Race Report: 2009 Leadville Trail 100

THUMP – THUMP – THUMP – THUMP. Long strides carry me quickly down the rocky jeep road. Landing gear extended, flaps down. I’m starting the final approach to Twin Lakes. It’s coming up on high noon. Sweat pours from my skin as the Sun’s intense rays do their best to wrap around my body and wring out every last drop of moisture. Legs that have been on the go for over seven hours are feeling tired. Tired of jogging. Tired of holding back. Two runners that I had been following take a wrong turn on a steep switchback, and though quickly corrected, my calm and methodical approach to the day that I had adhered to so carefully gets kicked to the curb for an instant.

I jump into the lead of our little group. And RUN.

Completely letting go of the reins.

The muffled clanging of a cowbell fights its way through a thick blanket of pine branches to reach my ear. Like pouring gasoline on a fire, the sound drives my legs harder. Faster. Then the honk of a car horn. Cheering. More scraping and crunching of shoes on dirt and rocks trying to simultaneously propel and maintain control down the steep grade. Quiet again as the trail veers away from the sounds of the aid station. Just breathing and footsteps now. Was it a mirage? Another switchback, heading east. Clanging, honking, cheering getting louder with every step. The bucket of adrenaline inside my chest lay on its side. Contents flowing outward in all directions carrying a dam-bursting rush of electric current to my extremeties.

I was flying!

A final stride launches me out of the trees onto a bluff high above the aid station. A sea of cars, tents, bikes, dogs, runners, volunteers, crews, and spectators spreads out below. The yelling-clapping-clanging-honking is dumped into the blender that is my brain and gets whipped into more adrenaline. My visceral reaction is to of course run faster. This output increases the noise; the crowd, used to seeing staggering heat-zapped zombies, senses they have a live one here. Cheers fueling adrenaline, adrenaline fueling cheers. Happy to stay upright as I negotiate the final steep switchbacks, I cruise sweaty and breathless into the mass of people and find the entrance to the aid station. Six! Four! Zero! Checking in.

This is the Leadville Trail 100.

A race that is a juxtaposition of shoulder bumping and leapfrogging on dark crowded trails, to vast stretches of lonely territory without another soul in sight. From Carnival, to Walden Pond. Fast cruising on level pavement, followed by climbing up pitches so steep your toe joints will ache from trying to claw into the dirt as your hands reach for nearby aspen saplings to assist with the ascent . Moving so slowly it feels like the first sprouts of moss are taking hold on your northern aspect. There is heat, if 81 degrees qualifies. I am now one hundred percent certain that it does at over 12,000 feet in elevation, with no cloud cover, and no breeze. There are rivers to wade through, and there is dust. And precious little air to fill your lungs.

The reward for making it this far in the race is to keep your back turned on the town of Leadville, now some 40 miles behind you, and run towards the base of the biggest climb of the day.

The road leading me to this point was a LOT longer than 40 miles. More like six thousand. When I started running two and half years ago, finishing a 100 mile race was the goal. I checked that off the list in fairly short order that same year with a 32+ hour grind through the mountains of Idaho. My first experience with a rolled ankle would see me limp along during a freezing snowstorm taking 7 hours to cover the last 15 miles. While elated to have my first 100 mile finish, I was left wanting and knew I could do better.

Enter Leadville.

When folks in Colorado hear that you run ultras, Leadville becomes the #1 topic of conversation. At least here on the Front Range, Leadville is the ultramarathon. Living only 2 hours from the course, it seemed a logical choice for my next 100 mile attempt and I found myself at the starting line in 2008. Somewhat undertrained, probably a little over-raced, and not as prepared as I should have been. I thought I could just cruise through and finish no problem. Handily snagging the BIG buckle for a sub-25 hour finish along the way.

I gave it a shot, ultimately dropping out at mile 77 for a multitude of reasons. All of which seemed really good until I realized I still had 9 hours on the clock. I hadn’t done my homework. I trained hard on climbs and hills, but failed to run really long distances. I didn’t practice running at night. When crunch-time arrived, I convinced myself I was more interested in a good finish, rather than just a finish. What a crock! That kind of attitude couldn’t be further from the spirit of ultras that had drawn me into doing these races since I had first become aware of their existence. I had given it damn near everything, but not quite everything. As I squirmed in the front seat of my car in the darkness after dropping out, trying to sleep with massively aching legs and a broken spirit, freezing cold as the snow and rain pelted the windshield… scratch that. As the snow and rain pelted the runners out in the night… still making their way towards the finish line in what was, by general consensus, the worst weather in the race’s 25 year history, giving it everything. I had plenty of time to think. I knew I would be back. Stronger. Faster. Lighter. And with a much improved attitude. I would show the race the respect it deserved and demanded. I would do my homework. I would train harder than I ever had in my life.

I did.

After some time off due to injury rehab, and still far from 100% healthy, I set out on my journey of training for Leadville 2009. Due to my strained achilles, I couldn’t do much climbing or speed work. What I could do is run at a moderate pace for a really long time. That became the foundation of my new training philosophy:

Beat the crap out of your body, as gently as possible.

