Race Recap... Part 3

Starting off with leaving the Foresthill School aid station (mile 62)....

My transition from Foresthill onward was a little shaky and rough.  Part of this was because of the fact that when I came in, the volunteers asked me if I wanted a pacer.  I replied with a definite "yes", but the ability of the volunteers to find one of the pacers on the spot was a bit rough (logically, since they weren't just standing in line waiting to be asked).  I continued to walk/jog down the road from Foresthill, trailed by an awesome volunteer promising me that a pacer was coming.  Luckily, just before I turned off of the main road to head back to the trail, Karen was there to jump in and join me for the remaining 38 miles as a pacer.

As we left Foresthill, however, I could feel that my legs were starting to fully exhibit the signs of fatigue from the ups and downs earlier in the day.  Although they were not exhausted (yet), they were beginning to show signs of tiring. 

We reached the next aid station at Dardanelles (mile 65.7) sometime around 9 PM, just as the sky was darkening, and our headlamps were turned on as we exited the aid station.

En route to the next aid station, Peachstone (mile 70.7), I was trying to do the math in my head, and I figured that if I could keep a decent pace of about 15 minutes per mile, minimize my time at aid stations (which would be easier with a pacer, and with seeing Erin more frequently), and dig deep, I still had a shot at breaking the 24 hour mark.  I psyched myself up and thought that I actually had a shot at this.  That elation lasted for about 10 minutes, and around miles 69-70, shortly before 10 PM, everything slowed way, way down.  I slowed way, way down.  Suddenly, out of nowhere, my fuel gauge and energy meters were on "E". 

This is a point that many people reach, primarily in marathons and longer distances, but can happen at any distance.  It is the feeling of being totally deflated.  Of having absolutely nothing left.  Of feeling like your abilities and determination were just sucked out in a vaccuum.  While this can happen at any distance, to have it happen around this time, with at least 30 miles more to go, is, to say the least, especially daunting.  My jog/trot was reduced to a walk, I began to feel a bit "outside" of myself, and I must have told Karen at least 20 times that I had no idea what happened, but I just needed to keep moving to the next aid station, take a seat, and regroup.

Lumbering into Peachstone, I immediately took a seat, and Karen began to order (though politely) volunteers to get me chicken broth and other things to nibble to try to get electrolytes back in me.  In the Western States guide, and through word of mouth, three words are prominent: Beware The Chair.  Sitting, while helping to recharge you, can only serve to seize up your muscles and deprive you of any momentum in the long-term.  When I sat, all of these problems came crashing in on me.  My legs and lower back immediately tensed up, and I felt even more "outside" of myself, dizzy, and tired.  Within minutes, I began to shiver pretty violently, as I was dehydrated, depleted, and, since my muscles weren't moving, cooling rapidly in the cooler night air.

This was my lowest point in the race.  In the past, at the LOST 118-mile run in Florida, I had dropped at mile 80 when I felt this way.  This was because of the long distances between aid (4-7 miles), the remoteness of the site, and the fact that I didn't have anyone with me.  Karen and a couple of other volunteers were being necessarily brash, telling me I needed to get up and get moving, but I could barely hear them over my own exhaustion and the voice of a warm shower, a comfortable hotel bed, and hot chow calling me from  miles away.  I kept saying out loud "I think I'm done".  I figured, I gave it a serious good try, my body is failing, and at least I'll be done.  However, I was told that if I dropped at Peachstone, I would have to spend the night there, as the location was so remote that there was no way out until morning.  Yikes.  That, coupled with a bit of spark renewed via chicken soup, and the thought of finally seeing Erin again (she was waiting for me 8 miles ahead at the Rucky Chucky river crossing) got me up out of the chair and slowly, SLOWLY, moving again.

With some extra snacks tucked away, more chicken broth in me, and a piece of ginger to calm the nausea, we were making forward progress again.  My walk for the first 1/2 mile or so was that of a failing animatronic from the early Walt Disney days, very shaky and mechanical, but over time I began to regain my flexibility and move a little more gingerly.  With some luck, the next aid station (Ford's Bar, mile 73), was only about 2 miles ahead, so it was a close, short-distance goal to focus on.  There, I was able to get some more food, some more GUBrew, and some more chicken broth in me, and were were off for the 5 mile trek to Rucky Chucky.

Rucky Chucky is the name of the American River crossing at mile 78.  The hills leading to this crossing, though nowhere near as steep or treacherous as in earlier miles, were like waves, constantly coming on and rolling us toward the river.  By the time we got to the near side of the river, it was 12:53 AM.  Karen, like many others, had promised that the river crossing was like no cup of coffee that I had ever had before, and that it would definitely serve to wake me up more.  This was extremely accurate.

Before we got in, we had a quick safety brief, and began to walk in behind another runner.  The water was extremely cold, and shocked my legs to tense a bit, but in a good way, if that is believable.  The more unbelievable feat was again the wonderful race volunteers, who were rumored to have 5 hour shifts standing in the river to help hold the steel cable for runners.  Even in wetsuits, I could hear them shivering.  They are incredible, and incredibly selfless, people, and they definitely earn respect from me.

The walk was about 100 meters log, and the large rocks were marked by glowsticks at the bottom.  The water level quickly went to waist-deep, which again was great because it helped all of my legs and some of my lower abs and back.  The even better help was that I knew that Erin would be on the other side, and as I neared, I could hear her cheering out for me.

Better than a cup of coffee: coming out of the waist deep freezing American River at 1 AM

Not visible in this picture: the smile on my face seeing Erin after traversing freezing water at 1 AM

It was fantastic to see Erin on the other side.  The freezing water definitely reinvigorated me, and seeing Erin made it all the better.  I suddenly felt reenergized and determined.  I climbed out of the rocks, kissed Erin hello, and sat down on a rock to change my shoes.  Often, some people skip changing shoes to save time.  With 20-plus miles to go, I was fine with an extra few minutes to get dry footwear on.  After shoe change, we hit the Rucky Chucky far aid station briefly before the hike up to Green Gate aid station.  I was energized, but this was still a hike.

Climbing, but the smile was still on my face.

