Thursday, January 11, 2024

Across The Years 2023: Lisa's Locomoting Loop Report

 


Lisa’s Locomoting Loop report ATY  
12/28-12/31 2023

 by Lisa Zucker Glick

 

On December 28, 2023, along with my ultra husband Jim Porter, we started our 72 hour journey to complete 100 plus miles at an event called Across the Years in Glendale, AZ.  My goal was to exceed 103.7, which I had done in 2019 at this  same event. Jim’s goal was to get 100M and support me.


ATY (Aravaipa Running Co.) is a 6 day staged race with a 1.4 mile repeating loop.  Previously the loop was one mile but had to be rerouted because of construction. The route is 80% dirt path (around a lake) some pavement and some concrete.  There is a staging area with a food tent, med tent, warming tent, timing, music and spectators. In the middle of the field there is a tent city.  The event folks  set up tents  and cots for the participants, along with tables.  As you pass by your spot you can grab your  food and nutrition, change of  clothes etc. It’s a simple way to get the running done without lugging lots of supplies.


71 laps around the course  will get  you 100 miles.


Our plan was to run as much as we could each day and sleep in a warm bed  at a hotel we booked just down the road. We decided this because the first year we did this event we tried to sleep in our tent at night but the temps were down to 30 degrees. It was not fun, and not restful. We decided that taking the time for good sleep would help us have  a productive race.  More on this later.


The first day went well.  We both got 45 miles in about 12 hours.  Jim took a few breaks to rest his feet.  I kept moving every second , grabbing food while walking, changing clothes etc. We went back to our hotel about 11 PM.


The second was ok but more difficult.    We were tired and cranky.  Jim was having a foot issue and had to lay down on the cot in the tent.  I kept moving on relentlessly.  We had made an agreement that we would each do our own thing.  Sometimes I ran, sometimes I walked.  I just did what I felt like.  Occasionally I got in stride with another runner and I’d move with them but if they were too fast or too slow for me I’d   disengage  and do  my own pace.


The weather was made to order.  Cool in the morning, warmer midday, and cooler at night.   I especially enjoyed running at night.  The moon and stars were fantastic.


I did not listen to music the first two days until 4 hours into that days run.   I wanted to focus on moving and being present.  I also did not listen to music once the sun set.


The second day I got about 36 miles.  Jim got a bit less.  We went back to the hotel about 7 PM.


The third day, as expected, was very good.  I only needed 18 miles to get to my hundred and I could taste the  finish.  Lots of fresh runners starting each day for their 24, 48 or 72 hours.  Also  many folks signed up for all 6 days!!  I did LOTS of running the third day because I was excited.   I put my music on earlier and kept my momentum.

 

As I kept getting closer and closer to mile 100 I was feeling very empowered.  Mountain races are very hard  but running in circles for hours on end is a different kind of hard.  Beside the physical training I had done a LOT of mindset work.  I manifested that I would feel good and complete my goal.  I envisioned myself running and having  fun.  I actually did have lots of fun (mostly 😊).  The runner’s bibs had their names on them.  I made it a point  to try and meet as many runners  as possible and chat with people.   Me being social?  Shocking I know!  😊

 

As you complete each lap you cross a timing matt and your name is displayed on an electronic board showing how many laps and miles you have completed.  When I knew I only had a few laps to go I got into a great groove and knocked them off.  Before my last lap I visited the race director in the timing tent and let her know I was almost at 100 and I was going to ring the bell and do a dance.

 

Pretty sure I sprinted the last mile. I felt very emotional thinking I was completing 100 miles at age 63 after overcoming so many obstacle in my past.   As I came upon the timing matt for my 100 miles I started yelling to everyone,”  I’m completing  my hundred  miles!!”

 

I rang the bell and the DJ played “ You can ring my bell” ( by request- disco is my favorite).  The race director came out and gave me my buckle and pictures were taken. I was overwhelmed with gratitude!!

 

Jim  still needed a bunch of laps to get  his  hundo so I figured I’d use my time.  I  did go back to my tent and sit for a few minutes, but then I jumped up and kept  going.   I added a few more laps until I  found Jim and paced him for his last 2.  He got 103 and  I got 110.    Not too shabby for two people collecting  social security checks!

 

Stats:  On the official clock I had 108.5 miles in 56.59.10 hours.   We chose to stop at the end of the third day.   We could have kept going for another 15 hours but we were cooked.

Total Moving time from my Strava ( minus the sleeping) was 33:42:59 and 110.18 miles. For the 72 hour event  I was 3rd in my AG, 15th Female, and 30th overall.  My average pace throughout was 18.22 a mile. 

Relentless  forward motion!

