STORMY 2010 50 Mile Ultra
The Stormy 50 mile ultra was awesome.
Several days have passed, so some details have fogged. Much remains vivid.
The day before the race we intended to go kayaking in Squamish, but rain changed our vacation plans. We drove up to Whistler to take in the tourist sites. Not much there; Whistler is essentially an outdoor mall. There was a mountain bike demo happening and watching the stunts was easy entertainment. Lisa suggested that I eat, since I had a race in the morning. We went into a coffee house and I grabbed a bagel and a huge soy hot cocoa. The day was a little too restful – too much being a spectator, not enough participating. We drove back down to Squamish and decided to wander around the boulders at the base of the Chief. I visited several familiar problems and explained a little bit of bouldering to Quinn, who had never climbed on rock before. I was surprised to still have the upper body strength to campus around on some big holds. I was also surprised to barely be able to move my butt off the ground on some other problems I had sent years ago. The forest was gorgeous; being there after so many years was interesting – I always see places differently after years pass. I noticed many different details. Next to a tall VB problem, a notch in a big cedar where a logger had begun, and the kerf of his saw – too narrow for a chain saw – that cut halfway through the trunk. And then he abandoned felling the tree. The cedar was still fine; I remembered it from the past, but never noticed the little, obvious story. The rain started falling harder and we left for the grocer. I fixed a big pasta and tofu dinner. That night I packed my drop bag, fixed my bottles, and tried to get to bed early. I slept fitfully, and was awake immediately with my alarm. 3:45. I got dressed, prepared, and headed down to the kitchen. 2 bagels, coffee. I’d been off of caffeine for a couple of weeks, so I felt the coffee quicken me. One other runner at the inn was up soon after me. Around 5:30, Lisa drove me to the start. She asked how I felt, and I told her I was really nervous. 50 miles. Lots of time for lots to happen. I know 50k well enough. No real worries about 50k. If something goes wrong in 50k, it’s over soon enough. No idea what is beyond that distance. Well, some idea. I’ve read race reports for longer ultras. I expect good times and bad times, and emotions. I expect to feel bad, and I expect I will get better. Faith, a good strategy, and competent execution and the run will resolve itself. Lisa sensed lots of this and gave me some words of encouragement.
Start out slow. It's easy to go faster once you are running. Save yourself for the hard parts. Relax on the easy parts. You won’t lose this race at the beginning. Get to where you have a good feel, start slow, and work into it.
Excellent advice.
My first goal was to finish well. I wanted sub 8:00. Jokingly, less than a full day of work. More important was to race tactically well. I didn't want mistakes, didn't want to get lost, didn't want to be disqualified for missing the course, didn’t want to make avoidable errors. Also smile lots, and high five all kids along the course.
I chose to run with one bottle of Accelerade and a small hip pack filled with gels and Endurolytes. I filled the bottle with the provided sport drink at the 11 aid stations. I had one drop bag which I could access twice (on a loop). I placed 2 bottles in it, both filled with Accelerade. I also had another set of gels in the bag. On Father's Day, I got a belt loop case for my Ipod. This was my 4th run with music, which turns out to be awesome. I had a good playlist. For most of the run the songs are only present somewhere in the far off background. But they are available, if the mind decides it needs to hear music. I had ordered some used CDs off Amazon in the week prior to the race, things I had on vinyl as a kid and hadn’t heard for years. Surprisingly unskilled punk, hardcore, metal – songs loaded with memory and emotional associations.
The start was exciting and I kept myself under control. The 50 mile solo event coincided with the 50 mile relay start, and I didn't want to get sucked into a relay team pace. We ran through town for a few kilometers before heading onto single track. I started out with 8:2x pace and an easy heart rate, a training heart rate. Excellent. I wanted to be in zone 1 or 2 for the bulk of the race. I can go forever at that effort.
I wanted no one in front of me as I entered the aid stations, so as not to wait for a refill. I wanted to not be at any aid station for longer than required. This worked out at AS #1, and I passed a couple folks on the single track immediately preceding the station. I filled my bottle with Gatorade, ate no food, and headed out. I couldn't have been there for more than 30 seconds.
All systems go. Muscles felt good. Shoes felt good, my left arch wasn’t sore. Hip pack not bouncing, music at the right volume.