I had thrown on a long-sleeve shirt since it was cold coming out of the river, but this was quickly discarded, and I wrapped it around my neck like I was at a yacht club.  Walking with Erin really did me good, and we got into Green Gate aid station (mile 79.8) at 1:40 AM.  There, I grabbed what was quickly becoming my normal aid station meal: chicken broth, melon, and some animal crackers.

Smiling so wide at mile 80 at 1:40 in the morning.

Erin had to return to the shuttle after Green Gate, so I kissed her goodbye and said I'd see here at mile 99 for the final walk in.  Karen and I continued on the trails, mostly walking, but trying to keep on "shufflin', shufflin'" on towards Auburn Lake Trails, and then made our way to Brown's Bar (mile 89.9).  Brown's Bar can only be compared to a virtual woodland fraternity house.   The 80's music was phenomenal, and I caught myself humming or singing many of the songs that I could hear from a mile out all the way to the aid station.  At Brown's Bar, I made a discovery in food that I only wished had come sooner, and would recommend for any endurance event, as it will be my crutch in the future.  I took salty, delicious pita chips, dipped them into chick broth, and gulped them down by the handful.  It was exactly what I needed... well, that and the 80's music.

The beautiful thing I kept reminding myself is that from Brown's Bar onward, the distance between aid stations were all under 5 miles, and would continue to dwindle in length between here and the finish.  On top of that, we left Brown's Bar around 5:10 AM, and the sun was starting to rise again.  As anyone who has pulled an all-nighter knows, the sun is the best energizing tool.  I was feeling better as we climbed up some smaller, but no less aggravating hills, en route to the Highway 49 crossing and aid station at mile 93.5.  With just over 6 miles to go, I was going to eat what I wanted, and I saw hashbrowns.  The Highway 49 aid station crew had made breakfast, and I immediately zeroed in on these perfect chunks of diced potato, grease, and salt.  I scarfed down about a handful of them.  The crowd at Highway 49 was great, and we headed out on the "light descent" towards No Hands Bridge.  The views were awesome:

Foresthill Bridge:  I would have enjoyed the view much more had I not been so tired.

We reached No Hand's Bridge aid station (mile 96.8) sometime before 8 AM.  We were so close, I didn't want to stop, but I still refilled my water and GU bottles, and we enjoyed the walk over No Hands Bridge, en route to the final climb towards the finish line.

No Hands Bridge: towards the end

The climb out of No Hands Bridge was not anywhere as steep as the climbs earlier in the race, but was neverthless challenging.  Still, I was motivated by the fact that the end was near, and that I was so close to seeing Erin again.  I power walked as fast as I could up those hills, and was ecstatic to see Erin ahead of me waiting at Robie Point to bring me in the final mile.

The last real hill in Western States

Relief: almost home.

Erin, Karen, and I walked gingerly to the track of Placer High School, and all I wanted to do was grab our son for the final lap.  Karen told me that it is Western States tradition that you have to run (or rather, trot) the final lap, so Erin grabbed Jackson and we began the trot around the track.  I honestly don't know who had it harder, me or Erin, who was carrying all 30 pounds in her arms for a full lap.

Family style.

Sure enough, in the end, we saw the final 50 meters, and we started our way towards the finish line.  It was wonderful, but as has happened with almost every distance race, the elation is equal with the feeling of exhaustion.

Home stretch: the last 50 meters

As if on cue, however, we of course had one final "speed bump".  Both Erin and I thought it would be a great idea to have Jackson either run or swing across the finish line with us, but, as with any young child, Jackson decided to refuse to budge on his own feet.

Kids: going to do what they want to do.

So, we improvised.  I grabbed the little guy and plopped him on my shoulders, and we walked the final few meters across the finish line.  Not the way we had planned, but, as with everything parenthood-like, you have to roll with the punches.

I love this picture.

In the end, however, I realize that this is a finish that I always wanted, not only for the Western States, but as a family.  Family has always been the backbone of my running, from my Dad to my Mom, and in recent years especially with support from Erin.  After coming home from a year-long deployment to Afghanistan, both Erin and Jackson allowed me to still slip out (although very early) for my daily runs, and long runs on weekends.  And we traveled all the way from Alaska to California, just so I could run 100 miles across isolated woods, and Erin could spend over 24 hours in a car chasing me around.  I was glad that we all got to cross the line together, because it truly was a family and team effort.

So, after 27 hours, 33 minutes, and 26 seconds, I officially crossed the finish line and completed the Western States Endurance Run, 100.2 miles of some of the most challenging terrain the ultramarathon world has to offer, and a legendary race that began the entire trail ultramarathon scene.  I was elated, and exhausted.

Since I have written and shared so much in this post, I will save the "aftermath" for a separate post in a few days.

Race Recap... Part 2

Picking up off Robinson Flat aid station (mile 29.7)...

Leaving the aid station, the rain "helped" to re-rain log my clothes, and so my fresh new dry t-shirt (from the Sky Pass Marathon... courtesy of Luke Reece), did not stay that way for long.  Although it was not great to be running through the rains, and only about one-third of the way through the race, I will diverge here to say that I was actually incredibly fortunate in some ways with the weather...

Western States is not only a punishing course because of terrain, but is also known for it's brutal weather.  Temperatures usually hover in the 90's or above, and because much of the course is without shade, the direct sunlight can push it well into the 100's, even 110's.  This is one of the great challenges of Western States.... but not as much for us.  The lower temperatures, wind, hail, rain and the overall overcast weather did provide some of their own challenges, but the respite from the sun and intense heat was a plus.  HOWEVER, this is not to say that the cold and rain was good.  From what I heard, at least 10 people had either dropped or been forced to drop due to hypothermia by the time they got to Robinson Flat.

The next aid stations at Miller's Defeat (mile 34.4) and Dusty Corners (mile 38) came and went without much of an issue.  The skies began to clear, the temperatures began to rise, but I kept my sleeves on most of the time to preserve warmth and save in case the temperatures cooled again.  Probably the most interesting piece of running through these miles was taking in some of the sights as the fog cleared.  Although you couldn't see for miles as we could have done in the earlier miles along the ridges, the sights were still nice in the forests, and as we began to approach the section known as "the Canyons".

