2010 Recap

I have been meaning to write up a summary of 2011 for some time now, but there always seemed to be something more urgent than blogging. Now that I am stuck at home, sick, without e-mail access or any desire to work, the time has finally come.

To really put things in perspective though, I need to start a little further back, in the summer of 2010, when I began a long streak of racing and completely changed the way I train (or did I just start training?) and think about running.

Highlands Sky 40M (June 19, 2010, 8h18, 32th OA)

This is one the best ultrarunning events I have seen (beautiful and very diverse course, super friendly and competent aid station volunteers, excellent organization orchestrated with deceptive ease by race director Dan Lehmann), but I had one of my roughest days of running ever. My training leading up to it was quite good, with a few memorable long runs at Coopers Rock, chasing Steve DiFazio on his mountainbike. But some stress at work right before the race, possibly combined with being rusty after not having raced an ultra for a good five years, resulted in not having my head in the right place on race day. So I missed a turn driving up to the race headquarters, nearly missing the busses to the start line, and then took the advice of fellow Morgantown runner (and eventual good training partner and friend) Phil Turk a bit too seriously by starting way too fast. But the real disaster started when I was running on the infamous stretch of trail covered by stinging nettle and took a tumble on a log that I didn’t see, severely smashing my right quadriceps. I knew my racing was over right then, but I really didn’t want to quit less than five miles into the race, or at any time. So the rest of this long day was all about managing the pain and trying to somehow motivate myself to finish, after all other goals had slipped away. Eventually, I somehow got off course, which is really ironic because Dan Lehmann takes course marking very, very seriously and does it extremely well, and I capitulated mentally, death-marching the remaining ~10 miles. Overall, a very disappointing and tough experience, but for reasons I can’t quite formulate, I am glad I didn’t take a DNF that day. The only amusing thing was my interaction with what I later realized was quite a stacked field by East Coast US standards. I specifically remember sitting in a chair next to Sean Andrish at the halfway-point aid station and commiserating with him (he had also fallen off the fast pace at the front), without having a clue who he was.

Starting way too fast (I am the left orange guy, sporting my favorite 2003
Waldo 100K finisher’s shirt). Photo by Joel Wolpert.

Finishing in a rather pathetic state of body and mind. 

Not quite sure how I managed that smile. Photo by Dan Lehmann.

Morgantown Stumble and Tumble (S&T) Group (July 2010)

Once I had stopped limping after the Highlands Sky debacle, I decided to join JL Brown, Jim Fisher, and Jason Balko for one of their crazy Wednesday night runs at Coopers Rock, and I quickly became an S&T regular. More than six years after I had left Corvallis, OR, I had forgotten how much fun it can be to run with other people, and I learned a lot from these guys. Most importantly, their ambitious running schedules inspired me to finally try some proper high-volume training, with my weekly mileage quickly increasing from 20-30 to 60+. And their company (plus that of Dave Hopkinson, who joined later) made running as enjoyable as it’s ever been.

Cheat Mountain Moonshine Madness (CMMM) 50M (August 27, 2010, 7h57, 3rd OA)

What a difference two months of focused training can make! Although I had come down with a sinus infection the week before the race and was still congested and taking antibiotics, I ran fairly well, especially the road sections. I think I even managed to give eventual winner Jeremy Ramsey a bit of a scare early on, but that only lasted until we hit the more technical terrain. This guy can run trails! With better race tactics, I think I could have placed second, but this did not upset me much at all. I was pleased with the way I ran and with the improvement in my fitness and confidence. Another perfectly organized WVMTR race, this time put together by Adam Casseday.

Waiting for the start of the race in characteristically diverse company.

West Virginia Trilogy 50K/50M/13.1M (October 8-10, 2010, 4h50, 1st OA/9h03, 2nd OA/1h45, 3rd OA; Cumulative 15h39, 1st OA)

Winning a race obviously feels good, but I don’ t think this was the only reason I enjoyed the Trilogy so much. This race is just special, and I would recommend it to anyone who has a chance to run it.

This is how it went for three days. Spectacular scenery, brutal climbs, 

and John Logar right behind me. Photo by Joel Wolpert.

 

 And here is Joel himself (middle), by far one of the most talented runners 

I have met and raced. Photo by Dan Lehmann.

