Steamboat Run Rabbit Run 100 Finish

Steamboat Run Rabbit Run 100

I've been behind on the blog lately, with piles of pictures and video (which is very tedious to edit) from various summer mountain adventures that I've been meaning to share, so hopefully I can catch up on some of that soon.

I'll have more time for that during my taper, as I'm signed up for the Inaugural Run Rabbit Run 100 in Steamboat next weekend.

I'm definitely looking forward to it. Mostly, I'm excited to take a pretty chill approach to this race. Here are the things I'm most excited about, which I've placed in a bulleted list following this colon:

• Beautiful course with varied terrain. Course loops through town multiple times, so family/friends/crew can see runners and help out with less stress, and then go about their day by having fun for hours at a time rather than stressful driving all over the place.
• New course == no previous time expectations. I'm going to wing it and have fun and see what happens, no splits to worry about
• Autumn colours: Could be close to peak with early changes this year. I am a fall foliage fanatic. Changing aspens under blue skies are my absolute favourite conditions, and I get out as much as possible into the trees for hiking, running, and biking during these times. J and I have made annual trips to some of the best spots across the state, yet I'm always looking for new ones. And now I can run all day (with occasional food and water stops) in these conditions? Heaven!
• Great race director: Fred and crew know what they're doing, and although I haven't experienced their races yet, I've heard good things and enjoyed chatting with him
• Fringes: Pizza and beer, especially with latter sponsorship including Mahogany Grill and Pateros Creek. The day the Pateros Creek guys told me they were on board was the day I was fully committed to running as well.

And on a more personal level, I'm happy to have my family in Colorado join us for crew and spectating. I'll enjoy having my in-laws cheer me on, but I'll also be able to see not only my lovely wife along the way, but also my beautiful baby niece! How cool will it be to see them when the miles start piling up?

Not only that, but my Dream Team Crew from Western States, Alex and Nora (along with Nora's sister Jill) will be helping out. I owe them as much positive energy and smiles as they give me...and for that, I know I'm ready!

Tortoise and Hare

This race is also a unique, new format in which the racing competition is split into distinct groups of "Tortoise" and "Hare." The Hare group is going to be exciting because there is big prize money on the line, with $40k being distributed amongst winners. The Hare group start time is separate, being 5 hours later. I was skeptical of this, but the idea is that people finish more closely together and it can engender a larger party atmosphere, along with the chance for back-of-the-pack runners to "see" the race up front develop later in the day. Upon reflection, I appreciate this aspect, for although many of the race leaders are great about cheering on later runners, they can only do it for so long. Logistically, it makes sense to compress the amount of time you have post-race activities.

Another distinction between the groups is that Hares cannot have pacers. I do not care for the highly-opinionated rhetoric of those that call pacing "cheaters" and my opinion is that pacing in fact historically has added to the race atmosphere and enjoyment for many, and I've really enjoyed pacing others. I respect those that enjoy having a pacer, and those that want to do it alone for any reason, but mostly I respect the ability to have a choice. So I do think this difference here is arbitrary, as I have also seen that the "elite" runners have had quite a fun time with their pacers as well (and some good stories come out of it).

I also think Hares should get a buckle, and that's my only other contention about the difference between the two.

Giving my honest thoughts on the subject, I'm kind of in a weird spot in between the 2 groups.

I've yet to nail a mountain 100 -- finishing 7-9 hours behind the winners! -- so I hope to run a more even race closer to my potential, and it'll be a fun challenge not to get passed by any Hares.

Mostly, since I do want to run with my buddy Alex, I leaned immediately toward the Tortoise group. Along with that, I like the early start, and I like the fact that over 100 folks have signed up for that wave in an inaugural race. I'm hoping there's a good contingent of folks ahead and around me during most of the race so we can figure this thing out together. I struggled a bit with the idea of finishing in an artificially higher "placing" in the Tortoise group than the Hare, but this isn't about vanity of finishing in a higher place as it is about appropriate competition. In terms of motivation and results, I think the people I'll be running with on a perfect day will push each other to a faster finish than if we were racing for ~30th place in the Hares -- just like Tim Olson's race didn't exactly push me any faster at Western States, but power-hiking up Robie Point with strangers did.