Beginning at the "Last Chance" aid station at mile 43.8, the elevation would bounce up and down for at least the next 20 miles, although the elevation would never really let up until mile 100.  From Last Chance, the course literally descended 1200 feet, then rose another 1500 feet, before arriving at the next aid station at Devil's Thumb only 4 miles later.  It didn't help that I was feeling bloated by the time I got to Last Chance.  According to the scales, I was up to 216.5 lbs... having gained 8 pounds in approximately 13.5 miles or 3 hours.... yikes.  The excess sodium and electrolyte intake had to be cut down, or else I would continue to feel bloated.

Descending the trail towards the American River.

The drops and rises here really began to nail me.  One of the chief complaints of Western States runners is not from the uphills, but rather that their "quads are shot", which stem entirely from the downhill sections.  This is because that they are not short, gradual, or rolling downhills, but instead harsh, jaunting, and long sections of descent.  They are 50 meter sections of switchback, which mean you are constantly breaking to twist and turn downhill, without really breaking your stride.  This serves to destroy your quads.  To make matters even more fun, after finishing a descent, you quickly cross a 50-100 meter bridge, and then begin the ascent back up to the top.

Ups and Downs: the elevation profile of Last Chance to Devil's Thumb

The only "flat ground" between the hills.

The ascent up Devil's Thumb was harsh, and really smacked me back into reality after trying to cruise downhill from Last Chance.  When I got up to the top of Devil's Thumb, I was just under half way through the race, and I felt spent.  Luckily, as always, the terrific volunteers of the Western States run helped me out.  Devil's Thumb, normally known for it's roasting temperatures, has come to champion itself for freezing hell over, and therefore giving runners popsicles at the top.  I had two, and they were amazing.  They definitely helped bring me back to life. 

Devil's Thumb descended again to El Dorado Creek (52.9 miles), only to re-ascend up to Michigan Bluff (55.7 miles).  My strategy to make it through here was simple: take the downhills slow and easy, and try to charge up the uphills as best I could with hard hiking.  Also, I tried as best I could to minimize the time I spent at aid stations.  This is a strategy with a lot of people, but for me it was much more simple: grab food, and keep on moving as quickly as possible, no stopping unless there was a medical check.

The climb to Michigan Bluff on the left.

Switchbacks: one is fine, more than one is not.

The climb up to Michigan Bluff was not any more kind than the first major one up Devil's Thumb.  It was long, harsh, and lots of "fun", but eventually I began to hear the faint sounds of cheers coming from the aid station up ahead.  I also began to see that "backwoods" California can often look like backwoods anywhere:

Michigan Bluff: there are no words.

And as I came into the station, I saw a familiar face that I wasn't expecting: Erin had made the extra trip to Michigan Bluff (which required shuttling service as well) to see me and encourage me on.  It was sorely needed, and I was psyched to see her again (keep in mind, it was 6:13 PM when I came into Michigan Bluff, I hadn't seen Erin in over 14 hours).

Things I'm psyched about: 1. Seeing my wife, 2. Running the Western States 100, 3. Getting to the top of Michigan Bluff

Erin's presence gave me a huge adrenaline boost, and my weight was back down to 207.5 as I hit the weigh-in and medical check (keep in mind, this means I lost 9 lbs. in about 12 miles of running up and down hard hills).  I felt good that I could keep moving forward, but I know that the speed of my progress was slowing.  My race strategy quickly boiled down one of get to the next aid station.  I knew Erin would once again be at at the next aid station (Bath Road, mile 60.6), and be able to move with me for about a mile and half to the Foresthill aid station.

The sun was starting to go down in the sky, and I knew that night would be coming on soon enough, but after some rolling hills, I made it Bath Road:

March to the Top... somewhat: The hill kept going for another mile after this.

My Everything: Crew, pacer, emotional support.

Erin took me a full mile and a half into the Foresthill aid station (mile 62), where I got reweighed (I'm pretty sure I was down to 205 lbs. at this point... but feeling fine), and got re-energized by a huge crowd at the Foresthill school.  At this point, the Western States volunteers also offered to give me a pacer.  Due to the drop outs earlier in the race, those who had volunteered to pace others were free to pace anyone who felt they needed a pacer but didn't have one.  As I was starting to sag in pace, and night was creeping in, I readily accepted a pacer, and was very thankful to get Karen, an ultrarunning vet with multiple 100-mile finishes who lived in the area and knew the trails well.  I was glad to have the experience on the trails.  I also got a fresh shirt change, which was just as much of welcome relief.  Leaving Foresthill just before 8 PM, I was 62 miles and nearly 16 hours into the race, with 38 miles to go... and a much greater challenge ahead.

Race Recap... Part 1

While I would love to drop every miniscule detail regarding this run, I understand that the attention span of most nowadays has decreased significantly, and people may, or may not, be interested in details such as sock color, shoe grit, annoying wildlife, etc.  Therefore, I will try to par this story to the most relevant and exciting parts as best I can, while still giving a complete picture.  I also have divided it into 3 parts so as to pace myself in writing (pun intended), and because there were three major parts as I saw it broken down due to weather, time of day, and terrain.

The first thing I have to describe is the fact that the night before any significant run or competition is usually among my worst nights of sleep in my life, both in quality and duration.  Before I did the Ironman in 2006, I think I got about 3 hours of sleep.  Before I did the Stone Cat Trail Ale 50-miler in Ipswich, Mass., I got about 2-3 hours.  This has happened with nearly every event over a marathon since I was 17.  It's just something in my biology that rise my anxiety and adrenaline over my desire to sleep.  Friday night (the night before the race) was no different.  Although Erin and I retired at a respectable 10:00 PM to lie down and try to fall asleep, it simply did not work for me.  My best guess is that I fell asleep sometime between 1:30-2:00 AM, because 1:30 AM is the last time I remember reading on my watch.  Wake-up time for the race was 4:10 AM.

Luckily, Erin and I were fortunate enough (through her awesome planning) to have a hotel room a mere 5-minute walk from the starting line, which allowed me to wake up so close to the 5 AM start.  So, once up, I crammed down a Peanut Butter and jelly and a granola bar to get some calories in me, and we headed over there.