I piled up run after run in the 20 to 35 mile range. Always two, and sometimes three per week. At night, or in the rain. In the heat of the day, or while tired from a previous run or long day at work. Mostly alone, my iPod providing the soundtrack. It worked. I felt myself getting stronger as the weeks went by and running for hours on end at 9:30 pace became routine. I did my homework. Making three trips to Leadville to run parts of the course. I practiced taking in the calories I would need to sustain myself over 100 miles, tested different means of carrying water, rotated through many pairs of shoe and sock combinations. All in an effort to arrive at the starting line as prepared as I could possibly be. At all times with the image of my arm extended into the darkness while my wristband was cut off last year flashing into my mind.

1:57

The Indiglo button on my watch let me know that I had 25 minutes until the alarm would sound. Sleep had not come tonight. A dull headache from the altitude had prevented me from going under until sheer exhaustion finally prevailed at two in the morning. At 2:22 I disabled all three alarms before they went off. Shoved my tent and sleeping bag into the back of my car, and coasted out of the campground. It was showtime.

The party was in full swing as I parked just off the main road through town and made my way to the starting line to sign in. Music blasted through the streets. Lights and generators buzzed. Runners and crew members milled about talking in excited voices that were several decibels higher than necessary, like people get after two or three beers in their system. I was guilty of the loud voice as well, greeting friends old and new, wishing each other well, soaking up the vibes.

Gone were the rain and freezing temperatures of last year. It was a beautiful morning with a perfectly black sky. Standing in the 6th row, I switched on my headlamp and stared at the spot of light it made at my feet. Feet that would start moving with the sound of a shotgun blast and would not come to a final stop until covering 100 miles to get back to this exact same place, hopefully before sunrise the next day.

Race start. Photo credit: Rob O'Dea

A deep breath. Shake out the arms. Rotate the head to loosen the neck muscles. Relax. Eyes flicking to the digital clock on the nearby scaffolding every few seconds. Tick. Tick. Tick.

BOOM!

With a huge yawp 504 pairs of feet started running west. Out of town. Into the night. Into the unknown.

Immediately my legs adopted the familiar trot that had been the norm for many weeks now. The first aid station was 13.5 miles away, and I would arrive there shortly after dawn. There was no hurry at this point and I enjoyed running in the darkness for many miles along the shoreline of Turquoise Lake. Making sure to look back when I had the chance and take in the magnificent scene created by hundreds of lights snaking their way along the path in a single-file line.

Soon the May Queen campground came into view, meaning just a short time to make the aid station. I arrived in 2:20, eight minutes faster than last year, but at an easier effort. Just right. All systems go.

I bounded across the wooden bridge that signals the start of the Colorado Trail section. The same spot where I had taken my family hiking two weeks earlier for our last summer outing before school started. My thoughts drifted back to that day, and especially to the determination of my youngest daughter to climb the steepest parts of the trail on her own, with just a single handhold from dad. Now six years old, born with Spina Bifida, she wears molded plastic braces on her lower legs to assist with walking and balance. In all of our previous hikes, I would carry her up the hills and over the rocky parts. That day was different. She was going into first grade after all, and would do the climbs on her own now – thank you very much. I couldn’t help smiling proudly as she held my hand and we made our way steadily up the very steep and long hill that was the final obstacle between us and our destination of Timberline Lake. Passing other hikers that were needing a break to catch their breath. You go, girl.

Jessica hiking her way

I began the climb up Sugarloaf Pass in the light but as yet sunless sky. One thing was readily apparent, today would be very hot and very dry. The normal mountaintop contest for domination between Sun and Clouds would not be in the cards, giving the Sun an uncontested victory for now. The next few hours passed in a consistent fashion. Gel or bloks every 30 minutes, salt capsule every 60, suck down plenty of water – but not too much. Hike, run, jog, repeat. I was 13 minutes ahead of last year’s pace at the next aid station (Fish Hatchery – mile 23.5), giving the wooden sign there a confident wink as I exited and imagining the moment later that night when I would run past it again at mile 76.5 to pick up where I had left off last year.

15 down, 85 to go.

With some time to kill the evening before the race, I had driven out to this location to sit and think for a while. I pictured what it would look like the next day, full of activity and sounds. With dreams being crushed for some, and fulfilled for others. I pictured myself running strongly past that sign, quickly refilling my supplies, and then pressing onward through the night towards the finish line.

You're not getting my wristband this year...

I also spent some time thinking about the four soldiers that had been killed in a helicopter crash earlier in the week on the mountain high above where I sat. Thinking of them and so many others who truly had given their all – allowing me to be here doing what I love. The guys who died in the Blackhawk were part of an elite group out of Fort Campbell, Kentucky called the Night Stalkers. Assigned to the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment. With them in mind, and also for the more traditional meaning of the word, I took a sharpie out of my bag and wrote SOAR across the knuckles on my left hand where I could look at it during hard times in the race and draw strength. And keep perspective.

After my adrenaline enhanced trip through the Twin Lakes aid station, it was time for a system check. Mile 40. Calories? Decent. Hydration? Trying, but falling behind. Salt? Seems ok. No cramping. Stomach? On the edge at times, still hanging in there. Pace? We’ll see.

