The Running Jackalope

So, what ha-happened was . . .

2012-05-31T19:59:00.000-07:00

I didn't intend to take six months off from blogging. Really, I didn't.

It just sort of happened.

Certainly my focus was on writing, but it had nothing to do with running.

In January I found myself staring at my computer and its blank screen, wondering how I would manage to replace it with a series of words that were worthy of being called a Master's Thesis.

In February I found myself wondering how I might manage to coach my daughter's softball team while simultaneously preventing crap from filling the aforementioned blank pages.

In March I traveled across the country to conduct research in an effort to understand the aforementioned crap that would fill the aforementioned pages.

In April I spent a significant amount of time filling said pages with what I hope is NOT the aforementioned crap I feared.

Then a ran a marathon.

In May I began coping with the mental anguish that accompanies the reality of moving away from California.

In June I will leave this place. At the behest of the Army I will dutifully pack my bags, ask my children to pack theirs, and apologize to my wife for once again making her leave the coast that she loves for a place that is much hotter, stickier and flatter.

I'm bummed. And with every run I take to the Harbor Seals it gets more difficult to deal with. Every walk with my wife to the beach with Jeff the Super-mutt makes me hurt a bit inside.

I'm going to miss this place so much.

The list of what makes that statement so . . . is simply too daunting to construct.

So, if you'll pardon me, I had a few things happening, and I suppose this is me not really apologizing for it.

I'm not upset I dropped off the Daily Mile, stopped scrolling down my Twitter timeline every morning and quit racking my brain for interesting blog ideas. Because when I did, I found myself a little more connected to what I really care about; or at least, more connected to the fact that I might have been disconnected.

I'd like to think I'm back on my blogging horse, but I know I'm here with caveats. There are things in front of me that are going to keep me from being the greatest blogger on the face of the Earth. I'm okay with that. If everyone else is, that's fine too . . .

Appreciating the Awesome

2011-12-20T17:29:00.000-08:00

I've noticed a recent trend among the bloggers I follow. We haven't been doing it much. Whether it's the holidays, work or in my case, grad school, everyone seems to be a little preoccupied.

I was in the unfortunate position of having to crank out four final projects within the last three weeks of school and still try and keep my mind on the 50 miles that so dutifully kicked my ass in the Marin Headlands two weeks ago.

I'm not really sure how I managed to make all of that happen to be honest.

Oh wait. No, I totally do.

She was right there to hug my smelly behind when I crossed the finish line.

My wife is amazing. Awesome in the totally non-colloquial (and often overused) sense of the word. I really mean it.

Here's the trouble with awesome. When awesome is the habit, awesome becomes the expectation. It's always there, that awesomeness, and why shouldn't it always be there?

Then you take it for granted.

And then if you are very, very, VERY lucky, you are given a gentle reminder not to do such things. A reminder of that awesome that allows you to do so many things, and do them well.

Ten days ago my source of awesome slipped while I was taking the kids to school, and sprained her tailbone. She soldier'ed up and put herself back in bed, and I was only alerted to her pain when she couldn't take it anymore and started sobbing. This is a woman that never cried through three childbirths, yet here she is, climbing the Mt. Whitney of pain-mountains.

Walking was a chore. Sitting was miserable. Driving was impossible. Cooking wasn't going to happen.

Healing was going to be slow.

It was pretty clear Mr. Mom needed to get his ass in gear.

Now, don't misunderstand, I do my fair share of cooking and child chauffeuring (probably more than most) but this was different.

My wife needed me to be awesome. I mean, getting her shoes on was not a solo activity.

I wasn't sure I would be good enough. Wasn't sure that I could be all that helpful.

I just ran 50 miles like you read about, never considered quitting, and now wondered if I had what was needed to be the dude she needed. She worried if her needs were becoming overwhelming. Worried that I might be getting tired of it.

And then a funny thing happened.

I started to enjoy it. I didn't enjoy watching the woman I love endure this crap of course, but I enjoyed being relied upon. I enjoyed being the neck she put her arms around to sit up.

I started to feel like I was paying back the awesome, if not just a little at a time.

I also started to feel like someone was kicking my mental-ass.

Focusing on school was a challenge, and writing without being distracted was tougher than I thought it was going to be. In short, I was getting a little taste of what it was like for her to get her degree while I was deployed.

It's slow. It can be plodding. There are highs and lows. Hmm, sounds familiar.

And here I thought maybe she didn't know what I was going through during those 11 hours in the mountains. But I should have known better.

I should have known better because she was the first to congratulate me. The first to look into my eyes and tell me she was proud. The first to ask me what I needed to be drinking or eating. And of course she was the one to make sure I had a cold beer when I got home.

She may not be an ultra-runner, but she damn sure knows relentless forward progress and what it takes to accomplish the seemingly impossible.

And if there is one thing I learned during my ultra's, it's that you can't do it alone . . . despite spending a whole bunch of time by yourself.

So it was clear to me that spending a week focused on something other than myself was the least I could do for someone that knew exactly what it was like to donate a little piece of themselves to someone else's goal.

I'm lucky.

Lucky that she's going to be able to recover fully and no serious damage was done.

Lucky to be able to care for her when she needed it.

Lucky to have an opportunity to appreciate what I have, what I need . . . and what I need to appreciate.

Just. Really. Lucky.

Race Report: The 2011 North Face Endurance Challenge 50-Mile Championship, San Francisco

2011-12-07T10:48:00.001-08:00

Act Two: The Doing It Part

Before I start, and just to get you into the mood, you should watch this video brought to you by the badasses at the Endurables running club in the Bay Area. It's amazing footage of the leaders and the eventual winners Mike Wolfe, and will help you envision the brutality of this course. Really amazing footage and great music.

Over the last couple of days I've tried to reflect on a couple of themes that sort of summarize the experience of running my first 50 mile race. I was able to come up a couple that will be recurring throughout the next few hundred words.

I knew this thing would be hard; turns out it was harder.
It seemed like there was someone turning a dial from challenging to "you've got to be kidding me" all damn day

A perfect example of the second came almost immediately in the form of howling winds from the start to the Tennessee Valley aid station. The winds were fairly ridiculous, at one point forcing me almost upright as I climbed up the first hill which is upon you almost immediately. This wasn't a huge shock to my body as Laguna Seca does almost the exact same thing. Solid jogging combined with a power-hike was keeping me up with the first half of the field. When I started the first descent, I realized that my head-lamp wasn't nearly as bright as it could be and that I was going to sacrifice some time for not practicing night-time trail running. This was totally surprising and really didn't bother me that much mentally. I was trucking anyway and likely didn't need to be moving much faster.

When I arrived at the TV aid station, I realized that some of the aid stations were not exactly as advertised. I was expecting GU gels, not chomps (which cause me some gastric distress) and they were nowhere to be found. This was a bit of an issue given that I only brought three gels with me, and had expected to refuel at each station with gels. Whoops. Not totally my fault, but it would have been smarter to just hedge my bets and carry enough with me to get me to Cardiac, where my drop bag was located. I reluctantly took two packages of Chomps for the road and moved out.

From Tennesee Valley I headed out to Muir Beach which includes some fairly ridiculous switchbacks followed by a nasty little descent into Muir Beach. The grade is simply ridiculous and it became apparent pretty quickly that this type of grade and my crappy mechanics was eventually going to take a toll, I just wasn't sure when.

After this, I headed up to the Cardiac Aid station where I knew my drop bag was located. The chomps were now doing their thing on my stomach and I wondered if I would have been better off just bonking and reloading at the aid station than dealing with the fact that my stomach felt like someone stepped on it. Ultimately I stuck with my "don't get behind" nutrition strategy and I think it was the right one, it just wasn't comfortable. When I got to Cardiac, I swapped out the long sleeve shirt for a fresh clean one and jammed my back pocket full of gels, not wanting to deal with any more stomach cramping.

From Cardiac to Stinson Beach you have a tricky section of single track that has some incredible views, if you can catch a glimpse and not get hip-checked off of the path by runners coming the other way. If I'm being honest, this was the first time I really started to get bummed out by my conservative pace, even though I knew that it was right for me. Runners were already coming back, so about every 50 meters I was having to step to the right and get out of the way. By the way, returning runners on an "out and back" have the right of way, so don't be a jackass here. I didn't enjoy the experience of being lapped here, even if it was by people I will likely never catch.

Stinson Beach back up to Cardiac is where the misery really starts. At this point you are at mile 28 (approximately) and are staring into the pain and agony that is the Dipsea trail and its 2k feet of stairs and climb. For me, this is where I started to question whether I was even going to finish in 11 hours, given the pace of my ascent. It was pretty clear that I hadn't done enough hiking during my preparation and my legs were starting to skim the stairs out of sheer fatigue.

Once I hit Cardiac again though, I felt like a new man. I refueled with some chicken soup, some endurolyte caps, and re-lubed all of my moving parts for the final push back down to the beach. Initially I bolted out of the aid station, really stoked to be hitting some gradual switchbacks and some flat terrain. Eventually though, these trails got tougher and more technical and my pace slowed to a crawl and I was mentally begging for the aid station that was placed slightly further out than many of the rest. Finally I got there, after watching (and hearing) a spanish kid snap his ankle like a twig right in front of me. We were so close to the end I felt horrible watching this unfold, but there wasn't anything to do but get to the EMTs and let them know that they needed to head up the trail. I was actually helping him by running away from him. Who'da thunk?

After this I headed back down to Muir Beach where things start to flatten out and you can actually get some speed going. I was totally jazzed to hit some terrain that felt comfortable and rattle off some decent times where I could. At this point 9 min miles seemed like light speed.

I reloaded at Muir Beach and got out of there as quickly as I could, knowing there were just a few more hills to go before the finish line. A dude dressed as Buzz Lightyear was there to cheer folks on and I tapped his "talky" button before I moved on.

Yeah, just a couple. Of gigantic ones. With smoked legs. Awesome.

I won't belabor the point here, but these final mountains were simply soul crushing for me. At this point, my legs were destroyed and running up them was just not an option. Running down them was miserable as well. I don't know what else to say besides everything hurt and I couldn't work up any kind of speed without some fairly intense pain, which was a completely new experience for me.

I was buoyed at the end by the sight of an athlete fromt the Challenged Athlete Foundation, a lady with two prosthetic legs, totally gutting out 6 miles of a marathon relay. It was clear I didn't have shit to complain about and ran faster than I had in over 6 hours toward the finish line.

