Race For Others

Reflections on my second 100 miler.

Matt — Wed, 06 Feb 2013 04:10:08 +0000

Sometimes you have to go backward to move forward.

I’m going to try something a bit different. I usually put a lot of pressure on myself to write something others find compelling. I really like how my friend Kelly writes for herself. So, I’m going to write for myself. There’s much I’d like to tell my future self about running 100 milers. Here goes.

Clearly, the biggest lesson logistically is my shoes. My minimalist New Balance MT110’s don’t provide enough cushion. I can run 50 miles in them and my feet are sore, but bearable. But after 60 miles the bottom of my feet hurt badly. So, I’ll have to experiment with some other trail shoes that have more protection and cushion underfoot.

This race showed me that my body is tougher than my mind. I need to figure out how to prepare myself mentally. I never thought I would have to deal with thoughts of dropping at mile 57. The way I felt at 57 this year was how I felt at 70 last year. I’m ashamed at how intensely I tried to find a legitimate way to quit. I couldn’t quit just because I was tired and my feet hurt. But I literally imagined all kinds of ways to have a “real” reason to drop. Like “accidentally” twisting an ankle or falling off a boardwalk. I reasoned that I had to find a way to quit before returning back to the start/finish area. I knew I would never be able to convince everyone waiting for me.

My Pacers, Aaron and Jon

The mantra that worked best was “block it out.” It helped me deal with the pain on the bottom of my feet. It required lots of mental focus, and ultimately I wasn’t able to maintain this indefinitely. It worked for a while, and then I would fall apart again.

When I was going through one of my dark times, I grappled with the question, “Why do I do this to myself?” I quizzed my pacer, Jon. I didn’t really want an answer. It was just another way for me to express my inability to deal with the situation. Later I realized the only answer is simply to see if I can do it; to see what happens when I try.

Here’s the lesson: It’s going to hurt. You’re going to want to quit. There will be many dark times. Don’t pretend like this stuff isn’t going to happen. You have to find a way through the dark times.

I finally found a way to deal with my feet pain. Despite misgivings about taking medicine during races, I resorted to ibuprofen. So, that leads me to my second major issue, sleepiness. Around mile 87 I started having trouble focusing my eyes on the trail. It’s like when you are reading and you get sleepy; you can’t focus on the words. Your eyes glaze over and lose focus. They get heavy and you have to struggle to keep them open. I remember taking a short rest break and it was all I could do not to curl up in a fetal position on the ground. Jon did everything he could to keep me going. One time I was stopped, hunched over on my knees mumbling about how we should go back. Jon said, “well, let’s make a decision while we walk.” And I kept walking.

Sarah, Kevin, Aaron, Greg, Byron, Fiona, and Gretchen

I tried intensely focusing my eyes. It worked for a couple minutes, but then the sleepiness was even worse. I noticed several steps that “swerved.” I noticed that Jon noticed it too. He reached out a couple times ready to catch me. Finally I said, “we’re going back,” and turned around. We started walking back to the aid station. Jon stuck out his arm to stop me and said, “We’re doing this because it’s not safe to go on, right?” I said yes. He suggested we run to stay warm.

We were on one-way trail at the time. So, we had to pass other runners. I knew – that they knew – we were going the wrong way. They must think something is wrong. They must know I’m quitting. My mind was racing. I wasn’t stumbling anymore. Finally I stopped and confessed to Jon, “I wish I was still falling asleep. That would make this a lot simpler.” We stood in silence for a moment. Then I took off… in the forward direction. We ran with purpose. We ran it all – uphills, downhills, and flats. We ran with intense purpose. Most importantly, I ran with alertness. I wasn’t sleepy anymore. That section of the course was the most mentally challenging section, and I wanted to be done with it. At least when I was half way done with that section there would be no option of turning back again. Jon and I discussed what had happened. We had gone the wrong way for 12 minutes. Ironically, turning around to quit was the trigger that woke me up. I was blown away. I couldn’t believe that had just happened. It was un-scriptable, unbelievable.

There’s a lesson here for sleepy ultra-runners and their pacers. And it’s not necessarily that you need to quit in order to wake up. But you need some sort of extreme shock to wake you up. I imagine it could take different forms. Imaginative pacers might have a great time with this. I’m thinking air horns, masks, costumes, props, etc… Shock and awe, baby.

Proud of my all silver 24 hr+ buckle

Two things stand out as really good mental tactics. During my first dark time at mile 57 I told myself it will get better. It was hard to believe at the time, but it did get better. After recovering from my sleepiness problem around mile 90, I was running hard and strong. I told Jon, “I’m going to have another issue before this is over.” And I did. My feet started hurting badly again. Thankfully I knew the solution to this one; more ibuprofen did the trick.

During the dark times it’s easy to question, why ever try anything difficult? Perhaps now is the best time for me to answer myself that question. Something definitely happens when you reach the end of yourself. And it’s not simply that you realize you have the strength within your own self to go farther or longer or harder than you ever dreamed. It’s that you can’t make it through life without help. I believe this is because we were created to find fulfillment in helping each other. We weren’t meant to face life alone. With about a half mile to go Jon said something about me being a beast. I replied in truth, “I’m just an idiot that knows how to pick amazing friends.”

