Bear with me . . .

My latest adventure was the Bear, which they used to advertise as a cool autumn loop through the pines. Well, presumably because it wasn’t a loop anymore, and because it was in the mid 70’s for many of the races, at least at the start, they changed the slogan to 36 hours of indian summer. I think that’s a great moniker. The race would take me 100 miles from Logan, UT, home to the Utah State Aggies, to Fish Haven, ID, home to, presumably, fish. In the process, I would go over some 11 or 12 passes with a cumulative elevation gain of 22,000 feet as I bounced up and down between 5,000 and 9,000 feet above sea level. Sounds fun! Or not.

Erica and I flew in on Tuesday night and scouted the course on Wednesday looking at aid stations and driving those parts of the course that were on fire road to get some idea of what was in store. I could tell I had bitten off a big bite. The climbs looked steep, but the course was beautiful, littered with flaming red maples and sunshine yellow aspens. Oh, and cows. Lots and lots of cows.

Thursday was spent relaxing and organizing drop bags, which is always a chore, especially for a race like this one. From what I could tell from the weather, it was going to be in the 50’s at the start, get to the mid-70’s during the day, drop to the low 40’s at night, then back up to the mid-70’s by the time I expected to finish at around 2:30. That meant stashing food, drink, various different clothing including hat and gloves, etc. into various bags to be taken to various aid stations to account for several different scenarios. Definitely had to plan.

Coming into the race, the best case scenario goal for me was around 32:30, sort of picked randomly by UltraSignup as my “projected time”, but I didn’t feel that to be likely. I hadn’t felt great in the weeks of training leading up to the race, and I did not perform well at White River 50 about 2 months before, so I was skeptical. Additionally, I was coming off my HURT washout, so confidence was not at an all time high. I was going to be very happy with any kind of finish.

After packing the bags, we dropped them off at the race director’s trout farm. Yes, the race director owns a trout farm. How player is that? The race meeting was low key but helpful. I had already gotten a ton of great intel from Brian “Gonzo” Gonzales, a Bear veteran, who had prepped me as to where to look out for tricky turns, brutal climbs, and, most importantly for me given my past experiences (hello owl, moose and cougar), rampant wildlife. While at the race meeting, I talked to various veterans of the course who helped with additional descriptions and stories while pointing at a map that was as long as a picnic table. As a result, I never got lost. Well, almost never. But more on that later. After a quick talk with Scotty Mills’ buddy Rocket Jones, it was time to go get some rest.

After the meeting, it was dinner at Noodles and Company and then in bed by 9. I slept fairly well and was up when my alarm went off at 4:30 for the 6 AM start. Did the usual pre race ritual of shower and then lubing up everything that can be lubed. And I mean everything. Threw down a couple of bananas and a couple of pieces of cinnamon bread and drove to the start. I had a few plans for the race that I was going to enact no matter what. First, drink more Nuun and less water to try to prevent cramping which is always my bugaboo at these things. Second, take my time in the aid stations because the last few races I had missed out on filling bottles or grabbing food to try to save time. How did these changes work? Lets find out . . .

 .

 Ready for action, I guess . . .

We were milling about on a street outside a park and suddenly everyone started running. I guess someone said go. I had scouted this section and knew we had a decently steep mile of road through a nice neighborhood before hitting the trail. I wonder what the heck the people thought at 6 AM on a Friday (the race is Friday to Saturday to ensure enough volunteers as several are LDS and couldn’t volunteer on a Sunday)as a herd of headlamped runners came thundering past their door. Anyways, my thought was to go a little fast and be a little out of my league by the time I got to the single track. I am a rhythm runner, and if I can set that rhythm high enough, I can usually keep it, but if I set it too low, its very hard for me to pick it up later. I wanted to have a good tempo from the start so I pushed it some up to the singletrack at which point everyone filed in for the slog of the first climb. Like Wasatch, Cascade Crest and others, a lot of the climbing in the Bear was front loaded. In this case the course gained about 3,500 feet in the first 7 miles or so. It was a grind, and I felt like I was constantly working a little too hard as the predawn darkness gave reluctant way to the early morning, but there was a gap between me at the end of my train and the start of the next train of folks, so I was hanging in there. I was very careful to make sure I was eating every ½ hour and drinking electrolytes instead of water. Soon enough, I was over the top and got my first taste of downhill. How sweet it was! Down I flew passing tons of folks in what is my usual pattern. I am good to OK on the uphills of a mile or less and very good on downhill (at least for me), but struggle on long ups, and 
so was my usual pattern of getting passed on the long climbs and getting people back on the downs.

