2008 In Review

[Left: snowshoe run Dec 27] 2008 was an excellent year. Overall, I ran just over 1500 miles, completed 9 ultra marathons (590 miles of racing), completed my first double Timp, and seemed to have fewer occurrences of injury than the previous year.

I definitely learned a lot along the way. For the three 100 milers I completed, I can say that I actually enjoined doing them.

Looking forward to 2009, my plan is to try for the same races as this year and add one more in July, the Hardrock 100. The trouble is that several of the races are lottery based, which means I might not get into all of them. I have a couple alternate races I can am for if necessary. So far I have the following races: Bigfoot Snowshoe 50k (Jan 31), Moab 50k+ (Feb 14), Buffalo Run 50 (Mar 28) and Squaw Peak 50 (Jun 6). I'll be sending in my Wasatch 100 and Hardrock 100 applications on Friday, and should learn about Miwok 100k in the next couple weeks.

Bear 100

Last year, the Bear 100 was my first 100 mile race, and I barely finished it under the cut off time. This year, the course was changed and made more difficult. This would be a test of how I had improved over the last 12 months.

Finishing Wasatch 100 earlier in the month had been a high point, a PR on the hardest course yet. Now the challenge was whether I would be recovered enough to complete another 100 miler in the same month, only 19 days apart. I finished Wasatch with no notable injuries, so I gave myself one week of recovery, then decided to run the second week. The first 6.2 mile run was very bad, I stopped to walk frequently; muscles, joints, tendons complaining along the way. After a day's rest, the same run went much better. Then I ventured onto Timp for would probably be my last summit of the year. The weather was threatening, with lightening and rain all around, but I made it without getting hardly wet at all. The last five days would be spent resting and eating.

The new Bear 100 starts in Logan, heads basically NE and ends on Bear Lake just inside Idaho. There were a couple thousand feet of elevation added to the course over last year. Only a handful of miles are the same as the old course, otherwise this is entirely a new creature. Also, planning for this race would be different as I had my dad and sister crewing me the entire course. This allowed me to pack many of my essentials in a single bag and have it follow me throughout the race. I did have to plan for one potential issue: missing them at an aid station. I would counter this issue by having minimal drop bags at other aid stations that would give me supplies if needed.

The first 20 miles in the pre-dawn and early morning went extremely well. I even managed to pass Davy Crockett early on for a little bit. The new course had a major climb from the start, but luckily we were in the shade most of the early part, on the West side of the mountains. And it could be said that I actually enjoyed myself and had fun. This was the last race of the season and I knew I would finish.

After meeting my crew at Leathom Hollow (approx. mile 20), I started feeling the first signs of defeat: old injuries complaining and new ones starting. Particularly, I began noticing my left achilles tendon was having trouble. I let up a little on the pace and began to slow down, seeing a slower finish as better than a DNF. I still enjoyed the day, but didn't make it to Tony Grove, just past halfway, until after dark.

It was at Tony Grove that the temperatures began to fall. I made a decision to continue without pants, but knowing that another pair waited for me up the trail. The night was clear and beautiful. It was at this time that I became aware that my defeat in meeting my time goals was not the steep climbs, but the gentle ones. I could not find the strength to run on flats and slight climbs, I could only walk fast. In all my calculations for time goals, my assumptions were failing. It was disappointing to see the time slip by, knowing that my original sub 30 goal was also slipping by. Also, various pains warned me not to push myself less I bring on some serious injury.

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, around 2am, I was going along and heard a large animal move on the other side of bushes ahead of me. I swung my light around to see if I could get a glimpse, and the brush next to me cast a shadow onto the trail. Now, the mind is a amazing thing, and when it has limited information, it fills in the gaps with what it knows. I had been thinking about the possibility of running across a bear, so when the shadow appeared to be moving down the trail towards me, my mind told me it was a bear running down the trail. My heart jumped and a sense of panic gripped me for the moment. But that moment was brief, and I soon rational discovered it was only a shadow, and then the large animal let out a "moo"-ish sound. It was only a cow! I had been running around cow pies most of the race, so cow should have been the first thing I though of and not bear.

[Left: At Right Hand Fork, mile 37] It was also through the night that around problem developed: getting lost. I had heard earlier that some drunk on a horse had torn down a bunch of trail markings, and at night, it would have been easy to miss a turnoff. I had lost the trail coming into Tony Grove, nearly going around the lake the wrong way (which would have been very difficult), and a couple times barely missed going down the wrong trail due to bad or lost trail markings. I would hear later of several runners DNF'ing because they missed the trail and lost significant time. Whenever I would go a while without seeing a marking, and the trail was at all questionable, I would begin to panic a little. I even thought I must have missed an aid station because I had mistakenly thought it was closer than it really was.

