THE LEFT

On Sunday I ran the Bishop High Sierra 100K. This race consists of a 20 mile, 50k, 50 mile, and 100k distance. Looking for a 50, this was the race that fit my schedule. However, given my rule that you have to run the longest distance offered at any race, it was 100k or bust.

Erica had once again agreed to crew me, so we got to Bishop on Thursday evening and settled in. One great thing about the race is that it is the focus of the town for the week. Everyone knows about the races, and I was told that this is the second biggest event in Bishop behind Mule Days, which as everyone knows is THE thing to do in the Eastern Sierra. I found that the people fell all over themselves to help you and make you feel welcome. For that reason alone, I would suggest the run to anyone thinking about it. It made you feel pretty special.

After scouting the course on Friday and throwing down a couple of Erict Schat turkey sandwiches (don't miss this place if you go) it was off to the briefing dinner. As I sat down, I started chatting with the people at my table. Through the course of the conversation, I found out that two of them knew Scotty Railton. Of course they did. I swear to God . . . Then it was off for a good night's sleep before a 5 AM wakeup.

At the race start

The race course started at 4500 feet, climbed to 9500 feet, doodled around 8000 feet or so for a while, then dropped back down to 4500 feet at the 48.5 mile mark, where you could turn right down the downhill 1.5 miles for home and a 50 mile finish, or make "THE LEFT" which brought you on a 12 mile out and back over a 900 foot climb each way before the 1.5 mile home stretch to earn the 100k finish. It was fear of THE LEFT that motivated me throughout the race.

At 6 AM sharp, we were off. The race started out easy enough with sandy rollers around the base of the Tungsten Hills for about 5 miles before the climbing started in earnest. It was hard to set a good rhythm as with all the different racers out there, it was hard to settle in with a pack traveling at your speed. Coming out of the CDF aid station, where the serious climbing started, I settled into an easy rhythm of running for 2 minutes, hiking for a minute on the sustained but gentle uphill. The climb would be about 5,000 feet over the next 15 miles, so it was largely mellow, but hard to figure out whether I should be running or walking. In the end, I think I paced it pretty well for me.

View of the climb after the 5 mile mark. This grade was fairly consistent from mile 5 to mile 20. The goal of the climb is the left shoulder of the snow covered mountain to the left.

Another view of the climb, but from further up. Again, the goal can be seen in the lefthand side of the picture, just beneath the snowfield.


An unusually steep section of the climb. Most of the first 10 miles of the climb was fairly mellow, if rocky and consistent.

Here I am running out of the Buttermilk aid station, about mile 11 or so.


Another view of Mt. Tom, I believe, with dead tree for visual oomph.

Still climbing . . .

Finally, after climbing for a number of hours through open exposed scrub, we came into some trees where the trail kicked up a notch from the Edison Loop aid station to the turnaround. This out and back (semi-loop) section of the overall out and back climbed up from about 8000 to 95oo feet in 3 miles and then turned around, coming back to the aid station on a different trail. At the aid station, instead of doing the big climb, the 50K folks turned around, leaving only the 50 and 100 milers. Unfortunately, this is where my stomach started to go south. I lost everything I tried to put in at the aid station only steps up the trail. Uh oh. Temps were still cool, probably in the 50's, but I knew I was sweating and losing salt, and I couldn't get anything to go down. Welcome to running at altitude. I started to put it into good hiking gear here, as this was the steepest of the climbing yet, and passed a few people on the way up. From this point forward, I would pass 7 or 8 people and only get passed by 1, so that tells me my pacing was pretty good. At the top of the climb, we punched a hole in our number and turned around for our first significant downhill of the race. WHEW! I was ready for some steady running, and glad that we skipped this climb on the way back.

On top, at the turnaround! Finally!
On the way back down. You can see where the 11 mile aid station is at the left-hand side of the fin of rock. The 5 mile aid station is close to the green fields you can see in the valley. That's a long way up!

On the way up, we had navigated 4 or 5 significant snow fields, and those were a lot more difficult on the way down. There was one especially difficult one that had a steep descent where I fell and slid down on my butt. The lady running the small aid station at the bottom of the snowfield had no problem believing I was a Florida native transplanted to San Diego. The rest of the descent was fairly uneventful. Back down at 8,000 feet, there was now a 6 mile out to the farthest part of the course and then 6 miles straight back. This section would turn out to have 4 significant steep climbs and 4 descents, broken up by an aid station halfway in between. Good thing Erica was there to crew in the middle. I was feeling pretty tuckered and nice to see a friendly face. Off I went through the final 2 outward climbs out with spaghetti o's in hand. Erica waved me a fond farewell. And there was a new member of the crew this year. Erica brought her dog, Killer, along. His contribution, from as far as I can tell, was eating items that other runners dropped on the ground. For a team to be successful, everyone has to know their role . . .

Finally I got to the Bishop Creek Lodge turn around. That meant, being an out and back, that I had to go back over those same 4 climbs. But they were much easier on the way back, not only because they were less steep, but you also knew you were working your way back down.

Headed into Bishop Creek Lodge. There was about a half mile of pavement to run . . .


One of the climbs going back towards the base of Edison Loop. A rare piece of singletrack trail.
Killer is overseeing the proceedings. Thanks for the help, buddy!

The run back to Edison Loop went well and after a few miles of rollers, it was off on the downhill. This section went as well as I could have hoped, and I was able to keep a relatively high speed (high for me) as I ticked off the aid stations heading back down towards THE LEFT. One thing I would change was my choice of shoes. I had essentially road shoes on thinking the road would be a lot like California fire roads down near San Diego. Nope. Very rocky and should have had real trail shoes, as the rocks slowed me up in some sections. Live and learn.

Finally, several miles past Edison, at what had been the 9 mile aid station on the way up, the course split off for a different trail down to the finish. The only major problem on the way down was another round of vomitting in response to some coke. So, no liquids for a while then either. Also, temps were increasing into the low 80's as we descended, and I was sweating profusely. I could feel the salt caked on my face, but couldn't muster the oomph to take any real food or drink for a good 10 miles or so. And my energy level suffered for it as I started to slow significantly towards the bottom of the descent. Fortunately, Erica was there at several of the aid stations with a kind word and a frozen water bottle. With nutrition problems developing and sore feet and tired legs, I started thinking about THE LEFT. Make the turn for a respectable 50 mile finish and be done with it, or suck it up and get up and over the 12 mile out and back. I came into the 48.5 mile aid station at about 12 and half hours. Here was the crux. Do I drop down or stay out for another 4 hours, 13 miles, and 2000 feet of climbing?