The nice thing about Western States is that, due to trail restrictions, the race field is limited to generally less than 400 people.  This, plus the general remoteness in Squaw Valley, means that the starting line is not the throng of people in the tens of thousands that one can typically see at popular marathons and endurance competitions these days.  This was good, as on race morning, runners also had to pick up bib numbers at the last-second prior to the start.

Erin and I sat in the Olympic Lodge at Squaw Valley, simply waiting for a little more than 5 minutes before the start to head out and wait for the gun to go off.  Nervousness was definitely evident on my face as we awaited the start.

Hooray for 2 hours of sleep and 100 miles to go before I can rest.

I decided to take this picture at the start to commemorate all of my "excitement".

 The gun went off at precisely 5:00 AM, and the race was ON... sort of.  For those unfamiliar with the course, the first 3.5 miles to the Escarpment aid station is an approximately 2,500 foot climb up the black diamond ski slopes of Squaw Valley.  For those not looking to break land speed records, this results in a simple strategic approach to the first few miles: speed walking.  It makes little sense to jog up these hills, which would expend a greater amount of energy for little, if any benefit.  So, for me and about half of the 400 person field, walking was the name of the game.

This did not mean that the first few miles were easy by any means, oh no.  While weather at the Western States has been notoriously hot, the "great" weather of this years (with highs in the 70's) was not necessarily true of the first 30 miles of the race.  The climb up to the Escarpment was calm for only about the first 10 minutes.  This was quickly followed by the first of many 30-plus mile per hour gusts, kicking up dirt and forcing all of the runners to crouch.  The winding roads were by themselves an omen of the course to come (seeing the route a mile ahead of you, and usually at an elevation above yours), but when we got to the top, the wind was unbelievably harsh, and a dense fog (or low-lying clouds, since at this point we were above 8,000 feet in elevation) restricted sight in some areas to only about 25-50 meters or less.  The Escarpment was simply a scramble over, get to the top, and instead of enjoying the views like most do in the race (it is said you can see the entire set of mountains of the course from Squaw to Auburn in years past), it was simply keep trucking through the fog.

Descending through from the Escarpment aid station (mile 3.5) to the Lyons Ridge aid station (mile 10.5) was a mixed bag.  It was wet throughout, and a freezing rain had descended upon the course, and upon all of us amazingly fortunate runners.  It felt good to finally start running a bit, but the course was saturated in a lot of places from the rains, creating some impromptu stream crossings, which only served to slow your speed to cross (so as not to break ankles in slipping) or get shoes overly wet.  Like most runners, I began to settle into my own groove of running the downhills and flats, and fast-walking the uphills, in order to pace myself and conserve energy for the long day ahead.




Hiking up Cougar Rock along Lyons Ridge.  Note the super-scenic fog.



In these first hours, my fuel strategy was simple: one GU packet (approx. 100 calories) per hour, chased down by one bottle of water and one bottle of "GU Brew" (GU's version of Gatorade) between aid stations.  At the Escarpment and Lyons Ridge aid stations, I also grabbed some watermelon and cantaloupe for good measure, just to get some more calories and water in me.  In addition, I was starting to use "S-caps", a small pill that contained sodium and potassium, but one that I had rarely used prior to the race.

Leaving Lyons Ridge, I still felt relatively good, and felt glad that I had already gotten through 10% of the race, but that's when hail and freezing rain began to really make an appearance.  For the next 20 miles (about 4 hours or so), we got to experience the exact opposite of the Western States race's infamously extreme hot weather.  We were still looking at winds of 10 mph, with gusts of 20 mph or so, but now it was accompanied by rain, and periods of pea-sized hail that pelted us.  Tree cover in these areas was sparse, so relief from these conditions was pretty much obsolete.  What was further, most of the trees were so inundated with rains, that when the winds shook them, it would be like standing under a sprinkler, and we would get even more wet.

The aid stations at Red Star Ridge (mile 16) and Duncan Canyon (mile 23.8) proved just how incredible the Western States Run is, not just in runners' accomplishment, but also as a testament to the true community aspect of ultrarunning.  Volunteers in these areas were camped out in these terrible conditions from the night before, cheering on runners, and were completely dedicated to refueling and helping runners any way they could through the aid stations.  It definitely helps me to get an extra shot of adrenaline and confidence when I saw such dedicated support throughout the course (as it was this way at every aid station).  When spectators saw that I had "US ARMY" on my t-shirt, I kept getting asked to do push-ups or sit-ups.... after once or twice, I had to decline further requests, as already at these miles dropping to do push-ups was getting me out of rhythm.

Wet, and loving it.

I pulled into the Robinson Flat aid station (mile 29.7) at 11:39 AM.  This was the first weigh-in/med check, where they would check our weight and vitals.  My weight was 208.4, which was terrific given how much weight can fluctuate throughout the race.  Unfortunately, although Erin, Jackson, and Michelle were supposed to meet me at Robinson Flat, they had been unable to beat the traffic with the other people (a shuttle was required for spectators and crew), so they couldn't make it.  Luckily, my back-up drop bags paid off, as I was able to change out my wet shirt and socks for a dry pair, and I left the aid station feeling slightly rejuvenated with clean, dry attire.  Unfortunately, I headed out right into freezing rain again, so the feeling of relief was short-lived.  Thus ended my first third of the race, and began my second third.

Final Week... To the Big Show.

First, I am very happy to say that we have eclipsed the $4,000 mark.  A special thanks to:

- Michelle Wrobbel
- Custom Ink - making my t-shirts and generously giving to the Fisher House Foundation

It's finally "race week" (although, neither I, nor the Western States staff, see no "race" word in the title "Western States Endurance Run").  After spending a night in Sacramento (where I'd recommend going to the Hoppy Brewing Company... awesome "slider" burger selection, we have finally made our way to Squaw Valley, and the starting point of the Western States Endurance Run.

As a quick aside, this is PART (I stress, "PART") of my gear that I laid out for bringing down to California in anticipation of this event.

Hooray for luggage.

Luckily, our hotel is actually the starting point of the event, and our room is literally a 3 minute walk from the start line.  As a bittersweet touch, our balcony overlooks the actual start and climb up the Escarpment to Emigrant Pass, a climb totaling 2,550 feet over 3.5 miles.  It is nice to finally see things in perspective up close, but it also would have been nice to never have seen this thing, except in total darkness as we climb at 5 AM on Saturday.