[Right: At Tony Grove, mile 52] I also took opportunity through the night to do something I wished I had during Wasatch. I stopped in the trail, with nobody visible ahead or behind me, and turned off all my lights and looked up. Being so far from any major cities, the sky was brilliant, with more stars visible than my eyes could process. I savored that moment, but soon realized how cold I was getting and that I needed to get moving again. That was a wondrous moment, one I still reflect upon weeks later.

[Left: Inside Beaver Lodge, mile 76] Beaver Lodge was another difficult trail section. I had come to the road but didn't know whether to go up or down. I read the description of the trail I carried several times, but not until some other runners came along did I finally head the right way. I probably lost 20 minutes wandering around trying to figure out where the trail was. Walking into Beaver Lodge was a great relief. I had some GI issues, probably from eating too much food the day before, and need to find some vasoline and a bathroom. It was also very cold, in the 20's outside. I ate some warm food and gathered strength to continue on. Being about the same position as Brighton on Wasatch, it was difficult to leave the comfort and get back on the trail. I was so cold at first, that I could not hold the flashlight still. Within 15 minutes, however, I was warmed back up.

I had caught up with a couple other runners and we walked up the dirt road for several miles as the sky lightened up and dawn arrived. They left me on the downhill as I could not run as much now (my left achilles was beginning to be a real problem), and I entered Gibson Basin in the sunlight. I decided it was time to ditch my long sleeved shirt, but soon was cold again as the trail dropped back into the shade. It was still really cold in the morning hours. I was mostly walking now, running only for brief times, mindful of an increasing sore left achilles tendon. I soon found myself at the final aid station wondering if I should drop.

My left achilles was now swollen, and I could feel other secondary pains coming on. With under 8 miles to the finish, I debated the value of finishing only to worsen my injury. To that point, I had completed 8 ultras this year, including two one hundred milers. Yet my will to finish was strong. So, despite better judgement, I continued on, wondering if my tendon would snap off and I would be stuck on the trail, unable to walk at all for hours. With a monsterous climb out of Ranger Dip, the long descent to Bear Lake began. After a little while, the lake became visible and the elevation difference was apparent. I had a long ways to drop ahead. And soon the trail would become very steep. After trying unsuccessfully to walk down, I realized I would run out of water in the heat if I didn't run down. It was really hot, and losing elevation meant increasing temperatures as well. I also thought of snakes being a really danger as I plunged downhill almost out of control.

Little by little, mile by mile, I finally came to the dreaded asphalt. A long stretch ahead, and then along the road. After what seemed hours (but was less than one hour), I turned the final corner to the cheers of those at the finish. I ran under the banner and then sought for a chair. As soon as I sat down, I could feel something bad happen to my left achilles, like it was filling with fluid and swelling. I would now only be able to hobble around in great pain.

Despite slowing down and walking much of the last half of the race, I would still set a new hundred mile PR of 32:45:46! This means that for all three 100 mile races this year, I improved my time with each race.

Aftermath: I did have achilles tendonitis, which required a few weeks of phyiscal therapy and no running. Slowly, I began to run again and after two months, I am back to 13 miles on the trail. It still is stiff and I have to be careful, but recovery is coming along.

Looking forward: I am going to try to complete the same 9 races next year, and add the Hardrock 100 mile race in Colorado. The difficulty is that several of the races are lottery based, so my chances of getting into all of them are slim. I have registered for the first three races successfully and will be applying to the next two on December 1.

Double Timp, Kat'cina Mosa 100k, Wasatch 100

[Left: Double Timp] Wow, what a summer. I've not posted for a while, so I have some catching up to do. I thought I better get something together before my final race of the season.

Following Bighorn, I had to recover from my injuries while preparing for Kat'cina Mosa 100k. I first summitted Timp on July 5 while there was still a lot of snow below the saddle, and went up again the following week. I was feeling pretty recovered July 19, so I decided to do a "double Timp" from Timpooneke. That is going to the summit and back twice in a row. I know of only a few others that have done it. The second trip was especially slow on the way up. Roundtrip was 11:07, and I saw many groups four times as I passed them on each trip. Kat'cina Mosa was two weeks later.

