Quality Juice

“In the sky, there is no distinction of east and west; people create distinctions out of their own minds and then believe them to be true.” - Buddha - See more at: http://quotesnsmiles.com/quotes/calming-buddha-quotes/#sthash.PDrjO4pV.dpuf

 "In the sky, there in no distinction of east and west; people create distinctions out of their own minds and then believe them to be true."- Buddha

“In the sky, there is no distinction of east and west; people create distinctions out of their own minds and then believe them to be true.” - Buddha - See more at: http://quotesnsmiles.com/quotes/calming-buddha-quotes/#sthash.PDrjO4pV.dpuf

“In the sky, there is no distinction of east and west; people create distinctions out of their own minds and then believe them to be true.” - Buddha - See more at: http://quotesnsmiles.com/quotes/calming-buddha-quotes/#sthash.PDrjO4pV.dpuf

“In the sky, there is no distinction of east and west; people create distinctions out of their own minds and then believe them to be true.” - Buddha - See more at: http://quotesnsmiles.com/quotes/calming-buddha-quotes/#sthash.PDrjO4pV.dpuf

“In the sky, there is no distinction of east and west; people create distinctions out of their own minds and then believe them to be true.” - Buddha - See more at: http://quotesnsmiles.com/quotes/calming-buddha-quotes/#sthash.PDrjO4pV.dpuf

Okay, here we go with the obligatory "end-of-year recap and what's on tap for next year" post.  A quick summary would be that I either surprised myself with an unexpectedly strong performance or went down in a heap of smoking carnage.  About 50/50.  Having taken the last month off of running and giving myself some time away from a competitive mindset, I can say I am perfectly fine with a glass half full. The stuff that went into the glass is some dang good juice.  I got to travel to some amazing places with some amazing people, run in some of the most beautiful places in the country, and had freakin' great time.
Even when things didn't turn out quite as I had envisioned, lessons were learned and good times were had.  Except when things sucked, and that's okay. Sometimes you've gotta go through a lot of suck to get to the chewy nougat center of awesomeness, and usually you come out the other side a little wiser and a little stronger than before.

Looking back:
January: Spent two weeks on the island of Oahu in a lil' hut on the North Shore.  Had one of those races where everything came together and managed to run under 24hrs at the HURT 100.  Apparently slogging through the snow translates well to slogging through the jungle.
March: Dropped out of the Antelope Island Buffalo Run 100 at around 35 miles feeling flu-ish.  Not much I could do about that one.
May: A quick trip to Virginia and a redemption run at the MMT 100.  Managed a sub-24 with a 90 minute nap included.  Sleep is important.
June: Made the yearly pilgrimage to Dayton, WY for the Bighorn 100.  Things started off rough but sometimes it just takes a little while to warm up.  Happy to be done in 21:10.  Where the hell did that come from?
July:  Made a run at an unsupported loop around the Hardrock 100 course.  DNF.  Stopped around 55 miles in.  If I had it to do over again I'd probably take a little more time for naps and cookies.  Sleep is important! 
September:  Another DNF at the Bear 100 just to even things out.  Had some mechanical issues in my back and hip.  45 miles in and still on sub-24 pace when I dropped but I'll take a few more years of running over a glorious crippling any day.

The present:
Working on some rehab for my hip and making plans for.....

The future:
2014 is gonna be another burner!  Plans on tap for now include (but not limited to): MMT 100 in May to see if I can make a loop without falling asleep, Bighorn 50 to keep in line with tradition, Ronda del Cims (because it's freakin' Andorra!) in July, and Tahoe 200 in September because it will be nothing short of epic!

And if I end up with a DNF somewhere along the way, that's okay.  Anything is better than a DNS.

Lessons from the San Juan

This is an abridged and much belated report on my "Softerrock100" attempt.  Sorry about the delay, I've been really busy!

