FOMO is not my friend!

Prior to receiving the news that Western States was in my future (and, by extension, Vermont, Leadville and Wasatch) I had pretty much banked on a winter/spring racing schedule that would include Bandera 100k, Rocky Raccoon 100, and possibly some other late spring road race. I had maintained a training schedule through November that would have me ready to race in January and hopefully allow for a 100 mile PR attempt at Rocky in February.

From a training standpoint, December got off to a good start, beginning with a modest recovery week that included some extra strength work in the gym and some sessions on the spin bike to promote some active recovery. My plans for the next few months hadn't changed yet so I felt that I was in a great position to start ramping my mileage back up in preparation for the races that lay ahead.

That was all pre-Squaw. Now that I am living in a post-lottery drawing world, things have been decidedly different. The last few weeks of December have been mediocre at best. I have had a few decent runs, but nothing over 10 miles. Not all of this has been by design - a busy travel schedule and a case of the winter crud has forced me to make some accommodations in my training. When I have hit such a slump in the past, a quick and easy solution has been to put a race on the calendar. I'd simply pick a race a month or two out and get back on the training wagon. Done!

The problem is that the old rules don't apply now. I have to embrace this slow time as a sort of "off-season" (a task that is supremely difficult for me to do) and realize that there is a bigger picture here. I can't fall into the trap of thinking "well, so-and-so runs a ton of races, so I should too!" Taking time off is difficult for any athlete committed to their sport but this period of rest and recovery is a necessary part of the process.

So while I'm in R&R mode, I will catch up on my sleep, spend some time on a few other non-running hobbies, and even volunteer my time at a few of those cool winter/spring trail races. I'll spend a little more time working on core strength, fine-tuning my diet, and getting ready for the time when training intensifies and the miles ramp up again. It'll be here before I know it. In the meantime, I'll try to fight the FOMO (fear of missing out) and stay as far away from Ultrasignup as I can.....

Changing Directions

Mission Accomplished! (Image: teambonding.com)

"Perhaps I am stronger than I think."

-Thomas Merton

I've been fortunate to have experienced a number of pretty amazing things in my "side-life" as a runner. From 5k's to marathons and beyond, major big city races with thousands of spectators to small town races with just a few loved ones at the finish line, from road races to trail runs, from the thrill of victory to the agony of defeat - I've just about covered the entire spectrum. It's been a wild ride, and I've been blessed beyond measure to have been able to be a part of it. To be honest, I didn't really see how it could get any wilder. What new frontiers could the future hold?

Then on December 3rd, 2016, things got crazy. So crazy in fact that I felt it was worth breaking my sabbatical from the blogosphere, if nothing else, to chronicle the craziness for the sake of posterity:

Because on December 3rd, I was accepted into the Western States 100 Endurance Run.

And on December 10th, I signed up for the 2017 Grand Slam of Ultrarunning.

To say that this is a challenge for which I am wholly unprepared would be an understatement of elephantine proportions. The struggles I have had to overcome in past ultramarathons will pale in comparison to the extremes of heat/cold, altitude, remoteness, and fatigue that are sure to be the norm as I make my way over the 400 miles of the Slam.

And yet, here we are! The real work will begin soon as the holidays wrap up and the new calendar year begins. There will be a period of strength training and moderate mileage that will build into longer miles and climbing (LOTS of climbing). There will be planning for nutrition and hydration. I will need to be prepared to handle the pounding downhills at Western States, the altitude at Leadville, the relentless mountains at Wasatch, and the....well, the covered bridges at Vermont? (I have to admit I don't know much about Vermont yet.)

Right now I am keeping pace with some light running and some easy strength and core work. I'll keep track of some of my thoughts and my training notes here as the year progresses.  The key focus right now is to rest. Keep it easy. Begin laying a good foundation for the hard work to come.

Let the games begin!

2016 Mohican Trail 100 Race Report

"I've got to catch him," I thought to myself. "Maximum effort!" I had finally reached mile 99 of the Mohican Trail 100 and had spent the better part of the past 25 miles trying to pick off runners in an attempt to keep myself moving forward. I've found over the years that playing such mental games can keep a tired mind and body engaged and in the moment, and can mean the difference between a strong finish and a slow "death march". After an up-and-down day and night on the trail I was ready to be finished - but not after I tried to catch up to one more guy. The runner (whom I came to find out was named Paul) maintained a steady gait as we ran along the street toward the finish line. I was running all-out and felt there might still be a chance to finish alongside him. Despite some earlier struggles I was clipping off this last stretch along the road at around 7:30 pace. Not bad for an average Joe from Texas. I had run very well through the night and into the morning, filling my mind with "if-only" and "what-if'" scenarios that maybe this race could have turned out a little differently for me. But it was what it was, and now it was time to wrap it up. Crossing the final footbridge and running through the field adjacent to the finish line, I maintained hope I might catch Paul until I saw him make the final turn and raise his hands at the finish. I was very impressed with his steadiness over the last stretch of the race. 17 seconds later, I was crossing that same finish line. I was thrilled to collect my buckle from my crew and call it a day. I congratulated Paul on his effort, hugged and high-fived my crew, and went to look for a place to sit down. 

