This is the longest I’ve gone without updating my blog since its inception—slightly over three weeks, which have been filled with a Beer Fest, a visitation from my grandfather, and football (amongst other things). I’ve been eating out far more regularly than prior to this span, and being an evening runner, this has caused me to either cut short or altogether skip my runs. I’ve been staying up later and sleeping worse/less, which has sapped my energy and has not lent itself to A+ results. I’ve been eating and drinking worse/more than usual (which, admittedly, could be construed as a direct result of some of my aforementioned points). And I’ll readily admit that I’ve allowed these things—my social calendar, so to speak--to eek into my running plans far more often than I should, or is normal. Is this wholly due to the “perfect storm” of distracters, or is there something more there?—a lack of excitement, perhaps? It’s true that I really do love running, but it’s also true that I like having a point in the not-so-distant-future wherein I have something to look forward to; a race to hone in on and for which to set goals. So, I’ll be increasingly scanning the world wide web in search of said race(s), and have chalked this latest bout of ‘ineptitude’ to what was likely a much-needed break. As previously mentioned in a past post, I’ve got the FATS 50k (which I’m using more as a fun-run-on-trails than a race) lurking on the horizon (a week and a half from now—Sunday, October 3), and will try and have another ultra lined up by/near that time. Perhaps the Mother Road 100, in Tulsa, OK?
Weekly mileage (to this point, again keeping in mind that I’m starting with Monday and not Sunday): 9.89 miles (I took Monday AND Wednesday off, thus the meager output thus far)
Last week’s mileage: 29.68 miles (FOR SHAME!)
Fun observations/soundbytes:
1.) Only in Georgia can the top prize in a 5k road race be an M4 assault rifle. I’m not making this up. It seems Georgia is attempting to create a new kind of biathlete.
2.) The Island’s YMCA is a short distance from my house (approximately 1 mile) and features a paved, winding 1-mile track around it. Thus this is a regular destination for me, especially when I’m in the mood to see or be seen by other exercisers. Late last week, I rounded a bend on this track to find two small scooter-wielding children (a boy and a girl, perhaps 5 and 4 in age respectively) and a woman I assume to be their mother. I was running sans shirt, as I often do. This apparently vexed the boy, who loudly asked of his mother “he’s not wearing a shirt?” The mother laughed heartily. I did as well. I also laughingly apologized (to the tike), not knowing what else to say/do. It seems Georgia is attempting to create a community of prudes.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
I'm Newsworthy!
I was recently interviewed by the Savannah Morning News and the resulting story can be found here; it seems that people are interested in why other people choose to run (and bike) stupidly-long distances. That having been said, it's my personal belief that the article would have been better served being entitled "Crazy people can be found at any age."
Calli is not impressed.
Calli is not impressed.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
On The Mend and On The Move
I’m finally starting to feel more like myself out on the roads. And it’s about time (I’ve only got 30.92 miles in the book for the month of August). After taking two full weeks off after Burning River (due to need more than want), I had to ease back into running for a week (2-3 miles each time out, and more every other day than in succession) before being able to find my groove again this week. I’ve still got a bit of achiness/tightness in/around my right knee, and though it’s something I’ll be keeping my eye on, it’s nothing that’s going to hold me back. Which is a relief, because I felt myself going stir-crazy and didn’t want my mom to open the paper to find a “Local Man, Unable to Run, Turns to Life of Crime” headline. For better or worse, running has rapidly become a necessary evil within my life. I’m ok with it. Calli looks to be, too--I wonder if it’s because she likes seeing me happy, or if she simply wants me out of the house so that she can sleep more. Something tells me a little from column A, a little from column B.
Next up: the FATS 50k (31.07 miles) on October 3, for what I hope will be a nice, even training run on North Augusta trails.
P.S. A special shout-out to my good friends Jesse and Jessica, who are newly made first-time parents. Welcome to the world, beautiful baby JAB!
Next up: the FATS 50k (31.07 miles) on October 3, for what I hope will be a nice, even training run on North Augusta trails.
P.S. A special shout-out to my good friends Jesse and Jessica, who are newly made first-time parents. Welcome to the world, beautiful baby JAB!