A man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn in no other way.
Mark Twain

For the last four summers I have made the trip to Colorado's San Juan Mountains.  Each year has brought a different experience.  I have participated in and paced for The Hardrock 100.  I have made an epic 55 mile, one day trek from Vallecito Reservoir to Molas Pass.  I have spent many hours among the beauty and thin air of Colorado's high country.  It is a place unlike any other and demands to be respected.  It's beauty is intoxicating but it will humble you quickly if you fail to pay attention to what the mountains are telling you

Two years ago, the year I ran Hardrock, my dad set out a week before the race in an attempt to complete the circuit on his own within the 48 hour Hardrock cutoff.  No aid stations, only a short nap in the camper about half way through.  He finished with little time to spare, but he finished.

As the roles were reversed this year with my father being selected via lottery to run the "official" race I thought it only fair to attempt what most have come to call "Soft Rock".  My spin on the challenge was to attempt the circuit with no outside help, aid stations or drop bags.  Upon hearing of my plans (and denied by the lottery once again), Mike Evans decided to join in the attempt.

We decided to start and finish at Ouray for the sake of logistics as my dad would be checking on us at a few select points along the way.  He agreed not to offer any help unless solicited but to act solely as a safety net if anything went awry.  We left Ouray at 4am the Sunday before Hardrock, heading toward Telluride.  

I will forego the suspense and say now that we did not reach our initial goal.  We had a fantastic time "running" through the San Juans, but fell short in our attempt to complete the full loop.  No excuses, it kicked our asses!  Mike ended his journey at Silverton, unable to take in calories.  I stopped shortly after at Cunningham, stumbling, exhausted, and making the decision to stop as a matter of safety.  No worries, the San Juans will be there for a long time and I will most certainly be back at some point to revel in their splendor and subject myself to their relentless tutelage.

The story is not quite over, however.  My father ended up finishing The Hardrock 100 a few days later in 36:10:35.  About 16 minutes faster than I managed two years earlier.  Not only did he run the race faster than I but he also has the distinction of finishing the loop solo.  Dang.  That's one tough Old Goat.

Bighorn 100 Race Report 2013

“Turn off your mind, relax, and float downstream.”
― John Lennon

 I will make an effort to keep this report brief because, well, I have got a lot to do in the next couple of weeks!  That being said, this will not likely be too brief because it was such a rich experience.

On the way to Wyoming with Tawny and Ella

Last week I headed over to Dayton, Wyoming with my wife, dad, mom and the dogs for some relaxing and some running at the Bighorn Trail Run.  I was running the 100 mile, my mother was running the 50k, my dad was on pacing duty for me and my wife was set to crew.  I was really looking forward to this race for a number of reasons.  The Bighorn Mountains are beautiful and rugged, I knew a ton of people who would be there and was excited to chat and run with them, and because this was where I ran my first ultra in 2007.  That first 50 mile ultra changed my life in ways I could never have foreseen.  I have been fortunate enough to be able to return to the Bighorn races every year since and hope to continue that annual pilgrimage for some time.

We arrived in Sheridan on Thursday for pre-race check in and then headed over to the Foothills Campground in Dayton.  The Foothills Campground and adjacent park comprise the staging area and finish line for the Bighorn races.  It was like a family reunion.  Dogs and kids and runner folk from all across the country catching up on life and stories.  For me, the Foothills Campground and the culture that surrounds it for a few days every June is just as much a part of the experience as the actual races held around it.  Awesomeness.

Kris Q and I, setting fashion trends. 

I awoke Friday morning feeling well rested and relaxed.  Unlike many races that start at completely unreasonable hours before even farmers, chickens and donut makers are awake, the Bighorn 100 starts at a merciful 11A.M.  Plenty of time to sleep in, eat breakfast and take in the pre-race energy.   I had no excuses and was very much looking forward to a fun day on the trails.

The Bighorn 100 mile is an out and back course and so the race starts a few miles outside of Dayton for the sake of logistics.  Runners started arriving about an hour before the start.

The national anthem was sung and we were off.  My "plan" was to use the first big climb to warm up and then slowly reel in others throughout the day.  I managed to stick to that plan as we headed up toward Lower Sheep Creek but not without considerable effort.  My energy level and mental state were good but my lower half seemed to be working against me.  My hips were tight, legs felt heavy, and I had a shooting pain in my left foot every time I stepped down.  This all continued as I saw my crew for the first time at Dry Fork aid station at about mile 14.