[Right: Kat'cina Mosa start] August 2nd, with the very early start of 3am, I started my third 100k experience. I had run Kat'cina Mosa the year before as my longest race at that time, and suffered greatly. This year, with much more experience, I wasn't too stressed on time. I was most worried about finishing the race with injury. Last year, I started out running up most of the first 15 miles and wore myself out early. This year, I would not run as much, but power walk up the major climb out of Hobble Creek. This strategy put me behind my times from last year, but I planned on making up time on the second half of the race. Ultimately, I wasn't concerned about my time, and just wanted to have a good race day regardless of time.

[Right: near Lightening Ridge] The first killer climb is out of Rock Canyon over Lightening Ridge. I felt much better this time, climbing over and dropping to Big Springs easily. But then the hot walk to Windy Pass did me in. I didn't have enough water for that stretch and the heat zapped me. I slowed down considerably in this section (and lack of water was really bad), so I was much relieved to final get to Windy Pass. After getting my self refueled, I powered onto Little Valley. This section had taken my a lot of time last year, but I was able to run most of it (false flat to slight incline, with dips) and made up a lot of time here. Little Valley was nice, but I knew the next section hurt me last year the most, the hot climb to Bathtub. It isn't a very steep climb, but it is long and exposed in the afternoon. I felt pretty good through this section and even caught up with Jarom, who had problems (it just finished Badwater a couple weeks earlier, so I think he was still recovering from that experience). I had walked the last couple miles into Bathtub, so I felt good to move on while Jarom continued to rest. At this point, I had plenty of energy to power walk up the final climb that was so difficult the year before, and began the long descent to the finish (about 13 miles). Not wanting to push too hard, I let my time slip as I walked and ran the next distance, finally dropping to Hobble Creek before dark. I started on the last five miles with my headlamp and soon came across a runner with no light. His headlamp didn't work and he was pretty discouraged. I walked and ran the next mile with him, but it was soon apparent he couldn't run anymore. With three miles left, I walked the final distance with him. I finished in just under 20 hours, slower than last year, but injury free!

[Left: training run at Mill Hollow] The next several weeks were difficult for training runs. We had a family reunion at Mill Hollow in the Uintas, so I got only a meager seven mile run in the next weekend, then had TERT High Camp the following weekend. With just one last weekend for a training run, I asked Phil and Davy what I should do. The recommendation was to run the last 25 miles of the Wasatch course from Brighton to the finish. I was able to get a ride to Brighton, and Joye agreed to meet me in Midway, so at 7:30am, I started my final long run.
[Right: Lake Catherine, above Brighton] The first stretch was a long climb to the highest point on the Wasatch course, about 10,400 feet, followed by a steep drop and another steep climb. I knew these would be much more difficult on race day. One problem I had was the course wasn't marked and I was trying to follow mostly written directions, so I made a few bad turns. I passed through Ant Knolls and Pole Line Pass and began the stretch to Rock Springs trying not to drink too much water, because I didn't know how much Rock Springs would have for me. There were many dirt bikes on the trails that day, and even mountain bikes. I arrived at Rock Springs to discover it was barely a trickle. It was a very warm day, so I waited half an hour to refill my water, then decided I needed to continue. [Left: between Ant Knolls and Pole Line Pass] The "dive" and "plunge" are also very steep drops, followed by steep climbs, which combined by with the heat, slowed me down. A few more bad turns and I soon was realizing I didn't have enough water. I missed one more turn and found myself in a community that I knew was wrong. Out of water, my run was over and I talked Joye to my position. I had run enough that day. Now I had two weeks to worry about Wasatch.

[Right: on Timp] Labor Day I spent on Timpanogos with TERT. I hiked up Friday evening, then ran down Saturday night (last part in the rain) to be home Sunday, then went up Sunday evening in down pour and lightening, to be there Monday for the snow at 10,000 feet. Labor Day was cold and windy, and I had to be moving to stay warm. Overall, spending that time at elevation was good prep for Wasatch.

One of the hardest parts with a race such as Wasatch 100 is planning the right gear for the right place. I spent hours thinking about projected times into aid stations, when I would want certain gear, what could happen, what might happen. Poor planning could be disastrous on race day. In addition, my dad and sister volunteered to meet me at a couple aid stations along the way. I never had a crew before, and really didn't know how to plan for that, so I just assumed I needed to plan without them there. Friday before the race, I'd had to have all my drop bags ready, I left home 1pm Friday with hopefully everything ready for the next morning. Planning was over, now it was time to execute.