Bittersweet: Emigrant Pass, a 2,550-foot climb to 8,750 feet.  Hooray.  And, there's snow at the top.  Double-hooray.

Looking forward to getting some rest tonight, finishing up last-minute things tomorrow, and trying to relax as best I can.

PLEASE DONATE TO THE FISHER HOUSE FOUNDATION TODAY! 

Heading into the final week... taper time.

First and foremost, a special thanks to those who have donated in the past week:

- Steve Thomas
- Bob and Amy Martin
- The Genger Family
- The Duncan Family

Thanks to these efforts alongside those that have previously given, we have no surpassed $4,000 raised for a phenomenal charity, the Fisher House Foundation.

This past week has been hard for me, not so much in running, but in NOT running... it's taper time.  For those who don't know, "tapering" is a process in running in which a runner will decrease their mileage and efforts in the time preceding a big race.  For me, I have begun tapering 3 weeks out of the race (starting in Hawaii) to rest up for the Western States Endurance Run.  What this means, basically, is shorter runs, less days spent running, and more rest.  Erin and Jackson love this, because I have been home more, and for that same reason, it is really nice.

Tapering for me, however, is terrible.  I need running and exercise, or else I don't get out all of my energy throughout the day.   Without running, I feel anxious, and have trouble sleeping (in addition to anxiety and excitement about the race itself).  But a long distance race like this one is not worth running if you are not rested, so of course, this is all necessary.

Still, I have been lowering the quantity, but maintaining, or even improving, the quality of the mileage I have been doing over weeks past.  Here's the breakdown from last week:

- Monday - rest (red-eye flight from Hawaii)
- Tuesday - 2:31 - Ester Dome hills
- Wednesday - rest
- Thursday - 2:32 - Ester Dome hills
- Friday - rest
- Saturday - 5k race (pushing Jackson and stroller) + 2:25 Ester Dome Hills

Starting the 2,000 foot descent back down Ester Dome last Saturday

Final time for the week = 7 hours, 52 minutes, which at a 9 minute mile (a conservative estimate) is about 52-53 miles for the week... not too shabby for 3 days!

We are nearly set to start traveling down to California tomorrow, and so checking, re-checking, and packing have been the name of the game here.  There has been some last minute "I forgots" that have necessitated orders that will be delivered directly to the hotel, so fingers-crossed they get there in time.

Bags are (almost) packed, reservations for hotels and rental cars are double-checked, and we leave tomorrow...  starting to seriously get psyched.

PLEASE DONATE TO THE FISHER HOUSE FOUNDATION! 

Training Bites Me in the Ass... well, more of a nip

Running up Ester Dome the other day, I was passing by, of all places, a downtrodden farm that had turkeys and peacocks on it (ONLY in Alaska... and ONLY in Fairbanks), and sure enough, as I was running by, their bird calls sent 3 dogs running off the property towards me, all 3 defensive and growling.  I threw my hands up in the air, and tried to keep a neutral posture.  Right before they trotted off, one took a little nip at the back of my thigh, and looked up at me, pretty much asking "what are you going to do about it?"  It didn't feel that bad, and since I was just starting the run, I just kept going, and put in another solid 2:32 day on the side of Ester Dome.

Upon getting home, however, I told Erin about it, and went to show her the spot where I was nipped, and sure enough, I had two little marks where the skin was broken through.  As we had to bring Jackson in anyway to get checked out at the Army hospital, I asked the pediatrician, and she told me I had to go to the ER to get it checked and file a complete "Animal Biting Report".

Oh, the humanity (picture is rated "G"... for gruesome)

Before this story seems to get any more out of control, I will calm it back down:

- The dog simply nipped me... this was no Cujo-type incident

This was NOT the dog that nipped me.

- There apparently has not been a reported case of rabies in Alaska in decades.
- There apparently has NEVER been a case of rabies in interior Alaska... ever.
- The local animal control sent out a representative to check out the property.  Apparently, all the dogs are fine (the owner has 9 total), and the owner is not some crazy Michael Vick stereotype, beating his dogs to fight and attack people.  Instead he is basically a foster parent to all sorts of animals, taking in dogs, cats, birds (turkeys and peacocks), and a host of other animals... basically... a good guy.


So all-in-all... not too terrible.  Still, just more fun added to the weeks of tapering.


PLEASE DONATE TO THE FISHER HOUSE FOUNDATION!

My "Vacation" in Hawaii

 Before anything else, large thanks to the following:

The Duncan Family - Always great friends, and always there when we need them.
Dave Ribardo - Afghanistan roomie
Melanie - Thanks for the support Mel!

Last week was not as "busy" as my runs should have been.  It was hard to get out while balancing a vacation I had been waiting a year for, and running early enough to be there to enjoy the days on Oahu.  Even on vacation, I was up at 5 am to get out the door, and drove most days to a hilly neighborhood nearby so I could still get in some solid hill training.

To be honest, my days were kept very relaxed, and I did not keep 100% track of my time or mileage.  I did keep up with mileage, and with hills, but with some flare-ups in my right foot, I tried to maintain some down time and rest.  Regardless, I got my about 50-60 miles in, and logged some solid longer runs, including a few runs of 10-15 miles at least.

Jackson, basically forbidding me from running, and ordering me to enjoy myself.

I got in some serious mental prep... by looking at the water.

At least someone was doing some windsprints on the beach...

Part of the hills I ran in Makakilo City, near Ko'Olina on Oahu. Even though Erin doesn't believe me, I assure everyone, about 1 mile of this grade, repeated 4-5 times, was a solid training run.

This also began my start of the dreaded "taper" that is so crucial in distance running.  I will post separately about that, but, to be blunt, I hate tapering.  I just want to get on with the run, not rest and try to wait it out.  Resting and tapering usually make me more anxious, get less sleep, and therefore, ironically, more tired and irritable.  Oh, the joys.

Please Donate to the Fisher House Foundation! 

Hills to Run...

