2015 Run LOViT 100K Race Report

I’ve been thinking a lot about the downsides of this sport, as evident in my last post about the role of Pessimism, but largely as a result of all the months I spent injured and burnt out after completing Bryce Canyon 100 Mile in June of last year.  For the first couple months, I was injured with a pulled groin muscle which I ran on for over 30 miles at Bryce, and then spent another couple months afraid of my own shadow as I half-heartedly went out for training runs, rarely ever going past 30 mile training weeks, as I feared re-injuring myself so soon.  Thus began my “Old Man of the Trail” mindset, where I would advocate to anyone seeking advice to slow it down and consider dropping to the lower distance as they were contemplating going for 100 Milers; always done with the best of intentions and careful analysis of their racing histories, I might add, but couldn’t help feeling like a bit of nag and a hypocrite, considering the 100 Milers I’ve done where you could’ve put up a good argument for why I shouldn’t have attempted them when I did.  These anxieties were what I would be carrying into my first Ultra for 2015, on a return trip to the new and improved and more fearsome Run Lovit 100K held at the beautiful and brutal Lake Ouachita Vista Trails in Arkansas.

I fell in love with Arkansas last year running in the inaugural Run Lovit 100K, living in Texas, it’s hard to find heavily forested and Mountainous trails, and all while running alongside numerous flowing creeks and a huge and gorgeous Lake Ouachita; the trail stewards there (known as the Trail Dogs) have certainly put in a lot of care and thoughtfulness in creating a breathtakingly beautiful trail (every bench you come across is a photo worthy moment!), not to mention a constantly challenging one made up of wearingly hard climbs and ankle twisting rocks, it’s a beauty you will have to earn.   I earned the right last year to drink in its beauty, and then some, by running in one of the hardest races of my life, all on a badly sprained ankle that I incurred on the very first mile, that took every strength I had, and lots of encouragement and prodding by my pacer, Elizabeth Kimble, to finish.  I credit the finish last year at Run Lovit (my 2014 Race Report) as the main motivating factor that really bolstered my confidence enough to take on Bryce Canyon 100 Mile later that year; now that I’m officially in for the Wasatch Front 100 Mile Endurance Run in September, I could use that same motivating boost again to kick off a half year gauntlet of training for that Monster of a race.

With all that said, I was on the fence about another go at Run Lovit 100K until just a few months before the race, as mentioned above, my dealings with injuries and burnout after Bryce was some of the worst I’ve experienced yet in the over three years of running Ultras.  After 4 months or so of running 20-30 mile weeks, I hadn’t begun to seriously train for Ultras again till around December of last year, and had only completed one slow 50K race (Lost Loop at Lake Texoma) since, with another DNF at Big Cedar 50K (got horribly rained out and treacherously muddy) in November, and after both events my injuries would slightly re-aggravate and continue to drive my anxieties about signing up for Run Lovit.  What finally pushed me into signing up for Run Lovit was a decent showing at Athens Big Fork Marathon in January, while that race got flooded out and we had to opt for a course through back country roads, it was a fun 25 mile romp with friends (that didn’t end up with my injuries returning, thankfully); also if Elizabeth was brave enough to throw her hat into the new 100 Mile course there, I should start throwing caution into the wind again myself, I immediately signed up for Run Lovit 100K when I got home from ABF.

Along with the new addition of a 100 Mile course at Run Lovit this year, the 100K race course itself had been significantly changed from last year; gone was the flatter 20 miles of pleasant rolling hills in the first half the race last year that I loved, in was the new 14 mile out and back hilly section, past the Brady Mt road aid station, that I loved even more.  While the 100K course had been made significantly harder, with around 1,700ft in additional climbing upping the elevation gain/loss to around 8-9K ft total (per Garmin measurements, the race site has it officially listed at 12K ft, but I didn’t feel it was anywhere that high), it was also made shorter by about 4 miles, down to 60 miles officially, but no matter, I was really excited about these changes, and with an earlier start time, I would finally get to see a lot of sections that I missed last year that I had to run completely in the dark.  Newly motivated, and with a healthy dose of fear of the new changes, I had a good burst of training in the weeks leading up to the race to ease my worries heading in, but that would all turn to moot though, as terrible weather of freezing rain was projected to take a massive dump on race day *sigh*.

I drove up early (from Dallas) to see the 100 Milers off, with their races starting the day before mine at 6pm, I couldn’t help but notice how insane these hardy group of 13 brave souls were for even showing up; by the time I arrived at the race site, I wasn’t so much as shocked to find out that a third of the 100K runners had already dropped out the race, as I was that hardly any of the 100 Milers did the same (only one dropped to the 100K distance, that I know of)!  As a famous Vulcan would say (RIP Leonard Nimoy), it’s illogical to want to run a 100 Miles, it takes a willful determined sense of stubbornness against all the odds to believe you can finish a 100 Miler, a trait I know all too well, but with the prospects of starting in freezing cold temps, and running through the pouring rain and foggy conditions of that hellish night, I seriously doubt I would have toed the starting line if my legs were in shape to do so…brave souls indeed.  After a good night’s sleep, it would be my turn to brave the trails and harsh conditions at the still quite epic 100K distance.

The few, the brave, the 100 Milers at the start.