Mt. Rainier

Matt — Wed, 21 Sep 2011 01:38:37 +0000

Climbing Mt Rainier was truly the adventure of a lifetime. Despite lacking extreme altitude (from a global perspective), Rainier offers incredible big mountain experience. It’s home to 26 glaciers and has 36 square miles of permanent ice and snowfields. The standard route (Disappointment Cleaver) is 18 miles round trip and includes 18,000 feet of total elevation change. It’s considered the most challenging endurance climb in the lower 48 states. Of course, I didn’t know most of that before hand.

Lenticular Could

I can’t write about this experience without mentioning how incredible the RMI guides are. It was a privilege to share a few days with people who love mountaineering so much. Our lead guide, Casey Grom, summited Everest in each of three attempts. Eryka and Dave were our other fantastic guides. Their mountaineering skills are only outmatched by their intimate knowledge of Mt Rainier. Between all the guides combined there are literally hundreds of successful summits. On top of all that expertise they are also gracious teachers and leaders. I couldn’t recommend them more highly.

Day 1

The climb is broken up into two days. The first day we climbed 4,500 ft. to Camp Muir at 10,000 ft. My boots were new and I’d worn them around some, but hadn’t done any serious hiking to break them in. The day before at mountaineering school my boots performed wonderfully. But on the first day of the climb my heels blistered under the extra weight of my pack. I even proactively covered them with athletic tape and a thick coat of body glide. But I’ve been known to blister badly on my heels before and it happened again this time.

We arrived at Camp Muir around 2 in the afternoon. It was a very warm climb. I sweat a lot, so rehydrating was a top priority. I also ditched my pack and changed from boots to running shoes. Much better! I had a slight headache onset by the altitude. A couple ibuprofen solved that problem quickly.

I had been quite aggressive with calorie intake all day. One of the effects of altitude is loss of appetite. I wanted to stay in front of fueling because I knew we had a grueling climb ahead. The downside was my stomach was not happy. It could have been much worse. But suffice it to say I visited the ~~restroom~~ latrine more than my fair share.

Sorting gear at Camp Muir

Dusk at Camp Muir

We slept in a climbers’ hut. With the help of earplugs I was able to sleep some through multiple interruptions including loud snoring. Lights out was at the very early hour of around 5PM. We were told we would be awakened sometime between 11:00 PM and 2:00 AM to begin our summit assault. I had to get up out of my bunk twice to visit the bathroom. One benefit of getting up in the “middle of the night” to go relieve myself is I got a great picture at dusk.

Day 2

I was definitely asleep when they turned the light on at 11:00 PM. It took a bit for me to realize where I was and what was happening. We started so “early” because it would be a record high temperature that day. The guides wanted to get us down off the more dangerous parts of the mountain before the day heated up and increased the risk of icefall or rock fall. We had an hour to eat breakfast, hit the restroom, get dressed, packed, and our climbing gear on. Most of us were scrambling to get ready. Before I knew it I was roped up with my three man team and we were off.

Climbing in the dark is really a strange experience. All you can see is a couple steps in front of you illuminated by your headlamp. You lose all sense of how far or how high you are climbing. You don’t notice until you descend later in the daylight. While it’s dark, you walk right by giant crevasses, completely oblivious to just how close to the edge you pass.

The climbers' hut where we "spent the night."

Every 1 – 1.5 hours we stopped for a 15-minute break. The guides watched us to see if we remembered what we were supposed to do at the break:
• Take off your pack.
• Put on your parka so you don’t freeze.
• Sit down on your pack.
• Eat and drink.

Eventually it becomes clear, if you have the endurance conditioning, you can climb for hours and hours this way. You pack snacks in your parka pockets. When you pull into the break you take off your pack, get out and put on your parka, grab your water bottle and sit down. You have everything you need for the break. At the end of the break the guides helped us decide if we needed to add/remove a layer of clothing. After packing up we were moving again, onward and upward.

Summit

Summit & Descent

Four climbing sessions with three breaks and we made the summit at sunrise. It was incredibly beautiful, even if we had to hike past where a fellow climber barfed right on the side of the path. ☺ At the summit is a large crater (Rainier is a volcano, after all). It was safe to unrope and we dumped our packs. After grabbing a snack and some water we made the 15-minute trek to the highest point on the crater rim to enjoy summit photos.

The descent went well. You can down climb about twice the pace of ascending. Some people were quite tired. But I was absolutely soaking in the views now that we could see the amazing landscape. Clouds had rolled in thousands of feet below and the surrounding mountains, ridges, and glaciers made for a stunning panorama.

Sunrise

Summit Crater

The farther down we climbed the better I felt and the more celebratory the atmosphere became. We had just climbed Rainier, and we were almost back down to camp. We shared stories of barfing, slipping, falling, and cursing the mountain. We laughed. We congratulated. Everyone in our group that set out for the summit made it. There were some tough moments when I wasn’t sure that would be the case for some of my climbing mates. But we all made it and I was proud of them.

When we arrived back at Camp Muir we relaxed for a bit, then set about the unpleasant chore of packing everything up for the final descent back to the parking lot. Needless to say, the packs were not nearly as well packed as they were to start with. Most of us just chunked all our stuff inside.