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Burning River Race Report
Now that I’ve given myself a week and a half to digest a race that took me 23:36:26 to complete and have put most of the bumps, bruises, stiffness, swelling, etc. in the rearview, I feel I finally have the capacity to put into words my Burning River experience. This will be a race report only insomuch as it will discuss my feelings/observations about Burning River and, in so doing, the 100-mile discipline of the ultramarathon—it would be impossible for me to remember many (let alone all) of the aid stations, segments of the course in between each, etc.
The course/weather: A-. Beautiful, well maintained, and diverse enough to keep my mind from wandering (which could make for a very long race, if I’m constantly reminded that I’m indeed running). Well marked (with a single exception: just after Shadow Lake, approximately 19 miles in) and well shaded. The weather was perfect (primarily in the 70s and a bit overcast), allowing for solid trails and very little overheating. I don’t think I could have picked a better inaugural ultra, and believe most ultramarathons would be hard-pressed to match the course/weather combo.
Race organization/volunteers: A+. From the very thorough runner’s packet (complete with directions to each aid station, elevation changes, aid station-to-aid station segment descriptions, etc.) to the course guide with YouTube videos (provided by Chaney Events) of nearly every segment , I had a very clear picture of the race in its entirety prior to toeing the starting line. As for the volunteers, I can’t say enough for/about them. With 400+ of them, each aid station had multiple volunteers clamoring to assist you—I’m pretty sure I never filled my own water bottle, and very rarely did I have to gather my own foodstuffs. They wanted me to have home-made soup, boiled potatoes and pizza. Every volunteer had a smile affixed to their face, words of encouragement to provide, and info regarding the next course segment readily on-hand. One guy (58.6 miles in) took it upon himself to repeatedly douse me with water from giant, ice-cold sponges…I thought it laughingly excessive at the time, but was happy he’d done it shortly thereafter. But volunteer numero uno was, without a doubt, my pacer Dave. Not only was he stuck with me--a guy he’d only ever spoken with via email--for the last 46.6 miles, he was stuck with me the last 20 or so miles, when my legs were no longer cooperating and my mind was overtaken by surliness and negativity. We discussed 7:00 AM leadership classes, weird foot nodules, and too-stupid-to-not-be-funny jokes. He made me eat bananas and potatoes, and shared the last of his water with me when he too was thirsty. He didn’t laugh at me when, 95-miles in, I thought a rock and some tree branches were a cow statue, nor did he mind being laughed at (when I asked him if he wore either glasses or contacts and he answered with a “hmmm,” as if to say he wasn’t quite sure. I would later find out that he hadn’t fully heard the question). He made every mile I ran/walked/limped with him more enjoyable/bearable that they would have otherwise been. Thanks, Dave (and to your lovely wife Tamara, for tagging along and helping to keep our spirits up, too).
How I felt mentally/physically, and what that means for my ultramarathon career going forward: C+ (if not for the final 20--give or take a few--miles, this rating would have been much higher). As the race progressed, I found my running/walking ratio slowly slipping—I was still running more than I walked, but I was walking downhills I previously would have run, etc. I believed this a normal occurrence for all but the most seasoned ultramarathoners, and taken in conjunction with the fact that I knew I’d under-trained for the race, assumed it par for the course. I’d already fallen twice within the first 40 miles (once after tripping over a root and once after slipping on a slick rock during an attempted babbling brook crossing), and though a little sore from each, was no worse off for having done so. My right knee started protesting about 60 miles in, but wasn’t hampering me very much, if at all. Shortly thereafter, a tendon behind my left knee started to tighten up on me, and I had to stop from time to time to try and stretch it out. By Covered Bridge 1 (80.8 miles in), my right knee had moved from an occasional dull ache to more of a constant throb (exacerbated by running), and the tendon behind my left knee felt like it had shortened to about half its normal length. I primarily spent the final 20 miles of the race walking (especially the last 10), with a minute or two of running sparingly interjected. I was so stiff (and tired) after the race that, though I knew better, I went to bed without stretching or ice bathing. When I awoke 3-4 hours later, my left calf/ankle were nearly double the size of my right, and I likened the way I stood and/or walked to a dinosaur. Crude rendering below--click to enlarge.
A week and half later, I am still feeling some stiffness/discomfort in both legs, but these are simply “overuse injuries” that come with the territory and require nothing further than anti-inflammatories and two bouts of stretching each day.
