Via Dolorosa Marathon Race Report

I had the great privilege of participating in the inaugural Via Dolorosa trail marathon a few weeks ago up in chilly eastern Wisconsin. In what I would consider a rather unusual pairing of disparate things, it blended a challenging trail race in tough conditions along the Ice Age trail with a focus on Catholic faith and spirituality. It's a one-of-a-kind event to be sure, and to say that it was right up my alley would be an understatement.

The race began and ended at the spectacular Holy Hill Basilica and Shrine in Hubertus, about 90 minutes west of Milwaukee. There were a few things that made this race unique; to begin with, the setting itself was without compare. The Shrine itself was beautiful. The surrounding forests were dense but peaceful, filled with barren trees awaiting the first warm breaths of spring. Race organizers offered the following description of the event to set the stage for participants:

"The Via Dolorosa Marathon takes runners on their own 'Way of Suffering' on a very difficult up and down course with somewhat challenging footing at times. Throughout the course, there will be 14 Prayer Stations depicting the Way of the Cross for runners to contemplate the suffering of Jesus." 

The day would begin with Mass at 6am. I was a little hesitant as I entered the beautifully adorned St. Therese chapel in my trail running getup, but any fears I had of being improperly dressed were quickly dispelled by a room full of runners clad in camelbaks, Buffs, Hokas, and compression gear. It was quite a sight! And one that I probably won't see again anytime soon.

The race itself is a series of out-and-backs on the roads and trails in the foothills surrounding the basilica. The majority of the race is on the Ice Age trail, but there are roughly 4 miles or so of road running thrown in there as well. As one might imagine, the weather was still quite cold (at least, for a Texan). There were a few patches if ice on the trail - one of which caused me a quite painful fall at one of the aid stations - which slowly melted and turned to mud as the day drew on. It wasn't too bad, and in general I found the trail conditions to be quite good overall.

The aid stations were fairly well stocked with simple snacks (candies, potato chips) and some light drinks and sodas. Hammer was an event sponsor, so if you don't like their products, plan accordingly. The prayer stations were very small and understated - I ran by several of them without noticing them, and not because I was moving particularly fast. But they were there. Volunteers were enthusiastic and helpful, albeit bundled up beneath layers of blankets and parkas to brace against the bitter north winds. Their resilience is a credit to eastern Wisconsoners. (Wisconsonites?)

I did underestimate the amount of climbing and descending, particularly in the second half of the race. The last 12 miles or so served up a steady diet of rolling hills that took a toll on me. I started out a little harder than I should have, leading me to struggle for the last 5-6 miles as I ran out of fuel and water. I chalk this up as poor preparation on my part more than anything to do with the course itself; although, I have to admit that the chilly temps and high winds eventually wore me out.

Nonetheless, it was an amazing experience. Given the time of year that it is run (Palm Sunday weekend) there is no question that weather will always be a concern. It will be cold, and would not be surprised to have to deal with snow and ice at some point. But given what this race serves up it would be worth it. I mean, how could the race bill itself as a meditation on Christ's 'Way of Suffering' without a little suffering?

Wall at the base of the basilica. Pilgrims climb to the historic Shrine atop the hill using stairs directly behind and above this wall.

Sign that greets pilgrims at the base of the hill.

Front of the Shrine. The adjacent balconies offered endless views of the countryside. One could almost see Milwaukee, 90 miles to the east, from this vantage point.

Finishing time 5:07:45. Was a long day, but well worth it.

Spring Race Roundup

Spring is in the air, and with the changing season has come a slate of 3 races that, I hope, will give me a solid foundation to build on as the year goes by. It's been an interesting mix of roads and trails, varying distances and terrain; but all in all, it's been a very interesting (and satisfying) beginning to 2018.

I'll give a quick summary of 2 of those events.

Cowtown 50k

My first race of the year was a return to the roads around Fort Worth for the Cowtown 50k. This marked the 40th year of this fantastic event and in all areas it exceeded my expectations. The organization was first-rate, the crowds were plentiful and supportive and the weather was ideal.