Looking down on Little Tahoma, Emmons and Ingraham Glaciers

Well groomed glacier trail high on the mountain.

Descending Muir Snowfield was fun. It was warm and the snow was slushy. You could kind of slide/ski down on your boots. I even glissaded some on a trash bag. After adding a nice strawberry to my forearm, I gave up the glissade. The celebration continued as we enjoyed a break together on the way down.

At the very end of the trail you have to pound a bit of pavement. For the first time I noticed the bottom of my feet were hurting. When we made it to the shuttle bus and took off our boots, pure joy ensued.

Parting Thoughts

I will never forget this experience. I love being in the mountains. I love being on big mountains with frozen rivers so vast you can’t begin to comprehend the immensity. I love being in the mountains with people that love the mountains. In the mountains there are no games. There’s no fake it till you make it. You either have what it takes or you don’t. You trust your guide. You have to. You trust your rope mates. You have to.

Giant Crevasse. Can you spot the people in the middle of the picture on the rocks?

I saw a beautiful sunrise, a sunrise I had to work for. Sure, you can look at my pictures, but it’s not the same. I endured through the training, the doubt, and the anxiety. I survived the blisters, headaches, stomachaches, heat, cold, and hunger. I was there. A photo can’t capture how sweet those moments were. But it can remind me.

14,000 ft. isn’t that high in the grand scheme of the universe. But looking down on the beauty of the earth from even that paltry stepstool moved my soul. I climbed 9,000 ft. of that by the power of my own legs and strength of my will. Clouds, snow, and ice stretched out across jagged peaks and rolling hills for miles upon square miles. I was blessed with a clear day and a successful summit. I was blessed with competent guides and earnest fellow climbers. I was blessed with a safe day traversing dangerous areas of the mountain. I will always cherish my first climb of Mt Rainier, and look forward to many more.

Credit where it’s due: One of my fellow climbers, Peter, outmatched me with his camera. I’m grateful he shared these images with me. Many of them are his fine handiwork. If interested, you can find more pictures at my picasa web album.

The Run Streak is Reborn

Matt — Tue, 06 Sep 2011 16:14:02 +0000

Last week was a huge week for me. I summited Mt. Rainier (climb report ~~coming soon~~), I completed my first solid month of streaking for good, and I … accidentally broke the run streak. I slept in Friday morning and put off my easy one-miler for Friday night. Later that evening I got distracted with finally unpacking all my climbing gear and totally forgot to run! Lesson learned: GET OUT OF BED, MATT!!!

Tatoosh range seen after descending through clouds from Mt Rainier summit.

I’m proud of my 34 day run streak. I look forward to shattering it. I’m already back up to 4. To celebrate my first ever solid month (plus a bit extra on the front side) of running I’m donating $34 to the Feed My Starving Children fundraiser. That means every day I ran at least a mile, I helped supply 4 meals to hungry kids. There’s no better way to give meaning to my miles than to turn them into meals for those in need. Here’s to many more days, weeks, and months of streaking!

Read all about the Feed My Starving Children fundraiser and consider participating in whatever way you would like.

The First Fifty

Matt — Sat, 30 Jul 2011 01:18:32 +0000

You might think running 50 miles for the first time will change your life. It didn’t work out that way for me. Fellow distance runners may be familiar with post race blues. I’ve had a bad case or two, but that’s not what happened this time. Life just seemed to press on. My 10 and a half hour endeavor through the trails of the Texas countryside passed by in the blink of an eye. It’s as if my brain was playing tricks with me. I had some very difficult times during the race. I remember thinking, “I’m never doing this again.” But once it’s over… when you are back with your wife and friends… when you are sitting down relaxing, you don’t forget those low points completely. But you forget what they felt like. It becomes almost out-of-body. Like I read the story in a book, and it was about someone else.

It was hot. And the kicker is we got lucky with the cloud cover. It could have been much worse. The high was probably around 82-84. As it turned out, I didn’t realize how good I felt for the first 37 miles, until I learned how bad I would feel for the last 13. That I had 37 “good miles” is quite an accomplishment in itself since my previous longest distance was just 31 miles.

Details Details Details

Logistically, I executed pretty well. The course consisted of three 16 2/3 mile loops. Since I knew hydration was going to be crucial, I probably over did it the first few hours. I think I stopped 5 times the first lap to recycle fluids. I drank heed and Gatorade mostly, plus some water. At each of the two aid stations I “banked” some fluids by drinking a cup or two of water, then refilled my two 8 oz bottles for the “road.” For the first six hours I took an electrolyte capsule (Hammer Endurolyte) every two hours. From 6 hours till the end, I took one every hour. Food wise, I ate 9 gels, plus aid station fare consisting of Oreos, animal cookies, Pringles, PB&J. The Pringles were especially satisfying.

