Feeling more than a little worked at Forest Hill (mile 62). Photo – Sue Henry

by David Henry

As I write this, it has been just a little over 3 weeks since I dropped out of the 2015 Western States 100 at mile 78.  I wanted to let things sink in a bit before writing some thoughts about things I learned through the experience; I now feel ready to do so.

I’m not looking to provide a recap of the race per se, but instead want to focus on some of the lessons learned.  However, to set the context, I’ll provide a brief little overview of the day.

First, the buildup to the race had gone really well physically, especially when compared to my buildup to the Bighorn 100 last year (read my Bighorn race report here).  In the 6 weeks of training (before tapering) for Western, all but one week involved 11 hrs or more of running (compared to pre-Bighorn with only 2 of the last 6 weeks of training being 11 hrs+). The final week included running 13 hrs (83 mi) with 14k total of vert, including a 30 mile, 7k ft vert long run at the end of that week (I felt very strong on that one).

An additional big difference from last year was that I included at least one uptempo day each week. In my peak week I did a 30′ tempo on Wed at 6:15 pace, which was faster than I had done my tempos leading up to my first Boston Marathon Qualifier (3:03) this February. I then ran the 30 mi long run on Friday, only two days later. I took my ability to do this as a good sign that I was not overtrained volume-wise, and I was feeling fit and confident that my goal of a sub 24 hour Western States was not unrealistic if I executed well on race day.

Travel to the Tahoe Lake area went as well as it could for a 10 hour drive in 100+ deg temps with the full family (wife, 3 kids 6 yo and under). Plus, my wife’s youngest sister came along to help with the kids. We camped up at 9000 ft at the Mount Rose campground east of Tahoe on Wednesday night, then enjoyed a fairly relaxed day in Tahoe on Thursday. Friday was a hot, and slightly less relaxed, pre-race day that included check-in and a pre-race meeting.  Race morning came quickly with a 3:30ish wake-up to brew some coffee and get to the Olympic Village by 4:30 to check in and be ready for the 5:00 am race start.

Awaiting the start with my brother (middle) and Dad (right). Photo – Sue Henry

Ready to head out! Plenty warm even at 5:00 am and an elevation of 6200ft; foreshadowing of the heat to come.  Photo – Sue Henry

The rest of the race basically went like this: Warm early morning temps made for only a couple hours before things started to feel pretty hot (as early as mile 16 if I remember correctly).  I was already soaking myself in water at Duncan Canyon aid station at mile 24 (and every creek or aid station thereafter), and even ran out of water for 30 minutes from Duncan to Robinson despite taking 1.5 liters with me for a 5 mile section.

Coming in to Robinson Flat (mile 30) already hot and a little behind on water. Photo – Sue Henry

Running out of water led me to take some extra time at Robinson to get re-hydrated, cooled off, and back on the right track.  Regardless of taking the necessary time and steps, I still felt somewhat nauseous for the following 2-3 hours from Robinson, something I’ve never experienced in my running up until that point.  I kept drinking tons of water, eating gels nearly every 30 mins, and supplementing the cooling effort with ice in my hat and the back of my inov-8 Race Ultra vest.  By the Last Chance aid (mi 43) I felt back on track nutritionally, and no more nausea. However, my legs were feeling much more beat up than I’d hoped at that point.

The descent down to Deadwood Canyon was much steeper than I expected, but I really enjoyed it, and caught a handful of people on it. The climb up to Devil’s Thumb, however, was a slog and probably the hottest point in the day for me.  I sat in a chair at Devil’s Thumb longer than I care to admit, but eventually made my way out feeling like things were unraveling pretty quickly, and I wasn’t entirely sure why.  The descent down to El Dorado Creek (mi 53) went pretty smooth, and things were feeling better on the climb up to Michigan Bluff than they had up to Devil’s Thumb.  My spirits were lifted running Bath Rd (mi ~60ish) to Forest Hill (mi 62) with my dad, and I got to see my family in Forest Hill.

My awesome family/crew taking care of me as I got into Forest Hill. The kids had all kinds of questions and were filling me in about their day. Photo – Sue Henry

Ready to see what I could do on Cal Street. Photo – Alyssa Henry

It had been quite the effort to make it to Forest Hill, but I was feeling good about getting to the smoother terrain on Cal Street (miles 62-78) with my brother. He had been working in Japan temporarily, and flew back just to pace me at Western States. We took off down Cal Street after I changed shoes, and we were moving pretty well for the first 8 miles or so. Unfortunately, the wheels came off hard somewhere around mile 70, and I was literally reduced to a walk for the final 8 miles to the river. I felt that I didn’t have it in me to continue forward in that state. All of my family, as well as the aid station volunteers, were so gracious and encouraging, but I had reached the limit of what I had prepared to handle on that day.  I felt significantly more beat up at mile 78 than I did at the end of Bighorn last year.

Three weeks post race, my recovery has been much quicker than after Bighorn, and I have suffered no injury issues from the race. For a while after the race I was left scratching my head thinking, “Did I just wuss out before I truly was done?” “Would things have come around if I had just kept walking for who knows how long?” “Was I not fit enough?” “Did I not manage the conditions well enough, or pace right?”  After three weeks, my answer to these is generally “No.”  I feel that I truly gave all I had come to give on the day, was the most fit I’ve ever been, probably wouldn’t have come around significantly (although I still wonder :) ), and managed the heat and pace just fine.  What was the problem then?  Here is my take-away at this point:

1. 100 milers are stupid hard!  This may be an obvious point, but I think given that I’m relatively inexperienced in long mountain races, and Bighorn (my 1st 100) went so well last year, I assumed that being more fit overall going into Western, it would go just as well (if not better) than Bighorn.  I was not even considering a fight to just finish the race. I spent my time and energy in training focusing on being fit enough to run sub 24, and figured I’d still be able to jog things in even if it went poorly.  I won’t go into another 100 as unprepared for a really hard day as I was for Western.  Chances are it is going to feel very hard at some point regardless of how things are going time-wise, and best to be mentally prepared for everything.

2. Mental preparation for the effort required is more important than physical.  I was physically quite fit, but mentally pictured a smooth sailing day till at least Forest Hill, then figured I’d have the ability/fitness to get it done in those last 38 miles.  Turned out I was behind pace starting quite early, and the suffering started much sooner than I expected, thus leading to feeling maxed out in my capacity to suffer by the time I staggered into the mile 78 aid.  I need to work out my “mental muscle” much more pre-100 with harder buildup races and long runs so that I’m adequately prepared for the effort required on race day.  Training and racing leading up to Western had gone well, but I hadn’t suffered much, consequently my mind wasn’t as fit come race day.

3. Goals are great and completely necessary, but I got them in wrong order.  I had the goal of a sub 24 hr finish and figured if that didn’t work then surely I’d get it in shortly after 24 hours.  In 100 milers especially, I now see the need to prioritize the finish first above everything else (everybody always says that too!), being prepared to take the full time allotted if necessary. Then, if it goes well, great, but if not, at least you are prepared to do what it takes to finish.  Even though I would have been just as disappointed with myself for a finish longer than 24 hours, I had the big realization that my crew/family (especially my wife/kids) would have been much happier with a finish! They could care much less for the time goals and expectations I had, and were more interested in seeing me enjoy the experience and complete the race. There is something very hollow feeling about coming away from a race without finishing when so many people gave up their time and energy to support you.  I won’t go to another 100 miler without being prepared to do everything possible to finish (aside from serious injury).  I owe it to those who support me to do that, and I can wrestle with the disappointment of not reaching my goals during the recovery after the race.

4. Western States is much more mountainous/difficult than most of the ultra media/race reports portray.  This one surprised me, and it would have helped to have had some course knowledge prior to the race.  I had heard/read that Western Sates is a faster course compared to other mountain 100s (like Bighorn for ex.), and it has even been given the nickname of the “Track Meet” by Karl Meltzer in past years.  Consequently, I tailored my training and build-up races to include more gradual, runnable grades and faster miles than I had in the past for mountain races.  I felt I was actually sacrificing the type of training I prefer (more mountainous) to be better prepared for Western.  Turns out, the first 62 miles are pretty dang mountainous and rough, just as much or more so than Bighorn or many other mountain races I’ve run.  The first 30 miles is at an average of 7500 ft elevation, and is quite rocky, which didn’t allow for a flowing stride for much of it.  Then the heat really kicks in and never lets up, even at night (whereas at Bighorn it was 85 in the day, which at 8000 ft felt pretty hot like Western, it dropped to 45-50 deg at night…due to the downhill nature of Western, it was still 80+ at 2 am when I dropped).

