After returning from California, I had a touch of a cold: a little bit scratchy sore throat and nose. Not surprising after a whirlwind week "vacation" that left me more tired then when we left! I took it a little easy until last week Wednesday, when I rode the road bike for the first time in awhile...and took some hill-climbing a bit too fast.
The next 2 days, I developed a fever, and felt like garbage. 3 days in a row of no running, and a couple where I barely left the house. Ugh. Sunday, though, I was feeling better and rested...
So I ran a (slow) marathon.
This training has been all about building base miles, hoping that it pays off later. That's what all the cool kids have been doing, anyway.
The upshot is, my recovery after long runs seems much improved. Although there's a constant low-level dullness in the legs, I'm still able to get up and run as needed or desired, which is good. The downside is, I feel slow. I don't have that feedback that I usually get from a day of speedwork, which is what I usually do in early Spring as prep for a marathon.
So this Wednesday, still with a dull feeling in the legs, I hit some 8x800's on the road. The first one felt slow, as usual, and I was willing to be generous with my times, just wanted a baseline and consistency. So I was surprised to find my first lap around 10 seconds faster than expected. That means I needed to slow down on the next one...
But didn't. A half-mile at a time, they all ticked off pretty consistently. My legs do not feel snappy, but I did feel like my heart rate and breathing recovered quickly, and that this workout was as aerobically easy as it ever gets.
Huh. I guess that means the base-mileage, aerobically, is working as it should. Hopefully, future anaerobic training, and further adaptation to the mileage, will get some snap into the legs. Feeling much better about this situation.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Sycamore Canyon 50k
Driving down the 101
California here we come
Right back where we started from
- "California" by Phantom Planet, as made popular in "The OC" TV show
It was unexpectedly dark, and we were coming from the North after a detour into the hills, but soon we were back on the Pacific Coast Highway, driving the rented convertible with just enough daylight to see undulating cliffs and mountains blocking us from the left, and the ocean splashing up on the right. We found our way to the campground at Point Mugu State Park: 1.5 miles from the start of the next morning's PCTR series race at Sycamore canyon, and just yards from the ocean, on a cool, starry night.
I could just leave it at that, but full disclosure: we didn't pick up any food to grill, so we were left grilling Peep-S'mores on a weak fire. We were one of the only spots without a camper, in numbered sites separated just a few treeless car lengths from each other and highway traffic. Both poles of my 1.5-person tent were irreparably cracked, leaving a sad Charlie-Brown bivy sack held out just a couple feet from the ground, so Jessica opted to sleep in the car.
But I tell Jessica repeatedly it's all in how you present the story, so in my version, the crashing waves drowned out ambient noise, and my open, flyless tent let me stare at the stars before falling asleep. Which is true.
Morning came. Happy Easter! Wake up, Mike! Wake up, Jessica! Wake up, Jesus! Breakfast was what we brought: Pop Tarts and more Easter candy. This is the first time I was relying on the money I paid for a trail race to provide me with better nutrition options than I had on hand, counting on bananas, oranges, and PB&J. (I was not dissapointed).
Leaving our campsite to park at the race start, the temperature and humidity was remarkably cold. And here I was worried about it being too hot! In shorts and a long-sleeve tech shirt, my teeth were chattering. We were about half an hour early, so we hung around, not stretching, and tried to stay warm as I also tried not to think about coffee. It was cloudy, but I had already forgotten about how "clouds" (water vapor) near the coast don't "move" like they do in the rest of the country: they simply dissipate. Which means that morning clouds don't mean anything.
The race had a bunch of different metric options: 8k, 18k, 30k, and 50k. I thought Jessica might want to hang out on the beach and wait for me to trudge along, but she signed up for the 8k -- her first trail race! I was excited to find out what she thought. Because of the overlapping courses, I had a complicated series of colored ribbons to memorize. (Actually, the system was well-organized and intuitive...mostly). The course had over 5000 feet of climbing, in a variable Konami-code configuration of up, down, up, down, up, down, up, down. The 50k'ers ended doing a full set of loops totalling 30k+, followed by another loop of the 18k+ route. I didn't know how I would feel about this. First, 18k is a weird distance that fundamentally bothers me, and I have a hard time figuring out even sitting here, sober. (Don't try telling me it's a 10k plus 5 miles, either: that's still weird). Second, how would I feel looping back to the start, then knowing I had to repeat another (18*0.62) miles? I've already assumed that multi-lap races would bother and confuse me, so I've never really thought about one.
