Monday, April 29, 2013

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.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

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

Thursday, April 11, 2013

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.

Monday, April 1, 2013

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.