Hope Pass.

Pope Hass. Opehay Asspay. Any way you slice it, this climb is tough.

Taking just over 7 hours to come this far, I would need another 7 hours to cover the next 20 miles to Winfield and back. It was hot and the trail is very steep. I felt terrible at first, but knew my body just needed a while to adapt to the new pace and different type of effort. Slowly I climbed, feeling like I was dragging an anchor behind me. Trying to find the sweet spot between pushing hard enough, and pushing too hard. I knew that I was now 40 minutes to the good compared to last year’s pace, and if I could just break even on this next section I would be fine. This is when thoughts of The Buckle started to creep into my head.

I debated in the days leading up to the race about whether or not to ‘go for it’. I really didn’t have any prior indication to make me confident that I could do it. Just a feeling that I could run at about 25 hour pace. I decided that I was at least in good enough shape to take a shot at it. The plan was to run conservatively and see if I could make it to the halfway point in 11 hours, giving me 14 for the return trip. Many people advise going out in 10, but I knew 11 would be the way to go for me. It would sometimes make for a tense day as I kept hovering just above or just below the splits I had calculated, and I would have preferred having more of a cushion, but it sure made things interesting. I hit Winfield in 11:02 and in 90th place – working my way up from 239 at the first aid station. Game on.

I lost a few spots on the climb up the back side of Hope Pass. It’s just so incredibly steep, I don’t worry about what others do and try to manage it the best that I can. Coming over the pass is such an incredible sight – about a half mile below you can see the minimal aid station, with tents and smoke from a campfire. Llamas graze out in the open, their work done the previous day hauling all of the gear up to that point. It would be a great place to hang out and linger, but the finish line awaits. Leadville is a barely visible smudge at the base of some mountains way out on the horizon. A jaw-dropping sight, really, but one you don’t want to dwell on too long as the cold reality sets in. Long way to go. Best to keep moving.

I passed everyone that had beaten me up the climb as I ran the long and steep descent back to Twin Lakes. I caught up to Hans, the retired doctor from Germany who now travels the country running 100 mile races. “Hans! What number is today’s race?”. “One Hundred Thirteen”, came the accented reply. Awesome.

Coming into Twin Lakes for the second time felt nothing like the rush I had experienced earlier in the day. There was still a big crowd, and it was great to hear the cheers – but I was all business. Mile 60. 14:38 elapsed. As the sun was going behind the mountains, I took what I had planned on being my longest stop. Time to get ready for the night ahead. Finished with river crossings now, change shoes and socks. Thank you feet for holding up so well. A fresh shirt, gulp down a cup of noodles. Two cups of coke. Headlamp, spare batteries, iPod. Yep, yep, yep. Six! Four! Zero! Checking out.

Another long climb awaits, but this one is more gradual in nature. Cool evening air, and forested singletrack. What a great place to be! With over 200 runners dropping out of the race up to this point, human contact was much less frequent than earlier in the day. With no crew waiting on me, or anyone muling my gear, it was time to put on the tunes and cruise. Stars dotted the sky while my headlamp cast a beam of white light down the tunnel of trees.

I looked forward to the miles of gradual descent that were ahead, knowing that as bad as I sucked climbing over Hope Pass, this is where I would excel. This is what I had trained for. Time could be made up, if you had the legs. While many people began to walk more and more frequently, even on perfectly runnable terrain, I did the opposite. Long stretches of running broken only by a stop at an aid station or a quick break to water the plants.

I ran well for a long time, but faltered a little as I reached pavement again. To be expected, I guess, after moving under your own power for such a long time. I walked for a few minutes and then gathered myself for one long running push back to the Fish Hatchery aid station. I checked my watch as I arrived. The experience of a night-time training run covering the final 23 miles a couple of weeks earlier told me that I wanted at least 6 hours to finish from here. I arrived at 18:42 elapsed time.

The sub-25 buckle was still within reach, but I didn’t have any slack to play with.

As I checked in to the aid station, I heard someone ask if I wanted a pacer. I declined, but the offer came again. I shrugged and said, “Sure, I’ll give you a tour of the final miles”. Jim had flown out from Minnesota to pace his friend and training partner, but his friend had suffered an injury taking him out at mile 40. So, there he was all dressed up and nowhere to go, so to speak. He had never paced anyone before. I had never used a pacer in 14 previous ultras. We were a good match.

The last major obstacle was soon in our sights. A big, steep hill known as powerline. I struggled, taking 1:20 to do the climb that was normally done in 50 minutes without too much trouble on fresh legs. I kissed the idea of getting the big buckle goodbye. Happy to have come this far and gotten this close. I felt sorry for Jim, stuck with a slowly moving slug like me.

Once we crested the top, I started jogging. It only lasted a few feet, but then I walked a few seconds and tried again. It took several tries, going a little longer on each one, but soon I was loosened up and cruising down the trail again. Nice! It was good to have Jim’s company and we talked the miles away, hitting the final aid station with just over 3 hours remaining to come in under 25. 13.5 miles with a fair bit of climbing. Not going to make it, I said, but let’s see how close I can get.