The first four miles or so of the race was pretty uneventful, as we started the first mile on a road that led to a long climb up a bumpy back country road that stretched on for another 3 miles, all while ran in the dark due to the 6am start time.  Day started to break within an hour, which nicely coincided with a gorgeous view up Hickory Nut Mountain overlooking Lake Ouachita, I was loving the new course design already.  After another mile of dirt and gravel roads, you finally get a taste of winding single track trails running down Hickory Nut Mountain; these were some of my favorite stretches of the course, and your legs finally get the chance to really open up after all the long climbs on roads.  For the first 8 miles or so, the weather was perfect, not too cold and only the occasional drizzle, maybe the 100K runners were saved from the worst of it, but then the rain’s came, followed by the freezing cold…ugh, and to imagine, the 100 Milers had to put up with this all night I thought to myself while I was running with my head down for an hour or so of downpour, hoping to keep freezing rain from dripping into my hooded jacket.  

The views from up top Hickory Nut Mountain in the early morning

Running down the switchbacks of Hickory Nut Mountain

The rain started to let up by the time I reached the Crystal Springs Aid Station at Mile 12; I foolishly stopped to change into dry socks, considering just a quarter mile later I would have to get my feet wet again crossing the many creeks past this section, and headed out for Big Bear Mountain with a friend, Deb Baker.  After three miles of cursing the multiple creek crossings, we started the slow 600 ft climb up Big Bear Mountain; me and Deb were both in the lottery for entry into Wasatch 100 Mile (she didn’t get in), with her running it last year (sadly resulting in a DNF), so I enjoyed the chance to ask all sorts of questions about the race and her motivations about wanting to run it.  It was a frankly sobering conversation, admittedly, I haven’t looked up much about Wasatch, it has always been a mythical beast of a race that was too far off in the realm of possibility, that I never bothered to, and that I also feared I would never have the guts to enter it if I really had looked into the race…ignorance is bliss sometimes.  Basically Wasatch was a lot of climbs, a lot of sand, a lot of rocks, a lot of altitude, and a lot of scorching heat…great, I had to finish Run Lovit now, or I would have no business being in the running for Wasatch in the first place. 

Following Deb...not always successfully.

Deb and I, ran together for another 4 miles or so on top of the ridgeline over Big Bear Mountain, which looked like an otherworldly dreamscape in the thick fog, before I had to drop back for good; 18-19 hilly miles into the race was when it all started going downhill for me, with both of my knees experiencing chronic soreness that I just couldn’t shake…maybe it was much too soon to tackle a race of this difficulty after all.  At Mile 23, resting and trying to cool down my knees at the Brady Mountain Rd A/S, I inquired about how Elizabeth was doing, and they informed me she was going to drop at the turnaround point at the Avery Rec A/S after a difficult time due to injuries, all through the next 7 miles I would consider doing the same, as my knees were getting progressively worse.  I tried pushing thoughts of dropping out of my head as I headed out, which was made easier considering how gorgeous the new 7 mile section was, which was helped with the fog finally lifting and the Sun making random appearances through the clouds for the first time. 

Trail running through the fog...

Holy creek crossings Batman (apologies), they were everywhere for the first couple miles, criss-crossing every which way, it was all quite beautiful to run into them, but I dreaded having to get my feet wet so much (and especially on the return trip!), it’s a miracle I managed to survive the race without blisters, I love my Altra Lone Peaks 2.0!  As mentioned previously, this section can be really hilly and also very technical, so there wasn’t much opportunity to run if I had wanted to, I even started welcoming the climbs, as it hurt my knees going downhill even more.  The geology nerd in me loved this section for all the unique moss covered rocks and boulders all along the trail, not to mention this was the first time it was clear daylight to notice everything during the race, so I didn’t mind the slow pace I was going too much, while taking pictures every 100 yards or so.  It was about a mile from the turnaround point at Avery Rec A/S that I started to run into some familiar faces that I knew were running the 100 Mile, first Jeremy Day, who was hurting, but I wasn’t surprised to see him continuing on, for all my worries about Wasatch, he’s out here training for the Bigfoot 200 Mile race in August!  I was a little shocked, however, to see Elizabeth pressing on…well, hell, if she’s still out here determined to finish the 100 Mile, what’s a 100K in comparison. 

Curse these tranquil creeks...

For just the briefest moment at my pit stop at Avery Rec A/S, I considered dropping, I just couldn’t run anymore with my sore knees, and there was no way I would make the cutoff’s if they weren’t extended, and if they were extended, did I really want to face the prospect of having to power-hike for the next 30 very hilly and technical Miles, with multiple creek crossings in the cold, cold night?  In a way, I’ve missed all these agonizing back and forth questioning of myself on the will to continue, you’re not in an Ultra until you start having them; as I’ve done many times in the past, you just have to suck it up and press on, damn the consequences.  I left Avery at about 8:15 hrs into the race, with a strong power-hike averaging a solid 18-22 min/mile, even over hilly and technical trails, maybe there was a way I could make it to Crystal Springs A/S not too far past the official cutoff of 14 hours there.  About a mile or so back to the Brady Mountain A/S, I caught up to an older guy I ran on an off with all day named Bill, who informed me that he was dropping and had his wife waiting there to pick him up; it was so tempting to hitch a ride with him back to my car, but the volunteer at the A/S, Josh, informed me that they were definitely extending the cutoffs, and with a bag of some amazing crackers he handed me, off I went to ride along the Big Bear once more.

Some additional photos on the return trip from Avery, including a rare cameo of the Sun!