Will I run another ultramarathon? Yes, and hopefully sooner rather than later. But only after I train harder/smarter, so that my body is better able to handle the mileage requirements I place upon it.
Below are some pictures provided by bystanders along the course—I’ll get some personal pictures uploaded in short order, upon the culmination of my current house/dog/grandpa-sitting venture.
The course/weather: A-. Beautiful, well maintained, and diverse enough to keep my mind from wandering (which could make for a very long race, if I’m constantly reminded that I’m indeed running). Well marked (with a single exception: just after Shadow Lake, approximately 19 miles in) and well shaded. The weather was perfect (primarily in the 70s and a bit overcast), allowing for solid trails and very little overheating. I don’t think I could have picked a better inaugural ultra, and believe most ultramarathons would be hard-pressed to match the course/weather combo.
Race organization/volunteers: A+. From the very thorough runner’s packet (complete with directions to each aid station, elevation changes, aid station-to-aid station segment descriptions, etc.) to the course guide with YouTube videos (provided by Chaney Events) of nearly every segment , I had a very clear picture of the race in its entirety prior to toeing the starting line. As for the volunteers, I can’t say enough for/about them. With 400+ of them, each aid station had multiple volunteers clamoring to assist you—I’m pretty sure I never filled my own water bottle, and very rarely did I have to gather my own foodstuffs. They wanted me to have home-made soup, boiled potatoes and pizza. Every volunteer had a smile affixed to their face, words of encouragement to provide, and info regarding the next course segment readily on-hand. One guy (58.6 miles in) took it upon himself to repeatedly douse me with water from giant, ice-cold sponges…I thought it laughingly excessive at the time, but was happy he’d done it shortly thereafter. But volunteer numero uno was, without a doubt, my pacer Dave. Not only was he stuck with me--a guy he’d only ever spoken with via email--for the last 46.6 miles, he was stuck with me the last 20 or so miles, when my legs were no longer cooperating and my mind was overtaken by surliness and negativity. We discussed 7:00 AM leadership classes, weird foot nodules, and too-stupid-to-not-be-funny jokes. He made me eat bananas and potatoes, and shared the last of his water with me when he too was thirsty. He didn’t laugh at me when, 95-miles in, I thought a rock and some tree branches were a cow statue, nor did he mind being laughed at (when I asked him if he wore either glasses or contacts and he answered with a “hmmm,” as if to say he wasn’t quite sure. I would later find out that he hadn’t fully heard the question). He made every mile I ran/walked/limped with him more enjoyable/bearable that they would have otherwise been. Thanks, Dave (and to your lovely wife Tamara, for tagging along and helping to keep our spirits up, too).
How I felt mentally/physically, and what that means for my ultramarathon career going forward: C+ (if not for the final 20--give or take a few--miles, this rating would have been much higher). As the race progressed, I found my running/walking ratio slowly slipping—I was still running more than I walked, but I was walking downhills I previously would have run, etc. I believed this a normal occurrence for all but the most seasoned ultramarathoners, and taken in conjunction with the fact that I knew I’d under-trained for the race, assumed it par for the course. I’d already fallen twice within the first 40 miles (once after tripping over a root and once after slipping on a slick rock during an attempted babbling brook crossing), and though a little sore from each, was no worse off for having done so. My right knee started protesting about 60 miles in, but wasn’t hampering me very much, if at all. Shortly thereafter, a tendon behind my left knee started to tighten up on me, and I had to stop from time to time to try and stretch it out. By Covered Bridge 1 (80.8 miles in), my right knee had moved from an occasional dull ache to more of a constant throb (exacerbated by running), and the tendon behind my left knee felt like it had shortened to about half its normal length. I primarily spent the final 20 miles of the race walking (especially the last 10), with a minute or two of running sparingly interjected. I was so stiff (and tired) after the race that, though I knew better, I went to bed without stretching or ice bathing. When I awoke 3-4 hours later, my left calf/ankle were nearly double the size of my right, and I likened the way I stood and/or walked to a dinosaur. Crude rendering below--click to enlarge.
A week and half later, I am still feeling some stiffness/discomfort in both legs, but these are simply “overuse injuries” that come with the territory and require nothing further than anti-inflammatories and two bouts of stretching each day.