Then we did the math with six miles to go. Hey, this just might be possible after all. I sped up and was running steady on the long straight road taking us back to the railroad tracks outside of town. Every minute or two I would speed up a little more until we reached the bottom of The Boulevard. 3 miles left, all uphill. Starting out steep and rocky, the grade mellows and the surface improves. Dreaded by most, I loved it. I ran it all as hard as I could. Jim ran 5 feet ahead and just off to the side, keying off my speed and never letting me close the gap. I was still going faster, now in full stride thinking there was no way I was putting myself through all of this and missing my target by just a few minutes. I smiled as Jim’s breathing became more labored, his Minnesota lungs working to hold the pace at 10,000 feet.

With two miles to go, I surged even harder. Like a boat planing across the water, my feet felt as though they were barely even touching the ground. It was amazing. I ran all the way to the line, punching the air and letting out a yell as I broke the tape they held out for every finisher. That felt good! 24:44. 55th place.

High fives and hugs ensued. I was incredibly happy. The sky was as black as I had left it the day before. A perfect ending. I had buried the ghost of Leadville past, and danced on the grave.

Leadville

The Leadville Trail 100 mile race was a huge success for me.  Finally feel like a ‘legit’ runner after this race.  Stay tuned for the details…

1061 hours, 6100 miles of running over 2.5 years in the making.

My aid station placings: 239, 198, 147, 97, 90, 76, 67, 63. Hit the line in 55th out of 504 starters, ~270 finishers.

Race Report: Utah Valley Marathon 2009

After 2.5 years of running and over a dozen ultramarathons ranging from 50K to 100 miles and two trail marathons, it seemed like a good time to try a traditional road 26.2 miler.  The Utah Valley Marathon was a race of convenience for me, as we were visiting Utah at the time and the finish line was only a few miles from where we were staying.  I hadn’t done any marathon-specific training other than two 10 mile tempo runs since my Sage Burner/Growler 50k trail race and 64 mile mtb race weekend 3 weeks ago.

Other people sometimes think that I would scoff at doing a marathon after having done ultras.  Quite the contrary, I had total respect for the marathon distance and for those that run them.  I knew it would be an entirely different experience from what I’m used to.

The race was very well attended for a second year event, with over 650 finishers.  I am sure that the USATF certification/sanctioning and being part of the Utah Grand Slam helped those numbers.  The packet pickup line was long and slow, but other than that the organization seemed very good and things went off smoothly.

Based on my recent recovery (still in progress) from injury and also the big race weekend and corresponding lack of long training runs, I hoped I would be able to squeak under 3:30 and set that as my goal.  In the back of my mind I knew that if I had a really good day I could maybe approach the Boston Marathon qualifying time for my age group (3:20:59), but probably wouldn’t crack it this time around.  No worries, this was a first attempt and I knew I would learn a lot from the experience.

My eyes popped open at 2:58 in the morning, and I got up 15 minutes later to start getting ready.  I was happy to have slept very solidly, although only 4 hours.  I rested as much as I could on the bus ride to the starting line, and hoped that we wouldn’t be pounded by the frequent rain showers that had been so prevalent over the past few days.

I warmed up and stretched out, happy to notice that my problem heel felt ok.  I started very conservatively, logging my slowest mile right off the bat @ 7:49, overreacted a little with my fastest for mile two in 7:08, then settled into a very steady pace  in the mid 7’s with my heart rate in the upper 150s.

My ultra training helped me the most in really dialing in my nutrition, salt, and fluid intakes.  It all seems second-nature now, and makes a huge difference in keeping the energy levels up for a good steady effort.  I didn’t feel the least bit fast, but I knew I had a very deep reservoir of endurance to draw on.  I just had to keep going and not do anything stupid.

I hit the halfway mark in 1:37:43 with a 159 average heart rate.  I had been taking my splits every mile, but didn’t ever look at them, choosing to run by feel and heart rate.  Pacing was perfect so far.  I would ask myself over and over – can you hold this pace to the finish?  Most of the time I wasn’t really sure, but I was determined to try.

There were a few miles of twisting/up/down bike path to negotiate starting around mile 15.  I upped my intensity through here and started passing people and would continue to do so all the way to the finish.  I was hurting quite a bit for the last 5 miles, but I was surprised to still be holding on to the pace as well as I was.

It was a sweet feeling to hit mile 26 and take off with everything I had left with the cheers of the crowd propelling me to the line.  I crossed in 3:14:55 which was good for 35th place, and was thrilled.  Wow.  I totally blew away my expectations and feel like I could have even gone a bit faster.  I was very happy to get the “BQ” out of the way on the first try, and spent some time soaking up the scene afterwards.  It ended up being one of the best races I have ever run in terms of even pacing and using what I had available to me on a given day.  Sweet.

I nailed a perfect 33 second negative split to boot, running the second half in 1:37:10.  It ended up taking a lot more work to hold that pace as my heart rate averaged 165 for that final section.

BQ!

Results here.

Race Report: The Whole Enchilada (Sage Burner 50K + The Original Growler 64M)

This is a long report, the short summary is here.