I have a thing for moss covered rocks...

I had wanted to continue on anyway, even if it resulted in me being pulled from the course for missing cutoffs, because it meant that I would finally, finally, get to see the views from Big Bear Mountain.  Last year when I ran Run Lovit, we started 2 hours later, and we didn’t hit the peak of Big Bear Mt. until around mile 47, by then, it was already pitch black; while my first trip over Big Bear Mt. earlier in this race was completely covered in thick fog, with the fog cleared and with about 2 hours of daylight left, I would finally get to see what I’ve waited over a year for.  I can’t fully express how beautiful Lake Ouachita looks from on top the ridgeline at Big Bear Mt, especially after you have gone nearly 40 miles anticipating the views; the sense of “earning” the privilege of taking in these beautiful sights after running many miles on tough trails is a big part of why I love to run Ultras so much.  I couldn’t take too much time enjoying the views, however, the temperature was dropping rapidly as night approached, and all I had on was a T-shirt and a thin hooded rain jacket, I needed to push my power-hiking as fast as I could in order to keep my core temperature from dropping (gave up trying to run a long time ago…).

  

Was hard to get a clear shot of the lake with the many trees in the way, by the time I got an unobstructed view from up top Big Bear Mt, it was already getting dark.

After some furious power-hiking through the night, and many more freezing cold creek crossings that were now knee deep because of all the rains, I made it to Crystal Springs A/S (Mile 48) in around 14:20 hrs, only 20 minutes after the official cutoff, not bad I thought to myself; I immediately noticed Jeremy and Elizabeth was still there as well, and wanted to say hi, but not before the Volunteers informed me that I only had 5 minutes left to get out of Dodge.  “You got to be kidding me”, I blurted out as I scrambled to find my drop bag to put on extra layers and fish out my headlamp and other supplies. I was under the impression I would have much more time than that (they extended final cutoffs for several hours last year), but no matter, after I gathered my things, I stuffed as much food into my mouth as I could, and barely made it out in time with Elizabeth and her pacer (Jeremy had already left a few minutes earlier).

I was happy to have some company to hike with after spending the last 12 miles mostly by myself, and I was also curious about how Elizabeth’s race had been going up to that point; after finding out, I was a bit taken aback by just how bad of a shape she was in and her many struggles throughout the day (you can read all about it in her own race report).  With all my ruminations lately about the potentially damaging consequences of running Hundred Milers (especially ones with lots of elevation change like Run Lovit), I couldn’t help but ask her why she’s still even out here.  It was inappropriate to ask someone at mile 80 something that question (God knows I’ve been through worse at that point, and still carried on), and I’ve apologized for it, but I wasn’t so much as questioning her decision to continue with the race, but rather the point of 100 Milers in the first place and whether putting ourselves through the extreme struggle and pain required to finish them is even worth it…hell, I’ve been writing this blog for 3 years now trying to answer that very question!  Both of my Hundred Mile finishes required fighting through extreme pain and injuries in order to finish, not to mention the lengthy 2-3 months of recovery periods from those injuries.  Seeing Elizabeth go through so much to finish her race was equally inspiring and terrifying at the same time; I realized my own anxieties about Wasatch was boiling over, and I knew all too well that I would have to go through such pain and suffering and risk serious injuries all over again in order to finish that Monster…It was a sobering realization that, mentally, I’m still not quite recovered from Bryce.

After about 4 miles together, our respective races split off into different directions and I wished Elizabeth luck on the finish; with 8 miles left, all I needed was to make it over Hickory Nut Mountain one last time, and it’s all downhill to the finish; simple enough I thought to myself…it ended up taking me nearly three hours to cover the final 8 Miles.  For the long and slow climb up Hickory Nut Mountain, I was fortunate to have some company along most of the way, with a new friend Yoni and her pacer Andi (whom I’ve only known through Facebook up to this point), because climbing a 650ft Mountain on 50+ mile legs can be maddeningly slow.  Upon arriving at the Aid Station up top Hickory Nut Mt, I let a loud “Whoo”, as the Volunteers had put on a blue laser display along with a crackling fire; the patience and dedication of the Volunteers were amazing all through the race, with some of them being out here since well before the 100 Milers had started, I thanked them one last time and headed off, after 17 hours of being on my feet, I was ready to get this last 4 miles over with and be done.

The last 4 miles was mostly all downhill and flats from Hickory Nut Mountain, there was a chance I could finish under the official 18 hour cutoff I thought to myself, but that didn’t turn out to be any where near the case.  The dirt road was a lot more technical than I remembered, and all the rains had turned it into a slushy muddy slope that was often-times treacherous to walk down, I spent the next 3 miles worried about twisting my ankle on all the loose rocks, while trying to keep my balance on the downhill mud slide.  By the end of that long slog, I was at my wits end, begging for any signs of the last mile road to the finish, kind of fearful at times of being lost, even while going in a straight-line because it dragged on for seemingly forever.  Reaching the hard pavement of that last mile road to the finish, after being on a trail for 59 miles, sucked the life out of me, I was done, but with still a mile left to go…I zombied it in to finish in 18:31 Hrs.