Cruising into Dry Fork

My wife was there with a new pack and I barely slowed as I checked through somewhere between 15th or 20th place.  Over the  next ten or so rolling miles I was making a conscious effort to gain ground on some of the runners ahead of me.  I was making good time but slowly losing ground to everyone ahead of me and it still seemed like I was running through mud.  It was around mile 25 that I decided to stop worrying about what others were doing and concentrate on having a good time and running to my own strengths rather than set my pace based on others.

Some day I am going to learn that this is what I should be doing all the time.  As soon as I adjusted my mindset to focus on where I was and what I was doing, instead of worrying about others, things really started to come together.  By the time I reached the Footbridge aid station at 30 miles I was feeling strong and ready for the long and steady climb up to the turn around.  I pushed hard for the next few hours but was alone for almost the entire time.  A few miles from the top I started catching runners that had gone out much faster than I.  Game on.

Ready to go after a 48 mile warmup

My wife was again spot on at the turnaround and got me quickly set up with night gear.  I also picked up my dad here who would pace me back to Dry Fork.  I could tell he was excited to go because he took off like a rocket!  I was feeling really good at this point and figured "why not?"  Long story short, we crushed the next 34 miles.  I let my dad lead and the miles seemed to fly by whether we were cruising the downhills or grinding the uphills.  Nobody passed us but we passed quite a few others.  Being able to spend hours on the trail with my father on Father's Day weekend was a real treat and I was grateful to have him along.

Dry Fork Ridge seemed to come around again all too quickly.  My wife was once again waiting and ready to keep me moving.  I spent just a few minutes at the Dry Fork aid station swapping packs and socks before heading out into the very chilly dawn.  It was light enough that I didn't need a headlamp and I was looking forward to the sun coming around to warm things up a bit.

At this point I was in 5th place and was very determined to keep it that way.  I knew the next runner ahead was probably out of reach but had no idea who was behind me or how close they were so I pushed hard the last 17 miles into Dayton and ended up 5th overall in 21:10.  Not bad considering I hadn't done any specific training for this race.

Bighorn 100, DONE! Next?

 In the end I had a great race, got to spend some quality time with family and friends and just had a really fantastic time overall.  As with any long race, there were plenty of ups and downs, lessons were learned and toenails will be lost.  I won't mention everyone here who made it such a special weekend because, honestly, there are just too many to name!  You know who you are and thank all of you for making the Bighorn Wild and Scenic Trail Run such a big part of my life.  See y'all next year!

"SofterRock"

Ordinarily he was insane, but he had lucid moments when he was merely stupid. ~ Heinrich Heine

In less than a week I will toe the starting line at the Bighorn 100.  I am certainly excited for this and will be sure to share some thoughts on my experiences there, but this post is about another project.  After Bighorn I intend to take a lengthy three week rest before attempting "SofterRock". 

The idea is simple, complete the entire Hardrock 100 course in under 40 hours with no outside support.

Why?  Because the San Juan's are incredibly beautiful and because I don't need no stinkin' lottery to tell me whether or not I can run there!  To be fair, I did put my name into the Hardrock lottery this year and would probably be entered in the race if my name had been drawn.  However, not having been selected this year, I have decided to forego all the pomp and ceremony, aid stations and pampering.  Who needs chicken broth and rodeo queen-sized buckles anyway?  Besides, it's only a hundred miles of high altitude, bear ridden, remote wilderness. What could possibly go wrong?

Fortunately, upon hearing of my brilliant idea, Mike Evans was eager to join.  It's always more fun to have company along when things get sketchy, and with something like this there are sure to be some moments of questionable reason.  With the help of my dad we have cobbled together a "plan" of sorts that should provide a worthy adventure.  For the sake of definition I will outline my intentions and the conditions of SofterRock as follows:

Mike and I will start following the CCW route from Ouray at approximately 4am on July 8th, a few days before Hardrock to ensure that we will not be a nuisance to the race and/or racers.  I know, Silverton is the traditional start/finish of the race but for logistics sake it makes more sense to base out of the 4J+1+1 campground in Ouray.  I fully intend to complete every mile of the Hardrock course, just with an altered start/ finish point.  My dad will plan to meet us at Cunningham Gulch and Grouse Gulch, not for assistance of any sort, merely as a safety measure.

