothing but mountains, running, and friends for nine days.  We hit four 14ers in four days.  The vistas from 14,000 feet inspire like nothing I've seen on a run in the east.  Beyond that, the sheer simplicity of climbing to the highest point and back down is so aesthetic, I will be back.  Soon.  That week was definitely the best way to recharge my batteries before my Grindstone 100 peak.

I returned from Colorado 5 weeks from Iron Mountain and 10 weeks from Grindstone.  Perfect timing to buckle down for some real training.

Here are the four weeks I had leading up to Iron Mountain, each was Tuesday-Sunday:

July 30-August 4: 104.5 miles, 34/17 weekend, 17,100 feet of gain
August 6-11: 110.25 miles, 40/13.5 weekend including a 30 mile long run and 10k race Saturday, and a 3.7 mile hill climb Sunday, 14,900 feet of gain
August 13-18: 109.5 miles, 30/21.5 weekend, 15,500 feet of gain
August 20-25: 100.5 miles, 13,800 feet of gain

August totals: 80.5 hours, 468 miles, 67,600 feet of climb

Iron Mountain report coming soon.

Cruel Jewel 100--A report long enough to do the race justice

It was all for this.

Warning: This report, like the race is gratuitously long.  Go grab a beer, and maybe even a meal.  You'll be here a little while.

Friday started after a surprisingly uneventful night's sleep and a 5:45 alarm to meet up with Eric for the drive down to Blue Ridge, GA in time to do drop bags and rest a little before out 2 pm start.  There we met Willy, the RD for this fine event, who told me he had gotten elevation gain for the course ranging anywhere from 29,000 feet to 37,000 feet.  That's when I got really excited.  After, I'm going with ~31,000 climb total, but I am not sure.  I do know the race is ~110 miles long, just for added fun.

The plan was (for as long as possible) stick together--Eric as his well-practiced 4.1 mph trek and me doing my best not to go too fast.  Well, the first 35 miles of the course is easy, all things considered.  We settled into the planned theme--hiking all the climbs and trotting the descents--all the while focusing on saving energy.  Our average pace those first 35 miles was something like 13:00/mile pace.  This stretch was uneventful, albeit rather flat compared to the overall elevation change. There were 6-9 miles of road, and the trails were reasonably groomed.  The only real difficulty was managing the climbs in the Georgian spring humidity--this caused all sorts of problems.  Then the walls came. 

The Duncan Ridge Trail, that makes up (listed) miles 35-75 is nothing but a series of 300-600 foot walls.  Grind up, and then lean back, doing your best to stay upright going downhill.  As we came into mile 42.5, I was starting to feel weary, but wrote it off to not having hit the caffeine yet.  In reality, the slow pace was catching up to me.  We got hit with rain leaving this aid station that followed us for the next four hours. On the ridge line. Exposed to wind. Right as we're about to climb to the high point, a bald at 4300 feet.

The aid station volunteers at "mile 47.65" were the first introduction to a huge bonus of this race.  The workers were AMAZING.  The best I've ever seen.  These two guys, up on the mountain not really moving around all night and into the following afternoon, gave us their jackets so we wouldn't freeze climbing up and over Coosa Bald in the rain.  They actually suggested the idea and I couldn't think of what to say at first because I was simply not expecting such generosity.  Going up and especially down the other side of Coosa to the turn-around was death march slow.  We were in intermittent cold rain, descenting 3000 feet over 7 miles, with 1100 feet of climb thrown in their for good measure.  On extremely technical rocky, rooty single track.  We were moving slow.  Motivation at this point wasn't just deflated, it was downright gone.  We hit Vogel in ~15.5 hours.  This is listed as 55 miles into the race.  Eric's gps (and others) clocked this at 58+ miles.   I was a wreck.  I was soaked through. Hungry, sleepy, pain creeping in.  I actually knew I couldn't finish as I was.  But, there is a 48 hour cut-off for the race.  So, I ate two amazing cups of homemade chicken noodle soup and passed out on the bed for 20 uncomfortable minutes.  When I got up, I (still not planning to actually continue) started my drop bag routine.  Eric told me he was pretty ambivalent to continue before we laid down, but afterward he mentioned he was going to continue so I thought I should at least try.  I loaded my pack with little debbies, snickers bars, shot bloks and gels.  I applied A&D to all the right places (damn the rain).  And I changed into a clean shirt.  Another cup of soup and a grilled cheese and I decided I'd keep going.  Here, I made a huge incorrect judgment call and did not change socks, assuming the new ones would just get wet in a couple miles anyway.