Mason-Dixon Madness 50K (December 11, 2010, 3h35, 2^nd OA)

After a bit of a break to heal a hawthorn puncture of my right Achilles, I was back to racing. Running 50K on flat pavement/crushed limestone would have not been my first choice, but I had long given up on Hellgate and I wanted to support the efforts of race co-directors Phil Turk and Dannielle Ripper to put together a local ultra. This turned out to be another race that I ran while being sick. But this time I did not go to get antibiotics until after the race. My plan was pretty simple - to run this as hard as I could, from start to end. I did not bother adjusting my target splits even after realizing that more than half of the race was going to be run on snow. In the end, the logical thing happened. I blew up badly and got caught and passed by Dave Frazier with only about two miles to go. I was happy with the way I gave it all I had, without being afraid of crashing and burning, which I knew was likely to happen. But I knew I had some work to do on my pacing. Most importantly, the race was a big success – I hope they manage to keep it up after missing a year.

 Still feeling strong and running fast at the halfway point. 

But I saw the writing on the wall soon after. Photo by Phil Turk.

Bitter-sweet finish with my son Velko. Photo by Dannielle Ripper.

   

White River 2002

Flashback: I met Nate McDowell in graduate school and went running with him a few times in 2002. My completion rate for these training runs was well under 50%, but I learned most of what I know about ultrarunning while gasping for air and listening to Nate’s casual chatter. I knew he had recently won some important race, but I had no idea who he was competing with, until I recently saw this video.

Ras Rhobell Fawr (November 13, 2011)

Fell races are a nearly perfect antithesis of my running philosophy. First run up the boggy side of a very steep hill at an utterly unsustainable pace, then, just when it is looking like everyone is about to need a CPR, turn around and recklessly hurl yourself back down,  risking a race-/season-/life-ending injury with virtually every step. No meditative rhythm, no runner’s high, and definitely no time to relax and enjoy the amazing scenery. Yet, for some reason, I really enjoyed the fell races I ran this year and will likely be running many more in 2012. Here is a brief illustrated report from the Rhobell Fawr race, by far the slowest 6-miler I have ever run.

 What’s the elevation around here? Having taken most of September and October off, combined with trying to keep up with the leaders for about a mile, resulted in a very slow and painful ascent.

 Don’t mind me! I often look like I am about to collapse when I run these days.

 Descending very slowly, but still about to take what was apparently the most spectacular fall of the race (several people congratulated me on it!) I guess fell shoes exist for a reason, and the Salomon Crossmax are clearly not in that category. Incidentally, the Crossmax have been very disappointing, too built-up even in the neutral version, overpriced for what they are, and only lasted a few months. Time to check out some Inov-8s?

  

This is how it’s done! And by the way, what’s all the fuss about the weather in Wales?

All is well that ends well. Fellow Aberystwyth AC runner Dave Powell caught and passed me while I was down in the mud (literally), so I had to give chase. I would have cruised in with him, had it not been for another runner’s pretty intense smack talk, which made me give it one last push. After the race, the foul-mouthed guy explained with a big friendly smile on his face that he was just trying to make me pull him to breaking an hour. Funny bunch, those fell runners! I finished just ahead of Dave and my 'motivator,' in 1:00:28, ninth overall. Not great, but I had a lot of fun and I look forward to doing this again. Don’t ask me why.

Ridgeway Challenge

Two months after this race, I am still not quite sure what to make of it. It was the longest distance I have run in a single day (officially 85 miles, 87 according to GPS-holders, and more like 90 for directionally challenged dummies like myself), and I was very pleased to not experience any major meltdowns, finish reasonably strong, and gain some confidence that I could (maybe) compete in 100-mile races. But calling my 16h05 finish time anything other than disappointing would be a lie.

My decision to enter this event was somewhat dubious. The course, despite its historic aura, was not particularly appealing compared to the trails in the mountains of West Virginia and Wales that I have been running on. But it was one of only two relatively local races that would give me enough qualifying points for the 2012 UTMB and were not sold out when I moved to the UK earlier this year. Although I never considered dropping out, I found it difficult to stay motivated just by the prospect of collecting qualifying points for a future race that I may or may not do. In retrospect, I should have been much more excited about this race than I was. It was impeccably organized (thanks Anthony, TRA, and wonderful volunteers!), the competition was strong (even if most of the ambitious starters dropped), and the course was much more challenging than it looked on paper. 

I started conservatively enough. As I was chatting with another runner, enjoying a few last seconds off my feet and marveling at the enthusiasm of people who warm up for a 87-mile run, there was a whistle and everybody just started running, leaving the two of us dead-on last. That’s what I call low key!

After the initial frenzy subsided, I moved into fifth position and started comparing the paces of the people ahead of me to what I thought my sustainable pace was going to be. The first three were moving way too fast for me, and the fourth was a bit slower than I wanted to run, so I passed him. This point (about a mile into the race) was the last time I knew how many people were ahead of me. And with the exception of sharing a very strange hour of running with Cliff Canavan-King, this was the last time I could see runners ahead of or behind me. 