I plan to carry all supplies with me from the start.  No stashes, drop bags or  muling.  I am still working out how to carry that many calories without resorting to exclusively "race" food (i.e. gels, powders, etc.), so if anyone has suggestions for easily portable, palatable calories please feel free to share.  I will take a SteriPen for water and a whole lotta' S-Caps.

Well, thats the plan. If you don't hear from me by late July you can assume I have taken up permanent residence amongst the San Juan's, for better or worse.  And for those of you wondering why I have dubbed this event "SofterRock", it's mostly just because "Your Grandma's 5k Fun Run" was already taken.

Success and the MMT 100

“What seems to us as bitter trials are often blessings in disguise”
― Oscar Wilde


I had set two running goals for myself at the beginning of 2013.  One was to place top ten or better in all of my 100 mile races for the year.  This started off spectacularly with a 4th place finish at the super rugged HURT 100, followed by an equally spectacular crash-and-burn-in-a-pile-of-flaming-carnage DNF at the decidedly not so rugged Antelope Island 100.  Hmm...  Now what?

Now off to Virginia to run the MMT 100 is what!  103.7 miles of the rockiest and most technical trail you will find anywhere.  To be fair, there is about 20 miles of dirt road/asphalt mixed in but the remaining 80+ miles make up for this with unrelenting technicality.  Take your eyes off the trail for a second and, "BAM!  On your face, sucka!"  (This happened to me many, many times.)  My revised goal was very simple: finish, no matter what.

With performance pressure off I felt very relaxed the morning of the race.  I was tired, having not slept well for several nights in a row, but unconcerned about much of anything.  I find it fairly easy to be devoid of higher thinking at 4a.m. and this day was no exception.  The first four miles of road rolled by uneventfully.  I was glad I had chosen to start mostly naked as the warmth and humidity of Virginia quickly had me covered in a film of greasy sweat that would last for most of the race.  Eww.

I can't tell you how many times I fell over the next few hours but it was a hell of a lot.  The scenery was beautiful and unique, especially to someone coming from the high deserts and pine forests of Idaho, but I quickly decided I didn't like the scenery as much as I liked keeping my teeth.  I devoted most of my attention to the rocky footing and trying to stay relaxed.  I figured things would smooth out as the sun came up but I was wrong.  The light only served to give me a better view of the finer details of the Massanutten Trail as I hurled myself against it repeatedly.  This would be a recurring theme for the rest of the day.

I hardly stopped as I rolled through Edinburg Gap at mile 12.  My crew of wife, brother and mother were phenominal all day long and kept me moving through aid stations with clockwork efficiency.  I knew I wouldnt see them again for another 20 miles so I settled into a kind of comfortable mental numbness that seems to embody long races.

Party rockin' at Habron Gap.

I percolated my way through the damp morning making a point of not over-thinking anything.  I was here to have fun.  As the miles rolled by I noticed that I was not feeling OK.  I was feeling fantastic, almost euphoric.  The less I worried about "racing" the stronger and happier I felt.  I was having a great time and would continue to do so for a long time.  I clicked off many more miles and aid stations feeling just awesome.  My crew continued to be spot-on and I couldn't help but feel as though I were being handed a gift in the form of a life lesson: HAVE FUN.

Me and Jeezard, rockin' the MMT.

Camp Roosevelt at mile 63 was an especially meaningful point for me as I had dropped here in 2011 due to comically huge blisters.  This time around it was an entirely different story as I blasted through feeling like I was just getting warmed up.  I won't pretend like it was all rainbows and unicorns.  I continued to fall every few miles for the sake of consistency.  I was chafing something awful in some very tender places.  But on the whole I really dont think I have ever felt that good after running that hard for that long and I was having a blast.

Feeling fierce at mile 77.

I checked in to the Visitor's Center aid station at mile 77 vaguely aware that I was in sixth place overall but trying not to think about it too much.  I was looking forward to the next section as night would be falling soon and I could zone out in the beam of my headlamp.  I passed the next two runners within a mile as we ascended the short but steep Bird Knob.  As I cruised through the Bird Knob aid station at mile 80 without stopping I couldn't help but celebrate a little.  "OK Aaron, you are sitting in fourth place with only 24 miles left to go. Time to bring it home."