Heading towards the second aid station, at Alice Lake, I got a chance to see how many 50 milers were in front of me. I was not happy to see a huge pack. Probably 10 guys; at the time it seemed like more. The disappointment of my placement was tempered by knowledge of how much racing remained. I've blown up after going out too hard, and I didn't want that to happen on this race.
Gorgeous fast and banked single track in the open sun led to an easy downhill. I opened up to make time. The runner behind me yelled out, and I stopped. “Are we off course?” he asked. I didn’t think so. He caught up and we talked while running. I pulled away again and soon saw flagging. I hollered back up that all was well. Soon we were running into the 3rd aid station, and my first major mental challenge. A volunteer recorded my number and asked "did you cut the dead end loop?"
What? I didn't cut anything. I ran the marked course.
He cut, said the runner in front of me. "I was in front of him, and then I passed him again. He missed a loop."
I ran the course. Pretty sure I didn't cut anything. Excuse me, gotta go.
With those remarks I headed out with a topped off water bottle. So the other guy tells the vollies I cut? Is that what just happened? I didn’t get lost. This course is well marked. How could I get off and get back on? What happened? Am I going to get DQed? This early? Déjà vu.
Eff you see kay.
Are they going to disqualify me for missing a 1km loop on a 50 mile race? A flat 1k loop? Did I miss some part of the course? It's possible.
It isn't until I'm sitting here, writing this, on Tuesday night, that I compare my GPS with the course map and see that I did not cut anything. But when you are racing, and that fear hits you, all changes. That you are going to be DQ'ed. That it is all over. Nothing you can do. Run like the wind. Come in first. You are done, might as well quit. You can't place if you are disqualified. Just like the last race, at Sun Mountain. So far I’ve gotten off course on 2 of 3 ultras, and I did not want this to happen here. Train every day, make everyone suffer for your schedule. Slip on all commitments in all areas of life to run, and get DQed. And it haunted me for the next 20+ miles, until 9 mile hill. It definitely changed my race, and there wasn’t anything I could do. It is hormonal - racing versus training. A race elicits a different performance. If it isn’t a race, if I’m not a valid competitor, then the performance is different.
That’s a lesson. First, anyone with the hubris to accuse another of cutting is not a sporting competitor. That guy should have kept his mouth shut – my race and his race are our own, and any differences can be sorted out at the end. In hindsight, and in the future, my reaction should have been, and will be, far different. Like hell I’m off course. I ran the route. You took a wrong turn and ran extra. The director can check my GPS when it’s over. Until then, you got lost and ran extra. I ran within talking distance with this other runner since the last aid, and there’s slim chance we both missed the course like you claim. You’re wrong. I’m right. Enjoy being wrong. See you later.
At around 3:18 in the race I actually did get off course for about 4 minutes. I ended up in some construction and mistook road surveying tape for the course flagging. This wasn’t a large problem; I was happy that I recognized the situation and backtracked successfully. In the past, I would have continued on in blind hope. I paid a small price - another runner - Mark from Whistler - was now again running with me. At this point my legs still felt very fresh.
The second of the 3 major climbs was underway. My memory of the topo showed that it would be complete and downhill by mile 25. My pace was okay - I was a little bit slow but I intended to make it up on the downhill sections with some 7 minute miles. This did not happen. The downhills were, by far, the most technical I have dealt with. I anticipated logging roads (what else could be as steep as the topo showed?!). I got mountain bike courses. The downhills were crazy. Rooty. Rock drops. Single track logs. Logs with 6" lengths of 2x4 nailed to them as bridges. People ride bikes on this? I ended up on my hands a couple times, and didn't make up any time. I was definitely staring at my feet while running. At one point I stumbled and the toes of both feet ended up simultaneously snagged on protruding roots.
I got to Lisa, Quinn, and Isaiah at the Powerhouse aid station (AS #7) about 40 minutes off my ideal pace (or 25 minutes off my realistic pace). A little over 28 miles. Lisa met me about a quarter mile out and jogged in with me. I felt like I was a truck in 4wd low. I was moving, I was full of torque. But please don't ask me for speed. I told her I might be off course, DQ’ed. It was still haunting me. I wouldn’t have been surprised if a volunteer told me I was out of the race. Of course, writing this, I realize this is out of the question. At the time, I hadn’t worked through all the possibilities. But during the race, clearly, the decision wouldn’t be made based only on a circumstantial accusation.
“I told Quinn you are going to hurdle this logging gate.”
