Guadalupe Mountains
Pine Springs to Dog Canyon and back
Permian Reef Up and back
April 7-10, 2011
Joe Prusaitis
My SmugMug Pics
It has always been a mystical place for me... a place of quiet, where my spirit and soul repair and replenish. My totems are strong here, as are many others. One of the few things on my must see list for this weekend is a Horny Toad. Everything else is already on the plan... Hunter Peak, Bush Mtn, Dog Canyon, and Permian Reef.
It has always been April or May for our little running camp up in the Guadalupe Mountains. Not that this is the best time to go, but more because it is the right time frame for a summer mountain trail race that we are training for. It has been a training run for so many different people for so many different races these past six years.
Our caravan leaves Austin very early on Thursday for the 500 mile trip. Van Horn is the last stop for lunch and final necessities, but mostly gas, ice, & beer. The final 50 miles due north heads directly to our destination. We arrive around 2pm, check in at the ranger station, then set up our tents at the group sites. Because of the very high winds, its complicated putting up the tents. Two carport sized tents, with fenceposts pounded into the ground, and duct taped around tent leg & fencepost, then 2 inch wide tie down straps from cross bars to a few very large rocks. The last thing we do is carefully put on the tarp covers and side panels, making certain that we use every grommet hole or else the wind will grab a corner and begin to rip the entire tarp away. The wind is as strong as I have ever felt it here, ripping through camp and removing anything that is not tied down. Some of the personal tents are pushed down flat and pop back up between gusts. Two 3-burner propane stoves are set up with propane tanks and 3 tables for preparing the meals. Two large coffin coolers filled with food and all the other stuff that a chef needs to make a couple of very good meals and last but not least... the chef. Crash has been our man for many years now, creating some legendary meals the last few years.
Soon after the tent goes up, the gang also heads up... to Guadalupe Peak. It's an 8 mile round trip, and depending on their speed, may be back before dinner is served or not. Friday morning is always the 'long' day, so everybody settles down early to prepare their packs for tomorrow and to get some sleep before the early start. Most everybody is in a tent, but lately, there have been a few RVs coming along as well, but everybody is off to each of their own bedrooms soon after quiet time, which happens to be soon after dark.
Joyce & I never go into the mountains without a rain jacket, or almost never. With the drought hard into Texas, and no rain expected anywhere for the foreseeable future, we pack for the first time in many years without our rain jackets. It is our intention to pack as light as possible, but making sure we take what we need. It's a balancing act, guessing what we will or wont need. Water is the key component with each of us loading 100oz bladders into our packs as well as a hand-held bottle with another 20oz. Food for a 30 mile run in the mountains is tricky. It's not so much about the distance as it is about the time. It will take longer than usual due the rugged mountain terrain and the altitude... between 5000 and 8600 ft. It's not nasty high, but enough to kick you just a bit when added to everything else. It is part of the reason we are here. This site best simulates the races we are training for: Jemez, Bighorn, Leadville, Tahoe, & Hardrock.
I carry a variety of trail food for quick energy as well as sandwiches and avocado. A wear a headlamp, but don't really need it to start. Its more for... in case I get stuck out here after dark the next night. My camera is the only luxury item I load. Everybody has a copy of the waterproof maps I created with our route on it, and everyone is also buddied up with somebody they are required to stay with while they are in the mountains.
Start time is 6:30am Central Time, even though this little quadrant has somehow become part of the Mountain Time zone. We purposely ignore the time change. I give a couple of notepads and pens to the leading duo who are faster than the rest of us so they can drop them at key points for everybody to check into. The idea is that you never pass one of these books without writing in it your name, time, direction, and condition. It's our little way to keep track of each other without seeing anyone. Brandon & Duane head out exactly at 6:30, but the rest of the group waits another 15 minutes for Gordon and Shannon. It's a dark start as we head up Tejas Trails to Pine Top, but we're far from the top when the sun rises. The first book is there on top, so I sign Joyce and I in. Brandon is there already having done Hunter's Peak. Joyce takes a short break while I head over to Hunter's Peak alone. It's a 2 mile out and back and I cross paths with Duane as I start up while he heads back. I dropped everything back at Pine Top, so its free and easy lightweight running for this short out n back. I hit the top, turn and head right back. I figure Joyce should be getting cold by now, and I don't want her waiting too long for me. I see all the others as I head back down.
As I suspect, Joyce is ready to go, so I load up and head out with her. Our route from here is over Bush Mountain and back along Blue Ridge to Tejas Trail again. B & D are gone, so we follow their track, while I pull out a Powerbar from my pack and start working on it. Ya know... I feel good today. I did the climb to Pine Top rather well, starting dead last in our group, making sure everyone was on the trail, and then dialed it in and motored on up... stopping only once for a photo. I know its early, but I have a hunch that this is going to be a very good day for me.
The Bush Mountain trail is a rugged and rocky high altitude beast. Most of it rolls along around 8000 ft, with quick tilts up above 8500 and drops to 7000, over and over again. The trail is not well used, sparse in spots, and littered with jagged rocks and all variety of cactus. You have to pay as much attention to the prickly pear and ocotillo as you do the sharp rocks and ledges. I knew not to wear my wide brimmed hat as I usually do, with the high wind gusts, I'd have lost it already to the malevolent wind daemons. I wore a visor specifically so that if the wind did take it, it had little surface with which to sail it very far. The craggy open ridge left us exposed for the wind to shove about, but mostly it just kept us cool... and this works wonderfully for me. Joyce doesn't care much for it... but it keeps me cool and that is what keeps me on my game for so long. I keep surging ahead and climbing better than I have in a very long time. I stop about every half hour to eat another gel, starting with the chocolate before switching to the mountain huckleberry. We don't see a soul, but we can hear the voices of both John Sharp and Gordon Montgomery every now and then. But that doesn't mean they're even close as those two can both throw a voice without any wind.
We stop on top of Bush Mountain next to the radio repeater tower for a short break, and then drop off the other side where the trail all but disappears for a bit. This area is so dynamic a panorama view of the salt flats 6000 ft below and the rock hoodoos on the edge of the cliff. The gusting wind flying strait up from below is almost visible in its sound and intensity. I toss a pebble over the edge just to see which way it will go... up or down. We track further away from the edge soon after, take the Blue Ridge trail without stopping, and were making good time, when I suddenly hook my toe under a rock. The momentum of it would have been hard to describe were Joyce not watching from behind to describe it in detail. My toe tries to lift up, but it's a large rock and wedged into the ground pretty good, so I only partially lift it, and then my other leg came up and goes around my body, slinging me sideways. My arm swings over as well and around me as I crash into the rocky ground all cattywampus... more sideways and backwards. My hand slams into the rock pretty hard, while my knee gets a slight zing, but the oddest thing is the puncture wound in the back of my neck from the Sotol cactus. Ever notice now long it takes for the blood to come up when you scrape yourself up pretty good like this. I was up and running within seconds, so the blood didn't start until I was back on the run. It runs down my knee, pooling on my compression legging and off my hand to drip from my fingertips. It isn't bad, but it looks a lot worse than it is. I get my mojo back quickly, dancing through the minefield of rocks they call Blue Ridge. It isn't much of a trail really and might be hard to follow in the dark. Rocks everywhere and nothing has been moved to one side or the other in an attempt to create a trail or even some semblance of one. The trail is so minimal that I trust my instincts more than anything else. It just seems to be the correct way.
I know we're approaching the end of Blue Ridge when the trail grows perceptively steeper, going to switchbacks, and again dodging ocotillo as well as sharp edged rocks while we drop quickly. Odd how something like that fall will cause me to be more fearless and less careful... as if to prove that I'm not going to let it bother me. Something got locked in 'just so' with my psyche when I was a young boy. I can't explain it or understand why... but it is certainly 'just so'. I sit down at the Tejas Trail split to write our time in the 2nd book that the boys have left here. It feels good knowing that they're still on the right track and also that nobody had caught us up yet. Joyce asks how we're doing and I tell her 'we're doing great!'
I'm into the raspberry gels as we head north on Tejas Trail. More rock and lots of it. This trail is a beast for ankle twisting, artery slicing, sharp edged rocks and nearly impossible to avoid. The run is a lopsided affair of run, hop, skip, and run again in an unnatural sequence with no rhythm. It isn't smooth, flat, or straight and you still need to be wary of the cactus that claims some of the space on the trail as well. Ocotillo is the sneakiest cut-throat with its long strands that lean in and tag you now and then. With all the other obstacles, this section is not super hilly, so it doesn't take long to reach the McKittrick Trail intersection. Three hikers are lounging in the shade as we come in, trying to decide what they will do next. They're friendly enough and seem quite amused by what we are doing. We have no plan for McKittrick this weekend, but this is certainly a major landmark and intersection. This is where we drop into Dog Canyon and also the same point we come back up to. 4 miles down and 4 miles back up, and about the same amount of elevation change we managed from camp to Pine Top. We sign into the book and take a short break.