Anyway, Jessica's race started 15 minutes after mine, but the rest of us were off at 8:30AM like a herd of turtles. We started out on a wide fire road, followed quickly by the first 1000 foot singletrack climb. There was no room to pass, however, so I was soon trapped in a chase group conga line. Reflexively, I was frustrated that I was bleeding minutes, if not hours, off of my planned finished, being stuck behind some headphone and camelback-wearing 30k-ers, but higher parts of my brain tried to remind me that starting out slowly is good, so stop worrying about it.
Eventually we had some room to pass and spread out, with one short (~20 seconds) steep section where walking was nearly efficient, but running could let you pass (if you didn't mind your heart slamming in your chest). And then, the reward: blasting down endless, smooth singletrack. It curved this way and that, and the ocean came into view. Wheeeeeee! Yes, I use to love roller coasters as a kid, but give me the ability to let my legs fly effortlessly on the trail beneath me, and I'm just as happy.
Soon, I was on the skirted heels of the women's leader, as we both passed a guy on some switchbacks.
Which reminds me, pre-race goals...Pretty much some default goals I came up with in the least year:
1. Top 10% overall
2. Top 5 or Top 10, depending on number of entries (and #1, above)
3. Don't get passed after the last aid station
4. Don't get chicked
5. A made-up even number time of sub-4:30
Back to the race: the women's leader was absolutely flying, and I thought that sounded like fun, so I stayed near as she got close to passing another dude. But: my stupid shoelace was untied! Not an uncommon problem for the Brooks Cascadia's, sad to say. I had no choice but to wait for the next flat spot and re-tie, which cost me probably 15 minutes (it felt like, anyway). Soon I was off again, hitting my stride, flying down the hill, and all was good....until the same shoe became untied. Aaargh. Nearest I can figure, if my laces hit some brush on the side of the trail, they slowly loosen over time. I cranked on it and started down the hill again, catching up to the 2 guys that passed me in the previous shoe-tying episode, and started to enjoy the rhythm again...
And I tripped.
I tried to save it, but couldn't, and skidded on my right side. (Oh, I was shirtless already, by the way). I willed my water bottle not to roll down the cliff, and luckily it worked. A quick inventory, and besides some blood, nothing was broken, no muscles were unusually tight or pulled.
Only around 26 miles to go!
Although it seemed a shame to trip that early, in hindsight, I bet that a trip near the end of the race, when the muscles and joints are fatigued, can often be worse. In this case, nothing got worse over the course of the day, so I was lucky.
Finally, 7-ish miles in, I grabbed some liquids and breakfast, and we separated from the 18k-ers. Now we were on the backside loop in the prettiest part of the course: the grassy La Jolla valley. Besides verdant singletrack, we ducked through some narrow tree tunnels and rocky stream crossings, along with a rocky, technical climb. I slowly lost contact with the female leader, as I'd catch up on climbs but she'd pull away on descents, but I did catch up with a couple other guys here. On the technical descent back out of the valley, I was in a good mood, keeping a good rhythm and humming to myself while stepping over the bigger rocks. Mentally, it felt good to be heading "back" to the start now.
We were back to the aid station, right at a half marathon. This was the longest stretch, ~9 miles, without aid...and one guy blew past the aid station! After stopping, I caught up to him going up the hill:
"Are you doing the 18k or 30k?" he asked.
"Uh...the 50k."
I looked at his race number, which began with a "1". He had already done 2 miles longer than his planned 18 run...and about 5.5 miles away from the start.
"Sorry dude!"
Back on the front loop, the sun was getting hot now, as the sky was perfectly clear. I enjoyed the mix of 18k, 30k, and 50k folks heading in both directions, and was pleased that all folks deferentially pulled to the side for faster or longer-distance runners. Finally, I was at the top, making my way down, when I saw a guy that looked vaguely familiar from my pre-race googling:
Dean Dobberteen
What was he doing that close to me? Or vice-versa? As he blew by, it was obvious that I started too fast, again. Ah well.
Soon, we reached a confusing junction in the last loop. A sign pointed one way, but ribbons went down the other. I saw two runners go down that way -- which I thought might be the wrong direction -- but I followed them anyway. It seemed we were going down the singletrack which we climbed, and that the return loop had a different route. Why didn't I take 10 seconds to read -- and process the meaning of -- the sign? I passed a hiker going up, and she said 3 or 4 people had passed in front of me, going the same way.
Finally, we were back on the fireroad, at the start/end turnaround. Here, I saw the leader maybe 10 total minutes ahead of me, and 4 other folks, including the lead female. Unless she blew up spectacularly, I wouldn't catch her...but could I catch one other guy to crack the very arbitrary top 5?