Looking back, I’m surprised how distracted I was at the start/finish area. Compared to the rest of the course, there were lots of people there. My wife, Sarah, was among them. I’m not sure why, but I was always anxious to get out of there and back on the course. In my rush, I always forgot something. After the first lap, I remembered to take off my headlamp, but I forgot my sunglasses. I remembered them after the second lap, although I wouldn’t need them thanks to the continued cloud cover. At that same break, before starting my second loop, I also forgot to eat some snacks. However, my forgetfulness was more problematic after the second lap: I forgot to refill my water bottles. I drank a couple cups when I stopped, so that helped. Thankfully I made it to some water coolers after only about 20 minutes. I don’t think I got too far behind on my hydration and attempted to “catch up” by drinking around 20oz.

My first two loops were dead even splits, about 3:15 each. I really hit my stride on the 2nd loop as I passed a lot of runners. At the end of two loops I was at my longest ever personal mileage of 33 1/3 miles and felt decent. A few miles into the last loop is when the wheels came off. The first thing I noticed was my hands tingling. I worried it was the onset of heat illness, so I forced myself to break rhythm and slow my pace. Thankfully I was able to avoid any further, more serious issues. At each aid station I was very thankful for ice cold water and poured several cups of it over my head. It really helps bring your core temperature down. I was able move a bit quicker and more comfortably after cooling down. But it didn’t take long to start warming up again.

That’s when it became difficult. I never thought about quitting. But I had to battle with myself to run the flats and downhills. My body really, really wanted to walk. But I knew it would be over sooner if I could muster some sort of jogging cadence. Finally, I started recognizing the last portions of the loop and after struggling up and down a hilly section was on the home stretch. The last loop took about 4 hours.

The Finish Line and Beyond

After I finished, I sat down and took off my socks and shoes. At the end of such a long run there really is immense satisfaction in those two very simple things. More so than any of my other races, I experienced a deep sense of satisfaction. I was so very happy to be done. I spent the next hour or so hanging out with twitter friends cheering runners as they came in for the finish. It was a great time of celebration. It was fun getting to know some twitter folks better. Runners are good people and trail runners are really good people.

It’s been a long, hot summer, and this race recap is long overdue (understatement). I recently registered for another 50 miler, Palo Duro Canyon, in October. I’m considering the idea of trying Rocky Raccoon 100 mile in February. More imminently, I’m climbing Mt. Rainier the last week in August (another first on many levels). More than anything this is a reminder to myself. It’s easy to think accomplishing the next distance or breaking that next big time threshold will make everything perfect. It’s easy to think it will make your life complete. Of course it’s easy to think that… you put so much time and effort into it. While personal accomplishment is an amazing and incredible thing, there’s something more valuable. Investing in other people. Sharing life’s journey with your neighbor, through thick and thin, mile after mile. It’s worth more. How will you live your dreams today? How will you help somebody else in need?

Did Not Start

Matt — Mon, 07 Feb 2011 14:56:02 +0000

There’s a trilogy of three letter acronyms in endurance sports: DLF, DNF, and DNS. They stand for “dead last finish”, “did not finish”, and “did not start”, respectively. There’s a simple relationship among these conditions expressed as follows: DLF > DNF >> DNS. It means “dead last finish” is greater than “did not finish” which greatly trumps “did not start”. Although I came close to DLF/DNF at Pikes Peak, this weekend I experienced my first of any of these. I achieved the dubious distinction of DNS’ing my first 50-mile ultra-marathon.

Maybe it’s for the best? A mild case of IT Band Syndrome disrupted my training for this race. But given my rather sour (understatement) mood the past couple days, I better understand why DNF greatly trumps DNS.

The Rocky Raccoon 100/50-mile took place this past Saturday, February 5^th. The Friday before marked the fourth straight day of being iced in. I imagine it’s never happened since automobiles began traversing concrete in North Texas that ice covered the roads four entire consecutive days. One thing I already knew but I was reminded of, is that I’m not cut out to be a stay at home dad. I love my kids, but I’m just not equipped to take care of children, especially toddlers, all day long, day in day out. As Friday approached I was anxious, stressed, and going stir crazy.

After much indecision, I departed for the journey from Plano to Huntsville around 10:30 Friday morning. The roads were still treacherous rendering my average speed under 30 MPH. Two hours later I was devastated the roads hadn’t improved. What would normally have taken just over an hour to drive had taken more than two. I was worried I would have to drive back on the same road conditions. Every 30 minutes the nightmare continued Southward, I might have to do it for another 30 minutes on the way back. I already felt guilty for leaving my wife and kids stuck (abandoned?) at home. The thought of driving back on the slick roads after running 50 miles exhausted me. I decided to turn around and head home.

Ironically, not long after I turned around the roads improved dramatically. I think it was just a matter of time of day. Later in the day more cars had chopped up the ice and snow. The sun was also peaking out and the ice was melting. In hindsight, I wouldn’t have had to drive back on bad roads, and the roads South probably would have improved if I pressed on.

A very thoughtful sign a twitter friend, @milanorunner (Fawn), made for me that didn't get used.

I really wish I could live life without regrets. Most of the time I successfully avoid worrying about things I can’t change. I have a feeling I won’t be able to shake this one until I conquer the 50-mile distance. Certainly it’s made me question why I run. Do I run to escape? Do I run to redeem myself? Do I run to prove something to others? Or to myself? I know unequivocally these aren’t my primary goals. I am very intentional about enjoying the act of running and not making it a means to an end. I never want to spoil the satisfaction and pleasure that comes from being in the moment when I run. And I know I haven’t slipped from these priorities. But what I haven’t admitted to myself is how much these personal distance records mean to me. They are rites of passage into a community I deeply admire, that of ultra-runners.