------------------------------------------------------------

I came to the 2016 Mohican 100 for one reason - to finish, and by doing so collect a qualifying race for the 2017 Western States Endurance Run lottery. My training had been steady over the past few months, as mentioned in my previous post, though it was hardly what I would consider appropriate for a race like this. In fact, I hadn't even been on a proper trail since Wild Hare 50 down in Warda, Texas, seven months before. Much of my work had been on flat trails and roads in preparation for my spring road races. There was no race specific training, very little hill work, no "dial-in-my-nutrition" long runs, or any of the other by-the-book race preparation tactics. It just so happened that I could work out the logistics of being in Ohio at the time of the race. I would drive down from Cleveland and spend the weekend on the trails in Loudonville and take a shot at this 100 miler. What could possibly go wrong?

While I was not able to spend much time preparing for the race in a traditional sense, I did do some research leading up to the event to familiarize myself with what I was getting myself into. I read a few race reports and gave the race map a quick looking over. From what I could tell, the course itself consisted of 4 loops through the beautiful and lush Mohican Memorial State Forest in Loudonville, Ohio. The first 2 loops were approximately 27 miles each with the finishing 2 loops clocking in at around 23 miles each. The reason for the difference in distances is a short detour in loops 1 and 2 that would take runners through a densely wooded gorge that I heard referred to as the "enchanted forest". (More on this in a moment.) This section would be cut out of loops 3 and 4, but otherwise the same aid stations and trail segments would be utilized throughout the entirety of the race. The elevation changes did not seem to be too severe - roughly 14,000' of climbing and descending over 100 miles - so the primary challenges as I saw them would be staying patient, managing what would be a warm, sunny day on Saturday, and despite being a little under trained, figuring out a way to get to the finish line.

The race began at the entrance to Mohican State Park, a campground which on this particular weekend was packed with hikers, campers, mountain bikers, and outdoor enthusiasts. Since the 100 mile race began at 5am runners were encouraged to be mindful of the campers in the park and keep as quiet as reasonably possible. Thus, the nervous chatter that typically marks the start of a 100 miler was kept to a minimum. The countdown and race start were equally subdued. I barely heard the director whisper "go", and the typical whoops and hollers as runners charge off were non existent. We quietly shuffled off into the morning darkness. The first mile or so of the race was on the road through the state park - a move intended to help "thin the herd" before runners are funneled onto the single track trail network in the forest. (A substantial bottleneck would no doubt ensue otherwise.) The only sounds were the shuffling of shoes along the road and the sloshing of water in bottles and hydration packs. The relative silence only seemed to heighten the tension as we were all left to our own thoughts. Before long we had reached the trail. We crossed a small wooden footbridge, made a quick turn to the right, and we were off.

The first stretch of the race consisted of several short rollers before a long climb that would take runners up a couple hundred feet of mountain bike trails and deeper into the forest. The sun had not yet crept above the horizon, so the beginning of the race was in darkness, punctuated only by a string of headlamps extending in front of me and behind me in the night. I was joined on the trail by my 2 good friends from Texas, Reece and Josh, who were both looking for solid races on what we expected to be a good weather day with exceptional trail conditions. Josh's wife Leslie made the trip to be our "crew extraordinaire", tending to the three of us as best she could throughout the day. (She did a phenomenal job.) The trail did not disappoint - the relatively dry conditions over the past week in the area had left the trail firm, clean, and in very runnable shape. We ran the first 8 or so miles together, but I decided to slow my pace a bit and let them continue on ahead. I stopped for a brief time at the second aid station, Fire Tower (mile 9), to collect my thoughts and make sure I was in good shape with my nutrition. 

The woods were lovely, dark, and deep....

The trail was always very well marked and the course was easy to follow.

Early morning on the trail...

The segment of the race from the Fire Tower aid station to the Covered Bridge aid station on loops 1 and 2 is a pretty good hike, clocking in at around 6.2 miles. The rolling hills would eventually lead to a long wooden staircase that would bring us down to the base of a sheer rock wall and a trickling waterfall several stories high. From there we would wind through the "enchanted forest" - a deep valley overgrown with ferns and other fauna that culminated at a steep "wall of roots" that we must climb to leave the valley and rejoin the mountain biking trail.