So that's my thought process on that.

This looks like it'll be a fun experiment in many ways, so cheers to a successful Inaugural RRR100!

LT100 2011

Dan Jones, Kieran McCarthy, Scott Slusher, MAH, J, Nora, Mama W

This year's LT100 was my 2nd 100-mile race, and first mountain 100. I knew I would have my work cut out for me with a more challenging course at higher elevations, but was looking forward to the adventure.


Despite bouts of heavy rain and thunder in town the night before, the weather was calm enough for a light jacket and shorts to start the race. This was a relief, as starting in a cold rain would have been tough to manage. My fancy new light North Face jacket and Black Diamond headlamp worked perfectly, but I try not to be too much of a gear nerd because it's just running. It was also cold enough that I donned my alpaca wool hat for the beginning of the race. It doesn't have a brand name or anything on it, but it sheds rain better than cotton, and I bought it in a stall from the woman who made it in Aguas Calientes, Peru.

Now if you're in Leadville, Colorado the 3rd weekend in August, and somehow want to avoid the spectacle of this race, good luck ignoring the blast of a shotgun at 4AM.

With that, we were off and down the road. The advice here is to stay relaxed and easy, avoiding going too fast downhill, as we run several road and dirt road miles to Turquoise Lake. I have no idea what our pace was, but I looked at my watch exactly 3 times before the aid station: 29-something, 59-something, 1:29-something. I planned on taking a gel every 30 minutes, and a cool and underappreciated superpower of distance runners is the ability to estimate elapsed time accurately while running. It's too bad that this skill is utterly useless otherwise.

I had heard that the Turquoise Lake singletrack can get crowded, but from my vantage it was nothing to be concerned about, other than hearing an occasional runner behind with a missed step (worried about them tripping into me) or someone's dizzying bouncy headlamp. It wasn't too difficult to pass if necessary, and we were also reasonably segregated into natural pacing groups. At one point, I stepped off the trail briefly for a bio-break and ended up in a gap between groups, so I had a pleasant 10-20 minute stretch of running alone.

As we went around the lake, I did sneak a few peeks backward to appreciate the stream of headlamps around the lake. More sublime was the mist that had settled over the lake, and occasionally seeing an illuminated runner cast a shadow into the fog and then disappear. Even if I had a camera, my photography skills wouldn't do this any justice, so the image will remain burned in my memory.

A few camping groups greated and cheered us around the lake, and as we neared 2 hours and 13.5 miles, the May Queen aid station came into view. Since this is the first aid station and people are all packed together, I suggested to the girls not to come to this aid station. I think this was a good plan, as they got some rest and were better equipped to make it to Fish Hatchery without the stress of driving in and out of May Queen and trying to find me. However, the May Queen herself (Alex's wife Ean) and Celeste and crew were out here and able to spot me in the crowd somehow, so I felt pumped up by seeing them. I grabbed a few snacks here and more gels, and filled up my 2 bottles, keeping my plan of a bottle per hour.

If you're wondering, 6AM at this time of year is sufficient to ditch the headlamp. I wondered about this but then decided to transport my headlamp to the next aid station at Fish Hatchery, no big deal.

The next stretch is 10 miles including singletrack, a steady climb, and then the powerline descent to Fish Hatchery. I enjoyed the trail sections, and the rest were obvious walk-when-it's-steep, run downhill variety. The views were enjoyable as we climbed sugarloaf, although we had occasional long views of the trail ahead. It was easy to run smoothly on light uphills, and eat and drink when necessary. Finally, we reached steep downhill. I enjoyed the descents and tried to save my quads, but I don't know how successful I was.