I belly rolled over the gate. No way could my muscles get me to jump at this point. Jokingly: now this is a steeplechase. I don’t think anyone got the joke, but I might have only said it in my head. Here I got a fresh bottle and my new supply of gels. Kisses and hugs all around, I took a caffeine pill, and headed towards nine mile hill. I was feeling good. For a moment I considered taking two handhelds, but decided to stick with only one bottle. It had worked so far. But two bottles here would have been smart.
Back home in Issaquah, Lisa said that she could tell I might not be doing as well as I seemed here because I forgot I had a drop bag. I forgot I had a new bottle and a new set of gels. She gave me my bottle and hooked the new pack onto my webbing belt. I remember this, and remember being glad that I didn’t have to do the crewing for myself at this point. I was focused on the running to come.
The caffeine hit me immediately, and I wanted to destroy the next climb. I was on a logging road heading up “9 mile hill.” My watch showed I was doing around 8:30min/mile pace, and I was happy to be running strong. I quickly passed one runner equipped with a hydration pack and 2 bottles. The grade increased and I changed gears to a power hike. About 5 miles from the next aid station I realized that I only had 2 gulps of water remaining. The sun was out, I was on a road, getting hot. I continued hiking fast, running when the grade lessened. The hill would crest around 35 miles, if I recalled the details of the course map correctly. My quads started to lock and I couldn't stretch them at all. Any attempt to break the cramp in my quad caused my hamstring to cramp. I finally figured out to crouch like a catcher behind the plate, and that provided an amount of relief. There were no runners in front of me, and none behind. I was alone for what seemed like hours on this gravel road, legs cramping. Actual clock time from the aid station to the crest was about 1:45. 19:00 pace for this mile? How many miles do I have to go on this? Just walking caused cramps. Standing still caused cramps.
I had some Endurolytes remaining. Cramps mean I need salt, if I believe the ad copy for the electrolyte pills. Take the salt. Three at a time. The clif shots have electrolytes. Eat those. But I have no water to wash it down. Eat it, I don't want to stop. Lots of frustration boiling inside me: my legs won't do this; I have energy, why are my muscles doing this? My brain feels fine – I think clearly. Walk backwards. Try walking sideways. Fire different muscle groups. That’s not working. That makes the cramps hit harder, the major muscles are probably not coping with a break from the rhythm. Why didn't I train harder? I run too slowly when I train. I should have gotten some longer runs in. You should do hills when you are tired. This course is only 6000 feet. Why is this happening? Why didn't you bring more water? You taped a caffeine pill to your bottle but not iodine? Why not iodine? Dip in the puddles. Should I? You’ve never gotten sick from it before.
Screaming and yelling. I want to see a mountain lion just so I can kill and eat it, so pissed off. So angry. Anger and rage almost to tears. What an embarrassing mess. But I want this so bad. This doesn’t even hurt. I’ve hurt before and this is not pain. This is so brief. It doesn’t hurt but it is keeping me from running. I want speed and I cannot. Cuff myself on the temple. Again, harder. Scream louder. Scream and run. Turn up the volume. Turn off the music. Look at the mountain ranges. Look for bears. Scream again. You screamed all the time when you rock climbed. You hear your belayer screaming? Venga. Allez. Go. Run run run. You knew you’d cramp and you told yourself to run through. You already figured this out, just go.
I got to the water. A water-only, unmanned station. Really just a McDonalds cooler on a chair. I filled the bottle and drank it. I filled again and left.
Bloating. Keep going. Like a side stitch - easy to push through this. No. Don't crap yourself. Whoa. Stand still. Where is this bloat heading – up or down? There, it is subsiding. Don't take anything in. Just keep moving. Pee. I have to pee again? This is the 11th time. I usually race a 50k without peeing once. What's going on? At least the kidneys are working.