I didn't finish as fast as I wanted (I wanted to qualify for States, just to have a goal, not because I think I'm capable of it right now) but luckily when you have a wife as awesome as mine, you don't have to worry about hearing anything other than congratulations or getting anything other than a smile. She's been nothing short of amazing to me while I trained for this and frankly, when I train for anything. She even busted out her own running PR just before she came up to see me finish!

And my three daughters, that are always encouraging and there to give me a hug despite the stink. What a beautiful group!

Probably the coolest part of running Ultras is the on-course camaraderie you develop with dudes you don't even know. Jose and I met a guy with probably the coolest moustache on earth and had to get a picture:

I honestly wasn't too stoked on my time until I bumped into Mr. Ultramarathon Man, Dean Karnazes and he offered his congratulations. I told him my deal, that I hadn't run a marathon until a year ago and that this was my first 50 miler and second Ultra. What happened next shocked the hell out of me. His eyes got wide, his jaw dropped and he said, "Brother, you picked one HELL of a first 50 miler! Wow." Said the guy that just finished running across the country.

So I got that going for me.

I've got a few more general reflections but I'll save them for later, they're a bit more pensive (likely the post-race blues kicking in). For now, I'll setting for knowing I got it done despite not having my best day or my best coach and training buddy Mike there to make sure I didn't do anything stupid. I will say that although it was an amazing day, things were a bit bittersweet without him there. Next time, next time . . .

For now, I'm going to put my feet up and have a cold one.

The 2011 North Face Endurance Challenge 50-mile Championship, San Francisco

2011-12-05T13:45:00.001-08:00

When I signed up for this way back in March, I'm not quite sure what I was thinking. When I thought about this over Thanksgiving, I'm not sure I knew any more than I did then. When I think about it now, I realize that thinking about it isn't nearly as important as feeling it.

And believe me, by the time it was all said and done, I definitely felt it.

There is so much to tell really, I'm not sure how I'll get all of my thoughts into a couple of posts, but I will do my best. I'll start with the logistics and work my way to the actual race itself and I promise I will keep brevity as a theme . . .maybe.

As an aside, and for what it's worth, throughout these two race-recaps, I've highlighted and bolded things that:

I wish I would have known
I wish I hadn't overlooked
Benefitted me a great deal
Generally might be helpful

And so with that in mind . . .

On Friday, my neighbor and friend J and I headed up to San Francisco to the North Face store to pick up our race schwag, listen to a panel discussion and have ourselves a little pre-race dinner.

The packet pickup was not exactly what I would describe as smooth, if I'm being honest. To be fair, my attitude might have been tainted by the fact that we had just endured 3 hours of San Francisco traffic in an effort to get to the shop 15 minutes before they shut down pickup. That being said, the JV cheerleader they had checking people off of the list wasn't exactly surpassing my expectations, asking really helpful questions such as "What is your last name?" after I had handed her my ID, and providing me with wonderful nuggets of information such as "I'm hungry and I lost my scrunchy" while she initially ignored me. She was an annoying anomaly though, as everyone else was all over it. I have great luck with these sorts of things . . .

One important note here: They allow you to drop off your drop-bags right there at the store. DO IT. There were many people that were scrambling like crazy right before the race and I know for a fact that there were still folks standing in line to drop off when the gun went off. This is not the stress you need right before you start running up a mountain.

We wandered over to the panel, hosted by the race director and featuring Dean Karnazes and Mike Wardian, the dude that won the San Francisco Marathon despite food poisoning from eating some bad tacos.

I wasn't a huge fan before, but Dean (with the microphone) was a great ambassador and Mike Wardian (white shirt) was simply funny as hell.

The panel was a nice touch as the setting was really intimate (basically just the second floor of the store) and they took plenty of questions followed by some autographs. I honestly don't think many folks had a clue who Mike Wardian was and what he has accomplished but he really entertained the crowd. Dean also spent a great deal of time signing autographs and chatting with everyone as well, post-panel. We didn't have much time though, as we needed to check into our Hostel in less than two hours and still hadn't eaten yet.

Somehow, someway, J and I managed to find a Thai noodle place with bowls for under 8 bucks a piece, a relative bargain in San Francisco.

Salty and Carbo-ey. Come to Papa.

If you're wondering, the name of the place is King of Thai Noodle, on O'Farrell St and it's only a 10 minute walk from the North Face store. Great place to get some nice salty fixings that won't drive your stomach crazy. The duck soup and papaya salad were just what I needed. Your mileage may vary.

Once we got the hunger pains taken care of, J and I headed over to our ~~Four Star Hotel~~ accommodations. J, being an absolute genius, alerted me to the fact that the Marin Headlands Hostel is located, get this, AT THE START LINE. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I could have thrown a football from the front porch and hit the big inflatable North Face arch. And guess how much? 26 bucks. Yeah, you have to sleep in a bunk bed with 7 other dudes in the same room and make your own bed, but come on, you can't beat this. No shuttles, no worries (80% of the customers were runners) and if you're lucky, you can start the day having coffee with one of the best ultra-marathoners in the world, such as Ellie Greenwood (who has only accomplished a few minor things, such as winning Western States this year).

The one big downside to staying here is that there is no cellphone or wireless reception whatsoever. Which means that any good-byes, good lucks, I love you's, and prior coordinations need to be done before you enter the giant cell-phone black-hole that is known as the Marin Headlands. Of course, you can always do what I did, which is use the pay-phone to call your wife collect and listen / chuckle as she scrambled for a credit card to pay for the call. She's awesome and despite the inconvenience, was nothing but happy to talk. She wished me good luck, told me she was proud of me, and off to bed I went, happy as hell and eager to tackle these mountains.

As cool as our place was though, it didn't help me get to sleep. I was pumped and I had the added nervosa of wondering if my cell-phone was going to work as an alarm clock given its low charge. I finally passed out around midnight and woke up around 3:15 to a dead cellphone. No way was I risking oversleeping for a mere 45 minutes of additional sleep.

I bumbled into the community kitchen, sparked up some water for my Starbucks Via and found J, who couldn't sleep for shizzle either.

As a last minute audible, I decided to go with the North Face E50 water bottle they gave me instead of my hydration pack. This turned out to be both good, and bad. On the upside, I think the lack of additional weight helped me out. On the downside, that water bottle is a joke and I would have been better off with my duct-taped self-modified mountain-biking bottle that I had as a spare in my car. Yes, it was that sucky. I violated the rule of "go with what you know". Thankfully it didn't crush me, though it did irritate me. More on that later.

After we got our stuff together, we wandered down to the start line, about a hundred meters away, to hang out and cuddle underneath some giant heaters with everyone else. This is when I realized that some of these poor saps weren't going to make the starting gun because they were waiting in line to drop off their bags.

In short order, Dean Karnazes came up, said a few inspirational words that I couldn't hear because of the crappy PA system, and we all awaited the sound of the gun. Or in this case, the sound of the guy saying "Go". I did spot Geoff Roes and Mike Wardian before we bolted out of there, and I was absolutely positive this was the last time I would see them, even at turnaround points.

Turns out I was right. Shocker.

With headlamps on and spirits high, we took off like a herd of either gazelles or turtles depending on your persuasion, and plunged into the 5 a.m. darkness for what was surely going to be a long day.

To be continued . . .

This is how I'm preparing for my first 50 miler

2011-12-01T06:24:00.001-08:00

Me: No likey early mornings.

After having spent nearly ten years in the Army you would think I would be used to this kind of thing by now.

Eh, not so much.

Truth is, I've really only had a few jobs where it was absolutely imperative that I get up so damn early. I think that "Platoon Leader" was the last job I had where a 5:30 a.m. wake-up was considered normalcy.

After that, I was pretty much on my own to do my job (whatever it happened to be) in whatever way I saw fit. Many of my friends cite an "internal alarm clock" as the reason that they get up so early, saying that they "just got used to it."

Yeah, not me. I'll sleep until 10 a.m. every damn day regardless of bedtime absent an alarm clock.

Don't get me wrong, I can operate on zero sleep and mini-power-naps for days, but it isn't my preferred method.

So when races like the San Francisco Marathon ask you to get your happy-ass running at 0600 I'm not exactly acclimated to the morning awesome. I honestly think that issue messed with me during that race as I had a headache almost the entire time that was basically just masked with adrenaline. I hadn't gotten up that early in months, and I think I paid for it.

In an effort to make things less painful for the 5 a.m. start of the North Face Endurance Championship San Francisco 50 miler (Christ Almighty that's a long name), I'm waking up early this week.

It sucks.

But all of a sudden I have crap-loads of time for things.

Such as observing the cats bugging the hell out me, unencumbered by irritants such as the dog who is far too intelligent to be up at this hour. The cats, particularly the pimp-of-the-couch kitty George, are under the mistaken impression that I have arisen to feed them earlier than normal.

So he sits in front of me, staring me down and purposefully pushing random things off of the table until I oblige his needs. It took me three crayons, a power adapter doo-hicky, and a half-cup of water before I got his drift . . . but I digress.

At the end of the day (the Glorious Time, as it is referenced now) I'm quite sure this is helping. It's getting easier to wake up and shake the cotton out of my head. If nothing else it will help get me to bed on Friday evening for the holy-sparkling-unicorn-crap alarm of 3:30 a.m. on Saturday.

As far as the rest of the tapering goes, I'm really just trying to take it easy this week. I've done two runs and played one hockey game so I think I've struck a decent balance. I know my body well enough to know that two days off before the race is optimum (I felt great on the 50k) and honestly, no amount of running is going to 1) help me this week and 2) keep me from going a little nuts. With that in mind I've really just decided to lay-off, and get my mind right for Saturday.

The Forced Taper

2011-11-23T15:26:00.001-08:00

There are a couple of ways to taper before a big 50 mile race.

The first is to do things intelligently.

You do some Yoga.

I know it looks like I'm praying, shutup.

You do a recovery run or two.

Maybe you work in some stretching.

Or you can go play a hockey game and get splattered at the blue line by a jerk the size of a tundra Yeti, resulting in "ass over tea kettle" style acrobats rivaled only by cirque du soleil. You know, whichever.

Horrible back pain or Al Pacino impression . . . you decide.

