A Long Way To Go

In just a short month I'm going to participate in the Barr Trail Mountain Race in Manitou Springs, CO., so I wanted to spend Father's Day weekend running something similar. When it comes down to it though, running is running, and as long as I've put in the miles and strengthened my legs and core, any 12 mile race should be doable. Yeah. Or so I thought until I started up the mountain in Santa Fe, NM.

The plan was to do "A Long, Strenuous Hike With Great Views" up and around Atalaya Peak, a 9.5 mile route that's part of the Dale Ball Trail system. Thankfully the altitude didn't seem to affect me much, as my resting heart rate of 57 was unchanged (if not slightly lower) the morning of my run. The weather was incredible and I was well rested. So with no reservations, I started out at my normal pace and looked forward to an enjoyable morning. But very early on, I began to question that simple-minded strategy. Because "uhh, I'm not even a half mile in and this is already getting pretty steep. And it's not flattening out."

Oh Toto. I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.

The starting elevation was around 7300 ft above sea level which is certainly higher than the rim of PD Canyon (3500 ft), but it's not that significant. After one mile though, I was at over 7600 ft, and I'm used to seeing no more than a 100 ft climb over the course of a mile at home. At two miles, the elevation was over 8200 ft. And after three, the top of Atalaya peak, it was just shy of 9100 ft. Running for no more than 30 seconds felt like a quarter mile sprint. Ugh.

What an idiot I turned out to be. A naive, inexperienced idiot. There's just no running that kind of climb. Not right now anyway. Not in my current physical condition. All this time I thought the "walk the steep uphills" rule applied to the tiny sections of PDC that aren't completely flat. Oh, Jason. Those aren't uphills. Those are speed bumps compared to what you're going to see in Colorado, so you better learn to attack the small stuff.

Well hard lesson learned. I wore myself out on Atalaya, deciding to just head back down and call it a day. Still, I'm really, really thankful for the experience I gained from a mere six miles. Going up hundreds of feet per mile is all about being smart and saving your juice for the parts that don't instantly jack your heart rate up to 160+ BPM. Patience, patience, patience. (Something I need to learn and not just in running.) And as difficult as the climb to the top was, it was equally fun hauling ass on the way down, slowing down only to prevent a nasty tumble or glorious dive off the mountain.

So now I know what it's going to take to complete the Barr Trail race, staying under the allowed time limit and getting my shirt and keychain. Now I know what to expect physically and mentally, and how to better pace myself on both aspects. Now I know that I'm definitely not ready. But I will be.

The Lighthouse

"Did you go by the Lighthouse?"

I get that question a lot when I mention that I like to go to Palo Duro Canyon, but I had no idea why. I knew that in my two past races that I supposedly ran near it, but I honestly had no idea how popular of a trail and landmark the Lighthouse was, or what it even looked like, until recently. And it's not really the frequency of that question that convinced me but rather the traffic. Seriously, after only two times I've already lost count of the people I see on this trail. Dodging all kinds of bikers and hikers (but no runners so far) has become a new technical aspect to deal with, but it's all good because it's a really, really beautiful and relaxing run.

The trail itself isn't much different than any other flat, winding trail out there, so it's a great way to loosen up during that first mile or two of a workout. Just shy of two miles though, you come to a decision: keep going or switch off to one of the more difficult parts of the PDC Trail Race 12.5 mi loop. (Miles 3-6 on this run.) I'd originally set out with the plan to run the latter, but decided about half a mile in to take the opportunity to see what all the fuss was about. The Lighthouse! "Did you go by the Lighthouse?" OH OH LIGHTHOUSE! OK, fine. Fine! Let's do it for frak sake.

After about 2.8 miles I'm guessing, I came to what looked like a dead-end. And a bike rack. Huh? What's that for? Ahhh! Look closer, Jas. The trail becomes a path through some trees and rocks. And it goes up. WAY up. Like "lean way forward and use your hands to grab onto crap so you don't slip and go backwards" up. I'm now climbing, not running, yet I'm still in running mode, so my heart rate is going through the roof and I'm gasping for air while I scramble up the path like a crippled mountain goat. But it's awesome and I'm having a blast going somewhere new. After a few minutes more of nervous, clumsy climbing, I get to the top and take a 10-minute break, using the time to take some customary pictures.