Hit the turnaround, refueled, and started out for another 18k loop. And you know what? It didn't bother me. It was somewhat comforting to tackle a known quantity one extra time. My conclusion is this: running something twice doesn't bother me. But counting above 2 is too complicated (this happens on the track sometimes).
Soon, the big climb up the singletrack again. I could see the guy ahead of my walking frequently. He was in a friendly mood, but was bonking pretty bad. Now I just had to hold on for top-5. Felt good climbing again, and then the descent: I was running well and consistently, but nowhere near as fast as the first time out. Again, that means I didn't pace this thing as evenly as I should have.
Finally, the last aid station, and the turnaround back out. Dean, who was running near me in the 2nd half of the race, was now 60 seconds behind first place. Next two were looking good. I headed back up and got a peak behind me, looks like I had a good 5-6 minutes on the next guy, who said "Top Five!" to me, which means he was counting. Which means he was coming after me. So I kept at it as best I could.
Kept running slowly to the top. Cheered on lots of folks still heading out, tried to talk a smiling hiker into trying out trail running sometime. Then started the descent, until the confusing intersection. The sign pointed ahead down the fireroad, and this time I could see other folks there, so I took it. This means at least one of the 2 times, for certain, I took the "wrong" way. But so did some other folks. Confusingly, there were some folks running up this direction as well, which made no sense. In hindsight, this layout made perfect sense: climb up the more technical singletrack, than blaze down the faster fireroad. Both are supposedly the same distance, and the 'wrong' way is more technical.
Finally hit the end in 4:47. Got chicked, but by a very strong European girl, and found out 4:30 was certainly harder than I thought. To do that, I would have needed better training specificity -- hills and trails -- which I hadn't been doing. You can't get somethin' for nothin'. I did feel like I ran better than Salida, and got some good heat training. Winner John Wesselcouch was a minute ahead of Dean, and both had been confused and taken the singletrack down both times. Nobody was too worried about it.
Overall, a fun time on a beautiful course. Dark chocolate and gummi bears at the aid stations, mmmm! Jessica had a fun time too, running all but that short steep section in her first trail race, running a big climb and descent at essentially the same pace she ran a perfectly flat 5 miler in Oklahoma on pavement. Then, by hobbling across the street, you can cool your burning legs off in the ocean.
California here we come
Right back where we started from
- "California" by Phantom Planet, as made popular in "The OC" TV show
It was unexpectedly dark, and we were coming from the North after a detour into the hills, but soon we were back on the Pacific Coast Highway, driving the rented convertible with just enough daylight to see undulating cliffs and mountains blocking us from the left, and the ocean splashing up on the right. We found our way to the campground at Point Mugu State Park: 1.5 miles from the start of the next morning's PCTR series race at Sycamore canyon, and just yards from the ocean, on a cool, starry night.
I could just leave it at that, but full disclosure: we didn't pick up any food to grill, so we were left grilling Peep-S'mores on a weak fire. We were one of the only spots without a camper, in numbered sites separated just a few treeless car lengths from each other and highway traffic. Both poles of my 1.5-person tent were irreparably cracked, leaving a sad Charlie-Brown bivy sack held out just a couple feet from the ground, so Jessica opted to sleep in the car.
But I tell Jessica repeatedly it's all in how you present the story, so in my version, the crashing waves drowned out ambient noise, and my open, flyless tent let me stare at the stars before falling asleep. Which is true.
Morning came. Happy Easter! Wake up, Mike! Wake up, Jessica! Wake up, Jesus! Breakfast was what we brought: Pop Tarts and more Easter candy. This is the first time I was relying on the money I paid for a trail race to provide me with better nutrition options than I had on hand, counting on bananas, oranges, and PB&J. (I was not dissapointed).
Leaving our campsite to park at the race start, the temperature and humidity was remarkably cold. And here I was worried about it being too hot! In shorts and a long-sleeve tech shirt, my teeth were chattering. We were about half an hour early, so we hung around, not stretching, and tried to stay warm as I also tried not to think about coffee. It was cloudy, but I had already forgotten about how "clouds" (water vapor) near the coast don't "move" like they do in the rest of the country: they simply dissipate. Which means that morning clouds don't mean anything.