People often ask me how I train for running.  I never mean to sound mean or sarcastic (though I am rarely successful in not sounding that way), but the simple fact is this: to get better at running, go running.  Sounds difficult, right?  Again, not an attempt to be overtly mocking, but it really is that simple.  I just like to run.  I base where I run, how far, and how fast, on the amount of time I have, the location(s) available to me, and what I am training for (or not training for) at that particular moment.  So for right now, I'm looking at running one of the craziest distance races that also maintains severe elevation drops and gains, so guess what my motto is?

Go long, go hills.

Now, I started off on various FOBs in Afghanistan, which did not have much in hills, so I had to get into it when I got back to Alaska.  The hills for me these past few weeks have contained three areas:

1.  Approach hill, a minor climb of about 100-150 feet, simply a slow hill with an ATV area next to it to practice some sharp hills, nothing too major but just to keep me doing hills even on my off-days/easy days and allowed me to transition from flat terrain to hills.


2.  Birch Hill:  Fort Wainwright's "ski resort" has a road that winds up it's eastern side, with 3 main uphill areas broken up by one slow descent, rising about 550-700 feet in elevation.  This is very close by to my house, and I have been able to do solid repeats on it with my long runs.  Birch Hill also has numerous scattered ATV trails, allowing me to go from a gradual uphill to a hard climb at times to both through in variation for training and to practice brief walks.  It also has been good to practice sharp ascents and descents on the face itself.  Great times.

Birch Hill in the winter.  The snow is all gone now, but it's still pretty tall (the road runs along the right side of the picture).  The face I run on, on the left side, is literally foot after foot of "fun".

For those who can't read map relief (elevation), all those lines means it's going uphill.  All those lines close together means it's going uphill, and it's pretty steep.

3.  Ester Dome: This major hill rises over 2,000 feet over the course of about 2.5-3 miles, and is virtually never-ending once you start.  About one-third of the way up, it transitions from pavement to dirts/gravel, helping to feel more like a trail.  What's more, there is a trail off to the side about a quarter of the way up that has some extremely steep climbs and scores of exposed roots and rocks, which has greatly helped improve both my climbing and off-road capabilities. It is also the crux of the Equinox Ultramarathon, which is believed to make it one of the hardest ultramarathons in America.

Where the road begins to end, and agony continues...

About two-thirds of the way up, and a brief reprieve from the climb: about 100 feet of flat road before a steep uphill smacks you back to reality.

View from the top of Ester Dome facing back to Fairbanks... yeah... it's pretty tall.

That big lump between miles 9 and 18?  Yeah, that's Ester Dome.

Oh, what joys.


There's still time to give to the Fisher House Foundation! Donate today!

Been Away for a While... Doing 100-mile-plus Weeks!

It's been a while since I updated this piece of my digital life, and to those of your who read it I greatly apologize.  I have been busy prepping for my block leave, reconnecting and having fun with my son, Jackson, and also, well... running.

First, a thanks to my uncle, Jeff Carius, for donating to the Fisher House recently.  Thus far, we have raised over $3,700 for this noble cause!


PLEASE CLICK TO DONATE TO THE FISHER HOUSE FOUNDATION

The past few weeks I have been churning and burning, seeking new territory in the 100-mile-plus range for weekly mileage, as I sought to cap off my peak for training for the Western States with long miles and hard hills.

Here's the breakdown for the last few weeks:

Monday - 2:06 (Ester Dome)
Tuesday - 1:11 (Brigade run day slow run plus some hills afterwards)
Wednesday - 1:50 (Birch Hill)
Thursday - 1:20 (pre-long run easy)
Friday - 5:16 (Birch Hill repeats)
Saturday - 1:10 (recovery)
Sunday - 1:34 (Birch Hill repeats)

Add them up:  14 hours, 27 minutes... at 8.5 min/mile, that's 102 miles!


Over Memorial Day Weekend, the fine race staff at Western States 100 holds a pre-race training camp in which over the course of 3 days participants run approximately 70 miles of the course.  Since I couldn't do that (due to the fact that airfare prices from central Alaska to California are ridiculous), I created my own 3-day adventure, racking up approximately 10 hours, 18 minutes of run time, equating to about 69-72 miles on the hills around Fairbanks.... not too shabby a replacement.

Monday - 2:04 (Ester Dome)
Tuesday - 1:31 (Birch Hill)
Wednesday - 1:48 (Ester Dome)
Thursday - 1:04 (pre-long run easy)
Friday - 4:35 (Birch Hill repeats)
Saturday - 2:42 (Ester Dome repeats)
Sunday - 3:01 (Ester Dome repeats)

Add them up:   16 hours, 45 minutes... at 8.5 min/mile, that's 118 miles!  Even at 9 min/mile, that's still over 111 miles!  Woo-hoo! 

The following week I looked at as a bit of recovery in teh beginning, and a time to take it a little easier with some solid jogs with my Dad, who was up visiting me.  While neither of us tend to push it too hard on these runs, it's important that these type of runs do provide recovery not just for the body, but really for the morale and soul of a runner when they need a bit of a pick-me-up... and that's just what it did for me:

Monday - 26 minutes (recovery and rest)
Tuesday - 1:45 (45 minutes on Birch Hill)
Wednesday - 1:51 (45 minutes on Birch Hill)
Thursday - 1:41 (Birch Hill repeats)
Friday - 1:45 (Birch Hill repeats)
Saturday - 52 minutes (mid-day in Hawaii)
Sunday - 2:15 (Hard Hills in Hawaii)

Total: 10 hours, 45 minutes... about 71-75 miles... a solid recovery week after topping the triple-digit mark.

In another post, I will throw in some shots of the hills I have been doing to prep my legs for the daunting elevations ahead of me in a few weeks!  Thanks again to everyone for all of the support!

PLEASE CLICK TO DONATE TO THE FISHER HOUSE FOUNDATION

I'm Selling Out (for charity)

It hit me about 20 miles into my last run.  I reminded myself, yet again, about how wonderful an organization the Fisher House Foundation is, how incredible their ability to channel money directly to veterans and their families, and how amazing their results and impact has been to those people.  While we have raised a tremendous amount of money for this great foundation, there is, as in running, always room for improvement.  Therefore, I decided that in the process of training and running the Western States, I would flaunt myself before the thrones of some of the greatest running support companies and local business around Fairbanks and wherever else, and offer to stamp their names on a half-crazed man running through the mountains of California for approximately 24 hours this Summer.