My performance at this race wasn’t anything to brag about, but I’m thankful that I decided to push on anyway and grind out a finish at all cost.  At the end of my Bryce Canyon 100 Mile race report, I wrote that the finish there took so much out of me, that it may take a long, long time to regenerate the will to go through such experiences again; my stubborn will has not quite recovered yet, as I found out during this race, but finishing Run Lovit 100K in less than ideal circumstances (now that’s an understatement) has gone a long way into regenerating my spirit as I begin the long march towards Wasatch Front 100 Mile.  At the finish line, warming up under blankets and some hot delicious Vegan soup (I must have eaten my fill all through the day to make up for the Race entry fees alone), I wanted to stay and see Jeremy and Elizabeth finish their 100 Milers, but I knew they wouldn’t be done for several hours well past the official cutoff of 30 Hours (I hear talk that they may extend the cutoffs for next year…), and had to get some sleep before driving back home to Dallas; congrats on their hard won finishes, I couldn’t imagine the lengths they had to go through to finish their races in tough conditions, it’s something I’ll have to keep in mind as I continue to chase my own impossible goals.  Thanks again to Dustin and Rachel Speer and all the Volunteers who organized this fantastic event, the Lake Ouachita Vista Trail system is an absolute gem, and I would encourage anyone, especially those living in the southern states that may have a hard time flying out to Utah or the Pacific States to experience the Mountain races there, to consider Run Lovit in their racing schedules.

A Pessimist dreams of the Wasatch Mountains

I am, for the most part, a Pessimist…a cautious Optimist in my best days, it’s a mindset that hasn’t always served me well in life, but I believe it’s a trait that has been crucial in achieving the goals that I had set out for myself when it comes to running Ultras.  Like most people, upon first hearing about the world of Ultras, my first thoughts to come to mind was that I would never be able to do some of the legendary races that I’ve heard and read about, like Western States, Wasatch, or Hardrock; that it was certifiably insane to ever attempt these race, but plenty of people were attempting and finishing these Mountain Hundreds, and perfectly ordinary looking folks too, why exactly couldn't I be one of them?  As I kept breaking down one "impossible" barrier after another, from 50Ks to 100 Milers, the realm of possibility just kept getting higher.  Still, it's one thing going from rather flat races in Texas to high elevation Mountain races with unfathomable amounts of climbing that intimidated me for years to ever giving those races a shot, but in the immortal words of John Muir, “The Mountains are calling, and I must go”; I just have to figure out how to get there first without destroying myself in the process.

It took me nearly 2 and half years of running Ultras practically non-stop before I had built up enough shaky confidence in myself to sign up for Bryce Canyon 100 Mile last year, even then, I felt I had jumped the gun by about a year or so.  Why had I waited so long to even sign up for Bryce Canyon, when I saw other runners who seemingly come out of nowhere and within a year of running Ultras are already completing Western States?  For starters, every runner is different in terms of experience level, that runner who blazes their way to conquering Mountain races right out of the gate with little to no experience at Ultras, had probably spent the past five years running road Marathons; while I only had one slow road Marathon under my legs before I jumped to Ultras and was still struggling at flat 50 Milers.  These vast differences in experience levels between runners led me stalk several people on Ultrasignup.com and Athlinks.com that I felt was very similar to myself in years of experience and pacing, and that could provide a proper road map towards training for a Mountain Hundred.  From researching various runner's race histories, I could see someone with my similar finishing times over various distances, and accounting for elevation and difficulty of terrain, the average time they took from going from a 50K to Mountain Hundred was around 3 years; that became the benchmark time frame I gave myself to train for an eventual run at the Mountains.

During my first year and half of running Ultras, I was knocking out one race after another at a shockingly rapid pace, and within a year I had already completed my first trail 100 Miler.  At this rate, I would be in the Mountains a year ahead of schedule, I figured, then I rudely found out why it took most similar runners 3 years to complete their first Mountain Hundred; burnout, injuries, and inevitable disappointments over heart-breaking DNFs exacts a huge toll on you when rapidly progressing through Ultras.  After dealing with so much chronic injuries, pain, and increasing weariness over racing so much, more than once had I either wanted to quit Ultras out right, or dial the intensity way back and learn to be content with shorter distances, but the Mountains were now calling me even more fiercely, I had no choice but to keep going forward; with knowledge and experience, comes wisdom though, I came to embrace a smarter path by focusing on less frequent and bigger races and more time spent training, rather than my previous path of frequent races with little time to train properly for them, and not improving much on my running base in the process.

The details of my training plan for Bryce Canyon 100 Mile, a long and calculated grind of 7 months, is detailed in length on my Race Report, my main point of all this is that a reckless disregard in pursuit of ever longer races as rapidly possible is not a sustainable path if you want to be running Ultras for the long haul.  Even for a naturally pessimistic guy like myself, I was shocked at how much Ultras I was doing during that first year and half, it was thrilling and I felt invincible...until I wasn't.  Now that I've been at this for 3 years, and have finally conquered my Mountain, I feel even more cautious and fearful of these enormous challenges, now that I know firsthand just how much dedication and hard work goes into even having a greater than 50/50 shot at successfully completing them, all without risking too much serious and crippling injuries along the way.  I also now feel like the old man of the trail always cautioning young whipper-snappers to slow it down, and be extra cautious, or you'll surely suffer catastrophic injuries and hate yourself afterwards.  Last year, I had a handful of people ask me if I wanted to pace them for the Cactus Rose 100 Mile, the toughest and most painful Hundred miler in Texas (if not the Country), and after carefully examining their rather brief race histories and slower finishing times, I advocated to every one of them to drop down to the 50 Mile option; which none of them did, and sure enough, every one of them DNF'd.