The stairs down to the falls.

The falls. There's water there, trust me.

I found the "enchanted forest" to be simply breathtaking. I did not expect such a spectacular geographical feature in this race and was taken aback by the sheer scale of the cliff walls and the size of the fallen trees that were strewn about (and in many case, over) the trail. Given that the trail was so overgrown down here it would have been a difficult section to really "run" so I slowed to a hike and enjoyed the scenery. 

There is a trail through here....

And here.....

A botanist's dream.

The wall o' roots!

The "root wall" itself was not particularly difficult to navigate. In short order I had emerged back onto the mountain biking trail and was heading toward the next aid station. Not far from the root wall - maybe 1/2 mile - the trail opened to a large crew area overlooking the river. It was refreshing to see the enthusiastic "crew-ers" as they congratulated every runner who emerged from the forest. We would follow another long stairway down into a valley and onto a footpath that paralleled a tranquil stream for about a mile or so until we reached the Covered Bridge aid station, named for - well, you know. 

Heading down the stairs into the valley...

Hey, a covered bridge! They should name an aid station after this thing!

So up to this point, things were moving along according to plan. (Except that I really didn't have a plan, but no matter.) I felt good, my stomach was in check, and I was moving well. I kept my pace dialed back and stayed at what I considered to be a relaxed, "all-day" pace. I hiked the hills, ran the flats and downhills, and kept my heart rate low. Upon my arrival at Covered Bridge, I was somewhat dismayed to learn that due to a communication glitch, our drop bags had not been delivered yet. My backup nutrition of tailwind and stinger waffles would be delayed for another 30 minutes! (Gasp!) So I had to improvise. The next stretch of the race would be more challenging, with a very long, steady climb awaiting us coming out of this aid station and a number of subsequent climbs afterwards. We had roughly 5 1/2 miles to our next oasis in the woods, so I made the best of it. I refilled my water bottles and grabbed some aid station food (PBJ sandwiches) and hit the trail. 

The road from Covered Bridge to Hickory Ridge is tough out of the gate, as almost immediately we turned and headed uphill. The next mile or so was a series of long climbs followed by short flats followed by more climbs. The trail eventually flattened out into some very runnable stretches here, but not before we were treated to a steady diet of long climbs and short descents. We would climb up and around ridge lines, over roots and rocks (a very prominent feature of the course - "Rocky Raccoon on steroids" as Reece called it), roll over hills and down a long straight lane bordered by majestic trees that stood like like watchful sentinels over the forest floor. 

Hickory Ridge was a smaller but no less enthusiastic aid station that represented the final stop on the way back to the state park. The final stretch of the race was very runnable; in fact, despite the fact that it was nearly 7 miles from Hickory Ridge to the state park, I found myself able to make great time by running it in nearly the entire way. There were a couple of short, steep hills approaching the campground followed by a short stretch through the camp and then around 2 miles of road running. I felt at home on the roads and was able to quickly dispatch this segment. I cruised into the state park aid station and before long headed out for loop 2.

I knew coming into the race that loop 2 would be the most difficult, as the midday sun and humidity would wreak havoc on my digestion. This, unfortunately, did turn out to be the case. I made it back to covered bridge at around mile 42 before things started to get rough. I had a tough time taking in calories, but I was still persistently trying. It was far too early to abandon my nutrition and I was going to go with my Tailwind as long as I could stomach it. I would fill buffs and handkerchiefs with ice at each aid station, walk as much as I could, and just keep pressing on. The second loop, as predicted, was much slower than my first. On the bright side - and this is important - most of this course is in shade. There is very little of the course that is exposed, so even though the heat could be stifling, at least the sun was hidden above the canopy of trees.

Upon finishing my second loop, my stomach completely gave out, leaving me hiding behind a tree purging the scant nutrition that I had managed to get down over the last several miles of loop 2. This did help me feel modestly better, but taking in food was still going to be a problem. I hoped I could walk it off, so I had a few small items at the aid station and headed back out. The 4.5 miles from the state park to the Gorge Overlook aid station was tortuously slow. I arrived at Gorge Overlook ready to call it a day. I couldn't eat, I was becoming dehydrated, and I was in very bad spirits.

With Josh. A couple of not-so-happy campers.

My day was saved with the help of some anti-nausea medicine I picked up at the aid station, which allowed me to start eating again. When my appetite returned, I ate plentifully at the aid station buffet and soon felt my strength return as well. I would take it easy for another segment, but it was not long before I was able to pick up the pace and resume running hard. As the sun went down and the first chills of the cooler night air began to cover the trail, I thought I might just pull this off yet!