The troubling thing was, my legs hurt somewhat at this point. This was unusual because they normally wouldn't feel this way in a 20-mile training run, and hadn't felt like that in any previous 50M or 100M. I'll need to reflect on this some more -- taper? hydration? electrolytes? The simplest answer is likely the fact that more downhill training (and less track work!) could have been beneficial for this.


Before Fish Hatch, we were on some rolling roads, and I was able to run these steadily. Again, we went from a calm run to a roaring spectacle of crowds and cheering -- and that's pretty cool. J spotted me and got my bottle, and she took off running at a great clip to get things ready while I looped through the checkin. I was also happy to see Alex's support crew and family out here as well. I accidentally dropped a glove here -- and then a subsequent F-bomb -- bad karma!

After this, it was time to get ready for a few miles of open road. For the first time in a race of any length, I put headphones in my ears. And I was cool with it, it kept my spirit and tempo up, just cruising and grooving down the road. At this point, I was down to my one large bottle, as the next aid station (Pipeline) was a flat 6 miles out, and then another 10 with a net downhill to Twin Lakes.
After filling up at Pipeline, it was time for steady climbing. Historically, miles in the mid-30s are a low point for me, but I felt consistent here, no worries. My mental focus was all about planning to get to the next aid station.
The Mt. Elbert trail sections here were pretty fun, with some wildflowers, stream crossings, and bridges. I forgot about the additional Mt. Elbert aid station -- I was good on water but topped off anyway, so I could dump some on my head and not worry about dehydration.

Now we had a fun, steady descent to Twin Lakes. I was cruising along steadily here, nothing technical at all, but I slipped and totally wiped out! No injuries or abrasions, I landed pretty well. Now you know how my shirt got dirty.



At Twin Lakes outbound, I was happy to see the girls again, as well as my first pacer, Kieran. Also saw Pete and recognized some other folks. Again, my emotions ran high from the crowd, which was important for the slog ahead.

The next part begins with a trudge through swampy marshland across the street, through calf-deep puddles and mud. You're going to get wet, so no use fighting it, and then your feet are heavy and slow bricks. Eventually we reached the creek, which had a rope across it for safety it wasn't absolutely necessary. I bent down a bit and splashed water on my legs to refresh them a bit. After that, it was a straight shot to the trees, where the climb up Hope Pass begins in earnest.

Now I was on my first truly familiar section of trail. I ran this in training, but there was no need for that today: it was time to hike. The shade in the trees was refreshing, and I kept that in mind as we headed up to treeline. Along here I saw a familiar orange shirt and thought I recognized Brandon -- with hiking poles! I hadn't seen him use them before so I wasn't sure it was him. He was moving decently but I slowly caught up so we could chat. He said he picked up the poles because his quads were blown, perhaps in part from a blazing start to May Queen. But he was still moving good, and it's a long race, so he was appropriately optimistic about the rest of the run, as was I for both of us, and I still expected to see him on the downhill as I felt I'd have to take it easy there.

Every once in awhile we'd hit a short, flat runnable section, but mostly I focused on keeping the breathing and heart rate in check, with no idea of distance or splits. But at least I recognized the terrain, and appreciated the trail opening up into wildflower meadows, then back into the trees, before finally reaching treeline for good.

"Welcome to Camp, can I get you anything?" asked a young male volunteer, maybe 11 or 12 years old. His phrasing made it even more special: here I was at the famous "Hopeless" aid station, replete with the llamas that had carried up the supplies. Although I had been to this same geographical spot 2 weeks earlier, now that it was set up as an alpine "camp," I could pretend I was out in the Himalayas or Andes on an excursion. Context is as important as the environment when it comes to experiences like this.

By now, I had also lost a bit of appetite but knew it was from the elevation, so I had a bit of soup and other snacks to help get ready for cresting the pass. I filled up on water as well and continued to climb. To my left was the familiar lumpy shoulder of Quail Mountain, with the pass itself was appreciably lower.