It’s tough to be an adult and reconcile our hearts with what we tell our kids: that they can be anything they want. There are many things in life at this point I could never likely become, for instance an astronaut or a professional mountain climber. But one thing I desperately want to become is a 50-mile and 100-mile ultra-runner. Someday.

Winter Knee Drama Part II

Matt — Fri, 28 Jan 2011 16:33:25 +0000

Read Part I first.

It was only a mile or so later I noticed the same tightness again. Not much later I felt some pain during a foot strike. In frustration, I turned around to head back to the car. I walked for a bit, devastated to have such a good day turn sour so quickly. After walking some, similar to previous occasions, I was again able to run pain free back to the car.

That’s when the endless googling and self-diagnosis began in earnest. I also knew I needed to have a professional check it out. The first sports doctor (chiropractor) diagnosed it as ITBS. Immediately I was introduced to electrotherapy, ultrasound therapy, proprioceptive therapy, and my personal favorite, deep torture – I mean tissue – massage. Seriously. That hurt way worse than anything I felt running.

"Normal" Knees

Uncertain it was really ITBS (because I have to be different), I went to my regular doctor. He is a relatively new, but serious runner. He ran the 2009 New York City Marathon. I started going to this doctor specifically because I knew he was a runner. You know, because we runners are all a bit crazy and non-runners just don’t get it. First of all, I was thrilled he didn’t tell me to stop running. He agreed it was likely ITBS and recommended I continue with a weeks’ worth of daily therapy as my chiro suggested.

I shared with my doctor I was concerned about Osteoarthritis (OA) because my left knee popped a lot. OA is typical in soccer players, which I played for many years, including the less fit years of my mid 20’s. He asked me to show him how it popped. When I did, his tone changed suddenly. He still didn’t tell me to stop running, but started talking about how not many people run for multiple decades. Apparently the “grinding and popping” in both knees warranted an x-ray to examine the joint space for degenerative cartilage.

Thankfully, my xrays came back “within normal limits.” Still the sudden change in my doctor’s tone had me concerned. But with the xrays in the clear, I couldn’t worry about OA for now. I already started taking Glucosamine and Chondroitin, supplements with promising studies showing they alleviated the symptoms associated with OA. If OA is going to be a problem for me in 10 or 15 years, so be it. I had more pressing matters: ITBS.

My first snowy trail run. Bliss!

With OA ruled out as the culprit for the knee issues, I went forward with the ITBS therapy. I took that weekend easy, but had to go out for a 5.5 mile run in the snow. You just don’t get to run in snow very often in Texas. I didn’t have any issues on the snow run or on any other of a handful of short 6 milers. The light weekend yielded a paltry 17-mile total week. That plus a weeks worth of daily therapy, convinced me I needed to test things out. I went for a medium back-to-back 15 mile – 10 mile (Jan 15-16). No issues! Ecstatic, I tried pretty much the same mileage this past weekend (Jan 22-29). But I was disappointed to have considerable tightness on the second of back-to-back 12 milers.

Looking back, in my mind the mileage cut seemed larger. But the shortest week was still 17 miles. After the 12-12 weekend my 4-week moving average was still well above 30. So while I don’t have the mileage base I would like for the RR50, in the grand scheme of things, I haven’t taken much of a break.

I’m hopeful some exercises I got from my new sports doctor (had to switch to in-network) will help improve my symptoms. They were chosen based on my specific biometric analysis. I’ve also been foam rolling more consistently. I’ve gotten much better at rolling every inch of muscle from the hips down. Needless to say I won’t be doing any more long mileage. I’ll take a break from running this weekend and cheer for Sarah as she runs the Houston marathon. Hopefully, I can recover enough to avoid problems at Rocky Raccoon. I plan to stretch on regular intervals during the race to prevent problems from escalating. Most of all I don’t want to injure myself more seriously. In the end, while I don’t plan to run through sustained pain to finish this race, I will definitely continue running through tightness. I can’t wait to see what happens. This is just another chapter in my ongoing adventures of ultra-running.

Winter Knee Drama Part I

Matt — Wed, 19 Jan 2011 20:08:47 +0000

First, I want to thank everyone for your support of my fundraiser blitz in December benefiting Ironman for Kids. Every time someone joins me in giving I am encouraged more than words can express. You are all very, very special. I’m blessed to know you and look forward continuing through life’s journey with you.

My first 50 mile race is coming quickly, the Rocky Raccoon 50 (RR50) on February 5th. My training over the last month hasn’t been what I wanted. I don’t think I’m ill prepared, but I’m certainly not well prepared either. The primary culprit is a mild case of Iliotibial Band Syndrome (ITBS). The primary symptom has been tightness on the outside of my left knee. It’s only happened during runs on long mileage weekends. After taking a rest day, as I typically do after hard weekends, I never noticed any discomfort on subsequent weekday runs.