I ran strong through the night, checking off aid station after aid station. (Note: the disco aid station, Fire Tower, was crazy at night, with its pounding house music and laser light show.) I focused on eating real food - the Tailwind and Stinger Waffles were long since gone from my nutrition plan, as they seemed to trigger the nausea - and supplementing occasionally with a Huma gel if needed. But I was making great time and didn't need much supplementation between aid stations. I did hit a few low spots along the way, and unfortunately the nausea did return later in the race, but it was not nearly the problem I had to deal with earlier. I was able to manage it with some papaya enzymes I had in my drop bag.

With the morning came a renewed sense of energy and purpose. Remarkably, there was a refreshingly cool breeze that permeated the trees that accompanied the sunrise that lifted my spirits tremendously. My pacing had become somewhat erratic again, as I would charge ahead only to be shortly feel overtaken by fatigue. I would slow and recover, then push ahead, and the cycle would repeat. I focused on the "little" picture, getting from aid station to aid station, and making continued forward progress.

With the exception of several miles that I ran with a guy from Philadelphia (also named Chris) I spent most of the race running solo. My friend Reece had built a lead on me that I couldn't overcome, even when I was running well. (He bested me by exactly one hour.) Josh had to bow out after dealing with a crippling case of plantar fascitis for nearly 60 miles. So I spent the last 20 miles trying to pick off runners just to keep up the pace. I was eager to call it a day. As I left Hickory Ridge for the last time, I thanked all the volunteers, grabbed one last handful of food for the road, and headed out. I only had 6.2 miles to go.

I could finally sense the finish line approaching. I ran up and over every hill, throwing all caution to the wind. Finally, as I emerged onto the road for the last couple miles to the finish, I saw a guy in a red shirt up ahead of me. 

I thought to myself, "I wonder if I can catch him?"

Damn, it feels good to be a gangsta....

Team Texas! Me, Reece, Leslie, & Josh

Finish:  27:44:37

Quick Hits:

• Staying at one of the adjacent campgrounds to Mohican State Park would be highly recommended. The race start & finish are easy to find, but race day parking is limited and stretches a pretty good distance from those locations.
• If the weather cooperates, there are some very runnable stretches of trail where you can make up time lost on the climbs. The climbs are frequent but not too severe. The toughest I recall were on the first segment about a mile and a half in, the stretch between Covered Bridge and Hickory Ridge (especially right after leaving CB) and the short steep climbs just before you arrive back in the campground area.
• There are a lot of rocks and roots on this course. It's not technical by any means, but don't shuffle along.
• The aid stations were fantastic. They were well stocked, and while the food was the standard stuff, the volunteers were wonderful. 
• We had a glitch in getting the drop bags to Covered Bridge in time for loop 1 runners this year that seemed to upset some people. I am sure this was not the norm for this race, as everything else from top to bottom seemed very professional and well organized. 
• 250 registered runners (largest field ever for this race). Only 121 finished. I was fortunate to be one of them. It was a tough day.

Rolling the Dice

For the past month or so I have allowed myself a bit of a break from social media, which has come to include some time away from blogging as well. There honestly hasn't been much to report outside of taking some recovery time after the race in Boston and working on some standard "rebuild" training regimens that are all just a part of the grind of staying in shape. I have been considering a few topics for future posts - like how we seem to "insulate" ourselves from the natural world and how we try to keep nature in comfortable boxes, my growing disdain for technology and being constantly wired-in (I am becoming the "old man" who shakes his fist at those kids today and their newfangled contraptions), and why I think this guy is all wrong. Among other things.

For now though, I think it is worth mentioning that my racing calendar has changed a bit. I have decided to forego the Captain Karl's night time trail series and step up and have a go at the Mohican Trail 100 in Ohio next weekend. My training, while unspectacular in terms of overall mileage, has been steady in the weeks since Boston. My only goal is to finish the race and  achieve my Western States qualifier for 2017 rather than to wait until the Javelina 100 in Arizona in late October. That could free up my time to go back to a race I have come to love to hate, that fall rite of passage known as the Cactus Rose 100, down in Bandera. 

Of course, I have to finish this monster first. My plan is to dial it way back, work on in-race nutrition and hydration, and try to achieve more of a balanced race than what I have done in my 100's in the past. But outside of that, just keep moving forward. I will take plenty of pics and provide a race recap that future runners can use as a reference - a recap that will hopefully include a shiny buckle at the finish. Dream big! 1 week until race day.

