Race Report: Mountain Madness 50K, 10.15.11: Mad tough

This wasn’t on my radar until about two days before the race.  I ran quite a few races (by my standards) in the spring and summer and didn’t make any hard plans for fall races, though Virgil Crest and Stone Cat 50 milers were on my “maybe cuz I’ve done them before” list.  I took  August off after running my first Escarpment (Woo Hoo!!!) at the end of July.  Had to sign up for Stone Cat Aug 1 lest it close out (which it did in 36 hours).  So with Cat on my schedule, when September rolled around I had to start seriously training again.  Virgil Crest 50 miler seemed like a good place to start, so I did that.  Then what to do...

First, I ran a great race in Red Hook, NY, directed by Lisa Glick with a little help from Doug Freese.  The Harvest Half Marathon on Columbus Day weekend is a road race, but it has the grassroots, small-race feel that I love and a beautiful course.  Took that as a 13 mile tempo run, plus a few to warm up.

Then it was suddenly about to be three weeks from Stone Cat.  Like to do my last really long run three weeks out.  

As the week dragged on, I didn’t have it together.  Didn’t make plans with anyone to run long locally.  Rough week of not enough sleep.  Things were going downhill.  Didn’t feel like I had in me the 6+ hours of running I wanted as the weekend approached.  I remembered the NJ ultra folks talking about a race down there in October.   Google got it.  Mountain Madness 50k in Ringwood State Park, NJ.

On Thursday I started thinking about it.  On Friday I decided to do it--with only a quick skim of the webpage which said the course was “challenging but not impossible,” mentioned “rocks on almost every part of the entire course” and stated there was about 5,000 feet of elevation gain over the 50K.  For some reason, I interpreted this as “easy.”  What was I thinking?

So here’s how it went down.

Saturday Morning, 10.15.11:

4:55 am.  That CANNOT POSSIBLY be my freakin’ ipod going off.  No way I can go run 50k today.  Exhausted.  Feeling a little sick.  Hoping the coffee works some extra-powerful majik today.

6:00 am.  Why am I backing out of the garage?  Why is the GPS programmed for New Jersey? WTF?  

7:45 am. Arrived at Ringwood State Park after repeatedly ignoring the GPS exhorting me to go down a dead end road and then “turn around when possible.”  STFU already.

8:00 am.  Wrote my $75 check.  What?  It’s $95 race day?  Better be serving caviar at the aid stations.  

8:05 am.  No medium shirts left?  Ok, I’ll take a medium from 2009.  Even if I did pay $95.  Yeah, I know, I registered race day.  Actually like the 2009 design.  I’m good with that.

8:15 am.  Camelbak or handhelds and waistpack?  Camelbak.  It’s just a training run, after all.  I go through this every race.  Still figuring out who I am, ultra-wise.  

8:30 am.  Big bottle of Perpetuem.  Going all liquid or semi-solid fuel pre-race today.  Still working on that also.

8:50 am.  Pre-race briefing.  Complicated set of trails in the park, so the briefing went something like this (poetic license applied): “Follow this trail, not that one or the other one, except when you cross the first one when you should ignore the markings for the second one, which you’ll pass twice on the first loop, then pick up again on the second pass before you head back into the woods.  The trail is marked in yellow flagging, then orange, except for the part from AS 3 to 4, which is back to yellow, then back to orange after AS4, except for following the red trail markers part of the time, but sometimes the yellow trail markers mix with the red.”  Ok, maybe I should dash back to the car and get my headlamp just in case...

9:00 am.  Two orange chairs in front of the park restrooms are quickly dubbed the starting line and we’re off.  Doesn’t quite have the normal ultra vibe.  Not much talking.  Kinda weird.  I clearly don’t have my mojo working.  It’s breezy and cool, great running weather, but rain and wind all night have covered the rocks with wet leaves.  Dicey.  Some runnable sections though.  Waiting for those endorphins (endocannibinoids?) to kick in.  Not happening.