View up from the 168 aid station, approximately mile 46.



Coming into the aid station. You can see the white flap from my french foreign legion hat flapping in the breeze . . .

Coming into the Mile 48.5 mile aid station. Will I have the courage/stupidity to make THE LEFT?

Yes! After a very brief stop, off I trudged, having made a deal with myself earlier that I could walk the whole out and back if I needed to, just so long as I sucked it up to do the distance. The climb up to the Sage Summit aid station was a bear, much longer and steeper than I expected just because I didn't know where I was going. There were a few steep long pitches, and some flats and short downs that I should have ran but didn't because I was mentally low. Finally, I saw the Sage Summit aid station down a short hill and down I went. Those guys got me picked up, filled me up with some broth and pudding (perfect!) and down I went through the infamous switchbacks to go down into the valley to pick up my poker chip. That 2 mile section went well and then another mile back to the base of the switchbacks. I ran almost all of that and was picking up momentum. So far so good.

Now the other section I had heard about and dreaded . . . THE CLIMB. I have to tell you that it wasn't that bad. I had heard terrible things about the climb back to the Sage Summit aid station, but while the first part was steep and sandy, once the switchbacks started, it wasn't bad at all. Coming out of the aid station, night had finally and firmly settled, and I took out my light. The stars were brilliant overhead and in the distance, I watched lightning illuminate the clouds over the White Mountains. An unbelievable sight that made the next 1/2 hour of rollers along the crest fly by until I started my descent back to the finish. All in all, while I was slow going out to the poker chip, I ran fairly strongly coming back. And the image of the tranquil yet turbulent night sky over the Sierras is one that I will keep close for a long time.

Not even stopping at what had been the aid station at THE TURN, I kept on going through the camp and got my 100k finish at 16:23 or so, which was almost exactly what my training had predicted. I would have liked to have been a little faster, but I'm not sure I could have broken 16 for the race on that day, so I was pretty happy. I had a great time visiting with the RD after the race. You cannot ask for a better director. She genuinely loves her race, loves her racers, and loves her town. Her energy is contagious.

Chatting with the RD after the race. All the white on my chest and face is dried salt from sweating way too much.

Whew! Glad to be done!

I haven't seen the final statistics, but my understanding is about half the 100k runners either didn't finish or didn't make THE TURN and instead took a 50 mile finish. I think I finished like 30 out of 40 or something like that. I'll check the results when they are posted. All in all, glad I did it, and it was a great challenge. If you are looking for an ass-kicker of a 100k, this is the race for you.

As a post-script, I piled into the car still in my race clothes and race number, dirty, salt covered and utterly exhausted. As Erica was driving us back to town, we got pulled over by a police officer because the left tail light was out. He came to my side of the window and the following exchange occurred:

Officer: License and registration.

Me: Here is the registration. Its my car and the light is my fault.

Officer (Looking me up and down with his light): Sir, are you one of the crazy people that just ran 62 miles?

Me: Why, yes sir, I am.

Officer: Have a nice night sir, and get some rest.

So being an ultra runner does have its advantages . . .

Thanks as always to Erica and Killer for crewing, to the great volunteers for staying out there for us, to the RD for putting on a great race, and to the city of Bishop for all of their hospitality. And to Officer Smith for having a little mercy on a very tired runner.

Back in Business

Whoa, a blog post?! It must be getting into training season again. Yep, it is. Welcome back to those who stumble across this again. Its been a long off season. Last I left you, dear reader, I was through with Rim to Rim to Rim and staring an off-season in the face. So, what have I done with my time? Well, not much. I didn't take nearly enough time off, spending just a week not running, and that was only because I was worried about tendonitis. About once a month I did a run of at least 5 hours, so my endurance is OK. I tried to work on speed, but wasn't as dedicated as I should have been. Same old story.

So, here we are in March. January brought the birthday run which was 40 miles. It went pretty lousy in that I did 20 miles of PCT with Gonzo from I-8 to Mt. Laguna, but it was a miserable time. I don't know what went wrong - probably not enough drinking or salt, but I hit a major bonk and died. It took a long nap and a lot of mountain dew to get me back on the trails, but eventually I finished my 41 miles. Next year I get to tack another mile on.

What else has gone on . . . . I did a snowshoe race up in Lake Tahoe, a 10K, and came in 9th overall and first master (40+). That was pretty cool, even though it was a very small race. Snowshoe racing is fun. I can see getting very used to doing a few of those a year. When we had the big dump of snow last week, I went out for a few hours and had a ball. I may have found my "thing". Also had a great run in Joshua Tree in the snow as well.

The other fun thing is that I went and dropped some dough on a really fancy Garmin 410 with heart rate monitor. I'm pretty serious about trying to trim some time off of my runs, and the watch is a cruel taskmaster. I don't want to wear it on every run, but it became time to start being a hardass once and a while. So far, so good. I still need to learn about zone training for the heartrate stuff, but I am enjoying the graphic depictions of my runs. Now if I can just figure out what they mean. I've included some of my runs below. I've also decided that its time for more pavement speed work. I'm reading The Lore of Running, which I've renamed The Bore of Running because it is so freaking dry, which has convinced me I need to do two things - more shorter speedwork and lose weight. So I bought Training Weight, a great book about endurance athletes and weight, and am trying to eat better. So far, pretty good, but could be a lot better.

That's all for now. I'll try to post more now that I'm training again and get some pictures out. Here's my graphs for a few of my runs . . .

Rim to Rim to Rim

So someone once said why climb Mount Everest, and the answer was, "Because its there." This provides the explanation, if there is one, as to why to run the Grand Canyon rim to rim. Running from side to side of one of the natural wonders of the world is awful tempting. But why rim to rim to RIM? Well, when you are on the other side, unless you have someone willing to drive 6 hours to pick you up, you have to haul your carcass back to the other side. So Rim to Rim to Rim is a function of practicality as much as it is anything else.

