Update On Things

While we have been blessed with a generally mild Texas summer this year, the "dog days" seem to refuse to go quietly into that good night. It is not unusual for high temperatures in Texas to hover well into September and it is starting to look like that will be the case again this year. While we eagerly await the changing of the seasons we're forced to deal with the reality of daily life in a "humid subtropical climate zone". (Understatement.)

This has obvious impacts upon training and performance, and I am certainly feeling the cumulative effects of what has been several weeks of hard work in the heat. Granted, it's not as bad as it could have been, but it has still presented a unique set of challenges. First and foremost is the constant focus on hydration and electrolyte replacement. Short runs of only a few miles leave one doused with sweat (think: stepping out of the shower fully clothed). Longer runs, meanwhile, can be draining physically and mentally, as it seems that no matter how much one drinks or how many salt tabs one ingests, it always seems that you're a step behind. Every breath of wind, every tree branch that provides a sliver of relief from the unrelenting sun, becomes a blessing of the highest order. Sleep is often sacrificed as runs must be undertaken in the early predawn hours to avoid the heat of the day - a sacrifice which further reduces the quality of training by preventing the body to fully heal from previous training sessions. In short, training in the summer is a grind.

As for where I stand at the moment, coming off of back-to-back higher mileage weeks (around 80 miles/week) has left me skewing to the "burned out" side of the running spectrum. A couple of (hopefully) minor niggles can certainly use an easy week to recover, and that is just what I am going to provide. 

This week I have also committed to my next adventure - Cactus Rose 100 in October in Bandera, Texas. I've had my eyes on this race for a while now so I decided it was time to put my name on the list. It's time to begin the mental preparation for 100 miles on what will probably be one of the tougher trails I will see in the state of Texas. I feel that physically I am prepared, but the question will become am I mentally ready? Am I ready to make a plan and commit to it? To have a pacing strategy? A nutrition plan? And most importantly - am I ready to display the mental focus and resolve that it will take to earn buckle #2?

To be continued...

Team IRC and the Leadville Trail 100

“It is sometimes a mistake to climb; it is always a mistake never even to make the attempt. If you do not climb, you will not fall. This is true. But is it that bad to fail, that hard to fall?” 
― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 6: Fables and Reflections


As I made my way along the 2-lane country roads that bypassed buffalo breeding grounds, farming pastures and seemingly dozens of burned-out, abandoned barns, I reflected on how this seemed to be the land that time forgot. Gray clouds hovered above the mountain peaks surrounding the hardscrabble town of Leadville, Colorado. The low ceiling gave an almost ominous appearance to this former mining colony on the outskirts of Colorado's exclusive ski towns - and yet, the mountain peaks that surround Leadville are not populated by the winter retreats of the rich and famous. This is a town whose residents work the land, endure long, cold winters, and have known both great fortune and great hardship. The history of this remote mountain town is as colorful as the men and women who shaped it. It arose from the valley floor in the mid-1800's in the midst of the gold and silver rushes that brought prospectors across the plains in search of fortunes buried deep in the mountains. At one time, Leadville was the second most populous city in Colorado and one of the wealthiest mining towns in the world.

Alas, this was not to last. As the mines dried up and the prospectors moved on, Leadville withered, and for decades the town fell into decline. Polluted water and soils from the years of mining activity kept the higher-end developers away. Despite the spectacular views, the town remained decidedly blue collar. 

It was against this backdrop that the Leadville Trail 100 was born. The LT100 is an iconic mountain ultramarathon that celebrates the town's gritty, hard-nosed past. The race was founded in 1983 as a means of helping the local economy and hopefully bring some notoriety to this quiet community. The locals thought that the idea of running 100 miles through the mountains at that altitude was suicidal; and yet the race flourished, bringing hearty, adventure-seeking souls from around the world to have a go at the "Race Across the Sky."