10:15ish am.  AS1, about, 7 miles, back at the S/F.   Still not feeling the love, but not entirely unhappy about how I feel physically. How I feel about finding the trail for the rest of the day...not so good.  Several very confusing and poorly marked trail junctions out there.  Runners coming at us when they shouldn’t be (or were we going at them when we shouldn't be?).  Frequent use of the F word by large numbers of people.  But we’re running in the  woods, so we’re happy.

??? am.  AS 2, 8.5 miles.  Still not feeling good, but moving forward.  Moving farther down the trail of no return--exactly what I needed.  If I’m out there on a big loop with no reasonable way out except to run/walk/crawl back to the finish, I’m forced to get my long run done.  Trail is runnable in spots, not so much in others.  

11:55 am. AS3, 14.75 miles (almost exactly halfway).  I’m out of the AS at noon, 3 hours into the race and still not feeling great but thinking “wow....even with some slowing in the second half, I can break 7 hours or maybe even sub-6:30.”  Why do I EVER think such things?

The rest of the day is a blur of rocks, hills, wet leaves, rocks, missed turns (not many but some close calls, lots of second guessing, and creative use of the F word), wet leaves, rocks, hills, and rocks.  Not to mention rocks, hills, and wet leaves.  And some knee deep wading through streams.  I love running trails!  And beautiful trails they were.

Gotta mention the volunteers...deja vu all over again.  I think it was the same 2 or 3 people jumping from AS to AS. Started feeling like the movie Groundhog Day.  But that was ok, and we couldn’t have so much “fun” without you guys so....Thank You Volunteers!!  As for the aid stations themselves...well, not quite what I’d expect for 95 bucks (or even 75 prereg).  Basic stuff and plenty of it--Heed, water, M&Ms, PBJs, coke, chips, gels.  Canned potatoes..ug.  I’ll never make that mistake again.  Nothing hot.  Well, it’s only a 50K, and a nice, grassroots affair at that.  I can deal.

4:57:35 pm (aka 7:57:35 after I started)..  Done.  Actually felt pretty good, despite taking about forever to run 50k.  A burger, some chips, and I was on the road feeling pretty damn good about getting a 50K long run in on a day I didn’t have it in me, about getting another race done (if you can call that “racing”!!), and about spending a gorgeous fall day exploring new trails and making new friends.  What could be better than that?  

Overall, I never felt good, but I didn’t really feel bad.  My legs seemed to have a little fatigue left from the Virgil Mud Fest three weeks ago (sounds like a good excuse) and together with my lack of mental focus, I just couldn’t run the wet, leaf-covered rocky stuff for fear of taking a bad fall.  I could run the runnable sections ok, just not the rocks.  And there were lots of rocks.   But hell...it was a trail run.  I got to wade a couple streams.  Got muddy.  Used my hands to pull myself up over big rocks.  Used my hands to lower myself down from big rocks.  Stubbed my toes.  Swore a lot.  Talked about religion and sex and marriage and divorce and politics and running with people I’d never met before in my life.  In other words, your typical ultra.  The trail was technical, gnarly, wet, hard to follow at times, hilly but not monstrous.  The volunteers were cheerful and encouraging (even if there only were 2 or 3 of them....or so it seemed....).  Another good day in the woods. Lucky me.  Now...on to StoneCat!

Virgil Crest Mud Fest 50 miler. 9.24.11. Short report on a long race.

Here I am again, a week plus after the race and I still don't have a report up.  I started working on a nice, long, detailed, cutesy report.  Started.  Since I didn't finish, here's what you get:

Drove to Virgil Friday night.

Great dinner at Virgil VFD.
Drank beer.
Laughed with friends.
Went to sleep (sort of) (not really).
Got up.
Ran.
Mud.
Felt great.
Gravel Pit.  Awesome.  Thank You Volunteers!
Mud.
Lift House 5.  Mission Control.  Thank You Volunteers!

Mud.
Alpine loop.  Done.
Mud.

Cranked up Virgil.   
Mud.
Rock Pile. Rockin’!  Thank You Volunteers!
Mud.
Sweet running to Daisy Hollow. Thank You Volunteers!
Mud.
Still felt great.
Mud.
Back to Rock Pile.  
Mud.
Back down Virgil.  