5. The canyons are for real!  They were some of the most inhospitable terrain I’ve ever run in, and were truly one of the highlights of the day as in “I can’t believe I’m running down into this desolate canyon in 90+ degree heat after having run 45 tough miles.” Most of us would never subject ourselves to those conditions in any other circumstance!  Going forward, I’d never describe Western as a faster race, even though the front guys run it ridiculously fast.  I’d describe it as a mountainous 100k followed by 38 smoother miles that you hope you can still run when you get to them.  Unless you are Rob Krar or the few other folks near the front, you are not going to be moving super quick come Cal Street.

6. Prioritize staying positive and joyful for as long as possible.  I never got super negative, and I tried to encourage all the runners I came across. I thanked all the aid station folks that I could, but I also didn’t do enough to keep the positivity as high as possible.  I went into slog mode too early, and stayed there too long!  Because 100s are so long, and our human capacity to endure (while significantly greater than we think) is limited, it is critical to stay positive and enjoy the race as long as possible because it will eventually extract a small piece of your soul by the end :)!  One common theme you see in successful 100 mile runners from all spectrums of finish times is an almost delusional positivity throughout their racing and running despite the ridiculously difficult nature of the tasks involved.  I believe this is critical to success in these long events, especially if one wants to do them on a sustainable level for any length of time.

A major highlight from the day running with my kids out of Forest Hill. They don’t get to come to most of my races and I really enjoyed seeing them out there. Big props to my wife for all the effort it took the other 23 hrs 58 mins of that day! Photo – Alyssa Henry

Thanks for reading. I’m planning on taking a redemptive crack at another 100 miler in September at the IMTUF 100 in Idaho and hopefully I’ve have taken my own advice to heart by then!

Happy trails – David.

The race course was tough – about 75% on rooty, rocky single-track with tons of twists and turns, the remainder on dirt access roads. Lot’s of up and down as well.

I quickly realized that training on roads through winter and early spring does not prepare one for a race of this type. I was walking up a hill within the first mile, I’d lost a quarter-sized chunk of skin from my left heel by mile four (painful!), and I think I briefly hit the wall at mile eight. But I kept on moving, my heel burning and quads screaming for much of the second loop of the course.

My sole goal going in was to finish since I knew it was going to be hard (I ran this race last year, but they changed the course and it was much more difficult) . I finished with an average pace a bit under 11:00 per mile. Most of my road training lately has been around 8:00/mile or a bit faster. The difference is a good indication of how tough this race was!

What I’ve reflected on most since finishing the race is how sore I am in places that I’ve rarely felt soreness before. I often tell gait analysis clients that running trails is a great way to mix up the forces applied to the body and increase overall strength, but it’s one of those “do as I say, not as I do” type of things. I don’t run trails often enough, and given where I live I honestly don’t know why. I need to change that.

I have the normal post-race soreness in my calves, quads, etc., but what really feels different is how sore my ankle and hip stabilizing muscles are. The outside of my hips are really tight, and I almost sprained my ankle while standing on one foot to get out of the shower. The muscles supporting the ankle were so shot that they almost gave out. Even my upper back is sore, and I’m not sure why.

Perhaps the best thing to come out of the race was some motivation to get myself back in shape. After a brutal winter with too much eating and too little running, I need to start getting my mileage back up. I also need to race more, and I need to overcome my hesitation to race when I not in peak shape. I was reminded that racing is not only fun, but a hard race can provide one of the best possible workouts.

So my first race of the year was a good one despite the pain. I’m toying with running a trail half-marathon this summer as a next goal, with a few shorter races sprinkled in here and there. Maybe a road half in the Fall. But my main goal is to just continue having fun.

Let me begin by saying I don’t race. I hate racing and always have. For one, I don’t have a competitive bone in my body (except when playing backgammon, or any game for that matter, with my husband). I just don’t thrive on the stress and anticipation of race day. The jittery feeling, instead of charging me up, fills me with unpleasant anxiety. And as I see it, why subject myself to something that causes me unnecessary suffering when I get so much joy from running in my typical Zen-like fashion. I don’t need to prove to myself that I can run faster or farther. I run to relieve stress and recharge my batteries, to be outside and blissfully alone, and to stay fit, healthy and happy. Racing brings me none of that.

So, when a few months ago I somehow got roped into doing Reach the Beach, a 208-mile relay run from Cannon Mountain to Hampton Beach (NH), I was more than a little nervous and a lot skeptical. I had never run more than 7 miles before (most of my runs this summer averaged 4 to 5 miles or less) and my total mileage for the race would be 12.7 (which was, I am ashamed to say, the shortest of my relay group). This meant I had to train! As in run a lot more miles in a short period of time. So, here is my other thing about running. While I love it, I get really bored after 5 miles or so and am ready to be done. The idea of running for more than an hour makes me antsy.

The other big fear I had about the race was the sleep deprivation. We would start from the mountain at 8:45AM on a Friday and not reach the beach until around 4:45 the following Saturday afternoon. I can go all day like the Energizer bunny (my best friend jokes that I have hyperactivity disorder without the attention deficit component), as long as I get a good night’s sleep. I do not function well without sleep! How was I going to run over half my miles after a sleepless night, my body already aching from the day’s previous run? What had I gotten myself into?

Well, after weeks of tormenting anticipation (ahem, see the first paragraph), race weekend finally came and went. The event was at once a little, and not at all, what I expected. This wasn’t a race about racing. It wasn’t about running fast to catch up to the guy (or cow…don’t ask) in front of you. It wasn’t about time at all, or winning (unless you were the crazy ultra runner dudes that blew us all away). It was about teamwork and camaraderie. It was about having fun. It was about enduring pain, hunger and sleeplessness together with a group of fabulous people. Don’t get me wrong, it was damn hard! That first “moderate” leg was actually 5.1 miles straight up! And that “easy” 4AM run was the longest 3.5 miles I have ever run. My van-stiffened, exhausted body protested every single step. As for my last 4.1 mile leg, I can’t say I remember much of it, just that I knew I had to complete it or the onus would fall on my like-wise depleted teammates.

This race was about challenging myself to do something out of my comfort zone and building lasting memories and relationships in the process. Would I do it again? Had I asked myself this in the wee hours that Saturday morning, the answer would have been “Hell No!” With a few weeks passed, however, the answer is now “HELL YES!” I’ve got a cow to catch!

My Racing Background

Running a 100 mile race is something that had captivated my imagination ever since I found out they existed.  Something about the adventure and near impossibility of the idea intrigued me.  I fortunately (or unfortunately, however you want to look at it :)) am not scared off by these types of ideas, seeing that if other humans can do it, then I thought surely I can with some patience and time.

Sometime in the fall of 2009, only a few months after I had started running, I came across Anton Krupicka’s blog, Riding the Wind (which has since moved here). I was blown away at the level of mileage and types of runs he was doing.  These included 100 mile trail races, particularly his two wins at the Leadville 100 in 2006 and 2007.  Fast forward a year later and I did my first trail ultra marathon at the Cle Elum Ridge 50k in Washington state.  After that race I was hooked on trail running in general and ultra marathons specifically.

In the next 2 years, among 10-11 different trail races, I completed my first 50 miler at White River and ran the Speedgoat 50k.  As I struggled along trying to figure out the sport in addition to keeping up with my ambitious goals, I had much help from Yassine Diboun who coached me in 2011 and Joe Grant, who was my coach in 2012.  These two guys, while not only leading inspiring lives and racing all over the world, gave and continued to give sage advice on all aspects of mountain and trail running as well as in life.  I had originally planned to run my first 100 miler at the Bear 100 in September of 2013, but with a quickly growing family (2 adopted boys and 1 biological girl of now 5, 3 and 3) I didn’t feel confident enough or rested enough from a busy summer and lower volume training.  My running was still going well, with a 25th place at Pike’s Peak Marathon to show for it, but a little under 5 hours of running at Pike’s Peak did not necessarily indicate adequate fitness for 100 miles.