Sweet Skating Jesus that was not a nice feeling. The adrenaline carried me through the rest of the game but once I got home, I could barely get my bag into the garage and getting my own shoes off was decidedly out of the question. (Hat tip to my daughters for helping out with that one.)

This was not good.

I hoped that hitting the pain and inflammation head-on with some Naproxen would help out, and it did, thankfully. This left me with about two days of limited mobility and a big giant question mark where running was concerned. Luckily, by Wednesday I was able to run, but by the six mile mark, I was tightening up a little. Long story short, I wasn't going to push it and needed to be chilling anyway, so I took it easy. Just in time for . . .

A big bowl of Head Cold.

The taper cold. I'm not a huge believer in "I always get sick when I taper" and this didn't make me any more skeptical. This thing was going around and it was bound to happen. Unfortunately my wife got it with an EXPONENT attached to it, making it absolutely brutal. While I only felt like crap, she was absolutely down for the count. That being said, running sounded like a fairly miserable proposition and I was only able to muster 17 miles or so.

Listen, before everyone launches into lecture mode on hockey, let me just say that I believe that hockey is exactly the type of cross training that has gotten me into great shape, rather than just running shape. My back muscles are stronger, my core feels great, and I think my results in the 50k and how I felt afterwards speak to this. So yeah, it's risky. I got it. But the juice has been worth the squeeze in my opinion.

And if you're wondering, I did play again during our game this week.

And I got two assists.

Must have been the lack of mythological beasts looking to decapitate me this week.

Almaden Hills Run 50k Race Report

2011-11-12T16:39:00.001-08:00

When wrote my race recap of this race, I did so more as a summary of the general experience, but not anything particularly race specific, and certainly nothing that would be considered helpful to anyone looking for trail runs or ultramarathons near San Jose or Monterey California.

That being said, I felt it was important to review some of the details because it truly was a great event. The race was coordinated and held by Troy of Troy's California Trail Runs who hosts a number of trail races throughout the year at various trail heads and parks near San Jose.

While living in Monterey, California is fantastic generally speaking, there aren't too many sanctioned races in the area that covered the type of distance that I needed. Obviously Monterey has its share of amazing races, the most popular being the Big Sur International Marathon held each May. As far as Ultramarathons are concerned however, I haven't been able to find too many of them.

In addition, with great scenery typically comes great cost, which is what led me to Troy's races.

Each distance is affordably priced for the distance in my opinion and what's more, if you are an active duty military member, you get 15% off. For anyone attending the Naval Postgraduate School or the Defense Language Institute, this is a pretty awesome opportunity to get a great deal on a trail race.

Honestly, based on the bargain price of 59.50 that I paid, I wasn't expecting much. This made what Troy brought to the table so much more enjoyable. Broken down by category, here's what I thought of the the race itself.

Course: The trails themselves are very well maintained and the description on the website is pretty accurate, with a fair amount of singletrack. By my estimation, the course estimation was a little off, but given that my Garmin dumped the first 16 miles of the course, I can't really say for sure. In any case, the profile for the 50k appears to be about 8,000 vertical feet of elevation gain, which is pretty challenging and sure to scratch your itch if you need some climbing.

Layout: The course markings were fantastic and although I did get lost at one point, it was more my fault than anything else. Each and every intersection was relatively idiot proof and frankly I was surprised at how many signs, not tape, were marking the trail. I can honestly say that my detour had more to do with my fatigue than anything else.

Aid Stations: This is where Troy made his money. Every 5k, there was an aid station of one form or another. We, the 50k'ers were the last of the racers. Which means that every single person out there had been to the aid station prior to us and yet there was never a shortage of anything. GU, salty stuff, gatorade and water were all readily available and in abundance. For someone like me, that was using this as a training run such that they didn't have to stress things like this, it was wonderful. From a safety perspective, it was great to know that 3 miles away was help if you needed it.

Price: Like I said, I don't know if you can beat it. Make no mistake, this is a no frills operation. I see Troy's charter as 1) making sure everyone is accounted for out there 2) making sure there is sustenance out there to support the runners. He achieves that and then some. The price is great for everyone, but simply awesome for military.

Schwag: I'm not the kind of guy that freaks out about the t-shirt. In fact, I can't find some of the shirts I've gotten at races and my medals aren't displayed anywhere. In any case, the shirt was nice and the medal was fine. Nothing to write home about, but if you're running a low-budget trail marathon and whining about the medal, you might be running for the wrong reasons.

Views: There were some great ones for sure. I don't think it's the reason one might run here though. I also didn't find myself gazing very much either, I was too busy trying to make sure I could finish. I've also realized that I've become completely spoiled out here. If I was to travel here from the east coast I'm sure I would consider these jaw dropping compared to something like the Appalachian trail for example.

Overall, if you're in need of a race, whether it's a stepping stone to a larger one or an experience in and of itself, I don't think you can go wrong with any of Troy's races.

If you do run one of them and have some feedback that might be useful to others, please feel free to come back and comment!

50k Ultra-Marathon Post-Mortem and the preparation that seemed to work for me

2011-11-10T14:46:00.001-08:00

So here I sit, five days removed from the longest run of my life and I feel . . . like going for a run.

I've heard horror stories and crazy superlatives related to post-Ultra recovery: trashed, miserable, elephant legs, weeks to recover, enlarged testicles, etc. Or is that post-vasectomy recovery? I don't know. Either way, I wasn't looking forward to the aftermath.

It turns out though, none of that misery actually occurred. As I sit here typing this, I honestly feel wonderful and if I had a sudden bout of amnesia, wouldn't be able to tell that I had anything other than a normal training week. I suppose that tells me I did, or am doing, something correct.

It's with that in mind that I break a few things down to solidify for those that might care, what worked and what didn't.

Long Term

Since, March 2011, when I decided to make a run at the North Face 50 miler, I have averaged somewhere between 30-40 miles per week (with one day of speed work of some kind in there). I ran the San Francisco Marathon at the end of July in a so-so-for-me time of 3:55. Since that time I've averaged about 38 miles per week according to my "Criminal Justice Major Gorilla Math".

Week 31 is the week of the SF Marathon and 45 is the week of the 50k.

I'm sure it's an irritant to some that would like to see it, but I don't really have a "training calendar / plan". They sort of drive me nuts. My schedule and temperament never quite mesh and so some time ago, I decided to dump the plan-method and go with the principle-method. To wit, I keep the following in mind.

I'm training for an Ultra, my family isn't
Long run every week or ten days
One day of speed or hills
Fast is fast and slow is slow. Don't push it unless you are trying to push it; LSD's aren't the time for pushing and intervals aren't the time to chill
Don't be afraid to speed up or down or modify the day entirely if you're body is speaking to you, but stay consistent. Which is to say if you have speed planned, and your calves hurt, just make it a longish slow day instead but don't try and push the pace, a half-assed effort doesn't really help

So a typical week looked like this, keeping in mind the LSD run gets adjusted upward or downward based on how close I am to the race:

Sunday: LSD Run, 20 Miles

Monday: Rest (Nowadays, Hockey Game)

Tuesday: Run to the Stadium Steps, One lap rest, one lap staircases, 6-9 miles

Wednesday: Easy Run, 5-7 miles

Thursday: Rest

Friday: Longish Slow or Tempo, depending on feel, 10 miles

Saturday: Rest, Stretch, Hydrate for Sunday

I've found this to be something I can do very consistently, which is what I wanted. I'm sure some would say that this isn't enough but here I am, five days removed from 33 miles and feeling awesome. I'm also not injured. So this works for me. It's also worth pointing out that I have started playing hockey again, and I think that cross-training has really helped me out. Specifically, my back, hip flexors and fast twitch leg muscles feel much stronger. Some of those really low mileage weeks you see up there were a result of multiple days of hockey, not just rest days.

Race Specific

I've mentioned it before, but the point of running this 50k was to simulate the North Face Endurance Challenge Championship 50 miler. I wanted a sense of the elevation gain, dial in my nutritional requirements and just generally get some nerves out before I went out and made a fool out of myself in front of nearly all of the world's best ultra-marathoners.

The Elevation gain for the TNF 50 looks like this:

They have modified the course a bit, since March, but it still looks painful. Allegedly there aren't many switchbacks either. Sweet.

The Almaden Trails 50k looks like this:

For some reason my Garmin dumped the first 15 miles of elevation data, but as you can see from the full embed below, the course basically looped itself, so it's not unreasonable to just double the elevation numbers, which are here:

So, in short, it looks like the total elevation gain was about 7,800 ft which isn't a bad replication of the TNF 50 course, at least by my reckoning. I won't bore you with the details, but if you take a look at the split data, when I COULD run, I was moving pretty well. I'm especially proud of the ass I was hauling during parts of Miles 31-33.

Tactics and what I learned

Nutrition, PRE-RACE: The week of the race I was pretty health conscious, leaving the beer aside and sticking with a steady supply of carbs and veggies, but without forsaking meat. I've come to really love Kale and Bok Choy and I suggest you do too. (I've got a rock solid japanese noodle recipe that I'll detail later) I added just a little salt to everything I ate for two days prior. Morning of I had a PB&Honey, a triple mocha at starbucks and a gatorade pre-fuel thing.

Nutrition, During the Race: I knew that there would be well stocked aid-stations but I wanted enough of my own stuff just in case. I took the following:

Six Hammer Gels, including Apple Cinnamon, my new favorite flavor that tastes like Apple Pie
Three stinger waffles by Honey Stinger, another favorite, total experiment, but this thing was AMAZINGLY GOOD
Camelback Elixr Tabs

I had one gel every 40 minutes like it was a religion and at each aid-station (located every 5k by law <---Good Rule!) at a huge handful of pretzels and a decent sized cup of G2, the calorie-less gatorade.

I carried my Nathan vest, not because I really needed that much water, but because I hate carrying hand-helds and am growing less fond of the waist pack. The vest is just plain comfy.

Overall, I felt like I nailed it. No nausea whatsoever, no pooping, and most importantly, no bonking whatsoever. I honestly felt better during this than during my SF Marathon experience.

Nutritional Mantra: Don't get behind and eat it (whatever IT for you is) even if you don't want it or feel hungry.

Pacing: I would recommend chucking your time goal out the window. Terrain will dictate so much of this that is isn't worth worrying about. I figured that out after the half-way mark.