I got to the next aid and filled the bottle. No, I don't want any food. Except this pretzel. My voice sounds funny talking. The volunteer says one hill then a long downhill. I start out running, then hiking. Cramping, hiking, squat like a catcher. Bloating. Hiking. Peeing again. I walk while peeing. Always moving forward. Cuss at my legs. They cramp. "Shut up." Holy shit, that worked? Shut up? Fair enough, I’ll take what I can get. A relay runner, a woman, passes me. Where'd she come from? Did she hear me screaming? How close has she been? The uphill ends, and I pass her on the downhill, a gradual downhill that I ought to pull 6:3x miles out of. But I can't. I'm going well, though. Picking up time, 9:30 miles. That’s fine. Am I on the "powerhouse plunge?" No. I get to a sign marked with that name, and a cluster of bikers are smoking weed. I curse to realize that I have another mountain bike trail to descend. I turned off my GPS in this section, around 40 miles, because the battery was almost dead. The heart rate monitor needs almost no power, so it continued to the end of the race. The single track ends and I’m back on the forest road. I head back into the Powerhouse aid station and look for my family, but they have moved on. Taking care of a toddler for hours requires a bit more facility than an aid station provides, so I look forward to seeing them at the end. 8 miles to go. I forget again that I have a bag. I give my bottle to the vollie, and another asks me about my bag. Oh yeah. #62. It has an elephant on it. I don't feel well, bloating. Gas pains. 15 gels, over 11 bottles, no solid food. 20 Endurolytes. I haven't bonked. I have energy. I don't have muscle to burn the energy. Or my brain can’t tell the muscles to do their job. Or I’m too dry. Or salty. Something is wrong. I’m not dizzy, not hungry. Not thirsty, not strong. I should probably just run to the finish line.
8 miles left. I head out slow, jogging. Shuffle steps and forward progress. It’s slow, but I’m running, I have a proud form, my core is still strong and posture is good. I’m moving like it’s a recovery run. I hike the uphills, push the knees with my hands. Try to use the arms. Another 50 miler passes me here and I don't know how he can move so well. He looks so fresh. I call out encouragement and wish him well. This section takes a while and I arrive at the last aid station, just out of the trees under a powerline cut. 8k to go. A relay runner trades leads back and forth with me here on some uphills, which makes me feel good. I must be alright, because this guy is the anchor of a relay team - he ought to be fresh. And I'm trading leads with him. I have some downhill left in my legs. No uphill. Finally, after one last lead change, he pulls away. Another relay runner passes me. I run past some climbers at Smoke Bluffs. I feel like I'm barely moving. Is this all I can do for speed? Where's the strong finish? I haven't eaten or had any drink since the second time into powerhouse, at mile 42. The bloat pain creeps up every few minutes and I am forced to stand still and wait for it to pass. I finally enter the parking area for the climbers and a volunteer directs me on, and hollers that I have only 2k more. Not far. 12 minute pace is my best guess. Footsteps. I turn. Another 50 miler. That flips the switch. I feel great, and now I'm under 7 minute pace. And it is easy. My heart rate is around 160. I could do this for another 5 miles.
How come I couldn't run before? Why did I need to see a competitor to run? My legs are fine, my energy level is fine. Kids along the trail. Hold out the hand. Kids love to high five. Round the corner, sprint; Isaiah walking around in the finishing shoot. Cross the line, turn around, run back, pick him up. Hug Quinn, hug Lisa. The race director puts a medal around my neck, and a beanie on my head. Stoked – a beanie. She called it a took, but hey, when in Rome. Quinn asks if it was hard. Yeah, a little harder than I thought. I think Lisa might have tears in her eyes. I must look pretty bad for that to be the case. Why is this such a big deal? Don’t think about it - that's a mystery that could make my eyes wet. I don't have the strength for that, so bottle the thought for later; we're all happy and the grass over there looks really nice, and I'll put my feet up on those cinder blocks. But let's get some potato chips and a cookie. Ugh, I can't eat this. Quinn, eat this cookie for me. I need some water. What should we do for dinner?
The drive back home was as fun as a drive can be – gorgeous scenery and baby music in the CD player. Ahh, Caspar Babypants. Anything to keep Isaiah from crying. We stopped in Birch Bay for dinner and sat out in the sun with our fried fish.
Several days have passed, so some details have fogged. Much remains vivid.
Short version: I finished 10th overall and did not satisfy my time goals. I am not as fast or as strong as I like to think. Or, I am too optimistic. Hopefully the latter – this was my first 50 mile race and it shows in the number of lessons learned. 47 runners started the race; I expect to be better than more than 37. Not at Stormy, at least, not this day. I hoped to crack the top 5. The race was more difficult than anticipated, much more technical, and the course had more elevation than advertised (6000’ was claimed – I had done 7000’ by mile 40). I feel that the extra elevation was in my favor, as my long runs will gain 7000’ in 25 miles; the technicality of the trails perhaps worked against me. The event was extremely well run and organized. I enjoyed myself incredibly and would sign up again without hesitation. The experience was not like anything else. The race coincided with the 1 year “anniversary” of my foray into running. Last August I started training for the Seattle Marathon. Stormy was to be a personal celebration of sorts.