Highs and Lows: My 2016 Boston Marathon

After a very busy year of racing in 2015, I made the decision early in 2016 to cut down on my mileage this spring and focus my efforts on running a solid Boston Marathon. I passed on a number of trail races and other events with the intention of recharging my batteries (physically and mentally) and changing up my training routine. The break from long, intense workouts was certainly a welcome one. While the last few weeks leading up to Boston would provide a number of challenging workouts, not to mention a couple of aggressive outings in the Fort Worth Cowtown and Dallas Rock & Roll Half Marathons, overall this change of pace was the breath of fresh air that I felt I needed.

My experience in Boston this year was overwhelmingly positive. The city, the atmosphere, the millions of spectators - they all come together to provide a race day experience that is simply the pinnacle of road racing. The race is supremely well organized and staffed by eager volunteers who number in the thousands. The community supports this race from the starting line in Hopkinton, through all the rural towns whose names have become legendary (Ashland, Framingham, Natick, Wellesley, Newton, Brookline), and finally into downtown Boston. "Right on Hereford, Left on Boylston" is still one of the best moments that I have experienced in all of my running misadventures. While I wish my race itself this year could have been perfect, I will certainly attest that this was certainly the best event I have been fortunate enough to have been a part of.

Our home-away-from-home this year. It was a beautiful hotel a couple blocks from the Common.

The line of buses along Tremont Street early in the morning

This year, my wife and I opted to stay in a hotel just a block from the Boston Common, the staging area where runners would gather in the early hours of Patriot's Day to sip coffee, drop off their gear, and board one of a seemingly endless line of school buses bound for Hopkinton. The early morning air was crisp and chilly as I walked between buildings and into the 50 acre expanse that is the Common. Runners had begun to file in from all corners of the park as the sun was peeking over the horizon. I opted not to check anything at the gear tent on Boylston Street this year, so after taking a few moments to enjoy the morning atmosphere I moved toward the designated runner loading area and boarded my bus for Hopkinton.

The ride out was quiet, as most of the runners on my bus chose to keep their thoughts to themselves. About an hour after departing the Boston Common, we pulled into the Hopkinton school complex, home of the Athlete's Village and the gateway to the Boston Marathon.

Arriving about 2 1/2 hours prior to the start of the race allowed for plenty of time to make sure I was ready to go. I had an opportunity to spend time before the race with some friends from Fort Worth, with whom I shared race plans and light conversation as we all nervously awaited the announcement to begin the long walk to the starting line to load our corrals. As the morning progressed, the chill in the air I felt back in Boston quickly dissipated. I could feel the temperature rise as the sun moved higher in the sky. When it was finally time to head to the starting line, the temperature had reached a balmy 60 degrees. A cloudless sky would provide unrelenting sunshine all day. There wasn't much I could do at this point besides rely on my training, stick to my race plan, try to relax, and hope that I would be able to handle the warm day. As I walked the half mile stretch from the Athlete's Village to Main Street among a sea of other runners I went over the plan again in my head. I thought that perhaps in these conditions a little extra care should be taken to stay on my goal pace as I hoped to minimize the effects of the heat as much as possible. Upon reaching the corrals, I surveyed the scene and made some last minute preparations. I had a few moments to top off my water bottle, loosen up, and sing the national anthem. Then, at 10am sharp, we were off.

With Lidia, Amy and Gwen from Ft Worth Running/Team Texas before the race

No worries! 

On my way to Main Street

The Good

My race plan was relatively simple. I would take it easy for the first half of the race and resist the urge to push hard on the downhill stretch of the course that begins the marathon. The first 5 miles are almost straight downhill through Ashland and into Framingham. It's easy to get swept up into the exuberance of the crowds and the adrenaline rush of running this race, so maintaining an even pace through the first several miles would be critical. My thinking was that, with enough in the tank after a conservative start, I would have the legs to push hard through the hilly second half of the race and hopefully have a shot at breaking the 3 hour mark. Early on, I often found myself stuck in packs of runners around whom I could not navigate. I didn't worry about this however, choosing instead to find joy in the eager crowds lining the streets along the course. I slapped hands with children, enjoyed the sunshine, and soaked in the celebration that was this hometown event. I was maintaining the even pace I needed, and even though I could feel myself warming up significantly, I still felt confident that I was in a good place. The downhill opening miles lead to a gently rolling stretch from Framingham, through Natick and into Wellesley. Approaching the halfway mark, I could not be more pleased with my race. I felt good, I was hitting my splits, and I was right where I wanted to be. Life, up to this point, was good.

The Bad

I cruised through the halfway mark and toward the famous "scream tunnel" at Wellesley College. Even though I could begin to feel the early signs of fatigue setting in, I knew I would pick up a jolt of energy running through the crowds of co-eds who turn out every year in trademark fashion. This year was no different. The noise was deafening. Charging down Washington Street past Wellesley College through miles 14 and 15, my optimism was only slightly dimmed as I tried to maintain my focus on my pace and keep my thoughts positive. "With crowd support like this, surely I'll be able to keep this up," I thought to myself. "Mind over matter! Only 11 miles to go."