Courtesy Rob Timko Photography

The 31st running of the LT100 pitted 690 brave souls against these mountains on trails that would weave in and out, and up and down the Rocky Mountain range that encircles Leadville. I would attend this year's running as a crew member for several friends who were taking their shot. I had also planned on pacing someone but was prepared to see how the race unfolded to determine in what capacity I would be called upon to offer my help. My view from the sidelines was a little different from past volunteering efforts in that I was actually invested in particular runners (as opposed to being available to offer help and moral support to whomever needed it). The plan was for me to be ready to run up to 50 miles with one of our team of runners from the Winfield aid station back toward the start/finish line in Leadville. (A map of the course can be found here.) Whether or not I was called upon to run, my goals were very clear: support, encourage, and above all, get our guys across the finish line.

My vantage point for the race was the Twin Lakes aid station (mile 39.5 outbound and 60.5 inbound). From there, I witnessed the struggles and successes of many runners at a critical stage in the race. Yet while I was able to take in much of the comings and goings of the crowd, trying to get the full flavor of the race from this spot was akin watching a baseball game through a tiny hole in a fence. I could see small bits and pieces of the event but it was difficult to see things unfold in the bigger picture. 

What I did observe was the toll this event was taking on the runners, ours in particular. I had heard that at previous aid stations we had a couple guys who looked great, a couple who looked OK, and a couple who were struggling. Over the course of the afternoon we watched dozens of runners pour through Twin Lakes in various states of fatigue. Some looked relaxed and strong, others shaky and uncertain. There were some runners who were exhausted and called it a day while others were determined to continue. Some even looked like they had hardly run a step, even though they had been at it for 7 hours or more. 

Activity at Twin Lakes. Photos by Kerri Kerr.

Most of our day was spent waiting. As our runners crossed through the aid station one at a time, we jumped into action, filling water bottles, rounding up food, and checking gear. Upon their departure, we would patiently await the next one. It was difficult to be so out of touch with what was going on out on the trail. Even in this modern era of technology, tracking devices, and instant updates, there are times when one can still be truly alone. In the hours that pass between aid stations, all we could do was speculate at what might be going on in the wilderness. A couple of the guys on our team seemed to be behind schedule, and it was all we could do to hope they were not injured or lost.

The summer sun beat down on us as we wondered what might have delayed our runners. (We hoped the answer did not involve a bear or mountain lion!) When the last members of our group finally made it back in, the feelings we all shared were bittersweet. One of our team decided his day was done. A tough training cycle mixed with dehydration at high elevation had sabotaged his efforts. (He'll be back.) Another was just ahead of the cutoff, and moving him through the aid station and getting him back on the trail as quickly as possible was of utmost importance. The difficulty of this race came into full focus at that moment for him as exhaustion met determination, and even though he literally had a mountain to climb and not much time to do it, he gathered what strength he had and set out. The rest of us were left to wait, and to hope.

You've got to move it, move it!!

As the sun dipped below the mountain peaks the heat quickly dissipated and a chill in the air quickly settled over our camp. It was not long before we were reaching for coats, sweatshirts, or whatever else we could find to stay warm. Slowly, runners made their way back through our aid station making the return trip to Leadville - although it was apparent that the infamous Hope Pass climb had thinned out the herd significantly. Our runner who had just made the Twin Lakes cutoff time had unfortunately just as narrowly missed the cutoff at the next aid station and was forced to come back to our camp. We witnessed other runners who came up just short on this day return as well - some satisfied that they had given everything they had, and others who were clearly disappointed that the mountains got the better of them that day. Yet our admiration for each of them was undiminished, regardless of outcome. Simply to be there, to witness what they were going through, was something to behold.

Team photos courtesy Kathy Fowler.

In the end, we had one runner (and his very tenacious pacer) from our team who made it back to the finish line in Leadville. I look forward to reading his story of the race. To say that the rest of us were proud to be a part of his day would be a tremendous understatement. We hoped that what little help we could offer helped keep him going out there. But there's not a doubt in my mind that someone who can spend almost 30 hours at over 9,000' altitude, climbing endless mountains, crossing stream after stream, while enduring extreme heat, frigid cold, hunger, thirst, and exhaustion from lack of sleep is cut from a different kind of cloth. My hat was certainly off to him. Well done, Jeff  and Derek.

The man!