The race had a bunch of different metric options: 8k, 18k, 30k, and 50k. I thought Jessica might want to hang out on the beach and wait for me to trudge along, but she signed up for the 8k -- her first trail race! I was excited to find out what she thought. Because of the overlapping courses, I had a complicated series of colored ribbons to memorize. (Actually, the system was well-organized and intuitive...mostly). The course had over 5000 feet of climbing, in a variable Konami-code configuration of up, down, up, down, up, down, up, down. The 50k'ers ended doing a full set of loops totalling 30k+, followed by another loop of the 18k+ route. I didn't know how I would feel about this. First, 18k is a weird distance that fundamentally bothers me, and I have a hard time figuring out even sitting here, sober. (Don't try telling me it's a 10k plus 5 miles, either: that's still weird). Second, how would I feel looping back to the start, then knowing I had to repeat another (18*0.62) miles? I've already assumed that multi-lap races would bother and confuse me, so I've never really thought about one.
Anyway, Jessica's race started 15 minutes after mine, but the rest of us were off at 8:30AM like a herd of turtles. We started out on a wide fire road, followed quickly by the first 1000 foot singletrack climb. There was no room to pass, however, so I was soon trapped in a chase group conga line. Reflexively, I was frustrated that I was bleeding minutes, if not hours, off of my planned finished, being stuck behind some headphone and camelback-wearing 30k-ers, but higher parts of my brain tried to remind me that starting out slowly is good, so stop worrying about it.
Eventually we had some room to pass and spread out, with one short (~20 seconds) steep section where walking was nearly efficient, but running could let you pass (if you didn't mind your heart slamming in your chest). And then, the reward: blasting down endless, smooth singletrack. It curved this way and that, and the ocean came into view. Wheeeeeee! Yes, I use to love roller coasters as a kid, but give me the ability to let my legs fly effortlessly on the trail beneath me, and I'm just as happy.
Soon, I was on the skirted heels of the women's leader, as we both passed a guy on some switchbacks.
Which reminds me, pre-race goals...Pretty much some default goals I came up with in the least year:
1. Top 10% overall
2. Top 5 or Top 10, depending on number of entries (and #1, above)
3. Don't get passed after the last aid station
4. Don't get chicked
5. A made-up even number time of sub-4:30
Back to the race: the women's leader was absolutely flying, and I thought that sounded like fun, so I stayed near as she got close to passing another dude. But: my stupid shoelace was untied! Not an uncommon problem for the Brooks Cascadia's, sad to say. I had no choice but to wait for the next flat spot and re-tie, which cost me probably 15 minutes (it felt like, anyway). Soon I was off again, hitting my stride, flying down the hill, and all was good....until the same shoe became untied. Aaargh. Nearest I can figure, if my laces hit some brush on the side of the trail, they slowly loosen over time. I cranked on it and started down the hill again, catching up to the 2 guys that passed me in the previous shoe-tying episode, and started to enjoy the rhythm again...
And I tripped.
I tried to save it, but couldn't, and skidded on my right side. (Oh, I was shirtless already, by the way). I willed my water bottle not to roll down the cliff, and luckily it worked. A quick inventory, and besides some blood, nothing was broken, no muscles were unusually tight or pulled.
Only around 26 miles to go!
Although it seemed a shame to trip that early, in hindsight, I bet that a trip near the end of the race, when the muscles and joints are fatigued, can often be worse. In this case, nothing got worse over the course of the day, so I was lucky.
Finally, 7-ish miles in, I grabbed some liquids and breakfast, and we separated from the 18k-ers. Now we were on the backside loop in the prettiest part of the course: the grassy La Jolla valley. Besides verdant singletrack, we ducked through some narrow tree tunnels and rocky stream crossings, along with a rocky, technical climb. I slowly lost contact with the female leader, as I'd catch up on climbs but she'd pull away on descents, but I did catch up with a couple other guys here. On the technical descent back out of the valley, I was in a good mood, keeping a good rhythm and humming to myself while stepping over the bigger rocks. Mentally, it felt good to be heading "back" to the start now.
We were back to the aid station, right at a half marathon. This was the longest stretch, ~9 miles, without aid...and one guy blew past the aid station! After stopping, I caught up to him going up the hill:
"Are you doing the 18k or 30k?" he asked.
"Uh...the 50k."
I looked at his race number, which began with a "1". He had already done 2 miles longer than his planned 18 run...and about 5.5 miles away from the start.
"Sorry dude!"
Back on the front loop, the sun was getting hot now, as the sky was perfectly clear. I enjoyed the mix of 18k, 30k, and 50k folks heading in both directions, and was pleased that all folks deferentially pulled to the side for faster or longer-distance runners. Finally, I was at the top, making my way down, when I saw a guy that looked vaguely familiar from my pre-race googling:
Dean Dobberteen
What was he doing that close to me? Or vice-versa? As he blew by, it was obvious that I started too fast, again. Ah well.