Mud.
Back to Lift House 5.
Mud.
Back up alpine loop.    
Evil alpine loop.
Felt like shit last mile.
Mud.
Lift House 5.  Regrouped.
Walking a lot.  

Up Carson Road.  
Into the woods.  
Headlamp on.  
Tried running.  Not.
Felt like shit.
Kept going.

Felt like shit.
Kept going.
Felt like shit.
Kept going.
Finished.
Felt like shit.
Had a beverage.
Felt like good shit.
Had another beverage.
Felt like better shit.
Slept (really).
Woke up.
Had a beverage (Breakfast of Champions).
Felt good.
Had another beverage.
Felt great.
Cheered in the hundred milers.  
Contemplated my first hundred.
Someday.
Probably here.
Headed home.
No mud.
Stopped to eat.
Drove some more.
Stopped to eat.
Drove some more.
Stopped to eat.
You get the picture.
Got home.
Watched some football.
The End.



Once again, RD Ian Golden and crew put on a great event. Well-organized, great aid stations, even better volunteers, beautiful course with a little mud (ok, a lot of mud) thrown in just to take your mind off the hills. Only my second year running ultras, but this race has become one of "my" races--I'll be back every year. It's just that good. 

Race Report: Finger Lakes 50 miler, 7.2.11: Fun (ouch)

If you don’t have a lot of time to read race reports, here’s the quick version:

• Great race. 
• RD rocked. 
• Volunteers ruled. 
• Sweet course. 
• Hot day. 
• It hurt. 
• Roosterfish IPA. 
• Life good.

If you’re still reading, here’s the rest, in a somewhat abbreviated form lest I never get this story finished:

Set in the Finger Lakes National Forest near Watkins Glen, NY, this race is, for me, the epitome of a trail race.  Home-grown, right-sized, and very well-organized by Chris Reynolds and her honey—err, hubby—Joe (if you know them, you know I was more right the first time).  More than anything, I love this race because it isn’t so much a race as a family reunion—where even newcomers are family. 

The view from my tent....at least, before others arrived.

The race is staged out of a peaceful campground in the National Forest.  The course is a 16.5 mile loop, mostly single-track, ranging from cool, deep forest to upland pastures (don’t let the cows out!) with great views.  Three race distances: one loop for an extra-long 25K, two for a long 50K, and three plus a half-mile baby loop for a true 50 miler.

In 2010, I ran the Finger Lakes 50K as my first ultra.  Life hasn’t been the same since.  In 2011, I returned to run the 50 miler.  This is my story, and I’m sticking to it:

The Meadow...with lots more tents to come

It was a dark and snoring night (before the race)—if you were camped in the meadow, you know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.  Fortunately, the weather was fine. 

Despite the snoring—which actually didn’t bother me—I got a few hours of decent sleep, a rarity for me the night before a race.  Felt as good as I ever have on a race morning. 

Woke to clear skies and cool-ish temps (note I did not say “cool”….and so the beginning of my end was already upon me). 

Pre-race: coffee, half a Hammer bar, some Perpetuem.  Dropped my drop bag in a good spot.  Timing chips.  A cow bell.  And we were off.  Actually, they were off.  I was one hard-to-open new roll of TP in the porta potty behind.  Least of my problems for the day!  A little easy jogging and I quickly moved into and through the pack—and there were still several people walking to the start.  Hey, it’s an ultra…

Loop 1 (start – 16.5 miles)

Short bit of forest road, then onto the single-track and into the single-file.  This was fine, since I was being a geek and running on heart rate, and this kept me from “lighting a match” (spiking my heart rate) too early in the day.  Worked the woods, edged along and eventually crossed the first pasture.  Didn’t let any cows out.  Didn’t challenge any bulls.  Sun was bright.  Sun was warm.  You can guess where this is going.  But at this point, I was still fresh and feeling great. 

View from a pasture

This loop went, well, perfectly.  Stuck with my hydration/electrolyte/fueling plans (or so I thought….but keep reading) and I managed to hit my heart rate target dead on the entire loop.  Still hoping to break 10 hours for 50 miles someday (pitiful, ain’t it?), so I was aiming for about 3:00-3:30 for the first loop.  Ran 3:24—maybe too slow for a sub-10 hour finish, but not too fast, which was my bigger concern.  Life was good at 16.5. 