The drop into Dog isn't immediate, taking us on a roll for a bit before the bottom finally falls out. We barely get going when I spot a Horny Toad in the middle of the trail. What a treat! We stop to take a few pictures before continuing our rapid descent. We're on a controlled fall when we finally see Brandon. He's running up as quickly as we're running down. It's surprising to watch somebody actually run UP that trail. Simply amazing! We stop to visit for a few seconds and then continue in opposite directions. Soon after, we see Duane walking rapidly uphill in a very controlled measure. He's doing well, so we barely slow down to visit with him before continuing. It doesn't take long to clear the open areas and enter the trees, and the last bit of easy rolling slopes into the meadow for our destination: the water pump. This water is the reason we came all the way down here. Without it, everything changes. The plan was built around where we could get water, as much as for the distance and terrain. We pull up for a long break, clean off, refill our bladders and bottles, and of course... to eat. Avocado, apple, and a sandwich empty the rest of our packs, so there's little left for the return trip. But that was the idea: to fuel as much as possible early on and regularly. Not much was left between us but for a few gels and a powerbar.
Our Dog Canyon break cost us 20 minutes, but that was the plan and we're just fine with it. We are both a little surprised that nobody had caught us yet. It's mostly up for the next 4 miles, with few flat or downhill sections. We're well into the trees and just before the steep climb when we cross paths with David Land & David Jacobson. We stop for a short visit and then get going til we reach the beginning of the steep climb. We are not far into it, when we see Gordon sitting on a rock with his head in his hands. He says that Sharp turned back at Blue Ridge and he's in a low spot, but will be fine. This climb is a bitch, no doubt, but I refuse to stop. I get ahead of Joyce and turn to discover I can't see her. I sit down to wait, but she doesn't show up in the expected minute or less, so I get up and start back down. She's just out of view, standing up and holding her arm, crying. She had fallen and popped her elbow: the one with pins in it from the surgery she had a few months ago. We have to keep going regardless, so we get going, albeit... much slower. We're not far from the top, so this beast is almost beaten. Then we see Bob Klapthor and Shannon Mitchell, both looking great and heading down. I ask Shannon to pick up all the books on her way back home.
It feels good to be back at the McKittrick intersection... marking the end of the long and tough Dog Canyon section. Seems odd to be so exhilarated, when we're still so far from done. We check the book to see where everybody is and where they're going, and to add our two bits. It's interesting to look at the names, times, and notes to see who is doing what. I could only guess and assume up to a point. I only know what I see and what is in these books. Vicki, Trish, Ann, and Crash were starting after our main group this morning, and I can see in the book that they were here a few hours ago... and have long since headed home. Only 5 of our group are behind us, with the rest of the them well on their way home. I take my last gel during the short break.
The easy section from here to Blue Ridge doesn't seem as easy in this direction. The rock playground is much tougher to negotiate than it was earlier. I didn't realize it was downhill coming over here until now that I am going uphill heading back. Beginning to feel the mountain miles, a dull throb has been building in my bones, and the climb out of Dog has nailed it home. I wonder why I didn't notice, when it seems so dominant now. Most of the climb out of Dog was certainly a walk, but that seemed to be the intelligent thing to do. But now that we are on top and the trail is somewhat runnable, I don't feel so smart any more. We alternate walking and running, with no rhyme or reason to why or when we do one or the other. I want to run so I make myself run, but can't sustain it for very long. I try to compromise with myself by walking quickly. Lying to yourself never works for me. We pass by the Mescalero Camp site which brings to my mind the thought of the Apaches living here only a hundred and fifty years ago and I try to divert my rough feelings by talking about something other than the right here and now. That doesn't work either and the conversation dies.
We check the book at Blue Ridge and take a short break before starting the last little nasty section on this route home. There are three short steep climbs on the way back, and they start right after Juniper Trail. This part of the trail is deep forest, comfortable & serene, with pine needles and no wind... and it takes me a few moments to realize... there is no wind. And I also realize that without the wind... I'm getting harassed by a horsefly and then a few other flying insects. Damn... I start walking faster while I swat them away. Its darker in here with less sunlight leaking through the many tall trees. Its easy going for awhile and very quiet too.
At Juniper Trail, we take a short break, because I know what the next section is like and I need a short break before I fling myself at it. But...when we get up to go... I make it a goal to not stop til I top out of each of the three climbs. I push the pace, holding steady, even when it gets steep, trying not to lose my momentum as we start the switchbacks. I slow, but I don't stop, keeping the cadence the same, even if my stride is very short, I keep spinning, and going, til I make the next turn, and the next, and the next... til I top out of the first and biggest of the last three little demons. I sit on the same rock in front of a dead tree that I sit on every year... and wait for Joyce. She is not far back and takes a sit break on the same rock, and then we go after the next one. The 2nd one is much more rocky and rugged, with no switchbacks, but more ruts and rocks. Again, I refuse to stop til I top out and then I slow to wait for Joyce, but she is right with me again. One more, but this one is not right away. I can see Hunter's Peak through the trees and it seems so close, but I do remember the last little demon that I must climb before I can easily walk to Pine Top, so I keep going and hold my breath until the last one is done. And then we are on it and it too comes and goes quickly. I think it is easier because I knew it was there and I know that it is the last one, but they are all 3 done now and it is simply a short easy stroll to Pine Top.
We sit for our final break at Pine Top, back in the wind and the sun. We check the book and sign our name for the last time. I can see that almost everybody has gone down a long time ago, so there should be nobody on the trail below us to motivate me to chase. It is good though... as I'd like to go down a bit easier than usual and stay with Joyce as we have done all day. I check my bladder to dump the excess, but its almost empty so there is no need. This is one of those moments when we are not done, but know we will be... so we soak up the accomplishment and the day we just spent in the mountains... together. And I don't feel so bad anymore either. All the good that washes over us is a psychological painkiller. Simply put: success is a painkiller.
We top out and start down, slowly at first, but gaining momentum as we go. Joyce is right behind me the entire time as we take one sweeping turn after another on the 3.6 miles of downhill switchbacks. It's not til the trail runs between the two house-sized round rocks when Joyce announces she is done running. I know its still another mile or more but I don't think she knows, so I keep walking fast. I have a strong desire to be done, completely done, before I stop, and after about 10 minutes, Joyce realizes she's still a ways out, so she starts moving again. Dinner that evening is so very good, the camaraderie is perfect, and the sleep is even better.
Next morning, Saturday... we sleep in, because we plan to run Permian Reef out of McKittrick Canyon and they don't open the gates til 9am Central Time. Some want to stay and do Guadalupe Peak, but most of us drive over to McKittrick Canyon. We start in a pack, all heading up, and Brandon once again takes the lead. Most of us are reduced to a walk before very long, but Brandon is gone already, and Duane seems to be mixing a walk and run. I walk with Joyce for a bit and then we catch David and I go past, but she does not. Then I catch Gordon and another and so on til I am only behind Duane and Brandon. I can't work up a run, but I have a great power walk going. I keep going, making the rounds of each loop and switchback til I top out, just as Brandon returns from his one mile out & back to the overlook. The others come up in ones and twos, and Duane also returns from the overlook. We all sit and admire the view for a few minutes and then start back down. I go first, then Brandon... and I wonder if I can stay in front of him.
I start easy, get comfortable, and allow my momentum to carry me. The turns are easy, but its the rugged terrain that intrigues me into a faster effort. I can feel Brandon right behind me, but for now there is no place to pass. Cliffs and cactus merge with rocks and 180 degree turns to create an exhilarating run. I quit thinking about Brandon, instead focusing on where I'm going, playing chess with the rocks, thinking out the next three strides, while constantly scanning everything ahead. I trust that I can read the rocks at speed while I continue to build momentum. I make it through the nastiest section and then take a look back just before I crest a hump to start down the long face on the main canyon side: where's Brandon? I don't see him, but he has to be close, so I keep on keeping on. The trail is not near as rugged on the final descent, so I pick up the pace and stay focused, coming around the long sweeping turns and into the slot between the rocks. I have to hop up the steps and then twist through the ocotillo. The long straight line of rocks create an interesting sidewalk that clinks as each foot comes down on another rock. I have been down this path many times with many dear friends. It is familiar and friendly: a place of power for me. From the first time I crossed it, it has remained in my mind's eye, such that it makes me smile now as I cross it yet again.