I guess someone said start . . . 

Running a traverse before the first aid station. You can see the trail going back along the traverse to the left. 

After bottoming out after a relatively short descent, I climbed back up to the first aid station. I was full of fire and feeling good until I heard “Hey, is that a Gator hat?” I turned and was faced with my nightmare, a Georgia Bulldog in charge of an aid station. Forced to accept his hospitality, I closely inspected everything that I took from there, rest assured and held back on my urge to throw a cup of Gatorade in his face. I did think to myself “Gators run, Bulldogs serve.” Bad karma, I know. After some good natured banter, it was off to finish the climb and then the first long downhill. Below me was a field of yellows and reds, but I would go even further down than I could see, down, down, down for miles, almost back to the starting elevation.  I made great time through here. At one of the turns, two guys went straight and I called to them so they came back. Near miss for those guys or they could have been in Ogden.

At the top of the fist climb. Finally. 

We would descend all the way to the red trees in the valley, and that would be only about 1/3 of the trip down. 

And down we kept going, down into the bottom of that valley. 

The course markings for the day were, frankly, adequate, no more, but no less. It would have been nice to see a few more ribbons on long stretches, but the turns were well marked as long as you were paying moderate attention. Finally, after a long downhill, I saw a sign saying ½ mile to the aid station. I looked at my chart. I was about an hour ahead of my best projected time. Uh oh. I turned to the guy next to me and asked what his best goal was. 28 hours. I turned to the guy on the other side of me and asked his goal. Under 30. Double uh oh. I meant to go out fast but not this fast. Hmmmm.

As I pulled in to the aid, I saw Erica just pulling up. “Deeser!” I yelled. She looked up and shot me a glance and a gesture, clearly good naturedly annoyed (is that an oxymoron?) that I was so far ahead of schedule. I just shrugged. What are you going to do? She got me fueled with my new secret weapon – cold applesauce. I’m telling you, when in doubt, it goes down easy, and now that they sell it in pouches, it is easy to carry and eat. After that and some cold spaghettios, I was off. Wait a minute, what was that on the aid station table? I accosted some terrified looking 8 year old kid. “Is that up for grabs?” I guess so, he stammered, and I was off with my prize, an Egg McMuffin. The next section was a wide dirt road that I used to try to get my nutrition and hydration dialed in eating half the McMuffin and running some then walking some as it gradually climbed. I got dusted pretty good by some hick hunters driving as fast as they could on the dirt roads clearly annoyed and bemused by the runners on their trails. Thanks guys.

In the aid station at mile 19, Leatham Hollow, apparently not enjoying what I'm eating. 

Buffet line. The kid with the hat is about to get poached . . . 

Me and my McMuffin heading up the road to Richard's Hollow. 

Then it was through the next aid 3 miles later and then up a beautiful singletrack climb. It was really steep at first, and I quickly got dropped by the people around me, but I found my rhythm soon enough and kept slugging away. It flattened out at the top and I did some running in here through beautiful meadows bisected by rock formations and streams. The day was warm but not bad as we gained elevation, and it felt good to be in real mountains. By now the pack had spread out, and I only occasionally saw another runner either passing me or as I passed them. From this point on, I would say I stayed in my place in the race pretty much to the very end, as I got passed by a few folks but also did some passing myself.