My goal was to "run to comfort" and see what that pace looks like. Given the elevation gain and how I felt most of the time, I'm happy with 11:51 per mile. For the future, I know that I can push that a bit and still feel good but I would imagine anything more than a "25% over comfortable" output might force me to blade-run a little bit and possibly bonk.

Pacing Mantra: If you can't see the top of the hill, walk it. There will be plenty of opportunity to run.

Gear: Like I said, the Nathan Vest worked great and that is a mandatory piece of trail gear for me now. It might just be the Army in me, but having everything on my chest and my hands free really gives me a mental boost. It also prevented any chaffing around my waist that might have come from a waist pack.

The New Balance MT101s worked great. It's an awesome shoe and even when I got soaked at mile 22, I had no issues at all.

My cheapo running shorts are money. A little vaseline here and there and I was good to go.

The Buff. What can I say, the greatest sweat solution anywhere.

Socks. I don't care what kind of socks I have on. I think these were Golden Toes or something. Eh. Expensive socks are stupid.

CEP compression leg sleeves. These things are money for recovery. I wore them all day and all night, and my legs felt fantastic the next day. I don't like wearing them during the run anymore, but they are key to my recovery.

Gear Mantra: Test everything out and once you do, leave it alone.

So there you have it. Most of the gory details and all of the ones I felt were important.

Just so it's said, I am not any kind of an expert so common sense discretion applies for any of the above suggestions. This is simply an illustration of how one dude did things. Your mileage may vary.

I'm also not responsible for your wife's anger because after the race your running gear smells like microwaved cat food. That's totally your problem.

*************

My First Ultra Marathon or The 50k that I almost won on accident

2011-11-08T14:05:00.000-08:00

Me and my instant team-mate "the Professor" at the Almaden Hills 50k.

Every once in a while, I can get serious.

At least as serious as a dude in a Captain America t-shirt can get.

It doesn't happen very often, and in fact it usually happens as a function of getting shot at or playing poker. But as of yet, it hasn't come as a result of anything I've done in my short and relatively unimpressive running career.

That being said, if there is one thing that the San Francisco Marathon taught me, it's that I can get really down on myself for not doing just the smidgen of thinking/planning necessary for an enjoyable outcome. So though I joked and poked fun at myself for signing up for a 50k with 4 days notice, I really felt prepared to do things correctly and throw in just a pinch of experimentation for my race in December, the North Face Endurance Challenge in San Francisco.

The race I signed up for was the Annual Almaden Hills Run, just outside of San Jose. The race is administered by Troy of Troy's California Trail Runs and let me tell you, for an organization that is running this operation on a shoe string budget and limited staff, the race was simply outstanding.

Obviously, this was my first experience at an Ultra and on a trail, but I don't know how Troy and his wife could have done things much better. I'm often quite sheepish about my status as a member of the military but Troy is anything but quiet about his support for those who serve. With a 15% military discount off of an already reasonable price for a 50k, his races are a fantastic value for any of the military folks in the Monterey area. The hourlong drive up there was worth it in every respect and I would encourage anyone else to drive up there and experience his passion firsthand.

As for me, I started the day at 530 a.m. and had a couple of goals / thoughts in mind.

I need to get a handle on my nutrition requirements. I know this was my problem in San Francisco and it's often something I neglect during training. . . often I "muscle up" and finish, rather than fueling and finishing strong.
I need to "do no harm" and get my pacing figured out. Clearly this destroyed me in San Francisco and I really didn't want to deal with this disappointment again.
I wanted to set some hard rules and stick to them simply for the sake of discipline. My "sideburns in the Army grooming standards" are a testament to how willing I am to push the limits of this and I felt like I needed the practice. In poker, I have a hard and fast rule which is "don't go broke with one pair" which has kept me out of more trouble than I can recount. I needed a similar mantra.
Don't stress but push it if possible, toward the end. I wanted to know what "trying to haul ass" felt like at the 30 mile mark.

So with that in mind, I arrived to the trail ready to get some kinks worked out.

Here's all the crap I elected to carry with me, and or wore, along the route:

Shoes: NB MT101
Shirt: The San Francisco Marathon "worth the hurt" technical long sleeve
Shorts: Some cheapo brand I bought at Champs for like 15 bucks
Garmin 305
Nathan Hydration Vest
Hammer Gels x 3
Stinger Waffles x 2
Buff worn in the "Sahariane" manner and making me look like the weakest member of the Sons of Anarchy
A Big goofy grin most of the time.

So, based on popular demand, here are a couple of short videos in which I talk about the first half of the race:

It wasn't very long after this last video that something occurred to me and the professor, we were actually in the lead. Not that anyone was really taking this thing all that seriously, but the Type A personalities in the both of us couldn't help but get a bit competitive. We pressed on, running smart but keeping in mind that barring a bonk, this thing was ours to lose.

Shortly after our stop at the 21 mile mark (which was also the drop bag point), we started moving in the wrong direction on the leader-board. I take full responsibility for what happened next.

I missed a turn.

Whoops.

It wasn't until we were 1/4 mile up a section of single-track when it completely disappeared. Sonofabitch.

Thankfully the professor had thought to grab a trail map at mile 3 (why the military in me didn't think of it first I have no idea) and after finally taking a look at the contour lines, I realized that we were screwed. Looking back on it, I think it was the result of a couple of things. First, fatigue was catching up to us. Big P was pounding gels in an effort to stall his crash he felt coming on, and I had tunnel vision on the trail in front me, it never occurred to me to "look right and up" to get on the right trail. Lesson here: Check the trail map before you leave the aid station. Had I just had the wherewithal to check for sections that might have been tricky, I might have been okay.

Regardless, after our Blair Witch Project moment, the professor and I got back on track and were curious about just how hosed we were when we got to the next aid station. We asked the nice gentleman if there was anyone in front of us.

"Oh yeah, they left about ten minutes ago."

Oh, so this is what an ULTRA LOW feels like. Not only did we just add half a mile, but we got the added insult of being behind. Ah well. It was fun while it lasted.

"Got any pretzels?" I said. After I choked down my snack it occurred to me that losing kind of sucks.

So we spent the next couple of hours trying to catch 'em.

I'll spare you the manufactured drama, because the "Great Chase" really consisted of just the couple we were chasing, their dog, and us. And I'm pretty sure the professor and I were the only ones pushing it. Had they chosen to get competitive the couple in front might have smoked us.

That being said, I ended up trying to make a desperate two mile push during which I hit my high point. Where I could run based on terrain, I was clicking off 630-700 min/mile splits. This was easily the best I've ever felt while running, and it was a great feeling to know I could reach down and shift when I was exhausted.

I finished with a total time of 6:33 on a course that we think was about 33 miles, slightly longer than a 50k. The trip down the wrong turn rabbit hole cost us about 30 minutes so I think it's fair to say that my time for 31 miles was something like 5:40. Given the terrain, I'm really happy with my results.

Oh yeah, and I lost by about two minutes. Awesome.

So that's the overview.

In the next post I'm going to recount some of my lessons learned and see how the elevation profile of this course stacks up to the one that I'm going to see in San Francisco for the North Face Endurance 50 miler.

In the meantime, please feel free to let me know if you have a similar experience in a race. Ever made a wrong turn? What was your first Ultra like?

How to prepare for an Ultra Marathon . . kinda

2011-11-04T17:37:00.000-07:00

So in the midst of knocking out a 2500 word mid-term on terrorism this week, I went and decided to sign up for a local 50k.

Isn't that what everyone does to prepare for their first Ultra marathon?

Truth be told, 31 or so miles was on the calendar (actually, more truth be told, that was last weekend, but you know how I am with training schedules), so running an actual race seemed like a nice change of pace. After all, you really don't have to do much in the way of supporting yourself (although you need to be prepared to do so) and it seems like a nice opportunity to dial in some tactics for the North Face Endurance Challenge 50-miler.

So I contacted the race director of the Almaden Hills run in San Jose, who happens to be a huge supporter of the military (15% percent discount ) and he told me to just come on out and we'd settle up later.

Alrighty then, let's do this.

Then it occurred to me that this would technically be my first Ultra. I suppose if you really wanted to get technical, my first distance over 26.2 miles. Huh, whaddya know? I've honestly felt strong enough the past few weeks to push well past that, but have erred on the side of caution for one reason or another.

Not anymore! Tomorrow I run 31 miles.

Now it's time to get my equipment list together.

So with some of my "Birthday Amazon Cheddar" I decided to get one of these babies:

The Nathan 2L Hydration Vest

I've also got the hydration belt, and I've tried handhelds before, but I really think I'm a vest/backpack kinda guy. And after my experience on Sunday with my POS old-school hydration pack which could only be described as a big bowl of suck, I was ready to give this thing a shot.

Initial 6 mile test-run would lead me to believe that I am really going to like this thing. It doesn't jostle, is incredibly light and just seems intelligently designed.

I'll get back to you with how it performs during the race.

I also decided to do a bit of a Mini-taper this week in preparation for Saturday.

***

Mon: No running, but almost no soreness from 24 the day before

Tues: No Running, I had a paper to write

Wed: 5 miles with the dog, he was driving me nuts

Thursday: 6 mile hill route, probably should have done this Wed. but I wanted to test out the new vest :-)

Friday: Finished my paper, drank two cups of coffee, and watched a video about this jackass

***

Prior to this I've been averaging about 50 or so miles a week with lots of speed and hills and one long run (at least) per week.

Equipment:

Shoes: NB MT101

Hydration: The Nathan Vest, thanks for paying attention

Nutrition: I don't know, I need to see what's in the pantry. I'll probably stop at a 7 eleven on the way.

Tactics: I just told you I don't know what I'm eating, do you really think I've thought this far? Please stop being so pushy.

In other news, I was mentioned on the BUFF, INC blog for my thought provoking and summarily uninformative review of the doohicky I now wear on my head to keep from going blind. So if you would like to be an RJ allstar, please give 'em a click and retweet them.

In the mean time, I'm going to go figure out how many snacks will fit in this vest and hope that I don't die tomorrow.

Laguna Seca Solo Almost-Marathon; Video Blog

2011-10-31T15:51:00.000-07:00

I thought I'd try something a little different this week. A video blog about my attempt to run 30 miles over at Laguna Seca on Sunday.

You Tube really did me a favor with that freeze frame shot right there didn't they?