Will I run another ultramarathon? Yes, and hopefully sooner rather than later. But only after I train harder/smarter, so that my body is better able to handle the mileage requirements I place upon it.
Below are some pictures provided by bystanders along the course—I’ll get some personal pictures uploaded in short order, upon the culmination of my current house/dog/grandpa-sitting venture.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Burning River, Here I Come
I only put in 22.6 miles last week (Sunday-Saturday, you’ll remember), but am nevertheless pretty pleased with the body of work I put in—some speedwork, some slower miles. It was a good start to my taper, as I also concentrated on getting acclimated to shoes and accessories (hats, shirts, etc.) I’ll be using on Saturday/Sunday. Put in 7.51 Sunday evening, with 3.7 last night and 3 scheduled for today, which will finish up my training—rest, rest, rest (and drive, drive, drive) after that. Of course, in between now and then stands mohawk-cutting, general packing, race packing, dog-readying, laundry, etc. And to think, I’ve already been complaining about my lack of sleep of late….
I guess that means it’s time to spill the proverbial beans (i.e. let you know that I’ll be running Burning River). Situated in/around Cuyahoga Valley National Park (near Cleveland, OH), Burning River is a 100 mile (101.1 mile, to be precise) endurance run (and home to this year’s USA Track & Field Trail Championship, which I will not be participating in—I’ll be running the same mileage as everyone else, but don’t pay the USATF dues which would make me eligible for the prize purse). The run is 75% trails and should be mostly well shaded (thankfully). Race particulars:
Start Time: 5:00 AM EDT on Saturday, 7/31
Time Cutoff: 30 hours (thus 11:00 AM EDT on Sunday, 8/1)
Aid Stations: 24 (3 unmanned water stops, and 21 manned stations)
Number of runners currently signed up: 268
My Bib Number: 216
Where you can track me in near-real time (my splits will be logged at every manned aid station): http://www.chaneyevents.com/webcast.html OR by calling Julia on either my phone or her own
Julia will be crewing for me (assisting me with the gathering of food/water or a change of sock/shoes, slap-in-the-face motivation, etc.), and I was lucky enough to “meet” (on the Burning River message board) Dave, who will be helping to pace me the final 46.6 miles.
Differences between this race (and ultramarathons in general) and just-plain-marathons:
1.) Like a marathon, ultramarathons are completed in one fell swoop—you don’t run 50 miles one day, get a good night’s sleep, then do the same the following day. However, your pace is far slower—my pace during my fastest marathon (2:53:40) was 6:38 per mile, while I would be “tickled pink” to run 12:00 per-mile pace (which would put me crossing the finishing line in just over 20 hours) during a 100 mile ultra. In order to insure you can complete the race (or give yourself a fighting chance, anyways), ultramarathoners run a pace they know won’t be too taxing over a prolonged period of time, and work walking into the race as well—during the uphill sections, perhaps during some of the more technical pieces of the course, or when they simply need a break.
2.) Due to the length of the races, most ultramarathons incorporate varying terrains: singletrack trails (narrow and oftentimes technical—roots and other obstacles on/around the trail), bridle paths (are oftentimes very pitted, through horse use) , bike-and-hike trails (are oftentimes paved and quite wide), roads, etc.
Burning River features all of these.
Because I’m using this race as more of a “is this something I’d be interested in doing more of” run than actual “how fast can I go?” race, I’m just looking to finish (i.e. goal #1: have fun, goal #2: finish). If I determine I would like to continue down the ultramarathon path, then I will train harder/better for the next one. It will help that I’ll have been through one and will know what to expect.
Burning River, here I come—I truly look forward to meeting you. Crazy, I know. This is what happens when you pretend you don’t know what you’re getting yourself in to.
