Race Report: Leadville Trail 100

I don't want to say that Leadville was the culmination of my years as an ultra runner, partly because I think I can run it faster and partly because that sounds kind of final and I'd like to think that I still have a few good races left in me.  But it certainly feels like an apex of sorts, and I think marked the beginning of a new phase of my running career.  Ultrarunning may have been an inevitable destination for me; at every stage of my life as a runner, I've always gravitated towards, and found the most success at, the longer distances.  But the move to the 100-mile distance was by no means a given.  I can still remember, having already completed multiple 50Ks, telling a friend that he was crazy for running the 40-mile Mount Mitchell Challenge (a race I've since run three times).  Mike Siudy still reminds me frequently that I swore I'd never run 100 miles.  And even once I had decided that a 100 was probably in my future, the idea of running Leadville--one of the original Grand Slam 100s, with nearly 16,000 feet of climbing at an elevation between 9,200 and 12,600 feet above sea level--seemed ludicrous.  (I can recall thinking that Leadville finisher Ken Posner was insane...though I still think that's true about anyone who voluntarily runs Badwater, let alone a double.)  Having completed, with some modicum of success, a race that previously scared the crap out of me does remove some sort of self-imposed limitation that may have constrained me in the past.  There are still going to be races I have no interest in doing, but the idea of a mountain 100 is no longer a daunting, impossible prospect.

I flew into Denver nine days before the race and caught a ride out to Leadville with Josh Sprague, the owner of Orange Mud, one of my wonderful sponsors, who was attempting to complete the Leadman (all of the Leadville Race Series MTB and running races in the same summer).  I was in for a bit of a shock.  While I knew I wouldn't have any hope of sticking with most of the high-country natives in a running race, I had been fairly diligent about my acclimatization, and I certainly did not expect to be short of breath climbing the single flight of stairs in the house I'd rented.  Alas, such is life at 10,150 feet.

I spent Friday, my first full day in town, helping Josh and a bunch of other OM athletes at the expo for the 100-mile MTB race that would take place the next day.  I headed out for a shakeout hourlong jog that evening before dinner to get my bearings and see how much the altitude was really going to affect me.  The answer: quite a bit!  I ran a 7-mile section of the Mineral Belt Trail, a paved bike loop around town that passes many of the abandoned silver mines from Leadville's 19th-century heyday.  I soon realized that it would be very tough to run under 9-10 minutes/mile on even gentle uphill grades.  Flat stretches seemed generally OK, though, once I got used to the sensation of breathing much more rapidly, and taking more frequent deep breaths, than at sea level.

Saturday was mountain bike race day; I took Josh's truck out to Twin Lakes, the main aid station and crew access at the 40- and 60-mile marks of the out-and-back course.  I'd never crewed a bike race before, so I took my cues from fellow OM athlete Kristen King, who was supporting her husband Jesse.  The crew station was a very cool scene, like an ultra aid station on steroids.  There were dozens of pop-up tents set up on either side of the dirt road spanning the Twin Lake dam that the riders would traverse.  With 1500 racers coming through at 20-30 mph, it was a madhouse trying to pick an individual rider out of the crowd.  Somehow it worked, though, and the racers managed to find their crews, fix mechanical issues, take care of their nutritional needs, and everything else familiar to a regular ultra race.  Watching the leaders blast through in either direction was impressive; they did not stop at all, and seemed to maintain an insane pace and effort level throughout the day.

After seeing Josh and Jesse successfully through, I drove a few miles into the town of Twin Lakes (such as it is), where the run course would pass through a week later (the bike and run courses share similar trails, but parallel each other for long stretches, and the major climbs are quite different).  As it turns out, I parked the car in basically the exact spot where my crew would set up their Hypoxico tent one week later and undertook a reconnaissance run/hike of Hope Pass, the biggest climb in the race.  This section starts at about mile 39 at Twin Lakes and traverses a flat field for about a mile, crossing the Roaring Fork River at the low point of the course (9200') and then embarking a a 4-mile climb to the top of Hope Pass (12,600').  The race drops down the far side of the climb and continues about five miles to the turnaround point at Winfield, but I scouted only the initial climb on the north slope.  With my collapsable trekking poles I actually found the climb to be fairly reasonable, and was able to maintain about an 18:00 pace despite not pushing very hard on the way up.  The descent started off a bit technical, but after I got back below the treeline I found it to be very runnable and enjoyed it thoroughly.  In all I round-tripped the 10+ miles in a bit under three hours and felt really good about it; a huge confidence boost for the following week.

That confidence mostly vanished the following day when, with Brian's encouragement, I decided to jump into the Leadville 10K, which would give me a taste of the first and last 5K of the full course.  The first three miles were a barely interrupted downhill on mostly wide dirt roads; I struggled to keep my breathing under control and hung on to the back of the top 10, hitting the turnaround in about 20 minutes flat.  The return was pure, lung-searing torture;  I staggered home with a second half of 24:30 for a 16th-place finish in 44:55--somehow under my goal of 45:00, but severely shaken at how hard the uphill had been.  I was cheered a bit by the realization that Brian's time in 2013 had been only a few seconds faster, when he had gone on to run 22 hours for the 100; if I could pull that off, I'd be pretty pleased.

The girls! (I like trains.)

I did very minimal running the rest of the week.  Jodi, the girls, and my parents arrived late Tuesday night, along with Brian's girlfriend Kali.  We spent Wednesday morning on a very low-key whitewater rafting trip on the Arkansas River, and the afternoon on a scenic ride on the historic Leadville, Colorado, and Southern Railroad (which I enjoyed immensely).  Brian and his sister Katie arrived Thursday afternoon, just in time for Brian to place second in the Leadville Beer Mile (while dressed as a squirrel) in a very impressive high-altitude 8:25.  Friday was very low-key; I spent most of the morning hanging out with Brian and Dylan at the Hypoxico tent, and spent the afternoon readying gear and putting the crew plan together with Brian, Kali, Katie, and Kevin, who joined us that evening after some business meetings in Denver.  At this point we had ten people crammed into our very cozy rental, trying to grab a few hours of sleep before the 4am start.

At race check-in, with LT100 founder Ken Chlouber

I actually slept fairly well and felt good as we walked the 3/4 mile from our house to the starting line; I was a little nervous but mostly excited and chomping at the bit to get started.  I had a stated goal of 20 hours, but in reality this was mostly a pipe dream, and I knew even with a great day and great weather this was unlikely.  I mostly wanted to just make sure not to do anything stupid and be able to run strong over the latter stages of the race.  I knew the opening miles would be fast and I'd have to keep myself under control.  I was hoping to reach Outward Bound (23.5 miles, the first time I'd see my crew) in about 4 hours, to reach Twin Lakes (39-ish miles) in under 7 hours, at to reach Winfield in under 10 hours.  A 20-hour day would actually take about a 9:30 split into Winfield, which I thought was possible given how well I had climbed Hope Pass the week before, but more than chasing a specific split, I was determined not to burn myself out too early.  The benefits of a controlled start are pretty obvious, and any successful ultra I've had has always come as a result of starting out slower than I think I should, but the best of intentions are often waylaid in the heat of a race, especially a long one where the opening miles feel much easier than expected.  Only a few days before, though, I'd read a nice article from David Roche about starting races slowly.  It wasn't anything earth-shattering (though it was well-written and spot-on, as all of Dave's articles are), but it had come along at exactly the right time for me to be reminded about the benefits of a nice, easy start, and as we headed down those fast pre-dawn miles, I kept my pace well in check.

It was dark, but there were so many runners around me that I didn't even need to turn on my headlamp.  We reached the bottom of the initial drop and traversed a nice flat 1.5 miles or so of pavement before we reached the rolling singletrack that circled the north and west shores of Turquoise Lake.  I tucked myself in the middle of a single-file line of seven or eight runners, running a very relaxed pace, but after awhile I got tired of hearing one of them talk loudly about himself to anyone who would listen  and took off, settling onto the back of a pack of much quieter runners as we reached May Queen, the first aid station at 12.5 miles, in about 2:05.  It was still nice and cool, and I was feeling very comfortable with a full bottle and several gels in my OM Single Barrel Hydraquiver, so I ran straight through the aid station and the thick, accompanying crowds and headed towards the first major climb of the day.

Arriving at Outward Bound, 24 miles in. photo: Joe Azze

After a few gradually uphill miles through some tricky singletrack, we popped out on a dirt road and began a steady uphill grind to Sugarloaf Pass, a little over 11,000 feet.  I picked up a few spots, but not many.  I was determined not to race this early, and used my breathing as a proxy for effort; anytime I felt my breathing pattern increase, I eased off the pace.  After cresting the hill the course dropped precipitously over the next several miles down what would be known as the Powerline climb on the return trip; I focused on trying not to trash my legs and just get down with minimal effort.  At the bottom of the climb we turned onto a rolling rural highway for a two-mile stretch to the Outward Bound aid station.  I suffered my first mild down period on this section, moving steadily but slowly, and feeling as if a faster past was well beyond my capabilities.  But seeing my crew at the aid station, along with Elizabeth Azze (there to crew a client), and my parents, lifted my spirits, as did the fact that I had exactly met my target split of four hours (I mean exactly--like, to the minute).  Brian and Katie fueled me up with GU and Coke, and after about half a mile of easy jogging I started feeling good and found a nice rhythm over the next several flat/gently uphill miles.

Enjoying a bit of rain. photo: Leadville Race Series

I fueled well and ran well over the next few hours, moving quickly through aid stations, listening to music, enjoying the scenery, and just letting the miles pass.  I had been dreading the climb on the lower slopes of Mount Elbert but I didn't even notice it.  I traded places with a few other runners but did not worry about it at all, just monitoring my effort level and cruising along.  A steady rain started, but as I was about to start getting too wet to stay comfortable, the rain stopped, the sun came out, and I dried off immediately.  Before I knew it I was descending from Mount Elbert towards Twin Lakes and my main crew station.  Again on the descent, I suffered a bit of a bad patch; this would become a theme most of the day, as my climbs were insanely strong all day long but I struggled to find a good rhythm on the downhills.  But once again I was re-energized by my amazing crew.  Katie swapped out my hat and pack (I wanted a little extra carrying capacity and fluids for the Hope Pass section); I pounded a full can of Coke and a couple of GU Roctane gels, grabbed my poles, and headed off toward the pass.

Heading towards Hope Pass photo: Joe Azze

I crossed the river and started the climb, falling into a strong power hike, and I immediately started passing people.  And I mean, passing them like they were standing still.  I was trying not to get too fired up, but it was hard to keep the emotions and the pace under control, feeling this strong and having this much positive feedback.  The climb seemed to pass in an instant and I reached the aid station, located about half a mile from the summit.  The enthusiastic volunteers refilled my bottles as I kept hiking, then ran them back out to me; I never broke stride, just smiled at the llamas grazing on the mountainside slopes (so that's how they got supplies up here! Llama train!) and pressed on to the top.  Less than five minutes down the far side, I passed Rob Krar, the race leader, already nearing the top on the return trip, hiking purposefully, without a pacer and with about a 20-minute lead.

Crossing the Roaring Fork photo: Leadville Race Series

The descent was much steeper than the northern side, and I picked my way down slowly, surrendering a spot or two, but I felt generally OK as I neared the halfway mark.  However, I hit a real down period on the three-mile rolling trail that stretched from the bottom of the descent to the turnaround at the Winfield aid station.  This section was much longer than I had anticipated, and my energy levels dipped precipitously.  I ate a gel, but it wasn't enough, and when I reached Brian at halfway I may have been at my lowest point all day.  Still, though, I was in good shape, exactly 10 hours in; I had moved up about 15 places since leaving Twin Lakes, and 21 hours was still a possibility.  I sat for the first time all day, eating some noodle soup, bananas, and Coke.  After a few minutes we made our way back out on the trail.  It took a few minutes of walking for me to get my legs back under me, but once the calories kicked in I started moving pretty well again, and we picked up a couple more folks as we approached the return climb.

Return climb on Hope Pass photo: Brian Oestrike

Once we hit the climb I locked in my poles again and started hiking like a madman.  We caught three people in the first few minutes and I was not about to slow down.  Fortunately Brian recognized that the effort was not sustainable.  He gently took the lead and slowed the pace down enough for my breathing and heart rate to get back under control.  We were still making up ground, but at a much more manageable rate.  I flagged a bit as we neared the top and the climbing got very steep, but we had picked up another seven spots by the time we reached the top.  I jogged the first several minutes from the summit very cautiously before settling into a better rhythm just beyond the aid station.  The upper slopes were not particularly enjoyable, and I surrendered a few spots here.  But in the last two miles of the descent I hit my stride (despite one rather loud and unpleasant fall, which miraculously did not result in any injuries) and arrived back at Twin Lakes tired but happy that Hope Pass was behind me for the day.  Here I took the longest break of the day, sitting in a chair while Kevin dried my feet and changed my socks (thanks buddy, sorry to put you through that) and crushing a PBJ and more Coke.  By the time Brian and I headed back on the trail I was feeling pretty good again with just over 40 miles to go.

Kali has a frightening encounter with the Pacer Squirrel. photo: Katie Oestrike

I was once again probably overly aggressive on the climb up to the Mount Elbert aid station, passing several folks and getting myself into a bit of an energy deficit that I paid for a few miles later.  Brian was able to do a nice job of steadying my effort level and getting the pace to be much more consistent over the next several miles.  I went through another down patch from miles 68 to about 74, but my spirits were revived by my crew at a brief stop at the Tree Line aid station, when Kevin burst out of the woods in full squirrel gear.  Brian and I covered the last few miles back to Outward Bound (mile 77) at a nice clip, recovering a couple of spots, and I was happy to have the whole crew, including my parents, Jodi, and the girls, meet me there.  After changing into a long sleeve shirt and powering on my headlamp, I started the next section with Kali along as pacer #2.

We ran very comfortably on the road section for a couple of miles but unfortunately missed the turn (along with a few other runners) off the road and added on about 3/4 of a mile with that mistake.  However once we found the trail and started the Powerline climb I was moving well again.  Having been warned by Brian, Kali kept me in check, and for once I didn't give back any spots on the way down, in fact picking up another place or two in the last mile before reaching May Queen, slightly more than 12 miles to go.

I had left Outward Bound with what I thought was an outside chance to break 22 hours, but our missed turn, which had cost us probably ten minutes, had wiped that out.  As I left May Queen with Kevin, my last pacer, I needed to run the last 12.5 miles in under 3 hours to break 23:00.  This was not a guarantee; I remembered all too well the final 3 miles of the 10K the week before, which climbed almost 500 feet--not an insurmountable grade, but one that I though likely would reduce me to a walk at this stage.  Twenty-minute miles were not out of the question.  I figured I needed to reach the base of the climb with an hour to spare in order for a sub-23 to be relatively safe.

I got quite cold leaving May Queen, and Kevin and I took a few minutes to get going while I put on my winter beanie and my Patagonia Houdini jacket.  A few minutes later it started to rain, and it rained fairly hard for the next ten minutes or so.  We covered the first few miles at 13-minute pace, walking in a few spots, but I started to find my rhythm on the north side of the lake and settled into the 12:00/mile range.  Kevin was very aggressive about pushing my calories and fluids, making sure I didn't neglect any needs, and as we hit the road section leading from the lake to the climb I actually felt very strong, pushing the pace down near 10:00/mile.  We hiked the first minute or so of the uphill, strewn with ruts and loose rock, but as we reached the graded dirt road, the slope eased off, and I found maintaining an 11:00/mile jog was pretty easy.  We walked for about 4-5 minutes with about two miles to go, partly to ensure we'd finish strong and I think partly to savor the moment.  Before I knew it we were back on 6th street in Leadville, with the finish line stretched out before us in the distance.

Jodi and my dad were at the finish, along with Katie, Brian, and Kali (the kids were mercifully asleep back at the house with my mom).  I was struck in that moment at how far they had all come and what they had sacrificed to get me to this point, and I broke down in the medical tent afterwards, overwhelmed by gratitude and so happy to have them all there with me.  Safe to say this experience will stay with me for quite some time.  The race was incredible: the organization, the trail, the scenery, the competition, and the time I was able to share with my family and friends out on this course.  Leadville truly is one of the greatest US trail races, and I hope to be back many times again.

Gear
Salomon Sense Ultra and Agile shirt
Injinji Ultra No-show socks
Patagonia Stride Pro shorts
Black Diamond Distance Z trekking poles
Orange Mud Single Barrel Hydraquiver, miles 0-40 and 60-100 (also used an old-school Ultimate Direction AK vest for Hope Pass)
GU Roctane and gels, mostly Birthday Cake, that's just delicious
Orange Mud trucker cap and beanie (also used my GU five panel crusher for Hope Pass)
Petzl Reactik + headlamp

Early summer recap: Western States pacing and altitude training

Coming from sea level, my primary concern as I prepped for Leadville this summer--other than, you know, getting in shape--was how I would survive a 100 mile race that takes place entirely above 9000 feet.  Fortunately I happen to live about three miles from the CEO of Hypoxico, the world leader in altitude training systems.  Brian came by the house in mid-June with a generator, tent, and a mask/reservoir system for the treadmill, which was exciting but also increased my apprehension quite a bit.  Before I started on my acclimatization, though, there was another matter to attend to: a little race I like to call WESTERN STATES.

This was my third time making the trip to Squaw Valley for States.  My first was in 2005, the first ultra I'd ever been to.  I had spent some time in 2004 working at the Yosemite Medical Clinic in Yosemite Valley, where my main supervisor was Gary Towle, a WS100 board member.  He convinced me to be a medical volunteer at States the following summer, where I got to witness Jurek's final, dominating win; the experience is basically what turned me into an ultrarunner.  I went back in 2014 to crew and pace for my good friend, Salomon athlete Glen Redpath.  This year, the circle was completed.  Glen is the one who had introduced me to Brian almost five years ago, before Brian moved to New Paltz; now I'd be pacing my training partner over the same twenty-mile stretch I had run with Glen four years earlier.

Brian ready to go at the start.

I made it to Squaw on Thursday afternoon and did a brief 30-minute jog before meeting Brian and his friend Kyle for dinner.  Friday was a busy day.  First, Kyle and I jumped into the Altra Uphill Challenge, a 6K climb on the opening miles of the WS100 course.  I had not yet started any acclimatization, so I knew I'd be suffering from the altitude, which started at about 6500' and climbed to nearly 9000' at the finish.  And suffer I did.  I started off a bit too aggressively over the first half mile, and started to leak places past the mile mark.  But overall I felt much better than I had four years ago; despite temps in the upper 80s, the lack of humidity had me feeling pretty good, and I held on for a top-20 finish in 36:45, nearly three full minutes faster than I'd run in 2014--a nice confidence boost heading into my altitude training.  After a shower and lunch, we headed over to the mandatory pre-race meeting.  Then I was able to grab the great Eric Schranz of Ultrarunnerpodcast.com for an interview for the Pain Cave.  Then we had a race-strategy chat with DBo, our third crew member/pacer, before Kyle and I drove into Tahoe to pick up some last minute supplies for race day.