Although the term "sell-out" may still be apt, I think that the motivation for such an action, i.e. raising money in support of temporary lodging for military families while their loved ones receive critical medical care and treatment, negates any derogatory-esqe demeanor from the term.  Instead, I would proudly boast of my selling out for a good cause.

Therefore, I have sent out the following letter to numerous companies (or, rather, their public relations departments and "contact us" addresses) in hopes that they will take me up on my offer to bear the name and logo of their company, in exchange for a (rightful) donation to the Fisher House Foundation.  No money to myself, mind you, but I cannot say that I will turn away any "trial products" to test in my training or during the run (also, I'm pretty sure that a convertible can be scientifically-proven to increase running endurance when used to drive to and from races... just saying, I'm willing to test this theory if anyone has the car to use...).

Think about this, though: companies spend millions on advertisements during the Super Bowl for only a 30-second spot.  With advertisements via myself, the add would be waved across my back (or front) during hours upon hours of training runs, and the actual race.  This becomes literally "pennies on the dollar" (whatever that means) or, in Carius-speak "cheapness-per-hour".  But don't just take my word for it, let's consult these scientific graphs and charts:

Here is the letter I have started sending out:

Technically, due to the overwhelming support I have received from the doctors at Norwalk Hospital, I will offer to place their logo (or at least that for the Emergency Department) on the shirt, if they so choose (up to them, and "the administration" I guess).



So, in addition to the aforementioned-unmentionable companies (until they agree to let me use their names), if anyone has any businesses that could use a solid back (or front, if I get enough) of a human billboard and a solid reference on multiple social networking sites, I would gladly entertain offers.  They can e-mail me directly at brandon.carius@gmail.com for further information.

PLEASE DONATE TO THE FISHER HOUSE FOUNDATION TODAY!

Training Week T-7

 First, a big shout out to another fine donor who has made a great contribution to the Fisher House Foundation:

Maura Carius - my Mom and an original supporter of my running craziness

Monday - 1:31
Tuesday - Off
Wednesday - 2:04
Thursday - 1:11
Friday - 4:31
Saturday - 55 minutes... followed by a fun 3.5 mile footmarch for the Fairbanks military parade.
Sunday - 1:31

Total time - 11:43 Total distance - 82-87 miles (85-90 counting the parade haha)... not too shabby on 6 days of training.

This week would have been almost at the 100 mile mark if it had not been for taking Tuesday off.  In return, however, I have been focusing more on the main hills.  My longer runs are primarily centered on Birch Hill, and, yet another new hill.

This upcoming week will be challenging to get mileage in prior to my long run on Friday.  Tomorrow will be the Brigade run (read: slow run), which will take about 2 hours to go a total of 3 miles.... mandatory fun, or for fans of "The Office", "funtivities".  Thursday I have been volunteered to participate in the organizational day via a 1.5-2 mile Tough Mudder-esqe run, which will, of course, be perfect for my 5 hours of going up and down Birch Hill repeatedly on Friday.  Loving it.

Ester Dome will be another "playground" in my route arsenal that hopefully will help increase my readiness for hitting the hills on the Western States course next month.  I will try to post pictures soon.


Please Donate to the Fisher House Foundation Here!

Cracks in the foundation.

Just wanted to share with everyone a small but nonetheless painful challenge I have been dealing with.  For some reason, the massive callous that has always been on the bottom of my foot for years has morphed into something that has several large cracks the penetrate deep into my foot.  Can everyone say "yay"?

 If these cracks were any bigger... they would still hurt and annoy me when I ran.

This just brings up what most runners, especially those who have had foot injuries, already know: how brilliant the design of the foot is, and how strong, yet sometimes vulnerable, it can be.  For big guys like myself (210 lbs.), this fact is all the more real, as we are the tractor-trailers of long distance running.  For more normal "lightweights", it's a lot better.  But overall, it is not hard, if you think about it, to seriously appreciate how perfect the structure of the foot is, and how it can transfer the incredible power of steps, either jumping, walking, or running, into such a small area.  Between the calcaneous, navicular, cuboid, and metatarsals, the human foot is built like the arch of a stone bridge, perfectly fitted to sustain structure and form under tremendous pressure.  After long runs, the soreness that comes with finally resting feet is a testament to the beating they take.

But, returning to my major issue, I have been trying with moisturizers and lotion to heal these cracks.  I've also been soaking my feet in hot water and salt baths to try to get them to heal.  My feet are generally compared to that of a hobbit's: tough and durable.  Therefore, this issue baffles me a bit.  It is not painful to the point of stopping, but I don't need to repeat that I have never hit the 100-mile mark before, so I am not sure if it will affect me too much or not.  If anyone has any suggestions, I would love to hear them.

Training Week T-8

As always, I first have to give special thanks for the most recent donations that have been made:

- Mark Patton - jump school buddy

Thanks to everyone for keeping up the support and interest, both in the race and in the terrific Fisher House Foundation!

It has certainly been good to run outdoors in fresh air again, unlike the dusty and polluted Afghanistan, however, the cold has certainly been a drag.  I am almost strictly a t-shirt and shorts type of runner, no long sleeves or sweatshirts for me, so running in cold weather is difficult at times.  Now, given the predominance of sub-zero temperatures in Fairbanks winters (temperatures are usually around -20 or below in the morning), I cannot adhere to that, but I am all the more compelled to run in shorts in the summer and spring months.  This especially came into play last Thursday, when I did not fully appreciate the cold as I went on my run.  After about 15 minutes, I realized how bad the 18-degree cold was for a guy in short sleeves, but I tried to be hard-headed about it.  I lasted for about 40 minutes, then had to turn in and completed the final bit on the treadmill.  it took about 15-20 minutes for my hands to regain full feeling and function.  Hooray.

This past week my training breakdown has been as follows:

Monday  - 1:31
Tuesday - 1:33
Wednesday - 2:00
Thursday - 1:21
Friday - 1:15
Saturday - 4:05
Sunday - 1:04

For Saturday's training run, I ran approximately 3:31 on my own, then finished it off by running a local 5k with Erin and pushing Jackson in his racing stroller (in all fairness, Erin pushed for over half the way!).