This, of course, brings us to the part of the story where our intrepid hero is dealt a healthy dose of adversity, humility and general ass-beating.  As mentioned earlier, I had not slept well for the few days preceeding the race.  This fact was going to be made apparent to me very abruptly and with absolute certainty at approximately mile 84. 

Not so fierce at mile 87. At least I got Jeezard to snuggle with.

Almost without warning I started seeing double, stumbling and quite literally falling asleep on my feet.  There is no substitute for quality sleep and there comes a point where no amount of caffeinated gels or Red Bull can deny this truth.  I was passed by another runner shortly before the Picnic Area aid station at mile 87 like I was standing still and knew that I had to take action.  Action arrived in the form of throwing myself to the ground falling asleep at the next aid station. 

What felt like blinking to me was in reality an hour.  I don't think anybody expected me to move from my cozy spot for quite some time, but something clicked mentally and I knew I had to start moving.  I sat up, got some fresh clothes, chugged a Red Bull and somehow found the resolve to start moving forward again.  I kissed my wife and thanked her and my brother for taking care of me and set off into the night, ready to be done for good.

I had spent nearly 90 minutes in my reverie and was now in 11th place.  I found myself surprisingly at ease with this and resolved to enjoy the last 17 miles as much as possible.  I passed no one and no one passed me from that point on.  I finished in 23:26, not bad considering I had made a stage race out of it.

Running alone for the last few hours I had a chance to reflect upon the events of the day.  What was clearest to me was just how fortunate I am to be where I am.  Ten years ago I could not have run ten miles and now I am setting goals that most people will never have the audacity to aspire to.  I have an employer that encourages my running and racing and who allows me more time off than is reasonable.  I have an amazing family who supports my crazy adventures and whom I truly could not do these things without. 

Aside from my wife, brother and mother being the best crew I could ever ask for, I have to mention that my dad was also running and managed to crush the record for the Super Seniors age category in an amazing 25:37.  You read that right, 60 years young and able to crank out a race that most people half his age will never come close to. 

I did not manage a top ten finish at MMT but to say that is not to say that I did not succeed.  I will continue to set lofty, improbable goals not because I know I can achieve them but because they are hard.  To not try for the impossible is the only real failure.

Sticks and Stones...

“I'm allergic to rocks hitting me in the face.”
― Mike Rowe
Two years ago I traveled to Virginia to run in the Massanutten Mountain Trails 100.  I did not succeed in finishing.  Apparently a rugged and notoriously rocky 100 mile race is not the place to test a new brand of socks in relatively unfamiliar shoes.  Lessons learned: There is no substitute for Drymax and a new ride is not always better.  I DNF'ed at just over 60 miles in with massive blisters under my metatarsal pads on both feet.

I made a valiant effort at field surgery but succeeded only in traumatizing the child who was watching me hack away at said blisters with a dirty pocket knife in an effort to save my race.  There are times when the situation cannot be salvaged and the best thing to do is curl up in an ass-ball and admit defeat.  This was one of them.  I made it all of 100 yards out of the Camp Roosevelt aid station before waddling back to call it a day.

While I initially went through the usual self-doubt and second guessing that follows a DNF, I felt somewhat justified when the bottoms of both feet peeled off like slabs of flank steak over the next couple of weeks.  Lessons were learned.

Yup, there's a reason they say "Massanutten Rocks!" I think I remember kicking that rock.  And that one.  And that one...

Fast forward almost two years and I am sitting at #1 on the MMT wait list with a little over a week before the final refund deadline and three weeks until race day.  Unless the universe is setting me up for massive disappointment I should get a shot at redemption.  But nothing worth doing is ever easy and MMT is no exception.  While this race may look easier on paper than some of our mountain races out west, it is a deceitful harlot and is not to be taken at face value.