I'm not entirely sure why the last video is so blurry, I think it might have been some condensation on the lens. Who knows.

The other thing I should mention is that I plan on running a 50k next weekend, so I wasn't exactly freaking out about the aborted 30 miles. The distance of my loops was also a bit off, they came out to about 12.25 miles a piece so running another full lap was going to push me way past my comfort zone for today.

All in all though, I feel great the day after, so I know it was a level of effort that was sustainable, which is great news because I was fairly comfortable the entire time. Would have been better if I hadn't been a bonehead and forgotten my food for the final push.

Ever made a boneheaded move that cut your day short? I felt pretty lucky that I was at least smart enough to plan a loop that prevented a total disaster.

Getting "Buff"

2011-10-27T16:46:00.000-07:00

Used to be, that when I wanted to go for a run, I just threw on some shorts, found a matching pair of socks, and took off. Those were the goddamn good 'ol days.

It seems like now I need to find the "right pair" of shoes in the rotation, the pair of shorts that don't chafe if it's a long run, a water belt of some kind, my homing beacon (otherwise known as a Garmin), my Road-ID (not griping here, this is mandatory kit, really), some type of music player, and my sunglasses.

If you saw me get ready you would wonder if I was getting ready to go running or preparing for two straight days tracking wildebeests old school style in the African bush.

At the end of the day though, I have what I need and my run is generally more comfortable and enjoyable because of it. Although I admit, some days I dump most of that stuff (or at least the nervous agitation that goes along with my preparation) and just go running, sans the high tech junk.

The one thing I had yet to find though, was something to keep the sweat out of my eyes. You see, I'm a heavy head-sweater.

Not like this guy:

But pretty damn close.

I've tried a few different solutions.

The hat:

The "T-Shirt Turban":

Both of which just weren't working for me in the long run.

The hat gets funky like George Clinton while the turban just won't stay put over the long haul.

Like I said, 'effing high maintenance.

Then I found this baby:

The Buff!

Yes, like on Survivor.

Not only does this baby wick away moisture like a champ, and is able to keep up with my faucet-like forehead, but the picture highlights the fact that I raise my eyebrows when I smile about 85% of the time.

I suppose I could wear it like this instead:

I'm guessing the other folks on the rec trail would prefer the goofy raised eyebrows thing though.

And of course a guy can never have too many mini-skirt / tube top options in his closet.

In any event, this thing is awesome and has exceeded all of my expectations for a moisture wicking headband thingy. It also doesn't stink when it dries and on runs of 20 or more miles all I have to do is flip it over to the "dry side" at the halfway point and I'm good to go. In retrospect, I wish I would have had one of these babies when deployed. They would be money over there.

I prefer the "Sahariane" method of wear, but if you go here, you can see the dozen or so other ways to wear it, or get one for yourself if you are so inclined. REI and Amazon have them for about 20 bucks or so. Worth every penny really.

So while I might have just added one more piece of "mandatory" kit to my already over-engineered bag of running equipment, at least I won't be stopping by the public restroom on the trail, crying like a baby, desperate to wash the sunscreen laden sweat out of my eyes . . . anymore.

FLASHBACK: Afghanistan can be like pulling teeth

2011-10-18T19:59:00.000-07:00

So, a few years ago I was deployed to Afghanistan. During that time I blogged on a website you might have heard of called MYSPACE. It was mainly for fun and a way to keep my family informed and hopefully, laughing rather than worrying about my well-being.

So, in a little bit of a blogging experiment, I'm going to occasionally post some FLASHBACK posts of what I think are some decent stories. I hope you enjoy . . .

FEBRUARY 2007,

SHINKAY, AFGHANISTAN

The last couple of weeks have presented very little in the way of entertainment. A lot of that has to do with weather which has slowed us down quite a bit. It really is just a boring time to be over here. I say boring and the rest of the family jumps for joy; it's the soldier's paradox. We hate to be bored and unemployed but being employed generally involves bullets going both in and out. So I suppose I will be content to be bored...

Recently though, I was provided with the ultimate in Civil Affairs tools. A Dentist and a Vet. For me this is a huge boon; I can now advertise a whole new product to the people beyond my deep pockets. As an added bonus, I get to learn a whole bunch of new things from the visiting experts. I kind of enjoy getting my hands dirty and as luck would have it, both the Vet and the Doc were happily willing to let me participate.

I asked the Dentist if it was possible for me to pull a tooth; I mean, how many times are you going to get to do that? Of course it's drudgery to him so of course the answer was "yeah sure". Luckily the camera was there to capture the experience.

Fortune has also provided me with the ability to act like I know what I am doing in a variety of circumstances. I figure I have all the credentials I really need. Medical school is overrated.

Overall, the emphasis on oral hygiene in Afghanistan is well, not high. By not high I mean, uh, they really don't even know what you are talking about when you discuss it. The impression I got is that they treat their teeth like sharks do; they are more or less disposable.

A toothbrush might as well be a flux capacitor when you hand it to them. Mostly they just let their teeth rot right down to the root and then have it yanked when the painkillers don't work anymore. I actually heard Doc say that this one guy had Advanced Perio "something something" (some made up doctor word I am sure) and that basically his gumline would recede until all of his teeth just loosened up and fell out like chicklets. Yummy. And he was such a handsome man. But I digress.

We had a small dental clinic set up last week and Doc (we'll keep his name out of it) and I decided this was my chance. I was a bit naïve and kind of stepped up to the first one I saw. After I looked into the guys mouth and said "THAT'S a tooth? You're shitting me." we decided I should wait for something that resembled an ENTIRE tooth. And Christ, after watching him chisel this chunk of bone out of this dude's mouth with what look like a flattened ice pick, he was definitely right.

Alas, my time had come.

This is Doc explaining to me how jealous he is of my skill-set and how I have learned in five minutes what it took him years to master. Doc also has this rare disease that makes him look like some kind of Men's Fitness cover model; it's really disgusting.

This is me using the ice pick thingy to loosen some of the whatchamacallit from around this guy's lower mandibular toofy tooferson. See, I told you medical school was bullshit.

Once Doc recognized the SKILLZ he was able to stand back and watch the master work. Almost to phase 2.

I felt like I was pretty much cooking with gas at this point. To describe this in a tactile way, the process of pulling was much more like working a nail from a board that the foot-on-the-wall yank that I expected. It required a kind of grip and wrist roll technique. And of course copious amounts of injected painkillers.

This picture was taken immediately after I uttered the works "Fuck dude, is it supposed to break in half like that?" Doc said "Uh, yeah, that'll happen" He said this in a tone that was of course respectful of my obviously vast medical knowledge.

With the patient's face brimming with confidence in my abilities, I remained undaunted.

Success of course was never in doubt. And after scoring a touchdown you need to look like you have been there before. I expressed this sense of self-assurance with an I-hope-I-didn't-just-crap-my-pants look on my face. The patient was similarly impressed with my cat like reflex's and surgical precision.

Not wanting the Dentist to feel like his year's of hard study went to waste, I let him handle the next two teeth. I use the term teeth loosely as they were white, but had the hardness of circus peanuts. I'm not really sure what that means but I am sure that I could find out in five minutes and a Google search. Medical School Schmedical School.

___________

Seriously though, Doc is pretty much the man. Pulling teeth and providing care in one of the harshest places that I have ever been is a real skill. This guy is a true pro. To be able to pull teeth on the tailgate of a truck with the wind blowing so hard you can barely stand up is something to be applauded.

Getting Naked and caffeinated

2011-10-14T10:13:00.000-07:00

See, like I said, Naked.

This stuff is great. It's also a bargain at roughly 1200 dollars a bottle at Starbucks.

Normally I complain like George Costanza at such things, but today I am stuck waiting for my car to repaired. Or possibly broken some more, depending on how the mechanic decides to play his hand.

In any case, I'm stuck here in coffee wonderland with my laptop and a smile letting my mind wander about stuff that doesn't really matter a whole lot to other people. And then I stumbled into a thought that probably does, at least to those in the running community.

At first I wasn't sure about it. It seemed rather unseemly even to think it. I'm sure I might be backhanded in public if I happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I've looked over both shoulders though, and there appears to be no one there. So I'll just go ahead and say it.

I'm not a fan of Ryan Hall and I don't think he's going to be anything other than a career 4th or 5th place guy.

There, I said it.

I have this inkling every time I watch the guy talk or read what he is quoted as saying (yeah, I got it, things can be taken out of context. Barring a one on one interview, this is what we're left with.) Up until recently though, I couldn't quite put my finger on how to summarize my thoughts. Until I read Moneyball, by Michael Lewis.

Moneyball is about a lot of things really. Mostly it's about Baseball, not running. Primarily it's about Billy Beane, the former "almost was" baseball player turned managerial whiz kid of the Oakland A's.

Billy was always an amazing player, according to virtually everyone who ever saw him play. A physical specimen that dominated every level he ever played in. Until he got to the Major's.

When he arrived for his first stint with the Mets, he was dumbfounded by the fact that he didn't have the same level of success. Simply could not imagine the notion that he wasn't kicking everyone's ass. It never occurred to him that he might fail. When he did, he discovered he wasn't mentally equipped to handle it. What's interesting, is that right up until the time he finally decided to call it quits, everyone believed it was a matter of time before he lit things on fire. Despite one small detail, he never did.

Here's my point.

I don't think Ryan Hall is equipped to fail either. This is why I don't believe he's ever going to be any better than he is right now (which is pretty damn good, but incapable of winning a big one).

Of course, he reacts the opposite way that Billy Beane did. He doesn't throw tantrums that would be the runner's equivalent of breaking bats. He smiles and basically shrugs it off with his "I'll get 'em next time" attitude.

Which is fine, if your goal is to continually put up American records and establish yourself as a guy that can hang on until the Kenyans get serious and leave you behind. But if Ryan Hall is going to be something other than the subject of a cheesy olympic games interlude on NBC designed to garner home-team sympathy, he's going to have to see these things as something other than manifest destiny.

Amby Burfoot believes roughly the same thing, only he finds the attitude refreshing, or at least something that would be amazing to watch if it happened, given Hall's disposition.

I'm sure that some will believe that this has something to do with the fact that I disagree with his spiritual approach to training or life in general. Eh, not so much. Anyone who knows me knows that I plan about the same way that Hall does, which is to say not much or not very diligently. Then again I'm not trying to win an Olympic medal or a major marathon.