 

Training:   I decided early on that there was no negotiating.  I was going to finish no matter  what-  barring  a catastrophic injury or illness of course.   My training had been stellar.   I had a 300 mile month in November, including  a self supported 50K at  Catalina State Park In Tucson, AZ . I had a  plan that I bought on Training Peaks from Jeff Browning.  The plan had lots of cross training, strength training, rest days and specific  workouts.  Since I’m semi-retired I could train hard and get REST.  Quality sleep is crucial.  So is nutrition.  I’m follow a low carb keto/carnivore  food plan.  No alcohol , sugar or processed foods.  During the event  I started  with  beef jerky and beef  sticks but after the first day I branched out to  potato chips and even a bowl of  rice.  I kept ahead of my water and electrolytes and had no cramping or  stomach issues.   I wore a skort  the whole time  but  bundled up  on top  when it got  cold.  LOTS of coffee and hot tea  throughout.  The food tent  was fantastic.

 

Mindset:     I was in a great headspace before during and after this event.   I knew  that   I could finish 100 miles in 72 hours by crawling and I didn’t care about my overall time. I had a unique experience during this race. I was completely  in the moment as each moment was happening.  I wasn’t thinking about politics,  what other people thought, mistakes I made, should, coulda would….  None of that.  I was just locomoting along at my own pace.   I kept telling myself that I was strong and I was going to  spend  3 days running.   My mantras were “Yes I can, I am strong,  I am running,  I am  me and I’m amazing”. I felt completely  confident the entire time.  Repetition is my forte.  This is  the kind of event  that  works for me. No anxiety about getting lost,  no anxiety about  missing a  cut off,  no anxiety about not finishing.  I felt like I was in a bubble in my mind doing my own event even though I was surrounded by tons of people.   It was  very empowering.

There was a lot of inspiration all around.  This is a Pedestrian Friendly Event.  There was man , age 91 in the 6 day event,  people with special needs,  people of all ages , shapes and sizes, many walkers and many super  fast runners.

 

On day two I thought” never again”  but you know how that goes.   For next year I think we will NOT go back to the hotel the first night.  We’ll run for  100K  and then sleep in the warming  tent or our car for 2 hours, get up and continue.   The first night we hardly slept in the hotel because we  were so jazzed up from tunning 12 hours.  We figure the time would be better spent by continuing the running. 

My shoes, New Balance Xmore V4 worked great, with gaitors.  I had 3 pairs of them and used  a different pair each day.  I did start to get  a hot  spot on day two behind my heel but mole skin saved me.   I will never again do  a race or long training run without  having a supply of mole skin!

 

In the training leading up to the race I had a slight issue with my IT band/ knee cap  clicking and moving.  I went to PT and did  some exercises.  It improved but was still there occasionally.  The first day of the race the clicking started  after about  2 hours and then VANISHED for the  rest of the event.   In the ultra community the saying “If you have a minor niggle issue just go for a long run to  fix it” proved true for me!

 Everyone has a different why for participating in crazy long distance endurance events.  My why is because it makes me  feel alive.   30 plus years ago I had a long difficult battle with clinical depression.  Completing 100 miles reminds me that I am strong and I can do hard things.   There are so many people that are not well enough to even walk to the bathroom.   I run for those that can not. We GET to do this.

 

 


 

 

 

Saturday, October 31, 2015

Virgil Crest 2015: One hour and twenty one minutes.


2014 Finish
In 2014, on my third try, I finally finished a hundred miler, Virgil Crest, in 36:20.  Small problem: the cutoff was 36 hours.  I got my buckle, due to the kindness and mountainish trail goodness of RD Ian Golden.  I floated along for a few weeks, basking in the glow of covering 100 miles in one fell swoop, but a little voice inside kept growing louder.  “You didn’t make the cutoff.  Yeah, you got a buckle, but….”

And so it was that I signed up for this stupidly hard race again.  I had to run clean.  I always chase cutoffs and sometimes miss them.  I had to fix this. I had to finish this.

September 18.  Night before the race.

8:00 pm.  Hotel room in Cortland, NY.  I’m...nervous?  Maybe. Second-guessing myself? Definitely. Wondering why I was going to put myself through this again?  Absolutely.  I’m normally raring to go and never nervous or negative, but not this night.  Not looking forward to the morning.  My training had been spot-on.  I was so ready, yet so not. WTF was I doing?

September 19. Race day.  

4 am.  Warm and dry.  Very un-Virgil like.  I'm here, so what else can I do? Time to finish this thing.

5 am.  Drive to Hope Lake.  Ian, Scotie, Mr. Lampman, Christine.  All the usual suspects.  Love the pre-race energy. Feel like I'm in the middle of a beehive, and we're getting ready to head out on a crazy, stupid, yet somehow important mission.  As usual, my Lisa is here.  She is always here.  She is my rock.

5:57.  5:58.  5:59 am.  Strava, start recording.  

6 am.  Ok, this is finally it.  I’m back, we’re off, it’s on.  

Last year I started off walking, determined to not go out too hard and blow up later. This year, I run easy, determined to put just enough time in the cutoff bank to not run scared all weekend. I’m confident my training will carry me.  My reluctance of last night is gone and I’m in a groove almost immediately.  