Unfortunately, with each passing mile I felt my energy draining and each successive step becoming more and more labored. My paces fell from 6:50 to 7:05 to 7:20 to 8 minutes per mile. I was able to keep moving, and though my dreams of a sub-3 hour time slipped away, I maintained the hope that I could possibly still PR or at least requalify for next year's race. There was only one problem - the Newton Hills.

The Ugly

By the time I reached Newton, the fatigue in my legs had become a dull throb that made each step feel like I was being hit in the legs with a hammer. My stomach was a mixed bag of cramping pain and nauseated discomfort, rejecting my attempts to sip water or electrolyte drinks, much less refuel with fruit or a gel. I was reduced to a walk/shuffle/jog/shuffle/walk routine that got me from street corner to street corner and from mile to mile. I was certainly not alone in my predicament, as several other runners had succumbed to the heat and the challenges this course presents. Many were in worse shape than I was in - some even being taken off the course on stretchers. I was grateful I could at least keep moving. My thinking was that if I had to walk, I would walk with a purpose, and at the very least make the best I could out of this situation. I reverted to my ultrarunning mindset: walk the uphills, jog the downhills, and shuffle along when the road was flat.

Yep.

Though I struggled along, there was no let up in the enthusiasm of the crowds. "Let's go Fort Worth!!! Keep it going!!" was a frequent refrain along the home stretch of the race. I felt like the spectators were so genuinely invested in me crossing the finish line that stopping could never have been an option. I picked up an emotional boost seeing my coach near the last mile marker, and knew that my wife awaited not much farther up the road.

The finish line on Boylston Street. (www.runnersworld.com, photo by Robert James Reece)

As I made my right on to Hereford Street, I was a jumbled mess of emotions and sensations. Sore legs, wounded pride, upset stomach...but I would nonetheless run it in from here. I picked up my pace as I turned left onto Boylston. Looking down the street and seeing the finish line was nothing short of magical. I heard my wife's voice encouraging me on as the crowds lining the street several people deep cheered with an exuberance usually only reserved for the front runners. "Just keep moving," I thought. "Breathe!" And as I crossed the finish line, 3 hours and 40 minutes after leaving rural Hopkinton, I had to stop, look around, and take it all in. Tough as the day was, I considered myself truly blessed to be a part of the Boston family.

Coming home!

Epilogue

Almost a week has passed since the race, allowing me some time to stand back reflect on the day. I've second-guessed everything from my nutrition plan to my choice of shoe, but in the end I've had to simply acknowledge that in 2016, the course got me. In preparing for this year's race, I looked at it as an opportunity to have second shot at Boston, when in fact it was very much the other way around! My time did not qualify me for a return in 2017, and whether I will attempt another BQ race this year is uncertain. This day, I was certainly humbled, but I learned quite a bit about myself. Regardless of how many of these crazy races I have finished, I continually learn new things about myself and about this sport that means so much to me. The last few miles of the 2016 Boston Marathon have not dampened my spirit or my enthusiasm to get back in the saddle. I'll take some time off before plotting my next move, but there will be a next move......

Reflections on the Tarahumara & Boston Training Notes

Tarahumara runners. (Source: http://born2run.pl/raramuri-eng/)

"The Tarahumara treat running as a fine art, something to be learned slowly and perfected over a lifetime...the goal isn't necessarily to become fast, it's to become good. Artists don't obsess over speed; they obsess over mastering skills. For runners, that skill is form. The more you learn about moving your body lightly and efficiently, the closer you'll be to running like the Tarahumara."
-Christopher McDougall (Emphasis mine)




I love this quote about the Raramuri, the running people of Mexico known to us by way of Christopher McDougall's seminal book "Born To Run". It's so easy to get captivated by numbers in our sport - how many miles one can run per week, how fast one can complete this or that race, what PR's we may hold, FKT's on exotic courses, and the like. Then throw on top of that the requisite .gps data, heart rate zones, and VO2 max, and it's easy to become paralyzed by all that data. It's fun to track our progress as we train to become "fast", but isn't that is such a relative term? What is fast for one person is not for another. What is fast over one particular distance may not be in another. I find it extremely refreshing and encouraging to think that there is something far more fundamental in the sport of running than finishing time and metrics.