Hydrating at Michigan Bluff

Race morning was clear and cool, but the heat promised us later in the day ultimately did not disappoint.  Kyle and I saw Brian off at 4:00am and immediately headed out to Duncan Canyon, the 24-mile mark.  Brian came through in slightly over four hours, looking pretty strong; after a brief stop during which we loaded him up with fluids and ice, he took off to meet DBo at Robinson Flat (30 miles) while Kyle and I drove ahead to Dusty Corners (mile 38).  By this point the day had really started to heat up; despite the low humidity, temperatures in the high 90s/low 100s are not conducive to distance running, and Brian looked a bit worse for the wear when he passed through a few hours later.  He headed into the infamous canyons section of the course and the heat of the day, and we headed off to rendezvous with DBo at Michigan Bluff (mile 55).

We had a nervous couple of hours where Brian stopped showing up on the race tracking, wondering if he had dropped, but eventually he got back on track and came through looking reasonably well.  The heat had become challenging, and his stomach was not cooperating, but Dylan got him on track drinking more GU Roctane and he picked up the pace heading into Foresthill (mile 62) where DBo picked him up to pace the next 18 miles.  The two of them moved well down Cal Street and had moved up over ten spots by the time I met them climbing up from the American River on the way to Green Gate at mile 80.

Late night, Placer High School track.

By this time the had started to drop into the mid-80s, and I thought we might really start to hammer.  But Brian's stomach was still causing issues, keeping him from taking in anything but liquid calories and necessitating a brief puking spell at around 83 miles.  We kept pounding Coke and Roctane and struggled through to the 90-mile aid station.  Brian was able to move fairly well on the flats, but we had to hike every climb, and he wasn't up to his usual prowess on the downhills; we made slow and steady progress, picking up a few spots here and there, but couldn't find a strong, consistent rhythm.  We saw Dylan and Kyle at the 94-mile aid station which seemed to rejuvenate Brian a bit, and he charged downhill with renewed vigor, passing the Speedgoat, Karl Meltzer, about a mile before we reached No Hands Bridge at mile 97.  At this point we were trying to hold off Brian's friend Alex Ho, with whom he had tied for the win at Bighorn in 2017 and had been trading spots throughout the day; as we crossed No Hands we could see his and his pacer's headlamps less than a minute behind.  We started the half-mile climb to Robie Point with maybe a 30 second gap, but Brian pushed hard up the hill, suffering silently but running much of the way.  By the time we crested the hill past Robie with a mile to go, we had stretched the lead to about 90 seconds, and we were cruising to the finish until we stupidly missed a turn, ran an extra half mile, and lost two spots in the process.  Still, Brian ran an excellent 20:28 for 38th place, on a day when he did not have his best stuff.  The guy really has an extraordinary ability to make himself hurt, and it was pretty amazing to witness firsthand.

Altitude training, courtesy of Hypoxico

I tried to use this brief period of altitude exposure to jumpstart my acclimatization, and when I returned home I began training in earnest.  I started by sleeping in the tent at a simulated altitude of about 6000' and increased gradually until I was sleeping at 10-11K about 5 nights a week.  I also increased my hill training, combining some short-duration hill repeats (2-4 minutes each) with long climbs on Lenape Lane (3 miles of steady climbing between 3-10% uphill grade).  About four weeks out I started incorporating the altitude mask into my training.  I did a little bit of easy jogging at 10,000 feet, but mostly I would just crank the treadmill up to a 15% gradient, set the mask to 12,500', and hike uphill at about an 18-minute pace for half an hour or so at a time.  This was much worse than it sounds; within about 45 seconds I'd be gasping for breath and my heart rate would be up around 150.  But I could feel myself getting stronger, and while my breathing never got "easy," it definitely improved after a few weeks of this kind of torture.  Two weeks out I put together a couple of medium-long days with Phil in the Catskills--not my cup of tea, but it gave us an opportunity to do some extended 2-3 mile climbs at 15-20%, and to practice using trekking poles.  I've grown up as a cross-country skier, and so this came fairly naturally to me; by the time we finished the first big uphill hike with the poles I was convinced that I'd be using them on Hope Pass in Colorado.  I also volunteered to sweep the legendary Escarpment Trail Run with Phil and our friend Rick, which provided a long, if slow, day of climbing.  All in all, I boarded my flight to Colorado feeling more excited than nervous about the adventure to come, and fairly confident that I'd be able to handle myself on the Rocky Mountain trails.

Guest Post: Stewart Dutfield's Q2 Somewhat Running-related Diary

Seeing as how I'm basically a seasonal blogger myself at this point, I'm thrilled to have Stewart Dutfield continue to update his yearly diary on a quarterly basis.  ICYMI, you can read his 2017 year in review and his 2018 Q1 musings.  This current iteration may be my favorite so far.  It isn't all running-related, but then again, neither is life.

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6 April. To have spent four hours at the National African American Museum with a 13-year-old boy is to look forward to returning for a whole day, to take things in more slowly. In single file down a narrow ramp, we walked several storeys beneath ground, and then slowly up through the historical exhibit—from before slavery (and, it was suggested, even before racism) to Obama and Oprah—to emerge at the foot of a heavy spiral staircase. Bounded by tall black walls, it continues the journey upward, but we have arrived here understanding that historical progress is neither unambiguous nor even consistently forward. 

Clayton led us to the sports exhibits: Owens, Robinson, Gibson, Ali, Jordan. Most moving to me was the bronze statue of Tommie Smith, John Carlos, and Peter Norman (who afterwards was just as shabbily treated as the others) on the medal podium at the 1968 Olympics. Harry Edwards, very much part of events leading up to Smith and Carlos's protest, appears in short videos on aspects of black sports: reminding us, for example, that racial integration of major league baseball destroyed black-owned businesses in the negro leagues. While taking a photograph of the monumental staircase from above, I was tapped on the shoulder and quietly told that photographs should only be taken from below. With mild shame and indignation I struggled to grasp what seemed an arbitrary and unstated rule, but left feeling that perhaps this was exactly the point. 

Descending Castle Point on a run through Mohonk and Minnewaska

28 April. In Carmel NY is a statue of Sybil Ludington; the story goes that in 1777 she rode 40 miles overnight from here to rouse militia in defense of Danbury against the British. Two centuries later, a 50K road race roughly followed Ludington's presumed route and has taken place every year since. This year the event was no longer based in the basement of the VFW—where the business portion of the men's urinal still bears an image of Jane Fonda—and followed a new loop course never approaching within a mile or so of the statue. As usual, new leaves gave little shade on the pretty, undulating country roads. Some well-established metropolitan area road runners showed up, a few still going in their 50s, 60s and 70s. With luck, though having departed from its roots in the dubious history of Sybil Ludington's ride, the 50K will continue as a no-frills footrace for old-school athletes.

6 May. Live audacity at the Egg in Albany where Brandi Carlile sang "Babe I'm Going to Leave You", a tour de force for a young, fresh-faced Led Zeppelin who had transformed the song from a Joan Baez recording of the early 1960s.

Refreshment at Kaaterskill Falls on a run from Olana to North Lake

2 June. The Piccadilly Line from Heathrow brought me to Boston Manor, where I embarked on a gentle walk through West London history; first along the Grand Union canal to the mouth of the River Brent, where Julius Caesar may or may not have crossed the Thames in 54BC. Tom took me to a plaque to commemorate where Pocahontas had lived; then through the fields of Syon Park—little changed for 200 years—to lunch at the London Apprentice, which was here when J.M.W. Turner lived in Isleworth and might have been his local. Then over the lovely Victorian painted iron of Richmond lock and back to Kew, where an afternoon cricket match was in progress. We had spent our afternoon amidst Turner's picture of Syon House and Kew Palace, swans and all.

The Thames at Isleworth

Loch Lomond, the low road. Photo credit: Joe Brown

9 June. It was dark as the bus descended the steep valley past Frank Lloyd Wright's Fallingwater to deposit us beside the falls at Ohiopyle, PA. From here we would run the Laurel Highlands trail northeast to Johnstown, which in past months has crawled with journalists trying to understand the 2016 presidential election results. For my part, in nearby Ebensburg the previous evening I had visited a new microbrewery with the slogan "Our beer is always coaled" (fortunately, it wasn't). The trail is marked by 71 mileposts, and follows a ridge where we were a couple of weeks too late for the peak of the mountain laurel. "Highway Patrolman" playing in my head, I started comfortably but, as the humidity undermined my appetite for eating and drinking, gradually slowed over the later more runnable part of the trail and finished, once more in the dark, less than an hour before the clock ran out.

Joe on the Highland Boundary fault, descending Conic Hill. Photo credit: Fiona Rennie

23 June. Just behind Tesco's in Milngavie, a footpath sign indicates that Glasgow is 6¼ miles away. The nearby terminus for the commuter railway is also the start of the West Highland Way: 95 miles in the opposite direction, along the shores of Loch Lomond and through the West Highlands. After a moment of silence for the great Don Ritchie, runners set off at 1am through the town centre toward Fort William. Daylight roused me at 3am from sleeping in the van, in time to support Joe at 19 miles with coffee and a bacon roll. Stella later joined me as Joe's crew. Approaching Glencoe over the Black Mount, Joe began to struggle with the increasingly rough, granite underfoot conditions. He and I covered the last 25 miles together overnight, and ran not a step. As the race director had predicted, there was no weather this year by Scottish standards: conditions proved largely dry and fresh, keeping the midges at bay except where Stella slept in the van at Kinlochleven. After a grim night on the granite paths, Joe finished at 5am and took his turn to sleep in the van as we drove to our B&B.

Crews provide all food and drink to West Highland Way runners. Photo credit: Stella Potter

26 June. I took Joe to the Scottish National Gallery to see the large painting of Niagara Falls, which was my introduction to Frederic Church long before I first visited the Hudson Valley. Among the Titians and Poussins hangs a large, jarring new work by Jenny Saville; in El Greco colors of grey, red and blue, it depicts and bewails child casualties in Aleppo in our own time—on our watch, so to speak. See it if you can.

Wait, is this still a thing?

Salomon OutdoorFest start/finish

Forgot I had a blog, didn't you?  I don't blame you, I almost forgot myself.  There were a few times in May and June where I had the fleeting thought "I should probably post something," which was almost immediately forgotten.  By July I had basically decided to mothball the thing.  The podcast consumes most of my blog-centric time and energy these days; I wasn't sure I needed to keep doing both.  Plus, there just wasn't much to blog about.  As I intimated in April, I spend the late spring/early summer period trying to build up fitness, dial in the podcast, and working on my proposal for a sports medicine/research facility.  It didn't seem there was much news to report on any of those fronts, so I kind of just let things slide.

In reality my training was actually progressing, though rather slowly and in fits and starts.  Once I committed to the idea of running Leadville I had to get over my paralyzing fear of the idea of a high-altitude 100-miler and start figuring out how to do it; this took a bit of time but once I put a plan in place I started to see some progress.  I secured the promise of a tent from Hypoxico Altitude Training and targeted 6-8 weeks of "sleep-high, train-low".  I built my weekly mileage up to the mid-90s by late April and started mixing some quality stuff back in.  Crucially, I found a new training partner willing to crush some harder stuff, having lost Dr. Mike to injury and Laura to Syracuse (Phil and Brian, with their commutes to NYC, aren't available consistently enough during the week to rely on for regular high-intensity work).  Kevin Borden started to join me for track, tempo, and hill work; his energy and enthusiasm were really the key to forcing me back into fitness.  Without that element I'm not sure I could've done the necessary work to find my rhythm again.

I served on the race committee for the Rock the Ridge 50-mile this year, which takes place in May, and was planning on running that with Ben Nephew and James McCowan as my main buildup race for Leadville.  (Cayuga Trails, which would've been my natural choice in early May, was moved this year to July to accommodate Ian Golden's congressional campaign, so was too close to LT100 to allow for adequate recovery.)  However, two weeks before race day, finally feeling fit, I came down with an upper respiratory infection--sore throat, fever, chills, the works--and had to pull the plug on RTR.  This was yet another frustrating setback in a spring season full of them, and an unexpected one; I rarely get sick.  Casting about for a plan B, I settled on the Salomon OutdoorFest Ultra, a new timed event on Staten Island the first weekend in June.

The logistics were less than ideal.  I worked the overnight shift on Friday, leaving work at 7am and driving home for a 30-minute nap before getting back into the car for the trip down to "the City," arriving about an hour before the 1pm start time.  The weather wasn't about to cooperate either; it was the first really hot day of the season, temperatures reaching 88 degrees within the first couple of hours, with the infamous #beastcoast humidity in full effect (thunderstorms threatened all day, but we were denied the relief of any real rain throughout). The course was blessedly shaded for the most part, but managing the heat was the primary task on the day.

The race was enthusiastically if haphazardly run.  The course was well-marked, a challenging but runnable mix of single- and doubletrack with some nice, varied terrain; however, nobody, including the RDs, seemed to know how long the loop was.  We were initially told 7K, which was corrected at the start to 3.5 miles.  In reality it was probably shorter; I think the results assume a 5k loop, but this remained unclear throughout the duration of the race.  There was one well-stocked aid station at the start/finish, where I mostly focused on putting ice in my cap, my bandanna, my shorts, and anywhere else I could get it.  Both the solo and relay divisions started together, so it was unclear immediately where we all stood place-wise, and I focused mostly on getting a good "time-on-feet" day in despite the heat and my fatigue.  I had initially hoped to run around 40 miles, but after seeing the weather and experiencing the first couple of laps revised that to 10-11 laps, which I figured was around 35 miles given what we'd been told regarding the course length.

Despite repeating to myself that this was a training run, and assiduously not caring about place, I eventually got caught up in the racing aspect of it, finding myself in the top 3-4 after about 4 hours.  Somewhere on lap 8 or so I moved into what I was pretty sure was second place, feeling pretty solid. I had settled into about 35-37 minutes per lap with about a minute in the aid station.  I finished lap 8 in around 4:22 and was listening as I replenished my ice and water to a conversation between one of the RDs and another racer who was trying to figure out how the race would end.  This had been made pretty clear at the start--only full laps would be counted (which made sense; there was no reliable way to count part laps on a 3+ mile trail loop).  The RD reiterated this to the runner--after the 5-hour mark, no one would be allowed to start another lap they were unlikely to finish.  I knew I would finish lap nine right around 5 hours, and made sure to inform the RD that I planned on starting a 10th lap probably just past the 5-hour mark, and that I'd have no problem finishing it within the six-hour time frame.  She thanked me and sent me on my way.

Cool finisher's patch. I didn't get one of these either.

Lap nine proceeded without any issues and I set off for lap 10 at 5:02, comfortably settled into second place and feeling happy with the day's effort; I stuck to about the same splits I'd been running and finished lap 10 in second place in 5:38.  Only now, a different RD was encouraging folks to head back out for another lap.  Any lap started before the 6-hour time limit would be counted, he said, no matter how long it took to complete.  Clearly this made no sense--it's a six-hour race, not a six-plus-whatever-hour race--and I certainly didn't care enough to head back out for another loop after I had been mentally committed to the idea of 10 laps for, I don't know, the past four hours or so.  So I surrendered a couple of spots in the standings to folks who I beat.  Which, of course, in the grand scheme of things, doesn't mean much.  But RDs really need to make rules and stick to them.  Changing the rules of the game mid-race is really unfair, even when there's not all that much on the line.  (And you know what? This stupid little thing cost me second overall AND the masters' win; I think I was actually entitled to a free pair of shoes.  So it wasn't nothing on the line after all.  I didn't make a stink about it, but this type of thing bugs the shit out of me.)

Regardless, it was a good, long, hot effort in my sleep-deprived state, and it did help me transition into some more serious Leadville prep for the summer.  Little else to report on that front, as a couple of other possible prep races fell through.  Three week later I went to Squaw to pace the great Brian Oestrike, and undertook altitude training, so you'll have to sit through a post on that too before I get around to writing a Leadville recap.

Bandera Post-Mortem: Finish at All Costs?

So, Bandera went very, very badly.

Usually I like to do a pretty detailed race report, but I don't have a lot of details to report from this one other than that it was bad.  I felt bad at the start, I felt bad on the first climb, I pretty much felt bad throughout.  I was hoping to run the first half of the race at about 8:30 pace--similar to what I had run two years ago through the first lap--but struggled to run 9:00/mile pace over the first 16 miles through AS3.  Rather than slow down, I tried speeding up to see if I could run my way out of feeling badly, and hammered the next six miles at just under 8:00 pace, coming through 22 miles at 3:12, within striking distance of the sub-4:30 I wanted to run through the first 50K, but it wasn't working; I started to feel worse and worse.  I finished the first lap in 4:46, about twenty minutes slower than two years go, and spent a few minutes convincing myself to head back out for lap two.  I'd like to report that I found my legs in the second half and had a strong finish, but I didn't.  I ran-walked for the first two hours of the loop before getting a sort-of second wind and running consistent 10-11 minute miles for the next couple of hours, ultimately finishing up in 11:19, nearly two hours slower than my breakthrough run in 2016.

The spoils of mediocrity.

This was my sixth national championship race since turning 40, and despite five top-3 age group finishes (Bandera, Caumsett, and North Coast in 2016, Rocky Raccoon and Cayuga in 2017), I was still searching for my first age group title.  Somehow, in what was easily my worst performance as a masters runner, I was able to secure my first age group national championship. All it took was running a terrible race, having Paul Terranova not show up, and having Chad Lasater age up to the 45-49 group.  What a silver lining.

One sentiment I hear all the time is that you learn more from races that go poorly than races that go well.  This sounds like a very wise thing to say, but I don't think it's true.  I take many lessons out of strong performances: I know what workouts were beneficial in my training, what worked in terms of race strategy and nutrition, and where I can expect to race relative to my competition.  I suppose there are lessons to be learned from failure, if you can attribute a poor race to a mistake you made in strategy, preparation, or fueling.  In this case, though, it's hard to feel like I learned anything that will help me the next time out.  My training for the race had been nearly ideal, and I certainly didn't feel as if there were any aspects of my preparation that were missing; my times in the short prep races were comparable to those I'd run in the previous two years.  I wasn't out too fast, either, actually running a slower pace than planned for the first 16 miles (which was hard to do with a huge field of fast guys hammering at the front).  Maybe I was overtrained; maybe I had pushed some workouts too hard; maybe I was too focused on hitting splits over the first 50K that I got out of my comfort zone too early.  Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Sometimes when people invoke that maxim--that we learn more from defeat than from victory--they are speaking less of concrete lessons that can help us apply changes to future performances, and more about the nebulous idea that we learn about ourselves and our limits when "the going gets tough."  That we have more strength than we think, that we didn't give up, that we can push through the next time we hit a bad patch.  In a way I suppose this is true--you do need to suffer at some point in a race to learn how to deal with that suffering.  Without learning that suffering can be endured, that it passes and gets better, we'd never make it through the rough stretches that define ultra running, and we'd never finish a race when we hit a bad patch.  I'm not someone, though, who believes this is a lesson we need to learn over and over.  I've been running races since I was twelve years old; I don't need to be reminded how to deal with suffering.  I've never subscribed to the finish-at-all-costs mentality.  I know I can finish; I'm not entering races to prove it to myself over and over again.  I run races to challenge myself to perform and to compete against other runners at a high level.  Everyone enters a race with a baseline goal of "just finish," but should we?  What did I get out of walk-running through a 6:30 50K over the second half of that race?  I accomplished none of my goals (other than the aforementioned age group win, which had nothing to do with me).  I didn't learn anything new about myself or my "limits".  I finished a race that I had no doubt I could finish very slowly if I needed to.  I got the same belt buckle I got two years ago.  (It's a very cool buckle, but still.)  Am I any more satisfied with this experience than I would've been if I'd stopped after a single very disappointing lap?  And if I am, should I be?  By any objective measure--my time, my place, my position in the field relative to other runners I know--this was a terrible performance.  Why should the fact that I was able to walk for several hours to avoid a DNF mitigate that in any way?