7:20 am.  6.3 miles.  Hitching Post aid station.  20 minutes ahead of cutoff.  Feeling good.  

8:56 am. 13.4 miles.  TenKates Crossing.  40 minutes ahead of cutoff.  Feeling great. Here at Tenkates is my Lisa.  Volunteering while waiting to crew me.  She does so much, for so many. Thank you Lisa!  Thank you volunteers!

Now the fun begins. The alpine section at Greek Peak ski resort.  Up, over, around, down.  Lather, rinse, repeat.  Two or three times, it seems (I’m still confused about what exactly happened out there).  And near the top of one of the climbs, here’s the welcome face of Ian Golden, doing what he does--running all over the course, keeping tabs on folks, encouraging people, making it all work. Thank you for being Ian, Ian.

11 am.  20 miles.  TrailsRoc#.  45 minutes ahead of cutoff.  Feeling great.  So happy to finally meet Amy Schwarz Lopata, Facebook friend and wife of Dan Lopata, one of the sweeps (along with Tom Garby) who graced and protected us during that long final 25 miles in 2014.  Dark chocolate espresso beans and bacon.    

BACON!

1221 pm.  25 miles.  The Rockpile.  45 minutes ahead of cutoff.  Feeling remarkably good.  I’ve run either the 50 or 100 at Virgil every year since 2010 and I’m always 7 hours to the 25 mile point.  This year, 6:21 and feeling strong and comfortable.  This was huge and really set the tone for the rest of the race.  For someone always cutting it close to cutoffs, it’s a tremendous mental boost to feel like I’m ahead of the game and haven’t beaten myself up to get here.  The advice is always don’t go out too fast and while that’s certainly true, for someone that chases cutoffs it can also be important to not go out too slow and feel terrorized by the clock all day.  It’s a delicate balance, this pace thing. 

Now the 25 mile return trip to Hope Lake start/finish.  I don’t remember much from this leg.  Not because I wasn’t lucid, I was.  It was just...well, this is that leg you have to finish to get to the halfway point when you can really focus on the beginning of the end.  A bunch of hours, and miles, and elevation.  

One thing I do remember during this leg was how good my legs felt at 30, 40, 50 miles.  One of my goals in training this year was to do longer long runs instead of back to backs or multiple long runs per week.  I think it helped physically, and it definitely helped mentally because during those runs, I experienced my legs coming back to life after 25 or 30 miles.  I knew even if I got tired, I’d come back.  I know this from other races, of course, but it was really good to have it fresh in my mind from the past few weeks of training.  I recall a little fatigue around 32-34 miles, but then it was gone.  

1:51 pm.  30 miles.  TrailsRoc#.  44 minutes ahead of cutoff.

4:09 pm.  36.6 miles.  Tenkate.  36 minutes ahead of cutoff.

6:41 pm.  43.7 miles.  Hitching Post.  39 minutes ahead of cutoff.

8:40 pm.  50 miles.  Back at Hope Lake.  1:05 ahead of cutoff.  Now the fun starts: the second 50 mile leg.  In the dark.  With a cold front and heavy rain on the way.  This is Virgil, after all.  Put my feet up for a few minutes, eat a cheeseburger my lovely Lisa saved for me.  Don my rain jacket, big-brimmed Outdoor Research rain hat, and waterproof headlamp.  Thankfully, the  unflappable Jim Lampman, the Hundred Mile Machine who so kindly pulled me along with him through the night last year, is here also.  I’m thrilled to be with him again this year as we head out of Hope Lake.  I did not yet know just how happy--and fortunate--I would be.  Lisa runs around the lake with us, gives me kiss as we leave the paved path and head back into the woods, and runs back to the pavilion.  She’s going to meet me in the morning to pace me the last 25 miles, so will go back to the hotel for some sleep.

9:15 pm.  The rain starts and quickly becomes a Virgil-esque deluge.  Rains hard for an hour (or five), then tapers off. A cold wind blows water off the trees for what seems like hours.  I keep moving to stay warm, but I keep getting so far ahead of Jim that I can’t see his headlamp.  I wait, and sometimes backtrack to make sure he hasn’t fallen on the muddy trails.  Problem is, he’s wearing glasses. Glasses suck in the rain and he can barely see where he’s going.  The really stupid part of all this?  I'm enjoying it. It sucks, but I'm enjoying it, living in the moment.  What is wrong with ultrarunners?  

For awhile, I’m confused, thinking there’s a lean-to on this section, where I’d seen some backpackers earlier.  Planning to crash their party to get warmed up, or quit, or something. Alas, the lean-to isn’t in this section, and before I know it, we’re at the Hitching Post again.  