[Left: waiting to start] Saturday morning came. It pretty warm morning, and the first part of the race was in the dark. I felt good, and ran many of the early sections to get in the front half of the group to keep a faster pace. Sun came, but it stay cool, and the wind picked up. At the ridge lines, it was almost too cold.
I arrived at the first aid station a few minutes ahead of schedule, the first real test of my goals. That was exciting, I got water, grabbed more Gu, and headed out. I was ahead of schedule with about 20 miles down. The next several aid stations I would see additional time gains. The weather was about perfect (cool, not cold, with sun) and I felt great. I did have a funny bug bite in this section while running downhill. I think something got down my shirt and bit me when it got pressed upon by my pack. It hurt really bad, and I tried to put some mud on it to draw out poison (nothing else to do about it). I didn't swell then, but continued to hurt for hours.

Big Mountain was the next major aid station at about mile 40, and I arrived 25 minutes ahead of schedule. There were lots of people there (crews, pacers), and lots of runners getting attention. I spent 5 minutes there, the longest stay yet (partly because I didn't know where to get my drop bag as I walked through), and was out. I had a mission, get to Lambs Canyon before dark.

[Left: hot afternoon] The afternoon heat was bad now, and we had still a good amount of climbing. I walked uphill and ran downhill when possible, and drank a lot of water. I started taking one Succeed tablet every 30 minutes, and I could feel that I need it. The wind was gone, so we were getting cooked. I saw a couple deer (the only large animals the whole race) when we turned off a road about half-way through the race (50 miles), which I hit around 13:30, and it was still daylight! My first race I didn't hit half-way until around 11pm. Another hour and I arrived at Lamb's Canyon (where we cross under I-80), another major aid station. I took my first "natural" break in a portable toilet (whew!), and had some grilled cheese sandwiches and hot soup (yum!). It was dark when I left there at 8:10pm. I had arrived one hour ahead of my schedule and was still feeling great.

[Right: coming into Lambs] The climb out of Lambs was paved road for a couple miles until we turned onto a trail. It was a good climb still, but I was moving strong. It was dark, but my spirits were high and I came across several groups on the trail. When we crested and started back down, I decided to run. The problem was I couldn't see the trail well with the overgrowth, so I had a couple spectacular trips and had to struggle to keep myself from face planted, grabbing young aspen trees and de-leafing them in the process. I still made good time and came to the Millcreek road, which was still a three mile walk uphill to Upper Big Water. I was an hour ahead of schedule and uncertain if my dad and sister would be there waiting, but I power walked up the hill maintaining a good pace (this was a LONG stretch to walk, and seemed to go forever).

I arrived just after 23:00 and found my family there. I had a few things to decide before heading out, the night was just starting and it was already pretty cool. I put on my pants and headed out, thinking I probably didn't need them 15 minutes later. Oh well, I was stuck with them now. I passed by Dog Lake just after midnight (not very spectacular to see), and Desolation Lake around 01:20 (even less spectacular), but the stars were out and it was clear. I found myself chilled if I stopped moving for just a couple minutes, so the key was to keep moving. I could see the outline of ridges that were the deepest dark, with the stars behind them. It was beautiful to behold. Then there were occasional buildings with lights that I assume were ski lifts and maintenance buildings, not something I was accustomed to see at 9 to 10 thousand feet. They were silent and ominous in the dark. I thought many times about seeing animals (bears, moose, cougar), but never saw anything. The night time moved on and the stars rotated above me.

Scott's Peak was the highest aid station, at the top before dropping down to Brighton. They had a tent with a heater running and it felt like an oven, so I didn't stay long. The downhill now was beginning to be painful, and I had felt some some pains of old injuries, so I was mindful not to push myself on this section. Orion was rising over the hill as I continued on in the dark. I walked mostly and still made it into Brighton at 04:20, where my original goal was 05:00. I was doing great!

Brighton was busy, runners and crew bustling about, some sleeping in dark rooms, others chatting over breakfast. Mmmm, hot breakfast. Nice warm lodge. Friendly people. It was difficult not to get stuck there, eating, chatting, letting time slip slowly away. I told myself I would only spend 30 minutes there, that would keep me ahead of schedule. I washed my face with a rag and reapplied sunscreen. I replenished my stock of Succeed, strapped on a waist pack to carry two bottles full of water for the hot day ahead, and ate. There was one problem, my pacer was no where to be seen. Friday, at the pre-race meeting, Brian said he was looking for somebody to run from Brighton to the finish with. He as going to pace a friend to Brighton, expecting to arrive at 01:00, and would sleep a few hours until I arrived. It sounded like a good plan, and I didn't mind the thought of having somebody to run the last 25 miles with, so I agreed. Now it was 4:50 and Brian was no where to be found. We believe we found his car in the parking lot, but no Brian. We continued looking and soon it was 5:15. I needed to leave. I needed to leave. No pacer. No problem. I left at 5:20, now behind schedule for the first time.