When I reach the end of the long sidewalk, where the trail turns right and heads down, I glance once again over my right shoulder. There is no one, but I keep running, til I cross the creek and up the other side, left at the gazebo, and finally stop at the ranger station... in the shade. A couple from New Zealand that I remember from our camping area are there on the bench. We start up a conversation about their travels and then Brandon comes in... just a few minutes back. The others come in one at a time. It appears that they all got caught up in the mad chase off the mountain... or maybe not.
We are all still buzzing from the downhill run and it's a long time til dinner, so David stirs everybody up for a drive into New Mexico for lunch. The idea catches on and so we all end up at a pizza joint in Carlsbad. Of course, we are back at camp in time for dinner too. A few of the boys decide to run the Bear Canyon out & back, while John goes off towards Williams Ranch, and others are again talking about Guadalupe Peak or Devil's Hall. All in all, I think that everybody gets all that they want... and more.
Late in the day, the wind drives the desert into the sky and the air fills with dirt and debris. The wind has been very high all weekend, but now it is even worse, nearing 60 mph gusts or more. As soon as dinner is over, we remove the tarp roof to keep from having the wind rip them off. Its dark anyway, so there is no longer a need for sun cover. The wind continues to hammer away and we are just drinking beer at this point so we decide to take the sidewall windbreaks down as well, and when they are down, everybody decides to keep on working til the entire tent is down and packed up, as well as the stoves. When they are done, there is little to do in the morning but to load it up.
Morning comes quickly, and they are all ready to head home, so we finish loading up and head out. We have all done what we came to do, and now the wind and the sky filled with dirt chases us to the quiet and solitude of our cars. With the windows up and the air conditioning on, it is time for a break from the Guads. Its time to go home. The Guadalupe Mountain weekend every year is always classic, and I suspect that it will continue to be. The trails were exactly what we needed, the camaraderie was excellent, and the food was phenomenal. I am sure we will do it again next year.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Monday, May 2, 2011
Free State 100km
Free State 100km
23 April 2011
Clinton Lake SP
Lawrence, Kansas
You have to understand the contradictions in me to get the gist of what I say. There is a very strong and deep love in me for running in the mountains, yet I live in Texas and I hate running in the heat. I don't care for boring courses that are flat with little variation in scenery and multiple loop routes give me the heebie-jeebies, but I am going blind, so a repeat loop is easier for my aging eyes to deal with. Much like one of those old parenting axioms about life that goes like this... 'Do as I say and not as I do'... and twist into 'What I say is not always what I do'. Thus I go to run a multi-loop course in Kansas.
Ben and Sophia have been running my Rocky Raccoon race for years, and they have been telling me to come run one of theirs as well, so I figure it is time. But I dont want to drive 800 miles for just any ol race... I want one that makes sense for my training. So, while setting up my own training plan for Hardrock, I roll it out and came up with Jemez 50mi and Bighorn 50mi, but also have room for something else too. I can't decide between R2R2R or Freestate, and like most ultra-runners, decide to do both. Freestate is more miles than I need at that time, but I figure it's ok because it's not as mountainous or as rugged as all the others... or so it seems.
I've run a few ultras in Kansas, so I've learned not to be surprised by the unexpected difficulties of running in a place that is supposed to be flat. Of course, I know better than to think that way. I've heard the entire course is single-track under the trees, alongside a lake, with potential for shoe sucking mud and slippery slopes, so I plan for a long tough day in rough weather. I suppose I even hope for and expect bad weather.... as a few of my buddies and I like to say... 'the worse the race - the better the story'.... and I like a good story.
I dropped off my wife, Joyce in Wichita for her nephew's wedding, and continue north to Lawrence on my own. I stop at the Econo Lodge where I reserved a room and I'm told that my reservation is for a smoking room with 2 beds & 4 people. No, not me, sorry... you made a mistake, here's my confirmation, I am sure. But we have no other rooms, so I leave without a room. I drive to Clinton Lake and check on camping, find the race start, but find nobody with the race, so I head back into town for packet pickup at Garry Gribbles Running Sports on Massachusetts Ave. It's easy to find and I check in with ease, and even bump into Sophia and have a short chat. I find a nice place for lunch around the corner and then get an unexpected call from Econo Lodge. We work out the problem and I have my single bed, non-smoking room back. So... I'm not camping after all. I drive back over and check in around 2pm. I had no idea I was so sleepy, but no sooner do I check in than I'm asleep on top of the covers. I wake around 9pm, hungry and too lazy to head out and find something to eat... so I simply called the pizza delivery that's listed on my hotel key card. It doesn't take long to destroy the small pepperoni pizza, shower, and go back to sleep. It should have all been so perfectly simply had I not woke up again at 2am for a bathroom break. Something as simply as sitting on a toilet in a dark room should be brainless... unless the door isn't closed all the way and you ram your forehead into the doorknob. Not only does my head hurt like hell, but that effectively kills my perfect sleep.
I try, but to no avail, so I get up and make better use of my time by packing my drop bags and arranging my gear for the race. Then, I pack all my things, load my truck, and drive to the race... earlier than I normally would. I roll in right in front of Sophia, so she gives me the 'rock-star' parking spot right next to the finish line tent and U-Haul truck. I'm already set, so I check to see if they need any last minute grunt help, but Ben has everything going already, so I sit back down and wait. I sure as hell won't be sleeping.
Must be 100 or more of us at the start, with half in the 40mi and half in the 100km. The 100km is subdivided into three 20mi loops, all on the north shore of Clinton Lake, with aid stations roughly 3 miles apart. I know that some of these are water only and unsupported, but more importantly, I can run very light, and only carry a single water bottle. My drop bags are just the opposite with a wealth of opportunities in clothes, food, and supplements, and located at opposite ends of the course for a look every ten miles.
Our herd charges down the road, from field to trees, and make a 90 degree right turn onto a narrow rolling single-track. Under a canopy of tall tress, the herd sorts itself out, dodging one another as well as a generous scattering of rocks. The early morning light casts odd shadows as it filters through the canopy. The energy of the herd is high, biting at the bit to go, and unleashed, surges faster than is reasonable early on. A wiser man, a person with some experience might know this and back off once this is realized and dial in an effort that lends to running 62 miles... but I left that guy at home this weekend. I hang with the young bucks and enjoy the camaraderie... if only for awhile.
Much of the course follows the contour of Clinton Lake, twisted up with the trees between the shoreline and the flat open meadows on top. Its not super hilly nor very flat either, but more of a meandering in all three dimensions. The rocks are not obsessive, but were you to not pay attention constantly, then you'd most likely hit the ground. Our congo line of runners stays pretty brisk and tight as we waltz around the perimeter of campground 3. After crossing a paved road, we climb a little up to Cactus Ridge. It takes awhile before I finally spot a few minuscule prickly pear cactus alongside the trail. The Cactus Ridge trail is more in the open but isn't out there for long before it turns back to cross the same paved road and then back to the same beach ramp where we started.
We are just 50 yards from the start aid station but we dont go up to it, instead crossing over and continuing in the same direction we were already going. The trail is relatively flat and straight now and again, but never for long, and suddenly changing direction, going up or dropping down, and then its into the rocks and flotsam right on the shoreline for awhile. A bit more care is taken to avoid twisting an ankle while we do some rock hopping. A short switchback marks the end of the shoreline trail, heading up to a staffed aid station. A few oranges and some banana fill my immediate needs, and then back into the trees.
Its all the same and its all different. I can't really tell where I am or where I'm going, but its all under the trees. I could be going any direction on the compus and I wouldn't be surprised. I can hear voices on the other trails, but have no reference of where they are in reference to me. We cross another road just as somebody else is running very quickly across the same road in the opposite direction. After a bit more meandering, we pop out onto a road, which this time, we climb up on its shoulder and continue to ascend while on a paved road. Once on top, we turn into a field and then wrap round to where we can see the 10 mile aid station managed by KUS. We skim by, back into the trees, for a 10 minute loop, and then back out to the same KUS aid station from the other side. This time, we can stop and I most certainly do.
I get my drop bag, while they fill my water bottle. I extract the avocado, and eat most of it in just 3 bites, then pack up and head back out, with a PB&J wedge in hand. 10 miles down with a whole hell of a lot more to go. My body is starting to adjust to the demands I am making, but not in a favorable way. A few aches, a few areas of tightness, and my psyche takes a hit, knowing that I feel like hauling ass the whole race, and realizing I dont have the bones to do it. I quit pushing so hard, telling myself its ok, lets relax and save some of that feeling for later.