The genesis of the "whoopity dooda" attitude makes no difference to me.

I could care less if he believed in the sanctity of green leafy vegetables or nothing at all. Either one of them can pave the road to mediocrity on the world stage.

Which is precisely where I believe Ryan Hall's free spirited navigational system is taking him.

When the rain comes . . .

2011-10-11T12:25:00.000-07:00

It rained like hell the other day here in Monterey.

It didn't seem all that serious to be honest. I thought it was all but finished. It was for this reason that I decided to take my new phone and listen to some Pandora.

A little bit of rain and copious amounts of Dave Grohl always makes me happy:

Clearly, I'm pleased. Or constipated. Whichever.

After running down the hill, I found this little fella was not at all pleased with his current predicament:

Apparently the rain had washed him from his happy home and placed him, rather unceremoniously, into the street.

Monterey being the kind of place it is, I wasn't there for 30 seconds before a cavalcade of locals parked their cars to help usher the future Seagull snack to safety. To give you a sense of his immense size, it took four of us just to move him. I'm sure that didn't have anything at all to do with general clumsiness and various shrieks and squeals. And that was just MY contribution.

And thus, having saved a life less than a mile from my house, I moved on.

And I got wetter.

Others may run and hide their heads, but not I. I continued on. I also looked like a total moron trying to keep my phone from becoming completely and totally soaked by the experience.

Then it got cold. My shoes were holding onto the water like a dish sponge. This was officially unfun.

I finished the run looking and feeling like a half-drowned rat.

On the upside, I no longer appear constipated.

Does anyone else enjoy running the in rain?

If you do, do you think of this song?

'Cause I did. But I'm a nerd that way.

Trips, Traps and Speedbumps

2011-10-09T14:50:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure what it is about race weekends that make one reflect about things. Participation isn't even a requirement really.

I'm not participating in the 2011 Chicago Marathon today in any way shape or form. The event however, has an impact well beyond the borders of Illinois that's so visceral, I can feel it out here in California. Twitter is blowing up with split times, well deserved "kick ass" hashtags and reports of post-race pizza that are making me drool as I write this. So many people are experiencing the river of awesome that comes with your first marathon, the lake of misery you feel like you are drowning in at mile 20 and the crack cocaine version of the runner's high you get just from finishing.

Every time I see a mass start at a major marathon, I'm reminded of what it represents. Just doing the math will blow your mind. Take as an average an amateur who runs a 6 month program at 30 miles a week, a hugely conservative estimate. That's 700 or so miles. Multiply that by the 20,000 or so that might be out there and you get about 14 million miles run, just to prepare. That's obviously going to vary based on the size of the marathon, but the number will always be huge. Huge. And occasionally, too much. There are more than a few runners that are too injured to compete. And that, my friends, sucks.

Two years ago this month I started running barefoot. Or minimal. Or whatever the hell you want to call running with as little as possible on my feet.

Two months later I gave myself a stress fracture that became so nasty, I heard an audible pop signifying the fact that I actually broke it. When I went to the Doctor two months later (yeah, I know) he was amazed at how badly I snapped it. The good news was that the ensuing calcification gave me an armored foot. The bad news was that I needed to slow the hell down.

Slow down. WTF. I thought the point of this running thing was to go faster.

So I chilled. I listened to my body. I rested when I felt like it. I ran hard when I felt good. Barefooting reminds you that you have to listen more, and speak with your feet less. It's going to take as long as it takes to get there. And boy did it take a while. It was months before I could start training for my first marathon, the 2010 Marine Corps.

What I decided however, was that it wasn't going to be about the event itself for me. I was raising money for a charity, blogging, learning how not to bonk and just generally discovering what kind of a runner I wanted to become. Of course, the type A in me (what little of that there is) was hell-bound to finish, but I managed to keep that in check most of the time during my journey to finish. And that's exactly what it is to me. A journey. Sometimes it's a long strange trip, but it's a journey nonetheless.

For me, John Steinbeck was right when he said, "A journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it."

You can schedule things. You can plan your runs to the 1/100th of a mile. You can control every variable on a treadmill. But sometimes, you can't control shit.

And when that sometimes happens, and all you can think of is shit, it sometimes helps to think of the journey.

The 3 hour bs'ing sessions with your running partners. The long run you made and didn't think you would. That bicyclist you passed on your way up the hill.

Because you know what? All those tweets, signs, hoops and hollers are a representation of the journey, not the destination.

My best to everyone whose weekend was everything they thought it would be and to everyone who wishes it could have been more. Enjoy the finish and/or relish the opportunity to get after it after you heal.

Just remember that Jimmy Buffett was right. "If it doesn't work out there'll never be any doubt . . . that the pleasure was worth all the pain."

A Friday Quick Hitter

2011-10-07T16:00:00.000-07:00

I've mentioned the UltraRunner Podcast before, but I feel compelled to mention it again. Every time I listen to the episodes featuring Sunny Blende, the sports nutritionist, I learn something new about running, nutrition, and the "what to do's"/ "what not to do's". She also has a very clever webpage as well.

This time my attention was piqued by her "what to do when things go wrong" comments on the podcast. You can click here to listen. Thankfully she was kind enough to summarize some of the more important points and stick them in a handy chart.

In my opinion her comments are not limited to ultrarunning either, the same nutritional issues can rise up and bite you during a marathon as well. In any case, if you are interested in learning more about the nutrition of ultrarunning or marathoning, you might be well served to download the PDF file and stick it on your fridge for a while.

For what it's worth, I don't know either of the guys that run this podcast. I'm not shilling for them at all. Goodness sometimes deserves to be touted for its own sake.

Working the Core Muscles . . . and then some.

2011-10-05T14:39:00.000-07:00

Remember this thing?

Well, I'm taking full advantage of it here when I discuss hockey. It relates. I promise.

Another consequence of my decision to get back into hockey after a twelve year layoff, was "drop in".

For the uninitiated, drop in hockey is basically a semi-organized pick-up hockey game during which semi-fit and hyper-competitive everyday folks can legally beat each other up for the low low sum of twelve bucks a person. You know, for practice. It's also a great excuse to use a bunch of hyphens in one sentence.

Apparently it's also a great excuse to comment on the dude with the "classic" equipment.

Actual quotes:

"Holy crap dude, that stick is classic! They haven't made those in years!"

"Dude, those wheels are sooo ancient. I'm impressed they've held up this long."

I absorbed the compliments while simultaneously attempting to parry the backhand that came along with it. As the exercise in verbal ninjitsu continued, the following things occurred to me inside my second-hand brainbucket I called a helmet:

I'm not 20 anymore. Well done Perry Mason. You finally discovered that your body is no longer a seemingly bottomless well of energy, capable of turning cheeseburgers and Heineken into rocket fuel. You weren't even limber and incredibly athletic then, what in the hell made you think you could jump back into this?
My brain knows where to go, but my legs are having a hard time getting me there. Ain't it funny how your brain gets quicker and your feet feel like they're encased in lead-lined concrete? You should have known that you were going to have those "Bambi on ice" moments dude.
I need to give my legs a break on game-day. Wow, how absolutely Aristotelian. What exactly made you think you could run for two hours and then play hockey in the evening? Feel like doing some synchronized swimming just to add a cherry on top? You're an idiot.

My body reinforced the sarcastic inner-voice logic by forcing me to remember just how sore you can get after a game. Ever wonder what muscles are used during hockey?

Running has prepared me for most of it, but the muscles that weren't ready, sure let me know it. Primarily, the inner legs and groin muscles (that you use to push off) were almost debilitatingly sore. My lower and outer back muscles were also smashed to bits.

On further reflection though, it occurs to me that this could be fantastic for my overall fitness. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that playing hockey is like an hour and a half long core workout.

Now if I could only get my mojo back so the college kids will stop commenting on the "classical" nature of my equipment.

The One-Timer, and why I miss it.

2011-10-01T19:54:00.000-07:00

There was a time in my life when I hated running. Truly hated it.

The Army made me do it and I often did everything I could to get out of it. I wasn't above faking injuries. I never did this after I actually commissioned and started acting like an adult, but as a stupid college kid, I did it all the time.

I wasn't fat.

I wasn't lazy.

I was just into other stuff.

August of 1996 was a pretty exciting time. New college, new friends, new dorm room away from home and as luck would have it, a new inline hockey rink right smack dab in the middle of Colorado State University.

This, as it turns out, was not going to be good for my GPA.

Four years prior to this, I had caught the hockey bug . . .Bad. I had always had an interest really (my mother's first husband was what you MIGHT call semi-pro) but I remember seeing a live game my Freshman year and thought, "I'm going to learn this game. If it kills me."

And so, with the same voracity that I currently pursue running, I taught myself how to play. With no ice around, I was limited to roller-blades. I grew up roller skating so this wasn't much of a transition. Turns out I was fast. Much faster than most in fact, but I was always by myself or with my friend Kevin who happened to be from Michigan. So there I was, skating around garbage cans and moving a tennis ball around in an abandoned cul-de-sac in Lake Tahoe with my friend Kevin teaching me the basics. He realistically suggested I learn how to play solid Defense, because my puck skills sucked. So I did.

Four years later I was nearly passable as someone that had played for a while. One small problem. I had never actually played on any kind of team. No pickup hockey. Nothing. The closest I had ever been to a break away was getting a full head of steam going through "pine cones 1 and 2" and attempting to fire a puck over the "milk crate goaltender" and into the "net" which looked conspicuously like a rectangle of duct tape on my garage.

So you imagine the whirlwind of emotion going on inside as I stared at this rink on that bright sunny day in August. A plexi-glass lined slab of concrete that looked oh so much sexier than the pine needle covered streets of Tahoe; it felt like it was built to welcome me to my new home.

For the next six months that rink became my second home. If it was sunny (and sometimes even if it wasn't) I was out there. Pick up games were a constant. I went through roller-blade wheels like a barista going through coffee filters. Little bits of hockey tape were stuck to everything I owned. I was in heaven.

And then there were the tryouts. Colorado State was in the fledgling stages of starting an inline team, which would of course play second fiddle to the nationally ranked club team that played on ice, but that hardly mattered. It was a team. With real jerseys and shit.