For 2014, I started things more aggressively than previous years, with longer races on the schedule earlier in the year.  Despite some setbacks in January with our then 2 year old girl being hospitalized for a week, I won my first trail race at the Wilson Creek 20 miler in Jan, ran the Moab Red Hot 55k (which went pretty rough) in Feb, ran a 45 mile winter race in Alaska in early March with a training focused 50k at the end of March,  and Zane grey 50 mile (shortened to 33 mi due to extremely cold and wet weather for that area) in April.  Although I was hoping for a full, tough 50 mile effort at Zane Grey to give me that confidence boost I needed for Bighorn on June 20th, training had gone well and I was healthy so it was time to take the leap.

Bighorn 100

The pre-race process for a 100 mile race is significantly more involved than that required for any other distance I’ve done.  There are medical check-ins, multiple drop bag locations to plan out (unless you have a crew to follow you all day and night, which I did not except for the turnaround aid, mile 48, and Dry Fork aid, miles 12 and 82), more extensive pre-race meetings and Bighorn included an extra 0.75 mile walk to get to the start area from where we could park.  It can be hard to keep yourself from getting too engrossed into the planning and check-in process which can easily rob energy from the limited stores of what you need for the race.

Pre-Race meeting –  photo credit Aaron Harrell

Pre-Race Family pic with Dad (Loren) and Mom (Sue) – photo credit Aaron Harrell

Waiting for start –  photo credit Loren Henry

The forecast called for hot weather during the afternoon hours with potential for cold and thunder showers in the evening.  It felt pretty hot (I think ended up being mid 80’s which for June feels hot) heading up the nearly 4000ft climb out of Tongue River Canyon during the first 7 miles of the race, but I stayed hydrated using a Simple Hydration bottle and Hydrapack 500 ml softflask with inov-8 Race Ultra .25 handheld (that I kept collapsed until I filled it at the second aid station, knowing it was going to be a longer section the next one).  I also started getting my hair and body wet in any streams I could find after the first couple of hours.

About 5-6 miles in I hit my first and really only snafu during the race.  People always advise to expect the unexpected during 100 miles so I was prepared to deal with something during the day, but did not think it would be this early on.  I nearly always train and race without socks and had started the race in inov-8 Trailroc 245s. I’ve done 50 milers sockless in them and yet at mile 5 I started to feel a little bit of friction on the heel when going up steep sections. I tried to readjust a couple of times to get it to resolve with no luck and so made do by keeping the laces very loose until I could get to the mile 12 aid station (Dry Fork) and my first drop bag which had some socks and another pair of shoes.  In retrospect I think the issue was that I tied the shoes intentionally a little too loose to start to prevent them from getting them too tight on the tendons on the top of my foot. The result was too much heel slippage which, combined with the heat, caused some friction.  Anyway, I rolled with it, changed into my Nike Kigers (review here) with some thin socks, put a shirt and hat on (it was already feeling quite hot and I was concerned I might be too exposed in the next 18 miles till the next aid) and resumed down the rolling 4000+ feet of descent required to get to the Footbridge aid station at mile 30.

I vowed to keep things easy and take care of myself with regular water and gel intake and save my downhill legs for the second half of the race.  I ended up passing quite a few folks on this section and eventually caught a train of about 4-5 guys that I could have passed, but decided to just cool it and ride on in with them for the last 3 miles to Footbridge. Despite feeling really good at this point, I knew there were plenty of miles yet to come (this decision likely saved my race!).

Coming into Dry Fork (shirtless) and heading out geared up for some more heat – photo credit Aaron Harrell

Early Carnage at Footbridge Aid

I wish I could have taken a picture when I rolled into the Footbridge aid station, but it looked like a triage station on a battlefield. Gear was strung everywhere and many runners looked quite awful which surprised me this early in the race. I made another shoe change into inov-8 X-Talon 212s (rightly anticipating more mud and less smooth trails for the next 32 miles) and switched my hydration to the inov-8 Race Ultra vest to simplify my bottle carrying scenario and to be able to carry some extra clothing as we were heading up to 9000ft and by the time I got there it would be dark. In the 8-10 min it took to change my gear I witnessed at least 3 people telling the aid station officials that they would not be continuing due to either heat/dehydration or bad feet and shot legs; quite early to be out of commission in a 100 mile race!

I left the aid station with just the vest on (no shirt) as it was now 6:00 pm or so, yet it was still hot out.  The climb up the Little Bighorn River drainage was spectacular, with beautiful views all the way up.  I took it easy and even listened to music for an hour or so during this section (something I rarely do, but brought on this race since I would be out there for so long).  I was nearly 4 miles from the turn around point (mile 48) at the Jaws Trailhead and it started to rain with lightning.   It went from an idyllic alpine stroll to an, “Oh crap, I’m cold and on an open exposed ridge during a lightning storm at 900o ft!” moment.  I put on all the extra clothes I had with me (essentially just gloves and inov-8 Stormshell 150 waterproof jacket) and ran a little quicker to the aid station where I found my mom and friend, Aaron, who were ready to crew and pace me at 11:00 pm in the dark and stormy night.  It is such a nice feeling to be exposed like that and then come upon an aid station and see those you know waiting to care for you.

Pic of mom helping me get food while I changed – photo credit Aaron Harrell

Into the Night

Thankfully, I didn’t think much about heading back out into the middle of the night to run back down a 5000ft muddy descent to the Footbridge aid station.  I was just glad to have my pacer, Aaron, with me and we took off.  In a fun way, it felt like I was giving him a tour of the trail I had just come up on the way out, except, since it was dark so I had to describe to him what he would have seen had it been light.  The time passed quickly and we made really good time down this 18 mile section, passing many folks along the way.  I had the Petzl Ultra Rush headlamp and, at least for 100 milers, I feel like it is nearly indispensable despite its very expensive price tag ($400!). It puts out an extremely large and bright light that enabled me to run comfortably downhill in the dark and mud the whole way. We got into Footbridge and changed clothes back into shorts and T-shirts (from my 3/4 tights and long sleeve, which in hindsight, I probably should have not changed into at the turnaround).  I changed out of my X-Talons and into some dry Pearl Izumi Trail N1’s (the only dry pair of shoes I had left at this aid station, otherwise I didn’t feel I needed the PI’s) and headed out after a sausage patty, coffee and some peanut M&M’s at 5:00 am.

Heading out from Footbridge aid at daybreak – photo credit Aaron Harrell

Pacer, Aaron, very serious about his job – photo credit Aaron Harrell

Sunrise climbing out of the Little Bighorn River drainage – photo credit Aaron Harrell

The Grind

The long 18 mile mostly uphill section from Footbridge (mile 66) back to Dry Fork aid (mile 82) was where the race started to feel like something new and different in some ways (I’d never gone further than 54 miles in one go before), but in many ways, it was very much the same.  Move forward, take an energy gel when I felt I could stomach one, drink, repeat.  Slowly, I made it to Cow Camp Aid (mile 76) and sat down for some food (bacon!) and Coke, while also eating another gel (I would eat over 50(!) gels over the course of the race). This process continued till I slowly picked away a the the remaining long extended uphill to Dry Fork where both my parents where waiting to encourage me on the last 18 miles.

Cow Camp Bacon and Coke for brunch – photo credit Aaron Harrell

Coming into Dry Fork (mile 82) – photo credit Loren Henry

The Weight of it All

As soon as I came into Dry Fork, I saw my parents and knew, because I wasn’t having any serious physical issues (aside from a small blister on my pinky toe), that I was going to finish the race.  The weight of the remaining 18 miles really came down all at once and I broke down emotionally.  I think for most of the race, I was just thinking of getting to the next aid station and did not really mentally project myself out that far ahead.  I could wrap my mind well around 18 miles and, being that I had already come up 12 of those 18 the day before, I knew exactly what lay ahead and the weight of it fell pretty hard.  My Mom was all geared up to pace me those final 18 miles of the race and I knew there was nothing left to do but get going so I returned mentally to the task of just moving forward to the next aid station, drinking, eating and taking care of myself in the now mid-day heat (again, returning to getting wet in any stream crossings).