The Backstory

The first day I noticed the tightness was on the second of back to back 20 milers, November 14th. I didn’t give it much thought since it went away quickly. Then on Black Friday I ended up doing an impromptu 50km training run. I noticed some tightness in my knee about mile 19, but it didn’t worsen over the next 12 miles. Again, it was fine on my next run. It was just 10 days later I ran the White Rock Marathon and 6 days after that the Texas Trails 50km (TT50K). There may have been some tightness on these runs, but it wasn’t pronounced enough for me to notice it at all. I thought I was done with this minor annoyance.

Frosty Texas trails.

I took a full week off because of a sore spot that cropped up on the bottom of my right foot. Then, two weekends after the TT50K I began ramping up the mileage for a push to be ready for RR50. The day after Christmas I did 18 great miles with my brother. The following day is when things got interesting. I was going for another 18 miles. Everything went fine at first. I noticed a bit of tightness, but didn’t think much of it. Later I felt a little bit of pain for the first time and chose to walk some. I can handle pain and discomfort just fine, but up to this point in my running life, I’ve never run through pain. I decided this wasn’t going to be the day I started. I walked some. Then got cold, and ran back to the car without further pain. I ended up with just 13 miles.

I mostly maintained a positive outlook, but was bummed to get off to a poor start on the mileage push. For most of that next week, I considered taking the following weekend off entirely. I had originally planned back to back 20 milers. When Saturday came around and it was another perfect winter day in Texas for trail running, I couldn’t resist. As always I would listen to my body and stop if I needed to. I iced a lot that week and as usual didn’t feel any additional discomfort. Maybe I had this back under control?

It was New Year’s Day. And it was a great run… for the first 14 miles. I played leapfrog with a group of mountain bikers as they stopped frequently to rest. On one particular section it took them a while to catch me and I wondered if they had turned around. Finally they came along. I don’t think I was running much faster than my usual easy “run forever” trail pace. But they commended me on my pace. I replied that I was just having a great day. Everything was going very well. I made it back to the car at 13 miles and still no tightness.

To be continued… Read Part II

Elle’s Run

Matt — Tue, 14 Dec 2010 15:41:25 +0000

For more background on how this all began, read this blog post. Or visit the donation page.

To say I was a little more amped than usual about this race would be an understatement. The response from everyone so far in the blitz fundraiser has been so positive and encouraging. And running for those who can’t run, really gets me fired up. On top of all that, I was running for baby Elle specifically.

The Details

So far in my limited experience of ultras and mountain trail marathons, I’ve started races extremely conservatively. But Saturday, I was excited and felt like pushing things a bit. I jockeyed for better position in the field at the starting line and during the first mile while we were on the road when passing was easier. However, within the first couple miles, I worried I was pushing it too hard. My breathing was just over the line from comfortable to labored. Being so early in a long race, this gave me concern. It’s always difficult to reign in the effects of adrenaline and slow down. But slowly over a few miles I let several runners pass me and settled into a rhythm of my own.

Sam Houston National Forest

The course consisted of one 6.7 mile loop and two 12.5 mile loops. There are two places on the course where there’s a short out and back section. These provide a convenient way to keep tabs on the runners just in front of and behind you. I may have sped up a little on the second loop, not sure. But I kept the pace in a “comfortable” zone. Either way, I was happy to start picking off some runners who passed me earlier.

Thankfully, I never felt completely horrible during the race, but I did have a low point. During the latter half of the first 12.5 mile loop, around the half-way point of the race, a handful of unpleasant challenges greeted me. First, I noticed some soreness on the bottom of my foot. Every now and then I would land on a tree root just right and it would complain. Occasionally it complained LOUDLY. I wondered if it would flare up and prevent me from finishing. It was also mentally challenging to run the big loop for the first time. The trail just keeps going and going. I wasn’t sure how much farther we had to go. On top of all this, my stomach became unsettled. Up to that point, I drank mostly Gatorade and stayed on top of my fueling. I successfully avoided getting hungry, a sign that tells you are already behind in the calories game. I think slightly over-fueling must be better than the alternative. A moderately quick visit to the port-a-let at the start/finish area before beginning the last loop was all it took to make my stomach happy again.

I opened things up on my last loop. I ran just above a comfortable pace at what I’ll call “fun pace.” It’s a lot of fun to run just a little faster on trails. I passed people pretty steadily the entire last loop. With eight miles left I picked up the pace more. It was still loads fun, but now it was more what I would call “working hard” pace. This was by far the most enjoyable part of the race for me. I ran sub 9 minute pace on the flats, dipped below 8’s on the downhill, and ran almost all the uphill without hiking. I was ecstatic to be around marathon mileage and yet feel so strong. I had fun spotting runners in the distance, reeling them in, and passing. I was unsure I could keep up the pace to the finish. At the last aid station I asked how far to the finish and was disappointed to hear 2.7 miles remained. Fortunately I didn’t crash, but my kick fizzled. No one caught me, but I didn’t pass anyone else.

Reflections

Strangely it was during my 24-29 mile “kick” that I began focusing on the lesson of the day. My brain should have had the least amount of blood to work with at that point. Although, as you’ll see, I’m not so sure my brain was the source of insight. Life is such a beautiful thing. I believe in created life. And so it becomes problematic to understand why some babies are created differently. Throughout the week my brother and I emailed, texted, and spoke frequently. One thing he said to me was racing through my mind. “You will get to be the one who puts on the meekness of Elle but experience the magnitude of joy she brings.” As I reflect more on that statement now, it’s difficult to fully understand.