I began to have delusions of grandeur. I kinda wanted to try out.

My best friend Andy, who happened to be a pretty good player in his own right, suggested we go for it. The worst that could happen, according to him, is that we got a few hours of free skating and it would be great practice, whether or not we made it or not. Sounded great, except for enormous likelihood of public embarrassment I could possibly endure.

When we arrived at the rink for tryouts, the sights and sounds of the rink washed over my brain. Pucks smashing into glass made that high pitched crack that always makes first time visitors duck. The snap-snap-thump of pucks dancing around a stick and then summarily discarded into the goalies pads. Coaches screaming classic aphorisms like "24 square feet of net Jonesy, and you didn't hit one F***ING INCH!". The thought of being able to pull on a green and yellow jersey with my school's name on it forced a plastered grin onto my face.

Andy pulled me aside after we dressed, "Just play good D dude. No one likes to play D. If you do that, you might have a shot." There were 75 guys here. 30 or so were going to make it. Despite all that, I felt like I had a chance. A "Jim Carrey in Dumb and Dumber, like one in a million chance, kinda chance" but a chance nonetheless.

I felt good about it.

I felt reasonably prepared.

I felt like I wanted to puke a little. Okay, maybe a lot.

So I skated as well as I could and no one was as surprised as me when they called my name as the 30th person selected. I was asked to be the fourth line Defensemen (read: the lowest on the depth chart) but hey, I was asked. I also got to pick my number last. I chose the last one on the list. A reminder to myself that I had nowhere to go but up.

Up, as luck would have it, would be a lot of fun. I worked my way up the roster, eventually starting on offense for the "A" squad. I coached a kid's team when I moved back to Reno. Hockey even played a fairly critical role in the first conversation I ever had with my wife (but that's a story for another time). And then, after all that, I just stopped playing. Timing, kids, the Army, and circumstance all played a role in it. I just sort of moved on. Didn't miss it much. But I didn't think about it much either. Except for that one time in Afghanistan when I wanted to prove to the Canadians that some American Soldiers actually have some game:

That's me in the middle there, wondering if I had time to grab a Tim Horton's doughnut.

And then the other night I had a random conversation with a guy on the Naval Postgraduate School team. It's the B squad he said, and everyone is just having a good time really, but they need another player. He invited me out to watch their league championship game.

I knew after walking the door I was going to sign up.

The smells were the same. And they're not good, but so awesome.

The sounds were the same. Too loud, but incredible.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up the entire time.

And so I must confess, running is cool but lemme tell ya, there are few things in life that compare to something like this:

So as weird as it sounds, I guess I'll be playing for both my undergrad and grad school. I'm not sure how in the hell this is going to fit into my training schedule. I'm not sure I care either.

I do care about whether I whiff on that one-timer though. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go see if I have enough duct tape to make a 6 ft wide rectangle on my garage.

Get in my bell-A.

2011-09-27T20:14:00.000-07:00

An interesting article in the NY Times today attempts to answer the question, "is junk food really cheaper than healthy food?".

For what it's worth, the author maintains that the answer is no, although I believe his argument is a little on the shaky side. His logic resides entirely on the notion that FAST FOOD is what is doing everyone in, rather than processed food in general. While I grant that a head of lettuce is in fact cheaper than a bag of potato chips, that is not where I believe the issue lies.

To me, it's a matter of palette (or to be more precise, the lack thereof) and frankly, a bit of laziness. The latter being a point on which the author and I agree.

Regarding the first point, it's been my experience that our food in the United States is somewhat reflective of our personality in a couple of ways. We desire instant gratification for the most part and the idea of breading your own bits of fish pales in comparison to the thought of a guy in a yellow rain slicker making them magically appear before us. (Fair disclosure, I eat these all the time. They're yummy.) And while occasional indulgence is cool, overdoing it can be painful. We get our kids into the act all the time too by caving in and making little fried hot dogs instead of the turkey sandwich we doubt that they'll eat. They normally don't because, ahem, we often give up trying when they complain the first time. We also tune everything up with something that is either syrupy sweet, or horribly salty. By the time we're adults, we'd absolutely kill for a plate of fries covered in ketchup than we would a plate of sushi. Not that everyone needs to love sushi by any means. My point is that we enjoy the bland processed safety of Ore Ida and shun many things that are different. Newsflash: Broccoli isn't better than a plate of chili cheese fries. It just isn't. But I eat it anyway.

As for the second point, cooking is work, man. I get the that more than you know. This is where the author and I agree with the notion, but disagree with the execution. He says that people will just go to McDonalds. I say the decision is made well before you even leave the store. The options you have at the supermarket are not always that great if you are a) poor and b) being a little lazy. It's cheap as hell to bust out the Hamburger Helper or the Tony Chechere's to save a little time. The problem is that you might as well inject some of it directly into your ass cheeks, because that's where it's gonna end up.

Because I know you're going to ask.

I don't want to wax too academic. Mostly because I really want another Bass. Not the fish, the beer. (That's what we call hypocrisy by the way.) But it seems to me like we, as a nation, would be just a bit healthier if we'd do two things: expand our horizons and sacrifice 30 minutes of Dr. Phil to make a decent meal that didn't consist of Ramen Noodle and sliced Slim Jims.

Of course who knows, after a few more beers that might seem like a good idea. I'll make sure to post a review.

Curry, An Apple, and a Red Dawn

2011-09-24T12:28:00.000-07:00

As I said in my last post, I was on a bit of a forced hiatus. This was largely a result of family and school obligations, but the disaster that is/was my HP laptop played no small role either.

The good news was that I didn't experience a full-blown crash of my system. The bad news was that the portability feature (you know, like the REASON you buy a laptop) was less than fully functional. The long and the short of it was that my laptop had a bad case of electronic narcolepsy whenever it was unplugged from the wall. This is not generally helpful when you're trying to write a master's thesis and don't have a permanent office.

So me being me, I decided to fix it. I'm sure it's a familiar refrain, but after 5 plus hours on the phone with HP customer support in India, I was told that a new battery would not be forthcoming and frankly, I needed to stop calling and asking. Well then. Allrighty. It's an experience not worth recounting in wretched detail but suffice it to say that when my wife saw QWERTY etched into the skin of my forehead she knew two things: 1) Banging my head into the keyboard of my HP probably didn't help and 2) all of my Urdu/Hindu speaking charm couldn't make the situation any better.

So I did what any disgruntled consumer would do in such a circumstance. I bought a MAC, and oh baby, Daddy likey.

I've honestly wanted to anyway ever since my wife got one four years ago. In that time it has never "not worked" and has never failed to start up, shut down, download things, and you know, work & stuff. I've officially defected and let me tell you, being a traitor never felt so good.

(Ironically though, I upgraded to an android phone. It was 9.99 and has all the capability of an Iphone. Can you blame me?)

Once I got everything on my new 'puter just the way I liked it, I decided to check up on ye olde blog statistics.

This blog is not a money maker. Nor is it particularly popular. Occasionally though, I get something going that interests folks and it shows. Generally I can see this coming. I did not however, anticipate this:

This is from ONE DAY last week. And it was prior to any kind of new posting.

Naturally, my first thought was of course:

WOLVERINES!!!!

Has Russia taken a sudden interest in minimal running? Is there an operative named Jackalope on the run?

How the hell am I supposed to know when to run to my father's extraordinarily well-stocked and unreasonably remote sporting goods store and get what I need to survive in the hills while I conduct insurgent activities?

Reports, of one kind or another

2011-09-20T16:20:00.000-07:00

First of all, please allow my to apologize for my absence. I know that both of my readers are simply starving from lack of semi-interesting pontifications in the form of blog posts. I've had more than a few things to take care of recently and time simply became a valued resource. Judgments were made. Carpets were shampooed. Episodes of Mad Men were viewed. Final projects for school were accomplished.

As a result, we now have a very clean carpet, I totally dislike Betty Draper, and I got an "A" on my math project. Winner winner chicken dinner I say, despite the lack of attention paid to the blogo-tubes.

I did however manage to run a 5k on September 11, which is another report worth sharing.

Now, let me first say this. Obviously for anyone in the military, September 11th has a great deal of meaning on a number of levels. It's shaped my life in ways that I would never have imagined on September 10th of that year. Furthermore, any charity that chooses to support a cause benefitting our military has an immediate "in" as far as I'm concerned. I've got no issue with forking over money when asked to do so.

So when the opportunity to participate in the 9-11 Heroes Run 5k here in Monterey, Ca came along, I jumped at the chance. To be honest though, it was my wife that suggested it. This only cemented the idea in my mind. My wife doesn't really enjoy running in the same way that I do, but she does enjoy a challenge and she was looking forward to the opportunity to run another 5k with me. Sold. Let's do this.

So we signed up, and dropped our 25 bucks a piece for the race.

Now, before I start complaining, let me throw out a few caveats.

I know this isn't the Marine Corps Marathon and they're running on fumes as far as volunteers are concerned.

I know that races are hard to organize and execute; I've had to do it before.

I know that "fires happen" and "things burn" and sometimes you can't do anything to prevent that.

So when criticize here, I'm saying two things: 1) I would have just given them my 50 bucks without a race in the picture and 2) I know the challenges one faces when planning these sorts of things.

The morning began with "on-site" race pickup right before the race began. This obviously isn't the preferred method but perhaps unavoidable given the amount of volunteers they had. Either way, it might not have been so bad if it wasn't for the fact that the race site itself was kind of difficult to find and well, not exactly in the prettiest of locations.

What used to be Fort Ord (closed in the 90's due to the Base Realignment and Closure process) is now a hodge podge of either really nice areas such as some new housing and Cal State Monterey Bay, or really crappy areas such as old run down barracks buildings that I'm almost positive my grandfather lived in. And I'm not being facetious here, he was actually stationed there before being shipped off to Alaska to fight.

I'll give you one guess which part of Ord they held this race in. There were old couches in the parking lot, busted out windows everywhere and I generally felt as though I was on a post-apocalyptic movie set. Yuck.

Once we did find the location, at the end of a dead-end street, I stood in line and when I got our bags, we were presented with two XL t-shirts. Uh, okay. "This is all we have left." I was told. I wasn't thrilled, but there didn't seem to be much that could be done and I wasn't really willing to downgrade my wife's morale at this point. After all, she was a bit nervous already. While 5k isn't much to me, it sure as hell is for her and I was going to do everything I could to help her finish. Griping wasn't going to help.