Trying to figure out how socks work ;) and fixing blister issues with one last shoe change – photo credit Loren Henry

The weight of the remaining 18 miles was hitting me pretty hard but my Mom continued encouraging me – photo credit Loren Henry

The End of the Road

After running down the final 8 mile 4000ft descent (so grateful I was still able to run the flats and downhills at this point) I came out of the Tongue River Canyon Trailhead and onto the final 5 miles of gravel road to the town of Dayton, Wyoming where the finish would be in the park.  While I can’t say the road was easy and it seemingly took forever to cover the 5 miles, I ran most of the way and tried to savor what I could of the final miles of such a long adventure.

I was truly thankful and had so much gratitude that my body was heathy enough and my family (wife and 3 kids were at home) supportive enough to allow me to take on the task of running 100 miles in the Bighorn Mountains.  It was also encouraging to see all the runners who ran the 30k (which started at Dry Fork and ran to the finish, 18 miles down the mountain) on the road, each pushing themselves to the end of a long run.

Pic #13 Running on the road with the 30k runners; photo credit Loren Henry

Head down (so I couldn’t see how far the road stretched out ahead of me ;) ) and my Mom encouraging along the way; photo credit Loren Henry

Finish! photo credit Aaron Harrell

Cleaning off in the river  photo credit Loren Henry

Wiped out just over an hour after finishing – photo credit Loren Henty

Take Away Nearly Two Months Later

It was interesting to me that the event felt less substantial to my memory the week or two after, but as time when on, I was able to realize and grasp more of what the effort took from me and understand the magnitude of it better.  The physical recovery process went pretty well with no injuries or issues, but it took at least 4-5 weeks to get back energy levels and feel good running over 2 hours in length again.  Nearly two months out now, I’m already looking forward to planning another 100 for next year.  With Bighorn, I qualified for both the Western States 100 and Hardrock 100 lotteries, so will put in for those.  Both races are notoriously hard to get into, so it is not likely that I will get in to either so the plan is probably to head over to Japan in April (my brother and his family will be living there for this next year for his work so will be a chance to visit them as well) and run the Ultra Trail Mt. Fuji, a 105 mile circumnavigation of Mt. Fuji with everything from road running to technical mountain running and a cumulative elevation gain of around 30,000 ft (!).  All said, I’m incredibly grateful to have had the chance to run a 100 mile trail race and, although the effort and preparation can be daunting, the journey was well worth it.

Finisher Belt Buckle – photo credit Loren Henry

I had set my eyes on the Concord Rock ‘n Race 5K as my next attempt. The Rock ‘n Race is one of the biggest running events of the year in New Hampshire – for a night the streets of my home town are taken over by a crowd of around 3,000 runners and at least as many walkers. There are bands and food on the course. For a town with a population of just over 40,000, it’s quite an impressive event.

I’ve run the Rock ‘n Race several times before (it’s been several years since my last attempt), and I knew that the course was going to be tougher than the one I ran my previous race on. I’d forgotten just how tough it is. The course starts fast, but from mile 1.5 to about mile 2.6 there is a slow but steady climb, with a couple of short, sharp inclines. The final half mile includes a big downhill leading into a flat, fast finish.

Here’s the elevation profile from Garmin Connect as recorded by my Garmin 620:

But at 5K race pace it feels more like this one with the condensed Y-axis (graph below was output via the ConnectStats app):

I’ll cut to the chase and say that I didn’t PR at the Rock ‘n Race. Not even close. In fact, I finished almost a full minute slower than the 5K I ran in mid-April.

I kind of had a sense that it was going to be a struggle before the race even started. My legs felt dead during my warmup – I thought maybe they were still recovering from a long, dehydrating run earlier in the week. It was a pretty warm night, and by about a mile into the race it felt like my mouth had been stuffed with cotton – for some reason I was dying for some water, which almost never happens to me in a 5K. The hills sapped me, and I simply didn’t have the toughness to maintain pace on the inclines. I gave in to my screaming legs and let myself slow down. I told myself that I’d be content (not happy, but content) with a sub-20. I beat that by only 10 seconds with a finish time of 19:50, and it was a struggle to get there with a near all-out effort in the final tenth of a mile. When I crossed the finish line I wasn’t particularly pleased with the result.

My spirits lifted as I ran the course backwards to meet up with my family. I passed hundreds of runners heading toward the finish line. I saw friends. I saw and cheered on 4 or 5 runners from my beginner 5K group who were on their way to finishing their first ever 5K (they were doing the race in lieu of our usual Thursday workout). I saw people from last year’s 5K group who are now regular runners (which is awesome!). And then I spotted my wife pushing my 4 year old son in a stroller and my 8 year old daughter running alongside her (my older son had apparently taken off ahead with a friend). We ran-walked the final mile together and had a blast. It kind of put things into perspective a bit, and I got a little pissed off at myself for being upset about my own race. It felt selfish to be worried about my own time on a night in which my home town celebrates the sport that I love. But I can’t deny that finishing a minute slower than my previous race still stung a bit.

Sometimes a day of reflection adds a bit of clarity. We didn’t stick around to see the award ceremony because the crowds were huge and we had the kids in tow. It wasn’t until around midnight on race night that I checked the official race results and found out that I actually finished second in the 30-39 age group, and 34th overall out of nearly 3000 runners. Though it wasn’t my best time in this race (I ran it in 19:17 back in 2010), it was my highest age group finish. And I saw that several of the people who had run that race back in April were also around a minute slower last night (including a local speedster who had finished second in both races). I now feel a bit guilty for hashing through in my mind all the things that went wrong with my race. I need to remind myself that courses and conditions vary, and that it was warm and hilly on Thursday whereas the race in April was cool and flat. The heat and hills most definitely got the better of me, time to move on.

About a month ago I started training hard again under the guidance of my coach, Caleb Masland. I wanted an early-season test of my fitness, so I started looking for a local 5K. It was an interesting experience. I hopped on Cool Running to look at the local race schedule, and as I scanned the list of options my blood pressure started to rise. My heart was pounding and I had butterflies in my stomach. I was a little bit afraid, and I’m not ashamed to admit that. It had been a long time since I’d raced a 5K – well over a year since my last 5K road race. My primary recollection was that racing a 5K hurts. Really bad.

5K races hurt in a very different way than marathons hurt. You can run a marathon at what feels like a relatively moderate pace for most of the race. Pain doesn’t set in until around mile 18, and the pain is not like that experienced in a 5K.

In a 5K I tend to go out fast and focus all of my efforts on hanging on. It’s about managing the hurt and resisting the urge to slow down. It lasts only about 20 minutes if all goes well, but it’s 20 minutes of struggle. I was afraid of the pain because it had been so long since I’d last experienced it.

I lined up at the starting line of the SEA 5K two weeks ago without a strong sense of what I was capable of. I’d run through the winter, but not big miles and mostly at a pretty leisurely pace. I told myself I’d be happy with sub-20:00, so that’s what I aimed for. True to form I went out really fast. Well under 6:00/mile pace for the first half mile or so. I felt good, but it was just the adrenaline carrying me along. I slowed down a bit as the hurt started, and finished the first mile in 6:05.

Since I had set a “happy” goal of sub-20:00, I knew the average pace I needed, so I let myself succumb to the pain and slowed down in mile two – 6:34. As long as I came in below 20:00 I wasn’t going to be upset. I managed my pace accordingly

Pain intensified in mile 3, but I held on and sped up just a bit for a 6:21. At that point I knew I had my goal in hand, and I finished strong for a finish time of 19:43.

Overall I was happy with the race result, but I was 50 seconds off my PR, and I knew I had hard work ahead of me to chip almost a minute off my time.