Soon, we reached a confusing junction in the last loop. A sign pointed one way, but ribbons went down the other. I saw two runners go down that way -- which I thought might be the wrong direction -- but I followed them anyway. It seemed we were going down the singletrack which we climbed, and that the return loop had a different route. Why didn't I take 10 seconds to read -- and process the meaning of -- the sign? I passed a hiker going up, and she said 3 or 4 people had passed in front of me, going the same way.
Finally, we were back on the fireroad, at the start/end turnaround. Here, I saw the leader maybe 10 total minutes ahead of me, and 4 other folks, including the lead female. Unless she blew up spectacularly, I wouldn't catch her...but could I catch one other guy to crack the very arbitrary top 5?
Hit the turnaround, refueled, and started out for another 18k loop. And you know what? It didn't bother me. It was somewhat comforting to tackle a known quantity one extra time. My conclusion is this: running something twice doesn't bother me. But counting above 2 is too complicated (this happens on the track sometimes).
Soon, the big climb up the singletrack again. I could see the guy ahead of my walking frequently. He was in a friendly mood, but was bonking pretty bad. Now I just had to hold on for top-5. Felt good climbing again, and then the descent: I was running well and consistently, but nowhere near as fast as the first time out. Again, that means I didn't pace this thing as evenly as I should have.
Finally, the last aid station, and the turnaround back out. Dean, who was running near me in the 2nd half of the race, was now 60 seconds behind first place. Next two were looking good. I headed back up and got a peak behind me, looks like I had a good 5-6 minutes on the next guy, who said "Top Five!" to me, which means he was counting. Which means he was coming after me. So I kept at it as best I could.
Kept running slowly to the top. Cheered on lots of folks still heading out, tried to talk a smiling hiker into trying out trail running sometime. Then started the descent, until the confusing intersection. The sign pointed ahead down the fireroad, and this time I could see other folks there, so I took it. This means at least one of the 2 times, for certain, I took the "wrong" way. But so did some other folks. Confusingly, there were some folks running up this direction as well, which made no sense. In hindsight, this layout made perfect sense: climb up the more technical singletrack, than blaze down the faster fireroad. Both are supposedly the same distance, and the 'wrong' way is more technical.
Finally hit the end in 4:47. Got chicked, but by a very strong European girl, and found out 4:30 was certainly harder than I thought. To do that, I would have needed better training specificity -- hills and trails -- which I hadn't been doing. You can't get somethin' for nothin'. I did feel like I ran better than Salida, and got some good heat training. Winner John Wesselcouch was a minute ahead of Dean, and both had been confused and taken the singletrack down both times. Nobody was too worried about it.
Overall, a fun time on a beautiful course. Dark chocolate and gummi bears at the aid stations, mmmm! Jessica had a fun time too, running all but that short steep section in her first trail race, running a big climb and descent at essentially the same pace she ran a perfectly flat 5 miler in Oklahoma on pavement. Then, by hobbling across the street, you can cool your burning legs off in the ocean.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Sunday, Muddy Sunday
2 weeks ago, the muddy downhills in Salida and (relatively) warmer temps wiped me out a bit. With 3 weeks to go before a 50k, I was getting a little anxious about my preparation. The following weekend, I had a good but still-painful 27-miler as a trainer. Legs still felt a bit beat up, with a tight left quad and hip flexor*, but kept pushing during the week, and legs started to loosen up. It seems like little-to-no taper is all the rage these days, so rather than cut the long run down this weekend, I decided that 3 weeks of marathons in a row would be kinda neat and maybe set me up for a strong summer...Or beat my legs up even more.
* - Too much self-indulgent detail. Sorry. Back to my implicit goal of more stories, less minor training details.
Anyway, the weather was primed to be beautiful: upper 50s, DFC-wind. I waited until just after 9 so it was warm enough to run in shorts, and most of the run shirtless. Wanted more vertical, but had to head from my house (Harmony/Timberline area), so decided to head out to Coyote Ridge and back, which would give me a mix of trails and roads, with multiple road options depending on mud conditions.
The first 1.5 miles of the future Powerline Trail-South (Keenland to Trilby) gave me hope for today's trail conditions: wet in spots, but just enough islands of dry dirt to keep my (road) shoes from getting completely caked in mud. Then, I headed straight West on Trilby, and then the mile south to Coyote Ridge, all of which provide good rollers.
I saw a few cars at the Coyote Ridge TH, and a woman getting ready to run/hike. "You're on a long one today!", that's what she said, literally, as she must have passed me in her car on the way to the TH. I headed up the ridge, and the mud wasn't too bad in the middle of the trail -- only a bit dicey in the usual shadowy and north-facing spots.