When I realized I had some vacation time to burn, running Rim to Rim to Rim became a reality. I was fishing for companions, but everyone had other plans, so I knew I would be running on my own. I looked at the most popular routes down and up the canyon as I was going to be running alone and unsupported, so wanted to be assure that if I gave up along the trail that some other hiker would find my sorry carcass. There are two routes on the South Rim. The South Kaibab trail is the steeper and shorter of the two. It is also supposedly the most scenic as it traces a ridge line. The Bright Angel trail is longer with a water stop at least halfway up and more frequent depending on the season. I decided to take South Kaibab down and Bright Angel up to ensure that I saw everything on both trails. If I had to do it again, I would probably go up and down South Kaibab. Before ascending Bright Angel, you run for about 2 to 3 flat miles, which makes the climbs up to the South Rim, once they start, very similar on both trails. And Bright Angel has some pretty scenes, but no open vistas like are supposed to be on South Kaibab. Assuming you can carry enough water, and in late fall you can, South Kaibab is probably the way to go.

South Kaibab Trailhead a little after 3 AM. I had brought my camera but forgot the memory card, so all pics were taken with my cell phone. I apologize in advance for the so-so quality.

So, fast forward to last Monday at 3 AM. I was standing on the precipice of the South Kaibab trail, a 6.5 mile plunge to the bottom of the canyon. I had a pack which weighed between 5 and 10 pounds with the following:

4 20 oz. arrowhead water bottles

rain jacket

3 turkey sandwiches

2 pop tarts

ziploc of chips

24 packets of roctaine gu

mints

ipod

salt pills and Tylenol

chart of mileage, elevation, and water availability at landmarks

cash and credit card for Phantom Ranch for canteen

That seems like a lot, but I wasn't sure exactly what I would need, and there wasn't much of a safety net if things went wrong. My main concern was that I had enough food, because it would suck to get really hungry and not have enough to eat. I tried to choose as much salty food as I could knowing that I have trouble with getting salt pills down. Of course one thing I forgot was the memory card to my camera, so that meant the only pics I would have would be the ones taken with my cell phone. Oh well.

It was a little chilly as I started down the trail. It was a little after 3 AM, and I was hoping to finish by the time the sun went down between 5:30 and 6 that night. I was in a long sleeve under a short sleeve under a vest with a beenie and gloves as well as compression shorts and regular cargo hiking shorts and my new La Sportivas. The descent was fairly relentless, but went smooth for the first hour or so. It was hard to get a rhythm because of all of the wood and stone barriers that were built in the middle of the trail to divert run off. Once or twice I had to search for the trail, but no mishaps all and all. Until about 4 or 5 miles in when my light started to flicker. Uh oh. It wasn't a battery problem as the light would come back when I would wack it, but soon it would start to flicker again. And with all of this weight, I had chosen not to bring a back up light. Stupid mistake. Nervous about my light, I tried to get down to the bottom of the trail as quickly as possible. On the radio, Art Bell was talking about EVP's which are electronically recorded ghostly voices, enough to keep me focused on the trail and give me the creeps more than once. At one point, I got low enough that I could look behind me on the south rim and see the lights of the lodges up above as well as a single light on the north rim, which I have no idea what it was given the north rim lodge was closed.

Finally, I bottomed out at the black bridge over the Colorado River which I crossed relatively quickly and made my way into Phantom Ranch. This is a collection of cabins and a campground surrounding a fully powered canteen. As I ran through, the crew was up cooking breakfast, and I could smell the flapjacks and bacon cooking. Yum. I came up on a worker to ask where the water faucet was and scared the crap out of her as I'm sure she wasn't expecting anyone at 4:30 in the AM wandering around the camp. It had warmed from 35 at the trailhead to about 50 at the ranch, so I stripped off my beanie, longsleve, and gloves and stuffed them in the pack. Knowing the next water was in about 9 miles, I made sure I had 3 full bottles and headed out.

This is the view of the "black bridge" which ran over the Colorado along the South Kaibab trail. This is much later that day coming out of Phantom Ranch, looking back over Bright Angel Creek.

The next part of the run was really nice and gentle along Bright Angel Creek, even if it was gently uphill. I was still running in the dark, with the babbling of the brook calling me along. On either side of me, I could sense great cliffs climbing above me for thousands of feet. The footing on the trail was good, but my light was faltering more and more. That made me determined to try to keep my speed up and hit the south rim again before dark, as rain was supposed to hit that night, meaning an earlier sunset than usual.

The 8 or so miles from Phantom Ranch to Cottonwood Campground were gentle but with some steep rollers. It was all runnable, so I ran it, trying to take advantage of my legs while I had them. It was definitely uphill, but very gradual. After coming out of the canyon, I came out into an open boggy area as there was finally enough sun to put away my light. I could make out lots of small cottonwood and other trees with yellow leaves surrendering to the fall. Graceful, rugged red walls soared directly above me to my right, and across the creek, I saw rock walls of red, yellow, and white climbing dauntingly high, dusted with pines that looked like pins from where I stood now, but which would tower above me by the time I arrived.

At Cottonwood Campground, campers were just starting to stir. Knowing I would be coming back through there and that it was getting warm, I stashed my rain jacket and warm weather clothes as well as some gu packs behind a tree and pushed on. The mistake was not spreading them out to dry so that all my warm clothes were still wet when I would need them later.

About a mile and a half later, I was at the caretaker cabin, another water fill. This is a ranger station that used to be a private residence. The house looked fairly comfortable, and much to my surprise, even had a basketball hoop in front. Man, I can't beleive I didn't have a ball to shoot. Next time, I'm going to figure something out, even if its bringing a deflated beach ball. From here, it was still 6 or so miles to the top, so I filled all my water bottles, although the morning was still cool and gray clouds were rolling in from the north.

Oh, what a brilliant place for a hoop! And me with no basketball . . .

After the cabin, the trail started climbing in earnest, and the power hiking began. From the cabin to the top, I ran probably 10 to 20 percent of the way up as opposed to the 90 to 95 percent running I had been doing to this point. Its never super steep, but very, very steady. The winds were really strong through here, and I had to take off my hat to keep it from blowing away. I was later told that winds in the Canyon were gusting to 50 mph. I would believe it.