Cliff caught up to me during one of my many episodes of staring blankly into my map and trying to figure out if I was still on the right trail/road. We chatted for a while, and he very casually assured me that all runners ahead of us would blow up because they were moving too fast. What a confident guy! He ended up being mostly right too, except for the fact that Nathan Montague ran the second fastest time ever on this course and won by two and a half hours. Wow!

While Cliff and I were leapfrogging and pretending that we were not interested in racing just yet, he also put me back on the right track a couple of times and made me realize that competing in this thing was going to be impossible without prior knowledge of the course and with my poor navigation skills. I tried to ignore this thought for a few hours, while running perhaps a bit too hard on some remarkably sticky mud (how did you do that Nathan?!). But after letting Cliff go at Checkpoint 4, I sat down (something I try to avoid during any long runs) and finally had to face the fact that my competitive drive had quit on me that day. So the rest of the way was a long, dark, hallucinogenic, and strangely enjoyable affair.

Lessons (re-)learned:

1.     I should have paid more attention to the signs of overtraining I noticed about a month before the race. Tim Noakes’ Lore of Running has a very informative chapter on this, including some semi-objective self-assessment techniques. I might have to start using these.

2.     In the future, I will avoid running long races for reasons other than to try to win.  

A picture says a thousand words:

Not really enjoying myself with ~80 miles to go. Courtesy of Ian Berry.

Pacing

It has been a long process (14 years, to be accurate), but the patient approach to running ultramarathons is finally starting to make sense to me. You know, running your own race, not racing too early, staying on top of hydration and nutrition, listening to your body, etc. I used to think this was a bunch of nonsense or just sandbagging. The results speak for themselves: I have run 14 ultramarathons (5 x 50 km, 2 x 40 mi, 2 x 50 mi, and 5 x 100 km) and messed up 11 of these by going out too fast (I also messed up two of the remaining three by getting lost).

In addition to clearly showing that I am a stubborn dummy, I think these statistics may also mean that the ability to find a reasonable pace at the beginning of a race depends more on fitness and the resulting confidence than on experience alone. I noticed that all three races during which I paced myself well came when I was fairly confident that my training had prepared me well for the race distance. And I distinctly lacked this confidence during the other 11. I guess it is impossible to know or remember just how bad your body is going to hurt after you have pushed it way beyond what you had done in training.

So what is the ‘rabbit’ strategy all about then? Panic (“Oh, this is going to hurt. Let’s get it over with quicker”)? Optimism (“Oh, it’ll be different this time, and I am feeling great right now”)? Or are some people actually capable of getting it right (check out this hugely impressive example, which was pointed out by Ian Sharman)?

I am not sure. And I am even less certain about where this leaves me for the 85-mile Ridgeway Challenge this weekend. I have run the first halves of all my races this year fairly conservatively and finished them feeling strong. It would be nice to continue this streak, but then again, I have no clue what this distance is going to feel like.  Think I should ‘put some time in the bank’ early on?  

Overtraining?

Me? Naah. I have not been running nearly enough for this to happen. Or have I?

Ever since finally accepting the fact that I was unlikely to start running ultramarathons successfully with a base of 20-30 miles per week, I have been gradually increasing the volume of my training, while also trying to keep some quality tempo runs in the mix. Now, about a year and ~3000 miles after starting this experiment, I feel like I might have overdone it a bit. Or maybe I have just reached a threshold level of some sort.

On paper, I am not training all that much. After taking it easy for about a month in January, I slowly built up my weekly mileage from about 40-50 to 60-70 (not that impressive compared to this guy, for example). But after moving to mid Wales, I have more than doubled the elevation gain on my long weekend runs, have been racing quite a bit more than I am used to, and have done a much larger proportion of my training on hard surfaces (pavement, forest roads, and very rocky trails). And my body has recently started sending me signals that this is too much. 

Fortunately, I am due to run 85 miles during the Ridgeway Challenge in less than a month, so I am just going to back off right now and call that a long, gradual taper. Hopefully, I have not done any real damage yet, and I can be mentally and physically fresh come race day.

Vitosha 100 km (2011)

All right, so my Vitosha 100 km once again did not turn out as planned, but ultramarathons rarely do so. Here are my statistics:

•  ~106-107 km, including a few ‘bonus’ km with a major hill and some quality bushwhacking;

• 9:48;

• Second overall.

Granted, these look mediocre at best relative to my pre-race goal of running 100 km in 8:30, which based on results from the last 20 years, should have been enough for the win. But in shocking contrast with the quantitative results, I feel really good about my run. In fact, I will go as far as saying that this was my best run ever, both physically and mentally.