Loop 2 (16.5 – 33 miles)

Let’s cut to the chase: The wheels came off.  Things started off fine, but in hindsight, I think I’d loosened the lug nuts on Loop 1.  As Loop 2 progressed, and I stopped sweating, didn’t pee for an hour, two, three—I knew I’d screwed up my hydration and/or electrolytes.  After the long pull up Backbone to The Outback aid station—at a gentle grade I felt compelled to run as much as possible, in the close-to-noon sun—that’s when the wheels fully detached.  I’ve learned that miles 20ish-30 are the tough ones for me in 50 milers, and I’d hoped I could just roughly maintain my first loop pace through this lap, with the expectation that I’d be reenergized on the last loop as I started to sniff the finish.  Ha. Ha. Ha. More fool me.  I finished in 4 hours, a solid 35 minutes slower than the first loop.  Even that wouldn’t have been so bad, if I hadn’t been feeling so bad.  But I was.

Loop 3 (33 – 50 miles)

I never had any intention of stopping after two loops and taking a 50K time.   I came to run [sic] 50 miles and that’s what I was going to do.  And so it was that I headed out for a third death march….uhh, loop.  I will admit there were dueling little dudes on my shoulders in those first couple miles:

“This is stupid, you feel like shit.”     “This is an ultra, you’re supposed to feel like shit.” 

“Go back.”     “Never.”

“DNFing isn’t so bad.”    “DNFing sucks.”

“Take 50K and call me in the morning.”    “Not a fucking chance.”

The good thing about ultras is that you’ve got a lot of miles and time to get it back together.  The bad thing about this ultra is that I never did.  What I did have were some periods of really strong running, punctuated by some (long) periods of walking, with the end result a 4:40 final 17 miles (including the baby loop).  It seemed like I could either run, or not—there wasn’t much in between.  By the start of Loop 3, I was already readjusting my goals: from 10 hours (not sure I ever really thought this was possible—yet), to breaking 11 hours, to beating my 2011 Bull Run time of 11:42, to breaking 12 (fucking) hours, to Hey!  I finished another 50 miler and there’s cold beer!  Life is good.

So, this was my goal race for the year, and I ran, well…slow, even by my standards.  But I’m smiling as I write this, and feeling great. Why?  Well, first, because I went camping for a few days with lots of friends, and a 50 miler broke out.  What a blast!  Like so many other people have said in their race reports, this race is special not so much for the course (which I love), but for the people (RD, volunteers, runners), and the whole “this is what trail ultras are supposed to be” vibe.  I had a great time, even if I ran a not-so-great time.  The heat bit me, I made some tactical mistakes, and I struggled—making it a great psychological training run that will help me in future runs.  I’ve done another 50 miler—how can you feel bad about that?  And I always try to keep this in mind: I get to run.  Nobody forces me, it’s my choice, and I’m fortunate that I have the ability and opportunity to do so.  Don’t get me wrong—I put on my game face and give it all I’ve got every time—but I try to keep it all in perspective.  You take what each day, each race, gives you, and move on to the next.  That 10 hour finish may or may not ever happen, but as long as I can keep moving forward, then I’m more fortunate than many, and I will always be thankful for that.  Ok ok, off the soapbox…

Chris & Joe Reynolds, the volunteers, Search & Rescue—Thank You all for making such a great event possible.  This will always be my favorite ultra, due largely to all of you and the great karma you bring to this event.  Just wait till 2012….

Race Report: Sehgahunda Trail Marathon, 5.28.11: The Quagmire

The Race: Sehgahunda Trail Marathon, Letchworth State Park, NY.  Point-to-point from Mt. Morris dam to the parade grounds in Portageville, following the Finger Lakes Trail (FLT) through the park and along the Genesee River gorge.

The Trail: Beautiful singletrack through mixed hardwoods and some red pine stands.  No killer climbs but 112 stream crossings (yes, one hundred and twelve) = run down to each stream and back up the other side.  Almost all dirt, very little rock.  Remember this for later....