The pre-dawn screen was brilliant, especially as I climbed to the highest point on the course over the next hour. I didn't take a picture because I knew it wouldn't have turned out anywhere close to the view, but I wish I did anyway. I had good energy on the climb and dropped down to Ant Knolls, taking the downhill cautiously. I knew the trail from here to the last couple miles, so I was confident in what I needed to do. I gained a little time to Ant Knolls and then pressed on up "the grunt", a short but painfully steep climb, knowing that I would have a nice run into Pole Line Pass. I made up a little more time into Pole Line, but took a little too long relaxing there. I soon was back to my feet and going on. The trail to Rock Springs was in the shade still, and the air was cool, so I decided to press hard through this section, running most of the way and coming into Rock Springs 15 minutes ahead of schedule. This is the aid station I had been at for previous years, so I knew what it took to be there. My good friends Jeff and Lance had made the trek (though Lance was sleeping at the time), so I got filled with water and walked out for what I knew was ahead. I was a couple hours ahead the time I did the training run two weeks earlier, so it was a little cooler and I was able to power up the hills, drinking lots of water. At this point in the race, the miles and hours just seem to pass away without much thought, and the next thing I knew, I had made it to the final aid station at Pot Bottom.

Now all that lie ahead was a couple miles uphill, followed by relentless downhill. My feet were tender and I actually had an easier time running down than walking. So I relaxed my legs and feet and let myself tear down the road. I had missed the turnoff two miles from the end on my training run, but there was no way to miss it today (it was well marked and even taped to prevent you going the wrong way). I hadn't seen this last section, so it seemed to go on forever through very runnable singletrack, which then flattened out as it wrapped around by the golf course. I slowed down here and was finally passed by a few runners (I was mostly passing since Brighton), and finally the last mile on asphalt came into view.

I had been pushing myself and decided that a sub 33 hour finish was very doable. Originally, my goal had been 34 hours, which I considered ambitious since I had finished the Bear 100 last year in just under 35 hours, and Bighorn in just under 34 hours. I was beating my best 100 by almost an hour! And I felt like I hadn't injuried myself doing it. My concern was now whether Joye would be at the finish for me. She was planning on being there around 2pm, and I was going to finish before then. My past performances had been behind schedule, making her wait for me to finish, so I hoped she had seen my times ahead earlier and would be there. I made the final turn into the homestead, across the lawn and run across the finish to the cheers of the waiting crowd and into the arms of Joye! What a finish! 33:50:52 was my official time and 101st place. Out of the 241 that started, only 162 finished, so about one-third dropped out of the race. Among those that dropped were many friends that I had run previous races with. But among the finishers were also many others.

A week post-race, I'm doing great, almost fully recovered and ready to go out and run again. I decided to give myself a full week off before putting in a little training. The Bear is coming up in just over 11 days, so I need to recover fully, but not de-train. I'm looking forward to the race, and with a 36 hour cutoff, should be able to finish even if I cut way back.

There is something about doing a race that starts in the dark, goes through an entire day, continues through the night, and goes on for another day. Sitting back, it is an uniquely satisfying thing to behold at the end, and I'm struggling for the words to describe it. It is truly inspiring. The Bear awaits.

Bighorn 100

Thirteen days after running the Squaw Peak 50, I would run my second 100 miler.

The Bighorn 100 is in Wyoming, and required a 8 1/2 hour drive to get there. I carpooled with Davy Crockett to save on travel expenses, which gave me an opportunity to learn a lot from an experienced 100 miler. We checked into the Alamo Motel in Sheridan, but the clerk didn't see the humor in checking Davy Crockett into the Alamo. Oh well.

We checked in and had dinner at Ole's with Phil Lowery. Phil is quite a character, what more can I say. Thursday night several severe thunderstorms rolled through the area, with down pours, hail and lightening strikes within hundreds of feet of the hotel. We looked at each other wonder if we would see such weather the next day on the trails.

The Bighorn starts late Friday morning, with the pre-race at the finish area at 9am, allowing for a easy morning prep and breakfast. We rode a bus up to the start area with a few clouds overhead and a few drops. The race started and we were off.

I pushed myself for the first hour on an agressive pace, hoping to not get stuck on the single track in the back. I actually kept pace for a little bit with Phil, but my heart rate was too high, so I slowed down a bit. After the initial canyon section, the trail wound up onto beautiful alpine meadows. It was steep, but the overcast sky kept it from getting too hot.