I was hiking quickly when I did hike and soon came to Roaring Springs, which is an incredible sight. This one spring supplies almost all the water for the north rim trails and Bright Angel Creek. The springs literally rip out of the side of the mountain and are framed, at least in Fall, by yellow and red smears of vegitation. Pushing past, I came across my first two hikers of the day who I quickly put in my rear view mirror. Past Roaring Springs, the footing on the trail got a little unsure and the fall if you tripped, precipitous. At one point, the trail actually descended to a bridge which gave a nice break to the climbing legs, but back up it went. Finally I went through a tunnel which I knew meant 2 miles to the top. By this time, I had finished Art Bell, not only the EVP's but his night of Halloween ghost stories, and was onto Jay Mohr hosting the Jim Rome show which provided for a few laughs as I grinded up the last switchbacks. The climb just seemed to go on and on, and you never felt like you were making any progress.

A fairly poor shot of Roaring Springs. You really can't appreciate how much water is just gushing out of the side of this mountain unless you see it yourself.

Finally, I saw the sign for the north rim. I walked over and touched it and saw it was 10 AM, almost on the dot. It was about an hour slower than I wanted to run it, but I also wasn't pushing at all, not only because I wanted to "enjoy" the run as much as possible, but I also wanted to make sure I had legs left for the climb out the South Rim. I turned around and headed straight back down the trail as it was cold on top and windy. Fairly anti-climatic. At this point, I had 21 miles and about 6000 feet of climbing on my legs, and I felt like it. I was ready for some downhill. After about a mile down the trail, I found a nice place to stop with a nice view of the canyon. I stopped here and ate a sandwich which I had to force down. The chips tasted good though and I had about half of the pop tart I brought. It was getting harder to take food, but I was being good about taking gels, so things were OK on the fuel front.

After about 10 minutes, I hit the trail again. Running downhill felt good, and I started to stretch my legs except the sections with the tricky footing and steep falls which I picked my way through. I ran into a few hikers coming up from Cottonwod Camp on my way down and stopped for a minute or two to answer questions about conditions, etc. At this point, I was onto my book on tape, enjoying Hemmingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls, which is about a bunch of hardasses running around the Spanish Mountains fighting the fascists. Great book. As I passed Roaring Springs, I ran into a couple who had left South Kaibab at 5 and asked to see the bottom of my shoes as they were literally following my footsteps. They were running rim to rim where a friend was picking them up. I wasn't smart enough to think of that, so I pushed on thinking about the giant climb I still had ahead of me. Fairly quickly I was at the Caretaker Cabin again where I filled up one water to get me to Phantom Ranch, again rueing my lack of basketball.

This is coming down into the only bit of uphill between the North Rim and the Caretaker Cabin. A pretty typical view of the trail which you can see stretch on for miles in front of/behind you.

After another mile and half, I was back at Cottonwood where I gathered all my cold weather gear. The ranger had found it and taken all of my gels I had left and put them in a metal box, leaving me a note that all food had to be properly stored. I thought that was a little excessive as gels seem extremely non-food like, but not a big deal. Reweighted, I headed down through the bog and into the box. At this point, the run was frankly becoming kind of a grind. It was nice to see the creek which danced jauntily over the rocks next to me, and I was awed by the sheer walls of the canyon in the box, but at the same time, I was too busy looking at my feet to make sure I didn't trip to truly enjoy the vistas, and my energy was starting to wane.

Finally, I pulled into Phantom Ranch about 1:20, a little ahead of schedule, meaning I had made up some time on the way down. At the Ranch, I took a break. I tried to use the phone down there to check in, but I wasn't smart enough to figure it out. Oh well. Inside, the canteen was bustling with people staying at the Ranch, many enjoying ice cold Tecates. I bought a lemonade and took a couple of tylenol which helped my aching feet. After sitting for about 20 minutes, it was time to head out again for the big climb back to the South Rim. On the way out, I passed 3 gorgeous mule deer, much darker and grayer than the mule deer in California.

The Silver bridge which connects Phantom Ranch to the river trail over the Colorado River.

But the climb didn't come for a while. First, I ran across the silver bridge which leads to the river trail. Then it was another rolling mile and half to the Bright Angel trail. As I turned up the trail which runs along Pipe Creek, the grade turned upwards. There were 4 or 5 trail crossings which required agile stepping or wet feet. I chose the former. The trail at this point was very runnable, but I didn't have the energy or the desire. Maybe if it were during a race, but for my purposes, I was pretty done. As I moved along, a heavy shower hit with big cold drops. It felt good as the day had warmed up into the upper 60's. As I left the creek, the climb to the south rim began in earnest. Up and up and up it went. I quickly drained my water which I had refilled at Phantom Ranch. I knew there was a refill at Indian Gardens, but it seemed never to come. In retrospect, I thought it was 4 miles from Phantom Ranch when it was 6 miles. That's what I get for not looking at the chart I had brought for this very purpose.

Spring out of the side of the canyon walls along Pipe Creek.

Finally, the trail leveled out, and Indian Gardens came, an oasis of shade trees in various colors with a peaceful brook running right through the middle. I refilled my water and headed up for the last push. I knew from here it was 4.5 very steep miles back to home base, so I prepared myself to push up 3 segments of a mile and half each. I looked at where the trail went, and all I saw was a 600 foot vertical stone wall. How the hell was I going to get past that?! Further up I saw some short switchbacks, the Devil's Corkscrew, way up by the rim. How the hell was I going to get up there?! Well, I guess I was going to find out.

As I looked back from where I came, I saw a storm obscuring the north rim and the river. Uh oh. That didn't look good. I made it up to the 3 mile resthouse, 1.5 miled past Indian Gardens, and temperatures had lowered considerably, and the winds had picked up to gusts of abot 50 mph again. After a 3 minute stop, I kept going, knowing that now I was not only racing the dark but the storm as well. I quickly lost that race as not 5 minutes after leaving the rest house I got nailed. I could see my breath as the rain hit hard. I put on my rainjacket, and quickly found it was utterly ineffective. Thanks for nothing, Sierra Designs. Within 10 minutes, I was soaked as temperatures dropped even further and the winds contined to hammer. My cold weather stuff which I had not dried earlier was worthless. Not a good combination, and I was freezing cold for my lack of foresight and crappy raingear. As I steadily climbed through switchbacks, the rain mixed with sleet. At this point, I was fairly miserable and just wanted the thing to be done, but I knew at the rate I was moving, I still had at least an hour to go. I was doing some running through here mixed with power hiking just to try to keep my temperature up. However, my legs were pretty trashed, and I occasionally found myself losing concentration and literally staggering uphill, a mistake of temperature and failing to take any food for the last hour and a half.