It was interesting to observe some of the other folks who also made it to the finish line. There's a widely held misconception that ultrarunners are somehow superhuman. While I do not mean to sell anyone short, the vast majority of the runners are not professionally trained elites; in fact, most are, to quote Dakota Jones, "legions of fit, prepared runners who are eating enough, staying hydrated, wearing the correct mountain gear, and basically ensuring themselves anonymity." Perhaps it is a stretch to say that anyone could run 100 miles, but from what I have observed, more people can finish an event like this through sheer force of will than superior physical conditioning. It's very inspiring to witness.

Success can also be measured in different ways, and it is not always as cut-and-dried as achieving goal #1. Certainly anyone who finishes in the allowed time frame would consider the race a success. Yet for others, this day may present itself as one step in the journey to a successful finish - an incremental approach, if you will. Only roughly half of those that would start this race would actually finish. Yet a DNF may not necessarily constitute failure. Metaphorically speaking, many mountain climbers will make several attempts at summiting the world's tallest peaks in an effort to prepare themselves physically and mentally for the challenge of pushing themselves beyond their limits. In a race like this, it may take more than one or two attempts in order to fully prepare one for the demands of such a punishing course. 

Just like the town that lends its name to this event, the LT100 has had its good days and bad days. While I do not have the hindsight and personal experience to speak to the well-documented issues that plagued this race over the past couple of years, I am very pleased to say that what I witnessed this year only heightened my appreciation of the race organizers and volunteers who put it all together. I truly hope that LT100's best days are still ahead of it. And I hope that there's a buckle in my future. But for now I will appreciate the time I was able to spend with some great people in a tough little town in Colorado.

Let's Hear It For The Here And Now

In an observation that is somewhat related to my previous reflection on longevity.....

I noticed that he sports world was abuzz this past weekend when a young Irishman named Rory McIlroy won golf's PGA Championship, held this year at Valhalla Golf Club in Louisville, Kentucky. It's not unusual that he won this particular tournament - someone has to win, after all - but it's the fact that Rory has won 3 prestigious tournaments in a row (including 2 majors - the British Open and the PGA) among several other dominating performances over the past few years that has caused many in the golf-verse to hail him as the next "big thing" in professional golf. Speculation was running rampant among the myriad of reporters at the news conference after his stunning performance as to how many majors this young man could and would win. He hadn't even taken his hat off after his spectacular finishing round and the questions were already out there - could he top Tiger Woods's 14 major championship victories? Or Jack Nicklaus's 18?

Rory McIlroy hoisting the famed Wanamaker Trophy at Valhalla. (Source)

Whether because we're anxious to move on to the next news cycle, or perhaps because we bore easily in these days of short attention spans, it seems that as a society we're loathe to celebrate the moment and appreciate the here and now in favor of looking ahead to what may be around the corner. In Rory's case, there was not much time to appreciate his late-round charge that propelled him to victory before he was peppered with questions about next year's major tournaments. "Can you win the Masters?" "Can you catch Tiger's 14?" "How many do you think you'll win?" he was asked.

I appreciated Rory's candor in his answers. He was humble, very personable, and very clear that at least HE would take some time to savor the moment. Yes he wants to continue his run of success. Of course he has long-term goals. Yet despite the bright future he has before him, he would appreciate what the game has given him and reflect on the heights that he has reached at the very young age of 25.  

In October of 2013 I had the good fortune to accomplish a goal that had eluded me since I began my running journey back in 2000 - qualifying for the Boston Marathon. I had just completed a 3:10 marathon which was (and remains) my best time in this distance by a wide margin. As I crossed the finish line I was ecstatic; and yet, it seemed that only minutes had passed when my mind turned to the question, "I wonder if I could finish a 100 miler?" Before the ink had dried on my finisher's certificate I had begun working toward the next goal, the Rocky Raccoon 100 mile, which was at the time only 4 months away. Then upon accomplishing a successful finish in that event, my restless mind quickly turned to one of my dream races: the Miwok 100k in San Francisco, run later that spring.

I think that as a general rule, runners (especially those of us who are drawn to runs that are measured over hours and days rather than minutes) have a hard time sitting still. I am certainly in that category. Our souls are always searching for the next race, oftentimes endlessly perusing websites and social media for opportunities to chase our dreams. I for one have a hard time living in the here and now. My thoughts frequently wander to my next goal race, the next adventure, and the next training cycle - often at the expense of THIS moment, which may be mundane or may be extraordinary; but either way, it is entirely unique.