The Aid Stations: All on roads.  An uphill run from the FLT along access trails that were often open, grassy swales, most of them probably at least a half-mile one-way and some seemed like a mile or more.  Of course, the volunteers all ROCKED!!  Thank You all!

The Set-up: One of the wettest April's on record. Followed by a wet May.  Race day preceded by a week of rain from a stalled frontal system draped over WNY.  And a hellacious thunderstorm the night before the race. With me hunkered down in my van trying to sleep.  Gotta love the night before a race.  It's always something...

The Result: Mud.  Mud.  And more mud.  Often to the shoe laces on 60-70% (?) of the course (seemed like 100%!!).  Ankle deep was common.  Those access trails to the aid stations?  Mid-calf deep in places, and I'm not exaggerating.  Not.  The stream crossings?  The "run" down was more like skiing in your trail shoes and picking out which trees to catch along the way to prevent a complete free-fall.  Getting back up often required digging in with your fingers or grabbing roots to pull yourself up.  In other words, a great day on the trails.

My socks were white before the race.  The little bit of skin on my right ankle is where they chiseled off the timing chip at the finish.  And note the sliver of skin where my shorts are pulled up on my right leg. But no picture could begin to explain what it was really like out there...

The Results: 6:20:05, not bad given the trail conditions and the fact this was just a training run for me, which I went into with very tired legs.  Good for 5th in my age group (ok, so there were only 20 of us ;).  I'm actually very psyched, great finish for a back-o-the-packer like me.  Guess I like it dirty.  And there were double the number of DNF's compared to last year.  Guess some people don't like it dirty.  Silly, silly people.

The Verdict: Not sure I'll run it again--at least, not sure I'd drive 4 hours to run it again, but if I was in the area I surely would.  FLT is sweet but those long runs UP to the aid stations--I wasn't likin' that.  Neither was anyone else I talked to.  Even though the mileage was part of the course (and thus the aid stations were required checkpoints, you couldn't skip any), there was just something really, well, miserable about getting to aid in this race.  I hated it every time I saw the arrow out to an aid station.  How's that for something different?

The End.  Yep, that's all I got.  Now get off the computer and go run a muddy trail!

Race Report: Bull Run Run 50 miler, 4.9.11: Sex, drugs, and mud

Got your attention, right?  So, the sex and drugs part, not so much.  Ok ok--not at all.  But I wasn't lying about the mud.  Rained all afternoon and night Friday, finally stopped after two swipes of the wipers driving from the hotel to the race on Saturday morning. Not a massive amount, but enough.  Everyone I know that has run this race said "Don't worry about rain on race day, worry about rain the day before."  Everyone was right.

Race day itself couldn't have been more perfect.  Cool, 45 degrees, heavy overcast at race start, and I think the temp barely changed all day.  No rain.  But you already know that wasn't anything to worry about.

With just enough light to see without a headlamp, we were off at 6:30 am.  Never heard a shout, a gun, or a cowbell (where's Joe when you need him?)--but all of a sudden, we were running.  Worked for me.  The obligatory loop around the parking area to spread us out, then down to the river we did run.

As we headed upstream toward Centreville Aid, things gradually became slicker.  Slipperier.  Stickier.  Deeper.  Wetter.  Muddier.  And the stream crossings: Ankle deep.  Knee deep.  Waist deep.  No, I'm not kidding. This...this was a trail run.  This...this is why we do it!  This...this caused frequent use of a word beginning with "F"....


The real fun began after Centreville on the 2.2 mile out & back (i.e. 4.4 total).  It was probably fine for the lead runners, but for us mid-packers (ok...back of the pack), it was like running through a barnyard just after the cows came home.  The trail was churned deep and wide, with plenty of clay to stick to your shoes when it wasn't trying to suck them off your feet.  Throw in the "crooked bridge" crossing that put at least one runner in the creek and you have the makings of a fine trail race.