So off we went, pinning our numbers on and then realizing, much to our collective disappointment, that there were no port-a-lets. ( I found out later that there was in fact ONE, that was hiding behind the firetruck) With over 200 people here, this seemed to be a problem. For me, I needed only to find a reasonably high bush but obviously for the ladies here, this was going to be an issue.

At the sound of the gun, we took off. The course itself was pretty isolated, which made spectating impossible and our kids who came to support us just went back to the car. The course was an "out and back" and pretty damn hilly to say the least. This isn't a complaint per se, but throwing a basic map up on the website might have been helpful. It was right up there with some of the most difficult non-trail 5ks I've seen and people deserve to know what they are getting into.

Wifey did fantastic. She really gutted out this run on a course that was easily 4 times as difficult as her previous race. She PR'ed and was really looking forward to the "bling" at the end. For this race, the finisher's medal is a dog-tag. A fitting symbol for the race and a great reward for a job well done.

Unfortunately, they ran out. Ouch.

I stood with my wife (who had worked pretty damn hard over the last 30 minutes or so) while we were told "Sorry, we had same day registration, so we ran out." Awesome. He didn't really have a solution either, which didn't exactly illicit hope that we'd ever see one. Pretty disappointing.

So listen, I get it. It's a great cause and I'm happy they got my money. But honestly, if you are going to commit to doing something, such as putting on a race, then one has to do their best to take care of people. Being a great cause doesn't provide one carte blanche to be sloppy.

So unfortunately, I can't recommend this race unless they make some serious improvements. I love the organization they support and I believe in its mission, but the race itself left much to be desired.

I say all this not out of frustration or disappointment, but out of a genuine desire to see this race improve and frankly, make some money for the charity. I'm afraid though, that won't be happening unless they want to make this a race to be remembered, for all the RIGHT reasons.

Barefoot Training Sandals: A first impression review

2011-09-02T09:23:00.000-07:00

I suppose you know that you're a full-on running/shoe/barefoot running geek when your history professor drops you a newspaper article about barefoot running on your desk . . .during class.

Les Waddell is a local chiropractor who has been running for quite some time. Obviously an advocate for the minimal style, he decided to create a sandal that would allow for the proper transition, without the risk of splitting your foot open on a rock. Let's face it, Vibrams aren't for everyone. This sandal is designed to fill that gap. So I headed over to Doc's place to check it out and give it a test-drive.

For anyone remotely interested in barefoot running, Born to Run has become mandatory reading and a meaningful part of the book is the discussion of the huarache running sandal worn by the Tahuramara. This sandal is designed in a similar vein but without the potential annoyance of the string in-between the first and second toe.

Essentially, what we have here is a running specific "Teva" sandal. Overall the construction is pretty simple. A Vibram sole for durability, a half-inch of semi-hard foam, and a thin layer of leather or faux leather (which is the part that contacts your feet). The idea is that the sole provides a small amount of cushioning but compresses over time to the point where it keeps up with your movement "downward" towards less shoe.

I like this philosophy.

The challenge of barefoot running and the misnomer of "transitioning", is that it's very difficult to slowly scale down to nothing on your feet. In order to truly get the muscle memory into your feet, there is simply no substitute for getting out there and doing it. And by "it" I mean straight up taking off your shoes. The issue is that it's not always feasible and something like the Vibrams gives you very little margin for error.

The sandal compresses over time, giving you an adjustment period. You still need to take it easy of course, and Doc Waddell totally understands this. Which is why his shoe is built this way.

For those of you wondering (like I did) whether or not there are friction points, I can tell you that from my short run in them, it seems evident that if they are fitted properly, you won't have an issue. (That being said, I haven't pounded them for a 20 mile run either.) The upper strap is resting on a thin piece of neoprene while the rest of the straps are a very pliable and comfy nylon webbing. They felt secure and stable, and honestly, downright enjoyable. I could easily sport these all day (and for those that care about such things, you could wear them without a second look from your spouse).

According to Doc, you can get 800 miles out of a pair too. I believe it given the durability of the sole, but I haven't run in them long enough to verify that.

In sum, these things are pretty cool and I hope to pick up a pair at some point. The Jackalope Running shoe budget is in a rebuilding phase right now and I'm afraid if I add one more pair to the rotation, Mrs. Jackalope is going to making clandestine runs to the Goodwill store. If you're looking to "transition" downward, and need a shoe to do it, these might be just the ticket.

For what it's worth: No I wasn't paid for the advertisement, I wasn't given a pair, and I don't know Doc outside of our 30 minute conversation. Though I do think he's pretty cool.

The Bench at the Top of the World

2011-08-30T21:05:00.000-07:00

I've been running seriously now for about two years.

Every once in a while it's all I want to do.

Sometimes I don't want to do it at all.

Occasionally I wonder why I do it.

If I'm up at 5:30 a.m. then I really wonder why I'm doing it.

If I'm climbing up a Mountain at 5:30 a.m. then I'm seriously beginning to doubt my own sanity.

On Saturday, each and every one of those went through my mind.

With me growing tired of the normal running routes around here, and with my buddy Mike has apparently been bit by some kind of radioactive Australian tiger Beetle, it only made sense that we try to run up a mountain that was matched in size only by our desire to appear cooler than we actually are.

The Mountain at Garapata State Beach.

I don't use the term "mountain" lightly. I grew up in Lake Tahoe. We have actual mountains. I've lived in the South. They have actual hills, but they're not mountains.

Clearly, this was going to hurt. And it isn't even 6:30 a.m. yet. Dammit.

The impetus for this little adventure was the desire to simulate another mountain. A mountain that is going to appear at roughly the 30 mile mark of the North Face Endurance 50 miler in December. This will be a first for both Mike and myself. Neither one of us consider DNFing an option and want to do everything we can to prepare. So we needed a mountain to simulate a mountain. We found it. Now we just needed to chop it down with the edge of our hand.

The loop we were interested in was 4.5 miles or so with about 2000 feet of elevation gain in the first two miles. This is actually more aggressive than the climb we'll face in the race, so it suits our needs perfectly. Let's do this.

Any good military man can tell you that your plan will never survive first contact with the enemy. It was as true with this mountain as it was in Afghanistan. The plan according to ~~Tony Robbins~~ Mike was to do at least three laps in order to get some decent miles in. We had visions of doing as many as five.

We ended up doing two.

The first two miles is almost entirely straight up and was easily a 30% grade. I was tasting rusty nickels inside of twenty minutes and could hear the beat of my heart through my eardrums. If there was any solace whatsoever during the climb it was the face that the mountain didn't keep its misery hidden from you. There were not really any false plateaus and no real sense of "being done" until you actually were.

And although running can often be a cruel mistress, and a grumpy old bat that leaves you with all kinds of thoughts of incredulity about yourself, one occasionally gets a look at what it looks like when the ship of expectations pulls into the harbor of sheer amazement:

Somebody get me a beer.

If you're curious, here is the elevation profile of this monster, keeping in mind we did the loop twice.

The end result of this was mountain of alchemy that turned my quads into lead, but a run that helped to answer all of the tough questions.

You get up early.

You run when you don't wanna.

You wonder just what the hell you're doing.

And then, you sit.

You look downward.

And you see a rainbow resting on a cloud.

Oh yeah . . .

THAT'S why.

Symmetry, Balance and the remains of the day

2011-08-26T07:52:00.000-07:00

I read a comment on the DailyMile the other day that really struck me. In essence, it was from a woman who was lamenting the fact that her husband absolutely hated her running. The time and money she invested were both cited as reasons for his disdain and the result was that she clearly felt alienated and I'm sure, more than a little upset. I can't say as I blame her.

I myself am blessed with a loving and supporting spouse. One that takes an emotional pounding on a regular basis as a result of my job in the military. Constant moves and deployments make having a "normal" life almost impossible. We've been married ten years (soon to be 11 in just two weeks!) and have three of the most beautiful and intelligent daughters one could ever hope to have.

We've also learn to love each other's passions and that has been a great, if not initially hidden, reward for the both of us. The story goes something like this.

She loves music. -With the intensity of a thousand white hot burning suns.- She can get lost in it, interacting with the notes, pitch and melody in ways that most of us don't. She hears things that most of us don't even think about, and she has self-taught mixing skills that have landed her actual paid gigs and quite a bit of compliments from some respected folks in the industry. She's good. She knows what she's doing. And I don't understand music at all. I'm a musical idiot.

What I do understand is the way she lights up with an inner glow that can only come from something that flips your "soul" switch to the "ON" position. Watching her mix is an amazing experience. Her passion translates from the inward understanding of the music, to the tactile act of placing fingers on dials and sliders. It's quite something to watch and, dare I say, sexy as hell.

And that's all I need to know. This is her method of getting in tune with her heartbeat, something that all of us can appreciate. I don't need to debate the value of her time or energy investment because the return on that investment can't be measured. It makes her happy. That, in turn, brings a smile to my face. It's a symbiotic relationship that begins with that understanding and continues with my desire to learn about the connection she has with this art form. Admittedly, my musical knowledge is kiddie-pool deep (hell, I met David Guetta and help him move his Lamborghini and didn't even know it) but learning something about music helps me understand her better. And that's a goal worth having.

I can't speak for my wife, but I believe she takes the same approach with my love of running. She understands and appreciates the time and energy invested. She's proud of my achievements. She doesn't even like to run really (although she can walk faster than many slow joggers, frequently leaving me in the dust) . The point is that you don't have to appreciate the act itself, but rather your loved one's enjoyment of it.

That said, it's also important to appreciate the fact that hobbies can run a deficit in one critical area of a relationship: time. The long runs, the intervals, the "core training", the race prep, the race days, the pre-race meal, and the list goes on nearly ad infinitum if you let it. The personal philosophy that has served me best has been, "I might be training for a ___________(marathon, ultra, whatever) but my family isn't."

I think perhaps Marshall Ulrich said it best during a recent interview on Ultrarunner Podcast when he was asked, "What's the best gift you can give your wife after one of these long runs such as running across the United States?"

The expectation was something material. A shiny object. A vacation. A new car.

You know what his response was after a brief pause?

"Time."

He was right. And something we probably all need to remember . . .

What have you done to help your family understand your love of this sport?

How has it affected you?