Bear Mountain Post Race Thoughts

Hindsight being 20/20, it's always interesting to look back and see what went right and what went wrong in a race. It's actually pretty important: I don't race 50 or 100 miles very often so I need to learn everything I can for those times when I do.

When looking back, it's important to remember the goals I had going into the race. My main goal was to finish while maintaining a good routine. I knew the course was challenging and time was immaterial. I had stated a hope for a 11:30 to 12:00 finish, but I had summoned that number out of thin air.

Nutrition: That went pretty good. I was on a one gel/one waffle per hour schedule and maintained that to the bitter end although getting those waffles in became harder as time went by. I had a close call after forgetting to drink for over an hour, but my flow meter saved my bacon and I was able to recover, although not without feeling pretty crappy for a couple of hours.

Effort: I simply could not risk not finishing this race. It would have scarred me mentally in my Leadville ramp up. I have to admit that I was a bit shaken by how close to the cut-off I was at that first hard-cut-off aid station at mile 20. Still, 20 minutes at mile 20 means 50 minutes at mile 50, which means I kept gaining 1 minute per mile on the cut-off. Had I been alone, I would have gone out faster. Steve kept telling me to cool it off a bit, especially on the climbs but also on some of the flats. He's usually the one freaking out about going faster (see Mohican, Grand Canyon reports), so when he told me to slow down, I listened although I did feel like I was over-reaching. Maybe he saved my race. Maybe I could have gone faster. I doesn't matter. I finished in fairly good shape, although shocked by how tough the course was.

Feet: I thought I was beyond losing toenails, especially on a 50 miler. Boy, was I wrong. Pain, and fear of pain, became my single biggest problem in the last 15 miles. I'm not too worried for now. First, that toenail is now gone so I'm good for the summer! Second, the trails at Leadville (and Laurel, I believe) are nowhere close to that technical, so I don't believe this is going to be an issue. That being said, I need to get better at running on technical terrain. Also, in hindsight, I should have run with my new pair of Crosslites. The old ones, those I wore, were a bit shriveled from previous mud and water action and the toebox felt a bit tighter. I'm also experimenting with the Vertical Ks, which have a much roomier toebox, but are less rugged.

Hills: I mention that separately from "effort", because  I'm making a special effort to improve my hills. I've never been very good at climbing. I had considered trying to run most hills, but given the fact that I really wanted to finish, I just couldn't risk it. That being said, I power hiked up most of them at a good clip and passed tons of people. I did get passed a few times on shallower grades by people running up. Maybe I could have run those, but again, didn't want to risk it. This time. Really happy with this though.

Downhill: I believe that running downhill on technical trails is my weakest skill. I struggled to keep up with runners that I had been catching up to on flats and uphills. On the downhills, I sometimes would lose ground. Nothing I can do except practice. Again, not a big issue for Leadville.

Conclusion: Bear Mountain was a big success. I do wish I could have run faster, but doing that would have jeopardized all my other, more important, goals. I now have a solid, challenging 50 miler in the bag. This gives me some options for the Laurel Highlands 70 miler, my next race. Depending on how hot it is, I might push it a bit to see how my stomach will react. The rocks won't be as much as an issue so this will be more about my fitness than my big toe. A DNF, if it happened for the right reasons, would not be a big issue for me.

This was an amazingly tough race for a 50 miler and I can't believe that, after swearing all day that I would NEVER do it again, I already plan to do just that. That never happens.

Race Report: TNF Bear Mountain 50 Miles Race

Here we go again. It's 5am, I slept a total of maybe 4 hours last night and I'm standing with a couple of hundred crazy people, waiting for the start of the TNF Bear Mountain 50 miler. I'm a bit nervous because this is basically my first race this year, at least my first ultra, and I'm starting my season with what is supposed to be one of the hardest 50 milers in the US. I'm sure some are harder, but the next 13 hours will prove that there is at least some truth to that statement.

Headlamps are mandatory, which I like because I'm sick and tired of losers(I first wrote assholes but some of my friends don't wear headlamps when the star in in total darkness and I don't want them to be mad at me) saying they don't need a headlamp and ride my (or other normal people's) coat tail and then don't have to be stuck with the friggin head lamp for 10 miles. Who do they think they're fooling? "I can see fine", they would say after pissing all over the porta-potty seat. What are you, a fucking cat? Anyway, everyone has a lamp and that makes me happy.