Alone now, and a bit more conservative, I run a self-check and reflect on whats going on, feeling out the Achilles, IT band, heels, toes, and stomach. My stomach is fine, but my energy is low, and the Vasque Mindbender's just dont work all that well for my heels. My toes love them, and the rest of my foot is enjoying the comfort, but my heels say No! I'm gonna have to try some thicker inserts maybe. I cross back over the road where I saw the fast guy earlier when I can hear people all around me now. The marathon & half marathon guys are all around, passing me and also on the lower trail between me and the lake. It was so quiet just a moment ago. They all seem to be yelling at each other, or maybe its just very loud talking. They're coming through me in packs of twos and fours, most treating me as if I'm part of the terrain. It seems odd after running with the 100km and 40 mile runners. This group's primary goal seems to be just to get around me.
I stop at the aid station to get more orange and banana as a surge of runners roll in behind me. I wait for them to come and go before I mount up and start back out again. This section is just below the bluff, such that I can see the tops of campers and hear people up there every now and then. The weather has been fantastic, hanging in the mid 50s, with constant cloud cover, and just a pinch of rain. I've been going all day with a short sleeve shirt and very comfortable with it. I've been wearing some moeben sleeves, but the seems on one of them worn a blister in my underarm, so I roll them down and take them off. I think I like this section the best, but its hard to say exactly why. Maybe its a bit more rugged, a few more rocks, more twists and turns, or maybe its just me. I finish the 20 mile loop feeling a bit more used up than I need to be with 40 more miles to do. I walk up the slight uphill to cross the timing mat, with a time around 4 hours for loop one.
My truck sits right at the aid station, so I pop the tail gate and sit on it. I change shoes, going for the Montrail Hardrocks, while I eat more avocado, have some soup, while I consider a few more clothing changes. My stomach rumbles when I get up, so I wonder down the road to find a port-o-jon. This takes a lot longer than it should, but some things you just can't rush. When I leave, I feel as if I'm starting all over again, except... now I'm walking. I hook up immediately with two others who are also struggling to walk: blue-shirt and white-shirt. I am not a race walker, but it must look something like this, as we attempt to propel our bodies forward in a stiff legged upper body swing motion. Knowing how slow we are moving, each of us attempts to push ahead of the other and get some momentum going, but instead just leapfrog each other a few times before white-shirt works himself up to a run and leaves us behind. I had hoped it would be me, but it just isn't so. Blue-shirt and I manage a rolling walk/run and seem to be making good time but it's not pretty and its nowhere near what I'd call running. Blue-shirt pulls ahead at one point while I stop to suck down a gel and then I try like hell to hang on, while he tries like hell to push ahead. Its a silly game we play, but it's enough motivation for both of us to do more than back off and just walk. Funny thing is, after a few miles, we catch white-shirt and the three of us continue on as before, but a bit faster than the stiff logged stroll we were doing early in this loop.
By the time, we reach the aid station, we are running half decent again... not great, but better than it had been. By now, I've realized both the other guys are in the 40 mile and only going to the end of this loop, while I have another 20 miles beyond them. For some odd reason this seems to give me more power, so I pick it up a bit more and push ahead. White-shirt comes with me. and together we push the pace clean up to the KUS turnaround station. I eat a fair bit of food and load a few gels for the return trip, and then follow the white-shirt out of the station.
I'd like to think my pace is faster and stronger than anything I've done so far today, but reality is that in reference to what I had been doing, it just appears to be that way. Anyway, I'l really flying now, trying like hell to just hang on to white-shirt as we run everything including the uphills. This goes on for a few miles before I have an instant where I catch my breath and explain to him that I'm getting off the bus. Its too fast for too long and I still have a very long way to go... so I stop to eat a gel and also to separate myself from this way-too-fast pace. I start again, only a bit slower, dialing in a comfortable speed that feels good, and simply keep it rolling for a few miles until I catch white-shirt again... walking! As I pull up, he explains that he's hit bottom again. I knew that I couldn't sustain that pace for much longer, and I suspected that he couldn't either, but I also knew enough to keep that to myself. I went by him and kept on going and feeling pretty good about my wisdom in this case... especially after all the other poor decisions. Maybe this old dog can learn after all these years. I think I'm just trying to fool myself now. I suppose thats true in many cases, all in the effort to do whatever it takes to get me there as quickly as possible.
I finish loop two in five hours, which seems pretty good considering how slowly I turned the first part of that loop. Again, I walk up the hill, cross the mat, and sit down to eat. I had brought a lot of cold weather clothing, expecting a storm, rain, or some sort of mess to get me soaking cold and wet, but it has been a beautiful day so far. A constant mid-50 degree day, with no rain, a bit of cold breeze, and under cloud cover, allowing the sun to peek through only on a few rare occasions. Coming from Texas... this has been wonderfully prefect. No mud on my shoes, no gloves, hat, or anything else that required extra gear or weight. There is no reason to change anything except for my soaking wet shirt and bandana. The entire run has been with a single water bottle, topped off at regular interval aid stations.
I begin the final loop much the same as the last one, finding it very difficult to get going again. I cross paths with another guy who is also starting his third loop. I power-walk for a bit but cant seem to get my running legs. For the entire five mile loop out to Cactus Ridge and back, nothing changes, except for the overall dull throb of pain that seems to be everywhere at once. I sit down for a short break just below the main aid station to eat another gel and to take three tylenol caps. I'm hoping that the pain relievers will take the edge off so that I can get back to running again. My walking friend catches me while I sit, but I move past him again soon after.
At first, there is no change, but shortly, I seem to get my running legs back under me again. Only a little at first, but slowly they come around. I had started this loop with a headlamp wrapped around my wrist, not being all that sure that I could get to my drop bag before I lost the sunlight. And the way it started, I had even more doubts... but now I know for certain that I'm going to get to my bag well before time. Not that it matters anymore, as I have the light and I'm covered whatever happens now. I pass the midway aid station just fine and seem to pick up speed on my way to the final KUS turnaround. When I roll in, a guy asks me if I'd like a turkey burger and I respond with a smile. He runs back to the station with my order while I make the ten-minute loop out and back around to the station. They have my sandwich when I arrive and also an ice cold Freestate beer. Oh what a glorious meal it is! My walking friend comes in and grabs his burger as he heads back out, so I finish off mine and rush after him. He's a bit disappointed when I tell him about the beer, but one thing is certain, we're both heading home now, with about 9 miles left to go.
I know that I'm going to lose the light before I get back, and I know that I can go faster in the light, so this is when I really like to push it a bit, using the fading light as a motivator. And maybe it's the turkey burger and beer, but I really get it going again... running most of it, but walking the stiffer climbs, so as to not crash before I make it back home.
This is the time I enjoy the most, late in the run, the light going down, all alone, heading home, feeling all the pains and joys of this run... this day, and knowing it's all going to be over soon. Sure, it will be good to be done, but it will also be sad. This is what I came up here to do... run, play, enjoy, watch, see, visit, bond, hurt, smile, and live. Everything has it's cost and I don't mind paying for what this cost. The miles and hours of slinging my body down a trail certainly has it's cost, and I knew what it would cost before I started, at least to some degree. And I knew also what I'd find... more of my self. It is so much easier to see within after some degree of deprivation, some degree of exhaustion & pain. It's all good. I got what I came for, and it was not the buckle. The buckle is very nice, but I came for a feeling that I can only find out there.
I finish well, although my time may not reflect it. Ben and Sophia hand me my buckle and a hug. They are both genuine and wonderful people, good in so many ways. They took care of me and everyone else who was here. They put on a well thought out and professional race, loaded with their own special manner of care and understanding. Their volunteers reflect the same manner as they do, doing their best to care for each of us, and staying til the last runner is done. I would not change a thing, but from what I understand, the weather will do that for them.
23 April 2011
Clinton Lake SP
Lawrence, Kansas
You have to understand the contradictions in me to get the gist of what I say. There is a very strong and deep love in me for running in the mountains, yet I live in Texas and I hate running in the heat. I don't care for boring courses that are flat with little variation in scenery and multiple loop routes give me the heebie-jeebies, but I am going blind, so a repeat loop is easier for my aging eyes to deal with. Much like one of those old parenting axioms about life that goes like this... 'Do as I say and not as I do'... and twist into 'What I say is not always what I do'. Thus I go to run a multi-loop course in Kansas.