11:08 pm.  56.3 miles, Hitching Post. 32 minutes ahead of the cutoff.  A welcome outpost of dry under the tent.  Warm food.  Volunteers are the best!  As is Erin Klinkman, driving around to every aid station with two big bins of clothes and gear for Jim Lampman.  They kindly lend me a couple dry shirts and some gloves because, unbelievably, I have not put any in my drop bag for this aid station. My race is done without dry clothes here.  I’m cold, wet, and wary of heading back into the woods unless I have dry clothes.  Hypothermia can’t be ruled out at this point.  Jim Miner is here, volunteering--thank you!--and he gives me a space blanket that I tuck into my shorts to make a nice warm skirt.  So fashionable.  And that really matters when you’re running in the woods at midnight in a rainstorm.

2:24 am? Sunday (race website says 4:24 but that can’t be right).  63.4 miles.  TenKate.  26 minutes ahead of cutoff.  Madness in the dark of night.  Crazy joy of being in the moment once again.

5:14 am.  70 miles.  TrailsRoc#.  26 minutes ahead of cutoff. Ok, now I'm ready for sunrise. Cursing at the planet, trying to get it to spin faster.  Not working.  

7:13 am.  75 miles.  Rock Pile turnaround.  52 minutes ahead of cutoff and the sun is finally awake. As planned, Lisa is here.  LISA IS HERE!!  Last year, I called and left her a tearful voicemail about a mile from the aid station, as I stumbled along believing my race was done. It wasn’t, thanks to her and Todd Baum--but it wasn’t pretty the rest of the way.  This year, I’m moving well and in good spirits--why wouldn’t I be, I’m here over an hour earlier than last year and feeling alive instead of dead. Some of Todd’s delicious beef stew, a short rest with my feet up, and we’re out.  Lisa is with me now, and the world is right.  I know she’ll get me to the finish.

We start out on the victory leg.  Not setting any land speed records, but moving forward and feeling ok.  I’m in last place again, and that’s fine.  Every aid station, we’re treated like rockstars.  The volunteers are the rockstars, many of them still here after an all-night shift.  Thank You Volunteers!  

BACON!

9:31 am.  80 miles.  TrailsRoc#.  59 minutes ahead of cutoff.  Heading to the alpine section for the last time.  Ever.

12:13 pm. 86.6 miles.  TenKate.  1:12 ahead of cutoff.  Almost 6 hours to cover just over 13 miles, and the hard part is behind us.  Feeling good.  I got this. I so got this.  Lisa is doing a great job keeping me moving.

About 2:45 pm.  92-93 miles.  I don’t got this. I’m going to miss the 36 hour finish cutoff again.  How did this happen.  WTF?  

I’m having my only episode of “ultra brain” the entire race, as I close in on Hitching Post at 93.7 miles. I’m thinking I can get there by 3 pm, which would leave me 3 hours to go 6.3 miles.  I correctly calculate this to be 2.1 miles per hour.  My ultra brain converts it to 15 minute miles (hint: it’s about 30 minute miles).  I see no possible way I can do 15 minute miles for 6+ miles.  I am cooked.

2:58 pm. 93.7 miles. Hitching Post. 57 minutes ahead. As we approach the aid station, Lisa wisely runs ahead of me to warn the aid station volunteers that a raving lunatic who knows only the F word is approaching.  “I need water and Coke, NOW.  HURRY UP!.  I have to keep moving.” (And yes, this low carb, high fat guy drank some Coke, because at 93.7 freaking miles,you eat or drink whatever you freaking want.) Joel Cisne is here and gives me a congratulatory hug as it’s clear to everyone--except me--that I’ll beat the finish cutoff with ease. I will have nothing of this celebration.  I dash out, despondent.  Lisa comes racing up behind me, again trying to convince me we're fine on time. Just a short distance into the woods, the light bulb lights. Lisa’s math is right; I’ll easily make it under 36 hours.  Now the problem is water.  In my crazed pass through the aid station, I haven’t let us fill our packs as planned, and we have over 6 miles to go.  Lisa is pissed at me, and rightly so. This takes my mind off the race for a bit, and eventually we decide we’ll be fine as long as we don’t get lost.

We get back into a groove.  Eventually Lisa tells me we’re close to Hope Lake.  I don’t see a lake. Ten minutes later she says it again.  Still no lake.  Ten minutes later she says she remembers this section and that the lake is definitely close now.  She’s lying.  She’s a very good pacer.  

4:48(ish) pm.  Hope Lake!  We exit the woods onto the paved final mile.  If I had much left, I could slide in under 35 hours, but even smelling the finish line, I know this is not possible.  Up ahead we see two others, a runner and his pacer.  Lisa says “Do you think you can run a few steps? Maybe we can catch them.  Let’s finish strong.  Just run a little, honey.”  I try.  It works.  We pass them and apologize.  It’s what ultrarunners do.  “Let’s keep running and not be last this time.”  I keep running. The paved path bobs and weaves around the lake.  We make the final left turn, cross a small bridge and head onto the grass to the finish chute.  Lisa runs ahead and can see the clock.  “Run!!  RUN!!”

I see the clock.  

I run.

I finish.

34:59.

Thirty FOUR fifty nine.