Back at Hemlock (the start/finish/staging area, 16.6 miles), I changed shoes and socks, re-Glided my toes, put on new moleskin (since the original apparently came off in the muddy, wet, brown blobs formerly known as "socks").  Was a bit chilled and decided to keep my long sleeve shirt, hat, and gloves with me (even though I wasn't wearing them).  Probably spent too long there but needed to fix my feet since it would be my last chance to do so for about 34 more miles.  I could either fix my feet now, or grill them up after the race when they would be indistinguishable from hamburger.  Yeah, that's kinda gross, ain't it?


Headed out of Hemlock looking forward to some upland (=drier) running. Much too tired already for only having done 16.  The next 10 or 12 would be the worst for me psychologically, but probably the fastest block of miles all day at about 10-12 min/mile (I know, smokin', ain't it?).  The Marina was great with the usual super volunteers, but I was distracted.  My time wasn't bad, but I just wasn't quite feeling the love again.  Only 21 miles to this point....long way to go.  I just wanted to keep moving, knowing my lowest spot is usually just south of 30 and then things would get better.

Pushed out of the Marina on to Wolf Run Shoals, where I was under direct orders from Chris Reynolds to eat the ice cream.  I followed orders.  Good orders.  And I don't even have a chipped tooth to show for it.  Dry ice is remarkable stuff, no?  Still struggling a bit, but 26 miles was past the halfway point.  The faint light in the distance was either the end of the tunnel, or the train. 
 
Left WRS with a slight twinkle in my eye.  Could have been the woman in the black tights and pink top in front of me.  Or maybe a second wind.  Yeah, that's it, a second wind.  Fountainhead was just two miles away, at 28.  Long two miles.  The light was flickering just a bit as I left Fountainhead, though my legs were pretty much back from the dead. Full-on mind/body disconnect.  Fortunately, we have all been here before.  Just keep swimming....

Random item (because for the life of me I can't place where this was): Best sign on the course, as you approached an aid station many miles in: "Captain, the trail is your bitch."

The White Loop was loopy to me.  Wasn't remembering the course description correctly and thought this was the section where no one should be coming at you on the trail.  People were coming at me on the trail.  WTF? But at this point I was once again running with Tom Green, one of the streakers: he's run every BRR, this being his 19th (oh, and a measly 200+ total ultras....).  If he didn't know the way, we were in trouble. Well, I'm writing the race report, so you can figure out the rest.

The entrance to the Do Loop was the turnaround point for me mentally.  I was now past 30 miles (32.5 to be exact).  Or maybe it was the pizza.  Pizza.  Pizza.  Did I mention there was pizza?  Mmm.  Pizza.  Ok, done with that.

The "infamous" Do Loop wasn't so infamous to me.  It went by pretty quickly.  I was shocked when I got back to the "stick" of the lollipop.  Back to the aid station.  The pizza was gone.  I'd done the right thing eating 3 slices on the way in.  Thirty-five miles done, and it was game on.  My spirits were up and I screamed out of there.  Hammered back to Fountainhead and Wolf Run Shoals, where I went for the popsicle instead of the ice cream. Note to self: 5 miles is a long way to carry a freakin' popsicle stick.  Just sayin'....

After WRS, I just had the Marina, then beer....uhh, the finish.  I hammered four miles.  Problem was, the Marina was five miles. I got caught up looking ahead on the trail, thinking "the aid station must be just up there" or "just around this bend."  Not.  It became a game of "Where the f*%$ is that freaking aid f#^&ing station?  Not a good game to play.

By the time I hit the Marina, I'd hit the wall.  My left quad was threatening to join the confederates and secede from the union that was my body.  I knew I would finish--I will ALWAYS finish--but I had been thinking I could break 11 hours and could see that was gone.  Time to recalibrate.  Breaking 12 would be ok, or at least beating my Stone Cat time of 12:32.

So I staggered around the Marina for a couple minutes.  Then I found watermelon.  And (again) the guy making the warm ham and cheese wraps on the grill.  I love you, man.  That was huge.  Stupid--I was just out of fuel.  Knew it would take awhile to recover, so I headed out on a slow walk, hoping (expecting) (determined) to get my groove and flow back.  After about 5 minutes, I started to pick it up.  After 10, I was running.  After about 15, I was groovin' and flowin.'  Some part of me kept wanting to stop and walk, but as I mentally checked myself over, there was just no reason to stop.  All systems go.  I had to keep saying to myself "Why stop when there's nothing wrong?"