It may be a cliche, but I am beginning to realize with each passing day that being in the present moment is of enormous importance in order to truly experience one's life. I am always impressed by some of today's young athletes (ultrarunners included) who seem wise beyond their years, and are remarkably grounded and humble despite their fame and (sometimes) fortune. Perhaps younger generations have a better appreciation than I did at that age that a singular moment can and should be savored. At any rate, I am glad that I've had the chance to realize through personal experience that there are times and places that need to be appreciated before rushing on to something else.

There's always a time to turn the page but perhaps it might be worthwhile to slow down every once in a while and just take it all in. Even if one does't get the chance to hoist a Wanamaker Trophy above their head like one Rory McIlroy. 

"As you walk down the fairway of life you must smell the roses, for you only get to play one round."
- Ben Hogan

Longevity

Gordy Ainsleigh. (photo from www.runrace.net)

A quick thought for today...Not long ago I came across an interview with an elite distance runner and favorite of the ultrarunning community, Timothy Olson. Tim is renowned not only for his amazing gifts and speed when running mountain races (he holds the course record at the prestigious Western States 100 for goodness sake) but also for his reputation as approachable, friendly, and very humble. I had the good fortune to watch Tim cross the finish line (or should I say, "Kiss the Rock") at the Hard Rock 100 Endurance Run this year. It was an amazing display of overcoming tremendous difficulties to almost literally crawl to the finish line - a humbling experience to be sure for someone of his pedigree!

Tim Olson, having just made it back to Silverton - 2014 HR100.

Anyway, Tim was asked by the interviewer whether the suffering he has experienced in his races has helped him grow as a person. I loved his answer: "If I felt I was playing Russian Roulette, I'd quit this in a heartbeat. I have no clue how long I'll do this, but I plan to be in the mountains the rest of my life."

When I sit back sometimes and ponder how long I will do this, I come to the same conclusion. I have absolutely no idea. I hope that I am fortunate enough to be able to enjoy it for many years to come. I am asked from time to time whether I'll be doing this in 5 years, 10 years, or beyond. I wish I knew. (For that matter, I wish I could guarantee that I won't get hit by a bus today!) 

Having been a runner for a number of years now has given me a little bit of perspective upon which I can draw when I am feeling contemplative. I am fully aware that there may come a time and a very good reason to step away - whether because of injury, illness, burnout, or other life events that may command my time and attention. My thinking is that I will be involved in the sport in some way for many more years; but since nothing is assured, I will do my best to live in this present moment and make the most of it. 


Wisdom and joy arise when you learn to exist now rather than in the nonexistent past or future. —Thich Nhat Hanh


So whether I am fortunate to have the career of a Gordy Ainsleigh or David Horton, or whether I am resigned to a few good years of running before I back off and decide to spend many more years hiking the trails, I'll enjoy the ride while I can. Right now I'm having a blast - and I will have to let the future take care of itself.

With running legend David Horton, in Colorado.

EPILOGUE 

Saturday, August 2, 2014 - 34 miles, Northshore Trail Loop

Today's long run involved running a few loops around nearby Grapevine Lake. It's a twisty, gnarly single-track trail used by local hikers, nature enthusiasts, trail runners and mountain bikers seeking an escape from hurried city life. It's a tranquil place to escape for a couple hours - or in my case this morning, 7 hours. 

In the course of my run I met a gentleman named Jay Norman. Jay was one of the founding members of the North Texas Trail Runners club. He's in his mid-70's and doesn't quite get around like I am sure he once did, but the fact that he was out there hiking a trail he's been enjoying for 25 years made quite an impression on me. We walked for a couple of miles together swapping stories and enjoying an unseasonably cool morning. It turns out that Jay has completed over 200 ultramarathons all over the world, which is an astonishing feat in itself - and yet more amazing is that Jay didn't start running ultras until he was 47! His advice to me was to enjoy the sport while my body is young enough to allow me to do so. He wished his body would allow him to have the adventures he once enjoyed, but age (he acknowledged) had caught up with him. 

Thanks for your friendship and your stewardship of this great sport Jay, and may the trails continue to be kind to you!