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| Starting line jitters. I'm at racing weight - 12 pounds less than at the Sun Mountain 50K. |
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| comparison: 6 weeks prior, 178lbs of creatine induced mass (in the red shirt, hip pack) |
Start out slow. It's easy to go faster once you are running. Save yourself for the hard parts. Relax on the easy parts. You won’t lose this race at the beginning. Get to where you have a good feel, start slow, and work into it.
Excellent advice.
My first goal was to finish well. I wanted sub 8:00. Jokingly, less than a full day of work. More important was to race tactically well. I didn't want mistakes, didn't want to get lost, didn't want to be disqualified for missing the course, didn’t want to make avoidable errors. Also smile lots, and high five all kids along the course.
I chose to run with one bottle of Accelerade and a small hip pack filled with gels and Endurolytes. I filled the bottle with the provided sport drink at the 11 aid stations. I had one drop bag which I could access twice (on a loop). I placed 2 bottles in it, both filled with Accelerade. I also had another set of gels in the bag. On Father's Day, I got a belt loop case for my Ipod. This was my 4th run with music, which turns out to be awesome. I had a good playlist. For most of the run the songs are only present somewhere in the far off background. But they are available, if the mind decides it needs to hear music. I had ordered some used CDs off Amazon in the week prior to the race, things I had on vinyl as a kid and hadn’t heard for years. Surprisingly unskilled punk, hardcore, metal – songs loaded with memory and emotional associations.
The start was exciting and I kept myself under control. The 50 mile solo event coincided with the 50 mile relay start, and I didn't want to get sucked into a relay team pace. We ran through town for a few kilometers before heading onto single track. I started out with 8:2x pace and an easy heart rate, a training heart rate. Excellent. I wanted to be in zone 1 or 2 for the bulk of the race. I can go forever at that effort.
I wanted no one in front of me as I entered the aid stations, so as not to wait for a refill. I wanted to not be at any aid station for longer than required. This worked out at AS #1, and I passed a couple folks on the single track immediately preceding the station. I filled my bottle with Gatorade, ate no food, and headed out. I couldn't have been there for more than 30 seconds.
All systems go. Muscles felt good. Shoes felt good, my left arch wasn’t sore. Hip pack not bouncing, music at the right volume.
Heading towards the second aid station, at Alice Lake, I got a chance to see how many 50 milers were in front of me. I was not happy to see a huge pack. Probably 10 guys; at the time it seemed like more. The disappointment of my placement was tempered by knowledge of how much racing remained. I've blown up after going out too hard, and I didn't want that to happen on this race.
Gorgeous fast and banked single track in the open sun led to an easy downhill. I opened up to make time. The runner behind me yelled out, and I stopped. “Are we off course?” he asked. I didn’t think so. He caught up and we talked while running. I pulled away again and soon saw flagging. I hollered back up that all was well. Soon we were running into the 3rd aid station, and my first major mental challenge. A volunteer recorded my number and asked "did you cut the dead end loop?"
What? I didn't cut anything. I ran the marked course.
He cut, said the runner in front of me. "I was in front of him, and then I passed him again. He missed a loop."
I ran the course. Pretty sure I didn't cut anything. Excuse me, gotta go.
With those remarks I headed out with a topped off water bottle. So the other guy tells the vollies I cut? Is that what just happened? I didn’t get lost. This course is well marked. How could I get off and get back on? What happened? Am I going to get DQed? This early? Déjà vu.
Eff you see kay.
Are they going to disqualify me for missing a 1km loop on a 50 mile race? A flat 1k loop? Did I miss some part of the course? It's possible.
It isn't until I'm sitting here, writing this, on Tuesday night, that I compare my GPS with the course map and see that I did not cut anything. But when you are racing, and that fear hits you, all changes. That you are going to be DQ'ed. That it is all over. Nothing you can do. Run like the wind. Come in first. You are done, might as well quit. You can't place if you are disqualified. Just like the last race, at Sun Mountain. So far I’ve gotten off course on 2 of 3 ultras, and I did not want this to happen here. Train every day, make everyone suffer for your schedule. Slip on all commitments in all areas of life to run, and get DQed. And it haunted me for the next 20+ miles, until 9 mile hill. It definitely changed my race, and there wasn’t anything I could do. It is hormonal - racing versus training. A race elicits a different performance. If it isn’t a race, if I’m not a valid competitor, then the performance is different.