If you've got a brilliant answer, I'm all for it.  All I can come up with is that I now have four tickets in the lottery for Western States in 2019.  Here's to another opportunity to humiliate myself.

Ultrarunner of the Year: My Ballot

photo: marathontrainingacademy.com

I was honored to be included once again on the voting panel for Ultrarunning magazine's prestigious Ultrarunner of the Year award.  This was my third time voting, and it isn't getting any easier.  I know I complained last year, but at least in 2016 the top spots for both the men and women were pretty obvious.  This year we had no such luck.  I think pretty much everyone will agree on the top two women, although in which order they ultimately wind up is anyone's guess; I spent nearly as much time deciding between the two of them as I did on the rest of the entire ballot.  The remainder of the ballot was pure torture as usual.  I'm thrilled that I get to keep voting, but it really is an excruciating process and by the time I'm done my stomach usually hurts pretty badly.

Posting my ballot has inspired a lot of good-natured (and not-so-good-natured) criticism in the past, and this year with the launch of my new podcast, The Pain Cave, I decided to be a bit proactive in addressing this.  I invited New York ultra stud Jason Mintz, one of my staunchest (if friendliest) critics, on the pod to debate our picks.  Unfortunately Mintz had to cancel at the last minute, but our mutual friend Laura Kline was kind enough to step in and provide the counterpoint to my ballot.  Listen to the episode here; I'll list my ballot below, but Laura and I get into the nitty-gritty a little bit more and really go through our reasoning and justification for some of the decisions we had to make.

I don't yet have the final results tabulated for the Gunksrunner Ultra Rankings for this year, which is unfortunate since I like comparing them to my ballot.  I hope to have the results finished by the time Ultrarunning publishes the UROY results, and we can do a little comparison then.

Just a reminder: FKTs are not to be considered in this voting, not for UROY or Performance of the Year.  A separate committee votes on the top FKTs of the year.  So, feel free to tear apart my ballot, but dear god, don't criticize me for not including FKTs.

Women's UROY
1. Camille Herron
2. Courtney Dauwalter
3. Clare Gallagher
4. Katylyn Gerbin
5. Magdalena Boulet
6. Jacqueline Merritt
7. Kelly Wolf
8. Katalin Nagy
9. Cat Bradley
10. Devon Yanko

I'm not going to delve deep my reasoning for any of these categories; listen to the podcast as we spent nearly an hour doing that and I don't feel like rehashing that here.  The Camille vs. Courtney debate for the top spot was incredibly difficult, but Clare Gallagher was a pretty easy choice, for me at least, at #3.  Spots 4-6 were basically identical and I would've been happy with any order.  Toughest omissions: Keely Henninger, Anna Mae Flynn, Kathleen Cusick, Hillary Allen, Megan Kimmel, Sarah Bard, and Sabrina Little.

Women's Performance of the Year
1. Camille Herron's 100 mile WR at Tunnel Hill
2. Camille's win at Comrades
3. Courtney Dauwalter's 24-hour AR at Soochow
4. Camille (again!) 12-hour WR at Desert Solstice
5. Rory Bosio's overall win and women's CR at Tahoe Rim Trail 50-mile

Tough omissions were Cat Bradley's unexpected come-from-behind win at Western States, Clare Gallagher's win at CCC, Courtney's dominating win at Run Rabbit Run (despite temporary blindness), Katalin Nagy's (transient) 24-hour AR, and Michelle Leduc's Canadian Record at 100 miles (made easier to leave off the list by the fact that Camille ran over two hours faster this year).

Women's Age Group Performance of the Year
1. Liz Bauer (58 years old), first at Across the Years 6-day (418 miles)
2. Meghan (Arbogast) Laws (56), 9th at Western States
3. Sally Brooking (61), 4th at Mountain Mist 50K (5:46--and that's not an easy course)
4. Roxanne Woodhouse (54), first at Tahoe Rim Trail 100-mile
5. Jean Herbert (61), 9:21 at JFK 50

Men's UROY
1. Tim Tollefson
2. Jim Walmsley
3. Alex Nichols
4. Tim Freriks
5. Avery Collins
6. Sage Canaday
7. Mark Hammond
8. Hayden Hawks
9. Max King
10. Patrick Reagan

God, was this an unpleasant task.  Again, listen to the podcast for most of my reasoning; Laura and I discussed if it's fair to grade Jim on a curve, how much a DNF should count against you, why I'm such a Cornell XC homer, and the importance of big international races like CCC, Comrades, and UTMB.  My toughest cuts in this category: Dylan Bowman, Bob Shebest, Olivier Leblond, Jeff Browning, Jason Schlarb, Cody Reed, Brian Rusiecki, Kris Brown, Anthony Kunkel, and Eric Senseman.

Men's Performance of the Year
1. Olivier Leblond's 48-hour AR (262 miles)
2. Geoff Burns' 5:14 at Chicago Lakefront 50-mile
3. Tyler Jermann's 2:48 50K at Caumsett
4. Hayden Hawks' win at CCC
5. Guillame Calmettes' win at Big's Backyard Ultra

I found this category much easier this year than last, for some reason.  Jim had some amazing performances again this year, but nothing that captured the imagination of the ultra world like many of his 2016 exploits.  For some reason Tim Tollefson's third place finish at UTMB was fifth on my ballot last year but not this year.  So much for internal logic.  But I was much happier with this list than with my UROY top 10.  Toughest snubs: Jim's CR runs at Tarawera and Gorge Waterfalls, Tim's aforementioned UTMB race (and Jim, DBo, and Zach at UTMB, for that matter), and Tim Freriks' two huge wins at Transvulcania and North Face.

Men's Age Group Performance of the Year
1. Thomas Devers (60 years old), 3:38 50K (and first place) at the Tallahassee Distance Classic
2. Bob Hearn (51), 151 miles in 24 hours at Run4water
3. Rich Hanna (52), 6:18 at American River 50-mile
4. Jean Pommier (52), 3:19 at Jed Smith 50K
5. Gene Dykes (69), finishing the Triple Crown of 200s

So there you go.  Same rules from last year apply: feel free to rip me apart in the comments, but you have to vote for me for Run Ultra's Blogger of the Year first.  Cast your vote and flame away!

Race Report: WC 50--There's No Cure for Stupid

This fall has been less about racing per se and more about setting myself up for 2018, when I have three big (for me) races on the calendar, plus hopefully an attempt at the Bob Graham Round (fingers crossed that trip comes together).  But racing can be part of training as well.  Races are good opportunities to experience stimuli that you might not be getting in your weekly training, either in terms of distance or intensity, and they can be a nice gauge of fitness as you shape your plans and goals moving forward.  My experience in September at Mountain Madness fell into the former category.  I travelled to North Carolina two weeks ago for the latter.

My sister and her family have lived in Charlotte for about 12 years now, only about 20 miles from the US National Whitewater Center, which is a really cool facility for aspiring elite kayakers and rafters.  Since opening in 2006, the center has grown to include rock climbing, zip lines, high ropes courses, and many miles of mountain biking trails, and they now host all sorts of events and races.  The WC 50, now in its fifth year, is the ultramarathon entry into the Whitewater Race Series, and a race I've wanted to run for some time due to its proximity to family.  The dates worked this year for a quick trip down for my nephew's birthday party and an early-morning jaunt in the trails.  I expected a low-key day out; I had no idea of the competition, but looking at previous results, I planned on running a relaxed effort near the front and seeing where my fitness level would get me.

We started in the dark, at 6am, on a fairly warm morning--temps were already nearing 70 degrees.  The race started out with a short "parade loop" around the whitewater course before heading into the trails for the first of three 10.2-mile loops.  I set off at a relaxed but quick tempo and was immediately at the front of a field of about 100.  By the time we hopped onto the singletrack about five minutes in, I was out in front with one other runner and it looked like we'd be on our own most of the day.  We ran together at a nice pace; the miles were marked with signs tacked to the trees, and we were clicking off splits in the 7:40/mile range on some fairly technical but runnable mountain bike trails.  It was a bit tough monitoring our footing with just headlamps, but it was fun running at speed through the darkness, and the early miles passed by quickly.  We ran together throughout the first lap.  The second half of the loop had a few significant climbs, though we kept up a solid tempo.  The mile splits suddenly had jumped up to over 10-12 minutes per mile, but I think this was due to incorrect markings as opposed to any change in our effort or actual pace.  (This sense was supported by subsequent laps, when we would again run 7:30-7:40 pace on the early "miles", followed by 10-12 minute "miles" later on.)  Regardless, we rolled through the first 11+ mile lap in about 1:39; I grabbed my Orange Mud handheld and ran on through the start/finish aid station, while my companion--a strong local runner named Chase Eckard--took a quick break with his crew before catching back up within the first mile of lap 2.

We kept the effort steady and chatted through the early part of the lap.  Chase said, "When do you think Karl will catch us?"  I knew that Karl Meltzer, the winningest 100-mile runner of all time, had been in town for the pre-race dinner, promoting Made to Be Broken, a film about his record-breaking run on the Appalachian Trail.  I hadn't realized he was racing, although I had considered the possibility.  For some reason I had assumed that if he was racing, it would be in the 50-mile, which had started at 5am on a course that incorporated our entire 10-mile loop plus an additional 7 miles on each of three 17-mile loops.  

"Oh, is Karl racing?" I asked.  

"Yeah," said Chase, "he started off at the back."

I have no idea why--partly because of my pre-race assumption, I guess, and partly because we were leading the race and why would I be leading a race against Karl Meltzer?--Chase's comment simply reinforced my notion that he was in the 50-mile.  I wasn't sure if he would run the opening 17 miles of his race in under 2:40 on this course, so by my twisted logic I wasn't clear if we were actually ahead of him or not at this point.  "Well," I said, "if we finished our first lap before he did, we might be ok; he might catch us later in this lap.  But either way, we'll pass him when he does the extra seven miles on lap two."  Chase didn't really have much to say about that, which given that Karl was actually in our race makes perfect sense; in retrospect I must have sounded like a freaking moron.

ANYWAY, we ran together until about the 16-mile mark, when Chase blasted away on a long downhill stretch and I eased off a bit, resisting the urge to really open up this early in the race.  Instead I took in some calories, slamming down two GUs in rapid succession (my first calories to that point, I realized, even with the fat adaptation I've got to be a little smarter about that) and settling into a nice solo rhythm.  I caught a few glimpses of Chase on some longer stretches, about a minute ahead at a couple of spots, before we started in on the climbing again.  I didn't expect to start racing for a few miles yet, but suddenly he appeared in front of me near the 20-mile mark, walking at the top of a long but runnable uphill.  We exchanged a few words of encouragement as I made an easy pass.  By the time we reached the end of lap 2, a little over a mile later, I already had about two minutes on him, and I was feeling good.  Barring disaster, I felt like I had it in the bag.

Disaster is exactly what happened about 25 minutes later.  I rolled through the opening miles of the final lap feeling a little tired but generally relaxed and strong.  My splits were within shouting distance of my first two laps.  I passed the 4-mile mark of lap 3, about 25 miles overall, in 3:52; doing some quick calculations (and taking into account the longer "miles" in the second half of the lap), I was looking at about a 4:55, maybe right around 5 hours if I slowed down a little.  I briefly stepped off the trail to fertilize the soil, not realizing I was near one of the myriad switchbacks on the course.  Somehow I got turned around and ended up on the wrong end of the switchback.  After a couple of minutes of running, I started getting a sinking feeling in my stomach.  The trails all looked the same, but some of those turns were looking too familiar...as if I had just run them...and then I came around a corner and arrived back at the one-mile mark.

Well, that was just too much.  I sat down on a log by the side of the trail and had myself a little pity party; after a couple of minutes I started walking backwards towards the start, ready to throw in the towel rather than run another nine miles.  After a few minutes of that, though, I felt pretty stupid, having travelled all the way down and then not even bothering to finish; I thought about Jim at States last year, sighed, turned around, and trudged back over the same three miles I had just run.  I finally cruised into the mid-loop aid station about 40 minutes behind schedule.  The volunteers were all very confused--none of the leaders had actually gone past me--but after I explained what happened they were sympathetic, as they had seen Chase and I up front all day.  The told me Chase was now running second to Karl, which is how I came to finally realize that Karl had been in the 50K all along; they poured me a shot of bourbon, which at this point I figured what the hell, and sent me on my way.

Speedgoat Karl on his way to the win. photo: US National Whitewater Center

I actually felt pretty good the rest of the way, and managed to pick off one or two other folks en route to finishing in 5:41, officially 6th but in actuality 5th (looking at the splits, the 5th place runner is credited with a second lap of 1:21--fifteen minutes faster than anyone in the race ran any other lap on the day, and almost 30 minutes faster than either his first or last lap, so there's no way that's legit, but whatever).  I felt fine afterwards, and actually wasn't even all that sore the next day, so it confirmed at least a decent level of fitness.  And for the first hour or two I didn't even care about what had happened; I basically shrugged afterwards talking to Karl and said "That's trail racing, shit happens."  But after a little while the disappointment really set in.  I had put over seven minutes on Karl after one lap; on lap two I had given back barely 30 seconds.  I had basically tossed away probably my only chance to beat a legend like Karl--and not some outside chance; the race was basically over--by being a fucking idiot.  

Name	Lap 1	Lap 2	Lap 3	Finish
Karl Meltzer	1:46:24	1:36:51	1:45:31	5:08:47
Bill Shires	1:49:18	1:38:57	1:51:36	5:19:51
Chase Eckard	1:38:55	1:39:11	2:04:08	5:22:15
Paul Halaburda	1:48:07	1:48:39	1:55:29	5:32:16
Stephen Spada	1:49:17	1:21:36	2:27:01	5:37:55
Jason Friedman	1:38:57	1:37:24	2:25:31	5:41:52

In retrospect it was the perfect commentary on my ultra season for 2017.  I did fine, winning a couple of small races that I fully expected to win; I came into every big race (Rocky Raccoon, Cayuga Trails) in great shape and then had great performances sidetracked by weird shit happening.  Only difference was this time I brought the weird shit on myself.  A fitting ending to a frustrating year.  Fuck.

Twelve weeks to Bandera.

Race Report: Mountain Madness 50K

It's been a bit of a slog this summer.  After a decent spring and a solid (if slightly unsatisfying) finish at Cayuga I took a much-needed break from training and from my usual LCHF habits.  The resulting gluttony was fun for about a week; after that it started feeling almost obligatory rather than enjoyable.   I started training again about two weeks and twelve pounds later (not joking), and unsurprisingly it took some time to get the ol' rhythm back.  I set my sights on the Vermont 50 mile for my return to fall racing, then downgraded to the 50K when I realized my fitness wasn't quite up to snuff.  My Achilles really started to flare up in early August; by mid-August I was hobbling on most of my runs and wasn't planning on racing at all for quite some time.  Getting off the pavement and back on the trails, as well as back to regular visits with the great Greg Cecere at Momentum Physical Therapy got me back on track, however, and I logged on to register for VT50 two days before the deadline only to be closed out.  (Of course.)  Casting about for an emergency plan, I found the Mountain Madness 50K in Ringwood, NJ on the same weekend as Vermont.  I hadn't run Mountain Madness (or any of the NJ Trail Series races, for that matter) since a rather infamous day in 2009 (which I won't go into here).  I knew it was a more technical course than I'd usually prefer, but I didn't remember it being all that bad, and figured I'd give it a shot.  My fitness wasn't great, but it was time to get back on the horse and kick-start the training buildup for 2018.

Training this summer hadn't been helped by the weather.  July had been pretty brutal, and while August was relatively mild (although quite humid), September turned almost unbearable, particularly in the two weeks leading up to the race.  Given my fitness level, the difficulty of the course, and the forecast, I wasn't expecting much; I was hoping to run around five hours but figured a 5:30 was more realistic.  The weather did not disappoint; at the 9am start the temperature was already 70, and by the time I finished (many) hours later it would climb to 89 degrees with a good deal of humidity.  I ran the opening few miles with two other runners at the front, a young local named Michael and another runner from Costa Rica who spoke absolutely no English and yet tried to ask us questions about the course as we were running.  (We were not terribly helpful.)  We took turns leading over rolling, minimally technical terrain.  My Achilles was not excruciating, but was tight, and my suspicions that it was limiting my push-off were confirmed when I tripped over a pretty innocuous root and sprawled across the trail, my first real fall in quite some time.  I popped up quickly, though, with just a few minor scrapes, and we continued together until about five miles in, when we came to a five-way intersection where the trail markings had clearly been tampered with.  We ran around a bit, looking for the next markings without finding any, then continued in the direction we'd been heading for about a quarter mile.  At this point we encountered markings that I recognized--we had come back to a hairpin turn at about the two-mile point on the loop; clearly not the right way.  Our Costa Rican friend charged off down the trail again, restarting the loop we'd just run; Michael and I yelled after him to not avail, then gave up and returned to the intersection.  By this time two other runners had reached the same point and were equally as confused.  We spent a couple of minutes looking at the map, trying to figure out where to go.  With no other markings, we headed back the way we had come, the only way we knew to get back to the start/finish, which was also the end of the opening 6.5-mile loop and would serve as AS1.  The four of us came into the AS right at the hour mark, as Rick, the RD, was sending off the 25K runners for their 10am start.  We grabbed some drinks and tried to explain to Rick where the issue was on the course, then started off in a group again to tackle the middle 25K loop.

Our pack of four quickly became Michael and I as we started the first major climb.  The trail was much rockier and steeper than the opening loop, and we power-hiked frequently, passing 25K runners along the way.  We were pretty even running on flat ground; I had a bit of an advantage climbing, but Michael bombed the descents, forcing me to work my way back slowly on the subsequent climbs.  I was being patient, but really wasn't feeling great.  Not terrible, but not feeling a lot of pep in the legs, and certainly more tired than I'd like to be less than two hours into a 5+ hour day.  I pulled into AS2 just before the two-hour mark, only a few seconds after Michael, and left a few seconds before.  I knew the next section would be mostly uphill and thought I might be able to open up a bit of an advantage.  Over the next few miles I felt a bit better, finding a bit of a rhythm and seeming to open up a little gap, but when I checked over my shoulder about a mile outside of AS3, Michael was only about a hundred yards back.  He caught up easily on the tricky descent into the aid station, as we hit the halfway point in just over 2:30.