I ran in the inaugural Sage Burner 50k last year (see report) and was eager to return and give it another shot.  My interest was ramped up even higher when I saw some fine print on the race website:

Growler Mountain Bike Race – Note: there is also The Growler Mountain Bike Race on Sunday, May 24th directed by 6 x Leadville 100 Mile Mountain Bike Champion, Dave Wiens. Special awards to those who complete both “long” races.

I had heard of the Growler before, but had never given it a second look.  Since I had been riding my bike a bit more than usual this spring as part of my Achilles tendonitis rehab, it seemed like a great opportunity to combine the sports I love and to get in some good endurance training to say the least!

I was excited at the prospect of doing both races and registered for the Sage Burner on the day of my final Physical Therapy appointment.  Knowing that I was still not 100%, but getting better all the time.  I then went to the Growler site only to be met with the message that registration had closed because it was full.  Dang!  Thankfully there was a glimmer of hope offered in the form of sending a message to the race director to see if they could squeeze you in via a waitlist.  A few email exchanges with Dave, and I was in!

With that taken care of, I immediately took stock of the situation.  Could I do this?  I was pretty sure, but had enough doubts to make me a good kind of nervous.  Hadn’t felt that way in a while, and really enjoyed it.  My motivation went way up and I got straight to work figuring out how to get this done.

Never mind the fact that the race was just over 3 weeks away and I was coming off 6 weeks of treatment for my heel with little-to-no running, and my mountain bike was basically a heap.  Oh, it was top of the line back in the day, but has seen a lot of hard mileage and is acting its (old) age.

The plan:

No time to build up and then taper, so I would run progressively longer each weekend to hopefully set up a chance at a decent finish in the 50k.  I would convert my bike to a singlespeed (lots cheaper than replacing worn out shifters, derailleurs, etc.) and try to ride at least 2x/week.

I ended up with long runs of 0-0-0-7-10-15-15-17 leading up to the race.  Before my last race back in Feb., I put in runs of 23-23-20-20-27-30 all in the dead of winter.  A much better buildup, which led to a really good race.

The expectation for the Sage Burner would have to be tempered by some real-world circumstances, then.  The idea would be to use it as training and continue building for the races later in the summer.  That’s easy to say, but I still secretly hoped to have a strong race and maybe beat my 5:14 from last year.

The Growler was going to be all about just surviving and hoping not to embarass myself too badly.  I spotted a local 30 mile race a couple of weeks before Gunnison and would use that coupled with a 15 mile run the day before to function as a mini-simulation for what would be in store for me.  It also gave me a chance to race on the singlespeed and make sure I had all of my equipment and nutrition dialed in.  I had a good experience with that (see report) and it gave me hope that I could finish off the Sage Burner/Growler combination.  In retrospect, though, that simulation ended up being seriously easy compared to Gunnison.  As is often the case, doing an endurance event that is half the distance does not equal putting out half of the effort.  In logrithmic fashion, my little test only amounted to about 10% of the effort required to do compared to the 32run/64bike on a much harder course.

I knew recovery and fueling would be the biggest key to success and planned accordingly.  More on that later.

Sage Burner 50K:

It’s amazing how much knowing the course helps in a race.  Especially a trail ultramarathon.  Even though we were reversing direction from last year, and had a couple of new sections tacked on, I felt really comfortable going to the start knowing what was in store.  I love the course, Hartman Rocks is an awesome playground filled with singletrack and lots of cool rock formations.

It was great to see and catch up with Dave and Tim before the race.  Dave ran last year as well, and was back for more.  It was fun to slap five and encourage each other as we passed on a two lane section about halfway through.  Tim was a last minute entry to this one, but I knew the course would suit him well.  I commented on his blog that there wouldn’t be any slickrock like at Red Hot, but as we ran the first few miles I was shaking my head at all of the granite we were running across.  Somehow I had conveniently forgotten about that…

The race started with a few miles of singletrack climbing.  Weaving in and out of huge boulders and snaking our way upwards.  There were 3x the number of runners this year as last – around 200 total for the 25k/50k combined.  I never really felt like I was stuck in a traffic jam at all, but it was pretty amazing to see how long of a line 200 runners on singletrack makes.  If the hits on my report from last year were any indication, everyone had been doing their homework leading up to this one!

Hits on last year's story leading up to this year's race

I was going out a little faster than I normally would, trying to experiment with that a little bit.  I’ve run my last several races pretty conservatively and was looking to maybe stretch the envelope a little.  Even if it meant taking a hit and needing to back off and coming in with a slower time that I would normally run.  I viewed this as a training race not only in putting miles on the legs, but also in trying new techniques and pacing strategies.  It was time to experiment, push myself, and then deal with the consequences.

Feeling good - third in line in this shot. We started in the valley below.

I felt amazingly good for the first couple of miles.  Hey, this is going to be easy I thought to myself.  Ha – that didn’t last long.  I soon slipped into a low point that would last for the next several hours.  My legs were not tight, not sore, just an overwhelming feeling of deadness.  Like warm flat coke, the sugar and caffiiene were still there, but it sure isn’t any fun to drink.  I felt like I had 10 pound ankle weights on.  It was taking serious effort and concentration to pick up my feet.