Massanutten may not be above treeline or have as much elevation gain as some races but it makes up for this by employing a handful of insidious contrivances.  First off, the infamous rocks in Virginia do not move when struck with little piggies and they are countless in number.  The climbs, while not overly long are steep and bountiful.  Lastly, the humidity is so overwhelmingly oppressive that it would be almost comical were one to be an outside observer rather than a willing participant.

All said, my plan going into this race will be very simple: I am going to leave the MMT course by crossing the finish line or by being dragged un-cerimoniously over some very pointy rocks.  That is all.

Old Goat Gets Lost, Finds Margaritas.

The following is a guest commentary featuring some recent ultra length Adventure runs in the Grand Canyon by Old Goat, highlighting some of the many fantastic options available outside of the traditional "R2R2R" -Adventure Boy Man

Report of Old Goat Sighting in Grand Canyon

Don’t do it.  Don’t go to the Grand Canyon to trail run.  Just say NO!  Once you do, you will be hooked, always needing another “fix”.  

Back in the spring of 2007, I did my first Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim.  That should have been good enough.  A fantastic adventure.  Time to move on.  But no.  Every spring and fall since then, I need another shot of the “Big Ditch”.  I admit my addiction.  Maybe there is no hope for me.  Eight R2R2R’s and various other “Grand” jaunts have only whetted my “Canyon Lust”.  My tastes are evolving though.  I’m starting to look beyond the mule-pee puddles and tourist-filled trailheads of the corridor trails. 

My latest adventure, with spouse Pat, explored several South Rim trails on the east end of the park.  We spent a day driving there from Pocatello (650 miles/11 hours), a day jaunting, a rest day, a second day jaunting, and another day getting home.  The first two nights, we scored free camping in the national forest just outside the East Entrance.  The third night we opted for a hot shower and the creature comforts of Mather campground within the park.  Night four was in a Page motel, next door to Pat’s all-time favorite Mexican restaurant that serves bucket-sized margaritas!

Looking upriver from Tanner trail

Confluence of the Little Colorado

Jaunt #1:  Tanner and Beamer trails.  Pat did the Tanner Trail, Rim to River and back, a distance of 16-ish miles.  I tacked on the Beamer Trail to the Confluence of the Little Colorado.  Round distance for me was 35-ish miles (maybe more, depending on your source).  A frosty sunup start at the Lipan Point trailhead.  Temperature was in the low 20’s on the rim, but quickly warmed as the sun rose and the trail descended.  River elevation is slightly  more than 4,600’ below the rim.  Though both trails are classified as  unmaintained wilderness trails, I considered them good, sometimes rough, easy to follow tracks, mostly runnable, at least on the downhill!  The Beamer Trail sees less use, is sometimes vague, but has a gazillion cairns marking the way.  It endlessly weaves in and out of small gullies and canyons, making upriver progress slow.  The only water source for both trails is the Colorado River.  My extremely enjoyable day took me about 11 hours.

Looking downriver from Beamer trail

Cottonwood Creek

Jaunt #2:  Grandview and Tonto Trail to Hance Rapids.  Pat declined to go along with me on this outing, saying something about “being smarter than a mule”.  She had a fun day going down Grandview Trail and exploring Horseshoe Mesa.  I went down Grandview, off the west side of Horseshoe Mesa and down to Cottonwood Creek.  Something about even a trickling little stream in the desert seems like an exotic oasis.  I continued east on the Tonto Trail, contoured into Hance Creek, then a long gradual downhill trail to Hance Rapids on the river, about 16 miles from the start.  Plan A was to continue up the New Hance/Red Canyon trail, 6.5 miles back to the Rim, where my chauffeur awaited.  From the river, no signs or cairns marked the route, only sparse foot tracks leading south up a broad sandy wash.  I was about 99% sure I knew where I was and kept marching.  About a mile from the river I was surprised to come across an elderly man sitting in the shade, making a drawing of the vista before him.  To my question as to if I was on the New Hance trail, he replied, “Absolutely not!  This is Papago Canyon.  I’m with a Sierra Club outing.  Our trip leader is very experienced and is exploring this dead-end canyon with the rest of the group.”  Damn!  What to do?  Risk getting lost and/or spending a night in the Canyon, or turn around and retrace my route.  I headed back the way I had come.  Back on the Tonto trail, I passed a group of backpackers.  “Anyone know where the New Hance Trail is?” I asked.  Yes, they had come down it.  Yes, I had been on the New Hance Trail when I met the old man!  From Hance Creek, I took a shortcut, the Miner’s Trail, back up to Horseshoe Mesa, then the steep climb to Grandview trailhead.  I had to road-run about four miles to where Patient Pat was waiting for me, arriving about three hours later than planned.  Awesome adventure.  Total distance; about 35 miles.  Time; about 10 hours.  Lesson learned; never trust old men on Sierra Club outings!  Next trip, New Hance Trail.