At this point, I basically felt terrible.  I crammed in some off-brand Coke and a couple of bananas, but really had no motivation to get back out on the trail; the fight had suddenly left me, and when Michael took off I waited an extra thirty seconds or so before leaving the aid station, thinking maybe the impetus of having to give chase would spur me on a little bit.  Long story short: it didn't.  I stumbled badly multiple times over the rocky terrain, overheating the whole way back down and struggling on every uphill.  By the time I got back to AS4 (same location as AS2) almost an hour later I was in full death march mode, and still had nearly eleven miles to go.  I knew third place was not within striking distance, but I had no idea on the gap up to the lead, and didn't really care all that much; I just wanted it to be over.

I felt a little better coming down a major descent about forty minutes later, and started running a bit better again, but a couple of wrong turns sapped my momentum, not to mention my will to live.  I staggered into AS5 at the start/finish at right about the five-hour mark, hamstrings cramping badly, still needing to head back out on the opening 6.5-mile loop again to complete the nightmare.  I'd say I considered dropping out, but that's not really true.  I was basically resigned to my fate: I knew I was going to finish, I just didn't particularly want to.  I took my time in the aid station, knowing that my finishing place was assured and that there was no more aid over this final hour-plus.  After tossing back a bunch of Coke and cramming in some more calories, I grabbed the podcast machine and made my way back into the heat.  The final lap passed uneventfully, if not quickly (almost eighty minutes for 6.5 miles!) and I finally jogged home in 6:18, ultimately only about five minutes behind Michael, who I hadn't seen for nearly four hours.

Not much more to say about this one.  I went in with minimal expectations, and they were met in spectacular fashion.  As the Stranger famously said, sometimes you eat the bear, sometimes the bear eats you.  For this race, I think I'll just be happy to be finished with a long, painful day on the trails, take my lumps, and move on to the next one.

Guest Blogger: A Cayuga Trails Recap from Phil Vondra

all photos: Joe Azze

It's been a little over three months since my last race at the Cayuga Trails 50 mile, and I'm just about ready to get back on the horse.  My training partner Phil, with whom I've shared many, many miles, finished just a few minutes behind me there, and returned to racing last weekend with his second straight runner-up finish at the famed SOS triathlon.  This week he sent me his CT50 race report for some reason, and as he doesn't waste anyone's time with a blog, I offered to waste some more of my readers' time by posting it here.  So, here's Phil's slightly delayed CT50 recap.  I think you'll like it.  It's kind of like a race report on acid.  Picture a drunk British guy telling you about his last race and you've got the general idea.

*********

Race : Cayuga trails USA 50 mile trail champs.  3 June 2017 Ithaca NY

Goals:

• Improve on 2016 place and time.
• Eat, drink beer and hangout with a bunch of cool ultra runner type people.
• Hangout with Laura Kline

Loop 1

We arrived at the park with about 40 minutes until the start time and organized a drop bag for Buttermilk Falls with some spare bottles and nutrition in it. The weather was perfect and glowing red/pink cotton ball clouds drifted over our heads, today would be a good day to die. I lined up 4 or 5 rows back and found Jay my New Paltz running buddy. Ian said a few words and then blew the rams horn, we were off. We set off at that quick pace that almost every race starts at and we hit the first small hill, I backed off and started to think about the miles that lay ahead. Jay and I ran close to each other and chatted a bit. The trails where nice rooty, rocky and rolling, the miles passed easily. We hit the new loop which added some vert but also some fun trails. I was jumping over a few logs which was fun but I knew in 5 hours each one would be a cunning trap just waiting to send me face first into the dirt. We ran past the Old Mill aid station, no need to stop. We headed to the first river crossing, it didn't have as much water as i expected and it was actually nice to get my feet wet. Let the squelching begin! 

The miles passed quickly and the trails were really nice rolling forest rooty and soft. Jay was in front of me and was running the steady smooth pace he always runs. We headed down to Underpass aid station and onto the easy single track and river crossing, I thought the crossing would be deep and was expecting it to be waist deep. Jay was ahead of me and I figured he would go in head first but it was kinda shallow so sadly no fun. We popped out the other side and cruised to the base of Lick Brook climb, I felt great on this climb, but kept a lid on it, knowing that these trails wouldn't give up a finish without a fight. We got to the top and started to roll through the forest and fields. I knew some of this course would be muddy but so far it was in great shape. Rolling along and chatting to Jay we missed a turn and ended up next to a farm and a pig pen, when I heard the banjo playing I knew we had over shot our turn. We did a 180 and ran back to find the turn we had missed. Running with Jay is like being with an able-bodied House MD, so i was probably riveted by some intense medical chat and didn't see the big red arrow telling us to enter into Mirkwood. 

Into the wood we went, it was wonderful mudfest everything an East coast runner wants. Jumping rooty and muddy ground I prayed my shoes would stay on my feet. We emerged onto some grassland with the odd mud patch. At this point I felt hungry and wasn't sure why, I had been good with nutrition and fluid, it was odd but I figured my body was giving me fake news and I would go all in at Buttermilk Falls AS. We headed to Buttermilk Falls, all was good. When we hit the aid station, I took on about 450 calories and some fluids, we got in and out very quickly. The climb up Buttermilk Falls was harder than I thought it would be but I kept my legs moving, spurred on by the fact my T-shirt had turned into a weapon of mass destruction. It single-handedly contravened several international weapon and pollution treaties, but I was racing I had no time to hand it over to the appropriate authorities. The waterfall is beautiful and the trails are perfect. I saw my buddy Tim at a merge point and he was looking good, that gave me a nice boost.  We headed back through the muddy forests and fields along the rolling descent, over the way too shallow river and back to Underpass AS.  It was time to go the dark side.

“Coke please.” 
“More Coke.” 
“Just one more Coke.  What's the worst that could happen?” (I have Youtube, I know the worst that can happen, especially if you're a tooth, a coin or a Mento!)

Fully loaded on sugar and chemicals, I set off again hanging just behind Jay. I took a fall but the ground was soft and I was fine. I felt it was a bit early to be falling.  The trails are good, the Coke is working, I felt great. We hit that big flight of stairs and I felt a bit weak but not too bad. The descent felt good and we headed along the trails to the river crossing and back to Old Mill AS. I got some Coke and ginger ale, the more sugar the merrier! We set off for the turnaround, some easy trails, some rocks some roots but it was fun, until I had another fall, this was a type 3 trail running fall, you don't see it coming, all you know is you're on the ground and you're cut and you hurt but nothing was broken or twisted (well, no physical part of me), I got up and felt ok but not great, I felt a bit sick. We ran into the turn around and I grabbed a few things, forgot a few things and lingered deciding if I should run back to my drop bag. I felt quite sick and weak at this point, so I figured I would just get back to running.

Loop 2

Jay was gone. I wasn't feeling great, I was sure I would be sick. It wasn't an exciting prospect. I also felt weak/dizzy running through the new loop near Old Mill. I knew that if I kept going it would pass. I got to the Old Mill AS and had some more Coke and ginger ale. Shuffling on the easier trails felt ok but I wanted to walk now. The internal battle was raging, "Just walk you'll feel better"; "Why walk on the flat or downhill that's silly;” “ A 15 min mile is better than a 20min mile;” “I'll run flat and downhill and walk ANY hills- that's the deal otherwise all the beer will be gone when you finish- lets go”...so on I went feeling kinda sick but pushing as best as I could and sticking to the deal my mind had made with my body. 

I crossed the river and wanted to sit in the water for a bit. I didn't, I pushed on. Up and down a few hills, I got a bit lost, I turned back and went down a hill I had just walked up, I saw a runner coming towards me and they confirmed I was on the right trail. All good, back to the struggle. The miles passed more quickly than I thought they would. I got to the Underpass AS and gorged on that sweet dark nectar! Off I went over the tracks and through the river. I got to the Lick Brook climb and I was slow but just as slow as the other runners already on it. I was starting to feel better, I was going to finish strong. I found extra strength knowing that I had passed that epic low and what lay ahead would be better. I was starting to overtake people and getting stronger. I felt strong running through the muddy field and forest, jumping roots and dancing around shoe stealing mud pits. Stairs, rocks, roots it was all passing by me now, I had sub 15 miles to go. The T-shirt was excited too, it often reminded me, it had gone from awful to suggesting that it was a close relation to a long lost ancestor who was responsible for the London plague and the rats where purely minions in a grand scheme. I thought about ditching the T-shirt but it wouldn't have been fair to leave it at at aid station that didn't have a hazmat team on standby. I would have to finish with it. 

Phil with Laura and Tim at a happy finish line.

I got to Buttermilk Falls AS. Coke, Ginger ale and watermelon. I was homeward bound, I was strong, climbing the falls felt good but I wanted to get into the cool waters. On I pressed running flats, downhills and small hills, i was overtaking people. I was going to enjoy the last 10 miles. It was nice to get encouragement from other runners and people out for a hike, it really helped. Coke and Ginger ale at every aid station, I got to Old Mill and was told 5k to the finish, time to give it my all. I got just passed the AS to the stone bridge and the volunteer said 2.6 miles to the finish, heck yeah I eat 2.6 miles for breakfast. The miles passed quickly. I overtook the lead woman and she said “you go girl” and then said “Oh sorry you're not a girl!” I wanted to say something witty/encouraging as a response but I had nothing. I got on the downhill back to the finish and felt great, took the left and ran to the finish. I had so much energy I sprinted to the line to finish a shade over 9hrs. I was happy and Jay told me I was 16th! That was better than 2016 and I knew that lots of beer was left! I got to eat and drink beer with some awesome trail people.

Summary
16th place, 9hrs 13 seconds (my time was slower than 2016 but the course was longer and had more gain)
1st AG 45-49
The new course was amazing, it had everything.

What did I learn  the advice i got from an ultra runner a while back was so true on this day. “You're going to get lows, everyone gets lows, you have to believe they will pass because they will.”

Thanks Ian and your volunteers you put on an amazing race!

Gear used
Salomon shorts
Hoka One One Challenger 3ATR
Patagonia T-shirt and its 20million microbe friends
Injinji compression socks
Salomon 2L vest
Huma gels
Tailwind
Coke
Ginger Ale

Merry Statesmas! My WS100 Picks and a Pre-Squaw GUR Top 50 Update

I'm recycling the title of this post from last year.  Let's get into it!

I've been way behind on the Gunksrunner Ultra Rankings this year, mostly due to finishing my exercise physiology coursework, but I finally got caught up in the past two weeks, and have a pre-States GUR Top 50 at the end of this post.  As such, though, I haven't been quite as immersed in results as in previous years, so my picks for this weekend's Big Dance are likely to be even less reliable than usual.  But you get what you pay for.  Which is nothing.  So here goes.

Ladies
Six of last year's top ten return, joined by a very deep field that includes ten of the current GUR top 50 (including six of the top 10), and twelve of the 2016 top 50 (including 10 of the top 20).  The depth of this group is frightening; while both the men's and women's fields have at least twenty solid contenders for those magical top-10 places, the talent and experience on the women's side might outflank the men, especially at the 100-mile distance.

1. Kaci Lickteig
Final 2016 GUR: 1
Current 2017 GUR: 5
2016 WS: 1
Western States does tend to look kindly on defending champions--think Krar, Olsen, Trason, and Jurek, to name just a few.  Whether the Pixie Ninja belongs among the all-time greats is still debatable, but the returning champ has three straight top-5 finishes here, and her buildup to this year's event looks awfully similar to last year.

2. Magdalena Boulet
Final 2016 GUR: 2
Current 2017 GUR: 3
2016 WS: DNF
The 2015 champ and UROY dropped early in last year's race, then gutted out a difficult fifth-place finish at Speedgoat later that summer.  She bounced back, however, with a strong second at North Face in December, and this year has looked very strong, placing second to Camille Herron at Tarawera and earning her ticket to WS with a T2 at Lake Sonoma.  She's got the speed, the experience, and the 100-mile chops to ascend the podium again.

3. Andrea Huser
Final 2016 GUR: NA
Current 2017 GUR: NA
2016 WS: NA
She's got wins or runner-up finishes at a dizzying array of Europe's most competitive trail ultras, including Diagonale des Fous, Lavaredo, Madeira Island, and UTMB.  We don't often see rookies or Euros atop the States podium--usually it takes a couple of tries to get it right--but she's not your average rookie.  Is she too much of a mountain specialist for this course, or does she have the wheels to hang with Magda, Kaci, and Camille when things start heating up on Cal Street?

4. Amanda Basham
Final 2016 GUR: 18
Current 2017 GUR: 9
2016 WS: 4
Speaking of wheels, I like the recent UROC champ to reprise last year's finish.  Undefeated in three ultra starts this year, though has yet to face a field of this caliber in 2017.

5. Camille Herron
Final 2016 GUR: 24
Current 2017 GUR: 2
2016 WS: NA
I gave a lot of serious consideration to picking Camille for the overall win.  Already this year she's beaten Magda at Tarawera, and may have already locked up Performance of the Year with her dominant win at Comrades two weeks ago.  (An honor she won in 2015, her first year in ultrarunning.)  However, she hasn't yet proven to be quite as dominant on the trails as she is on the roads, and this will be her 100-mile debut; besting a field of this caliber under those circumstances may be too much to ask, especially if there's any residuals fatigue from Comrades.  If anyone can pull at Walmsley on the women's side, though, it's definitely her.

6. Maggie Guterl
Final 2016 GUR: 17
Current 2017 GUR: 128
2016 WS: 8
She's lightly raced so far this year, having picked up wins at some smaller, short East Coast trail races, but she smoked a 14:47 at Brazos Bend in December.

7. Jacqueline Merritt
Final 2016 GUR: 69
Current 2017 GUR: 6
2016 WS: NA
Another East Coast stud, she already has four wins this year and a second-place finish at the Georgia Death Race to lock up her Golden Ticket.

8. Amy Sproston
Final 2016 GUR: 6
Current 2017 GUR: 109
2016 WS: 2
I picked Amy seventh last year and commented, "I feel like I actually might be selling her short here."  She went out and crushed a second place finish.  Naturally I've dropped her to eighth this year, so I fully expect her to win and make me look like an idiot.

9. Stephanie Howe Violett
Final 2016 GUR: 133
Current 2017 GUR: 16
2016 WS: NA
The 2014 WS champ missed most of 2016 due to injury but rebounded for ninth at North Face and then bested a solid field, including Camille Herron, to win at Bandera in January.  Definitely selling her short here.

10. Clare Gallagher
Final 2016 GUR: 13
Current 2017 GUR: 65
2016 WS: NA
Talk about selling short...she won Leadville last year in her 100-mile debut, but has flat speed honed during a stellar collegiate career, backed up with a fifth place finish at TNF in December.  I could easily see her in the top 3.

Hedging my bets
11. Meghan Laws (nee Arbogast)
12. YiOu Wang
13. Kaytlyn Gerbin
14. Nicole Kalogeropolous
15. Alissa St. Laurent

Lads
Eight of last year's top ten return, though unfortunately not defending champ Andrew Miller, recovering from injury.  Eight of the current GUR top 50 are in the field (including three of the top 5), and thirteen of last year's top 50, including eight of the top 20.  Add in several top-flight Europeans and you've got a very solid field of contenders...but absolutely nobody is picking an upset.

1. Jim Walmsley
Final 2016 GUR: 1
Current 2017 GUR: 3
2016 WS: 19
Allow me to become the 457th commentator to observe that the only person who can beat Jim right now is Jim.  His stunning 100 mile debut was one of the most electric performances of the year, notwithstanding the wrong turn at 91 miles that cost him the win and likely the course record.  Did you know that other than that wrong turn, Jim hasn't lost a race in over two years?  I could see him maybe blowing up if he is serious about chasing his stated goal--a sub-14:00 finish, which would better the course record by nearly an hour--but it's not likely.  And short of that, or injury, I don't see anyone in this field who can beat him.

2. Kyle Pietari
Final 2016 GUR: 23
Current 2017 GUR: 1247
2016 WS: 8
OK, I'm going straight chalk with my picks for the winners, but here's a little bit of a dark horse for you.  He backed up last year's top-10 with a second place finish at Leadville.  He's been quiet this year, with only one ultra finish back in March.  Is he ready for a huge breakout?

3. Alex Nichols
Final 2016 GUR: 12
Current 2017 GUR: 46
2016 WS: NA
Alex has a long history of stellar performances at huge ultras and other mountain races, including multiple wins at Pikes Peak, and has represented the US in the World Mountain Running Championships.  He made his long-awaited 100-mile debut last year with a win at Run Rabbit Run, and backed that up with top-five finishes at Speedgoat and North Face.  The WS course sets up well for people with Alex's particular skill set--climbers who have flat speed to burn.

4. Jeff Browning
Final 2016 GUR: 11
Current 2017 GUR: 25
2016 WS: 3
When you've been running ultras for fifteen years, it's hard to have a career year at 45--but that exactly what Jeff did last year, with a win at HURT, third at WS, and fourths at Hardrock and Run Rabbit.  He's undefeated in three low-key 50Ks so far this year.  It may be too much to expect a repeat of 2016, but I feel weird picking against him.

5. Chris Mocko
Final 2016 GUR: 29
Current 2017 GUR: 4
2016 WS: 7
He may have had the best 2017 so far of anyone in the field not named Walmsley: second at Way Too Cool, third at Sonoma, wins at Marin and UROC.  As long as he hasn't cooked himself too early in the season, he'll be heard from this weekend.

6. Jonas Budd
Final 2016 GUR: NA
Current 2017 GUR: NA
2016 WS: NA
I always have trouble picking the Euros (though I did hit Lorblanchet exactly last year, and wasn't too far off on Giblin) so who the hell knows.  But Jonas has the speedster pedigree of the Euros who usually perform well at States, and he was second to Walmsley at Tarawera earlier this season, though not really without shouting distance.

7. Ian Sharman
Final 2016 GUR: 3
Current 2017 GUR: 1528
2016 WS: 6
I'll pick him to finish in the top ten every year.  More dependable than taxes.

8. Thomas Lorblanchet
Final 2016 GUR: NA
Current 2017 GUR: NA
2016 WS: 4
Fourth in 2016, fifth in 2015.  Pretty safe bet he'll be up there again.

9. Brian Rusiecki
Final 2016 GUR: 2
Current 2017 GUR: 5
2016 WS: NA
The perennial UROY contender and 2015 GUR #1 makes his long-awaited WS debut.  Brian usually excels on more technical tracks, and so the WS trail might not quite be in his wheelhouse.  But he's incredibly smart and tough, and he comes in off one of the best stretches of his career, including his recent runner-up finish at Cayuga Trails.

10. Mark Hammond
Final 2016 GUR: 8
Current 2017 GUR: 57
2016 WS: NA
Maybe a little bit of a dark horse here, but I like his form recently, particularly a runner-up finish to Nichols at Run Rabbit (ahead of Browning), and a smoking 14:49 at the Salt Flats 100 in April.