(Sunday, July 20) I haven't had much opportunity to finish this, so I'm going to post as is and maybe come back later (been watching too much Tour de France). Here is the summary:

I realized half way through that even though I was 2 hours ahead of the cutoff, with two major climbs on the return trip, I was in trouble. I began pushing myself, to the point of exhaustion near the end, to make the final three cut offs times (the last one by only minutes), and finished with an official time of 33:49:27.

Damage: micro-tears in my right calf, left tendon on top of my foot sore and stiff. Major blister on the left heal (gold-ball size) that broke and rubbed raw. No old injuries resurfaced.

Squaw Peak 50

Wow, what a race.

At 4am, when the early starters began, so did the rain. It was just a drizzle at first, but by the time the main group started at 5am, it was pretty constant. I was faced with a decision: do I start with a jacket, or do I leave it in my drop bag for later. After thinking about it, and considering that this storm might be brief, I decided to leave it in my drop bag. I would come to regret that decision a few hours later.

The first stretch was pleasant, running downhill on the Provo Canyon trail (which is paved) in the pre-dawn hour. But after a couple miles, my right shin started bothering me. Now, when I had gone running the Thursday before, it had acted up, but I only ran two miles and had pushed myself. Previous runs of 8 miles had not been a problem for the few weeks leading up, but now it was. It might have been from my asphalt running (I had been mostly on the treadmill earlier), so this was a worrisome development, and I wasn't sure how long it would last.

After a few miles, we leave the paved trail and downhill, and begin a climb up towards Squaw Peak. The ground was very wet, and as we continued, the mud become really bad. My shin recovered on the uphill climb, and never was an issue the rest of the day.

As the climb got steeper, the mud became more of a problem. It was a slip-n-slide, with runs falling down. The danger was injury or just wearing yourself out. the grass on the side of the trail was sometimes just as bad as the mud. My time had slowed down considerably due to the conditions, and my goals for the day slipped away with so much mud. And downhill was just as bad, as you had to keep from losing control slipping down the hillside.

After a few hours, as we continued to climb, the rain turned to snow. Snow in June. Now, I was really regretting not having my jacket. I had started in a short sleeve shirt with a long sleeved shirt on top. And I was in shorts. At least I had my gloves and wool socks. The higher we climbed, the more the snow stuck, and soon we everything was covered with the white stuff. And it was cold. Cold to be wearing a wet shirt with an occasional breeze. Moving was my only hope from hypothermia.

After leaving Rock Canyon, it got even colder and the wind picked up. My arms were going numb and I began to feel my core temperature drop ever so slightly. I was now very concerned, thinking about pulling out my emergency blanket to try and warm up. But then the clouds began to breakup a little, and I could literaly feel the radiation from the sun coming through the clouds warming me up. I pushed on and began to warm up again. I had barely avoided disaster.

As we dropped into Hobble Creek, the snow was soon a memory, but the roads and trail were still muddy. A little farther down, I pulled my gloves off because I was getting too warm. The temperature was about perfect for running (40's to low 50's). I felt really good now. Turning onto the Left Fork road, I was able to run uphill. Last year, the heat zapped your energy on the road. This year, the cool temperatures and clouds made it pleasant. By the time I reached the aid station at the end of the pavement, I was within 30 minutes of my target. Things were looking up.

The next few hours I slowed down. More than I would have liked. I felt that I was lacking energy to push too hard. Coming into Little Valley, I decided that I need to conserve myself and not worry so much about time. I had a race in less than two weeks and needing to finish not completely spent or injured. I was going to enjoy the rest of the day and finish feeling great.

Last year, I left Little Valley dehydrated and drank all my water before Windy Pass, getting dehydrated again. This year, I stayed on top of my hydration (and the weather helped alot too), but I still wanted to have plenty of water for the long stretch to Windy. So in addition to the 2L hydration pack, I added a waist pack with two 24oz bottles.

As we climbed again, we began coming across snow fields. In fact, we climbed straight up on the difficult climb section a snow field. And had to summit a peak because of snow fields covering the trail. Windy Pass couldn't come soon enough, and I was glad to finally arrive. When the sun would come out, it got warm, but as soon as it disappeared behind a cloud, it was cold again. I kept my long sleeve shirt on and just carried my jacket around my waist.

After resting and fueling, I began the descent through snow. At first I was really cautious, but as I as went on, I was more confident and able to power through them. As I was already muddy and wet, I just ran through the mud puddles rather than around them. I was able to get a good downhill pace going and I quickly passed many runners that had passed me earlier on the climbs. My legs felt great, and it was fun to fly down the rocky trail.

I passed by the last aid station at Big Springs just calling out my number. I had water enough and I wanted to finish strong. I soon got warm and too off my long sleeve shirt for the first time. I ran for a couple miles until I saw a lady walking up the road towards me. Then realized it was Joye.