The plan for this race was to try to maintain relatively even splits and finish in around 4 hours, which (for the most part) I was able to do. The race follows the same course as the Cowtown Marathon, traversing many of the picturesque neighborhoods and major landmarks of the city. It's a great course - though much hillier than I expected - and I was pleased to remain steady for most of it. I felt that, this being a road race, I needed to try to run the whole thing; a strategy that has a number of pitfalls for someone with my mediocre skill level. 31 miles is a long way to run.

The "ultra" marathon course (in my opinion, the organizers are a little over the top in hammering home the "ultra" moniker for a 50k road race) diverts from the marathon course at around mile 25, and a 5-mile out and back stretch along the Trinity River follows. 5 miles may not seem like much, but after what preceded it, this stretch of trail seemed to go on forever. There was an oasis at the turnaround (~mile 28) that was set up as an actual trail ultra aid station - which was very cool and a welcome break from my mental fatigue. Temperatures were rising and my pace slowed considerably at the finish but I managed to grind out a 4:20 finish.

Grasslands 50     

A couple weeks after Cowtown, I ventured north of the Metroplex to Decatur for my 3rd shot at the Grasslands 50. Once again, we were blessed with fantastic weather, excellent race support and organization, and good trail conditions.

Like Cowtown, my intent was to remain relatively consistent and steady. My goal was to finish in around 9 hours. With another race coming up the following week, I needed to leave a little in the tank and not completely blow myself up. I succeeded in the first count, but not so much in the second.

The morning got off to a fantastic start. I was thrilled to have my family up at this race volunteering in various capacities, and seeing them at the start line and at various points throughout the day kept my spirits high. The cool morning air was brisk and refreshing. It was a joy to run in the dark of the early morning hours and to see the natural world come alive. I spent most of the morning running alone, paying close attention to the course markers and just staying relaxed. I was making great time; in fact, when I made it to mile 25 in 4 hours, I was concerned that I was pushing too hard.

I intentionally slowed my pace over the back half of the race, taking several walk breaks and enjoying some conversation at the aid stations. This probably went against the whole ethos of a "race", but I had plenty of time banked and did not intend to push any harder. When it was all said and done, I jogged in to the finish area in 8:57, right where I had hoped to be at the start.

Unfortunately I was pretty wiped out at the finish, and it took a few days to feel somewhat recovered. I was pleased that nothing was injured or broken, and now had a week to rest and get ready for the next one.

The 3rd race deserves a post all its own.....

Looking Back on 2017, and Looking Ahead

2017 was certainly a year to remember. As the year draws to a close and a new year appears on the horizon, I've been reflecting on the highs and lows of the last 365 days. The year began with tremendous optimism and excitement over the prospects of my first trip to Western States and what would become my attempt at the Grand Slam of Ultrarunning. My training was balanced and thorough, my coach was fantastic, and I began the journey physically, mentally, and spiritually whole. I don't think I could have been in a better place.

And yet, despite these efforts, things didn't come together. Not entirely, anyway. I started all 4 races but only finished 2 of them. This could be seen as a great disappointment - and I am, in a sense, disappointed - but if we gauge success by transformation and self-improvement, then it's hard to imagine any endeavor achieving so great a personal success as my attempt at the Grand Slam. Between the friendships that were formed and strengthened over the miles, hours, and days spent on rugged trails in isolated places to the immense joy I experienced in the beauty of creation, I cannot harbor any sense of regret at the attempt.

Capping off 2017 with a successful run at Brazos Bend served to dispel any latent hangovers that may have been lingering about my very long summer. While I am certainly pleased with that result,  what will stay with me about that race was, again, the fellowship out on the trails that day. The outcome was secondary.

Who knows what 2018 will bring? The new year brings a clean slate with multitudes of stories yet to be written. There are mountains to be climbed, sunrises to be experienced, songs to be sung, and the joys of God's creation to be celebrated. For my part, it is gong to continue to be the joy I feel as a part of the running community and the friendships therein that inspire me. It's the exhilaration of movement, of being alive in the moment, of moving beyond what I or anyone else believed possible - pushing through dark places and persisting with the knowledge that life, like ultrarunning, is never easy.

But from what I have seen so far, the journey is definitely worth it.

Brazos Bend 100 Race Report

There be GATORS!

REST. Kick back. Maybe throw in an easy race or two, work in some easy training miles, and look ahead to 2018. 