Ben and Sophia have been running my Rocky Raccoon race for years, and they have been telling me to come run one of theirs as well, so I figure it is time. But I dont want to drive 800 miles for just any ol race... I want one that makes sense for my training. So, while setting up my own training plan for Hardrock, I roll it out and came up with Jemez 50mi and Bighorn 50mi, but also have room for something else too. I can't decide between R2R2R or Freestate, and like most ultra-runners, decide to do both. Freestate is more miles than I need at that time, but I figure it's ok because it's not as mountainous or as rugged as all the others... or so it seems.
I've run a few ultras in Kansas, so I've learned not to be surprised by the unexpected difficulties of running in a place that is supposed to be flat. Of course, I know better than to think that way. I've heard the entire course is single-track under the trees, alongside a lake, with potential for shoe sucking mud and slippery slopes, so I plan for a long tough day in rough weather. I suppose I even hope for and expect bad weather.... as a few of my buddies and I like to say... 'the worse the race - the better the story'.... and I like a good story.
I dropped off my wife, Joyce in Wichita for her nephew's wedding, and continue north to Lawrence on my own. I stop at the Econo Lodge where I reserved a room and I'm told that my reservation is for a smoking room with 2 beds & 4 people. No, not me, sorry... you made a mistake, here's my confirmation, I am sure. But we have no other rooms, so I leave without a room. I drive to Clinton Lake and check on camping, find the race start, but find nobody with the race, so I head back into town for packet pickup at Garry Gribbles Running Sports on Massachusetts Ave. It's easy to find and I check in with ease, and even bump into Sophia and have a short chat. I find a nice place for lunch around the corner and then get an unexpected call from Econo Lodge. We work out the problem and I have my single bed, non-smoking room back. So... I'm not camping after all. I drive back over and check in around 2pm. I had no idea I was so sleepy, but no sooner do I check in than I'm asleep on top of the covers. I wake around 9pm, hungry and too lazy to head out and find something to eat... so I simply called the pizza delivery that's listed on my hotel key card. It doesn't take long to destroy the small pepperoni pizza, shower, and go back to sleep. It should have all been so perfectly simply had I not woke up again at 2am for a bathroom break. Something as simply as sitting on a toilet in a dark room should be brainless... unless the door isn't closed all the way and you ram your forehead into the doorknob. Not only does my head hurt like hell, but that effectively kills my perfect sleep.
I try, but to no avail, so I get up and make better use of my time by packing my drop bags and arranging my gear for the race. Then, I pack all my things, load my truck, and drive to the race... earlier than I normally would. I roll in right in front of Sophia, so she gives me the 'rock-star' parking spot right next to the finish line tent and U-Haul truck. I'm already set, so I check to see if they need any last minute grunt help, but Ben has everything going already, so I sit back down and wait. I sure as hell won't be sleeping.
Must be 100 or more of us at the start, with half in the 40mi and half in the 100km. The 100km is subdivided into three 20mi loops, all on the north shore of Clinton Lake, with aid stations roughly 3 miles apart. I know that some of these are water only and unsupported, but more importantly, I can run very light, and only carry a single water bottle. My drop bags are just the opposite with a wealth of opportunities in clothes, food, and supplements, and located at opposite ends of the course for a look every ten miles.
Our herd charges down the road, from field to trees, and make a 90 degree right turn onto a narrow rolling single-track. Under a canopy of tall tress, the herd sorts itself out, dodging one another as well as a generous scattering of rocks. The early morning light casts odd shadows as it filters through the canopy. The energy of the herd is high, biting at the bit to go, and unleashed, surges faster than is reasonable early on. A wiser man, a person with some experience might know this and back off once this is realized and dial in an effort that lends to running 62 miles... but I left that guy at home this weekend. I hang with the young bucks and enjoy the camaraderie... if only for awhile.
Much of the course follows the contour of Clinton Lake, twisted up with the trees between the shoreline and the flat open meadows on top. Its not super hilly nor very flat either, but more of a meandering in all three dimensions. The rocks are not obsessive, but were you to not pay attention constantly, then you'd most likely hit the ground. Our congo line of runners stays pretty brisk and tight as we waltz around the perimeter of campground 3. After crossing a paved road, we climb a little up to Cactus Ridge. It takes awhile before I finally spot a few minuscule prickly pear cactus alongside the trail. The Cactus Ridge trail is more in the open but isn't out there for long before it turns back to cross the same paved road and then back to the same beach ramp where we started.
We are just 50 yards from the start aid station but we dont go up to it, instead crossing over and continuing in the same direction we were already going. The trail is relatively flat and straight now and again, but never for long, and suddenly changing direction, going up or dropping down, and then its into the rocks and flotsam right on the shoreline for awhile. A bit more care is taken to avoid twisting an ankle while we do some rock hopping. A short switchback marks the end of the shoreline trail, heading up to a staffed aid station. A few oranges and some banana fill my immediate needs, and then back into the trees.
Its all the same and its all different. I can't really tell where I am or where I'm going, but its all under the trees. I could be going any direction on the compus and I wouldn't be surprised. I can hear voices on the other trails, but have no reference of where they are in reference to me. We cross another road just as somebody else is running very quickly across the same road in the opposite direction. After a bit more meandering, we pop out onto a road, which this time, we climb up on its shoulder and continue to ascend while on a paved road. Once on top, we turn into a field and then wrap round to where we can see the 10 mile aid station managed by KUS. We skim by, back into the trees, for a 10 minute loop, and then back out to the same KUS aid station from the other side. This time, we can stop and I most certainly do.
I get my drop bag, while they fill my water bottle. I extract the avocado, and eat most of it in just 3 bites, then pack up and head back out, with a PB&J wedge in hand. 10 miles down with a whole hell of a lot more to go. My body is starting to adjust to the demands I am making, but not in a favorable way. A few aches, a few areas of tightness, and my psyche takes a hit, knowing that I feel like hauling ass the whole race, and realizing I dont have the bones to do it. I quit pushing so hard, telling myself its ok, lets relax and save some of that feeling for later.
Alone now, and a bit more conservative, I run a self-check and reflect on whats going on, feeling out the Achilles, IT band, heels, toes, and stomach. My stomach is fine, but my energy is low, and the Vasque Mindbender's just dont work all that well for my heels. My toes love them, and the rest of my foot is enjoying the comfort, but my heels say No! I'm gonna have to try some thicker inserts maybe. I cross back over the road where I saw the fast guy earlier when I can hear people all around me now. The marathon & half marathon guys are all around, passing me and also on the lower trail between me and the lake. It was so quiet just a moment ago. They all seem to be yelling at each other, or maybe its just very loud talking. They're coming through me in packs of twos and fours, most treating me as if I'm part of the terrain. It seems odd after running with the 100km and 40 mile runners. This group's primary goal seems to be just to get around me.
I stop at the aid station to get more orange and banana as a surge of runners roll in behind me. I wait for them to come and go before I mount up and start back out again. This section is just below the bluff, such that I can see the tops of campers and hear people up there every now and then. The weather has been fantastic, hanging in the mid 50s, with constant cloud cover, and just a pinch of rain. I've been going all day with a short sleeve shirt and very comfortable with it. I've been wearing some moeben sleeves, but the seems on one of them worn a blister in my underarm, so I roll them down and take them off. I think I like this section the best, but its hard to say exactly why. Maybe its a bit more rugged, a few more rocks, more twists and turns, or maybe its just me. I finish the 20 mile loop feeling a bit more used up than I need to be with 40 more miles to do. I walk up the slight uphill to cross the timing mat, with a time around 4 hours for loop one.
My truck sits right at the aid station, so I pop the tail gate and sit on it. I change shoes, going for the Montrail Hardrocks, while I eat more avocado, have some soup, while I consider a few more clothing changes. My stomach rumbles when I get up, so I wonder down the road to find a port-o-jon. This takes a lot longer than it should, but some things you just can't rush. When I leave, I feel as if I'm starting all over again, except... now I'm walking. I hook up immediately with two others who are also struggling to walk: blue-shirt and white-shirt. I am not a race walker, but it must look something like this, as we attempt to propel our bodies forward in a stiff legged upper body swing motion. Knowing how slow we are moving, each of us attempts to push ahead of the other and get some momentum going, but instead just leapfrog each other a few times before white-shirt works himself up to a run and leaves us behind. I had hoped it would be me, but it just isn't so. Blue-shirt and I manage a rolling walk/run and seem to be making good time but it's not pretty and its nowhere near what I'd call running. Blue-shirt pulls ahead at one point while I stop to suck down a gel and then I try like hell to hang on, while he tries like hell to push ahead. Its a silly game we play, but it's enough motivation for both of us to do more than back off and just walk. Funny thing is, after a few miles, we catch white-shirt and the three of us continue on as before, but a bit faster than the stiff logged stroll we were doing early in this loop.