At the 1.5 mile house, I again ducked into the structure and took a break out of the wind, gulping down a quick gel for some energy. As soon as I stopped moving, I started shivering uncontrolably, and I was rapidly losing light, so I quickly just headed back out on the trail to finish the climb. The trail finally evened out a bit, and the rain and sleet turned to snow, making it much more bearable as I wasn't actively getting wet anymore. I was nervous as I was losing the last bit of light. I tried to open my pockets to get my flashlight, but my numb fingers weren't responding very well. I finally got it out, and it faded in and out, occasionally going out altogether for 3 or 4 seconds at a time. But above me I saw the lights of the lodges fairly close, so my spirits were raised as I staggered through slippery mud that stole 1 step for every 2 or 3 I would take. Then I struggled across a slick, icy and snowy trail, watching to make sure I didn't lose my footing. The winds hadn't abated, and I don't think was ever as cold as I was for the last mile or so of that climb.

I went through a couple of short tunnels and then there it was! Artifical lighting, I have never been so glad to see you. I stumbled up into the Bright Angel Lodge a little before 6. I looked at the thermometer outside as I walked in. 21 degrees. It had been 65 at Phantom Ranch just 4 hours and 3800 feet ago! I threw my pack down and literally laid out in front of the roaring fire they had in the lobby, stripping off as many of my wet clothes as I could take off with a clear conscience. As several well dressed patrons of the lodge walked by, they cast glances at the muddy bedraggled figure laying prostrate in front of the fireplace. A few asked what I had been doing. When I told them, most shook their heads in disbelief or disgust. Probably both.

Having warmed up, I had to then walk about a half mile to my hotel. I gathered all of the stuff not wanting to put the wet stuff back on and then headed out across the parking lot in shorts and my short sleeved shirt. Man was that ridiculously cold. I walked into my hotel room which was already warm. Oh did that feel good. Then the warm bath. Even better!

Overall, I'm glad I did it, but it wasn't as great as I thought it would be. As I was in the Canyon most of the time, you don't get the spectacular views as if you were looking over the rim. There were lots of pretty scenes inside, but the run was mostly a grind up either side of the canyon, which didn't entail much running. Good to cross off the life list, but probably not something I would do again unless someone wanted me to go with them. At the end, I just really wanted to be done. Of course, the weather had a lot to do with that.

As for how hard it was, its hard to judge because I wasn't racing and had full training weeks leading into it, but I would say it was not as hard as Jemez, but harder than most 50 milers, and it was about 5 miles less! I was pretty sore the next day and am still not ready to run 3 days later. Next goal - Doughnut Man! More on that on Saturday.

Tall Trees. Tough Trails. Jerky Owls.

My nemesis!!! Or at least he looked a lot like this . . .

Most race reports begin with something regarding the crack of dawn. However, I knew nothing about dawn on race day because I was snoring away in my hotel room as the race mercifully didn't start until 10 AM. Finally around 8 AM I woke up, ate a bunch of bananas and fruit bars and made my way to Easton for the race start. After a quick 9 AM meeting, there was some general milling about, some pancake eating, a lot of water drinking, and some last minute sitting. The weather was going to be great, high's in the mid 60's with little chance for rain. At 9:55 we enjoyed the Canadian and US national anthems, the latter played on a baritone by a runner in a trucker hat and long colorful socks. Yes, this was going to be a different race.

The view at the start. Hello, Easton!

These are all the supplies that get hauled out to the various aid stations for the race. Tell me these RD's and volunteers aren't the best!

In addition to the above, they haul out all of these drop bags to the various locations.

Warming up for the national anthem? I hope he didn't run with that thing . . .

I particularly respected the fact that the Canadian flag was mounted on a hockey stick.

I don't exactly look ready for a race, do I? More like a saunter . . .

At 10 AM we were off, headed down a long gravel road. The beginning of the run was the usual nervous chatter as each runner found their place in the pack and a little bit of rhythm. After about 2 miles, the grind began as course tilted upwards. I found myself behind my buddy Mike, which told me I was way ahead of where I should be. We chatted a lot as we transitioned from rutted fire road to the single track of Goat Peak. The climb went by relatively quickly, and before I knew it, we had hit the top. I had been thinking about the climb for weeks, and with it under my belt, I realized I could have a pretty good day because it went by a lot faster than expected.

Get out of the way! Here I come . . .

After some rolling stuff, we hit our first real aid station and a cranking downhill where I hooked up with a fellow So Cal guy from Hunnington Beach who was a complete hardass having run just about every major race you can imagine. From somewhere behind me, Mike came blazing past and up the next climb of 1500 feet to the PCT, with a quick stop at the aid station at Blowout Mtn. on the way.

Looking back somewhere around mile 20 at Cole Butte, which was at mile 10 of the course. We ran down those switchbacks, then up a similar set to get to Blowout Mountain, which was the mile 15 aid station.

Almost every race report I read of Cascade Crest lauds the PCT section of the trail, which starts about mile 16 or so, and now I understand why. It is miles and miles of mostly runnable, cushioned trail, with some rocky sections thrown in during the clear cuts. The section from Blowout Mountain to Tacoma Pass was a ball, with lots and lots of fun downhill where you could just put it in cruise control. Somewhere in this section, I heard the sound of gravel falling, and down came the cliff came rolling a pica, which is like a little rabbit, coming to stop right on the trail in front of me upside down. He quickly righted himself and stared nervously at me. Don't worry little fella. I have other things to do than mess with you. Too funny to see an animal wipe out much like I was doing all over these trails. I ended up with 3 or 4 good falls before it was all said and done.

Typical section of trail in the trees . . .

If there were no clouds, you would see Mt. Ranier. You can just see the base above the ridgeline.

Somewhere in this section, I dropped in with John, who was going for his fifth finish, and David, who was going for his fourth. I sucked information from both those guys. The conversation was flowing lightly as we pushed through the forest. Both John and David were behind their normal pace, but I still felt like I was a little faster than I had any right to be. But everyone told me to push during the first afternoon because once darkness hit, it was going to be a long slow night, and by the second dawn, you were in a series of climbs which made it difficult to gain ground. So push I did.

Where is that guy? Volunteer and/or crew looking down the trail at incoming runners at Tacoma Pass aid station. Crews do a lot of waiting, wondering when their guy or gal is going to come bursting out of the woods demanding gels and body glide.