That’s a lesson. First, anyone with the hubris to accuse another of cutting is not a sporting competitor. That guy should have kept his mouth shut – my race and his race are our own, and any differences can be sorted out at the end. In hindsight, and in the future, my reaction should have been, and will be, far different. Like hell I’m off course. I ran the route. You took a wrong turn and ran extra. The director can check my GPS when it’s over. Until then, you got lost and ran extra. I ran within talking distance with this other runner since the last aid, and there’s slim chance we both missed the course like you claim. You’re wrong. I’m right. Enjoy being wrong. See you later.
At around 3:18 in the race I actually did get off course for about 4 minutes. I ended up in some construction and mistook road surveying tape for the course flagging. This wasn’t a large problem; I was happy that I recognized the situation and backtracked successfully. In the past, I would have continued on in blind hope. I paid a small price - another runner - Mark from Whistler - was now again running with me. At this point my legs still felt very fresh.
The second of the 3 major climbs was underway. My memory of the topo showed that it would be complete and downhill by mile 25. My pace was okay - I was a little bit slow but I intended to make it up on the downhill sections with some 7 minute miles. This did not happen. The downhills were, by far, the most technical I have dealt with. I anticipated logging roads (what else could be as steep as the topo showed?!). I got mountain bike courses. The downhills were crazy. Rooty. Rock drops. Single track logs. Logs with 6" lengths of 2x4 nailed to them as bridges. People ride bikes on this? I ended up on my hands a couple times, and didn't make up any time. I was definitely staring at my feet while running. At one point I stumbled and the toes of both feet ended up simultaneously snagged on protruding roots.
I got to Lisa, Quinn, and Isaiah at the Powerhouse aid station (AS #7) about 40 minutes off my ideal pace (or 25 minutes off my realistic pace). A little over 28 miles. Lisa met me about a quarter mile out and jogged in with me. I felt like I was a truck in 4wd low. I was moving, I was full of torque. But please don't ask me for speed. I told her I might be off course, DQ’ed. It was still haunting me. I wouldn’t have been surprised if a volunteer told me I was out of the race. Of course, writing this, I realize this is out of the question. At the time, I hadn’t worked through all the possibilities. But during the race, clearly, the decision wouldn’t be made based only on a circumstantial accusation.
“I told Quinn you are going to hurdle this logging gate.”
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| Is Dad to our aid station yet? |
I belly rolled over the gate. No way could my muscles get me to jump at this point. Jokingly: now this is a steeplechase. I don’t think anyone got the joke, but I might have only said it in my head. Here I got a fresh bottle and my new supply of gels. Kisses and hugs all around, I took a caffeine pill, and headed towards nine mile hill. I was feeling good. For a moment I considered taking two handhelds, but decided to stick with only one bottle. It had worked so far. But two bottles here would have been smart.
Back home in Issaquah, Lisa said that she could tell I might not be doing as well as I seemed here because I forgot I had a drop bag. I forgot I had a new bottle and a new set of gels. She gave me my bottle and hooked the new pack onto my webbing belt. I remember this, and remember being glad that I didn’t have to do the crewing for myself at this point. I was focused on the running to come.
The caffeine hit me immediately, and I wanted to destroy the next climb. I was on a logging road heading up “9 mile hill.” My watch showed I was doing around 8:30min/mile pace, and I was happy to be running strong. I quickly passed one runner equipped with a hydration pack and 2 bottles. The grade increased and I changed gears to a power hike. About 5 miles from the next aid station I realized that I only had 2 gulps of water remaining. The sun was out, I was on a road, getting hot. I continued hiking fast, running when the grade lessened. The hill would crest around 35 miles, if I recalled the details of the course map correctly. My quads started to lock and I couldn't stretch them at all. Any attempt to break the cramp in my quad caused my hamstring to cramp. I finally figured out to crouch like a catcher behind the plate, and that provided an amount of relief. There were no runners in front of me, and none behind. I was alone for what seemed like hours on this gravel road, legs cramping. Actual clock time from the aid station to the crest was about 1:45. 19:00 pace for this mile? How many miles do I have to go on this? Just walking caused cramps. Standing still caused cramps.