Looking upriver towards Hance Rapids

I hate jogging.

"Act like a horse. Be dumb. Just run." --Jumbo Elliot
 

Now, wait.  Before you send me hate mail or call me a hypocrite, hear me out. 

 I don't have anything against joggers.  I'm not opposed to hikers, walkers or back-of-the-pack amblers either.  In fact, I have respect for anyone who makes an effort to be active and get their carcass moving in an attempt to be be a better person. Swimming, bobsledding, crossfitting or whatever, I truly believe that making even a small commitment to fitness of any sort gives a person back countless gifts.

What I mean is that I hate jogging as opposed to running.  Whether I am racing, training for a race or just out for the enjoyment of it, I find that I am happiest when I am pushing myself to the edges of my physical limits.  Lung-bursting, snot-dripping, ohshitifelldowngetupgogogo running.  I want to feel worked like a coal mine mule by the time I am done.

Jogging is different.  Jogging is composed and orderly.  Jogging for me is the equivalent of being a doggalo walked on a leash at the dog park, never getting a chance to bolt after that damn squirrel. Driving a Corvette around school zones at 20mph. Reined in.  Myeh.  It does not make me feel whole like running does.

For the last few months it seems like I have been consistently recovering from racing, illness or minor injury.  I haven't been able to run like I want to.  Presently I am nursing a minor calf strain. While I can get out and hike and jog slowly, I cannot go past about third gear.  I know that I will prolong my recovery if I do.  So very frustrating.

So for now I am a hiker and a jogger.  Not by choice but because I want to run again as soon as I can.  I really do like joggers.  I just hate jogging.  And horses.  They creep me out.

The hardest part...

“Waiting's exhausting.”
―Toba Beta

On Easter morning my father and I took a run/hike to the top of Indian Mountain.  We started in the dark with the aim of getting in a few miles, some vertical and catching the sunrise from the top of the peak.  With a pack of doggalos in tow we moved along at an easy pace through the cool morning. The last mile or so is quite steep and I made a game of trying to race Ella.  I didn't stand a chance.

 I arrived at the top a couple minutes ahead of my dad and was soon voted most popular as I handed out snacky-snacks to the four legged runners.  My dad followed shortly and informed me that I was not at the "very tippy-top" and that we needed to hurry if we were going to get there in time. A hundred yards south and two and a half vertical feet later we apparently topped out. 

I don't know if his timing is really as impeccable as my father might lead some to believe but we waited there for a total of about thirty seconds before the sun peeked over Bonneville Peak to the East.  Impressive.

So many things seem to be going on in my life right now and I often feel I need to be hurrying to do, well, everything.  I have gotten pretty good at cultivating a sense of urgency.  Maybe someday I will have the wisdom and experience to realize that sometimes I am right where I am supposed to be.

And always bring snacky-snacks.

Reset Button

“We often need to lose sight of our priorities in order to see them.”
― John Irving

 On Tuesday evening the doggalos and I started a run up City Creek with no particular destination in mind.  I had been half listening to Pandora when Beethovens "Ode to Joy" came on. It is one of my very favorites. When it was over I turned off my music, made a conscious note of how relaxed and serene I felt and immediately turned straight up a ridge that I have never been on before.

It was really steep. There was no trail. It was fantastic.

Sometimes we need a reminder of why do the things we do, and it seems that doing something for no reason at all is often the best reminder.

Sometimes you get the Buffalo, sometimes you get the horns.

If only Friday's Antelope Island Buffalo Run 100 mile had been about 80 miles shorter I would be writing a  different report. As it stands, I am trying to fish the bright side out of a big fat DNF.