The trail was just barely on the edge of usable -- I do feel bad about mucking it up, though I stay on the trail and I'm certain the next rain and subsequent traffic will erase all evidence. However, the benefit was that I had it to myself: no mt. bikers, gapers, or rattlesnakes to dodge. Soon I dropped down Rimrock to the Blue Sky intersection, and it was clear that Blue Sky was a bit worse for the wear. I decided to give it a go to the North, thinking about an out-and-back but ready to turn around if necessary.
Except I didn't, . The trail was quite muddy, with some lingering snow, but once I got a mile into it (still staying on the trail, but having to be very careful on downhills!), I decided to finish it up, mostly being too lazy to turn around. Besides, there were human and dog tracks in front of me, and I was curious as to their owners.
Soon, I found them: A female runner/hiker, with her dog, Chloe, trailing her own leash through the mud. After I greeted them, she motioned to the dog:
"I'll get her, she's not a friendly dog!"
I smiled and nodded, but then processed the unusual negative: Nearly every dog owner says "Don't worry, he's a nice dog!", to the point of being meaningless, and they'll quickly get the leash out, even though I actually prefer keeping a well-behaved dog roaming free: it's more fun for the dog, and I think chaining up a dog and getting worried every time a runner goes by might actually create a negative association for the dog.
But I digress. This dog was advertised, unusually, as being not nice: "I don't want her to bite you!" I stopped running, the dog circled around me and growled, but we all remained calm and passed each other. Weird.
So I had the rest of the mud to myself. One thing that was a bit encouraging was that I felt fine, but I was able to see how much the mud slowed me down ("a lot", roughly), on a route I've run before. This means, quite easily, that the mud in Salida might have cost us all 20+ minutes over a "perfect" trail, which we all figured was academically true. But this proof was in the pudding!
Enough with the mud, I decided I'd take the asphalt down around the Horsetooth inlet rather than doubling back. This would also let me hit JJ's on the corner for a liquid refill. I finished my 2 PB&J sandwiches while cruising down the road, and saw a fair number of cyclists enjoying the day as well.
Oh, and one jerk that decided to speed past at ~50mph just a few feet from me, coming from behind (as I was on the left shoulder). The situation was thus (you might need a whiteboard, or various knick-knacks on your desk, to model this): me (pedestrian on left); line of 3 cars on the right, traveling same direction; distant car approaching opposite direction; several cyclists on far right shoulder, traveling same direction. A 4th, impatient SUV zooms past, shooting the gap between me and the 3rd car, scaring the crap out of me, and then keeps passing the other 2 cars, right as the first car swerves a few feet (legally, thank you) to give the cyclists some room; and ducks into his lane as oncoming car comes. Got that?
I'm not sure that passing near a pedestrain from behind is illegal, but with all those people out there, it just seems like bad karma.
Made it down to JJ's, $2 in hand. Cherry slurpee! Haven't had one of those in for-ever. For-ev-ER. Not since getting Icee's at Kmart as a kid, in Wisconsin. Awesome! Manna from heaven. Cold, slushy, high-fructose manna from heaven.
Feeling pretty good as I headed south down Taft, on the left sidewalk (right side didn't exist). Crossed an intersection, as a car cut left (from Taft onto neighborhood street) directly in front of me. WTF? I shouted "Hello?!", as the driver's window was wide open. The driver didn't even look at me. If she had a soul, she could have put up her hands in the "Whoops, sorry!" motion. She was dressed like she just came from church. I could be making that up, but angry side note anyway: I can run outside all morning on a beautiful day, mostly encounter friendly and interesting people in the community, and have little-to-no-chance of accidentally killing somebody else. I'm pretty happy about that.
One more side note: I don't run with headphones, and many ultra-runners similarly don't, much of the time. This is another good reason why. I knew that car was coming before I crossed into that lane, just like I knew that car was passing from behind. Given hundreds of hours and thousands of miles near the road, anyone will develop the ability to hear cars and judge their speed just by sound, or figure out traffic in peripheral vision, just like a fast skier or mountain biker can quickly assess traffic and terrain...because they're focused on survival. Sadly, no such requirement is put on driving, and when many of our citizens barely take the time to walk around town, it feels like fighting a losing battle.
But I digress again, as I soon had my last 5 or so miles of mostly car-free running, through delightfully rattlesnake-free Cathy Fromme prairie, the Clarendon Hills subdivision, and Fossil Creek. I got in in 4:10 or so, including stops, somewhere in the 27-28 mile range.