I guess that means it’s time to spill the proverbial beans (i.e. let you know that I’ll be running Burning River). Situated in/around Cuyahoga Valley National Park (near Cleveland, OH), Burning River is a 100 mile (101.1 mile, to be precise) endurance run (and home to this year’s USA Track & Field Trail Championship, which I will not be participating in—I’ll be running the same mileage as everyone else, but don’t pay the USATF dues which would make me eligible for the prize purse). The run is 75% trails and should be mostly well shaded (thankfully). Race particulars:
Start Time: 5:00 AM EDT on Saturday, 7/31
Time Cutoff: 30 hours (thus 11:00 AM EDT on Sunday, 8/1)
Aid Stations: 24 (3 unmanned water stops, and 21 manned stations)
Number of runners currently signed up: 268
My Bib Number: 216
Where you can track me in near-real time (my splits will be logged at every manned aid station): http://www.chaneyevents.com/webcast.html OR by calling Julia on either my phone or her own
Julia will be crewing for me (assisting me with the gathering of food/water or a change of sock/shoes, slap-in-the-face motivation, etc.), and I was lucky enough to “meet” (on the Burning River message board) Dave, who will be helping to pace me the final 46.6 miles.
Differences between this race (and ultramarathons in general) and just-plain-marathons:
1.) Like a marathon, ultramarathons are completed in one fell swoop—you don’t run 50 miles one day, get a good night’s sleep, then do the same the following day. However, your pace is far slower—my pace during my fastest marathon (2:53:40) was 6:38 per mile, while I would be “tickled pink” to run 12:00 per-mile pace (which would put me crossing the finishing line in just over 20 hours) during a 100 mile ultra. In order to insure you can complete the race (or give yourself a fighting chance, anyways), ultramarathoners run a pace they know won’t be too taxing over a prolonged period of time, and work walking into the race as well—during the uphill sections, perhaps during some of the more technical pieces of the course, or when they simply need a break.
2.) Due to the length of the races, most ultramarathons incorporate varying terrains: singletrack trails (narrow and oftentimes technical—roots and other obstacles on/around the trail), bridle paths (are oftentimes very pitted, through horse use) , bike-and-hike trails (are oftentimes paved and quite wide), roads, etc.
Burning River features all of these.
Because I’m using this race as more of a “is this something I’d be interested in doing more of” run than actual “how fast can I go?” race, I’m just looking to finish (i.e. goal #1: have fun, goal #2: finish). If I determine I would like to continue down the ultramarathon path, then I will train harder/better for the next one. It will help that I’ll have been through one and will know what to expect.
Burning River, here I come—I truly look forward to meeting you. Crazy, I know. This is what happens when you pretend you don’t know what you’re getting yourself in to.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Speedwork: A Mind Game
I’ll admit to being slack in updating my blog recently. But this is a direct consequence of two other things that are abundantly more important: I’ve been running more (thus a major reason for the blog in the first place) and getting my act (and paperwork) together, in order to apply for a position in graduate school (and hopefully receive a Master of Arts in Teaching). Will I let my fear of needles stand in the way of my gaining access to school, which requires a recent record of immunizations? Hmm…. As for running, I put 128.58 miles on my legs in June, a far cry from the 199.3 I put on them in May. This is primarily a result of my tapering for my unsuccessful 50-miler, as well as some general laziness/recovery during the five days I was cruising. But I’m doing much better this month (49.07 miles at current count), and was pleased with how I felt during a 25-mile run (3:41:31; 8:52 pace) I logged on Tuesday. I’ll try and log a run closer to 30 miles/4:15:00-4:30:00 early next week, then begin to taper again shortly thereafter—go for quality workouts, rather than quantity. So, what does “quality” constitute for me? Well, besides working to keep my legs loose and “used to running” (i.e. slowly reducing the miles I run each week), I’ll also be implementing once or twice-weekly speed/track workouts. Why add speed workouts in to ultramarathon training at all, let alone just a few of them at the very end of a training cycle? Because I need to get my head right. Period. For me, a well-run track workout works wonders (alliteration not intended, but gladly accepted); knowing that my legs have still got speed/strength in them (ego boost), that my body can still take the punishment I dole out and keep on chugging right along (positive reinforcement), and that my mind can still be “talked into” letting me complete a rigorous workout (I rule the roost!) is a tremendous advantage for a runner that may (and will likely) be doubting any, if not all, of these throughout an ultramarathon. Just like in training, there are peaks and valleys during a race—we all embrace the peaks, but many of us are so afraid of the valleys that we stop when we encounter them. It’s those of us that can keep running through them, realizing that we’re sure to reach another peak again, that are therein able to see what we’re truly made of. This is why I run. Of course, I’m just hoping I find I’m made of an indelible spirit…rather than “poop,” like my mom keeps telling me.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Bethel Hill Moonlight Boogie: (My) Official Race Recap
As soon as we arrived, a pickup truck parked two vehicles in front of ours overheated. Come to find out, this would be a sort of harbinger for me and my run—mid to high-90s temperatures with little to no shade AIN’T NO JOKE!