So now I know why it's so popular. And why I'll be going this way a lot in the future.

The Beast

I made a reference to the Beast in an earlier post, and after the day I had yesterday, I figure now is a good time to go into a little more detail about what it is.

So Saturday I had a pretty good day on the trail. It was only a 5 mile filler run, but my energy level was high and I felt strong. In control. It felt as if I was finally hitting my groove, and that trail running was becoming as natural as road running. It was also the end of almost 40 miles, my highest weekly total so far (which I'm really trying to increase at a safe and reasonable pace), and I knew going out there that the only expectation was to enjoy myself. Anyway, it was a great experience. Maybe it was because I had taken a day off, or I had eaten or slept well. I wish I knew because Sunday was the absolute worst and not at all like the shorter run the day before. No, on this run I got to entertain the Beast almost the entire way.

Let me say now that the run was designed to be a long one. The plan was to spend 3 hours on my feet and start getting used to the 6+ hours that would be required to finish a 50K. I certainly didn't expect to run the entire time, but I did want to keep the pace steady and the walks relatively short. What happened though was that I felt exhausted from the start, physically and mentally, and nothing I was doing was making it any better. Pre-workout nutrition? Check (cinnamon-raisin bagel). Hydration? Check (72 oz water). Workout calories? Check (Honey Stinger waffles and Espresso Love GU). I was smart with my pace. I was strategic with the hills. I took my salt tablets. And 4 miles in, I was ready to quit.

The Beast, a mental manifestation that represents itself by telling you how stupid and inadequate you are, showed up out of nowhere and wouldn't go away. So for 11 more miles, I questioned the feasibility of training for a race that was only 4 months away and more than twice the distance I'd ever run in my entire life. I wasn't going to be in shape. I wasn't going to be physically and mentally and spiritually tough enough for 31 miles if I couldn't even handle a half dozen without stopping. 4 months! Are you freaking kidding me? And I'll be 41 years old by then. There's just no way. This is absolutely stupid. The heat is smothering. My left ear just stopped up for some unknown reason. My nose and eyes are sore and raw from wiping them with my shirt. My left, non-injured ankle is hurting and forcing a slight limp out of me. And what is up with these giant mutant flies that are buzzing around my head and chasing me literally almost every step of the way? You're right, Beast. I should stick to the half marathons and consider myself lucky to finish those.

Well I finished my "run" in a little over three hours and wanted nothing more than to just go to sleep. I wasn't hungry. I wasn't thirsty. I just wanted to lay down and wait for the hammered dog shit feeling to go away. I was beat. I challenged the Beast to a minor showdown and got my butt handed to me. My pride and body and will to persevere had left me for lands unknown, leaving me a stinky, salty, exhausted mess. Oh what a difference a day makes. Learning time!

What lesson? I'm still alive. The circling birds, and bat-like flies, and hundreds of stupid lizards of Palo Duro Canyon that love to scare the piss out me by rustling the trail brush every 100 ft will have to find some other paunchy white boy to feast upon this week. The experience didn't kill me, but rather showed me that even the worst times are beneficial. No, the bad times are the most beneficial. I mean, what do we learn from the easy things? Really learn. Sayings like "No pain, no gain" and "That which does not kill us makes us stronger" don't come out of nowhere, right? Genuine, forward progress is made through suffering and fatigue and hurt and sweat and horse flies, and the Beast is nothing more than a bullshit artist. (Ah ha! Now we know where the flies came from.)

So bring on the next run. Pain subsides and fades like all other less-than-enjoyable memories, and the pleasure that comes from surviving always trumps it in the end anyway. My legs and lungs and mind are stronger than they were before Sunday's run and the next run will prove that.

Oh and pictures!

Slow or Fast?

I had this sticker made for my truck last year. Clever! I wish the idea had been mine but it wasn't.

But yeah, LSDs and speed days. I decided to put both into my ultra program since I really have two goals this summer: finish the 50K in October and run a sub-20:00 5K in September. (Actually I have a third goal - to run a marathon, or at least the distance of one, before my 41st birthday in September - but I figure that should be pretty doable after ultra training for 3 months.) Opposite ends of the spectrum of races for sure, but the latter goal is much older and I'm also not quite ready to give up my "glory days" ability to fast.