One thing that has always troubled me about people asking for advice on whether or not they are ready to tackle a Hundred Miler, like on a Facebook trail running forum, is that they are instantly flooded with positive encouragement to just "Go for it", with complete disregard of that person's often-times shallow race history to base a proper opinion on.  I sometimes try to be the voice of reason and caution, but just end up looking like a Debbie Downer in the process, and have mostly stopped altogether from giving personal racing advice (unless asked), the only way certain people learn is to go out there and run till they blow up and injure themselves...we Ultra runners can be a stubborn breed like that.  The Internet in general, and Running especially, is awash in relentless messages of positivity and optimism, to the point where it's absolutely suffocating, I cringe at every generic motivational and "fitspiration" meme that's posted by well meaning folks on social media; where's a meme that advocates careful, dedicated, and highly calculated training over the process of several years, in order to safely meet your goals with a minimum risk of injuries and burnout?!

Luis Escobar, who took this photo, issued a scathing critique of this meme - https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10152473886096635

I get it, Ultras are hard, 100 Milers are harder, and Mountain Hundreds are friggin, nearly impossible hard, one has to maintain a sense of blind optimism to believe they're capable of meeting these enormous goals with high rates of failure and heartbreak in the first place; striking a balance of when to hold back and when to advance further, is always a precarious work in progress.  Instead of drowning yourself in motivational memes, I advocate what is known as "Defensive Pessimism", a position where you're deeply fearful and anxious of not reaching your desired goal, and work on every aspect or your training, and shortcomings, to the point of obsessiveness.  There was a great article published in The Atlantic, titled "The Upside of Pessimism", where they described the mindset of a defensive pessimist, the first time I've ever heard of such a phrase, and immediately recognized myself in the article; if I was truly pessimistic, I wouldn't be doing these races, the absolute desire to experience these Majestic races in the Mountains and go on epic 100 Mile adventures through them overpowered my fears, and in turn, I was able to use my cautious nature to my advantage in pursuit of these goals.

Olga Khazan: What is defensive pessimism?

Julie Norem: It’s a strategy for dealing with anxiety and helping to manage anxiety so that it doesn’t negatively influence performance. If you feel anxious in a situation, it doesn’t really matter if it’s realistic or not, you feel how you feel. It’s hard not to feel that particular way. If you feel anxious, you need to do something about it. Usually people try to run away from whatever situation makes you anxious. But there are other ways of dealing with it. Defensive pessimism is one way.

When people are being defensively pessimistic, they set low expectations, but then they take the next step which is to think through in concrete and vivid ways what exactly might go wrong. What we’ve seen in the research is if they do this in a specific, vivid way, it helps them plan to avoid the disaster. They end up performing better than if they didn’t use the strategy. It helps them direct their anxiety toward productive activity.

One of my biggest fears about running Ultras are suffering injuries, especially crippling injuries that sidelines you for months on end, leading to a sense of despair in not being able to do what you love most, running trails.  When I first started training for my first road Marathon, it took me two slow years of gradually building up my running base to handle that one goal, mostly it took so long because I was afraid of injuries so much, that I threw out my regular shoes and re-learned how to run all over again in a pair of Vibrams.  It took over half a year to adjust to those Vibrams and to learn proper running form, but it was the best decision I've ever made, as I haven't suffered any catastrophic injuries that has the potential to sideline me for year or more, even with a heavy racing schedule, but I've had plenty of over-use injuries along the way, like chronic ITB pain and just general feet and ankle pain. Over-use injuries almost can't be helped, frequently racing Ultras, you're always on the razor's edge of injury, but you can limit them if you're smart about it.

For Bryce Canyon, my overwhelming fear and anxiety of being injured before even getting to the starting line of the race, because of the markedly increased difficulty and volume of training required, led me to adopt a training style whose whole purpose was designed almost specifically to address overuse injuries.  As I wrote in my race report, I focused mainly on doing power-hiking repeats, this served two purposes, mainly to get my legs ready for hiking up Mountains, and secondly, hiking places considerably less impact on your feet and joints than running would; combined with never running more than 18-20 Miles at one time during training by focusing on back-to-back weekend training (the greater the distance, the greater the chance of injury) and giving myself plenty of time to taper and recover from races, I never got injured during training and successfully showed up to Bryce healthy.  My other fears that kept me honest and got my butt out of bed every weekend to train, was not being able to finish the race, and have to deal with the uncertainty and inner turmoil afterwards, questioning myself if I'll ever be strong and dedicated enough to complete these challenges.  Also, and I'm not going to lie, participating in out of State races in remote Mountainous areas cost a huge amount of money in plane tickets, car and motel rentals, and the racing fees itself, wasting my money on a DNF was not an option; I made damn sure I was at least 80% confident to come away with a Buckle, or I wouldn't have tried in the first place.

It has been a long 3 years of running Ultras, and I know just how fortunate I am to still be able to enjoy this sport and continue to dream big about even more challenging 100+ Mile adventures in the Mountains in the near future.  I've suffered my fair share of injuries and setback, and instead of being discouraged, I looked at them as an opportunity to analyze what I'm doing wrong and how best to fix them.  What I appreciate most about these "Impossible goals" is that they are not impossible at all if you're willing to be patient and put in the measured hard work to be successful at this sport, learn from the many runners before you on how they managed to complete their goals, and be willing to change everything you thought you knew about training and races. The Mountains will always be there, while your legs may not be there to climb them if they're always injured and worn out, so why rush things when you don't have to? There are plenty of great races, in beautiful locations, that aren't 100 Milers, where you can build speed and experience from; enjoy the shorter goals while you can, before 100 Milers starts to consume you.