I got into a very fun (for me) game in the last 10 or so miles, and especially in the last 5.5 from the Marina to the finish.  I had done lots of hills in training, both running and powerhiking.  Doug Freese, the ultra god I was lucky enough to train with all winter, had said to me "Wait and see how strong you are late in the race."  He knew.  Once I saw someone ahead of me struggling up a hill...they were all mine.  Resistance on their part was futile.  I probably passed 20 people in the last 10 miles, and no one passed me.  Not like I was threatening the course record or anything, but it was great to have some gas left in the tank late.  And the runnable stretches--I was really running.  I actually kept thinking to myself "Look at me, I'm running!"  That was a great accomplishment for me, to run strong to the end and not walk it in.  Cool.

So I hit the tape (ahem) at 11:42, almost an hour faster than Stone Cat last fall.  Many people said BRR is similar to the Cat, but I think the BRR course is much tougher, and the conditions this day were certainly an issue.  Not a blistering pace, but my fastest time yet in three 50 milers (I know, you can't compare courses but we all do).  Biggest thing was that I was strong to the end, and never did I think "I'm never doing this again" as I have in past races. In fact, it was the opposite--I felt strong and like I'd conquered the 50 mile distance.  Now to keep whittling down those times....

Ok, that was way too much about me and not enough about the people that made it happen and the race per se.  The race director, Anstr Davidson and crew were a well-oiled machine and the nicest folks you could be lucky enough to meet.  The volunteers ROCKED as always.  The other runners were, as always, family.  Couldn't ask for a better-marked, easier to follow, sweeter-to-run trail.  Great schwag--nice shirts, a bandana, a pin, simple stuff but really nice and not overdone.  And leading up to the race, running all winter with Doug (11:30, a very slow day for him, he usually rocks it pretty hard) and Jacque Schiffer (9:39--she didn't feel good--imagine if she HAD felt good...).  I also worked with a great exercise physiologist, Dorothy Hamburg (if you live near New Paltz, NY, and want to get stronger and healthier, go see Dorothy), who I subsequently hired as a coach (never had a coach before so this has been fun--and very productive!).  Between all of them, they made me so much stronger and taught me so much.  And there I go talking about me again when what I really wanted to do was talk about them--and say "Thank You" for all your help and encouragement, and "Thank You" to Anstr, VHTRC and all the volunteers who made it possible for me to have such a great day.  And of course to UltraChris, who kept telling me I was gonna rock BRR--and I did, in my own, weird way!

So my first Bull Run Run 50 miler is in the books.  It won't be my last.  What a race.  What a group of people.  What a blast!!!

Race Report: Wurtsboro Mountain 30K 3.26.11

It's a road run.  Deal with it.  Great course.  4 miles up.  About 6 miles down overall...steep in places, rolling in others.  Some flats, then the final 6ish is rolling along the Basha Kill wetlands.  Beautiful course.  Crazy guy with an axe chasing the runners.  He's moving up in the world--it was only a knife a couple years ago.  But don't let that color your opinion of the race--it's a blast.  Even if it felt like early February instead of late March.  It was sunny, and I was running.  What more is there to life? (don't answer that).  Ran comfortably hard, wasn't truly racing as I've got Bull Run Run 50 miler in two weeks and a cranky achilles this morning that I didn't want to piss off too badly (seems okay now...or maybe that's the IPA talking...).  Ran about 2:51, only a few minutes slower than my PR (about 2:44, last year) and ran much easier and stronger to the end this year.  So life is good, the race is great, the volunteers rock, and the organizers (Sullivan Striders - Myriam Loor - Kim Klemen - et al.) get high praise.  If you suddenly find yourself in Wurtsboro some late March weekend, come run.  Pizza afterwards.  And IPA in the back of my van....

Bull Run - it's a go!

I made it into the Bull Run Run 50 miler.  Woo Hoo!!!