Hey, who's that guy? Took you long enough . . .

As we talked, I realized that David was the same guy who I finished Jemez with. Ha! When you are running these things, you rarely see anyone's face, just the back of their legs if they are in front of you or just the trail if they are behind you. Anyways, he and John and I worked as a team, the three of us pushing each other along for miles and miles. I was happy to pull into Tacoma Pass where Erica was waiting with my new ultra secret weapon - Spaghetti-o's. Yes, that childhood treat that everyone loved. I have a problem getting enough salt in these races because I can't take salt pills easily, so this was my solution - cold, right out of the can. And it worked great. Packed with sodium and easy to swallow, they went right down, and I ate a whole can during the climb out of the aid station. In fact, I probably ate too much, which is difficult to do during these races. And I can say throughout the race, I had no cramping problems, although I attribute the cold weather for some of that as well.

The breakfast of champions. Somehow, I don't think that this is what they are serving the Olympic marathoners this year . . .

My initial goal was to make Meadows Mountain at Mile 41 by darkness or a little after, and I got there about 15 minutes after busting out my light. Somewhere David got a head of the group, but as I busted out of the aid station, burgeoned again by Spaghetti'0's from Erica and some soup, I knew John was behind me somewhere. I also knew per our pattern in the last 15 miles that he would spend more time in the aid station and catch up to me somewhere on the trail. Sure enough, after about 15 minutes, he came barrelling past me, and I waved him on feeling I couldn't keep his pace as the thick dark of a northwestern mountain night took hold. But about 10 minutes down the trail, I passed him back as he adjusted his pack, and we fell in to a rhythm again, not really saying anything, but at least me taking comfort from another light in the darkness.

There was lots of stumbling on rocks and some nasty stubbed toes, but generally the night moved along. I was soon at Olalie Meadows where I wished a quick hello to Scott who is the RD for White River as well as the aid station captain. Not wishing to upset my cooperating stomach by experimenting with one of his famous pirogies, I kept going over what the race director had said would be the hardest section of the course, leaving John to enjoy the hospitality of the aid station. After a very rocky downhill on the PCT, it was up on a service road. And up. And up. The RD joked that he sent us up to the top of the ski hill so we could enjoy the view, even though when we got there, it would be pitch black. Let me tell you, that hill goes on forever. Its never super steep, but steady, and everytime you think you are close to the top, it goes up and around another bend.

Over the top, I enjoyed the view of, well, nothing but pitch black as I looked straight down a ski slope. Here we go. Jemez again . . . . I had heard last year's descent was an impossible slide down. This time they routed us down some of the ski slope which was literally baby step after baby step with a steep decline, lots of loose rocks, and no trail. But then we switched over to another slope which was more runnable. As I made my way down, here came another set of lights. It was John again! Taking some strength from the company, I made my way onto a mountain bike trail with lots of broken bridges and obstacles that looked like they could dump someone into the drink pretty fast. Finally, it was out onto some paved roads, John and I running step for step towards the aid station in the distance. We finally pulled in together around 12:45 AM at mile 53. And there were Scotty and Erica! YES! Time for the halfway recoup. I was a little nervous because I was pretty trashed and everyone had said the second part of the course was harder than the first.

My vest had broken, so I quickly changed into a new one and pulled a hat over my head. Somewhere I had misplaced my longsleeve, so it was going to be a chilly night. It was probably in the low 40's at the station, and probably mid 30's up on the ridge where I was heading. Oh well, just had to keep moving. I had my gloves and hat to keep me warm. I ate a grilled cheese and Scotty handed me some "soup" that ended up being hot chocolate. Oops. Oh well, I probably wasn't going to sweat much in these conditions, so as long as it was warm, it didn't need to be salty. You just can't get upset at these races about things like the long sleeve or not having the right soup or there's a hill you didn't expect or whatever or you will mentally break down. You have to be able to just go with the flow and make the best of what's around you. If you can stay positivie, you will likely finish. That's definitely my biggest attribute at these things. Its certainly not my running ability . . .

I had planned to walk out of that aid station, but there was a little bit of downhill and some lights ahead, so I put it in granny low and started to run. John had left the aid station ahead of me, so I knew there was no chance of catching him again, and I just found my own rhythm. As it was a paved road with a bright moon, I kept my light off and made my way the best I could, proud to be running most of the section, and I even passed a few people. In fact, from this point forward, I would pass 15 or so people and only get passed by 1 person that I could remember, which is a good sign that I paced correctly. Given that I ended up finishing about 10 from the end, I have to assume at least some of those people dropped . . .

As the paved road turned to gravel and I hit the 1800 foot climb to Kachelus Ridge, I suddenly felt my head being pounded and scraped up from behind and a buffeting of wings. I screamed and started throwing my arms around. Whirling about, I saw an owl hovering a foot away, talons at the ready. What the hell?! I watched it swoop away as I hurried up the hill. I put my hand up to the back of my head, and it came away bloody from the owl attack. As I wrote earlier - what the HELL?! As if 21,000 feet of climbing over tortorous rocky trails wasn't enough, they sicked the wildlife on you as well? I thought I had prepared myself for everything the course would have to offer, but I hadn't subjected myself to any avian assaults. My bad! I laughed as I climbed up, picturing the RD with a little remote control hiding behind the bushes . . .

My noggin bearing the results of the owl attack. The talons cut straight through my hat!

Heart pumping now, I moved up the hill as quickly as I could. I saw a few lights in the distance and used them as rabbits to keep me motivated. After a long climb, I pulled into the top of the ridge at mile 60. To my surprise, David was there, and so was John! Glad to see them again, David and I pulled out and headed down the hill. After a few miles, my knees were really killing me from all the agressive downhill on the hardpacked road, and it definitely cut my pace. But David and I generally talked and pushed each other down the hill, pulling into the aid station at mile 67. I took some extra time here to get metally prepared from the aptly named "Trail from Hell", which consists of a 1/2 mile or so bushwhack along a steep hillside over fallen trees followed by an undulating rooty and rocky challenge along the shore of the lake.