I'm giving my bib and medal to baby Elle.

I’m not sure why, maybe it was because I felt so strong in that moment. And yet my heart still felt so incapable of understanding the kind of love and joy these kids have. That’s when I stumbled upon the following realization. It’s not the strong who teach us joy and love, but the weak.

Ultra-running paradoxically is about strength and weakness. Everyone who finishes an ultra-marathon is strong. But to run your best race you must completely empty yourself, beyond what your physical body tells you is possible. In order to run your best race you have to run through your body telling your brain: if you continue, then you will die. It’s a sickeningly, beautiful thing. I haven’t yet experienced this phenomenon to its fullest. But, when I approach exhaustion, when I empty myself of my strength, that’s when I feel most open to grow. I’m more thankful. In my emptiness and weakness I’m filled with an uncommon joy; a joy that’s not from within me.

It’s a gift filled with joy to run faster than you’ve ever run (setting personal records – PRs). But I was blessed with an even more rewarding experience last week: helping others set PRs at the White Rock Marathon. To state it more simply, running, by itself, is a gift filled with joy. And yet, there are some filled with even more joy and love. A pure and simple love. A joy that’s unexplainable. And they can’t run at all. Saturday, with strength, I ran for Elle. But every day of their lives, those that are created differently teach us greater joy and deeper love.

Some Numbers

31 miles
16th place
5 hours 21 minutes
10:22 minutes/mile
3 Gu’s
1.5 Christmas cookies
??? animal crackers, potato chips, potato wedges, dried fruit
6 pepperoni pizza slices post-race
Beat by 5 women (chick’d)
3 number 1’s
1 number 2 (TMI)
2 trips
0 falls
0 blisters
1 sore spot on the bottom of my foot

For more background on how this all began, read this blog post. Or visit the donation page.

Fifty Seven and Two Tenths

Matt — Tue, 07 Dec 2010 04:44:22 +0000

Read below for all the details. Or visit the donation page to give now and see the progress.

(Update) Thankfully I was able complete the 50 km race. I finished in 16th place with a 5:21. Here’s the full race report.

The Recap

Sunday was my 7th marathon. The weather was ideal in Dallas for the White Rock Marathon. The conditions allowed for impressive race times and a slew of new personal records (PRs). It was a wonderful day of celebrating the sport we love so much. I wasn’t racing, so I didn’t have any pressure to make a certain time. It was quite nice actually. I enjoyed running with friends and helping them accomplish their goals. I ended up running my second fastest marathon, breaking 4 hours for only the second time, with a 3:51.

In the days preceding the marathon, I began toying with the idea of running the Texas Trails 50km ultra-marathon (31 miles) on the Saturday following the marathon (26.2 miles). I am pretty sore, but my legs seem structurally sound. So today, as I continued considering the 57.2 mile adventure, I stumbled onto an idea.

The Fundraiser Blitz

For those who don’t know, I’m slowly evolving into a crazed ultra-runner. I also genuinely cherish helping others through my running adventures. Ultra-runners are by definition unconventional. And my crazy idea is just that; I want to try a fundraiser blitz.

Michael Hennessey set the Guinness World Record by completing 16 Ironman’s in 9 months. He did this to raise awareness for the newly founded Ironman for Kids non-profit. Ironman for Kids seeks to raise awareness of, and to support, families of children living with chromosomal disorders trisomy 13 and 18.

I’m not a tri-athlete, much less an Ironman. I was introduced to Ironman for Kids through my brother, Josh. Ever since then, I’ve wanted to do something to support their cause. I also want to dedicate this fundraiser to my brother, his wife, and two daughters. Josh and Sharon’s youngest was originally thought to have trisomy 13 but instead has a more rare condition, tetrasomy 13. Elisabetta is a beautiful 5 month old baby girl. I can barely comprehend the strength it must require to care for a child with complex medical needs. I believe the sacrifices Josh and Sharon make for their children is an awe inspiring display of love.

The Challenge

So, here’s the plan. Two weeks. Fifty people. Twenty dollars per person. One thousand dollars to help families living with trisomy.

But there’s a catch. If you want me to try my crazy, 6 day, 57.2 total mile adventure, I want to make it half way to the goal by Friday. That means I need 25 of you to donate $20 each in 4 days.

Half Way in Four Days

Just to review… I know we can do this, but I need your help. Just to make sure everybody understands. When 25 people donate $20 each before Friday, 12/10/2010, then we will celebrate by having me run 31 miles on Saturday, 12/11/2010. After that we have one more week to raise $500 more to make the $1,000 goal.

All donations go directly to Ironman for Kids, a 501c3 nonprofit, and are tax deductible.

Visit the donation page to give now and see the progress.