With a photographer on top, it was time to begin running the last bit of the climb and then all the way down. Now I would get to figure out how to deal with the 2-way traffic on the tight singletrack, but it all just worked out. I did everything possible to give the leaders room, and often enough they did the same and let us continue downhill, and they were all pleasant and encouraging. It just all worked out. Team Spandex was in the lead, and I was happy to recognize Burch coming up 3 spots later (but no pacer?). I tried to be conservative enough on the downhill and not get injured, I passed a couple folks but got passed by a few more and was fine with that, as I was on or ahead of pace.

It was getting pretty warm by now and I reached the Winfield road, knowing I was ahead of my 10-hour turnaround estimate. I ditched the shirt and stuck to the south side of the road for shade. This is rumored to be the last year of having to run on the dusty road in traffic, as they are building a parallel trail that should be ready next year, so I told myself that at least I got to appreciate the classic experience. They offered dust masks at the bottom, but had also watered the road, and it was manageable. I think I also hit at a good time, as J told me traffic picked up significantly after I left. Along the way, the fabulous mAy Team drove by and cheered me on.


The girls spotted me pretty quickly, and Kieran ran right along to get ready for his pacing duties. He was diligent about figuring out what we might need for the Hope Pass re-climb, and was perfectly stocked up with anything I might need.




And then we were off on the road again. Mentally, the whole idea of re-climbing 3000 feet again can be daunting, but it absolutely blocked from my brain. Having new company helped significantly, as well as muling some of my gear. We ran most of the road and then got ready for the climb, settling into having me in front to set a pace.

I had only met Kieran briefly during CPTR, and he graciously offered to pace by responding online. This is just another example of how the ultrarunning community works in strange and awesome ways. It was fantastic to have this boost, and although I wish I had more oxygen for more conversation, for his part he was equally encouraging, distracting (with jokes, etc.), attentive, and informative about other parts of the race. I was a bit worried about my stomach, but kept taking gels and it never got worse.

Obviously, this section was more crowded going up, now that I was spending over an hour going 3 miles while a large contingent of runners were heading down, but again it all worked out, and we were all encouraging of each other. I felt steady but slower than when I was fresh for a training run a couple weeks ago. I told Kieran that it took about 65 minutes in training, so maybe 80 minutes would be good today. We hit the top in 70! It just shows how much perception can be off at these times.

Now some more downhill to Hopeless, and I tried to take it easy technically so as not to twist an ankle. I had one little slip before I was able to open up my stride, and then Kieran ran ahead to get supplies ready. I still didn't have much of an appetite, but again had some soup and Coke, definitely more out of caloric necessity than desire. Some clouds had moved in but we had beaten any threat of a real storm -- never a given in the Colorado mountains in summer.

We continued downhill at a steady pace, my quads remained in a constant sore but functional state. We got back into the trees and enjoyed the shade and more runnable downhill again, before the final flattening to the open marshes of Twin Lakes. Again I soaked a few seconds in the river, and had the unpleasantness of small rocks in my shoes, but knew that would end soon enough.
Kieran ran ahead to get things ready for the handoff.

How would you measure the effectiveness of a pacer? How about this: my split over Hope Pass, with Kieran, after 50 miles and a loss of appetite, was 30 seconds faster than my solo split after 40 miles!


At this point, I planned on cleaning/drying off my feet and switching socks, yet keeping the same shoes, based on Pete Stevenson's advice. This ended up being a fine choice, as the fresh socks felt great and the wet shoes dried soon enough, yet still performed as predictably as they had for the first 60 miles. The only risk was sitting in a chair for the first time ever in an ultra for me, but my "pit crew" attended to me quickly: a truly fast 2-tire change, top off of fuel, a round of wedge, and we were off.




"We" now being Dan Jones and I. Kieran did great, and Dan picked up right where he left off. Did I mention Dan just ran up Pikes Peak earlier in the morning? Yeah, then he drove out a few hours for a "fun run" to help me in Leadville! I enjoyed meeting and catching up with Dan as he told me some of the PPA stories, and that they had perfect weather. I also appreciated his insights into Leadville, having successfully finished the course the previous year in his first attempt. Again, I wish I had more energy to be conversational, but I think (or at least hope) veteran runners and pacers understand this.