John and David beat me out of the aid station thinking I was ahead and they were going to catch up as usual. I headed out on my own and hit the "trail" which was just random footsteps along a 30 degree muddy slope. I was moving slow, trying to keep to the side of the hill, climbing over downed trees and following from glow stick to glow stick when suddenly the hill gave way on me. I slid about 30 feet down the side of the hill bounding off of a few trees on the way down. Ouch. I put my flashlight in my mouth and used all 4's to climb back to where I saw the next glow stick, literally moving 2 steps forward, sliding one step back. Once I made it back, I put my ipod on to listen to Jay Mohr doing the Jim Rome Show which I had taped a few months backed and saved just for this trail, knowing I would need something to keep the spirits up. Disappointed to have lost time, but not wanting another fall, I pushed it carefully over the next few hundred yards . . .

Once I hit the actual trail, darkness was starting to fade, and I have to say that I really liked this part, probably more than others did. I love short steep climbs and technical stuff, as it suits my build. Its also much easier, I'm sure, in the early gray of the morning, which is when I was there, where you can see the obstacles ahead of you and plan the best way to assault them, as opposed to the middle of the night where you need your light to illuminate every little step. Before long, I had caught David, and I would even occasionally see John in the distance around the lakeshore. We finally pulled into the aid at Mile 73, and I was ahead of schedule, having done the trail from hell in about 2 hours and 15 minutes, or about 15 minutes faster than I planned, even with that epic fall (or fail as the case may be!).

A quick trip to the trees to answer nature's call put me way behind John and David on the long grind out of Mineral Creek, and I wouldn't see them again until the end. What I've found at these races is that I always lose ground on the long gradual climbs, and this race wasn't any different as I trailed and ulitmately lost touch with a large group going up the 7 mile, 3,000 foot climb to No Name Ridge. At mile 75, Erica was waiting with spaghettio's, and she walked up part of the trail with me, taking my cold weather clothes and getting me set for a long day still. I knew now barring disaster that I would finish, but I could sniff a PR if I could keep it going, which would be something to set a PR on this course. Unlike most ultras that start early, because this one starts at 10, I still had an entire day of running instead of being done in the morning. With that in mind, I pushed as hard as I could on the road climb, which wasn't that bad at all, if a little long. There were some nice views along the way and soon I was at the station at Mile 80. I threw down a banana pancake and some ginger ale and another new favorite, apple sauce! Brilliant idea, No Name Ridgers! I had two of those as I pushed for the Needles.

On the long climb out of Mineral Creek at about Mile 75. The slope wasn't too bad; it was just a slog.

Runners up in the distance. I could not keep up with them and got dropped. Long climbs are on my "Needs Improvement" list.

The Needles are a series of steep short climbs, maybe 1/4 mile for the shortest to 1/2 mile for the longest which are as infamous and dreaded in Cascade Crest lore as the Trail from Hell. Definitely the steepest part of the course, but as I said about the trail from Hell, I tend to do well on short steep bits as they require brute strength, which, being a big guy, I have some of. My goal was to make it through all the needles without stopping to catch my breath, and I would make it. Small mission accomplished.

View of an Alpine lake from somewhere along the Needles.

The second needle was Thorpe Mountain - and out n' back - and I was told to head up the mountain and grab a ticket to show I was there and come back. It was a 1/2 mile steep switchbacking climb that I was glad to crest. As I reached the bottom, I realized I had forgotten to grab a ticket! Oh no! Wait a minute, what's this in my pocket? Thank God, I did get a ticket. I was starting to lose it. Time to get to the finish.

The section from Thorpe to French Cabin actually went pretty quick as I powered through the 2 needles there and hit the second to last section of the course. I have to say that the Needles weren't all that bad. Yes, they are steep, but they are manageable if you have any legs left. Just one foot after the other and you are through them pretty quick.

At the Cabin I tried some bacon and quickly coughed it back up. Oops. Time to get moving and get this thing over with. I knew, barring disaster, I had a finish and likely a PR. This proved to be the most difficult part of the race for me, because knowing this, I just wanted it to be done, but I still had 12 miles and several hours of running to cover to actually get there. It made the last part of the race seem to last forever.

From the Cabin to finish was downhill with one last needle to get over pretty much right out of the aid station. From there, it was a lot of rooty downhill that seemed to take forever. I thought I would be down a lot faster than I actually was. It was fun trail, but my legs were shot, so I was struggling just to get through, and mentally, I just wanted to be done. I passed a few folks in here, but was getting frustrated as I saw time slipping away. I was so close, I didn't want to give a PR up now. Plus, I had a shot at sub-31 hours which would be great. I tried to power along as best I could. I ran into a couple of guys with a map. How far to the trailhead? 1.9 miles, they said. Great. Then, 20 minutes later, I ran into a race volunteer. How far to the trailhead? 2.5 miles, she said. Not so great. I looked at where we had to get down to, and knew that the race volunteer was correct. Oh, man. I looked at my watch. Get moving!

A particluarly smooth section of the last trail . . .

Finally getting spit out the bottom, my legs were rubbery and my stomach was rumbling, which happenned a lot during the race. It was wild in that I was stripped so raw, my stomach would rumble, I would eat a gu, and I could literally feel my body resupplying. One more cup of spaghetti-o's . . .

I told Erica that I was going to walk it in from there. It was 3:30, I was mentally fried from that last section that never seemed to end, and I had 1.5 hours to cover the last 5 miles to get sub-31. Well after eating some and walking some bumpy gravelly stuff, I felt pretty good and didn't want to go out like a chump, so picked up the pace and started "running" again, which at this point was a distorted lurching motion, kind of like Frankenstein going out for a jog. But it was faster than walking, so off I would go, literally counting down in my head, making myself run for 5 minutes on, 1 minute off. 300, 299, 298, etc. until zero when I started the whole process again. Soon I was off trails and onto pavement, which meant I was a little over a mile away. I could see the overpass that was near the finish, but it seemed like it was so far! Oh well, keep it up. 300, 299, 298 . . .

I passed a deer who was grazing next to the road just before coming back into town, and then it was up onto a trail next to the railroad tracks. I could see the finish! There were a couple of guys yelling and waving. I yelled back and started pumping my fist to myself, listening to the Clash and pushing the last 1/4 mile or so to look good for the ladies at the finish! I recognized one of these guys as Scotty as I got closer. But they were still jumping up and down, and yelling, more than I thought was warranted, but OK. Thanks guys, I guess. Just then I sensed movement over my shoulder as a runner came around to pass me. (At least it wasn't the owl!)