After reading a lot of stuff on ultra and trail running though, there appears to be a divide on the necessity of speed workouts. Some will say it's more important to put miles in the book since your goal during an ultra is to simply not fall over dead mid-stride, while others say that things like intervals and tempo runs will boost your lactate threshold, subsequently making you stronger overall. Well I certainly don't have enough experience yet to vouch for either school of thought, but I've always been of the opinion that there's never one simple way of getting better. Instead, we should keep the body guessing. Balance and variety are good for us, and recruiting all muscle types will have a better pay off in the end. And really, come on. Going fast is fun!

So in my plan I almost always run long on Sunday morning and do some sort of speed workout on either Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday. As for what kinds of speed workouts, I'll be doing little more than alternating fartleks, intervals, and a few local 8-10K races. Nothing all out on the races of course, but enough to count them as tempo runs. I just hope that they get me faster because I'm going to lose my freaking mind if I don't get my 5K PR.

Long runs so far are going well, and I'm finally running them at a "conversational pace" that's a tad slower than I used to go. Two runs at PD Canyon that were ~8.5 mi each and a 15.2 mi run through Medi Park this past Sunday that served as a distance PR. Surprisingly too I wasn't that sore afterwards which tells me that the trail running is indeed making me a much stronger runner than I was last year. If I'd tried to run that far last fall, I'd have been hobbling around afterwards for a week. Yet this time I took Monday off and then ran a pretty good pace on the trails this morning. It wasn't overly hot, I didn't tweak my ankle once, and one of the best things of all, I don't have any blisters (knock on wood) because of some sweet socks that were recommended to me. (That and I've finally started some decent man callouses that I've resisted the urge to peel off.) Never underestimate the importance of good socks, folks.

As always, here's a picture taken at the canyon this morning:

No Time To Be Injured

Ah, isn't it just like life to aim straight for my nuts when I'm not paying attention?

So yeah, I sprained my ankle this past Saturday and I wish I could say it was doing something worth mentioning. I wasn't running or thwarting a terrorist attack or anything else that would make a cool story. No, I was getting off a trampoline. Not jumping on the trampoline (although I actually still can do a back flip). Getting off. Like, just stepping down. And it popped. How I have no idea, since one could question the very existence of ligaments after all the crap I did to them in high school, but I definitely sprained something. But I did what a good athletic trainer should do and immediately went into R.I.C.E. mode for the rest of the say. Oh and did I mention that this was a day after I barefoot-kicked the corner of the fridge door extremely hard and bruised an extensor tendon severely enough to cause me to limp for 48 hours afterwards? My bad for leaving that part out. Oh and I might as well mention the stomach bug that had me wiped all day Sunday as well.

Well my Memorial Day weekend was hosed and I was already behind schedule just one week into my training plan but whatever. Shit happens. I figured I'd just move my trail run from Sunday to Tuesday and get right back to it. (Ugh, if everything was that easy.) I woke up this morning, saw that the weather was super nice, taped up my own ankle (very nicely too if I may say so), popped two Tylenol, and headed out. And proceeded to crap out after the first four miles. I mean I was whipped. I don't know if it was the temperature or the horrible holiday diet or an altered stride or maybe my Sunday illness hanging about, but I could not keep my heart rate down for anything. I'm pretty sure it wasn't my foot or ankle as neither bothered me too much. I even tore off the tape after the first half mile or so, and as long as I stayed on my toes and kept my right ankle from going into full, quick dorsiflexion, everything felt fine. No, I don't know what it was but running was brutal today. So I walked way more than last time. But I guess I need to get used to a run/walk mix if I'm to complete a 50K. I just hope come October that I don't start feeling the need to rest until my last 12.5 mi lap.

And I made another wrong turn. (sigh) Hey, at least it was at a different spot this time.

link to today's run

Anyway, enjoy some of the pics I took during my frequent "holy crap, my heart is about to explode" sessions.

Jump Strong, Fly Swift, Land Soft

There are a lot of recurring themes in the world of running because, after all, there's just so much you can talk about when it comes to such a basic human mechanic. Oh sure, you could go on about things like form or injuries and take days discussing the variety of each. But like music or photography or anything else, you've likely seen it all when you boil it all down. That doesn't necessarily make it any less interesting of course. Anyway before I digress...