Running can be pure joy. Of course it takes some time and work to reach that point, as ours is not a culture of simplicity in movement like that of the Tarahumara. Sometimes it's difficult and frustrating. But I think there is much we can learn from our neighbors to the south. We can run not to just get faster, but to become better. Better in our form. Better in our mental approach to the sport. Maybe even better in our approaches to life. I for one can attest to the positive impact that the sport has had on my life - no doubt, many others can do the same. And for this reason, I'll keep at it for as long as I am able.

Training Notes

So today was my last "long" run in advance of Boston - an 18 miler with 9 miles at my projected marathon pace. I'm targeting 6:40/mi as my race pace, and despite some challenging Texas spring winds today, I was able to hold pace for the most part at or below my target. I'm encouraged by my progress this spring - my races have been on point, I picked up my half marathon PR, my workouts have been on point, I'm not dealing with any injuries (knock on wood), and I generally feel very strong heading into the big race. If I can stay healthy for a couple more weeks, sidestep any airborne viruses, and hope for some decent weather, then I may have a pretty good shot at breaking that 3 hour mark.

Sounds easy enough. I had a plan (well, my coach did!), and I worked my plan. Now it's just about time to execute the plan....2 weeks to go!

2016 Cowtown Half Marathon Recap

Running can be a funny thing. Over the past few years of training and racing, I've noticed on more than one occasion that things don't always go according to "plan". It's not uncommon to have a sub-par training cycle end with a great race (it's rare, but it happens), and conversely to have great training cycles end in poor performances on big stages (this happens to me a lot). This isn't a phenomenon that is unique to me. Stories and articles abound about how sometimes even solid preparation by some of the world's best athletes may not necessarily translate into race day success.

Given that there are so many variables that need to come together for a great race - regardless of the distance involved - I have learned not to take those good days for granted. 

Running up Main Street at mile 8...and up...and up...

The Cowtown Half Marathon ended up being one of those "good" days for me. My intention was to use this race as an indicator of my fitness level at the midpoint of my Boston training. The course is relatively difficult with several rolling hills and one long climb at mile 8. Strong headwinds would make the last 4-5 miles even more difficult, as the course would turn directly into them just as the fatigue of hard racing and pounding the pavement would begin to take hold. Needless to say, my expectations were low as race day approached.

And yet I had the benefit of a strong, consistent training cycle. I felt good, and since I regularly run hills as a part of my routine, I wasn't particularly fazed by the course. The days leading up to the race were spent running short, high-intensity intervals on a treadmill to fine tune my form and leg turnover. Looking back on it, I was probably in as good a place as I could have been heading into a race - "A" race or otherwise.

The race itself unfolded perfectly. With the first several miles featuring a flat to downhill profile, the weather offering cool but comfortable temperatures, and the wind at my back, I was able to cruise through the first half of the race in 40 minutes - a few seconds ahead of my target time - feeling strong and relaxed. The real test would be over the back half of the race, when the hills, the wind, and fatigue would take their cumulative toll. I had expected to lose 4-5 minutes over the final 6 miles of the race, but I was pleased that I could maintain my pace (more or less) despite the obstacles that I faced. 

Making the turn toward the finish line...

In the end, I was able to better my previous half marathon PR by more than a minute - a PR that I had set on a flat course on a perfect day - coming in in 1:23:38.  I won my age group, finished 24th overall, and as a side note, qualified for automatic entry into the 2017 New York Marathon. Not a bad haul for a morning's work.

The coming weeks will be "prime time" training as Boston looms a month away. I have another tune-up race, a half marathon, in a few days that will provide another test for me. I am targeting only marathon-pace splits (no PR's this time) and will be focused on running a controlled steady pace. Yet no matter what happens over the next few weeks I'll look back fondly on the pleasant surprise that my hometown offered me a few weeks ago. "A" race or not, I'll definitely take it.

A Contrast in Styles

The past few weeks of training have been a bit of a shock to my system - but in a good way (I think). As opposed to the higher mileage/slower pace training runs to which I had become accustomed over the last year or so of running ultras, much of my training lately has been in my higher heart rate zones as I push ahead with my attempt to PR or even go sub-3 hours in Boston in April.

There are a number ways to train for a marathon. In my experience, I've noticed that most plans can generally be grouped into one of two schools of thought. The first places more emphasis on long, slow mileage (high base miles) with a dash of speed work at the end of the training cycle. The second is a lower mileage but higher effort approach that focuses more on tempo runs, progression runs and fartlek-style speed work throughout the course of the training cycle. Last year in Boston I was coming off of a number of weeks of much higher volume training at slower paces which actually served me very well in that race, powering me to a new personal record in the marathon. I would routinely hit 80+ miles in training and had completed a 100k, 100 miler, and a 50 miler in the months leading up to Boston. This gave me a huge mental advantage as well - by the time I toed the line in Hopkinton , I viewed that race as little more than a long speed work session. 