Awesome running partners.

Total time for the week: 12 hours, 49 minutes.... which probably brought me right around 90-95 miles for the week!  Not too shabby in my mind.

Currently, I am taking today off to rest up a little bit after over 2 weeks of going hard.  Tomorrow will be another solid day of about 2 hours or so, and I am going to have to bump up my long run to Friday instead of Saturday because of a parade that I will have to march in.  Getting excited, and very anxious, for race day to get here!

PLEASE CLICK HERE TO DONATE TO THE FISHER HOUSE FOUNDATION

Training Update T-9

First and foremost, another thanks to those who have helped me by donating to the Fisher House Foundation in the past week.  Thanks to those who have donated recently:

- Charlie Gander - phenomenal boss at Cycle Dynamics in CT
- Brian Carius - much thanks cousin!

Another week has come and gone, and my first week back stateside has had its ups and downs for training.  Unfortunately, something about a 17-hour trip back to the US from Kyrghystan and being back in the US didn't agree with me, and throughout the week I have been fighting a flu that has had me feeling under the weather and coughing.  Nevertheless, I have pushed on with training and tried to get back on track.  Due to the 14-hour time zone change, and feeling sick, I took Monday off, but tried to make up for it with the rest of the week.

Monday - off (recovery)
Tuesday - 1:21
Wednesday - 1:25
Thursday - 1:33
Friday - 1:01
Saturday - 3:42
Sunday - 1:04 (active recovery)

Total for the week =  606 minutes, or 10 hours, 6 minutes, which translates to about 70-75 miles worth of solid running.  Considering I had to take Monday off, this has been a great week for me in my mind.

Importantly, however, this week I added what I am just simply calling my new "playground" of routes.  As is much-needed for my Western States preparation, my playground has a ton of new hills thanks to the elevation changes found in parts of Alaska.  Fortunately, part of Fort Wainwright's topography has two phenomenal hills for training.  I will be looking to incorporate at least one of them in every run to help prep my legs for the "ups and downs" (literally) of Western States in June.

 About two-thirds of the way up Birch Hill back road.  You can see the third bit of fun in the distance.

I'll have some pictures up later this week about these new routes, which are some fun leg-breakers, as well as a post about my new upcoming plan to shamelessly promote myself to corporations in the name of charity.  This week I will also look to push back over the 90-minute mark for all of my training runs, as well as boost my long run day again to a higher mark, and get that much closer to distance shape.


Please continue to support my run and donate to the phenomenal Fisher House Foundation!

The Hydration Situation...

Anyone who has done a race above 5 miles, or even gone out for a run in a hot day, has, at the very least, some appreciation for the role that hydration can play in a physical activity like running. Anyone who has done a long run has come home, parched, searching for an ice cold glass of water that helps to seal the accomplishment of a run and begin the relaxation of post-running bliss.

Running ultra-distance, however, takes dehydration to a new level, both physically and psychologically. Drinking water, or any sorts of sports drink, can contribute to mental stability that there is support for you, that your body has the ability to replenish itself, that there is, in some shape or form, a liquid parachute to help push you through numerous other "walls" (physical and psychological) that you may encounter. Drinking small sips of cool water is enhanced by a 100-degree day, or being in mile 25 of a 50 mile run. A gulp of Gatorade, or some other sugary-sweet sports drink can have the same caloric and energizing effect as a large of gummi worms (delicious).

Therefore, a problem that I have encountered in the past has been balancing my personal tradition of abstaining from water and nutrition during a run, and the absolute necessity to do so in longer races. Much in deference to my father and his running tradition, I was raised to appreciate running for what it truly is: a testament to the incredible endurance and resourcefulness of the human body, and the ability of the mind to push the body on beyond its perceived breaking point. This mentality has been lost over the years, as more people view the marathon distance (26.2 miles) as simply an experience to be had, a distance to be crossed. The viewpoint of simply completing a marathon without physically exhausting yourself beyond your perceived breaking point lacks respect to the history of the marathon, in which the Greek messenger Pheidippides raced back on foot to tell of the Greek victory over the mighty Persians, crying "victory" before he collapsed of exhaustion. To respect and revere the marathon (and further distances), to honor those who have run it through trial and triumph before you, and to embrace the challenge and pain that inevitably accompanies it, is something that I have held dear since I ran my first marathon at the age of 15 in 2000 with my father.

Therefore, while I neglect nutrition and hydration in training out of tradition and comfort, it puts me in a terrible position in actual preparation for the critical support it provides in a race. Several times I have had large problems with this attitude, most significantly in two instances:

- Lake Placid Ironman (2006) - I had been told to take in at least 1 bottle of water, 1 bottle of sports drink, and an additional 200-300 calories every hour on the 112-mile bike segment in preparation for the 26.2 marathon. Instead, I took in about 1 bottle of water and 100-150 calories each hour. Needless to say, this came back to bite me during the run, and I have very little memory of the final 3 miles of the 26.2 mile run. In all, I lost a total of 17 pounds that day when they brought me into the medical tent, and I had to receive 4 liters of fluid via an IV before I was allowed to leave.

- LOST 118-mile Ultramarathon (2009) - this is my only DNF (did not finish) in my entire history of running. I dropped at mile 80 of the race, because I had taken in only about 4-5 bottles of water, and only a few hundred calories during that time. This is my largest inspiration for force-feeding myself on my training runs now.

All running and no water makes this Brandon dehydrated and disoriented.

Therefore, as I completed my nearly 3-hour run last Sunday, running in 80-degree unbreaking sunlight in Kandahar, I began to encounter the issue that I have found so many times before. Out of nutritional necessity (and the right and intelligent insistence of my wife, Erin) I am trying to work hydration and nutrition more and more into my training to ensure that I ready to take on fluids and food during the WS100. When I get home, I will begin to incorporate GU gels and sports drinks, and will soon try to use "normal food" (PB&J's, etc.) to increase variety and help train my stomach.

Will all this pay off and help me to complete the WS100 that lies ahead of me?

Hope so.



Please donate to the Fisher House Foundation Here!