Dan was great at keeping me moving and motivated, eating and drinking, and getting ready at the aid stations. I had a Red Bull stashed at Pipeline (~M70) and that helped out, and it was still nice not have to carry both bottles. I think I walked a bit more of the gradual uphills here but was still satisfied with my own pace. About 5-10 minutes past Pipeline, though, I asked Dan if he had a headlamp. It turns out both of us had the same negative answer! Whoops. I had stashed one at Pipeline just in case, but forgot in my 70-mile haze to do the new math on whether I would need it or not. But I also remember thinking that most of this section wouldn't necessitate a headlamp anyway, and it turns out we were just fine, as we hit the road at dusk. Lights could have been nice for safety from (annoying) oncoming cars, but Dan graciously shielded me from harm by running in front of me. And it worked! We weren't killed, and we made it to Fish Hatch. Dan's duties were complete in spectacular fashion.

Slush spotted us before Fish Hatch and I didn't recognize him at first as he offered us a light. But he ran us in and we got ready for the return climb up Sugarloaf.

As promised, Scott injected new life and encouragement into my run. But, I use the word "run" here very loosely, because other than a bit of downhill after Sugarloaf, I severely abused Scott's generosity with a long nighttime walk. But first, he caught me up on his own PPA race experience, which involved an unfortunate exploding electrolyte tablet, but otherwise an enjoyable day on that mountain out East. Let me remind you here: Like Dan, Scott had come out to pace me after climbing 8000 feet in the morning! Through his own admission, and observations later from the girls, Scott had suffered from a coffee deficiency earlier in the day, something I can totally relate too! His enthusiasm though certainly didn't miss a beat, so I like to think that I took it easy on him for these last 6-7 hours so he didn't have to, you know, run a bunch and stuff, like when he paces people to course records and all that.

He also pointed out -- rightfully so -- how glorious the stars were above the top of Sugarloaf. Again, I wish I could have been more sociable, but for his part he kept me on track and moving along. He was also sociable with other runners on the climb that caught up to me, which helped pass the time. Sorry, but my legs were now shot. I was able to gently shuffle down on the smoother parts after Sugarloaf, but he biggest threat was a lack of proprioception, so that I was unstable on even the slightest technical section. The focus was merely on moving forward. I also wanted to lean against a tree and take a quick nap but Scott kept me going.


The focus was on May Queen. At this point of the day -- no, it is past 10 pm -- if you stop and think about having 6 or 7 more hours to run, it would be absolutely overwhelming. You absolutely have to break it up and focus on the next aid station. But the important thing is, we did arrive at May Queen, and fueled up on coffee and soup. The girls were there -- did they get a chance to sleep? -- and I told them we'd see them 3.5-4 hours later. This is still a ridiculously long amount of time to run, but you know what? We were going to finish, and we would get the big buckle.

Heading out, the remaining goals were sub-24 hours, and sub-Brownie's-time-from-last-year. And we hit the Turquoise Lake trail, which I told Slush was "flat" and "lightly technical", but now somehow it was longer, more technical, and quite rolling. My legs felt like tanks of lactic acid: swollen and slow. I could walk decently, and it actually felt good when we hit the road later, but running was out of the question. I apologized to Scott a few times, but he came up with a new positive response each time. I felt like I was passed by gobs of people. I didn't mind the act of being passed so much as the envy of not being able to run. So, as I learned, I would have enjoyed the race more if I had been in a position to run through the end. I'll even go so far as to say I would trade finishing slightly slower but being able to run through the end. But that's what you learn in these things.

Sub-24 would require just a bit more running, but I just didn't have it. In my addled brain, though, I knew the Big Buckle was ours. That's what I wanted, and that's what I owed to myself and my crew. By now, we had survived and formed all the stories and memories that would make up the race. So after the interminable Turquoise Lake, we hit a bunch of long roads that I didn't remember from the morning. I could shuffle down a slight downhill, but anything more than that and it was back to power-hiking. (In hindsight, I think I needed a better salt strategy).