The views didn't suck. 

After the crest of the climb, I got to a downhill road and again took off and was “flying” (that’s relative in 100 miler terms). I was having a problem, though, as I could feel giant blood blisters under both big toenails and it was making me tentative. Crap. As I rounded the corner, I could see the aid station about a mile below. Distracted, I looked up and kicked a rock. OW! OW! OW! I pinwheeled my arms to keep from falling. That was the worst. My entire upperbody – back, lats, triceps – seized into cramps. Fortunately, kicking the rock broke the worst of the blood blisters under my nail, and I looked down to see a giant red spot on the top of my shoe. Gross, but it meant that I could put more pressure on that foot again. OK, good trade off. After walking off the cramps and the initial pain for a few minutes, I got back in the groove and made it down to the aid, even further ahead of my projected schedule.

Coming down the road to Cowley Canyon aid, about mile 29 or so, after the great bloodletting. What a relief. You can see the trail we go out on to the right as we climb over the ridge here. 

We had to dodge ATV's most of the race, but the vast majority were nice and shared the road. Here come two now . . . 

This pattern continued over the next few climbs and descents as I was able to keep things together.  The climb out of Cowley Canyon aid seemed to take longer than I thought it would, but I absolutely crushed the descent, passing a big group of folks. Coming into the next aid at Right Hand Fork, I sat for a moment, and saw a guy drinking a PBR. By now, at mile 37 or so, it was pretty hot, maybe upper 70’s. I asked the guy if he had half a beer for a poor forlorn runner. He got this giant grin on this face and ran to his car to get me a cold one. (If you haven’t guessed by now, nutrition is not my long suit). Man, did that beer taste good. He was high fiving me and laughing telling all his friends about the 100 miler that drank his beer. Between that and the kid with the Egg McMuffin, I think I left my mark. Dipping my hat in the cold creek, I was off again up another climb and down to Temple Fork. The descent into Temple Fork was maybe my favorite 2 or 3 miles of the race. There was a section on single track where you ran next to this rushing brook as you wound through narrow canyon walls dotted with grasses and trees of every color. Remarkable.

Shots from the descent. You may get tired of the colors, but I didn't. 

And down by the creek and almost to the aid station. 

Now THIS is an aid station. PBR and apple sauce. The next big thing. 

Coming into Temple Fork, it was 5 PM and again, I had made up time. I had heard horror stories about this climb though, so I took some time to get my night gear ready and headed out. My goal was to get to the top before I had to turn on my light. This section was a grind, but Gonzo had forewarned me, so even though it took over 2 hours, I was ready for it and it never seemed ridiculous. Well, maybe one section. It helped that the BYU game kicked off so I had football on the radio. That would get me through the next 3 to 4 hours.

Getting my grub on before Tony Grove. It was supposed to get cold so I grabbed my vest and tucked my jacket away. I didn't really need either, at least not for the climb. 

Up and away. I'd like to tell you that the trail moderated after the start of this climb. I'd like to, but . . . 

As night settled in, I got to Tony Grove about 7:30 or so, not having needed my light (YES!). At this point, 2/3 of the climbing was over, so I felt pretty confident about a finish, having about 22 hours to cover the last 50 miles. As I sat in the chair, I started coughing up green superballs from all the dust I had inhaled. Except they weren’t superballs this time but strange cylindrical shapes. As I was racked with coughs I could feel something else coming. Uh oh. As Deese was coming up to hand me something, I put both hands up as a warning and RALPH! Up came my ginger ale that I had just drank. I sat in my chair with about a minute or two of dry heaves. I’m sure I was quite the sight. With that out of the way, I started on my night staple, chicken soup, taking a cup for the road, and I was up and out, not to see Deeser again until the AM.

Tony Grove Lake. Nice and pretty until someone had to ruin it by barfing all over the place. 