Someone on the PA system tells us how much fun we're going to have and then we start moving. Within minutes, we're moving up. I'm running with Steve B., who says he's not feeling 100% and thinks my pace would be perfect for him. He's a much stronger runner than me and I take that as a compliment. We're probably about 2/3 of the way back. Very quickly, rocks start to appear. Big rocks. Lots of them. It will only get worse all day. The weather is ok. It's foggy, so very humid and warm enough that I'm comfortable starting in a t-shirt. Makes things simple, but I quickly start sweating. I feel great. I forgot to bring a watch (doh!) so I'm using my Garmin Forerunner 305 in "inside" mode to keep track of time. 

We mostly climb for a long time. I eat a gel on the half hour and a Honey Stinger Waffle on the hour. The course is nice but you can't really look around without risking a face plant. There are big rocks, small rocks, loose rocks, little rocks sticking out and the other kinds too. I power hike up the climbs at a solid pace. Steve tells me that maybe I should cool it down a bit, so I turn it down a notch but we still tend to make up time on runners ahead of us. This means nothing at this point. I remember very little of the aid stations. I basically fill my bladder every other station and that's it. I have a potato wedge at one of them just because it's there looking at me. I drink about 300 to 400ml/hour, and my pee is nice and golden. Time flies and I'm having a great time. We do a little of Geoff Roes hating, because he said that there were no climbs longer than 3 minutes on the course. Are you fucking kidding me?

There is not a lot of flat, easy running. I don't know what our pace is but as pleased as I am with my race so far, we're not exactly setting a new land speed record. Still, we're passing people regularly so we feel good. After running for so long (over 5 hours now) and feeling so great, it's hard to believe that things will ever change. Sure I kicked a few rocks, but I still feel strong. Then we get to Skannatati aid station. All of a sudden, it seems like we're surrounded by crazy people. I guy behind us says this is the first hard cut off, at 10:47. It's around 10:30 (can't remember exactly). I'm a bit surprised, quite frankly. We've been running pretty solid and I did not expect to be so close to that cut off. Still we reload and leave. People are zooming past us for a while, scared shit-less by the cut off. It's 7 miles to the next station and I see this guy, soaked in sweat, stumble past us without any water bottles. What the fuck is he thinking? It's not Mohican or Burning River hot, but it's hot and humid enough to require drinking. This is where experience pays off, I think. We decide to change nothing. This is only mile 20. We know that the hard parts are coming. The course up until now has been challenging, but not epic. This means that what's ahead is bad and we need energy to handle it, so we look at those people pass us and shake our heads.

I'm still feeling ok but the mood has changed. That cut off thing has hung a cloud over our heads. Time flies. I'm not feeling as great as I was feeling just a short time ago. I hear Steve drink and it sounds like his bottle is empty. What? Didn't we just leave the aid station? I look at my flow meter and I've only drunk 100ml and it's probably been 90 minutes since that station. Fuck. I start to drink more, but not too much. The next couple of hours are the lowest point of the race. I have little energy. Starting to run after we have to get up a hill is a struggle. During a steep climb in this section I feel a bit light headed and I get a bit worried. Where's the fun now? What's the point of all this? Yaddi, yaddi, yadda... The usual. Slowly though, I force myself to drink and eat and I come back to life. I start pushing a bit more and it feels ok. I've been in front for a long time now. I look back and there's a small conga line riding us. I ask Steve to ask them if they want to pass and they say no. I keep going. Eventually, we make it to camp Lanowa, mile 27.7 (almost mile 29 on Steve's GPS) where our drop bags await.

I grab all my food from my drop bag and change my shirt. Even though a couple of my toes hurt, I decide against changing into my new shoes. I've never had much luck with shoe changes and this pair doesn't even have 10 miles on it so I decide to go with the devil I know. We're on our way back now. I feel fairly good, although once in a while I kick a rock and I have at least once toe on each foot that are starting to feel a bit tender. My big toe on the right side has that full feeling that tells me it's a goner. Oddly, the course keeps getting harder. I theory, we're going down now, but the uphills are either incredibly steep or covered in rocks that make climbing difficult. There's also quite a bit of mud on the trails and numerous streams to traverse. Many times, I come to a sudden stop only to have Steve crash into me asking gently "What the fuck are you doing?". "Jesus Christ", I would reply in a friendly voice, "we need to get over that motherfucking stream and I'm fucking trying to find a way that doesn't involve swimming". "Oh.", he would say. I used the word "fuck" at least 200 times during that race, mostly in the last 20 miles. We're really moving now though and really hit a solid pace. There are some fairly easy sections and my feet are happy.