I stuck to my nutrition and hydration plan, and told myself just keep running.  I knew from experience that these bad feelings can take a while to go away, but there is always hope that it will get better.  Things weren’t going like I had hoped, but I was still enjoying the time on the trails.

The course is one giant loop, and I turned my attention to thinking about what it was going to be like to ride this sucker twice the next day.  The climbs aren’t too long, but they are fairly frequent and demanding.  There are also plenty of technical challenges mixed in with the miles of fast cruising.  I knew there would be a lot of getting off and getting back on the bike, and made a mental checklist of some things I needed to do that night to get ready.

Course view from Google Earth

I didn’t feel like I was racing much, but just out getting in some miles.  Trying not to get too frustrated with how I felt.  I hit mile 15 right on my goal pace (9:50/mile average), which would normally be a good thing.  Instead, I knew the writing was on the wall and there was no way I could sustain the effort.

I slowed down a bit as we took a trail called the Enchanted Forest.  I got passed a couple of times on the singletrack descent and could not even keep pace.  Normally the downhill is where I run well.  Not today.  I slowed down quite a bit between miles 15 and 21.  Running with an average heart rate of 158 up to that point, but dropping down to 147 for those 6 miles.

I started to rally a bit in the last 10 miles and pushed hard up a long climb to the aid station at mile 26.  I passed 3-4 guys on that section and worked hard to do it.  Turned out to be a good move as I got my bottle topped off with the last of the water they had there.  I was already dehydrating quickly and would have been in big trouble had I not gotten water.  I felt bad for the guys coming in just behind me, but knew my move had payed off.

I felt stronger and stronger the rest of the way to the finish, passing a few more people along the way.  Continuing to cringe at seeing some of the things I would be ‘riding’ over the next day.  I sprinted for the line and was glad to be done.  5:30:37, 17th place out of 65 finishers.

I was initially pretty disappointed with my day.  I went in with visions of running free and easy, cruising to a sub-5 hour time and feeling great doing it.  I’m such a great runner in my head!  Looking back I’m actually quite happy with how it turned out, considering the way this spring has gone.  I hung in there and stayed strong, and got it done.  Good days will come again, and this was a great stepping stone to the future.  Besides, I had to laugh at my stupid thoughts, since when does running 32 miles over tough trails with almost 5,000′ of climbing in 5 1/2 hours equate to a bad day?!?  Just because other people make it look easy, I had to remind myself that just 2 years ago my average pace for this race used to be a hard effort on a flat 8 miler!

Sage Burner Stats:

Sage Burner splits

Course profile

Recovery!:

I shifted gears at the finish and went straight into recovery mode.  First on the list was Ultragen recovery drink, that stuff is liquid gold.  I stopped by the river on the way back to town to soak my legs like I had done last year.  Only lasting 90 seconds back then, I went a whole 6 minutes this time!!  It was excruciating, but well worth it.

As important as continuing with my recovery was, I had to put it on hold to run some errands.  TOP on the list was a 20 tooth cog for my bike.  I had come with a 16 and an 18, thinking the 18 would be just right.  After running the course, I knew there was no way I would survive with an 18.  Your were either going to be grinding uphill, or coasting down.  Better to have the gearing for the uphill grinds.  After scouring every bike shop, I finally scored the last 20T cog in town and was immensely relieved.  The guys at Tuneup were a great help.

I made it back to the hotel, showered, and then hit the pool for a few laps.  Taking time to stretch while in the water and doing some leg kicks while holding on to the side to loosen up my muscles.  Another shower, and lots of nuun to rehydrate and I was feeling pretty good.

I really wanted to lie down and elevate my legs for a spell, but I had way too much work to do.  I hauled my bike and all of my tools up to my room and got to work swapping out the cog.  Only to find that my chain was about 1/2 link too short to accomodate it.  Rats!  I clamped the wheel firmly in the dropouts as far as I could get it to go, then went for a spin back into town to buy a new chain.  With that accomplished I grabbed some dinner at Subway and then rode over to the awards ceremony.  It was nice to see it so well attended.  The handmade pottery awards were very nice and went to the overall and age group winners.

I had to bolt quickly at the end because of a storm and didn’t get to talk to anyone afterwards.  I had to ride back to the hotel in the pouring rain – foreshadowing, perhaps?  Plus I was very anxious to get my bike all straightened out.  Messing with chains, cogs, etc. is NOT ideal the night before a huge race.

The chain worked fine, but I had so much packing and sorting of gear to do, I was up until after 11:00 messing with it all.  Finally feeling like I had everything ready, I tried to sleep.  I slept about 20 minutes, and then would wake up for 20 minutes – all night long.  That sucked.  Just too much going on inside my body and inside my head.

The Growler:

Ready or not, it was time.  My longest-ever mountain bike ride was just over 30 miles (Porcupine Rim) sometime last century.  Now I was heading out into the damp morning air facing a 64 mile ride on a 12 year old hardtail converted into a singlespeed that I had ridden 3 times.  Should I wear flip-flops just to make it more interesting??  Geez.