Hedging my bets
11. Tofol Castanyer
12. Paul Giblin
13. Jared Burdick
14. Dominick Layfield
15. Zach Szablewski

Pre-Western States GUR Top 50 (as of 6/16)

	Men	State	Points	Women	State	Points
1	Sage Canaday	CO	126.4	YiOu Wang	CA	191.5
2	Max King	OR	125.5	Camille Herron	OK	178.1
3	Jim Walmsley	AZ	118.5	Magdalena Boulet	CA	95.3
4	Chris Mocko	CA	107.1	Ladia Albertson-Junkans	WA	74.5
5	Brian Rusiecki	MA	96.3	Kaci Lickteig	KS	71.8
6	Tim Freriks	AZ	71.75	Jacqueline Merritt	GA	61.7
7	Hayden Hawks	UT	68.5	Sabrina Little	TX	59.25
8	Cody Reed	AZ	63.6	Courtney Dauwalter	CO	58
9	Chris Raulli	NY	55	Amanda Basham	UT	48.5
10	Tim Tollefson	CA	52.5	Marianne Hogan	CO	48
11	Dakota Jones	CO	45	Kaytlyn Gerbin	WA	46.8
12	Chikara Omine	CA	43.9	Hillary Allen	CO	46.7
13	Michael Owen	OH	43.5	Kathleen Cusick	FL	46.5
14	Matt Flaherty	IN	40.75	Camille Shiflett	WI	45
15	Justin Ricks	UT	40	Cassie Scallon	CA	43.7
16	Zachary Szablewski	WA	38.5	Stephanie Howe Violett	OR	40
17	Franz van der Goen	CA	38.2	Nicole Kalogeropoulos	TX	38.5
18	Masazumi Fujioka	WA	38.2	Megan Roche	CA	35
19	Ed Ettinghausen	CA	38.05	Rachel Drake	OR	34.5
20	Ryan Kaiser	OR	35.8	Ashley Nordell	OR	33.75
21	Dylan Bowman	CA	35	Devon Yanko	CA	33.6
22	Scott Trummer	CA	35	Dani Filipek	MI	32.5
23	Ronnie Delzer	TX	33.9	Janessa Taylor	OE	31
24	Matthew Thompson	VA	33.5	Gina Slaby	WA	30.6
25	Paul Terranova	TX	32.3	Shandra Moore	TX	30.2
26	Jean Pommier	CA	31.65	Julie Koepke	TX	29.9
27	Dominick Layfield	CA	31.2	Rachel Jaten	WA	28.9
28	Anthony Jacobs	TX	31	Sheila Vibert	VA	28.9
29	Travis Morrison	UT	29.9	Penny McPhail	CA	28.3
30	Ben Koss	CA	29.75	Caroline Boller	CAN	28
31	Cole Watson	OR	29.5	Meghan Arbogast	CA	28
32	Bob Shebest	CA	29.4	Molly Schmelzle	OR	26.9
33	Olivier Leblond	VA	28.6	Kirsten Hite	FL	26.3
34	Avery Collins	CO	28	Amy Macintire	TN	25
35	Ryan Bak	OR	27.25	Julia Stamps	CA	25
36	Jesse Haynes	CA	26.9	Rachel Entrekin	AL	25
37	Mario Martinez	CA	26.1	Bree Lambert	CA	24.9
38	Joe McConaughy	MA	25.025	Katalin Nagy	FL	24.9
39	Tyler Jermann	AZ	25	Jenny Hoffman	MA	24
40	Michael Daigeaun	PA	23.4	Alicia Hudelson	GA	23.9
41	Jason Schlarb	CO	23.05	Shawn McTaggert	AK	23.5
42	Ryan Ghelfi	OR	23.05	Meg Landymore	MD	23
43	Jean-Bernard Flanagan	IL	23	Chavet Breslin	CO	22.5
44	Matt Smith	TX	23	Karen Holland	CAN	22.5
45	Alex Nichols	CO	22.5	Amy Rusiecki	MA	22
46	Rob Krar	AZ	22.5	Camelia Mayfield	OR	21.9
47	Tyler Green	OR	22.5	Michelle McLellan	TN	21.5
48	Drew Macomber	CA	21.7	Addie Bracy	CO	21
49	Noah Brautigam	UT	21.7	Katrin Silva	NM	21
50	Patrick Caron	MA	21.5	Keely Henninger	OR	21

Race Report: Cayuga Trails 50

All smiles. all photos: Joe and Elizabeth Azze

I’ve been having a difficult time starting this recap, both because I'm a little ambivalent about my performance--I'll get to that in a minute--and because I feel like I don’t have anything new to say about this race.  This was my fourth time running the CayugaTrails 50 mile in the race's five-year existence, and I’ve written extensively in thepast about my previous experiences.  It’s a race I keep coming back to year after year, despite the fact that I struggle with the course and I never seem to run it particularly well.  I keep returning because the race is in Ithaca, one of my favorite places; because the course is as beautiful as it is challenging; because as the 50-mile national championships, it’s a great opportunity to run against some really top-flight competition not far from home; because Ian continues to put on amazing events that put the athletes first; and because my MPF/RNR teammates annually put on a show of force that I always want to be a part of.  But my experience with this race has always been a mixture of positives and negatives, and this year was certainly no exception.

Last year I had an ideal buildup for this race ultimately foiled by another bout with Lyme disease, and this time around unfolded much the same.  After Rocky Raccoon it took a bit longer than I anticipated to start feeling back to normal; I didn’t really get into a good flow until early April.  But several strong hill workouts and two solid wins in low-key tuneup races (the XTERRA Northeast 50K at Wawayanda State Park in early May, and the New Paltz Pizza Challenge six days later) had me feeling pretty confident as taper time drew near.  Sixteen days out, I was forced to cut short a low-key track workout (three sets of 800m/400m repeats) with extreme fatigue, upper-body achiness, and dizziness.  I was immediately reminded of last year but tried to convince myself it was heat-related; temps were in the mid-90s, and I thought I might be dehydrated.  But when I had similar symptoms six days later, barely able to gut out 4 x 800m at 2:55 pace (which should have felt barely harder than a jog, given my fitness level) despite reasonably mild temps, I knew the Lyme was back.

At that point, eleven days from race day, my instinct was to pull the plug.  After dropping halfway through last year's race while on antibiotics I had no desire to repeat the experience. That night, however, I spoke with a buddy from med school who specializes in infectious disease, who thought my symptoms and previous lab results pointed more towards anaplasmosis (a Lyme-related, tick-born infection) rather than Lyme. If that was the case, I might be able to get away with ten days of antibiotics--which would finish up the day before Cayuga--and maybe feel well enough to compete.  I decided to wait until Tuesday before the race--my usual day for a final "hard" workout--before I made any decision.  I planned on 2x1mi at a relaxed but hard tempo; after I was able to run a 5:50 mile without feeling like it was the end of the world, I skipped the second rep and decided to go for it.  Cayuga would be my last race anyway before some planned down time; after I couldn't get the weekend off of work to run the Whiteface Skyraces in July, I was already anticipating my first real offseason since last summer.  So either way I figured I'd give Cayuga a shot.

Two old men trying to stay warm. You know it's cold because Ben's wearing a shirt.

My jog with Phil and Tim the day before the race felt pretty solid, and as we lined up Saturday morning I felt reasonably confident (despite a restless night of sleep) that I could approach my perpetual goals at Cayuga of 8:00-8:15, top 10-15, top-3 masters.  I knew from prior years that even splits on the course were a near impossibility, even for the top elites, and that it would take a 3:50 opening lap to have any chance of running 8:10 or better for the race.  Given my recent illness, I had decided to run completely on feel, and let the time and place take care of themselves.  The goals were the goals, but just getting through this one without feeling like complete garbage was going to be a win.

As planned, Phil and I ran together in the early going; as usual in these circumstances, I set the pace with Phil tucked just behind.  We settled into position in about 30th place, running just over eight minutes for the first mile before easing off as the climbing started in earnest.  At the top of the first climb, about three miles in, Ian had added a mile-long loop of rolling singletrack that, while pretty, was obviously going to be a real slog on the second lap.  This threw off our splits as compared to previous years, but the effort level seemed to be in check as we rolled through AS1 and headed back down the gorge towards the river.

We crossed the river feeling strong and made a relaxed climb out of Lick Brook gorge nearing the top 20, but missed a turn at around mile 10 that cost us about three minutes and four or five places.  We still had a long way to go, though, so tried not to panic as we made our way back onto the course and into rhythm.  The trail was in great shape, for the most part, though there were some very soft sections that were going to get very muddy later on.  We came through Buttermilk Falls (AS3) just over two hours in, grabbed a few supplies out of our shared drop bag, and began the climb back up.  Coming back down Lick Brook we caught the second place female, and we maintained a nice rhythm back up towards Lucifer's Staircase.  Before reaching the stairs, we crossed paths with the marathoners on their way out; seeing many friends and training partners hammering by early in their race gave our spirits a boost as we faced the daunting climb.  We caught the women's leader at the base of the staircase and pulled away at the top.  Coming back down past AS5 to finish the first lap I was feeling very strong and was holding back so as not to put any undue pressure on Phil.  About a mile from the start/finish he caught a root and almost pitched off the side of the trail into the gorge; he was able to pop right up but seemed a bit shaken and had a little trouble maintaining contact the rest of the way down.  (He told me after the race that he felt like he was "in shock," and that it ultimately took him several miles to fully recover.)

We reached the turnaround in 4:04 on a course that was ultimately about two miles longer than previous years--maybe equivalent to a 3:55 previously.  I was feeling great.  Legs felt strong, the weather was cooperating.  After running the first 14 miles without carrying any fluid, and then using a handheld for the subsequent twelve, I switched to my Orange Med Single Barrel HydraQuiver for lap 2.  We were in 17th and 18th place, less than two minutes behind 15th, about 6-10 minutes behind 10th-14th.  I was ready to start hunting.  Phil was dawdling a little bit in the aid station, trying to get himself back on track, and we had planned on splitting up at that point anyway, so I grabbed a banana and took off.  Within fifteen minutes I had caught the two runners ahead of me and pulled away; by AS7 at the top of the gorge I was running solo in 15th place, with a little more than twenty miles to go.

Working my way through lap 2.

The Cayuga course is an unrelenting beast.  While the trails are almost universally runnable, the constant short ups and downs and sharp turns make it difficult to find a rhythm.  Small logs and stream crossings that pass unremarked on in the first lap become major hindrances in lap two.  Avoiding lapped runners, front runners, and marathoners in both directions begins to take its toll, adding in countless small lateral movements that sap momentum.  The staircases that were run up cautiously in the early stages become nearly insurmountable objects; the downhills pound the quads into submission.  Four hundred runners traversing a double out-and-back turns numerous soft patches into ankle-deep, shoe-sucking mud pits.  For me, the second lap of Cayuga is always a mental battle trying to avoid negative self-talk.  The difficulty of the course wears me down; there is a constant sense that the finish line is so far away.  I was running pretty well, making it easier to keep a positive outlook, but there's no getting around the fact that year after year, lap two of this course is a slog.  Ultimately, after my two early passes I was completely solo the rest of the way; I wound up about five minutes behind 14th and about five minutes ahead of Phil in 16th.  Despite a 4:50 second lap--about what I've done in previous years--I wasn't close to getting caught by anyone, which is a first for me at this race and speaks to the length and difficulty of this year's course.  (Times were generally 30-40 minutes slower than previous years among repeat runners in the top 20, with the exception of Scotie and Cole, who had amazing performances; I'd suspect my effort was worth about an 8:20 or so on the old course.  I'll take it.)  I would up fourth master, third in the 40-44 group behind Ben and Scotie--my fifth AG top-3 at a national championship since becoming an old man, but still looking for that first AG win. 

Mostly just relieved.

Much like Sabrina wrote in her fabulous recap of the race, I was somewhat ambivalent about the race in retrospect.  It wasn't my best day, but it wasn't my worst.  I finished about where I should've in the field, but certainly didn't make any great strides or achieve anything beyond my potential.  My time was the slowest of my three previous finishes, but I was closer to the winner and to most of the elite returnees like Ben and Matt than I've been previously.  Ultimately I decided I'm satisfied with the result, if not completely happy with it.  Which, considering the illness coming in, I guess is about all I can ask for.

Gear
Patagonia Strider shorts and top, courtesy of Mountain Peak Fitness/Red Newt Racing
inov-8 Race Ultra 290s
Orange Med Single Barrel HydraQuiver and Handheld
GU Roctane gels and GU Brew

Race Report: Rocky Raccoon 100

It's been almost two weeks since Rocky Raccoon, my first real 100 miler (not counting last year's 24-hour at North Coast, though maybe I should).  I've been struggling with various, conflicting emotions since I crossed the finish line in Texas.  Relief at being finished.  Disappointment at not having achieved most of my goals.  Frustration that, despite excellent preparation and race execution, I was left with a sub-par result, largely due to circumstances outside my control.  Pride at having actually accomplished the task of running 100 miles, still in a relatively respectable time.  Concern and fear over what I might be doing to my body.  Uncertainty as to where I go from here.

I came into Rocky about as prepared as I could've hoped.  I'd had four months of basically uninterrupted training since North Coast, averaging over 100 mi/week for the previous 13 weeks (including recovery weeks!) with a nice mix of track work, hills, tempo, and marathon-pace efforts.  Greg had almost fixed my chronic Achilles tendinosis.  Scott had basically tortured my muscles into balance.  My weight was perfect, right in the 137-lb. range.  Four weeks earlier, I had run a solo 50K in 3:39, feeling completely relaxed; my last 10 miles were easily the fastest of the run.  I had no excuses.  I flew to Houston on the Thursday before the Super Bowl with my great friends Phil and Laura (and Francis Ford Coppola, who was on our plane); Phil would be running his second 100 (after an epic battle with the Grindstone course last year) and Laura would be crewing me and pacing my last 25 miles.

All smiles at the start, with Phil. photo: Laura Kline

The opening pace was about as fast as I expected.  My pre-race goal was 15 hours (I didn't know exactly how realistic that was, but I knew I could run 16 hours, and I wanted to be mentally prepared to try to run faster than that), and based on previous years I figured that a 15-16 hour performance would have me comfortably in the top 5.  I was anticipating a quick start, though, so I lined up several rows back and let folks go crazy in the early stages.  I stopped to pee around four miles in and was very pleased to find that Phil had been running right behind me (why he hadn't said anything for the first half hour is beyond me).  He was planning on running in the 17-18 hour range, so this pace was a bit faster than he needed to be, but he was happy to run comfortably with me and plan on slowing down later, so we settled in to 9:00 pace and wiled away the miles chatting and making sure not to go too fast.

With Phil at mile 23, cruising along. photo: Laura Kline

We finished the first 20-mile circuit in 2:58, right on pace (if not place; we were easily outside the top-20, already over 30 minutes behind the leaders; but I knew there weren't about to be twenty sub-15:00 100s out there) and resolved to slow down just a tad over the next lap, so as not to overdo it.  Phil was the pacemaker for most of lap 2, and did a masterful job in guiding us through a 3:02 lap for a 6-flat split at 40 miles.  The course was fun--a mix of singletrack and doubletrack, with a few more rolling hills than I had anticipated, but mostly excellent footing and eminently runnable.  The aid stations were well-stocked and staffed with hilarious, enthusiastic volunteers.  All in all we were having a blast.  I stopped briefly at 40 miles to eat a little peanut butter and chat with Laura for a few seconds while Phil ran through the aid station and opened up a little gap on me, but I had been moving just a touch better over the last several miles and was not concerned about catching back up; by 42 miles were running together again.  I was a few seconds in front when we came to an intersection that had clearly had the markings tampered with; it took us a minute or two to sort out where the signs had been switched around and get back on the right path.  (Where does this compulsion come from, to fuck around with course markings?  How is this fun for whoever is doing this?  I could almost understand it if you were sitting there and laughing at stupid runners getting confused and running in different directions, but why are you switching markings and then just walking away?  What pleasure does that bring you?)

End of lap 2, 40 miles in. photo: Laura Kline

I kept the pace steady throughout lap 3; I still felt very good, but did not want to go overboard yet, and focused on trying to run the same splits between aid stations as I had on the first two laps.  Phil fell back and I was on my own; I could track my progress to some of the leaders, though it became obvious that a lot of people had dropped out already and I didn't have a clear sense of where I stood.  My splits were not far off, especially accounting for the few minutes we'd lost at the tampered intersection.  The seven-mile Damnation loop between the second and third AS on each lap did become a bit of a slog.  This was the longest stretch between aid stations, and also the longest segment that didn't involve an out-and-back section, so it was rather isolating; it was a good hour of basically solo running, with few landmarks, and by the third time through it was starting to feel like a chore.  But I maintained through 50 miles in 7:34 and finished up lap 3 in 9:12, now in sixth place.  Fifth was a good 20-30 minutes ahead and looking strong; seventh was about 8-10 minutes back (Phil was about 10-15 back, in around 10th).  I knew by know that I wasn't going to break 15:00--negative splits are almost impossible in a race this long--but I told Laura that I'd be at the 75-mile mark in 11:45-12:00, and that 16 hours was easily doable.

I pressed on through lap 4.  After running through every aid station for the first 30 miles or so, I had developed a nice AS rhythm: two cups of Coke, half a banana, a few bites of PBJ, grilled cheese, or a quesadilla, and some pickles.  A minute or so, in and out.  I'd been running the whole way with my Orange Mud Hydraquiver Single Barrel, so I had 26-ounces of fluid with me, which I was generally drinking twice per lap starting with lap 2--one time with GU Brew, then refilling with water for the second half of each lap.  My fueling and energy systems felt pretty good.  I'd taken a few salt tablets, but not many.  I had peed probably four times in the first 70 miles or so; it was a little concentrated, but certainly not brown or anything concerning.  The Damnation loop on lap 4 was interminable; even though it was only about 4-5 minutes slower than I'd been running on the previous laps, it felt like it would never end.  Still, I maintained a nice pace through mile 72, on target to meet Laura at 75.5 in about 11:50.

In a race this long, things are going to go wrong at some point; how you deal with them is what separates a good race from a bad one.  At 73 miles, things that didn't need to go wrong started to go wrong.  I started feeling pretty tired and was struggling a little bit, when I started bleeding from my right nostril.  This isn't unheard of for me, especially when conditions are as dry as they were in Texas, but it certainly was an issue I didn't want to deal with at that point.  I slowed down a little and managed as best I could, and came in to the aid station to pick up Laura right around 11:53 or so.  (For comparison, my 12-hour split at North Coast was about 76 miles, so I was right there, if not a couple of minutes faster.)  Laura was ready to rock (and freezing cold, having been waiting for about 30 minutes as sunset approached) but I had to sit and manage my issues.  A volunteer pulled up a folding chair and brought me some tissues to pack my nose; Laura brought some Ramen and refilled my bottle.

"What else do you need?" asked the volunteer.  "I've got some whoppies.  You want some whoppies?"