She had arrived at the finish and inquired on my progressed. They told her I had passed through the final aid station 30 minutes earlier and would be arriving any moment. An hour passed without me finishing, so we became worried (1 1/2 hours to go just over 3 miles downhill must mean I'm injured). She started walking up the road thinking I was almost finished. Turns out they were wrong, and I had only left Windy Pass, so she had walked a mile up the road when I met her. I decided to walk most of the final mile with her, telling about my day. Slowly, 5-6 runners I had passed since Windy Pass began passing me. I would finish in 14:25:15, just over an hour faster than my 2007 finish time.

Because I had signed up for the Big Horn 100 thirteen days after Squaw Peak, I decided I wouldn't kill myself on this race. The last thing I need was an injury. I was pleased with my final time, and lessons learned that day. It was a good race.

Miwok 100k

[Left: pre-race gathering] Saturday I completed the Miwok 100k in Northern California. It was a beautiful course and a perfect day. My official finish time was 14:45:17, finishing about 15 minutes faster than my goal. From my 19 hour finish of the Katcina Mosa 100k last August, this was a much improved race.

Miwok is a popular race and it filled up soon after registration open. I initially didn't register fast enough and just got on the waiting list, but the race director decided to increase the number of runners and I got in. 318 started this race this year compared to 228 in 2007, with a 89% finish rate.

For training since Antelope Island, I started to run steep hills: 800ft/mile elevation climb. There is a good trail from Pleasant Grove that goes for 3 miles, although early in the season you can do only two before reaching snow. I would run that trail up and back multiple times, trying to complete a 4 mile loop in under 1 hour. During the week I would run fast 7-8 mile (~8min/mile pace), which was difficult with several business trips during that time. I increased distances until I hit overtraining two weeks before Miwok and took a week off of running. Looking back I was probably not getting enough sleep.

[Right: traffic jam] Saturday morning the start was cold, damp from the ocean, but luckily not windy. I wore a jacket until close to the start time, when I packed in a bag that would be there for when I finished. Due to the increase number of runners, they had parking issues and the race was delayed from a 0540 start to about a 0555 start. Those extra 15 minutes provided enough light that I left my headlamp in my drop bag destined for Pan Toll aid station. The race director took us onto the beach to the starting line and gave us a few last words of encouragement over a hand-held megaphone, then counted down to "Go". The first couple hundred yards where in sand, but soon we bottlenecked as the running mob had to go single file up a trail. I waited a minute or two until finally started moving again. After a little bit, it opened up onto a road that allowed for passing. The road wrapped around and offered a striking view of San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge in the pre-dawn hour as we climbed and passed old coastal defense batteries from the early 20th century. That road turned into a trail that dropped back down into the second climb over to the Tennessee Valley at mile 11.9. I could tell that the air was much thicker than I was use to, being around sea level when my training is usually above 4500 feet. I could tell that was giving me an advantage over the sea-level training runners I was passing on hills, and my heart rate and respirations were lower than I would have expected. Living in Utah has it's advantages.

[Right: climbing out of Pirates Cove] From there we climbed over and dropped down into Pirates Cove and then up and over again to Muir Beach, offering beautiful coastal vistas along the way. Muir Beach was mile 16, at which point we left the beaches and heading into the Muir Woods. This section took us through some enchanted forests before sending us up the longest climb of the day to Pan Toll. It was beginning to get very warm, and after 4 hours, you begin to see the first signs of cracking. Up to that point I had been averaging around a 12 min/mile, which for me is really good considering the elevation gain we had been doing. [Left: dropping to Muir Beach] At this point, my left IT band began to tinge, which is an early indicator of bad things. I decided not to wait and put my wrap I was carrying around to stop it from twisting. Secondly, while running a downhill section, I tripped on a tree root in the trail that sent me leaning forward, wildly frailing my arms in desperation to regain balance. At first, it seemed a lost cause, but I was able to pull myself back. My neck was sore from the strain, but I continued on unscathed. I needed to slow my pace to keep myself from falling apart.

Pan Toll to Bolina Ridge is a particularly nasty section for several reasons. First, it is through exposed grassy section. Secondly, the trail cuts across hills, often putting the trail itself on a slant. Third, one step off the trail could send you rolling down the hill side. Fourth, you had to watch out for the occasional hole in the ground made by some gigantic prairie dog. It was rolling and very long. I was glad to be done with it.