I had tentatively planned to run another 5K two weeks later, but was wavering since it was an evening race and it would have left my wife home alone for diner with the kids two nights in a row. I had even told Caleb that I wasn’t going to race. But, my Taekwondo studio was a race sponsor and Master Jung wanted me to run as part of the studio team. Being an obedient student, I agreed.

The morning of the race I got an email from Lynn Jennings asking for some info for the Craftsbury Running Camps this summer. I mentioned that I was running a 5K later in the day, and she shot back an email with the the following line of advice: “Run strong and don’t ‘save’ anything for the last mile – it comes up too quick!” I figured advice from an Olympic medalist is worth listening to, and that line became my mantra heading into the race.

The course was similar, mostly flat with a lot of turns, but it had a big overpass that needed to be crossed twice. I thought the little hill might make things a bit slower, but I didn’t really have a goal time. I actually wasn’t feeling great before the race, almost fell asleep on the couch at home beforehand.

Once I got to the race location things perked up a bit. Saw a bunch of local running friends, including a number of people I’ve gotten to know via working with them in the clinic. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt a connection to my local running community, and it feels great to be getting into the local race scene again.

The gun went off, and just like the previous race I went out fast. This time I held on for a 5:58 first mile, and I kept thinking about what Lynn had said. I wasn’t going to back off to the extent that I did in the previous race – my goal was to hold a comfortably painful pace for as long as possible and hammer at the end if I had anything left. I ran miles 2 and 3 at right around 6:14 min/mile pace, and I think the overpass actually helped to mix up muscle usage in my legs.

Toward the end of mile three I was pretty sure sub-19:00 was going to be possible, and I was rather shocked. I hammered the final 0.1 at 5:26 min/mile pace, so I may have even had a bit left in the tank. Crossed the finish in 18:53, which is two seconds off my PR. Second in my age group for the second consecutive race, and I was thrilled with the result.

So the big question was how the heck did I shave 50 seconds off my 5K time in two weeks. I don’t think it was the course, as both are flat, measured courses and the races are both well-attended annual events and are part of a local race series. I don’t think I had gained 50 seconds worth of fitness in two weeks (maybe a little, but not that much). I don’t think the Saucony A6’s on my feet were that much faster than the Pearl Izumi N0’s that I wore two weeks prior. I think the biggest change was mental.

My approach to the first race was “Run under 20:00 and you’ll be happy.” So I moderated my effort to make sure that I came in under 20:00, but I didn’t strain. In the second race I kept thinking about what Lynn had said. My approach was more “Go out hard and hang on as long as you can.” Didn’t really have a goal time, just wanted to not ease off as much in mile two. And it worked. I broke the race up a bit more into segments, and once I got through mile two and realized that I was hurting but doing ok, I kept plugging along and finished strong.

I think what I’ve learned here is that setting race goals in the form of a set time can lead you to ease off so that you just beat the goal you choose. Your brain moderates your effort to meet the goal and doesn’t allow you to run your best. You’ll be happy, but you may not be satisfied.

However, much like I ran my breakthrough marathon at Disney in 2010 in a race that I entered with no goal but to have fun, the 5K on Friday was one that I entered with a sole goal of running hard and holding on. That approach gained me 50 seconds, and hopefully will lead to a PR in the coming months. It’s a PR that has existed since 2008, and it’s time for it to go down.

I’m way more competitive with myself than I am with other people, so my 37-year old self with an additional 10-15 pounds on his frame is feeling pretty happy that he managed blow his teenage self away by running 13.1 miles at 6:41 pace yesterday (not to mention how I feel relative to the considerably overweight me who couldn’t even run 3 miles period just 5 years ago!). Just goes to show that some things can get better with age :)

I went into the race yesterday more confident than I have ever been before any race I’ve run. Why? It wasn’t because of my shoes (though I do love the Saucony Grid Type A5, and they worked out great I the race!), it wasn’t because of my form, it was because I had put in the work. I had trained as hard for this race as any I’ve ever run, and was pushed constantly by my coach Caleb Masland (check him out here, and here’s another post I wrote about working with Caleb – he trained 3 of us to new PR’s yesterday!). My long runs might not have exceeded 14, but I did more speedwork and quality runs these past 3 months than in any previous training cycle, and my mileage in July and August both exceeded previously monthly bests. About 3-4 weeks ago I ran a 14 miler in which about 8 of the miles were well below my half-marathon PR pace (6:51/mile). I was ready for this one, and I knew it.

My goal heading into the race was to shoot for a 2-minute PR. My previous half PR was 1:29:47, and I’ve long felt that was one of the best races I have ever run – it was going to be a tough one to top. Heading into yesterday it was almost two years to the day since I’d been able to put the letters “PR” in a race recap, and a new best was long overdue.

The story of the race itself was merely one of executing my plan, and I managed to do so flawlessly. My goal was to head out around 6:40 pace and hold that steady for as long as possible. I knew the course was ideal for me since I BQ’d at Smuttynose in 2010, and it once again didn’t let me down. It was raining and cool, but that was actually a plus during the race (not so much after finishing…). There were a few small hills that slowed me a bit, by my splits were remarkably consistent (see below), and I was banking about 10 seconds per mile on my previous PR. My only cause for concern was that I wasn’t cutting the turns consistently so my Garmin was measuring the course long – I knew I’d have to correct for that in the home stretch. Correct I did, managing my two fastest splits in miles 12 and 13. In fact, my strong finish makes me wonder if I was a bit too conservative with early pacing, but I’m not going to complain!

Crossing the finish line in 1:27:36 felt incredible and once again reminded me what can be accomplished when you put in the work. I tend to get so caught up in discussing shoes and form that it’s easy to forget that training is really the most important factor when it comes to race performance – you either do what it takes and meet your goal, or you slack off and fall short. There’s nothing quite as satisfying as accomplishing exactly what you set out to do. In fact, the only negative is now this makes me wonder if a sub-3:00 marathon might actually be possible for me…time will tell, but for now it’s time to relax a bit. Just need to make sure the winter doesn’t kill my fitness – thus my goal for the next six months (in addition to taking down my 5K PR) is to simply keep moving and working hard in prep to get back at it in the Spring!

It’s been a long time since I’ve written a race report, the main reason being that I simply have not run that many races in the past two years. My last race was back in April of this year, a 5K in which I ran a time of 19:20. Given my lack of consistent training last winter (may sub-10 mile weeks), I was pleased with that result heading into the Spring and Summer, and decided to set a goal of knocking off my 4-year-old 5K PR (18:51 set in 2008) before the end of this year.

This summer I’ve taken my training to another level with 320 miles run in July and August. I started working with a coach (Caleb Masland) in late July, and have been doing some pretty hard workouts in prep for the Smuttynose Rockfest Half Marathon at the end of this month. I’ve also been taking Taekwondo classes twice per week since January, which has been a huge boon to my stability, balance, and leg strength. This renewed commitment to hard training has already begun to pay dividends as I’ve had some very solid training runs in the past few weeks. I was excited to test my fitness in a 5K, and last Friday evening I had the chance to see how much improvement I’ve made since Spring.

The Friendly Kitchen 5k is an annual race held here in Concord, NH, and is a great event because all of the proceeds go to support our local soup kitchen (it was destroyed in a fire a few years back, and funds are badly needed to aide the rebuilding effort). There’s also an enormous raffle with a ton of prizes and race entrants have a very good shot of winning something. The race itself is reasonably flat (only hill is one big overpass that you have to go over twice), but there are a ton of turns (see map below) and a good portion is on gravel trail and grass which can slow things down a bit.

My goal heading into the race was to run sub-19:00, and if I was feeling good I thought I might have a shot at a new 5K PR. However, the weather at the start was mid-80’s and humid, which tempered my expectations a bit (I tend to struggle in heat and humidity).

At the starting line, I noticed that something felt strange in one of my shoes (adidas Hagio). Turns out I forgot to put the sockliner back in my left shoe before lacing them up, so I had no choice but to run the race with an artificial leg length discrepancy (dumb!). When the gun went off I settled into my usual sub-6:00/mile early race pace (see pace graph below) and thought I’d see how long I could maintain it. Normally I last about a half mile before the pace creeps back up above 6:00/mile, but not on Friday. Running sub-6:00 actually felt reasonably comfortable for the first time ever, and I clicked off the first mile in about 5:54.