When I set out to determine roughly how long it would take for me to complete a Mountain Hundred, it wasn't Bryce that I was considering, for the past 3 years every training run and every race I've been through has been towards the single-minded pursuit of building a solid foundation from which I can make a successful attempt at completing the Wasatch Front 100 Mile Endurance Run in Utah.  When I picture what my ideal Mountain Hundred would be like, a point to point 100 Mile trip, with a brutal ~27K ft of climbing, through the gorgeous Wasatch Mountain range of Utah exactly fits the bill. Who knows, if I manage to complete Wasatch, perhaps dreams of Hardrock 100 wouldn't be so delusional after all...but first I have to get through the Wasatch Lottery on February 7th.

The Pessimist in me is terrified of being picked for entry, quite truthfully.

[UPDATE] I was selected for entry into the 2015 Wasatch Front 100 Mile...and I'm terrified even more now.

Wasatch, my idea of Heaven, credit - http://www.trailporn.com/post/66177219581/kyle-markisich-previewing-the-wasatch-100-trail

2014 Lost Loop 50K Race Report

I hadn't felt such a feeling of profound aimlessness in quite some time; just the day before I had completed the most difficult challenge of my life, the Bryce Canyon 100 Mile Ultra Trail Run, a goal I had been working on for the past 7 months, but the concept of which had been conceived over 3 years ago since I read "Born to Run" and started running Ultras, and now a day later I was back in my apartment in flat, hot, and muggy Dallas, as if it had never happened.  Where do you go after completing something that’s considered one of the pinnacle achievements in the world of Ultras, that of finishing a Mountain Hundred, a goal that can seem so mythical and impossible when first hearing about them, and even more so when “easy” 50K to 50Milers are so utterly destroying you while you’re repeatedly questioning yourself on just why you’re going down this path in the first place.  After spending years in pursuit of dedicated and life consuming training, the repeated process of destroying your body in progressively difficult and longer Ultra’s to build up it’s resilience for even tougher challenges down the road, and the mental anguish of dealing with injuries that never seem to go away and the self doubt that’s always in the back of your mind of whether you’ll ever be strong enough to do this; if by some miracle you’re not a crippled mess after all of that, successively put yourself in contention with just the hopes of finishing, and somehow fought through the hardest 100 miles of your life with a Buckle to show for it at the end…well, now you have to ask yourself, what next?

What next indeed, the moment I got back from that majestic trip in Southern Utah, the last thing on my mind was running another race anytime soon…not that I could have anyway, my body was left completely broken and I couldn’t run a step for nearly a month afterwards, even if I had wanted to.  After all those years of training and races under my legs, and over half a year spent doing almost nothing but power-hiking repeats on the weekends to prepare for Bryce, all that effort turned out to be just barely enough to survive that Monster of a race.  I should be proud of myself for completing such a difficult goal, and believe me, I am, but I’m more frightened of myself for having the stubbornness to push my body to its absolute breaking point in pursuit of a glorified “hobby”.  I had risked serious injuries to my left leg and knee at Bryce, injuries that are still nagging me four months after the race, and hopefully not another four months from now; it was a calculated risk on my part to complete that race under such conditions (I was willing to put up with a long recovery period from injuries afterwards, if that’s what it took), a risk, in hindsight, I’m not sure I would have taken again.

I have dreams of running all the other fabled Mountain Hundreds out there, but I now realize, with open eyes, just how much training, sacrifices, and pain goes into completing one; trail running and races is a passion I’m certainly not going to stop pursuing, but it was time to step off the roller coaster ride of pursuing all those grand dreams in my head for a bit, and drastically scale back my ambitions while my body recovers and I have time to figure things out.  So I spent my free time in the following months catching up on books and TV shows I missed, thought more about all those things that are so easily pushed aside in blind pursuit of a difficult goal, you know, like where your Career and personal life is heading and all that, but after a couple months and just barely being able to run again, I started getting antsy.

I wasn't running well at this point, just capable of short single digit miles to keep myself sane, and I certainly had no big races on my schedule approaching anywhere near 50 Miles, but Lost Loop 50K, held at Lake Texoma, was coming up on the horizon, and the more I thought of that race, the more I was intrigued with going back to where it all started for me with Trail running.  Back in early February of 2012, my first Trail Marathon was at Cross Timbers (held on mostly the same trails at Lake Texoma), the oldest and still one of the toughest trail races in Texas, and it was possibly one of the rudest introductions one can get to this sport.  It rained heavily the night before, and drizzled all through the day producing slippery and ankle deep mud all throughout the trails, so the conditions alone would have made for a difficult race day, but throw in complete naivety of what a course with some 3.5K to 5K ft worth of climbing is like for the Marathon (elevation gain varies, 5K is probably a high estimation, but it sure felt like it back then), and by mile 20 my quads were so busted that I thought I may have had to be airlifted over some of those steep hills because they just wouldn’t work anymore.  I somehow managed to finish that race respectably in the mid-pack, even if it felt like I came in last with how much I walked the last 10 miles; a sane person would have probably been terrified of trail races after that experience, but I was hooked on the challenge they presented and desperately wanted to get better.