One hour and one minute under the cutoff.

One hour and twenty one minutes faster than last year.  


I have run clean, made all the cutoffs, finished official.

My hundred mile quest is complete, my buckle, legit.

Awesome!  

And so it ends. My work here is done, except to say Thank You. Thank You Lisa (again, and again, and again). Thank You Ian Golden. Thank You volunteers. Thank You everyone that encouraged and supported me during this grand adventure. Woo Hoo--got it done!

Strava stats below and track here.
101.6 miles.
41,802 feet total elevation change (20,901 climbing)

Oh, and for those that want to know how I became so wicked fast this year....stay tuned for Virgil 2015, Part Deux: How I Became So Wicked Fast This Year.






Sunday, May 6, 2012

Bear Mountain 2012: The 50 miler that wasn't, but probably was.


I (attempted) to run The North Face Bear Mountain 50 miler yesterday (5/5/12).  I’ve registered for my first 100, Virgil Crest in late September, so I really want to get several 50 milers in as part of my build-up to Virgil.  I ran Bear 50K in 2011, again only as training since it fell on a day I had a 30 miler scheduled, and I didn’t like the corporate feel--very non-ultra-like.  Even the runners were different--too many people wearing iPods and fancy clothes.  The vibe was much more of a road race than an ultra.  But back to this year--I needed a spring 50, I didn’t get in Bull Run as I’d hoped, and Bear was certainly a good course--very, very hard, a perfect “supported training run” just 90 minutes from home.  

I ran 14:32 pace for the 50K last year.  The cutoffs for the 50 miler were about 16:48 pace.  I knew this would be a big challenge for me given the course--14,000+ feet of elevation change and lots of very technical trail.  I went out yesterday just trying to stay ahead of the cutoffs so I’d be allowed to finish (I knew I could finish, physically--I can ALWAYS finish).  Really need to work on race technique, no matter how hard I try I usually go out faster than I think I’m going.  So I used heart rate to control my effort level early and not go too hard too soon.  Wish I could just feel my effort and pace better, but I can’t (yet) and the HRM has been a good tool for me in the past.  My best 50 ever, 11:42 at Bull Run last year, came while I was wearing the HRM and regulating my effort early on.  Surely not due solely to the HRM, but that didn’t hurt.  So, I went with it again.

The night before: Camped in my van near the race and got up at 2:30am to catch the shuttle to the start.  This, too, was good training for the 100--running with almost no sleep!  Gotta say, a minivan is, to me, the ultimate ultra machine.  I’ve taken groups of folks and loads of gear to distant races comfortably, and camped in it countless times.  Lots of room in the back for a bunch of running gear and supplies that just live there year-round.  What’s not to like?  Maybe I need an “Ultra Mom” bumper sticker for it :)





The start: At 5:01 am we were off.  Weather was great, maybe 50 degrees.  It was foggy, so the rocks were wet but nothing too bad.  The dirt was perfect--not too soft, not too hard, just right.  Excellent.  On the down side, I was really kicking myself for not changing the batteries in my headlamp, though I knew they were fresh.  Or maybe I was going to have to spring for one of those 170 lumen suckers before Virgil, because this thing just wasn’t cutting it.  And finally, just before I didn’t really need it any more, I decided to try pushing the buttons--it has all different modes, proximity lighting, red light, yada yada.  Duh.  When I turned on the REAL headlamp it was like the freakin’ sun had come up.  Glad we got that straightened out.



Aid Station #1, Anthony Wayne, 3.9 miles: I was 4 min ahead of the cutoff (this was a soft cutoff, just a pace indicator really--there were only two hard cutoffs where you could be pulled).  Ok, fine to warm up with but I wanted to build a little more cushion.  

Aid Station #2, Silvermine, 8.6 miles: 8 min ahead of the cutoff and running very comfortably.  Picked it up a bit on the second leg.  Felt super.

Aid Station #3, Arden Valley, 13.9 miles.  10 minutes behind the cutoff.  Oops.  Heart rate is great as long as it fits with the pace you want to run.  Not so much on this leg.  Couple runners who knew the course told me (after the fact) that the third leg always kicks their ass.  Now the problem was that the first hard cutoff of the day was at AS #4, and I had to make up some time.  Getting to AS #4 was now my race--miss the cutoff and I was done.  So I got after it. Hard.  Passed lots of runners.  Next comes the first “North Face” moment of the day...