The going got a bit tougher in the first half of mile 2, particular on the grass section, and I started to feel the pace slow a bit – I had settled in behind a group of 4-5 other runners and they seemed to be equally affected by this section of the course. I rallied a bit from mile 1.5-mile 2, and managed to get the pace back under 6:00/mile for a stretch, and then hit the overpass which knocked me back down a bit (see the two peaks in the pace graph below – both going up the overpass). We had to run up over the overpass, loop under it, then cross back over a second time back along the same course – this was definitely the toughest stretch since it involved two quick up and downs and a bunch of tight turns.

I knew that if I could keep my average pace under 6:00/mile I’d have my PR, and I was running right at 6:0-6:01/mile by mile 2.5. The thought of a new personal best motivated me, and I managed to pull off a quick final half mile with a strong finish, despite another bunch of tight turns. As I came into the final tenth of a mile my average pace was 5:57 on my Garmin, but approaching the finish line I saw the clock ticking quickly toward the 18:51 mark. I crossed at 18:53, a bit perplexed at how I didn’t earn a personal best.

Turns out my watch measured the course at 3.17 miles, so although I ran an average pace of 5:57, I wound up running farther than 3.1 miles. I don’t think the course was long, and I don’t think my Garmin was off (it’s never off by that much for a 5K), but rather I think I simply didn’t cut all of the turns close enough, and there were an awful lot of them. Despite this, I managed a 9th place finish overall out of about 250 runners, and second in the 30-39 age group – very satisfied with the result given where I was 6-7 months ago!

If nothing else, the race gave me confidence that I have my speed back, and that I have a strong shot at shattering that long-standing PR this year. Give me a race with fewer turns on a cool day, and that 18:51 is going down!

Oh, and I won a soup bowl and a package of ramen noodles for my second place AG finish, and a $10 gift card for a local taco joint in the raffle – all in all a great evening! Excited to be back on the race scene!

Despite my preference for minimalist shoes, one thing that I had not done until last week was run a race in zero drop shoes. Last Thursday there was a 5k in my home town of Concord, NH, and my wife graciously offered to handle the kids for the evening so that I could go and run it (the deal was predicated on my son getting a good afternoon nap, but he came through nicely!). I had run a sub-19:00 solo 5k time trial earlier in the week, so I knew I wasn’t going to be running on the freshest of legs, so I made a choice to have some fun with the race and run it in a pair of Vibram Fivefingers. I’ve long wondered how well I could race in the Vibrams, and this was as good a chance as any to find out. Given that the course would be a mix of gravel, grass/dirt, and road, I opted to use my Vibram Komodosports since they seem to offer a bit more cushion underfoot than my VFF Bikilas or TrekSports. I’ve had the Komodos for a few months (disclosure: they were media samples provided by Vibram), and though I had not put a lot of miles on them, they are similar enough to the others that I wasn’t too concerned about racing in them.

The KomodoSports are in many ways quite similar to the VFF Bikilas. Aside from a considerably more aggressive appearance, the following are to me the most noticeable differences between the two shoes:

1. First and foremost, the Komodosport has a removable insole (see photo at right). Underneath the insole is a rough material that seems to directly overlie the outsole, so most of the cushioning appears to be built into the insole. It would have been cool if Vibram had made the material under the insole similar to the lining of the Bikila so that the wearer could have the option of running with or without it (Vivobarefoot shoes do this particularly well). Running without the insole would allow for a much firmer ride, better ground feel, and would likely help accommodate a slightly higher volume foot.

2. The Komodosport doesn’t fit quite as snugly on my foot as compared to the Bikila – it’s a bit more like the TrekSport in terms of fit. This makes it better as a walk-around shoe, as the tightness of my Bikilas can get constricting when I’m not running in them. The Komodosports fit me just about perfectly, and the addition of the strap over the heel allows for a bit more adjustment than is offered on the Bikilas.

In my opinion, most of the other differences between the Komodsport and the Bikila are largely cosmetic. When compared to the Treksport, the most obvious difference is the sole – the Treksport has a thicker, treaded sole that feels much firmer underfoot. I would have worn these for the race given the off-road portion, but I prefer the slightly more cushioned feel of the Bikilas and Komodos on the road (cushioning here is a relative thing, as even the Bikila and Komodos are far less cushioned than the vast majority of shoes that I own). Since it was a split course – half on- and half off-road – the Komodos were a reasonable compromise.

I really didn’t know what to expect when it came to racing in the Vibrams. I’ve run a fast mile or two in them, but never a race effort for 3+ miles. It was a hot and humid day (mid 80’s – the hottest day of the year so far in NH, and I’m not yet acclimated), and as mentioned my legs were still recovering from a hard 5k effort earlier in the week. Furthermore, the course had a lot of twists and turns, as well as an overpass that needed to be climbed twice around mile 2.

When the gun went off, I took off at a sub-6:00 pace and felt pretty good. I settled into my typical low 6:00 5K pace as we approached the trail section, and to be honest I barely noticed my feet – everything felt quite natural. From mile 1 to mile 2 I passed 3-4 other runners, and hit the overpass with a goal of not getting passed in the final mile. My pace wavered on the overpass, popping above 6:30 for a bit, but I held strong after looping around and back over a second time on the way back to the finish (this was an out and back section on roads). I managed to drop my pace back down to the low 6:00’s for the final 3/4 mile, and wound up crossing the finish in 19:30. That put me in 7th place overall, and I wound up winning the 30-39 age group – not bad considering that it was the first 5k I’ve run in nearly a year! It was a small race, so the finishing place is not quite as impressive as it might sound, but 2 of the people that I passed around mile 2 were in my age group, so I felt great about digging out that win.

At the finish a bunch of people asked me what it was like to run in my toe shoes, and I happily explained that it was my first time, but that the experience was a good one. The only issue I had was a hot spot that developed under one of the seams at the edge of the black mesh panel behind the little toe. To be honest, my finish time was right about where I would have expected given the heat and my physical state, and I don’t think I could have run it any faster in regular shoes. I barely knew I was running in Vibrams for most of the race, and though I can’t say they made me any faster, they certainly did not hold me back any. There’s probably no way I could have done this 2 years ago when I first started running in Fivefingers, and it felt great to know how far I’ve come in being able to perform in an ultraminimal shoe. If you’re legs/feet are well adapted, I highly recommend giving it a try.

All in all, the Komodosports are a nice addition to my lineup of Fivefingers, and there’s certainly no avoiding being seen when wearing bright yellow toe shoes with tiger stripes. I must admit that it felt pretty good to accept my AG win in these shoes, for if nothing else it demonstrates that wearing a “barefoot” running shoe doesn’t automatically slow you down. Now my goal is to go after my 5k PR – I’m pretty confident that it will be going down soon.

To start, let me say that the entire weekend was truly amazing. Having lived within a few hours of Boston for much of my life, this was surprisingly my first ever trip to the city on marathon weekend, and it didn’t disappoint. I traveled down from NH on Saturday morning with my family, and we were joined by my parents and sister. I spent the afternoon on Saturday at a meet-up with some of my good friends from dailymile (see photo below), and then headed off to the expo for a few hours. For a gear junkie like me, the expo was like heaven, and I threw down quite a bit of money on race paraphernalia. I chatted for a bit with some folks from Altra and Saucony whom I’ve gotten to know through this blog. I also picked up a pair of the much anticipated Saucony Hattori (cool shoe!), which was available for the first time at the expo (it’s now available for pre-order at Running Warehouse). I’ve now run a few miles in them and they feel like socks with a thin, flat EVA sole.

On Sunday I went to the Harvard Museum of Comparative Zoology with my family, and then walked around Harvard Square for a bit (no rest for me, which might have contributed to events that followed the next day…). Headed back to the hotel for a swim and then met my cousin for dinner. By a complete stroke of coincidence my friend Mark Cucuzzella happened to sit down two tables away from us at the hotel restaurant, and it was nice to chat for a bit (he ran a 2:37 on Monday!). Went to bed early and actually got a really good 7-8 hours of sleep on marathon eve.