I fell in love with Trail running because of Cross Timbers, and was set on finally racing on those trails again after several years absence (just too many great races held around February to come back); also when I read that they needed Volunteers to help clean up the trail to get ready for Lost Loop 50K, it gave me the opportunity to give back to the trail community and help maintain an old and respected trail system.  Volunteering, whether it be manning an aid station on race day or pitching in for trail maintenance duty, has always been something I’ve been meaning to do more of, but a heavy training and frequent racing schedule didn’t leave much time to pursue those obligations which I feel every trail runner should do a few times a year.  Now that I was injured and couldn’t run much anyway, I no longer had any excuse not to put on work gloves and go to work on the trails. 

I didn't quite appreciate all the hard work it took to maintain even just a few miles of trails until I spent three Saturday’s working at Lake Texoma.   On the first Saturday I went, I got paired up with a guy named Larry (while another group worked on a different section of the trail), who has been maintaining these trails for over 20 years.  There were heavy storms recently and a lot of downed trees on the trails, Larry chopped them up with his chainsaw, while I cleared them off to the side of the trails and trimmed tree branches in between; around 3 hours and over half a dozen dead trees later, we had only covered about a mile.  I went back to volunteer every other Saturday for two more times, and it was similar slow going; the second Saturday only me, Teresa (the Race Director), and another lady named Linda showed up, with no chainsaw this time, we still had managed to clear several dead trees and trimmed about a mile of trails, again in about 3 hours, all while working in the sauna that is August in Texas.   Finally, on the last Saturday of trail maintenance, a bigger group showed up this time (split into two again), but we were tackling one of the hilliest, overgrown, and throw in a few more dead trees for good measure, sections of the Lost Loop course; I carried Larry’s (heavy) chainsaw for most of the way until he needed to chop up a dead tree, and once again, it took over 3 hours just to cover ONE freakin mile!  

Group shot on day 3.

No chainsaw on Day 2, lots of heavy tree lifting

My favorite photo from Day 1 with Larry

There were a few more work days planned, but my legs were finally getting strong enough to push a little harder on the training for Lost Loop, and for “just” a 50K, I was getting worried if I could have finished that race without re-aggravating the injuries I sustained at Bryce.  In between the Trail maintenance at Lake Texoma, I did enter a 30K race at Colorado Bend State Park to test out my legs, and to return to one of my favorite summer races of the Capt’n Karl Night-Time Trail Racing Series, it didn’t quite go very well…I ran pretty well for nearly half the race before my left leg and knees got extremely sore and I had to pretty much walk it in for the rest of the race.  I finished last year’s Colorado Bend 60K race in just over 10 hours, but it ended up taking me 6 and half hours to trudge through the 30K race this year; I was, perhaps, a bit dismayed that just a couple months earlier I had conquered a Mountain Hundred, but was so easily dismantled by a 30K run in the Hill Country of Texas.  I thanked Teresa, and all the others I had met, for a great time working on the trails, but I sorta had to get some training done now.

One could argue that did a lot of “time on feet” training with all my trail work and I certainly convinced myself that was the case, but bumping up my mileage after nearly two months of little to no running after Bryce was difficult to manage.  It was very much a process of taking two steps forward only to take a step back when my left quads and knees started barking at me with every increase in mileage.  I only managed to hit a high of 40 miles for the week (with 13/12 back to back weekend miles on the trails), before I had to back off several weeks before Lost Loop 50K to taper and let my knees cool down.  I would be lying if I said I wasn’t just a bit nervous about finishing a 50K for the first time in years with so little training and nagging injuries, especially a brutal one like Lost Loop, but whatever, the trails at Lake Texoma are gorgeous and I couldn't think of a better way to spend my Saturday than covering a 50K distance there that day.

After having not really raced for almost four months, what I don’t miss is the early wake up times and the inability to get much sleep the night before; what I did miss was seeing all the familiar faces again that I usually only see at these local race, which I haven’t been doing much of this year, with my focus on big races out of state in Arkansas and Utah, and lonely weekends spent power hiking, it was a good chance to catch up a bit.  The start time was at 6:30am, and I’d figured Dawn would be approaching soon, but it was still pitch black and me without a headlamp, an uncharacteristically trail newbie mistake on my part, but luckily someone let me borrow their backup one.  I started off rather fast in the front pack, not where I normally like to be, but the long taper helped and running in the cool morning temperatures was a breeze…I’ll worry about blowing up later in the race for the fast start.

A lot has changed since my first go around on these trails over 2 and half years ago, what once seemed liked impossibly steep mountains back then, became short and only occasionally steep hills, the most challenging ones barely rose above a hundred feet and was over before I knew it; your perspective of what’s a long hill changes drastically after doing a Mountain race.  It’s an almost bittersweet feeling coming back to an old favorite trail, and finding out it’s no longer the epic slogfest you remembered it to be; the Stairway to Heaven hill should have been renamed to the Stepladder to Heaven.  What the hills here lack in height though, they make up for in volume, the first and last 10-11 miles of the out and back race course is an endless roller coaster of hills, I knew I was going to regret the last third of the race after taking for granted how “easy” those hills seemed on fresh legs. 