After a quick pre-race meeting, I checked (then double-checked) to insure I had all the gear I’d initially be wearing/carrying on my person, and anything else I’d need during my frequent pit-stops (I would be passing said table, as well as the main aid station, every 6 and 10 miles) laid out in easy-to-find locations on the table we’d toted with us (me and my crew—Julia and Frank). And then, just like that, we were off (courtesy of a popped paper lunch sack—pretty sure that will be both the first and last time I’ll say that).
Though just over 75 people signed-up for the race, only 56 of us had actually braved the heat, humidity, and hills and toed the line. Within the first mile, most runners had already separated from one another (or into small, tightly-bunched groups), settling themselves into a long, slender line of people running comfortably…with me, inadvertently, being the frontrunner. I chalk this up to some key points:
1.) Inexperience. I felt my 8:00-pace was comfortable, even while feeling like I was running on the face of a frying pan, but there was still the potential for 49 miles still ahead to help me adjust that mindset.
2.) A goodly portion of the first three miles is downhill, helping to speed you along (for better or worse). Even the portions of this section that were uphill weren’t terribly tough, so for someone who had only scouted this portion of the course (for whatever reason—likely naiveté), during the drive in no less, I mistakenly assumed the remainder of the course would be similar. BIG ROOKIE MISTAKE.
At mile 3.5 I coasted past a small aid station (I was carrying along a handheld bottle containing Gatorade, at this point), and shortly thereafter the course started to bare its teeth—more frequent, and steeper, hills. I’d like to think that, in between miles 4 and 5, I had some sort of inclination in my pea-sized brain that this course was something altogether different/more difficult than anything I’d ever run before. But though I walked small uphill portions during this time, I still ran through mile 6 (swapping out one Gatorade bottle for a water in the process) in approximately 45 minutes—7:30-pace. I.e. entirely too fast, which I shouted to Julia as I ran past. Downhills + no mile markers = bad internal chronometer. It was not too long after this that I was passed by two men in quick succession, including the eventual winner--a guy with a one-inch thick, chest-length goatee (which was kept under wraps; I was not swallowed up by it as he eased by me, though shortly thereafter I’d wish I had been). This section was a 2-mile out and back section (thus 4 miles total), and, I would quickly find, the hardest part of the course by far—especially the “back” section, which seemed to me to be one big, never-ending hill. By the time I got back to my gear at mile 10 (in 1:22:31—8:15-pace, which was still sub-7-hour pace), I was sitting in fourth place overall and was pretty surly—not because of my placement, but because my body was already starting to show major signs of tiring. I grabbed another Gatorade (and continued to carry my unfinished water), and was once again off—a sweaty, quickly-losing-his-form mess.
By the time I got to the small aid station on the back side of the course again (approximately mile 13.5), I’d fallen to fifth and was starting to overheat. I poured water down the back of my neck and splashed a bit more on my face, grabbed a frosted oatmeal cookie, and was slowly off again. (Before I go any further, let it be said that I wish I’d done this from the get-go—the water was startlingly cold, and a welcome relief). Coasting back in to the big aid station/my gear table at mile 16, I refilled my water bottle with the super-cold stuff the uber-friendly staff provided, then was off again (purposely dropping a still-full Gatorade bottle shortly thereafter—I was getting tired of carrying two bottles at the same time, and figured I’d only need one bottle for the 4-mile section ahead of me). I jockeyed back and forth with another guy to remain in fifth place on this section (he was running at a slower clip than me, but I was walking more than him). Arriving back at the big aid station (meaning I’d completed 20 miles, in 3:05:24—9:16-pace, continuing my drastic slowdown), I was feeling every mile I’d already run—many of my muscles were showing signs of tightness/cramping, and I had very little energy. I decided to grab half a hot dog and see how I felt after another 6 miles, so I refilled my water bottle (after having picked up my previously-discarded Gatorade), and took a seat at my gear table for a quick shoe/sock change—the ones on my feet were drenched. After the shoe change, I grabbed my headlamp, then was off once again. Only this time, I was walking away, not running—eating my half-hotdog had become a real chore. Once I finally got it down (minus a bit of the bun), I started jogging again, realizing that if I was going to start running again, now was the time—on the previously-mentioned downhills. At the small aid station (approximately 23.5 miles in), the workers there casually asked me “how ya’ doing?,” (I think just as a way of saying “hello”—they weren’t actually looking for the answer I gave them, I’m sure) to which I replied “lousy.” I then apologized to the taken-aback threesome of workers, refilled my water bottle (after drenching myself with the previous contents once again), and was once again off…but at this point, I was walking far more that I was running—when I arrived back at my gear table at mile 26 (having just walked 5 of the last 6 miles with severe muscle tightness, etc.), I’d already made-up my mind that I was calling it quits (apparently 19 others dropped out as well, as only 36 people are listed on the race's website as having finished); I felt I would be ignoring the easily-recognizable signals my body was broadcasting if I continued on, and would really be setting myself up for injury (and an absolutely miserable cruise). My final tally: 26 miles in 4:24:29 (10:10 per-mile pace).