Did I want whoppies?  I didn't know.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Whoppies?  You need some whoppies?"

Shit, I didn't know what he was talking about.  I racked my brain, trying to think of what I was forgetting.  I'd been reminding myself for the past few miles that I wanted to tell Laura to give me a Zofran tablet (for nausea) when we got to mile 80...more as a precaution than anything else, though my stomach had felt mildly queasy...I knew I wanted to drop my vest pack and just use a handheld on the last lap...I couldn't remember what I had decided about whoppies.  Did I want whoppies?  Would they bother my stomach?  Wait, what the fuck was a whoppy?  Why couldn't I remember what a whoppy was?  Laura was back with my bottle, but she didn't seem to know about whoppies either.

"I'm sorry...what are you saying?"

"Whoppies."

"What...oh. Wipies."

Texas accents, man.

Once I had cleaned the blood off my hands and face with some wet wipes (aka wipies/whoppies), we started off at an easy jog.  I led most of the way back to the start/finish, not running the 9-10 minute pace I had been doing earlier, but holding a steady 11:00 pace for the next four miles or so, coming through 80 miles in 12:46.  I needed to run only 10:30 pace to break 16 hours.  Fifth place was over thirty minutes in front, but seventh place was about twenty minutes behind.  Sixth was mine, barring disaster.  I dropped my vest and grabbed my handheld, took the Zofran and, at Laura's suggestion, a caffeine tablet, as my energy levels were starting to sag a bit, and we started off, headlamps blazing, Laura in the lead, running ten-minute miles.

I struggled to keep up as we started off, though my legs felt alright, and tried to keep suffering through what seemed to be a bad patch.  But after a mile or so, I could tell it wasn't simply a bad patch.  My breathing didn't feel right.  I was fatigued, to be sure, but beyond that, I was struggling to keep my breathing under control.  I was hyperventilating on every uphill.  After about two miles, I told Laura I needed to slow down to try to catch my breath.  I wasn't sure what the problem was.  Maybe the caffeine, I thought; though I'm pretty habituated to caffeine, and had been drinking Coke and taking caffeinated gels for the past several hours, maybe the tablet had been too much, and it was causing my heart to race.  We stopped at AS 1 (83 miles) and I sat again to check my pulse.  120 beats/minute.  Nothing out of the ordinary; certainly nothing to cause unusual shortness of breath.  I rested a few minutes, drank some hot broth, and we walked on.

Over the next few miles, I tried to run on the flat and downhill sections whenever I could.  Uphills left me gasping for air and were not runnable.  We decided we'd have to try to just wait out whatever was happening.  I had no chest pain and was still urinating.  My legs actually felt fine; on the sections were I could run, I was holding sub-10:00 pace with any real soreness or achiness.  And maybe the breathing was getting a little better.  I'd just walk the uphills until it went away.

It was on the final Damnation loop where everything went to shit.  I started feeling a rattling in my chest when I was running; I tried to cough up phlegm but nothing would come up.  At first, it was only on uphills; by about 88 miles I could hear a rattling sound even on flat segments.  By now I was starting to freak out a little bit.  I doubted it was my kidneys, as I had peed only a few miles earlier.  Was my heart OK?  All the reading I'd been doing for work and school about ultrarunning and heart disease started playing with my mind.

"Laura, I think my lungs are filling up with fluid.  I think I just have to walk."

So, we walked.  Every so often I'd try running for a bit, but the rattling came back after fifteen seconds or so and I was too freaked out to keep going.  Walking seemed OK, and my legs felt fine, and I was still going to be able to finish, so we just walked.  I felt bad for Laura, who had given up an entire weekend and flown all this way and supported me all day to basically be reduced to walking for 18 of the 25 miles she was pacing, but I couldn't do anything about it.  I was still in sixth, somehow, through ninety miles, but by about 91 folks started straggling by.  Phil and his pacer Mike came past at about 93; he looked so strong I wanted to cry, but I put on a brave face and we just trudged through.  I was able to run for about fifteen of the final 25 minutes or so, and finished the last lap with Laura in 5:01, for a 17:48, 12th-place finish.

I went straight to the medical tent, although I felt generally OK, and had one of the docs listen to my lungs, which he pronounced as clear; my heart rate was about 140 when I first sat down, but came down to 90 within the first couple of minutes.  I was still having a hard time taking a full, deep breath without coughing, which would persist for the next couple of days, but otherwise things seemed to be fine.  I'm still not sure what the issue was/is.  My best supposition is that the dry, dusty air caused some bronchospasm and a bit of an asthma-like reaction; several folks, including Phil, commented on how dusty it had been, and I had my nosebleed as evidence.  But I'm scheduled for a chest X-ray and an echocardiogram tomorrow, so we'll make sure everything is ok.  (I'll try to post a bit on the echo, and some various ultrarunning/heart-related issues, next week.)

My favorite existential sign. This is the next morning.  No, I don't look good.

So where do I go from here?  I won't make any long-term decisions until after the echo results are in. If everything is OK, I assume I'll get back to training in another week or so, and I'll put together a race schedule for the summer/fall in the coming weeks.  I'm glad to have finished, and to have my buckle, and my WS qualifier, and yes, a 17:48 is not anything to sneeze at.  But everything pointed to a sub-16, and my legs were certainly up for it, and my fueling and everything else seemed to be on point.  I'm equal parts frustrated and concerned, combined with the usual apathy/ennui after a major race is over.  It's not a great headspace to be in right now.

I learned that I can prepare for and execute a 100-mile race plan.  I confirmed, after Bandera and North Coast, that I can compete among the second tier of US ultrarunners at long national championship races--I'm not going to win, but after the true elites beat the shit out of each other, I'm certainly in the next wave of guys that are picking up the pieces.  And I learned that bad patches are just bad patches, and that I should recognize them for what they are, and not panic and try to force myself out of them by taking caffeine pills or whatnot; they just need to be endured until they end.  What all this means for me going forward, though, is still a bit of a mystery.

Gear
Patagonia Strider shorts and top, courtesy of Mountain Peak Fitness/Red Newt Racing
inov-8 Race Ultra 290s (discontinued, unfortunately, but really looking forward to the new Roclites)
Orange Med Single Barrel HydraQuiver, Handheld, and trucker cap
GU Roctane gels and GU Brew

Race Reports: Viking Run and RFTH

As part of the buildup for Rocky Raccoon, I recently ran two local, low-key races within a seven-day span.  Not that I particularly needed to race, per se, but both are fun events that I've enjoyed running in the past, and would provide two different training stimuli that I wanted heading into the final training push.  The training has actually been going quite well--averaging over 100 mi/wk for the past couple of months, including recovery weeks, with some good hill sessions, some longish marathon-paced running, and a couple of good long runs (particularly a 40-miler with Phil and Laura that despite the arctic conditions went quite well).  I've had a few little aches and pains, but with help from Greg and Scott I've been staying (mostly) on top of things.

Pre-Viking Run selfie, with obligatory hat.

First up in this little racing mini-block was the Viking Run, a very low-key 10K in Rosendale, about 10 miles from my house.  This race has been going on for much longer than I know; when I moved to the area in 2004, it was already a staple of the local scene.  It's generally held on the weekend before Christmas and New Year's; the 2016 edition took place on New Year's Eve.  We're often out of town during this vacation week, but I like to run this race if I'm around; this was my fourth or fifth time running it, but the first since 2014.  Generally, I can run up front if no fast young guys show up, which was the case this year.  I showed up after an overnight shift at the tail end of a 100-mile week, hoping to break 40 minutes, which on this course, which features over 1000 feet of climbing, is actually a pretty good effort.

I started off at the front and immediately opened up a small gap of about 10-15 seconds during the first mostly flat mile.  Tim Kosteczko, a local runner who's been putting in some good training recently, was hanging tough in the early going, but I was pretty sure that once the climbing started I'd be able to pull away.  We hit the first hill just past the mile mark and proceeded to climb for the next 10+ minutes; by the time I reached the top I couldn't see Tim behind me.  The course then drops precipitously for about a mile, turns around, and retraces its way back to the start.  I had a two-minute lead at the turn and knew I was pretty safe in terms of the win, but continued trying to push myself for the sub-40.  The return climb is absolutely brutal, and I struggled near the top, but was able to recover quickly on the way back down and hold on for a 38:55 and a three-minute victory margin.  This year, for the first time, local running nut Chris Regan had awards made for the race, and I wound up taking home a pretty cool viking horn trophy, out of which I imbibed a few that evening.

Cool! Thanks, Chris.

One week later, finishing a 120-mile training week, I returned for the fourth time to the Recover From the Holidays 50K, another low-key local event that I love to use as a workout/tuneup if I'm running a big race in the middle of the winter (which I usually am).  RFTH is a fat-ass race comprised of ten laps of a paved 5K out-and-back circuit.  This was actually the 21st running of this event, which is mostly used as a training run for local distance runners; RDs Pete Colaizzo and Charlie Sprauer will let anyone show up and run as many or as few laps as they like.  Most folks will run their 10-15 mile long run for the day and sit around the bonfire eating pizza with Pete and Charlie afterwards, but each year about 10-20 folks will battle the cold (and wind, and usually snow flurries) for the full ultra.  There are no awards, but it's free, as is the pizza, so you can't beat that price.

I'm on an odd-year-only streak with RFTH.  It's a race I've tried to do every year, but in the even years, something seems to get in the way.  (Last year it was Bandera.)  Still, I had secured wins in 2011, 2013, and 2015, and while it's certainly a casual event, 2017 marked my chance to become the first four-time winner of the race.  Among a champions' lineup that includes US national team members (Byron Lane) and American record holders (Sabrina Little), that would be a pretty cool deal.

Despite the recent heavy training volume, my legs have been feeling pretty good, and my goal was to run a relaxed but steady tempo of about 22:30/lap--right around 7:30 pace--shooting for a 3:45.  I figured my current fitness level would allow me to run that pace without too much difficulty and without sacrificing the last few weeks of my Rocky Raccoon training.  My friend and training partner Brian Hickey, who has won this race twice himself, was joining me there, but was aiming for 8:00/mile pace, so unfortunately it looked as though I'd be on my own.

Rolling along at RFTH photo: Charlotte Kopp

We started off on a frigid 19 degree morning and I immediately opened up a small lead on Brian and the rest of the pack.  I struggled through the first lap just trying to warm up; my toes were completely numb and my teeth were chattering through the early stages.  I ran the first lap in exactly 22:30 and was already over a minute in front.  About halfway through lap two I finally felt as though I had warmed up and was able to settle into a comfortable rhythm of right around 22:00/lap.  As I clicked off the miles, everything felt rather comfortable.  I didn't quite have my climbing legs, but I was able to power through the hills, as they are relatively short, and was really able to hold a nice, quick tempo on the flats.  I passed 15K in 66:30, halfway in 1:50:15, and 30K in 2:12:35.  Starting at about lap three, I checked the port-a-potty each time past the start/finish, but couldn't catch a window when it was open; finally, after reaching 35K in 2:34:50, I stopped and waiting until it opened up.  Finishing my business, I started lap eight at 2:36:55, cruised through 40K in 2:57 and the marathon in right around 3:06.  Finishing up lap nine in 3:18:30, and still feeling very relaxed, I decided to push the final lap slightly to see if I could break 3:40.  It did take a little more effort over the final circuit, but I was able to run my fastest lap at the end and finish up in 3:39:20, my second-fastest time on the course (after a 3:32 in 2013) and ninth-fastest all time.  My final 15K was my fastest three laps of the day, covering that stretch in 63:30 (6:50 pace).  All in all, a great confidence boost heading into the final buildup to Rocky.

I'll have a couple of brief posts coming in the next couple of weeks prior to RR100, and hopefully a good writeup following it.  After that the blog may have to go quiet for a few weeks.  I'm finishing up classwork this spring while simultaneously starting a new work project and writing a scientific paper that needs to be finishes by mid-March, so things are going to get pretty hairy in there for a little while.

Ultrarunner of the Year: My Ballot

This was the second time I was asked to vote for Ultrarunning magazine's Ultrarunner of the Year award, and I found this time around much harder than the first.  The men's and women's UROY were pretty obvious choices, but beyond that, narrowing down the rest of the top ten was exceedingly difficult.  Not to mention parsing the myriad fantastic races run this year to come up with the five best Performances of the Year.  And of course, just when I had settled on just about everything, last weekend happened and OH MY GOD.  It was pretty much back to the drawing board Monday morning.

One thing that made it a bit easier--or maybe harder?--was that for the first time, we were explicitly instructed by the powers-that-be that Fastest Known Time performances (FKTs) were not to be considered among the criteria for deciding UROY or POY.  This meant that several of the top contenders for POY, particularly on the men's side--Jim Walmsley's incredible R2R2R FKT, Pete Kostelnick's amazing transcontinental record, Karl Meltzer's FKT on the venerable Appalachian Trail, Jacob Puzey's 50 mile treadmill WR--were all out.  (For me, that effectively took Pete and Karl out of the running for UROY as well, though it didn't effect Jim's candidacy at all.)

There are about thirty voters, and the results are still being tabulated; the final results will be released on the Ultrarunning website starting in about a week.  For what it's worth, here are my picks.

Women's UROY
1. Kaci Lickteig
2. Magdalena Boulet
3. Caroline Boller
4. Courtney Dauwalter
5. Sarah Bard
6. Amy Sproston
7. Camille Herron
8. Maggie Guterl
9. Hillary Allen
10. Darcy Piceu

I found this category to be the toughest of all to compile my ballot.  This past weekend made it almost impossible; after Kaci, who was untouchable in 2016, I agonized over just about every spot on this list.  Toughest omissions for me: Katalin Nagy, Pam Smith, Gina Slaby, Devon Yanko, YiOu Wang, Jenny Hoffman, and Alissa St. Laurent.

Women's Performance of the Year
1. Gina Slaby, 100mi WR at Desert Solstice
2. Caroline Boller, 50mi trail world best at Brazos Bend
3. Katalin Nagy, dominant repeat win at Spartathlon
4. Sarah Bard, fourth place at Comrades
5. Hillary Allen, win at Cortina Trail ultramarathon

Felt like maybe I made up a bit here for leaving Gina and Katalin off the UROY ballot.  Tough to leave off Maggie's 100mi performance at Brazos Bend last weekend, Kaci's dominant win at Western States, and Cassie Scallon's course record at Bandera.

Women's Age Group Performance of the Year
1. Meghan Arbogast (55 years old), 100K age group WR at IAU World Championships
2. Meghan again, sixth place at Western States
3. Connie Gardner (52), win at Mohican 100
4. Beverly Anderson-Abbs (52), win (3:48) at Jed Smith 50K
5. Debra Horn (52), 170 miles in 48 hours (and the win) at Across the Years

Meghan's world age group record was an easy choice for me here, though I continue to have difficulty evaluating all of these performances across different age groups.

Men's UROY
1. Jim Walmsley
2. Jeff Browning
3. Zach Miller
4. Alex Nichols
5. Ian Sharman
6. Hayden Hawks
7. Dylan Bowman
8. Cody Reed
9. Brian Rusiecki
10. Andrew Miller

Just like for the women, Jim was an easy pick for the top spot; I'd honestly be a little surprised if he doesn't win unanimously.  And, just like the women, the next nine spots were a nightmare.  Almost too many difficult omissions to count; the toughest: Zach Bitter, Dave Laney, David Riddle, David Roche, Paddy O'Leary, Chase Nowak, Patrick Regan, Tim Tollefson, and Aaron Saft.

Men's Performance of the Year
1. Zach Bitter, 100mi American Record at 2015 Desert Solstice
2. Jim Walmsley, course record at JFK
3. Jim Walmsley at Western States
4. Tony Migliozzi, repeat winner at IAU 50K world championship
5. Tim Tollefson, third place at UTMB

Honestly, this was even harder than the women's POY for me.  Trying to choose between Walmsley course records was a thankless task; JFK got the nod given the history of the race, the number of legends who have taken on that course, and the fact that no one is within two fucking miles of that performance.  I couldn't leave off Jim's race at States either, which was the single most talked-about performance of the year, and the most dominant display that I've ever seen.  It may not be fair, but that's my vote.  I do hope Zach winds up winning this; it's unfair that people have kind of forgotten about DS last year, which was too late for 2015 voting.  Toughest omissions here were Zach Miller's crazy battle and win over Hayden Hawks at North Face, Jim at Bandera, Jim at Sonoma, Jason Schlarb at Hardrock, Geoff Burns' 6:30 100K at Mad City, and Patrick Regan's third place finish at IAU 100K worlds.

Men's Age Group Performance of the Year
1. David Jones (65 years old!), 17:34 100 mile at Tunnel Hill
2. Rich Hanna (51), age group national record (3:17) at Jed Smith 50K
3. Jean Pommier (52), 3:18 at Caumsett 50K
4. Ed Ettinghausen (57), 270 miles in 72 hours at Beyond Limits
5. Roger Jensen (66), 7:59 for 50 miles at JFK

You really could make an argument for any of these to be at the top of the list for me, and I wouldn't disagree with you.

So there you go.  Feel free to tell me what an idiot I am.  If you do, though, you must vote for me for Run Ultra's Blogger of the Year.  If you vote, you can go to the comments and call me whatever names you want.

Blogger of the Year!

Not to toot my own horn, but...well, yes, to toot my own horn.  I'm very excited (and confused) to announce that I've been shortlisted by RunUltra for their (prestigious?) Blogger of the Year award.

Honestly, this is a great honor, and I'm a bit humbled by my inclusion (though not too humbled; I'm still kind of an insufferable jerk about this sort of thing) on a list of many great blogs which I myself enjoy.  However, I'm certainly not so humbled that I don't want to win!  So if you enjoy my (and Lexi's; this whole blog was her idea) ramblings, please consider voting for me.  It's a little confusing; when you vote, highlight my name/blog, then you have to scroll down to the bottom of the page and enter your name and email address.

You can only vote once per email address, and once per computer (or computer user), but if you have multiple users on a computer with separate logins, and/or multiple email addresses, that seems kosher.  So, if you like the blog, please vote.  If you really like it, have your kid/spouse/significant other log on and vote too.  If you love it, vote from your home computer and your work computer.  If you really love it, vote from the computer of the guy who sits next to you at work, then go to your local library on the way home and vote there.

In case you didn't get the hint above, here's the link to vote.

Thanks for the support.  I know you always laugh at actors when they say about an Oscar, "Just being nominated is an honor," but that's actually true, and it's just nice to be recognized among the many other great ultrarunning blogs out there.  But winning is nice too.

Ultrarunner Xmas: A TNF Preview

image: Lake Run Club

After surviving Thanksgiving with the North Carolina branch of the family (we're really not sure how everyone voted), I can finally turn my attention to Christmas.  I know, I can hear you from here: But aren't you Jewish? Of course I am!  Where did you think that nose came from?  I'm not talking about December 25.  I'm talking about the the first Saturday in December, the most hotly anticipated day on the ultrarunning calendar (after the last weekend in June).  The two biggest lotteries in the sport both take place while the top runners in the world are battling it out at the season's unofficial finale, the North Face championships in the Marin Headlands outside San Francisco.