The back up Coosa Bald was actually rather nice.  The sun had just risen, we were passing 50 mile and 100 mile runners on their way down the mountain, and I felt reasonably regenerated by out 90 minute stop at Vogel.  Eric pulled away about halfway up (he can hike just so well), and I didn't really expect to see him again. Then leaving the aid station on the other side (same one as the jackets before), everything went wrong.  This section is 7.5 miles long, all on the Duncan Ridge Trail.  I planned for this to take 2.5-3 hours based on what the climb up Coosa, another 7.5 mile stretch too.  2 minutes out of the aid station I lost the peanut butter sandwich I had just wolfed down.  Then I started moving again, but couldn't hold it together.  I ran out of water in 2 hours, about halfway through the section.  This 7.5 miles took me 6.5 hours.  No typo there folks--6.5 hours.  After I ran of water, I didn't eat any more since eating without water would cause my stomach to turn. I kept hiking, using every bit of will I had to move forward.  I stopped several times just to scream from how much my body hurt. I moved forward though, as slowly as is possible, until I collapsed in a chair, shivering even though it was close to 70 degrees, at the "Mile 70) aid station.  Here, the only reasons I did not immediately turn in my bib were 1. It would be a couple hours at least until someone could come get me and 2. the 48-hour cutoff.

This aid station was my second instance of amazing volunteers.  The girl working helped me peel of my shoes and socks, tried lancing a (currently) non-existant blister on my trench-foot begotten feet, made me wolf down THREE PB&J's, wrapped me up like a burrito in a blanket followed by a sleeping bag, and made me hold hot water against my core to stabilize.  I had definitely been tapping into my fat stores before the aid station.  She then took my wet socks and shoes and stuck them under the heater in her car to dry out.  Honestly, I would not have finished the race if she hadn't done that.   35+ more miles when I was already developing trench foot would have been mentally (and possibly physically)  impossible for me. After I saw a few friends come through and realized I was actually joking with them, I decided that even though my body had quit on me already, my mind was in too good of shape to stop here.  So with a lot of help from that kind volunteer, I pulled on my socks and shoes an hour after they came off and started moving again.  The next several climbs were even more miserable than the ones into the aid station, but I was moving with a little determination.  The descent down Coosa bald was the first time I got to open up my stride in over 40 miles, and it felt great.  I clocked some really good miles (at the time) into the drop bag aid station at "mile 80".

I hit a wall out of that aid station though.  My joints finally quit on me, and I could nothing but shuffle forward.  The 80 miles of technical single track I had completed thus far, along with a pace much slower than I was used to in training caught up to me.  My ankles had filled with fluid and stopped long ago, then my knees joined them, and now my hips were stiffened up too.  My muscled were fine still, even my quads, but my joints were gone so the muscles were useless.  However, a mile out of the aid station, a female runner Carin and her pacer Mollie caught up to me and I resolved myself to stick with them.  The company was much needed, and I would not have finished without them.  I forced my body to shuffle along, and we talked a great deal.  I hadn't had a real, lengthy conversation since I left mile 70 and it was much appreciated.  Carin was miraculously doing this race as her first 100 miler, and she crushed it.  Mollie was a good pacer, constantly reminding Carin to eat and drink (which caused me to follow suit).  Somewhere in these miles, my joints started getting more painful, causing me to groan pretty regularly and stumble some.  Mollie did a good job talking me up and keeping me moving when I wasn't even her ward.  She had us both laughing off our hallucinations, joking about her watching my butt, and talking about almost anything but running.  Some pizza and grilled cheese at "Mile 87" hit the spot and we 'speedily' hiked the "3.3 mile" road section into the next aid station.  Walking along that road, I actually swayed and dozed off a couple times while still walking.

At the aid station, I finally realized I should have started hitting the caffeine hard much earlier, so I drank two cups of Mountain Dew, did 50/50 of water and Mountain Dew in my pack, took some ibuprofen, and we were off.  I left about 30 seconds after Carin and Mollie, so had to play catch-up.  Having to speed up to catch them, I realized I felt okay for once so I leaned forward and ran up the mountain away from them.  Running again felt amazing mentally, and not horribly physically.  I was using muscles that hadn't been touched in a long time.  Then, when I hit the top and had to go down the other side, my ankles gave me a cringe-worthy reminder of how torn up I really was.  I actually had to sit down for a minute and collect myself because I was breathing so heavily fighting of the discomfort in my joints.  Then I heard the ladies' voices coming up the trail.  I knew they would catch back up soon, and I thought I should keep moving forward at least, and let them catch me when they will.  That didn't take very long, and I was thrilled to have the company again.  These descents were very technical, with lots of loose rock, and I could barely trot down in my current condition.  Mollie took the lead and told me to follow.  I was in no place to argue, so I held on and just kept wincing as we moved downhill into the second-to-last aid station.

From there, the next 5.8 miles are a loop followed by 3 (or so) road miles to the finish line.  I stopped to use the bathroom and lost about a minute on Carin and Mollie early into the loop.  I think I really like playing catch-up, because I was able to start running again to catch them, even some downhills (even though they were excruciating).  I hung out with them a minute before we hit a nice, comfortably graded climb so I ran off ahead again. I was actually running very well for a couple miles in here and was dumbfounded by that being possible.  Then, I got worried.  My headlamp was close to dead and had switched into it's very dim power-saving mode.  After that, things along the trail began to feel very familiar and I worried I had missed out turn back toward the aid station, even though it is such an obvious turn.  I turned around and ran backward until I saw the ladies again, confirmed we were going the right way, and took off back toward the aid station.  I was racing my headlamp, so I was actually running hard here, and loving everything except the downhills.  