Finally, town came into view (it sneaks up on you in the last mile). A full day had passed, full of adventure. Scott had kept me moving, motivated, and on-course. Kieran and Dan were there, and I was happy to have them pull me up the hill as a group together. My uphill "run" was glacial, but the important thing was that it was in the right direction.



After a few hours sleep, walking was painful, but I can always ride a bike.
Luckily I brought my junker Minnesota free-bike with me to town. I never drove anywhere all weekend.




I can't say enough about how important all of my crew and pacers were, as well as the support along the course.
That is what helped me to finish and earn "La Plata Grande"


Thanks for reading.

Lean Horse Thoughts and Goals

3 more days 'til my first hundred. Attempt. I wish I could say I'm chilling out, rested, rarin' to go, with my plans all sketched out and drop bags ready. Truth is, though, I've been so busy with moving and getting ready for school, that it's actually not the top priority on my mind. But now with some time to think about it again, here are my thoughts:


Taper
Taper was sub-optimal and weird. I didn't run much last week (2 weeks out) -- in fact, I didn't run at all Monday through Thursday. This is not a training statistics blog, but here's the my odd 2nd-to-last week of running:

Mon: Rest
Tues: Hike Longs Peak with J. 12 hours on the feet, longest time for either of us ever. Plus, 3.5 hours hiking at night, pretty darn tired with about 3 hours of sleep. Best idea or worst idea?
Wed: Hike Grey Rock with Neil. A good hiking pace on a day that ended up being around 100 degrees.
Wed night: Move most of our worldly possessions down a flight of stairs into the garage
Thurs: Move the rest of our stuff as well as furniture.
Fri: Move everything up 3 flights of stairs. Estimated total elevation gain of several thousand feet, usually with ~40 extra pounds each time.
Sat: Watched J's triathlon in the AM. Ended up bushwhacking through a cornfield to catch the bike portion, and got some weird bumps/rash and cuts on my leg (luckily it's gone away)
Sat PM, Sunday: A couple 1-hr sessions of jogging around the new 'hood.

Anyway, I didn't get much real running in the last couple of weeks, but I got anything from a long hike to lifting/moving boxes. Thankfully, got through all of that relatively unscathed, didn't throw out my back or drop something on my foot.
My knees feel a little creaky going down the stairs after moving, but they felt OK while running, so I'm hopeful there. Maybe all that power-stuff, in the heat of the day, was actually good for endurance? Who knows, it's all made up anyway. Guess we'll see!

Training
I thought I had a really solid progression of training starting in March. I kicked it off early with a trail marathon in Salida, followed by a 50k in April, and a 50M at the beginning of May. That, I thought, would set things up for a long summer to train for a 100M. Well, I wasn't overly happy with my 50M at Collegiate Peaks -- I just got worn down in the 2nd half, and kind of felt worn down overall.

Then, a funny thing happened: I flew off my bike in the desert and ended up in the ER. One week of forced rest (OK, besides sneaking in some rides while we were still in Fruita) -- but a week without running.

But, I was signed up for a trail race in Wyoming, so I ran it while wearing a Maxi pad, testing the hip and circulatory system. I was again a bit slower than I would have liked, but the taste of running and racing again got me fired up. The next week I hit a 100 miles for the first time all year (maybe the 2nd time, ever), and didn't look back. Each week through mid-August, then, was at least 100 miles (this does include hiking miles), except for the 4th of July week which was around 80 but included a faster effort in the Silverton 10k. And, 3 weeks out, I hit 150M (again, including hiking, and some decent time at elevation).

My longest run was 45M, and I had 3 other runs around 40M, and maybe 3 more or so around 30M. I had a couple of 30M/20M back-to-back days. I would have liked more tempo running and speedwork, but was happy with the distance work, and Sir Nick's fortnightly Towers hillclimb challenge, which was just the right amount of "hard" to feel good.