That was my plan for the remainder of 2017. I was looking forward to spending some time with friends out on the roads and trails and kicking around some ideas for next year's schedule. Running another long race this year wasn't in the plan, much less running another 100 miler. I had all but shut it down for the year - yet for some reason, the idea of one last hurrah for 2017 sounded strangely appealing.

And so there I was, bottle in hand, on a crisp, clear morning at Brazos Bend State Park just outside Houston as Rob Goyen, the Race Director, gave the countdown to "Go". I'd spend the next 18-plus hours winding my way around ponds and over prairies, all the while keeping a wary eye out for the park's famous alligator populations.

Needless to say, my anxiety level for this race was at an all-time low. A busy schedule at work had consumed most of my mental energy in the days and weeks leading up to the race, and with the exception of a few long runs around town, my training was far from perfect. I signed up very late for this race and hadn't had a chance to so much as read a race report for it. I knew it would be flat but didn't really know much else about the course. I had no drop bags, minimal supplies, and would run only with a handheld water bottle. Fellowship would come via my friend Reece, at whose insistence I signed up for this race in the first place. We hoped to run the race together and see of we could push each other to a decent finish - or have a good time trying.

The Course
This course is pancake flat, run primarily over crushed gravel trails and jeep roads with a smattering of single track. It's anything but technical and involves repeating a 16.8 mile loop 6 times (for the 100). There's one "hill" in each loop that falls right before the first aid station, and I found myself wondering if the organizers threw it in just for some comic relief.

The HILL.....

By the way, I use the term "loop" here very loosely. The course actually looks like this:

We did this "loop" 6 times. As you can see, there are a number of small lollipop loops and out-and-backs that make up each segment. It was fairly well marked with the exception of one turnaround that many of us missed in the dark on loop 1 (about 1 1/2 miles out from the start). We caught our mistake on future loops and didn't have any more problems. Fortunately this early oversight only added a mile to our total distance so it wasn't a big deal. After that, each race distance (Half Marathon, Marathon, 50 mile, and 100 mile) was color-coded and easy to recognize on the posted signs.

So to summarize: not technical. Pancake flat. Several loops (kind of). Footing is not a problem. The trail was in excellent condition, and given that much of it is crushed gravel, I would think that even in rainy conditions it should hold up pretty well. The aid stations are frequent and well-stocked with standard aid station fare, falling roughly every 4 miles or so along the course. They serve as easy mental markers along the way. As an aside, one thing I would suggest for those who listen to music on the trail (as I will on occasion): cell service was very spotty. I suggest downloading your music and not relying on streaming services. There were a number of dead spots out there, and service even at the start/finish line was sketchy at best.

My Day
My first couple of loops were at a very easy, conversational pace. This was by design: I ran with my friend Reece, and our intention was to reduce the wear on our legs by running conservatively early on, thereby saving our strength for a strong finish. The upside to this strategy was that it allowed plenty of time for conversation and kept our stress levels at a minimum. Most of our first loop was run in the cold darkness of the early morning, but as the sun rose, the temperature gradually began to warm up. We were able to shed a few layers while continuing to move along comfortably. The day was off to a very good start: we both felt good, the weather was ideal, and the trail conditions were perfect.

Reece took this pic, it is one of my favorites....

Our second loop was likewise smooth and easy. We minimized our time in aid stations and kept our pace steady. My only disappointment was that, for a park themed around alligators, I saw surprisingly few alligators. (I chalked it up to the cooler weather.) I saw a grand total of one all day. Feeling relatively assured that we were not in imminent danger of a gator encounter, Reece and I pressed on, finishing our first 2 loops in around 6 hours - right on schedule.

For much of the middle of the day, we had joined up with a couple of other runners, Matt and Christene, to share a lot of miles and a lot of laughs. It's amazing how quickly the time passes when one isn't thinking about passing the time. The four of us were on cruise control. We continued to run well together as the rising sun burned away some of the morning mist and moved higher in the sky. We traded war stories, jokes, barbs, and generally had about as good a time out there as it's possible to have while running mind-numbing loops on a flat trail. It was a blast, and (aside from finishing) was my favorite part of the race. Seriously.