Aid Station #4, Skannatati, 20.7 miles.  I could see the aid station through some trees as I came down a steep and slightly technical section.  It was gonna be close...really, really freakin’ close.  Fortunately, I put the hammer down.  Fortunate, because 50 feet from the AS a guy in a red shirt (as he would become known to many runners that day) is looking at his watch and shouting at me “Hurry up, 30 seconds to get here.”  Huh?  WTF? Are you freakin’ serious?  Yeah, I’d put the hammer down to play it safe but didn’t think they were going to be that rigorous about it.  Twenty seconds  (20 seconds!) behind me came a group of 5 or 6 runners.  Red Shirt pulled them.  I’m surprised they didn’t bury him under some of those Bear Mountain rocks.  We all showed him our watches that all showed it was still 10:47 am, the cutoff time.  But he said he was on the radio with the RD who made the call.  I felt terrible for those people.  And there was another hard cutoff at 2:34 pm.  Why not just let them continue and see if they can make the later cutoff?  For that matter, why even have two hard cutoffs, or at least why enforce the first one so rigorously?  Yeah, if you’re 5, 10, 20 minutes past that first cutoff, ok, but 20 seconds? (I’m not exaggerating this point, they were right on my heels).  So this was my tipping point: Fuck The North Face.  Never running one of their races again, nor buying any of their products.  But I’d made the cutoff (which, apparently, was an “in” cutoff--just get there by the cutoff time and you’re ok....keep reading...) and was allowed to continue.  Whew.



Aid Station #5, Camp Lanowa, 27.7 miles.  Nothing remarkable about this leg.  I was in an out right on schedule. I had to be, as the next and final hard cutoff of the day was at AS #6.  I was on a razor-thin edge and couldn’t dog it.  I will say I was feeling just marvelous.  Mahvelous.

Aid Station #6, Tiorati, 34.2 miles and the second “North Face moment” of the day.  Really didn’t think I was going to make it at several points during this leg, but kept pushing.  About 10 minutes from cutoff time, I thought I saw an area ahead that “felt” like there would be an AS there.  We all know about those hallucinations.  Just a bend in the trail, more trees, rocks, and roots.  T minus 5 minutes, another such hallucination.  Then, resignation.  I wasn’t going to make it.  I didn’t give up, but I was fully expecting to be pulled.  T minus 2 minutes.  There it was!!  I could do it.  A quick turn on the trail and...a quagmire.  Not a lot of mud on the course, but this section had it.  Shoe-sucking mud, but not too much of it.  Got through it, blasted up a short hill and...a road to cross to the AS.  Fortunately, no traffic.  The cutoff was 2:34 pm.  I came in at 2:33.  No problem, since the cutoffs were “in” and not “out” (or so it was at the first hard cutoff, where Red Shirt told me I’d made the cutoff and could leave whenever I was ready).  I made a comment to a volunteer about never having run this close to the cutoffs and he said “oh, you have 10 minutes.”  “No, I just made it.”  “No, they extended the cutoff to 2:41.”  Ok, whatever.  I was filling my pack and refueling when Red Shirt’s equivalent at this AS came over to me and said “It’s 2:35, I should pull you since you haven’t left yet but if you go right now I’ll let you out.”  Gee, how considerate of you.  Fucking asshole.  Two other runners who hadn’t left yet heard this and ran like cats from a vacuum cleaner.  I didn’t argue with Mr. I’m-Big-And-Important-Because-I-Have-A-Radio about whether the cutoffs were “in” or “out.”.  I just hoofed it and repeated my new mantra: Fuck The North Face.  But now I was golden.  No more hard cutoffs, save for the 14 hour finish limit and honestly, I really didn’t care if I got an “official” time.  I knew the course would be a challenge for me and all I wanted to do was run all 50 miles (or more....keep reading...) of it.  

Aid Station #7, Anthony Wayne, 40.3 miles.  Yeah baby.  We got this.  I did have a letdown of sorts after making the Tiorati cutoff.  Not that I felt bad.  It was just like “whew, got that taken care of” and I took a pretty good break between AS 6 & 7.  I was DFL when I got to AS 7, so picked up the sweep here, a very nice woman named Stephanie.  She had never run an ultra, but did run trails some and, having recently moved to NYC, was happy to be back out on trails again for a day.  I was feeling great but wasn’t overly thrilled about running the last 10 miles solo, and she was a great person to talk to, very positive, upbeat, fun.  I felt great physically and was having a blast talking with Stephanie.  All good, cruise control from here to the end, even if we did have to climb Timp Pass and go down the other side.  Alternated running and walking.  No issues.

Aid Station #8, Queensboro, 44.7 miles.  The best AS of the day, the only one that had an “ultra” feel to it.  As I (we, counting Stephanie) approached, a woman wearing a fluorescent pink wig (at least, I think it was a wig), matching pink-themed clothes, and mis-matched knee socks started ringing a bell and cheering.  Others started blowing horns (or some sort of noisemakers, there were several I think), hootin’ & hollerin’ for us.  There was a party goin’ on!  Hung out for a few minutes here just because the people were so much fun and, hey, I was golden, remember?  No more hard cutoffs, I was clear to the finish, even if I was “late.”  Ran out of Queensboro feeling great and looking forward to beating Timp Pass which, as it turned out, wasn’t really much worse than some of the other climbs on the course.  I knew Timp from the 50K last year, but there were 19 miles of trail that were new to me this year and they had some pretty good climbs as well so Timp, even at 45 miles, wasn’t a big deal.  And slow climbs up steep rocky hills are one of the few things I do pretty well, since I train on such terrain quite a bit.  I’m not a good “pure” runner, but I can go (slowly) up and down rocks all day.  One more AS, then the finish.