[Right: enjoying the redwoods] Bolinas Ridge was the start of a rolling section through the California redwoods. I felt like I was wondering through Endor and would see Ewoks jump around at anytime (fortunately, I never did see any). At this point, the front runners would pass on their return trip. The drop down to Randall Trail wasn't too long, and it was great being more than half way at the turn around. I had originally planned on reaching Randall Trail in 7:30, and did it in 7:21, which kept me ahead of schedule. Now was the return trip.

[Left: high grasslands] The next 22 miles were the same as on the way out, which helps make it seem not so far. At this point you kick in some type of built in cruise control and just try and avoid tripping or getting lost. My legs actually felt great, like they had given up trying to quit and now were just going to keep going and going forever. My pace had relaxed, so my heart rate was in the 130's most the time. The day was hot, so I drank lots of water, took electrolyte tabs and eat Gu whenever I was hungry. I avoided eating much solid food, as that has a tendency to promote the need for bathroom breaks later on. I chatted with the fellow runners along the way, learning about their path that lead to the fellowship we now embarked on: running for endless miles through foreign terrain. Many other folks were out on the trails as well, most returning a courtesy when I'd comment on the beautiful weather. It just felt good to be alive, to be there, to be doing it.

Then reality begins to come back at some point. The muscles begin to tire. Pains in various places begin to wear on you. Each mile seems to go on forever, downhill stretches begin to pound harder on you. The second wind is gone and forgotten. I think that hit me shortly after leaving Pan Toll. I grabbed my headlamp, re-lathered myself in sunscreen, grab a few more Gu packets, and headed out. The downhill was long, the afternoon hot. And I knew that at least two more major climbs loomed ahead. I was also going slower than I hoped to be at that point.

Pan Toll to Hwy 1 also had the fortune of taking you through areas full of poison oak, that wonderful, shiny plant with "leaves of three". Passing though the poison oak wasn't too bad, but it leaves you wondering if you aren't going to have cauliflower legs in a few hours. It was in this section that, in the dimming afternoon sunlight, I saw a coyote running above on the hillside and towards me. I had been seeing signs all day warning of feeding or approaching coyotes (California State Law-required signs), so the site wasn't all too unexpected but still very alarming. He was only a couple hundred feet away and moving very fast. He must have been chasing prey, and we both might have seen each other at the same time, because he suddenly changed course, diving down the hillside and passing across the trail just a hundred feet in front of me. Wow, what a beautiful animal, and how fast he was. Well, what could I do but continue on, yelling "Hey Coyote" hoping that he had decided to get far away from me as possible. I never saw him again.

[Right: last view of Mill Valley] As the sun disappeared, the wind started and the temperature dropped. I put on my long sleeve shirt I had wrapped around my waist and pressed on, as new hills continued to appear to be climbed. The scenery was vaguely familiar, having seen the same landmarks half a day earlier, but deceptive. I knew I was closer to the finish, and now counting in single digits the miles left, you begin lying to yourself: "only one hill left" and "it's all downhill now". I think race directors plan their courses with as many hills in the last 10 miles as possible simply to break you down at the end. The hills continued on, even after the last aid station stop at Tennessee Valley, where less than 4 miles remained.

With the light quickly fleeing, I decided to forgo the headlamp and continue without it. The last section has lot of pavement, which was easier to run on in the dark, but there were also sections of stairs and trail left. On section had handrails that were wet from the rapid cooling and ocean breeze. Even when the finish came into site, the road seemed to wind away from it, mocking you. I could hear applause of other runners finishing, the end was near. Then, the announcer noticed me and mentioned my running without lights. That propelled me faster down the trail, now scanning in front of me for the contrast of light and dark, using what little light remained to see what obstacles threatened my finish. Soon, the end of the road came and the finish was there and I was done.

[Left: being a tourist the next day] When you finish a race, you don't stop to take it in. You look for the basics: food and a chair. I wish now I asked someone to take my picture, but that wasn't my priority. I ate and was filled.

Damage done: 48 hours after finishing, I can take inventory on what toll it took on me. I'm still fairly stiff, but that can be worked through. I got two nickel to quarter sized blisters on the bottom of both feet, a minor blister on one toe, and what appears to be a deep blister on my left hear. Walking on the blisters was painful. I have some raw skin on my left arm and side from rubbing (not enough Body Glide???), which was extremely painful in the shower and trying to sleep the first night. Now, it's fine. I appear to have avoided any serious injury (for now). [Right: my wonderful blister]

What's next: Squaw Peak 50 miler on June 7. This is a tough course, and took me 15:30 last year (dehydration is hard to recover from during a race). I hope to bring it down closer to 14 hours this year. I just need to avoid overtraining and injury in the next five weeks.