By the time, we reach the aid station, we are running half decent again... not great, but better than it had been. By now, I've realized both the other guys are in the 40 mile and only going to the end of this loop, while I have another 20 miles beyond them. For some odd reason this seems to give me more power, so I pick it up a bit more and push ahead. White-shirt comes with me. and together we push the pace clean up to the KUS turnaround station. I eat a fair bit of food and load a few gels for the return trip, and then follow the white-shirt out of the station.
I'd like to think my pace is faster and stronger than anything I've done so far today, but reality is that in reference to what I had been doing, it just appears to be that way. Anyway, I'l really flying now, trying like hell to just hang on to white-shirt as we run everything including the uphills. This goes on for a few miles before I have an instant where I catch my breath and explain to him that I'm getting off the bus. Its too fast for too long and I still have a very long way to go... so I stop to eat a gel and also to separate myself from this way-too-fast pace. I start again, only a bit slower, dialing in a comfortable speed that feels good, and simply keep it rolling for a few miles until I catch white-shirt again... walking! As I pull up, he explains that he's hit bottom again. I knew that I couldn't sustain that pace for much longer, and I suspected that he couldn't either, but I also knew enough to keep that to myself. I went by him and kept on going and feeling pretty good about my wisdom in this case... especially after all the other poor decisions. Maybe this old dog can learn after all these years. I think I'm just trying to fool myself now. I suppose thats true in many cases, all in the effort to do whatever it takes to get me there as quickly as possible.
I finish loop two in five hours, which seems pretty good considering how slowly I turned the first part of that loop. Again, I walk up the hill, cross the mat, and sit down to eat. I had brought a lot of cold weather clothing, expecting a storm, rain, or some sort of mess to get me soaking cold and wet, but it has been a beautiful day so far. A constant mid-50 degree day, with no rain, a bit of cold breeze, and under cloud cover, allowing the sun to peek through only on a few rare occasions. Coming from Texas... this has been wonderfully prefect. No mud on my shoes, no gloves, hat, or anything else that required extra gear or weight. There is no reason to change anything except for my soaking wet shirt and bandana. The entire run has been with a single water bottle, topped off at regular interval aid stations.
I begin the final loop much the same as the last one, finding it very difficult to get going again. I cross paths with another guy who is also starting his third loop. I power-walk for a bit but cant seem to get my running legs. For the entire five mile loop out to Cactus Ridge and back, nothing changes, except for the overall dull throb of pain that seems to be everywhere at once. I sit down for a short break just below the main aid station to eat another gel and to take three tylenol caps. I'm hoping that the pain relievers will take the edge off so that I can get back to running again. My walking friend catches me while I sit, but I move past him again soon after.
At first, there is no change, but shortly, I seem to get my running legs back under me again. Only a little at first, but slowly they come around. I had started this loop with a headlamp wrapped around my wrist, not being all that sure that I could get to my drop bag before I lost the sunlight. And the way it started, I had even more doubts... but now I know for certain that I'm going to get to my bag well before time. Not that it matters anymore, as I have the light and I'm covered whatever happens now. I pass the midway aid station just fine and seem to pick up speed on my way to the final KUS turnaround. When I roll in, a guy asks me if I'd like a turkey burger and I respond with a smile. He runs back to the station with my order while I make the ten-minute loop out and back around to the station. They have my sandwich when I arrive and also an ice cold Freestate beer. Oh what a glorious meal it is! My walking friend comes in and grabs his burger as he heads back out, so I finish off mine and rush after him. He's a bit disappointed when I tell him about the beer, but one thing is certain, we're both heading home now, with about 9 miles left to go.
I know that I'm going to lose the light before I get back, and I know that I can go faster in the light, so this is when I really like to push it a bit, using the fading light as a motivator. And maybe it's the turkey burger and beer, but I really get it going again... running most of it, but walking the stiffer climbs, so as to not crash before I make it back home.
This is the time I enjoy the most, late in the run, the light going down, all alone, heading home, feeling all the pains and joys of this run... this day, and knowing it's all going to be over soon. Sure, it will be good to be done, but it will also be sad. This is what I came up here to do... run, play, enjoy, watch, see, visit, bond, hurt, smile, and live. Everything has it's cost and I don't mind paying for what this cost. The miles and hours of slinging my body down a trail certainly has it's cost, and I knew what it would cost before I started, at least to some degree. And I knew also what I'd find... more of my self. It is so much easier to see within after some degree of deprivation, some degree of exhaustion & pain. It's all good. I got what I came for, and it was not the buckle. The buckle is very nice, but I came for a feeling that I can only find out there.
I finish well, although my time may not reflect it. Ben and Sophia hand me my buckle and a hug. They are both genuine and wonderful people, good in so many ways. They took care of me and everyone else who was here. They put on a well thought out and professional race, loaded with their own special manner of care and understanding. Their volunteers reflect the same manner as they do, doing their best to care for each of us, and staying til the last runner is done. I would not change a thing, but from what I understand, the weather will do that for them.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Time for Me...
Now that I have just about made it past the row of trail races Joyce and I direct... its time for me to do some running of my own. I have made a few plans just for me...
(4/07) The Guads. A 4 day weekend in the Guadalupe Mountains.
(4/23) FreeState 100km
(5/07) R2R2R with a few friends.
(5/21) Jemez 50mi
(6/17) Bighorn 50mi
(7/08) Hardrock 100mi
(4/07) The Guads. A 4 day weekend in the Guadalupe Mountains.
(4/23) FreeState 100km
(5/07) R2R2R with a few friends.
(5/21) Jemez 50mi
(6/17) Bighorn 50mi
(7/08) Hardrock 100mi
2011 Spring (January to March)
It has been a BIG start for the year.
(1/8/11) starting with Bandera which was the 2011 USA Track and Field 100km Trail National Championships and part of the Montrail Ultra Cup. Made for a bigger than usual field of 711 runners with 186 in the 100km, 210 in the 50km, and 315 in the 25km. Dave Mackey in 8:16:48 and Liza Howard in 9:35:23 both set new course records, followed by a few others who also beat the old record.
(2/5/11) Four weeks later, it was Rocky Raccoon with a star studded field (Anton Krupicka, Hal Koerner, Karl Meltzer, Michael Arnstein, Mike Wolfe, Paul Hopwood, Hiroki Ishikawa, Zach Gingerich, and Scott Jurek) with Ian Sharman setting a new fastest trail time for this country at 12:44:33. 512 totals runners, 316 in the 100mi and 196 in the 50mi. Registration was up, but because of a bad winter storm of snow and ice, many could not make it to the race. Houston's airport and highways were closed for a few hours on Friday.
(3/5/11) Four weeks later, it was Nueces which was the 2011 USA Track and Field 50mi Trail National Championships and the the La Sportiva Mountain Cup with the 25km. The top 6 runners were all under the old course record. Jason Schlarb in 6:28:26 and Liza Howard in 8:09:59. 200 runners with 44 in the 50mi, 37 in the 50km, 77 inthe 25km, and 42 in the 10km. A cold front blew through the morning of the race for a very windy day but wonderfully cool.
(3/19/11) Two weeks later, it was Race to the Altar This was supposed a LITTLE fun race wrapped around Jeff Linwood and Cheri Woldt's wedding. A marathon, half-marathon, and 5km... all on trails at Bluff Creek Ranch in Warda. Well, the little race roared... with 150 runners combined. Geoffrey Whitfield in 3:20:27 and Landie Visser in 3:34:25.This race marked the beginning on the Texas heat that is now coming fast.
(4/2/11) And Two weeks later, it will be Hells Hills which should be a full blown barn burner in all aspects. I expect it to be hot, I expect about 350 runners, and I expect it to be another fun trail weekend.
(1/8/11) starting with Bandera which was the 2011 USA Track and Field 100km Trail National Championships and part of the Montrail Ultra Cup. Made for a bigger than usual field of 711 runners with 186 in the 100km, 210 in the 50km, and 315 in the 25km. Dave Mackey in 8:16:48 and Liza Howard in 9:35:23 both set new course records, followed by a few others who also beat the old record.
(2/5/11) Four weeks later, it was Rocky Raccoon with a star studded field (Anton Krupicka, Hal Koerner, Karl Meltzer, Michael Arnstein, Mike Wolfe, Paul Hopwood, Hiroki Ishikawa, Zach Gingerich, and Scott Jurek) with Ian Sharman setting a new fastest trail time for this country at 12:44:33. 512 totals runners, 316 in the 100mi and 196 in the 50mi. Registration was up, but because of a bad winter storm of snow and ice, many could not make it to the race. Houston's airport and highways were closed for a few hours on Friday.