Anyway, my legs are feeling decent, and I hope I finally turned the corner from base-mileage to consistency and being able to recover more quickly. I did wilt a bit in the sun, which is usual for this time of year, so the next piece of the puzzle is heat training.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Racing and Charity Briefs
One of these days, I might actually sit down for a longer post on my thoughts regarding the mix between charity and racing. The difficulty, of course, is walking the fine line of identifying all of the massive good done by charity fundraising...while also discussing, openly, how some of the aspects of a healthy lifestyle might be clouded or, in some cases, even adversely affected, by the way some charity events are run in a fashion of consumption and don't address root causes head-on, rather than education and encouragement of a lifestyle of physical activity.
But, for now, a good Coloradoan editorial on how the sport of running could or should do more to re-invest in the sport itself.
But, for now, a good Coloradoan editorial on how the sport of running could or should do more to re-invest in the sport itself.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Quick Ultra Flyby's from Alaska and Minnesota
1.
Came across Evan Hone's blog, from Alaska, and spent too much time reading it. A little different flavor of adventure and writing style:
"My dog was kicked in the face by a moose this morning."
"We were about 6 miles in and came around a corner and saw some people camping. They had decided to bring their goats with them for company (kinda weird). I would think that in brown bear country that would be a stupid idea but I soon found out these goats were attack goats."
I like it.
2.
Forgot to check on the Arrowhead 135 results last month, but the top 3 (all on bikes, as usual) finished within one minute of each other!
Now that's crazy! No idea how long they were this close, racing each other -- did the leader back off as much as he could, was there a previous gentleman's agreement, or was it neck-and-neck for 135-freaking-miles in subzero temps?
I like it.
Came across Evan Hone's blog, from Alaska, and spent too much time reading it. A little different flavor of adventure and writing style:
"My dog was kicked in the face by a moose this morning."
"We were about 6 miles in and came around a corner and saw some people camping. They had decided to bring their goats with them for company (kinda weird). I would think that in brown bear country that would be a stupid idea but I soon found out these goats were attack goats."
I like it.
2.
Forgot to check on the Arrowhead 135 results last month, but the top 3 (all on bikes, as usual) finished within one minute of each other!
Now that's crazy! No idea how long they were this close, racing each other -- did the leader back off as much as he could, was there a previous gentleman's agreement, or was it neck-and-neck for 135-freaking-miles in subzero temps?
I like it.
What's Going On: 50k in CA next week, and other tidbits
Not much to add recently. Had a great run Saturday with Alex, Nick, and Pete, as we made a nice marathon route through the Fort. Great to run and chat with all 3 about upcoming plans for the year. I'm not as big of a streak guy as much as some, but if I run 26.2 this coming Sunday, then I'll end up with 4 weeks in a row (on the following Sunday), which would be kinda neat.
Otherwise, stayed close to home last weekend and been getting ready for the next race and some travel: Sycamore Canyon 50k in So Cal
Basically, going out for a wedding on 10 April in The OC, and found this great trail ultra in the area. We have a camp site reserved the night before, so looking forward to chilling out in Point Mugu State Park.
Not sure what to expect on this one. Been happy with my mileage this year -- for March, that is -- but it's been mostly bike paths and roads for me. The last 3 years, I've had a goal marathon in April or early May (Oklahoma City, Fort Collins, and Boston), and I feel better trained than those years...for the flat stuff, though.
4 things I'm thinking about.
1. Hills
Gawd, I wish I had been running more hills (5k feet of climbing, according to the profile). There will be plenty of time for that this summer, when the high country melts out.
I feel like I've been doing the appropriate specificity for a flat marathon, and not as much in the mountains. Whoops.
2. Heat
I neither love nor hate the heat -- I just like being prepared for it. In fact, I enjoy the advantages of heat training in the summer, then racing in the cool morning. But I do know that the first few hot runs of the year are noticeably tougher than in August. Here's hoping relatively cool day and nice sea breeze
3. Who Shows Up
Well, the goal of the day is to run around the mountains/coast and have some fun. Can't really predict where I'll end up, but also wondering who's going to be there. The top 2 guys from last year are clearly better runners than I am, and then comes a tighter groups of folks around my target time on a good day...but word is, the course record holder, Evan Hone, is not going to be there. I hope to find some other runners with a good pace that I can hang next to -- so I don't go out too fast.
EDIT: The current entrant list is up. I've only had a chance to glance at it, but Dean Dobberteen is the champ from 2 years ago and looks like a good favorite this year. Also looks like he's been running trail races all winter. Ah, to live in Southern California!
EDIT2:
Just glancing through the list -- of course, I don't recognize So Cal names as much as I do Colorado, but I've looked up a few runners. Basically, the algorithm is, look for folks from out of state to find out if they're ringers (it's me, albeit in town for a wedding, and a 65-yr-old Texan)...then look at folks mostly in their 30s, late 20s, early 40s.