Things I learned, both about ultramarathon running and myself:
1.) Assumptions are for chumps—take the time to scope-out the course.
2.) I’m a flatlander, through and through. I’m really going to have to spend some time doing a fair amount of incline training in the future.
3.) I have a long ways to go with my fueling. I had way too little to eat and drink—I dropped about 5.5 pounds over the course of the race, in fact. Though I took my S! Caps and gels religiously, they are in no way a substitute for actual food, and I vastly underestimated how much water I needed to take in on such a hot, humid day.
4.) I should have walked far more and run far slower at the start, saving up valuable energy for when the sun was down and the temperatures far cooler.
Sure, I was disappointed that I didn’t finish the race (especially considering that the reasons primarily centered around my booby trapping myself), but was quite happy that I was able to reign myself in when I knew I needed to—knowing I am mentally strong enough to stop myself will go a long way in allowing me to be comfortable in signing up for further ultramarathons in the future.
Slotted in behind the eventual winner:
(Inadvertent?) Extreme Close-up:
My hard-working/eating/playing crew (though I can be a real bear, I truly do appreciate it!):
After a quick pre-race meeting, I checked (then double-checked) to insure I had all the gear I’d initially be wearing/carrying on my person, and anything else I’d need during my frequent pit-stops (I would be passing said table, as well as the main aid station, every 6 and 10 miles) laid out in easy-to-find locations on the table we’d toted with us (me and my crew—Julia and Frank). And then, just like that, we were off (courtesy of a popped paper lunch sack—pretty sure that will be both the first and last time I’ll say that).
Though just over 75 people signed-up for the race, only 56 of us had actually braved the heat, humidity, and hills and toed the line. Within the first mile, most runners had already separated from one another (or into small, tightly-bunched groups), settling themselves into a long, slender line of people running comfortably…with me, inadvertently, being the frontrunner. I chalk this up to some key points:
1.) Inexperience. I felt my 8:00-pace was comfortable, even while feeling like I was running on the face of a frying pan, but there was still the potential for 49 miles still ahead to help me adjust that mindset.
2.) A goodly portion of the first three miles is downhill, helping to speed you along (for better or worse). Even the portions of this section that were uphill weren’t terribly tough, so for someone who had only scouted this portion of the course (for whatever reason—likely naiveté), during the drive in no less, I mistakenly assumed the remainder of the course would be similar. BIG ROOKIE MISTAKE.