We get into Anthony Wayne aid station, 10 miles to the finish, with something like 3:30 to finish, 2:30 to break 13 hours. Cake, we think. The aid stations are out of gels and Steve is bonking a bit. I offer him some of mine but he won't take it. We eat while walking out of the parking area, wondering why there would be 2 aid stations in a 10 miles stretch, and then start running. I can't remember anything until I step on the mat at Queensboro Rd, around 5 miles to the finish. I'm ready to be done now. The course is getting to me. If I never see a rock again, it will be too soon. We still think we can make 13 hours. That foolish thought won't last.

This section is the stuff nightmares are made of. They probably had prisoners from 50 states break rocks for the last 10 years and then dumped them on the fucking trail. There were rocks on the uphills, rocks on the downhills and rocks on the flats. All loose, about the size of a Kleenex box. When there's no rocks, wait ... there are ALWAYS rocks. Actually, we get to this trail that is nice and soft, EXCEPT IT'S AT A 45 DEGREES ANGLE and you have to run with a leg a foot higher than the other and your feet angled sideways. My ankles want to fucking explode. It's impossible to run on that. Then I think it starts going up. The surface is back to loose giant ankle bruiser rocks. We go up, and up, and up. All this shit is happening on a 2.5 miles section, for fuck sake. And we're not done. We go up some more and finally get to the top. We run a short distance and reach the gates of Hell itself. Hell is a downhill that looks to me like it's a mile long. It's steep. Very steep. Obviously, it's covered with rocks, with a stream meandering though the trail, for added fun. Every single one of those rocks has a picture of my big toe on it. I start to go down. I will spare you the details, but I nearly have a nervous breakdown going down. Eventually, I make it down and run on a small path which turn a bit. Then, IT STARTS ALL OVER AGAIN. Not quite as long, not quite as bad, but bad enough. Eventually I get to the real bottom and I catch up to Steve, who went down a bit faster. A short run and we're at the last aid station. It took us an ungodly amount of time to cover 2.5 miles.

Everybody tells us we're done, it's all easy from here on. "Really?". "Well... it's easier.". Fuck me!

We start down a road, eventually hit a trail. Good news: there are no rocks on that trail. Bad news: it's going straight down a giant 45 degree hill. I'm afraid that my quads are going to rip. My ass is sore. My eyes are scanning the ground desperately for hidden stubs that I bust my toes on. The trail follows a slight "S" pattern that makes fun of switchbacks, as to remind us that lesser courses would use switchbacks, but is is not that kind of race. With my toes crushed at the bottom of my toe-boxes, eye watering, I reach the bottom and dare to hope that my torture is over, that the course is ready to let me go. Steve and I agree that there an evil design, that whoever designed the course was probably drinking heavily and taking psycho-active drugs and went in a frenzy at the end, piling more and more crazy shit to crush our spirits.

For the last 15 miles, we also know with total certainty that although this race needed to be done, we will never come back to this mean, evil course. Fuck that! We now realize why our two friends who ran it last year and insisted this was a fantastic race, came up with lame-ass excuses and mysteriously couldn't come. They're just mean, not crazy.

Eventually, we do make it out of the bush. Yes there are last minute attempts to demoralize us but finally, we run through the tunnel, then the field, we see what I thought I would never see: the finish line. We finish in 13:17:13. Our other two friends, who have some kind of alien DNA finished way before us. Fuck them and the UFO they came on. Anyone who runs this course faster than 10 hours should be interrogated, and then dissected by homeland security. They are definitely not human. We all agree, even the aliens, that this course was just too crazy. Can they move their pinky?

After a good beer, a good shower, a good dinner and a bad night sleep, we start the drive back. Halfway 

home, we're discussing how much faster we're going to run this race next year.