While I didn't feel nearly as sharp for this race as I did for my last race in January, I was reasonably sure that I could finish close to my time from last year. I had a solid race plan and was well rested. I was relaxed and ready to roll at noon on Friday when the 100 milers started into the cold but relatively sunny course. 

Within a few miles I was cruising along with a revolving pack consisting of Tomokazu Ihara, Matthew VanHorn, Craig Lloyd and Robert (Bob) Meuller. The banter was friendly and I was content to mostly cruise behind and listen. Matt chose to do the loop first while Craig, Bob and I headed out to the Elephant Head out and back to get our Bieber stickers. I didn't feel great but figured it was early and that there was still plenty of time to settle in.

Bob pushed a steady pace up the switchbacks with Craig and I tucked in behind. I felt like I was working really hard to keep up but tried not to let it show. Matt was right on pace as he joined up with us again just before mile 15. We all broke up a bit as we passed through the S/F aid station around mile 19. Then things started to get ugly.

Over the next 10 miles my energy level steadily dropped as I tried to convince myself otherwise. There was nothing wrong mechanically or fuel-wise. I was taking in steady calories and fluids but felt like death. By the time I hit the Ranch I was pretty much reduced to walking. I (slowly) hauled my sorry carcass back to Lower Frary and called it a day.

In the end I got to run a few miles with some great people, watch my father finish his first sub-24 100, hang out with some old friends and make some new ones. Since then and up to now I am still not feeling too well and have to tell myself that I made the right decision. I've had a string of pretty successful races over the last year and a half and am not going to let one bad day get me down.

Not to mention I'm really excited about my upcoming schedule. It's gonna be huge!

Herding the Buffalo!

I do a fair amount of solo back-country running. It's not unusual for me to have a 30 or more mile day, blissfully traipsing through the woods all on my lonesome. I enjoy the freedom and solitude of running light and relying on my own skills and abilities to get me where I'm going.

That being said, when it comes to race day I usually switch gears and put a huge amount of trust in my crew to get me to the finish line as quickly as possible. I'm lucky enough to have a family that supports my running and racing and I can usually sucker one or more of them into cracking the whip. While this is decidedly a benefit, they may be getting a little too good at it. I used to be able to lollygag and talk my way into a good 15 minutes or more at any given aid station. These days I'm lucky if I can squeak in a measly five minutes!

Are you bleeding? Are you broken? Then get the

hell out of my aid station!

Take my dear, sweet wife for instance. She probably cost me at least a good hour of comfort and respite at the HURT 100 earlier this year by unrelentingly sticking to my race plan, despite my obvious distress. Yes, I told her to kick me out and get me moving with all urgency. But that was before I was 60 miles deep. That was before the reality of another 10 hours of running had eclipsed the pre-race fantasy of me gliding through the jungle like some magical gazelle-Tarahumara hybrid.

What does this have to do with herding buffalo? Well, the Antelope Island Buffalo Run 100 mile starts at high noon this Friday and, to be honest, my training has been comprised mostly of yard work and recovery calories for the last eight weeks. This isn't to say that I won't give it my all come race day but the results will be interesting to say the least.  The one thing I'm not worried about is that my "crew" will be there to crack the whip and herd the buffalo with incessant efficiency.

Bring it on!

Altra Zero Drop Ambassador

I am extremely excited to announce that I have been selected to be a part of the Altra team as an Altra Zero Drop Ambassador!
I have been running in Altra shoes exclusively for almost a year now and the difference has been amazing.  After being plagued by foot injuries (PF, achilles tendonitis, neuroma) off and on for years, I have finally found a shoe that works with my feet.  Healthy feet means I can train harder and run happier. 
I am looking forward to representing a company that is redefining the way we run. If you haven't checked out Altras yet get a look at their fantastic products or check out their blog for a look at some of the incredible Altra athletes.

Beware The Buffalo!

Two weeks out from the Antelope Island Buffalo Run 100 Mile. Going in with a slightly different taper style, courtesy of Super Canadian Gary Robbins. Should be a fantastic event! Check it out at http://www.buffalorun.org/