Some early photos of this section

On the Stairway to Heaven

The flat middle sections came as a relief, as it took me nearly three hours to slog through the first 11 miles of hilly trails, but the feeling of relief didn't last too long.  The trails here had some beautiful open field sections with sweeping views of the lake and running through fields of wildflowers, but it was more exposed coming out of the hilly wooded sections and the Sun was starting to beat down on me with Noon fast approaching.  By the time I reached the turnaround point in about 4 hours, I had ran more than I ever had before since Bryce, and my feet and legs were starting to feel it; combined with the Sun beating down on me in the more exposed open field sections, I found myself walking the flats more than I should have.  I didn't mind the slower pace too much, I was just relieved that I could still be running for this long again after such a tortuous period of trying to rebuild my legs from injury, and I ran into a lot of friends coming back from the turnaround or approaching it once I passed it myself to make it fun; I also needed to preserve my legs for the endless hills again during the last third of the race.

At the Aid Station 11 miles into the race.

Photo's have some smudges from the lens.

Robin, with her Ultra Dog Dylan, who ran all 31 Miles together

On approaching the dreaded roller coaster of hills section, I ran into a guy around my age out there doing his first Ultra, let alone his first run of any kind over 15 miles.  As I got to talking to him, I couldn't help but being reminded of myself running these same trails as my first Trail Marathon at Cross Timbers a couple years back.  I remembered being awed by other runners talking about their achievements, especially at the 100 Miler, but it just felt kind of awkward and even embarrassing to see his reactions while I was talking about all the races that I've done while we were walking together.  Running Ultras has become so normalized to me at this point, that anytime I’m reminded that what I’m doing is probably the exact opposite of normal (seriously, just look at the statistics of just how little the number of people are out there running any Ultras, much less 100 Milers), I get a bit sheepish and defensive about it; it’s something I rarely ever talk about to casual acquaintances and strangers.  Anyway after a mile or so of walking, I bid him goodluck and ran on ahead, I had to make up some time while I still could on the remaining flats before I hit the hills for the final 10-11 miles.

A pleasant section to take it a bit easy before the hills get you.

After 20+ Miles of tough trails my left knee area was getting extremely sore again, combine that with overall leg fatigue, and endless repeating hills, I was lucky to be averaging 20 min/miles during this section.  The Hills are also much steeper and challenging on the way back, compared to the more gradual climbs of the beginning direction; one hill in particular, S.O.B Hill, definitely earned its nickname, after 20+ miles you’re forced to climb this long and very steep hill with big rocks and monster roots in your way that you have to hurl yourself over.  With the race becoming more of a hiking expedition at this point, I spent most of this time taking pictures since I couldn’t run much anyway, my inner Geologist is a sucker for some of the more interesting rock formations at Lake Texoma; it’s also a reason why I wanted to do Bryce Canyon as my first Mountain Hundred, to tour alongside all those alien looking Hoodoo rock formations on the race course.

Not sure how this one stays upright like that...

Beginning the climb up S.O.B Hill

The roots become monsters...

It was tough hiking through this section, especially with my left leg being sore, but the clouds started rolling in and being under the trees for the majority the time when the Sun did break through, was actually pretty pleasant.  I also got the opportunity to see all the sections I missed while running the first half hour of the race in the dark, such as Fern Gully Hill (I think that’s what the sign said), which funneled you through walls of beautiful fern growing from the sides.  Before I knew it, I just had one major hill left to climb, named Monkey’s Butt Hill, which I believe is called that because after 30 miles of tough and hilly trails, you feel like a Monkey is taunting you every step up this hill by mooning and throwing it’s poo at you.  Once I hit the short quarter mile road section to the finish, I ran it in, completing the race in 8:37 Hrs; just a tad bit surprised that that was good enough to finish squarely in the mid pack (hiking races are pretty much my specialty these days), while being my slowest 50K ever.  

Taken during one of my trail maintenance days.

Loved this Fern covered section

Some final shots on the way back to the finish

When I’m injured and can’t run very well, I have a tendency to be withdrawn from the racing scene in general, and after completing Bryce, a goal I had been chasing for so long, I especially needed to just hide in my cave, like the Giant Pacific Octopus, while I figured out what I wanted to do next.  Being able to go back and do a race on the same trails as my first Trail Marathon was like hitting a mental reset button that I needed (legs, on the other hand, are a work in progress), time to start over and work on new and more ambitious goals for next year…of which I have several options, but not quite ready to commit, at least publicly.  There was also a bit of satisfaction of running on trails that I've worked hard to help maintain; since I've been racing and training so much, I've always felt guilty for not doing enough to help keep the trails in good condition.  Dead trees don’t clear themselves, people, so consider pitching in every once in awhile to help maintain your local trails, or at the very least donate money and thank the volunteers who do go out there and do the hard work to keep your favorite trails clear and enjoyable.  The trails at Lake Texoma is a beautiful gem in North Texas, Teresa puts together quality races, and Lost Loop is great option for those looking for a tough local race around late September that's mostly shaded (running in Texas is still tough this time of the year); I’m a bit disappointed that the races don’t attract as much runners as they should (the field for the 50K only drew about 30 something runners), perhaps the location is just too far out of the way for most people to consider, or they’re just intimidated by this tough little trail, but I can assure you it’s worth the trip sometime, already can’t wait for next year.

At the finish, getting a high five from the Race Director

How I felt after a tough 50K