There's no real point in delving into the lotteries right now.  You can read about the lottery procedures for States and Hardrock.  The latter is a race that I'd love to pace one day--maybe this year if Brian or Phil gets in--but really have no interest in running myself.  States, though...I won't be able to retire until I get into that one.  Based on the odds, it's going to be a couple of years.

So let's ignore those depressing statistics and focus on the amazing battle that will take place on Saturday, as the deepest fields of the year on both the men's and women's side get ready to throw down, chasing the $10,000 winner's purse and a shot at UROY consideration (though I think Jim and Kaci might have those in the bag already).  iRunfar has their men's and women's previews up, and will be providing live coverage as usual on Saturday.  Here are one fan's picks:

Ladies
The last two women's winners, Magdalena Boulet and Megan Kimmel, return for the rubber match in 2016.  Nine of the current GUR top 50 are in the field, second in depth only to WS100 this year.

1. Megan Kimmel
Current GUR rank: 58
2015 TNF finish: 1
The defending champ and skyrunning specialist has displayed fine form all year long.  I hesitate to pick against Magda, but Megan's results this year, combined with what was honestly a dominant performance last year, make her a slight favorite in my mind.

2. Magdalena Boulet
Current GUR rank: 10
2015 TNF finish: DNF
This season has not quite lived up to the dominating standard she set in 2014-2015, and even with a win here, she won't be able to unseat Kaci Lickteig to retain her GUR #1 ranking from last season.  But she still has the strongest credentials in the field at any distance, and her most recent big race (fifth at UTMB) was her best of the year.

3. Ruth Croft
Current GUR rank: NA
2015 TNF finish: 4
The Taiwanese-based athlete doesn't qualify for the GUR (I guess I'll have to change that for 2017) and flies a bit below the radar being somewhat hidden in the Far East.  But she backed up an impressive win at CCC with a fourth-place finish in 2015, and this year was third at Transvulcania.

4. Cassie Scallon
Current GUR rank: 17
2015 TNF finish: DNF
A 50-mile specialist of sorts and a former Sonoma champ, she's had a bit of an up-and-down year, but her dominant CR performance at Bandera, a top-20 at Comrades, and a relatively light race schedule this fall (she's raced only one ultra since mid-August) have me thinking she'll be rested and ready to contend for the podium.

5. Ida Nilsson
Current GUR rank: NA
2015 TNF finish: NA
The Swedish dynamo has won both the Rut 50K and Transvulcania this year; she should be in the hunt for the podium in this very deep field.

6. Lindsay Tollefson
Current GUR rank: 113
2015 TNF finish: NA
The only woman in the field with the flat speed credentials to rival Magda, has relatively little experience at the distance, but certainly has the chops.

7. Keely Henninger
Current GUR rank: 47
2015 TNF finish: 7
A very consistent year, with a win at Black Canyon and top finishes against stout fields at Gorge Waterfalls and Chuckanut.

8. Laura Kline
Current GUR rank: 42
2015 TNF finish: NA
I speak from personal experience when I say that she is an absolute beast and is going to be very, very tough.

9. Sarah Keys
Current GUR rank: 20
2015 TNF finish: NA
Another Skyrunning specialist, she certainly has the strength to handle the 11,000 feet of climbing on this course.

10. Emily Peterson
Current GUR rank: 45
2015 TNF finish: 5
Another top returner from last year, has been remarkably consistent this season.

Hedging my bets
11. Kasie Enman
12. Stephanie Howe Violett
13. Sandi Nypaver
14. Anna Mae Flynn
15. Helene Michaux

Dudes
Eleven of the current GUR top 50, including (as with the women) the last two winners--Sage Canaday and Zach Miller--will line up on Saturday.  This will mark the first-ever meeting between Miller and Jim Walmsley, the odds-on favorite to be named the 2016 UROY.

1. Jim Walmsley
Current GUR rank: 1
2015 TNF finish: NA
How could you pick against him?  His only loss this year came when he ran off course at WS100 while on CR pace, with a one-hour lead, with less than 10 miles to go.  He has SEVEN course records this year, including a massive takedown of Max King's JFK CR two weeks ago.

2. Zach Miller
Current GUR rank: 32
2015 TNF finish: 1
The prospect of Zach and Jim--both speedsters with a penchant for running off the front--going head to head has most ultra fans salivating.  I wouldn't pick anyone over last year's champ/CR holder--except Walmsley.  Plus, Zach hasn't raced since UTMB in August, though I can't imagine he'd be here if he wasn't recovered and ready.

3. Sage Canaday
Current GUR rank: 34
2015 TNF finish: NA
The 2014 TNF champ, Sage has only three ultras to his credit this season, including a win at Black Canyon and a third at Transvulcania, before blowing up a bit following Jim's insane pace at WS en route to an 11th-place finish.  He's had some excellent results in short tuneups on the trails this fall.  It'll be interesting to see how he deals with what will likely be a very aggressive pace early on.

4. Hayden Hawks
Current GUR rank: 46
2015 TNF finish: NA
The surprise winner at Speedgoat this year, he was also fourth at the World Mountain Running Championships, and like Walmsley (and several others in the field) has blazing track speed.

5. Alex Nichols
Current GUR rank: 13
2015 TNF finish: DNF
He's not the most consistent runner in the field, but when he's right, he's very dangerous.  And this year, he's been awfully right, including a runner-up finish at Speedgoat and a win at Run Rabbit Run.

6. Cody Reed
Current GUR rank: 10
2015 TNF finish: NA
Three huge wins this year: Miwok, Tamalpa, and UROC.

7. Miguel Heras
Current GUR rank: NA
2015 TNF finish: NA
He's a two-time TNF winner, though not since 2012; at 41, he's not the every-race force he used to be.  But a win at Les Templiers this fall shows he's ready to go.

8. David Laney
Current GUR rank: 121
2015 TNF finish: NA
The 2015 UROY has had a quiet year, but showed his form with a fourth-place finish at UTMB in August.

9. Paddy O'Leary
Current GUR rank: 30
2015 TNF finish: 13
This northern California racer is tough and fearless, and he knows the course well.

10. Coree Woltering
Current GUR rank: 52
2015 TNF finish: NA
Was a top-20 contender even before three weeks ago, when he smoked a solo 5:30 at the Tunnel Hill 50-mile.

Hedging my bets
11. Jorge Maravilla
12. Tim Freriks
13. Dan Kraft
14. Brendan Trimboli
15. Eric Senseman

Race Report: North Coast 24

I'm having a difficult time starting this post. Just the idea of a 24 hour race was so foreign to me even six months ago that I'm not sure where it came from. In January I ran my longest race ever, the Bandera 100K; those 9+ hours remained the longest run I had ever done. How did I decide to run a race that would be another 1.5 times that duration?

For one, Bandera confirmed for me that I did have some aptitude for the longer stuff; with a somewhat conservative start, I had gotten (relatively) stronger as the race went on, running some of my fastest miles past the 55-mile mark and moving up through the field throughout the race. My training partners' focus on longer races helped nudge me in that direction as well. Brian's runner-up finish at Burning River in 2015 was eye-opening, even though he had a wealth of experience at the distance; and Phil, despite having run his first 50k in January 2015, was already talking about his first 100, at Grindstone in October. I ran my first ultra in 2006. It was time to get on board.

The 24 hour format seemed to suit me, at least in theory. I've never minded races on loop courses; I was not put off by the idea of monotony. And I was looking forward to running at night. Most everyone I spoke to cautioned me that I would experience a lull in the early morning hours. But with my usual unpredictable schedule, heavy on night shifts, my body was not only primed for action at 3am, but was very familiar with 24-30 hours without sleep. Where others struggled, I could gain an advantage simply by continuously moving forward.

I didn't have the ideal training buildup that I'd had before Bandera; my bout with Lyme disease in May and June meant I didn't get into heavy training until about 10 weeks before the race. But once August rolled around I was in a rhythm; I was able to bang out several weeks between 95-110 miles, peaking at 120 two weeks out. Not quite as many hard workouts as I'd like, but some good quality track work with Laura and Phil. I'd say it was about 90% of the ideal prep I'd had for Bandera. It would have to do.

I flew to Cleveland on Friday afternoon and spent most of the day in my hotel room trying not to freak myself out too much. Joe Fejes' race preview picked me to finish 14th among the men, which sounded a little low until I read through everyone's credentials and realized, Geez, I might really be in over my head here. Just be patient and keep moving forward, I told myself, and let the chips fall where they will.

I took my first-ever Uber ride to the race on Saturday morning and met up with my friend and sometime training partner Jim Sweeney, who was gunning for 150 miles and a spot on the US team for next year's world championships. Jim's dad Steve would also be running, and his girlfriend Bri and stepmom Ginny graciously offered to help crew me in addition to Jim and Steve. The biggest concern early on was the weather. Threatening and overcast all morning, the skies opened up thirty minutes before the start. We huddled under our pop-up tent, hoping that we wouldn't have to start in the deluge. The forecast called for rain on and off all day, but mercifully it let up about five minutes before 9 am, and we started in a light drizzle that tapered off over the first few miles. That was about it for the rain the rest of the way.

Before the race, I had told anyone who asked that the goal was 100 miles, and that anything over that would be a bonus. Which was true; after the first 10 hours and 62 miles, I'd be in completely unknown territory. But I knew that I should be able to do 100 miles on a flat loop without too much difficulty. I didn't want to base my race strategy around just getting to 100. I set myself a pie-in-the-sky goal of 140 miles, the minimum qualification standard for the national team--just over 10:00/mile pace. To do this, I'd need to go out a little faster, knowing I'd slow down later. I decided that I could run as fast as 9:10-9:15 pace in the early miles without the pace itself doing too much damage. Anything faster than that, I risked blowing up from the pace, not just the mileage. My strategy, therefore, was 9:10 pace for, well, basically as long as I could, then reassess.  Jim had decided to start by running 9:45 pace for the first six hours, then planned to run negative splits through the evening and into the night.  I didn't trust myself not to slow down, so I settled into my 9:10 pace and tried to make the time pass.

I spent the early miles running with a variety of folks.  I ran a few laps with Megan Alvarado (nee Stegemiller), an accomplished 100-mile racer from Virginia, and Andrew Snope, a huarache-wearing pre-race favorite from Georgia with a previous 136-mile 24-hour to his credit.  When our pace started to creep down towards 9:00/mile, though, I backed off a bit and let them go.  I focused on fueling and on keeping the effort level as easy as possible.  Whenever I felt any sort of increase in effort, I backed off.  Ginny and Bri kept me well-hydrated as the day heated up, and the miles crept by.  Ten miles in 1:31, twenty in 3:03, thirty in 4:34...just running the 9:10s, not worried about place, trying to get through each 6-hour block with minimal effort and just move onto the next one.

photo: Stuart Siegfried

Running has never been a transcendental pursuit for me.  I enjoy the mental aspects of the sport, and I can certainly attest to times when I've been "in the zone."  But I didn't come to the sport seeking enlightenment.  I run because I enjoy it, because I've had some modicum of success at it, because I like the competition.  After five or six hours on this paved, 0.9-mile loop, though, I found myself in a very unusual headspace.  I realized I was not thinking about anything at all except my pace, my effort level, and my fueling; everything else had been stripped away.  My life was simply this loop and getting around it as easily as possible.  It was very Zen.

As we passed the six-hour mark I started to globalize a bit and these feelings fell away.  Pace became my all-consuming thought.  I had covered 39 miles in the first six hours, exactly wha I had hoped for. The next six-hour block called for something similar, on the order of 35-38 miles, hoping for a 12-hour total in the high 70s.  I continued on, keeping the effort level in check.  I spent some time running with Olaf Wasternack, third last year with 140 miles, and Harvey Lewis, the defending champion who had placed ninth in the last world championships (both were a few laps ahead of me). Jim caught up to me and we ran together for an hour; then he lapped me once to catch up on the lap I had gained on him in the early going and we ran together some more; then he took off a bit and lapped me again.  He seemed to be moving very well.

With Jim. photo: Pat Dooley

I kept plugging along and fueling.  I had stuck with zero carbs over the first two hours, just taking water, salt tabs, and some breakfast sausage I had liberated from the hotel buffet, to get my body into fat-burning mode.  Now I focused on carbs, salt, and protein.  Every five laps or so I'd stop at the food tent and eat the following: a handful of pickle slices, a quarter of a PBJ, half a banana, a couple of grapes, and maybe some M&Ms.  Sometimes I'd have some of whatever hot food they were featuring at the time--hamburgers, pizza, grilled cheese.  Then I'd grab a can of Coke and a cup of ice, and walk about 200 meters drinking ice cold Coke.  And then I'd run.  This was my life.

I went through a mild down spell around the 9-hour mark, but not bad; as the sun set and the weather cooled a bit I felt better.  Another mild down spell coincided with the 12-hour mark.  I had lost track of Jim in the dark.  My pace had slowed a little bit, and while I didn't feel too tired, I became aware that there was an awful long way to go.  I passed 12 hours with about 75-76 miles covered, right in line with my goals, but suddenly the enormity of what I was doing hit me.  I sat down at our tent for the first time, eating some mashed potatoes and thinking, God, I don't think I can do another 65 miles.  Steve was struggling with some leg pain and was there with Ginny in the camp, and I outlined for them a new plan.  140 was out, but I could run 12-minute pace for the next, I don't know, whatever.  That would get me to 100 miles in 17 hours, which was slower than my pre-race ideal projection, but I though would still be pretty cool.  Then in the final seven hours, I could cover 30 miles for a 130 total.  Seemed doable.

I struggled a little bit through the next couple of laps, but about thirty minutes later I took a couple of steps just trying to open up my stride, and boom! everything suddenly felt amazing.  My first instinct was to back off, but I decided I had to start running eventually, and I might as well ride this wave for a little bit.  Suddenly, 80 miles in, I started clicking off 9:10s again.  Olivier Leblond, who had led from the gun and was lapping me for the eight or ninth time, caught up to me and immediately commented on how quick I was moving.  We shared several laps together before I stopped to eat something and he pulled away.  It was nearing midnight and the field was thinning out a bit, but I kept rolling.  Past 90 miles I was moving so well that I briefly flirted with the idea of 140 miles again; it was looking like I would be hitting 100 miles close to 16 hours, and 12-minute pace over the last eight hours might be achievable.

About two laps later I started to feel some fatigue in my quads, which was not unexpected.  More concerning was that I was suddenly experiencing burning pain in my right patellar tendon with each step.  This is a bit of a chronic issue for me on longer runs, so I wasn't terribly surprised, but the usual stride alterations didn't relieve it, which was problematic.  At 93 miles I stopped in the medical tent, desperate.  The student there stretched and massaged my quads, which helped, then started putting gentle distal pressure on my kneecap.

"What is that, rolfing?" I asked.

"No, myofascial release."

After a few minutes he pronounced me done and I sat up cautiously.  "I think I felt the knee release," he said, "you might be good to go."  I left the tent and took a few tentative steps.  No pain.  I opened up the stride a little bit.  No pain.  I started running normally.  No pain.  Alright.  Here we go.

Not running quite as quickly as before, but still moving very well.  I did some quick calculations.  140 was definitely out, 130 was still in play.  More importantly, I was fast approaching my first 100 mile mark.  I decided I was going to push through 100 miles to see what my time would be.  Beyond that, with my chances at 140 gone, the final total didn't matter all that much.

I kept cruising through 100 miles in 16:34, still feeling pretty good, and quite proud of myself.  At that point I sat down for only the second time, just wanting to savor the accomplishment for a bit.  I started moving again a few minutes later, but much of my momentum was gone, and I struggled to find my rhythm again.  I made it another two laps feeling OK, but by the third time around I was developing some significant pain in my right IT band and my left quad, and I hobbled back into the medical tent.  They worked their magic again, and my IT band was much better, but the quad was beyond rescue.  OK, then.  Time to start hiking.

So, for the next seven hours, I walked.  I walked and walked.  I began to get a sense of where I stood in the field.  There were five men I knew were ahead of me: Olivier, Adrian Stanciu, Serge Arbona, Kevin Grabowski, and Jean Pommier.  There was Olaf, who I knew had been several laps ahead of me, but I hadn't seen for a few hours, and I suspected might be off the course.  And there were two people who were within ten laps of me still on course.  One of them was barely moving faster than I was, and it soon became apparent that he was almost done.  The other, John Bertram, was still running.

Hours passed.  It became apparent that I was going to either finish sixth or seventh.  If I stopped, John would catch me and I'd finish seventh; a couple of other folks might catch me too if I stopped completely.  If I kept moving, John was the only person who could get me.  No matter how slow I was going, if I just kept moving forward, I'd finish no worse than seventh, probably sixth.  So I just kept moving.  Every time I came around and finished another lap, I considered whether I wanted to finish sixth or seventh, and I just kept moving.  Adrian became my best friend, offering a thumbs-up or a few words of encouragement every time he lapped me; he even stopped once or twice and walked with me for a few minutes.  He was struggling but moving better than anyone else save women's leader Jenny Hoffman, who was simply laying waste to the women's field.

With less than two hours to go I was almost certain I had sixth place locked up, but every time I thought I was safe, John would trundle by, cutting another lap off my lead, and I would do the math again, thinking, God this is gonna be close.  With an hour left the lead was down to three laps, and I considered stopping, but no, he could run 2.7 miles in an hour.  Keep moving.  With thirty minutes to go, two laps.  I could probably stop, but could he do two 15-minute miles?  Probably.  Keep moving.  Finally, at 23:47, I finished my 137th lap, knowing I still had a two lap lead and my spot was safe, and I stopped.

The immediate aftermath of the race was not pretty.  I could barely stand up for the awards ceremony, and I nearly passed out in line at Einstein's Bagels about two hours later.  But Ginny and Steve brought me back to their hotel room, where I had a glorious shower and a two-hour nap, after which I felt remarkably better for the flight home.  Within a day or two, I had no more muscle soreness than I'd expect after any long hard race.  My feet, however, were a different story.  I donated three toenails to the podiatrist on Tuesday, and it took a week for enough swelling to subside that I could see my ankles again.

CANKLES! (The blue toenails are painted.  The red toenails are not toenails.)

Despite that, this was an amazing experience and a satisfying end to my racing year.  It was my third second-place age group finish in a national championship in 2015 (though, of the five people ahead of me, four were actually in older age groups, so that's kind of cheating).  I didn't quite reach the magic 140-mile goal, but I now have a respectable 100-mile PR and a wealth of knowledge to take into my next long event.  Except for some short, fun, local races, I'm done for the year; the next big one will likely be Rocky Raccoon in February, which I'm already a little excited about.  Thanks to Ginny, Bri, Steve, and Jim for all their help last weekend; thanks to Brian Polen and the team at Vertical Runner for a great event.  Much thanks to my sponsors for a successful season: MPF/RNR (and all of the companies that support our team); inov-8, and Orange Mud.  And huge thanks to my family, including my wonderful wife Jodi, who thinks I'm an idiot but tolerates it anyway.