(3/5/11) Four weeks later, it was Nueces which was the 2011 USA Track and Field 50mi Trail National Championships and the the La Sportiva Mountain Cup with the 25km. The top 6 runners were all under the old course record. Jason Schlarb in 6:28:26 and Liza Howard in 8:09:59. 200 runners with 44 in the 50mi, 37 in the 50km, 77 inthe 25km, and 42 in the 10km. A cold front blew through the morning of the race for a very windy day but wonderfully cool.
(3/19/11) Two weeks later, it was Race to the Altar This was supposed a LITTLE fun race wrapped around Jeff Linwood and Cheri Woldt's wedding. A marathon, half-marathon, and 5km... all on trails at Bluff Creek Ranch in Warda. Well, the little race roared... with 150 runners combined. Geoffrey Whitfield in 3:20:27 and Landie Visser in 3:34:25.This race marked the beginning on the Texas heat that is now coming fast.
(4/2/11) And Two weeks later, it will be Hells Hills which should be a full blown barn burner in all aspects. I expect it to be hot, I expect about 350 runners, and I expect it to be another fun trail weekend.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Its been a great winter for Tejas Trails
Since Hardrock... its been one minor physical issue after another. Nothing major, but enough to keep me from doing much. So I switched focus to the races we direct and of course there is always plenty to do with all the coaching. We landed 2 USA Track and Field National Championships for 2011. Bandera for the 100km and Nueces fro the 50mi. Still, I look forward to a few long runs & races in 2011 as well. So adios 2010. Welcome 2011.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Hardrock 2010 is over (for me) before it begins.
High altitude pulmonary edema (HAPE) is a life-threatening form of non-cardiogenic pulmonary edema (fluid accumulation in the lungs) that occurs in otherwise healthy mountaineers at altitudes above 2,500 meters (8,200 ft).[1] What makes some people susceptible to HAPE is not currently known. The standard and most important treatment is to descend to lower altitude as quickly as possible... so I withdrew from Hardrock and drove home. Now worries. Life is good.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Pocatello 17
May 29, 2010
Snow mixed with sleet smashes into us, driven by a 40 mph wind. Every inch of exposed skin on my left side stings from the assault. To protect my face, I pull the Buff over my left eye and snug down my hat. This leaves only one half-blind eye to find my way and two bare legs to do the walking.
Even though I worry terribly about Joyce, she seems to be doing fine. She's got 2 layers under a rain jacket, with mittens, heater packs, and a wool hat, but only shorts and leggings to protect the lower half of her body. I help her adjust the jacket hood for better protection, but now she can only look down and right. She raises her left arm to protect her face just a little.
We are on the wrong side of the ridge, a knife's edge, in the path of the hawk. There is no protection from the wind except for a few bushes and some scattered rocks. The wind blown sleet and snow turns the air white, reducing visibility to little more than 30 feet. I search for markers and have trouble finding any. Not sure if they're blown away by the wind, covered by snow, or I simply cant see them.
I go ahead to search out the route, but only far enough so that I can still see Joyce behind me. I sit behind a rock and wait for her, then I go again, and again. When I reach a ridge of broken rocks, I not only have Joyce with me, but also a few other ladies. Maybe they trust me, as I seem to be going the right way, but they wait for me to start again each time after I stop.
The wind is howling so loud I cant hear anything other than the sleet and snow pellets beating into the side of my face. My hands are cold and swollen, fingers numb and tingling. The inside of my right leg is bright pink and stinging like mad. I reach down to touch the skin, but can't feel my fingers... only cold. I need to get Joyce off this mountain. She has Reynauds Syndrome and must be hurting a hell of a lot more than I am.
I stop to adjust my gloves and the Buff, take the time to snap a few pictures of Joyce as she climbs up from below. I figure that a few pictures might do more justice that all of these words. They are the only pictures I will take. I try to use my fingers but they don't seem to be working correctly, so I push the button with the frozen nub of my knuckle. I notice the pockets of my pack are full of snow.
I am quite comfortable with running mountain races and thought I had taken all the right precautions with food, water, and gear, but this storm is a whole lot more than I had bargained for. A not so subtle reminder that in the mountains the weather can change in an instant. Nothing should be taken for granted... ever! Ok, so I have been duly reminded.
My hat is ripped from my head and flung down the mountain. I go after it and get lucky, then take the time to remove my pack and shove it inside. By the time I'm done with the diversion, Joyce and the others are well above. I hurry to catch up just as they top out and start down the other side. Our small group hurries down a snow covered jeep road, but we're finally out of the worst of the storm.
It's an awkward run on frozen limbs, sloshing in the snow and slopping in the mud. We bumble ahead searching for flags. Its almost comical, being stiff and cold, with the snow and the mud making every foot plant an iffy proposition. There is no certainty that one foot will stay long enough for the other to come round and replace it. Balance becomes a priority, with all muscles firing on every stride in order to stay upright.
Somebody is running towards us form the opposite direction and he stops to ask how we're doing. It's the RD and he's genuinely concerned. He tells us what to look for at the next critical turn that many have already missed. Following his direction, we go the correct way, and begin the long descent out of the cold.
Taking inventory, I note how my hands and fingers are still very swollen. I'd be in a lot of pain if I still had my wedding ring on. I'm so glad I removed it back at the start. It was such a minor thing at the time, the weather nice, the mood easy. We started the race at sunrise on the paved road with no warning of what was to come.
...just a few hours ago...
On a pretty single-track trail that rises easy enough for us to run, Joyce and I go around groups of 4 and 5 people at a time... until we reach a group running a pace we are comfortable with. Once on top, the trail settles into a simple traverse. In and out of each fold of the mountain, the trail runs fast and easy with excellent views all around. Its a beautiful morning... just a bit misty.
Ever so slightly, the mist turns to sleet. It feels pretty good coming from the Texas heat just two days ago. The only effect is a bigger smile. When the sleet starts to get heavier, we stop to put on our rain jackets and quickly hook back up with the same group of women.
Expecting the sleet to stop in a short time, it gets heavier instead. These mountain storms usually blow through pretty quick, but I'm all wrong this time. The beautiful single-track dirt trail becomes a sloppy wet slip-n-slide. We're ok with the mud and being wet, so we keep running, but it quickly becomes clear that we can't do as we please and just keep running. I bust my butt really bad, landing in the muddy path. When I get up to look behind me (to see if Joyce saw my comeuppance), I see her do the same... a graceful 180 half pipe, feet high, one handed landing, and face plant. Its so comical, we both laugh at each other.
I try a sort of ice skating glide when the trail is flat-ish, but more typically its rutted with one or two grooves. Its tough to keep both feet in the same groove and far enough apart for some semblance of balance. On the steeper descents, I simply stand still and slide forward. It becomes a game, a puzzle to solve, that I sink my thoughts into to. I check back to see how Joyce is doing and note that I'm either doing real well or she's not. I try to stop, but I can't, so I keep on sliding down the trail. The muddy mess becomes our new world all the way down into Gibson Jack.
I'm surprised that we're still under 2 hours. Without the mud, we might have been much quicker, so I'm pleased with our progress despite the handicap. Halfway to City Creek and feeling good, we stop to eat some food and top off our water bottles.
Going uphill on mud is not nearly as much fun, but it doesn't take long before we regain solid ground. The denseness of the sleet seems to be on the rise and its getting thicker, mixing with snow. We do not get much snow in Texas, so its pretty exciting. The markings take us off trail for the next turn and heading strait up the mountain. It's a non-trail bush-whack, but its easy to follow at first. All those in front of us have crushed the ground foliage to create a path through the rocks and cactus.
I love this sort of weather, the snow, and being out in the mountains. I'm feeling pretty good, climbing well, enjoying the run. I check behind me to see how Joyce is doing and realize she's back a good way, so I stop to wait. The snow is starting to come down pretty thick and its getting colder. Joyce is doing great and enjoying herself as well, so we push on. The snow is accumulating quickly on the ground and the wind is rising up as well. I stop to wait again, and repeat, as we climb to once again join the same small group that we've been with all morning.
Its so subtle that I do not notice exactly when it shifts, but the recognition is all at once when I realize that the snow is deeper and visibility is way down. Its about then that I feel the wind begin to bite. I go from comfortable to damned uncomfortable real fast. We're in a full blown blizzard before I recognize what's happening.