I had some Endurolytes remaining. Cramps mean I need salt, if I believe the ad copy for the electrolyte pills. Take the salt. Three at a time. The clif shots have electrolytes. Eat those. But I have no water to wash it down. Eat it, I don't want to stop. Lots of frustration boiling inside me: my legs won't do this; I have energy, why are my muscles doing this? My brain feels fine – I think clearly. Walk backwards. Try walking sideways. Fire different muscle groups. That’s not working. That makes the cramps hit harder, the major muscles are probably not coping with a break from the rhythm. Why didn't I train harder? I run too slowly when I train. I should have gotten some longer runs in. You should do hills when you are tired. This course is only 6000 feet. Why is this happening? Why didn't you bring more water? You taped a caffeine pill to your bottle but not iodine? Why not iodine? Dip in the puddles. Should I? You’ve never gotten sick from it before.
Screaming and yelling. I want to see a mountain lion just so I can kill and eat it, so pissed off. So angry. Anger and rage almost to tears. What an embarrassing mess. But I want this so bad. This doesn’t even hurt. I’ve hurt before and this is not pain. This is so brief. It doesn’t hurt but it is keeping me from running. I want speed and I cannot. Cuff myself on the temple. Again, harder. Scream louder. Scream and run. Turn up the volume. Turn off the music. Look at the mountain ranges. Look for bears. Scream again. You screamed all the time when you rock climbed. You hear your belayer screaming? Venga. Allez. Go. Run run run. You knew you’d cramp and you told yourself to run through. You already figured this out, just go.
I got to the water. A water-only, unmanned station. Really just a McDonalds cooler on a chair. I filled the bottle and drank it. I filled again and left.
Bloating. Keep going. Like a side stitch - easy to push through this. No. Don't crap yourself. Whoa. Stand still. Where is this bloat heading – up or down? There, it is subsiding. Don't take anything in. Just keep moving. Pee. I have to pee again? This is the 11th time. I usually race a 50k without peeing once. What's going on? At least the kidneys are working.
I got to the next aid and filled the bottle. No, I don't want any food. Except this pretzel. My voice sounds funny talking. The volunteer says one hill then a long downhill. I start out running, then hiking. Cramping, hiking, squat like a catcher. Bloating. Hiking. Peeing again. I walk while peeing. Always moving forward. Cuss at my legs. They cramp. "Shut up." Holy shit, that worked? Shut up? Fair enough, I’ll take what I can get. A relay runner, a woman, passes me. Where'd she come from? Did she hear me screaming? How close has she been? The uphill ends, and I pass her on the downhill, a gradual downhill that I ought to pull 6:3x miles out of. But I can't. I'm going well, though. Picking up time, 9:30 miles. That’s fine. Am I on the "powerhouse plunge?" No. I get to a sign marked with that name, and a cluster of bikers are smoking weed. I curse to realize that I have another mountain bike trail to descend. I turned off my GPS in this section, around 40 miles, because the battery was almost dead. The heart rate monitor needs almost no power, so it continued to the end of the race. The single track ends and I’m back on the forest road. I head back into the Powerhouse aid station and look for my family, but they have moved on. Taking care of a toddler for hours requires a bit more facility than an aid station provides, so I look forward to seeing them at the end. 8 miles to go. I forget again that I have a bag. I give my bottle to the vollie, and another asks me about my bag. Oh yeah. #62. It has an elephant on it. I don't feel well, bloating. Gas pains. 15 gels, over 11 bottles, no solid food. 20 Endurolytes. I haven't bonked. I have energy. I don't have muscle to burn the energy. Or my brain can’t tell the muscles to do their job. Or I’m too dry. Or salty. Something is wrong. I’m not dizzy, not hungry. Not thirsty, not strong. I should probably just run to the finish line.