Palo Duro

Matt — Tue, 26 Oct 2010 13:39:56 +0000

It still hasn’t sunk in. I did it. I am an ultra-runner. It’s all strangely anti-climactic, but I suppose it’s no surprise. I approached this race nonchalantly. Not that I trained poorly or got cocky or anything like that. But I really played down the ultra part in my mind. I looked forward to my first 50K as just another opportunity to do what I love: go for a long trail run. I especially looked forward to running in a beautiful place, Palo Duro Canyon. All I had to do was execute my critical race day tactics of fuel and pace. Anything else that might prevent me from conquering my first ultra was out of my control.

by flickr user bug138

Overture

Maybe I was slightly too laid back? I camped out the night before the race in Palo Duro State Park, a couple miles from the race start. I resisted engaging in my usual night before OCD organizing mode. Of course the rural night sky distracted me. Sure, I’ve seen stars like that before, but it’s no less enthralling. I spotted a few satellites and even saw two shooting stars. Anyhow, I left a few too many chores for the morning. Close call #1 – After parking the car, I made my way completely across the parking lot before I realized I forgot to attach my bib. Close call #2 – Then I found myself still standing in line for the toilet with just 9 minutes till the 7AM start. Thankfully, I was able to take care of business and arrived at the starting line with a couple minutes to spare. Other close calls that morning included losing my headlamp on the 5 minute drive from my campsite to the race parking lot and forgetting to apply sunscreen or put it in my drop bag. Luckily, I was able to borrow some.

The Main Event

Running in a beautiful place and starting just before sunrise is something every runner should experience. Occasionally you could see the line of headlamps strung out before you a quarter mile or so, bouncing and bobbing in a sea of darkness. I turned my headlamp on for a bit. But I found myself staring at the heels of the runner in front of me, so I turned it off. Instead I paid attention to the few people in front of me for signs of troublesome rocks and used a short stride with light steps to successfully avoid tripping. With the headlamp off my eyes were better adjusted to sneak glances at the marvel developing beyond the southeast end of the canyon. High clouds on the horizon serendipitously greeted the morning’s first light; the sky glowed pink. At one point someone shouted, “Everyone turn around right now and look!” I was surprised as I continued turning to look at the spectacle to find it hadn’t yet climaxed. Larger swaths of the sky turned brighter and brighter pink announcing the sun’s arrival. Soon, the darkness gave way to morning light and the beauty of the canyon engulfing us became apparent.

The 50km course consisted of one 6 mile loop and two 12 ½ mile loops (the six mile loop was a subset of the 12 ½ mile loop). I took it extremely easy for the first two loops (30km). I probably stopped to take a leak 3 or 4 times (TMI). I wasn’t in any hurry and apparently my ritual race morning coffee wasn’t done with me. I focused on fuel and hydration, not afraid of over hydrating since that problem had a simple solution (see above). At the aid stations there were some amazing cookies made by a local bakery. Those, plus occasional gels kept me well fueled. I also had some calories from Coke, Gatorade, and Hammer Heed. I tried something that worked well with my 4 x 8 oz. Nathan fuel belt. I started the race with 50 calories (half a scoop) of Heed powder in each flask, without any water. Then at each aid station I would fill one with water and drink those calories on my way to the next aid station.

At the end of my second loop (30km) I felt good. I wanted to start switching to fuel that had some protein. I had Hammer Perpetuem powder in my drop bag, but figured grabbing PB&Js at the aid station would be faster. I chomped another cookie, drank some coke and Gatorade, and had a PB&J wedge before embarking on my final lap.

by flickr user r w h

[Grand] Finale

The temperature was starting to rise but wasn’t oppressive yet. I decided it was time to ratchet up the pace a bit. The course thinned out, and at times it was as if I had the canyon to myself. I really enjoyed this section of the race. Running hard (relative to earlier) and having vistas of sandstone canyon walls all to myself was great. I picked people off one by one. Around 40km (25 miles), the heat really started getting to me. The course is very exposed through that section. My pick-up was pretty much in the toilet. But so was everyone else’s, so I was able to easily hold my place in the field. All I wanted to do was get back to where I knew there was some tree shade around mile 28.

Only two people passed me the entire race (both in the last 4 miles), but I think one of them was the lead 50 miler. My push fizzled, but I knew I could finish. I had enough energy for a strong kick on the last stretch. And that was it, I crossed the same line I did 31 miles, five hours, forty eight minutes earlier. I placed 14th out of 92 finishers, fifth in my age group. I enjoyed a hamburger (with jalapenos) and a hotdog. Though I enjoyed my ribeye steak 6 hours later much more.

Musings

This race gives me a lot of confidence in chasing my ultra-running dreams. I finished comfortably. I had a blast. I already knew I loved trail running and this race proved that over a handful (literally) more miles than ever before. I hope I’ll run Palo Duro Canyon many more times in my life, but I don’t want to drive all 13 hours (including both ways) of it again by myself. It’s tempting (as it was this time around as well) to consider doing the 50 mile. But I’m so glad I didn’t. The high was 85 and I definitely wouldn’t have been happy about running19 more miles on that particular day.

This race also confirmed what it is I love about running most: experiencing the natural beauty of God’s creation while exploring the limits of my physical and mental endurance. Don’t get me wrong, running fast is fun. Setting personal records is satisfying. And breaking through new distance goals is rewarding. But running just for the aesthetic pleasure of the endeavor itself is best of all.