T minus one minute

I was a little nervous lining up amongst the 200 fresh-legged riders and placed myself appropriately at the back end of the group.  The words of warning in our final email running freshly through my mind:

The Original Growler is only for experienced mountain bikers that possess the skills and judgment necessary to assess difficult and challenging trails and roads and negotiate them in a safe manner.

The Original Growler race course contains difficult, technically demanding, and of course, potentially dangerous, singletrack trails, double-tracks and roads.

The Original Growler course is an isolated, backcountry route that includes numerous sections located in steep and rugged terrain where participants may be hours from medical attention and/or evacuation in the event of a serious mishap.

The long-distance nature of these races, both the Half and Full Growler, emphasizes the importance of adequate preparation, physical fitness and sound decision-making on the part of each participant.

The Original Growler demands an appropriate mountain bike in sound operating condition.

Particularly that last line.  Please bike, hold together…

Boom!  Boom!  With two shotgun blasts we were on our way.

We started together in downtown Gunnison and rolled as a group with a police escort out to the real starting line at Hartman Rocks.  This 4 mile ride worked me over a bit.  With the easier gearing I had put on and the slight downhill grade, I was spinning like crazy for 20 seconds – coasting for 20 seconds – spinning like crazy again.  Over and over.  By the time we got to the start, I felt like I had just done a big set of Tabata intervals!

The lead car pulled off and we rocketed towards the infamous Kill Hill.  Turned into a muddy mess by overnight rain, it was more like Hike Hill.  I opted to get off and hike earlier than most, and passed several people that were still trying to grind their way up the sloppy slope.  The mud stuck to my tires like velcro and built up to the point were they wouldn’t even spin through the frame anymore.  Plus I had about 2 inches caked on the bottom of my shoes.  This was gonna be a long day…  Thankfully most of Hartman’s holds up really well in wet conditions, and while very challenging at times, the mud wasn’t a show-stopper.

Kill Hill - Photo from Sonya Looney's blog.

I kicked all the mud that I could off my shoes and did about a dozen bunny hops to try and get most of the mud off my tires.  My legs felt pretty good, considering.  With my body feeling ok, I knew it would be my mind that would present a challenge.  Looking for something to occupy it with, I decided to play a game called ‘Count the Dismount’.  Yep, I counted every single time I got off the bike.  In Spanish.  That was uno…

I took my place in line on the singletrack and was amazed at some of the things I was able to climb.  Traction was good, the legs were strong, and for some reason the Obama chant of “Yes we can!” came out of nowhere into my head every time I thought I might not make it up something.  Funny.  There were still several spots that required me to quickly dismount and get over, or around.  dos…  tres…  cuatro… Not too bad, but I was glad I had thought to lower my saddle 1/2 an inch anticipating that kind of thing.  It made it a little easier to deal with.  cinco…  seis…

About 10 miles in, I hopped up and over some rocks, bobbled it a little, went to unclip, couldn’t, and fell over into said rocks.  Didn’t need that!  My pedals were extremely hard to get into and out of with all of the earlier mud jamming them up.  A few miles later, it happened again!  Down into the rocks I went, still clipped in laying on my side.  A mile later, you guessed it.  Down again.  Obviously I couldn’t get out of my stupid pedals fast enough.  But why was I having to bail on all of these moves so frequently?  Normally I’m a fair technical rider, nothing outstanding, but I can hold my own.  Today was something entirely different.  I’m not sure if it was the fatigue adding up, lack of sleep, or whatever – but I felt like I was under the influence of some drug with a ‘do not operate heavy machinery’ warning on the label.  My fine motor skills and control were totally missing in action!  I knew that in order to make it through in one piece, I would have to start walking more sections that I would normally try to ride in order to adhere to the ’sound decision-making’ part in the email warning we were given.

I made it in one piece to the start/finish area, knowing this would be one of the toughest moments I would face the entire weekend.  Rain was starting again, I was tired and covered in mud.  People were standing around eating BBQ chicken on sticks!!  I was slugging back cold, slimy gel after gel.  I stayed focused, grabbed some more Liquid Shot fuel out of my cooler, and got out of there in under three minutes.  As I was riding away and beginning the climb again to start the second lap, a guy I was riding next to looked over and said, “How dumb are we?”.  Pretty dumb, bud.  Pretty dumb.

It was lonely out there as all of the 32 mile (one lap) racers had finished, and a lot of the 64 mile entrants called it good after one lap.  I was pushing my 85 pound bike up a steep and narrow trail, slick with mud, falling down, just holding on to the seat with one hand and guiding the bike ahead of me.  Getting frustrated when the front wheel would keep flopping sideways.  I was hitting rock bottom.  I knew my body was just trying to process the huge influx of calories I had taken in at the aid station and tried to be patient while I waited for them to kick in.

Finally past the worst of the mud, I was able to really start cranking up a long and steady ascent.  Until my chain popped off at mile 40.  I knew this could be big trouble if my tensioner was giving out.  I spent a few minutes cleaning mud out from around the cog and from the pulley wheel of the tensioner, hoping that would get me going.  I made it another few minutes and BAM, it popped off again while I was standing and cranking on the pedals.  At least I didn’t fall over this time.  I took a much longer stop and dug my tools out of my pack to try and make a more permanent fix.  I adjusted and tightened the tensioner as far as I possibly could, and backed it up with a zip tie.  What a joke, but it worked!  The whole thing sounded like it would explode at any minute, but got me where I needed to go.  I suddenly went from wanting nothing more than to just quit and be done, to panic at the thought of a DNF due to a stupid mechanical after coming so far.  I hit the trail with renewed effort and although tentative at first when putting pressure on the chain, soon was hitting it with everything I had.