Fast forward to this year. I have intentionally stepped my training mileage down considerably (not to mention having cut out the spring ultras that I have run over the last couple of years) in an effort to focus on some recovery and avoid becoming burned out on the trails. This hasn't tempered any of my Boston ambitions; in fact, I am setting the bar higher for this year's race. To compensate for the lower mileage, my training has been squarely in the second camp this year, with much more high-intensity work (zones 3 and 4) being done on the roads and even on the treadmill instead of the trails.

cowtownmarathon.org

My first key training race in preparation for Boston will fall in about a week's time at the Cowtown Half Marathon where I will get my first real opportunity to gauge how things are going. If everything goes according to plan, I should finish in the 1 hour 26 minute range, which (depending on how I feel after that effort) would tell me that I am right on target with my dreams of a 3-hour Boston. I'll have another key half marathon in March where I would hope to improve on my Cowtown time by a minute or two. 

That's the plan, anyway. Now we'll see how it all comes together.

The Slow Burn....

Ryan Hall wins the 2007 Olympic Trials (photo: Runner's World)

33-year old American marathoner Ryan Hall has been a staple on the world distance running scene for the better part of a decade. Whether he was making waves with an amazing performance (setting the American half marathon record in 2007 at 59:43 or the second fastest time for an American born runner at 2:06:17 in 2008), a disappointing showing (DNF'ing at the 2012 Olympics in London and struggling in several races thereafter), or his unusual approaches to training (often approaching 200 miles per week in peak training while foregoing a traditional coach in favor of leaning on his religious beliefs for guidance), the conversation about whether an American could compete on the world stage against the best runners in the game would often start and end with him. 

Lately, however, his career has been more disappointment than accomplishment. Injuries have taken their toll on his body and the inability to live up to lofty expectations has no doubt left him mentally burned out. To make matters worse, he admits to dealing with the dreaded over training syndrome, characterized by chronic fatigue and exhaustion. Last month, Ryan announced his retirement from competitive running, much to the dismay of those of us who hoped that he would continue to challenge the world's elite for years to come and inspire a generation of young athletes to follow in his world-class footsteps. 

(photo: New York Times)

What caught my attention was how long Ryan has been struggling with his running. For all intents and purposes, his career was over at 30. The retirement announcement was merely a formality. It isn't unusual in professional sports for athletes to realize sizable declines in performance after the age of 30, but it does make me wonder what it must feel like for an exceptional young athlete to look ahead only to realize that he or she will never be able to live up to the accomplishments of their younger days. Professional sports are riddled with athletes looking to find the elusive fountain of youth and who will go to extreme lengths (whether legal or not) to maintain that level of ability. I understand why they do it, even though I don't always agree with how they do it. It must be a difficult reality to accept. 

In my case, I have never been nor will I ever be mistaken for anything remotely approaching an elite athlete. On a good day I may be age competitive in a local race, which gives me a sense of pride and accomplishment - but for the most part I race against myself. Running, as a hobby, fills a number of needs for me - it is an outlet for my competitive drive, it satisfies my desire to remain fit and active, it provides me with the hope that I can maintain an active lifestyle as I age, and most importantly, it keeps me as far away from the medical establishment as possible - but in the end, it's just that, a hobby. As much as I enjoy it, I have to do something else to pay the bills, and as such, my ability to spend any more of my time training and racing is limited.

One thing I will say, though, is that I still operate under the belief that my best days are ahead of me. Even now in my 40's, I still have the sense that I can train smarter, eat better, and race smarter than I did in my younger days. In fact, all of my current road-running PR's (personal records) have come since I crossed the 40 year-old threshold (marathon 3:08, half marathon 1:24:08, 5k 18:40). I hope to set at least new marathon and half marathon PR's this spring. And I am not even counting ultras because I didn't start running those until I was in my 40's - so I can only imagine a world of possibilities to improve in ultra distances!

It's tempting for us mid-packers to think "I wish I was that fast" or to wonder what it's like to run a 2:10 marathon. We don't think about the consequences to our bodies and our psyches to achieve such incredible results. For my part, I think I'll take the long, slow burn of longevity in the sport, and enjoy the small milestones of shaving off a few seconds or minutes here and there.

Neil Young once said "It's better to burn out than it is to rust." Maybe for some people, that's true, but in my case, a little rust (in the way of a gray hair here and there) looks just fine. 

40-year old Meb Keflezighi sets the standard for the rest of us master's runners to follow. (photo:www.aol.com) 

39-year old Rob Krar is setting the Ultra world on fire. (@RobKrar)

Run strong!