The night sections all blended together somewhat as I got more and more tired. Trudge, trudge, lurching descent, chicken soup, repeat.  I was still way ahead of schedule, and in fact for a while had dreams of a sub 30 hour finish which gets you a different belt buckle (yes, you get belt buckles as medals), but could not keep up my pace. I remember the climb to Steam Mill being excruciating. At one point, the group I was with saw a bunch of people way up the wrong trail and we had to call them back. Another near miss. The night marking again was adequate, not great but not bad. I did really like the reflectors they used as opposed to glow sticks. You could pick them up from a long way off and didn’t have to worry about them running out of power. There was only one turn that I almost missed, but a little thought about it and I made the right choice, finding the ribbon soon after the split. The night sections seemed to last and last and last. I remember thinking the Steam Mill descent was more of a flat, and that flat had tons of cows who didn’t like having the light shone on them. Too bad cows. I remember the section from Franklin (or was it Logan River) to the ski lodge not being too bad except when I went to my book on tape, it wasn’t there. All I had were old Petros and Money show podcasts. There is very little more surreal than trapsing though the Utah wilderness at 4 AM listening to two guys argue about what cartoon girl they would want to have sex with. Odd. But they were funny and kept me moving. I also remember some guy with a green headlamp laying literally face first in the dirt with his pacer assuring me he was just taking a power nap. I really wanted to take a picture, but felt it was disrespectful so moved on.

At Beaver Lodge, the aid station was indoors, and I used an indoor toilet. What a blessing. It’s the little things. I also sat and sullenly licked pudding out of a cup until someone came and brought me a spoon. I’m sure I was grossing people out, but I was too tired to get up and get one myself. Apparently I looked pitiful enough that some aid station worker, clearly tired of looking at me, brought me one. As I stumbled out of there, I realized that 30 hours was probably gone, but I was still way, way ahead of things, so was just determined to keep pounding. For some reason, the next sections seemed to take forever. I got into Gibson Basin about 6:30 or so, crossing from Utah into Idaho. Hooray! I made a quick stop there, and as I headed out, it started to lightly snow. WTF? I had on a hat and gloves but from 75 to light snow? It stopped after about 5 or 10 minutes, but the gray skies lingered, which was a nice shelter from the sun. As it became lighter I headed down to Beaver Creek, still an hour or so ahead of my projected time. No Deeser as I was too fast, but took off my night stuff, including my lights, jacket, hat, gloves, etc. and put on my finishing shirt. From Stone Brewery, it says “I didn’t run this far to drink yellow fizzy beer.” Amen.

More leaves. Ho hum. We see this every day in San Diego. Or not. 

The scene at Beaver Creek . . . 

The second to last climb was fairly mild and went quickly. I wish I had some legs for it, but now was just grinding away at a finish. Even my downhilling had become a lurching stumble. Everything was relatively together, but I was just too fatigued and sore from a too fast start to really be able to do anything. Well at least I had my Jay Mohr/Jim Rome podcasts. Turned them on, “Battery Low”, and off they went after just an hour. DAMMIT! Well, just keep grinding .  .  .

Coming down to the last aid station, about ½ mile out, there was the Deeser to walk me in. THANK YOU! If you don’t run these things, you have no idea who good it feels to see a friendly face in the middle of nowhere as you are struggling to survive. I looked at the time and had a VERY outside shot at sub-31 if I could do a quick station change. (As an aside, I succeeded in my goals of taking my time at stations. WAY too much time. My night station times were all 15 min or more with one exception. Next time, I need to find a happy medium, although a lot of that time was spent checking maps and directions as I was paranoid about getting lost. Hopefully, I will be comfortable at the next race and pare that down.) So I busted through my station. Now I had my ipod with my music. Went to put that on. “Low Battery”. AGAIN?! Well, at least I had my radio. Where was it? Oh yeah, I gave it to Erica to lighten my load. That also had my clock, so now I would have no idea about how I was doing time wise either or how far I had to go. As Nap Dynamite would say (from nearby Preston, Idaho), Idiot. (Another aside: when Uncle Rico says “I could throw a football over them mountains,” he was talking about the very mountains I was running in! I kept making jokes to myself in my head as I was running about looking up to see a football go flying over me. Yes, I was very tired, but it kept me amused. Thanks, Uncle Rico!)