At mile 3.5 I coasted past a small aid station (I was carrying along a handheld bottle containing Gatorade, at this point), and shortly thereafter the course started to bare its teeth—more frequent, and steeper, hills. I’d like to think that, in between miles 4 and 5, I had some sort of inclination in my pea-sized brain that this course was something altogether different/more difficult than anything I’d ever run before. But though I walked small uphill portions during this time, I still ran through mile 6 (swapping out one Gatorade bottle for a water in the process) in approximately 45 minutes—7:30-pace. I.e. entirely too fast, which I shouted to Julia as I ran past. Downhills + no mile markers = bad internal chronometer. It was not too long after this that I was passed by two men in quick succession, including the eventual winner--a guy with a one-inch thick, chest-length goatee (which was kept under wraps; I was not swallowed up by it as he eased by me, though shortly thereafter I’d wish I had been). This section was a 2-mile out and back section (thus 4 miles total), and, I would quickly find, the hardest part of the course by far—especially the “back” section, which seemed to me to be one big, never-ending hill. By the time I got back to my gear at mile 10 (in 1:22:31—8:15-pace, which was still sub-7-hour pace), I was sitting in fourth place overall and was pretty surly—not because of my placement, but because my body was already starting to show major signs of tiring. I grabbed another Gatorade (and continued to carry my unfinished water), and was once again off—a sweaty, quickly-losing-his-form mess.
By the time I got to the small aid station on the back side of the course again (approximately mile 13.5), I’d fallen to fifth and was starting to overheat. I poured water down the back of my neck and splashed a bit more on my face, grabbed a frosted oatmeal cookie, and was slowly off again. (Before I go any further, let it be said that I wish I’d done this from the get-go—the water was startlingly cold, and a welcome relief). Coasting back in to the big aid station/my gear table at mile 16, I refilled my water bottle with the super-cold stuff the uber-friendly staff provided, then was off again (purposely dropping a still-full Gatorade bottle shortly thereafter—I was getting tired of carrying two bottles at the same time, and figured I’d only need one bottle for the 4-mile section ahead of me). I jockeyed back and forth with another guy to remain in fifth place on this section (he was running at a slower clip than me, but I was walking more than him). Arriving back at the big aid station (meaning I’d completed 20 miles, in 3:05:24—9:16-pace, continuing my drastic slowdown), I was feeling every mile I’d already run—many of my muscles were showing signs of tightness/cramping, and I had very little energy. I decided to grab half a hot dog and see how I felt after another 6 miles, so I refilled my water bottle (after having picked up my previously-discarded Gatorade), and took a seat at my gear table for a quick shoe/sock change—the ones on my feet were drenched. After the shoe change, I grabbed my headlamp, then was off once again. Only this time, I was walking away, not running—eating my half-hotdog had become a real chore. Once I finally got it down (minus a bit of the bun), I started jogging again, realizing that if I was going to start running again, now was the time—on the previously-mentioned downhills. At the small aid station (approximately 23.5 miles in), the workers there casually asked me “how ya’ doing?,” (I think just as a way of saying “hello”—they weren’t actually looking for the answer I gave them, I’m sure) to which I replied “lousy.” I then apologized to the taken-aback threesome of workers, refilled my water bottle (after drenching myself with the previous contents once again), and was once again off…but at this point, I was walking far more that I was running—when I arrived back at my gear table at mile 26 (having just walked 5 of the last 6 miles with severe muscle tightness, etc.), I’d already made-up my mind that I was calling it quits (apparently 19 others dropped out as well, as only 36 people are listed on the race's website as having finished); I felt I would be ignoring the easily-recognizable signals my body was broadcasting if I continued on, and would really be setting myself up for injury (and an absolutely miserable cruise). My final tally: 26 miles in 4:24:29 (10:10 per-mile pace).
Things I learned, both about ultramarathon running and myself:
1.) Assumptions are for chumps—take the time to scope-out the course.
2.) I’m a flatlander, through and through. I’m really going to have to spend some time doing a fair amount of incline training in the future.
3.) I have a long ways to go with my fueling. I had way too little to eat and drink—I dropped about 5.5 pounds over the course of the race, in fact. Though I took my S! Caps and gels religiously, they are in no way a substitute for actual food, and I vastly underestimated how much water I needed to take in on such a hot, humid day.
4.) I should have walked far more and run far slower at the start, saving up valuable energy for when the sun was down and the temperatures far cooler.
Sure, I was disappointed that I didn’t finish the race (especially considering that the reasons primarily centered around my booby trapping myself), but was quite happy that I was able to reign myself in when I knew I needed to—knowing I am mentally strong enough to stop myself will go a long way in allowing me to be comfortable in signing up for further ultramarathons in the future.
Slotted in behind the eventual winner:
(Inadvertent?) Extreme Close-up:
My hard-working/eating/playing crew (though I can be a real bear, I truly do appreciate it!):
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