Pre-race Jitters

I would be lying if I said that I'm not nervous about Saturday. All I have to do on Google now is press "B", and Google proposes "Bear Mountain NY Weather". I've been looking at the chances of rainfall for Saturday steadily climb from nearly 0% a few days ago to 70% as of 10 seconds ago. Rain sucks for two reasons: your feet get wet and it's hard to dress comfortably, especially because the temperature will climb from 10C to 24C. Taper is going ok, although I feel sluggish and tired. Well, that might be last night's beers with Chris.

I'm not sure I have a race plan. Run when I can, hike when I can't. Eat a gel on the half hour, a Honey Stinger Waffle on the hour, salt as required and drink plenty. Don't waste too much time at the aid stations. I will wear my old stinky Crosslites, since I'm not comfortable wearing the new ones after only one outing. They would probably be fine, but why risk it? Because of the course, I have no firm time goal. If you were to waterboard me and force me to make a prediction, I would probably say between 11:30 and 12:00. I pulled that number out of my ass, using a technique know as wishful thinking.

I can't say that I've been mentally stable this week. Not being able to run a 50k race prior to Bear Mountain has left me without a confidence builder. I'm going from a soul destroying 30K race in March to this. I've been looking at my training log extensively, trying to decide what makes me run well in ultras. If I'm totally honest with y'all (I've been watching Friday Night Lights), I feel like I haven't really improved since 2009, when I had most of my best races: first I broke 20 minutes on 5k in April, then my first 50 miler at Sulphur run with nice splits in 10:06, Niagara 50K run in 4:45 with perfectly even splits, and then a solid race at Creemore. After that, things went ok but not great, with maybe the exception of Susitna. I had a lot of fun, but I can't think of a race that I've been real happy with since then. Well, maybe that 15 miler in Phoenix last Winter, that was solid.

My point is that I'm a bit gun shy. I'm afraid to go too slow and not be happy with my race and I'm afraid to go too fast and blow up like I did at Sulphur in 2010. I'm pretty sure I learned something at that race though. I remember the effort level pretty clearly and I'll stay under that for sure. Doh.

Taper

I guess it's become a tradition that before any significant race, I have some kind of a "taper" or "pre-race" entry. This time is no different.

With the fairly nasty weather we've been experiencing lately, this taper is more than welcome. Last weekend's 2-ish loops run at Sulphur Springs was the second time in a row where the weather has been cold and windy. At least this time, it wasn't pouring frigid rain. I'm ready for warm weather.

Next stop: Bear Mountain 50 miler. Total elevation gain: 7034 feet. As far as I can tell from the elevation chart, not a flat surface anywhere and possibly some vertical ones.

I feel that I'm ready to tackle the course. Derrick did a good job of pushing me to run way more than I usually do on my own. It's good that I feel that confident because it means that I'm able to go into the race without the confidence builder of running a 50K race prior to this difficult 50 miler. A couple of people in our little group are running Pick Your Poison (50K) this weekend. As much as I would love to see everyone, I just can't see an upside for me. If I ran 50k, my legs wouldn't fully recover in a week. If I ran 25k, I would probably run it too fast, being in a race and all. They say that training takes almost 3 weeks to take hold. What I mean is that today's run takes 2-3 weeks before it translates into body adaptation. There's nothing that I can do now that will improve my fitness by race day. The only thing i can do is screw it up or not keep what I gained. As we all know, we lose fitness much faster than we gain.

So the plan is to keep training reasonably and try not to gain any weight. My weight loss has plateau'd as soon as I stopped counting calories a few weeks ago. I'm not where I want to be yet, so that's something I need to address soon. I'm just so hungry all the time now.

It will be interesting to see how people in our little group perform at the race. There is little doubt that I will be the slowest of the four although one of them (and you know who you are) has barely been training and two of the group plan to bust up their quads at PYP this weekend (including mister minimal training). Who said the universe was fair?

That being said, I plan on running a solid race. I've mentioned my nutrition problems many times in the past. I've been working really hard at staying on top of it, but it hasn't really been hot yet and that's usually when nutrition becomes difficult to manage. Hopefully, the weather won't be ridiculously hot. That always makes things worse, especially this early in the season.