Another name: Guillermo Medina. First google result: "North Face Athletes"
Very impressive resume. It'll be interesting to see how he does up front.
4. Getting lost
There are 3 other, shorter distance races held across different loops, which are marked by multi-colored ribbons. The 50k does all of these loops. I need to study this and memorize my colors so I don't do anything stupid.
There you have it, that's what I've been thinking about in terms of running. Looking forward to the race in CA, recover quickly with cheap and greasy Mexican food that I've been missing, and then visiting some old haunts in San Diego county.
OK, now I'm pretty much only thinking about Mexican food...
Otherwise, stayed close to home last weekend and been getting ready for the next race and some travel: Sycamore Canyon 50k in So Cal
Basically, going out for a wedding on 10 April in The OC, and found this great trail ultra in the area. We have a camp site reserved the night before, so looking forward to chilling out in Point Mugu State Park.
Not sure what to expect on this one. Been happy with my mileage this year -- for March, that is -- but it's been mostly bike paths and roads for me. The last 3 years, I've had a goal marathon in April or early May (Oklahoma City, Fort Collins, and Boston), and I feel better trained than those years...for the flat stuff, though.
4 things I'm thinking about.
1. Hills
Gawd, I wish I had been running more hills (5k feet of climbing, according to the profile). There will be plenty of time for that this summer, when the high country melts out.
I feel like I've been doing the appropriate specificity for a flat marathon, and not as much in the mountains. Whoops.
2. Heat
I neither love nor hate the heat -- I just like being prepared for it. In fact, I enjoy the advantages of heat training in the summer, then racing in the cool morning. But I do know that the first few hot runs of the year are noticeably tougher than in August. Here's hoping relatively cool day and nice sea breeze
3. Who Shows Up
Well, the goal of the day is to run around the mountains/coast and have some fun. Can't really predict where I'll end up, but also wondering who's going to be there. The top 2 guys from last year are clearly better runners than I am, and then comes a tighter groups of folks around my target time on a good day...but word is, the course record holder, Evan Hone, is not going to be there. I hope to find some other runners with a good pace that I can hang next to -- so I don't go out too fast.
EDIT: The current entrant list is up. I've only had a chance to glance at it, but Dean Dobberteen is the champ from 2 years ago and looks like a good favorite this year. Also looks like he's been running trail races all winter. Ah, to live in Southern California!
EDIT2:
Just glancing through the list -- of course, I don't recognize So Cal names as much as I do Colorado, but I've looked up a few runners. Basically, the algorithm is, look for folks from out of state to find out if they're ringers (it's me, albeit in town for a wedding, and a 65-yr-old Texan)...then look at folks mostly in their 30s, late 20s, early 40s.
Another name: Guillermo Medina. First google result: "North Face Athletes"
Very impressive resume. It'll be interesting to see how he does up front.
4. Getting lost
There are 3 other, shorter distance races held across different loops, which are marked by multi-colored ribbons. The 50k does all of these loops. I need to study this and memorize my colors so I don't do anything stupid.
There you have it, that's what I've been thinking about in terms of running. Looking forward to the race in CA, recover quickly with cheap and greasy Mexican food that I've been missing, and then visiting some old haunts in San Diego county.
OK, now I'm pretty much only thinking about Mexican food...
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Nuggets Coach George Karl vs. Cancer
Not a big basketball fan, but always been entertained by George Karl (lived in Wisconsin when he was a Bucks coach, too).
Great ESPN Rick Reilly piece on Karl's tough battle with cancer.
By his car, I ask Karl if he's scared to die.
"I'm scared every day," he says. "Scared all the time. But my kids, my family, my staff, they keep me thinking positive."
Anything good coming from all this?
"Oh, yeah. Lots. Sometimes, I feel the sunshine on my face and I just stop and think, 'Damn, this feels good.' I never used to think about sunshine, you know?"
Great quote to think about this week, with some great temperatures and later daylight.
Let's not take any of it for granted, ever.
Great ESPN Rick Reilly piece on Karl's tough battle with cancer.
By his car, I ask Karl if he's scared to die.
"I'm scared every day," he says. "Scared all the time. But my kids, my family, my staff, they keep me thinking positive."
Anything good coming from all this?
"Oh, yeah. Lots. Sometimes, I feel the sunshine on my face and I just stop and think, 'Damn, this feels good.' I never used to think about sunshine, you know?"
Great quote to think about this week, with some great temperatures and later daylight.
Let's not take any of it for granted, ever.
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