I was pleased to ride several obstacles and climbs that I had walked on the first lap.  I think with the riders much more spread out I was able to concentrate through the fog in my head and execute better moves.  Even to the point of taking a few risks to get the blood pumping a little.  I even climbed a hill that a geared rider couldn’t make ahead of me, and came up on him so fast because I hit it so hard he couldn’t get out of my way in time.  I rammed into his right foot still on the pedal, grabbed my brakes and balanced by turning my front wheel into his rear wheel and holding it there until he could slip out of my way.  I was on a mission!  Tired and wanting to get to the finish kind of mission…

A few miles from the finish, the dump button got pressed on the clouds and the rain came down for real, and a good amount of hail.  I was slogging through the rocks, soaked and freezing, my brake pads almost completely worn away, but still focused on getting this done no matter what.  The wind was blowing hard at an angle and a hailstone blew straight down my ear canal!  Nothing to do but wait for it to melt.

One last swoopy and banked descent and there it was.  The finish.  I clipped out of my pedals for the 128th time and threw my bike to the ground.  Pretty much spent.  Then I realized I still had to ride the four miles back to town.  I took advantage of a small break in the weather and got that done, cleaned up, and then shivered for the next hour.

Glad to be off of that for good!

I enjoyed the awards ceremony and was happy to take first (and only) place in the combined category for doing both the 50K run and 64 mile mtb races.  I got a very nice piece of handmade pottery engraved with the names of the races and a cool round of applause from the crowd.  As I walked away from getting my award, Susan D. (Dave’s wife) grabbed a batman nightlight off of one of the sound system speakers and gave it to me saying here, you’re a crazy man!

Crammed stinky car, sign of a good weekend

Growler stats:

Growler splits (includes 4 mile neutral roll-out)

Growler course profile

Thanks to the race organizers for putting on such great events, and to the many volunteers that endured very long days in the adverse weather to help us out.  I can’t wait to do it again!

Race photos:

Check out the race photos by Gunnison Country Times.  They really give a good sense of the spectacular area.

Sage Burner 25k/50k

The Original Growler 32/64

A Winner of a Weekend

The last time I won an athletic event was a 75 mile road race back in 1995.  That day was the best I have ever felt physically.  I literally felt like I was being pushed up the climbs, it was so easy!  As part of a 5 man breakaway, I made eye contact with my wife who was cheering at the 15 miles to go mark and pointed at myself, then held up my index finger indicating first place.  That was kind of a cocky thing to do for someone like me who is normally pretty shy and reserved.  It’s just that I felt that good…

Back then I had nearly limitless training opportunities, and I was riding my brand new beautiful celeste and chrome Bianchi frame.  What a bike.  Lugged Columbus EL-OS tubing, handmade in the Reparto Corse in mother Italy.  I couldn’t help but ride fast!

That was then...

Fast forward 14 years and I have to resort to taking more of a sideways approach.  To get the win this weekend, I had to complete an event that when roughly 200 runners and 200 mountain bikers were given the opportunity to compete – there weren’t any other takers.  The event I’m talking about is “The Whole Enchilada” category that combines the 32 mile Sage Burner trail running race with the 64 mile Original Growler mountain bike race on back-to-back days.  While I didn’t know it during the races, I was the only one to have signed up for such foolishness.  Like the kid being given a nickel to eat a worm, it didn’t take much to entice me into the stunt.

This is now.

As they say, you gotta be in it to win it, right? I was in it, up to my eyeballs.  I set the bar pretty low by doing the run with a 6 month old serious case of insertional Achilles tendonitis that hobbled my steps.  I did the ride on a 12 year old hardtail converted to a single speed with zip ties holding the chain tensioner in place, pedals that refused to work in the mud, and a completely blown out suspension fork with no rebound damping to speak of.  The record is waiting to be broken!

I got a super cool piece of handmade pottery (that I’ve nicknamed the claret jug) for “winning” as well as some nice recognition at the awards ceremony.  I was really satisfied with the accomplishment and had a great time out on the awesome trails of Hartman Rocks.

Stay tuned for full reports of each race in a few days.  (Update: report is here.)

We spent all day Monday in the mountains as a family having fun geocaching and hiking all over the place.  A freak hailstorm caught us up on a hillside and we had to take refuge in a cave of sorts.  Everyone mostly fit inside, but my back was exposed and I was treated to marble-sized hail filling up the waistband of my pants as I bent over trying to shelter the kids.  Of course they thought it was the best day ever!  My legs held up pretty well, I think they’re just too tired to be sore.

Treasure!

I carried my not-so-light 6 year old up A LOT of stairs today, good post-race workout.

Our refuge for the 20 minute hell storm. Err, hail storm.