I got a new pair of shoes this week, a pair of La Sportiva Skylites 2.0. I had high hopes for those shoes because they are so similar to the Crosslites. If the trails were dry at Bear Mountain, my plan was to wear them for most, if not all, the race. Unfortunately, when I wore them on my long run last weekend, I didn't find them as comfortable at the original Crosslites. The trails were wet and I was fully expecting traction to suck, because the Skylites have no lugs, but I wasn't expecting the various pressure points that started to be annoying after only 5km or so. When I got back to the car, I switched back to my Crosslites and I knew I was going to race in them. I could probably get used to the Skylites, but why would I? This kind of made me worried that maybe the new Crosslites 2 have had the same "improvements" and that they may not be as perfect as the Crosslites. What would happen if (when) La Sportiva stops making the originals? The hunt for a replacement shoe resumes. I've tried so many shoes over the last couple of years. Damn.

Top Shape

Racing season is fast approaching. Last weekend was the OUS Spring Warmup, a sure sign that I will be doing  something stupid, like running ridiculous distances, in the coming weeks. Ah, the smell of Spring!

Less than 3 weeks to Bear Mountain. I haven't raced a 50 miler since Sulphur Springs in 2010 and that didn't work out so well for me. I'd like to think that I'm at a better place in my training than I was two years ago. My training has been solid, I feel great, I feel strong. I under no illusion: Bear Mountain will be a b!tch. It will be my slowest 50 miles ever. It's the nature of that course. This should be an awesome, fun filled trip though. Should be a hoot and a half.

As I mentioned above, training is going well. Quite frankly, I don't remember ever having such a solid base going into the season. My training going into 2009, following Norrie Williamson's book "Everyone's Guide to Distance Running" was close, but included very little trail running outside of races themselves. My experience is that road hills are not up to the task when it comes to preparing for trails. Most road runners, when confronted with the dramatic inclines in most trail races, throw up their hands in the air and declare that trail running is not really running. I find that road runners are often obsessed with their pace and can't handle it when they have to slow down, regardless of the terrain. That's why they hate hills so much. When I'm in Sedona, how many times have I stared in amazement at runners on the sidewalk, wondering why on earth they would run on pavement when they could be out on the hundred of kilometers of amazing trails a few hundred feet from their current location. After talking to a couple of people about this, apparently the answer is pace. Who knew? More trails for us!  That being said, looking at how popular trail running is becoming, I guess that more and more people agree with us that pace isn't everything.

So, this year I've got a deeper and wider base than ever before. Hopefully, this will pay off at Bear Mountain. My biggest problem with that race is how hard to race it. When do I run up a hill rather than walk? I've run only three 50 milers and my last two have been a lesson in bonking. My first one went well, but I nearly passed out at 35 miles at Haliburton in 2009 and almost quit at 43 miles at Sulphur. Hopefully, the additional training and experience will help.

If I'm totally honest though, the thing that freaks me out the most about Bear Mountain is the deer black flies. I was reading Chris' Bear Mountain race report and he mentions swallowing a few. I can't handle deer  ANY flies, I just hate them. At least, mosquitoes respect DEET. You squirt a few shots on yourself and you're pretty much safe from them. Not so with deer (horse, black, take your pick, I hate them all) flies, who are just too fucking stupid to care. They drive me nuts, going round and round, waiting to take a chunk of flesh out of you and I'm not sure I can handle them. Yes, it is that bad. I guess we'll see.

Why Do You Keep Banging Your Head Against The Wall ?

"Because it feels so good when I stop!" goes the joke. Well, this weekend I felt like the joke was on me. My volume has been steadily increasing and I've come to the point where I'm wondering whether I'm running just because it feels so good when I don't.

For a long time now, I've been running long on Sunday and resting on Monday. This week, I ran long on Sunday (5 hours in the snow in Sedona, see pictures), ran again on Monday because I was traveling during the week then did a b2b Saturday(3:30)/Sunday(2:05). I was supposed to go longer (2:30) on Sunday but even though my legs felt fresher than they had any right to be, my brain was fried. I wasn't 10 minutes into the run and I was already fantasizing about stopping the run short.