One of the topics you will see popping up in running magazines a few times each year is the idea of coming up with some sort of motivational word or phrase to use while you're running. More specifically, it needs to be something that will help push you through that wall when you find yourself worn out and ready to quit. To crack over the head of The Beast when he's breathing down your neck, threatening to put a 50 lb lead boot up your b-hole. Something short, simple, and easy to remember even when you're fuzzy headed and hating the fact that we weren't born with something on our feet to assist our movement, such as flat-proof wheels. And rockets. With lasers.

"So OK," I thought. I'll come up with something. I'm clever enough, sure. And like I said before, I can talk my own ass off anyway, so it's not a huge stretch to be my own motivator. But it certainly wasn't going to be some dorky cliche that you'd find on an elementary school wall poster like "You can do it!" or "Just keep going!" Ugh. Save that crap for the folks who still think tribal or butterfly tattoos make you look cool and edgy. No, I needed something personal. Something that told a story while at the same time giving an obvious nod to running. Typical, Jason. Overthinking damn near everything. Even my high school basketball coach used to sit me down after I'd screw up and tell me, "Jas, you're a smart kid. But you have to stop thinking so much and just play!"

Alright, you probably guessed what I came up with when you saw the title of this post. The short version - Strong-Swift-Soft - is what I usually repeat to myself when I get tired and my feet aren't coming off the ground as high or fast as they should be. I also have it printed on my YikesID bracelet in case looking at it is required. (So far it hasn't been.) "So what does it mean and where did it come from?" I'm glad you asked!

I got it from a few places. First thing, it described my new running form and how I was trying to convert from a heel striker to a midfoot runner. Shorten the stride, bend the knees, land softly and quietly on the forefoot. (I've since switched to more of a midfoot strike.) Save your knees and shins from all that pain you used to get from running any distance over 3 miles. Soft, soft, soft. Be a light and smooth running ninja. And great googly mooly that word - soft - helped me a ton. I can't count how many times in those first few months when I'd get tired and go back to my old CLOMP CLOMP stride, pausing each time to grit my teeth and force myself to pick my freaking heels back up off the ground. And even though that running form is now as natural to me as breathing, I still sometimes have to remind myself that being tired isn't an excuse to be lazy. Also, because of that crappy summer I had last year, I know now that we all fall at some point. But it's not the fall that we need to concern ourselves with. It's how we land that counts.

OK, "strong" and "swift." Well there isn't really anything special behind the former. To attack that next hill, to fight that Texas Panhandle wind, to push yourself just one more agonizing mile you have to be strong and get yourself airborne. See your goal and get ready to jump. And once you're up and out there, you have to fly. Fly swift, fly fast, and be thankful that you're afforded the ability to do so because in a sky full of people only some want to fly. (Isn't that crazy?)

So that's it. Now it's your turn to come up with something. And if it has anything to do with butterflies, I'll hunt you down and slap you.

What Goes Through My Head While Running - Part 1

1. My butt and hips are sore. This means two things: 1) I'm using the correct technique to climb hills, and 2) the days of my flat ass are numbered.

2. Losing 10 lbs would be a big help. (Sigh) Time to cut back on the cherry pie with vanilla ice cream.

3. Drink more water. 34 oz in 100 min isn't enough. It has to be the hydration vest because I always drink enough when I'm carrying a hand bottle.

4. Take a salt pill. It's only going to get hotter over the next several weeks, and I don't want to cramp and then strain something after I stubbornly keep going.

5. Sunscreen. I'm usually pretty good about remembering it too, just not this time.

6. Cyclists suck. Their bikes tear up the trails and I just know I'm going to get run over by one going the opposite direction. And because of them I have to keep checking behind to make sure one isn't riding up on me.

7. Holy crap, there are a lot of lizards. And turkeys. But thankfully I didn’t run into any wild hogs.

8. My new Saucony Peregrines have some sick traction. Not a single slip the entire run.

9. After reading Relentless Forward Progress by Bryon Powell, I've decided to go without any supplemental calories on any run that’s shorter than 2 hours. And I’ll be damned, I never felt like I was about to crash from lack of energy, so why in the heck was I sucking down all those GU gels last year?

10. I really need to look over a map of the place. I went out hoping I’d remember where I’d been in the past and pretty much got lucky with the distance. But subsequent runs are going to be longer and I really need to know what trails to take so that I don’t end up always having to repeat stuff.