Here I come . . . 

And there I go . . . 

The climb out of the last aid station, called Ranger Dip, has a nasty reputation, and it is well earned, climbing some 700 feet or so in about 2/3 of a mile. Murder at mile 92.5. But I do well at these short steep pushes, and did a “Gonzo” – slow and steady, no stopping – and passed about 5 people on the climb who had stopped or were taking breaks. At the top, I saw someone motoring to catch me. Wow! Turned out it was a pacer. Striking up a conversation at the top, it was Jeff Huff, one of the RD’s of HURT, and the same guy who tried to nurse me through his aid station at the falls not 9 months ago. Small world. We shared a story and a few laughs at the top which were a huge boost, then he and his charge, who had caught up to me on the downhill, were off like bunnies.

I was cooked. I tried lurching ahead, but I really didn’t have much left either physically or mentally. After what seemed like forever, I finally got a view of the lake. Man, it was still so far away and so far down! How were we ever going to get there? I soon had my answer as the trail went down. Straight down. Loose and straight down. For a LOOOOONG way. OK then. Off I went at my best speed just chugging along as best I could. It had gotten really hot as the grey had burned off, and I was drinking, but the heat had sapped what little desire and energy I had left.

Finally we came out to a parking lot, then up one more climb that looked a lot worse than it was to a water tower and then down to the final road. There was no one ahead of me to catch and no one behind me to catch me. There was no way to get 31 hours, so there was no time goal to chase. This is where the tough get going as true character comes when you perform when it doesn’t really matter and no one is watching. So I promptly began to walk. Pathetic. Embarrassingly, I walked most of it in from there, about a mile or so, running a few steps here or there until the last quarter mile at which point the emotion of the moment took over and I grew a pair and ran it in to the finish. The clock stopped at 31:11, good for 96 out of 260 entrants and some 170 finishers. My best result in terms of where I finished in the pack so far, and over an hour and 15 minutes faster than what I thought my best projected time to be, so a lot to be proud of.

At least they were welcoming at the finish line . . .

Here I come at last. That one little girl is awful excited to see me. 

Does that even count as running? I guess so. I look pretty tired. I can't believe I didn't pose with my beer shirt at the finish with a stone beer in my hand. I won't make that same mistake again. 

But a lot to improve. Bad form in the last couple of miles not finishing stronger. Faster times through the night aid stations. Better climbing on the long slogs. Better use of my entire leg when I run as my calves were really sore the next day, but the quads and hamstrings not so much. And check your music and charge your batteries! So, overall, a great success with lots of ways to get better.  Today, three days later, I’m still hobbling and my feet are too swollen to get into shoes, but that’s relatively par for the course. I will hopefully get in a few miles this weekend and then start thinking about fun adventure runs for the Fall and Winter to keep me focused on training into the Spring when I’ll ramp it up again. HUGE HUGE thanks to Erica who is an absolute rock for me out there. Listening to her tell goofy stories about dogs at the aid stations while I wolf down whatever treat she has prepared gives me strength she’ll never even know about. She spends hours and hours waiting (or in this case not waiting) for me to come in for 5 minutes, and then drives to the next station to do it again. Deeser, you are the best. Big thanks to Gonzo for the intel and to Gonzo and Mary for the psych up video that made me laugh every time I thought of it and to everyone else who wished me luck, spent some time on the trails training with me, or sent a few good wishes and thoughts my way. I needed every one of them and all of you to achieve this.  Until next time, cheers and thanks for reading!

 CHEERS!

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.