Reece, Matt, Christene, and me

While on loop 3, I felt a little surge of energy and thought I might stretch it out a little bit just to see how much I still had in the tank. I was not happy about breaking up the band, considering how well things were going up to that point, but I fully expected to crash later, and I felt that if I didn't try to put a few miles in the bank, I might find myself in a hole when that inevitable crash came. I slowly began to pick up the pace and was surprised at how well my legs responded. My pace increased, and pretty soon I was running around 9 min/mile very comfortably. The weather was still very cool and so far my stomach was holding up - which I considered a miracle in and of itself. I had the chance to see and check in with Reece, Matt, and Christene at several other points throughout the day, which further helped to keep my spirits up.*

The remainder of my race continued to go very well. I simply focused on moving as quickly as I could from aid station to aid station. I was now rolling with some music to keep my mind occupied. I kept my diet simple - coke, ginger ale, potato chips, a little ramen, and water. Other than occasionally feeling some fatigue, I didn't have any "dark places" in this race. I picked up energy from the many friends I saw on the trail and from the enthusiastic support of the volunteers.

Gordy Ainsleigh sighting!

The energy crash that I nervously awaited never came. My stomach remained solid, and my legs (despite the obvious fatigue) kept me moving forward quickly enough that even when the darkness descended again and the cold chill of night returned, I didn't need more than a light jacket to stay warm. The miles ticked off quickly and before long I was counting down the last few aid stations before my day would be done. I had my music going, my heart pumping, and I could smell the finish line.

But my race wasn't finished yet. As I ran past the final aid station, I passed a young man who also seemed to be moving very well. He shouted encouragement as I raced by and I offered the same to him. I turned onto the road which marked the home stretch. One mile to go. I was running full out, eager to get this done. Suddenly, I noticed a headlamp bouncing along behind me! "You have got to be kidding me," I thought to myself. Runners are always told to never look back in a race, but I could not resist wondering what the hell was going on back there. Sure enough, the runner I had passed back on the trail was fast approaching! "Oh no, THAT ain't happening," I said out loud, and I kicked it into a gear I didn't know I had. We were running at an all-out sprint now, and he was matching me stride for stride. The red lights of the finish line fast approached, and with about 20 yards to go, HE PASSED ME. (Well done, Matt Collins from Philadelphia. Well done.)

I crossed the finish line in a new personal best time of 18 hours, 52 minutes. Between the photo finish and my new PR, I was absolutely euphoric. I walked over and congratulated my fellow sprinter for an outstanding charge and thanked him for pushing me so hard at the very end. I joyfully received congratulations, a bear hug and a finisher buckle from the race director Rob Goyen. I was also delighted to get a hug from trail mom Becky Spaulding, who proceeded to help me find someplace warm to savor the moment. Before long I was in a tent wrapped in blankets in front of a heater holding a shiny new buckle.

It was a great day.

*Matt and Reece also had great days, finishing in 19:35 and 21:28 respectively. Christene was dealing with some injuries but was still tough as nails, running strong for 51 miles before calling it a day.

**I took exactly ZERO pictures on race day. Many thanks to my friend Mike Davis, who allowed me to borrow generously from his extensive collection of pictures from the race. 

***Also thanks and congratulations to RD Rob Goyen and the TROT team for putting on an incredible event. The volunteers were all fantastic and helpful, and made the experience that much better for the runners.

All Quiet on the Western Front

Western States 2017

Unsurprisingly, the 2018 Western States lottery did not come out in my favor, leaving me back in the pack again hoping for a future date in Squaw Valley to right the wrongs from my excursion this year. The odds of actually getting through were so minuscule that I never held out much hope that I would get another shot this soon - which is fine by me, given that 2018 will be filled with a few "life events" that will prevent me from giving States the adequate time and training I think I will need to persevere on that course.

Despite being anything but a thing of beauty, my finish at Wasatch garnered me a shot at the Hard Rock 100 lottery - a lottery whose chances for a first-timer like myself are even more remote than Western States (around 0.4%). Getting into Hard Rock was a pipe dream, but it was fun just to be a part of the process. I look forward to returning to Telluride next summer to volunteer again at one of my favorite races. Whether I ever get the chance to toe the line at Hard Rock, it's a joy for me to simply be around that race.