8 miles left. I head out slow, jogging. Shuffle steps and forward progress. It’s slow, but I’m running, I have a proud form, my core is still strong and posture is good. I’m moving like it’s a recovery run. I hike the uphills, push the knees with my hands. Try to use the arms. Another 50 miler passes me here and I don't know how he can move so well. He looks so fresh. I call out encouragement and wish him well. This section takes a while and I arrive at the last aid station, just out of the trees under a powerline cut. 8k to go. A relay runner trades leads back and forth with me here on some uphills, which makes me feel good. I must be alright, because this guy is the anchor of a relay team - he ought to be fresh. And I'm trading leads with him. I have some downhill left in my legs. No uphill. Finally, after one last lead change, he pulls away. Another relay runner passes me. I run past some climbers at Smoke Bluffs. I feel like I'm barely moving. Is this all I can do for speed? Where's the strong finish? I haven't eaten or had any drink since the second time into powerhouse, at mile 42. The bloat pain creeps up every few minutes and I am forced to stand still and wait for it to pass. I finally enter the parking area for the climbers and a volunteer directs me on, and hollers that I have only 2k more. Not far. 12 minute pace is my best guess. Footsteps. I turn. Another 50 miler. That flips the switch. I feel great, and now I'm under 7 minute pace. And it is easy. My heart rate is around 160. I could do this for another 5 miles.
How come I couldn't run before? Why did I need to see a competitor to run? My legs are fine, my energy level is fine. Kids along the trail. Hold out the hand. Kids love to high five. Round the corner, sprint; Isaiah walking around in the finishing shoot. Cross the line, turn around, run back, pick him up. Hug Quinn, hug Lisa. The race director puts a medal around my neck, and a beanie on my head. Stoked – a beanie. She called it a took, but hey, when in Rome. Quinn asks if it was hard. Yeah, a little harder than I thought. I think Lisa might have tears in her eyes. I must look pretty bad for that to be the case. Why is this such a big deal? Don’t think about it - that's a mystery that could make my eyes wet. I don't have the strength for that, so bottle the thought for later; we're all happy and the grass over there looks really nice, and I'll put my feet up on those cinder blocks. But let's get some potato chips and a cookie. Ugh, I can't eat this. Quinn, eat this cookie for me. I need some water. What should we do for dinner?
We eat pizza back at the inn, pop popcorn, I shower. As usual, I couldn't sleep the night after the run. Too excited, too sore. I got out of bed around 1:30 and ate a couple Clif Bars, a banana, and the remains of the popcorn - everything edible in the room. The next day my legs felt pretty good. We went kayaking and goofed off. Somehow Quinn tipped his boat over when I was dropping Lisa and Isaiah on a beach – I turned around and could see him bobbing in the water in front of his boat. I paddled over and we laughed so well. Later, we went to the Brennan Park pool and hot tub. Tuesday we went climbing in the Cheakamus Canyon, north of Squamish. I used to climb in the mid 13s. Now I couldn’t barely onsite 10d. And tight climbing shoes over swollen feet, blistered toes, is not so great. Lisa and I met and fell in love rock climbing together; we hadn’t tied into ropes in over 4 years now. We definitely need to make time for this. In July, in anticipation, I bought her a new 60m rope for our anniversary. Quinn had never climbed outside before and he did excellent. I was really surprised to see how fluid he moved, and how he stayed composed while working out sequences for the routes. Isaiah had fun throwing rocks into mud puddles, shaking little cottonwoods, and tumbling around in the dirt.
The drive back home was as fun as a drive can be – gorgeous scenery and baby music in the CD player. Ahh, Caspar Babypants. Anything to keep Isaiah from crying. We stopped in Birch Bay for dinner and sat out in the sun with our fried fish.We all had fun. Squamish is an excellent destination, be you a dirtbag climber, a trail runner, or a family man. Climbing, kayaking, racing, and hiking up the Chief. BTW, the hike up the Chief is awesome. Chains and fixed ladders make it officially an aid climb, and not a hike. With a baby in the backpack, it also counts as a 2000’ training hike. Maybe not so smart 2 days before the race, but possibly just right.
Thank you Lisa and my family for tolerating my eccentricities, my training, the resultant moods. Thanks for setting up a good schedule, Matt Hart, and for the positivity. Apparently the training works! John Zanas and Peak Sports, thanks for all the 6:00a.m. physical therapy. You kept me running and injury free.
Thank you Lisa and my family for tolerating my eccentricities, my training, the resultant moods. Thanks for setting up a good schedule, Matt Hart, and for the positivity. Apparently the training works! John Zanas and Peak Sports, thanks for all the 6:00a.m. physical therapy. You kept me running and injury free.
Labels: race report, squamish, stormyultra2010
posted by Jeff at
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