The weather was cool before the midnight start, and I might have been the only runner wearing shorts (what’s wrong with you people? ;). I was more excited than I had been in a long time because this race is extra special for me and because I had tapered heavily in the previous three weeks, so I was relieved when we finally started running. Apart from the usual silly sprint off the start line, the pace was pretty relaxed for a while and the mood at the front was light. We even had some support, with an intoxicated voice from a bar reminding us responsibly that “100 km is a really long way!” The lead pack consisted of Dimitar (3^rd in 2010 and looking strong), Slavi (also looking fit), myself, and another young runner, who looked like he was working way harder than he should have been so early in an ultramarathon.

So, we were happily plugging away on the gradual climb through the neighborhood of Boyana,  and I was shooting the breeze with Slavi, when Dimitar suddenly told Slavi to stop talking in order to conserve energy and then took off at what I was pretty sure was sub-7-min/mile pace. The young guy I didn’t know followed him immediately, and they ran together for a pretty impressive low 40-min. 10 km to the first checkpoint. After some hesitation, I decided not to worry about this at all and just stick with my plan to run very steadily and evenly throughout the race. I was pretty sure their pace was not sustainable, and I had no intentions to battle for the lead so early on.

I was able to put down Torq gels and Cliff Shot Blocks pretty easily and felt like I was running efficiently, so I expected to catch the two leaders by the 25 km checkpoint in Kladnitsa. And just before entering the village, I finally saw their lights and easily pulled behind them. They were not running so well anymore, and the younger guy looked like he would be done racing soon. But I decided to stick with them so that we can navigate together the tricky bits of trail and dirt roads around Studena Lake.

By the time we hit the next checkpoint (~32 km), I was ready to start running a bit harder. This next section is may be an 11- or 12-km gradual climb up a paved road and it has killed my body and soul on each of the three previous occasions I had run it. But not this time. It still felt hard, but I ground it out, re-filled my bottle at the checkpoint, and gladly jumped on the forest road leading up to the highest point of the course. There was a good amount of mud and water to plow through and I figured I had a good lead, so I tried to just relax and run smoothly.

In retrospect, this “just relax and run” thing might have worked a bit too well. I remember at some point thinking how great things were going. I was 5+ hours into the race, feeling fine, still pretty strong on the hills. My only slight concern was that it looked like I was going to come a bit short of hitting 8:30 (I was on pace for may be 8:45-8:50). But I was not worried about that. In fact, I was not worried about anything, which is pretty rare for me. And then I realized I was running on the wrong dirt road and climbing the wrong hill. I had one of these moments of cold-sweat paralysis and then started to think hard (well, as much as this was possible with my depleted brain). I did not particularly care if I was going to be passed, but I wanted to rescue the sub-9-hour finish, if at all possible. What followed was a mad dash up and down the hill, trying to find a way to get back on course without backtracking (I am stubborn like that). I tried following a power line, which I knew would take me to where I needed to be, but that just led to re-discovering how hard it is to run through blackberry thickets.

When my common sense finally kicked in, I just reversed and sadly calculated that I had killed almost an hour. After a few minutes of self-pity, I decided that getting through the remaining  ~40 km was going to be extremely tough, unless I redefined my goals. I figured I was at least half an hour behind Dimitar at this point, but I figured I had a reasonable chance of catching him, especially if he had a meltdown and I didn’t. And if I could trick my brain into buying this, I could probably sneak under 10 hours, which would still be an improvement of over an hour relative to my previous runs on this course. So I had another gel and started running as hard as I could. By the next checkpoint (75 km), Dimitar’s lead was down to 20 min. and by ~90 km, it was only 15 min. But by then, I was running out of time and gas, so I just cruised in to the finish and congratulated Dimitar for his excellent run. The guy had shaved two hours (!!!) from his 2010 time, and I know he could do even better. Next year should be fun!

I am generally a goal-oriented person. But missing my goals for this race somehow did not disappoint me. I was very happy with the way I ran and even happier with not rolling over when I realized I had messed it all up. More importantly, the race was a huge success. The course marking was impeccable (getting lost was completely my fault – I just fell asleep) and the checkpoints were excellent. There were 106 starters and 54 finishers, which was more than I remember seeing or reading about in the last 15 years. I think both of these numbers are likely to go up next year. And it was nice to see the recent trend of improvement set by Petur Unjiev (R.I.P.) continue. I hope it takes a sub-9 or even sub-8:30 finish to win next year. And I will do my best to be ready for that.