I headed out early on race morning so that I could catch one of the early buses to Hopkinton, and ran into the husband of one of my fellow dailymile Team members (Blaise) – had a nice conversation on the bus ride over. The bus ride was longer than I had expected, and our driver seemed to be in a race of his own as he kept pulling out of the caravan of school buses to pass those that were in front of us. We arrived at the Athlete’s Village with a few hours to spare, and I managed to find my dailymile/Twitter friends hanging out near the backstop of the baseball field. We had some time to kill, and it was great to spend it with such a great group of people (that’s me in the orange jacket in the photo above). It was cold and windy in the village, and runners all over were wrapped in mylar blankets and trash bags in an effort to stay warm.

As race time approached, I made a decision to wear arm warmers and gloves to the starting line. In retrospect, this may have been one of the first mistakes of many that I made on the day. I walked to the start with my friends Andy and Steve, and we met up with a few other friends while waiting in a porta-potty line (naturally!).

Ross, Me, Andy, and Steve just prior to the start of the race

Waiting in the corral (#7 for me) was yet another memorable experience. Standing there, knowing that I had earned the right to be there at that moment through years of hard work, was one of the most satisfying things I have ever felt. There’s nothing quite like waiting for the start of the Boston Marathon – every runner should experience it at least once. It was also cool to be grouped with everyone who had qualified with a similar time to mine, but this also created a challenge. I knew going into the race that a 3:15 was not in the cards – I’d lost too much fitness over the winter due to a combination of lousy weather and an excessively busy life. I’d also put on a good 5-6 pounds since my BQ race. My realistic goal was a 3:30, give or take 10 minutes depending on how I felt. However, when the starting gun went off I found myself sucked into running at the same pace as everyone in my corral – this despite the fact that nearly everyone I had talked to about race strategy warned me not be tricked into going out too fast by the initial downhill grade.

I knew from very early on in the race that it wasn’t going to be my day. Even in the initial few downhill miles I could sense that my quads were not fresh, and I was fairly certain that they were going to give me serious trouble at some point (which they most certainly did). My suspicion is that they weren’t yet back to 100% after the beating they took at the HAT 50K with its insanely hilly course – one thing I have learned over the years is that it takes my body at least four full weeks to recover from a marathon, and the HAT Run sapped my quads far worse than any marathon ever has. I have no regrets about running HAT though – like Boston, it was an unforgettable experience.

The one thought that kept going through my mind over those early miles was “slow down!” I knew I was running too fast – in fact, my early pace was faster than I ran in my BQ marathon back in October. I think the fact that everyone around me was running the same pace made it hard for me to ease off, even if I knew it was the smart thing to do. Running those early miles the way I did was pure stupidity, and I paid badly for the mistake.

It also wasn’t long before I started to get hot. Unlike the cold and wind that made sitting in the Athlete’s Village uncomfortable, once we were running the wind was less noticeable and the sun was bright – I actually wound up with a bit of a sunburn on my shoulders. Having done all of my training in much colder temperatures, it actually felt downright hot to me, and began to regret the decision to wear my arm warmers. However, for some mystifying reason I never took them off – strange how you don’t always do what’s logical when running a race. The combination of pace and heat led me to drink water at most of the water stops, and this set the stage for events that would unfold later.

The crowd along the race route was just as everyone had described – large, loud and incredibly supportive. Every time we entered a town the noise level rose considerably, and this didn’t help me in my futile attempt to slow down my pace. Around mile 10 I passed Team Hoyt, and the noise from the spectators cheering them on was deafening – this was one of the most vivid memories I have from the entire race. I hit the half marathon mark on pace to run between a 3:15-3:20, which I knew was way too fast.

My pace began to slip a bit in miles 15 and 16 (see split chart above) – they were the first two splits that I ran in 8:00+. Then, in mile 17, the wheels fell completely off. It had been a long time since I’d bonked in a marathon, but I hit the wall hard. My quads were completely shot, and I knew I was done. I’d been in this spot many times before, and I knew what the next 9 miles were going to be like – it wasn’t going to be pretty or particularly enjoyable. Quite honestly, I don’t really remember the final 9 miles very well. It was a complete mental and physical struggle just to keep moving forward. I made a conscious decision to walk the uphills (including all of Heartbreak), as I knew that trying to run them would only put me deeper into the hole I had dug for myself. I ran the downs and flats as best I could, but my pace rarely dipped below 9:00/mile until the final mile. I tried to keep getting sugar into my body, and the one thing that was tolerable were the orange slices being handed out by spectators along the course (did I mention the crowd was awesome!). I tried to start taking Gatorade at the water stops, but it wasn’t sitting well in my stomach, so I didn’t take as much as a should have. Temperature regulation had also become a major issue, and at each water stop I dumped a full cup over my head to try and cool myself down. I was a mess, and I was suffering.

I think the only thing that prevented me from walking more than I did was the shame I felt at doing it at the Boston Marathon. Here were all of these people watching this great race, and the last thing I should have been doing was walking. I felt like I was disrespecting the race by not living up to my ability, so I kept plugging along as much as I could manage. My new goal was simply to avoid a personal worst, though my mental skills were so heavily challenged at that point that I had a hard time figuring out just how fast I needed to go to avoid that fate.

Thankfully, as the miles wound down I realized that as long as I limited my walk breaks to the brief uphills and kept running around 9:00/mile for the rest, I’d come in under the 3:43:38 that I ran in my first ever marathon. This wasn’t saying much, but it was enough motivation to keep me moving forward. I don’t much recall entering the city, but I vaguely remember seeing the Citgo sign, and I managed to muster a pretty solid effort for the final half mile from Commonwealth to Hereford to Boylston. After turning onto Boylston, the finish line appeared in the distance, but it seemed like it was still miles away. The noise of the crowd pulled me forward, and somehow I managed to get my pace back under 8:00/mile during that final stretch. I gave it all that I had. I crossed the finish line in 3:42:12 – my second slowest of 8 marathons.

Not long after I crossed the finish line I began to feel dizzy – it got so bad that I asked if I could sit in one of the wheelchairs that was stationed along the side of the finish chute. After a few minutes, I hadn’t improved, so they wheeled me into the med tent, where the person attending to me took vitals and asked how much water I had taken on the course (too much). They indicated that I was caked in salt from evaporated sweat, and they were concerned that I might have mild hyponatremia. I had also started cramping severely in my quads and calves, and I was having some difficulty talking since my jaw muscles felt like they were going to cramp as well. Thankfully, after a few cups of salty chicken broth and about 20 minutes of lying on my back, I began to feel much better and I was able to check out. The med tent was hopping, and at one point I heard them announce that there were no free beds – apparently I wasn’t the only one who’d had some difficulty, and I saw a few people who appeared to be unconscious as they were wheeled in.

Given all that I went through on Monday, it would be easy to say that I’m disappointed and that I had a lousy time. However, my reaction is actually quite different. Running Boston was a hard-earned reward, and one that I will not soon forget. It reminded me that one can never take a marathon for granted – “respect the distance” is an oft repeated mantra among marathon runners, and it’s one that I did not heed in the months leading up to Boston.

There are so many factors in terms of race execution that I can point to that contributed to my crash, with my fast early pace and my temperature/fluid intake issues being the most likely candidates. However, the reality is that the major reason why I had such a rough outing was that I didn’t put in the necessary training to handle the distance. In fact, I had only run one 30+ mile week since last October, and that was the week I ran the HAT 50K. You simply cannot run a hard marathon effort on such minimal training mileage, and I knew that going in – I just failed to adapt my strategy to that reality. If I had to do the race over, I would have dropped back a few corrals and gone out at a 7:50-8:00 pace. I’d much rather have run slower throughout and enjoyed the experience than take the reckless and stupid approach that I did.

It would be easy for me to dwell on this race performance and beat myself up about it, but that would serve little purpose. The better option is to view Boston as yet another of many learning experiences and move on – it will make me a stronger runner going forward. It was an unforgettable weekend, and an amazing race that I am honored to have been a part of. I’m already feeling the need to train hard and redeem myself, but I’m thinking about taking a break from marathons for a bit and focusing on 5K’s this summer and then shooting for a half marathon PR in the Fall. Marathons beat me up physically, and this body needs a break from the pounding. For now I just want to run for fun for a bit and not worry abut training for a particular goal – summer vacation is only a few short weeks away and I can’t wait!