I mixed in a few night runs here and there, a good one with Alex, a few more around the 'hood. I was a little concerned about this, but then I remembered that I've ridden my bike home in the dark dozens of times! Not exactly the same thing, but kind of close, as you have to pay attention to a narrow beam of light and the path in front of you, and you're tired.

Well, those few paragraphs felt more self-indulgent on numbers, but people need to know this stuff (even if it's just me) to figure out what to do in training and how it all plays out. I feel good about most of it. Ideally, I would have had a 50M in June or so -- early May might have been kind of early -- and a touch more speedwork, although admittedly I sacrificed some quality speedwork for "more miles." This is not to be taken lightly, I know, and no matter what I end up doing, my hat is off to all 100M finishers. The biggest part, though, was getting my head wrapped around 100M. It wasn't until late July where I was literally convinced this is something I could do and wanted to do badly enough to commit to it. I was finally able to answer the question, "Why?" The answer to this is incomplete, but I know how to find the rest of the answer!


Goals

I've never really spelled out goals online a priori before, but I admire the guts of folks who do, so it's time for that. Let's put the goals out into the universe and see what happends. And, it'll give me a last bit of time for anyone reading this to offer encouragement or discouragement if I'm setting myself up for problems.

1. Finish (Sub-30)
2. Sub-24
---- The line between very happy and happy
3. Sub-20
4. Sub-19
---- The following probably requires everything to go perfectly...and still doesn't seem possible
5. Sub-18

Yeah, that's a pretty big spread, isn't it? In fact, there's a 12-hour spread between the top and bottom goals -- didn't I just say that 12 hours on my feet was the longest I've ever done?

Yes, this is my first hundred. I should be aiming for successfully finishing it, and there's danger of time goals especially for first-timers. But I also get inspired by other people's efforts, I know how hard I trained for this, and I want to put in a good effort. This boils down to one actual goal:

1. Finish a 100M as close to the best of my ability as possible.

There are many things outside of my control. The hardest and most obvious is the temperature: it's gonna be hot, around 90 degrees. If the high were around 70 instead of around 90, it would make a significant physiological difference, and I know that, so it's foolish to put out some goals and not consider the weather. But, I don't want to rule out the top goals without even trying.

So I'm thinking of setting up this way:
1. Miles 0-25: ~4:10
2. Miles 26-50: ~4:20
3. Miles 51-75: 4:35
4. Miles 76-100: 4:55

I guess the crux is running the first half around 8:30. I ran 50M here 2 years ago, same temps, in around 8:07, nearly to the best of my ability. I'm more fit now -- I would aim for around 7:40-7:45 for a 50M here now, and speed up the aid stations a bit. Is adding 'only' 40 minutes to what I would *try* for a 50 (which is also significantly different than actually having accomplished it) enough of a buffer? Or is it a recipe for disaster? I'm not married to 18 hours, in fact, I would be very happy with 18-something or 19-something -- I just also don't want to rule out the possibility immediately. And, I'm perfectly OK slipping some time in the last chunks to finish above 18 hours, this might actually be the perfect plan for a 8:30/10:30=19 hour plan, which I'll learn/figure out in the 2nd half. I just don't want the first half effort to cause me to blow up.

Lastly, not to be understated, is the incredible help I'll have from Neil with pacing in the 2nd half. My goal here is that looking forward to seeing him will help me finish the first half, then making silly jokes and such will keep me distracted from the letdown and hills going back up the 2nd half. He's talked about a plan where *he* bonks or gets drunk or both and *I* pull him through the 50M -- that might work, too! Either way, I'm optimistic about this new 'no-man's land' beyond 50M.

Any thoughts here on pacing? Should I go for broke in the first half (everyone likes a good car wreck) or go more conservatively?

Lean Horse 100

Sent in my registration for the Lean Horse Hundred today. Very excited!

This was my first 50/ultra 2 years ago, and will be my first hundred. I had a blast there 2 years ago, and was almost sad to turn around at the 25-mile mark, wondering what lay beyond. Now I'll get to find out, 4 weeks from Saturday!