Sunday, September 20, 2009

A Brew Per Mile


Ever wondered how to fit trails, hill work, speed work, and a long run into your busy schedule? Just do what I do and combine them all in to a single run! That is how I manage. After two weeks of a very volatile stomach, and good solution to the stress was burgers and beer with friends. So after large amounts of both, I agreed to run the PPRR Pony Express the next morning. What I didn’t consider were the following factors:

1) It was late
2) The race was early
3) It was an hour away
4) I had a bunch of beer as my pre-race meal (unless you count cookies, burgers, and brats)
5) I had only run 2 of the last 14 days.

But early to rise and a long drive to Rampart Reservoir north of Woodland Park left me few other options. First, it was too cold to stand there so I needed to run. Next, it was a loop, so it was pretty much all or nothing. The only setback was my emergency dump in the woods moments before the start. Itchy butt equals an unhappy runner. But even pamper fresh, this run was going to have challenges.

As a side note, if you have never been to Rampart Reservoir in the morning or evening, it is absolutely worth it. The trail is excellent (props to groups who maintain such a remote trail and the views are unbeatable. Pike Peak sits high above in the backdrop of a crystal blue lake, Aspen trees going yellow, and beautiful rock formations.

I decided to run with a friend since I had no real ambition to go for a fast time on beer-filled, ulcer ridden stomach. It was a prediction run, anyway, so the overall winner didn’t receive any more than anyone else. I put down 2:04 b/c the guy I was with had run 2:07 last year. He walked up and put 2:15 complaining that he didn’t drink the night before last year’s race. We started out smart and bombed downhill to the lake. I was pretty happy with the pace as we were working through and relaxed. The trail in the early morning was amazing and it reconfirmed my love of this sport. But soon Steve started to have some stomach issues. Since I had come up to run with him, I stayed with him, chatting sparsely but mostly enjoying the run. That is until the girl behind us ate dirt hard and screamed in pain. We tried to help her but she told us to go on. A mile and 3/4s later we reached the dam.

I stopped to empty rocks from my shoe and told the emergency staff about her dive. Then I hopped up and took off trying to catch Steve on the dam. After a few minutes of running, I realized he wasn’t ahead of me. He must have stopped to use the bathroom. Not knowing how long that might be, I kept on. The wind on the top of the dam was relentless and I soon found myself feeling very rough for the first time in the 9 miles since we started. Once back on the trail, I resolved to push the effort level up a tad.

I blazed past people in the last 6 miles and ran harder than I had in a while. It was hilly and I didn’t want to bonk like I did at Mohican from pushing too early, but I wanted to feel the pain again. Runners were sparse on the trail inbound but I worked hard anyway. When I ended the loop of the lake I knew there was roughly 1.5 miles to go. A quick glance at the watch said I had 10 minutes to make it back to hit 2:04. I remembered on the outbound that it had taken 9:53 to get here. I pushed it up to finish in time.

Then the wind came. Head on, strong. The trail loosened. Soft sand sucking up the shoes. Then it rose, and rose, and rose into the sky. What was all downhill on the way out was a nasty, twisting uphill road taunting me on the way in. Every minute or so I looked at the watch and charged harder, but it all came to an end. My legs would no longer respond. My stomach finally started to feel bad and it slowed me. But I never quit sprinting (if you can call it that). I must have looked ridiculous - covered in salt, surging and fading up the trail – but it was the first time in a long time I pushed to the line. I felt proud for not letting up and the clock showed I missed my predicted time by only 43 seconds…not bad for being off pace the first two-thirds of the race. I know I have something in me to run some good races and with the stomach performing better than it has been, I am optimistic for the future.
One of the coolest awards in running!

Monday, September 7, 2009

The Beginning of the End

It is no secret I am displeased with not finishing Leadville. Even worse, I got sick this week and barely ran. I wanted to come to the American Discovery Trail Marathon and squeeze a Boston Qualifying time out of the race. But something is going on that I cannot control and I need to figure it out.

Getting dropped off 26.2 miles from where you started in always a little overwhelming. ADT does it, so does Boston, Steamboat, Deseret Morning News in Salt Lake, the Colorado Marathon, and a host of others. There is something about sitting pre-race watching the landscape fly by at 60mph and trying to fathom that you have to run all of this back to your car. It really is disheartening. What makes it worse is when you are dropped off and the bus leaves. It was about 50 degrees and crisp. Why the bus couldn’t stay 30 more minutes and let us stay warm, I don’t know. It wasn’t like it could pick up more runners and return in that time. Plus, it was Labor Day so no kids were waiting.

Anyway, the race is predominately downhill, which means only one thing for marathoners: the race will go out too fast. I felt reserved while people pounded past, and in retrospect I was probably too fast to start. Not significantly so, but the smart start the better. I do have nice things to say about the New Santa Fe Trail as it is well maintained and very beautiful. We rolled out of Palmer Lake and down the front range, before entering the Air Force Academy. As much downhill running as the course requires, it is not easy, and many hills change the pace frequently. I won’t bore your with the details, but soon after the 15th mile, I started to get into a world of hurt.

With nearly two minutes and 30 seconds “in hand” to qualify for Boston, I should have been fine. But something was wrong and my stomach didn’t hold up. As each mile came and went, I slowed and suffered more. At 22 miles, there was no hope of making my time. I had been calculating how much I could slow and still make it. I watched as those milestones came and went. No matter how hard I pushed, I still couldn’t get my time. Done with the suffering, I backed off and literally jogged in. I somehow still pulled an age-group award out of the deal but I was beyond devastated with my body. Why I couldn’t run well anymore was beyond me.

I took the week off and went to the doctor. Boston would have to wait.