As nasty as it is, as cold as we are, we keep smiling. What an adventure! I know that what we are doing is dangerous, but still... we're living life at its fullest right now. Its exhilarating. Every time I check Joyce's mood, she's tuned the right way. Certainly, we'd rather our hands weren't so damn cold, but still, we're glad to be in it.
On the downhill side, heading to City Creek aid station, Joyce tells me she has no intention on going back out. We both have some gear in a drop bag at the station, but neither of us has blizzard gear: winter jacket, waterproof snow pants, waterproof gloves, wool hat, and goggles. As good as I feel, my fingers are still tingling and my feet have yet to thaw, so I know better than to head back out into the deep freeze. I tell her I'm done too. We're surprised to see all our friends waiting for us when they should be well ahead. Somebody tells us the race has been cancelled, that its over. We hear snippets of info about where everybody is and who is still missing, but it'll take hours before we know all of it.
They have a car warm and waiting for us, but we're covered in mud and soaking wet. We peel off a few of the muddy top layers, including shoes and socks, then climb into the heat. It's disappointing, certainly... but there is nothing we can do about it. Back to the hotel to hose off, then a large lunch and our entire gang retires for a few hours of bowling and beer.
Snow mixed with sleet smashes into us, driven by a 40 mph wind. Every inch of exposed skin on my left side stings from the assault. To protect my face, I pull the Buff over my left eye and snug down my hat. This leaves only one half-blind eye to find my way and two bare legs to do the walking.
Even though I worry terribly about Joyce, she seems to be doing fine. She's got 2 layers under a rain jacket, with mittens, heater packs, and a wool hat, but only shorts and leggings to protect the lower half of her body. I help her adjust the jacket hood for better protection, but now she can only look down and right. She raises her left arm to protect her face just a little.
We are on the wrong side of the ridge, a knife's edge, in the path of the hawk. There is no protection from the wind except for a few bushes and some scattered rocks. The wind blown sleet and snow turns the air white, reducing visibility to little more than 30 feet. I search for markers and have trouble finding any. Not sure if they're blown away by the wind, covered by snow, or I simply cant see them.
I go ahead to search out the route, but only far enough so that I can still see Joyce behind me. I sit behind a rock and wait for her, then I go again, and again. When I reach a ridge of broken rocks, I not only have Joyce with me, but also a few other ladies. Maybe they trust me, as I seem to be going the right way, but they wait for me to start again each time after I stop.
The wind is howling so loud I cant hear anything other than the sleet and snow pellets beating into the side of my face. My hands are cold and swollen, fingers numb and tingling. The inside of my right leg is bright pink and stinging like mad. I reach down to touch the skin, but can't feel my fingers... only cold. I need to get Joyce off this mountain. She has Reynauds Syndrome and must be hurting a hell of a lot more than I am.
I stop to adjust my gloves and the Buff, take the time to snap a few pictures of Joyce as she climbs up from below. I figure that a few pictures might do more justice that all of these words. They are the only pictures I will take. I try to use my fingers but they don't seem to be working correctly, so I push the button with the frozen nub of my knuckle. I notice the pockets of my pack are full of snow.
I am quite comfortable with running mountain races and thought I had taken all the right precautions with food, water, and gear, but this storm is a whole lot more than I had bargained for. A not so subtle reminder that in the mountains the weather can change in an instant. Nothing should be taken for granted... ever! Ok, so I have been duly reminded.
My hat is ripped from my head and flung down the mountain. I go after it and get lucky, then take the time to remove my pack and shove it inside. By the time I'm done with the diversion, Joyce and the others are well above. I hurry to catch up just as they top out and start down the other side. Our small group hurries down a snow covered jeep road, but we're finally out of the worst of the storm.
It's an awkward run on frozen limbs, sloshing in the snow and slopping in the mud. We bumble ahead searching for flags. Its almost comical, being stiff and cold, with the snow and the mud making every foot plant an iffy proposition. There is no certainty that one foot will stay long enough for the other to come round and replace it. Balance becomes a priority, with all muscles firing on every stride in order to stay upright.
Somebody is running towards us form the opposite direction and he stops to ask how we're doing. It's the RD and he's genuinely concerned. He tells us what to look for at the next critical turn that many have already missed. Following his direction, we go the correct way, and begin the long descent out of the cold.
Taking inventory, I note how my hands and fingers are still very swollen. I'd be in a lot of pain if I still had my wedding ring on. I'm so glad I removed it back at the start. It was such a minor thing at the time, the weather nice, the mood easy. We started the race at sunrise on the paved road with no warning of what was to come.
...just a few hours ago...
On a pretty single-track trail that rises easy enough for us to run, Joyce and I go around groups of 4 and 5 people at a time... until we reach a group running a pace we are comfortable with. Once on top, the trail settles into a simple traverse. In and out of each fold of the mountain, the trail runs fast and easy with excellent views all around. Its a beautiful morning... just a bit misty.
Ever so slightly, the mist turns to sleet. It feels pretty good coming from the Texas heat just two days ago. The only effect is a bigger smile. When the sleet starts to get heavier, we stop to put on our rain jackets and quickly hook back up with the same group of women.
Expecting the sleet to stop in a short time, it gets heavier instead. These mountain storms usually blow through pretty quick, but I'm all wrong this time. The beautiful single-track dirt trail becomes a sloppy wet slip-n-slide. We're ok with the mud and being wet, so we keep running, but it quickly becomes clear that we can't do as we please and just keep running. I bust my butt really bad, landing in the muddy path. When I get up to look behind me (to see if Joyce saw my comeuppance), I see her do the same... a graceful 180 half pipe, feet high, one handed landing, and face plant. Its so comical, we both laugh at each other.
I try a sort of ice skating glide when the trail is flat-ish, but more typically its rutted with one or two grooves. Its tough to keep both feet in the same groove and far enough apart for some semblance of balance. On the steeper descents, I simply stand still and slide forward. It becomes a game, a puzzle to solve, that I sink my thoughts into to. I check back to see how Joyce is doing and note that I'm either doing real well or she's not. I try to stop, but I can't, so I keep on sliding down the trail. The muddy mess becomes our new world all the way down into Gibson Jack.
I'm surprised that we're still under 2 hours. Without the mud, we might have been much quicker, so I'm pleased with our progress despite the handicap. Halfway to City Creek and feeling good, we stop to eat some food and top off our water bottles.
Going uphill on mud is not nearly as much fun, but it doesn't take long before we regain solid ground. The denseness of the sleet seems to be on the rise and its getting thicker, mixing with snow. We do not get much snow in Texas, so its pretty exciting. The markings take us off trail for the next turn and heading strait up the mountain. It's a non-trail bush-whack, but its easy to follow at first. All those in front of us have crushed the ground foliage to create a path through the rocks and cactus.
I love this sort of weather, the snow, and being out in the mountains. I'm feeling pretty good, climbing well, enjoying the run. I check behind me to see how Joyce is doing and realize she's back a good way, so I stop to wait. The snow is starting to come down pretty thick and its getting colder. Joyce is doing great and enjoying herself as well, so we push on. The snow is accumulating quickly on the ground and the wind is rising up as well. I stop to wait again, and repeat, as we climb to once again join the same small group that we've been with all morning.
Its so subtle that I do not notice exactly when it shifts, but the recognition is all at once when I realize that the snow is deeper and visibility is way down. Its about then that I feel the wind begin to bite. I go from comfortable to damned uncomfortable real fast. We're in a full blown blizzard before I recognize what's happening.
As nasty as it is, as cold as we are, we keep smiling. What an adventure! I know that what we are doing is dangerous, but still... we're living life at its fullest right now. Its exhilarating. Every time I check Joyce's mood, she's tuned the right way. Certainly, we'd rather our hands weren't so damn cold, but still, we're glad to be in it.
On the downhill side, heading to City Creek aid station, Joyce tells me she has no intention on going back out. We both have some gear in a drop bag at the station, but neither of us has blizzard gear: winter jacket, waterproof snow pants, waterproof gloves, wool hat, and goggles. As good as I feel, my fingers are still tingling and my feet have yet to thaw, so I know better than to head back out into the deep freeze. I tell her I'm done too. We're surprised to see all our friends waiting for us when they should be well ahead. Somebody tells us the race has been cancelled, that its over. We hear snippets of info about where everybody is and who is still missing, but it'll take hours before we know all of it.
They have a car warm and waiting for us, but we're covered in mud and soaking wet. We peel off a few of the muddy top layers, including shoes and socks, then climb into the heat. It's disappointing, certainly... but there is nothing we can do about it. Back to the hotel to hose off, then a large lunch and our entire gang retires for a few hours of bowling and beer.
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