And so my slate for 2018 remains clean. My next lottery adventure will be that of the great Cascade Crest 100, which (if successful) would send me to the lovely pine forests and mountains of Washington State next August. Fingers crossed.

Other Stuff (Not Running Related)

I had an opportunity recently to spend a few days at the magnificent Clear Creek Benedictine Monastery in Oklahoma. It was a weekend retreat that I wished could have stretched a few days more, but it was nonetheless fruitful for me in a number of ways. I had the good fortune to hear a talk by a Benedictine priest once who spoke about the lives of these men who have devoted their lives to prayer and work (Ora et Labora). Seeing this in action was very moving.

I always find myself looking for God in other places. My default mindset seems to be that God is "out there" somewhere, and that through some laborious effort on my part, I can find Him, hear Him, and know Him. When I don't immediately hear or find Him, I look somewhere else (or worse, give up the search entirely, which I have done many times). It's a transitory mentality spurred on by my acquiescence to our modern culture. But their view is decidedly different. For the monk, the guiding principle is that of community first. They stop, lay down roots, and begin to listen. The mindset is "if I cannot find God here, I will not find Him anywhere."

The monastery itself is still under construction and likely will not be completed for many years. I appreciated what they were doing there, and saw a metaphor that I could apply to my own timid faith life. It is a faith that is also very much under construction, but one which (I hope) has the shell and foundations of something that could actually last. I hope that in God's time, it can become a faith that shines like the witness of these simple and holy men. It's not there yet. But maybe someday.

Cactus Rose 100'S New Sub-24 Hour Buckle

Tejas Trails has added a sweet new sub-24 hour buckle for Cactus Rose 100. Not that I ever have a chance of actually picking one of these up.....

Changing Seasons

I recall reading once that a runner will go through different "seasons" in the course of their running career. Given that I am looking forward to the change from warm summer days to the cooler winds of autumn, I feel led to reflect upon on this observation, considering it in light of the busy year that 2017 has been so far.

In the 20+ years that my running career has spanned (not including the "dark ages" from 2008-2011) I have had my fair share of ups and downs. There have been great races and colossal disappointments, people have come and gone, and I have changed everything from training patterns to stride rates to nutrition. I've raced in spectacular natural landscapes and bustling urban environments. Through it all, I've been chasing that elusive goal of "getting better".

Over time, one's motivation and sense of purpose will inevitably wax and wane depending on race goals, the calendar, personal goals, and the like. Whether because Wasatch was so emotionally and physically draining - or perhaps because the year has been taxing as a whole - I have found that the joy and anticipation I had taken in my preparation for this year's races has not carried over to its last few months. Training can be a grind, but when clearly defined goals are at the forefront of that training, it's much easier to remain committed to the "big picture".

Case in point - I had intended to cap off my racing year at the New York Marathon in a few weeks. My overall lethargy has led me to shelve that plan, instead approaching the fall as an opportunity to recover some of my previous enthusiasm and allow myself to rest and heal. (Based on the few runs I have been doing recently the chances that I could put together any kind of a decent marathon right now are remote anyway.) After a summer grinding out mile after mile on lonely, rugged trails in remote places the idea of one of the world's biggest road races in the nation's largest city surrounded by thousands became quite unappealing. Instead, I have considered that perhaps volunteering, reconnecting with other local runners, and simply enjoying some easy running in the cooler October air might just be the change that could reinvigorate my routine.

My time at Wasatch last month has also compelled me to consider more in-depth the part that running will play in my life going forward. It can't just be about accolades, trophies, or collecting races, can it? Could I be entering the autumn of my running career? Are fast times and big events still important to me? I don't think I have lost that competitive fire completely, but right now, it is certainly more of an ember than a flame.

"There is an appointed time for everything, 

and a time for every purpose under heaven." - Ecc 3:1

But however dimly it burns, I feel that the flame is still there. I wonder if any other runners wrestle with the thought: "If I take too much time off, what if I can't/don't want to/won't be able to come back"? That fear (if you want to call it that) is what keeps me at least moving through my current state of lethargy. 

With no major major goals on the horizon, I will continue to run simply for the joy of running and look for other avenues to remain connected to the sport. Perhaps it speaks volumes about my state of mind that this plan has me as excited as preparing for a race! In this case, perhaps it is best to look at some downtime as a blessing.