Then, the world turned against me in probably the most fitting end to this gratuitous adventure.  About 2 miles before the end of the loop, rain started coming down--hard--in a real torrential downpour.  It was likely past 4am at the time, and the temperature must have dropped to close to 50 degrees in that cold, pouring rain.  I knew the only way I could keep warm in my tiny little Patagonia jersey and arm panties (that I only had thanks to Mollie--seriously I could not have finished with those two) was to keep moving with a lot of effort.  HOWEVER, my headlamp finally died at what turned out to be about half a mile from the end of the loop when I could have made my way to the aid station without it, and finished without it on the roads back to camp.  That didn't happen though; it did die.  And in the black of night, in the pouring rain without a star peaking through the clouds, I could not see a damn thing.  I couldn't see my hand inches from my face. I've never experienced that kind of darkness in a situation where I couldn't just turn on the lights.  I got scared about how cold I could get here.  There was no way I was going to keep going, I the trail had a sharp drop on one side that I would most definitely fall down if I overshot that way, and I had no way of gauging where to go.  So, to conserve what little heat I could, I sat down on the trail and curled up into a ball, breathing into my shirt until Carin and Mollie came up on me about 5 minutes later, shivering like mad as soon as we started moving. I stuck just off Mollie's shoulder, moving from her headlamp, shivering all the way.  We didn't even stop at the final aid station.  I grabbed a gel for the road and we took off.  I told Mollie I needed to go to get there as quickly as possible, fearing I would end up hypothermic if I took too long.  I ran down the road descent, but Mollie and Carin followed and we turned onto the road into camp together.  Here I finally smelled the barn and decided to go for it, so I left the two of them and ran all the way into camp, cringing all the way as my mangled feet slapped the asphalt.  

With no headlamp and the sun not quite up, no one at camp even realized there was a finisher coming in until I was already up on the parking area.  A quick exchange with Eric and Will Jorgensen and I moved inside to change clothes as quickly as possible.  I was done, and I couldn't actually fully appreciate that fact because my body was in such bad shape.  I forced down some Gu Recovery Brew and a Clif Builder's Bar, and tried to compose myself enough to leave. 

To put my experience and my misery/pain along the return trip into an understandable setting, here's some comparison.  Eric left me at "mile 60" and finished over 9 hours earlier than me.  Derek Dowell, another run I met on the trail, moved ahead of me at about "mile 77" and finished 3 hours earlier.  The return trip (about 52 miles), including my hour stay at the "mile 70" aid station, took 24 hours.  The entire Grindstone 100 last October, which I ran conservatively, took 24:51.  I have never suffered so much for anything, especially a belt buckle.


Finished: 40:02.  Finishing is all.
--------------

Looking back, I will cherish this race.  This is the hardest thing (running or not) I have ever done, and so now the future will seem much easier by comparison.  And I know I can duck down my head and grind for literally an entire day, which is a useful skill right? Maybe that should go on my resumé.  At the finish line, a discussion broke out regarding just how hard this race is.  We came to the conclusion that this is the hardest 100 miler in America--even harder than big boy Hardrock.  The race has ~98 miles of TECHNICAL single track, about as much elevation change (though much of this is sandwiched into the middle 40-45 miles), and involves a great deal of humidity, which causes all kinds of foot problems.  However, the RD knows exactly how hard the race is and truly did everything possible to get people to the finish line.  He lined of a slew of knowledgable, enthusiastic volunteers, and was extremely well organized.  All aid stations and the finish line knew where all runners were at all times.  The aid stations all had at least the standard fare, which more than half having hot food ready for runners and they were never close to running out of anything. I don't expect this race to ever get big, it's too difficult for that.  But give it some thought, the organization was flawless.  The RD was out on the course driving from aid to aid all the way through the second night, and right before we left, I heard he was actually working an aid station himself.  That is dedication. My hat is off to you Willy.

A couple take home points: People may think I was simply undertrained for the race.  That is not the case.  I am the most fit I have ever been. However, I was incorrectly trained for racing the way I did--slow with so much hiking.  My training mileage was adequate, and my weekly elevation change was great, but it was much too fast, funnily enough.  I probably could have run the 50 miler here very well, but for the 100 mile, I needed to be hiking instead of running.  I also need to worry less about taking caffeine too early.  I worried here and did not take nearly enough for the 49 hours I ended up being awake.

I'm writing this on Monday night, and I still can't walk without a cane.   Will I go back? I feel  I have some unfinished business, but I really don't know.  This race brutalized me. It stripped way everything by the bare essentials needed for survival, and even those were dented.

Sunday night, for whatever reason, I decided to see the new Star Trek movie with a good friend.  She asked me why I do this to myself, and did so in an honest way, not the standard incredulous question all ultrarunners face regularly.  And for the first time, I really had no idea.  This race put a lot of doubt in my mind.  However, today I know that I at least do these because I love that I can will myself to do something so difficult.  Nothing matters beyond that.  That skill is infinitely useful.

People reading this preparing for an ultra of your own, take this one thing from it: you can finish if you want it enough.  What your body tells you does not matter, your body is a tool for your mind.  You can fight it for much longer than you think.