Which Ultrarunner are you?

This is a basically silly idea that I came up with a couple of months ago.  Because between work, training, family, school, and my other silly ultra-related project, I didn't have enough to do.  Anyway, enjoy.  There are almost thirty different outcomes, so you can try it a bunch of times, change your answers, and see how things turn out differently.  If you like it, do me a favor and hit the "Share on Facebook" button afterwards.

Merry Statesmas! My WS100 Picks and a Pre-Squaw GUR Top 50 Update

The most anticipated day of the ultra running season is almost here.  Merry Statesmas, everyone!

Trying to handicap this race is almost impossible.  The field is so deep every year, and the course is such a demanding test; you need to be able to survive the high country, but still have legs after Foresthill to throw down when the real racing starts.  Couple that with the unpredictability of the weather and it makes picking the winner very difficult.  But, everyone is giving it a shot, so I might as well do the same.  My best crack at predicting the men's and women's races:

Ladies
Seven of last year's top 10 women are back this year, and they're found by a murderer's row of talent from the Golden Ticket races and elsewhere.  Fourteen of last year's Gunksrunner Ultra Rankings top 50 are set to run; sixteen of the current 2016 top 50 are entered (including four of the top 5).  I think the women's field is at least as deep as the men, which is not always the case.  The only difference is the relative lack of top women from overseas, but I don't expect that to affect the quality of the race one bit.

1. Magdalena Boulet
Final 2015 GUR: 1
Current 2016 GUR:32
2015 WS finish: 1
Everything else aside, this is Magda's race to lose.  The defending champion and the top marathoner in the field has both the mountain chops and the leg speed to meet any challenge.  Her early season results have shown her to be on form.  Anything can happen over 100 miles, but from where I sit, she's the overwhelming favorite.

2. Aliza Lapierre
Final 2015 GUR: 8
Current 2016 GUR:28
2015 WS finish: 4
She had a monster 2015, with top finishes at Bandera, TGC, States, and UTMF.  She's had a bit of a quieter start to 2016, but a dominant win at Miwok shows she's ready to go.

3. Kaci Lickteig
Final 2015 GUR: 5
Current 2016 GUR:2
2015 WS finish: 2
The Pixie Ninja is clearly in top form following her second-place finish at Lake Sonoma and has placed in the top 5 at WS in both 2014 and 2015.

4. Devon Yanko
Final 2015 GUR: 84
Current 2016 GUR: 22
2015 WS finish: NA
She's more known for her prowess on the roads, but she's been running very well on both roads and trails since her return to the scene at Two Oceans last spring.  States tends to look kindly on speedsters, and she's got one of the fastest marathon PRs in the field.

5. Caroline Boller
Final 2015 GUR: 27
Current 2016 GUR: 17
2015 WS finish: 8
After she crushed me--and the national master's record--at Caumsett in March, I'm looking for her to improve on last year's finish.

6. Alissa St. Laurent
Final 2015 GUR: 43
Current 2016 GUR: 79
2015 WS finish: NA
Flying a bit under the radar, but incredibly consistent across multiple distances.

7. Amy Sproston
Final 2015 GUR: 82
Current 2016 GUR: 31
2015 WS finish: NA
I like the road speed, I like the experience, and I like that she won Black Canyon to race her way in to WS.  I feel like I might actually be selling her short here.

8. Janessa Taylor
Final 2015 GUR: 56
Current 2016 GUR: 36
2015 WS finish: NA
She's won almost everything she's entered the past two years, save a second place only to Cassie Scallon's CR at Bandera.

9. Nicole Kalogeropoulus
Final 2015 GUR: 7
Current 2016 GUR: 18
2015 WS finish: 6
She DNF'd at Rocky Raccoon in February, but has won a couple of smaller races since then, and I'm a bit afraid to bet against her after what she did at UTMB last year.

10. Bethany Patterson
Final 2015 GUR: 18
Current 2016 GUR: 3
2015 WS finish: NA
Another incredibly consistent performer and a very prolific racer.  Most of her success is on more technical tracks, though, and I'm not quite sure of her flat-speed credentials.

Hedging my bets
11. Anna Mae Flynn
12. Amanda Basham
13. Meghan Arbogast
14. Maggie Guterl
15. Amy Rusiecki

Dudes
Unlike the women, none of last year's top four are back in 2016.  If anything, though, the men's race is a little tougher to handicap, because I find the top Europeans to be a bit of a confounding variable.  Partly because I don't follow the Euro circuit nearly as closely as the US events, but also, I'm never sure how their success translates on this side of the pond.  In the nine races of the PJE (Post-Jurek Era), only one foreigner (the great Killian Jornet) has won States, and it even took him two tries to do it.  Last year's European contingent was as strong as any in recent memory, and scored an impressive 4-5-6 finish, but can one of them break through for the win?  Regardless, despite the Euros, and despite the presence of eleven of both the 2015 and 2016 GUR top 50 in the starting field, I feel like this is a three-man race for the win, between Jim Walmsley, Sage Canaday, and David Laney.

1. Sage Canaday
Final 2015 GUR: 45
Current 2016 GUR: 29
2015 WS finish: NA
After an unbelievable 2014, Sage had a bit of a frustrating 2015, as evidenced by his disappointing (for him) 15th at Comrades and his injury-induced DNF at UTMB.  But he still managed a dominant win at Speedgoat and put up four sub-2:21 marathons in a 12-month stretch, and since barely missing the OTQ and recommitting to the trails, he looks to be back to his old self.  I don't want to bet against Jim or Dave, but I'll back my fellow Cornell XC/track alum.  Go Big Red!

2. Jim Walmsley
Final 2015 GUR: 18
Current 2016 GUR: 1
2015 WS finish: NA
This feels a little bit crazy.  No one beats Jim Walmsley these days.  (I mean, like no one.  He hasn't lost in over a year.)  It's his first crack at 100 miles, but States has seen rookies have plenty of success in the past.  (Look at Krar in 2013, or Magda last year.)  Can leg speed and overwhelming talent trump experience?

3. David Laney
Final 2015 GUR: 6
Current 2016 GUR: NA
2015 WS finish: 8
Ranking last year's UROY as the third choice makes me feel sick to my stomach.  Let's just move on.

4. Thomas Lorblanchet
Final 2015 GUR: NA
Current 2016 GUR: NA
2015 WS finish: 5
He's the top returning finisher from last year and may have more of the profile of the Europeans who are successful at States (which is to say, "fast," rather than strictly mountain-goat).

5. Didrik Hermansen
Final 2015 GUR: NA
Current 2016 GUR: NA
2015 WS finish: NA
I know very little about him, but he won TGC this year, so what the hell.

6. Ian Sharman
Final 2015 GUR: 7
Current 2016 GUR: 4
2015 WS finish: 7
Ian will finish sixth because I feel like Ian always finishes sixth.

7. Francois D'haene
Final 2015 GUR: NA
Current 2016 GUR: NA
2015 WS finish: 14
I always think of him as more of a mountain runner, but he's won huge 100-milers all over the world and unless something goes wrong I can't see him outside the top 10.

8. Bob Shebest
Final 2015 GUR: 12
Current 2016 GUR: 142
2015 WS finish: NA
My dark horse pick, I can't understand why this guy doesn't get more attention.

9. Jeff Browning
Final 2015 GUR: 69
Current 2016 GUR: 46
2015 WS finish: NA
I just love his form recently.  Third at UTMF in September and first at HURT in January.

10. Jesse Haynes
Final 2015 GUR: 82
Current 2016 GUR: 13
2015 WS finish: DNF
He's always hanging around the back half of the top 10, and has been running well in early 2016.

Hedging my bets
11. Paul Giblin
12. Andrew Tuckey
13. Christopher Denucci
14. Paul Terranova
15. Andrew Miller

Pre-Western States GUR Top 50 Update (as of 6/18)

	Men	State	Points	Women	State	Points
1	Jim Walmsley	AZ	159	YiOu Wang	CA	104
2	Paul Terranova	TZ	85	Kaci Lickteig	NE	61.9
3	Brian Rusiecki	MA	75.6	Bethany Patterson	VA	56.8
4	Ian Sharman	CA	72.5	Sabrina Little	TX	54.5
5	Christopher Dennucci	CA	67.675	Anna Mae Flynn	CA	54.3
6	Dylan Bowman	CA	61.85	Corinne Malcolm	WA	53.35
7	Matt Flaherty	IN	61.6	Cassie Scallon	CO	50.3
8	Mario Mendoza	OR	59.9	Kathleen Cusick	FL	50
9	Jared Burdick	NY	58.5	Jodee Adams-Moore	WA	40.75
10	Tim Frericks	AZ	55	Ellie Greenwood	Can	40
11	Tyler Sigl	WI	50.5	Keely Henninger	MA	38
12	David Roche	CA	47.5	Alicia Shay	AZ	37.75
13	Jesse Haynes	CA	46.7	Bev Anderson-Abbs	CA	37.7
14	Andrew Miller	OR	45	Sarah Bard	WA	36.8
15	Chris Mocko	CA	41.625	Laura Kline	NY	36
16	Stephen Wassather	CA	41.5	Amy Rusiecki	MA	35.325
17	Jorge Pacheco	CA	40.2	Caroline Boller	CA	35
18	Michael Daigeaun	PA	40	Nicole Kalogeropoulos	TX	35
19	Masazumi Fujioka	CA	39	Emily Peterson	CA	31
20	Ed Ettinghausen	CA	38.4	Erika Lindland	CA	30.8
21	Dominick Layfield	UT	38.2	Rachel Ragona	CA	30.6
22	Ryan Bak	OR	37.5	Devon Yanko	CA	30
23	Chris Vargo	AZ	37.375	Megan Roche	CA	30
24	Zach Miller	CO	35	Julie Koepke	TX	29.275
25	Daniel Metzger	CA	34.5	Denise Bourassa	OR	28.8
26	Mark Hammond	UT	33.8	Heather Hoechst	PA	28.75
27	Paddy O’Leary	CA	33.75	Sarah Schubert	VA	28.6
28	Chikara Omine	CA	33.6	Aliza Lapierre	VT	27.5
29	Sage Canaday	CO	33.5	Traci Falbo	IN	26.6
30	Chase Nowak	MN	30	Kelly Wolf	AZ	26.2
31	Charlie Ware	AZ	28.5	Amy Sproston	OR	25.5
32	Jorge Maravilla	CA	28.5	Magdalena Boulet	CA	25.5
33	Jason Lantz	PA	27.4	Amy Clark	TX	25.25
34	Caleb Denton	TN	27	Pam Simth	OR	25
35	Jared Campbell	UT	25	Camille Herron	OK	24.7
36	Nickademus Hollon	CA	24.4	Janessa Taylor	OR	24.5
37	Karl Meltzer	UT	24.3	Anne-Marie Maddon	Can	24
38	Aaron Saft	NC	24.125	Kaytlyn Gerbin	WA	23.875
39	Steve Barber	TN	24	Katrin Silva	NM	23.25
40	Jeremy Wolf	WA	23.675	Courtney Dauwalter	CO	23
41	Olaf Wasternack	TN	23	Sheryl Wheeler	NY	22.8
42	Patrick Caron	MA	23	Amanda Basham	OR	22.5
43	Nicholas DiPirro	VA	22.5	Brittany Goicoechea	ID	22.5
44	Jean Pommier	CA	22.1	Keila Merino	NY	22.125
45	Mario Martinez	CA	21.6	Liz Bauer	SC	22
46	Jeff Browning	OR	21.5	Bree Lambert	CA	21.6
47	C Fred Joslyn	NY	21.325	Lee Conner	OH	21.6
48	Cody Reed		21	Shawn Chapler	IN	21.55
49	David Goggins	TN	21	Natalie Larson	CA	21.5
50	Brett Hornig	OR	20.65	Darcy Piceu	CO	21.375

Race Report: Cayuga Trails 50 Mile

Pre-race, with part of Team MPF/RNR. photo: Elizabeth Azze

I don't really have the heart to delve too deeply into recapping last weekend's Cayuga Trails 50 mile.  Plus there isn't much to tell, so I'll keep this post brief.

The buildup to my third USATF national championship race of 2016 went as well as I could have hoped.  Following the two 50Ks I ran in March, I took a week off of running completely before starting up again at the beginning of April.  I was soon running 85-90 mpw, and continued to build up to a peak of 130 miles in mid-May, towards the end of a 10-week block of over 1000 miles.  I was running strong track and hill workouts with Laura, and had long runs with Phil of 35+ miles at sub-9:00 pace.  I had Elizabeth come by and beef up my core routine.  I got down to race weight with two weeks to go before race day.  Things could not have gone better.

Eight days before race day, Phil and I were out for an easy two hours, the last "long" run of the training cycle.  It was warm, but not too warm; nothing close to the near-90s I had battled with Laura on the track the night before.  The first part of the run went quite well; as we climbed up our usual trail to the Mohonk Preserve, I felt ridiculously strong and relaxed.  But about an hour in I started to feel poorly.  I suddenly felt flushed and achy, particularly in my neck, shoulders, and upper back; as we started back down the hill for home, I was exhausted.  A little less than a mile from home, I got very weak and lightheaded, to the point that I stopped and sat by the side of the road for about five minutes before I felt well enough to jog the last few minutes home.  Unfortunately I was intimately familiar with these symptoms--it felt just like my previous episodes of Lyme disease.

Panic mode quickly set in.  It was Friday afternoon; I couldn't get a Lyme test for at least a couple of days, and having had a positive antibody test in the past, I wasn't sure whether a blood test would be useful anyway.  I dug through the medicine cabinet and found an old course of doxycycline that I started immediately.  If this really was Lyme, maybe I could get on top of it with enough antibiotics in the upcoming week to feel normal by race day.

Over the next few days, I convinced myself I was feeling better.  My legs certainly didn't have the pep of even just a few days previously, but I chalked that up to a combination of the taper blues and the heat wave that gripped the east coast, ensuring all my runs took place at a humid 85 degrees.  Laura and I ran our last track tuneup on Tuesday; 2 x 1 mile at 5:50, which felt aerobically fine but significantly achier than I expected.  It was still awfully hot, though, and I kept telling myself my legs would come around.

After an uneventful trip to Ithaca on Friday and a restless night of sleep Friday night, I headed off with Phil at the back of the lead pack Saturday morning at 6am.  The field was incredibly deep, even for a national championship; much deeper than we had raced at Bandera.  My goal was a sub-8:00 finish, which I figured would be in the back part of the top-15.  With the stacked field up front, I was banking on the top contenders beating each other up a bit; enough carnage (which is usually the case at Cayuga) and a smart race and I might sneak into the top 10.  I wanted to run the first 25-mile lap near my 2015 split of 3:50; while that had been a bit too fast for me to handle last year, I knew with my fitness level that I could comfortably come through halfway at 3:50 and have a strong second lap in me.

The race started out as quickly as I expected; despite passing through AS 1 (uphill 5K) in 27:00, just 30 seconds slower than last year, Phil and I had at least 40 runners ahead of us, including the top five women.  We reassured ourselves that we were being smart, and ran a very relaxed tempo, keying off Sabrina Little about thirty seconds in front of us, chatting easily.  It was a bit humid but not uncomfortable, and it seemed like I was having a good day.  We passed AS 2 (7+ miles) in 1:01:30, two minutes slower than 2015 (when I had run that segment way too fast) and about three minutes faster than my 2013 split.

The miles passed by easily enough as we climbed up the Lick Brook gorge and made our way over to Buttermilk Falls.  We caught Sabrina about 10 miles in and ran together down to Buttermilk and AS 3 in 1:52--again, two minutes slower than 2015.  Phil and Sabrina both stopped to refill bottles while I ran straight through the aid station.  My stomach felt great, energy levels were good, legs fine as we started climbing back out of the gorge for the return trip.

Climbing out of Buttermilk Falls. photo: Elizabeth Azze

About ten minutes past the aid station, nearing the top of the Buttermilk Falls stairs, I noticed the first hints that things were not going as planned.  The pace hadn't changed, but somehow the effort level had spiked considerably.  In fact, I was having to slow down to keep the effort level steady, especially on the climbs--not unusual, except for the fact that I was only two hours into an eight hour race and had no reason to feel this way.  Picking my way through some navigable single track, I noticed that my pace had dropped off significantly, and my legs were starting to ache much more than I expected at this point in the race.  I chalked it up to a bad patch and took an extra GU, but within a mile Phil, Sabrina, and a group of about four other runners had caught up with me and passed by as we started to step drop down Lick Brook towards AS 4.  I fell in with Phil, telling myself it was way too early to worry about racing for places now, and focused on staying relaxed.  I re-passed everyone in the aid station, as once again I blew through while they all stopped to refill bottles, but again, I was re-caught fairly quickly.

By the time we reached the base of Lucifer's staircase, about 20 miles in, I was struggling, already walking many of the smaller uphills.  I wasn't losing ground--in fact, I still had a slight lead on Phil/Sabrina et. al.--but I certainly wasn't moving well.  At the top of the stairs, I felt as though I was forty miles in instead of twenty.  Nothing hurt, really; I was just exhausted, and I couldn't imagine continuing on for another five hours.  We continued our usual pattern at AS 5, as I opened up a small lead over my nearest companions by forgoing aid, and was once again caught about a mile later.  By this time I had made the decision to drop, and I told Sabrina and Phil as much.  They were both a little surprised, but too wrapped up in what they had to do to try to change my mind, not that it would have mattered much.

I reached the start/finish at 3:58 and pulled the plug.  It was incredibly frustrating.  I wasn't hurt, my stomach was fine; I was hydrating and taking nutrition without a problem.  I just knew I couldn't run another 25 miles.  I could have jogged and walked, very slowly, and finished.  It would have taken me a minimum of six hours for the second half of the race.  I just didn't have it in me.

Eventually I hooked up with Brian, got out on the course to help support Dylan as he gutted out a tough fourth-place finish; commiserated with Cole and Iain in our mutual DNF disappointments; and got to cheer in a lot of great finishes from teammates and friends in both the 50-mile and the marathon; the list of courageous and inspiring performances is too long to get into here.  But there's only so much fun you can have at the finish line of a race you've just dropped out of, and it's been a pity party on this end for the last several days.

With Jason and Laura, who both did it right. photo: Elizabeth Azze

The drive home that night was brutal; I had a splitting headache and felt nauseous most of the way, further reinforcing my feelings that it's once again Lyme I'm dealing with, though who the hell knows.  I'm about two weeks into antibiotics at this point and feeling minimally better.  Had blood work done two days ago, so stay tuned on that end.

I'm a bit unmoored right now.  This disaster of a race experience has shaken the confidence quite a bit, especially in light of the fact that I don't feel much better almost a week later.  As crappy as a DNF feels, I'm no stranger to the experience, and after a little self-reflection and rationalization I can usually refocus pretty quickly on what I need to do moving forward.  But right now the uncertainty is making that almost impossible.  The goal is to be ready for the fall racing season--I've basically given up on an summer racing at this point--but without knowing when or how I'm going to get back into training seriously, I'm finding a positive outlook tough to come by.