I don't consider myself a very competitive guy, but something deep inside me tripped and I dug into my guts to try to hold this guy off. I mean, who really cares? But I guess I did. As I turned it up a notch, I glanced over my shoulder and he was still there. Damn it, that first burst should have snapped him! I went WAY deep and found one more gear. I still have no idea where that came from, but I was able to muster just enough to keep him off, finishing with a "leap" and a fist pump. I feel like a fool now, battling for 69th place against a guy who was at least 10 years my senior and undoubtedly a better runner, but nice that I could find a little something really deep when I felt like I had to. He was a great sport and was very gracious about my idiocy when I should have just crossed the line together with him which to my mind is more in the spirit with the sport. Oh well. lesson learned, and it makes for a funny memory. About 500 yards from the finish, head down, just trying to make it in. When suddenly . . .

Ah, crap! Where did he come from. C'mon now, dig for something!

Hey, it looks like I'm actually running as I try to hold him off! Or that I'm pulling an invisible tractor . . . Whew! That was tough! Better get out of the way there, camera guy!

So final results were 30:32, a PR on any 100 mile course for me by 40 minutes (and only 5 seconds faster than the guy behind me!). This is a brutal course, much harder than Grand Teton and San Diego, not as hard as Wasatch, but comparable. There were pleny of beautiful views, supportive volunteers, and fantastic runnable territory. As the shirt said, "Tall Trees. Tough Trails". Put it on your list for a beautiful, well-0rganized, well-supported challenge.

My belt buckle. Me: "I ran 100 miles for this?" Charlie: "Why yes, yes you did". Erica looks on proudly (?) in the background. She is the best crew EVER. I recommend her to any ultra runners looking for a crew person . . .

Thanks again to Charlie the race director, all of the volunteers who helped out, Erica for being the ace crew that she always is, and to all my fellow racers who make the sport what it is. Hopefully I'll be running again by the weekend and start thinking about what's next, but right now, its all about savoring the buckle for a little while. Thanks for reading . . .

CHEERS!!

Last training . . .

Trying to squeeze in a few quality runs before Cascade Crest. On Wednesday, I did a semi-double ascent of Cowles Mtn. It was getting dark and had to bail out of going all the way down for the second ascent. Had real heavy legs still, but made it to the top in 37 min. on the first climb, so only lost about 3 min. Felt strong the second time up as well, so that was a good sign.

Friday, did a modified training loop with Anders, who is a complete hardass. For any of you dear readers that think I am crazy, Anders is training for a double in which Saturday he is running Noble Canyon, a difficult 50k in the Laguna Mountains and Sunday he is swimming a 10 mile swim. That's right, not 10K. 10 miles. He is an ultimate hardass. And he does all this while being a partner at a major firm and raising 2 twin boys in Kindergarten. Everytime you think you are a hardass . . . .

Anyways, it was good to knock out the run, although we shorted the loop as we had plans for later that night. Good to hit the trails with him and good to hit the trails at night with a light again. I forget what a difference it makes. I'll need to do a couple more night runs to keep practicing. Its a totally different world.

Saturday was trailwork where I met Larry, some ultra hardass who has been racing and directing races since the 70's. Great guy with some great stories. Sunday I did the training loop, which I ran in 3:25, only 10 min slower than when I was peaking for New Mexico. While it was slightly worrisome, I definitely was not pushing it, figuring discretion was the better part of valor for this loop. Plus, with temps in the upper 80's, it was easy to take the slow way out. But legs felt fine at the end, and I have no residual soreness today, meaning I have more in there to call on - another good sign. And saw 2 great small horned toads, which I thought I had pics of, but it didn't come out. One had a lot of red on it. They were together on the trail, each a few inches long. Very cute.

Starting to get my head around the 100 miler. My goal is just to finish and run within myself. Really looking forward to running with Pete all day on Sunday. Assuming the body holds up, I think it will be a good run, as I don't have any pressure on myself for this one. Just want to show up and get a buckle and see some sights. Lots of football on the radio as well, which always makes the time go by.

Nothing much planned for the rest of this week. I'll head out Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and Sunday for sub-2 hour runs, including a couple of night runs. Just trying to maximize rest at this point.

Time to taper?

So not much to report. Just trying to shake the rust out of my legs just in time for another taper. Did a canyon run with Gator on Monday as a shakedown and felt OK. Followed it up with a double ascent of Cowles Mountain. While my time on the ascent was only a few minutes slower, definitely was still feeling tired. I will do 2 hours tomorrow and 4 hours on Sunday, then taper it back down for the race. Ready to end my season. One more big push . . .

Back on the trails

So, I'm glad to be back on the trails. This week I went to a good friend's wedding in Minnesota, just north of Duluth. I had a great time, including a fun 18 mile kayak down the Bois Brule river. On Saturday, it was my first time back on the trails. The north shore of Lake Superior is traced by the Superior Hiking Trail, a 230 mile mostly single track that goes from Duluth to Canada. The Sawtooth Superior 100 is run on it every year.

Looking at the profile, one would think it wouldn't be that hard. But the trail is a relentless up and down, gaining and losing 200 feet at a time. As for the trail itself, it was like a 2.5 hour tire drill when one considered all the roots, rocks, holes, mud, and other obstacles. I took on a 13 or 14 mile section from north of Split Rock to Gooseberry Falls, and it was a tough grind for legs a week out from a 50 miler.

The run was entirely single track, but often you couldn't see the roots and rocks because they were overgrown with grass. I had a great time pushing up the hills as it all was entirely runnable, but it really took its toll as I tried to keep the pace as high as I could. There were several people out on the trail, and at least half of them asked me, "So, who's chasing you?" It was like some kind of cult.

Anyways, it was a little slower than I would have liked, but not too bad, and yesterday did the canyon run and felt pretty good. We'll see what I can get done today at Mission Trails. I'm building to a 4 hour run this Sunday, and then it will be tapering back to get ready for the 100 miler in 2 and a half weeks. We'll see how it goes. Its all about focusing again after my success . . . .

This was the widest section of trail I saw all day. Can you see the roots? I couldn't.

This is an old shelter where you can sit out a storm or sleep. These were scattered every few miles. The trail was excellently marked and gave great mileage posts.

This is the view of Lake Superior from one of the high vantage points. You could see some of the old lighthouses from on top.

Here's one of the waterfalls. I imagine they are much more impressive during the early Spring. As it was, it was very pretty.