Over the next 5 hours, 52 minutes, and 48 seconds I ran through fields, along gravel roads and forest trails, through streams, and up and down hills. Endless hills. I ran fast, I ran slow, I walked, I hobbled, and at one point I even sat down and took off my shoes (they were filled with sand). I had moments where I felt like I was flying, and I had moments where seemingly all of the muscles between my knees and my hips were screaming at me in unison. At one point my quads, groin, and hamstrings were on the verge of cramping all at the same time, so I stood in a cold stream until the pain subsided. I ate boiled potatoes dipped in a bowl of salt (pure heaven!). I ate peanut M&M’s on the run and had to use my hydration pack to get the rainbow of color off my hands after I scarfed them down. I ate multiple bananas. In the final mile much of this food almost came back up, but I fought the waves of nausea and held it down. And through it all, I had fun. Scratch that, I had an absolute blast!

dailymile Crew: Me, Steve, Thomas, Jenny, Andy, and Brodie

The details of the race are not so much the important part of the experience. What made this day so special was the people. I had so much fun because I was able to share the experience of running the HAT Run 50K with good friends, none of whom I had ever met before in person, but several of whom I feel like I have known my whole life. The reason I had decided to come to Maryland in the first place was to meet up with friends from the dailymile social training network (see photo above). They had done the HAT the previous year, and the stories they’d told of the experience in the Maryland woods had become legendary. A bigger group was in attendance this time around, and it was great to finally meet my friends Andy (thanks for the Panera breakfast!), Steve, Ally, Thomas, Brodie, Jenny, Jeanne, Smitty, as well as several others. I saw many of them out on the course, and we hung out both before and after the race.

Me and Christopher McDougall

I also was looking forward to meeting up with Chris McDougall (see photo above). We’ve exchanged emails off and on for awhile, and as I was mulling doing HAT last Fall I got an email from him saying “If you’re in, I’m in.” Hard to turn down an offer like that! Chris was gracious enough to put me up at his house the evening after the race, and I discovered that we have more in common than our fascination with running form and footwear (or lack thereof). Let’s just say it’s comforting to know that I’m not the only father who thinks the Barbie Princess and the Pauper soundtrack is a musical masterpiece worthy of being belted out when alone in the car. Chris’ family was eminently hospitable, and I owe his wife a huge debt of gratitude for allowing me to fill his house with running talk for a day.

My honest plan for the race was that I really had no plan. After the starting gun went off I settled into a comfortable pace alongside Chris and a few others. Being an Ultra newbie I followed everyone else’s lead and walked the uphills and ran the flats and downs. The pace was more than manageable, and I felt like I could go all day. I had a nice time chatting with Chris about running, shoes, etc., and we had some nice conversations with surrounding runners. I remember the topic of hashing in Laos coming up at one point – funny the topics that come up when on the run.

Around the five mile mark (guessing) there was a stream crossing (photo at right by Jeff Hinte) and I intended to rock hop to the other side so I wouldn’t soak my shoes (I had decided to go with the New Balance Minimus Trail). I wound up slipping on a wet rock and mashed my opposite forefoot onto another rock in an attempt to prevent myself from falling into the water. The pain was instant and piercing, and my immediate thought was that I had broken something – not sure if a shoe with a rock plate would have helped or not, but the Minimus Trails were marvelous aside from this one moment. I kept running, and eventually the pain subsided to a dull ache. A few miles later I kicked a root and collided with the ground. It’s funny how trail spills seem to occur in slow motion, and I could feel my legs giving way as my body slowly plunged to the earth. I managed to bruise my hand badly by using it to brace my fall, but thankfully my legs escaped unscathed. I managed to stay on my feet for the rest of the race.

One of the things about trail running on single track that is different than road racing is that passing can be a challenge. On trails you often run single file (see photo at left by Jeff Hinte), so it’s easy to get separated from people you are running with as you try to maintain a comfortable pace. Around mile 9-10 I got ahead of Chris a bit as we mingled with a bigger crowd of runners, and at one point I looked back and I could no longer see him. The crowd in front of me was sparse at that point so I decided to keep running at the pace that felt most natural at the time. We entered a section on crushed rock road for several miles, and I was feeling really good so I turned on the jets for a bit (ran a 7:00 mile here, which in retrospect probably was a mistake). I passed my friends Thomas and Jenny and said a quick hello, then continued on through the aid station, grabbing a snack as I passed through.

Thomas and Jenny on the trail – photo by Jeff Hinte

From about mile 13 onward I pretty much ran solo. This worked out well for me since I tend to turn inward into my own head as I start to focus on a race once the initial excitement wears down. I passed a lot of people over the next 5 or so miles, and made it through the first big loop at mile 18 feeling phenomenal. As I started the second loop I felt like flying, and I started racing down the downhills a bit too fast. This set up my inevitable crash around mile 25, when my quads started to tell me that they had had enough. I stopped to stretch them out, only to find that the moment I flexed my knee my hamstrings rebelled and started to knot up in cramps. There would be no quad stretching for me. From that point on it was a constant battle to prevent my quads, groin, and hamstrings from locking up completely, but I fought through with a bit of help from a cold leg soak in a stream.

Every hill seemed twice as steep on the second loop, and the roads that I cruised down on loop one didn’t provide nearly the same degree of respite on loop two. Around mile 29.5 I saw my friend Andy up ahead – he was hard to miss with his bright orange du-rag covering his bald head. I set my crosshairs on the du-rag and managed to catch up with him. It was clear that he was hurting, and I wasn’t doing so well myself, so we marched the final mile in with only very short spurts of running. As we approached the finish line we saw Steve and Ally shooting pictures (Steve is an amazing runner and had finished in third place!), which gave us a much needed lift, and we ran the final stretch across a field to the finish line together, crossing in 5:52:48.

Hat Run 50K Course Map

I was mentally lucid for the entire race, but once I stopped running I started to fall apart a bit. I needed food, and I needed it badly. I remember several people trying to talk with me as I trudged into the aid station, but I have a hard time recalling much from those few minutes. After a hot dog and several cups of Coke I began to bounce back, and the celebration ensued. I hung out and had a beer with the dailymile crew, shared some war stories from the race, and had an all around great time – just an amazingly fun and genuinely caring group of people. I caught up with Chris when he crossed the line – he’d also had cramping issues in his thigh adductors (seemed to be a theme for the day from many people), but he finished happy too. The common sentiment was that the race was tough, but well worth the effort. There are truly few better ways to spend a sunny spring day than running trails with friends.

Several people asked me afterward if I would do another Ultra. I kept thinking to myself as I ran that I couldn’t imagine how people manage to run 50 and 100 mile races – I had nothing left after 31. I’ve learned never to say never, and I’ve definitely been bitten by the Ultra bug. Ultras are a totally different beast than big road marathons – much more laid back and they test you in different ways. For me, HAT wasn’t about speed so much as it was about enjoying the moment and ensuring that I had enough left in the tank to finish. I flew when I felt like it, walked when I needed to, and never felt guilty about it. My pace ranged from sub-7:00/mile on a few downhill road sections to near 20:00 on some of the steeper uphills, and I never ran a steady pace for any length of time. That, however, is what made it fun – the terrain and strategy were constantly changing, and the repetitive nature of a road race was nowhere to be found.

Along with the Smuttynose Marathon last Fall, the HAT Run 50K ranks right up there as one of my most cherished running experiences. Though they were very different races, one a road marathon and the other a trail Ultra, they were special because I was able to struggle through and celebrate with friends. Running is a joy and a gift, and it is a gift that is at its best when shared. I love solitary moments on the run, but there’s nothing quite like crossing a finish line and knowing you can share the experience with others. Above is a happy runner, and one who has a feeling he will be doing this again…

For more about this race, check out the following:
–HAT Run Race Report by Thomas Neuberger
–HAT Run Race Report by Steve Speirs (3rd place finisher)