Epic Snow Run in Sedona

Basically, my body felt like I had betrayed it. WHAT? I carry you up and down those friggin' hills for 3 and a half hours on Saturday and I don't get to sit around and drink beer the following day? What kind of bullshit is that? And indeed, I betrayed it because by the time I got home and had a shower, it was 5:05PM. I went to open a beer and I WAS OUT. Shuffled to the Beer Store and IT WAS CLOSED! With a sick feeling to my stomach, I power-walked to the Liquor Store a few doors down and dammit, it was closed as well.

I had to drink white wine, left-over from my wife's Book Club meeting a few weeks ago. Now that's sad.

Ontario must be the last place on Earth where you can't get beer at the corner store. I was going to go on a rant about the inability of our provincial government to make any kind of decision, but this is a running blog so I'll skip it. But Beer Stores, Liquor Stores and the public Catholic school board are all leftovers from days long gone that Ontario cannot seem to be able to shake. I want to be able to buy beer on a Sunday at 6PM, is that too much to ask in 2012? I guess I did go on a rant.

Back to running. I've been looking into running Pick Your Poison and/or Seaton, but I don't think I will be able to run either. Those two races are only 2 weeks apart, with Bear Mountain 50 miler smack in between. I think Bear Mountain will be hard enough as it is, I don't think I need to make it harder by running 50K the week before. Maybe 29km at Seaton? Volunteer? I need to talk to Derrick about this.

Mesquite Canyon 30K Race Report

Sitting on my couch two days after the race, I try to remember the end of the race. I do remember the events. I remember being so tired that I couldn't compel my body to run, except if the trail was perfectly flat or downhill and then I could only run for a few hundred meters before something broke inside my head and I had to walk. Sitting on the couch, it seems almost impossible that your mind cannot tell your body what to do, even though you remember it clearly.

That's what happened to me on that race. From the start, I knew it was going to be a tough one. Those mountains looked mighty big and despite the name "Mesquite Canyon", I couldn't see any break in the skyline that didn't involve significant climbing. Reality is, we would climb pretty much to the top.

We ran somewhere close to those antennas in the background. Maybe a bit lower.

The first few kilometers were flat and I was going at a good pace. Maybe too fast but I felt good. The trail was pretty good but despite that, my foot caught on something and I fell, rolled nicely (so I though, but I ended up with a few bruises) only to end up in some kind of bush full of needles. Not a cactus per say, but vegetation is mean here. I dusted myself up and kept going.

All of a sudden, the course goes from flat-ish to straight up. Between km 9 and 15, we climbed over 1700 feet mostly very technical footing. Really. I really thought I was in better shape than I actually was, I guess. I got passed a bit. Mostly by the 50km leaders who were on a different course, but also by a few 30k racers. That depressed me a bit. You could see the trail far in the distance, up, up always up, with little people climbing.

The climb was relentless and very steep. Because there was no way of driving up that friggin' trail, there were no aid stations either for 9 miles.  I have to admit that I questioned my manhood a few times going up that trail. Someone mentioned that the name wasn't Goat Hill (or something like that) for nothin'. I got a bit of a side stitch and it took quite a while to get rid of it. Once you got to the top, the trail became a bit less technical for a while but you could not take your eye off the trail without risking falling off a cliff or at least a really painful fall.

I kept drinking and eating as much as I thought I could. I got a bit of a surge of energy once we started going down. Even passed a couple of people. The trail was technical but runnable. At some point though, it became ridiculous and I started tripping everywhere. My quads were shot, the trail was steep and there was basically no stable footing half the time.

Finally, I get to the bottom and horror, there's an uphill section. Lots of hiking and shuffling. The last few kilometers were quite painful. I had nothing left. I knew I did, somewhere, but I just could make myself care. I was hot. I knew I would come in under 4 hours, which was my goal. I would start running and then after a couple of minutes just stop, I had never experienced something like that in a short distance like that. Anyway I did finish in 3:53. Within my goal, which was based on nothing, but more tired than I had expected.

The winner ran the course in 2:18. That's an average of 4:35/km. Someone explain that to me. Between the climbing and the footing and the death if you make a mistake, there's something I don't understand. Un-friggin'-believable.

So that's my experience of my first race involving a real climb. It was a humbling experience. It really kicked me in the nuts both physically and mentally. I kept thinking the following: Hope Pass is over 3000 feet on the way out. That's almost twice as high, possibly steeper and all that between 9,000 and 12,000 feet.

Lots of training to do.  I better stop whining.