Aid Station #9, 1777, 47.2 miles.  About a mile out from this final AS, we encountered the two EMTs that were working the AS.  They had decided to hike out and look for us.  Stephanie had a radio and while we could hear people, for some reason they couldn’t hear us so when they kept asking where 197 (my bib number) was, Steph couldn’t get through to them. But all was good, I was running comfortably and in great spirits, very lucid, just having a fine time.  A fine time. Until the radio call came in, about 3 minutes before getting to the AS.  The Park Rangers had decided to call the race and ordered all remaining runners pulled from the course.  It was about 7:10 pm at this point.  I was DFL, so I was the only only one to be pulled.  The EMTs said “gee, if you were to somehow get away from us, what could we do about it?”  Which, of course, is exactly what I did.  I had plenty of running left in my legs, actually, and had no problem taking off at a good gait.  Which was fine, until I got to the AS, which looked like a police blockade.  No rangers, but several big pickups and SUVs, some with lights and official-looking symbols all over them, and about a dozen guys in fluorescent orange vests.  And Red Shirt.  As I approached, they said “Sir, you have to stop.”  It won’t take much imagination to guess the two words I said to them.  I ran through the AS and continued down the dirt road that the course followed at this point.  A bunch of guys took off after me.  Didn’t take long for all but one--Red Shirt--to drop.  Unfortunately, Red Shirt was an ultrarunner (well, so he said, but he had the vibe of a North Face corporate talking (dick)head.  He hung with me for a few minutes insisting that I come back.  I finally acquiesced, not so much for the sake of the race director and the race per se, but out of respect for the Park Rangers since (supposedly) it was their call to close the race and clear the course.  While Rangers can sometimes be assholes, they’re also there to save your ass if you get in trouble, and to ride herd on the other assholes that would otherwise litter up and misuse the open spaces we love.  And, after all, they do have legal jurisdiction over the park--I knew there’d be hell to pay at the finish if I went on.  And so, my day was done.

What was perhaps most frustrating about this turn of events was that I have never, ever felt so strong and been so lucid near the end of a 50 miler.  I easily could have gone another 5 miles, much less the 2.8 miles to the finish.  Still worse: At one point the truck I was in for my ride off the course missed a turn and hit a dead end.  As we were heading back to to the turn...there was Red Shirt, headlamp on (not that he needed it yet, it was about 7:30 pm with an hour of daylight left).  I said “Is he running the course?” and the driver said “Oh yeah, he’s going to sweep the last 2.8 miles to the finish just to make sure there’s no one left out there.”  So we had a race official sweeping the final leg of the course, but they wouldn’t let me run it with him.  WTF?  Are you kidding me? You can’t make this shit up....

If someone had said at the start that there was any chance of being pulled even after making the cutoffs, I would have kept my pace up more than I did.  I easily could have taken some minutes off--and I would have been through the final aid station before the Rangers called the race.  Or if I hadn’t spent several minutes walking with the guy who said he was hypothermic--I eventually decided it was ok to leave him alone but I got his bib number and reported him at the next aid station, which I knew couldn’t be far away at that point (though I’d always spend the time to make sure someone was alright, finish or not).  Of course, all this begs the question “Why didn’t I just keep my pace up anyway?”  To which I say: Beats me.  I was just out having a great time in the woods, covering a bunch of miles, and not worrying about anything once I’d made the final cutoff.  Oh well.

And to finish out the title of this race report: I spoke with LOTS of people after the race who GPS’d the course at between 53 and 56 miles.  We all know GPS is not perfect, but so many people measuring at least 53 miles makes me think the course was indeed well over 50 miles. I didn't hear a single report of it being less than 53. They’d made some course changes this year, including cutting a brand new section to connect a couple of trails.  So it seems likely that by the time I hit 47.8 miles, I’d run pretty close to (or even over) 50 miles.  I wanted a hard 50 mile training run, and I probably got just that.

Random thoughts and other miscellany from the day:

  • It was foggy for several hours, especially at the higher elevations.  This, combined with the vibrant spring green colors of ferns and other plants just leafing out, gave this run a magical, mythical, “enchanted forest” feel.  I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed a run so much, it was sooo cool.  This is why I run trails.
  • Just after Tiorati, I heard a noise.  I knew what it was, but I couldn’t believe what it was.  I knew it was a rattlesnake, but it was sooooo loud and strong.  I stopped dead (lest I BE dead) (ok, rattlesnakes don’t usually kill people but two fangs to the calf sure would put a damper on my race calendar).  I finally spotted it, curled up just a few feet off the trail in the rhododendron--a monster, the biggest rattler I’ve ever seen by far.  Couldn’t tell how long, but thicker than thick through the body.  Snakes don’t scare me, but that thing scared me (sorta), it was huge.  I took a wide berth off the opposite side of the trail--beating the bushes ahead of me with a big stick lest some of his kin be keeping company in the area.  Freakin’ cool.  This is why I run trails.
  • Despite my razor-thin margins on the cutoffs and the debacle at the end, this was easily my best 50.  In particular, I was not just lucid at the end (hey, I could still do mileage and pace math in my head--think that’s a first) but actually felt extremely sharp and focused, not to mention happy and truly having fun.  Physically, I felt really strong and although I hadn’t been running a lot since making the final hard cutoff, I still had a lot of miles left in my legs and actually had started running more during the last few miles.  I was ready to kick it from the last aid station.  Felt so alive.  This is why I run trails.  Long trails :)
  • To what do I attribute feeling so good?  Hmmmm.....
    • The slow start certainly helped.  
    • I religiously S-capped hourly (with one exception when I felt like I was overdoing it), fueled about every 30-45 minutes, and drank.  I know how important this regimen is to me, but I don’t always execute it well during races (read: 2011 Finger Lakes 50 miler...).
    • I used Hammer Anti-Fatigue caps hourly.  I believe in running strong through physical and psychological training and eating/drinking right, not in finding salvation in a supplement bottle.  But I often get “dead legs” for at least part of a long run and I’d read that AF caps prevent that by scavenging the ammonia produced by protein metabolism.  I tried them on a previous long run but didn’t take them after the first hour or two for some reason.  During Bear, I took them before the race, then hourly every single hour, and my legs never went dead.  The times I walked instead of running were strictly psychological (really gotta fix that) and, in fact, it often felt better to run than to walk.
    • I also tried the Suceed “pre-race pack” supplements.  S-caps work so great for me, and Karl King seems to know his shit, so I thought I’d give these a shot (so much for not finding salvation in a supplement bottle, right?).  Did they help?  How could I really know from one race, but they didn’t seem to hurt.  Will I do them again.  Undecided.  Not sure if they’re worth the money--not expensive, but do they really provide any benefit?  We’ll see.  
  • For a race with a big corporate sponsor, they sure had crappy aid station food.  Mostly candy and snacks. The only real food was PBJ squares and potatoes (which I only saw at a couple stations).  Oh, bananas were good, and oranges.  But the volunteers at many a homegrown ultra--the true ultras--put TNF to shame.  From grilled cheese to pierogies to quesadillas to pizza to soup to warm ham and cheese wraps...tsk tsk, TNF.  Spend some of your corporate profits on decent food.  I don’t need another pair of TNF-branded arm warmers for my registration fee, I need good eats on the run.
  • Speaking of volunteers--the food notwithstanding since I”m sure it was TNF-controlled--all the volunteers ROCKED!  Without you, I wouldn’t get to have so much fun.  Thank You, Volunteers :)
  • I managed my aid stations far better than I have in the past.  No dawdling.  Maybe two minutes max, less in some cases. I planned ahead for what I needed (refill my pack or not, restock fuel supplies or just grab and run, etc.) and just banged it out when I got to the AS.  Really feel good about this.  Now I just have to do it again in future races.
  • On the one hand, running so close to the cutoffs, despite the difficulty of the course, is discouraging and makes me wonder if I’m crazy for attempting a 100.  On the other hand, making the cutoffs given the difficulty of the course, on a day when I was just running, not racing, and feeling so good mentally and physically after 14 hours on my feet--well, ok, maybe that 100 isn’t so so crazy after all.
  • I actually slept well after the race.  I think that’s a first.  It was my seventh 50 miler and I can’t remember having anything resembling sleep afterwards.  I’m always tossing and turning, waking up and dozing off (kinda).  I got home, had some more to eat, decided it was safe to do some ibuprofen, and went lights out for 8.5 hours.  Woke up feeling great.  Wonder if the anti-fatigue caps were part of that?
  • Speaking of ibuprofen: I’ve always religiously avoided it during long runs and races due to its potential to induce hyponatremia and renal failure.  Then, earlier this year while taking a doctor-prescribed high dose for a neck stinger, I did a long run.  Wow, did that feel good.  So...I tried it again.  And again.  And I even broke down and did it during the Hat Run.  But it still scares me.  Some people say the AF caps (and Sportlegs) preclude the need to take ibu.  I had some with me yesterday, but was never tempted to take it.  Was it the AF caps?  Hmmm....

So the bottom line is pretty simple: I had a great training run even if I didn’t get a time for it, and The North Face sucks.  I’m feeling great the day after, ready to run some more trails.  I’m surely not losing any sleep over what happened, but I am feeling great about the rest of the ultra season--I’m ready for some more!.  And, like I always say (plus or minus the specifics): I spent 14 hours running in the woods with friends, and there was beer at the end.  What’s not to like?

And congrats to all those who actually did finish this race--great job!!!!!


A few more pics from the day below.